//------------------------------// // 48. The Battle for Manehattan - Part I // Story: Millennia: Eye of the Storm // by Thunderblast //------------------------------// A sudden shock of energy shot through Nightpath's system, jolting him straight up out of his cot. The pain from his injuries wasted no time in reaching his nerves, bringing a loud, wincing cry out of the large stallion. "Gah-haagh!" he yelped, instincts forcing him to drop on his side where he gripped the portable bed's metal frame. His teeth clenched as he seethed in unrelenting pain sourcing from his lower spinal cord. By the time his suffering ceased some three eternal minutes later, the brown draft steed had slicked himself in sweat and was heaving for air to make up for his breath being repeatedly taken away for that period of time. It finally allowed him to ease off his muscles, as well as his firm hold on the cot's side, and an opportunity to familiarize his surroundings without moving too much. While his vision remained only slightly blurred, it was not enough to obscure his judgement of the area. The Marine's hazel cores scanned the area in front of him, covering at least a quarter of the tent he now lay in, and it left confusion in his mind knowing the last of his recollection had him being carried on his friend's shoulder to a RHIB prior to blacking out. Before that, the bulk of his more recent memory was a blink; nothing more than a vague, indistinct picture, sparking worry in his mind that he had suffered some sort of head trauma that triggered a type of amnesia. That couldn't be the case, however, noting of the significant lack of pain stemming from his head and rather his back. Upon further inspection of the tent, most if not all of the other cots were occupied by ponies of varying race and size. The majority of these resting ponies appeared to be civilian, judging by some of the dirty, tattered clothing on their backs, granting a better idea of just where he was, and that was a relief camp. Though it went beyond his knowledge what day it was, how long he had been out for, among other details. He wished to find out as soon as possible, as well as other questions in mind. Is it over? Was Armet caught? But most importantly... Are my friends okay? These muses urged Night to stir about in search of answers, despite the immobilizing pain that shackled him to this bed. The dark brown draft lay motionless, barring the soft yet sharpened breaths he drew in and the light tremble that quaked his limbs. He hoped and prayed at any moment that someone nearby caught on to his cries and would rush in to feed his veins with a dose of powerful painkiller that would put him back to sleep for a day or two more, just so he would not have to fight against his own body desperate to move. Lo and behold, a nearby medic tending to temblor victims outside the tent heard his wails as he woke, quickly working to finish what he was doing and hurry inside to check on his patient. It calmed him only a little to discover Night hadn't fallen out of his cot or deteriorated his condition in any other way. The pegasus corpspony strolled up beside the wounded Marine's bed, first checking the bandages along the center of his back before moving on to his front, producing a little flashlight. "Hey there. Would you mind opening your mouth for me for a second?" he requested calmly. Opening his eyes to look up at the lavender pegasus, Night parted his maw. "Wider..." the medic demanded softly, shining his light in as the earth stallion further gaped. A small frown pursed his lips, flicking off the light, which prompted Night to close his mouth. Tucking the flashlight in a pocket, the corpspony trotted around and to a small table stacked with a collection of portable plastic coolers. He popped open the lid, drawing a sack filled with a cool, clear fluid, as well as a thin tube with a needle on one end. Returning to Night, he began to set up by hanging the bag on a stand behind the stallion occupied by a half-empty sack feeding into another patient. "You are severely dehydrated, and we are low on IV bags, but you could make use of one right now," said the pegasus, hooking the tube to the bag and preparing the needle. On any normal occasion, he would have cleaned the entry point with alcohol. The only exception was today, where none was readily available. Hesitantly, he took Night's hoof and carefully inserted the tiny needle. The pinch as it went in did not nearly compare to the stabbing aches along his spine, yet it still jolted him as if utterly unexpected. Within moments, however, he felt a cool sensation course through his veins from the needle as the bag steadily dispensed its contents into his system. The feeling was strangely soothing, particularly against the miserable summer heat and humidity that collected inside the tent. Soon after, he felt strangely dizzy, but in a drowsy kind of manner. Slowly, he closed his eyes as he began to drift back off to sleep. *** In total silence the second lieutenant sat, once more finding himself boxed inside a padded cell with only the prominent hum of the lights above permeating the quiet. It didn't take a lot to convince military police at base to subdue him, though they also had not initially recognized him based on appearance. In fact, they found it rather peculiar for Arc to turn himself in after essentially vanishing off the face of the earth since March, and it was long past his appointed confinement sentence by the Court. Regardless, the threats he passively warned of sprung four peacekeepers into action in arresting him on sight. He resisted none, just like before, allowing them to bring him away from the central relief camp set up on base and the hundreds of victims occupying it. Once more, the officers found his lack of hostility in spite of advisories expressed aloud. They soon came to figure the truth as it was, and it was him playing out himself as a danger to the public in desperate need of restraint. For some time he contemplated all the harm he has instigated while under the mainframe's influence. Not often did he stumble across self emotional pain in his battle-hardened attitude, though this was one large exception. It was enough to provoke grisly thoughts he wished would occur for him and no one else. These muses lingered for a few years now, and only in these recent hours have they protruded more than ever. For what he has precipitated to countless innocent lives over the course of an unknown amount of weeks or even months, he felt as though he deserved the most unspeakable punishment fathomable. But he knew his captor warranted it much more. A faint tingle in Arc's punctured temple twitched his eye once, then twice, and was subsequently followed by a light migraine that steadily increased in its intensity. For a time, he endured the ache as if it were any other. That was, until it prolonged to the point where he grabbed his forehead with a hoof. He now felt it coming, and instinctively braced himself. All at once, an endless, light-speed electronic stream of ones and zeroes transmitted through the helmet's receptors into the second lieutenant, overloading his mind in mere moments. The eerie, sinister digital voice called his name, drowning out the repeated no's Arc aggressively responded with. He opened his eyes to see his own hoof betray him, removing itself slowly from the hold on his head. Gradually, he felt his own conscience be once more torn from him. The pained grunts and cries of the officer attracted the attention of the guard stationed outside his cell, prompting him to slide open the peephole to check inside, and what he saw met him with a fear that would forever haunt his essence. In the pitch black that should have been a brightly-lit confinement room glowed a furious pair of amethyst cores, glaring directly into the lime of his own. The frightened lance corporal drew three fearful strides back from the door when it blasted open, forcing him into the opposite wall with the heavy door crushing him against it before falling over. Dazed by the blow, the lilac earth stallion just barely managed to catch himself with ringing ears and doubled vision as he stared utterly confused at his cover laying on its top a foot ahead of him. Before he could do anything else, a pair of armored hooves wrapped firmly around his neck from behind. The Marine's eyes shot wide open, reflexively punching at the plated limbs in attempt to pry himself free. He choked softly, lifting his fear-filled gaze to meet his assailant's in a silent beg for mercy. However, clemency was the last thing on Arc's twisted, altered mind. Staring down coldly, the flickering of the cell's broken light briefly illuminating his shape only added to the fear in the enlisted pony's core. With a voice that was not his own, he said with a low, ghastly timbre, "Go to sleep, now." With a swift jerk of his arms, and a fleshy crack of the lance corporal's neck, the stallion instantly went limp in his hold. He released his grip, dropping the still-warm corpse with a heavy thump. On the floor beside the lifeless form clattered his issued rifle, which Arc snatched up and started his path for the exit. Anyone or anything in his way, he planned to show no remorse for. *** From the studio to the lobby, it took us not even half the time going up, and upon regrouping with Zjitzo, his squad, and Javelin in the plaza, we hastily made our way east. Very small and organized groups of civilians headed the other direction, guided by a few in our pack as we proceeded past. Our word was not much, though it would hopefully land them in the right place at one of many evac points along the riverfront. As distance to rendezvous closed, the more apparent it became of friendly presence in the area. It wasn't long before disabled or totally destroyed robotic figures littered intersections and city blocks leading up to the point. Yet despite the signs of tables turning in our favor, there still was no clear way to determine just how much progress was made against the onslaught. Upon reaching the temporary operating base in Lower Manehattan, it was a sight for sore eyes. On top of what had to be at least three hundred Marines, some units just arriving as we were, barricades of sandbags lined a three-foot wall a couple yards from some battlefield tents constructed with wooden stands no more than a couple inches wide and topped off with nets weaved with moss and leaves. Under these small shelters worked the technical ponies, spreading word through copious radio channels in attempt to muster as many guns as possible to this location. The area in which operations had planted its temporary roots consisted of more modern architecture all around, barring the few older brick and stone structures that had risen to become Manehattan's early skyline some centuries ago. However, it wasn't solely what materials the buildings consisted of that determined their age, but the damage sustained. Most of which were partially caved in on themselves or had entire faces missing, exposing the crumbling bare interior hallways and rooms. Some of the devastation was subsequent to the collapse of Trotterdam Tower, which now only existed as half of a building with its southern face sticking higher than its opposite, due to the much heavier, upper portion of the skyscraper practically sliding down cleanly before tilting over and crashing down on the streets below. Some chunks of the once-magnificent golden equine head that topped it off lay strewn across the south end of this plaza, exposing the spiderweb of rebar that held it together for as long as it had existed. Where we stood, even though it would not cast a shadow due to relative positioning and the sun's daily movements, would typically dwarf the wall of high rises that surround this open area. Only one tower—the tallest and most modernly-designed in this particular plaza, complete with a massive digital screen that covered about seven floors and sat another five above ground level and spanned almost the width of the building—now took the throne for the highest point in the Financial District and second in the entire city only to GenTech Tower. In spite of the discord, every squadron appeared, for the most part, well-organized. Because of this, locating my respective unit wasn't as difficult as previously thought. Divisions were tidily arranged with three duos of machine gunners on the north and south ends of the curved line as well as the middle, backed by grenadiers, and several basic infantry. With the near-semicircle shape of the barrier, each pony respectively occupied a position to concentrate fire on three small streets—the only currently-accessible directions any attackers could originate from. My unit, the 25th Battalion, 4th Marines, consisted primarily of rifleponies on the north end of this blockade, which would be come to known as Homefront—an oddly fitting callsign. Apart from myself, only Nightpath appeared to be absent from the bunch, and everypony seemed to be equally scuffed up from a prior fight. Compared to others I've seen thus far, no one could have been in better condition. "Sergeant!" I called out, in hopes of grabbing his immediate attention on my way to him. The blackish-blue pegasus' sky blue gaze drifted just enough, and instantly locked with crimson when he spotted me. "Dearest Princess Luna, it's him!" I heard him say, directing the looks of a couple others with him toward me. "Where on earth have you been?!" "Sorry, Sergeant. Took a little detour in the West by accident," I rejoined, throwing up a respectful salute as part of greeting. That left him only a slight bit puzzled, but he went no further to question it and waved off the gesture. "Well, it's great to have you back! What in the hell are you wearing, Corporal?" he queried, his direct fix lowering to my jump suit. My sights instinctively darted downward, then back up to the sergeant. "Bit of a long story, sir," I responded, keeping it short and vague. Likelihood was he didn't have the capacity to care about the why right now. "I expect you to tell me every little detail later tonight, Corporal," he sternly said, albeit in a slightly cordial manner, having to raise his voice as a helo flew close overhead. "Eighteen page presentation, you hear me?!" Now I knew he was joking. At least, I could only pray he was. "Affirmative, Sergeant!" He gave a single nod. "Excellent. And where in the fuck is your roomie? Haven't seen him all damn day!" I flicked a very brief look at Ashfall as he caught up with his own unit nearby. "Back at base, wounded in the quake, I'm afraid." Hardstaff let off a low grunt of annoyance at that. "Fucking..." Then he sighed sharply. "All right. We can compensate for him. I'll beat his ass later for being too much of a pussy, but we will suffice." I returned an affirming nod. Good old Hardstaff, never change. "Yes, we will, Sergeant. What do we know right now?" In between wiping down his M16, complete with a grip and small scope attachments, he replied without so much as looking back up at me once. "Other than a full-scale invasion? Hell if I know. But right here is where we initiate our retaliatory attacks and hopefully push these metal assholes back wherever they came from. I trust you'll make good use of your rank today, Shooter." After he finished, it was evident I knew a little more than he did about the situation. Only a little; not enough to make any difference, though. Word had already gone out that informed how to disable the larger drones, and even if the sergeant wasn't aware, it was extremely unlikely that everypony else isn't, either. Strangely though, it relieved me moderately to see his face and hear his voice in person once more—him and everypony else in the 25th. All eleven others total; three unicorns, three earth ponies and a zebra mix, and four pegasi. Perhaps it was because, just a few days prior, I had been plagued with the belief that I would never see them again, and only the images of reminisces from when all of us last sat or stood in one place would stick with me until my captors would eventually determine to put me down. In the tension that would soon be a final offensive, one that decides our victory or defeat, to be back fighting alongside those I trained with and those I befriended was nothing but bittersweet and empowering. It was this that, I pray, will drive our strength to take back our city and avert further catastrophe. I glanced over my shoulder to my other group. Snow Storm and Zjitzo, as well as their squad mates, pulled off to the side to debating battle plans. Silver Edge, I noted, tuned in but had distance between himself and them. Being the only sailor in sight, he seemed so terribly out of place, and I could see that in his posture. He didn't know what to do. He doesn't have orders to take. Just because of his chosen branch, he wasn't bound to leave the battlefield. No, he was here for the fight. Slinging the SCAR over my shoulder, my short jaunt brought me alongside the aimless seapony to have a quick word with him. I placed a hoof on his back, startling him just slightly in the process due to his focus on the captain and lieutenant discussing. He proceeded to smile off his jumpiness. "Why don't you come back to your former grounds for a bit? We could use the extra muscle, I think," I offered. Silver blinked twice, staring neutrally at me. "I'm not that muscular." I rolled my eyes. "Your magic and precision, then. Come on, Sergeant's over here," I motioned my head, turning back toward my squadron. Judging by how little reluctance he had in following close behind, it's safe to assume he had no issue with it. He might as well. After all, he did spend some time integrated into the wrong branch by mistake. "Good afternoon, sir," Silver began, tipping his chin as we walked up. "Mind if I join you?" Hardstaff's signature scowl grazed over the blues and greys of Silver's blouse. "Now, what is this shit doin' around my Marines? I don't recall ordering for an admiral's cuddle-buddy today!" He then snapped his attention to Lance Corporal Ivory, who instinctively clicked his hooves together. "Tell me if I'm wrong, do they let the dick cleaners off the tubs to fight?" The pine-green earth stallion, still at attention, took a couple of moments to muster a response that Hardstaff would rather hear. "Hell no, Sergeant!" At that, Silver almost looked affronted. Almost. Though he knew the sergeant too well after spending a year under his command to take any real offense. Otherwise, he might have rejoined with either something half-witty, or something extremely embarrassing against himself. Regarding these two, likelihood is Hardstaff would be laughing over it among other ponies of his rank for weeks to come. Instead, he simply took the greeting with a grain of salt. "Thought I'd throw back to the glory days, Sergeant." "Damn right you would, Petty Officer," he nodded in acknowledgement of the unicorn's new rank. "You know damn well we are the better branch of the bunch. Get yourself a gun at the supply tent and ready up on me." "Aye, sir," Silver responded, throwing up a respective salute with a stupid-happy smirk pursing his lips, turning tail to find where he needed to go. "Just like old times, eh, Silver?" I nudged him with a slight grin as he passed by. The beige unicorn returned a firm nod. "Just like old times, Star." Upon his return, Silver had made the wise selection of an M16—then again, that seemed to be the weapon of choice among most present with the few exceptions of the belt-fed machine gunners, Ashfall, and myself. He wasted no time in readying his gun, along with his sidearm; a Glock 19M in slick steel grey. By the time he finished, the final defense touches along Homefront were completed. Short-range artillery raised their thin, long barrels in preparation with a surplus of shells piled up beside the two available cannons. I imagine it will be those that deal the most damage in this fight. As we stood by for orders, a deep, loud voice addressed to all, prompting every soul to stop what they were doing to tune in. "Atten-tion!" All eyes turned toward a single stallion, stood atop a short tower of crates to rise above the others. It was Shadow, for whatever reason he was down here on the front lines for. "Everypony, this is a message broadcasting across all open frequencies! Listen up!" Shortly after his conclusion, at the command of the captain's silent gesture, technical officers in the logistics tent twisted dials on their radios to full volume for every ear. "Ponies of Manehattan... citizens of Equestria. I reach out to you with a dire message. This goes out to call who can hear the sound of my voice, and any in the region ready and able to help." As the golden pegasus began, more around hushed to listen in as his voice carried out through earpieces and radio speakers from tents. From where I stood, the highest volume didn't have much range, though I had no trouble hearing it. That is just how quiet the air became for the first time in days. "This is a dark time for us all. For most of you, this may give the appearance of a highly advanced terrorist hacker assault, or a second invasion recalling to the attacks back in December. But I am among a small few that know the truth." Then came a short silence as he gathered his thoughts. "The pony vowing to protect your lives, the one who has put an exorbitant amount into retaining this city's security, is also the very same behind this seemingly endless onslaught of death and destruction. Armet Mace... GenTech... are now who we thought they were, and so, they are not our ally any longer." Countless looks exchanged among Marines, many of which of shock, but also a newfound anger burning in their essences. With each passing second, and every word spoken, their seething fury contained behind a paper-thin pane that was their well-trained demeanor. "I speak out to you all this afternoon in hopes of averting further catastrophe, and providing some sense of security with my own fears presently disregarded. I have put every ounce of trust in me into our saviors in grey and blue, and those that lead them toward the chaos while we flee from it. I trust that they will lead us to victory and win this frightening battle." A smile gradually worked its way across my muzzle, one that if pointed out, I wouldn't think to blush. Rather, my chest warmed not only to the sound of his voice, but what it addressed. With it, I felt a strength gather in my soul to mend the pain that was my present stress in the moment. It wasn't physical, but damn well could have been. No, it was. It can't have been anything else. "Together, we must work together to ensure more lives are not lost today, and we will push through. I beg of you, all of you, leave town at once. Any pony you are with, get out. It is not safe within a ten mile radius of the city, not even within designated shelters. GenTech's army of robots is threatening not only our way of life as we know it, but our existence as free ponies. "But we will not submit. We won't bow at his hooves. He is not our leader, and we are not his puppets. So I leave you with two options. Either run far... or stay and fight. Good luck to you all." It didn't show initially, and I hoped deep down that it wouldn't, the fresh glaze over my eyes and the thin collection of tears along the bottom of them. "That's my coltfriend," I muttered under my breath, blinking rapidly a few times to waver off the water. All I could wish for then was that he makes effort to get to safety following the end of his broadcast. "All right, you heard the pony!" shouted Hardstaff, loud and proud. With his rifle pointed skyward, he began to nonchalantly stroll behind. Our immediate attention transferred to him as he did. "The plan is, with all of the unicorns we have, we are going to use them to lure the enemy straight to us. It will be a heavy ambush." "We are going to fight. We are going to fight our hardest, and we are going to retake our beloved city from these titanium bastards!" Halting halfway, he turned to face us, as we did in return to him. "Oo-rah?!" In response to the sergeant, all but one of us cried in unison. That one pony was me. "Oo-rah!" I took a step forth, putting myself just out of the line. Hardstaff noticed this and advanced toward me, and I ensured to keep my voice low between us two. "What'll happen to these unicorns, Sergeant? Those things will suck the energy right out of them before they have a chance to run. Are we sure that is the best idea?" The dark pegasus nodded in acknowledgement of my query, almost looking happy that I asked. "That is why we planned ahead and will equip each unicorn's horn with dampening rings with the exception of a few medics who absolutely need it to treat any wounds they come across. They can only withdraw the energy through their horns, and with the rings blocking any type of use, it will confuse the bots. At least, the bigger ones. Can't say about the rest." His explanation calmed my nerves a bit, enough to worry less about Silver's well-being, as well as the other unicorns among the 25th. "Every unicorn will be issued one?" "Affirmative," the sergeant responded, digging into a vest pocket with a hoof. "Because, even with rings, unicorns still give off a faint field of their energy. Just enough to trigger their sensors and draw them to this location. As long as nopony removes theirs to use magic in combat, they should be safe from the collectors." He produced his gloved hoof, in it resting a small, centimeter-thick ring with a stainless steel finish in the unlocked position. The pegasus flicked it upward like a coin, prompting me to act fast in order to catch it. I stumbled back a little, but managed to cup my hooves quick enough to grab it, then slam a forehoof into the cement to retain balance. "Fit that on Silver. Make sure it clips comfortably on but not to where it'll slide right off," Hardstaff instructed, turning tail and strolling over to a first sergeant belonging to the next squad to our left. Briefly examining the band and the tiny mechanism that parts the two half-rings and the little lock that would connect the open end, my fix adjusted to the sole sailor among a sea of Marines. "Hey, Silver?" At the mention of his name, the beige unicorn peeked over his shoulder, turning his body to face me directly. "What's up?" "I hope you didn't have many plans to make use of those abilities of yours," I said with a bit of a sheepish smile, raising the base of my hoof to show him the ring. Silver's bright magenta cores lowered to the metallic piece, then raised to meet the crimson of my own eyes with some concern in his. "I think it would have helped." I shook my head firmly. "Orders are orders. You risk one of those things grabbing you while they practically zap you of your magic without it." A small sigh escaped the unicorn's lips. "Then I guess it'd be best to wear it, then," he admitted, lowering his head for me. There was a bit of hesitance in my stride toward him, pulling up just a few inches short. If the danger wasn't prevalent, I would have personally protested against the restraint of magic use. Hell, Silver threw a pony through multiple reinforced bulkheads on a ship like they had a consistency of butter. What could he do to a few robots? My hoof brought the ring up underneath, sliding the angled half-band as far down as the width of his horn allowed before securing it with a soft click. Stepping back, I observed as Silver raised his head, eyes lifted to try and fixate on his own horn as he made a feeble attempt to cast a spell. Only along the base of his horn leading up to the ring itself did it emit a thin reddish hue, before the magic itself popped like a balloon and dispersed into brief sparkles. I suppose that is a sign that the ring's enchantment works. "How the hell am I going to get this off?" he questioned, still eyeballing his horn. "My guess is, either a key of some sort, or another unicorn has to do it." Those were the only reasonable answers I could think of. "I hope so." Silver then looked forward at me, but suddenly groaned and brought a hoof to his forehead, gently rubbing it. "Damn, testing it gave me a headache." I blinked, cocking my head. "You need a medic, buddy?" He gave a shake in response. "No, no, I'll live. It's insignificant." At that, I nodded in acknowledgement. "All right. Just let me know if you need something. If I have to pull you back when things get rough, shout." "Got it," he groaned out softly, lowering his hoof. Almost the precise moment his hoof touched the ground, a quiet rumble quaked the cement. Thankfully, I could tell in advance that this wasn't an aftershock, though I think I would have preferred it to be. The ground's gentle rolling combined only took six seconds to attract every Marine's attention to the west. Within those moments, the whole of Homefront went eerily silent, and only the reverberation of the battle to come resounded off of surrounding skyscrapers, rattling what windows remain untouched on them. As mild as the noise was, it managed to drown out the rotors of a nearby helo. "Homefront, be advised, numerous hostile bogeys moving your direction. ETA, eighty seconds," was the message that came through, providing some forewarning in a moderately ominous manner. "Here they come, gentlecolts. Get ready!" barked Hardstaff, slipping into his own little slot around the middle of our group. Many other squad leaders ordered similarly, varying in volume the further away they were. The worst part of it was the anticipation. It wasn't clear what to expect other than to potentially be outnumbered still, in spite of the hefty amount of firepower we had in return. All I know is the tension permeated the air like a horrid stench of a back alley sewer drain. Logically, we would expect the smaller, pony-sized, heavy-weaponry droids to appear first, being significantly quicker and more agile than the collector drones. And that is exactly how it played out. Accordingly, at least nine raced around the corner initially to pave the way for those behind them. The group halted thirty yards short, recalibrating themselves into a neat, single-file shoulder-to-shoulder line. Almost in perfect synchronization, panels on either side of each drone folded inward, replaced subsequently by short limbs with cube-shaped objects on their ends. These cubes very quickly opened up, building upon themselves to take the appearance of miniguns with the belts feeding back through the holes they extended from. "Shields up!" commanded an authoritative voice further down. At his word, a series of interconnected devices sprung to life. Within seconds, they projected a paper-thin forcefield, bluish in color and transparent enough to see clearly through with little obstruction, climbing eight feet vertically and extending end to end along Homefront to compensate for the lack of unicorn magic. The shields themselves were one-way so as to protect us while allowing shots from our side to pass through without harming the barrier's overall integrity. However, it was presently unknown just how much they would be able to take. After all, the generators had not yet been perfected. Upon completion, a wave of opaque blue spread downward, swiping across the surface of the shields; a sign that full strength had been attained—and with perfect timing, too. While faint due to distance, the unified whir of eighteen minigun barrels beginning to rapidly rotate carried out across the plaza. Despite the extra layer of defense, many braced themselves or even ducked out of instinct, half expecting the shields to offer little actual protection when the storm of bullets first unleashed. As each gatling barrel began spitting anywhere between seven-hundred and one thousand rounds per second, the shields' power instantaneously dropped to just above fifty percent, but held steady there. Signs of such were notable when the physical appearance faltered in color, though no rounds managed to make it past and simply vaporized upon impact. As long as the forcefield power remains above twenty percent, the risk of bullets breaking through and injuring somepony were little to none, much to our relief. No more than a moment later, gunfire erupted from the barrels of each Marine's rifle and belt-fed machine guns, roaring like heaven's thunder across the whole of Lower Manehattan. For miles it could be heard, rumbling the earth with the power of every round fired. It sounded an explicit warning to any other enemy who might hone in on our city that we are not to trifle with. Though, quite clearly, our overall firepower—rifles, sidearms, and machine guns combined, contrasted none to that of the eighteen gatling guns unleashing total hell. That didn't count however many more were on the way behind this leading cluster. With such limited remaining magazines of my own, it forced me to reserve my shots and switch to single burst mode. Frankly, compared to the majority of my squad mates, my efforts seemed extremely trivial for the time being. Another reason was this initial engagement merely scratching the surface of the storm to come. If I had to equate it to something, it would have been an April rain shower preceding a category five hurricane. These were not the droids to spend ammunition on all at once. Like the beam of a cat's laser pointer, streaks of orange by the dozens extended forward from barrel after barrel, either making contact with the chests, legs, or heads of the steel-clad, mechanical Juggernauts, or just narrowly whisking past and riddled walls with countless chips or holes in the concrete and blew windows inward. The sound was absolutely deafening, as well. It wouldn't be a shock if I have hearing problems later in life, or even at the end of the day if this prolongs to the last fired round. The machine gunners did most of the work with nearly spot-on accuracy, despite the distance even as it gradually closed. Two of the nine shut down and collapsed after roughly thirty rounds to the chest area, with another becoming heavily damaged in a resulting power core meltdown leading to an explosion that sent bits and pieces flying every which way. Six less miniguns firing upon the forcefield allowed it some leeway to regain a few percent of its total strength. After all of that, all it took was one blast of a ray gun to bring down defensive shields, leaving dozens vulnerable. Something frightening, however, caught in the corner of Ash's line of vision. Darting his gaze to the right, his light-reddish cores contracted at the sight; a small filly, who could not have been older than the age of six, emerging from the shadows of an alleyway and frozen in fear by the war unfolding before her very eyes. The moss stallion's attention swiftly redirected to a new set of Juggernaut and Collector droids marching in from another street much closer to the trapped foal. Then he turned to a group of demolitions Marines loading impact grenades into launchers in preparation to lob at the oncoming titan mechs. He lowered his gun, heart pumping as his decision alternated and argued back and forth within his mind. Ash's decision was tough, especially in the short time given. It compelled him to recall to the ferry; the reporter and his camerapony he forced on board, only to perish moments later. He wasn't about to let it come full circle. At the top of his lungs, he shouted to the grenadiers, "Hold on! Hold your fire! There's a foal!" Their eyes, some of which behind the veil of sleekly-designed sunglasses, snapped over to the infantrypony and promptly halting them before any grenades could be fired. In protest, Sunset Haze retorted to the corporal. "We don't have fucking time! It's now or never!" Time abruptly came to a screeching halt around the moss stallion, his fix dashing between the wave of drones and the frightened child. At that range, if a grenade were to bounce harmlessly off, it could roll dangerously close to the oblivious foal or cause debris to fall on her. Split-secondly, Ash made up his mind and withdrew from his gun. “I’m going to grab her!” he yelled, not taking a moment more before rushing out into the open. Out of the corner of my sights, I noticed the movement of somepony leaping over the sandbags and dart in front. Thankfully everypony's perception was high enough to notice him and avert a case of friendly fire. Momentarily did I flick a glance at the figure, when my blood ran cold upon realization. One eye watching over him, the other focusing on the pushing enemy, I turned back and yelled, “Cover the corporal!” As fast as his hooves could move, Ash raced to the cowering filly. She backstepped a few paces as the large stallion quickly neared, taking refuge behind a small dumpster. "Hey, hey... it's okay. I'm here to help you," he said, making use of a calm tone for the first time in, admittedly, over a week, doing so in hopes of easing the poor foal's nerves enough to trust him. Dust coated her fur from head to hoof, barring a few cleaner spots on her cheeks from a recurring stream of tears. Her lilac cores themselves were bloodshot and dry from prolonged crying, and the thin glaze across them was notably less-than-average for tear production. For the most part, she also seemed unharmed, barring a few minor cuts and scrapes on her hooves that were long dried of blood. However, risk of infection was through the roof, Ash recognized. He reached out a gentle hoof to her, putting on a warm smile to show his friendliness. "Where are your parents?" "I-I don't know... I was with them, and th-then... there was this brown cloud. Ponies trampled over me, and I couldn't find them, I-I couldn't see. Then I saw the big metal pony come, and... I-I ran away," she squeaked out with a shaky, weak voice. Hearing her cracking, frightened voice broke the moss earth stallion's heart more than he would willingly admit. Raising a hoof to her cheek, he wiped away a tear before it could fall. "All right. Don't worry, I'll help you find your parents, but you'll have to listen to me. You and I, we're going to run. Run as fast as we can, and I'll get you to safety." The filly gasped, shaking her head rapidly. "N-no!" she protested, backing behind the dumpster and lightly hyperventilating. "Shh, shh. We're going to run, it'll be just fine. Listen, listen, I'll protect you no matter what. And listen closely, if you see me fall or stop, you keep running. Run as fast as you can to that wall over there, with or without me." Just narrowly peeking around the corner, she stared quietly up at this haloless guardian angel. She was heavily reluctant to run out into the open, knowing already just how treacherous the short journey would be. But it was her only hope of reuniting with her family. "O-okay." Ash nodded once, offering his hoof out to her. She took it gently, hers immensely dwarfed by the stallion's, then lifted her gaze to meet his. "Ready?" he checked, garnering a half-nod from the filly. "On my count. Three... two... one!" The Marine swiftly yanked the filly up, bringing her onto his back. She let out a screech of terror, expecting quite the opposite. As he ran out of the alleyway, she clung to the back of his neck and buried her face into Ash's shortened walnut-brown mane. He hadn't informed anypony to keep an eye out for his signal, though him running out into the open back to Homefront was as good of an indication as any other, especially with how close the enemy was coming. "Now! Now! Light them the fuck up!" barked Sunset Haze over his shoulder, and the roar of fire recommenced from his squadron. "Weapons free, Marines!" ordered Hardstaff afterward, once Ash was clear of any friendly fire danger. By now, dozens more of the Juggernaut drones have flooded into the plaza, backed by three Collectors from the southwest and two more from the north. Because of our unified hostility, they focused primarily on us rather than Ash and the filly, allowing them to reach safety unscathed. With the enemy's reinforcements, however, this granted them more of an advantage. Now the five Collectors were firing off singular shots of deadly concentrated gamma in attempt to bring down our last line of defense. It dealt decent damage, particularly to the power source, and it didn't take long for the safeguards' circuits to fry simply due to how much combined fire they were taking. One right after another, despite now being unprotected to vaporizing shots, demolitions began chucking grenade on grenade from their respective launchers. A couple aimed lower toward the legs, others just high enough to where each explosive fired detonated upon impact. To our dismay, it dealt little to no damage apart from crippling a couple limbs and slowing their already gradual advance on us. Every couple of minutes, a small squadron of jets deployed from an air base some three hundred miles south would engage in quick strafing runs, only able to shoot off one to two missiles at a time before having to break in order to dodge buildings at such low altitude to achieve such successful attacks, not to mention locks initiated by air defense mechanisms on the drones that would result in flares or chaffs being deployed. The missiles did prove to be more effective than what everypony on the ground combined was doing, though only slightly so, and it took two to three runs just to bring one single Collector to self destruction. However, as soon as Ash cleared the barricade with the filly and the shields fell, one stray energized shot caught the shoulder of an earth pony in the unit beside ours. He went down in a cry of agony, his plates sizzling away around the source as the heat diminished. Snapping his attention momentarily to the downed pony, Hardstaff immediately dashed up at me. "Shooter, get 'im!" Without hesitating to his command, I laid down my SCAR where I stood and rushed the eight feet to the ailing Marine, taking him by the shoulder straps of his vest and dragging him back from the line for somepony else to take his place. Once a safe distance away, I set him flat on the ground and immediately moved to treat the wound with the little expertise I had on doing so. One of the first things I noticed upon changing position to his side was the red cross emblem on his shoulder, indicating his role as a corpspony. It is ironic, I must say, to be the one treating the medic of his own injuries. With that also meant he already had the tools necessary on him. Hastily I checked a few of the small satchels along the side of his belt and managing to produce a little red package with a button clip to secure its contents. Carefully I dumped the items out beside us, revealing a roll of bandages, medical tape, and three clear syrettes of morphine. I took one of the tiny packets in a hoof and examined it for a good couple of moments, recalling back to the last time I had seen one of these. Every second I spent was another second this Marine might not have. Damn it, why me of all ponies? But then it came to me. Blinking in sudden realization, I removed the needle's plastic cap and moved down to the corpspony's hind leg and lifted the sleeve of his pants to swiftly insert the syrette. Compared to the pain in his shoulder that I could only imagine was absolutely excruciating, he probably didn't feel me practically stab him with the needle and begin to carefully squeeze out its contents into his blood. The morphine's effects didn't take long to kick in, and it seemed he could finally breathe again after no more than twenty seconds. In that time, I had thrown the spent syrette aside and started parting some of his layers to better access the severely-bleeding laceration. I no longer minded all of the blood now covering my hooves applying some amount of pressure to the wound, which brought pained grunts out of him as compared to what would have been cries as if I was torturing the poor stallion. Based on the injury's outward appearance, being roughly two and three-quarters of an inch across, signs of a physical bullet embedded in his flesh either flew right over my head from lack of knowledge, or it was pure dispersing energy and he would not have to deal with removal surgery later on. Quickly removing my hooves, I took the roll of bandages and ripped its side open to begin unraveling enough to cover the wound. One strand wasn't wide enough, meaning at least two layers sideways, and an extra vertically to secure them down, along with tape along the edges while ensuring they would apply a constant weight to help with stopping the bleeding, or at least slow it enough to keep him alive until somepony else can take the reins from here on out. That is, assuming those trained for instances like these weren't already preoccupied with other injuries elsewhere. "You gentlecolts look like you could use another gun!" rejoined a familiar greenish-grey stallion from behind me, squeezing up beside Hardstaff and Storm Lancer, armed with a basic M4 and a sidearm holstered on his belt and a standard black helmet atop his crown. Glancing over his shoulder at the new addition, the sergeant gave a sideways gesture of his head as he refocused on the task, shouting over his own gun's fire, "The more, the merrier, Captain!" Without personally acknowledging the naval officer's assistance, I kept by the earth stallion's side while help still had not come. Every few seconds I would find myself peeking over my shoulder, both to see if somepony was making their way to me and the downed Marine and to check our defense's progress. Each time, it didn't look too hot. A quarter of all present took pause to reload, leaving a narrow window of opportunity for the enemies to take advantage of. As he reengaged back at his MG, Ashfall ducked out of reflex as a sizzling burst zipped past his ear, briefly burning the ends of his hairs on them and leaving a pinkish mark in its wake. "Fuck! Damn it!" he cursed, keeping his head down. "They just keep coming!" "We can't keep holding them like this forever, we'll run out of ammo before we cut through half of them. Something's gotta give, or we ain't winning this!" grunted Sunset Haze, cocking his rifle after a swift change of magazines. Hearing this from Ash's platoon sergeant himself ran a chill up my spine. Not a huge one, but enough to make my coat stand on end, even beneath the gear I wore. I didn't want to believe it, though defeat seemed inevitable. Taking one look at the ground revealed hooves an inch or two deep in shells of spent machine gun rounds. Frankly, one wouldn't know there was concrete under that if they weren't here before the battle began. Then, one smart voice chimed in, and somehow I could hear it over the war occurring around me. "Armet has to be deploying them through an extremely strong signal of some kind, they do not appear to be remotely controlled," suggested Javelin. Puzzled by his remark, Snow Storm turned to him. "Where the hell could he possibly relay such a signal? Electricity's down for miles, none of the towers around here are operational." Mere eavesdropping prompted me to silently join the debate while simultaneously watching over the wounded corpspony. "Come on, think..." went my conscience, and my gaze lifted, fixating on a particular building some ten blocks from here that cast a shadow across the rest. After what could have very well been a full minute of blindly staring, it came to me. "There! He's using the antennas on top of his own damn building, of course!" I shouted, turning the heads of Snow and Javelin toward me, then up to the massive tower. "That can't be, I cut the generators when Night and I were there!" yelled Ash, ducking behind cover as a steady stream of minigun rounds concentrated over his head. "It's GenTech we are talking about here, most of their vital infrastructure is self-sustaining," grunted Zjitzo as he approached from the side, keeping his head down as well to avoid being an easy target. "So then we take it down, great! Get on it!" replied Hardstaff, briefly throwing his head over his shoulder before refocusing on the approaching drones. "We can't bring it down from here," said the lieutenant's demolitions pony, Foam, having personally checked over every ounce of explosive matter available. "The few launchers we have laying around won't nearly cut it. Barely enough range, and we can't move closer to the tower." "What about our birds in the air?" I questioned in addition. The blue earth stallion shook his head. "Not adequate. We need a big explosion, enough to wipe that entire roof clean." "The Lacus is anchored about six nautical miles offshore with plenty of firepower to go around and no orders to follow. We get through to them, we just might be able to win this!" called Shadow between bursts of fire. "On it!" replied Silver. Out of pure instinct, he scrambled toward an open-air logistics tent behind the front lines, containing a small yet vital communications station for Homefront. "Get me the Lacus, on the double!" he barked as he ran in. Wasting no time getting to work, the comms officer frantically switched between frequencies, spending no more than twenty seconds to land on the ship's open channel. Once secured, he exchanged his headset to the beige sailor. "You know the correct terminology?" the officer questioned with a brow raised, garnering an unsure nod from Silver. "Homefront Alpha-Echo, that's our callsign. They'll recognize it in a heartbeat. Just say what you need to say." "Got it!" he nodded in acknowledgement before turning his attention to speaking with the ship. "Lacus, this is Homefront Alpha-Echo, how copy?" called Silver over the deafening racket behind him, holding a hoof over one of the earphones in attempt to slightly muffle his surroundings. "Homefront Alpha-Echo, this is Lacus, good copy. Great to hear a friendly voice for once. What the hell is going on over there?" "Total shit show, Lacus. Assistance is very much needed. Would you mind listing your available arsenal?" "We got fully loaded Mk. 41 cells, plenty of shells in our Mk. 45. Really, we've been sittin' on all this for hours, waitin' for your word. But we are running on manual targeting after our systems were compromised. What do you need, Homefront?" "We could use one or two of those tomahawks, Lacus. Laser guidance will be provided." "Copy, Homefront. Would you list strike coordinates?" At this, Silver froze. "Uh..." his eyes dashed around, as did his mind, leaving him utterly bewildered as to what information should be given then. Perhaps he should have let the comms officer relay this for him, though he knew he was as clueless of the strike point as the next pony. Very slowly, he swiveled around, sights shifting upward to the top of the still-tallest and virtually the only unscathed structure in the city. "No coordinates available, but I do have a location." There was a curt silence, one that frightened the beige stallion momentarily until a response finally came a few seconds later. "Continue, Homefront." Silver let off a short breath, eyeballing the top of the glass and steel skyscraper. "You will be targeting GenTech Tower, top floors. We are after their antenna array, we think it will disrupt the signal. Civilians are clear of area, repeat. Casualty risk is minimum." In the background, a voice called that he heard in on, "We are striking the city?!" "Roger, Homefront. Will strike in two minutes, be advised. Have your laser ready." "Will do, Lacus. Thank you for your assistance." At that, Silver returned the headset to the officer, and immediately began to sprint back to us. "Two minutes! We have two minutes 'til tomahawks!" "About damn time!" Shadow yelled back, in the process of swiftly reloading his M4 with a fresh magazine. Like many others with similar rifles, he was running low on ammunition to spare. Furiously unloading a whole twenty rounds in one burst, Hardstaff narrowed his focus on one target in particular. That was, until a supercharged shot struck the barrier a mere four inches from his form. Not only did its impact startle him, its proximity compelled him into diving completely behind cover with his back against the wall of sandbags, heaving at the chest to regain some sense of his mind. As unlike the sergeant he acted right this second, it was somewhat difficult to believe this was the same pony in charge of me and about a dozen others. "When the hell did we advance so quickly to where we're fighting fucking self-operating robots?! We ain't in the damn twenty-second century yet!" grunted Hardstaff in frustration through a rough breath. "I miss the days of simplicity, when the only thing to be genuinely concerned about was making sure nopony blows up the barracks with a peashooter, not fending off some billionaire sociopath's remote-controlled army!" As a nearby medic finally came to the downed corpspony's aid, I returned to the front lines beside my sergeant, snatching up my own weapon off the ground as it was half buried in spent bullets. "You aren't giving up on us already, now are you, Sergeant?" The mere mention of the words 'giving up' sent Hardstaff into overdrive, slashing at my vest with a glare that shot up into my bare essence. This time, it didn't intimidate me. "You best watch your words there, Corporal, before I slap your cocky ass on a silver platter." And just like that, he was up on all fours again. Good old Hardstaff. Just then, over the roar of gunfire that completely deafened the curt detonations of grenades, the scream of a rocket pierced the air. I snapped my head over my shoulder and up, watching as a grey streak crested above a partially-collapsed high rise and trailing from the east. As it rapidly approached, the object's shape grew more discernible zipping out of the sun's brightness. "There's one tomahawk!" I called out in warning, springing both Javelin and Hermes into action. Prepared in advance for the strike, a heavy yet compact box-shaped laser projector sat atop a table outside the logistics tent. The unicorn ensured the device was powered up, while the griffon made it his duty to rest the hairstrand-thin red sight upon the roof of GenTech Tower with only mere seconds to accomplish. The missile soared overhead, captivating the attention of a few others on the ground, and even some of the juggernaut drones as they made poor attempts to down it. Disappearing behind a damaged building, then returning to view as it gained some altitude upon locating the laser's targeting point and headed straight for the tower. An enormous boom shattered the two-sided symphony of fire. A bright orange fireball lit up the upper portion of GenTech Tower, completely destroying its rooftop and penthouse floors, as well as all three black antennas of varying height. Two visible faces of the asymmetrically-shaped skyscraper darkened to the building's interior as glass near the missile's impact point simultaneously shattered for thirty more floors. Chunks of debris of various proportions spread out in the explosion and rained for two blocks surrounding the tower, and the resulting blaze left burning by leaking gas lines throughout the building sent a massive column of smoke rising skyward. Through the raging flames, the total damage dealt was only hardly noticeable, although it was apparent that a whole chunk of the upper east face had been blown off, along with the entirety of the roof. Many of us watched the strike transpire, expecting the antennas' destruction to put a prompt end to the drones' advance on us. Any moment, and we anticipated the end of the battle. Then it happened. The moment we all have been waiting for. In a somewhat delayed unison, each and every drone halted in its tracks and ceased fire. While they remained powered on, it seemed like the worst was finally over, leading to subsequent celebration of apparent victory. Roars erupted across the square in the form of cheers and chants about as deafening as the war moments prior. Joy and relief burst throughout my body, prompting me to grab the closest acquaintance—that being Silver Edge—and yanking him into a shaky embrace that he gracefully returned. But, of course, our triumph could only be short-lived. Fate was not through with us yet. A low rumble quaked the earth beneath our hooves, not unlike the numerous plaguing the area in recent days. To me, however, this one was different. Silver lifted his head and withdrew from me, his gaze lifted skyward and was ultimately frozen with fear. My first instinct was, for some odd reason, to check our surroundings and noticed others acting similarly. That's when the ground darkened as a wall of shadows swept over the square like a blanket. In that same moment, the whole area went frighteningly quiet. Every remaining unturned head now shifted focus in one particular direction when an enormous arrowhead-shaped object eclipsed the hazy morning sun. The ghostly hum of its engines rattled the compromised integrity of structures all around and, while the rumble was light as can be, it did manage to force further roof cave-ins in various places. Most of us, unmoving out of shock and awe, did not know how to properly react to the scene before our very eyes. The craft's sleek design and its relatively quiet entrance made it appear almost alien in nature. Then again, just about every thing more recently has seemed to be out of this world when it actually was not, and nothing could genuinely surprise me anymore. Yet somehow, this did. The small squadron of jets circling the city broke formation as they came around for another loop in order to get out of the way of the climbing ship that made them appear like common house flies in comparison. Only one didn't make the turn, slamming into the port bow and bursting into a fireball that ultimately dealt no damage to the larger craft's exterior. As the remaining fighters banked away to create distance without a clue whether or not the newly-arrived vessel was hostile or not, the cannons took lightning-fast aim. In a single shot, one that appeared to take the lead of the jet's flight path and looked to miss entirely, the blue energy and the heavy mass it surrounded collided directly in another massive explosion that rendered the destroyed plane's debris unrecognizable as it fell to earth. One by one, the three remaining jets were blown out of the sky with no warning for their pilots to eject in time. Looks of horror swept across every Marine's countenance witnessing what were once believed to be mighty machines of war, some of the most advanced in the world, be reduced to nothing in mere seconds. "Vengeance..." muttered Shadow under his breath, honing on the ship as it gradually came into full view above the tops of buildings. The craft's appearance wasn't all, either. Soon enough, it came as a terrifying realization that the strike had no effect on the drones' mobility whatsoever and the growing assortment of varying-sized mechs alike failed to cease their engagement and resumed their advance on Homefront when gatling guns tore through the air once more and instantly sprayed showers of blood in every direction as hundreds of rounds shredded through even the thickest of body armor and pierced flesh like it was made of butter. And as if that had not been the icing on the cake, an eerie voice spoke through every Marine's earpiece and radio around the plaza, relaying the same message for all to hear. "Here you all were, so joyful and relieved, thinking you could get ahead of the curve and be a step ahead of me. The thing about GenTech, gentlecolts, is we are always five steps ahead of all others. Now, if I were you, I would simply lay down your weapons and let us handle it from here. Sound good?" "Over our dead bodies we'll lay our guns!" shouted an infantry Marine, garnering a wave of proud oorahs from copious others around him as they reengaged against the drones. "Then so be it," returned Armet in a dark manner, without another word said after that. Between the gigantic spaceship-like craft rising into the sky behind us, and the ever-growing robotic army in front of us, no one could really be sure which of the two was the bigger threat, yet neither can go without scrutinizing for even a second. "Fuck! Damn it! Nothing we are doing is stopping these bastards, not to mention this homicidal ass above us!" yelled Hardstaff in evident vexation. He was frustrated, I was frustrated; frankly it's safe to say everypony here is. I felt a hoof plant itself on my shoulder, which startled me some. Peeking over, my eyes met with the lieutenant's, and I turned fully to face him. "We need a plan, ASAP." At that, I gave a concurring nod. "I can't agree more, Lieutenant, however I am bone dry on ideas if that is why you came to me." The white pegasus let off a sharp exhale in defeat. "Was worth a shot." "That ship we radioed offshore," began Zjitzo, strolling up to us with his head lowered. "Why don't we have it launch everything it's got to blow that thing out of the sky?" "Being the leader of a task force sent straight from the Griffish Isles to deal with our nation's problem, I'd figure you would have some understanding of GenTech by now," said Shadow somewhat snarkily from off to the side. "You and I very well know any missile would not come close to that ship, assuming they even make it past the cell hatches." The large griffon among us flicked a look at the captain. "Just because we were tasked to this mission does not necessarily mean we understand all of its credentials." Then, out of the blue, a wine-coated Marine shouted from the logistics tent, running toward us. "I know what can stop him!" All at once, four pairs of eyes turned to the unicorn as he spoke up. "You do?" Without giving a response, Javelin swiftly whipped out a black electronic adapter with a small light on the end and placed it in his lieutenant's hold. "What is this for?" Snow questioned, examining it in his hoof. "One of my remote connectors," Javelin started. "I'm thinking the signal for his army is also being transmitted from that ship. If we can plug it in to something on board, anything from a server tower to a computer console, I can patch into it from my laptop from the ground and work on disabling it, and hopefully the drones, too." The lieutenant lifted his crimson gaze to meet the greens of his tech officer's. "How do you know that will work?" "So long as I can break GenTech's ever-updating layers of firewall, which will be tricky, even for me, but I have a basic understanding of it right now from what I've gathered in the past." "What are the odds that you can pull that off?" Snow scowled slightly, brow raised at the unicorn's claims. Javelin blinked twice, waving his hoof in an irresolute manner. "I don't completely know. Sixty-forty, maybe pushing seventy-five-twenty-five at most?" Snow stood menacingly tall, saying with a raised volume, "Techie, all that tells me you aren't so certain of your abilities. Just give me the fucking assurance that you can get it done while we still have time!" Recoiling some at his commanding officer's booming voice, the maroon unicorn returned firm nods. "Right. I'll make it work, Lieutenant, you have my word." "That's more like it," Snow tipped his chin in response. "The real question is, who the hell wants to go up there?" "I'll do it," chimed Shadow without a second of hesitation.