//------------------------------//
// Entry VI: Massacre Outside Manehatten 
// Story: PonyHammer 40k: Legions At War 
// by Ozone31 
//------------------------------//

ENTRY BEGINS. 2nd YEAR OF THE GRAND AGE OF EQUESTRIA





"ON YOUR FEET PRIVATE!" a voice roared over the piercing ringing that plagued Jock Maintrom's sense of hearing, its urgency and authority kicking his weak and battered mind into high gear. Opening his eyes and pushing his flak helmet up away from his face revealed a towering Loyalty Master, clad in a resplendent, crimson overcoat and cap of the office. The stallion's coat of fur was a very dark grey and his mane was shaved entirely, leaving only patch of blond stubble between his ears. "Find your partner and man your weapon, trooper! We don't have time for you to be laying around idle under wreckage!" with that said the harsh pony moved on to continue rousing other troopers from unconsciousness.

Pulling himself free of the plate of sheet metal hull that had landed on him, Maintrom scrambled to his hooves and stared scanning the crash site for his autocannon and comrade. What he found was a scene of total and utter annihilation. Army mares and stallions were scattered around and under an avalanche of torn dropship, collapsed concrete and shattered glass. Many seemed to have been killed outright upon impact, their heads broken open against rubble or their bodies pierced by metal and wooden beams.

"Where did we crash?" the young pony whispered to himself as he observed his bloody surroundings and in doing so, answered his own question. Naught but a few feet behind where he'd been lying was a great opening out into a shear drop off into oblivion. He was standing within a skyscraper, looking out of a great tear in its Western flank - straight at the roof of a shorter structure, where half of his broken dropship sat. Fuel and hydraulic fluid spilled from severed pipelines, pouring down the side of the building in a similar fashion to the sewage drains of overpopulated hive cities.

He turned back to look into the building he stood in and found a mighty chasm, torn into the structure by the forward half of the downed devourer. It wasn't sitting level in its grave either, leaning with its rear end pointing down into the decimated office block. Ponies, tanks, ammunition and fuel continued to tumble from the yawning hole that was once the ship's centre, piling up in a crumpled and saturated heap not far from Maintrom. With every addition to the mountain of dead bodies and torn metal, the floor below creaked and complained that little bit louder - the building showing its displeasure at having to support such weight and impact forces.

Then he saw them, PFC Thorn and the wheeled-autocannon, the former pinned beneath the latter not far from the scrapyard's worth of metal, bullets and blood.

"Amara!" he cried out, taking off at an uneasy gallop towards the pinned mare. How had the Astartes on the training track made this running on all fours thing look so easy? It was all he could manage not fall flat on his face, coordinating all these legs to move in unison. Despite the awkwardness of his dash, it didn't take him long to reach his friend - finding her to be unconscious and bleeding heavily from a large split in her head. It looked bad, but not critically so, at least he couldn't see the bone of her skull.

Thorn's barrel was trapped beneath the gun breach and central structure of the upturned autocannon, so Maintrom put himself below the cannon barrel and attempted to force it upwards. But the weapon's full-metal frame and ammo stores made it incredibly heavy, too much for the stallion to lift alone. But a single I.A. trooper was never expected to do anything alone, as it was their numbers that was their true advantage.

"Hang on Maintrom, we gotcha back!" a gruff voice called over, growing louder as it spoke. Soon enough, another pony was positioned below the barrel and with a third pony pushing down on the trails, the field cannon was leveraged off Thorn - allowing a fourth pony to rush in and pull her free.

Maintrom barely waited at all to get out from under the barrel hurrying over to Thorn and the Medic tending to her wounds. The survivors of the forward half of Devourer #295, quickly formed up around the medic and suffice to say it was an abysmal sight.

There were nine of them in total: Six basic troopers, counting himself and Thorn, the Medic, the Loyalty Master and a Mechanicus Priest. Five earth ponies, two pegasi and two unicorns, of the hundreds that had been aboard the craft when it had left the Excalibur less than an hour ago. Among the troopers were only two non-commissioned officers; Corporal Carnalt and Maintrom's own CO, Sergeant Franklin - the pony who'd helped the young stallion to lift the barrel.

"What's the plan Sarge?" Carnalt asked hastily, watching the great gash in the building with his sharp, eagle-like eyes. His wings twitched at his sides, anxious to escape the confines of his flak armour and get him out of this crumbling office spire. They appeared to be only kept in by the straps of his las-sniper and his fierce loyalty to his superiors.

"We need to get out of this tower for a start." the large stallion replied gruffly, his sights fixed on the groaning support struts above them and the wreck of their landing craft. "This entire place could come tumbling down at any moment and I'd much rather be elsewhere when it does."

"We could abseil out the opening we came in through." a trooper suggested, the name 'Laccous' inscribed on her helmet, one of the earth ponies. "Hell, those with wings could just fly out."

"No." Carnalt admonished curtly, briefly turning to address the mare directly. "Hostile forces have this building surrounded, the only reason they haven't reached us yet is because of our altitude and the destruction of many of the access ways to the upper floors by our landing."

"So that takes using the stairs and fighting our way through outta the equation too..." a male trooper called 'Xerxes' muttered, just loud enough for everyone else to hear, his own wings twitching and ruffled like the corporal's.

"And it also removes the possibility of making our way to the roof and signalling for evac." the medic, 'Kadnikov', grumbled as she saw to Thorn's head wound with what little medical supplies she had and her hopelessly bumbling hooves.

"We couldn't have done that anyway, with that destroyer up there anything they sent for us would be shot down instantly, leaving us to be shredded like sitting ducks." Franklin growled, scanning a wider area around the gash for more possible options. Maybe we can zip line over to the other building, link up with more survivors there...

"The answer to our plight is a simple one." the Tech Priest droned, stating his suggestion as if it were painfully obvious. "We use the great machines that the Omnissiah has bestowed upon us."

"What machines?!" the corporal snarled irritably at the mostly-mechanical unicorn stood beside him. "All the tanks were destroyed by the crash!"

"Incorrect, corporal." if his voice wasn't a monotone, synthetic garble emitted from an aged vox speaker, Carnalt would have sworn that Mechanicus adept was speaking in a smug fashion. The cyborg stallion slowly lifted a prosthetic, adamantite hoof and pointed to a spot to the right of the still growing scrap heap. "I have spotted a rugged survivor of our misfortune."

All eyes turned to follow his pointing hoof and they quickly lit up, as a spark of hope ignited in their chests. For, sitting less than 25 yards from the group was a lone god of war. Standing proud and right on its massive tracks, gigantic main weapons still firmly intact and power plant still growling quietly. Before them was the pride of their late Captain, Basarian Dedtaro -  the Baneblade super-heavy tank; Dragon's Teeth.

"Does anyone have experience driving a Baneblade?" Franklin questioned the group hurriedly, looking over the ponies around him - fighting back a sigh when no hooves were punched enthusiastically into the air. Only one hoof was raised at all, Maintrom's shaking forelimb rose slowly from the middle of the congregation, where he still sat beside his downed teammate. Over the course of the conversation between his impromptu squad mates, he'd slowly been falling apart. All the excitement and drive to save Thorn had faded away under the realisation that they were but nine troopers, cut off and surrounded in the centre of enemy territory. Not nine Astartes, not nine Imperial Knights and not nine Titans - nine Imperial Army troopers with one tank and nothing else.

"I-I've never driven a Baneblade b-before, sir." he began quietly, his voice as shaky as his body. He was only very mildly injured, a few scrapes on his back and a large bruise under his chin, but nothing bad. However, he was clearly mentally damaged - PTSD a very real thing for the soldiers of the Imperial Army and once the adrenaline that had been coursing through his body had faded away the young private was left a mess. "B-but I h-have got experience i-in a L-Leman Russ..."

"I know ya do, lad. But that ain't gonna help us here..."

"That is incorrect. The control systems for the Leman Russ were built to emulate those of the Baneblade STC. Experience in one can be transferred to some extent to the other. I will also be on hand to offer guidance if the need should arise." the Tech Priest's matter-of-fact explanation left all eyes on the young private, waiting expectantly from his answer to the unasked question. Maintrom recoiled under their hopeful watch, not used to being the centre of such positive attention. From this point on, the collective fates of all those in the tower weighed squarely upon his shoulders and if he should fail in his duty then their deaths would be solely his fault. 

He couldn't handle such pressure and was on the verge of breaking down into tears when he felt something push lightly against the breast plate of his flak armour. Looking down he saw, barely through the sting of salty tears, a cream coated hoof and forelimb, spattered with flecks of crimson and dust. Following the limb back to the body it was attached to with his gaze, Maintrom found Amara Thorn looking up at him with one eye and offering him a small smile.

"Drive us home, Jockey." she whispered, her voice little more than the rustle of a single leaf in a tornado - but her oldest friend heard it well enough. She slipped back out of consciousness as quickly as she'd been roused into it, her hoof falling from its place on the battered flak plate. Maintrom caught it before it hit the shattered marble floor and laid it to rest across the mare's chest, rose up to his hooves and pound his right hoof over his heart.

"I'll drive it, sir. I'll get us the hell outta this shit-storm and back to the Excalibur." If Thorn needs me to, then I'll do it. I owe her too much to let her down. Franklin laughed and clapped the smaller stallion hard on the shoulder, a bout of smiles rising amongst the squad as he did.

"Love the enthusiasm, lad. But we need to finish the job we came here to do before we can leave." he received a strong nod from the private, which he returned before standing tall to address all his remaining troops. "We've lost a great many brave comrades here today, but we have no time to grieve. For now we can best honour them by surviving to fight on in their stead."

"Maintrom, you and the Tech Priest will make directly for the Baneblade - get it running and ready to leave."

"Sir!"

"Affirmative." the two didn't hesitate to before setting off in the direction of the patiently waiting war machine, the private's hoof coordination visibly improved when compared with his earlier run.

"Medic Kadnikov, you will take Private Thorn to the tank and continue to tend to her there."

"Right." the white coated mare nodded, quickly getting her patient on her back with help from Carnalt and rapidly moved to catch up with the other two.

"The rest of us will scour this area for supplies; rations, med-kits, ammunition, the works. Do not leave this floor and under no circumstances go near that hole. We meet at the Baneblade in ten minutes time, no later. I am I understood?" the sergeant's orders were met with a resounding "SIR, YES SIR!" before the remaining four ponies of his impromptu squad split off to hunt through the wreck of their dropship for anything useful.

"Let's just hope the winds are with us..." the grizzled stallion muttered under his breath, slugging his battered helmet over his buzz-cut of auburn mane and tan coat, setting off into the collection of fallen office cubicles in search of his pack of cigars.





Dragoon was silent as he fought, a Grim Reaper among howling war dogs, as he and his astartes pushed a growing wedge into the force of corrupted Equestrians. Fighting these ponies was nothing to him, their skulls offered no resistance to his hooves as they passed through them, their bodies broke as they threw themselves at his armour and their screams of defiance, mercy or lust fell upon deaf ears. The only parts of his body that he had to worry about were his wings and tail, for they extended outside the protective layers of his power armour. He did not truly worry about these exposed body parts, however, despite the fact that he couldn't see more than a foot ahead through the thronging mass of screaming ponies. His reaction speeds and vision were far too sharp to allow his foes to flank around him and attack these weak points.

This, of course, never stopped them from trying.

A diseased pegasus stallion came leaping at his left side, sailing clean over Honoured Sergeant Bellerophon and aiming its sharpened fangs and grotesque claws of bone at the Captain's wing. But he'd been spotted as soon as he'd bounded free of the greater crowd and by the time he reached his target he'd already been impaled through the chest on the crackling blades of Dragoon's lightning claws.

Rotting flesh burned and combusted on contact with the power field encased adamantium, leaving the demented pony gargling on his own boiling blood and screaming for only a split second before his life ended. Unabashed by the winged pony's agonising end, the Sixth Captain simply swung his left hoof back into the horde before him - sending the blazing corpse crashing into its hellish fellows and spreading the flames.

"A decent start..." he mused quietly to himself as he slashed his right limb through four more attackers coming from his twelve to his three o'clock. The ponies he'd struck fell dead as soon as the claws passed through them, the powered weapons disrupting their very atoms and leaving deep rends in their wake that spilled blood in the same way a pipe spills water and sewage. He'd already moved onto his next targets before they even hit the ground, his blades moving cleanly from pony to grotesque mutant to jabbering heretic with a seamless grace of movement one might expect from a great dancer or conductor. Certainly not from a towering mass of pegasus stallion wearing a tank's worth of armour and equipment.

However, he was not as efficient with his movements as he wished he was. His quadrupedal form forced him to take valuable seconds to place one of his forelegs back on the ground, to balance his very front heavy stature. He was more than tempted to spread his wings backwards, to offer some balancing weight and allow him to prolong his time on his hide legs. But he suppressed this desire, as it would ultimately expose his wings to attack and put them right into the path of the arms fire exchange, occurring mere inches overhead, between the Imperial tanks and the Traitor's field artillery.

"But this ember must become a great blaze before we're done here..." he growled into the vox, effortlessly cutting down another group of assailants with his left claws as they leapt at him. His counterattack had grabbed the full attention of the attacking Chaos Fallen, with all of the corrupt ponies now attempting to break through the ruthless spearhead of super-soldiers that had been driven into their midst. Their every attempt failed, shattering against the wall of ceremite and warrior zeal, but now Dragoon found he couldn't drive his attack any deeper without overextending himself. So now they were at a stalemate, the wave unable to break the rock but the rock immobilised by its own strength.

"Say no more, Lord." an astartes' voice answered his demand and as it did a great shape loomed to the right of the wedge of space marines. The Hellbalde; Strike on the Hearth crested over the banks of the third trench line, crushing hapless ponies beneath its tracks and gunning them down with its sponson hurricane bolter banks.

The Hellblade; a super-heavy tank used exclusively by the Scarred Swords. It was a variant of the Fellblade tank, modified to forgo its demolisher cannon and forward heavy bolters in favour of mounting a Titan-class Inferno cannon into its turret and thicker armour. It was dreamed up by Dranzer in response to the need to rapidly exterminate vast numbers of enemy infantry, a need discover by the Swords during their many confrontations with the Orks over the time of the Great Crusade. Not only did the flames effectively kill the Ork Boyz themselves but also the spores they gave off and used to repopulate their numbers down the line, often allowing them to resurge on worlds where they'd previously been defeated and strike against the often poorly defended local population.

Here, the latter perk was meaningless - but the former was more than useful. Without so much as a warning call the tank's great weapon roared, like a lion asserting its dominance, and spewed an immense torrent of swirling flames over the force of corrupted Equestrians. Those doused directly by the litres of blazing promethium didn't even have time to scream before the inferno consumed them entirely. The flames ran wild from where they started, spreading so rapidly through the Chaos lines that Dragoon had to order his forces back to avoid being caught in the death pyre. The attackers could only run and despair before the wall of death, before it rapidly overtook them - erasing the flesh from their bones and leaving only ash in its wake. Before long the attack force had been routed completely, leaving with only smouldering tatters when compared to their original numbers.

A great cheer erupted from the Imperial Army troops and the loyalist Equestrians, although in the former case it was only a single "HUZZAH!", whereas the latter let out continuous whoops and cries of thanks. The whole ordeal had left Princess Luna dumbfounded and horrified, but also somewhat disappointed.

"Was that... it?" Silent Arrow asked what Luna herself had been thinking, they'd only been here a minute - she and her troops hadn't even gotten into the fighting. It seemed that all they had left to do was enter the city and clean up what remained of their foes.

"No, it was not." Dragoon grunted as he strode towards them. The batter splotches that had stained his armour when they'd left were no longer visible whatsoever. Instead his plate was caked in gore, blood dripped from him like rain, organs and baked flesh chunks stuck to him like confections on a cake and he smelled pungently of blood-metal. Arrow wretched at the sight and even the Princess felt sickened looking at him.

"Bio-scans of the city indicate that vast numbers of foes yet remain, trapped but very much alive." a beige coloured Earth pony relayed as he approached from his towering metal, gun carriage. These mighty rolling fortresses both fascinated and deeply scared Luna, the sheer amount of death that she'd seen them unleash was intoxicating to say the least. The one that spat flames like an Elder Dragon, on the other hoof, made her blood run cold - the ability to erase an entire army in one barrage, all packed up and neatly contained in an armour-plated box the size of a typical Ponyville house. It had already stopped dispensing its holy fury upon the battlefield and yet the great flames continued to spread and rage, consuming the great grassy plains that surrounded Manehatten.

"Thank you for the report, trooper. I assume you are the commanding officer of this force?" the Lunar Princess found herself dragged back from her thoughts by the deep resounding voice of the lead astartes, who was now addressing the beige pony. A quick inspection of the pony from the Equestrian stand point would have suggested that the super-stallion's assumption was incorrect, this pony was far too unadorned with medals and honours to be any form of officer. He wore the same matte-black, plastic-looking armour that all his fellows wore with no additional distinctions other than a gleaming cutlass sheathed at his left flank. So his response was quite surprising to the Equestrian soldiers when he gave it:

"Yes, sir. First Lieutenant Bailey Enart, Tenth Expeditionary Fleet, Second Army Group, First Battalion, Eighteenth Regiment, sir." Enart listed loudly and with a practised speed, punching a hoof to his breastplate as he did so. He was of average height and build for an Earth Pony stallion, simple brown eyes, a few small scares littered his muzzles and forelegs - but, overall, not unattractive by pony standards. "I was placed in command of the force when our dropship crashed and we have been unable to contact Captain Dedtaro since his craft went down inside the city."

"How many dropships made it to this point?" Dragoon asked, his helmeted head cocking to the side slightly.

"Only one, sir... Mine. As I said, the cap's went into the city and we lost one other to an ammo detonation. All the others had to turn away and set down further back, as you know."

"I see..." came the space marine's acknowledgement, turning away to gaze at the wall of flame and smoke that obscured the city from sight. He stared into the roaring brightness thoughtfully, ideas and plans mulling around within his cold fortress of a mind. "Have your troops re-man the trenches that haven't been consumed by the fire, we will use the cover we've been provided with to strategize our next move."

"Sir!" the lieutenant nodded, quickly speaking the same command into his vox link before turning back to face his superior before he spoke again.

"I also wish to meet these 'Loyalist Equestrians' that you spoke of over the vox prior to my force's arrival." the mighty warrior continued, turning back to face the trooper and the Princess. I'm sure Sister Commander Rodrias has already found her way to them and it would be prudent to insure she does nothing regrettable... "I believe the Princess would also like to see to her subjects?"

"I would." she replied curtly, only just hiding the relief she felt that some of Manehatten's citizens had remained loyal to the Crown. Although she knew that they were only a tiny fraction of the mega-city's total population and that caused her to wonder what kind of enemy could cause such a near total uprising against the nation's royalty. Whatever it was clearly demanded fanaticism, considering what little of the battle she'd seen.

"Very well, sir. I was expecting you'd say that." Enart said as he set off, heading further into the Imperial camp, towards the area where screams still resounded with vigour. "They're congregated near the medic camp, those who aren't being seen to are helping the wounded... in one way or another."





It didn't take the group of five astartes, four Imperial Army troopers and eight Equestrians long to reach the makeshift field hospital, but it definitely took them some time to travel through it. It was like a maze, a great puzzle of tents, gazebos, tables and stretchers through which they had to weave and wander. Luna's guards-ponies couldn't help but stare as they passed screaming Imperials with all manner of injuries - some missing legs and wings, others bandaged from head to tail to protect full burns from infection, while others still lay with wounds open to the world desperately being operated on by medics and field chirugeons, chests split open so the healers could access their shredded organs. Then there were the still ones, ponies laying flat and motionless, eyes staring emptily into the far distance.

"Sweet Celestia... this is... this is a massacre..." Silent Arrow whispered as she passed by a corpse that had been cleaved clean in half, entrails laid bare as a chirugeon extracted its healthy organs, for use in transplants - one soldier's loss could be another's salvation after all.

"No." Enart said sombrely from the front of the convoy, eyes fixed dead ahead and jaw set. "This is acceptable."

"How can you say that?! You a freaking robot or something?!" the guards-mare yelled back, taking off and quickly landing in front of the group. She stared the lieutenant straight in the face and snarled. "In what world is hundreds of dead ponies 'acceptable'?!"

"Ours'" the commanding trooper replied flatly, dropping the statement on the mare like a sack of bricks. She visibly flinched at the simpleness of his reply, taking a step back from him. He stepped forward and around her, continuing on his way as if she'd never stopped him. "And hundreds is better than millions." came his ghostly whisper as he passed her by, the astartes and other troopers following behind him with the same assured logic driving their strides.

Luna led the rest of her guards forward and placed a comforting wing on the mare's back.

"You needn't go on if this is too much." she told the whole squad as much as the one batpony. Arrow just stared ahead for a few seconds, stunned and wide eyed, her mind trying to wrap itself around the stallion's statement. He'd given her a horrifying glimpse of his life with nothing but a word and the tone with which he'd said it, for him a hundred soldier's lives was nothing - one hundred ponies who'd never live to see home again and he was fine with that. She'd never lost one of her subordinates in all one hundred and twenty six patrol runs she'd lead into the Everfree Forest and this pony had lost more ponies than she'd ever lead, all in under an hour.

"Silent?" Luna's voice echoed through her ears and mind, bringing her back to the here and now.

"I-... I'm o-okay, Princess... I can go on." she had to, if this foe was gonna take hundreds of ponies to defeat then she'd be damned before she admitted she didn't have the grit to be one of those ponies.

"Are you certain?" a nod from all the Lunar Guards was the answer she received, shaky ones - but nods none the less. "Alright then, let us go and meet our survivors." with that they set off again, quickly falling in behind Enart again as he lead the way through the bloody mess of healing and death.

"Who are these ponies, Princess Luna?" Arrow whispered (far more quietly this time) to her leader as they began to move out of the most densely packed area of the field hospital and towards a selection of four Equestrian carriages near the edges of the Imperial camp. "They treat war like it's just another part of their day. That stallion claimed that his losses were 'acceptable' in the same way I tell my son that dragons aren't birds."

"I know very little about our new... guests, Commander Arrow." Luna replied grimly, her gaze fixed firmly ahead of her, trying not to take in the pain of the wounded around her and the column of thick, black smoke off to their far right. "But one thing I can say for certain is; that they aren't ponies."





Nine minutes had passed since Sergeant Franklin had ordered his few remaining troops to scatter throughout the floor of this office tower which they occupied, in search of anything that could help them in this dire situation. In that time he'd received no reports across the vox regarding a good find and had also failed to locate anything himself, even his own box of prize cigars remained missing. He groaned as he let yet another stall wall drop back to the position he'd picked it up from, having found nothing of particular interest - excepting a few blood spatters and strewn paperwork.

So with only a minute left before they were due to rendezvous at the Baneblade, the veteran sergeant was just about to turn and make his way back to the large clear space where half of their transport had set down, when his attentive equine ears picked up a sound:

A faint, almost completely silent sob. It wasn't much, most would've failed to pick up the sound entirely, but Franklin's half a century of stalking around hollowed out and devastated hab-blocks as a sniper had honed his senses to the finest form an unaugmented could achieve - thus, with a sharp turn to his left, he began to swiftly stride to the approximate location where the sound had originated.

At first glance, the location was completely unremarkable, just another pile of rubble - created by a collapsed structural pillar with an office stall wall leaning against it. However, first glances were often unreliable and a closer inspection revealed a thick pooling of blood, seeping out from beneath the prefabricated panel. With a start he raced forwards, reached under the panel and threw it aside. His efforts were met with a sharp object being thrust directly towards his face, granting him only seconds to throw up his left foreleg and deflect the blow off the arm-guard of his flak-armour. The sharpened wooden stick snapped upon impact, the pointed tip tumbling away as the weapons wielder only watched on in horror as their only defence was broken.

Franklin lowered his hoof again and glared down at his would-be attacker, only to have his glower falter when he saw exactly who had attacked him.

It was a child. A young Earth pony colt, with a deep green coat, a short, flat, dark azure mane and bright teal eyes. He was sitting stunned and rooted between the sergeant and two others - Another youngster, an all pink unicorn filly with shocking scarlet irises and an adult, Earth pony mare, light pink in coat colour accompanied by mane and eye colours matching the colt's. The blood was the mare's, leaking out from beneath the rubble that pinned her to the ground and from a wound in her back from which a large chunk of shattered wood protruded - her hind legs were likely crushed completely by the concrete support as well. The trio stared up at him, faces petrified with fear, unsure of what to do or of his motives. He had many options here, plenty of a less than compassionate nature - but he was better than many of his cold and/or perverted peers.

"Can you hear the voices too?" he asked quietly, following the civilian interaction protocol taught to them at the start of this horrible campaign. They could all hear them, excepting the nulls of the Sisters of Silence, no one on this Purge Crusade was deaf to the temptations of Chaos - but they were all aware of their dark intentions and thus determined to overcome them. As soon as the words registered in the mare's mind she burst into tears, half sobbing, half laughing hollowly as she gazed into the veteran's eyes. The two children turned to her and muttered hushed whimpers of; "Mama?" fixing her with worried looks.

"I-...I..." she began, chocking on her own convulsions, her emotions warring with each other to be the most prevalent in her voice and her expressions. She was dying, that much was clear to the old soldier - of blood loss and massive internal damage most likely. Her breathing was very rapid but heavily laboured, her tongue and lips were very dark red and she was clearly struggling to remain conscious. "T-t-they... won't-t-t... s-shut up." was all she could stutter out before her neck went limp and her head began to drop.

"Mama!" her children screamed and the colt went to catch her, but found himself beaten to it by Franklin.

"Don't worry, their promises and threats are empty." the old soldier said softly, sliding his backpack gently beneath the dying pony's chin and slowly lowered her onto it - sitting himself down on his haunches as he did so. She looked up at him as best she could and offered a grateful smile, a gesture he returned with a nod. It was at that moment that his vox link beeped and Carnalt's voice came in from the other end:

"Sarge? We've all met up at the tank. Maintrom and the Tech Priest have got the thing ready and rearing to go. Just waiting on you. You on your way, sir?" the trooper had removed his helmet, so the speaker had just projected his subordinate's words to the trio of Equestrians as well as him. The youngsters stared at Franklin's head gear as if it had just spawned a fluffy mammal, while the mare only briefly looked to it before training her gaze back to the stallion.

"There are more of you?" she croaked, her voice little more than a gravely whisper now - so quiet it could be drowned out by even the slightest breeze blowing past.

"Yes. The others are gathered at a tan-... at our escape route and just waiting for me." the mare's eyes lit up when he mentioned an escape route, her head rising shakily from her makeshift pillow. She gazed straight into Franklin with those wide, faded teal orbs.

"Then, please... please, take my foals with you." she desperately pleaded, boring into his empty soul with her words and her deep goner's stare. She pushed her protesting progeny towards the sergeant with her waning strength, never once breaking eye contact with him. "They aren't even meant to be here, they're supposed to be with their deadbeat father at his place!" her pleas were becoming increasingly frantic, as she took his silence for a need to be convinced. "PLEASE, I'll give you everything I have, just please take them away from here!"

Franklin watched on impassively as the mother pleaded with him and her children fought against her attempts to push them towards him. Their cries faded into the background as the gears of his mind turned, mulling over everything with a calm mind that only a true veteran of war could muster under such conditions. He smoothly reached over and scooped up his helmet from where he'd set it down, and placed it back on his head. Carnalt had been practically yelling into the vox link since his first transmission had gone unanswered:

"Sergeant Franklin?! Come in! ANSWER ME YA OLD-"

"I hear you corporal, loud and clear." the grizzled soldier replied coolly, the wailing of the family before him also making their way into his response. "I've just got a bit of a situation at the moment is all."

"So those cries... are you?"

"Near me, yeah. If medic Kadnikov isn't too busy, could you send her my way? Approach calmly, the situation is... delicate."

"A-aye aye, sir."

With that the link shut off, and Franklin looked back to the trio. The foals were still kicking and screaming, but the mare had stopped and was simply staring weakly at him again. These children would be orphans soon, or at least one parent down, he could see it. He recognised it. The look of someone who was standing on the brink, on the verge of crossing over into whatever lay beyond. Imperials liked to think it was a cycle of reincarnation, their souls cycled through the Warp and back into the materium to take on a new form. Followers of the Lectitio Divinitatus believed that death lead to a place at the Emperor's immortal side, a heaven of sorts. Franklin couldn't help but wonder what beliefs ponies had about life after death, if any.

He could hear hoof-steps approaching, likely Carnalt and Kadnikov on their way over from the Baneblade. He rose to his hooves and fixed the mare with a blank look. She stared straight back, her eyes still pleading but now remarkably heavy - she had mere moments left.

The two Imperial ponies then rounded a corner of rubble and were staggered by what they saw, a family of ponies in tears and their leader standing stoically over them. Many possible scenarios flashed in their minds' eyes, very few of which placed the veteran in a very good position - but neither of them were able to act on their assumptions. For as soon as they arrived, Franklin scooped up the colt with one leg and practically threw him, kicking and protesting in the most vulgar of ways his young mind knew, to the corporal. Next he pointed to the small unicorn filly and ordered;

"Take the girl and take them to the transport, carry them with your wings if you must." after only a second's hesitation the venerable sniper nodded, tucked the young Earth pony under his left wing and began to advance towards the sister. But she cowered away from him, desperately trying to bury herself into her mother's side.

"NO! NO, NO, NO!" she bawled, staining her mother's coat with her tears and phlegm as she sobbed. "I don't w-w-wanna l-leave you, M-M-Mommy!"

"Ohhhh, my dear Rosy Pearl... it's okay." the mare cooed, using her last dregs of energy she had to nuzzle her daughter lovingly. "Shhhhh, now. It's okay, you're going to be very safe with these ponies. They're going to take care of you and Sapphire Stone, while Mommy rests and goes to visit Granny for a bit..."

"B-b-but Granny's-" the filly began, but was hushed once again by her mother planting a light kiss on the end of her little horn. The mare pulled away and looked in the filly's eyes, smiling her best mother's smile and sounding as calm and loving as she could. It marvelled the Imperials, the strength of a mother - it was a truly great power to have.

"I love you both, with all my heart." she croaked out just loud enough for both siblings to hear over their own blubbering, turning to also give her son one last loving look. "Be good... Now... Go." and with that her eyes closed, head dropped and breathing faded away.

She was gone.

Franklin acted on the filly's shock and disbelief, darting forward and scooping her up. He then passed her on into the waiting wing of Carnalt and bade him and Kadnikov off with a nod. The two adults and two foals quickly left, the colt still protesting furiously while his sister was still caught in a stupor.

Now the sergeant was left alone with the dead mare. He was considering taking his pack back, having remembered that that was where he'd stored his cigars prior to leaving the Excalibur. But in the end he decided against it, turning away and following his subordinates back to the Dragon's Teeth. In time he would come to understand that he had left his pack behind out a profound act of kindness for a person whom he'd only know for five minutes, but for the time being he rationalised his actions as 'an attempt to kick a bad habit'.