We listened to Lemon Hearts rambling about “Twilight Sparkle” for 10 minutes. Honestly, high or not, it wouldn't have been any easier to believe a word of what she was saying. Still, the "Princess of Friendships" had to be our best, last hope to get back to humanity. Twilight and her group were… definitely something. They sounded like barnyard Power Rangers with how she talked them up. They were used to handling situations like ours… we’d just told her we were really, really lost, without any of the advanced details. Still, even if they couldn't help, it wouldn’t hurt to know a literal Princess. After I explained it to the other two, Sarge made it clear that our new objective was to meet up with our new very important pony. We mounted back up in the same spots, stuck Hearts in the back, and sped down the road.
She didn't have much else to say on the ride—but that wasn’t much of an issue. We were too busy thinking about what would be next. I mean, it seemed simple; all we were doing was looking for a purple pony to her ask a favor... before anyone of them realized that we trashed the Fortress of Solitude in Ponyville.
We ran into one problem at first; we underestimated the size of the castle. After making a last turn around the mountain, all of Canterlot came into view—something closer to the size of a city. And just as tall.
“Christ—these guys built up on a mountain and they still go higher? This is some High Elves shit!” Sweets said, gawking up in the turret.
“Ugh—God, how do you bitch ‘bout everything, Sweets?” Hags pestered him while leaning out of his hatch. “This place looks friggin’ sick!”
“What? When was making an observation considered ‘bitching’? I think Sarge’s stoic attitude is rubbing off on you…”
“You two really gonna start shit now?” Sarge spoke up.
While ignoring them, I got my look at the place out of a hatch big enough to get Hearts a view through too while holding her back to make sure she couldn’t stumble out. We looked up at the cloud-white spires and swirling rooftops floating off the mountainside. The whole scene looked like a St. Peter’s on steroids balancing off a cliff. That being said, the gate into the place looked as inviting as ever—and it was open... but our awe for the place was cut short by Hearts.
“Wooh… Ah! We're HERE! YEAH—HA Ha!” she cried, pounding her hooves on the side of the car. “I’m—pumped for this! You'res all gonna see, like, everypony hear! Oh, and ya gotta here that Singy-Birdies' galls' stuff! She’s here too! How cooool is tha–”
“–Marlow?” Sarge cut in, “Tell Lemon Drops or whatever to kindly can it. Can’t even understand that thing and it’s gettin’ on my nerves like a hot–”
“–Wait… whoa, whoa WHOA!Shit, Sarge! Stop the van!” Sweets yelled as he pointed to something in the sky. His tone was troubling enough for Sarge to listen, and we skid to a stop about a mile from the gate.
“The Hell is it?” Sarge asked more pissed than worried.
“Look! Smoke plumes—far left, in the sky! It’s… it’s like a giant ash cloud.” His call-out pointed us to a dirty looking chunk of fluff rising up to the clouds around the mountain.
"Uh… is it that one lookin’ like someone rollin' coal in a truck?" Hags asked.
"Yeah, that one! That looks... no, it must be a smokescreen!” he chirped, “It's wafting out from the front, see?”
“Huh... shit, you're right," Sarge decided after getting a look through binos. “That definitely ain't rain—but what’s it comin’ from?”
“How am I supposed to know? Probably, uhh... whoa-oh holy fuck!” Sweets sunk back into the turret, pulling the gun to aim at a giant black blimp springing out from the cloud.
“Ok, uh—I think it's landin’ now,” Hags called out as he passed his spotting scope to me. All of us were out in front of the van now, watching the scene play out in front of us. Hearts was watching too; awkwardly piggybacking on Hags' shoulders to get a view.
And just as Hags called it, the front of the flying ship, hanging under what looked like a heavily armored balloon, smashed into a few towers while it landed next to the castle.
“Well… there goes his job…” he added.
“I—I don’t think… anycreature in that thingy had a job to do here…” Hearts quivered after talking, with those pupils of hers the size of pins now. She honestly looked really funny just sitting there on Hags like that—but the look of sheer terror on her oversized face overpowered that funny feeling.
“Uh... say what again?” Hags asked.
“Whatever they are, they’re not here with an invitation!” she yelped in a scared, yet surprisingly sober tone.
"Are you saying they're hostile?" I asked.
"Wait, hostile?" Sweets butted in, "Whu—correct me if I'm mistaken—but if she's saying whatever is in that’s hostile… and they just landed in the place, then... shit, are we watching an invasion here?"
“Whaaat? Now just wait a sec," Hags butted back in, "Don't y'all think ya might be jumpin' the gun a bit? Like, for starters, why would you need an invitation for a ‘Friendship Festival’ anyway? Wouldn’t that beat the point of it?”
“Haggard, look at that fuckin' thing and tell me that shit looks friendly," Sarge asked. “God almighty, if these are hostiles, then they’re here blast the shit outta these horses here during their party—shit’s like the oldest trick in the playbook. Why else would something like that sneak up and land there?”
We started to nervously look around at anything but what was going to be our next conflict in front of us.
“Sarge? Did—we really just find ourselves in another war?” Sweets broke the silence.
“Sure looks like it…”
“God... It sucks to be right,” he exhaled.
“Hey, look on the bright side,” Hags nudged him, “Ain’t like we gotta… fight for this whole place now.”
"Uh—you better be BUCKING fighting for it!" Hearts shouted as she bopped Hag's head with a hoof.
“Ow! Chill! I mean—we just gotta save that Princess for our stuff, right?”
“Dude, they’re our best bet to get home, and their party's about to hit the fan… Please, tell me you see the advantage of, as much as I hate to say it, helping out as much as we can in this situation?” Sweets clarified.
“Yeah, yeah, I see your point. Hey, if we do it, we’ll get that sweet ‘clout’ to work with.”
We all looked back to Canterlot, waiting for Sarge to give us an order.
“Gahh—Damnit!” He swatted his cap to the ground as he groaned, “Just when I had my fuckin' retirement in front of me, we're stuck still doin’ this shit!”
“Hey, cheer up, geezer. This whole place is turnin’ out to be a lot more interestin’— Hell, maybe even fun!” Hags hyped up, shouldering his shotgun and cocking the bolt—only to fumble around on the ground to pick-up the shell he ejected.
“Haggard?” Sweets asked, "On the list of things you'd find fun, would you rate ‘fighting an army of potentially magic monsters that we don’t know about’ higher or lower than our usual activities?”
He put a few seconds of thought behind his answer. "Well... that ‘Special Activities’ stuff we were in was pretty tame. So… I'd at least rank that lower.”
“Tame? Christ—You’re a real… fucking gesamtkunstwerk, you know that?"
“A wha?”
“Simmer down, ladies," Sarge spoke up, "Marlow, ask her if she knows anything about what the Hell we're about to run into.”
After I asked her, Hearts dove into extreme panic.
“I… I… Oh, I don’t know what’s going wrong!” she cried as her eyes soaked. “Why we—we haven't done anything to other-creatures! WhaAAaah!Noohoho! Why? We’re… we're too nice to have enemies! Ooh, Whhhyy—this is, this... this... isa—oooh–” suddenly, her head started to sway down as her eyes drooped shut. "Ughhh, oh… nooo... find- fihd... Twiligh–" She blacked out with a quick sigh and slumped over onto Hags' head.
"Ah, shucks—Mare’s down!" he stated. Hags carefully slung her off his shoulders by the legs and set her on the ground. "She ain’t hit?"
"Hey, Lemon? Hearts! Can you hear me? Stay with me!" I called out, snapping a few times in her ear too. Sweets pushed me aside to check for a pulse.
He came to a quick conclusion: "Well, she's… stable, so that's good. Uh, I think that juice might have just worn off on her. Nothing bad—but wow, that's a Hell of a metabolism–"
"–Reckon we can't give her anymore?" Hags guessed.
"Oh, wow! Very good, Haggard! You're learning now! Isn't that exciting?"
"God, I hope you find my foot up your ass exciti-"
"God—double dammit!" Sarge shouted over Hags, "We just lost our guide for whatever shitstorm we're about to jump into." He turned to face the castle again, obscured by the black ship now, before making the next call, "Hags... put her upfront—the rest of you get ready to roll into town. We’re bringin’ a whole other party to ‘em…"
"What? We're still going in?" Sweets croaked, "I mean, I want to get home too—but could we pick another strategy at least?"
"Bah, can that noise," Sarge uttered, "We wait around now, there ain’t gonna be a queen or whatever to help us get back. And Hell, if we’re goin’ up against sticks and stones, maybe we’ll even save the damn day here."
"Oh yeah.” Hags snapped. “Like I said, it sure don't take a genius to figure out what that kinda ‘hero clout’ is gonna do with our reputation,"
"Ok, first of all; quit using that word. And second; it’s not going to work if we don’t survive!” Sweets argued. “Just… Look, we haven't even met the ‘other’ side yet. What if they're more capable of helping us than the horses? Or, maybe all this fighting is some kind of pony-on-pony putsch against that 'monarchist oligarchy' she was talking about?"
"Come on, man. You can't be serious about... wh—ah shit!" Sarge pointed us towards a pair of smaller black ship-blimps rising up from the mountainside behind us. "Well, Sweetwater, if you wanna test that theory of yours, now's your chance. Now, look alive! And get that thang into cover!"
After Hags tossed Hearts in the front seat, the two of us hunkered down by the back of the van, while Sweets got into the turret. Sarge opened the driver's door for cover as he kept an eye on the ships. We stood still as they both passed over us, hearing creaking wood and puttering engines inside.
"Shit… Uh... Ok. Did they see us?" Sweets whispered. A muffled roar within one ship seemed to answer his question, as did the sight of masked figures staring us down from the decks. "Well, guess that’s rhetorical—ready to fire!"
"Hold it!” Sarge hollered, "On my signal; let's see what we’re goin’ up against first..."
The battle balloons, with their SS neon-blue lightning emblems on them, stopped about 40 yards to our front, grinding to a halt after tossing out anchors. They dropped off a group of these giant, armored, spear-carrying, white gorilla things—six in total. They walked with a weighty stagger forward from the sheer size of their arms, clashing their gear together as they formed up to take us on.
"The fuck?" Sweets barked, "Brutes! Or, trolls? What are these?"
“Those… are missing links!" Hags claimed while grabbing a .50 cal AMR from the back of the van, "And there’s gonna be a whole lot missin’ from ‘em once we're done!"
As the last one landed, they began advancing in a row, pointing their spears forward and screaming guttural roars behind their masks. It was close enough of a look at them for Sarge once they passed 30 yards.
"OK! Light those mothas' up, boys!" he rang out.
Sweets was almost instant on the trigger to spray out some 12.7mm rounds. Two of the things were just… gone after his first burst, giving the other four a pink coat.
"Ho- OH! Wasted 'em!" he bragged.
"Waste 'em more!" Hags nagged him on—but the other hunks were quick to raise their shields, and though some un-miracle, they worked. Sweets bullets were plinking off them, with anything passing by only dealing scrapes to the giant bastards. They started trudging at us in a sprint, still roaring like methed-up lions.
“Ah, shit!” Sweets yelled between his bursts from the HMG, “No effect on that! Really?”
“Haggard!" Sarge called urgently.
"Yeah, I know!" He dropped the rifle for an RPG, snapped a rocket in, checked his back, and fired.
thFWOooosH-... voompBOOom-
One took the direct hit, the other three were thrown on their backs or what was left of them. Yet, we still saw movement from them after the dust settled- limping towards us.
"GOD, still kickin’ after THAT?" Hags gasped while loading up another.
"Think they'd get the message now?" Sweets stood up to get a better look. "Ech—that one's missing a whole arm!"
"Well, let's make sure it ain't gonna look for it, clean 'em out!" Sarge waved to us while shouldering his own rifle. We were done in a blink.
"Aww, now that was messy!" Hags cried. He then remembered our passenger. "Ooh, is that gal up there alright after all that?"
I walked up to open the passenger door and found her still sprawled out on the seat "Huh... yeah?"
"Still snoozing?" Sweets doubted. "Wow… she actually sleeps heavier than you, Pres! How much louder do you think we need to be to-?"
"Hold that lip!" Sarge ordered as he pointed us back to the airboats. "God, those ships are movin', people!"
The two of them started turning, showing off a side of old cannons now poking out of their portholes.
"Ah fuck! A broadside!?" Sweets sputtered.
"As if; Too slow, fucko!" Hags yelled as he fired off another rocket.
thFWOooosH... voompBO- KRA-POOOW
The rocket must have hit a powder dump on the left ship, blowing up both of the ships in a green-tinted blast. danger close with a JDAM… maybe two.
“AWW YEEHAAAW! WOOHOO! NOW that’s what I’m here for!” he hollered, taking off his beanie and swinging it around.
"Fuckin' great! Now we’re back in business!" Sarge grinned as he patted Hags on the back. "Ok, let's get rollin' again!"
“Ack—Jesus!” Sweets cried as pulled himself back up in the turret. "The fuck are they storing on those dinghy's, nitro?”
“Naw, Sweets—just take a whiff of that air,” he said, sucking one in quick. “Ahhhh. black powder.”
“Then why was it green?”
“Do I look like a scientist to you?”
“Hah, we’ll, you’d be hard-pressed to be an ‘Igor’ with that m–”
"–Christ, she’s gone full Sleepin' Beauty on us," Sarge said checking on Hearts. "Ain't even moved..."
“Doesn’t surprise me," Sweets added, "That last blast almost knocked me out! I just hope that’s all of them coming from this angle…" He took a quick look behind us to see his wish ignored, "OH, fuck this—we got five more, coming fast and low!"
"Well, let’s give 'em a few party favors on our way—we're Oscar Mike!" Sarge yelled, gunning it as soon as we were all in.
It was about two minutes of loud and un-tactical road rage to reach Canterlot’s gates. The two of us kept shredding whatever wasn’t grounded behind us while Sarge drifted around anything Sweets shot up in front of us. Airships bit the dirt, craters littered the road, and dozens of white pelts became red. We were honestly starting to have fun as “Barbara Ann” started to play—then we had the drawbridge close on us.
"WHOAH—hard brake—hard brake—HARD BRAKE!" Sweets screamed to Sarge. He managed to drift to a stop only feet away from a dip in the moat.
"Fuck, man!" Sarge yelled back, "You don’t have to be givin' me drivin' tips!”
"Heya, Sarge? If you need any lesson, it's to get that brick outta your boot for sure," Hags spoke up.
“Gah, shut it!" Sarge stifled him. He took a look at the gate before getting back on track. "We gotta cross over before more of those things fly-up on us... Sweets?”
"Yeah?"
Sarge paused for a moment, waiting to hear something. "You… got an idea now, or what?
“Huh? No... unless you wanna blow a hole through a wall and try jumping this thing like the General Lee.”
“Out of all the times you ain't somethin’ to say...”
“Oh Hey!" Hags snapped, "Couldn’t we just—you know: honk?”
"Are… are you serious?" Sweets asked him.
"Well, somethin’s gotta be movin' the gate, genius.”
Sarge found that as much of a reason as ever and honked in a few bursts.
And we heard a voice behind the gate before we saw it—a bitter, loud, rough one. Kinda a bit butch sounding if we’re being descriptive.
“Hey! Why don’t you creeps just fly on in with your other fuzzy bud–”
She froze as she flew up to see us. It was a winged pony with goggles, orange-fire hair, and a blue bodysuit. She hovered just above the ramparts with a dropped jaw before coming to her senses.
"What... in the sweet, sunny sight of Celestia ARE you!?" she shouted.
“Well, pleased to meet ya too, jaggof!” Hags answered back with the sharp charm of a club, leaning out of a porthole.
"Holy shit, a Pegasus…" Sweets muttered to himself.
“You really wanna start off on that hoof, pal?” she barked back to Hags.
“Preferably not—but closin’ the door on some help ain’t too flatterin’ either!”
“Help?” she sputtered, “Help!? The only thing I see you helping yourselves to is some raiding!And what even are you things!”
“Then why are you botherin’ with closin’ a gate when those furballs have been flyin’ over it?” Hags pointed out.
“Ohhh, you are not in a position to be correcting me, bare-hide!”
“Well… why don’t you get down from there so I can correct that attitude!” he mocked back.
She took him up on the offer and dove down from the wall before swooping up to land over the van. “Have anything else you want to say?” she questioned a mere foot away from Hag’s face.
He was startled for a second, “I, uh… well… ah—I ain’t gonna lie, I’d figure you’d just… lower the gate and come down. But hey, that flyin’ stuff was pretty cool…”
“Enough with the chit-chat, I know you’re with those Storm freaks, and you’re not getting in under my wings!” She poked at Hags’s chest while shouting from point-blank.
“Woah, hold on, Nelly? Storm freaks?” He pushed her hoof away. “You talkin’ ‘bout them blimp people?”
“Don’t play dumb with me, cud brains! Why else would you want to get in!?”
After realizing that Hags could screw us over if he spoke another word, I stuck myself out of another hatch to introduce myself. “Uh, hey—sorry for him. Preston, nice to meet you,” I gave a little wave to her. “And about us being the bag guys, um…” I pointed to all the carnage in the road behind us. “Do you see all those fires behind us?”
“What are you–” she froze again, looking at the green smoke with a surprised smile starting to form on her. “Are—are those–”
“–Airships from bad guys—all that we could see on our way here.”
“Didn’t even break a sweat knockin’ ‘em down,” Hags bragged.
“But… how did you–”
“–Shock and awe, lil’ pony. Shock and awe…”
“Oh, Lord Luna… I—ok, I’m listening now,” she told us with a bit of excitement in her tone. “What are you doing here?”
“Uh, Pres?” Sweets interrupted, “What the Hell’s going on with Rapidash there?”
“We’re getting in for free,” I told him. I pulled myself closer to the pegasus to explain; “We we’re told to find a Princess Twilight here to—help us with… something.”
“Oh, I’m sure she’ll be fine with helping you—but now she’s in big trouble!” she blurted. “All those Storm-things are in the Canterlot looking for her now! You’ve gotta help her get out of here if you want that chance!”
“Ok, any idea where she is?” Hags asked.
“No, not a clue! Oh, Sun and Moon—they’ve already got three of them!” she started to flip out.
“Hey, calm it—I think we’ve got this,” I told her. “Sarge, Sweets—that Princess of ours is on the run from those big guys, and she needs a way out.”
“Oh damn… I see—we’re doing a snatch and grab before those mini-Kongs take off with her?” Sarge reasoned.
“Exactly.”
“Well… let’s do it!” he ordered, “Can’t be worse than that dictator’s extraction…”
“Hell, sounds good to me!” Sweets agreed. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled for… uh, what color is she again?”
I turned back to her. “Well, that’s that; If you can get us in, then we’ll get her out.”
“Really? Haha! Buckin’ great!” she cheered with a quick spin in the air. “Oh—wow! This is it! Ha! Ok, I’ll get the gate—but… you got room for one more in that thing?”
“…So, because she tripped, only you two can hear me?” the pegasus asked us while flying above the van.
“At least understand ya, yeah,” Hags answered.
We were moving in Canterlot now—but nowhere close to the castle. We kept driving through a bunch of winding streets and rows of stubby townhouses as the pegasus gave us directions. The city looked like a high-end shopping district rather than the dark-age mess that the other town was. But at least the streets weren’t dirt…
“Who switches from brick to cobblestone in their streets?” Sweets nagged.
“Ah, that ain’t enough of an excuse for your aim now," Hags dismissed, "Anythin' else you see up there?”
“None of those 'missing links' if that’s what you’re asking—but the street edges here are superb! Like, you can actually walk on the streets here without feeling like some vagabond…”
“So, you can’t hear Sweets?” I asked her as sweets kept on about pedestrian streets.
“Uh… Yeah, I have no idea what four-eyes is saying.”
“Heh, might be for the better,” Hags snickered.
“Ok… well, is that mare alright?” she demanded, “Is there a crack in the horn, is her cutie mark there, did her hair fall out—what’s happened?”
“Uh… Is—being really tired from that normal?” I answered.
“That’s it? Oh, thank Celly,” she sighed. “That’s good… she’s in the front of this, right?”
At that moment, Sarge knocked against the van’s roof and called through coms. “Hey, left or right?” he asked at an intersection.
“Hey,” Hags caught her attention, “The man needs directions again, uh… what’s your name?”
“Again? Ugh… Well, I’m Spitfire—Wonderbolts Captain!” she gleamed. “Now, let me talk to this ‘Sarge’ friend…”
“Pardon?”
Before Hags could do anything, Spitfire flapped over to the front of the van and started to shout slowly at Sarge through the windshield. “Hey, turnip-head! I—told you—to take—the next—two—rights!” She pointed her hoof out for him.
“He can’t understand ya, hot-head!” Hags tried to talk her down.
“What the—the Hell is this thing tryna tell me? Right?” Sarge asked us.
“Yeah,” I answered.
“Can he see where I’m pointing?” she asked, irked.
“Yes—look, is there a better way to do this?”
“God, just stick her up front with me,” Sarge concluded. “I just need the thang to point me somewhere, not play charades!”
“Could you just sit by him and point the way there?” I asked her.
“Ugh—fine, alright!” Spitfire gave in and fluttered over to the passenger’s side. “And just how am I supposed to open this?” she yelled upon seeing the door handle.
Sarge leaned over to open the door, pulling Spitfire in by the hoof. We started to hear muffled arguing between both of them, still failing to understand a word of each other. But we somehow started moving again. It was smooth driving for a minute, until the noise around us really started to pick up.
“God… this is freaky...” Hags said. “All this fightin’ sounds like it’s a damn war—but without guns ‘n’ stuff.”
“I guess we're here to change that,” Sarge broke in on coms before stopping “Hmm… ok, I’ma need you and Pres to dismount and sweep ahead," he ordered, "I don’t like the look of these streets…”
“Neighborhoods to fancy, Sarge?” Hags spoke up, “I feel ya—never liked how all these new fancy-nancy places just slap glass everywhere. Makes everything look like a strip mall-”
“I’m talking about all these alleyways, dumbass,” he cut him off. “There’s too many ambush points to cover from here. You two grab what you need, hop out, and keep a 30-foot pace in front of us. Sweets will cover y’all.”
“On it,” I answered and nudged to Hags to get something heavy. I grabbed a few extra magazines from a box (and the grenades still in it) while Hags dropped his launcher for the 50. cal rifle again, loaded with AP rounds this time. As we walked forward, Spitfire started to tap on the window at us.
“Hey, where are you going?” she asked us as we opened the door.
“We’re gonna make sure the road ahead’s clear,” Hags stopped to tell her. “You just sit tight and tell him where to go—got it, Spits?”
“Yeah, understood… and never call me that again.”
And so, we started off towards the castle, walking down the streets with enough firepower to match whatever the new circus in town could throw at us. We still didn’t have much of an idea on where this Princess was, or if it wasn’t already too late, but it was our only lead on her.