//------------------------------//
// Just Another Day 
// Story: Strange Bedfellows 
// by BRBrony9 
//------------------------------//

The morning came bright and clear over Canterlot. Hardly a cloud was in the sky, the murky stain that had been the fallout plume long since dispersed, carried away by the wind far to the northeast. The streets were still empty, coated with the hazardous ash and dust which had been deposited like a blanket across the city. There were no ponies about. No ponies, but there were humans.

The Imperial cleanup team, sent by the Lord-Admiral's personal command, was getting to work, as agreed with Princess Celestia. Each man and woman wore a protective suit, similar to those worn by the ponies running surface patrols, but considerably more advanced and offering a lot more protection from the hazards of radiation. They were equipped with bulk foam generator equipment, designed to coat a street, a wall, or any other surface, with the substance, which could later be washed off with water, the foam having 'captured' the radioactive particles within it, cleansing the streets far more effectively than merely brushing the fallout away or hosing it down with water. To clean the entire city in such a fashion would be an impossibly lengthy and manpower-intensive procedure that was not practical in the slightest, which was why the cleanup team had been assigned to the palace grounds only. They were to clean the exterior of the palace buildings, the gardens, and the pathways and pavement so that the complex could be reoccupied and the ponies could return to the surface from their subterranean exile.

Such was the hope. The chemicals would wash away the radiation, but not the fear and confusion felt by many of the civilians who now huddled together in the caverns. To all but the most scientifically minded of ponies, radiation was, if not a complete unknown, then certainly something of a mystery. None of them had ever had cause to encounter it in their daily lives before, at least not before the humans arrived. They were told that it was invisible, yet should be feared. The ash that coated the streets above them was not the radiation itself, but merely a carrier for it, a vector, like an insect that harboured a deadly disease. It was a fundamental force of nature, part of the very fabric of existence itself, like gravity, heat or magic. Yet unlike all of those, it could be deadly with even a small amount of exposure, which was why they were confined to their underground domain, temporarily, at least. Not long, they were told. Maybe two more days, perhaps less, depending on how fast the human cleanup team could work.    

Those ponies who had sought, and found, refuge in the mountain caves during the Chaos occupation of the city were used to living in similar conditions, for the catacombs were hewn from the same rocks as their former temporary domain. That was something, at least, around which they could unite, a shared experience from the very recent past that was still fresh and foremost in their minds. Conditions were far from ideal, but there was a comradeship forming among the citizens of Canterlot, between those who would not have even mingled in the same social circles before the war. The capital had been a hotbed of high society and the focus of much of Equestria's culture and upper class citizenry, but that did not mean it had been home only to the snobs and nobles. Many residents were from middle or lower class backgrounds, and whereas before they would have tended to stick to their own quarters of the city and to their own social groups, now they were all mingling together, sharing food and shelter with each other, talking and singing, even laughing.

The social cohesion and community spirit pleased Princess Celestia. What did not please her was the enforced delay in any further progress towards the final recapture of the rest of the planet. Baltimare had gone, Ponyville had gone. Manehattan and Canterlot had been retaken, while a large detachment of Pegasi had recaptured Cloudsdale as well, facing no resistance, finding the floating city to be completely empty and devoid of the enemy. But much remained to be done.

The grand cities of Fillydelphia, San Fransiscolt and Trottingham still lay in enemy hands, according to scouting reports. The Changelings were out there somewhere and still needed dealing with. The human enemy still held numerous smaller towns across the land, and there were reports of bandits, rebels and criminal gangs taking advantage of the disruption to prey on weak and innocent ponies for their own gains. Infrastructure needed to be rebuilt, contact made with lost settlements, the army built back up to fighting strength, captured enemy technology analysed for the purpose of possibly reverse engineering it for pony use. 

Trade with the Griffons had resumed a healthy pace, but trade across the sea to the Zebras had dropped off to zero. Conditions on the other continent were unknown, with no reports or messages being received from there. The humans had spared no ships to investigate the smaller continent and its dense jungles and steep mountains; their interests, naturally, lay where the largest population had been, and that was where their enemy had landed, meaning Equestria was still the focus of their attention. 

Celestia did not know whether or not the humans would honour their word and actually depart the planet for good once their battle was won, but if they did, a long, hard road lay ahead for everypony as they tried to rebuild their shattered nation. If they did not, then they would feel her wrath as a result. It was not an outcome any of them would relish. Celestia did not wish to cause the humans harm, especially after all of the help they had rendered to her and her subjects in fighting off the invasion by their mutual enemy. Even now, their men laboured topside to clean up the palace and make it fit for habitation once more. But she knew that, in diplomacy and warfare alike, things were rarely quite so simple. Time would tell exactly what would happen, but she knew one thing for certain. She, and the ponies under her command, would do whatever was necessary to protect Equestria.  




The heavy steam locomotive thundered across the desert, following the single track and kicking up a small cloud of dust from its passage. Its wheels clacked on the metal rails as the coupling rods span like mad things to drive them and the pistons worked furiously to keep up the flow of steam to the cylinders. This was not the quaint engine that worked the branch lines of the Equestrian rail network, or even the bulky freight hauling locomotives that plied their trade between Equestria's industrial cities. This was a  beast, a military monster, clad in armour plating, its twenty-four wheels pounding out the miles as steam belched from its smoke stack. At its front lay a metal plough, a 'cow catcher' in common parlance, designed for shoving obstacles aside before they could derail the engine. Behind it came a string of seven cars, but ordinary rolling stock, these were not. The lead and rear cars were flatbeds, loaded up with sandbags that encircled the wagons. Each of these carried two rapid-fire anti-air cannons, the same type of 40mm gun mounted on board Equestria's airships. The three cars in the middle of the train were more normal in design and purpose. Two were passenger cars with armoured shutters instead of windows, used for accommodation, while the other was outfit in three parts; an infirmary, a small kitchen, and a workshop. The second and fifth cars were not really cars at all, but mobile fortresses. Each was fitted with thick armour plating, and the castles were crowned with two turrets apiece. Each was fully armoured, could rotate three hundred and sixty degrees, and hurl a 75mm high explosive shell almost ten thousand yards. 

The armoured train was one of five which had been used to patrol the lines in the more remote areas of Equestria, where bandit raids and Changeling attacks were far more likely, and support less readily available, than in the more densely populated interior regions of the country. They roamed the rails, acting as a deterrent by their mere presence, similar to the airships, and responding to calls for assistance from remote towns or from other army and Guard units. 

This particular train, one of only two now known to still be in working order, was following the route between Las Pegasus and Vanhoover, part of a regular patrol duty set out by Western Command to keep the two cities linked and in close contact. Supplies were moved down the line twice a day, and the rest of the time, the armoured train, christened Timberwolf by its crew of some fifty ponies, accompanied on board by two platoons of infantry for defensive purposes. Rare was the foe who wanted to engage an armoured train in combat, and rarer still was one who had done so and survived.

The train's unicorn commander, the inappropriately named Captain Peace Pipe, stood in the workshop section of the central wagon. There were tools for repairs both of the train itself, and the gear and equipment of the crew and passengers. Three mechanics, as well as the locomotive's crew, were available for repairs to the wagons or engine itself, and Peace Pipe was speaking to one of the mechanics.

'We finished work on the mechanism of X Turret, sir,' Corporal Longstaff informed him. 'Just the ball bearings needed greasing up, that was all. It's back in full working order now.'

'Good work, Corporal,' Peace Pipe nodded. 'Any other mechanical issues to report?'

'No, sir. We repaired that shutter that was sticking, too. No problems,' Longstaff replied. 

'Alright. Better get that turret looked at anyway once we get to Vanhoover,' Peace Pipe ordered. 'We don't want to have to keep working on it all the time. See if the boys in the depot can get it working smoothly, maybe take it off the runners and give it a real once over.'

'Yes, sir.' Longstaff nodded. 'I bet they'll be happy to get their hooves on our gun truck.'

'They always are.' Peace Pipe chuckled, glancing round as he felt the train begin to slow down. A few moments later, one of the crewponies entered the workshop. 

'Sir! Something on the tracks ahead. Driver's slowing down.' Peace Pipe followed him out of the wagon, heading forward through the passenger car and the lead anti-air wagon. The train's water and coal tenders had a ladder system in place for crew to move between the locomotive and the rest of the train, and Peace Pipe made his way up and into the cab, where the driver and firepony stood, coated in sweat and soot from the heat of the firebox, as well as the desert air.

'Skipper,' the driver, Sunbeam, greeted him. 'Up ahead.' He gestured with a hoof, and Peace Pipe brought his binoculars up to his eyes, peering out ahead.

Some distance ahead, on the track, was an obstacle. The binoculars revealed it to be a cart, parked squarely across the track. It was, most decidedly, not a natural occurrence. The terrain, which had been sandy, was starting to turn to rock as they were heading north towards Vanhoover and the foothills of the Hyperborean Mountains.

'Full stop, driver,' Peace Pipe ordered. The brake was used to bring the train to a halt, with a great hiss of releasing steam. Peace Pipe sounded the alert signal with three blasts on the engine's whistle, and the train's crew jumped into action, manning the guns and turrets. The infantry formed up with their gear and weapons in the passenger cars, awaiting orders. The Captain observed the cart on the tracks. It had not been there the last time they passed through the area, and it most certainly did not appear of its own accord.

'Looks like somepony's been active out this way,' Peace Pipe muttered. 'What's the deal? They want to derail us? They'll need something more substantial than that.'

Peace Pipe's second in command, Lieutenant Warhawk, arrived in the cab, and the Captain passed over the binoculars to him. 'Cart on the track. What do you think?' Warhawk checked it out.

'Looks like they're trying to lure us in, or maybe keep us away. Hard to tell, skipper.'

The obstacle was well placed at a point where the sandy terrain turned to outcroppings of rock, which provided cover for potential hostiles. The badlands had long been home to outlaws evading justice and rebel groups seeking to overthrow the monarchy or the government. After the invasion, that had not changed. If anything, their numbers seemed to have been burgeoning and their ranks swelled by deserters, criminals and disillusioned ponies who had fled the towns and cities to escape and found welcoming hooves happy to take them in.

The cart could have been placed with the intention of having the train smash into it, possibly derailing the locomotive and one or more of the cars, thus immobilising the train. It could have been designed to make the train stop, as it had, to investigate, making it vulnerable to an ambush. Or it could have been loaded with explosives in the hope that the train crew would choose to simply smash straight through such a flimsy obstacle, setting off the makeshift bomb and destroying the engine. Fortunately, the Timberwolf had another option.

At Peace Pipe's order, the A Turret, at the front of the first fortress car, rotated with a metallic whir to face directly forward. A shrapnel shell was loaded, replacing the usual high explosive round so as to avoid causing damage to the track. A boom echoed across the desert as the shell raced from the barrel and detonated, shredding the wooden cart and spraying splinters across the rocks. Apart from the shell, nothing exploded; there was no bomb in the cart, but the single shot nevertheless triggered a sudden reaction.

Their plans thwarted, the train having stopped well short of the cart and the planned ambush, a hundred ponies suddenly sprung up from cover behind the rocks. They had to cat; if the train continued on past the point where the cart had been placed, it would have seen them anyway. At least this way, they retained a little bit of the element of surprise. Everypony held a rifle, which was of no use against the train itself, but a good angle would threaten any exposed crew. A volley of fire pinged off of the metal armour plating and blew holes in the sandbags of the lead car. 

'Damn it, they're ambushing us anyway!' Peace Pipe growled, ducking down as bullets struck around the cab, cracking its armoured glass in a couple of spots. 'Pass the word back! All guns open fire! Infantry to positions, move!' 

The turrets mounted on the two fortress-like cars began to swivel. The anti-air guns took aim as a large group of Pegasi suddenly rose from behind the rocks and into the sky. Unicorn magic began to strike the engine, denting and singing the armour. The infantry on board the train took up firing positions, opening the armoured slats to shoot out at the enemy. Several squads hurried out onto the flatbed wagons to man the sandbags and add their firepower to the battle.

The main cannons of the Timberwolf blazed into action, their deadly shrapnel and high explosive rounds tearing through those of the enemy who were foolish enough to expose themselves. They wore no uniform, no identifying marks or particular equipment, but from their numbers, they must have been one of the larger rebel factions who operated out in the desert, where Equestrian surveillance had traditionally been weak due to the distances and inhospitable conditions encountered. The treasonous groups knew that Equestria had come under attack and that it had come as close to falling as it ever had during its long history, and they were eager to help it tip over the edge. Any attack they could carry out would please them greatly, and what better target than one of the symbols of Equestrian might and, in their mind, oppression? 

The trains had roamed the land freely, often in conjunction with an airship or two, which would drive the rebel bands and outlaw gangs away, fleeing in fear from the mighty craft and straight into the guns of Timberwolf or one of her sisters. But with the lack of government or military intervention over the past weeks since the invasion, with forces in the western region confined to the cities of Las Pegasus and Vanhoover by standing order, the rebels had been having free reign to expand, form alliances, recruit new members and raid and plunder local towns for supplies and weapons.

That explained their numbers here in the desert. There were at least two hundred ponies, and they were willingly fighting against the government, against the Equestrian army, who in previous years many of them would have cheered through the streets after a victory in some border skirmish or other. Some of this could be explained by the sudden invasion, and either fear or a sense that the military had failed them. But much of it was deep-rooted distrust of the monarchy. There had always been dissidents within Equestria, and Celestia had successfully crushed many a half thought-out rebellion during her millennium in command. This recent nascent uprising was no different. Some ponies resented the length of her reign, others felt that ponies should have a democratic say in their governance beyond merely electing mayors and regional governors. All, it seemed, were willing to die for their beliefs.

The rebels were spreading out in an attempt to surround the train, which had been their original plan, but the Timberwolf had stopped short of their ambush site, forcing them to adapt their plans. The train was still surrounded by sand, not rock, meaning there was little cover, but some small and gentle dunes did offer some protection for the advancing ponies. The Pegasi among them were spreading out to avoid bunching up and making a tempting target for an accurate high-explosive shell from one of the main guns. The anti-air weapons were keen to engage, but the Pegasi tried to keep low, using the terrain for cover where possible while approaching. Some carried rifles, while others held improvised grenades, petrol bombs and satchel charges, the only weapons in their inventory that could harm the train.

Or so it seemed. As the main guns roared, something appeared upon one of the rocky outcrops that was not a pony. Rather, it was a field gun, no doubt 'liberated' from one of the smaller army outposts that had either been abandoned as a result of the recall order from command, or overrun by the rebel bands. The pony crew of three were trying their best to shift it over the upward slope, but in this aspect their ambush plan faltered slightly until two more ponies hurried to their aid, getting the gun up to the peak. They began to set it up rapidly.

'Field gun, two o'clock!' Peace Pipe shouted, observing the gun through his binoculars. 'Relay the word to the forward gun wagon!' 

The message flew back down the line to the front fortress car, and both turrets began rotating toward the enemy field gun. Magic smashed into its armour in an attempt to distract the turret gunners, but they were not deterred. The field gun crew managed to set up and let loose a shot, which narrowly missed the front passenger car, detonating in the sand alongside the track and throwing up a cloud of the substance, which drifted in through the firing slits, obscuring the vision of the infantry manning the defences. The gun crew worked feverishly to load another shell and correct their aim. They managed to fire again, this time striking the edge of the fortress car, dealing a glancing blow as the shell detonated, denting the plating but not stopping the B Turret from firing.

A shell arced out across the distance and exploded in close proximity to the field gun, showering it both with shell fragments and splinters of rock kicked up from the stoney plateau. Two of the ponies manning it were shredded into ruin by the deadly rain, limbs going tumbling away as their bodies fell limply, lifelessly, to the ground. The gunner gave a loud shriek of pain as something struck his hind legs, but he retained enough sense to try and finish the job of loading another round. The two survivors, the ponies who had gone to help move the gun up the hill, tried their best to help him, but they were not trained in the gun's use, and were more of a hindrance than an aid. Nevertheless, he managed to slam the round home and close the breech, taking a quick sighting and pulling the firing lanyard at the same moment that the A Turret roared into action.

The shells passed in mid-air, the high explosive round from the train shattering the field gun's carriage, twisting its metal shield and sending the two helper ponies sprawling. The gunner, what was left of him, dropped to the ground. But his round also struck true, just in front of the A Turret which had just killed him. This time the angle was different, enough to punch through the armour partially before detonating. Fire and blast ripped through the structure and into the crew compartment. Superheated gases roasted the lungs of two of the ponies inside, while the shockwave killed another. Mercifully, Turret A's gun had just been fired, meaning there was no round loaded which would have detonated and killed the rest of the crew. The well-designed wagon also had an extra layer of armour plating protecting the magazines which were located below the crew compartment, the shells being carried up by a hoist system. The internal armour held, and saved the front half of the train from likely destruction, but Turret A was out of action, most of its crew dead, the breech and barrel both bent and damaged.

'Son of a bitch!' Peace Pipe muttered, as shrapnel from the enemy shell whistled around the locomotive cab. He turned to double check that the field gun was gone; it was. But they were down one turret, and the enemy were closing from both sides, as well as above. The anti-air guns were working overtime, trying to cut down the airborne assault. Near misses were shredding the wings of the attackers, while a direct hit from the 40mm explosive round would reduce most of their body to a fine mist. But they were not attacking en masse, as the Changelings might. The enemy Pegasi were weaving and ducking and diving. It was like watching some kind of mass air display.

Peace Pipe removed his revolver from its holster, just in case. The Pegasi, if they got close enough, could drop down and land on board the train. If that was their objective. Judging by the grenades and bombs many of them carried, they might not wish to board or capture the train, merely to destroy it. Either way, they were in for a surprise if they thought the Timberwolf and her crew would simply lie down and take it.

'Driver, take us forward, full speed!' Peace Pipe ordered. Into the ambush zone, into the teeth of the enemy guns. That was rule number one for a solo force; to counter an ambush, go right into it. Don't retreat, don't merely stand your ground, initiate the counter-ambush drill and drive straight through the enemy. The Timberwolf was most decidedly a solo force, out in the desert wilderness, along, with any support dozens of miles away at best. The limited mobility inherent in a train confined to a track meant that techniques like using smoke for concealment would be of no use. No, the best things to do was to go forward, and that was what the Timberwolf did.

The wheels began to spin as the pistons started pumping, getting the heavy locomotive and its cargo moving. The surviving turrets continued to hurl shells at the enemy positions on the plateau, even as the train got closer to it. The enemy had launched their ambush despite losing the element of surprise. Clearly their plan had been to catch the train in the cutting between the rocky outcrops where they could immediately begin hurling grenades and petrol bombs onto it and engaging the exposed gunners and crew with rifle fire. Now that they had re positioned to attack the train where it had stopped, however, going through the cutting could well be the safest option.

The Timberwolf built up steam and speed, its guns flashing, rifles firing constantly from the sandbags and armoured windows. Enemies went down, and others scattered before it, not expecting such an action, a mark of poorly organised or poorly trained rabble. They were no professional force, despite their numbers and devotion to their cause, whatever misguided notion that may have driven them.

The train rumbled into the cutting, where ponies fired down on it from above. A few grenades were hurled, most bouncing harmlessly off of the sides of the wagons. A couple made it onto the roof of the central workshop wagon, detonating with no effect on the armour plate. The train carried on around a curve in the track, as the X and Y turrets in the rear car struck deadly blows against a group of ponies who attempted to follow the train into the cutting. A patrol bomb burst against the side of the locomotive, scorching the paint. The pony who had thrown it was immediately shot through the head for her troubles. The Timberwolf continued on around the bend. Peace Pipe peered out through the windscreen. There was something up ahead, something on the track. Another cart? No.

'Driver, stop!' he shouted. 'B Turret, target at 12 o'clock! Pass the word! Pass the...'

On the tracks ahead, the second field gun that the rebels had been able to loot from a small, abandoned army post sat positioned right in their path. The crew hardly needed to aim. They fired their single shot, then hurled themselves clear. The shell smashed straight into the front of the engine, and suddenly, the Timberwolf was in trouble.