//------------------------------// // Derailed // Story: Strange Bedfellows // by BRBrony9 //------------------------------// The shell from the field gun, fired at almost point blank range, tore through the frontal armour of the locomotive, exploding beneath. The boiler housed within was punctured by shrapnel, and a huge, roiling cloud of steam erupted from it, billowing up like a volcanic eruption, shrouding the entire engine and the first two cars in a hot white mist. Half a dozen of the enemy on the rocks beside the tracks were caught in the cloud, scalded to death without a chance to react. The crew in the locomotive cab were protected by the armoured walls and thick glass, which cracked in several places as bits of the shattered boiler smashed into it. The sudden release of pressure had flashed all of the water inside the boiler to steam, ripping the casing, and much of the front end of the locomotive, apart, like peeling back a banana skin. The brakes screeched as the driver had applied them to try and stop the train, but they had built up enough speed that they could not come to a halt before striking the field gun that sat in the middle of the track. The gun was swept up the slope formed by the cow catcher plough and tossed aside. The impact was not enough to derail the train by itself, but the force of the steam explosion had damaged several of the leading wheels, bending them and forcing them off of the rail they were supposed to be gripping. It was not a catastrophic derailment like it might have been had they struck something more substantial, but it was enough to throw the engine off kilter, no longer following the track as it should. The front end of the locomotive scraped across the bare rock for a hundred feet or so before the train's momentum was spent and it finally came to a shuddering halt. Peace Pipe picked himself up from the floor of the cab and looked about. It was like standing in a thick coastal fog, or inside a cloud high atop some mountain. Steam hung in the air all around, blanketing the train, even making its way inside the cab. Mercifully, it cooled relatively quickly once out in the atmosphere, at least to a level where its temperature was no longer hazardous to the crew. The train was out of action; they would most certainly not be going anywhere any time soon, and the train itself would likely never move again. Certainly the locomotive would not be salvageable. Its front end could not be seen through the smoke, but it was a safe bet that it had torn itself apart as the great pressure contained within the boiler had been vented through the hole caused by the shell. The Captain gripped his revolver tightly in his hoof. The enemy, most likely, would not settle for derailing the train. They would want to make sure it was destroyed once and for all, and that went for its crew as well. They would no doubt be moving in already, using the steam cloud for cover as they closed on the Timberwolf. 'Arm yourselves!' he ordered the driver and firepony. 'They could be on us at any second.' Six rounds in the cylinder, plus his magic. Bring it on. The steam began to steadily dissipate as it cooled, a vast cloud that swirled with the gentle breeze that flowed across the desert plains, slowly opening up and revealing the landscape around the train once again. The locomotive cab was not the best place to be; it was isolated from the rest of the train by the coal and water tenders, and Peace Pipe led the way back, scrambling over the top and down the ladder onto the first anti-air flatbed. Some two dozen ponies were there, the gun crews and the infantry who were manning the sandbags, their rifles scanning the steam cloud cautiously. At a signal from the Captain, the gun crews remained at their posts, ready to engage whatever targets might present themselves. If any Pegasi attempted to attack from above, having the 40mm guns ready to go would be a life saver. Gunfire crackled from farther back down the train, beyond the shroud of steam. The rear cars were under attack, no doubt, and within moments, so were those at the front. A shout from the left side brought Peace Pipe's attention to half a dozen of the rebels, advancing through the swirling steam cloud. A volley of rifle fire brought most of them down, but where there had been six, suddenly there were a dozen. Another shout from the other side of the wagon meant there were enemies there, too. Surrounded again. That was not something of particular concern to the mares and stallions of the Timberwolf's crew. Though they did operate frequently with the airships and Assault Infantry of the Air Corps, it was just as common for one of the armoured trains to find themselves carrying out missions alone, far from any support or help, as was the case here. It all depended on local conditions and what, exactly, needed doing. Often the train operated by itself when the target was close to a rail line, when the airships assigned to each sector were busy with other tasks, or when a particular brand of area denial tactics were needed. The airships needed to return to base and refuel frequently, but the train could be fitted with extra coal and water tenders or the more efficient diesel locomotives for when long-term operations were required. To further save on fuel, the train could be pulled for moderate periods by mere pony power, thanks to a combination of earth pony muscle and unicorn lightness magic. Such methods had been pioneered on the long distance main line services between Las Pegasus and Canterlot, and quickly spread to other long journeys to save fuel and wear on the engines. Shots came through the steam at the crew on the flatbed and locomotive, puffs of dust rising from the sandbags that shielded them. Return fire was swift and brutal, and screams carried on the wind as more of the traitors died. A petrol bomb came arcing from the shadow of the cloud, bursting upon the sandbagged side of the wagon and catching one of the infantry, igniting his fur. He immediately dove to the floor and rolled to put out the flames, aided by two of his fellows who beat at the incipient blaze with their hooves and successfully extinguished it. Turret B let off a shell with a sudden roar that startled Peace Pipe, and three of the rebels went down, tumbling across the stone. The Timberwolf may have been wounded, but she was far from dead. The steam cloud cleared enough to see both sides of the cutting that the train now sat within. There were still enemies up on the rocks, now visible to defensive fire from the infantry on the flatbeds and in the passenger cars. They were firing down upon the train's crew from the rocky sides of the cutting. There were enemies up ahead, and, judging by the gunfire, there were enemies to the rear as well. What was more, there were enemies overhead. The hostile Pegasi who had been sneaking their way toward the train had now arrived above it, but with the Timberwolf derailed, a new thought had entered their minds. No longer did they want to destroy it; that was already done. The engine was a shattered mess and the train was not going anywhere. Instead, they now wanted to board the train, to clear it, to capture it, despite their earlier indications of simply wishing its destruction. Whether they wanted to merely massacre the crew, salvage equipment, or take the train cars for their own nefarious purposes, first they would have to get on board and stay there. But there was no way in hell the crew of the Timberwolf were going to allow that. The enemy began to charge from both sides, met by rifle fire, but protected by a few unicorn shields here and there. More grenades were thrown, or dropped by the Pegasi above, who were immediately countered by a devastating volley from the anti-air guns. A dozen unfortunate ponies tumbled from the sky, their wings simply torn apart by the explosive power of the shells that detonated in their midst. A blast of magic struck the sandbags and tossed many of them aside, like a foal kicking down a tower of wooden blocks it had made. Several of the infantry stumbled and fell, struck by the bags, while others took their place, engaging the enemy with rapid fire. The rebels were trying hard to get to the train, from both sides and above, Pegasi swooping down, unicorns shielding the earth ponies who were rushing forward. B Turret fired again, a shrapnel round, cutting down half a dozen of the enemy with metal splinters that ripped mercilessly through their frail bodies. But the turret could only face one direction at once, and while it was engaging enemies to the left of the train, the rebels on the right could advance. They pushed forward under cover of a rain of grenades from up on the plateau, with their rifles flashing. Return fire cut down several of them, but there were more unicorns among them, putting up shields for cover from the hail of bullets coming from the train's defenders. The heavy cannons of the rear fortress wagon's twin turrets could be heard booming, along with the crackle of rifle fire, as the train was under attack at both ends, as well as from both sides. They were most decidedly surrounded now, with contacts on all sides and no way of moving the train with the locomotive in ruins. They would have to fight, and that was no problem as far as the crew were concerned. That was what they trained for, what they lived for. The rebels now pressing home the attack had the advantage in terms of numbers and elevation, but the train and its crew had the advantage of firepower and defence. The enemy were advancing across mostly flat, open ground and rocky outcroppings with little concealment and less cover, save for that provided by a scant handful of protruding rocks and the shields of the unicorns among their number. Other unicorns farther back were hurling magic bolts and blasts to try and dislodge the defenders, but it was the Pegasi that would prove the most immediate problem. There were at least a hundred of them in the sky, and with the train disabled they swooped down to take advantage, trying to get in beneath the umbrella of fire provided by the anti-air guns which were still blazing away, killing some, but there were too many to bring down all of them, and they were too spread out. To add to the problem, only the infantry on the flatbed cars could engage them; those inside the passenger cars could not direct their shots at a high enough angle, and the armoured topside of the cars lacked skylights, as a design decision so that Pegasi or other enemies in just such a position above could not simply hurl grenades down and into the cars. The infantry on the flatbed had other things to concentrate on, namely the advancing enemy beside the tracks, meaning that only the anti-air guns were actively trying to thwart the efforts of the Pegasi, but that needed to change. At Peace Pipe's command, the infantry around him switched targets, ducking down from the sandbagged bulwarks they were manning and aiming upward instead. As the Pegasi reached a position to throw down their grenade or satchel charge, rifle fire found them and knocked them out of the sky, trailing blood. Several explosives that were already primed detonated in among the rocks with thunderous reports. They kept on coming, not deterred by the heavy gunfire that met them, nor by the anti-air weapons, nor by the main turreted guns of the train that continued to bark in defiance. Soon they were swarming the air around the train, taking half-aimed shots at the defenders on board or attempting to throw petrol bombs onto the flatbeds in an effort to knock out the 40mm guns that were wreaking considerable havoc among their brethren of the skies. Flames licked across the sandbags where near misses had grazed the flatbed's defences, while a satchel charge tossed onto the roof of one of the passenger cars went off with a thump, denting the heavy armour but not penetrating it. Enemy infantry were still closing in across the cutting, glowing magic shields protecting those of their number who could fall into cover behind them. Others were not so lucky, and were mercilessly gunned down by the infantry on board the Timberwolf. A counter-blast from one of the unicorn defenders shattered one of the shields, sending the unicorn casting it sprawling and exposing those behind to a volley from the ponies in the lead passenger car. Four of them went down, and the two survivors scrambled for cover, though there was none to be found. They both died under continued gunfire, as did the unicorn, killed before he could resurrect his shield, squirming around in agony before a final bullet smashed through his brain and ended his suffering. The Pegasi high above were still threatening the train with their bombs. They were the priority target, since there were no more field guns to be seen. The only items which could actually destroy the train's armoured cars were the satchel charges that the Pegasi carried, seeking the perfect opportunity to drop them down in the hope of the blast being able to punch through the armoured rooves of the fortress cars and passenger carriages. The anti-air guns were doing a grand job of keeping them at a distance, but eventually they would run out of ammunition, or their gunners would be killed, or some lucky Pegasus would get a good throw in, and everything might be for naught. Another unicorn's shield suddenly disappeared, along with the pony himself, and the four others crowding behind him. A moment later they reappeared, and now, they were on board the train. The crack of displaced air that signaled a teleportation spell made Peace Pipe turn as the rebels appeared on the flatbed. They opened fire immediately, and two of the defenders went down before anypony could react to the incursion. Peace Pipe ducked for cover behind an ammunition crate and quickly brought up his revolver, squeezing off two shots before throwing up a shield with his horn as two of the enemy tried their best to kill him. Other ponies leaped into the fray, and one of the enemies found herself gutted by a bayonet as a quick-thinking pony stabbed it deeply into her. The enemy unicorn tried a bit of trickery, and two ponies threatening him found their rifles suddenly turned into broomsticks, utterly useless for what they were trying to do. The rebels, evidently, did not stick to the book when it came to combat tactics and spells. The enemy unicorn took a few steps back. He was dark blue, with a clean, white mane and tail, and sharp eyes of emerald green. Around his neck he wore a Sheriff's star, clearly stolen from some town he and his gang of traitors had looted. Unlike the other rebels, he had no weapons save for his horn, though he wore an empty holster, presumably for effect, or to make some grand philosophical point to his underlings. 'Death to the princess!' he shouted, just about the most shocking thing that could be heard coming from the mouth of anypony. 'Death to her followers, who are too blind to see the truth!' The infantry were not deterred, charging into close combat to protect the gun crews. Peace Pipe leveled his revolver at the unicorn, but his shot was deflected by the sudden reappearance of the traitor's shield. The unicorn turned and used his horn to fire a blast of magic that smashed the door to the fortress car. He sprang forward through it. 'Son of a bitch...!' Peace Pipe grunted, leaping to his feet and following him through the melee. The few enemies that had boarded were being overwhelmed by the defenders on board the flatbed, although their distraction from their firing positions was helping other foes get closer. Peace Pipe scurried through the clash of bodies and into the fortress car, in hot pursuit of the unicorn who sought either to kill the gun crews or to detonate the magazine. Inside, the gun wagon was something of a charnel house, with the bodies of those ponies killed by the field gun's shell lying sprawled in unnatural positions, two of them badly burned and charred by the fire that had torn through the compartment. Another pony lay dead with most of his face missing, gently steaming, a victim of the enemy unicorn. Peace Pipe hurried through the tight, narrow spaces, ducking under metal beams and supports, inhaling the smell of burning flesh and spent munitions. Turret B had been in action continuously since they had made contact with the enemy, despite the damage suffered by the other end of the wagon, and he had to watch his step to avoid spent shell casings that littered the floor of the compartment. Peace Pipe ducked under the main central structural spar that separated the two turrets, coming to the bulkhead door that divided them and served to help confine any explosion that might occur to one of the two compartments, hopefully stopping the blast from ripping through the entire wagon. The door, usually kept closed in combat except when messengers were passing through, stood wide open. He moved through, his revolver raised and ready. The unicorn was not in sight, but he had left a trail of death in his wake. B Turret's gunner sat slumped dead in his seat, while the loader and gun captain were sprawled on the floor, all the victims of unicorn magic which had burned holes into their bodies. As Peace Pipe moved on, he found another body, this one the B Turret messenger. Ahead lay a slight turn in the passageway that led to the door to the front passenger car. Peace Pipe galloped to the doorway, but as he rounded the corner, he was very nearly decapitated by a sudden blast of magic, just barely managing to duck. The unicorn was standing by the door to the next carriage, either having trouble opening it or deliberately delaying his exit. Perhaps he was waiting for the opportune moment to strike, or perhaps he knew he was being followed. Either way, he was ready to fight. Peace Pipe raised his revolver and fired, the round deflected by the unicorn's shield, the sound of the weapon's discharge deafening in the confined space of the narrow corridor with no ear protection. A bright lance of magic tried to cut him down, but Peace Pipe was able to jerk his body to the side, before his own horn flashed in response, a concussive push that shoved the blue unicorn against the metal wall behind him. He grunted as the wind was knocked out of him, but Peace Pipe's follow up attack slammed into his shield and was harmlessly absorbed. He tried again, but again the unicorn's shield stopped him. His mouth was contorted in a snarl of anger, anger at the establishment, at the military, at the princess and those who wore her uniform. Evidently something had happened to make him disillusioned with life in Equestria, and his words and actions suggested whatever it was had happened long before the human invasion had begun. Peace Pipe put up a shield of his own in response to the unicorn's horn glowing, and a bolt of magic struck it, being absorbed. Such a tight space was not the ideal setting for a magic duel. There was little room for retreat, though Peace Pipe could at least move back around the corner if he had to. The two unicorns were equally matched, but something had to give, and soon, it did. The rebel unicorn tried a sudden lunge forward, driving his shield toward Peace Pipe, with the intention of burning him with it; if it came into contact with him, it would at the very least scald him, and at worst, inflict fatal burns and destruction of tissue, in much the same way that a blast of offensive magic would. Peace Pipe, however, was able to rapidly counter with his own shield, raising it just in time. Both shield connected with each other, and with a violent bang, both shields tried to absorb each other, and in the process, they shorted each other out, hurling both ponies backward. Peace Pipe slammed into the wall behind him as the rebel unicorn did the same, both stallions falling to the floor and slowly picking themselves up. The rebel was quicker, but it didn't matter. A shot rang out and he stumbled, looking down in dismay, grasping at his chest before flopping back onto the floor, blood seeping out from a hole just below the plundered Sheriff's badge he wore. Peace Pipe rose to his hooves and moved to stand over the unicorn, wary of any tricks or attempts to use magic, and ready to counter with his own horn. He leveled the revolver and its single remaining bullet at the unicorn's head, receiving a laugh as a result. 'You fool. You're all fools!' the unicorn spat, though his spittle was flecked with blood, the bullet having evidently punctured a lung. Even when he was dying, he could not help but vent whatever poison had infected his mind. 'You think the princess loves you, you think she cares. You're wrong,' he wheezed. The pool of blood in which he was lying was growing rapidly, the heavy-caliber bullet having gone straight through him. 'The Princess is our sword and our protector,' Peace Pipe replied. 'She would have been yours as well, if you had let her.' 'Ha!' The unicorn coughed, blood flecking his blue coat. 'She did not protect us. The threats she should have dealt with once and for all, she did not. She did not act on her responsibility. The Changelings, Discord...she should have killed them when she had the chance, but she spared them...what kind of leader would spare creatures like that?' 'A leader who is just and true,' Peace Pipe replied. He may have been reading straight from the pages of the hymn books issued to every recruit, but he was most decidedly not preaching to the choir. 'True...true to what? Have you lived out here?' the unicorn hissed. 'Have you seen how ponies have been neglected? Left behind, abandoned by their so-called leader? No jobs, no investment, no protection from Changeling attack, no protection from bandits...so you might as well become one yourself...' 'No protection? What do you think this train is?' Peace Pipe growled. 'We are your protection. At least, we were, before you turned away from Celestia's light.' Deep down he knew he didn't have time for this philosophical nonsense with a traitor, but part of him said that he simply had to make the unicorn see the error of his ways, or at the very least, try his best to do so, as futile as it may prove to be. 'Celestia abandoned us long ago,' the unicorn replied, coughing up more blood. 'She cares only for blood and nobility. Would you forgive your own sister for such heinous acts as those which Luna committed? Would you accept her back to your own bosom so freely? Of course not. Would you spare a traitor?' The unicorn looked up at him with steadily fading eyes, just speaking having taken up most of his dwindling reserves of energy. 'No,' Peace Pipe replied simply, and pulled the trigger.