The feeling of oneness spread as the gestalt took hold. It was like being a foal again, tucked in against the warm belly of his dam and shielded against anything the world could throw. Thoughts invaded his mind, as familiar as his own internal voice, along with a multiplicity of shadowed viewpoints and a rapidly fading sensation of having too many legs.
Everything is ready, they thought.
The component that was still Trailblazer felt their acceptance of his acknowledgement through the sharing, then caught sight of Chirr a few paces back. A wave of pity flashed through the gestalt; he was a fine pony, and it was a shame that he could not be included. They flicked their ears in waggle code, then focused back on the door.
A breath later the charges blew. The explosive, the normal high brisance blend of tetranitrotetrahedrane diluted with nanoscale particles of tungsten, shattered the steel and smashed the heavy door inwards. Inside, the half dozen or so gryphons who had been moving through the wide corridor were thrown backwards by the blast, which also smashed the windows along each side.
They leaped forwards, on hoof and wing, their exoweapons moving from marker to marker in little dashes, turning and flexing to face wherever they were looking. The guns in their flat bodies coughed, spitting out shockers at each of the gryphons. Each struck with the force of a hearty kick, then latched on with barbed legs and applied radio-frequency voltage. In some cases they hit clothing or armour then, like the spiders they resembled, they would scramble until they could find fur or feathers before plunging in their fangs.
The central corridor was cleared in the first breath, then they split up, fanning out into the rooms on either side. The exoweapons followed and more gryphons hit the floor, jerking and twitching, folding up around barbed metallic spiders. Their flying part shot through a shattered window, flicking out a hoof to meet the head of a gryphon who'd jumped out of hiding to intercept it, then the creature, lumpy with muscles in strange places, was struck by three spiders at once and fell spasming to the deck.
There had been explosions and the flash of lightning from behind them; the chiropt was clearing the rooms they had bypassed so they signalled to him. Fatigue was creeping through a part of them, an insidious ache that was driving a wedge between the fragments, and they knew that this time of closeness and warmth was nearly over. No matter; the task they had set themselves was nearly complete. There were other doors, leading deeper into the facility, and another one of the large, armoured ones that must connect to the actual cell blocks.
The chiropt was heading for one of the interior doors, a smaller one than the main exits, but just as heavily built. There are supplies in there. The smell was obvious; more gryphons and the scent of butchered meat. They felt a trace of revulsion, a desire to move away, but it was faint and easily controlled. To the other side there was the sound of movement, and the smell of still more gryphons. Muzzles wrinkled, sampling the air and filtering out the odour of explosives and voided bowels. There was something else; a trace of pony that didn't belong to either them or the chiropt, but like nopony they had ever smelt before. Their magic swept the surroundings, examining and mapping the layout of the rooms, immediately making a decision.
They pulled out several of the universal keys, attaching the spellcraft devices to the metal doors in three separate locations. Magic flared, and the stored power in the little cubes spread over each frame, welding them to the doors like the whole thing had been cast as a single piece.
Chirr had looked through his door briefly, then slammed it and carried out the same operation, but slow, so very slow. They moved to assist, taking care of the final exits. The only opening left was the one to the cell block, so they moved to surround it, exoweapons scuttling along the floor, walls and ceiling to take up station. The sense of fatigue was getting stronger, so they reached a decision--
===
The FOALs leaped through the door a bare half second after the explosion opened it. Chirr followed them through, eyes sweeping both flanks of the prison's vestibule. The air was filled with the quiet coughing of the exoweapons in low velocity mode, almost completely overwhelmed by screeches and sticky squeals from electrocuted gryphons. Perhaps half the guards were armed, all with the same style of shoulder-mounted, short-barrelled automatic weapons, but the combination of blast from the 'door opener' and the sudden rush of ponies meant that none managed to get their guns ready, let alone actually get off a shot.
What had looked like a dance earlier was now closer to a ballet. Night and Blevie swept through the central corridor at a full gallop, with Trailblazer flying overhead. Their exoweapons kept pace, the skittering of their limbs turning into great ferret-like bounds, guns firing each time they touched down. The five gryphons, all who had been in various stages of walking across the corridor, were down, twitching and writhing. The FOALs had already reached the end and fanned out, moving back through the rooms on either side.
The corridor was lined with glass-fronted rooms, all completely open now the blast had either shattered the windows or blown the tough panels out of their frames. Within these spaces more gryphons moved, recoiling in shock from the concussion, claws and wings coming up to cover their heads, or fumbling for weapons. One, perhaps closer to the door and shielded from the blast, was faster than the others.
The creature eschewed its weapon, leaping straight at Chirr. He had a seeming infinity of time to watch the gryphon fly, but there was no time to actually do anything about it. Chirr started to turn, ducking one shoulder and twisting his neck, wings half protruding from their carapace panels, eyes locking onto the feathered chest of the guard. His exoweapons were already on target, and it took only a twitch of his lips to tell them to fire.
A pair of shockers slammed into the guard's chest, making his body go rigid, but doing nothing to stop his forward movement. Claws still out-stretched, he fell onto Chirr, bowling the chiropt over. Staggering sideways, Chirr kicked his legs out, bouncing away from the half-tonne of comatose gryphon and rolling upright, then continued the motion and jumped into the room on the opposite side.
This area was once an equipment store, filled with gryphon-sized harnesses, weapons and all the other paraphernalia of an institution designed to hold aggressive and independent carnivores against their will. Now it was chaos, with ammunition spilling from open crates across tangle of prisoner restraints, all mesh panels and long straps of tough yellow polymer. Wings fully out, Chirr skipped over the debris, coming down squarely on the back of another guard, cowering behind an instrument panel.
The gryphon collapsed, breath woofing out of her body, and Chirr had the briefest of moments to stare into her frightened eyes, before one of his exoweapons shot her in the back of the head. For a moment, Chirr shared her fear -- the kinetic impact part of the weapon's 'shock-and-awe' function was quite capable of smashing her skull at this range -- but the gun was smarter than he was; the recoil was completely unfelt and the nasty little machine struck the gryphon no faster than if he'd been throwing a ball to a foal. He jumped away, wings thrusting down to reduce the chance of breaking too many of her ribs as he took off, then switched to flash-bang and fired a couple of grenades into the next room along.
They detonated simultaneously, keeping the pair of gryphons stunned and staggering, then Chirr was upon them. The furthest was struck by a shocker and dropped like a felled tree; the second was struck by one of the chiropt's hind legs, lashing out in a forward, sweeping motion, right where neck and shoulder met. Chirr landed, his port side exoweapon perched high on his withers and laying bright, eager targeting graphics over his left eye. He prevented it from firing, instead triggering the arcane shocker in his helmet.
Lightning forked out, bringing with it a wave of thaumically induced voltages that left his muzzle tingling, despite his armour's shielding. The electricity stroked the gryphon's wing and flank, making fur and feathers explode and burn. The sickening scent of cooked meat competed with the throat-catching stench of hair, and his target fell like it had been stabbed through the heart.
Chirr froze. Too much! Smoke spiralled up from little burned patches, and he quickly lent forwards, relaxing when he saw the rapid flutter of the gryphon's throat. This is the reason we have the exos, you foal.
Trailblazer was coming the other way, through the line of rooms on this side of the corridor, and twitched an ear at him as he passed. 'Door, forward,' came the fleeting message, then he was gone before Chirr could do so much as nod. Wings moving with short, choppy strokes, he leaped and flew in the indicated direction, coming up against the far wall. To his right was the big door, the one they assumed lead down into the cell blocks, to his left a short corridor ending in a double set of metal doors.
They had a sturdy look, presumably designed to hold off any prisoners, should there ever be a break-out that reached this far, and were held open on automatic grippers. On the other side there were what had to be the first of several rows of padded sleeping nests, little concavities in the ground, surrounding an open space. The smells of meat came from within; there were another dozen or so gryphons, all in various states of surprise and shock, and apparently halfway through a meal.
The scraps had been flung about, bloody, unrecognisable things that made Chirr's heart freeze; some still had coatings of hide attached. The diners had all scrambled to their paws and were starting to come forward, so the chiropt fired another flash-bang into the room, then kicked the doors out of their grippers, slamming them shut. It's just cow, it's just cow, he thought, desperately trying to erase the images that were bubbling up into his imagination. Almost no ponies have that skewbald colouration; not even this insanity will have caused them to sink so low. For a brief moment he almost gave into the horror, considering switching his exoweapons to fletchette and opening the doors again to fill the room with blood, screams and high-velocity needles.
Instead, he leaned against the closed door, reaching around to pluck a master key from one pannier, just as the whole thing thumped against his flank. Hoarse gryphon cries came faintly through the thick door, then he pushed the spellcraft device against the joint, bit the activator and took a hasty step back. Arcane light spidered over the doors and frame as the device mapped its surroundings, then it flashed red, making the metal flow and merge. You're going to need cutting gear to get out of that. Chirr turned his back on the door, trotting to the main exit.
The FOALs were already there, then the ballet just stopped, each pony taking a few staggering steps. Nightstorm looked especially shaken; her head hung low and her sides moved in great, gasping heaves.
Blevie, though... The earth pony mare seemed as spritely as always, and took a few steps towards him, head bobbing like she was making exaggerated sniffing motions. "So the rumours are true... but they never said you liked your chicken fried!"
===
Waits flinched when his 'missile launch' warning sounded again, only this time from the forward quarter. The flight's own missiles were just approaching the targets; in response, the Equestrian fighters seemed to have multiplied in his thermal view, spawning dozens of spurious signals. They put us up in boost suits against the best the pony air force can muster; if we even get one hit I'll be shocked, he thought, twisting his wings and body in a violent change of direction.
A tap of a talon triggered the chaff and flare dispensers on either hip and, for a few seconds, the air was filled with burning magnesium and clouds of fluttering foil as the whole flight followed suit. The ground came rushing up and Waits thought he was going to make it into cover, when the world exploded.
Something slammed into the side of his flight helmet, hard enough to make his vision blur and fire jagged bolts of pain down neck and back. It was followed immediately by another strike between his shoulder blades, the impact making his wings go numb. Warning tones screamed in his ears and bright icons flared down both sides of his visor, but there was no time to do anything about them. Waits tumbled, instincts still fighting for aerodynamic control, when the scrubby trees that coated this area of the rocky terrain reached up and plucked him from the sky.
Chaos, all branches and spiky leaves, filled his world for a moment, then everything became still. Frozen and on his back, legs splayed like he was a kit begging for a belly rub, Waits stared up into the rain and fast-moving clouds, confused by the clouds of glitter that drifted around brilliant pinpoints of painfully bright light. The patterns and glows were mesmerising, multiplied tenfold and given strange trajectories by cracks and discontinuities across the sky. None of my pilots are airborne. The thought came slowly, then realisation hit. How many made it to the ground?
Legs and wings thrashing, Waits got himself upright, gasping at the pain running down his back and feeling like he'd strained every muscle at once. Ripping off his helmet he flung it aside, head whipping left and right, desperately searching for any sign of life. Overhead there was a sudden rush of air as a dark and gull-winged shape flashed by, seeming close enough to touch, then it was gone, descending down into the valley. He stared out after it; right at the edge of vision, just before it became invisible, something fell from its belly. Waits held his breath, but there was no explosion. Dropping something off -- or somepony? There's nothing down there but the prison.
Shaking his head, then hissing at the pain and moving more carefully, Waits fished his helmet out of the bush he'd thrown it into, running a talon over the scarred surface. A deep groove ran from ear to eye, glinting with specks of metal where the tough ceramic composite had abraded the projectile. "A direct hit would have gone right through," he murmured, suddenly feeling shaky, "at least that explains the light show." The visor was intact but badly damaged along one side, and so heavily cracked that it would be like being blind. He put the helmet on anyway, fumbling for the connector that hooked the HUD up to the flight systems in the rest of the boost suit.
The instant he plugged it in, the helmet's speaker filled with the jumbled noise of panic and pain. Voices, barely recognisable as gryphon, let alone as pilots he'd trained with, called out for help, or just plain called out, hoarse screams that set his beak on edge. The horrible sound only lasted for a moment, then the audio cut out, and wouldn't come back, no matter what Waits did. The left side HUD still functioned -- the right only produced kaleidoscopic patterns of red and green when he prodded it into action -- and, working from memory, Waits brought up the search-and-rescue transponder, turning in a steady circle. "Control, Flight Leader Waits Until Sunrise reporting in," he croaked, then cleared his throat and repeated the call.
There was nothing, only an error message from the software controlled radio. The actual hardware was in the equipment bulge that sat high on his shoulders, just above the wingroots; there was obviously something wrong with the receivers, but only the long range transmitter was actually giving an error, even if it was incomprehensible to anyone but a tech.
Lights flickered over the HUD for a moment, marking the closest downed pilots. He searched the tiny codes over each light, hunting for ones he recognised, then the display went dead. "Dammit, Dusty. Where are you?" He trotted in the last indicated direction, flexing his still-numb wings in an effort to get them working again. Freeing the underslung cannon barrel from yet another gnarled branch, Waits contemplated pulling the eject switch and dumping the bulky suit, then he forced his way onwards. Got to have something more than claws and beak if those ponies come back. His mind turned to that what-ever-it-was he'd seen falling from the belly of the Equestrian fighter.
They want something, that much is obvious. Can't call it in... and what will happen if I go back to report in person? Waits hissed a quiet, bitter laugh as he pushed past another one of the annoyingly spindly trees. "Courts-martial for failure and just shot out of paw. Bastard Red Talons." There was a groove in the vegetation, a line of bare rock where the bushes had been ripped from their shallow root systems. At one end, no more than a dozen paces away, were the hindquarters of a gryphon. Waits jumped forwards, panic rising. I'd know that arse anywhere. He reached out to pull the pilot out of the underbrush, then hesitated.
There was blood matting the tawny fur, trailing down from a wound high up on one hip. There was no sign of current bleeding, just the blood in the fur, and Waits swallowed. "Ah, Tartarus, Dusty." He pulled apart the bushes, reaching under his wingmate's belly for the boost suit's eject control. A twist and a tug, and the rigid torso frame separated at shoulder and flank, coming away in panels. Gently lifting off the back plate with its compact turbine, Waits felt for the pulse point under the shoulder.
He slumped, sitting back on his haunches, then reached out to smooth the feathers of Dusty's wing. "I'm sorry, old friend." Waits clenched his talons tight, then turned to look in the direction of a distant explosion. Damn ponies; why did you have to come here? He pulled off his helmet and stared up into the clouds, letting the cold rain run down his beak and soak the feathers underneath his boost suit. "There's nothing I can do for you, Dusty, but perhaps I can do something to screw up their plans..."
He jammed his helmet back on then opened his wings and jumped into the air, skimming over the rocks. Within moments the ground dropped away, and Waits dropped into the valley, diving towards the prison.
===
Strange false memories crowded Trailblazer's mind, like the echoes of dreams, rapidly fading before the onslaught of the rising sun. He blinked, pushing away the odd sense of duplication, then focused his gaze on Nightstorm. Luna, she does look rough... "Night--"
"Fine, Captain. Give me thirty seconds."
Her voice was firm, at odds with her slumped shoulders, and Trailblazer sighed quietly. Right. "Cellblock next. There will be more guards, but this must be the bulk of them. Watch out for any loose prisoners." His exoweapons returned, dipping their abdomens into his panniers and drinking up his stores of ammunition. He caught sight of Chirr staring at Blevie, while one of her exos performed the same procedure, the other scampering off to dash around the devastated administration section. There was an expression of disgust in the way the chiropt held his whole body, from his folded ears, the cant of his head and the bunched look of his hindquarters.
Trailblazer suppressed a smile, imagining what Chirr thought it looked like. Giant bugs, probing the earth pony's body with ovipositors that pulsated as they delivered eggs into her helpless body. That was where the illusion broke down; the eggs were being removed, not injected. They are creepy, I'll give you that. Just be glad you can't see what the other exos are doing right now. A small part of his awareness followed Night and Blevie's robotic weapons as they ran from gryphon to gryphon, following the electronic ping of activated shockers, administering a sedative, skin penetrating gel to the stricken guards. They couldn't look more like parasitic wasps if they'd been designed to. "Okay, everypony, get ready."
Narrowed eyes and a flick of his lips marked out a line over the heavy metal door leading to the cell block. One of his exoweapons followed the line, laying a series of charges as it went. Laying. Now Chirr's got me thinking like they are insects. He pulled a master key out from his pack, setting the field to 'disruption' and reducing the zone of effect to the minimum. There was a certain amount of intelligence in the spellcraft device; on activation it was more than capable of checking the construction of whatever it was placed against, and determining how best to act.
Magic flickered, inscribing a tight circle, no more than a centimetre across, just above the bottom of the door. He pulled away the device, slowly withdrawing a shiny bar of metal, absolutely round and as bright as the most perfect of mirrors. More lip movements sent the sensor tentacle under his muzzle questing through the opening, showing him a set of metal bars, just in front of a wide corridor, lined with more bars. There were hints of movements behind those bars, furtive, like who-ever-it-was in the cage was trying to remain hidden in a small space.
Let's give Night a few more moments, I think. Compartments on his shoulders, just forward of his wingroots, opened to reveal a complex, fractal surface. The mechanical shapes within rippled, then flew upwards in a little spiral, coiling around his head. He followed one of the tiny drones as it flew; for all they looked like insects when glanced at by the uneducated eye, at this distance they were nothing like anything living. Two pairs of wings, made of a fine, transparent polymer laced with a cubic grid of carbon veins, were at either end of a slender rod-shaped body that was capped by a bulging sensor array.
Each little unit couldn't see much -- those cameras were too small -- but the network as a whole would give him total situational awareness. For as long as the batteries lasted, at least.
The map built up as a three-dimensional diagram, spinning silently in the lower quarters of his visor. Still images and video windows popped up, plastering over the rest of his sightline. Gryphons, lots of gryphons, huddled in groups at the back of the prison cells. The sight, compared to what Trailblazer was expecting, was very strange. Gryphons, antisocial and xenophobic at the best of times, huddled together. Some were sleeping, but many had the look of beings who'd been awake for a long time, and who had no intention of sleeping any time soon.
The cell block furniture, such as it was, had been dismantled and turned into improvised weapons; metal bars were clenched tight in foreclaws and held between their owners and the cell doors. What really made the hair on his mane stand up, was that some of the cells were empty, yet had had obvious signs of recent occupancy. Splashes of blood marred the dirty walls, and there were claw marks on the concrete floor.
The little things flittered through the air on trajectories that mimicked real flies where they had to cross open spaces, and keeping close to walls and corners where they could not, as they spread through the complex. As the battery life of machines this small was always an issue, they didn't loiter, but simply moved, flying to destinations distant from their fellows, then settling in unobtrusive places to watch and listen, photochromic skins blending in with the background. At least we won't have to worry about prisoners moving about. The drone network had reached as far as it was going to, both in terms of adequate sensor density and the presence of a number of doors that they couldn't pass. It's a shame the things are so fragile.
Less than sixty seconds had passed since they had blown the outer door to the administration block. Ears flicking with the silent count, Trailblazer bit down on the trigger.
===
Wings aching, Waits came to an unsteady landing on the platform serving the prison gate. The door was closed and the intercom panel responded with nothing but static to his attempts at getting it to work. Where else could they have gone? There's the air base, but there is no one left that would be of any use. He peered over the edge, eyes straining through the murk for any sign they'd gone somewhere else. All that's down there are mines and the artillery range.
Turning, he looked up at the camera cluster above the door then, feeling foolish, raised one claw and waved it over his head. What is... The glint of light on a faceted surface caught his eye, and Waits jumped up, awkwardly hovering next to the camera. A smooth disk, inlaid with patterns of coloured crystals, had been placed up against the side of the housing. Unlike the rest of the security equipment, it was actually clean, and was surrounded by fresh-looking scratches. That's Equestrian spellcraft tech. He reached out to touch it, then snatched his talon back. Who knows what else it might do... but it is obviously doing something to the camera.
Waits landed with a thump, pacing in quick, nervous circles before the door. "If they are already in, that means they will have left a surprise for anyone who follows. This place is already compromised." Now think about the kind of pony that they might drop behind enemy lines at the start of a war. Waits swallowed, suddenly feeling decidedly under-armed. "They must want something in here... has to be one of the Equestrian nationals." If they want them that badly then perhaps I can rut it up for them.
Stepping back to the edge of the platform, Waits splayed his hind legs for balance, crouching down at the back while stretching his forelegs. Then, awkwardly reaching for the gun controls with one foreclaw, he pulled out the remote cable release and gently gripped the bite trigger with his beak. Of all the helmet systems, at least the targeting designator still works... not that I'll need it over this range. A twist of the claw selected single shot, and Waits placed the reticule over the door lock, biting down.
The cannon boomed, sending a flash of heat across the feathers of his throat, and the inset door blew open as the twenty-millimetre explosive round detonated with a hard crack, the sound simultaneous with that of the gun. Waits flinched as metal splinters whined overhead, then jumped forwards, shouldering open the twisted wreckage of the door. Inside, he flicked open his wings, twisting in mid air and trying to sweep the high ceilinged concrete room with the awkward length of his underslung gun.
Empty. Thank the Sky for that. Waits' heart slowed from its frantic thunder, and he turned his attention to the inner door. Unlike the outer, this one was actually open, despite the electronic lock reporting that the door was sealed and required an entry code. He gently pushed the door open the rest of the way, crouching down to place his eye in one lower corner. There was a ramp ending in a metal mesh gate at the bottom of which were a couple of compact, feathered bundles. Nothing moved.
Damn ponies, have they killed them, just like-- He pushed open the door and jumped, gliding down the ramp on silent wings. Foreclaws forward and trigger still in his beak, he swept the corridor beyond with the gun's aiming point. In a silent waft of feathers he landed beside the pair of gryphon guards, dropping the bite trigger and allowing it to retract into the fire control module below his sternum.
A dozen metres behind the mesh gate was another metal door, as large as the first, but blasted inwards by demolition charges. Waits stared through the opening for a moment, but it was all quiet, only disturbed by drifting curls of smoke that smelled of explosives and guano. Nothing else moved, so he glanced downwards, checking the guards. Trussed like cattle for the slaughter. Watching the opening, Waits lent forwards, biting down on the straps tying foreclaws to beak. The plastic sheared, but the restraint didn't separate.
He pulled back, glaring at the glint of metal in the plastic, then worked his claws under the ratcheting lock; with a grunt the strap parted with the sound of fracturing metal. The guard, a heavily built female with musculature of a bodybuilder who seemed to have been focusing on a few sets of exercises rather than general fitness, relaxed, her beak dropping open. Waits felt between her hind legs; her pulse was strong and steady, but there was something... claws found a sticky disk, and he lifted the leg, looking in disgust at the medicated patch. Should have known, I suppose.
Waits left the guards, grabbing one of the gun harnesses and pulling it on over his boost suit. "Good job they spec this for the largest gryphon," he muttered, pulling the straps out to their loosest and wedging his wings through the openings, while selecting a clawful of magazines and stuffing them into the carry-loops. He slid the stubby weapon forwards on its rail, pulled back the cocking handle, then pushed it back so the forward bite trigger was next to his beak. A click knocked the safety off and set it to auto. Slightly less dangerous than firing the cannon in a confined space...
He jumped forwards, sailing through the blown door, gliding through a cluttered space, filled with shattered glass and more comatose prison guards. The smell in here was stronger, and there was a muffled pounding coming from one set of doors at the far end. Further down, through another smashed opening, there came the sound of gunfire and the pure, monochromatic flash of magic in several colours.