Sand coloured feathers parted the hot air of the midday sky, beating in time as she projected herself forwards, high above the shining, reflective helmets of the Equestrian army. The green of the Everfree Forest was far behind them as they marched beneath her, and a backwards glance did not reveal the safety and comfort of those sheltered trees.
When Luna’s contingent had returned, missing several of their number and carrying an appalling number of wounded, the commanders had made their decision rashly, not listening to anyone when others cautioned against following the Storm King into the south. Their Princesses had been attacked, their capitol ransacked, and the group of heroes that had saved Equestria time and again were now in the line of fire. The commanders were angry, and wouldn’t listen to reason. Not now. Not after an entire underground city had been destroyed, not after their soldiers had been imprisoned and tortured.
Rose grit her teeth under her own helmet, a lightweight helmet given to her by a Pegasus who had had both wings broken in the last skirmish. That was something else to worry about. Conscription. She may have been given a role as a messenger for the army, but that could change at a moments notice. The armour she wore was strictly for protection if she was sent across enemy territory, but it was mostly useless right now, relaying messages between the different companies.
One thousand three hundred and seventy five ponies marching as part of the army, and an additional two hundred serving as a mixture of messengers, craftsponies, carriage pullers and cooks, required more missives than Rose thought should be allowed to exist. The fact that most were just confirmations or just damn repeats of previous ones, was what was annoying Rose the most. The pegasus landed back at her unit’s little wagon, glad that her turn to do the rounds was over for another few hours. She tagged in one of her cohorts and watched as the older guy took off, flying immediately for the head of the column and swiftly vanishing from sight.
Digging through the small box of rashioned snack foods for something to eat, Rose heard a soft knock not but an inch or two from her head. She looked up through her mane to see a yellow coated mare with a fiery orange mane and eyes, clad in a skintight blue flight suit that had been outfitted with thin metal plates stitched on as protection.
Rose stood to attention, even though she technically wasn’t a soldier.
“At ease.” The older mare said, sharply. She was still wearing a pair of aviator sunglasses despite everything that had happened. “I’ve been watching you mailponies for a while, and I gotta admit, I’m impressed.”
Rose felt her ears splay back as her blood seemed to freeze. “Uh- impressed, ma’am?”
“Yeah, specifically with you. The amount of flying you do on your shifts, and at a near constant speed, and better control than most pegasi is impressive.” The Wonderbolt Captain ran a hoof through her mane and grinned out of her mask. “I need good fliers like you. Would you conside-”
“No thank you, Spitfire, ma’am.” Rose hurriedly said, trying to sound respectful. “I don’t think it would be appropriate.”
“Why not?” Spitfire asked, taking off her sunglasses to stare Rose in the eye.
“I’m just a mailmare. I’m no fighter. Just flying well won’t help all that much.” And in truth, being able to fire a gun most definitely did not make Rose a fighter, not at all. She’d barely survived Vancouver, and only because her sister had come back to help with her friends.
Spitfire arched an eyebrow. “We would be training you, miss Rose. We wouldn’t just hand you a pair of wing blades and toss you at the enemy.” The Wonderbolt captain frowned at her junior and shook her head, sitting herself down on the edge of the cart. “Lemme be real for a minute here, kid.” The captain seemed to shrivel in on herself, her projected aura of bravery and bravado flickering out like a candle in the wind. “We’re desperate. We need fliers and we need em fast, cause they’ve got airships, and we’ve got nothing. We need fliers or we’ll be wiped out in minutes the first time we face an enemy force head on, and let’s be honest, your flying skills are wasted just handing out notes, kid.”
Rose blanched. The thought of fighting at all was a repulsive one after Vancouver. At least that had been with guns, where the enemy could theoretically never get close to you...but this was fighting with a blade, up close and personal. She could almost hear her sister talking to her about her first kill.
“I felt sick afterwards. Like everything about me was wrong, and that I was some…abomination for having killed this thing. It was the worst feeling I had ever felt.”
“Did….did it get easier?”
“Well….yes….and no.” Static said, looking down at her hooves as they held her mug of hot chocolate. “Physically doing it is much easier. Dealing with the emotions afterwards….no. If anything it’s harder. And I honestly hope it never starts getting easier. Because then something really would be wrong with me.”
“I don’t think I could do that sort of thing again. Not after Vancouver…..”
Static sipped her cocoa and smiled sadly at her sister through the steam. “You’d be surprised just what you’re capable of.”
Rose shuddered as the memory faded, her sister’s face replaced by the older muzzle of the stuntmare in front of her. That face was blurry, and the familiar sensation of wet fur weighed on her cheeks. Spitfire looked shocked at the grown mare before her crying so silently that she herself had only just realised that she even had been shedding tears.
Rose reached up with a hoof to wipe away the bitter memories staining her cheek and looked down at the captain with that awful image still in her mind. Not of her talking with her sister. That image she always saw when she looked back. The flames licking at the ashes of the hotel…
Rose snarled, and slapped Spitfire’s concerned, outstretched hoof away. “I’m not flying with you, Captain. Find someone else!”
Spitfire frowned, but retracted her hoof, and backed away. “I…..” She went to spread her wings, but paused, her left forehoof hovering just above the ground. “Your sister came to fight for you when you needed her most. Now she needs you. We all do.” Spitfire took to the sky as wide, bright green eyes followed her, surprise that bordered on outrage and shock filling their depths.
But the Captain was gone, leaving Rose to ponder her words.
************************
“This is going to be the hardest time of your life, right here.” Spitfire belted out her speech as she marched up and down the single, thin line of recruits. Of the hundreds of lying ponies and creatures that had been in the encampment on the edge of the sands, one hundred and twenty one had elected to train with the Wonderbolt Captain. More than half wouldn’t make it. She could tell by the look in their eyes. “This is where we begin. This is the day you learn, not just to fly, but to fly fast, fly as a team, and…” Spitfire’s eyes lingered for a moment on a pony at the very end of the line, a line that now contained one hundred and twenty two creatures. Orange eyes met haunted green, filled with a steely resolve. Then the Wonderbolt continued on. “You’re not going to make it. Not all of you. This unit, this team, is for the best of the best, and those who can one day become the best. So if you aren’t ready to give your all, to prove you’ve got what it takes….leave now. Because I will not go easy on any of you!” That last she belted as a scream, a harsh yell that broke ten ponies there and then, sending them running.
Spitfire noted a twitch from the hooves at the end of the line, and the resulting tension of muscles there shortly afterwards. Good.
“Alright maggots! Form up! We’re gonna do wing exercises, and I don’t want to see any one of you stop for a second before I give you my say so! So start doing wing-ups! Fifty of ‘em!!” Wide, shocked eyes from almost all answered her. “DID I SAY YOU COULD STARE?! GET MOVING!!”
A hundred and twelve sets of hooves scrambled to obey, and an equal number of wings were soon braced against the floor, pumping like mad in an attempt to get through as many wing-ups as possible. Of course, it was a tall ask, and not one she expected anyone to actually do without some serious muscle already developed.
She watched and observed the ones who bothered to stay and attempt to meet her challenge. By the time the last recruit was left standing, at an impressive thirty six wing ups, Spitfire counted seventy eight ponies still present. Including the owner of those fierce green eyes.
“Not too bad, recruit. What’s your name?”
The pony stood up on shaky legs and saluted. “Lightning Dust, ma’am. Former Wonderbolt dropout.”
Spitfire started for a second, recognizing the blue-green coat beneath the dust that now coated everything. “I remember you, recruit. Messed up something fierce, huh?” She circled the filly a few times, before she started yelling again. “EVERYONE GET UP. GET IN PAIRS! THIS IS A TEAM. SO YOU’RE GONNA LEARN HOW TO WORK AS A TEAM. YOU’LL TRAIN AS A TEAM. YOU’LL EAT AS A TEAM. YOU’LL EVEN BUCKING SLEEP AS A TEAM!! NOW GRAB A PARTNER AND GET TO THOSE WEAPON RACKS! ON THE DOUBLE!!”
Spitfire kept an eye on her recruits as they fell into pairs almost by accident, many of them running off to the racks before they had even picked a partner, and instead running almost into each other before remembering their instructions.
Fur the colour of pale sand and a blue green coat thundered down the track together, neck and neck, their flanks slick with sweat.
In all honesty, they were in the best shape. The other recruits were not as fast, and many were tripping over their own or each others hooves out of tiredness. Spitfire sighed, slapping a hoof to her muzzle. “We’ve got a long way to go.”
*********************
“We’re marching out!”
` “The Generals made a decision! We’re moving out!”
“Get everything stowed now! Now! Hurry up!!”
Rose and Lightning Dust came to amid the flurry of panicking ponies that were their fellow recruits. Two day of grueling exercise and uniform flying, performing sudden turns and reversals, barrel rolls and aileron rolls, and more wing-ups than there were Pegasi in the world, had the ponies and the few Gryphons among them thoroughly exhausted.
Rose frowned and started to neatly fold up her recruit uniform, taking a moment to let her gaze linger on the picture of her family tucked into a seam at the collar. Her mom and dad. Her sister. Fluttershy and little Crystal. The old family home in Vancouver. She tucked it back into it’s little pocket and finished tucking it into her saddlebags. The actual armour she had been assigned was going on her body, just as with her fellow recruits, now numbering just seventy two.
“About time they made a decision. Damn politicians.” Lightning growled. “That bastard king is probably attacking our friends in Klugetown by now.”
“I hope not.” Rose grunted, pulling on the last strap for her flexible splint armour. It still weighed more than she would like, but it would keep her more intact than a simple flight suit would. It also couldn’t easily fit in her saddlebags.
Spitfire came staking into the tent housed barracks like a mare possessed of some wicked phantom. “LISTEN UP! WE’RE TAKING THIS SHOW ON THE ROAD. STRIP IT ALL DOWN AND PACK THE TENTS AND SUPPLIES ONTO THE SLEDS!! THEN GET INTO FORMATION AND START FLYING OVERHEAD!”
The Wonderbolt hopefuls followed their commanding officers orders to the letter, then flapped their wings, lifting into the air.
The armour wasn’t much heavier than saddlebags full of letters, so Rose was able to wear it without too much discomfort. Lightning Dust kept complaining about chafing beside her, much to Rose’s un-enthusiasm. They rose into the dry air like a flock of crows in the early morning light, their cloth covered metal plates hugging their limbs and torsos. The armour was unenchanted, freshly made in the courtyard behind the Castle in the Everfree, by the increasingly annoyed and angry Forged Blade.
“YOU TWO! YOU’RE TAKING ESCORT DUTY! MAKE SURE THAT THE MEDICAL TENT IS ALL PACKED UP AND READY TO MOVE OUT!!”
Lightning and Rose flicked their hooves to their heads in salutes before peeling off from their places in the column, and diving down to where the contents of multiple medical tents and carts were just being tied down and the vehicles hitched up. The pair did a quick visual sweep before they hovered before the head physician. “She ready to move?!” Rose called.
“As ready as we can! There’s a risk she’ll become unstable again! Tell the Captain we may need more hooves!” The doctor hollered back up to them. Rose nodded to Lightning, and the other mare sped away, while Rose studied the doctor and his aides as they brought out their most critical patient, her powder blue mane and navy coat matted with blood, and limbs locked in casts. They were just getting her to the last empty cart when Spitftire arrived, Lightning Dust and a few more recruits in tow. Working together, they gently maneuvered the mare into the cart and got her settled in place amid a huge amount of cushioned pillows and thick blankets, setting up an IV drip and quickly injecting a shot of painkiller before the cart could start to move.
Spitfire turned to Lightning and Rose. “One of you flies, one of you rests and stays with her, then you switch off. You don’t leave her alone. Got it?”
“Aye ma’am.” Lightning saluted. Rose followed suit a split second later. Then after a quick deliberation, Lightning fluttered down onto the cart, and Rose flew a little higher above it.
So much for their training.
****************************
The caravan had slowed to a crawl in the deep sands, the sleds and airborne creatures having to step in and dig out the wheels several times during the day. The dust clouds rose thick, kicked up by the hooves of more than one and a half thousand ponies. All heading in towards the thick column of smoke rising into the sky ahead, and the vast expanse of clouds beyond.
No one spoke when they finally reached the smouldering wreckage. No one said a word as they took in the field of shattered hulls, Storm Empire and Pirate alike.
Lightning flew next to Rose as the scouting party that flew out over the destroyed town, a worried frown creasing her face as she stared at the mass of ruined ships and toppled, burned buildings. There were holes in some of the still standing walls, larger than some of the ponies, and many of the wooden chunks still had flames licking up from their undersides, charring their edges even further. The bright blue mare didn’t have any words of comfort for Rose, too focused on the destruction to offer any choice phrase to soothe her companion’s worries.
As Spitfire called for the company of ponies to turn about and return to the column, Rose hovered in place for a moment, staring at the ruins of Klugetown. “What happened here?”
***********************************
-Three days before-
“Gimme all your love, gimme all you love, gimme all your love now!” The mare on stage sang, her voice high but even, a country twang quite evident in her serenade as she swayed her hips behind the microphone set up on stage. It was an old fashioned piece of technology, with a heavy metal body, a grill made of strips, and a wire mesh underneath. The quality was not the greatest, her voice emerging from the speakers on both sides of the sides of the tavern stage as she reached the end of her number, her dress swishing gently against her legs as the last notes faded away. She had been accompanied by piano, drums and guitar the whole way through, but the percussion of hooves on floorboards filled the empty sound as spots were exchanged, the guitarist switching places with another pony offstage before two individuals, one sporting distinctly draconic slit pupils and a fanged smile, and the other with a perfectly coiffed, purple mane, stepped into view of the crowd.
Applejack opened her eyes, and, as was the plan, blew a kiss out to the crowd. Turning away from the crowd, she walked past the pair and winked at them. The dragon eyed mare arched a brow, but sashayed up to the microphone even as a new, much different beat started up, with Applejack claiming a base guitar. Rarity produced a second microphone stand and set it up next to Static as the distinctly predatory looking creature cleared her throat.
“My teacher was an avid lover of night time exuberance and joy, and frequently sponsored clubs and theaters before a tragedy befell her, quite recently. So this, is dedicated to the mare who taught me, a mare of old fashioned tastes who had long struggled to understand modern tastes. I think she would have enjoyed this facet of modern life.” Static worked the crowd, who had already spent several hours soaking in the vibrant, melancholy, joyful, colourful works of the elements and their friends. The crowd was invested in her every word, as was the plan. “And to the Storm King, let this be a message. We aren’t afraid of you.”
With that, the new beat that had drifted from the drums dimmed, joined by the stage lights, worked by Twilight from the back of the room.
A small assortment of brass instruments started blowing, muted a little by a curtain off to the side, before growing louder and clearer, picking up rhythm and accompanied by the drums and guitar again, a quick and energetic tune that greatly emulated jazz, but held distinct notes of electronic music that even out here was mostly unknown. It was one of Static’s favourite genres of music. Electro-Swing.
Static and Rarity exchanged a knowing smile as the song started.
“There’s a boy I know from the club I know,
He doesn’t say a word, he just hits the floor.” Static started, her legs started to flicker in front and behind of each other, foreleg behind foreleg and hindleg behind hindleg. She wasn’t wearing a dress, but a form fitted suit, courtesy of her dancing partner, who was matching her step for step, her sleeveless green dress trimmed with black and white polka dots. Rarity had taken Static’s suggestion that green really could be her colour and ran with it, and her opinion on the colour was rapidly shifting. “The way he moves always caught my eye,
Couldn’t take no more, just had to try.”
Rarity transitioned into a side to side kick shuffle that Static didn’t have the heart to tell her was frequently referred to as “The Spongebob”. It was an odd look on four legs instead of two, but the dance was certainly energetic and matched the beats of the song.
“I moved to the fours, and he danced away,
His feet like magic, then he looked my way,
And in one swoop, he had me by his side,
I knew I was in for a ride, as we-”
The two ponies both chimed in, starting to circle each other as their legs flashed, transitioning now from four legs to two for a more traditional swing style dance, the music picking up tempo and their forelegs now used in tandem with their ground bound hooves to swing and clap to the music, twisting their torsos back and forth in time with the drums and plucking of the strings as they continued the song into it’s chorus.
“Sway to the sound,
Our feet tap, tapping,
And our heartbeats beating and we,
Spin ‘round and ‘round, we got lost in the rhythm,
The lights and the crowd.”
The chorus came to an end, but the pair kept going, the song changing completely now, into yet another one entirely.
“Do you recall your papa, when he sat you on his knee,
Telling you the stories of everything he’s seen?
Parading other people, how they braved the battlefield,
Taking on an Empire, fighting to be free!”
Static crooned, her fangs glinting and her eyes burning into every single patron present, cutting through the haze of their drinks and right to the bone.
With no magic at all, she was implanting an idea into their heads. Not with spells, but words. And that was the plan.
“Oh papa, tell me what you saw,
Tan-tan-tara, can you hear the call?
Oh papa, I can see it in your eye,
Tan-tan-tara, ba-bap-da-daaaay.”
The song continued on through every verse and chorus before Static wound it down, and the ponies all took to the stage for a bow. They had shared songs and a few stories tonight, and before the guards could show up, they were packed up and moving, carrying their equipment through the hidden tunnels and on to the next venue.
They did not stop for more than a few minutes to eat and drink, and relieve themselves when necessary.
“Gotta say Sugarcube, when you went all Nightmare Moon on us, I didn’t think your plan was gonna be singin’ and dancing for a buncha pirates.” Applejack said as she hoisted Pinkie’s drum set up the ladder leading out into a back alley. “I thought you’d be wanting to smash every Jotunn in sight, and damn the consequences.”
Static rolled her slitted pupils and smiled up at her friend, showing off her pearly whites. “Who says I don’t?” The newly horned mare tapped her pale white appendage and sent off a small burst of shadowy energy that dimmed the lights in the alley above her. “Every time I see one I want to go and smash their face in.”
“So….” Rainbow Dash asked from behind Static. “I never got why you aren’t either.”
“Why that’s simple darling.” Rarity drawled down to the prismatic mare as she gave Applejack a quick peck on the cheek, then helped pull Pinkie’s instrument out of the hatch. “Static isn’t being controlled by a Nightmare, so her feelings are her own. And anger is just as capable of being managed as any other emotion.”
“In other words, I’m pissed off and redirecting that energy into something useful….until I actually do get to smash some faces in.” Static explained, before simply stepping into the shadows of the tunnel. “You coming up or what?” Static’s head appeared next to Rarity and Applejack, who jumped back, startled.
“Landsakes, Sugar! Stop doing that!”
Static smirked, mischievously. “No.”
The ponies worked quickly to set up their next impromptu public relations concert, and their songs began again, capturing the imaginations and aspirations of many a pirate.
Static and Rarity were about to take the stage again when a voice boomed...or, more accurately, wheezed out over the crowd and managed to interrupt Static’s concentration, her verse dwindling as her attention turned to the creature standing in the door.
“You aren’t supposed to be doing that. It’s a violation of King Gaul’s guidelines for workers efficiency.” The creature that spoke was dressed in a gaudy coat of a gold thread lined, bright red coat that seemed a strange mix between mariachi, french renaissance noble, and circus master. Oddly fitting for the character. “As Governor of Klugetown, given authority by King Gaul in his absence, I am placing you and your cohorts under arrest!”
“Those are some mighty big words for someone who clearly has no idea how to dress.” Applejack countered as she trotted up from offstage. “Even I, one of the most fashion ignorant mares I know, wants to faint just looking at your tacky, expensive, eyesore of a coat.” Applejack winked at Rarity, who returned a proud, beaming smile as the mole-rat started sputtering in outrage.
“E-e-Eyesore?!” The mole-rat-man swore. “Forget arrest for that one! Toss her in the pits and let the rats have her for her insolence!”
“Governor Verco, I presume?” Static asked, her tone rather flat. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your carbuncle?” Twilight tried not to vomit at the thought of that particular ailment, while Fluttershy, still hidden backstage, braced herself over a waste bin, her face going a pale green colour.
Verco didn’t seem to notice the mare’s referral to him as a pus-filled boil, and instead swiveled to stare at her. His eyes, covered by a pair of dark glasses, were unseen, but Static knew elation when she saw it, even if the little hairless weasel didn’t so much as twitch a mouth muscle. He was looking for Alicorns, for the king. Static flicked her right ear from left to right once, then twice, like there was a fly buzzing near it. After waiting a second, she did it a third time. Her horn started to faintly shimmer, but the mare made no move to attack or flee. “Ahhhh, you must be the ringleader of this little band of misfits. I know someone who will be very happy to see you.”
“Oh yes, I bet you do.” Static murmured, noticing that the bar patrons were being forcefully hauled from their stools and chairs, spilling ale and beer across numerous surfaces. A ring of guards was starting to encircle the three mares on the stage, while others were starting to head towards the back rooms.
“Well then, why don’t you be a good little pony and come quietly? I give my word as governor, none of you will be hurt.” Verco swore, holding up one hand in a vague gesture of promise.
Three unconvinced eyebrows raised as one.
“The alternative is I have my boys here beat the stuffing out of your cutesy faces, and my taxidermist stuffs it back in later.”
“I have an alternative ending of my wn to this little comedy sketch.” Static smiled widely, showing off far more fang than her friends were comfortable with.
“And what would that be, hmm?” Verco asked. “You sing one of your little songs, and we magically become fwiends?”
“Nope.”
Verco sighed, not willing to play games. “Huh, just take them, boys.”
The Jotuns under his command surged forwards, their huge forms blocking the ponies from sight in seconds. They piled on top of each other in a tangle of thick, hairy limbs and clanging armour, tails lashing, and grumbled swears tumbling free amid groans.
Verco looked at them for a moment before he realized what had just happened, and shook his head. Somehow, those ponies hadn’t really been there.
He hated magic…..
****************************