//------------------------------//
// Wakeup Call 
// Story: Fallout Equestria: Presumed Lost 
// by CloverClash 
//------------------------------//


“If you just keep your head high, do your best, and believe in yourself, anything can happen.”


    My dreams were of home, the wind rustling through long swaying stalks of skygrain, a cloudless blue sky overhead and white puffy clouds stretching beneath my hooves as far as the eye could see. The sun was at its noontime height overhead, the warm embrace of... an armored hoof to my unprotected stomach.
    "Hey! Who-Snoozes-Loses! WAKE UP!" ...oh, horseapples. 
Amid hoof-flailing and gasps for air I came to, falling from my hard metal bunk and onto the equally hard – and far colder – floor.
    A blue pegasus with tan mane - good old Specialist Sturzkampfflugzeug – stood over me wearing her MKII powered armor and standard-issue shit eating grin.
    In my infinite glibness and not-at-all sleep addled state, I managed to snap off a witty retort that didn't at all sound like "herkgurgle" and promptly curled into a ball on the floor.
    "Come on, Dares, get up. Lieutenant Contrail wants us up and at 'em in thirty minutes, and you've rested enough."
    "...Medic!" I wheezed.
    "Oh, don't be a silly-filly! I didn't have my powerbuckers on, so you should still have a spine... Or what passes for one, in your case."
    Yeah. That was my 'friend' Stuka alright. Living alarm clock and all around wonderful pony. I managed to find my hooves and scramble upright, rustling my wings and shooting her a glare, but said nothing. She really didn't intend to come off as jerk, she just liked hanging around the damned wingjocks from 3rd Stormstrike Company too much. They were all like that.
    "Orion Squadron briefing in thirty. Lieutenant Contrail's ordered full combat load and readiness."
    Wait, what? I knew we had something planned for today, but this was pushing things ahead of schedule like nopony's business. I must have looked particularly lost, due to the bemused look on Stuka's face.
    I huffed a sigh. I wasn't about to question orders; not now not ever. 
"You mind?" I drawled, pulling my hooflocker closer and giving Stuka a pointed look as gathered my gear. She took the hint and waited outside my closet-sized bunk room, though I could still hear her tapping her hoof, being the impatient mare she was.
    MKII recon armor, my armor, was far more to my tastes than the body-glove flight suits of yore. It wasn't powered like Stuka's black carapace, and didn't have the menacing scorpion tail stinger for close quarters work, but it had all the same Eyes-Forward-Sparkle gadgetry and radio equipment. Perfect for Security Force Recon operatives like myself. Less than two minutes later I slipped out the door, looking like a proper soldier.

    Activity was at it's standard breakneck pace outside. Everypony from officers to enlisted at a full tilt, taking wing in the vaulted ceilings or crowded along the floor.
"So, what's this about? Something about a briefing? I thought we had a week before we'd start prepping for surface ops, we just transferred here!"

    Stuka sighed, but for once not at me. "You know how it is, 'always behind schedule! Faster! Redouble your efforts and report back only when you've gotten something done!' It's the same here at Neighvarro that we got back in Castellanus. All this for some big plan the Council's cooked up."
    I frowned. S.F.R., specifically 1st Wingshadow Company, had the job of visiting the surface even with the no-fly-order in place. It was an all-volunteer position suited only for those willing to risk contamination, or a horrible death at the hooves of the maddened dirtsiders. And now we were being called into action. Well, I couldn't say that I didn't know what I had gotten myself into...
    I thought back to my first surface op, seeing what the dirtsiders and zebras had done to Equestria, and to themselves. Ponies were adaptable creatures, capable of surviving almost anywhere, so in an environment of magical radiation, cannibalistic mutants, and deranged, twisted raiders they changed accordingly: they all became monsters. It was our job to ensure that they never laid a hoof on the civilians we protected.
    "You okay? You look a little sick." Stuka dropped the attitude, brows furrowed with concern. As rude and mean spirited a prankster as she could be, she did care when the chips were down. I think.
    "Yeah, I just... I dunno, Stukes. The surface don't have much that isn't trying to kill us. Must be something big for the Council to be planning something with it." The last time we'd descended below the cloud layer, we'd run into a band of what were dubbed 'raiders.' They were the average wasteland dweller as far as we could tell. Science Division had requested samples, so we obliged, and found far more than we'd ever wished to. The helmet-cam footage we'd brought back had made everypony short of High Command physically ill. The raiders had cannibalized an entire town, colts, mares, and foals, and used what was left as decoration. The only survivor had been brainwashed into joining them as a mentally broken slave. I'd had to put him down: It was mercy compared to living through that horror.
    Don't think about it, Dares. Just... don't go there.
    Stuka and I made our way out of the barracks and onto the parade ground. A blue shimmering dome stretched out above Neighvarro, projected by the gleaming white tower of the Single Pegasus Project. From this bastion everything was arrayed like the spokes of a wheel. Skyship hangers, barracks, training grounds, it was the both the pride and the beating heart of the Grand Pegasus Enclave's military forces... and it was home. I could only stand in awe at the sight of it all.

    "Never gets old, goes it?" Stuka murmured, barely audible over the literal thunder of engines.
    "Doubt it will," I confessed. “Ask me again when we haven’t been here less than six months though. Maybe the shock will wear off...”
    Stuka, judging by her silence, wasn't listening. I turned to see what was up, nearly bumping nose-first into a set of officer's rank wings affixed to the pressed collar of my commanding officer.    
    I snapped to attention. "Captain Forthright, sir!"
    The captain fixed me with a level look. The old pegasus' mane was lavender, streaked with gray from age, and his brown coat and weathered face bore the marks of a soldier who'd paid the price of his service long ago.
    "At ease," he grumbled, waving off the attention. "Your Lieutenant's been whining like a fillyfooler about surface duty. Wingshadow's re-assignment here was for a damn good reason, and I've been hearing enough of it from the Council. I expect I won't be hearing a peep out of your unit when it comes time to do your duty?"
    Stuka glanced off to one side, remaining silence. Cleaning duty and a reprimand would follow any ‘witty’ remarks she felt like making. I knew way better than to mouth off, especially behind Lieutenant Contrail's back. I respected him far too much.
    "Of course not, sir." I paused, thinking for a moment. The codes "Operation Pathfinder" and "Operation Cauterize" were being thrown around across all channels. We knew it had to do with the surface — that much was obvious — but any questions I had stopped short of lips.
    He had made it clear: no more questions, it was time to stop overthinking my job and actually do it.
    Captain Forthright gave a curt nod and dug out a pack of cigarettes. "Lieutenant Contrail is waiting for you in briefing room oh-eight-seventy-seven. I expect you two to double time it there, our role in the next few weeks will be vital to the integrity and security of the Grand Pegasus Enclave. Dismissed."
    The captain's cold expression told me he had higher concerns than the questions of a Corporal. Stuka and I saluted one last time before we took wing towards the briefing center.
    "I suppose a twelve year career under your barding gives you the right to be cryptic... and dramatic," mused Stuka. I shook my head, opting to leave our C.O. out of it.

    We took a shortcut to the briefing center, cutting low between two buildings and setting down lightly on a balcony. The doors hissed open with the touch of an identify friend/foe-tagged hoof to the keypad, leading us into the briefing room itself. My whole squadron filled the inward-sloped room, my brothers and sisters in arms all the way back from basic training. Twin brothers Slim Pickings and High Loper sat close to the front, conspicuously separated by a seat occupied by Second Lieutenant August Shade.
August was an egghead, but she knew how to look out for herself. I’d first met her when I’d first transferred to Neighvarro; a beautiful mare with a bright smile and a friendly demeanor. She was smart, kind, and could fly with the best of us. She’d been my wingmare on a few sorties over the wasteland, and I’d come to trust her pretty well. 
Plus, I could appreciate nice flanks when I saw some.

    Our flight leader, First Lieutenant Contrail, stood at the head of the room, gaze roaming over the assembled unit. His pale silver eyes settled on Stuka and myself as we found our seats near the back, nodding to himself as he cleared his throat.
    "As of oh-one-hundred this morning," Contrail announced, "Operation Pathfinder is now in effect. All Recon teams have been organized into an Enclave-wide mobilization under direct command of Captain Forthright. This comes straight from the Council itself, and is a priority one operation." He let that sink in for a moment, his jade-green eyes surveying the attentive faces of every squadron member. He had our undivided attention.
    "Let me repeat: this mission is absolutely vital. It is our job to mark priority targets for Operation Cauterize, the primary air-to-surface offensive spearheaded by Commander Autumn Leaf's forces.
    "More specifically," he enumerated as he switched on the cloud terminal behind him, the cold blue display lighting up with diagrams and maps. "Wingshadow Company will be locating possible pockets of resistance, and eliminating any weaponry that the surface might have acquired that could pose a threat. Lieutenant August Shade?" He gestured to the seated junior officer, who cleared her throat as she approached the terminal. A few taps of the keys brought up a grainy set of blueprints for a massive spherical object.
    "This is a class-two megaspell weapon developed by the Zebras during the surface war, specifically a 'Cloudbuster' warhead engineered to destroy any cloud-based technology in its radius. Its magical core, infused with necromantic energies, could destroy an entire Enclave city and prevent any reconstruction efforts for decades afterwards."
    Dead silence reigned. Great Leaders, a bomb made to kill pegasi and target our cities? The Zebras had a hell of a time hitting our population centers during the Last Day, due to our cloud cover... I raised my hoof.
    "Corporal Dares. Question?"
    "Yes, ma'am. Why weren't these weapons deployed during the war? Cloudsdale was taken out by a balefire megaspell strike."
    August Shade nodded. "They were in a rushed prototype stage late in the war, the materials were too expensive and the necromantic rituals required the sacrifice of several live pegasi to work correctly. That late in the war, the cost was simply too great, and so they opted to just use their balefire warheads instead."
    I shuddered, curiosity placated.

    "We have reason to believe that forces led by the slaver warlord known as 'Red Eye' have been supplied one such prototype by a Dashite."
    Everypony started talking at once. "Was that even possible? How would a rogue element procure something like that? How had the prototype survived the war?" Questions flew thick and mad, before Contrail silenced the interruption with a stomp of his hoof.
    "Order! Let the Lieutenant speak!"
    Silence fell, Lt. Contrail's glare quelling any further interruption.
    August Shade gave Contrail a nod, continuing. "Thank you, sir. It is... currently unknown how this device fell into the hooves of a Dashite, never mind how or why this renegade sold the weapon to Red Eye's forces, but that is part of what Wingshadow Company has been assigned to find out."
    With a tap of her hoof on the cloud terminal, August Shade brought up a list of bullet points.
    "One: Find the device, and either retrieve it for study or destroy it. Two: Track down the individual who procured the device; detain or destroy. Three: Mark priority targets for Operation Cauterize, as per the directives of Operation Pathfinder."
    I glanced over to Stuka, who caught my gaze and smiled. It will be alright, it seemed to say, but her clenched jaw and a fidget of her wings cast doubt on the sentiment.. Everypony else looked worried too; a full blown offensive against an unknown threat that was planning to strike at us from the shadows was the stuff we lost sleep over.
    "Alright, everypony, grab your gear and rendezvous as the hanger at thirteen-hundred. We will be deploying into sector two-niner, so I want you all prepped for combat and carrying full kit. Understood?"
    "HOOAH!" we all called out in unison.
    "Dismissed!" The room was filled with a clatter as the squadron filed back out onto the balcony and took off, most of us headed to the armory, the rest to their barracks. Stuka and I followed the larger group to gear up.

    "Quartermaster will molt if I give her the full requisition list..." Stuka muttered beneath her breath. 
I snorted, suppressing a giggle. "Yeah. I remember her last time." I put on my best drill instructor voice, scrunching down my eyebrows. "’SPECIALIST Stuka! How in the name of the great and benevolent Council did you MELT your Novasurge carbine?! I will have your HEAD court-martialed and your PLOT branded for this’!"
    Stuka cackled. "Worth every hour of floor scrubbing to see the look on her face.”    
    "Lets just get this over with," I muttered as we swooped into the main room of the armory. Time to suit up, shut up, and get the job done.
Ten minutes later, Stuka and I departed the armory building, our suits laden with the best tech the Enclave's eggheads could dream up. Both of us wore battle saddles, but the configuration was unique to our fireteam roles.
    Stuka's wasteland-camouflaged Mark II Advanced Powered Combat Armor had its integrated scorpion tail plus a full set of power-buckers, and affixed her battle saddle was a magical energy rifle like mine.
I couldn’t help but do a double-take when I noticed the flourescent green calligraphy on the weapon’s barrel, near the gemstone array.
    “You named your rifle ‘Hilarity’?” I asked skeptically.
    Stuka rolled her eyes as if it was obvious. “Well, duh! It makes really big and scary things really dead and not scary! Hilarious!”
Facehoof. I'd forgotten she named all of her weapons. The mare was downright loony as far as I was concerned, but I guess it took loony to do the job we did.    
By comparison, my combat gear was light, unsuited for close-quarters with only a knife strapped to my right foreleg for protection. 
Put me at the back rank and I could work miracles as a designated marksbuck... Front rank I looked like a noodle-legged filly trying to take back her stolen lunch money.

    It didn't take us long to wing over to Hanger B where the squadron was set to assemble. The vast space probably could have held a pair of raptors side-by-side, but right now its walkways and gantries were servicing a fleet of Skytanks.
    Climbing the gantry-way stairs to avoid skyship and engineer traffic, I caught sight of Contrail and August waiting near our unit's skytank, the Arcus. The officers’ glares spoke as much about their mood as their raised voices. I put a wing out in front of Stuka, stopping her. This was their business, and I didn't want to interrupt.
    Instead, I wanted to eavesdrop. A little curiosity never hurt anypony.
    "The intel on the operation is far too patchy to be of any guarantee of success! I mean, launching four Wingshadow Company squadrons blind into the wastes?” August muttered in a low tone, barely audible through the clatter of skyship maintenance.
    "I mean, there is ‘Shadow Before the Storm’ but there reaches a point when we need something to go off—" August's words were cut off by a stomp from Contrail's hoof on the walkway decking. I could see his wings rustle in agitation in their armored wing-sheaths.
    "Second Lieutenant August Shade, if you have a formal complaint to file with Intelligence over the information you were given directly by them, I suggest you bother them instead of me. I lead this unit to the best of my ability with what I am supplied, and I get us back alive. That's it. I do not question the nature or quality of the mission's intel until I write the damned report, because there ain't anything I can do about it!" He snorted, face tinged red with restrained frustration. Some of the mechanics were starting to stare, and he seemed to take the hint, lowering his voice.
    "A possible Dashite, a bomb, and a slaver-lord. We have enough to worry about without leveling accusations at our superiors about leaving out need-to-know information," he bit out.
    August blanched and fell silent; she, like any other soldier, knew when the words 'that's final' were all but voiced by a superior. She had already overstepped her bounds, and it was time to stop overthinking things and do her job. 
Climbing the last set of stairs, I decided it might be best to interrupt. Maybe having Enlisted present would defuse any more pre-op arguments.
    "Sir, Ma'am," I barked as Stuka and I snapped to attention in front of the two officers.
    "...at ease," Contrail sighed, slumping. "We'll continue this discussion after our operation's completion," he snapped to August who wisely remained silent.
    I'd always liked August Shade, even though she carried herself more like a politician than a soldier. I couldn't help but watch after her as she boarded the Skytank, leaving Contrail to greet the other squadron members arriving. There was a keen, bureaucratic mind behind her pretty face, and the honed skill of a soldier beneath the pale white of her coat and dusky autumn shades of her flowing mane-
    Stuka gave me a sharp nudge to the ribs, snapping my attention away from my X.O. "Hey, Dares," she whispered. "You're staring at Shade's flanks. Again."
    I flushed as scarlet as a sunset. Dammit, I wouldn't live this down. 
"I-I w-was just checking my navigational E.F.S.! You know, plotting- er, charting our course and checking weather conditions!"
    "Uh-huh. You just want to go 'harvest the August crops' don't you?" Her grin was infuriating. I wanted to wipe it off her face with a hoof, but I could only sit there and hope my death-glare would dust her.
    "You know the fraternization rules! She outranks me by about eight paygrades plus an officer's commission!" I gritted through clenched teeth.
    Stuka gave a mock gasp of surprise, covering her mouth with a hoof. "I know! How scandalous, unthinkable even!"
    "Great... Leaders! You're the most horrible pony I've ever known!" I hung my head and gave up. She was incorrigible. I'd known her for my entire life; we were raised in the same town, did everything together, from flight school to enlistment, we were practically conjoined by the cutie mark.
    So keep that in mind when I say that once she caught you, she'd never let you live anything down. Ever. Trust me.

    "Orion Squadron, on me!" Contrail's suit-augmented voice boomed out, everypony was ready and accounted for. "Everypony on board, we're moving out. Any final questions?"
    Silence. A grimace crossed Contrail's face.
    "So be it. August Shade, take the harness. Who Dares Wins, you're on navigation. Slim, Loper, gun turrets. The rest of you strap in."
Everypony took their respective positions on board the skytank, the crackling hum of the wingpower conversion engines coming online heralding immanent takeoff.
    Seating myself just behind the flight harness August Shade was strapped into, I switched my comm over to Airspace Control and powered up my console.
    "Neighvarro Airspace Control, this is Orion. Request permission to launch, over." I checked over my shoulder as the hatch sealed.
    "Orion this is Neighvarro Airspace Control, confirm permission to launch, good luck and Leaders guide you, over and out."
    The skytank rocked in the air through a patch if turbulence as we set out for our breach point, the lowest level of cloud cover above the target. Enclave movement was always disguised by using the perpetual cloud cover we had set up, meaning most of view was the vast expanse of slate gray beneath a crisp blue sky.
    At least the ride would be beautiful, but it honestly felt like touring an art gallery on the way to an execution. Beauty marred by the knowledge of what was to come.

    “Hey, Slim,” I called over the Squadron Comm to one of our resident heavy weapons ponies. “This your first time on a surface expedition?”
    Slim’s nicker was audible over the radio. “Hah, nope. I might have less dirt-time than you Corporal, but you weren’t there for the op over Manehattan. I swear we were up to our neck in these big flesh-eating bat things!” 
    “Aw, that’s only because they thought you were tasty, Slim. They go after the fat ones.” his twin Loper chuckled. I couldn’t see them behind me, but I heard the thump of a hoof meeting stomach plating. 
    “Cut the chatter, all of you,” Contrail snapped. 
Yeesh, must be worse than I’d thought if he was clamping down on the in-flight talk; normally Contrail was somewhat lax about that sort of thing for an officer.

    I gave my Squadron C.O a sidelong look to where he was buckled in next to me. His sour-apple-green eyes were fixed on the horizon. He caught my look and tapped the side of his helmet.
    “Corporal. I take it you heard the argument?” He’d lowered his voice and switched to a private channel. No use lying, now.
    “Yes, sir. I apologise if I overstepped—” He cut me off with a shake of his head.
    “While I wouldn’t bring it up if it was classified, I’d trust you to be quiet about it. I figure you’d understand the circumstances.”
    “I... think so, sir. Permission to speak openly?”
    Contrail hesitated a moment before nodding.“Granted.”
I cleared my throat, partially from nerves. “I... Think Intel’s getting jittery, from what you said. I mean, if there really is a rogue element involved, they probably want to keep this under wraps, right? I mean, the less the public knows about enemy pegasi out to kill us, well...”

    “The better off they are. We don’t need panic, we need orderly, focused attention on dealing with any possible threats. If we start getting suspicious of each-other, then we’re clipping our wings as an effective governing body.”
    “And yet, sir, we’re dealing with a situation where we’re probably not being told everything, most likely out of suspicion.” 
    Contrail froze. “That’s probably closer to the truth than I feel comfortable with, Corporal. Just don’t go spreading that around, and I won’t have a problem with somepony worrying about that other than me. Got it?”
    “Loose lips crash skyships, sir,” I confirmed in a deadpan tone, turning back to my console. 
    The minutes crawled past, a silence hanging over the unit like low clouds, interrupted only by the crackle of a message coming in on primary channel. “Arcus this is Overwatch, you’re nearing the designated cloud-breach point. Be warned that you are out of immediate reinforcement range, and that we will be in an advisory position only. How copy, over?”
    Contrail sucked in a breath. This was it. “Solid copy, over.”
    “Sir,” I raised my hoof, tapping my console with the other. “Cloud patterns indicate a storm on surface level, light precipitation and high winds. we’d be best served breaching just east of the objective and coming in under storm cover.”
    Contrail nodded. “You heard the stallion, August. Take us in.”
I glanced back over my shoulder as August Shade took us into a slow, corkscrew decent.
    “This is recon op ponies; we're not here to draw any more attention than we need to. Just get in, find what we can, and leave. No witnesses."


Footnote: Level Up.  
New Perk: Confirmed Coltcuddler -- Bonus damage to the same sex and unique dialogue with certain ponies.