A large explosion kicked dust and debris skyward, hailing down on the ponies’ heads. A stallion screamed in pain somewhere nearby. Bullets ripped through the air in all directions, blowing holes into the plastered adobe walls and buildings. Fleethoof dove over a low wall, narrowly dodging a burst of gunfire aimed his direction. The pony’s sunglasses flew off his face, sweat dripping from his brow as he panted for breath. He could hear the bullets chipping away at his meager cover.
All around him, the sounds of combat echoed through the late morning. Waiting until the snaps of passing shots had disappeared, Fleethoof propped himself up on the wall, steadying his aim. Two enemies were taking cover behind boxes of supplies, opening fire on his soldiers. He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth and held it within his lungs, keeping his hooves steady as he took precise aim.
Four rounds popped from his rifle, striking one of the ponies in the shoulder and chest. He fell to the sandy ground and didn’t get up again. Just as he turned his aim to the next enemy, several shots peppered the wall beside his head again. Flinching, Fleethoof collapsed to the hot, coarse sand, crawling across the ground, ever careful to make sure he was pressed as close to his cover as he could be.
The fighting continued fiercely in the open area. With little cover to use, the combatants hunkered down and waited, only opening fire when they knew they were clear to. Crawling his way across the ground, Fleethoof slunk to the end of the wall and peered around the side. He could see the sniper, situated on a nearby roof, taking potshots at whoever was visible.
Bringing his rifle up, Fleethoof made sure to take his time with his aim. Ammo was running low, and he needed to make every shot count. He squeezed the trigger twice, both rounds fragmenting parts of the roof near the shooter. The pony turned to face him, and a loud, distant crack was heard. Before his eyes, Fleethoof watched the pony’s head rupture in a burst of red, and he fell off the roof to the ground below.
Fleethoof breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the Great Alicorn that Sharp Shot was such a remarkable marksman. Rising to his hooves again, he stepped cautiously out into the open, spotting the Marines from across the courtyard running to meet him halfway. The fighting on this side of the complex had died down, but gunshots could still be heard in another part nearby. His teammates were still meeting with some resistance.
“Hustle, Marines!” Fleethoof shouted. “Ponies are dying! Spread out and find—”
The pegasus was cut off when a massive force suddenly crashed into his back, sending him sprawling face-first into the hard ground. His eardrums were suddenly assaulted by an ear-shattering burst of heavy gunfire from right above him, and he could hear stallions and mares screaming. Lifting his face, he felt his eyes dilate in horror. His Marines were getting gunned down with ruthless force, even as they returned fire. The small team didn’t last longer than a minute in the open to the hailstorm of death.
From his position, Fleethoof could hear somepony shouting his name. The next thing he knew, something was turning him over onto his back, and he was staring up into the blinding sun. Wincing and squinting to focus his vision, he tried desperately to identify his attacker.
The pony loomed over him. It was one of the two clad in heavy, bulky armor with a large weapon slung across their body. Through his visor, Fleethoof could see the pony’s face, glaring with nothing short of pure malice and resentment down at him.
Fleethoof reacted on instinct, lifting his rifle, pointing it at the pony’s chest point-blank, and fired. The bullets ricocheted off the armor, rebounding in various directions, and leaving its host completely unscathed. Undeterred, the captain kept firing and firing, until he heard the horrific click of an empty magazine. He stared pleadingly at his gun, begging for just one more round, while the pony above him grinned. His armor had just been scuffed.
The armored enemy lifted his hoof and brought it down onto Fleethoof’s chest with incredible force. All the air in Fleethoof’s lungs was knocked out at once, and try as he might, the stallion’s lungs could not draw breath. He gasped sharply, blinding light flashing in front of his eyes as an extraordinary pain hit him like a wall. His hooves clambered and grasped desperately at his assailant’s leg, trying to fight him off as he struggled to breathe.
Groaning as the pressure and weight on his chest increased along with the pain, Fleethoof prayed somepony was still close enough to help him, even as black spots began to darken his vision. He gasped and coughed weakly, desperately trying to draw even one breath into his lungs. Staring helplessly up, Fleethoof could just struggle and watch as the barrel of a gun was aimed right at his forehead.
“Captain!”
Bang!
In a flurry of sheets, Midnight Dasher sprung up in her bed, gasping sharply and breathing hard. Sweat dampened her forehead and her heart was racing in her chest. For a moment, she sat in bed, staring blankly at the plain white sheets balled up in her lap, trying to get a grasp on herself and figure out what was going on.
In the dim light, she looked around her surroundings. It was the barracks—not the ones she was used to. That’s right, she was still in Canterlot, bunking with the Royal Guard. A few deep breaths later and she had gotten her panting under control again, wiping her face off with a hoof.
It had been years since she’d last had a nightmare that had actually scared her awake. But what was strangest about the dream wasn’t that she didn’t understand a lick of what was going on in it, but because of how real it had felt. She could still feel the tingling on her coat from where the fire had scorched the ponies, and her ears rang with distant gunshots.
The Marines—her Marines—they had been in danger. They were getting killed by ponies she didn’t even recognize. And Fleethoof… He had been in mortal danger. She’d seen him about to be…
Midnight swallowed hard, her parched throat aching in the warm barracks. She covered her face with her hooves, letting herself come back down to reality.
A dream… Just a dream… All just a bad dream…
In the stillness of the early morning, Midnight sat in silence, letting her thoughts roam free, back to happier places to get her mind off the nightmare. She didn’t feel willing enough to dare try and get back to sleep after that ordeal. Midnight wrapped her hooves around her legs, curling up on herself while trying to keep from wondering why she was having nightmares about her friends dying.
In amongst her time killing, the Thestral glanced up at the clock above the door. It was dawn. Hot, early morning sunlight had begun to stream through the blinds in the barracks, signaling the coming day. The Marines would be getting up soon, and she had to be ready to meet them.
With a stretch of her hooves, she leapt down to the floor and stretched out her lithe, taut body from neck to tail. The air was stuffy, and uncomfortably hot. Although it staved off the winter cold, it did little to help the sweat stuck to her matted fur and mane. Midnight trudged slowly across the barracks and into the bathroom, finding the nearest shower and starting it while she grabbed a towel.
The cold water hit her body like diving into a river on a hot summer’s day. A sigh slipped from her lips, enjoying the soothing sensation of the water running down her body, her mane hanging down over her face as the grime was washed away. It reminded the mare of her home, and a smile touched her lips. Lost in her own little world, the nightmare was soon forgotten.
Once she had soaked completely through, Midnight reached for the only bottle in the showers: an unlabeled brand of generic wash. The moment she poured some against her skin, the heady scent of fresh peaches wafted into her nose. Her subtle smile grew to a wide grin. It reminded her of the surly captain she had grown so fond of bothering. And in the same moment, Midnight’s good mood was shattered.
Her mind snapped back to her nightmare. Fleethoof had been in danger—vivid, real danger, in some place she didn’t recognize. Although it was all in her head, Midnight just couldn’t shake the sensation of dread she got when she thought about it. What if it wasn’t just a dream? What if he really was in trouble?
But wait… The Marines were there too… And they haven’t left Canterlot, so obviously it’s not real, she realized, assuaging her fears as she stepped out of the water to dry herself off.
That was when Midnight heard the marching hooves outside the barracks.
Confused, the bat pony trotted quickly across the barracks and outside, not even bothering to throw her armor on. She had to investigate that sound. It was still too early for the Guard to be up yet to change shifts, so those had to be her Marines. Sure enough, as she threw the door open and stepped out into the frigid December morning, she saw one of her Marine platoons in full uniform and gear marching out of the barracks, towards the city of Canterlot.
Stunned for a moment, all Midnight Dasher could do was watch as the soldiers left. Walking along beside the unit was Shining Armor, seeing the soldiers off. Caught between a mixture of uncertainty and irritation, the Lunar Guard ran to catch up to the Captain of the Guard.
“Captain Armor! Captain Armor!” she called out as she drew near, catching Shining Armor's attention. “What’s going on? Where are you taking the Marines?”
“They’re being shipped off for their first tour of duty,” said Shining Armor, and then looked over the au natural pony. “Where’s your armor, Corporal?”
Midnight rolled her eyes and huffed. “I didn’t put it on yet. I wanted to know what was going on. Where are they being sent to?”
“Saddle Arabia, to reinforce our garrison there until we can send some of our retrained Royal Guards back in their place. It’s just for a short time, nothing too exciting, and really not worth getting bent out of shape over.”
“But they’re my responsibility. Why wasn’t I told?”
Shining Armor sighed softly. “I’ll be honest, it was a last minute decision. We got some good intel and we decided to run with it. I think Saddle Arabia’s gonna need the extra troops.”
“Well then, I’m going with them,” Midnight said, turning around to retrieve her armor from the barracks.
“No, you’re not, Corporal Dasher.”
Shining Armor's words froze her in mid-stride. She turned on her hooves in place and trotted back up alongside the captain, casting an irked stare at him.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re needed here, not there.” Shining Armor’s answer was so simple, she knew there had to be more to it.
“One more gun won’t hurt to have.”
“You’re staying here.” Again, her attempts to leave had been thwarted by the evil mastermind.
“But I’m pretty much a part of the Marines! I can fight with them!” she pleaded.
“But you aren’t. You’re still a Lunar Guard, and you’re still only on lease from Fort Shadow, so I can’t go sending you off to another part of the world. I’m sorry, Corporal, but I can’t,” Shining apologized, offering a reassuring smile. “Besides, you still have another platoon of Marines here you have to look out for.”
Again, Midnight huffed defiantly and pouted. To say she was unhappy with this turn of events would have been an insulting understatement. Even though she had been denied, she continued to follow the soldiers all the way down to the train station. If she wasn’t going to be allowed to join them, she was at least going to see them off.
A lot of the Marines looked eager and ready to get going. They wanted to go into battle, to prove their newfound skills to the other soldiers. Their mood was infectious to the antsy mare as she stood beside Shining Armor on the platform. Steam hissed from the train as it idled at the station, waiting as the fifty armed ponies filed into the cars.
“So where are they going in Saddle Arabia?” asked Midnight, trying to make small talk with the officer beside her, and to dig for a little latent information.
“We have a base down there to help the Arabians out if they need us,” Shining Armor replied, watching the ponies climb aboard the train. “They’re not going to war or anything. Just bulking up our defenses.”
“Do our defenses need to be bulked up for any reason?”
Shining shrugged nonchalantly. “It can’t hurt, right?”
Midnight Dasher sighed and shuffled her hooves against the wooden platform. How she wished she could be going with them instead of getting left behind… She never got to go anywhere.
“What’s Saddle Arabia like?” she asked passively.
That question seemed to throw Shining Armor for a loop, as he took a moment to ponder the answer. “It’s hot year round, dry, arid, very sunny…”
Midnight physically felt her expression drop with her heart as it sank into her stomach. “Is it like a desert?”
“Yeah, it’s mostly desert down there. If it isn’t dunes, it’s dry, sandy rock and canyons.”
Oh no… Midnight worried—far too late.
The whistle on the train blared, tearing through the stillness of the early morning, and the train began its departure from Canterlot. Some of the Marines were cheering and hollering, some waving to Shining Armor and Midnight. They looked ecstatic to be getting out of the city.
As she watched them leave, all Midnight could feel was a crippling wave of nausea and dismay.
Oxford was expectedly quiet the next morning. Fleethoof sat in stony silence, leaning against the wall of the train station, just listening to nothing but the gentle breeze from the coast ripple over the town. It tousled his golden mane softly while he stared at the train tracks at the other side of the platform.
Further down the line, Valiant and Sharp Shot sat together, playing some sort of card game. Cupcake was with Blue and Flash, talking quietly amongst themselves while eating a light breakfast. He didn’t know where the Re'emians had gotten to, but he didn’t care anymore. Where they were going, the dynamic duo of death couldn’t follow.
Fleethoof’s mind was otherwise engaged regardless. Dark thoughts from the night before lingered at the forefront of his mind. They had kept him from sleep, not that he would have gotten much out in the cold regardless. He had committed a murder; he had come to terms with this. What he was still having difficulty justifying to himself was if he would do it again. He already knew the answer, but it didn’t make him feel as righteous as he held his morals to be.
It plagued his conscience and soul. He was supposed to be the shining star of his team, the example they could look to in a leader. Now he could feel this dark streak running through him as he reflected on the events of the last few days. He didn’t know where this side of him had come from, or if it had just always been buried away, waiting for the right time to unleash and cut the creature loose.
If there was any consolation to rationalize his questionable behavior, it was that Nightflash had been recovered, and was well on his way back home. Skyfall had gotten the wounded soldier on the first train back to Canterlot. By now he would be halfway to Ponyville. They had saved one life for certain, and countless others by association.
So why did he still feel like a criminal?
The sound of something weighty collapsing beside him nearly made the pony jump, his senses still wound tight from the night before. It was the darker of the Re'emians—the stallion, Chaim. He gave a passive smile to Fleethoof, an expression crossed between amusement and support strangely mixing in his emerald green eyes.
“Did I startle you, Equestrian?”
Fleethoof scoffed and looked away, staring blankly off into space. “Hardly, Re'emian.”
There was a brief pause between Chaim’s next sentence. “I recognize that look. It’s the gaze of a stallion with guilty blood on his hooves.”
“What do you want?” snapped Fleethoof impatiently, already growing tired of the jesting before it had even begun.
“I do not like you, Equestrian—Captain or not. And it is no secret that you do not enjoy my presence either,” he said, beginning what Fleethoof expected would be a long speech. “But I respect your command, and your abilities. I remember what that first kill is like… It haunts you, like a phantom in your mind, and you begin to wonder if there was any way you could have handled things differently. You seek refuge in the solace that perhaps there was another way, when in your heart you know there wasn’t.”
“The point,” Fleethoof muttered harshly under his breath. “Get to it.”
“The point I am making is this: do not cause your heart to waver in its resolution. You have sworn your allegiances, and your duty requires it. No matter what you do, there will always be some way to defend it, and some way to damn it. Trust your instincts—they will not lead you astray. Killing for a cause might make you a villain to some, and a hero to others. Shades of gray paint this world of ours, and you cast yourself as light or dark as you wish. What matters is how you interpret your actions and how you live with the consequences.”
Fleethoof was pleasantly surprised by the depth of Chaim's speech. It reassured him, taking him aback initially. For all the damnation Equestrian history threw onto the Re'emians, their creed was respectable. Fight loyally, and it does not matter what the other factions think of you. What matters is how you perceive yourself to your allies.
“Thank you, Chaim,” he said sincerely, watching the soft cloud his warm breath left in the air dissipate.
“Do not worry, Captain. The first kill is always the hardest. It gets easier.”
Fleethoof chuckled. “Who said I’m going to keep borderline murdering?”
“You did, by not resigning as soon as you were offered the job.”
“You know, it’s almost a shame we have to part so soon. I was just beginning to tolerate you,” Fleethoof teased, half smiling at the stallion beside him.
It was Chaim’s turn to laugh now. “Something tells me two Re'emians in Saddle Arabia would not make the best teammates to have at your side. But the sentiment is appreciated. Are you certain there is nothing I can do to persuade you to fight for Re'em? You could truly put your talents to the test and help your long-lost brothers.”
“I’m fairly sure Princess Celestia would banish me to the Everfree Forest for dragging Equestria into a war.”
Both ponies chuckled amongst themselves as they sat in wait on the station platform. To any outside observer, the sight of an Equestrian pegasus and Re'emian Earth pony would have been a spectacle on its own. To the two operators, it was considered cooperation.
“Why do you fight Saddle Arabia?” Fleethoof asked after a few moments of tranquil quiet, watching the pony’s head turn in his direction again. “Besides the obvious rivalry, why do you do it? What does a lifetime of war promise you?”
“Honestly?” Fleethoof nodded to Chaim. “Peace. It promises peace. After all, there is no such thing as a victimless war..."
Chaim took a deep breath, staring blankly off into the sky, speaking softly. “What your friend said on the train, about Ashkelon… I was there when it was burned to the ground. I lived there, with my wife and foal. We had been in the city less than a year when the war was resumed. My beloved and I chose Ashkelon to raise a family because it was far from the hot zones—but the Arabians decided that made it the perfect target…
“I worked for a private contracting agency back then. Mercenaries, as you call them, but with the support of the government behind us, not these guns for hire you see running around like animals. In the early hours of the morning, the Arabians began to firebomb the city. There was no warning, no time to escape, and no mercy… My brothers and sisters and I fought with all of our strength, but we were gravely outnumbered and outgunned. I was still very young, and very inexperienced, and even my courage could not stop the onslaught those horses reigned down on us.”
The stallion paused, catching his breath and swallowing hard. Although Fleethoof couldn’t be sure, it almost looked like the Mossad agent had a stray tear in the corner of his eye.
“My house was burned to cinders by a squad of Arabian demolitionists—with my family inside. I butchered those monsters, but I was too late to save the ones I loved… I listened to their shrieks while my brothers had to drag me away, screaming and fighting to do anything. They did the right thing. If I had gone in, I would have died as well. But it did not matter. I lost my world that day. So I vowed to take away the Arabians’.”
Fleethoof didn’t know what to say. How would somepony even go about responding to a story like that? In his time in the military, he had witnessed some gruesome, barbaric practices, but not even in his worst nightmares could he imagine the torment of watching and listening to everything you cared about die.
“What happened then?”
“After the Arabians pulled back and Ashkelon burned, those of us that survived fled to Tail Aviv. I met up with my sister. Adira had just joined the Mossad and encouraged me to do the same. I followed her advice, and they made me into the stallion I am now.” Chaim smiled a little. “Ashkelon is still being rebuilt, but the Arabians learned that we don’t get pushed without pushing back.”
“I’m sorry, Chaim,” said Fleethoof, making an earnest attempt at sympathy, though not entirely sure what else to say at that moment.
“It is in the past, and it cannot be reversed, no matter how painful,” the Re'emian murmured sagely, then looked to the pony beside him with a forced smile. “But this is not the time to wallow in memories. Today is the day for reparations, for both Re'em and Equestria. We return to a war, and you will fight to prevent one.”
Fleethoof smirked indomitably and nodded.
“And you will be going into your war with this.” From his single saddlebag, Chaim produced a small mahogany box covered in intricate markings and symbols.
The stallion set the box in between the two, then pushed it towards the captain. Curiously puzzled, Fleethoof eyed the box cautiously, but ended up lifting it anyway. He shook it in midair, listening to something shuffling and shifting about inside. Chaim groaned and rolled his eyes.
“I promise you, it is not a trap. Just open it, you stupid pony.”
Flaring his nostrils and snorting jokingly, Fleethoof pulled the top off. Inside the ornately decorated container lay a leather armguard, simple yet elegant in appearance and craft. He reached inside and slowly pulled the accessory out, studying it closely in the sunlight. The leather smelled fresh, and was soft to the touch, yet hardened and solid in form. Most strikingly, the insignia of Skyfall had been branded into the center of the bracer's leather.
“This is a gift from the Mossad to you, Captain of Skyfall,” Chaim said as he examined his gift. “It was intended to be a bribe to get you to fight for our cause, but I see a more honorary use for it. Traditionally, in the Mossad, each pony only receives these after their first confirmed assassination to prove their merit to the organization. I think it is fitting, seeing as you just made your first kill.”
“It’s… wow. I almost don’t want to wear it, it’s so lovely.”
“It’s far more than just aesthetics, Captain Fleethoof.” Chaim grinned, and took it from the pony to demonstrate. “There is a pressure switch inside the armguard that works a spring mechanism. You simply flex your hoof like so…”
Chaim exhibited the simple technique to Fleethoof, and something small shot out of the underside of the bracer. Chaim caught it, and held it out to the pegasus.
“…And out pops a hidden switchblade, ready for battle. Should you ever need to smuggle a surreptitious weapon somewhere, or just like having a little something extra on you, you always have a blade on hoof.”
Pressing the side of the knife, Chaim popped the blade out for Fleethoof to see. The blade itself was a little over four inches in length, and shone bright silver in the light. Without even having to touch it, Fleethoof could see that it looked wickedly sharp, and designed for quick, precise kills.
“Believe me, if you think Arabian steel is something of legend, you haven’t handled the craft of Re'emian smiths. When you’re done, simply push the blade back in like so…” Again, Chaim demonstrated the method to Fleethoof, and then slid the folded knife back into its home in the armguard with a soft snap. “And it returns to its place like so.”
“You Re'emians have some dangerous technology…” Fleethoof noted with a low chuckle. Chaim smirked proudly.
“Centuries of endless warfare will do that to a culture.”
Taking the armguard back, Fleethoof slid it on his right hoof and tightened the straps with his teeth. It fit like a glove. He tested out the pressure switch, and then the knife, still amazed by how simple yet effective such a design was. It was amazing no other culture had developed such a weapon yet.
Down the line, the sound of a train horn screaming caught the eight ponies’ attention. One of the two groups would be leaving. A glance up at the timetable on the wall confirmed that the train was bound for Saddle Arabia.
“Thank you, Chaim,” Fleethoof said once more, shaking hooves with the stallion as the ponies approached the edge of the platform. “I won’t say it’s been a pleasure, but it’s been an experience. I’m sorry we have to say goodbye so soon.”
“Do not give it any thought, for it was no pleasure working with you deluded Equestrians either.” Chaim permitted a slight, jesting smile to touch his face. “In Re'em, we do not say goodbye to our friends. We will see you again in another time, Captain Fleethoof. Until then, may fortune favor your path.”
“Take care, and stay safe. You as well, Adira. Keep an eye on your brother.”
Adira laughed softly, nudging the shoulder of her younger brother beside her. “Do not fret, I’ve been keeping a watchful gaze on him since he was a foal. Fight well, Fleethoof, and do not forget about us. Time will reunite us again someday.”
The train screeched stridently as the brakes kicked in, slowing the locomotive down to a stop at Oxford Station. The doors to the cars opened, permitting a few ponies to disembark while Skyfall climbed aboard. Lingering outside the car, Fleethoof glanced back at the two Re'emians standing a ways away, watching the ponies.
With a half-cocked grin, Fleethoof saluted them. Chaim laughed and saluted him back, while Adira waved them off. He boarded the train just before the doors closed, and with another blare from the whistle, the train departed, bound for the land of endless sand and sun.
They were getting so close to Union, Fleethoof could almost see the end.