//------------------------------//
// Battle 
// Story: Salvage 
// by Rollem Bones 
//------------------------------//

Chapter 10: Battle
“I love it when a plan comes together.”
 
 
As soon as I opened my eyes, I knew I was in for another fun time in the subconscious. The warm, fluffy bed beneath me, the silken covers that shimmered in the flickering candlelight, the dark walls with the small picture frames placed on the wall in a haphazard way.
 
I stopped taking mental stock of my surroundings. I did not have any pictures on the walls of my subconscious. Rolling and kicking, I freed myself from my posh prison and fell to the floor like a wounded duck.
 
The pictures were small, simple, and certainly not the grand affair that was the grand portrait above my bed. They were photographs, grayscale and grainy. Images of life ill defined; a caravan with a trio of ponies, too small and indistinct to make out, a single pony in a long coat whose face was smudged from existence, a skyscraper I had never seen nor could have imagined. I stared at the three, and at a few others that dotted the walls. Like the pictures, the frames were old, half-broken or made from scrap in the first place. Despite the stressed look, I liked them, for whatever the actual subjects were, since most seemed too worn to make out.
 
“They add to the décor. Gives the room a sense of being aristocratic but not aloof. Kind of an ivory tower on Cannery Row feel.”
 
The source of the voice was a reedy looking dirt brown earth pony. He looked to me and gave a small nod, his necktie bobbing along.
 
“You’re new,” I told the pony. Turning from him, I walked to go look at the other pictures that had taken up residence on the walls. “Have a reason to be here?”
 
“You’re observant,” the brown pony noted. “So you should know I’m only here because you wanted me here.”
 
“The Radio says I need you guys.”
 
“There’s a difference?”
 
I looked over my shoulder. The earth pony smiled, adjusting his noose. “Not a lot, I suppose,” I admitted with some trepidation. I turned and looked square at the pony, trying to pick out where I had seen him before.
 
“High Rise,” he filled in, reading my memories. “We got a lot to talk about, Curtain Call. You and I. Believe me. We have got a lot of talking to do.”
 
I rolled my eyes at the architect. “That’s the point of you guys, to talk. You don’t need to tell me twice. So get on with it. What’s on my mind?”
 
My imagination laughed. “Dreams are funny things, ephemeral. I don’t think it’s a good foundation for a lasting relationship. Besides, you’re waking up. I don’t speak that fast. So I’m just here to tell you, you and I are going to have a sit down sometime soon.”
 
“I’m waking—“
 
“Up.” I did. Dirty metal roof above me. Dirty metal walls to my sides. Dirty bedding below me. I was awake all right. Horribly, horribly awake.
 
Stepping out into the dim light of early morning and blinking to clear the sleep from my eyes, I was surprised to find the Bastards were morning ponies. The camp collective was out in force at the ready. Most wore some form of armor, a myriad of style and source cobbled and collected by their wearers. The one constant among the piecemeal army were their helmets. The designs were different, built to fit the wearer, but all were painted black and stamped with a red-colored B. Motif purposes or not, I wondered if the Bastards just had limited stencils lying about.
 
Their weapons were, like their users, well made if still scrap, and just as varied. Guns looked to be the weapon of choice, particularly with the unicorns and the griffins. I still counted battle saddles outfitted with spears, and yokes that had blades jutting forward in a mimicry of tusks. Bad Road, moving among the crowd with a calm that reminded me of the hour just prior to a thunderstorm, wore a strange vest that held a small gun mounted at his shoulder. Griffins with spurs and wingblades, bison carrying what looked like field artillery, the collection was impressively frightening.
 
The Bastards themselves were reverent in their preparation. Gone was the whooping and hollering. Gone were the drinking and carousing and even the rage that fueled the night before. Now the gang was filled with a quietude that sent a shiver up my spine. I listened as I walked through them, and still heard little. The family all consumed in silent assistance for the battle ahead.
 
I finished my round of the lot, and not finding anything of interest or even anything of friendliness, I returned to the medicart. There I sat and continued to watch, knowing I would be getting my own gear soon enough and joining the march. Inside, I knew I could just leave, ditch them all with the rest of my friends. The only thing getting in my way was me and I was putting up a tougher resistance than I expected.
 
“We’re different from them.” Two-Shot rounded the medicart. He sat beside me, eyes on the tribe’s preparation.
 
I looked to this stunning statement of the obvious with a quirked brow. “Think of that all on your own?”
 
The unicorn looked up at me just long enough to sigh, giving his head a shake. “Not that, you idiot.” He nodded to a pair checking one another’s armor. “Daisy and I are mercs, we fight for caps and gear. You’re an inveterate opportunist, you’re in this because you think you can make something out of it. Them, this is their life. This is them. This shit, it defines them.”
 
I glanced toward Two-Shot. “You already start drinking?”
 
“Not yet. Now shut up and listen,” he chided with good humor. “They’re damn serious about this. This kind of fight is in them to the core. Whoever they’re up against, those ponies up north, they’re in for a bloodbath.”
 
The unicorn prodded my side with a hoof. “I want to know if you’re ready for it.”
 
The show of concern was surprising to say the least. I thought the matter over. I had fought before, at the Hotel Halflinger, at the Sparkle-Cola office, on the streets. Fighting was not new to me and I hardly had a weak constitution. I told Two-Shot as much.
 
Still my small friend shook his head. “Not the same. You were running away. It’s easy to fight when it’s to keep your skin. Harder to do it when you’re just looking to skin others. For good reason, too. Sometimes it’s good to have some real killers alongside you.”
 
“Are you suggesting anything?” I asked with a slowly growing grin.
 
“What he’s saying is we’re in on this.” Daisy cut in, flanking my other side. She was already in her barding and battle saddle, a nightmare-moon-may-care grin on her face.
 
Back and forth, I looked between the lovers. “Both of you? They’re paying you? No having to go through initiations or anything like that?”
 
“Nope,” Daisy said and a look to Two-Short corroborated. “It turns out that Brighteyes kid is perfectly fine with hiring mercenaries. At a reduced rate, of course.”
 
My glance turned from Two-Shot back to Daisy. “How reduced a rate are we talking about?” My question came with doubt. I was beginning to suspect they were not in on this for a great capital gain.
 
“Not sure,” Two-Shot said with a shrug, “About enough to compensate for the ammo?” He looked around me to his partner in crime.
 
The mare simply nodded and grinned.
 
“There you have it. Reduced to compensation. I think it’s a fair price.”
 
I stomped a hoof on the ground. “I appreciate the idea, guys. In fact, loving it. Still would have liked to see you go a little higher. Might as well have made a profit on it.”
 
The mercenaries laughed. I joined them. None of the tribals seemed to care or notice our sudden good spirits in the face of their solemn anger.
 
“So you were paying attention to what I said yesterday,” Daisy commented, her grin showing signs of smug superiority. I approved.
 
With a laugh, I told her I had. “So there’s the three of us. Feel safer already. Much as I figure I can take this tribe at their word, I’m glad to know I have you there. Still got to ask, though, why?”
 
“Like you said, you carted my ass around for a few days after you carried me away from a burning building.”
 
“You did good for Daisy. Enough for me.”
 
I looked back to Two-Shot, who was making a strong point in avoiding my glance. No point in pushing the matter, I went back to looking to Daisy instead to the unicorn’s favor.
 
“Good to know I have you two with me,” I told them, rattling the thought and idea of that around in the back of my skull. I had been alone for a while, a very long time by most standards. I had my reasons; it made my life much easier doing it on my own, it worked on a personal level not having to care about anypony else.
 
I thought again to the night before my home burned. Listening to the radio, lost in my mind, wondering the worth of a life spent the way I was spending it. Getting by and making a profit was great and all, but goddesses damn it I wanted to do something worth it at the same time.
 
I looked at the Bastards, armed, armored, waiting and ready to slaughter a town full of ponies that, as far as I could tell, had no idea about the battle ahead. Two-Shot was right; this was going to be a bloodbath. Worse still, I was going to be involved in it.
 
Then I smiled. Better I was going to be involved with it.
 
“Two-Shot, Daisy, I have an idea,” I told the pair, reaching out to bring them close to me. “I need you two to go get Fizzy and if she’s not already in for joining us, make her. I have a doctor to find. Get her and meet me back at the medicart. I’ll explain then.”
 
Agreements made and my nebulous plan was taking a nascent shape. I sent the pair after Fizzy under the assumption they would have an easier time of getting agreement from her than I would with the griffin. My hopes in my words, I went to find Cutter.
 

 
“Really?” I was floored with the simple, direct and total agreement from Cutter. There I was asking her to risk her neck without even knowing what little plan had formulated in my head. There she was already packing a yellow canvas kit bag.
 
“I don’t stutter. I said I’d go. I was already planning on it anyways. Survival is a matter of time, and the sooner I can get to patients the better off they’ll be,” Cutter told me while measuring out dosages of freshly cooked up med-x substitute. She and Fizzy has been spending time together if the mess of jury-rigged chemistry sets were any indication.
 
I shook my head, dislodging the last bit of disbelief to allow for more planning to coalesce in the empty spaces of my mind. “Good, great. Because what I’ve seen tells me you won’t have to worry about too many Bastard causalities.”
 
The griffin trilled and turned her head over her shoulder to give me a questioning look. “Is that right?”
 
“Absolutely. These ponies are strange, sure, nasty looking marks on their flanks but they don’t act the parts. All innocent. Too innocent. Thing is, I don’t think they were putting me over. It was all too genuine.”
 
Cutter looked back to her work, checking the volume in her syringes. “So what you’re saying is those settlers are about to get reamed?”
 
“Pretty much. It’s going to be ugly. They’re going to need a doctor. They’re going to need you.”
 
Cutter’s shoulders rose and fell, I could see the rolling of her eyes even looking at the back of her head. “Nice pep-talk, but I already told you I was in. You going to fill me in on the plan or just stroke my ego a little more?”
 
“In good time, Cutter, in good time,” I rose a hoof and waved it with a flourish. “I will fill you in later, and if you want, I can stroke your ego as well. I just need to know you’ll be there.”
 
Cutter finished her packing and slung the bag around her neck and under a talon. “Why wait?” she asked, stepping toward me. “Let’s get moving. These tribals won’t be sitting around forever and I want to know what your plan is.”
 
We stood for a moment, eye to eye. A silent accord between the two of us made before we left the medical tent.
 
Inside my head, my plan was beginning to form, now that I had pieces to play with. I could see the swirling nebulae of ideas becoming more real with each step to the medicart. I still needed Fizzy’s help to make this plan into something magic.
 
Cutter and I arrived at the medicart first. We waited, swapping dirty jokes to pass the time. When Fizzy arrived, flanked by Daisy and Two-Shot, we shared a collective nod and the conspiratorial friendly grin. Then I stepped into the middle and started my ballyhoo.
 
“All here, all gathered, all good. Okay everypony, here’s the deal; we’re saving lives. That’s right, you heard me. We are marching off to battle to save some lives. See, those ponies up in Conviction don’t stand a chance. They’re going to be slaughtered. They’re good ponies though, the kind I think we all need. So it’s my plan to save their hides. Doesn’t makes sense, I know, but damn if I’m going to let a little bit of logic and that asshole reality get in my way. Don’t worry though, I have a plan and it involves all of us.”
 
I threw my hoof toward the mercenary couple to my right. I couldn’t imagine the thoughts in their head at the night manic grin on my face. I was hitting a roll and I was going to take this where it needed to go.
 
“Daisy, Two-Shot, you guys have it the easiest. We need guards and we need gunners. I’ve already been through Conviction, I still know the layout. I think we have a good spot in their post office to set up a safe zone. Problem is, I’m going to need you guys to be able to hold our ground in case we have a few Bastards that get overzealous or a couple of panicky settlers get ahead of themselves. I know you two are good for it, I’ve seen you do it before.”
 
I spun on my back hoof, a half circle twist to snap a point at the griffin behind me. She trilled and had a wicked grin at the same time.
 
“Cutter, we’re going to need your medical expertise with us. I get you want to run around and grab anypony you can out there. Great, good, and noble of you, but I think we could use you on top of things once we set up the safe zone. We’ll take in wounded, be they settler or Bastard. Fuck, we’ll lay them out side by side with each other just to twist the knife a little, I don’t care. Just going to need to make sure they live. You won’t just be a medic, we’ll set you up with a damn hospital.”
 
Again I whirled in place. Words punctuating my steps, or my steps punctuating the words, I didn’t know and I didn’t care. Up to Fizzy, I swaggered with a cocksure grin. I had this. I had this good.
 
“Which leads me to the last little detail, we’re going to need a chemist to cook up some meds in case we run out. Now of course, there’s only one pony around that I’d expect to give that sort of job to in a time like this. That’s right Fizzy. You. Now I’m not going to bother to ask if you can do it, because there if there’s a pony in all of Equestria who can, it’s you.”
 
Fizzy didn’t flinch at my advance. She adjusted her glasses, gave a smile and a shrug and said, “I was hoping to field test some armaments I have been cooking up, but I suppose I can do both that and supply Cutter with what she needs.”
 
My grin became less pointlessly manic with each agreement.
 
“But,” I stopped grinning. There was always a but. “I’m going to require some form of chemistry equipment.”
 
“We’ll take what we need from the medical tent,” Cutter interjected, “They have enough to spare. They’re just using the others to cook up chems. The Bastards won’t miss a set.”
 
Fizadora nodded, looking back from Cutter to myself. “I need reagents. No medicine without them.”
 
“Leave that to me,” I told Fizzy, grinning to beat the band. I twisted around and started to march off. “Follow along, all, and make note there’s one of us not among our little chat. Believe me, it’s for a reason.”
 
Onward and outward and we found Summer Bounty going over her inventory at her cart. She must have been worried about the Bastards but I was about to be the more dangerous thief in the encampment.
 
“Summer!” I called out the mare in a voice far too cheery for her own good, “I’ve got a plan cooked up and guess what.”
 
“I’m not going to charge into battle, Curtain Call. You’re good looking, but not that good looking,” Summer retorted with a wry little smirk. “I’ve got nothing to gain from this fight.”
 
“Now now, never say that,” I reminded the orange mare, sliding past her to get a closer look at the stock she had in store. “After all, the ponies we help today may be your best friends tomorrow.”
 
“So it’s a social investment?” Summer’s words were sarcastic, and all too knowing.
 
“You could look at it that way,” I admitted as I dug through the supplies, looking for some of the things I remember seeing around chemists in the past. A good way to tell something’s worth is by what they keep around them and what they do. Learn about the ponies, and you learn about worth.
 
“Fat lot of good it’s done you before.”
 
I looked up from my rooting and fixed my eyes on Summer. “We all make mistakes,” I admitted with a shrug and went back to my digging.
 
“Summer, we need the stock,” Cutter stepped up and around to the cart, apparently in a hurry, she started at the goods in the cart. “Besides, without me you wouldn’t have half of this. So I can take what I want. And I want these ingredients.”
 
Now beginning to be outnumbered, Summer looked like she had just swallowed a bug. She looked over to the others but found little hope there. Even less when Fizzy joined Cutter and I in looking for the needed reagents.
 
Now that I had others who knew what to look for, I could stop. Slipping from the cart, I walked around Summer. She still looked doubtful toward me, and my motives, but her look had resigned overtones. We looked eye to eye. I knew I had won.
 
“This will pay off in the end. Trust me,” I assured the orange mare with a hoof at her shoulder and my best smile.
 
She met the smile with her own and brushed my hoof aside. Her words were quiet and meant for just me. “Can’t throw you that far.”
 
Summer looked over at Cutter and Fizzy comparing the usefulness of one flower over the other. Then she looked down at the ground, shaking her head. “Not that it matters.” Her eyes lifted to meet mine again. “Don’t go wasting my stock and don’t go getting killed.”
 
“Lucky you,” I told the mare, “Because my plans don’t include either of those things.”
 
It took only a few minutes for Cutter and Fizzy to work out just what the two of them needed to keep a temporary medical shelter sustained. Still, time dragged on in a lazy way that denied us the gravity of the situation. While Two-Shot and Daisy talked tactics, I counted and recounted the bullets of information I gleaned from my whirlwind tour of Conviction.
 
I never did get a chance to go over the information as well as I wanted. For as long as it felt, I still felt unprepared when Bad Road approached from the bulk of the main encampment. He had Dozer with him. The silent unicorn’s automatic carbine floated alongside.
 
“It’s good to know we’ll have you and yours in the coming fight,” the dust colored pony spoke in his equally dulled tone, “As much as I wish we all could have avoided this conflict, the die has been cast. To know we have allies, both new to the family, and outside of it, is not something we take lightly.”
 
Quiet confirmation coexisted with a mutual silence regarding the non-partisan hospital plan. Dozer remained a silent cipher while Bad Road spoke.
 
“I’m certain Curtain Call has already informed you of the predicted ease of this operation. I have argued for a lifetime that there is honor in conflict. That to fight for self, for family, and for your ideal is how a pony proves they exist in this world. I find today that I cannot agree with that philosophy. It’s a shame that I already know the role I shall play this morning.”
 
Bad Road looked to all of us, a half smile on his face. His mane peeked from beneath his cap, hiding an eye that hid the machinations of a sharp mind. In the last few days, I had grown a mixture of respect and distrust of the canny stallion.
 
“So why not do something about it?” Cutter spoke up. “Why not stop this whole stupid thing. You tried to avoid it, now tell them to sit down, shut up and work something else out?”
 
Bad Road turned his attention to the griffin. His resigned smile never waned. “I have tried. I have tried my damnedest to stop the inevitable but it is just that. I stand as much chance of ceasing this war as I would turn back the tides.”
 
The older pony turned to the younger unicorn beside him and smiled, “However,” he continued, “That does not mean the flow of events cannot be directed toward a more desirable tack.”
 
One of us questioned him, I cannot say which of us, to which he replied with a canny grin and a glinting eye. “I overheard Curtain Call’s speech.” He must have caught the look on my face since he added, “You do speak a little on the loud side. Anyways, I want to let you know that I approve of this little quasi-deception and will see to it you get what assistance I can provide.”
 
This changed the game. This changed the game big time. I looked about to my friends, most of us all considering the same thing if through different tracks.
 
“Going to need what meds I can carry. If I’ll be healing up your crew and whoever is up there, it could get dicey,” Cutter said.
 
“Base reagents would also be a help. I know you have plenty raw materials around here to work with,” Fizzy added.
 
Bad Road gave a long moment of consideration to the requests from the pair. His face fell and he looked toward Dozer. The two shared a silent debate, a trade of looks and expressions that ended with a short nod from the younger stallion.
 
“We will do as you ask,” Bad Road agreed with a solemn nod. “I will make certain you will find what you need when the time comes.” He held up a hoof to preempt a response from Cutter, “I will not make movement before that. There is some trust for Curtain Call, but most of you are outsiders and mercenaries. Not all of us are in agreement with your service, nor do we all trust you to simply hand off our supplies.”
 
Cutter spoke up anyways. “Hey, I’ve been patching you idiots up for days now. What gives? I don’t get any trust?”
 
“You’ve been doing so under duress. You know you’re well meaning, as do I and some others, but to many, you are still a threat. You may yet turn.”
 
“This is bullshit.,” Cutter sat back on her haunches and crossed her forelegs with an indignant huff.
 
“Welcome to politics, young lady.”
 
Cutter simply grumbled her hurt and frustration, suddenly finding interest in something happened in the distance.
 
“Thanks,” I stepped in, literally, offering a hoof to Bad Road. “It feels better knowing we have you at our backs.”
 
We shook on the matter, only be interrupted by a loud and abrasive shouting. “Incoming!” shouted a shrill, nasal voice from up above. It was a griffin. A griffin carrying a unicorn by a harness held. Specifically, the griffin was Shrike, the dash head from the first day, and he was carrying Brickbat.
 
The two touched down, Brickbat dropping a short distance before Shrike touched down beside her. Her harness looked like an upside-down saddle, with a pair of looped grips jutting from the top. Tied to the side of the harness was a wicked looking bat that had appeared to have been involved in a major industrial accident by the nails and bits of metal jutting from it.
 
“Hey, Bad Road. Got those flowers you wanted,” Brickbat spoke loud, stepping toward the older pony. She had a broad, smart grin on her as she added, “Would’ve been back quicker but we got some flying in.”
 
“All night?” Bad Road asked with a knowing raise of an eyebrow, cracking a smile of his own.
 
“All night,” Brickbat added, stressing the syllables while she passed on a bundle of yellowish flowers to Bad Road. Behind her Shrike looked about the happiest a griffin could be.
 
The exchanged finished, Brickbat looked to my friends and I. She sniffed and looked to Bad Road. “They throwing in with us?” she asked, doubt didn’t creep into her voice so much as smash in the door “Or is the new guy splitting already?”
 
“Curtain Call and his friends will be joining us in the field today. Experienced mercenaries and specialists all, you can assure yourself they will be an invaluable asset,” Bad Road told Brickbat with a welcoming nod to all of us.
 
Brickbat’s frown and discriminatory eye cast doubt on all of us, but she relented. A sigh and a nod and she looked back to Shrike. “We got to go get the crew up and ready so we’re not all tripping over our own hooves out there,” she seemed to speak to no one in particular. “And I need my helmet. See you lot before the march.”
 
With that, she and Shrike were gone, turning tail and leaving alongside one another to ready themselves for war. It was an interesting sight, to see how easily she slipped into the warrior role; more interesting was her relationship with the griffin. It did explain the feathers in her mane.
 
“I will see you shortly,” Bad Road said without looking to any of us, sorrowful eyes instead on the departing pair. “We will meet at the entryway before leaving. Thank you again, for what you do for me.”
 
Bad Road shared another look, another nod, with Dozer and they left as a pair. Once again, my friends and I were left to contemplate our increasingly odd relationship with the tribals.
 
“Not sure if we can trust him,” Two-Shot pointed out, watching the departing Bastards.
 
“Best to keep an eye on him,” Daisy said, “If he’s on our side, he’s a damn good asset. If he’s against us, then we could be fucked. Call, you’ve been around him most, what do you think?”
 
“He’s with us. He wasn’t lying, I can tell that much. I’m not sure what he’s planning to do for us, but I can tell you he isn’t going to be stabbing us in the back anytime soon.”
 
“Do you trust him, or can you predict him?” I was suddenly aware of Fizzy at my side. She looked at me with concern from over her spectacles.
 
The question ate at me, made the moment I mulled it over drag for what felt like minutes. “Trust,” I told her, “I don’t think Bad Road is a pony that can be predicted, but he can be trusted.”
 
Fizzy looked buoyed by the idea, gave me a smile, and nodded. “Good. I will remind everypony that I am well stocked up on my usual supply, by the way. In case it turns out Call is wrong.”
 
There wasn’t a one of us that looked too secure in that knowledge.
 

 
Not an hour later, the army had formed. It was less an army, more an organized angry mob with a relatively higher amount of focus and weaponry than the standard variety, but the differences are few. The Bastards wore their armor now, even the ones without such protection still took to wearing the familiar helmets that managed to combine individual tastes with uniform helmet-ness. The uniform gave the appearance of a massive, multicolor ladybug. Bright colors, dull colors, feathers and fur all dotted with black coats, barding, and helmets.
 
Our little group was in the back. Apart, yet together, we stuck out, clear outsiders among the throng. In some ways, it brought a little more unity to us, and a little more awareness of how separate our plan was from the Bastards. We were sharing a unified cause, excepting Summer, she held a monopoly on thinking what we were doing was stupid. She was right, of course, what we were doing was stupid; we knew that, she was just the only one to act on her self-preservation instincts.
 
I stood alongside Fizzy, who was alongside Cutter. Daisy was on the other side of me, and Two-Shot behind her and I. We all watched the empty space with the rest of the Bastards. The empty space we were about to head off into war through. Being a not leader, Big Buck had of course decided to speak to the collective before the march to war.
 
A freight train stepped up in front of us. I have seen power armor before, and the rig that Big Buck wore was not power armor. It was as though someone had seen power armor and decided that the whole power concept was for weaklings. What really caught my attention was the locomotive pilot at the front. A wedge of metal tailored to guide unfortunate victims toward the auto-axes that flanked his frame.
 
He turned to the crowd, looked over the crowd, and with a snap of his head flipped up the face of his helmet. A stern look dominated his features. The buffalo squared himself, lifted his head and spoke.
 
“Bastards! Today we take to battle! Today we meet our enemies face to face! And today we make them bleed!”
 
Big Buck bellowed to the sky. The Bastards answered in turn. The roar washed over us all, ringing in my ears and resonating in my chest. Then, the buffalo stormed from the encampment with the Bastards in tow. It was only after the briefest of pauses to take stock of the situation before us that my friends and I followed.
 
 For the second time in as many days, I took the walk, the long march over the boring rolling hills and valleys of the Bastards’ territory. This time I didn’t bother counting trees or rocks, I already knew where they were and how many. There was company outside of my own head for a change, but somehow none of us could find words. Talking didn’t feel right. As we closed in on the settlement, the growing awareness that the chances of pulling this whole plan off were low and could only go lower began to gnaw at the back of my mind.
 
I saw a deep brown pony in a dull green tie walk beside me. I looked at him and he, despite sunken eyes and lank mane, gave me a smile.
 
“Incoming,” he said.
 
I blinked. Something whistled. Then that something went boom.

Dirt, stone and I think a bit of tree stump peppered my side. At least I hope it was tree stump. There was shouting, angry shouting and it quickly grew into a mighty roar. The ground vibrated with furious pounding as the Bastards broke into a run. Another explosion rocked the nearby ground. Someone, I don’t know who, shouted “mortar” while another explosion burst somewhere behind me.
 
We scattered, thrown into disarray by the sudden volley. I dove for a ditch. The Bastards, still screaming their battle cry, ran for the settlement undeterred. A few limped, still moving forward. A few more lay unmoving. None of my friends was with me, but I couldn’t see them on the ground either.
 
A screech from above and I looked to see a trio of griffins fly by. Each of them carried a unicorn by a harness. Tracking them across the sky, I watched as they soared over the settlement, streaking by the charging Bastards. The griffins released their unicorn payload over the settlement. Protective spheres flared around the plummeting tribals before they slammed into the township. Debris kicked high, makeshift shelters cracked, and guns barked over the roar of Bastards war cry.
 
Something landed beside me. I looked to find a particular blue mare. She had a wide smile on her as she hit the ditch. “Come on, Call!” Daisy shouted at me. “You want to save some asses, you got to move yours. Now lets move it!”
 
We got up. We ran. Gunshots in the distance, too many to be just the Bastards, announced the start of the firefight. I thought on that, how the peaceful citizens of Conviction apparently took to arms, as I ran around rocks and long dead foliage.
 
A griffin slammed into the ground in front of me. I skidded to a stop. It was Cutter and she was pointing at something behind me. “I’m going back,” she shouted, “I need to see if I can help them first. Go on without me. I’ll catch up.”
 
I looked over my shoulder, at those left behind in the shelling. “Got it!” I called back, “There’s a general store, to the left side of the town as you go in. We’ll set up there.”
 
Cutter and I shared a nod. Her wings flared and she took flight. I watched her for a moment, debating on whether or not I should go back. The Bastards, of which I was technically a member, were wounded and I could help. Then again, I had no medical training and I was better off securing a forward location. Mind decided, I turned to catch up with Daisy.
 
The two of us took shelter behind a garish green building. One of the homes I never entered during my first visit. Daisy was breathing heavily but still had an excited smile spread over her face. It was as though she was at home here. She looked back to me expectantly. It took a spare moment for the thought to click that I was the one who knew the territory.
 
“This way,” I told her, nodding behind me, “The general store is over here. Older pony runs it, goes by Saltlick. He’s a friendly sort.”
 
A burst of gunfire from down the way punctuated my words.
 
“Okay. I thought they were friendly sorts.”
 
Daisy responded with laugher. “Those are the ponies to watch out for. If they can afford to be nice, they’re dangerous.”
 
“Point taken.” I peeked around the corner: no sign of anything dangerous. I told Daisy as such and asked, “ Did you see where Two-Shot or Fizzy went?”
 
“I’m right here.”
 
I nearly leapt out of my skin. “Fizzy!” I snapped, turning to face a mare with a grin you still couldn’t call innocent on a newborn. “Are you trying to kill me?”
 
Fizzy shook her head, her mohawk followed the motion. “If I was trying to kill you, I would’ve just used a grenade,” she said as though it were obvious. Considering Fizzy, it was.
 
Daisy, who was winding down laughing at me, finally answered my question. “Was going to say, Fizzy was behind us, and Two-Shot can take care of himself. I know he’s okay.”
 
“How can you tell?” Fizzy and I asked in unison.
 
“You been together as long as we have, and through as much shit, you tend to know these things.”
 
That settled, we three advanced. Fizzy and I kept together; Daisy went around the other side to provide cover. We crept slowly and steadily alongside the hovel to the main road within Conviction. My head low, my helmet snugly protecting my skull in case of stray fire, I stuck my head out into the street for a quick look.
 
One way was empty, the way I wanted to go. The way I didn’t want to, not yet at least, that way had a gunfight. The sight was surreal. A cloud of smoke and shouts and the stinging cry of gunfire that was not far away but felt so damn distant as to be another world. Reality popped back in when I saw Daisy’s spiked hoofball helmet pop out from the other side.
 
I announced the all clear to Fizzy and walked out into and down the street. Daisy took up the rear, walking backwards to keep an eye on the combat. Thankfully, the walk was a moment of peace, passing only a few brightly colored silent homes until we reached the happy little general store. The door was closed, so I gave it a little nudge.
 
“Hello?” I called, sticking my nose inside the shot. No answer, I pushed the door wide-open and stood inside.
 
That was when a knife embedded itself in the doorjamb next to my eye.
 
Saltlick stood in front of me. Only, in many ways, this was not the same Saltlick from yesterday. For one, he did not have nearly as many sharp objects strapped to him then as he did now. For another, the one eye squinting, ear flicked look of madness just cried out for a touch of a spittle at the mouth to complete the look.
 
The shopkeeper didn’t have any words for me, just a snarl. He turned his head, while I stupidly gawped and wasted time, and drew a long pointed blade from a saddle sheath. He held it in his teeth, not quite unlike how I had use Sharp Retort in the past. Only this was bigger, blade-ier and pointed at me instead of in a more health conscious direction.
 
“That’s my idea,” I complained while ducking under the first swipe. There are priorities in these matters.
 
He thrust, swung and stabbed, wild eyed and furious. I ducked, wove, and bobbed out of the way. The razor cutie mark on the older stallion’s flank was becoming more and more apparent as I danced around his shop. Shelves went over, product spilled out and goods of all kinds, things we would need, were lost with every missed swing or every clumsy dance step. For a shopkeeper, Saltlick was being very unconcerned with his stock.
 
Saltlick’s blade clanged off my helmet. He stumbled back, rattled by his own blow. I shoved him back, tried to plead with him, and tried to show I wasn’t a threat to him. Nevertheless, he had to have things his way and took a swipe for my forelegs.
 
Broken or not, a PipBuck is still a nearly indestructible little gadget and is more than capable of taking a heavy blow. The same cannot be said for a pony’s skull.
 
“Thanks for not shooting,” I told Daisy. “And for not bombing me,” I amended for Fizzy. Shaking my leg out, I was glad I hadn’t used Old Friend as anything more than weight. That way, the only bleeding Saltlick did was from his bitten tongue.
 
“Kind of a tight spot,” Daisy pointed out, following Fizzy into the shop. “It was too high a risk.”
 
“I would’ve also accepted ‘you’re too awesome at hoof to hoof combat.” I said with a shortened laugh.
 
The three of us cleared up the shop. We pushed shelves to the side, stole what goods we needed, tossed what we wouldn’t need aside. Fizzy bound Saltlick with a length of rope we found, just in case he was still a little angry when he woke up. Fizzy’s chemistry set was rigged up in a safe corner while Daisy took to the shop counter. Daisy removed her machine gun from her saddle to mount it on its bipod, switching to the same pushbutton trigger she had in the medicart. The barrel pointed square at the door.
 
“Anypony tries to come in without permission, then they’ll come in a patient,” Daisy told us while we finished the preparations.
 
“I’m getting the first batching cooking right now,” Fizzy called out, her horn flaring with magic to start up a small hot plate. She had surrounded herself with various stolen ingredients in a makeshift box fort of alchemical science.
 
“So you’re both good. Good,” I said, backing to the door. I gave a sweep of the shop. Floor cleared, knocked out crazy guy on the floor, meds cooking, big machine gun standing guard, everything was a go.
 
“I’m going out,” I told the others. “Going to find some ponies and bring them back here.”
 
“Go save some ass,” Daisy told me with a laugh. Fizzy added: “Please don’t die.”
 
“With words of encouragement like that I couldn’t possibly die. It’d be gauche.”
 
Bravado and words aside, I was nervous going back out into the fray. Perhaps not the fray itself, but in a close enough relation to the fray the potential for fray-like conditions were high. It was still altogether quiet when I stepped out into the empty street. A quick look down the way and I could see hear the shouts, the bullets, and even see a few lights from beam weapons fired off in the distance. I could still hear the booming of distant mortars, shelling goddesses knows what out in the fields. Dead ponies I imagined. I hoped not Cutter and refused to entertain the thought.
 
Redline Repairs was the first place I searched. It was first because it was closest; it was also a little further away from the battle. The repair shop stood empty, nothing but the walls of spare parts, bits and baubles of machinery and tools to keep a pony company. I pushed in through the darkened structure, moving around the cramped front toward the more open area in the back where Redline had repaired my armor. I called the mare’s name, but received no answer in return.
 
Upon entering the repair bay, I was startled by the sudden clattering and clanging of crashing metal. I took Old Friend’s starter in my mouth, lashed my tail back and forth to build momentum for Sharp Retort and promptly felt like an idiot when I saw a rump with a shotgun cutie mark pushing out from under a hastily constructed shelter.
 
I Dropped Old Friend’s starter, the cable zipped back into the shoulder slot. “Redline?” I asked, slowly approaching the tangle of metal and pony. It moved, so I stepped back. It moved again and I stepped back again. One final tug and a repairpony tumbled out from the stack and against the back wall.
 
Redline looked up at me, her eyes rolling about. “Wha, what?” she mumbled before giving her a clearing shake. “What’s going on?” she asked me, looking me up and down. “Have you come to help us build something?”
 
She didn’t know. I pondered the meaning of that for a moment, especially in lieu of Saltlick’s behavior. “Sort of the opposite,” I informed the puzzled pony. “There’s a firefight going on out there. Can’t you hear it?”
 
Redline shook her head. “No, well, yes, but only now. I’ve been trapped under there all night, I couldn’t hear a thing. See, I was getting ready for the fire, cause Anvil said there was going to be an awesome story he was going to tell, but then my whole south wall just went and fell on me. Boom!”
 
I sat, listened, and tapped my hoof at my chin while she spoke. “Alright, that’s interesting, but can we get going? I want to get you somewhere that’s safe.”
 
“It’s pretty safe here. Conviction has always been a good spot to live.” Realization dawned slowly as she took in the look I gave her. “Oh,” she muttered quietly, looking away.
 
“I have friends, they’ll protect you. We’re setting up a hospital for the wounded, they could use a hoof.”
 
Redline nodded and I could tell that she was trying to put on her bravest face. She refused to leave until after she gathered up a toolbox and a half worth of gear. If she was going to help, she told me, she would need her tools.
 
En route back to the safe house, I looked out to see what I could of the battle. A griffin swooped about, raining firebombs down on enemies I could not see. Back and forth, he was gliding and throwing specks of light that burst into flaming plumes. I began to dread the thought of having to help burn victims. It would not make the day any easier.
 
Redline shrieked a name I didn’t catch. I looked to her. She was unharmed so I followed her line of sight. A pale yellow mare ran from a unicorn. I blinked and squinted to make out who was giving chase. A floating club confirmed it was Brickbat. A sinking feeling slammed into the pit of my stomach. A feeling confirmed a moment later when Brickbat’s club came down hard on its victim. The pale mare tumbled end over end into the dirt. Brickbat barely slowed when she struck again while running past the fallen mare.
 
“Let’s go, let’s go!” I shouted to Redline, shouldering the gawping mare along. “I’ll go and get her, but I need you safe first!” I snapped at her and it seemed to do the job. She gave me a sad, sorrowful look that betrayed the sudden crash of reality on her life, but she bolted as if her life depended on it.
 
The two of us crashed into the safe house. A tangle of limbs, we tumbled onto the floor. Redline had stopped in front of me, but it was my fault since I never told her about our machine gun nest. We disengaged from one another and got to our hooves. Introductions were short, but enough to get into Redline’s head that the machinegun was for her protection.
 
“What happened to Saltlick?” The repairpony asked, prodding her napping friend in the side.
 
“Something got into his head,” I explained. “He was acting wild. Tried to kill me with that sword over there.”
 
Redline was astonished that the shopkeeper even owned the sword. I had no reason to doubt her. I was more impressed that she took us at our word. Of course, she didn’t have much other choice lest she end up like Saltlick. Still, she offered to help and we put her to work reinforcing the walls of the shop and being a general assistant for Daisy and Fizadora.
 
“I’m going for your friend, Redline,” I shouted from the doorway. I just barely caught the name ‘Dewdrop’ as I ran back out into danger.
 
Dewdrop didn’t make it. I could tell as soon as I got to her side. Most of her face was missing; my guess was it was currently hanging from Brickbat’s bat. I wished the corpse the best and turned only to find Dozer with his assault carbine staring at me. For a moment, we looked to one another, and then he smiled. His brow quirked quizzically and he nodded down the road toward the makeshift hospital.
 
I nodded, falling into his pattern of silence. It was infectious.
 
With a ruffle of his brow, a roll of a shoulder, quirking his mouth and several gesturing nods. Dozer told me he approved and was going to be making sure we had as much peace as we could.
 
Once again, I nodded, but this time I added “You really do have to show me how you do that.”
 
Dozer just smiled, the smug Bastard.
 
All the same, I smiled too. “I’ve got more ponies to find. Bring your injured down there, but let them know it’s neutral territory. Anypony is allowed in and the only pony doing any firing will be my machine gunner.” I turned to head away, but stopped. “And Dozer, one more thing.”
 
He stopped and looked back to me.
 
“Bad Road’s your father isn’t he? He trusts you and that’s why you’ve always been hanging around. The gate, the initiation, this. He’s been stacking the deck in my favor this whole time.”
 
Dozer nodded, and we parted ways.
 
I was rounding a building shortly after leaving Dozer when I found the mortar nest and why it was still firing. There was only one, the others must have been firing from elsewhere. The interesting thing about it was that it was a Mister Hood operating the launcher. Hovering silently, the robot turned, plucked a shell, and deposited it inside the launcher. Then one of the other arms pulled a small lever on the side and with a funny little thumping sound, the little canon shot.
 
Of course, with a bounty like this, I had to leap into action. Literally, I leapt at the Mister Hoof, kicking and stomping the floating metal ball. Its grabbing arms flailed and pinched but couldn’t get a hold of my barding’s metal plates. Somepony had disabled the weapons, or built it without any weapons. Not that I wasn’t appreciative of that fact, on the contrary, I wanted to thank the maker for it, but it still puzzled me as I jumped up in down on top of the robot.
 
Now a Mister Hoof was not made with prancing in mind and soon the robot was little more than dented scrap metal under my hooves. One source of artillery fire down, I smiled in self-satisfaction before picking through my spoils. That’s when I noticed a mark on the inside of the robot’s metal plating. A funny looking little circle symbol pressed onto the metal. I thought for a moment about where I saw the symbol before, but I didn’t have to. The words underneath were enough to bring my mind crashing to a halt.
 
“BIAS Haystack”.
 
I sat stunned. Fizzy’s people were helping these ponies, and I had no idea. I had to find out if Fizzy knew of this. I had to know just what in the pits of Tartarus was going on here. Did she know and if she did what was going on with these ponies? My mind raced while my ass was planted but I stopped myself from getting lost in my own head. I had things to do other than leap to conclusions.
 
I finished gathering up what parts I could salvage from the wrecked robot. For good measure, I took the mortar and shells too. When it came time to grill Fizzy, I would need something to hold over her head as bait.
 
Our doctor had arrived by the time I returned, along with a few patients. Cutter moved about the shop, overseeing the trio of Bastards she had brought in from the mortar field. Two were bandaged and unconscious; one was awake and sitting with a splinted foreleg.
 
“No more wounded,” I told the group, trotting into the safe house. Redline looked to me with hope that fell as soon as I shook my head. “I did take out one of the mortars. They have robots firing the damn things.”
 
Daisy cursed under her breath but Fizzy looked over to me. More specifically, she was looking at the mortar I carried. She looked at me with pleading anticipation as I walked over. I swear the only reason she didn’t explode toward me was because she was still enclosed in her box fort.
 
“Picked up a few presents, too,” I told everyone, leaving the mortar and the scrap metal with Fizzy. She grinned, eyes wide, and pounced on the artillery like a filly with a birthday present. I didn’t mention of what else I discovered to my friends, but I left the piece with the Haystack stamp up so she could not have possibly missed it.
 
“Redline,” I asked the repairpony, “Do you guys have a lot of these Mister Hoof bots floating around?”
 
Redline shook her head in negation. “We brought four with us. One of them set up for medical purposes. The others were just extra tools for helping with the build work.” Her innocent curiosity faded quickly. “It’s because of those, isn’t it? That’s what this fight is about.”
 
I was impressed. The girl was quick on the uptake. The problem on my end was that she was also totally in the dark.
 
“You’re telling me you don’t know?” Cutter didn’t allow me much time to puzzle things over. Redline nodded in confirmation. “You got to be shitting me. You rained mortars down on us. You were prepped. You had to have known why.”
 
Redline shook her head. “I missed out on a lot last night. I kind of spent it trapped under my stuff. I didn’t even know something was going on until a few minutes ago.”
 
Cutter’s look was skeptical, but she shrugged it off to go yell at the Bastard with the splint for trying to use his hurt leg.
 
“Redline,” I said, once more going for the door. “That storytime you mentioned. I heard Anvil Crawler talk about it, too. What is it?”
 
The repairpony gave a shrug. “Just telling stories around a campfire, usually. Old stuff, stuff about Equestria normally. Kind of like a town meeting. Why?”
 
“Anvil Crawler runs it?” I asked.
 
“Of course. He’s the mayor of the town. It’s his job.”
 
“All I needed to know,” I told Redline.
 
I was crossing the street, having just checked an empty home, when I saw a lavender streak come tearing out of the school bell tower. It had to be Anvil Crawler. I watched the streak zip around the sky and hammer into one of the Bastard griffins. The clash was swift, the Bastard flopping to the ground in an ungainly dive to the dirt.
 
One griffin, even at a distance, his smaller size pegged him as Shrike, dove to intercept his falling brother. They both hit the ground, but I watched and Shrike immediately rocketed back up into the sky. His trajectory aimed square at Anvil Crawler.
 
The two met above the battlefield and I wondered if I was their only audience. The two fliers kicked and clawed at one another, trading hoof blow for talon rake. They split and gave each other chase. One leading the other until caught, more mid air dives and dodges, and the chase would begin again in reverse.
 
Then I saw it, Shrike caught Anvil just under the chest with his claws. I found myself giving a cheer that the leader of Conviction was wounded, hopefully mortally. My cheering was short lived, however, when the pair, led by Anvil holding onto Shrike, shot for the clouds. The two disappeared into the dirty gray cloud cover and all appeared deathly still.
 
An ear shattered thunder crack split the air. Tendrils of lightning snaked across the clouds in a dazzling spider web. A small figure fell from the sky, tumbling broken and burnt, crashing to the ground.
 
Anvil Crawler flew from the clouds, slow, wobbling and wounded, toward the school’s bell tower. For a moment, I wished I had a gun. But I didn’t, and I had ponies to try and find. I didn’t try to save Shrike. I entertained the thought, but I saw, I knew the griffin was dead. I had to look elsewhere for survivors.
 
I crept low to the ground, ducking under fire on the narrow walk between two half-built, half-reclaimed houses. Bullets whistled and whined off the walls above my head. I had cleared the distant buildings and now found myself closer and closer to the battle. Now, I was attempting to get to the post office where I had seen two ponies run in under fire. All the while, I watched Bastard and settler trade blows in their skirmish. Small groups and solo they ran about taking pot shots at one another.
 
My opening was short. I dove across the street, feeling the hot sting of metal from both sides scouring my barding. One of the shots—I don’t know which side fired it— bit my back. I both cursed and praised the goddesses in equal measure while I crashed bodily through the door of the post office.
 
A screaming weight slammed down onto my chest. Not that I noticed it much compared to the hoof slamming onto my muzzle. I yelped, or tried to as another hoof struck the other side of my head. Once again, my dead PipBuck came to my aide. I swung wildly and bludgeoned whatever was sitting on me. The weight swiftly lifted and I heard muttered cursing to my side.
 
The mailmare, never did get her name, sat beside me rubbing her head and groaning. She saw me roll to my hooves and scuttled back, cringing away. “Don’t hurt me!” she cried out in fear. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
 
I shook the stars out of my vision, but the pain in my face wasn’t going away. The punches took my mind off the graze wound I had on my back. When my vision and my voice decided they wanted to work again I tried to calm the panicked mare. “Not here to hurt you. I want to help. I have a safe house and I need to get you there.”
 
The mailmare shook her head.
 
She had to be difficult, didn’t she? I grumbled to myself and chewed on my tongue. “Okay, why, is there something you need to do? Name it and I’ll do it.”
 
She pointed a hoof behind me. I looked and saw Sea breeze lying on the floor. Her eyes were wide but she stared at nothing. Her breaths came out in shallow gasps. When I went to check her wounds, she snarled at me, wild eyed and furious. I ignored her and found the blood pooling on the floor from a jagged line of little holes that peppered her back.
 
“I’ll carry her,” I told the mailmare. “Will you come with me then?” The mare nodded affirmative. “Good. Just try to stay safe. I’m armored, you’re not. Okay?” Again, she nodded.
 
It took a little help from the mailmare to get Sea Breeze off the ground and onto my back. The wounded mare whispered into my ear. “If this wasn’t, I wasn’t, I’d fuck you up. You know that?”
 
I looked to the mailmare. She must have heard because she offered a shrug with a bemused look. With Sea Breeze murmuring away, the three of us made for the door. Again, shots rang out in the streets. I could even hear the buzz of rotary blades spinning. Together, we waited for a lull in the fire and then we ran for our hides.
 
The gunfight had moved on, pushed toward the school by the time the mailmare and I ran. The growing distance between the gunfight and us made each step faster and the wounded mare on my back feel lighter. I had this. We had this. I felt that jolt, the thrill of victory, race up my spine. Eyes focused on the safe house, I called to the mailmare. “I never got your name.”
 
“Fli—.” The mailmare either had a scream as part of her name or something was wrong here.
 
I stopped and turned. The mailmare lay on the ground, struggling to get to her hooves. I caught her eye and she pointed. I looked just in time to see the scattergun that was going to shoot me.
 
The sound of the gun was surprisingly quiet; I barely registered it over the stinging pain that electrified my side. The birdshot wasn’t strong enough to penetrate my barding but the surprise and the sting tripped me up. I crashed to the ground and Sea Breeze crashed alongside me.
 
Three Bastards approached me. I was caught, and for helping the ponies of Conviction, I was going to die now. Every time I had tried to help something things ended up blowing up in my face. This was another one, the last one, and I knew it. Just the look on the ponies faces, the ones that were going to kill me, reminded me of that stupid unicorn I let go a little over a week ago.
 
I looked again and saw I wasn’t just being reminded of her. I was looking at her. There she was the third one of the group, with the shotgun, the olive green unicorn with only one ear, Cloves. I wasn’t dealing with Bastards. I was dealing with counterfeit Bastards, the bastards.
 
The lead one, a red unicorn with a great scar across his throat, strolled up to me. An overlarge pistol floated from one side of his head to the other. Zero guesses as to who shot the mailmare. He grinned a sharp grin, a sinister mirror to the marring around his throat.
 
The air cracked and the red unicorn’s side opened like a bloodied, blooming orchid. His eyes bugged, stunned to be suddenly so aware of his own mortality. His mouth formed wordless shapes as he toppled over to his side, pistol clattering in the dirt.
 
Thank Celestia for guardian junkies.
 
“Sniper!” shouted Cloves. Being quicker on the uptake than her friend, she bolted to the nearest cover. He orange coated friend wasn’t so smart. He went for the gun his ex-friend dropped.
 
With a flick of the tail, both the orange pony and I had learning experiences. I learned the benefits of using Sharp Retort as a tail held weapon. The orange pony learned what an impromptu tracheotomy feels like. For a split second, it was a very educational one.
 
I got to my hooves, leapt over the gasping orange stallion, and charged for the house where Cloves ran for cover. I tore into the darkened house, keeping my head down. A shotgun blast ripped into the wall above me, sending splinters sprinkling down on my back. I saw her in the flare of the muzzle flash. She turned to run, but I was already overtaking her. I ran her to ground sending her shotgun skittering across the floor and her into a frenzy of curses.
 
“Give me one good reason not to drive this through your skull,” I hissed into Cloves’ remaining ear while I pressed Old Friend into the back of her head. I had to be sure my point was not misheard.
 
She gritted her teeth and spat at the floor in annoyance and pain. “Scorch’s going to kill you,” she managed to croak through a closed mouth.
 
I ground Old Friend into Cloves’ mane. “Doubt it. He keeps sending half-wits like you after me. What’s he doing, tracking you somehow? Keeping an eye on his cronies?”
 
Cloves very quickly took an oath of silence. It was all the answer I needed.
 
I couldn’t bring myself to kill Cloves. I struck her, a few times fur good measure, and bound her as best I could before slinging her onto my back. I did not have the time to sit around and interrogate her any further anyways. I had wounded to save. So, with my prisoner on my back, I dashed back into the streets to find Sea Breeze and the mailmare.
 
I was lucky, the mailmare was luckier. She was back on her hooves when I got to her. She had been shot in the flank, right above her chain cutie mark. She was slowed, but she could stay up. She only had one word to say to me when I got back to her: Flicker.
 
It took me a moment to catch up, my brain still back in the house. “You know, that’s a really cute name,” I admitted with a smile. “But let’s get Sea Breeze back. I can carry both, but it’ll slow me down.”
 
“Don’t think that’s going to be a problem,” Flicker told me as she cast a forlorn look to the orange pony. He had the vacant stare symptomatic of dead and a spreading pool of dust, dirt and blood on the ground confirmed the diagnosis.
 
 I didn’t feel for the stallion, he wasn’t exactly a friend, so I just shrugged best as I could. Again, with some help, Flicker and I draped Sea Breeze alongside Cloves.
 
The added weight turned a run into a slog eased only by the lack of gunfire coming in my direction. Every few steps Flicker leaned on me for her own support. I didn’t see the wound, and even if I could I had no means of dressing or assessing it. All I could tell was how much the shot was slowing her down and the last thing I wanted was her bleeding out on me before we could get her help. My own wounds felt distant, a problem to be dealt with later rather than sooner.
 
“Three wounded,” I gasped, nearly collapsing into the safe house. The shop had gotten crowded in my absence. Counting Bastards, settlers, my friends, and the new patients I brought in, the tally was over a dozen ponies and one griffin. Fizzy’s box fort of ingredients was dwindling, though she seemed more engrossed with dismantling her new mortar tube. I could only hope we had enough to hold out.
 
Redline squealed and dashed over to us. She spoke like a machinegun, wondering and wanting to know what happened and how they were. As goes in cases where excitement overwrote any sense of concern, the repairpony did nothing to actually help the situation, just served as a very noisy reminder that there was a situation. Thankfully Cutter saved me by shoving the excitable settler aside.
 
“Alright, alright, clear out,” Cutter snapped while she moved in to check Flicker’s side. Being the resident leaning post, I didn’t have much to do other than feel the dawning realization that I had been peppered by that shotgun.
 
“Not for nothing, Cutter, but can we move this so that I’m not supporting the weight of three ponies plus myself?” I asked, trying to get a look at the griffin.
 
She gave me a small scowl, shook her head and directed Flicker to the side. “Alright, we’ll get you patched up, but you walked in here alive and under most of your own power. My little assistant here’s going to clean you up and I’ll get to you when I can.” With a click of her tongue, Cutter pulled Redline’s attention and instructed the repairpony to walk Flicker off to the side.
 
The doctor looked at the two on my back. I filled her in on the difference between my prisoner and her patient. Cutter gave me a look that told me different. “This one’s been knocked out cold, that puts her in my territory,” she told me, tapping Cloves on the back with a talon. “You can have her after I clear her.”
 
“Just check on the other one first, she hasn’t tried to kill me yet,” I told the doctor before telling Daisy; “Two-Shot’s okay. No idea where he is, but he bailed me out back there.”
 
“Told you,” Daisy’s response came packaged with a familiar all-too-knowing grin. “He’s doing more for us being away from us right now. We’ll catch him on the way out.”
 
I felt a weight lift off my back. Turning, I saw Cutter hoisting Cloves from me and onto the floor with the rest of the injured. I opened my mouth to protest, figuring the doctor smart enough to not completely ignore me. She caught my look first, though, and the shake of her head gave me all the answer I needed.
 
A string of obscenities danced in my mind. I settled on “fuck”. “She was alive when I picked her up,” my protestations useless but necessary, and Flicker attempted to back me up. I was beginning to like the mailmare.
 
Cutter shrugged, looking matter-of-fact at the corpse draped over my back. She was kind enough to pull Sea Breeze off me and lay her in the corner. She was kind enough even to cover the body after a moment of consideration.
 
“Serves the settler bitch right,” snarled a Bastard with a heavily bandaged foreleg. “If she would’ve just—“
 
Cutter was there in a flash, her talon clamped around the earth pony’s snout. He struggled, twisting and lashing, but couldn’t break the doctor’s grip. She leaned toward him, one eye staring wide, the other squinting.
 
“Right here,” she told him, tapping her free talon at a spot in the middle of his throat. “One incision, one drinking straw, one silent pony. Don’t disrespect the dead. Are we clear one this matter?”
 
The Bastard looked left and right. His comrades in wounds had miraculously found other things to entertain themselves. A groan tried to escape from his throat and he rolled his eyes back around to the griffin. They held their staredown for a pregnant moment. The room watched one edge. Except Fizzy, she was all smiles consumed with her new toy.
 
The stallion nodded inasmuch as he could with Cutter’s grip restraining him. She released his muzzle and the Bastard made a big silent show of how little the medic hurt his pride. There have been more convincing performances.
 
“Okay, bullshit time is over,” Cutter called out, rallying attention to herself. “Curtain Call, get that shit off. I want to have a look at the holes you have in your hide. Redline, go fetch a potion and some bandages, I’m going to save your friend’s leg.”
 
She started toward the wounded mailmare as Redline dashed by now that she was back in her assistant role. Cutter added, by way of gesture, that she didn’t much care for any objections to her stated goal.
 
I went over toward Fizzy and Daisy at the far side of the shop. “How are things on this end?” I asked the pair while I got to the business of sloughing off Old Friend and my barding.
 
Fizzy said she hadn’t really noticed, too busy with cooking up the chems needed. Daisy, however, gave a half there shrug and leaned on the stock of her machinegun. “Good, far as it can be. All of them are smart enough to not start any real shit. Least they won’t chance with the good doctor over there.” Daisy watched the griffin like a, for lack of a better term, griffin. “So what do you know about her? She doesn’t act like any griff merc I’ve ever met.”
 
“Didn’t know she could talk until a few days ago,” I admitted as I peeled off my barding. The air gave me sudden sharp reminders of the peppering Cloves’ shotgun gave me. I hissed out, “She’s as cheery as any griffin I met.”
 
Daisy shook her head all the same. “Yeah, but that’s any griffin. They’re cocks by all definitions. What I mean is she’s no mercenary. She ain’t acting like one.”
 
I nodded, watching the griffin snap at Redline for some kind of mild medical mistake. “Remind you of Cherry?” I asked. “In aim if not execution.” I amended after a particularly exasperated sigh came from the doctor’s end of the room.
 
“Yeah,” Daisy admitted in a voice that struggled to crawl above a whisper of self-admission. “She was a great girl. Didn’t deserve what happened to her. Not at the hotel, not before that. Toughest mare in the wasteland, Cherry was. Mark my words.”
 
She caught my look and gave me a soft smile. “Grew up alone, had one place after another shot out from under her. Never broke. Not fucking once did she break. From here, looking at these ponies, I can tell you, Call, that Two-Shot and I broke. We gave up. We should’ve been out there, doing this. It’s what we set out to do. What we planned on.”
 
Looking to my side, I saw Fizzy was listening as intently as I. Both of us looked toward the blue mare. I wanted to comfort her, but then she looked at me and smiled. “Don’t think I don’t see you two. I know what you’re thinking. Yeah, she was there with us, but she wasn’t there because she was fed up with this world and the shitheads in it. She was there trying to take care of the two shitheads that locked themselves up in a hotel in the middle of Manehattan.
 
Fizzy and I nodded, it seemed right. Whether or not it was true didn’t matter. Despite the bittersweet feeling in the air, I felt a stirring in me to punctuate the situation in a fitting manner.
 
“She had a pretty nice looking flank,” I said with a grin. I am more than certain it was the sheer audacity of the statement that got the laugh out of my two friends, and odd looks from those not in on the conversation. We ignored them all the same.
 
I looked down to Fizzy, wanting to breech the subject of the markings I had seen on the mister hoof. She and I traded a quick conversation of the countenance. I raised my eyebrows. She looked to the plate in question. I gave a little nod. She responded with a quirk of an uncomfortable frown, looked to the crowded room, and gave me a short shake of her head. I mirrored her look and nodded. I wouldn’t push that subject now, but I had ways around these sort of things.
 
“So where do you suspect they got mortars from? I was here yesterday. I would expect them to break into song, not break out artillery.”
 
“Broncton Manufacturing Company most likely,” Fizzy answered with a shrugging glance to the tube at her side. She looked up and saw on my face that she should explain further. “They make weapons.”
 
“I gathered that.”
 
Fizzy rolled her head back and forth, adjusted her glasses and bought herself time to think. “Broncton, the Broncton Manufacturing Company, they’re one in the same.”
 
“Can’t say I’ve heard of them.”
 
“Same reason you never heard of The Haystack. The code of silence does its job keeping out ponies they don’t want knowing about them. At least the details.”
 
“And you’re familiar with them?” I pressed in interest.
 
Fizzy nodded. “I worked for them in research and development. Part of a trade agreement. Didn’t you ever wonder why I was trusted with this job?” The look on the mare’s face told me this should have been something entirely obvious. Still, she filled us all in. “I have experience with the outside.”
 
Daisy and I exchanged glances. “So what do you think this company has to do with these ponies?” I asked Fizadora.
 
Fizzy had turned her attention back on the chemistry set. “Probably nothing more than just trade. I can’t say where they get their tech from.”
 
I studied the mare. She was awful liar, but nothing about her told me she was. It was a discomforting thought. I didn’t have long to dwell on it, however, as it wasn’t long before I a sharp pain jolted through my body.
 
“Calm down, you big baby,” Cutter chided me as she dabbed antiseptic on my wounds. “The wounds are superficial at best. Quick wrap of those enchanted bandages and we can get you out into the field again so I have something to do tonight.”
 
I hissed agreement through my teeth. The medicine always had to hurt more than the actual wound. I had been good at ignoring the light ache up until the griffin brought the knowledge straight to the fore.
 
“Can’t say I think there are that many out there to save left,” I told the others, “With the amount of bullets flying out there, most of them are fighting. Surprising, I know, but these ponies should have just been rolled over. Not standing ground like they are.”
 
“You’d be surprised,” Daisy said, “I can’t tell you how many ponies I’ve seen stand against things they couldn’t take, just out of a sense of pride. I know because I faced off against most of them.”
 
“But you’re the one still standing,” Cutter pointed out since she wasn’t too busy jabbing stinging liquids into the holes in my hide to make comment.
 
Daisy simply nodded. “Like I said, standing up to things they couldn’t take.”
 
Cutter finished patching me up, gave me a slap on the back to show me how much she cared, and laughed before leaving to check on the rest of the charges. “Keep bringing them in to me, Red, I’m just getting rolling,” she said over her wing.
 
I just shook my head and started to get my barding on. However, I stopped at the growing sound of gunshot and voices from outside. My ears perked, several of the patients looked to the door, and Daisy leaned into her gun.
 
Not just one Bastard, but a small mob of them gathered outside. I made my way to the door to get a better view. They had bodies with them, bringing their wounded. One at the head of the group, the same blue-green mare that was part of my initiation, spoke up. “Hear you got a meds here. That right?”
 
Standing in the doorway, I took the job of speaking on my shoulders. “Yeah, we do, but this is neutral zone.”
 
The mare directed a hard-eyed glare at me. “You telling me you’re helping the fuckers who’re shooting at us?”
 
I paused. I could answer truthfully, but I had a feeling that wouldn’t go over well and unlike the wounded already inside, most of this mob was more than ready to fight back if their sensibilities were offended. Lying wouldn’t work, the truth would have been found it instantly. I had few options, standing there confronting a mob of Bastards. That’s when it hit me, I had seen their mobs before and I knew what would work here. The Bastards liked big speeches and I just happened to have a one prepared thanks to endless reading of “The Greatest Plays for the Smallest Stage”.
 
I gave a long nod, nearly a bow, overdoing it a bit. A grin drew itself in confident defiance on my face. “I am,” I told them.
 
The mare moved to speak, but I thrust a hoof out with a loud. “Halt!” A moment of silence and that was my cue. “My friends, comrades, we stand in arms for what? To strike a blow and draw the blood of foes? To claim for pride and strive for wicked gain? Deny, say I, deny the cruel. Now cast aside the thoughts most dark and foul, to rend the woes of war, to stand and drive the cries of hate away from heart and mind and land. Shall we so see the windigo fly this day? Tis keen, the cry that fills the sky to rake our souls upon the coals from darkened pit. Are we but foals to have at it without the mind to speak our crimes? Stay hoof and knife, stay spear and spell. My friends, this day I take another way. To you, I ask, take up the task. Hold friendship near clutch close and dear. For that, ponies, is our birthright.”
 
All was, or seemed, still. The mob was silent. My friends were silent. All their eyes were on me, on every word and every sweeping gesture. Now it was over and I was left, nearly panting, and standing in front of an armed mob. They looked, for a moment, to consider my words, and pity rose in their eyes. All the same, I took the initiative of insurance.
 
“If that didn’t convince you guys,” I told the group, moving aside and revealing Daisy and her machinegun. “If you don’t drop the weapons, she’ll drop you.”
 
I will never know just what did the trick, but the mob listened. If it was me, Daisy, or the realization that their wounded were not getting better standing out in the middle of the open I didn’t ask. They entered with their wounded on their backs and lay them out on the dwindling floor space. No words were spoken, none at all. I didn’t know most of the ponies brought in, save one. Dozer. He was unconscious, a ragged wound torn into his side. I couldn’t tell from what, nor did I have time to remain here much longer. All I did before slipping back onto the battlefield was suggested Cutter treat Dozer first.
 
The sounds of war were fading as I trotted down the main thoroughfare. The shots coming rarely, distant, and mere punctuation to the chorus of shouts and cheers that rolled like thunder. I saw Bastards run, a cheering stampede. I stopped in the street to watch the distant charge back to their camp. Victory, it seemed, had been claimed and there I sat on the sidelines watching. I thought to those I managed to help. One who tried to kill me, two who didn’t, and one who died. My plan was hardly what I could call a success.
 
A brown-coated earth pony coughed to clear his throat. He adjusted his necktie and gave me a smile when I looked at him. He looked like he was expecting something, something I wasn’t about to give him just yet.
 
“No time,” I told him. “Still could be survivors out there.” He kept his smile at my denial, and looked to the schoolhouse bell tower. I looked along with him.
 
A lavender streak shot down toward the ground. It dipped among the running mob. There was a cry and the lavender streak rose into the sky. Angry, misaimed shots trailed the pegasus’ cutting acrobatics. Circling, Anvil Crawler swept down again and I could see the set of blade he wore on his wing. Each pass a last ditch slashing, harassing his enemy without any chance of real success. I couldn’t tell if it was pathetic or noble, detached as I was from the whole conflict at this point. An observer, I wasn’t even considered by any of those still in the fight. What can I say? It gave me damn good seats.
 
Anvil Crawler circled again, stopping at his tower to take aim at the escaping crowd. It was the last mistake he ever made. He jerked in the air before I heard the crack of the gun. Spinning, he slammed against the side of the bell tower, half inside, half hanging out. His hind legs kicked and struggled for a moment before he disappeared into the tower.
 
I only allowed myself a moment of debate before running to the school. The room had been ransacked. The horseshoe of seats was in disarray, smashed apart and strewn throughout the school. The chalkboard was riddled with holes and what wasn’t shot up had been covered with a large, thorny letter B to hammer home just who had been through here. In the corner, the spot where once sat a mechanical doctor lay bare. The mission a success, for how success was measured in this instance. A streak of blood stretched from a spot on the floor to the desk, where Anvil Crawler lay.
 
His breathing was heavy, his bleeding heavier. It was a gut shot, tore through and obliterated most of his right wing. He wore no armor, and his remaining wingblade lay on the floor between us. As I entered the room, his eyes opened. They stared for a moment, struggling for focus before they settled their fury on me.
 
“Hold on,” I spoke barely loud enough to make myself heard, “I’m here to help. I can get you to a doctor. You can make it.”
 
Anvil Crawler shook his head. “Stay back,” he told me. He moved his hoof to show me the glowing light of a landmine. “Any closer and I blow myself straight to Celestia.”
 
I stopped cold to avoid being stopped dead. “Okay, okay. Staying back here. But I got Redline and Saltlick and Flicker all waiting for you. They’re going to want their friend. Don’t you think?”
 
Of all things for Anvil Crawler to do, I was not expecting a smile to be it, but smile he did. “I’m not their friend,” he coughed and almost fell on the landmine, and then he laughed. “I’m their warden. They just don’t know it.”
 
“The what?” I questioned in disbelief, “Those are probably the most well behaved prisoners I’ve ever seen. Those were the most well behaved ponies I’ve ever seen.”
 
My confusion was apparently one of the few things to bring a dying pony comfort. Anvil Crawler had a twinkle in his rapidly unfocused eyes as looked to me to speak. “That’s the point. Take the biggest scum of Equestria and with a little work, we can make the world sunshine and rainbows again. Murders, rapists, warlords, none of it matters in the end. Anypony can change. You seen that.”
 
I edged a few steps forward but Anvil Crawler still had enough wits about him to hover his hoof over the mine’s trigger plate. “Okay,” I said as I licked my lips, “Color me skeptical but I want to know how this happens.” I remembered the robots. “And what it has to do with the Haystack.”
 
“That’s the fucking catch,” Anvil Crawler spat as he laughed, speckling the floor in red. “I can’t remember.” He grinned to me, ear to ear. His teeth were stained red. “It’s all in the gaps. All I can think is I got to remember Cloudsdale, but I don’t know why? Ain’t that a bitch?”
 
He thumped his head against the desk. By now, he wasn’t even looking at me. His eyes may have been pointed in my direction, but they were seeing things only he could see. “In the desk,” he whispered. “You want to know what I know? Orders are in there. Listen all you want. Just let me die.”
 
For a long moment I watched the dying pegasus. I watched him bleed and slip away from the world through a hole in his stomach. Yet for all of it, he seemed at peace, genuinely happy with his death. It was dirty, painful, and watching all you had in the world torn to pieces, but he went down with his ship, and perhaps there was something to that. When you had nothing left, you still had your pride.
 
“Hey.” My attention snapped to Anvil Crawler. He had found focus again, though the struggle for it was etched in his face. “One thing. Just, can you do one thing?”
 
“What?”
 
“Repeat after me,” he asked, and I did.
 
“Junior Speedsters are our lives,
Sky-bound soars and daring dives,
Junior Speedsters, it’s our quest,
To someday be the very best.”
 
Anvil Crawler died smiling.
 
Time stretched in the minutes I sat silent and still. I watch the corpse cool on the floor. I watched the dust settle. I listened to distant sounds of the outside fade until all was as silent as I was. Only then did I stand and walk to the desk. I gave the corpse a respectful nod before I went about rifling through his stuff.
 
There was little inside the desk. A few maps, old toys, a never opened stationary set were all well and good but it was a small recording device that I was after. I dug the device out and set it on the desk. I hesitated, not wanting to press it right away. My hoof hovered over the device. “Hope this works, Anvil.”
 
Shortly after pressing the button and a soft, comfortable voice came from the device. One I’d heard before.
 
“I cannot thank you enough, Anvil Crawler, for your willingness to lead the first phase of our expeditionary community project. You have proven your ability and your dedication countless times since you first came to Dancer’s with open mind and open heart. As such, there is no other I would feel safer leading my charges into the wasteland than you.
 
However, I must stress to you that rehabilitated as they are, these ponies represent some of our more difficult cases. It will be easy to forget that they can be dangerous despite our best efforts at improving their lives. Further, I must implore you to remember that though their pasts may make them dangerous, they are as any other victim of the wasteland. Always treat them with the respect and care that they deserve. Remember that we alone have the opportunity to show this land the glory that was Old Equestria. You are the ambassadors; you are the envoys of hope and harmony. Once again, I thank you, Anvil Crawler. I cannot thank you enough for all of your efforts.
 
Of course, there is the matter of outsiders. Not all ponies will be so receptive to our offers.  Many may even be hostile. Should conflict arise, I have provided you with a top of the line medical automaton. In addition, you will find the mechanical controls for several Mister Hoof model robots, as well as small arms and artillery. You should rely on the robots as your first line of defense. Should the robots not be adequate, and should the safety of all be at risk, then you have permission to institute Storytime. You will find the appropriate triggers after this message. The resultant fugue state will be exceedingly stressful on the patients, but it will allow the township to continue. I trust you not to use this information lightly, Anvil Crawler.
 
This has been Stardust, wishing you and all my little ponies the very best. And as always, remember Cloudsdale, Anvil Crawler. Always remember Cloudsdale.
 
I turned the recorder off and tucked it into a bag. I headed for the door but stopped. Looking back at Anvil Crawler, I decided to take his wingblades. As I tucked them into my bag, I questioned why I felt so empty about it all. I was supposed to feel guilty. At least, this was the point I was supposed to feel guilt. It felt like I was supposed to.
 
“They were going to attack anyways,” I said aloud. “I was just a smokescreen, a fake out, or a warning. Whichever one of them. Besides, they were all scumbags. Fucked in the head scumbags, maybe, but they were still bad ponies. No matter what I saw from them. No matter if whatever was going on here was working in a fucked up way. I still got a few out, hell, if I wasn’t around none of them would have made it. So yeah, fuck feeling bad. I did some goddess fucking good around here.”
 
I looked over to High Rise. He looked back with a shit-eating grin, his noose swung about his neck.