//------------------------------//
// Entr'acte 
// Story: Blackacre 
// by Princess Woona 
//------------------------------//

24 December, Y.C. 969
Canterlot

“Good evening; I’m Scott Ponney. Tonight, we discuss where we might be tomorrow: our regularly-scheduled programming has been suspended to bring you this special edition of the Evening Herald.”
The regular newsponies had announced as much on the regularly scheduled evening newscasts, of course. Since the Mane, news had focused on little else; even so, a Herald special report was worth listening in to. Certainly no one had tuned in for the regular programming, a light-hearted and festive look at the habits of reindeer on the plains north of Neighagra Falls.
“With me in the studio tonight are Stony Brook and Tower Shield. Thank you for joining us.”
“Our pleasure,” said Brook.
“And our duty,” added Shield.
In the studio, Brook raised a thoughtful eyebrow. Duty. Shield was hitting his talking points early, it seemed. Which only made sense. If he knew his older companion at all, his theme would be a simple one, and the more he could repeat it, the better.
All right. Brook liked a challenge.
“Three days ago, the EAS Mane was destroyed above Ponyville,” said Ponney bluntly, by way of introduction. “At the time, she carried one hundred and seventy-five ponies, including Princess Celestia herself. Approximately one hundred and twenty ponies were in the audience of the signing ceremony, with an additional thirty support staff.”
He paused for a moment. Speculation as to the death toll had been nothing short of rampant the past few days; with no permanent communications installations in Ponyville, there were all sorts of figures coming out. Some particularly hawkish ones had suggested that there were more casualties than the town’s official population!
“To remind our viewers, the latest official figures report two hundred and thirty-one confirmed casualties. An additional thirty-five are missing, presumed dead; this number includes Canterlot’s Chief Diplomat, Dag Hammer, as well as most of the Blackacre delegation.
“The destruction of the Mane was and remains a national tragedy,” he said, well aware that not all ponies might appreciate where he was taking this, “and our thoughts and prayers are with the families and loved ones of those gone and those missing. Tonight, however, our topic is not what happened, but what it will mean for the rest of the nation. Both the Royal Army and Air Patrol have been fully mobilized, and there are unconfirmed reports of regular pegasus patrols around the Blackacre region borders.”
Background established, he paused for a moment, taking a breath before the plunge.
“Gentlecolts, your first impressions. Tower Shield?”
“With due respect, Mr. Ponney, it is categorically impossible to dismiss, or even to marginalize, the bombing of the Mane in this discussion,” he started. “Equestria’s armed forces have been mobilized. Tens of thousands of ponies have been called to service, armed, and are now waiting.”
He gave a slight laugh, not so much out of mirth as for the need to break up the sentence somehow. “Waiting for what, you ask? Waiting for the conclusions of the official investigation. The investigation’s results will determine exactly what happens next. As someone who served in the Royal Guard, I can guarantee you that there are already a half-dozen contingency plans. Every single one of them will depend entirely on what happened to the Mane.”
“I don’t presume to know what those plans are,” started Brook, placing the slightest emphasis on the word in order to make it seem as if Tower had been making presumptions. “Not that it’s too hard to get the general idea. What ponies want to know, though, is what will cause them to be enacted.
“As you say,” he went on, “the findings of the investigation will probably determine what happens. But what findings will trigger which results?”
“That would be the question, yes.” Shield gave the slightest of snorts. “I believe I said as much.”
“The questions are related, but not quite the same,” corrected Brook. “Mine is a priori to yours. You’re asking what happens after the investigation, and I’m asking why the investigation matters in the first place.”
“I should think that would be obvious,” he huffed.
“Yes,” shot Brook in an accusative deadpan, “I would think so too. I ask this: what difference does it make?”
He paused for just long enough for Shield to consider responding, but not quite long enough for him to do more than open his mouth. “What difference does it make?” he repeated. “The Army and Air Patrol have already deployed — to the Blackacre border. As we speak, the regional weather patrols have been replaced by pegasi in full combat kit. The railroads are as good as shut down, civilians aren’t getting anywhere, and Canterlot Central Command isn’t saying anything.”
“You make a strong case,” said Shield, careful to keep any trace of sarcasm out of his voice.
“It does sound that way, doesn’t it?” Brook agreed. “Little wonder the unofficial reports pin the blame squarely on Blackacre.”
“That… is a strong statement,” said Shield, suddenly wary of his opponent making his point for him.
“It’s not hard to understand why,” continued Brook. “Eyewitness reports show that there was something going on in the audience in the seconds before the Mane impacted. Nopony can say what, though, because they were all fixated on the green and black fireball in the sky. Fire is usually red; someone made it that color. Convenient?” Listeners at home could well imagine an eloquent shrug. “No more so than the fact that, of all the recovered casualties, only two have been from the Blackacre delegation. The rest? Conveniently unaccounted for.”
“Your point?” growled Shield. This line of speculation was dangerously close to the trash coming out of the tabloids. While it was entirely possible to tease apart the twin lines of argument, debunking the drivel while carefully buttressing his own stance, that particular action would requite more rhetorical surgery than he was willing to get into today. Besides, he was building up to something; let him talk.
“What will the investigative committee say?” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Indulge me,” said Brook, brushing the comment aside. “What does the committee say? Is this a mechanical accident? Poor maintenance? I think we can agree that that’s a very unlikely conclusion.”
Shield said nothing.
“It is going to be very hard, very hard indeed, for the investigative committee to draw any conclusions that don’t have the word Blackacre in them. This, then, is my question: what does it matter? There is no reason to believe the unofficial reports will be different from the official ones. The Army and Air Patrol are already deployed. Why does the committee matter?”
“You suggest that the armed forces will be given similar orders regardless of the motivation.”
“I do,” he said flatly. “The case looks dire. Why would the committee conclude anything else?”
“Because that is their job,” said Shield, glad at last to have the argument back on terrain he knew. “The point of the committee is to reach conclusions — real ones drawn from fact, unmarred by bias or opinion — and then to act.”
“So we hope,” said Brook. “And yet… the military has been called out.”
“Anticipation of a likely conclusion does not foreclose the possibility of reaching another one.”
“Which brings me right back to tonight’s theme,” said Brook, probably as the result of a hurry-it-up gesture from Ponney. “What is that conclusion? Ten thousand ponies on the border right now, with ten thousand more a day’s march away. What are they going to do?”
“If those responsible for the destruction of the Mane are in Blackacre, then clearly local law enforcement is incapable of dealing with them,” said Shield firmly. “Those responsible will be brought to justice. They will be hunted, and they will be found.”
“How?” pressed Brook. “Through the institution of martial law over and above the will of the local government?”
“An attack on the Princess and the Equestrian military is a national, not a local, issue,” said Shield. “The military was deployed under the auspices of a military police operation, not war operations.”
“A technicality; the military has no domestic jurisdiction unless it’s activated under the military police authority.”
“If, as you say, it is likely that those responsible are taking refuge in Blackacre, then the military will assist local law enforcement in bringing them to justice,” repeated Shield. “No more — but no less.”
“Let me ask you this,” said Brook, veering off. “Let’s say you were a criminal, somepony who had just tried to kill the Princess and succeeded in killing two hundred-odd bystanders.”
“For the sake of discussion, I am the scum of the Earth,” said Shield icily.
“Hypothetically,” reassured Brook. “Let’s say you get back to your hideout in Blackacre. The next day, you find out the entire Canterlot military is looking for you.”
“Then I surrender myself to the Princess’ justice.”
“Scum of the Earth, remember?” said Brook. “Do you stay in one place, sitting around, waiting, while they literally surround the region, cover every exit over land and sea and air? Or do you go to ground? Make a run for it?”
“If the Royal Army and Air Patrol were chasing me down,” said Shield slowly, “there would be no place in Equestria where I could hide. They would find me; it would only be a question of when. But yes, I would run.”
“Then,” said Brook sharply, “if I were the commander out to get you, I would want to move fast, strike everywhere at once, as soon as I could. No waiting. No giving you a chance to fade away, to slip by in the night or the snow. Do you agree?”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“Then — then, if I’m after you, I have a pretty good idea of where you are, and I can go after you…” Brook laughed. “Then why in the world would I wait? I take my ponies, I comb the region, I find you. And yet the Army is waiting at the border. The Air Patrol hasn’t dipped into regional airspace. The single most valuable asset they have is the element of surprise, and it’s slipping out of their grasp.”
“The investigative committee has yet to release its results.”
“Correct — but, if the case is so strong, then wouldn’t it be worth it to just go in now, catch those responsible, and sort it out later?”
“That would be beyond the scope of their power.”
“Not so fast, my friend,” said Brook, the smile audible. “I looked up the text of the military authority law.” Actually, it was one of his interns, but nopony needed to know that. “The current version dates back one hundred and twenty-six years.”
“If history serves,” said Shield, “the current version was passed in the wake of the Possum Riots, where woodland residents of Hollow Shades objected to the quality of their representation in the Fillydelphia regional government.”
“Absolutely correct,” said Brook. “Local police were incapable of maintaining order, and the military was forbidden from intervening in a sub-regional affair. The Possum Comitatus Act modified the law to allow for specific exceptions in the case of internal insurrections.”
“Which does not apply here.”
“As well as, among other things, instances where… let me get the quote right… instances where the Princess may employ the armed forces to restore public order and enforce the laws… where the constituted authorities of a region are presently incapable or otherwise incompetent to maintain public order… or otherwise execute the laws of Equestria in a manner consistent with the intent and course of justice thereof.”
There was a slight rustling of paper as he put the copy down. “There’s more, but you get the idea; on direct royal intervention, the military can step in where local forces can’t. The fact that the Mane was destroyed by, in the popular and probably official opinion, forces in all likelihood taking shelter in Blackacre is prima facie evidence that the local authorities cannot maintain order.”
Brooks’ voice grew hard, every word crisp and deadly.
“The military had every right to intervene, on the direct orders of the Princess. That would maintain the element of surprise, would end this bloody business before it even began.”
The slightest of pauses. “But they didn’t. Why?”
Shield held off for a moment.
“The committee has not —”
“If the Equestrian military genuinely believed they could catch the bad guys by going to Blackacre, they would have already done it. Instead they’re waiting, throwing away their most important advantage. I ask: why.”
“The risk of upsetting —”
“Half the nation already blames Blackacre!” exclaimed Brook. “Don’t beat around the bush. Going in early catches those responsible, ends this nightmare before it even begins. Why didn’t they?”
A pause.
“I… I cannot speak for the armed forces.”
“They didn’t go,” said Brooks softly, “because they don’t think they would be successful. What sense is there executing the operation if you know you’ll catch nothing?
“And why don’t they think they would be successful?” He laughed, a low sound. “Because those responsible aren’t in Blackacre.”
A pause. A long one. Then —
“Gentlecolts,” said Ponney quietly. “Thank you for your time. I’m afraid we’ll have to call it a night. There’s hot chocolate in the green room; I know I could use some with this weather. We also have some warm food in the staff kitchen; we’ll need it to keep us going through the drifts.”
“But —” started Brook.
“What do you mean?” demanded Shield. “It was three flakes when I got here.”
“I’m sorry,” said Ponney, shaking his head. “The blizzard outside took a sudden turn for the worse.”
The slightest of clanks as he put his headset down.
“We’ve been off the air for twenty minutes.”