//------------------------------// // Cold Efficiency // Story: Of Steam Gears and Wings // by RavensDagger //------------------------------// Cold efficiency. The captain of the Acclamator watched as a single fighter bore down on him and his crew with all the anger and strength of a raging dragon. Three Vanquisher class fighters had been sent out and three spinning tunnels of smoke marred the azure sky, pointing ever downwards to where the ships had crashed. He shifted his weight from haunch to haunch, trying to bring his hat down over his sweat-covered forehead. He was aware of eyes on him, the eyes of the other ponies in the Acclamator's command room. It had started not an hour before. The Acclamator, a new class for ships of the line, an Interrogator light battleship, made to replace the aged Inquisitors, was pushing along on its patrol. New Appleloosa, where they had come from, lay not a hundred clicks behind them, to the south and west, The radar operator had coughed, then had signaled for one of the officers to approach. The captain, vaguely aware of the disturbance on the otherwise dull patrol, had trotted up to him instead, walking with surety on the unnervingly stable ship. “What’s wrong, ensign?” he had asked. The radiopony had blinked at the captain then looked at his screen, eyes glowing in the dim light of the new equipment. “I think I spotted something, sir. Two ships, three clicks north, heading this way. Approximately the size of light cargo transports, maybe a light passenger plane.” “That’s not too incredibly interesting,” the captain said, letting an eyebrow rise as he stared down at the operator. “Why raise the alarm for that?” “Um, well, they’re jamming us, sir. I thought there was something weird, so I was switching frequencies when the blips appeared. It was a mistake, sir. I wouldn't have been able to spot them if it weren’t for that.” The captain stood taller, a hoof lifting to touch the lapels of his coat without thought, brushing past the symbols of rank pinned there. “Interesting indeed. Good work.” He moved towards the front, where the helmsman was standing, leaning against the wheel as he scowled at the skies ahead. The wheel was at the fore of the craft, part of the command room that jutted out a ways to allow a wide view around the ship. Through the foremost tip of the craft, from the bottom of the keep to the top of the rigging, ran a sharp, serrated blade with the symbol of the Empire etched to it. The blade made it impossible to see what lay directly in front of the ship. “Helm, bring us eight degrees port. I want to see something,” he ordered. He felt rather than saw the ship beginning to turn. Then, with all the patience of one who had attained the rank he had wished for, he found a spyglass and eyed the skies. It took a few precious moments, but he found them. A tiny, sharp red fighter craft, and a jade-coloured transport, retrofitted with long antennae. Neither wore Imperial markings. When he brought down the telescope he noticed, for the first time, the second in command at his side. “Mosquito-class, sir. Tough old fighters.” He sniffed, a small laugh, filling his nostrils with the scent of new rubber and spit-shined boots that made up his command. “Fair enough. I’ll leave it to you to hail them?” The pony saluted, crisp and sure. “Yes, Captain.” Then he was off at a brisk trot, commandeering the radio station to get the message across. The captain returned to his throne-like seat. The second was good, though a little stiff in his role. A few more patrols would do him good. Maybe, he thought with grimness, they were pirates, or rebels. He chewed his lip,struck with indecision. It would do good to test the Acclamator out. To let it bloody itself, and to make the crew proud of her. A proud crew would work harder when the odds were no longer in their favour. On the other hoof, the new AA guns were unfired, and the ship still gleamed with newness. Going to battle, even if it was only against weak enemies, would sully her. The decision was taken from him when the second returned, his face a little whiter. “Um, Captain?” “Yes? Speak up.” “Sir, they boldly claim to be rebels. One, a mare, told us to prepare to meet our maker. She did not.... She was threatening sir.” “So be it.” He leaned back, raising a hoof for all to see as he pointed to the skies ahead, a little emperor gesturing for war. “To battlestations!” Alarms sounded through the ship and hooves thumped on gangways. Ponies everywhere manned point-defence guns and the massive cannons jutting out of the ship settled in their banks. The pitch of the Sparkle Generator shifted as it traded some of the effort with the auxiliaries. One of the ponies by his side saluted to him. “Fighter squadron, ready to launch, my Captain!” “Launch!” He watched as three planes, sleek warbirds with rear-facing props that bristled with readiness, were catapulted out and ahead of the Acclamator. They pulled up, veering off toward the lone enemy fighter. “Should we fetch popcorn?” the captain said, his joke raising a few good-humoured laughs from ponies leaning out of their stations to look ahead. Then the battle begun. The Mosquito weaved around the first strafing shots, narrowly missing each one by only a hoof’s length. Then all three planes fired at it, filling the skies with lacy ribbons of death. The captain cringed, filling a twinge of pity for the foolish mare. Then she dodged them all, only ever moving just enough to avoid the blows. No more, no less. He blinked at the sheer luck of the pilot, that the wind would save her so. Luck, he realised soon after, had nothing to do with it. Cold efficiency was all the pilot of the red plane displayed. She snuck up behind a first Vanquisher with a turn so tight and sharp that most pilots would have blacked out, then shot exactly two bullets. Twin gouts of flame erupted as the gas tanks on either side of the Imperial fighter caught fire. The plane lost control, its pilot bailing out with a burning parachute on its back. The other planes swerved in, like hawks coming for the kill with extended talons. But like a feather in the wind she avoided them, never moving more than she needed to, as if she simply did not have the time or the will to waste on beauty and grace. That was it, he realised, the thing making him so nervous. There was no dignity or decorum in her flying, just efficiency, agility, and the knowledge that she was better. A Vanquisher tailed her for a ways, firing again and again at her, to no avail. She slipped out of reach every time until she twisted around and into an immelman. When the nose of her craft whispered by the Vanquisher she fired a single round. The captain had his spyglass to his eye by then. He saw the Vanquisher's cabin fill with a burst of redness. The third she fell when it blew past her, overextending itself in an attempt to catch up. Three shots was all it took to clip one of its wings and send it hurtling to the ground. Then she spun to face them. Every mouth in the room was agape. Every eye was on the red mosquito. Every thought was turning to fear as it approached, sure as the dawn’s light. “To arms!” the captain shouted, his barked command making them flinch to action. Flak filled the sky ahead and streams of projectiles as thick as a pony zipped ahead. It was futile. On she came, sliding out of the path of oncoming bullets with tight, precise jerks from side to side, like a wasp hovering over its prey. The captain blinked when he taught he saw a shimmer around the craft just after a particularly close blast of flak. Then the cannons stopped. She was too close, too close to safely fire at. She shot seven times. The first six slid by the command room and off to the side, allowing the captain to sigh as he saw them go wide. Then the seventh slammed through the armoured glass at the fore of the room, leaving a hole no wider than a hoof. The helmpony’s head exploded. His body fell against the wheel, dragging it off to the side before he thumped to the ground, reduced a bloody mess. “C-captain!” one of the operators said. “Engines two, four and six on Port side are all down!” He sat straighter. “Call for back up! Warn headquarters!” It was the radio operator’s turn to panic. “I can’t sir! Our comms won’t work!” “Radar’s jammed!” another announced. “Sir!” a watchpony said with such alarm and fear in his voice that the captain instantly turned to him. The pony was near the front of the room, red marks on his hooves. He was pointing, shivering as he indicated something above them. The sky was marred with missiles streaking towards the limp vessel. And so the Acclamator fell. “We're going ta have ta make invitations,” Apple Bloom said as she leaned back in the Thunderbolt’s cabin. She was aware, vaguely, that they were approaching New Appleloosa, but more interesting matters weighed on her mind.. “Yeah,” Pipsqueak said, touching the tip of his hooves together. “I guess we will.” He was shrouded in the semi-darkness of the cabin, his white face, illuminated by a bank of radios, peeking out of the shadows. Sweetie had abandoned the radios a while back to focus on the task of flying. Only a few hours ago she had been there, jamming signals and hacking through the Imperial lines, but that was over now. “I guess we should call all our old friends?” he mused. “I wonder where Featherweight’s at now? Haven’t seen him since he went out east.” At the fore, Sweetie twitched in the pilot’s seat. Apple Bloom shrugged. “Oh, and you’re going to have to deal with Applejack. And mah brother.” He sat straighter. “Um, are you sure? Maybe we could just send them an invitation too?” Apple Bloom harrumphed. “Nnope. Not the way it’s done in our family. You got to go there yourself and stand up like a stallion. Maybe you ought to pull some strings, show up with some soldiers from the New Republic, and that snappy uniform, with all them medals?” “You think that would help?” “Well, it might take a while more to see ya sweating.” She grinned at him, devious and cunning. “But you do look handsome with those tight pants on.” He swallowed. “Sweetie, are we there yet?” he asked, suddenly eager for fresh air. “Almost, Pip,” she said. He crawled forwards, pretending not to notice Apple Bloom’s knowing smile as he snuck into the piloting cabin. There he watched, wide eyed, as they came closer and closer to an army of airships. Hundreds of grey shapes loomed ahead, with planes by the thousands milling about, docking and landing and zipping through the equally grey skies. They darted about, a cloud of bees surrounding their hive of New Appleloosa. The city sprawled out in every direction, a loose collection of spires and skyscrapers that swayed in the strong winds. More vehicles, mostly colourful civilian vessels, bustled about near the towers. Ponies flew from one building to another while the streets below, hardly more than shadow-filled pathways, showed signs of subtle movement. “Pick up your jaw. You might stick out if they see you prancing around with it open like that.” Sweetie pulled back on the yoke and shifted some of the controls about. “Take the copilot’s seat for a bit. Try not to crash.” He promptly obeyed, feeling the yokerespond the moment he set his hooves on it.. Sweetie  twisted around and pulled out some maps and papers, studying them with a quick eye. “We’re going to land on the south side of town at one of the older docks. The Imps don’t patrol there as often, but it's often enough to mean it should be safe.. We’re going to meet a young buffalo operative. She’s going to guide us in a bit more.” “What’s our mission?” he asked, never taking his eyes off the skies. “We’re going to hit a foundry and sabotage it a bit. Then we’ll assassinate Bunnyhelm.” Apple Bloom jerked up in her seat. “We’re gunna what?” Sweetie remained quiet, only occasionally uttering a few words to help Pipsqueak guide the plane in. He followed her orders and soon they were hovering into a derelict part of town, well away from the the towering spires of the City’s centre. The tower they were to land grew and expanded as as they approached. A sudden upwards draft forced Pipsqueak to switch on the Thunderbird's Sparkle Generator, and he deftly slid up the building. He maneuvered the transport between two of the ramps until it hovered right above a landing pad. Sweetie flicked the switch to drop the gears and sat back, sighing. “We’re going to hurt the Empire, a lot. That means taking its head off. I think that maybe Bunnyhelm’s not the real ruler, that he’s just a figurehead. But he’s popular, and everypony knows him. If he dies....” “Yeah, but killin’ him? Ah’m not one for murder, and he’s not the sort to just kneel over and let us at him, no matter how crazy he is.” “That’s why we’re going to have to plan carefully. He’s going to show up for a presentation of some sort in two days. That means that we have that much time to act. The rebel fleet should be heading this way. Not the whole thing, I don’t think, but enough to maybe make the Imps worry.” “So, what do you want us to do?” Pipsqueak asked. The Thunderbird landed with a firm thump and he shut off the engine, a dull whine filling the cabin. “I-I don’t think I could pull the trigger myself, you know?” She shook her head. “Of course not. But we need to see the city, to plan around the event. There are messages to send to some ponies and some good propaganda to spread. The New Republic’s not going to take New Appleloosa by force. We’re going to seep in when they’re not paying attention.” Pipsqueak shifted his weight on his seat. The biggest issue he had was that the plan sounded like a real plan. Lots of ponies had put a ton of effort into thinking about it and putting things in motion. He, out of happenstance, had been placed in a part of that plan that he wanted little to do with. But Apple Bloom was there. “Alright, we’ll help. Ah saw what he did over at Canterlot. Not much that can turn somethin’ so vile back to goodness. No fan of killing, but some things might need to be done.” He words decided it for him. With a firm nod he turned off the last consols and pitched them in darkness. “I’ll help too. Maybe if I do good enough, I won’t have to impress the Apples much.” His finance barked a laugh. “Ain’t no chance that you’re getting out of it, Pip.” Sweetie managed a smile as she rose from her seat and trotted to the back of the cabin. There, she popped open the door and let it slid on hydraulic pistons. “Our informant should be here soon, if she isn’t already.” He moved to Apple Bloom’s side, sitting down beside her at a distance that, only a year ago, would have set his face aflame. Now he only blushed a little. Together they watched as the hatch opened and sunlight poured in, revealing to them the simple, flat protrusion on the tower’s side that they had landed on. Framed by the light was a brown figure. Short and stocky on the edges, but more from muscle than any amount of fat. She blinked at them with great brown eyes, eyes that betrayed a second’s panic before becoming calm. They knew that buffalo. “Keen Eyes?” She nodded, a tentative smile gracing her features. Pipsqueak looked at her, taking a moment to focus.. She had a few new scars and a bruise along her side. The clothes she wore were tattered and mud-stained, but functional. Stepping up, the buffalo placed a tentative hoof in the Thunderbolt’s cabin. “Hey, you guys are.... Apple Bloom? Pip?” She grinned, but her eyes were devoid of joy. “You’re familiar with them?” Sweetie asked. “Good, this might make relations faster. I’ll presume that your name is Keen Eyes?” Keen nodded. “Great! Scootaloo should be landing the Expedite soon, once we’ve joined up could you bring us to our quarters? I’ll assume that our ships are safe here?” Keen Eyes’ expression shifted at the mention of Scootaloo. “You mean, the Scootaloo, of the red death?” The three in the transport shared glances. “Um, yes?” Their gaze shifted to another nearby platform where the Expedite was hovering a few hooflengths over the ground, puffs of dust swirling up around it. “She’s here, with us?” Keen asked, but before waiting for an answer she trotted around, motioning with her head for the rest to follow. “Oh, I’ll have a few ponies to tell about this. Come on, I’ll bring you over to one of the safehouses. You can rest in peace there.”