Chapter Twenty Two: The Excrement Strikes the Ventilation Unit- Part III
Discord leaped through the air, expertly curling his draconian-esque body into a ball, midair, to avoid an incoming blast of raw energy.
"Why will you not remain still!?" That same eery voice from before cried out.
Discord dived to the floor and rolled to avoid another assault. "Where would the fun be in that? I've got to give you a bit of sport, don't I? It's only fair." He grabbed onto a ledge and began to scale the walls like the fleetest of spiders, dodging several more blasts.
"Cretin! Prepare your body for annihilation!"
"Such a one track mind," Discord commented. "You just can't see the reality of the situation, can you?" He allowed himself to fall into the center of the dark chamber, stood up, and dusted himself off.
"Die, chaos bringer!"
Another blast hurled toward the draconequus, who casually leaned to the left, completely avoiding it.
Discord gave a mirthful laugh. "So rude! And I would have thought all those years thinking by yourself would have fixed that!"
"Ghaaahhh!" The voice roared.
"Temper, temper. wouldn't want you to explode from all that pent up rage now, do we? Actually, that would be quite amusing! Feel free to spontaneously combust if you wish!"
"Argh! When I arrive, I'm going to personally tear your imbecilic tongue from your retched throat!
"Imbecilic. Hmm. That's a big word for a former peasant!"
"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!"
Discord shrugged. "You are quite welcome to continue trying..."
*****************
Mike Kaiser tailed after the cloaked invader as stealthily as he could. He'd followed the hooded figure right out of the camp and into a wooded area just outside of Zero Base. Kaiser ducked behind a tree as the mysterious creature turned its hooded head to check behind him, as it had now done multiple times.
Mike froze. "He's got something on his head, pushing up the hood. Horns. It's got to be some sort of ram secret agent or something."
The young pilot mentally kicked himself for not having a weapon on him as the agent turned back around and trotted deeper into the woods, still carrying the black case.
"What in that storage closet was so important that they had to send an agent to steal it?" Kaiser thought to himself.
He didn't know, but he was determined to find out. Mike tiptoed a quietly as he could, staying back far enough so that the crunching of the grass and leaves didn't tip the agent off. The cloaked agent made his way toward a small clearing in the brush, then stood still, as if waiting for something.
Mike crouched down. "Now, just what is your secret?"
****************
Inside the tank call-signed Matchbox Nine, Lieutenant Cleaves and the rest of his tank crew sought out the missing members of Steel Hoof battalion.
"We're pulling up on some wreckage now, sir, but I have no clue if it's what we're looking for," Cleaves spoke through the radio.
..."Locklear here. I don't know what to tell you Lieutenant, other than to stay sharp,"...
"Copy."
The driver turned to the Lieutenant. "Sir, you've been here a while. Is that what we're looking for?"
"Looks like a BW to me, but I'm not sure if it's from Steele Hoof. We can't take the tank through, there's too many trees. Someone needs to volunteer to go over and take a look." Cleaves answered in his now familiar New York accent.
The driver, loader, and gunner all looked nervous. "You sure we can't just call out to 'em or something?" One of them asked.
"If there are survivors, they'll need some aid, you can't do that from here. Simms, you and Wielder go take a look."
"You sure you don't want to do it, sir?" The loader, Private Simms, questioned the Lieutenant.
Cleaves sharpened his gaze on the poor soldier, instantly answering the question.
"Uh, I meant, yes sir!"
Simms and Wielder began to open the hatch. The two soldiers emerged from the tank, both carrying M16 assault rifles and nervous expressions. The two soldiers sprinted through the trees, weaving in and out of the bushes up toward wreckage. The area surrounding the wreck was deathly quiet.
Upon finding no one, or nopony around, the two soldiers instinctively raised their weapons.
Simms shot Wielder a look that could only be saying: "We can't just stand here. Do something!"
Wielder replied with a look that said, "Do what?!"
Simms put his radio up to his face. "Sir, doesn't look like there's anyone her-"
A griffin shot out from behind a dirt mound and opened fire with his fire-bolt caster. Their training having kicked in by now, the two soldiers dived to the ground and began shooting in the direction of the incoming fire. Four more griffins and three rams appeared on the opposite side of the wreckage, each shooting at the prone human soldiers.
"It's an ambush, we gotta get back to the tank!" Simms called out.
Wielder didn't answer.
"Joe?"
Joe Wielder's eyes were tightly shut, and his uniform was slowly changing from its usual green and beige hue, to that of dark crimson.
"Joe!"
Still no answer.
"No man! Come on, you gotta move!"
The soldier didn't move.
"J-J-Joe's dead. That can't be right! No-no-no-no-no. You!" The solider yelled towards the attacking griffin. "You did not just do that!"
Anger began to chip away at the private's combat training.
"You are all going to die! You hear me?! All of you!" Simms leaped up from the prone position and began blasting away with his M16. The griffin ducked back behind his cover, but not before taking a round to tip of his left wing.
The remaining enemy soldiers continued firing at his position. Suffering from blind rage and tunnel vision, Private Simms unloaded his entire clip toward the dirt mound the griffin nervously hid behind. Despite his injured wing, the winged enemy soldier painfully flung himself into the air, firing his weapon all the while. Private Simms sunk to one knee as a fire-bolt embedded itself in his lower torso. He could almost feel the heated metal shell in his left kidney.
"Ghah!" Was all the soldier could say as he painfully inserted another clip into the M16 and shakily pulled the trigger. "What I'd do for my backpack about now. Had some stuff in there that would have been real useful." The young soldier thought to himself.
Simms' unsteady fire was easily avoided by the circling griffin. Just the winged warrior was about to swoop in for the final blow, and just as Simms was sure he was going to black out, a hoof grabbed his uniform and pulled him behind a large piece of wagon debris.
The soldier craned his head around, ready to fight off the ram who'd dared to engage him in hand to hand combat. Though it was a light silver/gray color, the hoof that grabbed him was not attached to a ram, but rather an pony mare. Under her crested cap, which was reminiscent of the royal guard, her light blue mane was completely disheveled.
The mare lobbed a blast geode over their shared cover and ducked as it exploded. Bow fire from an undeterminable location knocked the assailing griffin out of the sky. The area erupted with weapons fire.
The wounded soldier sat up. "You the general?" Simms questioned the mare.
"Brigadier General Snow Wisp, at your service, and we're getting out of this alive. Can you still shoot?"
The wounded human coughed and swallowed painfully. "Y-yes ma'am."
"Good. Sky Blade, Sabre, Crescent, get to your hooves. I think we have back up."
Sergent Sky Blade, Corporal Star Sabre, and a younger unicorn soldier emerged from their cover.
"Good to see we finally got some help." Star Sabre muttered. "Whoa! Mount, 3 o-clock high!"
The group ducked as a massive Pandragon mount strafed their position.
"Suppressing fire!" Snow Wisp yelled as she and the other Equestrian soldiers quick fired their bows toward the large beast and it's rider. A exploding arrow blasted the jockey off of his mount, sending both spiraling to the ground.
Despite his wounds, Private Simms was beside himself with youthful exuberance. "Not going to lie, that was pretty cool."
A ram trooper suddenly emerged from behind them. Just as quickly, Simms lifted his M16 and ended the enemy soldier's advance.
Snow Wisp nodded. " So was that. It's been like this for while though. It's a stand off, but we have no route to escape. They ambushed us from above. We lost all but one of our battle wagons. We think that last one might still be functional, but we had to abandon it to take cover in the woods. There may be more of us scattered out there, but we've heard nothing, so please tell me you didn't come out here alone."
"I'm with Locklear's forces. My tank is over that hill over there." Simms pointed in the tank's general direction.
Snow Wisp nodded. "Excellent. I can't tell if your wound is fatal, but you need medical attention fast. You think you can walk?"
"If it's the difference between life and death, I think I can." Simms answered as Sky Blade helped him to his feet.
"Alright then." Snow Wisp nodded. "We'll cover you. Stallions, get ready to gallop for it!"
Star Sabre popped an arrow mag into his crossbow. "Ready." He looked over to Sky Blade.
"No problems here." The sergeant answered. "Recruit, are you prepared?"
The unicorn private was just short of hyperventilating.
"Crescent?"
"Sorry sir. A-okay sir. Ready for more, sir," The young unicorn affirmed.
Sky Blade barely managed to conceal his worry. "Alright then. On your call, general." he whispered.
Snow Wisp peeked over their cover. "I can see the tank. It's rotating its turret, looking for enemies. We don't want to surprise the gunner, so lower your weapons as we approach."
"Excellent suggestion, general." Private Crescent replied.
"Uh, thank you private. If we're ready then, break for it on my mark."
Realizing that ponies didn't have fingers to count down with, Private Simms steadied himself on his own two legs and prepared to make an agonizing run.
He didn't have to wait long.
Snow Wisp pointed her hoof forward. "BREAK!"
Two Earth ponies, a pegasus, a unicorn and a heavily injured human made a desperate dash toward the tank. Just as they'd expected, several enemy troops emerged from seemingly nowhere to take pot shots at them.
"Keep your head down!" Snow Wisp called out as fire-bolts flew over head, exploding into the surrounding trees and bushed.
A ram heavy trooper emerged from behind a large boulder, brandishing a flare-spear launcher. With a click and a whoosh, the spear ignited and hurled toward the fleeing group. The flare-spear passed so close to Sky Blade's back, one of the fins left a small break in his fur. The spear careened into a large oak tree, easily blowing it in half. The explosive payload and the raw momentum of the flare rockets carried the spearhead through the oak and into another tree behind it.
Having witnessed this happen right in front of him, Private Crescent's pupils dilated to the size of pin heads. "Move faster!" The white unicorn vehemently suggested.
The group charged toward the large Abrams tank, which by now had caught sight of their plight, and had opened fire on the attacking alliance forces. As they finally reached the large vehicle, the hatch flung opened and the Lieutenant and driver helped pull Simms through the opening.
"Where's Wielder?" Cleaves asked as he helped Simms climb to his station.
"Gone sir. Sorry."
"I regret we don't have time to mourn." The lieutenant turned to the group of ponies. "Do any of you have any medical training?"
The unicorn recruit raised his hoof.
"You. What's your name?"
"Private Crescent Skies, sir!" The unicorn answered.
"Then you're coming in here. I need help treating this man," Cleaves ordered.
"Yes sir!"
The lieutenant turned to General Snow Wisp. "There's only room for four in here but-"
Snow Wisp cut him off. "We'll ride up here. No problem."
Cleaves nodded. "Thank you ma'am. We can trade places when we've got Johnny Simms here stabilized."
Snow Wisp pulled back the string-bolt of her side arm crossbow and inserted a new magazine. "I told you, we've got you covered. Now order this thing to move! We've got a battle to win!"
Cleaves nodded and quickly crawled back into the tank. "You heard her! Get this thing moving!"
Crescent turned to the general. "What about the rest of the battalion? We aren't just going to leave them, right?"
Snow Wisp shook her head. "They know the scatter protocols. They'll be fine. We'll send for help as soon as we consolidate our forces. Now go help that wounded man."
The unicorn private nodded. "Yes ma'am."
As the Abrams began to roll away, the alliance ambushers began to emerge from their cover.
A griffin hustled over to a ram. "My lord, they are escaping!"
"I have eyes just as you do, and with them, I can see that!" The ram officer replied.
From a tree, high above the action, a pandragon minor put his binoculars down. "It appears they are heading for the rest of the group, commander. The wolf is rejoining its pack."
"Excellent. Leave them to Phalanx and his merry band of Heart Wing warriors. Salvage whatever you can find from the enemy wreckage and that downed human soldier. We are leaving."
******************
At the front of a large collective force of tanks, humvees and battle wagons, General Locklear's tank, Matchbox One, rolled into the town center previously known as Ponyville Square. Several derelict buildings and shops now surrounded them. To the left, the swooping pillars of Town Hall, where just hours ago, Mayor Mare, Lime Tree Hill, and most of the town had just barely escaped. To the right, Ponyville General, where the victims of the first primary attack, mostly unicorns, had been rushed away on stretchers as the town was being evacuated. Several of the Equestrian soldiers in the battalion still bore scars they'd gained while escaping that snipestorm.
As everypony reflected on the previous battle, silence reigned amongst the troops. That is, until it was broken by a radio transmission.
..."Ops to Matchbox. You've reached the target zone. Town center. Deploy occupation forces. The enemy has been routed, but their may be stragglers. Stay frosty."...
"Couldn't have said it better myself," The general answered. He held up his walkie-talkie. "You heard him, get to it!"
Human marines and Equestrian operatives dismounted their transport vehicles and surged into the town. Locklear watched as occupation forces blitzed the small village, clearing out houses and buildings one by one. The general turned to another soldier in his tank.
"You okay?"
Matchbox One's loader snapped out of his haze. "Sorry general, but just look at the screens! That sky! I mean, that's pretty wicked looking-" the loader paused. "Sir."
General Locklear looked through the display. The sky had turned a sickly red color, and an almost unnatural lightning storm seemed to have sprung up from nowhere.
"Open the hatch. I want to take a real look, not through these stupid screens." The general ordered.
"You sure that's a good idea? I mean, this place still has some enemy presence left." the driver commented.
The tank gunner turned around. "Current enemy resistance is minimal, seeing as I personally destroyed half of their forces not too long ago."
The driver rolled his eyes.
"By the way," The gunner continued. "I'm gonna need some ammo soon, the alliance has all of my rounds lodged inside them."
"Funny." the driver commented. "In all seriousness, general, the enemy seems to have fled. I guess a quick peek would be okay."
The general nodded, then stood up and opened the outer hatch. As he hesitantly poked his head above the protective metal shell of his tank, the full fury of the changing enviroment became clear. Not only had the sky changed colors, but an extremely heavy cloud layer had covered it, as far as the eye could see. White bolts of lighting surged from the discolored clouds, some of which arced to the ground.
The general furrowed his brow. "That doesn't look too good. I think it's time to close the hatch."
A fire-bolt struck the tank, its trajectory missing the general's head by fractions of an inch. An entire flock of griffins descended from the crimson clouds.
"Whoa-ho! Definitely time to close the hatch!" The general quickly followed his own advice.
Fire-bolts pinged on the hatch where the general's head had just been. "Looks like they called for backup. Stay sharp men, they're making a push!" The general called out. ".50, get to work!"
"Yes sir!" The gunner answered as he began to plug away.
"Should I get us moving sir?" the driver asked.
"No, we need to stay here to support the occupation forces. Point defense is key," The general answered. "All tanks, push the enemy back! 50, why am I not seeing falling griffins?!"
"I can't get a bead on 'em! They're too fast, and there's too many of them!"
"No excuses! We beat them before, we'll just do it again!" The general barked.
..."This is Matchbox Two! Incoming dragons! They're- They're everywhere, sir!"...
"They can't hurt us. We still have the high ground!" The general answered.
..."We might be safe, but the troops without a few million dollars of metal around them are getting slaughtered! Sir, I think this is a-..."....
"Two? It's a what?"
..."--------------"...
"Two. Matchbox Two, come in."
Silence.
"Great. Radio's out." The general rolled his eyes. "Pan the camera back behind us. Put Two on the screen. And crank up the A/C, it's like a sauna in here."
The driver nodded and operated the tank's camera controls.
The general's casual expression altered slightly as the tank in question came into view. "Oh. We may have a problem here."
The tank formerly known as Matchbox Two looked like someone had dug out its top with a molten shovel.
The general put a hand to his now sweating brow. "Someone want to tell me what's going on?"
..."Highlander here. I'll tell you. We are no longer protected, that's what's going on."....
"Colonel? What are you talking about?"
..."It was too large to be real. We thought it was just a radar glitch. But it's real, and it's definitely there."...
"What was a glitch? What are you talking about, Highlander?!"
..."Something massive. Hidden in the clouds. We can't see it, so we're not sure what it is. All we know is that it's directly above you!"...
"Thanks for the ominous warning, Tim. Something just destroyed a tank, so are there any other phantom readings you want to scare us with, or can I get back to my job?"
..."Sorry, sir. Got a little carried away. We'll get back to you when we have something useful. Stay alert. I don't like this. Ops out."...
Matchbox One's gunner quickly turned to the general. "Sir! I think you might want to see this!"
The general turned to the display. A squad of golden armored griffins emerged out of the flock, led by an even more fancily armored griffin commander. Each member of the flock dual wielded a pair of fire-bolt casters and carried several large glass orbs, filled with a strange orange liquid. The flock dived downward towards the battalion.
"Must be some special forces team." The driver commented.
"You think?" The general answered. "50, I want them down yesterday!"
"I'm trying!" The gunner answered.
The general jumped to the gunner's position. "Get out of the way! I'll take this one!"
"If you say so!" The gunner relented.
The general took the gunner's seat and began firing at attacking griffin squadron. The flock began an aerial serpentine, expertly swaying back and forth in a nearly hypnotic pattern to confuse the gunners and avoid the incoming fire. The griffins pulled the glass orbs off of their belts and released them.
Fire descended on Matchbox Battalion.
One of the orbs landed on a tank right behind the general's. The orb didn't shatter, rather fell in halves, releasing the orange liquid over the tank like an egg on a metal skillet. And just an like an egg on a skillet, the liquid began to sizzle. Then it ignited, spraying sparks of molten liquid into the air in all directions. The orb itself had disappeared, along with the all the armor the tank had in the particular area. The crew of Matchbox One could only look on as the orange liquid melted through the nearby tank's armor like hot coffee on a layer cake.
Its guns fell silent, and the tank stopped moving.
Matchbox One's driver panned the camera around. The crew quickly realized that several other tanks were suffering a similar fate.
The general removed his cap and ran his fingers through his graying hair.
"Yep. We definitely have a problem here."
"It just got worse, sir." The unseated gunner fearfully pointed out.
Surrounding the area, an entire legion of ram troopers now barred their escape. Hundreds, if not thousands. Each of them carried at least one of those now familiar orange orbs in harness mounted launchers.
A flight of dozens of Pandragon mounts dropped from the crimson clouds and quickly took up a position circling over the broken tank battalion. The mount squadron swooped down on the tank, strafing the .50 cal turret with heavy-bolt fire, rendering it completely inoperable. A ram trooper fired a flare-spear directly into the barrel of tank's main gun. Sparks flew inside the cabin. All electronics ceased to function.
The crew of Matchbox One began to panic. ".50's gone! Main battery is gone! Power is failing! She won't move! We gotta bail sir!" The driver screamed.
The cabin went dark, save for a battery powered emergency lamp.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Someone was casually knocking on the outer hull.
"Hello in there, human! I am Griffin Flock Leader Wingroot, commander of the flock that just laid waste to your war machines. The praetor just knew you all couldn't resist the urge to take back the town with your mighty land armada, blinded so much by your own arrogance that you thought it would be a simple stroll through the recreational fields. A pity you thought so little of us. A pity for you, perhaps. Come, it is time to end this bloodshed. Come quietly, and no one else will be harmed. I offer you these terms for a peaceful surrender."
The general clenched his jaw in the near darkness. "You have got some nerve talking to me like that!" The hardened officer grabbed a M9 handgun from one of the interior compartments and flung open the hatch. "I am General Johnathan T. Locklear of the Unites States Army, and the only thing I'm about to surrender are some bullets through your skull!"
The deceptively spry old soldier leaped from the cabin and pointed his gun at the griffin whose voice he'd heard earlier.
Then he pulled the trigger.
The round landed dead center on the griffin commander's gem infused alloy helmet, only leaving a large dent for all of its trouble. In one blindingly fast fluid motion, the griffin landed a single punch to the general's stomach and swatted the gun away. The griffin now held the general by the throat, using his wings to lift him into the air.
The griffin commander shook his head. "Everyone gets that one shot. You wasted yours. Now again, I offer you my terms. Will you accept them?"
The general grabbed for his neck. "Ghk! It would -gahk! -seem that way! Ghak!"
The griffin released the general. "Excellent. No need to be uncivil about this. Tell your soldiers to surrender and they will not be harmed."
The general coughed and wheezed. "Now why would I do that?"
The griffin looked up the sky. The red clouds began to disperse, slowly revealing their source; a massive, flying, leviathan carrier airship, nearly immeasurable in length. Red steam poured through several vents along the outer hull, creating the massive crimson storm fronts the Alliance was now so known for. Entire squadrons of griffins and Pandragon fighter teams walked along its surface, waiting for orders to take flight. The flying dreadnought slowly drifted through the sky, as if it was one of the clouds it created.
Two griffins took off from one of the spires on the airship's bridge, then landed next to the flock leader. Wingroot bowed. "Praetor Phalanx. Mistress Gilda. This is the battalion leader. General Lock-lee-er."
"Ah, nice to meet you, general." Phalanx offered a talon to shake.
"Charmed." The general spat, after refusing the handshake.
"You asked, "Why should you surrender?" The praetor questioned.
Phalanx spun one of the orange liquid filled orbs on one of his talons like a Harlem Globetrotter with a basketball. "So I am not forced to make you suffer the wrath of the HailFire up there. That is why. It is armed with thousands of magma orb bombs, much larger than this one, and these forces you see are just the forces that have managed to arrive. There is so much more on the way, human."
Something about the way Phalanx spoke those words convinced the general that he wasn't lying.
"Now reason with me here, will you general? I would rather not make an entire region uninhabitable if I can help it. It's such a lovely town. So stand down. Now."
"Okay. Okay. I- I-"
Locklear glanced over to the surviving members of Matchbox battalion. One of them gave a reassuring nod. The general sighed sorrowfully. With a trembling hand, the general put his walkie-talkie to his mouth.
"This is General Locklear to all Matchbox forces."
The general forcefully shut his eyes.
"Stand down. I repeat. Stand down."
*****************
Matchbox Nine slowly traversed the rocky landscape separating it from the rest of the battalion. Riding outside on the outer hull, Private Crescent Skies turned to Corporal Star Sabre as if he desperately wanted to say something. After ignoring this for several minutes, Star Sabre finally gave in.
"If there's something you need to say, then say it already." Sabre spoke to the private.
"Yes," The private spoke. "It's just, well, you keep giving me this look, like you don't approve of me or something."
The frazzled corporal sighed. "If you must know, It's just a little strange seeing a unicorn with us enlisted stallions. Most of the 'corns I know went in to be officers and Uni-corps Specialists. Why'd you join up with us normal ponies?"
"Though I would have loved to wear that bronze armor and the royal silver dye, I didn't make the cut to be Uni-corps elite, and I didn't have the book smarts to be an officer. So I figured I would enlist in the standing army. Thought I could still do some good here. It figures a war would start right after I had that bright idea."
"Yeah." Star Sabre affirmed with an understanding nod.
The private put back his memories. "So, that armor you wear. Were you really a royal guard?"
"Yeah. Even chauffeured Princess Celestia around a few times."
"Wow. That's pretty big."
"Not really. Up until now, we, and everypony else figured that the guard would never really be needed. So we just became glorified servants. It's nowhere near as glamorous as you would think. We just get really shiny armor, which just makes us easier to pick off in a firefight."
"Oh." the private looked confused. "You have some pretty strong feelings about this."
Star Sabre shrugged. "What can I say, I've been almost killed so many times, I feel I'm entitled to complain every now and then."
Snow Wisp rolled her eyes.
"I see," The private spoke with a hoof on his chin. "I just hope that I-"
..."This is General Locklear to all Matchbox forces. Stand down. I repeat. Stand down."...
Lieutenant Cleaves opened that hatch. "Stand down? Did I hear that correctly?"
..."I have been forced to surrender my forces to the enemy. Do not waste resources try to rescue us. I do not believe we will be harmed. It has been an honor. Lock- Loc- *sigh* Locklear out."...
Cleaves, Snow Wisp, and everyone else aboard Matchbox Nine all exchanged looks pure disbelief.
"Driver, take us to the top of that hill. We should be able to see the town from there." The Lieutenant ordered.
The driver wheeled the tank up to the crest of a hill, just outside of Ponyville. Cleaves climbed up to stand on the outer hull with the rest of the crew.
"I certainly wasn't expecting that," The lieutenant commented. The massive leviathan airship loomed menacingly over the shattered hulks of the majority of the battalion; the very battalion he would have been a part of, had he not been sent to rescue Steel Hoof.
That particular realization sent a chill down the Lieutenant's spine.
"What do we do, sir?" The badly wounded, but stable Private Simms questioned his commanding officer. "We aren't giving up, are we?"
"We don't have a choice. They played us like a game console. We underestimated them, and they ate it up. They hid their forces so they could ambush Steel Hoof, separating the two battalions, allowing them to crush Steel Hoof without even having to fight us. Then, without Steel's interference, they could focus entirely on us. We are of no use to the battalion now. I don't want to know what they would do to us alone. We have to go back to protect the base."
Snow Wisp shook her head. "I agree. As much as it pains me to admit it, we've been out-foxed. They laid a trap, and we trotted right into it."
..."I told that old fool, but he just wouldn't listen!"...
"Colonel?" Cleaves wondered aloud as Highlander's voice sounded through the radio.
..."Yes, and this confirms my suspicions! This has all been a game for them! They've been testing us, sending in small forces of soldiers to see what we're capable of, then developing defenses and strategies to thwart us at every turn! Now they reveal their real army, and it's coming down on us from all sides!"...
"What do you mean?" The lieutenant questioned.
..."There's an entire Liberation Alliance army closing in on Zero Base from the other direction! They baited you- us! And as for that- that- thing you see up there, it's a flying leviathan, complete with an entire brigade of enemy air forces. I don't think the sudden sabotage of all our aircraft was coincidental. They planned for that too! Is there anything that isn't part of their strategy?!"
"With all due respect, colonel." Cleaves began. "You need to calm down. You're stressed out. We all are. Tell it to us like it is."
..."Okay then. Calming down. Inhale, exhale. Alright. They know we have to keep the array, and that we'd be hard pressed to defend it from an attack on that scale. Even more so without a working air defense. Seeing as I'm in command again, I'm ordering all forces to fall back to defend the base. The princesses, General Rock and I are formulating a plan as we speak, but we're clearly out matched here. ACSD array system is still recharging, and to top that off, something is interfering with the ACSD's output nodes. We don't even know what could cause that, short of some kind of enemy interference. It's like they planned for everything! I hate to say this, but this is starting to look a lot like a last stand."...
Cleaves shook his head. "Then that settles it then. We can't help Matchbox. Not anymore. We're returning to Zero to assist you there, colonel."
..."That would be for the best."...
The colonel could be heard giving a stressful sigh through the radio.
..."I'm afraid this one's lost."...
****************
Mike kaiser looked on as several more hooded figures greeted the one he'd been following.
"Have you brought the items?" One of the hooded figures asked the agent. The agent produced the case, and gave it to one of the cloaked figures.
"Excellent," One of the cloaked figures spoke as he accepted the case. "Our great lord wishes to have these trinkets on his mantle. The princesses' horns will make excellent trophies."
"Then I have done my duty," The hooded agent responded. "I will return now to resume my mission."
"Yes, and you shall be rewarded when our master arrive- You fool! You have been followed!"
Kaiser shrunk behind a tree. "No way they saw me."
"We see you human! Spy, take care of your pursuer! He is your responsibility!" The figure that received the case ordered as he and the other hooded figure fled. In their haste to escape, their hoods fell around their necks, revealing their faces. One of the fleeing figures was a ram, the other a griffin.
The agent Kaiser had been following remained hooded, pulled out a mini-bolt side arm, and strapped it to one of his hooves. "Don't make this difficult human. The prey can't stay hidden from the hunter too long."
Kaiser cursed to himself again for not having a weapon of his own. "How did I get evolved in all of this? I'm just a pilot, not some gun-toting secret agent! How am I supposed to survive this!?"
He could hear the hoof steps growing closer. Desperate and in over his head, Mike Kaiser scanned the ground for anything to defend himself.
"That'll have to do." Kaiser thought to himself as he found the ideal weapon amongst the leaves.
The hooded agent slowly approached to the tree. He flung himself around Kaiser's cover to find nothing but empty space.
"Where did you-"
Thunk!
A large rock broke over the agent's head.
From above, Mike Kaiser smugly sat on a large tree branch. "Man, I loved my childhood. Never thought I'd need those skills again." He hopped down and took the mini-bolt caster from the semi-conscious agent and pointed it at him. "You're coming with me. Now let's just flip up that hood of yours and- What?! You're- You're-"
The agent removed his hood. Atop his head lied not the twin horns of a ram, but the single horn of a unicorn.
"You're a pony!?"
The unicorn swiftly produced an herb from his cloak and bit into it.
"Ha! You will get no secrets from me!" The unicorn spoke he began to gasp for air. "But I will tell you this. The approaching f- f- freedom will claim you all! The- The- The-"
"The, what?" Kaiser demanded as the unicorn began to slip away.
"The- The- The Banded Will Rise."
The unicorn fell limp.
Kaiser held the agent's hoof to check for a pulse. There was none. He sat back up and wiped the sweat from his brow.
"The Banded. That can't be good."
Equestrian Catalog of Information Factoid #9: The EDF “Colt” 54
The EDF-54 is a sidearm bow typically used by Equestrian police and military officers. The bow is usually worn on the user’s right foreleg, and held in place by straps of duracloth. Like the EDF-3 “Equestria” bow, the “Colt” can be manufactured from several different materials and can be fired both by a bit trigger, or the user’s other hoof when higher accuracy is needed. The basic design of the 54, like the EDF-3, has been around for centuries, though it has been significantly upgraded as new advances in bow technology have arisen. The “Colt” is essentially a smaller redesign of the "Equestria Bow", which is where it gained its nickname as, “The colt of the ‘questria,” which was later shortened to just “Colt.”
Due to the smaller size of this bow’s ammunition, ten sidearm-class arrows can fit into this weapon’s arrow mag. Sidearm-class arrows are surprisingly powerful, capable of penetrating lighter personnel armor due to their gem tipped heads, which are often used with many different Equestrian bow designs, including the EDF-3. Because of the EDF-54’s smaller size and cost, the weapon is commonly used by civilian security guards and adventurers daring enough to enter dangerous and monster infested lands like the Everfree forest.
Liberation Alliance Central Command Factoid #87 Pandragon Mounts.
Pandragon Mounts form the backbone of Liberation Alliance air power. These massive, normally feral winged reptiles have been domesticated for hundreds of years, and are typically jockeyed by Pandragon minors, completely unrelated pterodactyl like sentients, who have kept the species strong through careful selective breeding. Mount males are typically more muscular, more resilient to injury, and sport dark red scales, while female mounts are usually a lighter shade and have more slender forms, which can allow for slightly higher speeds.
Because of the obvious usefulness of a flying beast of burden, these creatures have been used for a variety of tasks within the Pandragon Empire, from police patrols, to delivering mail. In combat, mounts and their jockeys sport heavy armor, which usually come fitted with fire-bolt casters even larger than ones Caprastian rams carry. This heavy-bolt caster has been known to be very efficient in strafing roles, and can be used to destroy similarly sized flying targets. Rumor has it that some of the more high ranking minors, (and sometimes griffins) have some sort of advanced guided flare-spear launchers fitted to their mount’s armor, but this is just word of mouth. Because of the Pandragon mount’s large and muscular wings, they have been known to propel themselves to speeds rivaling that of slower human aircraft. Perhaps without all that heavy armor, they’d go even faster…