“Asphodel Kalon, did you or did you not not only organize the rescue mission, but fire the killing shot which liberated Rarity from her captors?”
“Yes, Princess Celestia, I did.”
“Very well,” the beautiful, sage princess remarks, resting her cheek upon her hand as she sits on her golden throne. “Since Rarity requested me to reward the one who rescued her, and I am in need of the skills of a competent gunman right now, I have a proposal for you.”
A proposal? What? Did she really have to drag me all the way to Canterlot just to ask me something? “May I hear it?”
Celestia nods. “My offer is this: I am sending an envoy to contact lands which with we have not had correspondence for a long time. I want you to accompany them to ensure they get there and back safely.”
“I see.” Not bad, not bad. “Anything else?” Of course, I wasn’t going to turn this down, whatever it was, because it wasn’t every day that somepony came to you with a job offer.
“Of course, you shall be compensated upon the accomplishment of the mission.” Unremarkable. So I’ll have to incur all the overhead of gearing up, followed by whatever expenses come up on the job. “What’s more is that if you do well, then you can could on regular, lucrative employment with us in the future.” Job security, now that is something you donn’t see every day.
I smiled. “Sold, your highness. Just who am I guarding and when do I start?”
A small purple alicorn emerged from behind a column. “That would be her, and you depart tonight.”
Taking this in stride, I ask, “Is anybody else going with us?”
I see another pony emerge from behind her. He is a guard in full armor, carrying a REC-7. “Hi there, Flash Sentry, Princess Twilight Sparkle’s personal guard and your new best friend.”
This was looking interesting. I get a brief glance at the side of his gun – port closed and safety on. “Glad to meet you,” I reply with a grin. “So, what’s the plan?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Flash Sentry replies. “Follow me.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Chapter 1: Starting Out (Canterlot to Daran (Afghneighnistan border))
Flash Sentry and I are in a Royal Guard armory and he’s trying to give me the rundown on the different tools of the trade we’ll have available to us. He’s handing me pieces of equipment and I’m putting them on. All the while, he’s lecturing me about shit I already know. I already have a small pile of kit at my feet, and I have even more at the inn where I slept last night, but that makes no difference to him. “This is a plate carrier,” he says, handing me an empty black vest covered with MOLLE loops. “You wear this and you can put armor in it to get more protection, and you can carry gear by attaching it through these MOLLE loops. Want me to demonstrate?”
“No thanks,” I reply.
Moving on, he hands me a familiar floppy object. “This is level III-A soft armor. It’ll stop anything propelled from a handgun.
I can’t resist the chance to quip, “Apart from a couple of crazy calibers, like 7.62x25, which I’m carrying right now.”
He looks at me. “You’re not allowed to carry weapons inside the palace.”
“I know. It’s your lot’s fault for leaving it to the honor system for visitors to actually be disarmed.”
With a twinge of annoyance, he tosses a big, black thing at me. It lands hard in my hands. “And that’s your level IV armor. That’ll stop almost anything. Be careful, it’s heavy.” Then why’d you throw it, genius? “You want me to show you how to put it in?”
“No, thanks.” I don’t want to imagine what it would be like having you put it in.
He picks up a familiar piece of headgear. “This is your Kevlar helmet,” he says as he lobs the k-pot at me. It’s relatively light, but doesn’t cover quite as much skin as my favorite steel helmet. He holds up something shiny. “This is a cat’s-eye band. It’s make you easier to identify in poor visibility.” I immediately place the band on the ground.
“No offense, Flash Sentry, but we’re escorting a delegate across several unstable regions and then we’re taking her to meet with royalty of a nation our kind has never ever stepped foot in before. I think it’d be better if we were really low profile and nonthreatening. CC some weapons, maybe tuck some armor under our coats, but let’s not attract any more attention or be any more obtuse than is absolutely necessary. At best, it’ll just get some stares and maybe some will think we’re assclowns. At worst, we’ll make our hosts feel threatened and some genius brigand will get it into his head that an Equestrian princess carrying something valuable with only a couple guards would make a once in a lifetime opportunity for the ultimate score.”
Flash counters, “We have to show off, Asphodel. That’s how they’ll know just how great Equestria is and they’ll think twice about messing with us or missing a chance to partner with the greatest power in the world.”
I sigh, “You’ve never been on the frontier before, have you?”
“I’ve kept the peace in the Mild West a couple times. Why?”
I explain, “I’ve been outside of Equestria. The folk there aren’t like the ponies here; they’re actually pretty tough and won’t be cowed by something so gentle as a finger wag and a shout. What I’m saying is that when you’re traveling through the ridges of Chechneya or the taiga of Griffiya, if you want to make it in one piece, you’d better be ready and able to sling some lead if danger comes, because crooks there don’t care about the law and don’t use their words; they shoot first and care about the consequences later. And if there are no witnesses, no evidence, then there’s no crime if they don’t get caught.”
“Which is exactly why we’ll need to project a strong presence.”
So much for persuasion. “If you insist. So, what kind of pieces are you having us tote, or is the plan to just look scary?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Flash says genuinely. He pulls from the rack a black rifle which looks like an M4 carbine. He hands it to me properly, after having first safety checked it and locking the bolt back. He tells me, “REC-7, assault weapon exclusive to the Canterlot Royal Guard. Chambered for 6.8SPC, takes standard AR magazines.” Okay then, so it’s just another M4 with a silly name and weird caliber. “Unlike other guard M4’s, this one uses a short-stroke gas system to get better reliability.” A piston… that’s something just about every other self-reloading rifle platform has taken for granted. I lift the the REC-7 up to my shoulder and manipulate it. The only iron sights are detachable folding ones, and of course they’re a non-adjustable aperture design and they sit really damn high up. The weapon handles worse than you’d think a short, light rifle would, but then again, all the components near my body are made of plastic or aluminum, while just about all the heavy steel bits, including a somewhat heavy non-fluted sixteen inch barrel and a quad rail system, are at the front, where their leverage would make them tougher to manage than their listed weights would suggest. With a smirk, I notice that Flash has pulled out another REC-7, this one with an 8” barrel and an EoTech 558 sight on top.
I have a bad feeling what he’s going to offer me next. “Don’t worry, I already know how to work with this kind of rifle.”
“I wouldn’t dream you couldn’t. I was just going to ask if you liked it.”
I breathe in. “Sorry, but not really. I’d rather have a short AK or a compact SMG.”
“What’s the matter?”
“The balance on this thing is dreadful, it won’t be terribly handy if we must work in very close quarters and the forward weight is likely to inducing oversweeping targets and increased difficulty with precision at long range. The sights are detachable and non-adjustable, ammo for it is going to be non-existent outside of certain Guard units, magazines are going to be even harder to come by, and I’d like something less dramatic I can conceal, considering our mission.”
He nods. “I see. Don’t sweat the mags, we can use any compatible 5.56 ones. Just gimme a sec to pull something out….” He disappears behind a gun rack for several seconds.” When he reemerges, he has a Sig Sauer 552. “How’s that?”
I grin. “Good enough.” With the stock folded, it’s compact enough to hide under my long coat or in some luggage. I take it and sling it over my shoulder. “Got any pistols for me?”
“Just one,” Flash Sentry replies. He takes something from his pocket. He hands it to me as he announces, “Colt Combat Commander in 45 ACP, featuring a bigger clip than other M1911’s, this one has holds eight rounds.” I wince internally when he says clip. My tenuous trust in him sublimates into a rarified miasma.
“Can I use the pistol I brought?” I don’t mind the one he’s offering me, but I know for a fact that anyone who can shoot a big gun can shoot a smaller gun better. Plus, mine can penetrate soft armor and it has the advantage in capacity.
He crosses his arms. “No, you have to use this one.” Auch.
“Got it,” I say. “Is that it?”
“Almost. Just gotta see how you shoot on the range.”
A shooting session doesn’t sound too bad. “Okay then, let’s go.”
“Just a sec,” he says. “We need cases for these.” Oh are you kidding me? After a couple minutes boxing everything, I follow his lead through the corridors beneath the palace.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
If I wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of working with this guy for only God knows how long, the range session would have completely galvanized me against the idea of ever having anything to do with working alongside the Royal Guard again. Never before have I had to deal with such an annoying lane mate. Hadn’t he told me earlier that he was sure I could definitely shoot? Well, he certainly hadn’t shown any such confidence when it was my turn up on the firing line. First, he had to talk me through all the rules of gun safety. Second, he wouldn’t stop hovering over me and holding my hand through absolutely everything. Third, he constantly scrutinized my technique. Fourth, we shot at only from a rest. Well, I did – he did some standing and offhanded shooting. And man did he take forever.
It is no surprise to see his target shooting scores outclass mine. I’ve never been a great shot; I’m good enough to put rounds through enemies, but I’ve never been a real marksman. My heart sinks as I look over the targets. Now he has an objective measurement which says that he is better than me in the shots we both took.
Now he makes me go through the cleaning procedures for the weapons we used, and of course, he insists upon micromanaging me every step of the way, spewing inane comments all the while, including some bullshit, like steel-cased ammunition being ruinous to your gun’s condition, and direct impingement being more accurate than piston action. Now he’s white knighting for the AR platform, explaining to me how it completely outclasses all others, or at least is totally not at fault whenever it doesn’t come out ahead. His words and sources and whatnot have two problems with them. The first is that they’re all coming from sources who have an interest in making the AR look good, such as companies who sell the platform and accessories, guys who write about it who favor the platform and are sponsored by such companies, and of course the Royal Guard wants to make everyone think that it’s more than a glorified personal bodyguard for the princesses. Secondly, a long line of experience indicates that the platform ain’t as rock steady dependable as they claim. At long last, we break for supper. He has given me a pass and informed me that we will meet in the throne room for departure. I immediately rush back to my room to grab my kit. I then go look for a restaurant.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
My ruck is heavy, but I’m more or less used to the weight, although it rapidly begins to ache on my shoulders and give my neck a cornucopia of cricks and cracks. The added weight makes my feet tender in my boots. Typical march. It isn’t long before I spot a neon sign. “Donut Joe’s”. Stumbling into it, I find the bar just about empty, attended by a lone tan and brown unicorn stallion.
“Privyet,” I say, taking a seat at the bar.
“Howdy,” he waves, coming towards me. “What can I do you for?”
“Full dozen glazed donuts, please.” I haven’t eaten all day.
“Certainly, sir. Would you like anything to drink?”
Still remembering my irritation from those accursed hours with Flash Sentry, I ask, “You got vodka?”
He shakes his head. “No, sorry, sir, but we got coffee.”
“Then I’d like a big pot of coffee, Joe. The strongest, blackest stuff you have, and I mean it.”
“Alrighty then.”
I fish a quarter liter bottle of vodka out from my ruck. I hear his footsteps receding into the distance. “Hey,” I call. “Mind if I drink?”
“Nope. Just put it away if any foals or guards come by.”
“Gotcha.” With that, I unscrew the cap and take a big swig of vodka. The burning booze washes down my throat pleasantly. Hell, I needed that drink at least four hours ago. I start working through the rest, sipping slowly to avoid getting smashed by all the alcohol hitting my system at once. It is not long before I feel the effects of the ethanol. Donut Joe returns before long with arms full of hot donuts and steaming coffee. “Thanks,” I say as he sets it all out for me.
“You’re welcome, uh, what’s your name?”
Through a mouthful of donut I answer, “Asphodel.”
“Are you going on vacation, Asphodel?”
I smile a bit. “No, quite the opposite, actually. I’m going to go work upland in our neighbors to the north.”
“That’s nice.”
“The scenery, definitely. The locals, not so much. You ever been there?”
Donut Joe responds, “When I was a bit younger, yes. I was a soldier in the Royal Guard. They sent us up to help out the Afghneighn army back during the Big Trouble, and that was before Afghenighnistan even became our protectorate. I’ve been here for the past fifteen years.”
“Interesting.”
Donut Joe meets my eyes. “So, Asphodel, are you in the guards as well?”
I shake my head. “Nah, I’m just some stupid merc who rescued somebody named Rarity, and now I’m starting a royal contract to go north to protect a trade delegate or something. I’m being partnered with this real spit and polish green academy type.” Most Equestrians hate mercenaries, gunmen, and all kinds of shooters. The fact that Joe isn’t giving me a death glare right now is extremely intriguing.
Joe gives me a meaningful look, a cock of the head followed by an understanding ‘aaaaahhhah.’ “My friend, you’ve stumbled right into something very important.”
“Cho?” I take a swig of vodka and give him a curious stare.
“Rarity,” he explains, “is one of the bearers of the Elements of Harmony. Her particular element happens to be generosity.” More shit I already know. “You did her a big favor by saving her, and now she’s trying to pay you back by giving you the biggest opportunity of your life.” I nod.
“So it makes sense to assume there’s more going on than meets the eye.”
“You bet.”
I’m most of the way through everything at my place. “Just one thing,” I ask. “The guard going with me is really highly trained, but green as grass by the look of things. Is that supposed to mean anything?”
Joe sighs, “I dunno. Put it this way, he’s a known quantity and you’re not. There’s no telling what their royal highnesses have got swirling around in their heads.”
Dinner soon finishes. A bit drunk, I wave, “Thanks, Joe,” as I head out the door.
“Good luck,” he says.
Out on the street again, I start walking back towards the palace. Night is falling. Black shadows are descending upon the gorgeous white marble of lofty, angelic Canterlot. Joe’s words stew in my head. They have plenty of time to do so, as it is a long trek uphill to meet Flash Sentry in the throne room. The pass gets me through the security. If only they knew the hardware in my bag… Oh well, no harm no foul. Besides, given Flash’s ongoing purposeful rejection of subtlety, if he gets mad at me for bringing along my own personal ruck with all my gear and weapons in it, he has only himself to blame for telling me that being heavily armed and armored in full battle rattle was the plan for the mission. And I’m pretty sure that royalty can carry whatever they want through security without scrutiny, royal privilege and show of goodwill and all that. Funny how it works that someone who could actually order the production of all kinds of nasty things and has the resources to do it can get anything through security just by claiming royal privilege, but a broke peasant gets shaken down over their woodcutting ax. That’s oligarchy for you!
I walk through the castle one last time. I have an excellent sense of direction, so it is not long before I find myself back in the throne room. Of course, the throne room is more or less reached by always taking the biggest path, right down the middle. More evidence that war is not common in Equestria, or otherwise the throne room would have been far more difficult to reach. Hell, with a modern heavy machine gun, there was no reason why a single shot couldn’t wreak havoc through several chambers in a row.
At the door just before the throne room, I pause for a minute. It occurs to me that these are some of my last moments before I go to leave Equestria forever. I kneel down into silent prayer for three minutes. Then I stand up and whisper, “My homeland, I know we don’t see each other all that well and we don’t get along too well, but it was nice to be back. I hope the next time you see me, I’m not in a box.” I step into the throne room.
The room is almost entirely empty apart from four honor guards, and some ponies stand at the far end. A little figure is among them. Is that a really small dragon or a really big iguana? I walk up to them. Flash Sentry, ridiculously garish in his polished armor waved to me, “My friend, over here!”
I wave back, “I see you. Just a moment; I’m coming.” I run there. The metallic sounds of mags, ammo, weapons, and armor together certainly reveal that I’m carrying more than just picnic supplies. Flash crosses his arms while the other two figures watch me. Flash is smirking a bit and tapping his foot. “Sorry for the delay,” I say when I get there.
“You’re right on time,” the purple alicorn mare says. I drop to one knee and bow my chest forwards.
“Princess Twilight Sparkle, I presume.”
She blushes and bats with her hand like I’m embarassing her. “Please, just call me Twilight. I’m not anypony special.” I immediately take a liking to this princess; she seems like she’ll be easy enough to live with.
“Alright then, Twilight. And who’s your little friend?”
“Spike the dragon, her number one assistant,” the little purple one says, swelling up with his hands placed triumphantly on his hips. “What I’m wondering is who are you.”
I am about to introduce myself when Flash interrupts me, “He’s Asphodel, the one who rescued Rarity from the bandits, and he’s here as my understudy.”
“Is he in the guard?” Spike asks.
Before I can ask him if he thinks anyone in the guard would be showing up drunk and out of uniform to meet a princess for an important assignment, Flash answers for me, “He’s an attache we’re hoping to work more with in the future, but for the sake of the mission, yes, he is under my oversight.” I suppress a growl, but stop myself. Just go with it, don’t make a fuss. Let the guys who are actually clued in on stuff do the talking.
Twilight asks me, “What’s in the bag, Asphodel?”
I answer, “Just some kit I’m bringing along because it may prove useful, and there’s no way the hostel would watch my stuff for an indefinite long period of time.”
Flash adds, “None of which is sanctioned, so you’ll be leaving it all here, where it’ll be held under your name.” For the love God!
“You do realize that absolutely everything I have is in there, right?” I growl. “That includes the gear I’ll be counting on for this op.” I give him a stern look in the eye.
To his credit, the pegasus stallion only recoils slightly. He covers with a sweep of his head as he picks up a nondescript black duffle on the ground and slides it to me. “Don’t worry, I’ve taken the liberty of placing all the kit you’ll need in this bag. I recommend you make full use of it.” Damnit, I really did mean that all my stuff was in there. Well, except for my money and pistol, of course. And my TTsKO camo suit, which I was wearing just out of habit.
“Do I really have to?” I ask.
He smirks, “Yes, really.”
“Chyort,” I groan, taking off my heavy ruck. I place it on the ground and make sure that it’s all closed and locked. I pick up the duffle, which is much smaller but around the same weight as my ruck. “Well that’s that. Are we all good to go?” Internally, I’m feeling like I’m never going to quite let it slide that Flash didn’t let me use the gear I already have and know, but also forced me to part with everything but the clothes on my back just on a whim of his. In a moment of sharp horror, I realize that all my booze was in my ruck. I really need that stuff, really.
“Yes,” claps the princess. “Let’s go. Princess Luna has arranged a special chariot to take us to Daran.” My ears perk up. I feel my heart beat just a bit faster.
Twilight sets off and we follow her. I quietly ask Spike, “Number one assistant, what exactly is the travel plan?”
I feel the dread, the fear of knowing battle is near, creep up on me. I pray they don't notice. He tells me, “We’re taking a chariot to Daran, where we’ll catch a train.”
“Spike, when you say Daran, do you mean Daran as in the town in Afghneighnistan?”
“Yep, sure do. What other Darans are there?” I don't want to go. I don't want to go.
I scowl, “Unfortunately none other that we can think of. So much for getting back to civilization…” I miss my Kalashnikov already. I feel a thirst for vodka coming from my brain. Terrible images begin to phantom flash across my mind... I swear that somewhere, I can hear the clacking of a gun already. But this is what I am bound to do. Tis my curse.
_____________________________________________________________________________________
It is just barely dawn when we come to Daran. The sunlight creeps above the eastern edge of the mountains. Looking behind us, I see the first rays of the sun strike the magnificent spire of the Crystal Palace. The snow-covered world lights up like a magnificent gem. I’d be perfectly content to admire this wonderful, scintillating marvel of beauty if the wind and cold weren’t making me reflect kindly at the idea of wintering in the tundra again. Ahead of us is the mountain pass and the border town, two collections of buildings crammed into the shade of mountains, the sides separated by an ancient fortified gate, granting a rather uncanny resemblance to a clam. Perhaps this clam will yield a pearl? Wait a minute, clams don’t make pearls – oysters do, if I remember correctly. Either way, I am reminded of a famous fortification in the borderlands of Griffiya, Grozovye Vorota, The Storm Gates, where in a great battle near the end of the last century, a single company of Griffiyan warriors held off the vastly superior forces of a wolf warlord, at the cost of near absolute extermination.
I crouch down again to get into cover. Twilight’s magical bubble of warmth. Even though it’s nice and toasty, it’s not homely like a physical heater, and it can’t do much to block the terrifyingly frigid winds from outside. The only one of us sleeping is Spike, well, because, he is just a baby dragon, after all. I don’t blame him; I’d be sleeping, too, if only I could get to sleep, but good luck with doing that on a frigid flying chariot, even if it is honestly more like a carriage than a chariot.
We are rapidly approaching our destination.
Twilight is wearing full Equestrian diplomatic uniform, with the white suit and the gold trim everywhere on the shirt and trousers, and the purple long jacket with the black trim. She is wearing the jacket open, but I can tell by the deflection of snowflakes around her that she has a ward up of some type. Spike has on a nice grey suit with a polka-dotted bowtie of all things.
The classy attire of our charges stands in stark contrast to the brazenly military outfits Flash and I are wearing. We look like more like guys guarding an embassy than we look like a personal protection detail. Flash insisted that I get dolled up like him in full multicam, with a k-pot, chest rig with hard plates, goggles, fingerless gloves, heavy boots, and both the firearms in the duffle. Inside was the M1911 he forced upon me, but at least he was nice enough to substitute the REC-7 for the Sig 552. I cannot wait to see how border security reacts to us.
We are about to land. Twilight nuzzles Spike and whispers in his ear, “Hey, my little dragon, we’re here. Wake up.” I am suddenly reminded that I’d like to know how we’re going to handle out baggage, but the intimacy of the scene makes me keep my mouth shut.
The little drake stretches and yawns, “Already, Twilight?”
No, it’s just dawn. “Yes.”
“Alright, but there’d better be some tasty gems if you’re waking me up this early.”
“Don’t worry, Spike,” she laughs. “We’re making a state visit in Klopdahar, right?”
“Yeah… I wanted to visit the Crystal Empire on our way up,” he remarks, looking wistfully out the window aft.
“I’m sorry, Spike, but we can’t waste any time or else we might not be able to make the journey at all.”
“Then why can’t we just take a chariot all the way there?” Hey, that’s what I wanted to ask.
“Because it’s too far and you know how protective everyone is of their territory.” Oh I know what that’s like. Most border guards wouldn’t hesitate a second to shoot down anything unexpected not marked as theirs, especially the Afghneighns.
He pats his stomach and says, “I understand wanting to protect your home, but would it kill them to let us bring at least some food in?”
Twilight answers, “Afghneighnistan has only a little bit of agriculture, and much of what’s grown is unique to it, so of course they’re very protective of it.” To comfort the crestfallen drake, she adds, “I’m sure they’ll have something good for us to eat today in Klopdahar, but first, could you take care of our luggage?”
“Sure thing,” Spike says, taking a little sack from his pocket and opening it. Then, he grabs our big bags and drags them to the opening, as they shrink down to fit. My eyes widen. So this is real magic…
Twilight sees my stare. “What’s the matter, Asphodel? Haven’t you seen magic before?”
“I have, Princess, but I’ve seen hardly any in the last three years and I’ve never seen anything like that.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she says. “Just a little spell I found in a fifth century book in the ancient Palace of the Royal Sisters…” So she’s the sort who’s so advanced that she can’t comprehend being uninitiated.
She suddenly puts a hand on Spike and interrupts, “I’ll carry that one.” The princess pulls plain black briefcase with a combination lock away from the baby dragon and conjures a magical tether, a little glowing lilac cord binding it to her wrist.
Suddenly, one of our charioteers announces, “Brace for landing!” I huddle on the floor, arms over my head in a brace position. My breathing quickens, but there’s no danger. A sinking feeling – a sudden reminder about the fragility of airborne transportation. I’m almost waiting for the familiar roar of a rocket to fly right up to us… Maybe I should’ve insisted on double checking we weren’t being watched… The chariot shudders a bit and I feel it come to a stop, bouncing a few times gently, crunching on the snow. “That’s all, folks,” announces the same voice. Looking around, I see everybody else standing calmly.
I stand up, discretely wiping away a bit of sweat. They’re all staring at me, with feelings from concern to doubt. “Sorry,” I lie with a mumble, “Just never flown before.”
Flash Sentry claps me on the back. “First time for everything, bro. Anyway, the mission officialy begins once we’re at the Afghenighn border, so let’s get to work.” He turns to Twilight and Spike and salutes. “Canterlot Royal Guardsman Grade 3 Shining Armor at your service.”
“Your service is welcome and received,” blushed Twilight.
“The honor is ours, Princess," he says, giving me a nudge.
“Roger that,” I agree, checking that a round is chambered in my assault rifle before flicking the selector to semiautomatic. If we go anywhere hotter, I’ll put it on full auto.
The bit of ceremony over. Flash nudges me in the shoulder. “Hey, didn’t they teach you anything, bro? Keep your weapon on safe until you’re actually doing some shooting.” Oh for crying out loud! "Don't worry about anything here; the border guys are cool about Equestrians; we're they're protectors, after all."
We disembark. The scene is one of paradox I am not unused to. The ground is covered with sand and snow. The sun is up in the desert, but it’s very cold. True to what I thought earlier, that Twilight is indeed using magic to keep her clothes clean. Why not use it to make herself bulletproof as well? She’s probably thought of that, too. She turns to the five batponies who flew us here and tells them, “Thanks for the ride, guys.”
“Thank you, Princess,” they answer and bow. She lifts her hand to hide an uncomfortable giggle. Just how new is she to this whole princess thing? I mean, I know she wasn’t born royalty. This is pushed from my mind by a wave of cold as, with a flutter of wings and a flurry of snow, the chariot takes off for home, dusting everyone but Twilight in snow and sand. Let this please not be a prophetic moment. I check my Sig 552. All good. The border post is a good couple hundred meters away. Other than some stone ramparts and a few structures, it doesn’t look all that hard. We begin to trudge across the ground, but not for long.
Soon, a group of uniformed armed donkeys approach us and declares, “Halt! Princess Twilight Sparkle, Spike the Dragon, and company, we shall escort you for the remainder of your time in Daran. You, guards, take your clips out and clear your chambers. Quality time with itchy border guards. Hooray. And we’re already getting disarmed not even five minutes into the mission. At least these guys aren’t armed, apart from their leader and his Colt Detective Special revolver. We comply as we go in to Border Control.
"Hey, Flash, some cool dudes these are."
I hear only a groan in response.
"Hey, things could be worse I add."
"How?"
"They could recognize me.
"You're joking."
"If only."