//------------------------------// // Chapter 13 // Story: Revenge // by Teq //------------------------------// Chapter 13 Wraith and I were forced from our sanctuary rather abruptly the following morning. I’d finished my sentry shift at some point after one in the morning and Wraith had taken my place. Less than an hour later he grabbed me by the collar and was marching me out into the street, with words to the effect of, “We have to keep moving. It’s not safe here anymore.” When I challenged Wraith, he pointed at one of the buildings opposite our shelter. I scanned its face briefly. Approximately five stories up I could make out the silhouette of somepony sitting in the window, gazing down at us with a rifle clutched in one hoof. Immediately I felt the bottom of my stomach drop. I tried not to let my imagination wander. It was probably nothing to worry about, or they’d have attacked us by now. Still, what if it was… But it wasn’t. It couldn’t be. Wraith and I kept walking. We eventually stumbled upon a four way intersection, and quickly adopted a stance of caution. It was apparent to me by this point that intersections were essentially kill zones. A single machine gun was capable of covering the entire area and completely denying infantry movement, or a single well placed sniper could halt the advance of even an armoured column. Plus, there was a lot of rubble to conceal an ambush behind and anypony could be watching from the windows above. Wraith and I kept as low as possible, moving painfully slowly and only ever into an area of cover. My worst fears were confirmed when we neared the middle of the intersection. This place had once been the site of at least one ambush, with corpses from both sides slumped over each other and suffering an extraordinary variety of injures, from gunshot wounds to stab wounds to blunt trauma to severe burning. However, ever the opportunists, we silently went about scavenging for supplies. Wraith pointed out that we’d need to find a Scavenger’s uniform that was still mostly intact, and so I added that to my battlefield shopping list. I drew the pistol of one of the Scavengers and slid out the magazine, pleased to see more hollow point ammunition. I slid the full magazine into my pistol in place of the partially emptied one that had been seated inside for a while, and discarded the emptied firearm. I also looted a few more assault rifle magazines off the LRSA, and nicked a small bottle of vodka from a Scavenger. In truth, I’d thought it was water at first, but as soon as I removed the cap it was quite apparent that it wasn’t. The strong scent was reminiscent of falling headfirst down an escalator. When I reunited with Wraith, I found that he had been unsuccessful in finding me a uniform worth wearing. All of them were damaged in some way that made them unusable, like they were riddled with gunshots or featured a prominent bayonet slash or something similar. Ideally we wanted a Scavenger who’d been killed by a headshot, or by some form of blunt object. What Wraith did recover for me, however, was a Scavenger’s garrison cap. It was at least part of the uniform, and whilst not actually essential, would hopefully trick the odd patrol if they spotted me from a distance. When Wraith tried to force it onto my head, I swatted at him, annoyed. I had become very attached to my own hat and I didn’t really want to trade it out for a dirty, tattered Scavenger garment, but eventually I conceded. With spite, I slid my hat into my saddlebags and positioned the cap on my head, slightly to the side of my horn and on a jaunty angle. Already I felt tainted by what it represented. I was worried that wearing it for too long would corrupt my soul with its dark influence. I wanted to remove it and fling it into the dust, but I didn’t because it would have annoyed Wraith and frankly I didn’t want to argue with him by that point. I just wanted this whole ordeal to be over as soon as possible, and sparking as few conflicts as possible seemed the best way of doing so. We continued in the direction of Scavenger lines, trudging slowly through the streets and stopping to inspect ever dead Scavenger we came across in the vain hope that their uniform was wearable. After several hours of searching and yielding no results, we pulled up next to the shattered corpse of a Russian tank, a large hole punched into the side of the turret and with the remains of the commander’s lower half still visible inside. The rest of the tank’s interior looked to have received a rapid redecorating at the adept hands of a rocket propelled grenade. Around the tank were numerous bodies in LRSA black, either sprawled on their backs or sides or lying doubled over, still clutching at their weapons or at gaps in their body where gaps should not be. I also spotted another LRSA officer, only this one was hanging from a lamppost and had a makeshift wooden sign hanging around his neck. ‘Get out of our country!’ On closer observation, I noticed several other LRSA soldiers dangling from lampposts, ranging from section commanders to average infantrymen. It was quite apparent by now that this was Scavenger territory, and I expected it to not be long before we ran into our first patrol. Which made finding that uniform more important than ever. Wraith and I scoured the streets, but most of the bodies were LRSA and of little use to us. We did find the odd dead Scavenger, but they were mostly shot full of holes (and one unfortunate individual looked to have been crushed underneath the rolling treads of a tank). As we moved deeper into unexplored territory, the signs of Scavenger influence only became more and more apparent. It got to the point where it was almost impossible to see a lamppost without an LRSA soldier suspended from it, and abandoned weapon posts became more frequent. Most of them still had weapons in them, likely so that the Scavengers could quickly re-crew them in the event of an attack. LRSA bodies became widespread, often pushed to the sides of the road or the pavements, piled up sometimes two or three high, turning the roads into effective chokepoints. I saw another LRSA tank which looked to have been heavily beaten about, and only a few yards upstream I found the discarded rocket launcher which had silenced it. Wraith and I eventually stumbled upon something which proved to hold great promise. Behind a combination of rubble, sandbags and twisted metal, we found what looked to be a sniper’s nest. Wraith vaulted the short wall and I quickly followed suit, noticing immediately that the nest was larger than it appeared. It extended back into the nearest building, and the space itself was deeper than it had looked from outside. There was, slumped against a wall, the body of a Scavenger. I knew from experience that the only sort of weapon that shredded somepony up like that was a grenade or similar explosive. The only thing worth taking off him would have been his rifle, but it was a slow, cumbersome old bolt action that nevertheless proved a relief to Wraith, who quickly emptied it of its ammunition. Whilst Wraith dug around looking for hidden weapons or ammunition, I ventured deeper into the nest. I found myself stood in a room which had largely collapsed, but would still have been roomy enough to house a platoon’s worth of soldiers. The only soldiers in there, however, were two Scavengers, both dead. The one closest to me was slumped over a stack of ammunition boxes, a sub machinegun dangling around his hoof from its sling. Next to him, propped up on a bipod, was a huge rifle the likes of which I’d never seen. It was bulky and certainly looked extremely heavy, with a bolt the size of my horn and a barrel the length of my foreleg. I couldn’t fathom what such a monstrous rifle could be used for, but whatever it was I didn’t want to find myself on the receiving end, that much I knew. The other Scavenger, sprawled face first into the dirt and surrounded by rubble, didn’t seem to be holding any weaponry, but closer inspection revealed the bulk of a shotgun poking out from beneath her. I rolled her over onto her back, inspiring a small column of dust to rise into the air. The Scavenger must have had an unpleasant end, with the barrel of her shotgun leaving a clear impression in her throat. When I tried lifting her slightly, her head flopped over into a position that should have been impossible for a head to be in. What demanded my interest, however, was the integrity of her uniform. She had on her head the usual Scavenger helmet, but a sizeable dent in the side prevented me from removing it. Despite this, the rest of her garb was in impressive condition. The uniform itself was only covered in a layer of dust and dirt, and featured no prominent tears or holes that would have implied a gunshot wound or similar combat inflicted ailment. I looked up to the ceiling and found myself staring up into the next floor. I came to believe that, somehow, the ceiling had collapsed and caved the side of the mare’s skull in, after which she’d fallen on her shotgun and broken her neck. That was my working theory, anyway. In reality it didn’t really matter, because here I was presented with the gold dust that I’d been looking for. If it weren’t for one thing. Her brassard. On her foreleg was the usual Scavenger brassard, but the patches sewn onto it made me wrinkle my nose. There was the triple chevron synonymous of a Sergeant, and the small stylised knife that came only with Sadists. At that moment I didn’t care if it was the only intact uniform in the Ruins, I didn’t want to be labelled as a Sadist. In an attempt to remedy this, I tried removing the brassard from the sniper slumped next to the doomsday rifle, which bore the crosshairs of a Hunter. This plan seemed fool proof to me, until I considered the criteria for being a Hunter. It required accuracy at range and an actual hunting ability, two things that I did not possess. I could probably hold my own at distance, but my current weapon configuration didn’t exactly lend itself to long range combat, and I found that telescopic lenses made me dizzy. Additionally, there were also sewn in rankings on the collar and left foreleg of each Scavenger uniform, which I couldn’t have removed and replaced with my current array of tools. Plus, I picked up a sense of urgency when I heard a shout in the street ahead. Against my better judgement, I stuffed my jumper into my saddlebags and pulled on the uniform, feeling quickly contaminated by the knowledge of what it was I was representing. I hoisted the body of the mare I’d stripped onto my back and threw her into a corner behind a load of rubble, in the hope that any Scavengers who ventured in wouldn’t find her and see through my disguise. “You there, where’d you come from?” “Wanderer village up north.” “When will the artillery stop?” “The artillery stops at 15:60.” I made my way cautiously towards the actual sniper’s post. Wraith was there, rifle slung over his back, hoisting himself out of the pit and back into the street. As I poked my head out to look around, I found the muzzle of an LSW poking into the side of my head. The Scavenger behind the weapon growled at me before making any further comment, “And who exactly are you?” “She’s my section 2IC,” Wraith responded for me, casting me a glance as if expecting me to continue. “We’re on our way back from patrol. We ran into an LRSA armoured patrol and they silenced our only anti-tank weapon before we could bring guns to bear. Most of my section was cut down before we could find effective cover, including our IC. When there were only three of us left I sounded a retreat, but a marksman cut down our gunner before he could get very far. We’re all that’s left.” I prayed to every god that I knew existed (which wasn’t many) that they bought the story. The Raider in command of the section hopped down into the pit with me. She was a unicorn, like me, with what must have at some point been a brilliant golden coat, but now was more of a dirty yellow. She looked me over, “Nice Russian rifle. Where’d you get that?” “I ran out of rounds for my own rifle. Not keen on charging up to a tank with my bayonet I grabbed the nearest firearm I could and started sending fire down range. On the retreat I dropped my old rifle to lighten my load. That was where my gunner made his mistake. Far too attached to his weapon to leave it behind. Slowed him down.” The Raider sniffed once, “Fair enough, I suppose. It’s good to see you, Sergeant. How long have you been here?” “Couple hours at most. We’ve been on the trot for a while trying to get back without getting picked off by LRSA clean up groups.” “Well I’ve got the rest of my route to finish, but once we get back I’ll see about integrating you and your Hunter into my section. Fuck knows I need a better non-com,” she whispered closer to my ear. “My Sergeant’s utterly useless. He just got transferred and he doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing. I could do with some more experienced leadership.” The Raider pulled herself out of the pit and held down a hoof to help me hoist myself up. The wall was just high enough that I was able to see over it, but my short stature made climbing out on my own rather difficult. Now back on street level, I could see the full extent of the Scavenger section upon us. The Raider was remarkably young for an officer, maybe only a year or two older than me, and the rest of her section looked to be of a similar bracket. The oldest one there was probably only twenty three. There were seven of them in total, the Raider included. There was the stallion with the LSW (who looked to be the eldest, and bore the rank of First Class), and a single Hunter armed with a modern, polymer sniper rifle. One was a Sadist, crossed with an impressive variety of sharp implements, and the others were all Scavengers. I could see the section’s Sergeant at the back, clutching an assault rifle in his hooves and with an expression of abstract horror painting his features. He looked gaunt and probably hadn’t slept well in weeks. I can imagine that I didn’t look too much better. My new commanding officer called the patrol in together and made the announcement that Wraith and I would be joining the section for the remainder of the patrol. She split the section in half, with the existing Sergeant, the LSW gunner, the Hunter and one of the basic Scavengers into one half, and with her, me, Wraith, the Sadist and the other Scavenger in the other. The officer gave the two halves designations of Charlie fireteam (which was her section) and Delta fireteam (under the jurisdiction of the existing Sergeant). The officer also stripped the existing Sergeant of his post as section 2IC and passed it on to me. I’d expected the Sergeant to be annoyed or even openly angry at the proposition of essentially being demoted, but he actually looked somewhat relieved to have his responsibilities cut down. I, on the other hoof, was a little dismayed at being delegated the job of section 2IC. I suppose I’d just have to keep up the façade and hope not to encounter the LRSA on this patrol. I wasn’t sure if I could bring myself to fight for the Scavengers. “So how much longer are we on patrol?” “We reach Cadence Street just ahead and take the right headed due south. We continue until we reach the turnoff for Cuthbert Street then break off down that way. All we do then is carry on our course until we’re back on home ground. Brings us back to C-East. So what sector are you from? I’m guessing B-South, am I right?” “Yep. How’d you guess?” I honestly had no idea what she was going on about, and her explanation did little to help me gauge distance. Cadence Street? Were these names that the Scavengers had come up with or had I just missed all of the street signs? And what was the whole C-East and B-South thing all about? I’d never known Scavengers to use such a system before, but judging from what I’d seen thus far the Scavengers in the Ruins tended to do a lot of things differently. “Well, it was just an educated guess really. If you were on patrol and managed to find yourself just outside C-North, and B-South is the next most northerly sector, it was logical to assume you’d come from there.” I continued to walk, following just behind the Raider. My hope was that if we were spotted by an LRSA sniper they would be blinded by the opportunity to take down a more high value target than me, giving me plenty of time to run to cover. We passed the shot up tank that Wraith and I had encountered a while back, and carried on, paying it no heed. It was only a matter of a few minutes after that we found ourselves at the junction to the main road, or ‘Cadence Street’ as I suppose it was being called. I was a little annoyed when it occurred to me that I’d just been to this junction a few hours ago, and all I’d done since then was retrace my steps back. “So you’re a Sadist too, huh?” The section’s existing Sadist pulled herself into step next to me. She was younger than me (I’d say seventeen) and her body was criss-crossed in every possible place with knives and hooks and axes and a variety of other bladed tools and weapons. She looked like a walking butcher’s shop. “Yeah. I suppose.” It pained me to say, but it was the guise that I had to assume if I were to remain unsuspicious. “How long’ve you been one? How long’ve you been a Scavenger?” “I’ve been a Scavenger all my life and I’ve been a Sadist since I was seven.” “Woah! You’re really fucking experienced then! No wonder you’re a Sergeant already. Hey, is that the cross of honour?” I looked down at the various patches and ribbons adorning my chest. One of which was a cross of black metal, outlined in silver. I assumed that was what she was talking about, “Yeah, it is. Earned that three years ago.” “How?” “Took down an LRSA patrol alone, armed only with a knife. All my comrades were dead, save my commander who was wounded. He saw me do it and had me recommended.” “Cool! I want one someday. I want to be a commando at some point, ya know, one of the elite. I’ve been training all my life, and I’m just waiting for the choice moment to show Stitcher what I’ve got!” “Stitcher?” “The Raider. She’s my IC and I’m her Sadist. Although, looks like I’ve got some competition now, huh? Well, competition’s no bad thing. Just don’t go ruining my moment, okay? You don’t know how much it means to me.” “Oh, I needn’t worry.” As we continued on our course, we were abruptly deafened by the roar and crash of an artillery shell striking home in a nearby street. We waited for a moment, each one of us listening to the crumbling of rubble falling into the road. Stitcher turned to look back at us, “Hope nopony was under that.” “Discord have mercy on those who were,” the Sadist chimed, twisting her right fore hoof above her head in an elaborate manner. I say Stitcher roll her eyes somewhat before continuing on her way, the rest of us close behind in staggered formation, looking for cover where possible. My unwanted friend soon began talking again. “Are you a chaotic?” “A what?” “Do you believe in the great Discord?” “The who?” “The embodiment of chaos. He is the one that watches over we Scavengers, we who are his children of chaos. Those who believe and choose to praise the great father of our kin shall be summoned at the time of their death by the spirits of those before them, and shall be granted new life so they can continue our father’s war of disorder. That is why I believe, so that when I die I can continue to fight in the khaki of my brethren. Praise mighty Discord!” she did that weird hoof twirl thing again, and I caught another of the Scavengers in the other fireteam perform the same action, calling back to the Sadist. I quickly lengthened my stride, determined to get away from the religious fanatic. I caught up with the Raider, who immediately turned to me and sighed, “Don’t tell me you believe in all that shit?” “No. Until now I had no idea what it was.” “It’s this new thing that’s sweeping the ranks. It’s this idea that some ancient spirit of chaos is the father of the Scavengers and is the one who sends us all to fight against the foreign invaders and those who seek to oppress us with order. Something like that. Load of bollocks if you ask me. I’ve tried introducing them to the idea of the revolution, the one that happened like three generations ago, but they just shout at me and call me a heretic and say that I will be eternally imprisoned by the devil Celestia, whoever the fuck that is. It scares me how popular this whole idea is amongst the lower ranks.” We passed by another side street, the opening to which was almost completely barred by rubble, save for a small path that looked artificially cleared. It wouldn’t have surprised me if a machinegun nest was set up behind it. The streets were eerily silent. There was a series of crackling snaps as distant gunfire announced the clashing of forces, and the regular thump of the long range guns resounded through the earth, but on Cadence Street nothing moved aside from a lone Scavenger patrol. I glanced over at the other fireteam, keeping low and moving along in the cover of the jersey barriers. I stumbled and fell face first into the ground, a small plume of dust collecting around me. My new Raider halted and looked back at me, “Watch yourself there.” “Sorry, I wasn’t paying attention.” “Hey, don’t apologise. Just keep your eyes open from now on, eh?” I was promptly grabbed from behind by the Sadist and hoisted back onto my hooves, set in motion again with a hard (and uncomfortable) slap on the back. With a glare I looked back over my shoulder at the crater I’d fallen into. To say that nothing happened for a while would be an understatement. The patrol that Wraith and I had fallen into a while back was nowhere to be seen, and there was no activity from either side. Cuthbert Street turned out to be a little further on than I’d thought, a total of maybe sixteen or seventeen side streets later? When we did make the turn off, a sense of… I dare say relief washed over me. I knew that I was just striding confidently back into Scavenger territory, but quite frankly even a night with the Scavengers sounded nice to me at that point. I was abysmally tired and my legs were aching. It was as if my rest at Perky’s hadn’t done me much good at all. I went to pull my hat down over my eyes a little, shielding them somewhat from the glare, but then remembered that I was wearing a garrison cap and not my usual head garment. With a yawn I tripped slightly over my own hooves but managed to keep myself upright. I was going to look forward to a decent bed tonight. We walked down Cuthbert Street for almost a full quarter of an hour, before things suddenly went tits up. I was once again only half minding what was going on, but I was forced back into reality very suddenly when I heard the unmistakable crack of a rifle. There was a thud as something was hit and the whole patrol scrambled, diving for cover. I found myself behind a pile of old sandbags, Stitcher to one side of me and the Sadist to the other. Wraith and the other Scavenger in our fireteam were slightly further behind, lying flat behind a short wall. Stitcher peered over our cover. When she ducked back down I asked, “Who’s hit?” “The Sergeant. Can’t tell where he’s hit from here but I’m gonna try and find that sniper.” She called out, “Did anypony see that sniper?” A chorus of reports came back, all of which answered in the negative. “Okay, nopony move until we put eyes on him. He’ll probably be in a building somewhere.” Everypony in the patrol went to scanning the building faces for movement, or for the distinguishing marks of a sniper’s nest. It was maybe five minutes before the Sadist next to me quickly deafened me by unleashing a vicious burst from her sub machinegun. I had to shake my head to clear the ringing in my ears, and I heard her calling, “I saw him! He got away though. I tried to nail him but he was gone before I could get properly zeroed.” “Where’re his friends? Did you see any more?” “Nah, just the one. I reckon he’s got our positioned keyed in though, so we should probably high tail it out of here before they come looking to clean up.” “Agreed, let’s move. Let’s get out of here everypony! Somebody grab that poor bastard on the way, I’m not leaving him here for the LRSA!” Stitcher began a steady trot, keeping at a brisk pace that I was forced to follow. Behind me the Sadist, Wraith and the remaining Scavenger followed suit, weapons clattering against bodies and hooves clopping against concrete. The other fireteam (now down one soldier and with one burdened with the corpse) were moving at a slightly slower pace. Each and every one of us was now on edge and scanning for movement. At the first sign of trouble I was diving for the nearest solid barricade. The downside of wearing a Scavenger uniform was that now I was more vulnerable to the LRSA. And the sniper hadn’t nailed the Raider, like I’d have expected, but he nailed the Sergeant. Was I next? Maybe about another fifteen minutes later I was actually delighted to see one of the most heavily fortified street sections I’d ever seen. On both sides of the street were dug in machineguns, each of which sported a three pony crew. There were snipers bristling the windows of the buildings either side of the street and there was even a full anti-tank gun a little further back. Stitcher made her way towards the barricade and was called to halt by one of the machinegun crews, specifically by the stallion clutching a shotgun in his hooves that looked to be the gun’s commander. Stitcher did as commanded, and was quickly asked a series of code questions, to which she replied the answers. She was welcomed by the commander, who beckoned her over to the nest, helping her down like a true gentlecolt. He turned his attention to the remainder of our patrol, and called over, “Okay, come in one at a time. Anypony that attempts to run through or turns to run away will be put down without question.” With what I hoped wasn’t an audible gulp I made my way slowly towards the nest, aware constantly of the many sights now trained onto me. The commander himself had his shotgun raised and I found myself staring down the barrel of a smooth-bore twelve gauge before Stitcher finally said, “Two.” The commander lowered his firearm and helped me down into the pit, which reminded me strongly of the sniper’s nest I’d picked up my uniform in. It too extended into the side building slightly, and I discovered that there were actually three more ponies further back, totalling six in the nest. They sat around in the back, one cleaning his rifle, one sleeping, the other juggling. Yes, she was juggling, fancy that. Juggling grenades. Behind me I heard, “Three,” and the Sadist hopped down into the nest and joined me. Wraith was next in on the count of four. He and I tucked ourselves away in one corner, furthest away from the Scavengers already inhabiting the hollow. From here, we were able to talk without being heard, so long as we talked quietly. I opened up conversation with, “So now what?” “Well, we’ve got ourselves a Raider to latch onto. I don’t think we should stay here long; just long enough to hop on a transport up to the other side. Then all we have to do is vanish into the night.” “You make this sound easy.” “You have to trust me. I know what I’m doing. This is familiar territory for me.” “Yea. Whatever gets me out of this uniform quickest. I think it’s actually slowly corrupting me.” “Relax. We’ll be given a quarters soon enough. Try and make friends. Blend in and do as they do. Act as if this is nothing new. If you don’t understand something, give a generic response that won’t arouse suspicion.” “Make friends with this lot? I suppose you want me to pull out my teeth while I’m at it.” Wraith’s only response was a slight sneer. We spent a good while after in silence, waiting patiently as every member of the patrol was counted in, ending with the Scavenger that carried the body of the Sergeant. I heard Stitcher share words with the commander of the gun nest before joining the rest of her patrol in the hollow, sitting down next to me and playing with her garrison cap. I yawned wide, exhaustion quickly catching up on me. The Raider chuckled, “Tired?” “You have absolutely… no idea.” “I have some.” “Why are we just sitting about?” “Standard procedure. We have to wait ten minutes before being allowed to enter properly. Helps to confuse anypony following us and means the guards have a surplus force to draw upon in the event that we’re attacked. Surely you knew that?” “Procedures are different where I come from. We usually just go straight in, and only the officer stays behind.” “Mmm. Right. Well, if you just wait this out you and your Sergeant can come with me to the garrison area. I’ll have you signed into my barracks but I’m afraid Corporals aren’t allowed in the same barracks. I’ll sign him in to the JNCO’s area. Once there you can rest up if you want. Don’t worry about any of the admin, I’ll take care of that. I just need to sign you on to the register and have you assigned to my section. They’re not going to argue, now that I’ve lost my existing Sergeant. Lucky you, eh?” “Yeah. Lucky me.” “It’s annoying, actually. That’s the third Sergeant who’s died under my command.” I looked at her askance, trying to detect any humour in the statement. Ten minutes passed, thankfully without an attack, and we were allowed to enter the area properly. The road stretched off slightly further down before opening into a large plaza or square. Most of the rubble there had been cleared and in place a series of large tents had been erected. There were also a few stout concrete buildings that the Scavengers had obviously built since their arrival. Immediately I was on edge. I’d never seen so many Scavengers in one place. There were Scavengers sitting on top of ammunition crates talking, walking to and from buildings, performing weapon maintenance, eating in an open sided mess tent, and there were even two ponies playing tennis. They all looked exhausted, dirty, and a vague air of agitation and unrest seemed to hang over the whole place. I was certain they’d take any opportunity to rip me apart if they knew who I really was. Stitcher’s section dispersed as soon as she’d debriefed them and filtered off into the sea of khaki before me. I must say, if the LRSA had managed to land an artillery strike in that place, it would have caused casualties on a catastrophic scale. I caught a face full of cigarette smoke from a passing mare and glared at her. Stitcher was quick to take me and Wraith by the nose and half drag us to the garrison, where she directed us to our respective cabins. Wraith quickly stepped off and into the Corporal’s barracks, but Stitcher directed me towards a different building, and in something I’d be inclined to describe as a coo simply said, “Our barracks is over here.” Upon reaching the door to the barracks Stitcher pushed it open and allowed herself to enter. I followed in soon behind, taking in the view. The main room was big, with two staircases on either end leading off into unseen second stories. There was a door in the back wall, and another in the right wall behind a counter. The room was occupied by a variety of different Scavengers, ranging in rank from Sergeant all the way up to Group Leader. There was a collection of tables scattered at odd intervals throughout the room and at each was a group of Scavengers, either playing games, drinking, talking, or pretending that nopony else on the table was there. Stitcher wheeled me towards the counter and sat me down before it, planting herself beside me and attracting the attention of the stallion behind it. The stallion in question was quick to pay heed to us, holding only the rank of Corporal, and as he leant on the counter I could smell mint on his breath, which was a pleasant change from fag smoke. He glanced between the two of us before turning his attention towards Stitcher, and asking in something vaguely reminiscent of a polite tone, “What can I get you?” “Straight vodka.” “On rocks?” “No, just vodka.” The stallion nodded his head slightly before turning his back on us and playing around with an extensive rack of liquors. He soon spun himself around and landed a short glass on the counter with a thunk, before requesting three cigarettes from Stitcher. Only when the necessary payment had made it into his free hoof did the stallion release the drink. Stitcher now satisfied with her lot the stallion turned his attention to me, and with an inquisitive rise of the eyebrow asked, “And you? I’ve not seen you before, did you just get promoted?” “No, I’m being transferred here.” “Hmm. Fair enough, I suppose. What can I get you?” “I dunno. I’m not hugely familiar with alcohol.” “Okay, well, this is gin, rum, schnapps, tequila, vodka, whisky, sherry, absinthe…” “Ale?” “Ale is a pussy’s drink.” The stallion leant even further towards me and for some reason I felt like I was being put under pressure. In mild panic I vaguely gestured in Stitcher’s direction and just said, “Whatever she’s having.” “Are you sure?” he asked as more of a mockery than a legitimate question. “Yes, I’m sure. And just a word of warning, Corporal, you shall address me with the proper respect that I’m due, or I’ll put your head through the wall.” I rose myself up to my full height (which was admittedly not very high) and leant over the counter, attempting to intimidate the stallion before me. My goal was to impress Stitcher somewhat; I didn’t want her to see me as a pushover. My actions had the desired effect and I could see the stallion shrink back slightly away from me. I don’t know whether it was my words or my rank or my appearance as a Sadist but he only replied in a very meagre voice. “Yes Sergeant.” I fell back into my seat and sniffed. Stitcher chuckled, downing her drink and saying in a hoarse voice, “Little harsh, huh?” “I don’t appreciate disrespect.” “Fair enough.” The Corporal slid my drink towards me and I dug some cigarettes out of my tunic pocket, placing them on the counter. As I sat and absentmindedly ran my hoof around the rim of the glass, I couldn’t help thinking about how good it felt to have authority. This must have been how the LRSA officers felt. In one swift motion I drained my glass and coughed slightly as I did. It wasn’t unpleasant (well, the taste wasn’t great), and it had a rather warming effect. It actually reminded me of something. It was the same feeling that Perky’s liquor had given me way back when. It was a good feeling and I’d missed it somewhat in the past few days. I sat with Stitcher for maybe about half an hour, in which time I had a few more drinks (which she paid for, get in!) before things in the barracks started getting a little rowdy. A lot of alcohol had been flowing throughout the day and some of the officers were starting to get somewhat loud, with maybe one or two instances of Raiders dancing on their tables. A small group of ponies armed with musical instruments started to pump heavy metal music into the room and all semblances of normality basically crumbled after that. Commanders and Troop Leaders alike were making fools of themselves in front of each other and there was a sudden sharp spike in interest in the bar. I didn’t much like being surrounded by drunken, dirty Scavenger officers, and Stitcher seemed to pick up on this as she quickly pulled me away from the bar and wheeled me towards a flight of stairs. As the bar disappeared behind a wall of ponies I whined as my head swam a little. I stumbled up the stairs and down a seemingly endless corridor before Stitcher came to a halt and I ploughed right into the back of her, “Whoa! Steady on there. There’ll be plenty of time for that later.” “What?” “Nothing, just teasing. Right, say hello to your new home.” Stitcher fitted a key into a lock and swung the door open, revealing a sizeable living quarters. The room was of average size, with a bunk pushed against one wall, one on top of the other. There was a sofa set up opposite, and a single window opposite the door, with a desk underneath for paperwork or something. There was also a large cabinet which I assumed was either a weapon locker or just a locker for general use. Or, who knows, maybe both? The walls were bare concrete, but the floor was carpeted with similar material to the stuff I’d seen in Perky’s abode. Maybe this was where he got his materials. You can be sure I wasted no time waiting for invitations. Before Stitcher could protest I was in the room and on the sofa, burying my face into the soft surface so deeply that I was in danger of asphyxiating. Stitcher made no comments, entering casually after me and locking the door again behind her. As I remained incapacitated on the sofa she flung her assault rifle into the weapons locker and grabbed the chair under the desk, falling into it and slouching at a rather extreme angle, “You good?” “Eeyup.” “You’re bottom bunk.” “M’kay.” “Pass us that rifle.” “No ta.” “Sergeant, give me your rifle.” I looked up at Stitcher from my position on the sofa. Reluctantly I unslung my new rifle and passed it to her, butt first. She took it from me and looked it over, inspecting various elements and checking some of the parts. Eventually she placed in the locker next to hers and resumed her seat. “Nice rifle. I thought the Russians were phasing out those old receivers though. Didn’t think there were any still in service.” “Neither did I.” I shuffled about a bit to get more comfortable. Then I shuffled a little more. Something in my tunic pocket was digging into my ribs and making my life miserable. I swung myself into a seated position and dug it out of my pocket. A small bottle of vodka stared back up at me. I hadn’t even know I’d put it in my pocket, I thought the one I’d looted was still in my saddlebags. Maybe the Scavenger I’d nicked the uniform from had had it. Whatever the scenario, Stitcher was quick to notice it, “You know we’re not supposed to have alcohol in the living quarters.” “No I didn’t.” “Those are the rules of this sector. Still,” Stitcher pulled a flask out of her inner pocket. “It’s not like that’s ever stopped me.” I grinned stupidly. Stitcher took one big swig from the flask and passed it to me with instructions of, “Smell that.” I did, and immediately my nose was assaulted by the powerful scent of strong spirits. “What… is this stuff?” I had to cough in the middle of my sentence. Whatever it was, it wasn’t vodka. “Tequila. I dunno, I have a certain fondness for it, but it’s ridiculously expensive at the bar so I stick to other drinks down there. Have a bit if you want. Whoa, not too much!” Two big swigs of tequila later, my brain was so heavily doused in alcohol that even the most simple tasks became a challenge. I couldn’t even pass Stitcher’s flask back in one go, and it took me several attempts to figure out which one of her was the real one. She gave me a disappointed look as she turned the flask upside down and only a small dribble leaked out, “Hey, remember when I said this stuff was expensive?” “Ah, ish fine. ‘Ave my vodka.” I pressed the bottle of vodka into her chest and let go. She thankfully caught it before it hit the ground, and quickly made to unscrew the cap. I leant back on the sofa and closed my eyes. My head was swimming and I felt dizzy as all shit, but I could also feel this wave of childish excitement coming over me. As if for no reason at all, I broke out into a small fit of chuckles, which rapidly escalated into uncontrollable laughter as Stitcher questioned what I found so funny. If I thought I was drunk back at the Flamethrower then this was verging on paralytic. Back then my head had been swimming and I was struggling to comprehend certain things. Loss of certain inhibitors also seemed prominent. By contrast, I now didn’t even trust myself to stand and I couldn’t form a coherent thought for more than about two seconds. I hiccupped loudly which had the unfortunate consequence of making me feel rather sick. As dampened heavy metal music drifted up from downstairs I rubbed my stomach in an attempt to settle it a little whilst Stitcher sat and drink slowly from my vodka bottle. She was clearly a lot more tolerant of alcohol than I was, and by appearances she wasn’t even tipsy even after having consumed something close to half a bottle of vodka and a swig of tequila. Then again, by appearances there were also three of her and she was steadily moving round in little circles. I closed my eyes again as the motion started to make me feel nauseous. I spent the rest of the evening basically comatose on the sofa as my body struggled to cope with the huge influx of alcohol. Even when somepony from downstairs came to our door and said something about somepony wanting to see me I didn’t respond with anything more than a moan. Only when Stitcher started talking to me did I show any form of life other than the occasional sickening hiccup. Stitcher yawned to herself before turning to me and throwing a question my way, “So, got any special someponies?” “Eeyup. I’m in with muh Corporal.” “Really? I thought I sensed something between you. There was definitely more than just squadly companionship there. What’s he like?” “He’sh got a real rough tongue.” “That’s not what I meant, I mean what’s his personality like? What is it about him that you like?” “I really like ‘is mane.” “Yea, and what else?” Stitcher kept probing me for info and I was all too happy to provide it. It’s not like she was asking me anything dangerous, after all; just filly talk. Gossip. “I dunno. He’sh got pretty eyesh and he’sh really awkward ‘round maresh. It’sh kinda funny actually. And he’sh really kind and sh-shy. Ooh the room’sh shpinning.” “Tequila’ll do that to you, here,” Stitcher motioned to help move me onto the bed, but I bat her away (perhaps a little too aggressively?). “Feck off! I’m fi-fine here.” “Really? Okay, cool, I guess. Listen, just a as a heads up, I don’t care if you have a hangover from Pandemonium, you’ll still have to rouse yourself at the same time as the rest of us. We have an early morning patrol tomorrow and I need you there. And if you’re going to be sick, go back into the corridor and it’s three doors down to the right. Don’t be sick on any of my shit or I’ll kick your harbour lights in.” I waved Stitcher off as she left the room. I wasn’t sure where she was going or what she was doing, but at that moment it didn’t bother me. Nothing bothered me, I was blind drunk. I think I fell asleep after that. Upon waking my hindsight quickly kicked in, and it was telling me bad things. Maybe drinking my arse off hadn’t been such a good idea. Stitcher kept punching me in the leg systematically repeating the words, “Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up. Get up.” I groaned and flailed uselessly at her, before rolling myself over and falling to the floor again. I lay there for a moment, my face buried in the carpet. The material was actually pretty rough, particularly against soft fur like mine, but that didn’t stop me from rubbing my muzzle into it vigorously in an attempt to gain something describable as awakeness. My head was thumping angrily and every time it did a sharp pain flared up behind my eyes, agonisingly painfully. Eventually I managed to haul myself to my hooves, clapping a hoof to the side of my head as I did so to try and soothe the migraine. “Oh, you’re awake then? Good. You’ve got a little time to get yourself sorted, initial section parade is only at oh’six hundred. Once you’ve got yourself back to your senses meet me downstairs and I’ll give you a short brief for the day. Toodles!” In a manner that felt like smug superiority she waved me goodbye as she stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind her and leaving me to my own vices. Which consisted mostly of moaning and clutching my skull. In an attempt to get some more clean air into the room I stumbled over to and threw open the window, poking my head out and letting the early morning breeze blow through my mane. It was rather relaxing. And when I opened my eyes, I beheld the full scale of Scavenger operations in this sector. The building I was in was only one of many, scattered all over the place in a desperately random assortment. There were many, much smaller buildings around too, interspersed with the odd tent or two, and with so many khaki clad murderers stumbling around in the early morning it looked like a mud flow. Even my drink addled mind found room to be impressed by it all. It seemed so random but it was really so organised. Everything, everypony had its place. If only the LRSA could score a hit on this camp. Preferably whilst I wasn’t in it. I had to rub my eyes a few times, partly to detract from some of the pain building up behind them, and partly in disbelief. As I scanned the building faces of old Ponyville, I thought I saw something. Somepony, rather. Stood in one of the buildings across from me, peering through a pair of sizeable binoculars, scrutinising. They didn’t wear Bastard Khaki. They looked LRSA, but lacked a lot of the features. He let go of the binoculars and in their place appeared a pair of large, deep set pink eyes. Mad eyes, filled with rage. He must have seen me looking. With nary a backwards glance he seemed to just vanish into the shadows of the building, almost as though he’d never been there. And maybe he hadn’t. I was probably seeing things. It took me maybe fifteen minutes of washing, vomiting and preparing my equipment before my brain reached such a state that I could process what I’d seen. It dawned on me just as I shouldered my rifle, ready to meet with Stitcher downstairs. My eyes went wide. How did he get here? Then I felt sick again.