Strange Bedfellows

by BRBrony9

Exposure

With the intruder dealt with, Captain Peace Pipe returned to the front flatbed car, reloading his revolver on the way, not a particularly easy task with hooves due to each bullet needing to be loaded into the cylinder individually, but accomplished with dexterity thanks to his magic. The boarding party that had been teleported by the rebel unicorn all lay dead, with only three casualties among the crew, who were dividing their attentions between the Pegasi overhead and those enemies on the ground still doggedly trying to get on board.

Several of the rebels actually managed to get a foothold on the side of the wagon, but were quickly dispatched by bayonet or bullet. With the loss of both turrets of the front fortress car, they may have thought it was their lucky day, that they could get aboard in sufficient numbers to dislodge the train's crew from their armoured castle and take control themselves. The ponies of the Timberwolf were determined to show them the error of their ways, not just in that thought, but in their entire belief structure. The Royal Equestrian Army had the word Royal in its name for a reason, not just for show. It was Celestia's army, they were her loyal soldiers, and her word was law, regardless of what disillusioned fools like the rebel unicorn might wish to believe.

The traitor force may have been learning about their mistakes, but that did not dissuade them from their chosen task. If anything, the more of them who fell, the harder the others tried to fight. Accurately thrown petrol bombs found their mark and set two of the infantry ablaze. This time merely rolling on the deck would not put them out; they were pony torches, afire from head to tail. A quick-thinking unicorn picked up several sandbags from the defences and ripped them open, pouring their contents over the two unfortunates. The sand smothered the fire while other ponies batted at the smouldering fur of the victims.

The Pegasi who had thrown the bombs swooped down, accompanied by half a dozen others, and suddenly there was a melee on the flatbed once again. Several of the Pegasi carried swords, hacking and swinging wildly, only half-trained in their use. Lieutenant Warhawk, on the other hoof, was probably the best swordspony in the Heavy Independent Rail Brigade, the unit which operated all of Equestria's armoured trains. He drew his own blade, taking the attack straight to the enemy. Parry, parry, deflect, thrust, kill. One rebel collapsed with a sickening scream. The other turned from trying to stab a pony defending with her bayonet, and instead lunged at Warhawk. A simple flick of the hoof and a bit of balletic motion, and Warhawk was behind the rebel, and the rebel was slumping wordlessly to the floor.

Peace Pipe had to tear himself away from watching the excellent display, because another of the Pegasi had landed just in front of him. This one held not a sword, but a rifle. Peace Pipe raised his revolver, but the Pegasus gave a rapid flurry of its wings, setting a rapidly moving column of air in motion, blowing the Captain backwards, staggering him and forcing his revolver out of his hoof. The rifle came up, and Peace Pipe ducked, his horn glowing at the same time. A powerful surge of magic blasted through the Pegasus and sent his intestines flying out of his back like a rope being fired from a grapnel gun, draping themselves over the sandbags behind him. A brief look of shock appeared on his face before he collapsed into a crumpled heap.

With the defenders now occupied in hoof-to-hoof combat on the flatbed, the enemy on the ground were able to get up close, into angles where they could not be hit by gunfire from the passenger cars. They climbed aboard the locomotive and the flatbed, scrambling up the sandbags. Peace Pipe raised his revolver and shot down the first mare to crest the wall of sandbags. Another followed, a grenade ready to throw in his cocked foreleg. Another shot sent him tumbling back down, the grenade bouncing away and exploding, nearly ripping the hind legs from one of his own accomplices.

The position was becoming untenable. The enemy were starting to swarm all over the flatbed, and Peace Pipe knew they had to fall back. He blew his whistle three times, and the survivors began a fighting retreat to link up with the defenders in the rear section of the train. Those who could disengage first covered the retreat of the others, one by one, into the fortress car through the doorway as rifle fire pinged from the armour. Peace Pipe kept up a magic shield to protect the last few ponies as they ducked inside, and then followed them in. With a quick signal, another unicorn took up the task, covering the doorway with a magic shield of his own to stop the enemy following.

The interior of the fortress wagon was still as close to a slaughterhouse as it had been when Peace Pipe had left it minutes earlier, but there were now the sweaty bodies of almost twenty ponies crammed into a space meant for eight. They filed through, some looking with horror upon the bodies of their fallen comrades.

'Lieutenant Warhawk!' Peace Pipe called. The Lieutenant squeezed back past the others, his sword slick with blood. 'Yes sir?'

'Get back to the rear wagon. Tell them to disengage their brake,' Peace Pipe ordered 'Detail somepony to standby to detach this car from the rear section of the train.'

'Yes, sir!' Warhawk headed back to the rear again, while Peace Pipe looked around. The plan would need careful timing, but he was sure it would work. As the ponies made their way back to the passenger car, the Captain used his magic to open up the access hatch to the magazine below. There were a hundred shells stacked up on the racks, ready to be brought up to the forward turret above. In the rear section was another magazine, identical, both separated from each other by a heavy blast wall of thick metal.

'Private!' Peace Pipe called out to the pony holding the shield across the doorway. 'On my signal fall back to the other side of the bulkhead!'

'Yes sir!' the pony nodded, keeping up the shield, which was being hammered both by bullets and bombs, to no avail. Peace Pipe used his horn to create a small ball of magic, carefully lowering it down into the magazine before replacing the access hatch. He hurried back to the rear section and repeated the process, opening the rear hatch cover, inserting a ball of magic, and replacing it. 'Now, private!' he shouted. 'Fall back!'

The unicorn obliged, running back down the car and through the bulkhead door, not daring to teleport himself in such a confined space; the results of a small miscalculation could be messy and fatal. Once he was through, Peace Pipe closed the bulkhead door. It would not stop the enemy as they could simply open it from the other side, but it was not meant to. 'Alright, let's go,' he urged, following the unicorn back to the rear door. A pony was waiting there for them.

'Last ponies out. Uncouple!' Peace Pipe ordered as they crossed over to the passenger car. The pony lifted the connecting pin out with a metallic clunk, which separated the fortress car from the rear section of the train. Peace Pipe closed the door behind them as they entered the passenger wagon, where some sixty ponies were now gathered, both infantry and crew.

The front of the locomotive had been derailed from the track, but the rear wheels, and those of the coal and water tenders, had not. Their brakes had been applied by the driver in an attempt to stop, and they were still activated. The track was on a slight upward slope as it headed toward the northern mountains, meaning that the uncoupled rear section of the train, with the brakes of the last wagon released, began to steadily roll back down the track the way it had come. The locomotive, front flatbed, and front fortress car remained in place, as did the magical fuses that Peace Pipe had planted in the magazines.

The enemy flooded forward, swarming over the fortress car. Some were already on its roof in an attempt to bypass it before the shield was removed from the doorway, all unaware of what Peace Pipe had done. Soon enough, they found out. The two magically timed fuses burned out at the same moment, releasing the energy contained within each ball of magic. They rapidly expanded and, as they came into contact with the stacked shells, they exploded.

The whole fortress wagon tore itself apart in a tremendous fireball, smoke and flame billowing skyward as deadly shrapnel scoured the surrounding area. Every pony on board the stationary section of the train was killed, along with many who were still on the rocks or running down the cutting. The blast rocked the rear section of the train as it rumbled down the line, at a safe distance thanks to the gentle incline. Flaming metal rained down from the sky and rattled off of the roof of the passenger car as Peace Pipe observed the results of his handiwork.

The enemy assault had been devastated by the blast, a good number of their force wiped out. Those near the front of the train that had survived were in disarray, while those who had been attacking the rear were now dazed and confused. Their target was now on the move, what was left of it, and they had suddenly taken huge losses in the blink of an eye. Some began to retreat, running for the relative safety of the rocks as the train returned to the sands of the desert, the two surviving cannons chasing them as they tried to hide.

Soon enough, all the enemy were fleeing, their plan scuppered, their leaders dead, harried by gunfire still from the train, even as they ran for safety. Once they were gone, and the train had traveled some distance down the sloping gradient, Peace Pipe ordered the rear wagon's brakes to be applied, bringing them to a stop. They had escaped the enemy ambush, fought them off and driven them away, but now they faced a new problem. They were stuck out in the middle of the desert.

Peace Pipe ordered everypony to get some food. The kitchen in the central car was used to make a meal, hungrily consumed along with water by the crew and infantry. They waited for several hours under the burning desert sun that scorched the sand and heated the metal train cars like ovens. Small electric fans whirred fitfully as they tried to cool everypony down, with no success. The guards outside had the worst of it, but somepony had to keep watch. They wore caps instead of helmets, which had small flaps of canvas dangling from the rear to protect their necks. The wounded were treated, minor damage repaired as best they could, until the heat of the day finally began to give way to the coolness of the desert night.

Then, under Peace Pipe's command, earth ponies hitched up to the lead passenger car. Unicorns cast their spells on the train, and the straining ponies began to pull the remaining wagons along, back to the site of the ambush. It was empty, deserted save for the bodies of the fallen. The fortress car smouldered, smoke rising from the ruined shell. The infantry took up positions in the rocks around the cutting, watching for any sign of the enemy, but seeing none. Other earth ponies were hooked up to the locomotive, and the spells were cast again. The engine, tenders, lead flatbed and the fortress car were towed clear of the tracks. The metal rails were bent and badly buckled by the explosion, but the train carried several lengths of spare track for just such purposes. The crew were trained in the replacement of damaged sections, and they were able to make the swap. The train was moved forward, everypony loaded back on board, and the earth ponies continued to pull them along, all the way to their destination. They arrived in Vanhoover late, disheveled, stained with blood and grime and dust. But they were alive.

The Polaris Maxima was a fine vessel in her prime, but, Captain Danrich had to admit, she had passed that some time ago. Even before they departed on this Crusade, she was worn and tired, but now, after several years away from port, she was sagging at the seams. The ship was in need of a full overhaul, which was why Danrich had been looking forward to a return to Hydraphur after capturing this system. That had seemed likely; this was the very edge of known space, and there was nothing beyond. Surely the plan was to turn back. That idea seemed now, however, to be something to be questioned.

These mutineers had claimed to want to return to Hydraphur, at least to begin with, yet they also seemed to be in league with the forces of the Archenemy. The arrival of the Chaos battleship surely was not a coincidence. The more he thought about it, the more it enraged him. To think that he had been harbouring traitors on his own ship! Those corrupted by Chaos, the forces of evil. He had thought his crew to be above such things. Yes, there had been rumours, yes, there had been disquiet. There always was, on every ship in Battlefleet Pacificus, and every other fleet across the Imperium. That might have been a breeding ground for mutiny, which he had initially believed to be the case here. But not for outright treason. The law might show little difference between the two, and that was understandable and correct, for the punishment should be, and was, death. But in reality there was a world of difference between being a mutineer because you were dissatisfied with your lot in life, with the conditions on board, or with the officers and commanders of your vessel, and being a mutineer because you were in league with humanity's Archenemy. The oldest foe and that most heinous of crimes, not just a crime of the physical, but of the spiritual. Destroying or stealing a ship or killing its crew because of some direct physical grievance was worthy of death, of course, but to do so because you had abandoned not just your oath of service, but your belief in the Imperium, your trust in mankind, and your faith in the Emperor? That alone would warrant something worse than death, if human ingenuity could conceive it.

That was what faced him now. He had to find a way to make these mutineers, this detritus hardly worthy of the name human, pay for their crimes. That would be difficult, however, since he was still restrained. He, along with the rest of the bridge crew, had been moved down to one of the cargo bays for the last few hours. Why, he did not know. Perhaps the brig was already full of other loyal crewmen who had been rounded up by the traitors in their midst.

The cargo bay was full of crates, which contained various supplies for the ship and her crew. Now it was in use as a makeshift prison. There were some fifty prisoners being guarded, all loyalist crew who had been captured by the traitors. There were half a dozen guards keeping watch over them. Some of the prisoners had their hands manacled, like Danrich, while others at least had the use of their hands, for what little that was worth. One false move and the traitors would be more than happy to gun them down, perhaps even executing the whole lot of them for some minor infraction committed by one or two of their number.

A Captain no longer in command of his own ship; that was Danrich's position, and it was the nightmare of any commander. To be so impotent, to be deprived of the very thing that gave you your rank, status and title, would be galling in any circumstance, but to have lost the ship to traitors, servants of the Archenemy...and so cheaply, too! There had been no warning, no opportunity to stop them, no indication that there was any kind of mutiny in the works. Just the usual meaningless rumblings about low pay, long hours, tiring work, the same things that every ship commander had to deal with, all over the galaxy.

Not every commander, however, was subject to the loss of his ship to the forces of the Archenemy. This was not even a mutiny, but rather a hostile takeover. Danrich most certainly knew that it was a situation that had to be remedied. If nothing else, the ship must be set to self destruct if it could not be retaken. It was an abomination to let such a venerable craft fall under the sway of the Dark Powers, and while there was still breath in his body he was determined not to let them keep her.

How exactly he would achieve that remained to be seen. It was a forlorn possibility, given the situation. Danrich did not know how much of the rest of the ship the traitors controlled. Was it only the bridge? Were they the only prisoners that had been rounded up? Had the rest of the mutineers already been hunted down and killed by the ship's security forces? Without access to the internal vox net, Danrich had no way of knowing. Under armed guard, there seemed little prospect of the bridge crew escaping their imprisonment. Perhaps they could rush their guards, but at least a few of their number would be killed in the attempt, and he was not sure he could convince enough of the crew to go along with such a plan. Far better for sure to wait for some opportunity to arise. Surely it had to. The Emperor would provide.

Eventually, provide he did. Several more of the traitors entered the room, barking orders, shouting for the prisoners to be pulled to their feet. Almost the moment they entered the guards leaped into action, gesturing and prodding with their shotguns and lasguns, dragging the more reluctant men and women upright. Perhaps they were going to all be shot anyway; the traitors would have little use for excess baggage, so to speak, unless of course they needed help with manning the vessel.

The guards began to lead the prisoners out of the cargo bay, and Danrich stood up before one of them. 'Where are you taking us?' he demanded to know. 'You, answer me!'

His answer came in the form of a lasgun butt to the stomach, doubling him over as the wind was knocked out of him, a reward for his insolence. The guard dragged him back to his feet. 'Get moving with the others!' he growled, shoving Danrich roughly along, in line with the rest of the captured crew. They were led out of the cargo bay and into the endless, labyrinthine corridors of the Polaris Maxima's middle decks. They could have been heading anywhere. Danrich, as much as he was Captain and had spent six years aboard, rarely ventured so far down into the bowels of the ship, having little need to do so. As a result he did not know where every little corridor and rat run actually led, but he didn't need to. He had a good head for space operations, and he knew where all of the important locations on the ship were to be found. He knew which was was forward, and which way was aft, even down here in the middle of the maze of passageways.

The cargo bay, he knew, was not too far away from one of the main armouries on board. There would be guns and ammunition there, armour too, helmets, vests. If only he could get there, get some of the others with him. They could arm themselves, gear up, get to the bridge and send a warning, or get to the reactor core and overload it...anything to stop the traitors making off with his ship.

Others were with him, he knew. Simple exchanged glances with some of his superior officers, a small nod here and there. They knew, and they were waiting for his signal. Whenever the moment was right.

It didn't take long. The group turned a corner, into another corridor that Danrich recognised. He knew where he was, and he knew how to get to the armoury from there. The guards were leading them along, more bringing up the rear, but the centre section of the column of prisoners were mostly unguarded. Up ahead was a junction, with passageways branching off both left and right. The perfect spot.

'Now!' Danrich shouted, bolting to the right, down the hallway, in the direction of the armoury. He heard shouts behind, more footsteps as others followed him. There were gunshots and screams. Those who were aware of the Captain's plan sprang into action, trying to waylay the guards, overpower them, take their guns. Those who were not apprised of the situation nevertheless caught on immediately, and did their best to help. Some fled, following the actions of their officers, while others moved to help the struggle with the guards. Shots were fired, and men went down. The guards backed away, firing, each shotgun blast cutting down one or two of the bridge crew with agonised screams.

Some men ran left, others ran right, with the Captain. A few tried to run straight ahead, past the guards, but they were cut down with no hesitation. They scattered in all directions, in an attempt to escape the guns of the guards, who successfully fought off the attempts to overpower them as another half dozen armsmen came running from around the corner to support their fellow mutineers, backing them up with more gunfire, leaving the junction littered with bodies and slick with blood.

Danrich ran as fast as he could go, down the passageway and around the corner. He was not used to such physical exertion, spending most of his time on duty sitting in his Captain's chair. The armoury was not far away. There were a few others with him, the gunnery officer, the two junior engineering officers, one of the bridge armsmen. If they could just make it to the armoury...

His plan was a desperate one, but there was little else that could be done. If the armoury was still in friendly hands, all was well. If it was unguarded, just as good. If it was in the possession of the enemy, which seemed likely, then there would be a fight. Perhaps not even a fight, perhaps merely a slaughter.

'Through here,' he urged, gesturing to the maintenance hatchway at the side of the corridor. Together with the gunnery officer he removed it, ushering the others through, into the ventilation ducts. It was a simple climb, up one floor and then along, and, assuming the ducts followed the corridor layout, it would bring them in close proximity of the armoury. Danrich slipped into the confined space, replacing the cover as best he could to try and cover their tracks.

The ventilation system for such a large ship required large vents, big enough for a man to crawl through. Up they went, following the steady slope of the metal system, the gunnery officer bringing up the rear. The duct leveled out again, but there was noise behind them. Something in the vents with them, scrabbling through the tunnel. Surely the guards could not have reached them so fast?

There was a sudden strangled scream from behind him. Danrich looked back, over his shoulder. The gunnery officer was pinned to the floor of the vent by a sleek, black beast with glowing green eyes, busily ripping his throat out. A Changeling, he realised, with a sudden fearful jolt. The Lord-Admiral's broadcasts had warned of the possibility of the spread of these creatures through the fleet, that they could be hiding anywhere in the lowest regions of any ship. Now, it seemed, there was one in the ventilation system. As if traitors weren't enough to deal with...

'Go, go! Get moving!' he shouted, urging the men ahead of him onward. They scrambled to the next hatch, kicking it out and jumping down, intent on getting away from the creature which was intent on finishing off the gunnery officer, who was trying valiantly to struggle against it. Danrich tried to turn back and help, but there was little room to move, and the Changeling, despite its preoccupation with one victim, tried to snatch itself another. Its horn glowed and flashed, a bolt of green energy upon him int he blink of an eye, catching Danrich's left arm and burning through the flesh. He grunted, but he could see there was nothing he could do to help. To stay would be to die from the next blast of energy, and he hurled himself out of the maintenance hatch, landing with a thump onto the deck.

He looked up, and straight into half a dozen lasgun muzzles. There were guards all around, men and women who he would have called comrades until scant hours ago. Now they were the enemy, to be feared and hated in equal measure. The others who had been with him in the vents were prisoners once again, and so was he, his brief try for freedom foiled completely. To add insult to injury, there was Lieutenant Callantine, the ringleader, striding toward him with a triumphant smirk on her face.

'Well well. Someone tried to get clever,' she commented, standing before him. What was she doing all the way down here? Shouldn't she have been up on the bridge?

'Come to gloat?' Danrich asked, holding his wounded arm with his other hand. 'Don't bother. I don't care what you have to say, traitor.'

'You keep using that word, Captain,' Callantine replied. 'Are you sure it is the correct one?'

'Oh, I suppose you'd rather think of yourself as, what, a patriot? A realist? Freedom fighter, perhaps?' Danrich spat. 'You're just a pawn if you think the Dark Gods care about you. Turn away from the Emperor and you walk a very lonely path, Lieutenant.'

'But Captain, I am not lonely,' the Lieutenant retorted. 'None of us are lonely, for we have each other! And there are so many of us, Captain. So, so many of us...'

She was trying to scare him, make him afraid. But there was no evidence of any mutinies elsewhere in the fleet, nor of any coordinated plot of treason. Hopefully it was confined to his ship, as sickening as the thought was, that his own vessel, his own crew, had been the ones to succumb to the taint of Chaos. Danrich decided to try another tactic, to try and reverse the feeling of fear onto her.

'You're not alone on this ship, you know,' he informed her. 'You remember the briefings. The Changelings? They're on board as well, you know. Who knows how many of them might be lurking in the shadows?'

'My dear Captain, I do not fear the Changelings,' Callantine replied, 'any more than I fear you.' The Changeling drone which had been chasing them through the ducts appeared, and hopped down from the maintenance hatch. Callantine appeared totally unperturbed. Danrich glanced over at the drone.

'What, is this one your pet?' he growled.

'No, no. Not my pet, Captain,' Callantine replied. 'My child.'

Comments

[Coranth]

Oh. Shit...

[Merula]

.....aw crapbaskets!

[Booster Spice]

Helooooooo Queen.

[sykko]

Oh fuck nuggets!