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Follow Me into the Jungle

Captain of Equestria Chapter Three: Follow Me into the Jungle

March 8th, 1942 9:00 AM

Changeling Territory…

(Jacob's POV)

I blink my eyes rapidly as the flash of light from when Discord teleported my daughter and I to the rendezvous point with our Changeling escort. I quickly raise my Model 1897 shotgun to my shoulder, ready to fire at a moment's notice. Next to me, Lightning Dust groans slightly. She shakes her head and quickly fixes her Mohawk. "Keep your eyes out for anyone," I warn in a low tone. The idea of dealing with shape-shifters is not a pleasant one to me. Keeping my voice quiet, I continue to speak to my daughter. "LD, as we will be dealing with Changelings, we'll need something to confirm that we are talking to the actual person. The code is lily pad/lollipop. One of us says the first word and the other has to reply with the second part. If they don't answer correctly but look like me, take it down by any means necessary. Understood?" I ask the former Wonderbolt cadet, my tone indicating that I am in full-officer mode.

Lightning nods. "Roger," She says quietly. I internally grin slightly as a slightly random idea pops into my head at that moment. I had learnt from Pinkie Pie that sometimes humor is the best solution in this case. I continue to speak quietly and I manage to maintain my stern tone.

"Who's Roger?"

The confused look my startled daughter is priceless. I nudge her slightly, finally revealing a grin. "Come on, Dust. Let's get moving."

Forty-five minutes later…

I growl in frustration as we continue to push deeper and deeper into the dense jungle. I am really grateful that I had decided to bring my combat shotgun this time and not my Krag. My daughter keeps pace with me, equally frustrated but maintaining her silence. Once more I feel the hairs on my back stand up slightly. 'This jungle is unnatural,' my mind decides. 'We haven't heard any of the sounds one should hear in a jungle. Something is wrong.'

As if it were a sign from God, the silence is broken by the sounds of fighting. "Dad, look!" Lightning says, pointing a turquoise hoof to the sky slightly ahead of us. I follow her direction and narrow my eyes. For a few seconds, I observe a gunmetal-and-blue blur of a mixture between a diseased or skeletal-like alicorn and some sort of insect. I growl, already feeling the start of adrenaline surging through my body as the flying form dives back to the ground, undoubtedly to join others.

Changelings, and by the looks of it, members of the rebel faction led by the former queen of the Changelings. If there is fighting going on and isn't involving us (at least, for now), that can mean only one thing: the reason that our escort hasn't shown up yet is because they are pinned down. I turn to my daughter. "Are you ready to give Chrysalis our regards?" I ask her, a smirk on my face as I turn the safety off of my shotgun. Dust merely returns the smirk, spreading her wings and readying my M1911 Colt pistol.

We quickly gallop towards the sounds of the skirmish up ahead, keeping one eye on our surroundings for any hiding rebel Changelings, the other for roots or other obstacles that could possibly trip one of us. We brush aside thin, low-lying branches. I charge up my alicorn horn, ready to use my magic to operate the pump-action and trigger while I use my hooves to hold and aim my M1897. Despite our mental preparations, however, we briefly pause at the sight we see when we enter the clearing that the fight has occurred in.

I blink rapidly several times, trying to make sure that what I am seeing is really there.

It is.

Roughly a hundred rebel corpses litter the ground. The surviving thirty or so rouge shape-shifters are fighting what appear to be five of Prime Minister Thorax's Changelings, though I am unable to make out any more of what is surely our escort. We quickly recover and continue to move forward. Lightning takes to the sky, streaking towards a pair of flying Changelings, leaving her signature flash behind the turquoise streak she has become.

I am thirty feet away from the ground skirmish when a rouge Changeling turns around and stares at me with wide eyes. She quickly recovers and gives some sort of command to a dozen other comrades, then uses her insect-like wings to dash forwards. Instead of stopping and readying my gun, I continue to gallop forward. A second later, the leading Changeling realizes that I am not slowing down or veering off, and then a split-second later notices the slivery glint on the tip of my weapon. The shape-shifter soldier tries to stop, but it is too late.

With a sickening squishing sound, the entire length of the sixteen-inch steel blade of the M1917 bayonet sinks into the chest of the unfortunate rebel, killing her instantly. I yank out the weapon and kick the corpse away as the other Changelings arrive, charging in a disorganized cluster.

Perfect for my Winchester.

I use my magic to pull the trigger, an extra buckshot round already chambered. The gun kicks backwards as the hail of lead balls bursts out of the smoothbore muzzle straight into the body of the leading Changeling. The doomed rebel's body twitches and writhes as the balls go into and through his body, killing it instantly and one of his comrades who was directly behind him. I use my magic to now operate the pump-action underneath the five-round tubular magazine of my gun to load another round into the chamber. Instead of releasing my magic's grip on the trigger while doing so, however, I maintain the pressure, using the weapon's ability to perform 'slam fire'.

Slam fire is normally a bad thing as it indicates a malfunction has occurred. Not in the Model 1897. Unlike most shotguns, the trigger doesn't require to be pulled to fire every round individually. In effect, as long as the trigger is held down, one could fire the entire magazine by simply operating the pump system. This was what made the trench model of the gun to be so popular during World War I, and so feared by the Germans.

I unleash wave after wave of a deadly hail of lead buckshot. I block out the occasional scream of pain a few of the damned Changelings mange to make while experiencing the horrific feeling of having their bodies mutilated. Thankfully, they are cut short as the lifeless bodies of all twelve rebel soldiers collapses to the floor in limp clusters. I wait a few seconds as the barrel of my shotgun finished emitting a thin cloud of smoke as the metal cools off. In the meantime, I had finished reloading my magazine. I then advance once more, reloading another round of buckshot into my weapon.

Almost immediately, another Changeling pops up in front of me. I fire a single shot on instinct. The rebel's insect-like face explodes into a gory mess. I reload the gun and place another shell into my shotgun, making sure that I have five rounds in the magazine at all times. I continue to fire my weapon at the would-be ambushers without hesitation or mercy. By the time I finish firing my twelfth round of buckshot, the bodies of an additional dozen rebel Changelings lie in front of me with various degrees of gunshot wounds. I take a step back to avoid stepping in the growing pool of their blood, its hue a sickly-green.

This turns out to be a smart choice.

Suddenly, five Changeling bodies drop into the shallow puddle surrounding their slain comrades, sending up a small series of splashes that would have most likely drenched me in the foul-looking liquid. A small metal object quickly joins them, along with seven shining brass shell casings. With a mixture of a smile and a grimace, I gaze skywards. "You got a score of nine, sweetheart," I say to my daughter playfully. She looks at me with mock indignation as she hovers in the air, my M1911 Colt pistol in one hoof and a fresh magazine in the other.

"Aw, come on! That was a perfect score!" She replies, going along with the joke. I maintain my expression, though internally I am mostly smiling.

"And it would be….if you hadn't nearly drenched me in Changeling blood!"

Lightning Dust merely rolls her eyes as she finishes inserting the fully-loaded magazine into the pistol, sliding the action forward to let the top round in the seven-round clip into the chamber. I notice her look of warning as the humor suddenly disappears from her face. Before the young mare can utter a verbal warning, I spin around as a rather large Changeling charges at me. I quickly aim my shotgun and begin to fire all five of the rounds in either the chamber or the tubular magazine. Each impact is rewarded with a bone-jarring roar of a mixture of hatred and pain.

As I load the last buckshot round, my concern is rather immense due to the fact that the bugger (no pun intended) has taken nearly all the lead balls contained in four rounds of buckshot and is still charging at a rapid pace, despite a quarter of his face being shredded, along with parts of one of his eyes and multiple holes in his chest and torso. I refuse to panic, however, waits until the changeling is eight feet away from me before pulling the trigger, releasing the hammer from its cocked position to slam forward, pushing the firing pin forward to strike the primer at the bottom of shotgun shell, igniting the gunpowder inside.

I gaze with barely-managed anxiety as time seems to slow down, the seconds becoming minutes. I prepare to reverse the grip of my shotgun to use as a club to stun the badly wounded shape-shifter before using the bayonet. I continue to watch the oncoming foe as I tense my muscles in preparation of fighting in close-quarters. Luckily for me, that doesn't appear to be needed. With a wet thud, the surviving section of the rebel's face (and most of his head) is shredded into oblivion. As a testament of my now-slain foe's resolve and sheer physical strength, the headless body stumbles forward a few steps before collapsing like a puppet whose strings have been cut, twitching sporadically before finally going still.

Then I take note of a new sound: The lack of combat. I turn around as Lightning lands right beside me, turning on the safety and holstering my pistol. The only Changelings alive are the five friendly ones who are suppose to be our escort. Said shape-shifters are standing in a single row, allowing me to finally get a full view of the warriors. And they are quite the sight to behold.

There are three males and two females, and each is clad in a full set of armor that is unique to each shape-shifter. The male at the center steps forward, looking a lot like Thorax, if said Changeling leader wore dark grey-and-green armor and an open-faced helmet with two horns curving towards the sky from the corner of the face slot. He opens his mouth to speak, bowing his head slightly. "Pardon for the delay, but as you can see, we were….delayed. Feldûsh Giggles, at your service and escort," The oddly-named Changeling says in a deep baritone. I hear Lightning stifle what is most likely a snort of laughter as I prepare to reply.

"I am Captain Jacob Holman, and this is my daughter Lightning Dust. A pleasure to meet you and your comrades," I reply in a formal but relaxed tone. The Changeling officer nods. "My companions are Carapace," A large, muscular pale green Changeling wearing green-and-brown armor reminiscent of a praying mantis grunts. I resist raising an eyebrow as I make a mental comparison to Ponyville's own super-heavy lifter, Bulk Biceps.

"Tick," A small, pale-gray female with a helmet enclosing her entire head nods silently. I shudder slightly when I notice a dark red and green smear near where her mouth would be.

"Mandible," A lean blue-and-yellow colored Changeling smiles, despite his armor being liberally coated with jagged spikes pointing in various angles and degrees of curves. I instantly get the impression of a (skilled) barroom brawler.

"And finally, Acid." The second female shape-shifter does nothing, a dour look on her face as her camouflaged armor glints in the sunlight, revealing several scorch marks in various sections of the metal.

"We are Special Operating Group Squad Zero, Jungle Patrol Section. We are ready to escort you and your daughter to the other ponies Discord and Prime Minister Thorax have discovered. I recommended moving quickly, sir. Word will undoubtedly spread to Chrysalis about our sortie. After all, we will quite possibly be going near the heart of her 'territory'." Having finished his piece, the Changeling warrior looks at me with a serene expression, waiting for my command.

I make eye contact with Dust, my expression asking if the turquoise mare is ready. My answer is equally non-verbal: her trademark smirk of confidence. With a slight grin, I once more face the five Changelings who we will be now (at least partly) trusting our lives with for the next few days. "Very well Mr. Giggles. Lead the way.

Meanwhile

Deep within the territory held by the former queen Chrysalis and her followers…

A nervous Changeling continues to fidget as he enters the mass of rotten tree trunks and slime-covered rocks that now serves as the hive of Queen Chrysalis. His fear is well-founded. The alicorn-like Changeling is not known for her tolerance to either bad news or failure. And what the shape-shifter is about to inform his liege is both. Part of him wants to flee deep into the jungle, but his deep sense of loyalty to Chrysalis forces him to return to inform her of the latest development of possible threats to the remnants of the Changeling Empire, regardless of what his fate will be.

He enters the ominous structure and rushes through the weaving network of catacombs, heading straight to the heart of the 'palace'. He stops upon entering the threshold of Chrysalis's new 'throne room'. The air is heavy, the room silent. Then a single, crisp female voice breaks the silence. "You better have a good reason to intrude unannounced. You have five seconds to make your report. Go."

The male Changeling rebel gulps before speaking. "The advance scout group has been wiped out." The room is silent for a second that seems to last forever. Then the rebel spots movement coming towards him at an alarming speed. Before he can even manage to blink, the unlucky scout is lifted into the air by his leader's magic, his back pushing against a rough wall.

"What do you mean destroyed?! HOW?!" Queen Chrysalis demands at the sputtering shape-shifter. As panic sets in, the Changeling only manages to speak in partial sentences.

"Five of the…elite traitors….and two…ponies…" The soldier flinches as the pressure increases as the tall Changeling snarls, leaning in even closer.

"Who were they?" She demands once more.

"Lightning Dust…and one of….our original…targets….Captain…Jacob," The Changeling wheezes as his lungs cry for oxygen. His wish is unexpectedly granted as the former queen releases her minion. The rebel is not sure which is worst: The fact that he is still alive, or the nil-insane laughter his leader is now emitting.

"This is perfect! Gather all available forces! Set up an ambush by the beaches. We capture Celestia's precious war leader before he can meet the other ponies! Go now!"

Author's Note:

And done! Sorry for both the delay and the shortness of this chapter, but I have been having a shit-ton of problems going on in my life right now, mostly social/personal. I will try to update soon, not sure when 100%, so please bear with me. As always feel free to leave a review or favorite the story. Next time: Will Jacob, Lightning, and their escort make it to the beaches? Will the other humans-turned-ponies that Discord has informed our heroic captain about join forces with him? Or will the Changeling rebels bring this mission to a crushing halt? And what of the German soldiers? Find out the answers to these questions and so much more next time on Captain of Equestria!

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