The Harmony Initiative

by Madame Hellspawn

Chapter 11: Operation Crimson Blade

Air Strike felt a twinge of freedom as the wind rushed past her. She was sure there would have been more freedom if she was alone on this scouting run, allowing her to use her new wings to their fullest capabilities and getting to Westport faster, assessing the situation before The Wonderbolts flying about fifteen minutes behind her arrived at the scene.

“Something on your mind?” Vapour Trail asked. “Been a little quiet since we left.”

“I doubt you’d like what I’m thinking ma’am.” Air Strike said simply. She looked over to Vapour Trail, who remained silent with a cocked brow. “N-not that way.”

“Right.” The two banked left, avoiding a cluster of clouds. The mountains rolled by, small griffon villages nestled below at the base of each formation while others rooted in nests along the deathly slope. The sun peeked softly from the jagged spires of stone, beckoning Air Strike to cease her flight and watch as the brilliant rays vanished behind the stone teeth of the earth. Griffons flew and danced as they celebrated whatever holiday they celebrated on a day like this.

Fireworks erupted like anti-air cannons sending out flak shells. Air Strike lost track of Vapour Trail and the colorful swatch of colors surrounding her distorted, a drab grey taking form, rain soaking against her bare mane and fur. Explosions erupted all around, other pegasi flying and maneuvering around the puffs of fire and smoke. Griffons followed, firing their boomsticks and speeding up, slashing their talons wildly at the pegasi.

Fire bursted in front of Air Strike, consuming her in smoke. When she opened her eyes, the wonderful visage of the Grimbeak Mountains returned. She looked behind her, watching the fireworks burst and pop farther and farther behind.

“Close one!” Vapour Trail said with a laugh, bumping Air Strike on the shoulder. The mare’s smile fades. “Whoa. You alright?”

Air Strike shuddered. Voices echoed in her head like ghosts whispering threats of remembrance. “Yeah. You’re right, there’s just a lot on my mind.”

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Vapour took Air Strike out of her thoughts. “Makes me wish the Commander sent us out here more often. I hate being stuck in that place.”

Air Strike nodded in agreement.

“You know, we’ve got, at least, another thirty minutes before we get to the AO and I’m pretty sure Central will start bugging us about our comms being out in about five minutes. If you got something on your mind,” Vapour Trail turned her head to the silent mare beside her. “We’ve got time.”

The steely gray pegasus opened her mouth ready to speak. She wanted to vent. Scream obscenities about the fireworks just moments ago, but thought against it. Besides, it was not the griffons’ fault for trying to celebrate a national holiday. Her mind drifted for a moment, looking around, hoping there was nothing to trigger another flashback. Her eyes caught the glint of the blue aura of her prosthetic wings, trailing behind.

“I filed in a...something for the Commander to consider.” Air Strike said sullenly. Vapour Trail looked hurt. “Not a transfer or anything ma’am. Not that there’s anywhere for me to go.”

“Well, what was it?”

“I thought the other pegasi should go through the same procedure I did. The Commander never really got back to me yet on it.” Air Strike said simply and quickly. She hoped a blunt delivery would help soften the blow to a degree. She braced herself for what may have possibly been the sweetest sounding yelling and shouting from Vapour, but looking over at her current wing-mare, she looked as though she were still trying to process the information.

She looked back at her wings flapping and keeping herself afloat despite all the heavy armor she wore. Her eyes followed their fluid motions, watching every feather shuffle as the wind moved through her wings. Her eyes then glanced to Air Strike’s wings, motionless, outstretched at her sides and leaving behind a trail of blue as the arcane jets propelled her forward.

“So you want us to be like you?” Vapour Trail’s voice was low and she kept her vision forward, away from Air Strike’s. She could not tell if she was angry or frustrated or if she was still deep in thought about it. “Just rip off our wings and replace them?”

“When you put it like that,” Air Strike shook her head. With Vapours voice, she was probably along the lines of frustrated. “It sounds bad. Think about it; when we chased the ship back at Vanhoover—”

“You outmaneuvered all of us.” Vapour sighed nodding her head. “That’s a lot to ask of us you know. ‘The wings make the pegasus’, you know how it goes. I can’t ask the other banshees to go through with that.”

“Pardon me ma’am, but if you had to choose, would you go through with it?”

There was silence between them.

“I don’t know, Strike.” She finally answered. “I see it’s uses, but—” she gave her wings an extra two flaps. “—These things are my life. I-I can’t lose them.”

“I understand ma’am.” Air Strike did. She remembered when her own wings required amputation. The isolation and loneliness, the horrifying idea of not being able to fly ever again. It took her a while to get used to her new prosthetics, and it took even longer for the skepticism that she would even be put to good use to go away. “But they were mine too.”

“But that was different. You’re wings were damaged in battle. Those new wings of yours? It was just...necessity. I didn’t know you before this, but apparently you were the best at what you do if they decided to gift you with those wings. To just willingly take mine off? I don’t like it. Chances are, the other two won’t either, let alone anypony else. I can’t...I just can’t get behind sacrificing something like that.”

Air Strike stayed silent. It was a little bit of what she expected. If she had told Lightning Dust, she was sure there would be some harsh words and statements. Who knows, maybe Vapour Trail did have a few of those hanging around somewhere in that timid mind of hers. Air Strike was partially grateful it was her she told and not anypony else.

“The benefits outweigh everything else,” Air Strike said finally. “Would you really let personal pride get in the way of something as important as this. Think of how fast we could respond to calls for help, keep up with alien ships and—”

“I get it.” Vapour Trail continued. “I don’t like having to silence other ponies, but I’d prefer if you kept this just between us. At least until the commander comes back to you.”

“Understood ma’am.”

***

1 hour ago

“I am Midnight Spice,” the mare said simply. She stood stiff while Blaze and Fleetfoot wiggled their way past her, eyes trained on Soarin’s and hoof against her forehead. “I shall be your sniper for this mission.”

Soarin nodded and let a smirk creep on his face. He reached a hoof to hers and lowered it, planting it on the metal ground gently. “Are all mare’s from Prance this formal?”

“Is it an issue?” The mare tilted her head, relaxing slightly. “I would like to think this a good thing, no?”

Spitfire chuckled. “Don’t worry. Formal or not, you’re a welcome addition to the squad.”

Midnight Spice bowed her head and smiled. “It will be an honor to serve with you ponies. And the Wonderbolts no less! Please excuse me, but I truly am a fan.”

Soarin felt his confident smirk return to his face as he turned to Spitfire, Blaze and Fleetfoot.

“See?” Soarin gestured towards Midnight Spice. “Told you we had fans down here, Cap’n.”

“Fan or not,” Blaze said strapping her armor in place before she threw on her saddle bags full of medical supplies. “I don’t mind this one. I dunno if you guys heard about her performance in the range. Aegis let this one out early because she kicked so much ass!”

Fleetfoot kept her eyes trained on the ground, even as her R.A.A.G.S. started adjusting the straps of her armor, bulkier than before, with multiple pouches for ammo on her chest and lower back. Her under armor matched her arctic blue coat, pads covering her shins and shoulders. The collar jutted out, stiff around her neck, restricting some of her head movements, keeping her vision trained forward.

Her specialized helmet—a silver, angular plated helm with a single gold visor—sat beside her as she loaded up bullets into the box magazine for her machine gun. Soarin feared for whatever had to be on the business end of that cannon.

“Make her feel welcome,” Spitfire spoke with a smile. “If she performs as well as you say, I don’t see her leavin’ this squad.”

“Please!” Midnight Spice whinnied, waving a forehoof gingerly. “You flatter me. But I need no praise. It is my duty as a soldier to protect the innocent.”

Soarin marched to his locker, pulling out his kevlar vest and padding. Despite the repairs done to the vest, he gulped when he saw the scorch marks from the alien weapons burning through and into his skin. He shuddered at the thought of it happening again, but he slipped it over his head, nonetheless. The band around his torso buzzed, the robotic arms going to work and tightening the vests straps and pads protecting his hooves. The double visor of his helmet stared at him blankly, reflecting his own image, distorted and warped, like a reflection in a flowing river.

He doubted himself a lot since the first operation. He ran through multiple scenarios in his head, each one worse than the last. A group of Sectoids swarming his squad. He wanted to believe the Wonderbolts could handle themselves in a sticky situation like that.

They were not the scariest things the aliens had to offer by any means, but they were the only things he had experience with. Everything else came in the form of dossiers, detailing the enemies encountered on the field by the other fireteams. The thought of the aliens using pony bodies to infiltrate cities made Soarin shudder and a being able to generate a body for itself from a single crystal? He would not be surprised if the aliens had some kind of bug that planted its egg in somepony from a single bite.

Probably a bad thought.

“Hey,” Spitfire whispered, offering a soft peck on Soarin’s cheek. “Don’t get cold hooves on me now.”

Soarin looked around the locker room, the other ponies minding their own business, paying the two no mind. He looked back at Spitfire, who looked less-than pleased with the gesture. “What?”

“Don’t think the others should know?”

“Well, you’re whispering, so I don’t know what’s up with that.”

The locker room doors slid open, Central Officer Shining Armor trotting in. “Wonderbolts.”

“Sir.” They stood rigid, saluting in unison from their various spots in the locker room.

“At ease,” Shining walked forward. “This is a special mission straight from the griffon counselor. You’ll be heading to the griffon village of Eastport. Word is, the griffons had a major military convoy moving through the area. The King lost contact with a retaliatory force sent a few hours ago and now the counselor wants our help. Eliminate any hostiles and secure the convoy. Once the area is secured, we’ll send word to King Grimwing. Await further orders until then.”

“Any idea what we’ll find down there?” Spitfire asked.

“We sent out two interceptors to scout the area—Air Strike and Vapour Trail. They should have relevant intel within the hour, so keep an ear out. They’ll also be your air support should you need it.”

“High explosives?” Midnight Spice raised her hoof. “Apologies sir, but is there no civilians in this area? After all, it is a griffon national holiday; the Feast of Seeds.”

“Vapour Trail is outfitted with high powered machine guns. Air Strike should only be used if the situation really requires her. The same can be said about Vapour Trail. They’ll assess the situation before you land.” Shining Armor looked down at his data pad. “You have your orders. Hop to it everypony.”

***

“Got eyes on the convoy.” Vapour Trail sounded in Soarin’s ears. “Griffons under heavy fire. Something’s up. Hang on. We’re heading closer.”

Soarin flipped his helmet, looking at himself in the reflection of the visor, wiping away a specks of dust with a hoof. He flipped it once again and slipped it over his head, struggling to keep his mane underneath it all. His ears slid out of their appropriate sockets, wiggling just to make sure he can still feel them. Wind swept through the interior of the carriage, brushing briskly against his under armor and chilling his skin underneath.

The closer Night Glider flew towards the landing area, the clearer the distant battle became. Griffon rifles fired with crippling ferocity mixed with the shouts of what could have been both parties involved in a conflict. More shots fired, drowning out the screams and cries for help. If the accents were anything to go by, the griffons were in bad shape.

Soarin turned, looking at the passing landscape below, hoping to get a view of the town. Instead he was met with a small hoof-ful of farms and dying trees sloping down the drab mountainside. As Night Glider banked and turned, the waterfront came into view, a fishing hamlet stretching down the beaches and short cliffsides. Despite the sounds of distant battle, the hamlet was largely unaffected by the fighting. As the carriage flew forward, more homes appeared, most built into hollow husks of thick greying trees with thatch roofs and structures built atop of branches like advanced nests.

Soarin pressed a hoof up to his ear. “How’s it lookin’ guys?”

“Multiple hostiles in the area,” Air Strike called out. “Blank Flanks!”

“That it?” Spitfire slid into her helmet. She gave the two filters near her muzzle a good smack. “You’d think the aliens would be smart enough to at least send in griffon spies.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Twilight sounded sternly. “You have your orders. Get down there and clear them out.”

“Yes ma’am!” The Wonderbolts shouted in unison.

Crimson bolts and bullets whirred past the carriage a moment after. The carrier lurched forward, bolting down to the ground rapidly before adjusting itself and coming closer to the ground. Trees with structures melded into them came into view, slowly passing by the windows. Other buildings were made in a more traditional model, with a foundation and boxy in nature. Pits of fire burned in the streets and several wagons and metal automotive carriages were set ablaze on the roads. Griffons screamed as they rushed away from the scene while others came, rifles in talons and feathers covered in grime.

“Reinforcements!” One of them cried out, taking aim.

“For us, lad!” Another shouted, grabbing the rifle from the young bird. “Reinforcements for us!”

“Landing zone is a no go!” Glider shouted. “Too hot! Gonna need you guys to hop out from here!”

“Alright everypony, you heard her!” Spitfire roared. “We’re dropping down!”

One by one the pegasi stood and dropped from the rear of the carriage, their wings spread as they rode the wind down onto the ground behind a barricade of wood and rubble. The griffons who built them lay motionless on the ground with their weapons inches away from their talons. The sight made Soarin’s stomach churn.

Spitfire turned her head slightly to Soarin. “Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“I didn’t know what we were dealing with last time.” Soarin said, smirking underneath his helmet. From behind her visor, Spitfire’s eyes glistened and a single brow was raised. “I promise, Cap.”

She leapt out from the carriage, Soarin following behind. Were it not for the armor and even the under armor covering his body, Soarin would have felt right at home in the open sky for the brief moments he was in it.

When he landed, Soarin leaned himself against the wall of a residential home on the right side of the street. Spitfire lowered herself behind a pile of debris, what probably was once the nest to one of the many griffons in the large town. The cobblestone street was ripped apart, water and blood mixing into the cracks along with chips of broken wood and hay. Bodies of griffons lay lifeless ahead of the blockade of rubble the Wonderbolts took cover behind, long wood-framed rifles stuck in their dead grips.

Just down the road, a line of automotive wagons sat, mostly undisturbed by the destruction and chaos surrounding them. Trees that were once homes to the countless griffons of the town were either left in shambles or set ablaze completely. The main path sloped down the mountain’s steady decline, whipping around and leading its way down to the docks. A steady breeze of wind brushed against Soarin’s armor, ears and tail, making him regret even coming out in the first place. Through the smoke blown past the road Soarin spotted movement, his body tensing and the arms at his side raising his rifle as he pressed himself closer to the corner of the building.

Fleetfoot raised her machine gun, one robotic hand setting up the bipod on the rough uneven surface of a thick tree branch and aimed down the road. Beside her, Midnight Spice stuck the barrel of her rifle through a crack in the rubble, uncomfortably taking aim down the scope as she grasped the underbarrel of her rifle with one hoof and put the other around the trigger. Her R.A.A.G.S. folded up at her side idly standing by.

Blaze settled opposite of the street from Soarin, taking cover behind the weak thatch wall of a modest sized home. “Spice! What do you see?”

Midnight Spice wiggled in her position, bringing her head closer to the scope. “Six down the block! Ponies!”

“Not ponies rook,” Blaze announced from behind an overturned wagon. “What about the griffons?”

Midnight swivelled slightly. “Dead. The ponies are moving closer.”

Soft beating of the ground sounded from behind the squad. Soarin turned, rifle pointed at the group of griffons. Four in total, wearing no armor and three of which pointing their rifles back at Soarin and Spitfire. Two were short and stout, grey feathers covering most of their bodies, save for the silver around their eyes and sprinkled around their wings like spots on a cheetah. Another stood tall and proud, back straight and wings spread as she stood high on her rear legs, as if there was not a band of ponies down the road ready to kill them.

The biggest of them kept his rifle down, held in one of his thick, talons. Soarin was sure he could easily tear through the fabric of his armor with just a single swipe. Hell, his helmet was mostly metal and Soarin still felt that the rugged griffon could tear it to shreds if he wanted to.

Clearly, the old griffon was in no mood to perform such a task and if he was, he hid it well underneath the scowl and frown on his beak, directed at his fellow squadmates.

“Stand down, stand down!” The brown feathered griffon silently shouted. His voice was thick and caused Soarin’s chest to rumble every time he spoke with his thick accent. He pushed his way past his squad, ushering them to lower their weapons, eliciting growls from each of them as they scanned Soarin and the rest of the Wonderbolts. The griffon turned to his flock, giving Soarin a clear view of a long scar down the back of his head, running all the way down to the base of his wing. “You buffoons too stupid to see that these lads and lassies are here to help?”

“How can you be so sure?” A younger grey bird asked, his voice more tame and reined in than his superior. “I’ve never seen equipment like that before, even from Equestrian Royal Guard.”

“Who cares? They hadn’t shot at us when their fancy chariot brought ‘em here. That’s the first one all day that didn’t try to kill me.” The larger, rugged and older griffon turned back to Soarin, then to Spitfire. “Who’s in charge o’ this here unit?”

“That’d be me,” Spitfire answered simply. She ushered the griffons to enter cover, which they did, albeit, unwillingly. “Captain Sp...Shh….Sugar. We’re here to help the king secure the convoy.”

“Aye,” The thick griffon nodded. He poked his head out over the rubble, cursing under his breath. “We could use that help. King wants this convoy so bad, but ‘e’s to stupid to send in more men. Sergeant Arthur by the way. Don’t worry about my lot. We’ve got your backs Captain Sugar.”

“Appreciated.”

Krapoom!

Dust erupted around Midnight Spice as she brought her trigger hoof up to the receiver of her rifle, pulling back the bolt. “Pardon me, monsieur, but they are attempting to sabotage your convoy!”

Soarin poked his head around the corner. He counted six—five now that Spice took care of one—ponies dashing for cover behind various pieces of rubble. One stayed behind, kneeling down beside one of the griffon automotives, blocked by a fallen chunk of wood.

“Got another playing with the convoy!” Soarin warned. One of the ponies peeked out for a moment, a silver and gold bandana covering his mouth and horn glowing with a crimson aura. Soarin raised his rifle, taking aim, but the unicorn brought himself back behind the solitary tree trunk. Others appeared from behind cover, adorning the same articles of clothing; a white button-up shirt and golden ties. Some wore black vests over their shirts, but one fact stood out to Soarin; “They aren’t armed!”

“Of course they aren’t bloody well armed,” Arthur scoffed. “Unicorns don’t need guns ya bampot!”

“No, no,” Soarin returned behind the safety of the home’s wall, turning to the rugged, elderly griffon. “They use alien weapons! I didn’t think they could even use ma—”

“Bolts!” Twilight shouted in the radio. “Focus! Vapour, Air Strike, How’s the situation looking from above?”

The two interceptor pegasi zipped by overhead, flying in circles, accompanied by Night Glider, still carrying the carriage with her as she tried to match their pace.

“All Blank Flanks ma’am!” Air Strike called out. “All taking cover near the convoy. Got nothing on the buildings though. Hang on...Got a squad...two squads running up to your position from the docks. They’ve got a long way to go, so you’ve got time to secure the convoy.”

“Got eyes on something in the water!” Vapour Trail warned. “Boats ma’am! Four of them! Permission to engage?”

“Granted.” Twilight answered. “Wonderbolts! Start moving up! Midnight Spice, stay back and give them long range support.”

“Affirmative Commandant.” Spice relaxed herself.

“Who in hell is she talkin’ to?” Arthur asked.

“Nevermind that,” Spitfire said. “We’re moving up!”

“Go on, we’ll cover you!”

Soarin was the first to dash out of cover, wings spread as he dove past the rubble blockade and fell behind the charred remains of a griffon automotive, the heat radiating off of the metal surface uncomfortable. With all the crimson bolts flying by, there was no way he could try and find another piece of cover to hide behind.

Daka Daka Daka!

“How’d you like that you bastards!” Fleetfoot shouted. Soarin peeped out of cover, two new bodies added to the rest. The unicorn beside the automotive stood, as though to assess the situation. His eyes grew wide looking at the dwindling numbers on his side of the battle.

Krapoom!

A bullet ripped through his head, shooting a cloud of crimson from the wound. Soarin’s stomach tightened at the sight. Were they supposed to bleed red? The dossier did not—

Bratatatatatatat!

Spitfire opened fire wildly as she slammed herself against the automotive, wings still spread, slapping the visor of Soarin’s helmet. She cast a playful glance at Soarin, a sly smirk almost completely hidden under the golden sheen of her visor. She turned around, watching the griffons fly up, perching on the homes of their people, opening fire, almost carelessly with their semi-automatic firearms.

As the crimson bolts sailed through the air, the lowered themselves, gripping on to the thatch roofs of the buildings or laying low on thick tree branches.

Papoom!

Arthur fired, dropping a stallion making his way for the central convoy vehicle. Soarin rolled out of cover, prone and R.A.A.G.S. taking aim down the road at a stallion galloping closer, horn trained slightly to Soarin’s left.

Bratatat!

Dust blew around Soarin’s body where several arcane missiles met their mark, cracking the stone and sending fizzles of smoke around him. Three geysers of blood sprouted from his chest, crashing into a jumbled mess of mangled corpses littered around a crater in the cobblestone. Again, red blood.

Two of Arthur’s griffons brought themselves down beside Soarin, dashing for an alleyway and a torn chunk of wall missing from a building’s main structure. Tables and shelves full of alcohol were littered near the rear, completely blocking the rear doors, one with an exit sign dangling haphazardly and the other probably a rear office where the owner took shelter. The female griffon in the bar kicked over a table beside the window, aiming down at the convoy. “I count two more!”

A stallion stood, horn glowing furiously, sparks of red forming from the appendage aimed directly at the convoy. Behind him, another stallion galloped from a thin alleyway, shouting at his compatriot, “No! Don’t!” forcing his horn to relax.

Krapooom!

A single bullet tore through the skull of both unicorns, dropping them in an instant in the middle of the cobblestone path. Spitfire let out a whistle, her hooves clopping around the charred vehicle resting besides Soarin. He stood, rifle ready, walking beside the two griffons, scanning the road. Those reinforcements Air Strike and Vapour Trail spotted had not come yet. Soarin gave it a few minutes before they arrived and they were back to fighting.

“Damn!” Arthur guffawed obnoxiously from the roof across the street. He flapped his wings before he landed with a harsh thud on top of the recently brain-drilled stallion, picking up his head with a talon, a single digit jamming itself into the hole. “Lassie’s a good shot!”

Soarin was not sure whether to smile at the devilishly skillful double kill or to feel sick to his stomach at the griffon’s actions. There was something wrong. Not just the fact that Arthur was deliberately trying to make the hole bigger, forcing Midnight Spice to turn away and held a hoof against the side of her helmet as she walked forward and Fleetfoot audibly gagging. By all means, Soarin tried hard to understand what it was he was trying to accomplish, but when he turned and looked down at the ground, the pool of crimson pooling up made the hairs on his body stand straight.

He wanted to rationalize it—tried to rationalize it—by telling himself it was just the griffon’s blood pooling over the alien’s. It did not make a lick of sense, but no matter how hard he tried to rationalize it, it was undeniable to him.

“Sugar?” Soarin turned to Spitfire. Her head turned fast, expression hidden underneath the visor.

“That gonna be my new nick—”

“I don’t think these are aliens.” Soarin cut off. Spitfire cocked her head and Soarin pointed a hoof at the dead stallion below him and the mass of red forming.

Boom!

“Air Strike! Vapour!” Spitfire shouted. “What’s going on?”

“Troop transport ships!” Vapour answered. “We’re taking care of ‘em!”

“We’re still waitin’ on those reinforcements,” Spitfire said, lowering her hoof into the blood below. She recoiled, backing up and wiping the hoof against the charred automotive. “Spi—I...Sickle! Get up on that perch! Heart, keep her company! Soa—Soapbox, Fast Lane, with us! Keep an eye out for any more of them. We’ll hunker down with the convoy and hold the line.”

Soarin trotted forward matching pace with Spitfire. “Soapbox?”

“Look,” Spitfire snapped. “I’m trying here. A little preemptive thought would have been better, I admit. Just roll with it for now. We’re almost done here.”

“Right.” Soarin looked down at the bodies. Griffons and unicorns sprawled in uncomfortable positions. “Just hang on. Is this really what we’re supposed to be doing? Killing ponies?”

“They’re…” Spitfire paused. “We have a duty to protect the innocent. It’s...”

“I see movement!” Fleetfoot warned.

***

The boats in the water were small, carrying only six ponies a piece. They carved through the water effortlessly despite riding against the current. Their wooden chassis were painted a steel grey, lined with crimson, masts holding no banners while oars poked out from the sides, slowly, but surely pushing each ship forward, simultaneously at the same pace, each lined up in a row of hulking wood.

From high in the sky, Air Strike could barely make out the moving forms of the crews on the deck, readying themselves for an assault on the docks.

“This isn’t like the aliens at all,” Shining Armor said. “It’s too blunt. Too open.”

“Do we still have the green light?” Air Strike questioned. She slowed herself down, the hum of her prosthetic wings dying down.

“Yes.” Twilight voiced simply. Air Strike looked to her left and right, gaining confirmation from Vapour Trail and Night Glider. She brought her sights back down on the ships, about half a kilometer away from the docks now. The town militia—consisting of fisherman primarily, Air Strike assumed—fired their boomsticks, ducking and lowering themselves as beams of crimson shot through the air, missing entirely and setting miscellaneous boxes ablaze.

“Engaging!” Air Strike announced. Her visor glowed, her eyes watching the yellow targets locking onto the first two ships and waiting for the signal.

Green!

Whooosh!

The torpedos sped rapidly, some plunging into the waters, erupting in white columns of liquid. Two of the torpedos found their mark, erupting the two boats beside each other in a fiery blaze of death. The ponies on board screamed, shouting orders at each other while most dropped off the sides of the deck, plunging into the waters below with reckless abandon. The other four ships sped past their falling brothers and sisters, leaving them to sink and be taken by the violent waves.

“Air Strike! Vapour!” Spitfire shouted. “What’s going on?”

“Troop transport ships!” Vapour answered. “We’re taking care of ‘em!”

Vapour Trail sped past, the miniguns at her side revving and whirring loudly as she slowed her pace and approached the ships alongside Night Glider, still carrying the troop transport and unloading massive hellfire at a steady rate. The ponies on the bridge of the ships, one by one, started to hit the deck, scrambling for the nearest bit of cover. A brave few stood tall, horns glowing before blasts of crimson shot through the sky.

“Argh!” Vapour grunted, her hoof armor steaming. The miniguns at her side spun faster.

Ratatatatatatat!

Vapour Trail’s miniguns were twin dragons, unleashing a volley of death; anti-armor rounds puncturing through the hull of the ship’s metal while Night Glider’s thick cannons acted as a steady marching beat among the cacophony of cries sounding down below. The griffons settled at the end of the docks continued firing, despite their early age firearms either missing completely or doing no real damage to the ships or the crew.

The ships lurched and bowed, remaining vigilant and continuing onwards towards the shores, lowering slowly. Air Strike hovered above the fishing hamlet, her visor starting to light up again. The oars were pushing hard and fast, almost reaching the docks. Air Strike grit her teeth waiting for her visor to give her the all-clear.

“Strike?”

Green!

“Got it!”

Whoooosh!

Trails of smoke left Air Strike’s salvos, rushing through the air at speeds a pegasus could only dream of, barrelling towards what was left of the transport fleet. The explosions vibrated Air Strike’s helmet wildly, the sheer force of the shockwaves causing most of the griffon fighters on the docks to take to the sky like pigeons clearing out a forest.

“Sweet Luna,” Night Glider gasped. Smoke plumed from the wrecks, the tall masts, thick and grey burning like an effigy to the griffons of Eastport. They threw their arms into the air, cheering and cursing their invaders firing wildly in celebration, although their role in the fight could be argued as being nonexistent.

Sounds of gunfire echoed from deeper in the town.

“Spitfire,” Night Glider spoke. “How’s everything on the ground?”

“They’re pushing!” Spitfire answered, roaring in the radio. “We’re handling it. A little more than just a squad or two though!”

“Wanna make sure everything is fine ma’am?” Air Strike asked Vapour, who was still taking in the destruction, watching the fires rage like a pyre in the middle of the water.

“Yeah.”

“Damn!” a long beaked griffon praised as the heavy armor clad mares landed on the wood, causing a heavy creak on the thick dock floorboards. “Some gear you gals got there!”

“Thanks,” Air Strike said simply. “Is everyone okay?”

“Got some wounded, but we stuffed ‘em in the town ‘all.” Another answered. “Unicorns never play fair I tell you. Threw all the spells they had at us, an’ that red shit burns like the sixth pit o’ hell!”

“Aliens must be stepping up their game if they can start pumping out spells like that.” Night Glider commented. “Last time I saw ‘em, they still used their own tech. A lot can happen in a few weeks I guess.”

“Aliens?” the long beaked griffon recoiled. “Ain’t no aliens here! Since when the hell do they start comin’ in on wooden ships?”

“Could be trying a new tactic,” Vapour said, adjusting her steaming hoof armor. Thank Celestia for thick armor plating. “Like, they’re really trying to blend in.”

The waves crashed against the dock, a small shadow blotting out the setting sun for a moment before crashing down onto the wooden planks between the two parties. The unicorn adorned a silver and gold bandana, dripping wet and hanging off the stallion’s neck. The metal torso armor was smooth, a singular piece worn over a white shirt and gold tie. A hole the size of Air Strike’s hoof poured blood—crimson blood—entrails and bones slipping out from where one of Night Glider’s cannon shells ruptured through his body.

Her eyes drifted further down in horror at the mark that claimed the stallion’s flank. The scarlet mark on his flank was torn and withered, grazed by a stray bullet or two.

Air Strike turned away, her stomach twisting and churning as she backed up from the body. She wanted to take off her helmet, let everything out from her last meal. She looked at the smoking wrecks floating adrift just off the coast, bodies filling up the water with red and wood bobbing, carried away with the current. As the bodies continued to rise, some twitching and others still alive, crying for help, Air Strike felt her chest tighten and her body shake.

“N-no, no,” Air Strike shuddered. “No, t-those were aliens. Had to be!”

“I’m sorry lass. These are some high class bandits we’re dealin’ with.”

“We thought you knew,” the female griffon said. “Heard about your group. Thought you all about defending the common folk and stuff. Didn’t think it was exclusive to the aliens or whatever. Don’t tell us that if you all knew these were ponies and not aliens, you wouldn’t have come.”

“What?” Air Strike recoiled. “N-no, we would have! It’s just...we...weren’t expecting actual ponies. I figured it would have been their infiltrators or something.”

“Commander?” Night Glider raised a hoof to her ear.

“Continue the mission as planned. It’s too late to go back.”

***

Spice drew in a breath, taking aim at the stallion too busy giving orders to his subordinates to notice the mare about to put a bullet in his head. Her hoof tightened around her rifle’s underbarrel, willing herself to move her other hoof against the trigger. The stallion was so still; as if he knew she was there and he was taunting her. Bullets ripped through the carriage he took cover behind, making him duck his head a few inches lower. Midnight followed his movements.

He turned his head.

Krapoom!

Spice swivelled, not wanting to see the fruits of her labor. The other unicorns took notice, pointing hooves and shouting in her direction. The shieldbearer unicorn tried to readjust himself, angling the shield to try and protect himself from both Midnight Spice and blaze and the ponies and griffons on the ground. Their horns glowed with a fiery red, the aura surrounding the sharp appendage unstable and shoot stray sparks of magic. They should not be able to use magic. She read the dossier over and over again in her quarters, on nights where sleep escaped her. The science teams claimed they lacked the capacity to use magic, yet here they were, horns glowing and taking aim at Midnight Spice.

They looked so real. She tried to get a view of their flanks, just to make sure they really were the alien infiltration forces she heard so much about. As they moved into cover, she could not catch a glance at their cutie marks. One poked his head out from behind an overturned wagon, staring down the sights of her scope.

She hesitated.

Bratatatatatat!

“Don’t lock up now rook!” Blaze ordered. “Last ones are down there. Let’s take ‘em down!”

“Y-yes!” Midnight raised her rifle again. Down the sight, more ponies came into view, rushing towards the convoy, only to be gunned down by the other Wonderbolts and the remaining two griffons. Everywhere she looked, it was nothing but red. Red! Everywhere she looked.

Spice put her head down, catching her breath. They should not have red blood! She repeated it over and over in her head, like a mantra. No, no, no! This is not what I wanted to do! “Commandant Sparkle?”

“C’mon Spice,” Twilight said sternly, yet softly. Her voice was intense, but there was a hint of caring. “I need you to focus.”

“I was told we were fighting l'envahisseurs!” Spice shouted. “We’re killing ponies! These are not aliens!”

“I’m sorry Spice, but it’s too late to turn back now. I need you to focus and help your squad! We can discuss this later, but now—”

“I understand, Commandant.” Midnight sighed, regulating her breathing. In and out. In and out.

She rose her head, hooves gripping her old rifle, the antiquated wood rough against the under armor she wore and practically pressing her visor against the scope. Sweat beaded up on her forehead .

In and out.

As a stallion’s glance fixed on her, her hooves tightened and she bit her lip, still trying to regulate her breathing. The gunfire beside her became muffled, blocked out by the voice in her head, screaming now ‘don’t do it’ over and over again. Her hoof pressed against the trigger unwillingly, grip on the underbarrel tightening and teeth about to crack under the pressure building up. She tried to focus on her breathing before pulling the trigger.

In and—

Crack!

The pain came in a flash, jolting her head back and making the rifle in her hooves drop to the ground.

“Oh shit!” Blaze caught the limp pony, grabbing her by the wing with both of her metallic arms, dropping her assault rifle onto the streets below. She brought herself down slowly, planting each hoof firmly against the roof. One of her arms quickly went for one of Midnight’s hooves, pulling her up the slope slowly while trying to keep her head down as low as possible. “Captain! Captain, we’ve got an issue!”

Blaze looked around frantically, letting go of Midnight. She did not slide or move a single muscle. Immediately, Blaze started rummaging through her saddle packs and assorted pouches.

“Talk to me. What do we got?”

“Spice is down!” Blaze continued to panic, pulling out bandages and an assortment of syringes and subsequently placing them back inside their respective bags. The moment she would lay them out, they would just end up sliding off the roof. “I repeat, Spice is down!”

The single visor was cracked, a hole seared where her right eye would have been. Instead, there was just shards of gold and blood.

“What’s the damage?”

“Shot to the head ma’am!” Blaze carefully placed her hooves at the sides of Midnight’s helmet, taking care to keep the glass shards from getting caught as she slipped it off the dark violet mare’s head. The blood soaked the internal padding and continued to drip out of the helmet and the gaping wound where her eye used to be. The glass shards of gold dug deep into the surrounding skin and whatever was left of her eyeball was reduced to nothing more than slightly steaming paste. Blaze’s stomach churned violently.

“Is she still breathing?” Spitfire sounded agitated. “Dammit, is she still breathing?!”

Blaze shuddered. She held a hoof out to Midnight’s open mouth, hoping for anything.

There!

“Barely breathing ma’am.” Blaze pulled her hoof back. One of her mechanical hands pulled out a stabilizing elixir. “I’ll keep her alive ma’am.”

The blue liquids slid sloppily down Spice’s throat, streaming off the sides of her mouth in her barely conscious state. The pain welling in her eye was unbearable, but she tried to ignore it, instead trying to figure out how to manage her breaths. Everytime she wanted to breathe in, her body released the breath shaky and unsteady. The magic which shot through her burned. It felt like a thousand vicious dogs tearing away at the affected area.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Blaze continued to panic. She rummaged more in her saddle packs, taking in deep breaths. “Can you talk to me? How’s the pain?”

“Ça fait mal. C'est mauvais.” Midnight groaned. “Burns.”

“Here. This should help.” Blaze sprayed the first aid healing concoction above Midnight Spice, tapping a hoof nervously and impatiently.

A blue aura floated above Midnight, hovering above her like a heavenly aurora amidst a violet sky. The stars coming into view shone and sparkled gently against the backwash of violets and blues. Soon the pain had ceased for the most part. There was still the stinging pain in her eye, but as the blue cloud lowered and wet her face and mane, she relaxed, resting her other eye. As much as the uncomfortable thatch poked against her head, it was all she could do at the moment; just rest and wait.

The fighting would be over soon.

***

“Should I go keep ‘em covered?”

Soarin lowered his head, a magic bolt slamming against the ashy wooden trunk that was his cover.

“They’re focused on us right now.” Spitfire raised her arms, firing blindly into the open. “Keep up the pressure!”

Soarin raised his body, sitting on his haunches and resting his rifle on the piece of cover, keeping his head low and level with the sights of his firearm. As he and everypony else found out rather quickly, these ponies they were fighting were unbearably predictable and headstrong. Running in and out of cover, as though trying to intimidate the ponies and griffons set up behind a barricade of wood and charred metal.

Unfortunately for them, Fleetfoot’s machine gun made short work of their faulty tactic, the mare setting herself up in the middle of the barricade, laying prone atop the bulky automotive wagon. It would not have been Soarin’s first choice, but most of the unicorns hesitating before firing and someone else, probably in an attempt to keep whatever was inside the sealed metal doors of the remaining convoy vehicle safe and intact.

Despite the barrier created in the moments before the second wave, taking away most of what could be used as cover by the opposition, they still came, hiding behind magic barriers supplied by weaker and skinnier unicorns while their bulky and armored counterparts stood tall and approached mercilessly, walking past their fallen allies, even going so far as to use their limp bodies as a kind of cover. It was unsettling to Soarin, that these ponies had such disrespect and disregard for their dead.

Bratatatatat!

Soarin’s bullets started to crack the arcane shield sheltering three ponies as they rushed forward, horns charging. Soarin set his sights on the pony manifesting and maintaining the curved shield. There had to be an easier way to burst through that shield. Without Spice’s sniper support to take down the shieldbearers, cracking through their thick walls of transparent red magic would keep them coming farther than Soarin was comfortable with.

“Damn!” Soarin shouted, his ear grazed by the searing hot bolt of magic. He lifted a hoof up, a small trickle of blood running down the exposed burning flesh. Spitfire cast Soarin a quick glance. “I’m fine. Hit my ear, I’ll live.”

Dakka! Dakka! Dakka! Dakka!

“Enemy shields down!” Fleetfoot shouted.

“Focus fire!” Arthur commanded.

Papoom! Bratatatat! Papoom! Dakka! Dakka!

The unicorns frantically galloped, running in vain as the bullets tore through their flesh and punctured their bodies. Even in the midst of their zig-zags, Fleetfoot’s heavy chaingun fire made short work of them and the last group of unicorns behind their now shattered barriers.

Bratatat!

Before the unicorn had a chance to put the shield back up, his head whipped back and body fell limp, thudding sickeningly against the cracked cobblestone.

Papoom! Bratatat!

Despite the quiet, Soarin’s ears were ringing, breaths coming out slow and steady, moisturizing his visor slightly. He scanned the street for movement.

No such luck, thankfully.

“Area all clear Commander,” Spitfire said. She kicked the body before her. “Unless our girls in the sky see anything?”

“All clear,” Vapour Trail answered. “We’ll continue a routine scan of the area just to be sure. If you can, there are griffons at the dock who can use some medical support.”

“Negative,” Twilight interjected. “Night Glider, I need you to meet with Blaze and Midnight Spice for immediate medical extraction. Her vitals are stable for now, but I we need her back ASAP. Spitfire, Fleetfoot and Soarin will stay and help secure the convoy until the councilor’s cleanup crews arrive. Until then, we’ll have medical crews on standby here at HQ.”

“Yes ma’am.” Spitfire nodded.

Soarin walked further down the road, feeling it safe enough to walk out in the open. Spitfire covered his back, whipping her rifle down alleyways and trained on the many windows overlooking the group of pegasi and griffons. Soarin nudged the bodies on the ground with a rough kick. Even with bullets to the brain, courtesy of Midnight Spice, Soarin gave them a harsh shove. He continued down the road, repeating the process.

“Can’t believe we’re out here fighting our own now.” Soarin whispered to Spitfire. “We were supposed to be keepin’ ponies safe, not killing them.”

“I don’t know.” Spitfire sighed. She looked down at the bodies, the massing blood on the ground causing her to physically shudder. “The aliens gotta be involved somehow.”

“The whole thing is messed up,” Fleetfoot said, landing beside Soarin. “Doesn’t matter though. You saw all those innocent griffons when we got here. It’s not just ponies we’re protecting guys. It’s innocents in general.”

“Yeah, but—”

Soarin stopped, cut off by the coughing and sputtering unicorn below him. “Well would you look at that.”

The beige unicorn’s horn was cracked down the middle, the magic he attempted to manifest leaving and diffusing in the air. The bandana around his neck hardly covered his bleeding muzzle, soaking in the crimson liquids seeping from his nose. Despite the smooth armor, seemingly built around him, several holes punctured his body and slowly oozed blood. His body twitched, but he was alive, and his eyes set on the convoy, disregarding the ponies looking down at his pathetic body.

Soarin kicked the stallion on his side, eliciting a grunt and wheezing coughs from the beige unicorn. He kept his rifle slung around his neck, R.A.A.G.S. reaching down to the holster on his leg, raising the small pistol at the unicorn.

“Wait!” Twilight ordered. “Keep him alive. I want...him...Soarin, would you mind giving me a look at that cutie mark?”

Soarin lowered his head, helmet camera up close to the patch of burnt flesh on the stallion’s flank. A scarlet hexagon with an eye directly in the middle. Or at least, Soarin assumed it to be an eye; A circle with a thin crescent above it. Magically etched onto the pony’s skin and hair. Soarin could hardly make out the ruby cutie mark underneath the markings. Whoever these ponies were, the initiation to their cause must have been an indoctrinated nightmare. At least that was what Soarin thought.

All around him, each fallen unicorn held the same mark on their flanks.

“I know that mark.” Twilight muttered. “Shining Armor; Solemn Vigil to the interrogation room. Now.”

Comments

[Ze1a7in]

And so the tension and intrigue builds.

Not my favorite chapter, but still good. I'm interested in what comes next.

[Solemn Vigil]

“I know that mark.” Twilight muttered. “Shining Armor; Solemn Vigil to the interrogation room. Now.”

Oh, crap.

[Marauder15]

And the BS gets thicker.
Keep it up.

[Solemn Vigil]

“I don’t know, Strike.” She finally answered. “I see it’s uses, but—” she gave her wings and extra two flaps. “—These things are my life. I-I can’t lose them.”

an*

As the crimson bolts sailed through the air, the lowered themselves, gripping on to the thatch roofs of the buildings or laying low on thick tree branches.

they*

[TheFullCrumb]

Well, I guess we're getting our first taste of Equestrian EXALT now.

Wonder what their name is going to be in this? (Never knew what EXALT stood for, since XCOM is an acronym)

[Solemn Vigil]

8115568
EXtraterrestrially ALTered?
EXtraordinary ALTernatives?
EXclusive ALTruism?

Or maybe it's a statement of purpose for all to see: To exalt, evolve, and transcend and rise above all else.

[Solemn Vigil]

Also since we have EXALT in the story now, I just remembered an EXALT fanfic from a while back. Might give you some inspiration for your story or maybe just make for an interesting read.

Contingency Planning

[Madame Hellspawn]

8116076 Thanks! I'll be sure to check it out

[Damien Martino]

Backstory idea when Ethan was young he was chicknapped by EXALT to be brainwashed into a emotionless soidier it halfed worked giving him no remorse toward killing anypony who deserves it he then escaped with his free will intact. Knowing they won't stop the foalnapping he posed as a merc to find and free those he left behind.