In the Legion
One city wiped off the map, two devastated beyond recognition, countless millions of Equestriani citizens dead, injured, or displaced, thousands upon thousands of our brave defenders killed in action, the deployment of orbital superweapons, the Princesses themselves assaulted on multiple occasions. It is sadly not unprecedented for such destruction to occur, even in so short a time. What is unprecedented is for a country to be so ravaged, and yet do nothing.
Equestria has been attacked, and we are now at war. If one were to look at the government, though, one would scarcely believe it. The nobles are still engaging in their powerplays and arguments, the bureaucrats are continuing on as usual, new agencies are being formed that have little to do with fighting a war, and the Princesses are currently on vacation. Instead of the Princesses at the head of government, we have a changeling queen who was apparently raised by ponies installed as regent while the Princesses indulge in family drama.
It would be a betrayal of my Fascist principles to question the loyalty of someone who has so clearly embraced the Equestriani lifestyle. However, it would only be sheer folly to not question the qualifications of the mayor of a village where everyone is her child to serve as regent of one of the biggest nations in the world undergoing one of the biggest crises in its history. In peacetime, perhaps, this could have been considered acceptable, but it is not peacetime. We are at war, and no one in the central government seems to have realized this.
My fellow Equestriani, we have never seen a more shining example in all of history of the need for a Fascist change in government. The Princesses have clearly demonstrated that they neither are capable of ruling nor do they actually want to. If we are to survive, a shogunate must be installed that removes the Princesses and the nobility from authority and replaces them with a military junta.
We can talk about the sanctity of the royal family and noble traditions after the war. Right now, all that matters is survival, and to survive, we must win this war. Equestria as a whole must unite behind this cause. If we do not, then our annihilation is assured.
It had been twenty years since Equestria discovered alien nations, twenty years since the War of the Elements, and twenty years since the First Contact Riots destroyed Manehattan. Now, just two years after the Equestriani Fascist Party came to power, the city was once again thriving. Crime had cratered, old debris had been cleared away, the population was booming, and the economy was soaring. Things were looking up, and it seemed like the worst was behind Manehatten at last.
For young Brisk Printer, now a man, it was a good feeling. He was part of something bigger than himself, a cog in a great collective machine that was helping to save Equestria from the cancerous rots that had infested it. And now, for just a moment, he could bask in the glory of a world without democracy or racial communism.
It was a sentiment that was, in a way, literal. His ten-person contubernium was nearing the end of its wartime patrol and was currently in Unity Park. Formed from several blocks of burnt rubble that had laid there since the riots two decades prior until being reclaimed in a collective community stimulus project by the new Manehattan Fascist Works Project Administration Committee, the park’s most prominent feature was a large mobile sculpture in its center known as the Aligned Unity, which gave the park its name. It was a simple idea, a replica of Luna’s moon mounted on a gimbal and moving in such a way that it would always create the appearance of an eclipse for those standing near the fasces replica at the center of the sculpture, no matter the time of year, but it had been fiendishly complicated to implement. From what he heard, his own mother had helped in the construction of the monument, and if true, it made his opinion of her go up slightly from the pits it had reached when he left to join the party.
The contubernium’s decanus, Snow Serpent, had stopped the group briefly to partake of the local carrot dog vender. It had been this pause that had allowed the human to contemplate whether or not his family was still a bunch of cowards.
“Here you go, ten of my best carrot dogs, on the h-house,” the vender declared, handing over the last of the foodstuffs, a slight tremor of fear in his voice.
“Thank you, and do not fret, there will never be another Fillydelphia as long as we’re on guard,” Snow Serpent said warmly and to negligible effect, motioning the contubernium to partake in the meal. As they did so, he noticed that Brisk once again had one of those ‘artistic’ looks.
Leaving behind his own carrot dog, Snow Serpent instead grabbed Brisk’s and walked over to the human. Giving his subordinate a tap on the flank, he was able stir his attention. With a start, Brisk looked down to face his decanus’ upturned hoof and the carrot dog mounted on it.
“I’m sorry, sir, I . . .”
“Don’t apologize, remember? If you’re doing good, keep doing good; if you’re doing bad, stop doing it. You really must have been out of it if you forgot that, legionary,” Decanus Snow Serpent chided even as he hoofed off the food.
“Yes, sir,” Brisk replied before biting into the carrot dog. Bloody hell, this thing is good, he reflected.
The contubernium started to move out of the park, and as they did, so Brisk reached into his pocket and placed a multiplicity of bits on the countertop of the vendor's cart. He didn’t stop, nor did his gaze waver from in front of him, so it was easy for him to see the earth pony in front of him turn around roll his eyes.
Rampage always did have a distaste for charity, or offered help of any kind. His pride and video addiction could often get in the way of things, but he was a darn good machine gunner, and he followed orders exactly.
In front of him was a rifleperson by the name of Tantrum, a minotaur bull with an ax to grind after a cow he was sweet on got turned into steak by a syndicalist. He might have anger issues, but who didn’t? Those monstrous Purehooves were taking everything from them and packaging it as ‘certified grade-A Equestriani’.
Next to him was Headstrong, a unicorn who lived up to his name in terms of insistence that he was as good a marksperson as Brisk. He was not, nor was he as strong as him. These were things Brisk chose to remember, instead of the fact that the unicorn had outranked him in the legion’s last art expo.
In front of those two was Divebomb, a pegasus rifleperson who seemed to fit the loner stereotype of a gryphon fairly well. Maybe it was because of that that he was kicked out of the air force, or maybe it was the glee in which he undertook aerial operations.
Next to him was Razorclaw, a rifleperson who was actually a gryphon and who was calm, patient, and efficient. There was not a significant negative trait about him. In fact, he was so perfect yet so unassuming that he had a tendency to unnerve other members of the legion.
Another pony that effectively unnerved others was the earth pony mare in front of him, the machine gunner Munitia. She was even more calm and collected than Razorclaw, to the point of never showing any emotion, something which made chills run down the spines of those who did not work with her constantly. Naturally, scuttlebutt shipped her and Razorclaw together.
Walking next to her was Black Out, another pegasus who never even got far enough into the army to get kicked out like Divebomb had been from the air force, washing out for unclear reasons that may or may not have involved his siblings instead. He had voiced a desire to become a marksperson instead of a rifleperson and Brisk had taken to helping him practice his skill. He was one of the only friends Munitia had, along with the gryphon flying just above them.
That gryphon was Firefly. He had once tried to join the Foreign Legion of the Sixth French Republic, but was rejected because of latent pyromania, and so had decided to join a more local legion. Soon after, the 3rd Legion in Trottingham had him transferred out for blatant pyromania. He delighted in the use of the flamethrower, had shown great aptitude for explosives as well, but in their contubernium filled the role of a rifleperson more often than not.
Last, but certainly not least, was the leader of the pack, Decanus Snow Serpent. He had been like a second father to Brisk, really to all of them. Without him, their personality flaws would have spiraled into a discordant mess that would have seen them all in the brig, but thanks to him, most of their flaws were not but quirks, and their contubernium fought as one. None of them could ever imagine themselves without him.
They entered the former abandoned warehouse district located between Launchpad International Airport and the harbor, now revitalized . . . Well, partly revitalized. Another part had been converted to a grander purpose.
That purpose was well hidden both legally and physically. Companies who were fellow travelers or outright shells for the EFP owned much of the warehouses, and the warehouses themselves were insulated against leaking any sort of emissions. To ensure that their contents never saw the light of day until they were ready, a series of large tunnels connected them. All were things that could not have been achieved had anyone cared about Manehattan, but no one did, so the modifications went off without a hitch.
It had been a bitter pill for the members of the contubernium who were Manehattan natives to swallow, but none of them could complain about the results.
Walking under a steel awning that hung out over a minotaur-sized door in the side of one of those warehouses, the group of legionaries milled about as their decanus did the usual back and forth with the intercom. While that happened, they watched the angles, looking for any suspicious characters. Any suspicious characters besides themselves, that is.
The door clicked, and the group filed in one at a time. As they entered through the door, they also passed through an energy screen that disabled any magic held on them. The door closed behind them and, upon seeing that everyone was still who they appeared to be, the door ahead of them opened. They passed through another energy screen, and their magic was restored. From there, they turned right into a stairway.
The metal under their feet banged as heavy boots and hooves hammered into the stairs. They went faster than was perhaps necessary, but they were all eager to get some rest before their next patrol. With the war going on and tensions rising, they never could be sure when their next rest would come.
At the bottom of the stairs, they soon found themselves at the edge of a cavernous room lined end to end with neat rows of Monolith tanks alongside Onager SPGs. It was a sight that was stunning and shocking the first they saw it, but now, the impressive view had turned into an annoyance. They all knew that in order to untangle the mess of armored vehicles, members of an infantry cohort, likely theirs, would be conscripted for the task.
The Monolith was a massive 70 metric ton main battle tank, designed as a prototype for the Equestriani Royal Guard but rejected in favor of surplus M2 Powell tanks from the US. It had a distinctive sloped rear and sides, in addition to the classic sloped front that gave it excellent all around protection. This was made possible by the hydrogen fuel cell power plant that pumped out 1750 horsepower without the need for bulky engine blocks. On top of the fuselage was an unmanned turret carrying a 14cm autoloading gun with 7.7mm coaxial MG, and two additional APS turrets on the side. All of that put it in one of the two armor cohorts under the command of Praefectus Castrtoum Arashikage.
The Onager was a self-propelled artillery piece built on the same chassis as the Monolith but featuring greatly reduced armor in an attempt to reduce cost. What it lacked it armor, however, it more than made up with firepower thanks to its 20cm main gun, which had earned it the nickname “Big Bucker” by the Fascists who were training to use them. That gun was capable of firing everything from leaflet rounds to long range guided munitions, but it was stocked mostly with high explosive due to the predicted ECM-heavy and spotting-poor combat environment. They were mostly under the command of Primus Pilus Onslaught and his 2nd Fire Support Cohort.
All that, of course, meant that they were under different commands, and therefore, moving them out of the warehouse would be a huge ordeal. The only thing that could have made it worse would have been if the 1st Infantry Cohort’s Kasztanka IFVs had been in there too. The Kasztanka, of course, being an almost total copy of the Polish BWP-4 using local parts, a simple box of an armored transport that carried a 3.2cm Gast gun in its unmanned turret and up to 12 legionaries in its hull -- though, thanks to the fact that contubernia only had ten troops each, that was usually just extra space. Luckily, it seemed as if not a single one could be seen in the room.
Just to confirm all that, Decanus Snow Serpent decided to ask the older gryphon who seemed to be leading an operation to get a Monolith loaded up with ammunition that would no doubt be needed soon.
“Hey, Geoff. Geoff? Geoff! Blast it, you old codger, listen up!”
“Yes, what is it?!” Geoff bellowed back, clearly irate, even as he motioned for his donkey companion to continue operating the crane where the 60 kilogram shell was gently being lowered into the tank’s ammunition feed.
“There any Kasztankas or other vehicles we’ll have to move in there?” Snow Serpent asked mirthfully.
“That’s it? That’s what you came to ask me about? You know, back in my day, when the Weather Underground was still around, there was no one who would shirk any sort of responsibility, but now, you got all kinds of folks joining up, and I’m telling you now, not a one of them want to put in the work necessary to get stuff done. Why, if I knew then what I know now, when the Macaroni said they were getting the band back together, I would have told them flat out . . .”
“Okay, we get it!” Snow Serpent interrupted. “You’re a paragon of virtue, and we young 'uns are unfit to be in your presence.”
Geoff hmpfed, possibly with no small measure of forced pride. “Well, as long as y’all know your places. Speaking of which, I don’t have a job for you, but I know someone who does.”
“Who?”
Geoff pointed off to the contubernium’s left with a smile. “Her.”
Snow Serpent and the others whirled around to find a somewhat familiar looking pony.
“The Boss wants to see you and your contubernium, Decanus,” announced the earth pony mare whose name escaped Brisk. “Follow me.”
Most of the members of the contubernium glanced at Brisk or were too polite to do so. They all knew his family’s connection to The Boss; it was a matter of public record. Indeed, even beyond that, it had entered into local legend that the leader of the Fascist Party had been present when two human foals were whisked away from their war torn land of birth, and that it was by his hoof that they had been adopted into a loving Equestriani home.
Brisk tried to shrug it off, but he had to admit to himself that it was strange. He hadn’t spoken to The Boss since the night of Gabriel’s funeral, and for him to call for his contubernium specifically, there had to be something very personal going on.
“Think something happened to your family?” Black Out asked him, voicing one of the more obvious questions.
“I don’t want to think about that,” Brisk replied, his mind flashing back to long days helping his sister walk again.
“If anything did happen to them, I’ll make sure the bastards responsible get burned,” Firefly swore.
“Cut the chatter,” Snow Serpent admonished them.
They were led to one of the underground briefing rooms, a small grey room made mostly out of cubicle walls that wouldn’t have been out of place at one of those Human Earth community colleges that seemed so popular in movies aimed at young mares. The mare leading them opened the door and then stood aside. Brisk narrowed his eyes suspiciously at her, and as he entered the room wished he had fixed his eyes more closely to her.
The blood of every member of the 4th Contubernium, 6th Century, 9th Infantry Cohort, 1st Legion ran cold as they found themselves sharing a room with the 1st Contubernium of the Praetorian Guard, the elite bodyguards of the The Boss himself. Said leader of the Equestrian Fascist Party was sitting on a fold out chair with his legs crossed, staring at them as they walked through the door. Most of the Guard were in the back, forcing them to sit up front, sandwiched between their leader and his bodyguards.
As they took their seats, they noticed the only other person in the room, a human woman … mostly. She was shorter than the American standards so common in visitors and immigrants to Equestria, with dark brown hair tied up into a bun and a disposition that seemed to ooze forced confidence. It was her eyes that really stuck out though. They were strange, unnaturally blue, as if they were meant to look lifelike instead of actually being real.
Brisk glanced down at her hands, the only other part of her body visible with the version of the Fascist goldshirt meant for human females; he noticed how they too looked just slightly fake, and suddenly, something clicked in his head. She’s a cyborg, he realized.
He remembered a story from when he had first joined up. Apparently, during the sweep of the city to root out crime after the Fascists first came to power, a human girl was found in the home of some Purehooves-aligned fatcat. Her womb had been ripped out, and her limbs and eyes had all been replaced with bionics. That demon had bought her as a sex slave and turned her into a doll, but the Goldshirts put an end to their debauchery permanently. In thanks for freeing her, she had joined the Fascist cause.
Rough backstory or not, Brisk could safely say he wasn’t sold on her before she even started speaking.
“Thank you for coming. My name is Frumentarius Mainframe, and I’ll be briefing you on today’s operation,” she began, walking in front of the whiteboard at the front of the room, each footfall audibly heavier than what was normal for a woman her size. “Please keep in mind that the only other person who knows about this is Frumentarius Primaris Enigma Mirror . . .”
“And if it doesn’t stay that way, you’ll get a bullet to the head,” The Boss interrupted, sweeping one muscular foreleg across the room.
Mainframe nodded slowly and then continued, “I’ll cut to the chase, there’s a high value target that we need you to take out posthaste. They will be traveling along Route 47 towards Manehattan tonight, and as such, you are to ambush them here.”
The whiteboard behind the cyborg lit up to display one of the winding mountain roads that characterized the forested region between Manehattan and Hollow Shades. Two of the rocky hills on opposite sides of the road were highlighted, and lines were drawn to indicate fields of fire on one of the bends.
“The target is a convoy of three black sport utility vehicles, of course armored and laden with supplies. The high value target in particular is a unicorn by the name of Firebrand, a prominent recruiter and ‘community organizer’ for the Purehooves, and is expected to be riding in the middle vehicle.”
The picture of the unicorn, one eye covered by an eyepatch, made Brisk tense up. His sister’s voice was becoming uncomfortably loud in his mind.
“Firebrand has been active in the Purehooves for approximately 25 years, predating first contact. He was present during the riots that sprung up during the War of the Elements, stirring up several of the ones that almost destroyed this city. He’s also the primary suspect in the murder of Gabriel Graystone and the assault of Keytone Printer.”
Brisk felt a little heat rising into his cheeks, and the eyes of most of the other legionaries boring into the back of his head. He didn’t know who he hated more at that moment, that hiredelle for bringing the focus onto him by mentioning his dead friend and sister, or Firebrand for creating the circumstance in the first place. . . . Firebrand, it was definitely Firebrand.
The whiteboard’s display once again changed to follow Mainframe’s words.
“The plan is to set up an ambush on opposing hills to set up a crossfire. Once the targets come into view, a new anti-materiel round fired by the marksmen will be used to disable the engines of the target vehicles. Once disabled, a demand of surrender will be broadcast; if accepted, the Purehooves will be taken into custody, and the Frumentarii will take it from there. If they refuse to surrender, you are to attack in earnest and take what prisoners you can after the fight. Either way, try to leave the vehicles mostly intact for material intelligence.
“The Chief Armorer should be finished manufacturing the weapons the marksmen shall use and wanted to demonstrate them personally. Please proceed to the firing range for said demonstration,” Mainframe finished before opening the door out.
The Boss exited the room, and the whole room fell into an orderly line behind him. Another long walk through the extensive tunnels followed, during which the large group didn’t talk to each other, nor look around, thinking it unprofessional. It was, Brisk reflected, the most tense cardio they had gotten since that one time the previous month.
They reached the firing range where the weapons were supposed to be explained to them to find . . . absolutely no one. Everyone glanced around awkwardly at each other, as if they were the armorer in disguise. Mainframe found a look of panic in her cybernetic eyes as she whipped out her smartphone and desperately typed in commands to a specialized app. The Boss took it all in stride though.
“Probably just putting his final touches on them. I hired Dr. Venom because he did things right, not because he did them fast,” he said jovily. “Isn’t that right?”
Mainframe with a barely audible gulp pocketed her phone. “Yes, sir. He says he’s on his way.”
“There, you see! Now we need only wait,” The Boss assured them. “Now, who here has volunteered for soup kitchen duty recently?”
Brisk, Snow Serpent, Black Out, and few members of the Praetorian Guard raised their appendages.
“Ah! Good to hear! Hearts and minds, people, hearts and minds. That’s what’s going to help us win the struggle,” The Boss cheered. “The rest of you should find time to go out and do it too. It’s refreshing to interact with the common folk and be reminded why we do what we do. Frumentarius, make sure you’re disguised before you do it. The last thing I need is people recognizing my spies.”
“Yes, sir,” Mainframe agreed.
The rest of those who had not raised their appendages repeated her.
“Good,” the Boss agreed. “. . . Well, at ease, people. Do whatever you need to do to pass the time while we wait here.”
With that, a lot of the tension went out of the room, and everyone started milling about and chatting. Mainframe glanced about and then exited the room, but Brisk could still see her, milling about in the hallway, and decided to follow.
Snow Serpent narrowed his eyes at the exit, but didn’t intervene.
“Yes?” Mainframe asked Brisk as the two humans stood out in the hallway. “What is it?”
“Why do you help the Fascist cause?” Brisk asked briskly.
Mainframe paused, as if considering her answer. “Your party members freed me and killed my captor. I cannot return to my homeland, so it seemed only right to help your cause.”
Brisk snorted. “Then how in Tartarus are we supposed to trust you?”
“Excuse me?” Mainframe replied, offended.
“How do we know you’re giving the right information?” Brisk repeated in variation.
“Why? Is it because I’m not a woman and barely even human?” she asked hotly.
“No, it’s because you’re not Equestriani,” Brisk clarified.
“What?”
“Where are you from?”
“I’m an Uyghur from East Turkestan, not that it matters anymore. That’s one of the . . .”
“I am aware of where East Turkestan is, what its major resources and geographic features are, and its history since the breakup of the communist bloc in the 1980s,” Brisk interrupted. “That you answered that way only shows further that you do not understand the struggle. If you do not believe with full conviction in the ideology, then how are we supposed to trust that you will not stab us in the back?”
Mainframe looked hurt, cowed, fearful, and then she looked off to the side briefly and her lips stiffened. “I can not return to my homeland because it was a family member that sold me into slavery in the first place. The rest of my family will not have me back because I don’t have a womb anymore. I have dishonored them, and so they will kill me. I have nowhere to go. Equestria, amongst the Fascist Party, is literally the only place in the universe where I can live, so I give my all for that.”
There was a momentary pause before Brisk replied, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. “And yet still, your first instinct was to say you were from East Turkestan.”
“The Frumentarii do not require your trust, Legionary Brisk Printer, only your attention,” Mainframe told him before walking back into the firing range.
She walked through a door held open by a stern-faced Decanus Snow Serpent. Brisk felt a knot form in his stomach as he looked upon his commanding officer’s face.
“Legionary, tensions are running high right now, with the nation at war and our first real combat operation about to begin, but that only means that now, more than ever before, we need to stick together and not piss off the Frumentarii!” the Decanus scolded. “You may not have noticed, but the Frumentarius Primaris was behind you.”
Brisk’s face got several shades paler.
“Yeah, you screwed up, and whatever comes from that, I don’t know. But what’s coming from me overhearing you is this . . .” Snow Serpent got up on two legs and grasped Brisk by his uniform’s collar, his snout not even an inch from his nose. “I want you to promise me you’ll respect your fellow Fascists, especially Frumentarius Mainframe, and if you can’t do that, you’ll at least be polite. If you can’t do either of those things, then I’ll make sure you’re sent back to your father in your skivvies. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir,” Brisk answered immediately.
“Yes, sir, what?” the Decanus demanded.
“Yes, sir, I promise to respect my fellow Fascists, no matter the situation,” Brisk answered quickly.
“Good,” Snow Serpent let go of Brisk’s uniform and dropped back down onto all fours. “Now, get back in there, and let's see how you’re going to cripple a Commie.”
The two of them filed back into the room, and it wasn’t long before a dog wearing a white lab coat and the eclipse armband of the EFP came in with a familiar rifle slung over his shoulder and a heavy looking box in his paws. He set the box down with a heavy thud in front of the group and turned to face them.
“Greetings, Dr. Venom,” The Boss himself began. “What is it you have for us today?”
The whitish-brown furred dog did an absent-minded salute as he began talking. “Greetings, Boss. Well, we don’t have much time, but this is very important, so pay attention. These guns are for the markspeople, but if they get their brains blown out the rest of you will have to pick up the slack.”
He unslung the rifle from over his shoulder, and Brisk recognized it as his own.
The rifle was a Coal Carter-Arisaka Model One Repeating Rifle Pattern H, or CCA-1h for short. When human mining technology had been introduced to Equestria, many ponies had found themselves out of a job, and while many of their family members were happy to see them leave such a dangerous profession, the onset of Cutie Mark Failure Insanity Syndrome was almost inevitable for many more of those same ponies. One of those ponies was a black-coated stallion named Coal Carter, who had lost his job to a robot made in Germany, and so, in a fit of madness, decided that if he was going to take revenge by beating the humans at what they did best so badly, they too would lose their jobs. Naturally, and perhaps a little stereotypically, he assumed that humanity was best at killing things and moved to the US to learn firearms design, since while he presumed that the Germans were the greatest engineers and killers humanity had to offer, their immigration system was also a hassle at the time for most ponies, and he just hadn't had the time for it.
As luck would have it, though, the animosity Coal Carter held for humanity would disappear soon after arriving on Earth, due to a combination of the welcoming attitude of his teachers and a profound aptitude for his chosen field of study. He managed to get his own arms company started with the use of crowdfunding, and the first design to roll off the assembly line was a modification to what at the time was his favorite hunting rifle, the Arisaka Type 99 short rifle chambered in 7.7x58mm. The modifications had been primarily to assist ponies in the firing of the rifle, but elements of them would prove popular to other species as well.
The biggest difference between the newly redesignated CCA-1 and the by-then nearly 130-year-old design was that of the bolt, switching from the classic turn-bolt to a straight-pull action of Carter’s own design with an oversized bolt-handle meant to be easily operated by hoof and foreleg. The second biggest difference was the addition of a detachable box magazine in place of the original fixed magazine, with various size options available, though the ability to load via stripper clips was maintained. The third biggest was the trigger, with the trigger guard being enlarged to accommodate the extensories from a pony’s hoof and the trigger itself being a two-stage device in the tradition of Gaston Glock’s self-titled pistol in an attempt to reduce the risk of an accidental discharge. The other changes to the design were mostly metallurgical and geometric to help accommodate modern automated manufacturing and expectations of customizability, including several variations that used alternate rifling from the original Metford style that were designed following complaints about the guns being unfinished.
The particular example that was now held in Dr. Venom’s paws was the version modified for use by humans, featuring a smaller trigger guard and modified stock made from molecularly bonded wood gathered in Hollow Shades. It was primarily manufactured for use on the Terran market, but like nearly all the weapons in use by the EFP, it had been manufactured in house from stolen or leaked designs. Stolen though the idea had been, Brisk had taken an immense amount of pride in acquiring the materials used in its construction himself, and had even marked the stock with four lines in permanent marker just above the checkered grip to remind himself of what he was fighting for.
A world free of racists, syndicalists, tribalists, liberals, communists, democracies, conservatives, and all the other demons of the world so that his siblings could live their lives in peace. It was a pretty good goal to work towards, in his mind. All he needed to do to bring about the utopia they deserved was kill a few ponies that didn’t deserve to live anyways.
Dr. Venom snapped him out of his thoughts by bringing a lead sled and several weights out of the box and putting them on the ground, loudly. It almost covered up the sound of a two foot by two foot wide slab of armor being rolled out onto the range in front of an old hydrogen internal combustion engine that was also being wheeled out by the range techs. The thin armor plate would no doubt imitate the grill at the front of the vehicle, while the hydrogen engine itself was the most popular type of powerplant for security vehicles like their targets, precisely because of the 50% weight increase over older petrol designs that made it so much less desirable than the hydrogen fuel cell powerplants that dominated vehicle designs in the modern era.
“Now, you’re all familiar with the CCA-1, but we’ve had to make a few modifications to make this work. Shock absorbing buttplate, hardened reciever, enlarged suppressor, but even all that wasn’t enough. You’ll have to fire it from one of these lead sleds, with it weighted down, or you’ll be coming out in a medevac,” the bipedal canine explained as he finished setting up what he was describing. “What’s all this for? Well, this!”
The massive mutt reached into his lab coat and brought out a shiny silver bullet that didn’t look too much different in form to the 7.7mm Arisaka that both the CCA-1s and CCA-2s ate through like candy. Those were made out of brass and steel though, and this looked different. It certainly didn’t catch the light like any bullet Brisk had seen.
“This is what the people in the lab have started calling the ‘Fastball Special,’ but it’s officially known as the Type 6 jacketed-armor piercing round,” Dr. Venom describing, turning the bullet slightly to catch the light in different ways. “Simple idea, we needed anti-materiel rifles but we didn’t have any AM designs for the fabricators, nor the time to come up with one from scratch. So we thought to just retrofit our existing stock of Arisakas to fire a round that went fast enough to penetrate light vehicle armor, and this bullet is the result of that effort. The Type 6 exits the rifle with a muzzle velocity of nearly 5,000 fps.” There were several surprised expressions and verbalizations among the audience; that was a little over twice the 7.7x58mm’s normal muzzle velocity. “It achieves this by using a certain variety of propellent that was considered too energetic for use in modern arms. To keep that in place, the case that it came in had to be made out of a titanium alloy. All of this is to propel a very heavy bi-metal projectile that when it hits the target will shed away its outer shell as it penetrates to reveal a depleted uranium penetrator core; the shedding of the shell will also ignite the penetrator. Now, eyes and ears, everyone!”
There was an orderly scramble as everyone in the room donned earring and eye protection. Once they were all finished, Dr. Venom opened the bolt of the rifle still in the lead sled, placed the bullet inside, and closed the bolt. The audience covered their ears despite the ear protection they were already wearing as the armorer’s finger curled around the trigger.
There was sparking hole in the armor plate, a loud cracking boom, and the gun jumped slightly, despite being weighed down. Just like that, though, it was over. The bullet had hit the target before the event had even registered with those watching.
Smoke was drifting from the end of the suppressor, and Brisk couldn’t help but follow the trajectory to see what had happened to the engine behind the armor plate. It was a mess, he realized as the techs moved up to pull it back. The side of the engine where the bullet had hit had been wrecked, and smoke was drifting up from the gaps in it like a smothered campfire.
Immediately, the range techs began using their fire suppression equipment, even as Dr. Venom loudly continued talking. “Now these rounds are very resource intensive to make, so each marksperson will only get two rounds, and we ask that you retrieve the spent shell casing.” To emphasize the point, he picked up the rifle and pulled the bolt back, moving quickly enough to catch the case as it spiraled through the air. He pocketed the case and handed the rifle off the Brisk. “I told my people to make sure the rest of your arms were properly outfitted for this interception mission. You’ll find them in the armory ready room. I don’t know where you’re going today, but it's clearly important, so don’t miss.”
The assembled legionaries nodded and proceeded to embark.
A half hour later, the two contubernia were marching into one of the hangers at Launchpad International Airport, outfitted for bear. Their characteristic gold shirts had been replaced with dark green turtlenecks and pants; noise filter headsets and HUD glasses covered their heads, along with pine colored woolen hats and camouflage paint where applicable. Even the large suppressors sported by all their primary weapons had camouflaged thermal wrap encircling them. They all expected to be spotted within the first three seconds after the shooting started.
Standing between them and the Redsprites they were to board was a unicorn mare in the simple uniform of the Frumentarii Primaris. Several members of the contubernia tensed up at her presence, but The Boss waved them forward while he turned towards her.
“What’s the matter, Ani?” Mac asked jovially. “Trying to get me to reconsider?”
“That is exactly what I’m doing. If you really insist on being seen on this mission, Junko can take your place without anyone noticing you aren’t there. No one’s even noticed she’s here even now,” Enigma Mirror said dutifully, gesturing to an inconspicuous looking stack of boxes. “You’re too valuable to the cause to go out on some foolhardy revenge quest.”
“I think Mr. Arashikage would be a little upset if his wife got killed on my behalf,” Mac chuckled.
“Our esteemed tank commander will be able to deal with it, just like my frumentarii would be able to deal with the reverse. That doesn’t detract from my point,” Enigma countered.
Mac sighed, silently wishing that the armor he was wearing underneath his turtleneck allowed his muscular body more flexibility. “It has to be me, Ani. It can’t be anyone else that does this. He’s my friend; that means he’s my responsibility.”
“Bullshit,” Enigma cursed. “He stopped being your friend the moment he decided snorting salt off of teenaged fillies was more important than sticking it out in basic with you, you’ve said as much before. You didn’t go down that path though, you stuck it out and became a better pony than he could ever hope to be. You’re the adult here, so start bucking acting like it and let someone else handle this.”
Mac’s eyes narrowed. “If anyone else talked to me like that, I would have had them court martialed.”
“But I’m not anyone else, am I?” Enigma asked rhetorically, a crazed glint in her pink eyes.
“No, but even so, my decision stands,” Mac answered her, turning back towards the rotorcraft still so far away.
“Is that why you’ve brought Brisk Printer along? You treat that boy like family. Is this supposed to be some grotesque bonding ritual over revenge?” Enigma inquired pointedly, making The Boss stop in place before he even started walking.
“Did you know he used to call me Uncle Mac?” the leader asked softly.
“Yes,” the spy answered simply.
“His sister called me that too. Me and Just, we were very close to that family. I was even there when the twins met their parents. They were so happy, and now, they’re not. They’re not because of monsters like Firebrand, someone who would still be back in his hometown if I hadn’t agreed to back him up. I created this, and if I can’t even banish the demons I bucking summoned, then what good am I?” Mac asked, turning his head around to show a single tear running down his muzzle.
“Fine!” Enigma huffed. “You could have just ordered me to go. No need to lay on the waterworks.”
A savage grin split Mac’s features. “Ani, what’s the fun in that?”
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Fascists or not, they have a lot of points. Celestia and Luna devote too much time dealing with their newfound love/sexual lives and familiar drama...to the point Cadence seems the only alicorn actually doing her job.
And don't forget Blueblood and Champagne's evil conspiracy to take over Equestria (twirl moustache)...not considering what would mean having to deal with the changelings and Nightmare by themselves.
And finally, leaving a inexperienced changeling queen in charge given the current scenario was another bad idea.