With the Best of Intentions

by Kaipony

Nothing But the Truth

While nighttime had already set in, the usual restless crowds of the young and the lonely had yet to descend upon the streets. Instead, tardy couples and small groups from earlier evening activities were filing out of restaurants into the warm air with fleeting hopes that they would still avoid the coming droves of those seeking the nightlife. Precluding the later rush of ponies, a few lonely individuals drifted around to the various dives and hangouts. Among them, an anxious unicorn stallion fidgeted in front of a foggy window and peeked through a break in its faded blue interior curtains.

The bar was a hole in the wall, as one might label, and of the best kind. Certainly not one of those pretentious joints that only served top shelf drinks and exotic hors d'oeuvres, turning away folks who looked like they had to get their hooves dirty in order to make a living. This was one of those places that did not even have a sign over the door, which hung one window away to the stallion’s right. It was the type of place where ponies seemed to know its location as though by instinct.

The stallion gave himself a quick once-over, smoothing a few ruffled strands of errant pea green hairs in his coat and checked the contents of a small drawstring saddlebag that was strapped around his body and hung near his cutie mark: a magnifying glass crossed with a sharpened pencil. Then he took a deep breath and pushed through the door.

It was little more than a long, narrow room. There were half a dozen booths along the left side and five small tables running through the center of the room. A serving bar sat against the wall on the right with a single table flanking either end of the bar table.

The lights were low, bathing the room in an unobtrusive glow; an attempt feeling more like character charm than dark conspiracy. Glass bottles, ceramic jugs, and metal flasks gleamed behind the counter like jewels of amber, crystal, and topaz in a dragon’s hoard. Even the odd shade of emerald, sapphire, and ruby winked from inside of smaller bottles and vials tucked in around larger decanters. Off in a corner a jukebox hummed a tune; one of Sweetie Belle’s latest hits. Only half the booths and the pair of smaller tables were occupied and whatever conversations were going on were no match for the dulcet tones wafting out of the jukebox speakers. Anyone passing by the patrons would hear, at most, a vague murmur or chuckle.

It felt like the kind of place where you could make a new friend, or vanish into the corners on any given night. You could try a pint of everything until either the proprietor cut you off or you finally forgot whatever it was you were trying to escape. Everyone cared about you and did not care at all in the same stale breath.

The unicorn cast a glance around the booths and tables, noting that there were only a half dozen or so patrons seated. He was looking for one in particular. Spotting the pony he sought at the table furthest from the door, the unicorn approached a table near the back of the room, ignoring the scrutinizing look the bartender gave him as he passed by the counter.

The pegasus at the table was older but not yet what could be considered elderly. He had coral orange fur and an amber mane in the first stages of turning a weary white. Cobalt blue eyes stared intensely at a nearly empty hardwood mug. The unicorn strode boldly forward but the pegasus did not even look up when this new arrival stopped at his table. There was a silence between them before the unicorn cleared his throat.

“Lieutenant Rapidfire?”

The pegasus looked up and then back down at his mug. “Go away,” he grumbled.

Undaunted, the unicorn continued. “My name is Reggie.” He gestured to the wooden mug. “Can I buy you another?”

“Reggie?” Rapidfire snickered.

“I like it better than what my parents actually called me,” the unicorn responded without turning away from Rapidfire. “Legally changing your name is too much a hassle.”

Rapidfire continued to remain expressionless. “Are you a private investigator?”

Reggie shook his head. “No, sir.”

“A politician?”

“Not even school council.”

“Military?”

“Probably couldn’t do a single pushup.”

Rapidfire looked up at Reggie with narrowed eyes and leaned forward. There was a heavy smell of cider on his breath. “Are you a reporter?”

Reggie winced as his eyes darted around the room, looking for an acceptable response in the stale air. “Sort of.”

“That was a yes or no question, kid,” Rapidfire snorted and Reggie shifted his weight from one side to the other.

“Yes,” he finally answered.

“Wrong answer.” Rapidfire leaned back in his chair and resumed staring at his mug. “Go away.”

The bartender, who was still watching while putting away a tray of mugs, snorted derisively at the unicorn. A few of the other patrons that occupied the table and booth at the back of the room near Rapidfire chuckled while casting sideways glances at the exchange. Reggie’s ears drooped. He cleared his throat loudly. “Did I say yes? I meant no.”

“Wrong answer again. Go away,” Rapidfire said, more forcefully this time.

“If it’s a yes or no question, and neither one is right, then what’s the right answer?”

“I don’t like reporters, so that was a wrong answer. You lied to me and that was also a wrong answer. Got it? Now go. Away.” Those patrons nearby, and the bartender, which had laughed at Reggie’s expense, had abruptly grown silent.

Reggie looked around nervously at the new pairs of eyes which were now watching him. “Please, sir, I just need one evening of your time; just one evening.”

Rapidfire pointed an accusing hoof at the unicorn. “I don’t like reporters, and I don’t like liars.” He turned to the bartender. “Frank. Would you please?” Without a word the bartender, an earth pony wall of mahogany muscle with a straw-colored mane, stepped out from behind the counter and bodily hoisted Reggie off his hooves by his saddlebag strap. He started for the door with the unicorn dangling from his teeth like a kitten.

“Wait!” Reggie shouted as he struggled. A khaki-colored aura enveloped his bag and a ragged newspaper clipping floated out. “I’m writing about what really happened.”

The fluttering paper caught Rapidfire’s attention just enough to notice the headline emblazoned upon it: Wonderbolts’ Heroic Attempt to Free Zebra Captives Leaves Four Dead. He scoffed. “Everypony knows what really happened,” Rapidfire called back as he halfheartedly waved a dismissive hoof. “The newsponies told the story plenty of times.”

“But not the whole story!” Reggie flailed his legs out and braced them against the frame of the exit door. “They didn’t tell the whole story because they didn’t know the whole story. Facts got left out. Truths got omitted. You know the truth. I want to make sure everyone knows what really happened aboard that ship.” He grunted as Frank shoved against him. “Please!”

Rapidfire’s ears swiveled forward as he took a long look at the drops of liquid at the bottom of his mug. “Hold up, Frank.” There was a long pause punctuated by a deflating sigh from Rapidfire. “Let him go.”

Reggie grunted as Frank dropped him on his tailbone before the bartender returned to his station. Rapidfire peered over the top of his mug as the unicorn fumbled to his hooves. “Do you want to know what happened? Teammates, friends of mine, were murdered for a pile of gems.” He upended his mug and let the last dregs of his drink empty onto his tongue, then set the mug down gently. “One pony on the crew got himself hurt trying to be a hero for some slip of a filly. And the icing on the cake was two nations going to war. There you go, now you can write your story.”

“The Littlehorn Massacre was what started the War,” Reggie riposted as he put the newspaper scrap back into his bag. “I know there are some who claim the war as already being waged by then, but I can’t compare those skirmishes to what happened after the school was bombed.” Those which had been watching the exchange and near-expulsion turned back to their own drinks and conversations.

“You can’t spark a fire without a bunch of kindling, son,” Rapidfire countered. “There was heat already rising and the school bombing might have been the final spark, but that ship was the fuel.”

Reggie did not let up with his barrage of comments. “The energy crisis was in full swing and the coal markets crashed because the zebras wouldn’t trade with us anymore. Diplomatic slips and cultural clashes were the subject of editorials almost every week. Pirates and privateers stopped being storybook characters and started being a real threat to both sides. There was already a lot of kindling to go around.” Although Reggie had returned to Rapidfire’s table by then, he remained a respectful leg’s length away. One eye kept glancing back towards Frank every now and then.

Rapidfire rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hooves. “Have you ever been camping?” the pegasus asked in a tired voice. “Sticks and grass scattered around on the ground don’t count for much until either you gather them up together, or unless you set the whole forest ablaze. Sure, Canterlot and Roam had their problems with each other, but it was never anything serious enough to start killing each other over. When pony blood was spilled on board that boat, everything changed.” Rapidfire pounded a hoof on the table. “Militias, coastal patrols, the Skyguard. That’s the day it all came tumbling down.”

Rapidfire turned his mug over in his hooves and inspected its curves as he spoke. “So then I have to wonder, what are you doing, digging into this business?”

“I talked to Seabreeze.”

Rapidfire’s spine stiffened. He lowered his voice. “Who told you about her?”

“I looked up the names on the ship’s manifest and started working my way through the list.” Reggie produced another leaf of paper from his bag and held it up. It was a list of names, all with lines crossed through them. “Pretty much everypony’s story matched, but we both know that’s because they were held together in a single room. Of course their stories would all match if none of them could be out of sight for more than a couple of minutes.” He put the list away. “Then I visited Seabreeze. You know she’s undergoing regular therapy sessions?”

A moment of silence reigned before Rapidfire answered. “I...visited once or twice. The doctors told me I was making it worse, so I stopped going.” His voice dropped even lower. “Didn’t know she was still having problems.” He looked up at Reggie. “How did you get in to see her?”

“I, um, lied when I told the staff why I was there to talk to her. She broke down before she could tell me everything but I heard enough. Something happened on that ship that was never talked about publically.” Reggie then noticed that Rapidfire was grinding his teeth and took a step backwards.

“Of all the ponies you could have picked for questioning, you picked Seabreeze. I can almost look past you lying in order to get your interview, but how dare you ambush her while she’s vulnerable and still recovering?” He began to rise from his chair. “That mare witnessed things she never should have seen and you have the gall to corner her in a place where she’s supposed to feel safe. I ought to kick your gut up into your spine for that and send you skipping down the street.” Reggie took another step backwards but Rapidfire paused and then sank back into his seat.

“But--” Reggie began.

Rapidfire held up a hoof and the unicorn quieted. “But I’m not going to do that. What you pulled was almost as bad as what I did right after the mission, so I’m not going to condemn you. Do you want to hear this or not?” Reggie blinked twice and nodded. “Then sit down and shut up.” Reggie sat down, but remained perched on the edge of the seat. He jumped when Rapidfire pounded the table again. “Frank! One for him and another for me, please.”

“Thanks.” Reggie gulped. “But I don’t drink.”

“If I have to tell this story then I need to drink, and if I’m drinking then you’re drinking. Got it?” The statement hung in the air with no room for misinterpretation.

“Yes, sir.”

“Cut that ‘sir’ crap out,” Rapidfire said in reply. “I’m no more a ‘sir’ than Frank ‘n’ Beans back there is a mare.” Two wooden mugs landed on the table with more than a little bit of clattering and spillage of cider foam, the giant bartender giving Reggie a lingering look that the unicorn shrank beneath. Rapidfire took a long drink from his fresh mug. “Now listen up and pay attention, because I’m not going to repeat myself.”

A worn pad and pencil floated out of Reggie’s bag and hovered just above the table, bathed in an anticipating khaki-colored glow.

“It all started with the best of intentions, you know?” Rapidfire began. “After all, we were supposed to be out there saving lives. Whose territory it was and whose intelligence team was saying what didn’t make a difference to us back then. There was a mission from the Princess and there were ponies in danger. No one should need any better incentive, so it was a volunteer job. All of us raised our hooves. Back then, everypony knew that the Wonderbolts were an aerial performance team first and foremost, but few understood that we trained in combat maneuvers and tactics on side. Just in case. I’ll admit we didn’t always acquit ourselves well in that regard. That big purple and green fellow, for instance, that attacked Ponyville years ago, dished us out a smart bit of humility even if we did manage to shave a few lengths of his scales off the top. We were certainly more prepared and capable than anypony else, except maybe some of the elder vets in the old Guard, to deal with tough situations. That’s why the Princess came to us and sent us in: because we were the best.”

Rapidfire coughed twice into his hoof and took another swallow from his drink. “The old team was still together back then too. Spitfire, Soarin, Fleetfoot, Misty Fly, Whiplash, Lightning Streak, Fire Streak; the whole gang from back when the thing that scared us most was coming in second in a race or getting injured bad enough to be grounded. Back before the team was reformed into a strike squadron.” He pulled on his right wing and the appendage extended at an acute angle. Several pinion feathers refused to spread apart. “Damn fool unicorn medic. No offense. The idiot cast a mending spell on it before loosening the bandages and setting the bones and muscles straight; fused it all wrong. The real doctors later told me that re-breaking and resetting the bones would only make the damage worse, so I got myself permanently grounded. What use is a pegasus that can’t fly?”

“You were injured rescuing the hostages,” Reggie stated.

Rapidfire nodded gravely. “Yeah. I lost full use of a wing and my spot on the team, but we knew injury or worse would be a possibility before we volunteered.”

“If it helps, just start right before the rescue attempt.” Reggie had settled back in his chair, the pencil still poised above the pad of paper. “What was going through your head? What were the team’s feelings?”

Rapidfire took another long swallow of his cider. “Our intelligence was vague. All we knew was that an Equestrian vessel laden with gems and other cargo had been hijacked by zebra pirates. Some reports claimed they were in the territorial waters of Zebrica and therefore it was up to Roam to take action. The Caesar had declined. Other reports said that the two ships were in international waters and subject to no one’s sole jurisdiction. Even though we knew the general location of the pirates and their captives, the nuances of international treaty meant that we had set out on this mission under a veil of secrecy.”

He swirled the cider around in the mug, his gaze gradually becoming lost in the spinning liquid. “The morning it went down started off as many of our mornings once did.”