With the Best of Intentions

by Kaipony

Into Hell

Surprisingly, the ceiling over our heads was quite high once we reached the bottom of the stairs, but what struck me immediately was the smell. It was not the stench of unwashed hides or fur, or even that of rotten food. This was a tumultuous assault on the nostrils that sprang from many sources and mixed with spices, mold, and salt. The few openings to the deck above us created a playground of shadows and dim corners as we traversed the lower deck. There was disarray on a widespread and casual scale. We had descended into what was obviously the living area for most of the crew--judging by the hammocks which hung from hooks in the ceiling--but it was also awash with what I assumed was plunder.

Boxes, crates, bags, and barrels were stacked, strapped, piled and hung in every available space along the entire length, which matched that of the Equestrian trade ship. Some smelled strongly of spices while others gave off hints of fruit, sugar, or salt. Small chests were lined against one wall with a glyphmark, the zebra equivalent of cutie marks, stamped into each one of them; most likely the personal effects of the pirate crew. Most things we saw had their lids or openings locked or tied down so we could only guess what else might be hidden away. The other thing I noticed was the lack of zebras. Outside, they seemed to be everywhere, but there was not a single one of them below the main deck that we could spot and Scourge was nowhere to be seen.

Although we had each taken in our surroundings silently, what hope I had to preserve the silence was erased when Whiplash resumed the conversation from which Misty had tried to divert. “Who knows what those savages will do to her if they do find that mare first.”

Since we were back on that road again, I held up a hoof and halted our little trio. “Whiplash, I have to ask; what is with you and your attitude towards zebras?” He looked at me with an expression of shocked confusion.

“There’s an Equestrian-flagged ship that’s been taken over by criminals, their captain has been murdered, and you’re asking me why I’m offended?”

I shook my head. “Not just these zebras; I mean all of them. Ever since Canterlot started butting heads with Roam you’ve gotten more and more resentful towards all of them. Obviously these ones here are deserving of it, but what did the rest of them ever do to you?”

“Have ever spent much time around one of them?” Whiplash asked, lowering his voice to barely above a whisper. “Oh sure, a few are easy on the eyes and you’ll occasionally run across one that acts more like a pony than a zebra, but there’s a wrongness about them.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“How about the rituals, their cliquish clans, or those tattoo markings?” he continued. “They’re suspicious and strange and you can’t trust anything that comes out of their mouth. Ever hear one talk in nothing but rhymes? You can’t figure out half of what they’re actually trying to say. I won’t even bother going into all their alchemy hoodoo and star prophecies.”

“In other words you’re a racist,” Misty deadpanned as she moved past him and started down the stairs into the next deck below us.

I could almost hear Whiplash’s teeth grinding as I followed after Misty. “Call it what you want, but I’m not going to end up like those that turned a blind eye to all the evidence. Zebras can’t be trusted, period.”

Together we descended into the third deck of the ship and walked into a different world. The deck above us had been dim but partially lit by natural sunlight. That was not the case on this deck. There was no light here except the orange glow cast by swaying magical lanterns which were hung at uneven intervals. We were definitely in the main cargo hold now, as the various crates and barrels which had been stacked or lashed down often reached all the way to the ceiling. The temperature was noticeably lower too. Waves lapping at the hull could still be heard but they were now over our heads instead of just below them. The deck beneath our hooves felt dry but the smell of mildew hung in the air; on all sides I could feel a pressure from the knowledge that an entire ocean was waiting to rush in should it find any significant hole in the hull.

The chaos that had reigned in the crew’s living space above was more evident here in the hold. From spending a little time around airships I knew about the concept of ballast, so it seemed reasonable that an oceangoing vessel would also want more weight along the bottom to help with overall stability. Everything appeared to be securely lashed down or tied off, but many of the containers had coverings askew or were simply left open. As we crept through the hold, I took notice of boxes filled with heavy, unmarked bags and crates of miscellaneous items that, upon second glance, appeared to be a mix of personal effects, dinnerware, bits of jewelry, and clothing.

“Probably the crew’s stolen property,” Whiplash mumbled as he passed the heaped crate. “Stupid stripes.”

We worked from one end to the other slowly, checking each shadow and corner offered by the maze of cargo containers. As we approached the section just aft of the stairs that brought us down, I thought I heard a low humming sound coming from a stash of open barrels. Creeping over to them, I found a trio of barrels strapped to several wooden cases whose lids had been wrenched off.

On the sides of the cases were markings that I recognized as belonging to Equestrian industrial importers. They had been all over the newspapers talking about coal supplies from Zebrica and gem shipments as a payment. Inside the cases were black rocks. Lot of them. There was a grimy dust leaking out of the bottom of the cases and many other cases and crates nearby also had similar piles of black dust around their bases as well. I tapped a few of the pieces in the first case and sniffed it.

“Coal,” I said aloud to no one in particular. I imagined that the other cases held coal as well and somewhere down here we would find boxes of gems as well. I picked up one of the pieces of coal and held it up to the lantern. It reflected the light clearly across several flat facets but was otherwise just another lump of coal. “So they’re stealing their own coal as well as our gem payments.” Then I heard the hum again and looked over at the open barrels.

Spear-like points jutted upwards out of the interior and seemed to claw at the air. I tilted the lantern and jagged pieces of metal winked purple hues back at me. The barrels were packed full of uneven shards and warped lengths of metal. I could not be certain, but the low humming seemed to come from somewhere around the barrels. When I moved closer to investigate, the sound faded until I could hear it no longer. Annoyed at having gotten distracted, I rejoined Misty and Whiplash. We shuffled off further towards the aft and had only gone a few steps when Misty hoisted a wing up and halted.

“Stop.” She tilted her head to the left. “Anypony else hear that?”

I strained to listen for whatever it was she had heard, but only the creaking of the hull, lapping of waves on the outside and the distinct thump of hooves on the decks above reached my ears. Even the odd hum had stopped entirely. Then, very softly, I heard someone stifle a sneeze. Whiplash opened his mouth, but I forestalled him with a wing. We waited.

“Over there,” I said, pointing to our left where, against the hull, a tall stack of wooden crates were haphazardly secured. The pile almost reached the ceiling and ropes criss-crossed over the outward-facing sides, lashing them together. One of the containers on the second level of the stack looked as though it had been shoved aside just enough for a trim pony to squeeze through. As a team, we carefully approached the crates. Hooves were gingerly placed on the deck and we swayed with the rocking of the ship to keep our balance. We fanned out to cover all three sides of the pile as Misty carefully climbed up to peer over the box that had been moved aside.

I heard a gasp and then a small, feminine voice whispered fiercely, “Shhhhh! Not so loud.” Three sets of collectively held breaths were released. Whiplash and I joined Misty and closed in around the opening. Wedged in between the cargo, lying back as far from us as she could get, was the runaway mare. Her eyes were wide and I could see her sides rapidly heaving. She was gripping part of her mane in her teeth.

“Easy now,” Misty cooed. She casually leaned against the crate which had been moved aside. “Seabreeze, right? It’s going to be okay. We’re here to help you and your friends.”

“They threatened to hurt us if anyone tried to fly away or use magic,” she whispered harshly, wiping tears from her eyes and letting her mane fall from her mouth. “My sweet coltfriend, Golden Ray, distracted those pirates so I could get away, but I can’t swim. And I don’t want them to find me.” She sniffed. “Please. I don’t want to go back.”

I knew we had to coax this mare out of her hiding place and get her to rejoin the rest of the pony crew if we were going to have any chance in mollifying the zebras into a peaceful solution. “We can’t solve this with the zebras riled up, and that means bringing you back as a show of trust,” I explained.

“Trust? Are you joking?” Seabreeze’s voice jumped up in pitch. “You can’t trust those brutes.”

Misty moved to crouch near the opening that the mare had made, but did not advance any further in her direction. “We’re not going to let them hurt you or anypony else. The Princesses sent us here to handle the situation peacefully.”

“Try telling that to our captain,” Seabreeze muttered.

Whiplash rolled his eyes. “Could you can the sarcasm for a moment and help us out?” He sighed. “You put us all in a worse position by running off.”

“Okay. Okay.” We all moved back as Seabreeze poked her head out from around the crates. “If you really think it’ll help?” she asked quietly. Myself and Misty nodded an agreement. Whiplash abstained. “Just, promise me nopony else is going to get hurt. I’m only going to go back if...” Seabreeze’s eyes widened. “Look out!”

We turned as a unit to find a zebra standing right behind us and instinctively dropped into a lowered stance. Whiplash was the first to react, hoping off the pile of crates and back down into the deck.

“Who are you?” he demanded. “You weren’t with the others. What are you doing, skulking around down here?”

This zebra was different. Physically, I could see that he bore many more tattoos than the other zebras, most of them extending from his legs all the way up to his neck and face where they terminated in elaborate whorls. As the lanterns swayed with the rocking of the ship the patterns of his tattoos appeared to shift and flow with an unsettling liquidity, only to have that movement cease if I stared at one pattern for more than a second. His clothing consisted of a simple cloak and hood which were presently pulled aside. Beneath that he wore a functional manner of barding similar to the other pirates but I could see no weapons. Most startling was what I could see of his glyphmark--he had none. Or rather, where one must have once been there was as twisted knot of scar tissue and stunted hair. His glyphmark had been burned off.

“Chieftain wants that pony,” he stated bluntly, pointing at the box behind which sat Seabreeze. “Grab pony and come.” The zebra pushed Whiplash in the direction of the stairs we used to descend into the hold, but Whiplash slapped the zebra’s leg away.

“Don’t you get hoofy with me, stripe,” he warned, his tail lashing wildly from side to side. “Now, I want to know why you weren’t with the others up on deck when we arrived?”

The zebra refused to answer. “Pony comes now or I take her.” Seabreeze peered over the top of the box. He looked up at Seabreeze and the mare shriveled under his gaze, ducking back down into her hiding place.

“Don’t let them hurt me,” she squeaked, scooting back as far as the space available would allow.

The zebra made to move in towards the stack. “Out of my way.”

“Back off.” Whiplash snarled, his teeth showing as he lifted his wings and widened his stance, blocking the zebra’s path.

To his credit, the zebra backed up a step and did not advance further. “Stupid ponies.”

I could see that the situation was sitting on a very precarious edge, but it was Misty who took charge. “We all need to calm down. What’s your name?” she tried.

There was something else that felt… off about this zebra. I could not place what it was exactly that did not feel right, but he almost seemed to radiate a presence that felt different from the others. Even the environment around us seemed to rebel at his existence. The air around us felt heavy and prickly, like a dense wave of hot wind but without the heat. My hide twitched and I thought I felt something crawling through my mane. I suppressed the urge to scratch at the base of my neck when I realized that the tickling sensation was coming from my hairs as they stood on end.

The zebra had not yet answered and in the silence I thought I heard something, a very faint humming sound coming from somewhere near the zebra himself. It was very difficult to pick out, but I was certain this sound was higher in pitch than the one I heard minutes ago, but it seemed to rise and fall in time with my own breathing. I kept my head still while scanning with my eyes for a source and when I could not find anything obvious, I met the pirate’s eyes for the first time. They too had a wrongness about them. They were the color of an old bruise, and when they met my own eyes I felt as though the zebra was looking through me instead of at me.

“Pony does not need to know me,” was his curt response. “Other zebras not need to know me. Down here is my place. Others leave me alone. They are afraid.” His voice dropped to a growl. “Ponies should be afraid.”

“It’s okay. I just want to know what I should call you instead of ‘zebra’.” Misty stood tall and kept her hooves in plain view. She even offered a tiny smile. “I’m Misty Fly.”

The zebra looked at Misty for a moment and opened his mouth, but quickly shut it tight. I noticed his eyes unfocus briefly and I thought I saw them dart towards the barrels of metal shards that sat on the deck directly behind us. He shook his head, his eyes refocusing, and grimaced. “Stop talking. Ponies only good for work and ransom.” He made his point by stomping on the deck and added, “Move now. I take mare with me.”

Misty shook her head slowly. “Not until you calm down. If you give me your word that you will not hurt her, then we can all go together.”

“You ask for my word? I give no word. Not to you!” At that moment, the two ships bumped against each other and the pirate vessel rocked to one side. Misty, Whiplash, and myself all twisted to keep our balance but the zebra did not. From the corner of my eye I saw him rear back onto his hind legs, perfectly balanced, and leap onto the stack where Misty and I wobbled. He barely made a sound when he landed. Then he simultaneously reached past him towards Seabreeze and kicked out with a hind leg into Misty’s side. I shifted my weight to knock his reaching hoof away. That was when I saw Misty start to fall.

Everything around me suddenly felt like it had been drenched in cold syrup. The creaking of the hull faded away and even the dust motes hung suspended in the air as the world fought to process what was happening. Slowly, painfully slowly, I watched as Misty slipped, stumbled, and careened to the side, falling over her hooves as the force of the zebra’s impact sent her into the array of uncovered barrels I had noticed earlier during our search. The barrels which were tightly packed with jagged shreds of the shiny, purple-hued metal shards; their sharp tips and edges reaching into the open air towards Misty’s falling body.

There was a soft sound, like an overripe piece of fruit being torn in half. Then came the screaming. Everything that had just felt as though it were suspended in time suddenly accelerated into a blurred state of motion. Misty was wailing, Seabreeze was adding her own cries to the mix, and I found myself on the deck with Misty. The shards had pierced her back and wings in several places and one looked as though it would have punched clear through her chest had the barrel not fallen over with her, spreading the metal fragments across the deck floor. They had penetrated deeply and blood was spilling from the wounds quickly. Very quickly.

I jabbed a wing at Whiplash. “Go check if any of the crew have any medical training. Healing spells. Anything!” I spared a glance around to see where the zebra that had shoved Misty had gotten to but there was not a single stripe to be seen. He had vanished. Whiplash also vanished, zooming up the stairs we had descended earlier as fast as his legs would carry him. I tore pieces of my uniform off with my teeth and pressed them against Misty’s gushing wounds, trying to stem the flow of blood without shifting the protruding shards. I was practically lying across her as I held her as best as I could without letting up on the pressure. That was all they really taught us in training. It did not feel like enough. There was so much blood.

“Hang in there, Misty,” I kept saying to her. “You’re going to be okay.” She had ceased her screams and either did not or could not reply with anything more than a gasping whimper. Her body was shaking and I could not tell if it was her that was gradually growing colder or if it was the spreading pool of cooling blood that was collecting around us. Someone was hyperventilating and I assumed it was coming from Seabreeze, but I could not spare the mare any of my attention. Over the sounds I heard rapidly approaching hooves and looked up to see Spitfire and Whiplash stumbling down the stairs.

Spitfire vaulted over the crates and barrels, landing in Misty’s blood. She balked at the sight for only a second and then helped me hold the makeshift bandages steady. “What happened?” she demanded.

I opened my mouth and began. “It was--”

Whiplash cut me off. “One of the zebras.”

“What?” Spitfire gasped. I saw her visage shift from worried shock to hard stone. “Explain.”

“There was a pirate down here,” Whiplash quickly answered. “A strange one. It was one we didn’t see up on deck. He was acting really suspicious, so Misty asked him some questions and he tried to take Seabreeze there back by force. He intentionally--”

I turned my attention to my stricken teammate as Misty coughed up a frothy mix of blood and saliva, missing most of Whiplash’s explanation. I held her steady until the fit subsided and then returned my attention to the exchange.

“--then she was screaming and there was blood and the zebra disappeared and… and…” Whiplash looked down at his hooves. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Whiplash,” Spitfire offered. “We’ll handle the zebras just as soon as--”

Misty Fly cried out and began to hyperventilate. Her body shook forcefully and her wings flailed. Spitfire and I held onto her as Misty’s hooves reached out and hooked around our own, holding firmly but growing more slack with each tremor.

“Misty?” Spitfire gasped as a violent spasm shook Misty’s body. Then she fell limp in our hooves. “No, no, no. Come on, girl, wake up!” She bent low and listened for breathing. Spitfire’s face screwed up in panic. “Wake up! You can’t...”

More hooves came tumbling down the stairs and Soarin appeared, his chest rising and falling rapidly. I looked to the team’s second, hoping he had found somepony or something to help. “Soarin?”

Soarin shook his head. “No doctors. They’re just traders with a few first aid kits, not even any training better than ours.” He came around the pile of crates that separated us from the stairs leading upwards. “Nothing that can--” he looked down at Spitfire and me, Misty’s still form in our hooves, “--no.”

There were no tears; I did not know what to feel. I simply held the scrap of fabric against the wound and felt the blood pooling around my hooves. I stared at the blue cloth which had turned dark purple with Misty’s life. Her body twitched slightly once, twice, and then stopped. No parting words. No dramatic final sigh. She was just… dead .

“Why?” I dimly heard Soarin ask. My own heartbeat was pounding in my ears. It was a simple question, but I had no answer. “Why would they do something like this?” There was a sound like somepony sitting back heavily upon their haunches. “W-we came to settle this peacefully.” We did. We came with the best of intentions.

I turned my head and found Spitfire frozen in place, but I could see that it was not with grief or shock. She was trembling. The quakes were running from her mane all the way down to her hooves. I had seen this before. Spitfire was barely holding back her fury.

She rose slowly, Misty’s blood staining her uniform as well as my own. “Rapidfire, you and Whiplash head back over to the other ships and sweep their hold. Find out if there are any more pirates hiding down there too. Soarin, have Lightning Streak join Fire Streak with the captives in case the pirates make a move against the crew. Tell them they have permission to do whatever they have to do to keep those ponies safe. I’ll...” She faltered and swallowed heavily. “I’ll take Misty out of here.”

“What’s the plan?” Soarin asked in a daze. A numbness had spread through my chest and I could not seem to mentally grasp hold of any thought for more than a brief time.

“We’re going to herd up a cloud and make sure Misty is out of reach of the zebras. We’ll...tend to her later. Then we’re going to have an unfriendly chat with the chief.”

Soarin nodded and dashed up the stairs. Spitfire knelt and gingerly scooped Misty’s body on her back. I shook myself and moved to help, but Spitfire just glanced my way and shook her head. I backed off respectfully and Spitfire carefully carried the still-warm body away. As soon as both of them had disappeared from sight, Whiplash nudged me with a wing.

“Come on. We need to find Misty’s killer before he hurts somepony else.”

The pounding in my ears and the numbness of shock quickly shed from my mind like raindrops from our own wings. “What did you say?”

“Misty’s killer,” he growled back. “We’re going to find that freak and make him pay for what he did to Misty.”

It took only moments to process what he said and brought up an anger that built with each passing second. I threw my shoulder into Whiplash hard enough to send him stumbling back into the bulkhead of the ship. “Are you insane? You told Spitfire that zebra killed Misty on purpose?”

Whiplash bared his teeth at me before regaining his balance and straightening his uniform. “He did kill her. Maybe not directly, but it was his fault. It was the fault of all of them.” He shook his head, like he was trying to clear clogged water out of his ears. “You saw the look in his eyes, in all of their eyes; you know as well as I do what they’re each willing to do to the hostages.”

He advanced on me and although I did not back down, what I saw in his eyes reminded me of what I had seen in the eyes of that tattooed zebra only minutes ago. It was the same loathing; a kind that I did not think was possible for ponies to feel or express.

“They don’t care about anything or anyone except themselves. If one of them hadn’t killed one of us sooner then it would have happened later. Somepony was bound to die here today. I knew that the moment those striped monsters opened their mouths.”

I started to pace, the fog in my mind clearing as it raced. “But it was an accident! Spitfire might do something rash; you know how she can get when she’s upset when one of the team is involved.”

Whiplash lowered his voice and looked around the hold. “So what? Blaming the zebras works out for everyone.” This was wrong. Everything about this situation, about this day, was wrong. I knew Whiplash abhorred zebras in general. I had to admit that I did not wholly trust them myself, but the tone Whiplash used set my spine to prickling. He spoke with a voice that was bereft of that pastel spark that ponies have been known for throughout the world. It felt hostile and it should have felt foreign too, but...

I shook my head to clear away the cloying thoughts and refocused on the words coming from Whiplash. More and more, it seemed, ponies around me spoke with words of enmity and hatred. To see and hear such things from dragons or even griffins was not unheard. But ponykind? To hear those qualities coming from the mouth of a teammate made my ears feel as though they were stopped up, like when the pressure changes during a steep climb or descent.

“What sense does that make?” I hissed back in response.

“Think about it, Rapidfire. Misty can either be remembered as a hero or a tragic victim. She’ll get all sorts of posthumous medals, we’ll take care of the pirates, and the hostages can go home. Everypony wins.”

I couldn’t bring myself to speak her name any louder than a whisper. “Except Misty.”

Whiplash was unfazed. “Are you going to keep quiet so we can move on or not?”

It was wrong. It was dishonest. We had lost a teammate and a friend; someone who had only just been in my own hooves. Whiplash was asking me to gloss over something which could change the perception of the whole event. I wanted to kick the wall. I wanted to knock the teeth out of the tattooed zebra’s face. I wanted Misty to stand up and tell us she was okay. One of those wishes was not going to come true today.

But was Whiplash right? Did that zebra intend for Misty to fall on those shards? They were all pirates. They had taken a ship and its crew hostage. At least one member, the captain, had supposedly been killed because he openly resisted. The thoughts and questions were bouncing around in my head. None of the other other crew members had been seriously injured. If I believed Wakku’s words then there was some assurance that there would not be any more crew deaths. Except I did not know what the zebras wanted out of this situation. Whatever Spitfire and Wakku had talked about was a mystery to me. I did not know what to believe. For all I knew, the crew and ship were being used as bait. This whole situation might be a stage set up to create some kind of spectacle out of us ponies.

Maybe Whiplash had a point, but maybe not. He spoke with such conviction but I could not get over that feeling. What I felt when he whispered to me was just too similar to how that tattooed zebra made me feel only minutes ago. I just did not know what was truth and what was not, but there was one thing I could do.

I leaned in close to Whiplash. “You and I are going to Spitfire right now and give her all the details.” I made sure to get right up in Whiplash’s face and, to my satisfaction, he flinched away. I pulled him back in. “Facts only. No assumptions.”

He said nothing for a few heartbeats and then breathed. “Sure.”

At that moment Seabreeze crawled out from behind the crates and I saw her eyes tremble at the sight of us arguing. She glanced around the hold. “Are they all gone? I covered my ears and hid when that zebra kicked Misty and then I just heard a bunch of voices and running and I just couldn’t bear to come out till it quieted down.” She craned her head up and over the boxes until her eyes found the blood on my uniform. She stopped. “What happened to Misty Fly?”

“She’s...” I had to swallow the sudden lump in my throat before I could continue. “She’s dead.”

What color Seabreeze had remaining drained from her face as her ears drooped. She shut her eyes tightly. “S-she’s...dead? Oh--” Seabreeze shed the tears for Misty that the rest of us could not afford.

I thanked the grieving mare for her empathy the only way I could, by placing a hoof on her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. “It wasn’t your fault. Come here.” I barely tugged at her leg before Seabreeze lurched into my side and released the pent up stress in a choking sob. Neither of us seemed to feel the blood that clung to my uniform. “Shh. It’s going to be okay.”

Tears and mucus mingled on my shoulder, but that made no difference. I continued talking as she let it all run out of her system. “Listen, we can’t leave you here alone. If we’re worried about you as well as your friends upstairs then we can’t stay focused on getting everypony out of here safely. You can help us by coming back with Whiplash and me. Will you do that?”

I pulled away from the embrace, helped her wipe her eyes free of tears, and turned her to face me. “Will you help the Wonderbolts?”

“O-okay,” she sniffled. “I’m sorry.”

“What was that?” Whiplash abruptly asked. I refocused my hearing and heard muffled shouting filtering down from the upper decks as several rapid thumps vibrated the wooden planks. More noise came from somewhere off the pirate ship. The Equestrian vessel, I assumed. Whiplash turned about, trying to determine where precisely the commotion was coming from above decks, as I gently guided Seabreeze back into the space she had been hiding.

“Change of plans,” I told her and gave her a quick pat on the shoulder, hoping it felt at least minimally comforting. “Stay down and don’t make a sound. We’ll come get you when we’re sure it’s safe.” Seabreeze’s eyes darted across the planks above us, following every thump, thud, and raised voice. I could see her body trembling and her knees beginning to buckle. Whiplash moved away towards a ladderwell that led upwards and I reached back to guide Seabreeze’s gaze back to my own. Our eyes locked.

“You’re going to be okay,” I promised. Her head barely moved but she gave me a slight nod.

“Rapidfire!”

I looked up to see Whiplash ascending the stairs and gave Seabreeze one more shoulder squeeze before I vaulted over a crate and followed behind him. We climbed up the three decks as quickly as the steep angle would allow us and had almost reached the main weatherdeck when we heard several screams. Pony screams. There was not going to be time to talk to Spitfire.

Whiplash glanced back at me, a mixture of alarm and anger swirling within his eyes. I imagined my own must have looked the same. I shoved myself against his flank. “Go!” I yelled and together we burst out into the middle of...

~~*~~

“Chaos,” Rapidfire breathed. “Both of the main decks outside were chaos. I don’t have another way to describe what it was like when we emerged from below. A lot of what happened is a blur of stripes and colors and blood and screams. Yells coming from my fellow Wonderbolts. I’m sure what I was hearing from the zebras were curses or threats at first; later they sounded more desperate. Like ours. The captives stayed put in the cabin. At least they were smart enough to keep their heads down and stay out of the way. No more heroics.”

Rapidfire rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “I remember being scared and angry and frustrated and terrified. Two of the zebras kept making a move for the civilians, but Spitfire and Soarin were always there to drive them back. I remember bits and pieces, mostly in sudden flashes of clarity, but a lot of the fight was simply a struggle for survival. You don’t retain too much from moments like that except in snatched seconds between one fight and the next.”

He shut his eyes. “Out of everything that happened, what remained the clearest of all was Spitfire. She’s always been the anchor of the team; our most feared nemesis and our greatest ally. Without her the Wonderbolts would never have risen above a simple flight demonstration team.”

“What about Rainbow Dash?” Reggie asked.

Rapidfire’s eyes opened and he looked pointedly at the unicorn across from him. “Most dangerous mare alive, except maybe for Princess Luna, but Dash wasn’t with the Wonderbolts until the team became part of the Skyguard initiative. When she did take over, what she lacked in experience was made up for with skill and tenacity, but talent doesn’t account for much without the brains to use it properly.”

Reggie blinked. “I think the Shadowbolts’ current record might contradict your opinion of her.”

“Current record,” the pegasus snorted. “They only had style in the early days and style alone only makes for a good-looking corpse.” He coughed into a hoof before continuing.

“As I was saying, Dash might be dangerous, but Spitfire was deadly. Everywhere I looked there was this racing flash of orange and yellow. She was everywhere. No taunting, no boasting, no dramatics; just barked orders and precise movement. Fire Streak and Lightning Streak couldn’t take to the skies for long without giving the zebras an opening to get to the captives, so they were fighting at a disadvantage. Ground combat was never something we practiced much. Flight was our best weapon against the zebras back in those days--back before they invented those weird talismans. Even with flight, the pirates might have driven us off, or worse, if it hadn’t been for her. At first we fought to diffuse the situation with non-lethal tactics, disabling strikes and such, but that wasn’t possible after the first casualty.”

“You mean the second one?”

“Misty was an accident,” Rapidfire growled back. “I don’t care what the report says. I care even less about whatever the government accepts as a casualty. She wasn’t a real victim of the attack that happened later on.” He pointed a hoof at Reggie. “Now Fleetfoot, that was a deliberate murder. You don’t snap somepony’s neck around until they can look down at their own spine by accident.”

Reggie took a small sip of his drink. It was warm. “The news articles never mentioned how the casualties died.”

Rapidfire frowned deeply and traced out the shape of a figure eight on the table. One of his rear hooves tapped against the floor in time with his hoof reaching the top and bottom of the figure. He stopped and looked up at Reggie through eyes glazed over by the fog of of the past.

“You ever held a dead body, kid?” Reggie shook his head. “Ever even seen death up close?”

“I’ve been to a few funerals. Open casket, even.”

Rapidfire resumed his tapping and tracing as he spoke. “Most death is natural. We all have to go once our time is up, and the natural ones are clean enough not to leave a stain in your heart. But the first time you see death that’s been caused by someone--a death that’s messy and unnatural--it sticks with you forever.”

“Are you okay talking about it?” Reggie reached out to Rapidfire with a sympathetic hoof but the pegasus snatched his own hoof away. His eyes refocused sharply on the unicorn.

“Fire Streak and Lightning Streak were the two closest to us when we rushed out of that hatch on the pirate ship. They had been sent to watch over the captives and were already engaged with Tiny. I saw Fleetfoot and Soarin take off and start hammering every striped body that came out into the open where they could get a good hit and run strike. Scourge and Blade appeared from somewhere and made to assist Tiny against the twins. As soon as Whiplash saw Blade, he went straight for him. That left Scourge and me to square off. I knew we were outnumbered but I could only spare an occasional glance to check on everypony else; fighting a zebra trained in close quarters is no easy business. If it weren’t for flight, I don’t think I could have taken him.” Rapidfire rolled his right shoulder and winced at the crackle of tendons.

“As it was, he took that from me before he died. Did you know the sound of a whip crack is the tip breaking the sound barrier? My wing figured that one out. During the fight I heard a lot of screaming and shouting in both Equestrian and Zebric, but I actually saw very little of it except for what was happening near me. Well, that and Spitfire. When she wasn’t trading blows with Wakku, she was everywhere at once in a blur of fire and fury. After Scourge went down from a four-hooved dive bomb to the skull, I helped Soarin from the decks of the ships however I could. Fleetfoot… well, like I said, necks aren’t supposed to twist around that far. At some point, before he went down, Tiny managed to throw off Fire Streak long enough to stomp Lightning Streak’s chest into pulp. And then there was Fire Streak.”

Rapidfire cleared his throat and shuddered. “I can’t tell you what that weird tattooed freak did to Fire Streak because I don’t really know what happened. None of us saw him until he was behind Fire Streak. There was a purple flash and...” Rapidfire swallowed hard. “Hide and bones. Nothing else. Like a dried piece of fruit except, it was my teammate. My friend.” He clenched his eyes shut. “I went after the zebra but I couldn’t find him. I couldn’t--” The aging pegasus just stopped talking and took deep breaths for almost a full minute.

“I’d say you were all lucky not to have come out of that worse off,” Reggie offered. “There was only one serious civilian injury during the fight, right?”

“Yeah.” Rapidfire opened his eyes. “We didn’t lose a single civilian during the fight that day.” He took a long swallow from his drink. “Killed almost every one of the pirates too. Wish we’d gotten there a couple of days sooner. We might have saved the captain.”

“Almost? Do you mean that you took prisoners and that was excluded from the public report too?”

Rapidfire shook his head slowly. “No prisoners. You have to understand that we didn’t really understand the zebras back then like we do now. Even in those days they had tricks up their stripes and codes of honor we knew nothing about.” He tilted his neck and cracked loose a few stiff joints. “I didn’t see him jump overboard, but I watched one of the pirates swim out far from both ships and just submerge himself. He never came back up. That tattooed one never showed up either. He just disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Reggie arched his brows.

“Searched both ships top to bottom, bow to stern. Nothing, not even any personal belongings that we could find. It was like he never existed.”

Reggie shuddered slightly in spite of the room’s warmth. “That’s… a little disturbing. What happened after the fight was over?”