• Published 17th Mar 2013
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Skyfall: Treason - Dusk Quill

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Chapter 19: Termination ♫

The first sign that something was terribly wrong was the plumes of black smoke billowing over the horizon. Before the carriage even got remotely near the Equestrian military base, Fleethoof could see the dark smoke against the early morning sky, like a beacon of dread and despair looming overhead. Even the dark tint of his sunglasses could not mask the marked sky. Everypony in the carriage watched the smoke rise higher and higher into the atmosphere, murmuring amongst themselves.

“Do you think we’re too late?” Sharp Shot asked morbidly. Fleethoof refused to entertain that thought.

“We don’t even know if the smoke is coming from the base,” Blue Shield pointed out hopefully, though doubt tainted his voice.

The second sign that something was terribly wrong came in the form of the earsplitting siren wailing in the distance. The ponies hadn’t noticed its presence before, but the closer they got, the sharper the siren became. The blaring alarm shattered the morning silence, demanding attention from all within earshot. It made Fleethoof’s stomach turn over, even though they were still out of sight. They were dreadfully unprepared for a full-scale battle if the base was under siege. They had not been given the opportunity to return to headquarters to rearm after their battle in Oxford, and everypony was functioning on minimal supplies.

The carriage rolled up the side of a rocky slope, in between a canyon. The route the Arabians had taken them was an old trade caravan path that cut directly through the desert and ran close to the base. Rather than taking a train back to Appleloosa and then another to FOB Sierra Alpha, the canyon pass proved to be much more efficient. The Arabians also proved to be incredibly swift on their hooves, a trait the captain was very thankful for.

“The base should be just up over this hill,” Valiant said, staring down at the map in his hooves. “We’ll be able to see what’s going on in a moment.”

The passengers all fell deathly silent as the carriage rolled up towards the crest of the hill. Fleethoof stared around at the dry, arid canyon walls on either side of them, listening to the siren whine off in the distance. He swallowed back a lump in his throat, focusing on his breathing to keep his nerves steady. It still amazed him how, even after all these years of experience, going into battle still racked his nerves.

The car rocked gently to and fro over the uneven terrain, getting steadily worse as it neared the top, jostling the ponies around inside. Fleethoof slowly closed his eyes, trying to think of anything else to soothe his mind. And then he felt the upward ascent end, and his eyes snapped open. His head shot out the window in a blur, staring down the other side of the hill.

The canyon opened up at the crest, widening to open flatlands of desert. Down below, a few hundred meters away, lay the large Equestrian base. Much to his fears, smoke rose from the structures, and fire could be seen burning through others. Faint gunfire could be made out below, and as he focused, Fleethoof could see little figures of ponies running rapidly back and forth.

There was no doubt about it. The base was under attack.

“Get us down there, now!” Fleethoof shouted to the horses pulling the carriage as he chambered the first round in his rifle. “Sierra Alpha’s under attack, colts. We’re going in.”

“Wait, let me out here,” Sharp Shot said. “I can shoot from up here.”

Fleethoof stared skeptically at the sniper. “Are you sure? It’s a hell of a way away.”

“Trust me, boss. I can do it.”

There was a moment of pause as the two stallions locked gazes. The captain nodded slowly. “Stop the carriage!”

The Arabians abruptly skidded to a halt. Giving a smile to his teammates, Sharp Shot kicked the door open and leapt out, his rifle slung across his back. He turned around and gave a casual salute to his friends.

“Don’t worry, colts. I got your backs!”

And then he took off, galloping along the side of the rocks and out of sight. The carriage immediately took off down towards the base again, the drivers pulling as fast as they could. Time was of the essence. Each second that slipped by could have been the difference between life and death for the soldiers locked in combat.

“Take us around the north side of the base,” Fleethoof called to their drivers. “And be careful! Malik will have our flanks if any of you get hurt!”

The carriage thundered down the rocky road towards the base, wobbling and swaying across the uneven terrain. Fleethoof had to hold onto the cushioned seats just to keep from tumbling around and over his teammates. Though they could no longer see the base directly due to the direction they were heading, the five ponies could hear the sounds of battle grow louder and louder with each passing second. Then, the carriage took a sharp right turn, sending the ponies sliding across the seats into the far wall of the coach. The purple silk screen flew open, revealing the high walls of the base almost perfectly parallel to the road. They had arrived.

But the carriage did not stop in the way Fleethoof had been anticipating. Out of nowhere, he heard a sharp whinny from one of the horses, and then the entire cabin lurched into the air and flipped. The ponies inside cried out and screamed as the coach slid across the hard ground on its side for a short distance before coming to rest. Then nothing happened.

His head still spinning from the wreck, Fleethoof slowly pulled himself up into a seated position. The back of his head was throbbing, and he was fairly sure he had hit it on something. Everypony else looked as disheveled as he felt, all four still sprawled out across the carriage’s wall—which had now become the floor.

“Status report,” Fleethoof ordered.

“I’m alive,” Valiant said.

Da, so am I.”

Blue Shield waved his hoof from his upside down position. Lightning Flash just gave a low groan.

“Are you colts all right? What happened?!”

“Yeah, we’re fine,” Fleethoof said into his radio. “A little banged up, but we’re good. We don’t know what happened. Can you see anything out there?”

Through the hefty walls of the coach, Fleethoof could hear the Arabians shouting to one another in their native tongue. Something suddenly impacted the side of the coach, and another whinny was heard. Then the door at what had become the roof opened up, and an Arabian horse looked down at the ponies in panic.

“Equestrians, you must move swiftly! We are under attack! There is a sniper—”

The Arabian never got the opportunity to finish his sentence. A bullet ripped through the front of his face, disfiguring him as his limp body slid down into the carriage. Everypony within recoiled from the corpse, even as the sounds of gunfire continued outside the safety of the cab.

“Alpha to Archangel, we have a hostile sniper opening fire on us from somewhere! We’re pinned, and need you to take him out!”

“Already on it, boss.”

Better make it snappy, Sharp, Fleethoof thought, clutching his weapon close to his chest as he counted each bullet that ricocheted off the toppled carriage, wondering if any of their escorts were still alive.

From his key position up on the ridgeline, Sharp Shot commanded a view over the entire battlefield. The unicorn lay prone across a little plateau, his rifle balanced perfectly against the rocky ground. The stallion focused on his breathing, maintaining a slow and even heart rate while he surveyed the scene down below.

To anypony on the base below, the sniper was invisible against the sand-colored canyon. The black uniform masked his blue coat, appearing only as a dark speck against a wall of beige and earthy browns. Through the scope perched on his weapon, the pony stared down at the carriage, toppled onto its side in the crash, and with bodies of dead or dying Saddle Arabian horses littering the ground around it. He had watched the crash happen in slow motion. One of the horses at the lead took a bullet to the head, and crumpled to the ground in a heap. His fall tugged his partner to the ground as well, and every Arabian behind them fell over their bodies. The carriage itself had continued to propel forward, bouncing over the forms of the fallen soldiers, and flipping, coming to rest where it presently lay.

For the longest time, Sharp Shot had feared that his teammates had been killed in the treacherous crash. Nopony stirred around the wreck. He watched when the Arabians began to fall one by one to unseen sniper fire, holding his breath in reactive terror. A sickening knot had twisted his stomach about. He saw one of the Arabians bravely climb atop of the carriage, leaning down into the door to check on Skyfall. He was killed instantaneously. And then everything was still.

When his captain’s call for support came through his radio, Sharp Shot has already been scanning the distant dunes, trying to triangulate where the shots were being taken from. The wide Arabian desert spanned all around the Equestrian base. There were a lot of places somepony could be shooting from.

Where are you, you son of a bitch? he thought.

There was too much space to cover. He needed a hint, a clue—something. Something that would help him pinpoint their would-be assassin’s location. Sharp Shot licked his sun-parched lips, almost tasting the dusty, flavorless sand on them. His eyes stung from the bright sunlight, and it made it difficult for him to focus for long periods of time. He would have to look away every so often, blink several times in rapid succession, and then quickly return to gazing at the crests of shimmering sand dunes through the high-powered scope.

And then another shot burst from somewhere outside of the base.

From his panoramic position, it was easy to judge where the sound had originated. Sharp Shot swiveled his rifle on its bipod mount, swinging the scope over the general location he had pinned the shot. It took him just a couple of moments to spot the dark-furred Re'emian lying prone across the sand dune, and a couple more to draw a bead on him.

The crosshairs within the sniper’s scope hovered over the pony’s torso, and lingered. Aim for center mass, Sharp Shot recited in his head. Go for the shots you can make. He estimated the distance—about six hundred meters by his guess. His horn illuminated as he magically fine-tuned the dials on his scope, zeroing in his weapon for the distance. He had made shots further than this before, and the pony had no cover to speak of.

Once satisfied with his calculations, Sharp Shot squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked against its mount and into his shoulder as the weapon recoiled. The bullet sailed straight from the barrel across nothing but air. Sharp watched through his scope as the bullet flew—and then impacted into the dune low, shy of his target. Sand flew up in a cloud of beige dust.

The sniper swore under his breath as he watched his target jerk back in shock, and then roll out of sight behind the dune. He had misjudged his distance. But at least he had displaced the sniper. It might not have been as good as a kill, but scaring him away meant clearing the route for Skyfall Team just as effectively.

“Boss, I displaced the sniper,” Sharp spoke into his headset, “You should be clear for the time being, but hurry.”

His message sent, Sharp Shot shifted his position on the hard ground in an attempt to get comfortable. He was going to be here for a little while, and if that sniper was stupid enough to come back, he’d be the first to know.

Only when Sharp Shot’s message came through their earpieces and the shooting outside had ceased did Fleethoof allow himself to breathe. He didn’t know if their sniper had killed the enemy or not—and if he had, why he didn’t confirm the kill—but clear was clear, and they could aid their brethren now.

Turning back to his ponies, the captain said, “We’re clear. Everypony out, now! Make for the base as fast as you can!”

With their only means of escape now situated above their heads, getting out of the carriage proved to be a task in itself. Cupcake became a makeshift stepstool for the ponies, who clambered onto the larger stallion’s back to hoist themselves out. Valiant braved the outside world first, flying out of the open door and into the bright, scorching sunlight. He flinched, half expecting a riot of bullets to riddle his body the moment he emerged. Nopony fired on him.

Encouraged by the safe passage of their teammate, the rest of Skyfall began to climb out one at a time, until Fleethoof and Valiant hoisted Cupcake out by his hooves. The ponies leapt down to the sand, racing off the moment their hooves touched the coarse earth. They were right alongside the outer wall of the base. The gatehouse was visible a short distance away, but out in the open, that distance might as well have been miles. Fleethoof felt like his legs were dead weight, slowing him down even though he ran with all the strength he could muster.

The gunfire on the other side of the thick walls began to increase in intensity and frequency. Whatever was happening, the ponies within were fighting tooth and nail for their lives. There was no time to spare. Time was up.

“Hurry!” Fleethoof shouted. He took to the air with Valiant, darting over the walls to give their immediate aid to the Equestrian force. The others were closer to the gate than they were. The others could catch up.

The sight inside the base was grimmer than Fleethoof dared to imagine. The oily black smoke had been coming from what looked like what used to be the barracks. He hoped everypony inside had gotten out, though the scent of burnt flesh and blood threatened to prove him wrong. Bodies lay strewn across the sand, the rich blood of his brothers and sisters seeping into the unforgiving sand. Death and gunpowder hung like a foul fog in the air.

The next two things Fleethoof noticed stunned and scared him. First was the group of Marines—unicorns, to be exact—pointing their weapons at their faces as they floated beside them in the air. The soldiers looked ready to blow them away, but upon recognition, their eyes widened, and their weapons lowered.

“Captain Fleethoof!” a Marine said, relief awash in her voice.

The second thing he noticed was the snap as the sniper’s bullet nicked his ear.

Sharp Shot felt the gunshot tighten the knot his stomach had twisted itself into. His heart dropped into his gut when he heard the distant pop and immediately feared the worst. His teammates—his friends—were down there, right in the open. They were the ones who would be dead because of his lousy shooting.

Swiveling around in place again, the stallion brought his rifle around to bear, scoping out the place he had seen the sharpshooter in previously. As he had expected, the pony was not there. The enemy sniper had enough common sense not to return to the same place he had nearly been killed in. But that left a lot of open desert for Sharp to cover.

The pony was breathing hard now, searching with dire urgency for his mark. He had to be somewhere he could see his friends. That only left a small window. Sharp was moving the scope so fast that the glittering crystalline sand reflecting the sun’s light looked like a kaleidoscope of gold in his eye. And then there, in amongst the swirling gold, was a blob of dark brown. Sharp came back around again, sweeping slower over the dune he had just passed. There, on the crest, lay the sniper.

But as he spotted his target, he saw the glint of pure white light next to the pony—too late.

Sharp Shot felt the rock beside him kick up into his shoulder before his mind even registered the sound of the snap or the muzzle flash he saw from his opponent’s weapon. The sniper had spotted him, too, and was trying to kill him before he was gotten. Sharp gnashed his teeth together hard enough to make his jaw ache. Salty sweat dampened his brow and dripped from his bangs. The combination of the oppressive heat and the stress of the firefight were taking a toll on his fortitude.

He drew in a slow deep breath and held it, counting the seconds that passed as he lined up the crosshairs with the Re'emian’s head. His lungs began to ache. He exhaled—slowly—letting the drawn in breath slide past his lips in a controlled stream. He was sure the other pony could see the light reflecting off his scope as well, but he didn’t care. The shooter had obviously seen him already, and had to know he was in the crosshairs too.

His last shot had fallen too low. Sharp Shot’s horn ignited in a magical amaranth aura again, readjusting and recomposing his scope once more. Then he let his hooves fall away from his rifle, resting on the baked earth that had become his bedrock. His magic enveloped the entire weapon, manipulating it with precise, delicate tilts and turns. He trusted his control of his magic with a shot this important more than he did his hooves.

The other sniper fired again. Sharp Shot watched as the other stallion’s rifle kicked back into his shoulder, and then heard the bullet snap high, just skimming past his head. He could almost feel the bead being drawn on his skull. Sharp could see the other sharpshooter pull the bolt back on his rifle, chambering his next shot. This next moment would have to count for everything. He had to either take the shot, or get moving right away to find a new roost fast.

He opted for the former.

Concentrating solely on the magic gripping his weapon, he held the gun perfectly steady. The crosshairs lay square on his enemy’s face. This was his last chance—no do-overs if he screwed this up. Whispering a hasty prayer to Celestia, Sharp Shot tightened his magic’s focus on the trigger, and depressed it.

The gun kicked back, breaking his magic’s grasp as it bucked into his shoulder again. Although he had fired his gun innumerous times, the recoil against his shoulder felt stronger than ever. He winced, and watched as the pony on the dune across the way disappeared in a mist of sand and dust. The cloud had formed exactly where he had been lying before, making it impossible to tell if he had hit his target or not.

Time stood still. Sharp licked his dry lips and listened to the drumming of his pulse in his ears as he waited—and waited. Slowly, the cloud began to dissipate, settling back to the earth once more. Sharp Shot could see the figure of the pony—silhouetted at first—become visible. The pony lay slumped across the sand, now darkening with his spilled blood. Although he couldn’t see where he had hit his enemy, Sharp could see the pool of red running thickly down the slope of the dune. He didn’t stir, and he didn’t move for retreat.

He sighed with relief and relished the rush of adrenaline in his veins, driven by the thumping beat of his heart. It made his chest ache, like a weight had suddenly been lifted off his back, and he could breathe again.

When he turned back to see the base, that weight returned once more.

Fleethoof tasted sand. It had a sort of coarse, grainy quality to it, and possessed the flavor akin to what he imagined eating chalk was like. It was something he could have happily gone his life without knowing. But when he felt the bullet break the skin on his ear, he just dropped like a rock. Survival instincts kicked in, and the first thing his mind screamed was: Ground! Now! His body had obeyed without resistance.

Now he could feel the stinging pain in his right ear, and the blood dripping down his cheek. It was little more than a thin trail, but it had been enough to stop his heart momentarily and scare him half to death. The Marines had also gotten as low to the ground as they could the second they heard the gunshot. Fleethoof glanced back over his shoulder in time to catch sight of the rest of his team rounding the corner at the gate, hugging the wall as they made for his position. Nopony had been hurt—well, hurt badly.

“Captain, are you okay?”

He simply nodded his head to the concerned Marine. He was fine. Getting back to his hooves and replacing the sunglasses perched on his nose, Fleethoof began to take a good, earnest look around. The base looked a mess. The soldiers had obviously been taken by surprise, and attacked from the inside. He silently cursed his decision not to take the train straight to the base. At least then they would have been present for the start of the fight.

We could also be dead by now…

Fleethoof did his best not to think that way. There was still a fight to wage and win. Taking a tight hold of his rifle, his eyes scanned the nearby buildings, looking for any signs of danger.

“What’s going on, Marine?” he asked.

“We’re under attack by a group of Re'emians—and two ponies we’ve never seen before. They’re wearing this… special armor of some kind.”

Ponies they hadn’t seen before. That had to be Union. Fleethoof’s anger flared exponentially. He could have prevented this.

“Where are these ponies?”

As if to answer his question, a burst of gunfire snapped sharply through the air towards the ponies. Fleethoof reflexively ducked his head, and broke for the nearest cover, which happened to be a low wall that looked like it was placed in the middle of the open area just for the sake of taking up space. He could see the muzzle flashes from behind a stack of crated supplies out of the corner of his eye. When he reached cover—a bullet narrowly missing him corrected him to if he reached cover—he would know where to shoot for.

Behind him, the other members of Skyfall began laying down suppressive fire at the boxes. More rounds flew through the air from another direction, catching the attention of the five ponies.

Valiant took command, and said, “Cupcake, Lightning, go flush ‘em out!”

The two ponies nodded briskly and began to give chase across the courtyard to the buildings the shots had come from. Valiant and the Marines covered the pursuing ponies from enemy fire until they were safely out of sight, and then Valiant ducked behind the side of the closest building. In their current situation, he and Blue Shield could see round the corner to the gate and across the courtyard. The Marines had taken shelter a few buildings down and were sporadically returning fire at the attacking Re'emians behind the crates. Fleethoof was still out in the open, and had just finished his run for the wall.

The Re'emians held their firefight with the entrenched Marines, hoping to drive them out while the Equestrians attempted the same strategy. From behind their cover, the aggressors began lobbing their limited supply of grenades over the top of the crates. Several landed harmlessly in the middle of the courtyard, and a couple well aimed ones bounced off the wall beside the Marines, or landed just shy of Fleethoof.

“Grenades! Take cover!”

A large explosion kicked dust and debris skywards, hailing down on the ponies’ heads. A stallion screamed in pain somewhere nearby. Bullets ripped through the air in all directions, blowing holes into the plastered adobe walls and buildings. Fleethoof dove over the low wall, narrowly dodging a burst of gunfire aimed in his direction. The pony’s sunglasses flew off his face, sweat dripping from his brow as he panted for breath. He could hear the bullets chipping away at his meager cover.

All around him, the sounds of combat echoed through the late morning. Waiting until the snaps of passing shots had disappeared, Fleethoof propped himself up on the wall, steadying his aim. Two enemies were taking cover behind boxes of supplies, opening fire on his soldiers. He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth and held it within his lungs, keeping his hooves steady as he took precise aim.

Four rounds popped from his rifle, striking one of the ponies in the shoulder and chest. He fell to the sandy ground and didn’t get up again. Just as he turned his aim to the next enemy, several shots peppered the wall beside his head again. Flinching, Fleethoof collapsed to the hot, coarse sand, crawling across the ground, ever careful to make sure he was pressed as close to his cover as he could be.

The fighting continued fiercely in the open area. With little cover to use, the combatants hunkered down and waited, only opening fire when they knew they were clear to. Crawling his way across the ground, Fleethoof slunk to the end of the wall and peered around the side. He could see the sniper, situated on a nearby roof, taking potshots at whoever was visible.

Bringing his rifle up, Fleethoof made sure to take his time with his aim. Ammo was running low, and he needed to make every shot count. He squeezed the trigger twice, both rounds fragmenting parts of the roof near the shooter. The pony turned to face him, and a loud, distant crack was heard. Before his eyes, Fleethoof watched the pony’s head rupture in a burst of red, and he fell off the roof to the ground below.

Fleethoof breathed a sigh of relief, thanking the Great Alicorn that Sharp Shot was such a remarkable marksman. Rising to his hooves again, he stepped cautiously out into the open, spotting the Marines from across the courtyard running to meet him halfway. The fighting on this side of the complex had died down, but gunshots could still be heard in another part nearby. His teammates were still meeting with some resistance.

“Hustle, Marines!” Fleethoof shouted. “Ponies are dying! Spread out and find—“

Fleethoof was cut off when a massive force suddenly crashed into his back, sending him sprawling face-first into the hard ground. His eardrums were suddenly assaulted by an ear-shattering burst of heavy gunfire from right above him, and he could hear stallions and mares screaming. Lifting his face, he felt his eyes dilate in horror. His Marines were getting gunned down with ruthless force, even as they returned fire. The small team didn’t last longer than a minute in the open to the hailstorm of death.

From his position, Fleethoof could hear somepony shouting his name. The next thing he knew, something was turning him over onto his back, and he was staring up into the blinding sun. Wincing and squinting to focus his vision, he tried desperately to identify his attacker.

The pony loomed over him. It was one of the two clad in heavy, bulky armor with a large weapon slung across their body. Through the visor, Fleethoof could see the pony’s face, glaring with nothing short of pure malice and resentment down at him.

He recognized those hateful eyes from the last time he had seen them. It was Lightning Strike.

Fleethoof reacted on instinct, lifting his rifle, pointing it at the pony’s chest point-blank, and fired. The bullets ricocheted off the armor, rebounding in various directions, and leaving its host completely unscathed. Undeterred, the captain kept firing and firing, until he heard the horrific click of an empty magazine. He stared pleadingly at his gun, begging for just one more round, while the pony above him grinned. His armor had just been scuffed.

Lightning Strike lifted his hoof and brought it down on Fleethoof’s chest with incredible force. All the air in Fleethoof’s lungs was knocked out at once, and try as he might, the stallion could not draw breath. He gasped sharply, blinding light flashing in front of his eyes as an extraordinary pain hit him like a wall. His hooves clambered and grasped desperately at his assailant’s leg, trying to fight him off as he struggled to breathe.

Groaning as the pressure and weight on his chest increased along with the pain, Fleethoof prayed somepony was still close enough to help him, even as black spots began to darken his vision. He gasped and coughed weakly, desperately trying to draw even one breath into his lungs. Staring helplessly up, Fleethoof could just struggle and watch as the barrel of Strike’s gun was aimed right at his forehead.

“Captain!”

Valiant’s scream broke the gut-wrenching silence the captain felt swept away in.

Bang!

Cupcake and Lightning Flash dashed as swiftly across the base as their legs could carry them. All the combat seemed to be coming from the other side of the structures, away from the open air spaces spanning most of the outer edges of the base. It made sense. Re'emians specialized in close quarter urban warfare, so utilizing the base’s own buildings would be like playing on a jungle gym for them. The foreign mercenaries were well in their own element—but so was Skyfall.

The pair of operators jumped over a low wall connecting two structures and dashed across a wide, dusty road separating the blocks of buildings. The gunfire was close now—closer than it had ever been. Cupcake let loose a shout as he hurled his body into the closest door, smashing it inward with a spray of cheap wood and splinters. The building appeared to be some sort of storage space. Crates lined the walls of the musty room, and dust floated visibly in the air through window light. Further down in the building, the sounds of ponies shouting and gunfire could be distinguished.

Cupcake took the lead as the two ponies worked their way across the cramped room to the only other door. Though it was closed, voices could be heard clear as day on the other side. Ever so slowly to avoid detection, Cupcake grasped the handle and pulled the door open a crack while his partner peered inside.

“Three hostiles,” Flash said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Cupcake nodded. “Da. Are you also doing the thinking that I am thinking?”

Lightning Flash, still often befuddled by the Northern pony’s mannerisms and speech patterns, could merely furrow his brow. He watched the larger stallion grab a hoof grenade from his vest, a gleefully dark smile on his face. Flash’s mind clicked.

“On three.” The ponies each held a grenade. Cupcake held tight to the door handle, just waiting for the right moment. “One… two… three!”

Cupcake practically tore the door off its hinges. Wasting no time, the two soldiers hurled their explosives through the portal and slammed the door shut again. There was a moment of lull in the gunfire, followed by hurried shouting in another tongue, and a duo of explosions. The door opened once more, and Flash was running in like a bat out of hell.

The room was still hazy from the smoke of the detonations, and several of the boxes were charred on the outside. Two Re'emians lay in sight: one grotesquely sprawled across the ground, nearly burnt on every part of his mangled body. He had caught the worst of it. The second lay against the far wall, screaming as he stared down at the gristly mess his rear legs had become. The third had vanished.

Flash approached the fallen mercenary, gun raised, trying his best to tune out the horrific noises the injured pony was making. They didn’t sound natural for any living creature to utter. He spared the stallion his suffering with a quick shot through his brain.

“Lightning, look out!”

Cupcake’s words were uttered a little too late, as the next thing he knew, his face was being slammed against the wall, hard enough to make his ears ring. For a moment, his world spun, and then he was being turned around, like he was in the middle of a waltz he hadn’t remembered starting.

Cupcake watched in shock as the third Re'emian, the one that had disappeared, leapt out behind a crate at his teammate. Before he could lift his gun, the mercenary had Lightning Flash dazed and was using him as a shield, protecting him from the massive gun the bulky stallion was carrying.

“Be surrendering, Re'emian!” Cupcake demanded. “There is no hoping to be surviving this!”

“Surviving? Ha! We are martyrs, Equestrian! With our deaths, we shall slay the foreign legion here and win our war.”

Lightning Flash struggled against the hoof around his neck. “Why? What do you gain by killing your own allies?”

“With Equestria’s force gone, Saddle Arabia’s defenses will be crippled. Re'em will be able to claim the upper hoof, and drive our army like a dagger into the heart of our enemy unopposed. All it took was a little help from a mutual benefactor.”

“You mean Glider, the pegasus? He’s deranged! You can’t believe a word he says!”

The Re'emian was unfazed. “All the same, his war is ours as well. And that is why you will all die.”

The door at the other end of the room burst open, and half a dozen Royal Guards charged into the room, taking the hostile pony by surprise. Slipping a hoof free, Lightning Flash brought his leg into his captor’s stomach, listening to the satisfying oof it brought from him. The pony keeled slightly, and Flash threw his head backwards, feeling and hearing his snout smash against the back of his skull. The mercenary cried out and reeled backwards, giving Lightning Flash the opening he needed to drop to the ground, just as Cupcake and the soldiers unleashed an unforgiving wall of lead into him.

Lightning Flash only got back up again once he was sure the shooting had ended. He looked to his saviors, and saw the same look of relief on their faces as he was sure he wore.

“Thank Celestia you came when you did,” said a soldier, wiping his sweat-drenched mane.

Flash chuckled weakly. “I could say the same. Thanks.” He looked around at the three bodies on the floor. “Was this all of them?”

“No, there’s still one big one walking around here somewhere.”

The two Skyfall operators exchanged a look. A big one? What did they mean by that? As if to answer their question, a looming shadow suddenly crossed in front of one of the windows, blocking out the light like an eclipse.

“It’s him! Get down!”

The ponies were on the ground a mere second before the glass window exploded inward in a flurry of bullets, poking holes in the walls and crates all around them. Splinters of wood, flecks of old paint, and shards of glass rained down on their heads like a blizzard of destruction. Flash’s heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest. He risked a glance up, watching as the tracer rounds arced and danced in the air above his head like a light show. It was deadly and terrifying and amazing at the same time.

The shooting stopped, and outside, the sound of sand giving way to heavy hooffalls broke the tense silence.

Cupcake was up on his hooves as soon as the bullets stopped flying. “We are leaving,” he declared, and began setting up a charge on the wall beside the door. Everypony got up and began filing back out through the only other way, while the demolitionist set up his work. He very carefully ran a trip wire across the length of the open door, making sure it was set tight before nodding in approval of his own handiwork.

That was when he saw the behemoth. The dark armored figure rounded the corner of the hallway and stared at him with piercing green eyes. Cupcake locked gazes with the creature, and saw nothing but revile and bloodlust in its gaze. That was when he realized he recognized the pony.

“Glider…”

The pegasus didn’t answer him, but simply turned and raised his gun. Cupcake took off in a flash, rushing out after his comrades. With a snarl, Glider chased after the pony, practically sprinting through the doorway.

Cupcake dove out of the store building just as the centermost segment went up in flames. The resulting explosion blew chunks of the wall out, sending debris showering down across the road and nearby courtyard. He glanced back with a triumphant smile. There was no way anything could have survived an explosion that close in proximity. The rest of the soldiers began to gather around him, breathing sighs of relief and congratulating each other’s acts of valor.

The celebration was short-lived when Glider emerged in the doorway, his armor blackened and charred. The glass of his visor was smashed, and chunks of his armor looked badly damaged or missing—but he was very much still alive. His bloodshot eyes smoldered with bitterness and a lust for revenge, and with his visor missing, everypony could hear his hard, raspy breathing. Glider looked like something out of a nightmare.

“Move!” Cupcake said urgently. Everypony scattered as Glider brought his weapon to bear, firing blindly around the area at everything that moved. Cupcake dove right, hitting the sand hard and looking up. Glider was following the other soldiers with his aim, turning away from him. That was when he saw a large plate of armor missing from the back of the pegasus’ suit, exposing the Kevlar beneath.

Lightning Flash darted in zigzag patterns across the road, hoping to draw Glider’s fire away from his friends. It worked, but only once he got enough courage to take a couple daring shots at the enemy. The bullets deflected harmlessly off his suit, but it had been enough to catch the attention of the rabidly pissed off pony. Glider’s shots were trained and fast, but Flash’s hooves were faster. He said a silent prayer for his talent, and bolted aimlessly away from the gunfire.

Glider, for all his meticulous planning, had not anticipated Skyfall Team arriving so soon. He had been sure they were well ahead of the spec ops soldiers. But it did not matter—they were nothing more than a minor inconvenience, like flies that simply needed to be swatted away. But this speedy one was getting to be annoying, and was making him chew through his ammo faster than he would have liked. He could no longer hear anymore fighting on any part of the base. The Re'emians must have all been dead—maybe even Lightning Strike too—but he couldn’t bring himself to care. They were expendable pawns anyway.

Bang!

The shot rang out like a bell. Fleethoof was entirely certain that it had been the knell declaring his death to the world, but darkness never enveloped him. Instead, bright light did as Lightning Strike shifted his position. He was looking at something further away. Fleethoof turned his gaze and saw another group of Marines taking positions behind cover, opening fire on the juggernaut pinning him to the sand.

He recognized the pony that had fired the first shot. It was that corporal from Canterlot—the one who had looked after Dasher—Fire Wave. Lightning Strike scowled and fired at the ponies, forcing them back behind their cover. The distraction had saved his life, and now Fleethoof was going to return the favor. He dropped his hoof from Strike’s leg, desperately patting at his side to try and find his weapon. Strike saw Fleethoof’s moments, and looked back down at the operator on the ground.

Another gunshot was heard, this one much further away. It cracked through the air, and Strike’s head snapped comically to the side, as if somepony had thrown a rock at him. It had been enough to make him cry out and tumble off the fallen captain, stumbling as he tried to recover his equilibrium. Fleethoof drew his pistol—the Nightingale—and prayed that the armor didn’t stop these too. He squeezed the trigger twice, putting two rounds into Strike’s side.

Lightning Strike gave a spasm and shrieked like a banshee. The bullets ripped straight through the plated armor like it was nothing more than a decorative saddle, completely unhindered. Fleethoof bit his lip and winced, watching the pony writhe and tear at his side and all but rip the visor from his helmet. He had not meant to harm him so badly, especially since he had made a vow to Nightflash. Try to save him. He would if he could. This was not necessarily the greatest start to diplomacy…

“Hold fire! Hold!”

Much to his surprised delight, the Marines obeyed the order. They stood at the edge of the battlefield, weapons trained on the imposing force facing off with their officer.

“Lightning Strike, listen to me!” Fleethoof said, stowing his gun and reaching for the pegasus, now doubled over in pain. “You don’t have to do this. We’re here to help you and take you home. Everypony’s been worried about you.”

“Like hell you’re worried about me! You never gave a shit about us—any of us!” Lightning Strike’s words carried more venom than a rattlesnake. “Everything we did was never good enough for you. Never! We were the babies, the screw-ups, the mistakes… All you ever wanted to see us do was walk out the door!”

Fleethoof swallowed back a lump in his throat and tried again. “I was wrong, Sergeant. I was wrong, and I’m sorry. I was worried about you and your friends. I let my concern for your safety overcome my trust in you.” Lightning Strike’s expression softened, though just slightly. “You’re a good soldier, Lightning Strike. Don’t let Glider corrupt you!”

Something in Lightning Strike’s eyes snapped. “Don’t you dare talk about Glider like that! He was the only one who ever believed in us—who ever supported me! He’s the one who showed me how corrupt Equestria really is, and opened my eyes to how you really were. He didn’t corrupt me. He liberated me!”

“Lightning Strike, Glider is in the employ of your enemy, Chitin,” said Fleethoof, trying to keep his voice as even and gentle as possible. “He’s an evil creature bent on bringing you down with him at his master’s bidding.”

“That’s not true! Glider is my friend!”

“He betrayed your trust and deceived us all. He’s been bringing Union down from the start.”

“You’re lying!”

The Marines and other operators of Skyfall stood off to the side, their weapons trained on their enemy as Fleethoof confronted him. They waited patiently, watching to see how the exchange would play out. Neither side seemed willing to back down.

“Lightning Strike, listen to me—that’s an order!” Fleethoof all but shouted.

“No! I’m sick and tired of listening to you put us down when all we’ve done is try to be like you! All you ever do is deride our efforts and—“

“Glider killed Harp Strings!”

Stillness overtook the base. Somewhere across the way, an explosion went off. It didn’t even draw the briefest of gazes from the captain. Lightning Strike stared at Fleethoof, scrutinizing his words. He knew Lightning Strike had been close to Harp Strings, and hoped such a revelation would bring him back to their side of them fight. In his eyes, Fleethoof could see the inner turmoil—the struggle to accept and comprehend that the pony he had put his faith in had murdered his teammate.

“You’re lying… Glider wouldn’t— You’re lying…”

“Look around, Lightning! Look at where you are!” Fleethoof swept a hoof dramatically around the war-torn base. He could see Lightning Strike’s eyes follow his movements, strafing across the burnt and damaged buildings, and the bodies half buried in the sand. “This is what putting your trust in a traitor has brought you! This is where your faith in the wrong pony leads! Is this where you wanted to end up?!”

“Enough!”

Lightning Strike pounded his hooves down so hard, it kicked up a thin cloud of dust around his legs. The Marines tensed again, hooves flexing on the triggers of their weapons. Fleethoof tensed, his muscles flexing beneath his skin, but stood his ground. Strike glared daggers into the captain, snorting through the visor in his helmet.

“I don’t believe a word you say! You’re lying, trying to get in my head!” he accused aggressively, venom spewing in every syllable spoken. “Glider told me about you, Captain Fleethoof—about all your tricks and secrets to ruin us. I’m not buying it!”

Fleethoof could feel the hope slipping away from him. “Sergeant, please—“

“No! I’ve had enough of you, and Spitfire, and the princesses, and all of you Celestia damned ponies putting us down and treating us like nothing! We were just as powerful as you, and now we’re even better. And I’m gonna prove it!”

Subconsciously, Fleethoof was aware of the threat in Lightning Strike’s voice. He was aware of the stallion lifting his gun, aiming down the sights at him. But he had no more moves to make. They were standing in the middle of an open courtyard, with no substantial cover to speak of. His gun remained empty, awaiting a reload that had yet to come—not that it would make a difference against the armored foe. Fleethoof was stuck in a checkmate position with nothing to do and no words to say. Lightning Strike was lost—and now, so was he.

And then Fleethoof felt a force take him to the ground. A weight pinned him down to the safety of the sand below, and a click and a pop filled his vision with thick smoke. Somepony had deployed a smoke grenade. Bullets flew through the smokescreen blindly, soaring too high over his head to be anywhere near accurate. He watched them disperse the dense fog, and got a look at his savior.

Fire Wave was keeping his head low, clambering back to his hooves. “Get up! Come on, get up, Captain!”

Fleethoof crawled through the smoke laid down by the Marines, following the corporal blindly out of the clouds of smoke and dust. Once they broke free, Fleethoof got a good look at the situation. They were almost to the safety of the buildings. The Marines and Skyfall Team had begun opening fire into the smoke again, which by now had fully enveloped Lightning Strike, making the pony completely invisible.

The two soldiers made a mad dash for the shadows and dove behind cover, taking better positions for the inevitable fight. Fleethoof pressed his back flat against the adobe walls of the structures, watching the smoke dissipate into nothing. The nightmarishly dressed pony stood tall, leering at the soldiers hiding by the buildings. His movements were slowed by the heavy armor, making each stride look more like the cool, calculated efforts of a predator.

“Take him down!” The order was the most basic Fleethoof could give a soldier. Kill. Anything that had once been Lightning Strike had died, murdered by the poison of Glider’s agenda. He was a shell of the honorable pony he had once been, bowing to his master’s deadly bidding. That shell had to be broken.

Gunfire was a sound that had become as familiar to the captain as his alarm clock every morning—yet, even now, it seemed to deafen him as they shot at their own brother, fallen from grace. Fleethoof, himself, struggled to focus as he jammed a fresh magazine into his gun, working solely on memorized actions.

Lightning Strike had finished his rotation, and was shooting at the Marines at the far building. Somepony threw up a shield of pure magic. The bullets bounced harmlessly off the bright yellow force field, effectively ending both sides of combat. No bullet, friendly or foe, could pass them, leaving those soldiers safe, but temporarily incapacitated.

Fleethoof pulled the action back on his rifle, chambering the first round. Beside him, he heard Fire Wave mimic his actions. The two ponies drew down on Strike at the same time, but only one fired freely. Fleethoof’s hoof lingered on the trigger, refusing to budge. His sights were trained on the traitor. He had a clear shot.

But he could not shoot. His heart wrenched against his ribcage. He had made a promise to try and save Lightning Strike, and he was going to give it his all. Fleethoof was not about to give up yet. After all, this was the pony he had rescued and tried to spare in the past. This was the same pony that was pointing a gun at him now—wait…

Fleethoof’s body worked where his brain had failed to react. He swung back behind the side of the building just a dozen rounds chipped away at the corner he had just been standing beside. Fire Wave flinched and ducked further down the alley, holding his helmet to his head with a free hoof.

“Fuck! He doesn’t give up! How are we supposed to kill a pony we can’t even hit?!”

Fire Wave’s question was one the captain had been pondering from the moment he saw Lightning Strike’s new outfit. Their bullets did literally nothing to it.

“We’re going to have to get around that armor somehow…”

Fire Wave chuckled and shook his head. “You make it sound easy.”

A distant crack snapped through the air, and Lightning Strike’s gunfire ceased momentarily. Fleethoof took the lull in the shooting to look around the corner again. The pegasus was staggering, as if something had just hit him. Sharp Shot’s rounds were obviously still felt, even if they hadn’t pierced his armor.

“Frags out!”

The cries of the Marines from down the way caught the operator’s attention. He watched as two hoof grenades arced through the air, bouncing across the ground and coming to rest a few feet away from the recovering hostile. They both exploded in sync, and Lightning Strike cried out as he was thrown backwards.

“Cover me!” Fleethoof called back to Fire Wave, and flew out into the open without waiting for a response. He soared through the air and came crashing down onto Strike, driving his hooves into the pony’s chest as he tried to get back up. Lightning Strike grunted as he was knocked back down, snarling up at the captain like a feral beast.

In the bright Arabian sunlight, Fleethoof’s knife gleamed with a deadly blue sheen as he slid it effortlessly from its sheath on his vest. Strike’s eyes widened, and he tried to stop Fleethoof’s attack. His armor made him much too slow. Fleethoof’s hoof thrust like a sword down into the pony’s chest, driving his blade in between the plates of armor and sinking through the Kevlar meshing it all together. Although it did not go very deep, the blade definitely tore through the material. Fleethoof knew how to win.

Lightning Strike growled out and shot upright, smacking his head against Fleethoof’s. The hard material of the helmet hit him with such force, Fleethoof felt the balance leave his body. He collapsed backwards, cross-eyed and dazed, while Strike lumbered back up to a stand. He pulled the knife from his armor and stared down at the stallion beneath him. He raised his leg up, the knife pointed downward like a spear.

Fleethoof saw the glint of blued metal, and his mind began to work again. He kicked off of the ground with his hind legs, rolling out of the way just in time. The blade flew straight down, embedding into the sand where he had been laying just moments before.

He shouted back to his team, “Blue Shield! Scalpels!”

The captain’s request had initially confused the medic. Why would he need his medical tools? Then he saw the damage Fleethoof’s knife had done to his enemy’s armor, and recognized the strategy. He hurriedly sorted through his saddlebags with his magic, producing a finely sharpened scalpel, the blade shining wickedly in the morning light.

Fleethoof faced off with Lightning Strike. The two ponies circled one another like wolves, waiting for the other to make a move and sizing each other up. It was Fleethoof who moved first, kicking off the ground and rushing his opponent. Strike swung at him, but the agile captain easily ducked his slow attack. Up close, Fleethoof brought his hoof as hard as he could into Strike’s face—and yelped in pain the moment he made contact with the solid helmet. A sharp pain shot up his leg. He stumbled back a step, gritting his teeth hard to keep from yelling any more.

Lightning Strike wasted no time, using Fleethoof’s pain as an opening. He clocked the operator across the jaw once, then twice, sending him spinning. A hard buck to his back knocked him to the ground again. Fleethoof almost screamed when he felt the blow to his back, just below his wings, sending fiery needles of agony rippling up his spine. A shadow loomed over him. Fleethoof glanced over his shoulder, seeing Lightning Strike poised to stomp down on his body.

He saw the attack coming. He knew he should move—that he had to get out of the way. His body was racked with too much pain to respond with its usual reflexes. Fleethoof closed his eyes, waiting for the unavoidable surge of fresh pain to hit his body. It never came. Instead, he heard a howl from above, and opened his eyes again to see Strike flailing backwards. At first, he didn’t understand—until he looked down at his body. A dark teal aura had surrounded his body. He saw the unicorn Marine off to the side, casting the spell on him. He had shielded him from Lightning Strike’s attack.

As Strike tried to right himself again, he felt something hit his side, and then his armor began to go slack. His eyes immediately turned downward, spotting a long, thin tear running up along the side of his suit, cut neatly between the reinforced plates with expert precision. That was when he noticed the scalpel swing like a scythe through the air, narrowly missing his jugular.

He backpedaled a few steps and turned his gaze between his opponents: Fleethoof and the Skyfall medic. Blue Shield flipped his scalpel in the air, held in perpetual levitation with his magic. Snorting, Lightning Strike uttered a guttural battle cry, produced his own knife, and rushed into the fray.

Taking advantage of Glider’s momentary state of distraction, Cupcake clambered back to his hooves and let loose a roar as he threw himself at the juggernaut. Even with his hefty armor, Glider was nearly knocked off his hooves by the force of the muscled stallion, and struggled to fight him off his back. His attack worked, though, and Glider’s shooting stopped. Cupcake decided to push his luck even further. He drew his knife and prayed that Quarter Master had not over exaggerated its sharpness, and then drove it into the exposed patch of armor as hard as he could.

The blade pierced the Kevlar slowly, but Cupcake’s brute strength was enough to slide it in to the hilt. Glider fought for the first moment, then cried and screamed as the knife penetrated deeper and deeper. The suit must have been close to his skin for him to get the blade deep enough to where it actually got the pony within. Fighting even harder, Glider spun around and flung the operator from his back mercilessly, sending him tumbling across the sand.

This is his weakness, Cupcake realized. The revelation renewed his vigor, and rising with determination, he began looking for a weapon to effectively use. Bullets, unless they were a heavy caliber, would do little to penetrate the Kevlar. The Guard would not be equipped to handle this foe. There had to be another way…

And then he saw it. There, behind the stumbling Glider, where his charge had blown a hole in the wall of the building. A long, jagged piece of metal, most likely used for the frame of the structure, was jutting dangerously out like a spear. Cupcake grinned and thought, Da, that will do.

“Flash, distract him!” Cupcake ordered.

Lightning Flash nodded, and returned to darting and dancing around the enraged pegasus. Glider, unable to reach to knife in his lower back, growled like a feral animal, and turned his attention on the soldier.

“Equestria’s Guard will fall!” Glider declared, shooting his gun unabated and inaccurately. “You cannot stop it! My master will overthrow you all!”

“Your master is a pile of ashes in the snow!” Lightning Flash said. Glider froze in place. “Chitin is dead, Glider. We burned him in Oxford.”

Glider’s teeth gnashed together. “No… No, you lie!”

“We did—and we know what you really are, Glider. You’re no pony.”

Cupcake added, “We burn bugs like cheap wood for fireplace.”

Glider could feel the relentless rage welling up inside of him. His hooves trembled on his gun as he grasped it, and a red filter overtook everything he saw. He had felt disconnected from his hive—from his brothers and sisters and master—but he had assumed it had been because of the distance. Now he knew: Skyfall had murdered them all.

“You pony bastards!” Glider’s scream of anger and agony tore across the base, and served as a prelude to the explosive burst of torrential gunfire he let loose at his enemies.

Lightning Flash began running again, running as fast as his legs would carry him. He leapt over bodies and debris and anything else in his way, keeping Glider’s attention held firmly on him.

In amidst the chaos, Cupcake shot straight at Glider like an arrow, charging him like a bull. He shoved his shoulders beneath the pony’s torso and all but lifted him up, throwing him back several feet with a battle cry. Glider cried out in surprise as he was thrown to the ground. He rolled back to his hooves—and saw a metal cylinder at his feet. Before he could react, the canister exploded in a blinding burst of pure, white light, blocking out his entire vision.

Blinded, Glider screeched and stumbled around aimlessly. Both Cupcake and Lightning Flash rushed in, along with a pair of Guards, and pounded on him. Their attacks knocked Glider back more and more, sending him staggering back closer and closer to where the ponies wanted him. Still blinded, but unable to deal with anymore, Glider shouted out and shot blindly anywhere and everywhere. The ponies dove for cover, save for Cupcake, who lay on the ground, as Glider shot, and shot, and shot, until his gun ran empty.

The second the weapon clicked to mark an empty chamber, Cupcake lunged like a tiger and delivered a vicious uppercut to Glider’s chin. Glider reeled backwards, just a couple feet away from death. Cupcake’s assault never let up. His hooves made contact again and again, striking Glider’s face, chest, and stomach alternatively. Hitting the creature's armor felt like punching a wall, but the sergeant's combination of attacks never relented. A hard kick to his enemy’s chest with all the force Cupcake could muster put him right on the tip of the dagger. And then, with one final punch to the chest with all his strength, he send Glider backwards onto the metal.

The sharp beam pierced the Kevlar like it was made of cotton. Glider gasped sharply and his wild eyes went wide. A look of terror and confusion crossed his face. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but suddenly there was something very solid and very painful taking residence inside his chest cavity, just below his lungs. He could feel it every time he tried to breathe. Another coup de grace from Cupcake sent him sliding further down the beam, and Glider yelled as he felt the solidness force its way through his muscle and tissue. A third blow popped the pointed end of the metal out the front of his chest and stabbing through his armor.

Now completely impaled on the spike, Glider could tell one of his lungs had been punctured and he was bleeding out internally. Every breath he took burned and sent a fiery pain coursing through his body. His breathing came out shallow and wheezy. A glance down and he saw the metal protruding from his torso, coated in his own bluish blood. The strength felt literally sapped from every muscle, and though he could not believe it, Glider knew he was dying.

The armor that had once felt so protective instantly felt oppressive and constricting on his body. He couldn’t breathe with his helmet on. No, wait—he couldn’t breathe because of the beam in his lungs. That was right. Thoughts became hard to maintain, and distant memories began to fade, along with his vision. His heartbeat had slowed dramatically, each weak thump pumping more of his precious blood out of his veins and pooling it somewhere in his torso.

Cupcake stood before the dying creature, breathing hard to catch his breath. Lightning Flash and the other soldiers gathered around cautiously, watching as Glider just lay there, his legs hanging limply at his sides. He was suspended in midair by the spike through his body, holding him like a ragdoll. It was a truly gruesome sight, even for the soldiers.

After exchanging a look between his teammate and the Guards, Cupcake stepped up to his enemy and removed his helmet. Glider’s mane fell messily around his face, which had rapidly drained of color. His eyes looked glassy and distant, like he was staring at something nopony could see. His breathing was labored and excruciating to the point where the operator could feel his own chest tighten in sympathy.

Glider’s vision had started to darken for the final time, and he knew he would be gone soon. He coughed weakly, and felt something wet spill from his mouth. He could tell the sun and wind were against his skin now, though he felt nothing. Even the pain had subsided. He could see Cupcake, just barely on the periphery of his blurring vision.

He saw the gun. He heard the click. And then Glider thought no more.

Fleethoof grunted as he was knocked backwards onto the sandy ground again. Fighting Lightning Strike was not proving to be an easy feat. Whenever they would separate, the soldiers on the sidelines would open fire, keeping him at bay while the Skyfall operators recovered. They had moved in closer as the fight wore on, tightening the circle around the standoff. Then they would clash again, exchange a few blows, and repeat the process all over again. Since the initial attack, they had been unable to get close to Strike again. He was playing defensively, waiting for one of them to leave themselves open before making his move.

On several occasions, either Blue Shield or one of the unicorns watching the fight had saved Fleethoof from harm. Whenever Strike began to pummel him, or get a decent momentum build up, they would throw a shield around the pony, deflecting the attacks back at the aggressor. Both parties were starting to show fatigue. In the sweltering heat, the prolonged fighting was taking its toll—especially on Strike, confined within his suit of armor.

The three combatants were breathing heavily, their chests rising and falling with each labored breath. Fleethoof could feel the sweat rolling in beads down his face, and through the visor, he saw Lightning Strike’s face was just as damp with perspiration as his felt. Something was going to give.

Fleethoof made a dive for Lightning Strike again, sliding across the sandy ground beneath the pony. His hooves kicked Strike’s legs out from under him, toppling the pony to his back. Blue Shield made his move, lunging forward and leaping onto the downed foe. Lightning Strike kicked his legs out, intercepting the medic and throwing him backwards away from him. Fleethoof drew his second pistol, firing several rounds at the pony point-blank. The bullets hit the armor harmlessly while Strike lashed out with a leg, sweeping Fleethoof’s legs out from underneath him.

The captain hit the ground hard as Lightning Strike towered over him. He aimed his gun up at the pony, only to have the weapon knocked from his grasp by another kick. Strike growled angrily as he brought his hoof down on the fallen pony again. Fleethoof managed to grab his enemy’s leg this time, unbalancing the fighter, and sweeping his leg out, mimicking the move that had downed him. Lightning Strike hit the ground as Fleethoof rolled away, putting some distance between them. He and Blue Shield stood their ground as Strike slowly got up again, breathing hard and hissing beneath his breath.

“Blue,” he muttered under his breath, barely catching his teammate’s attention. “Go wide. I’ve got this.”

Blue Shield responded with a quick twirl of his scalpel. The two ponies separated, strafing around either side of the traitorous sergeant. Strike watched them closely, trying to gauge who was the greater threat to him. Fleethoof answered his question, feigning a lunge at him from the side. Strike recoiled backwards, and felt the sting of the doctor’s blade nick his ear. Another close miss. He spun on his hooves, gun up, and fired a volley at Blue Shield. Shield, as his name implied, already had his defenses up in the form of a protective golden bubble of magic. The bullets disintegrated on impact, leaving him completely unharmed.

In the next moment, Strike felt a pressure break through the armor on his side, and heard Fleethoof grunt from behind him. He tried to look over his shoulder, but the bulky armor restricted his movements. He could feel and sense the captain behind him, but could not reach him. Fleethoof grunted again as he ripped the blade through a small segment of armor, cutting away a chunk from the suit. Lightning Strike turned again, bringing his hoof around as he did, and landing a blow in the center of Fleethoof’s chest. He gasped as the air was knocked form his lungs, and stumbled back, fighting to remain standing this time.

This fight has to end now, he thought. Fleethoof drew his pistol, and barely lifted it before Strike was on him again, gripping his hoof tightly in his and twisting. Fleethoof gave a sharp cry as every pain receptor in his leg fired, and his gun dropped to the ground. Strike kicked it away from them, and brought a hoof down hard across his jaw. Fleethoof saw spots and tasted blood.

The far off snap of a sniper’s shot was heard again. This time, Fleethoof actually saw the sparks as the bullet ricocheted off Lightning Strike’s helmet, jerking the pony’s head back sharply. He groaned in pain and dropped the captain from his grasp, wobbling in place as his equilibrium was all but destroyed. Blue Shield took the window of opportunity, ran up, and leapt onto his enemy’s back, wrapping his hooves around the juggernaut’s neck for balance.

As soon as he had mounted Lightning Strike, the pony began to buck him like a rodeo bull, trying to throw the medic from his body. Gnashing his teeth while clinging on for life, Blue Shield focused his magic, and brought the scalpel back down across Strike’s side. The exceedingly sharp blade sliced through the straps and material binding the armor together, cutting straight down the pony’s side uninterrupted. Just as the blade reached the end, Lightning Strike gave a particularly strong buck forward, dislodging the medic, and then bucking him off with a swift kick from his back legs. Blue Shield shouted as he flew through the air and crashed a short distance away, sprawled out across the ground.

Fleethoof steadied himself again, spitting the mouthful of blood out. He had watched Blue Shield’s brave efforts, and saw the results. The left side of Lightning Strike’s armor now hung loosely by a few intact straps, leaving most of his left side exposed. The moral dilemma that had gutted Fleethoof’s confidence had never been more real. Time seemed to freeze for the captain as he watched his opportunity arise. He saw everything happen in slow motion: Blue Shield get thrown off, Lightning Strike turning to face him, and the flap of armor falling away in just the right position, exposing the left side of his torso.

The sun had never felt hotter. The wind, which until now had been nothing more than a gentle whisper, sounded like a gale in his ears. He became acutely aware of how the sand felt beneath his hooves, how deep and heavy his breathing was, and how the bead of sweat currently cutting a trail down his cheek felt. The hypersensitivity almost didn’t feel real. It was as if he had stumbled into a dream state, and none of this was actually happening. But it was—and he knew what he had to do.

Lightning Strike was gone.

Lightning Strike is gone…

He glanced down at the leather armguard wrapped tautly around his right foreleg. His other weapons had been scattered during the fight, dispersed across the desert floor. This was his chance, and this was his choice.

Lightning Strike is gone…

Somehow, saying it over and over in his mind made him feel less guilty about flexing his hoof. He felt strangely detached as he heard the subtle click of the bracer, and felt the hilt of the blade pop out into his hoof. He slid the knife out of its home, the blade shooting out with a louder snap of metal.

Lightning Strike is gone…

The deadly blue eyes of the fixated captain focused on his target. He caught a glimpse of Strike’s hoof moving for his gun. He was going to kill Blue Shield. No, he wasn’t. Fleethoof stepped forward, his hooves moving quickly, though every move felt like it took a year to complete. His muscles felt like lead: dead weight that slowed even his most determined effort. But he was getting closer, and before he knew it, he was upon the traitor.

Lightning Strike…

He thought he had said the name in his head, but then he saw the pony begin to turn around and realized his internal voice had actually been spoken aloud.

“Lightning Strike…”

The pony turned, facing the stallion that had suddenly moved up on him, closing the distance. Lightning Strike’s instant reflexive reaction was to spin and smack him away as fast as he could. Fleethoof proved to be faster. Before the pony could even turn towards him again, Fleethoof grabbed the pony’s shoulder in his free hoof, a fire blazing in his eyes and a dark scowl painting the expression on his face. And then Fleethoof struck, driving the blade through the damage in the armor and up into Strike’s flesh, right between his ribs.

Lightning Strike gave a breathless gasp as he felt the cold steel break through skin, muscle, and tissue. He hadn’t realized the devastation his armor had taken from Blue Shield’s onslaught—not until it was too late. The blade sunk through his body, piercing his lung and rupturing an artery. It had just narrowly missed his beating heart, but the damage had been done.

For a long moment neither pony moved. Fleethoof stood still, holding the pony still as his body began to tremble, tremors of shock running through him. Lightning Strike struggled to breathe, feeling very numb and cold all of a sudden, and unable to draw breath. His eyes were wide, trying to comprehend what was happening to him. His muscles felt weak, and he lost his grip on his weapon. A hoof shot out, grabbing onto Fleethoof for support as he choked without air, slowly collapsing first to his knees, and then to the ground.

He ended up on his back, staring up at the perfectly blue sky overhead. His helmet was stifling, making it impossible to breathe. Or maybe it was because his lung had been punctured. He struggled just to stay alive, twitching gently on the ground. He could no longer move his body. All the strength had been sapped from him, ebbing away—along with his life—in thick rivers of the blood now flowing from his chest.

The bright sunlight and clear sky were obscured. Fleethoof was standing over him, the bloody knife clutched tightly in his hoof as he stared down at the hapless pony. Strike was terrified, more so than he had ever been before. Captain Fleethoof would help him though. He had helped him before in the past.

He weakly reached a shaking hoof up towards the officer, trying to grab a hold of him. He ended up clutching only at air before his hoof hit the ground again. Fleethoof knelt down beside the pony, and slowly pulled his helmet off. The cool rush of air felt like paradise against his sweat-slicked fur. But even without the restrictions of the headgear, Lightning Strike still couldn’t breathe.

“Captain…” His words were rasped out, like he was drowning on land. “Captain… Help… I c-can’t…”

Fleethoof’s expression was caught somewhere between heart wrenching sympathy and bitter betrayal. He gently reached a hoof out, brushing the pony’s matted mane out of his face, and slowly shook his head. Lightning Strike was a truly pitiful sight. He was covered in sweat and sand, wearing half destroyed armor, and bleeding out like a pig in the desert. It was all his doing—and Fleethoof had never before felt such a mixture of victory and defeat.

“You took an oath, Lightning Strike… to defend Equestria from all threats, not to become one. To serve with nothing less than absolute loyalty and dedication, not abandon it in anger and spite…” Fleethoof paused, fighting back a wave of emotion. He could not discern if it was blistering anger or gut-wrenching sorrow. “You lost sight of what true loyalty meant. Loyalty doesn’t mean breaking down or giving up in the face of adversity. It doesn’t mean putting unwavering trust in somepony who would lead you astray. Loyalty means adhering to your code of ethics, and supporting your friends—your brothers and sisters—no matter what. You betrayed everypony, Lightning Strike… and in your fall from grace, you committed the worst crimes anypony could imagine. You commit treason and murder, Lightning Strike. You betrayed the Guard, you betrayed Equestria, and you betrayed yourself.”

Fleethoof’s eyes narrowed as he grimly muttered, “How dare you even call yourself a Guard.”

Something in Lightning Strike’s eyes broke, and tears ran down his face. He shuddered, stronger than before, and wheezed between sobs. Blue Shield made his way back over, inspecting the wound Fleethoof had inflicted. His horn illuminated, covering Strike momentarily in a golden aura, before disappearing. He had his diagnosis. The two stallions exchanged a look, and the medic slowly shook his head.

“I-I didn’t… I… G-Glider…” Lightning Strike coughed, spitting up blood across himself. The color was already starting to drain from his face. He didn’t have long for this world. “I… I lost… m-myself…”

Fleethoof snorted and narrowed his eyes further. “You killed countless innocents. You lost more than yourself.”

Strike closed him eyes. His chest rose and fell slowly, barely inflating at all with each struggling inhale. The expression on Lightning Strike’s face portrayed nothing short of horrendous pain and suffering. Finally, after what felt like an age, he opened his eyes slowly. At first, he simply stared at the sky, but then he let his head fall to the side, locking gazes with Fleethoof.

“P-P-Please… F-Forgive me… Fleethoof…”

A long moment of silence fell over the three ponies. Around them, the other soldiers had gradually gathered, listening in to the dying pony’s final words. Fleethoof stared at the wounded soldier for a while, contemplating his deathbed request. His eyes dropped, staring intensely at the ground, and then turned skyward, as if the answer would come from the heavens. He chewed on his lip, blinking back traces of furious moisture from the corners of his eyes.

This was his fellow soldier. This was also the pony that had betrayed them all.

“I can’t forgive you, Lightning Strike,” Fleethoof said somberly with a shake of his head. “What you did is beyond forgiveness.”

Lightning Strike’s expression broke again, and a fresh wave of tears burned down his cheeks and into the sand.

“Give me a gun.”

Fleethoof swallowed back a lump in his throat after he spoke. He glanced back at a tap on his shoulder. Valiant was standing beside him, passing his fallen handgun back to him. Gripping the weight of the Nightingale in his hoof felt like holding an iron brick. He checked the chamber and cocked the hammer as he stood over Lightning Strike. The pony had his eyes closed again, looking as if he had already passed, were it not for the very slight motion of his chest every now and then.

“I hope you had a reason for your treason, Lightning Strike—better than mere anger and corruption,” said Fleethoof, pointing the gun at his former comrade’s head. “And I hope Harp Strings and the Great Alicorn forgive your crimes and have mercy on your soul. Celestia knows, I don't.”

Lightning Strike opened his eyes again. Those red eyes collided with the steely blue gaze of the captain for a long, lingering moment. No forgiveness was given. No forgiveness was asked anymore. There was just understanding and apology.

Fleethoof pulled the trigger. In the silence, nothing had ever sounded louder.

Author's Note:

Shadow Ponies: http://youtu.be/3dXaJvM25pM