Chapter One: Gaining Traction

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8am, Narda 17th Watery, 1010ALB
Iron Girder huffed with frustration at the newspaper held in his field, prompting his wife to look up from her breakfast porridge. "What's the matter, darling?"

Iron huffed again and gestured at the paper. "Just listen to this: The War Office has released a statement that, as of late last night, Tall Tale is now under complete Changeling control. Fighting began for the city late on Curda and in spite of fierce resistance, by the next afternoon beachheads were secured on the southern banks of the river Tall by elements of the Heer as a firestorm devastated the city centre. Though the majority of the civilian population of the city was evacuated at the beginning of the moon and the War Office insists that the retreat of army units from the city was performed in good order and that severe losses have been inflicted on Changeling forces in the city, they admit that this has come at the cost of 'a lot of good mares'. Princess Celestia will address the nation on EBC at sunset tonight."

"It could be worse." Said the greying mare, though the reassurance rang hollow.

"Barely." Iron said, frustration hanging heavy in his tone.

There was a pause, then somewhat stiffly, Iron's wife rose and rounded the small table to rest her neck over his, mostly-red on black. "You can't keep carrying the world's weight on your back dear, one day it'll break."

"I know Quill, but the company needs me." Iron said wearily, this wasn't the first time they had had this conversation.

"I'm sure Rivet is ready to take over." Quill replied.

"She is," Iron agreed, "but you know that's not the problem, love. This isn't the time for a change in the wheelhouse. Besides, what would I do with myself?"

Quill looked conflicted for a moment. "I do worry you're working yourself into an early grave. Could you at least pass some of it off, please?"

Iron hesitated, but ultimately relented. "I'll see what I can do. I really ought to get going though, or I'll be late." He added, rising and giving Darting Quill a farewell nuzzle before heading for the door. "Span! Bring Bessie around, would you?"

It was yet another clear, mildly chilly morning in Buckcastle. Ponies and the occasional Griffon, the latter largely thanks to the growing demand for enchanters across industrial sectors the world over, were stolidly plodding their way to their various places of work with the collective resignation of creatures who know that the weekend is mere hours away and would rather skip the faff in between if given the choice.

Bessie was the only car on the road that morning. Precious few of those workers would ever drive one, except in employ of another. That was why, back when Iron was a young stallion on the up and up, he had taken more than a little pride in being able to own an automobile and had had every intent to make the most of it from behind the levers. Being ferried about seemed such a waste from that perspective, and that was something which had stuck even as Bessie aged with him, such vehicles had begun to gradually seep into the wider middle classes and the statement of exclusivity had faded.

But Iron had been one of the first to experience that thrill and no chauffeur-shaped prestige statement could take that away from him, at least not in the eyes of any with enough sense to have an opinion that mattered.

The gate guard touched her cap as Bessie puttered past and onto the grounds of the industrial heart of Buckcastle; Coltden-Loyal Tractors Ltd. Smoke belched from the chimneys of large brick buildings that loomed over the river Suthende, itself clogged with barges loading and unloading at the factory complex's docks amid the mingling of morning river mist and smog. All across the wide open courtyards, dozens of workers were removing tarps from equipment that had been left out overnight and beginning to move the final finishings of yesterday out to the docks to begin their journey downriver to Mareway.

Before heading to his office and the usual paper-paved slog that entailed, Iron took a few minutes to plod around the compound, speaking with a few supervisors along the way to make sure the morning was spinning up smoothly. A slim majority were veterans of the company's early days working out of a glorified shed in Coltden, back when Iron still had a personal role on the factory floor. Today, they each greeted him with a familiarity born of that long relationship, the confident assurance which can only be brought on by extended normalcy.

Iron's route brought him at last to the main building, best known as Whitehall to everyone working on-site thanks in part to its distinct plaster (not that much of that could be seen under the inevitable filth of industry), but also to the renowned music hall in Canterlot, owing to its hosting of the annual workers' dance.

The factory floor was already clanging, banging, clattering and even blattering with activity as Iron Girder crossed it, heading for the offices. Normally, tractors in various stages of construction would have dotted the place, many destined for shipping overseas to Aquileia, New Mareland or Talouse (of all places) thanks to the growing demand in recent years. That had changed first with the Dotted Line Reforms, which had seen the company take the opportunity to dabble away from its roots, then the outbreak of war, when the army had begun placing orders with anypony who looked even remotely involved in vehicle manufacture. For a while last year, there had hardly been a tractor to be seen in the factory. Since then, the Coltden-Loyal Tankette had retreated to a lesser building, largely abandoned in favour of Stallion Limited's heavier Breezie and Cerberus models, but the factory had remained dominated by work on the tankette's successor.

Up the long flight of stairs at the back of the building, things were quieter. Most of the office staff were still out in the grounds getting their mandatory daily dose of 'down to earth'. There was no point in running a business one did not understand the function of, after all.

Not that such a policy didn't have its drawbacks of course. It could be terribly hard to find an accountant willing to get up to her hocks in engine grease from time to time.

"Good morning, Mr. Girder." Iron's secretary greeted him a couple of seconds after he passed her desk.

"Good morning, Mrs. Files. Did anything come in overnight?" He asked the mare, who had the air of one who had a complicated relationship with time, and not just because it seemed as though she had been born elderly and just gone from there.

The secretary took a moment to respond. "Yes sir, there's a telegram from Slick Deal. It arrived just a few minutes ago, I left it on your desk."

Iron's tail flicked agitatedly as he moved to the door to his office, for that could just as well have been good or bad news. "Thank you, Mrs. Files."

An hour later, most of the managerial staff were gathered in the boardroom. This not being some savage land of the south, a round of tea was forthcoming before things proceeded.

"You're probably wondering why I've moved up next week's meeting." Said Iron once he had sufficiently lubricated his throat. "I'll get straight to the point; this." He held the telegram up in his russet field for all to see. "I'm sure all of you are aware of recent events, in light of which the War Office have put out a requirement for a new cruiser tank to replace the Breezie by the end of the year that can both penetrate the latest Changeling Panzer model and resist a PaK 07 on its frontal armour. We're going to win that contract."

A yellow Earther mare dropped the cigarillo she had been smoking and coughing, hastily stamped it out.

She wasn't alone in her shock, more than a few disbelieving expressions shot back and forth across the table.

"Sir, are you sure that's a wise commitment?" The mare asked after a few seconds. "We're talking about a year not only to design and test a whole new tank, but also to replace the whole fleet. That's just not possible. The Universal Carrier's taken that long just to put into full production, and we based that on the tankette chassis and suspension."

"No, Gear Ratio, it's not. If they actually meant a year." Iron replied. "But you know the bartering buggers up at the War Office. They tell us a year, we say we need two and end up doing it in one and a half."

She didn't look convinced. "We're still talking about an entire tank..."

That was greeted by a smattering of nods and thoughtful looks.

Another mare spoke up after a moment. "Actually, it doesn't really have to be, does it? Can't we just uparmour a Universal Carrier and mount a cannon on it? We'd be giving up on cargo space for a loader and ammunition, but if it's going to be a tank that's not an issue anyway."

"We can't possibly stick the sort of armour we'd be looking at to resist a 38 cinlesthae cannon on our current chassis Smog, even just on the front." Said Gear Ratio. "The bogies would buckle under the weight or the transmission would collapse, or both, and if we somehow fixed that it'd still drive like a pig. At the very least we'd be looking at an upscaling, which means all our current machining equipment would need changing too unless we want to buy in parts. Not to mention designing a new engine block to actually drive the thing."

"Which would stretch our logistics even more... Hmm." Smog Cloud ruffled her wings. "What about buying a licence from Stallion? With the way the Breezie drives, I'm sure the Heap suspension could take more weight without too many problems."

"We can worry about that later." Iron broke in. "The War Office want initial design blueprints in a fortnight. Do you think we can come up with something in that time?"

Smog Cloud glanced at Gear Ratio, who nodded. "Definitely."

"The problem's actually turning that into a working machine in time." Gear qualified. "But with the way the army's been paying us so far, the orders will make up for any overtime we need to pay out to get that done, if it can be done."

"Excellent, I'll deal with the engine problem personally." Said Iron. "Just strap three Kessler engines together for the initial blueprint, it ought to be plausible enough for the time being. I suspect we might end up having to go up to an Equestrian Electric or AEC model though, so bear that in mind when you're laying out the compartment."

That drew a few surprised looks, especially from Rivet and the old guard.

Iron shrugged with a smile. "What can I say, my Mark's itching me to do my bit. Now let's get a move on, Changie's not going to wait for us."

When Iron Girder looked back on that day, even only weeks later, it all seemed a flurry of papers and filing cabinets in equal measure. But as with all days, it came to an end and found him back in his office overlooking the factory floor, where the last of the workers were packing up to go home and a couple of cleaners began their shifts. Somepony - one of the cleaners, Iron suspected - had taken to hooking up a radio to the tannoy in the evenings, which was currently blaring an echoy reprise of a rather jolly tune over the main hall. Technically it was a misuse of the system, but it didn't do morale any harm in what must have been an otherwise rather dull job in an unsociable shift, so he wasn't about to get them to stop.

We're going to hang out the washing on the Dieter Line,
Have you any dirty washing, Mother-dear?
We're going to hang out the washing on the Dieter Line,
'Cause the washing day is here!
Whether the weather may be wet or fine,
We'll just trot along without a care.
We're going to-

"Dad?" Rivet's voice interrupted the tune.

Iron turned as his daughter crossed the room. "Yes, Rivet?"

"I've been trying to catch you in private all day." The young Unicorn mare paused and looked nervously at the blueprint-strewn desk. "You really shouldn't do this. You've been taking on more and more work since the war..."

"It's not just Quill then." Iron sighed. "I know I've been doing too much. But it's what I can do. Thirty years ago, I'd have signed up so fast they thought I teleported to the recruitment office."

"I know, Dad, but you really do need to ease off or you'll have a crash." Rivet replied. "Remember your heart."

"Your mother said as much this morning. That's why I've decided to work on the project personally. In the meantime, I want you to look after the shop. It's a good opportunity for you to try your hoof at the rudder while I'm still around to help if you need it." Iron lit his horn and tugged a draw open on the desk and floated a fat ring binder over. "I've been keeping notes on everything you should need in case anything happened to me. Ongoing deals, licences that look promising to acquire, personnel information, contact details, a few ideas I've had about how to turn the Universal Carrier into the base for a new tractor model once the war's over to save on retooling costs or losses on cancelled orders... That sort of thing."

Rivet looked bot surprised and a little relieved as she took the folder in her field. "Oh, um, thanks. What are you still doing here, by the way? It's half an hour past closing."

"Not working, if that's what you're worried about." Iron said. "I don't want to miss the Princess' announcement, it'd be a toss up if I could get home in time, so I was listening in here in case Bessie breaks down or what have you."

"There's an announcement? When's it due to start?" Rivet asked, setting the folder down and moving to the window so as to hear better.

Iron looked toward the gloaming light filtering through the skylights. "Just a few minutes now." After pause in which he hummed along with the radio, he added; "You really ought to look at getting somepony in to look at the tannoy, I'm sure the distortion is getting worse."

Rivet just rolled her eyes and leant against her father.

Chapter Two: My Kingdom For A Tank

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Celestia centred herself as the sound engineer counted down in her study. Another defeat to report, a disaster to be smoothed over and topiarised into something better, as if it would make thousands of parents weep any less. How many was it this time? They all had begun to blur together, even the victories. It was all death and fire in the end, so utterly meaningless that she could almost laugh at the overwhelming horror of it - the funeral pyre of a nation.

The fire would come for each and every one of her charges, hungry and devouring, and in the end it would come for her as well. All the western world would burn away, ash and smoke rising up, up, to be blown away on the wind. It was a fate she had written eight years earlier, now indelible.

The engineer was urgently mouthing something at her. "Go! Go!"

If all were to burn anyway, was it not better to do so sooner than to watch? Luna had the right idea, to face the fire and be slain the sooner in the way that seemed best to her, sword raised at the head of the host of her people, a beacon of hollow hope from an age long gone.

But it was not in Celestia to fool her people so, it would be an unnecessary cruelty perpetrated out of vainglory, for she of all beings who walked the Earth could not hide behind the excuse of folly. Thus, she rose without a word to the microphone and igniting her horn, threw her might at the back wall, documents and centuries-old books simply ceasing to exist in the instant before stonework built and warded long ago to resist the wrath of trebuchets shattered as well, unsuspecting of betrayal from within.

Then without pause, Celestia, fairest maiden of all her kind, stepped forward and fell into the jaws of her burning city and was consumed.

11pm, Amarda 2nd Sunny, 1010ALB

"Tea, ma'am?"

Celestia blinked twice at her aide. She must have actually managed to doze off for a moment, the rocking of the train probably helped with that. "Thank you, Raven."

"Nightmares again, ma'am?" Raven Inkwell asked as Celestia took the cup in her wavering field.

"Yes." The princess admitted after a moment.

The aide settled back on her mat in the otherwise empty carriage. "Bolts, or fire?"

"Fire, not the usual though." Celestia replied, stifling a yawn.

"You've hardly slept in a week, ma'am." Raven said. "I know I've suggested it before, but maybe you ought to ask your sister for help?"

"And I'll give the same response to the last two times: Luna's busy and her time is better spent on soldiers than... Me." Celestia said testily, long pink locks beginning to drift and turn iridescent once more. "Now I would really rather you stopped shoving your muzzle into my sleep pattern."

"Sorry ma'am." Raven said, more than a little concern showing on her face.

Celestia felt her ears flick back as she raised a pastern to her hot brow, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then a draft of the tea. "No, I am the one who should be sorry, Raven." She said after a moment. "I should not have snapped at you like that. You were only trying to do your job."

Raven stayed silent as the Alicorn looked through a window into the inky darkness beyond. So deep into the night, there was not a light to be seen across the pastoral landscape of northern Dodgeshire under the almost moonless sky, save the stars.

What was Luna doing right now? The propaganda mills would say she was sticking it to Changie with that daft sword of hers all day and night long, at least whenever she wasn't inspecting burnt out panzers. If one believed everything one saw in those cinema reels though, it would be easy to conclude that burnt out enemy tanks attracted generals like flies to rotting meat. In reality though? Probably paperwork, or maybe a planning session. No major offensives were slated for tonight to Celestia's knowledge, though the Heer of course might be less cooperative.

Celestia finished her tea and set the cup aside before yawning again. "I think I will try and sleep again. Please wake me again if it looks like things are..." Another yawn interrupted the princess. "Are getting bad."

"Of course, ma'am." Raven said, though it fell upon unconscious ears and splayed hair.

2pm, Curda 3rd Sunny, 1010ALB
There had been a parade to meet the sleep deprived princess as she disembarked. Considering that the soldiers involved were largely a hodge-podge of LDV and drivers and mechanics from the New Mareland Royal Armoured Brigade however, it had been a rather motley affair. All the same, she had smiled, waved and followed the presiding officer through the sweltering frontier village, flanked by her aide and personal guards. New Sunset, according to the sign beside the rudimentary platform.

At least the NMACs would feel at home.

The trial grounds were separated from the rest of the vast, sunbleached wastes by a wire fence and a long-trodden path along its interior, which presently was seeing far more traffic by way of guards than it was used to. The encampment that had sprung up around the gates for the trials had probably tripled the local population, even including the testing grounds' usual staff.

"I cannot help but notice the flag." Celestia said as they passed the gates, more to break the oppressive silence of the windless day than anything.

The NMAC officer grinned up at where pink and white stripes quartered with the royal seal hung limp and touched her slouch hat. "Thought it was in better nick than the scrappy old thing they had up when we got here, ma'am. I can have it run up if you prefer."

After a calculated pause, Celestia shook her head. "No, no, it is quite all right, Castellan."

They plodded past bunkers and artillery dugouts, the occasional gaggle of soldiers and engineers stopping their work to watch their diarch's passage. Before long however, as the group crested a slight rise, a number of boxy shapes came into view, being tended by several dozen uniformed Ponies, while a cluster of affluently-dressed civilians overlooked the proceedings.

"We've got seven prototypes here today." The NMAC said as they approached. "You'll have a chance to give 'em all a once over and have an earbash with the designers, and then we'll put 'em through their paces on the course. These are just chassis tests, mind."

Celestia raised an eyebrow. "I was informed there were eight entrants."

"Coltden-Loyal pulled out at the last minute, ma'am. Dunno why. They've got an observer here though, so you can ask her." The castellan said, nodding toward the civilians. "Gear Shift, or somethin'.

"I see, thank you - I do not believe I caught your name?" Celestia asked.

"Castellan Flat Tyre, ma'am." The NMAC said.

Suddenly, the two Guardsponies shifted, barring the path of a dapperly dressed Unicorn stallion who had charged forward upon catching sight of the royal party, forcing him to skid to a halt. Or rather, he tried to. His forelegs went out from under him and he planted his face into the dirt in front of the nearer Guard, which admittedly did much to arrest his forward momentum. The same could not be said of his boater, which continued to roll until it bumped into Celestia's hoof.

The eyebrow, so recently lowered, was raised again at the sprawled yellow lump of equine matter as Celestia picked up the hat in her field. A sun veil had been haphazardly stapled to the back of it to create what appeared as much as anything like the bastard offspring of the latest in male Fillydelphian fashion and something hailing from darkest Zebrica, likely escaped from the Wingbardian Foreign Legion.

"Pardon me, your majesty!" The moustached fellow exclaimed as she returned the crime against haberdashery to him. "I didn't mean to alarm your fine guards. I was simply overcome with enthusiasm for the opportunity to be the very first to present our amazing product to you!"

Oh, he was one of that sort. The sort to whom simply listening was so painful that it almost made one wish to buy just to get him to shut up. Well, Celestia had to start somewhere, it might as well be with him. "Oh? Do lead on."

If nothing else, it would make it easier to forget if it turned out to be a stinker.

In hindsight, Celestia realised that beyond ignoring the whole (literal) sales song and dance while feigning convincing attention, she probably wasn't the best mare for the job. The tank looked like a tank... Or maybe a particularly angular and mobile railway bridge about as tall as she was, what with all the rivets. It had a proper cannon though, and the tracks didn't seem about to fall off, so it oughtn't be too terrible by her limited knowledge.

"An interesting proposition, but what are these bulbous bars on the front?" She asked when the stream of sales speak wound down a little.

"Our revolutionary radiator! _{Patent pending.}" The moustached Unicorn proudly proclaimed. "You see ma'am, the sleek design of the Bonder allows us the opportunity to take advantage of the oncoming wind as it barrels along at fifty, yes, fifty leglesthae an hour, cooling the engine far more efficiently than traditional radiators while all the internal components are kept internal, nice and safe in the fighting compartment, doubling as an advanced heating mechanism in even the harshest of climates! Isn't that right, oh brother of mine?"

A muffled and somewhat strained sound of agreement echoed from the bowels of the machine.

"Even in the desert?" Celestia queried.

The salestallion nodded enthusiastically. "Even in the coldest desert night, a tight-knit Bonder crew will never have to worry about being chilly, and by day, our revolutionary radiator can even double as an oven, for all your egg-baking needs!"

Celestia looked at the tank sceptically. "Klibanophoroi."

A crack appeared in the Unicorn's facade, displaying confusion beneath. "Pardon?"

"Allow me to give you a brief history lesson, Mister Flam." Celestia said, tone sickly sweet. "'Klibanophoroi' is a word in old Asterionese which roughly translated, means 'Oven Bearer'. It was a term mockingly applied to northern Griffon knights, whose armour was notoriously sweltering in the summer, to the point that when Kaiser Grover II invaded Sicameon and Asterion in 799ALB, he intentionally timed his land campaigns to take place in the winter... I await the performance of the Bonder with anticipation on this midsummer day."

With that, the Alicorn turned and plodded away as the moustached Unicorn hurriedly clambered toward the top hatch.

"That was a painful yarn, ma'am." Flat Tyre said. "Reckon those yabberers deserved it, though. They've been pains in the flank since they got here."

"Thank you, Castellan." Celestia said, hoping that meant the rest of the entrants would be more socially palatable.

"Just to be clear, you built a tankette armed with a machine gun and which is 'more or less' bulletproof, but swims terribly well?" Celestia said two tanks later, looking over the curiosity in question.

"More or less." Said the lanky Earther stallion, blinking through thick milk bottle glasses. "We armoured it against shrapnel mainly, though it ought to keep out pistol rounds too... For a while. From a distance."

"Your company did read the requirement the War Office put out?" The princess asked.

"The War Office, ma'am? I thought this was for the Admiralty?" The stallion said.

"The Admiralty trials are scheduled for tomorrow, though I'm not sure this is their idea of a new battery loader." Flat Tyre supplied.

Celestia suppressed an exasperated urge to facehoof.

Two promisingly mediocre-looking designs later, the weary princess arrived at Stallion Limited's offering, such as it was. It mostly appeared to be in bits at the moment with the only sign of the engineers accompanying it being a pair of skyward facing rear legs sticking out from a shallow trench dug out beneath the detracked hull.

"Is that you, Paint? Mind passing the lump hammer? Reckon the final drive's misaligned again." The legs said, betraying themselves to be Riverpudlian.

Celestia glanced around at the scattered tools, most of which she didn't recognise, and picked out the age-old one in question with her field.

An oil-soaked Pegasus mare shoved herself out from under the machine on a roller shielding her eyes from the sudden glare as she took the hammer and slotted it into a pastern brace. "Oh nice, figured out that trick with your field?"

"Not exactly." Celestia replied.

The Pegasus paused, then lowered her foreleg, blinked and yelped with surprise, rolling off the roller, which slid away under the semi-dismantled tank. "O-oh, your majesty! We weren't expecting you! I-I mean, not yet!"

She ought to have kept a better eye out then, Celestia didn't vocalise. "It is quite all right. You work for Stallion, correct?" She instead prompted.

"Ye-yes, I'm Aerofoil." The mare stammered, hauling herself up. "This is... Well, the boffins keep changing the name ma'am. Right now it's the Magnus though. We'll be ready for the trials, I was just giving it a once-over while my assistant Gold Paint changes the crystal matrices in the comet engine. They blew out getting here you see."

"Crystal matrices in an engine? I assume the tank is magically driven then?" Celestia queried.

"Yes and no, ma'am." Aerofoil said, brightening to the topic. "The engine runs on petrol like any other, but it uses matrices to harness the heat in the combustion chambers to increase its efficiency. Theoretically you could put anything flammable through it and get at least some drive that way, though it tends to snarl up the internals right now. We've been working on straightening that out, as well as letting solid fuel like coal be used in a pinch. It ought to ease up on fuel usage that way, if we can mix in other oil fraction products without issues."

"But just petrol for now?" Asked Celestia.

The mare nodded. "For now ma'am, it's all highly experimental still. We've not even fitted the enchanted stabiliser barrels or thaumo-mechanical rangefinding system on this prototype. Not to mention the exploding armour." She tapped the boxy hull. "This is just a mild steel mock-up."

The immortal maiden blinked. "I hesitate to quibble with experts, but are you sure exploding armour is a good thing to install on a fighting vehicle?"

"I'm told the idea's to counter the impact of a shell with an equal outward force so the inner hull isn't breached, ma'am." Aerofoil explained. "I'm sure our armour experts would be happy to share the theory with you better than I can. Think they've even got some schematics finished."

"Is anything finished with this design?" Celestia asked.

The oily Pegasus looked the tank up and down. "The Heap suspension's final, I think. Oh, and the kettle."

"I see. For morale reasons, I assume." Celestia said, and received a nod. "Well, I shall leave you to your work."

"Thank you ma'am, we'll do you proud." Aerofoil said, bowing her head as the princess left.

"That leaves your own design, I do believe." Celestia noted to Flat Tyre.

"Yep. Though the fillies said they wanted to surprise you. Hence the tarp." The castellan replied with a nod toward the cluster of NMACs at the end of the row. "Do you mind if we wait for the trials to reveal it?"

Celestia paused for a moment. On the one hoof, they'd appreciate it, but... "I do. Everypony else has presented theirs, and some were rather nervous." An understatement, she had detected a somewhat suspect scent coming from a member of the Rusty Horn team, who had been practically hiding behind their rather sleek-looking tank. "It only seems fair to put your cards on the table too."

Flat Tyre nodded. "Yes, ma'am. If I may...?"

The princess nodded her ascent and the soldier trotted away. After a rapid exchange of what was still technically Equestrian, a pair of NMACs hauled the tarp off to reveal...

The first thing that struck Celestia was how it looked like it had been put together in somepony's garden shed, which it might also have borrowed parts from if the corrugated hull was any indication. Practically cuboid in shape and perched on its tracks like a broody hen, guns stuck out every which way from the thing, with a turret slapped on top almost as an afterthought just to add another one. Ancestors alone knew how there was enough space inside the thing for the crew to operate them all, assuming they weren't just for show. Maybe some were dummies meant to draw fire from more important parts?

"Most... Impressive." Celestia said at length, wondering how quickly she'd be able to react to catch the thing when it inevitably toppled over on the track.

Flat Tyre beamed. "Bitty Simple'll be chuffed to hear that! Just wait 'till she's on the track, she's a right beaut! Battle-ready too, even got ammo aboard."

"You would not happen to know how much this... Majestic beast weighs?" Celestia asked innocuously.

There were shaded stands set to one side of the rough, twisting track along which the prototypes were run one by one by NMAC crews. Celestia had had a chance to talk with a few of the assorted observers, developers and would-be investors and now sat beside a Pegasus who had introduced herself as Gear Ratio, from the Coltden-Loyal company.

"So you see ma'am, what with the problems with noise on the Universal Carrier and steering on the downhill, we decided it would be best to focus on our current project rather than spread our resources and produce something substandard." The mare explained as in the middle distance, the amphibious 'Toad' glided across the testing grounds' small artificial lake with all the grace of the world's smallest tugboat on the understanding that it might as well be shown off, now it was here.

"Admirable, but I fear Equestria may need your design after all." Celestia replied. Out of four displays so far, the Bonder had already erupted into a cloud of steam and curses half way along the course and had driven into a ditch amid the gushing damage control of the brothers. Another had buried its prow (was that the right term?) into the dirt at the base of a steep hill and become irretrievably stuck, a third had detracked itself twice and while the Bitty Simple hadn't fallen over as Celestia had feared, its dogged puttering pace had barely reached a gentle trot even with gravity behind it.

"I agree, ma'am." Said Gear Ratio after a moment. "But Stallion doesn't want to share their Clawbeak suspension. Without that, we've got the top half of a tank, but nothing to drive it on, and we simply don't have the mare-hours to develop something new in the time we have."

The stands were largely silent as the Toad eased itself out of the water and drove away even as the Rusty Horn Company's showing failed to drive to the starting point.

After a few minutes, muttering began.

Finally Flat Tyre called across from the maintenance zone with a loudhailer; "Sorry for the hold-up. The driver's called off the test for the Corageous, she can't fit into her seat."

"Shouldn't have been eating so many barbecues then!" One of the Rusty Horn mechanics yelled back rudely.

Celestia watched as the Unicorn mare in question, who was if anything one of the most lightly built soldiers she had ever seen and certainly swearing like one if her lip reading could be trusted, was gradually extricated from the front hatch of the vehicle by her colleagues, sporting a nasty gash on her right rear leg which was quickly attended to by a medic.

Meanwhile, mechanics hurriedly finished reattaching the Magnus' tracks and with a peculiar humming clatter, it slowly moved to the starting point where, without further ado, it blazed away at remarkable speed.

It seemed a smash success. The tank climbed and stormed down inclines, ploughed through loose sand and sucking mud, hardly losing speed, and skid-steering around hairpin bends with almost lazy ease. All the while, the commander unfazedly leant out the cupola, using a speaking tube to communicate with the driver.

That was until the tank suddenly jerked to the right. At first, it looked like a simple error, but the commander's face as she shouted, audible but unintelligible over the distance, told a different story. The driver overcorrected and the vehicle swerved off the track, almost toppling before thudding back onto both tracks, the commander falling down into the turret. The tank veered again, accelerating toward the stands, many of the occupants of which began to scatter, before its driver fought back enough control to swerve away at the last moment, heading for the lake.

Within seconds, it dove off an embankment and splashed into the water.

With a crack-bang of displaced air, Celestia teleported over the wreck even as the cupola hatch was shoved open and the crew began to bail out, an acrid purple smoke billowing from the interior of the vehicle.

"Is that everypony?" She called down, shoving aside a recollection of last night's dream.

The commander did a quick headcount and swore, striking out back toward the sinking tank. "Nah! Gear Shift's still inside! He's our driver!"

Celestia didn't waste more time talking, instead alighting on the tank's deck. It was easy to find the driver's hatch, given the shouting and banging emanating from it. Coughing as her snout was filled with the abjuratively-infused smoke, she tried to pull on the outer release lever, first with her field and then physically, but it was jammed. Applying more force simply caused it to snap off.

With water lapping around her hooves, Celestia tossed the broken piece of metal aside and simply yanked on the hatch itself with all her might. Eventually with a screech of protesting metal, the hatch was ripped from its hinges and the sodden Earther driver hauled himself out with the justified vigour of one fighting for their life. Between that and her understanding of first aid, Celestia was aware the blood streaking one side of his black face was probably just from a minor cut and ignored it, grabbing him up in her forelegs and teleporting to the bank.

It was later. The Magnus crew had been stretchered away to be treated for smoke inhalation and possible thaumic contamination. The medics had also checked Celestia over, but had given her a clean bill of health. The wreck had at the advice of the Stallion engineers been left at the bottom of the lake overnight to let the crystal matrices run themselves down, much to the relief of the recovery crew, given how the water had begun to take on a strange purple hue and was letting off such a stink that nopony would have been willing to go particularly near even if it weren't for the health hazard.

Otherwise, that was that. Seven prototypes had been tested. Four had catastrophically failed, one wasn't really even a tank by any meaningful definition, one threw its tracks for a passtime and one... Was the Bitty Simple.

For all the NMACs' enthusiasm, if that was the best Equestria had, they were all quite thoroughly bucked. Maybe the Bonder design could be reworked into something usable...

"Are you sure you're all right, ma'am?" Asked Raven nearby.

"Perfectly, I am just having... Unpleasant thoughts." Celestia replied at length.

"There are other designers, and some of these prototypes showed promise." Raven said.

Celestia shook her head. "Bringing in somepony new at this stage... Better late than never, but too late might well turn to never. I-" The princess paused, then frowned. "Gear Ratio said the problem with Coltden-Loyal's tank was the suspension. Stallion was not selling. You went over the plans before we came out here, what did you think of them?"

Raven shrugged. "I'm no engineer, but Gear Ratio did sound confident. Shall I investigate changing Stallion's minds?"

Celestia nodded. "If it gives us another shot, that is worth throwing some knighthoods around. And failing everything, I am sure Coltden-Loyal will be able to make good use of the suspension regardless. I will talk with Mrs. Ratio again."

Chapter Three: On The Line

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8pm, Melada 24th Fading, 1010
"Cheer up, brother." Said Flim, nudging Flam as they drove over lanes devoid of snow. "We're still in with a chance!"

It didn't seem to help much. "Yes yes, brother. The final five. But we're not exactly the favourites, are we?"

"So what? Then we sell abroad!" Flim countered. "I'm sure plenty of those Griffon backwaters are just salivating for the Bonder."

"Oh brother of mine..." Flam shook his head hesitantly. "There's this odd feeling in the back of my head. Or maybe my flank, I'm not sure. But... It's telling me that for once, we might have a real winner with this one."

"Of course! We'll be the heroes who built the war-winning machine!" Flim agreed, gesticulating with a hoof at the dark, empty Prench fields and probably not giving the road as much attention as he ought. "We'll be rolling in dosh! Plaudits! Maybe even OEEs!"

"If we don't buck up." Flam said. "It'd be nice to be able to stay in a place for a while."

"Thinking of settling down, brother?" Flim teased.

Flam waved a dismissive hoof. "Nah, of course not! I'd just like to move on when we feel like it, for a change."

"We'll get to, nothing can go wrong this time." Said Flim.

"That's what you usually say, brother." Said Flam. "We have fixed everything this time, right? Insulated the coolant pipes, added small print disclaimer about deserts?"

"Everything, oh brother of mine." Assured Flim. "That wreck they fished out of the lake even gave me an idea of how to improve our engine based on our car batteries."

"You modified the engine?" Asked Flam.

Flim nodded eagerly. "Last night, it was easy enough so I didn't bother to wake you. The turbo charger should let it get a nice turn of speed in a pinch."

Flam looked nervous. "You do realise that wreck was at the bottom of the lake because the engine got stuck on its highest gear and melted the brakes, right?"

Flim echoed his brother's earlier casual gesture. "I did a far better job than those numpties... Will need to charge the batteries again soon though. I had to borrow a bank for the upgrade." He added, glancing at the dashboard.

"I'm sure you did, oh brother of mine, I'm sure you did. But can you unmodify it again please? At least for the trials." Flam paused for a moment, thinking. "Let's call the Terrific Thaumic Turbo Charger 1000 (patent pending) an... Optional add-on."

Flim laughed, something he usually only did when easy money was involved. "I do like your thinking, brother. Cracking name and a double-dip on the profits!"

"We demonstrate it separately. Later." Flam insisted through the mirth. "This is our chance at the big time brother, a royal commission. Flim Flam Brothers, by royal appointment. I don't want to blow this on overreach."

"Speaking of overreach..." Flim said as the car began to coast to a halt for the third time that evening.

"She just wasn't built to tow a tank." Flam said. "Shame I couldn't get any petrol coupons under the table last week."

"All the more reason to win this war. It's bucking bad for business." Flim grumbled, clambering down from his seat and opening the bonnet.

2pm, Orda 25th Fading, 1010
"You're late." Said the bored-looking sentry on the gate.

"Fuel problems. With our car of course, not the tank." Flim said hurriedly.

The soldier rolled her eyes. "Well, there is a war on." Then she waved them on. "Left, left and right. You can't miss it."

As the car jerked against the flatbed and began to haul its load again, Flim was sure he heard the mare grumbling about something, probably about them but certainly unimportant. She was just a gate guard after all.

She was right about not being able to lose their way though, the deep track marks and increasing hubub as they approached their destination made for better indicators than any signpost.

"I need to find the toilets, watch the car will you, brother?" Flam said as they parked up inside a workshop marked out for the purpose.

Flim shook his head. "Come now, none of these upright twerps will touch it, or the Bonder."

Flam cast a suspicious eye toward their nearest competition, the engineers Stallion Limited. "Better safe than sabotaged, but if you're sure..."

"I am, oh brother of mine, completely sure." Said Flim before leaning in and hushing his voice. "Actually, I was thinking of scouting out the competition a bit. Those two new designs might have some useful ideas to liberate."

Flam bit his lip nervously. "Just so long as you stick to ideas. Don't push your luck."

"Looksies, no touchsies, got it." Flim said cheerily. "What's gotten into you though, brother? You're as jumpy as a cricket in mustard."

"We're in pretty deep, worrying about the pressure outside sounds like a pretty good idea to me." Flam said, turning to go.

Flim was careful. It was a habit both brothers had picked up in their days rolling gambling scams at school, even if unflappability had taken long years and more than a few angry mobs to set in. Still, the road to 'legitimate' business is paved with rough lessons, and rather a lot of trips to the stocks... And community service notices... And fines... Those hurt the most really. The trick really was never quite doing anything so illegal that you ended up with a permanent criminal record.

Come to think of it, that made Flam's worry look a lot more reasonable.

Thus, for hours he had sidled from workshop to workshop, chatting and asking innocuous questions, the answers to which all added up to something less so. It was amazing what showing off a little genuine interest could get somepony to reveal.

The results had done a lot for his confidence. Stallion didn't even seem to have a grasp on what their tank was called, let alone having it anywhere near ready if the number of bits it was in were any indication. Equestrian Electric had apparently got their tank to stop throwing its tracks and had stuck a cannon on it now, but one of the engineers had let slip that the turret had problems because of that. A tank that couldn't shoot properly wasn't a competitor.

If it had been just the three of them, Flim was sure he and his brother would be rolling in royalties, but of course two more entrants had been allowed to join late. The 'Old Gang', as the bunch of greying Severyanians referred to themselves at every opportunity, hadn't let him near their 'beauty'. Or anypony else, for that matter. Paranoia meant they weren't cooperating, and Flim was sure he and his brother could out-engineer some oldsters. Then there was Coltden-Loyal, who had probably been the easiest to talk to, after Equestrian Electric's team. Theirs was a hunchback of a machine, and what he was most concerned by was their fuel consumption; Ancestors alone knew how they had managed to almost halve the Bonder's.

As Flim was leaning against the wire fence at the edge of the compound, listening to the ongoing exercises in the middle distance and mulling over how they might be able to squeeze a few more leglesthae out of their tank's tanks, so to speak, a polite cough cut into his thoughts.

Looking up, he saw a middle aged Earther mare with glasses and her dark mane tied up in a bun. "What do you want?"

"Rather direct, don't you think?" The mare countered.

"It's been a long day." Flim said. "And to be perfectly honest, you look like trouble."

"Coming from one of the 'Famous FlimFlam Brothers', that's ripe." She said, somehow putting a poisonous twist into the sales pitch without altering her tone. "But I'm not here to bicker. Actually, I'm here with a business proposition."

Flim raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that the point of the trials?"

"Oh yes, but since we're being blunt, the crown can't exactly be seen dealing with your sort. Dirty names are just as bad for our business as war is." The mare said.

Flim considered a riposte at the tarnishing of an already rusty brand, but business sense won out. "We don't do business without a name."

There was a slight pause. "Raven Inkwell. Princess Celestia's personal assistant, among other things. My contacts have looked over your design-"

She raised a hoof as Flim opened his mouth. "Your brother is quite well, even if he's a lousy lookout."

"And the fact you've clearly been spying on us?" Flim forced through.

"Said the pot to the kettle." Raven replied.

"I'd rather call it scouting the competition." Flim said, scraping the ground assertively.

"Of course. Well, we've been headhunting then." Raven said sweetly. "Your design is interesting, ahead of its time, even. But it's half-baked and you don't have the resources to realise its full potential. Barring a serious upset during the trials - and we will be investigating an upset - you won't win, but we would be interested in buying your prototype and blueprints for reappraisal a few years down the line, when the technology is more sound."

"And what happens if we say no and sell abroad?" Flim asked suspiciously.

"It's a free country, though of course freedom includes the freedom to take the consequences." Said Raven with a shrug. "In this case, merely a missed opportunity for profit, assuming you don't try something stupid like running to Changie. You can even keep copies of the blueprints if you want to sell them on elsewhere. Double dipping, I do believe you called it."

"I'll have to discuss it with my brother." Flim said, though he was already fairly sure of the answer.

The mare nodded. "Of course."

11am, Orda 25th Fading, 1010ALB
The next morning, Flim paid special attention to the princess, what little he saw of her. Things were set up much as they had during the last round of trials she had attended, with a static appraisal followed by a mobile showcase, this time with test firing included.

He wasn't sure if it was just the time of year or a few too many skipped meals or goodness knows what else, but Celestia seemed... Tired. Wilted, almost, as she approached them after Equestrian Electric and Coltden-Loyal's prototypes. She had been muttering something to that blasted assistant of hers about 'lethargic seasons' and in what Flim suspected was a fit of sympathy, Flam had even nudged him aside to ask him to tone down the sales pitch. She seemed rather unmoved, but that could have been last night's revelation, the lack of marketing or the tiredness at work.

Then Stallion had played up the technical side of things, a Unicorn with a blue and gold mane spouting thaumatergic jargon at Celestia that, bizarrely, seemed to perk her up a little. Flim, listening in, was lost after about two sentences.

Finally, there was the so-called Old Gang. There was nothing there, and for a moment Flim thought that they might have been trying the 'invisible product' scam, right up until the ground began to shake and the metal behemoth hoved into view.

It was a battleship transposed onto land; a huge, unstoppable steel monster framed by squeaking, rattling treads and a pair of sponsons, each of which carried both a cannon and machine gun. Over three times as long as it was high or wide, the turret, from which yet another, even larger, cannon sprouted, towered over even the princess.

"The Old Gang would like to present the SVC, the veapon that vill vin the var!" A husky Severyanian voice proudly declared as the cupola opened.

The statement was undermined, or perhaps underlined, by how most of the bystanders had fled at the vehicle's onset. The remainder were simply struck dumb.

Nonetheless, the stallion continued; "If ve learnt anything from the Falcor Var and the past months, it's that ve have a long slog ahead. Firepower to blast open bunkers and indestructibility to reach them will rule that battlefield, and on it, a brisk trot might as well be the unbreachable speed of sound!"

"It's really more of a dreadnought than a cruiser, isn't it?" Somepony said. It took Flim a moment to realise it was himself.

After that debacle, the five prototypes were driven out to the nearby woods, where similarly to the tests in the desert, they were put through their paces. There were no grand catastrophes like had befallen Stallion's previous prototype, their new model performing spectacularly well, blazing down the course and even able to fire with reasonable accuracy on the move, unlike most of the other offerings. The SVC also proved capable of this feat, albeit largely due to its contrasting near-glacial top speed, but its ability to cross rough ground was its greatest strength. Equestrian Electric's turret motor mechanism broke down, which being their main showcase did nothing for their cause, while the Bonder and Coltden-Loyal's hunchbacked 'Timberwolf' prototype doggedly puttered through the course, the Bonder proving the more agile while the Timberwolf's cannon punched well above what its size would lead one to expect, practically tearing several of the mock-up targets in half.

Then came the endurance tests, which quite simply consisted of monotonously driving the tanks in laps around the course until something failed. Here again, Equestrian Electric soon fell flat with a return of the cursed tracks, followed by the SVC with a transmission failure. After that, rather a long time passed and Flim, having had a rather late night tweaking the Bonder, dozed off.

He was awakened by his brother excitedly nudging him. "Twilight just blew a fuse!"

Flim blinked groggily. "Wha?"

"Stallion's tank, look!" Flam repeated, pointing excitedly into the middle distance, where a pair of soldiers had opened the engine cover of the vehicle, which had ground to a halt off to the side of the now well-worn track.

"Oh yeah, that's what they're calling it now, isn't it?" Flim muttered.

Flam's jubilation was somewhat short-lived however, as fuel consumption soon claimed the Bonder, the sweat-soaked crew of which seemed all too eager to abandon its cramped confines.

The Timberwolf however, to the particular jubilation of a yellow Earther mare, just kept puttering on, and on, and on... In fact after another couple of hours it was the crew who flagged first, halting the run before fatigue caused an accident in the gloaming light.

Celestia, who had seemed almost asleep herself, rose. "Mr. Girder, Mrs. Roe Bottom, a word if you please?"

As the trio walked away, followed at a discrete distance by the princess' bodyguards, Flim turned to Flam. "So, when do we break out the champagne, oh brother of mine?"

"You have both produced worthy tanks, and to be perfectly honest I am rather torn." Celestia said once she was sure they were out of earshot of the stands. "Mrs. Roe Bottom, I must say that I am the most impressed with your team's efforts. The performance of the Twilight speaks for itself, a little uncannily so at points considering the name, but when one considers the breadth of technical and thaumaturgic integration, it is a marvel of engineering. If a somewhat morbid one."

The brown mare dipped her head. "Thank you, ma'am."

The princess' tone fell. "A tank that no known Changeling weapon can reliably penetrate would be a boon to be sure, and its mobility is astounding. However, there is no place on the battlefield for wonder weapons. I have looked into your production estimates, and quite simply, the state cannot afford nine thousand Bits as a unit cost for the numbers that must be produced. Nor can a production time of sixty thousand mare hours be overlooked, or the need for specialist enchanters that we simply do not have in abundance domestically."

Then she turned to Iron Girder and her bearing darkened further. "I loath to place my subjects at greater risk, especially for the sake of money, but in war there are cold calculations that must be made. Given the choice between four Timberwolves or one Twilight, my advisers agree that the former is a better investment, and given the trials today, I am forced to concur, may their crews forgive me. The Timberwolf might not be as fast or as well armoured, but it is not lacking in either and moreover, I am told that its endurance today was no fluke. Most importantly however, the Timberwolf is ready today. Congratulations, Mr. Girder. My agents will contact your company shortly to negotiate a production license to distribute to the crown's industrial interests, considering your factory's current workload."

"Of course, ma'am." Said Iron Girder, though he didn't feel quite the thrill of success that he had imagined almost a year ago. It almost felt like winning by default. Nonetheless, he extended a hoof to the chief of the Twilight program. "It's been quite the race."

Roe Bottom chuckled as hooked his pastern with her own. "To be honest, I'm just glad it's over. Toasts are on you?"

Iron Girder laughed as well. "Naturally, Roe."

Celestia gave a wan smile. "I am sorry to say that it is not for you just yet, Mrs. Bottom. I would like you to realise your project into a functional machine, because sooner or later we are going to kick those bugs onto the defensive, and I can think of no better than the greatest heroine of our day to lead the charge."

Teething Troubles

by The Great Scribbly One

Chapter One: Gaining Traction

Chapter Two: My Kingdom For A Tank

Chapter Three: On The Line