> Skyfall: Treason
>  by Dusk Quill
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Chapter 1: Reformation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





Skyfall: Treason

By: Dusk Quill






"Our most bitter enemies are our own kith and kin." — Honore de Balzac






A bugle blared out in the cool autumn air, smashing the silence of night as Celestia’s sun began to peek over the eastern horizon. Sleepy, groggy soldiers began to file out of their bunks and into the massive courtyard of the Canterlot Barracks. Shining Armor paced back and forth between the ranks of soldiers, looking at each one individually. Wearing their magical armor, each white pony looked completely identical. He could recall a time when he’d been in their horseshoes. 

        But today was the start of the new. Out with the old, lax ways of the Guard. With the recent threats to Equestria, each soldier had to be the best they could be. 

        “Good morning, Guards,” Shining called out loud, his voice heavy with authority as he continued his pace, two lieutenants to either side of him. 

        “Good morning, Captain,” the multitude of ponies answered back in almost-perfect unison. 

        “I hope you all slept well, because we’re about to start working real hard,” the Captain of the Guard announced, feigning pleasantry in his words. “Now, we all remember what happened a few weeks ago, right?” 

        “Sir, yes, sir!” everypony chanted. 

        “And which outfit stopped that again?” 

        Nopony answered. Shining Armor listened to the silence, having fully expected it, and nodded slowly. 

        “That’s right, none of the Guard did. It was headed by our special forces,” said the stallion. “And which outfit cleared the sewers?” 

        Again, no answer came from the ponies surrounding him. 

        “That would be Captain Stratagem and a hoofful of soldiers she picked at random.” The captain stopped in place, and turned, looking over the myriad of faces. “So, who can tell me what we’re doing wrong? Why can’t The Royal Guard protect our own city?” 

        Silence was the only reply Shining Armor received. He sighed. This was exactly what he had planned for. 

        “As I’m sure you’ve all heard, today begins the day we reform the Royal Guard,” he said, noting a couple worried looks on the soldiers’ faces. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t mean we’re laying anyone off. It means we’re starting our training over from scratch. Working from the ground up. Back to step one. We’ve got a new, rigorous program we’re all going to run through, as well as brand new guns we’re gonna be learning. By the time we’re done, each and every one of you will be capable of defending Canterlot, and all of Equestria, against anything. Understood?” 

        “Hooah!” 

        That’s what he liked to hear. 

        “You’ll all be divided up into your usual platoons and will run through the course together. Nopony passes unless everypony passes.” Shining Armor’s words were adamant. “You will all be training directly with me, with your COs, and with our volunteers. Allow me to introduce the ponies that will be helping you get into shape.” 

        Shining Armor stepped over to the two lieutenants with him, patting them on the shoulders. “Lieutenant Flintlock and Lieutenant Enterprise, on loan to us from 3rd Company and the 2nd Fleet. They’ll be going over the new firearms training.” 

        He then approached a small group of ponies standing at attention a short distance off from the soldiers. Making his way down the line, he began the short introductions. 

        “Captain Stratagem, from 4th Company, will be teaching you tactics, and how to think and act under pressure. She’s gonna help you keep your cool when the going gets tough.” 

        He approached a snow white pegasus next. “Staff Sergeant Sanguine will be refreshing your memory on combat medicine and what to do if you or your teammates get hurt.” 

        Then came three bat ponies, a rarity to the soldiers to see. Bat ponies served strictly as the Lunar Guard, and were seldom seen during the early mornings. Soft murmurs ran through the ranks. 

        “Corporal Midnight Dasher, Corporal Starlight, and Private Nocturne, on loan to us from Fort Shadow,” Shining introduced, looking over the three ponies, all looking ready and willing to get started already. “They’re the real deal, everypony. You’ve all heard the rumors about Fort Shadow. They’re here to train you on close-quarter combat, as well as how to deal with species that aren’t regular ponies. Give them your full attention and respect, or they’ll give you a few hard knocks.” 

        Lastly, the unicorn came to a red pegasus, smiling at his friend. He smiled and nodded back. 

        “And Captain Fleethoof, here to train you in advanced close-quarter combat and advanced combat situations, and help out wherever he’s needed. You’ll all be taking your exit exams with him and his team. I’m gonna warn you all now, they are not ponies to be taken lightly.

        “Don’t feel like this is any sort of punishment. This is regulation. Every company, every squad, and everypony in the Guard across Equestria is going through this same style of training. We’re reforming the Guard so we can be the reason nopony messes with Equestria,” Shining said, wrapping up his presentation. “We’ll be at this for a while, so be sure to do the best you can and learn everything. It might save your life—or somepony else’s—someday. When your COs give the order, divide up into your groups and we’ll begin. Good luck, everypony! Hooah!” 

        The soldiers shouted back, and the platoons began to divide up, heading to their designated training areas. Shining Armor heaved a sigh. Reforming the entire Royal Guard was a daunting feat, but it had to be done. As the first Captain of the Guard in ages, it was his duty to make sure his soldiers were at the peak of their performance—especially with the recent dangers facing Equestria. 

        He hated to admit it, but since the bill had passed allowing the citizens their right to arm and defend themselves, he had been worried. It wasn’t that he distrusted the citizens of Equestria, but now suddenly weaponry had become a commodity to the everyday populace. Yet, as he watched the instructors head off to the firing ranges, or to the halls for lectures, or to the sparring arenas, a calm was beginning to settle his nerves. In his heart, he knew his soldiers were in capable hooves. 

        No matter the cost, peace would be maintained. 

> Chapter 2: Demonstration
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Three… Two… One… Open fire!” 

        Gunshots rang out endlessly as the ponies at the firing range opened up on their targets. Fleethoof watched from the sidelines, assisting Flintlock with the small arms training portion, since none of the soldiers were expected to get to his lessons anytime soon. The new handguns had been handed out to each soldier, and were now being run through the initial test phase. For the most part, everypony had become comfortable with their equipment, and the grouping of their shots was close. 

        A little over a week had passed since the beginning of the new training regiment. So far, every single pony in active duty had shown tremendous improvement across the board, all across Equestria. Shining Armor’s new program was working like a charm. 

        “Spread your hooves a little more,” Fleethoof instructed a soldier, adjusting her stance. “Keep them about shoulder width apart. You’ll be more stable this way. Keep going.” 

        At his instructions, the mare’s control improved, and her grouping tightened up moderately. Fleethoof nodded in approval, and continued down the line. The soldiers were already pretty proficient with their weapons, and with the extra training, they’d be even better. Lieutenant Flintlock addressed each pony individually, commenting where he saw fit. Some were shooting too quickly, emptying their guns haphazardly all across the targets. Others just needed slight posture adjustments. 

        “Cease fire!” 

        The ponies set their guns down on the benches in front of them, reloading their weapons. Targets were then analyzed by the soldiers and range officers. Many would have been dead, but there was still a fair amount of shots far off from any part of the pony silhouette.  

        “Rack ‘em up! Let’s go again!” Flintlock shouted, and fresh targets were sent downrange. 

        Fleethoof noticed one pony whose shots went particularly wide scowling at her target. He smiled gently and stepped up to the empty bench beside her. 

        “Don’t worry about it too much. We’re all doing this to get better,” he reassured the mare, catching her attention as he drew his pistol and chambered the first round. “Just take your time a little more and really line up your shots. Get a feel for your weapon.” 

        A bell was rung, and all at once, the shooting started up again. The mare cocked her gun and took a deep breath. Fleethoof nodded to her, and both ponies took aim. She took the captain’s advice, giving herself an extra second to line up her aim. 

        Bang! Bang!

        They squeezed off round after round. Brass fell to the ground beneath them as the targets recoiled gently against their stands with each hit. After a short while, another ceasefire was called, and the new targets were analyzed. Her aim had improved dramatically, most of the bullets finding a home somewhere within the black silhouette. 

        “There you go! Much better!” Fleethoof said, praising her improvement and patting her on the shoulder. “It just takes practice, like everything. The better you get, the faster you can go.” 

        “That’s easy for you to say, sir,” the mare chuckled, motioning to Fleethoof’s target. 

        A cluster of bullet holes ran through the silhouette’s chest and head, only a few falling short of the grouping in the torso. Fleethoof chuckled and pulled his target down. 

        “I’ve been doing this for a while now. It took a lot of practice, believe me. Just keep it up, Private, and you’ll get better.” 

        “Thank you, sir.” 

        “Again!” Flintlock ordered. And the shooting resumed. 





        “Aaargh!” a pony cried out in pain as his hoof was twisted behind his back. Pinned beneath the weight of his opponent, there was little he could actually do. 

        “Okay, okay! I give! Lemme go!” the poor pony begged. 

        With a disappointed sigh, Midnight Dasher let go of the Earth pony and stepped off of him, stretching her batlike wings out. 

        “And that, everypony, is how you successfully force an enemy into submission in ten seconds flat,” she said, looking around at the group of terrified ponies. “Now, split into pairs and we’ll all take turns sparring with what we’ve learned so far. Once we get the basics down, we can teach you a few advanced techniques to help up your game.” 

        A hoof pressed gently against Midnight’s shoulder. In a whirlwind blur of movement, the bat pony had spun around, swinging her hoof in a vicious hook—only, she never made contact with her would-be assailant. Her hoof was caught mid-swing, a red one pressing just as hard back against her, and the most brilliant blue eyes she’d ever seen met hers. 

        “Nice try,” Fleethoof said and smirked. “But I’ve been punched a lot in my life.” 

        She jerked her hoof away, grinning back at the officer before her and flashing her teeth and sharp fangs. “Well, well... Captain Fleethoof. Coming to make sure we don’t hurt your ponies too much?” 

        Fleethoof cocked his head and shrugged. “Making sure you’re playing nicely with others.” 

        “Ah, familiar with the reputation of us bat ponies, eh?” 

        “Not before now.”  

        A light lit up in Midnight’s eyes, something conniving within her wicked mind. “Is that so?” With an intrigued smirk, she turned back to the audience before them, awkwardly standing around, not sure if they were supposed to begin or wait.  

        “And that, everypony, is why you never sneak up on a bat pony,” said Midnight, acting as if the whole failed attack had been part of her lessons. “Now, before we begin, Captain Fleethoof has volunteered to help demonstrate how to take down ponies with specialized training. You never know what techniques your enemy might know as well.” 

        “Say what now?” 

        Midnight cast a wily look at the surprised pegasus pony. 

        “Everypony get your knives at the ready for this CQC lesson. Do we have any volunteers to take on Fleethoof first?” 

        Fleethoof was suddenly getting very concerned. What was this pony up to? As if reading his mind, Midnight turned around and placed a thick black marker in his hoof. Fleethoof stared down in confusion at the writing instrument now in his grasp. 

        “Your ‘knife’, sir,” she explained with a wink. “Private Quarrel, get us started.” 

        From the throng of soldiers, one pony stepped forward. Standing just slightly taller than he was, Fleethoof eyed the pony closely as he uncapped his marker. A few cheers of encouragement rang out for the challenger. 

        “Corporal, I really must protest,” Fleethoof murmured with a shake of his head. 

        The bat pony cocked her head, taking a few steps out of the ring drawn in the dirt. “What? You said you wanted to make sure everypony was playing nicely.” 

        “But this really isn’t fair.” 

        With a battle cry, Quarrel lunged at the captain, swinging his marker back for the strike. Fleethoof sidestepped out of the way and grabbed the attacking pony by the hoof, spinning him around in place. The next thing Quarrel knew, the pegasus was behind him, twisting his hoof painfully behind his back. Before Quarrel could even cry out, Fleethoof kicked his leg out from underneath him, and the pony hit the ground hard. 

        “See?” Fleethoof remarked, holding the struggling pony down beneath his weight. 

        “Go on, Fleethoof! Finish the fight!” Midnight laughed, hooves crossed as she sat back, relaxing and watching with glee. 

        "That's 'Captain'." 

        "Go on!" 

        Fleethoof rolled his eyes and uncapped his marker with his teeth. He brought the soft felt tip down into the back of the pony’s spine, right between the shoulder blades. Black ink stained his fur, confirming the would-be kill blow. 

        “Game, set, match!” Midnight said with a cheer, clapping her hooves excitedly. “Nice try, Quarrel. Better luck next time. Who’s next?” 

        Letting the defeated, dusty pony up, Fleethoof shook his head. “Corporal Dasher, this is getting out of hoof—” 

        “Star Swirl, you’re up!” 

        A unicorn stepped forward this time, tossing his marker back and forth between his hooves while strafing around the pegasus. Fleethoof was completely ignoring him, still arguing with Midnight Dasher. 

        “This isn’t teaching them anything except how—Whoa!” Fleethoof cried out in surprise as he was suddenly taken down to the ground, his legs giving out in a burst of magic. 

        Star Swirl leapt at him, bringing the marker down like a blade. Fleethoof barely managed to roll out of the way in time, a few feathers on his wing scathed with black ink. He got back to his hooves, shaking himself off and glaring at the soldier who had attacked him. 

        “Stand down, Private. This isn’t a fight you want to pick,” said Fleethoof in warning, turning his attention yet again to the ever incorrigible bat pony, now idly examining her hooves. “Corporal, listen to me when I’m—” 

        A blow to Fleethoof’s face sent him reeling, stumbling backwards, but not falling. He shook the ringing out of his ears and turned angrily back to the unicorn soldier still trying to fight him. 

        “Private, I’m warning you.” 

        The pony came at him again, a right hook aimed for the captain’s head. Fleethoof ducked the attack, sidestepping behind the pony. 

        “That does it.” 

        Fleethoof caught the next swing in the crook of the pony’s leg, blocking the attack and leaving him wide open. A quick jab to the pony’s abdomen doubled him over, and an uppercut knocked him flat on his back. Unlike the ruthless attacks of the Guards, Fleethoof waited patiently while Star Swirl coughed, trying to regain his breath. 

        “Get up,” Fleethoof ordered, circling around the downed pony as he spun his marker in his hoof like it were a real blade. “You started this, now finish it. Get up.” 

        All around the ring, the rest of the Guard were shouting out, either for the captain to finish him or for the private to keep going. Bets were being taken amongst the ranks. Fleethoof did his best to ignore the rabble. They’d been working hard; they’d earned a little amusement, especially after training with the bat ponies. 

        Finally, Star Swirl got back up, albeit wobbly, to his hooves. Fleethoof smiled proudly at the soldier and nodded to him, taking a firm, defensive stance. All members of Skyfall Team had been required to develop their own styles of close-quarter combat. While some, like Valiant’s and Cupcake’s used a lot of forward offense, Fleethoof’s relied on countering and unbalancing the opponent, and was more defensive. 

        Star Swirl came forward again, using his magic to hold his ‘knife’ and freeing up his hooves as weapons as well. Fleethoof blocked a punch, and another, and then had to duck as the levitating marker sliced through the air where his neck had been moments before. He backpedaled a few steps, making sure he was still within the large ring. 

        The two ponies slowly circled one another, eyeing each other down. Fleethoof feigned a lunge. Star Swirl flinched and nearly tripped over his own hooves. The soldiers around them laughed, startling the unicorn. It gave Fleethoof all the distraction he needed. Swatting the marker to the ground, he rushed the pony, landing a strike against his stomach again and bringing his elbow around into the back of Star Swirl’s head. The pony collapsed to the ground, and Fleethoof brought his marker down into his back twice where his lungs would have been, for good measure. 

        “Winner! Who’s next?” 

        An Earth pony shouted out loud as he ran straight for the captain, hurdling himself at him like a runaway train. Fleethoof braced himself where he stood, and then plunged his hoof forward, up underneath the charging pony. The two collided, and Fleethoof’s marker lay jabbed underneath the pony’s ribs, his pseudo-blade sunk right up into his chest cavity. 

        The pony looked down as he saw the black ink seeping into his yellow coat. Fleethoof cocked a smile and stared into the pony’s wide, surprised eyes as he drew a line across his throat in a coup de grace. 

        “Nice try, soldier.” 

        “Next!” 

        Two ponies rushed out at him before the other challenger had even stepped away. Fleethoof eyed the two, then snatched his defeated opponent’s marker and tossed it through the air. The felt tip struck one of the two just above her collar, ending her fight before it even began. 

        As the second came closer, he wound up the beginnings of a haymaker. Fleethoof ducked the attack and dropped to the ground, sweeping a kick that knocked the pony’s legs out from underneath him. Spinning back, the captain brought his marker down on the pony’s chest, and then across his throat. 

        “Next!” Midnight called again, enthralled in the fighting. 





        The process continued for several more engagements. Against Fleethoof’s wishes, more and more ponies tried to take him on, either alone or in pairs. Once he had eleven consecutive victories under his belt, nopony else dared to step forward to face him. 

        When nopony would heed Midnight’s order, Fleethoof let out a sigh of relief. At least he wasn’t coming under attack for… whatever the purpose of this lesson was anyway. Midnight scowled and got to her hooves, snatching a marker away from the nearest pony. 

        “Well, if nopony’s brave enough to step up to the plate, I guess I’ll have to show you all how to fight properly.” She sneered at Fleethoof. “You ready, pegasus?” 

        “Always, bat,” Fleethoof remarked, turning the marker over in his grasp, “And that’s ‘Captain’ to you.” 

        Midnight’s wings flared as she took to the air, soaring upwards a few yards before dive-bombing the pony below. Fleethoof timed her attack, and rolled out of the way as Midnight collided with the earth, kicking a cloud of dust up around them. Fleethoof shielded his eyes, peeking out once the rush of air had passed him—only to see the bat pony tackle him. The two tumbled backwards, Fleethoof using the momentum to kick Midnight backwards and away from him. 

        Midnight landed on her hooves, skidding to a stop as her opponent scrambled to his hooves. Bat ponies were notorious for fighting dirty and with speed and strength. But Fleethoof had agility on his side, a trait pegasi possessed that bat ponies lacked. That would be the key to her undoing. 

        The soldiers watching began to chant and cheer for whichever side they supported. The sole fact that Midnight hadn’t been knocked out yet surprised the audience, who had grown used to the minute-long matches up till now. Stallion and mare circled one another, daring the other to make a move. 

        Again, Midnight took the initiative, rushing forward, and then twirling out of the way as Fleethoof swung at her, positioning herself like a dancer behind the pegasus. Fleethoof felt a hoof strike his side from behind, and he crumpled, a dull ache shaking his legs. Midnight had struck a pressure point. 

        The next thing he knew, his head was being jerked backwards. He knew what would come next: the inevitable soft felt running across his neck, marking him as a dead stallion. Not while he still had some fight left in him. Before Midnight could finish the fight, Fleethoof slid his rear leg back, hooking it behind the mare’s, and sweeping his legs around, knocking her to the ground with him. 

        Soldiers cheered as Fleethoof twisted around with a roar, bringing his ‘knife’ down on Midnight. But the attack never made contact. Midnight’s hoof shot out, blocking his from getting any closer to her torso. The two ponies grunted as they struggled against one another’s strength, the deadly pen hovering in the air between them. Biting his lip, Fleethoof put all his strength forward, bringing the marker slowly closer, and closer still. 

        And then he felt a pressure against his chest. Midnight kicked with all her might, sending him flying onto his back again. He hit the dirt with a grunt, the breath knocked from him. Midnight scrambled for her fallen weapon as Fleethoof leapt back to his hooves, and the face-off resumed. 

        “You’re pretty good, I’ll give you that,” Dasher said, chuckling while wiping the dirt from her face. 

        “Arrogance isn’t becoming of you, Corporal.” 

        “Then let me back up my words.” 

        The ponies clashed again, a flurry of hooves and pens flying back and forth. Whatever training the bat ponies went through over at Fort Shadow was clearly effective. Fleethoof was having just as much trouble landing a hit on her as she was with him. There was a reason the Lunar Guard was much smaller, and more exclusive. The bat ponies really worked their tails off to prove themselves. 

        Fleethoof winced as their markers collided with a snap. It was as if they were real blades now, and just as dangerous and threatening. With each click of plastic against plastic, Fleethoof could feel the danger grow more and more real in his mind. Flashbacks to the Griffon War played in his mind. He could feel the cool spray of rain on his coat. Midnight became a griffon from times long gone. He could hear the sound of metal clashing, and thunder booming overhead. 

        With renewed vigor, Fleethoof locked their weapons again, then grabbed Midnight’s hoof and spun beneath it, twisting it behind her back. The pony cried out in surprise, and then again when the captain brought his hoof into her elbow, nearly dislocating her leg and forcing her to drop her marker. Fleethoof brought a hind leg down on the back of hers, dropping her to her knees and holding her in submission. 

        The pegasus officer glanced up at the crowd of soldiers applauding him. He grinned a little, hoping this was educational for them. Many of them were indicating for him to finish Midnight. The pony in question struggled against his hold, but he twisted her leg a little more and put more pressure against her back, holding her down. Who was he to disappoint the eager troops? 

        “Good fight, Corporal,” he said, tossing his marker in the air and catching it again. “But not good enough. Nice try.” 

        Just as Fleethoof went for the killing blow, something clocked him across his jaw hard, sending him spiraling backwards to the ground. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. He looked up once the fog in front of his eyes cleared, seeing another Lunar Guard helping Midnight to her hooves. It was one of the other three, the private. 

        Fleethoof spat the mouthful of blood out and got back up. So that was how the fight was going to go down. He’d had worse odds before. With a quick jerk of his head to snap the vertebrae in his neck, the captain took his stance, staring down both of his enemies now. 

        “Need a little help, Corporal?” he asked in mock fashion. 

        “If you have an advantage, always use it to your benefit,” Dasher remarked, collecting her pen and grinning wickedly. “That’s the bat pony way.” 

        The two began to circle around Fleethoof, making as if to flank him. He didn’t know what to expect, or which one to go for. Anything could happen now. 

        That anything came in the form of some physical mass unexpectedly grabbing Fleethoof’s hooves from behind. He tried to look behind him, but his assailant was out of sight. The private rushed forward, taking one of Fleethoof’s legs from his partner, and the two ponies held the captain tightly in place. It was the third Lunar Guard that had leapt in to help. Of course they looked after their own kind. 

        “Are you fucking kidding me?!” Fleethoof snarled, jerking and fighting against his captors, but to no avail. 

        “What was that you were saying, Fleet? Nice try?” Midnight teased, smirking at the restrained pony. 

        “That’s ‘Captain’.” His words were growled out. Most of the guards were silent, waiting to see how things would play out, and too afraid to challenge their bat pony instructors. 

        “Well, nice try anyway, but bat ponies always stick together,” she said with glee in her voice, savoring the moment of triumph. “I hope this was as educational for you as it was for the soldiers. It’s really too bad though. You were good. The best I’ve had in a long time.” 

        “Don’t flatter yourself…” 

        She laughed softly. “All right, I’ll spare you your misery.” 

        Midnight took a step forward. 

        And then she was tugged backwards, held in place by somepony. 

        “Excuse me, but that’s not fair.” 

        Midnight Dasher looked over her shoulder in confusion, just in time to see a hoof connect with the side of her face, sending her reeling almost out of the ring. The individual that had saved him shook his hoof off, grinning at Fleethoof. 

        “Need some help, boss?” Sharp Shot asked, winking to his officer. 

        Midnight shouted out in anger as she swung at Sharp Shot, the unicorn ducking and weaving past her attacks with ease. Fleethoof flapped his wings, hovering in place to bring his hooves out and kick both ponies holding him in their sides. They recoiled, loosening their grip on him, and Fleethoof had his opening. He jerked his right hoof free, then brought it into a bat’s stomach and flipped him over onto the ground. 

        The other bat pony grabbed Fleethoof around the neck and squeezed. Struggling to hold his breath, Fleethoof brought his elbow back hard against his enemy’s gut twice, and he relented. He spun and landed a vicious hook against the Lunar Guard’s jaw. The pony hit the dirt, and it was lights out. 

        Sharp Shot disappeared in a burst of magic as Dasher brought a kick around at his head. She blinked in surprise, and then felt a strike hit her square in her back, knocking her to the dirt. She got up, only to see a scarlet hoof fill her field of vision, and then a stinging pain and ringing filled her head. 

        As her vision returned, she realized she was on her back, staring up at the sky. Something soft and wet was pressing against her chest, right where her pounding heart was. And then she saw Fleethoof, leaning down over her, marker in hoof, jabbed into her torso. 

        “Nice try anyway,” Fleethoof mockingly repeated her previous statement. “But Skyfall always sticks together.” 

        The soldiers looking on cheered and applauded. Breathing hard, Fleethoof stood up again, wiping a thin trail of blood from his mouth and trotted over to Sharp Shot, who had just put the last Lunar Guard down. The two exchanged grins, and Fleethoof put his hoof on the sniper’s shoulder, his coat slick with sweat and body aching all over. 

        “Thank you, Sharp. I was in some serious trouble there.” 

        “Yeah, you kinda were.” The unicorn stallion laughed. “You’re a hot mess, boss. What have you been doing?” 

        Fleethoof chuckled. “Teaching. Don't worry about me. What are you doing here?” 

        “Looking for you. The team and I need to talk to you about something.” 

        Fleethoof’s brow knitted together in concern. His team knew he was going to be busy helping Shining Armor retrain the Guard. What did Skyfall need to discuss with him so urgently? 

        “Fleethoof.” 

        The pegasus in question turned around to glance at Midnight Dasher. She had struggled back to her hooves. She looked as much of a mess as he felt. Her coat and mane were tousled and covered in dirt. Beads of sweat dotted her forehead. A few bruises were already becoming evident on her. But she was smiling—smiling, and saluting. 

        “Captain… You’re one hell of a fighter... Thanks for demonstrating to the class,” she said, giving him a wink. “Come on by anytime. You’re always welcome here.” 

        She turned back to the soldiers, wobbling slightly as she walked. “Okay… Now pair up… and do what we just did… I don’t care how long, just… just punch each other or something… I need to go lie down.” 

        “She likes you,” Sharp Shot teased. 

        Fleethoof punched the pony’s shoulder lightly. “She's not my type." 

        The sniper smirked. "Skilled?" 

        "Wild." 

        "Sounds like you. That could be fun." 

        Fleethoof scoffed. "I think you’ve said enough for one day. What does the team need?” 

        For a moment, Sharp Shot didn’t say anything. He looked around, and then motioned for Fleethoof to follow him. 

        “I think it’s something we should talk about in private.” 

        The captain frowned, and limped alongside Sharp Shot out of the barracks. Already, Fleethoof didn’t like the turn of this conversation.

> Chapter 3: Union
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Skyfall Headquarters was busy and noisy with the sound of heavy construction. For the past few days, Quarter Master had taken up a secret project with Luna, one that they both adamantly refused to share with the spec ops team. But whatever it was, it involved a lot of metal and welding and round-the-clock work. 

        Today was no different. Fleethoof gazed in curiosity at the monstrous metal frame sitting like an eyesore in the middle of the chamber. It didn’t look like anything he had ever seen before. But then again, with Quarter Master, nothing was ever to be expected. 

        “Everypony’s waiting in the office,” Sharp Shot said, guiding his leader across the floor and over to the boardroom. 

        True to his word, when Fleethoof entered the room, four pairs of eyes turned in his direction. Nopony said a word as Sharp Shot closed the door behind them, sealing the six ponies in the nearly silent room. Fleethoof looked between his team, studying the expressions of concern, confusion, and upset. 

        “Well?” he asked after a few moments had passed. “I expected everypony to be enjoying their break, not moping. Is anypony going to tell me what’s going on?” 

        “Captain,” Valiant spoke up after another long bout of silence. “Who are Fireteam Union?” 

        The name made the pegasus blink a couple of times in quick succession. He hadn’t heard of that unit in some time, not since well before the Canterlot incident. 

        “Where did you hear about them?” he asked slowly. 

        “Quarter Master was talking about making new equipment for them sometime soon, and that he sent a prototype out to them. And, well, we hadn’t heard of them, so we thought—” 

        “Skyfall is being replaced?” Cupcake asked abruptly. 

        Fleethoof felt a wave of relief wash over him. That’s what this whole panic was about? He furrowed his brow slightly. 

        “Why would you think we’re being replaced? We just got started.” 

        “Exactly!” exclaimed the large Earth pony. “Did we do bad? We fuck something up, yes? That is why they make second team!” 

        “No, no that’s not the case,” Fleethoof reassured his comrade, leaning against the table towards the ponies. “Fireteam Union is like us, an experimental project going through their test phase now. We passed; they haven’t yet. They’re not a threat to us.” 

        Sharp Shot spoke up. “Then what are they, boss?” 

        Fleethoof wet his lips, trying to think of the best way to describe Union. 

        “Union is a specialty unit based out of the Wonderbolts Academy. We’re made of the best in our fields, but they’re made strictly of uniform abilities. They are all pegasi, so they’re a pegasi special unit, but they’re basic soldiers. They don’t deal in the same tasks we do. They get the easier ones, so to say, so we don’t get bogged or run down. They’re mostly a trial of public spec ops, and stress relief for us. But nopony is being replaced.” 

        Cupcake didn’t look convinced. “But, these ponies—” 

        “Nopony is being replaced.” 

        “But they—” 

        “Nopony is being replaced!” 

        Cupcake fell silent, leaning back against the far wall and crossing his hooves. A deep sigh left the captain, trying to think of another way to explain this to them. 

        “Look, Fireteam Union is going to be beneficial to us. They’ve already been fairly successful so far, and it gives us time to really hone our skills and focus on the most dangerous threats to Equestria,” he explicated slowly and calmly. “Imagine if we investigated every little hint of danger. We’d be run ragged by the end of the month. With the world in as much turmoil as it is, they give us some breathing room. They let us do what we do best. They’re not going to become us.” 

        Valiant shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Why didn’t you tell us about them?” 

        “It slipped my mind during all the chaos with The Sword, but I had every intention to,” Fleethoof apologized. “They weren’t high on my priority list though. I haven’t heard any news on their actions in some time though, so I mostly just assumed they had either completed whatever mission they were on, or had been disbanded or killed. I’m sorry, I didn’t think it would worry you this much.” 

        Another unsettling silence took hold of the room. Fleethoof hung his head with a tired sigh. This day was not going well… 

        Finally, Cupcake nodded once, firm and resolute. “I forgive.” 

        A half smile touched the pegasus’ lips. If there was one pony he could always count on to back him up, it was that big lug. 

        “I suppose I understand now,” Sharp Shot agreed, his tone pessimistic. “But I have my doubts.” 

        “You always have doubt,” Cupcake retorted. 

        “Captain?” Valiant’s voice is what finally made Fleethoof look back up again, locking gazes with his teammate. “I still have a question.” 

        Fleethoof could feel his exhaustion grow. “Shoot.” 

        “What about the situation in the south?” 

        An icy chill gripped Fleethoof’s heart. A shudder ran through his core. He swallowed hard, dropping his gaze to the varnished wood of the table. He shivered gently and pulled his pills out of a pocket in his uniform, downing one quickly to numb the pain starting in his wing’s joint again. 

        “What about it?” 

        Valiant hesitated for a moment. “Well… aren’t we going to do anything about it?” 

        “No.” Fleethoof shook his head quickly. “You know as well as I do Equestria’s position is strictly isolationist. We can’t interfere.” 

        “But, sir, the fighting is escalating.” 

        “I know, Valiant,” snapped Fleethoof, resting his sore face in his hooves and exhaling hard to calm himself down. “I know… But we can’t do anything about it. The princesses have forbidden it. It’s not our concern.” 

        The room was quiet. All that could be heard was dull banging and clanking of the mechanics and researchers working just outside the door. 

        “Go home, everypony,” Fleethoof said, mumbling into his hooves while rubbing his throbbing temples to soothe the headache. “We’re not on active duty. Take some time to yourselves. Enjoy life. And don’t worry, nothing is going to happen.” 

        For the longest time, nopony spoke or moved. The room was as still as it had always been. And then Sharp Shot stepped out of the room. Cupcake and Lightning Flash followed shortly after, and then Blue Shield joined them. Valiant, loyal as he was, lingered a few minutes more, but when his officer didn’t speak or move, he gave up and, with a reluctant sigh, left as well. 

        Now alone in the quiet of the boardroom, Fleethoof let his hooves fall from his eyes. He felt tired, and wanted nothing more than to sleep and forget about the world for a time. With each passing day, the world seemed to be slowly unraveling at the seams, and only a few ponies were holding it together. Like Valiant, he was worried about Equestria’s foreign affairs, and of their stake with their allies. 

        But it wasn’t their fight. Equestria didn’t need another war. Hell, he didn’t even know which side he supported. 

        They were finally at peace again—truly at peace. There was no dark threat looming in the shadows; no doomsday heralded ahead. Equestria had finally reached a point of harmony, and he had to agree with the princesses. There was no need to compromise what they had fought so hard for. 

        And in truth, he was worried about Fireteam Union. Not because he felt they would be their replacements, but because he felt they were very temporary. They had not been established based on tactical skill, like Skyfall had. They were the crash test of a new breed of soldier: a counter offensive unit, akin to Skyfall, but built on the rigidity of the military. They were ordinary soldiers, retrained and sent off to be heroes. 

        Deep down, in the pit of his gut, Fleethoof had a bad feeling about the whole ordeal. 

        He glanced up at the screen in the boardroom. He hadn’t noticed it before, but somepony had turned it on. The monitor displayed a current world map. Down in the southern lands of Saddle Arabia, little diagrams of troops progressed back and forth in projected movement patterns. Details of engagements appeared in real time. He was watching a war through a TV screen. 

        A war that never ended… 
	


> Chapter 4: Exfiltration
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	        “Who are the finest soldiers in all of Equestria?” 

        “Royal Guards!” 

        “I can’t hear you!” Shining Armor shouted over the sound of the pouring rain. 

       “Royal Guards!” the squad of exercising soldiers shouted in typical call-and-response style. 

        Shining Armor nodded, his wet mane hanging down over his eyes as he scouted out each and every trooper. At his request, the weather team had provided a downpour for the day’s training. Practice in unpredictable, unpleasant, and challenging conditions was the lesson du jour. 

        “And who here is a Royal Guard?” the unicorn asked, pacing back and forth before the troops. 

        “Hooah!” everypony chanted. 

        Shining Armor laughed out loud. “Was that the best you’ve got? The rain is louder than you.” 

        “Hooah!” 

        “Is this my Guard, or am I at a Foal Scouts meeting?” 

        “HOOAH!” 

        “For the sun!” the Captain of the Guard sang out. “For the moon!” 

        “For Equestria!” The ringing shouts of the determined, hardened soldiers overpowered that of the thunder rumbling overhead. 

        Another nod from the Captain of the Guard. Since their training had begun three weeks ago, everypony was showing progress at or exceeding expectations. If this success kept up, they’d be ready for combat in no time. 

        “GRENADE!” somepony yelled. 

        The squad panicked, and quickly darted every which way, diving to the mud to get out of the way of the would-be explosive. Somepony screamed dramatically. Shining Armor turned around in surprised anger, glaring daggers at a mischievously grinning Midnight Dasher. 

        “Corporal Dasher! What was that?” he demanded, turning back to the startled squad. “Back in formation, start over. Fifty reps, begin!” 

        Midnight brushed her dripping indigo bangs out of her golden eyes, still laughing to herself. “I was just testing your squad’s reflexes.” 

        “Well I think they passed.” 

        “Maybe…” The bat pony grinned. “But you’ll never know until they’re actually under fire.” 

        The moment she finished her sentence, Midnight Dasher drew her pistol from her belt and fired two shots into the air. Again, the ponies scattered and fell to the mud. All around the training ground, ponies dropped as well. Midnight nodded in approval while Shining Armor scowled in frustration. So far, the Lunar Guards were proving to be a hoofful, despite how helpful their knowledge of hoof-to-hoof combat was. 

        “Satisfied? Shouldn’t you be training your squad right now?” 

        “The other two are handling it.” Midnight brushed off the Captain of the Guard like it was nothing. “Actually, I was looking for Fleethoof. I was hoping he’d be up for another demonstration today. Have you seen him around, or is he slacking off from teaching too?” 

        Shining snorted to hold back a laugh at the notion of that pegasus ever slacking off on anything. “Do you really want to get beaten again? No, Captain Fleethoof isn’t here today. Captain Stratagem has taken on his combat class for the day.” 

        Midnight cocked her head in confusion. “Why not? Does he melt in the rain or something?” 

        “No,” Shining said with a sigh, clearly losing his patience with the mare. “He had a more important task to handle.” 

        “Oh.” A moment of silence passed between the ponies. “What does he even do anyway? He doesn’t look like a regular Guard grunt-turned-desk-jockey.” 

        “He’s not.” Shining’s answer was succinct, abruptly dropping the topic. 

        “So what does he do?” 

        The unicorn rolled his eyes in absolute frustration. “Why don’t you ask him?” 

        “Okay, where is he?” 

        “Busy.” 

        Midnight Dasher huffed. “Thanks, that’s very helpful. Really, where is he?” 

        “Like I said, Corporal: busy.” 

        “Oh come on! What is he even doing?” 





        Chaos was the scene that greeted Fleethoof as he stepped out of the elevator. All around him, ponies dressed both in lab coats and technical outfits ran around ponies in suits huddled in their briefing zone. The large monitor hung on the wall displayed a topographical map of a snow-covered mountain range somewhere Fleethoof hadn’t been before. 

        Construction had just finished on Quarter Master’s metal abominations. Over time, the designs had come more and more together, and eventually had been relocated from the base to somewhere else. The designs had still looked strange to Fleethoof, but he put his trust in Quarter’s ingenuity. 

        He approached the gathering of pony officers around the briefing table at his leisure. Whatever he had been summoned for was clearly more important than ensuring the Royal Guard knew how to fight in difficult weather conditions. 

        “Live feed is synced, real time updates still coming in,” a Skyfall technician reported, glancing up at the television screen overhead. 

        “Great, perfect,” an orange, fiery-maned pegasus mare muttered, looking over reports in her hooves, only half paying attention to anything else. 

        Aside from the new pegasus mare and the technician, Fleethoof recognized Princess Luna amongst the group, as well as a dark gray pegasus stallion with a brilliant cyan mane, dressed in high-ranking attire. As he approached the table, Luna noticed him and smiled at the pony. 

        “Captain Fleethoof, thank you kindly for joining us in today’s endeavors.” 

        “I wouldn’t have missed it,” he remarked, looking up at the map again, and then at the files strewn across the table. “Remind me why we built our headquarters underground to hide it if we’re just going to bring everypony down here anyway?” 

        “They had my permission to use our facilities. Before I brief you, permit me to introduce you to our guests,” Luna said, stepping around to the orange mare. “You know of First Lieutenant Spitfire of the Wonderbolts, correct?” 

        “Who doesn’t?” Fleethoof chuckled, nodding to the preoccupied pony, who merely made a sound of acknowledgment to him. 

        “Indeed, the Wonderbolts’ reputation proceeds them,” Luna continued, moving on to the gray pegasus. “And this is Captain Black Hawk, our commanding officer for the Royal Equestrian Air Force, and chief administrator of military operations out of Cloudsdale.” 

        “It’s a pleasure, sir.” Fleethoof shook the captain’s hoof, who gave the operator a half-cocked smile in turn. 

        “Likewise, Captain Fleethoof,” he said, his voice deep and gruff, the voice of a pony who had seen his fair share of experiences. 

        Luna then pushed a few select papers towards Fleethoof. “This is why we are here, Captain. Spitfire’s unit has located some locations of key importance to Equestria’s security. You have been briefed on the project, yes?” 

        “Fireteam Union, yes, I’m aware of them…” he said as he skimmed over the reports. “They’ve resurfaced? What have they found?” 

        “Weapons caches, being sold by black market dealers to all sorts of shady characters,” Black Hawk answered. “We’ve only got bits and pieces of intel on the dealers themselves, but a source gave us the location for their depots, and Union is investigating now.” 

        Fleethoof nodded slowly. “And how reliable was the source?” 

        “He got reliable.” Black Hawk chuckled deeply. 

        The captain gave a half smirk. He knew not to press the issue any further. Union had slipped off Canterlot’s radar, working strictly on a need-to-know basis. Reports had come in less frequently, until they completely stopped. If they were resurfacing now, this had to be the real deal. 

        “Where is Union right now?” 

        Fleethoof’s question was answered as Black Hawk zoomed the map out on the screen. The Black Ice Mountains, up in The Frozen North. A shiver ran down the pegasus’ spine just imagining how Union must be feeling up there. It was a good hiding spot for a weapons cache though. Unlike some of the other mountains in the north, the Black Ice range was steep, remote, and dangerous. Tourists and vacationers avoided that place for more favorable terrain. 

        “ETA?” 

        “Roughly an hour, give or take,” said Black Hawk. “We’re awaiting the first transmissions from them.” 

        Realization dawned on Fleethoof. “So that’s why you’ve commandeered my base. You needed the equipment for overwatch.” 

        Luna nodded. “Correct. But there is more to this mission.” 

        He cocked his head sideways. “What’s that, your majesty?” 

        “You’re going to provide backup for Union on their operation. This is dangerous territory, and I’m not about to make the same mistake my sister did and underestimate the North.” 

        For a moment, Fleethoof didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even know if all of Skyfall Team was still present in Canterlot to offer assistance. But another, more pressing question lingered in his mind. 

        “Princess Luna, it’s nearly a three hour train ride up to Snowdrift Outpost, and then however long on hoof to where they are,” Fleethoof pointed out, worry in his voice. “We would never make it there in time.” 

        Luna’s bemused smirk did little to assuage Fleethoof’s concern, but certainly peaked his curiosity. 

        “That’s why you aren’t taking a train.” 





        “What the fuck is that?” 

        Sharp Shot’s question was one everypony was thinking of as they stood out on the tarmac of the Canterlot Airfield. The airfield had been mostly unused since the air force had been relocated to Cloudsdale years ago, but with the recent addition of pegasi back into Canterlot Company and Quarter Master’s newest masterpieces, it served a purpose once more. 

        Before the ponies sat two metal aircraft, shining in the afternoon sunlight from the hole in the storm clouds punched through by the weather team. One was a long, smooth looking design while the other was more bulbous, and looked lighter and thinner. The framework on each had been covered in a sleek black metal hull on both models with glass windshields at the front. Long, metal blades sat atop each creation, fanning out in four and six directions, like a cross and star respectively. 

        The bulbous one had two small wing-like appendages attached to its sides, machine guns and pods filled with rockets attached to each. It looked as if it could seat about two ponies, with about six passengers seated on the rails on the sides. It was clearly meant more for combat than for transport. 

        The larger of the two looked more fearsome and intimidating. The hulking black frame was made even more formidable by the two large machine guns pointed out of the open spaced cabin. Including the two seats in the cockpit, the entire vehicle looked as if it could carry many more ponies. Fleethoof estimated up to a dozen soldiers. 

        “Gentlecolts,” Quarter Master announced with a tone of glee in his voice and pride beaming on his face. “Say hello to your new friends: the Black Hawk and Little Bird, the first military aerial vehicles in all of Equestria! I call them helicopters. No longer are hot air balloons the only way to traverse the skies!” 

        “Quarter Master, what…” was all Fleethoof was able to murmur out, still gawking in amazement at the feats of pony engineering sitting before his eyes, bathed in Celestia’s golden sunlight. 

        “Faster than trains too, both of them! The Black Hawk features multiple troop transport, a reinforced hull, and all the radar and radio equipment we have set up in our HQ. I aptly named it after our powerhouse commander of the air force,” the enraptured unicorn continued. “The Little Bird is our swift, agile attack helicopter. Twin high caliber miniguns and dual rocket pods loaded with high explosive projectiles. A little slower than the Black Hawk and with less space and armor, but what it lacks there it makes up for in firepower. It’s meant to provide fast-acting aerial support to ground troops.” 

        “What the fuck…” Sharp Shot repeated, shaking his head, eyes wide with a mixture of shock and pure terror. 

        “This is what you’ve been working on day and night for the past month?” 

        “Yes indeed, Captain!” 

        “Approximately how much faster are they?” Fleethoof asked. 

        “Twice as fast at top speeds.” 

        Fleethoof nodded. “Fast is good.” 

        “That’s great and all. I love speed as much as the next pony,” Sharp quipped, sarcasm dripping from his lips. “But who’s gonna fly it?” 

        “Oh, don’t worry about that.” Quarter Master motioned to two ponies approaching them from one of the hangars. “Meet Sergeant Silver Wings and Airpony First Class Blue Yonder, the only ponies so far to have successfully completed the new flight training at the Wonderbolt Academy.” 

        The two pegasus ponies stepped forward and saluted Skyfall Team. “Ready to fly, sir!” 

        “Oh… Great… Fantastic…” the sniper muttered despondently. 

        “Are you sure they’re ready?” Fleethoof cast an apprehensive look over his shoulder to Quarter Master. "They've only had a month of theoretical training." 

        “As ready as simulations can prepare them.” Quarter Master stepped in between the two pegasi. “These prototypes are brand new, this will be their maiden flight—for both helicopter and pilot.” 

        “This is awfully risky, boss…” Sharp Shot warned. 

        “I know…” Fleethoof took a deep breath. “But it’s our only way to get to Union in time.” 

        Quarter Master clopped his hooves together happily, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Well then, Captain Fleethoof, which one of my babies will you be breaking in today?” 





        The inside of the helicopter wasn’t nearly as noisy as Fleethoof had imagined it would be. Then again, with the noise dampening radio headsets each pony wore, it was slightly difficult to make out anything other than the dull thumping of the rotors in the air. For its size, the Black Hawk flew smoothly through the air, like an eagle gliding on the wind. 

        It was fast, too. Quarter Master hadn’t been exaggerating on the speed. By the time the first radio transmission came from Union, the helicopter had just flown over the border between Equestria and The Frozen North. It put them at just under an hour out from their AO. 

        When they had boarded the aircraft, Fleethoof had been trepidatious at best. The Black Hawk, while seemingly safe, reliable, and sturdy, still smelled of newness. It had not been tested or proven in use yet. They were the guinea pigs. Quite literally, anything could go wrong with it. 

        But they had no other alternative. If they didn’t go, Union would be without support, and may be eradicated. 

        He and Valiant had gotten on board, with a suspicious Blue Shield climbing up next. Sharp Shot had held out till last, adamantly refusing to board the helicopter until both Valiant and Fleethoof had pulled him on against his wishes. The doors shut, and the pilots made their last minute checks. 

        And then they were airborne, lifting up off the tarmac. 

        Fleethoof had to hand it to them, for green pilots, both Silver Wings and Blue Yonder were handling themselves very well. They took off without a hitch and had made it past the halfway point without so much as an issue. They continued to bounce back and forth off of one another, making sure every system was green and good. It calmed Fleethoof’s nerves to see the training had paid off, even with a lack of hooves-on practice. 

        Sharp Shot, on the other hoof, was still clutching tight to the edge of his seat, his rifle grasped firmly between his legs. The pony looked absolutely mortified, and ready to throw up at a moment’s notice. Valiant remained cool as ever, staring out the windows as they soared over the white, snow-blanketed ground. Blue Shield sat still in his seat, his eyes closed either in sleep or silent inflection. 

        Fleethoof stood beside the cockpit, close enough to keep an eye on the pilots and watch his team. He didn’t know how many members of Union were on the ground, but judging by the size of the cabin, they had more than enough room. Hell, all of Skyfall and Union could have fit in. 

        It felt alien, wearing all of his gear, but knowing they weren’t actually being deployed into the field. His Kevlar vest felt like an unnecessary luxury. Skyfall was strictly acting as a protection detail, a glorified chauffer of sorts. Fleethoof didn’t know how to feel about that. But, in all fairness, this wasn’t their op. It was Union’s time in the spotlight, and he had to practice what he had preached to his team in the briefing room. 

        In some regards, Union was like their little brother, and they had to look out for them. 

        The helicopter rocked to and fro as it swerved through the air. Across the cabin, Sharp Shot dry-heaved a few times. Blue Shield leaned away from the stallion, just in case. 

        “You okay, Sharp?” he asked the sniper through his headset. 

        The unicorn looked up at his officer for a moment, and then just bowed his head, taking deep breaths to steady himself. 

        “Unicorns were not meant to fly,” he remarked. “This was supposed to be your deal, not mine.” 

        Fleethoof chuckled. He would have never pegged Sharp Shot for one squeamish of flying. He silently wondered how Cupcake and Lightning Flash would take it. 

        “It’ll be over soon,” he said back, hoping to calm the nauseous looking pony. “Just a quick fly in, extract, and get back home. Easy.” 

        The sniper nodded a few times in short succession, but didn’t speak again. He was too afraid that if he opened his mouth again, the contents of the salad he had for lunch would end up all over the floor of the copter. 

        “HQ to Blackbird One, come in. Over.”

        The voice of Spitfire coming through the ponies’ headsets was unmistakable. The pilots answered first: 

        “Blackbird One copies. Over.” 

“Have you reached the site yet? Over.”

        “Negative, HQ. We are still en route to the AO. ETA thirty minutes.” 

“Better hustle, Blackbird One. We’ve just received our first transmission from Union. They are on site. Over.”

        Fleethoof pursed his lips. Fireteam Union was moving already. They were behind schedule. If they completed their mission too quickly or ran into any trouble, they’d be on their own for a little while. Hopefully, that wouldn’t be the case. 

        “Patch us into the network,” he ordered the pilots. 

        Blue Yonder adjusted the radio momentarily, and with a crackle of static, more voices began to come through their headsets. At first, Fleethoof didn't recognize them. But as he listened to the chatter, he quickly began to realize he was listening to Union. 

        “Keep us updated on any movement, HQ,” Fleethoof asked. “Blackbird One out.” 

        He turned to the pilots again. “We need to get there faster.” 

        “Sir, we can only fly so fast,” Silver Wings said, not taking his eyes off the landscape before them. “We’re going as fast as we can, but it’ll take some time.” 

        “Just do your best. We’re counting on you.” Fleethoof didn't want to pressure the new pilots too much. “And so are they.” 





        Minutes passed by slowly like hours. Tense anxiety gripped the ponies watching the map, watching and waiting for something to happen. 

        Across the table from the two mares, Black Hawk was the picture of cool. He reclined back in his seat with his hooves folded over his chest, staring at the screen as if he were watching his favorite play. No expression painted his face. His eyes were calm and calculating. 

        Spitfire was silent as ever, too busy reading over the reports and intel again, and looking between the papers and the screen. These were her ponies on the ground, her operation, her reputation on the line. She was nervous. 

        And then the radio crackled to life, echoing around the room with a burst of static. 

“Alpha, I’ve found two operators…”

        The first transmission. Everypony in the room went tense, listening closely to what came next. Spitfire pressed a hoof gently to the headset she wore, listening closely to anything else that happened. Black Hawk licked his dry lips, tapping a hoof softly on the floor. 

        Spitfire picked up her headset, setting atop her head and adjusting the frequency to match that of the Black Hawk. 

        “HQ to Blackbird One, come in. Over.” 

        A moment of pause passed. 

        Then came the response, “Blackbird One copies. Over.”

        “Have you reached the site yet?” Spitfire asked, almost belaying radio protocol in her impatience. “Over.” 

“Negative, HQ. We are still en route to the AO. ETA thirty minutes.”

        Thirty minutes. That was way too long if Union was starting their operation now. Spitfire wanted the backup there now. 

        “Better hustle, Blackbird One. We’ve just received our first transmission from Union. They are on site. Over.” 

        Silence came in response from the helicopter. Spitfire didn’t know what to make of it, but Black Hawk and Luna didn’t seem troubled by it. A female voice came through the radio this time, clearly Harp Strings, codenamed Alpha. She sounded hesitant, cautious… 

“Are you scared?”

        “No, but are you sure this is safe?”

        Definitely reluctant to advance. Protecting your ponies was a good quality in a leader, but this was beyond that. There was hesitating in response to any threat of danger. There was more than just watching her teammate’s back. 

        “Keep us updated on any movement, HQ,” came the voice of Captain Fleethoof through the radio. “Blackbird One out.”

        The radio went silent again. Empty static filled the room with white noise. Suddenly, a small dot began to approach one of the cabins on screen, shortly followed by a couple others. Fireteam Union was on the move. Everything went still for the longest time. Nothing came through the radio at all, and the visual on Union had been lost. 

        Unbeknownst to them, everypony in the briefing room had been unconsciously holding their breath, waiting on the edge of their seats. Spitfire was inclined towards the monitor, eagerly watching for anything. 

“Well there’s nothing here.”

        The disappointing message allowed the three ponies a moment to breathe. The tension was almost too much to take. 

“It ain’t over till the fat mare sings.”

        Harp Strings was right. They still had another cabin to check. Perhaps their ‘reliable’ source was shockingly less than reliable when under duress. The ponies watched as the dots moved across the expanse of snow and approached the next target building. Spitfire didn’t hold high hopes for success from this mission. The sound of a door being kicked in came through the radio, followed by the cries of… ponies? 

        Ponies that hadn’t spoken before. Union must have interrupted a couple on a vacation retreat. 

        “Oh Celestia, this is a nightmare…” Spitfire muttered to herself. Her cheeks flushed red, avoiding eye contact with her superiors as she set her headset on the table. 

        But then the report came through that Union had discovered weapons within the house, and everypony looked up in shock. There had been a weapons cache in the mountains after all. Spitfire grinned widely and nodded triumphantly. Her team had proven themselves. Now she could call them back. 

        Just then, the sounds of fighting and struggling came through the radio. Everypony froze. A few gunshots came through the airwaves, and then a few more broke through the static, and silence fell again. 

        Spitfire scrambled for her headset, desperate to find out what had happened. She heard a Union member’s voice. The ponies had won the struggle. Spitfire collapsed across the table, sighing with relief as Black Hawk subtly nodded his head up and down approvingly. Luna simply seemed enthralled in the entire event, taking each second in stride. 

        And then gunfire started up over the radio again. Spitfire’s eyes snapped back to the monitor, watching as three dots fled from the cabin – with several more dots closing in behind them. It was an ambush. 

        “Oh dang! Lightning, pass me a gun!” 

“Suppressing fire!”

        A volley of gunshots filled the room. The sight on the screen confirmed their fears. Union clustered together as the swarm of hostiles descended upon them. Flashes could be seen around the ponies as they fought tooth and nail just for survival. Things had gotten very bad, very fast. 

“Move, we’ve got to go. Now!” 

“Union Actual, copy?”

        Spitfire scrambled for her headset again, setting it lopsidedly upon her head and grabbing the microphone. 

        “Union Actual copies. What’s the problem?” 

“We’ve been ambushed! We need immediate evac.”

        Spitfire looked to Princess Luna and Captain Black Hawk. Luna did and said nothing. Black Hawk just gave a shrug. This was her operation, and she was solely responsible. The call was hers. But they still hadn’t heard back from the helicopter. It hadn’t arrived yet. 

        “Evac granted. Skyfall is in your AO,” Spitfire said back to the ponies on the ground, fudging the details a bit. “You’re welcome. Union Actual out.” 

        Furious, Spitfire turned her attention back to the missing helicopter. “Blackbird One, where the hell are you?!” she all but shouted at empty air. 

        And then the message she couldn’t have wanted any more finally came through. 

“Blackbird One is on site.”





        The mountain range loomed in front of the helicopter as it zipped through the air parallel to the cliffs. So far, they couldn’t see any sign of Fireteam Union, but they were still a few hundred meters out. The white consumed everything in sight. Further up along the mountain, two cabins could be seen, nestled amongst the blanket of snow. These must have been the targets Union was investigating. 

        “Where are they?” Valiant called out, looking out the windows on his side of the Black Hawk. 

        “I don’t know,” Fleethoof muttered, shaking his head as he scanned the snowy ground below. 

        “Ponies, twelve o’clock!” Silver Wings said and brought the helicopter around to bear. 

        Down on the ground, the figures of ponies running against the snow could be seen further down the slope. Several other figures were in close pursuit, and the sound of gunfire could be faintly heard. Muzzle flashes lit up between the two parties. Union was under fire. 

        “Bring us back around,” Fleethoof ordered as the copter came back around for another pass.

        “Wilco.” 

        The helicopter flew back around over the cliff face, swinging wide to make another pass. Suddenly, a large explosion shook the mountain, sending a shockwave through the air. The Black Hawk lurched and shook in midair, tumbling the ponies around inside. Out the windows, Fleethoof watched as the cabins disappeared in a massive fireball—and then snow began to cascade down the slopes, right towards Union. 

        “Ooooh shit…” Sharp Shot murmured, staring in awe. 

        “Get us down there now!” the captain all but shouted, patching in to Union’s frequency as fast as he could. “Union, this is Fleethoof, CO of Skyfall. Get down to the cliffs, we’re here to save you.” 

        The helicopter turned and made its way back towards the edge of the cliffside. Fleethoof chambered the first round in his rifle and flipped the safety off. Valiant had unsnapped his harness and was getting out of his seat. Sharp Shot looked too horrified to even breathe. 

        “Open the doors!” 

        Valiant followed his officer’s ordered, and pulled the side door open with Blue Shield’s help. Cold, arctic air rushed into the cabin like a gale, chilling the ponies inside and nearly blowing Valiant back. With the cabin suddenly open in midair, Fleethoof felt very vulnerable. Poor Sharp Shot looked like he was going to pass out. 

        “Stay with me, Sharp,” said the pegasus. “Focus. Just forget about where you are.” 

        The sniper swallowed hard, uneasily rising from his seat as he clutched tight to his gun for dear life. The helicopter came back around alongside the mountain, gliding right at the edge like a bird of prey. 

        “Fleethoof?” one of Union’s members radioed back. “You fought that terrorist organization. The Double Edged Sword, or something like that?” 

        The captain rolled his eyes. This was not the time for publicity. 

        “Yeah, now run towards the chopper!” 

        “The what?”

        With a loud thrumming of the rotors, the Black Hawk turned back into sight of the pony team and slowed to a hover right in front of Union’s projected path. The mass of Equestrian technology loomed over the mountain, coming as close to the edge of the crag as they could safely get. Behind the fleeing ponies, several enemies continued to pursue them, and behind them came the deadly rush of snow. This was getting too close. 

        “Sharp, give them some breathing room.” 

        The unicorn licked his lips and took a deep breath as he crouched beside the open door, staring through the scope of his rifle. He looked positively green, but the fresh air and lack of movement helped soothe his stomach a little. 

        “Our benevolent alicorn above, hallowed be thy name,” Sharp Shot murmured softly in prayer, firing a shot out the door and striking his target in the leg, watching him tumble into the snow and get swallowed up in the white abyss. 

        “Our love and devotion to your kin… the sun and the moon… As we give our lives to your glory… Preserve us in your world…” Another shot went off, kicking up snow in front of another pursuer. 

        Fleethoof crouched down beside the door as well, resting his rifle on his forelegs. He squeezed off a few rounds, keeping the chasers at bay and knocking a few of them down into the powdery snow. Union was getting closer. They were going to make it. 

        Sharp Shot killed one final enemy with a well placed shot just as Union reached the helicopter. They had mere seconds. Fleethoof and Valiant helped pull the ponies on board one by one until just one remained, lingering back in either shock or awe. 

        “Like it?” Fleethoof remarked sarcastically, waving his hoof to the pegasus. “Now get on, quick!” 

        Finally, he grabbed the pony’s hoof and tugged him on board just before the helicopter pulled away from the cliff’s side. The avalanche of snow came surging down moments later, carrying charred debris, bodies, and trees down the edge of the precipice and down into oblivion. Fleethoof shielded his face and helped Valiant pull the heavy metal door shut, sealing out the frigid air while the Black Hawk turned back towards Equestria, its crew safely on board. 

        Mission accomplished. 
	

> Chapter 5: Conversation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	With the three members of Fireteam Union on board, their mission had been accomplished. Blue Shield went around to each pony individually, checking him or her for any injuries and making sure they were all right. Sharp Shot lay curled up in dread on the cabin floor, trying to zone out the swaying of the helicopter as it veered sharply in one direction, and then another. 

        Fleethoof looked over each pony they had rescued. They were all pegasi, as he had read in the report on Union. Two stallions and one mare, to be precise. Each one of them looked completely shaken up. Clearly the adrenaline rush was starting to wear off. 

        The captain moved back to his spot close to the cockpit, leaning through the opening towards the pilots. “Get us home, gentlecolts.” 

        “Yes, sir. As quickly as possible.” 

        Left to the long flight back to Canterlot, Fleethoof turned his attention back to the two teams in the cabin. He took a spot beside one of the pegasi he recognized as Lightning Strike from the personnel reports. 

        “You all right?” Fleethoof asked, placing a hoof on the pony’s shoulder. “You look like you’ve been banged up pretty good.” 

        Lightning gave a huff, not even looking up at him. Fleethoof pursed his lips, mulling things over in his mind. He didn’t know what had happened on the ground, but things had clearly not gone according to Union’s plans. The operation must have been a bust. 

        “What’s on your mind?” Fleethoof wondered if the pegasus was going into shock. He had just escaped a firefight and an avalanche. He could sympathize with the feeling. A flashback of hanging on the edge of a broken bridge for dear life flashed before his eyes. 

        Again, no answer from the soldier. 

        “Is there anything wrong?” He felt like he was babying the pony too much. “I hate to sound like your mother.” 

        “I feel like I’ve failed the mission,” Lightning finally replied, staring dejectedly down at the metal floor of the helicopter. 

        Fleethoof furrowed his brow. “You haven’t failed. You took out two weapons caches, fought bravely, and got out alive. That’s not a failure, that’s a major success.” 

        Lightning didn’t respond to him. He must have been taking in everything at his own pace. Fleethoof nodded. He hadn’t been brought up to speed on Union’s previous missions, but this one must have been one of their closest calls to get to the pony like it was. 

        He sighed softly and rubbed the back of his neck. He understood what Lightning was feeling. He could recall the train rides back from The Griffon Kingdom: the long periods of silent waiting, coming down from the adrenaline-fueled high of live combat. It was a dreamlike state, where nothing seemed real, and your mind thought about too many things at once. He had always just wanted to be left alone at those times to readjust himself. 

        Patting Lightning’s shoulder, Fleethoof took his seat once more. The sooner they got back to Canterlot, the sooner they could all breathe easy again. Most of the flight homeward bound continued in perpetual quiet, the thrumming of the rotors fading away into white noise. 

        From the corner of his eye, Fleethoof kept watch over Union. He knew their unit inside and out, down to the ponies’ backgrounds. But even still, compared to them, Union were rookies—the babies of the Special Forces. Spitfire had just thrown them out into the world. Guinea pigs in a trial by fire. He felt bound to look out for them, like an older brother watching over his sibling. This was a dangerous business, and in their world, mistakes amounted to death. 

        Somepony had to look out for them, because it was becoming increasingly obvious that nopony else was. 





        No matter how many times he saw them, the green fields and hills of Equestria were always a welcome sight for Fleethoof. The closer they got to Canterlot, the darker the skies became. Shining Armor’s storm was still in full force, which meant they’d be landing in it. 

        “Hold on tight, everypony,” Silver Wings called back just as the first sheet of water hit the windshield of the cockpit. 

        Above the turning rotors, the sound of rain hitting the metal hull flooded the cabin. Several sets of eyes turned skyward to the roof. Fleethoof could just make out Sharp Shot’s whimper over the storm. The poor pony… 

        Despite the rain, the Black Hawk flew just as smoothly through the patch of dense downpour, and reemerged over the airfield, now illuminated bright orange in the late afternoon sun. 

        Thank Celestia for a competent weather team, the captain thought as the helicopter came in for a landing. 

        He held his breath, watching the pilots do their work. The helicopter came in lower, hovering just over the ground and slowing to a halt before it began its gentle descent to the tarmac below. The second the wheels hit the asphalt, Skyfall pulled the cabin doors open, and Sharp Shot all but launched out of the copter, collapsing in a heap to kiss the solid ground. 

        “Oh sweet, sweet terra firma!” he cried, half-laughing to himself. “I’ll never leave you again!” 

        “Crybaby,” Valiant jested, purposely bumping into the prostrate unicorn for laughs. 

        Fleethoof leapt down to the ground, warm sunlight bathing his coat. It felt odd, feeling the cool wind of the surrounding storms whipping across the airfield, but he knew he’d get his fair share of the rain soon enough. As he had expected, Quarter Master stood expectantly by the hangars, waiting for his pride and joy to return. 

        As Union disembarked and made their way back to the city proper, Skyfall Team crossed the runway. Quarter Master eagerly cantered up to meet them halfway. 

        “So? How did it fly?” he asked, bombarding Fleethoof with questions before he could even get a greeting in edgewise. “Was it fast enough for your liking? Any bumps? Disturbances? Turbulence? How did it handle in the cold? How did the guns work? Were the pilots competent enough? Did it—” 

        “Quarter, please,” an overwhelmed Fleethoof interrupted, beside himself from the scientist’s enthusiasm. “We just got off the damn thing. Give us a moment to breathe.” 

        Quarter stayed silent, but his wide-eyed, puppy dog gaze never left the captain. Finally, Fleethoof answered him. 

        “It flew beautifully. It was as fast as I’d hoped, we hit no snags, and it flew as smoothly as a griffon. We didn’t use the guns, and it held up in all the weather just fine. Silver Wings and Blue Yonder have proven themselves as pilots in my eyes. I’d recommend the Black Hawk for mass production immediately.” 

        Quarter Master’s expression lit up like he’d just won the lottery. “Oh, glorious! Most glorious indeed! Now, I’ll have to find a factory that can produce my blueprints, and…” 

        “So long, Quarter Master,” Fleethoof said with a chuckle as he trotted off, leaving the babbling pony to his thoughts. 

        “Oh, Captain Fleethoof! Wait!” 

        The stallion stopped on a dime, spinning around with a hoof still held in the air. 

        “Her Majesty, Princess Luna is expecting your return. She’s waiting for you at headquarters.” 

        Fleethoof’s ear twitched as he cocked his head. “Luna, waiting for me? What for? Our job is done.” 

        Quarter Master smiled, a secretive, expressive smile. “I believe she has something for you.” 

        Deeply curious, Fleethoof made his way off the airfield again, catching up to the distant figures of his team as they made their way back to their home base. 

        As he had expected, the moment he reached the edge of the airfield, darkness covered Canterlot. A sheer wall of falling water acted almost like a barrier, deterring both his joy and his willingness to proceed through it. But Fleethoof swallowed back his aversion, and walked out into the downpour. 





        The unicorn soldier grunted as he was thrown to the ground, his opponent pressing his hoof down hard onto his chest. He was pinned down in the mud. From the sidelines, a sopping wet Lunar Guard cast her eyes across the two. 

        “Be careful, Private,” she said in caution. “Just because you have him down, doesn’t mean he’s out.” 

        No sooner had the words left her lips, the downed unicorn lashed a hoof out in a sweep, taking the pony down and reversing the pin. 

        Midnight flipped her wet mane back, a smirk touching her mouth. “Told ya.” 

        “Hey, Mid,” one of her companion Lunar Guards called out to her. “Weren’t you lookin’ for that red pegasus colt again?” 

        “You know I was, Starlight,” she replied, supervising the other sparring groups with absolute boredom. “But I told you, he’s not here. He’s busy.” 

        “But… then who’s that?” 

        “Huh?” Midnight turned around in a blur of motion, following her friend’s pointing hoof across the training grounds. 

        True to his word, through the pouring rain, the red figure of a very familiar pegasus pony trudged through the mud, talking to the white form of the Captain of the Guard. Midnight Dasher’s eyes widened, and her pearly white teeth flashed in a toothy grin. Starlight had begun to say something, but she was already airborne, flying right towards the pair of stallions. 

        “So Luna’s done stealing you for the day?” Shining jested, nudging his friend with his shoulder as he spoke with a sarcasm-laden voice. “Must have been some dangerous mission. You were gone a whole six hours.” 

        “Bite me,” retorted Fleethoof, chuckling under his breath. “We didn’t even do anything. We were backup for another unit.” 

        “Which unit?” 

        “Classified.” 

        Shining Armor groaned. “Of course. Everything’s red tape and conspiracies with you.” 

        “Just doing my job, sir.” Shining nudged Fleethoof playfully again. 

        “So why did you come back here? Training’s almost over for the day.” 

        “I wanted to make sure Stratagem wasn’t softening my class up too much.” Fleethoof shrugged. “And I wanted to brag about our new toys.” 

        That caught the Captain of the Guard’s attention. “What did your mad scientist whip up this time?” 

        “Helicopters.” Shining Armor gave him a look of complete and utter puzzlement. “Aerial transport vehicles. I’ll take you for a ride sometime, provided you don’t get sick. Do unicorns not like flying or something?” 

        Shining Armor gave a rousing laugh. “I can’t say I’ve ever been airborne enough to know. Why? Does one of your horn heads not like being off the ground.” 

        The captain smirked and nodded. “Sharp.” 

        “You’re joking!” 

        “Nope.” Both ponies laughed this time. 

        They continued walking a short ways through the rain, passing by the sparring rings. Fleethoof watched the ponies wrestling one another, testing their mettle against their friends and comrades. They were getting better by the day. 

        “Oh look, here comes your biggest fan,” Shining said abruptly, directing Fleethoof’s attention to the aerial bat pony flying right for them. “I think I’ll leave you two to catch up. I have a group to dismiss anyway.” 

        “No, wait!” Fleethoof begged with dire urgency, only earning a laugh from his friend at his expense. “Don’t leave me alone with her!” 

        But he was already gone, trotting off towards a set of buildings. From a distance, Fleethoof could see Shining’s shoulders rising and falling in visible laughter. Revenge would be had at a later time. He clenched his teeth and swiftly debated just taking to the air and trying to escape any confrontation with the Thestral. The soft, muted sound of mud shifting under weight next to him warned him that it was too late for that. 

        “Weeeeell, look who decided to show up today after all!” 

        Fuck it all to the fiery depths of Tartarus!

        “Hello, Corporal,” he greeted in as flat a tone as he could muster. 

        “Aww, is that all I get?” she asked, her voice inflecting injury at his indifference, although the half-cocked grin gave away her amusement. “What about all that time we spent together?” 

        “You mean when I was trying to ignore you, or when I was beating you silly?” Fleethoof continued walking away. As he expected, the mare followed eagerly beside him, seemingly hell-bent on driving him up a wall. 

        “Ha! Oh, don’t worry about me, Fleet, sometimes I like things a little rough.” Her voice turned sultry, and she batted her eyelashes teasingly at the stallion. “Just ask any of my previous lovers.” 

        “Goodbye, Corporal Dasher,” Fleethoof muttered, putting especial emphasis on his farewell and picking up speed to a canter to put some distance between them. 

        The raucous laughter didn’t get any softer. She was still following him. He didn’t even know where he was going, mindlessly wandering the barracks in a vain attempt at retreat. 

        “Oh, lighten up! I’m just playing with you, Fleety!” 

        “That’s ‘Captain’. We’ve been over this.” 

        Midnight scoffed. “Ranks are so stuffy and formal. C’mon, Fleethoof, I was looking for you today.” 

        “That’s ‘Captain’.” 

        Now, Midnight Dasher looked genuinely hurt that he ignored her. “Aren’t you going to ask why?” 

        “Aren’t you going to address your superior officers appropriately?” 

        The mare huffed and rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. “Oh, come on, Fleethoof—” 

        “‘Captain’.” 

        “Fleethoof.” 

        “‘Captain’.” 

        “Fleethoof.” 

        “Goodbye.” 

        With that, Fleethoof pushed his way past the bat pony, heading for the barracks gates. He still had to return his equipment to headquarters and see what Luna wanted. He didn’t have time for these games with somepony who didn’t even seem to understand the basis of a ranking system. 

        And then that voice called out again. “Nice gun. Where’d you get it?” 

        This time, her words came from overhead. Fleethoof didn’t need to look up to know she was hovering right above his head, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to dignify her with a sparing glance. 

        “That’s classified.” 

        Almost instantly, Fleethoof found a reason to regret telling her that. 

        In a gust of propelled air, Midnight landed in front of him, her gold eyes rapt with excitement. Fleethoof came to a stop right before he collided with her, blinking rapidly in surprise. 

        “Ooooh! Classified? What, is it secret government prototype type stuff?” she asked, all too enthused about the whole prospect. “Are you a spy or something?” 

        A moment of stillness passed between them. That, and about a liter of rainwater from the sky. 

        “No.” He tried to push past her again, but the pony sidestepped to block his path once more. 

        “Oh, I get it. You’re saying no because you can’t tell me you’re a spy.” Midnight grinned at her own logic. “I understand, say no more!” 

        “No,” Fleethoof said in slow exaggeration, staring at the mare like she was mentally ill. “I’m saying no because I’m not a spy.” 

        “Black ops then? Are you a secret agent, or a hitpony?” 

        “Goodbye, Corporal Dasher.” 

        “Where were you today?” She was insistent on hindering his escape. “Playing hooky or something?” 

        Fleethoof snorted and rolled his eyes. “You clearly don’t know the definition of ‘classified’, or ‘goodbye’ for that matter.” 

        “You know, being soaked doesn’t ruin your look.” 

        Fleethoof’s brow narrowed, knitting together in irritated confusion. 

        “What?” he asked, suddenly feeling very lost. This conversation was taking all sorts of directions. 

        “Most ponies look like somepony tried to drown them when they get wet,” Midnight pointed out, smiling happily at him. “But you don’t. You pull off the wet mane look well. Like an ad for shampoo or something.” 

        “Are you bipolar or something?” Fleethoof could feel his voice rising. He was losing what little threads of patience he had left. There was clearly no point in talking to her. 

        “No. Why, are you?” 

        “Goodbye, Corporal.” 

        “Hey, wait! I wanted to ask you—” 

        “Corporal!” Fleethoof shouted, gritting his teeth together so hard it hurt. “If you say one more word, I swear to the Great Alicorn, I will buck you into next week!” 

        An unreadable expression crossed the bat pony’s face. Fleethoof took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down again. For a moment, it looked like he’d scared the mare into shock. But then Midnight’s lips twitched gently, and a sly grin took its place on her face. 

        Midnight shifted her hooves forward, placing them just inches away from Fleethoof’s, and began to incline her body towards his. Her eyes were half lidded, giving him a look crossed between seduction and daring. She brought her face in closer, their muzzles separated by a thin gap of space. Fleethoof could smell the rain dripping off her, and the scent of jasmine and vanilla in her mane. 

        The tension between them became so electric, that Fleethoof could swear he could feel static making his hair stand on end. He didn’t know what she was up to, but he wasn’t entirely sure he was okay with it. She parted her lips, and whispered so softly. 

        “One. More. Word.” 

        For the longest time, Fleethoof didn’t know exactly what was happening. He stared at the pony in his face in a mixture of disbelief and shock, and then bewilderment, then irritation, and ending on anger. His gaze narrowed by the second, glaring daggers at the stubborn mare. 

        He shoved his way past her, almost sending her toppling off balance face first into the mud. He’d had enough of her games. Yet, even as he stepped out onto the cobblestone streets of Canterlot, bound for the castle, he heard that incessant voice calling out after him. 

        “Hey! Fleethoof! Wait!” 

        She didn’t fucking give up… 





        It was unusual to see Skyfall Headquarters so… still. The entire room was almost completely silent. Research had ceased for the day, and only Quarter Master remained at his desk, tinkering with something. The operation with Union had long-since ended, and the officers in charge had departed back home. Fleethoof had passed Sharp Shot and Valiant on the way down, both ponies on their way back to their vacations. Now it was just he, Quarter, and Princess Luna. 

        Luna looked up and smiled when she saw her captain approach, and then noticed the pained expression of frustration painted across his visage. 

        “Captain Fleethoof, does something trouble you?” 

        “More than you know, your majesty…” the pegasus muttered, stepping into the weapons vault and returning his equipment piece by piece. “Quarter Master said you wanted to see me.” 

        Luna nodded, waiting beside the entrance of the armory as Fleethoof popped the magazine from his weapon and ejected the round from the chamber. “Yes, indeed. I took the liberty of having something crafted for you, and you personally.” 

        “Oh?” 

        “A… gift of sorts.” 

        Fleethoof set his rifle in the rack at the back of the vault, and slid his tactical and Kevlar vest off, setting them on a nearby mannequin. “That’s very kind of you, Princess Luna, but what’s the occasion?” 

        Luna hesitated, taking a pause to think of how to phrase her intentions. 

        “Think of it as a… sympathy gift from me, and an apology from my sister.” 

        “An apology?” He sounded earnestly lost. “What does Celestia have to apologize for?” 

        “I should think you know what she is remorseful for, my insightful captain,” said Luna. 

        Fleethoof didn’t reply. He knew what she was trying to make amends for. Luna was trying to smooth over any animosity he was harboring for Celestia’s cover up. The truth was, he didn't have any. And while the thought did still leave a bitter taste in his mouth, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry with the Sun Princess. That road would only lead to dark places. 

        He shuddered as he thought back on where he’d seen that road lead… 

        “Very well,” he agreed with a reluctant sigh and stepped out of the armory, now disarmed down to his sidearm and uniform. “What does her majesty, Princess Celestia, send me? Another medal?” 

        Luna cast a scolding look at her officer, and Fleethoof instantly felt very, very small. He was still fuming from his run-in with Midnight, who had incidentally followed him every damn step of the way to the castle. The only thing stopping her from following him down here were the two guards he’d instructed to keep her at bay. For once in his life, pulling rank had never felt so sweet, nor relieving. 

        “Forgive me, princess,” he apologized quickly, feeling the heat of embarrassment burn under his cheeks. “I’ve been dealing with a… ah, small nuisance recently.” 

        Luna actually appeared intrigued. "Within your personal life? How long has this been going on?" 

        "I don't have much of a personal life, your majesty... and within the last ten minutes." 

        The alicorn’s expression softened, and her horn ignited in a deep cobalt aura. From a nearby table, a richly varnished walnut box levitated towards the two ponies, hovering in front of Fleethoof’s face. With a touch of a smile, Luna lifted the lid with her magic, and the stallion's eyes went wide. 

        Inside the box lay a pistol, unlike any he had seen before. The entire design looked sleek, and the metal slide and hammer were blued to a deep navy. A crescent moon and trail of stars were engraved on either side of the slide. 

        “Quarter Master and I worked tirelessly on the design, perfecting it for every function you would require of it,” Luna said with pride as he lifted the weapon out of its home, getting a feel for it. “This is for you, personally, for your own use, however you see fit.” 

        “Princess, I've never seen a weapon like this before,” he said, testing out the smoothness of the slide and checking the sights. “This is… What does it shoot?” 

        “The same bullets you use now, so there is no need to switch,” Luna answered, then added, “as well as these.” 

        Luna levitated a couple of boxes over to the pony. He opened one, and stared at the silver bullets that fell out into his hoof. 

        “These are special, Captain, only to be used in the most dire of situations.” Luna’s voice became grave as she spoke. “These bullets have been enchanted with the magic of both Celestia and I, imbued with pure alicorn energy. They will harm anything, including magical entities, or anything physical force could not. They are untested, but Quarter Master hypothesizes use against a normal foe would cause extreme pain, more so than getting shot customarily would. Use them sparingly, Captain. These are very dangerous, and unique.” 

        Fleethoof returned the rounds to their home, and set the handgun back in its box. “I will. Thank you, Princess Luna. This gift is… it’s really special.” 

        “But of course, Captain. And please, forgive the mistakes we make. We are only pony, after all.” 

        He nodded, but remained silent. She was right. Everypony looked to Celestia and Luna as gods: deities descended from above to govern and rule the land. But he’d learned differently. They were divine in their wisdom and their power, this was true, but they were just as susceptible to the ways of the world as he, or anypony else, was. They could bleed, they could cry, they could laugh, they could love—they could die. 

        “What will you call it?” 

        Luna’s question snapped Fleethoof back into reality, although still confused him nonetheless. “Beg your pardon?” 

        The princess stifled a giggle. “What will you call your new weapon?” 

        Fleethoof was totally caught off guard. “Uh…?” 

        “Oh, forgive me. I was under the impression that soldiers gave terms of endearment to their tools of the trade. At least, that is how it was done a millennia ago. It was customary for nobles to name their family swords, and the like.” 

        While the notion had long since been lost to time, it struck something deep within Fleethoof. It was like connecting to his weapon, as if it were an extension of himself. His gun represented his service to the crown, and to the Princess of the Night. It was a symbol of the strength he gave to Equestria’s defense. It was a symbol of his life’s work, and all that inspired him. 

        And then it came to him. 

        He ran a hoof over the moon and stars etched into the cool metal. “I think I do have a name for it…” 

        Luna waited, patient and curious, as a smile touched the stallion’s lips. 

        “Nightingale. I’ll call it the Nightingale.”

> Chapter 6: Concession
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The door clicked shut behind him as Fleethoof stepped into his bedroom. The sound of the rain rapping against the glass windows filled the room with a mellifluous tranquility, and washing away any hint of the outside world. If only it could have done that with his mind… 

        Fleethoof snapped the deadbolt lock into place. He did not want to be disturbed again for the rest of the evening. 

        A heavy sigh left the fatigued stallion as he collapsed against the panel of the door. He felt drained, mentally and physically. But it came part and parcel with the job. Like he had read in the memoirs of a long-past officer, with rank came responsibility, and with responsibility came stress. Now he was at the stress stage. 

        Eyes closed, Fleethoof took a deep breath, holding it for as long as he could. Every muscle in his body felt tense and overtaxed, especially his brain. His lungs began to burn. He exhaled. Eyes opened. 

        His bedroom was dark. A flick of a switch next to the door illuminated the chandelier overhead, bathing the room in warm yellow light. Through force of will alone, Fleethoof was able to lift himself from the doorframe and trudged across the carpet. He didn’t even dare to look at his desk. The burdens of the world were already heavy enough on his shoulders without a reminder. 

        Fleethoof pulled the wooden box containing his present out of the saddlebags in his uniform and set it gently on the edge of his bed. He couldn’t wait to try it out. But that would come later. Right now, there was nothing the pony wanted more than a hot shower and a good night’s sleep. 

        Walking towards the bathroom conjoined to his bedchambers, the pegasus removed his sidearm and stripped of his damp uniform, letting it fall lazily from his body to the floor. He’d care about it tomorrow. A little water wasn’t going to ruin the carpet. 

        The bathroom always felt obscenely large to Fleethoof, although in retrospect, the room the princesses had so graciously given him to reside in was really meant for two ponies. A large, rectangular mirror ran the length of one wall, and a marble counter attached to the wall followed the mirror down. The walls themselves were painted a pale sky blue. Fleethoof couldn’t identify the type of tile beneath his hooves, but it was a light cream with ripples of pink running through it, and always felt cool to the touch. 

        But the feature the weary stallion was always grateful for was the shower. It was little more than a walk-in box made of frosted glass in one corner of the bathroom, but it was more than spacious for two, and mammoth for a solitary pony. It provided him with the freedom to move about, or to simply stand in one spot and think about life, if he desired. But more importantly, it gave him a quiet place to escape to and unwind. 

        Fleethoof set his pistol on the expansive counter and made his way over to the shower, starting the stream of hot water from the overhead faucet. Within a matter of minutes, a thin veil of steam had fogged up the mirror, leaving the entire room feeling pleasantly humid. Fleethoof stepped under the hot water and immediately felt the therapeutic effect washing away his stress. 

        He sighed deeply and let his blue eyes slide shut. The chronic ache in his wing's joint vanished into thin air under the soothing torrent. Now he had time to think, and let his troubles disappear. They didn’t exist in here. 

        The plans for tomorrow’s sessions with the Royal Guard crossed his mind briefly, but vanished in a haze as his mane practically melted over his eyes. The plans were solid—he had nothing to worry about there. Quarter Master’s new developments worked like a charm, and more testing had been scheduled in the near future. Skyfall was on hiatus. Beyond that, he didn’t need to know what his ponies were up to, as long as they were having a good, relaxing time. They’d certainly earned it. 

        Equestria was in a state of peace. The entire population seemed happier, and life progressed as it normally would. Time never faltered. There were no worries of war, of pain, or of death. Everything was right with the world, and the menial problems of the nation were none of his concern. It was like the entire nation was finally relaxing back into harmony again. 

        But a more pressing matter still lingered at the forefront of his thoughts, nagging and pounding at the inside of his mind. 

        Union. 

        They worried the captain, and put him on edge. They were far too green, far too unseasoned and inexperienced and unstable. He could continue going down the list for half a day. The entire project felt rushed and handled poorly. He’d gone over the briefings and debriefings a thousand times over, and the declassified reports another thousand. They performed competently, but only just so. It always hinged on the thread that tethered them all together: their steadfast leader. If something happened, and that string was cut…

        Fleethoof shivered, despite the near-scalding water cascading down his body. He pushed the thought aside. He had no reason to doubt Union, given their track record thus far. Yet the lingering unease never disappeared. Things were still far too volatile for his liking. The missions, the team, even the officers in charge put him on edge. They were pushing these ponies to the extremes, and somepony was bound to get hurt sooner or later. 

        But why? Fleethoof wondered as he reached for the bottle of shampoo and began lathering up his coat and mane. Why are they drilling Union into the ground? They’re pushing them like…

        Realization struck the stallion. His eyes snapped open, and he stared blankly at the wall in front of his eyes. They were pushing them to the same degree of performance that Fleethoof expected of his team. They were trying to drill ponies into being specialized operators, like Skyfall was. 

        Spitfire was in charge of creating a doppelganger Special Forces team. He refused to admit it to his team before, but they were right. They weren’t trying to replace Skyfall—they were trying to copy them. 

        This project is doomed to fail. No good can come from this.

        Fleethoof shut the water off and flipped his dripping mane out of his face. He would have to make sure to find time to have a long conversation with Celestia and Luna. This was no game they were playing any longer. 

        Fatigue tugged at his body, and the prospect of collapsing facedown onto the waiting mattress was a welcoming thought. He dried off, and made his way to bed—and stopped. 

        From the doorway, he could see the gun box on his bed, lying open. 

        Fleethoof backpedaled a couple of steps, grabbing his pistol from the counter and stepping back into the doorframe. He could only see about half of his room from his vantage point, but from what he could see, it was clear. That meant whoever had his weapon was waiting for him at the other end of the room, by his desk and the door. 

        The pony cocked the hammer on his gun, and steadied himself with a deep breath. But where he had planned to shoot first and ask questions later, a sudden scent lingering in the air hit his nostrils and froze him in place. 

        Jasmine and vanilla. 

        No, you've gotta be kidding me…

        Fleethoof dropped his tense stance, and swerved out into his bedroom. Sure enough, there was the intruder: seated at his desk, chair reclined and hooves up on the surface of it, the picture perfect definition of sloth. 

        Midnight Dasher glanced over when she heard the hoofsteps, and waved at the bewildered pegasus. In her hooves, she turned the shiny new pistol over a few times. Fleethoof was too dumbstruck to say anything, but it was soon clear Midnight wasn’t. 

        “Evening, Cap’n!” she greeted jovially, as if they were best friends sharing a table at the local bar. “You know, I've never seen you out of uniform before... Lookin' good. Aww, you’re all dry already. I missed the wet mane.” 

        Fleethoof was vaguely aware that he was just staring, not even sure where to begin reacting. “W… Wh…?” 

        “You take long showers, y'know. I've been waiting out here for... I don't even know how long,” Midnight said casually, locking the slide back on his gun and releasing it again as she noted his behavior patterns. “This is a really nice gun! I’ve never seen anything like it before! Is it a custom?” 

        Fleethoof’s jaw trembled, whether out of speechlessness or rage was yet to be determined. Finally, the bat pony set his gun down on his desk, and lifted a file up. ‘Classified’ was stamped in big, bold red ink across the front of it. Fleethoof felt his blood run cold. He hadn’t realized he’d left those files out. 

        "Who's Union?" she asked, passively studying the cover of the dossier. 

        “Midnight Dasher…” he breathed, words slow and spoken with vicious lethality. “Did you read those?” 

        “That’s the first time you’ve ever called me by my name,” she said with a smile, letting her hooves hit the floor as she sat upright. “Why do they all say ‘Classified’? You are a spy, aren’t you?” 

        “Midnight… Did you read those?” 

        “Well, I was waiting an awfully long time…” 

        “Did. You. Read. Those.” Fleethoof was speaking through clenched teeth now, feeling a tremendous anger taking over his control. 

        “Relax, Fleet, I didn’t open them.” For once, it looked as if she was telling him the straight truth. 

        “Stop calling me that.” 

        Midnight cocked her head. “What, your name? Are you serious?” 

        “It’s ‘Captain’, ‘Captain Fleethoof’,” he snapped, blue eyes smoldering with pure unbridled ire at the mare. “Why do you have such a disregard for structure and rules?!” 

        “Well, aren’t you one to talk, Mr. Classified-Vanishes-Without-A-Trace.” 

        “How did you even get in here?” 

        That question seemed to rekindle the bat pony’s mirth. “Oh, that's easy. The balcony.” 

        For the umpteenth time, the pony had lost him. 

        “I followed you to your room,” Midnight continued to explicate. “Then I flew around to your balcony. It was easy to find once I knew where you lived.” 

        She had actually managed to follow him undetected? Fleethoof glanced toward the glass doors to the outside. 

        “I keep my balcony locked.” 

        “Yeah, I uh… sort of picked the lock.” 

        Midnight grinned guiltily while he just stared in disbelief. He was absolutely livid. In the back of his mind, Fleethoof wondered if this constituted as trespassing, and what the statute would be if he shot her right now. He decided she wasn't worth the bullet. 

        “Get out.” 

        “But, I wasn’t finished talking to you yet.” 

        Fleethoof snorted. “Well I’m done with you. Get out, and don’t ever come back.” 

        As he expected, the mare didn’t even bat an eyelash. “Not until you hear out my request.” 

        “Request?!” Fleethoof gave a weak, shocked laugh. “You’ve done nothing but pester me for the last few weeks! You haven’t said a word of substance to me all day, you break into my private quarters, you go through my belongings, and now you expect me to do anything for you?” 

        She nodded. “Yep.” 

        “Get out.” 

        “You don’t even know what I want yet!” 

        “Get out,” he repeated. 

        “But—” 

        “Get out!” he shouted. 

        Midnight Dasher raised her hooves in defense. “All right, all right! Let me just put this back.” 

        Cautiously, she picked up Fleethoof’s gun again, and slowly followed the wall of his room. She circled around past the captain, their gazes locked every step of the way, till she reached the foot of his bed. She gingerly placed the gun back in its home and closed the box. 

        “You know, this is a pretty big place for one stallion,” she teased with a grin, and with a flap of her wings, landed backwards on the bed. “And this is a nice bed! Is this where you entertain all your fillyfriends?” 

        Midnight yelped as Fleethoof walked around and grabbed her mane in his teeth, yanking her to her hooves and pulling her towards the door. Humor was clearly not going to work on him. 

        “Ow! Okay! Okay! I’m sorry! It was a joke!” she apologized rapidly, stumbling over her own hooves as she was practically dragged across the floor. 

        They made it most of the way before Midnight finally kicked a leg out, tripping the stallion and sending him crashing into the carpet. Now free, she backpedaled a few steps, putting a safety cushion between them as he got back up. 

        “You really don’t want to pick this fight,” Fleethoof said darkly, glaring across the space at the bat pony. “I am in no mood, Corporal. Leave. Now.” 

        “Not until you hear me out,” she argued, planting herself in place. 

        “What do you want from me? What could I possibly have that’s so damn important to you?!” 

        “Experience.” Midnight’s response had been so straightforward and abrupt, Fleethoof hadn’t been prepared for it. “Shining Armor gave me another division of guards to train, but these ponies are really advanced. Like, better than the other grunts I’ve had. I hoped you’d be available to teach them a thing or two, and let me join some of your classes, seeing as… well…” 

        The mare mumbled something inaudible to the pegasus’ ears. 

        “What?” 

        She huffed. “I said… you’re…” She drifted off into an incoherent mumble. 

        “I can’t hear you.” 

        “I said you’re a better fighter,” Midnight Dasher blurted out in one quick burst. “Happy?” 

        Fleethoof was surprised. From his experience, bat ponies were proud creatures, especially when it came to might and toughness. To admit somepony else was better than you was unheard of. 

        “And you didn’t just ask me from the get-go… why?” he asked, cocking a brow. 

        “Because last time, I jumped you. I didn’t think you’d say yes,” she confessed. 

        “And cheated, don’t forget that.” 

        “Hey! I didn’t cheat! That’s how we fight back in the Shades.” 

        Fleethoof rolled his eyes. “Your fights sound more like blitz attacks.” 

        “More than you know…” There was meaning behind her words, but Fleethoof couldn’t be bothered to pry further, not after this ordeal. 

        “So you tried sweet talking me, and pestering me, and breaking into my room?” 

        “And jokes. I never said it was a perfect plan, but it worked. You listened.” Fleethoof scoffed. Understatement of the year. 

        He was still fuming, but Midnight wasn’t the one truly benefitting from this in the long run. “All right. I’ll help, but only because I don’t want these ponies learning nothing from you.” 

        Midnight cast a venomous glare at the pegasus, even as a trace of a smile appeared on her lips. “Fine, I’ll take what I can get.” 

        “Now, really, leave. Please.” Fleethoof unlocked the door and held it open, waving a hoof to beckon her out. “And if you call me 'Fleet' or 'Fleety' again in front of anypony, I will hurt you.” 

        “Is that a promise?” the sly mare teased as she slinked past him out the door. 

        “I mean it…” 

        “Fine.” Another huff. Then a sniff. “Is that… peaches I smell?” 

        Her gaze turned to Fleethoof, who looked absolutely puzzled. 

        “Peaches? Wha— Oh, my soap.” He looked down at his coat, ears folded back sheepishly. “Yeah, it’s whatever stuff the Guard uses. I think it’s some sort of generic bulk brand or something. Not the most male scent, but it’s free, so whatever…” 

        “Well, I like it, but then again, fruit is sort of my thing, you know, being a bat after all,” she remarked, flashing her fanged teeth in her trademark grin. “Goodnight, sir.” 

        Her emphasis on the last word was enough for Fleethoof to roll his eyes. “Goodnight, Corporal. Oh, and Corporal...” 

        Midnight stopped in the hall, glancing back at him over her shoulder. 

        “Break into my room again, and I'll kill you.” 

        The look that came over her face was an expression that both terrified and annoyed the pegasus pony. Mischief. Daring. Rebellion. Humor. And then she was gone. Fleethoof groaned, and locked the door again. He slammed his head against the wood again, and again, and again, trying to get the headache to subside. 

        This day just did not want to end… 

        Blue eyes turned towards the mess of a desk, lingering on the set of Classified files strewn across the surface. Rising from the door, the tired pony took his seat and opened up the dossier Midnight had been handling moments before. Operation Union. The edges had been worn and dog-eared from the amount of times he had opened this file alone, and tonight added one more to the tally. 

        By now, Fleethoof could recite what was typed on these pages by heart, the words long-since burned into his brain. He looked over the first page yet again, reading the briefing over and over again. 

Fireteam Union is to be a specialized elite force of soldiers. As first responders to any terrorist-based offense to the nation of Equestria, each member is required to demonstrate exemplary physical, mental, and tactical performance. If successful, the Union Project is to be expanded to similar units within the Equestrian Armed Forces…

        Fleethoof recognized the operation description. It was very similar to the Skyfall file. He frowned. He had never had any interaction with Union prior to today, but after seeing them operate, he had a sinking feeling things were not boding well for the team. And if things went south, he knew who it would fall to, to clean up the mess. 

        That was one job Fleethoof prayed he'd never have to prepare for. 


> Chapter 7: Initiation ♫
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Marines. 

        That was the name the new platoon of soldiers Midnight had spoken of had adopted. The baddest of the bad, Shining Armor had called them. Each one had gone above and beyond the rest of their squads, and was now one cohesive unit to train. Even now, standing before the fifty stallions and mares frozen rigid at attention, Fleethoof could feel the air of intimidation and professionalism coming off of them. 

        The Equestrian Royal Marines. 

        The captain looked over each face standing in perfect formation. He nodded subtly, mostly to himself. Beside him, Midnight watched as he appraised the soldiers, yawning sleepily. Waking up before the sun hadn’t been her intention when she asked him to lend a hoof. 

        The morning was still and quiet. The ponies were no longer surrounded by the urban environment of Canterlot, but were instead down on the plains at the base of the mountain, just beyond the view of the small town of Ponyville. Each pony had a full kit of equipment, save for any weapons. They wouldn’t be needed. 

        A bird chirped merrily as it flew overhead in the early morning sky, which was gradually turning from a deep navy to a light cerulean with the rising sun. Fleethoof moved, taking slow strides before the platoon. He looked each individual pony up and down, and then moved on to the next, and repeated the process down the line. When he reached the end, he pivoted on his heels and went back down the line again. 

        “Marines!” he called out. 

        Hooves clopped together as everypony straightened their stances. They were listening. An impressed smirk turned the captain’s lips upward. 

        “It is my understanding that you are the best of what Canterlot has to offer,” Fleethoof said, pacing up and down the formation. “You’ve done superbly in your training, and your COs have spoken very highly of all of you.” 

        A mare he was passing by broke out into a proud smile. He halted in place, backing up to face her. 

        “But of course, this is all word of mouth.” He looked the pony dead in the eye, even as she stared past him with a distant, focused stare. “Isn’t that right, Private?” 

        “Yes, sir!” the mare responded, voice firm and adamant. 

        “Do you think you’re better than everypony still up there at the barracks?” he said in an attempt to press her. “Do you think this makes you special?” 

        “Sir, no, sir!” 

        Fleethoof stared the mare down for a moment longer, waiting to see if she would flinch or back down. She didn’t, remaining like a statue the entire time. He waved a hoof in front of her face. Nothing. He nodded, and continued his pacing. 

        “Right you are. You are not special—you are specialized. Our benevolent Captain of the Guard has seen the merit each one of you possesses, and that is why you are now under our close supervision. Make no mistake: you are still infantry—still soldiers like your fellow Guard. But you are the ones who push yourselves that extra mile to get the job done. Am I right?” 

        “Oorah!” the Marines chanted. 

        Fleethoof lifted his head, eyeing the platoon curiously. Oorah? That was new. The Marines were already developing their own ways to distance themselves from the regular Guard. He grinned. 

        Fleethoof stepped up beside a stallion at the front of the formation, looking him over. “You look like every other pony I’ve seen in my lifetime. You think you can do better than a regular Guard grunt?” 

        “Sir, yes, sir!” the stallion all but shouted. 

        “Really?” Fleethoof chuckled lowly. “Bullshit. I’ve seen ponies younger than you willingly run into enemy fire! What makes you so sure you’re anywhere near that level of commitment?” 

        “Give me a chance to prove myself, sir,” came the stallion’s response. It was a good one. 

        “Very well… I’ll give you your shot,” said Fleethoof, and then looked to the entire platoon. “In fact, you’re all getting a shot, starting today. And we can begin by marching back to Canterlot, courtesy of the good corporal here. It seems you all forgot your weapons back at the barracks.” 

        Almost instantaneously, all eyes turned towards the mountain looming above them. They had been told to leave them when they started walking down to Ponyville at the crack of dawn. Marching back up with all their gear hadn’t been on the itinerary. Fleethoof noticed the apprehension in their gazes, not sure if he was serious or not. 

        “Did I stutter? Or are the big, bad Marines afraid of a little exercise?” Fleethoof asked. “What happened to proving yourselves? Are you going to start marching, or am I sending you all back to basic?” 

        “Oorah, sir!” somepony called out, and the rest of the platoon joined in a brief second later. 

        “Then let’s move! Go! Go! Hoof it up there!” he ordered, watching as the Marines began their march back towards the base of the mountain, lugging their gear all the way. 

        Beside the platoon, Fleethoof marched along with the newly founded Marines. Every so often, he would call out if the formation began to falter, or to give direction. Midnight fluttered about in the air above the ponies, getting a bird’s-eye view of the action. 

        “Why are you marching with them?” asked Midnight, hovering alongside Fleethoof as they reached the path spiraling up the mountain. “It’s much easier to fly.” 

        “I have a method, Corporal Dasher,” said Fleethoof, keeping his eyes on the marching ponies. “I do everything I expect my brothers and sisters in arms to do. I lead by example. It keeps me fit and sharp, and it gives me a better standing with them. How could I expect any soldier to respect me if I wouldn’t do what I ask of them?” 

        His sapphire eyes turned in her direction, narrowed slightly. “That goes for you, too. You wanted to train with me, you’re part of the unit now. So land and get marching.” 

        Midnight stared at the captain for a moment, then burst into a fit of laughter. He couldn’t be serious. But her humor was quickly killed when the stallion grabbed her by the tail and tugged her down to the dirt road, pushing her along to get her running. 

        “All right, I’m going!” she snapped, running ahead a few feet to get away from the officer. “Jeez!” 

        “Stow it, Corporal! You’re training with the Special Forces now. Only the best exists here. Isn’t that right, Marines?” 

        “Oorah!” the platoon chanted, their voices echoing around the side of the mountain. 

        “Are we going to give anything less than 100%?” 

        “No, sir!” 

        “And are we ever going to take the easy way out?” 

        “No, sir!” 

        Midnight huffed and panted as she pushed herself to keep up with the soldiers, and especially with Fleethoof. That pony marched like he was taking a stroll through the park. Wherever he’d gotten his experience, he’d clearly been through some trying times. 

        Fleethoof watched as the Lunar Guard started to lag slightly, falling back in level with him, and eventually behind, until he could just see the gleam of her violet armor at the end of the platoon. 

        “Keep up, Corporal Dasher!” he shouted back to her, noting the mile marker on the side of the road. “We’re a quarter of the way, Marines. I think I can hear the rest of the Guard laughing at us as they wake up right about now. Pick up the pace!” 

        “Why… are you… pushing them… so hard?” Midnight asked between gasping breaths. Fleethoof hadn’t even noticed she had caught back up to him again, although she was struggling to do so. 

        “Because Shining Armor said so. They weren’t being challenged enough, so now we’re going to push them to their limits. Toughen them up a bit.” 

        The platoon marched up the mountain path steadily, the occasional banter or chant coming from the ponies, along with the frequent order from their officer. As far as first impressions went, Fleethoof approved of the Marines. Not one of them had complained yet, and whenever one would stumble or trip on loose rocks along the way, the pony behind them would help nudge them back into position, keeping the lines straight and orderly. 

        “This… is… brutal…” Midnight groaned. 

        “Good. This is how you should be drilling them.” 

        Fleethoof’s response had been so abrupt, it startled the mare. He glanced over his shoulder at her, slowing his march to match her pace. 

        “I’m guessing you haven’t been in the Lunar Guard very long, Corporal,” the captain surmised, and said, “The world is brutal. There are dozens—if not hundreds—of enemies waiting out there to take your life at the drop of a hat. Even if it’s worse than hell, the right training can save a pony’s life, and that’s a lot less brutal than dying. Nopony knows this better than myself and Shining Armor.” 

        The mare let the information sink in slowly, and then asked, “You’re really close to Captain Armor, aren’t you…?” 

        No response came from her companion. His eyes glazed over, glassy and distant as time reversed in his head. In his mind’s eye, he was dangling from the edge of a bridge, Shining Armor clutching on for dear life beside him. They were back in Skyfall, during the initial invasion, sneaking through the streets together and ducking a hailstorm of enemy bullets. He was drawing sniper fire away from Shining as he led the troops out of Midgard. Night Shade’s dark laugh echoed in his skull, seeing the manic unicorn holding Shining Armor hostage at the train station, the fear of losing his best friend becoming all too real. 

        “Fleethoof…?” 

        Midnight’s voice brought Fleethoof back into the present, blinking his eyelids rapidly to readjust his mind. 

        “The Captain of the Guard and I have… shared many experiences together…” he succinctly phrased, his voice noticeably lower. “I consider him my brother in every regard.” 

        Another marker passed. 

        “Halfway, Marines!” he shouted, looking out at the eastern horizon as the sun finished climbing into view. 

        “Oorah!” the platoon chanted. 

        “Again!” 

        “Oorah!” 

        A smile crossed Fleethoof’s face, and just as quickly vanished again. “For the sun.” 

        “For the sun!” chanted the Marines in response. 

        “For the moon.” 

        “For the moon!” 

        “We send our foes.” 

        “We send our foes!” 

        “To meet their doom.” 

        “To meet their doom!” 

        “Pick it up, everypony!” Fleethoof ordered coolly. “I’d like to be back sometime before I’m old enough to retire!” 

        The chanting of the Marines was lost to the drowning thunder of their marching hooves. The sound of formidability and raw power broke the serenity of the early morning mountainside all the way up to the summit. It was glorious. 





        Midnight’s hooves had never ached so much before in her entire life. Her whole body felt sore and tired, and all she wanted was to crash in her cot and pass out for… oh, about three days seemed an appropriate amount of time to the mare. But here she sat, in the mess hall, with the rest of the Royal Guard, staring down at a bowl of porridge and mixed fruit to taste. Loud conversation mixed together into a monotonous buzzing in her ears, while the unappealing scent of bland food lingered in the air.  

        Her stomach rumbled, but she could barely find the strength to sit upright, let alone keep from faceplanting right into the bowl. All around the mess hall, she could see the other Marines she had marched with, each looking like they were in just as much pain as she was. They hadn’t been expecting Fleethoof’s impromptu hike either. Nor did they see the exercise regiment waiting for them when they got back to the barracks. But each one had received a new insignia pin, designating them as members of the new division. The rest of the Guard looked at them like they were insane, murmuring amongst themselves. 

        Midnight Dasher yawned widely. Not even her two colleagues from Fort Shadow were awake yet, nor were any of the Canterlot Lunar Guard. Only the officers and soldiers were up. 

        Thestrals were not meant to be awake at this unholy time… she thought to herself, forcing herself to act on will and hunger, chewing away at her breakfast. 

        She ate slowly, feeling her eyelids grow heavier by the moment. Her head shot up in a vain attempt to keep herself awake. Several of the other soldiers around the hall looked like they were ready to doze off too. Suddenly, she didn’t very much feel like training under the sadistic pegasus captain anymore. Maybe after a few minutes’ sleep… 

        A hoof slammed against the table in front of her. Midnight’s head snapped up as fast as lightning. The mass of red fur and feathers opposite of her chuckled. 

        “Counting sheep, Corporal?” 

        She shot a look at Fleethoof and returned to idly chewing her food. “If I’d known training with you meant being awake when I should be asleep, I probably would’ve called you insane.” 

        Now it was Fleethoof’s turn to cast a reproaching look at the mare. “Watch that tone, Corporal. I’m your superior, battlefield or breakfast table.” 

        “My apologies, sir,” she remarked with a roll of her eyes, earning another scowl from the displeased officer. “What are you doing sitting with me then? Want me to run a marathon for you? Maybe clear the skies without my wings or legs?” 

        Fleethoof’s expression didn’t budge. “If you’re really this displeased with my methods, you can always quit now.” 

        Midnight was silent for a moment. The offer was far too tempting to take him up on. She glanced around at the other ponies for a moment, and then back to the stallion across from her, who was now absentmindedly turning a peach over in his hooves. 

        “No.” 

        “Suit yourself.” He shrugged, then placed the peach on her tray with a satirical half-cocked smirk. 

        “Ahaha, funny,” the Lunar Guard deadpanned. 

        “You’re the one who said you liked peaches.” He smiled innocently. 

        “Why are you really here?” 

        “I told you, I like to be a part of my unit. I’m watching the Marines, pitying them.” 

        Fleethoof’s cryptic words puzzled Midnight. “Pity them for what?” 

        “You’ll see,” he replied, a slow grin creeping onto his face. 

        Midnight shuddered, terrified at the possible prospects that message entailed. She knew whatever it was, she was going to be getting the brunt of it too. 

        “Actually, I came to keep you company.” Midnight stared at the captain like he was speaking a foreign language. “I know none of your friends are up right now, so I figured why the hell not? I can be a nice colt.” 

        “Shocker!” Dasher gasped. 

        “Hey…” he said in mock warning. “Plus, since you’re such a big fan of games, I thought we’d play a quick one.” 

        That caught the mare’s attention on the spot. 

        “What sort of game?” she asked apprehensively. Fleethoof was known for his trickery. He laughed, smiling in good-humor. 

        “A very simple one. I’ll answer any one question you have, provided it’s within reason,” he explained, and conditioned it with, “If you answer one of mine.” 

        “Within reason?” 

        He nodded. “Within reason.” 

        Midnight chewed on her lower lip for a moment, considering the proposition. She did enjoy guessing games and solving mysteries. Bugging Fleethoof had become like a professional sport for her, but it had gotten her little to nowhere. Perhaps this was a good deal. But then she considered his end of the bargain… What could he possibly want to know? 

        She decided to bite the proverbial bullet. 

        “All right.” The bat pony flashed him a grin. “But I get to go first.” 

        Ever patient, he waved his hoof, urging her to proceed. 

        Dasher took a few minutes to think. She only had one shot at this... she had to make it a good one. There was so much mystery surrounding this stallion, but only one could be solved—or none could be solved, and the rabbit hole would only prove to be deeper than she feared. 

        But I guess that’s the gamble I took, she mused in her head. As much as she wanted to ask, there was one question that kept coming to the forefront of her thoughts. 

        “Who are you?” 

        Fleethoof stared the mare down for a moment. His lip quivered as he fought a smile, then chuckled, and ended in a fit of laughter. 

        “That’s your question?” he asked sarcastically. “Out of everything, it’s that?” 

        “I mean, who are you? What do you do? What are you a captain of?” she pressed on, elaborating her demand. 

        “That’s three questions,” Fleethoof pointed out. 

        “Fine!” An exasperated huff came from the bat pony. “What do you do then?” 

        “I’m a captain in the Equestrian Armed Forces and Royal Guard,” the officer said, his lines rehearsed and memorized. “Former Infantry, 3rd Company Royal Guard Reserve out of Baltimare.” 

        “You’re not going to give me a straight answer, are you?” 

        Fleethoof was thoroughly confused now. “I… just did?” 

        “No! I meant, what do you have to do with this? What is all this?” Midnight waved her hooves over his black uniform and the unique unit emblem patch hewn into it. “What’s with all the ‘Classified this’ and ‘Classified that’? The ridiculous close combat moves? The secrecy and lack of a file? You’re not a normal pony!” 

        “I am too a normal pony!” Fleethoof retorted, and then added, “You tried to look at my file?” 

        “It’s not like it matters. It was locked up in the Archives, and I couldn’t break in.” The bat pony slouched in her seat, pouting and crossing her hooves over her chest. 

        “You tried to break into the Archives?” 

        “Is that your question?” Fleethoof shook his head. “Then I’m not answering that.” 

        “Okay, I’ll make another deal with you,” the pegasus conceded, “If you answer my question, I’ll give you more details about me. Deal?” 

        Midnight was suddenly very suspicious. “Okay… deal.” 

        “Why are you here?” 

        Fleethoof leaned across the table slightly as he spoke, noting Midnight Dasher’s look of shocked horror. 

        “W-What?” 

        “Why are you here?” he repeated the question, slower this time, as if she were mentally deficient. “It’s the one thing I can’t figure out. I know this training program inside and out. I helped Shining Armor write it. It called for three Lunar Guards of high recommendation, any three, signed off by the Captain of the Nightwatch. So… why you?” 

        Midnight clammed up, a look of bitterness in her eyes. “What are you saying? That I don’t deserve to be here? I think you answered your own question. I was recommended!” 

        “I don’t believe you earned it on skill alone.” The statement was more factual than accusatory. “You barely made it halfway in the march. You do really well in combat, but I still took you down in a matter of minutes. Your attitude towards authority isn’t certainly one to praise in any reports either.” 

        “Well, aren’t you just Prince Charming?” she spat, glaring daggers at the pegasus. 

        “So how did you get to be the leader of the hoof-to-hoof combat training in the capital of the nation?” 

        The bat pony didn’t answer. Whether she simply refused to or didn’t know how to, Fleethoof didn’t know. All he knew was the silence that fell between them. When he was sure he wasn’t going to get a response, he sighed and stood up from the table. 

        “I’ll see you in a few minutes out at the range, Corporal. Enjoy your breakfast.” 

        Again, she didn’t respond. Fleethoof gave up, and walked off to another part of the mess hall. Midnight hadn’t realized she had stopped breathing until her lungs began to ache from the lack of air. She grumbled at herself, picking up the peach from her tray and taking a large bite out of it. That had been a waste of time… Things certainly couldn’t have gone worse. 

        “Well, well! If it isn’t our wonderful instructor, Ms. Vampire Pony!” 

        Midnight Dasher looked up as a voice began to circle her. Three ponies she recognized from her instruction groups had taken positions around her, leaning against the table and subtly pinning her in place. She recognized the stallions. They were all soldiers she had used as demonstrations, humiliating them with her unfair takedowns in front of the others. If she remembered correctly, one of them had sworn vengeance on her. 

        Oh fuck it all… 

        “Hello, colts,” she muttered, continuing her meal with a bored expression. 

        “Where’re your friends?” one asked, a disturbing grin on his face. “No back up? None at all?” 

        “But that’s not the bat pony way!” another remarked teasingly, earning a round of raucous laughter from his friends. 

        Midnight was getting fed up with them. “Do you want something?” 

        “Oh, we just wanted to thank you for drilling us as hard as you did and making examples of us.” The stallion’s voice was dark, and threatening. “And to show off what we learned from you.” 

        “Always have back up,” one of the three recited in a jeering fashion. 

        “Always wait till your opponent is weakest,” said another. “And you’re looking awfully tired there, Corporal.” 

        Oh fuck…

        Already, Midnight was subconsciously preparing for a fight. Her body protested as her muscles tensed up, waiting for the right moment to spring. Still acting cool and indifferent, she desperately scanned for a way out of the situation. She couldn’t leap up from the table’s bench seat without getting grabbed, and she couldn’t push past them without the same result. 

        “And always use any advantage you have,” the last of the trio said, placing a hoof on Midnight’s shoulder. “Now, how about a little demonstration with you this time, boss?” 

        The mare did her best to hide the flinch that ran through her from his touch. “Get your hoof off of me.” 

        The ponies laughed again, grinning at one another. Just as the stallion’s grip tightened on her shoulder, another hoof landed on his own, turning him around. A fifth pony was glaring viciously at him. 

        “Hey, bud, she said get your hoof offa her.” 

        The stallion snorted. “Fuck off. This doesn’t concern you, hero.” 

        “Actually, when you’re roughing up my instructor, it does,” the pony growled like an animal. 

        The trio turned on the pony—and all at once, six more nearby ponies stood up in defense of the lone savior. The ponies froze, and Midnight finally got a good look around. The seven ponies coming to her rescue all wore the same insignia pin on their lapels, an insignia she had only just come to recognize. 

        A glimpse of fear crossed the stallion’s eyes the moment he realized they were outnumbered. The Marines formed a circle around the soldiers, reversing the trap on them. 

        “You’d better back down, pal,” the Marine said in whispered threat, tensed to strike. “Doesn’t look too good for you right now.” 

        The Guard snorted. “You think you’re such a hot shot ‘cause you’ve got a special little pin? I’ve taken down mares bigger than you, Earth pony.” 

        “Back off…” 

        The two ponies stood in one another’s faces now, glaring and staring down the other. Both sides just waited for the other to make a move. Tension hung in the air, and some of the other tables had stopped talking and eating to watch the situation unfold. 

        “What’s going on here?” 

        All eyes turned towards the door as an authoritative voice boomed out. The pristine white form of the Captain of the Guard strode into the mess hall, his steps slow and deliberate as he approached the scene. At his side, Fleethoof followed and analyzed the situation, his eyes narrowed and leering. 

        Neither side answered as the officers got closer, stepping into the would-be fray. Shining Armor looked between the two ponies still practically bumping chests. 

        “Well?” Fleethoof spoke up now. “Your commanding officer just asked you a question. Speak.” 

        “It’s nothing, sir,” the Marine resolved, casting a glare at the aggressors. “Just a misunderstanding.” 

        Both captains’ gazes settled on the three Guards. “Is that so?” 

        “Yeah… A misunderstanding…” a Guard agreed tensely. 

        “Don’t let it happen again,” Fleethoof said, glowering at the three soldiers as he scolded them. “I suggest you report to your next assignment. What was that again, Captain Armor?” 

        “I think that was ten laps around the barracks, Captain Fleethoof,” Shining Armor replied. 

        “Only ten? That’s a walk in the park.” 

        “Well, we don’t know exactly what this ‘misunderstanding’ was.” Shining looked over to the group of ponies. “Unless you three have something to admit?” 

        Nopony said a word. The entire mess hall had fallen deathly silent. From the corner of his eye, Fleethoof could see some of the Marines smirking and quietly laughing at the apprehended soldiers. 

        “Right, ten laps then. Better get to it. I hear the interest rate on those things is still going up,” Shining said with mock glee. “What was the interest on them, Fleet?” 

        “Double for every minute of delay, Captain.” 

        Shining Armor let out a sharp whistle. “That’s pretty hefty! If it were me, I’d hop to it.” 

        Without another word, the three ponies began to make their way out of the mess hall. Life seemed to come back to the room almost immediately, with soft conversation starting up again in the wake of the madness. The Marines slowly returned to their seats, save for the one who leapt to Midnight’s defense. 

        “You, Marine,” Fleethoof called to the stallion, nodding to him. “You did good. What’s your name?” 

        “Corporal Fire Wave, sir.” The pony stood at attention before his officer. 

        “At ease, Corporal,” the pegasus ordered, and the Marine relaxed his posture. “I saw the look in your eye. You were ready to deck your fellow soldier. Something must have set you off.” 

        Fire Wave’s shoulders tensed, his gaze steeled and burning. “They were threatening Dasher, sir.” 

        “Were they?” asked Fleethoof, nodding his head in comprehension. “And you were defending her?” 

        “We look out for our own, sir.” 

        Midnight Dasher looked up at the Earth pony in shock. He considered her part of the team? She wasn’t even in the same branch as they were. She was just training them, and working with them. She saw a subtle smile form on Fleethoof’s mouth as the pony nodded. And then she remembered what he had said: leading by example made you like one of the soldiers. 

        “As you were, Corporal. Good work,” Fleethoof said with a sharp nod of his head, and turned to Midnight. “Maybe this will teach Corporal Dasher a life lesson about making valuable friends.” 

        The pegasus officer looked around the room. Some ponies were still staring, watching him—mostly the Marines. 

        “Marines! Firing range! Thirty minutes!” He barked the order out and made his way back toward the exit. Now, their real work would begin.
	

> Chapter 8: Diminution ♫
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	By the time the seventh week hit, most of the Royal Guard had been successfully indoctrinated with their new training. Fleethoof and Stratagem had picked up the advanced courses, pushing the soldiers to their absolute limits. In the regard of the Marines, Fleethoof made sure they were pushed beyond even that, especially when their numbers doubled to a hundred strong. 

        Shining Armor was busy wrapping up the training, slated to end right on schedule. Within the final couple weeks hereafter, the new Royal Guard would all be prepared and ready for active duty. The three-month plan had been a rousing success. 

        Much to his relief, Fleethoof had not heard a word of Union’s whereabouts or activities. Normally, such a disappearance would be cause to worry, particularly when he hadn’t found the time to talk to the princesses about abandoning the operation. In his mind, it meant they weren’t active, and were more than likely safe. His fears were abated, if even for a short period, and he could focus all of his attention on the hundred rapidly growing Marines and one very trying bat pony. 

        To her credit, though, Midnight had been taking over the reigns (albeit at his urging) from him a little more. What had begun as one instructor developed into two, until Fleethoof fell back to just assisting. Midnight Dasher stuck to Shining Armor’s planned regiment for the Marines, and although she detested the required early morning marches, she struggled through it, along with the weapons training, mixed martial arts, and other rigorous programs the Marines endured. 

        Now, as the training came into its final phases, the Marines were taught practical application for what they were learning, which meant one thing: war games. 





        Bright sunlight poured down through the sparsely covered tree branches, the limbs still clinging to a few colored leaves. Most of the leaves had already fallen in preparation for winter’s arrival, heralded by the cool air that wafted through Whitetail Woods. It was the picture definition of a typical late-autumn day. 

        Twigs and dry piles of grasses crunched noisily underneath the hooves of two uniformed Marines as they fanned out through the clearing, three more spread out along the tree line. Their new uniforms stood out in contrast to the browns and reds, much to their displeasure, but the green camo set them apart from the regular Guard, something every soldier had cheered and hollered about when they were presented with their new fatigues. 

        In their hooves, each Marine held a small compact rifle. Their pistols hung in their holsters at their sides. Red bands were tied around their hooves. Full kits were lugged on their backs, another necessity in a realistic wartime scenario. All they were missing were their enemies. 

        “Clear,” the pointpony called back to his team, and the ponies advanced further through the trees. 

        All around them, a swirling world of vivid warm colors threatened to drown their senses. Not a single bird chirped anywhere, all the fowl long-since haven flown south for the season. Other than the occasional whisper of wind in their ears, it was completely silent. It put the soldiers on edge. 

        “Any word on the other teams?” the pony asked their radio operator. 

        The stallion shook his head. 

        “Fuck…” 

        “We should head due north. The other teams probably started further up than we did,” another Marine pointed out. 

        “Good idea, Fire Wave. Everypony try to keep to the high ground. We’ll see if we can’t ambush anypony along the w—” 

        A soft pop and the sound of something breaking through the air caught everypony’s attention. The Marine at point grunted and recoiled as he felt something hit him, and then glanced down as a dull ache started in his chest. The other Marines looked in horror at the red stain spreading across the soldier’s uniform. 

        “Enemy fire!” Fire Wave yelled as his teammate collapsed to the ground. 

        Everypony dropped as fast as they could, hearing more projectiles ripping through the trees towards them. Fire Wave was breathing hard, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he scoured the area for any signs of movement. He looked over to his fallen friend, gently nudging him with his hoof. 

        “You okay?” 

        The wounded pony grunted and gingerly touched the red paint on the torso of his uniform. 

        “Yeah, I’m good. Damn, those paintballs sting…” he said. 

        Fire grinned and heard his team return fire. They had spotted the enemies. 

        “Ten o’clock!” somepony shouted. 

        The stallion turned over in the dirt, spotting a pair of camouflaged figures darting through the trees for cover. He brought his weapon up, maintaining his prone position as he opened fire. Several trees between the two teams were marked red with his shots. 

        “Get to cover!” Fire said, and the Marines broke for the trees, pressing their bodies up against them. 

        A short distance away, the sound of running and rustling leaves could be heard. Fire peered out from behind the tree, spotting a fellow Marine in uniform crouched behind cover. But the band around his leg was gold, not red. 

        He took quick aim and fired off a short burst of shots, watching with satisfaction as the pony jerked backwards, red paint covering his entire side. The pony fell back to the dirt, his lips moving as he muttered something under his breath, most likely cussing out his attacker. Fire chuckled to himself. 

        The sound of a paintball hitting his cover made Fire jerk back behind the safety of the tree. He grunted and swore as he felt the wetness of the liquid splatter against his nose. To his side, his team returned fire, and the cries of the soldiers opposing them were heard. More casualties. 

        “Move!” one of his teammates said. 

        Fire Wave broke from cover, darting to the next nearest tree along with his fellow soldiers. He could see two more ponies lying out on the ground, which meant there were only two more Gold Team members to kill. 

        No sooner did he hear that, another pony popped out from behind a tree and shot at one of his comrades. The shots harmlessly peppered the trunk of the tree he was behind. Fire squeezed off a couple of shots, but the mare ducked behind the tree again—with one fatal error. He noticed her leg still sticking out from cover, and took the shot. 

        The mare cried out as she fell to a knee, her leg giving out under the shot. She was instantly taken down in a hail of paintballs. Only one left… 

        The group of Marines began to tighten the noose. Outnumbered and outgunned, the last Gold Team Marine threw caution to the wind and went out guns blazing. He yelled out as he opened fire, striking a pony in the shoulder and toppling him over before Fire Wave and another took him out with three clean shots. 

        “Clear!” said Fire Wave as he counted the fifth kill. “Get on the radio. Let ‘em know Gold Team’s done.” 

        “Shit! We thought we had you guys!” a Gold pony said, getting back up and collecting his weapon. “Element of surprise, and all.” 

        “Well, we would have had them if Blazer here didn’t have such an itchy trigger hoof,” another defeated enemy muttered. “Giving away our position…” 

        “HQ says for all the dead ponies to head back out of the woods, back to Canterlot,” the radio operator relayed. “Green and Purple Team are out too.” 

        Fire Wave nodded, reloading his weapon. “All right, Marines! We’ve still got six teams to find! Let’s move!” 





        Midnight blew a stray leaf out of her mane, her dark indigo locks hanging in front of her eyes as she crawled through a thicket. While the rest of the Marine platoon had split into ten teams to test their skills against one another, she had separated into her own team to test herself. That, and to pick up a few hooves-on skills from the pegasus she was now actively following. 

        Fleethoof lay prone in the dense bushes, donned in his black uniform. Like the Marines, he carried a full kit, including his fully loaded harness and pack. The only difference from his normal operation loadout was his weapons. Even still, the cool synthetic material of his ‘gun’ was like a grounding lifeline to him. 

        He peered through the bush, staring down the incline of the hill they lay on. The woods spanned around them for miles in either direction. For the past half hour, they had been pursuing the Blue Team, but now they had lost the Marines somewhere in the forest. He grumbled, scanning the trees and listening closely for any telltale signs of combat. 

        Beside him, Midnight crawled up to peer out of the bushes as well. She had no idea what Fleethoof did in the Guard, but watching him operate like this was almost terrifying. The pony gave off an aura of deadly professionalism, the kind that got the job done fast and efficiently, whatever that job was. His eyes were always focused and calculating, analyzing and figuring out literally everything around him, like a predator's. It was unsettling and thrilling all at once. 

        “Are you getting anything?” she asked, her voice barely more than a whisper. 

        Fleethoof pursed his lips and made a soft noise in the back of his throat. “Why don’t you tell me?” 

        Midnight looked out through the woods again. There wasn’t a soul to be seen anywhere. Even the animals seemed to have cleared out for the games. She shook her head, confident of her answer. 

        “No, there’s nothing. We lost them.” 

        “Did we?” Fleethoof cast a wry glance at the Lunar Guard. “Listen harder.” 

        The mare scrunched her brow in confusion. She tried to focus harder… on what? All she could hear was the silence. With a grumble, she closed her eyes and tried again, straining her ears. 

        There, above the white noise of silence: the subtle sounds of distant pops from the paintball guns. 

        Midnight gasped. “They’re right ahead, maybe one o’clock.” 

        “Right,” the stallion beside her replied with a smile. “Remember, even the smallest, subtlest clues can be found with a little perseverance and strain, and they can be the most important. Let’s get going, before they move on again.” 

        The ponies quickly rose to their hooves, galloping down the hill and running at top speed through the woods. Fleethoof, as Midnight had expected, was fast on his hooves—but she had gotten faster. She quickly caught up to the pony, running alongside him in the direction of the firefight. The closer they got, the louder the sounds became. 

        Fleethoof and Midnight rushed through a small clearing, and spotted figures moving in the trees just ahead. A grin spread across the bat pony’s face. Finally, they would get some action after an hour of tracking and hunting. But just as she was about to charge forward into the fray, Midnight felt a pair of hooves wrap around her sides, and she was hoisted to the ground hard with something heavy covering her. 

        “Oof! What the—?” 

        “Stay down!” Fleethoof hissed through gritted teeth as three paintballs hit the tree just above their heads, laying his body protectively across his partner. 

        Two Marines wearing bright orange bands around their hooves stood a short distance away, advancing on the prone ponies. Fleethoof grabbed his weapon and rolled across the ground behind a nearby bush, leaving Midnight stunned on her back. 

        “Wait!” she called out and tried to crawl after her partner, but a volley of suppressive fire kept her pinned behind a nearby tree. 

        Midnight’s heart was hammering in her chest. She had been through all the combat training simulations back in the Hollow Shades against her own kind, and those had been pretty rough, but nothing prepared her for this. Coming under live fire was a lot different than training for battle. Clenching her jaw, she listened, waiting for something to happen. 

        The two Marines began to circle around the tree, their weapons raised and ready. As the one stepped past his hiding spot, Fleethoof leapt out grabbing the pony’s hooves and dragging him into the underbrush with a cry of terror. One quick shot to the pony’s chest point blank eliminated him from the game. 

        “Blunder Buss?” the remaining Marine called out to his teammate, looking around urgently. 

        Fleethoof sprung up from the bush. The Marine’s eyes went wide when he saw the pony, pivoting to bring his weapon around, but he was too late. The captain had already fired off two shots into the pony’s torso by the time he made his turn. 

        “Clear, Midnight,” he called out to her, smirking at the two disgruntled Marine. “Sorry, colts. You opened fire first.” 

        “Yeah, well, we almost had Dasher,” the one named Blunder Buss said, laughing as he tried in vain to wipe the paint off his uniform. “Good thing she had you, sir, or she’d be a goner.” 

        “That’s for sure,” agreed Midnight, wiping the sweat from her forehead. “Nice try, colts.” 

        The two defeated soldiers began to make their way back out of the woods, due east towards Canterlot, chatting to one another the entire way till they were out of sight. Still alive, Fleethoof and Midnight continued to advance on the sounds of gunfire, both ponies on high alert after their run-in with Orange Team. 

        The two instructors kept low as they moved closer towards the shootout. The sounds were coming from a field up ahead. A creek ran parallel to the field, creating a picturesque idyllic scene. A small, derelict cabin sat at the far end of the field, a weathered split-rail fence separating the area. Inside, silhouettes of figures could be seen ducking in and out of the broken windows. In the field and the surrounding tree line, five uniformed ponies opened fire on the house, keeping whoever was inside thoroughly trapped. 

        From a distance, Fleethoof and Midnight watched while two kept a line of suppressive fire on the windows while three others circled around to the side of the cabin. The pegasus motioned to the bat pony and led her around to the stream. He slid down into the shallow water, flinching a little as the cold water made contact with his skin through his uniform, but he waded slowly and stealthily through the current, undeterred. 

        Midnight didn’t even bat an eyelash at the cold. The Shades were always cooler than the rest of Equestria, almost perpetually in shadow year round. Keeping their heads down, the ponies worked their way through the ditch the creek carved into the ground, just low enough to keep out of sight. As they rounded the bend in the trench towards the cabin, Blue Team advanced in force. A loud crash was heard, prompting both stallion and mare to peek up in time to see three members of Blue Team kicking the door in. 

        There were a few shouts from inside the house, followed by a cacophony of pops from the paintball guns. Fleethoof continued to wade slowly through the water, so as not to make any splashes or noises. The two Marines of Blue Team remaining outside had set up a perimeter around the house as the sound of combat ended inside, unaware of the threat sneaking up through the water. 

        Fleethoof lay down on the slope of the bank, crawling through the damp grass up until he could see over the edge. They had made their way around to the side of the cabin, and could see the Marines outside by the door, and moving around inside. 

        “Two hostiles outside, three in,” he said in a hushed whisper to his partner as she crawled up alongside him. “Take the two outside, then follow my lead. I’ve got left.” 

        Midnight tightened her grip on her gun, bringing it up and taking careful, deliberate aim. “I’ve got right.” 

        “Remember, no headshots. These hurt.” 

        “Roger.” 

        Fleethoof picked his mark. “Got him?” 

        “Got him.” 

        “Weapons free.” 

        The two ponies took one shot each. Fleethoof’s found its destination right over the Marine’s left lung. Midnight’s flew high, hitting the pony’s helmet and sending him reeling back with a yelp of surprise. Fleethoof cast a disparaging look at the proudly grinning mare. 

        “Do you ever listen to me? Ever?” 

        “I’m sorry, what?” 

        Fleethoof rolled his eyes. “Follow me. Move quick.” 

        Fleethoof and Midnight took off, following the stream around the side of the cabin as the Marines inside began searching for the sounds of the gunshots. Fleethoof dove and slid up against the side of the structure, pressing him back against the wall as his less-agile partner ran up alongside him. 

        He motioned to Midnight to keep quiet. Through the window above their heads, the sounds of booted hooves moved across a wooden floor. There was somepony at the window right now. Midnight could scarcely breathe. She could almost feel the vast amounts of adrenaline flowing through her bloodstream, wiring her like caffeine. Her golden eyes turned from the window down to her partner, who had lifted his gun up. 

        At first, Midnight didn’t know what he was planning. The stallion’s eyes were fixated and intense, his breathing slow and focused. Then she noticed the way he was staring at the window and the way his posture changed from a crouch to a pounce, her eyes went wide. Surely he wasn’t going to… 

        As soon as Fleethoof saw a glint of a rifle barrel stick out past the windowpane, he leapt. Jumping up, he pushed the barrel of the gun to the side with his free hoof while bringing his own down, level with his victim. The expression on the Marine’s face was one of priceless surprise. Fleethoof squeezed the trigger. Paint splattered against the pony’s battledress. 

        “Hostile, window, four o’clock!” somepony inside said, and Fleethoof barely had time to get out of the window before paintballs flew out at his head. 

        “Go!” Fleethoof shouted to Midnight, and took off around the backside of the cabin. 

        Having no idea what the plan of attack was, Midnight Dasher blindly followed the captain’s lead. The rear of the building had no windows, just a back door, providing them with a little cover. Fleethoof took advantage of the loss of sight with the enemies and took to the air, arcing gracefully over the cabin’s roof and landing at the front door. 

        As the captain rushed inside, sweeping the corners, he heard something smash at the back of the building. The rear door. Quickly maneuvering through the mostly empty and dark house, Fleethoof ran to the back, which was a small, dusty kitchen. The room looked like it hadn’t seen an occupant in years, save for the two Marines covering the back door. Just as he was preparing a plan, one Marine glanced up at the doorway he was besides, just catching a glimpse of Fleethoof's golden mane in the dim light. 

        Fleethoof recoiled back just in the nick of time as projectiles pelted the rotting wood. He grit his teeth and fired blindly around the corner, hoping to at least keep his enemies at bay. Blue Team was proving exceptionally skilled at working as a cohesive unit. Shining Armor would want them leading a squad. 

        “The window!” one of the soldiers in the adjacent room shouted out. 

        He could hear the sound of fire continuing in the kitchen. The Marines must have caught a glimpse of Midnight Dasher going past a window. Taking the risk, he peered around the corner. Both Marines had turned away from him. One of the stallions turned around just in time to see the barrel of Fleethoof’s rifle level with him. 

        With a soft pop of pressurized air, the pony was covered with paint, marking him for dead. He stumbled back against the wall as his friend cried out defiantly, shooting to suppress the pegasus soldier behind the wall. Grabbing his downed friend by the pack, he dragged him out of the building and into the bright sunlight. He knew that Corporal Dasher was still somewhere around, but all he could think of was getting his friend out of there as quickly as possible. 

        Fleethoof pursued the Marines, taking position by the back door and waiting. Poking his head around the corner earned a volley of shots in his direction, so back into cover he went. It was up to his partner now. 

        The Marines began to retreat into the tree line for safety. All the while, the last living member of Blue Team kept his eye on the cabin, making sure their officer wasn’t going to continue the pursuit. As he struggled to pull his friend past the first line of trees, he felt something jam against his back, and he froze on the spot. 

        “Sorry, colts,” Midnight’s sumptuous voice spoke from behind them. 

        The Marine had expected to feel the shot against his back, so when the strike came from his left side, he was surprised, to say the least. Two rounds peppered his side, and he heard Midnight gasp from behind him as well. As they had been instructed to do, the pony dropped to the ground, feigning death, and glanced at the bat pony. She had paint covering her back and the left side of her torso as well. 

        That was when four ponies dressed in camouflage emerged from the trees, each one wearing a red band around their hooves. 

        “Hostiles down,” Fire Wave said back to his team. “Eyes up! There might be more.” 

        Red Team approached and checked both Midnight and what remained of Blue Team. All three ponies had been killed. 

        “What happened to him?” asked Fire Wave. 

        “The captain’s inside!” the Blue Team Marine warned. 

        Fire Wave’s eyes darkened as the words settled in his mind. The moment he looked up, he heard shouts from his team, and watched as a pony fell under a burst of shots from the cabin’s door. 

        “Find cover!” he said aloud, even as his team was already scrambling for the nearest solid defense they could find. 

        Corporal Fire Wave ducked down behind a small boulder, hearing the projectiles hitting the surface of the rock. Captain Fleethoof was inside. He knew what the stallion was capable of, having seen his abilities demonstrated throughout their training. He had been present when he had sparred with Corporal Dasher as well. This pony was not to be trifled with. And with one pony down, and another technically injured, now came the real challenge. 

        Inside, Fleethoof silently cursed his misfortune. Of course another team of Marines would have to show up before he could clear the area, and of course it had to be Red Team. He knew who was in each group, and knew that Red, Blue, and Indigo Teams were the ones to watch out for. Why Shining Armor had assigned the top of the class to those teams hadn’t seemed fair at the time, and now in practice, Fleethoof felt genuinely cornered. 

        Fire Wave motioned to his team to move up, the stallions slowly advancing on the building. Their eyes and aim remained on the open door at all times, watching and listening. Fire Wave’s breathing was heavy, but controlled. Officer or not, if Fleethoof was going to peer around that doorway, he was going to take him out. 

        The three ponies made it to the side of the structure, pressing their bodies against the solid wood. Fire Wave stood closest to the open door, listening for any sounds inside. Directly on the opposite side of the wall, Fleethoof stood just as still, listening to the outside world, his hoof on the trigger. Neither pony moved, just daring the other to do something. 

        Corporal Wave glanced across the way to his teammate on the other side of the door. He nodded, and Fire Wave nodded back. Taking a deep breath, he gripped his gun tight to his chest, raising it, and preparing to charge in. It was do or die. 

        “Civilian!” one of the downed Blue Team Marines shouted. 

        Fire Wave muttered a silent curse as he looked around for the pony in question. Above their heads, a gray pegasus filly glided lazily through the air, swerving this way and that. What the fuck was she doing out in the middle of Whitetail Woods? 

        “Hold your fire!” Fleethoof ordered from inside the structure. “This exercise is on hold!” 

        Fleethoof stepped out of the cabin, stopping in the doorway when he noticed the two Marines on either side of him. The three ponies exchanged looks, and the officer nodded and smiled. They had him dead to rights. He was proud. 

        The gray pegasus mare slowly came to a less-than-graceful landing in front of Fleethoof, her golden eyes contorted in different directions, and a comical smile on her face. Fleethoof’s blue eyes lit up in recognition. He remembered this pony, though it had been ages since he’d seen her last. 

        “This is the middle of a training exercise, miss,” he said to the pony, noticing the messenger bag slung around her side. “Do you have some business here?” 

        “Delivery for a Mister Captain Fleethoof, sir!” the messenger mare sang with a carefree salute, her voice bubbly and giddy. 

        “You’ve found him.” 

        The pegasus reached into her bag, producing a file from within and passing it to the captain. Fleethoof took the folder apprehensively, looking over the unassuming cover. His eyes scanned the name of the file. 

        Union. 

        Fleethoof’s brow furrowed in confusion. He already had a copy of Union’s file back in his room. Why would the princesses be sending him another copy? 

        “Thank you, miss. Dismissed,” he murmured, sending the mailmare on her way as he opened the file a fraction of an inch to check the contents. 

        “What’s that?” 

        He glanced up as Midnight came closer, cocking her head to try and get a peek at what was inside the folder. Fleethoof turned away from her, blocking her view with his body. 

        “It’s classified,” he informed the nosy mare, glancing back at her paint-splattered body. “And you’re supposed to be dead. No talking.” 

        Midnight pouted and crossed her hooves over her chest as she sat back in the grass. Red Team was taking a breather, stopping to drink and refill their canteens from the stream. Left to his own business, Fleethoof resumed checking the colored tabs on each paper within. He had long-since memorized the color code for files for quick reference. 

        The first six tabs were black: personnel reports and briefings on the operation as a whole. The next few were blue, signifying missions and operations Union had been sent on. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He reached the end, noticing one extra blue tab. So Union had been sent on another mission. What was so important about that? 

        And then Fleethoof froze. His breathing stopped, and his heart slowed. Cold dread gripped at his soul as his biggest fear had been realized. 

        A single red tab lay at the very end of the dossier. 

        Midnight noticed his tense reaction, staring at him with alarm. “Fleethoof?” 

        He didn’t respond. The stallion blinked his eyes a few times, hoping that he was imagining what he was seeing. The red tab still remained, tucked away at the bottom of the papers. 

        Not wasting any time, he flung the cover open and flipped through the attached sheets to the very last two pages. His eyes scanned the text as quickly as he could, absorbing the information like a sponge in water. 

        No… he thought with despair, turning to the last page, and reading over the report. 

        His eyes fell over the photographs. 

        No no no no no…

        “Fleethoof?” 

        “I have to go.” The captain turned to look at Midnight, his expression grim. “You’re in charge, Corporal Dasher. Keep the exercise going as planned from the mobile base. I have something urgent to handle.” 

        Midnight was now very concerned. “What’s wrong?” 

        “I can’t tell you. I just need you to handle things with the Marines. They’re your responsibility now, understood?” 

        Midnight Dasher was stunned silent, still trying to figure out what was going on. Whatever it was, it was serious enough to draw the relentlessly passionate captain away from his soldiers. Reluctantly, she gave him a slow nod. 

        “Yes, sir.” 

        Without another word, Fleethoof shoved the dossier into his saddlebags and took off into the sky, jetting above the treetops and out of sight. Midnight watched his ascent and disappearance from the ground. She didn’t even notice Fire Wave step up next to her, following the pony's path with his eyes too. 

        “What’s going on?” he asked, sounding just as confused as she felt. 

        All Midnight Dasher could do was shake her head. 

        “I have no idea…” 





        The throne room of Canterlot Castle was unusually still. Neither Princess Celestia nor Princess Luna said a word. Both sovereigns sat like statues, staring off into nothingness. Luna eyed the colored patterns on the floor, cast by the glimmering sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows. 

        They had not been prepared for this… 

        Out of the corner of her eye, Luna glanced over at her sister. Celestia’s expression was unreadable, but the subtle hint of moisture in the corner of her eye told the entire story. She felt guilty. She felt responsible. In a way, both sisters were. It was their responsibility to keep their subjects safe and happy. 

        “This isn’t your fault, ‘Tia,” Luna crooned softly to her sibling. The alicorn didn’t so much as blink. “Nopony could have predicted this.” 

        “Equestria was safe for so long,” Celestia said to herself. “Where did we go wrong, sister?” 

        Luna didn’t have an answer to that. Only one pony did: the pony they were waiting on. 

        The doors to the throne room were suddenly flung open with an echoing bang, catching both alicorns off guard. Their eyes snapped into focus, watching as a solitary pony marched aggressively down the chamber towards them, still dressed in full uniform, armed to the teeth, and speckled with dried paint. 

        Fleethoof didn’t know what he was feeling at the moment. Anger, guilt, despair? Any of those could have been it, but whatever it was, it was driving him forward like a train. His eyes were burning, narrowed to points. He was out for blood, and made no effort to hide it. 

        This had always been a bad idea from the start. He had known it. He had known it, and he hadn’t done a damn thing about it. Now the price was being paid. 

        “Captain Fleethoof,” Princess Luna greeted, her voice monotonous and dry. “We were not expecting you.” 

        “Forgive me, your majesties, but when something this serious happens, you should expect me to come breaking down the door.” 

        The soldier’s words were hard and cold. He was angry, that much was evident. It greatly disturbed him in particular. Luna gave him an apologetic look. 

        “Where is she?” he demanded to know. “Where’s Spitfire?” 

        “On her way,” said Celestia. “We were waiting for her ourselves.” 

        Fleethoof laughed weakly, shaking his head in incredulity. “How could this have happened?” 

        “That is what we are waiting to find out. You are welcome to stay and find out with us.” 

        “Oh, I intend to,” he said with harsh abruptness, and began pacing back and forth across the floor. “I knew this was a mistake… Somepony was always bound to get hurt…” 

        “Captain—” 

        “Why weren’t we called in to help them?” Fleethoof all but shouted. “We were supposed to look out for them! Why weren’t we called?!” 

        Luna replied first, “1st Lieutenant Spitfire personally requested her team handle this matter alone.” 

        “And look at where it got them!” 

        A long pause passed between the three ponies. The only thing that broke the frigid tension was when the doors to the chamber opened and shut again. Fleethoof turned to see the fiery orange pegasus in question walk slowly towards them, dressed in full uniform. Her trademark sunglasses sat perched on her forehead, revealing her eyes for once, which looked heavy and guilt-ridden. 

        Celestia was the first to speak. “1st Lieutenant Spitfire, we—” 

        “What happened, Lieutenant? Where are they?” Fleethoof snapped, catching Spitfire by surprise. 

        “Captain!” Luna gasped in shock at his abruptness. 

        “Where is Union?” he repeated through clenched teeth, eyes burning darkly. “And where is the body?” 
	

> Chapter 9: Vilification
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The Canterlot Morgue lay beneath the castle, just beyond the property of the citadel. A small, unassuming building alongside the castle walls marked the entrance. From the outside, the façade looked exactly the same as any other structure in Canterlot, with stark white walls and a rich purple roof. A few brightly potted flowers adorned the eaves, adding splashes of color to the world. 

        It was a far cry from the interior. 

        The basement was home to the crypt, with rows of cooled fridges built into the naturally dark stone to store the bodies of the deceased. Two lanterns hung overhead, bathing the chilled room in a warm, yet unsettling orange glow. Several autopsy tables sat at even intervals around the room. A single body lay across the surface of one, covered in a sterile, white sheet. 

        A shiver ran down Fleethoof’s spine. He had never been to the morgue before, and standing still in the cold air of the business of death, he hoped he’d never have to return. His blue eyes lay fixated on the tarp-covered body, unable to move, scarcely able to keep a steady breathing pattern. Across from him, Celestia and the pathologist stood side-by-side, going over the charts associated with the departed. Luna and Spitfire stood to his left, both as silent as he was. 

        How could this have happened…? Fleethoof wondered. 

        Celestia signed off on one of the forms the pathologist handed and dismissed the mare. 

        “We’ll be taking all of your reports on the matter,” Celestia informed her. “No records are to be left behind.” 

        The mare nodded, and replied, “Yes, your majesty.” 

        She left the ponies, making her way back upstairs to her office to retrieve all the associated files. The room was deathly silent, a fitting atmosphere, given the surroundings and the situation. Spitfire was staring down at the shiny metal sheen of the autopsy table, seemingly entranced by the gleam, or some faraway thought. The princesses were exchanging a look between themselves. 

        Fleethoof didn’t know what to do. His mind had come to grasp the reality of the moment, but seeing the shrouded cadaver seemed like a cruel joke. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were at peace. Nopony was supposed to die. 

        “I’ll have some of my guards retrieve the body tonight,” said Luna softly, her voice low. “We must adjourn back to the castle, sister. We need to handle this matter immediately.” 

        “You are right,” agreed the sovereign alicorn with a nod. “Come, Lieutenant Spitfire. We have much to talk about.” 

        The three mares made their way across the room, back towards the stairs, their hoofsteps echoing all around. Luna paused, waiting beside the door as the others left, and cast a glance back at the lingering stallion. His gaze hadn’t moved from the body. 

        “Will you be joining us, Captain?” 

        “Yeah, I just… need a moment,” said Fleethoof, still transfixed. 

        The princess nodded slowly and sighed before departing as well. Left alone, Fleethoof could feel the silence crushing in around him. His mind was thinking off too much all at once. He could hear the pounding of his heard in his head. 

        This couldn’t be real. But it was. Union was like their sister unit. It was their job to look after them—except it wasn’t. They had always been separate entities. But they were kin—brothers in arms. If Skyfall didn’t exist, Union didn’t exist. They were one and the same… 

        …Right? 

        For whatever inexplicable reason, Fleethoof had felt compelled to look after the members of Fireteam Union. They had been like their shadows: similar and yet starkly different. They had always needed help and guidance. But they also needed room to grow. 

        And look at where growing got them…

        Fleethoof swallowed back a lump in his throat. It wasn’t his fault… but why did he feel guilty and partly responsible? He didn’t even know if Skyfall’s intervention would have prevented anything. But not knowing was exactly what drove him mad. 

        The stallion slowly lifted a hoof, setting it on the side of the autopsy table. The cool metal sent tingles up his leg like an electric shock. He had to see for himself. Letting his hoof slip underneath the sheet, he gently tugged it downward about halfway down the length of the body. 

        A dulled yellow mare lay across her back on the table, her green mane falling down past her shoulders across the metal surface. Her eyes were closed, and the expression on her face was surprisingly peaceful, as if she were simply asleep. The pallid lack of color in her face told the dreadful tale regardless. 

        Fleethoof took a deep breath, doing his best to keep from gagging on the oppressive scent of formaldehyde as he stared down at the body of Sergeant Harp Strings. 

        Union’s leader was lying dead on a slab in front of his eyes. The team themselves were nowhere to be seen. It made the captain’s stomach turn. How could they just abandon their own teammate in death like this? Cowards… Fleethoof had no respect for them. 

        The sound of hooves on the stairs caught Fleethoof’s attention. His ears swiveled back when the steps hit the stone floor, but still he refused to turn around. 

        “Oh, I didn’t realize anypony was still here…” It was the pathologist. She must have come back to return the body to the cold storage. “I’m sorry. I’ll come back later.” 

        “No, you’re fine,” Fleethoof murmured, shaking his head subtly. “Do whatever you have to. I won’t be in your way.” 

        The soft clip-clop of hooves approached his side. He didn’t need to look up to know she was standing beside him now. 

        “Did you know her?” 

        He shook his head. “No. I only met her once before, very briefly.” 

        “Oh, I see. It’s just that usually the ponies who linger are often close to the deceased.” 

        “We were in the same business,” said Fleethoof listlessly, his eyes darkening. 

        “You mean the Royal Guard, right?” the mare asked. 

        Fleethoof nodded slowly. 

        “I get a lot of soldiers through here, especially after the war a while back. It’s a grim business, but somepony has to do it, right?” 

        The mare chuckled timidly, trying to lighten the mood. Her words sparked something in Fleethoof’s brain. What she had said, she was right. Their job was dark and grim, but somepony did have to do it. If not them, then who? 

        “No matter how hard you stare, they won’t come back.” The pathologist giggled softly. “Trust me, I’ve tried before.” 

        “I have to make this right…” Fleethoof said darkly, tugging the sheet back over Harp Strings’ body. 

        The pathologist merely stood and watched as the captain turned on his heels and marched out of the morgue. He had to have a long chat with Lieutenant Spitfire and tear the remaining Union members a new rear end. Then he was going to find out what the hell Union Team had been up to and finish their fight. 





        “Union’s op was supposed to be quick and simple: infiltrate and execute. It was so straightforward, anypony with half a brain could have followed it,” Spitfire said in calm explanation, pacing back and forth across the wooden floor. “I didn’t expect any complications to arise…” 

        Luna leaned her head forward on her hooves as she sat at her desk. Celestia stood beside her sister in her office, listening as Spitfire described the nature of what had occurred. 

        “Something clearly did become complicated, Lieutenant,” the Princess of the Night observed. “Otherwise we would not have one pony dead and three missing entirely.” 

        Spitfire was quiet for a long moment. “I don’t have an excuse for that, your majesties.” 

        “We aren’t interested in excuses, Lieutenant. We want an explanation.” 

        “I don’t have much to report on what exactly happened…” 

        The door to the office opened briefly. Fleethoof slipped inside, leaning back against the closed door while patiently listening. Spitfire cast a wary look at him. His gaze was hard as steel as he glowered at the Wonderbolt leader. There was so much he wanted to say, but out of respect for the officer and the princesses and common decency, he held his tongue for the time being. 

        “Tell us what you do know,” said Princess Celestia tactfully. 

        Spitfire turned back toward the sovereigns of Equestria. “Fireteam Union was pursuing a known arms dealer and threat to Equestria. We had intel linking him to many black market deals all over the world, including the war in the south and over in Zavros. Knowing that he was escalating these conflicts, Union moved in to intervene. 

        “On their last mission, we had enough proof to reasonably believe we had our target’s most recent location. Union moved in for the kill, but… something happened in the field. The target was lost, and Sergeant Harp Strings was killed in action.” 

        “What happened?” Fleethoof interjected, demanding the details. 

        “I don’t know. We lost communication with Union and when we extracted them, the sergeant was dead,” Spitfire answered bluntly. 

        Fleethoof was not letting the matter go. “So where is Union now?” 

        Hesitation passed between question and answer. “They’re licking their wounds.” 

        “I would imagine so.” Celestia sighed, sorrow in her wise voice. 

        “They’ve been too reckless for far too long,” said a very displeased Fleethoof, scowling as he muttered, “It was only a matter of time before something like this happened. They have no serious experience under their belts. They weren’t prepared.” 

        “Don’t worry, I’ll have them back, disciplined, and ready for duty in no time,” Spitfire reassured the alicorn princesses. 

        “No.” Fleethoof’s interruption had been swift and adamant, stepping up beside Spitfire before the princesses. “Union has already proven that they are far too inexperienced and reckless to be dealing with these sorts of operations. We can’t continue to allow them to act in matters they have no idea of.” 

        Spitfire glared daggers at the pony beside her. “Excuse me?” 

        “No offense, Lieutenant, but your Special Forces training has been lackluster at best with Union,” said the stallion in a matter-of-factly manner. “One is already dead, the rest are demoralized, and little progress has been made on their end, where my team would have excelled months ago. They had their chance—in fact, they’ve had several—and they’ve shown no signs of improvement. If anything, they’ve been proof that not anypony can handle these kinds of tasks.” 

        Spitfire’s brilliant orange eyes were ablaze with anger at the captain’s words. Who was he to say such things about her training? She was the captain of the Wonderbolts, the head of the Wonderbolt Academy. If anypony knew how to train Special Forces, it was her! 

        But Fleethoof was far from done. “And under these circumstances, I would urge your highnesses, Princesses Celestia and Luna, to move to abort and disband the Fireteam Union operation. It would be beneficial to the health of the ponies involved and to Equestria’s general safety. Reassign them to the Royal Equestrian Air Force out of Cloudsdale, but don’t let them run around acting like my team when they don’t know the basics of what they’re doing.” 

        “Captain Fleethoof, I don’t know who you think you are, but nopony demands I step down from a task, especially when my duties are not yet complete.” 

        Fleethoof rolled his eyes in an overly exaggerated manner and turned on the Wonderbolt. “I’m sorry, Lieutenant. Would you be more satisfied when every member of Union is lying on a slab in the morgue?” 

        Unwittingly, Spitfire’s drill sergeant nature began to come out in response to the officer’s berating. In a brash, daring move, Spitfire stormed right up into Fleethoof’s face, eyes practically glowing with the bitterness she felt towards Fleethoof’s views of Union. 

        “I would be satisfied when you get off our backs and let us do our job.” 

        “My job, you mean,” Fleethoof snapped back, refusing to back down. “Union is nothing more than a babied up version of Skyfall, and don’t you dare insult my intelligence by denying that, Lieutenant. I’ve been doing this a little longer than you have, and I don’t think you’re in any position of authority to be telling me what’s what. Be thankful I don’t have command over your division, or I’d seriously consider putting you down for a suspension of duty for this insubordination alone.” 

        That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. 

        “Authority? What authority do you even have?” Spitfire seethed, refusing to back down from defending her ponies and her pride. “What exactly are you an officer of anyway? I train the best pegasi soldiers in all of Equestria. What do you do?” 

        Both Celestia and Luna looked visibly shocked at the exchange of words between the two officers. “Lieutenant!” 

        “You put soldiers into tasks they can’t accomplish and brush off their deaths like they were dust on your perfectly pressed uniform.” A cold glint flashed through the stallion’s deep blue eyes, gritting his teeth together between words. “You do little more than a foal setting up dominoes to be knocked over.” 

        The princesses gasped again. “Captain!” 

        Spitfire snorted under her breath. “You’re lucky I’m not in charge of Skyfall, or I’d have you discharged on the spot… Captain.” 

        “And if you were my CO, I’d shoot myself before your incompetence could get me killed.” 

        “Enough!” Celestia near shouted, catching both ponies’ attention and ending the verbal warfare between the two. 

        Fleethoof took a deep breath, gathering himself again. “Your majesty, please see reason in scrubbing the project. It’s far too risky!” 

        “Union isn’t done yet!” snapped Spitfire. 

        “Enough, both of you! You’re acting like foals.” 

        At Princess Celestia’s scolding, both pegasi turned their gazes from one another to her, shocked and still bitter. 

        “I must agree, Union has been showing minimal growth and results,” said the princess, her words slow, carefully considering everything she said. “But I do not think we need to truncate this so prematurely. Union simply needs the field experience, and somepony to show them how to operate.” Her eyes turned up to Fleethoof. “Somepony like you, Captain.” 

        Both ponies looked startled and confused, speaking in sync. “Excuse me?” 

        “You said it yourself, Captain Fleethoof: they need to learn how to work. And who better to teach them these ways than somepony who has mastered it?” 

        Luna nodded eagerly. “I concur, ‘Tia. Skyfall would make excellent role models for Union to exemplify. Perhaps another mission together would shape them up nicely.” 

        “It’s worth a shot. Far better than sending four ponies back down to the lower ranks.” 

        “Three ponies,” Luna grimly corrected. 

        “Yes… Three… Right…” 

        “Your majesties,” Spitfire spoke up quickly. “Union doesn’t need any help from this Skyfall Team. They’re doing fine on their own!” 

        “The evidence is to the contrary, Lieutenant Spitfire. And this is beyond conversation.” Celestia’s words were adamant and unwavering. “Include Skyfall in your next mission briefing. They will be going into the field with Union.” 

        “But… But…” 

        “Your majesty, I don’t—” 

        Celestia silenced the two stuttering officers with a dismissive wave of her hoof. “This is the compromise. Spitfire, you want Union to be given one more chance. Fleethoof, you want proof Union is capable of doing their jobs. You both get what you want this way.” 

        “Skyfall will join Union in the field,” Luna ended succinctly. “Understood?” 

        Both pegasi’s wings drooped and ears folded against their skulls. Spitfire even dipped her head slightly. “Yes, your majesties.” 

        Luna looked happy at the despondent agreement. “Very good. Hopefully, this will be a good learning experience for everypony involved. You are dismissed, officers.” 

        As the stallion and mare sulked out of the office, Spitfire cast a fiery glance at Fleethoof. He reciprocated with a cold glare. 

        “Just because we’re working together doesn’t mean I forgive you…” she muttered under her breath. 

        “I wasn’t apologizing.” 

        “Good.” 

        “Fine.” 

        Silence. 

        The ponies headed down the hall, still walking in the same direction. The tension was like a thick fog. 

        “Our briefing is in Manehattan, the Guard base, at 0600 hours tomorrow.” Spitfire spared him a sideways glimpse. “Think you and your team could be up in time for that?” 

        A wry smirk touched the corner of Fleethoof’s mouth. “One thing you’ll learn about us, Lieutenant: we like to be fashionably early.” 





        What bothered Spitfire most about Fleethoof’s blatant assault on her team wasn’t the hostility of it. It was the fact that he was right. Union wasn’t turning out to be her most successful endeavor she had ever undertaken. But she was no quitter. At the beginning, she had vowed to herself to make it or die trying, the same mantra that had so rightfully earned her the rank she now carried over the Academy. Union was rough, but she was determined to work them into some of Equestria’s elite. 

        The alarm clock shattered the early morning silence with an awful din. It was a noise she had become accustomed to in her time in the Guard. She had quickly learned that a swift beating from a stray hoof silenced the cacophony it created. 

        Her morning routine began, mind plagued with bitter thoughts and resentment towards the Skyfall leader. He had no faith in Union—no faith in her. That bothered her. She could recall when she had informed Soarin on her new project. The stallion stared at her like she was speaking a different language, and then had just burst out in laughter. It was ridiculous, he had said, and she only knew how to train fliers. She had stormed out of his office, leaving the blue-maned pegasus nearly in tears. 

        Now this lack of faith was the salt in the wound. Whoever he was, she wasn’t going to let him show her—or her team—up. Granted, Spitfire didn’t know what Skyfall did, but her briefing into Project: Union had said it was similar to Project: Skyfall. She could only assume they were closely related. 

        The mess hall on base wouldn’t be serving food for another hour or so, so Spitfire settled for what she had left in her personal coffeepot from last night. The bitter drink was barely lukewarm now, and tasted like dirt. Today was already off to a flying start. 

        Still, even as she downed what remained of her coffee, she had the peace of knowing she had a half hour reprieve to herself before Union came in to be briefed. That breath of fresh air to herself would be exactly what she needed to de-stress and unwind before having to deal with Skyfall. 

        She trotted sluggishly down the corridors of the army base, listening to the buzzing of the lights overhead. It was still dark outside, with just a hint of the morning sun beginning to turn the black night into pale blues and purples. The Briefing Room was at the far end of the base from her quarters, and by the time she got there, her half hour had turned to fifteen minutes. 

        Still, it’s something I get before dealing with… Spitfire thought, unlocking the doors and tugging them open to find, Skyfall!

        The Briefing Room was, surprisingly, already occupied by six stallions, seated together around one of the rectangular tables. Each pony was dressed in a matching sleek black uniform. Guns sat propped against their chairs or across the table while the ponies themselves occupied their mouths with a box of donuts from one of the local stores. 

        “Good morning, Lieutenant!” one of them, a unicorn, greeted much too cheerfully for this time of day. “Want some? We made a run before you got here, ya know, cuz the chow hall is closed.” 

        Spitfire was too surprised to say anything. Nopony ever showed up early. But Fleethoof was turning out to be a pony of his word more and more. Now he really was showing her up. 

        “How did you get in here?” she asked, still frozen in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights. “The door was locked.” 

        “We picked it,” the same unicorn said as nonchalantly as if he were talking about the weather. “We didn’t wanna disturb you for the key.” 

        Fleethoof simply smirked proudly at the bewildered lieutenant from his seat, reclined back with his hooves up on the table. 

        “We’re ready whenever you are, Lieutenant.” 

        Today was really off to a flying start… 
	

> Chapter 10: Collaboration
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The mission briefing had been informative, in more than one regard. When Union walked in at six o’clock sharp and saw Skyfall sitting at their table, their jaws hit the floor. The sight of the six ponies sitting upright and at attention, eyes locked on the screen at the front of the room, had clearly been all it took to put the small team into a state of shock and awe. 

        Fleethoof took note of this. 

        He disregarded the initial surprise of Union, and returned his attention to Spitfire. But throughout the meeting, he continued to catch glances from the other side of the room at his stallions. Skyfall was like some imposing figure of military might and dominance to Union, given away by the ogling eyes of the soldiers. They admired the operators, enough to pay more attention to them. 

        Fleethoof took note of this. 

        The jokes they made during the briefing, interruptive as they were, were let slide—mostly because whenever the pony Fleethoof recognized as Glider would crack a joke, Sharp Shot would be right behind with one of his own. Back and forth the two would go, to the point where the captain stood up and yanked Sharp’s chair out from underneath him, sending the pony crashing to the floor, much to the enjoyment of the rest of the room. 

        That had been the morning. Now, in the late afternoon hours, the two teams sat soundlessly in the lounge of a high-rise, preparing themselves and their equipment for the task ahead. Burning daylight was sinking out of sight, casting the massive city skyline ablaze in a sea of liquid fire. Glass from neighboring buildings looked like solid canvases of bright orange. Even Fleethoof’s dark blue eyes mirrored the fiery hues in the air. 

        Fleethoof leaned against the cool glass. Los Pegasus was bigger than he had imagined. Glistening metal and vibrant neon signs littered the metropolis. Pegasus ponies flew low over and between the towering buildings. Across the cityscape, an endless strand of sandy beach bordered the waterfront. In every respect, Los Pegasus was a paradise for escape. And with a lack of any major military presence, it was a hive of vacations and vices. 

        Somewhere out in this massive jungle of stone and life, their target was hiding. 

        The sound of bullets sliding into empty magazines behind him brought Fleethoof back to reality. His team was getting ready. Scratch that, they were ready. His hoof slowly traced the edge of the rifle slung across his body. Skyfall was always ready. 

        He turned his back to the picturesque view and returned to his team. Valiant and Sharp Shot sat beside Lightning Strike and Glider on the couch, an assortment of bullets, weapons, and other devices laid out on the glass coffee table in front of them. Cupcake and Blue Shield were packing their vests full of their specialized equipment on the floor. Lightning Flash and Nightflash were exchanging ammunition. 

        It pleased the captain to see the two teams cooperating together nicely. The entire train ride to the other coast had been divided. He didn’t blame Union for the resentment. They were technically under probation anyway. But at least they still seemed willing to work, despite the circumstances. 

        Sharp Shot glanced up at his approaching officer, cocking a smile. “Great to be back, huh, boss?” 

        “We were never gone,” Fleethoof remarked, half smirking at the sniper as he grabbed his loaded magazines from the table and began jamming them into the pouches on his vest. “Almost ready?” 

        “Da, we are good,” Cupcake said from across the room. 

        “Just about,” Valiant agreed. Sharp nodded assent. 

        “As soon as the sun is gone, we move,” he said, looking to everypony, not just Skyfall. “Clear?” 

        “Crystal,” Sharp said without looking up, loading a box magazine into his rifle. 

        Lightning Strike of Union nodded, looking up to the captain. “Yes, sir.” 

        The pony’s eyes were dark, grieving for his fallen comrade. But the sorrow in them was immense, much deeper than Fleethoof had expected. Harp Strings had been close to this pegasus, and her loss had clearly cut him deeply. 

        Fleethoof shoved a fresh magazine into his rifle. The clicking sound it made as it locked into place felt like a grounding force, keeping the captain steady and secure. The first round was chambered, and the safety was checked. He turned his gaze down to his hip holster, eyeing the dark blue frame of his pistol. He had opted to carry his new sidearm instead of his usual gun. It would be a good trial run for it. 

        The sky outside had darkened into paling purples and blues. Twilight had fallen, and soon the night would take over. Their time was close. 

        “Ten minutes, everypony—then we move.” 





        According to the intel Union had acquired, their target, Codename: Commie, was using Los Pegasus as a distribution center for smuggled weapons across the western seaboard of Equestria. Without a Guard base for miles, it made perfect sense. What didn’t make sense was his choice of shop. 

        From the outside, the building of the nightclub looked like any of the other dozens in the city. Blank, gray walls were adorned with glimmering neon lights. The stairs up to the entrance were lined with a faux red carpet, beckoning welcome to the line of ponies waiting to get past the bouncers. Two large ponies, equally enough to rival even Cupcake, kept a watchful guard over the would-be patrons. Fleethoof could only imagine what the inside looked like. 

“Archangel is in position. Over.”

        Sharp Shot’s transmission echoed softly through each pony’s headset. The two teams sat quietly in wait behind the club, hidden by a row of dumpsters and shadows. The mission was a go. 

        “Copy, Archangel. Eyes on the glass,” Fleethoof replied, voice cool and steady. “Let us know if you see any signs of the VIP. Over.” 

“Roger. Over.”

        Fleethoof turned back to the small force of ponies, eagerly waiting for their next set of orders. 

        “Listen good, stallions. This needs to be quick, quiet, and above all, clean. We have a lot of civilians inside and a lot of potential danger too. Do not fire unless they engage first. Go for nonlethal takedowns. Distinguish your marks and keep it tight—we can’t afford any mistakes. Got it?” 

        Some of the ponies nodded, while others responded a verbal, “uh-huh” or “got it”. 

        “The club has three floors to it, so we’ll need to check everywhere. Nightflash, Cupcake, Blue, and Lightning Flash, you’ll be one unit. Go in through the service door and work your way through the bottom level up. Valiant, Strike, Glider, and I will get to the roof and work our way down to you.” 

        “Um, Vampire…” Lightning Strike said in a mumble. 

        Fleethoof stared at the pony for a long moment. “… What?” 

        “Whenever we’re on missions, we use our codenames,” he explained. “I’m Vampire, Glider is Glid, and Nightflash is Shadow.” 

        “I don’t give a fuck if you want to call yourself King of The Frozen North,” said Fleethoof, ignoring the snicker from Glider. “Codenames are useful over the air, when there’s a chance somepony could tap in and hear you. Face to face, if anypony worth worrying about risking your identity to is close enough hear you, you’d better either be shooting him or about to. You’re just going to confuse other operators.” 

        “I am already having confusion,” Cupcake said. “Which pony is the vampire?” 

        Fleethoof muttered a silent curse and covered his face in his hoof. “Forget it, Sergeant. Just take Nightflash in through the back.” 

        “Which pony is Nightflash?” 

        He shook his head slowly. “The black one…” 

        “Oooooh… This is making sense…” 

        “Any other questions?” Fleethoof asked, satisfied when nopony replied. “All right, move!” 

        The two teams split apart. Fleethoof and his teammates flew to the rooftop with a quick flap of their wings, while the second team moved around to the service door at the rear of the club. From a rooftop close by, Sharp Shot sat quietly humming to himself and watching the action through the vignetted view of his scope. 





        The roof had been, as Fleethoof anticipated, devoid of any guards. This meant they should have no problem gaining access to the club this way. A small door and ventilation stacks dotted the roof. The four pegasi stallions rushed towards the door, the captain tugging on the handle. The sturdy door refused to budge. 

        Growling softly under his breath, Fleethoof pulled out his knife and slid it in between the door and the weathered frame. Slowly, he jiggled it around until he felt the latch and lock. 

        “Are you trying to pick a lock with a knife?” Glider asked skeptically. 

        “No,” said Fleethoof, jamming it in securely, then delivering a firm blow to the hilt of the knife. The latch and plates snapped apart. “Breaking it.” 

        This time, when he yanked on the door, it flew open. A dark stairwell down into the building greeted them. Drawing his pistol in the narrow space, Fleethoof took point, leading the others down two flights of stairs to another door. This one, however, was unlocked. Opening it revealed a dimly lit hallway, its green wallpaper faded and peeling from neglect. A musky smell he couldn't quite place lingered in the stagnant air. 

        Fleethoof flipped his taclight on his gun on, illuminating the constricted corridor with a bright beam of white light. Behind him, Valiant mimicked his action, checking the opposite end of the hall as the four ponies filed out into it. The beating bass from the club downstairs shook the floor beneath their hooves. A series of doors ran down the length of the hall. But despite the activity below, nopony was in sight. 

        “Check each room,” Fleethoof ordered in a hushed tone. “Breach and clear, and double check your corners.” 

        The ponies cleared the rooms one at a time methodically. The doors, much like the one to the roof, were old, and made of cheap wood. They broke easily under a swift bucking hoof. The rooms were filled with an assortment of boxes, barrels of cider, and bottles of other hard liquors—typical fare for a club. Fleethoof was surprised. He had been sure there would be weapons stashed away somewhere. 

        As they made their way systematically down the hall, he could feel his confidence in their intel sink like a stone. Here they were, breaking into somepony’s business, and they didn’t have a shred of probable cause to justify their actions. It felt like the punch line to a bad joke. 

        “I don’t understand…” muttered Fleethoof, running a hoof through his messy blonde mane. 

        “Where are the guns? The ponies? Anything?” Lightning Strike’s question mirrored his own concerns. 

        “I don’t know, Sergeant.” The officer shook his head, determined not to give up hope yet. “Let’s head down. Maybe the others have had better luck.” 

        He stuffed his handgun back into its holster as the ponies made their way back to the stairs. With any luck, the second team would be up on the next level by now. 





        Once Fleethoof’s team had ascended to the roof and vanished from sight, the four ponies on the ground rushed the club. Cupcake took point, swerving round the dumpsters and pressing his back to the cool stone of the nightclub’s wall. The service entrance was a sturdy looking metal door. Its hinges lay tucked safely inside the structure, but Cupcake had broken through harder things in his life. 

        During the Griffon War, he had used his demolition skills to breach the hall at Skyfall, and again at Asgard during the assault on the citadel. Those doors had been massive, and reinforced straight through. They crumbled like stale cake under his pyrotechnics. 

        Producing a small set of charges from his vest, the larger pony began jamming them in between the door and the frame. Once secure, he joined the three others around the corner. 

        “Your skills never fail to terrify me,” Blue Shield said, making the stallion chuckle heartily. 

        “No worry, comrade. I only use explosions for good.” 

        Waiting to time the charges with the heavy bass inside, Sergeant Cupcake flipped the switch on the detonator, and a small explosion sounded from around the corner, followed by the screech of metal on metal. The door had swung free of its hinges, completely blown off by the blast. Cupcake charged around and grabbed the door just before it hit the ground with a loud clatter, and gently set it down so as to avoid detection. 

        Blue Shield was impressed. For such a large, cumbersome pony, Cupcake had handled that with the finesse he would expect a surgeon to wield a scalpel with. 

        With the door gone, Lightning Flash took point, darting into the building with his gun raised, sweeping the corridor. The service door had opened up to an L-shaped corner of the building, with a vacant hall spanning forward and to the right. Trash bags full to the brim of glass bottles and other refuse sat beside what had once been the door, ready to go out. Somewhere in the building, the music blared and thumped endlessly, drowning out all other noises. The smell of mildew and fresh paint clung to the air. 

        Nopony was around. The explosion must have been confused for another part of the song. 

        Lightning Flash moved slowly down the hall to the right, towards the only other door at the far end. Behind him, Cupcake followed closely, with Blue Shield and Nightflash covering the rear. Flash pulled the door open and stepped out into a large room filled with racks of alcohol from wall to wall. The music was ostensibly louder. They must have been closer to the club proper. 

        “This must be just behind the bar,” Nightflash noted, raising his voice just to be heard over the thunderous bass. 

        Cupcake motioned silently to a door set at the other side of the room. With no need to proceed out into the throng of ponies having a good time, the four ponies kept low to the ground and moved across the brightly lit storage space to the door. Lightning and Cupcake took position beside the door, the larger pony tugging on the handle—and nearly toppling over as the door refused to budge. 

        “Locked. That’s a good sign,” said Flash. “We’re probably getting closer then.” 

        Cupcake nodded his head quickly one time. “Da. Watch doors. I will break this.” 

        As if they had rehearsed and choreographed this moment perfectly, both Blue Shield and Lightning Flash pivoted in place, turning their firearms to the two doors leading into the room. Nightflash watched in awe before supporting the medic’s watch while the massive pony behind him began applying something in between the doorframe and latch. 

        A soft bubbling and hissing noise was heard. Nightflash glanced back to see the door smoking a little as the latch sizzled. A few moments later, the lock snapped with a loud metallic clang. 

        “Door.” One word from Cupcake, and Flash was rushing over to the two swinging doors leading out to the bar. 

        Just as Cupcake had predicted, the sound drew one of the bartenders into the stock room to investigate. No sooner had the doors swung shut behind the filly, she was pulled into a chokehold by Lightning Flash, covering her mouth with a hoof while compressing her throat with his other. 

        The pony made muffled cries for help and struggled against her attacker for a few moments, but the trained hold of the soldier kept her subdued until she had slipped out of consciousness. Very carefully, the Skyfall operator laid her against a stack of boxes, checking her pulse to make sure she was still with them. 

        “She’ll be out for a while, but her absence won’t go unnoticed,” said Blue Shield. “We have to move fast.” 

        Another nod from Cupcake. “Da, you are right, doctor. Up stairs, hurry!” 

        The bulky stallion pulled the door open, and Nightflash took point up the stairs, the others following closely behind. The stairwell wound up the side of the club. Above their heads, the sound of many hooves on higher stairs caught their attention. The other team was making their way down. 





        On their way down, Fleethoof raised a hoof to stop the team. The next level was just below them, and they could hear the marching hooves of the other team heading up towards them. Even still, as cautious as he was, he waited until Nightflash came into view before relaxing and proceeding. 

        “Find anything?” Cupcake shook his head. “Neither did we. It has to be this floor.” 

        Fleethoof and Nightflash took to the door. Everypony stood tensed and ready to spring. With his hoof on the trigger, he pushed the handle down, and opened the door slowly. The hinges squeaked faintly in the stairwell, a creepy sound in the calm before the storm. And then they charged out. 

        This hallway was larger than the one upstairs, clearly meant for higher traffic. The blaring music—if one could call the deafening series of electronic sounds that—was definitely more pronounced than the upper levels, and it soon became apparent why. Down either side of the hall, the interior walls were made of glass, looking out over a gigantic dance floor. Multi colored lasers and tinted spotlights twirled around the crowd of tightly packed ponies below. Up above in the rafters, private aerial lounges had been set up. The hallway overlooked all of it. 

        With only the rave lights for illumination, it was impossible to tell if their target was out in one of the lounges. Fleethoof grit his teeth and looked down the hall. There were no doors to speak of, but the corridor did round the corner at the end. It was possible they still had a way to go. 

        He motioned to the ponies behind him to keep low, and all but crawled his way down the passageway. Whenever a stray laser would pass by too high and cut across their path, the ponies would freeze and hit the cold tile floor, wait for it to pass, and continue. It was a slow, but careful process, and in due time they had approached the corner. 

        The captain peered around the edge. Much as Fleethoof had expected and hoped, a single metal door sat a short distance away. There was no more glass. The construction obviously meant for this room to be hidden from public eyes. There were also two armed guards standing watch. 

        “Two guards,” he rasped in a whisper. “Valiant, take left. One, two, three.” 

        On his mark, the two ponies sidestepped around the corner. Their guns were raised and the shots had gone off before the guards could even make a move for their weapons. In the next instant, they were on the floor, the silenced gunshots lost to the droning synthesizers and turntables of the blue-maned DJ down below. 

        The teams advanced swiftly on the room. Armed guards meant something was being protected. Something worth protecting was usually something worth hiding. This had to be it. 

        “Archangel, we are approaching a room at the back of the building, second floor. Can you see inside? Over.” 

“I see the room. There are multiple contacts within. Over.”

        Multiple contacts. Fleethoof felt his hope and adrenaline surge. 

        “Keep an eye on them. Wait for our mark. Over.” 

        The ponies pressed their backs against the walls on either side of the door. Pressing an ear to the cool metal, Valiant could just barely make out muffled voices coming from within. He nodded to his officer. 

        “Cupcake, take it out,” Fleethoof ordered. 

        “Da, Captain.” 

        The Earth pony pulled a pair of charges from his saddlebags and set them up on the frame of the door. The rest backed away as the pony worked, setting up the wiring and activating the detonator. For a moment, he waited, then looked back with curious eyes, awaiting approval. Fleethoof nodded. 

        “Do it.” 

        Cupcake flipped the switch. The door disappeared in a burst of fire and smoke, leaving a gaping hole in the wall and the door hanging limply by its hinges. 

        Skyfall wasted no time. The second the obstruction was gone, the ponies rushed in like a stampede. A thin haze of smoke still obscured the office they had breached, but six occupants could be seen clear as day. Six ponies, three to the left, one right, and two behind the desk. 

        “Down! Down! Get down!” Fleethoof shouted, grabbing the nearest pony and forcing her to the ground hard. 

        He heard Valiant call out, “Gun!” and then the shooting started. 

        A few silenced shots went off, and out of the corner of his eye, Fleethoof saw a pony drop. One of the mares behind the desk was drawing a pistol. He took her down with two well-placed shots to the torso. Union made their way inside, and had begun firing on the other ponies as they went for any makeshift weapon. For the next minute, the office was filled with the sound of combat, and then it was quiet again. 

        When the smoke finally cleared, four ponies lay dead, and two were captured. 

        “Clear.” 

        Now came the task of identification. Skyfall had already begun rolling the bodies over to get a facial recognition. Fleethoof knew the filly he had taken down wasn’t their target, and as he looked over the deceased, he could confirm they hadn’t killed him either. Making his way around the desk, he spotted Glider pinning the other captive down—but she was a mare also. He felt his heart plummet. 

        “He’s not here…” Fleethoof muttered, bitter anger tinting his voice. “Commie’s not here.” 

        “We busted his sale, though,” said Blue Shield, looking around at a small arsenal of weapons lying around the room, neatly packed in crates labeled as scrap metal parts. “This was no accident.” 

        “But we missed him,” growled a despondent Lightning Strike, his wings and shoulders drooping in failure. 

        “You’ll never catch him!” The mare pinned under Nightflash laughed. “He’s far too smart to be outwitted by the likes of you pathetic ponies!” 

        The pony cried out as Night twisted her hoof a little. “That’s enough out of you.” 

        “Bind the captives,” the captain barked in order. “We might not have our target, but they sure as hell know where he is.” 

        “Heads up, colts. I got two guards out back, just found the broken door. You’re caught. Get out of there.” Sharp Shot’s voice crackled over the radio waves. 

        “Uh, boss…” 

        Fleethoof glanced up at Valiant, who was looking out a glass panel in the office at the dance floor below. Trotting up beside his fellow pegasus, he followed the sergeant’s gaze down. A group of guards was pushing their way through the crowd, headed past the bar. 

        The stairs. 

        “We’ve got company, everypony,” Fleethoof called out, strafing around behind the desk and propping his rifle against its surface. He tok aim down the hall. “Night, Cupcake, finish restraining the captives. Blue and Flash, start gathering up anything that looks remotely important. Everypony else, positions!” 

        Valiant rushed over and pressed his body beside the open doorframe, Glider joining opposite of him. Lightning Strike took position beside Fleethoof behind the desk. The captain took a quick glance to the pegasus beside him, praying the pony was a half decent shot at the very least. 

        There was a moment of pause between the ponies setting up and when the first of the guards came hurdling around the far corner. The second the stallion came into view, however, he was gunned down in an instant. The pony behind him caught the worst of it too, and the others took refuge out of sight. 

        A gun popped around the corner and fired blindly at the ponies, many of the shots ending up in the walls around the door. It was enough to make Valiant and Lightning Strike recoil back a bit. Glider poked his head around the side and fired a volley to keep the enemies at bay. 

        “Work faster!” Fleethoof said back to his team, gunning down one exceptionally brave guard who made a run for them. 

        Out in the club, a riot of screams and shouts could be heard over a stampede of hooves. The ponies must have heard the gunfire and were evacuating the nightclub. Now all that remained were the operators and the security, the latter amassing rapidly on the scene. 

        A particularly clever guard stuck his head out long enough to fire a shot into one of the overhead lights in the hall. The fixture exploded in a bright flash of sparks, temporarily blinding the ponies staring down the hall. In that time, three ponies had charged the small office. Valiant reacted first, putting four rounds into the closest pony’s chest, splattering the walls with dark red stains. 

        And then fire was returned at a much closer proximity. Fleethoof could feel and hear the bullets ripping through the air past his head. Valiant cried out loud and collapsed back against the wall for cover, his chest heaving and body sliding down the smooth surface. Glider kicked the door shut, blocking out the heavy rain of bullets flooding the room. 

        “Val!” the captain shouted, eyes wide in concern. “You okay?” 

        Valiant was wincing and clenching his jaw, clearly in pain. He followed the stallion’s gaze to his wing, seeing the blood running down near the joint. 

        “Yeah, I’m fine,” the injured pony said, flexing his wing to test it out. “They just… winged me.” 

        Beside him, Glider gave a short laugh. Fleethoof breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t badly injured, at least. The sounds of the bullets slapping against the door faded to silence. The guards were planning something… 

        Fleethoof was getting anxious to leave the hot zone. “Come on, colts…” 

        “We’re good,” Blue Shield's answer came like a breath of fresh air. “Let’s go!” 

        “Cupcake.” The pony met gazes with his officer. “Toss me a charge.” 

        The sergeant obliged, slipping a charge out of his bags and sliding it across the smooth tile floor to Fleethoof. He snatched it up and moved across the room, activating it and dropping it in the crate of weapons. Cupcake’s eyes widened in understanding, and swiftly mimicked the action to the rest of the arms shipments. 

        “Nopony will be using these against us…”  

        The door broke inwards again, knocking Glider to his back. Fleethoof’s head snapped up in time to see two soldiers rush in, one already drawing down on the downed pegasus pony. 

        Valiant’s reflexes proved their merit again as a well placed bullet bore a hole through the back of the attacking stallion’s skull, his face vanishing in a spray of gore as he collapsed lifelessly to the floor. Lightning Strike and Nightflash put a combined dozen rounds into the torso of the second assailant, killing her instantly. 

        Shots flew through the now open door again, sailing right between the ponies. Union hit the floor immediately while Fleethoof emptied the rest of his magazine into the air, hoping to push the guards back. Just as his gun clicked empty, he saw a bulky Earth pony turn the corner, right as Valiant was making his pass again. 

        The stallion laid a hard right hook across Valiant’s jaw, sending him reeling backwards. Fleethoof did the only thing his mind could think of doing: he charged the pony. In a flurry of movements, the captain had drawn his knife and was bringing it straight for the stallion’s throat—only he never made contact. The pony caught Fleethoof’s strike by the crook of his leg, and countered with a blow to his stomach. All at once, Fleethoof could feel the air being knocked out of his lungs, and he doubled over. The winded stallion had enough presence of mind to see the second strike coming for his head though, and deflected with a copy of his foe's block. 

        The grappling ponies tumbled backwards to the floor as bullets tore into the drywall and office décor. The knife clattered to the floor noisily beside the scuffle, both stallions trying desperately to overpower the other. Out of the corner of his eye, Fleethoof could see Valiant getting up and going for his gun—just as the pony on top of him went for Fleethoof’s knife. 

        On pure adrenaline alone, Fleethoof managed to slip his free hoof down and draw his sidearm. The gunshot rang out between the ponies, and he could feel the heat of the discharge against his own fur. He had expected that in such close quarters combat. What he hadn’t been prepared for was his aggressor’s reaction. 

        The instant the bullet made contact with his flesh, the stallion’s eyes went wide, and his pupils shrank to the size of tacks. A howling scream of pain rang out from his lungs, as if Fleethoof had just set the pony on fire, and he collapsed weakly to his side, clutching the wound in his side. The stallion writhed about on the floor, making such awful sounds of agony the captain had never heard a living creature make before. 

        “It burns! It burns!” the guard shrieked in pain and terror. “Oh fucking Celestia, aaaaurrgh!” 

        Fleethoof was too shocked to react right away. His mind couldn’t process what was happening. He looked up as Glider slammed the door shut again. Both he and Valiant had looks of confusion and worry on their faces. Lightning Strike looked taken aback. 

        Not able to listen to the pony whimpering in suffering anymore, Fleethoof put a merciful coup de grâce through his foe’s eyeball, ending his life—and his anguish—instantaneously. 

        “Captain…” Valiant was breathless, his voice low and hoarse. “What the fuck…?” 

        It took Fleethoof a moment to answer. Yet, just as he opened his mouth to speak, an explosion shook the floor beneath everypony. The startling turn of events was quickly followed by a spray of water hitting their heads from the fire sprinkler system above. And then, all at once, the water shut off again. 

        “What is happening?” asked a distressed Cupcake. 

“Boss, what’s going on down there? I see smoke. What happened?”

        Ignoring both questions from his teammates, Fleethoof trotted hurriedly over to the glass window again to investigate further. His jaw dropped and heart stopped beating when he discovered the answer. 

        Out in the club, the guards had begun torching the place. Electrical fires had been started with the sound equipment, and Molotov cocktails had been fashioned from the fully stocked bar. The fire was blazing rapidly through the interior, scorching the bland drywall like cheap firewood. They were going to destroy all evidence of the weapons dealing club—and of Skyfall and Union with it. 

        “How much liquor was stocked downstairs?” he asked. 

        “Massive room worth of alcohol, just outside staircase.” 

        Cupcake’s answer was exactly what Fleethoof had feared. He nodded slowly in understanding, and reloaded his rifle. 

        “It’s time to go.” 

        “What? Why?” asked Lightning Strike, looking around the now damp office. “There’s so much intel we could get here, and the guards are leaving us alone now.” 

        “Grab your stuff, we’re going,” repeated the stalwart officer. 

        “But—” 

        “This is not up for debate!” Fleethoof snapped, turning his steely gaze on Lightning Strike like a father scolding a child. “We are going. End of discussion.” 

        Lightning Strike wouldn’t let up. “Tell us what’s going on at least!” 

        “What are we supposed to do?” Glider asked now, backing up his friend. 

        “Nothing! Do nothing! Just get your gear, shut up, and let us handle it so nothing gets fucked up and nopony dies this time!” 

        No response came from Union this time. Fleethoof realized he had hit a nerve with that comment, and instantly felt a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. But it had shut Union up, and they could evacuate now. 

        “We have to go, now. Grab the prisoners, let’s go—go!” 

        The confused ponies were alerted back into immediate action by the captain’s shouted command. Cupcake heaved the struggling, bound ponies over his back, carrying them out of the office. Blue Shield and Lightning Flash, their saddlebags teeming with documents, sales reports, and files, followed close to the large Earth pony at the rear of the group. 

        Pulling the door open fast, Fleethoof and Valiant took point down the hall. No guards remained, save for the bodies of the deceased lying strewn across the floor. Blood soaked in between the cracks of the tiles, and the smooth surface was glossy with the viscous fluid. 

        “Are these windows bulletproof?” 

        Lightning Strike’s question was immediately answered when the guards torching the club below opened fire up at them, poking holes through the flimsy glass. Everypony ducked while Fleethoof, Valiant, and Cupcake returned fire. The lingering guards scattered, making their way towards the exit. 

        “Go, go! Quickly!” The ponies sprinted around the corner, running for the stairwell. “Before the fire gets to—” 

        BOOM!

        The door to the stairs all but exploded in front of the ponies as an inferno of flames shot out into the hallway. The liquor storeroom had succumbed to the arson, and the accelerants had cut off their only way out. Fleethoof could feel the heat of the fire licking at his skin, sweat beading at his forehead even as his blood ran cold in his veins. 

        “Back! Back! Get back!” he shouted, pushing his team backwards down the hall. “Back to the office!” 

        “What do we do now?” Lightning Strike asked in fear. 

        Fleethoof didn’t have an answer for the soldier. He didn’t even know right away what they could do. The dance floor down below was already too smothered in fire to consider busting out the window and finding a way down. The office had a window, but as Fleethoof ran in and saw Cupcake beating on the glass with a chair fruitlessly, he concluded they must be reinforced as well. 

        They were trapped inside the burning building. 

        “What are we to do, boss?” the anxious sergeant asked, throwing the chair aside and pacing nervously around. 

        A thin veil of smoke had begun to choke the air, making oxygen a suddenly scarce commodity. Fleethoof’s heat was spinning. He felt like he was going to be sick. 

        A way out… There’s always a way out… he doggedly thought, mind racing for a solution—any solution! 

        “It’s coming!” Glider yelled. Orange flames were spreading much too fast down the corridor, beginning to consume the dead bodies in its way. 

        Valiant swallowed hard, leaning closer to Fleethoof, a pleading look in his eyes. “Anytime you’d like to have a brilliant idea would be great, Captain…” 

        Think think think think…

        Out of time no more time gotta go gotta get out NOW!

        No stairs, no elevator, no way down…

        …So make a way down.

        All at once, Fleethoof began to see an idea in action. His eyes darted around the room, putting the pieces together in his brain. He had a solution. 

        “Cupcake, set up all your remaining charges in the far corner of the room,” Fleethoof ordered, doing his best not to lose his temper at the bewildered look the pony gave him. “Just trust me and do it!” 

        Following orders, Cupcake began to set up and activate every remaining charge he had in the back of the room. 

        “Everypony else, back out into the hall.” 

        “Are you mad?!” 

        “You’re crazy!” 

        “Captain, we’ll die!” 

        He had been fully prepared for those exact responses. “We’re going to die if you don’t! Now move!” 

        Everypony hesitated, even as Fleethoof marched out into the sweltering heat in the hall. The fire was getting dangerously close now, making it hard to see and even harder to breathe. Gradually, one by one, everypony else joined him, with Cupcake coming last. Fleethoof pulled the door closed. 

        “Okay, all set, Captain.” 

        “Blow them all.” 

        “…What?” 

        “Blow them!” 

        Cupcake blinked a couple of times, but obeyed and detonated the charges regardless. The entire building shook around them, the floors, walls, and ceiling vibrating with the force of the explosions. They could hear something collapse inside the office. 

        Wasting none of their precious little time, Fleethoof bucked the door in and admired his plan in action. The weapons caches had been destroyed, much to his pleasure. But the more beautiful sight was the fresh hole blown into the floor of the office. 

        “Damn, Captain,” said Valiant, staring in awe as the ponies hurriedly ran back into the safety of the room. 

        “No time to waste. Everypony down, go out the back!” 

        Cupcake jumped down first, yelling, “Follow the corridor! This way!” 

        Fleethoof lingered behind till last, corralling every last pony down the hole to the floor below. When his time finally came, the fire had spread to the office. He jumped down just as it swallowed up everything above his head. Sprinting with everything he had, the pony bolted down the hall, following the rest of the team. 

        His lungs burned and ached. He could taste the bitterness of the smoke in his nose and mouth. His entire body felt slow and slick with sweat, his energy sapped by the heat. He could hear something popping and bursting behind him, but he dared not turn around to look. 

        And then there it was: dead ahead, the portal to freedom. The open door, leading out to the darkness. Just a few more yards and he’d be free. Pushing with all his strength, Fleethoof dove out the door and to the ground below, scrambling to a safe distance to join the others in the alley. Behind him, the flames flared out of the open door, and the entire building was engulfed in fire. But they had made it out alive. 

        Gasping and panting hard for breath, Fleethoof finally allowed himself a moment to rest. His heart felt ready to burst in his chest, and every muscle in his body cried out in strain. He coughed for a minute to clear his lungs, a hoof on his shoulder from Valiant supporting him.  

        “We need to get out of here, before anypony notices us,” said the weary soldier, trying to right himself again. “The fire will deal with any evidence.” 

        The moment Sharp Shot rejoined the group, the ponies and their detainees vanished into the darkness of the alley. By the time the fire marshals and Royal Guard showed up, the operators had vanished into the night. 
	

> Chapter 11: Elucidation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The Copper Cannon was not what Midnight Dasher had been expecting. All the bars and clubs back in the Shades were dark and dreary, done up in cool colored lights and old stonework, and were very close-quarters and intimate. The Cannon was bathed in a welcoming orange light, reminiscent of the late-afternoon sun, with plenty of open space to move freely. The light wood paneling and floor felt like a lounge in a northern lodge. The entire building felt like it was meant to feel like a home to the patrons. 

        While she waited for her eyes to adjust from the twilight outside to the bright light inside, Midnight took note of the patrons. As she had expected, most of them were soldiers, some still in their uniforms or armor. She recognized a few Marines at a corner table, talking raucously amongst themselves. Even some of her brethren from the Canterlot Lunar Guard were present, sharing drinks and stories among their tables, some surprisingly intermingling with other soldiers too. It settled her nerves about coming to this place knowing she wouldn't be unwelcome. 

        Once her vision had settled, Midnight walked slowly across the floor, her hooves clopping softly against the wood, though the sound was lost in the sea of other noises filling the bar. Framed pictures hung all around the walls, and large tapestries depicting the different branches of the Royal Guard hung proudly overhead from the high ceiling. Midnight was surprised to see the banner of the Lunar Guard in amongst the others. From what she had gathered, the Nightwatch wasn’t exactly looked upon favorably in Canterlot. They were the renegades and rogues, not to be trusted with the all-important security detail of the capital. 

        Making her way across the floor, the mare took the nearest open seat at the bar to herself. She had heard a number of the guards talking about it, and even the Marines had recommended she check it out while in town. But the rave reviews of the service and the alcohol weren’t what ultimately tempted her to the tavern, nor was it to spend time with her fellow soldiers. It was what she had overheard Corporal Fire Wave mention in passing. 

        “Everypony in the Guard loves The Cannon, even the officers.”

        Fleethoof had apparently been dropped from teaching the training program. Midnight hadn’t seen him around the barracks in days, and nopony else knew what had happened to him either. Shining Armor had blatantly ignored her when she questioned him on his absence, simply telling her that Stratagem would be taking over all of his lessons. 

        In all honesty, she didn’t need to know where the officer had disappeared to. She had all the plans and exercises laid out for the Marines, and could handle them well enough on her own. But the way he had left the middle of a training exercise with such urgency was enough to cause alarm—especially when he never returned again. 

        She had even gone by his room twice now, hoping to find him holed up doing something secret, but he wasn’t there either. Everything in his room had been locked away out of sight, as if he had just vanished and never existed at all. 

        The bat pony’s train of troubling thoughts was abruptly derailed when the bartender took notice of her presence. 

        “What can I getcha, missy?” he asked, voice rough and drawn out. 

        “Hard cider with a twist of peach nectar,” ordered the distracted Midnight, casting her gaze through the sea of faces. 

        “You lookin’ fer somepony?” the grizzled stallion asked as he mixed her drink with practiced hooves. “Expectin’ a hot date tonight?” 

        Midnight gave a soft laugh, realizing just how pathetic her love life must have just seemed at that moment. “No, I’m just looking for a friend… You haven’t seen Fleethoof around lately, have you?” 

        The old stallion’s brow wrinkled and his dark eyes fogged with confusion as he passed the mare her beverage. Midnight sighed and rolled her amber eyes. 

        “Captain Fleethoof. Red pegasus, about yea high, blonde mane, blue eyes, sword for a cutie mark?” 

        “Oooh, the Cap’n! Yeah, naw, I haven’t seen him ‘round here in… gosh, gotta be goin’ on a month now.” 

        Midnight could feel her hopeful mood deflate in an instant, pouting as she took hold of her drink. “Thanks…” 

        “Yeah, he’s a tricky one, that Fleethoof…” the barkeep muttered, wiping down the countertop after a pair of stallions left. 

        “Yeah?” Midnight pursed her lips, mulling a thought about in her head momentarily. “Do you know what he does?” 

        The pony shrugged and began wiping down the empty glasses behind the bar. “Naw, that pony doesn’t talk about work when he’s here. Hell, he barely talks at all about that side o’ his life! You get all sorts o’ ponyfolk through here, soldiers and the like—they all brag about stories o’ theirs, like it'll earn 'em a few free drinks or the affections o' the fillies. But not the Cap’n, no ma’am.” 

        “Really? I wonder why not?” The mare took a deep swallow of the bittersweet liquid in her glass, feeling the burn of the alcohol soothe her insides. 

        “Well, I reckon he’s tryin’ to forget about what he’s done…” Those words caught Midnight’s interest in a heartbeat. 

        “What do you mean?” 

        “Oh, he went through a lot back durin’ the war. I mean, everypony did, really, but the Cap’n especially. Lost a lot o’ good friends over there in the Kingdom, he did. I reckon he did stuff he doesn’t wanna talk about too. Nopony’s that secretive without a good reason, ya know.” 

        “Do you know what Fleethoof did during the war?” asked the curious pony, unconsciously leaning closer across the bar to catch every word of the story. 

        Another shrug from the bartender. “Hell, as far as I know, he was just a regular soldier, same as ev’ry pony that went. I know he must’ve done somethin’ great though, cuz he came back a full-fledged officer. Never talks about it though, like I said. Most o’ the time he just sits and drinks, sometimes talks to a few o’ the soldiers in here, or starin’ at that board.” 

        The pony motioned with a nod of his head toward something past Midnight. She turned around, spotting the large corkboard hung on the wall. A sign above the board designated it as a tribute to the ponies that had fallen in the line of duty. The board was wallpapered with photographs, badges, medals, and dog tags of the dearly departed, mementos left behind by their loved ones and fellow service members. 

        Midnight’s hunch about coming to The Cannon was proving to be successful. If there was one place always guaranteed to be a goldmine of gossip and rumor, it was a bar. 

        “Do you know who he lost?” she asked. 

        “I know a longtime friend o’ his from boot camp. The Cap’n put his picture up almost as soon as that board went up. Must’ve been somepony real close to him to get that sorta recognition from a pony as hard as him.” 

        Midnight glanced back at the memorial again, nodding her head once. 

        “And there was his CO too.” 

        “What?” Midnight Dasher’s head snapped back forward. 

        “Oh yeah, poor colt lost his officer ‘bout halfway through the war. Really looked up to him, from what I hear…” The stallion shook his head sympathetically. “I didn’t hear any o’ this from him, but the ponies he served with talked about it a while back. Apparently, a sniper in one o’ the cities picked off their leader. Bam! Just gone… Fleethoof had to pick up the pieces on the spot. Imagine that… a colt suddenly holdin’ the lives o’ his friends in his hooves… He led those ponies through the rest o’ the war, through hell and back again. He was still just a year outta basic then too! Green as they come! Got ‘em all out and back home safely, and then went back with a small army to finish the fight!” 

        “Wow…” No other words came to Midnight’s mind. “No wonder he got promoted so young.” 

         “Yup, him and Cap’n Armor both. It was all in the news at the time. They served together, from what I hear. They come in together from time to time, knock back a few rounds… Thick as thieves, those stallions…” 

        Midnight saw another perfect opportunity to solve yet another mystery. 

        “He and Captain Armor are really that close, huh?” 

        The stallion behind the bar gave a hearty laugh that could’ve shaken the rafters. “Oh, you better believe it, missy! Inseparable, those two! Why, I swear, you’d have to kill ‘em both to ever keep ‘em apart, cuz Celestia knows, ya can’t do somethin’ to one without the other coverin’ his back!” 

        “Uh-huh. And you know all this… how?” She had to verify the value of this information. 

        “Oh, I talk to the Cap’n o’ the Guard sometimes when he comes in alone. He and Fleethoof served in the same unit durin’ the war. You see ‘em together, and you’d swear they could be brothers!” 

        The bartender turned around and grabbed two pictures hung on the wall behind the bar with a burst of magic. He levitated the two frames down and gently settled them on the bar in front of Midnight. The mare looked over the contents. One was a newspaper article, a headline precisely, stating the Equestrian Army had taken Asgard. A familiar white unicorn was in the depicted photograph, lowering the flag over the citadel. The other was a photograph of Shining Armor and Fleethoof, both stallions dressed in formal uniforms inside Canterlot Castle, medals and badges adoring their chests. 

        “Those ponies spent the worst times imaginable together, and they trust each other with their life. Those stallions, they’re like two sides o’ the same coin… like light and dark, fire and ice… They served together, fought together, and damn near died together, I'm sure o' it. One couldn’t exist without the other.” 

        Midnight pondered that little metaphor for a while. “And nopony knows anything about Fleethoof besides him?” 

        “Nope, I reckon not… But with a friend like the Cap’n o’ the Guard, a pony could get away with anything”—the bartender gave her an enigmatic grin—“even murder.” 

        The pony laughed again at his own humor, and turned his attention to a group of soldiers at the other end of the bar, leaving the bat pony to her thoughts. Midnight took a long drink of her cider, golden irises focusing on the old photograph of the two officers. Both stallions looked so youthful… It was hard to imagine them at war, fighting for their lives. It was even harder to picture what they had to have done to end up standing where they were when that photo was taken. 

        Midnight Dasher exhaled slowly, her breath soft. She finished what was left of her drink, scanning the crowd one last fruitless time for that mysterious pegasus pony, and then settled her gaze back on his photographed image. Some of the mystique surrounding his past had been clarified, but the mystery around his present remained intact. 

        Dropping a few bits on the bar, she gently whispered to herself, “Who are you, Fleethoof?” 





        Canterlot was falling into the winter season when Fleethoof had returned to the capital. A light snowfall had begun, gently blanketing the city in a soft, delicate veil of white. He had watched it from the train when Skyfall and Union returned home after their op. It was nostalgic, and watching the world turn white felt like a rebirth—a change. 

        Change was definitely in order. 

        Yet, even as he stared down at the blank sheet of paper in front of his eyes, Fleethoof wasn’t sure what that change would bring. The princesses expected a full report on the operation—and on Union’s performance—when he returned. Now, all he could think of was how he held the fate of three ponies in his hooves. 

        It was a feeling the officer couldn’t say he particularly liked. 

        In the quiet of Skyfall Headquarters, Fleethoof chewed on his bottom lip, mulling it over while rapping his hooves rhythmically against the table. If he was to be honest, he wanted Union gone. There was no personal vendetta against the ponies, but he had seen how they were run, how they worked, and how their dynamic had shifted with the loss of their leader. He did not approve of any of it. 

        Union had performed adequately in the field, but, as he anticipated, they were still very rough around the edges. If Skyfall hadn’t been involved, there was no question in his mind that Union would have all been killed in Los Pegasus. They had potential, but a less-than-sufficient program was squandering that potential, and they were going nowhere good. 

        Even still, Fleethoof felt guilty condemning these ponies that were obviously trying back to the ranks of the rabble, so to speak. They had been given a taste of the spec ops life, and kicking them to the curb felt like an indignant slap in their faces. But it was a slap that would keep them alive. And above all else, that was what mattered to the him. He just hoped they would see it that way… 

        Taking a quill in his teeth, he dipped the nib into the inkwell and began to scrawl across the paper’s surface. He chose his words carefully, deliberately making sure not to damn anypony involved or mar any careers. But he did what he had always intended to do. 

        It is under these circumstances and these conclusions that I recommend Operation Union be immediately ceased, and Fireteam Union disbanded.

        Finishing his report, Fleethoof signed his name at the bottom and sealed the file. He breathed a sigh of relief, feeling the stress leave his body with it. He would deliver this tomorrow before the princesses, and that would be the end of that. He could rest easy again. 

        Tomorrow, this would all be over. 
	

> Chapter 12: Secession
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The tie around his collar pinched at his neck, as if he wasn't uncomfortable enough. Fleethoof loosened it with a tug, staring at the doors not even three feet in front of his face. He knew what was waiting on the other side. He knew what was going to happen—what had to happen. He knew it was going to be unpleasant, and he was not looking forward to it. 

        A deep breath to steady his nerves, and he was pushing his way past the closed double doors. The two regal sisters sat in their respective thrones at the far end of the large marble chamber. Colored light poured through the stained glass windows on either side of the elongated room. Waiting patiently for his arrival stood four ponies, all pegasi. 

        All eyes turned to the sharply dressed stallion in his dress uniform as he trotted in right on time. The ponies of Fireteam Union stared at Fleethoof, adorned in the black formal uniform of Skyfall. It was the first time he had pulled it out of his closet, but the occasion seemed to call for a degree of professionalism and rank. Luna smiled happily from her seat. To further separate Skyfall from the crowd, she had commissioned unique dress uniforms for the six ponies, tailor made by hoof in Ponyville, all reflecting the dark yet elite nature of their positions. Each of her ponies had been given a stark black coat with a prominent white collared blouse beneath it. A jet black tie was the standard neckwear with the uniforms, and a black service cap adorned with the Royal Family's coat of arms completed the ensemble. Her captain was the picture-perfect definition of military prominence. 

        As he got closer to the gathered ponies, the folder tucked inside his jacket seemed to grow heavier. The hopeful look in the eyes of Union damn near broke his heart, but it had to be done. It was the only way to save them from themselves. 

        “Captain Fleethoof, thank you for joining us,” Princess Celestia greeted with a dip of her head, her voice soft and mellifluous as ever. “Do you have your report for the debriefing?” 

        Fleethoof nodded, and produced the manila folder from his jacket. “I do, your highness, but… is it necessary for Union to be present?” 

        “I requested it,” Spitfire said. “They were a part of the mission, so they deserve to hear their performance from you in person.” 

        Great… The pegasus frowned. 

        “Whenever you are ready, Captain.” 

        He nodded to the alicorns, and drew another deep breath. 

        Great Alicorn, please let them understand…

        Fleethoof snapped the seal on the cover and flipped the folder open. Inside lay a few sheets of paper, each with the letterhead of the Royal Family of Canterlot, and bearing the emblem of Skyfall. Knowing exactly where to begin, Fleethoof skipped the formalities at the start, removed his service cap out of respect, and got right down to business. 

        “The recent operation in Los Pegasus, a combined mission involving both Fireteams Skyfall and Union, failed to meet its primary objective. The targeted individual was absent from the location and was not apprehended. Two of the target’s go-betweens were captured and taken into Royal Guard custody for questioning,” Fleethoof recited, mostly from memory, part from the document before his eyes. “To our knowledge, no civilians were harmed. Thirteen kills were confirmed on hostile targets.” 

        “Thank you, Captain, but I don’t think the statistics are what your brothers in arms are waiting to hear,” Celestia interrupted with a humored smile as she looked over the antsy, anxious pegasus soldiers. Even Spitfire seemed to be enthralled with Fleethoof’s report, holding out hope for her team. 

        Fleethoof glanced over at the four ponies, and instantly regretted it. Every pair of eyes in the room were glued to him, watching and waiting with bated breath for the revered officer’s opinion. He shuffled the papers in the folder to momentarily stall for time, and cleared his throat. He could see Lightning Strike lean in closer out of the corner of his eye. 

        “Fireteam Union performed at exactly the capacity I anticipated from the beginning,” he said, continuing from where he left out—and then paused. “… Which is barely adequate, at best.” 

        In that instant, Fleethoof could swear he felt the tension in the room tighten like a noose around his neck. He saw the expressions on the princesses’ faces drop, and saw the disappointment in their eyes. He did not dare look to see how Union had taken that first bombshell. 

        “Union was able to follow orders when given them, but acted purely as soldiers following orders. They demonstrated no individualistic ideas or acts of valor above or beyond the call of duty. Working with them was equivalent to working with any small unit of basic soldiers in the Royal Guard. Nothing stood out to me.” 

        Fleethoof swallowed hard, fighting back the last of his nervousness, and closed the file. His eyes hardened with resolve. 

        “It is in my professional opinion that without our aid, Fireteam Union would have been eradicated in that operation.” 

        “Now hold on a minute!” Spitfire spoke up suddenly, not to Fleethoof’s surprise. “I know you have this sort of superiority complex because you were the ‘originals’, but Union is clearly still alive, and putting forth an honest attempt!” 

        Fleethoof turned his steely gaze to Spitfire now, unwavering in his stance. “You haven’t worked hooves-on with them. I have. You wanted to know what I saw. Well, what I saw was nothing remotely remarkable. They’re glorified infantry. I could pull any number of ponies out of the Guard and they’d be able to perform just as well with the same training.” 

        That was when Fleethoof saw Union’s reactions for the first time. Nightflash just looked disheartened, like a foal that had failed a test in school. His shoulders were slouched, and he hung his head in disappointment. Glider had a strange expression on his face. He was scowling, but beneath that, it almost looked like he was fighting a smile. Maybe humor was his way of holding back the anger and upset. 

        Lightning Strike’s eyes were cast downward at the cold stone floor. His gaze was distant, and his ears had drooped back against his skull. It looked like he was frozen in place—whether by anger or sorrow, Fleethoof couldn’t discern, but whatever it was, it held the pegasus in place like a statue. 

        “This is not fair!” It was evident that Spitfire was far from done with this fight. 

        “You asked for your second chance, Lieutenant, and you got it,” argued the captain. 

        “He is correct, Spitfire.” Celestia spoke with such grace and tact, it seemed to quell even the fiery mare’s anger, if but for a moment. “I am sorry, but Captain Fleethoof has the final say on this matter.” 

        Luna had not turned her gaze from her captain. “You are the judge. What is your decision, Captain?” 

        “It is my recommendation that Fireteam Union be disbanded and returned to active duty amongst the Royal Equestrian Air Force, and Project: Union be scrapped, pending resumption if the program undergoes massive changes.” 

        Celestia nodded adamantly. “So be it. Thank you for your service, Captain. You have been most beneficial in the matter.” 

        “Think nothing of it, your majesty.” 

        “How could you?” 

        Every set of eyes in the room turned to fall across the pony that had spoken. Lightning Strike was glaring at Captain Fleethoof, a venomous look burning in his irises. It was exactly what Fleethoof had feared. They were not taking it well. 

        “How could you? We worked so hard, and all you can do is put us down and throw us out?” the infuriated pony all but shouted. 

        Fleethoof heaved an exhausted sigh. “Lightning Strike, this is nothing personal. You are a decent soldier, but you’re playing with fire. You can’t expect me to let you continue the way you’ve been going.” 

        “You have no idea what we’ve been through! All the training, all the struggling, just to prove ourselves!” 

        “You don’t think I know what you’ve been through?” Now Fleethoof was getting a little steamed himself. “I know better than anypony in this room what you think you know, Sergeant. And I suggest you rein yourself in before you say something you’ll regret.” 

        Lightning Strike snorted and pounded his hooves on the stone floor. “What does it matter? Our lives are over. What difference does it make now?” 

        “Sergeant, please—” Spitfire tried to plead with the blinded pony. 

        “No. Fuck this. I’m not sticking around to be told I’m incompetent any longer.” 

        Lightning Strike turned sharply on his hooves and stormed his way back out of the throne room, leaving the shocked audience to watch his abrupt departure. Glider began to follow his comrade out, turning to cast a sideways glance and sarcastic, biting smirk at Fleethoof. 

        “That went well,” he said with ill-humor, and took his leave as well. Nightflash lingered but a moment longer, and then he was gone as well. 

        Spitfire’s jaw went slack, stunned speechless by her own soldiers’ insubordination. She could feel her cheeks burning with furious humiliation. The ponies she had stood up for so resolutely had just left her to the wolves like spiteful foals. She would be sure to give them a piece of her mind when this was over. 

        “That was… enlightening.” Luna finally broke the tense silence. 

        “I’m so sorry, your majesties…” apologized a profusely blushing Spitfire, her wings drooped and ears flattened to her head as she bowed her head. “They were completely out of line. I don’t know where that came from.” 

        “They’re bitter because they can’t accept the truth,” said Fleethoof, staring at the closed doors at the other end of the hall. He shook his head in disdain. “Just more proof that they aren’t professional enough to handle these tasks.” 

        Celestia sighed forlornly. “I have to agree.” 

        “Do whatever you must,” Spitfire said, her jaw clenched. “I won’t defend them after that.” 

        “So be it. By royal order, Project: Union is to be terminated immediately,” Celestia said in royal decree. “Union shall be disbanded, and their fate shall be left to Captain Blackhawk to decide.” 

        The Wonderbolt nodded weakly. “Yes, Princess.” 

        “Go, Lieutenant. Tend to your team’s departure. I think they could use some comforting from the pony who stood up for them.” 

        This time, Spitfire didn’t nod. She merely bowed before the princesses, then turned tail and plodded slowly out of the throne room, a combination of shame and resentment slowing her steps. Fleethoof stood frozen in place. His hooves felt like they were rooted to the floor. His whole body had gone numb with a mixture of relief and guilt. It was done, and Union was safe. 

        “Captain Fleethoof?” 

        Fleethoof looked up, locking gazes with Princess Celestia. She looked at him the way a concerned mother would look at her foal. 

        “Is everything all right?” 

        He didn’t know how to put what he felt into words. “I don’t know, your majesty.” 

        “Do not blame yourself for what happened here today,” she cooed soothingly, stepping down from the throne to stand before the pegasus. “You were looking out for your fellow ponies. You were protecting them from themselves.” 

        “I know…” 

        “You did the right thing, Fleethoof.” 

        Fleethoof swallowed back a lump in his throat. “It just feels so wrong to crush somepony’s hopes like that… The way they looked at me… I couldn’t let them continue to run suicide missions though.” 

        A hoof touched his shoulder, and Fleethoof looked up immediately. Princess Celestia was smiling gently down at him, an unreadable expression in her eyes. 

        “Fleethoof, over the past few years, I have watched you grow into the stallion you are today, and I am very proud of who you have become,” she said, each word ringing with a lyrical quality that put his soul at ease. “You care for how your actions effect other ponies’ lives, even if they aren’t the easiest decisions to make. That is a quality few are willing to use. You did what you had to, for all the right reasons. There is no need to feel guilt over that.” 

        She was right. Princess Celestia was always right. He drew in a deep breath, holding it within his lungs until it burned, and then exhaled slowly. It was worth causing some bitter feelings with some ponies he would probably never see again to spare their lives. He’d made the right call. 

        “Thank you, Princess.” 

        “Is there anything else troubling you?” 

        He shook his head. “No.” 

        A smile from the pristine white alicorn. “Then go, my little pony. There is still a full day for you to enjoy.” 

        Fleethoof gave Celestia a small smile, and passed the folder over to her. Rising back to his hooves, he placed his cap back on his head and made for the door. So much had been altered in such a small amount of time, and he was still reeling from it all. All he wanted now was to forget about it, and get back to his regular life. 

        “And Fleethoof...” 

        Celestia’s call stopped him in his tracks. He turned halfway, looking back over his shoulder at the two sovereign sisters. 

        “You look very handsome. Luna has excellent taste in uniforms.” 

        That brought a genuine smile to Fleethoof’s face. Flashing his teeth briefly, he saluted his princesses, and saw himself out. What he hadn’t been prepared to see was Spitfire, still lingering in the hallway, sitting on the floor and curled up in on herself. 

        Fleethoof’s eyes narrowed in worry, and he quickly cantered to her side. As he got closer, he could hear her labored breathing and see her form gently quivering in place. When he finally got in close proximity, she looked up, and he could see her bloodshot eyes. 

        For a moment, the two ponies just stared silently at one another. Spitfire seemed completely taken by surprise that he was there, and Fleethoof was putting two and two together. And then she glared at the stallion, and snapped her face away from his gaze. 

        “What? Come to rub in how much I failed this time?” she asked, her voice shaky and broken. 

        Fleethoof hadn’t been expecting that. “Not this time.” 

        “What do you want then?” 

        “To see if you were okay.” 

        A sharp, sarcastic laugh left the Wonderbolt captain. She shook her head violently from side to side, tousling her flaming mane. 

        “Like you care. You got what you wanted. Union isn’t in competition with you anymore.” 

        “It was never about competition,” Fleethoof tried to explain. “Lieutenant, they weren’t right for the job. You had to have seen that.” 

        Spitfire didn’t respond. She simply stared blankly at the floor in front of her. With a resigned sigh, Fleethoof collapsed against the wall and slid down to sit beside her. He took off his cap, setting it down at his side, and staring up at the ceiling. 

        “When I was in the Griffon War, I saw a lot of ponies die…” He paused, watching her from the corner of his eye. “I lost my best friend. I wasn’t even there when it happened. But I knew he wasn’t suited to be in war. I never told him though... I didn’t have the heart to crush his hopes and dreams. I knew he’d die if he went. But I didn’t say a word. And he died.” 

        Silence passed for several long, heavy seconds. 

        “I’m sorry about your friend…” 

        Fleethoof ran a hoof through his mane, pursing his lips as he chose his words with great care. “I guess the moral to that story is I make a point to speak up if I know something’s wrong now. I knew Union wasn’t suited for these missions, and once Harp Strings died, I knew I had to say something. All I could think about was how I missed that chance before… But now here were three stallions with full lives ahead of them. I had a chance to save them. So I did what I had to.” 

        He turned to look sympathetically at Spitfire. “It was nothing personal, Spitfire. I promise you that. But if we let them continue doing what they’re doing, we’d be burying three more ponies instead of reassigning them.” 

        “I know you’re right…” she said with an upset sigh. “That’s the worst part. I know you’re right. But I don’t like giving up on myself. I wasn’t that way when I was working my way up the Wonderbolts, and I don’t expect any of my fliers to be that way either. I just keep pushing my limits. That’s who I am.” 

        “And that works most of the time,” Fleethoof agreed, but continued, “But when you’re pushing ponies to do something they can’t, something’s gotta give. And at that rate, it was going to be them.” 

        Fleethoof watched Spitfire nod, just a very subtle motion of her head, and then she closed her eyes. She took a few deep breaths, releasing all the pent up energy, and letting go. 

        “Thank you for saving them,” she mumbled. 

        Fleethoof shrugged and got to his hooves. “Just doing my job, Miss Spitfire. Now come on, you’ve got three ponies to cool off.” 

        “In a little while. I… don’t think I’m ready to face them yet.” 

        The captain nodded, and returned his cap to his head. He smiled and saluted Spitfire, patting her comfortingly on the shoulder. He left, bound back for his room. He wanted to see himself in his uniform once more before he changed into something more appropriate for a daily basis. 





        True to her word, Spitfire spent most of her day locked in her office. After the debriefing from hell, she had milled about Canterlot and Cloudsdale for a good portion of the day. By the time the early afternoon rolled around, she had walked or flown over every part of the city. With no place left to go to, she settled for hiding away in her office, with a firmly locked door and a good book between her and the world. 

        She was dreading having to face Union. If their exit from the castle was any indication of their mood, she could not see this reassigning going well. Whenever these thoughts would pop up, she would drown them out with a long swig from the flask of liquor tucked away in a hidden compartment in her desk. There was no need to worry about it now. 

        Despite her bravado and strict outward appearance out in the public eye and on the tarmac of the Academy, Spitfire looked dearly upon her Wonderbolts, and upon Union with the same affection. They were like her siblings, and when they failed, she felt she had failed as well. Spitfire did not like to fail. 

        So when it came to breaking bad news or doing anything to hurt her siblings, she was a coward. Yelling and pushing recruits was different. These were the ponies she lived with. They were all family at the Wonderbolts Academy, and to Spitfire, it was a novel idea. 

        But reality was no fairy tale, and the chiming of the clock striking nine returned her to that harsh world. She put the book in her hooves facedown on her desk, so as not to lose her spot, and exhaled. It was now or never, and never wasn’t an option anymore. 

        Union would be in their bunks by this time of night. Rising from her desk, Spitfire removed the fortifications of the deadbolt lock from her door and began her long trek down the corridors of the Academy. The bunks were all on the opposite site of the grounds from the offices, a plight Spitfire had kept to her team to maintain some form of retreat and sanctuary from the new recruits. 

        As she wandered down the hallways, listening to the buzzing of the overhead fluorescent lights, Spitfire silently wondered how she would go about doing this. Was it best to go about this gently? Was it like a band-aid, and needed to be done fast to minimize the pain? 

        How would I like it to be done if I was getting replaced? she pondered, perishing the thought that such a day would ever come. Fast, probably fast. Less messy that way. Okay, fast it is.

        The bunk hall was, surprisingly, quiet for once. Spitfire felt a little uneasy without the noise from the recruits chatting amongst themselves. They must have either all been asleep, or already scolded by the roving patrol about the noise level. Even still, it was eerie. 

        The door labeled ‘Union’ came up all too quickly for her liking. This was the moment. Taking a breath and counting to ten, Spitfire hyped herself up, and then hit the door with a series of knocks. 

        “Fireteam Union, at attention!” Spitfire called through the door, giving them a few moments to rouse themselves had they been sleeping. “All right, colts, let’s just—” 

        The door handle jiggled tightly, but refused to budge. Spitfire blinked in confusion and tried again. Still, it refused to give way. She threw her entire body against the frame of the door, but it would not yield. The door was locked. 

        “Union, open this door,” Spitfire ordered, knocking louder this time. “I know you’re angry, but this is just being foalish. Now open up.” 

        No sound came from inside. She tried the door again. Still locked. Spitfire growled and pounded on the door. 

        “Union! Open this door, or so help me—” 

        “Hey, what’s going on?” 

        One of the patrol ponies had come back around to corner, drawn by the banging and yelling. It was a relief to see him. 

        “Nopony's answering inside,” Spitfire said with an aggravated sigh. “You got the keys?” 

        The pony nodded. “Yeah, right here. Gimme a sec…” 

        The pony produced a key ring and began sorting through a few of them before settling on a small bronze key. With a quick turn, the door opened, and Spitfire stormed into the dark bunkroom. 

        “Union, you are in so much trouble for this,” she snapped, flipping on the lights. “I’m gonna—” 

        For the third time in a row, Spitfire’s speech was cut off. She stood locked in place, staring around the bunkroom. The patrol pony came in behind her, looking around as well. Spitfire went over to one of the cots and lifted something off of it. He scratched his head, furrowing his brow. 

        “Uh, is this some sort of joke, Lieutenant?” 

        Spitfire didn’t answer. She couldn’t answer. She had no answer. But she knew there was only one thing she could do. 

        Without so much as a word, she turned and ran back out down the corridors and out to the tarmac. In the dead of the night, Spitfire took flight, headed back towards Canterlot. There was only one pony that could give her any answers. 





        Fleethoof had been having a good dream. Or, at least, he thought it was a good dream. He couldn’t quite remember what it was now that he was sitting up, groggily rubbing at his eyes and trying to wake himself up. Why was he awake at… He glanced at the clock. A little after ten at night. 

        A series of thuds hit his door, catching his attention. Oh, right, somepony was knocking at his door. That was why he was awake again. 

        Grumbling softly to himself, the stallion forced himself out of the warm, comfortable bed and began shuffling towards the door—and then he froze. He made a U-turn back to his bed, and pulled his handgun out from the nightstand, making sure a round was chambered and the safety was off. 

        Safety first, he thought whimsically as he approached the door again. 

        “I swear, Midnight, if this is you again, I’m gonna have you arrested,” he shouted at the door, unlocking it and pulling it open halfway. “Spitfire! What—” 

        “I need to talk to you. It’s urgent.” 

        Fleethoof’s brow knitted together in confusion, but he yielded with a nod and stepped aside for her. Spitfire stepped inside, and he closed the door behind her. She took one look at the gun in his hoof, and cocked a brow. 

        “It’s a long story,” said Fleethoof, dodging the question in her gesture. 

        “And who’s Midnight?” 

        “Longer story,” he countered again, setting the gun down on his desk. “But I want to hear yours. What is so important that you need to fly back here in the middle of the night and commit aggravated assault against my doorframe?” 

        Spitfire looked positively nerve-racked. Her mane was a windswept mess, disheveled from how fast she had flown. The color in her face looked flushed, like she'd seen a ghost. Whatever it was, it had shaken the mare up good. The captain’s head cocked to the side curiously. 

        “Lieutenant…?” 

        “It’s… It’s Union,” she began. 

        “What about them? Did they take the reassignment badly?” 

        Spitfire chuckled nervously. “You could say that.” 

        Now Fleethoof felt genuinely worried. “What happened?” 

        “I went to go tell them they were being reassigned to Captain Blackhawk, and he would determine whether they were fit to continue service or not. I got to their bunks, and the door was locked. We got it open, but…” 

        “But…?” Fleethoof made a motion with his hoof in the air for her to carry on. 

        “But… they were gone.” Spitfire saw the lost look in Fleethoof's eyes. “Union’s gone, Captain. They’ve just… gone. Vanished.” 

        For a long time, Fleethoof was subdued. He wasn’t sure he had heard her right, but Spitfire looked deathly serious. Was this all still part of the dream? He shook his head to clear out the daze. 

        “What do you mean ‘gone’?” he asked. “How could they just be gone?” 

        “I don’t know, but they were. Their bunks were tossed up, their personal items gone, and all that was left was this…” 

        Spitfire slowly pulled a piece of paper out of a pocket in her uniform. She handed the folded sheet to Fleethoof. Treating it as if it were an antique book, he gingerly unfolded the paper, holding it up and pulling it flat to read the single line of text across it. 

You’ll regret this.

        Fleethoof could feel his heart wrench sickeningly in his chest. Dark realization settled over his mind. 

        Locking blue eyes with her orange ones, he muttered darkly, “Union’s gone rogue.” 
	

> Chapter 13: Interrogation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	“Why are we down here again, boss?” Sharp Shot asked with an audible yawn. 

        “Because the longer we delay, the further away Union gets.” 

        The six ponies of Skyfall had all filed into their Briefing Room, boxes of files and information relating to Union lining the walls. Since the night before, Spitfire had transitioned all of Union’s records to Skyfall to help aid them in their search. The Wonderbolts had been put on alert to be on the lookout for the three ponies. The net had been cast. 

        Each pony was situated across the room. Fleethoof and Valiant sat at the table with a stack of dossiers in front of them. Sharp Shot was curled up in one of the chairs, reclining back and forth and swiveling around in a circle idly as he read. Blue Shield sat on the floor in a fortress of boxes, rifling through each one methodically. Cupcake and Lightning Flash had taken up the old foxhole method, sitting with their backs against one another to make sure the other stayed awake. 

        The sun had barely begun to peek over the horizon when Fleethoof had summoned Skyfall Team in for an emergency meeting. Suffice to say, all did not perceive the urgency in a missing unit unrelated to them as a danger. 

        “Can’t we just let the Guard handle this one? Or the Wonderbolts? They belong to them, don’t they?” the sniper asked. 

        “The Guard is still mostly being retrained, so they aren’t an option for a wide search,” said Fleethoof, his eyes never leaving the files in front of his face. “The Wonderbolts are looking, but we’re helping them. There’s only so many of them, and trying to find three ponies across Equestria is like finding a needle in a haystack.” 

        Sharp Shot groaned and spun around in his chair again. “So why are we going through all their files again?” 

        The captain gave an exasperated sigh. “Because we need to know everything they know. That’s how we think like them, and that’s how we track them down.” 

        Sharp Shot stopped spinning and hopped up to his hooves. He trotted carefully around the boxes to the whiteboard up at the front of the room. Pictures of the three missing ponies hung up, with notes written underneath each. 

        “Okay, let’s think about this again,” he said, levitating the marker with his magic. “We know they have basic spec ops training, and have a grudge against us, Spitfire, and the Guard.” 

        “Correct.” 

        “And they’re armed?” 

        Fleethoof nodded. “Spitfire confirmed their armory was missing Union’s weaponry.” 

        Sharp Shot stared at the board, tapping the marker against his chin. “So what would three armed, angry ponies be doing running off on their own?” 

        “Killing,” Cupcake shouted out from the other side of the room. 

        “Really? Because I thought they were gonna go backpacking in Whitetail Woods,” Sharp said sarcastically. “They could be coming after us, or Spitfire, depending on who they blame.” 

        That got Fleethoof’s attention. “Slow down, Sharp. We’re not jumping straight to assuming they’ve committed treason and murder just because they went rogue. They might be going gung-ho and trying to finish their mission on their own.” 

        “We have to assume they’re dangerous though.” 

        Fleethoof had to agree with the unicorn. The only reason those three would take guns was to cause some harm to somepony. He just didn’t like the thought of his own brothers in arms turning against them like that. 

        “So we canvas everything they know, and then make a logical map as to where we think they went,” he said unhappily. “All right, but can I at least play my traitor angle in my search?” 

        Fleethoof rolled his eyes. “Whatever lets you get work done, Sharp. Let’s just find these colts, before they do anything stupid.” 





        In the quiet of his room, Fleethoof flipped a bit through the air, catching it back in his hoof before tossing it back up again. It was the first time he had come up from Skyfall Headquarters since they started the search, having dedicated all his time and energy to the ponyhunt underway. Now, after days, they had nothing to show for it. They couldn’t figure out any logical route the three ponies would take. It was as if Union had dropped off the face of the world. 

        Fleethoof’s deep blue eyes rested on the folder for Operation Union on his desk. The stallion sat reclined in his chair, rear legs rested up on the surface of the desk. Only the lone candle perched beside the folder illuminated the dark room, casting the space in a melancholy minuet of shadows and dim light. 

        The rest of Skyfall Team had gone home for the evening, under orders from their leader. Fresh eyes were needed now more than ever. They had run almost every lead and angle, and had come up empty hooved every time. To say it was frustrating was rapidly becoming an understatement. 

        Outside, snow had just begun to fall. Hearth’s Warming would be coming up soon. But the holiday spirit was not felt in the pony’s heart. Only trouble and worry took up residence there. When they had begun, he had fully expected Union to show up again a day or two later, apologizing for running off with some fantastical excuse of trying to bring the bad guy in themselves on some shoddy anonymous tip. But as time drew on, his hope died, and concerns of treachery darkened his mind. 

        They wouldn’t… he continued to reassure himself. They wouldn’t…

        …But what if they did…?

        Fleethoof toyed with the thought of having to deal with Union if they had turned on Equestria. He’d handled Night Shade well enough, but this was different. These ponies were his own kin—his brothers in arms. They had worked together, as briefly as it had been, and were the protégés of Skyfall’s program. 

        The image of having to fight Union manifested in his mind. He could see himself struggling with Lightning Strike, forcing the pony to the ground, and pressing the muzzle of his pistol to his head… 

        He jerked upright and nearly toppled his chair over, shaking his head violently to rid himself of that mental horror. That was not something he wanted to think about right now. But he had to admit to himself, as dark as it was, it was a very real possibility. He had seen the world, and as much as he hoped, he knew a precaution was a safer bet than a hope. 

        As a member of the Royal Guard, he had taken a vow to protect Equestria from all threats, foreign and domestic. He intended to see that vow through to the death. 

        Yet, even still, the idea of killing his own countrymen left a bitter taste in his mouth. Fleethoof leaned forward against the desk, swallowing back a lump in his throat as he eyeballed the lone dossier on the table. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for Union to return home, and to keep them from having to hunt them down like animals. 

        Somewhere between his worrying and his praying, Fleethoof fell into a troubled slumber. 





        A loud knock at the door startled the pegasus from sleep. Fleethoof shot upright in his seat, his head spinning from the rush of blood. He wiped a line of drool from his chin, blinking his eyes in the sudden harsh light. A glance at the clock told him it was morning—late morning, at that. 

        Another knock at the door. Whoever it was urgently needed his attention. Fleethoof groaned and stretched out his legs and wings, feeling relief and sensation instantly flood back to his sleep-addled muscles. He slipped a pill into his mouth to take the edge off the ache in his wing and proceeded to the door, just as another pounding assaulted the wooden surface. 

        “All right, I’m coming,” he called out, pulling the door open groggily. “Sharp Shot? What is it?” 

        The unicorn looked like he had gotten as much sleep as Fleethoof had. “Boss, I finally found something I think you need to take a look at.” 

        Fleethoof rubbed his tired eyes while Sharp Shot levitated a file out of his saddlebags. 

        “It’s about Union. I found out what’s going on.” 

        “What is this?” The captain opened the file, looking over it briefly. “This is a personnel report for a drill sergeant in Cloudsdale.” 

        “She’s the CO who recommended one of the Union members,” Sharp Shot explained, speaking hurriedly and with great energy and concern. “I didn’t find anything abnormal with Union’s service records, so I started checking the backgrounds on the ponies associated with them, and—” 

        “Get to the point, Sharp.” 

        The overexcited pony took a deep breath, and then huskily whispered, “She doesn’t exist, sir.” 

        Fleethoof blinked his eyelids rapidly in confusion. 

        “...What?” 

        “She doesn’t exist. She has no service record here in the Archives. Everything on her is this one local report from Cloudsdale,” said Sharp Shot as Fleethoof began reading more thoroughly through the report. “It’s as if she didn’t exist at all before Union began.” 

        Fleethoof’s forehead creased as his mind worked swiftly to process everything. “If she doesn’t exist, then who is she? How does she fit into this?” 

        “I think she’s the mole, boss. She infiltrated Cloudsdale’s infrastructure to slip somepony into Union deliberately to sabotage the op.” 

        Worry twisted Fleethoof’s stomach into a tight knot. Grim realization dawned on him. 

        “That means there is a traitor in Fireteam Union, and the others are being led into something,” he said in surmise. “How did screening miss this? Do we know where Union is yet?” 

        Sharp Shot frowned and shook his head. “Not yet, boss.” 

        “Well, do we at least know who she slipped into the team?” 

        A grin spread across Sharp’s lips. “Yes, sir. But I think you’ll be even more surprised when you see who she is.”  

        He handed Fleethoof another file. Surprisingly, this one bore the Skyfall insignia on the cover. Confused, Fleethoof snapped the seal, and looked inside. It was the report from the Los Pegasus operation, with added details from Lieutenant Spitfire, including Union’s report, damage assessments, personnel files on the captives… 

        Fleethoof looked at the photograph, then back to the faux drill sergeant’s picture. A knowing look crossed his face, eyes smoldering with dark fire. 

        “Gather the team.” 





        The mare sat silently in the small, confined room. The walls, floor, and ceiling were all painted the same drab gray color. The fluorescent light overhead hummed softly as it performed its task, illuminating the room decently enough to see. The mare sat in a cold, metal chair, leaning against a metal table. The only other things in the room were a single locked door and a pane of glass in front of her. It looked like a mirror. She knew better. 

        From the other side of the one-way glass, Lieutenant Spitfire stood and glowered at the mare coldly. So this was the leak in Operation Union. One of the mares captured in the Los Pegasus raid. And to think she had been in their custody all this time… It made her sick to think her own team had been compromised from the start. But at least it was time to see some justice done. 

        The door opened, catching Spitfire’s attention. A soft smile touched her lips as she watched her second in command, Soarin, walk in. He gave her a wide, all-too happy smile, and moved to stand beside her. 

        “You okay?” he asked. Spitfire just nodded curtly. “Hey, it wasn’t your fault.” 

        “I know it wasn’t,” she spoke heavily. “But I still feel guilty. I should have realized something was wrong. I’m better than this.” 

        Soarin nudged her gently, that playful twinkle in his eye never fading, and never failing to make her smile, even just a little. 

        “Well, we’re fixing the problem now!” How reassuring. “Aren’t you gonna go in and start questioning her?” 

        “Nope.” 

        Now Soarin was confused. “Why not?” 

        Spitfire pointed as the door in the adjacent interrogation room opened up. “Because they are.” 





        The mare glanced up when she heard the door open. She had been expecting one of the two Wonderbolt lieutenants to come in and start yelling at her, screaming and cussing her out, trying to pry some answer from her lips. That was what her master had told her would happen in this circumstance. She did not expect the group of six ponies, dressed in ominous black uniforms, to come in, each carrying something different. 

        The first one, the red pegasus, she recognized from the Los Pegasus incident. He had been the one who had taken her down. He was carrying a bucket of water in his mouth. The next was the second pegasus pony. She remembered him getting clipped in a gunfight. He had a burlap sack in his teeth. The two unicorns were levitating what looked like medical and surgical equipment in. And lastly, the bulky and smaller Earth ponies brought in a box each, the contents sealed out of view. 

        The ponies set their equipment down along the walls while the pony that had entered first, who she guessed was their leader, took a seat opposite of her. One of them shut the door, and then there was silence in the soundproofed room. 

        Fleethoof stared the mare down from the other side of the table. She studied each of the ponies, one by one, before her lavender eyes finally came to rest on his. At first, she looked confused, even slightly scared. But then a wicked smile crept over her face, and her eyes grew cold. 

        “Well?” she asked impatiently. 

        Fleethoof stared at her, unmoving, unfazed. “’Well’?” 

        “Isn’t this the part where you start reading that file and ask questions? Or is this your first interrogation?” 

        Fleethoof pursed his lips, making a soft popping sound with them as he glanced down at the folder in front of him. He shuffled it back and forth between his hooves momentarily, playing with the seal. He nodded once, just a short jerk of his head. 

        “This clearly isn't your first. You’re right, if I was anypony else, I would…” 

        The captain tossed the folder roughly over his shoulder, the contents scattering carelessly across the floor. Fleethoof’s eyes narrowed as he folded his hooves across the table, glaring at his current adversary. 

        “But I don’t need it. I already know what it says.” 

        “Oh?” The mare looked intrigued. “And what’s that?” 

        “Nothing.” He shook his head slowly. “Because you don’t exist.” 

        A light illuminated the filly’s eyes, and her conniving smile widened to a predatory grin. “Is that so? Looks like somepony’s been doing their homework.” 

        “What I don’t understand is why go through all the trouble to sabotage Union?” Fleethoof wondered aloud. “What’s in it for you?” 

        Silence passed for a moment. 

        “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

        “Oh, I think you do,” said Fleethoof abruptly, impatience touching his voice with a grave tone. “You slipped Glider into Union, because he doesn’t exist either. His transcript and records were forged—by you.” 

        The mare’s expression remained as steady as a rock. She was completely unfazed by the soldier's accusations. 

        “You don’t have any proof of anything,” she said bravely. “It’s all circumstantial at best.” 

        Another nod from the pegasus seated across from her. “Which is why you’re going to confess and tell me why you did it.” 

        “Oh am I?” asked the mare with a light laugh. “You must be new to this interrogating thing.” 

        “This is your last chance. Tell me why, now.” 

        Across the table, the filly folded her hooves across her chest and reclined casually in her chair. Fleethoof nodded in understanding, and rapped his hooves rhythmically against the metal surface of the table. All the while, his calm, steady poker face never faltered. 

        “You know, you’re pretty smart, miss… You know all the rules of engagement with the Guard, it seems… You know our standard procedure, what we can and can’t do, all the ins and outs of our system…” Fleethoof observed, rising to his hooves and pushing his chair back. He circled slowly around the table, bringing his lips down beside her ear, and whispered, “Too bad we aren’t the Guard.” 

        The mare’s expression dropped dramatically at that sentence alone. Before she could bat an eyelash, Cupcake grabbed the chair and jammed it under the door handle, securely barricading the door from the inside. From the other room, Spitfire flinched as she watched the display. Soarin stood in shock and awe, mouth agape. 

        “Aren’t you gonna go stop them?” he asked incredulously. 

        “They know what they’re doing… Plus we can’t really stop them now, can we?” 

        The mare began to look concerned for once since they’d started the interrogation. “What are you doing?” 

        “I told you, Miss… whatever your real name is: you’re going to tell us what we want to know right now,” Fleethoof casually said, pacing around behind her as Valiant tied her hooves with a cord from one of the unlabeled boxes. “And you should know beforehoof, we’re very patient stallions. ‘Now’ could be right now, or, say, five minutes from now… an hour or two… How long do we have, Val?” 

        Valiant answered on cue. “Forever, Captain.” 

        “Did you hear that? We have forever to do this,” threatened the captain, patting the mare’s shoulder like he were her friend. “Still sure you don’t want to tell us anything? Hmm?” 

        No response. 

        “Get the water.” 

        Cupcake grabbed the large bucket of water as Valiant and Sharp Shot pushed the table out of the way. Fleethoof kicked the chair out from underneath the mare, sending her crashing to the floor, hard. She shook her head, forcing the stars out of her eyes, when Fleethoof grabbed her by her mane and lifted her head up. 

        “Last chance,” he offered in a sweet tone. 

        “Fuck you, pony scum…” 

        “Hood.” 

        And then the mare’s vision went black as a burlap sack was dropped over her face. She made some muffled complaints. Fleethoof ignored her as he shoved her head down into the bucket of icy cold water. The mare instantly began to kick and thrash, trying to get free. Cupcake and Sharp Shot helped restrain her as Fleethoof kept her head underwater. 

        The water frothed and bubbled as she tried to scream, burning up her oxygen in a vain attempt at escape. This had not been what her master had told her would happen at all. Shrouded in frigid darkness, feeling like she was going to drown, she actually felt true fear for her life. 

        The stallion stared up at the ceiling, ignoring the fighting and violent splashing of the water as he counted off the seconds. Five seconds. And then they pulled her back out, coughing and sputtering. Fleethoof yanked the dripping wet hood off of her face. She looked shell-shocked, her wet mane matted to her fur at odd angles as she gasped and choked for air. 

        “Still don’t feel like talking to us?” 

        “What… the fuck… is wrong with you…?!” she cried out breathlessly. 

        “I think she needs another swim.” 

        “No, wait!” 

        On went the hood. Down into the water she went for a second time. Ten seconds. Up she came, soaked and breathless. 

        “How about now?” 

        This time, the mare didn’t even answer him. She continued to cough up water, ignorant to the fact that she was even being asked a question. 

        “Excuse me, miss,” Sharp Shot spoke sweetly, moving directly into her field of vision. “But my boss asked you a question very nicely. Would you like to talk to us now?” 

        The mare’s eyes narrowed, and she spat in the sniper’s face. Cupcake stifled a laugh, and Valiant’s eyes went wide, waiting to see how he reacted. Sharp Shot wiped his face, then shoved the hood back on her himself and dunked her again. Holding her face beneath the water with his magic's firm hold, Sharp Shot almost forgot to keep count of how long she had been in. Fifteen seconds passed before she returned to them. 

        Sharp Shot lifted her back out, and smacked her hard with the back of his hoof. She crumpled to the floor, the wet hood still clung skintight to her face. 

        “How about now, huh?” he asked through gritted teeth, vicious anger spewing from his voice. “Can you hear me in there, or do you have water in your ears? Hello? Hello?” 

        “You have connections between Glider and somepony else,” Fleethoof shouted over the commotion, leaning down over the mare’s prone form. “Tell me who, and tell me why. Now.” 

        Muffled cries came from the mare as she trembled and shook on the cold floor. Rolling his eyes, Fleethoof yanked the hood off. She was panting heavily, her cheek was marked red from Sharp's strike, and her eyes were watering. She was either crying or that badly oxygen deprived. 

        “Very nicely handled, Archangel.” 

        “Sorry, boss… Traitors just get to me.” 

        Both stallions exchanged a smirk, and then their attention returned once more to the hapless captive half-drowned at their hooves. 

        “Tell us why you inserted Glider into the unit,” Fleethoof said once more, unable to keep the growl out of his voice. 

        “Because I was told to!” she cried out. “My master told me I had to, and I had no choice! Whatever the master wants, I must obey. But he didn't say this would happen... this wasn't supposed to happen!” 

        Fleethoof exchanged a look between his teammates. Now they were getting somewhere, but even more questions had been brought up. 

        “Why did he want Glider in the unit?” 

        “To stir up dissent and break them apart… He wanted them to fall to pieces so he could manipulate them…” 

        “And who is your master?” 

        The mare’s eyes went wide in pure fear. “No! Please! Please don’t make me tell you!” 

        “Into the water.” 

        “NO!” the mare screamed and tried to fight off the advancing soldiers. 

        “Doc, get your scalpels ready,” Fleethoof ordered as the mare was submerged again. “We’re gonna have to move on to something more effective.” 

        “No, please! Stop!” the mare begged and pleaded. “I don’t know anything!” 

        “You know, I read somewhere that torture is a learning curve, but I’d say we’re doing pretty well so far, don’t you think, colts?” said the captain, his teammates murmuring in agreement. He stood up and pressed a hoof to the back of the mare’s leg. “Tell us who your master is and this will all be over.” 

        “I can’t!” 

        Fleethoof brought his hoof down as hard as he could on the joint in her leg twice. Something snapped, and the mare let out a bloodcurdling scream. 

        “Tell us who this ‘master’ is.” 

        “Please, no more!” 

        His hoof came down on her leg again, and she let loose another howl of pain. Fleethoof drew his sidearm and cocked the hammer. He got down beside her again, showing off the gun’s blue sheen to her. 

        “You saw what this did to your friend back in Los Pegasus,” he reminded her, noting the twinge of anxious worry cross her eyes. “Tell me who is behind this, and I promise this will all be over.” 

        The mare whimpered weakly, tears flowing down her face. But in her eyes, an anger-fueled fire still burned. Her body had broken, but her spirit hadn’t yet. Over in the adjacent room, Spitfire felt her stomach turn over as she watched. She could hear Soarin in the corner, dry heaving. The poor, gentle stallion didn’t have the stomach to watch. 

        “We… We have to stop them…” the second lieutenant choked out between retching. 

        “They know what they’re doing,” Spitfire reiterated, mostly to reassure herself as well as her partner. “Skyfall is special. They’re allowed to do this… I think.” 

        “Who are you…?” asked the disheveled mare, squeaking timidly, as she searched the captain’s face for any trace of mercy. 

        “I’m a very proud, very patriotic, very angry pegasus,” Fleethoof said, eyes smoldering with rage. “You put my brothers in harm’s way, and I will get an answer from you. Tell me who your master is, or this bullet is going right into your spine. I hope you enjoyed walking, because it’ll be a fond memory in a moment.” 

        “Chitin…!” she sobbed, voice shrill and hoarse. “His name is Chitin… He's the one Union's been after…” 

        All at once, everything became shockingly clear to Fleethoof. Chitin had infiltrated Union with a member of his own force to hinder their progress at stopping him, and to disestablish the unit from the inside out. 

        “Chitin doesn’t sound like the name of a pony,” he retorted. “We’ve been hunting a stallion.” 

        “That’s what you know him as… Chitin isn’t a pony… He can be anything he wants…” 

        Fleethoof’s brow creased. “What are you talking about?” 

        “Captain…” Blue Shield said suddenly. 

        Fleethoof glanced up to the medic, and followed his pointing hoof. The mare’s leg was bleeding from where the broken bone had torn through the flesh. But the blood that flowed out was thicker, more viscous than usual—and a deep, rich cobalt blue in color. 

        In shock, Fleethoof recoiled backwards, eyes wide with horror. The mare chuckled weakly and grinned up at the startled ponies. Briefly, her eyes flashed a vivid neon blue, and then her form shifted and the illusion broke. Instead of a pony mare bound on the floor of the interrogation room, a wounded pony-like insect creature had taken its place. The mare’s once pale orange coat had shifted, her skin covered by a shiny black carapace. Her eyes were a solid mass of bright blue, and sharp fangs protruded from where here teeth were. Membranous wings lay tucked against her back, a sharp horn protruded from her forehead, and her legs were dotted with holes clean through. 

        “What in the name of the Great Alicorn is that?!” Valiant asked, taking another step back. 

        “Is creature from depths of Tartarus!” Cupcake declared. 

        Sharp Shot moved closer to Fleethoof. “What is that thing, Captain?” 

        He shook his head in bewilderment. “I have no idea.” 

        The insect-like creature suddenly shifted back into its pony form as a mare, laughing weakly at the looks on Skyfall’s faces. 

        “You see now… why you can’t stop him…? He can be anything…” she wheezed, flipping her wet mane out of her face. “You can’t stop what you can’t find…” 

        “Watch us,” said Fleethoof. “Tell us where he is, and tell us where Glider is taking Union.” 

        “Glider is on his mission… His orders are his own… Even I do not know what they are, but my job is done…” the mare cooed mellifluously, almost taunting the ponies. “And I will never betray my master… Never…! And your precious little Union team will be lost forever…!” 

        The mare chuckled, and then she laughed. She laughed the most vile, wicked laugh Fleethoof had heard since Night Shade’s. It sent a chill down his spine. Gritting his teeth, he glanced back over his shoulder at his team. They were all looking to him for orders. It was his call. 

        "You know, I envy Glider..." She continued to cackle madly. "Hanging around that enamored, unrequited pegasus... He must be a walking banquet! And once he's turned, nothing will stop my master from spreading the war! With such heavy emotions hanging in the air, your world will make the perfect kingdom." 

        While the creature at his feet continued to laugh hysterically, Fleethoof placed a hoof on her back, holding her in place. Then he pointed the gun at her good leg and squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out, and the mare jerked and thrashed on the ground as the round found purchase through the skin, muscle, and bone. The laughter stopped all at once, leaving the creature howling and screeching. 

        "It buuuuurnnsssss! AAAAaaauuuggh!" the pony-disguised creature wailed in sheer agony. 

        “Let the Guard take her back into custody. She’ll live out the rest of her life in the prisons.” 

        “I guess we got all we could out of her,” Sharp said. 

        “She told us all she knew,” replied Fleethoof. “We know who’s behind this, and why. We just have to find them, and their locations were her trump card. She’d never give it up.” 

        Valiant pulled the chair away from the door, and the ponies exited one by one. “So we’re back to waiting for something to happen?” 

        Fleethoof breathed a heavy sigh. “It looks that way… I need to go see the princesses. They might be able to tell us what this… thing is.” 

        No sooner had Fleethoof stepped out into the hall, he heard a voice. “Captain Fleethoof! There you are!” 

        His head snapped to the side. A Royal Guard was approaching him, saluting the captain as he came closer. 

        “At ease. What is it, soldier?” 

        “Princess Celestia and Princess Luna need your immediate presence in The Situation Room, sir,” the guard reported, doing his best to ignore the horrific sounds coming from within the mostly soundproof room.  

        Fleethoof made an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Can it wait? I’m a little busy at the moment.” 

        “They told me to inform you that it was not a request. It was something about a union? They said you would understand.” 

        Union. The captain’s blood ran cold. 

        One sharp nod. “Take me to them.”
	

> Chapter 14: Coalition ♫
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The Situation Room. 

        Fleethoof had not set hoof in this hallowed chamber of Equestrian military might since that day, long ago, when war had been declared for the first time in centuries. As far as he knew, it had been out of service since then, with no active military conflicts demanding its use. 

        Even still, trotting briskly up to those two large doors felt daunting in its own right. The last time he had been here, he had been a rookie, just a few months out of basic. Captain Phalanx had been standing beside him then, like a reassuring father figure. Now, the ghosts of the past lingered in the pony’s mind, and he could almost swear he felt a gentle touch on his shoulder urging him forward. 

        The doors opened up, and a rush of cool air surged out into the corridor from within. Fleethoof had forgotten how much colder the room was than the rest of the castle. Taking that first step past the threshold into the massive chamber made the captain feel younger again, and though the war was long-since over, he could still picture the hectic chaos of ponies rushing back and forth before his very eyes. The silence was almost daunting to him now. 

        The large table on the raised dais seemed comically too large for the four ponies seated around it. The princesses, Spitfire, and Shining Armor were huddled around something on the table. Still, the quartet of military minds looked up when the doors opened, greeting the black-uniformed soldier with morbid gazes. He had anticipated the presence of the princesses and Spitfire, but Shining Armor’s appearance had been a surprise. Even Spitfire had gotten here post haste. She must have been notified sometime during his interrogation. 

        “Shining,” Fleethoof greeted with a nod, taking a seat beside his friend. 

        “Fleet.” 

        Celestia spoke to the captain, “Thank you for joining us so promptly, Captain Fleethoof.” 

        “My pleasure, your majesty. Has something happened?” 

        Princess Celestia hesitated in answering. “Yes, something has. We’ve located the missing members of Union.” 

        In an instant, Fleethoof’s heart soared. Union had been found? That means they could be brought back. They could be saved. 

        “That’s wonderful news, Princess!” Fleethoof said with a relieved smile. “Where are they?” 

        “Dodge City.” 

        In another split second, the pony went from very happy to very confused. 

        “What are they doing there?” 

        “Attacking us,” Princess Luna chimed in, pushing the stack of papers and photos over to both officers. “They assaulted and killed four members of the Royal Guard stationed there, and wounded a number of civilians.” 

        Fleethoof was speechless. Was this some sort of bad joke? He could feel a surge of anger at that prospect, and quickly dispelled it, forcing himself to look down at the evidence in front of his eyes. 

        Vivid, colorful photographs depicted a massacre. Bodies of ponies lay scattered across the sandy ground, all clad in matching sets of golden armor. The beige earth itself was darkened in sporadic splotches with blood. 

        “What happened…?” 

        “From the reports of the soldiers that escaped the slaughter, Union attacked without warning or reason after arriving via train. They shot without discrimination, and vanished almost immediately after.” Luna shook her head slowly as she reiterated the reports back to them. “They fought with merciless guerrilla tactics. Ambushed the soldiers from multiple sides.” 

        “There were only three ponies!” cried an enraged Fleethoof, eyes narrowed to deadly points as he tossed the photos across the table away from him, refuting the adamant proof. “How could three ponies do this and get away uncaught?!” 

        Celestia had the answer to that. “All of our troops south of our border have not received fresh reinforcements yet, Captain. They were running on the most minimum staff until we could successfully retrain the Guard here to supplement them. The survivors also said there were more than three ponies in the assault.” 

        Now Fleethoof was incredibly confused. “Then how could they be sure it was Union?” 

        At his inquiry, both Princess Celestia and Princess Luna turned to look at the silent Spitfire. She was holding a crumpled up ball of paper in her hooves, turning it over again and again. Her orange eyes were distant, dimmed with a look of defeat and remorse. The paper ball in her hooves illuminated with a rosy glow as Shining Armor magically lifted it away and brought it over to himself and Fleethoof. Swallowing back the raw emotions boiling up in his soul, Fleethoof slowly unfolded the creased paper. It was another photograph, taken awkwardly, as if somepony had shot it on the run. 

        Standing on the station platform, a single pony stood shrouded by the smoke and dust. Although it was hard to make him out at first, Fleethoof recognized the distinct stallion features, and recognized that mane and coat. The longer he focused, the more the face became clearer. 

        It was Lightning Strike, with Glider a short distance away. 

        “Dammit all…” Fleethoof muttered, burying his face in his hooves. He felt exhausted. How did this even happen? Why did it happen? So many questions were still unanswered. 

        Shining Armor cleared his throat, pushing the pile of papers away from him as well. “Do we know if Union’s still there?” 

        “We don’t, but we have to assume they are,” said Celestia. “Otherwise, we don’t know where they’d go… From their patterns, it looks as if they are headed for Saddle Arabia, most likely to move on our Forward Operating Base…” 

        Fleethoof could only stare down in shock at the reports in front of him. His eyes must have been deceiving him. There was no other logical explanation. But even as he struggled to grasp the reality of what had happened, his mind had already wrapped itself around the gravity of the situation. 

        “What in Equestria would drive a pony to do something like this?” he asked silently to himself, hoping that this was all a bad dream. 

        Luna sighed softly, her eyes dark and heavy with the burden of recent events. “I do not know…” 

        He rifled through a few of the obituaries. He had known some of these ponies. Staring down at their faces, he still couldn’t believe that they were gone. It just didn’t seem real. 

        “Does anypony else know?” the pegasus asked, dreading the answer. “Does Malik know?” 

        “We have not heard a word from Prince Malik, so we must assume not.” The princess’ words did little to assuage the captain’s worries. 

        “This could start an international incident…” 

        “Which is why we need you to halt your work with Captain Armor and fix this mess.” 

        “But… your majesty—” Shining Armor began to argue. 

        “I am sorry, Captain Armor, but this matter outweighs your project.” Luna’s words were clear and authoritative. “Skyfall Team must quell the threat before they make a move in Saddle Arabia. We cannot afford to lose our footing there, or else we are looking at an escalation in the war.” 

        Shining Armor was quiet for a moment, and then he heaved a sigh and nodded slowly. She was right. FOB Sierra Alpha was too valuable to abandon, and any remaining soldiers would need the reinforcements if Union were headed that way. This was exactly the incident he had feared when he began the reformation. As it unfortunately turned out, his intuition had been right… 

        “What do you want us to do, Princess?” Fleethoof asked, looking up at the regal blue alicorn. 

        “Neutralize any opposition. We do not know how many the traitors number in, but they are sufficiently well equipped and trained to do the sort of damage they did,” Luna stated, briefing the captain. “Transport can take you back to Nadira, but that is as close as we can get you. From there, you’ll have to find other means of conveyance to the base.” 

        Fleethoof nodded slowly. If Prince Malik was unaware of the situation moving towards his own lands, then they’d have to rely on stealth to get from Nadira to the base. Any sort of attention to the increased Equestrian presence would undoubtedly spark the war into a raging wildfire. 

        “And… what of Union?” 

        Celestia and Luna exchanged a look, as if communicating telepathically, while Celestia dipped her head sadly. “If they have truly turned against us, then we have no choice. Terminate them with extreme prejudice.” 

        “Understood, your majesty,” he said, his heart growing cold. “We’ll take care of it before anypony notices.” 

        “I’m afraid it’s far too late for that.” 

        A soft, feminine voice at the door caught the ponies’ attention. Fleethoof turned around quickly, eyeing the stallion and mare as they trotted in towards them. The ponies looked like mirror images of one another, with opposite mane and coat colors of sandy browns and burgundy. The mare’s ultramarine eyes complimented her lighter coat, while the stallion’s emerald optics did the same for his darker fur. They each wore a bandolier, a pistol hanging at their sides. Most strikingly, neither pony bore a cutie mark on their flanks. 

        Beside him, Fleethoof heard Shining Armor snort quietly. His own eyes narrowed as the ponies got closer. He recognized who they were, and he knew why the Captain of the Guard was so displeased to see them. 

        Re'emians. 

        He’d heard the rumors and the stories, but he had never met anypony from Re'em before. Not that he ever expected to in Equestria—which raised a red flag and one very serious question in his mind. 

        “What are Re'emians doing here?” Shining asked, giving voice to Fleethoof’s pondering. “How did you get past the guards?”  

        “Coming to see how Equestria planned on cleaning up their mess,” the mare responded as calmly and coolly as ever. “And for your information, they let us in.”  

        “That’s classified,” Fleethoof said on reflex. 

        The stallion turned his attention quickly upon the pegasus that had spoken. “There is no need for the hostilities, my brother. We come as allies, not enemies.” 

        “Enemies? I was not aware Re'em was considering war with Equestria now too…”  

        “You know what I meant.” 

        “Chaim, shh…” the mare whispered soothingly. “We know we are unwelcome in these lands, and we know of our differences in the past. But we bring you information—and an apology.” 

        Celestia, sensing the tension between her captains and the newcomers, stepped in to mediate. “What information do you bear?” 

        “Re'em knows about the incident in Dodge,” the stallion named Chaim said more calmly now. “With how closely we monitor our neighboring provinces, it would be impossible to miss it, even if the idle eyes of our neighbor prince are blinded. Our armies have decided not to take advantage of the opportunity, however.” 

        Shining Armor scoffed. “How generous of you.” 

        “It is not generosity that stays our hooves. It is humility.” 

        Fleethoof furrowed his brow. 

        “Humility for what?” asked Celestia with apprehension. 

        The ponies hesitated, exchanging a look between each other. The mare finally spoke, “This incident is our doing as well… Our mercenaries provided aid to the Equestrians who orchestrated this. We share in this blame.” 

        Fleethoof felt his breathing stop momentarily. This was far beyond what he had feared. It already was an international crisis—and the war was going to get out of hoof. 

        “You had a hoof in this?” Shining Armor almost shouted, rising swiftly from his chair, eyes smoldering. “And then have the audacity to march in here and apologize like you merely threw a ball through a window?!” 

        “Re'em did not do this—renegade mercenaries of ours did,” Chaim said for clarification. Annoyance tinted his voice with a tone of hostility. “Since the war ignited again, some of our kin have decided to take up the trade of blood. Guns for hire, to anypony with the bits to pay. Our government has no affiliation with them, and that is why we are here: to offer our aid and the support of The Mossad.” 

        A thrill of real fear ran down Fleethoof spine at the mention of them. He could almost feel his eyes dilating and the color drain from his face. 

        Shining Armor, however, remained as staunch as ever. “We don’t need your help.” 

        Chaim seemed completely unfazed by the captain’s resentment. “Suit yourself. After all, I’m sure you can track down these bandits on your own, especially when you don’t even know how many they number in, or what their endgame is, or where they are even going.” 

        Nopony responded. Nopony could. The Re'emianan had a point none could refute. They had information the Equestrians needed. Without it, they were stuck at square one. 

        “Very well. We shall cooperate in settling this,” Celestia reluctantly agreed, her gaze firm and resolute. “But do not take this as a pledge of allegiance to Re'em. This temporary coalition is for the mutual benefit of both our nations.” 

        The ponies grinned, and replied in creepily perfect sync, “But of course, your highness.” 

        “What forces does Re'em pledge in this effort?” 

        “You are looking at them.” Both mare and stallion dropped to a bow before the committee. “Special Agents Adira and Chaim, at your service.” 

        “Two agents?” Fleethoof wasn’t sure whether to feel amused or insulted. “That’s the commitment of Re'em to preserving world peace?” 

        Adira rolled her eyes. “You wound me with your underestimations, pegasus.” 

        “That’s ‘Captain’ to you.” 

        “Forgive my ignorance, officer,” she said, a twinge of sarcasm tainting her tone. “But there is more to us than meets the eye.” 

        “I’m not interested in what you can do,” Fleethoof interrupted sharply, losing patience very, very quickly. “I’m interested in what you know. So start talking.” 

        “And we will… but only to the rulers of Equestria, and the pony in charge of the pledged Equestrian force.” 

        “You’re speaking to him.” 

        Adira suddenly became very interested in him. Her eyes lit up, and she strode fluidly up to him, extending a hoof. 

        “It’s a pleasure working with you, Captain…” She trailed off, letting him fill in the blank. 

        “Fleethoof.” The pegasus lifted a hoof, simply to lower hers back to the ground. “And you can spare the pleasantries. I don’t like you, and you don’t like us. So let’s keep this strictly business.” 

        The mare smirked and chuckled. “So cold, yet so professional. Very well, Captain Fleethoof. Let’s talk business.” 

        Fleethoof didn’t waste any time. “Where is Fireteam Union?” 

        “You mean your ponies in this? As far as we know, still heading south, along with our brothers and sisters.” 

        “As far as you know? Meaning you’re not sure.” 

        “Our information is more up to date than yours is. Take it with a grain of salt.” 

        “How many of your soldiers are there?” 

        Adira’s eyes narrowed. “They are not our soldiers. We know they left Equestria with a dozen. How many are left alive, we are unsure of. Our spies have not dared to attempt to make contact with those bloodthirsty rebels.” 

        “Okay…” He nodded his head. “We’ll have to eliminate them all, including all three of Union.” 

        “Three?” 

        “Um… yes, there are three members of Union.” 

        “No, Captain. There are only two Equestrian ponies.” 

        Fleethoof had lost track of how many times he had been taken aback this morning alone. Only two members of Union were behind this? Then that meant one was still out there, unaccounted for, somewhere—or he was dead. But if he was alive and not working with the defectors, it could mean he could give them insight into Union’s state of mind and what to expect. 

        “We need to find that missing member of Union,” he said. “Do you know where Union had gone to prior to the attack on Dodge?” 

        Chaim nodded. “We do. We’ve been tracking their movements since they headed south. We thought it was odd of an Equestrian Special Forces team to be running off to such parts of the world, we had to make sure you weren’t giving direct aid to our enemy.” 

        That was all Fleethoof needed to hear. “Where were they?” 





        “Quarter Master!” 

        The unicorn in question spun around when he heard his name bellowed across Skyfall Headquarters. Across the chamber, his six favorite ponies in the world were striding ever closer. It brought a smile to the pony’s face, and he quickly cantered up to meet them halfway. 

        “Hello, Captain!” he greeted cheerfully, all smiles. “Come for a little run in the obstacle course? It’s been such a long time since you’ve done it.” 

        Fleethoof held up a hoof, sharply cutting off the scientist’s speech. “We need some information.” 

        Fleethoof’s demeanor spoke strictly of professionalism. Quarter Master realized this wasn’t a friendly visit. Something was happening. Dropping his smile, he nodded his head briskly. 

        “But of course, my friend. What can I do for you?” 

        “We need to gear up for a mission, mostly,” the captain continued as the rest of his team rushed by towards the equipment vault. “But I need to know some things.” 

        Another nod. “Anything.” 

        “Your division worked on the equipment for Project: Union, right?” 

        Yet another nod. “Yes, we developed some things for them. Nothing specific to the unit alone, but we let them use some prototypes for field testing and the like.” 

        “What did you let them use?” 

        “Oh, uh… Let me see…” He strode over to his desk at the head of the laboratory segment of the headquarters. The surface was smothered in paper, which flew through the air in a burst of powder blue magic. 

        “Been busy lately?” Fleethoof asked with a sarcastic smirk. 

        “I could ask the same of you,” retorted Quarter, smiling as he found the Project: Union folder amongst the levitating aerial mess. “Ah! Here it is! Let’s see… I loaned them two ACRs with optics, four of the new issue sidearms, two night vision monocular devices, and flashbang grenades.” 

        When he turned around, Fleethoof was wearing the most comical expression of confusion the unicorn had ever seen. “You loaned them what exactly?” 

        “Oh! That’s right, you have no idea what I’m talking about!” He laughed, motioning with his head to a nearby table, where two firearms lay. “Allow me to show you what you’ve been missing! You see, Princess Luna and I have been collaborating very closely on some new projects, like the helicopters. She’s a very inspired pony, let me tell you that! Anyway, she wanted to create a new set of weapons for her Lunar Guard, so we developed these.” 

        The ponies stood before the table now. Quarter Master lifted the handgun first, showing it off. Fleethoof recognized the design. 

        “That looks exactly like Sharp Shot’s pistol.” 

        “That’s because it is the same design, just a higher caliber,” he said, locking the slide back and handing it to Fleethoof to hold. “.40 caliber rounds, ten per magazine, all in this sleek compact form. It’ll give the bats a little bit more knockdown power. We both felt it suited their lifestyle.” 

        Fleethoof chuckled and set the gun down. “I’ll say… And what’s this?” 

        He pointed to the black rifle lying on the table. It looked unlike anything he had seen before. With a proud smile, Quarter Master levitated it up and slowly turned it around while it hovered in midair. 

        “This, my good captain, is the ACR. Adaptive Combat Rifle. It’s the latest carbine design crafted by yours truly and imagined by our benevolent Princess of the Night. Same caliber as our other rifles, same magazines, but in a smaller, more compact and lightweight form. Collapsible stock and holographic optics come standard issue with these to each soldier. It’ll make the Nightwatch’s overall kit less heavy and more maneuverable for them.” 

        Fleethoof noted the smaller design of both new weapons for the Lunar Guard. “At the cost of effective range though, right?” 

        A loud laugh from the scientist echoed around the chamber. “In all honesty, Captain, when have you ever heard of a bat pony doing any type of fighting other than face-to-face?” 

        That made Fleethoof crack a smile. Quarter was right about that. Thoughts of his encounters with Midnight Dasher came to mind briefly. She was going to be ecstatic over the new loadout. 

        “We also gave them these.” Quarter Master grasped a headset with a single lens pair of goggles attached to it with his blued magic. “They’re still very much in the experimental phase, but these are the start of our night vision optics. We wanted to create a way for our soldiers to see in the dark as well as a bat pony can. This is the first generation. I was actually working on some for you fine stallions.” 

        “Impressive. May I?” Fleethoof took the optical device and placed it over his head. 

        “By all means, Captain! I have some for all of you to take. I also have these for you.” The next thing that went airborne was a pair of long metallic cylinders. 

        Fleethoof chuckled and shook his head defiantly. “Yeeeah, I’m not taking any hoof grenades, thanks.” 

        “Still don’t trust them, Captain?” 

        “Nooope.” 

        “Oh, but I think you’ll like these! They’re completely non-lethal,” explained Quarter Master, pulling the pin. “These create a loud bang and burst of light, completely blinding a foe for several seconds and disrupting the fluid in the inner ear, disorienting and tampering with their balance. Observe—FIRE IN THE HOLE!” 

        Quarter Master tossed the grenade across the lab. The grenade hit the floor with a clang, and then a blinding light filled Fleethoof’s vision. His ears rang as an explosive sound deafened him. Fleethoof grit his teeth and closed his eyes tight, leaning against the table for support. His head was spinning, and he could hear his heart pounding against his eardrums. After a few moments, his hearing and sight began to slowly return. Across the lab, he could see a group of other researchers suffering the same effect he had just experienced. 

        “So? What do you think?” 

        Fleethoof couldn’t even think of a response. “Wow…” 

        “I told you that you’d like them. So, want some?”

        “Definitely. So you gave these to Union?” he asked, lifting the ACR in his hooves and getting a feel for it. 

        “Correct. And the other equipment. Though we did get one back when… well, when the sergeant passed.” 

        Fleethoof’s brow creased as he did the math. “So the other two prototypes are still in their possession?” 

        Quarter Master nodded. “Yes. They have yet to give me their report on how it functions. That’s the only thing preventing me from mass producing these for the Nightwatch on the double.” 

        “I think you’re going to be waiting for that report for a while…” 

        “Why? Has something come up?” 

        Fleethoof pressed his lips together. “You could say that… Does this prototype work?” 

        “Well, I haven’t installed a firing pin in that one. It was just meant as a work in progress model, but with a couple tweaks, it could be functional.” Quarter cocked his head to the side just slightly. “Why do you ask?” 

        “Do your tweaks, Quarter. I’ll test this one and let you know how it works.” 

        Quarter Master hesitated in his response. “Did something happen to Union?” 

        The storm clouds gathering in Fleethoof’s eyes told the summary of the story to the pony. He nodded slowly, understanding, and no more needed to be said. 

        “Very well, Captain Fleethoof. Give me a few minutes, and I’ll have it functional for you,” Quarter said cheerfully, taking the gun back and gathering the necessary tools from nearby with his magic. 

        Turning on his hooves, Fleethoof left the researcher to his work. He joined his team in the vault just as they were finishing gearing up. Cupcake was cleaning his gun with Valiant while Blue Shield packed his bags with medical supplies by the dozen. Sharp Shot was loading bullets into his magazines, and then jamming them wherever they could fit in his vest. 

        Fleethoof slipped his combat vest over his uniform and snapped the buckles together, fitting it to his form. It didn’t feel right to be kitting up knowing he was going hunting for his own fellow soldiers. It felt dirty, like a betrayal to the code of the Royal Guard. But Union had already turned their back on the code, and on the Guard, and on Equestria. 

        They had made their bed. Now it was time to lay them to rest in it. 

        He could feel the scowl on his face just from the gravity of his wandering mind. Trying his best to stay focused on the task at hand, Fleethoof began sliding the loaded magazines for his rifle and the flashbang grenades into their homes on his harness, then turned to his saddlebags. He took the standard gear he always relied on: a pair of binoculars, a couple canteens, some extra rounds, and other necessities for lengthy missions. 

        A glance back over his shoulder at his five ponies told Fleethoof that they weren’t looking forward to his any more than he was. Nopony said much other than the occasional phrase or two to one another. Even Sharp Shot, the comedian that he was, was unusually silent as he assembled his rifle and slung it over his shoulder. 

        Fleethoof grabbed his knife from the metal shelf in his section of the vault and slid it into the sheath attached to his vest. Then he grabbed his pistol from the shelf—and hesitated. He had forgotten he already had a pistol in his side holster. With slow, gradual grace, Fleethoof drew the Nightingale from its home, and stared at the gun while it glistened under the pure white light from overhead. 

        The Nightingale had already proven its trustworthiness and effectiveness as a sidearm, but it came with a brutal cost. The bullets apparently singed flesh and burned organic tissue. He could still see the stallion and that… creature… writhing in agony and screaming about the fire under their skin. It was a lethally effective weapon—almost too much so for him to consider turning on his own brethren. 

        Exhaling hard, Fleethoof set the Nightingale down on the shelf, and placed its spare magazines beside it, replacing it with his standard handgun. He did not want to cause that kind of pain to Union. But what if he had to? He had no idea what he was going up against… Perhaps having that ace in the hole wasn’t a bad plan? What if he just used it as a backup? 

        With a groan of frustration to his own indecisive brain, he rolled his eyes and snatched his personal firearm up again. Taking a spare holster from the cabinet of extra equipment, Fleethoof jammed the gun home and attached it to his belt around his back, tucked safely beneath his uniform out of sight. He prayed the next time he’d have to pull it out would be to put it back away. 

        “Take what you need, but pack light, team,” Fleethoof said, affixing his headset to his ear. “We need to stay fast on our hooves to catch up to Union before anything else happens. Then go see Quarter. He has some new toys for you.” 

        “Where are we going anyway, boss?” Sharp asked. 

        “Oxford. That’s where they were last seen all together. If they ditched one of their team members there, there’s a good chance he might still be lingering there.” 

        Fleethoof grabbed the last of his equipment and turned for the door. Behind him, the rest of Skyfall followed. They were ready. 

        While the five set off for the elevator, Fleethoof took a detour back to the lab. Quarter Master was still hunched over the table, hard at work, but as he drew closer, Fleethoof could see had been reassembling the rifle. 

        “You have impeccable timing, Captain,” Quarter Master jested, tightening one last bolt before lifting the gun and testing the action, nodding with a satisfied smile. “Give it a test.” 

        Happy to oblige, Fleethoof smiled and slung the rifle across his broad chest. He loaded a magazine in and pulled the action, testing the smoothness of the draw as he chambered the first round. It moved like silk against itself. Flipping the safety off, Fleethoof trotted across to the firing range and fired three rounds downrange at the closest target. Each one went off without failure. 

        “Thank you, Quarter. I’ll be sure to give you my full critique when I get back,” he said in promise, engaging the safety again and making his way towards the elevator to catch up to his team. 

        “Do be sure to keep a better hold of it than the last prototype!” said Quarter Master jokingly, hearing the officer bark a short laugh before he disappeared. 





        The train ride down to Oxford was tense and awkward. Faced with the presence of the two Re'emian agents, everypony was put off. Fleethoof had come to an uneasy indifference with them. They were working on the same side, after all. Valiant didn’t seem to hold an opinion one way or another. Fleethoof wondered why. 

        Surprisingly, both Sharp Shot and Cupcake glared daggers at the ponies from the south. Neither stallion seemed to like the coalition, let alone being in the same car as the Re'emians. Blue Shield was deliberately looking everywhere but at the stallion and mare, and Lightning Flash just looked uncomfortable from the tension of the situation. 

        But what was most unsettling was the quiet. Since they had departed from Canterlot, nopony had said a single word. Not one. The silence felt oppressive to Fleethoof, like it was choking the air with a physical density. Several times now, he had considered saying something—anything—to break the stillness, but each time he had no idea where to even start. 

        “You ponies come very heavily equipped,” Chaim noted in passive observation, taking the brave initiative to start conversation. “Are you sure we are not going to war?” 

        “We’ve learned it is better to come overly prepared than not prepared enough.” Fleethoof’s answer was succinct and professional. 

        “And what is it you do with this preparation, exactly?” 

        “That’s classified,” Sharp Shot interrupted swiftly, almost looking like he took pride in cutting the other pony off. Chaim cast a glowering look up at the unicorn. 

        “Do you fear us, Sergeant?” 

        “No. I detest you.” 

        “Pity. You’d live longer if you feared us.” 

        “You dare to threaten us?” Cupcake said with a guttural growl, gnashing his teeth together as his rough, heavy accent emphasized the resentment in his voice, “It would not be smart of pony such as yourself to make such move.” 

        A grin spread across Chaim’s lips. “Ah, a Northern pony, eh? Still sore about the Stronghold?” 

        Cupcake snorted and stood up from his seat on the opposite side of the car. Sharp Shot grabbed the larger stallion by his harness, holding him back with a jerk. Chaim chuckled under his breath. 

        “I’ll take that as a yes.” 

        “Do not egg our partners on, brother,” said Adira, casting a scolding look to the pony beside her. 

        “Aww, but it is so much fun to test the control of the larger one,” he said, grinning widely at Cupcake. “Or lack thereof.” 

        “Because you proved you have such control,” Sharp snapped back. “Especially at Ashkelon.” 

        Chaim’s expression froze on his face, then very slowly dropped to a furious scowl. “How dare you…” 

        But the sniper was far from done. “I heard they burned it to the ground. I’d say it was a shame, but it’s a nice bit of karma. Shame it couldn’t have been Tail Aviv. Then you’d get your comeuppance.” 

        Chaim grit his teeth together and rose to his hooves in a blur of motion. He was fast—faster than Fleethoof could have anticipated. Adira, however, must have predicted his move, because she caught him the same way Cupcake had been stopped, and pulled him back to his seat. 

        “Enough, everypony! This is foalish nonsense! If silence is what it takes to keep the peace, then let the silence be.” 

        Valiant looked positively lost. “Can somepony explain to me what’s going on?” 

        All eyes turned to the pony seated beside the window. 

        “You’ve never heard of Re'em?” asked Adira. “Never learned of our history? Nothing?” 

        Both Re'emians looked shocked when Valiant shook his head in the negative. 

        “Wow… Now I almost feel insulted.” The mare laughed softly. “Do you at least know Re'em exists?” 

        “Well, yeah. I could pick it out on a map, but I don’t know anything about it.” 

        “That’s surprising,” Sharp Shot said, then added, “Well, maybe not… It’s not really something Equestria would teach nowadays.” 

        Valiant felt out of a very large loop. “Well, how did you all learn about it?” 

        “School,” Sharp and Cupcake answered in tandem. 

        “Same,” was Blue Shield’s answer. 

        Fleethoof replied, “I did a lot of research on my own. I needed to know for this job.” 

        “Anypony care to enlighten me?” 

        “Over a thousand years ago, long before the rise and fall of Nightmare Moon, Equestria lived under the rule of the two princesses,” Fleethoof began to explain. “But there was a group of ponies who did not believe in the powers of the alicorns. They theorized that they did not actually have any control over natural powers of such magnitude, and that it was all a natural law that governed the rising and setting of the sun and moon. They denounced Celestia and Luna as their deities and rulers. 

        “Back then, that was considered heresy treason of the highest degree. The rest of the population of Equestria began to rise up against those ponies, and a small civil war sprung forth. As short-lived as it was, it did result in some catastrophic destruction in The Frozen North, and ultimately led to the banishment of the heretics. With nowhere to go, the ponies traveled south, till they found the land now known as Re'em. They settled it, and their nation grew, holding to their codex of beliefs without the alicorns.” 

        Valiant listened intently as Fleethoof told the history of the southern nation. “Ah… so that’s why there’s such bitter resentment between Equestrian ponies and Re'emian ponies.” 

        Fleethoof nodded. “Exactly.” 

        “So… why don’t they have cutie marks?” 

        “That’s a good question. Once banished, the alicorns placed an enchantment on the ponies, removing their ability to generate cutie marks, severing the final tie between them and Equestria. They had essentially become their own separate race at that point.” 

        “A damnation we are proud to bear,” Chaim said. “Those tacky marks on your flanks just further designate you as mindless slaves to a false god’s will.” 

        “Enough, brother. We are not trying to spark a war with Equestria!” Adira sighed, exasperated. “You must forgive Chaim. He has no filter in his mind, and he’s a little too patriotic sometimes.” 

        “At least the traitor adheres to his beliefs, even if they’re wrong,” Sharp said as a taunt. 

        “You’ll have to forgive Sergeant Sharp Shot,” Fleethoof apologized as well. “He’s just an idiot.” 

        “Damn straight… Wait, what?” 

        “I still have one more question,” Valiant interjected, raising his hoof like he were in a class. “I get that the Re'emians and Equestrians have bad blood, but who are they at war with then? ‘Cause it’s not us.” 

        “That would be the Saddle Arabians…” Adira muttered disgustedly, as if the name left a bitter taste in her mouth. 

        Chaim made a gagging sound. “Wretched horses…” 

        “Why do the Saddle Arabians hate them?” 

        Fleethoof continued his story. “The land the Re'emians settled was formerly part of Saddle Arabia. At the time, the nation was still expanding, and had not reached the Marediterranean coast yet. But when they got there, imagine their surprise to find pony settlements with no established national border! That led to the first Arabian-Re’emian War. 

        “The Re'emians won the first war, and Re'em was officially formed. But the Saddle Arabians are a proud race. When they learned of the ponies’ unusual theology, coupled with the defeat, it revolted them. They struck again, and a second war sparked. Again, they were pushed back—but this time, the Re'emians retaliated, and a third war started not long after. Back and forth it’s gone since the nations became neighbors, neither side backing down.” 

        “How can we back down when backing down means death for all of our stallions, mares, and foals?” said Adira defensively. “We may be a warring nation, but only because we must to survive.” 

        Valiant continued, “So how did Equestria get involved in all of this?” 

        “Princess Celestia refused to take sides in the war, but resented the idea of any race going extinct,” Fleethoof tried to explain. “So she established two fully operational bases in each nation and stationed a permanent reserve of soldiers there, to equally defend both sides. For a long time, it meant an unofficial mutual ceasefire. But now, it seems like even a reinforced military on both sides isn’t enough to stave off war forever.” 

        “So why can’t we all just let bygones be bygones and be friends?” 

        At Valiant’s query, Chaim, Cupcake, and Sharp Shot all began to talk at once, shouting over one another in a flurry of anger-fueled words. Fleethoof covered his face with a hoof and shook his head. Adira rolled her eyes and smirked a little. 

        “You are a righteous pony, yet an idealist, Sergeant,” she complimented Valiant. “If only everypony thought in such a way. But that is the way of a perfect world—and ours is far from it.” 

        “You’re right, it isn’t,” said Fleethoof assent. “But we can make it a little better with what we do.” 

        “Not all problems can be solved with a bullet, Captain.” 

        “I have yet to find one that can’t be.” 

        Adira laughed, a soft and musical sound. “We will be in Oxford soon. Do you have a plan for once we arrive?” 

        Fleethoof nodded with a half smile. “We search the entire town till we find that missing soldier. Then we go after the renegades.” 

        On the opposite side of the car, Cupcake had begun checking his sidearm again, making sure it was clear, then locked and loaded. Valiant had turned to stare out the window at something. Out across the grasslands of southern Equestria, the old city of Oxford was drawing closer by the minute. 

        Fleethoof swallowed hard and gathered up his equipment, making his way toward the doors. Even though he knew Union wouldn’t be here, he couldn’t help the anxious tension he felt knowing he was hot on the trail of them. He wanted nothing more than to bring the lost ponies back home to Canterlot. Maybe he could talk the military cabinet to go easy on them, and give them dishonorable discharges and send them on their way. He did not want to see an execution, and he prayed there was a damn good explanation for their actions in Dodge. 

        Here we go… he thought. Luna protect us…

        Oxford Station pulled up alongside them as the train slowed to a crawl. The brakes squealed, and then the doors flew open. 
	

> Chapter 15: Execution
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	It had begun snowing in Oxford when the ponies arrived. The first few light flurries descended from the heavy gray clouds in the skies overhead, each flake swept along by a bitter breeze cutting through the archaic town. Oxford was a university town, centered around the University of Arcana, a unicorn school for the study of all things magical. It was the Canterlot outside of Canterlot, built by those and for those who sought the serene retreat of a coastal town with all the benefits of Canterlot’s academics. 

        The town itself was a sight to behold. Old, renaissance-style architecture made up the buildings surrounding the station, with high spires looming aloft towards the heavens. Old gray stonework was incorporated into the roads and walls, many of which had a thin layer of moss and vines creeping up the sides, accentuating the natural balance Oxford maintained between nature and civilization. 

        The ponies were mostly unicorns, dressed in fine suits and dresses alike, all looking like something out of an old catalog. They certainly didn’t have the cutting edge fashion or flare Canterlot possessed, but the air of sophistication and wisdom was just as thick as ever. 

        Fleethoof took a deep breath of the cool winter air as he led the way across the station platform. There was a hint of salt on the breeze, carried over from the nearby ocean, blended with the scent of freshly roasted coffee from a nearby café and something baking somewhere in the town. With a light dusting of powdery snow beginning to veil the tranquil scene, he couldn’t help but wonder how the idyllic settlement would look in the springtime. 

        The eight ponies made their way from the train station down the wide Broadway thoroughfare to the town square. A large statue of Celestia and Luna was erected in the center of town, the two sisters frozen in mid-prance above the citizens. Behind him, Fleethoof could hear Chaim groan. He brushed it off. 

        “Talk about admiration,” Sharp Shot said as the ponies walked past the statue. 

        “It was erected in honor of the college,” Blue Shield explained. “Celestia and Luna founded the university a thousand years ago as a monument to the dedication of the magical arts. They wanted to make sure everypony had access to knowledge, not just the wealthy ponies of Canterlot.” 

        Sharp turned his head around. “How do you know so much about that?” 

        “I applied here when I was going to school.” 

        The sniper couldn’t pass up the opportunity for a joke. “What, did you get rejected or something?” 

        “No, I was accepted, with a scholarship.” Blue Shield smirked a little. “But the Canterlot Academy of Medicine accepted me too, and they’re a little more… prestigious.” 

        “Mazel tov,” Chaim muttered in a flat tone. 

        “This town is big, Captain,” said Valiant. “How are we going to find one pony in here?” 

        “We start with the most likely place a lost, lone soldier would be, then spread out from there,” said Fleethoof, locating a building with a sign marked with a flagon on it. “And here we are.” 

        The tavern, as Fleethoof had correctly interpreted the sign, was a stark contrast to what he had been expecting. Instead of the raucous groups of youths one would expect a college town to come with, small clusters of unicorns with books and scrolls filled the booths and tables. Study groups had been set up around the bar. Even off campus, the students were hard at work. 

        “That’s… different,” Fleethoof mused with a chuckle, but led the way in regardless. “Sharp, watch the door. Everypony else, fan out and ask questions.” 

        Following their officer’s orders, the ponies separated. While the others kept watch and began questioning the local pony population, Fleethoof took to the bar. If there was one surefire place to find any information, it was from the mouth of the eyes that saw all: the barkeep. 

        “Excuse me.” The pegasus’ beckoning caught the stallion’s attention. 

        “Afternoon, sir. What can I get for you today?” 

        Fleethoof pulled the three pictures of Union out of his saddlebags. “We’re with the Royal Guard, looking for a couple of ponies. We heard they might have headed through this way. Ever seen any of them?” 

        The pony set down the glass he had been cleaning and levitated the pictures up with his magic. He stared long and hard at the first, then flipped to the second. 

        “No, I don’t recognize any of these—” He flipped to the final photograph. “Wait, him! I know this stallion. I’ve seen him before.” 

        His hopes soaring, Fleethoof pulled the photograph down to see who had been identified. The winner was Nightflash. 

        “Where have you seen him?” the captain pressed. 

        “He’s come in here every night for the past couple nights now,” the pony said with assured certainty. “Always sits at the end of the bar. Doesn’t say a word. Just orders, drinks, and walks off again. It’s kinda strange.” 

        Fleethoof cocked a half smile. “Really, silent patrons are strange?” He cast a dubious look around the hushed tavern. 

        “No, not that. He’s a pegasus. We don’t usually get a lot of pegasi around here—no offense. He just doesn’t fit in. He’s always dressed like he’s going into battle. It made a lot of the patrons nervous at first. When I asked him if he had any other clothes he could wear, he just left and came back the next night the same as ever.” 

        “That’s because he doesn’t live here.” Fleethoof gathered the photographs back up. “What time does he usually come in at?” 

        The barkeep checked the clock on the wall. “Oh, about eight thirty... sometimes nine. Around there.” 

        “Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” Fleethoof whistled sharply and made a motion to his team to gather up again, meeting around the door. “Nightflash is the pony we’re looking for here. The bartender says he’s been in every night now.” 

        “So we wait for him here,” Cupcake surmised, earning a nod from the captain. 

        “Right. But we can’t let him know we’re here or that we’re looking for him. For all we know, he might have turned as well, but gone off on his own. So we play this close to the chest, understood?” 

        Everypony nodded. He turned his gaze to the two Re'emians. 

        “That goes for you two too.” 

        “We understand,” Adira said with a roll of her eyes. “We will follow your lead, officer.” 

        “We can’t spook him, which means we’ll have to hide. He won’t look twice at a unicorn, but two Earth ponies, two pegasi, and two Re'emians he’ll catch. We’ll have to lay low in the corners of the tavern. Sharp and Blue Shield, you’ll be our eyes. Sharp, I want you outside, on the door. If you see him approaching, radio us.” 

        “Got it, boss.” The sniper saluted. 

        “Blue, you’ll be at the bar. Our eyewitness says he always sits at the far end, so I need you to sit at the opposite side. Tell us when he sits down, and try to get a positive ID on his face. You two will trade places every hour to keep you both fresh and warm.” 

        “Yes sir, Captain.” 

        Fleethoof nodded, and glanced up at the clock. “Everypony else, get a drink and relax. We’re going to be here for a while…” 





        As the day rolled on into the night, more ponies began to flock to the tavern. In the dead of winter, the warm, welcoming atmosphere attracted ponies of all sorts. Muted conversation had grown to a dull roar as the bar filled to maximum occupancy. 

        From a table in the far corner of the establishment, Fleethoof sipped at his hot chocolate, the thick, sweet liquid flowing richly down his throat and warming him from the inside out. His eyes traced around the Hearth’s Warming Eve decorations hung on the walls, and the boughs of holly hung around the rafters and doors. Everypony seemed to be getting into the holiday spirit—or studying for their winter exams. It reminded Fleethoof how very glad he was to be out of school. 

        Every so often, the pegasus’ blue eyes would turn towards the door, waiting for some word from Sharp Shot on the other side. He glanced up at the clock. It was almost nine o’clock. Was the bartender as reliable as he had hoped? 

        “So, tell me about your unit, Captain,” Adira said to break the silence, her voice low and kept to the immediate table. “You are not typical soldiers.” 

        Fleethoof turned his gaze toward the mare seated beside him and dipped his head in a subtle nod. “No, we aren’t. We handle the special cases the Guard can’t touch.” 

        “Ah, special operations…” The Mossad agent cooed in admiration. “You are like our kin in practice.” 

        “The Mossad train assassins, not soldiers.” 

        “And is there any difference between what we do?” 

        “Yes,” Fleethoof snapped abruptly. “I haven’t taken innocent lives.” 

        “Neither have I.” The ponies locked gazes, walls up on both sides. “We kill clean and precise. It ensures our survival, and our own harmony. Do not tell me you have never taken a life of a civilian to protect your home.” 

        “I haven’t.” 

        “You will.” 

        Fleethoof could feel his resentment for the Re'emian’s insinuations rising. “What makes you so sure of that?” 

        Adira smiled at him, like a predator studying its prey. “Because it is the nature of our lives. It is part and parcel of the duty we perform. Granted, The Mossad may be more cloak and dagger than your Skyfall Team, but we operate on the same principles and methods.” 

        Fleethoof made an exaggerated motion of rolling his eyes, and went for his drink again. “We are not as alike as you—” 

        And then Fleethoof froze. The mug hovered less than an inch away from his snout, his gaze distant as the gears turned and clicked in his head. A sudden realization dawned on his brain. Slowly, his head turned toward the Re'emian mare again. 

        “I never told you the name of my team.” 

        Adira’s cool smile turned wide and proud. “No, you didn’t, did you?” 

        “Then, how—?” 

        “Like I told you before, Re'em monitors everything very closely,” she said once more, flipping a lock of burgundy hair out of her face and grinned at Fleethoof’s shocked expression. “You revealed yourselves in Saddle Arabia months ago. Since then, your unit has been under the watchful eye of The Mossad. We wanted to understand what your purpose was in aiding our enemy, just in case Equestria had created you to shift the balance of power.” 

        “We protect Equestria, nothing more.” Fleethoof’s answer was sharp and concise. “We aren’t throwing our hats in with anypony else.” 

        “And we swiftly discovered that, which is why you haven’t had Mossad agents after you.” 

        Fleethoof’s eyes narrowed to fine points, a threatening growl rumbling in the back of his throat. Adira merely chuckled, and continued. 

        “You are an interesting hybrid, Captain Fleethoof—you and your ponies. Part assassin, part soldier, part monk. You kill ruthlessly, yet you adhere to a code of ethics and honor. You break the rules so that you maintain them. What exactly are you trying to prove? That you found a grand scheme in life—a golden rule of engagement? Or maybe you just want to feel like you're better than anypony else with a gun and good judgment.” 

        “I’m just somepony trying to make the world a little bit better,” replied the equable officer. 

        “So I gathered. But you have a dark, profound method to your madness.” Fleethoof didn’t reply to that statement. “You know, we have a name for you back in The Mossad.” 

        Fleethoof did his best to ignore the subject of that institution. “Is that so?” 

        A nod from the assassin. “We call you tsel sooss. It means ‘shadow ponies’ in our tongue. You strike from nowhere without warning or clemency, and leave no trace, like ghosts. It is an impressive feat, I must admit.” 

        Shadow ponies. Ghosts. The corners of Fleethoof’s mouth twitched as he fought a smirk. He liked the sound of that. But Skyfall’s reputation was becoming known. It was exactly as he feared. Fortunately, the wrong attention hadn’t been garnered yet. If anything, they had earned the respect of The Mossad, and he’d much rather have those ponies as mutual business partners than an opposition. 

        “Boss, we’ve got the target incoming,” Sharp Shot’s voice spoke through his headset, hushed to avoid detection. “He’s walking up to the door now.”

        Fleethoof felt his heartbeat accelerate. “Places, everypony. It’s show time.” 

        Within a few minutes, the front door opened with a burst of chilly night air. In stepped a jet black pegasus, his mane and coat covered with a light dusting of white snow. He shook himself off at the hearth, and then proceeded across the floor to the bar. Fleethoof followed the pony with his eyes as he went to the spot the bartender had pointed out earlier, and took a seat without a word to anypony. 

        Although they were at a distance, Fleethoof recognized the uniform the pony was wearing. He had seen it before. Across the bar, Blue Shield casually sipped at his drink, eyeing the pony at the far end of the bar. 

“It’s him, Captain. It’s Nightflash.”

        “It’s him,” Fleethoof relayed to Adira, downing the last of his drink before standing once more. “Keep an eye out for any danger. I’m going to make contact.” 

        Fleethoof sauntered casually around the tavern, keeping to the walls and looking as nonchalant as possible. Nightflash was too preoccupied downing the alcohol he had just ordered to notice the approaching soldier. The closer he got to the rogue agent, the more Fleethoof’s heart began to race. His breathing picked up to compensate and keep him steady as he turned direction, straight for the bar. 

        Still oblivious to his presence, Fleethoof took the seat beside the former Union member at the bar. Even when he sat, the pony just stared down into his drink. 

        “You’re a long way from home, Specialist.” 

        That caught the pony’s attention. Fleethoof saw Nightflash’s ear closest to him twitch, and his head perk up ever so slightly. The subtle motion was enough to let him know he had his attention. 

        “Or maybe you’re just lost and looking for a friend in all the wrong places.” 

        Nightflash looked over at the captain, eyes widening with a mixture of surprise and dread. “Captain Fleethoof! How did you—?” 

        “We tracked your movements with the help of some friends,” he said plainly, looking with empathy back into his comrade’s eyes. “You’ve got quite a story to tell, don’t you, soldier?” 

        For a while, Nightflash was completely silent. He looked shell-shocked, overwhelmed by the presence of the operator. His gaze dropped, and then turned away with shame. He ran a hoof through his scraggly mane. The bags beneath his bloodshot eyes looked as if the stallion hadn't slept in days, clearly distressed and guilt-ridden. 

        “I’m sorry, sir… I failed,” he apologized, voice ragged and tinged with regret. “I never thought things would ever go like this…” 

        “Tell me what happened. From the start.” 

        Nightflash swallowed back his pride, and exhaled. “After the debriefing, Glider and I went after Strike. He had stormed out of the castle, fuming about how we were being disrespected and were treated like expendable tools. Glider suggested we go back to the Academy and cool off, so we left. But when we got back… things went downhill fast… 

        “Glider didn’t do anything to calm Strike down. If anything, he exacerbated the situation. He kept goading the colt, saying things like we had to take the respect we deserved, and the only way the princesses would see our worth was if he proved what we could do. Strike drank it up like punch at the prom… It was all too strange. I think Glider’s been doing this to him for some time though… He seemed... brainwashed... like really not himself anymore.” 

        “He’s been corrupted,” said Fleethoof calmly, barely speaking above a low whisper. “Glider is the traitor. He was never in the Royal Guard. He’s a mole for Chitin, Codename: Commie, sent to ruin Union and keep your operations from succeeding.” 

        “That makes a lot of sense, actually,” Nightflash said, proceeding to clarify to the puzzled officer. “Glider was always the one who egged Strike on, or gave Harp Strings the toughest time… He’s probably the sole reason none of our ops ever went right. He’s the one who said we should ditch and prove ourselves, and Strike was all for it… I tagged along to see what they had in mind, to keep an eye on them. 

        “Glider said we should head south and stop in Oxford. He said he had some friends who could help us out—get us gear, supplies, things like that. So we came down here… but when we got here, Glider started acting really weird. He got very secretive with his actions, and wouldn’t let us go with him to meet his contacts. He just came back with a lot of stuff, and said that in order to prove ourselves, we had to demonstrate our power and skill on somepony who would actually be a challenge… That’s when he said we should attack FOB Sierra Alpha with his friends…” 

        Nightflash drifted off, his breathing slow and labored. He winced and pressed a hoof to his shoulder. Fleethoof cocked his head, his expression deepening as he apprehended what had occurred. 

        “You’re wounded.” 

        The pegasus nodded slowly. “I stood up to Glider then, and said that was treason, and he was insane… I told him that I was going to the Guard and turning him in, and I was taking Strike back with me… That was when he shot me…” 

        Fleethoof clenched his jaw so tightly, his teeth began to hurt. “Glider shot you.” 

        “No, not Glider… Lightning Strike.” The captain’s heart sank when Nightflash corrected him. “I took a round to the shoulder and ran like hell outta there. They chased me through a building, but I shook them when I leapt out a window and flew down an alley. I was able to patch myself up, and lay low for a few days. When I was sure they were gone, I didn’t know what to do… I didn’t have enough bits left for a train ticket, the Guard was hunting us for desertion, and I was in no condition to travel back to Cloudsdale to explain myself—so I stayed here, hoping to end my misery with enough alcohol to kill myself and drown my shame…” 

        Nightflash began to lift the glass back up to his lips, when Fleethoof grabbed his leg and forced the drink back down to the bar. He shook his head firmly. 

        “Don’t do that to yourself, soldier. You haven’t committed treason—your teammates did.” 

        Nightflash snorted and chuckled grimly. “Don't call them that... They aren’t my brothers anymore…” 

        “We’ll get you shipped back to Cloudsdale. You focus on  your recovery, and I’ll see to it that no black mark is left on your record. You did your best to prevent this, and you’ve been very helpful.” 

        Fleethoof patted the soldier on his good shoulder and went to stand up again. He motioned for Blue Shield to come over, and the medic began to make his way across the tavern. 

        “Captain.” Fleethoof turned back around when Nightflash addressed him, looking to the officer with downhearted eyes. “What did they do? You colts wouldn't be after them if they just ran away. They did something... didn't they?” 

        There was a pause between Nightflash’s question and Fleethoof’s hesitated answer. “They attacked Dodge City and killed four ponies. More were injured. We think they’re still heading south, to FOB Sierra Alpha, like you said.” 

        The former Union member’s eyes dropped to the floor, disgusted and broken hearted for his disgraced unit. “Whatever atrocities they’re committing, it’s Glider’s doing. He’s a twisted pony, and he's poisoning Strike’s mind. Strike, he’s a good colt, Captain. He’d never do this on his own. If you can, please save him. There might still be some good left in him.” 

        Fleethoof took a deep breath and nodded. “I’ll do my best.” 

        Blue Shield had begun to inspect Nightflash’s wound as Fleethoof turned to leave again. “You mentioned somepony by the name of Chitin.” 

        Yet again, the stallion had caught Fleethoof’s attention, if only momentarily. “Yes, I did. That’s the name of your target: Commie. His actual name is Chitin.” 

        “He’s here, Captain.” Nightflash locked eyes with the officer. Fleethoof could feel his mind trying to process and understand what his ears had just heard, trying to ensure he'd heard right. “Chitin is in Oxford.” 

        “How can you be sure?” 

        “If Glider’s a traitor and working for him, he’s gotta be the friend he brought us here to see,” said the wounded soldier. “That, and when we stayed here, we checked into a room at the inn under a pseudonym. When Glider was gone, I got suspicious and snooped through his stuff. I found an address for somepony named Chitin.” 

        Nightflash reached into a breast pocket on his uniform. With a slow motion, he pulled a thin strip of paper out and set it on the bar. Fleethoof snatched up the scrap in a flash, reading it off. Sure enough, the address was a local one, with one name listed beside it: Chitin. 

        “Get him, Captain, for all of us,” Nightflash entreated, his eyes bitter and tightened to points. “And give him a good kick for me.” 

        Fleethoof’s expression shifted to fierce loyalty and dedication, and replied with a short, swift nod of his head. Blue Shield applied an antiseptic cream to Nightflash’s injury as Fleethoof looked over the address again, and began making his way towards the door. 

        “Let’s move, everypony. Our target is still in town,” he radioed in. “Alpha to HQ, come in, over.” 

        There was a moment of radio silence. 

“This is HQ. We read you, Alpha. Over.”

        It was Quarter Master on the other end, ever in Skyfall Headquarters, as always. Fleethoof questioned with a bemused smirk if that pony ever went home. 

        “Is Overlord Actual there? Over.” 

        Again, another bout of radio silence greeted the pony’s ears. Skyfall Team and the Re'emians had gathered around him by the door. 

“Overlord Actual is here, my little ponies. Is there something you need to report? Over.”

        Princess Luna was present. Good, that made things easier. 

        “We’ve located a second primary target, Codename: Commie. He is still within city limits. We can engage now, before we lose him again. Over.” 

“Do as your judgment sees fit, Alpha. How can I assist? Is there anything you need from me? Over.”

        Fleethoof pulled the door open and stepped out into the cold winter night. The snow had stopped falling, but had already accumulated in a nice thick blanket across the ground. The clouds overhead had begun to dissipate and disperse, revealing the half moon and stars glistening, covering the majestic town in silvery light. 

        “We could use a dark night.” 





        Fleethoof made a mental note to thank Princess Luna when they returned to Canterlot. That alicorn was a miracle worker. She really moved heaven and earth when it came to her ponies—literally. At his request, Luna had turned the night sky into a dense black canvas. Not a single star twinkled anymore, and the moon had vanished from sight. In an instant, the silver cast was lost, and foreboding darkness took over the world. 

        It was a welcome shroud to the eight ponies darting down the quiet, empty streets of Oxford. The citizens, confused and scared by the sudden loss of the nighttime sky, sought shelter in their homes. Only the old oil lamps illuminated the streets with a low, warm glow, just enough to see where you were walking and to make out street signs. It helped when it came to navigation. Nopony in the group had ever been to Oxford before, but finding your way in the quaint town did not prove much of a challenge. 

        Fighting through the bitter breeze that cut right through his uniform, Fleethoof led the ponies down one street, then around a corner and down another, until they came across the right road. From there, it was a simple matter of finding which direction the numbered addresses ran, and from there, finding the correct house. The street was lined with houses, all dark with slumbering citizens. 

        “Captain,” said Valiant, pointing to a house down the street. “There it is.” 

        He was correct. Fleethoof checked the number on the slip of paper Nightflash had given him. It matched perfectly. The building was four stories tall, and looked identical in appearance to the other homes they had passed by. No significant symbols or decorations marked the outside, and no semblance of permanent residence stood out. It looked and felt as if the owners had no intention of remaining there for extended periods of time. 

        The dark windows didn’t bode well, but Fleethoof had long-since learned to distrust anything and everything at face value. His instincts told him there was something off about this house… His heart began to beat faster, pumping adrenaline through his veins. 

        “Valiant, take Cupcake, Flash, and Chaim around back. See if there’s a way in there,” Fleethoof said. “Sharp Shot, Blue, and Adira, you’re up front with me. Remember to use your night vision.” 

        The ponies of Skyfall nodded and split up into their groups. Fleethoof waited until Valiant’s team had disappeared from sight before rushing up the porch to the front door. Behind him, Adira stuck close, with Sharp and Blue watching the rear. The stallion turned the doorknob slowly—and felt it click tightly. 

        Locked…

        “Allow me,” Adira whispered, slinking in between Fleethoof and the door. She produced a small set of lock picks from a case on her belt and set to work on the door. In only a matter of moments, the bolt slid audibly out of place, and the Mossad agent slowly opened the door without a sound. 

        Fleethoof pulled his night vision goggles down and took a deep breath—then he stepped into the house. The inside was pitch black, but Quarter Master’s new device worked like a charm. Through the eye the optic sat in front of, the house was bathed in an eerie infrared neon green color, with every detail in the wall and floor illuminated. He could see a nightstand with a potted plant beside the door he otherwise would have missed. He could see perfectly. 

        I wonder if this is how Bat ponies see in the dark, he mused in thought as he raised his suppressed pistol and took point. Adira stuck close to his side, both ponies sweeping the narrow hall the front door opened up into. 

        Sharp Shot and Blue Shield stepped in after them, quietly closing the door behind themselves. Now in total darkness, Skyfall had the upper hoof. Adira kept her side pressed against Fleethoof’s, following him by feel through the hall. They came up to an open doorway. Sidling up towards it, Fleethoof swung around and swept the room. It was a parlor, devoid of any life—but not signs of life. 

        Switching on his taclight, the pony illuminated the coffee table for the Re'emian. She stepped carefully over towards it. Plates and glasses had been left out, half eaten food still remaining on one. Adira picked up the half eaten pastry, then put it down without a sound again. 

        “Still warm.” 

        Fleethoof nodded, and motioned with a hoof to his partners to be alert. Sharp and Blue took point and continued down the hall while Fleethoof waited for Adira to rejoin him before leading her down the hall after the other two. The silence made his pulse race, anxious tension gripping at his nerves. He did not like the calm before the storm. 

        Another door came up on the left, closed this time. Fleethoof watched as Sharp pushed it open and Blue Shield rushed in. Silence followed. The medic stepped out again, shaking his head. The ponies carried on as the hall opened up to an open space, a staircase leading up to the next floor at their side. Another narrow hallway cut perpendicular to the room. From either end of the hall, the other ponies joined up with them. 

        Valiant exchanged a shake of his head with Fleethoof. This floor was clear. The ponies turned their attention upwards, and headed up the stairs. They moved slowly in a single file line up, keeping their hoofsteps as lightly as possible so as not to creak any floorboards or make any noise whatsoever. The second floor consisted of another flight of stairs, and two hallways running in a right angle. Doors lined the halls by the dozen. 

        With a motion of his hoof, Fleethoof sent each pony to check each door. As they moved on their targets, he stepped up to the closest one himself. Pressing his form against the solid wooden panel, he gently turned the handle and opened it enough to peek inside. It was a bedroom, with four beds crammed into the tiny space. Each one was occupied by a sleeping pony. 

        Slowly closing the door again, he glanced down at the others. Skyfall Team had stepped away from their rooms as well—but Adira and Chaim were missing. Gritting his teeth, Fleethoof moved swiftly and silently to regroup with his team. 

        “Where’d the Re'emians go?” he asked in a sharp whisper. 

        “I think they went into their rooms.” 

        And then Fleethoof heard a very muffled popping sound. He turned on his heels, and saw a burst of light beneath a door in time with each pop. 

        Oh shit, no…

        Rushing to the door, Fleethoof pulled it open slowly. Chaim was standing over one of the beds, pulling a pillow off the face of one of the bedded ponies. He tossed it to the floor and glanced at the pegasus, smiling as he waved his silenced pistol to him. 

        “What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed in the darkness, keeping careful control of the volume of his voice. 

        “Taking care of business. What are you doing?” Chaim asked quizzically, motioning to the four dead ponies. “Re'emian mercenaries, like we told you. They had to be taken out.” 

        “Where’s Adira?”

        “Probably doing the same thing.” 

        Sure enough, another door opened a little further down, and out stepped the mare in question. 

        “They won’t be a threat anymore,” she murmured softly, smirking at her handiwork. “Did you all take care of your rooms?” 

        “No…! We don’t murder innocent ponies…!” the captain seethed. 

        “Innocent? Captain, these ponies are killers for hire. They would shoot you just for their next meal and not lose a wink of sleep over it. Be careful who you grant amnesty and innocence to.” 

        “Regardless, we won’t kill sleeping ponies that may or may not be clean.” 

        “Very well,” Adira said with a sigh. “We’ll take care of it. Come along, Chaim.” 

        “At your side, sister.” 

        “Stop! We are looking for Chitin, not killing out of a grudge!” 

        The ponies were unfazed. “You have your directives, Captain, and we have ours. Go, find your target. We will clean up down here.” 

        Seeing that there was no arguing with them, Fleethoof groaned and motioned to his team. Skyfall left the Mossad agents to their work and proceeded up to the third floor. There were fewer rooms further up, all on a single hallway. The ponies checked the rooms, surprised to find another arsenal of weapons in each. Pistols, rifles, and explosives of all kinds lined the walls and tables in each. Some even Fleethoof hadn’t seen before, and could not identify in origin. 

        “We are definitely in the right house…” he muttered hopefully. 

        “Chitin must be on the top floor,” said Sharp Shot with a glance to the floor above. 

        “Then let’s get up there.” 

        And then a loud crash was heard from downstairs, like a lamp or a vase falling to the floor. The shattering sound made all six ponies cringe and flinch, tightening their hold on their weapons. For a long, breathless moment, there was absolute silence. And then the sound of hooves on the floor came from below. A lot of hooves on the floor. 

        “Fucking Re'emians…!” Cupcake growled angrily. 

        “Upstairs, quick!” 

        At their captain’s orders, the ponies rushed the last staircase. As they ascended to the top, they came out at the far end of a straight hall down to one door. Two griffons were barreling down the darkness towards them. They didn’t even see the ponies as Fleethoof lit them up with a flurry of bullets from his pistol. They dropped to the floor with dull thumps of flesh on wood while Skyfall trampled over them to get to the door. 

        Ponies, Re'emians, zebras, griffons… Chitin's really got a multicultural terrorist cell to himself… thought Fleethoof. 

        Light shone out from underneath the door, a promising sign. Running with all his might, Fleethoof charged the door and didn’t even bother to check if it was locked or not. He drew down and fired three shots into where the lock was to be sure, and slammed his body against the frame. The door gave enough to open halfway before he caught it. That was enough of an opening he needed. 

        Grabbing a flashbang grenade from his vest, Fleethoof pulled the pin with his teeth and tossed it into the room. He slammed the door shut, and heard the scrambling of at least a dozen hooves inside. Then came the bang, and the stallion bucked the door in. It flew open, and Skyfall surged in. 

        Pulling his night vision goggles aside as the light threatened to blind him, Fleethoof assessed the situation. Five ponies lay across the floor, clearly having attempted to dive away from the grenade. Two had guns out already and shot blindly at the ponies. The bullets went high, almost into the ceiling, as Skyfall killed them with a few clean shots. 

        The room was a large study, with bookcases lining the entire room, and a pair of desks at the far end. Taking to a hunch, Fleethoof ran and slid across the desk. As he guessed, a navy blue unicorn pony sat crouched behind the desk, grasping a revolver in his vibrant green magic. Fleethoof’s hoof made contact with the side of his face as he dove over it. 

        The unicorn collapsed to the floor, dropping his weapon. Fleethoof spun on his hooves and drove a knee into the stallion’s back, pinning him to the floor. 

        “Don’t move!” he ordered harshly, wrestling to keep the pony held down. 

        The unicorn fought with all his strength to get the soldier off of him. Fleethoof proved to be the stronger of the two. That was when he noticed the unicorn’s horn glowing again. He saw the revolver’s hammer cock as it began to levitate. 

        Fleethoof brought the butt of his weapon down into the back of the pony’s skull, near the base of his horn. The pony cried out, and his magic cut out, stunned by Fleethoof’s blow. Fleethoof heard a couple more silenced gunshots at the other side of the study. Skyfall must have been putting down the rest of the opposition. Once the combat had ended, he pulled the photograph of Chitin out of his pocket, checking it with the pony beneath him. 

        “Boss, we’ve got incoming!” Sharp shouted, slamming the door shut and throwing his body against it. 

        “It’s all right,” said Fleethoof, grinning to himself as he identified the pony beneath him. “We’ve got him.” 

        Valiant and Cupcake came over and helped drag the struggling unicorn up and threw him to the chair behind the desk. Pulling out cable ties, Fleethoof bound Chitin's hooves to the arms of the chair. Now restrained, the ponies got a good look at the one responsible for all the trouble they had gone through. 

        At first glance, Chitin didn’t look like much. He had a long slate gray mane and bright orange eyes that were narrowed viciously with rage like a caged animal’s as he fought against his bonds. A cutie mark of a stack of bits marked his flank on either side. 

        “It’s over, Chitin. We’ve got you.” Fleethoof permitted himself to gloat a little, smiling proudly at his team’s good work. 

        Behind him, a loud banging was heard. He glanced back and saw the door shaking. Cupcake ran over to add his weight to help Sharp Shot keep it closed. All that was left was to deal with their prisoner. 

        Chitin snorted twice, glaring daggers into the captain. Their gazes locked intensely, staring off with one another as Fleethoof leaned in close. 

        “Do you have anything to say at all?” 

        He scoffed, and chuckled as a twisted smile spread across his face. “Took you long enough, Guard.”  

        “Sorry to disappoint, but we’re not the Guard.” 

        “Oh, I know… You’re that Skyfall Team. Special operations ponies, right?” 

        Fleethoof’s glare intensified. “How do you know about us?” 

        Chitin gave a booming laugh. “Glider has been a very useful informant.” 

        “Where are they right now, Chitin? What is Glider’s goal?” he asked tersely. As far as he was concerned, the games were over. 

        “Glider is such a good drone… So obedient... Follows orders to the letter… And such a silver tongue on him too. I heard he got that pegasus following him to fold like a house of cards once he killed Harp Strings.” 

        The next thing Chitin knew, his chair was spinning wildly and his face stung. Fleethoof had hit the pony so hard, he’d spun the chair around on itself. Waiting until the unicorn came spinning back around again, he stopped the chair with a hoof and leaned in closer. He was in no mood to play these games. 

        “We already discovered your mole inside Cloudsdale Intelligence. She’s been dealt with. Would you like to find out how?” Fleethoof threatened darkly. “You’re going away for a long time, Chitin, but I will find out what I need to know. What is Glider planning?” 

        Chitin blew a strand of his mane out of his eyes and smirked at the enraged stallion. “Oh, can you really not guess, pegasus? You know what they say: if you have to ask, you already know.” 

        Fleethoof ground his teeth together and turned away from the pony. No, wait… He wasn’t a pony. He faced his captive again. 

        “What are you?” 

        Chitin looked confused. “Beg your pardon?” 

        “I said, what are you?” Fleethoof repeated the question. “I know you’re not a pony. I’ve seen your mole’s true form. She called you ‘master’, like a slave would. So what are you?” 

        Chitin’s eyes gleamed as another unsettling laugh left him. “Oh, such a clever pony! Very well, since you know about me, I suppose there’s no use in using this disgusting form any longer…” 

        Chitin’s form began to glow green as the skin literally burned and melted away from his body. Just like the mare’s had, Chitin’s form shifted. Skin changed to a shiny black carapace, and soulless, insect-like eyes replaced his orange irises. It looked just like the other creature, but larger. 

        “Are you intimidated, soldier?” Chitin hissed, baring its sharp fangs in a menacing grin. 

        “No,” Fleethoof lied. “What are you?” 

        “An old race, long thought gone. That is all you need to know.” 

        “So what is a creature like you doing dealing arms?” 

        Chitin let out a sound crossed between a purr and a hiss. “Very perceptive question, pegasus. I don’t do it for myself, you see. I do it for a good friend of mine. Granted, he doesn’t know about my true form, but we’ve had plenty of dealings for years. I merely do it out of boredom now.” 

        Fleethoof didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere. “And what is your friend’s goal?” 

        “Why, to escalate the wars. He stands to make a great profit in the business of bloodshed. And nopony, not even you, can stand in his way. You didn’t even know he existed before now!” 

        Outside in the hall, soft popping could be heard, along with the sound of bodies hitting the floor. The Mossad agents had apparently survived. Waiting a moment longer, Sharp Shot opened the door, and Valiant stepped into the frame. He fired a few silenced rounds into the hall, and then the combat stopped. 

        Moments later, both Adira and Chaim rejoined the group. Their fur was splattered with blood. They took one look at Chitin, bound to the chair, and froze where they stood in a combination of terror and bewilderment. The threat now neutralized, Skyfall began to congregate around their leader. 

        “Who is your friend?” Fleethoof all but shouted. “Tell me now!” 

        “Not a chance! I’m more afraid of him than I am of you! This goes way beyond your head, pegasus!” Chitin sighed and reclined leisurely into the chair. “But I grow tired of this discussion, and I have nothing more to say. Take me into custody, if you dare, but it would be a grave mistake. Hellfire would rain down on your cities if you locked me in prison.” 

        “Hey, boss.” 

        Sharp Shot’s call caught Fleethoof’s attention. Turning away from the prisoner, he trotted over to where the sniper stood with Cupcake, looming over a book in the unicorn’s magical grasp. 

        “This was open on one of the desks. You might wanna take a look at this.” 

        Fleethoof took the book from his teammate. It was a small journal of sorts, detailing all the transactions Chitin had dealt over the past. It was dated back a few years. As he flipped through and skimmed the pages, Fleethoof began to pick up on a pattern of names. Glider came up a few times, but more prominently was one, ominous word: Silence. 

        “Who is this Silence you refer to in your ledger, Chitin?” 

        The creature refused to respond. Fleethoof cocked his head, waiting patiently. The waiting continued, until Cupcake stepped forward and brought his hoof across the creature’s jaw, hard. Again, the chair went spinning, disorienting the assaulted captive. 

        “Answer Captain’s question!” Cupcake demanded in a yell. 

        Again, Chitin stared off blankly at the wall. Tired of fooling around, Fleethoof slammed the book down on the nearest desk and stormed up to the creature. With a swift kick to the chest, the chair collapsed backwards with Chitin. The creature gasped and wheezed for breath, the air knocked from his lungs. 

        But before he could catch his breath, Fleethoof pressed his hoof down on Chitin’s throat, cutting off his oxygen supply. The creature choked and gurgled for air, thrashing uselessly against the cable ties. 

        “I am not playing games any longer,” Fleethoof growled, seething with unbridled rage. “Who. Is. Silence.” 

        No answer. Chitin continued to suffocate beneath the pegasus’ hoof. Despite his unwillingness, Fleethoof stepped off the prisoner, letting him breathe. Chitin gasped for air as the Re'emians set him back upright again. It was clear he was willing to die before giving up his partner. 

        “You can never get me to tell you. Nothing you could do to me could ever be worse than the wrath of Silence,” Chitin snarled viciously. 

        “Then we’ll have to find him the old-fashioned way,” said Fleethoof, picking up the ledger again and stowing it in his saddlebags. “We’ll find him, one way or another.” 

        “If you survive.” 

        Fleethoof furrowed his brow. “Excuse me?” 

        A sick, wicked grin came over Chitin’s face. “One of the perks about being my race is that all my followers know when I’m in danger. And they all come flocking to my rescue, ready to throw their lives away just to see you die.” 

        Downstairs, the sound of doors smashing inward was heard. Everypony turned toward the noise, hearing rapid steps swarming up towards them. 

        “Oh shit…” Valiant muttered. 

        “Positions!” Fleethoof ordered, facing off with Chitin alone as Skyfall began to set up a defensive position. “You summoned them here.” 

        The creature smiled proudly. “I did.” 

        “And you’re never going to tell us anymore.” 

        It was a statement, not a question. 

        “Have fun with the ‘old-fashioned way’, pegasus.” 

        Chitin laughed again, his voice reverberating around the study. Shouts could be heard coming closer from downstairs in response to the cackling. Fleethoof closed his eyes, taking slow, deep breaths to control his rage. Cadance’s words of control echoed through the caverns of his mind. 

        And then he brought his hoof hard into Chitin’s jaw again, watching the insect-like creature spin a few more times. He had effectively shut him up. 

        Fleethoof drew his rifle and made his way across the room to the door, taking position at one side, opposite of Valiant. The hoofsteps were running up the stairs right towards them. 

        “Hold them back, everypony,” he called out. “Don’t let them get to Chitin.” 

        “To me, my siblings!” the captive shouted to the advancing ponies, grinning widely to himself. 

        The first of the enemies came bolting up the stairs, barely illuminated by the light pouring out from the study. Adira and Chaim engaged them first, standing in the doorway and emptying their pistols down the hall at the charging masses of flesh. When they went empty, Fleethoof and Valiant took center stage. 

        Sucking in a breath through his teeth, Fleethoof turned with his second-in-command at his side. In a split second, he identified five bodies on the floor, and behind them, even more ponies were coming up by the dozen. Fleethoof picked the closest target and opened fire. Four rounds smacked wetly into the pony’s chest, and he fell to the floor. A second corpse was added to the pile a few shots after. 

        Valiant picked off two more ponies before return fire began peppering the walls and doorframe. Fleethoof ducked as a bullet just barely missed nicking his ear. He could feel the air displace and hear the snap, and responded by ducking quickly back behind the wall. Valiant managed to get off a couple more shots before he had to return to hiding as well. 

        Adira and Chaim had reloaded their weapons, and were ready for round two. Just as the stallion stepped out to take a shot, a pegasus flew through the door and tackled the agent. Chaim grunted as they flipped backwards over the wood floor and crashed into a bookshelf. Before anypony could react, three more ponies had rushed through. 

        Fleethoof kicked a hoof out, tripping one of the attacking ponies. The stallion went flying face-first into the floor. Adira put two rounds into his back and one in his head before he could get up again. 

        Sharp Shot and Cupcake gunned down the ponies still trying to push through the door. Fleethoof turned on the others who had made the surge, dropping one with a short volley of shots. Blood splattered from the wounds, and most remarkably to the captain, it was the same viscid blue gore he had come to recognize. These ponies were those horrifying creatures as well. 

        Sure enough, a few moments after each one had been killed, their images began to shift and change back into their natural forms in short bursts of greenish fire. 

        Chaim grunted as he managed to land a punch to the pony’s stomach twice, and then flip him to the floor. The Re'emian reversed the pin, holding the stallion down on his stomach and wrapping his hooves around the pony’s neck. The stallion cried out, but was swiftly silenced when Chaim grabbed the pony’s head and twisted his hooves in opposite directions, snapping his foe’s spinal column like a dry twig. 

        He panted lightly, snatching up his weapon again—and then the pony corpse began to change back. The Re'emian yelped and leapt backwards in fear as the body caught fire beneath him, singeing the underside of his belly and earning a hearty laugh from Sharp Shot and Cupcake. 

        Blue blood had begun to pool and spread across the floors, and was spattered across the walls and bookcases. Yet, despite the casualties suffered, the creatures just continued to swarm up after them from somewhere. 

        Where did they all come from?! Fleethoof thought as he killed another enemy trying to fight her way into the study. 

        His mental pondering was interrupted when a force sent him reeling. He could feel cold, smooth legs wrapping around his neck from behind, squeezing into his windpipe. Giving a choking gasp, he struggled against his attacker, but the enemy refused to let go. From the other side of the room, he could hear Chitin laughing at them. 

        His mind shooting straight back to his training, Fleethoof brought his hoof back, jamming the crook of his leg into his opponent’s stomach as hard as he could. He felt the resilient force behind him buckle a little, and that was all it took. Fleethoof threw the weight of his body backwards, sending both of them stumbling back and crashing into the wall with as much force as he could muster. 

        The legs disappeared from his neck, and Fleethoof’s lungs filled with soothing air. He stumbled forward a couple of steps and turned, facing off with the creature that had attacked him. The insect-like equine hissed as it got back to its hooves, and bum-rushed the captain. This time, Fleethoof was ready, and caught the creature with a grapple up underneath its legs. He used the momentum of the charging creature to flip it over onto the floor. 

        In one fluid motion, Fleethoof spun and drew his knife from its sheath. Bringing the deadly blade about, he dropped down onto the creature, aiming for the thing’s chest. He didn’t notice his enemy’s jagged horn illuminate with a green aura. The creature pulled a book from the closest cabinet, bringing it across itself just as the knife came down, stabbing firmly through the leather-bound book and sticking in the pages. 

        Before he could even contemplate drawing the blade back out, the book was flung magically across the study. The moment the book disappeared, the horrific face of the creature greeted Fleethoof as it snarled and lunged at the stallion. Fleethoof cried out in surprise as he was taken back down to the floor, struggling against the abomination’s strength. Hissing and growling like a wild animal, the creature kept lunging at the pegasus’ throat again and again, snapping its dangerously sharp teeth mere inches away from his tender flesh. 

        Fleethoof’s heart raced in his chest, desperately trying to rush oxygen-rich blood and adrenaline to his struggling muscles, frantically fighting for survival. He could feel the heat of his opponent’s breath on his neck and the creature’s drool dripping onto his skin. Those empty blue eyes burned with single-minded determination: to kill him. 

        With a roar of defiance, Fleethoof pushed the creature back a little more, just enough to get some leverage in his position. And then he performed the only action he could in his position. He let the creature fall back down closer to him, all while simultaneously bringing his head upward, smacking his skull against the monster’s. 

        Stars blinded Fleethoof, and his vision blacked out for a moment. He heard the thing atop of him cry out in pain, and felt the weight lessen on his chest. His vision returned a moment later, blurred, but functional. The creature was still above him, shaking its head in a pained daze. Fleethoof wasted no time in drawing his pistol and putting half a dozen shots into his enemy’s chest. The creature gave a short spasm, and flopped backwards. Kicking it off, Fleethoof rolled to his stomach and began popping off rounds from his prone position into the remaining ponies and unidentified creatures in the study until his magazine went dry. 

        The windows of the study suddenly exploded inward with a spray of glass and shrapnel, startling the fighters within. Several pegasus ponies had dove into the room from outside, and instantly entered the fray to defend Chitin. Rolling across the floor, Fleethoof grabbed his fallen rifle and flipped over to his back. A pegasus lunged through the air towards him. Fleethoof squeezed off several shots into his would-be attacker, watching it flip limply through the air and tumble across the floor upon impact. Still on his back, the crimson stallion began picking his targets across the room, firing whenever he had a clean center-mass shot. 

        Across the room, Adira shot out a pony’s knee, watching her collapse to the floor, and then send a second bullet through the back of her skull, watching her body collapse with a splatter of blue blood. She smirked, and turned to face a unicorn pointing a handgun at her chest. The unicorn smirked, and cocked the hammer. Before she could squeeze the trigger, the Re'emian had brought a hind leg around, brutally knocking the gun from her grasp in the blink of an eye—and then the agent spun in perfect momentum, bringing her other leg around into the unicorn’s face. 

        The pony groaned and recoiled from the strike, right into the hoof of Chaim. The stallion’s blow sent her reeling back towards Adira. The Re'emian mare caught her opponent and landed a blow low, beneath the unicorn’s ribs. The air knocked from her lungs, she doubled over with a gasping rattle. A quick hoof strike under the chin sent her stumbling back into the hooves of Adira’s partner, holding the stunned mare steady. The Mossad agents worked in perfect sync, and the last thing the mare saw was the Re'emian female pull a small blade and with a rapid flourish, sliced clean through her throat. 

        Chaim dropped the exsanguinating pony to the floor and exchanged a nod with his sister. Adira grinned, and pivoted in place, using the motion to ready her stance as she threw her knife through the air, straight into the back of another of the creatures. The monster let out a noise like air being released from a balloon, and crumpled to the floor in a heap, clearly dead. With one last burst from Valiant, the final opponent was killed, and the study was covered in blood, bodies, and brass. 

        Breathing hard and covered in a mixture of blood and sweat, Fleethoof got back up to his hooves. His heart was racing so fast, still coming down from his combat high, and he couldn’t feel anything. His body had gone completely numb. He allowed his eyes to roam around the room, taking in the sight of the gory battlefield, and making sure his friends were all right. Other than looking as worn and breathless as he felt, everypony seemed to be intact. A few bruises and cuts, but nothing serious. 

        “Somepony must have heard the fighting by now…” he said between deep, steady inhales and exhales. “The Guard is probably on their way up now…” 

        Sharp Shot chuckled weakly, looking at the mess they had made. “How the fuck are we going to explain this one to them, boss?” 

        “We can take care of that.” All eyes turned to Chaim as the Re'emian spoke up. “Do not fret. My sister and I have been well trained in the art of cover ups.” 

        “You’re going to hide all of this…?” asked a highly skeptical Fleethoof. Chaim nodded proudly. “All right then, it’s all yours.” 

        The pony smiled widely, and left the study with Adira close behind. Behind him, Fleethoof heard the beginnings of a deep, low, rumbling chuckle. His ear twitched at the sound as he slowly turned to face Chitin. The creature sat slouched back in his seat, smiling the most cruel grin Fleethoof could have imagined. 

        “Well, it looks like the ponies have a little fight in them… Bravo… I would applaud your actions, but I’m afraid I’m a little ‘tied up’…” 

        Fleethoof scowled, and slowly progressed towards the prisoner. “Consider this a small recompense for what you’ve done.” 

        “How much does it hurt, pony, knowing we so easily slipped past your radar? Does it sting?” Chitin taunted and jeered. “I bet it burns knowing that my subordinate did so much damage and you failed to even notice. It will bring me great solace in my cell knowing that though I fall, I brought a hammer down on your ‘military might’ and revealed you for what you really are, and that Glider has taken enough lives to make you shiver with anger. And Silence will come and avenge our fall. You cannot stop Silence. Silence is everywhere, and Silence cannot be killed!” 

        The dark blue eyes of the pegasus before him scorched with fury and abhorrence. His hooves pressed hard against the arms of the chair, quivering as he held himself back with everything he had. The two held an intense stare for a long while. Something was burning in the soldier’s eyes, like a lingering threat, and Chitin could see the predator inside the pony waiting patiently to strike. 

        And then something snapped in those sapphire orbs. Fleethoof had made up his mind. 

        “Captain,” Valiant said after the silence had lapsed into the point of becoming uncomfortable. “We have to go. The Guard will be here any moment. We can’t let them see this.” 

        No response came from the silent captain. 

        “…Captain…?” 

        “Go…” 

        Valiant’s brow lowered in confusion. “Excuse me, Captain?” 

        “Go… Get out. All of you. I’ll be down with the prisoner shortly.” 

        Every member of Skyfall exchanged worried, puzzled looks of bewilderment. Valiant looked uneasy by his officer’s response. 

        “Are you sure, boss?” asked Sharp hesitantly to ensure they had heard him correctly. 

        Fleethoof turned his head in their direction just a fraction and dropped his head in a half nod. “Go.” 

        Still put off by the abruptness and unusual request of their leader, the five ponies gathered their equipment and slowly made their way back downstairs. Valiant lingered by the door for a moment, opening his mouth in the beginnings of a statement—but no words left him. He didn’t know what Fleethoof was planning, but he trusted him. He left without a peep. 

        Chitin was now alone with Fleethoof. 





        Fleethoof waited until he heard the hoofsteps on the stairs disappear into the silence of the night before acting. Turning around, he made a slow lap around the study, extinguishing the lamps that had been illuminating the room, until just one on the desks remained lit. 

        From Chitin’s position, bathed in the warm glow, the soldier was lost to the darkness. The light right in front of him messed with his ability to see into the dark. He could still see the silhouette of the pony, standing in front of the far window. He lingered there for a while, perfectly still and quiet, wrapped in a shroud of solid black. And then he vanished into the night again. 

        Chitin listened, straining his eardrums to hear each subtle hooffall across the hardwood floor. Second by second, in perfect time, the steps came closer and closer. Natural reflexive instinct dictated the villain’s physical reaction. His heart rate picked up, and his breathing became shallow while he struggled to find the threat in the dark. 

        “What is this?” he asked, shouting at the ghost in the night. “Do you think you can scare me into talking? It won't do you any good!” 

        He didn’t receive a response. The steps continued to cross the floor ominously. And then Fleethoof stepped into the light, forming out of pure shadow before the bound creature. The hard light cast dark, menacing shadows across the pony’s face, his eyes burning like blue fire as they bore into Chitin’s skull. In the new light, the pony no longer looked like a poster child for the Equestrian Army, but more like a cold, remorseless assassin. 

        The predator within him had emerged. 

        “You sent your friends away so you could intimidate me?” Chitin scoffed. “It’s not working, pegasus.” 

        “I’m not here to threaten you, Chitin,” said Fleethoof, muttering his words and setting his rifle down on the desk. “I sent my team away because I didn’t want them to see what I was about to do.” 

        A thrill of actual fear struck Chitin’s heart, though he hid it behind a mocking façade. “And what, pray tell, is that?” 

        Fleethoof moved so fast, Chitin didn’t even see the attack coming. The next thing he knew, he was spinning around in his chair again, his face stinging and aching where the pony had hit him. Fleethoof caught the chair in motion, stopping it to face him again as Chitin reoriented himself. 

        “That was for Nightflash,” he growled roughly, his voice lowered, forewarning of the danger Chitin was in. 

        Chitin shook his head and spat a mouthful of blood out across the floor. His narrowed gaze turned to glower at the pony that had struck him. 

        "You have some nerve, pegasus..."  

        Another blow sent the creature spinning in the opposite direction for a few rotations. Fleethoof caught him again, eyeing the scoundrel as his head wobbled on his shoulders, clearly concussed by now. Slowly, the pony circled around the bound captive, like a shark. He had gotten all that he was going to get from this monster. But he was still far from done with him. 

        "That was for Spitfire." 

        Chitin blinked back the stars and spots in his vision, trying to tune out the ringing in his head. A dull ache was splitting the back of his skull. He direly tried to find the pony again, even as he heard him circling around behind him. He barely noticed when the pony’s leg came up, bucking him hard in the chest and knocking him backwards onto the floor. Chitin grunted and groaned as he was knocked breathless, staring up at the dark ceiling overhead. In a split second, Fleethoof was over him again, pressing his hoof to his chest to hold him in place. The pressure left a throbbing pain where he had been kicked. 

        All at once, Chitin began to realize that Fleethoof no longer had any intention of taking him into custody. He wasn't going to give the creature a second chance at life in a cozy cell for however many years he existed in this world. He was out for revenge—to repay the blood that had been spilled. The pony was going to murder him. 

        “That was for Harp Strings. And this…” Fleethoof drew his pistol, pointing it down at Chitin’s head. “This is for the soldiers you had killed. And for Lightning Strike. We will find Glider, and we will get him back, one way or another. You will never harm another pony again. Mark my words.” 

        Chitin opened his mouth, beginning to speak. Fleethoof never gave him that opportunity. He squeezed the trigger, feeling the gun kick in his practiced hoof as the suppressed round tore through the creature’s thick head with a splatter of blue gore and brain matter. 

        Standing in the perpetual silence, Fleethoof stared down at the body beneath his hooves. He focused on his breathing. In, and out. In, and out. It kept his mind from thinking about what he had just done. He could feel the tingling numbness returning to his limbs. He had just executed an unarmed prisoner. He had murdered Chitin. 

        It was justified though… wasn’t it? He had been a great enemy and danger to Equestria. Leaving him alive was a massive gamble with innocent lives. But he had been restrained. He hadn’t fought. Fleethoof had just… killed him. The debate tore through his brain, making him feel lightheaded and dizzy. Even deep breaths couldn’t steady him. 

        Swallowing back the bile threatening to rise in his throat, Fleethoof closed his eyes, and went far, far away. He saw Canterlot, with Shining Armor and Cadance waiting for him to return. He was the majestic city that had become his home, and how it would be decorated for Hearth’s Warming. He pictured visiting his family in Cloudsdale for the holidays. He did miss that city… He thought of how the soldiers, especially his Marines, would be spending their holidays. He wondered how Midnight was doing with them. 

        And then he opened his eyes again, and the body was still there. Dark, sticky blood had begun to pool beneath his head. The deed had been done. But at least he didn’t feel frozen in place anymore. He swallowed back a lump in his throat and took one, last deep breath. It was difficult to even do that. 

        Fleethoof put one more round into Chitin’s chest, right where he knew the heart would be on a pony, just to make sure the kill was confirmed. The body jerked slightly as the round impacted the flesh, but otherwise remained still and lifeless. Then he grabbed his rifle, and left the study, never looking back. Each step took extraordinary strength just to move, as his body had suddenly seemed to weigh a ton. The trek downstairs seemed to take an eternity in the darkness with his thoughts. Try as he might, he couldn’t quiet all of them. 

        I did the right thing… he told himself over and over again, half walking, half stumbling down each step. I did the right thing… I did the right thing…

        Everypony was waiting for him at the foot of the last staircase. He could see the confused looks on Skyfall’s faces through his night vision goggles when he came down alone. 

        “Where’s Chitin?” Valiant asked, starting to head up the stairs to retrieve the captive. 

        “Don’t bother,” Fleethoof said tersely, stopping the sergeant dead in his tracks. “We’re leaving—now. Let’s go.” 

        Nopony spoke, none daring to refute their captain’s command. The ponies followed in line behind Fleethoof out to the street, following the old, snow-covered cobblestone road away from the house. Once they were far enough away, Fleethoof risked a glance over his shoulder at the building—and a question struck him. 

        “I thought you said you were going to handle the cover up?” he asked Chaim, perplexed. “How were you doing that, exactly?” 

        Chaim didn’t answer. He simply gave the pony a cryptic smirk, and continued walking past him. 

        A few moments later, the house burst into flames as a small explosion shattered the silence. Skyfall hit the snow on reflex, turning to the burning building as the fire engulfed it in a matter of moments. Fleethoof had to tear his night vision off, the bright inferno blinding him otherwise. His jaw went slack, hanging open as he stared in astonishment. 

        “What was—?” 

        “Oh dear, it looks like they must have had a gas leak,” Chaim observed from afar, his voice sickeningly nonchalant and sweetly innocent. “Those are very dangerous hazards, you know. That’s why you always need to make sure your stoves aren't leaking, especially when burning oil lamps. I don’t think anything will be recovered from that. Fire cleanses all, you know.” 

        Although extreme as they were, Fleethoof felt a rush of cool, soothing relief hit him like an ocean wave from the Re'emians’ methods. Those creatures would burn with the house, and the Guard would be none the wiser. This was a matter he wanted to keep quiet until the princesses told him what was happening, and deemed it safe to declassify. 

        “So, about that prisoner…” Adira said, casting a knowing glance to the downed pegasus. 

        Fleethoof scowled and bit at his lip. “I’m no assassin.” 

        “Of course not… And neither are we.” 

        As much as Fleethoof had resented the ideals The Mossad practiced, he knew their logic applied more than his ethics did in this situation. He had killed Chitin to defend his home, the same way they murdered to preserve Re'em. But he had also killed in cold blood, out of bitter rage and a desire for revenge. His emotions had taken precedent at the time, not logic. He had rebuked them before. Now he was like them. It was a strange feeling… one he wasn’t sure how to process just yet. 

        “Back to the station, everypony, before we’re caught,” he ordered calmly, collecting himself again. “I think it’s time we started looking for Glider and Strike.” 

        In moments, the neighboring residents had rushed out to the streets to see what had transpired. The fire came as a terrible shock to everypony. Nopony stepped forward to take any action, though, too startled to react. Slowly, more ponies came to investigate, and by then, the house was little more than a massive bonfire. 

        By the time the Oxford Guard arrived at the reported scene, the house had been reduced to a smoldering skeleton. Cinder and ash was all that remained, and the cause of the fire was impossible to determine. Focused entirely on the destroyed building, nopony noticed the stars and moon steadily becoming visible again overhead—or the hoofprints fading into the snowy ground, a trail left by vanished ghosts. 
	

> Chapter 16: Reflection ♫
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	A large explosion kicked dust and debris skyward, 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 a low wall, narrowly dodging a burst of gunfire aimed 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—” 

        The pegasus 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 his visor, Fleethoof could see the pony’s face, glaring with nothing short of pure malice and resentment down at him. 

        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. 

        The armored enemy lifted his hoof and brought it down onto 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’s lungs 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 a gun was aimed right at his forehead. 

        “Captain!” 

        Bang!





        In a flurry of sheets, Midnight Dasher sprung up in her bed, gasping sharply and breathing hard. Sweat dampened her forehead and her heart was racing in her chest. For a moment, she sat in bed, staring blankly at the plain white sheets balled up in her lap, trying to get a grasp on herself and figure out what was going on. 

        In the dim light, she looked around her surroundings. It was the barracks—not the ones she was used to. That’s right, she was still in Canterlot, bunking with the Royal Guard. A few deep breaths later and she had gotten her panting under control again, wiping her face off with a hoof. 

        It had been years since she’d last had a nightmare that had actually scared her awake. But what was strangest about the dream wasn’t that she didn’t understand a lick of what was going on in it, but because of how real it had felt. She could still feel the tingling on her coat from where the fire had scorched the ponies, and her ears rang with distant gunshots. 

        The Marines—her Marines—they had been in danger. They were getting killed by ponies she didn’t even recognize. And Fleethoof… He had been in mortal danger. She’d seen him about to be… 

        Midnight swallowed hard, her parched throat aching in the warm barracks. She covered her face with her hooves, letting herself come back down to reality. 

        A dream… Just a dream… All just a bad dream…

        In the stillness of the early morning, Midnight sat in silence, letting her thoughts roam free, back to happier places to get her mind off the nightmare. She didn’t feel willing enough to dare try and get back to sleep after that ordeal. Midnight wrapped her hooves around her legs, curling up on herself while trying to keep from wondering why she was having nightmares about her friends dying. 

        In amongst her time killing, the Thestral glanced up at the clock above the door. It was dawn. Hot, early morning sunlight had begun to stream through the blinds in the barracks, signaling the coming day. The Marines would be getting up soon, and she had to be ready to meet them. 

        With a stretch of her hooves, she leapt down to the floor and stretched out her lithe, taut body from neck to tail. The air was stuffy, and uncomfortably hot. Although it staved off the winter cold, it did little to help the sweat stuck to her matted fur and mane. Midnight trudged slowly across the barracks and into the bathroom, finding the nearest shower and starting it while she grabbed a towel. 

        The cold water hit her body like diving into a river on a hot summer’s day. A sigh slipped from her lips, enjoying the soothing sensation of the water running down her body, her mane hanging down over her face as the grime was washed away. It reminded the mare of her home, and a smile touched her lips. Lost in her own little world, the nightmare was soon forgotten. 

        Once she had soaked completely through, Midnight reached for the only bottle in the showers: an unlabeled brand of generic wash. The moment she poured some against her skin, the heady scent of fresh peaches wafted into her nose. Her subtle smile grew to a wide grin. It reminded her of the surly captain she had grown so fond of bothering. And in the same moment, Midnight’s good mood was shattered. 

        Her mind snapped back to her nightmare. Fleethoof had been in danger—vivid, real danger, in some place she didn’t recognize. Although it was all in her head, Midnight just couldn’t shake the sensation of dread she got when she thought about it. What if it wasn’t just a dream? What if he really was in trouble? 

        But wait… The Marines were there too… And they haven’t left Canterlot, so obviously it’s not real, she realized, assuaging her fears as she stepped out of the water to dry herself off. 

        That was when Midnight heard the marching hooves outside the barracks. 

        Confused, the bat pony trotted quickly across the barracks and outside, not even bothering to throw her armor on. She had to investigate that sound. It was still too early for the Guard to be up yet to change shifts, so those had to be her Marines. Sure enough, as she threw the door open and stepped out into the frigid December morning, she saw one of her Marine platoons in full uniform and gear marching out of the barracks, towards the city of Canterlot. 

        Stunned for a moment, all Midnight Dasher could do was watch as the soldiers left. Walking along beside the unit was Shining Armor, seeing the soldiers off. Caught between a mixture of uncertainty and irritation, the Lunar Guard ran to catch up to the Captain of the Guard. 

        “Captain Armor! Captain Armor!” she called out as she drew near, catching Shining Armor's attention. “What’s going on? Where are you taking the Marines?” 

        “They’re being shipped off for their first tour of duty,” said Shining Armor, and then looked over the au natural pony. “Where’s your armor, Corporal?” 

        Midnight rolled her eyes and huffed. “I didn’t put it on yet. I wanted to know what was going on. Where are they being sent to?” 

        “Saddle Arabia, to reinforce our garrison there until we can send some of our retrained Royal Guards back in their place. It’s just for a short time, nothing too exciting, and really not worth getting bent out of shape over.” 

        “But they’re my responsibility. Why wasn’t I told?” 

        Shining Armor sighed softly. “I’ll be honest, it was a last minute decision. We got some good intel and we decided to run with it. I think Saddle Arabia’s gonna need the extra troops.” 

        “Well then, I’m going with them,” Midnight said, turning around to retrieve her armor from the barracks. 

        “No, you’re not, Corporal Dasher.” 

        Shining Armor's words froze her in mid-stride. She turned on her hooves in place and trotted back up alongside the captain, casting an irked stare at him. 

        “Why not?” 

        “Because you’re needed here, not there.” Shining Armor’s answer was so simple, she knew there had to be more to it. 

        “One more gun won’t hurt to have.” 

        “You’re staying here.” Again, her attempts to leave had been thwarted by the evil mastermind. 

        “But I’m pretty much a part of the Marines! I can fight with them!” she pleaded. 

        “But you aren’t. You’re still a Lunar Guard, and you’re still only on lease from Fort Shadow, so I can’t go sending you off to another part of the world. I’m sorry, Corporal, but I can’t,” Shining apologized, offering a reassuring smile. “Besides, you still have another platoon of Marines here you have to look out for.” 

        Again, Midnight huffed defiantly and pouted. To say she was unhappy with this turn of events would have been an insulting understatement. Even though she had been denied, she continued to follow the soldiers all the way down to the train station. If she wasn’t going to be allowed to join them, she was at least going to see them off. 

        A lot of the Marines looked eager and ready to get going. They wanted to go into battle, to prove their newfound skills to the other soldiers. Their mood was infectious to the antsy mare as she stood beside Shining Armor on the platform. Steam hissed from the train as it idled at the station, waiting as the fifty armed ponies filed into the cars. 

        “So where are they going in Saddle Arabia?” asked Midnight, trying to make small talk with the officer beside her, and to dig for a little latent information. 

        “We have a base down there to help the Arabians out if they need us,” Shining Armor replied, watching the ponies climb aboard the train. “They’re not going to war or anything. Just bulking up our defenses.” 

        “Do our defenses need to be bulked up for any reason?” 

        Shining shrugged nonchalantly. “It can’t hurt, right?” 

        Midnight Dasher sighed and shuffled her hooves against the wooden platform. How she wished she could be going with them instead of getting left behind… She never got to go anywhere. 

        “What’s Saddle Arabia like?” she asked passively. 

        That question seemed to throw Shining Armor for a loop, as he took a moment to ponder the answer. “It’s hot year round, dry, arid, very sunny…” 

        Midnight physically felt her expression drop with her heart as it sank into her stomach. “Is it like a desert?” 

        “Yeah, it’s mostly desert down there. If it isn’t dunes, it’s dry, sandy rock and canyons.” 

        Oh no… Midnight worried—far too late. 

        The whistle on the train blared, tearing through the stillness of the early morning, and the train began its departure from Canterlot. Some of the Marines were cheering and hollering, some waving to Shining Armor and Midnight. They looked ecstatic to be getting out of the city. 

        As she watched them leave, all Midnight could feel was a crippling wave of nausea and dismay. 





        Oxford was expectedly quiet the next morning. Fleethoof sat in stony silence, leaning against the wall of the train station, just listening to nothing but the gentle breeze from the coast ripple over the town. It tousled his golden mane softly while he stared at the train tracks at the other side of the platform. 

        Further down the line, Valiant and Sharp Shot sat together, playing some sort of card game. Cupcake was with Blue and Flash, talking quietly amongst themselves while eating a light breakfast. He didn’t know where the Re'emians had gotten to, but he didn’t care anymore. Where they were going, the dynamic duo of death couldn’t follow. 

        Fleethoof’s mind was otherwise engaged regardless. Dark thoughts from the night before lingered at the forefront of his mind. They had kept him from sleep, not that he would have gotten much out in the cold regardless. He had committed a murder; he had come to terms with this. What he was still having difficulty justifying to himself was if he would do it again. He already knew the answer, but it didn’t make him feel as righteous as he held his morals to be. 

        It plagued his conscience and soul. He was supposed to be the shining star of his team, the example they could look to in a leader. Now he could feel this dark streak running through him as he reflected on the events of the last few days. He didn’t know where this side of him had come from, or if it had just always been buried away, waiting for the right time to unleash and cut the creature loose. 

        If there was any consolation to rationalize his questionable behavior, it was that Nightflash had been recovered, and was well on his way back home. Skyfall had gotten the wounded soldier on the first train back to Canterlot. By now he would be halfway to Ponyville. They had saved one life for certain, and countless others by association. 

        So why did he still feel like a criminal? 

        The sound of something weighty collapsing beside him nearly made the pony jump, his senses still wound tight from the night before. It was the darker of the Re'emians—the stallion, Chaim. He gave a passive smile to Fleethoof, an expression crossed between amusement and support strangely mixing in his emerald green eyes. 

        “Did I startle you, Equestrian?” 

        Fleethoof scoffed and looked away, staring blankly off into space. “Hardly, Re'emian.” 

        There was a brief pause between Chaim’s next sentence. “I recognize that look. It’s the gaze of a stallion with guilty blood on his hooves.” 

        “What do you want?” snapped Fleethoof impatiently, already growing tired of the jesting before it had even begun. 

        “I do not like you, Equestrian—Captain or not. And it is no secret that you do not enjoy my presence either,” he said, beginning what Fleethoof expected would be a long speech. “But I respect your command, and your abilities. I remember what that first kill is like… It haunts you, like a phantom in your mind, and you begin to wonder if there was any way you could have handled things differently. You seek refuge in the solace that perhaps there was another way, when in your heart you know there wasn’t.” 

        “The point,” Fleethoof muttered harshly under his breath. “Get to it.” 

        “The point I am making is this: do not cause your heart to waver in its resolution. You have sworn your allegiances, and your duty requires it. No matter what you do, there will always be some way to defend it, and some way to damn it. Trust your instincts—they will not lead you astray. Killing for a cause might make you a villain to some, and a hero to others. Shades of gray paint this world of ours, and you cast yourself as light or dark as you wish. What matters is how you interpret your actions and how you live with the consequences.” 

        Fleethoof was pleasantly surprised by the depth of Chaim's speech. It reassured him, taking him aback initially. For all the damnation Equestrian history threw onto the Re'emians, their creed was respectable. Fight loyally, and it does not matter what the other factions think of you. What matters is how you perceive yourself to your allies. 

        “Thank you, Chaim,” he said sincerely, watching the soft cloud his warm breath left in the air dissipate. 

        “Do not worry, Captain. The first kill is always the hardest. It gets easier.” 

        Fleethoof chuckled. “Who said I’m going to keep borderline murdering?” 

        “You did, by not resigning as soon as you were offered the job.” 

        “You know, it’s almost a shame we have to part so soon. I was just beginning to tolerate you,” Fleethoof teased, half smiling at the stallion beside him. 

        It was Chaim’s turn to laugh now. “Something tells me two Re'emians in Saddle Arabia would not make the best teammates to have at your side. But the sentiment is appreciated. Are you certain there is nothing I can do to persuade you to fight for Re'em? You could truly put your talents to the test and help your long-lost brothers.” 

        “I’m fairly sure Princess Celestia would banish me to the Everfree Forest for dragging Equestria into a war.” 

        Both ponies chuckled amongst themselves as they sat in wait on the station platform. To any outside observer, the sight of an Equestrian pegasus and Re'emian Earth pony would have been a spectacle on its own. To the two operators, it was considered cooperation. 

        “Why do you fight Saddle Arabia?” Fleethoof asked after a few moments of tranquil quiet, watching the pony’s head turn in his direction again. “Besides the obvious rivalry, why do you do it? What does a lifetime of war promise you?” 

        “Honestly?” Fleethoof nodded to Chaim. “Peace. It promises peace. After all, there is no such thing as a victimless war..." 

        Chaim took a deep breath, staring blankly off into the sky, speaking softly. “What your friend said on the train, about Ashkelon… I was there when it was burned to the ground. I lived there, with my wife and foal. We had been in the city less than a year when the war was resumed. My beloved and I chose Ashkelon to raise a family because it was far from the hot zones—but the Arabians decided that made it the perfect target… 

        “I worked for a private contracting agency back then. Mercenaries, as you call them, but with the support of the government behind us, not these guns for hire you see running around like animals. In the early hours of the morning, the Arabians began to firebomb the city. There was no warning, no time to escape, and no mercy… My brothers and sisters and I fought with all of our strength, but we were gravely outnumbered and outgunned. I was still very young, and very inexperienced, and even my courage could not stop the onslaught those horses reigned down on us.” 

        The stallion paused, catching his breath and swallowing hard. Although Fleethoof couldn’t be sure, it almost looked like the Mossad agent had a stray tear in the corner of his eye. 

        “My house was burned to cinders by a squad of Arabian demolitionists—with my family inside. I butchered those monsters, but I was too late to save the ones I loved… I listened to their shrieks while my brothers had to drag me away, screaming and fighting to do anything. They did the right thing. If I had gone in, I would have died as well. But it did not matter. I lost my world that day. So I vowed to take away the Arabians’.” 

        Fleethoof didn’t know what to say. How would somepony even go about responding to a story like that? In his time in the military, he had witnessed some gruesome, barbaric practices, but not even in his worst nightmares could he imagine the torment of watching and listening to everything you cared about die. 

        “What happened then?” 

        “After the Arabians pulled back and Ashkelon burned, those of us that survived fled to Tail Aviv. I met up with my sister. Adira had just joined the Mossad and encouraged me to do the same. I followed her advice, and they made me into the stallion I am now.” Chaim smiled a little. “Ashkelon is still being rebuilt, but the Arabians learned that we don’t get pushed without pushing back.” 

        “I’m sorry, Chaim,” said Fleethoof, making an earnest attempt at sympathy, though not entirely sure what else to say at that moment. 

        “It is in the past, and it cannot be reversed, no matter how painful,” the Re'emian murmured sagely, then looked to the pony beside him with a forced smile. “But this is not the time to wallow in memories. Today is the day for reparations, for both Re'em and Equestria. We return to a war, and you will fight to prevent one.” 

        Fleethoof smirked indomitably and nodded. 

        “And you will be going into your war with this.” From his single saddlebag, Chaim produced a small mahogany box covered in intricate markings and symbols. 

        The stallion set the box in between the two, then pushed it towards the captain. Curiously puzzled, Fleethoof eyed the box cautiously, but ended up lifting it anyway. He shook it in midair, listening to something shuffling and shifting about inside. Chaim groaned and rolled his eyes. 

        “I promise you, it is not a trap. Just open it, you stupid pony.” 

        Flaring his nostrils and snorting jokingly, Fleethoof pulled the top off. Inside the ornately decorated container lay a leather armguard, simple yet elegant in appearance and craft. He reached inside and slowly pulled the accessory out, studying it closely in the sunlight. The leather smelled fresh, and was soft to the touch, yet hardened and solid in form. Most strikingly, the insignia of Skyfall had been branded into the center of the bracer's leather. 

        “This is a gift from the Mossad to you, Captain of Skyfall,” Chaim said as he examined his gift. “It was intended to be a bribe to get you to fight for our cause, but I see a more honorary use for it. Traditionally, in the Mossad, each pony only receives these after their first confirmed assassination to prove their merit to the organization. I think it is fitting, seeing as you just made your first kill.” 

        “It’s… wow. I almost don’t want to wear it, it’s so lovely.” 

        “It’s far more than just aesthetics, Captain Fleethoof.” Chaim grinned, and took it from the pony to demonstrate. “There is a pressure switch inside the armguard that works a spring mechanism. You simply flex your hoof like so…” 

        Chaim exhibited the simple technique to Fleethoof, and something small shot out of the underside of the bracer. Chaim caught it, and held it out to the pegasus. 

        “…And out pops a hidden switchblade, ready for battle. Should you ever need to smuggle a surreptitious weapon somewhere, or just like having a little something extra on you, you always have a blade on hoof.” 

        Pressing the side of the knife, Chaim popped the blade out for Fleethoof to see. The blade itself was a little over four inches in length, and shone bright silver in the light. Without even having to touch it, Fleethoof could see that it looked wickedly sharp, and designed for quick, precise kills. 

        “Believe me, if you think Arabian steel is something of legend, you haven’t handled the craft of Re'emian smiths. When you’re done, simply push the blade back in like so…” Again, Chaim demonstrated the method to Fleethoof, and then slid the folded knife back into its home in the armguard with a soft snap. “And it returns to its place like so.” 

        “You Re'emians have some dangerous technology…” Fleethoof noted with a low chuckle. Chaim smirked proudly. 

        “Centuries of endless warfare will do that to a culture.” 

        Taking the armguard back, Fleethoof slid it on his right hoof and tightened the straps with his teeth. It fit like a glove. He tested out the pressure switch, and then the knife, still amazed by how simple yet effective such a design was. It was amazing no other culture had developed such a weapon yet. 

        Down the line, the sound of a train horn screaming caught the eight ponies’ attention. One of the two groups would be leaving. A glance up at the timetable on the wall confirmed that the train was bound for Saddle Arabia. 

        “Thank you, Chaim,” Fleethoof said once more, shaking hooves with the stallion as the ponies approached the edge of the platform. “I won’t say it’s been a pleasure, but it’s been an experience. I’m sorry we have to say goodbye so soon.” 

        “Do not give it any thought, for it was no pleasure working with you deluded Equestrians either.” Chaim permitted a slight, jesting smile to touch his face. “In Re'em, we do not say goodbye to our friends. We will see you again in another time, Captain Fleethoof. Until then, may fortune favor your path.” 

        “Take care, and stay safe. You as well, Adira. Keep an eye on your brother.” 

        Adira laughed softly, nudging the shoulder of her younger brother beside her. “Do not fret, I’ve been keeping a watchful gaze on him since he was a foal. Fight well, Fleethoof, and do not forget about us. Time will reunite us again someday.” 

        The train screeched stridently as the brakes kicked in, slowing the locomotive down to a stop at Oxford Station. The doors to the cars opened, permitting a few ponies to disembark while Skyfall climbed aboard. Lingering outside the car, Fleethoof glanced back at the two Re'emians standing a ways away, watching the ponies. 

        With a half-cocked grin, Fleethoof saluted them. Chaim laughed and saluted him back, while Adira waved them off. He boarded the train just before the doors closed, and with another blare from the whistle, the train departed, bound for the land of endless sand and sun. 

        They were getting so close to Union, Fleethoof could almost see the end. 
	

> Chapter 17: Action
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The first sign that he had been at this process for far too long came in the form of blurred words. Sentences began to run on into long, endless blobs of black ink on each page, and it became nearly impossible to focus on anything. Photographs and diagrams made less and less sense over time, until at last, the pony gave in and surrendered to the paperwork. 

        In the quiet of his office, Shining Armor heaved a sigh and tossed the pile of documents hopelessly down onto his desk. The sheets of paper scattered across the surface. The stallion rubbed at his aching temples, exhausted from the bureaucratic nightmare cleaning up Project: Union was turning out to be. Over the past couple of days, he had redacted so much information, he had run three different markers dry, leaving no word penned to paper unmarred by the endless black bars. Photographs were incinerated to hide any involvement, and anything deemed unnecessary was destroyed. All the rest was being shipped to the Royal Archives, to be placed under maximum security till the end of time. 

        Shining glanced up at the clock ticking ostensibly loudly on the far wall, just above the door. It was after midnight already. He had lost track of time in his work, far too busy covering Fleethoof’s back from the prying eyes of anypony that could do damage to his—as well as the Royal Family's—reputation. But now the effort was taking its toll on the Captain of the Guard. All he needed was a break, something to end the mundane monotony of rescinding sensitive information. 

        That interruption came in the form of a soft rapping at his door. 

        Thank Celestia… he thought with relief. He didn’t even care who it was at this time of night. Anything that would take his attention off his work was a welcome guest in his eyes. He would have taken a hostile invasion if it got him off his flank for a few hours. 

        “Come in,” Shining called out, rubbing his tired eyes as the door opened, glancing up to see his visitor. “Cadance!” 

        The princess smiled sweetly as the unicorn shot upright in a heartbeat, feeling a second wind revitalize him almost instantaneously. She strolled up to his desk, noticing the piles of papers strewn haphazardly in front of him. 

        “Been busy much?” she asked ironically, cocking a brow at the state of the stallion’s workroom. 

        “Heh, maybe just a little…” Shining admitted sheepishly, suddenly feeling quite abashed at the state his office was in while he timidly rubbed the back of his neck. “I meant to clean it—really, I did. I just wasn’t expecting any visitors at… one forty-eight.” 

        “Well, I came to see how you were doing, but I think you could use a helping hoof around here.” Cadance smiled as her horn ignited in a pastel blue aura, magically returning some books to their homes in the nearby shelf. 

        “Thanks, Cadance, but it’s really not necessary. It’s my mess, I’ll take care of it.” 

        “Oh Shiny, don’t be so modest. I can see you need a little help. Let me take care of you!” said Cadance, a lyrical quality touching her voice while she neatly stacked some fallen papers on the corner of his desk. 

        “Oh, um… Okay, thanks again.” Shining Armor smiled shyly, trying to put on the best poker face he had. 

        While Cadance strafed around his desk, sorting out the paperwork and other documents, Shining finished striking out every line regarding Project: Union. Try as he might, it was impossible to ignore the lovely alicorn mare as she worked her way around closer to him, constantly stealing glances up at her from over the edge of his work. His face flushed hot as her head turned in his direction again, and the pony pretended to be enthralled in what he was reading—which at this point was a solid block of black bars from header to footer. 

        “What’s got you working so late the day before Hearth’s Warming Eve?” Cadance asked casually, leaning over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of his work. 

        “Oh, it’s not really important,” he lied—badly. 

        “Uh huh… It’s covered in marker.” 

        “Yeah, I did that.” 

        “And you’re sure it’s not important?” 

        Shining gave her a wide, comical grin. “Well, not anymore now that it looks like a foal scribbled over it.” 

        Try as she might, Cadance couldn’t hold back a light, airy laugh at Shining’s tacky remark. She rolled her eyes and picked up the folder the papers had been housed within. She didn’t recognize anything regarding the assignment, but one emblem on the cover rang several bells in the back of her memory. 

        “This is Skyfall’s insignia.” It was a statement, not a question. “Is Fleethoof working on this?” 

        Feeling her prying eyes burning holes into the side of his head, Shining Armor felt trapped. He didn’t know if he should be revealing this sort of information to Cadance, but on the other hoof, there was no way he could lie convincingly to her about it. Chewing on his lip for a moment, he decided to err on the side of honesty than push his luck with any falsehood. 

        “Weeeell… yes and no,” he began, trying to think of the best way to explain it to Cadance without worrying her. “He’s not really involved directly… well, he is now. I mean... Okay, let me start again. It wasn’t his project, but he’s handling it now. Some things went wrong, and he’s making them right again. Cleaning up the flak, so to speak.” 

        Cadance’s stony expression didn’t shift at all, much to the stallion’s dismay. “Is he in danger?” 

        “Aw, c’mon, Cadance, he’s a pro! He can handle himself just fine,” said Shining Armor confidently, hoping to reassure her fears with a characteristic wide, earnest smile. “I’m not worried. He’ll be fine, like always.” 

        “I suppose you’re right. I just worry. He puts himself in such outrageous risks sometimes…” the princess murmured with a sigh, her eyes dropping to the printed insignia on the folder, tracing the outline with her hoof. “But you’re right. He’s a big colt. He’ll be all right. It’s a shame he has to miss Hearth’s Warming though…” 

        With a warm, affectionate smile, Princess Cadance turned her violet eyes towards the Captain of the Guard. “And you shouldn’t be missing it either! I’m sure your family is waiting for you. When was the last time you stepped hoof outside of this stuffy office anyway?” 

        “Uh, that would be… yesterday, technically…” Shining grinned embarrassedly, fighting the rush of blood to his face while his ears folded back against his head. “I’ve been at this for a couple days. I had to get this finished though. This is a matter of national security!” 

        Taking all the papers out of Shining’s grasp with her magic, Cadance tucked them safely away in the folder before setting it on the other side of his desk. Brow wrinkled, the unicorn locked gazes with his princess, who was all but giggling at his expression of befuddlement. 

        “It can wait till after the holidays,” Cadance said adamantly, yet gentle as ever. It was clear this was not up for debate. “Your loved ones can’t. Now come on, Captain. Get up. We’re getting you some food and home for Hearth’s Warming.” 

        Knowing it would be a waste of time to even consider refuting Cadance’s wishes, Shining Armor chuckled and shrugged in defeat. He stretched out his back and legs. The tired muscles ached in protest, but the feeling was too good to be bad. 

        “Yes, your majesty,” he replied in a teasing tone. “I think Donut Joe’s might still be open. Up for a snack and a cup of coffee? My treat.” 

        Shining made a display of slicking his mane back, and holding his hoof out to her with a puff of his chest. It was all too much for the mare to handle, and Cadance burst into a bout of laughter. 

        “Oooh, such a gentlecolt. How could I ever refuse?” she swooned dramatically, making the stallion's face warm beneath his skin. “It would be a pleasure, Shining.” 

        The two ponies made their way to the door, Shining Armor keeping to his courtly namesake and holding it open for the princess. 

        “Do you really think Fleethoof will be all right?” Cadance asked once more, her eyes searching pleadingly into his for comfort. 

        “Come on, this is Fleet we're talking about! I’ll tell you what, I’m so sure of it, I’ll take all three of us out for dinner when he gets back. Consider it my Hearth’s Warming gift to you two.” 

        The stallion’s words, coupled with his characteristically large smile and confident eyes assuaged Cadance’s dread. Nuzzling him gratefully, she slid past him out into the hall. Shining Armor hesitated a moment, letting the feeling return to his legs and the heat drain from his cheeks before following her out. 

        “That, and the donuts, of course…” 





        Fleethoof listened to the distant ringing of bells and chimes from the clock tower looming above Nadira. The warmth of the evening felt alien against his skin, which had grown used to the chilly air of wintry Equestria. Being so far away from home on the holidays felt wrong—but at the same time, it felt strangely like where he was supposed to be. He was never destined to stay home year round. He would probably never settle down, never grow old in a lifetime home, never make friends with lifelong neighbors while watching his foals grow, or pass away peacefully surrounded by loved ones. He was always destined to be fighting, and he'd most likely go down swinging evermore. 

        He was strangely comfortable with this circumstance. 

        Standing quietly alone on the balcony of the palace’s luxurious lounge, staring up at the endless sea of stars above his head, provided the perfect atmosphere for the pony to reflect upon himself and the events that had led to this moment. Skyfall Team had arrived in Saddle Arabia’s capital earlier in the afternoon, but were apprehended almost immediately. It turned out the Arabian guards didn’t take too kindly to strange ponies disembarking a train with weaponry. For the second time in his life, Fleethoof had been unpleasantly detained by the police force. 

        Fortunately, instead of going straight to jail without passing Go, the ponies had been fortunate enough to arouse suspicion with the soldiers, who brought them to the highest level of authority: Crown Prince Malik himself. Although Fleethoof’s intended plan was to leave the monarch out of the loop, he was very grateful when Malik went off the handle on his soldiers, chastising them for arresting ‘the pride of Equestria’s might’ and friends of the crown. They were released without question. 

        However, with liberty came a price, and that accrued spending the night in the prince’s care. Not that he had a lot to complain about. The Arabians treated Skyfall like royalty. They pampered and served them with any request, and they had dined with Malik that evening in a small banquet in their honor. It all made Fleethoof feel very undeserving, but humbled as well. Malik had not forgotten the captain’s efforts to stop the attack on his palace—even if the attack had not been intended for him. 

        Now, as the clock struck midnight, all of Skyfall lay slumbering in the lavishness of the palace’s guest chambers. All save for Captain Fleethoof. He leaned further against the balustrade, staring blankly down at the untouched copper tumbler of coffee in his hoof. The sound of hoofsteps behind him called attention to the Arabian that had joined him out in the fresh air. Fleethoof knew who it was without even a passing glance. 

        “From the legends I recall, ponies enjoyed sleeping through the night,” Prince Malik said with passive humor in his regal voice. “You, Captain, seem to favor its company.” 

        “I always did like the night. It gives me time to think,” he admitted, a pensive, stoic look across his face as he stood blinking up at the canvas of starlight overhead. 

        “Does the life of somepony as youthful as yourself require much critical thought?” 

        Fleethoof scoffed, and chuckled to himself. “You have no idea, your grace.” 

        Malik stepped up alongside the pony, placing his hooves over the railing and looking over the panorama of his kingdom. From the balcony, almost all of Nadira was visible. The city at night was a beautiful scene of shadowed buldings and mixed lights, warmth spilling from homes out into the night. A mild breeze bathed the metropolis in the scents of wildflowers and exotic seasonal fruits. In the security of the capital, it was almost impossible to tell the nation was actively at war. 

        “You have so much life ahead of you, young captain. Do not hasten it with unnecessary burdens of the world,” Malik said, turning to glance at his esteemed guest. “I am glad to see you again, lord of war—but I must inquire. What brings you back to my lands at such a time? Is it not a celebration of love and friendship back in your homeland?” 

        “Yeah, it is. It just turned Hearth’s Warming Eve now, actually. The actual holiday is tomorrow,” said Fleethoof in response, nodding his head sadly. “Unfortunately, those burdens of the world you mentioned are what brought us here.” 

        “You are speaking of the war with Re'em, yes? You needn’t concern yourself with our matters of redemption, my friend. We are handling those barbarians very well.” 

        Fleethoof hesitated, and then replied, “Actually, Prince Malik, it isn’t the war that brought us here… It’s a matter of Equestrian security.” 

        Malik’s brow narrowed in confusion. “La afham. If you do not refer to the war, what other matter could trouble Equestria so much they felt the compulsion to send you to handle it so urgently?” 

        Well, it’s unavoidable now… Fleethoof thought, surrendering with a soft sigh. 

        “A group of our soldiers went rogue, and attacked our settlements,” Fleethoof tried to explain, taking a sip of the bitter brown liquid in his cup, and flinching while he fought his gag reflex from spewing it out immediately. “Dear Celestia, that’s awful. How can you drink this stuff?” 

        “It is an acquired taste. Please, continue your story.” 

        “Anyway, these soldiers are being led on hoof by a traitor, and they’re headed for FOB Sierra Alpha, here in your lands. We’re here to intercept them before they arrive, and clean up this mess quietly. With all due respect, your grace, you weren’t supposed to find out about this. We were supposed to handle this surreptitiously and get in and out without an incident being made.” 

        Malik made a soft humming sound as he considered Fleethoof’s story. “And you avoided taking the train directly to your base to avoid arousing my suspicions?” Fleethoof nodded his head. “Then why send a garrison of troops regardless?” 

        “Say what?” Fleethoof was taken by surprise by this new development. 

        “A day ago, a train bearing fresh soldiers arrived at your base to the west. We simply assumed it was Equestria buffering their defenses should the war turn bloody,” Malik told the pony beside him. “Now I understand. It is to intercept these defective soldiers.” 

        Shining Armor must have sent reinforcements to the base, thought Fleethoof. That would have been helpful to know before we took the train here… Thanks, Shiny…

        “Very well, then Saddle Arabia will pledge troops to help quell this threat,” the prince said resolutely. “You shall not fight this battle on our lands alone.” 

        “That is very kind of you, your grace, but we can’t accept it. We’re more than a match for this band of renegades, and taking any amount of strength from your force risks jeopardizing your war. We can’t have you do that to yourself.” 

        Malik’s face turned to an unreadable expression, sagacious eyes boring into Fleethoof’s. “But you will accept aid from Re'em. Is this so?” 

        The pony’s mouth dropped and his eyes widened. How did Malik know of Adira and Chaim’s involvement? Before he could ask, the Arabian pointed a hoof at the stallion’s leg. 

        “Your armguard. A product of Re'em I recognize well.” 

        “Oh.” Fleethoof bit his lip sheepishly. “There were extenuating circumstances. They aren’t giving us aid, and there are certainly no Re'emians following us through your kingdom, your grace. We wouldn’t risk harming our alliance like that.” 

        “I know you wouldn’t do something so foolish, Captain. But please, if you will not accept a pledge of force, what may we do to assist your endeavor? Re'em has offered their support—allow us to offer the same in return.” 

        Racking his brain as swiftly as possible, Fleethoof scrutinized his thoughts for any answer that would pacify the prince. “Transport to FOB Sierra Alpha would be greatly appreciated, and wouldn’t detract from your battles.” 

        A slow smile spread across Prince Malik’s lips, and a knowing gleam lightened his eyes. 

        “This, we can do for you. Tomorrow at dawn, come to the courtyard, and we shall send you on your way. Bettawfeeq, Captain Fleethoof, and a happy holiday to you.” 

        The sovereign lifted his cup in the air. With a half smile, Fleethoof raised his as well and tapped it gently against the side of his companion’s. Both ponies took a swallow of their drinks. Again, Fleethoof fought another spit-take. 

        “Thank you, Prince Malik. Happy holiday to you too.” 





        “Your grace, this is far too much,” Fleethoof protested as politely as he possibly could. 

        Malik looked genuinely confused. “Whatever do you mean, Captain? You asked for expeditious transport, and I gave you the best in Saddle Arabia—apart from the train, of course.” 

        “Yes, but… your royal carriage?!” 

        Fleethoof, along with the rest of his team, stared with wide eyes and slack jaws at the beautiful, pristine white carriage waiting idly in the courtyard for them. A team of six strong Arabian soldiers were tethered to the front, ready to ride at a moment’s notice. The carriage itself was decorated with ornate symbols and golden trim. The inside was veiled behind rich, vibrant purple silk screens, protecting it from the elements and sunlight. 

        “It’s… beautiful,” said Sharp Shot with an overemotional sniffle. 

        “You are going to be crying now?” Cupcake asked, teasing the sniper. 

        “Prince Malik, I really must protest—” Fleethoof began once more. 

        “And I really must insist in response,” Malik intervened, smiling proudly. “In fact, I make it a royal order that you and your team make use of my personal carriage. You would not dare disregard an order from your superior, would you, Captain?” 

        Fleethoof was speechless. Sharp Shot, on the other hand, seemed to have no qualm with using the extravagant mode of transport, made obvious as the unicorn eagerly hopped inside and began inspecting every last inch of the car. Cupcake joined him shortly after, and it was only a matter of time from there that all of Skyfall had piled inside the spacious interior. 

        “Well, Captain? Your companions seem to find it favorable.” Malik exchanged an insistent look with Fleethoof. “Please, make yourself comfortable, and enjoy your trip.” 

        With great reluctance, Fleethoof plodded up to the carriage. Climbing inside felt like walking on clouds, the interior was that plush and comfortable. Before he had even sat down, the door shut behind him. Malik peered in through the window, smiling at the six stallions within. 

        “Take care, dark soldiers of Equestria, and fight well,” he said, bidding them a fond farewell. “I shall see you again in the future, lord of war. Ma’a salama!” 

        “Your grace, I really must object.” Fleethoof still hadn’t given up, drawing a groan from everypony else. “Your carriage could be damaged, or destroyed! There must be some other—” 

        “To the Equestrian base,” Malik ordered the horses pulling the carriage. “And make haste! Begone!” 

        The six horses whinnied and reared up, and then they tore out of the palace courtyard so fast it tumbled Skyfall Team about. Prince Malik stood in place, waving farewell to the ponies, rapidly vanishing from sight as the carriage pulled out onto the streets of Nadira. 

        In the early morning light, the horses ran as fast as their legs would carry them through the labyrinth of streets and roads. The sun was just beginning to peek over the eastern horizon, painting the dark blue sky with rippling strokes of purples. Sharp Shot and Valiant cheered and laughed in excitement as the cart moved fast—much faster than anypony had expected. Fleethoof was still trying to get back up again. 

        “This is the best Hearth’s Warming Eve ever!” Sharp Shot said in gleeful declaration, sticking his head out the window just in time to watch the gates of Nadira pass over them. The stone arches spanned high overhead, and then there was nothing but desert around them. 

        “If this is the day before, think of how exciting Hearth’s Warming will be,” said Valiant, getting an excited squee from the sniper seated beside him. 

        Pulling himself up into the nearest seat, Fleethoof tried to get his orientation back. He would definitely have to make this up to Prince Malik somehow. All he hoped now was that they got there in time. Left with nothing else to do, Fleethoof slumped back against the padded seat and stared out at the rising sun through the open window. 

        Somewhere between enjoying the sight and relaxing for the first time in weeks, the stallion slipped off into an uneasy slumber. 





        Saddle Arabia was not what Fire Wave had been expecting. 

        When the Marines had boarded the train back in Canterlot, they had been under the guise that they were going into direct combat. So far, the only conflict he had was trying to keep the sand out of his eyes, something that sunglasses remedied. The desert was as calm and peaceful as Equestria itself. The war he had expected to be a part of was being waged on the other side of the country, and they were sitting out on the sidelines, just watching over mostly empty buildings. 

        The small assemblage of soldiers that had remained behind to hold down the fort had been very welcoming, happy to see the fresh company of warriors arrive at the station. For the eager Marines, it was the biggest letdown they could have received. 

        “This is fucking ridiculous…” one of Fire Wave’s friends muttered as they, along with four other Marines, sat out in front of one of the barracks, basking in the late afternoon sun, like they had been doing all day. “We’re sitting around on our flanks doing nothing! At least back in Canterlot we were being worked. Hell, we might even be on leave right now! It is Hearth’s Warming Eve.” 

        “Yeah, well, we’re not,” Fire Wave said in response, taking a long swig from the water bottle in his hoof. “We’re out here, whether we like it or not. No use in whining about it.” 

        “But surely Captain Armor would have a reason for sending us here,” another Marine said amidst inspecting his weapon’s ejection port. 

        “If he did, I sure as hell can’t see what it is…” 

        Two of the Marines on the barracks porch were staring blankly down at a checkerboard, killing time with a less than friendly game that had already come to fisticuffs twice already in a move legality debate. Fire Wave had heard of a pseudo poker tournament being held in the mess hall this evening. Perhaps he’d go check it out, and try to forget about being stuck in the middle of the damn desert on Hearth’s Warming. 

        “Maybe they’ll send us to do some actual work somewhere else if nothin’ happens here,” a Marine the others had come to know as Spitter, coined from his favor of chewing tobacco, chimed in after a few moments. “Hell, we’d be more useful sittin’ ‘round Canterlot than bakin’ like a pie out here in this damned place.” 

        “Fuck this… I’m gonna go see if the range is open…” one of the soldiers muttered, grabbing his helmet and plodding off across the sandy, rocky ground in the direction of the firing range. 

        Despite maintaining his cool, indifferent demeanor, Corporal Fire Wave empathized with his fellow Marines’ plights. They were bred to fight and serve, not sit dormant on the porch of a sunbaked barracks in the middle of nowhere. The waiting made him anxious for something to happen; his spring was wound so tight, ready to launch at a moment’s notice. 

        But first, something had to happen—an action that demanded a reaction. 

        “Well, if nothin’ else, we can look forward to a quiet Hearth’s Warmin’…” Spitter said with a shrug of his shoulders. 

        Fire Wave nodded slowly, hearing the accompanying murmurs of agreeance from his teammates. Across the arid terrain, the Earth pony watched the sun go down into the realm of dusk. The more he thought about it, the more a peaceful holiday didn’t sound so bad after months of rigorous, intensive training. Perhaps the tranquility would do them all a world of good. 





        In the dark of Hearth’s Warming Eve night, nopony expected any endangerment. Most of the soldiers slept soundly in their bunks, dreaming of home, of families and loved ones distant, and of the next time they’d be reunited with both again. Still running on minimal staff, Forward Operating Base Sierra Alpha sat in an odd state of limbo between high alert and lax watch. 

        Even still, the approach of two ponies— pegasi, for that matter—well after midnight was enough to attract the attention of the guards at the front gate. They watched as the ponies stepped into the light, only stopping once the two soldiers walked out of the guard post and motioned for them to stay. 

        “Whoa, who are you two?” one of the guards asked brusquely. “This area is off limits to any non-military personnel.” 

        One of the pegasi, a brown stallion with matching green eyes and mane, flashed a cocky, arrogant smile at the trooper. “Oh, but we are military. Here, see for yourself.” 

        The two stallions flashed their ID badges to the guards. 

        “Specialist Glider and Sergeant Lightning Strike. We’d like to come inside.” 

        The two guards exchanged puzzled, distrusting glances, and faced off with the two newcomers again. One of the stallions began to scrutinize the ID cards, checking every little detail to verify the information. The other took the opportunity to get to know the two strangers a little better. 

        “I don’t recognize your unit name, Specialist,” the guard said suspiciously. 

        Glider brushed him off with a flick of his tail. “We’re a Special Forces unit. You probably wouldn’t have heard of us.” 

        “Uh huh…” The soldier did not look convinced. “So what brings two Special Forces soldiers this far out in Saddle Arabia?” 

        “I’m afraid that’s need to know. You wouldn't want to be responsible for hindering our vital mission, would you, soldier?” 

        “Well, I need to know to let you in.” 

        “We're running routine drills out here, you know, in case we need to be called in to actually do something productive.”

        The two ponies held each other’s gazes for a long moment. Neither side spoke. Finally, the second soldier returned, handing their IDs back to the respective ponies. 

        “They check out,” he informed his partner. “Very sorry to hold you colts up. Go right ahead.” 

        Without another word, the two pegasi took to the air and floated smoothly over the wall surrounding the base. Glider cast a wicked grin to Lightning Strike's bitter scowl, and as soon as their hooves touched the dusty earth again, the two stallions set to work. 
	

> Chapter 18: Reaction
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Out at the guard post, one of the soldiers gave a bored, sleepy yawn. Their shift was almost over, and besides the arrival of those two unusual pegasi, watching the gate had been the same as ever: that being, nothing ever happened. Sitting slouched over the desk in the guard station, the two ponies silently alternated between reading magazines and downing cups of coffee, just idly waiting for the sun to finish peeking its rays over the horizon. That was when their replacements would relieve them for some much needed shuteye. 

        “Little less than an hour to go,” one of the two murmured, savoring the small victory. 

        “Thank Celestia… I’m ready to hit the hay.” 

        “Getting sleepy, soldiers?” 

        Both ponies jolted upright when they heard the voice at the door, nearly falling out of their seats. They had not been aware anypony else was with them. Their heads turned sharply to see who had startled them. It was the pegasus from last night, the black one. He smiled at the stallions, his eyes studying them closely. 

        “No, we’re fine, sir,” the lesser ranked soldiers said, trying their best to stuff the magazines out of sight and look alert again. 

        Glider chuckled under his breath. “That’s good. You never know when danger might pop up out of nowhere.” 

        “With all due respect, sir, this is Saddle Arabia. Nothing ever happens out here.” 

        “Then don’t you think you’re overdue?” 

        The two soldiers slowly exchanged wary glances. They had not cared for the cryptic way he had said that. A dark, foreboding grin spread across Glider’s mouth, flashing his overly white teeth in an unsettling way. 

        “Um… Are you ready to head out, sir? We’ll just need to log you out real fast.” 

        Glider laughed and shook his head. “Oh no, we’re not leaving yet. Our job isn’t done here.” 

        “And what job is that, sir?” 

        “Providing that danger.” 

        Before either pony could question his intentions, Glider stepped aside, and Lightning Strike stepped through the doorway. His hooves held his weapon, already raised and trained on the two soldiers. He squeezed the trigger. Four rounds fired almost silently through the air, finding their mark in the upper chest and head of one of the soldiers. The other sprung up and made a dive for the guns leaned up against the wall. Lightning Strike intercepted his move, and picked the pony off with another burst of bullets. 

        Glider smiled approvingly and nodded his head to his accomplice. He studied the bodies for a moment, making sure they were well and truly dead. “Well done, Strike. Their replacements won’t be by for a little while. Now, let’s get that gate open.” 

        Lightning Strike nodded his head, exiting the post and setting about unlocking the gate with the keys from the deceased soldiers. Glider lingered back, flashing a twisted grin at the corpses strewn across the floor. His eyes flashed a brighter shade of green momentarily, and he kicked the side of the nearest body with a laugh. 

        “Glide, here they come.” Glider looked up at Strike’s words, gazing through the window of the guard station as nine ponies galloped at full speed towards them. 

        “Perfect… Right on time, too! Ah, I love how punctual Re'emians are,” he said, stepping outside to greet the approaching ponies, all armed to the teeth. “Are you ready, my friends?” 

        The mercenary leader nodded his head, lifting his rifle in the air. “We are, brother. Let us in, and nopony will be left alive.” 

        Glider’s grin widened. “That’s the plan.” 

        With the help of some of the mercenaries, Lightning Strike pulled the gate wide open, and the mercenaries rushed into the quiet base. The leader gave a whistle to one of his ponies, who was carrying a box within his magic’s hold. The Re'emian unicorn set the package down before the Union operatives, and headed inside with his team. 

        “As you requested, we brought your equipment.” 

        “And as promised, here is your payment,” said Glider, only half paying attention as he tossed a pouch laden with bits to the legionnaire. “Now, go. Spill the blood of the Equestrians that aid your enemy.” 

        With an overly eager grin, the Re'emian ran in to join his brothers in arms. Lightning Strike wasted no time, already prying the lid off the box and removing the contents within. Glider glanced over at the sun, now beginning to make its appearance over the horizon. In his hoof, he turned a small remote over, and over again, biding his time. 

        “I think it’s time we gave the Guard a little wake up call.” 

        He chuckled at his own joke. Strike remained as cold as ever, indifferent to the dark humor of his colleague. Paying it no heed, Glider tossed the remote in the air once, and then pressed the button. 





        The morning sun rose slowly over the sandy dunes of Saddle Arabia’s desert, bringing shimmering warmth back to the night-chilled land. The sun rippled on the horizon, distorted by the air and the imposed heat. To Fire Wave, it seemed like it was dancing off in the distance, beckoning in another day of boredom and woe. The pony watched through his tinted sunglasses for lack of anything better to do. The rest of the base was just beginning to rouse from slumber. 

        The corporal took a sip of coffee from the mug in his hoof, his face contorting slightly at the acidic, bitter flavor it had. The base really made piss poor quality coffee here—but it was better than nothing. The caffeine jolt was exactly what he needed. 

        Only a few ponies were awake at the time. Having spent the last few months getting up before dawn, it was almost unnatural not being awake at this time to the Marine. He’d seen a few other Marines milling about in the early morning hours as well, not quite sure what to do with themselves. He could sympathize… 

        Taking another draft of his drink, Fire Wave eyed a group of ponies rushing around the other side of the base, already practicing moves and maneuvers well before any scheduled training. Another sip. The stallion froze in place. Wait a minute… There were no drills that involved full kits or weapons used around the barracks. 

        Fire Wave’s head snapped abruptly in the direction he’d seen the ponies running in. After a few moments, he spotted the group again. They were making their way towards the adjunct offices, positioning themselves around the door. They wore no uniforms, and their flanks were strikingly lacking a cutie mark. 

        They were not part of the Royal Guard. 

        The stallion’s head turned toward the gate, and felt his heart drop when he saw it wide open. The base was being invaded. 

        Grabbing his rifle at his side, the Earth pony took off running into his barracks, all but breaking down the door with his body as he leapt up the porch. Inside, the ponies that had still been sleeping got the shock of their lives. The Marines already awake were just getting dressed, and looked up at the startled stallion. 

        “We’ve got hostiles on base!” Fire Wave shouted. “Get your gear! Let’s go!” 

        Just like that, the barracks became a flurry of mania. Ponies threw themselves out of their cots, grabbing their uniforms, weapons, and anything else nearby as fast as their hooves could move. Fire Wave took off out the door with the Marines that had been ready as soon as he had finished speaking, making their way around the barracks back towards where he had seen the enemy soldiers. 

        And then the ground beneath him shook with tremors the likes the Marine had never felt before. 

        In a heartbeat, the soldier was thrown off his hooves, and sailed through the air before coming to a hard landing on his stomach. Beside him, he could hear his fellow soldiers hitting the ground as well. Heat burned at the back of his neck, and his ears were ringing. Rolling onto his back, Fire Wave stared in horror as the barracks he had just run past was engulfed in flames, billowing deathly black smoke into the early morning sky. 

        Another explosion shook the ground he was lying on. A few buildings down, another barracks was destroyed in an instant. And then a third joined shortly afterwards. Sand still clung to his face and mane as he watched the buildings burn in silent disbelief. Even though he consciously knew what had happened, his mind didn’t process it until he could smell the burning flesh. Ponies had been in those barracks. Those barracks had been blown up. Two plus two meant dead ponies—dead soldiers. Dead brothers and sisters. 

        Fire Wave was livid. Clenching his jaw so tight it hurt his teeth, the stallion grabbed his rifle and scrambled back to his hooves, even as he heard another explosion from a distance away. An alarm began to sound across the base, scrambling the soldiers to duty. If there was any question of an attack before now, there was none any longer. 

        “Come on! Move!” he called to the other Marines as they collected themselves up again. 

        The ponies moved as one cohesive unit, weaving expertly through the maze of buildings across the base to the offices. Another explosion broke out, much further away now. The sirens continued blaring, drowning out every other sound, even his own hooves crunching the sand underneath him. 

        The adjunct office building came into view. As he had expected, the door was broken in, and the enemy ponies were nowhere to be seen. From down a ways away, Fire Wave could see a group of regular Guard soldiers rush out of the armory, geared up and ready to fight. 

        “Clear the offices,” Corporal Fire Wave said, bringing his rifle to bear as he took point through the doorway. Behind him, the Marines followed in single file line. 

        In the quiet, stuffy corridor of the office building, Fire Wave felt claustrophobic. The walls on either side were oppressively close, giving him little room to maneuver in. He could hear his heartbeat pounding at his eardrums as he stepped quickly yet cautiously through the corridor. They came across the first door, already kicked in. A quick sweep of the small office yielded nothing, so onward they pressed. 

        Fire Wave’s breathing came in short, shallow breaths. The caffeine he had ingested paled in comparison to the rush of adrenaline spiking through his system now. He had been bred for this exact type of situation, and now the stallion had never felt more alive. 

        A second door came up, with a third on the opposite side. He stepped around with a partner at his back, both ponies checking the rooms in tandem. The workspace was devoid of life, but not of ponies. A single body lay across the desk, blood dripping down the wooden surface. Fire Wave recognized the deceased. She was one of the officers in charge of personnel transfers and records. She must have started work early, and caught the worst of it. 

        Swallowing hard, the Marine pressed on down the hall. That was when he saw a pony step out of an office at the other end of the corridor. The stallion turned and locked gazes with the Marines, and time stood still for a second. On reflex, Fire Wave dropped to a crouch, leveling his rifle and aiming down the scope at the hostile. 

        “Don’t move!” 

        Of course, the pony didn’t listen. The Re'emian mercenary drew fast, bringing a handgun up and popping off a single round from the hip. The shot went wide, and ended up in the wall. Fire Wave and his teammates did not hesitate. In a burst of gunfire, they brought the enemy soldier to the ground. 

        “Move up!” 

        The Marines hustled down the hall, swiftly scanning each room they passed. Like the others, they had been broken into, but were empty. The invaders were clearly here for blood, and nothing else. Stepping past the body of the hostile, Fire Wave put a shot through the foe’s skull, ensuring his demise, before they continued out the other side of the building. 

        Back out in the open air, Fire Wave felt both liberated and very vulnerable all at once. The rest of the soldiers he had seen were nowhere in sight now, something that greatly concerned the stallion. His head swiveled back and forth rapidly, searching for the hostiles. Where had they gone? 

        A few distant pops and snaps came from a nearby building, catching everypony’s attention. It sounded like gunfire. Fire Wave looked around hurriedly, trying to find the source of the sound. 

        “Over here! It came from the mess hall!” 

        Fire Wave launched his hooves off the ground, galloping in the direction his fellow soldiers had started running in. As they neared the mess hall, muzzle flashes could be seen through the windows, and the snaps of bullets were louder with every step. Wasting no time, the Marines charged up the steps and threw their bodies against the doors. Inside, two enemy soldiers had finished killing their opposition. Three Royal Guard soldiers lay dead across the floor, spent brass casings surrounding their bodies on all sides. Bullet holes riddled the tables they had used for cover. They had put up a hell of a fight. 

        The moment the doors broke inward, the two mercenaries spun on their hooves, facing off with the Marines. Fire Wave was through the door and opening fire before the two stallions could react. He dropped one of them in a second. The other ducked down behind a folding table, Equestrian bullets narrowly missing his head. 

        Holding his aim on the table the Re'emian had disappeared behind, Fire Wave held his position by the door while two Marines began to strafe around the side of the table. Caught off guard, the mercenary cried out when the ponies jumped out at him, and let loose a blind volley of rapid fire at the soldiers. His erratic fire went all over the place, while the precise shots of the trained soldiers ended his struggle in mere moments. 

        “He’s down,” one of the Marines said, stepping over the body. 

        Fire Wave nodded, listening to the sounds of combat erupting in pockets all across the base. “All right, let’s move, Marines! There’s still more of them, and we’ve gotta help the Guard!” 

        The soldiers headed back towards the door, listening to the gunfights all the while. Fire Wave lingered back, making sure the rest of his team was following closely. The last thing they wanted was to get separated. 

        And then the Marine at the front of the pack stepped through the front doors, and an explosive burst of gunfire tore through the air. The doors splintered as the bullets ripped away at the wood, cutting through the pony at the same time. The stallion screamed as he crumpled to the ground, twitching as he died slowly on the floor. 

        The Marines barked out in defiance and fell back away from the door, save for one, who grabbed his fallen brother and dragged him back into the shelter of the mess hall. The door was splattered with his blood, and the thick trail left behind the dragged body served as a grim reminder of their own mortality. 

        Fire Wave just stared in shock. One of his brothers had just been killed that fast right before his eyes. It terrified and infuriated him at the same time. The gunfire stopped, and then resumed, shattering the windows and tearing through the mess hall. The Marines hit the floor, ducking beneath the flying projectiles. The rate of fire was much too great to be coming from an ordinary rifle. 

        Then, as suddenly as the shooting started, it stopped. The Marines lay spread across the floor, looking around at the broken glass scattered around them. Why had the shooting stopped? 

        “Window,” whispered Fire Wave and motioned to the nearest Marine. 

        The pony nodded, and slowly crawled over to the damaged window. He pulled himself up, and peeked carefully outside. There was a moment of stillness, twisting Fire Wave’s stomach into a knot. And then the pony shook his head. 

        “I don’t see anythi—” 

        And then the pony’s head snapped grotesquely to the side with a splatter of gore and flurry of broken glass, and he fell backwards against the wall. Fire Wave felt physically ill as he watched his friend’s body slump down against the wall, a fresh bullet wound running deep through his temple. The stallion’s glassy eyes stared blankly at the bloodied floor, his uniform covered in his own lifeblood. 

        “Shit! Sniper!” 

        Fire Wave began unconsciously grinding his teeth together, breathing hard, and trying to desperately think of a way to get his team out of this mess. What the hell was happening out there? Where had this come from? 

        Taking a risk, Fire Wave stood up and made a break for the door. As he ran past a window, the gunfire started again, flying through the window right behind the stallion. Pushing his hooves off the ground as fast as he could, he slid across the floor and pressed his back against the doorframe. He had to get a look at the pony that was screwing them over so thoroughly. 

        Lifting his head slowly until he could see through the small window set into the door, Fire Wave suddenly regretted his need to see his enemy. The pony outside was clad head to toe in bulky, dark armor that resembled plate-covered Kevlar. A helmet obscured his face from view. A massive machine gun hung by a strap around his chest, sending a thrill of fear through the hardened soldier just from the sight of the weapon of war. Through the visor in the pony’s helmet, Fire Wave could see burning green eyes, leering at him, taunting the stallion for hiding. 

        “Sweet Celestia, save us…” he muttered softly. 

        The base was still egregiously undermanned, and with an unknown amount of soldiers dead before the fight had even begun, the base’s force was crippled. There were no reinforcements, and no backup was on its way. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, the Equestrian soldiers were trapped. 

        A series of shouts rang out just outside the mess hall, catching Fire Wave’s attention. He poked his head up again, and saw a small group of Royal Guards opening fire on the armor-clad enemy. The juggernaut of a pony merely turned to face them, and let loose a torrent of bullets at the soldiers, all while their attacks simply rebounded off his defenses. In the blink of an eye, the Equestrian soldiers were bowled over, falling to the sand, their blood darkening and dampening the ground. 

        Feeling his anger beginning to boil over, the corporal smashed out the window in the door and leveled his rifle on the frame. Taking aim, he fired a few shots at the murderous pony. Much like the others, his bullets simply deflected off the hard shell. The pony with green eyes turned to face him again, and opened fire at the door. Fire Wave ducked back behind the wall just as the rounds tore through the wooden panels, skimming past his sides much too close for comfort. He could feel the projectiles rippling the air beside his coat, making his hair stand on end. 

        How are we supposed to fight that thing?! Fire Wave panicked. 

        “Fire Wave, over here!” 

        Hearing his name called, Fire Wave turned his head around. The other Marines had gotten up, and were making a break for the kitchen. Taking one last glance outside, he saw the armored enemy slowly lumbering his way up towards the mess hall, pursuing its prey. 

        Fuck this shit… Fire Wave turned tail and ran towards the kitchen with his team, diving over the serving line and ducking through the door into the sterile galley. 

        The Marines huddled against the back door at the far end of the kitchen. Stepping past a few crates of supplies, Fire Wave rejoined his fellow soldiers as they slowly pulled the door open. With the threat of a sniper locking the base down, nopony wanted to go gung ho and barrel out of the mess hall into incoming fire. 

        “Make for the armory,” said Fire Wave, directing his comrades. “The sniper’s shooting from the north, so keep to the south side of cover. Oorah?” 

        “Oorah,” the Marines chanted in response. 

        “Three, two, one… Move!” 

        A Marine kicked the door open, flooding bright light into the dimly lit kitchen. The soldiers ran out into the open and hung a hard right, galloping as fast as they could go across the sandy, dusty ground. As Fire Wave ran outside, he heard a sharp snap, and then a chunk of concrete blew off the wall in front of his face. Gritting his teeth, the Earth pony dashed after his friends, sticking as close to whatever cover he could find. 

        The soldiers ran back around the front of the mess hall. The monstrous opponent that had gunned down one of their own was gone, most likely inside searching for them now. Fire Wave could still see the dead ponies he had slain, and did his best to fight back the bile rising in his throat. 

        Onward the ponies ran, even as another snap sent a bullet very nearly tearing through his ear. Fire Wave ducked his head on reflex, and pushed his muscles as hard as he could. He took a corner much too quickly, almost skidding out as he propelled himself forwards. He could see the armory up ahead, all the Marines making for the building as if it were the Promised Land. 

        A third distant snap, and this time, Fire Wave saw one of his friends stumble forward and fall face first into the golden sand. He slid to a halt beside the downed mare, who was crying out and grabbing at her profusely bleeding leg. From an initial glance, it looked like the sniper’s round had tore straight through her thigh. Blood was pouring down her leg, despite her best efforts to keep pressure on the wound. 

        “Come on, grab on!” he said to her, pushing his body beneath hers as her hooves gripped erratically at his neck for support. 

        Hoisting his wounded partner onto his back, Fire Wave rushed for the armory. The additional weight of a second pony slowed him down dramatically, but he'd be damned if he even thought about leaving a wounded soldier behind. The dreaded snapping sound reverberated the air behind him again, just missing his flank by inches. The sniper was getting closer and closer. 

        Corporal Fire Wave pushed himself harder and harder until his muscles ached with the strain. Just a few dozen more meters and he’d be there—if the sniper let them get that far. He saw a Marine up ahead of them reach the armory, and then turn in place, tossing something into the sand. Fire Wave caught a glimpse of the metal object just before it detonated. 

        The grenade went off without any injury to anypony, kicking up a large cloud of smoke and dust. Using the makeshift smokescreen, Fire Wave darted through the smoke, thankful his crafty teammate had created a shield from the sniper’s fire. Emerging on the other side at the armory felt like the sweetest relief he could imagine. He could swear he heard angels singing. 

        The armory was host to a number of soldiers, both Marines and Guards. The ponies were busy suiting up, grabbing whatever they could get their hooves on. Fire Wave gingerly placed the wounded Marine on his back safely against the wall, watching as she winced in pain and clutched at her bleeding leg. 

        “Where’s the damn medic?!” Fire Wave shouted out above the ruckus in the large space. 

        A unicorn stepped out of the throng of soldiers, carrying satchels marked with red crosses on his back and a matching mark on his flank. As the medic began tending to the injured mare, Fire Wave turned back towards the soldiers in the armory. Most of them looked terrified and confused. He could relate. 

        “We’ve gotta hold the base, everypony!” he said urgently, silencing most of the crowd. “We’ve been trained for this sort of thing. Time to make Equestria proud, fillies and gentlecolts! Find your squads. Guards cover the south side of the base. Marines, we’ve got the north. Now let's kick these motherfuckers outta here!” 

        The soldiers shouted out a battle cry in response as they loaded their weapons. Squads of ponies began to file out of the armory, and the gunfire intensified. Rounding up his small group of Marines, Fire Wave steeled himself for the second round. Fighting in the north meant dealing with that armored pony, as well as the sniper. But he trusted his Marines, and knew what they were capable of. If they couldn’t handle the heated combat, nopony here could. 

        Celestia, watch over us… he prayed, and then pushed the doors open and ran out into the bright, warm sunlight with his brothers at his side.

> 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. 
	

> Chapter 20: Conclusion
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The warmth of the hot coffee flowing past her lips warmed Midnight Dasher from the inside out as she took a long draft from the mug in front of her. The heat repelled the cool chill of the wintry air on her skin while she sat at a little café just outside Canterlot’s train station. She liked the way Canterlot looked in the winter. A light dusting of snow covered the old cobblestone walkways and high rooftops of the city’s structures. She liked the coldness of winter as well. It made her blood run hot, and feel alive. 

        What she didn’t like was the slowness and boredom. Killing time waiting for the train to take her back home had to be up there as one of the dullest moments of her life. Every few minutes, she would find herself glancing up at the clock above the station. She would then calculate the difference in time remaining, heave a dramatic sigh, and glance back down at the half empty cup of coffee, and repeat the process again. 

        Across the small circular table from her lay the day’s newspaper. It laid carelessly tossed aside, right where the mare had left it. The story on the front page was the same it had been for the past few days. Extremist rebels, vagabonds from the war in the south, had attacked one of Equestria’s bases. Neither Arabia nor Re'em had claimed responsibility for the renegades, and despite Equestria’s cries for righteous vengeance, Celestia swore no ill will against either side. It was impossible to place blame on the innocent for the actions of a few separatists—not to mention a political and bureaucratic nightmare. Nopony wanted another war. 

        The renegades had all been wiped out in the ensuing conflict, regardless. The horrific pictures slapped across the thin newsprint sheets had come as a harsh slap of reality to the corporal. When she first saw the photographs of broken buildings and injured soldiers—including her Marines—she had felt such fury flare inside her soul. She had screamed and crumpled the newspaper into a tightly packed wad. She had known something was going to happen, and she had been right. Shining Armor should have sent her with the soldiers. 

        That had been five days ago. Now, as each day consistently reminded her of the events that had transpired with grainy, off-color photos on each cover, she had found comfort in disconnection. There had been nothing she could do about it, and she just let it pass with indifference. The fire had burned itself out in her heart, and, like everything, faded to memory. 

        Oddly, the more she thought about the battle, the more pride Midnight felt. Those had been her Marines in that fight, and they had triumphed. The soldiers had returned home the day before, and she had greeted them like a parent watching their child graduate from school. They had proven themselves, and she couldn’t be happier with the results. The loss of several Marines and Guards hurt her heart, but considering how much worse it could have been, she was very happy to see more than half the company return in one piece—or mostly one piece. 

        It also brought an unusual sense of understanding to her. For so long, Midnight had wondered where in the world the mysterious Captain Fleethoof and company had disappeared. Now she had her answer. Although there were no pictures of the enigmatic ponies in black, she just knew they had to have a hoof in this. It all made sense, and that was enough proof to Midnight. 

        But still, she hadn’t seen the captain—and now, her time in Canterlot was up. She was headed home, probably destined to never return to the city. She had missed seeing him for the holidays, and as the new year drew ever closer and the final few remaining minutes slipped away, she lost confidence in seeing him appear from the crowd as he so often had a tendency to do. 

        Farewell, Canterlot, Midnight thought with a touch of melancholy, and dropped her gaze back to the photos on the newspaper, the colors all blurring into one pool. 

        That was when she saw a dark blue folder slap down atop the paper, covering the images she had been staring blankly at. Midnight jumped slightly, and snapped her head upright while another pony took the seat opposite of her. The pony was dressed in a striking black jacket adorned with badges and symbols and matching cap she didn't recognize, but the crimson coat, golden blonde mane, and rich blue eyes brought back a flurry of memories, all summed up into one name that seemed to leap right off her tongue. 

        “Fleethoof!” 

        “That’s my name,” said Fleethoof with the slightest touches of a smile. He folded his hooves across the table, his eyes gazing intensely back into hers. “Sorry I’ve been gone so long. I’ve been busy.” 

        Midnight laughed and gestured with a hoof to the covered newspaper. “I can see that.” 

        “That wasn’t me.” 

        “Uh huh…” Midnight wasn’t convinced, but she let it slide. It didn’t matter. What mattered was that she finally got one last moment with this peculiar pegasus. “You missed Hearth’s Warming. I was very upset that you didn’t get me a present.” 

        Midnight crossed her hooves over her chest and pouted dramatically, sticking her lower lip out in a comical fashion. She played the part of genuine upset perfectly, even as her eyes flashed with playful mirth. It broke Fleethoof’s serious demeanor, and he smiled a wide, earnest smile, and laughed. 

        “Well, maybe I can make it up to you,” he said, winking to the mare seated across from him. Before Midnight could ask what he meant, the pony slid the navy folder across the table to her side, maintaining eye contact all the while. Midnight’s gold eyes reluctantly dropped from the stallion’s, studying the cover. It had no designation, date, or name printed on it. Just an embossed emblem on the plain surface. She recognized the insignia with the winged sword and symbols of the princesses, matching the pin attached to Fleethoof’s lapel and the patchwork that had adorned his other uniform. 

        There was a moment of silence as she looked up at him again. The questioning look in her eyes spoke volumes, and he gestured with a subtle wave of his hoof for her to open it. Midnight’s hoof reached for the seal on the side, tapping against the wax gently. If this was what she thought it was… Her hoof snapped the seal, and flipped the cover open gently. A plain white sheet of paper greeted her eyes, with large, bold words printed across it, reading: 

EQUESTRIAN ROYAL GUARD 
PERSONNEL FILES
RESTRICTED ACCESS

        The insignia of the royal family decorated the paper, designating it as an official document of the government. Midnight’s breath caught momentarily. She turned the page in excitement, ignoring the warning of restricted access that made up the second page. The third was much more interesting: 

Personnel File 
Skyfall Unit

Name: Fleethoof 

        Attached to the sheet of paper was a photograph of the pony now seated at the table with her. She looked at the photo, almost laughing at how neat his mane had looked then, opposed to the messy, unkempt look it had now when she glanced upward at him. She liked it better this way. He looked more like a stallion that had lost care for the stuffy regularity of the Guard, and had opted for his own style. That, or he just really needed a haircut. 

        Fleethoof was staring at her closely, watching her reactions as she looked down the long list of his basic information. His rank, birthdate, gender, appearance, blood type… Everything lay documented in this file. Although she knew much of it from spending time with the captain, she felt like she was learning all this information again for the first time. Her long quest to understand Fleethoof was coming to an end, and it tasted like sweet, sweet victory. 

        “You’re really letting me read this?” she asked, looking up over her eyelashes at the stallion, who was now idly shuffling the abandoned newspaper on the table. The whole situation almost felt like a practical joke—or a trap. 

        He shrugged calmly, cool as ever. “I owed you a gift, and I knew what you really wanted.” 

        Feeling as giddy as a foal being let loose in a toy shop, Midnight flipped to the next page—and felt her enthusiasm die on the spot. The entire next page was covered in long, black bars, hiding its contents away from the world. At first, Midnight Dasher was very, very confused. Then she laughed out of sheer disbelief, surprised that she had expected any less from the picture perfect definition of enigma embodied in the stallion. 

        “...Really?” she asked in a scathingly sarcastic tone. She shook her head and cast a glare at Fleethoof. 

        “It was the best I could do.” Fleethoof shrugged again and gave Midnight an apologetic, sagacious smile. “I can’t give you the complete document. That would technically be treason, and espionage too, I think.” 

        Midnight huffed and stuck her tongue out at her companion. Fleethoof chuckled, and she returned to her reading. The next page detailed Fleethoof’s service record, surmised in a few points, many also redacted by black bars. It amused her that the Guard thought they could sum up the entire history of a pony like Fleethoof in a single page. Somehow, the bureaucrats had managed to do it. 

        The next few pages were papers documenting Fleethoof’s activities in the Griffon War. Surprisingly, none of the paragraphs were censored. Midnight skimmed over the text, taking in the gist of the story contained within. Most of it was stuff she had heard through gossip and rumor, or from one very chatty bartender. It was still an interesting read nonetheless. 

        “I’m not gonna go to prison for reading any of this, am I?” 

        “No, of course not,” said Fleethoof. He cast a wary glance around, watching a group of Guard ponies marching past the café. “Okay, maybe. Just don’t let anypony see.” 

        Midnight raised an eyebrow curiously at the captain. “Breaking the law for me, Fleety? I’m touched.” 

        “It’s not the first time I've bent the rules. And I’m letting you get away with using my name—not ‘Fleety’. Don’t push it, Midnight.” 

        The bat pony gave her soft, airy laugh and turned the page. Her amused smirk dropped to bewilderment as she read the next segment. Fleethoof tried to lean across the table and see which part she had gotten to, but she was already looking up at him in shock. 

        “You rescued the Royal Family?” she asked. 

        “Oh, yeah. That was a while ago.” Fleethoof smiled humbly. “I was just doing my job.” 

        Midnight looked down at the details again, reiterating with emphasis, “You rescued two royals and a captain from a hostile force with only a hoofful of ponies.” 

        “Well, when you say it like that, you make it sound difficult.” 

        “And then you came back to fight off the rest of the army?” 

        Fleethoof was now deliberately trying to avoid making eye contact with the bemused mare. “I’m good at what I do.” 

        “Damn good, I think you mean,” she said with a smirk. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this? Why was this all such a secret? You should be proud of your achievements.” 

        This time, Fleethoof didn’t respond right away. He stared blankly down at his hooves, folded neatly on the table. His eyes were distant and fogged with memories made a lifetime ago. He bit gently at his lip, his ears folded back against his head, and he muttered, “Some things are better left forgotten…” 

        At first, Midnight didn’t understand what he meant. Then she recalled the stories the bartender at The Cannon had regaled her with. Bloodshed, death, and loss had tainted the captain’s lifetime of warfare and honorable duty. She decided not to press the issue further, and instead finished reading his file. The rest of the pages were almost completely covered with black bars redacting sensitive information, making reading it impossible. With ginger hooves, she shut the file again, and rapped them against its surface like a drum. 

        “So what is Skyfall?” 

        Fleethoof’s lips twitched in the corners, fighting a smirk. He knew she’d ask that first. “It’s the name of my team. Beyond that, I can’t tell you any more without bringing you into the program. It’s classified.” 

        Midnight heaved a sigh. “Figures…” She leaned back against her seat, thinking to herself for a moment. “Are you the good guys at least?” 

        “I like to think we are.” 

        “Is that a ‘no’?” Midnight grinned teasingly, but the look on Fleethoof’s face told her that it was no joke. “Did somepony die?” 

        That caught Fleethoof’s attention. His eyes suddenly became unreadable, and something Midnight didn’t recognize darkened behind those blue irises. “What?” 

        “The getup. Why are you all dressed up?” That teasing grin on her face widened a little. “Not that I’m complaining. You look good in a suit. Like a real suave, hot Canterlot bachelor. Not some dime-a-dozen raggedy soldier from the front lines.” 

        “Hey! I take pride in being a raggedy soldier,” remarked Fleethoof, playing along. He seemed to calm down again. “I just finished handing out promotions to some of your Marines, actually. Shining Armor and I felt they had earned it after their actions in Saddle Arabia. Especially Fire Wave. From what we hear, he was the one who sounded the alarm and was one of the ponies that engaged the enemies first.” 

        Midnight clopped her hooves together happily. “That’s my Marine! Good for Corporal Fire Wave.” 

        “Sergeant now, actually.” 

        “Right.” Midnight took a deep swallow from her coffee and pushed the file back towards Fleethoof, making sure not to stain the cover with her drink. “You didn’t let me read this just because you missed Hearth’s Warming. I was just messing around, anyway. So, what’s the real reason for all this? I thought you hated me?” 

        Fleethoof’s eyes met Midnight’s again, and he cocked a half smile at her. “I don’t hate you. You just make me want to hate you sometimes.” He ignored Midnight as she rolled her eyes. “Consider it my way of saying thanks for training the Marines so well, and a goodbye present.” 

        “Who said this is goodbye?” asked Midnight, cocking her head to one side. 

        “Nopony, but in my line of work, I can’t expect anypony to stick around long. I like to hedge my bets.” 

        “Well, I wouldn’t count on getting rid of me that easily. Especially not now since we’re friends.” Midnight’s smile mimicked Fleethoof’s. 

        “Who said we’re friends?” 

        “I did,” Midnight said proudly in declaration. She reached across the table and snatched the captain’s hat off his head, setting it slightly lopsided down on hers. The theatrical look of authority on her face was downright comical to Fleethoof, who had to bite his lip to stifle a snicker. “Got a problem with it? Too bad! We’re friends now, no ifs, ands, or buts. Got it, pegasus?” 

        Fleethoof shot upright in his seat, a dramatically serious expression on his face as he saluted the mare. “Yes, ma’am!” 

        “Good! Now, drop and give me fifty!” 

        Fleethoof rolled his eyes, and Midnight all but cracked up. From across the table, he studied Midnight Dasher. She was a pony he would originally have been very happy to ignore and forget about. Now, seeing her smiling and laughing again with his hat atop her head like a Nightmare Night costume softened the tough front he put up. Yeah, he could see being friends with this mare—even if her style was in stark contrast to his. It disappointed him that he’d probably never see her again after this. 

        Midnight was thoroughly enjoying each second she could grasp with Fleethoof. Although she couldn't quite place her hoof on it, something about him was different. Something had happened in the time he was gone, and the stallion seemed... vulnerable. He had softened up to her, a quality Midnight had fully expected to never see in the captain. Something had broken through his tough exterior and lowered his guard. Now she was seeing him for the pony he really was, and it was clear to Midnight just why he was so special. 

        “So, tell me what the royals are like,” Midnight asked, eyes flashing with intrigue as she rested her chin on her hooves and inclined towards him. “Are they awesome and down to earth, or are they like every other pony here and are really stuck up?” 

        “Yes, Captain, what are we like?” 

        The soft, feminine voice made Midnight Dasher turn quickly and Fleethoof nearly leap out of his skin. Striding gracefully across the café’s small courtyard came Princess Cadance, smiling with gentle warmth at the two ponies. Midnight’s eyes widened in the presence of the alicorn, wearing her trademark smile. Fleethoof felt his heart race in panic, managing a nervous smile. 

        “Cadance!” Fleethoof realized how obvious that exclamation had been. Anypony with eyes could see who it was. “I didn’t… What are you doing here?” 

        “Shining and I were looking for you,” she explained, hovering beside the table. She turned her gaze to the bat pony and smiled in greeting. “I don’t believe we’ve met. How do you do?” 

        “Oh, yeah. Cadance, this is Corporal Midnight Dasher. She’s been helping retrain the Guard. Midnight, this is Princess Cadance, the Princess of Love.” 

        “Oh, I know who you are!” Midnight said, energetically shaking the princess’ hoof with gusto. “Wow! I’ve never met a princess before! We never see the princesses out in The Shades.” 

        Cadance laughed lightly, entertained by the mare’s delight. “Well, I’ll have to make it a point to have my aunts visit more often! We certainly don’t want anypony to feel left out.” 

        “Princess, tell me—is it true? Did Fleethoof really save you from the griffons?” 

        Fleethoof could feel the shock hit him like a ton of bricks. “Midnight!” 

        “What?!” 

        Cadance simply laughed again. “Yes, he did. The griffons took me hostage, and Captain Fleethoof very bravely rescued me.” 

        “Did he come galloping in like a knight, slaying the griffons and whisking you out a window?” Midnight was incorrigible. 

        “Actually, sort of! There was definitely whisking out of windows.” 

        Fleethoof could feel his face begin to burn as he hid behind his hooves. He could hear the two mares giggling. 

        “So Fleethoof, how long have you been seeing this lovely mare?” Cadance asked. 

        In an instant, Fleethoof felt the heat of embarrassment consume his entire being. “We aren’t together,” he answered quickly. 

        Cadance looked a little surprised. “Oh, I’m sorry, I just assumed when I saw you two having drinks, and her wearing your hat—” 

        “He gave it to me,” Midnight lied, grinning all the while, her eyes flashing mischievously. “We’re planning on eloping in Trottingham soon.” 

        Fleethoof rubbed his temples, muttering, “She stole it from me.” 

        Another musical laugh from the princess. “Well, I wish you two the best of luck!” she joked, playing along with Midnight, seeing as how it bugged Fleethoof. 

        A train whistle blared shrilly in the wintry afternoon air. A train had just pulled into the station. A glance at the clock let Midnight Dasher know it was hers. She pursed her lips, conflicted between blowing it off and just staying for a little while longer, and heading back home to see her family after months apart. In her mind, she knew she had already made her decision. 

        “Well, looks like we’ll have to run away some other time, Fleety. I gotta go,” said Midnight wistfully, hiding the remorse behind a typical Midnight Dasher smile as she grabbed her saddlebags. “It was great meeting you, Princess Cadance.” 

        “And you as well, Miss Dasher.” 

        Midnight gave a small smile to Fleethoof, reluctantly gave him back his cap, and began trotting off towards the train station. Fleethoof turned slightly, watching her go. He still needed an answer from her though, and he was losing his chance. 

        “Excuse me, Cadance. I need to see Midnight real quick.” 

        Cadance said nothing, but smiled an astute smile, like she knew something he didn’t. Jumping down from his seat, Fleethoof galloped after the retreating mare. He caught up to her just as she began taking the steps up into the station. 

        “Midnight, wait!” His words stopped the mare in her tracks. She turned and gave him a look that reminisced of happiness and surprise. “I have to ask something… I spoke to Shining Armor. He said your training segments ended a month ago. The rest of your friends left a while ago. Why did you stay?” 

        Midnight blinked in surprise, clearly taken aback by his inquiry. “I still had to finish training the Marines.” 

        “The Marines were deployed a week ago. You could have been home for Hearth’s Warming. So why stay?” 

        Midnight appeared to be all out of answers. The silence was very uncharacteristic of the boisterous bat pony. It put Fleethoof off slightly. Even she seemed to be struggling with something. 

        “I wanted to make sure my friend was all right,” Midnight said slowly, enunciating each word, and giving a small smile to the stallion. “I wanted to see you again. I couldn’t just leave without saying goodbye to the pony I bugged the heck out of.” 

        Fleethoof gave his half smile. “I thought this wasn’t goodbye?” 

        Now it was Midnight’s turn to laugh. She trotted down the steps and flung herself at Fleethoof, wrapping her hooves around his neck in a tight embrace. Fleethoof was taken by surprise at first, giving her a half hug back with one hoof, both surprised and at the same time not by her outward signs of affection. When she finally pulled back, Midnight gave a little wave of her hoof in a mock salute. “Take care of yourself, soldier. I’ll see you soon, Fleety.” 

        “That’s ‘Fleethoof’!” 

        Midnight Dasher left laughing, her shoulders rising and falling in quiet laughter all the way into the train station. And then she was out of sight, and gone. Fleethoof lingered on the stairs, waiting until he was sure she was gone. The wind gently tousled his long mane in the air as he stood still as a statue. It was like closing a chapter on his life. Fleethoof always hated that feeling: leaving behind one part of your past and starting a new page for the future. This time, he knew how it would come to close. This chapter would have a conclusion, but no happy ending. 

        After a slow moment had passed, he stepped back down to the street. Cadance was still waiting for him beside the café, an odd look and smile on her face. Fleethoof smiled a small smile back as he approached her, sighing softly. An empty feeling had settled in his chest. Where it had come from, even he didn’t know. 

        “You’ll see her again,” said Cadance confidently. 

        Fleethoof chuckled and rolled his eyes. “That’s what I’m afraid of. So what were you and Shining looking for me for? Is Equestria under attack again or something?” 

        Now it was Cadance’s turn to roll her eyes. “No, nothing like that. The world doesn’t need to be in danger for somepony to need you, you know.” 

        “Lately, it doesn’t seem that way…” 

        “Shining wants to take us out to dinner. A Hearth’s Warming, slash New Year’s gift, and a welcome home thing for you.” 

        “That’s awfully generous.” 

        “He won’t take no for an answer.” 

        “And I’m guessing you won’t either?” 

        Cadance smiled widely at him. “Nope!” 

        Fleethoof knew he wouldn’t have resisted anyway. “I hope they have hay fries. I'm in the mood for something fried and delicious that I'll probably regret later.” 

        He went to grab the file on the table. The wind had flipped the cover open, fanning the papers out. Fleethoof gathered them up and stuffed them haphazardly into the folder. That was when he realized his photograph was missing from it. He blinked his eyes in confusion, and then quickly scanned around the area to see if it had blown away. There was no trace of it anywhere. 

        “What’s wrong?” asked Cadance. 

        Fleethoof scrunched his brow in confusion—and then slowly turned to look at the train station, just as a train had begun to depart from Canterlot. Realization dawned on him, and a smirk tugged at his lips. That wily mare… he thought. 

        “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.” 

        After all, he was going to see her again someday… 





        “So, what is it you wished to speak to me about?” Luna asked, sitting down at her desk. 

        Fleethoof approached the princess, removing his cap out of respect. “I want to build a headquarters for my team outside of the castle, in the city of Canterlot itself. Just some offices, even. Nopony likes being stuck underground, and it would give Quarter Master more room for his lab, his team, and his experiments.” 

        “What did you have in mind, Captain?” 

        “Just a single structure somewhere in the city, solely so my team can be up in the air and sunlight.” He saw the look on Luna’s face at the last word. “And the moonlight as well, of course, your majesty.” 

        Luna rolled her eyes. “That is not what my reaction was for, my captain. I am merely confused as to why you never brought this up before. Of course you may have your headquarters in the city. I will have an architect get in touch with you to draw up the blueprints immediately.” 

        Fleethoof was pleasantly surprised by Luna’s willingness to cooperate so readily. He had prepared a whole presentation and speech as to why they needed the room all around. All Luna wanted to know was what they needed, and that was it. 

        “That’s all, your majesty? No persuading? No debating?” 

        Luna giggled softly. “Oh, Captain Fleethoof. You need not explain yourself to me. You are my ponies. If there is anything you ever require, I will grant it to you. I trust your judgment, and I know you have legitimate reasons.” 

        He couldn’t fight the proud smile that spread across his face. “Thank you, Princess Luna.” 

        “Now, is there anything else I can do for you, or was that little project it?” 

        “No, that was all—” 

        A knock at the door caught both ponies’ attention. At Luna’s call, the doors opened, and Lightning Flash stepped inside. Both princess and captain looked surprised by the corporal’s presence. 

        “Lightning Flash, what brings you here?” asked Fleethoof. “Is something wrong?” 

        The pony hesitated for a moment, mouth parted as he searched for either the words or the will to speak. “Could I speak with you, Captain—privately?” 

        Fleethoof nodded, and excused himself from Luna’s presence. The two stallions stepped out of the office and began walking leisurely down the corridors of Canterlot Castle. They walked slowly past large glass windows, looking out over Canterlot. 

        “What’s on your mind, Corporal?” 

        For a long moment, Lightning Flash didn’t say anything. He was staring down at the carpeted floor beneath his hooves. Then, after several minutes, he looked up again, up at his leader. 

        “Captain, I want to resign from Skyfall.” 

        To say he was taken off guard by the request would have been an understatement. Fleethoof was bewildered by his comrade’s appeal, amazed that he had entreated such a thing from him. 

        “You want to quit Skyfall?” he repeated, as if he hadn’t heard correctly the first time. “May I ask why?” 

        “It’s just this whole thing with Union… I don’t think I could do much more of this.” Lightning Flash took a deep breath to steady himself. “It was different in the war, or before. There were clear sides. This time they were our own ponies. They were our friends. I don’t think I can handle killing fellow soldiers anymore.” 

        Fleethoof scowled slightly. “Corporal, they relinquished their allegiance to us when they turned on us.” 

        “You can say that all you want, sir, but I know you feel something about what we did. No matter what you think, they were still our brothers at one point. How many more times are we going to have to kill our countrymen when circumstances change?” 

        Hopefully, never, Fleethoof thought. He knew it was a fool’s hope to even think that. He didn’t have an answer for the pony standing beside him right now. 

        “Not to mention the torture business... I’m sorry, Captain, but I’ve given this a lot of thought. I can’t do this anymore—I can’t.” 

        “And there’s no way I could convince you otherwise, huh?” he asked. Lightning Flash shook his head. “Yeah, I didn’t think so…” 

        There was a momentary lull in their conversation. The two ponies stopped walking and stared out at the cityscape. 

        “You’d have to surrender all of your equipment,” Fleethoof explained. “And you know sensitive information.” 

        “I don’t want to be discharged—just transferred. Back to a regular Guard unit. I want to help ponies—not harm them anymore.” 

        It was a reasonable enough request. Fleethoof nodded slowly, his eyes darkening ruefully as he pondered the situation. Finally, he sighed, and murmured, “Very well, Corporal. Go home. Enjoy your leave. I’ll have somepony deliver information on your reassignment to you.” 

        Although he couldn’t see his face, Fleethoof could hear the relief and gratitude in Lightning Flash’s voice. “Thank you, Captain. It’s been a pleasure serving under you, sir.” 

        “It’s been an honor serving with you, Lightning Flash.” 

        Fleethoof listened to each step the pony took as he walked away. Soon it was just him, standing alone in a quiet, empty hallway, staring at shadows across the rooftops and courtyards of Canterlot, cast against a white ground and gray sky. It was nostalgic, and reminiscent of what he felt purgatory would be like. 

        He took a deep breath, and then exhaled it slowly, letting the breath pass slowly over his lips. His shoulders quivered gently. A single tear cut down his cheek in the silence and solitude. 





        Down in the cold of the Canterlot Morgue, four ponies stood around an autopsy table. The pathologist was busy gathering up her reports as the two princesses and soldier from before gathered around the body of a pegasus recovered from the base in Saddle Arabia. Fleethoof swallowed hard as he stared blankly at the body of Lightning Strike, trying hard not to feel like he had failed the pony. 

        “Why are we here?” he asked sharply. 

        “Because the doctor told us she had made a startling discovery,” Luna said in explanation. 

        “That is correct. While performing the autopsy on Sergeant Lightning Strike here, one of the tests we always run is a standard toxin screen to rule out any poisons in the system as cause of death.” The mare returned to the table, levitating several clipboards laden with papers with her. “With Mister Strike here, I thought the cause of death was pretty straightforward: stab wound to the chest, deflating the left lung and severing the pulmonary artery, and a gunshot wound to the head, causing catastrophic brain trauma. But, there was something unusual about his toxin screen.” 

        “He was poisoned?” asked Celestia. 

        The pathologist hesitated. “Well… yes and no. There were traces of something in his system, but I couldn’t identify it at first. I had to go back through very, very old accounts and records before I could find anything like it.” 

        “Well, what was it?” Fleethoof asked, losing his patience with being here. All he could think about was putting this ordeal behind him. 

        “Changeling venom.” 

        The three ponies instantly looked up and stared at the pathologist in near-perfect synchronization. The mood of the room instantly shifted from solemnity to concern. 

        Celestia was the first to speak. “Changeling venom? Are you sure?” 

        “Yes,” the pathologist confirmed. “I ran tests against the chemical makeup and it perfectly matched old accounts of the venom.” 

        “Changelings…” Fleethoof said, murmuring his words. “Are they like insect ponies? Dark bodies covered in shells? Bluish eyes and blood?” 

        “Yes,” answered Luna. “They have the ability to change their forms at will, and function on the emotions of living beings. It’s the same creature we have in custody. Spitfire showed her to us. I believe you interrogated her.” 

        Fleethoof felt his gut twist into a knot. Changelings. Now he had a name to place with the monsters he had killed. He knew of the legend of the creatures, but had never thought he’d live long enough to ever see them return. 

        “What does changeling venom do then?” he asked. 

        “Changeling venom is a very interesting biotoxin that affects the brain. It does not kill the infected pony, but instead completely shuts down any inhibition the brain has, as well as disabling any cognitive control they possess, depending on how much of the poison is injected. Low amounts, like what Lightning Strike possessed, would simply make him delirious, paranoid, and make his emotional state easily manipulated. Much greater doses would have made him a puppet to whoever envenomed him.” 

        Fleethoof could feel the rage building inside him again. “So what you’re saying is that he had no control over himself?” 

        “Not exactly,” the pathologist began. “He would have been very much aware of his actions, but he may not have realized he was doing them until they were done—sort of like sleepwalking, I would hypothesize. If he was acting under a paranoid delirium, it would have been impossible to get him to settle or stop whatever he was doing.” 

        “And what would the venom do in cases of rage?” 

        The unicorn took a deep breath. “There’s no detailed reports on how the venom effects emotional instability and disturbances, but if I had to guess, I would say it would exaggerate them to greater levels. He wouldn’t have control over them, and would more or less simply act on however he felt when he had been infected.” 

        Fleethoof closed his eyes tight. He leaned forward against the cool metal of the table, fighting back a choking sob of anger and frustration. “And what would happen if he began to bleed out? Would the venom just leave him?” 

        “Again, there’s no reports of any bloodletting as a cure or treatment, but since the venom is hemophilic, I would also guess that as he lost blood, the venom would leave his system as well. He may regain some conscious control or thought, but I wouldn’t be able to confirm that.” 

        He was apologizing… Fleethoof thought angrily over and over again. He was apologizing because he was coming back... Glider had him under his damn control the whole time and we never noticed!

        “The armor the body was brought back in was also made of changeling shells,” the pathologist said, continuing on. “Reinforced multiple layers of changeling shells. Extremely durable to force and heat. How they managed to get a suit made out of it is incredible. That would require a hive to manufacture.” 

        Flashbacks to the battle in Oxford flashed back in his mind. There had been a hive. They had wiped it out after Glider and Lightning Strike had moved on. That’s where the armor had come from. Chitin must have been making it to sell along with the weapons. 

        Fleethoof felt sick to his stomach. His head hurt, and he very much didn’t want to be there anymore. A gentle hoof on his shoulder forced him to open his eyes, just to look up at whoever was touching him. He tried his best not to look at Lightning Strike, lying dead mere inches away. 

        Luna rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. “There was nothing you could do for him, Fleethoof. He was lost the moment Glider caught him in his web.” 

        Fleethoof was far from convinced. “Is there any way to know when he was infected, or how?” 

        “Well, any bite from a changeling would do the trick. I couldn’t find any marks on him, which means they had probably healed, so I’d say he’d been poisoned for some time. Changeling venom never dissipates in the blood, so it’s impossible to tell for certain.” 

        Strangely, that made Fleethoof feel a little better. At least he wouldn’t know if he had ever known Lightning Strike as a pony or as a puppet to Glider. He couldn’t think about killing him as a hostage to the real villain’s will. 

        “What should we do, ‘Tia?” Luna asked quietly, looking to her sister for answers. “If he was not in control of his actions, do we vilify him? Is he innocent, or guilty by association?” 

        Celestia shook her head slowly. “I do not know, Luna… I just do not know…” 

        Fleethoof pushed himself away from the table, making his way for the door. “I’m done with this. Whatever you decide to do with him—don’t let me know.” 

        The guilt was gnawing at his soul all the way up the stairs back to the outside world. He couldn’t let himself know Lightning Strike’s fate. He’d feel too responsible for that too. Even if he never knew the condition of Strike’s mind during his demise, he didn’t want to know if he’d killed an innocent soldier or a corrupt traitor. Ignorance truly was bliss. In the back of his mind, Fleethoof sealed the whole incident away in a vault as he stormed out into the world so cold. 





        “So, Lightning Flash…” Captain Stratagem said, looking over the pony’s personnel file before her. “Your record appears to be quite impressive. I’m familiar with your service with Captain Fleethoof as well.” 

        Lightning Flash gave a short nod. “Yes, ma’am. He was a very skilled leader. I took a lot away from him.” 

        “I should hope so. We go back a ways.” Stratagem mused over the papers in her hooves. She lifted up the letter from Fleethoof attached to the files, reading it, and staring proudly down at the signature at the bottom. “Why did you choose to leave Fleethoof’s unit?”

        “We had a difference in style,” he explained honestly. “I wasn’t suitable for the jobs they did. So I’m trying to get back to where I belong.” 

        “As leader of the First Responder unit?” 

        Lightning Flash furrowed his brow. “Ma’am?” 

        “That’s what Fleethoof’s letter says,” Stratagem said, reading it aloud. “’It is for these reasons that I highly recommend Sergeant Lightning Flash to head your First Responder rescue unit.’ He says you’re the fastest pony on four hooves. Is that right?” 

        “W-Well, yes, but… I think there must be a mistake, ma’am. Did it say sergeant?” 

        “There’s also this attached for you.” Stratagem pushed a sealed envelope with his name scrawled on the front over her desk to the Earth pony. He quickly tore it open. Inside, a single sheet of paper had one sentence across it: 

Good luck, Lightning Flash. Be a better pony than I am. 

—Fleethoof

        A smile of heartfelt gratitude spread across Lightning Flash’s lips. Since the day he had tendered his resignation three months ago, he had been terrified that Fleethoof would be bitter about his leaving. He knew the captain was an honorable pony, and wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his reassignment—but never in his life would he have expected this. Fleethoof had taken what he wanted in life and given him the greatest wish he could have hoped for. 

        “So…” Stratagem’s voice caught the stallion’s attention.  “I think you should go meet your new teammates. You’ve all got a fitness test next week. Think you can pass it, or am I gonna have to ship you back to Fleethoof?” 

        Lightning Flash’s eyes narrowed and he smiled with determination. He saluted his new commanding officer with a, “Yes ma’am!” and hurried off to his new position. 





        Springtime had claimed the city of Canterlot. Winter had been wrapped up a week prior, and though a slight chill still clung to the air, Celestia’s bright sun bathed the land in warmth and the promise of the new season. Flowers had begun budding, popping up from the thawing earth, and songbirds filled the skies with dots of color and harmonious song. Three months had passed since the attack in Saddle Arabia, and the incidents with Fireteam Union. Much had changed in three months. 

        Fleethoof stood outside the skeleton of a building as a dozen unicorns worked tirelessly to put it together. He mused over the blueprints with the architect in charge of the project, going over every minor detail as the building went up. The effort had been moving along quickly, and all that remained were the doors, windows, and finishing details. The new Skyfall Headquarters was coming along beautifully. 

        “The windows will be arriving from Trottingham in the next few days,” the overseer said. “And the doors are supposed to be in this afternoon. We just need to pick them up from the carpenter across town, and then get the furniture moved in.” 

        Fleethoof nodded his head, half smiling to himself. “Excellent. So we’ll be done by the end of the month?” 

        “I’d say the end of the week if we move fast enough.” 

        “Perfect.” Another nod from Fleethoof. The changes and transitions were almost complete, and he was ready to be back where he belonged. Since the new year began, he had felt like he was stuck in limbo—lost in a space between the past and the future. Skyfall Team was still lingering, waiting for their new home, and remained with a staff of five. Nopony had been found to replace Lightning Flash yet. If he was honest with himself, Fleethoof didn’t want to think about that right now. Some changes he wasn’t ready to put behind him yet. 

        A clatter inside the structure demanded the attention of the overseer, who rushed off shouting at somepony inside. Fleethoof watched him go, and then returned to his private thoughts. Union had been sealed away from his memory. He refused to touch that side of his past yet. But a lingering mystery still consumed his thoughts: the pony aliased as Silence. 

        He had spent the last few weeks searching the Royal Archives for any traces of the name, and had come across a few references to it, but they were all partial accounts or incomplete, unverified details. Nothing had helped bring him any clarity. This furtive puppeteer of the Union tragedy remained hidden and unknown—and it greatly disturbed the captain. 

        Somehow, he would find this pony… 

        Silence… I’m coming… And I will get you… he vowed in thought, his muscles tensing on reflex. There was still much more to go through, and in his heart, he knew the truth. 

        One chapter had ended. The next was just beginning, and the story was far from over.