Main Firebase
The next day

"What are the totals?" Novikov asked Vasilyev as they met up outside of their unit's tent.

"For what?" The Lieutenant replied. "The casualties, the wounded, or the prisoners?"

"All three if you can, Lieutenant."

Vasilyev sighed, quickly looking up the figures on his 'Net' unit. With his higher rank, he was privy to information that Privates such as Novikov were not, and he was not shy about releasing it.

"Totals are about six hundred and fifty dead, a hundred and twenty-six mostly uninjured, with fifty-four wounded." Vasilyev noted. "As for the dead, well, it's hard to piece together fragments of multiple ponies and figure out how many there were. Those are just approximant from the confirmed deaths."

"Sounds like extra grave-digging duty." Kozlov noted, coming out of the tent. "Serves the bastards right."

"You're normally a racist asshole, but now you're a speciest asshole." Novikov noted.

"And don't you ever forget it." Kozlov growled. "Those damn ponies deserve it just as much as those damn Chechnya separatists."

"We're going to have to get along with them, Private Kozlov." Vasilyev said. "We're stuck on this world until God knows when, with plenty of different species, the primary one of which seems to be trying to kill us. I doubt the others are aware of our existence, much less want to engage in diplomacy."

There was a pause after Kozlov walked back inside, ignoring the two. Novikov looked to the tent flap, and then to Vasilyev.

"Was he always-" Novikov started.

"This abrasive? Yes, as far as know, he has always been like this." Vasilyev said. "From what I know, after his father died in the Second Chechen War, he always wanted to 'return the favor', so to speak. His mother was killed in 2006 in a small bombing in his hometown, which borders the region. After that, he joined up with the Army of the Russian Federation.

"When the fighting flared up again in mid 2014, he was one of the first men with my group. I was a Sergeant then, and he was a Private in my squad. The fighting in Grozny did things to his mind, made him how he was. He puts it on to shelter himself, seeking refuge in his hate for everyone and everything around him."

Vasilyev sighed, and continued. "I wish I knew how to help him, but he truly hates the Chechnyans. I wish it were otherwise, but it seems to have translated into anything that is not 'Russian'."

"Putin would be proud, before they knocked his ass off in early 2014." Petrov said, coming out of the tent. "Just saw Kozlov come inside like somebody has pissed on his MREs this morning."

"Isn't that how they normally taste anyway, sir?" Novikov said, making light of the situation.

"Knowing our suppliers, yes." Petrov said. "What the hell will we do once we run out of MREs?"

"A few ideas going around about trying to trade for food, or hunting in the forest." Vasilyev noted.

"What have we got to trade? I don't feel right giving a pony some old AKMs, or anything else for that matter." Novikov said.

"Electronics." Vasilyev replied. "The gold in the armor that we recovered is nearly ninety-eight percent pure, and we have several tons of it. Some people have already made basic solid-state electronics, and plans are to use what we have now to secure a foothold in this land."

"Won't that piss off whoever the ruler is?" Novikov asked.

"Fuck being pissed off. It attacked us, and we responded." Petrov said, his profanity almost unnoticed. "We'll do whatever the fuck we want to do, when we want to, not just because some 'Horse Deity' is pissed off. Did you read the report?"

"Yes. It's either that it's all a big misunderstanding, or it's a 1984-type Orwellian dictatorship." Vasilyev said. "The big question is: Which one is it?"

"Your designation is D-46. Move along now." Corporal Joseph Hanks said robotically, 'welcoming' the last of the prisoner for Delta section. Alpha was already filled, while Beta and Charlie still has plenty of room. Many of the injuries suffered by the ponies consisted of lacerations or various ruptures from over-pressurization. Shrapnel from the CBUs accounted for the former, while the latter was caused by the explosions themselves.

Only in severe cases, around twenty from what he had heard, required extensive hospitalization. He had not put on a 'Net' unit or visited one of the computers built to connect to them in nearly twenty hours, as this was his second shift within that time, barring time that he had spent sleeping.

"Well, that's all of them." A friend next to him said. "Did you notice how many of them sounded like nutters?"

"Yes, I noticed." Joseph deadpanned. "After the third prisoner in a row spouted a weak insult and left, I'd be better off assuming that they've been told we're their version of the anti-Christ. Some of them sounded like a bunch of Fundies, no offense."

"None taken, you asshole." Scattered laughter greeted this comment as all of them worked to pick up.

First Lieutenant Miller flew low above the sea in his F/A-18E/F, conducting a visual recon of the entire area. While the Navy ships had dozens of different types of drones, with plenty of variety in each, Captain Henderson had still thought it necessary to fly recon flights. Radar was unlikely to be useful in detecting vehicles or ships, as the ponies apparently had neither armored vehicles or metal ships.

Which was why he was our here, with a F-35B flying twenty feet to his left, scanning the seas and coast between one of the pony cities and the Firebase. Honestly, he was about as bored as he could possibly be.

"Turning right four degrees." He said over the radio.

"Rodger, wilco." Was the reply from the other pilot, who adjusted as Miller banked the aircraft to the right.

"Hey, what's that at two o' clock low?" His informal wingman asked. Miller tilted his aircraft, rolling to the right. Looking at the sea, he could see a large ship, sailing forward through the wind-swept sea. It would have been beautiful, had it not posed a problem.

"Looks like some sort of ship. I can see dozens of the ponies down on the deck, a lot of gold down there, probably guards." Miller noted as he went into a slow turn around the ship. At five hundred feet up and two thousand feet away, he could see quite a bit of detail on it.

Indeed, what he could only identify as several golden dots swarmed over the wooden ship. Several of them flew over or around it, presumably pegasi. Right as he noticed this little detail, he could see four turning around to come for him. They were going around three hundred miles per hour, and he noted that they were closing on his currently 520 mph jet, on account of his turn.

"Do we spray the damn thing?" His wingman asked as Miller rolled his F/A-18 upright.

"Negative, 1-2." Miller said, turning away as the Navy pilot turned to follow. "We're going to report it back."

Aboard the bridge of the USS Spruance, activity had raised to the frantic level the moment they were notified that there was a ship full of the ponies coming, presumably armed. The captain of the ship, Commander Tate Westbrook, hoped to accomplish it as quickly as possible. Captain Henderson from the USS Gerald R. Ford had ordered him to intercept it, and hopefully end the encounter without firing a shot. To do this, the Arleigh Burke-Class Guided Missile Destroyer had been given full control over every unmanned aircraft in the vicinity, as well as full permission to call upon helicopter support.

According to their latest information, the large wooden boat was twenty miles out, and closing at a brisk pace. Commander Westbrook had ordered a full stop, wanting to confront the 'Equestrian' as close to the firebase - and the fleet - as he could.

He would not be disappointed.

Author's Note

First chapter of Act IV. Tell me what you think in the comments, and, as always, have a great day.