Chapters Location Unknown Time Unknown Day before first contact
His head hurt.
That was the first thing Volkov consciously thought. His head felt as though he had slammed it into a bulkhead, and a second later he noticed someone laying on his shoulder.
It took several seconds for his groggy mind to realize that the 'person sitting on his shoulder' was actually one of the bridge crew, and that the crewmember was shaking his shoulder, not sitting on it.
"Kapitan! Please get up!" Volkov faintly heard the crewmember say. "I need a physician over here! Captain Volkov appears to be unconscious."
Conjuring up as much strength as he could at that moment, Volkov opened his eyes and found himself staring at the ceiling of his ship. Groaning, Volkov reached out with his right hand and tapped the crewmember kneeling next to him on the shoulder, startling the ensign.
"I am alive, Ensign Avilov." Volkov said as his eyes quickly snapped to the crewmember's name on their chest. "I do, however, require some help to stand up."
"Of course, sir." The ensign said, calling over another one of the bridge crew. Together, they managed to carefully pick him up, until Volkov was able to stand on his own. As a group, they helped the Captain hobble to the command chair, a mere eight feet away.
Volkov carefully sat down in the chair and looked around the bridge. A few of the crew seemed to be a bit dazed, but otherwise they were fine. There was one problem, however... How had they survived the evident death of their ship?
"Status. Where are we?" Volkov asked.
"Unknown, sir." One of the crew working on a console nearby said. "We just began waking up a couple minutes ago. We're still running data, but for now, we don't know."
"Is there any sign of the fleet? Or of the American warplanes?" Volkov asked.
"None."
Volkov put his face into his hands, frustrated with the lack of information.
"In any case," The ensign continued, "We are not getting any signal from out satellites. Our radar antenna checks out fine, but we are unable to connect to anybody."
'Strange.' Volkov thought, 'There should be at least something in the area... What happened while we slept? And, more importantly, just where are we now?'
The clearing descended into silence as the six men warily scanned the surrounding woods, waiting for any more surprises it might hold.
Getting attacked by strange wooden creatures would put almost anyone on edge. Or, at least, that was Vasilyev's line of thought as the group waited anxiously for more of them to appear. When no sudden threats made themselves visible, the grouped relaxed somewhat, still on edge.
"Damn it all, do any of you see anything?" Petrov asked as he scanned the tress with his SVU-A.
"Nothing, Sergeant." Novikov responded. "Any idea what those things were?"
"I don't fucking know." Kozlov responded as he gave a small kick to the pile of wooden sticks that had formerly been... Something.
"Let's keep moving." Vasilyev said. Suddenly, leaving this forest seemed like a very, very good idea.
Author's Note
Sorry that this chapter - as part of the revision - came out so late. I have been quite busy lately.
Location Unknown Approximately 1700 hours Day before first contact
The group had been traveling for about an hour now without a stop. Ordinarily, they would have had a small rest by now, but each and every one of them wanted to forge onward and find out just what the hell was going on.
Finally, Vasilyev stopped the group for a break in a small clearing. Most of them just plopped down on the ground and set down their things packs, still keeping a tight grip on their weapons. Since the attack by the strange wooden creatures, they had been on edge, and the total absence of wildlife so far had been concerning.
"Lieutenant," Petrov asked as he sat down. "Should we activate our 'Net' systems?"
"Probably." Vasilyev admitted. "It hadn't entered my mind until this point, but it would be best of we did."
"Why have them if we don't use them?" Petrov rhetorically asked, taking off his pack in order to find his.
The ‘Net Systems’ were a development after the success of the American ‘Land Warrior’ project of 2004-2014, the objective being to integrate electronic systems with a soldier, to create a state-of-the-art network that could relay information between soldiers, update guidance information, and provide real-time tactical assistance. It had become standard-issue within the American forces, but had only recently caught on in Russia, where it was restricted to pilots, Special Forces, or vehicle crews. All the soldiers in the group had the headgear stored, but they had simply forgotten to remove and activate them after the crash. The system consumed very little power, and the batteries could last for well over a week.
Vasilyev reached into his pack and grabbed the system. It consisted of a pair of what looked like wrap-around sunglasses, but where actually transparent and polarized screens that could project any information on them in real-time. The glasses were connected to a clip that was connected to the side of his helmet. It consisted of a camera and several sensors, along with the battery and a wireless transmitter. Finally, a plastic prong stretched out in front of his mouth, in actuality a microphone that was connected to the system on his helmet, along with the glasses, with several small but tough wires. He activated it, the HUD switching on and displaying the locations of the others in his squad as they switched theirs on.
Out of curiosity, Vasilyev tried the satellite connection, but quickly found that he couldn't acquire a signal.
"Shit, not getting a sat connection." Petrov grumbled.
"Neither am I, Sergeant." Vasilyev replied. "I suppose it's a bug in the software."
"It had better be..." Petrov said. "Now, how the hell do we get out of this forest?"
"There's a hill about four hundred meters to the... North." Vasilyev said as he checked his HUD. "We should get moving."
"Right." Sokolov muttered as he finished strapping his 'Net' gear on.
The group quickly put their things back on and started trekking. Vasilyev found that the uneasy feeling he had about the forest had not abated, and had instead grown stronger as they went. Before too long had passed, they were nearly to the top of the small rise that could pass for a hill.
“Why are we hiking up here, anyway?” Sokolov asked as the grouped weaved between trees.
“To scout the surrounding terrain. It's higher than anything else I can see, which should give us good visibility.” Vasilyev stated.
The group saw that the top of the hill was near, and hurried forward. The group quickly reached the clearing, running up the remaining distance to the top. They raced over the edge, eager to see if anything was there.
A large stretch of forest broke in front of them for about six kilometers, and at the edge of it was a massive clearing. In the center of it stood the distant, blocky shapes of buildings. In the far distance, maybe fifty kilometers, several massive mountains rose up. Vasilyev quickly grabbed his binoculars out of his pack and rose them to his eyes.
“Small buildings, thatched roofs.” He said. “Looks big enough for a population of around eight hundred people. Brightly colored shapes moving around, probably the locals.”
“What are we waiting for, Lieutenant!” Novikov said eagerly. “Let’s meet the locals of wherever we are.”
“Agreed.” Vasilyev said. “The edge of the clearing is about a kilometer from the town. From it, we should be able to observe the people, and possible find out where we are."
The rest of the team checked their equipment, acknowledgment lights blinking one by one as they confirmed they were ready. Meanwhile, the small device in his pack was fully warmed up.
“Headset, select SVZ-5A.” He said. “Device, scan radius set five hundred meters, feed results to squad members 1-2 to 1-6, chart path on bearing North twenty East.”
The HUD quickly displayed the quickest route through the woods towards the town, the small radar unit focusing a narrow beam that reached through the forest, charting the path they would need to take. With that, the group set out, walking along the designated path, with Vasilyev in the lead. They covered most of the distance very quickly. Time seemed to fly by as they moved as a group towards the edge of the woods.
When they were within a hundred meters of the edge of the woods, Vasilyev held up a hand, silently ordering them to slow. They slowed down to a walk, and then, twenty meters away, to a near crawl. Vasilyev motion for Petrov to go forward with the sniper, and alone, he walked to the edge, lay down, and aimed at the town. He stared through the scope, looking around the town.
It was about two o’ clock in the afternoon, so there should be plenty of people… No, wait. That couldn’t be right. That can’t be right! Petrov’s eyes widened, and his heartbeat increased dramatically.
Vasilyev stared worriedly at the team readouts. Petrov’s heartbeat has just surpassed 120 bpm, and was steady there. Suddenly, his voice came through the short-range radio.
“Men, I’m patching my feed through. God knows how you’ll react to this.”
His HUD was suddenly overlapped with the image that Petrov was seeing through the scope. So far as he could tell, everything was fine. The houses looked in good shape; the sun was out, the people wandering the stre-… His train of thought suddenly went silent at what he was seeing.
In front of him, two kilometers away, the streets were not filled with people.
Suddenly, it all made sense. Their collective blackout, how they awoke in the forest, the wooden wolves, even why there were no satellites that he could find.
A town of ponies, unicorns, and pegasi stood below them, creatures thought myth for hundreds of years.
And, for once in his career, Vasilyev had no answer.
Check here for a recent blog post I did on the 'Net' gear.
Author's Note
Rewrite finished on 7/15/2014.
Location Unknown Approximately 1820 hours Day before first contact
Vasilyev paced back and forth across their makeshift camp. It was two hours after the sighting of the… ponies, and the fact that mythical creatures like unicorns and pegasi existed here meant something special. There was no way to contact any satellites, because there weren’t any. If there weren’t any satellites, then they must not be on Earth. It all made sense to him, except the part about the ponies.
“Lieutenant,” Petrov warned. “If you keep pacing like that, you’ll wear down a rut all the way to whatever is on the other side of the fucking planet. I very much doubt that it is China, or any other recognizable place, for that matter.”
Vasilyev only grunted in reply.
Now that they were in uncharted territory, he had no idea what he was supposed to do. MVD training and doctrine had no answer for this, and his training as an officer had never gone into hypotheticals this absurd, so his first presumption was that this would be off-the-book. He noticed he was still carrying around his AUG as if it were a baby. With a sigh, he slung it, stopping his walking. He turned to his men slowly, their fatigue showing.
`“Men,” He said. “We have a first contact situation here. We can’t connect to any satellites, and there are mythical creatures here I haven’t heard of since my days in the university, so we will need to be cautious. Set up a camp a hundred meters back into the woods. The SVZ is showing a secluded clearing we can use in that direction, so save the current map to your HUD before I turn this damn thing off.
“One more thing: We will observe before making contact. They quite obviously will not speak any language we know of, so we have to establish everything we can about them before contact. Dismissed.”
Most of the soldiers and pilots jumped up, even Kozlov showing some enthusiasm. Vasilyev reached around behind him, groping his bag. He quickly slipped a hand inside and found the switch, sliding it, instantly shutting the small, portable radar off.
Vasilyev jogged over to the location he had specified to find the men unpacking their bags, looking for anything which might help them. Novikov was found to have a folded pile of camouflage netting (which he swore was issued to him, although Vasilyev had his doubts), which, when stretched out, was around fifteen square meters. They quickly knocked down several small trees in the miniature clearing with the survival ax that Sokolov has been issued as a pilot, and stretched the netting between several trees that surrounded the small area.
They were at least a hundred meters back from the end of the woods, so the risk of discovery was minimal. Vasilyev was thankful the area was heavily wooded. It left small areas like this untouched, but overall, it was hard to see twenty meters in the mess that was the trees.
The small trees that Sokolov hacked down were cut into manageable lengths two meters long, and stacked in a pile by the edge of the small camp. That being accomplished, it was still around six o’ clock in the afternoon, or so said their mission clocks. They were inclined to trust that time, judging by the sun. They still had around four hours of sunlight left after all that work, so Vasilyev decided that, tonight, they would attempt to find out more about their ‘neighbors.’
“Good job, everyone.” He said to the sweat-soaked group. “Get as much rest as you can in the next six hours. At midnight, we are moving out to scout the town under darkness.”
The soldiers could do nothing more than nod as they collapsed onto their packs. They had cleared the space under the netting of the gathered leaves and set it atop the netting, so at least they had a soft cushion of grass to rest on. Even Vasilyev slowly drifted off, watching as the other ‘Net’ headsets were turned off. Before he finally rested, he instructed his to turn on and wake him up in six hours. Closing his eyes, he drifted off to sleep.
Author's Note
Revision finished on 8/15/2014
Vasilyev awoke to an alarm blaring through his headset. He quickly turned it off with a quiet voice command, and checked the time. It was currently 0024 hours. Apparently, that had been the headset waking him up. For the first time since the crash, he wondered where the rest of his team was. Specifically, the eight others assigned to his operation. He had to assume that they were alive, and hopefully not stuck on this world. He had enough problems as it was without having to deal with more.
Rising to his feet, he quickly woke the rest of the team. They silently gathered up their rifles and ate a quick meal with some cold MREs, waiting for the go-ahead. At 0042 hours, Vasilyev gave the order to move out.
All of the ‘Net’ devices had basic thermal imaging that could be overlaid on the glasses. Within moments, Vasilyev had activated his. Instead of the red-purple-blue types that he could remember from the early sets, these ones had the white imaging type, where targets identified as significant heat signatures, like humans, animals, and vehicles, would show up a stark white, while everything else was a dark grey. Satisfied, he turned it off. At least it was ready to use if he needed it.
The team quickly reached the edge of the woods, where Vasilyev gave out the orders. Petrov, Sokolov, and Kozlov would enter the area, while the rest of them stayed back and watched via a video stream.
The three assigned quickly split off of the group, walking towards the field. It was nearly pitch black outside, and only the vision enhancement from the ‘Net’ sets enabled them to see clearly. The town had a few faint sources of light inside it, but was otherwise unlit. The team quickly sprinted across the field, slowing when they came within two hundred meters of the town. The grass soften their footsteps, allowing them to approach nearly silently. The town was quiet, the only sounds being muffed noises from a few, scattered houses.
Sokolov quickly took out the objective of the mission, a small radio that would transmit one-way continuously. They needed to find out everything they could about the language, which was why they chose a spot that could be clearly seen from the woods. They could compare what they heard with what they saw, giving them a good basis when they finally made contact.
Sokolov planted the radio on a wall, the light tan surface of the one-inch-square tab blending perfectly with the wall. Small spikes on the bottom attached to the wall. Sokolov pushed it in, the surface only being slightly smoother than the wall surrounding it. It was originally intended for observing remote spots without being there, but Novikov had brought it with him, along with several other random pieces of equipment, as a 'just in case' measure.
With their work done, the team quickly jogged back out of the town, making their way across the field and reaching the group within four minutes.
“Nice job, everyone.” Vasilyev said. “We are currently receiving audio feed, and we should be able to put it together with imaging from Sergeant Petrov’s sniper scope.”
“Good.” Kozlov simply said.
The group made their way back to the camp, quietly settling down once they reached it. Sokolov made sure his rifle was safe, and then laid his head back on his pack. He drifted off, quickly falling asleep once more.
At 0822 in the morning, Vasilyev woke them all. They quickly ate their meal, and turned on their ‘Net’ systems.
“Petrov,” Vasilyev asked. “Are you ready for this?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. Just be sure to catch my video feed.” The sergeant said.
The sergeant quickly walked down to the edge of the forest as the rest of the group watched via their ‘Net’ systems. Vasilyev dialed his radio to catch the channel that the microphone would be operating on right as Petrov looked through his PSO-1 scope at the town. The scene showed several ponies walked around, probably beginning their day.
Vasilyev, however, along with most of the group, stiffened when he heard the voices.
A purple unicorn was talking to an orange pony on their screens. What caught their attention was the language the voices were in.
It was English, pure and simple.
“-lejack, I don’t think that will work.” The purple one way saying.
“Are you all hearing that weird language?” Novikov said, one of the few in the group who didn’t know English. “It almost sounds like what the Americans speak like.”
“That’s because it is.” Kozlov said. “It’s English.”
“Ah am sure it will, Twi!” The orange one was saying.
“That sounds like one of those American accents.” Sokolov said.
“It is! Now shut up and listen.” Petrov responded.
The purple one shook its head, apparently a common gesture. “It’s too dangerous, AJ. I need to find this alone.”
“What are ya’ll looking for, anyway?” The orange one asked.
“Jesus, it’s like a bad comedy movie. Someone wake me up.” Sokolov said, causing a small round of laughs to go around the group.
“Some creature or something in the forest.” The purple one replied. “Yesterday, I senses a massive magical outburst near-” And with that, the ponies went out of range.
“Magical outburst? What the hell is that?” Petrov asked himself.
Vasilyev shrugged. “Who knows. By the way, you’re transmitting over the radio.”
Petrov checked the ‘Net’ to find that he was, indeed, transmitting. “Shit. Well, now that I have your attention, I will give two hundred rubles to the man who can tell me what I just saw there.”
“We’re here to stay, it seems. Who here does not speak English?” Vasilyev asked.
Bogdanov and Novikov raised their hands.
Vasilyev sighed. “At least all the important people can speak it, to some degree.”
Meanwhile, Petrov has walked back over to the group. He had an amused grin on his face for everyone to see.
“Were any of you on the channel for the bug twenty seconds ago?” He said with a grin.
The entire group stared at him.
“I’m assuming that’s a no.”
A few nods went around.
“In that case, I have important news: I heard some of the creatures discuss a guard patrol, and saw a couple fucking pegasi in golden armor walking in the streets! With spears, for Christ’s sake! They’re going to go into the woods to find the oh so mysterious ‘magical anomaly’.”
“What’s our plan of action going to be?” Vasilyev said, turning serious for a brief second.
Petrov spoke up next. “What the fuck do you think? Either avoid them, or fuck with them.”
“I vote for fucking around with their patrol.” Sokolov said. “If they try to attack, all we have to do is get a fucking carrot or shoot them.” With that, the entire group erupted into laughter at the absurdity of their situation.
After the group quieted down, they started to plan. Their eventual agreement was to give the patrol a scare as they came down a road that was a full kilometer to the east. It provided the practical purpose of buying them time to deal with their situation. Yet again, Vasilyev was thankful he had taken another radar scan with his mobile unit. It had provided him detailed maps of an area almost two and a half kilometers around their small camp.
Shortly thereafter, the group reached the road and began to set up on both sides of it. Vasilyev, Sokolov, and Kozlov were on the west side, with Petrov, Bogdanov, and Novikov on the opposite side. With luck, this would dissuade the group of guards from walking around in this part of the woods. That, and the fact that even MVD Spetsnaz needed something to do when they were bored.
Five minutes passed before the guards came into view, golden armor gleaming in the midafternoon sun. There were two of them, each one a pegasus, with white coats. Both of them had a spear tucked under their wing, in a position raised into the air, obviously ready to use.
“I have them in sight. Transferring locations to the ‘Net’.” Novikov whispered.
Immediately, red boxes highlighted them for a split second, before changing to a hazy red-orange dot identifying each. They were twenty feet away from the ambush point, and the men were almost giggling with glee. To them, this was finally a chance to make sure they weren’t bothered, and also to have a little fun.
When they were ten feet away, Vasilyev moved into a pose that would allow him to easily walk forward. Suddenly, a call came over his radio.
“Permission to flashbang, sir.” Kozlov asked.
Vasilyev mentally facepalmed. He had completely forgotten about that. He quickly nodded to Kozlov, and he and the others quickly turned their heads away, the helmets able to automatically muffle loud sounds, but not the flash.
Three feet away.
Clink
Thud
BANG
The sound was loud, even muffled. Immediately, Vasilyev moved out of the bushes, followed closely to his left and right by Sokolov and Kozlov. On the other side of the road, the others emerged from the bush. Now was the time to act.
“Get down on the ground!” He yelled in his accented English.
-=-=-
Bright Shield and Swift Passage were both doing a patrol down the road. With the recent magical surge yesterday, ten guards had arrived in the area, and they had been the two unlucky enough to be sent on a patrol first. Swift Passage grumbled to himself as he walked along. Why did the Sergeant always pick him when it came to patrols? It’s like he had a thing for annoying him.
A small click was heard off to the right. Both of the guards turned their heads just as a metal cylinder landed in from of them with a dull thump. They stared at it, unsure of what it was, before suddenly a massive light erupted, like the sun was right in front of their eyes. Their ears were suddenly ringing as he blinked his eyes to get his vision back.
Surprisingly, both he and his fellow guard had dropped the spears after it went off. It took enough concentration to hold one in your feathers, and if that broke, it simply fell down.
“-down on the ground!” He heard faintly from his left, he turned, vision still slightly off, to see a massive creature standing to his right, along with two others. Turning his head the other way, he spotted three more. They were outnumbered three to one.
-=-=-
All six men moved forward, rifles aimed but on safe, looking very intimidating. The two pegasi were obviously both confused and probably frightened at their sudden appearance, so Vasilyev decided to take charge.
“Tell me, why are you out here.” He said in English.
“T- To investigate the forest.” The nervous pegasus responded.
“Tell me,” Vasilyev said. “Do you know what happens to people that wander the forest alone?”
“N- No.” It responded.
“Good, you won’t find out.” He replied, switching to the radio and speaking in Russian. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
With that, the six men melted into the forest, leaving a very frightened and confused pegasus behind them.
Author's Note
Originally finished on 6/22/2013, at 12:44 PM.
The men quickly ran through the forest, making their way back to their camp. After their performance back there, they could be reasonably sure that they wouldn’t be bothered. Either that, or patrols would step up big-time. Vasilyev just hoped they had done the right thing. If they had let the guards patrol the area unchallenged, would they have found them? One thing was for sure: Vasilyev didn’t want to find out.
The group entered their camp, setting down their equipment and lying down to rest. It was just after midday, and already they had discovered much about the local residents. Like what language they spoke, which had come as a surprise to all of them. After a few more moments of silence, Petrov spoke up.
“Anyone want to watch me as I spy on them with the SVU-A?” He asked.
“Sure,” Sokolov responded. “It’s not like we had anything else to do.”
With that, the tough sergeant got up, slinging his sniper rifle over his shoulder. The rest of the group watched as he left the clearing, the men immediately switching to his video feed. They saw hum ducking under a branch, quickly finding his spot at the edge of the woods. The team switched the radio channel to that as the bug, immediately catching snippets of chats.
Petrov lay down on the ground, resting his sniper rifle on its bipod. The bullpup design might not make it the best for long-distance shooting, but that didn’t matter, as all he needed was the PSO-1 scope attached to it. He peered into it, his ‘Net’ equipment instantly transmitting what he saw to the other men.
Several dozen ponies, unicorns, and pegasi were wandering around what was probably a ‘Town Square’. Petrov rotated the scope away from there, searching for the spot he had planted the bug at. He found it quickly, the spot easily visible from his spot, as he had intended. Right now, two ponies, one a regular type and one with wings, were standing outside of it.
He dialed to the channel, catching part of the conversation.
“-am sorry, Roseluck, but I don’t know anything else. Whatever’s in the forest could have hurt the guards, and they’re preparing a pegasus flight to find it, or them if there are more: The guard said about six.”
“A shame, Cloud Kicker.” The regular pony said. “I always gathered plenty of flowers near that section of the forest, at least, what I couldn’t grow here.”
The pegasus nodded, rolling its head a bit. “Well, I have to get back to the weather patrol. See you later, Roseluck!”
With that, one of them waved at the other, and the pegasus took off into the sky, quickly flying out of the sight of his scope.
“Damn.” Kozlov said. “I guess it didn’t work.”
Bogdanov sighed. “It was a good attempt. At least it was funny as hell.”
Vasilyev shook his head. “All of you, get back to the camp. We’ve got to get under cover before whatever they are sending out gets here, so pack up your things, and get under the camouflage net. That includes you, Petrov.”
The sergeant grunted, picking up his rifle as he rose off the group. He quickly ran back towards the camp, reaching it in less than half a minute.
The rest of the men were packing up their things and placing them under the netting, the camouflage pattern the safest place in the forest for them. The next four hours passed quickly. By the mission clock, it was eight o’ clock, and the sun was reaching down, almost touching the hilly horizon. The men occupied themselves by playing with a small deck of cards, betting the little rubles that they had amongst themselves.
Sokolov had just gone up slightly when Petrov held a hand to his ear, listening intently to the earpiece. A moment later, he looked directly at them.
“On the bug channel, I heard plenty of marching and a bit of shouting. Needless to say, they’re coming.”
The deck of cards was put away in seconds, Kozlov stowing it in one of his pouches. Each of the men put on their packs, in some cases checking to make sure the missiles or rockets on the back were tightened on. they stood in a half-crouch, waiting, at the slightest moment, to react to any stimuli.
Petrov suddenly cocked his head for a moment, before turning rapidly towards the rest of the men.
“They’re coming in by ground!” He hissed. “Stow the camouflage netting, and quickly!”
Bogdanov quickly took two of the ends down while Sokolov tacked the other two. They dumped the material on top onto the ground, handing the large, thin cloth to Bogdanov, who packed it away quickly. Vasilyev gave the ‘follow me’ gesture before running off into the woods, the rest of the men following shortly behind him.
Petrov pulled up a tactical map on his HUD, and saw that they were moving around the town through the forest, in a small arc, heading approximately south. Vasilyev was in the lead, eight meters in front of him, with the rest of the men visible as blue dots on his HUD.
“Where are you headed, Lieutenant?” Petrov asked as they ran.
“The train tracks outside of town.” He answered. “Right outside, we try to catch a small passenger train, take it over, and commandeer a locomotive and a car.”
“How do you know there are trains?” He asked.
“The radar shows them clearly, as well as a train that had partially pulled in at the time.” Vasilyev replied.
The group quickly emerged from the forest at the other end of the town, well away from the patrolling guards, and more towards the gigantic mountain about eighty kilometers away. They moved towards the train tracks en-mass, hardly visible now that the sun had finally set. They finally stopped in a clumping of trees, two hundred meters away from the town, well-hidden from any ponies that might have been out.
Now all they had to do was wait.
Author's Note
Originally finished on 6/24/2013, at 7:42 PM.
Ten minutes later, their vigilance paid off. Although it was dark outside, they could easily see a train, pulling five cars, exiting the station. It slowly put on speed, headed straight towards their spot. It was going around eight miles per hour, and was a hundred feet from their spot.
“Ok everyone,” Vasilyev said. “When the train passes by, we grab on. Sokolov and I will hit the engine, Novikov and Petrov will grab onto the third car, and Kozlov will take the fourth car with Bogdanov. We hit fast, and head for the first car. Are you ready?” He asked with the train fifty feet away.
Five acknowledgments appeared on his HUD. He looked at the train, the headset automatically calculating its speed. Currently ten miles per hour, and gaining very slowly. At twenty feet away, Sokolov and Vasilyev exited the small clumping of brush and trees, headed for the tracks four feet away. The train started to pass them, and they quickly ran alongside it and grabbed onto the railing at the front of the first car, catching behind them as the four others grabbed onto their designated cars.
Vasilyev pulled himself up into the cart using one hand, the other holding his Steyr AUG A3. Sokolov followed moments later, holding his MTAR-21 at the ready. A coal car was all that stood between them and the locomotive. The pair of men simply waited for the all-clear to sound.
-=-=-
Petrov and Novikov quickly latched onto the third car. Each of them quickly pulled themselves up onto the train and stood at the door to the car. They each took a side, and Petrov pointed at the door and help up five fingers, slowly closing them. When the last one went down, Petrov twisted to knob and burst inside. Nobody was in the car, so they quickly marked it as ‘clear and empty’ on the squad’s situational map.
With that done, they noticed Kozlov and Bogdanov enter from the fourth car. It appeared cars four and five were empty as well.
“Lieutenant, this is Petrov.” The sergeant spoke into the microphone. “Cars three, four, and five are all empty. Can we cut them loose?”
A few moments of silence lasted, before Vasilyev came on the radio. “Granted. Disconnect it with all speed. At the same time, clear car two. We shall take car one. Vasilyev out.” The radio clicked off.
Kozlov quickly found them lever that would detach it. He pushed away the lock, and pulled the lever. Hard. The clamp holding the cars together released, the three empty back cars slowing down immediately. The four men took up positions outside the door to the second car. A countdown clock started by Vasilyev appeared on their HUDs, starting at ten. The number rapidly lowered until it reach zero.
-=-=-
When that happened, Vasilyev quickly opened the door and burst into the first car, his AUG leveled. Two pegasi were sitting down on the seats, but sat up as soon as the men entered. One screamed, confirming both of them as female.
“Sit down!” Vasilyev said in his English. “Don’t move. This is a takeover.” Switching over to Russian, he spoke to Sokolov. “Guard the civilians, pilot.”
Seconds later, the news came that the second car had been secured, with two more ponies found, one pegasus and one normal. Petrov reported that the pegasus had almost attacked them, before being restrained by the other pony. They were currently being moved to the first car.
Seconds later, Kozlov and Petrov came in, followed by the two ponies, with Novikov and Bogdanov leading up the rear. The two ponies went to sit down with the other two, forming a small group as they talked in hushed whispers. It was obvious all four of them were female by the voices. What was it with the disproportionate number of females they had seen?
Kozlov quickly detached the second car as Vasilyev and Petrov walked out of the first car. Petrov cupped his hands and turned around, kneeling down, before boosting Vasilyev up to the coal cart. The lieutenant held out a hand for the sergeant, who quickly accepted it; both of them now up on a small platform above the car. Their arrival had gone completely unnoticed, muffled by the sound of the locomotive. They turned around and walked on the catwalk, it connecting to the locomotive. The cabin of it was enclosed, with a small door on a walkway on the back.
For a moment, Vasilyev wondered how the train was fueled, before seeing a small chute leading from the coal car to the locomotive, attached to a flexible conveyer belt that was also powered by the steam engine. The two soldiers finally stood outside the door to the locomotive.
“Ready?” Petrov asked.
Vasilyev smiled. “Ready.”
With that, Petrov quickly turned the knob, pushing the door open, both of them leveling their guns. The inside of the locomotive was very clean and bright, with a single pony sitting down on a chair in the center, surrounded by various knobs, levers, and buttons. The light brown pony quickly turned around, a horn on its head confirming it was a unicorn.
“Wha-” It said in a male voice before seeing the two soldiers there. He froze up, staring at them.
Vasilyev, however, has no such freezing. “Keep the train moving. If you stop it or manage to alert anyone, Sergeant Petrov here will personally kill you. Do you understand?” He said in English.
The unicorn simply nodded, gulping and turning back to the control. Vasilyev turned to Petrov and motioned to the pony.
“Make sure he does not communicate, and continues. If he tries anything, met you what you will.” Vasilyev said in Russian. The lieutenant walked out of the door, closing it and walking up the coal car. He kicked down a folding metal ladder on the other side of the car, making it easy to travel between the cars.
Sokolov barley acknowledged the lieutenant when he entered. Instead, he was busy listening to the ponies talk. He remembered the orange, normal pony from their observations of the town, and had referred that fact to the rest of the soldiers.
Right now, though, they were beginning to discuss escape.
“… And I say that we can get past those things.” The blue pegasus was saying quietly to the rest of them.
“I don’t want to risk getting hurt!” One of the two other pegasi said. Both were a kind of gray-blue, and had bright aqua manes. “Neither me nor Cloudchaser want to do something that rash!”
“Sugercube, don’t you think you might be overreacting? They haven’t hurt us yet.” The orange one said.
“But they might!” The blue one replied. “I don’t trust them. They could hurt us, or try to invade Canterlot. That is where this train is going, right?”
“YA lyublyuuverennosti, chto u nikh yest' v nas. [I love the confidence that they have in us.]” Sokolov said to Kozlov, who sat beside him.
Kozlov buried his head in his hands, mumbling to himself. “YA khochu, chtoby k chertu etoy volshebnoy strany. [I want to get the fuck out of this fairyland.]”
“Look at them!” The blue one was saying now. “Only one of them speaks our language! They are probably aliens, just like in that comic I read!”
Sokolov’s head shot up. “I can speak English very well, thank you.” He shot to them in the same language. “In fact, most of us can. We are not aliens, nor are we going to kill you unless you resist. Either shut up or I will make Kozlov do it. He would love to.” Sokolov finished, daring one of them to talk. When nothing came, he laid his head back again, trying to get some rest.
Vasilyev leaned back against the wall, enjoying the conversation. Petrov had radioed in that they had another two hours before they reached a city called ‘Canterlot’ at their current speed of twenty miles per hour.
He just hoped that it would turn out with him and his men alive.
Author's Note
Hey everyone! This is the end of the planned chapters, and of Act I.
It might be as much as a week before the next chapters as I plan out and write the next act. Be patient, and the end result will be more.
Vasilyev looked out of the window of the train at the sky. The ride seemed to have taken forever, although it could be that they had been on the train for around two hours now as it sped towards ‘Canterlot’. From the conversations he had caught, it was their capital. Good. It was time to make a statement.
“Ok, everyone.” He said over the radio. “Wake up, load your weapons, and prepare. I have a plan. In ten minutes, we shall begin to climb the hill near the city of ‘Canterlot’. As you know, it is their capital. I propose that, under cover of darkness, we personally confront the rulers and then get away from the city. It should be simple, but remember: You all have several clips of stun rounds originally intended for protesters or those who resist. Load them, not the real thing, and double check. Kozlov, I swear if I hear you threating to kill one of them one more time, I will cut off your dick and find out if you really do have brass balls.
“Are we clear?” He asked. All five men sent individual confirmations; Kozlov’s coming a bit slower than the rest of them.
With that settled, Vasilyev walked over to the group of four ponies. Two of them cowered slightly, one of them stood its ground, while the last one was ready to rush him.
“We shall let you go once we reach the city. Wait ten minutes after we are gone until you leave, or the entire train will blow to pieces.” Actually, that was a lie. They may have had motion sensors and plenty of explosives, but even Kozlov didn’t want to do anything that stupid or rash; they wanted to be feared and left alone, not hated and hunted down.
“Five minutes!” Petrov said over the radio.
Sokolov took the current magazine out of his MTAR-21, replacing it with one of the stun round ‘special ammo’ magazines. They were clearly marked with a yellow stripe on the magazine, but he double-checked to make sure. Even though pilots were not expected to go into combat, they were still required to carry the standard amount of ammunition, either in the cockpit or stowed in the cargo section, where Vasilyev had retrieved his.
He double-checked to make sure it was the right kind of bullet, and nodded. A twenty-round STANAG magazine filled with NATO 5.56x45mm cartridges, fitted with blunt-tipped plastic bullets. Although they could be lethal if shot to the face at close range, they were very effective. Sokolov grabbed for the items that Vasilyev had given him, and pulled out a SVT-2.
The SVT-2, yet another recent creation by the Sozvezdie Electronics Company, was first planned out in late 2013 as a weapon-mounted sonic incapacitation weapon. Unlike the very bulky sets often mounted on Humvees and designed for riot control, the SVT-2 was designed to be attached to almost any weapons rail in the world via an adjustable attacher. The device itself used a powerful series of speakers and a very good battery to direct an extremely focused beam of sound, at the infrasonic level of 7 Hz, into any target within twenty meters. Past that, it easily dissipated. The sound wave, because of its frequency, would pass through almost any solid object (such as walls, floor, ect), so it had to be used carefully in an urban environment. It could cause extreme vertigo and imbalance in any human it hit, and Vasilyev had told them it would probably work on the ponies as well.
The unit itself was fairly normal, and looked like a small grenade launcher with a barrel four centimeters wide, filled with a variety of electronics that he did not know about, nor cared. It was activated via a trigger, much like a normal grenade launcher, that sat behind the main portion. It had to be powered on before use, but that was almost the only drawback. Almost. It was hideously expensive, and the only reason it had been issued in this situation was because of the nature of their original mission. Vasilyev had been provided with twelve of them, since he originally had to carry for the entire squad.
Sokolov moved the slider that turned it on and off forward, a *click* announcing that it was ready. It hummed slightly before silencing, finishing its startup.
“Sir, permission to test the sonic weapon on the ponies?” Kozlov asked, fortunately in Russian.
“Permission denied.” Vasilyev replied. “You can’t test it on them, and it’s not a weapon. It’s a stun device, and if I catch you using it on anything you can find, I’ll tear you a new asshole and dock your pay when we get back.”
Kozlov pouted for a moment before accepting it, out of slight fear if nothing else.
“One minute until we climb! Get in gear; we pass by the outer gate in six minutes!” Petrov said over the radio. All the men in the compartment were either at the windows or, in Sokolov’s case, watching over the ponies.
The train began to tilt a bit. Sokolov looked out the window and noticed a massive cliff wall to their right, moving by at a fast pace.
Petrov spoke up again. “We are now climbing. City in four minutes.”
The train roared into a small tunnel, taking a large curve before emerging into the moonlight again. Judging by their clocks, it was around four o’ clock. Nobody would be out on the streets, so they could move virtually unseen.
Vasilyev pulled back to bolt of his Steyr AUG A3, loading one of the plastic rounds into it. The rest of the men did so as well, preparing themselves for the city. Most of the four ponies watched in fear as they did so, unsure of what they were doing.
“One minute!”
Sokolov looked out the window, and noticed Novikov standing beside him.
“Are you nervous?” He asked the private.
“Of course I am. I’m not Kozlov, to go around threatening them, and I am certainly not eager to purposely enter the lion’s den.” Novikov replied.
Sokolov nodded in understanding. “It will be fine. Don’t worry.”
“The last time someone told me to not worry, we were blown out of the sky, into wherever the hell we are.”
Having no reply for that, the pilot simply shut up and looked out the window. The city was easily in view.
Moments later, they passed underneath a large gate. Several guards were on the walls, obviously not paying much attention to the train. As they passed into the city, they noticed the streets were deserted.
The train slowed to a stop at an empty station. Not a soul stood on the platform, or anywhere near it. Sokolov and the others disembarked, shooting a last look towards the four ponies inside of the car. They quickly met up with Petrov and, after looking in all directions for the castle, found the looming shape and started moving towards it.
Vasilyev aimed his rifle down an alleyway, finding it empty. He started walking down it, followed by the other five men. They broke into a jog as they headed down alley after alley, not spotting anything on the streets when they had to cross them. Apparently, the cities, during the night, were not at all busy.
Within eight minutes, they had reached the wall of the castle. It rose up, an open window twelve feet above them. Apparently, a second-story room. Thankfully, the stones of the castle wall, although smooth, had small outcroppings in places, and the team was able to quickly ascend to the window.
They emerged into a dark room. Quickly scanning it, they found the room completely empty, for which Vasilyev thanked god. They moved to the door, listening for any sounds outside of it. Finding none, they opened it.
The Spetsnaz soldiers fanned out in all directs, looking around. Not a guard was in sight, so they could proceed. They headed towards what they assumed was the center of the castle on the off chance that the throne room would be there. A side passage, marked ‘Guard Balcony’ in English, was on the side of a hallway. Being able to read it, Vasilyev motioned for them to go there. It led to a long, winding staircase, which, after around forty vertical feet, opened up onto a tiny hallway.
The soldiers had to duck to get through it, so the going was slow. Finally, a sharp 90 degree turn and light emitting from around it marked that there was something there. Vasilyev slowed to a halt by it, holding up his hand as a signal to stop. Slowly, he poked his head around the corner.
A guard pony, a pegasus, stood there, at attention and facing away from them. He was on a balcony, obviously, that overlooked some sort of room, what kind he could not tell. Vasilyev slowly walked towards the pony, making sure his SVT-2 was online, before raising his rifle.
He pulled the trigger of the acoustic weapon while aiming it directly at the guard’s head. The guard looked around for a moment before raising a hoof to its head, swaying slightly. Vasilyev rushed forward and caught it as the guard collapsed, lowering it gently to the ground. The faint sound of talking could be heard from beyond the balcony, so, after he finally knocked out the guard in its vertigo-induced state, he motioned Petrov to move forward and record the audio, transmitting it to the others at the same time. As one, they peeked over the edge.
At the end of a large room, twenty feet down and ten feet away, stood a blue pony that had both wings and a horn. It was obviously talking to the pony in front of it, so Vasilyev boosted the audio in his ear piece.
“-And I think that thou knows full well what will happen if thou shall come to me again with such a ridiculous request.” The blue one was saying in English.
“But Princess Luna!” The pony pleaded. “The Commoners have to know their place! Why shouldn’t we relocate several of them to make way for a monument to you?”
“Out!” The blue one yelled in a voice that caused even Petrov to wince in pain. The pony ran out without a second glance, leaving the large blue one smirking.
“Are there any more out there, Guard?” It asked.
The guard it was referring to shook its head, indicating a no. Vasilyev quickly looked around the room for guards, noticing that the only ones in the area were the two in front of the throne. He activated the backpack radar for half a second, scanning in a 200-meter radius of them. No more guards, except in scattered locations.
“Alright, men.” He said. “On the count of five, Petrov and I will open fire on the guards. We drop down to the floor, but remember your training! You could sprain something if you don’t take the fall right. We give our message, and we leave, quickly. Remember, speed is of the essence.”
“Five.” Petrov spoke as he raised his SVU-A, fitted with low-speed stun rounds. They wouldn’t be the normal supersonic bullets that he fired, but rather ones that left the barrel at anywhere around 200-220 kilometers per hour, with enough force to drop a normal human.
“Four.” Vasilyev said. “Three.”
“Two.” Sokolov interrupted over the radio, causing a small laugh.
“One.” Petrov said as he put his hand to the trigger, a round firing out of his rifle with a muted *bang*, hitting the guard to the right. At the same time, Vasilyev pulled the trigger for a second on his rifle, sending three plastic bullets into the gut of the guard to the left. Both of the surprised guards dropped to the ground, groaning, as Petrov and Vasilyev vaulted over the balcony rail, taking the fall with a small roll at the end.
“Don’t move!” Vasilyev said in English to the startled ‘Princess Luna’ as the other four men jumped off the balcony and did their own rolls, fanning out to cover the corners of the room.
“What are thee!” The large horned pegasus said to them, staring right at Vasilyev.
“We have come to deliver a message.” He replied. “Do not bother us, and we shall not bother you. Your hunt for us has been going on for far too long, and we disapprove of it. Remember that we could be anywhere, at any time.”
With that, the men started to run out of the ‘throne room’, ignoring the blue pony that was staring, wide-eyed, at them the entire time. They ran for the door, opening it and rushing for the outside. After two minutes and avoid several guards (and using the SVT-2s on several more), they finally reached what looked like an open garden. It was then that Vasilyev’s HUD flashed a blue light. The lieutenant stared at it with surprise for a moment, before turning to the other men and saying four words.
“We are not alone.”
Author's Note
And there we are! The cliffhanger start to Act II!
The five men around him stared at him in surprise as Vasilyev quickly explained.
“The ‘Net’ units that I have has detected another such series of ‘Net’ units in the area, approximately sixteen kilometers away. In thirty seconds, they will be in direct radio range, where I can try to get a signal through. For now, just wait.”
And wait they did. forty seconds later, Vasilyev noticed that they were finally in range. He issued a quick series of commands to patch him into the radio, broadcasting on all bands. Clearing his throat, he spoke up in Russian.
“Attention any nearby units. Please respond if you hear this.” Nothing. Trying again, he repeated it in English.
Moments later, a burst of static over the radio signaled that someone had joined.
“Who the hell is this? Identify yourselves!” A voice said in English.
“This is Lieutenant Vasilyev of the Russian Federation. With whom am I speaking?” He said in English, making sure to broadcast the conversation to the rest of his squad.
“This is First Sergeant James Anderson of the United States Marines. I don’t know how the hell you got here, but it was probably right after the Trinity blast, right?”
“Correct.” Vasilyev said. “We were flying towards the center of the city when it went off. Our Mi-24 crashed, and we awoke here. Do you know the current situation?”
“We sure as hell do!” The voice responded. “We’re in a land of colorful ponies and fucking magic. We’ve been observing them for a few days now, and we’re out on a recon flight.”
“Wait, recon flight? You have a helicopter?” Vasilyev asked in surprise, causing most of the squad to perk up.
“Fuck yeah, we do! MH-60M Blackhawk, armed and mostly fueled. Where are you located?”
Vasilyev motioned for Novikov, their electronics expert, to begin forming a patch. “We are attempting to connect our ‘Net’ units with yours. Stand by.”
Moments later, a blue box with a pair of reversed triangles appeared on their HUDs. The distance was at around ten kilometers away now, down the valley and away from the castle.
“Russian Lieutenant, we see you as being inside the castle. How copy?” The voice on the radio asked.
“Rodger, American Captain. If you could provide extraction in the gardens in back, that would be most helpful.” Vasilyev said.
“Can do. We’re banking now, ETA four minutes. Just find an open area.”
The squad formed up, and together they began their trip into the gardens, looking for a flat area. They had to move into the bushes several times to avoid guards, but two minutes later they finally found an area about eighty feet in diameter. Easily big enough for the helicopter.
They marked the spot on the ‘Net’ systems for the Americans. In the meantime, Vasilyev quickly explained the situation for those who did not understand English. One minute later, they heard a faint roar in the distance, as the blue dot that was the helicopter came closer.
Suddenly, it appeared over the wall of the castle, flying towards their clearing. It turned to fit in and rapidly lowered, loud shouts ringing out from the castle as they noticed the flying machine. They could see the pilot and co-pilot, as well and four other soldiers sitting in the back. They sprinted out from the cover and ran straight for the helicopter, racing away from the castle.
All six men quickly clambered on, Vasilyev giving a thumbs-up to who he assumed was the American Sergeant, who yelled to the pilots to take off. The helicopter slowly lifted off of the ground, its engines less efficient as this high altitude.
Vasilyev could see white dots swarming from the castle, some pausing for a few moments to look up at them. Several took towards the air as the helicopter banked away, rapidly flying over the garden wall and over the city. Vasilyev could see the few ponies in the street looking up at them, probably in fear. Several, like the guards, took to the air and began chasing them. It was not long before they had about two dozen ponies following their helicopter.
“Can you lose them?” Vasilyev asked the American Sergeant, who went up to the pilot.
“Ethan, get us the hell out of here! Accelerate to 150 knots, and lose them!” He shouted to the pilot, who nodded in return.
Sokolov looked around the helicopter at the Americans, who looked at them in return. As the helicopter increased in speed, rapidly leaving the ponies behind, all of the men in the helicopter exchanged looks. The American Sergeant closed the doors of the Blackhawk, shutting out most of the noise, reducing it to a barely-audible roar.
“So,” Sokolov said in English, catching their attention. “What do we do now?”
Author's Note
Hey everyone! To kick off Act II, I am releasing two chapters at once. I am open to suggestions as to the storyline, as I have no real plans.
The Americans, and what they have:
Pilot - Ethan Henderson - Magpul PDR with Reflex Sight
-=-=-
First Sergeant - James Anderson - HK416 with CompM4 Red Dot Sight and Foregrip, HK45 pistol with Laser Sight
-=-=-
Ryan Davis also carries a prototype 'Dazzler' weapon, which temporarily blinds people with a powerful flash of light (actually a real thing, search it up (the concept, not the weapon))
The entire squad also had a MH-60M 'Blackhawk' with around 80% fuel left. Equipped with two M134 Miniguns on the doors.
The MH-60M flew through the air, the dawn sun breathing new light on it. The black hull of the helicopter would appear as only a speck to observers on the ground, since it was pushing 10,000 feet.
Inside, the six Russians and six Americans looked at one another, contemplating their next move. It had been decided mutually that remaining any longer in the area was inadvisable. Therefore, they had decided to head in a general westerly direction. More than once, Vasilyev looked out the left side to see what looked like a massive city in the clouds, but shook it off as an illusion.
Thirty minutes later, the pilot came over the intercom.
“I see a city eighty kilometers ahead, right next to a massive body of water. Looks kinda like New York, actually.”
“Thanks for the update, Ethan.” The American commander said. “We’ll have to avoid it. Detour south.”
The helicopter banked slightly to the left as it turned, giving them a view out of the right window at the massive city by the water. It was true: From what Sokolov had seen in pictures, it did look like the American city of New York. How it came even close in what was apparently somewhere completely different, he did not know, but he did not care much, either.
“How much fuel do we have left, Sergeant?” One of the Americans asked.
“About sixteen hours’ worth, Ryan!” He replied. “Thank god HQ sent us out with those extra-range tanks.”
“We shall have to set down eventually, you know.” Vasilyev said to him.
The American grimaced. “I know, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”
The helicopter tilted forward as they moved faster, causing Sokolov to grip the bar above him tighter in order to avoid falling over. The scenery rushed by below them, the helicopter at around 4,000 feet above the ground. Suddenly, the Pilot – Ethan, that was his name - and Co-Pilot began talking rapidly to one another, before beckoning the American Sergeant forward. The pilot said something, and the Sergeant nodded, before turning to them.
“Gentlemen!” He said. “We have about twenty pegasi to the rear, and closing fast. We are tilting towards the sea to the West in order to avoid collateral damage in the event that we are forced to attack them.”
“What did he say?” Novikov asked, as he did not speak English.
Predictably, Kozlov was the first to reply in Russian. “Some of those fucking winged horses are chasing us, and we might have to gun a bunch of them down. Serves the fuckers right for chasing us.”
“Cut the shit, Kozlov.” Vasilyev said. “At least I know who not to pick if we ever have to lead a fucking diplomatic mission.”
The pilot cut in over the intercom. “Attention, we have another city passing to the right. We also have confirmed radar signatures coming from there as well, numbering over sixty. Estimated time to intercept by both is twenty minutes.”
“We’re fucked.” One of the Americans said, a Private by the rank on his shoulder.
“Shut the hell up, Richard.” Another one of the Americans, a woman, said. “We’ll just have to blow their asses out of the sky if they get too close.”
As much as some in the group would agree with that, Vasilyev was still nervous about ordering the firing of live ammunition. However, he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Suddenly, he came up with an idea upon looking out of the front windshield. Moving to the American Sergeant, Vasilyev quickly got his attention.
“American, I have an idea. There is an island around forty kilometers southwest, judging by the area that I can see through the windshield. At least, I do not believe it is connected to the mainland. I suggest we land there.” Vasilyev said.
His American counterpart quickly nodded, and went forward to talk with the pilot. Yet again, the MH-60M tilted to the right, turning towards the island. Vasilyev quickly turned to his next problem: The eighty pegasus ponies, presumably guards, were around four minutes from catching up with them. Thankfully, they were two minutes from the shore of the sea (if it even was a sea: Most likely, it was an ocean).
Three minutes later, Vasilyev was still franticly trying to come up with a plan. Even after crossing over the water, the pursuit had not ceased. Even if they used nonlethal rounds, it would stun them enough to possibly throw them into the water, drowning them. And the twin Miniguns on the side doors were only fitted with lethal rounds. Every second, it was looking as though violence was the only option.
Suddenly, the pilot called over the intercom. “We have two ponies to our left side, no, scratch that, four of them forming up to our left. Fifty yards and steady.”
Vasilyev walked over to the door and clipped a safety harness, first to his uniform, and then to the bar above the door. The other soldiers, of both nations, quickly saw what he was going to do, and started to buckle using the same straps onto the nearest bar. Shortly, everyone in the helicopter was ready.
Vasilyev nodded to the others and started to open the door, gazing out into the bright sunlight of early afternoon to see, as said, four ponies flying a short distance away. Each one of them wore a very small set of golden armor, and was looking right at the helicopter.
One of them edged closer, getting within shouting range. Its mouth moved, and the sound reached Vasilyev’s ears a moment later.
“Stop your infernal machine! You are under arrest!”
The American Sergeant chuckled to himself and cupped his hands around his mouth.
“Like hell we will!” He yelled out to them.
One of the ponies pulled something off of its back and pointed it slightly ahead of the helicopter. Moments later, a wooden object impacted the hull of the helicopter right next to Vasilyev, who unslung his rifle.
“They have crossbows.” He said over the radio. “Open fire with the plastic rounds. Stun only.”
With that, he, Sokolov, and Novikov all started to open fire on the pegasi, who were hit numerous times with the subsonic plastic bullets. Each of them started spiraling down towards the sea. Moments later, Vasilyev looked behind the helicopter to see a swarm of dots coming towards them, gaining at a slow rate.
“How long until we are over the island?” Vasilyev asked the American Sergeant.
“Only two more minutes!” Came the reply.
Vasilyev grimaced. “We have four more minutes until our followers overtake us. Apparently, they fell back slightly when we stunned the first four.”
The pilot came over the intercom. “If you want, we can touch down after we hit the area. Find a good-sized clearing in the forest on this side.”
Vasilyev and the American both looked at one another, before nodding. “Do it.”
The helicopter quickly came over land, a vast forest stretching forward on the apparent island. A large mountain dominated the center of it, with several ridges stretching out from it, preventing them from seeing the other side of it.
Petrov looked over the squad, noting most of the men fidgeting with their rifles.
“Alright, everybody. Load the live rounds.” He said at last. “If we have to fight them, at least we’ll be able to do it effectively.”
Vasilyev did not speak up to argue, so the Russian squadmates quickly switched out the nonlethal clips for the ones they had filled with live ammunition. It would be deadly, but a confrontation was looking more and more likely every second.
The helicopter began to slow down slightly and tilt upward. Out of the open door, the men could see a large field, a thousand meters in diameter, stretching out before them. Once the helicopter bounced slightly, signaling that it had set down, everyone in both squads quickly unclipped from the rails and jumped out of the helicopter, fanning out and aiming their rifles around them.
They were not disappointed.
Author's Note
This chapter prepared with some help from Quicksear. It’s his fault that my originally terrible second paragraph was transformed into something befitting a read-through.
The American and Russian soldiers fanned out around the landed helicopter, looking in all directions for the guards that were chasing them.
They were not disappointed.
First one, then five, and then twenty pegasi landed. Sokolov gripped his MTAR tighter, aiming down the Holographic Sight. For once in his life, it didn’t seem as though it would suffice.
“Everyone, lock and load, lethal ammunition!” Vasilyev yelled in Russian. “Let us just hope that we do not have to use it. Petrov, get on the bed of the helicopter and cover the area with your SVU-A.”
The Russian sergeant jumped back onto the helicopter and set his rifle up, putting out the bipod’s legs to stabilize it. So far, the ponies at the other end side of the field were fanning out, coming at them from a 120-degree arc to the side of the helicopter.
“Ryan, get on the Minigun.” The American sergeant said. One of the Americans, presumably Ryan, saluted and jumped back onto the helicopter alongside Petrov, pulling down the Minigun and aiming it at the field of ponies.
Novikov pulled back the bolt on his AK-12 as he finished reloading it with the lethal rounds. Sweat ran down his face, in dread of the coming encounter.
One of the ponies trotted faster than the rest, and came to a stop one hundred yards from them.
“Attention criminals!” It said. “You will be taken in. Do not resist, or we will use force!”
“Like hell we will!” Kozlov shouted in English. “If you come at us, we’ll mow you fuckers down!”
“Yebat’ tvoyu mat’ [Fuck your mother]!” Bogdanov yelled at them when Petrov translated what the pegasus had said over the radio.
“If you leave now, we will not kill you!” Vasilyev shouted across the field.
“Either come peacefully or by force!” The pegasus insistently said.
“What are we going to do?” Sokolov asked Vasilyev, who was standing next to him.
“Shoot if they come closer. We have no choice.” His lieutenant replied bitterly.
The American sergeant ignored them. “If you come further, we will open fire!”
At a signal from the one in front, the ponies started to move forward, across the field. There were twenty of them, with more poised to land behind them. Vasilyev gritted his teeth together, hesitant to give the order, but knowing it needed to be done.
“Squad, fire at will.” He said over the radio.
Instantly, the six Russians, and seconds later three of the Americans (besides for Ryan and the two pilots) started to fire. The results were instant and horrific, as the twenty charging ponies were cut down within seconds, falling to the ground like cut blades of grass. Their golden armor could not even stop the relatively small 9x19mm round from Bogdanov’s PP-2000.
“Get in the helicopter!” Vasilyev shouted. “That was our last chance at negotiation with these… ponies, and they blew it. Strap in and be ready to open fire.”
With that, he and the others, Americans and Russians both, clambered onto the helicopter. The pilots, thankfully, already had the blades spinning, so once everyone was tethered to one of the bars with a safety cord, they pushed the throttles, rising into the air.
“Open fire if they come at us. Goddamnit!” Vasilyev cursed, aiming his AUG out of the side door.
“What the fuck was that?” Sokolov demanded.
“That was them getting their asses handed to them, that’s what!” Petrov replied.
“Pegasi on the left side and to the rear, turning.” The pilot said as he banked the helicopter to the side, flying through the air at an angle, leaving the men inside ample chance to engage. Sure enough, white shapes with bits of gold speckled among them were in the distance, about two hundred yards and closing.
“Permission to engage with the Minigun, sir?” Ryan asked.
“Granted.” The American sergeant said at once.
Suddenly, a BZZZZZZZ cut through the air as Ryan pressed down on the trigger. A stream of tracers cut through the air towards the ponies, cutting a massive swath through them. When he let off on the trigger three seconds later, he noticed a huge part of their formation had been taken out.
Taken out, Vasilyev mused. An easy way of saying that they were either cut to ribbons or wounded and falling, to die on impact with the ground. At least a third of them were gone, leaving their pursuers decimated.
“Where the hell are we headed?” Vasilyev asked.
“South across the island. Once we pass over the ridge, we should have a good idea of what do to. We might find a place we can hide out…”
As they crested said ridge, they stared out of the front windshield at the city that stretched before them.
“… Or we can end up even more fucked than we already were. Great job, everyone.” Ryan said, doing a slow clap.
Ahead of them lay a rather large city. It had a half dozen skyscrapers, and a large number of five-to-ten story buildings. In Sokolov’s view, it looked quite a bit like a city in England he had once seen in a photograph, although the name escaped him.
“Either we go through the city, or we stop here and wait for the guards to catch up.” The pilot warned.
“The city it is. Fly low.” Vasilyev said with a resigned sigh.
The MH-60M continued onward, flying only twenty feet above the treetops, on a direct path for the city.
Author's Note
I hope you enjoy this chapter. The next one should be out very soon.
As the helicopter approached the small clearing in the forest, Sokolov warily scanned the ground. No guards had been spotted chasing them since the last of them had been killed over the city, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t worry.
“We are landing in three Mikes!” The pilot said.
“Three minutes until we land, so pay attention and watch for more of those flying ponies.” Vasilyev repeated in Russian.
Sokolov watched as the helicopter slowed over the forest, flying right above the treetops.
“Would it be possible to go back to our Mi-24 for the equipment there?” Vasilyev asked the American sergeant.
“I doubt it.” The American instantly replied. “We would have to find it, and backtracking is not much of an option at this point. We have enough NATO ammunition here to start a small war, anyway, and it looks like you are carrying enough of both NATO and Russian ammunition to do the same.”
“I agree. Besides, we are still carrying some of the missiles from our helicopter.” Vasilyev replied.
“How do you propose to use them?”
“Simple: We hack into them with the ‘Net’ units, patch them through to our headsets, and send a ‘launch’ or ‘fire’ command.”
The American shrugged. “Sounds good. We are landing now, so get ready to secure the area.”
Petrov watched as the MH-60M maneuvered around and lowered, fitting into the small clearing with a bit of clearance on each end of the large helicopter. Trees cast shadows over them as he jumped out, followed moments later by the rest of the American and Russian forces. He aimed his SVU-A at the thick underbrush surrounding the clearing, looking for anything that might ambush them. Finding nothing, he relaxed, and so did the others.
(The Clearing)http://i.imgur.com/xV9hJ5O.jpg
“Well, how long do we stay here?” Sokolov asked, still gripping his MTAR-21.
“Say, four hours.” Petrov replied.
“Do you think anybody lives in this patch of forest?” One of the Americans asked.
“Doubt it, Richard.” Another one replied. “We should be alone.”
“Everyone settle down.” Sokolov said, sitting down and leaning his back on the helicopter. “We do not need to do much during this time, so we should take advantage of it.”
The Russians and Americans started to sit and lay down, either on the helicopter or in the field, just resting. Sokolov closed his eyes, opting to have some rest.
Petrov, in his self-appointed duty of lookout, sat on the bed of the helicopter and looked out at the forest, keeping a watch for anything strange. He scanned back and forth, settling into a pace, his SVU-A across his chest as he sat back. The two pilots of the helicopter simply rested in their seats, apparently dozing off.
Vasilyev rested his head on the interior of the Blackhawk, opting to stay inside of it.
Half an hour passed, and then another. Petrov was about to doze off when he heard something he did not expect.
A distant, yet loud scream.
Instantly, he sat up, along with most of the soldiers there.
“What was that?” One of the Americans, ‘Richard’, asked.
“Sounded like a scream, came from the east.” Petrov replied, jumping off the helicopter and getting to his feet. He grabbed ahold of his SVU-A with both hands, holding it at the ready.
“Should we go towards it?” Sokolov asked in Russian.
“We should.” Novikov replied. “Who knows what we might find? Therefore, we should proceed cautiously.”
“I vote no.” Kozlov said.
“We don’t care. Now shut the hell up.” Petrov shot back to the private, walking forwards. Switching to English, he said the answer that they needed. “Everyone, follow me, and make it quick. The two American pilots will stay here.”
“I will, as well as Kozlov.” Vasilyev said, causing the grumbling private to walk back as the eight Americans and Russians headed off into the forest.
Sokolov jogged through the underbrush, following the man in front of him, one of the Americans. They were headed in the direction Petrov, being the only one truly awake at the time, had heard the scream from. For the third time, Sokolov wondered what they would find there.
His ‘Net’ set ‘miniradar’ showed a blue filled arrow at the center, with three blue and four green ‘V’s around it, showing the directions they were facing, along with other information gathered from their ‘Net’ headsets, like ranks and last updated weapon and ammo readouts.
The ‘Net’ set was connected to a small microchip inside of his weapon: It may not tell him how much ammo he may have, but it did allow a crosshair. This was caused by a small tube under the barrel of the rifle that cast out an infrared beam. Whenever the specific frequency his was tuned to was detected by his ‘Net’ units on any objects, a crosshair would appear. Because all of the members of the squad had their tuned to different frequencies, this avoided the problem that would be caused by the ‘Net’ sets detecting multiple beam strikes.
Right now, his ‘Net’ system was in perfect working order, so he could literally see the blue markers that meant friendly units ahead of him being projected onto the glasses of his ‘Net’ system. The glasses each had a thin LCD layer in them, allowing for any sort of display to pop up. He thanked god for new technology: Two or even three years ago, it would not have been possible, but years of research had paid off.
The trees started to thin out, allowing Sokolov to follow the man in front of him easily, jumping over fallen logs and ducking under low branches.
“I have sight of a house, sixty meters ahead.” Petrov said in Russian over the radio, repeating it in English a second later. Sokolov caught sight of it. Several broken windows dotted the exterior of the wooden, one-story structure. It wasn’t that big, but looked fairly recently built. That, and the fact that broken shards of glass littered the area beneath the windows, told the men all they needed to know.
“Get inside and search it. The house might be the source of the screams.” Petrov said.
Yet another, much louder than the one earlier, erupted from it, followed by laughs.
“Scratch that, definite source. Breach and clear.”
The eight soldiers ran up to the house, one on each of the four windows in the front, and four standing to the sides of the door. On a single from Petrov through the ‘Net’ systems, they rushed inside, vaulting over windows and smashing through the front door.
Sokolov, the moment he jumped through the window, found himself in what was apparently the living room. Inside of it were six ponies. Four of them were standing over two others, one of them injured and bleeding. Bringing up his MTAR-21, he identified the four standing up as the most likely perpetrators of whatever was going on here.
He looked down the holographic sight at one of them. Three seconds after coming through the window, he pulled the trigger, sending two rounds into one of them. Mere moments later, the other three fell as well, bullets flying to strike them from multiple sides.
“Multiple contacts down, No Factor on remaining two.” Petrov said. No Factor meant that the remaining two were not perceived to be a threat.
“Are you ok?” One of the Americans said, walking to the remaining two, one a pegasus and one a unicorn.
It took a moment for a reply to form. “Y- Yes, I am fine. Thank you for saving us from those… Bad ponies. What are you?” The uninjured one, a male pegasus, said.
“We are a part of the 2nd Marine Division of the United States of America.” The American sergeant said, walking into Sokolov’s view. Pointing to the four dead ponies, he asked the key question. “Who were they?”
“Robbers.” The pony answered at once. “They’ve hit dozens of houses around us, in groups of four to eight.”
The sergeant shook his head and looked around, taking in a view of the outside.
Sokolov stepped into the room fully. “We cannot help you, as we shall have to go shortly.”
“Why?”
“Many guards are chasing after us.”
The pegasus reeled back slightly, probably in shock. “Why is the guard chasing you?”
“They attacked us, and we had to respond.” Sokolov said in a calm voice.
The pegasus turned away from him, apparently in though. After a short pause, it turned to them. “Can we go with you? We don’t want to stay in the area: They know where we are, and will be back I don’t care if you’re being chased: I care about staying alive and with my wife.”
“Hold on.” Sokolov said, stepping out of the room and motioning for the rest of the soldiers to do the same. Moving outside, the soldiers formed into a small circle.
Sokolov patched through a radio link to Vasilyev, who accepted it.
“I assume you heard every word.” Sokolov said in Russian.
“Of course I did.” Vasilyev said. “And saw every second thanks to the video link. You are going to ask what I think of this, correct?”
“Correct. Do continue.” Sokolov said, patching Petrov into the conversation with a small voice command, and setting it to broadcast the conversation through the rest of the ‘Net’ units.
Vasilyev took a deep breath, the sound of it coming over the microphone. “This is a delicate situation. With the ‘guards’ chasing after us, we’re being followed as much as it is. Having two ponies tag along would not be good for that. What do you think, Petrov?”
“I think we should let the American sergeant decide.” Petrov replied in English.
“I say we allow them to come.” Said sergeant put in, moments after joining the radio conversation. “I don’t think we should just leave them here, especially after what just happened.”
“Then they shall come.” Vasilyev said, closing off the radio connection.
“It seems like we have our answer.” Sokolov said, walking into the house again.
“You can come.” The American sergeant said as they walked in. “Just hope you know what you’re getting in to.”
The pegasus nodded, moving to life up the unicorn (who was probably female, Sokolov thought after a moment). The unicorn glanced at them, and then at the new bandage around its leg, before settling its head down. The pegasus lifted the unicorn up and followed the group as they went outside.
Sokolov trekked through the forest, towards the helicopter. A few times, he heard murmuring from Kozlov about taking “Two fuckin’ ponies” along with them, but Sokolov had gotten used to ignoring the hotheaded private by now.
Due to his onboard ‘miniradar’, he could see the white arrow which designated the two ponies following them (showing up as one due to their proximity, the unicorn literally slung across the Pegasus’s back). Within three minutes, they had reached the MH-60M, where a patient Vasilyev was waiting.
“Come on!” He said in Russian. “We don’t have all day. Personally, I’d rather not be around here when the guards come along.”
“Into the helicopter, and strap in.” One of the Americans said to the two ponies, who, after a moment of hesitation, climbed aboard the helicopter one at a time. They moved to two of the seats in the back as the American pilots started the engines.
The rotors began to rotate and slowly sped up, quickly turning into a blur. Sokolov turned to the female American next to him, who was watching the ponies intently.
“Why did we bring them along, anyway?” He asked.
“Because Sergeant Anderson has a heart, that’s why.” She responded.
Sokolov shrugged. “As good of a reason as any.”
The helicopter slowly lifted off of the ground, rising out of the clearing and over the trees. As soon as they cleared them, the pilot started to tilt forward and accelerate, heading in a southern direction.
“So, what happens now?” Petrov asked Vasilyev.
The lieutenant shook his head. “I do not know. Head south, hope to get out of the area. It is all that we can do.”
“Every, attention!” The pilot said over the radio. “We have Hotel Fox (High Frequency) signals coming in. We are working on a patch, but it’s in the 8-12 MHz range. We’ll tell you more when we get more.”
Petrov and Vasilyev looked at one another, and then out the door of the Blackhawk.
They might just make it through after all.
Author's Note
Well, here's the next chapter. Tell me what you think of it in the comments below.
The MH-60M flew through the air, headed south. The roar of its rotors washed over the countryside below, easily audible even a mile away.
Inside, however, was another matter. With the doors closed, the rotors only came through as an extremely muffled sound. It was dead-quiet inside as the Russians who could understand English waited for the radio transmission to be patched through.
“What is happening?” Novikov asked in Russian.
“A High-Frequency radio transmission was detected. They are trying to play it to us.” Sokolov replied.
“Can somepony explain to us what is going on?” The pegasus in the back said.
Vasilyev turned to the two ponies. “We have an incoming message over the radio, and we are trying to listen to it.”
“What’s a radio?” The second pony, a unicorn, asked.
“It is a device for long-distance transmissions.” Vasilyev replied.
That seemed to satisfy the ponies, as they turned towards each other and started to talk. Ignoring them, Vasilyev turned back to the cockpit.
“We have a lock on the transmission, patching it through to your ‘Net’ units now.” The pilot said.
Sokolov winced as static came through his headset, followed by rapid speaking.
“Кто-нибудь слышит нас? Это Адмирал Нахимов Новой русской Федерации. Мы недавно были вовлечены в борьбу с американскими и русскими войсками, и мы были потоплены, но мы оказались в море! Мы не можем подобрать любой GPS или радиопередач, и мы потеряли! [Can anybody hear us? This is the Admiral Nakhimov of the New Russian Federation. We were recently involved in a battle against American and Russian forces, and we were sunk, but we have found ourselves at sea! We cannot pick up any GPS or radio transmissions, and we are lost!]”
A few seconds later, the message repeated.
“What does it say?” The American sergeant asked Vasilyev, who gave him a blank stare.
“It’s a radio message from a New Russian Federation battlecruiser named the Admiral Nakhimov.” The lieutenant tensely replied. “They are requesting contact with anybody in the vicinity, as they were apparently sent to wherever this is as well.”
“Should we contact them?” Another one of the Americans asked.
“We should.” Petrov replied. “I don’t care if they are New Russian Federation or not. They are here as well, and we shall need all the help we can get.”
“Let me talk to them.” Vasilyev said, moving to the cockpit, where the pilot opened a radio channel for him on the same frequency.
“Это лейтенант Васильев из России. Мы копируем вашу передачу, и у нас есть четкое представление о том, где мы находимся. [This is Lieutenant Vasilyev of the Russian Federation. We copy your transmission, and we have a fair idea of where we are.]”
There was a short pause, before a reply came over the radio. “Мы копируем ваш последний. Где мы находимся? [We copy your last. Where are we?]”
“Слушай внимательно, адмирала Нахимова. Мы очень буквально на другой планете. Мы вступили в контакт с жителями, и это было, конечно, не самая мирная. Сейчас мы находимся в американский вертолет: наш собственный разбился, когда мы были в Москве, и что было, когда мы появились здесь. Ты меня слышишь? [Listen carefully, Admiral Nakhimov. We are most literally on another planet. We have made contact with the inhabitants, and it was most certainly not peaceful. We are currently in an American helicopter: Our own crashed while we were in Moscow, and that was when we appeared here. Do you copy?]”
The radio was silent for ten seconds before their reply came in rough but understandable English.
“This is Captain 1st Rank Volkov of the Admiral Nakhimov. To whom am I speaking?”
Vasilyev adjusted his microphone, and used a simple command to add the American sergeant to the ‘call’, before replying. “This is Lieutenant Vasilyev of the Russian Federation. The American I am with is also in this transmission.”
“And this is First Sergeant James Anderson of the United States Marines. We read you, over.” The American sergeant chimed in.
‘Captain Volkov’ wasted no time in replying. “Is it true? Are we on another planet entirely?”
“We have no contact with GPS or any satellites and the areas we have found have been inhabited by sapient horses. Either we are on another planet, or I am dead.” Vasilyev replied.
“Can your group trace our signal? We need to work together if we are to survive, if what you say is true.”
“Should we trust them?” Sokolov said, having overheard the radio conversation.
“No other options, are there?” One of the American replied. “We have to trust them.”
Having heard their conversation, Vasilyev turned his attention back to the microphone in his ‘Net’ unit. “We can. What does your system say?” The Russian lieutenant asked, while focusing his ‘Net’ unit’s resources on tracing the transmission and getting a bearing.
“You are approximately forty miles to our east, and moving approximately south.” Came the reply from another voice, this one young and eager.
“Rodger. We are moving south, and we will trace and follow. Keep this transmission open.” Vasilyev closed off the radio on his ‘Net’ unit, and turned to the pilots.
“Head east, and follow the bearing on the transmission.” He said. “Go until you see a ship, and await further instructions.”
“Rodger that, Ruskie.” The pilot said, banking the helicopter. “Nothing like a nice flight over the ocean to end a day on. Mark the time, Lucas. Two o’ clock, approximant.”
Vasilyev moved back into the crew compartment of the helicopter as they headed for the coast, sitting down on a chair and resting his head back. It had been a long day, and, hopefully, they would find more answers when they reached the Admiral Nakhimov.
He just hoped that their next contact with the ‘ponies’ would be peaceful. It likely would not be, considering their past contacts, but he could always hope.
That hope was probably misplaced, but he held on to it all the same. Without it, they would be doomed to simply wander, possibly killing wherever they went. As the leader of a MVD Spetsnaz team, the elite of his military, the worst scenario he could envision would be to see them corrupted: Become simple killers instead of soldiers.
As they crossed over the coast, headed for the ship of their former enemies, Vasilyev made himself a promise, one that he would never forget. He vowed one thing, and one thing alone.
He would never let them descend to that.
Author's Note
Hope you like the plot twist there, and the craziness that will ensue. The next chapter will be the last of Act II, and the beginning of Act III will be some time after that.
The MH-60M flew over the ocean, two hundred feet above the whitecaps, utterly alone in the sky.
Sokolov gripped his rifle, readying himself for whatever may come. Although he would normally be very calm, as before they infiltrated the ‘Capital’ of the ponies, he was very nervous about what was upcoming: They were going to land on a vessel of the New Russian Federation. For around a quarter of a year, they had been fighting the coup, and that time had stretched for them.
He was particularly worried about their response, but hopes they could all band together, as Russians always did, to overcome the obstacles on this new world.
“At least, I hope so.” Sokolov muttered in Russian.
“Something on your mind, Sokolov?” His co-pilot, Bogdanov, asked.
“Very much so.” The pilot replied, frowning. “What’s to stop them from shooting us down once we get into range?”
“What’s to stop us from falling out of the sky when our fuel runs out?” The co-pilot replied. “Relax, Sok. We will make it through this, as we always have.”
“Aren’t you worried about your family? What they might be thinking?” Novikov asked, walking over to them.
“They’ll have the closure of announcing me dead, and I’ll still be alive. Heh, it’s screwed up five ways to hell, but that’s how it is.” Petrov said. “You all can’t be depressed forever. If you are, I swear to God I will assign you to latrine duty.”
“In the middle of the ocean?” Sokolov deadpanned.
“Where do you think the latrine is?” Petrov quipped. “As long as you have some DPV (Driver Propulsion Vehicle, an underwater, torpedo-like transport) gear, you’ll be fine.”
“You forgot the rebreathing mask.” Novikov said.
“No, I didn’t. Did I say what you have to clean it up with?” Petrov joked.
“All of you, just… Shut up.” Vasilyev said. “I am having a hard enough time concentrating without your banter. We are five minutes out, and the Admiral Nakhimov will be visible any moment now.”
The Russians slowly quieted down, and all conversation was reduced to short bits and sentences, as many awaited – and feared – the moment when they might be shot down.
Novikov was slightly scared by the prospect of meeting NRF soldiers, or, more specifically, their navy, but that did not dampen his enthusiasm much. He could not understand the Americans, chatting in their part of the helicopter in their strange language, but he did not care.
Most assumed that, because he was a simple Private, armed only with a standard-issue AK-12, that his opinions were not valid. In this situation, however, he felt that many of the others were being much too pessimistic. Even if it was a NRF ship, Russians simply did not stop being Russian.
“Two minutes out. Admiral Nakhimov, do you copy?” Vasilyev said over the radio.
After a few moments passed, a response came. “We copy, Lieutenant. We have a visual.”
“We do as well.” Vasilyev replied.
“Check turn 40 degrees, and come over the Stern landing pad.” The voice over the radio said. “We are stopped, wind is four kilometers per hour south, wave action is four feet.”
“Do you copy that, American pilots?” Vasilyev asked, turning towards the two in the cockpit.
“Rodger that, Ruskie.” The pilot said. “We read you in the clear. Wilco.”
Sokolov watched with mild interest through the door window as the helicopter tilted in the air, slowing down for the landing. It turned slightly, and the pilot could see the superstructure of the ship from their position. As they lowered, they gently touched the deck with a small *thump*, and Sokolov could see several crewmen from the ship running towards them, along with some Russian Marines in the background.
Petrov opened the right door of the helicopter and stepped onto the dry metal deck, as several crewmen began to roll out a cart to drag the helicopter inside of the small hanger, which has three other helicopters inside of it, along with two of what looked to be Pchela-1T UAVs in the back.
A Russian Naval Infantryman walked forward to the group just emerging from the helicopter and saluted.
“Who is the Spetsnaz Lieutenant here?” He asked in broken English.
“I am.” Vasilyev said. “Where do we go?”
“To the bridge. The Captain would like to speak to you all.” The blank-faced Naval Infantryman said, before swiftly turning around and walking across the deck.
The six Americans and six Russians, as well as the two ponies, followed him as they went past the helicopters and though the small hanger, where the MH-60M was just now being towed. They entered a hatch into a white-painted hallway, immediately moving up a set of stairs or, as the Russian Marine called them, ‘Ladders’.
They passed dozens of crewmen in the hallways, who gave wary glanced to the weapons that they had slung over their shoulders, and also at the ponies. Clearly, from the looks they were receiving, the Captain had told the entire crew. Either that, or the rumors had told them everything that they ‘needed’ to. Sokolov knew how life on the ships worked, having landed his Mi-24 on them several times in the past few years, when ferrying senior officers and important materials.
You don't get chosen out of the blue to fly a MVD Spetsnaz team into a combat zone.
Before the war with the New Russian Federation, he had spent his time ferrying soldiers and equipment through remote parts of Chechnya, as well as operating as a heavily-armed gunship when no other assets were available. He didn’t like doing that, but then again, he didn’t need to, either.
They went up flight after flight of stairs, finally leveling off and emerging onto the bridge of the ships. Dozens of seamen were around them, manning electronic consoles, and moving data around on touch screens.
Ahead of them, a man who Vasilyev assumed was Captain Volkov stood, looking at them. After a pregnant pause, the man spoke.
“So… you are the group of Russians and Americans who have discovered where we are, I presume.” He eyed the two ponies in the back, who were trying to stay near the rear of the group. “And I see you were not lying. Can they speak?”
“They can.” The American sergeant said, motioning to them.
“We can.” The pegasus said in a shaky voice after a moment, causing heads to turn all around the bridge.
“So, how was first contact? I presume you managed to get through it.” Volkov said.
“Rough. They attacked us, and we were forced to respond, which led us south, towards you.” Vasilyev said bluntly. “Have you caught any other transmissions yet?”
“A few bits and pieces of High Frequency transmissions coming now and then. We presume from both naval and land forces, from both the east, south-east, and the west.”
“Anything solid?”
“Nothing.”
Vasilyev sighed, and then looked up at the captain. “Do you have extra quarters for us?”
“By the hanger, same deck. If I was your superior officer, I would dismiss you now.”
“We all do our part.” Vasilyev said as he turned around, following the Russian Naval Infantryman, who led them again through the maze of passages.
As they went through the halls, ducking through doors and going down stairs, Vasilyev gained one thing he thought had left them.
A glimmer of hope.
Author's Note
This is the end of Act II. Further chapters will resume soon.
Vasilyev looked through the windows of the bridge, staring out at the vast expanse of water. Grey clouds turned the water a deep blue as the Admiral Nakhimov, the ship they were on, sailed through the waves.
"Is there any particular reason you want me up here, Captain Volkov." Vasilyev asked the former New Russian Federation Captain next to him. Truthfully, neither liked the other, but they got along for the sake of efficiency and survival.
For the past sixteen hours.
"There is, I assure you." The Captain replied to Vasilyev's comment. "We are attempting to triangulate the other UHF signals out there, and contact them. You will come in handy in the event that we establish contact with an American or Russian Federation unit."
"Right. Because we were most certainly not fighting a war before everyone was... Teleported here." Vasilyev noted dryly.
"Wars are fought for a reason." Volkov said to Vasilyev, "Our reason ended the moment we were sunk, and awoke to... This." The Captain gestured out to the sea, and the hint of land to their right, to the east.
"Captain! Our radios have detected a High Frequency signal from an airborne source, fifty miles to the west!" One of the crewmen at a console burst out.
Both Volkov and Vasilyev walked over to the display, which showed a clear signal emitting from a point to their west. The crewman worked frantically as he synced up the radios to decrypt the message.
"-nknown radar return to our east! This is US Navy flight Juliet-One-One out of the Gerald R. Ford. Acknowledge now. Unknown radar return..."
Vasilyev quickly turned on his 'Net' unit radio, opening a connection to the American Sergeant, who was current three decks below.
"Sergeant Anderson." Vasilyev said in English, remembering the American's name. "Get up to the bridge as fast as possible. We have contact with an American unit, and you're an American."
"Right." Came the deadpan reply. "Thanks for the heads-up."
"Captain Volkov." Vasilyev said to the NRF Captain. "Have you brought our 'Net' units in sync with the ship?"
"Hold on for a moment, Lieutenant ." The Captain said, stressing Vasilyev's rank. "I will tell our EW Officer to patch you in."
Volkov turned to talk to another man at the other side of the room as Vasilyev notified the rest of the squad to gear up and get ready.
"Thank god." Petrov said. "These ponies are annoying as hell. Not only do they have to stay in the room, they have to talk our ears off while they do it, and the worst part of it is that most of us understand them. Novikov and Bogdanov are lucky bastards: They don't understand English, and ignorance of it is bliss right now."
"Just get up here." Vasilyev said, sighing at the Sergeant's antics.
Suddenly, an icon popped up in the corner on his 'Net' unit. It read Связывание Группу Адмирал Нахимов . Seconds later, a wealth of information showed up on his 'Net' glasses, from the armament of the ship, to the number of crew it had. This included a link to the ship's radio, as well as the images from their radar.
"Captain!" An ensign manning a console said. "Aircraft has been identified as an E-2C Hawkeye Airborne Radar. Radio link is open, Lieutenant, patching through."
With that, Vasilyev started to talk, just as Sergeant Anderson enter the room.
"United States aircraft, this is Lieutenant Vasilyev of the Russian Federation. Can you hear me?"
After a short pause, a voice spoke up. "Rodger that, Lieutenant. What is your location?"
"We are current on the New Russian Federation ship Admiral Nakhimov. My team, as well as a squad of your Marines, are also aboard. To whom am I speaking?" Vasilyev asked.
"This is Captain Henderson from the USS Gerald R. Ford." A new voice said. "We've been sailing for two weeks, and we have no sighting of anyone else, or satellite signal. What the hell is going on, Lieutenant?" 'Captain Henderson' demanded.
"This is Captain 1st Rank Volkov of the NRFN Admiral Nakhimov. We are currently trying to piece that together ourselves. We also have Ultra High Frequency and Very High Frequency signals from a variety of directions. Do you copy?"
"We copy." The voice said a moment later. "Our main radio mast was broken when we found ourselves here. A pretty damn massive explosion occurred beforehand, so we can guess that was the cause. We are communicating through our secondary radio mast and boosting the signal through the E-2C. Do you mind meeting us in the middle here? Also, can we speak to the Marines aboard?"
"We are not opposed to such a venture." Volkov said. "As for the Marines..."
"This is First Sergeant Anderson of the United States Marine Corps." The American spoke up. "We are currently in an entirely different world here, gentlemen. We'll brief you at the meeting. Anderson out."
"Rodger that, Marines. And Captain Volkov: We'll meet you at the current E-2C orbit position." Volkov motioned to a technician, who started plotting a course where the radar return currently was. "Out."
The radio went off as the rest of the Russian and American teams finished downloading the conversation, shifting through it as they waiting in their rooms.
"Ok everyone, good work!" Volkov said through an intercom throughout the ship. "We will continue to make contact with any other forces in the area. Now jump to it!"
After Vasilyev finished translating that for Sergeant Anderson, the Russian Lieutenant prepared himself for a long day as the crew started to locate a second signal.
Author's Note
Sorry for the long wait. School, life, and Steam have all come together to give me a massive kick in the ass. I'll still be writing: The next chapter should be out pretty soon.
(Radio log, 2006 hours to 2008 hours, unknown date)
[USS Gerald R. Ford]: Admiral Nakhimov, this is the Gerald R. Ford. We have a visual on your ship. Distance from us is five point eight kilometers, over.
[NRFN Admiral Nakhimov]: Copy Gerald R. Ford, this is Admiral Nakhimov. We are currently eight minutes out. Launching the Helo that the Marine team brought with them to ferry important officials, over.
[USS Gerald R. Ford] *static* Copy Admiral Nakhimov. Clearing the flight deck. Out.
Sokolov walked onto the rear Helo launch pad of the Admiral Nakhimov. To his left was the American pilot and the Marine sergeant, and to his right was Lieutenant Vasilyev. The group walked outside of the small hanger and out onto the deck. The MH-60 had been clipped to the deck: According to several crewmen Sokolov had asked, it was too big to fit in the hanger with the other helicopters the ship had.
The Russian pilot had spent the last two hours going over the systems of the Blackhawk. According to the captain of the American ship, he felt that it was best that it have both a Russian and an American pilot. It was nothing new to Sokolov: The good part was that he spoke English, and the 'Net' system would supplement the information where the crash course had failed.
Both pilots opened the doors to the cockpit of the helicopter, with the American moving into the pilot's seat, and with Sokolov in the co-pilot seat. Vasilyev and the American sergeant, meanwhile, opened the side door and stepped inside, waiting for their other passengers.
Two minutes later, with Sokolov and the American having completed all of the pre-flight takeoff checklists, and having started the engines, Captain 1st Rank Volkov of the Admiral Nakhimov stepped out onto the deck. With the Gerald R. Ford being the largest ship in the area, as well as being a flagship with the United States Navy, it had been decided to hold all meetings between the various commanders that had been contacted on the aircraft carrier.
"Ready?" Vasilyev asked Volkov.
"I am ready." The captain replied.
Together, they closed the side door, shielding the inside of the helicopter from the spray that was being blown from the water onto the flight deck. Grey clouds crowded the sky, casting the water into a dark blue gloom. Slowly, Sokolov and the American pilot pushed up the throttle, causing the helicopter to slowly lift into the air. It rotated towards the dark grey ship four kilometers away: The aircraft carrier.
"How many units have been found?" Vasilyev asked the captain once they were going.
"Not too many." Volkov replied. "I will give the full list at the meeting."
The only sound in the crew compartment was the steady thrum of the helicopter rotors. After three minutes in the air, the helicopter began to descend, before it touched down with a small jolt. Opening the door, Vasilyev could see the flight deck crew, wearing everything from a bright green, to a yellow, and sometimes white, running along the deck, with several ones in blue shirts running up to the helicopter, with one in yellow apparently signaling for it to shut off.
"Sirs!" One of them said as he ran up, saluting. "Captain wants you on the bridge ASAP. Follow me." With that, the crewman started to walk across the deck, leading Vasilyev and Volkov, along with the two pilots, to the tower at the left side of the ship. Multiple aircraft were being stored on the deck: The most obvious being an entire flight of F/A-18 Super Hornets, with live ordinance on them.
Vasilyev looked forward as they walked into the superstructure, noting the fact that the crew's glanced seemed to linger on them. The group walked up several flights of stairs (or ladders, as the crewman they were following called them). They took several turns when they reached the top of the stairs, ending up in a large room, with windows running along three sides, that looked over the entire flight deck. Dozens of screens lined the walls and the center, while the room itself was very dark, the lights dimmed to a dull blue. Several large screens stood in the center, displaying information on a clear LCD screen.
In the center a man stood, waiting for them. With the minimal lighting, it was hard to see the details on his face, but it was clear he was the Captain.
"We are here." Vasilyev stated.
"So you are." Captain Henderson said, motioning for them to come by the screen he was looking at. It displayed all the known radar data for the area, including the view through the Admiral Nakhimov's link. "Now, can you tell me what the hell is going on here?"
"We don't know, not really." The American sergeant said. "First Sergeant James Anderson, United States Marines. We ended up here about three days ago, after the assault on Moscow. A Trinity device detonated in the center of Moscow, causing us to black out and wake up here. We had been flying patrols in our Blackhawk for two days, and it was early morning yesterday that we found the Russians, right in the center of some city or castle on the side of a mountain."
There was a short pause in the conversation before Captain Henderson spoke up. "A Castle on the side of a mountain? Just where the hell are we, Sergeant?"
"Not on Earth." The Sergeant replied. "The land we have seen so far has been populated by some sort of sentient pony. At least, that is what they call themselves. You're best off asking the Russians: They've had the most contact with them."
Captain Henderson turned towards Vasilyev. "Your turn."
Vasilyev picked up the conversation quickly. "We found ourselves here three days ago. We were also in the assault on Moscow. When Trinity went off, our Mi-24 was thrown to the ground, and we woke up in a forest, in our overturned helicopter. We quickly set out to the north, sighting a town. We discovered it was populated with sentient pones, and observed them for a day. When night fell on the second day, we were almost discovered by what we assumed was their military. We bypassed them and hijacked a train headed north, towards their capital
"We proceeded to infiltrate the city and their castle, and warned their leader, at least that is who we assumed it was, that any further attempts at trying to follow us would be useless. We went outside into a garden and found the marine team, who picked us up. By early morning, we had flown a fair distance to the west."
"So." Captain Henderson stated. "You hijacked a train in the middle of the night, and proceeded to threaten the leader of possibly the only life here. Do go on."
"We started to head south when we encountered a city by an ocean, where we found that a sizeable number of guards were in the air, following us. Also, the ponies have three types that we noticed: Ones with horns, ones with wings, and ones without either. The presumed leader had both."
"Unicorns and pegasi. Cute." One of the techs manning a console next to them said. "Next, you'll be telling us they have control over the universe or some shit."
Vasilyev ignored him and continued. "After we passed another city, we had around a hundred of them chasing us. Several caught up to us and ordered us to land and be arrested, and we, of course, refused. When one of them opened fired on us with a crossbow, we retaliated with nonlethal rounds. We headed out over water and onto an island, landing in a clearing in a forest in order to confront our chasers. We were forced to use live rounds after our attempts at negotiation failed."
"You said that they said something to you." Captain Henderson interrupted. "How did you understand them."
"They speak English." Vasilyev replied.
A dead silence settled over the room.
"Explain." Captain Henderson ordered after several seconds.
"They speak English." Vasilyev repeated. "We don't know how, or why, but they do. One even had one of your southern American accents, if you can believe it."
A moment passed, and then another, before a sailor expressed their thoughts with a muttered 'Goddamn'.
"Once we were forced to kill many of our pursuers, we lifted off again, and went out over the island again, headed south. We encountered a city just as the next force of the fliers caught up with us, forcing us into a small battle over the city. We presume civilian casualties to be minimal." Vasilyev noted in a dry voice. "We then continued south-east, headed over the mainland, before we landed in a stretch of forest. Sergeant Anderson?" Vasilyev said, motioning for the American to pick up the conversation.
"We landed in the forest and rested for perhaps an hour before the next event struck." Sergeant Anderson said.
"Of course." Captain Henderson deadpanned.
Sergeant Anderson continued. "We found a home being attacked by what we assumed, and alter found out, were bandits of some type. We neutralized the attackers and saved two ponies, who chose to go with us rather than risk any more bandits. One was wounded. After that, we found a radio signal that led us to contact the Russian vessel. Captain Volkov, it's your turn."
Volkov nodded and picked up the conversation. "A day ago, we picked them up. Afterwards, there was sixteen hour delay between them landing and our contact with you. And here we are."
"And here we are." Captain Henderson echoed. "As far as I can see, you've managed to make several blunders within a relatively short time. However, going by your account, it is very likely they would have been hostile, or partially so, from the start. We just have to hope we can make peace at some point, because if we are truly in another world, then we're not going to get very far without it. You said you have two ponies?"
Vasilyev nodded. "They are currently on the Admiral Nakhimov with the rest of my squad and the Sergeant's."
"Good." Captain Henderson said. "That might strengthen our negotiating position. Right now, we need a place on land to form up whatever we can find."
"We'll send you our radar data from the Blackhawk." Sokolov said.
"What units have you found so far, Captain Volkov?" Vasilyev asked the Russian captain.
There was a brief delay as Volkov put on a pair of 'Net' glasses that he had in one of his pockets. They lit up as Volkov started to go over information, and the display next to them quickly changed into a list.
"So far, we have had over a dozen contacts." Volkov started. "First one of note is the Admiral Kuznetson. It is a nuclear Aircraft Carrier that was sunk in the same battle as my ship. It is currently to the south of our position."
"I can continue from here, Captain." Henderson said. "Next up seems to be the USS Lake Erie. It's a Ticonderoga-class Cruiser out of Norfolk." He looked to the side of the display to read something. "Apparently, they were sunk by a mine early in the war. After that is the USS Halsey and USS Spruance. Both are Arleigh Burke-class Guided Missile Destroyers, and both are in the same area as your aircraft carrier.
"After that is a Norwegian Fridtjof Nansen-class Frigate, the Otto Sverdrup. There is a Russian Federation Sovremenny-class Destroyer. There are three Svetlyak-class Patrol Boats to the south-east of us, along the coast of a desert-like region. Another Russian Federation Mistral-class Amphibian Assault Ship, the Sevastopol, is with the patrol boats.
"There is a United States Army battalion in the desert to the south-east, along with a regiment of the Russian Federation and a company from the United Kingdom. And that is all that we have located on the high-band within several hundred miles."
"So it is likely that those are the entirety of the Human presence, wherever we are." Vasilyev noted after five seconds of silence.
Captain Volkov nodded. "It is very likely to be the truth. Once we get all of the units synced up into the 'Net', which shall be within the next two hours, we will search for a rally point for any friendlies on the planet. Until then, Captain Henderson, you may communicate with any unit by relaying a radio signal through the Admiral Nakhimov."
With that, Volkov strode out of the room, headed for the flight deck. Vasilyev and the two pilots followed close behind, ready to return to the former New Russian Federation ship.
They walked out onto the slick flight deck, watching as several sailors in blue jackets finished disconnecting fuel nozzles from the MH-60. They moved off as the Russians and Americans got in. Sokolov and the American pilot quickly ran through the flight checklist again before starting their engines and, on a signal from a sailor in a yellow jacket, pushing up the throttle to take off. They lifted off of the deck, banking towards the Admiral Nakhimov, hardly a kilometer away.
As the sun began to dip below the waves, the men and women of the Admiral Nakhimov and the Gerald R. Ford hunkered down, even as the radiomen organized the various ships that had been contacted, to await the changes that would come tomorrow.
Author's Note
Four hours of research. You know, writing really has its less-glamorous parts when you are writing hard facts. Like finding out every single naval vessel in the Russian and United States navy, looking for suitable ones, and then going on to research military organization.
Needless to lay, some serious stuff is about to go down.
Sorry if it seemed a bit rushed. I had limited time left when I finished, and this chapter took quite a bit of time in research, so I had to finish it up quickly.
Vasilyev paced across the bridge of the Admiral Nakhimov, watching the screens as the various bridge crewmen worked to gather together the various elements of humanity on this new world. Word had rapidly spread across the various ships and units: They were alone. A total of three land combat groups and twelve naval ships of various nations and types had been contacted, and they had been quickly linked into a 'Net' connection spanning an area three hundred kilometers in diameter.
Looking out of e glass windows, he could see the massive bulk of the American aircraft carrier, the Gerald R. Ford. According to the semi-transparent screen that showed the radar contacts in the area, the ships that had managed to catch up to the Admiral Nakhimov and the Gerald R. Ford included the American destroyers Halsey and Spruance, the Norwegian frigate Otto Sverdrup, and three Russian Federation Svetlyak-class patrol boats, who came in the accompany of the Mistral-class amphibious assault ship Sevastopol.
Now the combat group was headed towards a small bay on the coast of the landmass that everybody seemed to be clustered around, between the island with a city that he and his group had flown over and the landmass, right by the mouth of a river. One of the eight F/A-18 fighters now circling the group had flown over the spot, taking multiple radar scans and noting that the area for five kilometers around seemed devoid of any signs of life. Six miles away, a few farmhouses and small fields (if that is what they were) had been noted, but nothing else.
All in all, it was a nearly perfect place to base a large force. Especially one that included a dozen naval warships and an entire Russian regiment.
"How soon until we reach the spot?" Vasilyev asked Captain Volkov when the Russian lieutenant stopped his pacing.
"Around twenty minutes, Lieutenant Vasilyev." Volkov replied. "We are just now beginning to pass through the area between the island and the mainland."
"Have the ponies been airlifted to the Americans for their questions?" Vasilyev asked.
"Yes, they have." Volkov stated. "I heard that you tired of relaying their requests after ten minutes."
"I speak their language, English, as a courtesy to them." Vasilyev dryly remarked. "They should not expect me to speak it every moment I am around them. I learned it as a way to easily communicate, not to trade remarks between two ponies whom I do not care for and the Americans whom I find irritating."
"Captain Volkov, sir!" One of the technicians said, interrupting whatever reply Volkov had been forming. "I have visual contact on the Russian Federation destroyer Nastoychivyy, to the east."
Vasilyev looked out of the right side of the bridge, towards the mainland. One and a half miles away, and three miles from the coast, the low shape of the Sovremenny-class destroyer sat on the water, quickly closing the distance between it and the rest of the ships.
Vasilyev directed his attention towards the sky, where a small flight of four unmanned American MQ-8C Fire Scouts flew overhead, directly towards the beach they would be landing at.
"How will the land formations reach this place?" Vasilyev asked Volkov as they stared at the American helicopters fly past. "There is a major desert between them and here, along with a small city one of the American destroyers spotted with their massive radars."
Volkov glanced towards the screen dominating the center of the bridge, which showed a radar-gathered map of all of the territory that the fleet had seen so far, as well as everything within the one hundred kilometers that the radar could map out. Right now, that prominently included two cities: One on the island, and one on the coast to the south.
"The land formations that we have contact with will head north, staying between the forest and the large city, and sticking to the large road that we have seen. It is paved with stone, and the Americans have told us that they have a MQ-4C Triton UAV watching the road. Forward elements of the US ground forces, Battalion strength, are currently ten kilometers south and forty kilometers east of the city." Volkov paused for a moment, before continuing. "They will have to pass by a small town on their way north, but Captain Henderson has assured me that they will attempt to avoid hostile contact. Either they will pass through or by the town, and then proceed on their way."
"How soon do you expect the ground units to reach the location?" Vasilyev asked.
"Six hours." Volkov replied.
"No sightings of the ponies yet, aside from their cities in the distance." Vasilyev noted. "I think we may be alone, for all of their eagerness to harass and attack my men earlier."
"Not really." Volkov said, walking to the left side of the bridge, with Vasilyev following right behind him. The Russian Captain pointed out, to a bank of clouds a kilometer up. "Look up there."
Vasilyev put his 'Net' glasses on before activating the magnification on them. He adjusted it up to 10x, the cloud leaping into his vision. He could see dozens of multicolored shapes on the top, seemingly peering down on the fleet.
"What in the world..." Vasilyev muttered.
"They were first spotted two hours ago by the E-2C flight the Americans have in the air. It registered as a flock of birds on their radar, but it stayed still. They vectored in two F-35Cs to take a look, and found around two dozen ponies looking at them. Pegasi only." Volkov said to the stunned Vasilyev. "Since then, the cloud has moved under its own power, and the numbers have increased."
"And you do not shot them because it would not improve our situation." The Russian Lieutenant noted.
Volkov nodded. "Precisely."
Vasilyev looked back out over the water, towards the supposed landing site they would be arriving at.
"Nothing but time left..." The MVD solider said under his breath in his native Estonian, before turning around and striding out of the bridge.
Forty miles to the south-east
First Lieutenant Robert Johnson looked around him at the grassy plains surrounding the road. Seated on the roof of his Stryker ICV, he watched as the smooth rock road ran past. The APC itself was going around twenty miles an hour, along with the rest of the armored column.
"Hey, LT!" One of the men inside shouted out to him. "Did'ya hear that we're on a new planet? What the fuck happened?"
"I've known for two hours, Delany, and so have you." Lieutenant Johnson said to the man. "What remains to be seen is how the inhabitants, for a road means inhabitants, react to us."
"I heard that a Ruskie team got into a little firefight with one of them." One of the men below said, his voice reaching up towards Robert. "If they attack us, I don't give a shit whether they're Pegasi or Unicorns or fuckin' Fairies! I'll blow their asses up either way."
"Try to keep an open mind, soldier." Robert said, frowning.
With that, Robert leaded back on the mounting for the M2 Machinegun on the room, closing his eyes.
"It's been a hell of a long week." He murmured, drifting off into thought.
Author's Note
This chapter uses extensive references to my terrible map of Equestria, which I have already linked once in this story. If you need it again, try searching through my blog posts.
The next one should be out within the week. I've been saddled with schoolwork, so don't expect too much.
Vasilyev looked out over the beach in front of the fleet from the door of their helicopter, watching as the armada was preparing to land soldiers. His squad, along with the American one, had been chosen to be the first ones ashore on the beach. He gripped the bar above him harder as the MH-60 went into a bank, showing a new view of the fleet.
Below him, he could see half a dozen helicopters lifting off from the Sevastopol, the Russian Federation Mistral-class amphibious assault ship that was with their small fleet. From its open bow, several large patrol boats and -class hovercraft emerged, crowded with Russian Marines and enough equipment to set up a Forward Operating Base.
To his right, Sokolov watched the dozens of watercraft and helicopters stream towards the shore, preparing to establish a base. Several Mi-24s from the Sevastopol escorted the formation, as did over two dozen MQ-8C drone helicopters, armed to the teeth with hellfire missiles and unguided rockets.
"We are beginning descent. Hang on, everybody." The American pilot (Sokolov had never caught his name) said over the radio. Moments later, Petrov translated it over the 'Net' systems to those who could not understand English.
The helicopter jerked underneath as it began to descend, encountering turbulence from the ocean wind. Sokolov gripped the bar above him with his left hand tighter, keeping his right hand on his MTAR-21. As their helicopter sank lower, it quickly passed the assault craft approaching the beach and crossed over land seconds later.
The Blackhawk rapidly slowed down, coming to a hover. It slowly sat down on the grass beyond the beach, just as the first wave of assault craft landed. Vasilyev quickly pulled on the handle to open the door of the helicopter, sliding it towards the rear as one of the Americans jumped out, and then another, followed quickly by Kozlov and all the rest.
Vasilyev himself jumped down from the floor of the helicopter as its rotors began to spin down, landing on the soft grass that was beyond the beach. He scanned the surrounding terrain with his 'Net' glasses, finding no signs of life beyond a stone road two kilometers away, with large sections of forested land one kilometer further on.
The Russian Lieutenant lowered his rifle, after confirming no other forces in the area aside from the Fleet's. Several helicopters began to land, letting out dozens of Russian Marines and soldiers. Meanwhile, above the landing zone several MQ-8C helicopters hovered in place, protecting the landing forces. Several BTR-3 and BTR-4 Armored Personal Carriers drove off of the landing hovercraft and into the water, shortly driving up on the beach.
With that, the official Human presence in this new land had begun.
One mile offshore
Captain Henderson watched the local radar screen as the 'Net' units of the Russian teams onshore light up green, signaling that they had landed. One by one, he watched as the red dots slowly disappeared, signaling that it had been a success.
However, there was still one problem that he had to take care of.
"Ensign." He said, walking over to the Flight Deck Manager, who sat at his own console, relaying information to the flight deck crew. "I need you to mount a loudspeaker on one of the MQ-8C's and get those ponies on that cloud away from here. They're a risk to flight operations as it is."
"On it, sir." The Ensign said, quickly imputing orders into the 'Net'-linked device.
With that done, Captain Henderson moved back to monitor the radar screen, confident in the success of the landings.
1,500 Feet above sea level One mile away from Fleet
It had taken five minutes to rig a loudspeaker to a MQ-8C and directly control it to the cloud. With that done, Ensign Jones maneuvered it to be in front of the cloud, and its 'residents'. They looked startled at the sudden appearance of the drone, and even more startled with its proximity.
With that, Ensign Jones turned on the microphone, quickly dialing up the volume.
"Attention unknown 'Pegasi'." He said in a prepared, monotone voice. "Please leave the area immediately. You are a threat to flight operations. Failure to comply will result in the use of force."
Of course, the only weapon that the MQ-8C had on it currently was a imported and up-scaled version of the SVT-2 Sonic Incapacitation Weapon/Crowd Control. It was designed to suppress large scale riots by incapacitating large crowd with a blast of noise with a frequency of 7 Hz. However, he did not want to use it. Although there would be no physical damage, several might just fall into the ocean if he turned the damn thing on.
However, it was not needed. The ponies quickly vacated the area, most flying off towards the island in a near-panic.
"Nice job, Jones." One of the crewmen next to him said. "Looks like all the birdies have run home."
"Yeah." Ensign Jones said in a deadpan voice, wondering why he had been asked to waste his time doing this.
Radio Traffic south of unidentified town Forty kilometers north-east of large city on mainland
[R-1-2]: All sections, town is in sight.
[R-1]: Rodger that 1-2, we have permission to move through the road in the center of town. Do not attempts to proceed with overt interactions with the populace: State that you and others are passing through. Do you copy?
[R-1-2]: Copy. We will be at town edge in ten minutes. 1-2-1 through 1-2-4, keeps inside your vehicles. Platoons leaders of 1-2-1 through 1-2-4, keep in the open to explain the situation to the natives, if need be. American armored force, you should try to answer their questions first: You understand them.
[A-/-1-3]: Copy that, Russian unit. We'll take the lead. Just try not to grab all the attention of the locals.
[R-1-2]: *laughter* We shall try, American. 1-2 out.
[R/A Local Announcement (Bilingual)]: All Russian and American units, be advised that we will pass through a town populated by the local inhabitants, explained in the last 'Net' Local Announcement. Stay inside of your vehicles if you can. If you cannot, try to avoid answering too many questions. Out.
Author's Note
Hi guys! Just a quick chapter before things star happening again. The next few chapter will be out within the next two weeks. Sorry for long delays: School is a bitch.
"Lieutenant Johnson!" A faint voice said on the edge of his hearing.
"Lieutenant Johnson!" The voice repeated again, insistently.
Robert Johnson opened his eyes, to see one of the men from below crouching over him.
"W-What?" Lieutenant Robert Johnson said, slowly gaining awareness.
"LT, we're entering the town in two Mikes." The soldier said, ducking down through the top hatch and entering back into the interior of the Stryker ICV.
The events of the past few days quickly entered back into the Lieutenant's mind, from finding themselves in a desert, to contact with the Russian and American ships, and finally to the 'Net' briefing of the town.
Johnson turned his head to confirm that, yes, they were about to enter the town. A sign slowly passed by as the Stryker rumbled along at ten miles an hour. Johnson was able to catch a brief glimpse at the sign, which read 'Welcome to Hollow Shades'.
"Jesus." Johnson muttered. "Couldn't be a better name if we were in a horror movie instead of a land of unicorns and... Whatever else is here."
The Lieutenant kept a tighter grip on his Colt RO635, but so far, it did not look like he would need it. Various ponies dotted the sides of the streets, watching blankly as first his Striker, and then another, followed by two M2 Bradleys and a M1A1 Abrams rolled down the street. Forty feet behind that, the rest of the hundreds of armored vehicles rolled onward convoy-style, right through the edges of town.
"What are those things?!" He heard one of the ponies yell over the sound of the engines.
"Just passing through!" Johnson yelled out towards the crowds now gathering.
Sixty kilometers away, in the UAV control center of the USS Lake Erie, a technician looked through the feed of a MQ-4C Triton UAV flying high above the landscape. He could see the beginnings of the massive column of armor going through the center of town, the 'local yokels' gathered around to watch it. In this case, the locals being sapient 'ponies', and with the First Contact situation being a nightmare (or so he had been told), tensions would be high.
"Man, I would hate to have that guy's job." The technician muttered as he watched a man in a US Army uniform on the lead vehicles appear to say something to one of the crowds as the man's vehicle passed.
"Tell me about it." His friend at the next UAV rig said. "Radar mapping the huge forest with a UAV is boring, but at least you get to make it home after you're done."
"We're not going to make it home again." The technician tersely said, highlighting the tensions being on a entirely new world was raising among the crew, many of whom had family who would believe them dead. It had almost caused a number of suicides when the news broke out - and an increase in visits to the Fleet doctors.
In any case, the technician prepared himself for another two hours of watching the UAV feeds. He sighed, wondering what he had done to be stuck doing this.
Lieutenant Vasilyev lifted another pair of sandbags, before walking them over to a new emplacement location, outlined in white chalk powder on the grass, and placing them neatly on top of said line. He began his walk back towards the crate that housed them, twenty feet away, thinking on the setup of the camp.
Over the past four hours, the temporary Forward Operating Base had taken shape. Prefabricated tents and basic sandbag fortifications had gone up, and construction on a series of elaborate wood-and-sandbag trenches had taken place. Eventually, Captain Volkov (temporarily placed in command of Russian forces by the Admiral aboard the New Russian Federation aircraft carrier Admiral Kuznetson) and Captain Henderson had both worked together on putting ashore enough supplies to make their camp a fortress ready to house up to 10,000 men.
With the combined Russian and American units only a few hours away (having been delayed by their passage through the town), the camp had to be ready to house all of their assorted men, vehicles, and numerous supplies. Half a dozen motor pools had gone up, and several major stockpiles of supplies had begun already, beefed up by helicopters flying from the Sevastopol amphibious assault ship, which had anchored itself one hundred meters offshore.
Vasilyev lifted up another pair of sandbags, slowly walking with them over to the emplacements. He had due to be replaced in fifteen minutes, and he couldn't be happier about it. Lifting nearly thousands of sandbags over the course of three hours, a mere half hour after securing the beach in a helicopter assault that met no resistance of any kind, had tired him out. He may have been conditioned to endure plenty of physical activity as part of his MVD Spetsnaz training, but the sixteen years of relative peace after his graduation had not prepared him well for running around Russia, fighting the NRF... Or running around a forest in a new world, all the while being chased by mythical creatures, for that matter.
With a grunt, Vasilyev set the bags down in their positions: An emplacement, surrounded by sandbags on three sides, set half a foot into the ground, with the back connecting to the trench networking now being build and reinforced with timber walls and floors.
"It sure seems like we're about to host the First World War all over again." One of the US helicopter crewmen beside him complained.
"Look on the bright side, Delany." Another joked. " They won't be throwing poison gas at us like they did at my great-great-grandfather."
"You mean the stuff that blinded him for fifty years?" Another commented. "By my count, they still have that that tele-whatever that can lift stuff and who knows what else. Hey, next time I want the magical cannon of pixie dust fired at my MH-6, I'll drive over to Disney and put it in a fucking movie."
"What happened?" Vasilyev asked the pilot, mentally switching to English.
The pilot shrugged. "Oh, you know, the usual: Get transported to an alien world full of talking horses, have to fly a recon flight over the forest, and proceed to get shot at by a group of the winged ones-"
"Pegasi." Vasilyev interrupted.
The pilot waved him off. "Yeah, Pegasi, whatever. A couple of them in gold armor feinted us towards another group of fucking unicorns on the ground. THAT group of grade-A assholes proceeded to fire fucking plasma bolts or some shit at us. I don't know: I'm not flying a goddamn UAV. If my Little Bird is in danger, I get the hell out of there."
With that, the pilot walked off, carrying one sandbag. Vasilyev shrugged, silent running it over in his head before going back to work. He still had ten minutes until he would be replaced, and he wanted to get it over with as quickly as he possibly could.
NOTE: The Author's notes will often have unrelated, irrelevant information that neither I nor you care about. Nonetheless, it would be awesome if you could read them.
Author's Note
Well, here's the next chapter for you. Please comment below on what you thought. I tried to introduce a little humor here: God knows if I succeeded. If I did, awesome. If I didn't, I vow never to use my horrible humor again.
There are three references in here: One to a random CoD game (an early one, not one of the MW series) and two to RvB.
Captain Volkov had faced many frustrating times in his career. He had been on the distant frontiers of Russia, and battled the Russian Federation Navy at the start of the war, almost losing his ship to a Kilo-class submarine during the middle of battle.
However, dealing with the current situation was trying his patience more than seemed humanly possible.
Twenty minutes earlier, a single pony - from what Volkov had gathered, one of their guards, and a pegasus one at that - had flown to the apparent entrance of the large base still under intense construction and had demanded one thing: Their surrender. With the first units of the American and Russian forces half an hour from arriving, Volkov had thought it would be amusing to try with the pony guard. To accomplish that, he had stepped into the ship's Ka-60K helicopter and flown to one of the helicopter pads inside of the base, and proceeded to quickly walk to the main entrance of the base.
He was currently regretting his decision.
Volkov stood twenty feet away from the entrance, itself surrounded by sandbag emplacements (a temporary measure before more permanent earth and concrete ones took their place), with two Russian Marines flanking him. In front of him stood a white pony covered in ridiculously decorated gold armor, sporting a deadpan stare which the pony had leveled at Volkov the moment he appeared.
"No, I shall not surrender. I have told you this before." Volkov stated, his tone never wavering. The trick of using a calm voice he had learned to deal with the political situation in some coastal Russian towns was now coming in handy. Added to this was the minor stress of translating all of his words into English to speak with the pony, and in reverse when the pony talked.
"Princess Celestia, Ruler of the Equestria, and Keeper of the Sun demands it." The guard repeated, the capital letters very obvious in its speech. The voice was male, but Volkov had long ago learned to keep his assumptions to the minimum. "You are on Her sovereign territory, and She who controls the Sun itself had ordered you to relinquish your arms and come into royal custody to face your crimes."
Volkov narrowed his gaze at the pony, who began to waver slightly, seeing as he was being denied, possibly for the first time in his life. "I care not that you believe that this 'Princess Celestia' controls the sun. You were the first to attack us, and it had happened several time within the past day alone. We will not give in."
"Then your deaths will be the least of your worries, evil beast, when She banishes you for your crimes." The pony said in contempt, before turning around and lifting off of the ground, quickly flying away at speeds that Volkov felt only a helicopter would have difficulty matching.
"Good riddance." Volkov muttered audibly, resulting in some short chuckles from behind him. With that being said, Volkov welcomed the attempt (or lack thereof) at negotiations. It let him know for sure what the ponies thought of the Human presence on their land. Predictably, the answer was 'not at all' .
With that, Volkov pulled a small radio out of his pocket. He pressed the touch screen, turning it on, before quickly selecting the correct frequency and speaking into it in English.
"Captain Henderson, this is Captain 1st Rank Volkov. We have a problem."
Several technicians stood over a large computer, with half a dozen minors above it, all showing fragments of code. They discussed their situation in muted tones, trying to find out the best solution to their problem.
"I tell you, it'll never work." One of them said. "Because we don't have GPS anymore, almost all of our rocket-based systems are useless, and many of our fire-control systems are down. We can't replace that by launching our own satellites because we don't have the facilities to build the facilities to launch a rocket."
"We could always repurpose one of the missiles." Another one suggested hopefully.
"Don't be ridiculous." The first one chided. "Any missile we have wouldn't be designed to carry a satellite, or carry one high enough."
"How about linking them to the radar images of the terrain?" A third one said. "If we use the launch vehicle location on the radar maps we have as the central location, and use radar guidance from the SPI radars, or a Hawkeye if necessary, we could guide a missile to a target with the same accuracy as a GPS."
There was a short pause, before the first one spoke out. "That might work. Get to work programming the sims, people, and program it into the computers and missiles if it's feasible."
With that, the throng of people broke apart, each rushing to do their tasks wit eagerness. If it worked out, the vessels in the multinational fleet would be able to use GPS-reliant systems such as missiles again. With that accomplished, they would once again be able to unleash death upon any who attacked them.
Lieutenant Robert Johnson looked at the makeshift base in the distance, the site of the largest multinational military gathering he had ever seen. Over the past three hours since the beginnings of the column had finally left the small town (with the last formations having cleared it around two hours ago), the column had gone as fast as they could together (around 40kph, having to slow down because of some of the slower armored vehicles).
Johnson looked over the defenses as they approached the entrance, located on a small rise of a few feet. He could see several sandbag bunkers at it, with several Russian Marines (he recognized the colors and uniform at this distance, and matched it with the readings from his 'Net' unit interface) working to surround them with earth and wood. They stopped working as his Stryker approached, with the men at the crew-served weapons in the emplacements shooting them large grins.
"You can go on in." One of them at the entrance said when the driver of his Stryker, a kid whose name he had forgotten, opened the driver's hatch. "You're not likely to be a spy."
"No kidding." The driver said as he kept it open, the better to see where he was going.
Slowly, and then growing louder, a cheer started to come from various areas of the camp as Lieutenant Johnson's vehicle passed the entrance. Dozens came out of various tents and prefabricated buildings to yell out in near-triumph as his vehicle was directed towards an empty motor pool (or what passed for one). As the Stryker ground to a halt in a marked space, Johnson hopped down, with the back door opening to let the men inside come out.
They had reached safety.
Author's Note
Chapter one of two. Writing is hard when you're facing a gigantic distraction, in the form of Grand Theft Auto V.
Which is much too addictive. Rockstar should be sued for making the game good enough to draw me away from writing for this long, and for managing to make two 10/10 GTA games in a row.
Two hours later
Captain Henderson looked at a technician with a deadpan glaze, wondering about what he had just heard.
"Can you run me by that again, Junior Information Systems Technician?" Henderson said slowly.
"There are eight of the, uh, ponies , on a hill three miles away from our base and slightly into the forest." The Technician said in reply.
"And what is so special about them that you come and bother me about it?" Henderson asked. "We've been seeing ponies every goddamned day since we've landed here. Those pegasi only pissed off half a day ago, and now even more are back, only this time they're ten miles away instead of a thousand feet!"
The entirety of the bridge crew flinched at his words, before continuing with their work.
"One of them is the pony that the Russian team encountered in their supposed capital, the presumed leader, the blue one." The Technician hastily added. "With it is another pony, also with both wings and a horn, accompanied by six others, three of whom are ones that the Russian observed in their brief journey."
Henderson paused, before looked out of the bridge windows at the supposed hill.
"Move a UAV feed to that hill and patch it through to the center screen." Henderson ordered.
The Technician hastily gave a salute and walked over to the UAV station, quickly typing in a series of commands for the control station six decks below. Within five seconds, a live video feed overlaid on the main screen, replacing the radar map of the area. It showed a wide perspective of a hill, with the base out of view, before quickly zooming in to show the mentioned ponies.
Much to Henderson's surprise, it was as the Technician had mentioned. Two of the 'leaders', who matched the descriptions that the two ponies they held had given of 'Celestia' and 'Luna', stood on the hill overlooking the camp. With them were six others, several of whom Henderson recognized from his review of the Russian 'Net' video feeds.
The six regular ones, a mix of the various types they had encountered so far, started to step forward. A light started to grow from them, although the UAV could not zoom in enough to make out from where. It slowly grew brighter as Henderson grew more worried.
"Everyone, get into action." Henderson said. "We might have a problem."
Vasilyev looked towards the forest, at the quickly growing light on the hill. He looked at it with curiosity, and then worry. Ignoring the half dozen notifications coming through the 'Net' glasses about it, he continued to watch as it grew into a ball of pure light, before shooting at the camp in a large beam of light. He had no time to flinch as it hit dead-center, sending off a bright wave of what looked like multicolored light.
The wave passed by him, with the only result being a slight tingly feeling. Vasilyev was confused as to what had just happened, being that nothing had apparently changed. Shrugging, he went back to what he had been doing previously: Browsing through the 'Net' for any information that had been gathered on where they were, along with what had just happened.
Captain Henderson looked on at the results, or lack thereof, of the brilliant light. He had no idea what had just happened, until he looked at the UAV feed. The hilltop still had the eight ponies on it. With the UAV having moved closer, the expressions on their faces of shock and... Disappointment? He didn't know how to tell, but he could hazard a guess.
"My best idea as to what the hell just happened, is that whatever they just tried, failed." One of the Technicians said out loud. A chorus of agreement went through the room.
Henderson looked out at the camp with apprehension. Whatever had just happened, it had changed everything.
Four miles west of Combined Forces Firebase
Sergeant Davit Meskhi of the Georgian Special Forces Brigade looked out on the road, waiting for the market targets. He knew the basics of what this land was from scattered 'Net' transmissions that he and the others had caught, but it was still hard to believe. An entirely new world? It would have been dismissed, if they had not seen it for themselves.
He and the five other GSFB soldiers were scattered along the trail, keeping in occasional contact via their 'Net' systems. After their defeat in 2008 and again in 2014 at the hands of the Russian Federation, who were working with the Ossetia rebels, the Georgian military had invested all that they could in renovating their hardware. They had purchased top-of-the-line 'Net' systems from Israel in early 2015, along with a shipment of various advanced weapons. With that, Georgia had become one of the world's best trained and equipped militaries, if not one of the smallest.
When war had broken out between the Russian Federation and the New Russian Federation, Georgia had sent a team of soldiers deep into Moscow. If the current government had bad relations with Georgia, the military-controlled coup had worse, and had immediately rebuffed Georgian attempts at diplomacy.
They were still in Moscow, planning a deep-infiltration assault on the Kremlin, when the bomb had gone off. After awakening in a forest, they wandered for two days before finding a large source of 'Net' transmissions. When they had found out where they were, they set to work on remaining secretive. However, the arrival of the 'leader', as the 'Net' systems said it was, had complicated things.
Yet again, Davit replayed the audio logs in his 'Net' system files. He had already gotten the go-ahead from his squadmates, but he was having problems believing he was doing this. Finally, he opened up a 'Net' connection, quickly forcing his way through the security barriers into the 'Net' System of the 'Gerald R. Ford'.
Half a second later, the little box that accomplished the intrusion sent a notification to his 'Net' unit that it was done. Davit quickly sent several commands before anybody could notice the intrusion, breaking into the 'Net' radio system and routing it to a direct line between the Bridge and his 'Net' system. With that done, he cleared his throat and keyed his mike.
"Gerald R. Ford, this is Sergeant Davit of the Georgian Special Forces Brigade." He said in his High School-equivalent English. He was a bit rusty from years of misuse, but he could speak it well enough. "I know you are wondering who we are. We have kept hidden the past few days as we have observed your 'Net' traffic, in the event that we found something. We did."
There was a short pause before a response came. "This is Captain Henderson of the Gerald R. Ford. I'll be inclined to ignore your intrusion into our 'Net' systems if you would tell us what the hell you meant."
"Sending video log now." Davit said, quickly issuing a series of voice command that sent N:/S_3_Davit/Logs/B07 along the 'Net' systems and, with deft use of the little hacking kit inside of the box, deposited it into the files used for the bridge screen, where one of the 'Net' operators quickly picked up on it.
All Sergeant Davit could do now was hope they watched, and then listened. What happened after that, to him, was up in the air.
Video Log B-07 (N:/S_3_Davit/Logs/B07) Sergeant Davit Meskhi, 3rd Combat Team Location UNK R/9274-GPS_notvalid
The video quickly started, showing a view from the camera, mounted on the right side of the helmet. The image quickly grew is resolution, showing a view from the top of a forested hill, numerous thick trees filling the edges of the screen. In fact, it seemed as if the recorder was in a tree.
"Now that you're up there, what can you see?" A voice asked from below in Georgian, which 'Sergeant Davit' had helpfully translated into basic English and put in the form of subtitles at the bottom of the camera view.
"Shut up." A voice hissed, coming from right next to the camera, presumably 'Sergeant Davit'. "All I can see a bunch of yellow figures in the supposed 'Pony' camp." The voice finished with some uncertainty.
"System, Magnify Camera, twenty ex." Davit said after a short time.
Instantly, the view of the camp magnified 20x. It popped into view, with hundreds of white ponies encased in gold armor walking between dozens of tents. Several seemed to patrol around in formation, as ones in red jackets seemed to shout orders. The volume was nearly mute, due to the fact that it was some distance away from the camera, but the traces of yells could be faintly heard.
"Jesus Christ." Sergeant Davit muttered to himself before keying his mike. "They've got a couple companies there."
"Only one place they could be headed: That Russian and American base on the coast, the place with all the 'Net' traffic." Another voice below said.
"How fast can we get there?" Sergeant Davit asked, turning around and beginning to climb down the three.
"Three hours, four at max." The second voice replied.
"Then let's go."
With that, the video feed cut out.
There was silence on the bridge for a total of five seconds after the video cut out. After that point, first one, and then the rest of the bridge crew started to get to work, issuing orders over the 'Net' system to the dozens of vessels n the fleet, as well as various ground units.
An attack was coming, and they had to be ready.
Author's Note
Part two of today's chapters. If you see any errors or things you want to notify me about, no matter how small, tell me through a comment or a message. In general, if there's anything you want to say, feel free to use the comments section. That's what it is there for.
Thanks for staying with us all this time. Only one more chapter to go until Act III ends.
Sokolov grunted as he jumped down into the trench, before moving forward to lean against the wood-lined walls a second later. The defenses had been finished a mere two hours before, forming an interlocking series of firing positions, entrenchments, and minor fortifications, all done with the help of the 6,000+ ground forces currently inside of the camp, along with airlifting done by the four Mi-10 heavy-lift helicopters stored on the Sevastopol.
The Russian pilot lifted his MTAR-21 to his shoulder, pointing it across the two miles of plains between the firebase and the large forest. To his left and right, a mixed assortment of Russian and American soldiers stood with their various weapons at the ready, with scattered British and Norwegian Marines also manning the defenses.
The trenches had emplacements scattered all across the lines, with crew-manned weapons such as the American M2 Browning or 40mm Mk-47 Striker Grenade Launcher. Sokolov could see hundreds of 'Blue' contacts displayed on his 'Net' unit's glasses, although the nearest one from the MVD team that he had been traveling with was two hundred meters to the south.
"What's the threat?" One of the Russians to his left asked.
"I do not know." Sokolov admitted. "The alert stated that there was a group of ponies headed this way. Guards, armed at that, such as that brave one that strode up several hours ago and demanded our surrender."
The Russian next to him chuckled, trying - and failing - to contain laughter. The video logs that several of the men at the 'gate' had taken were spread around the camp within minutes, leading to a general feeling of amusement at the odds of the ponies.
"Didn't you hear?" A man in an American BDU said in Russian to his right. "The unicorn types have got to have some sort of internal weapon. The ponies we have say it's magic, but I'm a bit skeptical of that."
"I, for one, believe it." Sokolov replied. "If they have the technology to use telekinesis, weaponize high-temperate plasma-like bolts, and do all of the things I have seen them do, then why are they still living in wooden huts and wielding spears and crossbows? And why would only the unicorn types be able to have it?"
"To hell with them all." The Russian man to his right said. "We're stranded in God knows where, while they're trying their best to kill us."
A chorus of agreement went down the line among those who heard him as Sokolov turned back towards the forest. He began to notice small things, such as the lack of any wildlife visible in the forest four kilometers away, as well as the roughness of the wood reinforcing the trench. There had been little to no time and no proper tools to make the boards, so they were roughly cut with the issued axes that several Russian marines had, and the very nonstandard variety of hatchets that some of the Americans had 'somehow' found inside of their belongings.
A notification popped up on his 'Net' unit, center-screen, simply stating that a area-wide video transmission was incoming. Seconds later, it was replaced by a large box on his 'Net' glasses' LCD screen, quickly changing into a live video feed. The clip had 'Gerald R. Ford, Captain Henderson' subtitled in both English, Russian, and Norwegian across the bottom.
Said captain appeared in the frame a second later.
"Good evening, gentlemen." He said without pause a moment later, his voice being translated into Russian and Norwegian a moment later, and appearing as text at the bottom of the screen. "As some of you know, we have spotted a rather large contingent of ponies headed this way. Guards, mostly likely. They are armed with a variety of crossbows, spears, and various other point objects."
After the round of laughter on the bridge - and on the ground - died down, he continued. "Their estimated strength is at the eight hundred mark. We do not expect serious opposition, but in any case you on the ground are expected to preform to the best of your abilities. Just aim for the golden armor."
With that, the transmission clicked off. A small video feed appeared at the upper-right corner of the display, showing a high-altitude view of a column of gleaming figures. It magnified, showing hundreds of white ponies, all clad in golden armor, making their way through the forest along a dirt road. The dust they picked up was not enough to obscure the view, which included several dozen pegasi. The camera then zoomed out, displaying a view from ten kilometers in the air. The column was shown to be a mere six kilometers from the firebase, and only two kilometers from exiting the forest.
"Why don't they get aircraft and bomb them?" One of the Americans next to him asked another in English.
"Because they don't want to waste aviation fuel and ordinance just yet." The second one replied. "Even though we probably have more than enough for a few months of combat operations, we need to make every round last."
"It's not like we'll be facing T-90s supported by Su-27s." Another noted.
The chatter quickly died down, with orders being passed up and down the line. Apparently, they were only to fire once the ponies got within a kilometer of the defenses. The ground forces would also be supported by several helicopters. Even now, Sokolov could see two Mi-28s in the air, along with three Mi-24 gunships and eight of the MQ-8C unmanned helicopters, each one with four AMG-114 Hellfire missiles hanging off of eternal pylons.
Sokolov directed his attention back towards the treeline, watching for movement. He calmly waited..
... And waited...
He was still watching, two minutes later, when the first hint of yellow showed through the trees. According to the UAV feed, it appeared as though they were coming through the forest. The single dot of gold quick expanded into several, and then into an entire line. The UAV feed showing in the corner magnified, showing them forming ranks at the tree line. A quick magnification using his 'Net' unit's camera confirmed it.
"All units, hold fire." The voice of Captain Volkov from the Admiral Nakhimov said over the coms, repeated a second later by Captain Henderson in English. "We will be using a flight of two F/A-18s if our attempt to make them cease fails. Beyond that, you have full authorization to shoot the bastards."
A single MQ-8C Fire Scout flew overhead, with a loudspeaker mounted below it. It flew across the field at about fifty meters up, before coming to a stop half a kilometer from the ponies.
"Cease your advance!" The loudspeaker said, audible even over the three kilometers between the forward ranks of the ponies and the fortifications. "If you do not, lethal measures will be taken."
Several dozen brightly colored bolts seemed to lance out like tracers from the formation, a few making impacts on the helicopter, doing little apparent damage. Sokolov watched as the last attempt at a peaceful solution turned around, banking back towards the fleet. As it flew back overhead, Sokolov could make out half a dozen black marks, clear proof that the unicorns certainly had some sort of ability to use 'magic' as a weapon.
The formations of ponies broke apart into a few smaller groups, before speeding up into a brisk run. Magnified, Sokolov could see the stern expressions of the ones in the lead, and knew that they would not break off.
They quickly closed to a distance of one and a half kilometers, well within rifle range. By then, about sixty pegasi had taken to the air, golden armor easily visible as the sun sank towards the horizon.
A low roar filled the air as two F/A-18 Fighter-Bombers, each one loaded with ordinance, burst below the clouds at 1,000 feet above the ground. They quickly flew low, closing distance with the formation of ponies. One object detached from one of the fighters, and a low buzz filled the air as both fired their 20mm M61 Vulcan Miniguns. The pegasi in the air were cut apart as the .787-inch-wide projectiles flew through the air, cutting through armor, flesh, and bone equally.
The two jets, US Navy proudly printed on the sides, pulled upwards as they finished their run, leaving the descending bombs to impact the ground.
Seconds later, the CBU-67 Combined Effects Munition, commonly known as a cluster bomb, opened at an altitude of a hundred feet. The CBU released 202 submunitions, each one containing half a pound of Cyclotol, a 60-40 mix between RDX and TNT. They spread out rapidly from the bomb, hitting at hundreds of separate points inside and outside of the formation. Around five percent of the bomblets failed to detonate, but saturated as they were, it did not make a difference.
Almost two hundred separate explosions blossomed everywhere along the formation. Some of the ponies simply disintegrated when multiple bomblets hit near them. With over half of the formation dead, and more than eighty percent of the survivors wounded in some way, it would make sense for them to falter.
Nearly two hundred of the ponies remained fit for combat, still futilely charging at the massed defenses. All at once, without an order, hundreds of rifles fired, the sheer volume of bullets easily felling the survivors. Sokolov did not fire, as he felt that, in this situation, any rounds he fired would only compound the overkill.
With the battle over within seconds, silence went across the line, with only the occasional screams from the 'battlefield'. Moments later, a notification went across his 'Net' display.
[Captain Henderson, CVN-78: All ground units, please render aid to those ponies who require it. We're running a battle here, not a massacre. I do not want to see behavior contrary to the Geneva Conventions, semantics or not.]
With that, several dozen soldiers, including Sokolov and the men next to him, walked out of the trenches and onto the battlefield. Or, what could be called a battlefield. It had been entirely one-sided, with no casualties of any kind for their forces, and resulting in the near destruction of the formation of ponies. Dozens of obvious wounded were scattered around, along with ones who were entirely dead.
Sokolov walked up to a pegasus who had several major cuts along its torso. He slowly slung his MTAR and took out his basic First Aid kit, the one he had been given as a pilot in the event he was shot down. He crouched down on the ground and took out a container of disinfectant, holding down the pony with one hand while shaking some of the powder onto the wound with another. The white pegasus stared at him in what seemed to be shock as he took out a roll of gauze, making several, short strips and putting them tautly over the wound.
"... What are you?" The pegasus weakly asked as he finished covering the wound, opting to leave the more advanced care to those who knew more than he did.
"Only a human." Sokolov simply stated, before marking the location on the local 'Net' unit with a [Render Aid] marker and moving on.
First Lieutenant Miller flew high above the firebase, staring down through the thinning clouds at the scurrying figures on the ground. He felt no regrets from dropping the bomb. In a way, it would have happened anyway, only with a much larger use of ammo. At least, that is what he told himself.
"That's something I'd never though I would ever be able to do." His wingman said. "Mowing down a pegasi midair. Now imagine this: They've got nothing that can shoot us down. We're practically home free!"
"Rodger that, Gamma-Two. RTB. The Capt. doesn't want us wasting any more AvGas."
"Copy Gamma-One. RTB."
With that, both of the fighters banked down towards the fleet.
Author's Note
Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Major criticisms? Put em' down there. That's what the comments sections is for.
Well, I just committed one of the major do-nots of writing a story on here: Having a pony, or a hell of a lot of ponies, die. Sue me. If anybody here wants to know more of the how/why from each side, all you have to do is ask.
Intermission - Interrogation
USS Gerald R. Ford
The camera turned on, focusing on a spot behind several blurs before an unseen man adjusted it. The figures came into focus: Two ponies, one a midnight blue pegasus and the other a blue-gray unicorn, sat on small chairs to the left. Another chair, empty, was opposite them. A man quickly walked into the field of view and sat down, looking at the two ponies.
"Thank you for agreeing to answer our questions." The man said, giving them a small nod. "First off, can you tell me your names, jobs, species, and gender? Remember, this is for the record."
"Didn't we already tell that to the... Rush-ans?" The pegasus asked in a male voice.
"Correct. However, we would like a source of information other than the Russians." The man said.
"O-kay... I guess." The pegasus said, raising a hoof up to run through his two-toned purple mane. "My name is Focused Lens, and I was a maker and repairpony for anything from telescopes to magnifying glasses. I'm a pegasus, and I'd think it's obvious I'm a stallion."
"So a male?" The questioner asked.
The pony nodded, making a motion towards the unicorn, presumably to hand over the question to her.
"Uh, right." The unicorn said, her voice female. "Uh, I'm Perfect Craft, and I'm a unicorn and, uh, a sculptor. And I'm a mare- uh, female, if that's what you wanted to know."
"It is." The questioner said with a small smile. "Thank you for telling that to us. Now, do you mind if we venture to the land you lived in?" The questioner raised up his notepad, flipping through several pages before continuing. "The one you call Equestria."
"Sure." 'Focused Lens' said. "It's a diarchy, meaning that we're ruled by our two Princesses, Celestia and Luna. Celestia raises the sun and controls the day, and Luna raises the moon and controls the night, along with the dreams of ponies."
"So, this Celestia raises your sun?" The questioner asked.
"Yeah, I mean, how else would it rise?" The pony asked. "Not like it can do it all by itself."
There was mild murmuring off-camera between an unseen person and the questioner, who exchanged hushed words with said person. The ponies glanced at one another for a moment, confused, before the questioner turned back around.
"I am sure that we can come back to that later." The questioner said in a calm voice. "Now, can you tell me about these 'Princesses?' Celestia and Luna? And if they are Princesses, where is the Queen or King, if there is one?"
Perfect Craft shook her head, looking at the questioner. "We don't have a Queen. After an Alicorn, her name unknown, created the world thousands of years ago, the two Princesses have ruled in harmony. Aside from the Nightmare Moon stuff that went on a few years ago, it's been mostly peaceful."
"What is an Alicorn?" The questioner asked.
"An Alicorn is a mix of a Pegasus, a Unicorn, and an Earth Pony. There are only three, with Princess Cadence of the Crystal Empire being the only other one." Focused Lens said.
The questioner nodded, satisfied. "Thank you for clarifying that. Now, can you tell us what these Princesses are like?"
It was Focused Lens who came forward with the answer. "Princess Celestia is a kind and benevolent ruler. She's never really led us wrong in all her thousands of years of rule." The questioner hummed for a moment, pausing once the two ponies noticed before motioning for them to continue. "Princess Luna isn't seen much by anypony, but she's probably fine after Nightmare Moon got banished away from her."
"Who was this 'Nightmare Moon'?"
"Nightmare Moon is an evil entity. It took over Princess Luna a little over a thousand years ago and led her into rebellion against her sister, Princess Celestia. She was banished to the moon for an entire millennia, and only came back a few years ago. The new Elements of Harmony, including Princess Celestia's new student, purified her of Nightmare Moon's influence."
There was a short pause before the questioner spoke up again.
"What are the Elements of Harmony?"
"The Elements of Harmony, uh, are Celestia's greatest force for good. Six mares hold one Element each, representing the foundations of Equestria: Loyalty, Kindness, Generosity, Laughter, Honesty, and Magic. They are used to defeat any evil that threatens Equestria's safety."
Another short pause before the questioner spoke up again.
"Thank you, Mr. Lens and Mrs. Craft. You've given us a lot to consider. These men will be outside of your door if you should need anything."
With that, the video turned off, saved within the public files of the 'Net' system. Within minutes, it had been distributed to the entire task force, and with it the attached report.
First Report on the Two Equines Recovered by Russian Forces
Subject one is a pegasus stallion (male), midnight blue with a two-tone purple 'mane', as they call it. Subject two is a unicorn mare (female), gray-blue, also with a purple 'mane'.
Both report nation we are next to being a Diarchy, with two Princesses as monarchs: Celestia and Luna. Both are reported to control the Sun and the Moon respectively, although our report concluded that this is most likely false [1]. They are also two of only three 'Alicorns', which have the wings of a Pegasus, the horn of a Unicorn, and, apparent, the strength of the 'Earth Ponies' (those with neither).
'Princess Celestia' is reported to be kind and benevolent, although this may simply be a mask for any activities they may do. A being known as 'Nightmare Moon' apparently resulted in the banishment of 'Princess Luna' for a total of one thousand years via unknown means, before an unknown weapon the subjects identified as 'Elements of Harmony' apparently 'freed' 'Princess Luna'. This suggests a disagreement of sorts between the two monarchs.
When questioned by Russian sources about countries outside of Equestria, they were not able to provide many answers. The 'Crystal Empire' is apparently a single, large city to the north ruled by the third known Alicorn. A species subject two identified as 'Griffons', with a eerie similarity to the mythical species, lives to the north of Equestria, and to the East of the Crystal Empire. She was able to identify several other intelligent species, including Zebras, Minotaurs, and Changelings, but was unable to identify their location, other than the Changelings, which she described [2] with 'venom', according to the Russian report.
Further information will be released as it is compiled.
[1]: It is likely a falsehood used to control the populace. Both are reported to have lived for thousands of years, so it is not beyond belief that they have built up their own 'Perfection' to remain in power. There is also a report from the subjects that this planet was created by an Alicorn an unknown time ago. Needless to say, we believe it is false.
[2]: Changelings were described as being insectoid in appearance, with the ability to change in a perfect replica of any species. They apparently used this ability to attack the capital, 'Canterlot', two years ago. The Russians were also told that they could 'feed on positive emotion'. Discussion is ongoing.
Author's Note
Act IV will begin in a week at the most. Currently, I am going through a busy time at school, so I am writing this with my free time. Tell me what you think about this below.
This chapter was intended to give you a point-of-view of what the humans are thinking. As readers, we can identify everything about both sides. However, this is an unknown land to the humans, and they are simply drawing conclusions and parallels. The same is likely occurring with the ponies.
Four hours after the anti-climactic battle on the field, or, as the soldiers were already calling it, the 'Massacre of the field , the overarching results of the battle were easily evident on the came. An entire area on the south side had been cleared and converted into a makeshift POW camp, surrounded by eighteen-foot-high fences and filled with several hundred miscellaneous types of tents, with camouflage netting strung over the entire top, as a measure suggested by a British Corporal to prevent pegasi from flying away.
As those in charge of the combined forces unanimously agreed, it would take a long meeting to handle all of the details. The majority of the men on the field held no stomach for killing prisoners, nor would those in charge tolerate it in any case. With this is mind, the meeting of various authorities commenced at 2140 hours.
"And I agree with you, Volkov. I just do not think it is wise to... Pamper them." Colonel Degtyarev of the Army of the Russian Federation said to the NRF Captain. The gruff Colonel would have abandoned all sense of diplomacy, had he not know that he would be overridden by the others.
Seated around the table, Captain Volkov, the de facto leader of both Russian naval forces sat with Captain Henderson, the overall commander for all US Army and Navy assets, along with several other ship captains and unit commanders, with the 'Big Three' (Colonel Degtyarev, Captain Volkov, and Captain Henderson) being the main initiators of various topics. Conversation was in a mix of English and occasional Russian.
"We are hardly 'Pampering' them if we give them proper medical care, Colonel ." Captain Volkov noted dryly. "Article Three of the Geneva Conventions states that 'The Wounded and Sick are to be collected and cared for'. With this is mind, it is hardly excessive to fly in medical staff from the various ships that we have, all of whom have nothing to do but prescribe anxiety medication and treat occasional injuries."
Colonel Degtyarev leveled a glare at the man across from him, studying his features like a hunter would a tiger. Finally, he let out an exasperated sigh.
"These are ponies, for Christ's sake!" Degtyarev. "The Geneva Conventions do not apply to them. They apply to humans , which they are certainly-."
"Not. I know it, you know it, and we all know it. However, we have already agreed that it does apply." Captain Henderson noted, stopping Degtyarev in his tracks mid-argument. "All three Articles have been re-reviewed, and, in accordance with the standard Joint Chiefs of Staff plan for this event-"
"You had a plan for this?" Captain Volkov asked incredulously.
"Well, not this specifically ." Henderson admitted. "But elements of this, which when combined and vaguely interpreted as an invasion from unknown attackers, bear a close resemblance to this, with an error margin of seventeen percent."
The room paused at this, before the commander of the small British force spoke up.
"You have no idea, do you?" The man said in a crisp accent that nonetheless delivered his deadpan comment.
"We have no idea." Henderson stated. "We combed the local databases, and combined the plans for an Attack from Unknown Forces of Non-Earth Origin and Low-Tech Force planning, and filled in all the gaps."
"What do the staffers at your military even do when designing these 'plans'?" Degtyarev asked, curious.
"Why do you think we pay them so much to do so little?" One of the American captains at the tables stated, causing a small chuckle to pass around the room.
"Back on topic." Volkov stated a second later, returning the conversation to the original point. "We need to discuss the supply situation for the prisoners..."
Corporal Joseph Hanks, currently in charge of cataloging the new 'prisoners', was not having a happy day.
Once their armor had been taken off, it had been discovered that they contained... Something, which when taken off, removed some sort of disguise that turned them a bright white. They thereafter returned to their various 'natural' colors. This made identification quite a bit easier. However, names were harder to discern.
He almost felt bad for the doctors trying to render aid to any wounded ponies, until he remembered one thing: At least the ponies they dealt with were often unconscious. He had read the report from the questioning of the two original ponies, and he had experienced the full brunt of dealing with them for the past three hours.
"And what is your name?" Joseph asked the offending unicorn.
"It's Bright Spark." The pony repeated in a haughty tone.
"Former occupation and current rank?" The harried Corporal robotically asked.
"I was an intellectual, and, of course, attained the rank of Officer in the Guard quickly, as befits my status." The pony stated, staring at the unimpressed human.
"Congratulations, your new designation is Prisoner D-26." Joseph stated proudly, happy to put the arrogant pony down a notch. The prisoners were being put in groups of fifty to easily identify them. "Next!"
The unicorn stared at him for a moment, before laughing derisively at him and walking off as if he already owned the entire camp. Seconds later, another pony, one without a horn or wings, walked up and leveled a glare at him.
"Strong Spear, guard for my entire life, and I'm a guard." The pony said without interruption.
"Just a guard? No other rank?" Joseph asked. disinterested.
The 'Earth Pony' stared at him with a mixture of anger and annoyance. "No other rank. What's my number, you abomination of Tartarus?"
"D-27." Joseph stated. "Enjoy your stay here, and try to be a bit less of an asshole while you're at it."
"Yeah, yeah." The pony said, moving along and past the gate.
The next one to come up simply stared at him, its glare cold.
"Name, former occupation, and rank, if you please." Joseph said.
"Spring Wind, Weather Manager for Hoofington, Ranged Specialist Guard." The pegasus said in a female voice, confirming it as a mare.
"Your designation is D-28. Move along."
Joseph sighed as he recorded it down, just another name among dozens of names. And with many more to go, his job would not be ending for some time.
Author's Note
Act IV comes out within the next week. I have Chapters 1, 2, and 3 planned out, with all three in the first stages of writing.
This is to cover something that I don't want to cover in the main chapters. Obviously, I'm not going to make a side story just for the intermission chapters, so here you go.
Please tell me what you think of what I bring up in these chapters. I'll be adding even more character building next act, along with quite a few big events, so feedback is awesome, no matter what you have to say. Especially if it's something you think needs fixing, or an idea you have.
Main Firebase
"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.
Five miles to the North of the Firebase
High above the sea, and below the clouds that stretched across to all sides of the horizon, a Northrop-Grumman MQ-4C Triton scanned the area with it's wide-angle camera, searching for the wooden boat that had been seen earlier. It was quickly found, being a white-grey ship on the dark blue sea, with its billowing sails providing a stark contrast to the water surrounding it.
The camera rotated as the drone turned, blending in easily with the clouds just above it. The vessel was close to shore, and, as a small rowboat coasted back to the boat, the camera turned to see that a group of ponies, numbering thirty-two in total, had disembarked. Those ponies were now headed towards the forest, while the MQ-4C moved its camera to track the ship. All seemed well to the drone...
... Twelve miles away, the operator had simply noted the moving guards into the 'Net' system, and then forgotten about them in order to continue tracking the ship as it pulled the small rowboat up via a series of ropes, the few ponies inside disembarking.
"I wonder why a few of them got out?" The technician next to him wondered aloud.
"Maybe a bathroom break." The operator joking added. "I don't think it matters much, anyway. If they're headed towards the forest, they're probably not a threat. Thirty-two of the bastards will last an even shorter time than eight hundred."
The technician shrugged. "Cheers to that, I guess."
The USS Spruance sat at rest in the water, its turret aimed out towards the wooden boat eight miles away. The aiming position of the 5-inch (127mm) deck cannon was continually updated by an infrared laser emitted from the MQ-4C, always in a position to blast the large wooden ship out of the water. The captain, however, had another plan.
Several minutes later, as the wooden boat came into easy view five miles away, a single MQ-8 Fire Scout lifted off of the rear helicopter platform of the Spruance. It had a large speaker array mounted on it, generally used for anti-riot measures, but also useful in conventional systems as well.
A mile away from the Spruance, two additional MQ-8s lifted off of the USS Hasley. Both of the latter were armed with a pair of M2HB .50 caliber (12.7x99mm) machine guns mounted on snap-on side wings, along with a single M260 7-tube rocket pod fitted with the aging - but still effective - Hydra 70 rocket mounted on the belly.
The latter two hung back while the first one went forward, painstakingly piloted by a Technician aboard the Spruance towards the ship. He turned on the speakers as he approached the Fire Scout to within two hundred yards of the ship. The ponies on the ship, naturally, had noticed him by this point. The technician's close in view via the camera showed what looked to be gigantic ballista mounted at regular intervals on the deck, as well as below. Various types of ponies, mostly pegasi, were visible on the deck. Several took to the air as the Fire Scout slowed to a halt, staring at the small, unmanned helicopter.
The technician pulled the microphone up, before looking at the 'Net' unit's box that displayed what he would say.
"Attention Equestrian guard forces." He began, his voice amplified through the speakers across the long-distance wireless connection. "You are outnumbered and are in danger of being obliterated if you proceed further. Strike your colors" The technician almost cracked up at the old phrase, but held his demeanor "and stand down."
Not a second later, a shouted voice echoed from a unicorn that stood at the rear of the boat.
"We shall not give in, and your evil will be eradicated from the shores of Equestria!" The voice said.
The technician shook his head, turning around to face his partners.
"They're not taking it." He said, broadcasting it over the 'Net' unit as well.
"Weapons free." The reply from Captain Henderson stated over the 'Net' unit.
The technician turned back to the terminal, quickly imputing a series of commands into the Fire Scout he controlled, ordering it to move back as the armed ones moved forward. At the same time, the Spruance started up her engines and turned towards the boat, for the inevitable result of the MQ-8 attack.
The first MQ-8 was three hundred yards away when the first spear from a ballista launched from the ships towards it. The six-foot-long pole was topped with an iron spearhead, which glanced off of the front of the MQ-8 as it turned away. The second and third lanced outward, one managing to leave a small imprint on the aluminum skin of the UAV, before the helicopter quickly flew out of range.
Seconds later, the two MQ-8s flew in, slowing to a halt as they began to circle the ship. The two M2HBs on each helicopter fired, causing the light helicopters the shudder as .50 caliber rounds were blasted from the front towards the ship. However, the bullets were stopped by a light yellow barrier, causing ripples in the surface of the mysterious wall.
"What the hell?" The technician said as the round failed to impact, instead striking some sort of barrier. It almost looked like a shield, something straight out of a video game he used to play. Suddenly, he noticed one detail: Many of the unicorn on the ship had the bright glow around their horns that showed when various Telekinetic and other 'Magical' attacks had been observed.
"They must be generating some type of shield. Damn." The other operator to his left commented. "Fire a couple rockets."
Two lightweight Hydra 70 rockets lanced forward, the 8.7 pounds of explosive in each warhead detonating against the barrier. It seemed to crack and then shatter under the assault, letting the rounds from the browning machine guns through. Bullets lanced across the deck, striking ponies and shattering wood. Several spears from the ballista lanced outward, but none reached the helicopters with any accuracy.
The two helicopter began to circle the ship, the incendiary rounds that were loaded one for every five regular bullets striking the deck, causing several small fires to break out.
Twenty seconds after the initial attack, half of the ponies previous seen on the deck were dead, with fires beginning to blossom everywhere on the ship. By this time, the machine gun fire had tapered off the conserve ammo. Two more Hydra 70 rockets launched towards the ship, tearing two holes right at the waterline, and causing water to surge into the ship.
Thirty seconds after the attack, the ship had fire engulfing the sails. The fires on the deck had been beat out by various ponies, some with what seemed to be strong gusts of wing out of nowhere. Several pegasi took off of the deck, going straight for one of the MQ-8s.
"Oh, hell no." The technician said, readying the machine guns again.
The M2HBs on the left MQ-8 opened up again, firing nearly point-blank into the four pegasi guards in the air. The 12.7x99mm bullets punched straight through the ineffective armor, three of the guards being swatted out of the sky. The third one, however, was trickier. It did a small roll in the air, moving over the stream of bullets and putting on a burst of speed. It quickly closed speed with the MQ-8, swinging a spear tipped in an iron head into the MQ-8. It hit nothing vital but circuitry, cutting off the connection to the left machine gun.
"Fuck! Getting an error on the port MG!" The technician nearly yelled. "Clark, shoot this bastard off my nose!"
"On it!" The other technician replied.
The second Fire Scout looped around the ship, quickly moving to an angle where it could hit the pegasus, but not the other UAV. A quick burst of rounds hit the guard, an incendiary round containing magnesium breaking as it went through the wing of the guard, causing a fire to quickly grow. The pegasus screamed as - apparent she - plummeted towards the water, striking it seconds alter and bobbing to the surface.
The USS Spruance was only a mile out at this point, having rushed towards the area as fast as it could. With the wooden ship beginning to fill with water and visibly tilt, two RHIBs (Rigid-hulled Inflatable Boats) were quickly lowered from the helicopter pad and into the water, quickly taking off at a hundred kilometers per hour towards the wooden boat.
Fires were out of control on the deck as the hundreds of holes chewed in the hull by fire and bullets (and the two massive holes now far below water from the rockets) allowed thousands of gallons of water to rush in. The list was approaching forty-five degrees at this point, and it was at the three minute mark of the battle that the ship, weakened by fire and the rockets, split apart, the two sections quickly vanishing underwater.
Almost one hundred and twenty ponies were on the surface when the RHIBs arrived on-scene. They quickly began pulling waterlogged ponies out of the sea, several of whom fought back. They were quickly ferried to the Spruance's helipad as fast at the tiny boats could move. The two remaining attack MQ-8s were quickly piloted back towards the Gerald R. Ford, as word spread across the 'Net' system about the battle that had just been 'fought'.
Forgotten, in all of the haste, were the ponies that had been offloaded onto land.
Author's Note
I try to put things in metric whenever I can, but keep in mind that I am American. I use both when it applies, such as with Americans, but I generally switch to my very poor metric conversion when I am talking through the Russian viewpoints.
Anyway, aside from all of that, tell me what you think of this little chapter's fight scene.
Outer Perimeter of the Firebase
"Well, would you look at that..."
Sergeant Williams of the British Army looked through a dismounted AN/PVS-22 Gen-III night vision scope, scanning the distant tree line. Being in charge of this sector of the nighttime watch was tiring on him, seeing as he had not adjusted to a nocturnal sleep cycle just yet, having only arrived around two days ago. His duties included scanning across the distant plains, watching the trees for activity. As of the past two nights, he had not see anything other than the occasional animal.
Until tonight.
What was unmistakably the signature of one of the ponies was at the edge of the trees. It could very well have been another strange creature, if much of its body had not been clearly covered in armor in the green tint of the night vision scope. He had originally asked the armorer for a Thermal Imaging scope, perhaps the new Russian SVZ-N2, a very recent invention by the electronics company Sozvezdie that amplified the normal power of a thermal imaging scope by a factor of three.
Several more appeared from behind the trees, totaling up to somewhere around thirty. As one, they began to walk forward, coming across the field.
"Are you seeing this, laddy?" Williams asked the soldier next to him.
"Sergeant, how many bloody times do I have to ask you to stop talking like that?" The younger man said. "You may have been in the Falklands, but that does not give you the universal right to insult my brother-in-law's homeland with that attempt at Scottish."
"So what?" Williams said. "I need to call this in right now anyway."
With that, Williams opened up a connection with the 'Net' gear. Training in the gear usually took half of month of effort, and now that the Russian soldiers had been issued spares from the reserves, every element of the task force was connected to the highly integrated system.
"Lieutenant Brownfield?" He said once he had established a connection to his commanding officer.
"Go on, Sergeant." The voice said in reply.
"There's a group of around thirty ponies headed across the field, in armor, and I'd wager they're not coming for lunch."
"Then you'd bloody well stop them. I'll call this in, wake up part of the garrison."
High above the camp, the single MQ-4C Triton still in the air panned its camera towards the open field beneath the forest, looking for the guards spotted by the soldiers.
"Switch on the thermal cam." One of the men next to the technician suggested.
"Getting to it." The tired technician said, struggling to keep himself awake this late at night. Even though it was only ten at night, he had been operating the Triton for the past eight hours.
The camera suddenly switched from a green-tinted night-vision camera to a thermal imaging camera. Thirty-two bright spots showed up on it, halfway across the field and moving slowly, with dark blue spots on their bright orange bodies representing the areas that were covered in armor.
"Well, there they are." The technician whispered. "Somebody pass this along. It's confirmed."
Suddenly, the bright spots representing the ponies flared brighter for a moment, and then disappeared.
"Technician Moore, ground forces have reported that they have disappeared. What do you see?" The second of the two men manning the station next to him asked.
"Confirmed, they have disappeared off of my scopes." The technician replied. "Switching to other cameras now."
With a turn of a knob, the camera started to cycle through various modes on the enhanced night-capable Triton, before finally stopping on Ultra-violet.
"There we go..." The technician said. "Alert the infantry, I have a theory. The ponies have probably switched all visible light they emit to the far-Ultraviolet range. Levels are minimal, but still detectable."
Indeed, on his screen, a mass of Ultraviolet light was visible. While far Ultraviolet was not visible, except with rare conditions, to humans, it would still be close enough that the presumed energy to shift light to it would be minimal in comparison to bending all light around it.
"Sergeant, Overwatch reports that the ponies have stopped emitting visible light, and instead the light emitted is in the far-Ultraviolet spectrum, or something like that." The corporal next to Sergeant Williams said.
"Wonderful." Williams muttered. "Not like that little tidbit of information will help us. We don't have anything capable of detecting that, as far as I know."
"Do we have any UV lights?" One suggested. "They can be used to see it, in a way. So if we rig some up, they'll be visible!"
A short pause, before the Sergeant spoke up.
"That might work." Williams said. "Send a request to the field hospital to send a UV filter up. We attach it to a bright light, like that useless, miniature searchlight that we were issued, and bang! We have a way of seeing them."
"I'll hurry to it. We only have five minutes until they reach us, by the pilot's count." One private said, jumping out of the trench and hurrying into the camp.
In the meantime, Sergeant Williams and three other soldiers hastily unpacked and assembled a small, cylindrical searchlight that they had been issued for night duty. It was mounted on a low tripod and designed to reach up to 1.5 kilometers, with a width of half a kilometer at the end.
Two minutes later, as they had finished assembling it and setting the tripod up just outside of the trench, several dozen Americans and Russians jumped into the trenches, rifles at the ready. They had all been warned via their 'Net' units what was going on, and so their arrival announced the reinforcement of the line.
Thirty second after the last of them arrived, the Private came running back, clutching a circular object one foot in diameter. He ran up to Williams, both of them quickly working to fit the UV filter onto the miniature searchlight. Finally, with a final clamp secured, it was ready.
Sergeant Williams flipped the switch to turn it on, the light going through the filter, with only a dark purple band of visible light reaching through it, aside from the invisible UV light. Williams moved the searchlight down, the light reaching across the field...
... And illuminating a mass of armored ponies just twenty feet away.
The invisibility dropped half a second later as the ponies surged forward, and infantrymen on the line opened fire. To the Sergeant's left, an American opened up with a HK416, blasting out rounds as fast as the bolt cycled. Many of them seemed to strike invisible barriers of various colors, but even more found their marks, dropping half of the force before they could reach the trench.
The rest of the ponies, a little under twenty, jumped down into the trench. To his left, a unicorn jumped down into the trench, horn glowing a bright red. A bolt launched from it, striking the Private next to Williams before he had finished turning. Williams brought up his L128A1, the British version of the Benelli M4, before unloading four 12-gauge Flechette rounds into the unicorn, breaking the barrier and shattering the guard's skull.
Williams ducked down, continuing to shoot rounds whenever he saw a guard. To his right, the American he had seen earlier ran up, wielding a M32 Milkor MGL. The American fired a 40mm grenade down the trench at two ponies that were launching bolts at them from a corner in the trench, blowing the first one apart and riddling the second with shrapnel.
On his sixth shot, Williams realized he was out of ammo. He quickly pulled out his standard-issue Browning Hi-Power and squeezed the trigger, the round impacting - and deflecting off of - a unicorn's shield. The second and third, however, punched through, wounding the guard.
The firing along the line slowly died down, replaced by groaning and occasional yells. Not for the last time, Sergeant Williams cursed the fact that the British contingent had not been supplies with 'Net' units at the time of their arrival at the camp, or, following that line of though, when the politicians had sent his damn unit to fight in Africa against the SRN.
Williams flipped the safety on his pistol, quickly stowing it away and picking up his shotgun. He quickly looked around, taking in the sights. They had beaten off the attack, but had sustained their first casualties.
And, in his opinion, they would not be the last.
Author's Note
Something that surprised me was that somebody predicted the first part of this chapter, almost to the very detail. It was kinda funny, and it made me double-check to see if I had published it too soon by mistake.
Note that I am not a scientist. I did all the research I could on UV light, and thus this is as close to reality as a guy like me who didn't take a college course (and whom has not finished High School yet) can get.
Anyway, here is the new chapter.
There was silence around the conference room aboard the Gerald R. Ford, a somber mood that never seemed to lift once the commanders of the human forces had been assembled. After the battle the night before, a meeting had quickly been called, and four hours later it assembled.
Captain Henderson looked over the two dozen men inside of the room. All of them, collectively and despite their many differences, were working together. It was possibly the most fragile alliance that had ever been made, but never had the need for it been greater. After four minutes of tolerating the hushed whispers around the room, he cleared his throat and stood up.
"Attention, gentlemen." All eyes were on him. "Last night, at around 0200 hours, a group of Equestrian guards managed to assault the front lines. They used several powers that we have not seen before, including invisibility, as well as several maintaining the small shields we saw on the ship. There are sixteen dead, and twenty-four were wounded. Those are the facts. However, what remains to be decided is how we will react to this, and future attacks. Suggestions?"
"I'll tell you what we're going to do." Colonel Degtyarev growled. "We're going to get back on our boats, get into the ocean, and threaten to kill the prisoners if-"
"And that is why you are not in charge, ." Volkov quipped, causing several chuckles to echo around the room. "Your plan is brash, impulsive, and frankly the last thing we need to do is abandon the rules of war, even if they do. I need say nothing more about that, but I do have a plan."
"Do you care to tell us your plan, Captain Volkov?" Henderson asked.
"Certainly." Volkov replied. "As you know, we cannot stay here forever. We currently have enough fuel and ammunition to last us for eight months of combat operations, and spare parts are in no shortage either. However, at some point, we will run out, and we need to secure an industrial base, as well as a supporting area, before we do.
"I propose that we go on the offensive: Strike and capture a major city, and then use it as an central location for the resources, labor, and support that we need."
"I doubt the ponies living there will take kindly to our invasion, Volkov." Major Thompson of the US army dryly noted. "They are, after all, living under the 'kind and benevolent' rule of someone they see as a living god."
"Which is why, once we have secured the city, we need to shift to, how did you Americans put it? 'Winning their hearts and minds'." Volkov said. "Added to that is the fact that, if we manage to accomplish this, we will be in a better position to negotiate with whatever nations may be on this world."
"I don't know, Captain Volkov..." Henderson said. "That plan has a hell of a lot of risks, and I didn't join the army to become a conqueror."
"Damn it all, I know." Volkov said, raising his voice. "All of us do. But let us face the facts of the situation: We are alone here, surrounded by enemies, and we will starve before we run out of ammunition. We're a sitting target, taking losses at a constant rate, and eventually we will run out of men to replace them."
Volkov paused for a moment, before saying in a low voice. "This is the only way."
A few moments passed before Captain Henderson could speak. "It is time to make our decision on his plan. All those in favor?"
Most of the hands in the room raised.
"Opposed?"
Only four rose.
"Then it is decided." Henderson noted glumly. "And may God forgive us all for what we are about to do."
Lieutenant Nathan Harris sighed as he arrived in a small room to conduct yet another questioning. He had been through half a dozen in the past two days alone, mostly conducted for the sake of clarifying information gained from the first two ponies that had been questioned.
While he would not normally have been put in such a role, his work so far in sorting out the system for the prisoners, as well as his experience as a Medical Doctor, had given him two sole qualifications for this: He often talked in a slow, calming voice, and he had experience with the ponies. That had been good enough to have him assigned to questioning them, as the fleet, for obvious reasons, lacked anybody else with experience in questioning formerly mythical creatures.
The clipboard he was holding contained a piece of paper with information about the pony he was scheduled to question. It listed it as a pegasus, female, recovered from the ship sunk two days previously with minor burns and bullet trauma. Apparently, the pony had already been questioned twice previously, once after being released from medical care and yet again earlier today.
The reason listed for frequent questioning - Nathan refused to refer to them as interrogations - mentioned that, after being patched up, some of the ponies would be much more open to questions. Current thoughts pointed towards possible gratitude from medical treatment, but the debate was still open. In any case, the female pegasus had been one of these cases, numbering ten in all.
Nathan sat down on his chair, going over the information on the clipboard once more. Many of his colleagues would have used a 'Net' unit, but he had never liked them to any extent. He also preferred that he could put forward his questions without being distracted by information flashing across a pair of glasses.
Several minutes later, the door at the other end of the prefabricated room opened, and a pony stepped inside, with a guard wielding an AK-12 rifle following right behind. The pony walked forward and sat down on a backless, low chair that had been designed - or simply cut apart - for that very purpose, while the guard turned and leaded against the wall by the door. The pony was as the file had said: a pegasus, presumably female, with a light indigo coat. He quickly looked at the name before turning his attention to his 'guest'.
"Hello Summer Wind, I am Doctor Nathan Harris. I presume that you know why you have been asked to come here?" Nathan said in a warm voice.
"... Yes." The pony said a full two seconds later.
Nathan nodded, glad that something was going correctly. "We're here to ask why an attack was ordered. As of two days ago, your ship was sunk. Three days ago, major ground strikes were launched. Were you given any information regarding the attack?"
"You mean you don't know?" The mare asked after a moment of clear hesitation. Surprise was evident on her face. Nathan was glad that somebody had outfitted the room with several cameras and recorders: It would help simplify reviewing the conversation afterwards.
"No, we do not." Nathan answered truthfully. "The multiple attacks we have been under have had no cause or justification, other than a demand for surrender. We dismissed it, and the first ground attack came shortly after."
"That's impossible!" The pegasus exclaimed, sitting up more despite her bandaged wing. "Princess Celestia herself told us that Princess Luna had been attacked by your kind, and declared you evil. You were also assumed to be one of Discord when the Elements of Harmony failed to purify you, and so the captain was ordered to set sail and destroy you."
"Can you describe this Discord for us?" Nathan asked. "We most certainly do not come from this Discord, but telling us whom it is would give us perspective."
"Discord is the enemy of Harmony, an evil spirit dedicated to strife and disorder." The pegasus explained, more calmly now. "He is imprisoned in stone for his crimes, but still influences the world around him. Almost a year ago, he broke out of his prison and rampaged across Equestria, bringing his random antics to the entire world and almost dooming us!"
The pegasus paused, looking at him. "But I don't think you're created by him, even if you seem evil."
"Evil is what we make it to be, pony." The guard by the door said, breaking his silence. "Good and evil depend on who is judging. We are protecting ourselves from an attack, so we think that we are good. You think that we are evil for doing the same."
"Moving on..." Nathan said. "Who is this Princess Celestia to you?"
"She's the Princess." The pegasus stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "She created everything, and raises the sun every day as proof. She's the perfect example of peace and harmony, and with her Sister, Princess Luna, at her side, they rule Equestria. She's my Princess, and I am her pony. What else needs explaining?"
"This 'Princess Celestia' raises the sun?"
"How else would it shine without her?"
"Would you always obey her if she told you to do something?"
"Why would she be wrong? She can't be wrong! It isn't possible."
Lieutenant Nathan Harris looked at the door behind the pegasus, lost in thought. After a moment, he turned to the mare and spoke up.
"Thank you, Summer Wind." Nathan said through a forced smile. "This has been a most... Enlightening conversation."
With that, the guard led the pony out. Nathan sighed, looking down at the floor, before gripping his clipboard and walking out into the sunlight.
"After all... At least I know that's natural."
Author's Note
The beginning part of the chapter got erased, so I had to rewrite it from memory. It's a bit less clear, but it's as close as I will get to the original.
I also got sick between this chapter and the last. In fact, I am still sick. It's hard to write when you're coughing every couple minutes, as well as having a massive, skull-bursting headache.
Before you head further, please view the new map. It was made specifically for this by me. Here's the link .
0240 Hours
"Tell me why we're doing this again?" Kozlov demanded as their helicopter, a sturdy Russian Ka-60 , lifted off into the air. It was past two in the morning; the group had been awoken two hours previously, briefed on a mission, and then given a short time to collect their weapons and ammunition before they were sent out on a small transport helicopter.
"Didn't you listen at the briefing, soldier?" Petrov asked with a longsuffering sigh.
"No, sir. I did not." Kozlov sarcastically replied. "I was too busy trying to wake myself up."
"God, you're an idiot." Petrov said. "Anyway, the Americans want us to plant some damn gadgets, and then turn them on to create a 'Net' relay so we won't lose coverage once we attack the damn city. Then we go inside of the city and set up on top of building H-12. For your information, that's the twelfth building in the city with eight floors."
"Damn it all, now it makes less sense." Kozlov said. "Are we really going to waste our time gaining ground instead of finding a way home so we can fight the damn war?"
"Are you fucking stupid, or did you lose more than your common sense in the crash?" Sokolov said as he checked his ammunition. Keeping his eyes on the magazine he was inspecting, he kept on talking. "Do you think we know how to get back? For all we know, we're dead, and this is only a mercy compared to what might have happened."
"The point is that we do not know, and it is better to do what we can until we have the time to test theories." Novikov said, finishing the argument.
Twelve minutes later, the Ka-60 landed softly on the grass in the clearing. Moments later, the six Russian squad members hopped out, weapons raised. They quickly scanned the area, their 'Net' units using their LCD glasses to magnify the light that came through them, giving the MVD soldiers a makeshift night vision.
"Clear, no sign of hostiles." Vasilyev said as the Russian helicopter lifted off, banking to the left and disappearing into the night.
"Objective is point six kilometers to the north-north-west, ridgeline overlooking the town." Petrov said, all business from the moment the helicopter had left them.
"Spread formation and follow me." Vasilyev said, waving the group forward.
"What's the deal with the ridges, anyway?" Kozlov asked impatiently as the group walked into the forest.
"They surround the town, all of them leading over to the mountain that overlooks it." Novikov replied. "You should remember to pay attention to the briefings."
"Why don't we just take over the damn mountain, so we can have the highest ground?" Kozlov demanded. "That might also save some damn time."
Vasilyev sighed. "Kozlov, there's an observatory on the hill. It is occupied. Three hours from now, an assault team is set to secure it. That is why we are not securing the hilltop. In addition, it is being secured for a different purpose. Now be quiet, we are approaching the area."
"Yes sir." Kozlov said glumly. Vasilyev knew he would have loved to argue further, but a direct order was one that even he was not going to disobey.
The six man group quickly walked through the forest uphill, warily scanning their surroundings the entire time. After ten minutes, the group emerged onto an open area near the top of the ridge, and they quickly scrambled to the top of it. The spot marked on their 'Net' units was a clear area of ground on a spot overlooking the town. Beyond the edge of the ridge, the forest stretched almost all of the way to the town, two kilometers away.
Vasilyev worked with Sokolov to quickly set up the equipment, consisting of a small box, a tripod, and a camera-like device with one end covered in glass. They quickly hooked them all up with several cables they had been provided, connecting all of the equipment to a small battery inside of a case.
Time at completion: 0258 Hours
When all was done, the group formed up on the ridge, looking over the city.
"First objective is done." Vasilyev said as he started to walk down the hill towards the city, taking care to place his feet so he would not fall. "The next one involves building H-12, marked on your 'Net' units."
A green triangle was superimposed on their 'Net' units on a building close to the edge of town. It was at least eight stories tall, while the buildings around it were only three to five stories tall. It looked more like an office building that anything else.
The team swiftly walked through the forest, reaching the end in fifteen minutes. At that point, only a kilometer of farmland separated them from the city, and only half a kilometer of city before they reached the building. The six men crossed the fields cautiously, watching carefully for movement. Thankfully, there were very few lights on, and there was not likely to be foot traffic of any kind out in this area at this time of night.
The transition from farm areas to urban was clear, with two- and three-story buildings rising out of the ground. Vasilyev quickly directed the team to an alleyway, walking through the narrow street. It was entirely devoid of any features aside from the windows of the buildings on both sides.
When the group reached the next street, Vasilyev held up a hand and slowly looked out. The streets were devoid of traffic, with only the occasional street lights to bring brightness to the dark. Vasilyev looked at the clock in the corner of his 'Net' glasses: 0322 Hours.
"Listen." He whispered. "We have four and a half hours until the first naval units arrive, and two more hours after that until the first units land. We have only three more hours until sunrise, and we need to be on that building before then. It's only three blocks to the west.
"We'll go across the street in intervals of two seconds. You first, Novikov. Go!"
With that, the private sprinted across the street, towards the alleyway on the other side. When he was halfway across, Vasilyev patted Sokolov on the back, who quickly started to run. Sixteen seconds later, Vasilyev arrived at the other alleyway, the last to go across.
Without another word, Vasilyev continued jogging down the alleyway, waving the others forward. They followed him down the length of the alley, repeating the procedure at the next street they came across. Ten minutes later, they arrived at the base of the marked building. It towered over the others in the area, but was small in comparison to the largest buildings in the city center, only a kilometer away. Many of them topped twenty stories, and the largest was thirty-six.
"So how do we get up?" Novikov asked. A moment later, Petrov pointed to a staircase along the side of the building, leading up. The group swiftly walked to it. The pull-down staircase would have been impossible for the ponies to reach, but for Vasilyev it was a simple matter of reaching up and pulling it down.
The six men quickly started climbing, emerging at the top two minutes later, Vasilyev noted how it overlooked much of the city by the water, being that it was only seven hundred meters from the edge of the water, which in this area was covered with sand as a beach.
"Overwatch, this is Felix-One-One." Vasilyev said over the radio in English. "We have planted the equipment, and are at the objective. Over."
"... Copy that, Felix-One-One." 'Overwatch', a MQ-4C Triton operator on the Gerald R. Ford, replied. "Call out any targets of opportunity you see, and we'll hit them with a laser. You'll be our eyes on the ground. Do you copy?"
"I copy, Overwatch." Vasilyev replied.
"Godspeed and good luck, Lieutenant." The radio link abruptly clicked off.
"Mark any targets of opportunity you see on the 'Net' units, and call them out." Vasilyev said, lying down at the edge of the building and scanning the streets.
"Do all of the houses count? Fuckin' ponies." Kozlov asked, muttering the last part.
"Stow the shit, Private." Petrov said, breaking out his SVU-A sniper rifle and screwing a silencer into the threaded barrel. "We're here to fight a war, not a slaughter. We are not in Chechnya anymore, so get that through your fucking head."
"Sergeant Petrov, I disagree-" Kozlov began.
"Not the time or the place, soldier." Vasilyev said from his perch, finishing the argument. "Disagree when we are not in the middle of an operation."
Kozlov quieted down with mild protest, although Vasilyev knew he would be at it again shortly. Yet again, the MVD Spetsnaz Lieutenant checked his clock: Only 0347. Still two hours until the attack on the observatory would begin. With a sigh, Vasilyev prepared himself for a long, long morning.
Author's Note
Well, I have a new map for this out. It should make more sense than the previous one. The link is at the top of the page, for those who missed it.
In the next chapter, stuff happens. I'm pretty sure you can guess.
0510 Hours
High above the sleeping city of Trottingham stood the Royal Equestian Observatory. Perched on top of the 13,000-foot-tall Orchid Mountain, it commanded a view that covered an area twenty-one miles out in every direction, as well as an unparalleled view of the night sky.
This position made it a key target for the human forces, as its location could be used for a dozen purposes, not the least being its commanding position over the nearby city. The observatory itself was a large, circular white building, with a diameter of three hundred feet. The upper area had multiple levels, each one on a smaller circle than the next, leading up to the observatory itself, seven stories up and a hundred feet in diameter. Each floor was circled on the outside by an uncovered balcony that went all the way around.
But the most important feature was the least noticeable: On the south side, facing towards the city, a flat area sixty feet across jutted out from the first floor, the bottom connected by large supports to the steep cliff face below it. It was the perfect place for storing boxes and cargo, good for landing the chariots the ponies used... Or the key insertion point for a helicopter assault team.
Private First Class Anthony Griffith held onto the bar above him, looking out of the side windows of the CH-53E that he and the rest of the assault force was in. After being awoken three hours previously and told to gear up for what might be a large-scale battle, Anthony and the rest of his squadmates had grabbed whatever heavy gear they could find, and joined one other American squad on the deck of the Russian Amphibious Assault Ship. They had been briefed, had their 'Net' units updated, and sent out on the mission.
Anthony quickly checked his weapons: The HK-416 in his hands was one of the US Army's standard-issue weapons, starting in mid-2014. The Milkor MGL that he was issued was loaded with six 40mm HEAT rounds and slung across his back, over his pack. The other nine members of his squad were similarly armed, while the second squad of ten in the helicopter seemed to be armed similarly.
"Ok, listen up." The Lieutenant leading the assault said over the radio. "We'll touch down, and we need you to secure the landing pad, and then the building. The supply helicopters are fifteen minutes behind us, so we need to go in fast and loud. The main presence will likely be civilian, so watch your fire. Just because we're on another planet does not exclude us from the rules of war. That being said, watch out for a guard presence. This is a strategic location, and I sure as hell wouldn't leave it unguarded. Good luck, and Godspeed."
His squad sergeant motioned their group to switch to the squad radio, which Anthony quickly did.
"Ok, the plan is to split into groups of three." The sergeant said once everybody was connected. "I'll stay back here at the landing zone with the LT. You know your fireteams. Good luck, everyone."
Anthony flicked the fire selector from SAFE to SEMI, gripping his rifle as the helicopter climbed ever higher. With the altitude, some of the men would have trouble breathing: However, it would be a non-issue, with how heavily forested and warm it was on the mountain. It had baffled the early drone operators, until they had simply shrugged it off as a strange air current bringing warm air from the ocean up the mountain. All Anthony cared about was that it would not be freezing.
He felt an unsettling sense of vertigo as the helicopter suddenly pitched down, his 'Net' unit showing them as right next to the objective. Mere seconds later, he felt the large helicopter set down on the pad. The door near the front opened and the second squad rushed out, his squad right behind them.
As he jumped out of the door onto the solid landing platform, he took in the sight of the building ahead of him. It was very well decorated, almost opulent. The floor in front of the landing pad outside looked like hardwood, and the glass-railed balconies that ringed each layered tier of the building looked almost out of place against the observatory at the top of the seven floors.
Many of the lights inside of the building seemed to be turning on as the assault force ran towards the glass doors of the lobby. The two men at the lead stopped and kicked them open, shattering the lock holding them closed. The well-lit lobby went up to the second floor, with a single desk at the end that held a surprised unicorn in it.
"Spread out, take the building!" The sergeant in charge of the second squad yelled as the men began to spread out, entering the main hallways, before he walked up to the pony at the desk, pointing his rifle at it.
"Now, are there any guards stationed here?" He threatened as Anthony walked up behind him with the two other members of his fireteam.
"... N- No..." The pony stammered in a male voice in obvious terror.
"Good." The sergeant said, turning around and heading for the landing pad as the sounds of the CH-53E taking off came through the doors.
"Let's head for the observatory. And you, unicorn." Anthony said, pointing at said pony. "I don't suggest trying to call for help. You'll be dead before you can. Let's move."
Five minutes later, Anthony and the others arrived at the top of the building. It took them several minutes to find a staircase, and a short time to find a path up them. During the time they had climbed, half a dozen screams and several gunshots had echoed around the building, showing that the task of securing the building was not over yet.
Anthony slowly walked towards a door at the side of the round observatory, looking at it. He stepped up to it and held onto the door knob, trying to push it. The steel door wouldn't budge, and was most likely locked. It being made out of steel made Anthony wary of trying to kick it, so he tried the alternant method. Walking back two dozen feet, he set down his HK-416 on the ground.
"Ain't it a bit early to surrender, Anthony?" Holmes, the joker of the fireteam, said before he saw that Anthony was pulling out his Milkor MGL, his smile turning into a wide grin.
"Stand back, guys. I literally have no idea if this will work." Anthony said, before aiming the six-shot grenade launcher at the door. "Get ready to rush in if it bursts in."
With that, Anthony squeezed the trigger. A single 40mm HEAT grenade flew out of the barrel and collided with the door, its contact fuse activating and its shaped warhead channeling the explosive force directly forward. The iron door blasted inward as Anthony quickly slung the grenade launcher and picked up his HK-416, rushing in mere moments after his friends. Inside of the observatory, a small group of six ponies stood, staring at the door. They were a mix of three pegasi and three unicorns, most of them around what Anthony recognized as a large telescope inside.
"Stop! Nobody move!" Anthony said, hoping that the infamous lines even worked in this situation. Fortunately, they did. The ponies flinched at his words and froze in place, staring in wide-eyed shock at the three humans.
"LT, the observatory is secured." Anthony said over the radio after a moment. Shortly after that, various teams reported in, stating that various locations had been secured. With only one wounded soldier and three similarly wounded ponies, the apparent cost of the mission had been low.
The observatory had been secured.
0550 Hours
Half an hour after the observatory had been secured, a single CH-47F Chinook flew low over the top of the mountain, lowering a metal cargo crate down to the landing pad. Several more flights had already brought forty more men, bringing the strength of the holding forces up to sixty, on par with the ponies in the compound, who had been confined to their rooms. The metal crate was gently set down on the ground by the massive helicopter, the straps being released seconds later by an eager ground crew. Upon being relieved of the massive crate, the CH-47F bounced slightly in the air, before banking to the left and heading back towards the fleet's aircraft carriers, sailing just out of sight from the pony city.
Several American soldiers opened the crate, rolling out a single AN/MPQ-64 Sentinel . The small, mobile radars could scan an area twenty-five miles around them, covering the entirety of the island and much of the sea outside of it. It would be a key part of the battle strategy, able to detect the gold-armored guard ponies easily at the maximum range.
Along with it, several KORD machine guns were brought out, along with the tripods for them. Set up at various locations along the roof, the combination effectively made the observatory immune to air attack.
0620 Hours
During the planning of the attack, several important decisions had loomed. Among them was the method of the attack. The obvious choice had been by sea, seeing as that was the easiest way, with the most chance for success. The second question was which ships would participate in the assault.
Collectively, it had been decided that several vessels would be the ones to sail in sight of the city, and into the harbor. They included the aircraft carrier Gerald R. Ford , the Amphibious Assault Ship Sevastopol , the Arleigh Burke-class Guided Missile Destroyers Spruance and Halsey , the Zubr-Class Landing Craft 782 Mordovia , the Kirov-class Battlecruiser Admiral Nakhimov , and Russian submarine Alexander Nevsky .
This combined force is what the few pony residents awake at six-twenty in the morning noticed sailing outside the harbor.
Ponies, individually, could be very level-headed. As a group, however, they tended to panic when an unknown situation cropped up. Therefore, it was to the surprise of most later observers that mass panic did not reign the moment they were sighted. Many ponies had only heard about the human presence by newspaper, as a brief mention in a speech Princess Celestia had given days before.
What did happen, however, was mass uncertainty. It was obvious that the ships were not of Equestian make, and it was equally obvious that the eight ships the Equestian Guard Navy operated in the harbor were preparing to sail, including a ninth, experimental ship previously rumored to be under production at the naval facility.
By six-thirty, many of the citizens of the city were awake, either from the spreading rumors passed around the city or due to early jobs. Many of those nearest the waterfront were present to see eight Equestrian Guard Navy ships, along with an unknown, smaller one, sail out of their berths towards the harbor entrance.
None of them knew what was to come.
Author's Note
Serious stuff is going to happen next chapter. Expect it to be much longer than normal, as the next chapter is the end of Act IV.
0622 Hours
The First Year, by Aleksei Volkov
Chapter Three: The Invasion of Trottingham
Undoubtedly, the invasion of Trottingham, and the subsequent conflict, was one of the defining moments of the struggle for Human survival in what we then knew was an entirely new world. It was undertaken by the largest concentrations of human forces to date, including seven naval vessels, and four thousand American and Russian soldiers.
The first chapter of the battle began at six-twenty, when several Equestrian Navy ships were sighted...
Captain Leskov of the Borei-Class submarine Alexander Nevsky looked through the scope of his submarine, sweat beading on his forehead as he watched the wooden ships close to five kilometers away. He leaned away and reached for the communications headset. As the ship's periscope was above water, so was her radio mast, allowing each communication. The plan for the attack was for the Alexander Nevsky to submerge, and enter combat if needed.
"Captain Volkov." He said into the headset. "I need to be assured you see the nine ships headed your way."
"Of course, Captain Leskov. You worry too much." Leskov heard a chuckle on the other end as Volkov let off his nervousness in a very Russian way. "We shall take care of them. Do not worry: We have plans for your submarine in this battle. Volkov out."
Captain Leskov took the headset off, placing it down on the communications console as he looked at the tense faces around him in the control room, painted shades of blue and red in the dim light inside of the command center.
"They have it under control, I think." Leskov said, sighs of relief following this announcement. "The moment a single Kirov-class battlecruiser is incapable of rendering a wooden navy armed with large crossbows into a large tinderbox, I will tender my resignation."
"Be prepared to eat your words, Captain." His first officer said. "I do not think there is a single thing that a New Russian Federation officer can not do wrong."
"Do we have confirmation of their classifications?" Captain Volkov asked the technician on the communications console.
"Two galleons, three schooners, two brigs, a caravel, and a single ironclad in the rear." The technician said a moment later.
"An ironclad?" Volkov asked. "Have they managed to procure gunpowder weaponry as well? If they follow our technological path, they should have."
"No, sir." The technician replied. "It appeared to be armed with ballista, and is just a galleon with some type of iron plating on the sides."
"Then an ironclad in name only, I suppose." Volkov said. "Has the American given us permission to fire?"
"... Captain Henderson has given permission." The technician said after a moment.
"Then fire." Volkov said to the technician controlling the forward turret. With an ear-splitting boom , the 130mm cannon on the aft deck fired, launching its projectile towards the first pony ship.
The shell struck two and a half seconds later, blowing a hole through the upper three decks of the Galleon before detonating belowdecks, right along the keel. The explosion broke the ship's back, splitting it into two parts, both of which began profusely burning.
A full three seconds later, the Halsey and the Spruance fired as well, their 5-inch forward cannons launching their projectiles towards the second and third ship, both Schooners. The first one blew through the back of the ship before exploding right above the rudder, blowing the rear deck of the ship to splinters and sending the first half surging forward, digging its own grave in the water. The deck was completely submerged in moments.
The second Schooner was in a tight right turn as the shell struck along the side, ripping through the ship before exploding in the center, literally blowing the ship's middle apart, shattering its keel and blowing multiple holes below the waterline.
Twelve seconds into the battle, and three of the nine ships were down, with the others turning rapidly, trying - and failing - at evasive maneuvers. Five seconds later, the Spruance and Halsey fired yet again, both of their shells landing on a single Brig now near the front. The first one shattered the rearmost mast and crashed into the raised rear of the ship, blowing it - and the one steering the ship - apart. The second shell blasted into the left side of the ship at the waterline and detonated, tearing a massive, gaping hole in the side of the ship, as well as starting several fires, dooming the large Galleon to its fate.
Another shell from the Admiral Nakhimov reached out, turning the top of the remaining Brig into a raging inferno as it detonated on the main mast, sending burning shards of wood flying into the deck - and the crew members.
The second - and only remaining - Galleon was smarter: the next shell from the Spruance detonated twenty feet away from the ship, a glowing barrier revealing itself to be a shield.
On the deck of the submarine Alexander Nevsky , Captain Leskov watched this through the periscope with a wiry grin.
"Alexander, give me a firing solution on that Galleon with a RPK-2, one-o'clock forward." He said.
"Firing solution set. This is easier than target practice." The fire control officer replied.
"Fire one." Leskov said. Half a second later, a thud reverberated through the room as one of the torpedo-missile combinations was launched.
The RPK-2, also known as the SS-N-15, blasted out of the torpedo tube, activating its engine and rocketing to the surface - and out of it - a moment later. The missile headed straight for the Galleon, two and a half kilo meters away. Half a kilometer away and ten seconds later, the missile dropped towards the water, parts of it breaking off and transforming it into a 82R torpedo.
Guided by the massive wake from the Galleon, itself making enough noise to make its target known, it homed in on the Galleon, headed straight for it. The shield of the Galleon had withstood three shells at this point, and were holding up, if just barely. However, it only extended above the water.
One minute and twenty-two seconds from the start of the initial engagement, the Galleon simply exploded. The 533mm torpedo blew the Galleon apart, wood flying into the air as the entire center of the ship seemed to disappear in a ball of fire.
"See? Nothing to it." Captain Leskov said a moment later, smirking at the sight.
"Focus fire on the next ship." Captain Volkov said, not fazed by the sudden death of the pony Galleon. If anything, he was thankful to the submarine for the assistance on the ship.
The Caravel and Schooner in back blew apart, struck down by shells from the two American ships. The Kirov-class Battlecruiser shuddered as it fired, striking the iron-covered Galleon that was once in the center of the formation. Now it was the only ship remaining. While there was enough armor to stop any sort of ballista attack, it simply waved the shellfire through.
The first 130mm round blew through the centimeter-thick armor, exploding deep inside the ship a moment later, blowing several small holes at the waterline. The second shell from the Admiral Nakhimov arrived six second later, blowing the bow of the ship apart. With the ship still going forward, it rapidly filled with water, the armor plating doing nothing but weigh it down. Thirty seconds later, much of it was underwater.
Two and a half minutes after the start of the brief naval battle, it was over. Nine of Equestria's finest ships lay either burning or sinking in the middle of the harbor. To the horrified ponies watching around the harbor, it seemed as though they had not even had the chance the retaliate.
"Change of plans, Captain." The communications officer said to Volkov as he looked out at the remnants of the battle. "The initial landing time has been moved from 1020 hours to 0720 hours."
"An hour from now?" Volkov asked in surprise.
"Yes. The element of surprise is lost: It is just as easy to launch it sooner rather than later." The communications officer explained.
"Makes about as much sense as anything else." Volkov replied, turning back towards the city.
0718 Hours
The city of Trottingham was in a full-scale panic. Fifty minutes after the end of the naval battle, news had already spread of the entirely one-sided naval battle. Full-blown rumors spread across the city, building up over one another, and most of them were entirely wrong.
At seven-eighteen in the morning, the first naval elements of the attacking force began to the advance. The Amphibious Assault Ship Sevastopol and the massive Zubr-class Lancing Craft/Air Cushioned began to move forward. Meanwhile, over two dozen MH-60 Blackhawks and Mi-24 Hinds began to take off of the Gerald R. Ford and the Sevastopol, while sixty-four of unmanned MQ-8C Fire Scouts rose from various ships, all headed towards the shore.
Two small LCACs zoomed out of the back of the Sevastopol, turning in a wide arc and zooming forward. Distance to the shore: Half a kilometer.
The various transport helicopters were the first to arrive. They set down on the street at the top of the beach, with dozens of ponies running away, making enough room for them to land. Hundreds of Russian and American infantrymen swarmed out, rushing to secure the beach and the street. The two LCACs were the next to arrive, rushing from the water to the land and powering down. The ramp smashed down, letting four M1A2 Abrams tanks thunder onto the beach, rapidly moving onto the street.
The Sevastopol stopped itself three hundred meter from the shore as the Zubr-class LCAC switched from the water to the land, slowing to a halt and dropping its ramp. Half a dozen BTR-3s quickly went down the ramp, followed by two T-90M Main Battle Tanks.
The first of the MQ-8C Fire Scouts had arrived by this time, forming a serious aerial cover. The ponies who had been in the streets rushed inside as Russian and American infantrymen, often riding on the landed tanks or APCs, advanced down the streets.
Captain Henderson watched the 'Net' display with a degree of interest on the bridge of the Gerald R. Ford , as the US and Russian forces continued to move forward. Currently, they were four blocks in, with 6% of the city secured. So far, it was unopposed.
That changed in moments as first one, and then most of the units at the front had their symbols changed to 'Under Attack', and reports started to come in over the radio about small groups of the guards making stands in the streets. Captain Henderson could only sigh as two Mi-10s lifted off of the deck, carrying aloft a pair of T-90Ms towards the beach.
"Two guards, second floor and to the left!" One technician shouted to the other in the hanger of the Gerald R. Ford as they controlled their assigned MQ-8Cs.
"Got them." His friend replied, moving the controls and pitching the helicopter to the left. It moved sideways in the air as he launched a single Hellfire missile, striking the second floor of a building housing two of the guards. It blew them apart, as well as much of the wall surrounding them. The Russian and American soldiers in the street cheered, advancing forward.
Suddenly, a large spear bounced off of the front of a BTR-3 in the street. The small turret housing the 30mm cannon swiveled, firing five times in quick succession, picking off the foolish Pegasus guard who had launched the projectile.
A single unicorn guard walked out onto the roof of a nearby building, horn glowing an almost painfully bright color. A bright yellow line went from it to the first MQ-4C, blowing out its engine. The UAV lost control, falling in a circle towards the ground as its engine disintegrated, impacting a building two second later.
The second MQ-4C turned on a dime, firing the single M2 browning mounted below it at the unicorn, who quickly dived behind a piece of the building next to it that had fallen. That did not save it from the Hellfire missile that came a second later, blowing it apart.
"I'm taking over another one of the Fire Scouts." The technician whose MQ-8C had been blown apart said.
"Better luck this time." The other replied.
0738 Hours
First Lieutenant Miller flew over the city in his F/A-18E/F, scanning for targets. He had been given the mission of clearing the skies of any pegasi guards who might take to the air, considered a high priority. For what reason, Miller did not know, as he had not seen any so far.
The only part in the battle he had played so far was watching it. Sometimes he wondered why he had even taken off in the morning, much less had to go into the air with his wingman.
"Sierra-One, this is the Observatory. Do you copy?" His radio suddenly blurted.
"I copy, Observatory. What's your situation?" Miller replied.
"I have a large contact on the Sentinel: Around thirty to forty pegasi to the north, grouped in a large mass, and headed for the city. They're wearing bright gold armor, so they're not friendly. We'll need your flight to intercept."
"Copy, Observatory. Sending flight to intercept."
Miller checked the radio before switching to the squadron channel.
"Skybreaker flight, this is Skybreaker Lead. Heads up, boys. We have a formation of pegasi inbound from the north. Form up on me, and let's shred the fuckers." Miller said over the radio, followed by three acknowledgments.
As Lieutenant Miller turned towards the area they would be coming from, he ignored the three fighters going into formation around him to concentrate on his briefings. The pegasi were very maneuverable, and although they wore lightweight armor, the faster ones had been known to reach speeds just below the speed of sound.
Soon, the group appeared on his radar: A large return, just under twenty miles away.
"Skybreaker two, three, and four, make sure that your first pass counts. You'll have to engage them in a dogfight if it does not, and that is NOT a very good idea." Miller said over the radio.
"Lead, what if they do engage us in a dogfight?" Skybreaker Three asked.
"Hope you can outmaneuver a born flier." Miller replied. "That, and pray to whatever deity you happen to favor."
Soon enough, he could spot them visually: A bright clump of forty-six golden dots, spread out over an area fifty feet across. Miller armed his 20mm nose gun, hoping for the best.
For the pegasi, the four jet aircraft came out of nowhere, streaks of light blazing from their nose guns. Thirty-two pegasi dropped in the first pass as 20mm shells shredded through them, easily killing them. That left only twelve remaining in the air, all of whom scattered.
"Good job, everyone! Now let's finish them off!" Miller said over the radio as he sent his F/A-18 into a hard right turn. He quickly located the first pegasus he could see, turning the jet slightly to get behind it. Unfortunately, the pegasus was aware of his chase. It sped up, reaching speeds of almost five hundred miles per hour, with Miller pushing the throttle forward to speed up.
The pegasus went into a right turn, leading Miller into a small bank of clouds. While the pegasus had to maneuver around them, Miller could simply ram through it, and did. At this point, he was only forty meters behind it, well within gun range. He sent off a short burst, to try and spook the pegasus. It worked, and the gold-armored pony went into a quick turn to the left, throwing Miller off.
Miller sent the agile jet into a tight turn, straining to get behind the pegasus. When it went up and over a cloud, he plowed right through it, determined to kill it. Suddenly, it leveled out and sped up, trying to lose him in a straightaway.
"You're not getting away..." Miller said to himself, pushing the throttle forward. He quickly caught up with the pony, sending his finger to the trigger. He quickly fired off almost a hundred rounds from the cannon, all of them missing, some by only inches. By the jubilant shouts from the rest of the squadron, they were having much more luck than him.
Suddenly, the pegasus slowed down, coming to the left side of Miller's cockpit, only twenty feet away. His eyes went wide as he saw something small flying at him from the pegasus. Miller quickly rolled the F/A-18 sideways, pulling up and away on the stick.
Miller felt a massive jolt in the plane as the sound of an explosion rung through his ears. He quickly turned his head to check behind him, only to see black smoke streaming from what looked to be the left engine. Turning back to the cockpit, he could see dozens of red alarms popping up, alerting him to dozens of critical failures in the left engine.
"Gerald R. Ford, this is Skybreaker Lead. My left engine's down, and I need an immediate landing!" Miller shouted into the radio, prompting the other squadron members to quiet down.
"Rodger that Skybreaker Lead, the deck is clear. What the hell happened?" The carrier responded.
"Pegasus threw something at my jet. Next thing I know, my left engine is blown to shreds." Miller replied.
"... Copy that. Land immediately."
Miller turned off the radio, cursing the pegasus in the most creative ways he could think of as he redirected his fuel flow and struggles to keep his jet in the air.
"Shit! Look at that American jet!" Sokolov yelled at the others, some watching the battle taking place in the sky, others watching it from below.
"What the hell happened to that poor bastard?" Petrov asked, looking up.
"It was fighting with one of the ponies, and one of its engines blew." Sokolov replied.
"Think the pony had anything to do with that?"
"Probably just threw a rock or something into the engine."
"Ever happen to you?" Petrov asked.
"Once." Sokolov admitted. "In Chechnya. One of the rebel bastards shot an RPG-7 at me. Exploded twenty feet from my Hind, filled the right engine with shrapnel. A near miracle I got back to base at all, much less with an intact helicopter."
"I remember that mission." Bogdanov said, chuckling. "You could not stop complaining about it before you were sent out, and you wrote a letter of protest afterwards to the base commander. I hear he burnt it."
"The bastard better have not." Sokolov said, wincing as another explosion echoed between the buildings. The fighting had reached a point four blocks away from their building, close enough to heard but not close enough to intervene.
"Another group of guards passing below us." Vasilyev said as he watched a unit of twenty ponies, wearing the bright gold armor, marching in formation down the street towards the fighting. "I think it's time to make our presence known. Everyone, to the building edge."
All six men lines up at the stone wall, looking down at the group of guards eight stories below.
"Ready?" Vasilyev asked, receiving nods all around. "Open fire!"
Vasilyev lifted his Steyr AUG A3, squeezing the trigger as he saw gold-armored ponies in his red dot sight. The others in the group, aside from Sergeant Petrov, fired their weapons as well. In seconds, the entire column had been mowed down.
"Well, that was easy." Novikov said a moment later.
"And right in time for the advanced units." Petrov said, pointing down the street. Two M1A2 Abrams tanks, along with a single ZSU-23-4 Shilka , were slowly advancing down the street, with dozens of dismounted infantry running alongside the vehicles.
Suddenly, a series of blue lights hit the lead Abrams, doing nothing against the armor. Petrov looked to where they had come from, and saw three unicorns on top of a three-story building two blocks away, horns glowing.
As Petrov raised his rifle, an immense bzzzzzzz sounded, and the top of the building, along with the offending unicorns, was shredded by the four 23mm cannons of the ZSU-23 Shilka. With that being done, the small vehicle convoy resumed their movement forward.
Petrov let out a low whistle, impressed by the destructive power of the mobile Anti-Aircraft vehicle.
"They don't make vehicles like they used to, I swear." Vasilyev said, shaking his head.
"They sure as hell don't." Petrov agreed.
0754 Hours
"Fire now." Volkov said.
A loud boom echoed through the bridge as the twin 30mm cannon on the aft deck fired for the fifty-third time that day. The shell sliced through the air, moving inland, and hitting precisely on the second story of a building three kilometers away, blowing away another group of forces holding up the landing.
In the time since the landings, the Admiral Nakhimov , along with the two American destroyers, had moved to less than a kilometer offshore, and had been providing fire support when various units had requested it.
"Lieutenant Antoniuk, how go the rescue operations?" Volkov asked his first officer, a Ukrainian that he swore had as little humor as a human could possible get.
"By current numbers, three hundred and twenty-eight have been retrieved." The Lieutenant said, glancing into his 'Net' unit. "Of that number, almost forty percent have wounds of some sort. They have been transferred to the Sevastopol, which will temporarily house them until the city is secured. We have plans to turn a park two kilometers inland into a walled camp for us to house them."
"Good." Volkov said, turning back towards the city as the cannon let lose another shot, this one at a target far into the city. "What is the current collateral damage?"
"Estimated at fifty buildings damaged, four heavily damaged, and one that was completely destroyed. Civilian casualties are, at current numbers, hovering around twenty. The guard casualties are somewhere between two hundred and one hundred and eighty. Our casualties are standing at one BMP-3, two T-90Ms lightly damaged, and eight KIAs. Sixty-two are wounded to various extents."
Volkov turned towards the Ukrainian in surprise. "And the naval battle?"
"We don't know. Nine ships destroyed, with over eight hundred estimated casualties. We won't know until we get records of some kind in the city."
"Area secured?"
"Forty-two percent of the city is under direct control. The only remaining areas are in the downtown, and by the mountain. In addition, we have secured the docks. They are a mixture of wood and stone, but with some labor we can upgrade them."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." Volkov said.
Although he worried about the eventual outcome of this 'war', Volkov knew that they would stand in triumph at the end. After all, they had the best technology, the training to use it, and the will to fight for their survival. What more could they need?
0816 Hours
First Lieutenant Miller looked over his aircraft in the hanger deck of the Gerald R. Ford, astonished that he had even made it to landing. After some amounts of poking around, he and the debreifers had agreed that the pegasus had thrown something that had gotten sucked into the engine, blowing away some of the internals, and damaging quite a few of the tempered titanium blades inside of the engine.
It was easily replaceable, but that would mean dipping into the stores of spare parts. They were rather large, enough to sustain hundreds of such accidents, but what would happen when they finally ran out?
The thought was enough to sent shivers down Miller's spine. When they finally ran out of spare parts for their vehicles, or gas to fuel them, or even the rounds to fire them, what would they be reduced to? Miller supposed that it was that very reason why they were invading the city, and not out of some misplaced desire for conquest.
His main worry was still on his mind, however.
What if they ran out of the men to do anything at all?
The human forces that were here numbered somewhere over ten thousand: Miller had never looked at the solid numbers. When this focused group of soldiers and commanders, in forty years, finally started dying off, what would their legacy be?
Miller had no answer.
Author's Note
This chapter is brought to you by Painful Cough distribution, without which the early release of this would not be possible. The only good thing that has come of my cold is my writing, which has increased to an insane speed. Two thousand words in two and a half hours on Friday!
This also happens to be the end of Act IV. Act V will start coming out at some point in the next week. Remember, I'm a student: I can't spend all of my time writing, however fun it would be in comparison to the alternative.
I was originally going to use a real fighter squadron (VFA-32) for the fighter scene, but I eventually decided against it. I don't want to mess things up where I have the option not to.
Anyway, feel free to comment and such. A couple 'Intermission' chapters will be coming out between now and the start of Act V, so don't expect this to really go away. And please, please point out any errors. I am only one guy, without any kind of college, and only most of a High School education. I have no editors, no pre-readers. I'll always miss something, even if I try my best. So shoot anything you want my way. Comments on the story, suggestions about random things, criticism of something bad, it does not matter.
0923 Hours
High above the forest that dominated the center of the known area of Equestria, and far away from the battle winding down inside of the city, a single RQ-170C Sentinal flew towards a point marked in its navigation computer. At an altitude of 32,000 feet, it would have normally had to activate its thermal imaging equipment to see effectively, but a remarkably clear day meant that it had total vision in all directions.
Thirty miles away, in the command building for the Firebase, a technician was controlling the large drone, flying it towards its target.
The point on the radar-map, marked 'Capitol', was 12,520 feet up the side of a mountain.
"Almost to release point." The technician said. "Range to target is six miles."
The small bay doors on the RQ-170C opened, revealing four small AGM-114 Hellfire missiles.
"Target locked: Outside of the castle is in view."
Beyond a small city stood a massive castle, leaning up against - and supported in part by - the cliff next to it. Dozens of towers were dotted around the top, with the main body of the castle being almost two hundred feet tall.
"Launching."
Four small Hellfire missiles dropped from the Sentinal, their rocket engines igniting moments later. They streaks forward, aiming for four separate parts of the castle. The first one flew forward and hit the support connecting a leaning tower to the cliff, blowing it apart. The second and third crashed into the wall by the area believed to be the throne room, hitting directly between several large stained-glass windows. The final missile flew down and hit at the base of the weakened tower, causing it to crumple downwards and sideways, directly towards the large 'throne room'. It crashed in on it, crushing most of the middle beneath a rain of stone.
"All targets hit, I think we delivered the message." The technician noted.
"I think so, too." The officer standing over him said. "Get that drone back here, it's of no use to us flying around over there."
"Yes sir." The technician replied, working the controls.
Inside of Canterlot castle, in the middle of the throne room, a golden glow surrounded a single large bolder, pushing it out of the way. Princess Celestia coughed as dust circled through the air, threatening to block out her vision entirely.
She thanked whatever luck she had that nopony had been in the Throne Room aside from her and her guards, both of whom were unharmed. The only thought going through her mind now was how to deal with the aftermath.
"Accursed creatures." Celestia mumbled to herself, picking up another bolder in her magic. "First they attack my sister, and now they strike at my castle. I will not let their evil actions sway me. All of them will fall in the end, for Harmony always triumphs."
"Do not worry, Princess Celestia." One of the guards behind her said as she quickly cleared a path. "We shall avenge the loss of the Throne Room on these evil monsters. None of them will escape our justice."
"I can only hope that I do not lose any more ponies to those abominations..." Celestia said, finally clearing a decent path through the rubble towards the doors of the throne room, where her guards were already pouring in. Celestia ignored their questions and walked forward, heading for her room.
By her mother's name, she would make sure that these monsters that were killing her ponies would pay.
Author's Note
Just as a note, the attack was meant as a major wake-up call to the ponies, a message of sorts. This is also to put forward Celestia's point of view, since I got tired of stating it in chat.
1128 Hours
Captain Henderson stood on the bridge of the Gerald R. Ford, looking out at the city they had attacked. Four hours after the first units landed, the city was ninety-eight percent secure, with most of the farmland around the city under their control as well. Armored vehicles patrolled through the streets, accompanied by groups of infantry.
So far, very few non-guard ponies had even been seen to venture outside. The ones that did had reportedly stared in shock at the small-scale battles that had erupted. There was no widespread destruction: Just over a hundred buildings had been damaged to some degree, in widely separated areas. Casualties were at a near minimum, with only twenty Human KIAs, and the numbers of civilians killed in the crossfire at under fifty. The guard casualties had been put in the area of almost one thousand, although no firm numbers were available.
With some simple questioning, the soldiers on the ground had found out where the local guard commander lived. After that, a helicopter raid involving two dozen Russian Marines had been sent to capture him, successfully breaching the perimeter around the house. With the guard forces effectively decimated and decapitated, the rest of them had been either on the run or had already surrendered. The city was effectively under their control.
The first task, of course, would be to figure out how to win over the locals, especially after the recent battle. Already dozens of plans were in the works, soldiers from the US Army had control of the town hall, and were currently pouring over city laws and records. They might have taken the city by force, but all of them knew enough about their situation to know they had very little time to make a positive impact.
The reason for this being that Captain Henderson and Captain Volkov agreed on one thing: Ruling the city by force would have been good in the short term, but there was no telling if there was even a viable way to return to Earth. Therefore, they had to prepare for the long term, and both of them felt morally obligated to treat the civilian population the same way they would have under international supervision, different species and worlds be damned.
"Sir." An officer said behind Henderson, prompting him to turn around. "Firebase reports a successful hit on the areas of the castle. Casualties should be minimal, but it should send our message, bright and clear."
"Send a reply, as follows: Near victory, monitor 'Net'. End ." Henderson said.
"Yes, sir." The officer replied, saluting and heading back towards the communications console.
With that being done, Henderson turned back towards the city. Try as he might, he couldn't help but think about the future. The current coalition, with four different nations, one of them divided, was held together only by their mutual interest in survival, along with his and Volkov's efforts. They had spent all this time trying to establish themselves, but what if it all fell apart?
Henderson shook his head, banishing the thought from his head. Humanity had gone through much in its history as a species, and Henderson would be damned if he let his men die out on an alien world without a fight.
1258 Hours
Lieutenant Vasilyev sat on the roof of a BMP-3 as it rolled through the streets, eyeing the ponies that were only now coming out onto the street. They always cleared way for the armored personnel carrier, giving it wary glances.
Vasilyev did not mind the attention, or the occasional times they would have to stop to give way to a wagon. All of the ground personnel had been instructed to be respectful of the ponies, as Captain Henderson and Captain Volkov had both agreed to tread carefully, especially after the recent battle, which had only closed an hour ago.
Small work teams were already removing the rubble in the streets, as well as the numerous bodies of guards, many of them on scattered rooftops across the city. Hostility had been minimal, although Vasilyev thought that it was in part due to the battle that had just been fought.
"What the fuck are you looking at?" he heard Kozlov say in English, presumably to a pony at the side of the road.
"Kozlov, shut your fucking mouth!" Petrov yelled a moment later in Russian at the Private.
Vasilyev frowned at the exchange, more specifically at Kozlov. The attitude of the large Private had not improved upon their invasion of the city, and he had been seen repeating similar scenes to this almost a dozen times so far. Vasilyev was worried for Kozlov, and resolved to talk to him at a later date.
"Lieutenant Vasilyev, how copy?" His 'Net' unit's radio suddenly blurted out. "This is Major Leonidov."
"I am here, Major." Vasilyev replied, recognizing the name of one of the prominent leaders of the attack on the city. "What do you need?"
"The Americans want a map of this 'Equestria', and frankly we do as well." The major said. "You were given several dozen of their currency as part of your kits when you were sent off last night. We want you to use them to purchase several maps. We do not care where, just get it done."
"So that's what those were for.' Vasilyev said, checking one of his side pockets. Petrov and him had been given twenty each, in the off chance that they would be useful. Being an MVD team, they had to prepare for the worst, and so they had been given some of the currency that had been confiscated off of several prisoners.
"Why can't anybody else do this?" Vasilyev asked after he finished checking the pocket.
"Because we want it soon, and flying out a team for this purpose would be wasteful. You're in the area, we trust you, and you can get it done. I expect you to keep the more firebrand members of your squad in line, Lieutenant Mihkel Vasilyev."
"... Yes, sir." Vasilyev responded a moment later.
"Good, we'll pick it up at Beach Landing Three"
With that, the radio shut off. Vasilyev turned to the rest of the squad to find all of them staring at him.
"... What?" The Lieutenant demanded.
"What was the call about?" Petrov asked, to the point.
"You're not going to believe this..."
"We would like four copies of the map, if you would." Vasilyev said in English to the stoic mare.
"... Okay, that will be twelve bits for all of them." The female pegasus said a moment later.
Vasilyev reached into the pouch containing the coins and pulled out twelve of them, putting them on the counter of the store. As soon as the unflinching pony saw the coins, she turned around and went into a doorway, emerging ten seconds later with four fairly large scrolls tucked under her wing. The pony laid them out on the counter, sweeping the coins up with a hoof and putting them... Somewhere. Vasilyev unrolled one to see what was inside . Sure enough, it was a map, including areas that the radar had not yet mapped, and naming the cities.
"Thank you." Vasilyev said, rolling it back up and picking up the other three, walking out of the store as casually as he could manage. He almost didn't hear the longsuffering sigh that came from the building as he left. Ten feet from the entrance, he climbed on top of the BMP-3, hitting the roof three times to signal the driver to head to the beach.
"So, how was it?" Petrov asked as he eyes the four large, rolled-up maps.
"Strange. I think I like some ponies now: They do not ask questions." Vasilyev deadpanned.
Petrov snorted, as close to a reply as Vasilyev was going to get. The trip was short, and soon enough they arrived at the beach. Vasilyev handed the four scrolls to a man standing by a MH-6 Little Bird, who stared at him with a deadpan look.
"Thanks, I guess." The pilot said in English, already getting inside of the helicopter.
Vasilyev hopped back on board the BMP-3, tapping on the roof again to resume their patrol. Only then did he finally wonder why the military had not just taken one from the town hall. Shrugging it off as the military overlooking something as they usually did, he leaned back against the turret of the APC and simply opted to enjoy the ride.
Written by Merchent343The Rainbow Brony
Author's Note
As a note, chapter names will no longer be restricted to one word. I'm running out of words I can use in any case. From now on, they'll be two or three words. No, previous chapter names will not change. The next chapter will be the beginning of Act V.
And no, I have no idea when I plan to end this. For those of you who noticed, the last chapter of Act IV features a 'quote' from a book entitled 'The First Year', by Aleksei Volkov. Connect the dots, draw the lines, and you will reach a conclusion. And we're only in seven days after everything arrived.
And as a final note, I have an editor! The Rainbow Brony (link above) offered to edit, and seeing as I feel he has the qualifications, I accepted. This is the first chapter edited by him, and I have to say, the chapter is much better than it would have been without him.
1820 Hours
The Everfree Forest, as the humans had quickly learned, was not a place to go often. The only real reason to patrol it was to keep the perimeter of the firebase up, so as to not be surprised by an attack. While their numbers and weapons could easily drive off anything they found inside, regular patrols were suspended for that very reason: After a platoon-sized group of Russians had required an extreme amount of ammunition to drive off a roving group of fifty wooden wolves, Captain Volkov had declared that patrols inside of the forest were to be decreased. It was a waste of ammunition, and they had quickly discovered that it was many times as dangerous to the ponies, whom only stayed on the outskirts of the 250-kilometer-wide forest.
So it had come to the surprise of Sergeant Williams to find out he had been picked for a six o'clock patrol along a road into the forest. His career in the British Army had seen all manner of service, from the Falklands to Desert Storm, but this was undoubtedly the strangest place he had ever had to fight in. Within the twenty minute drive it had taken them to go from the firebase to four kilometers in the forest, he had quickly picked up on the soldier' creative nicknames for the forest, ranging from the benign to the obscene.
"I wonder, sometimes, I really do." One of them said as his squad sat on the top of FV107 Scimitar that was their transport for the patrol. "Why the hell are we truly here?"
"Do I look like Lieutenant bloody Brownfield?" Williams rhetorically asked. "I don't have a clue, and neither do the brass, and that's the truth of it."
"Aren't we supposed to be looking for a way home, Sergeant?" Corporal White asked. In William's view, the young lad was a tad young to be playing soldier, but he had done good work in helping to secure the Russian towns they had come across, and so Williams gave him the benefit of the doubt.
"We don't even know how we arrived: Almost any effort to find a way back will be doomed until then." Williams replied a moment later.
"Well, we'll bloody well try." One of the men on the other side of the large turret said. "Better than staying in magic land forever, with the damn ponies kicking at our heels at every turn."
"Better than being dead, I say." Corporal White commented. "Before we arrived, as we drive into that Russian refinery, we had no idea it was trapped. The wall of fire I saw before awakening would have certainly killed us, not to mention wiping our entire company out. Think of it as cheating death."
"I saw a movie about that once." One of the younger privates stated. "By all rights, if that movie was reality, I would expect us all to be dropping like flies."
"We're still dropping." White replied. "Private Edwards dropped like a stone, so did fifteen others. The Russians and Americans lost twenty in attacking that city. No matter how long it takes, the bloody ponies can keep replacing their losses. We can't."
"And I say it's bloody useless to talk about it." Williams said, silencing all discussion. "If you all devoted as much attention to your drills and weapons cleaning as you did to woolgathering, I wouldn't have to tire myself yelling at you lads quite as much."
"Twenty Quid that the Sergeant drops the next time he starts shouting." One of the privates whispered, while Williams pretended not to hear.
"No bet." Another replied to the soldier in a similar whisper.
Some shouting came from ahead as the column, composed of five FV107s and two Challenger II tanks, ground to a halt. Seconds later, a burst of gunfire erupted. Within two seconds, Williams and the rest of his squad had jumped down from the side of the stopped armored vehicle and had their weapons pointed outward.
"What the hell is it?" Corporal White asked.
"I don't know, damn it!" Williams replied.
The bushes at the edge of the forest, twenty feet away from the road, slowly started to move. Williams watched as the entire treeline seemed to move. Suddenly, a yell rang out, and almost two dozen ponies, along with several creatures that the Sergeant did not recognize, burst out of the trees towards the column.
"Fi-" Williams yelled, but was drowned out by the sound of the entire squad firing from both sides of the vehicle, indicating that a similar sight would greet him on the other side. His L128A1 thundered as he sent a 12-gauge Flechette round towards a rushing pegasus, causing it to instantly tumble to the ground. Within ten seconds, the engagement was over.
"Sound off!" Williams shouted as he quickly took time to pump a new shell into his shotgun.
With the 'Net' system, he quickly found that every single member of his squad checked in. Indeed, every member of the entire company checked in as fine.
"What the bloody hell was that?" One of the privates said as Williams walked up to one of the ponies. It was dark brown, one of the many without horns nor wings. It was wearing no armor, other than a slightly dented and dull iron chestpeice, and only seemed to be wielding a sword it had carried in its mouth.
"These aren't bloody guards." Williams said. "Their equipment isn't professional, and their tactics leave something to be desired."
"And this dead bloke is a griffon, Sergeant." One of the privates said, poking one of the strange creatures with his foot. "I recognize it from my College mythology."
"That's one of the species identified. Grab several and put them on the vehicle, Firebase will want one to study." Williams ordered. "Anybody spot any survivors?"
"Negative." Corporal White replied.
The men quickly went to work, lifting two corpses onto the front of the armored vehicle as the rest of the men, including Williams, looked around the short-lived battlefield, taking video with their 'Net' units. At last, with everybody satisfied, the men jumped on top of the vehicles as before, and the column did a quick turn towards the base.
"Patrol 2-2, how copy?" The voice of Lieutenant Brownfield said over his radio as the FV107 accelerated.
"This is Patrol 2-2, solid copy." Williams replied.
"Reports are coming in of an attack. What's the situation?"
"All of the bloody things are dead, sir. A few of the poor sods are griffons: We're securing a couple for you. No survivors, I'm afraid."
"Good enough that you're still alive. Return to base with all of your men, and we might have to hold a celebration."
"For what, sir?"
"The survival of the entire bloody human race. Firebase out."
1944 Hours
Corporal Emma Nguyen paused as she stood at the door of the conference room aboard the Gerald R. Ford. While she normally was not nervous about large assignments, this one had the potential to change the entire policy inside of the city they now controlled. To that end, she had gone over it dozens of times, making sure to reach a general consensus with her group on what ideas should be proposed.
The group's purpose was to find out ways to make the human presence not only tolerable, but to have them liked. After the battle that had happened only this morning, the ponies were not going to be inclined to cooperate with the military. Several high-level officers, including some civilians, had been thrown together in the city hall and come up with ideas.
With a final, deep breath, the Corporal pushed the door open and walked inside.
Captain Henderson, along with Captain Volkov and several other officers, were sitting down at one end of the room, while the other was set up with a small table. Nguyen set down the small folder of documents she had, and quickly went into business mode.
"Good evening, Gentlemen." She said. "Let's skip the formalities and get right to the issue
"The problems we will face in the coming days are large, especially with the attack on the city. With this being day seven after arrival, and only ten hours after we secured the city, some things still need to be sorted. Earning the trust of the ponies will need to start in several steps.
"First off, we assist in reconstruction efforts, as we have been doing. Sending out condolences to those who have had family members killed is optional, but sending out an apology for the mess, so to speak, will form the basis of our plans. The ponies need to see us not as conquerors, or occupiers, but as something akin to settlers of some sort."
"And just how to we accomplish that?" Volkov asked.
"Simple: By toning down several hundred laws already in place. You wouldn't believe what we found: Did you know that speaking out against a public official, even in running against said official, is liable to land you a year in a cell here? We're considering revamping all of that.
"In addition, we also propose to keep the current staff in place. Due to early action by a team of ours, we have the mayor of the city working with us. He was eager after we presented him his options: Lose his title, or cooperate. We're going to lower taxes, seeing as they're ridiculous across the board. Another team is trying to work out how we'll pay our men now, but that's for another time.
"On another note, we have the temporary prisoner camp set up, and we have a plan for it."
"What's the plan?" Henderson asked, straight to the point.
"Simple." Nguyen said, opening the small folder to lay out several documents. "After a few weeks, we release the calmer of the guards whom have families here. It's near propaganda, sure, but the headlines about us releasing them, combined with official statements, will help with the goodwill efforts."
"Where'd you draw this all off from?" One of the officers asked.
"Part of it was from what happened in Europe after World War II." She answered. "Reconstruction, as well as sending back those Germans in POW camps, was a high priority. It resulted in what we have today: NATO, a stable alliance across half of the north-western hemisphere."
"You've done your homework." Henderson noted. "Dismissed, Corporal Nguyen."
She saluted, leaving the documents on the table as she walked out of the conference room. For all the speed that it had been conducted in, she was ready to go back to her group. She quickly walked out onto the deck, stepping aboard the helicopter that waited for her and hanging on as it took off, banking towards the city.
"What do you think, Captain Volkov?"
"I think that we are all in over our heads, and the first person to notice the rising water will drown."
"About her plan, Captain."
"Captain Henderson, I believe in this plan. She delivered it promptly and efficiently, without resorting to using terms I have no real way of figuring out. The written work states the very things she said, only in longer form. We should go ahead with it."
"... I trust you, Volkov. I just hope that we don't fuck things up for the rest of humanity, the ten thousand men that we are responsible for."
"I hope the very same thing, Henderson. I just wish, in the end, that there was another way to go through with all of this."
"I wish we had the time to find that way. However, it doesn't look like it. Tritons have spotted large gatherings of guards at multiple points. They're preparing for war. Whatever we do, we have to do it quickly."
"... For my sake and for yours, and for the sake of our army, I hope that you are right."
"So do I."
Written by Merchent343The Rainbow Brony
Author's Note
Well, there goes my second attempt at portraying a British unit. Forgive any ignorance at my part: I'm trying to play a combination of American, Russian, other Russian, British, and Pony viewpoints. To those on the other side of the Atlantic, anything wrong is not meant to offend. I try to do the best with what I've read and learned over the years.
In other news, this is the start of Act V. This Act is meant for a very specific goal: Origins and Going Forward. Why are they there, and what are they going to do next? With an entire city, not to mention the island it is on, under their control, where will they go from there?
Many things that were mentioned in previous chapters will come together, often in an obscure manner. Also, I'll be working on continuing my rewrite of the first few chapters, editing them to make the beginning more bearable.
As a side note, this is my second story to break the 50,000 words mark. I have had two that were close, at 48,649 and 46,191 words each, but my biggest story up until this point had been at 53,510 words. This story will likely pass everything I have combined. By a wide margin.
NOTE: This chapter has a pretty big event happening: The final reveal of the reason they are there.
2100 Hours
Captain Daniel Henderson, commander of the USS Gerald R. Ford, was retiring for the night. He had been up for a little over twenty hours, and constant nights like these throughout the past week had only piled on. He needed sleep as much as anybody else, and the fleet would still be there in the morning. They had officers for a reason, after all. If his crew didn't preform above average, even at night, then the last two years he had spent training them would be worth nothing.
Closing his eyes, Henderson quickly drifted off to sleep...
... And without any warning, he found himself standing on the bridge of the Gerald R. Ford. As he looked around in confusion, he noted that every station was unmanned, and he could see nothing on the flight deck of the ship when he took a look through the windows. The ship appeared to be floating on an endless sea, entirely devoid of any ripples or waves, with the sky a clear blue. The fact that he had appeared here he could handle: The why of it, as well as the obvious question about the complete absence of people, he could not figure out.
'Calm yourself, Daniel.' He thought to himself as he began to walk around the stations. 'The worst thing you can do is overreact. Find out why you're here, and where everybody went.'
Within minutes, Daniel had tired of waiting for something to happen. By this time, he had walked down several decks to the hanger area below the flight deck. His footsteps made no sound on the metal he walked on, and it felt as if he was suspended midair, inducing brief bouts of vertigo that he recalled from his days of piloting EA-6Bs from the decks of various carriers.
"Okay, whomever is responsible for this, come out so I can tear your throat out through your ass." Henderson growled as he slowed to a halt. "Don't play games with me. I want to what the hell this is, and why the hell I'm here!"
"Don't you want answers, Captain Henderson?" A deep voice echoes from all around in a mocking tone, white mist starting to appear on the floor of the hanger, quickly forming a near-cloud that coated the deck. "Wouldn't you love to know why you are here? Why I brought you here? Surely you have figured some of the riddle out!"
"What riddle? What the hell are you talking about?" Henderson shouted as the mist started to swirl around him. "Start making some sense, damn it!"
"Oh, but what fun is there is making sense?" The voice said, originating from his left. Henderson whirled around in time to see the mist start to come together, forming what seemed to be a mishmash of different body parts, some of which he could not begin to describe. The figure laughed at him, the loud voice seeming to echo from all around.
"Who the hell are you?" Henderson said as he stared in shock at the figure, searching his memory for a possible explanation.
"Oh, just your local God of Chaos." The figure said, yawning. "Surely, after all you know, you have to have heard my name before! I'm simply fabulous!" The strange creature was suddenly fitted in a full suit, complete with a monocle.
'God of Chaos, where have I heard that before?' Henderson asked himself, right before his mind settled on the only possibility. 'Oh, fuck me...'
"I take it you're the one known as Discord." Henderson said, trying to keep his tone even. Inside, he was close to a panic. Dozens of questionings had left one figure at the 'center' of the possible causes: A being named Discord, said to be responsible for dozens of 'disastrous events'. The general consensus was that the figure was either a myth, or amazingly powerful, able to break the known laws of physics, and just about everything else.
Said being was standing right in front of him.
Suddenly, a loud bell rang, and confetti shot into the air behind Discord.
"Step up, ladies and gentlecolts: We have a winner!" The chaotic being shouted.
"Right, onto the obvious point." Henderson said as he tried his best to ignore the theatrics in front of him. "Why the hell are we here? I'm assuming that you had something to do with it."
"Right again!" Discord said as another bell rang twice. "No matter how many times Celestia and Luna try to lock me up, they never complete it! There's always a bit of me that can run around, have some fun, cause some chaos, and change an entire reality as I go! Why, I happen to be the reason why your little force is here!
"And that's all you dragged ten thousand men out of their homes for?" Henderson asked incredulously. "A goddamn game? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"You died." Discord said, stressing the last word. "I can't move things through realities at will, but I can grab them - and anything near them - when they pass out of one. You had all died, and so I pulled twelve of you, and then a few hundred, and now look where we are! You're causing all the chaos I expected you too, although I didn't really expect you to go killing them all. Oh well, sacrifices must be made."
"Let me get this straight: You stole a few thousand of us through reality and landed us on an alien world, after our deaths, just so you could create chaos?" Daniel Henderson asked incredulously.
"Correct!" Discord replied. "Isn't it grand?"
"That's fucking insane!" Henderson shouted. "I've lost almost fifty men since I got here: Over one thousand ponies have been killed, and those are simply the ones that we know about! We are under constant attack by a hostile government ruled by two eternally-living, near-despots who want every man and woman under my command dead . How the fuck is this grand ?!?!"
"I've lived for uncounted years, Daniel. Some would judge me to be insane. I don't care for your problems, not at all. And if Celestia annihilates every last one of you, it would not make a difference to me. I'll be still free, and I can always pull more of you. Let me show you how your little life would have ended if I had not gathered you..."
The mist in front of Henderson rose up, blocking his view of Discord and switching to a scene he knew well. It was the bridge of the Gerald R. Ford, just off the coast of Saint Petersburg.
"Captain! Aircraft incoming, flight of two Fullbacks!" One of the men shouted.
"Let the CIWS do it's job, right rudder full!" Henderson yelled in reply as he walked to the front of the bridge. It was the worst time for an attack: With the deck filled with various jets, many of them fully armed and fueled, an impact would be catastrophic.
The FAB-500 bomb dropped by the high-speed jet missed by almost a hundred feet, rocking the ship the explosion and spraying water into the air. But the Aircraft Carrier was alive and in the clear...
... Until moments later, when it passed by a hidden mine. The Te-1 rocket-propelled explosive shot up from the seabed at 112 miles per hour, rocketing through the bottom of the ship three seconds later. It exploded with a force that the bombs dropped earlier would have been hard-pressed to match, blowing a hole through all twenty decks of the ship up to the hanger bay. The moment the wall of fire reached the cavernous space, it was all over. All of the ordinance lying on carts on the deck, along with tens of thousands of gallons of fuel and dozens of planes, exploded.
Captain Henderson never knew what happened, as the explosion created a fireball that encompassed the entire ship, all of its fuel, munitions, and the oxygen inside forming a deadly bomb that rattled windows on the streets of Saint Petersburg, five miles away. At the end of it, all that was left of the Gerald R. Ford was a single piece of the bow, which quickly sunk underneath the waves.
Captain Henderson quickly averted his eyes from the scene, sadness overtaking him. The final peace that might have awaited some from the ship had been averted, as they found themselves in the nightmare of ending up in another world entirely.
"Anyway, I must be going. Being a God of Chaos has its benefits, but time isn't among them. Oh, and as for the proof of this conversation, you'll find it when you wake up."
"Why the hell are you telling me all this? What good would letting your plan known be?" Henderson asked shakily as the strange chimera slowly disappeared.
"Simple: Because there's nothing you can do about it! Plus, it's always fun to see mortals running around, thinking that they know what they are doing! Ta-ta!"
And with that, the form faded away entirely, leaving Captain Daniel Henderson, commander of the largest Aircraft Carrier that the world had yet seen, collapsed onto the deck of his ship in his dreams, his mind trying desperately to understand what had just occurred.
Henderson slowly opened his eyes, finding them staring at the ceiling of his room. He sighed, knowing he was still aboard his ship, and that nothing had likely changed. Glancing over at the clocked, he noted that the time was 0840 hours. Pulling himself up, he stretched his arms out and yawned before grasping for the blanket.
His hands impacted something hard, however. He quickly grasped the rectangular object and raised his up, getting a good look at it. It was a simple VHS tape, outdated by now, but still occasionally used. He turned it around and paused once he saw the label, before breaking out into a cold sweat.
From your buddy, Discord. Lord of Chaos.
The sound of a door rapidly opening and closing echoed through the halls as Henderson walked through the corridors to the primary communications room, five decks below. Several minutes later, he burst in the door, handing the tape to a startled technician.
"Get that converted to digital on the double, I don't care how." Captain Henderson said, ignoring the acknowledgement as we walked back out of the room towards the main galley. While alcohol was strictly forbidden on navy ships, he still felt the need to drink something, anything , and so settled for coffee. Many of the men were surprised to see the captain of the ship down here, but Henderson waved them off as he settled down to wait.
0914 Hours
"And you are sure that this encounter was the same as the video?" Volkov asked Henderson.
"Trust me, I'm sure." Henderson said over the table, holding his head in his hands. "Frankly, this has been one hell of a night, especially now that we know why we're here."
"We should prepare for more arrivals. You say it yourself: He will persist in sending more." Volkov said. "We can't afford to be caught off-guard."
"We should also work at trying to hold the Equestrians at arms length." Henderson replied. "The next step will have to be discussed at the next meeting. Gather together the officers, we hold it here at 1210 hours."
With that, both of the captains shook hands, one of them leaving to catch a helicopter, the other to sit down at the table, his face cradled in his hands.
"Sir...?" One of the guards at the door asked, as Captain Henderson stood still.
"Nothing, Sergeant." Daniel Henderson replied a moment later. "I just have a lot to think about..."
Written by Merchent343The Rainbow Brony
Author's Note
And we finally find out how the humans arrived.
Some will criticize me for using Discord, even though it's been mentioned and hinted at a half dozen times so far (Celestia would have obviously detected Discord's 'fun', and the 'Magical Anomaly' mentioned in the sixth chapter was not for show). In any case, the Discord I will portray is not some cheap-ass villain like in most fics, one who is more for comic relief than anything else.
Anyway, things will get a lot quicker after this.
0925 Hours Eight (8) days after first contact
"Attention on deck!"
The eight aviators in the briefing room of the New Russian Federation aircraft carrier Admiral Kuznetson stood up and saluted as Senior Lieutenant Vorobyov, who commanded the fighter wing aboard Russia's only carrier, walked into the room. Vorobyov quickly walked to a large screen at the front of the room, stopping in front of it.
"At ease." He said, prompting the aviators to sit down in their chairs. "As you most certainly know by now, the ponies will not stop sending attacks at us at any point in the future. Case in point? Last night, an American Triton UAV found massive troop concentrations at four points, all of them just outside of the large forest."
The screen quickly divided into four parts, each showing a feed of a large camp, all of them with 'LIVE FEED' stamped in the upper-left corner. Each camp was spread over almost a kilometer of land, and consisted of almost a hundred tents, intermixed with large numbers of gold dots: More of the ponies.
"Sir, how will the attack be carried out?" One of the airmen asked.
"Good question. There will be four groups of two. Each group will have one fighter dedicated to defending against possible attack, while the other will be carrying a single Kh-59L, armed with a thermobaric warhead. You will launch at a distance of ten kilometers, and we shall guide it the rest of the way. Any other questions?"
Receiving none, Vorobyov shut down the display. "Launch is at 0935. Dismissed."
Lieutenant Anisimov pushed the throttle forward rapidly, pushing him back into the seat as his Su-33 blasted forward, climbing rapidly as it left the sloped ramp. The blasted missile attached to his left wing did not help matters. To counterbalance it, a large fuel tank had been attached to the right wing, leaving his formerly maneuverable fighter sluggish by comparison.
His wingman quickly caught up with him as all four elements of the attack force circled the carrier, waiting for the signal. After two minutes, a voice finally came on over the radio.
"All strike units, proceed with attack. Your targets and vectors have been put into your 'Net' display."
Immediately, Anisimov's helmet display was crowded with various bits of information, from the status of his armament to the path he had to take to his target. The pilot put his aircraft in a bank, quickly setting it on a course towards his target. His wingman fluidly matched his movements, ending up fifty feet to the left of him.
"Two, we are ten kilometers from the release point." He told his wingman over the radio as they crossed the coastline. "Arm weapons."
Anisimov quickly flipped the switch on his cockpit display, arming the massive Kh-59L missile on his left wing. Originally designed as an anti-shipping missile, it was equally as effective against land targets. While it normally required the aircraft to carry a targeting pod, knowing the precise location of the camp eliminated the need for the cumbersome device.
"Twenty seconds." He warned as their flight of two shot across the landscape.
Anisimov hovered his finger over the small, metal switch that would launch it, waiting for the release point.
"Five... Four... Three... Two... One... Release." Anisimov slowly chanted, pushing the switch forward when he finished.
The aircraft shuddered slightly as missile dropped away, its rocket motor igniting moments later. It blasted forward as the Su-33 banked away, headed back towards the carrier.
"All four missiles are on target. ETA for the closest one is five seconds." The technician controlling the Triton UAV said to the airmen aboard the Gerald R. Ford that had gathered to watch the strike.
The camera switched to a view of a large field. In the center of it, an estimated three hundred ponies wandered around an identical number of tents. The large rocket flashed into view, many of the ponies inside of the camp peering up to look at it. Suddenly, a large, flat disk of fuel vapor erupted from where the missile was, stretching out a hundred feet in all directions.
Half a second later, it flashed white.
The entire disk exploded outward in a massive ball of fire, obscuring the view of the camp as everything within a kilometer was thrown outwards with the force of the explosion. Three seconds later, the pressure wave reached the drone, throwing it up almost twenty meters before it could recover.
The technician switched to the thermal view, looking down at the site of the former camp. Aside from dozens of small fires and hundreds of prone forms, nothing was visible where it once was.
"All strikes successful: The camps have been destroyed." Volkov heard over the ship radio as he stood on the bridge, a small round of cheers erupting moments later. The Russian captain, however, was all business.
"Recover all strike groups, and tell the Americans to call off their UAVs." He ordered. "The immediate threat is destroyed, but that does not mean it is gone forever."
The crew of the ship quickly sprung into action, communicating with all the vessels of the fleet in the daily task of keeping the ships organized.
1023 hours
Sergeant Davit Meskhi, leader of a team of Georgian Special Forces, looked down from his perch on the group of ponies slowly making their way through the trees of the forest. He almost smiled at their stupidity: They weren't even scanning the area around them, much less looking up.
After his team had given the Americans the video logs they had gathered several days ago, they had been given virtual autonomy, with a open line to the Gerald R. Ford that they could access at any time. So far, they had used it to keep track of what was happening, from the multiple attacks on the firebase to the taking of the city.
Half an hour earlier, they had been informed through the link of the multiple strikes on the camps, and of several groups of ponies that had been spotted fleeing from the destruction. The official purpose of telling them was to gather prisoners.
The secondary purpose was to deny them to the 'enemy', as the hostile ponies were now officially classified.
They had been provided with a vehicle: A single Humvee, capable of seating all six of them. He hoped it would be enough to take them far away if things got too hot for the team.
"Everyone, we drop in ten seconds." Davit whispered over the radio link, followed by several quiet acknowledgments.
Davit looked down at the ground, all of twelve feet below him. The branches of the trees were thick enough to support his weight and sprout plenty of foliage, but they were widely spaced, giving him an easy path down. He slowly counted down the time in his head, watching as the number of ponies that he saw increased from eight to ten.
Finally, the time ran out. "Now."
Davit hopped off of the branch, bring his suppressed SAR-21 up and aiming it at the nearest target: A unicorn clad in dented golden armor. The surprise on its face was easily visible before two subsonic 5.56mm rounds punched through its skull, killing it.
Dull thumps came from all around as the other five members of his team jumped down, launching their own surprise attacks. A shout of alarm from his left prompted Davit to spin around, noticing a pair of pegasi running for him, ten feet away. He squeezed the trigger, sending a trio of rounds into the first one, before sidestepping the second, lashing out with the stock of his rifle as it tore past. The pegasus was sent crashing into a tree, out cold.
Davit looked around himself for more targets, finding none. "Clear." He said a moment later. A series of voices repeated the same message over the radio.
"Casualties?" Davit asked.
"No friendlies." One of the privates replied. "Counting one dead pony here."
"Three over here, all dead."
"One knocked out."
"Negative, nothing in my area."
"Four dead."
"Two down over here, one out." Davit finished. "Alek, you carry the one near you. I'll carry the one I hit. Leave the bodies, and get moving to the vehicle."
The team quickly complied, making their way towards the vehicle, the Humvee parked on one of the scattered roads that went through the area. Davit slung his rifle and knelt down, putting the pony over his shoulder and behind his head in a 'fireman's carry'. He didn't know why a priority was set on prisoners: He assumed it was for questioning, but he had long since gotten used to orders that made no sense. He started his jog back towards the vehicle, arriving two minutes later, the last one to do so.
"Put the other prisoner in the back. Alek, you're the designated driver. Get us to the firebase." Davit ordered as he dropped the pony he was carrying, one of the normal ones, in the back area. A moment later, one of the men set the other in the back. Davit reached up and slammed the back cover down, locking it in place before running around to take the seat next to the driver. All five others quickly got inside, two of them watching the back area in the event that the ponies managed to 'wake up'.
Aleksandre strapped himself in before setting his foot on the accelerator. The Humvee quickly went from a standstill to racing down the road in mere seconds as the corporal drove it towards the firebase.
"When I said to drive us to the firebase, I didn't mean for you to do so at a hundred kilometers per hour on a winding forest road!" Davit yelled over the sound of the engine, grinning fiercely.
"I've got this, sir." Aleksandre said in a calm voice as he took a sharp forty-five degree turn, not once slowing down. "I'm getting us there quickly."
"I can understand doing this quickly, but you have a damn death wish!"
The laughing of the group was quickly swallowed up by the forest as they drove along.
Written by Merchent343The Rainbow Brony
Author's Note
Sorry for the long delays. I am taking care of my father, who is down with a severe lung infection (Pneumonia, for those of you who care), and I am spending much of my time helping him. The next chapter might come out in a week, or it might come out in a few days. I really don't know.
Expect more action in the next few chapters. The pieces have been placed, the lines have been drawn, and the leaders of all sides are reacting to what they can see. Full-scale war is the inevitable result.
Also, Fuel-Air Munitions (Thermobaric weapons) are very, very deadly. I am not exaggerating in this chapter when I state their power.
In the meantime, tell me what you think in the comments. Criticism, as always, is very welcome.
Interactions and Reactions
1140 Hours Occupied City of Trottingham Eight (8) days after first contact
Major Thompson, commander of the US forces in the city that had been captured, glared down at the desk he had been given in the town hall. The object of his attention was a single letter, written in flowing script, running for half the length of a page. It had been delivered this morning to the town hall, addressed to 'Commander of Human Army '. After being checked three times over for explosives or other such traps, it had been delivered to his office, instantly becoming the only piece of work he had seen outside of endless amount of paperwork that had been heaped on him by fleet specialists about various proposed ideas.
What occupied his ire most was the words written on it. Closing his eyes and counting to five, Thompson read over the letter again, soaking in every infuriating detail.
To The Commander of Human Army in Trottingham
It has come to my attention, from numerous conversation with my subordinates, that you and the creatu army at your command do not understand much about the proper way to order here in this fine city. While your surprising takeover of the city may have given you total control over it, your removal of the city guards has left the city vulnerable to number bands of murderers, arsonis renegades.
I have control over a group that is willing to provide protection for everypony inside of your group. However, it costs us much to pay these guards, as I am sure you are aware. In addition, we can also extend our activities to monitor any crime in the city, making sure it is dealt with by ourselves in a timely manner. Please consider my offer, as my group will not be able to provide you protection from the unsavory side of the city should the worst come.
I again stress that this is a reasonable offer that will ensure the safety anypony inside of your group, as well as making sure that the streets are free of crime.
If you wish to take part in our services, come to Warehouse 7 on the corner of Radiance Street and 48th Avenue. We can discuss this generous offer further once you are there, should you decide to take it.
I look forward to a long and profitable future.
Firm Grasp, head of the Trottingham Investors Syndicate
The most ridiculous part of the letter was in the language. It was a blatant attempt at extortion, nearly directly hinting at some sort of retribution if he didn't pay for 'protection'. The name at the bottom was the final straw. It was now obvious that sometimes, ponies did not have to have a vague-sounding name hinting to their talent: The truth was on the packaging.
"Sergeant Kelly!" He yelled, his young and eager clerk appearing in the doorway moments later.
"Yes sir?"
"Bring the 'mayor' in here. I have a question for him."
"Yes, sir."
The Sergeant disappeared as Thompson calmed himself, sitting down at the desk. The mayor of the city had been almost eager to help them, given that he had witnessed the city fall in hours to the combined might of the task force. He acted in an advisory role, and was the one the Major went to when he needed to know more about something in the city.
Half a minute later, the light grey stallion walked in, stopping in front of the desk and taking a seat on a backless chair there.
"Mr. Record, I have encountered a delightful letter from a certain individual in the city." Thompson said, turning the letter around so the pony could see it. "You may know him as Firm Grasp. Now who, pray tell, is he?"
"He's the biggest name in crime this side of Baltimare." The pony said, eyes not straying from the letter. "Although he tries to maintain a public image, he's just a crook. He had bribed half of the guard into ignoring him. He must figure that you aren't as tough as you seem, and figured that he could try and earn money off of you."
"Did you have to pay for his 'services'?" Major Thompson asked in a cold tone.
The pony quickly shook his head. "No. I made sure that the guards around this part of the city were clean, and told him to go buck himself. That warehouse this mentions, it's his base of operations. If I had tried to take it, half of the guards would have been gone before they had gone a block into that area."
"Thank you for your information, Mr. Record. You may leave." Thompson said, his tone absolutely cordial. Inside, he was seething. He ignored the sounds of the door closing as the pony left, instead working on a mental plan of what he was going to do.
After five minutes, it was fully formed.
"Sergeant!" He said, the door opening a moment later. "Get ready. We have work to do..."
"... And that's why we can't go into the bars." PFC Anthony Griffith finished as they continued walking down the street.
"And that, Anthony, is why we don't let the Army into bars." Private Holmes said. "They discover alcohol for their first time, and the rest is history, the poor bastards."
"Yeah." Anthony replied. "Hey, did I ever- Hey, watch it!" He said as a pony almost rammed into him as it came running down the street. It disappeared around the next corner, dozens of heads turning to follow it.
"What's his hurry?" Holmes asked.
"I don't know, but they sure seem anxious." Anthony said, gesturing to the ponies on the street, many of whom seemed to be trying to get into various houses. Within a minute, the street was nearly empty.
Anthony switched on his 'Net' unit, unslinging his rifle. By the multiple messages popping up on the screen, something major was going on. Finally, almost all of them cleared, a single one remaining.
[ALERT]: All units in the south-east side of the city, head to the marked location. This message includes off-duty soldiers.
"Holmes, something major is going down, and we're included." Anthony said.
"Joy of joy, miracle of miracles." Holmes deadpanned. "We're the chosen ones again."
"Look at the bright side, Holmes." Anthony said.
"And what would that be?" The private asked.
"At least we have our rifles."
"Oorah!"
Major Thompson stood outside of the building marked Warehouse 7, doing a final debate as to whether he should go inside. After a quick conversation with Captain Henderson, they had both come up with the idea of him wearing a 'Net' unit inside, mapping out the entire building and everything inside of it as he went. Two US Marines stood beside him, chosen from among the crowd that had gathered at Landing Site Three to go with him. They had extensive experience from before the war, and had been in the group assaulting the Observatory, putting them at the front of the list.
"Ready?" He asked the two Marines.
"Yes, sir." They chorused, their hands gripping tightly to their HK416 Carbines. While the switch from the M16A4 and the M4A1 was unsurprising, it still caught Thompson by surprise when he saw the evidence of it.
Thompson quickly walked towards the twin doors that were the only visible entrance to the warehouse. He opened the door, walking inside, with the two Marines only steps behind him. The warehouse was devoid of almost anything, except piles of various boxes. Dozens of ponies stood inside of it, some with weapons clearly within grabbing range. All of them stopped to look at him, with one walking forward to meet him.
"You the human?" The unicorn asked.
"I am." Thompson said, his tone positively frigid.
"Follow me." The pony said, turning around and walking further into the warehouse. "The boss wants to see you."
After a full minute of wandering between piles of boxes, they reached the other end of the warehouse. What looked like a manager's office jutted into the building, a seal room with only a door leading to it. The unicorn grasped the knob in a orange glow, opening the door and gesturing with one hoof for them to walk inside.
Major Thompson did so, ducking underneath the short doorway to get inside. The interior of the room consisted of a desk at one end, with a single light brown pegasus behind it, who in turn had a pair of ponies at his side. Both of the guards seemed to be carrying some sort of crossbow on their back, although their method of operating it was a mystery to Thompson.
"There was no need to bring men for your protection, human." The pony said.
"You must be Firm Grasp." Thompson said.
"Astute of you to notice. Have you accepted our offer?"
"We do not." A sigh escaped the pony. "You must be absolutely deluded to think you could cause any trouble for us. Don't even bother denying it: We know all about you, and we believe your attempt at extortion to be laughable at best."
"Is there any way that I can change your mind? Perhaps a reduced fee?" The pony offered.
"No. And since we're done with that point, I have a warning for you: Don't even believe for a moment that you could even trouble us. Any attempts at doing so will lead to your destruction. Goodbye." With that, Thompson turned around to leave, walking towards the door.
"Oh, I'm afraid I can't allow that." A voice said behind the three as the door was slammed shut.
Thompson whirled around, M9 Beretta in hand.
"Now." He said over the 'Net' system.
A blast echoed from the front of the complex as Thompson fired, three rounds striking the pegasus guard to the right. The two Marines opened fire as well, the 5.56mm rounds from their HK416 rifles killing the unicorn guard to the left. One of them went up to Firm Grasp and hit him with the butt of his rifle, knocking the surprised pony to the floor.
"Grab him." Thompson ordered. One of the Marines picked up the groaning pegasus, grunting under the weight.
"Let's move." Thompson offered, the sound of firing rifles echoing sporadically around the warehouse.
Thompson and the two quickly ran into US Army soldiers going in the other direction, finding out from them that the only fighting had been near the entrance, as many of the ponies inside tried their best to hold back the groups of American infantry. There had been no casualties suffered on their side.
1205 hours
"... And you're sure?" Captain Daniel Henderson asked over the radio.
"Positive, Captain." Major Thompson responded. "We have him. I'll let a military court decide the outcome: If we get the ponies involved, it could be a major propaganda bonus. Twelve years of him being ignored, and on the first day we are here, we nab the main criminal in the entire city. We're going to announce it at the same time as the law changes."
"See to it that you do, Major. Henderson out." Henderson switched off the radio, happy that some things were going in the right direction. For the first time in the entire day, he felt like things were going to turn out to be just fine.
On the bridge of the USS Lake Erie , Captain Wright jumped into action. Moments before, multiple High Frequency radio transmissions had been detected from an area far into the mainland, as well as several large radar contacts in the middle of the ocean. The radioman couldn't make sense of the transmissions so far, but one thing was sure.
They were numerous, and desperate.
Written by Merchent343The Rainbow Brony
Author's Note
This is the list of ships currently in Equestria:
Admiral Kuznetson-Class Aircraft Carrier - Admiral Kuznetson CVN
Planning and Transmissions
1210 Hours USS Gerald R. Ford
"Let's begin." Captain Henderson said as he sat down at the conference table, the commanders of the major combat units assembled before him. "You all by now have seen the video. Thoughts?"
"It's bloody hard to swallow, Captain." A British Major said. "If we weren't where we are now, I would be inclined to believe it to be staged. However, we have multiple sources confirming the existence of an entity known as Discord, and a specific pair of ponies, once shown the tape, confirmed that it was the same entity as you encountered."
"It has given us a fair amount to talk about, certainly." Captain Volkov stated. "But enough on the events of last night. However much we would like to second-guess it, that video happens to be the largest piece of evidence we have. Fleet-wide analysis has determined it likely to be factual, and given that we are talking about a possibly insane deity of chaos in our midst, there is not much that we can do to change that situation.
"Instead, our focus should be on our next actions. This is now officially a war, and we must act like it."
"Have you got your information ready, Volkov?" Captain Henderson asked.
The Russian simply nodded, leaning forward. "Indeed, I do. After consulting with several ground commanders, the easiest way to finish this would be to take the two other cities that are closest to us on this coastline: On the map, they are marked as Manehatten and Baltimare." Several of the officers smirked, but none remarked on the relation to the US cities. "This, of course, necessitates that we weaken the supply lines to these areas. To that effect, I have ordered elements of the 7th Air Group to launch-"
There were five knocks on the door before it suddenly opened, letting a nervous Marine inside.
"Captain Henderson, sir." The Marine said, eyes snapping around the room. "Urgent call for you from the Lake Erie on Channel Juliet-Nine-Nine. And I mean urgent: It's probably a good idea to answer it now."
The door closed as the Marine hastily exited the room. Henderson, quickly touched a series of controls and selected the radio channel specified, putting it on speaker.
"This is the Gerald R. Ford, Captain Henderson speaking. Captain Wright, do you hear me?" Henderson asked.
"Yes, sir!" The voice on the other end said quickly. "We've got company: Multiple high-frequency radio signals, coming from multiple directions. We're trying to lock onto them now, but they're frantic."
"Copy. I'll head to the bridge. Henderson out." He closed the connected. "Damn, we can't go one day without a disaster. Everybody, this meeting is closed. Get back to your commands and be ready for anything."
"What's the situation?" Henderson asked as he stepped onto the bridge of the Gerald R. Ford several minutes later.
"We're in contact with several units: Still trying to tell who is who!" The communications officer yelled over the chaos in the room. "We've got several groups of planes scattered over the ocean, and we're trying to redirect them over here. There's one problem, sir: A group of the Washington Army National Guard, the 161st Infantry Regiment. They're in scattered radio contact, and from the transmissions we are getting, they are also under attack."
"Get information, now!" Henderson barked. "I need names, type, and I also need a damn group of infantry flown out there ten minutes ago!"
"Already spinning up, sir!" The officer at the communications station replied.
1236 Hours
Sokolov increased the power to the rotors, the underbelly of his new Mi-24 Hind only ten meters above the trees as he crested another ridgeline. Around him, three other Mi-24s, six MH-60 Blackhawks, and two AH-64 Apaches likewise were flying low, headed towards the source of the radio transmissions. Already he could heard some of the chatter.
"This is 2-1! We're getting hammered down here! Where our air support?" One voice demanded over the radio.
"ETA one minute and thirty seconds." Another voice replied, the sound of gunfire and something else echoing in the background.
"They'd better hurry their asses up! These things are getting too close for comfort, and we can't fight them well in these woods!" The voice said, a long burst of gunfire sounding close by at the end of his statement.
"National Guard soldiers, this is Raven Actual, United States Army." Colonel Foyer, the leader of the strike force, said from his helicopter, the Blackhawk in the front. "What's the situation?"
"We woke up in the forest here at 1158 Hours, and some of the lead formations were attacked by some kind of animals. We don't know what the hell they are." One voice said over the radio. "Since then, we've been under attack by some sort of quadrupeds. I can't get a good look." A small pause passed before he replied. "Some of my men are saying unicorns or something like them, and after what we were ambushed by several minutes ago, I'm inclined to believe them."
"Have you got a LZ?" Colonel Foyer asked.
"A mile and a half in diameter. We found our vehicles and heavy equipment at one side. Sir, if you don't mind, what the hell is going on?"
"You'll be briefed when we repel the hostiles. Currently, you're a good fifty kilometers to the east of our firebase, deep inside what we consider hostile territory. Send the word out to sync your 'Net' units to Delta-Three."
"Copy that. We've secure a strip of land around the field two hundred yards deep into the forest. You shouldn't encounter much ground fire when you come in. We don't know how, but these things can launch some type of... Energy. With a lucky hit, it'll dissipate on your ballistic vest and knock you on your ass. With an unlucky hit... We're down several Humvees now."
"Copy. Mark the LZ with smoke. Foyer out."
Sokolov banked the helicopter towards the left along with the rest of the group, moving towards several large plumes of white smoke rising from the ground two miles away. It was in the center of a large field, where the sides were teeming with moving shapes. As they approached the field, Sokolov slowed his helicopter down, raising the nose.
"Be sure to land us properly this time, Sokolov!" Lieutenant Vasilyev said over the radio from the back.
"Yes, sir!" Sokolov said with mock enthusiasm.
The Hind descended onto the field, touching down on the uneven grass with a small bounce. The sides doors open and twenty Russian infantrymen, mixed with the MVD team, jumped out onto the field. Sokolov quickly lifted off and aimed the nose towards the treeline, scanning for targets.
A notification quickly popped up on his net display, marking an area with plenty of friendlies clustered around it.
"Hit the forest one hundred meters north of our position with everything you have!" A frantic voice pleaded over the radio. "They've got us pinned down in the dry creek bed!"
"Copy last, American unit." Sokolov said over the radio. "We're moving to assist."
The Russian pilot pushed the stick forward, tilting the Hind forward and moving it above the marked position. As he looked below at the small clearing where the 'creek bed' was, he could see dozens of individual markers on his HUD indicating where the individual soldiers were. He could also see movement in the trees ahead, from which dozens of brightly colored bolts shot from.
"Unicorns in the treeline. Launch a Shtrum*." Sokolov ordered his Co-Pilot and gunner.
"Copy. Firing." Came the response a moment later, followed by a bright streak launching from the left pylon. The wire-guided AT-6 missile shot forward, diving through the trees and impacting on the ground. The five-kilogram High Explosive warhead, designed in this case to destroy light tanks and armored vehicles, blew several trees down and killed four of the unicorns firing on the line.
Sokolov, of course, could not see the results through the trees and the small cloud of dirt kicked up. He felt the Mi-24 shudder beneath him as the 23mm GSh-23L thundered, sending out hundreds of rounds into the forest, chewing through trees and shredding through armor as if it didn't exist.
After several minutes of sweeping the cannon back and forth, firing occasional bursts into the trees, the unit finally came on over the radio.
"Thank god you were here! Thanks for the assist, we have it from here." The man said with obvious relief in his voice.
"Burya-1, this is Raven Actual." Another voice cut in a moment later. "RTB for refuel and rearming."
"Copy, Colonel." The Russian replied. Although he was officially not obliged to obey the American, the Colonel was in charge of the strike force itself, and the advice made sense. Within seconds, he had banked to the west, and was headed back at full speed towards the firebase...
... Vasilyev jumped down into the dry creek bed, multiple orbs of light flashing overhead a moment later. He raised himself out of his makeshift cover at the other edge of it, firing a burst of 5.56 NATO from his AUG A3 before ducking down again. The Russian lieutenant didn't know how it had gone to this, but he did know one thing.
It had all gone to hell.
The moment his group had jumped out of the helicopter, they had rapidly been separated by the needs of the ongoing battle. He didn't even want to try and find them: Doing so would mean running through the thick of the battle towards their tags, one by one. Radioing them was another option, but one that was unadvisable due to the pressing need to stay alive.
A single one of the higher-powered orbs of light - magic, as the ponies called it - impacted the ground in front of his position, indenting a small crater and showering him with dirt. Vasilyev rose again, taking aim for the exposed unicorn who had done so. A flash of gold in the scattered remains of the bushes ahead of him prompted him to fire, emptying half the magazine into the area. He heard a small scream of pain before one of the shields that they could make popped into place, deflecting the rest of his rounds.
Vasilyev ducked down again, several more lights flashing overhead, many of them on the trees behind his position, turning the outsides to splinters. Vasilyev quickly took the chance to switch out the magazine on his rifle, putting the nearly empty one in a pouch on his vest. He pulled the bolt back, loading the first round in the magazine.
Vasilyev was stopped in the middle of going up again by the loud noise of a helicopter. He looked up and watched as a single Mi-24 rained destruction on the treeline with several dozen Hydra rockets, followed by an extensive burst from the chaingun. Vasilyev looked over the edge of the creek bed just in time to see the burst of rockets hit, blowing apart and igniting the trees in the area as they impacted. Several loud screams came from the area that had been hit, a testament to its effectiveness.
Vasilyev ducked by reflex as he saw another bolt coming at him, from a direction that had not been hit. He raised himself again, firing at the source. Clearly, the battle was nowhere near over, and Vasilyev had the feeling he would be here for a while.
1326 hours
"Redirect all aircraft you contact to the Firebase Airport." Henderson ordered the communications officer. "The field's up and running, and although it has a lack of hangers or supporting infrastructure, it's the only concrete landing strip on this entire planet."
"Yes sir!" The officer chimed, moving back to his station.
"Sir, Captain Volkov wants you to know that he recommends that we pull the unit we are supporting back to the Firebase!" Another officer just arriving on the deck said. "There's a road half a kilometer to the north that can accommodate them!"
"Pull back to the north end of the field, and concentrate rotor wing assets in clearing a path." Henderson ordered, moving around in a large circle around the room. "Get some aircraft up there and find out where their reinforcements are coming from!"
"Sir!" An Ensign said, rushing up with a data tablet. "The answer came in a few minutes ago! Several minutes after the group appears to have arrived, they encountered multiple hostiles in the forests. They either ran into a formation flanking us, or the ponies knew in advance where they were going to appear."
'That's an unsettling notion.' Henderson thought.
"Carry on." The Captain of the Gerald R. Ford said, absorbing himself back into the sheer chaos of the control room, directing where things were to go. Twenty minutes into his self-appointed task, however, an Ensign came up to him holding a red phone.
"It's the emergency line, Captain." The Ensign stated with an apologetic shrug as the Captain took the phone.
"Yes?" Captain Henderson said, pausing to listen to the Russian-accented voice on the other end. "No, I will NOT give you control over the nuclear weapons aboard our ships, Colonel Degtyarev... Yes, I understand we're at war, but we're not going to irradiate the landscape for the sake of a pyrrhic victory! If you come to me one more time asking for indecent measures like this, I'll endeavor to 'miss' your later calls... Good day."
Captain Henderson clutched the phone and gently placed it back in its cradle, hiding the annoyance that was becoming common when dealing with the Russian commander.
"Cheer up, skipper." The Ensign said. "It can't get much worse than this."
Henderson sighed, before looking up at the sailor. "I can only wish that to be true..."
Author's Note
60K words!
As a side note to that, I'd like to note that I am sorry for only updating once a week. School has popped back up, and I'm too busy being a C student to do writing.
* The 9K114 missile, also known by the NATO name AT-6 'Spiral', is an air-launched, anti-tank, wire-guided missile. The name 'Storm' is an English translation of 'Shtrum', its' official name.
And no, the Mi-24 that Vasilyev saw was NOT Sokolov's.
-=-=-=-=-
A series of errors caused the late update. First, I forwarded the wrong link to my editor. And then the situation reversed itself. Derp. Don't worry: I should be updating more soon.
0105 hours Firebase Nine (9) days after first contact
The Firebase had been specifically built to house around six thousand men, along with all of their assorted equipment. With the recovery of the National Guard from the forest, however, the spots inside of it were quickly filled up. And so trenches were filled in along the coastline, allowing many of 3,200 National Guards to set up their own areas.
Thus, entirely overnight, the Firebase had grown by half of its original size, leaving it spanning an area two-thirds of a mile ashore, and going along one and a half miles of the coast. The coastline itself was rapidly growing, as the engineers worked around the clock to pour concrete (the Sevastopol had contained hundreds of bags of cement, and various other units had what they could find), quickly turning the coastline into a decent port. Word had come down from Trottingham, the city on the island, that they would be making arrangements for building materials, but that was far off in the future.
On the south side of the camp, surrounded by high fences on all four sides and covered overhead in a layer of camouflage netting, sat a large, enclosed area. It housed the nearly two hundred ponies that had been taken prisoner a week ago, during the first attack on the Firebase, as well as a small number that had been taken in the night attack mere days afterward.
Day and night, a group of around a hundred US and Russian soldiers patrolled the perimeter, while a group of ten monitored everything from thermal images to a small group of seismographs. Lacking the delicate equipment needed to detect movement underground, in case of tunneling, the group had turned to a small supply of seismographs, usually used in detecting earthquakes but otherwise used to detect movement.
While some would think that vehicles rolling past, as well as all the other necessities of a modern combat unit, would result in an array of false signals, they would be both right and wrong. A small group of linked computers used the various sensors to triangulate every signal they received, and excluded those that were located outside of the small prison.
It was using this system that, two days earlier, they had detected movement underground. At the same time, the thermal cameras had recorded unusual activity centered around one building, with ponies that were 'housed' nowhere near it entering, and only leaving after a period of hours.
The sounds had progressed at around ten meters per hour, going down eight meters before heading outward, towards the forest. While they could have swarmed in and uncovered the operation, the men merely notified their superiors, and kept watching as it steadily trailed outward. They began to notice odd, small piles of dirt appearing in the camp, as well as an unusual amount appearing by the sides of the prefabricated structures that housed the ponies.
The men inside of the observation post watched with growing amusement as the tunnel reached two hundred meters away from the camp, stopping there before beginning to dig upwards. Thus, a team was quickly assembled to meet where it would appear, driving out in a pair of Humvees and making a small circle around the spot. One of them directed a small spotlight on the top of a Humvee towards the area, bathing it in light.
All they had to do was wait.
Six meters below, Spring Wind followed behind a unicorn as they steadily tunneled upwards. The unicorn was slowly using his magic to take bits and pieces of the dirt above him away, compressing the rest against the side into a wall that was nearly as hard as rock. It was energy-intensive, however, and the unicorns generally had to be sent back up after an hour of work. She was mere the second pony in this team, there to make sure they were a good distance away from their infernal prison when they surfaced.
Immediately after they had been imprisoned, the planning had begun. One of the pegasi in her group had the bright idea to make a tunnel. Without tools, it had to be done entirely by unicorns, but the end result was worth it. Now, hopefully, they could get as many ponies out as possible to warn the rest of Equestria.
With a grunt, the unicorn compacted another one and a half meters, levitating a small bit of dirt behind him and past her, where another unicorn picked it up and carried it down the tunnel. Compressing the walls in, as well as making the tunnel stable, also allowed them to make it around two meters across, as well as cutting down on the amount of dirt they had to scatter and hide.
Another bit of dirt levitated past her, the unicorn pausing to use one of his forelegs to wipe the sweat off of his forehead. With that done, he continued with his work. Thankfully, the slat upwards was only at a forty-five degree angle, much better than the near-vertical tunnel from the strange buildings they had been assigned to.
Finally, the unicorn's horn glowed again, scanning the area above him.
"It's clear, one third of a meter up." The stallion said. "There are some objects in the area, probably some rocks. Those should hide us from the view of their camp. Spring, I can't let them see the glow. Can you take the last bit?"
"I can." Spring Wind replied, moving past him and looking up at the uncompressed dirt above her. Unicorns may have been able to use magic, but a small portion of excess energy always bled off, proportionate to the power of the spell or use of magic. At night, it would be easily visible. Bracing her wings upward, she used her natural pegasi strength in those appendages to push the final bit of dirt upward, finally breaking through the surface. Eagerly, she poked her head up.
I thought it was still night outside! The voice inside of head screamed as she blinked at the amount of light. It was almost blinding, but her eyes quickly adjusted. The first thing she saw was a vague bipedal form, pointing a strangely familiar object at her.
The mare sighed as this sunk in. "Aw, buck."
"And they were apprehended?" Lieutenant Brownfield of the British contingent asked, sitting down at his desk in the Firebase Headquarters building.
"Successfully, and returned to the camp." The corporal replied.
Brownfield sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand before returning his attention to the soldier. "You're dismissed. I'll write up the report, and advise your American companions to do the same."
The corporal saluted, walking out of the room a moment later.
Lieutenant Brownfield, late into his shift at night, gave himself the comfort of a small, internal sigh. "I shouldn't have joined the bloody army. I've wasted years fighting around the world, and now I'm spending my time fighting Greek mythology."
With that out of his system, he went back to the work of keeping the Firebase in order.
0620 hours South of Trottingham
First Lieutenant Grishin was having a boring night. He and his Svetlyak-class Patrol Boat , the молниеносный (lightning), had been tasked with patrolling ten kilometers away from the harbor of the city, stopping incoming ships and inspecting them. While Grishin had done a stint in the Border Guards, he had never admired the people doing customs. His task, however, was much simpler: To inspect every ship for weapons that could be used against the human forces.
So far, over the past several days, he had only been directed by the radar on top of the massive mountain towards a total of six ships, and none had turned up anything remotely close to contraband. One ship had tried to run away, but that was difficult to do in a sailboat, and it later turned out to be carrying a small amount of books. That investigation was still ongoing, but it seemed that some literature had been banned under the 'former management', and therefore had to be smuggled in and out of cities.
The radar on the hill had detected a small boat, closing on the city at a sedate pace, and his boat had been dispatched to search it.
As they closed in on the small craft, it became easily visible in the low light, due to the multiple lanterns hanging from various portions of it. It had a pair of sails and was low on the water, and seemed to only have two floors, one below the deck, and one on a small superstructure at the rear. Once their small boat reached five hundred meters away, the large floodlight on the bridge snapped on.
"Attention! This is Russian Navy!" The First Lieutenant said over a large set of speakers in his limited English. "Prepare to be boarded. This is a routine inspection."
Several ponies appeared on deck, staring at his ship. Comparing them both side by side, theirs was about two-thirds the size of his, although theirs was longer. As soon as his ship turned and slowed alongside their ship, several Russian Marines threw lengths of rope down the two-foot drop to their deck, hopping down to secure them moments later while others covered them with AKS-74U carbines. Grishin himself grabbed his AK-105 carbine and ran down the stairs, moving to join the team that would be boarding the ship.
By this time, a crowd of around a dozen ponies had walked onto the deck, watching the small group of Russian Marines. As Grishin hopped down onto the deck, a single unicorn angry stalked out onto the deck, heading straight for him.
"You!" The pony said. "Why did you stop us?"
"We inspect your ship for contraband." Grishin replied in English.
"You'd better make it quick." The pony said, glaring at him.
"Перейти, поиск корабль!" He ordered, telling his team to move forward. Six of them moved to the stairs in the middle of the ship, descending moments later into the bowels of the ship. Several tense minutes passed as both species stood on the deck, staring at one another.
"Lieutenant, you have to see this!" A voice echoed from down below. Gripping his AK-105 in his hands, the naval officer ran to the stairs and headed down, into the cargo hold. He saw hundreds of sacks, probably filled with grain. Several dozen of them had been tossed aside, and two of the team were standing beside a crate that had been buried beneath the other cargo, its top open.
Grishin walked forward, looking into the opened crate. Inside of it, several dozen crossbows sat, neatly stacked and packed in. Looking to the left and right, the Russian saw several similar boxes, each likely containing more of the weapons.
Several seconds later, Grishin stalked out of the ship, walking across the deck towards the captain with his hands on his rifle. Stopping just short, he raised his rifle, aiming at the pony.
"You are all under arrest for attempting to smuggle weapons into the city." The Russian barked in English.
0750 hours City of Trottingham
"Twenty-four crates ?" Major Thompson exclaimed as he read the report. "Jesus, that wouldn't be good."
"Yes, sir." His orderly, who had delivered the report, replied. "Sir, I'd like to remind you that a meeting has been scheduled for 0900 hours, and you've been asked to attend by Captain Henderson."
"Yes, yes. I remember." The major replied, waving off the orderly. "Can you get the captain of that boat on the line? I'd like to talk with him about the incident."
The orderly nodded, heading out of the room. Half a minute later, as he was finished reading the report, the phone on his desk rang. Although the building itself had little electricity, dozens of lines had been laid out on the floor and through various walls, leading to various antenna that were set up on the roof of the building.
"Yes, this is Major Thompson." A voice said something on the other end. "First Lieutenant Grishin! I'd like to discuss what happened earlier this morning..."
0800 hours
"Right, five degrees." Captain Leskov said, looking through the periscope of his beloved submarine. His current mission had only given him a location, an extensive list of targets, dozens of photoreconnaissance pictures, and a coded signal. He had quickly set a course northward to the location, and over the past day, his submarine had crept closer to the point.
Looking through his periscope, he could see the outline of a massive city, the golden orb of the sun setting a perfect backdrop for it. Unlike the other city, which had contained only a few dozen tall buildings, this one had hundreds, and contained a skyline which would rival some of the American cities he had seen. According to the reconnaissance photographs, it had two harbor entrances, wrapping around an island that contained much of the center of the city, leading to an inner area with dozens of harbor installations.
According to the maps, he could easily sail through the 1.5km-wide passage into the harbor whilst staying entirely underwater. From there, he could set down on the silt bottom inside of the main harbor itself, almost three kilometers across and estimated at eighty meters deep. With the dark top to his submarine, he would be almost invisible as he sat on the bottom.
With another correction to his heading, the submarine was headed for the channel. In the meantime, some of his crew would be reprograming the ship's compliment of cruise missiles. After that, all they would have to do would be to sit back and wait.
Author's Note
Well, a few days ago, one of my friends on Skype told me that he randomly encountered a fan of my work. I don't know where, but that's kinda startling. Especially considering that there are 150-200 of you among the 7+ billion people on Earth.
Anyway, the next chapter will probably be long, and will certainly include several important events. Anyway, if any of you have questions, comments, or an extensive deconstruction of this, this story has an extensive comments section, currently coming close to five hundred.
Major Deployment - End of Act V
0945 hours Nine (9) days after first contact
The meeting had been quick and to the point. By a majority vote, the group of military commanders had chosen to go ahead with the next phase of planning: Preparing for the next invasion. A city had been chosen, only fifty miles up the coast. On the maps that had been quickly copied and spread among the fleet and ground units, it was labeled 'Manehatten' - a pun if there ever was one - and had a stated population of five-point-two million. The majority of the city center was situated on an island, with many of the less built-up areas on the mainland surrounding the island on three sides.
The city itself was heavily urbanized, with soaring skyscrapers filling the downtown areas. From prisoner reports, it had been reported and then confirmed via UAV that it had an immense naval force inside, with fifty-four various wooden ships being identified as combat-capable.
After the meeting had ended, the commanders quickly told their subordinates to put together the plans. These men, in turn, coordinated with one another to draw up an effective attack plan. Less than twenty minutes later, the beginning of a plan began to take form, building upon itself and becoming more and more complete with every passing minute...
"That won't work." One man persisted. "We don't have enough Av-gas to fly helicopter operations for a lengthy period. All the combat units came through with their supporting units, but there are not enough fuel trucks to supply our helicopters in the field."
"Just move the Sevastopol off of the coast, as planned." Another replied.
"Will the Russians comply?" A third interjected.
"They'd damn well better, if we decide on that. We'll be providing most of the land support." The first said. "That's actually a good idea. The Sevastopol has enough Av-gas on board for quite a while of operations, and has ordnance practically strewn around."
The third nodded. "Good. Now let's go over the first phase." The three moved to a large table, fitting with a touchscreen, two-dimensional map of the city. The man tapped several placed on it with his fingers, marking several locations. "The assault will begin early in the morning. We will land significant land forces at various, strategic points inside of the city via helicopter. At the same time, a ground assault will hit from the south and east, cutting off the rail line and seizing portions of the city.
"In the meantime, our aircraft and naval ships will provide fire support, wrecking whatever ships they may sail out and hitting strongpoints of resistance. We'll have a CAP over the city 24/7, flying from the Gerald R. Ford and that Russian carrier-"
"Admiral Kuznetsov." The first interjected.
"Right. First estimates are two or three days to secure the city, with a 600-man unit left to retain control. The assault will be made by major elements of the 161st National Guard, with smaller groups of the Russian units to back them up. We're going to have an easy time telling each other from the ponies, but civilian casualties are a worry. We'll be advising the men about that, so it's not too big of a worry.
"Questions?" He asked.
There were none.
"Then it's settled." He said. "Send this up the pipeline. Now on to the fleet composition..."
1036 hours
"Load up and get buckled in!" Anthony heard someone shout over the sound of the CH-47F Chinook as the massive helicopter landed. After he and his friend has escorted that officer into the warehouse - and then fought out of it - they had been transferred back to the observatory on the hilltop. However, hours earlier, they had been ordered to take their weapons, ammunition, and equipment and to prepare for redeployment.
Anthony did not know the entire picture, but his best guess from the chatter over the 'Net' units was a massive redeployment, and that could mean only one thing: They were going on the offensive again.
The Marine quickly ran into the Chinook, taking a seat on the side of the large cargo bay and strapping himself in and several dozen others did the same. All too quickly, the door close, and the large helicopter lifted off, turning to the east.
"What do you think is going on?" Somebody to his left asked.
"Half of the people in the city are redeploying to the Firebase or some ship, and you really have to ask?" Anthony replied. "We're going on the offensive again, so you'd better make sure you have your flak vest on right, because we're going into combat soon enough."
The Firebase was quickly stirring alive, as thousands of Washington National Guard and Russian Army soldiers gathered their gear, readied their vehicles, and formed up.
In the middle of this chaos, Lieutenant Robert Johnson directed his small US Army mechanized platoon through the crowds of soldiers and occasional tanks and vehicles.
"We're set to move half a click outside of the Firebase." Johnson told his platoon over his 'Net' unit. "Everyone, stay inside of your vehicles. We don't need the distraction of trying to track you all down."
A chorus of acknowledgments came over the radio. Johnson didn't respond, instead staying firmly in his seat in the back of the first Stryker. Three of them, including the one he was in, were of the ICV (Infantry Carrier Vehicle) variant, and the last one was of the MGS (Mobile Gun System, mounting a 105mm cannon in a remote turret) variant. All four were slowly making their way out of the camp, towards their rally point on the field outside of it.
"We're out of the camp, speeding up." The driver told them over the radio.
"Good. Get us to the rally point." Johnson ordered.
The ICV passed by dozens of other vehicles, from Russian BMP-3s and T-90s to American M1A3 Abrams tanks and M2A3 Bradleys. When they reached the marked area, the drivers rolled their vehicles to a stop. taking their places. And with that, their job was over, and Lieutenant Johnson could only sit back and wait for instructions.
"It's good to be back in the air, at least." First Lieutenant Miller murmured as he gripped the control column of his F/A-18E/F. The entire left side had to be picked apart, a new engine installed, and repair made to the exterior after his engine had blown over the city they now controlled. It had been a rush job, but he was two hours into the flight patrol already, and had not encountered any problems so far.
"Well, Slam." His wingman said in reply. "Out there somewhere is a pegasus with a plan, and that fucker is probably going to tell all his little pegasus buddies how he turned your plane into a large sixty-six-million-dollar glider. At first, I thought only the Air Force could pick up rocks like that, but then the little flying bastards figured out how to express-deliver them to you."
"Ha ha." Miller deadpanned as his wingman laughed. He had been given the nickname 'Slam' shortly after he had landed his damaged jet, for the way it had practically bounced onto the deck as he brought it in. He'd been trying to get away from it ever since. "You know what? F-"
"Skybreaker 2-1, this is Firebase." His radio blurted, interrupting Miller in the middle of his response.
"Go ahead, Firebase." The Navy aviator hastily replied.
"Large radar contact to the north of the Firebase, fifty kilometers out. It's heading straight for our position. Can you get a visual?"
"Copy, I can be in position in four minutes." Miller replied. "Skybreaker 2-1 out."
"Let's bank to the east. I'll be right behind you, Slam." His wingman said.
"Banking." Miller replied, turning his aircraft right in a large arc to the east. He leveled out quickly, only to push his control stick down. "Descend to Angels six."
"Copy." His wingman said in reply, following him as they descended from twelve thousand feet to six thousand.
Soon enough, they were within visual range of the return, and Miller could scarcely believe his eyes.
"What in God's name is that?" His wingman blurted.
"Skybreaker 2-1, this is Firebase. What do you see?" Miller's radio said.
"Firebase, this is Skybreaker 2-1." Miller replied quickly. "Six kilometers from an unknown target. It's a large, wooden ship, and it's moving about four kilometers above the ground."
"Say again, Skybreaker 2-1. Did you say a wooden ship above the ground ?" An incredulous voice replied.
"Affirmative, moving south at twenty kilometers an hour!" Miller replied as his flight moved towards it. "I'm four kilometers away. I can see catapults on the deck. The entire thing is suspended beneath a massive balloon, easily half again as big as the ship. The ship itself is bigger than the galleons they destroyed in the harbor! I can't believe my damn eyes here, Firebase!"
"Skybreaker Lead, this is Major Thompson. Close with the target and engage!" A voice said over dozens of others moments later. "You are cleared hot. Take it down."
"Copy. Cleared hot." Miller replied, switching to his AIM-9X Sidewinders. They acquired a large heat source dead-center: The entirety of the ship. "Slam, Fox two."
With that, he triggered two of the heat-seeking missiles, sending both streaking forward. He noted that he was less than a kilometer from the ship, hundreds of dots of gold visible on the deck. He pulled on the stick, sending the fighter jet up and over the top of the flying ship, his wingman half a second behind him.
The first and second missiles had already impacted moments before, one slamming into the rear superstructure of the massive airship, while the other impacted dead-center. The first one blew apart the rear of the ship, severing the ropes connecting it to the balloon and sending the back tipping down. The second broke the keel of the ship, breaking it in two.
The back half of the ship swiftly dropped like a stone towards the ground, while the other half, held in the air by its' connection to the balloon, slowly started to sink towards the ground. The balloon had been punctured hundreds of times, and the hydrogen gas inside swiftly started to escape. Less than three minutes later, to the morbid fascination of a circling Lieutenant Miller, it smashed into the ground at thirty kilometers per hour, breaking apart in an instant.
Miller and his wingman broke off moments later, their fighters chased - but not caught - by several dozen pegasi that had jumped off. They were eventually left behind, leaving the two aviators alone for their flight back to the Gerald R. Ford .
Along the way, they passed the massive area outside of the Firebase, where thousands of men and hundreds of vehicles were preparing for something. What it was, Miller didn't know, but he guess that he would be told when he needed to be.
After all, it couldn't be too bad. Could it?
Author's Note
I decided to move the invasion from this chapter to the beginning of the next Act. Sorry, but I needed more space to build up the plot.
Also, sorry for the massive delays. I've come down with a very dangerous addiction known as laziness and STALKER: Shadow of Chernobyl. If any of you know a cure to these terrible conditions, please elaborate on it. Also, I had to spend two days cleaning a virus from my system because my father likes to click 'yes' whenever a pop-up comes up, and thus it fell to me to preform computer repair.
I'm going to be publishing a one-shot soon, and it's going to be my second attempt at comedy. Wish me luck. Several intermission chapters will also come out during the small break between Act V and Act VI. This is mostly to try and beak my Writer's Block, if nothing else.
Intermission - Relations and Findings
1210 hours Nine (9) days after first contact
Major Thompson looked at the notes on his desk, going over them once more. The two-page summary he had in front of him had been a result of two days of effort, all aimed at calming the population of the city. Not that there were many disturbances in the first place: With much of the criminal network in the city laying low or under arrest in the aftermath of the arrest of the crime boss, the city was nearly free of any kind of crime, and the protests that had gathered in front of the town hall attracted no more than three dozen of the ponies at a time.
As he reached the end, Major Thompson sighed in relief. It was ready, and so was he.
Reaching over his desk, Major Thompson picked up the phone that had been installed, placing it to his ear. He pressed the button that connected to his assistant, and waited.
"Sergeant, send the 'Mayor' in. I need to ask him some questions." Major Thompson ordered, dropping the phone in its' cradle.
A few minutes later, the pony he was waiting for knocked on the door, walking without hesitation a moment later.
"Good afternoon, Mayor Record." Major Thompson said in greeting, before getting down to business. "How the hell do you contact the press in this damn city?"
"The 'press'?" The Mayor asked.
"Newspapers and such." Thompson interjected.
"We usually give them the material we want them to publish, and they do it." The Mayor replied.
"But isn't a press that is free to do what it wishes better? What benefit would there be to controlling them?" Major Thompson asked, fishing for answers.
"What? Did you think we would let them write their own articles? All they would do is spew nonsense, some of it harmful!" Mayor Record paused, looking directly at Thompson. "Please don't tell me you're thinking of doing that..."
1300 hours
It had taken nearly a full hour to put it together, but several dozen editors and writers from nearby newspapers were gathered together in the next room, waiting for him to come out. Major Thompson did not see himself as any great judge of facial expressions, but even he could see the confusion on their faces.
In all likelihood, having a story told to them instead of neatly bundled and delivered would be a new experience for them.
With one final, deep breath, Major Thompson grabbed his notes and strode out of the side room, and onto the podium where the newspaper figures were gathered.
A barrage of questions greeted him as he walked to the lectern, looking out to face the crowd of rapidly talking ponies. He held up a hand, and slow, the crowd quieted down.
"Thank you for being here today, gentlemen." Major Thompson said, putting on his best speaking voice. "I am Major Thompson, commander of the Coalition Forces in Trottingham. Today, I have a series of announcements, many of which are for your benefit. However, I would first like to go to a subject which you all wish to know: Why are we here?
"To put it simply, random chance. We were attacked as we gathered along the coast by a group of your guards, and we had to find a base of operations. This city happened to be it." A sanitized version of the truth, but the only one he was authorized to give out. "Truthfully, we do not know why we have appeared here, except by even more chance." Another near-blatant lie. Major Thompson had seen the tape that described how they had gotten there: All senior officers had. "While it would be wonderful to be in the business of peace, we are at war with your Princesses, through no fault of our own."
Several shocked gasps went through the crowd. Major Thompson ignored them, sticking to the speech. "In addition, we would like to apologize for any destruction we have caused. We will keep vital services running, and I will be directing the reconstruction efforts personally.
"Those of you in this room may also have heard of several changes of law that will be taking place. These include..."
Major Thompson quickly lost himself in listing off the myriad array of laws they had altered or eliminated. Many were directed towards removing ridiculous laws and ordinances, quite a few involved reducing restrictions on news sources, and a small minority erased an entire section of political crimes, mostly for opposing specific policies or candidates.
Finally, after five minutes, Major Thompson had finished with that section of his talk. Dozens of the ponies were writing frantically, while several unicorns in the back seemed to have brought along volumes of law books, and were flipping through them as they looked specific sections up. Most of the rest stared at him in rapt attention. Taking a deep breath, Thompson continued.
"Some of you may have also heard of the arrest of one 'Firm Grasp', a well-known criminal in the area. This is absolutely true." Several more gasps sounded in the crowd. "He is currently in custody, and will be tried according to the law. I would like to stress above all else that we intend to uphold the laws that are just and fair. Those that criminalize speaking out your mind will be kicked out the door, so to speak.
"Perhaps you wonder what I mean when I say 'We'. I refer to the men and women of our task force. We are Humans, representatives of nine different countries, as diverse and different as each of you are. I hope, above else, that you give us a chance to prove ourselves to you.
"Thank you for your time."
Major Thompson exited to a few small cheers and a chorus of shouted questions, none of which he answered as he left. Closing the door behind him, Thompson walked over to a table with a jug of water, pouring himself a glass placed here for that very purpose and downing it within seconds. Setting the glass down, he sighed, looking down at the ground.
"Give me an M4 and point me at the ragheads," Major Thompson said to himself after a moment. "But God help me if I ever try to do public speaking again."
After the 'press conference', so the Humans had called it, the many newspaper writers in Trottingham had come out with an entirely different view on the entire situation.
When the invasion had first come, the paper had only published a brief statement to 'Keep Calm'. They had ridden out hundreds of insane happenings, from a criminal attempt to take over their offices to Discord's antics, and it looked like this would end up much the same.
The heart of the manner lay in the fact that the newspapers were controlled by a set of laws so rigid, that they could neither post anything against the current ponies in power, nor could they state their own opinions. Suddenly being told that they not only had free reign to do so, but could publish with impunity, shifted opinions markedly.
They didn't even need to discuss it, and it was never mentioned out loud. The various writers simply locked themselves inside of their offices, occasionally in small groups, producing the news that would break out into the city tomorrow.
1354 hours
"One kilometer from location." Lieutenant Popov noted. Their Ka-27 flew through the air at sixty kilometers per hours, heading towards a location a UAV had noticed from a distance. One analyst thought he had seen a tank, and so they were sent out from the Admiral Nakhimov to see if the report was true.
"How are our passengers in back?" His co-pilot asked.
"We're fine, and we would be better off if you would learn how to fly!" Came the call from the passenger section of the small helicopter, currently holding four Russian Naval Infantry.
"We'll touch down within a minute." The pilot promised, spotting the clearing that had mentioned. Banking slightly to the left, he started to make out shapes, around the edges of what looked like a marsh.
To his shock, the helicopter passed right over the rusting hulk of some sort of turreted vehicle - He couldn't tell at the speed he was going. Turning the helicopter slightly, he started to decrease power, aiming for the largest area of solid ground at the outside of the marsh.
The helicopter kicked up a cloud of dust as it landed on the ground. The soldiers inside opened the doors as the pilot shut down the engines, the rotors slowly winding down.
As soon as Sergeant Vasin jumped out of the helicopter, AK-105 in his hands. He slowly scanned the area, ignoring the rusting hulks arrayed around the marsh as he looked for any ponies in the clearing. Behind him, the helicopter slowly powered down as he and the three men in his fireteam relaxed, seeing nothing immediately threatening.
"Sergeant, isn't that a Panzer III?" One of his men asked, motioning towards one of the wrecks.
Vasin looked closely at the rusting wreck, half-submerged in the water of the marsh, and noted that it bore a very, very close resemblance to the German tank that his countrymen had fought seventy years earlier. He made a snap decision.
"Czeslaw, you stay here with the helicopter." He ordered. "Lenoid and Gennady, you're with me. We're getting a closer look at that."
All three Naval Infantrymen approached the rusting hulk, stopping once they reached a point a few meters away. The final detail that sealed it was the faded iron cross on the hull of the tank, just below the turret.
"I thought we were alone..." Lenoid asked a few seconds later.
"These came through a long time ago, Lenoid. Look at the rust." Gennady replied.
Vasin looked around the edge of the clearing, the rusting hulks resolving into familiar shapes he vaguely remembered from his history classes. A T-34 lay in the mud not sixty meters away, its' turret knocked to the ground beside it, while another Panzer III sat a few meters away from it, the turret on the German tank turned towards the Russian one.
"It looks like they were brought here mid-battle." Vasin noted as he looked around. "Either that, or shortly after. I wonder-"
He was cut off as a shot rang out, a bullet striking the hull of the German tank in front of them a moment later. Startled, Vasin and his two companions ran into cover behind the large tank, Vasin himself aiming over the front hull of the wreck. What he saw startled him.
Sixty meters away, a man stood, holding a bolt-action rifle. He appeared to be in the last rags of a uniform, torn and ripped in several places. A relic of a bygone era.
And pointing a weapon at them.
"You'll never kill me, you horse bastards!" The man shouted in Russian, taking another shot at them and missing wildly.
"Sergeant, I have a clear shot." Czeslaw said over the radio. "Do I take it?"
"Negative, Private!" Vasin said rapidly. "Let me try to resolve this."
With that, Vasin stood up, waving an arm over the top of the tank.
"Comrade, stop shooting!" He yelled, and the man appeared startled.
"Who the fuck are you? Are you one of them?" The man yelled at him.
"No! And if you stop shooting at us, you'll be able to find out!" Vasin said.
"Come out from behind that damned tank, and I'll consider it!" The man yelled.
"You sure it's a good idea, Sergeant?" Lenoid asked.
"Nyet." Vasin replied, before walking around the front of the tank and towards the man.
As he approached, the man lowered his rifle, and Vasin could see quite a few more details than before. The man was probably in his nineties, judging by the white hair he had, and he wore a Soviet-era tanker's uniform, blue-grey in color. He was holding a Mosin-Nagant rifle, one that seemed quite worn and used.
"So, who the hell are you? And where were you all those years ago?" The man asked as Vasin closed to within twenty feet. "And what the hell are you holding?"
Vasin stopped, giving a sharp salute. "Sergeant Vasin, Naval Infantryman of the Russian Federation. And you are...?"
"Corporal Sergei Yudin, 5th Mechanized Corps, Soviet Union." The man - Sergei - said, slinging his rifle around his shoulder and saluting. "Russian Federation, eh? How long has it been since I arrived in... 1943?" Sergei asked after a short pause.
"Seventy-two years." Vasin said, turning towards his fireteam members. "Lenoid, Gennady! You can come out from behind the tank!"
The two Privates did so several seconds later, jogging over to the pair.
"Now, I have some questions." Vasin said, turning back towards Sergei and motioning towards the scattered wrecks. "What the hell happened here?"
"I don't know, Comrade." Sergei admitted. "The test went wrong, and we were here. My crew found itself in the middle of this damned field, with a few dozen German tanks - as well as a few allied ones - around us. We fought it out, and only myself and three other crewmen in our tank survived. They all died many years ago, and I remain." He finished sadly.
"We'll get you out with our helicopter once we're done here." Vasin said, motioning towards the idle Ka-27 only eighty yards away. "In any case, what tank were you in? And what test are you talking about?"
Sergei turned towards their helicopter, confusion in his eyes. "And what the hell is - No, I shall not ask. Follow me, and I'll lead you to the monstrosity of a vehicle that has kept me alive."
With that, the old tanker turned around, picking up his pace into a quick jog as they headed across the field. Within a minute, it became clear that they were heading towards a gigantic wreck, bigger than any that Vasin had yet seen. It looked to be one long, stretched tank, more than thirty meters long. The entire top seemed to be studded with various turrets, from smaller ones housing machine guns to the largest one, a huge turret that housed a pair of large naval cannons. All around it, hundreds of pieces of metal were scattered, with a large hole more than three feet across in the center.
"Behold," Sergei said as he slowed down, stretching out his hands. "The KV-VI Land Fortress."
"I thought it was a myth." Vasin noted.
"Well, what you see is the prototype we were testing." Sergei said, turning around to face them. "It turned like a pig, and we had trouble going up the hills, but it could unleash hell upon the Fascists. I was in the forward compartment when it happened: A blinding flash, and then this battle, and we were alone."
"You survived here for seventy years?" Vasin asked in surprise.
"Da." Sergei said, nodding. "I may be old now, but I quickly figured out how this area worked. The others died within three years, and I hunted in the woods for food, finding the occasional trees with strange fruits. I used everything I could, from the machine guns of the German tanks to the personal weapons of the crewmen."
"Do you wish to leave with us?" Vasin asked.
"To where would you go?" Sergei rhetorically asked. "Yes, I would. I have lived in these swamps for far too long."
"Retrieve what you wish, then." Vasin said.
Sergei nodded, walking through the hole in the hull of the tank. He emerged two minutes later, with a worn pack on his back and with his Mosin-Nagant in his hands.
"I am ready." Sergei said.
"To the helicopter, then." Vasin said.
The takeoff was uneventful, although Sergei clutched as his seat the entire time. As the flight went on and he got over his unease, the questions came quickly, and Vasin answered as many of them as he could. In return, Sergei told the group stories about his time there, including the many things he had found out.
Vasin made sure to record all of it.
"An old tanker, from the Great Patriotic War?" Captain Volkov asked over his com headset. "That is very, very interesting. I shall like to meet this man in the future. For now, fly him to the Admiral Nakhimov and debrief him. We'll need what he knows."
A technician walked up to Volkov as soon as he ended the transmission, saluting. Volkov returned it, wondering what news he would receive.
"Sir, the offensive shall begin in four hours." The technician said. "I was told to relay news from forward units: Elements of our forces have sighted the city. They will move to deployment positions within the hour."
"Thank you. You are dismissed." Volkov said, turning to look out the windows of the bridge. It was only a matter of time before the first aerial units were launched, and with them the forces that would take the center of the city. His ship itself sailed forward, with the city itself just over the horizon.
It would all be over shortly.
Written by Merchent343The Rainbow Brony and CommanderWolffe
Author's Note
Almost a month since the last chapter. One more intermission out, and then Act VI starts.
This would have been out much sooner had I not been a retard and forgotten to give it to The_Rainbow_Brony (My Editor). Who was very confused when I asked him for a progress report. Cheers to him for being tolerant enough to overlook all of my many sins and get this done. And to my other, newer editor. As of this chapter, CommanderWolffe, a longtime reader, whom has been added to the team.
Also, I made a mistake earlier in the story, referring to some soldiers as 'Russian Marines'. The Russian Naval Infantry is the equivalent of the US Marine Corps, but it is not called the 'Russian Marine Corps'. I will be correcting this earlier in the story, as well as other errors as needed. If you see any, don't feel afraid to tell me.
Intermission - Diplomacy and Initiation
1445 hours Nine (9) days after first contact
[ Gerald_R_Ford ] [ C:\Database\Logs\Radio\G82.rl ] [ Radio log on ??.??.2015, 1430-1435 hours ]
[Radar Operator]: "UAV Station, I have a contact I want you to check out. Sending coordinates now. Can you divert a Triton?" [UAV Station]: "... Copy Radar, coordinates received. We're moving a Triton towards the location." [UAV Station]: "Five hundred meters to Line of Sight... Two hundred... We have sight on the contacts." [Radar Operator]: "Copy. What's the verdict?" [UAV Station]: "... Triton 4-1 has visual on five griffons, all heading towards the firebase. Requesting further instructions." [CIC]: "4-1, this is Gerald R. Ford Actual. Keep in visual contact, but do not engage. I'll sort out the situation. Captain Henderson out."
Lieutenant Brownfield, fifteen-year veteran of the British Army, was worried.
For a man who was used to having complete confidence in his assigned mission, that is and of itself was unusual. He had trained to become a soldier, and had risen through hard work to his current rank.
Thus, being asked to deal with an sudden situation involving an entirely new species was a first.
Several minutes beforehand, he had received a communication from Captain Henderson on the Gerald R. Ford , containing a developing situation with detailed information. A group of five griffons, a species his soldiers had only encountered - and been attacked by - on patrol, was flying towards the Firebase. And while none of the analysts were absolutely sure of their intentions, the leading theory was a diplomatic situation.
All of this led to the current moment. Lieutenant Brownfield was normally in command of a Platoon of Her Majesty's soldiers, but he was also regarded as the correct one to deal with this situation. Or, at least, so said his superiors. In reality, he didn't really know what to make of the move, aside from knowing he would do the best he could.
He looked out from his position by one of the 'gates' to the firebase: Fortified by sandbagged walls, and with a moveable barrier to block any unauthorized entry, there were five of them at varying positions around the camp. Two others had been built with the arrival of the National Guard group, bringing the total number of these high-defended locations up to seven. This one was notable as the largest, and most prominent one visible.
"Now if only the bloody things would hurry up." Lieutenant Brownfield muttered to himself. It brought to mind a very common saying in the Army: Hurry up and wait.
Ten minutes later, as the Lieutenant was beginning to grow frustrated, he caught a glimpse of something silver in the sky: A single MQ-4 Triton. And trailing two hundred meters behind it were five small, brown spots, almost invisible at the distance of six kilometers. They grew ever closer as the MQ-4 Triton broke off to land at the small Firebase airfield.
At a distance of three hundred meters, the group of five Griffons descended to the ground, and began walking towards Lieutenant Brownfield's position. Several of the soldiers that were in the area tensed slightly as the creatures approached, but kept their rifles pointed downward in a nonthreatening manner.
As they came to within fifty yards, Lieutenant Brownfield walked from his place beside the open gate and into the middle of the path inside, placing himself clearly in view. Now that they were closer, Brownfield could see that four of them had light armor on and swords on their waists, while the fifth wore nothing of the sort, and instead was carrying some sort of bag on its' back.
When they finally came to within ten feet of him, they stopped, looking at him. Finally, the one without armor cleared its' throat and spoke up in a clear, male, Germanic-accented voice.
"Greetings." The Griffon said. "I am Prinz Gemüt Kennen, of the Griffonic Empire. Do you understand me?"
"I do." Lieutenant Brownfield replied, stepping forward a few feet. "Lieutenant Samuel Brownfield, of the British Army. And I would suppose you're here for a reason?"
"We are. Are you the ranking official at this post?" The Griffon asked.
The Lieutenant nodded. "I am. I may direct you to somebody higher up, if you wish." Brownfield wouldn't mind. His 'Net' unit, linked up to one of the sensors around the gate, had just reported the all-clear for explosive materials, or other dangerous substances. Thus, he was damn confident this was not a trap.
"That would be acceptable, if you could do so." The Griffon stated.
"I'll make a call." Lieutenant Brownfield promised, stepping back a few feet and leaving the Griffon looking at him in confusion.
With the system priority he had temporarily been assigned, his transmission request was pushed up to the top. Moments later, his 'Net' unit connected to Captain Henderson.
"What do you need, Lieutenant?" A voice said over his headset a moment later. "Have you made contact with the Griffons? What's the situation?"
"I've swept them for explosives and hidden weapons. They're clear. They also want to speak to a higher authority." Lieutenant Brownfield noted. "And I doubt they mean the good Colonel Degtyarev."
He could practically hear the grimace at the other end. "That would turn the situation around, wouldn't it? Lieutenant, please have them hold. I will be there shortly."
"Copy. Lieutenant Brownfield out." With a single eye movement, he closed the connection and turned around, walking back towards the Griffons, ready to hand out the news.
1452 hours
The CH-53GA Sea Stallion crossed the shoreline, heading for the gate to the Firebase as quickly as it could. All air assets in the area quickly made way for the flight, as their controllers instructed them to divert as it went through.
"Is your leader almost here?" One of the Griffons in armor asked impatiently.
"He had to fly out from his ship. Captain Henderson is inbound." Lieutenant Brownfield repeated for the third time.
The Griffon, however, snorted. "A Captain ? Isn't that a low rank for your leader? And you don't even have wings!"
"The Navy of the United States works differently. I wouldn't know the specifics, I am from the United Kingdom." Brownfield said. "As for the second, I am not at liberty to say."
A few seconds later, a quiet, rapid thumping noise began to sound in the distance. It slowly grew and grew, until it was almost a roar, as the massive CH-53 flew over the gate, turning around once it passed over and going into a circle around the area. The Griffons stared at it as though it had come from another world. Which, of course, it had.
The helicopter tipped upwards as it descended, touching down slightly beyond the edge of the camp, from which several soldiers watched what was happening with interest. Emblazoned on the side near the tail was the word NAVY, contrasting sharply against the grey-blue paint.
The door on the side, just aft of the cockpit, opened, allowing four US Marines to walk out, forming a perimeter around the newly-landed helicopter. And out into the sunlight stepped Captain Henderson.
Gemüt Kennen had witnessed many strange things over the past week. Truth be told, he admitted to himself, he should have expected this entire situation to be perfectly real, and not just the unconfirmed reports that he had received. In the end, however, it was those increasingly-distressing reports that drove him out here.
Three days previously, the embassy for the Griffon Empire in Canterlot had received unusual news: Large-scale Equestrian Royal Guard movements, a cessation of all news reports from Trottingham, and rumors of an invasion by an unknown species. Naturally, this had quickly attracted the interest of the Griffon Empire, and so it was with dread that they passed it all along to Bergfeste Hauptstadt, the seaside capital of the Griffon Empire, build heavily on top of - and into - the steep slopes of a massive mountain.
One day ago, a reply had come back: Gather all possible information and make contact.
Being a Lower Prinz, still part of the nobility of his beloved country but not having a claim to the throne, he easily recognized the distinctive handwriting of Kaiser Freundlich Whitewing, the Kaiser - Emperor - of the Griffon Empire. He could read between the lines as easily as any other, and the Kaiser had attached large value to this mission.
And thus he had written a quick letter to his wife, left the embassy in charge of his subordinates, and left with a detachment of guards, cynically giving himself only fifty percent odds of surviving this. He had gone in a beeline towards the area that the new creatures had reportedly settled in, expecting it to either be a pack of lies, or his death.
The first bizarre occurrence happened when a white object had zipped past them at nearly six hundred kilometers per hour, before going into a sharp curve and ending up several hundred meters in front of him. Unnerved, he had continued on his flight, with that flying object leading the way.
After a short time, the second surprise came. On the shores of the Great Western Sea, where before there had only been vast fields, stood a massive encampment. It was nearly five kilometers around, and parts of it hugged the shoreline tightly. There was a long, grey, rectangular area that was completely flat along the waterfront, and several massive ships were in the water, of a make he had never seen.
The flying object began to descend, as did his group, angling for what seemed to be the entrance to the strange, new city.
One landing, an awkward first contact, and several minutes later, and here he was, about to make contact with the leader of this new species.
Needless to say, he knew he needed to do this perfectly. Both for his sake, and for that of the Griffon Empire.
When the create who had walked out of the flying contraption, presumably the leader, closed to within a meter, Gemüt's heart nearly leapt out of his chest when it held one of its' strange claws out. Gingerly, the Prinz returned the gesture, grasping its' clew in his and slowly shaking it.
"I am Gemüt Kennen, Lower Prinz of the Griffon Empire." The Griffon said as he broke the handshake.
"Daniel Henderson, Captain of the USS Gerald R. Ford, and commander of the Coalition of Human forces." The creature said, in what sounded like an Equestrian accent. "It's good to see a species here that does not attack at first sight."
"I am glad as well for the peaceful welcoming." Gemüt said. An understatement, to say the least. "I am here on behalf of the Griffon Empire. We had recently noticed your arrival here, and were curious as to the circumstances. I would also prefer to clear any misunderstandings that may occur."
"Gladly." The 'Captain' said, gesturing towards the camp with its' claw. Gemüt noticed, however, that its' appendage lacked the long claws that Griffons were accustomed to, and was unsure as to how to precisely classify it. "Would you wish to discuss this inside?"
"Certainly." Gemüt turned towards his guards, who were closely observing the creatures closest to them, before addressing them in Lower Griffonic. "You two, remain outside. I will go inside of their camp for discussions, and you other two will remain beside me as escorts."
"As the Prinz commands." All four responded.
Gemüt turned around to notice the 'Captain' staring at him. "Yes?"
"You speak Russian?" It asked.
"I do not know what this 'Russian' is." The Prinz responded, shaking his head. "That was Lower Griffonic."
"Ah." The creature responded, nodding its' head. "Shall we continue?"
"Certainly."
Gemüt slowly settled down in the chair, looking across the table at Captain Henderson. He was no stranger to doing things as a bipedal: The physiology of his species made them suitable to both quadruped and bipedal actions. Sitting in an awkwardly-shaped chair was simply an extension of that.
"So, shall we get started?" Henderson asked. Gemüt nodded, and so the 'Human' started into an explanation of how they appeared, and the happenings since. The more the Griffon heard, the more it sounded as if it was all a tragic mistake.
"... And now we are moving on another city of theirs." Henderson finished. Both of Gemüt's guards stood at attention to the side, but even the Prinz could see that they were startled by all that they had heard.
"It sounds as if you intend to wage war against Equestria." The Prinz noted.
"They attacked us, so we are returning the favor." Henderson noted. "We shall continue until they reach out for peace, or until they are gone."
"I can relate. I extend the recognition of the Griffon Empire towards you, Captain Henderson." Gemüt said, knowing that it was the best course of action at the time. "If you would allow it, I shall send one of my guards back to the Embassy in Canterlot with a note regarding this. Until then, would you allow myself and my guards to stay here?"
"All of that is agreeable." Henderson noted. "Good day, Prinz Gemüt Kennen."
"Good day, Captain Henderson."
Meanwhile, two miles to the south of the city of Manehatten, the combined human forces ground to a halt. Five thousand soldiers, all waiting for a single signal...
Two hundred feet off of the ground, and five kilometers to the south, over one hundred helicopters of various types flew in close formation, heading for the city. Mi-24s, Mi-17s, Mi-28s, AH-64s, MH-60s, and nearly every other type of helicopter available to transport vehicles and men.
In one of the lead Mi-24s, Lieutenant Vasilyev clutched his rifle, staring out of the window. His entire group was crammed into the troop compartment of the multi-use Russian helicopter, along with half a dozen other Russian Naval Infantry.
He gritted his teeth as the helicopter bounced upward, riding out a wave of turbulence from the steadily darkening skies. A storm was rolling in, and they needed to be on the ground before it reached full force.
And with that, he steeled himself for the fight ahead.
Deep beneath the harbor of Manehatten, a lone submarine quietly rested on the bottom. Slowly, silently, it began to rise upward, heading for the surface above.
The assault was about to begin.
Written by Merchent343The Rainbow Brony and CommanderWolffe
Author's Note
The 70,000 word total has been broken. I am now happy. Next: On to 80,000!
Act VI is just around the corner.
(As a note, I do occasionally switch to a nonhuman Point-of-View. In this story, however, such happenings will be very rare)
Also, writing diplomacy. I don't think I'll ever try a massive chapter with it again. It's several times harder than writing anything else, and there were several sections I rewrote completely as a result. Multiple times.
1516 hours Nine (9) days after first contact In the bay of the Equestrian city of Manehatten
The SSBN Alexander Nevsky slowly ascended to ten meters below the surface, the crew inside waiting tensely for the kickoff of the offensive.
The digital clock on the wall changed again, its' surface now reading [3:17:01] . Several of the crewmen made the final adjustments necessary to launch missiles. There were a total of eight targets, spread across a vast area, and each one had to be programmed into the 3M-14 missiles that would be launched within the next few minutes.
The clock continued to advance, oblivious to the tension filling the air around it.
Lieutenant Miller finished his gentle bank, the rest of his flight forming around him. He was the lead element in the assault: Sixteen F/A-18 fighter/bombers, supported by four Russian Su-33s and all eight Swedish JAS 39 Gripen fighters, in close formation at 12,000 feet up. Ten thousand feet below them, a single B-1B Lancer flew alone, on its' own strike mission. And twenty miles to the south flew a single E-2D Hawkeye, providing up-to-date radar information. Together, this strike force would spearhead the attack on the city.
If they could reach the city in the first place.
His flight split up as they flew around a large storm cloud, one of the many they had encountered in the past few minutes. Over the city itself, from the latest reports, they filled up the sky from four thousand to five thousand feet, and had apparently only formed in the last few hours. The first aircraft - a Japanese F-2 fighter, one of two with the Human forces - that had flown through one of them suffered a partial failure of some electrical systems, resulting in said fighter being forced to divert. Were an older fighter without built-in surge protectors - or with sensitive electronic systems on board - to fly through, the result could be a temporary shutdown of most aircraft systems.
"Two o' clock, hole in the storm." The thickly accented voice of one of the Russian pilots said over the radio. "This might be only chance to go down."
"Roger that, Vikhr-3." Lieutenant Miller replied. "All flight elements, we're going to duck through the clouds. Distance to the city is twenty-two kilometers, and the hole in the clouds is three kilometers to the north-east. Follow me in."
"1-2 copies." His wingman replied.
"1-3 copies."
"1-4 copies."
"2-1 copies..."
The entire formation quickly reported in, with all elements reporting they were ready. At that point, Miller had already finished a low bank towards the hole in the clouds, with the rest of the flight following him. Upon reaching it, he lowered power and pitched down.
The wind rushed past his jet as he screamed downward at Mach 0.8, the rest of the formation close behind him. The digital altimeter rapidly counted down, rapidly going from 11,560 feet to 8,670. It continued going down as he swept between storm clouds, the muted rushing of the wind outside being replaced by the soft patter of rain against his canopy.
"Pull up at six hundred meters!" Miller nearly yelled into the radio. "When you're level, arm all weapons! Don't get caught with your pants down!"
Together, the flight started to level off at about two thousand feet, the ocean below them marked with hundreds of white capped waves as the storm built up strength. Rain poured down, streaking the canopies of the strike force momentarily before being blown off by the wind.
They were only mere miles from their targets as the strike force banked towards land, heading for their targets with blinding speed.
The B-1B bomber was the first to reach the target.
Just as the clocks in the strike force reached 3:22, the large, thin bomber streaked in at two hundred feet over the water, engines screaming as it streaked past at slightly above the speed of sound. The ponies inside of the city looked on in shock as the American-designed aircraft ducked under the bridge, afterward rising to six hundred feet in altitude. It angled for the Equestrian Navy Docks and opened its' bomb bay.
Guided by three MQ-4C Tritons orbiting the city at three thousand feet, themselves unnoticed by the ponies, the B-1B aimed itself for one particular area of the docks. As soon as it reached a designated point, the rotary launcher inside of the bay released thirty CBU-87 Cluster Bombs one by one, guided by a 'smart' WCMD system installed on the tail. Each one was guided towards its' target with unerring precision, achieving a large spin and releasing the bomblets contained inside at three hundred feet.
Every CBU-87 contained 202 individual bomblets, each a yellow cylinder twenty inches long and eight inches wide. They were dispersed by the spin effect into an area almost forty meters by forty meters, allowing for a massive area to be covered. This meant that, in the span of twenty seconds, over six thousand individual explosions rocked the docks, blasting apart ships and tearing through docks of vital military supplies, everything from crossbows to armor.
As the B-1B Lancer pulled into a steep dive, it left behind a trail of twenty-four wooden ships that had been reduced to splinters and burning wreckage, dozens of destroyed warehouses, and a death toll of Equestrian Royal Guards that ran into the thousands.
Moments later, the second part of the strike force arrived.
The twenty-eight fighters and fighter/bombers of the second wave streaked in low, launching precision-guided munitions at the twenty-two remaining ships in the harbor, powerful shockwaves echoing across the waters and through the city. One galleon, under way in the center of the harbor, had its' upper half simply disintegrate under the force of 20mm rounds and two Mk.82 bombs.
One minute had passed since the B-1B bomber had first streaked in when the Alexander Nevsky , the top of its' sail ten meters below the surface, initiated launch procedures.
The first 3M-14 missile was ejected from the submarine the moment after the launch bay door opened with a massive push of compressed gas. This stream of gas - along with its' natural buoyancy - carried it rapidly towards the surface, which it breached moments later. As soon as the rear of the missile exited the water, the rocket motor ignited, sending the missile soaring skyward.
Six seconds after the first one was released, a second missile was launched, along with six others in the course of the next one and a half minutes.
The first one streaked to an altitude of three thousand feet, before diving down on its' target. The headquarters for the Royal Guard in Manehatten, identified several days earlier by prisoner reports, took a direct hit in the center of the large compound, flattening most of the buildings inside as the 450kg warhead detonated.
Two missiles aimed for a point just inside city limits: The train depot. Both missiles arrived within twenty seconds of one another, sending a locomotive into the air as four empty trains, as well as dozens of locomotives, went up in a massive series of blasts.
Two more guided themselves to large cloud formations high in the sky. Nearly invisible against the normal backdrop of white clouds, but easily seen against the dark storm clouds, stood two large structures identified by intelligence as basing points for Equestrian Guards who were Pegasi. They stood proudly in the sky, as they had for the past hundred years...
... Until, one after another, the two 3M-14 missiles exploded in the air next to them, blowing the fragile buildings apart, and sending dozens of pegasi hurtling to the ground below in shock. With them went half of the weather control capabilities of the town, and the largest cache of weapons outside of the now-destroyed docks.
A sixth blew apart a railroad bridge ten miles outside of the city, leading across a narrow gorge. Only three and a half minutes had passed since the attack began.
The last two missiles impacted along the destroyed Guard docks, annihilating what few efforts had begun at damage control, and putting an exclamation mark on the damage that had already done.
Lieutenant Vasilyev held onto the bar above his head tightly as the Mi-24 jostled back and forth, the turbulence rising as it - and the rest of the massive formation of helicopters - went through the leading edge of the storm. Out of the window set into the cargo bay door, green farmland passed quickly, with scattered groups of houses spotted around the landscape.
"We're one minute out from the edge of the city!" Sokolov said over the radio, first in Russian and then in English. "We've been assigned to Landing Area Five, along the docks of the city! I'll provide air support once you are out."
"Copy." Vasilyev said in reply, before tuning his radio to broadcast to the entire group inside of the troop bay. "Comrades, we have the assigned objective of securing the city. There are no objectives, no orders of battle. They would have become invalid the moment we entered combat.
"Approximately five minutes from now, the ships of the fleet assigned to here will be in sight. We'll have constant air support from a variety of combat aircraft and helicopters, so don't be afraid to call for it. We'll relay all requests via the 'Net' units, so mark your targets and don't fuck it up.
"One more thing: Minimize civilian casualties. Those of you to whom this is directed know who you are." Kozlov huffed indignantly. "If you intentionally cause harm to the civilians, no matter what species, I will personally shove my boot up your ass until you can taste it.
"Good luck. 5-2 out."
All across the helicopter formation, Vasilyev mused, other Lieutenant and Captains would be giving their own speeches. With the land below their helicopter changing from suburbs to the city itself, he readied himself for combat, flicking the fire selector on his AUG A3 from [SAFE] to [AUTO] , and resting his finger above the trigger guard.
The stream of helicopters slowly broke up, as the different teams took on different approaches to their targets. Vasilyev's Mi-24, along with half a dozen other helicopters, went low, flying between ten-story buildings as Sokolov made a beeline for their target. The city suddenly cut out, replaced by blue water, as their helicopter crossed over the large river that led to the bay inside of the city. Clouds of smoke obscured much of the shoreline, as the massive amounts of rain pouring down did nothing to extinguish the fires.
A flight of four American MQ-8 Fire Scouts zipped past the window, the unmanned helicopters armed to the teeth with short-range rockets and machine guns. The aircraft shuddered as the sharp crack of thunder came, drowning out the roar of the helicopter rotors for a mere moment.
"Elements of the Americans on the ground have reached the edge of the city." Sokolov said over the radio. "Twenty seconds to landing. Be prepared to get out as quickly as possible."
Vasilyev felt the helicopter lurch beneath him as it descended, but he banished the brief bout of nausea that threatened to rise to the back of his mind. The sky outside lit up briefly as a bolt of lightning tore through the sky, only to fade once it disappeared.
Seconds later, as the water below seemed to be coming ever closer, the ground came into view in the form of a concrete-covered city street. Two more seconds passed before the helicopter touched down, coming to a halt moments later.
The door slid open, and Vasilyev jumped out, his boots splashing down on the wet street. Several dozen ponies seemed to be staring at his group from a distance, but it seemed as if most had taken shelter inside.
Two MH-60 Blackhawks touched down in front of him, the infantry inside quickly exiting the helicopter as the assault continued. A single Mi-10 came to a hover over the street, a single BMP-3 slung beneath it. The cables unlatched, dropping the armored vehicle gently onto the ground, and a group of infantry quickly stepped up to crew it.
With some shouts from Vasilyev and the other officers and noncoms of the group, the men in the group were quickly rounded up, and in short time Vasilyev found himself cautiously walking down a street two blocks from the landing zone.
"Where are all the guards?" Novikov asked from his position two meters to Vasilyev's right.
"I don't know." Vasilyev said, using his 'Net' unit to patch into the UAV feeds. So far, they were picking up very little movement in his area, other than his men and-
"Find cover!" Vasilyev shouted, moments before sliding behind a stall at the side of the road - just as a bolt of unicorn magic flashed through the space he had vacated. Cursing the poor weather that the massive storm above them was pouring down on them, Vasilyev rose from behind his cover and pulled the trigger slightly, sending out a single round towards where he had seen the head signature on the 'Net' unit.
With a quick series of vocal commands, Vasilyev switched the 'Net' unit to display the MQ-4 Triton feed for his area in thermal. Instantly, dozens of targets appeared, widening to hundreds when it began to detect the ponies hidden inside of buildings, both guards and civilians.
Meanwhile, the rest of his group had taken cover behind what they could find, with two careless Russian Naval Infantry lying down in the street. Vasilyev couldn't tell if they were dead or not, but didn't have time to check as another magical bolt flashed overhead.
"Overwatch, this is 5-2-Actual." Vasilyev yelled into his 'Net' unit's microphone as the roar of a Pecheneg machine gun sounded over the general din of battle just now picking up. "I need a pair of your American UAV helicopters over here, now! We've encountered resistance!"
"Copy, 5-2-Actual." He heard a few second alter. "We're re-routing a pair of Fire Scouts to your position. Inbound in ten seconds."
"Copy, Overwatch." Vasilyev replied.
Moments later, a pair of the American-made MQ-8B Fire Scouts flew out from behind his forces, machine guns firing. A rocket zipped out from one of them, blasting a point on the street, followed shortly by a shrill scream as it hit something. Vasilyev rose from behind his cover, using the suppressive fire provided by the Fire Scouts to fire on the position of an enemy down the street.
Suddenly, a bright yellow bolt slammed into one of the one of the MQ-8s, shredding the engine and most of the onboard equipment. As the fatally wounded helicopter began to tilt sideways, spewing smoke, Vasilyev took cover behind the stall again. With a loud crash , it slammed into the side of the building above Vasilyev at the fourth floor, breaking through the wall and coming to a rest inside of the building.
The other Fire Scout rose upward, unleashing three rockets on the spot where the bolt has come from, before bathing the area in machine gun fire. A single crossbow bolt thudded into the cover that Vasilyev was using, penetrating through the wood four inches from him.
I wonder if it's too late to request a transfer? Vasilyev grimly thought as he rose to fire again. Hell seems to be a preferable alternative right now.
Sergeant Davit looked across the large, grassy valley at his target. The 'City of Canterlot', as he had been told was its' name, was built into, and stuck out of, the side of a steep mountain. It was practically built into a vertical cliff, with several thousand feet to drop if you fell. His team had opted for parachutes, but Davit knew they wouldn't need them anyway.
At least, he didn't intend to use them. You only needed them if you fell: He wouldn't.
His team had traveled via a Humvee over a distance of one hundred kilometers, along half-overgrown back roads, and sometimes mere dirt paths. They had encountered precisely one monster, a strange, winged mishmash of creatures that his team member in the gunner seat had made short work of.
They had left the Humvee five kilometers back, in a secluded location where it was unlikely to be found.
Letting out a short sigh, he stepped away from the treeline and began the twenty-kilometer walk to the base of the mountain, the rest of his team following closely behind him.
Written by Merchent343The Rainbow Brony and CommanderWolffe
Author's Note
Well, here it is. After two weeks in development hell, the start of Act VI.
1602 hours Nine (9) days after first contact In the bay of the Equestrian city of Manehatten
First Lieutenant Grishin, captain of the Svetlyak-class patrol boat молниеносный, looked out of the bridge windows as his ship sailed into the bay of the city. Although clouds of smoke and thick rain obscured his view of the city somewhat, he was still able to make out the thin shapes of moving helicopters moving among the building.
"Russian warship, this is Overwatch." A voice said over the radio in Russian. "We need you to move into the harbor and assist units along the shoreline. We'll redirect their transmissions to you."
"Copy Overwatch." Grishin replied, not taking his eyes off of the city. After a few moments, he turned around, looking at the crew on the bridge.
"Well, what are you waiting for? A goddamned invitation?" Grishin demanded when nobody moved after several seconds. "Battlestations! Man the forward gun! Just get to your positions!"
As he felt the ship alter course slightly, an American MV-22 flashed by, only two hundred meters over the water, and heading straight towards the docks...
1610 hours Outer areas of the Equestrian city of Manehatten
Sokolov quickly pushed the control stick on the Mi-24VM sideways, letting the large helicopter narrowly dodge a bolt of light previous heading straight towards it. Internally, the Russian cursed the 'magic' that the ponies were able to use: Flares were utterly useless against it, and it moved very, very quickly.
Above and behind him, his co-pilot and gunner pressed down on the trigger for the Yak-B 12.7mm chin gun, spraying rounds onto the rooftop the shot had come from. The houses in the outer areas of the city were only two to three stories tall, allowing him to keep a watch on them while he worked with the ground troops. It was very much unlike the center of the city, where skyscrapers rose on all sides, and dangers often came from above or to the sides.
Below him, a single American M1A2 Abrams rolled forward, the remotely-control machinegun on top firing: Several ponies down the street toppled, their hastily-assembled barricades of wooden objects unable to stop the high-velocity rounds. A rocket flashed from another Mi-24 hovering three dozen meters away, blowing a hole in the barricade and sending debris skyward.
Infantry on the streets began to move forward behind the American tank, firing at the ponies. Resistance at the end of the block crumbled rapidly, leaving them free to advance onward, until the next barricade showed up.
Sokolov checked the ammunition and fuel count, confirming that he still had plenty of both, and slowly advanced his helicopter forward-
*crack*
*boom*
Sokolov shielded his eyes as a bright flash erupted two blocks away, nearly blinding him. The roar of thunder was easily audible, even through the bulletproof glass surrounding the cockpit. With the rain still beating down in huge amounts, it was not unreasonable for lightning strikes to occur.
However, what was unexpected was the large cloud, nearly twenty meters in diameter, nearly four stories above the smoking remains of the M1A2 Abrams at the head of the advance. The entire turret was warped by the immense heat, and a column of black smoke was coming from the center of the mangled tank.
Around the edges of the cloud, bits of gold shone through the rain: The armor worn by the pony guards.
Narrowing his eyes, Sokolov increased the power, gaining in altitude as he did so. His co-pilot correctly interpreted what he was going to do, and prepared accordingly.
Four S-8KOM rockets flashed from the rocket pod mounted on the left pylon. All four HEAT rockets impacted the near-solid cloud, detonating with a loud bang . The dark cloud blew apart, throwing pegasi outward at high speeds, and sending small bolts of lightning in random directions.
"Overwatch, this is Poryv-1." Sokolov said over the radio a moment later. "We have witnessed several Pegasi harnessing the weather. They have used a cloud to launch a bolt of lightning onto the ground. We have destroyed the threat."
"Copy that, Poryv-1." The E-2D Hawkeye orbiting forty kilometers away, callsign Overwatch, responded. "We've gotten several reports similar to yours. Be on the watch for low-hanging clouds, and destroy them when possible."
"Copy. Poryv-1 out." Sokolov said, sighing after he stopped transmitting. The things he ran into simply grew stranger and stranger, and he did not know when he would finally understand all of it, or if he ever would.
Vasilyev leaned out from behind his cover: The stone doorway of a building. Taking quick aim, he fired his Steyr AUG down the street, his rounds striking the stone wall a unicorn was taking cover behind. The unicorn levitated a crossbow above the wall, aiming in Vasilyev's general direction. It missed wildly, striking off of the stone wall the Russian was hiding behind.
The Lieutenant's mind raced, searching for a way out of this situation, when it presented itself. A single BMP-3 came racing down the street from the harbor, the roar of its' engine audible over the sound of the pouring rain. It quickly dodged past the fallen concrete pillar Kozlov and Novikov were taking cover behind, slowing to a stop in front of Vasilyev's position.
The 30mm autocannon in the turret fired, pouring out rounds onto the pony positions. Vasilyev took a deep breath and ran out into the street, grasping onto the side of the armored personnel carrier and pulling himself on top. The slick surface was hard to stand on, but Vasilyev balanced himself as best as he could, and rapped on the top of the turret.
Moments later, the top opened outward, allowing a man to gesture at him to come closer. Vasilyev leaned forward, his head hovering above the entrance hatchway, while the man inside of the turret looked up at him.
"You idiot! What do you want!" The crewman yelled.
"I need you to fire on that stone wall, and the building next to it!" Vasilyev said, gesturing. "It's fucking full of them, and we can't move on until you bright some fire down on it!"
"Alright, alright!" The crewman said. "We'll fucking to it. Mark out the targets, and we'll take them."
"Right." Vasilyev replied, closing the hatch.
He looked up, using the 'Net' interface to mark the building itself, and then the positions that the Guards inside were firing crossbows and magic from. The 100mm cannon housed in the turret rose to engage the first one, firing a shell into the side of the building, and taking out a good portion of the front of the first three floors. It then hosed the rest with the 30mm autocannon, killing the survivors. The next twenty seconds was spent repeating the process, finally removing the obstacles to their advance.
Vasilyev jumped off of the top of the BMP-3, landing on the rain-soaked road, and began to advance, rifle held at the ready. behind him, the rest of his teammates followed, along with the other Russians and Americans he had received and reinforcements during his advance.
And, Vasilyev grimly thought. We are only eight blocks from the edge of the harbor. Just how long will it take us to capture the city?
1628 hours
Far above the city, circling with the fifteen survivors of the 'Manehatten Royal Guard Weather Station', Fall Wind muttered curses below his breath, enraged at the events of the past few weeks. His own sister had gone missing during the first, failed attack on the bastard creatures invading his land, and half of his unit had been slaughtered over Trottingham, with himself as one of the few survivors.
He even damaged one of their infernal machines, although what good it had done was null and void, with the invaders seemingly having an infinite supply of them.
They even had the audacity to attack his city, his own home! And he had only escaped the strange attack on the Weather Station by sheer luck: He had been tasked to oversee and manage the brewing storm, which was now raging out of control over the city.
Fall Wind scanned the city, looking for a target they could attack without being slaughtered. A bright yellow projectile zipped across the water, exploding against one of the buildings in the city. The pegasus quickly looked around for the source of the projectile, and, seeing a strange ship on the water, correctly assumed it was attempting to slaughter his comrades.
"That ship, down there!" He yelled towards his fellow guards. "It is attack our fair city! Destroy it at all costs!"
Several of the other nodded, and together they dived down, heading for the grey ship.
"Fire!"
The 76mm cannon on the forward deck fired once again, sending a shell towards the shoreline, where it exploded in the street on a target Grishin could not see.
"Target hit!" Somebody on the radio called out in Russian, with an obvious Saint Petersburg accent.. "Thank you for the assistance, comrade!"
"Copy. Let us know if you need anything." Grishin replied.
"We have a problem, Lieutenant!" One of the men on the deck called out, grabbing a rifle and pointing upwards. Grishin went to the bridge windows and looked up.
And froze.
"Shit!" Grishin yelled, running back inside the bridge and grabbing his AK-105 from the wall. The other bridge crew grabbed their weapons as well, not knowing what was going on, but expecting trouble.
As if on cue, several men on the deck began firing, filling the air with rounds. Suddenly, a dead pegasus crashed into the water on the port side of the ship, and a very much living one landed on the deck a moment later. It jumped forward, stabbing one of the crewmen with a spear, and was about to turn on another when the Sergeant on the deck fired his AK-12, killing it.
Grishin ran out of the port side bridge door, running towards the rear of the ship. He fired a burst of four rounds into a pegasus that was just landing, killing it, and was about to start moving again when something slammed him into the wall. He quickly turned with his back to the steel of the ship in time to see a pegasus thrust a spear at him.
Grishin sidestepped quickly, jumping forward and lashing out with the stock of his rifle, knocking the pegasus off of its' precarious position. It tumbled backward into the water, and Grishin moved forward and fired half of his remaining rounds in the area where it had landed.
With that, he moved to clear the rest of his ship of the boarders.
Fall Wind felt himself tumbling backwards, and he landed gracelessly in the water, where he immediately began to sink. He desperately undid the latches on his heavy armor as... Something cut through the water around him. He quickly oriented himself and started swimming upwards and away from the ship, as far as he could possibly go. His lungs started to protest as he neared the surface, so he used his wings to help propel himself upward.
The pegasus gasped for air as his head broke the surface, quickly remembering to swim away from the ship. He looked behind him to see the ship, mostly visible through the falling rain, about sixty meters behind him.
Gritting his teeth, he began to swim for the docks on the shore, hoping he could find something to help him escape. He needed to get out of the city and bring this information to Canterlot, and he had to do it quickly.
Sergeant Davit looked up at the steep mountainside. They were more than halfway there, and already it was huge. The city itself was far up it, and they needed to reach it by midnight if they were to have any success in getting inside.
Outside of the town hall of the city of Trottingham, in the alleyway across the street, a mare scanned the building, looking it over, as if evaluating it.
Evidently satisfied with something, she turned around and quickly trotted away, unnoticed by the other citizens of the city.
Edited by The Rainbow Brony and CommanderWolffe
Author's Note
Well, here's another chapter. If this gets to 150 likes, I'll be sure to jump for joy. I'm not going to promise anything, because I know that I would end up procrastinating. That being said, I'll try to finish the next chapter soon enough.
My first story sucked. A lot. I am rewriting it, so that is taking up my time.
Also, recently a friend got me Ghost Recon: Future Soldier, and I have been diving into that. Took a break from mission five to work on this, so now that this is done, I'll be going back into it.
Is it just me, or is that game too damn addicting?
1825 hours Nine (9) days after first contact In the Equestrian city of Manehatten
Vasilyev ducked behind another large chunk of concrete as the unicorn down the street fired another shot. With the APC burning only twenty feet behind him, the Lieutenant knew only too well what would happen if he were to be hit by the 'magic'.
It had only been two minutes since the unicorn had utterly halted their assault, and helicopter support was still several minutes out. Rising out of cover, Vasilyev fired several bursts towards the unicorn's general position, only to duck back down as a green-yellow orb shot over his head, impacting on the burning APC, and sending bits of metal flying.
"We need to get past this damn pony!" Vasilyev shouted over the local radio. "All units, we lay down fire in five seconds!"
With that, a small timer appeared on his unit's HUD, counting down. When it reached zero, over twenty Russian Naval Infantry, along with the four MVD Spetsnaz, rose and began firing.
The hundreds of individual rounds fired broke the unicorn's shield within moments, killing the unfortunate pony before he had time to react to the dozens of new targets.
"Quickly, forward!" Vasilyev shouted as their target dropped. And, with the only barrier to their progress removed, the Russians began to advance again.
"How much of the city is secure?" Captain Henderson asked as he coordinated the battle from the Gerald R. Ford, over forty kilometers away.
"Eighty-two percent of the mainland section is under our control." One of the technicians at a communications console said in reply. "However, only sixty percent of the island section has been secured. Enemy resistance is reported to be severe, and there have been a total of one hundred and twenty-four confirmed casualties so far."
"Will we secure it by nightfall?"
"We should be able to."
"Good." Henderson said, turning to look out of the window, where a pair of F/A-18 Hornets were being prepared for launch. With a roar faintly audible in the bustling command center, the steam catapult threw the first one off of the ship as it went into full afterburner, quickly gaining altitude. The second followed moments later.
Sokolov felt the slight shudder that ran through his helicopter as the last barrage of rockets was fired. In truth, it was bound to happen eventually: His helicopter's chin gun was almost out, and he had long since passed the halfway mark in fuel.
"Bogdanov, we need to head back." Sokolov said.
"Copy." His gunner replied curtly.
"Overwatch, this is Poryv-1 we're going to RTB. Tell the Sevastopol we're inbound." Sokolov said over the radio a moment later.
"Copy Poryv-1. We'll send a bird to cover for you."
"Thank you, Overwatch. Poryv-1 out." With that final statement, Sokolov tilted the helicopter forward while banking left: In short order, he was flying towards the Sevastopol .
The Amphibious Assault Ship, one of the very few in Russia's inventory before the Civil War that had erupted, had been turned in a resupply and refueling point for the helicopters of the assault force. The forces on the ground needed heavy air support in order to make good progress and reduce casualties, and attack helicopters consumed fuel and ammunition faster than almost anything else in the inventory that they had.
Which is why, as they approached, Sokolov counted no fewer than six helicopters crowding the slick deck, with numerous fuel tanks taking up further room. Fuel lines crisscrossed the deck in a haphazard fashion, and it looked as if one AH-64 Apache were waiting for a chance to land.
"Poryv-1, this in the Sevastopol ." A voice said over his radio a moment later. "We're sorry, but you'll have to wait to land. We've got a lot of aircraft to support right now."
From under the flat, cavernous bow of the ship, an American LCAC landing craft jetted out, carrying two Russian T-90 tanks. Far from simply being a glorified helicopter landing bad, Sokolov mused, it seemed as if the Sevastopol was the center for many of the resupply efforts on the coast.
After several minutes of covering around, two MH-60s lifted off from the deck, filled to the brim with troops. On instructions from the bridge, Sokolov and the other Apache landed carefully on the deck, itself pitching up and down as the storm worked up four foot waves.
Sighing, Sokolov leaned back in his seat. He closed his eyes as men on the deck began to rearm and refuel his helicopter, certain he would need the rest.
1842 hours
"We'll take a two minute break here."
Sergeant Davit saw him men sigh in relief noticeably, sweat easily noticeable on their faces. Hell, even he was tired: Marching dozens upon dozens of kilometers, from thick forest to plain to a goddamn mountainside, was damn hard.
Thankfully, there were a number of narrow paths up the 70-degree mountain slopes, or else it would have been impossible to climb. Judging by the lack of tracks and growing foliage, it was used less often than one would think.
'Well,' Davit thought to himself, 'With a train going up the mountain, why use a humble trail?'
Davit was willing to bet it was not guarded, either.
After a few minutes had passed, Davit sighed and stood up.
"It's time to continue." The Georgian Sergeant said.
"Damn it..." One of his men said. "I wish we had not been in Moscow..."
"If not us, it had to be somebody." Davit said. "At least we can fucking handle it. Third Squad would have had a fit."
"Ha!" One of the Privates, whose name Davit had never caught, blurted out. "After that incident by the border, I thought they would demote Sergeant Darchidze. That Russian was furious."
"The Russians tend to be angry when you drive an APC over a border checkpoint at night. Thankfully, the bastard was drunk, and promptly crashed into a tree." Davit noted.
"I still wonder where he borrowed the vehicles from."
"The Motor Pool officer was drunk as well."
Davit looked up at the looming bulk of the mountain. They still had kilometers of ground to cover, and they had to make it to the city itself by nightfall. After that, their mission could commence.
Author's Note
Sorry for the short chapter, but this is mostly filler until some bigger events later in Act VI. Also, I'm having a hard time getting myself to write lately, with the little break in-between major events and such.
However, I have several more chapters ready to release. Expect more in the coming days.
The Pieces Often Fall Together
2028 hours Nine (9) days after first contact In the Equestrian city of Manehatten
Vasilyev looked out across the docks at the sea beyond them, the water taking up the entirety of the horizon. Elation filled him as he looked upon it. They had done it! They had fought across the entire city, and reached the other side!
"Overwatch, this is 5-2. We have reached the other side of the city." Vasilyev said over the radio a moment later.
"Copy that, 5-2." Overwatch responded a few seconds later. "We've secured most of the city. Hold your current position, and wait for instructions."
"Copy. 5-2 out." Vasilyev replied.
Overhead, one of the American F/A-18s flashed by, flying parallel to the waterfront as it chased something...
Lieutenant Miller fired off another burst from his cannon, ripping apart the flying chariot, and sending the 'passengers' inside flying. Internally, he had reached the point to where he stopped questioning the things he had seen. A group of half a dozen chariots, being pulled by pegasi in formation and flying at Mach 0.85, was one of the lesser things he had seen today.
So far, they had proved easy pickings, and while the unicorns inside had shot bolts at him, they had always missed. He had taken down four so far, and the last two would hopefully be as easy as the first, even with his wingman having broken off several minutes ago.
Suddenly, the two remaining chariots ducked down to a mere four hundred feet above the ground. Miller tilted his jet down, firing off another burst as he did so. It blasted one of the two out of the sky, sending it cartwheeling into the water below them. Only one left. The unicorn in the back fired off a rapid series of bright pink bolts, forcing Miller to dodge quickly to the right.
All of them missed, but it left Miller in a mostly stationary position once he leveled off. Just as he aligned his sights with the chariot, the unicorn in the back did... Something. A bright, pink beam shot out of its' horn, lasting for several seconds as it impacted the left wing.
Miller was suddenly barraged with warnings, as multiple status lights burned a bright red. Data scrolled across his helmet's HUD, warning him of a series of critical failures in the left wing's flaps. He reacted quickly, pulling away from his pursuit and checking both of the engines for damage. After a quick check, he concluded they were still functioning, and so he turned back to the south, towards his carrier.
"Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is 'Slam' 1-2, I am declaring an emergency." Miller said over the radio seconds later.
"Rodger that, 1-2. What is the nature of your emergency?" Overwatch, the E-2 Hawkeye circling far away from the battlefield, asked several seconds later.
"Port wing is hit, unknown total damage." Miller replied. "I've lost my flaps on that wing, and I have half a dozen systems in the red. I can't launch ordinance, and it is possible they might have been affected. I need clearance for an immediate landing."
"You are authorized to land immediately." Overwatch responded after half a minute of silence. "Good luck, 1-2."
"Copy that, Overwatch. Thanks." Miller said, turning off his radio before muttering to himself, "I can't believe I got hit again... Fuck me."
"What's this about getting hit again?" His wingman asked over the squadron band, which Miller had forgotten to switch off.
"My left wing is damaged." Miller deadpanned. He was even less amused when his wingman burst into laughter.
2053 hours
"This is interesting..." Corporal Sergei Yuden, former tank crewmember of the Soviet Union, murmured to himself as he sat down in a room aboard the massive ship he had been 'flown' to. Truthfully, he had never expected to see another human again, aside from the long-buried corpses of his comrades, and those of the Germans. He had given up all hope of being rescued shortly after he had arrived in this strange land, surrounded by enemies.
Surviving those many years had been hard, but with his ever-dwindling ammunition stocks, he had been able to fight off the monsters that came to kill him, and drive away the stranger creatures that tried many times to explore his 'camp'. After almost two decades, the number of things that came to intrude upon him had dwindled to nothing.
Many things, some memorable, others less so, had happened in the years between. To finally be among his countrymen, however different they were now, was truly a relief.
"So, let's start." A man said from across the room, sitting down in the seat across from him. "I am Captain 1st Rank Aleksei Volkov, commander of this ship, and of most of the Russian ground forces at our disposal. I am sure you have many questions, and I would like to get through them as quickly as possible. Ask them now."
"Alright, thank you, comrade Captain." Sergei said. "My first question is, what year is it back home? And what precisely is left of our country?"
"2015." Volkov replied. "Late January. Our country, the former Soyuz Sovetskikh Sotsialisticheskikh Respublik, is long gone. Twenty-four years ago, it dissolved. Communism is gone, and the Russian Federation has come." He finished bluntly.
Sergei blinked. "Well... That is a surprise. I do not particularly care for the fate of my country: I was never deeply involved with it, and the NKVD took much of my family on my Uncle's side. That is all I feel I needed to ask: You may start with your questions."
Volkov nodded. "Thank you. What were you doing when you found yourself here? And what happened in the 'battle' that apparently happened?"
"It was a simple test, but I guess somebody fucked up." Sergei said. "We were doing live-fire drills for the prototype, and something flashed white... The very next thing I saw through my position next to the driver was a German tank. The next few minutes were spent in some sort of battle, with at least a dozen of them versus a similar number of ours."
Sergei paused, before continuing. "All of them died. Every one of our allied vehicles died. Every single crewmember, including our Commander and the NKVD Commissioner, who had been in the rear compartments was dead. There we were, myself and four others, with nothing but our field rations and what we could scavenge from the dead.
"Contrary to what some damned civilians might think, not everything is blown apart when you destroy a tank. The ammunition may occasionally go up, but it is often the engine that is wrecked, with the crew dead from shrapnel. The only reason we lost much of our tank was due to the shoddy armor that our prototype had. We were able to take a large array of weapons, ammunition, and supplies from the dead, and with hundreds of them to supply the five of us, we had quite the assortment of gear.
"Eventually, though, my comrades died off. The first two to go were gone within a week: Killed by some type of winged beast that I learned to hate the more I fought them. Another lasted a year before a group of wolves took him, and the last killed himself. I was all alone from then on.
"I taught myself how to scavenge, what to eat and what not to, and how to handle myself in nearly any situation. I have lived for a long time, comrade, far longer than I should have. Contrary to what you might see, I move as if I am fifty, and not the eighty-six I truly am. That is a mystery I have never solved."
"We shall look into it." Volkov promised, looking at him with more... Respect? Sergei did not know, and felt that he would be better off remaining ignorant. "Another question: Do you know about the native inhabitants of this land? The 'ponies', as they call themselves?"
"You can actually speak with those bastards?" Sergei asked, to which Volkov nodded. "It always sounded like gibberish to me."
"They speak English."
"Ah."
"Have you met them before?"
Sergei grimaced. "A few times. About two decades ago, give or take a few years, I met one of their young in the woods. Before that point, I had driven them off with a few gunshots, and that was that. I knew they were intelligent, but I also knew that were I to give them leeway to journey into my 'area' around the bog battlefield, they would do so persistently. I drove off one of the distracted wing-scorpions-"
"Manticores. Persian mythology." Volkov said.
"Manticores... I like it. In any case, I drove it off, and found one of their young cowering from it. Naturally, the young thing immediately started jabbering in its' strange language, and persisted in following me even as I tried to shoo it off. At that time, I did not want to harm it, lest I bring down more of them upon me, and so I waiting until it left.
"It came back the next day, jabbering to me. I talked, and it did not understand me. It left again after some time. For many years, it came every few days, talking to me as if I understood it. As nearly a decade passed, with myself venturing out each day to find enough to eat, only to occasionally find it waiting for me when I got back.
"When it had probably reached adulthood, it brought a few others to meet me. They did not react well. Although it reached me once every few weeks from then on, it was apparently restricted from doing so often. And then they came.
"One of those days, it was missing, and in its' place were a bunch of white ones with wings or a horn, all holding weapons. They raised them when I approached, and charged at me. I killed them and left one to return after I broke its' spear. Another thing I found out: They are camouflaged. When you remove the helmet, they revert to their 'natural' colors. Why they do not use this to make themselves unable to be seen, I do not know, but it is a mystery that I used many times to my own advantage.
"The visits became less frequent, until it was only every few months that I would see the formerly young one. Occasionally, one or two of the guard ones would come out and attempt to harm me, but they were easily dealt with and dumped into the bog. The last time I saw the one I had met was half a year ago, and the last attempt to find me was two months ago, by a group of three.
"And that is my story."
After a short silence, Volkov was the first one to speak.
"That was quite the story, comrade. Thank you for telling it." The captain said. "But why did you fire on our team? How could you confuse them for us?"
Sergei chucked. "That is a story I would love to share. For the past two years, and especially on the most recent 'visit' from those not friendly, another species has tried to kill me. It flies around and often stands on its' hind legs, at least when fighting. It looks like some kind of bird-lion combination. And, well, sometimes they'd yell things I understood. Which is precisely what those men looked like to my first glance."
"Interesting. You've encountered Griffons then, I suppose." Volkov mused out loud. "Well, I don't know if we'll have many more questions for you, but you've certainly given us quite a few to ponder."
"That I have, I suppose, Captain." Sergei said, chuckling. The former Soviet tank crewmember stood up as Volkov did, crossing the room to shake hands. "I suppose I'll head back to my room, then. In all of my years, I had ever thought I would enjoy all of the amenities available to the Politburo, and many more besides. That is, if you have no other questions?"
"Actually, I do have one more, for my own curiosity." Volkov said, much to the surprise of Sergei. "This pony that visited you, that you grew to know, what did it look like?"
"Well..." Sergei said, humming in thought. "It was most likely male, and was one of those with a horn, which it used occasionally for some kind of lifting. It was dark grey in color, and its' hair was some kind of dark blue. That is all I can consider features, I suppose. Why do you ask?"
"Curiosity." Volkov replied. "Thank you for your story. I shall hope to see you soon."
"Thank you , Captain." Sergei replied, chuckling. "I shall also hope to see you again."
And with that, Sergei walked out of the room, planning on receiving some well-deserved rest at last.
2100 hours In the Equestrian village of Hollow Shades
"Well, this sucks..." Legal Record muttered to himself.
"Cheer up, Record!" One of his friends nearly yelled into his ear. "I'm pretty sure that this is just a drill or something."
"Why did I even sign up for the Reserve Guard?" Record asked himself out loud. "I have the perfect dead-end job as a clerk in a small town in the middle of nowhere, a reputation as a 'crazy pony who wanders into the Everfree', and a perfect excuse not to be here!"
"It's because nopony ever expected to be called up." The bartender of their small town, nicknamed 'Mugs' by the rest of the town, replied from a short distance away. "Besides, it's probably some kind of error. Even with those creatures I heard about passing through town a while back, the way they've been described leaves me little doubt that if we had a problem, th' Elements would just blast it away."
"Right." Legal Record whispered to himself. The creatures had been the talk of the town recently, with their loud passage through the town. Legal himself had been inside of the Hollow Shades Lumber Co. building's office when a stallion had burst in, quickly blurted out a incoherent description of what had happened, and then left.
More than that, it unnerved him in several other ways as well. Hollow Shades had long been known for 'strange' occurrences, especially in the woods. With quite a few Royal Guard squads having disappeared, and with Griffon vanishing into the woods, it almost had a 'evil' air around it.
Of course, Legal Record was one of the few ponies alive to know the real reason behind the disappearances. When he was a colt, he had been teased relentlessly for his descriptions of what had happened, and from then on he had only confided in his closest friends about it.
The descriptions of the creatures themselves had given him pause, as well as the similarities to... Well... He hesitated even to think about it. Maybe when this all blew over, he would go into the woods again. He could always use a place to speak his mind.
A Royal Guard clad in brilliant gold armor strode through the crowd standing in front of the Town Hall, walking up the stairs to the door and behind the podium there. The stallion cleared his throat, quickly quieting everypony in the crowd down.
"Thank you for being here today." The stallion said once he had their attention. "By the decree of Princess Celestia, all Royal Guards, as well as those in the Reserve, are being called up. Trottingham has already fallen to a group of creatures, ones who have doubtless plundered the town and slain the inhabitants. They dared to stride through this town almost a week ago. Even now they strike at Manehatten, at the heart of our Commerce."
Legal Record nearly felt his heart leap into his throat. They were being called up, against beings that had already taken down a city. He did not know if they were the same ones as... Him, from the forest, but if they were, the things that one could do...
Uninterrupted by the shocked crowd, the Guard continued.
"Fear not, for though they may strike us and kill us, we will soon have the advantage. We slay more of them in battle than they do of us, and they will be dealt with as we deal with monsters from the Everfree: With all possible speed. Pick up your armor from the Train Station tomorrow: We leave on the ten o' clock train."
With that, the stallion strode down, leaving one particular unicorn in middle of the crowd in shock - and unsure of his own survival.
Author's Note
This was originally going to be finished in a week, and be a 1,000-word, boring chapter.
Yeah, you can see where it went.
2208 hours Nine (9) days after first contact Above the Equestrian city of Canterlot
It had been a long hike, but they had finally reached it: Canterlot.
Davit had driven his squad hard to reach it this early, but they had arrived at the perfect time: It was dark, and thus, they could complete their mission.
The sun had gone below the horizon nearly half an hour ago, leaving only the moon to light up the landscape. Davit had ordered his squad to turn on the light enhancement on their 'Net' glasses, leaving them with a much better view than any other creature was likely to have.
The squad had reached their position easily: A pre-determined area of the steep hillside, nearly five hundred feet above - and one hundred feet horizontally from - the castle that leaned partially against the cliff. An entire tower had been destroyed - and a large hall damaged - by a drone strike a week ago, and it seemed as if repairs were only just starting, judging by the scaffolding.
Before they could begin their mission, however, Davit had to call in.
"Overwatch, this is 1-Actual. Do you copy?" He asked over the radio.
"We copy, 1-Actual." 'Overwatch', in this case the operator of the MQ-4C Triton orbiting four thousand feet above their position, responded. "I have you on thermal. Are you in position and ready?"
"We are in position and ready." Davit replied.
"Copy. You are go for mission launch."
"Copy. We will begin momentarily. 1-Actual out." Davit turned to the rest of his squad. "Are you all ready?"
A chorus of answers came forth, "Ready." "Let's go." "Yeah."
"Let's go, then."
Davit took off his pack, quickly taking out a hard, plastic case. He opened it up to reveal various components, which he swiftly assembled into a 'Net'-connected Mobile Detection Unit, used to radar map small areas and track any movement. It also functioned as a laser designator for various munitions, which would be very useful for their mission. Davit and his three other squad members quickly located a spot to place it, right under a small bush, where it would be nearly invisible to observers, but also have a view of the castle and much of the city.
With that done, they raised its' small antenna, allowing it to connect to the 'Net' systems via the Triton above them.
"I have a connection with the device." Overwatch said a moment later. "I am combining it with the thermal, ultraviolet, and electromagnetic reading from up here. A picture of your surrounding and the guards should appear... Now."
Instantly, their Heads Up Displays lit up with multiple symbols, as the 'Net' unit synced with what the computers on board the Triton were generating. It cleared up quickly, and they were quickly left with a three-dimensional map of the castle, along with red dots indicating the locations and distances of guards.
"We have your feed." Davit said a few seconds later. "Showing nearly one hundred guards patrolling the grounds. We'll have to do this carefully. Down the mountain path, and into the garden area behind the castle. Let's go."
2217 hours
Captain Henderson watched the screen showing the position of units as they crushed the last of the resistance in the city, satisfied. He had pulled off the capture of a major city in a remarkably short time, and with a very low number of casualties. Current numbers listed one hundred and forty-four dead: A far cry from the thousands that the Guard forces inside of the city had lost.
The vast majority of the city was secured, with only two small spots of enemy forces left, each concentrated onto an area one block in diameter. With luck, and the coming night, they would be easily subdued. With that done, they would be free to turn their attentions towards the next city...
Inside of the city of Manehatten, however, was a different story. At that very moment, Vasilyev was cursing his own luck. It had been relatively easy to advance in daylight, but with night having arrived, caution had to be exercised. Although the unicorns revealed themselves every time they used their magic, hitting them in the dark was another matter, even with the light-enhancing features of his 'Net' glasses.
It didn't help that the building that generated electricity for the city was under Guard control, right in front of them, and the Guards had turned it off.
"Advance!" Vasilyev heard somebody yell behind him. With that, he leaned over the cover, firing rounds at the building just down the street. The oncoming fire slackened as the ponies inside took cover, and the constant stream of magic and crossbow bolts that had been pouring down the street slowed to a halt.
A T-90SM tank crashed through the wooden cart next to the stone slab he was using as cover, advancing down the street as its' coaxial machinegun fired. Vasilyev took that as his cue to move forward.
"Let's go!" The Russian Lieutenant yelled, spurring on those behind him as he jumped over his cover and started running down the street, making sure to stay behind the tank. As he turned his head to see if anybody was following, he could see that dozens had, including most of his squad. Kozlov seemed to be conspicuously hanging back, however.
The T-90's cannon roared as it fired, the HE-FRAG-FS round blowing an area thirty feet wide off of the front of the building, sending chunks of concrete flying.
As they approached to within twenty feet of the building, the tank slowed to a halt, forcing Vasilyev to run around it. As he approached the hole in the building, he spotted the vague outline of a pony farther inside. Vasilyev raised his rifle and fired, the tracer round striking the Guard in the head, killing it.
With the rest of his men in tow, Vasilyev charged into the building, ready to take it from the Guards.
2219 hours
The unicorn guard casually strolled down the path in the castle gardens. Despite being in a state of war against the monsters that had attacked his homeland, the unicorn considered himself lucky. With the casualty rates coming in at nearly ninety-eight percent, the news was grim, and he was secure in the fact that the castle was nigh impregnable.
In any case, the guard was idly strolling down the path. After all, there was little chance of anything unusual, right? The Princess would surely push them back to-
His train of thought was eliminated, along with his life, as a 9mm round passed through his helmet and into his skull, killing him. The guard fell to the ground with a thud, and the noise of the gunshot was hardly audible beyond twenty meters. A pair of hands reached out and dragged him into the bushes, concealing him from sight.
"All clear, 1-Actual." Overwatch said over Davit's radio a moment later.
"Copy. Moving forward." The Georgian man replied. "All of you, across the path and to the side of the castle."
Davit quickly crossed the path and darted into the bushes at the other end, his suppressed Beretta M9 aimed in front of him. For this part of the mission, they needed stealth, not firepower: And thus it has fallen to them to attach suppressors to their sidearms. The subsonic 9x19mm ammunition used by it didn't pack enough punch to get through modern combat gear, but it was easily able to penetrate the pathetically thin golden armor most of the guards wore.
He reached the side of the castle seconds later, still inside of the thick array of bushes and trees that constituted the 'garden'. Once there, he swiftly pulled out a six-inch-wide plastic container, which he firmly attached to the smooth stone of the castle wall. He quickly pushed a button, activating the transmitter, before slowly making his way away from the castle, and out of the gardens.
Several quiet radio calls came through, warning him that his teammates had completed their placements, and that they were ready to complete the next phase of the operation. They quickly met up, gathering together in an area of the garden hidden from sight.
"Okay." Davit said. "That was the easy part. The next section will be planting the device in the south-western room. Then we'll get the hell out of here, as fast as we can."
"What if we're discovered?" One of his men asked.
"Get away as quickly as possible." Davit replied. "We can't afford mistakes. We complete the mission as quickly and silently as possible. There is no 'if'. Let's go."
"Your nearest entrance is being highlighted on your HUD." Overwatch said a moment later, followed by a red box superimposing itself on their 'Net' glasses. "One guard. Next guard is twenty meters from the door and moving away."
Sure enough, as Davit slowly passed through the underbrush, the dim shape of a guard was visible in front of the door. Davit slowly glanced around, looking for other guards. Seeing none in the vicinity, and satisfied that the UAV orbiting above them could not find any more either, Davit raised his M9, aligned the sights on the target, and fired.
The dull thud of the weapon firing was almost as loud as the clang of the bullet penetrating through the helmet. The pony fell to the ground, and Alek moved forward, dragging the corpse into the bushes. Another one down.
"What's the room?" Aleksandre asked Davit.
"Some kind of throne room while they rebuild the old one." Davit replied as they moved forward towards the door, the other two soldiers of the squad behind them. "The UAV noted a high amount of traffic, as well as occasional sighting of the enemy leaders. We are here to deliver them a present for the morning."
"Wonderful." Aleksandre remarked as they reached the door. "I'll go in first."
Davit nodded. "Three, two, one, breach." Aleksandre pushed the door open, stepping into the room with his SAR-21 aimed forward. No guards were in sight in either direction the hallway they stepped into went. Davit followed into the hallway a moment later, as well as his two squadmates.
"Marking the path to your objective. Zero guards along your route: Most are a level above you." Overwatch said over the radio.
"Copy." Davit replied. "Distance to the room is sixty meters. Let's make this quick."
2228 hours
"They'll begin the final phase any moment now." Captain Henderson heard 'Overwatch', sitting in the UAV control center in the hangar deck, tell him as Henderson watched the live video feed on the bridge.
"Good. Send them my congratulations." Henderson said in reply. However, a red dot suddenly appeared in the camera angle from the UAV, and another, and then a third...
"1-Actual, this is Overwatch." Davit heard over his radio as he slid the box carefully under a couch in the makeshift 'throne room'. "You've got five- Damn it, six contacts heading towards your position. And they're in a hurry."
"Copy that, Overwatch." Davit replied, turning to his squadmates, who had overheard the transmission. Davit finished placing his explosive and stood up, unslinging his SAR-21 and pulling back the bolt, loading a round.
"We've got company." Davit said. "We need to get out of here. Into the hallway! We'll find a way out."
They were just beginning to move towards the closed door when it blew apart.
Author's Note
Creative chapter names will return soon.
In any case, I am recovering from my surgery. This chapter has actually been sitting around for a while, and I finally got to following the suggestions The_Rainbow_Brony, my editor/pre-reader/(insert term here), made. So here's the chapter.
... And Defended by Gunfire
2229 hours Nine (9) days after first contact Canterlot Castle, Interior
The door blew apart with explosive force, sending splinters of wood flying towards Davit and his squad. The Sergeant winced as a chip deflected off of his 'Net' glasses, but was able to keep a clear enough vision to spot the first guard that ran in.
Said guard collapsed to the ground a moment later, his helmet and skull pierced by a burst of three 5.56mm NATO rounds. The next two to follow died just as quickly, leaving the path to the hallway clear.
"Go, to the entrance!" Davit shouted, running towards the door with his rifle at the ready. His three squadmates followed him as he did so, and Davit quickly found himself in the hallway...
... And ducking a glowing bolt from the left a moment later - the same direction he had come from. Davit spun around and shot the unicorn responsible, only to see two pegasi rush around the corn, clad in bright gold armor.
"We need to find another exit!" Davit said in Georgian as he backpedaled, firing at the two guards, who has gone airborne not a moment later. Both of them fell to the marble floor a moment later, dead.
"1-Actual, this is Overwatch." A voice said in English over the radio a moment later. "We can see over forty enemies heading towards your location on ultrasonic and thermal. All exits are being swarmed. A staircase downward is around sixty meters south-west of your location. Marking it now."
"Copy that, Overwatch." Davit replied as he saw a waypoint pop up on his HUD, showing him a path through the corridors. "What's the information on the staircase?"
"It's all we've got for you as an exit. It should take you below the castle, but our sensors are not receiving accurate readings past a certain range. Worst case, it's a dead end."
"... Copy, Overwatch." Davit said, turning to Alek. "Blow the damned charges!"
"Copy." Aleksandre replied calmly, lower his rifle and pulling out an American-built radio detonator. He flicked off the safety and pressed down on the trigger, before quickly putting it away.
Outside, four ten-pound pyrotechnical charges were attached to the stone wall of the castle. Three seconds after the remote detonator was pressed, the detonators embedded inside of each charge activated.
Four massive explosions blossomed alongside the castle, as the charges released a large amount of heat in the form of fire, and little else. It nearly overwhelmed the sensors on the UAV, and was visible throughout the entire city. Along with a large area of the wall that was scorched black, a large section of the castle gardens was set afire, filling the air with black smoke.
A low roar echoed through the halls as the charges blew, accompanied by small shudder that was felt throughout the castle. Davit took the opportunity to mow down the now-distracted unicorns at the other end of the hall, the shield they had put up collapsing within seconds, leaving them unprotected. a moment later, they lay dead on the ground.
However, another group of ponies, ten strong, came around behind them. A half second later, another shield was back up, and stronger than ever.
"Let's get out of here!" Davit yelled in Georgian, turning around and fleeing down the hall. His squad quickly followed behind him, occasionally taking potshots behind them.
Davit took a left at the next intersection, letting his squadmates mow down the unicorn guard that was running in their direction. Over the course of the next few minutes, they took several more random turns, making their way towards the staircase. The entire time, a group of ponies was just behind them, firing spells on occasion, but mostly keeping a constant shield up.
Frustrated, Davit waiting until they reached the corner before their objective, and then threw a primed grenade behind him just as he and his squad turned it. He was not able to see the result, but did take pride in the fact that four of the red dots disappeared from his 'Net' display shortly after the small explosion.
"Sergeant!" Aleksandre said. "There is a staircase going down ahead, to the right. That's it!"
"We're going down it." Davit growled, slowing to a halt in front of the doorway, itself set into the side of the hallway. He looked to the sign above the staircase. "Hmm... It says 'Underground' in English. I wonder..."
"We've got a problem, Sergeant!" Avtandil, the third member of the squad, said from down the hall as he fired off a burst from his SAR-21. Davit turned towards him and saw several more pony guards running down the halls, past the corpses of two more.
"Let's get down the stairs! I think we've outworn our welcome!" Davit shouted, running into the winding staircase.
"You 'think'?" He heard Aleksandre sarcastically reply from behind him. More footsteps behind him told Davit that the rest of the squad was following.
The staircase was small, and it was a wonder that it was big enough for them to fit: His head nearly brushed the top. It twisted downward, dropping at a fairly rapid rate, while the only light he and his team had was the amplification done by their 'Net' glasses.
"1-Actual, this-*static* Overwatch. We're losing contact. *static* staircase?" He heard faintly over his radio as his team continued to jog downward.
"We're heading underground. Hopefully, we'll be able to find a way out." Davit said over his radio by way of reply. Mentally, he cursed. They had to be almost eighty feet below the entrance at this point: Far enough for even their powerful 'Net' system radios to begin cutting out.
Twenty seconds later, he emerged into what looked like a dimly-lit cave: The staircase had ended abruptly behind him, surprising him when his foot first touched rock. His squad quickly emerged from behind him, Alek leading up the rear, aiming for the tunnel behind them.
"Where are we?" Avtandil asked.
"Somewhere underground, sensors are reporting nearly one hundred and twenty feet." Davit whispered in reply. "All of you, sync up your 'Net' units. We don't have any mapping and tracking software, so it is critical that you all keep track of one another." He looked back to see Alek setting up something near the staircase entrance. "What are you doing?"
"Leaving a present for our friends." The private said. "MS 803 claymore. I'll leave it to trigger by a beam. If anything crosses it and enters here, they will be shredded, along with anything further up the hallway, by it."
"Good idea." Davit said. The private huffed and returned to his work, attaching a specially-designed laser pointer to the wall of the staircase and switching it on, before connecting it via a long wire to the claymore. His job done, he carefully stepped back and primed the deadly anti-personnel mine.
"Wonderful. Let's start moving." Davit said, turning around and walking down the cave. "Keep light to a minimum, and stay as quiet as you can. We'll find a way out eventually..."
2243 hours USS Gerald R. Ford
"Lost contact with the Georgian team, Captain." Henderson heard Overwatch say, confirming what they already knew: The fate of even more men would be left to a virtual toss of the dice.
"Captain Henderson..." He heard Captain Volkov say. "Are you well?"
"No." Henderson admitted, looking up at the Russian Captain, who maintained his stone-neutral expression. "I'm out of my league here, Aleksei. I was lucky enough to get a naval command at the outbreak of war, a war with your country, I might add. And..." He hesitated moment before continuing. "I am dead, Volkov. You are dead. All of us are technically dead: The damned entity that brought here said that. And yet we're alive, and I still feel as though I am missing what matters.
"I am commanding an army in the most desperate situation we could have been faced with. I was trained for years for the 'big war' between us and China, or us and the Iranians, and I knew damn well that I knew all I could in naval tactics. And here I am, playing chessmaster general for an entire army."
Captain Henderson sighed, his frown twisting into a thin smile. "I'm out of my fucking league here, Captain. I never trained to command ground soldiers, to consider the survival of our species over that of our country, and yet here I am. The only time I have been in combat is when we sailed into Saint Petersburg, and that ended with the death of myself and my entire crew..."
"Daniel, I admit that I have had many of the same thoughts." Volkov said after a moment of silence, causing Henderson's head to shoot up to look at him. "I was not trained as anything other than a lower-ranked captain. I spent my early years as captain of a light cruiser, and with the coup, I sided with my group commanding officer. His death was my promotion.
"I know as much as you do about commanding an army, or about the challenges we face. We may not be the best choices for this army, but we are the ones it has. Degtyarev would kill everyone in nuclear fire in his haste to win at all costs, and there are no others of sufficient rank. But, as I often heard my father tell me, Прошлое есть прошлое: The past is the past. We cannot change what has happened: We can only look forward to the future, and remember what we have done."
"... Thank you for your words, Volkov."
"You are quite welcome, my friend."
2247 hours In the caves below Canterlot
"Halt." Davit whispered over the radio. "I think we're being followed. Everyone, to the sides of the cavern."
With the numerous stalactites and stalagmites lining the sides of the wide cave, along with dozens of large rocks and protruding crystals, it was almost laughably easy for them to quickly jump off of the path and to the sides, where concealment in the dark was as simple as hiding behind the cave features.
The only bad spot about the crystals, Davit thought to himself as he took cover behind a rock lined with them, is that they let off a small glow. It was hardly noticeable, and just enough to lite up the crystals themselves, but it had the potential to reveal them if they were stuck between a crystal and an observer.
Ten seconds passed as the group held their breath, waiting for some sign of anything following them, and Davit thought that it might have been a false alarm. Perhaps the rock he hard heard was kicked up by a team member-
He froze as a gentle light began to glow from the next corner, easily in their view. A unicorn clad in shimmering silver-blue armor walked around the corner, its' horn lit up as it scanned the walls. It seemed almost unconcerned as it did so...
Sloppy. Or very, very dangerous.
"What is it wearing?" Davit heard Alek ask over the radio.
"I don't know." Davit whispered in reply.
Suddenly, a glowing green bolt whizzed down from the opposite end of the hallway, striking the pony dead-center. Strangely, the glowing bolt of magic dissipated against it.
Davit rapidly turned his head in time to see an angular, equine-shaped figure dart to the side of the hallway, launching another sickly-green bolt at the unicorn. The pony, now alert, quickly brought up a shield, blocking the bolt. However, that did not stop a dark shape from dropping from the ceiling above the unicorn, knocking it to the ground.
In what little light Davit could see it by, it looked almost monstrous: A misshapen pony-like creature, with glowing blue eyes, fangs, and insect-like wings. Its' sharp horn lit up with green light as it delivered a green bolt to the unicorn, knocking the guard out. The first one he had seen strode out of the shadows, joining its' companion as they looked down at the unicorn.
"What do we do, Davit?" He heard Alek asked over the radio.
"Sit tight." Davit ordered. "We're not going to involve ourselves in this unless we need to."
"Less patrols. Something caught guard's attention." One of the things rasped out in what Davit recognized as English. "Seems less alert. Suggest we warn subunit commander."
"There's a war, of sorts: Something is fighting them." The other said in reply to the first, its' voice much more understandable to Davit. "He'll want to know. The Princess never send patrols down here alone."
"Right." The first said. "I will pick up the pony. You watch out for more."
The second one did... Something. Its' horn lit up with a bright green glow, bathing the area with light. As it did so, however, it froze up.
"... Sedate, did you see anyling follow us into these tunnels?" The second one asked slowly.
"No. Did not see anything." The first said as it began to levitate the guard.
"Oh, shit." Davit whispered to himself.
"We have company." The second matter-of-factly stated, dropping into some sort of stance. "Whatever you are, show yourselves! If this is you, Bolt, it ceased being funny the fifth time!"
"Response, Sergeant?" Alek asked over the radio.
"We can't keep hidden forever." Davit quickly said in reply. "It found a way to detect us, and I am not going to create some sort of incident... I will not fire first. I'll handle things. Keep down."
With that, Davit raised himself up slightly, putting more of himself visible over the rocks.
The reaction was immediate.
"What's that!?" The creature said as it spotted him, turning to face Davit.
"Hold on." Davit said in English. "We are not your enemies."
"Then why are you hiding there?" The strange creature asked in reply, horn glowing brightly.
"We were unsure of your intentions." Davit said, holding his rifle in his hands, prepared to use it if he absolutely needed to. "You are an unknown to us. Earlier, you talked of a war with the ponies: We are some of those waging war against them. What are you, in any case?"
The creatures stared at Davit with those glowing blue eyes, looking him over. After a small but tense period, the light surrounding its' horn died down, and it looked at him with a wary gaze. "Changelings. What are you, if you would be so kind as to tell...?"
"Human." Davit said, wishing, for once, that he had paid more attention to improving his English skills in his training. He could understand quite a bit of what it said, but there were still parts he had trouble putting together. "I am assured that you will not react badly to us?"
"As long as you don't give us reason to." The creature replied, looking back at its' companion, who had finally managed to levitate the unicorn guard. "Sedate, take the pony back to the camp. I will deal with this situation."
"You're good to come out." Davit said over the radio in Georgian. Slowly, the other three squad members came out from their cover, before reluctantly joining Davit, casting glances at the lone creature in front of them.
"So..." Davit said after a moment. "Do you know a way out of these tunnels? To the surface, in a place other than the castle?"
"Unfortunately, I do not." The 'Changeling' in front of them said. "That being said, I know someling who does. However, be warned: If I take you to meet them, any threatening moves will not be tolerated."
"It's offering to take us to a person it believes knows a way out. Thoughts?" Davit asked in Georgian over the radio.
"Well, I don't want to wander around here for the next few dozen years." Alek responded sarcastically. "I'll take the option of following the black insect horse here."
"I agree." Davit said, turning back towards the 'Changeling' and switching to English. "Very well, I understand. You may lead us to this person."
"Good." It said. "Follow closely: I don't want to backtrack to find you."
With that, the odd group set off, heading for parts unknown.
Author's Note
Remember, I won't burn you in a fire if you ask me questions.
Unless you're here to sell me mittens, in which case, burn. (What)
Anyway, a wild chapter has appeared. I struggled to get this out, going through a couple rewrites until it no longer felt like a B-rated action movie. I'm going for realism here: A large-scale gunfight that I wrote early on had horrible pacing and terrible details.
And no, the 'Silver-Blue' metal described is not Mithril. It will be explained further in-story.
Also, I just finished visiting a Psychologist-... Ahem, Mental Wellness Councilor. Those guys are... Well... Behind their smile, 'statue' does not begin to describe it.
2352 hours Nine (9) days after first contact Under the Equestrian city of Canterlot
"How long until we reach this 'holdout' of yours?" Davit asked the Changeling he - and the rest of his squad - was following.
"A short time." It cryptically replied, before continuing. "We'll arrive at the entrance within the minute. It will take several more to reach our final destination."
"Do they know you're taking us to them?"
"Oh, they have known for quite some time. I informed them the moment you asked." The Changeling said.
"That's... Slightly disturbing." Davit mumbled in Georgian.
"What?" Aleksandre asked him. "You know I can't understand a word of that American language you speak. What did it say?"
"Apparently, it has already informed its' superiors that we are coming." Davit replied. "How it has done so, I do not know, but it leads to some interesting implications."
"We're here." The Changeling interrupted, turning to face a stone wall. Suddenly, it moved inward and then to the side, revealing a small chamber lit by a dim green glow.
"That is not at all ominous." Aleksandre sarcastically remarked.
"Shut up, Alek." Davit said, before switching to English and turning towards the Changeling. "You have to lead the way. I do not know where I am to go."
"Right." It said, stepping forward and leading them inside.
As soon as Aleksandre, the last man in their four-man squad, had stepped through, the stone behind them quickly shut.
As Davit followed the Changeling, he could see that the green lighting was coming entirely from crystals embedded in the walls. Dozens of them, some glowing fairly brightly, gave enough light for him to make out the details of the cave.
They passed through several more tunnels and small rooms, some with other Changelings inside of them, all of whom curiously glanced at Davit and him men before resuming whatever they had been doing beforehand. All the while, the Sergeant was aware that there were probably many more: Davit's 'Net' gear had counted a total of eighty-four on the way here, and he had seen several dozen tunnels that branched off in different directions.
After three minutes of walking, the Changeling they were following halted, and Davit's squad stopped behind it. The Changeling turned around to look at them, glancing at the next curve in the tunnel, before sighing and speaking up.
"Around the bend lies the room you are to meet Queen Aurelia, our leader." It explained. "Please conduct yourselves accordingly. I am not able to escort you further, as I have further duties." With that, it walked off behind them, leaving the group alone.
"Well, this just became more interesting." Davit said in a low voice. "We're about to meet their 'Queen'. All of you, control yourselves: I don't want a diplomatic fuck-up here, of all places."
"You're the only one here who speaks their language in any case, Sergeant." Alek said helpfully. Davit ignored him as he walked forward, thoughts of the meeting on his mind. Nothing in his training had ever prepared him for this, and he would likely be far over his head. To have any chance of success, he would have to play his cards carefully, and hopefully net his superiors - such as Captain Henderson - an ally in the process.
Davit turned the corner in the tunnel, the other three members of his squad just behind , and paused at what he saw. There, beyond a narrowed opening that seemed to be an analog to a doorway, was an sparsely-furnished room, with a single Changeling pacing inside. On a second glance, it appeared much larger, with a twisted horn. It, like the rest of the Changelings he had seen, was nearly pitch black in color, although it had a discolored section around the center of its' body, colored a light blue.
Apprehensively, Davit stepped inside of the room, only faintly aware of the rest of his squad around him. The larger Changeling, presumably 'Queen Aurelia', turned towards them as they entered.
"Welcome to our refuge and home." Queen Aurelia said as the strange creatures stopped ten feet from her.
Truthfully, she was expecting a dull evening, with only the occasional skirmish with the palace guards to interrupt her night. The patrols had increased exponentially lately, and news from the surface gave hints to a war between the Equestrians and another, unknown force.
Naturally, she had been surprised when one of her Changelings, after disabling another guard patrol, had reported via the Hive Mind that it had met an unknown species, one that matched descriptions given by various Canterlot newspapers that they had smuggled down.
Queen Chrysalis, her former leader, would have immediately panicked and attempted an attack plan. In fact, Aurelia was almost sure that the blasted Queen was doing that at this very moment. However, while most would have seen only danger in the unknown, Queen Aurelia saw something else entirely:
Opportunity.
"I assume that you are the Queen Aurelia that we are to see?" The creature standing before her asked in understandable Equish, its' voice laden with an accent she could not place.
"I am." Queen Aurelia responded. "I assume that you are the... Beings who have been at war with Equestria, the ones in the castle above?"
"We are." It replied. "We were in the course of a mission when we were forced to retreat underground. We have been lost down here for a short time, and we were looking for a way out when we encountered your... Soldiers, I suppose."
"And you wish to know the way to get out." Queen Aurelia said. "I shall skip the trivialities and get straight to business. I have a compromise, of sorts: I wish for some form of contact with your leaders. In return, we will happily show you a path out of these caves. Away from Canterlot, of course."
The creature appeared to stop for a moment, thinking over her words, before rapidly conversation in a language she did not understand to the one next to it. After about twenty seconds, it stopped, and turned back to her.
"I agree." It said. "Who would you send with us? I very much doubt it would be yourself."
"I will assign one of my Changelings to guide you out. They would also be the ones going with you. Do we have a deal?" Aurelia asked.
"We do."
"Then one will be waiting for you as you leave." Aurelia said. "May you have a safe journey."
As Davit and his squad walked toward the exit, he pondered the meeting in his mind.
To say things had gone well was an understatement: With very little time spent, Davit had gotten exactly what he needed, and for precisely the terms he anticipated. Hopefully, it would turn out well in the end.
And if not, well, he had tried.
Author's Note
I had trouble getting this chapter out, and it ain't the best example of writing I've ever done. Yet again, I suck at diplomacy. Writing good plot? Down. Getting all the details of a fight right? Okay. Diplomacy and writing down movement? Oh, the horror!
Also, I am sorry for the time in-between chapters. Now that school is out, I should be able to get back on track.
Supremacy - End of Act VI
0130 hours Ten (10) days after first contact
Vasilyev dropped onto the soft bed with a sigh, finally able to get some rest. It had been a long night, but his small force had finally been rotated back to the rear, and directed towards a large hotel that the Americans had requisitioned as a barracks.
The Russian was just happy to finally have a decent bed. Moments after his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.
0136 hours
With the help of their Changeling guide, Davit and his squad had quickly navigated through a maze of tunnels, until they reached an exit. Looking around them, they could see much of the city suspended above them, along with a narrow path down the size of the mountain from their cave exit.
And now Davit was left trying to connect to the 'Net' systems as they walked down, intent on delivering his report.
"Come on, come on..." He said to himself as his 'Net' set attempted to gain a connection to the rest of the network.
Several seconds later, he finally had a decent, if shaky connection.
"Gerald R. Ford, Gerald R. Ford, this is Sergeant Davit. Do you copy?" Davit said over the radio.
"... We copy, Sergeant Davit. What is your situation?" He heard in reply a little under ten seconds later.
"We are out of the caverns, and into the open. A full debrief can wait, but there are things you must know about our mission. We didn't end it alone..."
0217
Sergeant William of the British Army scanned the street from his position on top of the Russian-made T-80M, watching for anything. So far, he had seen little of the town's inhabitants, both because of the battle that had been fought here mere hours before, and that it was the middle of the night.
As the tank rumbled through the streets, he could still see the occasional pile of shell casings, and in one case a large crater in the ground. It was very clear to him that the battle had been hard-fought, and that although his company had been moved to be used as a reserve, it was still likely that they would see action.
A long burst of gunfire echoed from somewhere to the south, signs that the city itself had not been fully secured.
"Sergeant..." He heard Private White ask. "Sergeant? Are you there, sir?"
William shook his head, sighing. "Not quite, Private."
"It's this land, isn't it?" White asked, and William found himself nodding.
"It's this bloody land, it's always been this bloody land." William said, gesturing with his L128A1 to the building surround them. "If it weren't for the fact that we're fighting bloody ponies, I could almost pretend to be back home... But that will be but a memory soon, will it not? We'll be fighting just to hold on by our teeth, and that's assuming we don't take many more losses. Either we end this quickly, or we will fall into obscurity."
"I doubt we'll fall into obscurity just yet, sir." White said. "We've got thousands of men, a few cities under our belt, and nearly a fortnight after our arrival, we are still holding on."
"I just worry around the 'after' part of the equation." William mused. "With the ponies falling apart, we'll have to form some kind of government. A difficult task at best, what with the war we were fighting only a fortnight ago."
"It will all work out, Sergeant." White said. "At least, I bloody hope it will..."
0242
In the hangar beneath the deck of the Gerald R. Ford , slightly under one hundred aircraft were parked in rows, tightly packed. In one particular corner, several aircraft undergoing maintenance were stored. Only one, however, was due to battle damage, and the five crewmen - and one pilot - swarming around it testified to that.
"Fuck..." First Lieutenant Miller bumped his head against the fuselage of his fighter, frustrated. "This is the second damned time I've taken damage since we've got here. I don't really know if you have the parts to get me up quickly, either."
"Sorry bud." One of the crewmen working on the wing said as he removed a damaged panel. "Whatever did this fucked up your wing, and I don't see much of a way around that. Normally, it would be pretty cut-and-dry. The repairs themselves will take the rest of the night, and in normal times you would be out by this morning.
"But whatever did this fried a shitload of the wiring, and we need to do testing to see if shit even works. We don't want a full ordinance load dropping off of your wing on the flight deck become some idiot crossed a few wires. You'd be best off getting some rest."
"Fuuuuuck..." Miller groaned, turning around and stalking across the hangar deck towards the exit. "At least I can get some fucking rest. Goddamn fucking ponies, fucking shit up. Fuck!"
0338
Captain Volkov stared down at his desk. He had been awoken minutes before by a crewman stating that an 'urgent matter' was at hand. And now he stared at the message with disgust, only tempered by his self-control.
"Tell me, Seaman Boytsov, how would you react if one of your subordinates, if you had any, had secretly requisitioned five twenty kiloton nuclear weapons?" Volkov asked, a bit of rage tainting his calm voice.
"Sir, I would likely, ah, have them shot." The young crewmen stuttered out.
"Which is precisely what I wish to do to Colonel Degtyarev after this latest messages, in which I have just been informed that he had stolen five nuclear weapons without my knowledge! " Volkov barked out. "That damned political appointee has crossed the line yet again, and I have paid for his mistakes and blunders for the last time."
Volkov quickly turned the message over and scrawled something on the back, handing it to the Seaman. "Here, take this to the bridge. I want a group of Naval Infantrymen on the helicopter deck in four minutes, as well as a helicopter prepared. We are going to do something that has long been needed to be done.
"We are going to arrest Colonel Degtyarev."
Colonel Degtyarev smiled. For the first time since he had arrived in this accursed world, things were actually going as planned. A dozen Russian Army soldiers, loyal to him and him alone, were easily able to forge the required documents to transfer the weapons of destruction to his command tent.
Degtyarev knew fully how much Captain Volkov and that American disapproved of him, but now he would be taking action himself. The ponies would certainly give in after a few of their cities disappeared. And thus, the conflict would be over, and Volkov would be unable to hinder his plans.
"How much longer?" He asked impatiently.
"A few hours more." A technician, one loyal to him, said as he fiddled with the weapon. "These things are American, and I am not familiar with them. They will certainly not go off if I do something wrong, but they would most definitely be unusable."
"Do the best you can." Degtyarev said impatiently. "I have a man aboard the Admiral Kuznetson willing to use these for us, but his next sortie is in five hours. They need to be ready and on board before then."
"I am doing this as fast as I can." The technician replied calmly. "If I go any faster, harm may come upon the weapon. It is a precision-engineered marvel of science and technology: If even the sphere of explosives is dented, or a wire out of place, it will fail to work."
"Be sure you do not fail." Degtyarev said. "Remember, you do not get paid unless this-"
He was cut off by shouting outside of the tent, as well as a brief burst of gunfire. Startled, Degtyarev was just beginning to pull a revolver he kept in a holster out when four men burst into the tent through the entrance. He was not able to get even one shot off before one of them tackled him to the ground, using a quick blow to his hand to knock his gun away. The other three covered the room with their rifles, aiming them at the half dozen other people in there, most of whom had not even reached for their weapons.
"Drop your guns." One of the men standing over him said calmly, and the four men supposedly loyal to him dropped their rifle and raised their hands.
'Damn it!' Degtyarev raged into of his head. 'When these thugs get off of me, I will have their heads! And then those of my supposedly 'loyal' guards! How dare they!'
"Colonel Degtyarev, you are under arrest for the theft of weapons of mass destruction, theft of military property, conspiracy, disobeying a lawful order, and treason." The man holding him down said as he was forcefully turned on his stomach, before his wrists were handcuffed behind him. "Let's get this bastard to the ship."
"You have no right to do this!" Degtyarev yelled as the man practically picked him up and shoved him forward. "I will have you shot for this!"
"Doubtful, considering it was an officer higher in rank than you who gave me the order." The man said smugly as half a dozen more people, in the uniforms of the Naval Infantry, rushed into the tent. "Now, are you going to come with us willingly, or will I have to drag you?"
"Fuck you!" Degtyarev yelled, lashing out behind him with his foot and stunning the man holding him. He rushed towards the exit, heedless of the risks. The next thing he saw was the stock of a rifle headed towards him. Then, blackness.
"The target has been apprehended." Volkov heard one of the Naval Infantrymen say over the radio.
"Copy. Bring him to the helicopter." Another said. "Let's wrap this up, people. Detain everyone with him, and decide where they belong."
"Copy. Moving." The first replied.
"At least that is done." Volkov murmured. "It's too early in the morning for me to be dealing with this shit."
Author's Note
End of Act VI.
0926 hours Ten (10) days after first contact Over the Everfree Forest
The group of eight MH-60 Blackhawk helicopters flew over the forest at nearly two hundred and seventy kilometers per hours, awakening the often-nocturnal denizens of the forest as they flew overhead.
Inside, SPC Olivia Hall was cursing her luck.
It was certainly not enough that they had been in the first wave of both of the recent assaults on various cities in this fucked-up land. Oh no, she fumed internally, It had to be her unit that was picked to go out on an early-morning mission, instead of spending the damned day lounging away in a five-star hotel like the rest of her battalion, sipping wine and eating hot food.
Then again, Olivia reflected as another minor spat of turbulence swatted the helicopter around, at least their trip would be to an area far away from the action.
From the briefing that had been thrown at her mere minutes before heading out, the CO had found out about an abandoned castle twenty kilometers from a small settlement. His response? To immediately launch a force to take the castle, as well as equip it as a Forward Operating Base.
In her opinion, it was a shitty idea. An abandoned castle was likely abandoned for a reason. But, then again, they didn't pay her to listen: They paid her to point her gun at miniature horses. If she was getting paid now, that is.
When Olivia voiced her thoughts to the LT, he simply laughed.
"Ain't no rhyme or reason to this shit, Specialist Hall." He said. "We've just got to take the punches and do our job. Ain't nobody ever said that you had to be reasonable to be a Major."
"Ah, fuck it. Sir." Olivia replied. "I suppose we'll have our work cut out for us, defending an empty castle from a nonexistent enemy. At least the NatGs are staying behind."
The LT's face twisted into a grimace. Opinion of the Washington National Guard soldiers varied. Plenty of the soldiers in her unit thought they were shit. Then again, most of the soldiers in her unit were full of shit.
"I suppose so..." The LT said. "Still, I wouldn't mind having a few extra-"
"Landing in two mikes." The pilot cut in over the local 'Net' radio system. "Weather clear. Thank you for flying Air One-Seven, and I'll be here all day. Remember to tip your doormen, ladies and gentlemen. They're the ones standing next to the guns."
"Thanks!" Someone said over the 'Net' radio. "I'll be sure to give them fifteen percent of my workload."
A few chuckles went through the group as the helicopter gradually slowed down, their pilot scanning for an empty space to land.
"Anyone see an LZ?" The pilot asked over the local radio.
"There's a large area in front of the castle, on both sides of a chasm." The door gunner on another helicopter replied. "Enough room for all of us."
"How the hell are we going to get our shit across a rope bridge?" A engineer on the very same helicopter demanded. "There's a couple Chinooks coming within the half hour with even more equipment, and they're not going to be landing in the castle itself."
"There's a M104 bridger coming with the Army ground units." A man on the radio said. "Somebody on high probably considered this already. They'll arrive in about ten mikes."
"Then let's land."
The single Triton above Canterlot Castle had silently watched the large building for quite some time, and would continue to do so for as long as its' long fuel supply lasted.
Its' camera was pointed directly at one particular side of the castle, near the gardens in the back.
At 9:30 AM, eleven hours and thirty-four seconds after it was first placed down, the 'box' inside of the area currently serving as the throne room activated.
Three seconds later, a large blast blew a thirty-foot gap in the wall, a ball of fire erupting out of the castle.
"Come on, damn it!" Specialist Hall heard the LT yell. "We've been waiting for you fuckers for the past fifteen minutes!"
"I'd like to see you go along a dirt road at forty, you lazy bastard!" One of the crewmen of the M104 shouted back as the large vehicle unfolded the bridge on top of it. The massive steel construct slowly hovered over the ravine between them and the castle, waiting for the specialized tank to fully deploy it.
None of the infantrymen, Specialist Hall included, wanted to try and go across the rope bridge over the ravine. And thus, the soldiers on both sides had been forced to wait for the bridger to arrive.
Several more minutes passed, and the metal bridge finally finished lowering, with about six feet of it on each side of the ravine: The rest was hovering over the gap.
"Alright, let's move on in." The LT yelled. "We've wasted enough time as it is."
Specialist Hall soon found herself exploring the 'throne room' of the large castle. It was worn down by the weather to almost unusable levels, but it could be patched up. Several banners of some horses hung from the ceiling, and the far wall with the window was dominated by a pair of large thrones.
"Hey guys, look at this!" A private about twenty feet away said. When Hall looked over, she noticed he was pointing to some kind of scrap on the ground.
'This looks interesting.' Hall thought, walking over to it and kneeling down next to the shards. It was light blue in color, and looked halfway like some sort of shattered metal object.
"Any idea what it is?" The private asked.
"Not a clue." Hall admitted, reaching out a hand to pick a piece of it up. "Kinda nice-looking, though. Wouldn't mind grabbing it as-"
Her sentence was cut off as the shard held in her hand suddenly felt white-hot, causing her to let out a small yell and drop it, frantically shaking her hand.
"Specialist...?" She heard the private next to her ask.
"Damn thing felt like it was on fire!" Hall said as she looked over her hand. Strangely, it didn't appear burnt, and the pain was rapidly fading away. "I'd recommend sweeping that shit up into a corner. Don't want somebody else to pick the damned stuff up and complain to the LT."
It wouldn't matter in any case.
Hall frowned, troubled by the thought that had popped unbidden into her head.
'Damn, I must need a break. I've been going for too long without much sleep.' She thought. 'Pretty sure the LT wouldn't mind if I plopped down somewhere for a nap. After I tell him, of course.'
For the past twelve hours, the crew of the E-2 Hawkeye south of the city of Manehatten had seen not a single aircraft on their radar screens, save for the two times they had to land to refuel. It had been a boring duty, with the airspace over the city only frequented by small helicopters.
Until a single aircraft appeared on the edge of their radar, two hundred and fifty miles away. The Radar Officer aboard the flight glanced down at the screen, surprised by the sudden radar contact. Reaching for his headset, he quickly put it on and opened up a radio line to the Gerald R. Ford .
"Gerald R. Ford, this is Mike Overwatch. I've got a faint reading on a single... Make that multiple contacts to the west." The two other officers in the back with him shoot up as he said this. "Please advise on how to proceed."
"... Copy that, Mike Overwatch. We'll scramble a flight of fighters, and ask the Russians to do the same. In the meantime, try to initiate radio contact once they come into range."
"Copy that, Gerald R. Ford. Mike Overwatch out."
Author's Note
Yay, I am back into the swing of writing!
Also, please don't kill me for the wait... Please?
1007 hours Ten (10) days after first contact South of the Equestrian city of Manehatten
"... Unknown aircraft, this is Mike Overwatch One, respond as soon as you receive this message. Unknown aircraft, this is Mike Overwatch One, respond..."
The Radar Officer aboard the E-2 Hawkeye repeated the stock phrase for what must have been the thirtieth time since the group of contacts had entered radar range. And so far, they seemed to be hauling ass.
Directly towards his aircraft.
And that was why he was quite glad to have a group of Russian fighters three minutes out.
"... this is Mike Overwatch One, respond as soon as you receive this message."
"This is Izulu Flight. Who is speaking?" A heavily accepted voice interrupted.
"This is Mike Overwatch One out of the USS Gerald R. Ford . To whom am I speaking?" The Radar Officer countered.
"That is not for you, American. Prepare for your end." The transmission abruptly cut off.
"Shit..." The RO muttered, turning to the pilot. "Tell those flyboys to move faster. Our time has just been dialed down to zero."
"Copy that." The pilot replied. "I'll alert the squadrons."
"... total of eight contacts, Vikhr-lead. You are cleared to engage and destroy."
"Copy that, Mike Overwatch One." Lieutenant Anisimov replied. He knew he had likely butchered what little English he knew, but the point had gotten across: Those planes, the ones that threatened their only radar aircraft, were going to die.
"All flight elements, spread formation and stay alert." Anisimov said. "We're only fifty kilometers from them, and closing quickly."
"Copy lead. Any idea who these fuckers are?" One of the pilots in formation asked.
"No idea, 1-3. Keep off the radio."
"All flight elements. Bandits appear to be making a beeline for Manehatten." Their controller aboard the Kuznetson said, "They likely believe it to be a target. You are only a short distance from the city. Take them down as soon as possible."
"Copy. Bandits have closed to thirty-five kilometers. Arm missiles and prepare for combat." Anisimov ordered, making sure his own were ready. They could have already fired at their range, but the chance of a missile hitting increased exponentially the closer they were, and thus both sides would close for this engagement.
"Twenty-five kilometers. I'd suggest you prepare to fire." the American in the radar aircraft said, which Lieutenant Anisimov passed along.
"Twenty kilometers. Cleared to fire." Anisimov said, locking onto one of the targets with his tracking radar and letting pair of R-27T infrared missiles off.
Seconds later, a total of eight missiles were outbound, equal to the number of fighters on a course for them.
As they closed to within fifteen kilometers, several events happened within a few short seconds. As one of the enemy fighters triggered its own missile, theirs arrived, swatting three of the fighters - including the one firing - out of the sky with multiple hits, while two more experienced close misses.
Now that they were close enough, Anisimov could see the targets: Five MiG-21 aircraft, obsolete but still in use, all of whom were scattering away from the now-falling wrecks of their friends. Moving his targeting to another one, he fired off another R-27T as his flight broke in two, his wingman sticking to him.
The second missile caught up with it just as the two groups of aircraft mixed, turning the fifth fighter into a flaming ball of fire as Anisimov banked hard to engage another. It was almost like target practice, the pilots of the other craft not as experienced, or so he reflected as he fired off a burst with his 30mm cannon, several rounds blowing apart another one of the MiG-21s as the second group of his flight reported a duo of kills, leaving only one remaining.
The last one proved to be a tougher nut to crack, the old aircraft twisting away and leaving flares behind itself when he had banked into position for another missile shot.
"Bandit broke lock, reengaging." unfortunately for the other pilot, his aircraft could turn better, as the bandit discovered when a single missile blew its tail off, sending it spiraling into the sear below.
"All bandits down. Sky is clear." Lieutenant Anisimov says over the radio in his lackluster English.
"Copy. Thanks, Vikhr flight. We owe you one." the American aboard the EC-3 said, "We'll be sure to send a bottle over for you."
"Make it four, and we will be happy." Anisimov says, chuckling, "We are breaking off now. Good day."
1210 hours
The nap SPC Olivia Hall had taken had lasted a couple hours, and she had woken up to the most god awful headache she had experienced in years. It wasn't as if it were a problem for her. Really.
'Take another nap' the voice in her head suggested, and she was heavily inclined towards doing so. However, her duty took over first, and it was in a moment of panic that she realized she hadn't notified her superior. Olivia quickly stood up and grabbed her gear, jogging - because she certainly was not running - towards where her 'Net' display showed the LT was waiting. She raced past surprised soldiers on patrol, and only narrowly dodges ramming straight into a Captain, shooting him a hasty salute as she continued.
Several minutes later, she arrived at the throne room, where the Command Post had apparently been set up, judging by the banks of set-up computer terminals and officers moving around. Straightening herself and slowing down, she walked up to the LT and saluted once she had gained his attention, "SPC Hall reporting, sir!"
"Where have you been? You dropped off the 'Net' hours ago!" the LT said sternly as he looked away from a 'Net'-connected iPad and towards her.
"I... Was derelict in my duty, sir." Olivia replied.
"Damned right you were. I don't have time to deal with you now, but we will be having a personal discussion later." the LT said, focusing on his tablet again, "Rejoin the rest of your unit in setting up equipment and get the hell out of my sight."
'Kill him' a part of her mind said, making her subconsciously grip her rifle tighter before she caught herself and relaxed, "Yes, sir!"
She quickly moved off and continued through the halls towards the rest of her squad, slightly disturbed by the strange thoughts running through her head. She sped up her walking, hoping to bury herself in mindless labor.
As he walked through the forest, Davit silently fumed. At first, he had been happy that they had the support of a species of evil-looking insect ponies. That had steadily degraded, as the one sent with them would not stop asking questions, straining both his English and his patience. Even the sight of an entire section of the castle blowing up did not help his mood.
"... which does not make any sense, because a rule by everyling would probably end in chaos." the changeling said, smugly looking at him as if it had the winning argument against forming a republic... Which it did not.
"So? Whom would care if there was a bit of chaos? It works out." Davit replied, shrugging, his impatience growing.
The changeling sputtered for a moment before replying, "When is chaos GOOD?"
"When I stopped listening to you." Davit replied, while Aleksandre snickered.
"Fine, fine..." the changeling muttered, turning back to the path, or lack thereof, ahead of them as Davit forged onward.
"When do we reach the vehicle, Sergeant?" Aleksandre asked in Georgian after a moment.
"A few minutes. Marker's up head." Davit says, glancing at his 'Net' display.
"Good, good..."
The rest of the trip was made in silence, the other two privates in his squad not speaking a word, which Davit was fine with. It lasted until they broke through the forest and into the area surrounding the road, the changeling looking in curiosity at the American-made HMMWV sitting on the grass by the side.
"There's our ride." Aleksandre said as he sprinted towards it, followed by the three other Georgian operatives and one confused changeling. The private opened the driver's side door and slid in while the other four crawled inside, the changeling sitting in the rear seats in the middle.
With practiced movements, Aleksandre started the Humvee, the engine roaring to life and startling their equine-like 'guest'. He quickly put the large vehicle into a U-turn and started roaring down the road at well over eighty kilometers an hour, Davit looking resigned to his fate, while the changeling looked terrified.
"What is this thing?!" their diminutive companion asked.
"Half a ton of armor and weaponry!" Aleksandre said, laughing maniacally as he sped down the narrow, forest-enclosed, twisting dirt road at a speed that Davit would hesitate to drive on a straight and paved one on an open field.
"You're all crazy!" the changeling said, and for once, Davit actually agreed with it.
"Sir!"
Captain Henderson turned around and eyed the ensign curiously, "Yes?"
"There's been a major engagement between a company of the National Guard troops and Equestrian forces." the ensign says, "We're trying to bring it up on the screens now."
Henderson mentally sighs as he nods, 'Let's see what happened now...'
Author's Note
It lives!
Sorry for the wait: BronyCAN was a hell of a lot of fun, and I've been quite busy since. School and everything else have come together to haunt me.
I can promise you that I will never let a length of time pass like that again between updates.
Fifteen minutes earlier... 1250 hours Ten (10) days after first contact Everfree Forest
"It's them..." one of the ponies watching from the treeline, covered in pale blue armor, hissed out.
"We know it's them... They look just like the reports." his captain stoically answered, "The only question is, 'what can we do'? According to the reports, each has some sort of magical or projectile weapon."
His lieutenant snorted, ruffling his bat-like wings, "I doubt the reports, Captain. There are around three hundred of them, and we have four hundred in the company behind us. It would be a simple matter to overrun them."
"You are a fresh graduate from the Canterlot Military Academy, correct?" his superior asked.
"Correct, Captain Gale." he replied, "Fifth in my class."
"One thing that I have learned from our skirmishes with the Diamond Dogs," 'Captain Gale' slowly replied, "Is the casualties that ranged weapons can inflict upon the soldiers under my command. This lesson has been painfully taught, and it is the reason why we use crossbows so often now. We will attack when they are weakest."
The experienced lunar pony glanced around the area, and then at a small map he had. "This area is filled with mountains. The road is dirt, and the clearing around it cuts down to ten meters half a kilometer down the road. Their column is stopped in their steel contraptions, but they will move again, and when they do, we hit them."
"... Should I order the Guard to positions around that road area?" the Lieutenant asked after a moment, cowed.
"Do so, or the next time I have to correct you, it will be one of your Sergeants who has your command." The pony paled somewhat at this threat and nodded quickly, moving back and handing out orders in a near-whisper. Soon, the 2nd Company, 16th Regiment of the Lunar Guard of Equestria was on the move again.
Five minutes ago...
"... And that's when the Major's vehicle hit the damned rock. Jostled him around; Major wasn't wearing a damned restraint. So now we're twenty minutes behind on our route, and stuck in the middle of the damned forest." the crew chief of the Stryker armored vehicle said, and Sergeant Webster found himself nodding in agreement as their vehicle rumbled along the road.
"Makes sense." the Sergeant replied, "The Major never was much for regulations. May be fun enough in peacetime, and it's better than being a hardass, but just because we're the National Guard doesn't mean we're not soldiers."
"Agreed." the crew chief replied, "Maybe once his head stops hurting, he'll remember."
"Movement in the treeline." a voice said over his 'Net' radio a few seconds later, "Put a couple rounds into it. If it's another one of those damned cat- FIRST VEHICLE'S HIT! FIRE!" the Sergeant's 'Net' readouts immediately showed half a dozen red icons detonating friendly casualties as he immediately reacted, shouting for the rest of his squad to get out. Naturally, just as the .50 cal on the top of their Stryker began to fire, he was already out of the vehicle, HK416 in hand, looking towards the location with dozens of tagged enemies and stopping.
Coming out of the treeline barely thirty feet away was a large rush of the ponies, clad in gleaming silver-blue armor... And coming right for him. He backed away from the door as he flicked the safety off, the rifle bucking against his shoulder as he poured as many rounds downrange as he could, knowing at the top of his head that volume of fire more than made up for accuracy.
Even of the rounds of his that managed to hit something solid, he could see well over half of them deflecting off of the sloped portions of armor or striking the barriers of dark coated unicorn, even as more dropped in front of the growing line of National Guardsmen. Off to his right, the 25mm Bushmaster of a LAV-25 thundered, the mass of fire thinning out the ranks, but not stopping them.
The Stryker he had come from was suddenly gone from his vision. When the Sergeant glanced over, all he could see was it pushed on its' side, with the side facing where the ponies were crumpled and almost red-hot.
"All forces, fall back into the tree line behind us. I am calling for reinforcements." The calm voice of the major said over their 'Net' radios, a command that Sergeant Webster wasted no time in following. Firing a quick two shots into a pony a mere meter from him, he began backing off. "Fall back to the three line!" He said, rallying his troops... Or what was left of them. In the chaos, they had apparently taken three casualties, leaving his squad with seven members still standing.
A few feet into his run, Sergeant Webster felt something hit him in the back like a truck, launching him forward a few feet onto the ground. As he stood back up and continued running, he moved a hand to his back and felt a burnt hole in his IOTV, his body armor, and also that the ballistic plate in the back was damaged - Instead of his spine, thankfully. He took off running again when another bolt from the unicorns came within inches of him, turning around and firing as he fell back, the convoy lost.
Present time...
"A convoy's been overrun?" Captain Henderson asked in shock as he stood on the bridge of the U.S.S. Gerald R. Ford , staring at the situation map marking 'Net' unit locations.
"It's lost." one of the officers looking at the map said, switching one of the transparent screens to a view from a UAV at long distance, showing pale blue dots swarming over the vehicles of the convoy, often overturned or burning. Henderson frowned.
"What can we do to stop them? To get our men out of there?" he asked.
"We've scrambled a flight of F/A-18s, and we've got a relief convoy trying to form up... We don't know if they'll make it in time, though."
"Let's hope they do, Harry." Henderson said, "Let's hope to God that they do."
Sergeant Webster ducked behind a tree as the space he had been in was filled with at least five crossbow bolts. With the ponies, they didn't even seem to reload: They just kept firing after a second. He popped out of cover for a brief moment to spray at the oncoming ponies before racing back again, covered by his platoonmates further on.
His squad had been whittled down to himself and three privates, plus a wounded Corporal. His platoon hadn't fared well either, and the LT was dead... Which left him and the other surviving Sergeant to command their group. The rest of their company was likewise wounded and torn up - The 'Net' was cluttered with symbols depicting infantrymen around them, but there were far fewer than there should have been.
"-isky November Golf, Whisky November Golf, this is Raven flight off of the Ford . Do you copy?" Sergeant Webster heard over his radio. He hesitated to answer it, but seeing as nobody else did when it repeated, he keyed his mic.
"Raven Flight, this is fourth platoon, alpha company. We're glad you could join the party." he states dryly.
The sergeant heard a chuckle from the other end, "Right. We're coming in to lay down ordinance. I need a location other than 'where the enemies are'. We have your 'Net' unit locations."
"Right. We need everything you have a hundred meters south of our position on the hillside. If one of you could swing around and hit the forest on the other side of the road, that would also be nice." Webster said, firing another burst from his HK416 downhill.
"Rodger. Marking the target path." a moment later, a long, green line superimposed itself down the hillside on his 'Net' display.
"Get uphill!" Webster shouted, turning and running further from where they would be bombing. The rest of the platoon obeyed, and it seemed as though the entire company was backing off.
The roar of the jets washed through the treetops only moments before the bombs impacted, shredding the trees down the hillside... And most of the ponies chasing them. Webster let out a triumphant yell when he saw it. "Raven flight, Whisky November Golf here, ordnance was on-target. Repeat, ordnance was o-"
His report was interrupted when he felt himself be thrown back by another hit, this one to his chest. In his stunned state, he heard gunfire all around him as his platoon, and soon the whole company fought off the suddenly-appearing ponies. He blearily stood up just as the last remaining private in his squad cut down two of the strange pegasi, only to be speared by a third.
Sergeant Webster raised his rifle and firing, taking down a dark unicorn before another fired something at him. His vision went white and then dark, and then there was nothing.
"Whisky November Gold, respond..." Captain Henderson heard the voice of the pilot repeat, but knew it was probably useless. The moment 'Net' units reported their wearers dead - or unconcious - in large numbers, he knew it was over.
It was the first major unit they had lost... And the largest number of casualties to date, nearly doubling the current numbers. The fastest a ground unit could be there was in four hours, and by that time little would be left. As he ordered one to respond, the cynical part of his mind suggested that it might be a sign of things to come.
"Congratulations, Captain Gale. You have successfully granted Equestria its' first victory." Captain Gale heard his Lieutenant praise, but he paid no attention to it.
"We won with surprise and far too much luck. Sending a unit behind them paid off in the end, but without the move, it would have been a loss." Gale said in a flat tone, "Get the prisoners we have into the forest, and get the unicorns to take a few of their metal transports and as much equipment as possible. We will make a beeline for Canterlot."
"But sir! We still have a week in the patrol!" the Lieutenant protested.
"I do not care. Circumstances have come up, and it would be forgivable if we were to cut it off now." Gale snapped, "Give the orders."
His Lieutenant hesitantly nodded and ran off, shouting something as he did. Gale frowned. Victory had come at a cost - Nearly half of their numbers were dead, all to take down a force only slightly smaller. It had been through luck alone that the entire company had not been annihilated, and he would not risk it further. No, he would pull back, and take everything to Canterlot - Perhaps a solution could be found there...
... A solution that could win them this 'war'.
Author's Note
EDIT: Alright, I'm tired of people saying 'What if they copy it?!' as if the ponies can draw thousands of years of technological advancement of the ether. Those who have read my story up to this point should likely know that I lean towards realism, as well as using real-world historical events to help prove points and parallels. Any type of story in which the ponies acquired anything more advanced than a metal tube with a musket ball in it would have to skip an absolute minimum of years of trying to copy what they have perfectly, and, as those who can read know, the war will likely be won before they can figure out much of anything, really.
So no, ponies will not be rolling around with tanks or guns at any point in the future. Please stop barraging me with messages and posts on the story about it.
1318 hours Ten (10) days after first contact
"Captain, confirm lost contact with ground units." Captain Henderson's first officer said as the Captain himself sat in his chair, putting his head in his hands.
"Make the response team throttle it... And get some air units over that area... Track their 'Net' devices." Henderson said, barely aware of his own words, and the affirmative response to them. He had failed. Even if he wasn't the one on the ground, even if he hadn't been able to do anything, he had failed.
"Sir, I've got Captain Volkov on the line." An ensign said, holding out a headset for him, which he numbly put on.
"Captain Henderson." The rough, accented voice on the other end of the line said, "I have heard that you have suffered a... Tragedy of sorts."
"Correct." Henderson said, his throat dry, "We have indeed suffered a setback... Damn it all, we've lost a full company. That's not a setback; that's a disaster."
"May I render assistance? I can have units on-site within the hour." Volkov said.
"I would appreciate that, yes..." Henderson replied, trailing off, "... Volkov, we need to end this war, soon. I know that we have a plan to hit their capital city, shut their entire command structure down at once. We need to speed it up and get it done."
"I'll alert the proper units, respond to this crisis, and then get to work on that. You should get some rest, American. You seem tired." Volkov notes.
"No rest for the weary, I'm afraid. Good day, Captain Volkov." He said, mostly ignoring the farewell on the other end as he slipped the headset off, standing up and beginning to issue orders, barking them out with what energy he could muster. "Recall all flights to refuel and rearm. I want a round-the-clock surveillance of Unmanned Aerial Vehicles on the city known as Canterlot. Issue orders to forward units to begin a push across the countryside towards planned positions."
"Sir, most units are in the middle of a rearming phase from the end of the takeover of Manehatten. They won't be able to move out for another twenty hours." One of the women in the communications section said.
"Tell them they have ten. I want them rolling out as quickly as possible." Henderson ordered, "We can always resupply them with more ammunition as they continue. Now, on to the problems with fuel supply..."
SPC Olivia Hall grimaced, holding her head as another headache ran through it.
"Damn it... I feel like I'm losing my damned mind..." She mumbled. It wasn't helped by that incessant, nagging part of her brain that seemed to be acting up.
'Take another break. Deal with the outcome later.'
To be honest with herself, she was really, really thinking of just giving in to the damned voice. However, the thought of further punishment from the LT - in addition to having to drag heavy crates of equipment from one end of the room to another under the direction of the techies - remained on her mind.
"Damnit, brain, work with me here..." She said to herself, walking out of the small room she had been exploring and down the hall, emerging back into the room she was supposed to be in.
"Took a little break?" One of the other soldiers asked.
Olivia shook her head, "Headache. Feels like I'm taking a load of seven-six-two against my skull."
"Go see the doc after we're done, then." He replied.
She grunted, going back to 'her' crate and beginning to drag it again. Along the way, she was pretty sure she had invented several new forms of cursing, in addition to likely offending most of her ancestors.
"You're done." The tech guy setting up some kind of station said when she finished, barely glancing at her.
"All right, all right..." She grumbled, going over to a corner and picking her rifle back up, leaving the room as quickly as she could and moving through the castle towards her unit's lodging in the 'residential section'.
From what she knew, this location was pretty desirable. Other than being a fortified location with very few ways of entry, it was on a high cliff on a point overlooking a (probably panicking) village, had a clear line-of-sight to their capital city, and had plenty of room in which to set up a control center for the likely-soon attack on 'Canderlot' or whatever the name of it was.
Upon arrival, they had wasted little time, running power cords along the floor as banks of equipment were set up, and the former castle had quickly turned into a well-defended fortress. She had even heard that attempts were being made to patch up the wall and holes in the building, and to wire it up.
With such events outside of her area of concern, she didn't really care much about them. She just wanted this damned headache to stop.
1400 hours
As the Mi-24 he was in flew above the forest below, Lieutenant Vasilyev was left to his thoughts. That, and the unstopping complaints from Sergeant Petrov. But he tended to ignore those anyway, so his thoughts kept him occupied.
He had hesitantly concluded that he might be part of the cause for this whole conflict. Although the ponies took their own steps in fueling the fire, frightening a guard, stealing a train, and then shooting a guard with rubber bullets in front of their ruler before threatening them, running off, and then opening fire later on was probably not a good idea.
The entire situation was 'fucked up', as the Americans would say. As he had said far too many times for his own comfort, both in the company of his squadmates and by himself.
In retrospect, he was rather glad the majority of them spoke English. While an annoying necessity in the modern world, Russian being a far superior and beautiful language of course, it did have its' uses. Such as in understanding what most of the Americans, British, and so on were saying. Right now, a heated argument was occurring between two of their attack chopper pilots over whose mother had been with whom. While he very much wanted to interject and tell them to stow it, he found it mildly amusing.
"Settle down." Another voice said over the radio, that of Captain Volkov. "You are three minutes from entering the area. Rescue any prisoners, if possible, and punish them for what they have done."
Vasilyev liked the Captain and respected him. However, he felt that going after the ponies was foolish. It wasted valuable avgas in what amounted to a dick-showing contest. They would overrun their capital city within the week. Why waste the time?
He pulled the bolt back on his rifle, chambering a round. He still had a job to do, and whatever his feelings, he would do it.
"Half a minute out!" Their pilot said a short time later, "I'm tracking numerous heat contacts... Equines, definitely. Yeah, we've found them. Prepare to disembark!"
"All right, you heard him." Vasilyev said to his soldiers, Novikov being halted in the middle of a joke, "We go down there and complete our mission. No planting explosives on trees to play lumberjack." He said with a pointed glance at Kozlov, who snorted and loaded his own weapon.
"My father was an excellent lumberjack. Don't fuckin' forget it." The private replied.
"You inherited none of his skills, and probably not his genes, either." Petrov retorted, silencing him.
"Just... Shut up." Vasilyev interrupted, sighing, "It's like handling a school filled with children, I swear..."
The helicopter shook as they touched down on the ground, Vasilyev immediately sliding the door open and looking around. They were in a small clearing with enough room for three other helicopters to set down, the thick forest of the 'Forever Free Forest' around them. What caught Vasilyev's attention was that the forward elements of the pony group were only a short distance ahead, moving parallel to their position, as marked on his HUD and broadcast through the 'Net' system.
"If only I had one of those strength-enhancing suit things..." Kozlov grumbled, looking uncomfortable with the RPG 30 slung over his shoulder, the launcher having proven effective in blasting apart the strongest shields by sheer force... And often knocking out the unicorn making them.
"You're not in a video game, a novel, or a movie." Vasilyev deadpanned, "Let's get going. We have work to do."
Captain Gale of the Lunar Guard was having a bad day. Five minutes ago, he would have described it as 'decent', but being attacked by flying contraptions that never seemed to be harmed by his efforts to bring them down hampered his enthusiasm.
Again, he rose from behind the fallen log and fired a crossbow bolt at one of them. Again, it merely bounced off, continuing to attack his soldiers with its' weapons. The projectiles fired from it even seemed to explode from some kind of spellwork, wreaking havoc among his weakened forces.
What remained of his company was pinned down, the equipment and prisoners they had taken useless, as the projectile-spewing contraption seemed to aim directly for his soldiers, even through thick foliage.
The sound of the weapons that these beings had came from somewhere to his right, alerting him that they were closing in. He re-positioned himself on the log, firing a crossbow bolt at a bipedal-shaped blur between several trees, missing.
He figured it was time to cut his losses and run. To Tartarus with the prisoners, if he got back with a bit of the equipment, that would be enough. With a gesture, the pony next to him sounded a small horn, and his company began to pull back, minus the small vehicle that had managed to haul with them, along with all of their prisoners, simply left on the ground as they retreated.
Olivia groaned as she held her head. The pain hadn't gone away, why wouldn't it go away?
Author's Note
I am back!
1709 hours Ten (10) days after first contact Everfree Forest
Vasilyev helped yet another former prisoner onto the helicopter, the man fairly weak from a combination of his bandaged wounds and being tied up for several hours. Thankfully, they had recovered all of the prisoners unharmed, easily found because of their still-active 'Net' units. While most of the ponies had managed to slip into the deeper forest, Vasilyev was satisfied with the victory they had gotten.
"That's the last of them..." He said to himself in Estonian, causing Sergeant Petrov to look at him curiously. He shrugged off the look and stepped onto the helicopter, followed shortly by the rest of his squad. The Mi-24 lifted off of the ground, banking back towards the city of Manehatten.
SPC Olivia Hall stumbled into an empty room and onto the ground, her hand held to her head. It felt like she was running a massive fever, and the damned headache wouldn't go away.
Her vision tinted blue for a moment, and she had a sudden realization, one that grew over her headache. It must have been the ponies! With their magic and other stuff that she didn't quite know about! What if it was the LT?
She shook her head, "That's too crazy, even for this..." She mumbled to herself, crawling along the floor until she reached a dresser, using it to help herself up as another spike of pain went through her head. When she did so, she momentarily glanced into a mirror and saw, to her surprise, that her eyes seemed to have changed to a slitted appearance. She gasped in shock, nearly losing balance and blinking...
When she did, it was gone.
"I must be losing my mind..." She whispered, guiding herself to the soft bed and sitting down on it.
It wasn't any sickness she had heard of. What caused hallucinations and a burning fever? She immediately discounted drugs, seeing that the proposition that she alone had somehow taken them in was ridiculous... So what did that leave her with?
'The ponies and your commander...' A voice at the back of her mind whispered.
She gently nodded, maybe that WAS the problem. Her LT had been annoying, after all... She shook her head again, irritated with herself. Maybe another nap would help...
All the while, another voice laughed hauntingly at the edges of her mind.
Sergeant Webster opened his eyes slowly, the light almost blinding. He blinked it away, trying to sit up, giving up after a few failed attempts and glancing around.
He was in a tent, that was certain. A man in medical fatigues came into his vision, and he realized he must have been wounded. Then the events of the convoy ambush came back to him, and he fought back a grimace.
"Oh, you're awake. Didn't expect that so soon." The man said, "How are you feeling?"
Webster tried to say something, but all that came out was a dry croak. The 'doctor', understanding, grabbed a canteen and placed it at his lips. The Sergeant eagerly drank his fill, and the canteen was pulled away. "So, how are you feeling?"
"Like shit." Was the first thing that came out of his mouth. The doctor chuckles.
"I can see that. You have three cracked ribs and second-degree burns over some of your left shoulder. Or, well, had. You were captured for a bit, and the ponies managed to stabilize you and heal most of it, but you'll be away from the front lines for at least three days."
"Only three?" He asks.
"Only three." The doctor confirmed, "All personnel with non-serious injuries are being rotated out of here. We're anticipating a surge of injuries when the latest push happens, and those on top want as many combat-capable soldiers as possible."
"Alright... Wait, next push?" Webster asks.
"Didn't you hear? They're taking their capital city in a few days or something like that." The doctor notes, writing something down on his clipboard, "Now, I want you to bear with me, and answer these questions as best as you can..."
1808 hours
As the sun slowly approached the horizon, four towering steel ships approached the city of Baltimare. The Arleigh Burke-class DDGs Spruance and Halsey, together with the Kirov-class battlecruiser Pyotr Velikiy and the amphibious assault ship Sevastopol, sailed towards the city, watched carefully by several UAVs above the area.
They were easily spotted by the outlying settlements, and indeed they were not making any kind of effort to hide themselves. Word spread quickly, and by the time they were a mere kilometers from the harbor entrance, a response had already been mustered. With militia from half a dozen local villages to assist the local Guards and recent conscripts, they threw together a decent-sized formation of pegasi to accompany the six wooden vessels that cast off from the docks, ready for war.
They sailed proudly out of Baltimare harbor, ready to engage the human forces.
The Pyotr Velikiy was the first to open fire, its' 130mm, fast-firing main gun launching a 33.4 kg shell towards the first ship, a galleon, gutting the bow before exploding deep inside, the high explosive charge blasting it apart. The second shell arrived three seconds later, blowing a massive hole in the side of the second ship.
The Spruance and Halsey were not to be left out, their slightly smaller 5-inch guns tearing apart the next two in a fantastic display of the capabilities of their 'Net' systems, the attacks perfectly coordinated with one another.
The last two ships turned to evade, but the human warships were well within range, explosive shells quickly targeting and sinking both... Which left the escorting pegasi forces, numbering nearly a hundred and seventy, in an odd situation, without any kind of ship to escort.
This was solved when their commander made the brilliant decision to attack.
They charged forward, closing to within four kilometers of the ships... Until they opened up, their duel-purpose guns and CWIS point defenses tearing through the swarm. What was easily effective on a missile going mach three twenty feet above the waves did much worse to a gold-armored pegasus flying at speeds no greater than four hundred kilometers an hour.
The formation was torn apart, massive explosions taking out whole flights, while streams of 20mm rounds killed the stragglers. Eventually, only a few dozen remained, and all were fleeing as the ships continued unopposed.
Although it was not a major operation, consisting of only a few hundred soldiers and the ships, the invasion of Baltimare was underway.
Deep inside of Olivia's mind, a dark presence lurked. Not content with altering her perception of reality, it examined every bit of her mind, learning more and more as she rested, slowly taking the reigns for itself...
Author's Note
Yay for another chapter!
Also, 100k words. Finally.
2102 hours Ten (10) days after first contact Baltimare
"Fire!"
A brief flash lit up the night, and another 5-inch shell launched from the autocannon on the deck of the Spruance , streaking across the kilometer of distance between the ship and the city, impacting on the docks. The shelling of the city of Baltimare had started fifteen minutes ago, concentrating on strategic and military targets. The docks were already ablaze, and fire didn't seem like it would go out any time soon.
Two more MQ-8C Fire Scouts zipped over the American ship, the unmanned helicopters having been launched from the Sevastopol as part of the next attack wave. They joined up with a twenty-strong formation of other Fire Scouts, flying over the docks and launching their four-rocket loads at designated targets, including warehouses and Guard units.
The next phase of the assault was already underway, with the launch of a total of fifteen Mi-24s and six Mi-28s. They flew low over the water, guided by their 'Net' units, which plotted a path through the shellfire and blazing buildings by the shore to an open area that had been 'softened up' only minutes prior. Without fanfare, they landed, disgorging nearly one hundred crack Russian soldiers.
In accordance with pre-approved plans, they immediately pushed outward, squad-sized formations swiftly putting out any resistance they encountered. Supported by direct fire from the ships in the harbor, the soldier kept on going, taking block after block and crushing the weak defense the minimal Guard forces could put up...
2300 hours
Olivia's eyes snapped open, the female soldier sitting up in the bed. All was quiet at this time of night in the castle, leaving her alone. That didn't concern her, in fact, 'Olivia' welcomed the darkness.
She grinned - A wide, predatory smile, filled with glee. She finally knew what needed to be done. The SPC didn't notice that she was taller, nor that she felt stronger than before. The unknown force controlled her, making her move like a puppet on string, all the while thinking that she was in control...
0615 hours Eleven (11) days after first contact
Aboard the USS Gerald R. Ford , all was quiet, as was to be expected from the night. With no crisis to solve, the bridge crew at this time simply sat around, doing nothing but coordinating troop movements in preparation for the upcoming assault on the capital.
As such, it came as a surprise when a frantic call came over the radio.
"Gerald R. Ford , this is the Castle Base!" The frightened voice said, immediately catching the attention of the crew. One of them opened the channel a few moments later.
"Castle Base, state your problem." The calm voice of radio technician Hanson responded.
"We're under heavy attack by a hostile, unidentified contact! We need support ASAP. Ground, air, anything!" The desperate person on the other end supplied, "The 'Net' traffic has been disrupted, and we can't contact you any other way."
"Rodger, stay calm. I'll dispatch some help as soon as I can. Gerald R. Ford out." The technitian replied, cutting the connection and turning to the others, "Alright, you know the drill. Wake the Captain and get some people moving ASAP."
The bridge exploded into action, various sections going about their tasks of waking the needed crew and coordinating a ground response. It was going to be a long night...
The woman formerly known as Olivia relished in the thrill of battle, cutting a swath across the current room. One of her former comrades fired nearly a full magazine into the dark figure in panic before the gun was jerked from his grasp, the soldier quickly dispatched from consciousness by a blow to the head.
The second was not nearly so 'lucky', black fire consuming him as the being before him glowed with power, the soldier perishing quickly from the unnatural flames. The third lasted mere moments before a nigh-superhuman punch crushed several ribs and sent him down.
The dark being smashed through the wall and back out into the hallway. Nearly fivescore had fallen before her, each one feeding her might, and she did not plan on stopping so- A bright midday sun shone down upon the training grounds. Olivia felt as though she was drenched in sweat from the run, but the thrill of accomplishment filled her with pride a-
She paused. The Nightmare didn't know how to react the memories. It was dull, boring, and unexpected. None of 'Her' previous hosts had shown such symptoms as random memory recall. Nevertheless, She thought, It shall not matter soon.
Soon, Equestria would be hers once more, as it was always meant to be.
0702 hours
Lieutenant Vasilyev awoke to the sound of the rest of the soldiers around him getting out of their bunks. He groaned, sliding out of the bunk and looking around.
His team had been put in a test with some of their fellow Russian soldiers. All of them were now quickly grabbing their gear, and from the muffled conversations, he soon surmised the reason as he grabbed his own gear.
Sergeant Petrov came up to him as Vasilyev grabbed his gun out of its' position in the locker. "Lieutenant, what the hell is going on?" He asked, taking his own out and quickly checking the safety.
"From what I have heard, an American camp is under attack, and we need to immediately shore it up." Vasilyev replied, grabbing the ammunition for his gun. "Unknown if pony or something else, but we're supposed to assume the worst."
"Shit, that's not too good. I don't suppose we have a plan?" Petrov asked as the two of them, followed swiftly by the other two soldiers in their squad, ran out of the tent and into the nigh-chaos outside.
"Negative. Sokolov's getting our Mi-24 warmed up now, but we'll be packed inside with a bunch of others and then sent out." Vasilyev said as he headed for Helipad 05, where nearly two dozen Russian craft were neatly spread, most of them with their engines running as ground crew, soldiers, and pilots hurried about.
"Do we at least have an approximate location?" The sergeant asks, desperate for information.
"'Net' gear on. Now." Vasilyev ordered, quickly turning his on to see the familiar HUD pop up. The lights indicating his squad members slowly came on as theirs came up as well. "Alright, listen up. From what I can see, our target is a castle around a hundred and thirty kilometers away, near the town we came down next to." He said, quickly pulling up a recently-made, three-dimensional map of the area in question. "The Americans set up a base to help relay 'Net' transmissions, but it's gone dark, and recent radio reports state that it is under attack."
"And we know nothing about the attackers?" Petrov asks again.
"Correct." Vasilyev replies as he runs towards Sokolov's helicopter, the blades already spinning up. "From what I can tell, we have no idea what we are facing. Second and Third companies of the Russian Contingent are coming along with us to help."
"Any air support?"
"Only the helicopters we have. Most planes are down for maintenance at the moment, especially after the attack yesterday."
Petrov cursed vividly as all four soldiers clambered into the cargo section of the Mi-24VM. "What the fuck did we do to deserve this?"
"You signed up." Vasilyev dryly replied as several more soldiers entered. The siding door was quickly shut, a breif jolt of vertigo going through Vasilyev as the helicopter started to lift off. From the display on his 'Net' unit, it appeared that they were the second to do so, as several others also rose.
"Arrival in half an hour. Hold on tight." Sokolov said over the local radio.
"Copy." Vasilyev replied, glancing out of the window at the landscape rushing by. It was going to be a long morning...
0720 hours
Equestria had been, until recent days, a land of peace, unprepared for the kind of war that was now confronting it. Not since the Griffon Invasion of 255 ANM had it encountered an enemy as tenacious and frightening as the one it now faced.
This was most especially visible to one of its' rulers, Princess Celestia. Arguably the public face of the suddenly besieged nation, she had done her best to keep the public calm while attempting to confront a mysterious and powerful force unknown since the time of Discord.
As the nigh-immortal alicorn looked over yet another casualty report, she fought to keep herself calm. Her sister assaulted, her cities under siege, and her own castle damaged heavily - the throne room itself would take almost two months to rebuild, if it ever was at all. The reports were indeed grim, and from all signs, the enemy was closing in.
The Elements of Harmony, the greatest weapons that her nation had, were useless in the fact of this threat. The Royal Guard had lost nearly one-fifth of its' strength. Even the great city of Manehatten had fallen, despite all attempts to save it.
Even with the upcoming arrival of the guard from the Crystal Empire, it was going to be hard to hold onto Canterlot. The griffons seemed to be uninterested in helping her, especially with their ambassador likely under the influence of the strange bipeds. The only good news was that a depleted company of Night Guards had returned with scraps of their technology and weapons.
As she mused upon these things, however, a guard burst into the room, "Princess Celestia! Urgent news!"
She quickly sat up, "Yes, Guard?"
"Our Scholars have detected the presence of Nightmare Moon!" He says.
Celestia's blood ran cold for a mere moment. "Summon the Royal Guard, get a detachment down to where that thing is at to delay it!"
The guard nodded and sprinted out of the room as Celestia levitated a piece of parchment, "Dear Twilight Sparkle..."
The armada of helicopters slowly approached the old castle, preparing to launch an assault on whatever was inside.
Deep in the bowels of the crumbling masonry, Lieutenant Erickson cradled the radio he had, hearing the footsteps of whatever unholy being had annihilated his men draw closer and closer.
Eventually, it came around the corner and saw him. He looked back at it, raising his sidearm and unloading into what he now recognized as a female soldier. The rounds seemed to vanish as they drew closer, and a thin hand knocked his gun away as another one flashed towards his face, his vision and thoughts going dark for an eternity...
Author's Note
Fixed errors in previous chapters where I put the time wrong.
Sorry for the third of a year of delay.
January 6th, 2015 1517 hours Black Sea, south of Sevastopol
In the chaos of the Combat Information Center/Bridge of the New Russian Federation warship Admiral Nakhimov , Captain Volkov knew the fight was going badly. He had known it from the moment his escorting ships were blown to pieces by the surprise air assault, and when their escorting carrier, the Admiral Kuznetson , was sunk. Who could have expected it? The blasted Americans had come in under heavy jamming, struck, and dealt many blows to his ship.
One of the planes slowly lined up for his ship's bow, ready to strike again.
"Incoming, front!" One of the men on the bridge yelled.
"Redirect the defensive fire front!" Volkov yelled as he paced the bridge.
He never saw the second plane, an aging but powerful F-117, coming from the port side of the ship. It wouldn't have made a difference if he had. The two American-made Mk.83 bombs slammed into the superstructure below the bridge, enveloping the superstructure in fire, and critically compromising the Admiral Nakhimov's integrity. The entire center of the ship cracked, split, and rapidly took on water.
Five minutes later, and the ship had sunk beneath the waves. The American and Russian Federation loyalist aircraft circling overhead excitedly talked over the radio, unaware that their 'kill' would be experiencing an entirely different fate.
January 15th, 2015 1526 hours Moscow, New Russian Federation
The dull roar of the rotors played above Sokolov’s head. He shifted in his seat to get a better view of the area around him, thanking the designers of the Mi-24D for including the bubble canopy. Even though the helicopter design was practically ancient at this point, it was still matching up to more recent designs, as well as being compatible with almost every weapon in the Russian arsenal, and being able to transport a large load of troops.
Which brought him to his current assignment: Ferrying four MVD Spetsnaz soldiers to the Kremlin. The complex had, only moments before, been secured by American helicopter units, and he had gotten the go-ahead to transport his cargo there.
He was only thankful he hadn’t been told to be in the assault wave. From what he had heard, Osa squadron had been annihilated by a combination of SAMs and low-flying Su-25s. He and the rest of his flight of three were moving forward, each transporting four members of the twelve-man team.
“Pilot,” He heard Lieutenant Vasilyev, the leader of the strike force, ask on the aircraft radio. “How much longer will this take?”
“Only a few more minutes, Lieutenant.” He replied.
He glanced up and behind himself at his Co-pilot, Bogdanov. Apparently he, like Sokolov, had nothing to do except watch the buildings move past beneath them. He was in no hurry, after all. Why waste the aviation fuel?
In back, Lieutenant Vasilyev turned around to look at his men. There were four of them, comprising a third of the assault group. Their objective was to storm the Kremlin as an advanced team, to prevent any organized defense against the forward Russian elements. Riga 1, Riga 2, and Riga 3 were already about to converge on the massive complex, to end the battle for Moscow. For the last time before they would begin, Vasilyev checked on his men and their equipment.
The newest private, Novikov, seemed the most nervous. This would his first taste of actual combat, outside of training. Kozlov, the other private in their group, was wearing his ever-present scowl. Both shuffled around, shifting their AK-12 rifles around and occasionally checking the ACOG scopes. Sergeant Petrov was shifting his sniper rifle around. Where Petrov has managed to find a SVU-A, Vasilyev would never know, but the sergeant had a tendency to work miracles. After all, the man had risen to command second squad for a reason.
Finally, Vasilyev checked his own assault rifle. The Steyr AUG A3 may have been old, but the bullpup design was ideal for the encounters he would face. The red dot sight on the top was in perfect condition, imported from Austria. His sidearm, an SR-2, was likewise in good condition.
Overall, his team was ready for any resistance they might encounter. Suddenly, a call came over the local radio in English.
“Cruise missile, Inbound!”
Sokolov’s head immediately moved to track the missile. It was hardly more than a speck, but even he could see the color at this distance, a brilliant orange-red.
Over the past several months, as the New Russian Federation waged war on the Russian Federation and most of NATO, the experimental weapon that the NRF had obtained had been much talked about. It was nicknamed 'Trinity', and it was possibly the most powerful non-nuclear weapon yet developed, capable of annihilating entire sections of cities. It was often encased in a bright orange cruise missile to visually distinguish it.
And one was heading for the center of the Kremlin
The cruise missile hit the ground roughly in the middle of the compound, the blast blinding Sokolov even as he shielded his eyes with his hand. He immediately wrenched the control stick to turn away from the blast, the aircraft slow to respond to his input. As soon as he and his now-panicking Co-pilot, the dust cloud and first shockwave started to head towards him. The first ones passed him and buffeted his aircraft as he moved away from the blast, engulfing his helicopter in a storm of dust.
The massive turbulence slung his aircraft to the right, causing it to turn and tumble. He began to spin towards the ground even as he and the Co-Pilot tried to counteract it. His helicopter spun down a street, headed right for the pavement. The Mi-24 smashed down on its side, the force of the impact slamming Sokolov's head into the side of the cockpit...
In the back, the men were thrown about as the helicopter spun. Vasilyev lost his grip on a bar and flew through the air as the gunship impacted the ground, violently throwing him into the side of the helicopter as he unconsciousness claimed him.
Author's Note
Original chapter completed on 6/30/2013 - 860 Words
This is the first chapter of the story, rewritten into a more tolerable state than it was previously.
Also, new cover picture.
Location Unknown Time Unknown Day before first contact
Vasilyev gave out a low groan. He opened his eyes and patted around his head, finding no injuries. He looked around him to see the stirring forms of the other three Spetsnaz soldiers. He reached for his AUG A3, finding the grip and pulling it towards him, cradling it on his chest. With his weapon firmly grasped in his right hand, he used his left hand to roll over onto his chest, before repositioning it to help him stand. When he did so, grasping onto the bench at the side (now the roof) of the Mi-24, he could finally survey his surroundings.
He had been lying on the left side of the Mi-24, which was now apparently the floor. The helicopter must have been overturned in the crash. Another overlying question filled his head: Why had they crashed? He had heard a mention of a cruise missile over the radio in English, and then a massive shockwave has rocked the tiny aircraft. The helicopter had then decided to imitate a carousel and spin towards the ground, at which time he – and the others – had been thrown around like pinballs. It was a miracle they were not all dead, least of all unharmed.
Around him, the others were getting to their feet.
“Chert voz'mi!” Novikov cursed.
“Shut the hell up!” Sergeant Petrov hissed at the private.
“Sorry, sir.” The chastised soldier replied.
Petrov looked up towards the 'ceiling', at what was once the right side door.
“Come on,” He said. “Let’s get this open and get outside.”
Together, the soldiers began to push up on the door. It pushed open and to the side, sliding open along side of the wrecked helicopter. Petrov slung his rifle and pulled himself up, stopping to give a hand to the others. Once they had all gotten out, Petrov went to the front to assist the pilot and co-pilot while the others observed their surroundings.
“Well, shit.” Vasilyev sarcastically muttered. “I didn’t know Moscow had a snowless forest inside of it in the middle of winter.”
“It doesn’t, sir.” Private Novikov stated.
To their left, the door of the gunner’s seat suddenly opened. Out crawled the gunner and Co-Pilot, Bogdanov. He dusted himself off and looked up at them.
“Where the hell are we?” The co-pilot asked as the cockpit hatch opened on the pilot’s area. Sokolov quickly scampered out, before turning around to collect his gear and weapon.
“Not a fucking clue.” Kozlov said, jumping down from the top of the crashed helicopter.
“Wherever we are, it isn’t Moscow. There’s not enough goddamn snow.” Petrov dryly remarked.
"There is no snow at all, Sergeant." Vasilyev said in reply.
Both Sokolov and Bogdanov began to grab things from inside the cockpit, ranging from survival gear to their sidearms.
“Are we done?” Kozlov asked impatiently as he waited for the pilots to stop inspecting their weapons and gathering their things.
Vasilyev frowned, before shaking his head and turning towards the group. “Since we don’t know where we are, gather whatever supplies you can. Make sure they’re survival-oriented: we might be here a while until rescue comes. We’ll be on the move, so be sure to leave clear markings and tracks.”
“Good thinking.” Petrov said, nodding in agreement.
The soldiers quickly stripped the Mi-24D of everything they could find that would benefit them. Novikov went so far as to grab two 9A4172 missiles from the ordinance pods, disarm them, and store them using a strap on the outside of his pack.
"What do you plan to do with those?" Sokolov asked the private, gesturing towards the rather large pair of missiles that the private had picked up.
"Shoot them off if I see any trouble." The private replied. "I can use a remote connection to trigger them. It'll kick like a mule, but it's enough to scrap anything we find."
Sokolov internally winced at the thought of carrying all that weight, but the private didn’t seem to mind. And in any case, it would be useful if they encountered a tank.
There was a PKM beside a swing-out mount meant for it to attach to by the cargo door, which Petrov happily - and carefully - lifted out of its' cradle and slung over his back, along with two 100-round boxes of ammo for it.
Overall, the soldiers and pilots were heavily armed, and weighed down with enough equipment for almost any task, sans repairing their destroyed helicopter. Or building one of their own.
With a motion of his hand, Vasilyev waved them away from the wreck of the Mi-24 and into the woods, moving towards what he presumed was south, given the direction the sun had been moving.
Together, the group set off.
The six men slowly walked through the forest, the trees around them reaching into the sky. The sun shone down on them constantly, and the entire place seemed to be trapped in spring, rather than the dead of winter.
After fifteen minutes of walking, Lieutenant Vasilyev called for a halt. The group sat down and started to shift around their things, getting them into more comfortable positions.
So far, their rations had been counted, and found to be about twenty days total, thirty if they stretched them. Vasilyev knew that moral would be a problem if they were stuck out here, but also knew they were bound to find civilization of some sort eventually. After all, strange weather or not, it was still Russia: Villages abounded in large numbers.
After all, Vasilyev mused as he leaned against a tree, they could not have traveled very far.
Author's Note
Original chapter 2 completed on 6/20/2013 - 927 Words
As the helicopter flew low over the trees, Sokolov pondered the wisdom of opening fire on the ponies. Then again, he also pondered the wisdom of the ponies for doing it first, and for trying to arrest them. Clearly, if they were going over the city, there would be civilian casualties if a battle did erupt.
“They will be on us in two minutes, and we pass out of the city in four.” The pilot said. “Better hang on, we’re passing over the outskirts now.”
Sokolov looked down. Sure enough, houses were passing by below them, slowly being replaced by more built-up buildings. Ponies stared up at them in shock, and several times pegasi passed within meters of hitting them. Suddenly, he spotted a hint of gold coming up on their left side.
“Pegasi guards, nine o’ clock.” He said, first in Russian and then in English.
“Take them down.” Vasilyev said coldly, but with a bit of underlying nervousness.
Sokolov took careful aim and fired, his shots hitting one of the guards closing in on them. It tumbled to the streets forty meters below, electing screams from the inhabitants.
“Pegasi in front, turning!” The pilot yelled as the helicopter wrenched to the left, giving Sokolov a perfect view of the guards chasing them, but not a stable enough platform to fire from. Taking a deep breath, he hooked his right arm around a pole to keep stability, bringing the gun up to aim. He fired short bursts, at once hoping that they would not hit and scare it off – but as the same time hoping they would, sparing some civilian on the streets below.
Nevertheless, several tumbled from the sky, the brief glimpses he received revealing blood in abundance. The helicopter turned hard right, nearly knocking the Russian out of the helicopter if not for his safety tether. Several wooden and metal objects hit the hull and passed by them as pegasi armed with crossbows flew up beside them. At that moment, Ryan opened up with the Minigun.
It sprayed out bullets, impacted the pegasi (and tearing them apart) – as well as the building behind them. Vasilyev watched in horror as hundreds of rounds impacted the 16th floor of a building, causing part of the outside to fall away, revealing a panicking office – and, thankfully, no bodies.
The helicopter continued past that, headed over the city. If they were not wanted ten minutes ago, they certainly were now.
Thankfully, there were no more attacks as the helicopter headed over the edge of the city and out over the water.
“Where to?” Vasilyev asked the American sergeant.
He turned to confer with the pilot for a moment, before turning back.
“The coast of the main continent is a dozen miles to the east.” He said. “I suggest we follow it south.”
Vasilyev nodded. “Good suggestion. Let us do that.”
The helicopter banked left, headed slightly towards the east, and the short distance to the opposite shore was eaten up in a hurry. Soon enough, they were over dry land, a cause for a short celebration. However, a new problem popped up.
“It’s midafternoon, and we need to land to rest.” The pilot said. “Lucas and I are getting tired, and I don’t really trust the Russians to fly this.”
“Is there anywhere we can land?” The American sergeant asked.
The pilot nodded. “Farmland all the way along here. There’s a small clearing in an area of forest. The forest is a mile square, and the clearing is about sixty yards wide.” He pointed ahead of them, and indeed, there it was.
“How can you judge it at this distance?” The sergeant asked.
“Practice.” The pilot replied.
The sergeant sighed. “All right, land us there. I hope we don’t attract much trouble.”
“I heard.” Vasilyev said as the American sergeant came back. “We all need a rest.”
The sergeant rubbed his forehead, before nodding. “How long has it been since you’ve slept?”
“Midnight last night.” Vasilyev said.
The sergeant shrugged in reply. “I guess we do.” Turning back to the pilot, he issued a thumbs up, which the pilot returned.
Sokolov sighed. “Let’s just hope we don’t make a splash when we are thrown into the water.”
Author's Note
Yet again, another short chapter for you all.
Six (6) days after recorded First Contact
(Encoded transmissions between [CVN-78] and [Firebase CP] from 1820 hours to 1920 hours)
[CVN-76]: Major Thomas, this is Captain Henderson. Have you come up with a plan of action?
[Firebase]: ... Yes sir. I have communicated with Captain Volkov, and together we have come up with a suitable target for the offensive. Sending the information now.
[CVN-76]: ... Information received. What are the drawbacks and benefits to this target?
[Firebase]: It's located on a large island, so any vehicles will have to be loaded onto transports and brought over. The Russian team flew over it in their escape, so our arrival will not be a surprise. However, it is located on the ocean, with extensive port facilities. Being that it is an island forty kilometers in diameter, we will run into no problems with space, and an island itself is relatively easy to secure.
[CVN-76]: What about potential resources? However much I would like to avoid it as a primary reason, that is part of why an offensive is being launched in the first place.
[Firebase]: The Russian team's flyover was able to gather radar data of the terrain, and the SPI system on the Lake Erie has helped us gather an estimated population. All of this is attached in the report that we sent.
[CVN-76]: ... Thank you for your efforts, Major. I just wish that there was some other way.
[Firebase]: So do I, sir. Firebase out.
[CVN-76]: Gerald R. Ford out.
Sokolov slowly set the Mi-24 down on the deck of the Sevastopol, sighing to himself as yet another load of soldiers jumped out. After they were gone and the doors were closed again, he increased the power and took off, banking towards the shore again.
In the past half hour, he had ferried almost a hundred men from the camp to the Mistral-Class Amphibious Assault Ship just offshore. He had been surprised to learn that they had a spare Mi-24, only to learn that the crew that flew it was off-duty. Needless to say, he was being very careful.
A massive Mi-10 flew past, a single T-90A secured underneath it. Even for the behemoth of a helicopter, it was heavy load, and so the massive transport was restricted to an altitude of a few hundred feet.
All that Sokolov knew about what was happening was that an offensive was being planned. A bare 1,200 Russian Army soldiers were being left in the camp. The American forces, the British, and most of the Russians were being loaded onto various ships via helicopters. The two Aircraft Carriers in the makeshift fleet were being crowded by vehicles, taking up space on the flight deck and in the hanger areas.
A major reorganization of the fleet was underway, with a reprioritizing of all command elements underway. With three nationalities represented in the fleet, and with one of them split in two, combined with multiple classes of ships their designers had never imagined would be working together, the situation for whom would command whom was in utter chaos. Captain 1st Rank Volkov and Captain Henderson both led the fleet due to their popularity, and due to the fact that the Russian Admiral aboard the Admiral Kuznetson deferred his authority to Volkov due to the latter's combat experience and the former's age.
He only hoped that it would come out right in the end. He did not want to be stuck under the insufferable command of Colonel Degtyarev any longer than necessary. The sole reason he had been put in charge of the Riga 2 in Moscow seemed to be because he had the political pull to make it so, and by all rights he would have been dead had it not been for the air support he received.
Likewise, the only reason he had been put in charge here had been because there was no other senior officer who could challenge him. Sokolov, however, had heard that the two Captains as well as the commander of the American unit were slowly taking control from him in response to something. Sokolov hoped it was soon: To be forced to listen to the arrogant bastard even more would be torture.
"You alright there, Sokolov?" His co-pilot Bogdanov asked. "You seem out of it."
"Just thinking." Sokolov replied as he sent the helicopter into a left bank while decreasing the power. The Mi-24 slowly lost altitude, setting down on a small pad under his careful control.
Once the large helicopter was fully loaded again and the doors were shut, Sokolov increased the power and watched as the ground slowly shrank underneath him. As he banked back towards the ship, his thoughts again turned back to recent events, pondering again all that had happened.
The lone, unmanned MQ-4C Triton soared above the sea, its camera looking down at the island below. With the sun just above the horizon, the city on the edge of the island was lit with a stunning array of brilliant oranges and dark shadows, providing a good contrast for the camera. The computer aboard the small aircraft was already comparing what it was seeing with real-time radar images from the E-2C Hawkeye controlling it, forming them into a fully three-dimensional map that would be used extensively in the upcoming attack.
As the sun started to sink below the horizon, darkness already starting to cover the land, the MQ-4C noted that numerous lights had sprung into being across the city. Its camera panned across the city, noting several areas that were clearly full of industry, along with the dozens of square miles of farmland outside of the city. The entire island itself was dominated by a massive mountain, with several massive ridges running away from it, themselves spawning smaller ones that formed miniature valleys. The city lay between two of those large ridges, the area encompassing almost a sixth of the island.
A light blinked on the screen in front of the technician, warning telling him that he had enough fuel to loiter for a little over twenty hours at the current speed. Blinking, he sent it into an orbit over the city and laid back, confident that it would continue gathering information.
USS Lake Erie
The darkened bridge of the Lake Erie was home to the most sophisticated combat system in the fleet, all coordinated by the crew on the bridge. The massive AN/SPI-1B radar was able to see a little over a hundred miles in these conditions, day or night. It was this crew that first detected three faint signatures, coming from the north-west and headed at a speed of twenty-four knots.
"Sir, you have to see this." One of the crewmen manning the radar station said, urging the officer on deck over.
The officer's eyes went wide when he saw the screen. "What in God's name is that?"
There was no reason for any sort of radar contact other than the fleet. The SPI radar automatically filtered out anything that was determined to be a flock of bird, a city, or the terrain, so three clear contacts was unlikely. Considering that the Equestrians seemed to have only wooden ships, confirmed by recent questioning, it was not likely to be Equestrian in origin.
"Getting a signal from the north-north-west. Decoding and transmitting now..." One of the men on the bridge said.
A full minute later, the man's eyes went wide and he turned towards the officer. "It's a transmission in Russian. I'm patching it through to this 'Net' unit, sir."
The officer quickly put on the basic earpiece that was handed to him by the technician. His facial features went from confused to joyful in seconds as he heard the full portion of the transmission.
"Все те неподалекукоторые получают это сообщение: Пожалуйста, ответьте. Это Петр Великий Российской Федерации. Мы были потеряны в море в течение семи дней, наряду с двумя кораблями мы были с в то время." [All those nearby who receive this message: Please respond. This is the Petr Velikiy of the Russian Federation. We have been lost at sea for seven days, along with the two ships we were with at the time.]
The officer quickly ordered several men to wake the captain, who arrived at the bridge within five minutes, tired but awake. By that time, the vessels had closed to ninety miles away.
"What's happening?" Captain Wright asked as he walked onto the bridge.
"Captain on deck!" One of the men shouted, with the bridge crew snapping to attention.
"At ease." The captain said, taking a seat on his chair. "Now will somebody here tell me what the hell is going on?"
The officer went up to the Captain and saluted. "Lieutenant Campbell, reporting. About seven minutes ago, we detected three unknown contacts on the edge of our radar, to the north-west. A transmission in Russian let us know that it is the Kirov-Class Battlecruiser Petr Velikiy , along with two other ships accompanying it."
"And I suppose I will have to initiate contact." Captain Wright said, walking over to the station that controlled the radio, and the technician manning it handed him a full headset. Thus equipped, he waited until between the repeat of the broadcasts before transmitting a message in English.
"Petr Velikiy, this is the USS Lake Erie. We copy your message."
Moments later, a voice came over the radio, responding. "слава богу! Thank God, American. I thought that we were lost for sure. Why are we here, and why can we not contact any satellites?"
"More on that later. What are the other ships with you?"
"One is a Borei-Class Submarine, the Alexander Nevsky . The other is a Zubr-Class , the Mordovia. If you do not mind, where are we?"
Captain Wright smiled as he heard this before replying. "Russian, have we got a story to tell you. Close to fifty Kilometers and find the 'Net' connection that we have, because this will take a lot of explaining..."
Author's Note
Written under the heavy influence of Canned Pears and Orange Juice. Read at your own risk... Oh wait.
Reorganization and Redeployment
1720 Hours Eight (8) days after first contact
"What's the situation?" Captain Henderson asked as he walked onto the bridge. "What formations have we contacted?"
"Sir." The communications officer said, gaining Henderson's attention. "We have, of course, the Washington National Guard formation out in the 'Everfree', as the ponies call the large forest. They're ten kilometers out from the Firebase, and they will arrive within the hour. All of the airborne units we contacted have landed, with some degree of confusion."
"Whose are they?" Henderson asked.
"One B-1 Lancer that was apparently out on a bombing run near Saint Petersburg, a flight of eight JAS 39s from Sweden, two F-2 fighters from the Japanese Air Self-Defense Force, and an entire combat formation of Russian Federation aircraft. Four Su-35s of the BM variant, an Il-78, and two Su-34s."
"So, a pretty varied group." Henderson mused.
"Yes, sir." The communications officer replied. "We're briefing them now, separated by nation. The Swedish crews, understandably, have asked to be paired with the Norwegians, but that's about the only issue so far."
"Good." Capitan Henderson said, nodding at the officer, who returned to his console. "Now it's time for me to have a talk with a certain Georgian..."
"... Yes, I have." Captain Volkov said into the phone. "I do not understand what issues you are having understanding me. Thermobaric weapons are a part of our conventional arsenal, and we are well within our rights to use them... Don't even begin to compare them to Nuclear weapons, Colonel Degtyarev. I'm not fucking around here, and neither should you. If they begin to launch super-weapons capable of annihilating an entire city, talk to us. Otherwise, stop trying to gain control over them."
Volkov slammed the phone down into the cradle, annoyed by the Colonel's insistence in trying to gain control over the Nuclear weapons. Degtyarev probably still thought of them as tools, to be used as necessary. An old mindset, and one that should have been gone long ago.
"And that" Volkov muttered to himself. "Is a perfect example of why you do not appoint a commanding officer for political reasons."
"Yes Captain." Sergeant Davit said, listening to the American commander over his radio. "I copy. We'll be moving in five." With that, he severed the connection and stood up, the five members of his Georgian Special Forces team looking up at him.
"Gather your weapons and gear. Stock up on rations, enough for a week." Davit ordered his squad. "Grab some nonlethal gear, and bring a designator. Meet back here at eighteen hundred hours."
The men quickly went off, most of them to the armory to gather their supplies. Davit himself went to the armory, filling out a form detailing what he was going to take as the three others who went to the armory did the same.
At the end of it, each one had picked up a Russian SVT-2 unit* and several hundred rounds of stun rounds, as well as their preferred weapons: A mix of NATO, Russian, and various other firearms.
As the group met up in their temporary lodgings, Davit briefed them on their mission. If they pulled this off correctly, they might alter the balance of the fighting, already tilting towards the Human forces, into a complete landslide in their favor.
In the hilly plains to the north, between the towns identified as Canterlot and Manehatten, and just north of Cloudsdale, a pair of tracks ran between the gentle rises. It was the only one that connected all three cities, and the only other tracks to the western coast were four hundred kilometers to the south.
Which made it a perfect target, one that Captain Volkov has been quick to agree to.
"Riga-2, this is Riga Lead, eyes on target." Major Lisov said over the radio, both of his hands on the control stick of his Mi-28. "Use your S-13s."
The train was traveling westward, and seemed to be heavily loaded down. There were no passenger cars, but half a dozen cargo boxcars rode behind the locomotive, carrying either supplies or equipment. It did not matter. Their primary goal was to destroy the train track: Hitting one of the five trains known to travel on it would simplify things.
"Have a solid tone." The other helicopter replied. While normal S-13 rockets were unguided, modernization efforts in 2014 had rebuilt them with a 'smart' warhead, able to provide minimal heat tracking. And the locomotive slowly chugging along was the equivalent to a flare, with all the thermal energy it put off.
Meanwhile, Major Lisov also noticed a tone in his helmet, signaling that the rocket had acquired a clear signal on the train.
"Riga-2, this is Riga Lead." Lisov said over the radio. "Weapons free."
Immediately, the other helicopter fired, the rocket launching clear of the helicopter before igniting its motor. With a few micro adjustments to its minimal control surfaces, it had a clear shot, heading right for the largest spot of heat in its' limited vision.
With a large explosion, the rocket impacted midway along the moving locomotive, blowing it apart in an explosion of fire, steam, metal, and coal dust. The twisted shape that had once been a moving piece of machinery was blown clean off of the now-broken tracks, leading the rest of the cars with it.
Mere seconds into the attack, the Major let loose with the chin gun, the 30mm rounds blasting into the blazing wreckage. Another miniature explosion bloomed as more of the coal ignited violently, adding to the raging inferno.
Satisfied that their job was done, the two helicopters turned back, leaving behind a trail of destruction that stretched for two hundred meters. As they reached a kilometer away, something inside of the wreckage sparked, blowing apart an entire section of the railway... And what was left of the train.
Collaborative Document on the Differing Subspecies of Ponies
At a glance, most of the us have had difficulty finding differences in the various types of ponies. Aside from their obvious physical differences, and their abilities with 'Magic', it can be difficult to sense any sort of divides. However, on closer examination, this is false. According to what history we can find, all three main 'Tribes' of ponies (each of a single subspecies) were once at war, until they were united after a long winter, possibly the end of an ice age. This has left a lingering feeling of separation and mistrust, evident at some levels beneath the exterior of 'Love and Tolerance' that they profess to believe in.
For the purposes of this compilation, we will assume that 'Alicorns', of which there are only three, are a separate species entirely.
List of Subspecies:
Earth Ponies - Earth Ponies have neither wings nor horns, but often make up for it with surprising strength (See attached document T77A). They are theorized to be able to accelerate and promote the growth of plants, and upon prompting, one was observed to do so. The cause of this is unknown. They are often the subject of jokes from the other two main subspecies, believing themselves to be superior.
Pegasi (Pegasus, singular) - Pegasi are winged ponies, possessing a pair of pair of feathered wings, with an average wingspan of four feet for adults. They are able to manipulate weather and clouds, and are also able to walk on said clouds (We do not currently know how). There are several pegasi-only cities, such as 'Cloudsdale', which are reported - and observed - to be made completely out of shaped clouds.
Unicorns - Unicorns are debated to have the most advantages out of any other race. They can naturally use 'Magic', with simple telekinetic abilities observed in wide use, along with hundreds of other, similar uses that they call 'Spells'. They use their horn to 'Cast' said 'Spells', however, making it a viable weak point. See attached document T77B for completely list of observed abilities. According to rumor, the capital of Canterlot is populated almost entirely by unicorns, as is the 'Council', the head of government behind the two ruling Alicorns.
Thestrals - There is a surprising lack of knowledge concerning this subspecies. They have been reportedly referred to as 'Bat Ponies' and 'Vamponies', although the accuracy of these names had been called into severe questioning. They are known to be much like Pegasi, with darker coasts, slit pupils, and bat-like wings. When discussed, they are often referred to in fear by ponies we have questioned. Only four have been noted inside of Trottingham, and they refused to answer questions, stating that the questioners were "As bad as Celestia's guards were". This suggests that they are not well-received in public.
Crystal Ponies - Little is known about them. They live in the far north, have a fur coat that appears to reflect and refract light, and are ruled by the third Alicorn.
More information will be added by Dr. James Stuart at a later date.
Author's Note
Welcome to another chapter of Smashing Down! We have now officially hit 1,000 individual views (and 22,000 in total)! You are all awesome, and I wouldn't be here without those of you who have been with this since the beginning, nor would I have continued without the encouragement by those of you whom have just arrived.
* (From Chapter 9 - Capital) The SVT-2, another creation by the Sozvezdie Electronics Company, was first planned out in late 2013 as a rail-mounted sonic incapacitation weapon. Unlike the very bulky sets often mounted on Humvees and designed for riot control, the SVT-2 was designed to be attached to almost any weapons rail in the world via an adjustable attacher. The device itself used a powerful series of speakers and a very good battery to direct an extremely focused beam of sound, at the infrasonic level of 7 Hz, into any target within twenty meters. Past that, it easily dissipated. The sound wave, because of its frequency, would pass through almost any solid object (such as walls, floor, ect), so it had to be used carefully in an urban environment. It causes severe vertigo and imbalance, and on rare occasions can render the target unconscious.
Intermission - Subduing a City
0820 hours Ten (10) days after first contact In the (formerly) Equestrian city of Manehatten
The city of Manehatten had certainly seen better days. At least, that was what Lieutenant Vasilyev gathered, upon exiting the hotel that he and his squad had slept in that night. Chunks of stone lay in the street, and quite a few buildings featured damage of some sort, ranging from bullet holes to entire sections of walls blown out.
And thus, seeing that his squad had not yet been assigned to do anything by their superiors, Vasilyev felt it was time for a walk. And possibly a visit to a tavern, if the city held any. After all, the orders that had come down banning them from entering them only applied to the other city they had captured...
Vasilyev slowly walked down the streets, taking in the sight of the massive buildings around him. While there were a few dozen soldiers in sight, the streets had even larger numbers of ponies in them, all of whom were glancing quite often at the patrolling Americans and Russians.
Vasilyev noted that he drew quite a few stares as well, along with a few glares. As he walked further and further from the hotel, and towards the dockyards, he noticed that there were more and more patrols of the Americans.
Upon nearing the docks, Vasilyev found out why.
A large ship, with the American flag flying on top, was docked at one of the piers. Several hundred men, including a few vehicles, swarmed around it. For what reason, Vasilyev could not tell, but it certainly seemed to be attracting plenty of attention.
The Russian sighed, and went to look for someone who might know what he was looking for.
0842 hours
"Attention!"
All of the senior officers in the room stood up as Captain Volkov and Captain Henderson entered the room. Both of the commanding officers took their place at the front of the room, near a projector with a map of the entire continent of Equestria displayed.
"At ease." Henderson said, with Volkov repeating it a moment later in Russian. "As you all know, we have been continuing our offensive operations, and now have full control over the cities of Manehatten and Trottingham." Henderson paused while Volkov repeated his words in Russian, before continuing. "Our next step will be to secure the city to the south on the coastline: Baltimare. We plan to send a small force, around five hundred men, to the city and demand their surrender. A naval group will be waiting offshore to provide support, if necessary. We expect them to give in, especially after the news of our capture of this city.
"The next city that we might have taken, Cloudsdale, is quite impossible to get: It is located three-point-five kilometers above the ground, and is build upon a massive formation of clouds. Thus, the next step of our plan is simple: To invade their capital city of Canterlot.
"Here is the current plan..."
0851 hours
First Lieutenant Robert Johnson was having a bad day. It started off with having been awoken at 0600 hours for a patrol. And not just any patrol, but one that would venture deep into the semi-jungle that the locals called 'The Everfree Forest'. The entire place had proven to be bad territory, as every patrol that had gone in had been attacked by either the ponies, the wildlife, or some other obstacle. As such, he did not have high expectations for this patrol.
In addition to that, it had taken over twenty minutes to recall all of the men in his Platoon, much less everybody in his entire company. Quite a few were spread out over the city, and even with the 'Net' systems to help organize them, it was a challenge just to notify everyone.
And now, ten kilometers into the forest, with the entire company loaded up into their APCs, on a poorly-maintained dirt road, he was facing yet another problem: Brass.
"Yes sir, I understand what you are saying." Johnson said as calmly as he could into his radio. "However, in order to divert our patrol to the area you have stated, I need accurate maps of the roadways leading to the objective."
"Your 'Net' Interface will be updated momentarily with accurate maps." The Major at the other end of the line said. "A Triton has been diverted to provide accurate and up-to-date intelligence, and you will be part of a group of over four hundred soldiers capturing this location. Now, complete your damned objective."
With that, the connection ended. Johnson sighed, before establishing a connection to his CO.
0905 hours
Vasilyev took another sip of his drink, the alcoholic liquid sweet on his tongue. He had finally found a tavern - of sorts - after nearly an hour of searching, filled with both humans and ponies, with the latter often giving odd looks towards the former. Even if the damned stuff they had on tap was too sweet for his tastes, it was far better than the distilled piss that they called water around here. And, with his 'Net' headset able to be set on the counter beside him, he could finally get the damned thing off of his head.
So far, the place had been mostly peaceful, even if the atmosphere was a bit tense. Having rolled through the city shooting last night, Vasilyev did not expect accepted: He was simply happy to find a decent place to drink.
Now, if only the American next to him would shut up...
"I tell ya, we're gonna be rollin' 'round here in victory any day now!" The clearly inebriated man nearly shouted in English, much to Vasilyev's annoyance.
"Shut the fuck up!" Another man said. "Some of us are trying to enjoy ourselves here!"
"Yeah, well... Fuck you!" The drunken soldier said, as if his proclamation would matter to everybody.
"Why do I never find any peace?" Vasilyev muttered in Estonian, before turning to the man and switching to English. "You should leave. You are quite clearly incapable of handling alcohol."
"Screw you..." The man muttered, before standing up and stumbling outside.
"Thank God." The man next to Vasilyev said. "That asshole was annoying as fuck."
"I happen to agree." Vasilyev said, before looking at the man next to him, who was clad in what looked like a flight uniform. "I do not believe I know your name... Or why you are so far from your carrier."
"First Lieutenant Miller, US Navy." The man said, holding out his right hand, which Vasilyev shook. "Your uniform don't look like the normal Russian infantry, if my memory serves me right, Mr...?"
"Lieutenant Mihkel Vasilyev, Ministerstvo Vnutrennikh Del Spetsnaz." Vasilyev replied. "You did not answer my question, First Lieutenant. I would think that you would be on your carrier."
The man frowned. "I'm on 'leave', so to speak. My damned plane was damaged in the battle, and it's going to be a day or two until they've gotten it ready again. Same thing happened over the last city we got."
Vasilyev took another sip of his drink before replying. "I believe I understand your frustration. I was in command of the first group to contact the ponies; I had already lost four-fifths of my team in the explosion in Moscow, and I was stranded in a strange place with a broken helicopter and a slightly functioning team. First contact went... Badly."
"I'll bet." Miller said, chuckling, before resuming in a near-whisper. "You've been in actual combat against the ponies. How are they to fight on the ground?"
"They are a strange case, I can tell you that." Vasilyev said, not noticing that quite a few in the crowd, both the ponies and humans, had quieted down and looking at them. "They are using quite outdated weapons, and their battle strategy is equally terrible. However... They are dedicated, and they have that 'magic' that they have... I have seen them stop tank shells with a shield, and turn themselves invisible. Some of them have enough strength to kill anything in their path.
"We are winning only because we have all of the advantages. When they learn how to neutralize them, or if we fail to find a counter against their 'magic', we will be on an even footing. And that worries me. Nichevo, I suppose."
The pilot nodded. "I agree. I had to practically fly in circles to get through the storm clouds yesterday."
"The point is," Vasilyev said, taking a large gulp of his drink. "Kurat, ma ei tea... Ah, sorry. The point is, we've got fucking everything going for us. Everybody is cooperating. It is almost too perfect. The Novyy Russkiy Federatsii bastards haven't raised much of a fuss, and I've heard through the 'Net' that Degtyarev, the damned värdjas, is arrest."
"Arrested?" Miller asked, to which Vasilyev nodded. "Can't say I feel sorry for the bastard. There's a reason why he was stripped of almost all power from the moment our Capts took control: Henderson and Volkov both realize that he's a damned snake, and a dangerous one. I can see why they sacked him. What did he do?"
"Oh, simply stole a few nuclear weapons, with the intent to use them on every city not currently under our control." Vasilyev stated, and quite a few of the humans in the barroom grew strangely silent.
"Hot damn." One of them muttered, before turning back to their drink.
"How'd you find out?" Miller asked.
"Oh, I have a few friends, here and there." Vasilyev proudly stated. "Antoniuk is Volkov's First Officer, and the Ukrainian bastard owes me a few favors. I haven't been shy in using them."
"Oh, can ya'll tell me about how that happened?" Miller asked.
"Yes, I can." Vasilyev replied. "It was about twelve years ago..."
0913 hours
Sixty kilometers to the south, in the center of the Firebase, a group of eight MH-60 Blackhawk helicopter lifted off, banking to the east once airborne...
Author's Note
As some of you seem to want these things, keep in mind that all of the above is not going to happen: Nuclear explosions, genocide, xenocide, massacres, or knocking Canterlot off of its' mountain. Keep in mind that, in the last chapter, the only human with the desire and authority to do the above was knocked to the ground and arrested for stealing nuclear weapons, and those in charge (Captain Volkov and Captain Henderson) are not going to do it. The next person to suggest full-scale warfare involving Thermonuclear weapons will be executed by a firing squad armed with NERF guns, encased in bubble wrap, and ~~fired~~ banished to the moon.
View Online
The End of Everything... Ever (April Fools Chapter) (Very Obviously Non-Canon)
"What." Captain Henderson said.
He was currently standing in front of Princess Celestia, the leader of all of the ponies, and the being that had been killing his men by the dozens. And she was asking for peace.
"It's simple, really." Princess Celestia droned on. "You agree to be banished to the moon, and we will overlook your crimes against Equinity."
"No." Henderson replied at once.
"Then die!" Celestia screamed, ripping a tree out of the ground and throwing it at the American, who was simultaneously speared through the chest and crushed by the massive oak.
(This is required)
"Scramble all of the jets!" Captain Volkov yelled, taking another swig of 201-proof Vodka. "Launch everything at her!"
The dozens of aircraft in the air scrambled towards the firebase, firing a massive barrage of missiles, which were redirected by the sheer Solar Radiance of Her Royal Majesty of The Sun.
All at once, though, dozens of pegasi flashed by at supersonic speeds.
"Praise the Sun!" One shouted, throwing a duck at a jet, which was sucked into the engines. The plane exploded into a fireball as the deadly - and dead - bird wrecked massive damage on it.
The air battle quickly turned to chaos, as dozens of jets and pegasi engaged in turning battles over the speed of sound, at long ranges of up to twenty feet. Oftentimes, the battles were decided as heroes circumvented the laws of physics to fight one another in duels to the death.
On the ground, a Humvee exploded from a lucky pebble to the gas tank, turning into a flaming fireball as all of the burnable surfaces spontaneously erupted in fire.
Vasilyev ducked behind the still-burning wreck, leaning over to fire a 72-round burst of fire from his Steyr AUG. He swiftly reloaded the clip, before climbing on top of the burning vehicle and firing his weapon. From his hip.
Dozens of Ponies fell against his Russian Might as he tossed his rifle down in disgust, the ammunition growing too warm to fire. Jumping to the ground, he tore the M2HB .50cal heavy machine gun from the burning Humvee, using the massive weapon of war to hose down the enemy positions as all of their accurately-aimed shots missed, hitting all of his allies around him instead.
The barrel of the machine gun grew so hot it glowed a bright red, and the bullets coming out were coated in molten steel.
Colonel Degtyarev looked out at the unfolding chaos, and saw his chance. Quickly, he brought up his Microsoft Window 8 Phone (Because Apple was for Peasants ) and called the submarine captain.
"Launch now."
With that order, dozens of nuclear missiles blasted out of the water, heading in all directions. The ponies in Canterlot, Manehatten, Fillydelphia, Baltimare, Ponyville, and dozens of other places never knew what hit them as nuclear fires erupted, blasting entire regions into radioactive rubble.
Epilogue
Russian tanks rolled across the battered landscape of Equestria, leaving the humans firmly in charge of everything, where they could go about doing everything right because they were superior.
THE END
Author's Note
This is the true ending for the entire series. It is mandated that, on this perfect day, I announce my retirement from FimFiction. I will no longer be writing stories, as I will go on to my new job as a budding novelist!
Wish me luck! Oh, and buy my books. The first of the series, 'People Just Don't Get Today', will be out soon!
EDIT: My editors are going to kill me for this. Worth it.
Later publishing edit: I wanted to keep this up. It's too glorious to keep in the dark.
