Darkened Skies

Two Years Prior

A pair of ballistas on the aft and stern of the ship were the only things that kept the bandits from boarding the Concord immediately. The large crossbows had simple controls. Peddles were located at the base of the circular platform that held the ballista. Peddling forward rotated it to the right, while peddling backwards rotated it left. At the forward end of the platform, a wooden beam was attached. The beam had a notch where the crossbow would rest, and a small hole was drilled through both the beam and the bow, where a pole would be inserted to act as a lever for aiming up and down. A rotating handle drew back the string to fire again, and ammunition was placed in a rack on the side of the ballista, which would feed bolts into the firing position when it was reloaded. Ballista fired massive meter long bolts with explosive tipped broad heads at high speeds.  The gunner sat on a chair behind the ballista.

A unicorn sat at the gunner’s position on the forward ballista, frantically peddling, trying to hit certain spots on the bandit’s airships. These were lightly armed and armored airships, so hitting them is easier said than done. The Concord, however, was a hefty freighter. Despite this, bandits were after the supplies in the trading vessel, and thus held their fire. If they were to damage any of the ship’s cargo, it would be useless to them. Instead, they darted from hill to hill, trying to find a spot to hit that wouldn't damage any of the cargo.

Sprocket was one deck below, checking certain conditions of the ship.  If any components were to overheat, they could accidently cause the ship itself to explode. If, by chance, the component didn’t explode, it wouldn’t function properly, and the ship would plummet. Right now, all the parts of the ship were hot, but none were overheating to a serious degree.

“Captain Rolston?” called Sprocket to the stairwell, “We can’t keep this up much longer!”

Captain Rolston peeked his head down into the lower deck. “I know, Sprocket! Try and keep us cooled long enough for us to escape!” The grey Pegasus was growing old, and had a long white beard to prove it.

Sprocket trusted the man. If he hadn’t, he would have abandoned the ship almost immediately. Sprocket assumed his crewmates had the same amount of trust and respect, because no one looked ready to abandon their post, either.

Boom!

Sprocket was thrown to the starboard side of the ship. The port side of the ship’s hull had a gaping hole in the center. They were trying to down the ship by attacking the boiler. Gutsy of them, but maybe the Concord had proved too much of a nuisance. Sprocket slowly stood up. The blast had given him a few scrapes and a large cut across his chest that he would need to deal with sooner or later. All things considered, he was in good shape.

The boiler, however, was exposed to enemy fire.

Sprocket sprinted up the stairs to the top deck as fast as he possibly could. There, he was greeted to a scene of absolute panic. The unicorn manning the ballista had been injured and curled up beside the turret. In his place was a strong earth pony, who seemed quite capable of moving the heavy weapon. Rolston was shouting orders over the chaos, trying to salvage what was left of the ship and its journey.

It was quite clear to Sprocket that the Concord was a lost cause. However, perhaps out of attachment,  Rolston was blinded to the danger he posed to the crew and himself by not abandoning the ship. Sprocket had to talk sense into him for both the crews’ and his well-being.

He walked up to the captain. This was going to hurt Rolston. Hard. He had spent so much time on the airship that he grew very fond of owning it. This was his life’s work.

“Rolston . . .,” Sprocket said, regretfully, “Give it up.”

The old captain’s eyes grew wide. “Oh, no, no, no, my dear boy! I can’t give up now! See? I think we’re winning now!”

The captain was clearly wrong. The ships were light, but vastly out-numbered them by at least seven ships to their one.

“Please . . . Rolston. Look me in the eye.”

The captain, reluctantly, did as he was told.

“If you don’t abandon ship, every one of the crew will die. I will, you will. Hell, Sparks has already been injured on the ballista. Give it up. Please.”

The captain glanced around at the ship that was falling to pieces. He sighed heavily and hung his head low.  “You’re right. Get all the pegasi to carry any unicorns or earth ponies off of the ship. Abandon ship.”

“Yes, sir!” said Sprocket. As much as it pained him to break the old stallion’s heart, it was necessary.

The injured were the first to be moved. Sprocket was exempt from the rescue effort because he lacked the strength and wingpower were not enough to lift the crewmates. Instead, he kept the ship in the best shape possible while others transported the remaining  crew. Throughout the entire time, the ballista at the fore end of the ship had to be manned to at least scare off any of the bandit's ships. They would, no doubt, see that a rescue effort was being staged, which would only bolster their confidence. This, coupled with the hole blown in side of the ship, made the Concord very susceptible to attack.

The abandonment of the ship went well, all things considered. Only three ponies remained aboard: Rolston, an earth pony named Spring, and Sprocket. Spring gunned the ballista, holding off any would-be boarders. Sprocket, who had been a deck below, galloped up the stairs. A look of confusion crossed his face when he saw Spring.

"What is he still doing here?" asked Sprocket to Rolston.

Rolston did not make eye contact with Sprocket, or even speak to him.

Sprocket became irritated with the captain. Sharply and firmly, he asked, "Rolston, what is Spring doing here?"

Rolston turned his head to meet Sprocket's eyes slowly.  "He volunteered to stay behind and defend the ship while we leave. He's wounded. Bad."

Upon closer inspection, Sprocket did notice a large gash on his chest, a fatal wound. Perhaps shrapnel from a bandit's blind fire?

Sprocket didn't know what to do. He could leave the pony to escape with the rest of the crew, or he and Rolston could try and carry him together. Carrying him was not going to make a difference, he was going to die, but it did make him feel better that he had tried his hardest to save his comrade. There was really only one choice that Sprocket could make.

"Rolston, you take one side of him, and I'll take the other."

Rolston nodded. He was surprisingly strong for such an old pony, and he knew their combined strength could carry Spring off of the ship. They had to.

"Come on, give me your arm, Spring. You're getting out of here," said Sprocket as he circled around to the earth pony's left. Rolston flanked him on the right, motioning for his arm.

Spring hesitated, confused. "No, no! Get out of here! I'm going to die anyway!"

"We'll see," replied Rolston.

As the two pegasi lifted Spring out of his seat, a ballsy bandit decided to exit the cove of the large hill it had hid behind to attack the rear of the ship. The ballista fired, penetrating the stern's armor into the lower decks.

"We need to move, now! Come on, Rolston!"

Even as he said it, Sprocket saw the gunner reloading his ballista. They were in a perfect position to shoot the boiler.

The gunner fired.

It was as if time was suspended in air. The bolt of the ballista rocketed towards the exposed midsection of the Concord. Sprocket turned to Rolston, whose eyes were full of fear. The bolt's explosive head nailed the boiler, virtually splitting the ship in half. The ship, torn asunder, dragged  down the ripped blimp of the Concord. The blimp engulfed all three ponies. Sprocket felt Spring's hooves slip from his as the massive force of the balloon dragged them to the earth at speed. As much as Sprocket tried to slow his descent, it was futile. Sprocket braced for the impact as well as he could, hoping his death would be swift. He hit the ground, felt a pain like no other before, and saw only black.

When Sprocket came to it, the first sensation he felt was that of terrible pain.  His vision was blurred, not that there was much to see. He was trapped under the blimp of the Concord laying on his stomach. He tried using his rear left leg to push himself out of the balloon. Pain shot up through his leg and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. Perhaps it was best to stay put.

At that moment, he heard a trio of voices. One a deep, gruff stallion voice, an even-toned mare's voice,  and another mare's voice that sounded . . . strange. As if he had known it well, once.

"It was our kill, and you know this. Stop being so greedy!" said the unknown mare's voice.

"Hey, watch yourself!" said the gruff stallion.

"Calm yourself, Brawn! I don't want to make this anything but civil. Now, Mariette, how about you take you and your posse back to your ships before I lose my patience?" said the familiar voice.

"No! I'm not going to just let you take the spoils for yourself! You at least have to give me a cut!" said the mare, whose name was apparently Marietta.

"Fine, " replied the other voice, "but most of the cargo is damaged, so don't expect anything big. Oh, and Brawn, round up the survivors. There's and old pegasus at the bow of the ship and another one stuck in the balloon."

Fear came over Sprocket as a brutish grey earth pony with a short, brown mane dragged him by the head in front of the wreckage.  Shortly afterwards, he dragged Rolston by the rear leg, depositing him beside Sprocket. He seemed barely able to think. Sprocket, however, took a moment to conjecture what had happened. Apparently, Marietta and the eerily familiar voice were two bandit leaders, but Marietta's bandit group scored the kill. Marietta's group is not as powerful as the other, but she still demanded a cut.

Right then, a blue-green pegasus with a spiky mohawk-style gray mane walked to stand and face them. She had strikingly bright amber eyes that almost radiated fear into other people.

"So, you're the persistent ones who tried to fight. Good attempt, but you were being an idiot. Do you even know who you are dealing with?" said Marietta.

Sprocket said nothing.

"I thought so. You just don't realize who you are dealing with. Well, I'll let her introduce herself."

The familiar voice spoke once again, as if taunting him. "Got them lined up, Brawn? Good."

Through the wreckage of the freighter came a cyan pegasus clad in metal segmented armor with cerise eyes. The most distinguishing feature, however, was her mane and tail. Six colors, depicting a rainbow. Then he remembered. Long ago, in a time now nearly forgotten, he idolized her. Put her on a pedestal no one could but her could attain. He envied her strong wings and fast flight.

She was Rainbow Dash. She was his enemy. And he hated her for it.

"Are you sure these are the only ones, Brawn? Did you check around for more?" said the Deceiver.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Saw one of them impaled on a broken plank," answered Brawn. Sprocket hadn't noticed it at first, but Brawn donned a suit of segmented leather armor that stopped at his stomach and halfway down his forelegs, similar to the Deceiver's.

"Good, now get me my crossbow."

Sprocket did nothing. He couldn't. It was as if he was paralyzed by the rage he felt inside.

The Deceiver spoke again, this time to Rolston, who seemed to be experiencing Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Shell shocked.

"You. You're the captain of this wreck?"

The captain said nothing.

"Answer me!" she yelled as she struck him across the face with her hoof.

"He is!" barked Sprocket, not  caring to make eye contact.

"Did I ask you?" said the Deceiver to Sprocket.

Brawn came back, holding a small device. At first glance, it looked like a piece of crap metal with a bracer on it. But Sprocket knew better. This was a weapon. It was a folding crossbow.

The Deceiver took the weapon from her bodyguard and fit it on her wrist. Then, she pressed a button on the top of it. Two limbs shot out from the sides of the body, where a string was attached to each end of the limbs. A small box-like device was placed on the top of the weapon. That was the rack, used for quick reloads. Three bolts were already stacked in the detachable rack. She pulled the string back and placed the tip of the crossbow to Rolston's forehead.

Rolston looked into the Deceiver's blank eyes.

She flicked he hoof down, releasing the drawn string.

The bolt entered Rolston's head, being lodged with the bolt's head poking out of the back.

Sprocket may have screamed. He couldn't tell. All he knew was that he jumped after the Deceiver. Pain shot up his hind leg, but he didn't care. Rolston was going to have some redemption before he died, which he most certainly would.

Sprocket tackled her, pushing her to the ground. He struck her several times across her face. She yelled something, but he could tell what she said. It was as if he was deaf to the world around him. Suddenly, he was yanked by his injured leg by one of the Deceiver's comrades. Another took him into a stranglehold. The last thing he remembered before he was unceremoniously knocked out by a swift buck to the head was promising to kill the Deceiver. To kill Rainbow Dash.