A New World, A New Threat: Of Their Own Accord

“I don’t know what to say, Miss Sparkle. You might be at war with the Changeling Empire, but the United States is not at this point ready for another war,” Ambassador Stevens explained, his elbows resting on his desk. Canterlot had been a scene of commotion in the past few weeks, with the Ambassadors from the US, Russia, China, and most NATO nations (with the notable exception of Canada) setting up their offices in the city.

Still, however, the US was the closest thing to a human ally Equestria had. And if the talks with the rest of NATO went well, it might soon become official. However, with the war in Syria, along with the situations in Mali and Zimbabwe getting worse by the hour, no one in NATO had the men or materiel to expand war into entirely new territories.

Twilight was pacing around his office. “They’ve been killing our civilians, Mr. Stevens! Y-you have to do something! You have the Marines on the base near Ponyville! Can’t they go do something?”

“Unfortunately, they’re busy dealing with the Vanhoover Province incident,” Stevens said. “However,” he mused, getting an idea, “We can do something. The operation will be covered in black ink, but it’s possible.”

10/31/20, 0550 Hours

-24.4371, -149.6118, South Pacific Ocean

[REDACTED]

The ten helicopters raced over the forest, their rotors beating down the branches of the trees blow. The helicopters, seven MH-60M/S Stealth Blackhawk Transport Helicopters, and three MH-60M/S DAP Stealth Gunships, were specifically chosen by the 160th SOAR to perform what was perhaps the first mission of the “war”.

Around a scant 25 meters from the ground, the helicopters transported Alpha Platoon, Company B, Battalion 2, 75th Ranger Regiment. In the lead helicopter, Lieutenant Jason Kaczynski reviewed the mission brief. It was supposedly a simple job- in and out, just like the first missions of the last war. He knew how well those missions had gone for some of the Blackhawks thanks to Strela-10M’s, though. Of course, this wasn’t a war, just a raid, like the shit they’d done in Pakistan back in ‘18.

He checked his watch. Ten minutes until insertion. He glanced around the helicopter. The men in the passenger bay—his men, he reminded himself—were ready as could be. Equipment check,” he instructed, however. Even the most innocuous overlook or mistake could ruin a mission. As for encouragement, they didn’t need it. They were Rangers, they were roaring for blood at this point.

He checked his own gear. Fast-roping equipment? Check. Plate Carrier? Loaded with SAPI plates and ammo. Charges? Check. He did a once over of his own weapon, a Mark 17/S. He checked the magazine, worked the bolt, and set the weapon on safety. Ready to go.

He looked at his watch. Five minutes until insertion. The DAP’s moved to the front of the formation as the helicopters all moved from over the forest to over the desert, where he could vaguely see lights in the distance. The DAP’s kept flying forward for a moment, before opening fire. Six AGM-169 JCM “Brimstone” missiles streaked forward, seeking the lights by their heat.

Kaczynski kept looking at the lights, watching the missiles streak towards them. Five seconds later, they found their targets, the small lights growing into luminous explosions. Several seconds later, the helicopters shook as the sound of the explosions hit them. They were now two kilometers from the target, and almost exactly 30 seconds behind schedule.

The building came into view through his green-tinted, night vision-enhanced sight. Or, rather, what the enemy considered to be a building. The thing was made of packed earth, and looked like a giant beehive sticking out of the ground. Maybe that was because that’s what it technically was. The things that made it, Foreign Universe Unit 12, commonly referred to as Changelings by the locals, were equine-shaped bugs, or something equally silly. He personally didn’t care what they were called or what they took the form of. He was here to kill them.

By the time it was within easy visual range, the structure was covered in smoke, and missing around half of the upper floors. Fires raged throughout the whole thing, setting the spit the Changelings used to seal together their building alight. Shapes were visible in the fog, but the DAP’s opened fire with their six 30mm cannons, making sure to hit anything that was showing up on their IR.

The Blackhawks began to slow to a stop, around a hundred meters from the structure. A member of the 160th SOAR got out of the cockpit, walking over to man the M134A1 Minigun. Kaczynski nodded, getting up himself. The helos had stopped, and it was time. The men of Alpha Platoon hooked up to the fast rope system, before sliding down.

Kaczynski felt the tension of the ropes for a few seconds before he hit the ground. He immediately raised his rifle with one hand, undoing the fast rope with the other. He got down on one knee, gripping the rifle properly. The rest of the men disembarked, and the 39 (several men were on leave or sick, but more than enough to remain mission-effective) men of Alpha Platoon began to move forward.

Their mission was the spawning pool at the bottom of the compound. Nearly a half klick down into the ground, the thing couldn’t even be hit by 1000kg bombs, forcing the Rangers to be sent in. Of course, none of this was on Kaczynski’s mind as he ran towards the complex. They did have the M134A1’s and the DAP’s covering them, but if any Changelings could open fire, the field would become drenched in blood in no time.

They made it to the structure. The only problem is that there were no doors. Of course, Kaczynski thought, that wasn’t a problem. If RASP taught you anything, it was how to make a bloody door. He motioned to Staff Sergeant Stacker, who affixed the PETN Detcord to the wall in a six foot half-oval.

Everyone backed up a few meters from the wall as four of these were attached to the walls. Kaczynski nodded to Stacker, who depressed the trigger of the detonator. The wall exploded inwards, filling the air with even more smoke. Corporal. Fillmore took point as they moved into the building, rifles raised.

A few gunshots rang out as targets appeared in the target area. Kaczynski moved into the building, his own gun raised. He did a quick sweep of the room, seeing one of the things dazed in the corner of the room, coughing. It looked exactly like it did on the briefing. He fired three rounds into the thing before scanning the rest of the room.

Seeing the room was clear, the men began to move deeper into the compound. They only had construction patterns from older hives excavated by ponies, so the data was not very accurate. When they came across a stairway, it was a miracle. They began to move down, Corporal Fillmore once again taking point. A few Changelings tried to fight, but a few rounds of 7.62x51mm NATO ammunition put a stop to them before they got within two meters of the Rangers.

They moved down the stairs and past the area of support from their helos. As the further descended, the tunnels started to be lit by some kind of unearthly glow. “Optics off, now.” Kaczynski said, lifting the night vision monocular from his face. The rest of the men did the same, continuing to move forward. Then came the smell.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Stacker said, covering his nose. As much as Kaczynski hated to admit it, the smell was fucking terrible. It was like eggs gone bad mixed with horseradish. Of course, it boded something far, far more sinister.

“Stacker, shut up. Everyone, masks now,” The platoon threw on their M50 gas masks, the rest of their MOPP attire already on. The ponies had never hit a Changeling nest before, so they had no idea what was down here. Bad smells, Kaczynski noted, could very easily mean chemical agents.

They moved down into the compound, and things got weirder. The floor began to be covered in a thick goop. It glowed, Kaczynski noted. This shit was what was illuminating the entire lower compound. He internally bet twenty bucks it was bug shit or something.

They hit the bottom level, a huge, open area, and it took every fiber of Kaczynski’s mental strength not to vomit. The things on the ground weren’t so much eggs as they were amorphous sacks of goop, translucent, with clearly visible, exoskeleton-less Changelings inside. At the center of the room was a pool, from which the green goop flowed almost like a river.

Kaczynski gave the order, and the weapon specialists unslung M25 20mm grenade launchers from their backs. Kaczynski and the rest of the men began to take the C4 they’d brought along with them, ready to target the supports of this place. The M25’s opened up, blowing the Changeling larvae to hell with airburst rounds.

When the explosions subsided, the men moved into the final level, sweeping the area with their rifles. Around every other man, including Kaczynski, began to find the structural supports of the room.

These things must have one hell of a life cycle, Kaczynski noted. Most of these things must be female drones, like with bees, with males being somewhere in this twisted hive, servicing the Queen. Unless all the drones were males, and the Queen was the only female. But then where was the Queen?

Kaczynski turned, the charge having been planted. Stacker seemed to be having trouble with his, flipping it over a few times. “Stacker, need help with that?” he said. Kaczynski grew suspicious. Stacker had been the one to teach him how to use one these things.

Stacker looked around, confused for a minute, before laughing. “I got this.” he said, holding the charge in one hand. In the other, he grabbed the rifle by the pistol grip, his finger on the trigger. Kaczynski remembered the briefing: Changelings could make themselves resemble anything they wanted to.

“Stacker, how’s the wife?” Kaczynski asked, grabbing his own rifle. He checked the magazine and the chamber, making sure it was loaded. He looked across the chamber for more threats, and to hide his intentions from Stacker.

“Odd question, isn’t it?” Stacker asked, giving him a queer look.

Kaczynski shrugged. “Something to distract from the smell, I guess. Just curious.”

“She’s doing fine,” Stacker answered.

        Kaczynski raised his rifle at Stacker. “Hey, Stacker, forget you were gay?” he screamed, rifle trained on the man’s upper chest.

“Wait, what?” came a call from the other end of the room. Kaczynski smiled, firing on the thing in front of him. Green goop spilled from the wounds, the first round catching the Changeling in the neck. The rest sped cleanly through the skull, quickly ending the life of the imposter.

“So that’s where the shit comes from,” Kaczynski guessed. “Ignore it, boys. Finish up, and we’re out of here.” Kaczynski motioned to his men. The rest continued their work, a little bit more edgy.

The platoon at last began to move back up the stairs, this time the former rear taking point. They began to hustle up the stairs, knowing that even with the detonators in their hands, C-4 could be unreliable. The sooner they detonated it, the better they’d feel.

PFC Jepordon, taking point, opened fire on the Changeling when it appeared. Then the next one, and then the next one. “We’ve got reinforcements!” he screamed, falling back to reload. Cpl. Henderson and Sgt. Carpenter moved up to cover him, engaging the Changelings with their rifles. Kaczynski moved up to the front, supporting them as they pushed up, and Jepordon followed with a newly ready rifle in position.

The group fought their way to the top of the stairs, the men taking turns to get to the front of the line, the ones in the rear reloading and recuperating. As they made it out of the cramped corridors of the structure and into the open ground, the line disintegrated and reformed into a more staggered formation, each Ranger maintaining an overlapping arc of fire in front of him.

The men began to make a break for the helos. The helos thankfully realized what was happening and began to engage the Changelings, which were now taking cover and opening fire on the Rangers with magic projectiles of some kind.

Kaczynski ran forward as the DAP’s opened fire with the M134A1’s, 30mm Bushmaster Autocannons, and 70mm rocket pods, reducing any Changeling not inside the building to shreds. He’d forgotten to put his monocular back on, but the night was almost completely illuminated by the gunfire and the rockets from the helos.

He took his seat in the helo while his men followed into their designated helicopters, which had since landed. Soon, everyone was onboard the helos, and they began to take off. Kaczynski opened up his radio network, ordering Sergeants to take a tally of wounded. The results came back when they were fully in the air: no casualties.

Kaczynski checked his watch. 0633 Hours. He took out the detonator for his charges, and gave the warning. The structure’s base exploded in on itself, sending the entire structure spiralling downward in a plume of smoke, goop, and fire.

10/31/20, 0945 Hours

-22.2891, -148.0847, South Pacific Ocean

[REDACTED]

“Then, at 0635 Hours, the demolition of Site Zero-Alpha-Charlie was finished, and we exited the area,” Kaczynski recounted to the gathered men of Alpha Company. “What have we learned from this?” he asked. The briefing room was filled with the overly tired men from the night before’s raid, all slouched over in their seats. They’d obviously not slept since at least the day before.

        “Flip off the ponies and go back home?” someone said, laughing. Kaczynski stared at him, before continuing. It was to be expected, but these men better sort themselves out fast.

“Is there anyone here who wants to give a non-retarded answer? Going once...going twice…”

“Sir, we need some way to work out some way to distinguish our regular forces from the transformed versions of FUU-12 from our regular men. Perhaps we need some unique inter-unit calls, or clackers, like they gave paratroopers in World War 2?” one private suggested, raising his hand.

“Good idea, Private.” Kaczynski said, his face softening somewhat. “We can work out the specifics at a later point, but now, we have a special guest. Please welcome one Colonel Crimson Shield, commander of the 31st Pony Legion of the Equestrian Infantry,” he introduced, stepping to the side.

The men immediately stood up and saluted the podium, behind which a bright red pony in flashy, ceremonial armor walked. Typical, Kaczynski thought. They can’t show respect to the guy who fought with them a day before, but they manage to stand upright when a full bird enters the room.

“Gentleponies, or gentlemen I should say, good work earlier. This may be the first time the Crown asks for your aid, or it might be the last. Good luck,” the colonel said, before stepping down. Typical, Kaczynski thought. We get a colonel in here and he just gives generic praise. How typical.

Kaczynski stepped back up the podium, taking a look around the room. Everyone had gone back down to their sitting position, obviously tired. He continued the debriefing a little more silently. They deserved the rest.

When it was all finally over, he reached for the radio to keep him company as he organized the after-action reports from the operation. “Good morning, gentlemen. The temperature is 110 degrees…”