I sat atop the uneven cliff side, my rump awkwardly setting into the slight inward curves of the rock and my hooves dangling over the edge, tempting fate. I tapped the empty glass bottle of sparkle cola that sat awkwardly at the edge, tipping it over, sending it falling to the barren wasteland below. I could feel the cigeratte hanging loosely from my mouth burn shorter, and shorter, until only the butt remained. The cigeratte shared the same fate as the cola bottle, falling against the harsh winds of the Equestrian wasteland, only to splash into the shallow body of water that had formed at the base of the cliff. I heard a slight mechainical whirring behind me. I turned to see Grave Digger, an old friend, taking aim with a large sniper rifle, the whirring, presumably being the large mechanised scope, zooming in and out.
"Ya see anything, Dig?"
I speak, the smoke from my last pull of the cigeratte oozing out of my mouth, accompanying the words.
"Dustcloud."
He doesn't take his eye away from the scope, he just keeps staring intently.
"Really, how big?"
I pull myself away from the edge and stand up, patting the dust from my flank before standing on my four hooves. I quickly trotting to Grave Diggers side.
""Bout four days out, if it's Duster, I'd give 'im, maybe a day an' a half."
Grave Digger finally brought the rifle down by his side.
"Ya ready?"
He stared at me, and I, in turn, stared at the small, dark green box that sat by our smoking, dead fire.
"No" I uttered, still staring away from the dirty white unicorn "But what else can we do?"
Hours passed and Grave Digger lay at the edge of the cliff, leaning his head on his rifle as he continued to track the progress of the large dustcloud. I held a stick over our, now alight, fire. The stick was nothing more than a snapped twig, with odd, uneven protrusions and a dry, rough texture, but what was impaled on the stick necessitated the sticks new position atop a flaming pile of dirt and other sticks, radroach meat, not exactly caviar, but I've eaten worse. The meat began to simmer and drip as it was cooked to perfection, I pulled it away before it became to overcooked, crispy, black and burnt. I dropped the chunk of meat onto an old ceramic plate, cracked and dull, the years had not been kind to the poor piece of china.
"You sure you don't want none? It's smelling pretty good?"
I yelled over to the bastard on his belly. There was no reply, I wouldn't be suprised if he'd fallen asleep atop the piece of junk he called a gun. Never cared for them types of guns, myself, always thought they were too clunky, overly complicated. As far as I'm concerned, the only kind of gun you need is the classic, bolt action rifle variety, patient, attractive and light. A true hunters weapon.
I trotted over to Grave Digger, an attempt to assure myself that my suspicions that he'd fallen asleep on the job where just that, suspicions. I nudged his back leg with my own fore hoof.
"Dig?"
I quickly move to his face, hoping that a good slap to the face would wake him up. I was horrified to find the scope of the rifle shattered and cracked, a small pool of blood beneath his face, and a patch of sticky, red clotted fur on the back of his head. I began to panic and quickly spun around to grab my rifle which was resting by the fire. I turned to see a large pegasus, almost entirely concealed by a large, tattered, brown trench coat and a dark, worn gas mask with large, round, red, eyes. He held a revolver with a large barrel, not so much wide, but tall. The sun refected off of the lens of the revolvers long scope, blinding me for a brief moment.
"Shot Glass, you are under arrest on the charges of grand larceny of military equipment, murder and multiple counts of treason, by the power vested in me by the New Canterlot Republic, I sentence you to die."
He spoke in a loud boom, must've been the echo from the mask. I began to shake from fear, but I still wore a smirk and tried to bullshit my way through the encounter.
"You won't kill me, you can't."
"I'll put two rounds in your face, and then you can try and argue."
"You can't kill me, because the box has deadlock seal, and a password, besides, you wouldn't wanna waste a bullet on little old me, not when ammo's so scarce."
"What makes you think I'm supposed to retrieve the package?"
"The big stamp that says "Precious cargo" on the side."
We stared at each other, as he trained his revolver on me and I tried to grip Grave Diggers rifle with my back hoof, subtely kicking it, inching it closer beneath me.
"So, you're saying you'd rather spend your life in an NCR correctional facility, is that it?"
He kept his sights on me, though now he began lightly wave the gun as he spoke.
"That's about the size of things."
I felt my hoof firmly press against the stock of the rifle beneath me, I bucked it hard, sending it flying beneath my forehooves. I dropped to the ground, taking aim with the large rifle and preparing to fire a slug right between the bastards eyes.
Click
Uh-oh.
"Bit of gun jam, I see."
I looked up, giving him a wide, squeaking smile before patheticly uttering.
"uh, can't blame a buck for trying?"
"Yea, prepare to meet your maker."
He aimed the gun at my head, prompting me to scream in a panic.
"WAIT! There's a bounty on my head, two thousand caps!"
I winced, preparing myself for a forty four to lodge itself into my skull. I waited, before looking up again to see the ranger with his weapon sheethed.
"go on."
I stood, clearing my throat and regaining my composure, wearing a stern expression.
"Trottingham, 'bout three days out north, if we leave today. A writer by the name of Chronicle, I wronged him and he put a price on my head, five hundred dead, and two thousand alive."
"What happens if you go back alive?"
I was deflated, I spoke slower and began to stare at the ground.
"Then I'll stand trial, and the good people of Trottingham will do to me as they see fit, be it execution or a jail sentence."
We stared at each other. I hadn't noticed, but he'd gotten closer, he was ahead of the fire now.
"Why do you think I'd even want two thousand caps? They have no value in the NCR."
"C'mon, big traveller, like yourself,you spend more time in the wasteland, it's good money that could go to supplies, a good nights sleep, some female companionship-"
I could feel the cold stare he was giving me beneath that creepy looking gas mask.
"Or, y'know... not."
He walked even closer, strapping shackles to my forehooves and latching them to a chain, which connected to the battle saddle beneath his coat.
"So, I get to live?"
He turned, walking on, as I followed behind him.
"For now, we'll see what the good people of Trottingham do to a filly fooler."
"But I'm not a filly fooler."
"We'll see who they believe."
And with that, we were off, I was to await my fate at the hands of ponies from another life, leaving Grave Digger, and my new life, behind. We ventured into the great barren wasteland as the sun began to rise, it was the dawn of a new day in more ways than one.
This journal is the property of sergeant major Duster Brown, if found please return to nearest New Canterlot Republic millitary outpost.
Update on my mission to retrieve the smuggler and the convict. The convict, a former raider, Grave Digger was pacified with a single bullet to the cranium, after attempting to assult an NCR ranger. Though I cannot confirm this, I assume he died instantly. The smuggler, former citizen, Shot Glass surrendered himself, claiming to have information on a raider outpost close to the NCR capital, that could cause a problem for the NCR in the future. Will update if any further complications endanger the objective.
I finished typing on the small, hoof mounted terminal, the status report a fine piece of misdirection for the brass. I heard that insufferable twit behind me.
"What's that? Is that a pip-buck? Where you a stable dweller?"
I remove the chain from my battle saddle and latch it around on old streetlight, with a blown out bulb and a leaning at an obtuse angle.
"What's this? Why we stopped?"
Again the incesent whining, If I were a lesser pony I would've cut out his tongue by now.
"It's getting dark, we set up camp here."
"Where we're wide open? No, I don't think so, we could burrow under these rocks and make-"
"No, where you are wide open, I'm latching you to this post and then I'm making camp atop this small cliff."
"Ya can't just leave me down here, that's suicide!"
I begin to climb the small rock face, grunting as I feel the full weight of the battle saddle pull me down. I look down at Shot Glass, staring at him as I speak clearly.
"If I say i'm going to bring back a prisoner alive, I'm going to bring them back alive."
I removed the small saddle bag from beneath my coat, after retreating farther back atop the small cliff. I removed a small modular rifle and placed it at the cliffs edge, overlooking the prisoner. I lay there, awake the entire night, the night scope on my rifle seeming to bathe the wastes in an unnatural green light. I was happy to find no raiders coming after us, just bloatsprites and the occasional wild dog. The muffled thwips of the rifle didn't disturb the prisoners slumber,and he awoke to a massacre of wild animals, or, as he called it, breakfast.
I prepared myself a small cocktail of drugs, water and radroach juices, it was a concoction I'd used for years to keep me awake and alert on assignments. I stowed my rifle and found the prisoner at the base of my hill-top hide-away, next to a cooking fire.
"Where'd that come from?"
I asked whilst sliding down the short rock face. He replied with a mouth full of cooked bloatsprite.
"Oh, this old thing? You'd be suprised what I can scrounge together from some sticks and stones."
He gave a smile, revealing his full set of dull white teeth, and a small chunk of meat between said teeth.
"You have a little something..."
I trailed off, waving my hoof around the area my mouth would be beneath the mask. He swallowed his food and replied.
"What? Something in my rebreather?"
Smart ass.
I walk past him, to the street light, and latch his chain onto my battle saddle.
"Seriously? This again?"
He thinks we're friends, that I trust him, I set him straight.
"We are not friends, you are my prisoner, and you will be treated as such."
"Not even gonna have some breakfast?"
He presents me with a large chunk of cooked bloatsprite meat, large, juicy, succulent meat. I knock out of his hoof and turn away, begining towards Trottingham.
"Leave it for the manticores."
His ears drop and his eyes widen in fear.
"M-manticores?"
"Oh yea, didn't you know? There's a nest about three clicks north, wanna go meet some?"
He sprints towards, quickly halting before slamming into my back side.
"Y'know I would, but I wouldn't wanna waste an NCR rangers precious time."
Figures.
As we continue along the broken and cracked road I check my hoof mounted terminal, checking how far we were from Trottingham. Again, the prisoner displayed a piqued interest in the simple gadget.
"Y'know, ya never told me what that thing was."
"Your point?"
"Well, aren't you gonna tell me?"
"Why would I, it's a hunk of metal strapped to my hoof, what more do you want to know?"
"What does it do? Where did you get it? If it was just hollow metal I doubt you'd keep staring at it like it ghoul in its undies."
I stopped and stared to him over his last remark.
"Okay, sorry poor choice of words."
I looked ahead, and continued on at a steady pace.
"So come on, what is it?"
"It's a terminal, a hoof mounted terminal. Designed by Stable-Tec towards the end of the war and built by a stable born scientist who worked for the rangers before we merged with the NCR. It has a text writing program, a map and is permanantley logged onto the NCRs primary maneframe. They've been passed down to veteran rangers when they go out on scout assignments. There, now are you happy?"
He looked off in another directon.
"I guess."
I noticed him squint and lean his forward as he began focus on something in the distance.
"What are you looking at?"
He lowered his voice and spoke in an even tone.
"There's a band of raiders hiding in that building up there. I don't think they've spotted us but jus-"
And that's when the shooting began. The prisoner took a shot to the neck, falling to the floor, lifeless. I dragged his heavy husk of a body behind a half destroyed wall. I was out gunned, and with a dying prisoner, but I've been in tighter spots, okay, bring it on. I loaded my revolver and prepared for hell.
