Age of Clank

The long trek through our own territory was somewhat relaxing, to be perfectly honest. Even though we had taken several hits, Bertha had arrived – God only knows how that woman knew when we were in trouble – and kept us alive long enough for us to retreat before she shredded the Ceres-types. Looking back on it, our problems had seemed to stem from that mission. Sometimes, I wonder if we had actually done the right thing at that point, saving Trixie. She certainly was not very gracious, and seemed to only show her gratitude towards Bertha. It was a strange turn of events, to be perfectly honest.

Odin was the last of our four Mech Marines to enter our base, disconnecting me before it returned to its cargo container, waiting for the next mission. Up near a door marked 'Command', Bertha leaned against the wall, smoking her usual cigar. An open window above Command was occupied by Jigsaw. He always sat up there, staring out. Reaper was already inside with our new charge, and I could hear raised voices. Bertha jerked her thumb towards the door, frowning even as she puffed on her cigar.

“Whatever is going on in there, better get to it, Miller. Reaper's a good guy.” Sighing, I pushed the door open, the main communications monitor open. The regional commander was glaring at me as I entered, the previous conversation having ended.

“Ike, whatever you want, I assume it's not anything good?” I could feel the anger flowing off of him as he continued to glare. Reaper was seated in a chair, lifting a small flask to his lips.

“I tolerate a lot, Colonel Miller, but you fired upon WTO Clanks withour-”

“Let me stop you there, Ike.” Bertha walked up behind me, staring at the screen. While most of the pilots I knew were male skinheads – the term for pilots that most used, simply because we were all shaved bald to allow for easier augmentation – she was the only female who had ever gotten to be the local division leader. She had never shaved her head either, brown hair cut extremely short. I looked away, my mind fighting itself for a minute. I had never noticed her in such a fashion before. I never saw gender, nor race, nor anything else besides the ability to fight. I mean, Reaper had a mechanical arm, and Jigsaw had an artificial heart ever since his natural one took a piece of shrapnel and was shredded.

“Ah, Big Bertha, the divison leader-”

“That's Bertha to you, bub. Ain't no commander alive that knows different, 'sides you.” Bertha puffed again on the stub of cigar she had left, dropping the small amount and crushing it underneath her heel. Her hand had gone up and pointed accusingly at Ike, or Brigadier General Dwight Eisenhower,

himself following in the footsteps of a former American president from a while before.

“Bertha, put your hand down. I can handle this.” I looked around the room. Trixie was huddled in a corner, quivering in what I assumed was fear. I shook my head, looking at Ike. “Well?”

“Your quick action rectified the situation, and you brought to our attention something new as well. Unfortunately, the Traders are losing their minds over this fiasco. They're claiming that we disobeyed the laws of engagement, and that it was in their territory.” Reaper set down his flask, sighing as he stretched his arms.

“Ike, you of all people should know that what you just said is absolute bull. That was within our territory, and anything the WTO says is just them wanting to take more territory! I say we-” Bertha punched Reaper in the face, knocking him from his chair and onto his back.

“Reaper, don't give 'em a reason to take offensive action. Those Traders are itching to wipe us out. Especially when they've got better Clanks than we do.” Bertha retrieved another cigar from her pocket, lighting it with her small metal lighter she always carried with her. I could hear swearing as something hit the ground outside Command, signifying that Jigsaw had falled off and slammed into the ground.

“Ike, what's our situation then?” A large map showed on the screen, highlighting various points of interest, including the structure we stood in. More red markers were shown beyond the boundary twenty clicks away, whereas we had only been fifteen.

“They've begun to invade, unfortunately. It's a strange circumstance, but they believe that they own that land now. However, there are more Mech Marines on their way to your position. The Fourth, the Seventh, and the Twelfth. Be warned, though. The Fourth is known to be rather... rambunctious.” I sighed. The Fourth Clank Fireteam, also known as the 'Roughnecks', was notorious for their... strange tactics. Sometimes, if their Clank's arm was damaged, they'd rip the arm off and attempt to beat the enemy Clank to pieces with it.

“Understood. We'll work with the... target on this. Last Chance Brigade out.” The display shut down, leaving all of us who were not Jigsaw – he was probably unconscious from his fall – standing like lemmings in the middle of Command. Out of all of us, it was Trixie who spoke first.

“Who are you creatures?! What are you?!” I held up my hands. I was not the best at diplomacy – that was Jigsaw's job, and he was unconscious out in the middle of the floor. Reaper was still drinking, and he had begun to sway. The vote fell to Bertha, who sighed as she took Trixie on a short tour. Short being another word for-

“This is the base. This concludes the tour.” She tossed an empty cigar box into the nearby trash can, heading off to her quarters in another building a few meters from the large structure. Her grey jacket was loose on her shoulders as she pulled it off, revealing her- I stopped watching her, as it was starting to cause me some issues.

“Reaper!” Reaper came barreling out of Command, stumbling from whatever he had in that flask.

“Yessir! Wasn't drinkin' all 'at much...” His voice was slurring. I could smell the alcohol from where I stood. I sighed in exasperation. Reaper was in no condition to actually give our charge any tour or information that might at least ease her arrival into our world, the world of war.

“Reaper, just go back to your quarters. Sleep off your alcohol.” Reaper stumbled away, tripping over Jigsaw as he staggered. I turned to Trixie, who seemed scared of what was going on.

“Okay, Trixie. I guess I should introduce myself.” I squatted down in front of her, making sure I was at eye level. Though most of my perception was in identifying Clanks from a distance, she was somewhat shorter than me... and she also had impossibly large eyes. “My name is Colonel Jacob Miller. You can refer to my call-sign 'Long Haul' if you forget my name.” She relaxed somewhat, the apprehension visible in her body disappearing somewhat.

“Long Haul... sounds like an Earth Pony name.” I stood up, looking around. I thought I had heard the slamming of five-ton metal shoes on the ground, the main identifier that a small Clank was around. Not perceiving anything, I knelt down again, removing her hat before putting my hand on her head. I scratched slowly behind her ears, stopping when she raised her head to rub against my hand.

“Am I doing something wrong?” Her only response was to look up at me with the most innocent smile I had ever seen. No one who had fully experienced the terrors of a full on skirmish with Clanks, especially with the Fourth Fireteam backing you up, had ever smiled since. Jigsaw was one exception, but he was clinically insane, although that was a fact that made him an even more effective Clank pilot. Her smile was of something untouched by the horrors of war. She breathed in sharply as I resumed petting her, scratching the nape of her neck slowly.

“T-That's... wonderful.” I stopped, standing up and looking around. I had definitely heard the sound of a Clank walking, and it was not a small one, either. That sounded more like a three-man one. He was beginning to worry. The footfalls were much heavier than any Ceres-type, and there were not many types active in North America. Trixie looked at my eyes, noticing my worry as I glanced around. “What's wrong?”

“Be quiet.”

“You do not tell the Great and Powerful-”

“I don't know if that was clear enough. Be quiet.” There was a large Clank outside, one I remembered from reconnaissance photographs stolen from the WTO. It was a Shogunate Clank, one of their rarest ones as well. It appeared to be slower than normal, the footfalls heavy and irregular. As it got closer, I could hear sparking and various grinding noises. “It sounds like it's damaged. That's good. A damaged Shogunate Clank is a vulnerable one. But what could have caused-” The Clank then slammed into the ground, shaking the entire building. I looked down at Jigsaw, who woke up suddenly, rolling around as he scrambled for the nearby weapons locker. Pulling out a small box, he entered a combination on the side, the box unfolding into a variable assault rifle.

“What on Earth was that?”

“Jigsaw, check it out! It looked like a damaged Shogunate Clank!” Jigsaw was already out the rear entrance of the main floor, metal clattering against metal as he scrambled up the side.

“Sir! You have to check this out!” I jumped down from the doorway near Command, grabbing another assault rifle as I sprinted outside. The Clank was a type I had seen only twice, and the weapons... they were true death dealers, lethal to armour and flesh alike. Large laser cannons, easily fifty gigabytes of power each, and they were still glowing. The head-mount was even worse, a heavy plasma cannon sparking and creaking as the motors for its rotation protested.

“Jigs, what is it?”

“Sir! There's just leg sockets! Whoever the pilot was, he met quite a messy end.” I clambered up, training my assault rifle to the inside of the cockpit. He had been correct. The inside was caked red with blood, the only sign a pilot had been inside the leg sockets that denoted a pilot. Even the gunner seats – where the gunners would control the arms – were covered in blood. There were screens all over the inside, and each one was cracked and full of static.

“That's impossible. It's like they-”

“Exploded from the inside. Yeah. Long Haul, Jigsaw, everything just got a whole lot more complicated.” Bertha was standing beside me, kneeling down before sliding into the cockpit. The machine recognized her as a pilot, disengaging the previous leg sockets and locking her in.

“Bertha! What are you doing?!” In a moment the Shogunate Clank I recognized – it was a Falcon-type, their special weapons platform Clank – stood up, still limping.

“This whole thing is a mess. I'm taking it inside. I'll see what Reaper can pull from the drives.”

Bertha had been right. The electronics were a mess, the drives were almost completely unrecoverable. She had been able to get the Falcon-type into the Clank bay of our little base, but the system shut down, forcing us to remove her manually. Her Clank – Athena by designation – had assisted in the dismantling of the Falcon-type, Oni by designation. The previous pilot and gunners had definitely died by spontaneous detonation, but the sockets of the pilot had remained. I gripped the edge of the chair I had taken as I watched the surveillance records taken from inside the cockpit of the Clank before the unfortunate incident. My stomach was threatening to empty its contents all over the console in front of me, but I continued to watch the exact same moment over and over, attempting to see if it was some kind of experimental WTO weapon that we had not seen before. Something clinked behind me, a hand reaching past my shoulder with a hot cup of coffee.

“Colonel, you've been at this all night. Drink some damn coffee.” I could hear the clopping of hooves against the metal of the platform where I sat, just a flight of stairs above our makeshift Clank bay. Trixie stood beside me, watching the moment. Without even an inkling, she stopped the recording, right at the moment of death. There was some kind of bright flash, with a tinge of purple inside.

“Trixie? You know what that is?” She sighed, sitting down as a horse or pony would. She had dropped the cape and hat, Bertha working on modifying an old Coalition uniform for her to wear. Jigsaw had set up a cot in his quarters, taking it upon himself to care for her.

“Trixie does-” I held up my hand, taking a large gulp of coffee.

“Don't.”

“Don't what?”

“Don't talk in the third person. Makes you sound like you're out of your mind. Jigsaw does it occasionally.” I finished off the coffee in a few more gulps, coughing as the worst coffee I had ever had   up to that point. I turned around, facing Reaper. “Reaper, your coffee's getting worse.”

“Just using the last of the rations for the coffee. You know how 'last dregs' are.” I sighed, turning back to Trixie.

“That energy, it's from my home.” I sat up straight, setting the cup onto the console and staring closely. The computer had begun to analyze the energy readings, although the power levels were off the charts, and the phenomenon Trixie had been in did not even come close to the same amount of power.

“Trixie, just what am I looking at?” She turned to me, her pupils mere pinpoints as shock displayed on her face.

“That's magic! Oh, sorry. You don't understand. It's all right for a monkey like yourself-” I could feel Reaper's glare as he stared at Trixie. His glare was like a heat laser, and would make you feel extremely uncomfortable.

“You're skating on thin ice now.”

“Yeah, Trixie? Don't insult the one guy on this base who could turn you into molten slag in every way possible.” She swallowed, my statement having the intended effect.

“A-All right. M-my world... it is permeated entirely by a magical force. It can be used by all three groups of ponies-” I could see Jigsaw as he sprinted up the stairs, standing beside me.

“Three groups of ponies?”

“Earth Ponies, Pegasus Ponies, and Unicorn Ponies. Earth Ponies are extremely resilient, and have a natural affinity with the soil and the Earth. Pegasus Ponies have a natural affinity for the air and the weather, especially clouds – they made cities out of them. Unicorn Ponies, like myself, are able to focus the magic easier than the others – the other two can use their energy in different ways, but not as effectively. We can use different spells to channel the natural magic within ourselves and the world, and create various effects, from teleportation, to magic beams, the applications are enormous.” I looked over at her, awe clearly showing as my mouth hung open.

“I didn't peg you for a pony that was all that intelligent. Thanks for proving me wrong.” Trixie did a small curtsy – apparently, that was no small feat, either.

“I also did a travelling show... until I bit off more than I could chew.” Reaper seemed to gain interest. Everyone knew his habit of taking on projects that we all knew he would never be able to complete, yet time and time again, he always astounded us.

“How exactly did you do that?” Everyone turned to Reaper, silently wondering what he was trying to get at. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like I'm a nose hair in somebody's Spanish omelette.” He sighed, sliding a chair over to listen to Trixie's tales. “I've done that before. It's easy to do when you misjudge the situation.” Trixie sighed, hoping to continue with her tale.

“I was inside of a small town, known as Ponyville. Many of the locals had never seen me before, so it felt great to boast of my abilities.” I could see Reaper cringe as she mentioned that. Making a mental note to ask him later, I continued to listen, watching as Trixie recounted a tale that included magical duels, a stage performance that caused problems for the townsponies until another unicorn set her straight. A large mystical bear – an Ursa Minor, according to Trixie – was the kicker, causing her ruses to be revealed as nothing more than what they were, simple illusions. Reaper had his head in his hands. I could tell his heart was going out to that unicorn.

“I can relate quite well.” Trixie did not respond, but simply trotted over to Reaper, letting him scratch her head, pushing against his hand with a sad smile. It was similar to when the orphans in the ruined city of Nashville would crowd around Jigsaw whenever he brought them a gift. He was born there, amongst the debris and rubble, just like those orphans. Many pilots were recruited from there, their lifestyles giving them some rather extraordinary talents in the cockpit of a Clank.

“You know, Trixie, he was an orphan. You do understand what that is, right?” Trixie stared right at me. Most of the stares I had always ended up on the receiving end of were cold stares of ice, but Trixie's? Hers seemed to pierce my very soul. It was very unsettling.

“I'm an orphan.” All of us stopped and stared in absolute shock at her. Reaper was much more similar to her than he had ever known, the both of them having done something similar that was revealed as nothing more than an illusion – I was more and more curious about what Reaper had done in that respect – and they were both orphans.

“So, you and Reaper are parallels?” Bertha stood looking down at Trixie. Reaper jumped a little, not having seen Bertha walk up. To be honest, Bertha was incredible at stealthy sneaking whenever she wanted to be.

“Bertha! Don't do that!” Bertha merely shrugged, looking down at Trixie.

“I've got that uniform all ready, although there's something else I wanted to talk to you about, Trixie.” She held out the uniform, which was wrapped in a light blue glow, corresponding with the glow that surrounded Trixie's horn.

“What exactly did you want to talk to her about, Bertha?” Bertha grabbed an empty chair, sitting down and clasping her hands. Reaper and I instinctively stood up. Whenever Bertha became serious, it was always time for the rest of us to leave so she could talk in private. She motioned for us to sit. Whatever it was, it was something important for us all to discuss.

“Ike sent us a priority message. I don't understand why, but he wants us to do something with Trixie.” Bertha's face was a mask of worry, which meant that whatever she had been told was bothering her immensely. I leaned forward, staring at her intensely.

“Bertha, what does Ike want us to do?” Bertha swallowed, looking at me with fearful eyes. Something had been said to her that was beyond scary for her.

“Ike wants to have Trixie augmented... he wants to turn her into a pilot. That also means testing her combat abilities once augmented to discover what weapons she could handle on her Clank.” Trixie stared at us with confusion in her eyes. The poor thing. In some ways, I envied her, her innocence to our world of war, including augmentation.

“What's 'augmented?'” I pointed at my metal legs, shrugging.

“They'd choose what limbs to replace, but you'd be sort of like us, except a pony-” Wherever he came from, I never understood, but Jigsaw was standing with us, a gigantic smile on his face.

“A pony that will pilot a Clank! This is going to be awesome!” I rubbed my temples, sighing.

“Jigsaw, we need to let her decide. Becoming a pilot means sacrifice. You can't just say 'lop off her legs, let's get this over with.'” I turned back to Trixie, who seemed on the verge of evacuating her stomach of whatever contents it had inside. Her face was a deep green, meaning she was close. “Uh, Trixie? Please don't feel like that. It's more humbling than anything. It reminds you that you sacrificed something to be able to fight, a sacrifice you pay back on the battlefield-” She stared at me, her eyes intently fixed on boring holes into my head.

“I'll do it.” All of us, including Jigsaw – he had been bouncing around, but he almost froze in mid-air when she agreed to the augmentation. “I'll become a 'Clank pilot.'” Bertha stood, approaching close. Placing her hands on Trixie's shoulders, she stared deeply into her eyes, her expression never breaking from its serious demeanour.

“Trixie, to become a pilot, you will lose much, including whichever limbs they decide need to come off so you can link up with the legs of the Clank you will be issued. Various implants will also be put in your head so you are able to use the head-mounted weapon of your one-man Clank, along with the camera mounts. The Clank you're issued will most likely be a Mech Marine, similar to ours.” Trixie looked down at the ground, her eyes partially closed as she contemplated what Bertha had explained. I had never seen a more determined expression. She looked up with fire in her eyes, a fire I knew well. It was the fire I saw in the eyes of my fireteam, and in the eyes of the division commander. It was the fire of pure determination, the will to go through any obstacle to fight against a threat.

“I want to fight! My home... Equestria... there's a war going on. I want to fight, and defend my home!” I raised my fist to the air, shouting in acknowledgement. Trixie quickly slipped into the uniform, testing it out as she trotted around. Bertha smiled, Jigsaw giggling like a schoolgirl. I stopped her twirling to point at our Clank bay, the excitement in my voice as I declared what I felt was right to say.

“Welcome to the Fifth Clank Fireteam, the 'Last Chance Brigade!' We are honoured to have you as our newest pilot! Bertha, get on the comms and let Ike know that our newest member is ready for augmentation.” Reaper stood beside me, looking down at Trixie as she began to trot around the Clank bay, twirling and laughing.

“Did you notice she mentioned a war that was going on where she's from?” I nodded, frowning.

“Somehow, I doubt that whatever it is will stay there. Remember, everything is theory at the beginning.” Reaper turned to leave, leaving me to stare out at our Clank bay. Whatever they decided she needed, she would get. Training, weapons, and the Clank that acknowledges her as its pilot, she would have all of that. However, nagging in my brain continued to make me question one thing.

What exactly was the 'war' Trixie spoke of?