The massive propellers of the airship caused the cloud of dust to rise, making the aircraft invisible. Its gear touched the desert surprisingly gently for such a big machine. For a moment, all the ponies on the ground could see was the top of the balloon, protruding from the small sandstorm.
The yowl of the two rotary engines changed into a murmur before they skid to a halt. The sand was slowly falling down, revealing the dust-coloured balloon and four wooden gondolas: one, in the front, where pilots were sitting; another in the middle, with seats for the passengers, and one smaller for each of the engines in the back. They all were painted dark green – not very practical in this part of Equestria, known commonly as Badlands. The soldiers who happened to be dumped there, had their own name for it. It was, if it was even possible, even more sinister: The Changeling Territories.
“So, Hard Mint, how do you think, how long our new recruits will last?” the violet pegasus pony with a short, white and blue mane asked. His companion, a cream-coloured earth pony with a curly, orange mane shrugged.
“I don’t know, and I don’t really care. You know, Storm, I’m going back home with this airship. I’m practically a civilian now. I’m finally gonna spend Winter Wrap-Up with my wife and daughter…” Hard Mint looked around. “Can you believe that there’s snow in the North?”
“I spent almost all my life in Cloudsdale,” Storm replied. He looked at the airship and saw the group of ponies walking out of it. Some of them were watching the desert with disgust, while a few others hid in the balloon’s shadow to throw up – apparently there were lots of turbulences on the way from Baltimare. “We don’t really have snow there.”
“Lucky you,” Hard Mint chuckled. “Last year there was so much snow in Ponyville that I almost lost Twisty in it… Can you believe that she’s already six? These kids grow so fast…” He took a photo of a smiling filly with a mass of curly red hair and showed it to Storm. “Screw the superstitions, I’m going home soon.”
“Yeah… you know, it feels like just yesterday ‘Chaser was born, and now she’s fifteen…” Storm replied, giving the photo back to Hard Mint.
“And how’s Flitter?” the earth pony asked. “She’s, like, eleven, right?”
“Ten,” Storm replied. There was a trace of pride in his voice. “She recently got her cutie mark…”
“Nice.” Hard Mint nodded. “Twist doesn’t have hers yet.”
“Give her time…” Storm saw the new recruits approaching them. Some of them were rather pale and looked like they were about to collapse. However, they were trying to look proud when they stood before Storm and saluted.
“Good morning, soldiers,” Storm said. He was speaking calmly, but emphatically. “My name is Storm Chaser and I am your new captain. I’ll be honest: service here is the most dangerous task in all of Equestria. Average life expectancy of a pony who fights changelings is about two weeks. That’s why since today you’ll listen every single of my words. You’ll eat, drink, sleep, fight and shit only when I order you to do so. Maybe then you’ll survive. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir!” One of the recruits, a yellow pegasus mare with an orange mane resembling a flame shouted. The rest was now looking unsurely at the airship.
“I can’t hear you!” Storm shouted.
“Yes sir!” The group answered. Storm nodded his head. He told them to go to the camp where they were to be given tents and other equipment and dismissed them.
“You’ll have fun with them…” Hard Mint snickered.
The yellow mare sighed. The desert definitely wasn’t her element. She wanted to take off and make a few laps above the camp, but she remembered from her training that it wasn’t allowed. A lone pegasus could easily attract the whole swarm of changelings. What was more, she was told that she wouldn’t get her own tent; instead she was supposed to be given a place after some dead soldier, which was considered bad luck.
She looked around the camp: a bunch of khaki-coloured tents scattered around the small oasis, surrounded by fence made of barbed wire. Everything was bathed in the sharp sunlight; all the ponies were hiding in the shadows of rachitic palm trees and several turrets with twin 20 mm autocannons.
“Excuse me,” she said to the blue pegasus mare with white hair, who was lying in front of her tent with her eyes half closed. “I’m looking for a pony called Fleetfoot.”
“Well, you found me,” the mare replied. “What do you want?”
“I was told that I’d be your new roommate. My name’s Spitfire, by the way…”
“Well, I don’t think I’ll have time to learn it,” Fleetfoot replied. She opened one eye to look at Spitfire, who rose her eyebrows.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Don’t get me wrong, but living with me is basically a kiss of death…” Fleetfoot shrugged. Carelessness in her voice surprised Spitfire. “My three previous roommates died horribly. The last one didn’t even have time to unpack her stuff, when drones tore her to shreds. Too bad, she seemed nice.”
“Just great…” Spitfire muttered. She sat on the ground next to Fleetfoot and hung her head down.
“Don’t worry, darling, it’s not that bad. I’m leaving in January. If you survive three weeks, I won’t be bothering you anymore… Unless that tent is cursed.”
“I’m not superstitious,” Spitfire said.
“Yeah, right.” Fleetfoot chuckled. “My second roommate wasn’t superstitious either, till she first saw the drones. Really, such things change ponies...”
To her surprise, Spitfire smirked. “Don’t worry about me,” she said, “It’s not the first time I’m in combat. You know, I was in Zebrica.”
“What?” Fleetfoot looked at her as if she was crazy. “It was nine years ago! How old were you?”
“Sixteen,” Spitfire smiled sheepishly. “I ran away from home and enlisted with bogus papers. Though nopony really checked them, they were just taking anypony who wanted to enlist. I was really dumb back then.”
Fleetfoot shook her head. “You’re crazy… I give you three days before we’ll have to scrap your guts off of some rock.”
“Bet?” Spitfire smirked.
“Bet,” Fleetfoot replied. “You know, betting is the only form of entertainment in this shithole… But maybe we should go inside? It’s quite hot here…”
They crawled inside the tent. Spitfire sat on the bunk bed and began unpacking her saddlebags, while Fleetfoot was rummaging through her belongings.
“You know, I made a bet with Albtraum that I’ll be home before Hearth-Warming Eve…” she said.
“So, you still have nine days?” Spitfire asked.
“Yeah… but they’ll only release me if I’m unable to fly. Which usually means ‘dead’...”
“Is it really that bad here? I mean, they told us during training that it’s not sunshine and rainbows, but–”
“Listen, Spitfire.” Fleetfoot leaned closer to her. “I should’ve died at least three or four times already… I’m slowly running out of luck, you know…”
“Don’t say that,” Spitfire said. “It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy and–”
“Oh, come on… Just when I thought you’re a cool girl, you try to sell me that bullshit? Ponies die here. No matter of their skills, experience… They don’t even write about us in newspapers anymore. We exist only in the papers of some bureaucrat in Canterlot...”
“Can we change the topic?” Spitfire asked, looking around the tent. While it was quite cosy, she suddenly felt that she wanted to be anywhere but there. “Do you have any tips how to fight changelings? I guess it’s different… Zebras don’t have a real air force, just some hang-glides…”
“Yeah, I heard that…” Fleetfoot smirked. “They really wanted to build their own air force, right? Project Winged Zebra…”
“It’s a classified information,” Spitfire said quickly.
“About our guys fucking zebras because the government of Southern Zebrica wanted to breed pegasi hybrids? Please. From what I’ve heard, they only managed to breed a bunch of retards...”
“The ponies responsible for that were imprisoned. Princess Celestia is right about not publishing that information,” Spitfire said. Her face became a bit red.
“Yeah, somepony would be pissed if they heard how their taxes are spent…” Fleetfoot smirked. “And about your question: there are only three tips. One: watch out for the fangs. Two: always have a crystal with you, it’s the only thing drones can’t copy. Three: always wear a diaper under your flying suit.”
“What?” Spitfire looked at Fleetfoot, unsure whether she was joking.
“A diaper. No matter how tough you are, you’ll shit yourself on your first flight. And I’m not trying to offend you. I saw lots of tough guys here, but when there’s only six of you flying above the desert, and suddenly two hundred of drones surround you, you’re done. Just grit your teeth and think that our commander also shit himself during his first flight here.”
“Just great…” Spitfire muttered. She decided not to think about it. “How about that crystal you mentioned?”
“They should have given it to you together with the flying suit,” said Fleetfoot. “Check in your saddlebags.”
Spitfire took the khaki-coloured suit out of the bag and found a golden necklace with a blue gem in the middle of it. It was surrounded by a small halo.
“Put it on and never take it off. It’s enchanted so that changelings can’t copy it. When you have to shoot at the crowd of your brothers in arms, it’s better not to shoot the real one…”
Spitfire nodded and put the necklace on. It was surprisingly warm. Spitfire put her hoof on it. The gem seemed to radiate heat – not much, considering the high temperature in the desert, but for some reason it made Spitfire feel better. However, another thing started to bother her.
“You said it’s the only thing they can’t copy…” she said to Fleetfoot. “How about our equipment? I don’t want to suddenly get shot from the guns modelled after my own ones…” She felt chill running down her spine. As changeling drones were able to fight even after being shot multiple times, the pegasi were using battle saddles fitted with two 12.7 mm machine guns. While it was difficult to aim them at the small targets, they were ideal to shoot at the swarms. Even the sidearms were chosen because of their stopping power – they were using .45 hollow-point rounds. Spitfire imagined what they’d do to her and shuddered.
“Don’t worry, they copy the guns, but they’re fake. But don’t let them come close: their venom is poisonous and once they overwhelm you, you’re dead… or worse.”
Spitfire lay down on her bed, thinking about what she’d just learned. She was still tired after the flight from Baltimare and she wanted to go to sleep, but suddenly a burst of gunfire outside jerked her awake. She looked around the tent frantically, looking for her weapon.
“Seems that some swarm decided to pay us a visit…” Fleetfoot muttered. She stood up, took her pistol and some magazines. Spitfire did the same and they both galloped outside.
The turrets, manned by a couple of earth ponies, were firing at the large black mass above them, approaching the camp at a great speed. The roar of cannons was deafening, Spitfire could barely see anything through the dust. She saw something black on her left and turned there quickly, aiming her gun at it.
Her jaw dropped when she saw him. He wasn’t a changeling… but he wasn’t a pegasus either. His wings had no feathers – the fragile bones were covered in black skin, there was also a claw at the end of each wing. His fur was grey, and his dark blue mane was styled in a mohawk. His cutie mark resembled The Mare in The Moon.
“Was siehst du an?” he shouted at her. “Flieg, dummkopf!”
She didn’t understand a word, but she saw him taking off and followed him. Fleetfoot was flying on her right, shooting at the drones who somehow managed to get past the autocannons. Unlike them, the strange pony had his battle saddle on.
Spitfire aimed her gun at the drone flying above her and fired. The bullet hit his stomach and blew a large exit wound in his back, spraying her with green goo. The changeling fell to the ground and hit it with a sickening crunch of breaking chitin.
“Good one!” Fleetfoot shouted, while Spitfire was trying to wipe the changeling’s innards off of her face. She heard the distinctive sound of the machine guns: her weird companion started to shoot, practically obliterating two drones.
Spitfire heard ominous buzzing of the changelings’ wings behind her and turned back to see Storm Chaser flying towards her, chased by at least twenty enemies.
“Commander!” she shouted. “What’s going on–”
Before Storm Chaser could reply, a large-caliber bullet pierced through his left eye. Spitfire closed her eyes and screamed when the contents of his skull landed on her face. For a moment, she was just floating in the air, motionless, before somepony patted her back. She opened her eyes to see the grey pony in front of her.
“Er hatte keinen Halsband. Sieh!” He pointed downwards. Spitfire looked there and saw the headless body of Storm Chaser transforming into the dead changeling.
“Albtraum! Spitfire! Move your flanks and help me!” Fleetfoot shouted. She’d shot a few changelings, but the rest of them was slowly surrounding her; two of them was lying on the ground with their heads smashed by her powerful bucks.
Spitfire darted forward. The closest changeling saw her and immediately transformed into her newest companion. She was prepared for that. The expanding bullet hit his throat. A torrent of green goo erupted from the wound, splashing on his chest.
“He chose poorly,” said the real Albtraum with a thick accent. He was now shooting his machine guns at the remaining changelings, while Spitfire and Fleetfoot were covering his back. “Most of ze ponies would shoot ze bat pony wizout hesitation.”
The remains of the swarm flew away, leaving at least a hundred of chitin bodies behind. Spitfire landed on the ground next to one of the turrets and greeted the earth pony who just left it.
“Good thing I’m leaving today,” he said, wiping sweat from his forehead. Suddenly, Spitfire saw one of the supposedly dead drones behind him rising and barring his fangs.
“Watch out!” she shouted, aiming her gun. The earth pony ducked and Spitfire fired. The bullet hit the changeling just below his horn, throwing him backwards at the turret. He thrashed, but soon his moves became slower till he went limp on the sand.
“Thanks!” said the earth pony getting up. “My name’s Hard Mint, by the way…”
“Spitfire,” she replied. Fleetfoot and Albtraum landed next to her. She looked at the bat pony in awe.
Since Nightmare Moon had been banished, there were almost no bat ponies in Equestria. Large groups of them still lived in Germaney and Cymru, but in Equestria there were only a few of them. From what Spitfire knew, there was a strong prejudice against them, especially among the pegasi from Cloudsdale. The bat pony in front of her didn’t seem to care.
“Mein name ist Albtraum,” he said. “You’re Spitfire, right?”
Spitfire nodded. Unlike some of her companions, she was far from being prejudiced, but she didn’t feel comfortable around him. She had to admit, however, that he was good. Yet, she remembered her training with the similar equipment – first in the Academy, then in the desert near Dodge Junction, where conditions were similar to those in Badlands. She felt that if she had the machine guns on, she’d be even better than him.
Seeing that she didn’t want to talk, Albtraum went to discuss something with Hard Mint.
Fleetfoot trotted to Spitfire and prodded her.“Are you alright?” she asked. “Pants still clean?”
“Yeah, thanks for asking.” Spitfire realized that her mane and flying suit – it was the one she’d arrived wearing, not the new, khaki-coloured one – were covered in changelings’ hemolymph. She looked at it with disgust.
“Remember not to bathe in that pond they call oasis. We drink that water, you know,” Fleetfoot explained. “You can wash yourself in the showers, but don’t use too much water or you’ll piss off the whole camp.” She pointed at the large tent next to the lake. A clever system of pipes and pumps was supplying it with water. There was also a large tank next to it, where the dirty water was cleaned using some kind of crystals.
“Eggheads from Canterlot were thinking for weeks before they made it,” Fleetfoot said, noticing Spitfire’s impressed look. “By the way, when you’re done cleaning, we’ll go the Albtraum’s tent. You need to integrate, you know.”
“I’m not like that,” Spitfire said quickly.
Fleetfoot looked at her, confused, before she bursted into laughter. “I didn’t mean that kind of integration…” she said. “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.”
Spitfire only nodded and flew to the showers. The water was warm and muddy, but she didn’t complain. She washed herself and her flying suit quickly, not wanting to use too much water – the effectiveness of the system was rather limited.
She didn’t go to the Albtraum’s tent immediately. First they gathered on the field airport next to their camp to bid farewell to the ponies leaving the outpost. There were only seven of them, including Hard Mint. Storm Chaser himself congratulated them and wished them good luck. After a short ceremony, they stepped onto the deck of the airship. The engines roared and soon the aircraft lifted into the air smoothly. Spitfire stood there and watched it till it disappeared behind the horizon.
It was dark when she finally got to the tent. There were already a few ponies inside, discussing something quite loudly.
“–I’m telling you, if Firefly didn’t go bonkers, nopony today would even hear of Rainbow Dash!” a brown pegasus with black mane said in a soft, yet commanding voice.
“I don’t know,” his companion, a muscular, dark blue pegasus with white and red mane replied. “That Dash did the Sonic Rainboom at the age of ten, after all…” He drank something from a metal cup and passed it to Fleetfoot.
“Did or did not,” Fleetfoot said, looking at the liquid in a cup unsurely. “But she did nothing worth mentioning since then. Firefly at least won the Best Young Flyer competition at the age of fourteen… Beating me.” She drank from the cup and winced. Then she passed it to Spitfire.
“Guys, this is Spitfire, my new roommate. Hope she stays with us longer than the previous one.” Fleetfoot pointed her hoof at the brown stallion, then at the blue one. “This is Whirlwind and this is Stakan. You already know Albtraum.”
Spitfire nodded and took a sip from the metal cup. The liquid burned her throat, and flowed through her oesophagus like a lava. She choked and started to gasp for air, before Fleetfoot hit her in the back.
“Stakan makes it in his tent,” she explained. “How do you call it, Stakan?”
“A Message from Stalliongrad,” Stakan replied. “Ask the bloodsucker for the details.”
“Fick dich,” Albtraum grumbled.
“It’s quite useful, you know,” said Whirlwind, ignoring the fact that Stakan and Albtraum were now glaring daggers at each other. “We also use it to clean pipes in the showers and disinfect wounds.”
“That explains everything…” said Spitfire weakly. She gave the cup to Albtraum who took a quick sip before passing it to Whirlwind. “What’s going on with these two?” She asked, looking at Albtraum and Stakan.
“By an interesting coincidence, their grandfathers fought in the battle of Stalliongrad… Against each other.” Whirlwind explained and turned to the stallions. “Peace, mates! That war is long over…”
“Pashol na khuy,” Stakan replied. Whirlwind shrugged and drank from the cup. He then gave it to Stakan, who took an amazingly long sip and refilled the cup from a bottle he kept hidden behind his back.
“How often do you have visits like that?” Spitfire asked Fleetfoot.
“You mean the changelings? Sometimes it’s five times a day, sometimes it’s quiet for weeks.” She took the cup from Stakan and looked into it. “You’ll see yourself. Now we have a more important topic to discuss: who do you think is better? Firefly or Rainbow Dash?”
“Firefly was an annoying whippersnapper with rich parents who became an annoying loser,” Spitfire said. “Where’s she now? Somewhere in Neighsia?”
“No idea,” Stakan replied. “She disappeared for almost four years, appeared again and flew v pizdu.”
“Exactly,” Spitfire agreed. “And Dash was an annoying whippersnapper and now she is even more annoying whippersnapper. She’s, like, sixteen or seventeen and thinks she can become a Wonderbolt? She’ll be a Wonderbolt when I’ll be a captain…”
“Yeah, and I’ll be your second-in-command…” Fleetfoot laughed. She drank from the cup and gave it to Spitfire, who approached the booze more carefully this time.
“You, Anführerin der Wonderbolts?” Albtraum snickered. “Nightmare Moon will come back before it happens…”
“A propos,” Spitfire said as soon as she regained the ability to speak after drinking another sip of booze. “How did you get your cutie mark? It’s not common to see something like that on somepony’s flank...”
“Mein Schönheitsfleck? I just tried to fly to ze Moon one night and… it’s like she spoke to me.”
“And what did she tell you?” Stakan asked. “She wanted to show you her dark side?”
“Shut up, Stakan, let our mate talk,” Whirlwind said. “Such things don’t happen everyday. Though I guess after drinking your invention even the stone statues from Celestia’s garden would start to talk…”
“So, what did Nightmare Moon tell you?” Fleetfoot asked.
“She’ll be back soon,” Albtraum stated simply and drank from the cup.
“Well, Marean Calendar says the same,” Stakan said. “I don’t know if they tried to fly to the Moon though. Maybe they just liked beer too.”
“I’d kill for a beer,” Albtraum said.
“Too bad there’s prohibition in the camp,” Spitfire heard a commanding voice behind her back. “And you of course drink that brainfucker and debauch the younglings…” Storm Chaser poked Spitfire and entered the tent. “Go to your tents, now! We’ll talk about it tomorrow, during the patrol flight… The guys who were supposed to fly with me will be happy that I found the volunteers to replace them...”
Spitfire hung her head low and left the tent, followed by Fleetfoot. She started to shiver – the night was cold and the alcohol-induced warmth didn’t last for long.
“How fucked are we?” she asked Fleetfoot when they got to their tent. She found her new flying suit folded on her bed, and put it on the crate serving as a nightstand. Then she crawled inside the sleeping bag.
“Less than you think. The boss is a teetotaler, and he’s pissed everytime he sees somepony drinking, but he’ll forgive you if you do well during the patrols. For example, he still keeps Stakan here…” Fleetfoot lay down on her bed and yawned.
“Those guys are weird… A guy from Stalliongrad, a bat pony from Germaney and a gentlecolt from Trottingham, all drinking vodka in one tent?”
“Well, normal ponies don’t volunteer to go here,” Fleetfoot said. She turned off the light and rolled on her bed. “Whirlwind is an explosives specialist, while Albtraum used to fight changelings back in Germaney.”
“How about Stakan?” Spitfire asked. Now, when she was in her warm bed, she felt the effects of alcohol on her body. Her mind was slowly drifting away. She closed her eyes.
“Well… if you need somepony to fly here from Canterlot and snap some changelings’ necks, then Stakan is your guy. He–” Fleetfoot heard Spitfire’s snoring. She looked at her and saw that she was already asleep. “Goodnight,” she said and closed her eyes too.
Spitfire could swear that her head had barely touched the pillow when she heard somepony sticking their head to her tent, shouting “wake up!”. She sat on her bed and looked around groggily. She felt a dull pain in her head, but she only gritted her teeth: everything had its price, especially drinking alcohol in the unwelcoming, dry environment she was currently in.
She crawled out of her sleeping bag and stood on the floor. Fleetfoot was still lying on her bed, looking around groggily. Spitfire tried to say hello to her, but she was greeted with something that sounded like a muffled curse. Spitfire shrugged and started doing wing push-ups.
Exercise was always an important part of her morning routine. One hundred push-ups was just something she had to do, no matter how sick, hungover, or sleepy she was. When she finished, Fleetfoot was already up. She took a bottle of water from her nightstand and drank it hastily. Spitfire stretched her legs and put her new flying suit on. Then she put on the harness with her gun in a holster. A pair of goggles with dark lenses and a helmet made her outfit complete.
When she and Fleetfoot left the tent, Storm Chaser was already waiting for them. They saluted and stood in a row with Albtraum, Whirlwind and Stakan.
“Good morning, fillies and gentlecolts,” Storm said, grinning widely at them. “I hope you aren’t too tired after the night, because this is gonna be a long trip. We’re gonna head off soon, and we’ll be back tomorrow evening.”
Fleetfoot groaned. Storm noticed that and approached her.
“Something’s wrong, Ms. Fleetfoot?” he asked, smirking. “You should’ve thought about that yesterday. When you arrived here, I told you and your companions about the rules. If I catch anypony drinking, they’re either going to patrol the desert or clean the outhouse. If I recall correctly, you were the loudest to shout ‘yes sir!’ after I said that.”
Spitfire shuddered. She thought that she was actually lucky. Cleaning outhouses definitely wasn’t her favourite thing to do. Like every pegasus, she preferred the sky rather than small, closed spaces. She remembered well from her training how she had been locked in a labyrinth consisting of narrow corridors, imitating the interior of the changelings’ nest. Once or twice she’d almost surrendered, overwhelmed by panic, but she stayed inside till the instructor found her and told her that she was ready for the next stage of the training.
About a half of her group dropped out after that exercise.
“And how about our new addition to the team?” Storm turned to Spitfire. “Do you think you need alcohol or drugs to be a better soldier?”
“No, sir!” Spitfire shouted.
Storm looked at her carefully, then he nodded. Sptifire thought, however, that he didn’t look entirely convinced.
“Well, I hope your colleagues also share this attitude,” Storm said. “But now we don’t have time to mother you. Get the battle saddles from the armoury and we’re heading off.”
They trotted dutifully to the armoury to get their armament, already prepared and loaded by the earth ponies from the auxiliary force. Spitfire pulled the straps to fit the battle saddle to her frame. It was heavy: it contained not only two machine guns with ammunition, but also a canteen with water and a radio. It also had some straps for additional equipment, like magazines or grenades.
She looked unsurely at the submachine gun she was given. Loaded with armour-piercing and tracer rounds, it had better rate of fire than her sidearm, and was easier to aim at the single changelings than the machine guns, which were mostly used against large groups. However, she knew that model all too well: while its drum magazine had an enormous capacity, it was also prone to jamming. She looked around and saw her companions taking the submachine guns as well, so she hung it on her neck and moved it on her back. In case of meeting the drones, she could make it move into her hooves with a single pull of the strap.
She trotted outside and stood next to Fleetfoot. Storm Chaser and Albtraum stood in front of them. They were supposed to lead the formation, with Stakan and Whirlwind in the middle. Fleetfoot and Spitfire had to fly behind them, watching the back of the flight.
“Ready?” Storm asked. “Let’s go!”
They took off into the sky. Once she was flying, Spitfire forgot about the weight of her equipment. The slight breeze was cooling her face. The sunshine was reflecting in the lenses of her goggles – it was on her left, so she concluded that they were flying south. She looked at Stakan and Whirlwind in front of her and saw that they turned slightly to the right.
“How are you, Spitfire?” she heard Fleetfoot’s voice in her radio. She could probably hear her even without it, but it was making communication much easier, especially on higher altitudes, where roaring of the wind was deafening.
“Great,” Spitfire replied. She meant it. From the distance, the desert looked much more appealing. She sped up, catching up with Fleetfoot.
“No chatting,” Storm Chaser muttered through the radio. “And don’t break the formation, kid.”
“Sorry, boss,” Spitfire replied. She looked behind, searching through the sky. Changelings were quite good flyers, capable of achieving great speeds – a single black spot on the blue surface of the sky could suddenly develop into a whole swarm of drones, approaching the oblivious pegasi.
They flew for another couple of miles. Spitfire didn’t want anypony to see that, but she was a bit tired. Unlike Storm or Stakan, whose muscular bodies were more suitable for endurance than fast flying, she was a born speedster – small, thin and extremely agile. This, however, meant that she had problems during long flights.
Suddenly, Fleetfoot looked at the desert below them and pointed at something with her hoof. “What’s that, boss?” she asked.
Storm followed her gaze. The surface of the sand was littered with conical pits. He waved his hoof at the rest of the pegasi and began descending, followed by them.
“I’m not sure, but it can be an entrance to the nest,” he said.
“I don’t think so,” Whirlwind replied. “They’re too small. How do you think, Albtraum?”
“You’re right. It’s usually a one, big hole in the ground. Still, some drones may be hiding zere…” Albtraum replied.
They were now flying just above the dunes. Each of the pits was about four feet deep and six feet wide. They were placed quite close to one another, so it was almost impossible to walk between them without having to step inside of one of them.
“Hey, look!” Stakan exclaimed, pointing at something below them. They turned their heads there to see a lonely changeling trotting carefully between the edges of the pits.
“I’m gonna shoot him,” Stakan said, taking his submachine gun.
“No, wait,” Storm ordered. They hung above the changeling, unseen by him. They saw that one of his wing was snapped in half – probably a wound after a failed landing.
Suddenly, the drone approached the place, where two pits almost met. He looked around and decided to go through one of them.
He barely stood on the slope, when his hooves lost the grip and he slipped to the bottom. Spitfire looked, stunned, at the pair of strong jaws emerging from the hole in the bottom of the pit. They cut the black chitin with ease. The changeling thrashed, but soon it got weaker before finally stopping. His eyes ceased to glow. His body, still held firmly by the jaws, started to shrink, when the creature sucked the fluids out of it. Finally, the empty chitin was thrown out of the pit with a fountain of sand.
“Sukinsyn…” Stakan muttered, watching the changeling’s body hitting the ground with an audible crunch.
“Hmm, it seems that this place is populated by antlions,” Whirlwind observed. “For those of you who lived in Cloudsdale for the whole life, an antlion larva is usually half of an inch long. Those here are, judging by the size of the pit, approximately–”
“Do me a favour,” Albtraum said, “and shut up. Somefing is wrong… Drones, even wounded usually don’t walk alone… Zey are quite sociable.”
Suddenly they heard buzzing of at least a hundred of insect-like wings above them.
“Scheisse,” Albtraum deadpanned.
Spitfire turned around, turning off the safety of her guns and faced the black wall of changelings. She caught the trigger of her battle saddle with her teeth and pulled it. The recoil of the twin machine guns threw her backwards, but she countered it with her wings. The roar almost deafened her; next to her Fleetfoot was shooting wildly at the drones, screaming something undecipherable.
They darted forward. Just above Spitfire, a changeling got almost splitted in half by the fire of Whirlwind’s guns. Spitfire dodged the rain of chitin and hemolymph and looked around. She couldn’t see anything, the changelings were surrounding her. With no way to escape, she took her submachine gun and flew forward, firing it at the nearby drones. Hemolymph sprayed on her suit and battle saddle. She crashed against another changeling; stunned, she turned upside-down and saw, that she was only a few feet above the ground.
“Shi–” Before she could finish, she hit the hot sand with a loud thud. The knocked-out drone crashed next to her. She got up on her hooves and realised that it was a mistake – she started to slip down the pit. She thrashed, flapping her wing furiously. The larva at the bottom of the pit saw her struggle and threw a hoofful of sand at her. Spitfire screamed and kicked the ground with her hind legs.
To her surprise, she felt that she flew inches above the waiting jaws of the antlion. All the thrashing caused her to take off clumsily, with a changeling drone holding one of her hind legs and climbing to her battle saddle.
“Get off me!” she shouted. She lifted her hoof to hit him with a butt of her gun, when another drone fell on her, catching the straps of her battle saddle. She tried to flap her wings harder, but she was slowly descending towards the bottom of the pit. What was worse, another changeling tackled her, knocking off her helmet and tangling into her mane.
“Get off!” she yelled, trying to reach her sidearm – the submachine gun was too long to aim it at them. “You have wings on your own, fuckers, you don’t have to hold me to save yourselves!”
Suddenly, she realised something. The drones had no self-preservation instinct. They weren’t catching her to save their lives, but rather to pull her down to the antlion, even if it meant their death.
“Fleetfoot! Storm! Anypony!” she shouted. She waved her hoof, managing to free it, then she reached to her sidearm. She hit the first changeling with it. He loosened his grip, allowing her to free the other hoof, undo the safety and shoot him in the head. A piece of chitin hit her in the face, leaving a cut and a scratch on her goggles. The changeling let go and fell into the jaws of the hungry larva. His companion hissed, baring his fangs.
Suddenly, Spitfire felt that somepony collided with her, throwing her on the ground far away from the pit. The changeling released her. Before he could get up, a hollow-point bullet hit his chest, changing its contents into a pulp. Fleetfoot emerged from behind his body, panting heavily.
“Are you okay?” she asked, approaching her.
“Watch out!” Spitfire shouted, seeing that the third drone was about to tackle Fleetfoot. They rolled on the sand, straight into another pit. Spitfire took off, racing to catch her new friend.
“Got you!” she exclaimed, catching Fleetfoot’s hoof at the last moment. The changeling, still holding her tail, was just being devoured by the antlion. Fleetfoot screamed, feeling his convulsive moves. Spitfire tried to lift her, but the dead changeling clenched his hooves on her. The antlion was still holding him, sucking out the his dissolved organs.
“Eat that, you bloody wanker!” Whirlwind shouted, diving at the antlion and shooting it with his submachine gun. The larva exploded like a chitin balloon filled with hemolymph and pieces of something Spitfire would rather not watch.
Fleetfoot took off and kicked the changeling’s carcass off of her tail.
“That was close…” she said, panting. “Thanks, guys.”
“Don’t thank us yet,” Whirlwind said, pointing upwards. They saw a large mass of changeling, attacking three ponies furiously. Many of them fell to the ground, but the rest was approaching Storm, Albtraum and Stakan, who had to use not only guns, but also their hooves and even heads to fend them off.
Spitfire darted to them, followed by Whirlwind and Fleetfoot. The changelings saw them and suddenly they were blinded by the shine of their transformations.
“Just great…” Spitfire muttered, seeing the large herd of Storms, Albtraums and Stakans in front of them. She tried to steady her breath and focus on the crystals, but still, shooting at her companions felt strange.
One of the fake Albtraums next to her shrieked, when the 12.7 mm bullets tore his foreleg and wing to shreds. She looked up to see Stakan and Albtraum. Quick look at their necks confirmed that they weren’t changelings.
“You know, I always wanted to do that,” Stakan said, shooting another fake Albtraum.
“Verpiss dich, Schwanzlutscher,” Albtraum replied, firing his guns at the hoard of fake Stakans.
Spitfire flew blindly through the changelings, trying to get to Storm. He stopped shooting, overwhelmed by the hoard of drones who dragged him down to the ground. Spitfire let out a loud scream and rammed into them. She heard a sound of cracking chitin and felt the green hemolymph spraying on her. She continued beating the changelings, both with her hooves and the butt of her gun.
“Behind you!” she heard Storm’s voice. She bucked blindly and noted with satisfaction that her hooves met something that crunched upon the blow. She turned around; the stunned changeling tried to get up, but then two bullets from Storm’s gun pierced through his chest. He sat down, staring at his wounds, when the third bullet hit just below his horn, throwing him into the pit behind him. Spitfire winced, hearing the sucking sounds as the antlion inside began to feed on him.
“The rest fled,” said Stakan, landing next to them. He pointed at the large group of rocks barely visible at the distance. The remains of the swarm were heading that way, getting smaller and smaller as they receded from the battlefield.
“Zey may have a nest zere,” said Albtraum.
“We’ll check that,” Storm replied. “But first… Spitfire, did any of them bit you?”
“What? No, of course not,” Spitfire replied, looking at her equipment. Her flying suit was torn to shreds, there were also traces of fangs on her battle saddle. Her helmet was missing, but she found it lying on the edge of one of the pits.
“Are you sure? We don’t want you to suddenly drop dead mid-flight,” Storm replied.
“We’d better check,” Fleetfoot said. “It’s rare to die from a single bite, but if you get sick in the middle of the desert…”
“While we are at it, sir,” Whirlwind turned to Storm Chaser. “I think we should have you examined too. They were pretty close.”
“You’re right…” Storm took his battle saddle off. Sptifire did the same with hers.
“Don’t look, guys,” she said, staring at her suit and trying to find the best way to take it off without tearing it further.
“As if you didn’t walk naked when not on duty…” Stakan muttered, turning his gaze away.
A quick examination revealed only bruises and cuts. Fleetfoot ran her hoof through Spitfire’s fur, looking for any trace of changelings’ fangs, but fortunately there were none.
“You know, we have an anti-venom serum, but we’d better keep it for more serious encounters,” Fleetfoot said when they finished and waited for Whirlwind to examine Storm. “Besides, you’d need to be hospitalized anyway…”
They picked up the scattered equipment and took off, heading to the group of rocks. It was slowly getting darker. Spitfire’s wings were getting sore. She thought about the venom and shuddered. What if Fleetfoot missed a small bite mark? She drank some water, hoping that her condition was the effect of dehydration rather than the poison running through her veins.
“Look at this,” Whirlwind said, pointing a bit to the left and below them. Spitfire turned her head to see a large insect, a bit similar to a dragonfly. A dragonfly that was about six feet long, but still.
“What the hell is this?” she asked. She liked the desert even less now.
“An adult antlion. You probably remember meeting its lovely offspring…”
“Yeah… Now I know why I hate kids so much…” Fleetfoot muttered. “Especially the ones that want to make cocktail of my liver…”
“Your liver?” Stakan chuckled. “If one of them tried to eat you, it’d die of alcohol poisoning…”
“The pot calling the kettle black. Also, we’re in the middle of the friggin’ desert, killing overgrown ants so they don’t spread to the whole Equestria, and nopony gives a fuck about us. I just have to drink. What else can I do?”
“I meditate,” Storm Chaser said calmly. “If you have to drink, just limit yourself to water. Alcohol only dehydrates you.”
Fleetfoot looked at him, unsure whether he was joking or not. Finally she shrugged and flapped her wings harder.
Spitfire shuddered; it was getting cold and her torn flying suit no longer protected her from the wind. She gritted her teeth. Showing signs of weakness wasn’t her thing.
They were only a few miles from the rocks when Storm Chaser gave them a sign to land. As soon as her hooves touched the ground, Fleetfoot collapsed, panting heavily. Spitfire wanted to follow her, but she saw that the rest of their companions, even though their furs were drenched in sweat, were standing.
“We can’t fly further,” Storm said. “We wouldn’t see the drones in the darkness…”
“Maybe they’re asleep…” Stakan chuckled. “They have to sleep from time to time, don’t they? Libo yebut’ svoyu korolevu…”
“I don’t think they do such things to their queen…” Storm deadpanned. “The queen only mates once in her life, then she loses her wings and establishes a nest which she never leaves.”
“Once?” Stakan asked. “Now I know why they’re so pissed…”
Everypony, even Storm Chaser, laughed. They wrapped themselves in blankets, while Albtraum set the bonfire using mostly the rachitic bushes scattered around the dunes.
“By the way, Fleetfoot, I wouldn’t lie here like that,” said Whirlwind. “You know, there can be scorpions here.”
“If they’re as big as antlions, we’ll notice them, I’m sure…” Spitfire said.
“Well, the big ones are not dangerous.” Whirlwind smirked, seeing Fleetfoot getting up quickly and trotting to the bonfire. “It’s the small ones that are poisonous.”
“Just great…” Spitfire muttered. “Yet another thing trying to kill us…”
They sat around the fire, taking food from their saddlebags.
“One thing bothers me,” said Spitfire when they finished eating. “The queen never leaves the nest, right? Then why they told us that they sometimes lead the drones to fight and that, unlike them, they’re sapient?”
“Well, you in Equestria get it all wrong,” Albtraum said. “Zey call zemselves queens because you call ‘em zat. Even when you call a changeling a ‘drone’, it’s not exactly right. Drones are males whose sole purpose in life is to, as Stakan bluntly called it, yebut’ korolevu and go kaputt, while all ze changelings we fight are warriors who are technically female. I said ‘technically’, because zey can change into–”
“Yeah, we know,” Stakan interrupted him.
“Anyway,” Albtraum continued. “Ze real queen is underground, giving birth to hundreds of larvas, while ze sapient girls are just ze virgin queens – officers, who can become queens one day, after zey get lucky… It doesn’t have to be a changeling, some of ‘em managed to pick up ponies… You know, one day you wake up next to your wife and find out dat she’s now a large, swollen pony-changeling-hybrid-producing bag of Scheisse… If you’re not already devoured by her...”
“Can you spare us the details?” Fleetfoot asked. “I’m eating here!”
“Sorry.” Albtraum smiled sheepishly. It was weird to see the bat pony smiling like that. “Anyway, to get rid of ze nest, one has to kill ze virgin queens and ze queen. Usually it means zat you have to crawl inside of ze nest wiff a bag of dynamite.”
“And how do you get out?” Spitfire asked. For her, such a plan didn’t sound reasonable.
“Often you don’t. In Germaney ze nest were usually in old mines, wiff only a few entrances. Also, you never know which corridor will collapse when you blow everyffing out. Here it’s much better: the corridors are narrower, but zere’s more exits and in case of emergency you can always try to dig yourself out…”
“Just great…” Spitfire muttered under her breath. She suddenly felt very tired. She lay down on the ground, resting her head against her saddlebags and promptly fell asleep.
The corridor was dark and narrow. She had to leave her battle saddle behind, but even then all she was able to do was to crawl. She had no idea where to go – deep underground, her sense of direction was completely gone.
A sound of thousands of buzzing wings attacked her ears. She looked around but she couldn’t see anything; she could only move forward blindly, trying not to think what would happen if she met a drone.
A warrior, Spitfire corrected herself. To her relief, she found out that the corridor was getting wider. She could now stretch her wings. Before her she could see a small light. She stood up and trotted to it, carefully looking for any dangers.
A wave of some foul stench overwhelmed her, almost rendering her unconscious. Coughing, Spitfire looked at the object in front of her. Her eyes grew wide, pupils shrunk to pinpricks. She opened her mouth to scream.
An enormous, black mass of tangled limbs. Large, chitin body, full of holes, smelling of rotting meat. The creature was definitely alive, it was moving erratically, its mouth still swallowing something the smaller changelings were carrying there.
It was more insect-like in shape than a typical changeling, with a pair of sharp mandibles on one end and ovipositor on the other side. The workers were pacing around it, carrying spherical, goo-covered eggs.
Spitfire took a step back. The creature in front of her heard that. It (she could hardly make herself think about the queen as ‘she’) raised its head slowly, as if it was trying to find the source of the sudden noise.
Spitfire screamed and turned back, only to face a pair of changelings blocking her path. She reached her hoof to the holster of her gun, but suddenly she found out how slow her moves were. Before she could find her sidearm, she felt a pair of fangs biting into her neck. She collapsed, panting heavily, unable to move.
Spitfire didn’t have claustrophobia, but the overwhelming feeling of being trapped in her own body was too much for her. She wanted to scream. However, all she could do was to move her eyes when one of the changeling workers took her on its back and carried her to the queen.
No… please… Spitfire thought frantically, trying to make her muscles obey commands from her brain.
A mandible pierced through her side, cracking her ribs. Spitfire started to hyperventilate, her heart pounding against her chest. A venom was seeping into her wound, slowly dissolving the flesh. Spitfire felt as if her nerves were burning. She wanted it to stop, to pass out or die… But somehow, the venom was keeping her awake.
Her limbs started to twitch erratically. The queen slowly lifted her, as if she wanted to look into her eyes; to watch the life fading in them. Spitfire’s vision was getting blurry and dark. She was no longer able to breathe. Hormones were raging through her damaged body, desperately trying to keep the brain alive.
Last thing Spitfire saw was a stash of dynamite, placed just below the queen’s swollen stomach.
“Aargh! No!” Spitfire screamed, waking up. She galloped blindly, tripping over Fleetfoot.
“What the fuck?” her wingpony muttered groggily in her sleep.
Spitfire blinked and looked around. She was in the desert. There was no dark cave with a changeling queen inside. It was an early morning; the sky was pink, the Sun barely rose.
“I’m sorry,” said Spitfire sheepishly. She sat on the sand, trying to calm herself down. When her breathing returned to its normal pace, she started to make wing push-ups.
She was just finishing the exercise, when somepony landed next to her.
“Hello,” Storm Chaser said. “I’ve made some reconnaissance flight and found the nest.”
“Great,” said Spitfire, getting up. “Where is it?”
“You’ll see for yourself. Let’s wake up the rest of the group.”
It wasn’t a long flight. They barely made it to the nearest group of rocks when Spitfire saw it. An enormous hole in the ground, covered from the wind by the large boulders. A traces of hundreds of changelings were visible on the ground. There was no doubt – below the surface there was a nest.
“What are we gonna do now?” Spitfire asked, looking at the entrance unsurely. Maybe it was some afterglow of her dream, but she imagined the queen waiting for her in some deep chamber, in all the glory of her monotonous life, consisting of daily routine of eating, defecating and laying eggs. She shuddered.
“We’ll go back to the camp,” Whirlwind replied. “And come back with explosives…”
Author's Note
This story is a prequel of A Kingdom Divided. It'll probably consist of two chapters.
Also, for this story I had to take a crash course in ants' biology...
“Why do we need to do that?” Spitfire asked. “There are surely guys who–“
“You found it, you destroy it,” Fleetfoot replied, checking the straps of her battle saddle. “Also, the guys who are the best at it are with us.” She pointed at Albtraum, Stakan, Whirlwind and Storm Chaser.
Spitfire shrugged and flapped her wings harder. The hot air from the desert below them was making it easier to gain altitude, but as soon as they flew over the clouds, she started to shiver – her flying suit offered no protection against the cold winds.
“Ten miles to the nest,” Storm Chaser muttered. “We’ll land half of a mile from it and approach it by hoof.”
“I still don’t get why we had to smear ourselves with that goo…” Spitfire looked at her fur and winced. It was practically glued together with some green substance.
Albtraum sighed. “Zey won’t smell us,” he said. “For, like, first fifteen minutes.”
“Reassuring,” Spitfire deadpanned. “What the hell is that exactly?”
“Ya’d rather not know,” Stakan said. “On a side note, d’ya know how we recycle the waste from the toilets?”
“Okay, nevermind.” Spitfire checked her goggles, even though she had already done that. She felt an unpleasant coldness in her stomach, which had nothing to do with the wind.
Storm Chaser raised his hoof and pointed downwards. They began to dive. Spitfire felt wind ruffling her mane. She couldn’t see anything, except a sea of sand and a couple of copper-coloured rocks on the horizon. She evened her flight and saw a gaping hole not far away from them – an entrance to the changelings’ nest.
She hissed when her hooves touched the hot sand. The weight of her equipment almost caused her to trip.
“No one saw us, I think,” Fleetfoot said. She drank some water from her bottle and looked around.
“It’s almost noon, zey sleep underground,” Albtraum said, wiping sweat from his forehead. “If zey were outside, zey’d cook.”
“Just like we…” Whirlwind muttered. He opened his saddlebags and took a long wire from them. Then he wrapped it around his neck. “Easier access…” he explained. “I’d rather not search for it there…”
“No talking!” Storm Chaser ordered. “Remember that they can see and hear us better than we can do with them…” He turned to Spitfire and Fleetfoot. “Also, even if you freak out, don’t run away like an idiot. They only wait for that…”
“Yes, sir!” Spitfire replied. She shuddered, remembering the dream she had. There was something about the entrance of the nest that was making her want to fly away, but at the same time it was attracting her. She recalled the training and the narrow corridors of the labyrinth simulating the changelings’ lairs.
“Look on the bright side,” Fleetfoot said. “We’re gonna get a merit badge for being stupid enough to do that.”
“Dunno, I’ve never been a filly scout,” Spitfire replied.
“Oh, come on!” Whirlwind exclaimed. “What happened to the hero of Zebrican War?”
“If you died in Zebrica, you’d at least die in a fight, not in some shithole,” Spitfire muttered.
“Can you stop chatting?” Storm Chaser groaned. “We smell like changelings, let’s behave like ‘em.”
“Yeah, right…” Fleetfoot muttered. “Let’s start producing pheromones…”
“I’d like to smell yours…” Stakan chuckled.
Fleetfoot opened her mouth to tell him what he could do to himself, but Storm Chaser rose his hoof, silencing her.
They were slowly approaching the entrance. Even though they looked around carefully, they couldn’t see any changelings. The smell of formic acid was overwhelming. Spitfire covered her face with a piece of cloth and checked the safety of her gun. The silence was almost deafening – they couldn’t even hear the wind. The only sound was their hoofsteps, echoing through the desert.
They were only a few feet from the nest, when they saw a changeling walking out of it. He (or she, Spitfire corrected herself mentally) looked around and sniffed the air. Fleetfoot grabbed her submachine gun, but Storm Chaser stopped her.
The changeling exhaled loudly and trotted back to the lair.
“Let’s go,” Storm Chaser whispered. As silently as they could, they approached the mouth of the cave and slid inside.
It surprised Spitfire how cold it was there; the walls of the cave were moist. Its floor was covered in wet sand.
“Looks like a big fucking saltshaker,” Fleetfoot muttered, watching the opposite wall of the cave. It was consisting mostly of entrances to numerous tunnels. “And we’re the salt.”
“Exactly,” Albtraum said. “Once we get inside, I’ll guide you. Don’t even think about splitting ze team. We need to blow up ze queen, eggs and cocoons and kill as many virgin queens as we can, so zey won’t form new swarms.” He sniffed the air. “We need to go zere,” he said, pointing at one of the tunnels.
When the darkness engulfed them, Spitfire could swear that she heard Storm Chaser muttering something.
Probably some ancient prayers… Who knows, this guy is weird.
The corridor was getting tighter. From time to time they could hear scratching, clicking or hissing coming from the walls. Spitfire could feel her muscles tense. Even though the gems they were wearing produced some faint light, she could barely see Fleetfoot walking in front of her. She could hear Whirlwind muttering curses under his breath and Stakan’s heavy stomping behind her.
Suddenly, she heard some terrible screeching above her. She looked there, aiming her gun, but nothing happened.
“Virgin queen,” Albtraum whispered. “But she’s far away from us.”
Spitfire sighed with relief. Her heart, however, was still pounding against her chest, as if it was trying to break free. She realised that Storm Chaser stopped muttering. He was trotting before Fleetfoot and unlike her, he could easily find a way to avoid tripping over the rocks.
Seems that the prayers helped… Spitfire thought. Again, she recalled Zebrica. What was that zebra soldier whispering every night?
I must not fear, Spitfire recalled. Fear is the mind-killer.
They took a sharp turn. Each step was leading them deeper underground.
Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration.
What did Albtraum say about their camouflage? How long it’d be before the changelings would see through it?
I’ll face my–
The shots deafened her. She fell down on the ground, cracking her goggles. A changeling flew inches from her and bumped into Fleetfoot. Spitfire rolled on her back, taking her revolver and carefully lined up a shot. Behind her, Stakan and Whirlwind were firing their machine guns, flashes enlightening the whole tunnel. She pulled the trigger and saw the drone’s head exploding. Fleetfoot kicked the body off of herself and opened her mouth in a silent scream, pointing at something behind Spitfire.
Spitfire didn’t waste time to see what that was. She jumped into the air. Her wings hit the walls of the tunnel, but she didn’t care. Fleetfoot also took off, trying to catch up with Albtraum and Storm Chaser.
The tunnel suddenly changed into a wide cave. Spitfire heard the ominous buzzing echoing from the ceiling and grabbed the trigger of her battle saddle with her teeth. She somersaulted in mid-air and saw a black mass of changelings’ bodies on the ground. The roar of twin machine guns tore the air. She barely avoided crashing into the stalactite; the recoil of the battle saddle threw her off course. Only from time to time she could see Fleetfoot, Storm Chaser or Albtraum emerging from the crowd.
“Get down!” she heard.
“Get down? I’m flying, for fuck’s sake!” she yelled.
An explosion threw her at the wall, knocking the air from her lungs. She could hear ringing in her ears but it seemed that she was okay. The smell of formic acid and burning chitin was assaulting her nostrils. She looked around groggily and saw Albtraum gesturing her towards some small hole in the floor.
She spread her wings and darted forward. Judging by the sloppiness of her flight, some of her feathers were missing.
“Grenades?” she yelled when she joined the rest of her group. “Are you fucking out of your mind?”
“Shut up,” Albtraum said. His voice was a bit muffled and Spitfire thought that her hearing was probably damaged. She saw that Fleetfoot was lying on the ground, panting heavily and that Stakan’s flying suit was torn to shreds. He was holding a pair of battered saddlebags. Suddenly, Spitfire realised who they were belonging to.
“Where’s Whirlwind?” she asked.
“Dead,” Stakan replied. “A virgin queen attacked us from behind. I barely escaped, but those wires he had got tangled into the stalagmites. I only managed to fetch the explosives.”
“Fuck,” Spitfire muttered. “What will we do now?”
“Don’t worry, I know somefing about explosives…” the bat pony smiled.
“Yeah… I saw.”
“Zat was Stakan,” Albtraum replied. “Anozer proof zat he shouldn’t be–“
“Enough,” Storm Chaser said. “Let’s find the queen and get out of here. Fleetfoot, can you walk?”
“Y-yes…” Fleetfoot replied. She stood up, her hooves still shaking, and checked her equipment. When Storm Chaser turned away from her, she took some pill from her pocket and swallowed it.
“Want one?” she whispered to Spitfire.
“No, thanks.” Spitfire winced. She scratched her ear and, to her surprise, she saw some blood on her hoof.
“Are you okay?” Fleetfoot asked.
“Yeah…” Spitfire replied weakly.
They were about to go down the narrow tunnel in which they were hidden, when Stakan lifted his hoof and pointed at the cave in front of them. Most of the changelings there were dead, but they could still see some movement.
“Hey, Mr. Expert,” he muttered to Albtraum. “How d’ya think, where they’ll take the bodies?”
The bat pony smirked, showing his fangs. “You’re right… Zey’ll feed ze larvae with ‘em… If we’re quiet, we’ll be able to follow ‘em…”
Hidden behind the rocks, they watched as the large group of workers began to collect the bodies of the dead changelings and carry them somewhere. As soon as the last of them left the cave, Storm Chaser took off and, as quietly as he could, he followed them.
The tunnel was even narrower than the one where they’d hidden. There were places where it was almost vertical. The workers had problems with transporting the bodies; Spitfire almost threw up when she saw them cutting one of the corpses in half to make it fit into the small passage. The muffled rattling of chitin legs was echoing through the hall.
Spitfire tried to steady her breath, but she couldn’t stop panting. The cold wind from the tunnel was chilling her to the bone. Before her, Fleetfoot was shuddering. Her hoofsteps lost their usual rhythm; she was trotting mechanically like some foal’s toy. Only Stakan and Albtraum seemed to resist against the atmosphere of the inside of the nest.
Finally, the group of workers reached another cave. The air there smelled of decay and some musky stench that made Spitfire’s stomach twist. The whole place was dimly lit by some crystals. The group stopped next to the tunnel’s end and looked around.
The whole cave was filled with white cocoons. They were hanging from the ceiling like some ominous stalactites. They were attached to the walls; some were lying on the floor. Pieces of rotting meat were scattered around them. Spitfire saw one of the cocoons breaking and a small changeling crawling out of it. It looked around, straightening the wings and hissed, showing its fangs. Then it trotted sloppily to the mangled corpse of a drone and sink its teeth in its stomach.
Next to Spitfire, Fleetfoot retched and leaned her head forward. Spitfire shuddered, but managed to control her body. She checked her battle saddle and clenched her hoof on the submachine gun.
“Wait,” Albtraum whispered. “Once zey leave, we’ll blow dis creepy kindergarten up…”
“W-what if some of them want to leave the same way they came here?” Spitfire asked.
“Don’t worry. They won’t,” Stakan replied. His voice sent chills down Spitfire’s spine. She watched the changelings leaving the cave through the holes in the walls, almost invisible in the crowd of the cocoons.
“Now,” Storm Chaser whispered. Trying to avoid stepping on the cocoons, they trotted forward. The baby changeling raised his head from the corpse, looked at them and hissed. Spitfire aimed her submachine gun at it.
“Don’t even think about it…” she heard a voice behind her. It sounded like Stakan’s voice, but it was slightly different; his accent disappeared and it was a bit higher.
Spitfire gulped and slowly turned back. She saw a tall, female changeling, still carrying Stakan’s battle saddle and Whirlwind’s saddlebags full of explosives. The changeling smirked menacingly, aiming the twin machine guns and her, Storm Chaser, Albtraum and Fleetfoot. They backed away, resting themselves against the nearest row of cocoons. Spitfire could feel something moving inside.
“Did you really think that I could get your explosives guy without smearing the Stalliongrad boy on the walls first?” The virgin queen chuckled. “Our little swarm needs fresh meat… And you were so eager to come here…” She engulfed the trigger of the battle saddle in her green magic. “Wonder how it works… You, ponies, just love to depict us as monsters, while you’re surprisingly good at creating weapons… One push, and you’re food…”
She pushed the mouth trigger forward with her magic. Spitfire dived to the side, and saw the tracer bullets hitting the cocoons behind her, spraying her with some white substance. Even though she couldn’t hear well, she heard a scream and looked around desperately, trying to find its source.
A stream of blood blinded her, but she managed to see Albtraum, his left wing torn in half, tackling the virgin queen. Ignoring the pain, he punched her in the face. The bullets were whistling everywhere, hitting the cocoons and ricocheting off the walls. Spitfire saw a small changeling trying to attack Fleetfoot from behind. Letting out a powerful scream, she raised from the ground and aimed her submachine gun.
A series of bullets tore the changeling in half. Fleetfoot looked around, startled. Their eyes met and Spitfire smiled at her.
Suddenly, she felt something like a punch to the ribs. She fell back on the ground, trying to catch a breath. She saw a gaping hole in her saddlebags and realised what happened – one of the bullets from the changeling’s battle saddle had hit her. Luckily for her, the 12.7 mm round pierced through the bolt of her own machine gun first, but still it was enough to crack her ribs. She crawled behind the cocoons and took a syringe with morphine from her saddlebags. Gritting her teeth, she injected it into her flank and felt the numbness spreading through her body.
The shooting stopped. She looked around and saw Fleetfoot and Storm Chaser hiding behind another row of cocoons and looking at something in front of them. Spitfire followed her gaze.
Albtraum was lying on Whirlwind’s torn saddlebags, panting heavily. One of his wings was missing. He was pushing his hooves to a large wound in his stomach and half of his face was a bloody mess. But the virgin queen also got hit. One of her legs was broken; green goo was leaking from numerous cuts in her body, but she was still dangerous. A green aura of magic was surrounding her; she was aiming her horn, trying to find them.
“Do you want to end up like he?” she asked. “Come on, give up… I’ll give you a quick death…”
Spitfire gulped. The touch of the cocoons was making her sick. The thought that she was going to end up as a food for them…
Suddenly, she saw that Albtraum was gesturing something. She looked at him and saw the wires going to Whirlwind saddlebags. She also saw the device the bat pony was holding in his hooves.
Is he going to… Holy shit!
“Run!” she screamed, taking off. The queen looked at her, surprised, but before she could do something, Spitfire was flying towards the nearest tunnel. She saw the magic beam missing her for inches and piercing through one of the cocoons, which exploded into a mass of grey and green goo. She took a sharp turn, barely dodging another beam and flew into the tunnel, almost breaking her wings against its walls.
A distant roar of explosion threw her off balance. She rammed into the wall off the tunnel and slid to the floor, losing her battle saddle. She heard a loud snap and her vision darkened. She thrashed, barely avoiding a rock falling from the collapsing ceiling, when another stone banged against her helmet.
“Spitfire! Are you okay?”
Oh fuck… my leg.
“Spitfire!”
My leg, my ribs, my head… Is there anything healthy in my body?
“I think she wakes up…”
Spitfire blinked and, in a dim light, she saw Fleetfoot’s face above her. Everything was spinning. Her vision had a slight red tint.
“A-are you a changeling?” Spitfire asked.
“If I was, you’d be dead,” Fleetfoot deadpanned. “Can you fly?”
“I think so,” Spitfire replied. “What’s going on?”
“Albtraum’s dead, but at least he fried that cunt and the cute changeling kids,” Fleetfoot replied. “Storm Chaser and I lost most of the equipment, but we still have submachines and some grenades.”
“Where are we?” Spitfire asked.
Storm Chaser sat next to Fleetfoot. “Somewhere close to the queen,” he said. “We have enough grenades to blow her up, but we’ll have to be quick. They already know that we’re here.”
“You don’t say…” Spitfire muttered, trying to sit down. “Are we still trying to kill her? I think we should get out of here…”
“We can’t,” Storm Chaser replied. “We need to finish this.”
Spitfire finally managed to sit down. She felt a dull pain in her head and chest. One of her hind legs was numb, but it seemed that her wings were intact. Her vision got better; in a dim light of the crystals that were supposed to differ them from the changelings, she saw that Fleetfoot had a long scratch on her cheek and a part of Storm Chaser’s mane was missing. Fleetfoot was breathing slowly, her pupils dilated despite the darkness surrounding them.
“Can you go?” Storm Chaser asked.
Spitfire nodded and took off. A jolt of pain ran from her ribs, but she only gritted her teeth.
They flew forward, through the wide tunnel full of large rocks.
“It seems that the explosion made more mess than I thought,” Storm Chaser said, watching the place where a large part of the ceiling had collapsed, burying some changelings under the enormous boulders. Spitfire shuddered; another explosion like that could reduce them to a wet stain on the floor. Or, was it actually floor? The weird angles of the changelings’ nest didn’t make it easier to determine where was the floor and where was the ceiling.
“I wonder where the queen is…” Fleetfoot muttered, looking around as if she expected to see some kind of a sign.
“The warriors usually rush to protect her if they sense any danger,” Storm Chaser explained. “Since we made quite an entrance…”
“Just great…” Fleetfoot said. “We need to blow up the most secured place. Are we even planning to get outta here?”
“Once we throw the grenades, we’ll have to fly up as fast as we can,” Storm Chaser muttered, checking if the explosives were still attached to his flying suit. “Though I won’t lie to you – this nest already survived one explosion. One more and it can collapse. And even though changelings will more likely panic after the queen’s death, they may also attack us…”
“Fuck…” Fleetfoot muttered. “See, Spitfire? I bring bad luck. Fortunately, I won’t have any more roommates, unless someone scrapes my remains off the rocks and dumps them next to some really handsome stiff…” She chuckled grimly. “And I thought I’d be home before the Hearth’s Warming Eve…”
“You still can get home,” Spitfire said. “If they’ll find our bodies…”
Fleetfoot chuckled again. “I hope I’ll be ripped in half… At least my parents wouldn’t argue for a change… How about you, Spitfire? Any special wishes?”
“I’d rather not think about death,” Spitfire replied. Her injuries were causing her to fly awkwardly, leaning on the walls from time to time. “Do you know that zebras aren’t afraid of it? I’ve seen ‘em charging on an enemy with saddlebags full of explosives or destroying the airships by ramming into them with gliders…”
“Good thing I’m not a zebra…” Fleetfoot muttered. “And you, boss? Any preferences regarding death?”
“I’d rather think about survival…” Storm Chaser replied. “Flitter should have a father… Cloudchaser would be okay, but Flitter… She’s too young…”
“And Cloudchaser isn’t?” Fleetfoot rolled her eyes. “She’s, if I recall correctly, fifteen…”
“Yeah, but… she’s like me… She’d understand…” Storm Chaser replied.
“So, she doesn’t let other ponies drink?” Fleetfoot giggled. “She must be a cool girl…”
“We may die soon, but I’m still your commander,” Storm Chaser deadpanned. “For badmouthing my daughter you will clean the toilets…”
“Yeah, in Tartarus probably,” Fleetfoot replied. “Though I guess they smell even worse than this place–“
“Shut up for a moment,” Spitfire interrupted her. “I can hear something…”
Now they heard it too – the rattling of chitin, as if a whole army of changelings was marching somewhere below them. Spitfire sat on a large boulder protruding from the wall and gestured them to herself.
“Do you think there’s the queen there?” She asked, pointing at the bottom of the cave. At first they thought that the floor was moving, but then they realised that the cave was full of changeling warriors, guarding the small entrance. There were at least three virgin queens among them.
“Probably,” Storm Chaser replied, watching the bottom of the cave carefully, as if he was trying to determine how far from it they were.
“We can either sneak past the whole army or pull my grandfather on them…” Fleetfoot muttered.
“What do you mean?” Spitfire asked.
“During the second Griffon War, he destroyed a base in the mountains by quickly flying inside and dropping a bomb through the window.”
“Did he survive?” Storm Chaser asked.
“No.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Storm Chaser said. He took the saddlebags and stuffed them with grenades. “Cover me,” he ordered.
With saddlebags in his hooves, he darted forward. Spitfire and Fleetfoot followed him, aiming their guns at the crowd of changelings.
The army noticed them immediately. Spitfire screamed when one of the changelings caught her injured hoof with his fangs. She kicked him with the other one; he fell off, leaving long red marks on her skin. She made a barrel roll, evading the next two changelings, and shot the third one, that was about to attack Storm Chaser. Next to her, Fleetfoot rammed into one of the virgin queens and shot her at the point-blank range. Sprayed in the green goo, she switched her gun to full auto and began to shoot at the incoming changelings.
Another changeling tried to catch Spitfire, ripping her flying suit apart. She somersaulted, and the changeling rammed into the stalactite. Spitfire made a sharp turn, letting the two assailants fly past her and shot them in the back. She looked around and saw a large swarm of changelings trying to overwhelm Fleetfoot, who was fighting them with her hooves and a knife. On the other side of the cave, Storm Chaser was trying to evade a group guarding the entrance to another cave.
“Hold on, Fleetfoot…” Spitfire muttered. She flew upwards to gain some speed and dived at the changelings swarming around her wingpony.
She felt her vision darkening when she rammed, hooves first, into the first changeling’s head, grinding him into the ground. Her leg was aching; the morphine was wearing off. She shot another two changelings with her revolver. Fleetfoot got up and hit another two with her submachine gun, before she managed to reload it.
“Where’s Storm Chaser?” she asked.
“I don’t know! He–“ Spitfire turned to see their commander diving into the entrance of the queen’s lair. She also saw a large, dark shape – a virgin queen preparing to attack him.
“Boss, watch out!” she screamed, but it was too late – the virgin queen tackled Storm Chaser. Her horn glowed green and she fired a magic beam, piercing through his wing. He hit the floor, but he still held the saddlebags in his hooves. The queen lifted him and flew into the pit with him.
“Shit…” Fleetfoot muttered. She darted forward, not caring about the changelings trying to attack her. Spitfire flew behind her. She saw that Storm Chaser’s wing wasn’t bleeding, the wound charred by the magic attack. He wasn’t thrashing, but it seemed that he was conscious. Spitfire and Fleetfoot flew through the tight entrance.
The stench of rotting meat was overwhelming; Spitfire threw up as soon as she entered the cave. Fleetfoot retched, but she held it, lifting her gun and aiming at the virgin queen. She turned to them and smiled menacingly, lighting up her horn.
“Magic that, bitch!” Fleetfoot shouted and pulled the trigger. The first of the armour-piercing bullets hit the virgin queen’s chest and left her body together with a fountain of green goo and some unrecognisable chunks. The second hit just below her horn, crushing the chitin forehead. The changeling twitched and fell to the ground.
“Well, that was anticlimactic…” Fleetfoot muttered.
“Where’s Chaser?” Spitfire asked. She looked at the bottom of the cave and felt that she was going to throw up again.
It was even worse than her dreams. A large mass of chitin, reeking of formic acid and decay was filling at least half of the cave. Spitfire couldn’t see its eyes; the creature’s face was mostly consisting of a large mouth with fangs; each of them was at least three feet long. The hooves were only small stumps – the queen was only capable of crawling on them. The large, swollen body was constantly producing small, grey eggs.
Fleetfoot aimed her gun and shot all the remaining bullets at the queen, but she didn’t even feel it. She was still crawling towards its target – the violet pegasus with a crushed wings, who was holding a pair of saddlebags.
“Boss!” Spitfire exclaimed.
“Run away,” Storm Chaser muttered through gritted teeth. “I got this…”
“She’s gonna eat you!” Fleetfoot shouted.
“She’ll choke…” Storm Chaser replied. He took one of the grenades out of the saddlebags and grabbed the pin with his teeth. “I can’t fly with that wing anyway…”
“Storm Chaser!” Spitfire shouted, but Fleetfoot shook her head.
“We need to go,” she said. “There’s no other way…”
Spitfire swallowed tears and nodded her head. The world was spinning around her and she was almost unable to breathe. “I don’t know if I’ll make it,” she said.
“Just hold on to me…” Fleetfoot replied.
They both darted upwards. The changelings tried to chase them, but they had no chances. Spitfire gritted her teeth, cursing her injured ribs, but at that moment it didn’t matter – the only thing that mattered was Fleetfoot, flapping her wing as hard as she could.
They flew through the large hole made by the previous explosion, when they heard roaring echoing in the depth behind them. A large boulder tore off the wall and flew past them, crushing everything on its way. The walls started to collapse around them.
One of the stones hit Fleetfoot. She screamed, but Spitfire caught her. For a moment, they were flying together, but then Fleetfoot showed Spitfire that she could fly by herself and they parted.
Suddenly, Spitfire saw the night sky above her. The cold air was cooling her wounds. She barely evaded another falling rock and, together with Fleetfoot, they emerged from the collapsing hole in the ground, leaving the nest behind them.
They didn’t fly for long. Only a few yards behind the entrance they lowered the flight and eventually collapsed on a dune, panting heavily.
“Holy shit…” Fleetfoot muttered, crying. “Storm Chaser…”
Spitfire groaned. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain in her leg, chest and head almost rendered her unconscious. Fleetfoot looked at the scratches on her injured hoof.
“You need an antidote for that…” she said. “I think I have some…”
“We… made it…” Spitfire whispered, looking at the stars above her.
“Yeah… Hey, don’t you dare dying on me!” Fleetfoot slapped her. “Storm Chaser, Albtraum, Stakan, Whirlwind… I don’t want to lose you too…”
Spitfire felt a pinprick – the antidote slowly spread through her system. “I’m not gonna die… yet…” she said. “But you’d better call help…”
“Yeah… I think my radio survived that ride…” Fleetfoot said. “’Sides, they’re probably looking for us…”
Spitfire took a deep breath, looking at the sky and trying not to think about the things she’d witnessed in the nest. She knew, however, that they were going to stalk her till the end of her life. Fleetfoot was calling for help, but she didn’t hear that.
“The cavalry will arrive soon,” Fleetfoot muttered. “Seems that we’ll be home before the Hearth’s Warming Eve…”
A few miles south from the collapsing nest, the sole remaining virgin queen looked at the twenty changelings. They were intelligent enough to fly with her instead of staying next to the torn body of the queen, waiting to die. There were some males among them. According to the biological instincts, she had to let them impregnate her and establish a new nest, gathering love and food to rise one more time.
“Not yet, Chrysalis,” she muttered to herself. “Some more must’ve survived… You need to find them… Then find a male with a better genetic material… And take revenge…”
