The Lunar Spartans

Assault

Somewhere outside Appleloosa

The lone figure walked through the desert, a thick brown cloak covering their body from view. The occasional gust of wind tugged at it but failed to reveal anything about the mysterious hooded man as he headed for the distant town of Appleloosa, seemingly oblivious to the sweltering sun overhead that bleached everything in the desert a scolding white and made the temperature soar, even in the shade.

Each footstep threw up a plume of dust, only for it to be washed away by the wind until nothing remained. It was as if the cloaked man was a ghost, a phantom in the world, a non-entity. He left no trace but a shadow that stretched out before him, racing to get to Appleloosa first.

He maintained a steady pace, not too fast or too slow, and was approaching the fringes of the frontier town within an hour, his presence rousing the normally sleepy town into action.

Mares and colts, young and old, rushed to defensive positions, their Solar Empire armour gleaming in the harsh sun.

A few were already sweating under the heavy metal as the lone figure walked into the middle of Appleloosa’s main street and came to a halt, turning one way, then the other, as the ponies assumed positions from where they had good cover and a clean line of sight, crossbows primed and ready.

The town sheriff, wearing an ornate set of armour that distinguished him as an officer in the Solar Empire, stepped closer to the cloaked man but kept a dozen or so metres away, watching him closely.

‘What’s your business here, stranger?’ Silverstar asked.

‘What’s it to you?’ the stranger asked back in a low and gravelly voice, one that sounded like it had been achieved through a lifetime of gulping whiskey, smoking cigars, and eating whisky soaked cigars. It was something out of a death metal bad, full of bass and rumbled, straight from the chest.

‘Seeing as how some cloaked stranger just walked into my town, I reckon I have a right to know what the hay is going on. Now you’re gonna tell me your name, where you came from, and why you decided to visit our little slice of heaven.’ Silverstar gestured at the ponies around him. ‘And if you don’t comply, these ponies, honest folk looking to protect their town, are gonna fill you with arrows and bolts until you fall down, dead. So what’s it gonna be?’

The man looked at the ponies surrounding him, his head barely moving beneath the hood that hid it from view, then gave a low chuckle that was just as gravelly as the road he stood on.

‘What’s so funny?’ Silverstar asked.

‘Nothing.’ the man said. ‘But, seeing as you and your ‘honest’ folk asked so damn nicely, I feel like telling ya what ya wanna know.

‘Most people call me Spartan Jackson.’ he said. ‘You can call me... Spartan Jackson.’

‘Well, ‘Spartan Jackson’,’ Silverstar said. ‘If that is your real name, where did you come from what business do you have in this town?’

‘The where isn’t so much the thing that’s important.’ Jackson began. ‘I’ve walked many roads, done many miles. So many, in fact, I can’t really remember where I’m from. I don’t have a home. I just... drift from place to place.

‘Now the why...’ Jackson chuckled again in that rumbling laugh. ‘Well, now. That’s something altogether more important.’

‘And that is?’ Silverstar asked.

‘See, I’m what you might call a hunter.’ Jackson said. ‘I go all over Equestria hunting some of the most dangerous things it has to offer. The more dangerous the thing, the happier I am.’

Silverstar huffed. ‘Well, you’re out of luck here, Spartan. Ain’t no dangerous beasts for you to hunt. We drove the buffalo out of Appleloosa the moment war broke out. Can’t have squatters on land we need.’

Jackson laughed again, shaking his head in amusement. ‘Who said I hunt creatures? I go after a far more dangerous prey. One that can think their way around corners, blend into anything they set their minds to. No, what I hunt are ponies.’

A gust of wind swept down the street, causing Jackson’s cloak to ripple a little, as the ponies of Appleloosa tensed.

‘So you thought you’d come a hunting here?’ Silverstar said. ‘Try to take down some ponies who haven’t wronged you in any way at all?’

‘No, of course not.’ Jackson said. ‘I only hunt ponies that have a, shall we say, prize on their heads?’

Silverstar spat something foul onto the ground. ‘You’re a bounty hunter?’

‘I prefer the term freelance law man.’ Jackson said. ‘If the price is right, and the pony in question is a bad enough apple, I ain’t got no qualms about hunting them down.

‘Now, fella I’m looking for is an Earth pony known by the name of Braeburn. Done a lot of terrible things, stepped on a lot of important people’s toes, and I’ve been hired to take him out.’

The ponies surrounding Jackson tensed again as Silverstar glared at him.

‘Braeburn ain’t a criminal.’ Silverstar hissed. ‘He’s a soldier, and a true patriot. Loves our beloved Celestia more than anything. Serves as one of them Special Forces guys, going behind enemy lines to kill anything that ain’t Solar Empire.’

‘So I’ve heard.’ Jackson said as crossbows were aimed. ‘My employer called him something else, though, and I’d rather not repeat it in front of ‘honest’ folk. Might make ‘em die of shock, hearing such foul language.’ He scanned the crowds. ‘So where is he?’

‘Not here.’ Silverstar said. ‘Now take your bounty hunting ass out of this here town and never return.’

‘And if I say no?’ Jackson asked as a strong gust of wind went past, moving his cloak just enough so that the ponies of Appleloosa could see an NLR emblem on his upper arm and a pistol on each leg.

The town let out a collective murmur of disapproval.

‘Loony.’ Silverstar growled. ‘We don’t like your kind around here.’

Jackson looked at the pony and even though they couldn’t see his face, everyone could just tell that there was a crooked grin hidden beneath the shadows as he began laughing, quietly at first but over time, it grew louder and the ponies looked at each other, confused.

‘What’s so funny, Loony?’ Silverstar said.

Jackson gradually stopped laughing, fixing Silverstar with another unseen crooked grin.

‘I don’t like your kind anywhere.’

His hands became a blur of motion, drawing both pistols within the blink of an eye and fired them just as quickly, emptying the mags and killing sixteen ponies with unnerving accuracy. He was already reloading before the bodies had hit the floor.

‘ATTACK!’ Silverstar bellowed as Jackson began firing again, barely moving from the centre of the road.

Ponies dropped in ones and twos, a spurt of blood erupting from their heads as they fell victim to the cloaked Spartan. Crossbow bolts were launched his way, some missing by wide margins but a number found their mark, only to bounce off Jackson and fall to the floor uselessly.

He reloaded for the fourth time as several ponies dashed off to somewhere in town, returning with a trebuchet that they loaded, aimed and fired his way.

Jackson saw the boulder flying straight for him but rather that dodge it, or jump to safety, he merely withdrew a pistol shaped weapon, took aim, then fired a small projectile from it at the boulder.

The moment it and the boulder connected, he pulled the trigger again and detonated the explosives.

He ditched the spent sticky detonator and drew a fresh one, using it to destroy the trebuchet before it could fire again. Jackson dumped it as well and went back to his pistols, firing into the mass of ponies coming his way.

‘Let’s go!’ Jackson said, beginning to nod his head as ponies would suddenly keel over, dead. ‘Steve walks warily down the street, with the brim pulled way down low. Ain’t no sound but the sound of his feet, machine guns ready to go. Are you ready, are you ready for this? Are you hanging on the edge of your seat? Out of the door way the bullets rip, to the sound of the beat.’

He holstered his pistols and drew a light machine gun, the words ‘A Spartan Solution to a Sunnie Problem’ stencilled on the barrel and ‘Peace Through Overkill’ on the stock, aiming it squarely at the crowd of ponies bearing down on him.

Then, in his low, bass filled voice, sang the chorus as loudly as he could, depressing the LMG’s trigger.

‘Another one bites the dust! Another one bites the dust!’ The front row of ponies seemed to disappear, torn apart by the massive rate of fire and hollow point rounds. ‘And another one gone, and another one gone. Another one bites the dust!’

A single pony tried to escape, veering hard to the left, but Jackson tracked them, firing as he did.

‘Hey, I’m gonna get you too. Another one bites the dust!’

The pony was torn apart by the fire, splattering a number of nearby barrels with blood and guts, while Jackson reloaded and resumed firing.

Silverstar, who had managed to avoid being shot by some small miracle, crouched down low and began crawling towards Jackson as he continued firing his machine gun, cutting down scores of Sunnies.

He leapt for the Spartan, catching him off guard and sending the gun flying as pony and freelance law man went down.

‘That’s quite enough of you killing these folk.’ Silverstar said as he and Jackson began struggling in the dirt. ‘You dirty blue bastard.’

‘Funny you should mention that, actually.’ Jackson said as Silverstar head butted him. ‘Yo, here’s a story, about little guy that lives in a blue world. And all day and all night and everything he sees is just blue, like him, inside and outside.’ He returned Silverstar’s head butt with one of his own. It knocked the pony off him and Jackson scrabbled for his gun.

‘Blue is his house with a blue little window and a blue Corvette, and everything is blue for him and himself, and everybody around cause he ain’t got nobody to listen to.’ He picked his gun up and began the process of reloading, giving Silverstar another chance to creep up on him. ‘I’m blue, da ba dee dab a di. Da ba dee dab a di!’

‘Terrible song.’ Silverstar said, hauling a massive hammer over his head. ‘I prefer this one.’ He cleared his throat, smashing the hammer down on Jackson. ‘Well I got the blues. In a headlock! Well I got the blues. In my shotgun sights! Well I got the blues. They can’t get away. Gonna make those blues see their last goodnight!’

The blunt implement slammed into Jackson’s head, knocking it into the ground, but it did little to stop him as he drew his pistol and placed a round into Silverstar’s hip, casually tossing the wounded pony off as he focused on the wound.

‘I prefer mine.’ Jackson growled. ‘Dirtbag.’ He tossed a grenade at the nearest fighters then crouched next to Silverstar. ‘Now, there’s such a thing as reciprocity. You asked me a few questions and I dutifully answered them. Well guess what? Now it’s your turn to answer mine.’

‘Go to hell, Loony.’ Silverstar said, grimacing from the pain. ‘I ain’t no snitch. I’ll never tell you where Braeburn is.’

‘Well that’s too bad.’ Jackson said, producing a small bottle. ‘See this? This here is one of the most horrific things known to man or pony, capable of reducing even the strongest of us to gibbering wrecks if you know how to use it. I’ve seen it turn one of Celestia’s most trusted lieutenants into a big crying baby.’ He popped the lid off then used his free hand to prod Silverstar’s injury. ‘I’m guessing you won’t last as long as he did.’

Silverstar grunted in pain but remained quiet, even as Jackson poured a few drips of the unknown liquid into his bullet wound. Even with just a few drops, it was like a searing pain that ripped through his entire body and the sheriff couldn’t help but let out a gasp of pain.

‘That there is just a few little drops of this here monster.’ Jackson said, shaking the bottle. ‘Imagine the pain if I put it all in.’

‘You wouldn’t.’ Silverstar said.

‘I would.’ Jackson replied. ‘Just tell me where Braeburn is and a, you don’t get the rest of the liquid and b, I’ll stop killing people in your town.’ He drew a pistol and shot an errant pony that dared to come closer. ‘I’d say you can’t afford to lose that many more. What if the buffalos come back?’

‘I’d never sell out a patriot and hero like Braeburn, especially if you’d be willing to torture me.’ Silverstar spat at Jackson. ‘Just put it all in.’

Jackson shrugged. ‘Okay.’

He tipped the entire contents of the vial into the wound, causing a scorching hot pain to not just course through Silverstar’s body, but run laps around it then do an around the world trip, each passage intensifying the pain a hundredfold.

‘Amazing what orange juice can do.’ Jackson said as Silverstar writhed in pain.

‘You monster.’ Silverstar gasped.

‘Yup.’ Jackson said. ‘Well, I guess I’ll have to find that Braeburn the old fashioned way.’

‘You don’t have to.’ a voice from above called out.

Jackson looked up to see a pony standing on the roof above him, wearing the formfitting armour of a Solar Empire Special Forces operator. His target, Braeburn.

He jumped down and landed with cat like grace and dexterity, walking into the middle of the street.

Jackson followed, facing off from the pony two dozen metres away.

‘Mighty bold of ya to come out in the open like that.’ Jackson said. ‘Especially after I showed these ‘honest’ folk what a real soldier can do.’

Around them, the dead of Appleloosa littered the streets with the remaining population looking on with interest as Braeburn and Jackson squared off.

‘I ain’t the one who tortured a wounded enemy combatant for info.’ Braeburn retorted. ‘I only go after military targets.’

‘True enough, Sunnie.’ Jackson said. ‘That’s why I’m here. Princess Luna has had enough of your little adventures in her land, and she placed a mighty big bounty on your head. So big in fact, I decided to take her up on it.’

Braeburn scoffed. ‘And what’s the price of a pony’s life nowadays? Ten thousand bits? Twenty?’

‘Two cases of moonshine.’ Jackson said. ‘And a cherry flavoured lollipop.’

‘That’s it?’

‘Yup.’

‘Hard to believe life has become so meaningless now.’ Braeburn muttered.

‘Yup.’ Jackson said. ‘So how we gonna do this? Like men of honour? Or we gonna get down and dirty?’

‘I’d say like men of honour.’ Braeburn began. ‘But I’m not a man, and you’re an amoral bounty hunter, so-‘

‘Like men it is, then.’ Jackson said, catching the pony off guard. ‘Choose your weapon.’

Braeburn faltered for a second but recovered quickly, brandishing a perfectly weighted throwing knife which he held in his mouth, ready to throw.

Jackson just swept his cloak away from his pistol, hand inches from it.

A silence fell over town, broken by the wind as it blew across the battlefield, moaning softly and pushing a tumbleweed along.

Silverstar dragged himself to the side, looking between the combatants as they tensed, waiting.

‘Draw!’ he said after a moment.

Jackson’s hand dipped for his pistol but Braeburn was faster, his knife flying through the air like a missile, and it embedded itself in Jackson’s chest, a stain spreading out from the blade.

He staggered back, looking down at the knife with bewilderment.

‘You bastard.’ Jackson said, reaching into his cloak. He rummaged around for something then pulled out a carton of blackcurrant juice. Braeburn’s knife had punctured it. ‘You spilt my juice.’

‘I was aiming for your heart.’ Braeburn said back.

Jackson dropped the carton then rummaged around inside his cloak again. He found whatever it was he was looking for, used his free hand to yank the knife from his chest, then presented a bloody heart.

‘Turns out, you did.’ Jackson said, holding the organ aloft. ‘Ruined it, actually. This was the heart of a bunny. In mint condition, they can sell for as much as five bits. Now it’s worthless.’ He tossed it over his shoulder, along with Braeburn’s knife. ‘Oh, well.’

‘Uh, okay?’ Braeburn said, mildly disturbed by the fact Jackson carried a heart around. ‘Now what?’

‘What do you mean, now what?’ Jackson asked.

‘Well, neither of us won the duel but neither lost though I did manage to hit you.’ the pony said, indicating the stain on Jackson’s cloak from his spilt juice. ‘Does that mean I won? Am I allowed to live?’

‘What? Fuck no.’ Jackson said, drawing his pistol. ‘Just means the duel was a draw.’ He paused. ‘And you owe me a juice box and bunny heart.’ He shrugged. ‘Eh. They’re not really that important. I’ll let them slide.’ He pulled the trigger and killed Braeburn with a headshot, bringing the pistol up to blow the smoking barrel. ‘How do you like them apples?’

From the side of the road, Silverstar looked at Jackson, incredulous. ‘That was the worst one-liner I’ve ever heard!’

‘Yeah? Well, uh, fuck you!’ Jackson said, unable to come up with anything better.

Silverstar shook his head. ‘If it wasn’t for your growling voice, you’d sound pretty stupid.’

Jackson opened his mouth to retort but couldn’t form a witty reply. He shrugged.

‘Oh, fuck it.’ he said, shooting Silverstar again. ‘I got my man. What more could I want?’

‘Aside from being taught the ways of the comeback?’ Silverstar said, now covering his two wounds. ‘Some target practise wouldn’t be a bad idea.’

For the third time that minute, Jackson was unable to make a decent reply. He shrugged again and emptied an entire mag into Silverstar before tossing a primed frag grenade his way, beating a hasty retreat before the device could explode.

It detonated and threw bloody dirt over everything. Some wet landed on Jackson’s shoulder and he casually brushed it off, walking back out into the desert.

‘And better grenades!’

Jackson sighed. ‘Goddammit.’

Somewhere outside Appleloosa

Dawson glanced down the rock trail, hearing the crunch of dirt under a boot and saw the cloaked figure of Jackson approach. His cloak was in tatters and covered in a number of unidentifiable stains.

‘Did you really have to talk like that for the entire time?’ Dawson asked as Jackson sat down beside him. ‘You sounded like the bastard child of Clint Eastwood, Christian Bale’s Batman, and Karl Urban’s Judge Dredd.’

‘It felt appropriate.’ Jackson rasped, the stress of talking and singing in such a low tone for so long leaving his voice a shadow of what it had been. ‘Pass the water.’

‘You got it.’ Dawson picked up a canteen and held it out as Jackson tore his cloak off, leaving it to blow away in the wind. ‘Now tell me, why didn’t we use ED-209 during that?’ He gestured at a tall, bipedal robot stood behind them, inert beneath the sun.

Jackson took his helmet off and took a long swig of water,

‘Because I’ve always wanted to have a cowboy style duel in a Wild West town.’ he said. ‘It’s kind of been my life’s dream.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since Luna sent us here.’ Jackson said, glancing up at ED. ‘Where does she even get this stuff, anyway? It’s got to be the most advanced thing on the planet.’

Dawson shrugged. ‘Dunno. Assuming Shark Week.’

‘Works for me.’ Jackson said, coughing.

‘Did Luna really place a bounty on Braeburn’s head?’ Dawson asked after a moment. ‘Or did you make it up?’

‘Made it up.’ Jackson said. ‘Made me feel more like some gunslinger who rights wrongs, going where he’s needed.’

‘I thought as much.’ Dawson produced a laser designator, holding it up to examine the device. ‘You get Braeburn?’

‘Yup.’ Jackson said. ‘And that smarmy sheriff Silverstar. Guy would not die. I put the best part of two clips into him, a grenade, and several stabs of my knife before he got the message and flat lined.’

Dawson nodded. ‘You wanna do the honours or shall I?’

‘You do it. I’ve already lived out my fantasies today.’

Jackson took another drink as Dawson held up the designator, taking aim at Appleloosa in the distance.

There was a momentary charge up period after he pulled the designator’s trigger before the screen lit up green, confirming the target was locked. A brief lull followed which was then broken as half a dozen missiles streaked down from the sky and landed on the town, destroying it.

‘Now what I want to know is where Luna got the missile platform from.’ Dawson said as he, Jackson and ED-209 got up and began walking in the direction of home.

‘Same as ED, Fluffy, and most of our equipment.’ Jackson said. ‘Shark Week.’

‘True.’ Dawson said. ‘Hey, you know the next town like Appleloosa we have to destroy, can I be the one who does the whole gunslinger thing? It looked like fun.’

Jackson coughed. ‘Be my guest. My throat couldn’t go through that again anytime soon. Just make sure you have some good one-liners ready. These desert people are pretty picky about them.’

‘Judging one-liners.’ Dawson said. ‘Why do people have to be so weird?’

‘No idea.’