The Lunar Spartans

Capture the Flag

Inside the New Lunar Republic’s headquarters

‘-and it looked like everyone was having fun,’ Jackson crooned as he poked and prodded at the mess of wires, circuits, and paperclips lying before him on a bench with a soldering iron, helmet and gloves off, ignoring the wisps of smoke that curled past him, making his eyes water a bit. ‘We were dancing all night long.’

Behind him, Dawson was sprawled on a comfy chair, feet propped up on an empty box, reading The Princess’s Guard. He had all his gear on, helmet and gloves too, and was occasionally glancing at his teammate.

‘Don’t stop, come a little closer. As we jam, the rhythm gets stronger. There’s nothing wrong with just a little, little fun. We were dancing all night long.’

The door to Squealing Wombat’s quarters opened and Luna stepped through, Tiberius perched on her head.

She wrinkled her nose at the stench of acrid smoke and looked at Jackson first, shaking her head.

‘Yo, Lu-Lu,’ Dawson said, turning the page. ‘What brings you to our humble abode?’

‘The engineering section was complaining about unexplained power fluctuations,’ Luna said, glaring disapprovingly at Dawson’s book. ‘It was coming from this area so I put two and two together and got-‘

‘Spartan Jackson instead,’ Dawson said. ‘Don’t worry, he’s not going to blow anything up.’ He turned the page. ‘I think.’

‘Comforting,’ Luna said.

‘Oh, I don’t know what to do!’ Jackson sang, coughing a little. ‘About this dream and you. I wish this dream comes true!’

The Alicorn looked at him curiously. ‘Not his usual type of song, is it?’

‘Wait,’ Dawson said.

Jackson continued to prod and poke at his thingy, merrily singing away, when a sudden bang and flickering of the lights made everyone but Dawson flinch. He kept reading.

By the bench, Jackson momentarily fell silent then shook his head clear.

‘If you like to gamble, I tell you I’m your man!’ he sang in a gravelly voice. ‘You win some, you lose some, it’s all the same to me!’

‘That’s more like it,’ Luna said.

‘Yup,’ Dawson said, copying his superior’s accent exactly. ‘Every jolt of electricity he changes song and genre. You missed it earlier. Jackson was singing Push the Button over and over again. I think he was stuck on repeat.’

Another jolt of electricity, another song. This time it was Rocking all over the World.

‘Kind of amusing.’

Luna sat down next to Dawson. ‘Aren’t you worried about him at all?’

‘Nope,’ Dawson said. ‘He doesn’t pay me to worry about his wellbeing, physical or mental.’

A pause.

‘Well, he doesn’t really pay me all that much.’

Another pause.

‘In fact, he doesn’t pay me at all.’

‘So why do you still take orders from him?’ Luna asked.

Dawson shrugged. ‘Shark Week.’

‘Of course,’ Luna muttered before asking in a louder voice, ‘What exactly is Jackson building?’

Dawson shrugged again. ‘Dunno. He called it a Pacification Cannon, or PacCan for short. Says it’ll stop the enemy from shooting us or something.’

Tiberius held up a sign that read ‘Laser Beam Thingy of Doom’.

‘Most likely, knowing him,’ Dawson said with a nod. ‘He says he’s worked out most of the kinks and just needs to test fire it on people looking to kill us.’

‘Well you just might get your chance, Spartan,’ Luna said as she produced a scroll from thin air. ‘Your extended vacation is now over.’

‘About time,’ Dawson said as he opened up the scroll and read it. ‘I’ve been itching to kick some Sunnie ass since we brought in Twilight.’

‘She’s a Loony now,’ Luna said.

Dawson looked at her. ‘Why?’

‘Apparently, we have better doms than the Solar Empire.’

He shuddered at the implications of that.

The lights flickered again, signalling another change in song.

‘Roses are red, and violets are blue. One day we’ll cruise down Blood Gulch Avenue!’

Dawson went back to the scroll.

‘So, we’re being deployed all the way to the Crystal Empire to capture and/or destroy their national flag,’ he read. ‘Any reason why we’re attacking a neutral party in the Equestrian Civil War?’

Luna scoffed. ‘Neutral? Hardly. Cadance and Shining Armour have close ties to the Solar Empire and send it money under the guise of ‘aid’ while giving us none. They even sent a detachment of troops to guard Canterlot, and another to attack our northern bases which they claimed was a mistake. To think, they can only afford to do this by selling that ridiculous Crystal Weed.’

‘The favoured choice of drug for stoner dragons and Pegasi everywhere,’ Dawson said. He read the scroll over again then lobbed it at Jackson, striking him in the back of the head.

Rather than pick up and read the scroll, Jackson kept working on his PacCan though he did change songs.

‘Hey, Commander!’ Dawson yelled. ‘We got-‘

‘New orders,’ Jackson said, stopping singing abruptly. ‘Going to the Crystal Empire and do what we do best. WSF.’

Luna opened her mouth, about to ask what WSF stood for, but Dawson beat her to it.

‘Wombat Style Fighting,’ he said. ‘Basically, do whatever you can to fuck the enemy up.’

‘Ah, so charging blindly into enemy fire is considered a fighting style?’

‘Yup,’ Jackson said. He began putting his PacCan back together. ‘So when are we going up north?’

‘As soon as your new teammate arrives,’ Luna said.

Dawson and Jackson both stopped whatever they were doing and craned their necks around to look at the Alicorn princess.

‘I never agreed to such a thing,’ Jackson said. ‘Unless I was drunk. In which case, it doesn’t count.’

‘And why do you think Fireteam Squealing Wombat needs another member, anyway?’ Dawson asked. ‘We’re a close knit fighting unit with a unique way of fighting. Having some newbie come in could upset our finely tuned set up.’

‘Oh, believe me, this guy is going to upset nothing, Spartan,’ Luna said. ‘His name is Samson, and he’s a Communist mercenary robot.’

Both Jackson and Dawson said, ‘What.’

‘Samson,’ Luna said again. ‘He’s a mercenary robot that firmly believes in Communism. I hired him at a deeply discounted rate because you’re going up against royalty.’

‘But you’re royalty,’ Jackson pointed out. ‘Shouldn’t Samson have an objection to working with you?’

‘I’m working to make a republic where ponies can vote for their rulers,’ Luna countered. ‘Admittedly without the whole everypony being equal mentality but socialism is much better than capitalism in Samson’s eyes. Sensors. Eye sensor things.’ Dawson and Jackson looked at her. ‘You know what I mean.’

Jackson shook his head. ‘So we’re taking some commie robot on a mission to fuck up drug dealing royalty.’

‘Sounds about right for a Squealing Wombat mission,’ Dawson said.

‘Yup,’ Jackson said.

‘Yup,’ read a sign Tiberius was holding up.

‘Oh, no,’ Luna whispered.

Somewhere in the Frozen North

Dawson drove the Warthog with one hand on the wheel, the other on the gear stick, while Jackson was sprawled out beside him in the passenger seat as they sped north, the massive tyres on the Warthog easily dealing with all the snow.

In the rear bay was their latest teammate. Samson.

He was two metres tall, just about, and from a distance you might have mistaken him for either Jackson or Dawson given how similar his armour looked to theirs, being sleek and possessing a reflective visor, though the metal was painted a deep crimson red with a hammer and sickle on his left chest, painted gold.

On his back were two laser rotary cannons that could swing into firing positions within seconds and lay down ungodly amounts of fire.

Impressive amounts of fire, Squealing Wombat mentally corrected. Samson was against all mentions of any kind of deity in reference to him, saying they were the trappings of a weak, capitalist society that looked to blame anyone but themselves. He was a machine of the people, no better than any of them, and would fight for the worker’s paradise to his dying fuel cell.

Along with the non-deity like laser cannons on his back, Samson had two more on his forearms that could add to his un-not-godly like suppressive fire.

Jackson and Dawson had stuck with their assault rifles though Jackson had packed his prototype PacCan as well.

‘It will not work, Comrade,’ Samson said for the umpteenth time. ‘The craftsmanship is appalling and it uses parts from a monarchy that serves a whore. You should have used circuits and casings from the Associated Samson States. Only when you make it with parts the working man himself crafted in a worker’s paradise will you have a worthy weapon.’

‘And for the umpteenth time, I did it on purpose,’ Jackson said. ‘Me and Dawson are gonna be deployed behind Sunnie lines a lot so we need a weapon that we can fix with what’s available to us. As we’ll be in Sunnie lands, it made sense to build the PacCan from Sunnie sourced parts.’

‘Bah,’ Samson said, disapprovingly. ‘A weapon built from ASS parts would never fail. And if you had taken building lessons in the ASS, none of your weapons would fail.’

‘I’m a perfectly good builder, thank you very much,’ Jackson said. ‘I can build good weapons and maintain them as well as other stuff. This Warthog, for instance. I fixed all the armour in place and it hasn’t fallen off.’

He patted the side, only for a section of the composite armour to fall off and vanish from sight.

‘Graham!’ Dawson yelled, hearing the clunk as it fell off. ‘No!’

‘Faulty armour,’ Jackson said, trying to cover the hole up. ‘Got it from a black market dealer or something. Totally not my fault it fell off.’

Dawson glared at him. ‘Stop touching Graham without my say so. You know I’m the only one who knows how to fix him properly.’

‘You call car Graham, Comrade?’ Samson said, looking at the Spartan. ‘So not only is leader bad builder, but you also grow attached to meaningless machine?’ He laughed. ‘No wonder NLR is losing war if it employs such poor quality soldiers. I will have to do some serious work to bring Squealing Wombat up to combat level we have in ASS, starting with name.’

‘Fuck that, you piece of shit machine,’ Jackson said, glowering at the robot. ‘We here in Squealing Wombat have a system. I give Dawson orders, he carries them out, we achieve our objective with varying degrees of success and burning boxes of oranges. You do not, I repeat, do NOT, mess with our system.

‘And you most certainly do not get to fuck with our name. It’s the name we’ve always used and will continue to do so until our dying breath.’

‘Besides, it has sentimental value, too,’ Dawson said.

‘How can he name Squealing Wombat have sentimental value, Comrade?’ Samson asked.

‘When we met, Jackson here was poking a wombat with a cattle prod to make it squeal. I asked to have a go and he said yes,’ Dawson said. ‘We’ve been going by that name ever since.’

Samson shook his head. ‘Socialist idiots,’ he said. ‘Trapped by the past when you should be looking to the future when communism will bring about unity and equality.’

‘And on that day, Hellfire will talk in a normal tone of voice,’ Dawson muttered.

‘Who’s Hellfire, Comrade?’ Samson asked. ‘Some imaginary pagan god you pray to?’

‘No,’ Dawson said. ‘He’s quite real, and he’s quite close, too. And I don’t pray to him. I stand back and watch the show.’

Samson went bah again, adding, ‘My ASS will show you all the true meaning of utopia. My ASS relies on no gods, no princes or princesses, just the working man.’

‘You can keep your ass hidden,’ Jackson said. ‘I’ve got no inkling to see a robot’s ass in my life time. Fluffy’s was bad enough.’

‘You mock what you don’t know,’ Samson said. ‘When the worker’s revolution begins, then you will see how wrong it was to believe in socialism and capitalism.’

‘I’m sure,’ Dawson said.

They emerged from the snow and began driving on a rolling grass plain, and Dawson buried the pedal, quickly accelerating to the Warthog’s top speed.

Outside the Crystal Empire

Dawson, Jackson, and Samson stopped at the brow of a hill, looking down on the Crystal Empire.

‘So how we wanna do this?’ Dawson asked. ‘Usual plan, Commander?’

‘Yup,’ Jackson said, scoping the place out. ‘We go in as usual, grab the flag, and the Crystal Empire loses its fighting spirit and stops supporting the Sunnies.’

‘We’re going after a flag, Comrades?’ Samson said, looking at the Spartans. ‘Why?’

‘Excessive usage of Crystal Weed leaves the user paranoid and highly superstitious,’ Dawson said. ‘Princess Cadance is a heavy smoker and she feels that the only reason things are going so well is because of a flag she had made up a year or so ago. It depicts her and Shining Armour kissing or something, and because everyone else down there is a Crystal Weed smoker as well, they believe her.’

‘We’re going to go in and steal their flag, then get the hell out of there,’ Jackson added.

‘Drugs,’ Samson spat. ‘Means of controlling and suppressing the people. The ASS will not tolerate any kind of narcotic. Working towards utopia shall be the people’s opiate!’

‘You say so,’ Jackson said. ‘Alright, here’s what’s going to happen. I’ll use the PacCan from afar, placate the population and reduce resistance, then all three will storm the castle and take the flag.’

Dawson looked at Jackson, confused. ‘Placate? Since when did you learn a word like that? Hell, do you even know what it means?’

‘Yeah,’ Jackson said, shrugging. ‘Make them feel calm and comfortable to the point that they won’t even care we’re attacking.’

‘So you do,’ Dawson said. He paused. ‘Wait. What do you mean, use the PacCan to placate them all? Isn’t it a laser beam of doom?’

Jackson looked at Dawson as if hurt. ‘I’m not all about laser beams of doom, Dawson. I do have a sensitive side. Somewhere. It just doesn’t come out all that much.’

‘I noticed,’ Dawson said, sighing. ‘Alright, fire it up and mollify that lot.’ He pointed at the distant city.

‘Sure thing,’ Jackson said, picking up and shouldering the PacCan. He adjusted a series of switches and buttons on the side and took aim at the Crystal Empire. ‘And firing PacCan in three, two, one.’

He depressed the trigger.

Nothing happened.

He pressed it again.

Nothing happened again.

‘Bollocks,’ Jackson muttered, pressing it repeatedly.

Samson laughed from behind him. ‘See? I told you it wouldn’t work, Comrade. Poor quality parts, poor quality building.’

With a grunt, Jackson dumped the PacCan and drew his assault rifle.

‘Fuck it,’ he said. ‘Let’s do it the old fashioned way with a full frontal assault.’

‘Now you’re talking, Comrade,’ Samson said as his cannons moved into place, spooling up. ‘I will lead the charge. You two can follow and watch my flanks.’

‘I thought we’d be watching his ass?’ Dawson said as they prepared to charge.

‘Same thing,’ Jackson said. ‘Just stick to the plan and we should be good.’

‘On three, Comrades!’ Samson said. ‘Three!’

He charged forward, yelling a communist battle cry of some kind, and ran straight for the heart of the city, following a stone path.

Dawson and Jackson watched him go.

‘DumbASS,’ Jackson said.

Dawson laughed. ‘I see what you did there.’

‘Yup,’ Jackson said as he picked the PacCan up and switched it on, taking aim at the running Samson.

He depressed the trigger and it slowly began charging up, a keen whine emanating from the housing.

‘Do svidaniya, Samson,’ Jackson said as the PacCan reached full charge and fired, sending out an electric blue beam that cut straight through the robot’s chest, destroying the fuel cells stored there that, in turn, exploded spectacularly and removed all trace of the robot from existence.

‘Okay,’ Dawson said, nodding. ‘Now we know your modifications to a Splaser work, shall we get back to it?’

‘Yup,’ Jackson said, retrieving a can of petrol from the Warthog and a blowtorch.

In the Crystal Weed fields

Dawson coughed and sputtered as the smoke from the fire Jackson had started began seeping past his suit’s filters.

‘Fuck, this stuff is potent,’ he said.

Next to him, Jackson shrugged. ‘Pretty mild, actually. Cloudsdale Weed is much stronger and easier to grow.’

Around them, the acres of Crystal Weed began going up, producing a thick smoke that prevailing wind conditions was blowing over the Crystal Empire which, if everything was going according to plan, would cause the population to become stoned and therefore not a threat.

It was a complex and daring plan from Squealing Wombat, perhaps their most complex one yet. It had three steps.

Step one was kill Samson because, well, he was a communist asshole that had tried to alter the dynamic of Squealing Wombat by suggesting they change their name and modify their battle plans.

Step two was light a massive fucking fire in the fields surrounding the Crystal Empire to a, deny the enemy a major source of income and b, reduce overall resistance in the city.

Step three was capture the flag.

So far the plan was going perfectly.

Samson was nothing more than an annoying memory and the fields were fully engulfed now, casting smoke high into the air making the population, well, high. Or stoned. Or baked. Or deep fried. Or insert synonym here relating to smoking weed.

Now all they had to do grab the flag and leave.

‘Onward,’ Jackson said, drawing his assault rifle.

‘Right behind you, boss,’ Dawson said, coughing.

They set off towards the city, passing by a purple dragon and a grey Pegasus that were partially obscured by the smoke, two sacks of gold next to them.

Both had loopy grins on their faces, breathing in the heady aroma of unprocessed Crystal Weed that was slightly stronger than what Cadance and Shining Armour shipped out to the rest of Equestria, waving the Spartans as they passed by.

‘Tourists,’ Jackson muttered. ‘Just because weed is legal here, all the ponies and stoner midgets are flocking to the Crystal Empire.’

‘Just like Amsterdam,’ Dawson said.

‘Yeah. Just without the canals.’

‘So there’s a red light district?’

Jackson paused, thinking.

‘I wouldn’t put it past them,’ he said. ‘Cadance is the princess of love. I’d expect she feeds of any kind, even the paid for and feel dirty afterwards sort of love.’

‘She’s living the dream,’ Dawson said with a sigh. He shook his head. ‘Let’s go fuck it up then.’

‘Yup,’ Jackson said.

Inside the Crystal Empire

The smoke was thick inside the city, trapped by the buildings and seeping into everything.

Around them, Jackson and Dawson would see ponies giggling at nothing or watching their hooves with alarmed expressions, no doubt experiencing a bad trip, while in a few places they saw ponies engaged in either heavy petting or casual dry humping.

In one or two instances, the Spartans weren’t sure if an orgy had formed there were so many ponies gathered in one location.

They quickly moved on, Dawson still coughing and Jackson still insisting this was mild compared to some other stuff out there.

‘And you’d know this how?’ Dawson asked between coughs.

Jackson shrugged. ‘I dabble in the art of the weed. Booze ain’t my only vice.’

Dawson just rolled his eyes, trying to determine whether the colour of his surroundings was beginning to intensify and blur. If it was, the smoke was getting to him.

‘Wake up!’ Jackson suddenly yelled, bursting into song. ‘Something, something, makeup! Something, something, shakeup! Why’d you leave your keys upon the table? You wanted to! Something, something, fable!’

Dawson whacked him on the back of the head.

‘We take sour sips,’ Jackson said, changing song. ‘From life’s lush lips. And we shake, shake, shake the hips in rela-‘

Dawson hit his head again.

‘I was driving on the freeway in the fast lane with a rapid wolverine in my underwear when suddenly a guy behind me in the backseat-‘

‘Nope,’ Dawson said, pressing Jackson’s next button a third time. ‘Come on, give me something metal.’

‘Kill you enemies!’ Jackson sang. ‘My brothers dead around me! Wounds are hurting, death is creeping for me!’

‘Closer,’ Dawson said. ‘But a bit too close to home.’

He hit next again.

‘When the blood was red, and the lies were black and white, they put their hands together, they thought they have the right!’

‘Much better,’ Dawson said as the passed yet another possible orgy. He glanced at it then turned to his teammate/iPod. ‘Is it just me or do these ponies get off on the weirdest things?’

Jackson shrugged as he continued to sing then pointed at the castle rising high above the city.

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Dawson said. ‘Let’s go.’

They double timed it to the castle, running past the abandoned guard post and up the crystal stairs to what they hoped was the throne room. All the signs said it was but upon throwing open the doors, they saw it had been lavishly decorated with pink and white satin and silk drapes on the walls, a thick velvet carpet underfoot, and hundreds upon hundreds of pillows everywhere arranged into piles.

Opposite the doors was a sumptuous bed where the thrones should have been, two motionless figures watching them from it.

Up close, they saw it was Shining Armour and Cadance, vacant expressions on both their faces.

Dawson hit the stop button and Jackson stopped singing.

They approached the couple, spotting the flag they needed hanging from one corner of their bed.

Smoke drifted in from the open windows which was probably why neither of the ponies did anything to stop Jackson from picking the flag up, noting with some mild disgust that it was covered with numerous white stains.

He held it out for Dawson to take.

‘Yuck,’ he said as he took it, holding it with his finger and thumb. ‘I think burning this might be the best bet.’

‘Oh, no,’ Cadance said quietly and distantly, eyes focusing in and out on the flag. ‘Now what will Shining Armour use to clean my pretty pink pearl out with?’

‘Definitely burn,’ Dawson said, holding the ‘flag’ as far from him as possible. ‘Maybe with a nuke.’

‘Yeah,’ Jackson said. ‘Let’s go find one and quick. Shining Armour looks about ready to make a mess in said pink pearl.’

The Spartans shuddered and beat a hasty retreat as the unicorn began running his muzzle up and down the Alicorn’s neck, emerging back into the wider world where things... weren’t much better.

‘Goddammit,’ Dawson said upon seeing a dozen ponies who had moved well past heavy petting and dry humping. ‘Right in the middle of the street as well, too.’

‘Ponies,’ Jackson said. ‘They’re fucking weird. Almost as weird as a human who reads about ponies fucking.’ He stared pointedly at Dawson as they ran for the Warthog.

‘I replace every mention of the word pony with an appropriate human term!’ Dawson yelled, passing another gathering of Crystal Ponies.

‘Still read them,’ Jackson said.

‘There’s no winning with you, is there?’ Dawson said as they passed the dragon and the Pegasus.

‘Nope,’ Jackson said, waving at the duo. ‘But then, it really could be worse.’

‘Oh, do tell.’

‘You could write stories that have ponies fucking. And I don’t mean putting a pony’s persona in a human body, but leaving them as ponies and describing each act in explicit detail.’

Dawson considered that, nodding. ‘You’re right. What kind of weird fuck would do that?’

They jumped into the Warthog, placing the flag in the back, and sped off to the nearest active volcano to get rid of the mission’s objective.

‘One I hope we never have to meet.’