Ad Finem

To his credit he had taken the news without flinching, displaying hardly any reaction towards it at all. Not to say it was not unbearable. She was all set to go within the following hour, he did not want to discuss the matter further. She only took the belongings that truly were her's. She would accept none of his parting gifts, except for one last goodbye kiss on the forehead. Even her wedding ring was left behind on the drawer beside the bed they shared on some nights. Before leaving, she made one last stop at her former residence.

"Evvey," she softly cooed her daughter's name as she cradled the small filly one final time.

"Promise mommy you will take care of daddy for me?" The youngling chose only to nod in understanding.

A force compromising of mostly machine ponies left the port-city of Atlantica that day. One thousand Skitarii warriors, eighty battle tanks, three hundred and sixty armoured pony carriers (APCs), ten self-propelled guns (SPGs). And one very troubled Tech-Priest.

The site of the buried Standard Template Construct (STC) was located far beyond Equestria's borders in a remote desert, aptly dubbed the Bone Dunes. Rumours persist that the numerous buried tombs can be found hidden beneath its unforgiving and harsh wastes. Many adventurous or desperate ponies have perished here in the past, in  search of long, lost treasure. It was not the heat of the desert nor the lack of water that killed most. It was the marauding bands of Chaos cultists that had taken sanctuary in a land that no sane being would ever care about. Clockwyrkke had no need to discover some ancient tomb filled with the dead - the arid Bone Dunes before him was already a mass grave in its own right.

The journey to the site was uneventful, much to his relief. Although the sand got into everything. Leg joints, weapon mechanisms, ammunition boxes. Even his armour suffered at the doings of the desert. He was constantly plagued by ever-flashing runes in his helmet display. Again and again, the same message. Sand clogging the circulator fans. Even his normally meticulous manner of keeping his personal armoury in excellent condition still required him to strip down and service his protesting suit twice a day lest he experience an unfortunate and untimely malfunction.

He was relentless. He had to secure the intact STC, no matter the costs. It wasn't merely because he was upholding his cult's doctrines and personal duties. The safety of the known world rested on his endeavour. To allow the cache of information to fall into the wrong hooves, claws, or hands would spell the doom for all, not just Equestria. The consequences to follow of such an event happening would be indefinitely apocalyptic.

Fortifying the location was second nature to one such as himself. After all, he did learn under the best Secutors the Cult had within its privileged ranks. Even the extreme elements would not stop the untiring nature of his troops or his inventiveness and determination. Despite the many sand storms that crossed his way, he had managed to properly secure the surrounding six kilometres around the site. Foxholes were dug and reinforced. Bunkers and appropriate shelters constructed. A motor pool was set up along with several large hangars for the armoured elements of his force.  Even the odd anti-air emplacement now and then.

To simply call it a vault was an understatement. The structure holding the STC resembled that of a very small pyramid, complete with two lines of larger-than-life statues carved from sandstone made to resemble ponies from a bygone era on either side of the closed portal. Under conventional circumstances, melta charges would have been employed to destroy the obstruction. However, with the near constant sand storms the machine spirits of the devices were highly uncooperative, prompting Clockwyrkke to employ a breaching drill instead. The process was much longer, but also more controllable. Appearances were deceiving. A deep frown creased his brow as he glanced at his personal chronometer.

Where are they?

A day later, the reinforcements he was promised had arrived. Unfortunately, it was not in the way he had expected. According to the brevetted commander Lieutenant Crimson, the expedition force had been ambushed prior to them setting hoof into the Dunes. Most of the armoured elements were either destroyed by saboteurs or enemy anti-tank fire in the opening phases of the engagement. Thankfully their supply train which was lagging behind slightly, had managed to circumvent the fire-zone and thus had made it to rendezvous relatively unscathed a few hours after the reinforcements.

"Captain Crimson, I presume?" Clockwyrkke inquired towards the brevet commander. Standing before him with as much dignity as he could muster despite his injured foreleg, was a young, proud, and handsome pegasus stallion. His red fur and brown mane made it seem that fighting ran in his blood. But one quality that made this particular individual stand out was his stark green eyes.

What cunning does he hide behind those?

"Sir, yes, sir! 2nd Equestrian Conservators, sir!"

"You can drop the formalities. I hold no position of rank of any sort within the hierarchy. I'm simply a Tech-Priest doing my duty."

"With all due respect, sir, I was ordered to differ to you in authority by my commanding officer before his passing."

"As you wish," Clockwyrkke replied monotonously. At that moment, he wanted to wave a dismissive hoof at the the younger stallion but instead gestured for him to take a seat nearby. He could not help but observe the manner in which Crimson did so. Had he not been wearing his helmet, it was quite obvious that he found the pony's mannerism somewhat amusing.

Noble blood for sure, this young fellow. What the hay is he even doing out here so damnably far from civilisation?

"Report then soldier. Losses?"

"78% KIA or MIA, sir. Almost all our tanks as well. I barely managed to save the two that you see with us."

"Diarchs preserve us... That bad?" Instinctively, his armoured foreleg withdrew to his temple. This news was not the least bit good.

"It was a cleverly laid-out ambush. We were attacked from within and without. I did what I could to salvage the surviving ponies. Most of the upper command staff died in the initial fighting." There was a sad look haunting the soldier's eyes. A look Clockwyrkke was all to familiar with and could easily understand the trauma that raced through the Crimson's mind.

"You did what you could. Under the circumstances, fairly well seeing as there are still survivors. Go, get some rest and a hot meal. You will have your orders issued by morning, colonel."