The Front

If you can’t bedazzle them with badassery, bamboozle them with bullshit.

Sky Sage
Day Three, Noon

The last thing that I would ever want to do far away from home was get into a fight. There were just too many unknowns. What was I up against? Who would come to help? What could I fall back on, and where would I go? Where was the hospital? What if the locals had a different code of honor than I did? What if I lost? Would I be treated with mercy? Or would I be beaten, robbed, or murdered? How would I get home? Would I even survive?

That last question was the only one that really held any sway in my mind at the moment, even over why the fuck am I curled up next to a raider carcass? The answer to that question was one I could have sworn I’d answered all too recently. Was that one barrel or two? Leaning with my back against a large wooden crate, I shivered at the sound of the raider buck cackling.

“C’mere, birdy...birdy-birdy-birdy…” His voice broke and squeaked like a bucket of nails dumped into a half broken piano. At least it was just one raider talking. The other still grinned at me, bleeding and dead. How I’d missed the one in the bathroom was now a moment of mental face-hoofing. Always clear before moving forward!

Having the trigger mechanism for the carbine in my mouth was strong incentive to not banter back at him. The warrior said nothing, for his mouth was full. There had to be ten or twelve rounds left in my magazine. I’d had at least that many when I charged up the stairs. I’d fired just one more, but couldn’t remember how much I had left in total. Why the hell did I run up here?!

The rush of blood in my ears was interrupted as I heard the snick of a weapon action moving. That was all the cue I needed.

The raider buck was freakishly underweight, teal, and sported a disgusting blood-spiked-mane. His head was tilting to one side as he pointed the shotgun right at me with his teeth. The open action I’d heard belonged to a pistol he was levitating in the air as he tried to load another magazine. It clattered to the ground as he took aim.

I was far too slow to get my gun up before I was staring down twin barrels. They both faded into a blur as the post centered in my sight.

The trigger depressed easily, and I felt the kick as the carbine pushed back into my cheek, mouth, and shoulder. Then the second kick happened. There was no way so many little lines of white-hot pain could run over my legs and lower barrel this easily and be the kick from my own gun. That pain was crippling and fatiguing; my vision blurred as I howled from around the grip of my carbine. Red quickly followed the blur, and black followed the red, licking the edges of my sight as I felt my legs let go and drop me to the ground. No!

Day Three, Mid-Morning

The mist from the morning twilight had made our trek through the mountains a special kind of exhausting. The air had been cool and damp the whole way, soaking my coat and those around me within minutes of our departure. As long as our pace had been kept to a forced march, we’d avoided the worst of the cold. Heck, it was almost warm on some of the uphill stretches, but that was a brutal pace to be holding for more than a few hours. Even if there was no credence to the old legends of Windigos, I could almost imagine that one was following us now, keeping just far enough behind to hide its braying underneath the ever-present moaning of the wind.

Eventually, the old and the young among us had slowed down. The cold had finally caught up to us. It started by clinging onto my limbs and sinking through the meagre protection of my coat and gradually numbing everything underneath. At times I’d shake it off just far enough to regain the aching feeling in my legs. Then, there was something in the middle: a dull and throbbing in my bones -- underneath the skin just a little bit too deep to care.

Judging by how long we’d been walking, I reckoned it was about noon. Despite my constant searching, the sky yielded no answers. Everything had been shrouded in a veil of mist from the moment we’d entered the mountains. Actually, veil was probably the wrong word. Something more like overcoat would be more fitting. Everything was a cool gray, and I could only see a dozen paces in any direction.

The group’s travel had been reduced to following the tail of the pony directly ahead, and then the rump in front of that, until all the way up front somewhere there was a trapper who spent most of her days in the mountains. Supposedly she knew the way; at least Radheart assured me of that much. I hoped she’d make it through the fight -- we would have a heck of a time returning without a guide. Everypony wanted to be returning home afterwards, and we were certainly no exception.

At first, I’d tried to memorize the path we took in high hopes of remembering the way back to Alpine, but I gave up after the second hour of the trek. Without any landmarks in view save for the slippery grass, wet rocks, and damp hillside underneath my hooves, I had no idea where I was going at all, much less where I had been.

Inside the fog, all conversation was muted. I’m sure that occasional phrases passed among the villagers, but everything became unnervingly quiet and nondescript in the gray cloud that was our world. My friends talked with each other from time to time, but for the most part everyone marched silently, each with hopes of fighting for what little warmth they could. As the hours passed, everything began to remind me of the chill. From my matted coat and mane to the chafing straps on my saddle and carbine, everything was rubbing me like frosty sandpaper. The weight of the weapon over my back was a constant anchor to reality, reminding me that I would be using it sometime in the next few hours.

For that matter, just how far away was the raider base anyway? It’d been a long time since breakfast, and climbing up and down the hills and rocks had left me hungry. If I was hungry, then Ash was probably ready to eat another pony. A novel concept, really. Weren’t the raiders the first one to come up with that idea?

As much as I didn’t want to go into a fight on an empty stomach, it was probably better not to have a whole bunch of stuff to chuck up once the adrenaline started pumping. Nor did I want all the blood that needed to be in my limbs busy digesting my food. In that manner, half of me hoped for food before we fought and the other half didn’t want anything.

This internal battle raged on for so long that I immersed myself into it -- placing myself as the judge to decide among which random internal factions would be heard. Each side shouted and pleaded, and worse, both sides made sense! Gah! You’d think I’d have schizophrenia with all of the voices. Ultimately, the judge decided that ‘no food’ was best for the whole. Half of my voices cheered, while the others sulked away in defeat, but in this moment of internal realization, I walked headlong into the rump of the farmer in front of me, slipped on the grass, and fell as one whole hungry heap of pony.

“Ok, everyone, we’re about fifteen minutes away.” Rainfall’s voice was muffled by the cloud, so I only caught bits and pieces of whatever else he said. Something about loading guns and getting ready. I figured that was probably the right thing to do. After more than a little struggle with getting the carbine off my back -- stupid fucking wet fur -- I managed to get it up in front of me.

A mouth-wieldable firearm was something that made me twist my head in confusion. How the heck would a weapon that was held so close to your face fire without jaw-bruising recoil, massive aim corrections, or getting spent brass and hot gas in your face? The recoil issue was apparent enough, as the carbine itself had a stock that braced against my ‘shoulder.’ The stock alone could be considered a small work of art, as it was horribly lopsided like the ‘L’ piece in tetris, with the odd block that stuck out placed use for support. The mouth grip was on the opposite side of the L-block, and padded so thickly that I worried if it all was necessary. I assumed that by bracing both together, I could keep the whole contraption somewhat steady. It will be a miracle if I can fire this and live, I silently mused to myself.

Gingerly, I bit down on the century-old grip, taking the tired, aged piece and lining it up with my teeth. There were several spots designed for molars which seemed to line up roughly with mine. Nothing was a perfect match, but it would have to do. Fitting this whole arrangement into the singular space of my mouth was awkward to say the least. I bit my tongue once or twice as I shifted the contraption roughly with my shoulder, and the whole apparatus jutted awkwardly against my right cheek.

On top of it all, there was this thick piece of hard rubber that I was supposed to stick my tongue under and lift in order to shoot. Equestria definitely had a unique version of a fingerless trigger. I could already imagine how tiring it would be to depress a lever with my tongue five hundred times. I don’t even want to know what five hundred rounds’ worth of recoil would feel like in my jaw. The sights were a typical peep and post setup, except the sights sat squarely in the middle of my vision. I shook slightly back and forth, trying to move the weapon slightly to the right against my shoulder without losing the mouthgrip that I had worked so hard to arrange. Success! Over the span of a solid two minutes, I finally was holding my gun correctly. There was no real telling if it sighted in or not, and if so, how far off it would be. Perhaps this was the technical definition of crapshoot.

I took a moment to look back at the rest of our party, and silently hoped that they were faring better than I was. Page was levitating the pistol rather than holding it in his mouth and was waving it back and forth silently with his magic. He nodded when I looked back, and sighted the glowing revolver it in front of his face on a rock at the edge of the fog. I just hope he can hang onto it once he fires…

Dizzy was working the action of his rifle back and forth without really looking down at it, and I figured he was just trying to get very familiar with that motion. He gave a little scowl every time he wrenched the bolt open. Wingnut bounced around on his hooves a bit, occasionally bucking slightly onto his rear legs. The shotgun he wielded in his jaw was aimed out into the distance aiming at nothing but the heavy fog.

Ash was very pointedly sitting on the opposite side of me from Radheart. Defusing that battle seemed like something that would have to wait for after the gunfight, if ever. The only member of our ragged crew not nearby was Stalemate. He sat next to some farm-mare, doing his darndest to chat her up. I wasn’t exactly studied in pony psychology, but I was pretty sure the tail waving was more than friendly. The longer I looked, the more sure I was going to break it up after the fight. We didn’t need to be dealing with the Alpine equivalent of child support.

“Sage, where the fuck are you?” called out Rainfall from somewhere in the front.

Here, but it’s fucking hard to yell back with a gun in my mouth! I managed to stop making noises before I embarrassed myself, lost the grip on the gun, or shot somepony’s face off. It’s hard to see around this thing too. Now armed literally to the teeth and my saddlebags firmly back over me, I stood up and looked around for Rainfall. He was there alright, one hoof above his eyes in a pointless gesture to see in the low light of the fog. He spotted me the moment I stood, and beckoned furiously for me to get over to where he was standing.

The herd watched as I walked through their midst. Here was the pony who had indirectly dragged them all the way out here. A feathered fuck who couldn’t figure out how to hold his gun and was slipping on the grass of a mountain meadow. At least I figured it was a meadow, hard to tell under all the mist. Rainfall no longer wore the annoyed grin I’d seen him sporting in Alpine. Now, it was a small worried frown, one that didn’t leave me feeling very confident either.

“Alright, Sage. Guess who’s going in first.”

“Oh, that sure took a lot of guessing. Mind filling me in on where we’re going and what your plan is?”

“Sure, are they coming with?”

I turned to see Dizzy, Page, and Stalemate. I didn’t have to walk up to the unknown alone.

Rainfall, along with the trapper, a yellow earth mare named Spring, led us up the next ridge. As they got closer to the top, both of them slowed their gait, and chose their steps carefully as to stand on patches of dirt rather than rocks, keeping the clacking of their hooves from sounding. Following in their steps was hard when I hard to turn my entire head, plus gun, to see where to plant my hooves. It was a long and difficult set of switchbacks...wait, switchbacks? Why were we on a trail?

There wasn’t any fooling myself on that part. We were clearly on a path, thin and barely worn into the weeds on the side of the hill, but it was there. As if that weren’t enough to keep me alert, the mist began to rise, or rather, we rose above it. The ridge we were traversing was the first mountain feature in many miles to rise above the mist, but it wasn’t the last. Up ahead, Rainfall and Spring were crouched, crawling along the ground as they neared the top of the ridge. I followed their example, and heard the scuffing noises as everyone else did the same. After enough time of dragging my coat through the almost-mud, I poked my head over the top of the ridge.

“Look there,” whispered Spring. “North Watchtower.”

Across a small ocean of mist, perhaps three or four hundred yards away lay an old pre-war stone building. It lay in a cleft between two ridges of grayish-white stone, with a third behind it. It was as if the top part of a small mountain had been hollowed out on one side, and a fort had been placed in the gap. The building itself was two stories tall, built out of the same light-gray stone as the mountain it resided on. There was a light on in the second story, though from the distance I couldn’t tell what kind.

In front of the crumbling fort was an equally dilapidated wall, filled in with rusted metal in several places where the rock had crumbled away. Two large gaps dominated the wall near the ends, with larger chunks hanging off to the side. After a few more moments of staring, I realized those were gates that the raiders had just left open. What was the point of having a fortress if you didn’t shut the door?

A rusted crane rose into the air on the western side of the compound, at least a story taller than the building. The control deck on the hulking machine was almost level with the roof of the building, and I could see a pony either asleep, or for some reason slumped over the edge of that platform. It was too hard to tell at this distance. One thing that did catch my eye was the switchback cut into the rock at the back of the compound. It climbed all the way up to the peak of the mountain, and at the top stood the silhouette of a pony. I couldn’t tell if he was looking at us or away, if he was armed, or if he had spotted our scouting party. Spring pointed to that figure as she whispered to us.

“That’s their lookout post. They know if any caravans are coming that way. Not many come from the north and west, but anything that does...they see it. And if they see it…”

Well, we all knew what happened then. I glanced over at Wingnut, who was frowning, but no more visibly angry than that. Nothing more to be gained, we crawled back down below the ridgeline. As soon as we were clear of the lookout’s line of sight, Rainfall turned to stare at me.

“So, what’s your plan?”

The fuck? I coughed and tried to buy time to think. “My plan?”

“Yeah, your plan. Did you forget about the part where you guys are going in first?”

“I uh…had a few ideas, but--”

“Oh come on, can’t you fly over there nice and quiet and knock off the guards and then tell us when it’s ok to go?” Rainfall sucked in a sharp breath right as I let out a terse sigh.

“No, Dizzy and I have no idea how to fly. Did you miss the part where we kept falling off Radheart’s roof?”

“No, I was busy making sure an entire village had food and guns for this trip! Well that’s just great! The only reason I even thought this would work in the first place was because we had you featherfucks to help. Now we have nothing.”

“We have a large group of very angry ponies, that are at least moderately well armed. strength in numbers, we move as a group, hit them hard, and if we’re lucky surprise will be all we need.” Dizzy was peeking out from behind a rock, looking at the complex.

Rainfall bit right back. “Now listen here, you fool, what happens if there are more in there than you think?”

“Some leader you are. See all those ponies back there? They’re watching you. They will follow you to hell and back if you have the courage.”

Rainfall and Dizzy started to raise their voices at each other before Spring shushed them both. Realizing the gravity of the situation, they continued their argument quietly, but just as harshly. In that quiet, I tried to think. What else could we do? Dizzy was right, everyone would charge if Rainfall did, but was that really the only option we had on our plate? Somebody whose name escaped me once said that if you were running out of options, then you weren’t considering everything. There had to be other choices, and I just didn’t know enough to make them happen. One or two ponies here did, though.

“I’d say he’s technically a leatherfuck,” sniggered Stalemate as he pointed at Dizzy and shattered the argument in process to pieces.

Four voices demanded an answer all at once.

“Well, you called Sage a featherfuck. So it would stand to reason that Dizzy’s a leatherfuck. Also, he gets more fuck than you do, if you get my drift.”

“Why did I ever think bringing you idiots along could possibly be a good idea?!”

“It’s not,” I answered Rainfall. “But now is our chance to make it a workable idea if we stop to think. I’d like to help, but I need to know what you can do and what we’re up against before we charge in screaming.”

“What more is there to possibly consider?”

“Well, first of all, what exactly lies between us and that fortress? All I see is a bank of mist. For all I know, we’re pole-vaulting across a chasm.”

A spark lit up in Spring’s eyes. “Well, not exactly. The lower end of this valley does move across a land bridge of sorts to the fortress, but it gets narrow. We might be able to do five across, and that’s if everyone squeezes in. I wouldn’t recommend it with the mist, because there’s a steep drop on each side.”

“Well, that’s not exactly good news, but it helps.” I rubbed a hoof under my chin. It wasn’t exactly as comfortable or thought provoking as rubbing stubble. “What exactly is the terrain covered in down there? Is it grass, dirt, or all rock?”

“A little bit of each. The bridge though is all rock, I’m afraid.”

Well, perhaps if we all walked slowly, we could sneak by. One loose step though and the lookout would probably catch it. And that loud hoof-fall would probably be from me. “What about the unicorns? Does anypony know any odd spells?”

“Not unless you count that Scythe does all the sharpening on our tools with magic.”

Something sparked in my head right then. “How far can he cast it from?”

“About as far as he can reach, why?”

I put my head in my hooves. “Well, that rules out my brilliant plan to have him slice that raider hanging over the edge of the crane in two from a safe distance. Yes, let’s just go ahead and use the ‘charge screaming and hollering plan.’ Preferably with no screaming and minimal hollering until they actually notice us.”

Dizzy grinned, with absolutely no trace of a smile in his eyes. “I’ve always wanted to run, screaming into a hail of gunfire.”

“And for that, you freak, you’ve just volunteered to go to the top of the mountain and deal with their lookout. Take Spring with you, but you’re going in front.”

“Fine, let’s get this done with already.”

The trip back down the ridge was somehow even quieter than the one on the way up. I imagined everyone was busy with their thoughts of what was coming next. Apparently lunch wasn’t the next item of business. Everypony from Alpine had shrugged their bags to the ground and had availed themselves of whatever arms they had. A fair number of rifles, pistols, and shotguns were scattered throughout the group, but many were not so fortunate. Shovels and knives were rampant, and I even saw one unicorn with a grim expression hefting a scythe. The fact that I could see so many of the villagers meant that the mist was rising and we needed to move soon. Rainfall saw it too.

“Alright everypony, we’re moving now! Follow Sky Sage, and be quiet!” He wasn’t yelling, but speaking loud enough for his voice to carry through the valley. It certainly got every eye looking at me. There wasn’t more left to think or feel on the matter, just instead what needed to be done. I wished I could have taken more time to give my farewell to Ash, but we’d already made peace with the matter on the hike. Well, ‘peace’ was the nicest way to put it, but I couldn’t worry about that right now. I had to focus now more than ever before in my life.

I took a few strides toward the ridge until Spring and Dizzy caught up with me. Spring took the lead, and we followed her around the bottom the ridge. After a few hundred yards of traveling across the almost constant damp foliage, the ridge to our right faded into a misty chasm, and the dirt to hard stone. To our left, that same chasm was slowly growing closer, leaving us on what was quite literally a bridge over stone over goodness-knew-how-deep of a drop. The fall wasn’t the part that had me worried, but rather stepping onto the rock proper.

All my life, if I’d wanted to move silently, the key was either a dainty step on the toes, or to roll my step as it landed starting at the heel. Now, I didn’t have any heels or toes to work with. I’d just have to make do with trying. There, two inches in front of my forehoof was rock, slivers of black running through the white stone, making it appear to be gray further out into the mist. That mist was keeping the rock damp too.

Fuck!

I took a deep breath in, then set my right forehoof down as gently as I could. It made the tiniest clicking noise against the uneven stone. Ever so gingerly, I made my way out onto the rock proper, following Spring. She was already several paces out onto the bridge and moving along steadily. Dizzy seemed to be moving much the same as I was; together we stepped out onto the bridge. Every pace was slow going, and it was perhaps as far as two hundred yards to the other side. We wouldn’t be there soon, and as every step fell another faint echo glanced off the rocks. If the guard heard us, we’d be finished. If we went slow enough that the mist finished rising, the lookout would spot us, and we’d be finished.

All around the mist rose, fading thin into the air. It wasn’t because the air was any semblance of warm in the mountain chasm. No, it was freezing. A chill wind blew perpendicular to the bridge, icing my coat, numbing my legs, and sweeping our cover away. Through a gap in the fog, I could make out the top of the crane at the peak above. Spring saw it too, and started to move faster.

To catch up with her, I’d have to step up onto a small terrace, about an inch or two high. Easy slice. I can do this. That step was just like trying to hike across a mountain ridge, except that there was nothing to hold onto and the ground was slick. Just as I lifted my foreleg to step up, the wind gusted harder and knocked me into the air. Adrenaline coursed as my wings were torn open by the blast of air. In desperation, I angled them right into the wind, losing all effects as an airfoil, and slammed into the ground hard. All four hooves connected with a resounding clack that echoed freely against the mountain beyond. To prove that life really hated me, the ground was just slick enough to cause me to slide, scraping my underbelly against the cold rock and almost bending the barrel of my carbine.

Perhaps the pegasus frame was light enough for that to happen. Maybe I’d just been unlucky and caught the brunt of the gust. Whatever the reason, I’d just let off enough noise for anypony halfway conscious to realize that something was amiss. Spring stuck a hoof in my face, offering to help me up. I took it, bringing me level with her scowl.

“You fucking idiot.”

She was right.

Behind us, the villagers waited, stretched out four or five abreast, watching like a herd of sheep. Someone had just rang the bell for their slaughter.

Still, there wasn’t any use in waiting, and looking at them was just going to unnerve me further. Turning around was probably what saved my life.

I’d shot thousands of rounds in my life. Forty-five, nine-mil, twelve-gauge, sixteen-gauge, twenty-gauge, five-five-six, and perhaps as much as ten times all the above combined in twenty-two. I knew intimately what it was like to be behind a gun, to feel the kick when it fired and taste the cordite in the air. I enjoyed seeing the holes appear in the target, or aluminum can, or rabbit I was shooting at. This was the first time I’d truly been on the receiving end.

Next to my left hindleg, the rock seem to explode, sending chips of metal and rock into the air. Flecks of shrapnel scraped across my rump, and I clenched my teeth and winced. The mentality to avoid crying out was still holding firm, preventing me from yelling even though I knew what had happened. A high pitched metallic whine faded out into the open mist as the round bounced off the bridge. We’d been spotted alright, and the booming report of a rifle echoed through the air a moment later.

“Run!” screamed Spring at the top of her lungs, and then she was gone. She was running, flat-out sprinting toward the far end of the bridge. A scream rang out from somewhere behind me, and then everyone was moving. Nopony wanted to be stuck standing out with no cover and nowhere to run to. There was nothing but death on either side, but a chance at survival through the fight in front.

For Dizzy and I, staying ahead of the crowd was the sole focus of our existence. After three days of practice at walking on level dirt, we were faced with sprinting over slick stone while being shot at. I glanced over at him as we tore down the narrow span of rock. He didn’t look back, too intensely focused on his hoof placement. There were three ways this could end. We could be shot, run too slow and get run over or hurled off, or make it to the other side. I redoubled my focus on not sliding out with each step, and tried so desperately hard to not think about the actual steps. Each hoof landed differently, sliding a little and bringing adrenaline, or stopping short of where I thought it should fall and sending jarring pain up the limb.

Another shot echoed over the valley, but if there was a scream it was drowned within the sheer noise of hooves against stone. I could see the far end, though with each step I could feel the thunder and shake of hundreds of ponies running across that one stretch of land. Thoughts rushed unbidden to my mind of the resonance of hundreds of strikes shaking the rock to pieces and all of us dropping thousands of feet to whatever lay below. Shots rang out from behind me too, villagers shooting back at the raiders, trying to preserve their own on the passage across the bridge.

Something shuffled from the edge of my vision. Dizzy cried out as he planted one hoof too hard and sprawled through the air, landing hard and sliding forward, his rifle sliding in front of him. Everything in me screamed to get him up, but there was no way I could stop quickly from such a speed without sliding and falling myself. The thunder of the herd running behind us told me that there was no way I would be able get him up, even if I was able to stop. Something broke in me as I saw him slip -- I’d sworn I’d never leave him behind. Now, it might very well kill us both, even if it were possible.

Fuck fuck fuck! I wanted to scream out to him, except that I still had a gun in my mouth, face, neck, and shoulder. Truly, deep down, I knew there was nothing better I could do at that moment than to run headlong forward and shoot every last raider I could find. It was a truth, and the only thing I clung onto, pushing the grief into sprinting even harder to the end of the bridge. My hooves clattered the loudest of all. They were the closest to me, so it only made sense, but that clacking was the sound of me leaving my friend out to be trampled and shot.

The far side of the bridge climbed up into the mountain-sized alcove of cliffs much the same way the last valley had descended to it, and shortly my hooves reached gravel, dirt, and grass again. Spring was waiting for me, pressed against the wall in between the two gates. She was motioning to me with one hoof as she lifted a large pistol to her teeth with the other. I thought I understood: everyone was going to run toward the nearest gate, and that’s where all the raiders would go too. If we broke off toward the gate further from the bridge, some of the group would follow us and avoid getting bottlenecked at the first gate. Moreover, we might be able to flank them. I returned her nod as my gallop carried me past her and toward the second gate.

Now with solid ground below my hooves, it was a relatively simple matter to stop and poke my head around the edge of the wall. Well, my head and half a gun. Inside the compound was an utter mess up close. The rusting hulks of what I could only guess was full-scale construction equipment lay next to the mountain walls, interspersed with broken carts and piles of trash. Patches of snow creeped out from under some of the deeper mounds. Only the very top of the crane was visible from my position, the rest of it was concealed by the fort itself.

Fort was a very generous word for the dilapidated structure in front of me. It had been built out of the same stone as the mountain around it and that was exactly where the likeness ended. Blocks had been wrenched out of place by time’s inexorable grasp, some of which were scattered around the yard. Of the three upstairs windows, only one still had a window in it. That last window too fell prey to destruction as somepony kicked out that window and shoved a very large gun barrel through it. From behind, the thundering grew louder again as more and more of the townsfolk spilled out onto the other side of the bridge.

“Go!” hollered Spring.

The inside of the compound wasn’t any warmer or colder than the rest of the mountain trek up to this point, but something felt darker. Here I was, running headlong into the home of a gang of raiders -- ponies who who would delight in my torture, murder, and consumption. As if waiting to confirm my fears, the stench of carrion wafted out of the open door. Door was hardly the right word: it looked more like a an entrance for a car than a pony. Running headlong, however, was exactly the right term. Sadly, running into the side of a building is best done as slow as possible. I had just enough time to turn my face away and avoid slamming my carbine into the wall. My neck, left barrel, left wing, and left legs all clung to the coarse embrace of weathered stone.

“Rrrrggggghhhhhhh!”

An unfamiliar ache screamed up my wing as I bounced slightly off the wall, then forced myself to hug it again. At least whoever it was two floors up with the machine gun would be hard pressed to shoot at me here. Spring lurched to a stop behind me, two more ponies with pitchforks in their mouths right behind her. The blue buck behind them never made it. Two floors up, the raider opened up.

Four rounds in succession went clean through farmer’s hide, taking sprays of bloody liquid with them into the dirt. The shotgun fell from his mouth and he collapsed screaming as the raider fed a steady stream of bullets into the buck’s back. From the other side of the outpost, gunfire started to increase in fury, like popcorn under heat.

“Hahck-harhar! You’ll be tasty, you’ll all die for me!” screeched a mare from up above, probably the same one with the machine gun.

That threat sure kept everypony at the gate back. One frightened mare peeked around the edge only to duck back as the raider above peppered the area with another burst of fire. We had to go in there and take them out, or this would get drawn out into a pyrrhic falling on the spears of the raiders. Spring gave me an encouraging push, spurring me forward and around the door.

It smells like shit! Somepony behind me gagged. I couldn’t afford that luxury.

Inside was like the culmination of every slasher movie arranged by the most criminally insane interior decorator to ever live. Congealed and dried blood pooled into deep red sludge at low points on the once-wooden floor. On the ground floor to the left was a kitchen, the larder piled high with organs and limbs slowly rotting. A congealing mass of intestines near the bottom still oozed blood into a large pile near the base. Every burner on the stove was seated with a pan, each piled high with remains. They were all still raw.

The front half of a pony skeleton hung just above my head, its ribs tied to the balcony over my head. ‘Welcome!’ it seemed to scream in an insane cackle that promised I’d never leave this place, even after I died. No, they’re gonna die. Not me. The morbid thoughts flew from my mind like banished shades, though the cackling lived on, echoing from every part of the room.

In the center of the ground floor was a large cart, one that I presumed was part of the shipment we’d come to retrieve. A tall and lanky raider stallion stood in the middle of it, dried blood coating all his legs. He was probably smiling, but it was damned hard to tell from the other side of the rusty rifle he was holding in his teeth. Instead of shooting, or saying anything, he let out an incoherent scream. There wasn’t anything to hide behind, so I turned my gun toward him out of instinct. Saliva flew in flecks from the corners of his mouth and the gun shook -- only to spray fire out the rear end of the ancient mechanism.

Smoke and embers covered his face like an octopus suddenly enveloping prey. He dropped the gun, howling, and gave me the last second I needed to line up the sights over his thrashing body. What used to be such a practiced motion now became the torture of every muscle in my neck as I first pointed the gun at his barrel, then leveled the rear sights on him. Those too blurred out as the post came into focus, now centered in the peephole. The raider was out of focus, and that was ok, because I knew where the bullet was going. Gently but firmly, I depressed the trigger mechanism. Yuck.

Raw force pressed into my jaw and teeth, threatening to push them all back into my throat and tear the gun completely away from my sides. Hot air washed over the right half of my face, following the spent brass through the air. It smashed into the ground, just like the raider in the cart. This time, there wasn’t any shock or horror.

Spring bounded into the room, followed by twin orange unicorn bucks, both of whom looked like they were barely old enough to be working the farm, let alone handed a gun and told to fight. Each of them clasped a pitchfork, one barely holding it between his teeth, the other in a flickering nimbus of amber magic. Together we advanced toward the cart where the raider still twitched in his own blood. Everything was stained red in here.

“Come here!” screeched something far higher pitched than any mare’s voice should go. “I just want a little taste of you!”

At her declaration, several grenades flew over the cart and landed with a clink next to my hindlegs. What did life want me to do, throw them back? I wasn’t a fucking unicorn! Shitshitshit!

The only nearby cover was the cart itself, so with a running leap I dove around the side, silently wishing Spring and the colts had done the same. Out of all the sensations, the pressure wave was the worst, physically pushing the air past me. Fire and shrapnel screamed past at a volume loud enough to leave my ears ringing. They weren’t dead enough to miss the sound of somepony clacking down the stairs behind me.

She clenched a drool-covered knife in her teeth, and that was about all I got before the carbine was up and firing. No time for precise aiming this time. If it was pointed at her, it was good to go. Three, five, eight rounds, and she was knocked back onto her rump, screaming and laughing at me. Once I stopped reeling at the agony in my jaw, I got a second look at her. Glazed yellow eyes stared right back at me as if I were a medium-rare veal cutlet. She wore a cuirass of spiked leather armor, of which all my rounds had either impacted, or missed her cleanly. Now, lying back against the stairs and trying to recover, she couldn’t get away while I took just enough time to aim between her eyes. Her brain matter mucked up the stairs almost to the top, where a closed closet or bathroom door waited.

With the stair-guardian dead, it was a straight shot to the second floor. Well, as straight as it could be trying to climb a ripped-up and crumbling wooden staircase that was now covered in splotches of raider brain, in addition to dried splotches of blood from places I didn’t want to imagine. There wasn’t time for me to worry about what I was stepping in. If the raider upstairs didn’t get Spring, the other two behind the cart would while she was pinned down. I lifted up my foreleg and looked for a good place to put it, only to have the carbine barrel bump into the stairs. Climb by touch was how it was apparently going to be.

The second time I slipped and slammed the carbine, and by extension my face, into the floor I could hear Spring yelling something around her gun. It wasn’t exactly comprehensible, but the odds of it being something other than ‘hurry up’ were rather low. Her voice shouldn’t have been audible over the spray of gunfire, and with a start I realized the machine gunner must have been out or loading. With a vengeance I scrambled up the remainder of the stairs, then almost went back on my vow not to throw up when I reached the top.

Every inch of the loft had seen gore dried onto the floor, leaving a solid red tile that cracked at my touch. The crunch as my hoof fell startled the raider, who was halfway into attaching a new drum onto the base of her weapon. Up close, it looked more like an old light machine gun: something pony-portable, but still capable of spraying like a bullet hose. The bitch herself was wearing no armor, just matted in too much blood to be any kind of innocent. I lined her up just in time to watch her dive behind a small pile of boxes filled with climbing rope. Next to her was a ladder that led up to the roof, judging by the gray light streaming down from the hole in the ceiling.

Trying not to think about what, or who I might be treading over, I tore across the space separating us. On the far side of the boxes sat the raider, still tugging at the ammo drum. Staring up into the barrel of my carbine, she laughed at me. Each chortled syllable tore at my heart like a curse. I stared back down at her yellow eyes, slowly tightening my jaw.

“Birdie come to play! I eat bird, I ha--”

Brains splattered the wall and her head snapped back to accommodate the force of the round passing through her skull. This wasn’t murder. It wasn’t even war. It was putting down animals. For the briefest of moments, the acrid smell of cordite was stronger than the reeking rot of blood.

Somewhere below, Spring yelled again, followed by another volley of fire. This time though, we had the upper hoof. I smiled faintly at the thought, insofar as was possible around the grip. Looking over the balcony, I could see that neither of the sides had scored a fatal hit on the other. Spring and her companions were huddled on one side of the cart, and two or three raiders were against the other, judging by the weapons poking out above it. The bucks sat on either side, prodding the raiders off when they got close, but it seemed to be a stalemate for the time being. I couldn’t get a clear shot from here, but if I walked back over toward the bathroom...I could have sworn the bathroom door was closed.

Another raider buck, this one an earth pony with one eye swollen shut and oozing pus, popped out from behind the bathroom door and leveled a shotgun at me. I backpedaled, then tried to jump backwards behind the same boxes the other raider had just hid behind. Buckshot cleaved the air into a dozen screaming voids in front of my muzzle as I slid across the floor, matting my coat with blood. Somewhere on the other side of my meagre cover, the raider buck cackled.

No!

PaiNn

FallLLInnnng

reDdd

Blurrrrrrrrr

Hate.

Rage shone through the haze of pain like a lighthouse through the fog of my agony, pointing me toward the one thing that had caused it. That raider buck was laughing, hacking up blood with each exhale. Still more gushed through the hole in the base of his neck, but it was still flowing. He was still alive.

“Yeah you fucking laugh!”

He was close now, close enough to reach. He was already folding like tissue paper, so I kicked him over, and stomped on his face too for good measure. Wouldn’t be shooting me again without any teeth and a broken jaw, now would he? Just a few more crushing blows and he quit his squirming.

“Sage! What happened to your gun?”

Huh?

Spring had poked her head up over the top of the steps to look around. I could only surmise that she’d managed to finish off the raiders downstairs. As for my carbine...I clenched my jaw down, only for my teeth to meet each other in the middle. Frowning a little, Spring pointed behind me. I turned, and there it was, on the ground where I’d been shot, covered in droplets of my blood. My blood! I was still bleeding. Great.

“You don’t look bad,” offered Spring. “There’s more raider blood on you than your own by a long shot.”

She was right about that too. Not really something I wanted to think about at the moment either. The raiders were dead.

“You got the raiders downstairs, right?”

Spring nodded, and I trotted back to the site where my carbine fell. That poor weapon just couldn’t catch a break.

“And the two colts with you?”

She didn’t answer.

Damnit.

The carbine grip tasted like iron. Not the metallic taste of steel, but the slimy, cold taste of blood. At least it was all mine.

Searching the house for supplies sounded about as appealing as moving in. Even though the sound of gunshots had mostly gone away outside, I figured at least somepony could use a hoof, and what better vantage point than the roof? A nod of my head served to convey my intentions to Spring, who followed behind as I hook my forelegs through the rungs. How the fuck am I supposed to climb this?

The answer as it turned out was ‘carefully and slowly.’ Vertical was about as comfortable of a feeling for an equine as upside down is for a human. Still, the view from the roof was worth it. Nothing says knowledge on a fight quite like the view from the highest point on the battlefield.

Bodies of friend and foe lay scattered between the house and the first gate. The fight had been rather one-sided, judging by the dozens of villagers still standing, and the lack of raiders standing. Still, bodies of both lay of the field, accompanied by the cries of their loved ones. Nopony was tending to the fallen yet, rather hiding behind bushes, folds in the mountainside, the wall, and the house. There was probably a good reason for that I which hadn’t figured out yet.

For the second time that day the zing of a near-miss round from on high pinged off the edge of the roof and went screaming out into the mists. This time, the culprit was clear: the lookout on top of the peak. He or she was still a tiny figure at the top of a massive spire of rock. But I saw one thing he didn’t. Dizzy and Wingnut were hauling ass up the final switchback below the summit. He made it! Throwing my legs in the air at random intervals, I ran back and forth from one side of the roof to the other. Not that I was any less likely to get hit, but perhaps the raider up at the top wouldn’t notice them coming for a few seconds longer.

Gauging distance over a quarter mile away is a tough feat at best. Trying to do it days after having my eye sockets moved, depth perception changed, and distance vision altered was a guess at peril. Ten second went by, and then twenty catching odd glances of Dizzy and Wingnut edging closer every time I turned my head that way. No second shot had rang out. Perhaps he was out of ammo, maybe he’d spotted Dizzy, and guessing wasn’t going to help. After dizziness had set in, and the churning in my gut promised to make good on my desire to puke, Spring yelled out.

“Look!”

Dizzy had caught up to the raider. They were fighting hoof to hoof, teetering closer and closer to the edge. Then Wingnut dove on the pile, and the fight shifted. Together they pulled the rifle away from the raider, and pushed him closer to the edge.

His scream echoed across the entire mountainscape, back and forth from one wall to the next the whole way as he fell. Everypony stared, unable to look away from what they knew was about to happen. I was unable to do more, unwilling to help if I could, grateful that he would have a short end, and praying I’d be able to forget how his howls slowly faded away after he impacted the rocks below.

Silence reigned for a moment before the mourning cries of the folk below claimed their rightful place, and I wept with them.

Sky Sage: Level Three (50% to next level)
This had really better be worth it. If Rainfall ever gives us shit again, I’m pushing him off a cliff.

Perk: When All Else Fails (I)
You’ve trained most of your life to take hits and fight through the pain, and now you actually have something worth fighting for. This perk may be taken multiple times; the effects stack.
When your HP drops to below 10, gain 3 DT and a 20% chance to gain 20 HP.

Quest Perk: Raider Sickness (I)
Somehow you’ve been infected. Sucks to be you. Pray it doesn’t get worse (it will).
If an enemy within 10 feet of you does at least 25 damage to you enter a blood-rage until everything hostile within your perception range is dead. While raging you may only use melee weapons or unarmed combat, and you lose 1% HP per second. For each enemy you kill while raging you gain a 15% speed and 10% damage boost.

Adonicus: Level Three (50% to next level)
They are all dead, a few less raiders in the wasteland.

Perk:The Grassy Knoll
While in stealth mode, you gain an additional +25% sneak critical hit damage, but only with scoped weapons, all other weapons lose all their sneak critical hit damage.

Ashen Shield: Level Three (50% to next level)
Sage’s a bloody mess! This whole thing was a freaking mess!

Perk: Survivalist
Whether it is making it through an incredibly stupid and suicidal frontal assault on a raider base, or getting by on Radheart’s cooking, you will make it out of this alive.
+10 to Survival skill.

Stalemate: Level Three (50% to next level)
And now I’m gonna have my fucking hooves full with the wounded. Time to work.

Page Gemwright: Level Three (50% to next level)
‘F’ is for Fire, burns down the whole base!

Perk: Elemental Familiarity (I)
Your basic studies have exposed you to the elements of magic! This is by no means mastery, but you are exposed to their presence, as well as their basic manipulations.
Basic elemental spells now are one tier easier to cast.

Wingnut: Level Three
Looks like they can’t fly either!

Perk: Fast Learner
You pick up on everything sickeningly fast. Everyone may jealous at how quickly you learned to walk right now, but the real prize of knowledge is still on the way.
+2 skill points per level.

Author's Note

So Seth/Wingnut suggested I huff glue to get a better idea of what raiders would do for their interior decorating. Hardy har har har. On a more serious note, the ‘Spec Ops: The Line’ soundtrack was half of the inspiration fuel for writing the fight scene in this chapter. Give the tracks ‘No Values’, ‘Sand Coffin’, and ‘H2O’ a listen if you want to have a little extra sound during the fight.

In other news, I'm starting my vlogs again. Remember, tell you friends, family, and your enemies too!