The Crystal Front: Hunted

Snow intermingled with ash danced over the cobblestone streets, blown this way and that by the whorls and eddies in the wind. Somewhere in the distance, the charred skeleton of a structure collapsed in a sooty cloud. Though the wind mournfully whistled its way through the ruined hamlet, the air was otherwise silent. It was the peaceful silence of the dead until it was broken by a triumphant cry.
“Aw yeah!” A cerulean Pegasus lifted a pair of paper-tabbed bottles in the air. “Score!” she crowed, dancing an impromptu jig around the sooty floor of the burnt husk of a house. A similarly hued Unicorn turned an ire-filled gaze upon the Pegasus from her spot in the town square.

“Corporal Lightning,” she barked, “looting is strictly forbidden under military regulations.” At this, the Pegasus stopped shuffling about and cast a soulful look at the Unicorn.

“C’mon, Lyra,” she implored, “It’s not like these are doing their owners any good.” This was accompanied by a pointed glance at a pair of charred skeletons nearby. “Besides, I know someone in 3rd Battalion. She’ll pay good money for the rare stuff. You know how much the line units of the Damned will give for luxury goods.” At this, the (supposedly secret) political officer and (most definitely official) senior noncommissioned officer of the Fifth Special Operations Group (Penal) glared at the unfortunate Corporal.

“Corporal Lightning, use of that term is severely detrimental to morale.” Lyra was grinding out the words now. “As such, it can and will be punished harshly under military regulation 49-c, with mandatory penalties up to and including demotion and time added to punishment sentences.”

Lightning Dust looked around the burned ruins of the once-quaint hamlet, the overcast sky, and the equipment worn by the five ponies in and near the village square: specifically, the patches on the left shoulder of each one.

“Riiiiiiiight. Detrimental to morale. Because, y’know, morale is our biggest problem right now. We’re dozens of miles from the nearest friendly unit, tracking down another Imperial infiltration group, technically in violation of orders, technically deserters, facing near-certain death given that if we don’t die in combat we’ll be executed for any failure and probably executed simply for disobeying orders, and oh yeah WE ARE OURSELVES DAMNED!” Lightning snorted. “But sure, morale is our biggest problem. And the demotion and punishment sentence? See the aforementioned bit about being Damned and stick it up your-” Lightning was interrupted by a dull-hued Earth Pony.

“Lightning, what have you found?” she called, trotting over.

The Pegasus held up her loot. “A couple bottles of 180-proof. ‘Least that’s what it says on the labels. You want some later? ‘Course, that’s if the sarn’t over here doesn’t demote me for pointing out reality, which of course is now a violation of regulations.” At that, the Earth Pony shot an askance look at Lyra, who shrugged.

“She was using terms with negative effects on morale and generally behaving in a disrespectful manner. I explained to her what she could expect if she continued using those terms, Lieutenant.” The lieutenant hmphed and looked over her shoulder at a pair of heavily armored figures, a Pegasus and Earth Pony.

“Storm, Quartz, do either of you want some cider later? Lightning’s offered to share.” The Earth Pony silently shook his head, while the Pegasus appeared to consider the offer for a moment.

“What kind of cider?” he called out.

“180-proof, has some apples on the label. I dunno.” Lightning called back. The Pegasus also shook his head.

“I only drink the Sweet Apple Acres cider from before they turned off the quality control. Keep it.”

“Sweet!” Lightning struck up a small, shuffling jig again. “More for me!”

Lyra sighed and began walking toward what had been the town hall. “I’m just going to go curl up in a corner somewhere and sob over this unit and my career. I’ll let you know if I find anything, Lieutenant.” The unit’s commander muttered an acknowledgement and began pawing through the ruins and corpses. The search of the town continued in amicable silence until the darkness fell, at which point the Lieutenant called the team in to their camp in the town hall. The weather had worsened into a howling winter storm as time slipped by, and visibility had dropped to basically nothing by the time everyone got in.

“Something doesn’t add up, Lieutenant,” were the first words out of Storm’s mouth after he took off his helmet and set down his lance. The Earth Pony, long since accustomed to Storm’s direct way of getting down to business, nodded for him to continue. “This was supposed to be just another behind-the-lines Imperial probe, right? Something trying to get into our rear areas and wreak some havoc, maybe make us dispatch units we can’t afford to hunt them down and do some damage in the meantime. So why aren’t they acting like it?”

Lyra gestured around at the town. “It looks like they’re causing havoc to me.”

“But not like an infiltration group should,” Storm persisted. “This has been bugging me ever since we started tracking them. The insertion near Fillydelphia was expected: that was practically textbook. But then they cut sharply to the west, there were all those false trails, and now this town has been absolutely devastated. This isn’t how infiltration groups operate. They look for soft targets vital to the war effort. Farms, small industrial plants, that sort of thing: smash what they can and set some fires on the way out. They don’t inflict this level of devastation, and they certainly don’t wait for weeks before striking an R&R station and supply depot.”

“Maybe it’s just a change in tactics,” the Lieutenant suggested, more to see if Storm had really thought this over than anything else. “Celestia knows the Imperials are smart enough to try new things.”

“That’s a possibility, but this is still ridiculously inefficient for an infiltration group. And the thoroughness of the destruction here… have you noticed that we haven’t seen any Imperial forces, main or auxiliary, among the dead? And the only signs of Imperial magic are those little shards scattered around the place. It’s like they were covering their tracks, but half the point of an infiltration is the psychological component. And why did they wait for so long before attacking?”

Lyra levitated a somewhat damaged sheaf of papers over to the group. “This might help explain. I found these in the protected safe beneath the post commander’s desk.”

“What’s the gist?” the Lieutenant asked as she sorted through the papers.

“Most of these are routing orders. Logistics movement, reinforcement groups, that sort of thing. But one of the pages references something called Tansy and warns the commander to have this depot –Granite Springs—on high security for its arrival.”

“Tansy?” asked the heavily armored Quartz. “Someone’s name, a code, or the actual flower?”

“These orders have the seal of High Command. For something demanding this level of security, there’s no way Command would use an actual name, and this fits in right with their standard procedure for code names. They name experimental systems after randomly selected entries in botanical encyclopedias.”

The Lieutenant looked up. “So you think the infiltration group is after Tansy, whatever that is?”

“Makes sense.”

“It would explain the level of devastation and lack of any traces here.” Storm tapped a hoof on the floor pensively. “They were trying to keep anyone on their trail from learning… anything, really. We don’t know how many casualties they took, or what their real capabilities are. If it weren’t for the –I assume deceased commanding officer of this depot?” He shot a look at Lyra, who nodded.

“Most definitely dead.”

“If it weren’t for his adherence to black box orders, we would have no idea what they were after.”

The Lieutenant looked out a window at the howling gale and got up.

“We’re not going anywhere for a while, but neither are they. Our enemies can’t be more than a day or two ahead of us, so grab a comfy corner. We’ll move as soon as the weather clears up enough to fly. Quartz, you have first watch. Lightning, you’re not allowed to drink anything except water.”

Everyone but Quartz began unrolling sleeping bags accompanied by a steady chorus of Lightning grumbling under her breath.

Twilight Sparkle shivered and wrapped the pitifully thin blankets tighter around herself. Outside her tent, the howling wind was piling up snow deeper and deeper. She was cold, miserable, and desperately wishing that she had never left the comfort of the capital. She had protested at the start of this mission that she was doing far more good exploring the nature of her particular… condition… in the relative security of Canterlot. In spite of that, Marshal Snowdrop had been adamant that she get some experience of the front, and her friends had been of absolutely no help at all.

Of course they were not, the presence in her mind spoke. They are not really your friends at all.

Shut up, she answered back.

They let you get sent to the most dangerous place in Equestria with a pitifully inadequate guard force. All because that Marshal decided you needed some motivation. And deep down inside, you know that it was really because he was hoping you would be forced to fight and he could finally get a real understanding of what we can do.

It’s only a suspicion, she protested.

And you do not find it odd that none of your friends came along on this journey? None of them wanted to go with you on a “field trip” to the Crystal Front? Your only protection was five paltry royal guards, and you were not even allowed to take a train.

There were reasons for that. Secrecy is paramount; Sombra’s spies are everywhere.

Twilight knew that outside, over a dozen ponies were setting up their own tents under the supervision of her bodyguard, Captain Millstone. She had wanted to help them, but the Captain had insisted that she rest in preparation for the morrow.

And why do you suppose that is? The voice asked. Could it be that he does not trust you? There was a laugh full of dark humor. Of course he does not. No one does. Twilight Sparkle, the neurotic filly who cannot control her magic, who certainly cannot control me.

Shut up.

That’s probably why your “friends” did not really protest when the Marshal sent us out here. Because deep down inside, they were grateful that they finally had an excuse to get you out of their manes.

I said shut up.

And now ponies are dead because of you. Fifty-three were alive when we arrived at that waystation. Now we are fifteen, and you could not do a thing to stop it. No, that is not quite right, and you and I both know it. You could have stopped it at once, but you did not.

The answer is still no. And it will always be that.

“Always” is a very long time, child.

Shut up, and please just let me sleep in peace. Twilight was begging now, and she knew it and hated it. Her ever-present companion laughed again.

Oh, very well. We will need all of our strength to survive the next few days. Pleasant dreams. Her dreams, when they came, were anything but. Instead, she relived the attack over and over in excruciating detail. Every death, every splash of blood and burst of flame sent a fresh spike of terror and panic through her. The night seemed to last forever.