Somewhere over Southern Chicacolt
Half an Hour Later

The deck under my feet shuddered and the picket shook slightly from side to side. In the back of my head I kept running through scenarios for how storming the unidentified Thunderhead would play out.

“Ten seconds to drop!” Comet called out over the radio.

The hatch in the side of the picket slid open and wind began whipping around the vestibule. “You ready Dusk?” Strike asked.

As I looked out the open hatch and down at the top of the Thunderhead I nodded curtly. “Let's do it.”

The picket slowed to a stop a few feet off the top of the ship and shuddered as explosions from flak shells rocked the vessel. “Boarding party, the light is green!”

The drop down to the upper hull of the Thunderhead was only about ten feet, but it felt farther once I realized just how high up the cloudship was. My boots hit the hull with a thud and the wind kept whipping around and dulling the reports of the cloudship’s anti-aircraft weapons. I felt Strike tap my shoulder, and I turned around to see him pointing at a hatch in the hull.

Luckily for the two of us the hatch opened with little struggle and we were able to drop into the interior of the dimly lit Thunderhead. So far there were no signs of any crew, and it didn’t look like our entry had set off any alarms. “Dusk, you good?” Strike whispered.

I nodded and started creeping down the hallway after the pegasus. The dull thuds of the AA guns came in sync with the rocking of the deck plates, likely a sign that they were the source of the motion. “So how do you think it’s going out there?” I asked.

Strike shrugged as we kept creeping along. “It’s probably anywhere from great to absolutely horrible. There’s no way to tell from where we are.” As the two of us rounded a corner the corridor opened up into a large room lit by sunlight. Strike stuck his head out around the corner before rapidly withdrawing and clicking the safety off on his submachine gun. “Looks like the bridge…” He muttered. “Only three officers, all unarmored.”

I swung my shotgun off my back and nodded. “We can take them.”

Strike nodded and ducked around the corner. “All of you, show me your hands!”

To my surprise the three officers did just that. Their hands shot up like rockets at Strike’s order, and they all stayed pointing skyward. As I made my way up to the closest one I recognized an important fact. “Strike… These colts aren’t pegasi.”

As Strike circled the trio he came to the same realization and nodded at me. “So what are you three doing on a cloudship?”

“Wrong place at the wrong time?” One of them offered.

“Well no shit.” Strike spat as he steadied the stock of his gun against his shoulder. “Do any of you have some other bright-sounding answer?”

All three of the stallions shook their heads and I offered a sigh on instinct. “As much as I would love a good answer, I don’t think we’re getting one.”

“Then you do your thing, and I’ll keep Moe, Larry and Curley here off your back.” Strike said, and he immediately began shepherding the officers towards the corner of the room with the barrel of his gun.

As Strike did his thing I stepped over to the helm station. Glancing down at the compass I could tell that the cloudship was locked into a straight course that would likely parallel the other one that it was operating alongside, and the craft was moving ahead at a dismal fifteen miles per hour. “Doesn’t look like these guys are planning on getting anywhere quickly.” I observed aloud.

“Hey, we were just told to maintain the speed and heading that we were given.” One of Strike’s prisoners insisted from across the room.

“Then who’s controlling the weapons?” Strike asked as he shouldered his weapon again.

“Well there’s a pathfinder team that’s been hanging out down in the engineering section.” The same stallion offered. “Chances are they’re the ones doing all the shooting.”

“Strike, we can’t just leave.” I pointed out. “We need to get those pathfinders to come to us, otherwise this little raid won’t go anywhere.”

“Then do you have any ideas?” Strike asked in return.

I started pacing around the deck in a small circle. “Just give me a minute…” As I kept pacing my imaginary circle on the deck I caught sight of the controls. They were still set to maintain the slow and straight course over Chicacolt. “We need to mess with the flight controls!”

“Ya… Take the ship off course and those pathfinders will have to come up here to investigate.” Strike said as he realized where I was going with my plan.

I turned back to the control sticks and wrenched the left one as far back as I could get it to go, and the deck started to shift as the entire cloudship began to bank and take us towards the other one that the Enclave had operating over Chicacolt. “Bridge, what the hell are you doing up there?”

“Oh, nothing important.” I said after hitting the intercom button on the control panel.

“Wait, who the hell is this?”

“You’re worst nightmare!” Strike yelled from across the bridge.

BANG!

The intercom panel exploded in a display of sparks, set off by a bullet from Strike’s own weapon. “Was that necessary?” I asked.

“Well they’ll certainly come to us now!” Strike yelled, and as much as I loathe to admit it he’s right. We’re about to get very busy…

***

Ten Minutes Later…

“They’ll come to us now he said…” I sarcastically grumbled as Strike and I ducked behind one of the bridge consoles.

As plasma bolts petered out as the hit the other side of the console I heard Strike sigh. “Would you rather that these guys be shooting at us or Chicacolt?”

“I’d rather they not shoot anyone at all!” I spat. Somewhere on the other side of the bridge I heard the shuffling of feet, likely the bridge crew escaping. “And I’d rather we not lose prisoners.”

“Well I’m sorry, but isn’t this circle of greatness a bit more important than a harmless bridge crew?” Strike asked, motioning at his face.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “If you say so…” For a moment I tried to catch a look over the top of the console, but a shower of sparks from a plasma bolt forced me back down behind my cover. “Now how do we take care of these Pathfinders?”

“I was hoping that you had some ideas.” Strike countered.

“Do you have any grenades?” I asked, only for Strike to shake his head. “Any explosives at all?”

“Dude, we’re traveling light. Explosives didn’t top my list of things to bring with me.” Strike replied.

As a series of boots smacked against the deck, it was safe to assume that the Pathfinders were now on the bridge. “Alright, come out with your hands up!” One of the Pathfinders yelled.

I recognized the voice as the officer that we had faced earlier. “Well can you answer a question first?” I called out.

“What are you doing?” Strike whispered.

“I’m buying us some time.” I whispered back.

After a few moments I heard the leader clear his throat. “What’s your question?”

“What’s the deal with you Pathfinders?” I called out. “Until today I haven’t seen Enclave soldiers act quite like your team.”

For another few moments there was silence, before the leader finally decided to speak once again. “You’re to thank Commander Dusk. If you never found a way to our world, we would’ve never have thought to go to yours.”

“Wait, so I’m the reason that you Pathfinders exist? Better yet how’d you find out about our first trip?”

“It was kind of hard for our spies to miss your escapades out in the wilderness. Not everyone digs up a corpse to steal its brain after all.” The leader replied. “Once you left it didn’t take us long to find the portal that was in the labyrinth under Tenpony Tower.”

“You had the one on our end destroyed after Cosmo arrived, didn’t you?” Strike whispered.

“I did.” I whispered back. “But we didn’t trash the one on this end… Which means that the Enclave must have reverse-engineered it.”

“So is that it?” The leader called out. “That’s all you wanted to know before we kill you?”

“Well why come to our world?” I yelled back.

“You’ve seen what we’re living with, why wouldn’t we go for your world?” The leader retorted. “Our entire society is dying, and your appearance gave us hope that we could actually survive. We don’t need to muck around in this hell anymore!”

“So that’s what all of this is about, survival?” Strike called out. “You could’ve always just asked for some help!”

“Sorry, but that isn’t how the world works.” The leader replied. “The strong survive while the weak perish. We’re simply the strongest, hence our continued survival.”

“Well so far we’re still alive. How’s that bode for your so-called strength?” I retorted. “I don’t know about you but I think that means we’re the strongest!” But as two of the armored Enclave soldiers rounded the console with their plasma rifles trained on both myself and Strike, that momentary confidence started to wane. “Or maybe it’s just dumb luck?”

“Maybe it is…” One of the soldiers muttered. “What are your orders boss?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” The leader asked as he peered down at Strike and I over the top of the console. “We can’t leave these loose ends unattended.”

“You’re right, we can’t!” Someone shouted, before a set of hands grabbed the leader and tossed him from view.

The other two turned to face… Whoever it was that just tossed their boss around like a ragdoll, but didn’t do anything. They didn’t get the opportunity as they were grabbed by a white-colored field of magic and got ripped across the bridge, making dull-sounding thuds when they hit the wall. “What just happened?” Strike muttered.

With silence came a distinct lack of answers, so I got to my knees and peered over the top of the console. “Uh… Strike?”

Off to my right I heard my pegasi companion offer a low whistle. “Well you don’t see that every day…”

The ‘that’ was a pony wearing a tattered black cloak standing over a now headless Pathfinder. The other two were out cold in the opposite corners of the bridge, showing no outward signs of life. In the hand of this pony was the helmeted head of the lead Pathfinder, while the other held a bloody glowing blade. “You two can come out now.” The pony said, his voice sounding old and scratchy.

As Strike and I stepped out from behind the console the deck began to tilt under our feet. “And just who are you?”

“Who I am is unimportant Commander.” The old pony replied. “What is important is your mission, and it can’t be completed so long as these two war machines bear down on your friends.”

After a few seconds of studying the old bearded pony I finally came to a realization. “You’re the one who saved me back in the Northern Wastes.”

“Glad to see that you recognized me.” The pony replied. “Now I believe that you were planning to teleport off this craft to the safety of one of the nearby rooftops.”

“How’d you-”

“It doesn’t matter how I know. Get going, I’ll make sure that this cloudship keeps its appointment.” The pony stepped forward, grabbed the helm controls and began manipulating them. As he worked the sticks the deck began to rock and bob about. “Now what are you waiting for, an invitation?”

“But what you’re planning-” Strike didn’t get to finish his protest as I grabbed the collar of his jacket and forced a quick change of scenery. As our boots hit broken concrete, a shadow that was hanging over the cityscape disappeared as the hum of turbines slowly faded off into the distance.

As Strike turned around I heard him mutter something unintelligible. “What did you say?” I asked.

I turned and saw the two Thunderheads on a collision course. “I said what you’ve planning is suicide.”

“You’re not kidding…” I muttered as the two Thunderheads closed on each other. As the one we had just departed from smacked into the side of it’s companion, the distant sounds of crunching metal could be heard echoing about the city. “Have you ever run into anyone that looked like him?”

“You mean our Cratwellian buddy? Can’t say I have.” Strike replied. He was silent for about a minute while the two Thunderheads slowly crashed into the lake that bordered the northern part of the city. “You said something about him saving your ass?”

I nodded. “In the Northern Wastes, I got my ass beat. I was about to pass out when I saw him standing over me, firing off a flare gun. That’s how Gramps and Porter found me… But I thought I had hallucinated that pony.”

“There was obviously more to it.” Strike pointed out.

“You could say that…” I replied, cutting my comment short as the wash of turbines knocked about some of the loose bits of concrete and debris. “But we’ll talk about that more later. Right now I get the feeling that we’ve got places to be.”

***

Neighfair, Two Hours Later…

Since being brought back to Neighfair, Kovac had Comet, Strike and myself secluded with Jericho in the infirmary. Within thirty minutes the rest of my team was herded into the cramped room and we all stayed there for the ensuing hour and a half. Suffice to say there was some discussion regarding the pony that Strike and I had encountered on the bridge of the Cloudship. It took a few minutes but both Jericho and Specter recognized the description of our mystery pony.

Over the span of the last two hundred years there had been a number of encounters with an individual that the Second Division called the Mountaineer. All of the descriptions going back to just after the unit established itself in their mountain fortress of this individual were identical. That begs a simple question; who is the Mountaineer? He certainly doesn’t look like a ghoul, but I also doubt that we’re dealing with a single individual. More likely we’re talking about a progression of ponies that style themselves after a predecessor.

As Jericho finally finished his explanation of this ‘Mountaineer’ character, the door swung open and Kovac finally joined us. “I’ve got some good news.” He said as he shut the door.

“Don’t keep us in suspense.” Jericho chided.

“Well our scouts managed to recover some Enclave communications hardware.” Kovac explained. “They had a lot riding on those two Thunderheads, and losing both eliminated a significant tactical advantage that they had. That’s why West Wind has ordered all of his forces back to Canterlot.”

“They’re retreating?” Gramps asked.

“That's what it sounds like.” Kovac admitted. “But we can’t let them take the opportunity to dig in and regroup. If they do, defeating them will become significantly more difficult… Tomorrow morning, we go to war.”

Author's Note

So that's it for this third story arc! Was it short? Yes, but that'll change for the next arc. We'll focus on the attack on the Canterlot ruins, a period that puts some more focus on Dusk and Steeljack. The working title for that arc is "The Initiative", and we'll finally see Kovac become the villain that he's been established as. In the intervening time I've pumped out a grand total of eight complete chapters with a ninth in progress for the successor to Broken Mirror, Reflections. But before we get to that we've got another interlude chapter coming up!

In the meantime, anyone got questions? Like what you're seeing so far? Hell, maybe have some gripes? There's a comment section and the Mirrorverse Codex. Read and comment away, because I want to hear from you fellow denizens of this corner of the internet. Until next time gang!
-Striker