Cardinal

by Director Waffles

Rating: mature
Tags: Human, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Other, Changelings, Original Character, Science Fiction, Royal Guard, Princess Celestia, Crossover
Length: 8657

The Vanguard-UEG-Coalition Destroyer Leonidas and her crew are forced to help a War-Torn Equestria after they flee Earth as Cortana begins her hostile takeover.

This story contains mature content, you have been warned.

On March 9th of 2558, Cortana and her Guardians began their Hostile Takeover of the known universe, starting with Earth. On that same day, the Vanguard-UEG-Coalition’s Leonidas and her crew flee Earth as Cortana cripples the UNSC and Humanity’s overall force. After nine years of random jumps through slipstream space and drifting through the void, they come across Equus, an undiscovered planet in a galaxy far, far away. Gunnery Sergeant Casey Ambrose is thrust into this hostile, new world with only himself, his armour, weapons, and a squad of misfits that barely classified as ‘soldiers.’

Meanwhile, on Equus, war has broken out, and Equestria is the front line. The ponies and their allies are fighting for their lives as the Southern-Continental-Syndicate begins pushing into the Equestria’s territory, and that of her allies, eager to plunder their lands and destroy their allies. Twilight Sparkle is at the head of this war, assisting the 39th Royal Guard Regiment in the front lines; Ponyville.

Follow GySgt. Casey Ambrose and Field Commander Twilight Sparkle as they fight through the most brutal and one of the only wars Equestria has ever fought in.

Editor: None. (Please, point out any grammatical errors you find. It helps a lot.)
HiE, Alternate Universe, Halo-Esque Crossover fic.
Cover Art made by the amazing Feireee.

Published 2017-07-29 17:00:10 UTC
Last updated 2018-03-17 04:34:43 UTC

Prologue.

Alright. Gonna make a try at getting back into writing. Let’s see how this goes. Wish me luck! -Colonel

March 9th, 2558. Tratski Orbital Platform

First Lieutenant Tamarochka sat at her post on the orbital station near the site where the VDF/UNSC Coalition’s prized ship, the Leonidas, was stationed, smoking a cigarette and resting on a crate. She enjoyed the job, and got to speak to members of boath groups. Albeit, peace between the two within said coalition is quite unsteady, it’s still peace nonetheless. She found it to be quite annoying, however, when she ended up having to defuse situations between civilians with differing political views. That got on her nerves. The lit cigarette in her mouth was beginning to dim, and she got up from the metal crate. The lieutenant snuffed the cigarette on the shoulder pauldron of her Jumpmaster MJOLNIR armor, and picked up her BR85N Battle Rifle off of the crate.

She clicks the bolt back, slides in a fresh magazine, and clicks it forward. The weapon’s safety goes on, and she gets back to patrolling the station.

Tama never quite found much to worry about when moving about the orbital station, as the system’s AI, Odessa, maintained security quite well. Though, it was better safe than sorry. Especially with all the conflict going on around the galaxy. Who knew? Maybe Tama would end up stumbling across some crazy alien—

And once again, Tama had jinxed herself. She stared out the large viewport, at the giant... Whatever the hell it was. It was larger than the Infinity, and looked vaguely, quite, quite vaguely of a bird.

She broke out of her stupor, and began a sprint down the hall. She needed to get the message to the Leonidas. Or at least get it to them. She tried the radio. Nothing but static. Tama swore under her breath, and swung around a corner, and was met with several VDF MPs, all wearing those suits of thin, gray armor. Their CO had a pauldron with a green stripe across it.

“Sir! Sir!” Tama called out, slowing herself to a halt beside the MP. He turned his helmeted head to face her.

“What is it, soldier?” He asked, his voice hinted with some worry. Before Tama could answer, the viewport to their left shattered from some sort of sonic blast, and most of those nearby were killed instantly. Tama was one of the unlucky few.

“Status report!” The Leonidas’ Captain Aerov Maskelivich, demanded. Aerov was a fifty-two year old Vanguard Navy vet. Aerov stood at six foot eight, with a full head of light gray hair and a short, unkempt beard, defined jaw-line and a rough face, dotted with small scars. Two worn, steely-blue eyes sat in their respective places.

Cayne, the AI, quickly manifested his hologram on the deck. His green-tinted hologram was that of a short man, wearing a uniform with an ERDL pattern,

“We just lost Tratski Station. More are going offline as we’re speaking.” the AI responded. Aerov swore, and quickly diverted his attention to his crew.

“All hands! Immediate slipspace jump, NOW!” He roared over the sounds of warning sirens and klaxons in his ears. The braces holding the ship no longer contained any power, and the hulking six-thousand meter-long destroyer was drifting. Aerov realized this was to their advantage.

“Power up the engines, get us into an emergency slipspace jump A-S-A-P! I’d be damned pleased if we can slip out of this bitch’s grip!” His subordinates got to work, and soon enough, a baby-blue swirling mass of literal nothingness was ahead, with a black center.

“En-route to bubble! ETA Twenty seconds!” Soon enough, the Leonidas was blasting through the void above Earth. Cayne sent a subroutine to record all of the comm chatter, as well as change all radio frequencies on-board to another.

Aerov found himself thanking his Gods that they’d had a test-run of the new weapon systems scheduled that day, otherwise they’d likely be adrift in space.

The ship’s weapons and engines suddenly cut, and Aerov was face-to-face with the deranged AI that caused this entire event.

“Cayne, shut her out!” Aerov barked, and the Vanguard-Constructed Artificial Intelligence quickly got to work trying to close off the bridge.

“You can’t run forever. We will track you down. We will not have mercy, ad—” She was interrupted as the deck went completely quiet and dark. They’d entered the slip-space bubble. The UNSC Infinity was not far behind, which explained why it seemed like the insane AI wasn’t entirely there.

“Thank God. I didn’t think she was gonna shut up.” Aerov stared out at the view-port ahead. It was all black.

“Cayne, I need a status report.” he asked. Cayne detected the exhaustion in his voice a mile away. He spent the next millisecond scanning every system and deck within the Leonidas.

“The medical-bay is reporting that they lost about a dozen patients as soon as the power went out. Everything else seems to be undamaged, just offline.” Cayne informed the captain.

“Alright. Damn it.” Aerov wiped a hand down his face and sighed.

“Get everything back online, then get everyone in the cryogenic storage bay. Long-term... myself excluded.” Cayne acknowledged this with a nod from his hologram.

“A pod in your personal quarters will be prepared just in case.” Aerov nodded. He whistled to the main crew, getting their attention.

“Alright, gents and gals. I’m having Cayne put the crew into stasis so he can do repairs on the ship. Get some rest, you’ll be alerted when it’s ready.” Aerov announced. There were grumbles and annoyed noises among the crew, but they eventually began filing out of their seats and positions, out the main bulkhead door. The UNSC Army troopers flanking the door went with them. Once everyone had cleared out of the bridge, Cayne turned his hologram to face Aerov.

“Lying to them was a bit unnecessary.” Cayne said warily. Aerov shook his head, staring out from the main viewport. Parallelograms of glass in metal frames, going around the front half of the bridge. The rest of it was shrouded with equipment and smaller viewports.

“It’s better this way. How’s the ship looking?” Aerov strolled around the bridge. It was about twelve meters long, six wide, near the end of the hull, slightly raised up and heavily armored. Only way in was via an elevator, or the long, branching halls and stairwells lining the area around it.

“We’re operating at 67% out of the 89% efficiency we are capable to operate at.” Cayne reported, pleased with himself and his maintenance drones. Aerov gave a nod of acknowledgement and stared out into the void.

’Within the thirty-some years I’ve been doing this gig... never thought this is how I’d be spending my last moments.’ he thought to himself.

“... sir?” Aerov shook himself out of his trance. He glanced back at Cayne’s hologram. It flickered softly, the AI’s soft glow illuminating his face.

“Sorry. I spaced out a minute there. What did you say?” Aerov pulled a cigarette case out of his back pocket, alongside an old-fashioned flip lighter, gold-plated with his initials engraved into the body, aside the emblem of a phoenix.

’Definitely worth the twenty-grand.’ he thought to himself as he lit himself a cigarette.

“I said that everything is online. It’s all ready.” Aerov gave a subtle nod, and stared out the viewport, taking a puff of his cig. He blew a ring of smoke and coughed.

“Alright. Once the wounded and dead have been dealt with, send everyone to the cryogenic stasis bays. I’ll be in my quarters... I’m done with this shit.” He muttered at the end, snuffing the cigarette and tossing the butt at one of the trash bins. It missed of course, but that didn’t sway him from leaving the bridge, and making his way to the Cap’n’s quarters down near the stern. He typed in the four-digit code to the door, and walked in, poured himself a glass of whiskey, and slumped into his chair, sipping from the crystal drinking glass.

“Cayne.” he coughed out, choking on his drink a bit. The AI projected his hologram on the projector on the little night-stand beside the recliner.

“Yes, sir?” the AI asked, his voice monotone. This was only a subroutine, which pissed Aerov off slightly. It meant he was focused on something else. ‘Hoping for a whole presence... Eh.’ he shrugged it off.

“Is everything ready?” The subroutine froze for a moment, then responded.

“Yes, captain.” Aerov gave it a nod, then opened the drawer to the night-stand and pulled out an M6H2 Magnum. He clicked the safety off, and slid the magazine out. Twelve rounds, full. He slid it back in, and placed it in his lap.

“Alert me when everything’s done and ready. If and when my lifelines drop, cleanse my room.” Aerov ordered. The subroutine was replaced with the full form of Cayne.

“Sir... what are you suggesting?” He quizzed, worry flooding his voice. Aerov gave him an award-winning smile.

“Nothing. Now get back to work.” Cayne gave him a nod, and his hologram dissipated. Aerov leaned back and closed his eyes.

‘I’m getting too old for this shit...’ He cracked his eyes to give a glance at the magnum one last time, then closed them again for a quick power-nap. He needed it.

Aerov woke up to the sound of Cayne’s subroutine beeping like an alarm. He sat up, and glared at it.

“What is it?” he growled, rubbing his eyes.

“Everything is completed, sir. All crew are accounted for in their pods.” Aerov gave it a nod, and wrapped his fingers around the handle of his M6H2.

“Cayne, you’ve got full control of the ship. Only awaken the troops if needed... I’m not fit for duty any longer.” Aerov sighed, and placed the pistol to his jaw.

“It’s been an honor, sir.” Cayne said. The real one. Aerov sighed.

“Godspeed.” And with that...

Captain Aerov Maskelivich was dead. Cayne did as asked, and, other than his pistol, lighter and a few photos, Maskelivich was no more.

Author's Note

And there is chapter... er, zero. Prologue.

Unseal The Hushed Casket.

Author's Note

Here’s Chapter One: Rewritten. Hope you all enjoy it! :twilightsmile:

Unseal The Hushed Casket.

-=[August 7th, 2567. 21:00 hours.]=-

The Leonidas drifted through the void, its main engines cold. The service drones inside, however, worked away, doing their best to keep the hulking vessel at a functioning state. The internal systems and parts were intact. The hull was a different story entirely. The Class-A Titanium plating covering the precious inhabitants was littered with dents, gashes and scrapes of varying sizes and shapes. The few maintenance drones that could function outside of the ship were either damaged or destroyed. The backup engines and generators continued chugging electricity throughout the ship’s essential systems. The ship was dark, all systems other than the very bare essentials were offline, except for one. The holographic projectors. One of the many bowl-headed, short humanoid maintenance drones entered the bridge, and found itself floating past the Navigation and MAC Gun stations and into the Command Center, past a pair of metal-plate bulkhead doors.

Cayne ‘stood’ on the arm of the captain’s chair in the bridge, giving the bot a glance, before continuing to stare at the planet that they were currently orbiting. It was maybe double the size of Mars, and quite dull in its colouring. The planet was roughly 63% water, if his math was correct. (It usually was.) After closer examination, he found many man-made structures dotting the landscape, which meant civilization.

Worriedly, Cayne queued the Leonidas’ Main-Engine Startup to begin activate. He risked a glance at the main batteries that charged the engines. Sixty-Three percent charge. Not too bad. He reassured himself. The Artificial Intelligence let out a ‘breath’ and began opening up the Cryogenic Pods, one-by-one. First were the Alpha and Bravo blocks, consisting of the Vanguard Defense Force Marine Corps, Army Corps, Demolition Crews and even a few VSO—Vanguard Spec Ops—Non-Com personnel. Next were the Charlie, Delta and Echo blocks. He left the final two—Foxtrot and Gamma—blocks alone. They contained the SPARTANs assigned to the Leonidas. Unless the situation called for it, the remaining crew of the VDF/UNSC—Cayne was still working on a proper name for their little Coalition—Leonidas would be fine without them. Besides, they needed the rest.

In the Cryogenic Storage Bay, Vanguard Military Personnel either in black, armour-compatible bodysuits, or in the white jumpsuits with light gray accents on the sides along the abdomen and upper torso, underarms and inner thighs began falling onto their knees and feet, coughing and hacking as they awoke from a nine year drift in space.

Amidst the chaos, one stood out. Gunnery Sergeant Casey Ambrose of the Cardinal Platoon of the VDFSF. The Gunny was encased in the black and gray under-armour styled bodysuit worn with the ARGUS-V Body Armor. The suit itself was primarily black, covered in plugs, buckles and cable ports for the ARGUS-V Armor, with a dark gray accent that covered the sides and outer abdomen, directly on the under-section of the upper arms, inner-section of the forearms, and the inner thighs. The color scheme was chosen to be better for stealth operations, and to intimidate. His bodysuit was covered in scratches and ‘scars’ giving it more of an intimidation factor.

Casey himself stood at around six-foot, eleven inches. His body was built with muscle and scar tissue. Casey’s left shoulder bore a tattoo, a pin-up styled drawing, a figure in a stick figure-esque design, wearing a pair of shortened jeans and a flannel top, tied around the chest in a ‘Daisy-Duke’ fashion, straddling a bomb. On his back, was a series of black floral and ivy designs that ended at the base of his neck. A pair of angelic wings were burnt into his back by white and black ink.Casey’s left arm and legs were prosthesis, metal and built to be around the same size of his arm. The original was a basic skeletal design like the UNSC used, although with some time and a few friends in the higher ranks, he was able to get the arm reinforced and upgraded. A small barrel rested at the base of his prosthesis’ forearm, above his hand, and at his wrist was a hidden six-inch retracting blade. The arm was coated in black paint, sporting flame designs that rose up to his artificial shoulder. The arm itself still held the plate armor of the ARGUS-V suit that was specially made for Casey, sporting half-circle-esque plates on his forearm, followed by a single thick, semi-flexible titanium piece on his upper-arm. A tallish half-circle styled pauldron joined on his prosthetic, bolted into the shoulder. His legs was not much different. It sported a single piece of armor that coated his calf and shin, with a knee-guard piece built in from the shin-piece. The thigh-guard was bolted into the leg, too. Nothing special other than the obvious about the appendages, other than allowing him to lift a good hundred more pounds than his teammates.

His hair was relatively long, reaching down to the base of his neck and tickling at the flesh lightly. Clean-shaven face. His eyes, alert and constantly looking over his surroundings, were a light shade of pink, with a sort of glow to them. In reality, the artificial ‘glow’ was from a set of augmentations he’d received as a child, giving him a tactical advantage over most of his peers. His lip held a single scar at the leftward corner, reaching from the tip of his chin, to the base of his cheek, crossing across the corner of his mouth. The entire right side of his face was covered in burn scars as well, giving him an overall intimidating feel.

Casey grunted as he fell down from his Cryo-Pod, dropping to his hands and knees as he fought back the feeling of bile in the back of his throat. Inhale... wait... One, two, three, four... exhale. He repeated the exercise a few times, then crawled forward, groping at a railing along the east wall, slowly pulling himself up onto his robotic legs, stumbling at first as he waited for himself to get used to the feeling of being on legs again, albeit robotic ones. Casey stood there for a few moments, before looking up at his peers. Soldiers began stumbling, shambling, shuffling toward the exit, a bulkhead door that was separated into four sections. Casey forced himself off the railing, stumbling a bit at first. He took a moment to realign his senses, before slowly trekking down to the door. A holographic display opened up in front of him, display the button to open the door. He activated it with his Neural Interface, and walked through.

A chill went down his spine as he was forced to get used to the change in temperature, a sigh escaping his lips. He found UNSC and Vanguard personnel moving about and conversing. A few Military Police were in the background, wearing the gray bands over their left arms and helmets, baring the insignia and ‘Vanguard Defense Force’ or ‘United Nations Space Command’ Military Police around it. A few marines and army troopers, dressed in BDUs or extra clothing. The occasional VDF Marine Corps/Army Corps personnel had on UCP-Styled cargo pants and hoodies or pale gray shirts.

“Sergeant.” An MP greeted him. She was a short UNSC corporal, in a full suit of UNSC Military-Police Armour, helmet included. Casey gave her a tilt of his head.

“Cardinal Actual needs all Cardinal squad personnel to the briefing room. I’m passing the message along.” Casey frowned at the response, finding it strange.

“Couldn’t they have just relayed it over the Comms?” He asked, coughing into his mechanical arm. The MP shook her head.

“Negative. From what we’ve been told, Comms are down and we’re in some unknown territory. That’s all I was told, sir.” Casey nodded.

“Alright. I’ll be there shortly, gonna get geared up, see who’s left in my squad.” Casey replied to the short UNSC MP. She went back to her duties, walking off to break up a fight between two jar-heads. Casey ignored them and walked down a western corridor. He passed by many maintenance drones and crewmen, dealing with small issues, such as blown out lights and damaged electrical panels. Casey paid it no mind. The long corridor he was passing through held a hexagonal shape, with the floor being grating and solid plates, the walls in a similar condition. Instead of grating, there were the occasional vents and/or health/charging stations for the ARGUS-V Body Armor, but more on that later. Casey took a left, finding himself at the Armory’s entrance.

The door was normal sized. About three meters tall, two wide. Four slits that made an X formation, with a single circle in the middle, a handle in that circle for manual release, and a holographic display. Casey interacted with the display via his TACPAD, typing out a few keys on the wrist-mounted device. There was a soft ding, and the door slid apart out of view into the floor, wall and ceiling. The armory’s first section was filled with lockers and bulky armoring stations for the ARGUS-V suits. ARGUS-Class Powered Combat Armour suits were one of the VDF’s first creations. A powered suit to rival that of the MJOLNIR System. It boosted the user’s height by a few inches, and required specialized training to equip and augmentations to wear. Without said bodily augmentation, the user would likely end up killing themselves trying to use it, much like the MJOLNIR system.

The suits were designed to protect as much of the user’s body without limiting mobility. It covers most of the torso, upper-arms, forearms, pelvis, calves and shins with a thick titanium-composite material. The abdomen and lower body was covered with a flexible titanium-esque material that attaches to the bodysuit. The chest piece itself has the thickest plating to protect the internal organs. It covered most of the torso, with an arch formation directly at the bottom of the ribs—basically at the stomach—where the protection ends, and the abdomen-piece starts. The back piece that connects to the chest covers a bit of the back. It goes along the length of the shoulders, connecting to the chest beneath under the arms and above at the base of the shoulders, staying out of the way of arm movement. A long metal piece goes down the length of the spine, starting at the top of the back piece.

The shoulders/upper-arms are covered with two titanium pieces. One of them attaches to the outer shoulder, the other on the inner-arm. The forearms are much similar, except modifications, such as webbing, sheathes, or a Tactical Pad—TACPAD/TAC-PAD—can be mounted onto it the outer and inner piece. The inner piece often contains a six-inch, retracting hidden blade for Close-Quarters. The gloves are simply lightly plated with titanium pieces and the flexible-titanium mesh used multiple times prior.

The outer thighs are protected completely with titanium plating, magnetic-plates—or locks—mounted on the middle for things like sidearms. The armor, in places like the thighs, hips, torso and inner-arms allow for the use of holsters. Most prefer them over Magnetic Locks, as an EMP, or ‘Emp’ as some imbeciles pronounce it, can cause the plates to malfunction or fail entirely, if electronically powered. The calves and shins are pretty much completely covered in armour, with one piece for the shin and another for the calf. A knee-guard of sorts is mounted onto the shin piece, unlike the actual knee-pad. Boots are simply titanium with reinforced soles, nothing special there.

Many marines, army troopers and rangers were scattered about the Enlisted MC/AC-Section of the Armory, sitting on benching, gearing up or chatting. Casey made his way past them, into the main armory itself. It was a large, open room. Armour Racks lined the southern wall. The Northern wall—To Casey’s left—is covered in large racks carrying giant metal shells. They were triangular in nature, and opened. Care-Packages for ground-side combat units. On the Eastern wall, directly in front of Casey, was the Quartermaster, a synthetic humanoid, or AI of sorts.

The Quartermaster was a thin six-foot-nine synthetic. Synthetics were a rather new creation, essentially just casings for AI. Though, not really needed, some AI prefer them over the main databases of their ships. Most were just used for purposes such as playing Quartermaster. This Quartermaster had white armour-plating, with many exposed cables and wires on his frame. The Quartermaster—the only designated name given to this Synth-Chassis—was draped in robes and a long cloak that covered most of him. Casey approached the Synthetic Humanoid.

“Greetings, Gunnery Sergeant Ambrose. How can I assist you today?” The Quartermaster leaned against the counter he stood behind.

“I need access to the firearms.” The Quartermaster gave him a curt nod, and walked to his left, typing a few buttons on a data-pad on the counter. A door to Casey’s immediate left slid open. He walked through, and nearly salivated at the smell of gunpowder and lead. The room he now stood in was the actual Armory where all firearms were kept. It was filled with weapon racks in neat rows of two racks every few feet. Casey did some browsing awhile. A few armour racks were visible too, which is what Casey was interested in at the moment. He walked over to one of the racks, giving it a good looking over.

Inside this armour rack, was a suit of ARGUS-V Armour, with many small depressions, scratches and scars in the body. It had a UCP-style design overall, with an olive-green visor. The helmet shared the design of a Corinthian Helmet, with a padded interior, filtration system that gave the helmet a ‘muzzle’ of sorts, a T-Shaped visor, and a futuristic design overall. Headlamps were mounted on little outcroppings on the sides of the face. A cloak was draped over the left arm and left side of the body, a dull olive-drab colour. The torso and abdomen are covered in ammunition pouches, with several canvas bags on the lower back. Several holsters are strapped across the body, two under arm holsters. One under either arm, many different throwing arms in a large carrier on his back that fits snug between the back and the armour and a large ceramic-titanium mesh-plated backpack. The pauldron on the right shoulder was large, baring a striking resemblance toward the JFO-Variant armour.

The right thigh contained a hardcase, with a holster on the left thigh. Several large knives rested in sheathes along the suit’s body. A Kukri, an M11 Combat Knife, a KM2000, and a Karambit, to name a few.

Casey brought up his TAC-PAD and entered in a few codes. The armour rack groaned, before the ARGUS-V suit disappeared from sight. Casey walked to a nearby Armouring Station and climbed in.

Claws, mechanical arms and other types of tools mounted on the circular station began extending, pulling out the pieces of his armour.

The chest pieces were first. Mechanical arms swiveled the back piece into the proper rotation, then pressed it into Casey’s back, the chest piece following suit. The abdomen armour was wrapped around him, with a set of drills planting the spine piece into place. More arms began appearing, clamping the upper-arm parts onto his shoulders. The JFO-esque pauldron was bolted into place, followed by the forearms and glove additions. The thigh-pieces, pelvis gear, calves and shins were attached next, followed by the cover on his boots. The arms brought his helmet down over his head, and his HUD began booting up.

ARGUS-V Heads-Up-Display Booting Up, V.30194a1.
Energy Shielding: Nominal.

Thrust Propulsion: Nominal.

Life Support: Nominal.

Communications: Offline.

Identify Friend-Foe Tagging: Online.

Power: 100%

Essential Systems Nominal. Boot-Up Complete.

Casey stepped off of the armouring platform and rolled his shoulders, letting out a soft groan.

“Nice to be back in my tux...” He muttered, walking into the next section of the Armory, which was packed with weapon racks. Casey grabbed an MA5K, an MA5 silencer, short-range red-dot scope, and three magazines. He attached the mods to his rifle, and mag-locked it to his back. He stuffed the mags into the designated pouches, and grabbed two M6C SOCOM magnums, along with six pistol clips. He stuffed the clips into their specialized slots on the holsters under his arms, and into his pouches. Casey finished it off by grabbing a High-Power Magnum Revolver. It was similar in design to a Colt Python, except for a longer barrel and generally bulkier design. It bore a silver finish and a pearl grip, as well. He spun the revolver in his hand, fucking up in the end, before slipping it into a black-leather holster on his right thigh. Casey grabbed a few boxes of 12.7x40mm cartridges that fed the weapon and stuffed them into his rucksack. Among his supplies were a five-gallon drum of wat er that was strapped to the bottom of his rectangular bag, about six ration packages, a CLS-Kit that went into one of the canvas bags above his tail, a weapon repair kit in the bag above the Combat Lifesaver kit, along with twelve grenades. Three frags, three flashbangs, three smokes, three Electromagnetic-Pulse grenades, all in containers that fit a grenade each on his waist.

Feeling properly equipped, Casey slung his bag over his shoulder and made his way to the Combat-Information-Center, where the briefing was being held. Once he arrived, he was met with two guards on either side of the door. One was dressed in the UNSC ODST BDUs. Her helmet was clipped to her waist, as she was smoking a cigarette. The other was a VDF Army Shock Trooper, the VDF’s rip-off version of the ODSTs. His armour was much lighter than the normal suits of ARGUS-V Powered Combat Armour. Hell, the entire upper-arm plating was gone, replaced by a series of webbing that held miscellaneous items. On this such occasion, it was a set of six .308 rounds on his right shoulder, and a cigarette box alongside a black ace on the left. His helmet is an ARGUS-V-compatible Helljumper-Variant Helmet of the MJOLNIR GEN2 Armour. Both were armed with M7S Sub-Machine Guns. Casey gave them a nod. They both moved out of the way, and the ODST opened the door. The many titanium/steel plates that made up the door slid out of view, and Casey stepped into the Combat-Information-Center.

The room contained a single, long holographic table in the middle of the room. Around it, were a squad of marines from Charlie Company, two members of Cardinal One—his squad—and their CO, a UNSCMC Lieutenant named Mikhail.

The marines all had blue stripes on their left shoulder, marking them as cadets, with their squad leader being an actual private, with a red stripe over the blue stripe, marking him as the senior Non-Com of the squad. Beside them, were the two surviving members of Cardinal Squad.

Cardinal One-Three, their sniper. Corporal Summer was of fair height, maybe six-six, six-seven-ish in height. Her hair was short, barely reaching below the base of her skull. Black, with red tips. Her armour was light, thinner than most suits, although was covered in equipment. Webbing covered her torso and abdomen, ammunition and equipment pouches taking up most of the space. At least four pistols sat in holsters on torso alone. Two under her arms, two on her lower back, right above her tail. Above that, was a large, plated backpack, packed with survival, maintenance and medical equipment. A hooded, white chameleon-scale cloak rested around her shoulders, the hood down. Her helmet was a Marine-Variant of the MJOLNIR Armour, with a pale red visor. Her eyes were naturally a dull silver/gray, strangely enough. Next to her, was Cardinal One-Two, their medic. He was a short guy, maybe five-seven, five-eight. Blonde hair, green eyes. His armour was lightweight,the upper-arm plating replaced by a series of webbing, containing a few orange syrette cases on the left shoulder, and a shoulder pauldron on the right. A skull encased in flame was painted onto the pauldron. If one looked closely, they could make out a medical symbol on the forehead of the skull. His helmet was an Air-Assault Variant of the MJOLNIR-GEN2 Armour. A backpack sat on his back, under a cloak that covered 1-2’s shoulders and chest area.

“Welcome, Gunny.” Casey threw up a salute and stood at attention. The lieutenant chuckled, and waved him off.

“At ease. Take your place beside your squad.” Casey nodded, and shuffled over to the surviving members of Cardinal-One. The LT began his briefing.

“As of now, we’re currently orbiting a possibly colonizable planet. So far, all we have are a few images of the landscape. What we know is that there was some kind of civilization here at one point.” the Lieutenant brought a group of images onto the Holo-Table. Burnt out stone buildings with thatch roofing. Abandoned carts lying overturned on dirt roads. The landscape was black and brown. Everything was dying or dead.

“You’re all to set up or fortify a position to be used as a Forward Operating Base, and get a Comms Unit online. The ship’s Comm-Transmitters were damaged during a trip through a debris field. You’ll be provided with one of the spares...” Casey tuned out the rest of the briefing. Mostly just military jargon that he knew already. Rules-Of-Engagement, What to do when coming in contact with aliens, all that. Once dismissed, Casey began heading toward the Hangars, where their dropships were being held. The squad of misfits, Summer and Cardinal One-Two followed closed behind him as they jogged through the titanium/steel corridors that made up the interior of the Leonidas. Casey used his Neural Interface to open the hangar’s main doors. He took in the sights, slowly moving toward their objective; a Condor.

The hangar was huge. Maybe six floors of space, each ‘floor’ an outcropped pathway, not unlike a Covenant ship’s hangar design. Just bigger. A lot bigger. At the end of the hall, was the Dropship 81-Long Range Transport—also known as a Condor—that would ferry them to and from the planet. The pilot, a gal dressed in ODST BDUs, was waiting for them, chatting with a few engineers.

“Oi, load up yer shite! Wer’ headin’ out shortly.” The pilot yelled out, and climbed into the blood-tray of the Super Pelican of sorts. Casey, the cadet squad and the rest of Cardinal followed. Once everyone was loaded into the Condor, the engines roared to life, and the VTOL lifted up off of the ground, and out of the energy-barrier and open blast doors that prevented everything from being sucked into the deep void. Casey, uncomfortably seated between his squad-mates, settled in and closed his eyes for a long ride.

My Little World War.

Twilight’s Castle, Equestrian-Occupied Ponyville.

Princess Twilight grumbled as she awoke, blinking rapidly. The distant booming of gunfire filled her ears, along with the cries, groans, and screams of dying soldiers from the room next to her. She rose from her sleeping bag, ruffling her wings.

Twilight was larger than most unicorns in height, around the height of Princess Luna. Her body was riddled with burnt scar tissue, void of fur. She was hornless, and her left wing was a prosthetic. Originally, she was skinny and without muscle. Now, she could go one-on-one with Bulk Bicep and win. Her body was encased in a dirty brown cloak, torn at the edges and riddled with bullet holes from the high-caliber rounds from hostile rifle-ponies. Underneath that, was a thin steel cuirass, and thick aluminum foreleg-guards. A coal scuttle-shaped helmet sat on her hornless head. She did a short exercise to get herself prepared for the day, stretching out her muscles and waking up fully. Twilight’s room, filled with propaganda posters and books, was dim, the beautiful pinks and purples that lit it long gone, replaced by a dull, lifeless gray. Bookshelves, filled with tattered and downright ruined books lined the walls, with the windows boarded up. One had an opening, with one of the new Mosin-Neighgant rifles that were being issued to the Royal Guard lying on the table beside it, along with a box of the 7.62x54mm rounds it fired. She snatched the rifle and its ammunition case, tossing the ammo into her saddlebags, the rifle being slung across her back. Twilight gave her room a single sweep, then stepped out of her room, and into the blown-out and burnt corridors of her castle.

Most of the roof in the wide, open corridors was destroyed or just gone, replaced by wooden planks used as walkways by infantry-ponies of the Royal Guard. Their armour had been drastically changed, from a full suit of gold, to a steel or silver cuirass, a bowl-shaped helmet, one of the new gas masks that were still being tested if they were lucky, and a raincoat or drab army uniform. Few of the Castle’s rooms were intact, most being filled with too much debris, or were blocked off. Across from her room was the medical bay, where soldiers and refugees from nearby villages were being treated. Directly next to it, was the Farrier containing all of their guns and ammunition. Infantry-ponies swamped the area, their dirtied bodies all cramped within the tight room, waiting to receive their requisitioned weapons that would never arrive. Wooden military crates, weapon cases, water barrels, all covered in tarps, were scattered about, narrowing the hallway down a bit in certain areas.

Twilight trotted past them, looking up at the dull-coloured skies. Rain would be coming soon. Long ago had the Pegasi given up on controlling the weather. It had gotten out of hand, and at this point, there probably wasn’t going back. All of the able bodies that would be tending to the weather were now either in a mass grave or fighting alongside the Equestrian Army, formed as the war escalated. Twilight pushed her way through crowds of scared civilians and fresh-out-of-the-academy privates, and out the main doors.

Her front lawn no longer was a lawn. It was a six meter trench, covered in tarps and netting. The Command Center was established in the muddy battlefield. To her left, was a staircase made of concrete and wood. Twilight spun and trotted down the stairs, her hooves making contact with the earth with a splat. She trudged over to one of the senior officers, who was reading a report.

“Sir.” She greeted, prompting a small gasp from the Pegasus Lieutenant Colonel. He spun around, and calmed at the sight of the towering Alicorn.

“Oh. Princess. It’s only you. Erm, you surprised me. I was reading reports from the front lines.” The Lt. Col. Explained. Twilight raised a brow.

“Oh? And?” The Pegasus’ expression fell.

“We... We lost the train-station. Our guns can’t punch through the armour on those bucking tanks, and we end up just pouring all our ammo into one tank, eventually taking that down if we’re lucky, only to find the rest of the Battalion right behind them. Doesn’t help that the Gryphons are all shook from the Emperor’s assassination.” The officer reported. Indeed, a week prior, the King—or the Emperor—had been assassinated by an unknown party. The Gryphon soldiers had been acting strangely ever since.

“Anything else to report?” Twilight asked, steeling herself. The officer shook his head.

“I’ll get back to you with that, ma’am.” Twilight nodded, gave him a salute, then trotted into one of the tunnels to the left. The constant boom of artillery overhead was muffled, and replaced by the crackling of fire, dull thumping from the tank treads rolling over their territory, and the screams of infantry-ponies as they met gruesome ends. Twilight picked up her pace, trudging through the six-inch thick mud, her uniform and fur getting coated in Celestia knew what. Blood? Mud? Maybe shit? Who knew anymore.

Twilight eventually found herself in an open room, lit by lanterns. Infantry-ponies, medical personnel and even a few POWs were stationed around the room. A few wounded on stretchers in the corner. Twilight doubted they would live. Crates full of ammunition, damaged or broken weapons, equipment, and survival items were scattered around the room. The little underground bunker was reinforced with metal paneling on the ‘walls’ and ‘ceilings.’ Twilight passed through into the front-line. The trenches—if they could even be called that—were maybe half a meter to a meter tall, reinforced with sandbags, wood panels, corrugated metal sheeting, Tartarus, even corpses. Twilight rushed forward, and ducked down, sliding into place beside a dead medical officer, her rifle leaving its sling, entering her hooves. She crawled along the trench. She passed under a few wooden panels used as a bridge that almost touched her back. A few troopers sat a few meters forward. Twilight edged forward, almost there—

SWIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIISH! KAPLOOM!

“GET DOWN!” Somepony screamed. Fire rained from the sky from the Gryphons’ new early model ‘aeroplanes’ began dropping napalm bombs into the trenches, and onto her once beautiful castle. The trenches lit up like Harth’s Warming trees. Dying screams left the throats of the ponies trapped in those trenches. Twilight blocked out the noise and hugged the floor. Ringing filled her ears. Tank shells were exploding all around. Ponies were being turned into mist. Twilight crawled through the trench, stopping every so often to avoid being caught as Gryphons, Zebras, Tartarus, even a few Diamond Dogs began to trudge across the landscape. Their uniforms varied, although most were similar to the Equestrian Military uniform, albeit with a different insignia and helmet design. Also they were Zebras. And Gryphons. And Diamond Dogs. Not the point.

Twilight eventually found herself resting, a few hundred meters away from salvation; The Everfree Forest. She looked around. No enemies in sight. Twilight got to her hooves and bee-lined for the forest. She heard shouts of recognition, followed by the cracking of bolt-action rifles and the prototype semi-autos used by the Gryphons. Twilight ducked and weaved, her armour the only thing keeping her on four hooves.

Twilight had to scramble through abandoned positions, once secure, now abandoned. She heard a fleshy explosion followed by a gunshot, and found herself stumbling as one of her hooves stopped responding to command. Twilight ignored it, and continued forward. A round pinged off her helmet, and she fell down, face-first into a trench. She groaned, and flipped onto her back. Twilight found herself staring down the barrels of dozens of Zebras and Diamond Dogs.

“Well, well, well. Look at what we have here, boys.” That voice. Twilight let out a snarl as the face of the War-General Nigel Stripes appeared, a smirk adorned on his scarred muzzle. He wore an officer’s uniform and a suit of light armour.

“Go to Tartarus, bastard.” Twilight spat out, trying to crawl away. Four rounds to each hoof prevented that. She cried out, writhing in agony.

“I believe you’re going to be meeting me there, Princess. Tell Celestia I said hello when you get there.” Twilight felt everything going numb as Nigel disappeared, instead was the feeling of dirt being piled around and on her.

So... This is how I die. Buried alive and crippled. Twilight closed her eyes and accepted her fate. She didn’t notice the muted thumps that rang out as she fell from consciousness. Not that she cared. Death was close. She felt it...

Trottingham, One Year Prior.

Twilight remembered the cold, October morning that led to her near-death, and the beginning of the first real war in Equestrian history. The cold was like knives against her furred skin. A light sheet of snow covered all of the gray, stone buildings surrounding them. They were in Trottingham, Twilight didn’t quite remember why, though. Some pro-crown rally, probably. Lots of folks were holding anti-crown and pro-crown rallies, and it seemed to make the crowd pleased whenever the princess(es) showed up to these events. Whether it be Twilight, Luna, occasionally Cadence, the ponies seemed a little less scared and worried. What Twilight did remember was why there were rallies. Lots of “leaked” information about the Zebrican conflict that was growing outside of Equestria. Fear tactics by the Zebras, mostly caused the panic and rallies. Ponies didn’t want to stand behind a pacifist leader when people who did things like the Zebras did. Such as using child soldiers. Rigging foals with bombs and sending them into enemy positions. The ways of torture they used on POWs... It was horrid. Nopony wanted a leader who would do nothing as this happened. Twilight was going to try to assure the ponies of Trottingham that the princesses would do everything in their power to keep Equestria safe.

Spike stood beside her. A recent growth spurt had him standing barely head taller than her, with shiny purple scales and the same green spines. A pair of wings eventually sprouted from his back as well. His muzzle was more defined, and he looked older generally. It made Twilight’s heart ache a little to see him stand tall beside her, like a knight almost. Just a few weeks ago he was her little number-one assistant. Now, he was a drake. According to the doctors who had done checkups and such on him, he wouldn’t get any bigger. He was maybe five-hoof-seven? Maybe eight. Pretty tall, considering the height of most ponies was three or four feet. Her assistant was adorned in a pink vest that Pinkie had made for him, and a beanie with a fuzzy ball on top of it.

Twilight herself was wearing a leather cloak, along with some bland winter clothing she had picked up at a shop in Trottingham. She was gathered in front of the civilians Trottingham Central. Swing music played in the background somewhere. Nearby pubs were open, ponies idly listening as Twilight spoke to them. She did her best to make it out like the crown was ready to take the fight to the Zebras. That they had weapons of the likes that the Zebras had never seen. Mostly it was empty, and most of the civilians could see through it. That didn’t stop them from listening to the Princess of Friendship’s speech. Maybe they found it sad that the princess of friendship, a beacon of peace, was stroking Celestia’s ego by giving them false hope in an insubordinate, inefficient military. A few figures shuffled among the thicker crowds, discerned from the crowd by thick leather cloaks over larger bodies. Twilight ignored them, for better or worse, and continued her speech. Boring, endless, hollow speaking to a crowd who honestly couldn’t care less, but had a civic duty of sorts to listen the princess drone on.

Twilight didn’t even notice the first few as they rang out, and only stood in shock as the crowd began dispersing, screaming for their lives. Spike laid on the ground in front of her, bleeding from a wound in the chest. He had taken the bullet for her. Twilight was at his side in a moment as a small contingent of Royal Guards-ponies began appearing out of the shadows and out of pubs, rushing at the striped assassins, now fleeing the scene. They discharged their muskets and flintlocks at the Zebricans, only to have fire returned. Their gold armour did them no good, simply acting as a heavy paperweight as the Armour-Piercing rounds from their .45 ACP pistols ripped right through. Twilight heard a board creak behind her, and spun around, to face a tall, cloaked Zebrican soldier.

“Nigel sends his regards.” And with that, he fired once. Twilight ducked, only to find an agonizing pain run through the base of her horn. A scream left her lips, and she just about fainted when she saw the upper portion of her horn fall down in front of her, cracked. The hollow-point round had done its job, and ripped right through. The Zebrican assassin was ready to fire another round, only to find the Royal Guard aiming their muskets at him from behind. He spun, took the two offenders down, and rushed off-scene.

Twilight crumpled beside Spike, consciousness leaving her as she hit the floor.

-==-

Twilight gasped and sat upright, shaking her head. She calmed herself a bit. Just a dream... Twilight thought to herself. She took a look around. The room she was in was more of a cave, dimly lit by a fire in the middle of the room, with something boiling in a strange pot above it. She tried to get up, only to wince in pain. Her hooves were wrapped in bandaging, with the fore-left hoof only a stub from the shoulder down. Twilight’s training kicked in and she prevented herself from panicking by doing some breathing exercises. The memory of what happened struck her, and the panicky feeling was replaced with rage. She had let their leader get away without even so much of a peep as they buried her... alive.

How was she breathing? Was this what Tartarus was like? Probably not. Her stomach growled, and her mouth was dry. Twilight glanced around, her eyes adjusting to the dimmer setting. She was lying on a cot or stretcher of sorts from what she could tell. A short collapsible metal frame, with some canvas or something of that nature holding her. A light, blood-stained blanket covered her form, which was devoid its armour. Instead, were rolls upon rolls-worth of gauze. After a quick glance, she found all her things piled up at the hoof of the bed. Twilight eventually found the strength to pull herself up, fighting through the pain in her legs. She stumbled over to the edge of the bed, and went through an arduous process to get into her armour and cloak. The mare found herself exhausted and out of breath, and stumbled over to the fire, scooting over one of the heavy metal boxes for standing on. She sniffed the air. It smelled like meat and tomatoes. She looked into the pot, and found a rather delicious looking soup brewing. Then she saw meat chunks. Although disgusted, her hunger wasn’t dispelled. Twilight pushed the crate back into place and stumbled back to her cot, slumping down on top of it. She heard the sound of loud, metal boot-steps and quickly reached for her knife, placing it underneath her. What she saw coming into the cave entrance gave her a frighten.

This thing was huge, maybe seven-hoof-something, larger than the Princesses, with a bipedal form, coated in a bulky metal frame over a black suit. The metal was a mish-mash of grays, whites and blacks, colour-wise. The helmet looked like that of an olden time warrior tribe, minus the plume of feathers. It had weapons that looked like they were from a science fiction book. All metal, too. Maybe it was a robot? Twilight tensed as it got close and knelt in front of her.

“How’re you feeling?” Its voice was male in nature, filled with authority. Twilight just stared, her face paling.

“I...” She struggled for words. The robot pulled a canteen from its waist and offered it to Twi. She snatched it from his hands and fumbled with the cap, before greedily sucking down its contents. She didn’t realize how thirsty she was before. She finished the canteen, and sheepishly hoofed it back to the robot, who clipped it to his hip.

“I-I’m feeling fine.” Twilight eventually spat out, staring up at the T-Shaped eye on the robot.

“You a soldier?” The question surprised Twilight a bit. Really, any question would. She’s talking to a strange, possibly sentient new race of creatures. Or robots.

“L-Lieutenant Colonel T-Twilight Sparkle, 5th Infantry Regiment, Ponyville Royal Guard.” The robot gave her a nod, then pressed a bunch of buttons—Letters, maybe?—on the glowing picture on his wrist that seemed to flicker and change constantly.

“Alright, Lieutenant. I’m Gunnery Sergeant Ambrose. Who were the soldiers who shot you?” This next question was an easy one.

“Zebrican militants. Their leader walked away before I could put a round between his bucking eyes...” She growled. The Gunny nodded, and pressed some more buttons on his wrist.

“Why did they shoot you?” Gunnery Sergeant Ambrose asked. Twilight found anger flooding her system.

“What, have you been living under a rock? Their leader is a bucking maniac who uses mere foals for fear tactics... The one op we ran... We encountered a foal carriage. There was a dead foal inside, and not only that, but it was rigged with a proximity mine... It-It killed most of my soldiers within moments.” Twilight felt herself growing saddened, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. She missed those hard mother-lovers that she could call her squadmates... her friends. It hurt to think about how they died... In utter agony. Torn open by rusty shards of carriage and shrapnel from the mine. It... Twilight tensed as she felt the metal Non-Com’s fingers brush across her cheeks, wiping the tears.

“Just rest. You’re safe now.” He turned to leave, but Twilight was quick to go back to her roots.

“Wait! B-Before you go... What—what are you?” The sergeant shrugged.

“I’m a lot of things. To answer your question, I’m a human. Homo-Sapient race from a planet called Earth, or Terra to some. I’m sure you have lots to ask, and you’ll get a chance to ask, but for now, you must rest. You’re injured. It’s surprising you’re even moving...” He muttered that last sentence, and left, leaving Twilight to her devices. She simply dropped her gear and slumped down on the cot. For now, she’d cooperate. There was no telling what these things could do. Tartarus, maybe she could learn something from them...