Fallout: Equestria - The Tundra

by Tetravault

Rating: mature
Tags: Crossover, Sex, Death, Fallout, Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Original Character, Profanity, Adventure, Violence
Length: 17707

A new war rages within the snow locked nation of Stalliongrad.

Stalliongrad, a nation on its own against an ever persistent enemy.
While it contributed much at first in the early days of Celestia's and Luna's shared rule, those in power gradually cut ties to Equestria in a constructed bid for independence.
So, when it was left to its own defenses against the larger Zebra menace, the citizens of Stalliongrad fought hard.
And, long after the bombs had fallen, they continue the fight for survival in the ruins of their home.

Published 2020-11-21 07:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-12-02 06:11:31 UTC

Prologue

You know, there's a saying that is just about as old as the wasteland itself. We all know how it goes. We all know what it had done to our lands and lives. It's like a broken record, the same lyrics looping over and over. While hope and sunlight would be eventually restored to the greater Equestrian Wasteland through the actions of selfless ponies, the same cannot be said for the denizens of Stalliongrad. In a frozen tundra, constantly battered by snow storms, war continues to rage within the blasted ruins of a city that once prided itself on patriotic spirit and industrial might. Because we all know how the saying goes;

War. War Never Changes.

***

Defensive Zone Two, ten miles outside of Stalliongrad. Fifteen years after the Megaspells dropped.

My eye trained on the squirrel through my scope. At least, I hoped it was originally a squirrel. The tail was still lush with bushy fur, but the body was twisted and grotesque with barely any fur on it. The poor critter had spawned extra limbs from places that they should not be, and it had grown in size by at least three times. The head wasn't a pretty sight either. Eyes that were once small and devious were now as large as dinner plates and milky white, looking much like a deep sea fish of sorts. Its mouth hung slack, the lower jaw having split into two separate mandibles that twitched independently of each other as the creature scanned around for something to eat.

Slowly my pencil drew across the papers under me, sketching the horrible squirrel. Next to me, a rifle and combat kit rested against the embankment. Covering me and my kit was my trusty trench coat, acting as a sort of makeshift camouflage to keep myself hidden from the creature.

Studying wildlife was always an interest of mine. Even before the bombs fell, my comrades often joked and jeered about my sketching of ordinary wildlife. It didn't help that I often prevented them from going on hunts for additional 'food' when our allocated rations became too low during the harder points of our service. Warnings of reports and court marshaling often got them to stop and rethink their consumption habits. Even in this blasted hellscape, one could still find interesting creatures to document and study.

With my sketch complete, I sat there a moment and contemplated a good name for it. Just from initial glances, it was obvious that the squirrel was the byproduct of horrible gene mutation via radiation and uncontrolled breeding. Then, a mental lightbulb went off.

"Raduirrel…" I muttered softly. With the name given, I heard the Raduirrel chitter lowly. I looked through the scope again in time to see it launch towards a robin that had perched itself on a fallen log. The Raduirrel clambered and skittered with its extra limbs, the mangled mouth salivating excessively as it closed the distance. I watched with bated breath, excited to see the wasteland at work!

“Dimitri! Get down here!” hissed a voice behind me. The voice startled me from my studies, and I glanced over my shoulder. From the slope behind me, Hans was gesturing for me to crawl back with his hoof, a look of urgency on his face. Knowing better than to object, I scooped up my items and crawled back to the crater Hans and I shared. Slipping down the side, I tossed my sketch papers inside my kit with my pencils, and tossed the kit to the side across from me. Hans watched me for a moment as I secured my scope back onto the rifle.

“What is happening?” I asked as the scope clicked into its mounting, but Hans raised a hoof to his lips and shushed me. The hoof then moved to point out from the crater, telling me to look in the direction he pointed. Beyond us, a large, hilly expanse laid. A mist clung to the semi-melted snow, making it hard to see any movement in the gray. I could just barely make out the shapes of abandoned positions and trenchworks, all of them leading up to blasted pillboxes built into the ground and hillsides.

“A pack is moving eastward.” Hans whispered lowly in my ear. My eyes continued to scan the land, trying to see what he was talking about. I had to squint a bit, but I eventually saw a few dark shapes shambling through the mist. I cast a brief glance at Hans.

“That is hardly a pack out there.” I countered. Hans shook his head as he stared out at the mist, his body hunched over the stock of a drum fed light machine gun.

“Nein. Those are just the stragglers.” he said grimly. "The pack just moved further into the mist." At that moment, a yell of surprise cut through the air, and gunfire erupted with it. The single barks of rifles sounded off, followed by the rapid chattering of a machine gun. Hans and I watched in silence for a moment before I spoke again.

“Who is over there?” I asked. He merely lowered his head, his hoof coming up to brush a bit of snow off the sights of his weapon.

“Gunter and Anton.” he said with a sigh. “Along with Malkovich and Gangut.” he added, a frown coming across his lips.

“We should help them!” I suggested, beating a hoof against his shoulder to make him snap out of his grim mood. He grunted and shoved me back slightly, his frown changing into a scowl that pursed his withered lips together.

“And do what, exactly?” he hissed, his Germaneic accent coming through with his rising agitation. “We do not know their number out there.” he continued, gesturing to the mist. “There could be hundreds for all we know!” he added, making sure to not make his voice rise.

I merely raised my hooves, telling Hans to calm down. The assault troopers' shoulder rose and sank as he regained his composure. “Always trying to be the hero…” he muttered under his breath before giving a deep sigh. The gunshots continued to sound off, although they were distant now. We could barely hear Malkovich giving orders to whoever may have survived the attack.

“Armor?” I asked simply. Hans shook his head, his hooves resting under his chin as he leaned against his weapon again.

“Nein. All the armor we have is helping to shore up the defenses of the southern valley.” he said flatly. His face had become hard to read from beneath his helmet, his eyes slightly distant as his anger ebbed away.

“Air support?” was my next question. A brief chuckle was my answer.

“You are thinking in the old ways, my friend.” he pointed out, leaning back to rest a hoof on my shoulder. I blinked a moment, realizing my stumble as a sheepish grin crawled across my chapped lips.

“Forgive me, I forgot my place…” I admitted, resting against the crater wall with a sigh as my forelegs wrapped around the body of my rifle.

“There's nothing to apologize for. I sometimes forget that I’m stuck in this place too. It comes with the territory of being a ghoul, I reckon.” Hans admitted with a shrug. He leaned forward, his shoulder resting against the stock of the LMG again. He always had trouble in finding a comfortable position when manning it. Always repositioning and fidgeting with it as it rested against him. “Another storm front is coming in. Want to get a fire ready?” he asked, looking at me.

“Da, you get the tarp up.” I said, rolling over to my side to kneel before a small pit dug out in the wall. Kindling sat within the small burrow, and I took care to make sure smoke didn’t billow out. I could hear Hans messing with the tarp, getting it ready to cover our position.

***

Nestled just north of the farthest north possible, Stalliongrad stood; A city hidden behind snowcapped mountains and valleys, whos' days are marked by the coming and going of constant snowstorms. With Yakyakistan sat to the west, and the Crystal Empire to the east, Stalliongrad proclaimed itself the 'Unreachable Jewel' of the arctic. When the city was just a small frontier outpost in the days of Celestia and Luna, trade and communication thrived. The outpost quickly grew from a collection of tents, to a hamlet opening its first major port for exporting and importing goods.

And for a time, all was well with the city. It grew and grew, claiming more territory and building the first blocks of what would become the city's industrial powerhouse. Science and technology native to the region helped establish the city with an unique identity; Robust hardware and technology that did not know when to give up, even if most of the components and hardware was missing. Stalliongrad was truly on the path to great things.

And then, Celestia banished Luna, now Nightmare Moon, to the moon at the height of their struggle.

No one in the city would have admitted it at the time, but a majority of those early settlers leaned more towards Luna than Celestia. Luna often gave them happier dreams of a bright future in the arctic when times were hard. When she was gone, their dreams went with them. With their favorite princess now banished, attitudes towards Celestia shifted. When Celestia had visited the town to speak with the settlement's leaders, they greeted her with false smiles and lied through their teeth. The mayor at the time, a stallion named Birch Root, promised Celestia that he and his citizens would continue to serve her as loyal subjects under her kind rule.

But, as Celestia's solo rule of Equestria continued, Stalliongrad slipped farther and farther from her influence. Years of gradual withdrawal and weather manipulation began to cut the city off, and the port the city once prided itself on, shut its harbor to outside maritime traffic. Why rely on a leader who chooses to banish her problems rather than take them on with courage? Why trade with a nation that continued to kneel before a cowardly ruler? Foolish questions at the time, with many formed with little to no information behind the struggle, outside of what Canterlot and Celestia allowed the public to know. In his final days as acting mayor, Birch Root made it his final act to officially upgrade Stalliongrad from a city, to a full blown nation of the same name, complete with its own boundaries and government. This move effectively separated Birch Root, and all who looked to him for leadership, from Equestria. The necessary paperwork and official declaration sent to Canterlot arrived with a hastily written note attached, saying that no one was to bother the nation and its territories, least they be driven back with force.

Finally, after nearly two and a half decades of cutting ties and stating empty promises to Celestia, Stalliongrad became covered by a shroud of driving winds and stinging cold, determined to thrive on its own without any help from anypony.

Many generations later, and most folk were raised to believe that Stalliongrad was simply founded as a nation, not one that had broken away from a greater country. It didn't help that most government officials went out of their way to have most historical documents and records edited or totally erased in an attempt to abandon any prior connection to Equestria and Celestia. Anyone who learned this fact and tried to speak the truth of the topic were dragged away for re-education, a punishment very few returned from. If word got out that everything the public was fed turned out to be a lie, the system Stalliongrad was built upon would collapse under the social upheaval. Because if the founding of their home was a lie, what else would the citizens begin to question?

And so, with only select officials passing on the truth to those chosen to succeed them, Stalliongrad continued to grow in the years since declaring its independence. As a result of this deception and isolation, the typical naming conventions drifted from the more descriptive nouns and meaningful names used in Equestria. Names became shorter and unique, just as the language and accent had. Societal norms also shifted with the ever turbulent political sphere. Since they were free of the nobility and matriarchy of Equestria, Stalliongrad could hold official elections for new positions of power, although these elections were hardly fair, and most ponies maintained their seats for years and years.

In the days leading up to the war, Stalliongrads' leaders had become proud of the industrial backbone and large resource stockpiles built up over decades of manufacturing and farming. Our leaders constantly reminded us that our work was benefitting all of Stalliongrad, and that we all shared in the fruits of our labor.

***

War arrived rather abruptly to Stalliongrad. The initial attacks were from small, reconnaissance scouts sent to gather information on the territories Equestria held as the war machine began to churn. Local farmers and troops drove them off at first, with some Zebras being taken captive to gather information. The Zebras wouldn't tell their interrogators anything, only to ready themselves for the spear about to strike their heart.

Naturally, when the heads of state were told this, they scoffed and laughed it off, proclaiming that no one could take their fortress city. In turn, the Zebras only laughed as they committed suicide in their interrogation cells, one by one. From that point on, the attacks only grew in ferocity and intensity. Word must have gotten back to the Zebra officers somehow once their recon assets failed to return. An unbreakable defense awaited them in the frozen north. A worthy challenge of such fierce warriors!

What started as small clashes grew into larger scale fronts. Stalliongrad's defenses held, but at great cost. Civilian and military casualties began to stack into the thousands, almost millions. In time, it became apparent that the leaders of the city had to safeguard their assets against the possibility that the defiant city would fall to the striped menace.

In a hope to secure their future, the leaders turned to look at some solutions within their own engineering and scientific circles. When their brightest minds failed to produce anything worthy of a long-term development plan, Stalliongrads' various leaders were left with only one choice; One that would have to be extremely downplayed in the event that anyone got too curious about new ponies showing up in fancy suits and utility barding. If anypony from the public saw officials talking with outside corporations, faith in the system would falter. And in wartime, a society on its own relied on the citizens to continue having faith in the system to keep it strong.

Unlike most of Equestria, Stalliongrad did not have any Stables built to safeguard pony life leading up to the grimmer days of the war. The reasoning for this was because Stable-Tec officials determined that the nation, and its surrounding lands, were simply too far to safely ship the more unique building materials and equipment. Not to mention the fact that the land itself was mostly hard ice and snow, with very little retail space to actually construct on. Any land worth while was buried deep beneath the snow and difficult to reach.

"It's a miracle that Stalliongrad even managed to be established, let alone flourish!" remarked a Stable-Tec engineer as they examined the land survey results. "If there was more land that was easily accessible, we might be able to work something out." One city official offered the mountains as potential building sites, but the idea was shot down, with the Stable-Tec engineers saying that the intense cold and altitude would make the steel brittle and weak. In turn, this would make any potential Stables built in the mountains prone to structural failure.

Maybe that’s why the Zebras were so hellbent on making Stalliongrad fall; They knew we had nowhere to run in the case of total defeat. At the height of the conflict, we repeatedly broke their charges with a wall of steel. Tanks, armored infantry, and robust close air support drove the Zebras back wave after wave. A double-edged sword assisted us as well; Nature herself. In the downtime between clashes, Nature took her turn and thinned out the weak on both sides. The wounded succumbed to severe frostbite and infection, while the sick simply went to sleep and never woke up. The Zebras came from a dry and humid climate, surrounded by savannahs and fields of grass or wheat. When it came to the constant, harsh winter, we almost had them beat. The city was built on the backs of strong ponies, and those ponies were going to defend it with everything they had.

Then, two years before everything changed, General Zhutrotsky and Mayor Birch Branch broke the truth to their citizens during a mandatory gathering at the city hall. It was becoming ever clearer that Stalliongrad was on her last legs and in dire need of assistance. At the start of the prior year, they had sent a representative outside of the territory to find anyone who could lend additional assistance. The public was confused, many asking the question of "Why are you asking for help?" and "Who would bother sending help to us?", with most declaring that Stalliongrad didn't need outside help. Those who said such things were in denial of the grim truth, riding on the hope that the city's defenders would pull out a last round knock out to the enemy. After the crowd had calmed down, Zhutrotsky and Birch Branch were free to explain what they had done.

Their courier first tried their closest neighbors, Yakyakistan. On a whole, Yakyakistan refused to enter the fight, saying that it was a "stupid pony war" and that "stupid ponies should do their own fighting". The Crystal Empire was next, but they were too busy taking care of their own issues, and could not afford to take on the burden of assisting Stalliongrad. Town after town, city after city, no one could lend assistance. The courier even tried to reach out to Griffinstone, but they didn't even so much as accept his phone call.

Summer gave way to fall, and fall rolled into winter.

But in the spring, one nation from across the ocean did extend a helping hoof after hearing of Stalliongrad's troubles. After receiving word, the courier returned to Stalliongrad as fast as they could. The citizens and troops didn't know it yet, but a convoy of fresh troops and armor was sailing across the northern seas to pull them back from the brink of defeat.

While Zhutrotsky and Birch Branch explained themselves to the public, an aide approached them with news. A moment later, they asked for everyone to look at the port. When they gave the order, the doors to the port section of the city opened, and fresh troops from Germane parade marched into the city. The exhausted soldiers and citizens of Stalliongrad, while initially off put by their arrival, welcomed them with a shimmer of hope in their eyes and a renewed resolve. The crowd soon cheered as more and more troops arrived in the city. Anypony who had given up hope began to openly weep, as their children looked upon the newly arrived reinforcements, as if they were angels sent to save them. They marched in unison, waving and greeting the battered troops and citizens. Tanks rumbled and growled their way along behind the infantry, while artillery pieces pulled by tractors were wheeled into strategic positions. Provisions arrived at the tail end, giving food and medicine to anyone who was in dire need of it.

For once, ever since the start of the conflict, hope was restored to the downtrodden forces of Stalliongrad.

And this renewed hope couldn't have arrived at a better time.

One day after the troops from Germane arrived, the Zebras launched an aggressive spearhead in the hopes to shatter the city once and for all. If we hadn't gained those reinforcements, Stalliongrad may well have fallen. But with our newly added allies, our resolve stood firm; Those striped bastards would not take Stalliongrad! A rallying cry was soon formed, a declaration cried out by anyone able to make their voice pierce the snowy heavens; "Oni slomayutsya o nashi shchity!", "They shall break against our shields!"

However, as the last couple years of the war ticked down, the fighting became a bloody brawl. All sense of self-preservation gave way to brutal hoof-to-hoof combat in the fields and trenches, with each combatant using anything and everything they could get a hoof around. The war that started out with defined frontlines had devolved into a war of attrition, with the Zebras throwing everything they had at us. They crashed against our defenses like a tide, throwing body after body at our guns and armor. With every charge, our ammo supply was stretched thinner. With every suicide bomb, a tank was blasted beyond repair, and a brave crew was lost. For every dragon brought in to sow chaos and discord in our ranks, the skies became filled with smoldering pegasai and charred aircraft.

And just when it seemed like everything was about to degrade even further, a hellish, green fire swept across the blood stained snow. Life as we knew it simply stopped, turned to dust and echoes on the arctic wind.

***

No one could quite remember when everything started to come back to the Tundra. What we did learn, was that we were brought back with a combination of ambient magics and radiation. It didn’t help that no one quite kept records in the early days of the Tundra, so most major information was lost before it became widely known. No one knew who survived or who died in the blasts. In terms of military and economical power, the numbers were unknown, but many figured out quite quickly that things weren't promising.

Individually, ponies and some zebras could remember when and where they woke up. I myself woke up buried in a collapsed bunker and found my way out three days later. I reunited with Hans just a few days after, having seen him in line at a triage center. To this day, ponies and zebras continue to crop up in the most random of places and times.

Unfortunately, barely anyone from the early days of the Tundra remain. The rational thinking part of their minds had degraded to almost nothing, due to the radiation and borderline necromantic magics running rampant in their system. What was left behind was an unstable and violent body that attacked anyone who came across it. Survivors going mad became a new problem for other survivors to deal with. In the case that someone began to show signs of losing their minds, they were captured and thrown to the Tundra to join the rest of those in the same condition.

The hope was that the Tundra would take care of them, burying them in an icy grave. But, more often than not, they returned; And in larger numbers. Years became decades, and those who were fighting to stay alive slowly whittled away and joined the ranks of the ever growing hunger. It became clearer to those of us who could keep our minds intact, that we needed to band together and put aside the past. It wasn't easy at first, working along side someone who was once your enemy. Now, both ponies and zebras planned and fought together to keep the hungering menace within the borders of Stalliongrad.

Because if we failed to keep the threat locked here in the Tundra, the wider Equestrian Wasteland was doomed.

***

And it was at that moment, as the smokeless fire crackled happily within its burrow beside me, that I realized we had exchanged one war for another. Hans kept his eyes down the length of his light machine gun, watching the ground ahead of us as the oncoming snow storm began to bear down on us. Our tarp flapped and fluttered in the rising winds, and I could feel the cold seeping in, despite the crackling warmth nearby. My eyes eventually wandered to the fire, my mind drifting away as I pondered what laid in store for us in the years to come.

Tetravault presents:

Fallout: Equestria
The Tundra

Author's Note

Hey all! Thank you for reading the prologue of what I hope is a project I can be proud of!
This story has been bubbling in my subconscious for a few years now, even when I had stepped away from MLP as a whole.
There has always been a story to tell, and I finally said screw it, let's do it.
I did do some quick checking to see if others had written about Stalliongrad in FO:E. And while others have, I hope you all like my take on the region. There is a lot to uncover and build in this snowy region.
Constructive feedback is appreciated, and I hope to see you in the next chapter!

Waterfront

“In the old days, families would crowd the waterfront for beachside fun and dining. Concerts on the beach, boardwalk fries and penny arcades awaited them. Now, all that ponies have to look forward to on the waterfront was a litter filled beach and ghosts in the ruined arcade buildings.”

The seaside town of Saint Trotsky at the outlet of the Yosef River, Defensive Sector Four, sixty miles west of Stalliongrad. Thirty-four years after the Megaspells dropped.

From the top of a hill, I looked out over the ice-locked harbor of Saint Trotsky, one of the few outlying hamlets located outside Stalliongrads' urban zone. The settlement was named after one of the pioneers who helped early settlers establish a foothold along the banks of the Yosef River. He even helped construct the church that shared his name, which was what the town eventually became known for. With its position at the exit of the Yosef River, Saint Trotsky became a fishing hub for not only the river, but the larger bay area as a whole. When shipments weren’t being battered by crushing waves or swept away downstream through freak accidents, foreign imports and internal trade helped the hamlet to thrive in the harder months of the year. Although, more often than not, the shallows of the bay ended up gaining another wreck among many others that littered the sea floor. Some folk even began calling the bay area “Steel Body Bay”.

And, truth be told, they weren’t too far off. The exposed hulls and battered super-structures of countless broken vessels littered the bay. Many of the ships were originally cargo liners and passenger ferries converted at the last minute for the war effort to convey supplies and troops. When I was deployed to the front, my first taste of action was when I arrived at the city of Stalliongrad on a ferry during a Zebra mortar attack. I could still see the plumes of water gushing around the ferry as the Zebras tried ranging us in. Throw in the sweeping dragons being pursued by attack aircraft and pegasai, and it was a raging madhouse conducting a cacophony of chaos.

But here in Saint Trotsky, it was a different story. In the final months leading up to the megaspells, the harbor had become a refugee hub for those who were displaced by the conflict. Their increasing numbers strained the town's storages of food and medicine, and crime was on the rise as ponies and other folk began to steal from each other to increase their chances of survival. The refugees had to wait in large triage areas to board the ships and transports, often going days before their chance at escaping the carnage came along, as transporting ordinary citizens was low on the priorities of the government. Once onboard a ship, the refugees would be taken to territories far and wide, away from the fighting. Some toyed with the idea of using the Yosef River as a way of transport, but the shallow waters only allowed smaller ferries and specially built barges to traverse it. This option was kept on the backburner in case of an emergency.

Sadly, it would never come to pass. When the bombs fell, the force of the explosions caused earthquakes that shook up the bay, tossing the vessels and ferries anchored in the water like toys in a tub. In the years since, those who survived the bombings or swam ashore began to rebuild, using the ships that were thrown into the town itself for salvaged materials. The rusted wreckage that remained in the waters broke free of their anchors and either drifted out to sea, or drifted to the outlet of the Yosef River and blocking it. This caused it to eventually spill over its banks, which created a shallow in-land lake that eventually froze over.

It’s interesting what one can learn when they’ve become a byproduct of magical fallout and radiation. Plenty of time to travel and learn of what happened to the place you once called home as it sprung back from the grave, or fall even further into depravity as the Tundra slowly claimed it.

“Dimitri? Hello? Dimitri?”

I snapped out of my gaze and looked around. Hans was looking at me with his head tilted and an eyebrow raised. The years haven’t been kind to him, and the cold weather certainly compounded the damage done to his body. Frostbite had taken some of his cheeks and jawline, but I recognized him from the lines of his nearly exposed skull and sharp green eyes. He made efforts to cover his damaged features with a scarf, a sign that he was self-conscious of how he appeared to others.

“Sorry, just sightseeing.” I said sheepishly, shifting my combat pack to prevent it from falling off my back. We had come to Saint Trotsky on the orders of Captain Bernard of the Engineer Corps, one of the few surviving officers from the Germaneic forces sent to help our forces during the war.

“Keep your head in the game, ja?” Hans said softly, giving my shoulder a gentle bump with his hoof before turning to continue walking. He was right, I had to stay focused on the task at present. Giving the icy wreckage one last glance, I caught up with Hans as we made our way down the slopes and into Saint Trotsky.

***

Hans and I were given the task of surveying the bay area of Saint Trotsky for anything salvageable. If we could gather anything, scrap metal, weaponry, or ammunition, we were to return to camp and notify the Engineer Corps to ready everything for transport back to Stalliongrad. We knew most of the materials we gathered were going to the barricade in the southern valley. Anything we gathered was sent there, everything from bolts to power regulators. That damn barricade has been under construction for as long as I could remember. Progress was slow, but we were assured that it was being done.

“Who are we to talk to?” I asked Hans as we passed a tavern located near the entrance of the town. I could hear some residents chatting among themselves inside, with laughter and clinking glassware accompanying them. The smell of a hearty stew lingered outside the building, and I stopped to take in the scent of broth and vegetables.

“Mayor Rip Tide. He’s the one we have to convince to allow us to survey and salvage.” he explained over his shoulder, trotting steadily as we moved past ponies and the occasional yak. Yak were rare this far north, as Yakyakistan was supposedly obliterated to the bedrock when the bombs fell.

Even rarer than Yaks, were Buffalo. Rumors circulated that a lone Buffalo wandered the Desolate Plains in Sector Thirteen as a gun slinging protector of sorts. A few ponies I've talked to, both ghoul and not, have mentioned seeing him in the distance, standing on a high point to overlook his surroundings in the driving winds. When they would take a second glance, he had always vanished.

Again, it was interesting what sort of rumors floated your way when you have time to wander and listen.

“Do you think the two of us can convince him?” I asked, giving a local mare a small wave. She stared at me, slightly agape, almost horrified. Hans looked at me from over his shoulder, giving a slight snort as he stared ahead again.

“Not if you keep scaring the locals, we won’t.” he teased. I knew he was just having fun on my behalf, but he did have a point.

Being ghoul was difficult. I didn’t even really know what to call my condition until roughly twenty-one years after the bombs fell. A group of survivors had gotten lost on their way out from the ruins Vanhoover, eventually finding their way to Stalliongrads' southern boarder. When they stopped to make camp, the guards were all horrified to see a detachment of army ghouls manning makeshift positions. Damn fools nearly gunned down my friend Bucky before anyone could explain the situation. From there, word traveled across the Tundra as a few ghouls were redeployed to other projects or units, with them sharing some of the Wasteland information they had learned from those survivors.

The typical day in the life of a ghoul went something like this:

Wake up and look in the mirror. Remind yourself that you are a mere shell of your old self. Also remind yourself that you were alive for a good reason, you just had to figure out what that reason was. Leave the house or tent and try to keep your distance from any locals you came across, unless you absolutely had to be near them. In the case that you are near them, keep contact at a minimum. Quiet the voice in the back of your mind as it constantly reminded you that you were an echo of war, and a byproduct of unnatural happenstance. Try and act as you once did before everything went wrong. Get home and sleep, then rinse and repeat the next day.

It was mentally exhausting and oftentimes, lonesome.

Thankfully, I had Hans with me.

***

Hans and I met when reinforcements from Germane arrived towards the end of the war. Their technology far exceeded anything we had at the time; Better machine guns and rifles, better tanks and ground support aircraft. Even their uniforms looked snazzier than our hastily sewn cotton jackets and fur hats. It was kind of hard to not be envious of the sleek craftsmanship of their equipment, while ours looked like a hodgepodge of metal and wiring.

Because our equipment was a hodgepodge of metal and wiring.

Why worry about quality, when quantity was more essential. Your radio spontaneously combusts during a counter attack? Grab one from a fallen comrade, almost everyone in the Communications Battalion has one. Your rifle jammed because a bullet in the clip was not chambered for the rifle? Just use it as a club until it breaks. Your attack aircraft lost a wing during formation flight? You will be given a patriotic burial with what’s left of you.

In short, the arrival of Germane troops was a blessing.

Hans and I got along almost right away when he arrived to my unit with some other assault soldiers. The language barrier was difficult at first, but we communicated through music. I played a decent harmonica, and Hans could hold a tune. As we began to fight together, we learned how each other spoke and became fluent in each others’ native tongue. Sometimes, Hans would talk to me in my tongue, other times I'd talk to him in his. Our bond as brothers-in-arms only grew stronger with each sortie, often relying on each other for morale support when there was not enough to go around. Whenever Hans was feeling blue or tired, a good joke often got him out of his crummy moods. Whenever I was down and out, Hans relished me with stories of his home cooking. Food was always my go to when I needed cheering up.

But now, with both of us as ghouls, we needed each other more than ever. Our bond was the only thing keeping us sane in the Tundra.

***

We arrived at the mayors’ office just as a light flurry of snow began. The interior was sparse, but warm. The structure was reinforced with bits of steel and scrap to keep it standing, as half of it was crushed beneath the hull of a medium sized fishing trawler. Hans and I looked around for a moment as the door closed behind us, and a unicorn mare popped her head up from behind a book she was reading. Her look of horrified surprise wasn't uncommon, but she did try and play it off, something most didn't do after seeing us.

“U-uhm...welcome?” she greeted, an uneasy smile on her face. “How can I help you two?” she offered, setting her tattered book aside. I could almost make out the title; Hunted: Tales of the Submersible Yakovlev. A pre-war classic, if I may say so myself. It pitted a rookie submarine crew against a cunning Zebra submarine hunting vessel. Full of suspense, action, and nautical hijinks!

“We are here to speak to Mayor Tether. We have been sent on orders from the Engineer Corps of the Army.” I explained. The mare raised an eyebrow and looked down at a separate book on the desk. I could see the names of other visitors penciled into the lines, followed by their appointment times and dates.

“I wasn’t aware that Rip Tide was expecting guests from the Army…” she muttered, gliding the tip of her hoof down the paper as she looked over the names. She seemed to be doing everything she could to keep her eyes off of us. “Usually all arrangements are arranged through me.” she added, looking up at us again with a suspicious look in her eyes. From the corner of my eye, I could tell that Hans' expression was a patient one.

“We...are unexpected....” he began. “But I assure you, our visit is for a good reason." he said, gesturing a hoof at the door behind us. “Our engineers feel that the materials in the bay can be repurposed for a project that requires a lot of resources.”

The mare eyed Hans before shifting her gaze to me, then to the staircase next the desk. “Boss! We have some visitors!” she yelled, making us jump back in surprise. The mare had one hell of a yell! We could hear clanking and shuffling upstairs, followed by some curses as a burly stallion made his way down the stairs. He stopped halfway the moment his eyes saw us standing there.

“Petunia, why are there ghouls standing in my reception area?” he asked warily. And once again, we were met with a look of repulsion and distaste for our mere existence. I can’t even begin to count how many times we had seen that look in the past.

“Apologies, Rip Tide, but these ghouls say they’re from the Army.” she said, her gaze shifting from the two of us, then back to Tide. I could feel tension beginning to thicken the air within the room, and I could see Hans shifting his stance. Stand-offs like these were all too common in our travels, and most of the time they ended in shoot-outs that made us run for our ragged lives.

“Army, huh?” Tide asked, tilting his head slightly to the side as he continued his glare. “And here I thought the Army had fallen apart years ago. Unable to keep itself together, I heard.” he continued, making his way down the rest of the stairs to look at us closer. Lords above, he was massive compared to us. "You two have names?" he asked, looking like he couldn't care if we did or not. I had to tilt my head back to try and make eye contact with him.

"My name is Dimitri, sir. And this is my comrade, Hans." I introduced, gesturing from myself to Hans. He continued to stare coolly at Rip Tide, his body language showing the signs of becoming tense in his shoulders. When he spoke, his tone was calm and pleasant.

“Sorry to disappoint you, sir, but the Army still has its strength, even with the given situation of everything.” Hans said diplomatically. My eyes flashed to him, then back to Rip Tide to read his reaction. Tides’ expression had shifted to meet Hans’ calm and collected one, meeting him eye to eye.

“And what, may I ask, has the Army ordered you two to come here and do exactly? Scouting out our residents to see who can be used to bolster your forces? Or maybe you’re feeling the town out to see how hard it would be to take it over?” Rip Tide taunted, his gaze shifting down to me. I couldn’t help but swallow nervously a bit, my voice catching before I could fully speak.

“A-Actually, sir, we, uhm...are here to survey the wreckage around your town for potential salvage…” I admitted. Rip Tide’s jaw squared off as he raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah?” he growled, “Those are war graves out there in the waters. Tombs to brave soldiers and cathedrals to resilient civilians caught in the crossfire of your fight.” he continued, his hoof coming up to give a rough jab to my chest. The impact stung a bit, leaving a low throbbing in what remained of my nervous system around my chest.

“We understand that, sir. We would not dare to defile the resting places of our comrades unless it was absolutely necessary.” Hans answered. Rip Tide’s gaze shifted back to him, and he leaned in a bit to drive his glare harder.

“And what necessity compels you to come out here to Saint Trotsky and ask to cherry pick the dead?” he pressed. “I’ll have you know, my great-great-great grandmother died out there on the Olympiad when the bombs struck. She’s resting out there undisturbed, and has been since then.” he said in a rather rude, matter-of-factly tone.

“While we are truly sorry for your loss, would it not be better if we discussed matters in your office? Surely we don’t want a brawl starting in front of your secretary Petunia, now would we?” Hans suggested, gesturing a hoof over to the wide-eyed mare. “It would certainly be un-gentlebuckly like to fight in front of a mare.” he tacked on. I had completely forgotten that Petunia was even present in the room. Rip Tide's presence simply shoved her aside as he questioned us.

Rip Tide took a moment to consider what Hans suggested. It was times like these where I was thankful that Hans was the diplomatic voice in our duo, as my nerves would have gotten the better of me in many other past situations. This one was no different; A stare down between us, echoes of the past, and someone who was trying to survive in the present. After what felt like an eternity of building tension, Rip Tide gave a brief snort and gestured his head back at the staircase behind him.

“Upstairs, the both of you. Petunia,” he added, pointing at the mare. Petunia snapped out of her anticipation and blinked.

“S-Sir?” she stuttered as she regained her composure.

“Get some tea ready.” he ordered as he began to climb back up the stairs to his office. His hooves clanked off the steel stairs as he climbed, and I could feel them shuddering under every hoof fall as we followed him. Hans brought up the rear as Petunia moved away from her desk to a separate room to get our tea ready. I could hear her muttering under her breath as she disappeared from sight.

***

Rip Tide’s office was located in what was originally the Captain’s cabin of the vessel that had destroyed half the building. A bayside view greeted us out of the large portholes. A cobbled together desk marked where Tide did his duties as Mayor of Saint Trotsky, the surface covered in scrap paper and broken pencils. As he sat down, the chair gave a groan of protest as it took his bulk. I looked around a moment for any other chairs, but none were seen, and Rip Tide certainly didn’t take the time to offer us a seat. Silence lingered between us, and I took it upon myself to try and break it.

"So...Rip Tide? Quite the Equestrian name there. How did you end up this far north?" I asked, trying to seem interested in whatever stories he might have had. The look on his face though suggested that he didn't have anything to share. Still, he humored me with an answer.

"Long story short? The Yosef brought my mother and father up this way sometime after the bombs. Born and raised here. That's all you need to know." he said as he turned his gaze to Hans.

“Right, we’re in my office, so spill it. Why are you here?” he asked with an even tone, his hooves coming together before his face. His eyes stared at us from over his hooves, their flat gray color watching every twitch and reaction we gave.

“Simply put, the Engineer Corps sent us here to survey and ready scrap metal, armament, ammunition, and power sources to help construct a barricade in the southern valley.” Hans began. “A threat is growing here in the Tundra, and the barricade is being constructed to keep it contained here.” he added.

“And this great threat is?” Tide pressed.

“Hordes of mad, hungry ghouls from the war. Friends, enemies, loved ones, all of them driven mad by their horrible circumstances.” I chimed in. “If they were to escape the Tundra, the Equestrian Wasteland would be in danger of being consumed by something far worse than balefire.”

“And how do I know that you two are not about to lose your own minds and go rabid on my townsponies?” Tide asked darkly, his eyes narrowing. Hans gave a brief snort of offense at this question and rolled his eyes. I had to give him a nudge to keep it cool, and he resumed his diplomatic expression. “And beyond that, why should I care about what happens to the Wasteland? There’s already enough troubles here in the Tundra.”

“While we prefer the term ‘mentally unavailable’, rest assured that my comrade Dimitri and I have taken the steps to prevent mental degradation in our time since the bombs.” Hans said shortly, is calm expression shifting to hold a slight scowl on his lips as he spoke. “And as for the Equestrian Wasteland, it deserves a chance to rebuild and regrow.”

At that moment, Petunia entered the office with a tea tray hovering beside her in an orange aura of magic. Hans and I accepted the tea cups as she passed them to us and Rip Tide. The tea was bitter but warming, and it helped calm my nerves. Hans, on the other hoof, downed his tea in one gulp before handing his cup back to Petunia. She blinked with surprise, her magic surrounding the now empty cup and setting it on the tray.

“Thirsty, were you?” Rip Tide asked as he sipped at his own share of tea.

“Very.” Hans said simply, his slight scowl remaining as he spoke. He always struggled to keep a straight face with those who automatically assumed the worst of us.

“Well,” Rip Tide started, setting his tea on the desk. “Given the fact that you two haven’t started foaming at the mouths and tearing us apart,” he continued, gesturing to himself and Petunia, “Then I suppose I could spare a shred of trust on the two of you. But, I require something from the both of you. A trade of sorts, if you will. You want to do a job here, in my town? You need to do a job for me, first.” he said, stamping a hoof on the desktop to accentuate his statement.

Hans and I glanced at each other at this request. An expected road bump, one that Captain Bernard warned us of before we set out for Saint Trotsky. Most folks of the Tundra wanted work in exchange for work, which was understandable. “You scratch their back, and they’ll probably, but most likely not, scratch yours.” Bernard had told us as we were given our assignment.

“Alright Mayor Tide,” I began, looking back at the burly stallion. “What’s the job?” I asked confidently. The grin that crawled across his lips sent a shiver down my back and brushed aside my growing confidence. It was the sort of lopsided grin that someone gave when they were getting exactly what they wanted. It was also the type of grin cartoonists used to draw in the old newspapers, showing how the ever plotting Noble of Canterlot was always scheming to make his or her financial status better than the others around them.

I always thought those newspaper cartoons were rather ridiculous, although I'd never openly admit it to anyone at the time, due to the fear of being dragged away for re-education. I knew plenty of ponies who didn't return from that sentence. Those that did, the few who had, acted different.

“I have this thorn in my ass, you see. It is a rather nasty one.” he began, standing up from his desk and approaching one of the portholes that looked out at the bay. Petunia, Hans and myself watched him as he stopped and pointed out to the waters. “There’s a creature in those waters that has been killing my fishers. Thirteen attacks, and anypony who can fish has hung up their waders and sank their boats. They’re too scared to even go out on the waters. That’s where you two come in.” he said, his hoof pointing at the two of us. “You’re going out there and catching it for me.”

Petunia gave a sharp gasp of protest, causing Hans and I to look at her. Again, I had forgotten she was there.

“Sending complete strangers out there to catch that-that...monster, is just...damn it Rip, isn’t there another issue they can take care of for us?” she protested, stamping a hoof against the steel floor. The room gave a soft clang as she did so.

“They’re ghouls, Petunia!” Rip Tide said condescendingly, his voice rising as he gestured to us again. I was getting rather annoyed with being pointed at constantly. “They’re used to dealing with the harsh realities of the mess they helped bring about! If anything, they’re cleaning up some of their mess.” Rip Tide continued. I couldn’t help but scoff at statement, a glare etching across my face now.

“Hey, we had no part in making whatever is out there!” I shot back. Rip Tide only seemed to grow even more agitated, as if me speaking against him was some unforgiveable sin.

And with the current state of things, it might have well been a sin. I had never seen a pony's become so stone faced in such a short amount of time. Rip Tide's voice even took on a harder edge as he raised his hoof to continue speaking.

“That may be, but your war brought us here!” Tide said patronizingly, his heavy hoof slamming the floor to emphasize his words, as if we were stubborn children not listening to their father. “And since we are here, it is up to you to fix what your war has done!” he stomped. The atmosphere of the room was reaching the boiling point. One wrong word could bring this already tense visit to a crashing halt. Mustering up as much of a calm tone as I could, I raised a hoof at Rip Tide, jabbing at the air to emphasize my words now.

“We will catch your monster. And when we do, you will allow us to do our job.” I huffed, staring Rip Tide down. He regarded us with hateful eyes. He could either turn us away now and take care of the monster himself, or all of us could come to an agreement and be out of each others’ manes sooner.

“You better catch it.” he growled dangerously. “Get out, all of you.” he ordered. Petunia was the first to leave with the tea tray floating beside her again, with myself and Hans following her down the stairs. Hans though, stopped and took a moment to hold a glare with Rip Tide before making his way down the stairs. Petunia set the tea tray on her desk as she then led us outside and sighed heavily, shaking her head.

“You must forgive him. It’s been difficult for him these past few years.” she said, apologizing on Rip Tide’s behalf.

“For him?” Hans asked, his eyebrows knitting together. “As if we haven’t been through more?” he pointed out. I merely looked between the two as they spoke.

“It’s not a competition about who has been through more, sir.” Petunia said in a slightly scolding tone. “Two years ago, his filly disappeared one day. Few hours later, a search party found her dismembered by a pack of ferals that roamed into the area just outside of town. The gore trail suggested they had moved on after the kill, off into the hills.” she explained. “We called for anyone to help deal with them, but no one came.”

A memory triggered in my mind at that moment, and I remembered the very same call coming through on one of our radios. It was roughly four years ago now, the call saying that a group of ghouls needed to be tracked down and taken care of out here. Command couldn’t spare a squad to go play round up at the time. A majority of those who could were busy transporting a set of power generators, and everypony they could spare was needed. So, the call went unanswered, with our officers hoping that someone else would answer it.

“Needless to say, he hasn’t trusted ghouls, feral or otherwise.” she said softly as she looked the two of us over. She gave a sad huff before speaking again. “You’ll be needing supplies for this job. Go down to the pier and talk to the Harbormaster, Vasyli. He’ll get you sorted out for your uh, fishing trip.” Petunia said. With that, she bid us goodbye and returned to the warm interior of the mayor’s building.

Snow was beginning to fall steadily now as Hans and I turned away from the building. I could tell he was still on the verge of lashing out in anger. It didn’t help that the tendons and veins in his neck were visible from how hard he was clenching his jaw. Raising a hoof, I gave his shoulder a pat with half a smile from my tattered lips. He regarded me with a glance from the corner of his eye.

“Relax. At least we’re making progress here, yeah? I'd say that's an improvement.” I said, taking the lead as we walked away from the building. Hans lagged behind a bit, needing some space to calm down as we made our way to the pier.

***

The bayside of St. Trotsky was in dire need of repairs and clean up. If resources allowed, a well trained team of engineers could repair it if given enough time. As it stood however, only one pier remained standing among the forest of withered support pillars that marked where more once stood. Smaller vessels and single engine craft laid either half-sunk or stuck among the supports, exactly as Rip Tide had mentioned earlier. The water looked like body of sludge, lapping at the wood and sticking to it, almost acting like tar as it pulled away. At the tail end of the pier, a cobbled little shack stood. Beside it, pointed out at the bay waters, a small caliber naval cannon stood. The weapon looked like it was locked up by rust and was most likely inoperable. How it managed to stand without pulling the rest of the pier down with it, I’ll never know. Next to it, an equally rusted box sat bolted to the wood, most likely an ammunition cache for the cannon. I could see the slurry beneath the pier through the rotten wood.

Smoke softly billowed out from the pipe chimney that stuck out from the scrap metal roof. From inside, Hans and I could hear a stallion singing to himself from within the tiny space, the singing briefly interrupted by loud gulping, exasperated sighs after said gulping, and hiccups. The song was familiar, but the stallion's drunken demeanor ruined any chance to actually make out what the song was.

Hans and I stood at the door as we shared glances again, silently debating which one of us should knock first. Among many things on our list of 'Things to Not Interrupt', a drunken pony was somewhere in the top tens. My eyes flashed from him, to the door, then back to him as I gestured with my head to the door. Hans raised an eyebrow and shook his head, repeating the gesture I gave. I rolled my eyes and huffed softly.

“You knock.” I whispered firmly.

“Why should I?” he hissed back.

“You’re better with the diplomatic stuff!” I pointed out lowly. Hans was about to retort when the stallion inside stopped singing.

“You -hic!- know it’s rude to conspire outside one's door?” we heard the stallion mumble loudly, a slur to his speech. We heard the doorknob jiggle a bit and we took a step back. As the door opened, a familiar sight greeted Hans and I.

Well, most ghouls looked familiar.

The first thing I noticed about Vasyli was that he was a rather short stallion. Next was his attire. An officer’s cap rested at a slant on his peeling scalp, just barely concealing his shattered horn. His officer’s uniform, which may have been lush with ranks and medals at one point in the past, was now moth-eaten and losing its threading. A worn out revolver sat tucked into a breast holster, the common sidearm for ponies in the who became an officer. He gazed upon us with a set of shockingly golden hues, although it looked like he wasn’t quite looking at us, rather past us.

On pure instinct, Hans and I gave the ghoul a crisp salute. Vasyli simply blinked a few times, his pupils refocusing as his mind caught up with the current situation.

When it did, he just laughed at our gesture.

“In all my time down here, I never thought I’d be saluted again!” he laughed, swaying side to side slightly. “It’s been YEARS since anyone has acknowledged my rank!” he slurred, raising a foreleg to return a sloppy salute.

“Former Lieutenant Vasyli, re-hic!-tired.” he declared. Dropping the salute, he smiled happily. “Now acting harbormaster of this cute little fishing town.” he added, gazing past us at the town nearby. When he looked back to us, he gave us a brief look over.

“Now, how can I help you boys?” he asked, leaning towards us with a slight squint. I could smell the cheap alcohol on his breath, and I had to suppress my reaction to show that I hadn’t even smelled it.

“Erm..sir…” Hans began, but Vasyli cut him off.

“Nnnnnope! No no!” he said loudly, shaking his head. “Just Vasyli.” he pointed out. “My days as a Lieutenant are looooooooooong done.” he added.

Another brief glance between Hans and I, then I spoke up.

“We’ve been sent to you about catching a problem in the waters.” I said, trying to get right to the point of our visit. The instant Vasyli registered what I had said, his drunken attitude quickly diminished, and a slight glare rested on his face.

“Rip Tide sent you to catch the Maw?” he asked, his voice a low, serious whisper. His eyes focused on the two of us as he waited for our response.

“Ja?” Hans answered simply, his tone neither a question or answer. Vasyli looked us both over slowly, taking a moment to really get a good look at us. After a few moments of silence, he stepped aside and gestured for us to enter his shack.

“Let’s talk.” He said flatly. “And maybe another drink.” he added as he closed the door behind me.

***

The inside of Vasyli’s shack was...cramped, to put it nicely. A mattress was crammed against the corner away from the door. Immediately next to it was a wrought iron wood stove, complete with enough space for a small pot to be cooked on top of it. A shelf of boxed foods and spices clung to the wall above the stove, looking like it was about to fall off its nails. A single window sat across from this, although a set of thick, stained curtains covered it. A single light bulb hung from the low ceiling. Immediately behind Hans and I, a broken bookshelf stood with a couple of books on it. This shack obviously wasn’t built for three stallions to occupy, and a creeping sense of claustrophobia began to trickle into the back of my mind.

“This is rather...cozy…” Hans said with a slight frown as Vasyli flopped onto his mattress. Reaching between it and the stove, he retrieved his flask and popped the cap, taking another swig before speaking.

“It is all I can afford. Tide doesn’t want me near anyone else. Hell, he almost drove me away when he realized I had taken up residency here.” Vasyli said, a hoof gesturing to the structure. “Joke’s on him though, I was here long before he ever showed up.” he said with a smirk before another taking a smaller sip.

“You were stationed here?” I asked, taking a bit of interest in his last statement. Vasyli shook his head.

“Not willingly. I was part of a med-evac when the bombs struck. I had suffered a mild concussion a day before outside Zone Twenty-Three. Some wise-ass Zebra decided to, I kid you not, throw a rock at me as a last ditch attempt to kill me. I remember it hitting me, then I remember my bayonet impaling him. After that, it’s all a bit fuzzy. Well, until the bombs hit.” he explained, getting comfortable on his mattress as he told his story. “The ship I was on suffered hull damage from the earthquakes brought about by the blasts. I managed to get off and away as it rolled over and sunk. I swam my way back to shore and, well, here we are.” he said, patting his bed. Sitting up again, he fixed us with a steely gaze now.

“And here we are, with you two assigned by Rip Tide to hunt the Maw.” he continued, shaking his head a bit. “Two crazy bastards to take this job on. What did he promise in return for this?” he asked, eyeing Hans.

“Access to some of the wrecks for salvage.” Hans said, doing his best to be cryptic. “I would share more information, but since you are not in the Army now, I cannot divulge more.” he continued. Vasyli gave a snort and nodded his head in an ‘of course’ manner.

“I see, I see. Top secret projects in the works. It wouldn’t be the first time one of those were running in the background.” Vasyli said offhandedly. My eyebrows furrowed a bit at this. I was about to ask what he meant, but Vasyli kept speaking. “Right, so, what do you know about the Maw?” he asked, looking from me, then to Hans, expecting an answer. When neither of us did, a grim smirk crawled across his lips.

“Radiation does wonders to a shark.” he said lowly, “Gives them more teeth, and makes them even meaner. All they know how to do now is eat and make some more little mutants.” he said, his hoof pointing out the window. “Nasty beasty out there in those waters. I once had a whole squadron of fishers and boats, catching and sorting out what was good to eat from what was not. Then, one day, it came into the bay and began hunting. Within a month, my whole squadron was reduced to just two boats, plus half a rowboat.” he continued. “My friend, Ore, was eaten in the rowboat. I saw him off in the morning, and by the afternoon, it had washed ashore.” he added grimly. “Damn fool was insistent on continuing his job…”

Silence fell between the three of us as Vasyli took a long swig in memory of his friend. Five gulps later, he lowered his flask and maintained his steely gaze. A question that had been bubbling in the back of my mind for a few minutes now finally had a chance to be asked.

"Vasyli, why are you drinking so much?" I asked, a tone of concern in my voice. Vasyli simply grinned and threw his forelegs apart.

"It's simple! Being a ghoul changes your body chemistry! It takes a lot more than just a flask of cheap rum to get me tipsy." he explained, giving a glance at the flask. "Although this is my eighth flask so far..." he mumbled before looking at us again. "I drink to my continued life, to my lost friends, and to my schedule, which has been open for months now." he said, knocking back another pull from the flask. He swallowed it and lowered the flask, his eyes locking on Hans and I with a steely gaze.

“Which is where you two come in.” he began. “I have only one functioning vessel left. Armored gun boat from the war. Steel hull, heavily armed, but sits low in the water and likes to bob around. Damn thing used to bombard Zebra positions on the river farther inland.” Vasyli explained, standing up from his mattress.

“Doesn’t sound too bad.” I began. “We just go out and blast the Maw, then come back to do our assignment!” I said with a confident smile. Vasyli looked at me like I was a colt saying something rather silly.

“Oh my friend…” he said, clapping a hoof against my shoulder. “There’s no ammunition onboard.” he admitted and a soft chuckle. “You’re just using it as a fishing boat.” he continued, talking past Hans and I to open his door. I felt dread crawl up my spine as Hans grimaced at me. Without another word, we followed the ghoul officer out of his small home. A few minutes later, we had walked down the beach away from St. Trotsky. The water continued to slosh and stick to the shoreline as we approached another rundown building. After forcing the door open, Vasyli revealed the long, armored vessel of which we would be using to hunt the Maw.

***

Our particular river boat was a later modification that experimented with a twin set of small, deck mounted rocket launchers used to bombard enemy positions on either side. Of course, like Vasyli said, both were currently empty. One of the primary armaments, a tank turret, was missing from its mounting at the rear of the vessel, which left a gaping hole in the deck. The only thing that would stop somepony from falling in was the armored ring that marked where the turret once sat. Four other mounts were present at each corner of the main deck, marking where a pony could fire a machine gun to defend the vessel from boarders, at soft shore targets, or against air threats. Only one machine gun remained in one of the mounts, but it had lost its' ammunition box long before our arrival. The only heavy armament that remained was a second tank turret mounted on the front of the vessel, just in front of the bridge. The heavy firepower would have given us an edge in our job, if only the barrel wasn’t split and peeled back like a steel banana.

The only piece of external hardware that did work, was the spotlight mounted to the very front of the vessel. A circular pad was welded onto the prow of the boat, and a pole with the spotlight was put right in the middle. A rather uncommon field modification, but this signaled that our vessel was most likely used in a nighttime role at one point. A pony could safely use the spotlight, that is if they remembered to mind the edge of the pad they stood on. Precarious, but functional.

“It gets you out there, it gets you back here.” Vasyli had told us as he opened the larger doors so that the vessel could leave. He then entered the bridge with Hans and I and gave us the basic rundown on how to control the boat. “Push the lever to go forward, pull it to go backwards. The wheel does wheel things. It’s all common knowledge.” he said dismissively. I could feel two of the engines below decks as they coughed to life, causing the steel deck beneath my hooves to vibrate. Vasyli told us that it used to run on four engines, but due to a lack of spare parts and the never-ending march of time, two of them had simply seized up.

This gave us the ability to go a mind-blowing ten miles per hour. A decent trot if one kept pace. He also recommended not to push the engines any higher than ten miles per hour, otherwise he would be without his only semi-functioning vessel, and we would have to pay.

After giving us fishing poles and bait, Vasyli bid us farewell and watched us putter away. As soon as we cleared the storage building, the smell of sea salt hit me as I stood on the deck, watching as Saint Trotsky passed us by as we entered the deeper waters of the bay.

***

As we steamed further out, the waters began to loosen up and actually behave like salt water, rather than a congealed mass of oil and other toxins that liked to cling to everything closer to shore. Our armored vessel bobbed along the waters, the low bow crashing into the troughs of waves as we sailed along. Vasyli had warned us too, among other things, to not take the gun boat too far out because it was not graded for seafaring capabilities. After roughly an hour, Hans shut the engines off and our river boat slowed to a stop. We had decided to bob with the tide, slowly rotating with the undercurrents. An anchor would have left us an easy target. Thankfully, we departed at high tide and would not have to worry about being dragged out into the ocean at low tide for at least a few hours.

That is, if we managed to get this ridiculous job done before then.

Our tools consisted of two reinforced fishing poles and a few buckets of rather chunky chum to lure our target in. My stomach twisted as I looked into one of the buckets of slop, not being able to make out what chunk of meat came from what. I looked away when an eyeball with two irises rolled over in the blood and looked at me.

“So,” I started, pushing the bucket away from me. “Who chums first?” I asked, hoping Hans wouldn’t stick me with the job. He was busy getting our lines ready, doing his best to try and secure the hooks onto the lines. If he were a unicorn, he could have magicked the hooks onto the line with secure knots. As it were, he was an earth pony, just like me. I watched him stare intently at the hook and line he was fiddling with, taking care to loop and thread the line through the tiny hole in the hook. And, much to my disappointment, he gave me the answer I was dreading.

“You first. Do a small batch first, we just want to get the scent in the waters for now. Try and draw it out of hiding to investigate.” he said, his tongue slowly slipping between his lips as he narrowed his eyes on the thread work. “If only Vasyli had these prepared ahead of time…” he grumbled, mostly to himself. Looking back at the bucket, my stomach sank as I tentatively approached the bucket again. At that moment, a rough wave smacked our boat, causing the chum bucket to leap and splash me with a decent layer of gore. I stood there in shock for a moment as my brain caught up with what had just happened.

From behind me, I could hear Hans snicker at my predicament.

“Been there, done that.” he said with a harmless smirk as he finished his knot work, pulling the string taught with his teeth to secure the knot he made. I simply stared at him, not wanting to speak, out of the fear that I’d suddenly vomit mid-sentence. He looked at me with an empathetic stare and gestured towards the bridge. “Go below decks, Vasyli said that one of the water pumps still works down there. Go wash yourself off, I’ll get your line ready.” he ordered, setting his fishing rod down to start working on mine. I nodded and entered the bridge, taking note of the time as I entered below decks.

It was twelve thirty in the afternoon.

***

Nearly four hours had passed since my chum splash. I had managed to wash most, keyword being ‘most’, of the chum off myself before stepping back outside. I could still catch whiffs of the chum on me, even when I was as far as I could be from the buckets. After a while, I managed to go nose blind to the smell, just as I had gone nose blind to the scent of the salt in the air. Hans and I both wore harnesses that we could lock our rods into so that we could be free to move without being encumbered.

I had set myself on the roof of the forward tank turret, my line cast out over the port side of our vessel. I stared lazily at the brightly colored bobber as it motioned with the waves. Hans had suggested that we put chum on the hook and have our lines rest within the chum field he had put out. I asked him why he knew so much about this type of fishing, and he simply smiled as he stared off at the wayward horizon.

“My grandfather used to take me out on his trawler every summer. It was a way to keep me busy and out of trouble, and my mother was grateful for it. He taught me a lot of things, even if I didn’t want to be out on the waters. When I was old enough, we would share a small keg of ale together and just fish.” he explained, a smile lingering on his lips as he allowed himself to travel back to simpler days. The smile soon faded though as he began speaking again. “Then the war in Equestria started. Germaney began ramping up our own armed forces in the case we were ever invaded, although we did this in secret so as to not arouse suspicion from the Zebras.” he continued. A snort and short chuckle came out of him before he spoke again.

“I like to think that, even though we were being secret about it, the Zebras were just waiting for us to enter. They got our declaration of war when we arrived on the scene at Stalliongrad.” he continued, reeling in a bit of his line before going on. “In my second month of training, I got a letter from my mother. Grandfather had passed on, he had a heart attack while out fishing. Thankfully, a friend of his was there to get them back to shore. But it was already too late by the time they came in.” he said sadly, now staring at his own bobber. With a sigh and shake of his head, he looked up at me and with a sad smile.

“You know, I can still see that buck sitting in his chair, a smile on his lips as he enjoyed the peace and quiet.” he finished, staring back out at the horizon.

In all my time with Hans, there were still tidbits about each other's lives we still didn’t know. For the most part, we knew each other pretty well. But there were still some memories or stories hidden away in our minds, just waiting for the right opportunity to be told. Up until then, I had no idea that Hans was adept at fishing, it never really needed to come up until now. I didn’t know the first thing about it. My family lived too far inland to bother with fishing, so all we did was raise beets and turnips. I told him so and Hans just barked a laugh.

“Ha! A farmer’s boy, I’m not surprised.” he said, looking at me with a smirk. “Were your crops of quality?” he asked. I merely snorted and shrugged, saying that I couldn’t remember if we had good or bad crops. I never cared too much for the family business. After that conversation, we had fallen silent, lost in our own thoughts as we waited for something to happen.

***

Six-thirty was starting to come around, and I could barely see the sun setting behind the ever-present curtain of grey and dark grey clouds above. Most of the storm heads above us contained more snow, ready to dump it all on the Tundra, but Hans and I were getting a few flurries of our own out in the bay. No matter where you went in the Tundra, snow was always going to be your companion. I could hear Hans tossing the last of our chum out, the chunks splashing dully into the water. I watched as the salty waters turned darker as the blood entered the waters. With the setting sun off to our right, this slice of the Saint Trotsky bay might have been scenic in some alternate universe where the world wasn’t blown to bits. Ahead of us, the horizon loomed. Whatever laid beyond that, nopony knew. Behind us, we could see the lights of Saint Trotsky began to illuminate the approaching night, acting as a beacon for us to return to when the night really came on.

The snow flurries had begun to pick up in strength, a sign that one of the storm heads above us had decided to pay us a visit out here in the bay. The snow had already made a fine layer about half and inch deep on the steel deck. As Hans stacked the last bucket with the others, he gave a soft sigh and stared out at the waters before looking around a moment. He poked his head inside the bridge and told me the time.

“Fifteen till seven. I’m going to get the engines warmed up so that they’re ready for when we head back in here soon.” he told me. I slipped off the turret roof and nodded, stretching a bit as I looked away from my line.

“Maybe we can try again tomorrow. We’re not on a total time crunch with Bernard. ” I began, looking at him with a yawn. “I’m going to need a bed soon,” I admitted. My stomach then gave a low growl, signaling I was hungry. “Or maybe a decent meal first…” I muttered. While ghouls didn’t need to eat as frequently as a normal pony, we still got hungry from time to time. Just a biological tick that radiation couldn’t erase.

“Good luck convincing one of the town folks to let us eat, let alone sleep, in one of their establishments.” Hans said, slightly patronizing me. “In case you forgot, we’re ghouls. Most settlers don’t enjoy our-” he stopped mid-sentence. It took me a moment to realize that his gaze was on my bobber. When I looked over, I managed to see it for just a second before it disappeared beneath the waters.

Something had taken the bait, and it was taking it fast. My reel began spinning in a blur as the line was fed out. I could feel a strong force pulling against my harness, dragging me closer to the edge of the boat. I tried to dig my hooves into the metal, but the layer of snow was making it harder for me to gain any traction. Hans rushed over with a yell as he tried to undo the locks keeping the rod attached to me. The edge was getting closer by the second, and the strength was just mounting more and more. I began to panic, my hooves scrambling in a vain attempt to keep me on the boat.

“Hans! Edge! Water!! HURRY!!” I whinnied, trying to pull back on the rod to ease the growing tension. Hans said something in Germaneic, but I couldn’t hear it over my pounding heartbeat in my ears. Adrenaline was kicking my body into overdrive, and I pulled back with all my might. The rod was almost at its maximum bend, about to give way at any moment.

Then, in one motion, I was flung back against the armored bulkhead of the bridge as the rod broke. As for Hans, the broken fishing line had snapped and whipped across his face, splitting his weathered cheek from the base of his ear, to the edge of his mouth. A maroon ichor began to ooze from the wound, and he went stumbling back onto his ass as his forehooves came up to cover the sudden injury. I groaned in pain as my back pulsed from the impact, and Hans merely kept a hoof to his cheek as he stood back up. Helping me up onto my hooves, the two of us stared out in the direction we had last seen the bobber.

Slowly, a shape began to rise out of the waters, and it was at least as tall as a pony. Curved but gnarled at the same time, covered in scars of prior conflicts. We watched as it sliced through the water without issue, moving slowly around our boat. Hans and I moved to the bow to watch it as it circled. When it reached the starboard side, the fin had slipped beneath the waters.

Fear gripped my heart, and I could feel an icy cold sweat break out on my forehead. I looked at Hans for a moment. He was staring wide eyed at where the fin had slipped away.

“Engines. Now. Get your rifle too.” he said, and the two of us scrambled back into the bridge. Hans pressed the ignition and threw the throttle forwards without giving the engines time to warm up. I could hear the engines whine in protest at the sudden need for full throttle, and Hans screamed at the vessel as he whacked a hoof against the control console.

“Stück Scheiße!” he yelled in anger as one of the engines popped, then roared to life. The floor began to hum as both engines began to accelerate us forward. Hans threw the boats’ wheel to the right, and the armored boat went into a wide turn as we pointed straight for Saint Trotsky. While Hans did what he could to get us more speed, I readied my rifle and poked my head out the door. My eyes went wide with terror as I saw the ominous fin ride out of the waters along our starboard side, coasting at the same speed we were. For a moment, I saw the creature raise its head, as if to look at me, its silhouette outlined in the rapidly setting sunlight.

Eyes. Multiple, glossy, eyes locked onto me after the protective pieces of skin slid back. I quickly made to take aim, maybe to blind the creature in some way. But as my rifles’ barrel came down on it, the eyes slipped beneath the waters again as the fin turned away from us. In a moment, it suddenly changed direction and dashed straight for us.

A resounding crash sounded as our armored boat was jostled. I could feel us lose speed, and heard Hans cursing again as the boat righted itself and regained its lost speed. I glanced over at the dials for a moment. We were pushing at least twenty-five, well over where Vasyli told us to stay within. I looked back outside to see how much closer we were to shore. To my dismay, we were still quite a ways away. When had we drifted so far out? Did we mistaken when the tide was going to change?

Another slam jostled the boat, and this time, the creature seemed to be taking us for a ride. The armored boat shuddered under this new force, and I could hear the engines screaming in protest as we were forcefully turned around and pointed back out to sea. The damn thing was smart! It seemed like it was trying to drag us back out to sea!

“Reverse! Now!” I yelled. Hans didn’t need me to tell him that, as his hoof had already slammed the throttle into the reverse gear, nearly breaking out of its housing in the control console. The engines chugged as they suddenly had to change the direction the propellers were spinning. I looked out again to get a better look at the beast pushing us. It had to be at least the same length as our vessel, maybe longer.

I swallowed nervously and looked at Hans, who was looking at me.

“We’re gonna need a bigger boat…” I mumbled. At that moment, I felt the vessel lurch in reverse as the engines finally spun back into full speed.

“I’m not dying out here to some oversized aquarium sideshow!” Hans yelled as he poked his head out of the other door on the bridge to see which way he was going. I joined him and saw that we were slightly off course from Saint Trotsky, and that he would need to adjust us to get us back on track. He looked at me, then at my rifle, and grimaced.

“I need you on the spotlight,” he said, looking up at the already nearly dark skies. “Take some shots to deter it.” he added. I looked at him nervously, but he gave me a reassuring smile. “We’ve faced worse, haven’t we?” he asked. I nodded, knowing he was right. There’s a monster out in the Tundra that is much worse than what was chasing us right now. Ducking back into the bridge, Hans resumed his post at the controls as I scrambled for the spotlight on the prow. The deck was slick with snow, and I almost launched myself off the boat in my dash for the spotlight. Reaching for it, my hooves wrapped around the control handles. I had to rear back and almost stand to operate the device. My hoof found the squeaky button in the base of the pad, bringing the light to life. Immediately a pale beam cut through the encroaching nighttime waters, illuminating the wake left by our vessel as it sailed backwards to safety.

A moment of realization went off in my head. How did Hans expect me to operate the light and shoot? I mean yeah, I had managed to upgrade to a makeshift battle saddle of sorts over the years, but it wasn’t practical for this situation. Someone had to stay on the light in case it resurfaced.

Thankfully at that moment, I heard hoofsteps behind me and I looked back. Hans had adorned his own rifle saddle and took up a firing stance next to me.

“Keep sweeping with that light. If you see it, light it up for me.” he said as his battle saddle clicked and chambered a fresh round into his rifle. I swept the pale cone of light back and forth across the dark waters. Tricks were being played on my eyes in the crests and troughs of the waves. Nerves played hell with my ability to focus, and the light kept chasing shadows.

And then, something emerged from the wake of our vessel, and it was on a direct course for Hans and I. The spotlight illuminated a gaping maw in the water, lined by rows upon rows of jagged teeth, almost like a living industrial shredder. The damn monster lunged for us with speed I never thought possible. Any bravery Hans and I managed to scrounge up immediately vanished as we both screamed, scrambling away from the spotlight as the monstrous, twisted shark slammed into it. It thrashed and tore the spotlight off its mounting, devouring the object with its multitude of teeth. The added weight of the beast made our vessel bow heavy, and we could feel the weight shifting, almost raising the stern out of the water. As the shark slid free though, the stern slammed down into the water. Something below decks pinged and exploded. Behind us, a section of the armored deck buckled and erupted from where one of the engines was located beneath the bridge. The explosion rocked the vessel, and a fire immediately began spewing out of the jagged hole.

“Damn it!” I yelled, scrambling to get away from the fire, but remembering to not getting too close to the bow. Hans grabbed me and we raced back into the bridge through the door opposite the blaze. Smoke was filling the small space, and I slammed the armored door shut to keep the smoke out. He checked the speedometer, seeing that we were losing speed quickly now that we were on only one engine. Checking out the door we had just entered through, I saw that we were a little more than halfway back to port. At our dwindling speed however, doubt that we would make it back began to fill my core. Hans and I shared a grim expression, mine more on the line of hopelessness. With a growl of anger, Hans bit into the firing handle of his battle saddle and chambered a round into his rifle.

"Nope. This is not how I'm dying!" he declared, leaving the bridge. I watched him through the windows as he trotted defiantly over to the mangled prow of the armored boat. I managed to race out just in time to hear him taunting the beast. To my horror, I could see a cluster of glowing spots in the dark, churning waters. It took my brain a second to realize that the glowing was coming from the mutated shark. Hans continued to taunt and scream at the water, in what I assumed was the start of an anger fueled panic attack. Hans has only had two prior panic attacks, with both of them being brought about by unfair circumstances and dwindling options.

Then, just as Hans had degraded into a full blown Germaneic stream of curses and swears, the shark lunged out of the water. Its body glowed a sickly neon yellow, illuminating the inside of the Maws' grotesque interior as its multitude of eyes shined like a cluster of spotlights. Time seemed to slow as the Maw flew towards us, and I watched my friend bite into the trigger of his battle saddle with his hoof stomping in defiance.

A dull thump sounded from somewhere behind me. A second later, the sound of an incoming shell filled the air before an explosion erupted across the Maws' gaping mouth. I heard it give a roar not possible for such a creature as it lost momentum and body slammed into the deck. Hans scrambled away until he pressed against the forward turret, and I took a second to see where the shot had come from. To my surprise, the rusted naval gun mounted to the pier was aimed towards us, with us being well into its firing range. And, seated in the gunners seat, was Vasyli. He scrambled to dismount from the cannon and darted over to the ammunition cache, going through the steps of reloading the weapon by himself.

Hans gave a yelp of protest, and I snapped my head back to the dire situation. The Maw had not slipped off our deck like it had last time, forcing it under the waters. It thrashed and snapped at Hans as he fired round after round into its leathery hide. The naval gun fired again, and I could hear the shell pass over head by a few feet, splashing into the waters with a large plume. Biting into my own battle saddle trigger, my rifle barked over and over as I planted shots into the Maw from almost six feet away. I poured on the heat as my rounds landed into its glowing eyes, making them erupt into small fountains of bioluminescent eye fluid and blood. The pier mounted cannon boomed again, and this time the shell impacted just behind the Maws' dorsal fin, blasting a large chunk of hide and meat off its form. I looked and could see that we were coasting past the pier Vasyli fired from, and I watched as he struggled to make the cannon follow our burning vessel. He yelled and cursed the aged weapon as the barrel swept through the billowing smoke.

"I'm empty!" Hans yelled, releasing the mouth trigger before turning to scramble up the side of the tank turret. He laid prone on the top of the turret, struggling to hold on as the river boat shuddered and swayed from the violent strength it was being subjected to. The bow was more than halfway under now, but the Maw did not relent its attack. It knew we were running out of time. I continued to fire at it, watching as it opened its mouth to try and bite at the split barrel of the forward turret. The sound of splitting flesh and squelching meat could be heard as it slammed its mouth closed, trying to rend the steel apart. Instead, it managed to hook itself on the peeled steel, the split barrel acting like a massive fishing hook. The Maw began to thrash even harder, trying to free itself from its own mistake.

Then, a lightbulb went off. I looked at Hans just as the pier cannon fired again, but missed, the shell roaring over head and impacting somewhere behind us.

"Hans! Get in the turret!" I ordered. He turned his head to look at me, but I was already rushing into the bridge and below decks. Smoke immediately filled by lungs, causing me to cough as and I stopped to try and cover my mouth and nose from it. I could feel the hull shuddering under the added weight of the thrashing monster above me. Water was already leaking into the interior of the boat, entering through stress marks and splits in the armor. Behind me, the fire was raging, having engulfed the entire engine bay and the rest of the rear compartments. Looking up, I saw the turret basket of the forward turret, along with Hans' rear legs dangling into the cramped space. Moments later, I climbed up into the gunner seat and Hans fell into the loader seat beside me.

"A fine choice for a coffin, Dimitri!" Hans said angrily, glaring daggers at me as he began to cough from the smoke. I gave him a knowing grin as my eyes watered. I then slapped my hoof against the breech of the mangled cannon.

"Fear not. There's still a loaded round in this cannon." I coughed, positioning myself to look through the cracked scope. I could see that the Maw was still fighting for its life now, but all it was doing was driving the peeled steel further into the roof of its mouth. The turret was jostled from side to side with each shake of the sharks' head, making Hans and I bounce off the sides and interior of the turret.

"And what makes you say that? It would take pure, dumb luck for there to still be an active round in the chamber!" Hans said skeptically, covering his mouth and nose with a foreleg now. A moment later, my hoof released the lock for the breech block, and Hans stared in disbelief from over his foreleg as the untarnished back of an unfired shell greeted him. At that moment, we felt the impact of something hitting the rear of the boat, and all momentum stopped. As it came to a sudden halt, the boat continued to shake and shudder from side to side.

"And it looks like you and I have just that, my friend." I said, grinning a I slammed the block closed. "There's still enough intact barrel for the shot to travel. And since we're firing at point blank range..." I trailed off, letting Hans connect the dots. It took him a moment, and he lowered his foreleg, a large grin on his lips when it dawned on him.

"Dimitri, you mad pony you! Fire!" he ordered as his hooves came up to cover his ears. A second later, and my rear hoof slammed the firing paddle.

The cannon jumped back with a dull thump. And a second later, the world outside shook with a violent shudder.

***

As we emerged from the turret and jumped from our beached vessel onto the shoreline of Saint Trotsky, the first pony to greet us at the scene was Vasyli. We were too busy coughing our lungs up to try and stop him as he threw his forelegs around the two of us, his entire body shaking with joy and excitement.

"You crazy bastards! You did it! You did it, you did it, you did it!" he cheered, jumping in place as he broke away to do a little dance. "And with my boat intact!" he added, looking at the burning vessel. His joy soured a bit, but that didn't stop him. "Well, almost intact. But still! It's dead!" he cheered, gesturing to the limp corpse of the Maw. Its lower jaw hung slack, its' eyes glossed over and the glow of its body had faded. Now that it was dead, I could see that one of the larger barrel splits was sticking out a good few feet from the beasts upper cheek, with some of the smaller ones piercing through other spots around its mouth. The Maw would have had to rip its own face and jaws apart to try and free itself from the jagged metal. Towards the rear, past the dorsal blast from Vasyli's shell, a large exit wound had completely severed the tail from the body, which had immediately overloaded the nervous system with a heavy dose of shock and trauma. It was dead before it even stopped moving.

Hans and I had just managed to regain our ability to breathe, when Rip Tide approached us with Petunia right beside him. The two stared in disbelief at what was pulled off. I could tell that Rip Tide was refusing to believe what two ghouls had just managed to accomplish. A group of other residents had begun to trickle down with flashlights and lanterns to the beach to see what all the commotion was. Some began to fight the blaze with buckets of water while mares gasped in surprise as the beams of light and flickering fire illuminated the twisted beast. As they looked on, the corpse gave a violent jerk, and they all jumped back as it settled back down. A pony in the crowd was trying to reassure the others that it was a simple, postmortem muscle spasm.

"Thanks for the help." Hans said, clapping a hoof on Vasyli's shoulder, his voice a raspy rumble now from all the coughing. The ghoul officer chuckled and shook his head, lightly brushing the hoof off.

"No no, it was all you two. I'm pretty sure those shells I fired were in worse condition than I initially believed." he said, downplaying his part in taking the beast down. I walked over and smiled, looking over at the pier cannon before speaking to Vasyli.

"No, you helped weaken it. I could tell that it was becoming frightened as it grew more desperate to end us." I said, pointing at the Maw now. "Its own nature led it to make the mistake that led us to this moment." I continued, giving Vasyli a salute. "Thank you, Lieutenant." I finished. Hans nodded and shared in the gesture, a smile pulling at the corners of his lips. I'm pretty sure Vasyli was biting his lip to stop it from trembling as he gave a sharp return salute. The three of us dropped the gesture at the same time as Rip Tide regarded us. He gave a curt nod to Vasyli before looking at Hans and I.

"I suppose a thank you is in order." he said, his tone cool as he looked at the now extinguished vessel again. Ponies were still staring at the monster in awe and disbelief, with most of them keeping some distance between them and it. They were probably afraid that it would suddenly spring back to life, despite its injuries. Rip Tide continued speaking.

"Petunia alerted me to the fire from your boat. I assumed you two had failed and was about to go to bed, when I heard Vasyli's cannon opening fire. I knew in that moment that something was different. The only time he ever fires the cannon is when he is sure that it will help end a situation." he continued, his gaze turning back to the two of us, then to Vasyli. His tone remained cool as he spoke again. "I still don't trust ghouls. Not a lick. But, with this, maybe I can call on you two to get a job done again in the future. At least I know it will get done, and in style." he said with a brief chuckle. With that, he turned and began to walk away, Petunia falling in beside him after she waved us goodbye. "Firing point blank with a broken barrel...ridiculous..." he chuckled.

As Rip Tide walked away, Vasyli regarded us again, a wide smile on his lips.

"Come on, I'll treat you to drinks at the tavern. On me!" he proclaimed, turning around to take the lead back towards town. Hans and I took a moment to share a smile, and I could see exhaustion etching across his withered features. His flesh still bore an angry, red split from where the broken fishing wire had whipped across his cheek. I myself could feel a dull ache in my back as my adrenaline gradually tapered off.

"A drink does sound good right about now. You?" I asked tiredly. Hans gave a raspy chuckle and began to follow Vasyli.

"A drink always sounds good Dimitri, no matter the circumstance. Tonight, we drink to another victory over the unnatural forces of the Tundra!" he declared before falling into a coughing fit. I only laughed in response as I caught up to the two ghouls. As we entered the town, Hans regarded me with a raised eye brow and asked me a question.

"How did you know there was still a shell in the chamber?" he asked as we walked up the steps of the tavern. I stopped at the open door and shrugged, a smirk on my lips.

"I did some poking around after washing the chum off me. I never got to sit in one of those turrets during the war, so what better opportunity? I was just playing make-believe when I opened the breech. Low and behold, one high explosive shell, unfired for nearly thirty-five years. Vasyli must have missed it when he acquired the river boat." I suggested. Hans stared at me a moment and chuckled before taking a step into the tavern.

"I never knew you wanted to be a tanker." he rasped before we both entered the tavern. We were greeted with a cheer from the townsponies, and treated like heroes at the bar. As we relished the extraordinary tale of our battle against the Maw, night had fully enveloped the town by this point. The illuminated windows made the bayside town feel warm and welcoming in an otherwise harsh landscape. To top it off, a gentle snowfall had started around eleven, while we were four rounds deep into our stories and drinks. The ponies here were now free of a watery terror, and an opportunity to rebuild their fishing industry had opened up to them, all thanks to the help of two echoes of a long gone war.

Footnote - Level Up! New Perk: RADical Hunter. You've taken down a rather nasty monster from time to time in your travels. You gain an increased chance to inflict critical damage against a mutated creature during combat. This chance increases with every level put into this perk, starting with a base percentage of fifteen percent, plus an extra five percent per level. Note: This perk can be leveled up five times.

Author's Note

What an action packed first chapter!
I'd like to thank you again for reading, and I hope to see you in the next chapter.
Again, constructive feedback is appreciated!

I'll leave you off with a historical bit of info used to help build this chapter:
Soviet Russia utilized armored river boats to defend its rivers during WWII. Google the Pr.1124 river boat, and you'll get a general sense of what Hans and Dimitri were on, with some artistic liberties taken on how one may have been built and armed for this universe.

Then just imagine a massive shark mutated by radiation lined up next to it.

With love, Tetra.