The Night is all around usby ShimmerfunChaptersAfternoon 1.1Afternoon 1.2Afternoon 1.3Sunset 1.1Sunset 1.2Twilight 1.1Twilight 1.2Afternoon 1.1Steel Rush did not wager himself a clever pony. He was never meant for the stars, so he chose the sparks of the welder. His clouds were the smoke of the flame jet against iron and his choir hitting the metal rivet with a hammer. But it was good enough, and it gave him enough bits for a night ride, so he couldn’t complain; and most of the times he did not. That day though, something caught his attention. Somepony had taken the time and effort to affix a large poster to the walls of the factory. It depicted a star with wings and the letters ‘BIDE’ in large bold characters beneath. Steel Rush turned off the welder and pulled up his helmet, drying sweat from his brow. That was new. “Hey!” he shouted to make his voice reach Clever Hoof, who was busy tying up yet another beam a few meters above. “Hey! Clever!” He shouted again as the din and tin from the worker ponies drowned his calls. At last, his colleague turned down to look at him. He gestured with his hoof at his ear and took out one of his earplug, wincing as the noise rushed towards his brain. “What’s that?” He shouted pointing at the poster. Clever Hoof shrugged and shook his head. He put his earplug back in and turned to work. He scratched the back of his head, where the helmet rested against his neck. Odd. Maybe even odder than the sudden orders from the Princesses to build a mechanical factory of all things in Manehattan of all places. He looked at the poster again. Its edges were already smeared from fumes and oil, the colors muted by the fallout from welding on the upper floors. The growing factory was like a monster of metal and cement and iron and glass, being born out of the work of ants. There was, he guessed, some kind of beauty in making something new. Contributing to something bigger than himself, even if it was just for a hoof-full of bits, that would soon turn into gas for his truck. But the poster bothered him. It was so out of place. Like someone instructed the workers to put potted plants atop their heads. Bide, he thought. Biding for what, exactly? “Steel! We don’t pay you to look at your hooves!” The forepony’s stern voice shook him from his reverie. He pulled his helmet back and turned the flame jet on, showering the metal with more and more sparks. This was his world, after all. *** That night, when he drove his truck across the countryside that endlessly stretched beyond the suffocating coils of Manehattan, with the growl of the engine reverberating through his teeth, the smell of plastic and gas, he found himself smiling. He turned around a large rock, twisting the rubber and steel of the wheels until they moaned. He laughed – this was life, life beyond the factory, beyond his pointless work, beyond the repetitive din and tin and clink and twang of the monster they were building in the city. He stopped the truck on the side of a low hill, panting. Horseapples, that was good. He might work himself to death by day, but by night, he was free. Free to ride. He would never own one of those fancy sports car the snooty unicorns in Canterlot drove, but that was besides the point. Polished glass and ceramics did not interest him. The gritty, grimy feel of oil smears, the rumbling engine like he was a Pegasus holding a thunderstorm under control with his two hooves – that was what he lived for. He let his tired body fall against the seat, looking up through the front glass pane at the night above. He blinked. The stars seemed especially bright tonight. Brighter and warmer than the sparks against iron. For the first time they seemed to call to him. He lifted his hoof to reach for them. It hit the glass. He blinked again and withdrew his hoof – how silly! He was a grown-up pony, he had to know better by now. His momma back in Appleloosa always used to tell him he ought to find some stability, a good job, a good mare and settle down. So far, zero out of four. Not bad. And yet… the stars kept on shining. Each of them part of something larger than themselves. Bide, he thought again. He did not know what for – he was not a clever pony – but hey, it might be for something fun. Afternoon 1.2The next few days were mostly peaceful for Steel Rush. Mostly. The radio kept spewing some ridiculous stories about revolts in the jungles in the south – not the good South of his momma, the wet, steamy South of the mysterious temples down in the east – and no pony worth his bits wanted to have anything to do with that place. It would be a nightmare after all, no place where to push his old truck to the highest speed. But yeah, mostly peaceful. If one ignored the tension in the background, the tired gazes, the quips from worker to worker, the feeling like he was walking on a tight rope getting thinner and thinner at every step. The poster got removed. A few ponies got into shouting about it, and the atmosphere of the factory took a turn for the worse, even as if was now approaching completion. They were driving them down like slaves and by night all Steel Rush could do was jump on his truck and try not to think any more. There was something odd about this extreme eagerness his overseers had. Maybe they’d got promised a huge bonus if they finished it in enough time, or maybe they knew something he did not. Manehattan itself was full of tension these days. He saw a few batponies stroll out in the streets, under the Sun, without a care. Once when he was getting a well-deserved break he saw a group of batponies arguing with a unicorn. Too far to hear what they were talking about, but close enough to notice the sparks flittering out of his horn and the ends of the batpony’s wings stand out in a threat. Something weird was going on. And just when the factory work was about to finish, he caught wind of the Princess’ visit. No, not Celestia. Not even the purple one, the big smarty pants one. Luna. That got him thinking – and he wasn’t made for thinking. He knew the factory, he knew its layout, he knew its hallways and corridors and pulleys and arches and furnaces. This was heavy industry. Mechanics. No plush toys would come out of this building. Especially not after all those tons of cordite, manganese, coal, steel and wood were amassed in the nearby warehouses. Now, he was not a clever pony. But even Steel Rush could tell when something was up… and a firearms factory was something mighty strange in this day and age. Especially when usually Celestia just tossed Ms. Lavender Smarts and her friends at every apocalypse. He did not talk with his coworkers about his doubts – he was not a clever pony but he wasn’t stupid – but his ears did catch some whispers, about maybe an expedition to the northern shores to secure that village on the border of Nova Griffonia, or maybe even military pressure on Stalliongrad… Better striped than red, his pops used to say, and he did share the sentiment, but he really could not see Celestia take over the region, not by force. She could have stomped the damn Buffalos with a flick of her tail and she did not even do that. And the Princess of the night was coming to town. The thought kept him awake and turned him into a restless wreck: the Princess, the Princess. The one who was coming to Manehattan just as the military factory would finish completion… there was something behind this. He did not know what. But his heart ached to be there. There, at the Princess’ speech. He might want to look for a ticket. Afternoon 1.3Rush shifted uncomfortably on the seat. It was a good chair, the foldable type, but good enough. He was not an expert in chairs – he was only an expert in driving and welding, and one of those things was now out since the completion of the factory. If he had expected the Princess to come in and bop each and every one of them on the nose for a well-done job, he had another thing coming. One morning he had to wake up at five o’clock to cut steel beams, the other he could sleep in bed for how long he wanted, his contract expired. When jumping from job to job he always allowed himself a two-weeks sabbatical when he pushed his truck as far as he could into the endless plains of the Equestrian interior, just see how far he could go before he had to stop and repair the choking, sputtering engine. But this time he was too restless to do anything. Bide. Bide for what? When would his moment come? By night things got even worse. If he tried to just hop on his ol’ faithful and go for a night drive he would just push it for a few miles and then slow it down and then stop and then look up at the sky. It’s full of stars. Rush shifted again on his chair. He brushed his tired eyes. Bide. He felt like a big fat fish on a hook, being pulled this way and that, getting tired. He never got into fishing, his pops always thought it stupid, but he knew you were supposed to get your prey tired before going in for the kill. Bide for what? There was something coming. Something big. Did not know what exactly but he did feel like it was, and together with him, one those creaking folding chairs hundreds, no, thousands of ponies seemed to feel the same, looking towards the stage where the Princess was talking about the rights of Thestrals. He needed a minute to understand what the word meant – he had always called them batponies or some other less-than-savory term, but now with the Princess looking so passionate about her subjects, he did feel a little stupid for never asking how they preferred to be called. The waves and waves of ponies cheered and clapped with every word, so that even with the aide of the Princess’ magnified voice he only got bits and pieces of what exactly she was talking about. Equality, friendship. And yet he felt like something was about to happen. Under the blanket of stars, in that city that never sleeps, night was encroaching for maybe the first time. It pressed all around them, it shifted and turned, it caressed each of his hair and tickled his chest as it laughed in his ear, all tinkling noises and very pointed teeth. He lifted his gaze from the crowd to the Princess, standing out with her wings wide open, raising a hoof as her speech rose to its climax. A speech about peace, about a new era of wonders and friendship. The crowd stood up, chanting her name: Luna, Luna Luna. “Luna,” he felt it roll off his dreamy lips. “Luna,” he tried again. It was getting easier. He did feel a little better now. Bide. For what. For this! “Luna!” he cheered, clapping his hooves with the others. Maybe this was what he had always missed, he realized in a flash. “Luna!” This was the moment. The moment when it would happen, the moment when he found something greater than himself. The stars beckoned. “Luna! Luna Lu-” The last syllable died on his lips when the stage exploded in a white-red flower. The rumble of the detonation hit him like a slap moments later – he fell back and hit his head. Sunset 1.1He blinked and darkness rushed in. Something had happened. His head ached and a strange iron-like taste was in his mouth. Groaning, he stood up on his hind legs, kneading the side of his head that had hit… the ground… and there had been an explosion and… “Luna,” he whispered. Where was she? He blinked again. Why was it so dark? Maybe he hit his head a bit too hard. When he took a tentative step though his eyes slowly got used again to the almost-twilight around him and he found out the darkness was in fact receding, leaving behind the blanket of night like a wave leaves behind the ocean’s glistening shells upon a shore. Carved through the outline of stark boxy shapes of Manehattan’s skyscrapers, the night sky shone for the first time inside the city that never sleeps. A power outage of some sort? This, on top of everything else that… that happened. A flash replayed behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes. The bomb. There had been a bomb. Somepony had… tried to blast the Princess away. Why? It did not make sense. Nothing about this did. “Hello?” He tried. No reply. The auditorium where the Princess stated her speech had been left desert. Or mostly so. A few ponies lay on the ground like him. Maybe they were still stunned. “H-Hey,” he repeated, falling back to his Southern drawl in the shock of the moment. But neither his parents were there – he was alone, alone inside this darkness that had grown to envelop Equestria’s largest town. “Hey,” he repeated, stumbling forward until he reached one of the ponies still dazed from the explosion. A young mare, her coat a dazzling yellow even in the dim brightness of the swirling stars above. “Wake up,” he said, but only because his tongue was faster than his brain. “Wake up,” he tried again – and this time his leg shot forward to wake her up but he hesitated because she was too still and why were there dark spots on her coat if she was not a spotted pony and why were those spots so sticky and glistening like- The smell hit him. Iron. The still-lingering hint of cordite. Spoiled sweetness from where her bowels had spilled out. “C-Celestia’s beard,” he cursed, covering his mouth with his hoof at the blasphemy. But his mother was not there to chastise him. And he had a sudden longing for his youngling years, back when the sun was in the sky and life made sense. “Ah’ll go git help!” He shouted at the unmoving pony. How silly, she did not even stand up to say thanks. What a silly, silly mare. And he was not a clever pony. He had no plan, except for that whispered by his burning heart inside his ears – run run run – and he followed it the best he could. He left the auditorium plaza – some other ponies lay sleeping on the side of the road and who knew what they were all dreaming about. And there were flashes ahead. Fireworks. But fireworks used to be brighter and last for much longer, nothing of this rat-tat-tat-tat he heard that reminded him of the hoking noises his wrench made when it got stuck inside two gears. Rat-tat-tat-tat! And screams. Scattered echoes for now, but there was something ahead – figures holding something and more of those fireworks and more of those screams. He opened his mouth to call out for them but this time his brain did check in fast enough and he bit his tongue. Wait. Wait. Might not be the brightest of ideas. Might end up like those silly, silly ponies dreaming of empty things on the sides of the road. He had parked his truck somewhere, didn’t it? Sure he could find it, he could turn the engine on and drive through the night and away from this cursed city. Sure somewhere else the sun was still shining, right? Another brightness awaited ahead. Far from the fireworks, a blade of rusty light cut an alley in two. He walked in, looked at the source of the light, and stood transfixed like one of them butterflies his aunt used to stick to the wall. From between two tall skyscrapers, a huge red moon hung from the sky, blood-red and spattered with craters like empty eyes. Whispers rose to his ears, speaking in tongues he did not recognize. Slowly he lifted a hoof to reach for the moon. “Freeze!” Somepony shouted from the other end of the alley. Author's Note Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if the story is of your liking, I would love to hear your thoughts. Things will be getting a little darker from now on I am afraid. Sunset 1.2He shuddered, the spell broken for the time being. He stood still under the gaze of the bloodied moon. A trio of batponies… no, thestrals, looked at him. Two mares side by side with a colt who looked more bored than anything else. His off-white coat spattered by the same dark droplets as the sleeping mare in the auditorium. He was not a silly pony, though. He still breathed. “Calm down, he’s clearly under shock.” And spoke. “Also unarmed,” he chuckled. “I… my name is Steel Rush. If you could help me find my truck… I was sure I parked it around here.” “This is a new one,” the left thestral snickered. “Stop it you two,” the chief chastised them. “Good night to you, citizen. What are you doing here?” “You… Ah… Ah was… at the auditorium, there was a blast… Ah have no idea, who are you bat-,” he caught himself, “you thestrals?” “Hear hear, not all those who wander are lost,” the chief said, coming closer. Only then he noticed that something stuck out from his saddle. A thin hollow tube, still smoking. The moment he stepped under the rusty moonlight an apple-like blazon shone. Macintosh. “I made those,” Rush muttered. “What?” “I used to work at the factory. The big new one. I’m a welder. Ah don’t know why you are all using those but ah don’t want no trouble sir.” “The kid is the bucking chosen one,” the thestral chuckled, covering him with his left wing and carrying him together with the others. “Did you hear? He used to work at the factory. And he was at the auditorium. He’s a keeper.” One of the mares looked at his flank. “I don’t see a smiling sun on his butt. Clear for me,” she said with a glint of sympathy in her yellow eyes. “Wh-where are you talking me sir? Ah don’t want to cause no problems sir. If you can help me find my truck…” “At rest, soldier,” he interrupted him. “My name and rank is Star Sprinkle. Sergeant Star Sprinkle. We’re gathering you all up at a nearby plaza. Keep you away from the fight, after we make them pay for the terrorist attack. Give you all something to do. There’s a bucketload of rifles to be built and we can’t keep those hooves empty, soldier.” “What are you talking about? Is there a war?” He looked up as if some invisible monster was about to snap at him. “The reds are attacking?” “The ‘reds’?” The yellow-eyed mare quirked her eyebrow. The other one snickered. “Nothing like that my friend. I’ll explain everything as soon…” “Sergeant!” The yellow-eyed mare tackled them both and they rolled on the concrete floor. Something whizzed past him. Bees? It couldn’t be. At night? “Die, solarists!” The other mare screamed, and she shot more fireworks from her sidearm, biting into something like a muzzle at the side of her head and unleashing a scatter of rat-tat-tat at a group of white-clad ponies that had appeared at the end of the alley. They shot back. That was shooting. Her muzzle was the first thing to go. It burst out in a flower of skin and blood and bone. It flew past her shoulders. She fell on her side and wheezed and tried to reach for her rifle. Another discharge turned her eyes glassy. Her head slapped against the pavement. Dreaming forever. “Twinkle!” Screamed the Sergeant. He rose in the air, holding his rifle with both hands. He managed to hit two of the ponies before a ricocheting bullet hit him in the back. He flapped uselessly, hit a lamppost, and fell. His body bent on one angle and his neck on the opposite one. “Bastards!” The yellow-eyed mare tried to reach for her muzzle but she was laying at a bad angle and couldn’t reach it. The remaining pony – why was she crying why was she crying – rushed forward, her rifle at the ready, pointed at their head and a star of panic burst into his chest. He was not a clever pony. But he knew his metalwork and he knew she was trying to pull the wrong way and the iron had been bent by her tackle and she would not reach it in time. So he did it for her. His right hoof pulled back a hoof-handle and the rifle barked its song just when the other mare was at three steps of distance. For some reason she was not shooting already. Maybe because she could not see well through all those tears. He hit her straight in the chest. Her neck did that funny thing all necks do when they are hit by a bullet and it folded on itself like paper. She fell on her forelegs, wavered there for a moment like in prayer and then on the pavement. All he could hear was his breathing. The yellow-eyed mare rushed him upright. She hugged him and dragged him towards the Sergeant and then she hesitated and pulled him away, away from the rust-colored alley and the five bodies spreading their blood and piss and tears all over the pavement and how they glistened under the embrace of the Night, how bright were all the stars and galaxies dancing inside those growing puddles. Author's Note I lost count of the number of times I had to make sure I war writing somepony and not someone. Please leave a comment if you are enjoying the story. I would love to hear your thoughts. Thanks for reading. Twilight 1.1Back and to the left. Back and to the left. All he could see was that mare’s neck snap. Back and to the left. Hit by his bullet. Rush had no idea where he was now. He was laying in some secluded part of the city, surrounded by other ponies. Many of them under shock, wounded, bandages. Talking in small groups, more than a thestral in uniform and rifle at the ready walking or flying by. They all had a strange, determined look in their eyes. The mare who had dragged him across half the city had disappeared in the sidelines and he had no idea where she had ended up to. Why did she leave him alone? And where was his truck? And how come the moon had not moved from the sky? It was supposed to be almost dawn. That much his frizzled body knew – a cycle engrained into his bones since the very first few days. Good night, the dead sergeant had greeted him. What of the dawn? Will there ever be dawn for him again? For Equestria? Looking up, all he could see was the same sparkly stars, glistening like blood drops. Like the same drops spilling onto the pavement. He looked down at his hooves. He did something. Pulled a trigger. It had been in self-defense. He was justified. Where was his truck? He was supposed to go home. These thoughts and similar passed through his mind like lost bats when he saw the ponies around him slowly stand up and turn towards an excited group of messengers, gathering at the other end of the plaza. A choir of cheers rose through the night air, carrying excited words and a few gunshots, thankfully directed upwards. “The city is taken,” he heard the closest pony say. “Manehattan belongs to the Empress!” “For the Lunar Empire!” A thestral shouted rising in the air and cartwheeling on leathery wings. Up above, the stars seemed to shine a little brighter. “For the Lunar Empire!” came the reply from a thousand more throats. The ponies sauntered and hollered as victorious shouts reached for the heavens. “Luna,” he muttered, feeling once again that pressure from above reaching for him. Bide, he remembered from the poster, from everything he had seen up until that point. Was this the moment he had been told to bide for? This moment of elation, this moment when he finally got what he needed, once and for all? Might be. An ember was lit in his heart, the kind of which he had only briefly felt back during the Princess’ celebration. But wait, the bomb… did that mean the Princess was safe? And who was the culprit then? “Hey,” he heard. Somepony approached him. He blinked and his gaze focused on the golden-eyed thestral of before. She was wearing a new uniform now, with a hard cap on her head, and walking towards him with a professional-looking dark-coated unicorn. “You are Steel Rush, right?” He nodded, still a bit dumbfounded. He had no idea what to do. “This is the pony who saved from the solarists’ ambush. He also was at the Prin-… at the Empress’ speech. I think we can trust him.” “Hmmm,” the unicorn studied him. “He looks mostly harmless. You said he had a truck?” “I like to ride,” Rush said, without thinking. Once again his tongue was faster than his brain. Or maybe he was still thinking about that poor mare. Back and to the left. Back and to the left. “I think I shot somepony,” he blurted. “Oh Celestia I shot a pony.” The thestral’s ears flickered at the name and the other pony frowned. “You must be under shock still. Why don’t you follow me for a bit, we may have something to talk about.” He did as he was told. It was starting to become a habit, but then again what kind of choice did he have? Back and to the left. Her neck snapping like a twig. They all entered a makeshift tent. The unicorn lifted a bottle and three glasses from a cabinet, filling them all to the brink with orange, thick liquid. “To this night. The first of many, the first of ever.” “May the night last forever,” the thestral replied clinking her glass. He did the same. “You should avoid uttering that name,” the thestral explained. “Not many will take to it kindly. If you want to, you can swear in the name of the Empress Nightmare Moon.” Nightmare Moon? Wasn’t that a child’s tale? But no, he did hear about it… something about Princess purplesmart’s first adventure, so many years before. “She has returned. To lead us all in a future of peace and glory. But we have to stop the war.” “We’re at war?” “The solarist forces will stop at nothing,” the unicorn mused finishing his drink. “That is the reason we all fight, from the lowest troop to the Warmaster herself. My name is Midnight Oil. I am a general in the Empress’ army.” A general? Did that mean more fighting? Back and to the left. But if it was for the good of Equestria… “You said you owned a truck?” “I do. It must still be parked somewhere around…” “Not many ponies know how to drive. Drive well, even less. But this was will be won through non-traditional methods, such is the Warmaster’s doctrine. And I do share it. I am thinking about putting on a small motorized band, soldier. Will you do your duty for the Empress?” “You want… me… to drive?” “Doing what you do best,” General Oil said with a smile like a sickle. Back and to the left. But it had been just a solarist. Like they said. Outside, the sky kept shining, bright and eternal. This was a new world. And he had to play under different rules. “I can drive,” Steel Rush said. Twilight 1.2He was not a clever pony. Such a thought, that once used to keep him sane while he pondered his life choices, now kept him sane while he drove his motorized unit. It smelled different from his old truck, which he had never seen again. He missed the little details. The engine that risked catching fire every two kilometers, the smell of his own coat on the seat, the feeling like he was moving his own body by turning a wheel and pushing on the speeder. The monster they gave him was different – it was a standard piece, any and all frivolities reduced to nothing by the engine might of the Lunar Empire. It had four wheels, four walls, and four guns. More than enough to wipe out those filthy Solarists. That was what he ended up calling them now, of course. The evil ponies who were standing against the just rule of the Empress of the Night herself. This and other truths he hung onto – they made his memory of the dying mare more comfortable, and they became more and more so with each Night. Though it was hard to understand when each began and ended. The rusty bloody moon he had seen the night of the explosion had turned back into its usual white form, but it never slipped away from the sky. And it was easy to see where the solarists were, judging simply by the colour of the sky. The thin orange line that called onto him, to drive and smash through that line, carve a path with his unit beyond it and then shut the trap on the encircled ponies, a thread-and-needle affaire that had then bite on mile after mile of frontline, furthering their advance in central Equestria and towards the unmoving prize shining on the horizon. The royal city of Canterlot. Seen from here, the noxious plains where ravens flew above and then swept down when they finished roughing up the bodies of the fallen, Equestria was another world. Grass, once green, now paved with the tracks of their motorized unit and the holes of bombardments. The wind carried the too-sweet smell of corpses and the faint hint of powder. Sometimes, faint cries. But it all for the better. It was all for the right cause. To bring peace and prosperity back to a country devastated by the tyranny of the evil Dawnbreaker. That was what it was. Radio Nox always said so. It spoke of the struggling workers on the coast, of the brave soldiers in the trenches around Luna Nova – they were about to capture the famed learning center and maybe, just maybe, find a breakthrough on a new type of magical rifle – of the genius of the Warmaster. The Knife. That was how she called their motorized unit. A sharp blade to cut through the enemy lines. Rush kept the radio always on. Especially when he tried to get some sleep. It helped to remind him he was doing the right thing. And with every time he closed his eyes, the voice in the Night that surrounded him lulled him back to the awareness that what he was doing was for the right cause. That all the dead, the driving through the devastated fields, the black-and-blue shattered skies… it was all for peace, freedom, and progress. He turned his eyes to his right – he had attached one of the war posters next to his seat. It was similar to the one he used to look at in the factory, back when this entire story had started, but with the fierce visage of the Empress guiding him towards a certain victory. “Hey,” somepony tapped on his windscreen. He blinked and turned to his left. “The general is about to talk, Rush,” Comet Breeze, the yellow-eyed thestral that had been his gunner since they spoke with Midnight Oil, said through the glass. “Sure,” he replied changing his station. The driving cabin was filled with static. “Great. Are you alright?” “Yes,” he replied with a weak smile. “I am perfectly alright.” “You just need a victory, Rush. Canterlot is at hoof’s reach. We just have to take the city and the traitors will be too scared to keep fighting.” “You are right.” Her wings twitched as she grinned. “I often am.” With those words, she flapped atop the truck, where she had her twin guns at the ready. “Attention, attention,” the coarse voice of Midnight Oil crackled through the radio. “We are about to begin. Bring your unit to point P39.” He looked down at the map on the seat beside him. Point P39 sat at the intersection between a line of hills and the gentle slopes at the beginning of Unicorn Range. He began to drive. Sometimes he bumped against something and was not sure if it was a rock or a corpse. It mattered little. The rumble of the engine, scattering through his body until it rattled his teeth. The poster to his right, informing he was in the right place. The soft thumping sounds of his gunner as she adjusted the guns atop the truck. That was all that mattered. And soon he had other things to worry about – the grass left room to mud, to leftover or lost equipment and unclaimed bones that cracked like brittle branches under the weight of the truck. Together with him, other motorized units gathered in a line, each of them carrying behind a plume of dust. This was where the front had collapsed. Radio Nox often spoke of the bold maneuver by General Tzica in the south. Close to his old home, before the Night gave him a more meaningful one. He had never been able to contact his family. In his heart of hearts, he was happy. Happy because throwing his truck at seventy kilometers per hour, chewing over mud and grass and skulls was better than being stationed in the south and risking to meet the gaze of his parents. “For the Night!” Rush cried out as the first scattered remains of the enemy soldiers appeared in view. The efforts of the companies of the Night had been to grind them into a withdrawal. Rat-tat-a-tat! Sang Comet Breeze’s gun atop their truck, sputtering bright projectiles that wiped out fleeing pony after fleeing pony. Some screamed when hit. Most did not. Their objective was to turn that withdrawal into a rout. And bit by bit they did, advancing into enemy territory – as the dying glow of the traitorous sun grew brighter and brighter the more they approached Canterlot and cut through dozens, hundreds, thousands of tired and terrified soldiers like pa’s sickle through wheat. He heard Comet Breeze laugh, or maybe it was his own laughter. The ride passed by too soon. They proceeded in a long curve, cutting the companies away from reinforcement and gunning down any foolish pegasus that tried to break through. He couldn’t say how much time it had passed when the trucks gathered together once again at the base of the passes that went into the Unicorn Range. A few of the traitors had escaped, but it mattered little. May they go back to their brethren with a tale of the fury of the Night in their veins. “That was amazing!” Comet Breeze laughed as she flew inside the cabin. She was slightly flushed and her bloodshot eyes sang of victory. She pulled him against her with her wings and he smelled her excited scent, her thundering heart. “We did great. Rush, you’re the best!” His head swam. He turned his eyes against hers and for a moment it felt like they would be becoming even closer than before. “Attention, attention,” Midnight Oil’s voice came through the radio once again. “I was notified by the Warmaster the frontline has collapsed near Ponyville and Cloudsdale. The enemy is rushing to patch its losses.” “Wait, does that mean…” Comet Breeze’s voice trembled with hope. Rush looked past her face, outside the window. Thestrals, by the dozens and airplanes, converged on the line of trucks. They all carried packs upon packs of fuel and fresh guns. “The path is open, soldiers. We push through. Tonight, the Knife cuts down Canterlot.” Author's Note I have no idea how Generals actually talk. All my experience comes down to Girls und Panzer. I hope I did not make too terrible of a job. Oh well too late by now. I still hope you are enjoying the story.
Afternoon 1.1Steel Rush did not wager himself a clever pony. He was never meant for the stars, so he chose the sparks of the welder. His clouds were the smoke of the flame jet against iron and his choir hitting the metal rivet with a hammer. But it was good enough, and it gave him enough bits for a night ride, so he couldn’t complain; and most of the times he did not. That day though, something caught his attention. Somepony had taken the time and effort to affix a large poster to the walls of the factory. It depicted a star with wings and the letters ‘BIDE’ in large bold characters beneath. Steel Rush turned off the welder and pulled up his helmet, drying sweat from his brow. That was new. “Hey!” he shouted to make his voice reach Clever Hoof, who was busy tying up yet another beam a few meters above. “Hey! Clever!” He shouted again as the din and tin from the worker ponies drowned his calls. At last, his colleague turned down to look at him. He gestured with his hoof at his ear and took out one of his earplug, wincing as the noise rushed towards his brain. “What’s that?” He shouted pointing at the poster. Clever Hoof shrugged and shook his head. He put his earplug back in and turned to work. He scratched the back of his head, where the helmet rested against his neck. Odd. Maybe even odder than the sudden orders from the Princesses to build a mechanical factory of all things in Manehattan of all places. He looked at the poster again. Its edges were already smeared from fumes and oil, the colors muted by the fallout from welding on the upper floors. The growing factory was like a monster of metal and cement and iron and glass, being born out of the work of ants. There was, he guessed, some kind of beauty in making something new. Contributing to something bigger than himself, even if it was just for a hoof-full of bits, that would soon turn into gas for his truck. But the poster bothered him. It was so out of place. Like someone instructed the workers to put potted plants atop their heads. Bide, he thought. Biding for what, exactly? “Steel! We don’t pay you to look at your hooves!” The forepony’s stern voice shook him from his reverie. He pulled his helmet back and turned the flame jet on, showering the metal with more and more sparks. This was his world, after all. *** That night, when he drove his truck across the countryside that endlessly stretched beyond the suffocating coils of Manehattan, with the growl of the engine reverberating through his teeth, the smell of plastic and gas, he found himself smiling. He turned around a large rock, twisting the rubber and steel of the wheels until they moaned. He laughed – this was life, life beyond the factory, beyond his pointless work, beyond the repetitive din and tin and clink and twang of the monster they were building in the city. He stopped the truck on the side of a low hill, panting. Horseapples, that was good. He might work himself to death by day, but by night, he was free. Free to ride. He would never own one of those fancy sports car the snooty unicorns in Canterlot drove, but that was besides the point. Polished glass and ceramics did not interest him. The gritty, grimy feel of oil smears, the rumbling engine like he was a Pegasus holding a thunderstorm under control with his two hooves – that was what he lived for. He let his tired body fall against the seat, looking up through the front glass pane at the night above. He blinked. The stars seemed especially bright tonight. Brighter and warmer than the sparks against iron. For the first time they seemed to call to him. He lifted his hoof to reach for them. It hit the glass. He blinked again and withdrew his hoof – how silly! He was a grown-up pony, he had to know better by now. His momma back in Appleloosa always used to tell him he ought to find some stability, a good job, a good mare and settle down. So far, zero out of four. Not bad. And yet… the stars kept on shining. Each of them part of something larger than themselves. Bide, he thought again. He did not know what for – he was not a clever pony – but hey, it might be for something fun.
Afternoon 1.2The next few days were mostly peaceful for Steel Rush. Mostly. The radio kept spewing some ridiculous stories about revolts in the jungles in the south – not the good South of his momma, the wet, steamy South of the mysterious temples down in the east – and no pony worth his bits wanted to have anything to do with that place. It would be a nightmare after all, no place where to push his old truck to the highest speed. But yeah, mostly peaceful. If one ignored the tension in the background, the tired gazes, the quips from worker to worker, the feeling like he was walking on a tight rope getting thinner and thinner at every step. The poster got removed. A few ponies got into shouting about it, and the atmosphere of the factory took a turn for the worse, even as if was now approaching completion. They were driving them down like slaves and by night all Steel Rush could do was jump on his truck and try not to think any more. There was something odd about this extreme eagerness his overseers had. Maybe they’d got promised a huge bonus if they finished it in enough time, or maybe they knew something he did not. Manehattan itself was full of tension these days. He saw a few batponies stroll out in the streets, under the Sun, without a care. Once when he was getting a well-deserved break he saw a group of batponies arguing with a unicorn. Too far to hear what they were talking about, but close enough to notice the sparks flittering out of his horn and the ends of the batpony’s wings stand out in a threat. Something weird was going on. And just when the factory work was about to finish, he caught wind of the Princess’ visit. No, not Celestia. Not even the purple one, the big smarty pants one. Luna. That got him thinking – and he wasn’t made for thinking. He knew the factory, he knew its layout, he knew its hallways and corridors and pulleys and arches and furnaces. This was heavy industry. Mechanics. No plush toys would come out of this building. Especially not after all those tons of cordite, manganese, coal, steel and wood were amassed in the nearby warehouses. Now, he was not a clever pony. But even Steel Rush could tell when something was up… and a firearms factory was something mighty strange in this day and age. Especially when usually Celestia just tossed Ms. Lavender Smarts and her friends at every apocalypse. He did not talk with his coworkers about his doubts – he was not a clever pony but he wasn’t stupid – but his ears did catch some whispers, about maybe an expedition to the northern shores to secure that village on the border of Nova Griffonia, or maybe even military pressure on Stalliongrad… Better striped than red, his pops used to say, and he did share the sentiment, but he really could not see Celestia take over the region, not by force. She could have stomped the damn Buffalos with a flick of her tail and she did not even do that. And the Princess of the night was coming to town. The thought kept him awake and turned him into a restless wreck: the Princess, the Princess. The one who was coming to Manehattan just as the military factory would finish completion… there was something behind this. He did not know what. But his heart ached to be there. There, at the Princess’ speech. He might want to look for a ticket.
Afternoon 1.3Rush shifted uncomfortably on the seat. It was a good chair, the foldable type, but good enough. He was not an expert in chairs – he was only an expert in driving and welding, and one of those things was now out since the completion of the factory. If he had expected the Princess to come in and bop each and every one of them on the nose for a well-done job, he had another thing coming. One morning he had to wake up at five o’clock to cut steel beams, the other he could sleep in bed for how long he wanted, his contract expired. When jumping from job to job he always allowed himself a two-weeks sabbatical when he pushed his truck as far as he could into the endless plains of the Equestrian interior, just see how far he could go before he had to stop and repair the choking, sputtering engine. But this time he was too restless to do anything. Bide. Bide for what? When would his moment come? By night things got even worse. If he tried to just hop on his ol’ faithful and go for a night drive he would just push it for a few miles and then slow it down and then stop and then look up at the sky. It’s full of stars. Rush shifted again on his chair. He brushed his tired eyes. Bide. He felt like a big fat fish on a hook, being pulled this way and that, getting tired. He never got into fishing, his pops always thought it stupid, but he knew you were supposed to get your prey tired before going in for the kill. Bide for what? There was something coming. Something big. Did not know what exactly but he did feel like it was, and together with him, one those creaking folding chairs hundreds, no, thousands of ponies seemed to feel the same, looking towards the stage where the Princess was talking about the rights of Thestrals. He needed a minute to understand what the word meant – he had always called them batponies or some other less-than-savory term, but now with the Princess looking so passionate about her subjects, he did feel a little stupid for never asking how they preferred to be called. The waves and waves of ponies cheered and clapped with every word, so that even with the aide of the Princess’ magnified voice he only got bits and pieces of what exactly she was talking about. Equality, friendship. And yet he felt like something was about to happen. Under the blanket of stars, in that city that never sleeps, night was encroaching for maybe the first time. It pressed all around them, it shifted and turned, it caressed each of his hair and tickled his chest as it laughed in his ear, all tinkling noises and very pointed teeth. He lifted his gaze from the crowd to the Princess, standing out with her wings wide open, raising a hoof as her speech rose to its climax. A speech about peace, about a new era of wonders and friendship. The crowd stood up, chanting her name: Luna, Luna Luna. “Luna,” he felt it roll off his dreamy lips. “Luna,” he tried again. It was getting easier. He did feel a little better now. Bide. For what. For this! “Luna!” he cheered, clapping his hooves with the others. Maybe this was what he had always missed, he realized in a flash. “Luna!” This was the moment. The moment when it would happen, the moment when he found something greater than himself. The stars beckoned. “Luna! Luna Lu-” The last syllable died on his lips when the stage exploded in a white-red flower. The rumble of the detonation hit him like a slap moments later – he fell back and hit his head.
Sunset 1.1He blinked and darkness rushed in. Something had happened. His head ached and a strange iron-like taste was in his mouth. Groaning, he stood up on his hind legs, kneading the side of his head that had hit… the ground… and there had been an explosion and… “Luna,” he whispered. Where was she? He blinked again. Why was it so dark? Maybe he hit his head a bit too hard. When he took a tentative step though his eyes slowly got used again to the almost-twilight around him and he found out the darkness was in fact receding, leaving behind the blanket of night like a wave leaves behind the ocean’s glistening shells upon a shore. Carved through the outline of stark boxy shapes of Manehattan’s skyscrapers, the night sky shone for the first time inside the city that never sleeps. A power outage of some sort? This, on top of everything else that… that happened. A flash replayed behind his eyelids when he closed his eyes. The bomb. There had been a bomb. Somepony had… tried to blast the Princess away. Why? It did not make sense. Nothing about this did. “Hello?” He tried. No reply. The auditorium where the Princess stated her speech had been left desert. Or mostly so. A few ponies lay on the ground like him. Maybe they were still stunned. “H-Hey,” he repeated, falling back to his Southern drawl in the shock of the moment. But neither his parents were there – he was alone, alone inside this darkness that had grown to envelop Equestria’s largest town. “Hey,” he repeated, stumbling forward until he reached one of the ponies still dazed from the explosion. A young mare, her coat a dazzling yellow even in the dim brightness of the swirling stars above. “Wake up,” he said, but only because his tongue was faster than his brain. “Wake up,” he tried again – and this time his leg shot forward to wake her up but he hesitated because she was too still and why were there dark spots on her coat if she was not a spotted pony and why were those spots so sticky and glistening like- The smell hit him. Iron. The still-lingering hint of cordite. Spoiled sweetness from where her bowels had spilled out. “C-Celestia’s beard,” he cursed, covering his mouth with his hoof at the blasphemy. But his mother was not there to chastise him. And he had a sudden longing for his youngling years, back when the sun was in the sky and life made sense. “Ah’ll go git help!” He shouted at the unmoving pony. How silly, she did not even stand up to say thanks. What a silly, silly mare. And he was not a clever pony. He had no plan, except for that whispered by his burning heart inside his ears – run run run – and he followed it the best he could. He left the auditorium plaza – some other ponies lay sleeping on the side of the road and who knew what they were all dreaming about. And there were flashes ahead. Fireworks. But fireworks used to be brighter and last for much longer, nothing of this rat-tat-tat-tat he heard that reminded him of the hoking noises his wrench made when it got stuck inside two gears. Rat-tat-tat-tat! And screams. Scattered echoes for now, but there was something ahead – figures holding something and more of those fireworks and more of those screams. He opened his mouth to call out for them but this time his brain did check in fast enough and he bit his tongue. Wait. Wait. Might not be the brightest of ideas. Might end up like those silly, silly ponies dreaming of empty things on the sides of the road. He had parked his truck somewhere, didn’t it? Sure he could find it, he could turn the engine on and drive through the night and away from this cursed city. Sure somewhere else the sun was still shining, right? Another brightness awaited ahead. Far from the fireworks, a blade of rusty light cut an alley in two. He walked in, looked at the source of the light, and stood transfixed like one of them butterflies his aunt used to stick to the wall. From between two tall skyscrapers, a huge red moon hung from the sky, blood-red and spattered with craters like empty eyes. Whispers rose to his ears, speaking in tongues he did not recognize. Slowly he lifted a hoof to reach for the moon. “Freeze!” Somepony shouted from the other end of the alley. Author's Note Thanks for reading! Please leave a review if the story is of your liking, I would love to hear your thoughts. Things will be getting a little darker from now on I am afraid.
Sunset 1.2He shuddered, the spell broken for the time being. He stood still under the gaze of the bloodied moon. A trio of batponies… no, thestrals, looked at him. Two mares side by side with a colt who looked more bored than anything else. His off-white coat spattered by the same dark droplets as the sleeping mare in the auditorium. He was not a silly pony, though. He still breathed. “Calm down, he’s clearly under shock.” And spoke. “Also unarmed,” he chuckled. “I… my name is Steel Rush. If you could help me find my truck… I was sure I parked it around here.” “This is a new one,” the left thestral snickered. “Stop it you two,” the chief chastised them. “Good night to you, citizen. What are you doing here?” “You… Ah… Ah was… at the auditorium, there was a blast… Ah have no idea, who are you bat-,” he caught himself, “you thestrals?” “Hear hear, not all those who wander are lost,” the chief said, coming closer. Only then he noticed that something stuck out from his saddle. A thin hollow tube, still smoking. The moment he stepped under the rusty moonlight an apple-like blazon shone. Macintosh. “I made those,” Rush muttered. “What?” “I used to work at the factory. The big new one. I’m a welder. Ah don’t know why you are all using those but ah don’t want no trouble sir.” “The kid is the bucking chosen one,” the thestral chuckled, covering him with his left wing and carrying him together with the others. “Did you hear? He used to work at the factory. And he was at the auditorium. He’s a keeper.” One of the mares looked at his flank. “I don’t see a smiling sun on his butt. Clear for me,” she said with a glint of sympathy in her yellow eyes. “Wh-where are you talking me sir? Ah don’t want to cause no problems sir. If you can help me find my truck…” “At rest, soldier,” he interrupted him. “My name and rank is Star Sprinkle. Sergeant Star Sprinkle. We’re gathering you all up at a nearby plaza. Keep you away from the fight, after we make them pay for the terrorist attack. Give you all something to do. There’s a bucketload of rifles to be built and we can’t keep those hooves empty, soldier.” “What are you talking about? Is there a war?” He looked up as if some invisible monster was about to snap at him. “The reds are attacking?” “The ‘reds’?” The yellow-eyed mare quirked her eyebrow. The other one snickered. “Nothing like that my friend. I’ll explain everything as soon…” “Sergeant!” The yellow-eyed mare tackled them both and they rolled on the concrete floor. Something whizzed past him. Bees? It couldn’t be. At night? “Die, solarists!” The other mare screamed, and she shot more fireworks from her sidearm, biting into something like a muzzle at the side of her head and unleashing a scatter of rat-tat-tat at a group of white-clad ponies that had appeared at the end of the alley. They shot back. That was shooting. Her muzzle was the first thing to go. It burst out in a flower of skin and blood and bone. It flew past her shoulders. She fell on her side and wheezed and tried to reach for her rifle. Another discharge turned her eyes glassy. Her head slapped against the pavement. Dreaming forever. “Twinkle!” Screamed the Sergeant. He rose in the air, holding his rifle with both hands. He managed to hit two of the ponies before a ricocheting bullet hit him in the back. He flapped uselessly, hit a lamppost, and fell. His body bent on one angle and his neck on the opposite one. “Bastards!” The yellow-eyed mare tried to reach for her muzzle but she was laying at a bad angle and couldn’t reach it. The remaining pony – why was she crying why was she crying – rushed forward, her rifle at the ready, pointed at their head and a star of panic burst into his chest. He was not a clever pony. But he knew his metalwork and he knew she was trying to pull the wrong way and the iron had been bent by her tackle and she would not reach it in time. So he did it for her. His right hoof pulled back a hoof-handle and the rifle barked its song just when the other mare was at three steps of distance. For some reason she was not shooting already. Maybe because she could not see well through all those tears. He hit her straight in the chest. Her neck did that funny thing all necks do when they are hit by a bullet and it folded on itself like paper. She fell on her forelegs, wavered there for a moment like in prayer and then on the pavement. All he could hear was his breathing. The yellow-eyed mare rushed him upright. She hugged him and dragged him towards the Sergeant and then she hesitated and pulled him away, away from the rust-colored alley and the five bodies spreading their blood and piss and tears all over the pavement and how they glistened under the embrace of the Night, how bright were all the stars and galaxies dancing inside those growing puddles. Author's Note I lost count of the number of times I had to make sure I war writing somepony and not someone. Please leave a comment if you are enjoying the story. I would love to hear your thoughts. Thanks for reading.
Twilight 1.1Back and to the left. Back and to the left. All he could see was that mare’s neck snap. Back and to the left. Hit by his bullet. Rush had no idea where he was now. He was laying in some secluded part of the city, surrounded by other ponies. Many of them under shock, wounded, bandages. Talking in small groups, more than a thestral in uniform and rifle at the ready walking or flying by. They all had a strange, determined look in their eyes. The mare who had dragged him across half the city had disappeared in the sidelines and he had no idea where she had ended up to. Why did she leave him alone? And where was his truck? And how come the moon had not moved from the sky? It was supposed to be almost dawn. That much his frizzled body knew – a cycle engrained into his bones since the very first few days. Good night, the dead sergeant had greeted him. What of the dawn? Will there ever be dawn for him again? For Equestria? Looking up, all he could see was the same sparkly stars, glistening like blood drops. Like the same drops spilling onto the pavement. He looked down at his hooves. He did something. Pulled a trigger. It had been in self-defense. He was justified. Where was his truck? He was supposed to go home. These thoughts and similar passed through his mind like lost bats when he saw the ponies around him slowly stand up and turn towards an excited group of messengers, gathering at the other end of the plaza. A choir of cheers rose through the night air, carrying excited words and a few gunshots, thankfully directed upwards. “The city is taken,” he heard the closest pony say. “Manehattan belongs to the Empress!” “For the Lunar Empire!” A thestral shouted rising in the air and cartwheeling on leathery wings. Up above, the stars seemed to shine a little brighter. “For the Lunar Empire!” came the reply from a thousand more throats. The ponies sauntered and hollered as victorious shouts reached for the heavens. “Luna,” he muttered, feeling once again that pressure from above reaching for him. Bide, he remembered from the poster, from everything he had seen up until that point. Was this the moment he had been told to bide for? This moment of elation, this moment when he finally got what he needed, once and for all? Might be. An ember was lit in his heart, the kind of which he had only briefly felt back during the Princess’ celebration. But wait, the bomb… did that mean the Princess was safe? And who was the culprit then? “Hey,” he heard. Somepony approached him. He blinked and his gaze focused on the golden-eyed thestral of before. She was wearing a new uniform now, with a hard cap on her head, and walking towards him with a professional-looking dark-coated unicorn. “You are Steel Rush, right?” He nodded, still a bit dumbfounded. He had no idea what to do. “This is the pony who saved from the solarists’ ambush. He also was at the Prin-… at the Empress’ speech. I think we can trust him.” “Hmmm,” the unicorn studied him. “He looks mostly harmless. You said he had a truck?” “I like to ride,” Rush said, without thinking. Once again his tongue was faster than his brain. Or maybe he was still thinking about that poor mare. Back and to the left. Back and to the left. “I think I shot somepony,” he blurted. “Oh Celestia I shot a pony.” The thestral’s ears flickered at the name and the other pony frowned. “You must be under shock still. Why don’t you follow me for a bit, we may have something to talk about.” He did as he was told. It was starting to become a habit, but then again what kind of choice did he have? Back and to the left. Her neck snapping like a twig. They all entered a makeshift tent. The unicorn lifted a bottle and three glasses from a cabinet, filling them all to the brink with orange, thick liquid. “To this night. The first of many, the first of ever.” “May the night last forever,” the thestral replied clinking her glass. He did the same. “You should avoid uttering that name,” the thestral explained. “Not many will take to it kindly. If you want to, you can swear in the name of the Empress Nightmare Moon.” Nightmare Moon? Wasn’t that a child’s tale? But no, he did hear about it… something about Princess purplesmart’s first adventure, so many years before. “She has returned. To lead us all in a future of peace and glory. But we have to stop the war.” “We’re at war?” “The solarist forces will stop at nothing,” the unicorn mused finishing his drink. “That is the reason we all fight, from the lowest troop to the Warmaster herself. My name is Midnight Oil. I am a general in the Empress’ army.” A general? Did that mean more fighting? Back and to the left. But if it was for the good of Equestria… “You said you owned a truck?” “I do. It must still be parked somewhere around…” “Not many ponies know how to drive. Drive well, even less. But this was will be won through non-traditional methods, such is the Warmaster’s doctrine. And I do share it. I am thinking about putting on a small motorized band, soldier. Will you do your duty for the Empress?” “You want… me… to drive?” “Doing what you do best,” General Oil said with a smile like a sickle. Back and to the left. But it had been just a solarist. Like they said. Outside, the sky kept shining, bright and eternal. This was a new world. And he had to play under different rules. “I can drive,” Steel Rush said.
Twilight 1.2He was not a clever pony. Such a thought, that once used to keep him sane while he pondered his life choices, now kept him sane while he drove his motorized unit. It smelled different from his old truck, which he had never seen again. He missed the little details. The engine that risked catching fire every two kilometers, the smell of his own coat on the seat, the feeling like he was moving his own body by turning a wheel and pushing on the speeder. The monster they gave him was different – it was a standard piece, any and all frivolities reduced to nothing by the engine might of the Lunar Empire. It had four wheels, four walls, and four guns. More than enough to wipe out those filthy Solarists. That was what he ended up calling them now, of course. The evil ponies who were standing against the just rule of the Empress of the Night herself. This and other truths he hung onto – they made his memory of the dying mare more comfortable, and they became more and more so with each Night. Though it was hard to understand when each began and ended. The rusty bloody moon he had seen the night of the explosion had turned back into its usual white form, but it never slipped away from the sky. And it was easy to see where the solarists were, judging simply by the colour of the sky. The thin orange line that called onto him, to drive and smash through that line, carve a path with his unit beyond it and then shut the trap on the encircled ponies, a thread-and-needle affaire that had then bite on mile after mile of frontline, furthering their advance in central Equestria and towards the unmoving prize shining on the horizon. The royal city of Canterlot. Seen from here, the noxious plains where ravens flew above and then swept down when they finished roughing up the bodies of the fallen, Equestria was another world. Grass, once green, now paved with the tracks of their motorized unit and the holes of bombardments. The wind carried the too-sweet smell of corpses and the faint hint of powder. Sometimes, faint cries. But it all for the better. It was all for the right cause. To bring peace and prosperity back to a country devastated by the tyranny of the evil Dawnbreaker. That was what it was. Radio Nox always said so. It spoke of the struggling workers on the coast, of the brave soldiers in the trenches around Luna Nova – they were about to capture the famed learning center and maybe, just maybe, find a breakthrough on a new type of magical rifle – of the genius of the Warmaster. The Knife. That was how she called their motorized unit. A sharp blade to cut through the enemy lines. Rush kept the radio always on. Especially when he tried to get some sleep. It helped to remind him he was doing the right thing. And with every time he closed his eyes, the voice in the Night that surrounded him lulled him back to the awareness that what he was doing was for the right cause. That all the dead, the driving through the devastated fields, the black-and-blue shattered skies… it was all for peace, freedom, and progress. He turned his eyes to his right – he had attached one of the war posters next to his seat. It was similar to the one he used to look at in the factory, back when this entire story had started, but with the fierce visage of the Empress guiding him towards a certain victory. “Hey,” somepony tapped on his windscreen. He blinked and turned to his left. “The general is about to talk, Rush,” Comet Breeze, the yellow-eyed thestral that had been his gunner since they spoke with Midnight Oil, said through the glass. “Sure,” he replied changing his station. The driving cabin was filled with static. “Great. Are you alright?” “Yes,” he replied with a weak smile. “I am perfectly alright.” “You just need a victory, Rush. Canterlot is at hoof’s reach. We just have to take the city and the traitors will be too scared to keep fighting.” “You are right.” Her wings twitched as she grinned. “I often am.” With those words, she flapped atop the truck, where she had her twin guns at the ready. “Attention, attention,” the coarse voice of Midnight Oil crackled through the radio. “We are about to begin. Bring your unit to point P39.” He looked down at the map on the seat beside him. Point P39 sat at the intersection between a line of hills and the gentle slopes at the beginning of Unicorn Range. He began to drive. Sometimes he bumped against something and was not sure if it was a rock or a corpse. It mattered little. The rumble of the engine, scattering through his body until it rattled his teeth. The poster to his right, informing he was in the right place. The soft thumping sounds of his gunner as she adjusted the guns atop the truck. That was all that mattered. And soon he had other things to worry about – the grass left room to mud, to leftover or lost equipment and unclaimed bones that cracked like brittle branches under the weight of the truck. Together with him, other motorized units gathered in a line, each of them carrying behind a plume of dust. This was where the front had collapsed. Radio Nox often spoke of the bold maneuver by General Tzica in the south. Close to his old home, before the Night gave him a more meaningful one. He had never been able to contact his family. In his heart of hearts, he was happy. Happy because throwing his truck at seventy kilometers per hour, chewing over mud and grass and skulls was better than being stationed in the south and risking to meet the gaze of his parents. “For the Night!” Rush cried out as the first scattered remains of the enemy soldiers appeared in view. The efforts of the companies of the Night had been to grind them into a withdrawal. Rat-tat-a-tat! Sang Comet Breeze’s gun atop their truck, sputtering bright projectiles that wiped out fleeing pony after fleeing pony. Some screamed when hit. Most did not. Their objective was to turn that withdrawal into a rout. And bit by bit they did, advancing into enemy territory – as the dying glow of the traitorous sun grew brighter and brighter the more they approached Canterlot and cut through dozens, hundreds, thousands of tired and terrified soldiers like pa’s sickle through wheat. He heard Comet Breeze laugh, or maybe it was his own laughter. The ride passed by too soon. They proceeded in a long curve, cutting the companies away from reinforcement and gunning down any foolish pegasus that tried to break through. He couldn’t say how much time it had passed when the trucks gathered together once again at the base of the passes that went into the Unicorn Range. A few of the traitors had escaped, but it mattered little. May they go back to their brethren with a tale of the fury of the Night in their veins. “That was amazing!” Comet Breeze laughed as she flew inside the cabin. She was slightly flushed and her bloodshot eyes sang of victory. She pulled him against her with her wings and he smelled her excited scent, her thundering heart. “We did great. Rush, you’re the best!” His head swam. He turned his eyes against hers and for a moment it felt like they would be becoming even closer than before. “Attention, attention,” Midnight Oil’s voice came through the radio once again. “I was notified by the Warmaster the frontline has collapsed near Ponyville and Cloudsdale. The enemy is rushing to patch its losses.” “Wait, does that mean…” Comet Breeze’s voice trembled with hope. Rush looked past her face, outside the window. Thestrals, by the dozens and airplanes, converged on the line of trucks. They all carried packs upon packs of fuel and fresh guns. “The path is open, soldiers. We push through. Tonight, the Knife cuts down Canterlot.” Author's Note I have no idea how Generals actually talk. All my experience comes down to Girls und Panzer. I hope I did not make too terrible of a job. Oh well too late by now. I still hope you are enjoying the story.
