The first rays of morning light were starting to come through the curtains of 221 Honeybee Bakery Street. As they slowly slid across the floor to a pair of slumbering lumps in bed, the morning stillness was punctured by the ringing of the telephone.

Slowly, the two lumps began to shift and moan. Daring Do let out a loud yawn and glared through squinted eyes towards the noisemaker. “Leave it,” she mumbled.

Behind her, Phillip Finder gave a sigh. “Wish I could,” he murmured, planting a kiss on top of her head. “But duty calls.”

He slid out from under the covers to sit on the edge of the bed. He arched his back and stretched his legs before getting up and trotting over to the phone. Behind him, Daring was much slower to wake up.

Phil picked up the receiver. “Finder and Do,” he said, rubbing his eye.

“Phil, it’s Cold Case,” came the voice from the other end. “Sorry for the early morning call but it’s urgent.”

“Cold?” Phil blinked. Daring scowled at the phone behind his head. “What’s urgent?”

“There was a train crash late last night, just outside of Ponyville,” Cold explained. From her tone of voice, Phil could imagine she wasn’t happy to be up this early either.

“Train crash? What’s that got to do with us?” Phil asked, turning to Daring. She was looking at him with one eyebrow raised, midway through putting on a shirt.

“Whatever that train was carrying, the Equestrian Military is investigating it.”

Whatever sleep fog was still clouding Phil’s brain dissipated. He mouthed “military” to Daring, whose jaw dropped.

“The department is giving its full cooperation, of course,” Cold continued. “But I’ll need you to get to the police station as soon as possible. From what we can tell, it appears to be an act of sabotage.”

“Right, we’ll be there as soon as possible,” Phil replied before hanging up. He went over to slip on his own shirt.

“So, I’m guessing going back to bed is out of the question?” Daring asked.

Phil shook his head. “Afraid we’ll have to get a light breakfast and coffee on the way,” he said. “Train crash, sabotage. And the military’s looking into it.”

“Well, that’s just swell,” Daring huffed. Her face lit up with a mischievous grin. “So, we have to go in a hurry then, huh?”

“Yes, why…” He looked at her briefly with a confused scowl, then sighed. “Normally, I’d be against it, but yes – we’ll go your way. It’s quicker than the trolley or a cab.”

“Well, as long as this morning isn’t a total loss.” Darin headed downstairs with a little extra pep in her step.

Phil sighed and shook his head, slipping on his trilby and joining Daring downstairs.

The sun was higher in the sky by the time the pair touched down outside the front doors of the Ponyville Police Department, garnering a few curious glances from pedestrians. Daring tossed her empty coffee cup and muffin wrapper in a trash can outside before trotting inside.

Smoothing out his shirt, Phil did the same while doing his best to ensure his stomach stilled long enough for the breakfast pastry to stay down.

The lobby inside was occupied by a lone mare, who seemed occupied by reading the plaques on the wall, detailing officers who had fallen in the line of duty.

She was a taller unicorn with a well-toned build. Her charcoal gray coat contrasted brilliantly with her reddish orange and gold streaked mane and tail, which were so bright they seemed to be on fire down to their curled ends. Her cutie mark was an ornate flaming torch.

She was dressed in a brown bomber-style jacket with a golden crest on the breast pocket, denoting her military rank. A belt around her middle had a holster with a revolver tucked away and a small radio in a pouch opposite of it.

She turned to the newcomers and smiled, her eyes hidden behind a pair of aviators sunglasses, the lenses of which were mirrored the same reddish-orange of a glowing sunset.

“Detectives Finder and Do, I presume,” she said, walking over. Orange magic removed her aviators and folded the arms, revealing golden eyes. She tucked the sunglasses in the pocket opposite of the crest.

“Yes,” Phil said, glancing at the badge. Daring glanced too, before nodding in appreciation to the sunglasses.

“Lieutenant General Beacon Fire.” She extended a hoof to them, and both detectives briefly shook it. “An honor to meet you both. You both came highly recommended by the princesses.”

“I should think so.” Daring smirked. “So, what’s this about a train crash?”

“If you’ll follow me, I’ll debrief you and Chief Cold Case with what we know so far,” Beacon said with a nod. She turned and headed through the door that led to the offices.

Daring and Phil followed, but rather than head for Cold Case’s office, they made a sharp turn down another hall. The pair glanced at one another as Beacon opened the door to the officer’s briefing room and gestured inside.

Cold Case was standing there waiting for them, wearing her usual black coat and chewing on the tip of her pipe. The faint smell of pine and cherry lingered in the enclosed room. As soon as Phil and Daring stepped inside, Beacon shut the door behind them.

“Well?” Cold asked. Daring frowned, before realizing the question had been directed at Beacon.

Beacon stood there for a moment, eyes slightly widened. She quickly composed herself with a quick clearing of the throat and stepped forward, offering her hoof to Cold.

“Lieutenant General Beacon Fire,” she stated, more formally than she had with Phil and Daring. “We spoke on the phone.”

Cold frowned down at the hoof, then up at its owner before she shook it once firmly. “I’m aware,” she said. “Now, Lieutenant General, could you please explain why the military is investigating a train crash and needs our help?”

Beacon nodded, turning so Daring and Phil were on one side of her and Cold on the other. She looked between them and began explaining after a breath. “The Equestrian Military was covertly transporting weapons meant for dismantling on board the train that crashed last night.”

“Weapons?” Phil asked, eyes narrowing. “What kind of weapons?”

“I’m afraid that information is classified for the time being,” Beacon said, looking to Phil.

Phil and Daring jumped as Cold stomped her hoof. “What do you mean classified?” she demanded, her voice icy. The temperature in the room seemed to drop a few degrees. “If there are weapons out there that will harm civilians—much less, my officers—why is that classified?”

Beacon flashed her an apologetic smile, catching Cold off-guard. “Believe me, I know the feeling. I hated classified intel during the war – not knowing what my troops and I were going into,” she said with a soft tone. “Rest assured, it’s not that we don’t want to disclose it with you – it’s just that at this moment in time we don’t know what weapons are missing, and can’t give you the full manifest.”

“So wait,” Daring stepped forward, frowning something came to her. “What did you mean by ’covertly?’ What kind of security was on this train?”

“Little to none, I’m afraid. We had a train following the freight train on its way to Canterlot, which seems to have prevented the total loss of cargo, but we didn’t have security measures on the actual train.”

“What bogan thought that would be a good idea?” Phillip grunted.

“I wasn’t in charge of this operation, and had I been, I would have been more careful. But the fact of the matter is that this type of covert operation, camouflaging the cargo so it doesn’t stand out, has worked in the past and is very cost effective in terms of resources,” Beacon explained.

“So it’s easier to put civilians in harm’s way than waste the guards,” Cold remarked, her cold gaze shooting through Beacon.

Beacon sighed and turned to her. “Look, we’ve just come off of a war – the way the princesses see it, the less military muscle we flex, the easier the peacetime will go. For riskier cargo, we have used guards and secure trains before, but this was deemed less of a risk.”

“And the thieves saw their opportunity and went with the hit,” Daring concluded.

Beacon nodded. “For the time being, we need help in tracking down these weapons—” She looked to Cold. “—which, as soon as we check what weapons are missing, we will disclose in full transparency.” She turned to the group as a whole. “Considering this crash happened so close to Ponyville, it’s no stretch to imagine the weapons made their way here.”

“Right,” Phil grunted. “We should get out to the crash site then and look for clues.”

“I’ve already sent—” Beacon looked to Cold as they both spoke up, a light blush on the latter’s cheeks.

“You first,” Beacon said with a light chuckle.

Cold cleared her throat. “I’ve already sent Detectives Red Herring, Burned Rubber, and Matchstick to the scene to help investigate,” she said, averting her eyes.

“And my team is already there as well,” Beacon said with a nod. “We should get a move on – the sooner we figure out who stole them, the sooner your city will be safe.”

“Well, safer,” Daring said with a sigh.

Cold extinguished and pocketed her pipe as the group exited the briefing room and made their way outside to Cold’s black Chevroneigh Fleetracer. Beacon whistled as she looked the car over.

“Quite a ride,” she remarked, turning to Phil and Daring. “I’ll ride with Chief Cold Case and direct her to the crash site.”

Daring nodded with a smirk. “We’ll… follow you two there. Don’t worry, we got our own ride.”

Beacon raised an eyebrow at the couple before shrugging. As Cold and Beacon climbed inside Cold's car and pulled away, Phil turned to Daring.

“Surely you can’t mean—” he began.

But a pair of forelegs wrapped around his barrel and with a whoosh of air and lurch of his stomach, he was airborne. He struggled to keep his hat attached.

“We could’ve gotten a ride with one of the officers,” he protested at Daring.

“This way is quicker!” she replied with a laugh.

Phil fumed. “It’s a good thing I love you…” he muttered.

Daring was beginning to regret the decision when the black dot that was Cold’s car drove well out of the city and across the river. It made good time on the interstate before pulling over near a roadblock that closed the right lane. Gratefully, Daring descended as Cold and Beacon stepped out.

The roadblock surrounded a dirt service road that snaked off of the interstate and into the forest. A simple metal gate was swung open at the mouth of the road, and a sign next to it proclaimed “Authorized vehicles only.” A few said authorized vehicles, namely police cruisers and an unmarked car, were parked near the gate.

Detective Burned Rubber was helping the patrol officers direct traffic around the blockade. He turned to the newcomers and nodded to Cold.

“Any luck with tracking spells on the tires?” she asked.

Rubber shook his head. “Too much traffic through the interstate. We’ve gotten tire impressions from the service road – three vans, at least, given the width and depth of the tracks,” he reported. “You’re clear to go up the road.”

The four ponies nodded to him and made their way along the service road. The humming of the traffic faded as they walked, replaced by the distant sound of water in motion. The road was completely shaded, protected by the canopy of trees overhead.

Soon, the road veered to the left. To their right, however, the underbrush was trampled down. The multiple sets of tire tracks that had been present down the road, marked in places by officers, stopped at said brush.

“Lovely day for a nature hike,” Daring remarked as they stepped carefully through the forest. Phil just grunted.

It wasn’t long before they found the crashed train.

The locomotive had hit the oak tree with such force that it had become partially uprooted. The metal plating on the boiler was pinched in places like fabric, and the drive wheels were caked in dirt and half-buried. The tender behind it was turned on its side, its black payload of coal and coal dust scattered through the bushes like blackened snow.

Behind them were the boxcars that made up the freight train. The first three were slightly compressed from the crash, their wheel bogies broken and buried in the dirt. But they were all relatively untouched, their doors locked shut. The same could be said for the last three boxcars, for the most part still on the rails of the siding.

The fourth boxcar in the middle, however, was sitting open, and was currently the focus of Detective Matchstick. She looked between the boxcar’s gaping opening and the slightly bent door that lay beside it on the ground, rubbing her chin.

She looked up and stood at attention as Cold and the group made their way over. “Hey chief,” she remarked. “As far as we can tell, someone pried the door clean off its railings. Crowbar most likely.”

“Goods inside seem in place from the crash,” came a voice from inside the boxcar. “Bolting them to the floor was a good move, at least.”

An earth pony stallion hopped out of the boxcar, dressed in an army green vest and with a similar belt to Beacon’s. He had a purple coat, with a short blonde mane and tail. A small goatee rested on the tip of his chin, and his eyes were turquoise. His cutie mark was a pineapple slice on a slice of pizza.

“Chief Cold, Phillip, Daring, this is Sergeant Pineapple Pizza,” Beacon introduced, gesturing to the newcomer. “Munitions specialist. He’s a part of my team here.”

“Nice to meet ya,” Pineapple said with a nod, wiping his brow.

“Also wouldn’t let me look inside the boxcar until all those gun cases were removed,” Matchstick remarked, shooting a frown at him.

Pineapple shot her a friendly, if apologetic smile, before looking seriously to Beacon. “Ma’am, you might want to look at this.”

He gestured the group over to the boxcars still on the track, then pointed to the tracks beyond.

The metal rails were coated in a brown liquid. It seemed to be thin, but covered the opening of the siding all the way to the boxcars still on the track.

“Could it be from the train?” Beacon asked.

Pineapple shook his head as Matchstick joined him. “We don’t think so – none of the wheels seemed coated in the stuff to suggest some sort of leak, and it’s not a part of the listed cargo either.”

“We also don’t think it’s oil,” Matchstick added. “The train started braking before hitting the siding. With the wheels sparking, it could’ve started a major fire.”

Phil walked over and leaned in close. He shut his eyes and took three deep sniffs of the rails. His mind processed the smells, trying to part them like sand through a grate. The metallic iron, dusty gravel, and loamy soil gave way to another smell, and he sought it out in his mental database.

“Axle grease, automotive I’d wager,” he said as he stood upright. “This was definitely sabotage.”

Daring took to the air to survey the scene from above. On the opposite side of the tracks, her eyes fell upon a dark object buried under some leaf litter. She flew over and set her hoof on it – and was rewarded with a metal bong.

She brushed aside the leaves and righted the object – a metal drum. It was painted blue, but otherwise had no other markings than some scratches. “Over here!” she called.

Phil carefully stepped over the greasy rails and trotted over. He found the cap of the barrel and unscrewed it. He took one whiff of the air escaping from inside and nodded, replacing the cap. “This is most likely where it came from. Aces.” He flashed a smile at Daring.

“We’ll get to processing that,” Matchstick said, hopping over the tracks. “Maybe we can get a number off of it.” Pineapple quickly followed her.

At that time, Red touched down next to the group along with a sky blue female thestral. She had piercing green eyes, an unkempt white mane and tail, and the cutie mark of swirling snowflakes. She was wearing a black bomber-style jacket and a similar belt to Beacon’s, a military shield on the breast pocket of the jacket and golden wings pinned to the collar.

“We checked with the signalman,” Red reported. “He heard the train whistle last night, but was asleep before that.”

“Was wondering when you’d show up,” Daring remarked as she and Phil rejoined the group.

Red moved to give the Flying Feather before noticing Beacon Fire and Cold’s unamused scowl and stopping himself – but it didn’t stop his smirk in Daring’s direction.

“As far as we can see, the brake marks happen a few hundred yards before the switch,” the thestral added.

“Everyone, this is Captain Frost Glide, reconnaissance expert,” Beacon introduced, gesturing to her. “The other member of my team.”

Frost gave a brief salute. “So, what are we thinking of in order of events?”

Phil looked past Frost and Red, down the tracks. “Someone manually pulls the switch last second, as to not alert the signalman. The engineer pulls the brakes, but can’t stop in time – the train continues sliding until it derails thanks to the grease,” he said, gesturing as he talked and turned to the train. “The thieves are waiting here and break open the boxcar they need, and make off with the weapons.”

“I can fill in part of it,” Beacon said. “Captain Lamp Iron was in the following train. His train started blowing the whistle when they saw the freight train going into the siding. When he rolled up, he said the switch was back on the main line.”

“Perhaps they didn’t count on a tail then,” Daring said. “The next train spooked them and they scattered.”

“And they set the points to the main to cover their tracks. Er, no pun intended.” Phil frowned at Daring’s smirking. “At least this means they weren’t fully successful. What about the engineer and fireman?”

“They were unconscious in the engine’s cab upon the captain’s arrival and taken to Ponyville aboard his train to be sent to the hospital,” Beacon said. “Though, there was one note of worry we had.”

She walked back over to the locomotive with the others in tow. The door to the cab was already open, and Beacon climbed inside. She emerged a second later with a shovel in her magic, the head of which was stuffed inside of a brown paper bag.

Carefully removing the bag around the shovelhead, the group saw the reason for the bagging – a large patch of dried blood smeared the back of the scoop.

“We believe this was used to render at least one of them unconscious,” she reported grimly, before covering the shovelhead once again.

Most of the group winced at the implication. Cold stared at the ground in thought. Daring shook her head.

“Well, better a shovel than a bullet,” Frost remarked stiffly. “Needless to say, we don’t think the engineer or fireman had any role in this.”

“I’d still like to interview them,” Phil said. “Any word on their condition?”

“Severe,” Beacon said with a sigh. “Haven’t heard that either of them have woken up yet. Captain Lamp Iron is at Ponyville General Hospital with them if you want to interview him as well.”

“Seeing as he was first on the scene, it’d be best.” Phil turned to Cold. “What are you thinking?”

Cold looked to Beacon, holding the shovel. The lieutenant general’s eyes looked away to the shovel as she did.

“We get this evidence to Doctor Suunkii and Twilight back at the department,” she said, nodding to the shovel. “The barrel too, to try and get a serial number or at least a brand.”

“I can get to work on surveillance crystals, see if any vans were spotted entering Ponyville,” Red said. “It’s a slim chance in Tartarus, but better than nothing.”

Cold nodded, turning to Phil and Daring. “You two go talk with Captain Lamp Iron and see what he has to say – and the train crew, if they’re awake.”

“Will do,” Phil said, turning to leave. He noticed Daring grinning again and sighed as they walked back down the road.

Cold turned sharply to Beacon, taking the shovel in her own magic and bringing it to her side. “And I would like it if you told us what weapons were stolen as soon as possible,” she said in an icy tone that made Red shiver.

Beacon nodded. “We’re just waiting on the manifest from headquarters,” she said.

Cold exhaled through her nose, her gaze lingering on Beacon a second longer before making her way down the path with Red right behind her.

Frost walked over to Beacon, raising an eyebrow as she glanced between her and the police chief. “What’s up, Bea?”

Beacon realized she had been watching Cold leave and shook her head. She frowned seriously at Frost. “Nothing. Just get back to the base and get me that manifest.”

Frost gave her an unconvinced smirk before nodding and taking flight. Beacon smoothed out her jacket and huffed a sigh before turning to go help Pineapple and Matchstick with the barrel.

Warehouses were a common site in the dockyard districts. Used for fishing or shipping, they often went unnoticed by the common passerby – and that made them all the better for illicit gatherings.

Cars were parked around 618 Tradesman’s Road, some parking a few blocks away so as to not draw suspicion. Parked on the side of the warehouse where its loading dock was situated were three unmarked vans, one white, one gray, and one black.

Inside, there were murmurings as crowds of ponies gathered. A faint layer of smoke lingered above the group as some of them smoked, either out of habit or anxiety. Ponies crowded together in groups, with the exception being a cloaked group in the back that stood at non-pony heights.

Coin Toss sat in one of the folding seats set out among the group, flipping a coin in his hoof. They originally had been set up in rows before a makeshift stage of crates, but the incoming groups had huddled them together in loose clumps.

The Mareish stallion’s eyes had swept the room twice now, but they kept falling on those cloaked figures in the back. They weren’t seated and they weren’t talking. He reckoned they were griffons, which made him all the more wary.

“Lads, don’t plan on stickin’ ‘round long,” he muttered to his cohorts, pocketing his coin. “Soon as we see what this is all about, we leave.”

His cohorts each nodded once, before a loud clanging noise brought their attention to the stage. A unicorn stallion standing next to the stage held a pan and a wooden club aloft, using both as a makeshift gong, as another earth pony climbed onto the stage.

“Ladies, gentlecolts, and all manner of creatures,” he announced. “We’ve brought you all here for an auction unlike no other! A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to procure quite an addition to your arsenals!”

The gathered crowd murmured, leaning into one another to whisper. Some nodded, some shook their heads.

The pony on the stage cleared his throat. “We, the Nightmare Moon Disciples, have managed to… acquire some weapons from the Equestrian Military, the likes of which have never been seen since the war.”

That got most of the crowd’s attention, especially Coin Toss. The thought of using the military’s own guns against them brought a smirk to his face. His eyes slid back to the figures, however.

There seemed to be no reaction save for their continued focus to the stage.

The unicorn disappeared through a door in the back and came back with a black gun case in his magic. He levitated it up to the pony on the stage, who opened it up with its lid to the crowd.

Slowly, he held up a glistening BAR in both hooves, causing some of the audience members to gasp and whisper anew. Coin Toss stared at the weapon, his eyes automatically noticing the additions to it.

The barrel was longer than the BARs he had previously seen, shorter than his Summerfield Rifle, but he’d wager a bit the distance was at least tripled. The scope situated on top of the weapon’s body and the dense cylinder at the end of the barrel were even better selling points.

“What we have here, folks,” the announcer continued, “isn’t your average BAR, but a modified one that saw use during the war with Sombra. A weapon that the military, no doubt, wanted to destroy. But it can be yours today, it and many like it, for the right price.”

The crowd cheered, some stomping their hooves. Coin Toss laughed, nudging one of his associates. “Put a good bullet ‘tween a Royal Guard’s eyes, wouldn’t it?” he remarked. His associate nodded with a chuckle of his own.

The unicorn beside the announcer rapped his makeshift gong again until the crowd once again went silent. The announcer nodded, setting the BAR back in the case, before turning back to the crowd.

“We’ll start the bidding at 500 bits, a modest price for such a powerful item,” he continued.

But the crowd fell silent. Coin Toss’s ear twitched and he glanced to the back of the room. The air was punctuated by rhythmic metal clangs as the leader of the cloaked figures limped toward the stage, followed closely by their cohorts.

“Lads, be ready,” Coin Toss hissed. “And I don’t mean yer guns.”

The leader looked up to the pony on the stage, a single golden eye peering out from under the cloak’s hood. “I will take it now,” she said, her voice thick with a Griffonese accent.

The announcer gave a nervous chuckle after a beat, tugging at his shirt collar. “A-Alright, you heard her folks, we have 500 smackers, who—”

A fist smashed down on the stage, splintering the wood. The golden eye continued to stare up at the pony, and seemingly through him. “No. I said, I will take it. Now.” The fist fell to the griffon’s side, slowly uncurling.

Coin Toss’s eyes widened as metal glinted as it extended with the griffon’s talons. Quietly, he got up, and nodded to his cohorts to do the same. They backed out of the room relatively unnoticed – the other occupants were transfixed on the griffon, hooves on their weapons.

The announcer coughed uncomfortably. “L-Lady, do you know how auctions work? Other folks have to bid too,” he said. “And you’re too close to the stage, so if you’ll just have a seat…”

His hoof slowly went behind his back, where a pistol was tucked into his belt under his shirt. Hoof touched cold steel just as the griffon vaulted onto the stage.

Her talons swung upward with motion, cleaving through the pony’s throat. He gasped as blood shot out of the wound, coughing and choking and grasping at his neck as he fell to the stage. The others gathered either bolted for the door or drew their weapons and backed away from the cloaked figures.

The unicorn quickly drew his piece and fired off a shot at the lead griffon’s chest, but metal met metal with the painful sound of a ricochet. Her attention shot to him, but one of the cloaked figures was upon him, tearing through the muscle of the pony’s leg.

More Disciples poured out of the back, and they were met with a similar fury from the lead griffon, blood dripping from the metal talons affixed to organic ones.

The rest of the crowd dispersed, saving their own hides as the warehouse was filled with blood-curdling screams and the sound of gunfire.

Author's Note

Ruh roh!

Presenting for the first time Lieutenant General Beacon Fire and her team! There was a scene in Book 2 where Cold Case froze a grenade, and it really reminded me of Beacon. Some idea planning and collusion with my logistics department, and here we are. No particular reason why I bring this up... :P

Pineapple Pizza and Frost Gide are brand new OCs, made for this story. I wanted an explosives expert with an explosives pun, and my mind instantly went to pineapple grenades... and then to pizza. And I also wanted a thestral that was good with stealth missions, so why not a sky-blue one?

Beacon Fire, however, has been around a while. I actually made her for someone else's universe, which is where she gets her military ranking. In that story, she leads a group that discovers the kirin at the Peaks of Peril. If that universe ever gets published, I'll publish that story to go along with it.

Stay tuned next week for the next chapter of Frost and Fire!