War, war never changes. It starts small, like a pebble rolling downhill, but that pebble knocks loose others, which knocks loose others until an entire avalanche is falling down the hill. Unstoppable, uncaring, it can only destroy everything in its way until it comes to a rest.

In Equestria that avalanche came to a rest to the sound and heat of balefire.

In war, those caught up in the avalanche find themselves pushed to an extreme that can bring out both the best, and the worst, in people. For every terrible new weapon that was unleashed upon the field of battle, new methods of healing were developed, for every savage slaughter, sworn enemies would show each other mercy.

Some, however, pushed into the darkness for their own gain, their own vanity. The fog of war hides many sins, and even great injustices can be rendered invisible.

Darkness. Cool, calming, familiar.

“Neun null neun, Tikhiy Soldat Klinok, Awaken Operative.”

The darkness faded, light growing to fill my vision. It was indistinct, hazy, so I opened my eyes and resisted the urge to squint. The lid of the stasis pod slid up smoothly to reveal the sterile white room that held my pod.

“Respond.” A voice in the air, an order.

“FT-909-SBS Razor Wind.” I responded to the order, rote, familiar, correct.

“Operative confirmed. Proceed to briefing. ”

My joints unlocked and I climbed from the stasis pod, walking to the white door set in the white wall which slid to the side to reveal an almost identical room. Opposite was another white door, on the left hoof wall was a locker, shiny steel reflecting the harsh lights. In the locker was a set of black barding and a matching beret that bore a brass plate stamped with the numbers ‘909’ and an image of three curved slashes, the same image on my flanks. My cutie mark.

I do not remember how I got my mark, only that it was tied to my spell. I do not remember much... But No. It is not important, it is not the mission. only the mission is important.

Donning the boarding I covered my dark green coat in black ballistic weave fabric, perched the beret on my head and stepped up to the next door and into a third room. It was, again, just as stark and white as the last two. Turning to my left I faced the screen set into the wall and waited.

The screen sparked into life with a run of text and numbers flashing across the green hued window. A map appeared, small dots appearing in a cluster.

“The mission” the voice said again, “The target is a legion general directing the XXII battalion.” An image appeared, Zebra, like most targets, wearing legion armour and laurels of leadership. Three more zebras appeared, “secondary targets, Army chain of command.”

I nodded, this was not the first time I had toppled a battalion. I was mildly surprised when another image appeared, another Zebra, lower ranked than the other targets with horizontal stripes.

“This captain is to survive. Intelligence suggests that this battalion will defect if chain of command falls to this Zebra.” The voice explained, “exfiltrate after neutralising targets. Marauder squad with Proditor attaché will oversee defection.”

The screen faded, my briefing over as a drawer below the screen slid open revealing dark ceramic armour plating, a dulled steel knife and a suppressed pistol. Manipulating them with my hooves I strapped the plates to my barding, sheathed the knife and slid the pistol into the empty leg holster. Fully equipped I walked through the open door into a small room, barely big enough to fit. The elevator vibrated as it ascended to its destination.

I stepped out of the elevator into a hanger holding a number of vertibuck aerial transports, the small maintenance crew clustered around one in particular.

“Operative Razor Wind” A voice came from my left. I turned to see another pony in black barding and beret, this one with a dark, charcoal grey coat and ‘906’ on the beret mounted plate.

“Operative Falling Tactics,” I recognised him, we had worked together on multiple operations. That was probably why the voice had neglected to mention I would be partnered with him again.

No. Don’t question. Don’t guess motives. That is not the mission. Only the mission is important.

Silently the pair of us boarded the Vertibuck, the pegasus pilots all harnessed in and ready to go. With a beating of wings the inherent air magic of the pegasi was transferred through the arcanotech machine, lifting the whole thing from the hangar floor. I gave a shiver, the pegasus magic sympathetically resonating with my own spell. Then, we were away, sailing up into the night sky and I took the opportunity to stare at the stars through the open side door as the vertibuck banked and pulled its nose around. We were aiming for the front, behind the front in fact, and I could only have faith that Luna would protect us under her jewelled domain.

No. Faith was not important. Only the mission is important.

The door rolled shut, cutting off my view of the stars, as Operative Falling Tactics pulled it across and sat back down. I quashed the frown that creased my brow. The flight continued in silence as we sat, facing each other but saying nothing. Finally one of the pegasus pilots spoke up.

“This is as far as we go.” He said, the vertibuck slowing to a stop then hovering for a moment, “We’ve got minutes before were spotted, time to go.”

I nodded at my fellow Operative and we both stood, I slid open the side door and, without a word the pair of us leapt out into the night.

Wind whipped past my head as we fell through the open air, Luna’s diamonds at my back, the beret atop my head miraculously staying secured as I spread my limbs out wide, slowing my fall and allowing the other Operative to catch me. Falling Tactics called on his spell, a faint glow covering his form as our fall slowed and then stopped entirely, leaving the pair of us hovering in the air. Operative Falling Tactics, FT-906-ATS, Auto-Telekinesis Soldier. Falling Tactics could use telekinesis on himself to fly.

Silently we begin to move, spotting the camp fires of the XXII legion and aiming for the outskirts. Falling Tactics let go of himself and we picked up speed, covering ground as we dropped out of the sky only to slow before we ploughed into the earth, touching down gently with barely a sound.

“I will secure extraction.”

I nodded as the other Operative slinked away from our landing point, sticking to the shadows as I made my way through the camp. Part of me wished I had been issued a pipbuck for this mission, the Eyes Forward Sparkle would have been useful for tracking the Zebra legionnaires that wandered the camp.

No. Do not question. That is not the mission. Only the mission is important.

On the other hoof, a pipbuck compass bar filled with red icons would have been as much a hindrance as a help in here. I was familiar with the layout of zebra camps, even single tribe battalions built their camps to the same standards, so tracking down the generals tent was not difficult, at least not compared to weaving my way through the tents. I stuck to the shadows, ears and eyes straining to detect and track the zebras that roamed the camp. It being the middle of the night helped minimise the activity, and the clear sky might be keeping some of the most superstitious inside.

Reaching the generals tent I crept up against the fabric on the opposite side to the entryway. No guards this side. I pulled the knife from its sheath with my teeth and cut a slit in the tent. Putting my eye to the hole I looked about the inside, spotting the general leaning over a table, staring at a map even at this late hour. I didn’t need to get inside, all I needed was line of sight.

I tapped into my spell and the horn I had hidden beneath the beret, shielded by the metal plate, began to glow softly. We were trained as earth ponies, to fight hoof-to-hoof and wield weapons with our mouths, hiding our horns and saving our spell for the correct time, like now.

There was a haze in the air around the general, barely perceptible, as a whisper of wind picked up, though not even enough to rustle his close cropped stiff mane. Then he raised his head, his left ear giving a slight twitch before the spell was cast in earnest and the general stiffened, a breath of wind the only sound as a thin red line appeared on his neck. The line started to ooze, the band of blood encircling his neck as his head dipped back down, and slid off entirely, dropping to the floor with a wet thump. The general’s legs were still obeying their last command to stand, but with the nerves severed is wasn’t long before they gave out and his body joined his head on the floor.

I had left the moment his head had left his shoulders, stalking through the camp again, now on a time limit to reach the other targets. Army commanders would be billeted in tents close to the centre of the camp, but each at the head of their section. I worked clockwise, ten commanders to neutralise. Each tent was the same, cut a slit for visual contact, use my spell to remove their heads, press on to the next tent. Six were asleep, never to wake again, a pair were together and the slapping sounds of their activity would have covered shooting them, never mind the whisper quiet of my spell. They lay joined together in death. One was awake and reading, sitting before a dismantled rifle on a table, his head scattered the parts as it fell.

The last target was conversing with a captain and I had to strain my eyes to pick out their features, trying to match them to the image of the Zebra I shouldn’t kill. The stripes were similar, but the face was different. Collateral. I thought for a moment, this Zebra was of the same tribe as the potential defector, would their death sour his resolve? Or would one less captain ease the defector’s takeover? I could wait, if this captain was last seen talking to the commander, then he could be a scapegoat when the body was found. Additional disruption could both help and hinder the defector. I shook my head, I was not a strategist, I was barely a tactician, in truth, I was an executioner, an assassin. I had my mission.

The conversation had finished as I considered my options and the captain began walking away. Scenario 3 then. I began the spell just as the commander called back out, “Provisio,”the captain turned back but whatever the commander was about to say trailed off in a strangled hiss as the red line formed around his neck. A look of horror came over the zebra’s face as the commander’s head fell from its body. His eyes darted around and came to rest directly on mine, peering in from a slit in the tent fabric.

I darted away as the captain began to yell. My heart pounded as I slipped from shadow to shadow, twisting this way and that to avoid the increasing activity as soldiers were roused by the calls. I even had to stand on my rear hooves in a zebra combat stance to duck into a locker and avoid a knot of zebras dashing through the tents, pulling on armour and fumbling with guns.

When they had passed I slipped away, reaching the edge of the camp and our extraction point. Falling Tactics was waiting for me, hidden in the shadows of a cluster of boulders, only revealing himself when I stated ‘906’. He responded with ‘909’ and stood up. He looked back at the camp, taking in the commotion.

“Did they spot you?” he asked, stretching his legs,

“Not as such,” I replied, “the last target had a witness.”

Falling Tactics gave a slight nod, turned away from the camp and began to levitate himself. I walked underneath the other unicorn and felt him grab me with his legs, the telekinetic field surrounding him lightening the load. We climbed into the night sky, slower than we had descended as fighting gravity placed extra strain on the operative’s spell. As the lights of the camp grew smaller there was a faint crack then a spike of pain through my right hindleg as the armour dented, the ceramic coating cracking and flaking off. Then I recalled some of the more... Interesting qualities of zebra rifles and frantically scrambled to release the armour plate.

“Stop wriggling” Falling Tactics hissed, struggling to keep hold of me

I had nearly got the plate free when it burst into flames.

A brief attempt beating out the flames led only to a singed hoof so I drew my knife, gripping it in the frog of my hoof. The fire was spreading, burning out from the bullet caught in the armour plate, so I took the knife and cut away at the barding around my hindleg, stripping it off and letting it fall away. The burning clothing dropped away into the night.

“Are we clear?” I asked

My answer was a woosh of conjured wind as the vertibuck swept by us. Our rendezvous has arrived. Falling Tactics shifted his course and threaded us through the open side door and into the flying vehicle.

The return was uneventful and led to the familiar routine. I took the elevator down a level, entered a stark white room and placed my equipment in a tray; armour, knife, gun, beret, barding. Having given everything up I entered the next room and sat in the chair in the centre. The only other item in the room was a small table with a black tiara-like object sitting on it. A recollector. I placed it on my head and waited.

“report operative.” The voice came as expected.

I finished the debriefing and set the recollector aside, returning back through the room and to the elevator. I was returned to the procession of rooms I can come through earlier and began the walk back to my stasis pod.

I was sure that things hadn’t been like this in the past, that I had done more than sleep in stasis between missions. I thought that maybe I had sat with other operatives, or technicians or... But the memory was hazy, from before my failure. I stared at the pod before me thinking, trying to remember.

No. Don’t remember. It’s not important, it’s not the mission. Only the mission is important.

I climbed back into the stasis pod and went to sleep.

Author's Note

After a return to Fallout: Equestria and a deep dive into side fics, I had a few ideas of my own. So, time to give it a go.
Thanks to kkat for creating this crazy mashup and letting others play around in it.
Thanks to Somber too, I may refernce things from Project Horizons and Homelands here and there.