Deathtrap Division: Virgil's "Superweapons"

Chapters

The Debt
The Workshop
The Banner Evening
The Inventions
The Moment of Truth

The Debt

By early 1010, the residents of Virgillia, the newest nation on Equus, were living through a period of extreme change, where even a single creature in the right place could turn the tide of history. Most of them didn't see it that way. To them, it was just another freezing January morning in the mountains, another day of bribing officials to get through the day unscathed, keeping their heads down to avoid seeing something they shouldn’t, and trying not to be eaten by any of the numerous cannibal clans. Only a select few creatures could really say they were doing more than just surviving, and almost all of them belonged to Virgil’s Raiders, though these days they preferred to be called the Virgillian National Guard.

Virgil and his followers were a former bandit gang turned nation-builders after, against anyone's predictions and best hopes, they wrested control of the Griffon Frontier away from Teafeather and his men in a short war two years prior. Since then, his feared crew of thieves, smugglers, and murderers have tried to assume the role of administrators, judges, and police in a bid to turn the failed state into something that at least resembles a functioning nation. To their credit, they have been surprisingly good at it, turning the nation into one of the largest exporters of crystals not just on the continent, but the world. However, Virgil and his cronies wanted more, much more than the small confines of his isolated, frozen nation could give him. He wanted to get back at Redtail, those snooty griffons in Weter, and everyone else who ever tried to oppose him. To do that he needed a weapon that would take advantage of magic in order to make him known and feared the world over. To accomplish this goal, Virgil puts his model employee, Esther Whitefeather in charge of finding someone who could make this dream a reality. On this cold January morning, in a quiet manor in Frosthill, she speaks to one creature she feels is up to the task.

“So, answer me this Ms. Whitefeather,” a low voice asks, “Why are you asking a diamond dog with basically no knowledge of magic and very limited knowledge of firearms to lead a design committee on magic and firearms?”

The dog sitting at the edge of his plush seat was Bernard Rochigné, a traveling doctor who was currently very much in over his head. Bernard sported a coat of brown curls that resisted most efforts to be tamed. This coat covered the bumps on his mace-like tail tip, which was currently resting in his lap. Bernard was a rare sight on the frontier. However, in this parlor, under the piercing gaze of one of the most influential griffons in the region, it did him no favors.

“For two reasons,” answered Esther, “the first is that I owe you a debt that I wish to settle, and the second is, to put it bluntly, you don’t have a choice.”

The sly, customer service smile spreads across the griffoness’ beak at a practiced pace. Esther was a small griffon sporting a beige coat with a short mane which she kept in immaculate condition. As the longtime accountant and an inspector of sorts for Virgil, she took pride in her business-like appearance. Esther now held the purse strings of an entire nation, financially controlling all of the new petty oligarchs of Virgil’s fledgling regime.

Esther continued, “Do you remember, about a week or so before the ceasefire, when you pulled me out of that burning building and stayed in town, while it was still being shelled, to make sure I was alright? Along with dozens of other creatures that had been hurt around that time?”

“Yeah,” Bernard scratched his head, “But I'm also pretty sure I said not to worry about it.”

“Yes, you did” Esther replied with a short chuckle, “I also know that nobody works for free, and it can’t have been cheap or easy to get all that medicine into an isolated town under siege. So I made a note that I would keep you in mind for the future. That brings me to my second point” Without taking her eyes off the dog in the other chair, she reaches over to the coffee table next to her and grabs a sealed envelope, which she hands to him.

As Bernard opens the letter, Esther continues, “It's an induction letter. The national guard was going to scoop you up and send you out to die on the fields of Rudeigin. Fortunately for you, the letter was ‘lost in transit’, and so you were deferred until the next round of draftees in about a few days' time. Your name will not come up then either, because you are going to accept my offer today and receive a special exemption.”

Bernard sits back, finally able to fully appreciate the corner he has been pushed into. After a moment of contemplation he swallows and asks, “So what do you need?”

A real smile flashes across Esther’s face, but only briefly. “We have an arms plant that specializes in magic to the north of Tsasbaatar. You will be in charge of making sure their efforts yield something that could prove useful to our military.”

“Fantastic. Anything else I should know about this job?”

“Well there are your benefits. You will receive lodging near the factory as well as payment of ten thousand bits per month. You will also have a direct phone line to my offices, where I will be able to provide you with regular supplies as well as any special requests you should need to further your research.”

“Great, but this is quite a lot of resources you’re allocating for someone you barely know.” He leans in and squints his eyes, “What’s the catch?”

“You have one year to come up with something usable.”

“What.”

“Doctor, let me make you understand something. You have been shown to be extremely resourceful when pressed, you have a predisposition to wanting to help people rather than steal from them, and you have a pair of working ears. That sets you leagues apart from most of the rank-and-file criminals that I normally work with and will soon be your peers. You will come up with something usable or you will find someone else who can. As I said earlier, you don’t have any other choice, but when you do, you will be in a position that most can only dream of. And when you get there, you will help me make something respectable of this Boreas forsaken land.”

The force behind these words make Bernard sit straight up, looking at the now intense griffoness with fear, but something compels him to nod and agree.

“Yes Ms. Whitefeather.”

“Excellent. An airship will take you to the workshop, where you will be briefed on their progress.”

Esther stands up and leads Bernard to the door of the parlor, which swings open as they approach revealing two burly griffon knights.

“ I expect an initial report in a week’s time. Remember that you are allowed to request anything from the administration, so long as you can justify its usefulness to your research, but above all do not forget:”

A pause prompts Bernard to look back at Esther one more time, but nothing could have prepared him for the look on her face, which could have frozen a minotaur’s blood in his veins as she said,

“You work for me now.”

The Workshop

The trip to the factory was largely uneventful, giving Bernard a chance to think about the absolute mess he had gotten himself into. At least the cannibal mountains looked quite nice from above, providing a great backdrop for the crisis Bernard was having. Fortunately, the workshop came into view before Bernard could sink too deeply into his melodramatic self-pity session. Nestled in a valley between two large mountains, the workshop was, to Bernard’s surprise, a full-fledged, well developed arms plant, complete with a main production building and several warehouses that were built into one of the mountainsides. The valley also featured several outbuildings and even a group of decently sized cabins, indicating that Bernard’s stay would indeed be long-term. Finally, connecting it to the outside world was an airport with a dirt runway, several wooden landing harnesses for airships of various sizes, and a few sizable aircraft hangars. Somewhat calmed by the sight of the trappings of civilization, and the faint hope that this may not be completely impossible, Bernard composed himself and stepped off the airship as soon as it landed.

The airfield was mostly empty, with a thick layer of snow covering almost everything excluding the runway. The only creatures that could be seen were a small group headed towards the airship; two ponies and a griffon, all wrapped up in several layers of clothing to protect from the freezing cold. As they approach, one of the ponies walks forward and introduces himself.

“Welcome to Crevasse Hold arms plant, my name is Gear Gleam and I'm the foreman, good to meet you- er, doc?”

“Gear! It's good to see you again! How are you doing up here in the mountains?”

Surprised, the earth pony starts slowly, “I’m fine, I guess, thanks. Hey wait a minute, I didn’t get any paperwork saying anyone was hurt, and we’ve got our own doctor here anyways, what are you doing up here?”

“Oh, ah, it's a long story,” Bernard stammers out, his anxiety returning to him, “But the short of it is that I’ve been hired on as the director of the plant! Isn't that crazy!”

Even though only the pony’s eyes were visible, Bernard could see him work through surprise, then a moment of suspicion, before finally settling on exasperation. Gear quickly introduces the other pony as Misty Diamond, the Director of magical development, and the griffon as Lars the ‘external acquisitions’ lead.

“Come on, doc, we’ve got a lot to discuss and a lot to show you. First of all, do you know anything about what we’re doing here?”

“Would you be surprised if I said not really?”

“I kinda figured. Well right now we’re working on an infantry kit centered around Misty’s latest and greatest invention: a rifle that uses a big crystal to store and fire spells. We’ve figured out how to get it to fire and not just blow up in your face, but they still take a lot of care to make and use. We’re coming up on the factory now.”

The main factory building was a large, unassuming brick structure with tall windows. Once inside, Gear leads the group up a flight of stairs to a catwalk observing the entire floor. The whole building was one large room subdivided into many sections, each one working on a different part of the crystal rifles, going from raw iron and minecarts full of crystals to a handful of the very strange looking weapons. What must have been hundreds if not thousands of griffons and ponies working in small groups oversaw their parts of the process, doing everything manually. It was very organized, no doubt, but it was quite primitive overall.

Gear was in the middle of explaining the general process of making the rifles when Bernard interrupted, “Where are all of the machines?”

Now it was Gear’s turn to be embarrassed, “Well you see, it's quite difficult to get machines up here, and I think we’re managing just fine with magic alone.”

“Gear, there’s clearly a lot of time being lost here that could be solved with a simple conveyor belt. Most of these poor creatures don't even have power tools.”

Misty Diamond stepped forward to defend Gear, “Mr. Rochingne, It was hard enough to gather enough magically inclined personnel to make this factory function at all, and from what I am gathering, you are most certainly not qualified to be questioning our efforts here.”

“Well you might be right about the not qualified part, but I might have a solution for you. Ms. Whitefeather has said that anything we need, I can just call her and request it from her.”

“Well that's certainly a change of policy,” Interjected Gear, “ What did you do to get her to agree to that?”

“Well I didn't do much of anything, I figure she sees this as an opportunity for her more than for any of us, and I’m just going along with things. Maybe she just needed someone who could take the fall if things don't go her way here. But the fact of the matter is that we’re all part of whatever scheme Ms. Whitefeather has planned, and we need to come up with something big.What I really need to see is the research labs.”

“Yes I suppose we’ll just have to see what we can do. Let's finish getting you acquainted with the facility and we’ll show you to your quarters.”

The rest of the facility was lightly staffed due to the snow. This gave Bernard ample time to observe the facilities and resources that were available. Most notably, the labs were well stocked with magical crystals. Misty’s team had already made great strides in applying the magics they had found, as well as some of their own, to crystals of all sizes. The sheer potential of it all made Bernard smile to himself. This feeling was compounded when Lars took the lead and showed him to his private hangar and warehouse. There, all manner of smuggled equipment was on display, from exotic eastern griffonian rifles to Wingbardian tankettes to a couple of operational Wheatley bombers, flown all the way from Equestria in some daring heist. Bernard could have spent days ogling all the trophies on display, but above all else, this showed that Lars was very good at his job, and Bernard was certain that between Lars and Ms. Whitefeather, the factory would not be left wanting for anything. After those exciting developments, the group led Bernard to a decently sized cabin where he would be staying.

“Thank you Gear, I appreciate all your help with this, I know it's a lot of pressure and all. I hope you’re not too upset about me coming unannounced.”

“Honestly? If you can get that conveyor belt you were talking about, I’ll be pretty happy.”

Bernard chuckled, “Well we’ll try to do a bit more than that, now won’t we?”

“We’ll see,” Gear said, turning to walk out the door, “Just let us know what you come up with.”

A final wave and the door closed, leaving Bernard alone in the quaint cabin. He did have some ideas to move forward, the assembly line improvements were an obvious starting point. He knew that Gear and the others could be depended on, and he could probably convince them to help with almost any project. The magic rifles were a good start and would keep Ms. Whitefeather happy for some time until he could get other prototypes out. Now he just had to come up with some new prototypes. He let several ideas ferment, getting some pens and paper to help him out. However, several hours later, he looked at all his notes and realized that they were little more than disjointed writings with little basis in reality, much less any utility. He couldn’t present any of this to the others, he was on thin ice as it was. No, he needed someone he could trust to help him develop these ideas to a workable phase, someone who knew more than he did about weapons and such. A name comes to him as he sits back down in his chair. Bernard clears the scribblings off his new desk, pulls the paper out of the typewriter, replacing it with a fresh one, and begins to type a letter to an old friend.

The Banner Evening

The middle of the mountains was the last place the purple-plumed griffon thought he would ever find himself, but here he was. Standing before a quaint cabin, Gordon Gouranis briefly thought about the events that brought him to this backwater. Two weeks ago, Bernard's letter found its way to Gordon's apartment in Nouveau Aquila, saying in no uncertain terms that he had fallen in with some of the worst creatures on the entire continent. Gordon had heard little about the newly formed state, or from Bernard, in the past couple of years, but from Bernard’s letter it was clear that they were trouble. Gordon stood up on both of his paws when the letter asked him to join Bernard in the remote northern mountains. Had this letter come only a few months earlier, Gordon would have readily declined his old friend’s offer, but things had changed drastically since then.

Gordon was primed to join the rapidly growing ranks of Talon Industries as a weapons designer, but the deal fell through at the last minute after Stalliongrad’s invasion from the south. Talon axed the position, citing ‘a need to focus on existing armaments', leaving Gordon jobless. The assassination of Governor Teafeather complicated things further, making jobs even scarcer as the market collapsed and the entire country seemed to go mad overnight. A simple vote by the provisional government to expand conscription would put him right on the frontlines, and it was a miracle that he wasn't already. The parallels of his own situation to Bernard’s were not lost on him. Seeing no other options, Gordon sought out Virgil’s men in Nova Griffonia.

The glorified gangsters weren't hard to find, as there was a volunteer force acting openly near the frontline with the Staliongradians, and their supply chain ran right through his city, practically passing by his front door. This was a surprise to Gordon, given the history between the two countries, but it made things easy for him. Gordon simply approached some of the mercenaries as they stopped to rest before heading back north from the front. This bold strategy paid off, and soon he was before a smooth talking front man trying to nickel and dime him for passage to Virgilia. Bernard accounted for this too, and simply told Gordon to mention a ‘Ms. Whitefeather’ should he come into any trouble. Sure enough, after that, the only thing that delayed his journey further was a snowstorm that grounded his airship. Now, after a week of touch and go in unfamiliar lands, he was at his friend’s doorstop. Gordon gave a firm knock at the door, and moments later it swung open.

“Is that the old crow I wrote for?” Bernard said, considering his friend for a moment, “I can hardly tell under all those fancy jackets and such!”

“Fancy? You’ve been larping as a frontiersman for way too long if you think these rags are fancy, Bernie!”

“Oof, you disappear for all these years, never write, then you go straight for my sense of style right when I'm about to welcome you into my humble abode?” Bernard cried, making an exaggerated staggering motion while gripping his chest. The diamond dog laughed heartily and embraced his friend.

“It is good to see you, now let's get inside and I’ll tell you all about the troubles I've made for myself.”

Gordon sat in the first available chair, placing his belongings next to him and starting to peel off layers of furs and jackets while Bernard pulled a chair next to him. “So what have you got so far?”

“Well, I've managed to get some much needed equipment for the factory, and our associates have quite the stockpile of magic knowledge that they’re eager to use. I couldn’t tell you about them in the letter but they’ve made rifles with the crystals that are abundant around here.”

“Really? Describe these crystal weapons to me.”

“Ah, they’re a trigger mechanism, attached to a crystal, which activates another crystal that shoots a spell that we imprint on it.”

“Is that all?”

“Not quite, they can also run double duty as hand grenades because they have the reliability of a matchstick in a rainstorm..”

Gordon laughed and reached over to his suitcase, “Hold on, if I’m gonna have to hear any more about these ‘wonder weapons’ of yours, I'm gonna need something strong.”

The griffon produced two plain looking bottles of amber liquid, handing one off to the dog sitting opposite to him. “Bought these during a trip to Weter. Premium, straight from a little farm deep in Equestria.”

Bernard looks at the label for a moment. ‘Apple Farms Famous Apple Cider’, it read. Bernard wasn’t a big drinker, but what better occasion was there to drink than a reunion between friends? Bernard uncorked the bottle and raised it towards Gordon, “To our partnership, and for good luck!”

Gordon gave a small cheer and clanked his bottle against Bernard’s, then they both took a long swig of the imported drink. Bernard grins as he brings the bottle down and away from his lips. This grin then slowly fades as the taste of the drink lingers on his tongue. He looks down at the bottle and turns it over, reading the small print on the label. His suspicions confirmed, Bernard narrowed his eyes and gave his friend a sideways look.
“Gordon?”

“Yeah?”

“This doesn't have any alcohol in it.”

The griffon groans and sits back in his chair, exclaiming “It was right there alongside the real stuff!”

Bernard puts the bottle in Gordon’s face and points at the label, “It's right there! You tell me you just take whatever they give you at those tourist traps?” Bernard sets the bottle aside and continues heckling his friend, “Just my luck, there's only one creature in all of Equus who can help me and it turns out he can’t read!”

“Hey, you gotta admit it tastes pretty good.”

Bernard calms down and considers the drink, “I guess so. We should probably have all our faculties for this anyways. What were you saying before you pulled out the apple juice?”

“Well I’m thinking that the magic rifles and such are on the right track, but they still lean too much on the ‘magic’ rather than the ‘rifle’ part.”

“What do you mean?”

“I'm saying that you’re not gonna get anywhere by focusing too much on the magic portion of these weapons. From what I can see, there's too much that can go wrong with them or their effects are too limited. Is there anything else you can do with the crystals?”

“Well,” Bernard thinks, “Quite a bit actually. We can imprint a wide variety of magics onto them, shield spells, telekinetic spells, basically anything a unicorn can cast, we can make a crystal cast it instead. Diamond’s even looking into dragonfire teleportation and enriched fuel experiments, but like you said, magic is not an exact science.”

“True,” Gordon remarked, pulling out a pen and a notepad, “and it sounds like you’re already thinking what I'm thinking. The magic might be unreliable, but there's too much potential lost by working with purely magic or purely mundane tech. I think the key to our success lies somewhere in the middle. Now, we’re going to have to make some design decisions that might be a bit, er, unorthodox, to make them actually feasible with what we’ve got. Things that might get us put in the crazy house if we were working for anyone else, but trust me, it’ll be fun, we’ll be like the mad scientists in those corner store comics!”

“Fun’s not exactly what I'm after when we’ve got hardened criminals breathing down our necks, waiting for a miracle, but I get your point, and I am intrigued as to what you have in mind.”

“Great, I hope you’ve got some coffee, cause if I get rolling we’re gonna need it.”

The pair certainly got rolling. Gordon was eager to get to the drawing board, playing with and considering every idea that came to mind, no matter how outrageous. Jokes and side comments became fully fledged ideas and basic schematics, leading to yet more witticisms that were also developed further. Gordon’s design experience was just what Bernard needed. The pair worked into the next morning, when the exhausted pair could formulate and tweak no more. Before collapsing from exhaustion they reviewed their handiwork. Plans for everything from special munitions to modifications for armored vehicles and aircraft to completely new weapons systems were strewn about the living room. Their evening had been more successful than he possibly could have imagined.

“Well, that should keep us busy for quite some time. If even half this stuff is worth looking into, we’ll be testing these designs at least till May!” Bernard, his voice tired and hoarse, began to make a move for the bedroom, “I've converted the office across the hall into a room for you, sleep in as long as you like, I have a lot to explain to Gear and the others tomorrow.”

“Can do, boss,” the griffon gave a tired, mocking salute, “Just let me know how many of them quit after taking a peek at these horrors.”

Bernard scoffed and bid Gordon good night. Just before falling asleep, Bernard thought for a moment that maybe things weren’t too bad after all, in fact, he couldn’t believe how easy that was.

The Inventions

The next 5 months of Bernard’s time at Crevasse Hold were anything but easy, in fact, he considered them the hardest weeks of his entire life. When Gear first saw the designs, he was vehemently against them at first, saying that they were preposterously unsafe. Surprisingly, it was Misty that pushed to try to build prototypes of the new designs, convincing Gear to cautiously agree as well. She would never reveal why, perhaps she was just eager to get back to work after weeks of being in a holding pattern, or maybe she saw the potential in the designs. No matter the case, the only one left to try to convince was Lars, who was skeptical at first, but, once Bernard promised him that he would be generously compensated for any equipment he provided, and assured him that there would be opportunities to expand his collection even further, then he was all in as well.

Thus began months of building, retooling, redesigning, and development, both of numerous prototypes and of the factory itself. The five worked tirelessly to ensure everything went smoothly. Misty and Gordon worked closely on refining the new designs and incorporating their newfound knowledge as quickly as possible, ensuring that things were as good as they could be before so much as a single bolt was tightened. Gear continued to handle the day-to-day operations of the factory, seeing that the transition from hand tools and carts to power tools and conveyors was as smooth as possible. Lars distinguished himself in several raids, heists, and arms deals in a whirlwind season that he dubbed the ‘Bandit’s Spring’ which gave Misty and Gordon a great amount and variety of material to work with. The name never caught on, but the others were thankful for his help nonetheless.

That left Bernard with the one duty that he dreaded: corresponding with Ms. Whitefeather. Even with his best bedside manners cultivated from years of doctoring on the hard frontier, she was still as stern, cold, and forceful as ever when he spoke with her. Every day it felt like a great hammer could come down on him and his friends’ heads at any moment, and all their progress would be for nothing. Luckily, those fears never amounted to anything, as Ms. Whitefeather was always forthcoming with aid and let setbacks go with little more than some veiled threats and a verbal lashing. As anxious as reporting to her made Bernard, at the end of the day he could not deny that none of their work would be possible without her assistance.

Her patience had limits, however, and in mid-July the order came down for a final report on the factory’s prototypes, as well as a declaration that their research would be suspended in order to focus solely on the production of their new designs. The five of them gathered in the main room of Bernard’s cabin one afternoon, and after some pleasantries, they began work in earnest.

“So what do you think we should start with?” Bernard asked, making sure his typewriter had enough ink and paper for the task ahead, “We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, so we have to choose wisely.”

Gordon pipes up immediately, “Oh, we ought to go with one of our earlier projects, the magic lift or whatever we were gonna call it! That was really cool!”

“Magi-lift,” Misty interrupted, “And yes, it was quite the extravagant endeavor, but more importantly it led to some interesting breakthroughs with levitation magic that helped later, even if it wasn’t successful. I would say it's as good a place to start as any.”

“I think you’re right, if there are no other suggestions, we’ll start with that.” Bernard let the question hang in the air for a few seconds before nodding and loading the typewriter with a fresh sheet of paper.

“Ok, so let's format it like this, and…” Bernard cleared his throat and began to dictate what he was typing to the group.

“Name: Magi-lift Propulsion System

Summary: As part of an exercise into how levitation magic interacts with crystals, our research department proposed to supplement the tracked suspension and movement systems of a standard armored vehicle with magic. This was accomplished by securing large crystals imprinted with levitation spells onto the sides of several Wingbardian L3/33 tankettes. The goal was to achieve a truly all terrain vehicle that could be maneuvered simply by a magically capable driver. The results were interesting, but far from practical. There was great difficulty in standardizing the power of each crystal, resulting in a less than stable firing platform. In most cases, one crystal was more powerful than the other, resulting in the tank floating at a sharp incline. In other cases, a tank would barrel roll uncontrollably until the crystals lost power, sending the tank crashing to the ground. In the most serious case, a tank suddenly rose rapidly into the sky, carrying its two crew members with it. Thankfully, the two griffons were able to bail out and glide safely down to the ground, but the tank never stopped rising, eventually disappearing into the sky. Several estimates were given as to where and when the tank may land, but after a month of patrols no sign of it could be found. Employees of the facility have taken to calling the rogue vehicle ‘Gordon’s Tankette’. One tankette and no employees were lost as a consequence of this project, though several did lose their lunches.

Result: Project canceled.”

Bernard pulled the finished page out of the typewriter and set it with the schematics. Gordon looked over at Gear with a grin, “You should have seen the look on your face when that tank flew off.”

“Yeah, because I was worried about the griffons inside, you lunatic!”

Bernard clears his throat, hands on the keys ready to go, “Are we good to continue? Nice, now we follow up with something that worked.”

“Name: ‘Bonehead’ Inertial Dampeners

Summary: Using the knowledge gained from the ‘Magi-lift’ project, it was suggested that levitation magic could be used to slow the descent of dropped materials. Small-scale testing determined that items dropped while attached to a crystal imprinted with levitation magic could be slowed to a gentle float with relative ease. The design team decided to take this line of thinking to its logical extreme and attempt to airdrop a tank without a parachute. Tankettes were fitted with a single charged levitation crystal and attached to the underside of a Griffonian two-engine K-09 heavy bomber. The design team had the choice between two different activation mechanisms: the first was a claws-off, mechanical timer system that would trigger the crystal automatically at terminal velocity. The other option was a less complex but far more dangerous method of having part of the crew bail out of the plane when the tank was dropped, following it in mid-air, then using a special wand to activate the crystal. Keeping with their streak of questionable decisions, citing ‘the spirit of the project’, the team opted for the latter method. Miraculously, over 60% of the tests were successful, with the bailed out crew able to activate the crystal mid-descent around 75% of the time. Several tanks were lost to mis-calibration of the crystal dampener. In the final test, a heavier, Changeling Panzer III was dropped successfully, showing that this system has the potential to allow for airdrops of even heavier vehicles than standard parachutes or gliders allow. Patented watermelon testing showed that, under optimal conditions and with a significant amount of tweaking, it might be possible to drop the vehicles with crew inside, allowing for immediate combat and maneuver once the vehicles touch down. The main drawback of the system, beyond the less than optimal success rate, seems to be the stress placed on the crew during the airdrop itself. This is the origin of the system’s name, as one of the technicians working on the project, when asked about his opinions on the system, was quoted as saying: ‘You would have to be a total bonehead to use it.’ Seven tankettes were lost over the course of this project.

Result: Project successful.”

Bernard looked up from the typewriter and at Lars, “I can’t believe you were able to get so many of those tankettes for us.”

Lars simply smiled, seemingly waiting for another question.

“No, I’m not gonna ask you how you got them, I can draw my own conclusions.”

“I take exception to that bit about questionable decision making,” Misty huffed, “Parachutes are expensive to make and crystals are the only thing we have in surplus.”

Lars raised an eyebrow.

“And tanks.”

Lars sat back in his chair, looking fairly pleased with himself. Bernard stretched his arms, “Alright, well we’re almost done recounting how we tortured the tankettes, just one more project with them.”

Misty looked very smug, pulling a schematic set from the pile. “You mean my magnum opus? I think I should be the one to write this report.”

Misty moved the typewriter in front of her, then sorted a set of schematics and reports around her for reference and began writing.

“Name: ‘D.A.W.N.’ Dragonfire Anti-tank Weapon

Summary: The DAWN is a sophisticated module that uses crystals imprinted with dragonfire teleportation magic to teleport explosives directly into enemy tanks. Astute readers will recall that dragonfire is, as the name suggests, exclusive to dragons and requires one to know the target in order to send something using it. Thanks to tireless research and a generous donation from Ms. Whitefeather that allowed us to buy dragon expertise, we were successful in imprinting a small collection of crystals with draconic magic. When these crystals are heated, their exterior will catch fire, teleporting whatever is caught in the flame. This is the first of the DAWN’s two part system. The second part is a radio transmitter that is coiled around the crystal which, when tuned to a tank’s radio frequency, will teleport a payload towards the receiving radio. The stronger the signal, the closer the payload will be to the source before appearing again. The simplicity of the system gives it many strengths and weaknesses. It is easy to operate, relatively easy to produce, and has a much lower external profile than a standard cannon. It requires knowledge of how to tune a radio and nothing more, cutting down on overall training time and crew requirements. The downsides are that it is bulky, requires dragon assistance to build, and has a shorter lifespan than other anti tank weaponry. The crystal in the weapon requires replacement after every 40 items teleported, and a dragon must be involved in the imprinting of the crystal, as the outer layer is formed by their breath magic. In smaller tanks, it also prevents the inclusion of a standard cannon altogether, limiting the vehicle’s effectiveness against other targets. The system also drowns out communications with a signature crackle, which may alert enemy tank crews that they are being targeted. Targets can also evade the system by shutting their radios off, preventing their acquisition, and targets that lack radios completely cannot be targeted at all. There is also the issue of lighting a fire in an enclosed space, which can deteriorate the effectiveness of the crew significantly over time. Overall, we do not believe that these downsides detract from a novel and cheap system for dealing with enemy tanks.

Results: Project successful.”

Misty sat back and admired her handiwork, but before she could set it aside, Gordon grabbed it out of the typewriter and looked over it. He lulled his head to the side and let out a few loud snores before snapping back straight up and shouting, “Boooring! Way to sell your invention too, it reads like a Skyfall cigarette pack! One line about how great they are and then twenty about all the diseases they’ll give you! Let me have a shot at this thing, I know exactly what I’m gonna write about!”

Gordon let Misty’s report go and it sailed onto the table. While she was preoccupied with setting it away, Gordon reached over the table and took the typewriter for himself. After making a show out of mockingly exaggerating how Bernard loaded and checked over the typewriter, Gordon launched into writing.

“Name: Pa-2V ‘Magic Dragon’

Summary: The design team recognizes that collaboration is the bedrock of scientific progress, and there is no one more collaborative than the ponies of Stalliongrad. They contributed significantly to this project, being so generous as to ‘donate’ some of their brand new mid-range bombers to Nova Griffonia, so that we could ‘acquire’ it from them. Truly, the results garnered from ‘willing and friendly’ international cooperation are incredible. The team also recognizes that the simplest solutions are often the best, and there is no simpler solution than ‘more gun’. Following this line of thinking, we have decided that bombing enemy emplacements and positions into submission is an outdated strategy that can be significantly improved upon. To this end, we have removed the bomb mounts and bomb bay doors from our new aircraft and replaced them with an array of dozens of our state-of-the art magical rifles, held by an equally state-of-the-art but tastefully rustic pine wood scaffolding. This ingenious design incorporates elements of modern warfare, aviation, magic, and napoleonic gun lines to great effect. The aircraft is intended to fly over an entrenched enemy or static emplacement, the bombardier will then push a button that will fire the rifles row by row. This sophisticated firing pattern allows the first guns to finish recharging just as the last ones fire, allowing for the saturation of a large area below the aircraft. Awed observers have likened it to a great dragon raining down destruction on its foes with a single breath, which led to its name. Its designation was determined similarly, as the design team felt that it accurately captured the essence of the Virgillian spirit, which led to the addition of the ‘V’. Rumors concerning a risk of spontaneous combustion if the weapons system is not operated within exact specifications and drastic reductions in effectiveness due to individual guns malfunctioning after the first three volleys are being investigated, but we are sure that they are little more than vicious lies.

Results: Project very successful.”

Gordon pulls the page from the typewriter and hands it to Bernard, who looks it over incredulously.

“Wow,” Bernard shook his head, “This is really something.”

Gordon was beaming. “Ain’t it?”

“Yeah, something I’ll have to completely rewrite later.”

“Once again my genius goes completely unappreciated. Here, you take it back then.”

“Thank you kindly. Now I don't think we have any other aircraft designs and I think we’ve done enough with the tanks for right now at least. So why don’t we move on to something else?”

Gear chimes in, “What about that crystal fuel system? I’ve never seen a 2 and a half ton truck do a wheelie before.”

“Oh yeah, that’s definitely going in the report.”

“Name: Crystal Fuel Filter

Summary: Part of a foray into crystal fuel enrichment, it was discovered that crystals that were magically charged, but not imprinted with any particular spells, could be used to vastly improve the performance of different engines. A variety of vehicles, but primarily trucks, had their passenger side seat removed and the fuel line was shifted upwards into the now empty space in the cabin. This fuel line had a special crystal canister attached to it which could be pushed into the fuel line, allowing the crystal to interact with the fuel as it flowed past. The only downside of this design is that it prevents a passenger in cargo trucks or a radio operator gunner in tanks. The exact chemical reaction that occurs is as of yet unknown, but thorough testing has shown that, at peak charge, this system can triple the horsepower of a standard 6-cylinder engine. Over small stretches, this is excellent for short term performance, allowing even heavier vehicles a surprising amount of mobility for a few moments. However, this puts extreme stress on the rest of the vehicle. Every conceivable part of the vehicles tested were stretched to their limits. Shredded tires, snapped axles, blown radiators, melted brakes, and disassembled treads were only a few of the challenges our motorpool was faced with over the course of testing. The desire of the design and testing teams to watch heavy military equipment do ‘sick jumps’ did not aid things in this regard, though we now possess the record for maximum air time in a wheeled vehicle. This was also the most popular project among testers, who affectionately refer to the system as the ‘Oh Boreas’ button. 14 transport trucks, 5 halftracks, and 3 tanks were critically damaged during testing, with only 6 trucks and a halftrack being returned to service at the time of writing.

Results: Project successful.”

As Bernard looked up from his work, the dimming lights from the windows caught his eye. “Hey what time is it? These reports have to be on the last airship out of here today, and it leaves at 10.”

Gear pulled out a pocket watch and looked at it for a second before lifting it towards Bernard, “Nine-fifteen on the nose.”

Bernard placed the report alongside the others in a sealed folder and wrote Ms. Whitefeather’s name and address on it, “Alright, I think that's all we have time for. I have to catch that airship before it gets going. Gear, did you get that production sheet out to her?”

“Sure did, all those new tools you got us really did wonders for our throughput, we’re making as much in a day now as we did in a month around this time last year.”

“Love to hear it, but seriously, when I first got here I had no idea how I was going to get anything done. Now we’re sending off applications of magic that no other team has ever thought of. Without you all, I don’t know where I’d be.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Director,” Misty smiled, “You brought this team together to do some great things.”

“Yeah and I think we make a great team,” Gordon chuckled, “You know, it got me thinking that maybe all that stuff that those ponies are saying about friendship and magic and stuff might not be so far fetched?”

The group laughed, continuing to congratulate each other on a job well done for some time. Eventually, Lars cleared his throat and pointed to his own timepiece.

Bernard, realizing how late it had become, shot up and walked briskly towards the door, “Right, got to go, see you all tomorrow. I’ll let everyone know what Ms. Whitefeather says as soon as I hear something back!”

Bernard was out the door before he finished his sentence, rushing towards the airship moorings. He made it there just in time, looking for the captain. There was a brief tension in the air as Bernard handed over the folder containing the designs that represented not just his own best hopes and months of effort, but that of all his friends as well. The diamond dog stood on the moorings as the airship took off into the evening summer sky, then disappeared over the mountains. All they could do now is wait.

The Moment of Truth

The five would not have to wait for long. It only took three days for the orders to come in, which triggered a second frenzied set of expansions to the factory. Several designs even had to be outsourced to other factories under Ms. Whitefeather’s control to meet the demand. Things continued at their usual breakneck pace through autumn and into the winter. With only a few weeks left before the new year's deadline, the last shipments to the army were fulfilled. They had done it, and could finally take some much needed rest. Or at least, so they thought. Soon after the blue moon festival, Bernard got a call from Ms. Whitefeather.

“Good morning Ms. Whitefeather, is everything in order?”

“It will be soon, Doctor.” Bernard grew cold as she spoke, “You are to report to Frosthill in one month for a final performance review. Bring your colleagues.”

Bernard was nearly speechless, all the fear he felt in their first meeting came rushing back suddenly. He managed to squeak out, “But, ma’am-”

“I do not have time for your questions or platitudes this time, Doctor. You will be there or there will be grave consequences, do you understand?”

Bernard lingered for a moment at the question, thinking whether he should lash out now or at his ‘review’. Deciding better of it, he replied dully, “Yes, Ms. Whitefeather.”

“Excellent. See you there.”

Bernard heard her hang up the phone, he heard the dial tone and its steady chime, but could not bring himself to move. What had he done wrong? What more could he have done? He numbly looked up at a hanging calendar on the wall near him. One month from that day was exactly a year from the first time he was brought into Ms. Whitefeather’s estate. He didn’t understand, and neither could the others when Bernard told them. They wanted to do something, make plans for how they could escape the country and disappear, but none of their plans would have worked. There was no other option but to go to the ‘review’ and face Ms. Whitefeather and whatever she had in store for them. By the day they were set to leave, the group had fully accepted the reality of the situation and told the factory goodbye for what they felt had to be the last time.

When they arrived in Frosthill, they were met by a dozen griffon knights. The leader of the small band approached them and gave a short nod, “Good morning, I am here to escort you to the Vot staging area just outside of town. We will be going by car. The convoy is just around the corner. Please follow me.”

Seeing no other options, they began walking with their huge escort, reaching the cars in short order. They weren’t the rugged military trucks that the group were used to working on, no, they were fancy cars, the sort that were not commonly seen in Frosthill. There was only space for three creatures in a car, so Bernard and Gordon sat in one while the others sat in another. When Gordon sat down he leaned over to Bernard and whispered in his ear.

“You know this doesn’t make sense. If they were gonna wack us, why would they put us in these cars with some decent enough guards? I was expecting drawn weapons and black hoods for our heads, not fancy cars and hospitality.”

Bernard was just as confused as Gordon, if not more confused. “It doesn’t make sense to me either. Maybe this is just some elaborate setup, maybe they’ll string us up in front of the whole army?”

“No, I don’t think they would do that. They’re cruel, but nobody’s that cruel,” Gordon pointed a finger in Bernard’s face, “If you got me all sad and ready to die for nothing, I'm gonna be pretty upset.”

Bernard pushed his friend away, “Tell you what, if we don’t die sometime in the next few hours, I’ll shave my head and eat the fur!”

Gordon sat back, nodding, but didn’t say anything else for the rest of the ride. The two reunited with the others when they reached their destination, which was a structure built into the side of a small mountain with a pair of large double doors. There were many griffons in the new, standardized Virgilian Army dress milling about. Steeling themselves, they followed their escorts into the building. The inside was a large, cavernous bunker that seemingly went all the way through the mountain. The far side of the hall was covered with a curtain. He didn’t have much time to take in much more before a regrettably familiar sight appeared before him. Ms. Whitefeather stood alone in the middle of the great hall, watching them all approach. The group was still a ways off before she held out a claw,

“Stop there, that's far enough.” She slowly walked over to the group, “Thank you for bringing to me, George. I hope they weren’t too much trouble. Dismissed.”

The griffon that answered their questions earlier gave a short salute, then quickly disappeared into the surrounding bustle along with the rest of their escort. Ms. Whitefeather pulled a clipboard from her purse along with a red pen.

“Lets begin, shall we? First I’d like to congratulate you on fulfilling all your orders on time. We were quite pleased with your results in that regard. We also noticed that your throughput of magical weapons was increased seven-fold during your tenure at Crevasse Hold, which is also something to be proud of. However, we must talk about the designs that you submitted in the first place.

Bernard was sweating through his coat at this point. This was it.

“I provided you with a very well developed plant, a surplus of crystals, some of the best talent we could find, and all of the funding you requested. In return, you developed a set of unreliable, structurally dubious, and extremely unorthodox designs that no other standing army on the planet would have accepted.”

At this point, Bernard had enough. He snapped back, “I think I understand ma’am. I don’t need any more taunting, just do whatever you’re gonna do to us already. Come on, tell us, what do you have in store? Humiliation? Banishment? Lifetime imprisonment? Worse? Let us have it, don’t make us wait any longer!”

Ms. Whitefeather was… surprised? “Oh, you thought I was going to-?”

Astonishment turned to mirth as she began to chuckle, then cackle. The entire group took a big step back from the grifoness, who was making a bit of a scene as she gave her best evil villain laugh. When she finished, she sighed,

“Oh my dear Doctor, did you really think I brought you all the way back out here to ‘liquidate’ you?”

The five of them replied in unison,

“Yes.”

“Well you shouldn’t be too surprised, Esther,” A voice behind the group remarked coolly, “It's a classic move, after all.”

The interruption prompted all of them to turn and look at the newcomer. The gray griffon sported a wide brimmed hat with goggles that shaded his striking yellow eyes. His yellow beak, cut and chipped in several places from some scrap long ago, displayed a charming smile. A red bandana could be seen on his neck beneath his half-zipped turtleneck jacket, accentuated with gold buttons. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind who this imposing griffon could be.

“Ah, Virgil,” Esther said, looking around the stupefied group before her, “Fashionably late as always.”

“Not too late to miss seeing you in action. Now what were you telling these fine colleagues of ours?”

“I was just about to tell them how good of a job they did, and congratulate them on exceeding expectations, when you interrupted me.”

“Right, right, so that means you just finished berating them for every small mistake?”

Esther gave a small smile and looked at Bernard, “Can you tell that we’ve been partners for a long time, Doctor?”

“Doctor, eh?” Virgil walked up to Bernard, “So you’re the miracle worker that came up with all my new favorite toys? Well it's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Bernard!”

Virgil grabs Bernard’s hand and shakes it vigorously as the nervous diamond dog tries to come up with a response.

“Y-yes Mr. Virgil but-”

“Oh, there's no need for all that, just Virgil’s fine!”

“Well, Virgil, sir, it wasn’t just me, it was a team effort that wouldn’t have been possible without the help of my friends and-”

“You and your friends, huh? Well why don't you point me to the one that came up with those planes you sent me?”

Gordon raised his claw, “That was me! Did you like it?”

“Like it?! Boy, when they demonstrated that thing to me at the airbase, I nearly shed a tear! It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I even ordered one special for me to use on the weekends!”

Gordon was completely starstruck, trying several times to express how happy he was, but failing to find the words every time. After a few false starts, Virgil stops him.

“Close your mouth, boy, you’ll catch parasprites. Anyways, I think it's time I gave you all your reward.”

Virgil snaps his talons and one of his bodyguards steps forward with four jingling burlap sacks. The silent figure hands them to Virgil.

“Now this is how we used to divvy up the loot from heists and raids before we ran these mountains,” Virgil explained, handing bags of loot to everyone except Bernard, “But now it's an honor that I give to only my most trusted employees, and more than that, it's my way of saying ‘Welcome to the Gang.’”

Bernard peeked at Gordon’s bag, to find that it was filled with tens of thousands of bits, more than he would have seen even after months at Talon. The poor griffon looked like he was near fainting. Virgil reached up and grasped Bernard’s shoulder.

“Hey, don't worry Doc, Esther will give you your reward soon enough, and I think you’ll find it more than generous. But first, I want to show you something.”

Virgil motioned for everyone to follow him as he walked towards the curtain at the back of the bunker. Passing through the curtain, the group found themselves on a stage set in the mountainside overlooking a military base. As they drew closer to the edge of the stage, Bernard could see thousands of soldiers looking up at them from a field below. What's more, all of them were wielding their magical rifles, or riding in or on vehicles where Bernard could spot the modifications they had made to them. He heard Misty gasp, and he almost gasped as well when he looked back and saw rows upon rows of planes behind the mass of soldiers, tanks, and trucks, some of them sporting the special markings that designated them as products of their factory. Bernard guessed that almost every product that had left their assembly lines in the past year was somewhere in the mass of military might before them. Virgil waved his hand to silence a sudden bout of cheering and chanting from the gathered crowd.

“My friends! My people! We will begin this rally soon, but first, I want to introduce you to Bernard, and his research colleagues from Crevasse Hold’s Deathtrap Division!”

The sound of the cheering rose to deafening levels, and Virgil let it stay that way for some time before he raised his voice again.

“So when you go out to fight the soldiers of those rotten men in Weter, and they swiftly fall from you in battle, you can thank these great creatures for making it possible!”

Another burst of cheers came from the crowd as Virgil stepped away from the balcony. The others followed as the crowd died back down. Ester turned to Virgil and asked, “The ‘Deathtrap Division’”?

Virgil smiled, “Well yeah, I asked you to assemble a special research division to come up with some kind of a secret weapon that could win us this war. Well, turns out all I need is a research division that pumps out deathtraps, so, Deathtrap Division! Came up with that one on the fly, I think it's pretty catchy, don't you think?”

He turns to the rest of the group, who nod in mostly false approval, trying not to upset the gang leader.

“I’ve got some other people I have to go check in with, but I’ll be in touch with you, Doc! I’ve got big plans for the future! Big plans.”

Virgil trails off as he walks away, disappearing behind the curtain. Esther walks next to Bernard and asks, “Could the rest of you also give us a moment? I have some personal business with the director.”

Gordon nudged Bernard as he walked away, “I’ll go find a nice electric razor for you.”

“Yeah if you’re as good at finding razors as you are at finding real alcohol, I dont think ive got anything to worry about.”

Gordon gave his friend the talon guns as he passed through the curtain. The others quickly filed off of the balcony soon after, leaving Esther and Bernard alone.

“Now, for your reward,” Esther pulled out three papers from her coat and handed them to Bernard, who looked at them quizzically as Esther explained, “These are the deeds to Crevasse Hold factory and two other arms plants.”

Bernard was stunned, “But why would you give me these? I thought we were even now?”

“Do you remember what I said last year when we first met? That you would help me build this nation into something more than a collection of thieves? Well the best way for you to do that is to have a bit of power of your own, and the quickest way to power is to own a third of our current industry, and more to follow once we sweep over the administration in Weter and partition their corporations. You’ve shown yourself more than capable of running a plant. Plus, I don't need the factories myself, I have the power to let these things go, as they say.”

“Well what do I do now?”

“You? Well I suppose you could do just about anything at this point, but if you’re asking me, you should just keep doing what you’re doing. Don't let your newfound power get to your head, I need you clear minded for the next step.”

“And what is that going to be?”

“That is for me to know and for you to find out when I am good and ready. Oh, and don’t forget-”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘you work for me now’”

Esther smiled a genuine smile and said “No, now you work with me. I’ll see you soon… Magnate.”

Bernard watched Esther as she walked away back into the mountain. He swore he understood her less now than he did when he first met her. At any rate, it was finally over, he had conquered every challenge laid before him and made some new friends in the process. He stepped closer to the balcony so he could see the entire encampment once again. Looking over all the soldiers and their equipment, he thought to himself: pretty good for an old dog.