November 28, 1277 - Mission Day 50

Commander Calm Seas leaned out of the open door of the Vertibuck as it made its final approach, strapped securely inside by her seat's safety harness. They had made a short stop after taking off from the Indefatigable to pick up the mayor of Sunset Town, to collect on her promise. The Stable-Suited mare sat to Calm Seas' left, looking around with wide eyes and slightly green around the gills as the aircraft wove through the air.

"WHY IS IT SO NOISY!?" Mayor Gears screamed into her headset.

Wincing, Calm Seas looked over her shoulder towards the panicking unicorn, "Please, stop shouting. That microphone amplifies your voice."

Reaching up to touch the headset clamped on top of her head, Gears squinted, "Are we almost there yet!? I think I'm gonna be sick!"

"About two minutes from visual on the LZ," the pilot said from the cockpit.

"Just keep the splash zone away from the armor," Lieutenant Full Clip, one of the two power armored ponies standing on the opposite side of the passenger compartment grunted, looking down at the passenger.

Calm Seas shook her head, reaching into a seat pocket and procuring an airsickness bag. As the Vertibuck made another pitch, it was promptly filled, causing the Commander to look away again with a frown.

Below, the River Rush wound up from the Bay of Fortune. The last lights of day were waning and disappearing, but in the dusk she could see the water flowing beneath them. Where the River Rush had been a briney river, opening directly out into the bay, now it appeared to flow down into the bay, the very end of it turning into a white water rapid. It was likely a result of the lowered sea levels and the rapids probably made traffic directly from the ocean up the river impossible. That had been one of the main way incoming industrial goods were ferried to the Equestrian heartland, that and the big railyard.

New river docks had been constructed out of wood and scrap, supporting small river boats that moved up and down, turning into tiny dots of light. The engines slowed as the Vertibuck went back into VTOL mode, the shadow of what used to be the Pegasus Harbor Bridge looming across the river ahead.

One of the many old signatures of the city, though arguably much less than the old Strip, the Harbor Bridge was a 50 year old construction of steel, cable, and concrete. Well... 250 years old now. Much of the structure had collapsed into the river, but the supports had stayed mostly upright. Now, concrete pillars from the riverbed were most of what remained, topped by post-Bomb Day constructions that had mostly rebuilt the road. It was mostly just wooden planks, nothing that could compare to the original load bearing capacity, but it seemed to allow traffic across the bridge and to the southern half of the city.

Just beyond the bridge was an old resort complex. A concrete boulevard boasted out over the riverbank slightly, joining right with the western side of the Harbor Bridge. One of the last successful resorts in the city, if Calm Seas remembered well enough. It mostly lived off of the soldiers on leave from the three nearby military bases, and from lonely and freshly-paid civilians from the nearby industrial districts. It was lit up, almost fully, with search lights beaming across the length of the river, glows in the windows, and floodlights illuminating the long, concrete walks. The only thing unlit was the sign on the casino roof - indicating the Gun Rush Casino.

She remembered when Las Pegasus had been nothing but a gambling city, for tourists to visit from across Equestria. Ponies suddenly stopped having money when the war broke out, and the city was too far from the front to benefit from frontline troops taking some respite. Meanwhile, industry overtook the economy as oil tankers from Saddle Arabia travelled in from the west. Refineries, rail yards, then manufactories positioned far enough away from the fighting to be safe from dragons, but close enough to still get supplies to the front.

To the Commander's great surprise, she could see one of the distant smokestacks of the vast industrial district still belching smog into the air. A long string of lights linked the smokestacks to the resort. Had they managed to reactivate one of the old factories? Or maybe one of the power plants?

A loud whine pierced the cabin and the protective headsets on the passenger's heads as the Vertibuck hovered downwards, deploying its landing gear. It touched down with a soft bump on the boulevard in front of the Gun Rush Casino, the engines finally throttling down fully as its passengers undid their harnesses.

Grinding Gears practically leapt out of the Vertibuck, standing dizzily for a moment with quivering knees. Calm Seas, along with the two Ranger-Marines escorting her, hopped out afterwards. The commander took a moment to examine the area, adjusting her cap. The outdoor seating had been removed a long time ago, making the plaza seem eerily empty. The lack of civilians walking around, aside from a few armed guards standing by the riverbank or by the doors of the Casino or the other buildings in the resort complex, made the place feel even more empty.

Looking around, her eyes caught sandbag-fortified positions along the riverbank, occupied seemingly by Syndicate forces. Large, heavy turrets were emplaced there, overlooking the river.

"Those are naval pattern," she noted. Specifically, they were 5 inch cannons, common deck emplacements for destroyers. They had been carefully restored, but still had speckles of rust on its chassis and up its barrels.

Gears, breathing heavily and clutching her stomach, looked up, "Huh...?" a blink, "Oh... yeah... that's how we uh, prevent ponies from going upriver without paying the toll."

Calm Seas tilted her head. The loading system had obviously been completely removed from the turrets, likely when they had been unbolted and pulled clear of their original ships. It was likely they had modified them to accept manual loading via the breech... but there were no shells waiting by the guns. Did they each only have a single shell in the breeches?

She was broken from her thoughts by the sounds of two more Vertibuck engines roaring overhead. Gears, along with many in the area, looked up to catch a brief glimpse of two more aircraft shooting overhead, heading further East. The white navy paint gave them away clearly as friendlies.

"...Where are they headed?" Gears probed, narrowing her eyes as she looked back down towards Calm Seas.

Calm Seas had plenty of experience lying, "We discovered a stocked supermarket in a ruined section of the central city. They're the ones going to collect it to extend our food supplies..." a pause as she put on a concerned face, "I hope you haven't claimed it or anything!"

"It would've been marked if we did..." Gears mumbled, looking away, only to suddenly flinch, "Ahh fuck. It's gonna rain."

Raising an eyebrow, Calm Seas held out a forehoof, only for a raindrop to hit it as well. The Indefatigable had a weather radar, but it was unable to do its job due to the heavy interference from the cloud barrier. With no contact to the SPP's main servers, there was no other way to get a weather prediction.

"Let's get inside before we get soaked," she growled, walking away and looking over her shoulder to state, "Better hope your supermarket isn't surrounded by Balefire Lava."

"What's that?" Calm Seas asked, tilting her head as she followed, the heavy stomps of the power armored ponies behind her.

"Lots of the bombs that hit Las Pegasus exploded in midair. They wanted to make sure all the ponies on the ground part of the city died too, so they loaded their warheads with some sorta goo. Burned down most of the interior city, created a ton of funky ghouls, and it's still kicking around today. The stuff hates water, starts fires and shoots Rads up into the atmosphere at the same time..."

In those same Vertibucks that shot overhead, Captain Brass Bugle and twenty of her squad cut through the air. The MoWT mare took a passing glance at the landed chopper by the Gun Rush Casino, before looking dead ahead out the bubble cockpit towards the landscape ahead.

Industry lined the southern edge of the river, while heavily urbanized ruins lined the northern edge. Eventually, it came into sight, the old Blueblood Military Academy. She remembered a short stint here, where she took the training required to hold the rank of Captain at the academy.

A quaint break before getting back down to the grits. A farmpony's work never ended.

"This is November-Victor Two Two Seven, calling Blueblood Military Base. Requesting permission to enter your controlled airspace. Copy?" the pilot asked into the radio.

Silence. The pilot repeated the hail.

Eventually, she turned around to look at the passengers, "Nothing but static."

"Command has informed us to land a non-threatening distance away from the base and approach on hoof. Don't risk the Vertibucks if they have SAM sites," Bugle recited, sighing.

The base, consisting of a large, fenced-in training field, a triple storey administrative building, sets of concrete barracks, and a small hoofful of other buildings like an MoP clinic and recreation center. It had not been designed around defense, as Las Pegasus had little to fear from direct invasion - especially after the land war turned against the Zebras. Even the small chance of an air attack had been precluded by the heavy guns mounted on the old airbase. Still, that did not preclude whoever had reclaimed the base from installing anything post-Bomb Day.

Engaging the zoom on her power armor, she could indeed spot large, bright construction lights that definitely weren't there when she attended. Sandbags reinforced old, rusted fences around the field. Firepits burned near the barracks, although with the rain beginning to fall from on high she expected those would not last long.

The Vertibucks began to circle widely around the base. It seemed they had no anti-air emplacements, or none they were willing to use. Still, landing directly on top of them could attract aggression from small arms fire (or heavy power-armor mounted weapons), so the crafts began searching for a safe place to land outside of the base.

"Hold on- Command, we're getting flash signals from the base," the pilot suddenly spoke up, "From the roof of the main building."

Panning her vision, Bugle sighted a light blinking on and off in deliberate, timed pulses. Old flash signalling, dependable for when radios were out or the chance of interception was high.

"They are claiming their radio is experiencing technical difficulties and are granting permission to land," the pilot translated, "They're even using the Navy codebook. They're repeating their message in Army code now as well."

"If you're sure they're granting permission, you are go to land within the base perimeter."

"If they scratch the paint after giving us permission, I'm going to be very upset," the pilot sighed as the engines adjusted their positions to enter VTOL mode.

Together, the Ranger's two Vertibucks flew over the fences and hovered towards the ground. A unicorn, wearing a faded uniform of some kind, raised a pair of signal lights while floating a book in front of him. Clumsily (and ineffectively), he directed the two pilots where to land.

"Must be this guy's first day," the pilot of the second Vertibuck chuckled as their landing gear deployed.

With the cascading whirr of the rotors sighing in relief, Captain Bugle and her company jumped out of the Vertibuck, onto the barren, weedy soil underhoof. Eerily, she felt a sense of deja vu as she looked around, remembering the enlisted ponies crawling under barbed wire, doing live fire practice, and training on the field around her. Any sense of those old facilities had long since been washed away.

Rain pattered against the top of her helmet, and she felt the cool through the steel plating. The barracks, just a hundred yards or so downfield, were teeming with ponies wearing simple, grey shirts, staring at them with wide eyes. The pony that had been using the signal lights lowered them and closed the book, running over as rain quickly soaked her fur and mane.

She narrowed her eyes, seemingly peering at Bugle's insignias on the collar of her armor - 3 pips plus an image of a red apple, "...That means Captain, yes?" she asked, looking up and swiping a strand of soaked mane out of her eyes.

"I am Captain Brass Bugle, 3rd Ranger-Marines," Bugle nodded, before appraising the mare herself. She wore some form of... robe, colored green. She almost looked more like a priest than a soldier and had no signs of any rank or insignia on her 'uniform'.

"I am Journeymare Scribe Blackberry Twist, Las Pegasus Contingent. Welcome to the base," she put a hoof over her chest, before bowing slightly, "Star Paladin Roaring Thunder is patiently awaiting your arrival. His apologies for not coming out to meet you, precautions had to be taken in case you were to assault the main buildings. I must humbly request you keep your weapons stowed while here, as we give you the honor of not requesting your total disarmament..."

"Your weapons, please," the guard at the casino door requested.

Reaching into her coat pocket, Calm Seas drew out a 10mm pistol - a standard service weapon, before offering it handle-first to the guard. Mayor Gears procured a shockingly similar-looking pistol, also giving it over to the guards. They looked towards the two Rangers next.

"Theirs too. Definitely theirs too," the guard intoned.

"Dismounting those weapons is an entire process," Calm Seas raised an eyebrow, "They're my escorts, how are they meant to protect me without their guns?"

"No weapons inside the casino. That's just the policy. Keeps political discussions fair and civil," the guard frowned, before looking the two Rangers up and down, "In fact even that Power Armor is a bit scary. You could probably kill somebody just by punching them."

Calm Seas simply sighed, gesturing to the two Rangers, "Stay out here. If anything happens, you'll know what to do."

The guards eyed the two ponies nervously as they stepped aside, the assault rifles on their backs having next to no chance of properly piercing the heavy steel plates of their suits. Still, they allowed Calm Seas and Gears to head through a pair of open double doors behind them, after a quick frisk.

The interior of the casino had seemingly been mostly restored. Tiles covered the floors, which had been swept and mopped in the last two centuries. Electric lighting cast visibility upon the rooms and rows of blown out windows looked out to sea. Most eye catching were the rows upon rows of slot machines, tables for cards, and the hundreds of other 'games' designed to soften the blow of losing one's savings overnight.

The Gun Rush used to be a common pony's casino. No grand buffets, vaulted ceilings, ritzy golden highlights, or fancy carpet on the floor. If she recalled, the only real decoration places like these would have were in the windows - they would usually be enchanted to have a perpetual view of the night sky. An artpiece, perhaps, but mostly a way of preventing clients from seeing what time it was. It appeared the Balefire had put an end to that facade, the glass - and the enchantments - having long shattered and been replaced by canvas sheets to keep out the rain. In opposition, what hadn't changed were the clientele.

Survivors passed between machines, sat at tables, and attended exchange counters. They passed one of the payment areas, where they asked for bottlecaps in return for Gun Rush chips. Some of the ponies lined up, staring at her as she passed in full dress uniform, looked like they hadn't had a bite to eat in days, yet they were still handing over what could only be the local currency to the exchange.

She frowned and looked away.

They were lead deeper into the casino, ascending a flight of stairs. Ahead, another pair of double doors, guarded by ponies with shotguns and submachineguns, was labelled with a pre-Bomb Day sign reading 'Theater'. Spray paint on the wall pointed to it instead as 'Council Chambers'.

One more time, Gears and Calm Seas were frisked, then the doors opened to the sound of cacophonous voices.

The old theater had been completely rearranged. The stage and the old projector screen behind it had been refitted with a wooden podium. A cable divider separated the seats ascending the theater steps in two, with the forward section being much smaller and much more crowded, and the rear section being much larger but slightly sparser. Usually the seating would be kept dark for the movie or the stageplay, but many of the lights that would have shone on the stage had been turned around to face the crowd and light up the audience areas. The dark shadows of ponies, with the silhouettes of guns slung onto battle saddles, walked on the catwalks overhead.

"Come, we'll sit in the Stable Dweller's section," Gears whispered, gesturing Calm Seas forward as she quickly descended the stairs towards the forward section.

Looking at the members of the rear sections, Calm Seas observed what seemed to be normal survivors. Emaciated, but usually clothed in something and sitting in closely clustered groups, staying silent. Beyond a line of yet more guards, who admitted them after a short word from Gears, was where the majority of the noise came from.

Divided into sections, ponies in distinctly different garb sat, talking and sometimes shouting amongst themselves. All the way to the left side of the theater were ponies in spiked, leather barding. Scars ran across many of their bodies and foul teeth gnashed at each other as they talked. Along the center of the theater were sets of ponies wearing Stable-Tec jumpsuits, with the numbers 84-86 written on their backs and on their collars (though 84 seemed to be the least common among them). It was to them that Gears lead Calm Seas to, where she got to see over their heads at the last two groups on the right.

Sitting beside the Stable ponies were a slightly smaller group, wearing baggy, canvas cloaks around their bodies. Their bodies were stained - even moreso than the usual survivor - and their faces were painted with a black substance, around pairs of goggles that they all wore. Finally, at the very far back, there seemed to be more normal survivors, generally wearing some sort of woven clothing and a sitting a bit more filled in around the cheeks. They were the most silent, mostly just staring across the room at their comrades.

All eyes eventually turned towards Calm Seas as they walked into the section with the Stable Dwellers. The conversation did not die down, although it obviously turned to a new topic. None of the words were aimed at her, though, as she and Gears sat down in two empty theater seats amongst the crowd of Stable ponies.

"It's starting soon, but I'll give you the summary," Gears said at normal volume, though it almost sounded like a whisper amongst the clamor of the theater, "You see those ponies on the far left?"

"Mhm...?" Calm Seas muttered, adjusting her sea coat as it was slightly disturbed by the process of sitting down.

"Those are the Raiders. Biggest group here, as you can probably tell. They're a coalition of gangs that help enforce the Syndicate's rules, in return they get supplied with vegetables and guns. Don't tell them I told you this, but they're really just here cause they'd cause a real ruckus if they were set loose," Gear said, before tapping Calm Seas on the shoulder and pointing to the right, at the ponies with the black streaks across their faces, "Those are the Tarcoats.

"Tarcoats run oil up from the wrecked tankers on the coast. Plenty of Radigators like haunting those wrecks, but the biggest danger is the oil itself-"

"Oil? What do you use oil for?" Calm Seas raised an eyebrow, "Is it for that factory I saw that was still active."

"Mostly, yeah," the unicorn nodded, "The AllSpark Power Plant provides most of the energy for the region, and it runs off of petroleum. We also export some of it east towards Central... but not really anymore. That and the vegetables are how we keep Las Pegasus civilized."

"You're extracting them from old oil tankers?" she wasn't much of a merchant marine mare, but she was pretty sure that those Saddle Arabian oil tankers, while plenty large, could never had had enough stores survive through 200 years.

"Yeah. The Tarcoats used to outnumber the Stable Dwellers, but then they depleted the stores on one of the tankers. Those that're left are hardasses, they have this kinda weird religious shit about the oil. Kinda weird to worship something that just goes into a big generator to get burned, but it's hard to argue with them when they can just turn the lights out," Gears gave a lopsided grin, before quickly moving on, "Oh! Right, the last group all the way to the right are the Settlers.

"When we absorbed Sunset Town, Starswirl College, Riverfront Cannery, and Crackhoof Quarry, some really weren't happy about it. Weren't satisfied with the protection from monsters and Rangers (no offense to your comrades), medicine, power, their very survival in the first place. They went ahead and raised a big fuss, striking, burning things down, and killing a bunch of ponies until we promised to give some random wastelanders seats in the council. Really, the Stable Dwellers represent them better than those patchy-ass, crooked tooth panhandlers could ever."

Calm Seas pursed her lips, looking away. Eventually, she asked something, only for Gears to not hear and lean closer. On a second repeat, Calm Seas said, "And what about your party?"

"What party? This isn't a party," she rolled her eyes.

"The other Stable-Dwellers. Tell me about them," Calm Seas asked, raising her voice.

"Oh! We're from Stable 84 to 86. The Stables are right underneath this casino. We use the plantation to grow a ton of vegetables and fruit. They made it oversize to feed all three of our Stables with a good margin of error, so using it to its full potential means we get a good amount of stuff to share around and keep the Raiders happy. We also use the workshops to make all kinds of stuff to keep everything running. The food supply's the biggest part, without it I'm pretty sure everypony in this theater already would've resorted to eating each other!" Gears smiled, raising her chin slightly.

Slightly perturbed at the thought, thinking back to the logs of the Victory and how her crew ate each other in the ship's dying moments. She shook her head, turning back towards the front as the noise of the theater suddenly retreated.

An elderly stallion stepped out onto the stage, a grandiose woolen jacket. A scarlet red scarf was wrapped around his neck, a short beard hung from his chin and a grey mane topped his head. He hobbled slightly as two guards escorted him to the podium.

"That's the Overstallion," Gears whispered, "But the Raiders call him Boss."

Calm Seas's eyes locked up with the leader as he leaned on the podium, pointed towards her, and immediately demanded, "The representative of the phantom ship and the stewards of each faction will meet me in my quarters."

With that, he walked away from the podium, the hall exploding into protest.

Brass Bugle walked past crowds of gaping onlookers, entranced as her and her small column of Marines trudged across the muddy training fields, hydraulics wheezing as walking was only slightly impeded by the knee-deep mud. As rain continued to fall, the Marine captain quickly noticed great, green flames beginning to rise just a few hundred yards away from the outer fences of the compound.

Scribe Twist must've seen her direction of vision, saying, "The Balefire Lava has been causing many problems for this base. We've constructed a firebreak, but it stops us from leaving or coming back in when it's raining. The heat and radiation is too much even for power armor. You're lucky you came by air."

"We've observed this Balefire Lava multiple times. We believe it is an agent loaded into enemy airburst warheads to maximize lethality to ground civilians."

She sighed, looking back towards the path ahead. Yet another thing to add to the after action reports. She had hardly been able to finish the last one in time.

The base's administrative building was around three stories tall, with its full bank of windows blown out. Made out of red bricks, covered in chipped, faded white paint, the building was meant to imitate old antebellum architecture. A lot of military infrastructure in Las Pegasus was made to contrast to frontline bases, more regal and fanciful in its design than stiff and utilitarian. Now, though, it was definitely more ruin than regal, with bricks popping out of place, the concrete foundation crumbling, and several sections of the steepled roof collapsing. She believed she could see the spotlights they had used to signal them in the air poking through one of the holes in the roof.

Out in the forward courtyard of the administrative building was a statue of the base's namesake: Prince Blueblood. After all this time, it still stood proudly, reared up with a slight smile and eyes towards the sky, full dress uniform billowing out behind him.

She'd never had the displeasure of meeting General Blueblood despite taking orders from him once upon a time, but from what she'd heard he was a bit of a foppish, inflexible brat. Yet, many of the strategic decisions he made always seemed to have some sort of reasonable logic behind them, which was more than many members of high command could boast for. The older she got, the more she realized she wouldn't mind shaking his hoof and thanking him for not throwing away millions into completely unreasonable objectives.

Next to him were two flagpoles. They would usually fly the Equestrian and the MoWT's flags above them. Bugle frowned as she only saw the slightly ragged banner of the Ministry flying from the top of the pole, rattling slightly as they trudged past.

Striding up the steps to the front door, which was already open, they walked into the old lobby of the building. Yet another familiar location to the Ranger captain. Tiled with black and white chequer, marble mouldings, a large crystal chandelier to light up the place, and two huge floor-to-ceiling windows to either side of the front door to cast light across the lobby during the daytime hours.

Now, though, canvas and boards covered the shattered windows. Makeshift electric lamps replaced the chandelier, which was missing from its place on the ceiling and from the floor. The mouldings were cracked and sometimes completely absent, the tiles popped out of place and broken, and everything was covered in a layer of permanent stains.

It made her heart fall slightly. She had a lot of good memories of this place.

Waiting in the lobby, about twenty power armored ponies stood to greet the Ranger-Marines. Bugle's critical eye could not help but appraise the condition of their equipment. They lacked any paint or adornment other than the Ministry of Wartime Technology logo on their shoulders, a slightly faded mirror of the ones on the Marines' own suits. Speckles of rust dotted the peripheries of the armor plating, along with miniature dents and scratches that the repair talisman overlooked (it sometimes did that for damage it deemed inconsequential to armor effectiveness). Their armor moved with a recognizable slowness that came with ill-maintenance and disrepair, something that Bugle had to scold her subordinates for many times throughout her life.

A fairly shameful display of care for the kit all around.

"Captain Brass Bugle," one of the other Rangers greeted in a fairly masculine voice, bowing his head slightly, "It is a great honor to finally meet you. I'm Star Paladin Roaring Thunder."

Bugle raised her eyebrow, she was pretty sure she hadn't introduced herself, "Pleased to meet'cha too, Mister..." she said, slightly suspicious.

The 'Star Paladin' simply chuckled in response, "If you're wondering how I already know your name, we have analyzed the records on this base very closely. Our scouts identified your ship as a Manehatten-Class Carrier, so we connected the dots with the help of the personnel database in this base's old computer room."

"Right... but y'all couldn't have responded to our hails by radio?" she tilted her head.

"Unfortunately not. Our transmitter has been broken for a while now. Made trying to talk to the other contingents a hell of a thing- but, ah- where are my manners," the Ranger reached up to his helmet, undoing the mechanical locks, before pulling the piece off with the hiss of compressed air. Tossing his bright yellow mane, he hung the helmet at his side, "We're all on the same side here," he said, voice no longer aided by the crackle and boom of speakers, "Besides. We all have weapons that can blow right past our armor. I think the protection is a moot point."

Bugle wanted to argue something about de-topping in the field, but she was far too busy staring at the Star Paladin's forehead. The auburn, freckled stallion was a unicorn. A short, blunted, sawed-off horn stump rested just beneath his unkempt bangs.

"Something wrong?" he asked as the silence hung, unable to see her staring past the mare's own helmet.

Shaking her head clear of the shocked stare, Bugle simply said, "I knew there were some unicorns wantin' power armor made for 'em so they could list, but I never did think somepony'd saw off their horn t' do it."

"Hah! Well, good soldiers are in short supply these days, Scribes willing to mess with power armor even less so," Roaring Thunder gave a slightly awkward grin, reaching up and touching his horn stump self-consciously, "If I was particularly skilled at magic, I would have become a Scribe anyway."

"R-Right..." Bugle frowned, before remembering his gesture. Figuring he was right, and being refreshed after the last encounter that somepony in this new land would be willing to show trust first, she reached up to her own helmet and undid the locks.

Roaring Thunder's smile widened, seeming genuinely happy to see her, "I have so many questions for you, Captain. The only thing that could possibly be better than this is talking to the Ministry Mare herself! Hehe..." he trailed off, "She, uh, doesn't happen to be with you, does she?"

"...Eenope."

"Drat!" Thunder wilted slightly, before quickly perking up again, "Ah well. I can dream. It feels like I am dreaming, anyway! Trust me when I say that for everypony on this base, your arrival is a great morale booster!"

Bugle could probably speculate on a few reasons why, but speculation was a thing she disliked. It was a thing she couldn't put in her reports. So, she elected to just ask, "And why's that?"

"Well, you're our legacy. Our forefathers. Our founders. Your creed is our creed. You're the ones who crawled so we could walk, you're the answer to so many of our questions!" his grin was passing 'excited schoolfilly' and rapidly approaching the critical mass of 'unbecoming of an officer and gentlecolt', "Oh I hope I'm not coming on too hard, I'm usually never like this, b-but I'd really like to ask you some stuff!"

Brass Bugle couldn't help but smile a little herself, his enthusiasm being a rare sight, especially amongst her crew, since Bomb Day. Chucklin, she answered, "Well I s'ppose. We're mostly here to ask questions as well."

"Ah yeah, well if any of your questions are too complicated, I'll need to take you up to the Elder," he raised a plated forehoof to his chin, musing for a moment, "Agh, what do I even ask first!? Ah! Yourself! Yeah! We only really have basic records of you coming here, getting 'officer training' and then being assigned to that ship. Why'd you sign up with the Ministry of Wartime Technology? Where're you from? What was it like being with the Rangers before the war?"

Bugle blushed slightly at the rather endearing battery of questions, "I mean, hard t' be with the Rangers before the war, considerin' they were invented during it an' all."

"Oh! Yeah, sorry we usually talk about the War being the exchange of mass destruction weapons on the Last Day," Thunder grinned sheepishly, "But yeah you're right, you'd really think about the fighting before that as 'The War'."

"Right, well, t' answer the questions... I joined up cause I was drafted. But I guess I still stuck around when th' draft ran out, cause career looked like the best path fer me," at that point in her story, Roaring Thunder seemed to frown slightly for the first time since removing his helmet, but let her continue nonetheless, "I'm from a little town called Dodge Junction on th' western end of the Heartland. And, as fer what it was like... well..."

Bugle frowned as her mind scanned back through memories, stuttering and grinding as less than pleasant scenes came to mind, "...Do y'all still fight Zebras?"

"Sometimes."

"Y'all ever seen half yer squad get their lungs liquified when th' Zebras figured out something that could bypass the air filters?"

"...No."

"Then I don't think ya'd understand what it was like," Bugle gave a grim look, one she usually reserved for fresh hires after their first scrum.

"Huh..." he frowned, seemingly insulted, "You know, I've definitely seen my fair share of fighting. Wasteland's not a peaceful place. I didn't get to the rank of Star Paladin by eating canned peaches and dishing out orders through a radio."

Bugle nodded, apologizing, "Yeah, sure. It's jus' it's hard to explain th' special kind of hell the front was to somepony who hasn't been there hisself. No offense," a pause as Thunder's face thankfully softened in understanding, Bugle asking, "Hey- what's all this, 'Star Paladin, Scribe' shit anyway? Seabee, Private, Commander, Captain not good enough for y'all anymore?"

"Oh, hah!" he chuckled, regaining his previous smile, "When the bombs fell, a lot of the normal command structure got wiped out. There was a lot of cultural change in the early days, we renamed ranks, reorganized, all that kind of stuff. The Ministry of Wartime Technology and the Ministry Mare are still at the top, though, even if she's probably dead by now."

Probably dead? Hadn't it been two hundred years? Unless Applejack had grown a horn and wings, Bugle believed it was a pretty foregone conclusion that the Ministry Mare was dead by now. Still, the information had piqued her interest, "So that's why y'all don't fly the Equestrian flag outside anymore? Just the Ministry one?"

"Oh, yeah, I mean no offense, but uh," Thunder looked around, "If you haven't noticed, Equestria doesn't really exist anymore."

"...But the Ministry does?"

"It lives on in us, yeah. We're going around and rounding up all of its technology, after all!" he said, as if it was obvious.

Bugle wanted to ask Command about something, but despite the fact they were listening and could respond via an earpiece, she couldn't exactly ask without Thunder also hearing. Figuring it probably wasn't sensitive information at this point, she asked, "The ponies in Sunset Town said something about that. That you went around and stole technology from survivors?"

Roaring Thunder's smile didn't fall too much, but he did raise an eyebrow, "Huh? I mean, they stole it from us first. They don't even know how to use it most of the time, they just sit on it so we can't have it. Also there's always the risk that if they get too much of it, they'd use it to destroy the world again. We'd leave them alone if they didn't hoard government property for themselves."

"The government property... the property of the government that doesn't exist anymore?" Bugle made no attempt at hiding the dubious look on her face, "Doesn't that make it... salvage?"

The stallion, in return, made no attempt to hide the insulted look on his face, "Hey! We represent the Ministry of Wartime Technology, just like you. We invented this stuff, we're the only ones who can use it responsibly! All they do with it is fight over it, break it, and then die! Unlike them, we've managed to use it to survive, for 200 years!"

"Captain, flag off. We're here to have diplomatic discussions, not turn them against us."

Bugle sighed, touching her earpiece, before softening her own face, "Hey, I apologize. I didn't mean ta come off as rude, jus'... a lotta things around here are alien."

Thunder reached up to scratch the back of his head, "Yeah, I get it. It must be really rough. How'd that happen anyway? The time travel stuff, that is, do you know why it happened?"

"Eenope," Bugle answered simply, "Some of the MAS ponies think that it has something to do with the megaspell we had on board."

"Oh?" Thunder raised an eyebrow.

"The Sunrise is a classified piece of technology, Captain."

"They're military, right?" Bugle asked, causing a confused look to wash over Thunder's face. Quickly, she amended, "I'm talking to the ship."

"Do not share classified information until we have more on these ponies."

That was fair, Bugle supposed. She gave him yet another apologetic smile, "Sorry. Apparently that's meant to be a secret until we get to know y'all some more."

"I guess I can understand..." Thunder trailed off, before suddenly perking up, "Oh! Right! Come on, I need to take you to go see the Elder. She's probably getting impatient by now."

Turning, the Rangers lead Bugle and her squad deeper into the building. They were headed up to the old war rooms, located in the basement, where they'd play wargames against other cadets and against the computers. There'd also been a simulator for learning how to operate and move in power armor, which she briefly saw while passing its entrance along the hallway.

Most of the basement, however, seemed to have been converted into a resting place for a set of large, humming machines. They were set up in banks of large, blocky metal casings, with glass domes protruding along the front. The domes were filled with fungi - greys, oranges, whites, and yellows all filled the domes. Compressors wheezed as they drew in air from the outside, mixers spun up some sort of brown, pasty goo, and ponies in the same uniform as Blackberry Twist operated terminal banks and tended to the machine.

"Those're the Fungus Cloches. They grow edible fungus at a pretty good rate, enough to feed the entire base, as long as we give it a constant mix of sewage, water, and spark power," Thunder commented as they walked by.

"You know, I would've thought this base would've been a strategic target. Cracked Clam certainly was," Bugle observed, looking back towards the auburn stallion.

"For the Balefire Bombs? I think the navy sitting in the harbor and the naval base was more threatening to the Stripes than the army base was. They probably tried to target it after eliminating the primary targets, but the cloud ceiling was put up after they hit Las Pegasus and Cloudsdale, and it jammed a lot of their systems."

"They hit the Navy directly?"

"Yeah, we think they did at least. We suppose the Navy could've just abandoned the bay afterwards, sailed to some foreign country," Thunder mused, "But the fact a lot of wrecks were found by civilian divers says they sunk anyway. Don't worry, we got the tech back from them," a pause, "Hey! Maybe we can supply you with some of those spare parts! We aren't exactly supporting any ships right now."

"I'm sure that's something Command will be happy to hear about," Bugle nodded, cracking a smile.

Thunder smiled back.

Ducking through a final door, not built for the height of power armor, they entered what was the old archive and computer room. The distinct hum, whirr, and click of the computer banks running was mostly absent from the room, telling Bugle that most of the equipment had been taken offline. A large, rounded desk replaced the primary maneframe console, where a pony sat.

Elderly, cloaked in magnificent robes, eyes crinkled with age and red coat slightly faded. Only a few wisps of sky blue remained in the earth pony's mane. She smiled as her eyes locked with Bugle's, "I must say, it's a surprise to see you, Great Great Great Great Great Great Great Grandmother."

Calm Seas found herself lead into a large, luxuriant office. Clear the executive suite of the old owners of the Casino, the room looked over the harbor from the top floor of the building via windows that had clearly been replaced since the apocalypse. Stepping out of the VIP elevator along with the guard who had led her upstairs, she took a moment to look around curiously, adjusting her cap.

Bookshelves lined one of the walls. She recognized the Daring Do series on its shelf, alongside all kinds of other intact, unscorched books. A huge four-poster bed lay through one of the doors, a bathroom through one on the left. Directly ahead, a table had been prepared with what seemed to be a hoof-drawn map of the region. From what she knew of the city, it seemed more or less accurate.

Representatives of three of the four parties she'd seen down in the theater sat around the table, their eyes immediately turning to her as she entered. A yellow unicorn Stable Dweller, a grey earth pony Tarcoat, and a harsh red unicorn Raider. The 'Boss' sat at the head, staring stoically, analytically at her as she entered.

"Please, take a seat," he said, voice dragging against what had to be years of tobacco abuse.

Calm Seas did so, adjusting her coat and placing her forehooves on the table neatly. Examining the stallion at the head of the table, Calm frowned.

She knew a pony high on Mint-Als when she saw one.

"I would like to start by apologizing for our strike team's aggression against your troops. There has been a lot of hard, bloody conflict against the Steel Rangers in this region. We should have worked out the connection between your ponies and the Phantom Ship earlier," he said in a voice that sounded all too genuine, "My name is Blazing Whip. I am the elected leader of this region."

"I am Commander Calm Seas, executive officer of Her Majesty's Ship Indefatigable," she introduced herself coldly. Responses had to be carefully measured against the smooth talking of Mint-Al addicts, she knew this much for sure.

Blazing Whip didn't mind the attitude - of course he wouldn't - he simply asked, "While the mechanism of your travel to our age is fascinating and I would no doubt like to hear about it, I believe what is most important right now is what we can do for each other. Would you agree?"

"Yes," short, clipped, not giving any information for free.

"Well, to facilitate these negotiations, I believe some basic understanding needs to be put into place. We are all going to show trust by being honest about our needs as well as our surpluses, and in return we expect you to be honest about the same. Only once we know these things can we draft agreements for mutually beneficial trade," Whip said evenly, mirroring her own stance by steepling his hooves on the table.

An all too logical proposition. Of course, Calm Seas knew full well she held the better hoof. It was okay, lying was in her nature. She simply nodded, "Of course. You'll go first, naturally?"

"Naturally," Blazing Whip returned to nod, doing an excellent job of hiding the disappointment of being given the opening move, "The Wasteland is a harsh place, but we've all carved out an existence through the sweat of our own brows. We have food, we mine scrap and concrete from the city, and generate power for all of our settlements. The thing we need the most, though, is something you can grant us for free. Expertise, knowledge lost to the war. Surely all of the equipment aboard your ship has specialists educated to maintain it, no? Methods, repairs, advice, things you can do easily can make a large difference."

Calm Seas processed that for a moment. One of things Mint-Als allowed you to do best was make reasonable arguments, generally on the foundations of twisted truth, and communicate them in a genuine-sounding way. The fact that he had emphasized the ease of which expertise could be given so many times clued her into the objective behind the words. In the end, she simply elected to say, "Our specialists are busy with our own problems. Advice, no matter how cheap, doesn't come free, especially when we have the monopoly over it."

Mutters came from the representatives as Blazing Whip leaned back into his chair, signalling to Calm that she'd managed to push him onto the back hoof. Still, he said, "What you could give us could save hundreds, perhaps thousands of lives. But, without your help, we will still survive. I could not commit to being strangled for payment when it might mean more lives lost to starvation."

Turning the conversation towards questions of morality and preserving life. Morality was a tool to keep the shmucks down, Calm Seas knew this. She was no shmuck. Still, it was time to make at least some of her cards known, lest the environment become too hostile, "The Indefatigable needs two things. She needs soil enriched with a certain type of bacteria that we cannot reproduce using organic fertilizers. I have been informed that the Stable beneath this building may have this type of soil, all we would need is a sample. Additionally, we need food in order to tide us over until the first harvest."

She grieved at needing to reveal that the Syndicate had a monopoly over something, but it was an informational sacrifice she was willing to make. Blazing Whip considered her words for a moment, before answering, "Every inch of soil in the Stable plantation is precious. I am sure Undermare Happy Trails can tell you that."

The Stable Dweller sitting at the table blinked at being addressed, before nodding,"Our soil levels are very carefully monitored. Giving you enough tonnage to start your own plantation would endanger our crop cycles."

Calm Seas doubted that the samples required for the specialists to start soil doubling would be that disruptive, but she didn't have the correct level of expertise to challenge that assessment. Truth or not, she knew it was the best move for them to keep a permanent solution out of the Indefatigable's hooves for as long as possible. She could work around that though, "No doubt though trading for food from you would put a large strain on your economy. The sooner we could begin self-sustaining, the sooner this strain would go away."

Blazing Whip nodded, suddenly leaning forward again, "Yes. This strain is why helping you, while it's in our best interests, is a very risky move for us at this time. Disrupting the soil culture of the Stable plantation, despite being the best long term solution, just adds an unacceptable amount of risk to the short term."

The Stable Dweller nodded firmly.

Continuing, Whip added, "There is also the problem of trust. We have not had good interactions with so-called military units before. They tend to simply shoot and take what they claim is theirs. How can I assure my ponies' safety if we simply give you everything you want and trust you will not double cross us?"

Calm Seas didn't want to give into the pointless pontification, simply saying, "What is your offer, then? What in your eyes will make you trust us?"

"Your medical treatment of the ponies of Sunset Town has been a good start, assuming they come home healthy of course. I understand many of them are still recovering. I believe opening your doors to any sick we send you, you can tell us when you're full of patients of course, will go a great way to improving the quality of life for our citizens," he offered, yet another appeal to morality.

Calm Seas knew full well that sick being sent to the ship would have to be fed full rations and given medicine that they couldn't easily reproduce. Still, she elected not to confront him on it... yet, "Go on."

"We have a group of soil experts that ensure the plantation down below is never depleted. I doubt you have anypony that is specifically specialized in agriculture, but if you could share any data or books you have with our team it would help us improve food stability. Some of your advice may also hasten the procurement of your soil samples," a cough to space out his response, "And the presence of a few engineers to advise us on the maintenance of our facilities would be greatly appreciated. In return, we can supply you with fish and vegetables to offset your supply problem until you can begin harvests."

Calm Seas pursed her lips, calculating his offer carefully. Not an altogether unreasonable offer, but she believed she could make the terms slightly better, "Any patients coming aboard the ship will come with a supply of rations to feed them. Their faster recovery, thus the less time they need to spend being nourished with extra food, should be more than enough compensation. Furthermore, to ensure our agreements are being followed, you will grant our personnel access to the common and work areas of your settlements. Perhaps through that, we can locate more problems that we may be able to render aid with. Additionally, I would like a permanent room here to assist in negotiations. My guards will have access to the building this room is in, of course."

"You mean allowing access to your heavily armed and armored troops, as well as their flying machines? Do you mean to intimidate us?" Blazing Whip raised an eyebrow.

Calm Seas suppressed a sigh, "Quite frankly, sir, you should already feel intimidated. Do I need to remind you who here could wipe who off the map? There is more aboard that ship than Rangers in power armor. We are choosing to negotiate with you because you are pony civilians, which is already a risk for us. The less risky thing to do would be to grind your building to dust under the wrath of a missile barrage, then take what we want afterwards. Do not misconstrue my willingness to aid you and your ponies as a naivete that can be exploited."

The representatives at the table looked at each other for a moment, muttering amongst each other. The Raider gave a nasty side eye towards Calm Seas. Blazing Whip simply sighed, "We will supply the food as you've outlined. You will be given access to settlements, as long as you warn us ahead of time. No surprise inspections or lightning raids. Your room will be in the hotel block neighboring the casino, and you can be allowed armed guards as long as they aren't in Power Armor. Deal?"

Calm Seas smiled, satisfied, "Deal."

"Oh! Sorry! Before you agree," Blazing Whip put on a false, sheepish smile, "There is actually one more thing we need your help with, if you can find it in your heart."

Calm Seas's smile disappeared, "What?"

"The Steel Rangers up the river at the old army base. They've been poisoning our water supply. We're not sure how, but a few weeks back the river began to boil, and despite the water purifiers we have, everything was contaminated. With how slowly they work, we didn't have much of a backup, and many languished with thirst until the poison was washed out to sea. We had a treaty with those brutes, but it looks like, unlike you, they're attempting to use violence to get their way. Since you seem to take a stand against those sorts of dealings, could you at least look into it?"

She sighed. They always seemed to find at least one way to catch you in your words. At least he wasn't asking for any promises, "We'll look into it," she said, knowing they already were.

Sitting across from the Elder of the Las Pegasus Contingent, Bugle gave a suspicious look, "I gotta say, I simply don't see the resemblance."

"Oh we're most definitely related. Copper Triangle, registered as an elementary school student in Dodge? She survived, her line eventually became initiates amongst our ranks," Elder Bronze Pip said with a smile, "Any resemblance has obviously been lost over the last two centuries."

"I s'ppose so..." Brass frowned, taking a moment to consider that, "...She survived, huh?"

"Yes. Her and her fellows became nomads. The Manehatten Contingent eventually took many of them under their care," Elder Pip steepled her hooves, "I take particular pride in being able to trace my lineage directly back to the ponies whom our creed is founded upon. It is even greater that I should meet those same ponies."

"I'm flattered," Brass said flatly, blinking back to her senses, "Good to know my girl got t' live past it all..."

"Yes! Well, relations aside, we're here in the present now. I believe our interests are closely aligned, and there's a lot we can offer each other! Anything for fellow Rangers in need!" She beamed, shuffling forward in her chair.

"Enquire about their food supply, about their status and personnel, about the resources they have at their disposal, and what their needs are for trade."

Nodding at the voice in her ear, Bugle mirrored the Elder's gesture, leaning forward and saying, "Yes, o'course. The biggest thing we're needin' is food. Ain't got a farm aboard the Indy."

"We salvaged Fungus Cloches from Stable 83 in the city. The machines grow a steady supply of edible mushrooms, but I'm afraid they barely support our own population," a pause, "Maybe your scribes could take a look and see if the technology could be improved or replicated?"

The cloches were from a Stable? Made sense, Bugle supposed, mushrooms liked being underground and away from the sun, "Er, they're called technicians or engineers, but I'm sure they could examine it."

"Perfect! One of the biggest problems we're facing is the Balefire Lava," the Elder said, tilting her head towards some arbitrary side of the room, "While it's a very useful fuel source, the flow has gotten close enough that it completely blocks off all of the base's entrances and exits when it rains. We've tried pushing some away from the base, but the stuff is terrible. It reacts corrosively with all the machinery we've tried using."

"You're using that stuff as fuel?"

"Yes! There's certain materials it seems to not react with, like gold. Scoop a bit of it up, take it into a furnace, and spray it with water and it'll ignite a fire hot enough to run a boiler. Of course moving the small bucket of it that we need for the generator is a lot different from relocating the entire flow. The turbine setup we've had to build from scratch, along with the Fungus Cloches, are the entire reason we've been reluctant to simply relocate the base. Those are things we can't just carry with us," the Elder gave a lopsided frown, ringing her two, chipped and scratched forehooves together.

Bugle was no engineer, but it sounded more or less reasonable to her, "I'm sure th' seabees will have some ideas. I imagine getting that shit away from that there river is gonna be important too. If it reacts with rain, Luna knows how it'll treat an entire river."

Roaring Thunder, standing in a corner behind Bugle, shared a look with the Elder. The Elder shook her head at him, before turning back to Bugle, "Any help would be massively appreciated. And if we can get a surplus of food, we'd of course be more than happy to share. We also have banks of salvaged parts that we have no immediate use for if your ship needs any resupply."

"Mighty kind of ya," Bugle smiled. Despite their quirks, it seemed to her the Steel Rangers were still decent folk. The stories from the Sunset Town civilians must've been exaggerations.

"We also have that broken transmitter. We lack the correct components to repair it. It'd be nice if you could take a look at it. That way we could talk to the other contingents and your ship without the need to waste fuel coming over here all the time," she said, looking up to the ceiling, assumedly in the direction of their radio mast.

"Shouldn't be a hard fix," Bugle agreed, "Though, y'all have PipBucks right? Couldn't ya have rigged a peripheral to talk to us?"

"We were thinking of that, but we'd barely gotten word back and gotten ourselves briefed about your ship being spotted in harbor when we spotted your aircraft incoming," Elder Pip dismissed, before clasping her forehooves and asking, "So, what do you say? Do we have a deal?"

"Nothing objectionable about that so far. It's a deal."

Brass Bugle smiled, raising an armored hoof an spitting onto it, "Deal."

Hooves clasped and shook on it.

Author's Note

Another long one! Some politics in this one, which I don't particularly like writing but I'm appreciating the challenge. Next chapter we get back to the 51st as well as a bit of Ivory.