Fallout Equestria: The Indefatigable

November 27, 1277 - Mission Day 49

"There is a legend of a great pre-war ship, laid down at the old naval yard. Her designers said the Zebras would never be able to sink her, they did. Broader than the mouth of the River Rush, and taller than even the Gun Rush Casino."

"Even taller than the casino?"

"Yes, even taller!"

"Whoah... that's really tall..."

"One day, the bombs drop. Sure enough, she survives everythin' the Zebras throw at her. But she didn't sink! Instead, the blast poisoned her crew and she's left empty, to wander the seas forever. We don't know what happened to the ship itself, sure, but we know what happened to her spirit!"

"What happened?"

"Cursed! Cursed by the Zebras who couldn't sink'er to be bound to this reality! Cursed by the grief that its crew's final letters ne'er made it to their families! You were too young to remember. But, seven years ago we all gathered by the shore to see her. And there she appeared, out of the mist, as if she were really there. She towered, shone a bright white, like she'd been just freshly painted! Her lights shone clear as day, and the Old World's flag billowed from her foretop."

"Spooky..."

"Ever since the first settlers came 'ere a hundred years ago, they been seeing her. At first, she was so far away you could only happen upon her with your spyglass in the dark of night. Then, we started seeing her come closer and closer to shore. She'd appear like clockwork, every seven years or so. We dunnae what she wants from us, or what happens when she finally reaches harbor. Some say she will come to rest her soul in her wreck, where it rusted through and sank after the war. Some say she will bring great curses to us, that it hungers for ponies to replace her long dead crew!"

"What does it want, Papa?"

"Nopony knows. All we can do is offer her up sm'thn to maybe quell her great grief, and pray her next appearance not be when she drops anchor..."

The Plot Waddle was a simple ship. Behind the many layers of scrap, welded corrugated iron, and wooden floats was the salvaged remains of a pre-war fiberglass hull. A petroleum motor hummed as a single, rusty propeller churned the water behind it, and a trail of smoke drifted into the endless, cloudy sky above.

An emaciated earth colt, patches of fur missing from his face and a fishing rod held between two, weary forelegs, sat at the bow of the fishing trawler. There was usually nothing to be caught so close to Cracked Clam Harbor, but years of missed meals taught that there was no point in missing every possible opportunity for a bite.

There was a certain beauty to the ocean, he thought. There was a sense of solitude at night, in a mobile island in a sea of inky black. You could look up to see the endless clouds above, and pretend the world didn't exist. His eyes looked down into the black, and he imagined a reflection in which he could see his dreams.

Suddenly, there was light, and all that looked back at him was his own confused face.

Leaping back, he looked up, mouth gaping. As if apparating straight out of the dark, a great form suddenly loomed over them.

A great bow rolled overhead, hanging over and blocking the view of the sky. A grey, steel hull covered in fresh paint roared by them. Two absolutely gigantic anchors hung from her forecastle, like the tusks of a mechanical beast. The ocean was carved open by her hull, and lights brighter than the day blared from the sides of her deck.

"PA! PAAA!" the colt screamed, scrambling backwards, hide scraping against the rusty deck of the Plot Waddle, "PAAAAAAAAA!"

"What is it, son-!?" an older stallion shouted, emerging from a hatch leading into the hold. His breath choked in his mouth as he looked up at the monster overhead. As if the breath had been drawn from him, he whispered, "...Goddesses preserve us, it's the Phantom..."

Heart thundering, the colt scrambled around to the pilot's cabin. A lightbulb jangled overhead, illuminating a set of muddy instruments and a broken, wooden wheel.

"Turn this ship around, me boy! Turn around and run! Run for all our souls are worth!" the old stallion said, falling to his haunches and raising his forelegs to shield his eyes as the spotlights blasted the boat with the fury of the sun. Wind began to peal across the Plot Waddle, shearing from the boat's great mass.

The engine grumbled to life, the boat turning on a dime as they rode the great beast's wake. Motoring for shore at full speed, the colt didn't even try and look until the wind died down behind them.

Quavering, clinging to the wheel and willing her forward, he looked back towards the side of the giant. As its full mass finally came into the scope of his eyes, his gaze settled onto black, block writing along the side.

H.M.S. INDEFATIGABLE

Admiral Azure Bluette jogged up the stairwell of the superstructure, shrugging on her coat and cap. Arriving at the hatchway leading into the flag bridge, she was saluted by an armored Marine as she ducked her way through and onto the command deck.

Captain Anchor turned to greet her with his own salute, "Ma'am! Our sensors have come online. Las Pegasus is now within visual range."

"Just like that?" Azure raised an eyebrow, looking towards the sensor wing.

The supervising officer of the sensor suite looked over his shoulder, shrugging, "I couldn't tell you, ma'am. All of a sudden everything just started working again. We're picking up RADAR pings and a few dots on the EFS. Nothing hostile or... moving, really. We managed to make a server connection with the SPP towers again, but they aren't servicing our requests."

"At least we have target identification again," Azure muttered, moving to the windshield. Ever since the ash had stopped actively falling a couple weeks ago, they'd gone to work cleaning it off of the hull. Once again, the windows were wiped down and clear. Endless cloud scrolled above and the dark coast stretched off into the distance.

It was only a month and a few days ago now that she had left this very same shore. It had been rainy and thus she had seen the Strip arrayed with all its glorious lights, the cloud city stretching into the heavens with its amusement rides and fancy showlights.

Las Pegasus was always a low-flying cloud city. It was highly integrated with ground-based infrastructure, a true picture of Equestrian unity. The city started on the ground, where skyscrapers towered up towards the cloud districts. Giant platforms of cloudcrete supported actual tarmac streets, sidewalks, and extensions of the giant buildings down below. Ponies of all tribe could walk Las Pegasus from its underground subways to its floating stratopolis - the only city where trains went up and down.

Now though, there was no sign of the cloud city. No sign of the world's tallest skyscrapers being held up by a cloud city. There wasn't much sign of anything, in fact. With the contrast of the ship's lights and the lack of any moonlight, it was hard to see much of anything past distant silhouettes.

No big, glowing radioactive balefires licking into the sky. That was a good sign, at least.

"Comms. Get us speakers and start scanning through some channels," Azure ordered.

The radio operator pulled a switch, causing a set of speakers by her station to begin crackling. The speakers continued to output various volumes of static as a set of knobs were turned by the operator, until eventually there was a slight zap and the speakers came to life.

"CRRRT-ZZT-and that was Sweetie Belle, singing about that one great truth of the wasteland: everypony has done something they regret. And now, my little ponies, it’s time for the news! Now you ponies remember when I told you ‘bout those two ponies who crawled themselves out of Stable Two? Well, I’ve been gettin’ reports that one of those little ponies took out the raider nest in the heart of Ponyville, and saved several pony captives -- including the beloved author of The Wasteland Survival Guide, Ditzy Doo! Hey kid, thanks! From all of us! And now the weather: cloudy everywhere, with a chance of rain, gunfire and bloody dismemberment...”

Brows furrowed as the operator lingered on the broadcast. As the odd-sounding voice on the other side of the radio continued to drone on (she sounded like one of those new age disk jockeys speaking through autotune), Admiral Azure looked towards the midshippone at the controls, "What the hell is this station?"

Glancing towards the frequency, she shrugged, "It's uh, it's the Ministry of Arcane Sciences Emergency Broadcasting System, ma'am."

"Last time I checked, the Emergency Broadcasting System was not a news channel, Midshippone," Captain Anchor rumbled.

Flipping through the manual, the operator tapped the entry for the MASEBS, "See? That's the frequency for this channel. And we have a metadata connection identifying this channel as MASEBS," she pointed towards an indicator next to the frequency knobs. Sure enough, the letters 'M-A-S-E-B-S' slowly scrolled by.

"Now back to the music. Here’s Sapphire Shores singing how the sun can’t hide forever. From your lips to Celestia’s ears, Sapphire!”

Azure and Anchor shared a concerned look as Sapphire Shores music suddenly started to emanate from the speakers. It wasn't like they could transmit to the MASEBS to try and figure out what was going on, anyway. Gesturing at the controls, Azure finally said, "Keep scanning."

The music was replaced by another burst of static as the Indefatigable's radio scanned through dead channel after dead channel. Just when they thought they had exhausted all the military frequencies in the manual, a voice came over the radio.

"Patrol two-two-niner, moving to sector C-3 for routine inspection, over."

Azure's eyes widened, and she reached for the transmitter holstered on the side of the radio console. Holding it to her lips and depressing the button, she transmitted, "To all units on this channel, this is the HMS Indefatigable. Do you read, over?"

There was a short pause from the voice on the other side, before it quickly said, "All units, switch to channel three."

The speakers went dead again.

Azure frowned, before looking over to the operator and saying, "Follow them to military channel three."

The operator nodded and began dialing in a new frequency. Punching it in, the speakers suddenly warbled before the voice came back on again, "Unit Indigo Niner, be advised as to a high charge rate at your current position, consider adjust to two-two Northeast, over."

Raising her transmitter again Azure repeated, "I repeat. This is the Equestrian ship the HMS Indefatigable. Do you read, over?"

"What the-" the speakers crackled, "Who the-. Lucky fucking bastard."

"How'd they find our frequency?" another voice said.

"Don't answer them. Switch to channel five."

Once again the speakers went dead.

Azure opened her mouth, but the Operator simply waved a hoof, "I'm already on it."

"-Must've stumbled upon the right frequency on accident, or have a scanner or something..." the same voice said as the radio went live again.

Azure rolled her eyes, raising the transmitter, "Unknown contact! You are on a military channel! Identify yourself at once! Over!" she hissed.

"Who the fu- who is- what- I should kick your fucking ass, who is this!?" the speaker squawked. She frowned.

"This is Admiral Azure Bluette of the HMS Indefatigable, please identify yourself. Over!" Azure responded, frown quickly devolving into a scowl.

"Ohhh a wise guy, huh? How about this: All units, switch all traffic to channel Indigo!" with that, the speakers went dead again.

Now that wasn't a channel Azure recognized. Lowering the transmitter, she simply shook her head and hung it back up on its holster.

"What the hell was that?" Captain Anchor narrowed his eyes.

"Whatever it was, they didn't seem to like us all that much. Keep scanning, Midshippone," Azure ordered, turning back around towards the window.

The Indefatigable was cruising forward at a safe speed of quarter its full engine power. There was the chance that the underwater landscape had changed since the bombs dropped, and previously thought safe areas were in fact, not safe. Already, they had recorded that it seemed the sea was shallower in general, which was one of the hypothesized results of the global cooling, but was incongruous with the actual amount of time they had experienced necro-magical winter. Regardless of this, the ship's active sonar was activated, sweeping the ground underneath them to prevent the ship from accidentally running aground.

"Admiral! Our observers have spotted lights, two points off of the port bow!"

Azure's ears perked and she grabbed a nearby pair of binoculars and raised them to her eyes. In a trained fashion, she met the bow of the ship, then swept the correct distance to the left. Indeed, along the dark, blackened coast of the Equestrian continent, she could clearly see tiny dots of orange light along the shore, just within the bay.

"Admiral, we've got an automap tag!" the sensor officer reported, "Cracked Clam Naval Base. The position seems to align with the source of the lights."

Lowering her binoculars, Azure nodded, "That's around where it would be. There must be survivors there."

Captain Anchor came up alongside her, raising his binoculars to the same spot, before whispering, "Sweet Celestia..."

"What's our radiation like outside?" Azure asked, looking over her shoulder.

"It's above the normal background radiation, but within normal safety limits," the sensor officer reported.

Turning around decisively, Azure ordered, "We will make station outside the bay. Prepare Ranger Marine Squadrons one to three for immediate deployment to those lights. We will send a Warsprite out to get us some sensor information on the landscape. Tell the 51st to suit up and get ready on the flight deck for deployment!"

Captain Anchor grinned as he looked through the windshield at the distant lights. Perhaps hope wasn't dead yet.

Hooves thundered down the stairwells into the Power Armory. Fueling hoses were connected to a giant aircraft, being slowly towed out onto the primary elevator to be taken to the flight deck. Vertibucks were carted out onto the side-lifts to be taken to the top, pilots leaping into cockpits and closing canopies.

Bags were grabbed from lockers and stuffed into the cargo compartments of power armor. Ponies climbed inside, hatches hissing shut behind them. HUDs booted and battle saddles were automatically mounted by quick deploy machinery. Twenty Steel Ranger Marines marched out of their ready room towards the hangar, moving as quickly as their heavily plated hooves could take them.

Mounting the Vertibucks as the lifts began to raise them towards the flight deck, one Ranger turned around and shouted, "Time to get off our asses and get out there, steel girls! Oorah!"

"OORAH!" the rest echoed.

Arriving on the flight deck, the 51st marched to the side as the whine of a jet engine whipped past them. Magical repulsors took the giant scout aircraft, its frisbee-shaped sensor suite mounted atop it as it took to the skies, ready to map the landscape around them.

The ship had become stationary in the waves. Ahead, gaped the Bay of Fortune, one of the most important maritime hubs along the Equestrian West Coast. Advertised for its sugary sand, its beachfront properties, massive resorts, and the center of industry located where the River Rush met the Bay.

"Think you'd ever see home, Shot?" Slushee said, as soon as the jet was distant enough for the sound of her own thoughts to break through.

Shot Stack shook his head, his faceplate not turning away from the shore, "No! I'm just wondering how it'd look in the day!"

"I think the property value might've gone down some!" Hay Weave joked.

Three N-V Vertibucks thwopped over the harbor. Bright spotlights scanned the terrain below them, picking up murky water, dark shapes below the surface, and the definitive outlines of shipwrecks. Through cameras mounted on the heads of the Rangers, the command crew of the Indefatigable could see what they were seeing.

Captain Brass Bugle, turning her head to look to the front of the Vertibuck, at the lights coming rapidly closer, said, "I'm seein' a mighty lotta damage to the naval base, ma'am."

The old Cracked Clam Naval Base was, for the most part, a shipyard. Back before departing Las Pegasus, there had been great drydocks dug into the earth for the purposes of maintaining old vessels and laying down new ships. There had been complexes full of fuel tanks, silos for metals and parts, administrative bases, and of course the admiralty offices. Now, though, the most that seemed to remain were the concrete piers extending out onto the ocean.

All else appeared to have been levelled to the ground. A crater was blasted into the land by where the boulevard met with the naval base, which glowed a soft, distant green. The water had retreated, leaving half the length of the docks above water. The wrecked, rusted hulls of ships had been righted by scaffolding and strapped to the concrete, lights glowing inside of their cabins and on their decks. The larger ships had been left on their sides, with holes burrowed into them and scrap patchwork covering their rusted keels and stays. Some sort of primitive cable car system moved from the silty basin between the piers up towards the top, where more ramshackle shelters had been assembled. Still, despite all the activity and construction work undertaken in the shanty town, large swathes were still uninhabited and sequestered behind scrap iron walls.

"Holy fritters... those are all Navy..." Bugle whispered, eyes glancing towards the silhouette of a turret at the top of one of the repossessed wrecks, "Indy, I ain't crazy, am I? No way they rusted that much in jus' a month."

The voice on the other end of her radio link didn't respond, simply instructing, "November-Victor two two seven. Land on the pier and attempt to make contact. Remember your ROE, this is Equestria."

TIlting her head back and forth, Bugle switched her channel to her team radio link, "Alright fillies and colts. Remember yer Rules Of Engagement. Keep those weapons stowed, we ain't operating in Zebra territory as far as we know."

The Vertibucks looped back around, their rotors aiming skywards as they dropped their landing gear. Navigation lights blinked on and off as they descended towards the concrete, dust whipping out from the wake of the rotors. Watching the ground come closer carefully, Bugle waited until she felt the telltale bump of the landing gear touching down before jumping out of the aircraft, her squad following closely behind.

"Contacts, thirty meters," one of the Rangers said.

Indeed, there was a semicircle of... what she could only assume were ponies standing at a safe distance back from the Vertibucks. Though, they looked more like zombies from the films looked like. Most of them seemed painfully underweight, they were wearing rags that split apart at the seams. They looked at them with fearful eyes, squinting into the floodlights of the Vertibuck, some with their mouths agape - revealing rows of brown, crooked teeth.

None of their dots on the EFS compass were yellow, for now. Bugle's lips drew into a line.

"Command, I'm gonna try and make contact," Bugle informed, before stepping forward and switching channels to give the instruction, "Cover me, I'm talkin' to 'em. Don't bare your guns and spook 'em, just keep back and get ready in case they're spooky 'emselves."

As Bugle began to emerge from the crowd, crossing the open space of cracked concrete, the occasional pothole revealing rusted rebar, one of the ponies shouted out, "W-What do you want from us!?"

Bugle paused. At the very least they seemed like they were... not zombies. Looking around for a moment, considering her next words, she raised her voice and said, "How'd you survive the blasts?"

This question seemed to cause even more panic amongst the survivors. The one who had asked the question fell to his haunches and clasped his forehooves together, "Oh Goddesses they really are ghosts! Please! T-take me, not my son! He's too young to be working on your ship!"

While Bugle's power armor couldn't change its expression of course, the mare inside lowered her eyebrows and turned around. Nineteen Rangers stared back at her, at the base of the Vertibucks, engines still on. Far behind them, the Indefatigable was visible, its lights illuminating its hull at the mouth of the harbor.

Looking back to the crowd, many of whom had apparently galloped off, Bugle looked down to the pony who had begged, saying, "I'm uh, not a ghost."

"What are you then!? Steel Rangers?" he cringed away.

"Uh..." she looked down to the Ministry of Wartime Technology logo painted on the chestplate of her suit, before looking back up, "...Eeyup."

The pony's fear seemed to increase tenfold as he collapsed onto his face, shivering as he placed his forelegs over his skull, "Goddesses, please don't take my oven! I worked really hard to build it and it's not even that unique! I'm sure you can find one just about anywhere!"

"Shut up about your ovens and sons, Potluck!" hissed a voice from behind him as the crowd cowered away, heads low as the shuffled backwards.

Before Bugle could think of a response, three red pips appeared on her compass. Her blood froze. The instinctual urge to pull up her twin heavy machineguns on the spot was barely suppressed as she looked towards the source of the red ping. Coming through from a set of sheetmetal and wood buildings were two earth ponies and a unicorn.

The earth ponies were wearing what seemed like pillows, wrapped around their bodies by belts, with bicycle helmets to protect their heads. On their backs were makeshift rifles The unicorn, for his part, seemed a slight healthier than the other civilians. His cheeks weren't flat, though his teeth were still rotten looking. Two open-carried revolvers sat at his chest, peeking out from his flowing cape. Bugle's eyes were attracted to a golden star attached to his chest. He looked like a... sheriff?

Chatter in the back of her radio headset came from her squad as they too spotted the potential threat. The guards pushed to the front of the crowd, the two earth ponies staying in the middle, cautiously looking up towards the power armored pony as the unicorn, more bravely, moved forward.

"Rangers, you picked a real bad night to come harass us! There's the Phantom in the harbor and the town's feeling really shooty. Tell us what you want or piss off. The Syndicate's already on their way down here!" the sheriff demanded, staying suspiciously shielded behind Potluck.

Bugle blinked, before switching channels and admitting, "Command, I'm just fuckin' lost here."

"Uh..." a pause, garnished with a tickle of radio static, "Just tell them we don't want to demand anything. Make sure it's apparent where we're from, maybe it's a case of mistaken identity."

"I don't fuckin' see how them ponies could be confused what a Steel Ranger is, unless they were livin' under a rock for the past 20 years," Bugle grunted. The sheriff's head tilted, whispers came from the crowd.

"Feed shows your speaker is on, Captain."

Clearing her throat, Bugle started over by raising a placating hoof to the tune of the suit's hydraulics, "We ain't here to take nothing, kill nobody, or hurt anythin' unless you give us a good reason. My name is Captain Brass Bugle, I am the commander of the Ranger-Marines regiment of the HMS Indefatigable. All we want to know is what's going on."

The Sheriff's draw dropped. He looked them up and down again, "Are you saying... you're from that ship over there?" he pointed past her back to the Indie.

Immediately, the red pips that were the two guards and the sheriff turned yellow. Bugle nodded slowly, "Eeyup. That's her."

"You're not fucking with me?" the Sheriff looked her up and down, slowly rearing away from her, "...You're not fucking with me."

"Eenope."

"Are you Ghouls?" the Sheriff's eyes narrowed.

"If yer talking about the Ghoul from Pickpony's Model, eenope. I'm very much alive and don' eat the flesh of the livin'. I also do not enjoy crawlin' out of ditches and eating the corpses of train crash victims," Bugle sighed.

"I mean not all Ghouls-" the Sheriff shook his head, "Are you a ghost? A reanimated glob of flesh? A robotically controlled suit of power armor?"

Bugle tilted her head wearily, "I am not an undead, spirit, phantom, demon, jinn, animated doll, or automaton of any kind. I am a bonafide farm mare from Dodge and a real flesh and blood member of th' E-Questrian Armed Forces."

Murmurs came through the crowd. Potluck slowly tried to shimmy out of the way, but was shoved forward again by the Sheriff.

"Listen- if I were t' show you my face, would that make ya feel better?" Bugle asked.

The Sheriff looked around. Ponies whispered and murmured, being very careful to keep their voices indecipherable to Bugle. Eventually, the law enforcement stallion swallowed and nodded slowly.

"Give over yer firearms. I can't risk y'all just be waitin' for me to let my guard down," she nodded towards the Sheriff's revolvers, before raising a hoof and gesturing for him to throw it over.

The two armored guards looked at each other nervously. The Sheriff seemed to seriously reconsider, knitting his brow and rubbing his cheek. Eventually, reluctantly, he reached for his holster.

He pulled his gun a mite too quickly for Bugle's liking, before turning it around and throwing it on the ground before himself. He did the same for the others while the guards mustered the bravery to walk closer, tossing off their rifles as well. For a moment, Bugle looked down to examine the weapons on the ground.

The revolvers seemed standard. Low caliber, civilian grade. There was signs of rust and aging on their frames, but they were definitely more than usable. Plenty of care had been given to what were clearly old and beaten up models. The rifles, unlike the sidearms, seemed completely homemade. Pipes made up their barrels and receivers, bare springs were visible in their wooden magazines, and a liberal amount of duct tape had been used. Still, it was far from the worst gunsmithing job she'd seen - she probably couldn't make anything better herself without a manual.

Looking back up at them, she saw them staring at her, expectantly. Sighing, she reached up for her faceplate, undoing a few mechanical locks, before reaching to the side of her helmet and pushing a button. A vacuum seal released, letting a hiss of compressed air out of her suit as the faceplate rose, revealing her muzzle and eyes, lit by the internal helmet lights.

Some of the civilians covered their eyes, one of the guards as well. Some, however, seemed to be unable to risk a peek. Those that saw, their jaws dropped. Blood drained from faces and steps were taken back. If it weren't for their previous comments, Bugle might've felt the urge to make a joke about seeing ghosts.

"Take a photograph, it'll probably last y'all longer," Bugle said, her voice now unaided by the speakers.

The Sheriff took a sudden step forward, pushing past Potluck, who quavered on the ground with his hooves over his eyes. Unprompted, he began to raise a hoof towards the opened faceplate.

"Whoah, nelly," Bugle raised a forehoof, "Gonna even tell a girl yer name first?"

He blinked, hoof freezing halfway up to her face, "D-Deputy Fence Haggle," a pause, before he finally asked, "M-May I?"

"Ooookay," Bugle said, after looking up and down his foreleg for a hidden blade.

His hoof touched her nose, causing an immediate tickle and a consequent, powerful sneeze - neck muscles aided by an exoskeleton. As soon as he'd retracted his hoof in shock, she reached up for the button to close her faceplate, locking it shut as soon as it was closed and the vacuum seal recompressed.

"Holy shit... you're real. That paint's fresh... you even smell like you had a shower..." Deputy Haggle muttered.

"Yeah well you sure don't, mister," Bugle snorted, "You believe me now?"

"I- yeah... okay... wow..." Haggle blinked, looking down at his hoof as if it wasn't his, "W-What did you want again?"

"I just want information. What's going on? How'd you survive the blasts? Is there any way we can lend aid?" Bugle repeated, voice finally softening as she felt the breakthrough in diplomacy.

Haggle looked up at her and blinked, "You're all Pre-War, aren't you?"

"Huh?" Bugle tilted her head.

"You were born before the Great War? Before they went ahead and blew the world up? You're from the pre war military?" Haggle probed, leaning forward slightly.

"You say that as if..." Bugle narrowed her eyes, looking around for a moment as her brain worked, "...Wait. You didn't just build this in a month, did you?"

With a quavering voice, the Deputy said, "M-Ma'am. It has been two hundred years since the War."