Fallout Equestria: The Indefatigable

by TDASA

Rating: mature
Tags: Death, Alternate Universe, Narcotics, Drama, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Adventure, Sex, Suicide / Self Harm, Profanity, Non-consensual
Length: 115998

A state-of-the-art pre war aircraft carrier is sent forward in time by a malfunctioning megaspell: nearly 200 years after the bombs fell.

At the height of the Great War, the Navy is slowly being replaced by the superior Cloudships. The HMS Indefatigable, a state of the art aircraft carrier equipped with a defense megaspell cruises along the western coast. Their country teeters on the brink of victory, with the Zebra menace pushed back on both land, air, and sea. Her 4,000 crew and escort ships look forward dearly to the day of peace.

However, peace is not to come without fire. Shortly after witnessing the end of the world, a malfunction sends them sprawling 200 years into the future. As food stores dwindle, enemies eye their pre-war prize with all its amenities, and great danger looms from above, the ship must chart its own course through the post-apocalypse.

A Fallout: Equestria sidefic.

Contains many of the same mature themes as the original.
!No sexual content is directly portrayed, but strong references are made!
!Suicidal ideations are present in this story, especially in one of the main characters!
!Ponies die in very violent ways!
You have been warned.

Published 2024-09-16 12:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-11-17 23:15:14 UTC

Chapter 2: The Wardroom

October 24, 1007 - Mission Day 14

The Indefatigable's Flag Wardroom was located near the forecastle, far away from the unpleasant heat caused by the Sunrise Shield Projector and the noise of the engineering deck. Rather than the usual steel hull that entombed most areas aboard the ship, hardwood panelling covered the walls and ceiling, with a crystal-brass chandelier hanging from the ceiling to give the room light. Blue carpet covered the floor and an actually living potted bush sat politely in the corner.

The long, luxuriant wood table that covered most of the floor space of the wardroom was filled with some of the greatest delicacies and rarities that one could find at sea. There was a silky white broth, where every sip bespoke of quality ingredients and a warm cream to coat the throat, there were salads with fruits that had become increasingly rare ever since war rationing took place (such as bananas, pineapples, and other tropical fruit that had to be imported past hostile submarines), a stack of mushroom steaks sat upon a plate, a rich chocolate pudding wobbled upon a platter in the shape of the Equestrian mainland, and bottles of flavored sparkling water sat in the center of the table (the Indefatigable was a dry ship, there was to be no consumption of alcohol).

Sitting all around were the ship's top officers. Heads of the departments, as well as the executive officer and the Captain. Near the head of the table as well were four commanders, from the Indefatigable's escort ships, the Victory, the Hoof, the Constellation, and the Seaward Shoals. Of course, at the head of the table, tucking in a napkin into her collar, was the Admiral herself.

"Grape or cherry?" asked the tinny voice of the Mr Gutsy robot floating next to her, only differentiated from the rest of his brethren by a tiny bowtie pinned onto his chassis.

"Cherry," Azure ordered. She licked her lips as she looked down into her soup. The pop of the sparkling bottle's cork coming off, followed by the sound of her glass being filled, caused her right ear to flick. Looking back up as her glass was filled, Azure asked, "A toast to Princess Luna to start us off?"

"Hear, hear," Captain Aweigh, sitting to her right, said as he grabbed his glass.

In turn, everypony else at the table grabbed their glasses and raised them into the air.

Standing with her own glass, Azure toasted, "To Her Royal Highness Luna, long may she reign!"

The chandelier's light sparkled through the glasses as they were raised skywards, the clinking of them hitting each other sounding through the room in a pleasant, uneven chime. As soon as everypony at the table had taken their customary sips, the sounds of cutlery rang up as ponies dug into their dinners.

"Oh, I absolutely love mango," Calm Seas enthused as she speared a piece of the aforementioned tropical delight out of her fruit salad, "Do you think they'll have more at Skye?"

"Perhaps, but I wouldn't count on it," Azure shrugged, "The base is only a few hundred strong and if it has any tropical fruit, it likely traded for it for themselves."

"I don't get why we don't just grow 'em at home. Surely the Ministry of Morale could see how happy it'd make the population," Captain Star Strider, white unicorn stallion and aptly named commander of the Constellation, said as he took a spoonful of soup.

A snort came from Lightning Bringer, a pegasus mare with a bright blue mane and the dark grey uniform of the Ministry of Awesome, "Be careful what you say, mate. These days the MoM is getting twitcher by the minute. If they can twist your words to mean criticism, you'd better be prepared for an audit."

"I'm just saying, I don't get why we can't grow something to add a little spark to the ration routine? Surely there's a place for other things in a healthy diet?" Star Strider defended, giving a slight shrug.

"Mango is a tropical fruit. Not a lot of farmers willing to put down a plantation in the Equestrian south when it's twenty miles away from a warzone," Captain Aweigh chuckled, "I would know. The family farm used to be nice and safe, away from the front, but now there's probably a trench dug through the old cornfield and no sign of the house."

Azure paused with a forkful of mushroom halfway to her mouth, "My condolences, Captain."

"The family were evacuated long before it was blown up, don't worry. They live in Fillydelphia now," he waved his fork dismissively, before bringing it back down to spear an apple fritter.

"What a coincidence, my family's waiting for me back in Fillydelphia as well," Azure nodded with a slight smile, "What part of the city?"

"North side."

"Same, Rosefork developments."

"We were at Centra City Blocks," the Captain chuckled, "It's right by an amusement park, it's great."

"So I've been told," Azure took another sip of her soup, before adding, "One of the first things I want to do once this is all done and I have some time at home is to take the children out to it at last."

Captain Sea Leg, the aging earth stallion commander of the Victory, leaned forward and looked up at the Admiral, "I would not have pinned you as a Fillydelphian with that accent."

Azure chuckled, "Ah, well, the move was recent. Canterlot is a big city and it's just gotten so busy and hectic. It's also a big target for a terrorist attack and there's a lot of fear going around there. Not to mention there's the Zebratown there."

"Having to deal with the Stripes in the service is bad. I can't imagine living next to 'em," Sea Leg nodded soberly, his great bushy eyebrows lowering over his eyes as he looked back to his meal.

Calm Seas frowned, piping up with the question, "Isn't Fillydelphia a big target as well?"

Azure, in the middle of washing down a mouthful with her cup, lowered it to give an arid laugh. After swallowing, she shook her head and said, "For balefire bombs, maybe. But if those are used I don't exactly think anywhere is safe."

From the back of the table, a yellow earth pony, the ship's air wing commander High Skies, piped up, "You think the scare's real?"

"The apocalypse scare?" Azure asked.

"Yeah. You really think they'd use it?" High Skies asked, steepling his hooves in front of him.

"Well it'd result in them dying as well as us. I think there's some stripes in their government crazy enough to do it, though," Azure sighed, taking a forkful of her buttered mash potatoes, "From what I've heard, the Caesar is a relatively reasonable fellow. Relative to the average stripe, that is."

"War'll be over before they can work up the courage, I think," Lightning Bringer added, taking another bite of her steak before saying, mouth full, "Rainbow Dash's beatin' em back land, sea, and air."

"Y'all are beatin' 'em back on the air, the Navy're beating back on the sea, and we're doin the land," Captain Brass Bugle, the blue earth pony sitting across from her said, "Y'know. The land. Where their country all is?"

Azure frowned slightly. She swore everypony associated with the Rangers either developed a cowpony accent or had one from the start.

Lightning Bringer looked the Ranger Captain in the eye for a moment, but seemingly managed to contain herself after eying the Admiral down the table, "Point is, we're winning. That isn't even me repeating some topside propaganda either. As soon as we can take Poppy Field, we'll have a clear shot at their east coast."

"I'll be looking forward to that one," Anchor Aweigh grinned, "We'll probably be there. Get to see the HMS Celestia and Luna absolutely level that shoreline."

"Then just a few missile silos to take over, and a few bombing runs from the carriers onto their capital. If we can't get 'em to give up diplomatically-like, we'll make sure they don't got a command to proffer the surrender," High Skies smiled wistfully.

"The last huzzah of the Navy, I think," Admiral Bluette muttered.

Eyes turned towards her, curious.

She gave a lopsided smile in return, elaborating, "Well. Cloudships have us beat. They're faster, stronger, can go over land and sea. Their only downside is that they struggle in places without weather control. The places where the SPP network ends is the only place where the Navy still excels. I expect once we carry the war to their shores, that will be it. We'll be disbanded in short time."

Captain Anchor nodded soberly, "You're right. The Indy is the last of her class. They'll never build anything like her. Just more of those damn cloudships."

High Skies pursed his lips, leaning forward before shrugging, "Hey. Navy or no navy, it'll be worth it to see Victory Day, eh?"

"I dream about the victory parade every day, Skies," Lightning Bringer's muzzle pulled up at the side.

"Couldn't be happier ta be outta a job, return back to Dodge," Brass Bugle grinned.

"We're all looking forward to going home after the Zebra's senseless slaughter is over," Calm Seas intoned evenly.

"Not me," Lightning Bringer shook her head, "Wouldn't know what to do with myself. I'll try and go career, in the MoA of course."

Ship Right, the ship's head engineer, lowered her glass to say, "Once we've won, I'll quit the Navy and take my qualifications to Robronco. Invent a new power system, then retire to Pegasus."

"I would've retired five years ago if it weren't for the change in the tide," Anchor Aweigh grunted, wiping a stain from his muzzle with a napkin, "As soon as there's victory, I'll go home and rebuild the farm. Then I'll probably raise sheep and grow corn."

Captain Strider's lips drew into a line, "I'll go home to my Ponyville. Try and forget the war."

"I'd go home to Canterlot and take back up my medical practice," Sea Leg grunted. After getting some strange looks, he clarified, "I joined early in the war, before the Ministry of Peace. I would've signed with them if it weren't for the deployment."

All eyes eventually rested on Admiral Azure, who pursed her lips and gave it some real thought. Eventually, she nodded, concluding, "I think I'd write books. Something to draw on the Navy experience, but with fantasy elements. Maybe the Grim Reaper, but his boat is an old Early War Destroyer and he fights giant sea monster to ferry souls into the afterlife?"

Calm Seas chuckled, "I'd read that."

"Isn't it a bit ironic?" Ship Right pointed out, "We started this whole war over coal. Now, below us the Thaum Reactors run just off of gems."

"If only we had this technology back then, we wouldn't have had to trade with the Zebras. Maybe all of the bloodshed could have been avoided," Calm Seas speculated, rolling her fork through a portion of spaghetti. Eventually, she admitted, "Wishful thinking, I know."

Anchor Aweigh chuckled, "Calm Seas styles herself a scholar as well as a commander, a real Renaissance Mare. Reads stuff like the Art of War, and political tripe like All Quiet on the Southwestern Front."

"Wasn't that declared contraband by the MoI?" Azure raised an eyebrow.

Calm Seas shook her head, "No, that was 1084. Because Big Sister was an obvious defamation of Pinkie Pie," she recited dryly.

"I'm surprised that other book hasn't been banned, then. Wasn't the author investigated for anti-war sentiments?" Azure asked.

Brass Bugle swallowed a fritter, before saying, "In all Honesty, the book's the truth. War ain't pretty. I think more ponies need t' know that, else we're gonna get get used to it."

A mutter of general affirmatives came from most of the table. Silverware continued to clank and glasses clinked, chiming along with the humm of the Steward Gutsy's levitator as he moved to refill glasses and refresh servings of food. A minute or so of dead air later, Azure Bluette caught Ship Right's eyes idly following her right foreleg as she chewed a mouthful.

After swallowing, the engineer asked, "If it isn't too much, may I ask: is that a PipBuck 3000?"

Azure simply nodded, mouth full.

After a short break, Ship followed with a, "Erh... why? We have military-pattern PipBucks aboard for free. Don't those things cost an arm and a leg?"

"Not if you buy it along with a golden ticket to a Stable," Anchor rumbled, lips bending downwards as he too took stock of her attachment.

Giving a side-eye towards the Captain, Azure simply shrugged, "It's convenient. I'm terrible at packing, it's an alarm clock, geiger counter, it can do some basic wellbeing checkups, and it can store my documents close at hoof. On top of that, there's a lot of things the consumer one can do that the military one can't, mostly because they aren't necessary for soldiers to have but they do significantly make life easier for the civilian," after raising her glass and taking a sip, she added, "And yes, it was cheap with a place in a Stable 67."

Ship Right nodded slowly, her eyes wrenching away as she turned back to her food and let silence reign over the table again.

Azure sighed, steepling her forehooves in front of her, "I know Stable-Tec is defeatist, but it was within our means and... even if it turns out to be a big waste it's worth it for the peace of mind."

Star Strider nodded slowly, eventually admitting, "I have family in Ponyville with places in Stable 2."

"They say the cloud cities should be the safest, what with the cloud curtain and all that," Lightning Bringer mentioned, "My beau should be all good in Cloudsdale if the worst happens."

"Bah," Captain Aweigh shook his head, "Stable-Tec's the one spreading all of the doomerism in the first place. There's even allegations that they've been trying to keep the war going for longer by withholding patents. It's good for their bottom line," giving a look towards Lightning Bringer, he mentioned, "Besides, weren't you the one saying that there's no real threat?"

Lightning Bringer shrugged, surrendering the point.

"Yes I know a lot of the apocalypse propaganda comes from Stable-Tec," Azure butted back in, giving Anchor a sharp look, "But nopony benefits from blowing the world up."

The Captain blinked, before bowing his head, "My apologies, Admiral, I meant no disrespect."

Azure smiled faintly, "It's fine," she said, before turning towards the rest of the table, "Besides. This is meant to be a celebration. How about we toast to victory, and move on to a lighter subject?"

"Hear, hear," Star Strider said, levitating his glass into the air.

Standing once again, Admiral Azure Bluette raised her glass, "To the Zebras, may the bastards get trodden under a Ranger's boot sooner rather than later!"

"Hear hear!" Brass Bugle shouted, raising her glass extra high.

The light of the chandelier bloomed through half-filled cups as glass clinked and drinks were taken. Shortly after, a great dessert of cake, with stylings on it for the Admiral's recent birthday, and pots of ice cream were brought out as the dinner plates were cleared.

An hour later, as the guests departed for their own ships and the wardroom was cleaned up by the Stewards, the sun had firmly set and the stars came out on a clear, inky black sky. A few lights remained on on the flight deck, illuminating it for those few watching over it, and a biofluorescent foam of bacteria kicked up by the ship's propellers glowed in the distance behind the Indefatigable's wake.

On the bridge, the lights had gone a bright red, preserving night vision for the bridge crew while still allowing the ponies at their stations to read their instruments and control panels. Lieutenant Golden Rod, a unicorn stallion in a standard blue duty uniform, had the watch.

Night watches were generally a lot quieter than the day watches. There were some maneuvers to be done as the fleet reached checkpoints on their course. Of course, there was always ponies watching the sensors and SPP-GPS to ensure nothing was sneaking up on them and that they were staying on course. The only mildly interesting thing was that there was a storm front expected to loom over their course over the next few days. Just some rain and maybe lightning, nothing a mighty, modern steel ship couldn't handle. Other than that, there was a resupply ship coming in the day after the next to refill the fleet's stores of food and other spare parts.

On the left wing of the bridge, facing away from the windows, was the radio operator's station. While the fleet was on a strict policy of radio silence as it journeyed to its confidential destination, there was still the short range broadcasts to talk to the escorts and listening out for any long range transmissions coming from the mainland or perhaps other ships.

Midshippone Ridge Wave, nursing a cup of coffee at her station while listening in to the standard military frequencies through her radio headset, suddenly frowned as a red light began to pulse below a switch for a certain channel. Reaching up and pressing it, a rattle of Mares Code suddenly came through her headset.

"Incoming Channel Zero encrypted transmission!" she shouted out, before poking her assistant in the shoulder and gesturing down towards the notebook on his desk. He immediately donned his headset, levitated his pen, and began jotting down the transmission.

Reaching up for her neck, she took out a key as Lieutenant Golden Rod came over, fishing his own key out of his pocket. Unlocking a safe located below the communications terminal, she procured an encryption manual from inside. Clicking her pen, she spied the raw transmission being written down at her assistant's desk, before quickly translating the encryption over through the low-security transmission manual and writing it down on her own notepad.

The transmission repeated itself five times, with her assistant unplugging his headset and plugging it into a recorder to replay specific parts of the transmission to double-check his work. After a minute or so of decryption, Ridge Wave ripped the note out of her pad and hoofed it over to the officer of the watch.

It was a general advisory to all military units, thus why the transmission was at a low level of security. Lieutenant Rod frowned as he read the contents, before walking over to an interphone and grabbing the receiver. Ridge Wave swallowed a wad of spit down her suddenly dry throat, watching as he dialed into the intercom.

After a moment, he began to speak into it, "Captain? We've received a general notice from command. Yes. They advise all units to increase readiness levels. Yes erm..."

"...Sir, they suspect the Zebras are loading warheads into their silos."

Chapter 3: Increased Readiness

October 24, 1077 - Mission Day 14

"All hooves, this is your Captain speaking. Last night at twenty-two hundred hours, we received a transmission from the mainland. This transmission was a general notification from Command to all military units. They have advised us that our intelligence network has detected unusual activity around Zebra missile silos on the Imperial mainland. Because of this, we have been reminded to maintain all possible measures of readiness aboard our ships. I, as well as our new flag officer, assure you that this has nothing to do with our mission objective. This is not some sort of psychological experiment to psych you out, but at the same time there is no reason to panic."

"I will remind you that such alert levels have been instituted several times throughout this war's history. Many times, these were revealed to be false alarms, or simply just Zebra posturing to threaten us. Despite this, we are instituting extended watches for the damage control teams working on the Sunrise Shield Projector, as an extra precaution. If you are part of those teams, you will of course be compensated with overtime as well as hazard pay for the chances of radiation damage. I trust you will see to your duties well, and conduct yourself with the same honor and discipline I have always expected from you all for the past ten years."

"As you were."

Rain fell upon the flight deck of the Indefatigable as a plane was raised up by the lifting platform into the open air. With the rising whine of a jet engine, it taxiied and took off with the assistance of the repulsor talismans on the flight deck, soaring into the air to begin its orbit of the fleet, its advanced sensor suite constantly scanning the horizon for threats.

Down below, in the hangar, hundreds of ponies maintained and operated the ship's air wing of over 130 machine-powered aircraft. Multi-role jet fighters, long range scout planes, robotic drones for performing suicidal bombing runs, and of course a healthy complement of Vertibucks. From attack configurations to heavy-lift transports, they were designed to help transport personnel between ships and for the Steel Ranger Marines to load up on for their missions.

A full inspection of all of the ship's offensive hardware had been instituted for the purposes of increased readiness. The ship's sea-to-air dragonkiller missiles, the guided bombs, the torpedo launchers, the rockets, as well as the set of tactical single-use megaspells stored behind a set of very, very strong blastdoors. The maintenance crew practically swarmed like ants, scanning every rivet, plugging their PipBucks into every hardware socket, and jotting down notes left and right.

Bordering the ship's hangar was the ship's Armory, where personal firearms and other combat equipment were stored. After a row of firefighter stations was the main hatchway leading into the armory, guarded by a pair of Ranger Marines. Past the lockers, filled with traditional ballistic firearms along with laser rifles and other experimental laser weapons, was a secondary bulkhead labelled 'Power Armory'.

Multiple ready rooms branched out from a hallway within the power armory, most of them reserved for the ship's Rangers, or for the ship's rescue divers and heavy utility teams. One ready room, however, was labelled 'MoA Spec ops 51st Reconnaissance'.

Ten suits of Nightmare Black-painted armor sat in power armor stations inside. They were lighter, more flexible than the heavily plated Ranger armor sets. The helmets had wider viewports, looking more like insectoid eyes than the thin glass slits used in the infantry models. At their sides, metal-plated sleeves for wings to fit inside hung limply, while at the back a long, mechanical tail extension hung, terminating in a cruel metallic stinger.

Each armorset had a cutie mark painted on the front, indicating its owner. On their shoulder was the division's patch, three laser beams cracking open a fortress, with '51' emblazoned upon it. Some had war paint on their armor, around its eyes and on the wings. All of them, however, had a tally mark written on the side, just below where the battle saddle would be mounted.

Corporal Ice Slushee brushed a speck of dust away from her tally mark, numbered 21, with a grin. Her and her squadron too had been affected by the 'increased readiness', with inspections and maintenance to be carried out much earlier than scheduled to ensure full combat capability.

While the Rangers liked to characterize them as gung-ho, snotty flyponies with no respect for power armor, in all truth the only reason pegasus-pattern armor broke down so often was because it was designed delicately. It took a lot of ingenuity and corner-cutting to get such a complicated kit to fly and stay competitive with a dogfight with a flying machine. Ice Slushee, along with all of her comrades, cared just as much about their kit as the Rangers did, if not more.

After all, she suspected there had to be some slacking on their end if they experienced breakdowns, even with how much hardier the heavy-infantry pattern was.

Taking out the interface cord from her PipBuck, Ice Slushee plugged it into a port on the inside of the armor's helmet, watching the screen on her foreleg scroll as it read out the software's diagnosis. Nothing out of the usual, but it couldn't hurt to backup the data on it into a holotape and then clear out the cache on the suit's memory banks. She wouldn't want to delay the chore until the drive choked up as they were pulling 20 hour shifts.

The sounds of hoofsteps distracted Ice from her work as a light grey pegasus mare walked in, chewing on the end of a cigar.

"Cap'n on deck, finally got out of the wardroom for long enough to come and grace us with her presence," Shot Stack joked from behind Ice, looking up from his own work.

"Stow it, stack," she shook her head, "Just got done with a briefing from Lightning Bringer. According to her, you lost the bet, Admiral's pretty down to earth."

"Bullshit!" Shot Stack spat as Radio Whistle gave a whoop in the background. After grabbing a nearby grease rag and throwing it in Radio's general direction, Shot looked back to their sergeant and asked, "How do you figure that anyway, Trail?"

The mare, Sergeant Crystal Trail, grinned, "Well apparently after getting done talking some defeatism shit she turned down a hornpipe and got down with the officers n' gentlecolts to some electronic swing instead."

"Crap," Shot Stack spat as Radio came to loom over him.

"Don't worry, Shot, I'll share some peanut frizzles with you," Radio said, reaching around his squadmate and giving him a pat on the chest.

Shot Stack, deathly allergic, raised a middle primary at Radio as the other stallion walked away cackling. Turning around with a solid frown on his face, he patted his breast pocket suspiciously, before bringing out his wallet and opening it, "Asshole," he muttered, noticing the fifty bit paper missing from its place.

Sniggering to herself, Crystal Trail walked past the thoroughly pissed off stallion towards her own armor set. Marked with a golden arrow shooting through a set of puffy, twinkling clouds, as well as a tally of forty-two marks on its side, she sat down to start her own chores.

Hay Weave, a green pegasus mare with a torque wrench firmly secured to a bolt on the lower jaw of her half-disassembled armor helmet, sighed, "We're like, a hundred million miles away from the Zebras. By the time we get into combat, we're gonna have done this a million times over," she was the newest in the team. A cutie mark of an exploding hay bale was freshly painted on the front, along with a tally mark of 5 on the side.

"You use million a lot," Radio Whistle said, standing back in front of his armor with a small hoof-vacuum, sucking up particulates from the creases and joints. His armor had a musical note with radio waves radiating out of it, on the side of his armor was a tally of 12.

Hay stuck out her tongue at him in response.

Crystal Trail, standing opposite her, shook her head, "Never know when a submarine might rock up, or a dragon wing, or one of their flying fortresses."

"We're recon, we don't do planes and dragons. Planes do planes, destroyers do submarines, and missiles do dragons-"

"And I do your mom," Shot Stack interrupted, hooves submerged inside of his suit. A cutie mark of bullets loaded into a stripper clip adorned the front along with 14 kills on the side, expressed in skulls rather than the usual tally marks.

Rolling her eyes, Hay Weave finished, "We go out, blast zebras, and blow stuff up, right?" Hay Stack asked.

"Orders are orders, private," the sergeant answered with a shrug, "Besides. Have to keep neck and neck with the Rangers on breakdowns."

There were no more complaints raised to that. Aside from their hatred for the enemy, the only thing that united 51st was their even greater hatred for the Rangers - specifically the Ranger Marines aboard the Indefatigable. The ones out in the field were probably alright, but mostly because they never got to meet them.

A few rows down from Ice Slushee was a cream-colored pegasus stallion with brown hair, a flash visor over his eyes as he delicately soldered at an armor plate on his set; marked with a snake wrapping around a gravestone and eighteen tallies on the side. The team's field medic, Lead Syringe, said, "You know that we have a Zebra working in the kitchen?"

Behind him, a bulky, red mare named Spear Bash gave a disgusted look as a legging of her armor popped off and rattled to the floor, "You fucking saying a Stripe's been touching my food?" her armor (which was actually the stallion-pattern, as she couldn't fit into the standard set), was marked with a cutie mark of a rubber ducky, with twenty more rubber duckies written along the side.

"Yes, apparently his name is Ivory Heart," Lead Syringe intoned, his tool beginning to spark once again as flashes reflected off of his darkened visor.

"Aww fucking Celestia on a bike, doc," Spear Bash growled, "Thanks for the fucking information. Now I can't fucking look at my breakfast omelette the same ever again, dipshit!"

Ice Slushee grinned, seeing her opportunity to poke the bear, "Hey Spear Bash. Was reading a book on the MoA SpFs the other day-"

"You can read?" Shot Stack asked, looking back from his work.

Waving a hoof at him, "Just cause you can't doesn't mean you gotta project, Stack," a cackle came from Radio, who was quickly assaulted by another grease rag, "Anyway, I saw there was a squadron that had a half-breed working for 'em."

"Huh?" Spear Bash asked.

Leaning towards Spear, Ice Slushee grinned impishly, "Half pegasus, half stripe. Flying wing to wing with ponies, wearing the same pattern armor as us."

"Fuuuck!" Spear Bash growled, yanking a worn washer clear from its bolt with a furious tug, "Nah no fucking way. You're just trying to rile me up. Shot's right you probably don't even read!" she shouted as she threw washer at Ice, who ducked out of the way as the metal sparked dinged off of a strike plate.

A diminutive orange pegasus stallion neighboring Spear Bash, by the name of Waffle Cone, leaned back from his armor set (an image of a melting ice cream scoop was on the front, with nine tallies on the side) around the divider between each station, asking, "Hey Bash. You ever get mistaken for a stallion?"

Spear grinned, "No, do you?"

Laughs were instantly elicited from all in the room, even Waffle Cone, who simply turned back to his work and said, "You know you love me."

From the very back of the room, a banana-colored pegasus with a bushy brown mane named Sugar Beach, the squad's second sharpshooter with the first being Shot Stack, asked, "Hey, Pounce Chaser, you think this scare is the intel guys jumping at shadows, or what?" she asked, screwing the headlamp back onto her suit, marked with a palm tree on the front and ten tallies on the side.

Pounce Chaser, a dark purple pegasus mare, was checking the status of the the heads up display on her armor, marked with a green cat's eye on the front and twenty-eight tallies on the side, "I bet they're probably trying to scare us into backing down from Poppy Field. If we push them out from there, they're fucked big time," her mane and tail was dyed a fading spectrum of colors, styled after the Ministry Mare.

Shot Stack's ears perked up at the mention of a bet, and he turned around to say, "Hey! Why don't we make a pot? One says it's a false alarm, other says it's to try and scare us off from pushing their shit in."

"Twenty that Pouncer is right," Crystal Trail immediately chipped in.

Ice Slushee hummed, saying, "Probably just another military 'intelligence' fuckup."

"Twenty for the opposite of whatever Shot picks," Radio piped up.

Shot Stack chuckled, "Fuckup it is."

"Same, fuckup," Basher said.

Waffle Cone gave a glance towards Spear Basher, before nodding, "Yeah. Fuckup."

Lead Syringe hummed for a moment, before finally answering, "If the pattern so far repeats, it's a fuckup."

Sugar Beach nodded, "It's military," she made air quotes with her forehooves, "Intelligence. Fuckup, one hundred percent."

Pounce Chaser folded her forelegs, "I stand by my word, it's a tactic."

"Whoo!" Shot Stack whistled, "Big stakes for the tactic ponies."

"Just get your armor back into one piece before the end of the watch, everypony," Crystal Trail demanded. That was the last word, and until everything was stowed that was the end of the conversation.

CRS270 - TIM1020 - ELO8823 - TIMX - 1039
CRS269 - TIM1331 - ELO8823 - TIMX - 1033
CRS268 - TIM1899 - ELO5223 - TIMX - 1909
CRS267 - TIM1021 - ELO8823 - TIMX - 1352

The next day, Summer Fruit sat at her controls, staring blankly out into the green glow of her terminal as her magic danced across the keys. A thin line of drool hung from one side of her mouth as it hung open. A depressingly empty coffee cup sat on her desk, next to a half-completed printout of array instructions and a notepad full of equations and maths that would look like the runework of an insane mage to anypony other than Summer.

As the repair progress on the projector had been sped up, so had her work translating energy values to coordinates on the hundreds of projector arrays lining the length of the Sunrise Shield Projector. She was now on her fifteenth hour since she had arrived in the morning and been informed that her deadline had been shortened.

Occasionally, she would blink and rub at a twitching eye, wrenching her eyes off of the terminal for a moment to check the status of the electrical grid, write down some oddity on a checklist with an increasingly worn down pencil. However, even if the ship had completely lost power outside of the control room, she probably wouldn't notice for spans of hours at a time as she scrolled through hypnotizing lines of calculations and code.

This time, however, a hoof shaking her shoulder vigorously caused her to blink and link away.

"Summer? You okay?" Ship Right said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Huh?" she said, suddenly becoming aware of how splitting her headache had become and reaching up to rub it, "Erh- yeah. I'm almost done. Just another hour and I'll take it down to the computer lab."

"I just got word that the pony meant to relieve you was 'chased off by a series of hisses and thrown scrap paper'," Ship Right cracked a smile, "You know somepony else can take this over for you, right?"

"Uhh, it's fine," Summer said, eyes wandering back towards her terminal screen, "Like I said, I'm almost done."

"Better be. If not, sign off and get some rest. If I see you fallen asleep at your desk next morning I'm going to be very upset. The CO might be upset that we need to take the projector down to program the new values in late, but that's a fall I'm willing to take," Ship Right shook her head, beginning to turn away.

Summer, a spark triggering at the back of her thoroughly cooked brain, turned in her chair to stop her, "Hey! Uh. I wanted to tell you something, actually, about the new projector values."

Ship Right stopped, "Yeah?"

"Umm..." Summer's brow wrinkled, "The power level isn't effected, so it should be the same effectiveness for shielding in combat. But there's some really weird choices with the secondary and tertiary deflectors?"

"In what way?" Ship Right slowly walked back to her side, looking at her work again.

"Well usually the projector has the deflectors project in a similar way to the main bubble? But these arrays..." she pointed at the screen as she scrolled up to a particular set of numbers, "They're tessellated really weirdly. They're into, like, a pyramid shape rather than a bubble. All that's really gonna do is make the Sunrise take more power than normal."

"How much more?" Ship Right asked, leaning forward and squinting at the numbers. She was only vaguely familiar with the field of shield harmonics, most of the numbers just seemed like Prench to her.

"Two percent more, maybe?" Summer shrugged, "Again it's not like, a massive problem? It probably wouldn't matter if we had to use it to stop an attack. It's just something I thought you should know."

"I'll keep that in mind," Ship Right nodded, standing back up straight and patting her on the shoulder, "Just get it done or pass it off, then get some rest, okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Summer nodded, not paying any more attention as she turned back to her screen and scrolled back down to the most recent lines. Her jaw once again slackened as the rhythm of her keystrokes filled the air again.

It was early the next morning, before the sun came up. Rain continued to pelt the Indefatigable and her escorts, the water growing choppy below the hull of the great ship. Great floodlights on the deck illuminated the pelting rain, as well as the grey, steel frigate moving through the swelling waves towards the side of the Indy.

A combat logistics ship, piled high with supplies from the mainland. Food, parts, ammunition, and jetfuel. It confirmed to a lot of ponies that there were no supplies waiting for them at their destination, which probably meant no tropical fruits.

Usually this mid-voyage mooring and resupply would wait until sunup, however the frigate quickly informed that it had been told in no uncertain terms to hurry back to the Las Pegasus naval base, once again due to the increased readiness levels. So, the operation had to be conducted in the dead of night, in the midst of choppy waters.

Rigging crews swarmed the side of the ship, securing a way for resupply to come aboard. Pegasi flew with cables between the two ships, a steeper than usual incline between the two. The Indy couldn't compromise her ballasts to make the slope more gentle, with the great waves tossing them about. As containers of supply came aboard, a few things left to go aboard the frigate.

There were empty cargo crates, to be reused back at port. There were holotape racks of data dumps from the ship's computers and sensors, as the SPP towers had insufficient coverage in the area to quickly and securely carry them back wirelessly. Finally, there were crates of letters, written from thousands of sailors aboard the ship, bound for home.

Standing in a hallway on the 20th deck of the ship, Ivory Heart hunched over a paper with a pen in mouth, rapidly scribbling away as he made himself as small as possible for the sailors pushing past him. Some made an effort to bump him, sending a streak of ink sprawling across the page. He ignored it, his shift in the kitchen had taken him all the way until the frigate had docked. If he was fast, he could still have the message slipped in with the outgoing mail.

Dear Mom

First things first, I want you to know that everything's gonna be okay. I can't tell you where, but we're far away from the fighting. I'm safe and sound. The ponies treat me just fine here, like I deserve. I haven't gotten into any fights or any trouble with the higher ups, I just keep my head down and work like you told me to. We think we'll be back at Las Pegasus for a bit by around Hearth's warming. They also say the war's almost over, so I'll probably be free to come home soon.

Tell Zemora I love her so, so much. I love you too, Mom, just do what the doctors say and I'll see you soon, okay?

Love, Ivory Heart

Closing the pen and quickly stuffing the paper in a waiting envelope, Ivory turned and ran for the stairs. Climbing several stairs, he stopped only briefly to don a plastic, see-through raincoat and a pair of boots before heading out onto the flight deck.

Moving fast to avoid the eyes of any officers knowing he probably shouldn't be outside, Ivory ran fast towards the rigging crew, holding his letter in his mouth to shield it from the rain that pattered off of the brim of his hat. Walking towards the railings lining the edge of the ship, where heavy steel cables snaked down from the side to help anchor the neighboring ship while cargo was moved to a below-decks hatch far below.

Heart thundering as he saw one of the sailors leaning on the railing eying him suspiciously, Ivory waved viciously at a passing wing of pegasi.

To his immense relief, one broke off and flew over. A pink mare, wrapped in a bright yellow raincoat, flew down to the side of the railing with him, shouting, "Took ya long enough!"

"Sorry Ash! I had to actually write it as well!" he shouted back over the din of the storm, he said as he spat the letter out into his hoof, holding it out towards her as the envelope was bombarded with raindrops.

"Price has gone up!" Ash Winds said, pushing the letter back, "The mailbox was already vetted and packed up. Sailors on the Cadana gotta get hazard pay for handling striped mail themselves!"

"How much!?" Ivory asked, heart dropping.

"Two hundred, on top of what you already paid me! I have to keep some in case I get audited by the Pinks."

"I don't have that!"

"Sucks," Ash shrugged, beginning to pull away.

Ivory Heart's shoulders slumped as he watched her go. His mouth suckled at the air, like a fish out of water, trying to think of something to offer her in exchange for mail. She gave one more look over her shoulder, an eyebrow raised, before she dove into the wind again with a shake of her head.

Hoof slipping from the railing, Ivory tucked his sodden letter away underneath his coat, making his way back to the hatches leading inside. Two hours later, the moorings were cast off, and the Cadana motored into the storm. Her silhouette was illuminated in a flash of lightning one last time, before she was subsumed by the abyss of the night.

Chapter 4: The Last Day

October 27, 1007 - Mission Day 17

The sun rose on the fourth day, the clouds having retreated. The storm front had passed the squadron straight by as they reached a full week and a half of cruising away from the coast of Las Pegasus, and only two days away from their destination. On deck, the sun was rising as one of the ship's scout aircraft landed, and another one began to taxi to replace it.

Shortly after the replacement scout plane left the perimeter of the ship, a thin, transparent bubble began to appear around the Indefatigable. The brilliance of the shield grew as its transparent layers were filled with a citrus orange color. On deck, observers felt the wind still as it buffeted off of the shield, and an odd feeling of entrapment came over them. It was as if they had been trapped in a gigantic crystal ball, sequestered from the world.

On the bridge, Admiral Azure Bluette watched alongside Captain Anchor Aweigh as the shield rose around the carrier.

"Nothing problematic about it blocking the air like that?" Azure noted with a humm.

"That's why we have the oxygen generator, if air quality drops too much," Anchor shook his head, "It won't always be like this either. It only needs to be at full power to stop gaseous molecules and the like. Most of the time it will be at half power, like yesterday's tests."

Azure chuckled, leaning up near the window to look up at the dome above the ship, "The power of an alicorn's shield made to bow by a machine."

Ship Right turned away from a console at the back of the room, saying to the two officers, "Well, all projects show nominal status. Looks like we're green."

"Power it down, then. No point in stressing it out until we reach Skye," the Captain sighed, stepping back and reaching up to rub an eye, "You know, whatever experiment you and the brass are cooking up. It better not leave a mark on this ship's paint."

Azure let out a tiny huff through her nostrils, "It shouldn't Captain. After all, if they really wanted to blow the Indefatigable up, they wouldn't have let me come aboard first."

Calm Seas, standing by with a pair of binoculars around her neck, looked over to the Captain, "A word, Captain?"

"Huh? Oh, sure," Anchor nodded, moving from rubbing his right eye to rubbing his left.

"Commander Bright Bean told me that some of the crew are wondering if the Nightmare Night parties will be postponed due to the mission," she relayed, referring to the commander of the ship's administrative department.

"Well, it might be. We reach Skye in two days. What's today?" Anchor rumbled, walking forward to pace idly.

Answering his question, Azure spoke up, "The 27th."

"So depending how it goes we might just celebrate a little late this year," Anchor shrugged, "They can wait for their pumpkin pies, spiced lattes, and ice cream desserts for another week if they need to."

"Of course. I'll relay that," Calm Seas nodded placidly.

Outside, the faint rays of the rising sun broke through as the shield powered down. Like ice melting away, the color dripped and sloshed out of the shield bubble as it turned translucent again. Eventually, as all the color drained away, the shield popped like a bubble, leaving the wind to blow across the deck again.

All around the ship, no land was in sight. Not the mainland, no islands, they were well and truly at the center of the Luna Sea. Some of the deepest oceans gaped beneath them. Centuries ago, wooden ships made their way fearfully across these waves, bending sail and clinging on for every swell.

Azure stood there, staring out at the water for a moment. A beeping came from her PipBuck, and she raised it up to her eyes as she saw its alarm clock function going off. 9:20, she was due for a wireless video briefing downstairs at the Flag Bridge on the combat drills their escort destroyers had undergone the day before.

She reached to switch off the alarm. However, as the time stopped flashing and the readout of her body's general status flashed back on screen, the beeping continued.

"Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Beep-beep! Beep-beep!"

Her ears perked as she turned around to the communications console, where a button on the control panel flashed red and squawked with every pulse. The communications officer reached over and depressed the button, reaching up for her radio headset as she shouted, "Incoming high-priority message! Encryption class magenta! Command code two-two-one nine!"

Instantly, the mood on the bridge dropped. Any chatter that had been ongoing between stations dropped off completely. Ponies went stiff at their stations, ears panning around on instinct.

The Captain growled, "Convenient, considering we're all already here..." he said, walking up to a nearby station. Calm Seas automatically turned to follow him.

Azure gave one last glance towards the communication station, before following him. Anchor Aweigh's horn glowed as he punched in a series of keys on the front of the console. 'Ready for Command Auth' began to flash on the terminal screen just above the keypad. Next to then keypad, a blank white circle the size of a hoof began to glow.

Anchor took his turn first, placing his hoof on the pad. After a moment there was a beep, before the captain recited, "This is Captain Anchor Aweigh, commander of the HMS Indefatigable.

The screen quickly blinked 'Authorization Confirmed', before returning to its original screen.

Calm Seas placed her hoof on the pad next, leaning forward towards the console and saying, "This is Commander Calm Seas. Executive Officer of the HMS Indefatigable."

Once again, the computer acknowledge the authorization. Both of the officers stepped back to make the way for Azure.

Placing her hoof on the pad, Azure recited, "This is Admiral Azure Bluette. The most senior officer aboard the HMS Indefatigable. With mine and the other's authorization, I order a level magenta decryption task."

"I concur," the Captain said, lips drawing thin.

"I concur," the Executive Officer echoed.

The screen changed its text, now reading 'Ready for Decryption Task Port 201-102'.

At the same time, the communications officer pressed a button on her terminal. A nearby tape drive opened, ejecting a holotape, which was quickly grabbed and floated over to the Captain's outstretched hoof.

Stepping back from the computer interface, Azure allowed the officer of the deck to procure a key, opening a locked cabinet labelled '201-102'. The cabinet door opened, revealing a combination coded safe behind it. Anchor Aweigh immediately reached for it, only for Azure to interrupt him.

"Captain. I have seniority. I should be the one to input the code," she reminded.

"Of course," Anchor bowed his head, stepping back once again for Azure.

Twisting the knob on the safe, Azure entered the ship's decryptor 10 digit encryption key. The lock popped open, and the door opened, revealing a holotape port inside. Stepping back and giving the Captain a nod, she watched as he inserted the holotape containing the transmission into the port.

The computer's screen flickered, and a series of dots appeared as the machine processed the task.

"Is this related to our mission?" Anchor asked, glancing towards Azure.

Azure frowned, shaking her head, "Not unless they're changing the orders on me too, Captain."

Behind her, the bridge officers eyed each other nervously. All that filled the air was the distant sound of wind, the whirr of the ventilation, and the occasional notification on an instrument.

The sound of a printer broke the silence as the computer finished its task, printing the decrypted message from a slot by the terminal. As the paper printed, the Captain reached up and removed the holotape, closing the safe behind it and scrambling the codes. The cabinet was then slammed shut and locked as well, just as Calm Seas reached out and took the finished message from the printer.

"Ms Seas. Read it out," Anchor ordered as he stepped back from the computer bank.

Azure Bluette watched as Calm Seas' eyes scanned down the length of paper. The mare blinked, starting from the top and reading down through it again. Her mouth opened, and then closed again.

"What's got your tongue, Exo?" Anchor raised an eyebrow.

Calm Seas looked up, eyes wide. Her tongue ran across her lips, "This is a message from the MoA Intelligence. It reads as follows:" she paused again as she looked down to the paper, before starting in earnest, "This is not a drill. Active balefire devices in Equestria. All units with strike capability, megaspell launch authorization given. CARE protocols initiated. Thermomagical war imminent. This is not a drill."

The paper was held out towards the Captain. Azure's eyes looked over his shoulder as he read it. Her stomach turned.

Anchor looked up, his face white as a sheet, "Bosun mate..."

A terrified pegasus stallion stood by the ship's intercom, blinking as he realized he had been addressed, "Y-Yes sir?"

"General quarters. Reason for battlestations, CARE protocols," Anchor gritted his teeth as a degree of color came back to his cheeks. Balling up the message, he turned towards the engineering station, where Ship Right looked at back, wide-eyed, "Shields up!"

The ship's intercom came alive with a shrill whistle, starting low, going high, before going low again. Every ear perked and every eye travelled to the ceiling. As the shrill ended, an unmistakable alarm came on soon after.

DONG DONG DONG DONG DONG DONG!

"This is not a drill, this is not a drill! General quarters! General quarters! All hooves to your battlestations! Set condition one throughout the ship! Up and forward make your starboard side, down and aft make your port side! Reason for General Quarters: CARE protocols. General quarters! General quarters!"

Ponies in the mess halls screeched out of their chairs. Those walking in the corridors began running. In the berths, sailors rolled out of their beds and scrambled off of the floor. Showers turned off, toilets were hurriedly flushed, and all non-essential activities instantly abandoned. Firefighters donned their suits, damage control units sprinted to their lockers, bulkheads were sealed, and others ran for their stations.

In the Power Armory, Ice Slushee, towel still wrapped around her head, thundered down the stairwell towards the ready rooms, accompanied by Spear Bash, her uniform half pulled down over her head. Ahead of Ice, an earth pony Ranger, in a half-buttoned up beige shirt and with a toothbrush in her mouth, stampeded towards the same destination.

Exploding through the bulkhead into the power armory, Ice Slushee went for the 51st's ready room, shaking off the towel around her mane and tossing it at a nearby trashcan.

"Move it ladies!" Crystal Trail bellowed from her station as her squad rushed by her for their armor suits, "Suit up and on the flight deck two minutes ago, come on! This is the real deal!"

"Who's on us? Dragons!?" Hay Weave shouted as she went for her armor, beginning the process of opening the hatch on back to enter.

"CARE protocol!" Crystal Trail shouted, jumping inside her armor, the hydraulic whine of the hatch closing behind her sounding soon after.

"What the hell is that?" Shot said, his voice made analoge by the speakers on his helmet as his hatch closed too.

"Means it's the big one, dipshit! We're launching the Megaspells!" Slushee belted back, climbing inside of her armor. With a whine, the hatch shut behind her and the HUD in her helmet booted up. The station automatically lowered the battle saddle onto her back, it gripping onto the armor with a series of mechanical locks.

"What- you mean...?" Shot's voice quavered as his head turned towards her.

"Move it, ponies!" Crystal Trail bellowed, gesturing to follow with the mechanical hiss of her powered foreleg, marching out of the ready room, followed closely by her squad.

Along with a wing of flight of five fighters being scrambled as the shields went up, the 51st Recon rose to the surface on the lifting platform. A large, translucent bubble covered the ship, and was slowly being filled with orange hardlight. The roar of jet engines behind them as they cantered out of the way was all they heard before the repulsor catapults launched the fighters forward, slinging them from the edge of the flight deck and through the shield before it solidified.

Slushee looked around. The sun was up. The water was calm. The laser point-defense turrets lining the side of the ship were armed, their crystalline barrels glowing pink with charge. The shield completed charging, surrounding the world in a barrier of orange glass.

Her breath echoed inside of her helmet, the sounds of the clicks and whirrs of her respirator and the hydraulics of her suit being the only noises that got through the armor. Nopony emitted a peep. With a mental command, the optics of her helmet zoomed in on the horizon as she scanned it.

A flash.

Her chest contracted.

Another flash. Then another. Then another.

Like distant lightning strikes over the horizon.

Maybe they could've been lightning. Maybe they were wrong. Maybe it was an illusion? A test?

There was a sudden, bright flash, causing the 51st to gasp in shock. Turning around, Slushee saw a second sun rising, just off the bow of the Indy. A ball of lightning expanded, before shooting up skywards in a ball of great, angry smoke. Wind could not penetrate the barrier, but instead rippled across the ocean surrounding the ship. Ahead, the flash turned into a distant, tiny mushroom cloud.

The same flashes as the ones on the horizon, but this one was closer. What else could it have been?

If it weren't for her suit to hold her up, Slushee would have collapsed.

"Celestia... that's Skye Island..." Calm Seas breathed, lowering her binoculars as the mushroom cloud reared its head in the distance.

"Reading..." the sensors officer swallowed, hard as he looked at the hundreds of red pings on his scope, "Reading a lot of... thaumaturgical activity... fuck..."

"Tell me... tell me this is part of your mission..." Captain Anchor breathed, unable to tear his eyes away from the window, "...I'm not fucking around. If this is an illusion, or some sorta test, you'd better tell me right the fuck now."

Azure, gaze locked in the exact same direction as his, felt goosebumps travel across her coat as her head slowly spun. She reached out for a nearby chair, collapsing into it with a sputtered gasp.

"Tell me it isn't real, Azure," Anchor demanded, closing his eyes and looking away, only to open them with a wild-eyed stare towards the Admiral, "Swear it on your life!"

Azure's forehead wrinkled as she clutched an armrest, trying her best to stay upright, "Celestia. I know nothing. I- it can't be..."

"What about the numbers? The changed harmonics on the shields? Could that be doing something?" Ship Right said, looking up from his console.

"Is that your game!?" Anchor shouted, walking over to Azure and grabbing her by the coat, pulling her up to his muzzle, "Pull us all the way out here? Play some sorta fancy trick? Is this some sort of experiment, see what happens when the chain of command breaks down!? Bait the crew and officers into thinking their families are gone? Is that the game!?"

"Captain!" Calm Seas shouted, grabbing at the back of his collar.

Azure raised a hoof shoving the stallion off and into the side of a nearby tape drive as her face twisted into a scowl, "Captain Anchor!"

The Captain staggered, breathing heavily and glaring up at the Admiral.

With a snort, Azure stood shakily, trying her best not to faint as blood rushed away from her head. After a moment where the world wobbled an quavered, her heart thundering in her ears, she managed to fix her eyes on him, "Captain! I swear on my mother's grave I know as little as you do! No matter what, arguing and fighting in front of the officers and crew is going to get us nowhere!"

Looking up from his place on the floor, Anchor saw the eyes of the bridge crew, transfixed on him. They were terrified. Regret poured across his face as he raised a hoof and placed it over an eye, "...I'm... sorry... I acted irrationally, Admiral."

More flashes of light sparked on the horizon, drawing eyes back out of the window. An eerie, green glow was beginning to rise from the horizon as it seemed the storm began in earnest. Every other second, another white flash. Anchors head dropped, eyes staring blankly at the floor.

Azure looked towards the petty officer operating the console belonging to the ship's internal security system, "Mr. Bales. Tell the Rangers they are to move immediately to secure the armory from any entrants who do not possess my express permission. They are also to dispatch a unit to guard the hatches to the flight deck to prevent unauthorized access, as well as to the ship's... food stores."

"Aye aye, ma'am..." he nodded solemnly, finally turning his eyes back to the console and carrying out his task.

Anchor's head suddenly came back up again, "We should- we should contact command. Ask them what there needs to be done!"

Azure shook her head, "No... we're completely out of range of the mainland, and it's... unlikely they have the capacity to fly a mid-air refueling mission out to us our air wing. There's nothing we can do, a-and there's a chance that our radio silence is why we are not being targeted."

Raising a hoof up to his mouth, he simply muttered, "Celestia, no..."

Azure pursed her lips, "But we should... at least listen out," looking to Ridge Wave, the junior officer sitting at the radio desk, she ordered, "Tune in to any frequencies you can find. Tell me if there's anything... useful being broadcast," Azure said, trying to keep her chin high as she walked towards the intraphone on the wall. She began to dial in to different departments, informing those in charge to come in for a meeting.

"Aye, aye," Ridge Wave swallowed, turning up the volume on her headset and twisting a knob on her console.

"This is the Ministry of Arcane Science Emergency Broadcasting System. Balefire strikes have been confirmed. If you have a fallout shelter or a place in a Stable, please evacuate immediately. Otherwise, shelter in place, and do not leave your home until the all clear has been given, repeat-"

"-Evacuation orders from the government have been confirmed. If you are registered with us, please go to your assigned Stable posthaste. Please do not attempt to enter a Stable that you are not assigned to! Do not travel to a Stable if you have no reservation-"

"Celestia help us all..."

"Game over, mare! Game over!" Shot Stack shouted, forehoof clutching the top of his helmet, "The fuck are we gonna do now!?"

"Sarge! We gotta go back! I got kids in Cloudsdale! We can make the trip on one energy cell!" Sugar Beach shouted, a steel plated hoof jabbed out over the railing.

"That's suicide and you know it, private!" Crystal Trail stamped a hoof.

"Well what if it's not!?" Sugar screamed, "Fuck's sake we can't just sit around and do nothing!"

Lead Syringe stared out to the horizon, "W-What if it's some sort of trick?" his voice quavered for the first time in front of his comrades, "What if it's a mass illusion, and they're just trying to psych us out?"

"Oh yeah! Great trick!" Shot Stack moaned, falling onto his flank with a loud clank, "Make us think we're being attacked so we'll fucking blast them first!"

"I've had bad dreams like this before. I know it's a bad dream, I can wake up now..." Radio Whistle whispered to himself, sitting on the floor, facing away from the blasts and rocking back and forth slowly, "I CAN WAKE UP NOW!" he repeated at the top of his voice.

Ice Slushee felt glued to the spot. Her hooves tingled and her stomach twisted constantly. She felt bile rise in her throat, and she reached up to her faceplate, undoing the locks and ripping her helmet off just in time to hurl her breakfast onto the flight deck rather than into her respirator. Panting heavily, she squeezed her eyes shut and looked away from the horizon.

All around her, the flight deck crew had abandoned their duties, standing by the railings to gawk, just like the rest of them. Though her world spun, Slushee watched as one of the crew members grabbed a bag of tools sitting by the railing.

Then, in one swift motion, the earth pony climbed up and over, disappearing over the sides as his colleagues to his left and right grabbed at him in vain.

Slushee surged, running to the side and jumping over as well, spreading her wings. Even with her helmet disconnected, the suit was designed to continue operating and boosting her flight magic enough to keep aloft despite the weight. She saw a splash in the water below, and immediately flew for it. She pulled up a few feet above the tips of the waves, not wanting to actually submerge in her extremely not-buoyant power armor. Below, all she saw was a shadow disappearing into the abyss. He had not tried to stay surfaced, there was not even a struggle, if he had stayed conscious after contact with the water tension at all.

Ten more flashes appeared on the horizon. A wave splashed at her hind hooves. She puked again.

"At oh-nine-twenty hours, we received an encrypted message from command. At oh-nine-twenty-two, we finished the decryption of said command, which informed us that balefire devices were active in Equestria, and that indiscriminate megaspell deployment was authorized."

"The Indefatigable was not in range of any strategic targets to deploy its twin tactical megaspell devices. By oh-nine-twenty-eight, we spotted the first detonation on the horizon. Additionally, our sensors picked up a high amount of necro-thaumic activity at the same time as these detonations were spotted. As visible light and this wavelength of necrotic magic travel at similar speeds, we have every reason to believe that these detonations were balefire bombs."

"At this point, we have counted over a hundred detonations. We believe we have picked up patterns that may match Equestrian megaspell launches as well, however the Zebrican continent is out of both our visual and sensor range so we cannot confirm the status of the Zebra Empire at this time. We received some radio traffic, from MASEBS and Stable-Tec, most military channels were garbled and indecipherable."

Azure Bluette looked up from the page, towards the officers arrayed on seats in front of her. At the back of the room, four video screens were tuned in to the faces of the captains of the four escort ships.

A fluorescent light buzzed above. White paint covered the walls, where closed doors blocked off the briefing room from the rest of the ship. Wooden chairs were lined up in rows ahead of Azure's position, where somber faces and pale cheeks stared back at her. A fan hummed, pushing cool air through the compartment.

"There is currently no damage to the ship, neither have our shields absorbed any energy. Why don't we hear from Captain Anchor about the measures instituted aboard the Indefatigable?"

Captain Anchor nodded, adjusting his cap and standing, "We have remained at general quarters since receiving the transmissions. Our Ranger Marines have been guarding key areas aboard the ship, such as the food storage, armory, and the flight deck. From what we can tell, morale is at an all time low. We have had multiple suicides, mostly those on deck jumping overboard, but two others below deck as well."

The captains of the other ships took their turns next. There were many of the same problems aboard their vessels, with similar lockdown measures, and they were on watch for any signs of radioactive particulate. So far, none had been detected.

"Ship Right? How long can we keep the shields online?" Azure asked as the escorts finished their own briefings.

"Endurance tests brought major instability by around sixteen hours, followed by the projector burning out. I wouldn't risk it nearly as long, as we just finished repairing it. Unless we want to burn it out again and be vulnerable, about twelve hours," she said, head bare and cap sitting on her lap.

"We have done calculations to see if our escorts could safely fit underneath the Indefatigable's shield," Azure intoned, looking up at the video screens at the back of the room, "However, we believe the margin of error would be too low to avoid collision with the Indie or with the outside of the shield. Instead, I am ordering the escorts to spread out to a range of fifty miles from the carrier. While this increases the risk of submarine incursion, the most likely target for a balefire strike at this point is the Indefatigable, which is able to protect itself from a direct hit. We will reform in a standard formation once we can be sure that no more detonations are occurring."

Captain Stride spoke up, "Who do we think won the fight?" he asked through the speaker.

Azure looked over to a pony in a with a white labcoat wrapped over his blue uniform, "Dr. Atom Bash, the specialist in charge of the Indefatigable's reactors, is the most knowledgeable about the... repercussions of these attacks."

As eyes settled on him, a snow-white stallion with a labcoat wrapped over his junior officer's uniform, he sighed, "Well. The amount of heat released by the detonation of megaspells and balefire bombs would light fires and kick up a ton of smog into the atmosphere. This smog would be called 'fallout', which will be both highly radioactive and dense. Wind will carry the fallout across the globe, where it will condense and form clouds. Ironically, the clouds will decrease the amount of sunlight to reach the ground and cause temperatures to drop..."

Atom Bash sighed, "The theorized event would be called Necro-Thaumic Winter. Radioactive ash and snow will rain from the sky, there's a chance of an ice age, or at least an extremely long cold snap that will last for decades, at the very least. Sea levels will likely rise significantly for a while, as ice is melted by the bombs, before retreating significantly as the cold freezes it again. We can expect very rough weather in general."

"So we're safest in the middle of the Luna Sea?" Captain Sea Leg asked.

"Yes... we were... very lucky to be at this position. This is likely the only place on this planet where we would be spared from balefire strike," Atom pursed his lips, "Regardless. While it is clear weather right now, that will soon change. Perhaps tomorrow, perhaps the next day. But it will change. The hull should insulate us from any radioactive particulates, and our air should be filtered to prevent harmful dust from entering our ventilation systems."

"What about our oxygen generator? Isn't this what it's for?" Calm Seas spoke up.

Ship Right shook her head, "It's not designed for endurance. It's designed to prevent mass casualties from a chemical attack for long enough to get out of danger. I can only depend on it lasting for a few days at most. We're not looking at just a few days, according to Dr. Bash. I can rig up some sort of filtration system on the air intakes with the help of the specialists. We should have at least one pony in each section with a PipBuck on to monitor rad levels, just in case."

Brass Bugle, leaning on the armrest of her chair with a hoof to her cheek, gave a derisive snort, "Not lookin' at a few days in this apocalypse. Gon' be a few years, decades until it's safe to even go outside. How much food we got, anyway?"

Bright Bean, sitting at the back with a stack of papers on her lap, sighed, "We resupplied to standard duty levels two days ago. Those stores are meant to last for around ninety days."

"We shall institute closer rationing then," Azure pursed her lips, "Post guards to supervise the cooks. Ensure ponies eat no more than their fair share. No reducing of rations yet, I don't think our morale would survive that measure at this point. We just have to make sure nopony overeats as a response to the stress."

The Captains on the video screens nodded, looking downwards to scratch away at their notepads.

Azure licked her lips, "And... on Nightmare Night, we should serve the party treats as usual. We are in peacetime now, after all."

Bright Bean let out a slightly amused snort, but otherwise the room remained silent.

"Commander Lightning Bringer?" Azure said, looking towards the pegasus in the MoA uniform, "As our head of Operations, what is your opinion on how long we need to keep our shields up before the threat of attack diminishes?"

Lightning Bringer frowned, "There's going to be no time that we're completely safe. There's always the chance of a holdout somewhere with balefire strike capability finding us and launching. On my own advice, I say we wait until we stop observing detonations on the mainland before dropping the shield. We can keep our scout plane up, to look for any incoming bogeys. Their sensor range should give us the warning necessary to raise our shields in time."

Azure nodded, "We will wait until we either stop observing detonations or until the shield projector reaches a concerning heat level. When we lower the shields, we will call off General Quarters and recall the fighters. The only patrols will be the scout aircraft, in order to preserve our fuel reserves."

More nods from the officers and commanders.

The admiral reached up and adjusted her tie, swallowing another lump in her throat as she raised her chin, "Ladies and gentlecolts, officers of the 28th Squadron, we face a nigh-insurmountable challenge. One that we must tackle alone, one that may seem completely impossible from our current position, deprived of information and direction. We must not focus on the big picture at this point in time, not until our specialists can gain more insight into the situation.

"Instead, we must tackle each challenge as they come. Our greatest challenge at this point in time is morale, both among the crew and..." a pause as her head bowed, retreating from its noble stance, "...Ourselves."

Captain Anchor frowned, his eyes averting towards the ground. Officers looked at each other. Lips drew into lines. Some heads nodded, most simply dipped.

"We all had family back home. Family we may never see again. We have lost our country, which I know we all patriotically and loyally served until its end. It will be a long time until we can come to terms with that, I believe. All of us will grieve, all of us will weep, all of us will feel weak."

Azure raised her head again, widening her stance and stiffening up into a militaristic posture once more, "Yet, our duty still continues. The enlisted pony will look to their superiors during these times. As their betters, if we show weakness - they too will be weak. If we flinch, they will flinch. If we fear, they will fear. If we give up, so will they. We must keep our grief to our cabins, and stand as one side by side on the quarterdeck. As it has always been, when the order to jump is given, we shall jump, when the order to fight is given, we shall fight. Today, we stand untouched, at full combat readiness, and with the option of victory. The moment the crew of this fleet give up, that is the moment of defeat!

"Though we may be on the far side of the world and Equestria may lay in ashes, we still carry Her spirit within us, her values, her victory. This fleet is Equestria. We are her statesponies. We are her ministries. She carries on to the end of this war in victory as long as her colors billow behind us. Let it never be said that Equestria went quietly into this darkest night!"

Azure raised a hoof into the air, "Three cheers! Hip hip!"

"Huzzah!" the officers echoed.

"Hip hip!" Azure repeated.

"Huzzah!"

"Hip hip!"

"HUZZAH!"

Chapter 5: Fallout

October 30, 1007 - Mission Day 20

Just as Lightning Bringer had predicted, just hours after the meeting had concluded, a huge sheet of clouds rolled out over the distant mainland. Wind picked up and waves rose to levels where even the Indefatigable began to sway slightly. The sun disappeared, and so did the flashes of light on the horizon. For only a moment, one could see the stars above the ship, before they too were blotted out. The escort destroyers disappeared as well, the formation opening up as they sailed off to a safe distance, disappearing over the horizon. The ship's shields were deactivated shortly after and battlestations ended along with it.

The sortied airplanes came back to land that night. As soon as they were lowered back into the hangar, the flight crew and the recon pegasi returned back below deck. The hatches to the weather deck were padlocked shut soon afterwards. Rangers watched the stairwells leading up into the superstructure, both to prevent crew from going outside and from anypony reaching the bridges.

Engines were reduced to a quarter power, to conserve the destroyer's fuel. As they had observed their original destination getting struck with a balefire bomb, they instead sought towards an uninhabited sandbar back east, towards the mainland. There, they could anchor and wait for their next move.

The next day, ash began to drift down from the sky. Falling with the westerly wind, now pushing over the bow, dust plastered the vessel's flight deck and superstructure. An alarm in the command centers blared, warning about dangerous radiation levels on the weather decks. All the crew could do was silence them and activate wipers, brushing the thick, pasty substance off of the windows to maintain visibility.

The sky grew an angry green overhead. The temperature skyrocketed, to the point where touching the plating where the secondary hull met the interior compartments could scald the hoof. The air intakes were temporarily sealed as Ship Right's team worked double watches to assemble contaminant filters down in the ship's workshops and install them in the ventilation systems. Stale, generated oxygen flowed from room to room, kept only barely livable by a labored air conditioning system.

Nowhere was the temperature more insufferable than the kitchen. Stoves sizzling, ovens humming, and fryers bubbling made the air sweltering. To compensate for this, there was laxity offered on how much one needed to wear to work. Most took off their uniforms completely, save their mane and tail nets.

Ivory Heart showed up in full uniform, and though it was now completely soaked through with sweat, every stripe he showed in public gnawed into the back of his mind. His knife came down on carrot after carrot, for the night's casserole.

Members of the ship's military police watched from the corners of the kitchen, charged with ensuring the cooks weren't sneaking snacks for themselves outside of their assigned rations. Every time Ivory looked away from his work, at least one of the officers was looking straight back at him.

Brush with the knife into the bin, pull out the next carrot.

"Hey, Stripe," came a voice from the other side of the counter.

His eyes travelled upwards. Who else could they be talking to?

A yellow earth pony stallion, in just his mane and tail net. A half-finished pot of mashed potatoes sat in front of him. He narrowed his eyes, "If you was a spy, would you tell us? Now that you gone ahead and blown up the world n'all."

Ivory didn't twitch, and simply looked back down at his chopping board. After a moment, he simply shrugged, "Would you tell me if you were a Ministry of Morale Officer, now that you've also gone ahead and blown up the world?"

"Hmmph," he nodded, pushing his masher back down into the pot of potatoes, "Guess das fair. De deck crew sayin' you guys still shot first."

Ivory shrugged, "Would not put it past them... the Zebras, that is. But I do not know, neither does the deck crew for sure, the only ponies on this ship who might know is the Admiral... or maybe the Captain."

"Where'd yous get that accent?" the stallion nodded towards him, looking inquisitively down his muzzle.

"Zebratown is in Canterlot, sir," Ivory grunted, looking up towards him tiredly, "A lot of ponies seem to forget that."

The earth pony took a knife, slicing through a brick of butter and dumping the half-melted bar into his bowl. Then, after grabbing a spoon, he began to mix, saying, "How'd yous end up with the Navy, den?"

Ivory chuckled, "If I'm gonna tell you my life story, I'm gonna at least need your name."

"Butter Apron," the stallion nodded, "Hows about you?"

"Ivory Heart," another swipe with his knife into the bin, "I was a law student. Passed the bar and scored a lucky job at a law firm in the upper city," he recited from memory with a heavy sigh, "I fell in love with one of the boss's daughters. She went back to college and got an education degree..." he trailed off for a moment, before finishing, "And she got that teaching job."

"So?" Butter raised an eyebrow.

"The teaching job was at a place called Luna's School for Gifted Unicorns," Ivory gave him a mirthless smile, finally looking up to make eye contact.

Butter pursed his lips, "My condolences."

"They banned Zebras from the Army. They never got rid of them from the Navy. Nopony cares about the Navy. I've been Cook's Mate ever since enlisting," Ivory finished, reaching to take another carrot from the bag before he nodded towards Butter again, "How long you been a Pink?"

Butter gave him a queer look, "I ain't a Pink."

"I have run into plenty of Pinks during my time, sir. Nopony other than the Pinks pay this much attention to me," Ivory shook his head, disappointed, "So, how long?"

"I. Ain't. A. Pink," Butter scowled, "I tries to avoid this war as long as possible. But then the money gets rough. So I go into the military into the place least likely to get me killed. Looks like I was right," he gave a bitter snort, grabbing a dishtowel hanging on a nearby pot handle and wiping his forehead.

"Sure," Ivory Heart sighed, wiping the edge of his knife on the side of the bin before grabbing yet another carrot, "Well, since you are not a Pink, I will exercise my right to remain silent."

"Oi! I'm just trying to be friendly," Butter frowned, "Didn't you hears the Captain? Gotta keep it light."

Ivory narrowed his eyes at him, before chuckling, "Look around you, buck. The world just ended, and we're in a giant coffin. Four thousand ponies aboard, much less food. What are we gonna do? Farm the flight deck? Even then, what's gonna be the point? No family, no country, no more world," he shook his head as he lofted his knife and wiggled its tip at him, "All that is left to do is to work up the courage to take a knife to the bathroom and get out easy."

Butter Apron's forehead furrowed, "What a ray of sunshine yous are."

"Yeah? Well what is your grand reason to keep going?" Ivory muttered, looking back down to his half-chopped carrot.

"I'd rather not dies bleeding like a pig while sitting on the shitter," Butter sneered, "Sides. What if things turn around? What if yous is wrong?"

"How would things turn around?" Ivory hissed, leaning forward as the tempo of his carrot-chopping increased, "Let us say we are not being served to the wardroom in cuts by the Gutsies by January. What are we gonna do then?"

Butter paused, eyeing the stations neighboring them, where a few quirked eyebrows and glances were being given towards them. With a snort, the stallion shook his head and said, "Maybe yous is right. Maybe we stand no chance. Right now, we stands a chance if we sticks together. If everypony thinks like yous, all we gonna do is mope. If wes mope, we got no chance at all."

Ivory stayed silent, staring at him for a moment as his hooves worked on autopilot, dicing his carrot, "I dunno. I am not entirely sure I can name anything ponies have done for me."

Butter paused, opening his mouth to say something. Before he could, though, Ivory let out a hiss as as his knife plunged straight into his misplaced left forehoof. Swearing, Ivory wrang out his hoof as blood quickly gushed from the open wound, which he instinctively brought to his mouth.

"Shit. Let's get yous to the aid station," Butter said, stepping back from his station, only to be waved off.

"I can walk there just fine, thank you," Ivory insisted, putting his hoof back on the ground and beginning to walk for the exit, limping all the way.

Butter hesitated, looking between his station and the limping zebra. Eventually, with a sigh, he moved back to his pot, muscles flexing as the spoon worked its way through the thick mash.

The next day, it was announced that Nightmare Night celebrations would proceed as usual. What counted as 'celebration' in the service was a dessert menu of pumpkin pie, a ration of traditional Nightmare Night candies, and ice cream.

Ice Slushee sighed as she spied the single slice of pie sitting on the mess hall platters, the plastic carved pumpkin filled with a hoofful of treats, and the pre-scooped paper plates of ice cream each pony was allowed. Sure, it was probably the normal amount one could get on a normal holiday in the service, but to see it so strictly rationed just made it feel more depressing than usual.

Carrying her platter on her back towards the corner of the hall, she arrived at the table always quickly claimed by the members of the 51st.

Sugar was uncharacteristically poking her pie with her plastic fork, not a single bite taken yet. Crystal Trail was eating steadily, although every swallow seemed labored. Shot Stack was staring into an opened bottle of Sparkle-Cola on his table, eyes blank. Radio Whistle was sipping from a bowl of ice cream soup, melted by the rising interior temperatures. Spear Bash was staring into her meal as ice cream melted on top of the slice of pumpkin pie. Pouncer Chase was eating slowly, a plastic covering over her mane and tail as a new dye job shone through. Hay Weave somehow had two servings of vegetable stew, though the absence of her pie probably explained it. Lead Syringe was examining his forkful of crisped hay strips under the light as if it was a bleeding artery. Waffle Cone looked nervously towards Spear Bash, before pushing his serving of pie towards her, only for it to be pushed back and his ears to fall immediately.

"Well we're all rays of sunshine tonight, aren't we?" Slushee muttered, placing her tray down and sitting down at the last remaining space at the table.

Pouncer rolled her eyes, "Shut up, Slushee."

"Eeyup," Hay Weave muttered.

Lead Syringe chuckled mirthlessly, "I'm certainly in the mood for sunshine. Unfortunately, there's no more of that up there."

Shot Stack leaned back into his chair, turning his bottle of Sparkle Cola around in his hoof, "You know, this was the third to last bottle in the machine? How many refills you think they got?"

Slushee snorted, "Really, Stack? Sparkle-Cola's what's getting you?"

"Yeah. Yeah it's what's getting to me," Shot Stack shook his head.

Slushee winced, looking around for a moment. The usual chatter that filled the mess hall was completely absent. From what bits and pieces of conversation she could hear, it was all about the end of the world. More of the same that they talked about yesterday, just said in lower voices and by fewer. Ears flattened, the clatter of cutlery was at a slow, steady tempo rather than sounding like a box of porcelain and silver being swung in the Dizzotron.

Looking back towards her teammates, Slushee set her jaw, "So, how are we getting out of this one?"

Shot Stack heaved a deep sigh. Crystal Trail looked up towards her. Ears flicked, but no other answer came.

Slushee faced the frogs her forehooves outwards, "C'mon, this all doesn't seem mighty fucking familiar to you all?" she squeaked her chair forward, tapping a right forehoof on the table, "Waffle Cone's dying in the foxhole? Spear's keeping his blood in by holding an artery shut? Lead Syringe is sewing Sarge's leg back on? 15% on our cells, less than fifty shots each? I just got a bullet casually sitting in my shoulder and Hay Weave's suit is covered in napalm and burning her to death?" she let her hoof fall back on the table with a punctuating thunk.

Radio Whistle added, "They got a whole division about to walk into fog traps behind us and we can't get the message through."

"We were fucked. Fifteen ways from Sunday," Slushee reinforced, "But Sarge tells us, as she's screaming in pain from her stump leg, that we aren't dead. That we got them on the ropes. Then she kicks Doc in the face with her own missing leg, and charges up over the side."

Lead Syringe chuckled, lowering his fork, "The heat from the flamethrower tank cauterized the wound."

"Then I tie Cone's own hoof to his neck and lift him on my back while he single-hoofs an MAS-102 laser rifle with busted hydraulic system and fifty KGs of steel plate weighing it down. With half the Zebra army on our tails, we reach that Vertibuck and extract, ride home to our medals, then go right back into the action as soon as Sarge got her new leg," Slushee slapped the tabletop again, "Shit. I knew what we were all thinking to ourselves: "We're just normal ponies with fancy armor, we're gonna die out there". But we didn't."

She leaned back in her seat, glancing between her squadmates before shrugging, "I don't see why it's different now. I certainly can't fucking see a way outta here, but we're all giving up already. Are we just so badass that if it doesn't involve getting limbs shot off by Stripes that it's a lost cause?"

"We're a team, always have been. Even if there's nobody left to write our obituaries, I don't want to give the world the pleasure of knowing we fucking lay down and gave up, 'specially after how many times the world's fucked us," she concluded.

Crystal Trail nodded slowly, "She's right. We're all suffering, but we're all family. I've done more for all of you than my ma ever did."

Shot Stack raised his Sparkle-Cola to his lips, taking a sip, before lowering it and saying, "Okay, team, what are we doing then? Sitting on our hooves until we starve?"

"We're doing what we're ordered by the chain of command," Crystal Trail said, giving him a sharp look, "I won't take talk of insubordination, even after the apocalypse, private."

Shot Stack chuckled, raising his bottle again, "Yes ma'am."

Slushee nodded, satisfied as she saw the rest of her squad finally begin to dig in with a bit more enthusiasm. Picking up her own fork and rooting through her own meal for a first bite, she stuffed a single forkful into her mouth before the ship's speakers came live.

A whistle came through, starting low, going high, before going low again.

"Shit, don't tell me-" Hay Weave started.

DONG DONG DONG DONG DONG!

Wearily but without question, the 51st shoved back their chairs to get up. The entire mess hall leapt to their hooves as the general alarm flooded the ship. Soon after, the announcement came through.

"General quarters, general quarters! All hooves to your battlestations! Set condition one throughout the ship. Up and forward make your starboard side, down and aft make your port side! Reason for general quarters: Unknown airborne contact! General quarters, general quarters!"

Captain Anchor stormed onto the bridge, adjusting his cap, "What's going on? Missile?"

"No. Too big. Could be a dragon or maybe a cloudship. Eighty degrees off the port side," Calm Seas reported, "In our situation we couldn't be too sure."

"We're unable to get a proper target identification because of all this ash," the officer standing at the sensor station said over his shoulder, before looking back to the instruments.

"Constellation is reporting a similar RADAR signal but is unable to acquire a visual or IDENT," the radio operator added.

"Mhm," Anchor grunted, picking up a pair of binoculars and going up to the windows. The wipers worked furiously, but a thick layer of black ash constantly flurried from the sky, "Zero fucking visibility," he spat, before looking over his shoulder at Ship Right, "Shields?"

"They're being primed now, sir," Ship Right nodded.

Summer Fruit ran back to her station as the general alarm blared, forsaking her mug inside of the coffee maker. One of the two seats in front of the grid terminal was occupied by her junior technician, whose hooves flew across the controls.

"Full power?" Summer quickly asked, landing back into her seat and putting on her headset.

"Full power, yes ma'am!" she answered with a rapid nod.

The Scope - a rounded screen in the middle of the control terminal, showed the wavelengths of the main filament harmonics - the conduit through which magical energy was pushed and transmutated into the desired spells. A long, blue wave pulsed slowly, a purple wave oscillated rapidly, and a red wave below it being the middle of the two. Numbers flicked up rapidly alongside the scope, showing the primary generators for the Sunrise Shield System powering up.

The microphone on her headset was flicked down and a button near her right ear was depressed, "Spark Harmonics to Bridge, shield is powering now. Systems nominal," Summer reported.

"Affirmative, Spark Harmonics," came Ship Right's voice over the headset.

"Uhh, Summer?" her junior suddenly piped up, "We have an oscillating power spike on the stage 2 emitters."

Summer's eyes followed hers up towards a screen showing the individual capacitors for each section of the Sunrise projector. A red light flashed next to one of the values as it moved past its safe limit. Reaching for her headset again, she advised her junior, "Pop the breaker on that one. Might just be a short."

Dutifully, the technician reached up and pressed a button next to it as Summer reported, "Harmonics to Bridge. Unidentified power fluctuations. Bootup proceeding..." her words died in her mouth as her forehead wrinkled.

Her eyes darted around the displays. A Hearth's Warming Tree's worth of red lights suddenly flashed on next to the system capacitors. A master alarm began to blare on her console, next to another buzzing alarm warning about an overvolt.

"We are experiencing a cascading overvolt, standby," Summer said, releasing her headset and rapidly typing at her computer. Giving a single glance towards her junior, she hissed, "What the FUCK did you do?"

"I pressed the button and then everything spiked!" the mare said, wide eyes glancing around as power levels continued to climb, "Is it a short?"

"In every single array at once?" Summer shook her head, before reaching up and pressing her headset switch, "Harmonics to Bridge. Advising immediate shutdown. We have an uncontrolled spike in all arrays."

"Across all arrays? We can't shut down now, they're right on top of us!"

"This could seriously damage the whole projector, sir! Not just a few arrays, the whole smack!" Summer shouted, her horn glowing as she rapidly inputted instructions for her terminal to map the state of the shield projector. Work the problem.

"Five thousand gigathaums!" the junior said, watching the numbers continuing to climb.

"Harmonics is advising an immediate shutdown of the Sunrise," Ship Right suddenly spoke up from his station, "There's an ongoing fault that is threatening the stability of the entire system."

"Permission denied, that contact could be carrying a Balefire Bomb for all we know! Tell them to work the problem, I'd rather risk the projector than the ship," Anchor gritted his teeth.

"Could this be a caution and warning failure, Harmonics?"

Summer shook her head, despite the fact that Ship Right couldn't see her gesture. Her terminal whirred as it began to display a 3D model of the ship, with a bubble grid around it. Like it had been since they changed the array settings, two secondary fields, both shaped like interlocking pyramids, helped channel energy from the main projector into the actual shield bubble. However, for some reason, the bubble wasn't receiving power.

"Ten thousand gigathaums!" came another warning.

"Harmonics to Bridge, I once again advise an emergency shutdown of the Sunrise!" Summer repeated, heart thundering in her ears.

"What's causing the problem?"

"Unknown!" Summer practically screamed, moving to her second terminal and began punching in queries directly to the Sunrise maneframe.

"Fifteen thousand gigathaums!"

The lights began to flicker above. A red alarm light began to cycle at the back of the room. Technicians from other stations began to flood around, leaning over her seat as she worked.

"It's not a short. It's not a shield configuration error. Power is rising within the chamber and not being discharged into the primary hardlight layer..." Summer muttered to herself.

"Harmonics, do we have a workable solution at this time!?"

"Captain! Thermal signature detected!" the infrared signals officer bellowed, "Congruent with a missile launch!"

"Canvassing that signature!" the defense grid operator shouted in return. Outside, pink flashes of light came from the laser turrets, aimed skywards.

"Where is our shields, Mr Right!?" Anchor whirled.

Ship Right swallowed as an alarm began to blare from the sensor center. She looked down to her own instruments as warnings about overvoltage in the Sunrise emitter met her eyes as well.

"Twenty thousand!" the junior technician screamed.

Summer blinked, before grabbing at her headset again, "The fault may be a depolarization of the director matri!. I can try to re-magnetize the primary impulsor, but it's really really really super not designed to do that during live operation!"

"Do it! We have a missile launch! Now now!"

Summer hammered in the command into the terminal. Her magic smashed the 'ENTER' key. There was no further query from the maneframe as it executed her orders.

In the Sunrise chamber, supercapacity gemstones glowed a blinding white. The steel cladding of the chamber walls melted in great circles around each gemstone. The energy inside, desperate to escape, arced to other gemstones, to the walls of the chamber, and into the electric lamps hanging above - which exploded in a shower of sparks. At the center of the projector, directly in the middle of the Indefatigable, a huge thaumomagnet directed the naturally chaotic aetheric energies.

Responding to the maneframe's task, two huge energizer rods mounted to either side of the thaumomagnet arced purple energy into it, switching the polarity of the Sunrise Projector.

All at once, every capacitor instantly discharged. Lightning flashed across the hull of the ship and into the eyes of the bridge crew. Aboard the HMS Victory, Hoof, Constellation, and Seaward Shoals, the Indefatigable disappeared by the next time their RADAR dishes swept towards its last known position.

Author's Note

I do not apologize for the egregious amounts of technobabble :p

Chapter 6: 7.14 Years a Day

October 31, 1077 - Mission Day 22

Afterimages were burned into the eyes of the bridge crew as the lightning danced across the outer hull and over the windows of the bridge. Power flickered, the lights overhead blinking rapidly as indicators on instruments and readouts warbled and waned. An incessant screeching came over the radio, causing its operator to rip off her headset in pain. Sparks covered the outside of the ship to the point where the windshield glowed a pure white, with the crew ducking and shielding their eyes as the searing light threatened to take their vision.

Then, all at once, it stopped.

With a clap of thunder, the lightning retreated from the windshield. The lights blinked a few more times before finally brightening to their full power. A series of beeps came from banks of terminals and instruments as they booted back up.

Captain Anchor, despite being completely unable to see his hoof in front of his face, groaned and began to blindly pick himself up from the floor, "Eugh.. Status report."

"Did we get hit?" somepony else said, eyes fluttering rapidly as they peeked back over the top of their station.

Ship Right, having been looking down at his scope before the flash, simply saw a picture of his terminal bathed in light burned into her eyes, that followed her vision wherever she looked. Wincing, she reached up for her headset, feeling up the side of her head after initially missing and pressing the microphone button, "Harmonics?"

"Harmonics, Bridge! All readouts at zero. We fucked her! Dangerous radiation levels in the Passage."

"Bridge, Damage Control. Status report," Ship Right groaned, raising her hoof in front of her face as she began to see a blurry shape form through the fading image. That was a relief, she couldn't afford to go blind at this point in her career. Hah!

"Fire and intense radiation in the Sunrise Passageway, we're suppressing the former and closed the shutters for the latter. We have temperature warnings on a bunch of exterior compartments, but no fires yet. All other systems green."

"Captain! Shields down, another burnout," Ship Right reported as she blinked again, the faint lights of her scope appearing in her vision, "Fire and radiation in the Sunrise Projector. High temperature in exterior compartments. No other damage detected."

The dark silhouette of the Captain staggering to his hooves moved in Ship Right's peripheral vision, him still clawing at his eyes. Barking, he ordered, "Sensors? Were we hit? Do we still have the contact?"

"Sorry sir! I can't see my scope!" came a voice in response.

How the Captain managed to find his way to it, Ship Right couldn't know, but the shape of the interphone levitating to the Captain's ear flew narrowly past her muzzle. Shouting into it, the Captain demanded, "Bridge, CIC. What are your sensors reading?"

As the Captain talked to the secondary command center, located inside the body of the ship, Ship Right's eyes finally felt like they were adjusting, the world fading into a muted blur from a completely opaque set of shadows. She cautiously peeked at the windshield, finding the ash still falling outside as usual. Wipers cut against the fallout clinging to the glass, glowing particulates covered the flight deck like fluorescent snow, and clouds scrolled endlessly overhead.

The Captain lowered his intraphone, looking over to the communications terminal, "Comms. Try raising the fleet from your station."

To her left, the radio operator reached down for her hanging headset, slipping it back on and flipping a few switches on her console. Depressing her microphone switch, she said, "Indefatigable, Constellation do you read?" a pause, "Indefatigable, Victory do you read?" another pause, "Indefatigable, Hoof do you read?" silence, "Indefatigable, Seaward Shoals do you read?" then, looking back towards the Captain, the operator shook her head, "I'm just getting garbled nonsense."

"We have nothing up here either, Admiral," the Captain said into the phone, "How about the sensors?"

Ship Right looked down at her board. Squinting at the light next to the radio mast, she eventually saw through her bad vision that the light was still on. Pulling open the retractable keyboard on her terminal, she began a diagnostics check. The data echoed the displays on the main board. Nothing was wrong, electrically. Her brow knitted.

"RADAR's gone soft up here, Captain," the sensors officer reported, tapping the screen of his RADAR scope with a hoof, before looking over to the square Eyes-Forward-Sparkle compass, "EFS is more of the same. Signatures are just appearing and disappearing all over the place. RADAR is just seeing nothing."

Captain Anchor looked towards Ship Right, "Anything wrong?"

"Everything's powered, no faults reported. I can reboot the system, but I'm not sure if that will help," Ship Right gave a shrug, "We'll be out for about thirty."

"Do it, we're blind anyway," Captain Anchor nodded, before looking back down to continue with his conversation with the Admiral.

Swallowing, Ship Right punched a series of buttons in sequence. Lights flicked off one by one. A timer was set for five minutes, the standard cooldown time for a system reboot. As soon as it expired, she flicked on the breakers for every system, and scrolls of code appeared on screens as they bootstrapped.

At some point as the sensors rebooted, the radio operator turned on the speakers for the Captain to hear. Garbled voices came through in tinny tones, with single syllables and half-words spoken like one of those sham ghost detectors. Tiny fragments of music, tones, Mares Code, and static interspersed between them. Ship Right squinted over at the selected radio channel, only to find it was on the same one. While her experience with radio technology was only theoretical, she couldn't for the life of her imagine a situation where such an output could be explained by a technical fault.

Crew moved to operate the spotlights on the flight deck. They blasted into the storm of ash into the relative positions of the escort ships, attempting to regain contact as sensors finished restarting.

This time, Ship Right got up from his desk to stroll over to the sensor wing. Standing just behind the Captain and craning his neck, she watched as the data feed connected back to the sensor officer's scopes. The RADAR's sweeping line connected first, sailing clear around the scope without a single object reflecting a single ping back. The weather RADAR, despite there most definitely being weather systems above, did more of the same, as if it was a clear day for the next thousand miles. EFS sparked and glitched, red and yellow pings appearing and disappearing from the compass in a nonsense pattern. Not even their own scout plane that they had launched a few hours before appeared on the RADAR.

The Captain bit his lip, looking back to Ship Right with a raised eyebrow. Ship Right could only give him a somber look, before looking back to their nonfunctioning sensors with a whispered, "Fuck."

Ivory Heart exited the kitchen with a sigh. Over the past couple of days, the oppressive heat that had been creeping in since the explosions had retreated. While apparently puzzling to the ship's specialists, he certainly didn't mind not sweating to the point of exhaustion every watch.

The corridors hit a T-junction. The left was his usual path to his berth, but the bulkhead at the end of the hall had been sealed shut. A padlock sat on its handle, with a paper note taped to it warning about the radiation lurking beyond. It had been that way ever since the shield projector had blown up two days ago. To the right was a longer way around to the berths, which was just as fine with him. He had a few things to think about.

It was almost a week now since the world had blown up. Most of the crew had simply taken to pretending like nothing was wrong, that the world hadn't ended. He had to admit to doing the same, it was why he had delayed for so long.

They'd stopped telling even the cooks how much food was left. Nopony could go into the pantries aside from the officers and the masters-at-arms.

What definitely caused the most disquiet in him, what was whispered about the most in berths and in the messes was the power surge. There was word that the ship's sensors had gone deaf, and that they'd lost track of the destroyers. That they were truly alone now, that there wasn't any remnants of Command coming to help them.

That's really what made Ivory's mind up. It was just unfortunate that there was a line at the kitchen's bathroom.

After taking another turn, he spied the stairwell leading down to the deck below, where the berths were. However, he paused as he spied three ponies loitering right by the stairwell. Two earth ponies and a unicorn, all wearing a beige uniform. Instead of moving to wherever they were required to be, as sailors aboard usually did, these three stood right where they were.

His heart truly started to thunder when their eyes all locked onto him at once.

"Hey Mister," the unicorn said, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and tossing it onto the floor, "C'mere for a second."

The smuggled kitchen knife, sitting underneath the waist strap of his uniform weighed heavy on the zebra's back. Swallowing, Ivory took a step back, saying, "Hey, guys, I don't want any trouble."

"No trouble necessary," the unicorn shrugged as his horn lit up and a button swung out of his belt. A small whine filled the air as the aluminium rod of the beatstick telescoped outwards in one smooth motion. The two earth ponies, one yellow and one pink, began to stride towards him.

Ivory's hoof went for his knife, which yanked out of its hiding spot and cut a neat tear across the back of his shirt. Wielding the shining, steel tip at the approaching attackers, he shouted, "Stay back motherfucker, I'll cut you!"

Unfortunately, he saw the third earth pony to his left just a tad too late. She lunged at him before he could turn his knife-hoof towards her, smashing a baton into his neck and pushing him into the wall.

His lungs spasmed as electricity arced across his spine as his skull bounced back and collided with the cold steel behind him. A second blow came down on top of his head, the rod of the nightstick making a solid "TWONG" as it bounced off of his head, his vision exploding in sparks as a second stun ran straight into his heart.

Sputtering for breath, he looked up as the unicorn stood over him. His baton came down on top of the knife, lying on the floor next to him, before it was simply flicked away, "Smuggling weapons out of the kitchen? Are we planning a mutiny, sir?" the unicorn raised the baton and poked him in the muzzle, causing him to seize again with pain.

"Looks like we haven't won the war yet, Sergeant," the earth mare said, stepping back from Ivory's twitching body, "We didn't manage to blow this fucker up."

"Just... kill.. me... quickly..." Ivory panted.

"That'd be the equinitarian thing to do, sure. But the equinitarians done invented the megaspell too, and look where that's gotten us," one of the stallions-at-arms said.

The unicorn leaned over, reaching into his pocket and taking out a red plastic baggie. A biohazard symbol was printed on the front, and the contents glowed softly. He shook the contents in front of Ivory, "Balefire Fallout. Fresh from the flight deck lift. I heard the radiation treats the tender tissues of the body real ugly-like. Even if the medics try and treat you, you'll probably die pissing blood and vomiting up your stomach lining, just like all the little fillies and colts showing up for class back home," he took a moment to grin at Ivory's horrified look, before nodding towards his lackeys, "Hold him down," the sergeant ordered as his magic began to undo the straps holding the bag closed.

Ivory's eyes widened as the earth mare and one of the stallions held his back firmly to the wall. The last remaining earth pony grabbed his jaw and wrenched it open, pinning his tongue to the floor of his mouth with a hoof. Muffled screams made their way around the lodged hoof as the bag came open.

Suddenly, the earth mare did a double take over her shoulder down the hallway, "Sarge!" she suddenly hissed.

Ivory's eyes followed hers towards a butter yellow earth stallion standing about 10 meters away down the hall. He still wore his apron and his mane and tail net. Most oddly, however, was his left sleeve - rolled up to make space for a military pattern PipBuck.

The sergeant waved him off, "This ain't any of your business, sir!"

Butter Apron looked around for a moment, before reaching for a fire extinguisher, mounted on the wall nearby, "Lettem go," he ordered, ripping the pin out of the handle.

The sergeant nodded towards the earth mare and the stallion holding Ivory's jaw, "Fuck him up."

She nodded, grabbing her stun baton from the floor and pushing it into her mouth. The other gave Ivory a smash to the back of the head before picking up his baton to do the same.

The mare took a single step towards Butter, inhaling to say something around the handle of her weapon, when suddenly Butter's PipBuck glowed.

In the blink of an eye, he appeared in front of her. In a swift, inequine motion, the fire extinguisher smashed her across the face with a solid "BONG!". Flung like a ragdoll, her skull bounced off of the corridor wall, leaving a bloody smear. She didn't get back up.

The stallion backpedalled as he braced to ward off Butter's incoming assault with his longer weapon. However, Butter simply fell to his haunches and depressed the lever of the extinguisher.

A torrent of foam and wind gushed out from the Class D extinguisher, quickly covering the stallion's face and chest. Globs of foam splashed onto Ivory as well, and fire bloomed in his left eye as a drop found its way inside. The wind from the extinguisher kicked up the opened packet of fallout. The sergeant coughed as a faceful of ash billowed out from the packet and into his mouth and nose.

Wasting no time as the foam-covered stallion staggered, Butter hurled the red can straight into his face, which bounced off it with enough force to hit the ceiling before tumbling back down.

The stallion holding back Ivory scrambled back, reaching for his belt and whipping out a revolver, "FREEF!" he ordered while one of his hooves picked up his baton.

However as soon as he had the revolver levelled, Butter was already behind the foamed, stunned stallion. With the click of a revolver's hammer, Butter drew his captive's service pistol and levelled it at him.

In a panic, the stallion-at arms got a single shot off, exploding through his friend's shoulder and into Butter, though all he got was a grunt out of the cook's mate.

Butter's PipBuck glowed again.

Ivory thought for sure Butter shot the stallion-at-arms right through the head, due to all the blood pouring from it after the echoes of the shot stopped ringing in his ears. However, as the stallion collapsed screaming and clutching his face, dropping a shattered revolver to the ground, he realized the truth; Butter had somehow managed to nail the revolver from right between his teeth.

His eyes travelled to the sergeant, face covered in glowing ash. He'd retrieved his revolver from his belt, and was in the process of raising it.

Scrabbling for one of the dropped stun batons, Ivory leapt at him, jamming the tip of the baton straight for the nearest part he could get at. This time, it happened to slide up towards the chin, causing the sergeant to give a choked scream as his magic fizzled. The revolver dropped to the ground. A kick pushed it as far away as possible.

Ivory looked back towards Butter, who lazily threw off the stallion he had been using an equine shield. Falling back down onto all fours, Butter winced as he felt up near his own shoulder, where a bullet wound had marked it. Though, rather than say anything, he simply spat out the stolen service pistol and immediately fell onto his face, placing his hooves over his head.

A moment of confusion flashed through Ivory's brain, before a bulb sparked on and he immediately threw the baton aside and did the same.

Not a moment later, the mechanical clunks of two, giant power armored ponies thundered down the stairwell. Ivory could practically feel the reticles of their battle saddles bore into the back of his head as a metal hoof grabbed his surrendering forelegs. Pinning them to his back, the sounds of more hooves approaching from behind him, these ones not covered in iron, was all he heard before the click of fetters around his legs.

For the first time in a full week since the bombs fell, the exterior hatches leading onto the flight deck squeaked open.

Ponies wearing bright yellow hazard suits, with silvery-white metal plates duct taped to their chests, helmets, and crotches, stepped out into the open. Floating out with them were three Mr Gutsies, their arms equipped with arc welders, torches, and precision grabbers. Some stayed to the back, pushing the bulkheads closed behind them as soon as the entire group was outside. PipBucks began to click rapidly, despite the RadSafe rushing through their veins and the ship's utmost attempts at keeping them insulated.

Some wondered the wisdom of sending up ponies in standard hazmat rather rather than in power armor, but hurried their step regardless. There was a break in the ash falling, for whatever reason. It was the best time to start clearing the fallout before it stacked up enough to inhibit airplanes taxiing

The ponies got to work immediately. The pegasi among them hefted themselves into the sky, despite the lead weights taped to their armor, flying up to the radio mast extending out from the carrier's superstructure. The Gutsies followed shortly after them.

The others, staying on the flight deck, got to work. Fire hoses were attached to specially-made valves, with attachments that looked like giant garden sprinklers. The hoses were strung out across the deck, covered in a fetlock-high layer of wildly radioactive ash.

As ponies on the roof of the superstructure hosed it off the gathered ash, others examined the sensor equipment along with the Gutsies. No damage whatsoever. The radar dish continued to spin, the EFS gem was still glowing and outputting the correct frequency. There was no visible structural or electrical damage to the antennae... in fact there was no sign of any damage from the supposed lightning that raced across the hull.

An earth pony waddled across the flight deck towards the firehose valves. Her breath echoed back into her ears through the helmet as the steady click of her PipBuck punctuated every whirr of her respirator. She raised a foreleg, taking a look at her health meter, red slowly rising up the bar with +8 RAD glowed red next to it.

Shaking her head, she simply hoped RadAway was as good as the Ministry of Peace claimed it was. Moving up to the firehose valve, she creaked it open, the sound of water filling the air as the hose connected to the spigot pressurized. Long plumes of water shot out of the rigged firehoses, washing down the deck. They stood there as the ash began to be washed out by water, diluting and forming muddy streams that flowed towards the edges of the flight deck.

A blast of cold wind blew across the deck, causing her to sigh. She checked her Pipbuck again and as the artificial rain continued to fall, so did the radiation damage number displayed on it.

Brooms were passed around. Steadily, they began to sweep away any puddles of fallout still sitting around. Diluted by water, the standing ash was much less dangerous. Still, she didn't dare take off her respirator, no matter how much effort it took to suck air through it, or how sweaty the lead-lined rubber suit got.

Thirty minutes of scrubbing later, and the job was almost done. The fire hose line for the makeshift wash-down system could be sealed from the inside, and opened whenever the ash kicked up again. She leaned up against the mop, looking down to one of her booted hooves, covered in subtly glowing, muddy slime. Some of it had even splashed onto her PipBuck, which clicked away. Her health was half filled with red. She felt nothing now, but she knew she'd feel something soon.

Something fell onto the back of her helmet.

She reached up, grabbing some sort of powder. Forehead crinkling, she narrowed her eyes as she looked down at a hooffull of glowing snow. Turning around and looking up, lightning struck overhead as glowing snowflakes fell from the heavens.

Chapter 8: 200 Years - The Phantom Ship

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."

Chapter 9: The Dead and Lost

November 27, 1277 - Mission Day 49

Clouds scrolled endlessly above Ice Slushee as she flew in formation, spaced out at 2 meters between wings. The Indefatigable grew smaller in her periphery, the carrier's form illuminated in blinding contrast to the low, blue night vision her power armor granted her. Without the contrast of its floodlights, she could take in the world much better as it spanned out beneath her.

Where massive skyscrapers starting from the ground and reaching all the way into the clouds had once loomed, instead a mountain of rubble had taken its place. The clouds that supported the Upper City had completely dissipated, replaced with a subtly glowing halo that rose from the ruins like an aurora. Chunks of concrete and steel debris, assumedly falling from above, had crashed into various sectors of the Las Pegasus downtown and suburbs; stretching out like a giant splatter of acid on a great, pony-made field.

There were some lights she could see from her position. Up the River Rush, lights dotted the bank and shone from an overhanging concrete boulevard. There were the lights from the old Navy base, which the Rangers were busy investigating while the 51st undertook its own mission. Other than that, one of the most brightly shining gems of the Equestrian Principality was dead, silent, dark.

Slushee tried her best to think of a joke, but the effort never left the recesses of her mind.

"Command, 51st. We are now above the LZ," Crystal Trail said, her voice linking across the radio channels to her squad and back to the ship, "Skies are empty, beginning approach."

Ice's eyes turned down to the ground directly below them as the squad banked to circle around it. It was one of Las Pegasus's famous, sandy beaches. Her memories of her multiple leaves at the resort city framed the beach with towels everywhere, umbrellas, volleyball courts, ponies swimming and splashing in the waves, with lifeguard towers in the back to frame it all. There was even a television program about heroic lifeguard rescues on this beach back in the day, which was why before the Great War was declared she had wanted to be a lifeguard.

Now, though, seaweed and driftwood coated the beach in great droves. Sickly, grey plant life choked out the beachfront villas and residences, whose shingled roofs were scorched black. Some of the lifeguard towers still stood, built to resist cyclones, but most of them had seemed to straight up collapse as their wooden struts had rotted through. However, most notably on the shore were the wrecks.

Shipwrecks, hundreds of them.

Most of them small yachts, rowboats, motorboats, fishing boats, you name it. Alongside them, though, were the wrecks of larger ships. Cast by the currents from the southern side of the bay, where the naval base and industrial dockyards were, were the more immense models - freighters, ferries, and the like. Most of them were beached and turned over by the waterline, but many were above it as well; a product of the waterline recession, if Ice had to make a guess. Rust covered their hulls and paint peeled back.

One specific wreck stood out amongst the wreck. Lying on her side, the outline of a cannon sitting on its bow, massive RADAR and sensor arrays along its superstructure and a name written on her side:

H.M.S. VICTORY

Just as she observed the ship's designation, her suit's automapping system pinned the location of the ship to her drive.

"Automap system has picked up her tag," Crystal Trail noted, "This is definitely her. It... looks like the wreck's been here for years, though."

"Affirmative. We can see that much through the video distortion. Any visible damage to the radio mast?"

Ice's eyes moved to the superstructure at that. It seemed as if several things were missing from the wreck. Several floodlights were missing, along with the utility crane on poopdeck. The bulk of several of the Honorguard LMIS had been disassembled, leaving just their blackened barrels to stare into the sky above.

Most notable of the damage to the wreck, though, was a large, gaping hole sheared down the side. The sides were clean, with no blowout. Not a high explosive blast and not enough jaggedness on the sides for an AP core. Likely a gout of dragon's breath.

"We're seeing several missing components from the deck out here, including the radio mast. Do you got eyes on that big hole in amidships? Looks like dragonfire," Crystal Trail reported.

"Yes we're tracking that. Doesn't explain all the corrosion damage on it and all the other wrecks. You're clear to access that wreck. Keep your eyes on your compass and remember your ROE, there may be survivors. As a reminder, your primary objective is to retrieve the ship's logs from the computer room. Secondarily, clear the wreck for any survivors."

"I love the Rules Of Engagement. Very tasty," Spear Bash whispered.

"Affirmative, Command," Crystal Trail said, ignoring her subordinate, "Making a landing approach now. Slushee, Stack, Bash, Cone, Chaser, land on the foredeck and make your way into the superstructure. The rest with me, we breach through the side."

"Yes ma'am. Fireteam, on me," Pounce Chaser said, rolling out of formation as the pegasi made their final approach to the shipwreck.

Slushee, along with the others on the second team, split off from the main formation. Crystal Trail's group swept under them, going for the gaping hole in the hull as the others alighted on the deck above. Their plated hooves clanked and crunched on the heavily corroded steel weather deck.

"Spooky," Shot Stack whispered as they formed up behind Pounce Chaser.

In the slightly scratchy, night vision feed of their helmets, there was indeed a sense of eeriness. The shipwreck was slightly tilted, at around 3 degrees of an angle. Items that had seemingly been left loose on the deck had slid all the way to the side, except for a few heavier examples, which stayed glued to the floor by a layer of gunk and slime. The ship's lifeboats seemingly had been deployed, as the cranes to carry them lay empty along the sides.

Catching Ice's eyes were rows of hoses along the railings and in the middle of the deck, fastened with special nozzles. She immediately piped up, "Looks like they rigged the same washdown system as us."

"Boats are gone too," Pounce noted, "They may have evacuated."

Pursing her lips, Ice stood at the center of the foredeck, just behind the ship's cannon, slowly turning in place. Above her, the smokestack for the coal engine had collapsed, the structure buried in the sand next to the wreck. Below the jagged remains of that stack was the bridge, the windows shattered inwards and empty. Stains of ash, dust, and burn marks pock-marked the rest of the plating with scars. Maybe acid rain or some sort of talisman-enhanced dragon attack could explain the corrosion, but the filth was definitely a product of neglect, and not just a month's worth of it either. She looked away with a frown.

Crystal Trail's voice came over the squadlink, "Celestia. This place is filthy. Command, this place looks like a Spark Station bathroom on a friday night. Maybe we can explain the corrosion, but this stuff looks like its been abandoned for decades."

"Noted. Corporal Slushee, can you pan your vision back towards the superstructure?" Command finally answered.

Ice looked back, up towards the bridge at first. She was told to look down, however, until her night vision finally illuminated a marking amongst the rust. Green spraypaint, sprayed over the bubbling, corroded steel around it. It was two words, one of them cut off by the angle she was looking at it from. She stepped closer, orbiting until she could see the whole message.

"Ghouls Within," she read aloud.

There was a moment of silence. Wind blew in from the sea over the deck, causing the liferaft cranes to clink and jangle, empty hooks hanging from ragged cables.

"What are they, trying to fuckin' scare us?" Spear Bash muttered.

Pounce Chaser, for her part, stepped forward past Ice towards a bulkhead in the side, "We're breaching here. Stack up. Shot, get ready to weld this thing open, I doubt the mechanism still works."

"Same down here. We've found an opened watertight door leading forward. We're moving to secure the computer room. I doubt anything on the bridge works, you ponies move to the CIC and try and see if any of the security systems are working down there," Crystal Trail said, "Stay frosty and light on those triggers."

"And keep your respirators on," Lead Syringe added, "Contracting some disease from this place would be a hell of a way to go after all this."

Ice took a look down to the bottom right of her HUD. A tiny symbol there told her that the internal pressure of her suit was stable. She took a reflexively deep breath at that.

The five pegasi on the topdeck stacked up by the door. Pounce Chaser grabbed the handle, only for the lever to pop off with a crunch. Stepping back, she nodded towards Shot Stack, who moved forward and reached for his battle saddle. Procuring a long tool with a wide enough handle for a hoof to fit through, attached to his back by a rubber hose, he aimed at the two hinges holding the bulkhead to the wall.

"Flash warning," Shot Stack muttered. With a mental command, Ice shut off her night vision. The world went dark for a moment.

A loud fizzling filled the air as a the plasma cutter made quick work of the corroded hinges. While the night vision's flash protection could mute out the light from a laser rifle, it was dangerous around bigger things - like explosions and metal-vaporizing cutter tools. With a single hoof, Pounce Chaser kept the door from falling over as Shot Stack finished off and holstered his tools.

The world ignited again in a blue hue as Shot Stack resumed his position in the door breaching order, Chaser stepping back to let gravity do the work. With a loud, shuddering 'THUNK', the bulkhead fell to the floor, sending dust and flakes of rust shooting down from it. Laser Rifles popped out of battle saddles as they moved in, Pounce Chaser leading the way.

On the left side of Waffle Cone's battle saddle, there was a mechanical click as the barrels of one of his laser rifles cycled to a different type - a laser diffuser.

"Scatter Laser?" Spear Bash muttered, "Really?"

"I like to keep it for close quarters engagements," while Waffle's face wasn't visible past his respirator, Ice knew he was grinning.

The team made it to a fork. The hallway branched to the left and right, with a stairwell just around the corner leading up into the superstructure and down into the lower decks. The bulkhead had already fallen off its hinges, resting on the opposite wall. A tiny, skittering insect shot by, squeezing underneath the metal slab for shelter as the pegasi moved in.

"Squad. We're seeing bodies down here. Skeletons in Navy uniforms. They've been looted, too," Crystal Trail reported from below.

"Fuck. Command, do you have any idea what the hell's going on down here?" Hay Weave's voice came through.

"Standby, 51. New information is coming through from the Rangers at Cracked Clam. We'll advise as soon as we can."

Pounce Chaser suddenly stopped, the telltale raise in her rifles making the rest of the squad pause behind her, "Red Contacts! Bearing northwest on my compass."

"I'm seeing that too, Pounce," Waffle said.

Ice looked down towards her EFS compass. A single red dot had appeared on it, the only thing her own system could read. Her guns followed her eyes back up as she looked to where the heading pointed - towards a wall. She hated when EFS detected things that she couldn't see.

"51, be advised, in light of new information we have reason to believe that there may be hostile elements aboard that ship. The situation has not changed, complete your objectives and extract back to the Indefatigable for debriefing."

"Not fucking ominous at all," Shot Stack muttered from the back of the group.

Switching to her speakers, Pounce bellowed down the hall towards the red ping, "This is the Equestrian Armed Forces! We are clearing this wreck for survivors! Drop your weapons and lie down on the ground with your hooves over your head, or else we may have to assume you are hostile!"

Her amplified voice echoed through the ship, causing Ice's ears to flatten. For a moment, she thought she heard something scratching, shuffling through the walls. The red dot did not turn yellow.

Back on squadlink, Pounce nodded towards Ice, "Drop a beacon here. CIC's on deck three. Waffle, take point," a pause, "Since you love that scatter laser so much."

"Yes ma'am..." Waffle muttered nervously.

Ice reached for her crossbelt, taking out a small, saucer-shaped disc and placing it on a wall. It beeped and on her HUD a bar appeared. Waving a hoof in front of the beacon, the bar turned red. Giving a satisfied nod to herself, she followed as her team began to mount the stairwell.

"We have contacts down here as well, team two," Crystal Trail piped up over squadlink, "Around fifteen."

"What the fuck is that?" Radio Whistle suddenly said, "Sarge? You seeing this corpse? Looks like a zombie."

"There's more of 'em down here," Sugar Beach whispered, "They look like their skin was burnt off... holy shit. Those are Navy uniforms."

Ice took a look behind her towards Spear Bash. She couldn't see much behind the other mare's faceplate, but by the way her heavy Gatling Lasers followed her eyes she knew she was just as nervous.

A faded, rusted sign hanging over a nearby bulkhead read 'Deck Three', the team dismounting the stairs and heading through, checking corners with sweeps of their softly glowing laser rifles. Further navigational aids pointed towards the ship's armory, a berthing deck, sickbay, and most importantly the Command and Information Center. More and more pings appeared on the compass, exponentially increasing Ice's heart rate.

"Pings are spread around. We're fucking surrounded. Command, do we have any intel on what the hell we're looking at here?" Pounce demanded.

"We have no intel at this time. Exercise maximum caution."

"Maximum caution my plot," Pounce muttered in response, a rare talkback coming from the second most senior member of the squad, "Reading around twenty pings on my end. No yellows."

Shot Stack turned around, walking backwards as he took up the squad's rear, vision constantly moving around towards every passing bulkhead and crevice. Battle Saddles panned to face every entrance as the squad passed by, Ice's ears twitching constantly as her heart thundered. Up ahead, Waffle's scatter laser jiggled constantly, the arm holding the saddle mirroring its user's eyes twitching as he lead up the front.

They turned a corner, the CIC being just a few hallways away, when they encountered a corpse. It... was a yellow earth stallion, his body in the process of desiccation. He wore a ragged boiler suit, not the type that was standard Navy issue either. On his head, a Buckball helmet had been bashed in, the metal visor dented inwards by some great force to the point where it had punched a hole in his skull. His flesh was mostly missing from the bone, pools of long-darkened blood trailing across the rust below him. Ice swallowed a gout of rising bile in her throat as she saw bite marks across his carcass. She'd seen a lot throughout the War, but she'd never seen cannibalism.

"Got a body. Looks a good few weeks old... though it's hard to tell, seems to have been cannibalized," Pouncer muttered, approaching it carefully as Waffle stepped forward past her to scan the adjacent hallway, "Doesn't look like Navy... don't even think we had Buckball gear on our ships," Pouncer scooped up the shotgun from the floor, opening the lock and peering inside, "One shell left. This thing's a civilian firearm. This can't have come from the ship's armory."

"CONTACT!" Waffle suddenly shouted, nearly making Ice jump out of her own skin.

Ice's eyes, along with those around her, moved up to follow Waffle's. At the end of the hallway, a pony walked towards them... though it was more like shambled. If it had moved in any faster, Ice might've not had the discipline to hold her fire. The uniform of a Junior Officer hung to its form in rags. A red dot followed the figure as it approached, an ominous clicking sound emanating from its every step, as if it was wearing metal taps on his hooves.

That was when she looked down, seeing that the pony had no hooves. Just chew marks around its fetlocks and boney protrusions sticking out from under them. The team froze, all weapons trained on it.

"Sir..?" Pouncer said through her speakers.

Its mouth parted, showing cracked, bloodied teeth. Its white, milky eyes focused right on them as it howled, filling the air with an inequine screech.

It leapt at Waffle, whose scatter laser blasted a split second later, turning the creature's head into ash.

Before the first's body even hit the floor, Shot Stack screamed as something else impacted him, sending him smashing forward into Ice. Whipping around, she brought her lasers to bear on the form of a sailor, flesh bubbling from burns that should have been lethal, trying its best to gnaw through the ballistic fiber protecting Shot's neck. An open door sat to Shot's right, where it had likely came from.

"WEAPONS FREE! IF IT'S RED, IT'S DEAD!" Pouncer screamed. No sooner was the command given did Ice activate her SATS.

The world slowed as the targeting system designated the limbs of the zombpony in front of her. Recognizing an IFF tag on the sailor's uniform, a name read on her HUD: 'Seapony First Class Leaf Blower'.

She queued up six blasts to the torso and let loose.

A hail of blaster fire perforated the monster's torso. Bones were exposed as pink laser pulses vaporized flesh and organ. Wrapping his forehooves around its neck, Shot Stack wrenched the monster free, where it bounced off the deck and scattered for a few meters, pouring blood from six, clean holes in its flesh.

Ice's eyes widened as it got back up.

Her laser rifles hissed as two more pulses of pink blasted into its skull, manually aimed. Finally, the sailor went down.

Only for three more to thunder around the hallway behind him.

Spark cells cycled through a belt fed system on her back as Ice began to feather her triggers, a meter on the right side of her HUD warning as temperature inside the rifles' heat sinks rose sharply. A few went down, only for five more to fall in right behind them from around the corner!

A hoof landed on her left shoulder and pushed her out of the way. Stepping up, Spear Bash's gatling laser began to whine as it spooled, before a hail of flashes lashed out towards the enemy. Her laughter was only barely audible over the chatter on the radio as the encroaching horde was quickly turned to ash.

"Team two, report!" Crystal Trail shouted.

"Contacts, south hall!" Pounce shouted as more lasers pulsed from behind Ice.

"Contacts east! East hall!" Waffle added in.

"I'm good, I'm good!" Shot Stack shouted, hauling himself up to his hooves, "Didn't get through the fiber!"

Ice turned towards Pouncer and Waffle, whose battle saddles flashed in unison. Three more were turned to piles of glowing powder on the floor, while two went down as blasts sawed a hole straight across their torso. A few more jumped over their corpses, only from combined fire from Pouncer, Waffle, and now Ice's saddles brought them down in quick fashion.

"Hold fire!" Pouncer ordered as the deathly howls of the creatures finally went silent. Laser rifles hissed as their sinks were cooled down.

"I repeat! Team two, report!" Crystal Trail shouted over the radio.

Taking a deep breath, Pouncer reported, "We're alright. We got attacked by something, the fucking undead, I don't know. They were like walking corpses. All of 'em were in sailors and officer's uniforms."

Spear Bash walked over towards one of the downed zombies, kicking its body with a hoof. Grunting, she noted, "'Least they seem just as vulnerable to energy weapons."

"51, Command. We now have much less reason to believe there are survivors aboard. Proceed with caution and clear the area, your objectives remain the same."

"Yeah, sure! I can fucking take a Stripe hopped up on fifteen different chems but zombies? Nopony fucking told me there would be zombies!" Shot Stack growled, removing his forehoof from a frayed part of the weave covering his neck. According to Ice's squadlink, there was no breach in his suit's pressure seal, but still...

"Shot Stack was bitten, maybe we should just put him down before he turns on us," Ice sniggered as she poked the stallion in the shoulder. He gave her a hard look, before shaking his head and moving up with the rest of the team.

"Keep the yapping for the debriefing, squad. Eyes on the objective. Keep moving, now you know what you're looking out for," Crystal Trail ordered.

"Yeah, yeah, just tell us if your dick falls off, Shot," Spear Bash said, a wisp of steam trailing off the end of her gatling laser.

As they progressed through the wreck, more of the zombies showed up. Indeed, as they went on Ice found herself calming down more and more. None of them were a match for their weapons, neither for their armor plating or stingers if they managed to get close enough. The natural military instinct to fire for the center of the mass was foregone as it turned out they seemed to fall much faster to blasts to the head.

On the other side of the ship, as Crystal Trail's half of the squad forged forward, they too had their fright and comms chatter as they blasted apart a herd of zombies that jumped at them from the cargo bay. Reports from down below were the disturbing - the cargo bay doors had been barricaded shut from the inside and the deck hatch had been welded shut. The food supplies had been completely eaten up, along with the coal and spark cells.

Still, command urged them onwards. Ice, and a few of her other squaddies she believed, subtly hated being in radio contact with the mothership. Sure, it meant cool stuff like being able to call in airstrikes and for cover when shit inevitably hit the fan, but it also just made her feel like that Career mare Lightning Bringer was constantly squatting on a raincloud overhead, ready to piss.

The bulkhead into the Command and Information Center had been locked shut from the inside... with the frame also rusted to the door itself. Another quick weld through aging hinges and the door fell away, revealing a relatively large compartment.

Dusty, crusty terminals ran along its length. Chairs sat at sporadic points throughout the center, upholstery worn and cushions filthy. Ice paused as her eyes ran across the skeletons occupying some of the seats.

Seemingly mostly held together by their uniforms, the skeletons gaped up towards the ceiling, jaws strung with cobwebs and debris. Hollow eye sockets stared back at the team as they cleared the room, illuminated by the night vision glow.

"Area secure. Spear Bash, Waffle, watch the door. Ice, see if you can get any of this shit to work," Pounce reported.

Ice walked to the head of the room, eying up the skeletons as she passed by, "These guys must be the ship's entire officer corps. How come none of them zombified?"

Shot Stack kicked at something on the floor next to one of the bodies, "I think I know the reason," he said. At his hooves, ten rusty, tiny syringes sat on the floor. The text on the sides were indecipherable, but any soldier worth their salt knew what those syringes were for.

"Med-X. Suicide dose," Pounce muttered, looking between the consoles to similar piles next to the others, "Looks like they took the easy way out."

Ice frowned, arriving at the master terminal at the far back of the room. A Captain's uniform lay slung around the skeleton of the pony sitting at the station. His cap sat on the desk in front of him, next to a pile of empty syringes and a heavy revolver. An Ironshod .44 magnum, if she had to guess. Sitting below the desk was a sword, a golden hilt imbedded in a sheath. The symbol of the station of a commissioned officer.

"Captain Sea Leg. Poor fucker. It's always when they've got a good retirement coming up," Shot Stack sighed.

"I'm moving the Captain's body to gain access to the control terminal," Ice reported, before, as delicately as she could, she hefted the skeleton out of its chair and laid it down onto the floor next to it. Despite her effort, a pelvic bone still snapped out place and the body fell in half.

Shot gave her a comforting 'you tried' shrug.

"Just plug in the spark cell, will you?" Ice grunted, hoisting herself up onto the chair. She reached over to the revolver sitting on the desk, placing it in a pocket. Unlike a lot of things around it, it was in good condition - weapons were enchanted to resist the weather like that.

Procuring a glowing, pink energy cell from his big bag of tools, Shot accessed a nearby junction box. A few wires sparked as they were plugged in, power coursing into the room soon after.

Despite all the odds, one of the ceiling lamps, fallen down and partially resting on top of a terminal rack, blinked to life, completely washing out night vision with a harsh fluorescent buzz. Instinctively squeezing her eyes shut and deactivating the aid, the world returned back to normal light levels as the terminal screen in front of her began to glow green.

Drawing out the access wire from her suit's onboard PipBuck, she inputted a few codes into the system and was granted access. Placing her forehooves on the keys, she began to navigate towards the crew function, where the IFF tags of all those aboard could be tracked locally.

"51, we have a new objective for you."

Not looking away from her work, Ice scowled. There came the rain.

"Go ahead, Command," Crystal responded.

"Once you've retrieved the recorders from the computer room and team two has the IFF scanner accessed...."

"Almost there already, ma'am," Ice grunted.

"In the computer room now," Hay Weave added.

"We need you to retrieve a few of the zombie bodies from the ship and prep them for extraction. Also, we need at least one living one restrained for transport."

"Command, please come again. You want us to restrain one of the zombies?" Crystal asked.

"Yes. Medical wants to see if there's any way to treat them. A 'Buck will be on its way to airlift those bodies as soon as they're out on the deck. They'll drop a stretcher and some cuffs. Just tie one down to it, I'm sure your power armor has enough strength to keep them pinned until you can."

"With all due respect, ma'am, have you ever seen a zombie movie in your entire life?" Shot Stack said, disbelievingly, "You know in movies like that, the military guys that brought the zombies into the safe haven usually get eaten eventually, right!?"

Queuing up the download of the IFF data, Ice grinned and remarked, "They used to, until the MoI decided that showing the military getting eaten was unpatriotic."

Radio Whistle immediately chimed in over squadlink, "It is. We can totally take out zombies, look at what we just did-"

"Clear comms. 51, is your objective clear?"

"Yes ma'am," Crystal Trail affirmed, "We just got the recorders now. They look mostly intact, somepony stripped most of the wiring out of the computers though."

"Got the IFF data too," Ice Slushee reported, "Stowed and ready. Sharing it now."

As soon as she said that, ten pings appeared and stabilized on her compass.

"Rendevous on the foredeck. Pick up some bodies on your way up. Shot Stack, I'd like you to come and take your look at the hole in the side of the ship, I got some suspicions," Crystal Trail muttered.

"Mind sharing those suspicions, Sergeant?"

"It's just that I find it really strange that the ship's launchers were all fully loaded. Looks like most of the missiles were stripped for parts, but still. You would've thought if they were attacked by a dragon, they would've fired some of their dragonkillers."

It took the combined effort of Hay Weave, Spear Bash, and Syringe to haul the one of the frothing, dessicated, thrashing corpses up to the topdeck. With one of Spear's armored wings shoved inside of the zombie's mouth to gnaw at uselessly, they staggered over to the foredeck, where the wind whipped off of the backdraft of a hovering Vertibuck, and a blue flare designated its LZ.

Tossing the zombie onto a stretcher, suspended by steel cable over the side of the vehicle, it took them a few attempts to properly fetter the undead creature to the platform, by all four its legs and its neck. Screaming, moaning, and thrashing all the way up, it was winched back up to the Vertibuck, joining three of its dead brethren, contained in bodybags.

Meanwhile, Ice Slushee, along with the rest of the squad, stood by the giant hole in the side of the ship, faces in various states of consternation as they examined the damage. Shot Stack stood ahead of them, looking closely at the markings on the side of the ship.

"Yeah, this definitely isn't dragonfire," Shot Stack concluded, "Dragonfire has a certain effect on steel. You can tell slag from dragonfire from other kinds, cause of certain impurities in the dragon's breath. This just isn't right. Looks more like a laser hit it, to me."

"Take note of that in your report, Private. 51, it's time to exfil. Job's done."

Crystal Trail huffed, her battle saddle finally folding up as the squad turned to take wing, "Can't wait for the debriefing for this one."

After a thorough decontamination shower, a full-squad debriefing that told them practically nothing, the Sergeant being invited to Lightning Bringer's offices herself, the 51st had settled down in a vacant room for their slightly late dinners. Tacos, with sides of Sparkle Cola for a job well done.

The door finally opened, Crystal Trail walking back into the room with a deep frown on her face.

"So, boss? What's the explanation?" Hay Weave asked, looking up from her meal.

Crystal shook her head, not meeting any of their eyes as she rolled her tongue in her mouth.

"Fucking time travel," she eventually said, "That's the fucking explanation."

Chapter 10: Sunset Town

November 27, 1277 - Mission Day 49

"This is the final log of Captain Sea Leg of Her Majesty's Ship Victory. It has now been a full year since the bombs dropped, and eleven months and twenty-eight days or so since we lost contact with the Indefatigable, six months since the Hoof and Seaward Shoals broke formation to sail south, and three months since the Constellation was lost. Despite all of our best efforts, we have been unable to obtain more supplies.

"All discipline aboard the ship has broken down. Me and officers Dawn, Frost, Bridge, Arid, and Hoof have locked ourselves in the CIC, the only door that the Exo doesn't have the override keys for. The meager supplies we brought in here with us are quickly running out and radiation levels are rising, since we have to continue letting in the outside air to breathe. Surveillance systems are telling us that many of the crew have taken to eating each other.

"I am making this log to finalize this ship's legacy. We are currently preparing a dose of med-X large enough to painlessly shut down our nervous systems, before radiation sickness or dehydration takes us. We believe we have tried our damndest to fight against the encroachment of that dark, dark night. There is very little more we could have done, not since that damn cloudship came out of nowhere and struck that hole in our ship without warning and forced us to beach ourselves. Perhaps if we could still move, we could have moved south to meet back up with the other two, attempt to continue scavenging.

"But no, I think. The end was always inevitable. Ships were not made to insulate from this sort of apocalypse. We don't even have any radiation suits to make going outside less of a death sentence, just RadSafe. Why would you design a military vessel to survive the end? Victory was always in sight, Victory was always on our side. Celestia forbid anything outlasted the brass in their high towers. Or perhaps they're still alive? Hiding in a Stable, maybe, or on some remote oil platform or cloud city, eating corn on the cob, buttering their mash potatoes and drinking their sparkling wine. Maybe that's where the Indefatigable went? Maybe that was the Admiral's secret mission all along? Damn her, either way.

"I'm sorry Port Call, I should have come home when I was given the chance. I should have grown old and grey with you. I should have stood side by side with you when the flashes came. I was deceived. We were all deceived, by those damn politicians and nobility, handing down their orders from on high. Who would just- LET something like this happen!? Was surrender really the worse alternative!? Did we care about our damn coal, our damn Princess so much that we would rather see our bodies slowly dissolve, our comrades eat each other, see billions die?

"Maybe we are all complicit. Maybe we're all the bastards for letting this madness go on... I'm not even sure there'll be a world left to judge us on that.

"I can only take a small solace in the fact that I was 'high up enough' in that big, heavy chain of command that I get to choose to go out painlessly. The others are making their final logs too. It won't be long now. I just hope there's a place I go after this, where I can see her again.

"Only one way to find out."

...

"This is Captain Sea Leg, signing off."

"So, y'all have been surviving here for two hundred years?"

"Nope, just the past one hundred or so."

Brass Bugle walked next to the Deputy between towering ramshackle structures, several of her squaddies trailing close behind. Now that they were in the midst of the town, she could appreciate just how much effort had gone into building the place up. This was no mere, hastily-erected village to support refugees, as she had suspected during the flyover, but instead a real and functional community.

Neon signs glowed above shops, erected into the sides of ships that stood atop stilts, steadied by concrete foundations that sank into the moist mud that carpeted most of the areas between the concrete piers. Wooden planks and gravel made up roads that ran between buildings, lit up by the glow of makeshift lamps and criss-crossed by a seabee's nightmare of electrical wires.

Bugle counted the buildings as they walked past. There was a food market, full of mostly fish - although there was a single stall selling vegetables. Other than the market, they passed by a medical clinic (a sign outside read 'No admittance!'), a weapons store, a tailor, shipwright, and a... water shop.

She took a moment to squint at the price chart hanging next to the faucet on the front of the refurbished tanker boat that was the water store. '10 bottle caps for an ounce'. Bottle caps?

"This is, ah, this is Sunset Town. We're a big supplier of food and scrap for the Las Pegasus Area. The Tar Coats also do a lotta stuff through here, we're the biggest sea-facing dockyard on the west coast," Deputy Haggle explained, nervously glancing between Bugle and her juniors.

Bugle looked behind her, where wooden jetties extended from the shoreline, several small craft bobbing in the tide next to them, "...This is the biggest dockyard in the West?"

"Uh, yeah?" Deputy Haggle blinked, before his mouth curved into an 'o', "Oh, yeah! I forgot, you had cities as big as Old Pegasus. I guess this is pretty small fry, huh?"

"Can't be more than two thousand ponies in this here ditch," Bugle mumbled.

"Yep!' Haggle's eyes brightened up proudly, "Hard to support much more than that in one place, y'know, with the cloud cover and all. Nothing really grows, the soil's not really much for growing anyway. You have to have a unicorn with a knowledge of the right spells to nurture crops."

Bugle idly wondered if the Indefatigable had a unicorn with that knowledge. Surely they did. They had plenty of MAS eggheads to keep the megaspell running. Then again, would the officers really tell them if they didn't?

"The cloud cover? You mean them ash clouds are still hanging about, after all this time?" Brass asked.

Hearing the explanation of time travel had certainly boggled her. Sure, it explained why there was still civilization at all in the Las Pegasus area, why the ship hadn't been irradiated more than a frozen pie in a microwave, and a whole bunch of other stuff... but still. It all just felt surreal, like it was going to be a dream she was about to wake up from.

Then again, she recalled feeling something similar when she peeked out of the hatches leading to the flight deck and saw the horizon glowing green.

"Oh no- the cloud cover the Pegasi put up..." the Deputy trailed off as they reached a concrete structure up ahead. One of the only original buildings in the area, as far as Bugle could see, "This here's the Mayor's house. I'll let her explain most of it for you. She's a bit more educated, since she's a Dweller and all."

"I... see..." Bugle said, giving him a queer look that he couldn't see. Just save it all for the after action report, let the pencil-pushers do the thinking.

Ducking through the front door, she was introduced to a small reception area. A threadbare rug covered the center of the room, a beat-up terminal glowed green at a desk in the back, a ceiling fan spun, and a radio played Sweetie Belle from somewhere. An emblem was painted on the back wall, of a sunset at the edge of a wall of clouds.

After a few awkward looks were shared with the receptionist, Captain Bugle instructed much of her squad to remain in the lobby, lest the mayoral office get crowded. Then, she was lead into the back, into a large office space.

A wooden desk, clearly crafted from scratch rather than refurbished, sat in the center of the room. A safe sat in a corner, rusty filing cabinets lined a wall, another terminal glowed, and a group of ponies regarded Bugle and the two other Rangers that joined her with suspicious, searching eyes.

Sitting around the periphery of the room were ponies, wearing barding made out of... leather? Lizard skin? Bandoliers of huge, steel-core bullets covered their bodies and machined, professionally-built guns were levitated next to them or mounted to homemade battle saddles. Bugle frowned and her mental link tensed on the trigger to activate her own weapons as she spied the rifles the ponies were wielding.

Anti-Machine Rifles. One of the few things that could reliably spell the doom of a Ranger. They were a bit too CQC to reliably use the heavy, long-barelled weapons against her, but a fight would be ugly.

One of the rifle-wielding ponies cracked a stained, rotten smile at her, as if they could smell her pause.

Sitting at the mayoral desk itself was a unicorn mare, face straight and eyebrow quirked. She had a yellow mane and a grey coat, with a cutie mark of a paper mache gear on her flank. Most significantly, she was wrapped in the thick spandex of one of those Stable-Tec jumpsuits that were plastered all over the accursed company's advertising. On her collar was the number '84', and on her foreleg was a glowing PipBuck.

"Mayor Grinding Gears, this is Captain Brass Bugle, of..." the deputy looked towards Bugle with a questioning glance.

"3rd Ranger-Marines," Bugle answered simply, facing her head towards the mayor but keeping a keen eye towards the armed in the room.

"The guards tell us you're from the phantom ship," the mayor spoke up, showing a row of teeth that had clearly seen the attention of toothpaste in the last decade, "I honestly find that hard to believe, but at the same time your friends over at Blueblood don't seem like the type to pull such an elaborate ruse just to push around some fisherponies."

Bugle's eyes drifted for a moment as she considered the mayor's words. Blueblood could've been referring to the Prince Blueblood Army Academy, up the River Rush. Was there remnants there? Other Rangers? Realizing there was silence hanging in the air, she snapped out of it.

"I assure y'all, we just wanted to talk. Didn't mean to scare you none," Bugle quickly assured.

"Awful lot of firepower for a simple delegation. Usually we don't allow non-citizens to carry a pistol into town, let alone an entire set of Power Armor," the Mayor raised an eyebrow, "And don't try anything funny. The guys in the room with me aren't the only firepower we have trained on you."

One of the gun-totting ponies suddenly let his rifle fall level with Bugle's center of mass. She flinched. His dot flickered, but stayed yellow.

Switching away from her speakers, Bugle hissed into her radio, "These fuckers are gettin' on my nerves."

"Stay calm. Deescalate the situation. These are still ponies we're talking to, they can be reasoned with."

Eyes firmly on the end of the barrel, she took a deep breath and switched back to her speakers, "Yer the ones seemingly itching for a fight. If y'all may observe, my weapons are neatly stowed, and have been since we landed. Awfully hard to have any kinda civilized discourse if we're in an Appleoosan standoff."

Mayor Gears looked over to the one that had threatened Bugle, waving a hoof dismissively. With a twitch of their muzzle, the rifle went back to aim up at the ceiling, its wielder reaching into a pocket for a box of cigarettes.

"My apologies," Gear offered, not a hint of genuineness in her voice, "Steel Rangers aren't the most liked 'civilized' ponies in this part of town."

"I think I can tell," Bugle muttered, eyes now constantly panning across the gathered ponies.

"We got questions for you, maybe about as many as you do for us. How about we take turns?" Gears leaned back in her seat, placing her hooves over her stomach, "I'm the host. I go first. There aren't a lot of living pre-war ponies hanging around, how'd you get here?"

Bugle chuckled, "I just learned I'm supposedly in th' future thirty minutes ago. We're just about as confused as you."

"I find that hard to believe," Gears said bluntly, eyebrows knitting.

"I swear on my Honesty as a member of the Ministry of Wartime Technology, I got no clue," Bugle shook her head, "It's my turn now, ain't it?"

"I suppose," the mare's lips drew into a line.

"Ask her for a history of what's happened since the War."

"What's happened since the War?" Bugle echoed the voice in her ear.

Gears snorted, "That's a big fucking question. I guess I can give you the summary," she scratched her chin, "Let's see... well, when the world blew up, ponies went into big underground bunkers called Stables, built by a big pre-war corporation. Most of the underground ponies were earth ponies and unicorns, cause most of the pegasi flew up into the clouds and closed them behind them. That's why we got this big curtain of clouds above us all the time that blot out the sun. Chokes the crops, nothing grows without the right magic now."

Bugle narrowed her eyes, "Now why would they do-"

"Ah ah! One question at a time! My answer's already much longer than yours was," Gear scolded, before leaning forward and continuing, "Anyway, decades later, the radiation falls off enough that some of the Stables begin to open up. Some stay sealed up until today though. There's also ponies in the areas that the bombs missed that lived through the winter, mostly by being nomads and moving from place to place and scavenging old preserved food n' stuff. Life on the surface is real tough, real civilization like the Syndicate and us didn't really form until around a century ago, but we're trying our best now."

Bugle nodded slowly. She supposed she had to take back some of the nasty things she'd said about Stable-Tec. It sounded like they'd ended up saving up a few ponies in the end... even if it probably didn't outnumber the ones they fucked over before the war.

"My turn," the unicorn raised an eyebrow, "What're you hoping to gain from this conversation?"

"Information. Our supply status is classified. Your next question to ask her will be about this cloud layer."

"Information. We're high n' dry, back-ass into a hornet's hive. Honestly, just orientin' us is a big help," she replied, "Now, about that cloud layer... why?"

The Mayor chuckled, before throwing her hooves into the air, "No clue! We've been asking ourselves that question for the past two hundred years! Some pegasi have tried to go up and ask, but they never come back down."

"Huh..." Bugle trailed off as she wondered if that airhead over in Operations knew anything about it.

"Regardless... what exactly do you have aboard that big ship, anyway?" the Mayor asked.

"Be vague."

"A whole heck of a lotta classified things that go whirr and click," Bugle frowned.

The Mayor gave her a disappointed look, "Sounds like pre-war Steel Rangers are a lot like post-war one when it comes to their toys."

"Ask about those other Rangers."

"Speaking of Post-War Rangers. There're survivin' Rangers?" Bugle leaned forward slightly, the motion imperceptible against the stiffness of her armor.

"Yeah, yeah. Power Armor's good enough to resist balefire, apparently. A few of you military guys survived inside of them or inside of bunkers. They're worse than Central and Hoofington raiders, though. They have some crazy religious belief that everything more complicated than a wheel is their Goddess-given property. I bet if they encountered your pretty little ship, they'd cut down every single one of you and loot it for your toasters. Last time we checked though, they didn't have flying machines, that's why we're willing to even consider believing your crazy time travel story."

Bugle had a sneaking suspicion Gears was downplaying something, but once again kept the thought for an after-action report. Also, Goddess? Some sort of new religion at play, no doubt.

"We've never seen a ship quite like yours, with that big flat deck and all. What makes it different from the rest?" was the next question.

"Give her this one, but don't be too specific."

"It's an aircraft carrier. It carries flying machines, and that big flat deck is to give them space to run up and take off," Bugle's muzzle twitched, "Before the War, they said she was gonna be the last of her kind. They thought the cloudships would replace'em. Guess they were right, but for the wrong reason. Ain't gonna be a shipyard big enough to raise another one of her any time soon."

"I'd expect not..." the Mayor hummed, looking confused for a moment. She seemed to shake it off soon enough, "Your turn."

"What's the Syndicate?"

"What's the Syndicate?" Bugle simply echoed.

"Where me and my friends are from," Gears nodded towards the rifle-totting ponies, "Came from Stables 84 to 86. We keep the ponies in this region safe from the Rangers, the deathscuttles, steelbeaks, hellhounds... you name it. We also provide the power and keep the River Rush safe for the boats. All we take in return is a little bit of food, scrap, caps, y'know. Small service for peace of mind in this hell."

"Uh huh..." Bugle nodded slowly, not really understanding at all.

"What's your ship need most?" Gears suddenly pressed, "Food? Unless you got a Stable orchard in there, can't have infinite of it."

"Tell her we need soil to create a farm."

"We need good soil, so that we can start a farm," Bugle grunted, eyes narrowing.

"Guess you probably have the right tech to support that, huh?" Gears pursed her lips, "Listen, I'm a representative up in the Syndicate. Maybe we can help each other out? I can introduce you ponies to the council, set up some trade, direct you to some places, get you all the information you want. In return we just want stuff you probably got in droves. Replacement parts, expertise, medicine... how about it?"

Bugle turned her head, looking back towards her juniors, before looking back. In her ears, she could hear chatter off-mic, flavored by the crackle of radio weaving through ionizing nercomantic energy and the walls of the building. Finally, command responded.

"I don't see why not. Tell her we accept."

"Sounds like a mighty fine offer. We accept," Bugle nodded.

"Just one condition," Gears raised a hoof, causing Bugle to roll her eyes, "I'm the one putting my neck on the line to bring you into the Gun Rush Casino. Our clinic is currently overrun with deathly ill. Real sad stuff, fillies, colts, and their mommas and papas alike. Do you have your own medics aboard? Could you take a look at them?"

Another radio command later, and Bugle sighed, acquiescing, "Of course. Wouldn't be equinitarian not to."

It only took the ship's surgeon one look into the medical clinic through the video feed to say there was no point in sending doctors over to Sunset Town. Recommendations for medevac came as soon as the feed panned over to the vomit covering the operating table.

Manehatten-Class Carriers, intended to be the center point for large naval fleets, were equipped to act as hospital ships for its entourage in lieu of the presence of an actual hospital ship. Thus, on top of the standard infirmary were patient wards, offices for specialists, autodocs, diagnosis wards, and even prosthetic fabricators. Ever since Bomb Day (as the crew had taken to calling it), the hospital had kept itself fairly busy. The low morale had caused fights and suicide attempts, hospitalizing many (certainly, the counsellor's office had been overflowing with business), and radiation sickness from working in the Sunrise chamber and on the flight deck had required intravenous RadAway mixes on occasion.

But then that night, just as the medical staff were about to clean up for the night, the surge alarm went off.

"Surge incoming. Medevacked survivors from balefire blasts!" a computerized voice buzzed over the speaker as red lights blinked throughout the infirmary.

The ship's head surgeon grabbed his whitecoat from his locker. On the right breast was three, pink butterflies, and on the left his name - Doctor Firm Hoof. Adjusting his glasses and grabbing his diagnostic wand, levitating it beside him, he walked out into the main ward as the ship's specialists and corpsponies gathered.

"Our scouts discovered a settlement of civilians out at Cracked Clam Naval Base. Command has offered our facilities to their sick and injured. The Admiral wants a full report on the nature of their conditions after the fact, so pay special attention to your notes," Doctor Hoof said, turning to them with a frown, "Their own medic is coming along, who can help share mechanisms of injuries, histories, etcetera. We have nopony in intensive care, if need be we can send some of our patients back to their berths to make room for this surge. Any questions?"

"I suppose there'll be a lot of ARS?" Doctor Atom Bash asked.

"That can be assumed. You should mix intravenous solutions," Doctor Hoof nodded. RadAway could be ingested just by eating it (in fact it was designed around being orally taken), however it could also be mixed in a solution to be injected via an IV, which helped with patients who were too ill to swallow.

As Vertibucks landed on the deck overhead, ponies being transferred from stretchers to gurneys and rushed down to the infirmary. There was hardly time to prepare after the surge alarm as patients began to pour through the front doors of the compartment. Awaiting corpsponies quickly moved them into areas to be triaged.

Gurneys rushed underneath a poster plastered to one of the infirmary's bleach-white walls. War? Fear? Death? We must do better!

Following behind the patients, a single pony entered under her own power. Gaunt in appearance, cheeks sunken, purple rolls of mane dishevelled into a threaded mess, and an old, ratty Ministry of Peace nurse's uniform on her body, she looked around at the infirmary with a look of astonishment on her dark-rimmed eyes.

Walking over to the unicorn mare, Doctor Hoof greeted, "You must be Sunset Town's doctor. I saw you over the video feed, I believe."

"Erh, yes," she muttered, looking back towards him, "I'm Flow Kindheart."

"Doctor Kindheart," Hoof nodded, "What's your specialty?"

"Huh?" she asked, looking back to her flank, where a syringe of pink liquid lay. Looking back, she shrugged, "Uh... medicine?"

"...Right," Hoof took hers, leading her towards the area where the patients were being inspected, "We need your help with history and mechanism."

While the doctor seemed a bit clueless, with Firm Hoof's rising (and eventually confirmed) suspicion that she had no formal medical training, she did clearly care about her patients. The biggest thing wrong with the vast majority of patients was malnutrition. Scurvy, hypovitaminosis D, and straight up starvation. Following closely behind were massively infected wounds causing sepsis, food poisoning, dehydration (likely caused by the aforementioned food poisoning), and parasites.

There were a lot of parasites. The Equine Body Louse had seemingly survived the balefire holocaust to now, probably, infest the hospital (the staff quickly took preventative measures to prevent it from spreading to them, but there was always still the paranoia). There were also clear signs of tapeworms living in many digestive systems, confirmed by a magical scan and a statement from Kindheart indicating that meat was a common foodstuff in the patient's diets.

Coming across a certain patient, flagged for intensive care, Doctor Hoof and Kindheart moved in to give their opinion on treatment. It was a colt, with a mossy green coat. Giant slashes up his barrel had been sewn back together, but had grown puffy and bright red. Signs of necrosis lingered on the tissue, and his temperature had skyrocketed to near lethal levels.

It was clear to Hoof that, whatever the injury was, bacteria either failed to get disinfected or had gotten in during surgery. His body was trying its best to fight, but with sunken cheeks, visible ribs, and the squirm of parasites in his guts, he was not long for this world. The diagnostic scanner echoed this, his health bar being just a tiny sliver.

Kindheart suddenly looked away, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Miss Kindheart?" Hoof muttered, watching as a corpspony attached a bag of high-potency antibiotics to an IV stand.

"This is my nephew. He was slashed by a propeller. The cuts were too deep for a healing potion - not that we could afford one, and I tried my best with surgery..." she muttered weakly, "Usually we'd just amputate... but can't amputate that part of the body..." a pause, "...It's just, it's the third child my sister will have lost. I dunno if she can take that again."

Hoof pursed his lips, "Any allergies to antibiotics?"

"Huh? No? I don't... think so..." Kindheart blinked.

He nodded slowly in return, taking an alcohol wipe and preparing an injection site for the IV, "We'll fight off the sepsis with IV antibiotics. We'll likely have to intervene with surgery to open those stitches again and clean out infected tissue as soon as he has the strength to survive it. Then we can work on the other problems, like the tapeworms, the lice, the malnutrition..." Hoof gave a comforting smile, "Celestia willing, he will survive, Miss Kindheart."

Kindheart sniffled, watching as the IV tube was inserted into the patient. Pale liquid began to drip down and fill the tube, entering his body. Shaking her head, she simply said, "I don't know how I'm going to repay you for this."

"No need," Hoof shook his head, wrapping a foreleg across her withers, "The Ministry of Peace helps ponies," with a single pat, he retracted his hoof and turned to walk away, "Come now, other patients need our help."

Chapter 11: Old Pegasus

November 28, 1277 - Mission Day 50

"...The testimony of the Sunset Town Survivors, combined with the logs retrieved from the Victory, and other reports, especially from the Warsprite Scout Plane, have made us almost completely confident that through some mechanism we have been transported through time, into an alternate dimension, or an illusion so deep that it is wholly indistinguishable from reality," Admiral Azure Bluette said, lowering her paper and stowing it underneath a wing, "Additionally, further inspection of the wreck of the Victory has revealed that major structural damage was caused by laser fire, in classes not recorded in use by the enemy during the War. References to being struck by a Cloudship on the vessel's logs suggest this was a case of friendly fire, or some sort of violated MoA policy that we are unaware of. We will have to stay alert for any skybound contacts on our systems."

Looking towards Lightning Bringer, Azure asked, "Any progress on investigating issues with the Single Pony Project network?"

Lightning Bringer shook her head, "The servers continue to reject all requests. From what my team can tell, they aren't even reaching the Maneframe. They're just being 404ed in one of the relays. The only thing it's giving us is GPS data, but even then it's only telling us where we are," a sigh, "I guess that's better than nothing. We can use our full arsenal of missiles with that."

"Someone changed the command codes on you?" Azure asked.

"No. The system recognizes my command codes, the orders just aren't being carried. Either the system is damaged in some way, but still providing GPS data, or someone went into the main hub and rewired the whole thing," Lightning Bringer scowled.

Azure shrugged, "Perhaps the military unit at Blueblood Academy will shed some light on the situation. While Executive Officer Calm Seas goes with an escort to the Gun Rush Casino on behest of the 'Syndicate'," she muttered, raising her wings to make air quotes and accidentally dropping her notes, "Erm... the Rangers will fly out to the Blueblood Academy, where the Warsprite has detected power signatures and signs of civilization, and attempt to make contact. In case this group, who are likely armed with power armor, turn out to be as violent as Mayor Gears claims they are, a rapid exfil plan and air support strategy will have to be drafted up."

"We're on it," Captain Bugle nodded.

Acknowledging the comment, Azure moved on, "Meanwhile, we are seeking to perform probative searches of the Las Pegasus area for food. According to the residents of Sunset Town, pre-war caches of edible material can still be found, which groups known as nomads feed off of. Even though the possibility of trade has been made available, we should still seek self sufficiency if possible."

She reached behind her, dragging open a projector curtain. Then, walking to the left, she pressed a button on the briefing room podium, activating the projector. On the curtain, a map of the area, recently taken by the Warsprite scout plane, appeared.

"We have identified several major targets to investigate. Las Pegasus itself has seemingly collapsed after being struck by Balefire, causing the total destruction of the central business districts, as well as anything in the cloud city section. The heat from the explosions seems to have also caused several fires, as there is a lot of burn damage in the central districts. Anything in there likely has been destroyed, or buried too far for easy extraction with our equipment. We have identified several suburban and commercial districts around the city center that have not sustained as much damage that could have surviving caches of food. Additionally, while it's clear that Cracked Clam Naval and Blueblood Academy have both been looted, two of the three Aerostat Platforms making up the Skytown Airbase are still floating," a pause, "...The third seems to be completely missing."

"Well the three sections were modular and capable of being undocked from each other. It's not that ridiculous to believe that one of the sections was destroyed and cleanly sheared from the others," Lightning Bringer mumbled.

"Currently, we are watching our supply of jetfuel very carefully. It's unlikely that any has survived the 200 years since Bomb Day, due to the denaturing period of the fuel type," Azure gave a slight nod towards High Skies, the officer who gave that information, "We are cutting back on any unnecessary expenditures of fuel until we can source more. The 51st does not require airlift for transit to and from the ship, and the entirety of the Las Pegasus area is well within their reach. Their armor can be recharged with spark energy only, which our reactors will produce steadily for the next fifty years. Thus, Commander Bringer, your special little ponies will be expected to shoulder the majority of the burden of investigating these locations," Azure waved a hoof at the projected map.

"They can take it. Been in much worse scraps than this, with less sleep too," Lightning Bringer nodded, "I am sure they'll be glad for the challenge, Admiral."

Reaching down and grabbing her dropped notes, checking them one final time before stuffing them into her coat pocket, Azure looked towards Ship Right, "Now, if I recall, Ship Right as well as many of the MAS specialists have a few theories to present about our situation."

Ship Right stood as Azure walked to the side stage, adjusting her cap as she deactivated the projector and rolled up the screen, "Now... erm, we know that theoretically time travel is possible. I believe it was Starswirl that first proved its possibility within the laws of thaumomagics, and Twilight Sparkle that allegedly conducted the spell once. We know, however, that if it's to be done, it takes up a massive amount of spellpower, made exceedingly more costly the more matter you bring with you and the longer the travel is. Summer Fruit, however, has made a relation between our apparent time displacement and the failure of the Sunrise Shield Projector."

All eyes turned towards the orange unicorn in MAS uniform, who simply shrugged, "Seems obvious to me. Time travel apparently takes power on the level of a megaspell. We lost contact with the escorts and our sensor distortions occurred soon after an unexpected overload of the megaspell we literally house in the center of our ship."

Dr Shinespark, the main representative of the Ministry of Arcane Sciences aboard the ship, pursed her lips, "Time magic theories only accounted for the possibility of backwards time travel, not forwards."

Atom Bash squeaked forward in his chair, commenting, "But the general theory of relativity does account for forwards time travel through the concept of dilation."

"That's an extremely theoretical field, we have absolutely no way of knowing how or why the Sunrise would produce such a distortion," Shinespark shook her head, "We could have just as easily been hit by some Zebra weapon to banish us to the future instead, which jammed the megaspell."

"Why would they do that?" Atom Bash turned over his forehooves.

Azure coughed, attracting eyes back towards her, "Please, keep the scientific arguments out of the briefing room."

"Look, while I acknowledge that we just know next to nothing about our predicament, there might be something that had to do with the failed activation of the Sunrise," Summer Fruit raised her hooves.

Ship Right nodded, "We're still crunching numbers. With the new evidence in light we have to look at all of the sensor data from that day from a different perspective."

There was silence in the room for a moment, before Captain Anchor, sitting in the back, suddenly spoke up, "If the Sunrise did indeed cause us to, Honest-To-Celestia, teleport through time..." he hummed, "Then theoretically maybe we can reverse the spell? Go back in time instead. Preferably farther back than the time we left?"

Eyes turned towards him.

Captain Anchor pursed his lips, "...Think about it. If we can find the right facilities in Canterlot, we could get data on the launch coordinates and detonations. We could take that back, give that to command. They could preempt every launch, wipe Zebra first strike locations off the map, then rush in with an invasion force while they're reeling. Stop all this before it starts."

There was silence in the room. Azure's own eyes wandered as she herself considered the thought. Eventually, however, she blinked and realized that silence had hung in the air of the briefing room for a solid minute. Clearing her throat, she looked over to Ship Right, "Give Fruit what she needs, Miss Right. Everypony else, try not to get your hopes up too high. The prudent thing to do is to focus on the present, not the possibility of going to the past. We just need to let the scientists do their thing."

After the previous day's revelations and late night mission, the 51st struggled throughout their rest period to find sleep. Minds racing with visions of the wrecked Victory, the mangled walking corpses, and, of course, the time travel. All but the most hardened amongst them had felt like it was the aftermath of their first battle; the insomnia had lasted for weeks.

So, when Crystal Trail came back from a briefing and switched on the lights in their berth, most, if not all, of the 51st Recon gladly sat up in their bunks.

"This is gonna be a long one. Multi-day mission scouting locations out there. Pack accordingly," Trail muttered, walking past them and down the companionway into the power armory.

After sharing a quick meal of a full ration of omelettes and coffee, the squad gladly armored up. Whatever small nicks and scratches had been made in their suits had all been fixed up before they had even gotten back aboard the last day. Donning their respirators and checking their seals, they moved up to the flight deck and took off into the morning sky.

Ice Slushee observed the sky turning grey above them as the sun assumedly rose somewhere behind the curtain.

"Did you hear the news? Apparently when the bombs dropped, Pegasi fled into the clouds and shut it behind them," Radio Whistle, who now carried a long range radio backpack on top of his battle saddle, said over the squadlink as they flew across the Bay.

Crystal Trail sighed, speaking first, "Before any of you airheads get any ideas, we got a strict flight ceiling. High levels of ionization in the clouds and reports from the survivors mean we stay at a safe altitude, below the clouds."

"Hey, I ain't planning on running off anywhere," Shot Stack chuckled, "Not until I get to poke around my shack. What places are we hitting up anyway?"

"Private Stack, you will refrain from unnecessary exploration."

The stallion didn't say anything, but Ice could tell his visor hid an eyeroll.

"Our first destination is Sanditon Boulevard," Trail said simply.

Shot Stack piped up once gain, "Heyyyy! That's my hometown. C'mon, you gotta at least let me poke around!"

Looking over at him with cold, visored eyes, Trail uttered, "Commander?"

"No chance. No unnecessary risks."

Sighing, Shot Stack physically reached a hoof to his forehead to swoon (while moving along at their blistering cruising speed of 50 kph), "Commander, if I never get a chance to search my home, I believe this will affect my mental health extremely poorly to not have closure."

"Closure on your house, Private?"

"Yep!" Shot nodded, one of the only gestures visible back through the video feed

Trail shook her head silently. Sugar Beach piped up, saying, "It won't be just his mental health, ma'am. It'll be all of ours as he whines about it until retirement. May I also remind us all here that muting him may impede this squad's ability to effectively communicate?"

Shot Stack nodded even more vigorously this time, "I only need thirty minutes!"

Crystal Trail sighed, "If it's any difference to you, Commander, the lack of Shot Stack and another squadmate likely will not impact our ability to search the supermarket."

"...Private Stack and Corporal Slushee can search the house. You get thirty minutes and then you will rejoin with your comrades posthaste. I don't want to see this appearing in after action reports either."

Ice huffed. Yeah, sure, if there was something bad in the reports they might pass up Commander Lightning Bringer for promotion to Captain. Frankly, most anypony on the Indefatigable could start calling them Major-General and the only ponies left to care would be the Admiral, the Captain, and the Ranger lugnuts enforcing the chain-of-fucking-command.

"Deal!" Shot Stack said, pumping a hoof out of view of the head camera.

Ice and Shot Stack peeled off of the formation, heading down towards the shoreline below. Along the beach, flanking one of the edges of the Bay of Fortune, rows of beachfront houses lay. Made of concrete, to resist the cyclones that were fairly commonly blown in at too large a scale for the weather team (at least, before the SPP network), the houses had more or less survived intact. Several roofs were either partially or fully collapsed, wooden decks had rotted away, and windows had been blown out.

Flapping their wings a few times to brake, their hooves touched down on the sand in front of a specific house, facing out to sea. It was a single storey bungalow that used to have a deck facing out towards the ocean. A sheetmetal shed had sat out in front within a fenced-in yard, but both the fences and the shed had rusted and mostly collapsed.

Staring at the property silently for a moment, Shot Stack chose to turn around towards the beach, saying, "Hey, I mean- look. Got plenty more beach now..."

The tide recession had, indeed revealed more beach. Ice gave a comforting smile that he couldn't see, before poking him in the shoulder, "Come on. We don't got all day."

"Yeah, I'm coming..." Shot muttered, walking behind Ice as they crossed the yard. His vision went to the collapsed shed, and to the pale, washed out plastic kayaks inside, "...I liked boating here. Not a lot of swimmers cause of the sharks."

"Yeah?" Ice asked, testing the steps leading up to the rotted back porch. The first step instantly gave away underhoof.

"Yeah but like- sharks are kinda just chill. They don't really attack you unless it's an accident. Sparkle-Cola machines kill more ponies than sharks do," Shot Stack muttered, walking over and finally wrenching his eyes off of the kayaks and the sea.

"Would've never thought of you as an animal guy, Stack," Ice muttered, taking wing and just flying up to the back door, trying its rusted handle. It, of course, didn't budge.

"Just kick it in, I doubt keys would work even if I had them," Shot muttered, "Yeah I did freediving out on the reefs over there back in the day..." a pause, "That was ten years ago now."

Ice complied, floating back, before turning her hind hooves and hitting the door squarely in the center. The wooden boards of the door splintered, a few more kicks widened the hole enough to comfortably walk through. Ice ducked through first, Shot following shortly behind.

Beyond the back door was a lounge and kitchen area. The house lacked a ceiling, there simply being crossbeams and then the roof above. Several holes had been punched through the rafters, shining thin shafts of light into the rooms below. A set of couches surrounded a television, a coffee table sitting between them. Sodden magazines were half-melted onto the glass top, where mold grew and a thick layer of muck pasted over everything.

"Nice digs..." Ice breathed, idly peeling a piece of frayed upholstery off of a ruined couch.

In the kitchen, the fridge door hung open and wires hung out limply from the cooling unit in the back. The oven door had been stolen, the heating coil missing from within. A framed photograph that used to hang on the wall had fallen down and smashed onto the floor. Shot Stack walked over to it, righting it and looking down into it with a frown.

"This is the last photo I took with my family before I moved out," he said, wincing, "They were in Cloudsdale. I wonder if they're okay... well... I guess they're dead no matter what. I hope they survived and died of old age, I guess."

Ice walked over, looking down at the photograph. It was hardly recognizable, the glass having shattered and the photograph itself covered in dirt. She could see two adults, a blob that vaguely resembled Shot, and another, smaller blob, "Siblings?"

"Yeah. Her name is... was Cup Stack. One of the reasons I signed was cause I wanted to die before her, so she could go to school and stuff in a world where there wouldn't be Stripes and Pinks breathing down her neck all the time..." he trailed off, "That and, y'know, cause I flunked out of college and stuff," he gave a weak chuckle, "You?"

"What?" Ice raised an eyebrow.

"Uh, like, you got family?" Shot croaked slightly, looking away despite his eyes being visored.

She gave a lopsided frown, "I've told you all this before. I'm a foster foal. My folks were Canterlot. I hope they were alright too."

"Well most pegasi escaped the blasts, right?"

"They were grounders."

"Oh..."

Ice shrugged, "Hey. This ain't about me. What'd you study? In college?"

Shot began to break apart the gummed up frame of the photograph, to extract the image within, "Mechanical engineering. Wasn't for me."

"What do you mean?" Ice tilted her head, finally walking away and looking inside of his fridge, "You seem to know your way around a plasma cutter, at least."

Taking the photograph and stuffing it in his armor's cargo compartment, he went to poke around the hallway of the house, not answering. Shrugging and closing the fridge door, Ice followed up behind him, where he entered one of the bedrooms. A single bed sat in a corner. There was a closet, a writing desk, a window looking towards the road, and a safe sat in a corner. Scratch marks around the lock, along with the end of a bobby pin jammed inside seemed to have spelled the doom of the box.

Wordlessly, Shot crouched next to the safe, unlimbering his plasma cutter and aiming it at the place where the hinges would be, "Flash warning," he muttered.

Looking away as a hail of sparks shot from the safe, Ice only needed to wait a minute or so until the flashes ended and a loud clank filled the room as the safe door fell off. Dropping his tool to the side rather than reholstering it, Shot immediately plunged his hoof inside the cave. With a breath, he retrieved a large, carved wood rocket from within the safe.

That was an odd thing to put inside of a safe, "...Huh."

"You like it?" Shot turned towards her, holding it out, "I made it."

She nodded slowly, "It's... nice..."

"Yeah I was gonna give it as a gift. My sister liked space..." he trailed off, before bouncing the rocket on his forehoof, staring at it as enthusiasm suddenly drained from his posture, "Uh... yeah... I guess I'll leave it..."

Ice frowned, reaching out to grab it as he began to lower the carving, "Hey, it's nice. If you don't want it, I'll take it."

He looked at her for a second, before looking down at the rocket, then back up, "Yeah, okay, yeah..."

Opening a bag, she managed to stuff the rocket inside the tightly organized space before barely closing the belt strap again. Shot Stack sighed, taking his plasma cutter and putting it back with the rest of his tools. He turned to say something to her.

Out of nowhere, the itch came.

All of a sudden, Ice's lungs began to burn up. She pursed her lips, reaching up to her respirator as her lungs instinctually contracted. She held back for as long as possible, before she switched off her microphone. Wrenching her respirator free, the clenching in her chest turned into a rattle of painful, deep coughing.

Doubling over, she hacked and hacked, until her throat was raw and her gag reflex triggered. Her fit only stopped when she needed to gasp for air, which made her cough a few more times until spit erupted from her lips and trailed towards the ground in a string. Panting, she wiped her muzzle, head still hanging low.

"Whoah... you okay there?" Shot Stack blinked, "Are you..."

"I-I'm fine..." Ice quickly excused between breaths, "Just... I think I caught something... didn't want to tell anypony cause of the, uh, situation."

"Is it your asthma?" he asked.

With a final breath, she replaced her respirator, breathing its tinny, filtered air once again, "...Maybe. I'm fine... really I am," she said, deep breaths clicking and whirring through her suit.

"51, team two, I registered a removed respirator from Corporal Slushee. Report status."

"I'm fine. Just a sneeze," Ice lied, looking up towards Shot Stack.

The stallion stared back at her for a moment, before saying, "Yeah, she's fine."

"The respirator can handle a sneeze. Keep that shit on, Corporal."

"Yes... ma'am..." Ice muttered, giving a thankful nod towards

"This place's bunk. Don't bother regrouping at the mart, this place was completely stripped clean. They even took the shelves out of the aisles. We're taking off now, just meet us in the skies," Crystal Trail sighed.

The lack of radiation, zombies, or anything else inside of the supermarket appeared to have made it an open target to looters. It was, in hindsight, not much of a surprise that there was nothing to be found. Still, Commander Lightning Bringer insisted on checking every single location possible, even if it was likely to be empty.

Taking off again, they travelled further north, making a slow circle around the central city limits, landing at yet another commercial district just to find nothing but empty strip malls, a few old dusty holotape copies of Humans (the sequel to the popular movie, Human), and the occasional giant insect that caved quickly to a beam of directed energy.

The sun's pale light was beginning to fade as the clouds went from a dark grey to a pitch black overhead. Still, the rain continued as they approached the last location they would be visiting before hunkering down for the night. This was the closest to the city center the squad had been thus far. The mountain of rubble and debris from the collapsed cloud city towered higher than the Canterhorn, nearly touching the clouds. A monument of blackened concrete and scorched girders...

Ice thought it looked like a fallen Jenga tower, if the bricks were made out of wet sand...

The order came to switch on night vision as visibility continued to dwindle. The city lit up in hazy blues, just in time for a flash of lightning to boom from the sky, causing her automatic flash protection triggering to barely prevent her from losing her sight. Rain fell, slowly at first, before kicking up into a proper storm. Bouncing off of her goggles, dripping down past her respirator, running down her neck, and coursing down her tail.

A beep rang in her helmet as her suit recognized a sudden spike in radiation. It quickly rose, rocketing up to 13 RAD/sec in just a few minutes. A green glow began to rise around her, and she searched for its source.

"Command, 51. Reading a high level of radiation in the area," Crystal Trail reported.

"We are reading that too, even out on the Indefatigable. It started as soon as the rain pulled in." a growing layer of static filled the radio signal.

Ice's eyes locked on the ground below them. Along the city streets below them, draped over roofs and in alleyways, rivers of glowing sludge burned a brilliant green. Embers rose from them, blustering past the squad in the wind, and bright green halos hailed skywards, forming an unholy ground-based aurora borealis. Gouts of flame were beginning to rise from the rivers, licking up the sides of buildings- buildings that were already burned to husks of charred bricks and melted rebar.

Panning her vision around, the rivers of flame and toxicity ran through the city like great, septic veins, emanating from the center. Every river seemed to emanate from some lake near the center city, at the foothills of the debris mountain. There, giant gouts of flame were licking up the sides.

"Sarge..." Ice said, eyes glancing around rapidly as pillars of fire and radioactive glow rose all around them as the rain pelted harder, suddenly realizing where all the blackened concrete had come from.

"I see it too, Private. Commander, you seeing this?" Trail asked.

"Looks like some sort of chemical. Almost like napalm... maybe it's reacting with the rain?"

"I am not sure what it is, but it's slowly giving us radiation poisoning," Lead Syringe frowned, "Those embers rising from the flames are likely radioactive particulate. It's very fortunate we're not breathing it in, but the wind stream up here is likely blowing it right onto us."

Spear Bash grunted, "Still convinced respirators are a sin against Rainbow Dash's design, Pounce?"

"Don't think Ministry Mare Dash had this in mind when designing it," Chaser said coolly.

"51, do you have visual on the LZ?"

Crystal Trail looked back up from the toxic rivers, setting her sight on a gap in the buildings ahead, making way for a parking lot. No green halo or fires emanated from it, "Yes, Commander. LZ appears to be clear of the unknown toxin."

"It might be too risky to extract you back to the Indefatigable at this time. Attempt to land and monitor radiation levels. If it falls to more tolerable levels, you may have to just find a sheltered area, take RadSafe, and wait out the rain."

"What if it persists after the rain?" Trail asked.

"That's a possibility. yes. If so, probe the area swiftly and then RTB. Your supplies of Rad Away and Rad Safe should hold out. You were given an extended supply."

Lead Syringe nodded, "If my theory holds correct, the ground would likely be a lot safer, as long as we're not standing right next to one of those toxic rivers."

"The buildings will probably insulate you from radiation from neighboring sources and the rain will wash any contaminants that have settled on your armor so far off."

Ice shook her head. Commander Bringer was an MoP scientist now as well?

"Yes, ma'am. Squad, dose up on RadSafe. Approach for landing on our current vector, we got a clear shot," Trail ordered.

As the RadSafe took effect, the radiation they were absorbing halved itself. There was a small, hardly noticeable breath of relief picked up over the squadlink. Flexing their wings for a landing approach, the 51st bled altitude and landed as one on the tarseal of the parking lot. As predicted, radiation dropped off significantly, the display reducing its number from 13 to <1 RADS/sec as they got out of the air and into the cover of the buildings.

"Sweep the area. If possible, continue with your probe of the supermarket before making camp"

A collapsed sign lay in front of a large supermarket. Abandoned wagons sat rusted, tires deflated, along the many parking spots in the mall. Blown out windows, cracked concrete, potholes, and trash mounds were spread about the open area. Ice side-eyed a pair of skeletons sitting in the cabin of one of the self-propelling wagons, holding the other's hoof.

There was a collection of critters rooting at a patch of some sort of algae growing on a sidewalk in front of the store. They hissed at them as they approached, but a single blast from a laser rifle sent them screeching into a nearby alley.

"I wonder how they survive the radiation," Lead Syringe hummed curiously, watching them go.

"Well, they're mutants," Shot Stack responded, stowing his weapon again.

Lead Syringe raised an eyebrow, "That does not necessarily answer the question. Necromantic radiation destroys life at the cellular level. It's not exactly something you can biologically adapt to..." a pause, "We think. I guess we never really tried before Bomb Day."

"Yeah well maybe the eggheads can figure it out from all the zombies we brought back to the Indie," Spear Bash sighed, looking down at one of her forehooves as she walked past, "Don't think I'm ever getting my hoof fully clean of that fucking rabies saliva or whatever."

Shot Stack chuckled as he walked past Syringe and into the supermarket, saying, "You're telling me. I'm the one that actually got attacked."

Syringe gave one more look towards the alleyway, before humming and following along.

"Whoah, Command, I think we got a winner here," Trail muttered as they entered the store proper, the rain finally a distant patter on the roof above.

The shelves were properly stocked. Some had been shaken up, tossing cans onto the floor, but most of the store was seemingly untouched. Picking up one of the cans, Ice took her stinger tail and drove the blade through the top, easily slicing open the lid. Taking off her respirator, she looked inside and licked the contents.

Canned peaches in water. She lifted the can and let one of the peaches slide into her mouth. They tasted normal, "Celestia bless the Industrial Revolution and its two innovations: guns and canning," she said, before upending the rest into her mouth.

"Yep. Looks like we have a lot of intact rations here," Trail nodded, the rest of the squad looking away as Ice finished her meal.

"Affirmative. We'll send a team over once the radiation has died down to pick it up. Sweep the rest of the store, make sure there's nothing else. Put down some relays to secure your entrances."

"I know," Ice muttered, reaching into a bag for her tray of motion detector disks.

The squad fanned out, staying in pairs as they slowly swept the store. Of course, every last perishable good had completely rotted away, but Equestria's known obsession with goods, packed with more preservatives than actual food, had kept most of the food edible - if a bit stale. Ice could perhaps understand how some survivors had managed to simply subsist off of food caches for the last 200 years. She walked through a door leading into yet another section of the superstore.

A yellow dot suddenly appeared on her compass.

Out came her weapons, along with the weapons of Waffle Cone next to her. Following the compass, her eyes rested on a group of silhouettes, sitting in one of the aisles.

The long and baggy profiles of gas masks hung from their faces. Cloaks were wrapped around their bodies. The clank of cans came from them as they looted one of the shelves. The scratchy night vision, unable to properly illuminate their bodies as they stood on the far side of the room, couldn't quite make out any signs of weapons.

"We have a contact on the west side of the store," Waffle quickly reported over the squadlink, "Looks like a group. Maybe four of them?"

"Hey!" Ice shouted, switching to speakers.

Heads turned. This time, her vision could pick up the clear image of a barrel being levelled in their direction. The dot remained yellow as they slowly backed up. One of them gestured quickly towards a bag sitting on the floor, which one of them scooped up.

They lingered for a moment longer, before fleeing, blasting through a double door leading into an employees-only section.

"Friendlies approaching behind!" came a warning as Crystal Trail, along with three others rejoined them.

Ice frowned, lowering her weapons, "Seemed to be scavengers. One of them had a gun, I think they were just hungry. They ran."

"Keep sweeping the building. If they're still hanging around, tell them to leave the premises. Everything in here is requisitioned as government property."

Something about that statement struck Ice Slushee in the wrong way. She simply frowned and went on with it.

Through the employee only doors had been an accessway to a back room and a loading bay. The loading bay doors had been jacked open, giving Ice an inkling as to where the mystery ponies could have escaped. The rest of the storefront areas were fully cleared, which just left the offices on the second floor.

Not much was left that was interesting. A 200 year old employee of the month picture hung on the wall of the break room, and a sludge that might have once been coffee sat inside of a sealed glass pot. Of particular interest was the managerial office, which looked to have a good vantage point over the parking lot and the surrounding areas - a good place as any to make camp without exposing themselves too much to the radioactive wind shear as the rain still pounded outside.

The Assistant Manager's office lay right next to the main manager's one. Together, Ice Slushee and Spear Bash searched it while the others posted up.

There was an open safe, filled with mouldy paper bills. There was a skeleton sitting on the desk chair with a hole in its skull and a pistol lying on the ground next to it. A terminal with no power and a smashed screen sat on the desk in front of it, along with an empty inhaler. A familiar, empty inhaler. A pegasus wing was painted on the side.

She threw it over her shoulder. The plastic knocked against the wall.

Spear Bash hummed as she rooted through the random boxes and junk littering the rest of the room. There was, admittedly, something fun about scavenging in Ice's opinion. It was all the fun of robbing a store and just taking whatever you wanted, without any of the guilt of the stuff within belonging to anybody. Fortunately, Lightning Bringer had not yet brought up any complaints about random items stuffed into their pockets - stuff that would have cost more than their yearly salary otherwise.

As Ice checked the drawers, she noticed the sounds of Spear's rummaging stop, causing her to look up from her own search. The mare was staring at a lunchbox she had opened. Slowly, she reached in and retrieved a bright red inhaler from within.

Slowly, Ice walked over as well, watching as Spear stared at the small plastic piece in her oversize hoof. Placing a foreleg on Spear's hulking shoulders, Ice whispered, "Put that back."

"What if the medics need it..." she offered, weakly, turning the inhaler over in her hoof. In the lunchbox behind it, twenty or so more doses lay piled on.

Ice reached up and switched off her audio and video feeds, "If they do, they'll come back for it later," she intoned carefully, "You just got pumped of that stuff. Come on, think of how rough it'll be to show up in front of Dr Slate again."

Breathing slowly, Spear Bash eventually nodded, "Yeah, you're right. You're right..." the inhaler was tossed back into the lunchbox and the lid snapped closed. Sucking in a deep breath, Spear turned around, "I'm gonna go... get some air."

Ice gave an approving nod, watching as Spear walked back out into the hallway. With a satisfied sigh, she turned back to the lunchbox, popping the lid back open. She grabbed a hoof full of Dash, stuffing it into a place where her suit's inventory spell would not detect it. Relieved, she walked out to rejoin the rest of the 51st. Only after she was tacitly reminded by Crystal Trail that her video and audio feed was offline did she reactivate the system.

Menu no. 10, chilli and macaroni meal. Cornbread, a desert of chocolate pellets, a cup of cocoa, a moist towel, wooden spoon, and a flameless heater. Mix a bit of water, crack the heater, and enjoy.

Ice took a deep breath, smelling the slightly moldy, dusty atmosphere. Unfortunately for Syringe's conscience, eating did indeed require they take off their respirators. She'd taken to removing her entire helmet, getting away from the flashing HUD, the high pitched whine of Lightning Bringer's voice, and allowing her mane to breathe again. Behind concrete walls and out of the rain, the radiation was minimal that the foreleg-mounted secondary display didn't even register an increase in incoming radiation.

Gathered around a green glowstick, the 51st prepared and ate their dinners. The only one absent was Sugar Beach and Hay Weave, both sitting by a window overlooking the parking lot with their helmets still mounted and respirators hanging around their neck. Their meals steamed as they sat beside them, both of them taking the occasional bite as they kept lookout, weapons trained on the environment outside.

Ice leaned over, taking a look outside at the rain, seeing the green rays of the burning pits surrounding them. She idly wondered if it would be possible to navigate past them without the power of flight. She shoved a spoonful of chilli macaroni into her mouth and fell back into her more comfortable position.

"How was your search of the house?" Radio Whistle asked, looking over to Shot Stack.

Shot shrugged, "I don't think I'm gonna be able to resell it."

It elicited a few chuckles from around the glowstick. The wind whistled through the shattered window, bringing a slight chill to Ice's cheeks. She had the suspicion she'd be freezing if not for the suit keeping her warm.

"Maybe you can sell it to one of those house flipper shows," Crystal Trail noted, her helmet attached to ensure comms were kept with the Indefatigable, "Wasteland Fixer Uppers, it'd be called. How to make a crumbling bungalow into a fortified base to keep the zombies away."

"I'd watch it," Pounce offered, tossing her bushy, long rainbow-colored mane and staring into the glowstick.

Ice chewed idly, looking as the green aura of the glowstick illuminated the older mare's mane and glimmered in her green eyes, "Hey Pounce."

"What's up?" she asked, looking away.

"Why're you such a Rainbow Dash groupie?" she asked bluntly.

Pounce raised an eyebrow as Spear snickered beside her, "Odd time to ask, three years after we met."

Ice shrugged, her spoon bouncing against the side of her MRE at the motion, "Didn't think there was such a thing as an expiry date on a question."

Pounce Chaser stared at her for a moment, before sighing, "What's not to like? Athletic, brave, fiercely loyal, one of the heroes of Equestria, powerful..." she trailed off.

"Those sounds like reasons to fuck her, Pounce, not be her," Spear Bash pointed out between excessively loud chews of her no. 9 lasagna.

Crystal Trail smiled slightly, saying, "It's okay to admit you're old, Chaser. Tell 'em why," she used a hoof to guide a plastic straw sticking out from the neck of her suit, biting down on it to draw water through it and into her mouth.

After a few more mutters of encouragement from the rest of the group, Pounce sighed and leaned forward slightly, "I'm not gonna tell you how old I am. I'm just gonna say when I was a teen, there was no war, and there was this cool set of six heroes. They defeated monsters, blew up the Mare in the Moon and brought back Luna, and mastered these six magical elements. I know they started teaching that stuff in school, probably while you fuckers were still in it, but it was novel when I was a filly."

A pause as she reached up and drew a lock of long mane into her vision, "I was in Cloudsdale at the old stadium - they knocked it a few years into the war. I had a lot of trouble with flying growing up, later we found out it was cause I had a wingspan asymmetry of about five inches. My parents were deathly afraid of putting me near ledges of any kind, but I was a teen and I was there with my friends with money from our summer jobs. We got seats right up front, and we saw the Wonderbolts.

"A part of their stunt knocked a hole in the side of the cloudcrete, and I tumbled through in the chaos. We sued them later for that, settled for a good amount of bits. Apparently all six of the Ministry Mares were together there, and Rainbow Dash hopped straight up over the railing and dove for me as the show continued on. She flew me back up to the stage, patted me on the head, and then went right back to her friends.

"Later, the war starts, the Ministries are formed after Littlehorn. The doctors figured out how to treat my asymmetry, but by then I had kinda figured out how to fly anyway. She'd inspired me. Then of course when they started asking for experienced flyers for intense training, I signed up right away. Failed hell week seven times before finally getting in, about five years into the war. Sarge Trail was my bunkmate, it was her third attempt I think?" Pounce looked over to Crystal.

Crystal Trail nodded, "You late joiners probably all passed Hell Week first try. Back then, it was real fucking tough. As in, we both saw plenty of ponies literally fall dead during the endurance tests. Not all of them got revived, either."

Pounce Chaser tapped her spoon against the shoulderpad of Trail's suit, "One of them was you, Crystal. You had a heart attack during the time they told us to carry the log," she side-eyed towards the rest of the squad, "And back then they didn't let us cheat and make some sorta harness to make the load easier. We really did have to heft that thing all the way through the course at speed while in powered-down armor."

Ice winced, stomach twisting at the traumatic memory of that particular section of trials.

"Anyway. I kept the dye on cause it made me popular, and cause there was this one bad guy who thought I was actually Rainbow Dash. We got to cut him down and the rest of the POWs when they tried to resist cause of it," Pounce grinned, before plunging her spoon into her meal once again.

Spear Bash suddenly stood with a sigh, putting her half-finished meal down and making for the door, "Taking a piss," she excused.

The group returned to silence as they ate, the giant mare stomping past the glowstick and out the door. Watching her go, Waffle Cone gave a deep, breathy sigh, looking down to his meal, ears falling alongside his eyes.

Shot Stack ran his tongue along his teeth, before commenting, "Waffle, I think you should probably give up the chase. Only thing that catches Spear's attentions is Stripes."

Waffle mockingly raised a hoof to his muzzle, causing Shot Stack to chuckle.

"You become a Zebra, and I'm sure Spear Bash would annihilate your pelvis, then smash your skull, then immolate whatever was left, then probably flavor her next meal with the ashes," Shot took a chocolate candy from his MRE and tossed it into the air, missing his mouth and positioning his eye to get poked by it instead.

"Gross," Lead Syringe scolded as he saw the stallion pick the chocolate off the filthy floor and eat it.

Waffle Cone, responding to the previous comment, said, "Hey, it'd be worth it. I'd do it."

A few minutes later, as meals were finished and wrappers were tossed aside (who was gonna get them for littering?), Spear Bash came back into the room.

Waffle looked up to her, asking, "Hey Bash. Would you love me if I was a Zebra?"

Spear, completely seriously, knitted her brows and said, "No, dumbass. I'd kill you."

The room burst into laughter at that. Spear gave Waffle a solid bap on the head as she walked by to her meal.

That night, Ice took part in the first watch while the rest slept for four hours. The glowstick eventually waned, but with their helmets back on, night vision and the various motion detector tripwires they'd set about allowed them to guard their camp well enough. Eventually, the next watch woke up, and Ice curled up to catch some sleep as the night - and the rain - dragged on.

The next day came by. Ice woke up, rising from her bed with an almighty yawn. She brushed her teeth, took a shower, ate a breakfast of an omelette and coffee, and then went outside to catch the tram. Ponies thanked her for her service, and somepony stood to let her take her seat.

Ponies flickered on the sidewalks all around, existing only when her vision settled on them, before disappearing into her periphery. Scorched posters hung to walls, skeletons sat in wagons as they rumbled past, and an air raid siren rang somewhere.

Up ahead of the tram, a huge banner crossed the street. "VICTORY DAY!" it read. Confetti fell by her like ash as she sat on the seat of the float, her armor adorned with a multitude of medals. Crystal Trail, Pounce Chaser, Spear Bash, Waffle Cone, Shot Stack, Radio Whistle, Sugar Beach, Hay Weave, Lead Syringe, even Lightning Bringer all sat next to her. Just one float down, she could see the backs of the heads of the Shadowbolts as they waved.

Thousands, no millions of ponies shrieked and screamed from the stands around them. The Equestrian Flag waved victoriously over their heads. A bonfire of Zebrican flags burned as they passed by, scorched by green flame. The stands to their left opened up to reveal the Indefatigable in harbor, flanked by the Victory, Hoof, Seaward Shoals, and Constellation. Hundreds more ships sat in the harbor, battleships, other carriers, cruisers, destroyers.. a shadow passed over them. A great Cloudship soared overhead.

Looking back down, Ice stood on Ministry Walk in Canterlot. She was wearing... nothing. No grey MoA fatigues, no armor. Only her chest fluff looked back up at her as the cloudship's shadow soared overhead. A hoof held hers, although it was cold and clammy. A tender unicorn mare's face looked up at her, "I'm so sorry you're out of a job, honey..."

Ice Slushee looked up. A wrecking ball swung overhead, suspended from something she couldn't see, smashing into the face of the Ministry of Awesome offices. Just down the street, construction workers disassembled a giant, cog-shaped door. '001' was written on its face.

"What are you going to do now?" a stallion asked to her right.

Looking towards it, Ice saw a tall, aged unicorn stallion. He reached out to touch her shoulder, she couldn't feel it though. She pursed her lips, trying to think of a path forward. Maybe she could teach gym? Maybe work at a flight college? No... she didn't have the education.

"...Honey?" the mare questioned.

Lying to her left was the burning husk of a village. Scuttling away from it, like frightened roaches, were striped foals and adults. One of them stepped out from behind a building carrying something. He turned towards them, too quick. A bright flash and he was ash. A simple fire extinguisher hit the ground next to his glowing, pink remains.

Maybe the pension would be enough. She'd served her country so well. Surely, surely they'd give her enough to live a decent life afterwards?

"What are you gonna do?" the stallion pressed.

To her right, the city caved away into a sodden bunker. Fireworks exploded in the distance as a cheering audience screamed. Ponies lay have buried in the mud. Rats chewed at their hooves, gnawed at their lips. They were beyond recognition - bloated, bloody messes. A foul gas hung overhead, pouring down the walls and into the trench. A stallion with his guts spilled onto the floor, one of his legs lying several feet away, held out a shaking hoof. His dog tags rattled in his grip.

Maybe... after the war was done... maybe...

A blinding flash rocked Canterlot. Heat burned away the mud of the battlefield, the Zebra village. She stood on the edge of the Indefatigable. Her HUD blinked out. She took off her respirator and stepped forward as the mushroom cloud began to tower over her.

There was a moment of falling. Something chased her down off the side of the ship. Weighed down by her power armor, she sank quickly. The sun disappeared, overtaken by a cloudy curtain of ocean. Sinking deeper and deeper, her ears began to squeal and her lungs exploded. There was nothing waiting down there for her. No jaws to snap her up, just an endless abyss as the surface disappeared above...

She woke up to the sound of gunshots.

Chapter 12: The New and the Familiar

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.

Chapter 13: Good Ponies and Triumphant Evil

November 29, 1277 - Mission Day 51

Ice Slushee's HUD booted out of sleep mode as the world rushed back towards her senses. The rattle of gunfire, combined with the serious, business-toned voices of her squadmates quickly rose her from her slumber as she rolled over from the corner of the office she'd slept in.

A few shafts of grey sunlight poked through the shattered windows. Most of the squad were gathered around the window, looking outside, while Spear Bash looked out over the stairwell leading up to their camp and a few others lay on the ground waking up as well.

"51. Status report."

Lightning Bringer's voice. Up bright and early with them, it seemed.

"Gunfire. Close. Northeast, we're trying to track it now," Crystal Trail quickly reported.

"Gottem. About twenty or so out there. They're not after us, it looks like," Hay Weave reported.

Blinking the sleep out of her eyes, Ice hurried over to the window, engaging the zoom on her eyepieces as she searched for the source of the noises. A quick glance through her HUD showed that none of their traps had triggered in the night, unless they'd found a new way in, the supermarket was still secure. Additionally, the rain had finally stopped outside, leaving nothing but deep puddles in the cracked tarmac below, the green glow of the toxic streams had seemingly died down with it. A quick check of the suit's geiger counter revealed a normal (for the Wasteland) amount of background radiation.

Looking northeast, to a block of buildings flanking the supermarket, the muzzle flashes of ballistic weaponry, along with the tiny, silhouetted figures of ponies amongst the abandoned vehicles in the lot gave away the position of a small squad of potential hostiles. Switching to thermal imaging, she could see their bright red bodies against the cold blue of the concrete around them.

The thermal vision spotted brief flashes of their bullets, lancing out of their automatic weapons towards the building they seemed to be stacked up against. A few, single shot and burst fire rattles returned against them, pinging off of cover, but thoroughly suppressed by a louder and more numerous hail of bullets.

"Maintain stealth if possible, 51. Do not engage unless provoked. Ensure the supermarket is secured. A transport chopper is already on its way to extract the supplies."

"Who're they fighting?" Ice asked.

"Dunno. Whoever it is, it looks like they're seriously outnumbered. Hunkered down on the second storey of that building," Hay Weave muttered.

Pounce Chaser came up behind Ice, "Could this have anything to do with the civilians we saw poking around the site last night?'

"No idea. Chaser, get the cloaking device set up," Crystal Trail gestured towards the window firmly.

Taking out a long, thin cloudcrete bar from her pack, Pounce stepped in front of her squadmates and reared up, leaning on the wall for support. One end of the bar was braced against one side of the window frame, before extending out with a wheeze and clamping onto the other side of the frame. With a rising whirr, a small, silvery screen appeared in front of them, telling them it had been activated.

They were now invisible to anyone looking through the window.

Crystal Trail got up, tapping a few of her squadmates on the back, "Shot, Spear, Sugar, Lead, Hay. We're moving to clear the supermarket. Radio, stay and guard the stairwell. Ice, Waffle, Pounce, keep an eye on things over here."

With a quiet, light-hooved shuffle, the requested ponies stacked up with the Sergeant, before quickly moving downstairs to sweep the building. Radio Whistle deployed his guns and moved into the doorframe behind them, watching the entrance. Lying on the ground, Ice, Waffle Cone, and Pounce Chaser watched out from behind the stealth screen as the firefight continued.

She could tell both sides were practiced with their marksmareship. Aside from the two ponies with assault rifles firing in constant bursts to keep those fortified on the second story suppressed, the others kept their weapons aimed and only firing when they had a shot. A particularly long burst of automatic fire from the suppressors rattled off as a few ponies split off from the group and charged across the open area and through one of the doors.

The figures holed up in the building were hard to make out, even with thermals. She could see something shifting behind the windows where gunfire occasionally erupted from, but it was hard to make out. Eventually, the extended burst of suppressive fire ended, the two ponies on the ground with automatic weapons stopping to reload.

It was then that a figure popped up and fired. Ice's eyes widened as, for a second, she recognized the baggy gask mask from the night before. The moment quickly ended though as one of the grounders were waiting with a rifle zeroed in on the window. A splash of liquid and the signature fell, the echo of a high caliber rifle shouting through the buildings.

"51, Command. The defenders are wearing similar equipment to the scavengers we chased off last night," Ice reported.

Waffle Cone nodded, "I second that."

"Noted. Continue observation."

The firefight continued for a brief half-a-minute more until the gunshots gradually died down. A few minutes passed, with the armed ponies readjusting their positions as if the second floor had been secured, reinforcing themselves more against attack from the outside. Ice still could calculate a combat solution for each and every head she saw, though. Their cover wasn't the best.

"Area is secure," Crystal Trail said, "We're posting up on the entrances. What's the sitrep?"

"The firefight has ended. Several of them entered the building. It looks like the attackers won," Waffle Cone observed.

"Can you make their equipment?"

"Leather barding. Spikes, belts... edgy. Nothing bulletproof or energy resistant. Most of them have civilian weapons, but they got one or two automatics," Pounce Chaser observed, "We could mince 'em in a fight, especially if we get the drop."

"Only fire on them if they make hostile movements towards you or towards the site."

Down through the same door the ponies entered through, one figure was tossed back out. A pool of lukewarm blood spilled from their head as five other figures wearing gas masks were forced out, escorted by several of the gunponies. Two of the gunponies had their battle saddles stowed, instead lugging a great sack behind them. Two of the gas masked figures were small than the others- foals, they must've been.

"Let's tune in on what they're saying," Pounce muttered, reaching into her pack and bringing out a directional microphone, "Switching this onto squadlink."

A few adjustments and the microphone finally picked up the conversation. Switching off her thermal vision, Ice zoomed in with her regular optics as they listened in.

"Look, guys! They were fucking rich!" a male voice said as Ice saw one of the gunponies open the neck of a bag, "Where'd you get all this good food, huh!?" the same pony stepped forward, ripping the gas mask off of one of their captives.

A striped muzzle was revealed, which proceeded to promptly spit on its assailant. The butt of a bolt action rifle smashed into the back of their head, and they fell.

"Holy shit. Command, we got Stripes over here," Waffle muttered.

"Stripes? Where!?" Spear said over the link.

"The defenders were Zebras. Must've been the same fuckers trying to steal our food last night," Pounce muttered.

Ice gave her an odd look, though she couldn't see it past the faceplate and respirator, "Steal? Steal what? Wasn't even ours yet."

"Shh!" Pounce hissed as further noise came out over the microphone.

The assailants were in the process of ripping the masks off of their captives and frisking them. The one that had bit back had received multiple blows across their midsection, sitting in a puddle and wheezing as the assailants rummaged through their sack of loot.

"Not gonna tell us where you got it? Maybe mom or pop squeals when I feed them your tongue, huh!?" a small flash of metal came out from the jacket of one of the unicorn gunponies, likely the one that was just speaking if Ice had to guess.

Somepony next to him poked out his horn, however, "Hooves off the merchandise. The Stable Dwellers take stripes for the same price as earth ponies. They look well fed too. Probably gorging off of the fucking treasure pot."

"What about the kids?" the unicorn asked, floating up the knife again and stowing it. Many of his comrades ganged up on the Zebras, working quickly to bind them. Some got knocks in the head, but it was clear who was overpowering who, "They don't take kids."

"The Eastern Slavers do. They even fucking school them," another voice pointed out.

"Nah, not the striped ones. Red Eye doesn't like Zebras much, I don't think," a mare said.

Ice looked away, biting her tongue as one of the captives screeched in pain, the butt of a levitated shotgun slamming into her ribcage. Waffle and Pounce kept staring on, ears fully lofted as they shifted uncomfortably. Radio Whistle, behind them, kept looking away from his post to try and catch a glimpse, only to snap back to the angle he was meant to be covering once he realized Ice was watching him.

"This is fucked up," Pounce muttered, "Even against Zebras, this is kinda fucked up."

"We have an angle on them down here," Crystal Trail's voice came over the link.

"You do not have permission to engage."

"Well if mommy and daddy won't talk, maybe they're fucking hellspawn will. After we help ourselves to 'em. No point in keeping them intact if we can't fucking sell them."

"Maybe we can eat 'em afterwards?"

"I love 'em glazed."

"Aww you hear that, kiddo? You're gonna learn to beg for death!"

"I always thought you'd be a great kindergarten teacher, Vice."

"Ya think so?"

Shot Stack's voice came through, "Celestia on a bike."

Ice watched as one of the foals cowered in fear, backing up into the roped legs of one of the mares, face blurry in the hyper-zoomed view of her goggles. Her teeth gritted and a reticle appeared on her screen as her battle saddle deployed, "I've got a solution on three of these bastards! Requesting permission to execute!"

"Hold your fire!"

"Command, those are civilians out there! We have a duty to protect them!" Crystal Trail shouted.

"They're Zebras, we have no intel on their alignment. Hold your fire!"

"Those are foals, damnit! We have a solution on five down here!"

"Vertibuck inbound. If you attract a fight to the LZ, you will be endangering our personnel! You do not have permission to execute ANY attack solutions!"

"You fucking kidding me? We could dust these fuckers in ten seconds flat!" Pounce hissed, her battle saddle suddenly deployed as well.

"Come on, before the noise attracts the birds," came the last noise from the microphone. Ice watched, twin laser rifles on her back rattling as her eyes quivered. They disappeared behind the side of a building.

Slowly, the guns retreated back into her battle saddle. She got up and made for the door.

The comms were silent, until Crystal Trail eventually reported, "51, Command. They're gone. No contact. LZ clear."

Ivory Heart walked through the halls of the Indefatigable, eyes on the floor in front of him and away from the sailors passing by him. He felt their eyes bore into the back of his head, ears heard their whispering. He was away from the constant watch of the Steward and Butter, sure, but there was nowhere to duck into here. All the officer's cabins were locked.

He wondered if he could throw himself at the Admiral with a butter knife. Surely she had a service pistol to defend herself with. It was just driving him mad in the meantime. The less he thought about it, the less it hurt, the less it banged against the bones of his skull, begging to be let out. He could even pretend he was fine over a game of cards with the robot and Butter. Out here, though, he was alone with his thoughts. It was only slightly better than being in bed.

He arrived at her door, raising a shivering hoof to the doorbell. The door unlocked soon after, she always expected him at this time. He pushed through the door, entering the Admiral's Apartment.

Green carpet covered the floor. A queen sized bed was placed in the back. A heavenly-looking, private bathroom. A kitchenette. A writing desk. She was there, sitting at the writing desk. Her uniform coat and cap hung on a rack nearby, and she wore a simple white shirt as she watched something on her PipBuck. A small, orange tree bonsai sat on the desk in front of her.

"Your breakfast, ma'am," he muttered, reaching for the platter on his back.

Admiral Azure turned around, nodding as her daisy sandwich, jello, nuts, eggs, and orange juice were placed on the desk. Had she always acknowledged his presence? He was pretty sure on the first day of him taking up his new role he didn't even turn around when he entered...

He made a hasty retreat to the door, only to be stopped as she spoke up, "Mr Heart. Stay here, if you please."

Ivory Heart's head sunk, his hoof leaving the door handle as he slowly turned around. Azure had swivelled her chair around to face him, a vaguely thoughtful look on her face. Swallowing, Ivory answered, "Y-Yes ma'am?"

Extending a wing, Azure pointed towards the bed, "Sit down. I'd like to have a chat with you, as two equal ponies, not with pomp and rank."

Ivory was tempted to point out that he wasn't a pony, but lacked almost any vestige of willpower. He marched over to the bed, sitting down as gently as he could to not disturb the sheets.

"My records say you're from Canterlot?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as she tossed a nut into her mouth.

"Zebratown, ma'am," he muttered, cupping his forehooves together as he avoided the Admiral's gaze.

"Stop calling me ma'am," the Admiral muttered, crunching on the nut a few times. After a few chews, she continued, "I'm from Canterlot too. I went to Ivy Crawl Private School there, how about you?"

He glanced up at her nervously, "I... also went there. It was quite a thing for my parents to do so, but they allowed me in. Did not stop the accusations that my parents had bribed their way into the pockets of the headmasters. I was expelled... I don't blame the faculty, they were getting death threats for it."

Azure stared at him for a moment, before taking a sip of her orange juice, "...We must've gone during different years."

"Mhm."

"You studied law?" she asked, "To be a barrister?"

"After seeing so much injustice, I thought it would only be right to use my education to ensure prosecutions did their due diligence before convictions could be handed out," he swallowed, "Then speedy trial doctrines were invented, the MoM took over a lot of legal processes... I passed the bar but I gave up."

"You joined the Navy fairly early? Five years or so into the war?" Azure asked, being fairly familiar with the long list of 'wartime reforms' that Luna's government had made.

Ivory Heart couldn't help but feel slightly grilled. It didn't help that he had explained his entire life story before to Butter Apron over work. Still, he felt the pegasus wouldn't let him leave until he spilled his guts one last time, so he simply gritted his teeth and bore it, "Yes. They were starting to ban Zebras from combat arms. A natural progression of laws after they banned guns from being sold to creatures without certain educational standards, educational standards only found in places like Zebratown."

Azure nodded again, face fairly neutral as she took another bite of her breakfast, "So. Why Navy then? Just needed a job and they were lax enough?"

"Fiance worked at Luna's School for Gifted Unicorns."

Her face remained unchanged as she chewed on another nut, "So?"

"...What?" Ivory gave her a slightly insulted look.

"Equestrians shot first. Sure the response was a bit extreme, deploying chemical weapons on civilians, but you're in the Senior Service. You've probably at least heard of the HMS Luna levelling Zenetaya. Lots of civilian casualties there too," Azure Bluette muttered around a full mouth, swallowing shortly after.

A voice in the back of Ivory's mind whispered about an obvious baiting tactic. Pinks liked to be appear sympathetic, to try and suss out your loyalties. The system was perfect, plenty of false positives... not that the MoM ever double checked their evidence. Still, what did he have to lose? "I joined cause I believed in the Equestrian Dream - Friendship, harmony between all tribes and creatures. I thought the Zebras just couldn't see that. I was wrong. The Equestrian Dream is for Equestrians, and you ponies have made it pretty clear to me that I'm no Equestrian," a pause, before he gave Azure a hard look, "I didn't leave because I thought there was nothing waiting for me at home. I was wrong again back then, but the bombs made me right."

There was silence in the room as both creatures analyzed each other carefully. Azure Bluette was the first to break off the staring competition, taking her orange juice and sipping on it again, "...What would make you happy right now, Mr Heart?"

"I'd very much like to end the suffering still, ma'am," he said plaintively.

"Sure, that would end the suffering. That wouldn't make you happy though, would it Mr Heart?" Azure gave him a slight, coy, frustrating smile.

Ivory pursed his lips, "...I would like to back in time and slap myself in the face. Tell myself to just go be a grocery store clerk and die when they drop a nuke on Canterlot. At least that way I'd die in peace."

"Well we can't go back in time..." Azure paused, mouth half-open with more words half-tumbled out. She closed her muzzle, swallowing, before continuing, "We can't go back in time. What's something you can do that would make you happy?"

Ivory gave her an annoyed look, folding his forelegs as the mattress underneath him squeaked slightly, "There is not much to do. From what I've heard, there's nothing outside but a ruined wasteland and a few survivors clinging to life. They probably don't even have enough to feed us if they starved themselves. Nothing grows, there's no sun, no trees..."

"Pretty grim, huh?" Azure Bluette nodded with a slight smile, "I heard you cut yourself several times last week. You had to be taken to the infirmary."

Ivory Heart's muzzle hardened again, but fortunately the Admiral didn't wait for a response.

"Did you happen to see a mare there? Wearing just a cotton shirt? Patches of fur falling off? Hooves cracked and untreated? Looked like she hadn't slept in five days?"

Surprisingly enough, an image immediately flashed into his mind. As he was getting stitched up quickly by a nurse, he'd seen her, standing out from the crowd of whitecoated doctors with the Ministry of Peace butterflies on their breasts. She'd checked his stitches after the nurse was done, before dismissing him to go back to his duties. He nodded.

Azure's eyes trailed off, "She's the doctor of Sunset Town, one of the survivor colonies. She's got no formal education. She reads with the comprehension of a ten year old. They only call her Doctor because of a cutie mark in medicine, no actual college degree," were the Admiral's eyes watering? "...She's never going to be able to retire. She's eating meat, infested with parasite eggs, and being expected to work sixteen hours a day. I don't think she has anything to live for. But she goes on, she seems happy."

Another pause as Azure reached up to rub her eyes. Another voice in the back of Ivory's mind whispered about how he was being preached to; he sighed and folded his forelegs.

"...We're privileged, even on the Indefatigable. We have a roof that doesn't leak, air conditioning, music, food, we don't fear invasion. Why should we feel down? It's not just the grief of our family, of our friends. I don't think that's the reason for you... or me. Certainly, it's maybe a contributor, but...." Azure frowned, finally removing her hoof from her face and looking back to Ivory with reddened eyes, "What's the thing that keeps them going that we don't have?"

Ivory's face softened as his mind chewed on the question. His mind went back to the doctor and to all of the wasteland patients holed up in the infirmary, "...The doctor keeps going because of her patients."

"That's a profession, that's not a reason," Azure dismissed.

"No..." Ivory's brow furrowed, "No, it's a reason and a profession. We've got plenty of doctors here to take the load off of her, but she's still tired. She's still staying up and walking around the infirmary. I've seen her multiple times there, yeah?'

"...Yeah..." Azure raised her chin, a spark of understanding in her eyes.

"She cares about those patients. She's double checking the professional's work. This world is so cruel that it should put down hundreds into the deathbed, but she's willing to go through every length - even when probably wholly unnecessary - to advocate for the sick and injured. Even when the doctors have it well in hoof, there's a comfy bunk waiting for her, good food to eat... she's still there checking charts and examining stitches."

Azure pursed her lips, raising a wing to swat away a trail of liquid from an eye. Eventually, she asked, "...I really wonder if she were born in our time, if she would have given up by now."

"She would've," Ivory Heart nodded, "She would've known how pointless it all was. She could never stem the tide of the sick, and that she would lose too much even just trying."

"This version of her tries anyway," Azure gave a lopsided smile, "And I think there's many more of her kind in the Wasteland. Even just the fishers trying to feed their families."

There was silence in the room for a moment as the Admiral finally turned back to her meal. Ivory sat and watched her dig into her sandwich as he sat on her bed, a slight sense of numbness tingling across his hide.

Eventually, Azure muttered, "Well I think it's time you get back to the kitchen, no?"

"...Sure," he said, standing from the bed shakily.

"If you end up in the infirmary again, I order you to talk to that doctor, Mr Heart," Admiral Azure Bluette intoned, giving him a side-eye from her place at the desk, "Understood?"

Ivory could only nod.

The whirr of the supply retrieval Vertibuck's engines thropped through the air on the other side of the supermarket as Ice Slushee stumbled out into the back lot, lungs burning. The world moved in fast forward as she collapsed forward on her knees, health warnings appearing on her HUD for a moment as she took off her respirator. A small string of saliva followed the mouthpiece as it hung limply from the right side of her helmet, a rapid fire series of coughs and wheezes coming from her lungs.

Before she knew it, she'd fallen onto her side, against a pile of bricks and rebar that surely would have injured her much more if it weren't for the plating of her armor. Fumbling about with sluggish, tingling hooves, she reached into her hidden compartment, taking out one of the red inhalers inside. Shoving the plastic mouthpiece to her face, she barely managed to stop her airway spasming long enough to press the release button as cool, sour gas ran over her tongue and down her throat.

Instantly, the world slowed down again and she took a deep breath, the inhaler falling to the ground with a hollow clatter.

Pushing herself aside with a shaking leg, she leaned up against the brick side of the supermarket, breathing slowly as she turned her head to the sky and squeezed her eyes shut. Radio chatter came from the back of her helmet as the retrieval team fanned out and began sweeping the supermarket for its useful supplies, she just hoped Lightning Bringer hadn't been paying too much attention to the fact her video and audio feed had suddenly cut off.

"Friendly approaching behind, Ice," Pounce Chaser's voice suddenly came through.

Eyes shooting open, Ice moved one of her hindlegs on top of the inhaler, crushing it and hiding it underneath the mass of her armor just as her comrade came out the back door. Pounce Chaser had her helmet off already, her rainbow locks down to her shoulders as she walked over and sat next to Ice with a sigh.

Trying not to make it obvious that she was still high, Ice looked over to the older mare, "...Hi..." she said in a snap.

"You got your link turned off?" Pounce growled, fortunately not noticing Ice's overly twitchy reaction times.

"Yeah," she simply said, though her tongue wanted to go on for longer.

"That shit was FUBAR," the other mare said with a snarl, "We could've taken them down before they could've fired a shot. Instead we're here babysitting the extraction team. What's Lightning Bringer even fucking thinking? That was insane."

Ice didn't speak, just nodding rapidly instead.

Pounce gave Ice a look, "...You okay? You seem twitchy?"

For once, Ice willed herself come off the high faster. She was glad the visor of her suit was hiding her eyes, she simply said, intentionally dragging out her speech, "Fiine. Juust neervous."

The rainbow-maned mare looked weirded out for a moment, but shrugged and looked back towards the skies again, "That shit just doesn't sit right with me."

"Nope," Ice said, following her eyes upwards, but looking right and away from the other mare nervously.

"I hate the Stripes as much as the next pony... but, like, there were foals with 'em. They threatened to... fuck, I can't even think about it without just feeling sick. We should've done something, fuck Lightning Bringer..." Pouncer paused for a moment, trailing off, before she suddenly renewed her fervor, "Hey. Corporal. Maybe we can still do something?"

Ice's eyes were on something else, though. For a moment, there had seemed to be a flash in the distance. She narrowed her eyes. She'd seen that sort of light before, many times out in the field...

Pouncer poked Ice in the back of the shoulder, "Hey! You listening? I can get Crystal on side-"

Another flash. A dot of white, from the top of a tower in the distance. Heart leaping into her throat, Ice Slushee acted on instinct, grabbing Pouncer by the collar of her suit and diving behind a nearby dumpster. The other mare grunted as they both impacted the opposite wall, a small contrail of ice blue following Ice's path across the alleyway.

Switching on her audio and video feed, "Sniper! Sniper! South by southwest!" her tongue navigating flawlessly despite the flurry of words. Her rifles popped out of her battle saddle and charged with a whine.

"Cover!" Crystal Trail shouted as radio chatter suddenly went mute.

Inching over, she stuck the muzzle of one of her laser rifles around the side of the dumpster, activating a manual targeting field. With it, she could see around the blockage. The sounds of Pouncer redonning her helmet and doing the same came from behind as they both took cover.

There was one more flash, before a shadow took wing and flew from the ruined tower. The wingspan wasn't Griffon. Definitely a Pegasus.

"One Pegasus, heading southbound," the rooftop of a nearby building blocked her vision just before her crosshair could zero in on the shadow, "Lost her."

"Same here," Pouncer reported.

"Could be a scout. Extraction team, how much longer?"

"Give us thirty," another voice said.

"51. Four of fly to clear the surroundings. The rest of you stay to protect the ground team."

Crystal Trail's voice came right after Lightning Bringer's, "Ice, Pounce, stay where you are. Me and Waffle are grouping on you."

The four fastest flyers. Made sense. Ice breathed a slightly embittered sigh as she felt the high slowly sipping away. A cough or two sputtered out of her as she reattached her respirator.

Coming out the back door, sweeping their weapons around, Crystal and Waffle joined up with Ice and Pouncer in the alleyway. As soon as they were properly grouped, they flew above in a cluster, sweeping out into concentric circles, moving laterally and unpredictably as they scanned the surrounding areas.

Where toxic rivers had once flowed the previous night, there was now just a silvery-metallic sludge. No sign of anything living, aside from a few black dots moving away from them down a highway in the distance. Not the proper shape to be equines or any other sentient creature they could recognize. It was concluded they were some sort of animal.

"Trail, Ice, Waffle, Pounce, move to that nest and search it. Be careful for traps. You know how snipers like to have their hideouts."

"Yes ma'am," Trail muttered, signalling for the others to form up behind her as she broke her search pattern. Together, they shot over the rooftops towards the ruined tower.

An old clocktower over an old high school - Ice wondered if Shot Stack would recognize it - was the location the silhouette had abandoned. There was, of course, no sign of them in the skies by the time they arrived. Still, they flew in stiff combat formation, ready to break and maneuver as soon as fire was taken or a hostile was spotted.

Pounce Chaser mounted the clockface, where a few panels had gone missing leaving a window into the interior space of the tower. After carefully scanning for traps, she jumped inside, the rest of her squad following her in with the same degree of professionalism.

"Nothing..." Pounce muttered as she moved on inside, guns sweeping the room.

Old, rusty gears were jammed together by years of erosion. The clock itself had stopped at just 15 past 10, around an hour after the bombs had actually dropped. The fact it hadn't tipped over likely meant the tower had received less damage than its surroundings from the detonations.

A filthy, ratty mattress had been moved in front of the window facing towards the supermarket. An arrangement of broken concrete, bricks, and scrap metal sat above a blackened spot on the floor, where charcoal and half-burned wood still lay. A fire, made to direct smoke in such a way as to not create a signal fire. It was also facing away from the window that looked out towards the supermarket.

Waffle Cone disarmed a grenade bouquet sitting a few levels down the stairwell, as well as redundant sets of noisemakers and razorwire throat-slitters that were only barely visible on the way down. There were no other clues about the occupant, though. Not even any discarded wrappers or crumbs.

"We were being watched, by professionals too," Crystal Trail pointed out, walking back over to the window and looking out. Ice gazed over her shoulder, seeing the supermarket, the parking lot (and the Vertibuck parked there), and the back alley they had been sitting in.

"Why didn't they take the shot?" Ice muttered, "Were they with the fuckers that took the Zebras?"

"Maybe. Maybe they saw us as too dangerous to take the chance," Crystal mumbled.

Pounce, however, seemed to disagree, "They were disciplined, but they weren't special forces. This is a professional sniper's nest."

"We don't know anything for sure. We now know there's a sniper threat in the area, 51. Keep your eyes peeled. Return to the rest of your squad once you're done."

"Roger that," Trail sighed, retreating from the window.

Ice engaged the zoom on her goggles all the way to their maximum level, walking forward to poke her head out of the window. She saw the site of the firefight in the far distance, as well as the pixelated body of the defender who was shot.

She suppressed another coughing fit as the others pushed past her to return to the market.

Chapter 14: The Wastelanders

November 30, 1277 - Mission Day 52

Flow Kindheart woke up with a start, having entirely missed the tinny ring of the alarm clock that Band Ball had made for her. She cast her sheets off, rolling to her left, only for her muzzle to press squarely into a cold, steel wall.

It was only as she cracked open her weary, crusted, swollen eyes that she remembered she wasn't in her clinic in Sunset Town. She hadn't heard her clock go off because it was still sitting beside her bedroll in the attic of said clinic. Instead, she was in one of the 'on-call rooms' aboard the Phantom Ship. It also explained why her sheets didn't itch and why her back sunk so far into the suffocatingly soft mattress of the bunk.

She sighed, rolling over the other direction, whacking her horn painfully as she stood up and bumped into the top bunk. Her hooves pressed onto the cold, metallic floor of the ship as she woozily stumbled towards the door and back out into the main infirmary, only the muttered sleeptalking of the nurse on the top bunk to see her off as she left.

"What time is it...?" Flow muttered, attempting to blink the spots and floaters in her eyes away as she walked towards the gold-colored frame of Doctor Hoof.

"Nine AM," the surgeon answered with a smile, looking towards her, "That had to be what, eleven hours? Feeling better?"

Kindheart snorted, "I bet doctors in your time got to sleep that long all the time."

"No, not really. When I'd be on call in my residency, I'd be lucky to get thirty minutes cause I'd be real nervous," Firm Hoof chuckled with a smile and a slight twinkle in his creased eye, "Don't worry, Miss. Nopony died because of your curing your own chronic sleep deprivation."

Flow frowned. She couldn't help but feel slightly belittled. Sleeping for that long back in Sunset Town might legitimately mean somepony's death. It wasn't her fault that she didn't have some fancy autodoc, diagnostic doohickeys, and fancy magic to keep her patients alive.

"Speaking of self care..." Hoof continued, seemingly uncaring about Kindheart's sour face as he turned back to glowing terminal screen, "I've scheduled you an appointment with our dentist at eleven, last one before lunch. I've seen those cavities and that plaque, you need the help just as much as the average patient here does. Why don't you go and get some breakfast, then maybe hit up the rec rooms, then come back around then and Dr Sweet Paste will fix those pearly whites right back up!" he gave her another smile.

"The dentist should see to the earth ponies first," Flow's scowl deepened. Earth Ponies always had the worst teeth, especially the ones that fired pistols a lot. Apparently pre-war ponies used mouthguards to avoid cracking their molars with every trigger pull. Who knew?

"A doctor must take care of their own health first, Miss Kindheart," Hoof lectured in a way that only an old stallion with an actual education could, "I'm the Head Surgeon of this ship. Even if you're not a member of the crew, you're my responsibility. If you want to keep working here, I suggest you do what I say. I don't want to see you back here until after those teeth have been fixed."

Flow Kindheart's scowl lessened. With a side-eye, she looked out towards the waiting room. For once, many of the chairs were empty. Just a few of the pre-war ponies in uniform, sitting around. She supposed she could give herself a break... it's not like she could really return to her clinic until that plan to bring the ship to Sunset Town and construct a gantry to allow ponies to just walk to the ship and back was finished.

As Kindheart moved to walk past the head surgeon and towards the exit, the stallion turned in his seat to add, "Oh! One last thing.."

She gave him a neutral, tired look.

"You're.." he scrunched up his muzzle, "You're... rather odoriferous. Please, in the three hours you have, use some of it to take a shower and take that filthy outfit to be laundered. It's no insult to you, it's just extremely displeasing to work with. I'm glad you haven't been handling patients directly, or else I'm sure most of them would have gone into sepsis by now," Hoof shivered slightly, "Take one of the unoccupied patient facilities... and use that anti-parasitic shampoo, please."

Kindheart raised a leg, sniffing at it and frowning. Smelled normal to her. If anything, the ponies around the ship smelled sickeningly flowery. Still, by the long-suffering cringe on the old stallion's face, she decided that it was probably for the best she take his advice, diverting her course towards one of the sets of bathrooms available for use by the infirmary staff.

The medicinal shampoo stung and burned, especially at the patches of her hide where the fur had fallen away. Still, she lathered up until the stream of water underneath her slowly turned from brown to clear. Towelling down, she'd tried to use the sink to wash her clothes like she was asked, only to get a strange look from a passing corpspony.

Apparently, the ship had a place to do laundry. Was a sink with pure, water-talisman water not good enough for pre-war ponies? She supposed so. Still, after being harrassed several times, she agreed to take her clothes down to the laundry compartment.

Laundry aboard the Phantom Ship was apparently done via huge, noisy, headache-inducing machines. The machines would soak the clothes and then spin aggressively, using Abraxo Cleaner of all thing to actually get the dirt out. The sailor who took her clothes to be put in one of the machines gave her yet another strange look when she suggested that it was actually meant to be used for scrubbing stains off of floorboards and the decks of boats. Eventually, he admitted that it probably could be used for scrubbing surfaces, but still affirmed that its original use was as 'laundry detergent'.

Pre-War Ponies apparently had made soap for not just themselves but for clothes. Ridiculous.

Next was breakfast, served in the mess halls. Apparently the top doctors had another place they ate. She wasn't a real doctor (she was a 'civilian') so she ate in a big common area with the rest of the 'enlisted ponies' (it'd taken her a while to learn the different terms for a pony in a military uniform). She'd noticed some of the other corpsponies getting in line to eat, so she fell in line with them, grabbing one of the plastic trays.

Until now, she'd just had her meals delivered to her as she made rounds around the waiting room and offices of the infirmary (again, not a 'real doctor', so she couldn't touch the patients she'd been treating naught but a week ago), so going and getting her own food from the mess was new to her. Food was portioned out into trays, with reminders taped to the tables about rationing and maximum portions.

There were a lot of foods she didn't know about. In Las Pegasus, some ponies would hunt Radigator or Steelbeak Eggs to scramble and cook - she'd had those once, they were certainly a step up from fish. Here, however, they served some sickly yellow, squishy version of egg scramble. When she inquired about it, she was told it was yellow because it was from a chicken.

She'd only read about chickens in books. From the depictions of them on 'Old Granny Smith's Farmhouse', they looked demonic. She'd much rather hunt a radigator's nest than farm 'chickens'.

Still, it didn't stop her from spooning a good portion out onto her platter, since it was a relatively familiar foodstuff. Further down the line was a majority vegetables, something you could only get in such plenty if you were an upper Syndicate brownnoser like Gears. There was also a soup being served, though it was extremely thick and obviously meant to actually sate rather than just serve as an excuse to cut rations.

Then, she noticed something at the end of the meal line. A big, clear cylindrical tub of Sugar Apple Bombs. Fresh.

Her tongue tingled and her mouth wetted as she painstakingly waited the few steps it took for the line to progress close enough to the tub. Taking a plastic bowl, she cranked the lever connected to a chute at the bottom of the cylinder until she got weird looks from those waiting behind her.

As soon as about three kernels of the sugary cereal bounced off the floor, she licked her chops, levitated the tray above her head, and advanced to a table with a giant grin on her face.

Kindheart ended up following the other corpsponies to their table. They seemed to tolerate her presence there as she wolfed down her food. One of them commented about her smelling better. Kindheart muttered back something about trying to deal with an entire town's worth of bowel incontinence and open wounds, the entire time only being rationed a few buckets of clean water, and come back and criticize her for smelling bad.

Placed into an awkward silence, her messmates (as she'd learned was the word for ponies you ate with) simply ate their breakfast in silence. Thankfully, very little distracted Kindheart from her own meal... that is until one of the corpsponies took their bowl of cereal and came back with it bathed in a white liquid that could only be milk.

For once, she was the one giving him the strange look, which he noticed after a few seconds of him eating his weird cereal-soup hybrid.

"...What?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Is that milk?" she asked, crunching on a beautifully fresh and crisp kernel of hyper-processed and sugared corn. There was just something different tasting about it when it wasn't 200 years old.

"Yes...?" he mumbled, tapping the cereal bowl to push some more of the kernels below the water.

Kindheart chuckled, "Uh, why? Why spoil it with milk? It's just gonna get all soggy."

"I mean... you eat it... before it gets soggy," the stallion said, clearly lost in confusion as he watched her crunch down on another dry kernel, "...The milk absorbs some of the sugar and also becomes sweet. It's nice."

She didn't question it that much further, it was probably just some Old World gourmet way of eating cereal.

She remembered seeing an old milk carton in one of the scavenger shops in Sunset Town, and how unlike most packaged pre-war food all of the milk had rotted away. Elsewhere in the Wasteland, some ponies kept animals that yielded milk, but Las Pegasus was barren when it came to mammalian wildlife that could be domesticated. It was only a matter of time until this ship ran out of these things.

Kindheart's face slowly fell, even as she crunched more of the delicious cereal. Sure they were beginning to trade for food... but how long was it until they ran out of medicine? They were practically dumping RadAway onto every stray patient, no matter how minor their poisoning. They were made out of oranges,

What about antibiotics? Those were extremely hard to find in a form that still worked, since they had a relatively short shelf life. From what books she'd read, the active ingredient in common antibiotics was some sort of fungus - something that had probably mutated beyond recognition by now, as fungi liked eating up Rads.

Her eyes wandered around the cafeteria. Sailors laughed, ate, drank, and were merry. She noticed they were always happy when they were eating, but were always coated in some varying layer of glum or soberness elsewhere. She could understand, she supposed, what with them having apparently seen the bombs go off; mealtime was probably some area of solace where they could pretend all was right in the world.

Would they stay as happy when they had to eat tumor-ridden, thoroughly cooked fish and stale alfalfa for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? What was the Syndicate going to do once the infirmary ran out of free RadAway and antibiotics?

She looked back to her half-emptied bowl of cereal. Maybe she'd try that milk trick now...

Just outside the rusted, chainlink fences of the Blueblood Military Academy was an old boardwalk, one that used to extend out over the side of the River Rush as part of a pre-war City Park. Of course, the boardwalk had burned up and fallen into the river a long time ago and left just a shear drop down the riverbank, paved by cracked and subsiding concrete.

The part of the river that the base was adjacent to was part of a sort of shoulder in the river, just as it turned southwards. The far bank of the river was almost out of sight in the dusky glow of the overcast, midday sun. It was far beyond where anything but high-velocity rifles could fire, and the scavenger teams were still unable to find any shells to supply the artillery pieces they had recovered. Thus, sadly, river traffic remained unpoliced by the Rangers, allowing the Syndicate to send trade up and down the river (and thus towards the Central Wasteland and those thugs in Fillydelphia) without interference.

Roaring Thunder sighed as he looked away from the far bank, turning with the slow, casual hiss and wheeze of his powered armor. Perhaps he should ask their friends aboard the Indefatigable if they had shells... or perhaps an entirely new weapon system to loan them!

The thought of sinking a few Syndicate boats made him smile. Thinking of new weapons system made him look towards the two Vertibucks parked in the training beyond the fences and sandbags of the base.

They had returned that day with specialists from the ship, clothed in baggy yellow hazmat suits. Captain Bugle as well as a few Ranger-Marines had come with them as an escort, although they had spent most of the time since landing talking to a few Knights and several crowds of eager Initiates (before they had been yelled at by their tutors to get back to their duties). Two of the Ranger-Marines, dressed in their shining, white-painted power armor stood guard over the specialists as they did their duties.

Running through the remains of the old City Park was a flow of Balefire Lava. The white, silvery substance radiated an uncomfortable amount of heat, emitting a not-unsubstantial amount of radiation even while cooled. All around the flow of lava, blackened and charred dirt smouldered, remains of the unquenchable fires sparked by the rainstorms. The very end of the flow was about twenty meters or so from the side of the river - from flowing down the bank and straight into the water.

Fortunately the rain and fire had concealed the tracks from where they had used Jenny to push the noxious goop into the water. The specialists hadn't made any comments about it either.

One of the said specialists was standing a few meters back, looking into a PipBuck mounted on her foreleg as her comrades swept the lava flow with a variety of tools, instruments, and spells. A unicorn horn was pressed into the hood of the hazmat suit and a patch on her left shoulder depicted a purple six-pointed star and the letters "M.A.S." around it. She tapped the buttons and dials on the PipBuck with flashes of orange magic, seemingly entering data into some sort of program he didn't recognize.

Coughing into an armored hoof, Roaring Thunder approached behind the unicorn, "So, what's the prognosis, doc?"

The unicorn turned to look out of the side of her helmet, "Oh, uh, we're still taking readings. You ponies said your armor reacts negatively to the Balefire Lava?"

Roaring Thunder winced as memories of one of his old squadmates being pushed into a pool of Balefire Lava, his armor erupting into a shower of sparks and fire as the substance ate straight through. Nodding, he simply said, "Yeah..."

"We believe Balefire Lava is engineered to act as a catalyst for a massively exothermic oxygen reaction when introduced to certain molecular structures. Silicates like earth, concrete, stone, and plastic seem to be non-reactive," the unicorn winced as she looked back down to her PipBuck, "...Except that the Lava is also passively corrosive. We don't think we can move enough of it by just using plastic containers. It eats holes in it too fast."

He blinked. Most of the words went over his head, except for the last part, "Actually. I know that the Scribes use a gold basin to grab samples for the base's generator."

"Gold?" through the glossy refraction of the unicorn's visor she raised an eyebrow, "I suppose it's a fairly non-reactive metal. Isn't that rather expensive, though?"

Roaring Thunder snickered, "Hah. That's a good one. There's a bank about fifty klicks out from here. The vault's never been looted, cause it contains gold. You know what gold's useful for?"

The unicorn's face fell, but she nodded in understanding anyway, "Nothing, I suppose, unless you're doing some specific thaumomechanical enchanting."

"Yeah... sure..." Roaring Thunder's brow furrowed, before he spoke once again, "Haven't caught your name, by the way."

"Dr Summer Fruit," she smiled, "You?"

"Star Paladin Roaring Thunder," he inclined his head down (more than usual) to her, "Pleased to meet you," a pause, "...Old World doctor meant you went to school and got a specialization in something, right?"

Summer Fruit nodded, "I studied megaspells and thaumic physics."

He whistled, which came out as more of an obnoxious whine through the speakers of his suit, "Those are some fancy words.... megaspells? Like, the ones that destroyed the world?"

"Well I didn't build any," she snorted, looking back down to her PipBuck once again, "But yes. The MAS were hiring a lot for ponies with that specialization. I wanted to get a place at one of the Hubs, but they put me on the Indefatigable instead."

He grinned, bumping her on the shoulder as lightly as he could with his empowered hoof, "Lucky gal, huh? A lot of MAS places these days belong to Hellhounds."

"Hellhounds?" Summer Fruit asked, rubbing her shoulder in a way that indicated to him that she hadn't appreciated the poke.

Raising a hoof to fidget around his neck, Roaring Thunder winced, "Yeah. Big, scary motherfuckers. Mutant Diamond Dogs. They can shear your armor open in one swipe. Every single one of them hate ponies with a passion, don't deserve much mercy in return."

"what's next? giant cockroaches?"

"What was that?"

"Nothing," Summer Fruit shook her head, going silent as she was absorbed by her work on her PipBuck.

Leaning over her shoulder to get a better look at the screen, Roaring pursed his lips as he tried to make sense of the information. Whatever it was, it involved rapidly oscillating between a calculator, some sort of chemical chart, a big list of magical runes, and a bunch of funky purple waves.

The scientist gave a few awkward side-eyes towards him as he continued to loom over her shoulder, causing him to eventually take a hesitant step back. Eventually, Summer sighed, "Hey, listen, we've got a lot of work to do. Do you mind?"

"Yeah, sure, sorry for bothering you," Thunder muttered, stalking off.

Three hours later, Flow Kindheart walked out of the dentist's office, her teeth feeling like a single misplaced clench could shatter every single one of them.

The appointment had involved a lot of swearing, sighing, and muttering from the ship's dentist. She'd fully expected going in that she was just going to have a few teeth pulled - it's what she did to most of her dental patients at the clinic. Instead, the dentist had gone through with some sort of extremely cold, extremely bone-chilling jet and blasted her mouth until it felt numb. Then, he'd taken some sort of tool and began poking and prodding every crevice and crack in her teeth until they were all filled with some sort of concrete. Then, he'd given her something called 'toothpaste' and sent her on her way, instructing her to use it twice a day.

Hesitantly closing her mouth, her teeth twinging and clacking as they finally rejoined their counterparts on her lower jaw, she walked back through the infirmary to the doctor's offices - just in time for afternoon rounds.

She stopped as she walked by the Intensive Care Unit. In one of the wards, a colt sat underneath a blanket, slowly breathing in and out through a nose tube. His midsection was still covered in bandages and a IV tube was inserted into an artery by the neck.

Kindheart walked slowly into the room after checking quickly for any of the medical staff who might try to stop her. His heartrate was weak, but steady. There was no more bleeding from his side, the bandages wrapped around his barrel being there more to aid healing than to apply pressure to the site. His septic fever had gone down and he had even woken up a few times. He'd surely have died if it weren't for the Phantom Ship appearing that night.

"You're not supposed to be here, Miss Kindheart," came a voice from her side as Doctor Hoof suddenly appeared in her peripheral.

Jumping slightly, she wrenched her eyes away from her nephew towards the doctor, "Oh... sorry, I was just checking on him."

"That's okay. We just had a patient with a case of what looks like Mange come in, would you mind taking a look with us?" Doctor Hoof asked, lighting his horn and drawing the curtain closed in front of the bed, right in her face.

Blinking at the sudden obstruction, she frowned, giving him a slight glare, "What am I gonna advise you on? How to give that anti-parasitic medication?"

"It's much better to be certain in medicine," Hoof gave one of his smiles, turning and patting her on the shoulder, "Come on, let's walk."

Following after a moment of reluctance, they passed through the metal-lined halls of the ship's hospital, heading back towards the doctors' offices. Kindheart ran another gently probe across her teeth with her tongue, still feeling as if they were going to pop out of her gums at any moment after the 'cleaning'. As she did so, her eyes landed on a gurney being wheeled by, a full bag of RadAway liquid mix propped up on an IV connected to a conscious patient's veins. A quick glance at the diagnostics screen on the back of the cart showed a Rad level not even at severe yet, just 50%.

She frowned, "You need to stop giving our patients so much RadAway."

"They have radiation poisoning," the doctor shrugged, "We have to discharge them with a clear bill of health. Besides, radiation sickness is no joke! Those scanners aren't always accurate."

"Yeah," her frown turned into a scowl, "That guy was fully conscious, didn't look sick-"

"You can't know that without a proper diagnostic," Hoof immediately dismissed, adjusting his glasses with a flick of his telekinesis.

"I know," Kindheart groaned, throwing her head back slightly, "I know a patient with rads when I see one. I've been treating them my entire life! That patient did not need RadAway."

"Things are done differently here, Miss Kindheart," the doctor muttered, his voice lowering as his patience seemingly ran thin.

Regardless, Kindheart was too tired of the same answer to listen, "What's different about this place is that you just have more. More equipment. More drugs. More beds. More ponies. Can you make more RadAway? Can you make more Antibiotics? Can you make more of that painkiller? I don't know if you've noticed," she cantered forward and stopped in front of him, jabbing a hoof at a random wall, "But we don't exactly have pharmacies brimming with pre-war meds anymore, Doctor!"

Hoof, stopped by her, gave a sigh, "As a member of the Ministry of Peace, it is my duty to give every patient that comes through those doors the best possible care. I would have thought you would have been more supportive of this, considering we've had at least ten cases over the past week that would have passed away without our intervention!"

"You aren't gonna be able to heal the ponies that really need it if you keep wasting penicillin and RadAway on every random Raider that comes in here with a venereal disease and an infected papercut, Doctor Hoof!" Kindheart lowered her foreleg and stomped in frustration.

Rolling his eyes and stepping around her, Firm Hoof simply said, "I will pass on your concerns to the Admiral. If we need to source more medication, we will. I understand you're a volunteer. If you think you don't support this hospital's altruistic care, then you may return to land with the next flight."

"There is no medication! You don't think we've tried to find it? There just isn't any! It all rotted away on the shelves! Everything else has been stripped by scavvers long ago. Even if you find a deposit it won't last long!" Kindheart argued.

Hoof kept walking away from her, his only response being an ear flick.

Kindheart clenched her tender, brittle teeth, hissing from between them: "Jackass."

Night had fallen on the Blueblood Military Academy. Fires had been lit around the base, though nopony was gathered around the majority of them. The Knights that were up and about patrolled the base, headlamps illuminating great swathes of land before them as they strolled. Every Initiate was sound asleep in their bunk, the intense training regime of Steel Rangers leaving no room for leisure.

Still, the aftershock of meeting pre-war military still had some of the upper ranks giddy, especially Roaring Thunder. When the Ranger-Marines had gathered around a campfire to sit and relax, Thunder and several other of the upper echelon had decided to neglect sleep and join them.

The Ranger-Marines, the 15 of them that were off-shift, had sat down and taken their helmets off. The post-war Rangers had performed the same courtesy, despite technically being vulnerable to snipers out in the open. Roaring doubted anypony had plans to attack the base at this time, not with their very powerful friends hanging around.

To say the Ranger-Marines were different would be an understatement. Comparatively to most Rangers, Roaring thought of himself as fairly lighthearted. These ponies put him to shame and made his stone-faced brothers purse their lips at just how many jokes, jabs, and idle chatter was exchanged between them. They ate MREs, chewed on chocolate beads, and tossed wrappers onto the fire. Somepony had asked if they always got this time to themselves, which had sent them down a trail of discussion about the Steel Ranger's training regimen.

"So you recruit foals?" Captain Brass Bugle asked, taking a spoonful of noodles out of her plastic meal wrapper.

Paladin Big Splash nodded solemnly, "Rarely, a foal may be born into the Rangers through the civilian ranks - the Scribes. This is not enough to maintain our population, you must understand. We generally pick from liberated populations."

"...Huh. Guess that makes some sorta sense," Bugle creased her forehead as she thought, "...Back in my day, we'd never recruit foals. Heck, there was a big hoopla about if'n we should lower the draftin' age to 18."

The post-war Rangers shared a mutual chuckle. Roaring added a snort into the chorus of laughter, just as Big Splash added, "When we take them young, they may learn our ways and infuze our ideals into their core essence - truly become one of us. We ensure only those forged into steel can become worthy to wear armor, and only the brightest may be accepted amongst our Scribes."

Bugle nodded hesitantly, eventually choosing to just return to focusing on her meal. That didn't stop another Ranger-Marine next to her from asking, "...And what if somepony's not good enough?"

"They usually always are. If an Initiate grows to an age where they may become a Knight or a Scribe but still is not fit for duty, then this is a grave error on behalf of their instructors," Paladin Big Splash lowered his head solemnly, his power armor groaning as he leaned forward, "There are times when a Ranger misbehaves, though, due to a clear lack of commitment."

Roaring Thunder tried to catch Big Splash's gaze, shaking his head rapidly, but it was of no use.

"...In that case," he continued, still solely focused on looking across the flames at Captain Bugle and not seeing Thunder's expression, "There are punishments. Flogging, beating... Path of Exile."

"So... you jus' kick 'em out of camp?" Bugle asked. Thunder facehooved.

"No. We strip them naked of all equipment, scorch their horn if they have one, attach a bomb collar to their neck, and walk in a straight line towards the eastern shore. If they deviate from the path, the collar goes off. Thirst and hunger gets them if the mutants don't," Big Splash explained, every word coming out of his mouth increasing the horror on the Ranger-Marines' faces.

Roaring Thunder gave a wide, awkward grin, holding up a placating hoof as he walked over to Big Splash's side, "That never happens, you must understand. I've never seen it happen in my lifetime. It's more of a threat than a real thing we'd ever resort to. Most of the time we'd just hang them if they did something really serious, like refuse critical orders or murder somepony, y'know? Heh heh..."

Punching the Paladin in the shoulder, Roaring Thunder hissed at him in a tone just low enough to be inaudible under the crackle of the fire, "Didn't you fucking listen in history? They wouldn't understand this sorta thing, Paladin Splash! I don't even think they flogged ponies!"

Splash, seemingly finally realizing why the Marines were looking at him strangely, lowered his head, "My most sincere apologies. I only wished to be honest."

There was an awkward silence for a moment, before Bugle simply chuckled, "W-Well, I guess you gotta have some tough discipline ta survive out here, huh?"

"Yep!" Roaring Thunder nodded eagerly.

Another awkward silence, fortunately broken up by the sound of something wooden bumping around amongst the Ranger-Marines drew everypony's attention. One of the Marines, having completely vacated her armor, had procured a guitar from her rucksack. She ran her forehooves up and down the stringes, slowly tuning it. Her green uniform had the nametag 'Quick Eyes'.

"Hey!" she asked, "Any requests?"

The Marines seemed to finally relax, leading to Roaring Thunder finally allowing himself to sit again. A voice came from Thunder's left, "Something the Ministry of Image would fucking hate!" a holler of cheers erupted in response to that suggestion.

The guitarist seemed to consider that for a moment, before smiling and nodding, beginning to strum. The rhythm was obviously recognizable to her comrades, as they cheered again.

"Some folks are born made to wave the flag
"Hoo, they're cyan, white and blue
"And when the band plays "Hail to the chief"
"Ooh, they point the cannon at you, Celestia!"

Voices from across the platoon joined in, slightly off-tune as they sung.

"It ain't me, it ain't me
"I ain't no noble filly, no
"It ain't me, it ain't me
"I ain't no fortunate one, no!"

"Some folks are born silver spoon in hoof
"Celestia, don't they help themselves, Celestia?
"But when the taxpony come to the door
"Celestia, the house lookin' like a rummage sale, yeah!"

"It ain't me, it ain't me
"I ain't no millionaire's filly, no, no
"It ain't me, it ain't me
"I ain't no fortunate one, no!"

"Yeah-yeah, some folks inherit star-spangled eyes
"Hoo, they send you down to war, Celestia!
"And when you ask 'em, 'How much should we give?'
"Hoo, they only answer, 'More, more, more, more'!"

The chorus repeated a few times, leaving Roaring Thunder to slowly frown, full of thought. As the song ended and the Marines hollered once again, several more song requests being thrown the way of the guitarist, he leaned forward towards Bugle.

"Hey, Captain?" he asked.

"Mhm?" Bugle answered, chucking a chocolate pellet into her mouth.

Rubbing his chin with a slightly muddy armored hoof, he asked, "What was that song about? Why would the Ministry of Image hate it?"

Bugle paused, considering it for a moment, "Uhh... I mean it's up to some interpretation. My interpretation is that the song's 'bout how rich ponies are always all patriotic, but never suffer and make other ponies do the bleedin' and dyin'. The singer dun' wanna go to war, y'know?"

Roaring Thunder rolled that response around his mind for a moment, before giving it a dismissive shake of his head, "But why? What's life without laying yourself down for something bigger than yourself?"

"Heh. Well maybe that's yer opinion," Bugle sighed, taking a sip from her water mouthpiece in the neck of her suit, before adding, "I'd rather go back home t' the farm. Just get back to th' husband and th' filly. Grow some corn. No need to worry about Stripes hunkering behind every bush, no more fighting tanks, no more war."

The same pony that had asked about punishments in the Rangers earlier, sitting next to Bugle, added, "On the bright side, Cap, guess there's no more War. Zebras all died, right Thunder?"

A bit insulted at just being called by his last name, Roaring Thunder shrugged, "Well there are Zebras still. We've actually been fighting them for a while."

Bugle's eyebrow shot up, "Hol' up. What's this?"

He pursed his lips. Surely he could let her in on that secret, right? "Well, ah, we don't know where they've been coming from, but there's been a bunch of Zebras patrolling the inner city. They occasionally ambush our exploration teams. They've also been sending robots out to the Syndicate to trade," he spat, "Every time we try and fight them, they always just disappear. They must have the entirety of the inner city ruins mapped or something."

Music started back up again as the musician started another tune. Bugle bit her lip, "...Guess the War isn't over."

"If you could help us find their main base, we could find everything they've been hoarding and excise the threat together. Surely with your flying machines, your equipment... we could easily just plough straight through them," Roaring Thunder leaned forward slightly.

Bugle gave a... disappointed frown? Eventually, she muttered, "I'll pass that on to Command. Thank ya."

"Of course. Rangers have to help each other out," Roaring Thunder said matter-of-factly.

"Uh huh..." the Captain frowned, "...Hey, goin' back to a previous subject for a moment..."

He raised an eyebrow, but stayed silent.

"Just curious... what're you gonna do when you retire? Do y'all even got retirement?"

That one elicited a full on belly laugh, "No!" he said, grinning, "Of course not. A Ranger is a Ranger for life. I wouldn't do it if I even got the chance."

Paladin Big Splash butted into the conversation, adding, "Perhaps we shall retire when we have total victory."

"Total victory...?" Bugle asked, seemingly hesitant.

"Equestria is reforged. Our contingents bring about a new age, where there are no more slavers, no more raiders, where settlements can live with no fear under our flag. Where we can use technology to bring about peace, crushing all who would dare break it under a steel-plated hoof!" Big Splash slammed a hoof against his chestpiece with a resounding clang.

Roaring Thunder bit his lip, quickly adding for Bugle's sake: "We want things back to the way they were. Where ponies can just... own a farm and not worry about ponies like the Syndicate ambushing them from the bushes. A New Equestria, get me?"

"Yeah..." the farm mare nodded, face still uncertain, "What would you do then?"

"Hmm?" he hummed.

"Like, let's say we rebuild Equestria. No more war. Ponies all working together to rebuild. What then?" Bugle asked, popping another chocolate pellet.

Roaring Thunder gave her a shrug, "Well there's always gonna be a need for Rangers."

"Well if there's peace, no more monsters or anythin', is there really gonna be a need?" she probed.

"Well we'd be upholding that peace, of course. If we decided to all give up everything would just devolve into violence again. Heck, they might even blow up the world for a second time!" he rolled his eyes. It was an obvious answer.

Bugle's ears fell as she looked down into her empty dessert package, "...Right, o' course. Ain't never will be any peace," she said as she threw the wrapper into the fire.

Roaring Thunder looked her up and down, heart falling as the Captain's mood fell quickly. With a sigh, he turned his attention back to the music.

She just didn't get it.

Chapter 15: The Raiders

December 2, 1277 - Mission Day 54

Once again, the commissioned officer's briefing room was assembled. A vidscreen was set up on one side of the room, where Commander Calm Seas stood waiting for the meeting to commence. A trail of ponies filtered into the room from the hall, the Master At Arms standing by by the door and gazing neutrally at the procession of the ship's upper crust and specialists.

Admiral Azure Bluette was already seated at the far end of the room, sipping from a mug of coffee, fresh from the wardroom kitchen. Captain Anchor stood a few feet from her, filling his own mug from the coffee pot when a commotion kicked up at the entrance.

A green unicorn with a purple mane, patchy fur, and a ratty outfit had simply strolled in at the end of the line. She'd, of course, been immediately stopped by the master-at-arms, but she still seemed determined to push past him into the briefing room.

"I've been trying all week to get in to see your leadership. I'm sorry that there isn't exactly a fucking receptionist to talk to!" the mare insisted.

"This is a meeting for commissioned officers and invited specialists only. You're restricted to the crew deck only," the master at arms calmly explained, standing firmly in front of the door.

Azure had looked up from her mug towards the door, along with most of those in the room. Her eyes momentarily locked with that of the survivor pony, who reared up to shout over the Master's head.

"Hey! Hey you! You're in charge here right? I have a bunch to talk to you about!" the mare shouted.

The Master At Arms looked back towards Azure, a tired look on his face. The Head Surgeon facehooved as soon as he saw the face of the survivor at the door.

"Please, ma'am. She's hysterical. I've already collected her advice for my report," Dr Firm Hoof muttered.

"My fucking left asscheek you did!" the survivor shouted, directing an angry gaze over the Master's shoulder at the doctor, "You've been fucking ignoring me ever since I started trying to give you advice!"

Azure's brow furrowed as Doctor Firm Hoof turned in his seat and shouted back, "Your advice was duly noted! You simply don't have the qualification to contradict a fellow of medicine!"

Shaking her head, the Admiral raised a hoof, "Master At Arms, frisk and suppress the unicorn. She will attend and be given a turn to speak."

Firm Hoof gave a derisive snort and the survivor gave a relieved sigh. She was promptly searched for weapons, before a suppressor ring was placed over her horn. Finally, an extra folding chair was moved over for her to sit on as the door to the briefing room was sealed and locked.

Taking one more sip from her mug, Azure placed it on the arm of her chair before standing up in front of the room. She shot a look over towards Calm Seas' vidscreen, "Why don't we start with you, Commander? I assume your area has opsec?"

Calm Seas shook her head, "I turned up at least three listening devices during my sweep. It makes sense for them to attempt to listen in, to attempt to track our next moves. I moved this call to the Vertibuck and did another sweep to ensure security," she gave a slightly haughty sniff, "I believe their attempt at spywork was... extremely amateur, though."

"Nothing can quite compare to a Striped spy trying to bug your office?" Admiral Azure concluded, giving the commander a knowing look.

She shifted uncomfortably in response, but nodded, "Definitely not. "

"What is your assessment of the... Syndicate, then?" Azure asked, glancing towards the survivor pony as her ears suddenly shot up.

"They appear to be the central political power of this region. I tacitly discourage long term cooperation with them, however," Calm Seas said, frowning and lowering her voice, "In fact, I would encourage political takeover or conquest."

Captain Anchor raised an eyebrow. Captain Bugle, sitting a few rows down, perked her ears. The survivor pursed her lips, looking curiously around at the sea of white, starched uniforms and officer's caps around her.

"Conquest is likely out of the question," Azure answered quickly, "They are still civilians, and with the drastically reduced population of the mainland risking non-combatant casualties is a dangerous precedent to set."

The survivor suddenly spoke up, "The Syndicate will put foals in front of their Raiders if they think it'll turn you off."

A few glares turned her way as Azure calmly reminded the survivor, "Do not speak out of order, miss."

"Right..." she muttered, crossing her forelegs.

Calm Seas's eyes looked down at her own video feed at the slight commotion in the meeting room. After a moment, she looked back up into the camera and continued, "From what I can observe, I would believe it. A large group called the Raiders hold a majority in the democratic council of the Syndicate. They are... extremely uncivilized, and probably don't bow to the Natural Laws of Warfare."

The survivor's forehoof suddenly shot up, like she was a filly in a classroom.

Azure set her jaw, before slowly and regretfully asking, "...Yes?"

"What're the Natural Laws of Warfare?" she asked.

Frowning, Azure answered, "A set of rules for civilized warfare drafted by the Ministry of Peace. They include things like not intentionally targeting civilians for attacks, not using civilians to shield military personnel, not attacking medics trying to save the dying..."

"...They're what makes us better than the Zebras," Captain Anchor added.

Bugle opened her mouth to say something, before snorting and closing it again. The survivor nodded, seemingly satisfied, and lowered her hoof.

Calm Seas cleared her throat, "Regardless, I do have a suggestion for our next political move, Admiral."

Azure looked away from the survivor and back towards the vidscreen, giving a gesture of permission with a wave of her hoof.

"There is a party in their council called the Tarcoats. They harvest petroleum from wrecked oil tankers in order to fuel the region's only major power source, the AllSpark Power Plant," Calm Seas intoned.

Azure remembered that plant. She'd held an office at the Cracked Clam Naval Base's admiralty headquarters for a while, and that plant was listed as a major strategic location in the city. If she remembered right, it was being phased out by the construction of a thaumic reactor nearby.

"The Tarcoats are running out of fuel, which inhibits their political power as the Syndicate searches for other sources of spark energy. We can offer them a deal. Our own power plant produces enough electricity to power this region, isn't that right, Ship Right?"

Ship Right hummed, "Well, currently we only run two turbines to power weapon systems, onboard primary and secondaries... we have two turbines to power the Sunrise and another two to power our propellers. I'd have to take a look at what kind of loads they're taking up, but it's likely we could supply their grid with the minimal energy they seem to use."

Calm Seas gave a satisfied smile, "If we sail into the bay and construct a cable line to connect to their grid, we could offer that party oversight over that power source, and in return demand their political subservience behind closed doors."

Captain Anchor spoke next, "Wouldn't they still be able to see this as a power play?" a pause, "...Literally?"

"They asked for us to help solve their problems. One of their problems is a looming fuel crisis. I see this as the most direct way to solve it," Calm Seas intoned, smile still on her face, "Us bringing one of their political parties on board is simply a form of mutual cooperation with the currently reigning powers."

Admiral Azure nodded, "We'll take that into advisement. In the meantime, organize permission for a group of Ship Right's engineers to fly out to that power plant and examine the necessary details about the post-war power grid. If it's possible for us to supply this power from our own plant, we'll undertake your plan. We'll be sailing into the bay soon anyway to build a bridge to Cracked Clam, flying all of our visitors in from the mainland is too costly on our fuel."

Ship Right nodded, turning in her seat and adding, "And if we can get in touch with their suppliers of petroleum, we might be able to rig some spare parts into a refinery of sorts to turn it into kerosene for the jets and 'Bucks. Perhaps one of the refineries in the city is intact enough to be repaired as well."

Calm Seas bowed her head, "I'll get on that right after this, then," a pause, before she added, "One last thing before we move on. I've compiled a report on possible strategic keystones if conflict should occur."

Azure raised an eyebrow, "Please, go on."

"The biggest thing they have over us is their soil. I have observed the area around the old Stables which house their plantation, though I have not been given access to view inside at this time. All entrances are heavily fortified by sandbags, machinegun nests, and several armed combatants. Additionally, the doors themselves are sealed most of the time. According to what data we can find, those doors will be impervious to most things we can bring to bear unless we can breach the information security on the door control system," Calm Seas listed, looking down at her military-pattern PipBuck, "Thus, it is possible they could directly hold the plantation and its soil hostage. Nothing we have on board could breach the exterior doors, and assuming the technology inside the Stable is still active they could hold out indefinitely against a siege."

"If conflict is commenced, it is of utmost priority we swiftly capture those stables and prevent them from using it as a fallback point," she emphasized, before turning a knob on her PipBuck with a wingtip and continuing.

"Another possible strategic trap is the ship itself. Many of the patients we take aboard are directly from their militant forces. While they have very little that could disrupt security aboard this ship from the outside, it is possible the patients in our infirmary could be planted to create an uprising. We should increase security in our medical sectors to preempt this."

The survivor nodded firmly at this suggestion. Azure glanced towards her, before looking back at Calm Seas as the latter mare continued.

"The last threat i can predict against our ship is the possibility of some sort of secret weaponry. With our ship about to navigate into the bay, we would become extremely vulnerable to shore-launched torpedoes or other types of infiltration. A single pony swimming with a heavy shaped charge and placing it against our hull could severely cripple the Indefatigable, or perhaps even sink her. As we reduce our distance to the shore, I am suggesting we establish a strict perimeter around our ship, preventing any traffic from closing into a dangerous distance. Additionally, a watch should be established to monitor and log any activity on the shoreline near Sunset Town and other coastal communities," Calm Seas finished, lowering her PipBuck and looking back towards the camera.

As the information percolated amongst the officers in the room, the survivor raised a hoof once again.

Admiral Azure Bluette's lips drew into a line, "...Yes?"

The survivor leaned forward in her seat, "So, um, do you happen to know who works the Syndicate's plantation?"

Azure glanced towards the vidscreen. Calm Seas shook her head. Looking back towards the survivor, she simply answered, "No."

"It's slave labor," the survivor grimaced, "Like, if you're too deep in debt at the casino, or if you don't pay your tribute to their raiders, they come and take you to make up the debt instead. Anything they don't use to grow the food, they put on a boat and send up the river towards Fillydelphia. Not really worth it as much since the caps you get from selling to Red Eye is not that much more than the cost of hauling them across the entire wasteland," she shifted her weight, "...And it isn't some sorta like, work off your debt thing. The only way you leave their Stables is if you're dead. It's why Mayor Gears isn't too popular. The Stable Dwellers are the slave drivers, responsible for the whole operation."

Murmurs passed around the room, "Hmph. I had a feeling they were hiding something down there," Calm Seas commented.

"Don't believe me? Just ask the Dwellers directly. They probably won't lie if they're confronted," the survivor said confidently, "They'll probably tell you that the plantation's a better place to be a slave than in Filly, but..." she shrugged, "I never did see a slave older than thirty."

Calm Seas tilted her head analytically, "How many would you say work the plantations?"

"Uh, never really been there... but I'd say at least a couple hundred, at most a thousand? I think the Stables under the Gun Rush originally had a population of around three thousand though," the survivor shared.

More mutters came from around the room. Azure, for her part, suddenly began to warm up to the survivor in their midst. Of course, they couldn't be allowed to remember classified information, but perhaps they were more than just a security risk...

"Like a fuckin' Striped POW camp," Bugle growled, "Collared so your head blows off if you ever drop off the wheel."

The survivor mare wiggled her hoof at Bugle, "They don't actually do the bomb collars here. They do that in Filly, but not here. Not out of common equine decency, it's just cause they think the slaves could suicide bomb real easily in the constrained halls of the Stables."

Captain Anchor raised an eyebrow, "How do we know you're not just slandering their image?"

Calm Seas shook her head, interrupting before the survivor could defend herself, "I believe it. They've been too cagey about what's going on in their Stables. It's suspicious."

"Intelligence gathered by the 51st recon suggests this to be true as well. Militia captured several striped civilians after a firefight and discussed at length about selling them," Lightning Bringer brought up with a mutter.

"Striped civilians?" Captain Anchor straightened in his seat, before shooting over a look towards the survivor, "Do you know anything about this?"

"I mean- there's a rumor there's a conclave of Zebras somewhere in Las Pegasus. Strange robots come and trade Zebra tech every once in a while at the settlements," she said, before a sudden look of realization flashed over her face, "Oh yeah you're probably still really angry at the Zebras, like the Steel Rangers are."

Bugle, for her part, set her jaw, "The Rangers at Blueblood have override keys for any Stable door. Apparently a contingent of theirs in Fillydelphia have headquarters in Stable-Tec HQ. We could bust right through an' free those civilians right now."

The survivor's eyes shot open with shock at something in Bugle's sentence, but she didn't get a chance to speak as another voice immediately piped up.

Lightning Bringer held up a hoof, "Now now, I think open hostility is still a terrible idea. A few civilians suffering for a bit longer won't matter if we go with Calm Seas' plan of subterfuge. Once we find enough political leverage, we can force them to give up their slaves peacefully... along with the soil samples we need. Fewer risk dying that way."

Murmurs of discourse sparked across the briefing room. The first voice to rise back above the noise, however, was once again the survivor, "Whoah whoah whoah. What the hell did you do to make the Rangers want to share codes with you?" she leaned forward.

"Fixed their radio tower and worked on neutralizin' the Balefire Lava around their base," Bugle said confidently.

She gave an exasperated chuckle, "O-Okay. Holy shit. Arguably the Steel Rangers are so much worse than the Syndicate."

"We've heard much the same from the Syndicate, which last time I checked you were a citizen of," Azure Bluette reminded in a neutral tone.

"Stable eighty-three," she stated simply, "Stable eighty-three. Perfectly good Stable of about two thousand ponies. They popped open the door and gunned down every last Dweller inside, then stepped over their corpses for some fucking Water Talismans and a bunch of mushrooms. Didn't even ask to trade. At least the Syndicate enables settlements to subsist," she laughed nervously, "I-I-I mean, we were at war with them for like, three decades before you showed up. They shelled villages and took foals to be indoctrinated into their whacko religion. You're kidding me, right?"

All eyes turned towards Bugle, who had been the main point of contact between the Indefatigable and the Rangers. She simply shrugged, "Ain't got a clue. They seemed pretty accomodatin' to us."

"Yeah well-" she argued back, "Of fucking course they're accommodating to you. They pick on ponies who can't fight back. Of course they're friendly to the ponies who can!"

Azure raised a placating hoof, "Okay, okay. That's enough. Commander Bringer?"

The pegasus in question perked her ears.

"Did our Warsprite bring up any map signatures of the stable miss, errh..." Azure looked towards the survivor, "Name?"

"Flow Kindheart," she responded.

"Flow Kindheart," Azure nodded, "Do we have any map data about that?"

"We picked up the Stable, yes. We saw signs of civilization, though. It seemed inhabited still," Lightning Bringer murmured, giving another look towards Kindheart.

Kindheart, for her part, rolled her eyes, "Well, yes. It's a forward operating base for the Syndicate's raiders now. They shed a lot of blood to flush the Rangers outta there."

"Have the 51st check for us anyhow" Azure muttered, before looking back to the crowd, "Otherwise, we will stick to Calm Seas's plan for now. From now on, we will aim to slowly supplant their rule over the region from the top. We want to avoid open hostilities at all costs."

Several expressions of acknowledgement came from around the room and through the vidscreen. Flow seemed to relax slightly in her seat.

"Finally, we turn to our specialists. Doctor Firm Hoof?" Azure invited.

The doctor stood, giving a side-eye towards Kindheart, before promptly looking away from his notes and speaking directly to the Admiral, "Admiral, I am suggesting we institute rationing on our medical supplies, specifically on our supplies of RadAway and Antibiotics."

Flow Kindheart suddenly snorted, scowling. Azure gave her a curious glance, but waved a hoof at the doctor, "Go on."

"We simply have no way to reproduce these materials right now. I am also suggesting we dedicate a small team to creating a makeshift pharmacy to research the synthesis of certain drugs," Firm Hoof suggested, "Otherwise, we will lower dosages of antibiotics for acute cases of infection and reneg the use of RadAway outside of life-threatening cases of ARS - Acute Radiation Syndrome."

"If we short-change the survivors on medical treatment, this may be seen as a sign of distrust," Calm Seas noted.

"It won't be," Kindheart muttered, seemingly extremely annoyed at something, "Wasteland clinics don't treat acute radiation syndrome unless it's life threatening either. They're lucky to be getting RadAway for life threatening stuff anyway," a pause, "And you can't make more of either of those without oranges and a certain kind of fungus."

"Oranges are part of the alchemical mix of RadAway, yes," Firm Hoof reluctantly acknowledged, "Though perhaps the Ranger's fungal farms may be able to create Penicilium."

"Do we have orange seeds aboard?" Azure asked.

The ship's logistician shook her head, "Most popularly farmed oranges in Equestria didn't produce seeds. Had to grow via grafting. All the oranges on this ship are seedless."

"Aaand one of the CEOs of Stable-Tec hated oranges. Won't find them in Stables either," Flow frowned.

"Hmm..." Azure pursed her lips, before looking back towards the logistician, "Work the problem. I'm sure something can be found. What's our food status?"

"With the supermarket looted along with the trade from land, we've bought ourselves about a year until this diet starts seriously impacting the health of the crew," the ship's nutritionist spoke up, "We have time to start our farm now, though I'd advise my fellows in the infirmary to watch out for disease associated with eating meat, though. We may be facultative towards meat, but too much of it is bad for our digestive health and can lead to vitamin deficiencies."

Firm Hoof sighed, "Otherwise, treatment is going well. Most principles applied to recovering POWs and battlefield injuries can be applied to the ailments of the survivors."

"How about the zombpony we recovered?" Azure asked.

"The brain has physically degraded to a point where executive function is unable to occur," Firm Hoof chuckled darkly, "It was a hell of a thing trying to get it into an MRI to be scanned to find that out. Outside of some revolutionary new neuroregeneration treatment, I'm afraid there's nothing we can do. I do not recommend euthanasia at this time, though. It is my opinion there is no more mind in that specimen to experience pain. We would like it moved from the inpatient rooms to a holding cell so we can free up the bed, though."

"A lot of ponies have tried to treat Ghoulism over the years," Kindheart mentioned, "Mostly other Ghouls. Unfortunately, going feral is just a thing that seems to happen over time."

"Kindheart has mentioned all this before, yes. Though the prospect of a zombie with its executive functions is an interesting prospect. I'd like to try and examine one directly if possible," Firm Hoof gave a reluctantly curious look towards Kindheart.

"There used to be one in Sunset Town. An old pre-war sea captain or something. Unfortunately, they ran him off when he started rambling nonsense. He's probably gone feral by now," Kindheart scratched her chin, "I'm sure you can find another one by looking around, though they might not take kindly to being poked and prodded by... 'smoothcoats'."

"I see.." a pause, before Azure added, "Well, is there anything else you wanted to tell us, Miss Kindheart?" Azure turned back towards the mare.

She sighed, before shaking her head, "No. Most of what I wanted to say actually got spat out during this whole meeting."

"Excellent!" Azure smiled, before looking towards the Master At Arms, "Please take Miss Kindheart to the brig. I wish her memories of this meeting to be collected into a memory orb. Debrief her on the things she managed to share, but leave out any classified information. Afterwards, she will be free to return to her duties"

Kindheart's eyes widened with fear as the Master At Arms grabbed her by the scruff. Soon, she was placed in cuffs and dragged off through the door, rattling complaints as she was tugged and dragged along.

Azure, looking to the rest of her officers, sighed, "...Dismissed."

In the midst of the ruins of Las Pegasus, a drone flew high over the foothills of the collapsed inner city.

Four levitator motors kept it aloft as a spherical, metal body kept watch over its surroundings. Cargo racks bolted to the struts that ran from its body to the levitators were filled with metal crates of ammunition alongside glowing spark cells. As it approached its operational zone, it reengaged its stealth field, shrouding itself in the invisibility of a StealthBuck as it slowly hovered down towards the ground.

With the whirr of its motors, it landed in the midst of a street, though it didn't cool off its engines quite yet.

Ice Slushee was tapped on the shoulder, causing her to wrench her eyes away from her foreleg-mounted screen. Shot Stack stood behind her, "Ice. Supply drop's here. C'mon," he urged.

"Yeah, yeah, one minute," Slushee shook her head, getting up as the rest of her squad secured the area. Eventually, the pop of smoke grenades firing came from the street as a smokescreen deployed, obscuring their movements as they moved out towards the landed drone.

Rushing in behind her squad, carrying sacks of empty cartridges and spark cells on her back, they approached the supply drop. Ever since they had discovered the sniper nest, extra precautions against ambushes were being taken. Camps were now unlit, forcing them to live in night vision while they ate, smokescreens were deployed whenever they were landing or operating in an open area. It was nothing they hadn't experienced before in Zebrica, though.

The drone was quickly ransacked for its resupply. Fresh MREs, replacement ammunition, maintenance kits, and spare Spark Cells for their power armor. In return, their empty cells, cartridges, and other recyclable supplies were put on the drone.

"Command, you're good to RTB," Pounce Chaser said as soon as the last of the recyclables were on board the drone.

The motors kicked up as the invisible drone took off, the 51st quickly running back to their secured building as the smokescreen began to drift away. As the grenades died into a thin mist, the street seemingly was the same as it was just a few minutes ago, only with a few expended smokes sitting in the midst of the cracked asphalt.

Crystal Trail and Spear Bash, who had been sticking back to provide overwatch, relaxed as the 51st reentered the building, "No rest for the wicked, seems," Spear Bash greeted.

"I guess we're staying out here for another few weeks if we're getting resupplied this early," Shot Stack pointed out, sitting down with the rest of the squad as they set down the resupply crates, working to sort the rations of ammo evenly between the ten of them.

Crystal Trail nodded, "Yep. Command wants us to investigate a few more points of interest. Bigger than a few supermarkets too. We're supposed to poke around a Stable tonight, then the old MAS university, then the ruined Aerostat platforms of the old Thunderlane Airbase."

"Hey, I trained there," Shot Stack's ears perked.

"We'll move on the Stable after nightfall, so we'd better catch rest in here today," Crystal Trail nodded to the room they were in. It was the ruins of an old diner. For once, its window was intact, as it faced away from the center of the city and was far enough away that the airburst strikes likely hadn't reached it.

"Trying to ghost our sniper friend again?" Sugar Beach asked, placing a block of laser ammo in the ammo compartment of her suit.

Crystal Trail shrugged, "Partially for that, mostly cause the next location is populated. We just do aerial recon, but command might give us something else once we get the lay of the land."

Shot Stack scrunched up his muzzle, revealed as he had pulled off his respirator. They had gotten more and more lax on the respirators over time, though Ice still felt nervous about taking it off for anything other than breathing Dash and eating, "Fuck's sake. Can't they get a Warsprite to do that kinda recon?" he asked.

"Nope. Warsprites eat jetfuel. Still saving all they can in case they need to slap someone with an airstrike," Crystal Trail shook her head, "All we eat is food and spark cells. They can make more of that."

Radio Whistle nudged Shot Stack sharply, "What's wrong, Stack? You getting paid too much for this job?"

Shot Stack snorted, "I'm not sure what I'm getting paid for nowadays. Real estate market's down by about..." he pursed his lips and mimed a balance scale with his forehooves, "One hundred percent."

Ice Slushee grinned underneath her respirator, "I bet we could pool our money together, buy this diner for the low low price of fuck-all, start a nice ice cream business selling to the passing giant roaches and rats."

"Hell yeah sister," Shot Stack raised a hoof for her to bump. She did so, though she let out a slight cough at the end.

Lead Syringe raised an eyebrow, "Ice. You've been coughing an awful lot these days. Are you ill?"

"Eh. Maybe," Ice shrugged innocently, "I feel alright otherwise, though. Save it for the hospital to figure out. I've had my mask on this entire time, I doubt I caught it out here."

Lead Syringe gave her a long, burning look that caused her to wilt a bit behind the facade of her helmet. Regardless, he eventually looked away and continued counting supplies with the rest of them. Soon, most of the supply drop was packed away and ready. Crystal Trail got up and dusted her armor off, walking to a door into the back room.

"Get some rest, everypony. We fly at seven," she instructed.

Most of the day was spent sleeping in shifts. Ice had gotten the last watch, along with Pounce Chaser, Shot Stack, Radio Whistle, and Spear Bash. Together, they sat around the second floor, monitoring the surrounding buildings and streets for incursion while the others slept in a different room.

There had been another rainstorm, making Ice hopeful that the night would be clear enough to allow them to fly to their destination without taking rads.

Her foreleg mounted screen was live again as she replayed her suit camera's recording of the assault from the unknown militants on the Zebra civilians. She slowly scrubbed through the footage, taking occasional glances away to scan her surroundings. Eventually, though, she isolated three different timestamps on the footage, and gave herself a satisfied nod.

"Hey! Pounce!" Ice hissed towards the rainbow-maned mare, "C'mere."

Pounce shuffled over, having been crouched near a window, "Mhm?" she asked.

Rewinding the footage on her vidscreen, she turned it to face the older mare, "Look at this. On the militant's armor patch. You see that?"

Pounce narrowed her eyes. Through the extremely grainy, zoomed-in camera footage, she saw a red patch on the shoulder of the militants. The image of a broken cog, sewn in gold, was emblazoned on top of it. She eventually responded, "Yeah, I see it. Some sorta emblem?"

"We can see it on a bunch of the other's armor, though in different places cause they weren't exactly uniformed," Ice said, switching through more saved images showing similarly grainy patches on other members of the militant attackers.

"Uh huh. You think you can try and track them down with that?" Pounce asked.

"Seems pretty signature. We can probably ask around once this mission's over-"

Spear Bash suddenly spoke up, turning around from her place at a window, "What're you on about?"

Ice and Pounce shared a look, before the former turned towards the large mare and responded, "We think we found some identifying markers on the ponies that stole that Z- that family."

Spear Bash grunted, rolling her eyes, "Hey! I'm not the biggest fan of Stripes, but you don't gotta fucking sugarcoat that shit for me," she said as she turned towards the window.

Shot Stack, for his part, got up and cautiously stepped over rubble, walking towards them, "Hold up, can I see too?"

Ice complied, showing him the screen.

"Huh," he marvelled, "Good eye, Ice."

"The camera had the good eye. Not me. We all missed it when we were in the heat of the moment," Ice admitted.

"What's it matter anyway? They could be anywhere by now," Spear Bash grunted.

"Probably not. They were taking the civvies somewhere. Maybe we could track them down?" Pounce proposed, "Shoot up their camp. They didn't have any firepower we couldn't handle."

"On the street? Sure they didn't. Might be a different fucking story when they're encamped," Spear Bash turned around from the window once again, this time properly sitting down with her back against the wall.

"Spear Bash's afraid of something? Awwwh..." Ice teased, wishing she could pout from behind her respirator to sell the tone.

Still, it seemed to work as the mare sat, smoldering for a moment, before admitting, "...No. I just don't think saving a few stripes worth our own hides."

Pounce Chaser folded her forelegs, frowning, "That shit with the foals being taken didn't sit right with me. I know it didn't with any of you, either, did it?"

As expected, nopony answered. Spear Bash simply shifted uncomfortably.

"I mean. They said they were gonna rape them. I don't think it matters if you're black and white or pink and purple, that just ain't right," Ice agreed, looking between her comrades, "I think if we get the chance, we should enact a little bit of justice."

Radio Whistle chuckled, "Good luck getting that idea past Lightning Bringer," he said from his own lookout perch.

"Might not need to," Pounce Chaser said, a sly undertone to her voice, "Plenty of opportunity for us to lose GPS tracking and radio contact with home base. When we regain contact, we can just say they shot first. I'm sure Ice could throw something together to make sure our vidfeeds can't contradict that story?"

Ice looked up at the camera mounted on Pounce's helmet, glad that they had all mutually agreed to switch off their microphone feeds once they'd started to chat, "You can just turn off your camera, y'know. I could make something to have the health tracker register a hit, though."

"Nah. Don't need to injure us, just need to have shot near us," Shot Stack suggested, "Maybe their prisoners will still be there."

"This sounds like hero complex shit. 51st ain't heroes, we're recon," Spear Bash argued, "Getting killed over some over inflated sense of self is for the Rangers."

"Come on, Spear, we'd let you use overcharged cells in your gatlings~" Ice sing-songed, which only made Spear Bash groan.

Despite this, she still seemed to seriously consider the offer, folding her forelegs, before eventually surrendering the point, "Get the rest of the crew on board, and sure yeah I'll do it."

Unfortunately, there was little time for a team discussion away from the commslink of their commanding officer. An hour later they were in the air, flying for their next objective. Indeed, the rainstorm had left the skies calm enough to allow for smooth operation.

The jet black suits of power armor blended well with the dark sky above as they flew in an arrowhead formation. A dot of brilliant pale light was forming on the horizon, highly contrasted in the ambient light boosting night vision.

"Looks like we got our target. Electric lighting," Crystal Trail reported, "According to automap, we're approaching the location tag of Stable Eighty-Three."

"Affirmative 51. Ascend to the safety ceiling and descend in a corkscrew pattern once over the site. Get us a panoramic view and scan for how many pips we're looking at. Do not lower yourself beyond a hundred meters, or to where those spotlights can see you."

Crystal Trail simply copied with an affirmative as she flapped her wings and gained altitude, approaching the safe operational ceiling, only a hundred meters or so below the cloud line.

They continued to fly until they passed over the target area, before turning and beginning to slowly descend. From what Ice could observe, it was an old city park, clear of buildings. A ditch had been dug towards a large opening in the earth, where she assumed the Stable Door was placed.

The entire dearth in the park had been fortified with scrap iron walls. Concrete bricks shored up said iron walls, with cruel makeshift barbed wire topping them. Switching off night vision to avoid the glare of the bright lights, the contents of the secured compounds could be seen. At ground level, a few ports had been made in the walls for machinegun nests to be placed. Zooming in, Ice spotted a few turrets sitting in the nests. Other than those, there were very few inward-facing defensive areas. There wasn't even a fallback point... though she suspected the Stable itself, being underground, was fortified in some way.

"Automated defenses. Looks makeshift. Probably stole a targeting matrix from a robot," Ice assessed.

"They've definitely been here for a while though. Those fortifications are impressive," Shot Stack also observed, "...Though they ain't got nothing to defend them from the air."

As they continued to descend, dots began to appear on their compass. All yellow... for now. Crystal Trail counted each one as they appeared, until they counted around twenty. Most of the signatures were corroborated by visuals on several ponies walking around on the ground.

"51, can you verify if the ponies in the compound are wearing Stable Tec jumpsuits?"

"Come again?" Crystal Trail asked.

"The Stable-Tec jumpsuits. You've seen advertisements before. Any of the grounders wearing them?"

Another zoom level was engaged. Aside from coat colours, not a single lick of blue was visible anywhere in the compound. Trail answered, "Negative, Command. We're looking at simple leather barding over here."

"Affirmative, 51. When possible, assess whether or not they're armed."

Slowly, the squad continued to corkscrew downwards towards the camp. More dots on the compass were picked up, rising until the number reached around 40. Already, a few things seemed off to Ice. Notably was the fact that the camp had several permanent structures. Houses, huts, concrete stronghouses... there were even fires set up outside.

"Never been in a Stable myself, Command, but I thought they had... y'know, stuff down there. Like beds, heating, showers, n'all," Sugar Beach mentioned, "Why're they building so much on the surface? Wouldn't it be better to live downstairs? Probably more defensible too."

"Intel suggests the Stable may have been stripped for parts. Keep your eyes out."

As the ground got closer and the lights got brighter, fortunately not bright enough to risk exposing them, they finally got enough of a visual on the grounders to make their equipment. Leather barding, very little professional combat gear, and a combination of normal and makeshift weapons. Ice frowned, their loadouts seemed familiar.

"We're looking at amateurish weapons. The majority of them have some form of long gun, though. No mechanized equipment, no anti-air," Crystal Trail surmised with the slight tilt of her head.

"Level off your altitude there. Try and get a view down the dip in the earth and see if you can make out anything down there."

Stopping their descent and orbiting the camp clockwise, the squad's views zoomed down the small cave at the far end of the fortified compound. There were signs of a metal platform of some kind, as well as a gear-shaped hole in the wall. It reminded Ice heavily of Stable 001, the one back home in Canterlot, though missing its main door.

Switching through a couple of views, eventually switching to low-level light amplification, they could finally see what was beyond the door.

Nothing. Rocks and dirt lay behind the door. It seemed like they were mining in as well, as a rail track with a mining cart had been constructed leading out of the door. With a sigh, Crystal Trail eventually finished the report, "Stable entrance looks collapsed. Evidence of mining operations tracked."

"...Very well, 51. Flag off, secure a camp, and await further orders. I will convene with command crew as soon as your position is secured."

Pounce Chaser, flying just in front of Ice, suddenly decreased speed and tapped Ice on the shoulder with a hind hoof. Attention gained, Ice undid her zoom and looked up towards the older mare.

Pounce's eyes were locked on the walls of the base, where she eventually pointed firmly with a hoof.

Re-engaging her zoom, Ice tried to trace the leading edge of Pounce's hoof. Eventually, her blood froze as she finally acquired what was being indicated.

Draped over the side of the walls, next to a gatehouse, was a red banner. On it was a cracked open cog, sewn in gold.

Ice clenched her teeth. She had the feeling she was about to do something very, very stupid.

Chapter 16: The Dead and Found

December 2, 1277 - Mission Day 54

The 51st Recon sat around the ruins of an apartment block. Respirators were off, microphones silenced, and MREs half eaten. Crystal Trail had her lips drawn into a straight line, only occasionally disrupted by the ripple of her tongue pressing against the inside of her mouth. Waffle Cone looked to Spear Bash expectantly, the latter mare simply smoking a cigarette and carefully monitoring her squadmates' reactions. Sugar Beach intently watched her vidscreen, replaying the video clips she'd been sent. Hay Weave slowly massaged the sides of her muzzle, breathing in and out rhythmically. Shot Stack, Ice Slushee, Pounce Chaser, and Radio Whistle all looked on with grim expressions.

After what seemed like hours of silence, Crystal Trail finally surmised: "This is a fucking stupid idea."

"We're literally specialized in this shit. Taking out fortified enemy installations is our thing!" Shot Stack reached for his shoulder, where the 51st Recon patch was. The image of a fort exploding was barely visible in the patchy light of the night vision, "They don't even have air defenses."

"A fucking long gun is an anti-air gun unless you're a flying machine, and we can't depend on this armor to deflect above 50s, or 20 thaums if they got energy weapons," Hay Weave breathed, reciting elements of the training manual on pegasus power armor, "I'm not getting snuffed out after getting this far. Hell no!"

Crystal Trail didn't give the other side any time to talk, immediately weighing in, "This is going off mission, intentionally. Blatantly. Dereliction of duty at the least. This is court martial-business you're talking about," a pause, as the mare turned her helmet slightly towards Pounce, "I thought you were all about loyalty, Chaser."

Pounce Chaser folded her forelegs, insulted, "Hey! I got no loyalties to Lightning Bringer. If Rainbow Dash were here, she'd be all for this idea. You know what else was a court-martial waiting to happen?"

Crystal Trail simply tilted her head.

"Us fucking watching kids getting stolen by pedos and holding our damn fire. That's dereliction of duty to the ponies we were sworn to protect," Pounce Chaser sneered.

"They weren't ponies," Radio Whistle pointed out.

"Whose side are you fucking on, Whistle?" Chaser retorted.

Another moment of silence permeated the room, up until Sugar Beach lowered her vidscreen and admitted, "What're you exactly suggesting we do? Just go in, guns sparkling, and indiscriminately end everything in there? After that, we just spring the stripes from their cages and turn them out?"

Ice Slushee, finally, decided to speak up, "No. We recon on our own terms. Try and see if they have hostages, spring 'em, then dust anything that gets in our way on the way out."

"Sounds pretty fucking risky," Waffle Cone pursed his lips, "I mean, if something goes wrong... we're so fucking finished. All of us. And I dunno about you, but I'm pretty sure I'd rather be here," he rattled his plastic wrapper of food, "Eating MREs and drinking fresh water than out of a job and trying to live here without this firepower."

"They won't fire us," Ice immediately dismissed, "You've all been listening to the briefings, right? Recon is the one of the things they can't afford to dispense of. We're the only ponies in all of Equestria now who know how to work this power armor, went through the three-fucking-years of conditioning to get into this position. Without us, they'll have to use Vertis and Rangers to do all the scouting missions. Luna knows Rangers don't have a clue what subtlety is."

"Hard to have subtlety in their fatass armor," Spear Bash chuckled.

Crystal Trail spared a look towards the large mare, "And you? You seem strangely silent about the subject of not killing Stripes."

"If you all are good with it, I go with the team," she simply said. Waffle Cone hummed.

Pounce Chaser leaned forward, forelegs crossed, "We signed up to protect our country. Damnit we failed, but we got a chance to do the right thing here."

"And! And! Annnnd! We're probably worrying about nothing. They have fucking leather straps to protect their bodies. We've breached fully armed forts where every one of its occupants was high on like fifteen potions and could turn your organs to liquid by just punching you," Shot Stack added enthusiastically, "We're way too badass for this to be a problem."

That made Ice smile for some reason.

Lead Syringe sighed, "...Sarge, if you're okay with this, then I am."

"Same," Sugar Beach affirmed, looking towards the old mare.

Hay Weave threw her hooves up, "Sure."

Waffle Cone sighed, "I'm with Spear Bash. If you all agree, then I'm in as well."

"Of course you're with Spear Bash," Crystal Trail muttered, all eyes in the room turning towards her. She sighed, reaching into her cargo compartment and picking up a cigar, lighting it and stuffing it into her muzzle and taking a few thoughtful puffs. Eventually, her vision wandered back over to the half of the squad that had proposed the idea, saying, "...If anypony asks, they shot first."

Suddenly, all the lights around Stable 83 darkened. Turrets clicked and whirred as they powered down, barrels lowering as they lost power. In the canteen, the refridgerator stopped humming.

Crack Whip looked up from his alfalfa salad, sneering as he was left in the dark, "Razor! I thought your fuckwit ass fixed that generator!"

"I did! I don't know what's wrong!" the raider mare complained, reaching for a lantern and opening the valve to light the kerosene within, "I'll go fucking restart it!"

"Better! I'll fucking rape you and put your head on a stick if you've fucked it somehow! I'm not getting my ass chewed out by Dad again!" Crack Whip slammed a hoof on his table, causing his underling to jump out of her chair slightly faster.

Stumbling past the makeshift wooden tables, the unicorn mare in spiked leather barding grumbled as she levitated the oil lantern behind her. A stallion waited by the door, battle saddle laden with a pair of submachine guns.

"Hey, Razor, you want me to come along?" he offered, giving a sly grin.

"Sure, fucking whatever. The fan probably just got itself jostled loose and Boss is pissing himself," she hissed as her fellow raider went to trail behind her.

The night sky was pitch black above them. No rain to stir up the Balefire Lava and cause a halo. Fortunately, the birds of Las Pegasus weren't built to fly, so there wasn't exactly much need to keep the sky lit. In fact, without even stars or sun to gaze at, there was very little reason to look up at all. Still, Cracked Razor's ears flicked as the sound of the tin roofing of their camp's permanent buildings.

Nothing, even as she raised her lantern to view it. Must've been the wind.

The building housing the generator was sat flush to one of the dirt embankments leading down towards the Stable Doors. Power lines ran from a transformer on the top towards the other buildings in the perimeter, as well as to the construction lights in the rubble clearing operation by the Stable and the ones lighting up the battlements around the walls. A jangle of keys came from Razor's side as she inserted the correct piece into a slot below the doorhandle and twisted.

The door unlocked and she pushed it aside with a single exertion of telekinesis.

Pushing the door closed behind her as soon as her companion entered, Razor dropped her lantern and walked up to the small, yellow painted generator in the back corner of the shed.

"Alright, fucker, let's see what you're pissing and shitting yourself about this time," she muttered, reaching into her spiked barding and taking out a screwdriver.

"Whoah, Razor? I don't-" the stallion's voice suddenly trailed off.

"Huh?" she raised an eyebrow, not turning around. Her eyes, however, saw what he probably meant.

The side panel of the generator had been pierced through the center and the ignition plug had been ripped out. Her mouth and eyes widened as she turned her head towards her friend, "Someone fucking broke the-"

The stallion was lying in a pool of his own blood on the ground next to her, mouth open in the midst of forming a word. A clean, circular whole had been carved straight through his skull and out one of his eyes. Before she could even process the sight of the corpse, a stinger suddenly jabbed at her from the darkness.

Cruelly sharp, the stinger went straight for her throat, pressing in enough to cause her shout to croak in her mouth, drawing a thin line of blood just left of her jugular. The implement was connected to a long, mechanical tail, slicked in fresh blood, coming from the darkness in front of her. In the flickering light of her lamp, she could barely make out a pair of glassy eyes, jet black armor, and warpaint covering a steel hull.

Steel Rangers? This far west? How did they- she would've- oh goddesses...

"Go for your gun or scream, and you're dead," a slightly crackly voice informed her coldly.

She struggled to push a gulp past the obstruction near her throat, but she nodded, shaking. She was more handy with the ripper on her belt than the nine mil in her breast holster.

"Civilians. Four of them. Two adults, two foals. Some wearing your ensign stole them. You know about them?" the voice asked, the figure in the darkness statue-like. Its head didn't even bob as it talked.

Oh shit, who had Rusty Screw's posse pissed off? She rapidly thought through the hostages that had gone through their camp, only for the mechanized tail to press deeper into her throat.

"Talk," the voice insisted.

"I-I don't know! I don't know! Plenty of ponies come and go here. I'm not part of any that I'm the fucking technician I swear!" she blabbered hoarsely, ears flattening as she looked down at the robo-stinger, terrified. She'd had plenty of ponies on the right side of her ripper before, shitting themselves in the exact same way she was no doubt doing. Not once had she been able to understand how hard it was to think straight.

"There any here right now?"

They had to be liberator types! Like that Lightbringer they kept talking about out east on the radio. Fuck! Think fast! "I-I'll fucking help you! I'll tell you where! I've got keys! There's ten of them downstairs under the central building! I never wanted to be part of this op, I just know how to fix the sparky!"

"So there are hostages here..." the voice muttered, suddenly sounding satisfied. The prospect of the voice being done with her made her life flash before her eyes.

"Please pleasepleaseplease! No nono nono! Don't! Don't please! I don't wanna die! Please! Please!" she begged, tears suddenly welling up in her eyes for the first time since she was a foal.

The voice didn't respond. Suddenly, Razor felt nothing as she fell to the floor, her arteries slit wide open, her blood mixing with her friend's on the blade of the stinger and on the ground.

In the last moments that residual oxygen in her head allowed her brain to continue working, Cracked Razor saw a mother and a father. She felt the pummeling of hooves on her skull. She felt the feeling of finally being on the winning side. She felt the feeling of warm blood on her coat. She saw the faces of terrified foals.

The limits of her mortal coil did not allow her the time to yearn to apologize.

Leaving the body of the savage on the ground, Pounce Chaser turned her lamp off. Deactivating her speakers, she said, "Bad guy confirmed the presence of ten hostages. Two kills for me."

"We counting kills here? I thought we only counted kills on dead Stripes?" Shot Stack asked.

Ice Slushee, flying in a holding pattern above the compound, commented, "These guys're almost as bad as stripes. I'd say they count."

Ice scoped out the surrounding area. There were a few patrols on the battlements. They hadn't even installed a backup power system for their turrets, they were still offline. Amateurs. Their patrols were even spaced out enough that they could take out individuals with a few quick strikes without the others being able to hear.

"Alright. Let's take their patrols. Line up your targets and take in twos. Stay melee if possible. If shots are fired, we take off and maintain altitude, then set up a secondary ambush," Crystal Trail instructed, "Pounce Chaser, we'll provide overwatch. Let's go, team."

Ice and Shot Stack dove out of formation as the team split up. As soon as everypony else was in position, they moved on one of the patrols on the battlements of the walls, right near the generator shed. A pair of lanterns lit their way as one of them tried to light a cigarette with his, failing and burning his snout as he tried. They barely got a chance to move as their ears rotated towards the sound of wings flapping. A stinger drove straight through both of their skulls.

One for Slushee, "Patrol down," she informed, though her voice was lost in a sea of similar reports as her squadmates simultaneously eliminated other targets.

With a single, smooth swish, Shot Stack chucked their lanterns out over the side of the wall, getting the light away from the bodies now bleeding onto the scaffolding beneath them. Crystal Trail, still hovering over the center of the base, Pounce Chaser now by her side, reported, "Battlements secure. Let's bait them out into the open. Group up on me."

As ordered, the entire squad moved back up to the side of their commander. Once she ensured everypony was settled, Trail signalled for them to take positions in a circle. Then, she reached for her cargo compartment, bringing out a standard road flare. Popping the top off, she threw it to the ground as it began to ignite.

A brilliant orange light spilled from its top, along with a plume of smoke as it bounced off the ground in the center of the compound. Despite its brilliance, its light didn't reveal the squad of MoA Reconnaissance lurking above, waiting to strike.

"Who the fuck threw that?" came a voice from down below as a door slammed open. A few others, battle saddles open and weapons levitated at their sides, walked out from the nearby buildings.

"Hey!" the same voice shouted as its owner walked into view, a piss-yellow earth stallion with a pair of combat shotguns mounted to his left and right, "Where the fuck did the patrols go? Where's Razor and Swamplight? Your asses better not be fucking sleeping again!" the stallion shouted at the walls, at his dead subordinates.

Ice Slushee narrowed her eyes, sights landing directly on the chest of the leader, "Got the one shouting," she claimed. He was wearing combat armor, thoroughly stained with rust-colored blood.

Her squadmates claimed their targets as Spear Bash began to giggle to herself, finally claiming her target, "Got the Overcharged for these ones," she said as her suit switched the spark cells in her twin gatling lasers out.

As ponies continued to gather, and the leader seemingly began to organize a search, Crystal Trail gave a single order, "Weapons free."

As soon as she heard the order, Ice pulled the trigger on her battle saddle. Her two laser rifles flashed, Combat Shotgun's entire body immediately turning pink and disintegrating from the giant hole burned into his chest. All around his rapidly deteriorating body, his comrades were reduced to cinders as the rest of the 51st executed their battle plans.

Shouts of alarm immediately erupted as battle saddles were unlimbered and guns levelled, however it was too late to stop a second volley of fire as thirteen more fell to the assault from above - Spear Bash's full auto barrage carving straight through four consecutive militants.

"Engage stealth and reposition," Crystal Trail unnecessarily reminded as the crackle of Stealth Bucks activating came from all around.

Ice moved to flank a nearby building as more spilled out into the compound, responding to the shouts. Their guns were levelled towards earthbound threats. They could never have seen the shots coming. The back of Ice's brain tickled as three were felled by her guns in quick succession, the third only barely being able to turn around in time for her to see his feckless expression.

"Form up and move on the main building. Some pips are still yellow in there," Crystal Trail said, voice still calm and collected.

Indeed, on Ice's EFS compass, five yellow pips were still hanging around in the direction of the central building, along with a hoofull of red ones - the only ones left in the area. Landing in the dirt nearby and cantering over to the front door, the squad quickly stacked up. Spear Bash was at the front of the right flank.

Crystal Trail's invisible head - highlighted in blue by the squad's power armor systems, peeked around the opened front door. Three more hostiles moved down the stairs, guns unlimbered and galloping to the aid of the cries of those outside.

"Stun out!" Crystal quickly proclaimed, before raising her hoof and firing the small launcher mounted to it. A flash grenade bounced a few times on the other side of the door as everypony looked away.

A single bright white flash from inside and Spear Bash breached. The three inside, ears bleeding and blinded by the flash, were quickly terminated by a flurry of overcharged beams from her gatlings. Behind them, a stairwell lead up to a second floor, and down into a basement.

"Spear Bash, Pounce, Whistle, keep this exit clear. Beach, Weave, watch that staircase. Ice, Shot Stack, Waffle, Lead, on me!" she urged as they moved across the room.

Ice sucked breath through her respirator, watching her corners as Spear Bash, Radio Whistle, and Pounce Chaser took cover behind the tables that sprawled across the room - which seemed to be a mess hall. Soon enough, Sugar Beach and Hay Weave broke off to take positions near the stairwell, watching upwards for any movement.

Descending the stairs, Waffle lead with his scatter laser primed. As they approached a door at the base of the stairwell, Waffle Cone held up a hoof.

"Signatures through this door. They're probably waiting for an ambush," Waffle surmised, using his limited range lifeform scanner, "No yellows in the room. Looks like these are the last two."

Crystal Trail came up next to him, before nodding and agreeing, "Two signatures, hostile, other side of door. We'll blow the entrance."

There was no room on the side of the door to stack up for a traditional flash and push. Instead, Shot Stack moved forward with a shaped charge. The others retreated up the stairs, providing covering angles from different elevations. Not a perfect field of view, but it was the best they could do in such close quarters.

"Ignite charge," Trail ordered.

Ice, for what she believed was the seventeenth time in her career, thanked the power armor designers for having the sense to have built-in hearing protection around her ears. The muting of her ear coverings didn't stop her from feeling the ground shake, or from her nerves tingling as the vibration rippled down her body.

The door, made out of thin metal and seemingly stolen from somewhere, stood no chance. Most of it was turned into a hail of shrapnel flooding into the room beyond, with only a few pieces hanging onto the doorframe, almost as if too shocked by the sudden sundering of itself to even react to the explosion. One of the two pips were immediately extinguished on the other side, the other being knocked to the ground and covered in a pile of debris.

Waffle Cone walked over, immediately kicking the submachinegun she was pawing for, before kicking her in the side of the stomach. Cuts covered the militiamare's body, a piece of debris was stuck in her sternum, and the back of her head was matted in a thick layer of blood. More of her life essence leaked from her ears, from two burst eardrums. As soon as her gun was removed, thankfully, she seemed to surrender, going limp and focusing on struggling between gasps of breath.

"Syringe. Treat her. We might be looking at the last one, she's our prisoner," Crystal Trail ordered, "Rest of you, with me. Let's clear the rest of this basement."

Waffle stayed at the destroyed door as Lead Syringe cantered over to the critically injured militant. After searching her for hidden weapons, and removing many of them, he got to work closing her wounds with healing bandages and potions. The rest moved forward past him, through an arch on the opposite side of the room, past where the two had been waiting in ambush.

A door to the left was left hanging ajar. It seemed to be some sort of mundane storage room, filled with random trinkets that lined shelves and overfilled boxes. Two other doors were built into the hallway, one on the right with light spilling from the underneath, and one on the left that was dark.

After they quickly cleared the storage room, Waffle Cone activated his scanner again against the lit door. A single yellow compass pip pointed to the other side, which Waffle confirmed, "One signature. Non-hostile."

"Ice, watch the far door," Crystal Trail instructed.

Ice lined her sights up on the other door as the handle of the lit one was tried. No sound of the door opening followed.

"Looks like a simple bolt. Stand clear, in case it's trapped," Shot Stack advised, unlimbering his laser cutter.

The others stepped out of the way of the door. After giving a flash warning, the stallion got to work, the cutter destroying the simple bolt in seconds. Simply kicking the door down was an option, it would probably be the option if the operation was time sensitive, but there was a comparatively higher chance that manually breaching the door would trigger some kind of trap. They'd been in tricky Zebra territory for long enough to know.

Now that the handle was slack, Shot Stack stepped back. Crystal Trail cautiously gave the door a push, the entrance swinging open calmly, without even a squeak. Ice kept her eyes on the far door as her squad cleared it.

"Fuck's sake. Civilian in here. It's a bedroom," Shot Stack reported.

"Civilian's bedroom?" Ice Slushee inquired.

"No, considering the civilian's in chains in the corner, I don't think it's theirs," Shot Stack muttered.

Crystal Trail came over the commlink, "I've seen cleaner mattresses in alleyways outside of strip clubs. Celestia... this is atrocious."

"Well they're fucking dead now. That's some relief," Shot Stack commented, before the sound of his voice transmitted via speaker came from the now-cleared room, "Hey, you, you okay miss?"

There was no noise.

"Jeez I uh..." he trailed off, "Aw fuck's sake..."

Lead Syringe spoke up, voice distracted by his work on the prisoner, "Anything acute, Private Stack?"

"No, doc, she's an SA case..." Shot muttered, voice crunchy as his jaw set.

Crystal Trail muttered something under her breath. Waffle Cone emerged from the door behind Ice to rejoin her.

"Should I get these cuffs off of her?" Shot Stack asked.

Crystal Trail shook her head, "Not yet. We'll free her once the compound is secure to prep her for medevac," a pause, before she added something more, "...This changes our story, team. We're reporting now that we saw them capturing pony civilians, and moved to take raid their base. Technical disturbance cut us off from command."

"Aye fucking aye," Shot Stack sighed, "I'll stay here and make sure nothing happens."

Ice Slushee coughed, ears flicking as Crystal Trail stacked up with them once again. She was tapped on the back, before being pointed towards the door. The bolt was on their side of the door, secured in place with a padlock.

Walking forward, Ice noted the presence of four more yellow pings on the other side. A quick check from Waffle Cone verified there was no presence of any unknown life signs in the room that EFS hadn't picked up. With a single flash from her rifle, she vaporized the lock holding the door shut, before opening it cautiously.

No traps, once again.

On the other side was what seemed to be a holding cell. The bars almost reminded her of something one might see aboard the Indefatigable, but there was nothing else that could be counted as familiar.

Stains covered the back wall, behind the bars. Equine excrement was plastered all over. The only ventilation in the room was a small grill in the top left corner of the room, looking out into the compound. Flies buzzed around the area, likely feasting on the smell - which Ice was once again happy her respirator relieved her from smelling. Four shambling forms that could only possibly be ponies sat behind the bars, looking up cautiously at the newcomers.

There was an earth pony stallion wearing a worn, old trenchcoat. Ribs showed through around his torso and mucus ran from his nose. A middle-aged unicorn mare was passed out in a corner, though the fact her pip was appearing on Ice's compass meant that she still had signs of life. Ice's eyes may have become glued to the Zebra filly trying to make herself as small as possible by the side of the elder, however she could only spare a small glance towards the child before locking onto the fourth occupant of the cell.

A zombie pony, just like the one they'd seen aboard the Victory. Its skin was rotting and peeling, though very little of it was visible. Its hooves were shorn in rubber boots, its body covered by a worn woolen cloak, and its shirt reminded Ice somewhat of a commissioned officer's basic duty undershirt. It even wore a cap with the emblem of the Royal Navy on it, a hole in the visor making way for its horn.

It, however, was not slathering to bite or tear at them. Instead, it was grinning, beaming with broken, yellowed teeth. That, combined with its pip being yellow, was the only reason Ice didn't pull the trigger right there and then.

"Fucking great. Steel Rangers. We're not getting rescued, are we?" the unicorn stallion said, voice hoarse and drawn.

"No! No! No we are!" the zombie suddenly spoke in a deep, gravelly voice, making Ice's eyes widen. It reached up to the bars and gripped them, pressing closer to them. He laughed a creaky, almost crumbly laugh - though it was one of overjoyment all the same, "We're getting rescued by the 51st Reconnaissance! Haha!"

"It's... talking..." Ice marvelled as the zombie continued to chortle with glee, almost to the point of hysteria.

Crystal Trail turned on her speakers, "...You can talk?"

"Oh! Yes yes I can!" the zombie's smile somehow widened further.

"...You recognize us?" Crystal Trail said, tilting her head.

"Ah!" the zombie blew a raspberry, rolling its eyes, "Yes of course you probably don't recognize me! Time has been cruel indeed..." he laughed again, raking a hoof over his face, making Ice fear it would tear off. It didn't, though, and he finally clarified, "I am the Captain of the Constellation!. One of your escorts? Surely you remember!? Captain Star Strider???"

Ice Slushee, Crystal Trail, Shot Stack, and Waffle Cone all looked at each other, clueless.

"Oh come on! Let me talk to your Commander, Lightning Bringer! I knew her personally before all this!" the zombie shouted, frustrated, "You were sent here to rescue me, right?'

Crystal Trail, for once, seemed dumbfounded, "...No?"

"...Oh," the zombie wilted a bit, before perking right back up, "Well it's lucky you found me then! They might've sold me to go plough some field! Labor almost entirely unfitting a commissioned officer!"

The unicorn stallion, seemingly just as confused as the 51st, raised his head from the floor a bit, asking in a weary, exasperated tone, "Please, we've been locked in here for days. They haven't been able to sell us, so they haven't been feeding us. She's sick, she cut herself in this awful place..."

Finally snapping out of it, Crystal Trail shook her head, "Waffle, pop that door open. Lead, as soon as you're done, we got more needing attention up here. Ice, help them tend to the hostages, then move them upstairs for evac. The rest of us'll regroup and secure this compound. Once we're sure we're dead and dusted, we'll open our comms back up and radio for a Vertibuck for these ponies."

"Oh thank the Goddesses..." the stallion breathed, tears welling up in his eyes as Waffle came over to melt the padlock of the cell.

Lead Syringe reported from the back, "Prisoner is stable. No more bleeding, but a surgeon will need to root around for some of that debris. Too risky for magical regen. I'm moving up to help with the hostages."

The rush Ice felt at the sight of the hostages moving towards the cell door as it was finally sprung open was only roughly offset by the idea of needing to face Lightning Bringer soon. She eyed the creature claiming to be Captain Star Strider - perhaps that find would be enough to cool some of the CO's anger.

Waffle Cone's scatter laser visibly twitched towards the 'Captain' as he walked out of the cell, though the zombie only responded with another unsettling smile. Lead Syringe walked into the room, hooves covered in blood, before he started slightly at the sight of the zombie.

Another unsettling smile.

"We got an unconscious one here," Ice said, finally switching to her speakers and gesturing towards the passed out mare.

"Please, kind saviours, I need water..." the stallion said, pawing at Ice's chestplate.

She reached for the auxiliary drinking tube near the neck of her suit, only for Lead Syringe to hold up a hoof and say through his speakers, "Small sips. Don't let him drink too much or it might come back up."

The stallion nodded, and Ice procured her drinking tube. She yanked it away from him as he took two, greedy gulps. He promptly collapsed back against the bars of the cage with a sigh, "I never thought I was getting out of there again, thank you, thank you all..."

"Yeah, uh, no problem..." Waffle Cone said awkwardly.

Ice's attention turned towards the foal, still crouched by the passed out mare as Lead Syringe moved over to tend to the mare. No glyphmark yet, naked - no equipment, though she'd seen plenty of times what an adult zebra could do with no weapons or armor. The filly seemed extremely wary, fearful. Her eyes were bloodshot, and cheeks covered with crusted tears.

Ice looked towards the emaciated stallion, "Did they hurt her?"

"Aside from deprive her of water, like the rest of us?" the stallion snapped, voice still hoarse... though it quickly softened as a look of realization washed over his face, "...No, no... they didn't hurt her. Her brother though..." he shook his head, "...I-I'm afraid he never came back after they took him from the cage. They can't sell foals, and they can't sell striped foals to the East either!"

Ice gritted her teeth at that. Her next words came on strongly, harshly, "Parents?"

"Yes... but they weren't kept here for very long. They were taken to be sold at Gun Rush," the stallion muttered, before giving out a bitter snort, "Everypony stays quiet about the slaves at Gun Rush, up until you're on the receiving end. I'll never look at a vegetable made by the Syndicate the same way again!"

Ice turned back towards the filly, who had shifted away from Lead Syringe. He'd discovered a septic wound on the mare's leg, which he was quickly treating with antibiotics, as well as trying to lower her raging fever. It was clear in the urgency of his actions that their condition was serious.

Ice reached out towards the filly, "Hey, kid, you alright?"

The filly looked between Lead Syringe and Ice, both entrapping her on either side, before rapidly shaking her head.

"What's wrong?" Ice asked, crouching down.

The zebra paused for a moment, before shaking her head again.

Ice frowned, before she reached into her cargo. Rummaging around for a moment, she eventually retrieved one of her MREs. Pulling open the wrapper, she fished out the dessert package - chocolate covered biscuits. She backed up slightly, holding the biscuits outside of the cell.

The filly's eyes darted towards the food, before she looked towards the passed out mare, the zombie, and the emaciated stallion.

The stallion simply nodded, "Come out kid, nothing's gonna hurt ya..."

Finally, the filly stood up, walking towards the biscuit. As soon as she was outside the cell, Ice held it out for it to be taken.

"Should probably give her some water too..." the stallion muttered. The sounds of radio chatter indicated the squad had begun clearing buildings.

Rolling her eyes, Ice's hoof was already halfway up to her neck as she pulled out her secondary drinking tube. She reached up, daring to take off her respirator - the smell nearly made her vomit instantly - but she steeled herself and made sure the child was watching before she bit down on the tube and sucked, drawing water through it. Holding it out again, she offered a drink. It was promptly taken.

Waffle Cone chuckled, "You'd be a great mother, Ice."

Re-securing her respirator and taking a relieved breath of magically generated air, Ice shot Waffle a dirty look, "Shut it, furball."

"What? I meant it," Waffle snorted.

Ice rolled her eyes, watching the foal as she ate and drank. Waffle eventually was called over to help Lead Syringe move the mare out of the filthy cell for some sort of emergency operation. The radio squawked as Crystal reported a building fully cleared.

"So... why?" the stallion asked, groaning as he adjusted his weight.

"Huh...?" Ice asked, looking up from her undersized charge.

"Never seen power armor like that. Maybe you aren't Steel Rangers, but you're still too overequipped to be working alone. Why're you wasting your time here? Is it that Stable they're digging up?" the stallion questioned, "...Not that I particularly care. Anywhere's better than in that cell."

"Is killing rapists and rescuing civilians not a good enough reason?" Ice raised an eyebrow.

The zombie had slowly become less manic as time went on, but he suddenly perked right up and smiled again at her words.

The stallion, not paying attention to the zombie, frowned, "...Not in this wasteland, it's not. It should be though."

A few more minutes, and a few more conservative drinks between the foal and the stallion, Crystal Trail's voice came over the radio, "Everyone, report in your status."

Lead Syringe finally spoke up, having been deep in concentration until then, "One patient needs immediate evac. We'll lose her without IV antibiotics and an autodoc within a few hours. Other patients stable and ready for transport."

Ice reported all clear, as the rest of the squad did. Eventually, Crystal sighed, "...Okay. Here we go. Do another sweep of your recording software, make sure it's been off and we aren't about to datadump our crimes directly to command. Once you're done, Radio Whistle, switch back on our commlink."

Soon enough, they were connected with the Indefatigable's signal again as they carried the hostages to the surface for medical evacuation. It was only a few seconds after Crystal Trail addressed command that Lightning Bringer's cold, level voice came back over the link.

"Command, 51. We are indeed receiving you. What is the status of the camp surrounding Stable 83, Site Golf?"

Crystal Trail left a moment of dead air, before she finally responded, "43 dead, one taken as a prisoner. We have four rescued hostages, we need immediate medevac at our current location. One hostage claims to be Captain Star Strider, of the Victory, ma'am."

"...51, a Vertibuck is already inbound. We've had your GPS signal in the compound for the last twenty minutes. Prepare to datadump all recordings and logs for analysis. You will board the Vertibuck, along with the hostages."

Emerging from the building, walking alongside Shot Stack, who had the mare from the bedroom over his back, Ice Slushee looked up to see the navigational lights of a Vertibuck already rapidly approaching the cleared camp. A smoke was tossed, signalling the aircraft where to land.

"Command should be advised that logging software crashed across the squadlink about an hour ago," Crystal Trail said, at the head of the group as the Vertibuck began to land.

"Your claim is acknowledged. For the record, 51, you may want to know that your next orders were to establish peaceful contact with the occupants of Site Golf. They were the branch of the Syndicate, who we are presently allied with. By destroying them, you may have caused a diplomatic incident."

Ice's namesake gripped her heart as Shot Stack gave her a mournful look.

"Fuck."

Chapter 17: Strange Bedfellows

December 5, 1277 - Mission Day 57

Elder Bronze Pip sat at her desk, security feeds from around the facility arrayed out in front of her. Decoded messages from other contingents were arrayed out in front of her, the latest news from the rest of the Wasteland finally restored after the system shorted out the previous month. Previously, she may have been concerned about the shifting balance of power, who was struggling, who had Knights to spare... but now, only one thing was on her mind.

That ship.

Her two most trusted subordinates sat in front of her, Star Paladin Roaring Thunder and Star Paladin Blazing Arc. Blazing Arc, the earth pony mare, had her nose raised high, "With all due respect, my liege, we are just... allowing them to brush coats with the tribals?"

Elder Pip sighed. Only those in the upper ranks had been made privy to the information of the Phantom Ship's close levels of cooperation with the wastelander settlements and the Syndicate, "Indeed. They told us they were planning as much. I raised no complaint."

"It's hard to blame them for this kind of thinking. Imagine being in their boots," Roaring Thunder sighed wistfully, "You see your entire world destroyed, your families extinguished, all the comforts and staples of pre-war life ripped away, then you're in our reality. They even call the tribals..." he scrunched up his muzzle, "Civilian. Innocents. It's almost like a mother bird stealing Radigator eggs after losing their own children."

Blazing Arc still seemed dissatisfied, "Shouldn't it be our place to teach them the folly of wasting resources on these ponies?"

"I have warned their leadership about this folly," Elder Pip rubbed one of her tired, half-lidded eyes, "They believed it would go against their morals to cease. I did not wish to antagonize them further by pressing the subject."

Arc narrowed her eyes, obviously wanting to say something very untoward for somepony of her rank. She simply took a deep breath through her nostrils and raised her chin again, "...I must ask, Elder... why are we cooperating with these..." she struggled to find the right vocabulary, "...Ponies?"

Roaring Thunder nodded, "Surely we have the resources to capture the ship intact if we play our cards right?"

"Mmh, perhaps," Elder Pip nodded, "I've contacted other contingents. Fillydelphia and Manehatten are very firmly tied down, but others may be able to lend assistance. As it stands, though, even if we were to all array ourselves against them, it would be a bloody battle. Too bloody. There's also just too many things that could go wrong," she chuckled softly, "If you haven't noticed, their ship happens to have a set of functional engines. In the first hours of battle, they could simply just... sail away."

"We have those old torpedoes. Perhaps we could dupe their scribes into repairing them for us?" Blazing Arc suggested, "We could aim them for their propulsion system. Surely a ship that massive would not sink to such a small amount of damage?"

"Perhaps," Elder Pip hummed, "For now, assault is entirely off the table. Even calling for reinforcements may tip them off. Just because they're naive about the state of Equestria doesn't mean we should risk them not being able to understand basic military tactics. For all we know, they could be more familiar with tactics than us."

Now there was a terrifying thought. Somepony who knew the game of battlefields and logistics better than Bronze Pip. Of course, the highest level of tactical acuity was knowing where your weaknesses lay. She glanced upwards, at the skies that the aircraft carrier could wrest to level their compound and every last Ranger in it at a moment's notice.

"...So what's the plan, then?" Roaring Thunder quirked an eyebrow, "Them inspiring the Initiates and repairing our tower was nice, but are we just going to sit around and let them waste all of that technology on the tribals?"

Elder Bronze Pip nodded, before leaning back in her chair and placing her forelegs over her barrel, "The first step of any war is to know the enemy just as well as you know yourself," she reached down and retrieved a freshly printed radio message, "Which is why we've asked for a permanent liaison aboard the Phantom Ship."

Blazing Arc took the paper, humming as she looked down at it, before passing it off to Roaring Thunder. The latter gave an amused huff, "Seems they wish to return the hospitality we showed them when we allowed them to our headquarters."

"Indeed," Elder Pip smiled, "Three Rangers, three Scribes. A prime opportunity to collect some intelligence. Tell us how they operate, who's at the top giving all the radio commands, what resources they have, what that megaspell is..."

"I would be honored to be selected for this operation," Blazing Arc bowed her head.

"I mean absolutely no ill against your talent and loyalty, Star Paladin, but Roaring Thunder is the better choice here," Elder Pip said, turning her eyes towards the stallion, who tilted his head, "I've observed your interactions with the Phantoms. You seem to know how to talk to them, and you have a good relationship with their Rangers."

Roaring Thunder opened his mouth... but seemed to quickly realize he had nothing to say. He bowed his head as well.

"Collect two of your most trusted ponies. They will pick you up at dawn tomorrow. They have strict rules about carrying weapons aboard their vessel, I suggest you follow them. Manehatten-Class carriers were rated for a crew of four thousand," Pip smirked, "...Not good odds, Star Paladin. Simply keep to your mission of passive observation."

"It will be done," Roaring Thunder promised.

There was a pause as the two were dismissed, though the Elder's eyes crinkled just before Roaring Thunder exited the room, and she raised a hoof to halt him, "Oh, Paladin Thunder-"

The stallion looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow.

"Their Captain, Brass Bugle..." she pursed her lips.

"Yes, Elder?"

"...If it should come to war, I hope to illuminate her to the folly of her superiors," the Elder averted her eyes, "Not for the reasons you may think. If their Rangers should take our side, our chances of success rise."

Roaring Thunder nodded with understanding, before promising, "I'll do my best, Elder."

"I am sure you will," she said, looking back down to her terminal as the stallion exited the room and re-donned his helmet.

The head of the Tarcoat slowly looked down towards the papers set in front of her. Her comrades around her muttered to each others, keeping their voices low enough for Calm Seas to not hear. They sat around a long, rectangular table in one of the private rooms of the Gun Rush Casino. Two MAs stood behind Calm Seas, wearing combat armor marked with 'Royal Navy' printed across the chest and back.

"We would control this power substation then?" the mare asked, looking up towards Calm Seas, eyes invisible behind the smoked welder's goggles she wore.

"And we would control the flow of the power to the substation," Calm Seas nodded, "We would place no contest on oil, we would allow you to trade it to us or use it in your ceremonies."

A stallion standing to the side of the table weighed in, "What about the AllSpark Power Plant?"

"The facility would become redundant. The maintenance efforts placed on keeping the plant operational would be better placed elsewhere," Calm Seas shrugged, "We are more likely to be able to manufacture more thaumic reactor fuel than we are to find a steady petroleum source in Equestria where much better funded and equipped companies failed in the pre-war," a sniff, "Well, not for a while anyway."

The mare pursed her oil-stained lips, looking back down to the charter, "...And if we agree?"

"An invitation onto the winning side," Calm Seas said casually, "Our power source doesn't need the logistics that your oil imports do. We could simply undercut your corner of the market until you had no political power. Instead, we're offering you a place at the table," she steepled her hooves, "Your culture remains intact, the amenities you experience don't go away, as long as you vote the way we tell you to."

"We did not form the Tarcoats for amenities," the mare scowled, "We did it to protect our interests: the ponies who risk their lives to go into the bellies of steel beasts against ponies who would take it from us by force."

"-And by force we definitely could take," Calm Seas gave a mellow smile, "Yet we're not. We're offering a fair trade, considering the value of the resources we offer, and the comparatively little you have to offer in return. Violence won't make things better around here."

An appeal to morality to counter an appeal to morality. It gave the Tarcoat mare the pause Calm Seas had wanted.

The Tarcoat, however, quickly firmed up again, "If you believe in this so strongly, why do you work with the Steel Rangers, then?"

Calm Seas kept her smile from twitching at that. Not allowing the silence to hang too long, she quickly came up with something, "The Steel Rangers have a shady history, you're right. Yet, they're just misguided. Think about it. We're four thousand, they're six hundred. Whose opinion is going to win out in the long run?"

The mare giggled, finally making Calm Seas's smile fall slightly, "That's dicey business, thinking the Rangers will ever listen to reason."

"It's dicey business dealing with ponies complicit in keeping slaves in their basement, yet here we are," Calm Seas fired back, quirking an eyebrow at the Tarcoat.

Fortunately, that finally shut her up, the mare giving the executive officer a sour look, "...The Stable Dwellers are not ones to listen to reason either, Phantom."

Phantom, that's what the survivors had taken to calling the residents of the Indefatigable, just as they had called the ship itself the Phantom Ship. Calm Seas tapped her forehoof on the table, "Reasonable or not, it still doesn't change the fact that, if we were less armed, less influential, any one of us could be down there breaking our backs. Yet here we are, with the power to make changes."

"And you're sure you would be the ones to make those changes?" the Tarcoat leaned forward.

"Yes," Calm Seas said, voice even as she reached forward and tapped the paper, "Let's make sure those changes are not a transformation of the bricks of this building from mortar to ashes."

The Tarcoat sighed, finally seeming to surrender, "...I will bring your offer up to my fellows, privately. You will... hear back from us within a few days."

"Of course," Calm Seas smiled, pushing her chair away to get up.

She was unsurprised when they returned with an agreement the very next day.

Captain Star Strider - or at least the walking corpse that claimed to be him - slugged back his fifth cup of orange juice with a deep, rough sigh. With a slam, the glass was returned to the table, laced with flakes of some sort of biological material that made Azure Bluette's sternum seize.

"Ahhhhh..." he leaned back in his seat, drawing the starched white cloth of a borrowed uniform coat closer to his body, remarking, "It's even better than I remember it being."

The zombie had successfully recited every authorization and identifying code on file for Captain Strider, which was the only reason they were sitting in the ship's wardroom under the light of the crystal chandelier, rather than with him locked behind the bars of the brig. The medical staff had tried to scan his DNA, only to find that it was too badly scrambled by a series of mutations to be recognized even as anything vaguely equine. Still, the Wastelanders amongst them had confirmed that zombies, or 'ghouls' were functionally immortal if they avoided losing their mind.

Firm Hoof had seemed uncertain about how a creature could intentionally prevent their brain tissue from decaying, but still, the benefit of the doubt had been given.

Azure glanced towards Anchor Aweigh, who returned a similarly perturbed look, before her eyes focused once again on the corpse sitting across the table, "...So, Captain Strider... you were saying..?"

"Oh! Right!" Star Strider huffed, adjusting his ragged navy cap, "Well, after that general alarm was raised, you simply disappeared from our scopes. It was the strangest thing! We decided as a group to make for land-"

"No disruptions to your sensors?" Captain Anchor asked.

"No disruptions, aside from a few that we thought was due to the radiation," Strider looked down into his cup mournfully, before holding it out towards the Steward again.

The robot rotated its spigot arm over to the cup, only for Azure to hold up a hoof and instruct, "Water, this time."

The Gutsy quietly complied, causing Star Strider to give the Admiral a look with a nastiness unbefitting the difference in rank between them, "...Anyway," he eventually grumbled in his hooves-on-chalk voice, "We made for land, but it was heavily irradiated. Half the city was on fire. The hull was the only insulation from it. We started radioing for help, but there were only automated broadcasts..." he slowed, "...Heh, I haven't really told this story before. It's a bit... painful, I'm sure you understand."

"...Right," Azure Bluette nodded slowly.

He drank the purified water, before holding out the glass again towards the steward, "Gah. Some shit happened, supplies ran low, ponies started to get desperate. We tried to scavenge, but we didn't have anything. Everypony who left the ship never came back. There were multiple mutiny attempts, though there was never any good reason for 'em. Just desperate ponies with nowhere to go. One was eventually successful and they tossed me into my own brig.

"Mmh..." he frowned, "...Then somepony finally answered our radio calls."

Admiral Bluette raised an eyebrow, "Who? The Rangers?"

"I don't know. They never identified themselves," Star Strider said, voice suddenly sober, "...The mutineers brought me back up to the radio bridge to talk to them, thinking it might help get us rescued faster. They just asked if we had any Pegasi on board who hadn't been exposed to radiation. It was a weird question, but I told them the truth. We'd all been exposed to radiation, leaking through the walls, but that we'd been keeping them at a non-problematic level through medication. Then they cut us off.

"The crew were disappointed. Some blamed me for it, they said they should shoot me. They went to throw me back into the brig, but then suddenly the ship exploded," he pursed his cracked, raw lips, "Water rushed in through a giant hole in the hull. If I were in the superstructure still, the blast would have cleaved straight through me. Where it landed, the beam cut us stem to stern, hitting us just below the command bridge and exiting via the keel just in front of the engine room. Cut through multiple compartments, she never stood a chance.

"I don't rightly remember much of what happened next, just that I was in the water. We had anchored as closely to shore as we could. I saw the Victory for the first time since I'd been imprisoned, but soon enough she was hit by a big fuckoff laser from a Cloudship. A Raptor, if memory serves me right..."

"A Raptor?" Azure Bluette knitted her brow, "You're absolutely certain?"

"Too small to be a Thunderhead, and only Raptors and Thunderheads have guns big enough to cleave a surface ship apart like that," Star Strider cracked a rotten smile, "I knew we'd be decommissioned by Cloudships one day, I just didn't think that would be the day..."

Azure Bluette's mind filled with trouble. Had there been some sort of secret order about destroying contaminated ships? Surely it couldn't have been an order for all irradiated military, or else they'd likely have heard some sort of similar story from the Steel Rangers. Had the Zebras captured cloudships? Perhaps they had not been as damaged by the counterattack as the Survivors thought?

Then again, they had told about pegasi escaping to the clouds. Maybe there was a more insidious side to that story...

"How'd you get like this, Star?" Captain Anchor asked, concerned for his friend.

Meanwhile, Star Strider had grown more and more distant. He raised a hoof and turned it over in front of himself, almost introspectively, before remarking, "...The water was hot. The Balefire Lava had gotten into the bay and most of the coast. Caused the water to boil. Also made the water real radioactive... took a lot of time for Las Pegasus's beaches to stop boiling. I got dunked straight in that stuff when the Constellation sank, can you imagine?"

The disturbing feeling of heat pulsing over Azure's fur came, pushing some of the thoughts about the cloudship away. Still, she had her eyes to the table top in thought. The more she looked at the mostly furless corpse in front of her, the more similarities her mind drew to a burn ward victim... just with fewer bandages.

"Yeah, well, I died pretty fuckin' quickly after that," Star Strider said, voice now frank and strangely irritated, "Then I was alive again. I'd rather not talk much more about that," a pause, before his eyes suddenly widened, "Ah! Ah! Ah! But, fast forward a few decades, fires die down, water stops boiling, smoothcoats start poking their heads out of the ground, we start seeing weird images on the horizon. I realize it was the bloody Indy, and that she's getting closer every couple decades! Then, one day, just when I was grabbing some groceries from the inner city, you suddenly fuckin' appear in the harbor! Bloody Hearth's Warming miracle! How'd you get here, anyway?"

Groceries? Smoothcoats? Azure simply shook her head to dismiss the thoughts, "The working theory is that the Sunrise Shield Projector interacted with the necrotic magic in the atmosphere and caused some sort of overglow that powered a time spell. The shield used in the megaspell's matrix is apparently in the same family tree as some ancient Starswirlian time magic."

"Huh! How about that! Well, I'm a lucky ghoul. Most other pre-wars I've met have had to cope with knowing they'll never ever see their family again! Most go crazy over it..." Captain Strider gave a rasping chuckle, "I even met one once that claimed he banged Applejack! Crazy, crazy, crazy! You being around is a reason for me to not just give up and blow my brains out before I go feral!"

"...Right," Azure mentally filed away her questions about the cloudship for later - from what it sounded like their friend wouldn't share much more about it without rigorous questioning, "It's good to have you back. We've been looking for a perspective on our... situation, that comes from somepony allied to us."

Star Strider didn't answer the question, he instead stared, perplexed, into his glass of water for a moment before straightening up and suddenly asking, "Hey- if the Sunrise sent you here, isn't it possible it could send you back?"

Captain Anchor nodded, "We've been toying with that theory, though it's rather useless toying without the parts to repair our array. Megaspell spell matrices aren't exactly common."

Star Strider held up his hooves to his muzzle, "Y-You've gotta try, Captain, Admiral," he pleaded, finally using their actual titles, "Any time is better than this shit. We gotta go back, I-I gotta talk to my wife again, we gotta stop this shit from happening!"

"We can't even think about answering that question without locating the equipment to even create megaspell matrixes," Azure explained calmly, "That equipment was created in only two places, both places we're fairly certain from intelligence have been destroyed."

"Maripony's way too dangerous," Star Strider agreed, "That taint shit is terrible, even for ghouls... heh, not to mentioned the alicorns and hellhounds. But what about the hub underneath Pegasus?"

Captain Anchor raised an eyebrow, "What hub?"

Azure's face darkened as she leaned forward, "That's classified information, Captain."

"Listen, I've been kicking around since the bombs fell, been to one side of the wasteland and back. I've gotten to know some things I might've not been privy to, even as an officer of Her Majesty's Royal Navy," he said, mocking a Canterlot accent despite his chain smoker vocal cords.

Azure's eyes lingered on Star Strider for a while, before eventually wandering, "The Las Pegasus MAS Blacksite is buried under a mountain of rubble the size of the Canterhorn," she dismissed, "Not even with both of our tactical megaspells could we remove that much stone, even if any remains of the facility were there to recover."

"Well, the entire facility was underground and built like a Stable, so it probably is intact," Star Strider said, as if it were obvious, "...But you're right about the rubble," a pause, before he perked up again, "Hell! I don't care if we gotta mine for the next century straight, getting that shit online and getting out of this goddesses-forsaken time period is worth any amount of time and resources!"

"Not right now it isn't," Azure explained, "Right now, our focus is on restabilizing this region and getting a supply chain set up for our most pressing deficits, namely food and jetfuel."

Star Strider looked a tad disappointed, but seemed to brush it off after a moment, "Fair enough, I suppose. Just be careful not to stretch yourself thin, I've not come this far to watch you waste this ship on attrition - not that I support a policy like the Rangers', mind you..."

He winced, "Just might be that there's more important matters than saving the civvies in the here in now. Why would they matter when we could save 'em all by going back in time?"

A safe distance away from the shores of the Bay of Fortune, the Phantom Ship had dropped its anchor once again. From its flight deck, a long bridge had been erected out of steel cable and other salvaged material, connecting it to land. Running underneath this bridge were heavy cables, carrying power from the ship's twin reactors into the power grid of post-war Las Pegasus. Upon her flight deck, a Vertibuck was being lowered by an aircraft lift as a trail of personnel walked towards the hatches leading inwards.

Roaring Thunder and two of his trusted Paladins, Tungsten Core and Light Shredder, walked down the stairs of the vast aircraft carrier, following closely behind the Ranger-Marines who had escorted them aboard. So far, being aboard the Phantom Ship was like some sort of waking dream.

Every surface was freshly painted, every single piece of technology worked as intended, and it felt as if he was in the presence of something holy. His boots, although cleaned very recently, still had residue of the mud of the training grounds of headquarters, where they had boarded the Vertibuck to fly here. Every single, faint print he left behind on the deck made him feel like he was violating the sanctity of some great shrine.

It all put a big, dumb smile on his face.

"You'll be berthing with us. Not a lot of space, so it'll be cramped, but they've shoved an extra bunk in," Brass Bugle explained as she dismounted the stairs, leading them towards a large, open compartment.

"I'm sure it'll be no problem..." Roaring Thunder muttered, looking over his shoulder towards a fully functional Mr Gutsy, still rocking its factory hardware, waxing the floor just down the hallway.

Yet, what was beyond the door amazed him even more.

Flying machines, over a hundred of them. Planes with engines he wasn't completely familiar with, sitting in huge rows. Markings on the floor, ponies swarming left and right performing various tasks. Some of the aircraft had tallies on the side, boasting of the many Zebra targets they had destroyed. A trolley mounted to the ceiling moved racks of air armaments around, and the stomping of heavy hooffalls wrenched his head around to spot a utility powerlift system.

The powerlift system was made out of a yellow skeleton, with muscles and sinew made out of pistons, hoses and wires. Two great grippers on the end of two arms hauled around cargo efficiently as a pilot inside a reflective glass-encased cockpit moved the system's four legs.

"Whoah..." he gawked.

"Coming through, mate," the pilot of the powerlift roared at him through a set of speakers, causing Thunder to look down at the yellow-striped zone under his hooves marked with the text 'DO NOT LINGER'.

Hurrying along and urging his similarly enthralled paladins, they followed them through an archway labelled 'ARMORY'. There were racks of secured, mint condition small arms, firing ranges to test them out on, and a fully operational workshop for packing ammunition and maintaining weapons. Though, nothing was quite as impressive as the next doorway they ducked through - the Power Armory.

Roaring Thunder stopped for a moment, gazing with a bit of drool trailing from his muzzle at a locker room with what could only be Pegasus Advanced MK II Power Armor models, all lined up and empty at power armor stations. He was once again grabbed away from the sight and half-stumbled through another bulkhead leading into what was clearly the Ranger-Marines' own Power Armory.

Sixty stations for Power Armor were all laid out in a long, tall hallway. Most of them were filled with T-51s, painted white and with the modified rebreathers on the fronts signifying their use in the maritime arms. Scribes- no, Technicians patrolled between the inactive models, wearing the patches of the Ministry of Wartime Technology on their shoulders as they took notes and performed maintenance.

"Alright, fellas. This here's where we keep our armor. Unless the General Quarters alarm goes or we're scrambled for a mission, everything 'cept our service pistols stay here. When it comes to guests, all of your weapons stay here, even the pistols. No offense, just ain't right to have unrated personnel stomping around with kit. Got it?" Bugle explained, stepping up to one of the empty stations, her name labelled above.

"Yes sirree.." Roaring Thunder muttered breathily, slightly punchy as he struggled to comprehend how many of his wet dreams had come true over the past ten minutes.

"Right, well-" Bugle's voice changed as she stepped out of her power armor, a mechanical hoist coming down to grip her suit as she brushed off her khaki uniform, "Take one of the stations with no names on it."

Roaring Thunder and his two companions did so as the rest of Bugle's squad moved to dismount their own power armor as well. They also surrendered their armaments, placing them into a locker by their armor that was locked under Bugle's biosignature. It didn't bother the Steel Ranger too much, as the Elder had said, even with their power armor they were far too outnumbered to fight anything close to a fair battle aboard the phantom ship.

"Want the techs to look over your models?" Bugle offered, causing the ear of one of the technicians to flick towards her.

Roaring Thunder gave an uneasy smile, "Err, no thanks. I assure you our Scribes do a perfect job."

Bugle, for some reason, gave him a doubtful look, before shrugging, "Well, suit yerself. D'ya have anything on the schedule right away?"

"No, not yet. I am to schedule some talks with your Elder, though," Roaring Thunder explained, pressing a switch on his armor to make it close up behind him. His fellows did the same, though notably the Ranger-Marines didn't follow the same practice.

"Our leader's called an Admiral... or well that's the shiniest brass aboard the ship," Bugle chuckled, "Since yer not busy, how 'bout I treat y'all to some of our hospitality. Grab some victuals from the mess then head down to Recreation?"

"Sounds like a plan," Roaring Thunder smiled. He had to admit to looking forward to something that wasn't made out of a mushroom.

A few minutes of navigation through the admittedly labyrinthine corridors of the phantom ship and they arrived at the mess hall. After Roaring Thunder excused himself for a visit to the shockingly clean bathroom, he came back to find Bugle finishing a conversation with somepony in an apron a sailor's cap, right underneath a sign taped to the wall reading 'FISH FILLET RATIONS NOW MANDATORY'. The cook walked away, and the earth pony turned towards the hornless unicorn.

"Don't worry 'bout this," Bugle pointed up towards the sign, "I twisted a wing or two and got us full rations of herbivore food. Just don't get used to it."

Roaring Thunder snorted at the concept, "I don't think I could if I tried."

A sailor pushed past them as they entered the mess hall, green in the face. Disregarding it, they entered the hall to find a room full of sailors in various states of misery as they poked at fillets of near-blackened fish next to servings of vegetarian foods. Roaring Thunder was tempted to roll his eyes at their clearly entitled tastes, considering the average initiate would be lucky to get half the ration size.

He was soon distracted by the food presented in front of him, however, as he took a tray from a shelf. There was yellow, fluffy (chicken?) eggs, thick and nutritious soup, macaroni and cheese - freshly baked, and some sort of vegetable casserole. He got a portion of all of it, noting with some amusement the significantly larger portions the Ranger-Marines were taking.

As they went to sit down, Bugle stalked off towards a glowing vending machine in the corner. Sparkle-Cola the front proclaimed, though there was some sort of note taped over the coin slot. Digging into his meal, he watched as the pre-war mare read the note, scowled, before turning around to square her hind legs towards the machine.

With a loud, metal clang, bucked the metallic front place of the machine. Two hoof-shaped dents immediately formed in the places where it was struck, the entire room turning their heads towards the damaged machine. Shortly after though, two bottles of cola popped out of the exit slot, scooped directly up into the foreleg of the military mare.

She walked back, sauntering slightly as she laid the cola onto the table, sitting down in front of her meal, "Got one for you, Thunder. The machine'd been deactivated cause they don't got more Cola."

He gave her a disapproving frown, "Isn't that a prudent decision?"

"Hmm?" Bugle raised an eyebrow, twisting the bottlecap off of the bottle with a hiss that reminded him strangely of a suit's atmospheric seal being broken.

"The decision to ration the further consumption of..." he looked down to the bottle, "...Luxuries?"

"You'd get a fucking flogging for that back at Blueblood," Paladin Tungsten chuckled darkly, poking a plate of casserole with a fork.

"They won't miss two bottles o' Sparkle Cola," Bugle said, giving a slightly annoyed look.

Roaring Thunder sighed, but took the bottle anyway. A spicy scent went up his nose as he popped open the cap. The glass was cool under his hoof, and for a moment he wondered if some of the scribes had gotten onto something when they'd started putting Sparkle Cola and Sunshine Sarsparilla into refrigerators. Still, after eating a few mouthfuls of frankly delectable food, he took a swig.

The liquid was vicious. It immediately bubbled, frothed, and went up his nose as he slugged it back. Coughing, he rubbed his nose viciously as the Ranger-Marines across the table broke into laughter.

"Damn, son! Did that bottle fuck your wife or something?" one stallion remarked.

Roaring Thunder, coughing a few more times, wiped his nose again as he drew his eyebrows together, "What???"

"You drank that cola like it owed you money," Bugle giggled, taking a more conservative sip of her own drink.

Thunder finally realized his mistake as he saw the carbonated liquid bubbling inside of the glass bottle. Rolling his eyes, he simply rolled with it as he excused, "Forgot these damn things weren't actually meant to be flat."

After dinner, they made for the 'rec room'. Bugle tossed the cap of her Sparkle-Cola carelessly into a recycling bin. Paladin Shredder understandably reached into the bin to correct her mistake, only to get strange looks. She half-sheepishly pocketed the cap, before cantering to catch up with the rest of the group.

Recreation was indeed a thing amongst Steel Rangers. There was target practice, wrestling, the occasional duel, watching corporal punishments being carried out, or perhaps reading some pre-war literature if you were a civilian with access to the library and time to waste. Though, as soon as they entered the recreation room, it immediately became clear to Roaring Thunder that - like many frivolous things - the pre-war military took their relaxation times a lot more seriously.

There was a library with sections and concepts he'd never even heard about (such as 'self care' and 'home & gardening'), a room dedicated entirely for playing table games, and an entire computer room just for videogames.

Videogames were not something the Rangers used for their original purposes. Intact cartridges and systems were so rare (they weren't built by manufacturers with 2 century warranties in mind) that finding and identifying one was almost as rare as finding a Water Talisman - though much less useful of course. The single console and holotape they had in the archives of their headquarters was only used to study the culture and thought processes of the pre-war ponies and nopony outside of the highest circle of scribes had even seen it run.

Then they arrived in the computer room, Bugle hastily slapped something called 'Tartarus Rangers II' into the drive slot, and connected four controllers to the console as the program booted on a large widescreen vidscreen. As Paladins Core and Shredder were lead elsewhere by some of the Ranger-Marines they'd become acquainted with, Bugle gestured Roaring over to a bean bag next to her as she sat with one of the controllers.

Sitting down, a controller was thrust into the forehooves of Roaring Thunder, who looked down at it dumbly, "I... er... have never used one of these before," he admitted.

"Oh don't worry, this here game's cooperative," Bugle reassured as two of her subordinates sat down as well, taking up the other two controllers.

Roaring Thunder couldn't figure the first thing about what cooperative could mean, but his eyes were attracted back to the screen as a video began to play. Flashy, pixelated artwork of spaceships leaving a blue, green planet came on screen, along with the text:

'IN THE YEAR 2277, PONYKIND HAS MOVED TO THE STARS. THEY HAVE ESTABLISHED COLONIES ALL OVER THE GALAXY, EVERYTHING WAS PEACEFUL UNDER PRINCESS LUNA'S MAGNIFICENT RULE...'

The art changed to images of giant, red eyed robots, covered in spikes and painted in black and white. Ponies wearing spandex suits that vaguely reminded Roaring of Stable jumpsuits fled before them as weird, spherical buildings burned. The text along with the image read:

'UNTIL THEY ATTACKED!'

Bugle frowned, spamming a button on her controller, "Must've reset th' darn save data. Can't skip this Luna-damned intro."

The image changed again. Ponies wearing futuristic - and frankly ridiculously unrealistic - power armor stood proudly at a barren ridge. The smoking husks of robots lay at their hooves. The text scrolled once again:

'THE SPACE RANGERS ARE COMMISSIONED TO END THIS ROBOTIC THREAT TO ALL PONY LIFE! ONLY WITH YOUR GUIDANCE CAN YOU BRING LIGHT BACK TO THIS GALAXY!'

With that, funky music began to play from speakers mounted on the side of the vidscreen. A screen titled 'character select' popped up, showing four characters, a pegasus in light armor titled 'Blitz', an earth pony in extremely heavy armor titled 'Tank', a unicorn in some form of electrically augmented armor named 'Zapp', and finally another earth pony in a bubble helmet leaning on a futuristic sentry turret named 'Engie'.

"Move with the right stick, then press the green button on who you want to play as," one of Bugle's subordinates explained.

Peering down at the plastic controller in his hooves, he awkwardly moved the stick until he had the large earth pony selected. Giving the Ranger-Marines an awkward look, he pressed the green button, locking him in with an electronic jingle.

"Y'sure? Tank's not the easiest..." Bugle raised an eyebrow.

One of her subordinates, however, contradicted her immediately, "Nah, he'll be fine if we play on easy."

"What... are we doing?" Roaring Thunder narrowed his eyes, utterly lost as the others locked in their characters and the screen changed again - first to a mission selection screen and then showing them arriving in some sort of miniature Vertibuck with rockets instead of propellers.

"We gotta go an' find a Megaspell on this map, then arm it and blow up a robot stronghold with it. Look around with the left stick, move with the right one, then press the green button to shoot. The little flippy levers on the back let you reload or switch your gun," Bugle explained, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Roaring Thunder, to his credit, could at least comprehend simple objectives. Though, despite his skills in real life at this exact sort of thing, he'd describe his actual ability to even input the simplest of commands past the labyrinthine and nonsensical controls as likened to a river trout stranded on the bank.

In other words, he proceeded to be guided like a foal to follow his squad, some sort of enemy apparently attacked them while he was staring at the ground and rapidly switching between weapons. He proceeded to die until he had no respawns, then was informed he had to watch as the rest of his comrades completed the entire mission without dying once.

Not only was the concept of coming back after death and not honoring the sacrifice of a fallen comrade rather ridiculous on its own, but he was even more flabbergasted to find that after extracting from the mission - that was it. They were given some sort of currency (Roaring got next to nothing due to being dead for the entire mission), and then were told to move on.

"...Why?" was the only thing he could say.

"Erh, why what?" Bugle asked, not taking her eyes off the screen as they embarked on yet another 'easy' mission.

Roaring Thunder didn't bother to pick up the controller, "Like... why? What's the point?"

"Ta have fun, I s'ppose," Bugle gave an amused smile, "Sorry, maybe this was a bit of a difficult came when y'all never picked up a controller before."

"Yeah but-" Roaring Thunder looked around, at the ponies playing at different stations and relaxing on couches and beanbags. The same ponies who'd been there thirty minutes ago, "...Why!? Surely there are better things to do than sit around here, press buttons, and complete fake objectives? Surely we have real objectives to complete! Surely you had them before the war, at least!"

Bugle pressed a button on the controller, pausing the game just as Roaring Thunder's character died, unattended, "I mean, not all th' time we didn't? Don't got nothing going on right now, either."

"Then you could be drilling! Doing something that readied you for battle, maybe? Maintaining your gear? Reading your doctrine?" Roaring Thunder asked, unable to keep a veneer of charisma in the face of his incredulousness.

"Listen, Thunder, I get two hours o' relaxation time a day when we're on the ship. I usually spend it doin' this," Bugle shrugged, "There's only so much maintainin' and drillin' a single soldier can do."

"You can never be prepared enough," Roaring Thunder's face hardened.

Bugle smirked, "Okay, warrior colt. I see ya. Why don't we make a bet?" she shuffled on her bean bag, the eyes of her two subordinates wandering over, "Us two, firing range. Your guys against me and these two," she jerked a forehoof towards the two other ponies on the bean bags, "You win, I admit I'm wrong and you can bequeath your wisdom upon me. I win, we come right back here and I keep showin' ya some hospitality."

Roaring Thunder grinned, "Deal!"

"I assume you are all familiar with the service pistol?" the range master, a beige-colored unicorn in a khaki uniform, asked.

Picking up a standard 10mm pistol, obviously well kept and smelling of the manufacturing line, from the counter of one of the range booths, Roaring Thunder nodded, "More than familiar."

The range master watched in horror as Tungsten Core inserted the pistol directly into their mouth, "Er- you folks planning on wearing a mouthguard? ...And the ear protectors?"

Looking at the rubber, teeth-shaped guards and the ear mufflers on the counter next to the pistols, Tungsten spat the gun back out, gingerly inserted the mouthguard and donned the headset, before once again picking up the pistol. Another look was given by the Range Master, before the stallion finally got the hint and also donned the eye protectors. Bugle and her two ponies took positions on the left three booths of the range, while Thunder, Tungsten, and Shredder took their positions on the right.

"Right," the range master grumbled, "Holographic targets will appear in your lane. Shoot at the ones in your lane, closer to the centers of mass the more points. Civilians - those are the ponies and not the Zebras - will pop up occasionally. Don't shoot 'em or they'll deduct three times the score for hitting a real target, but watch for the ones that pull out guns on you. Each team's points will be averaged, the highest average wins. Don't shoot the projectors, or else I'll shoot you myself."

Roaring Thunder squared up in front of his booth, checking the sights of his weapon a few times. They had a very similar range back at Blueblood, though that one was outdoors and had metallic targets. This one was indoors, with holographic projectors covering the ceiling every few meters. The bright fluorescent lights of the range even made it better lit than the targets back at base.

"Ready?" the range master asked, stepping back and placing a hoof near a switch on the wall.

"Ready," Bugle mumbled around the pistol in her mouth.

"Ready," Thunder said, after giving a quick glance towards his comrades, who had their eyes similarly locked downrange.

A loud buzzer sounded as the trial was started. Instantly, two close-range targets popped up. The pistol fired twice, ramming itself into the rubber cushioning of the mouth guard. The range filled with the muffled sound of gunfire, along with the muzzle flashes of pistols firing in rhythm. Eventually, ammo ran out, Roaring Thunder's tongue sliding evenly to the release as he inserted another magazine in.

Two targets. A civilian. Three targets. A far target. A moving target. Two civilians, before one faked out and turned into a zebra sympathizer. There was the vague understanding of a score counter above his booth climbing higher and higher, though he was entirely tunnelled into gazing at the targets as they popped in and out of existence. His reverie was only broken on the second to last bullet of the second to last provided magazine as the buzzer blared and the targets disappeared.

"Damn!" the range master marvelled, looking up to the counter above Roaring Thunder's booth, "That's only one point off perfect!"

Thunder looked up to the electronic counter, reading '189'. However, he was distracted as the master turned his attention leftwards.

"Yet, as usual, seems this difficulty is no match for you, Captain," he muttered, looking up to Bugle's score of 190 sharp.

Taking off the various layers of protection and stepping back from the booth, Roaring Thunder's face settled into a deep frown as he saw the averaged scores. 180 - 176. Bugle leaned on the counter of her booth, a smirk on her face, "Ain't no amount of drilling that can sharpen ya quite like ten straight years of front line service!"

Just as she finished, another voice came from Roaring's right. It was Shredder, who had sunken into a bow, "I have failed, Star Paladin. I vow to not touch sustenance until I amend my pistol skills to the example you have set."

Thunder looked up to the counter above her booth, which read 171. A truly shameful display, though he couldn't exactly blame the mare - she was definitely more of a grenade launcher pony. Still, discipline had to be upheld... though perhaps a display of camaraderie was appropriate in front of the likely softer Brass Bugle.

He raised his chin, gripping the mare's shoulder and raising her back up, "We have all failed the Steel Rangers today. None of us shall eat or drink until we match our competition's performance."

He turned around with a magnanimous look on his face, only to wilt slightly at the odd look Bugle gave him.

"...Erm, well..." she coughed awkwardly, "Guess we beat you fair and square."

That definitely took the wind out of Thunder's sails. The thought of going back to that ridiculous, chirpy excuse for an 'immersive shooter' made him sick. Still... he wasn't about to go against his word in front of both his subordinates and the Captain.

"Yes... it's... time for... videogames," he shivered, his ears reflexively drooping.

Bugle gave him a slight smile, walking over and giving him a pat on the shoulder that he could only interpret as being condescending, "Sorry, sugarcube. Weren't fair to shove somethin' like that right on top of you. Maybe y'all would be more up for a game of cards? Social deduction, maybe?"

Roaring Thunder, though, hardened at her offer, "No. I don't require your... pity. I will take my punishment as promised..."

Bugle, once again, gave him another one of her disappointed looks, but at least she softened this time, "Maybe somethin' with only two dimensions... and somethin' ya can't really lose at might be better. C'mon, I'll show y'all one of my old favorites: Ponyville Valley."

Roaring Thunder couldn't say that he precisely enjoyed the next hour or so of videogames... but at the very least the game, about raising crops on an inherited farm, was a bit easier to understand.

Calm Seas walked, once again, into the council theater of the Syndicate, this time under her own power and without an escort. With a slight yawn, she settled into a seat between the Stable Dwellers and the Tarcoats. Reaching into a coat pocket, she took out a thermos of coffee, taking a sip as she glanced between the two parties.

The Tarcoats, who she remembered being particularly ambivalent about her presence, now regarded her with analytical glances and stares of trepidation.

She moved her eyes away from the glorified electricians, towards the Stable Dwellers. Definitely a tougher nut to crack... but she was already brainstorming a few in roads. They were definitely her next target to influence. They at least seemed to think of themselves as civilized, unlike the Raiders. There was probably some common cultural grounds, along with some economic benefits she could hold over them.

Still, she saved those thoughts for a later briefing with the Indefatigable as the crowd quieted and Blazing Whip emerged onto the stage. He moved quickly, quicker than he usually did, and mounted the steps up to the podium, face full of emotion.

He wasn't high. That made Calm Seas narrow her eyes.

"Ladies and gentlecolts, I have dire news," he growled, a hoof visibly tensing on the side of the podium as speakers amplified his voice, "The reports and rumors have all turned out to be true. The Shattered Cog gang, the same ponies who gave their blood to flush the Steel Rangers out of Stable 83, have been destroyed, down to the last pony. My own son, Crack Whip, is among those disintegrated!"

The Raiders erupted in a roar of protest. The Stable Dwellers placed hooves over their mouths. The Tarcoats... the Tarcoats stared long and hard at Calm Seas.

Whip was talking about yet another MoA fuckup, Calm Seas knew. Their very own 51st Reconnaissance had gone off-mission to rescued some hostages, including what was apparently the undead form of Captain Star Strider... but at a great risk. They'd only managed to take a single combatant as a prisoner and had dusted the rest.

"Not only were they slaughtered, but their defenses were not breached! They were attacked by a cowardly ambush from above! And-" the stallion suddenly paused, breathing heavily... though it was strange he was out of breath. He hadn't talked for that long since his last inhale.

Calm Seas, however, wasn't thinking about that. Instead, she had quickly reached for her PipBuck, activated the StealthBuck that was already in the peripheral port and had the inventory system levitate every single drug that was vaguely useful in this situation into her hooves. Disintegrating into a cloud of slightly refracted light, she spread her wings and flew up, away from the lighting that illuminated most of the theater seat rows and into the darkness.

The theater was in uproar as several of the Raiders jumped over the seats, moving towards where Calm Seas had last been seen.

"The- the presence of..." Blazing Whip stuttered, seemingly not realizing the uproar in his own chambers as he clutched the podium harder, "Thf... bwuh... guh..." he began to pant.

Calm Seas, for her part, the world cleared by Mint Als, moving in slow motion from Dash, and her muscles strengthened by Buck, zipped over the side of the theater light setup. Weaving right between the guards, them only turning around, blinking dumbly as the rapid tap of hoofsteps and the flutter of wings brushed past their ears.

The commander confidently crouched down, biting down on a bobby pin and taking out a professional lockpicking tool, quickly twisting the lock of a door labelled 'EXIT' open, before fleeing out onto the roof of the casino and into the night.

Behind her, in the theater, Syndicate delegates looked around in confusion as the mare who had definitely walked in a few moments ago seemingly disintegrated into thin air. Some indeed suggested the usage of a StealthBuck, and began to sweep the seats row by row, finding it inconceivable that she could have pushed past the guards at the exits.

Only a few of them gasped in horror as Blazing Whip suddenly collapsed on the stage.

Chapter 18: The Unchanging-

December 6, 1277 - Mission Day 58

A sharp blade through scarred, scabbed flesh. A slight hiss of pain, a spray of blood, and a groan of mechanical frustration from the entity floating to his right.

"You illiterate chic-pattern rug! You're doing it on purpose!" the Steward Gutsy shouted, raising a clenched claw in the direction of Ivory Heart. The robot had said the same thing many times before, repeating over its dialogue in an endless loop.

Ivory immediately grabbed a nearby rag to hold to his wound, a slight twitch coming to his lips. Butter Apron looked up from his own station, where he was doing his best to de-bone a fish, his face sullen and tired. Ivory hadn't even meant to do it that time... at least he thought he didn't. They probably thought he was just doing it to skip work or to get attention... in all honesty, work was better than languishing in his bunk all day.

"Come on, Heart, let's get yous down to the infirmary," Butter Apron said, giving a look towards the Steward.

"Mr. Heart can report to the medics on his own, Mr Apron," the robot said firmly, hovering around a counter to access a pot that had just come to boil.

Butter Apron grabbed Ivory by the shoulder, the touch feeling rough and sharp, "I'll be escortin Ivory to the infirmary meself, boss."

"You'll do no such thing! Just because the zebra wants to sabotage my operation by cutting himself to ribbons and going for a jab of stimmies every day doesn't mean I can lose my best cook!" the Steward complained, continuing its work as its dull, glass eyes tasked themselves with staring at Ivory and Butter at the same time.

"Yeah well I thinks nopony's treatin' my friend right, so yous can file your very strongly worded complaint if yous want," Apron said, tugging on the sleeve of Ivory's uniform and tilting his head towards the doorway urgingly.

Ivory didn't complain. The job was only worth anything because the alternative was probably being tossed in a cell. The more he thought about it, the more he wondered if he could convince an MA to just put a sick dog down.

There might've been more complaints as they left the kitchen. Ivory's ears flicked at it, but they didn't hear anything. The walk to the infirmary was just as usual - a long walk down a long, grey corridor and down a set of grey stairs past a grey bulkhead and into a blindingly grey clinical environment that smelled of antiseptic and mint air fresheners. The only thing to spice up the formula was the presence of Butter Apron - the stallion who insisted to call him friend.

He'd almost begun to despise Butter for that. Thinking there was possibly something in the world to still care about paradoxically made things worse. Every time he'd ask to play cards or ask how Ivory's day was going or crack some sort of joke... maybe a few weeks ago Ivory would've answered, but now he didn't. It was just getting too hard. He was even too much of a buzzkill for the Admiral to tolerate, even when she just used him as a sounding board.

Waiting room, then come to be seen very quickly by a doctor, then a nurse would come and clean the wound and apply some healing bandages. Just as the doctor turned to leave, however, Butter stood up.

"Hey, doc."

The doctor turned around, peering through a pair of black-rimmed glasses at the earth pony, "...Yes?"

"This guy needs to see the ship's counsellor," Butter Apron said, voice almost demanding, forceful.

Great, more force was just what Ivory Heart needed in his life. More rocking of the boat. His shoulders sagged as his brain once again fluttered with thoughts.

The counsellor is very busy with other patients," the doctor said, "This is the fifteenth time this month I have seen this..." a hesitant pause, "Zebra come in here after cutting his hoof to ribbons. We have more important things to dedicate our extremely limited staff to other than soldiers who do not want to help themselves."

Butter Apron scowled, "He's clearly fuckin depressed, doc. I thought Ministry of Peace treated everycreature!"

The doctor stared at Butter for the longest while, before she eventually re-aimed her sight towards Ivory, "Mr Heart. Would you like to see a therapist?"

Ivory Heart, bleach-dry, sallow thoughts cloying at the edges of his mind, did not find the prospect of being forced to spill his guts to yet another medical pony appealing. Flatly, he said, "No."

Butter Apron gave his 'friend' a betrayed look. The doctor adjusted her glasses with a sparkle of telekinesis, and once again turned for the door, "A nurse will be in here shortly to treat you. After that, you're free to return to your duties."

Butter offered a crude gesture to the doctor as soon as she had her back to them, the door clicking shut automatically shortly after. The earth pony gave Ivory a disappointed look, "Yous needs to see a shrink."

The zebra simply returned his stare, before averting his eyes towards the floor, silent.

"Fuck's sake," Butter muttered, "I didn't beat up three ponies for this. Talk to me, Heart!"

Cold apathy in Ivory's heart was momentarily replaced by boiling rage as the muscles around his bleeding fetlock clenched. A single tear formed and rolled down his cheek as he shook his head firmly, gripping the underside of his chair like a vice.

Flow Kindheart sat on one of the benches in the waiting room of the infirmary, a book she had borrowed from the ship's expansive library in her hooves. It was on specific gastronomic conditions, some of which she'd seen before but been unable to diganose. There were things here that one couldn't find anywhere across the west coast. Heck, even that clinic in Tenpony Tower out East probably couldn't compete with the medical facilities and knowledge on this military ship.

She'd, more and more, been questioning her stance on the vessel and its commanders over the last several weeks. Before she'd been invited aboard the phantom ship, her life was simple: use her talent to make her too useful to be trashed by the Syndicate, all while helping as many ponies as possible. She had no grand aspirations of changing the wasteland, she was no hero. She was just a doctor.

Yet here she was, at the crux of it all. Aboard the key to the entirety of Las Pegasus, perhaps the entirety of the Wasteland. She couldn't help but feel an opportunity had been thrust into her hooves. Apparently, before they stole her memories, she was able to change the mind of the Admiral on rationing medicine. She had real power here, even if she was just a small part of a greater whole.

Yet, what did she want? The destruction of the Syndicate? Sure. The safety and security of the Raiders being pacified and the ability to trade upriver was nice and all, but the Phantom Ship could fill the same role without needing to compromise on the slavery and on fattening the gangs.

What then, though? The Phantoms were the new masters of Las Pegasus? Would they bring the fight to the Steel Rangers? Would they campaign out East and destroy the Slavers in Fillydelphia? Was that even something they could do?

And what happened when the supplies ran low? Maybe they solved their food problems for now, but Kindheart knew the ship consumed more than just food. Fuel, spare parts, ammunition, abraxo cleaner... what happened when they ran out? Sure, if they controlled Las Pegasus... the city was known across the Wasteland for its scrapping industry: its major exports of steel, parts, and concrete. Surely they would just make production lines to keep the ship stocked.

But who would man those production lines? The wastelanders, surely. Then their overseers would be the educated specialists from the Phantom Ship. It was more than likely that the Phantoms would just end up on top of the food chain, the Wastelanders on the bottom again. A new Syndicate, just under a new name.

Kindheart had stopped focusing on her book, eyes wandering down to her lap instead. However, even that reverie was broken when a voice came from above her.

"Miss Kindheart?" a pony she recognized - one of the corpsponies. The other mare was tired... all of the corpsponies seemed to be tired. They reminded her of herself back when she first boarded, with dark rings around her eyes and a slight odor.

"Uh, yeah?" she said, closing her book. If she had a choice, Kindheart would be tiring herself out just as much. Yet, she'd been mostly barred from doing any actual healing, much to her annoyance.

"Listen, you can do disinfection and healing bandages for a five inch gash, right?" the military nurse said, one of her forehooves tapping rapidly on the deck.

Kindheart, of course, could probably do that operation in her sleep. Still, the hope she was going to be able to treat a patient overrode the feeling of belittlement, "Yes," she answered simply.

"Okay. Room eight, a cook cut themselves. Just clean the wound and bandage it," the corpspony said quickly, before turning on hoof and cantering off to another task.

Levitating her book away, Flow Kindheart got up, making her way across the crowded waiting room. Going through to the inpatient rooms, she quickly located and walked through the number eight door. Inside, she found two stallions - one a zebra and the other an earth pony - seemingly in the middle of a very one sided discussion. The zebra stared dead ahead, a cloth fastened around his hoof, while a butter yellow stallion seemed to be urging him to talk. Upon her entry, however, the conversation stopped and both of their eyes looked up to her.

"...Hi," she said simply, pushing the door closed behind her with her telekinesis... before meeting the resistance of the automatic door closer. An awkward silence filled the room until the door finally clicked closed, "..I'm here to fix you up."

Kindheart reached for the cloth. The zebra didn't move, but also didn't protest as she examined the wound. Shortly afterwards, she grabbed a clipboard from the counter next to her and read the doctor's examination. She could barely translate the writing, but got the general understanding that there was nothing wrong aside from 'self-inflicted injuries to the right foreleg'. Pursing her lips, she reached up to the medical cabinet above the counter, only for the handle to resist her horn's pull. Locked.

"Err... ma'am?" the earth pony said, "Yous not one of the corpsponies, are ya?"

Kindheart's ear flicked in annoyance as she examined the lock holding the supply cabinet closed. She lit her horn again, taking out a bobby pin and grabbing a scalpel from the counter, "Nope. I'm a Wasteland doctor. I know how to fix a bandage, though."

"Are yous.. breaking into that cabinet?" the stallion spoke up again as she inserted the scalpel and bobby pin into the cabinet lock.

"They never gave me the keys, and the bandages and medical spirits are in here," Kindheart excused. The lock wasn't that hard; it was intermediate at best.

Fortunately, the stallion seemed to remain silent as the unicorn twisted the lock open with a click. Grabbing the handle once again, the door swung open with the blissful silence of greased hinges. Rummaging around, she got a bottle of methylated spirits and healing bandages, asking as she did so: "So, why'd you hurt yourself?"

The zebra looked up at her, staying silent.

Kindheart gave a lopsided frown as she turned around, the medical supplies levitating next to her, "I've seen this kinda stuff before plenty of times. Worst medical condition of all. When you give up, rest of the body starts giving up as well. You're looking thin too, bet you've been throwing up a lot."

The zebra's face twitched and he averted his eyes.

The butter stallion's frown deepened, "They won't let 'im see the shrink. Navy ain't too kind for stripes."

"Well he's one of you, isn't he?" Kindheart raised an eyebrow.

All she got was a shrug in response.

Kindheart's eyes scanned the patient up and down. She'd seen this terminal stage of depression before. When the local tackle-maker's husband died, he'd slowly gotten angrier and angrier... then he'd stopped talking... then he'd been found hanging from his own mechanical hoist. For once, her heart went out to one of the Phantoms.

Kneeling down, she began to work on the wound. He didn't flinch when she dabbed at him with the alcohol and didn't move his hoof under his own power when she grabbed it to wrap the wound. Slowly, she grew more and more angry... not at the patient, but at the other doctors.

"Have you been diagnosed with the blues?" Kindheart asked, tying off the bandage and looking up to the two stallions.

"Nope, but it's pretty fuckin' clear, eh?" the earth stallion muttered. The zebra stood, seemingly ready to leave.

Kindheart reached forward, grabbing one of the loose edges of his navy uniform, "Wait. Wait here for just a moment," she muttered, before pushing past him back to the countertop and the open medical cabinet.

After stowing the medical supplies she'd used, she began to scan through the shelf of different medications. Several white boxes, containing various oral medications sat there. She narrowed her eyes, looking for a specific name. Some of them she didn't recognize, some she did... but eventually her eyes landed on a box labelled with 'Precognazine'. Med-Tek was the brand written just above it.

She snatched the box, before opening it. Inside, rattling around loosely as if it was a mint tin, were several small green-colored tablets. Closing it again, she held the box out to the two stallions, "I hereby diagnose you with terminal sadness and prescribe you this. Take it no more than once a day and with plenty of water, it's highly addictive," a pause, "And don't tell anypony I gave it to you neither."

The earth stallion's ears perked, "...Precognazine? Isn't that what theys calls Mint-Als?"

"The only thing I've ever seen work for stuff like this," Kindheart gave a firm frown, "It'll help him get out of his head."

The zebra stared at the box for the longest time. For a split second, his irises moved up to lock onto Kindheart's... only for them to disengage immediately afterwards. After a few moments, he reached up, snatching the box and stuffing it into a pocket. Soon afterwards, he pushed past and out the door. The earth stallion made for the same move, a thankful nod given towards her.

"I need to make sure he's taking those responsibly. Where do you guys work?" Kindheart asked.

He paused in the doorframe, "...Wardroom kitchen. It's ons deck three."

Kindheart nodded, before giving him a pat on the shoulder, "Thank you, by the way."

Once again, he paused halfway out the door, "Heh?"

"Blues's the most serious condition in the Wasteland. Creatures with the Blues need friends like you," Kindheart said somberly, despite the wistful smile on her face, "And I know it's tough, being that friend. One day, though, you'll know it was all worth it."

The stallion nodded slowly in understanding, before saying, "Thanks, Miss..?"

"Flow Kindheart."

"Thanks yous, Miss Kindheart," he said, before the door snapped shut behind him.

Admiral Azure Bluette cantered down the stairs towards the Command and Information Center, imbedded deep inside of the ship. Two Rangers stood to either side of the door, giving her a slight, stiff nod as she walked past them and into the command center.

Banks of computers, controls, and displays surrounded her as she stepped inside. A holographic map showed the position of the ship relative to the mapped surroundings, in a way that mirrored a PipBuck's automapper with more tactical information. Chatter from various ensigns and officers came as they received information from across the ship and coordinated their various departments.

The CIC's purpose, as opposed to the Bridge located in the ship's superstructure, was to coordinate the ship from the safety of the interior hull. Too easily, a ship's command crew could be wiped out by a strike to its superstructure, and now that they were close enough to land that possibly anti-vehicle and small arms fire could be deployed towards the vulnerable superstructure, they'd chosen to move most command activities down below.

Through yet another door with yet another Ranger standing outside was a briefing area. It was much smaller than the main conference area, with just a table and around ten chairs stationed around it. Captain Anchor, Commander Lightning Bringer, Commander Calm Seas, Captain Brass Bugle, and the representative from the Las Pegasus Contingent - an earth pony named Roaring Thunder, were all seated and waiting for her.

Pushing the door behind her closed with a hind leg, Azure said in a clipped tone, "Somepony tell me why our working relationship with the survivors has been violently ended?"

Calm Seas, forehead and uniform soaked with sweat and her whole body slightly shivering, looked over to Lightning Bringer. The MoA mare sighed, turning towards the Admiral, "As I said in my report, the 51st Recon went off-mission and eliminated around forty armed militants at Site Romeo on the night of December 2nd," the mare grit her teeth, "Without my orders."

"Yes, yes I understand that. We were meant to disavow any involvement with that massacre," Azure grunted, sitting down at the end of the table.

Calm Seas sighed, reaching a shivering hoof out for a bottle of water. After slugging back half of the glass, she gave a sick-sounding hiccup before explaining in a shaky voice, "I-I don't know how. They apparently were able to reason that they were attacked from above. P-Perhaps the use of energy weapons?"

"What's gotten you so shaky?" the Admiral asked, adjusting the office chair she was sitting on for her height.

"In order to escape the council hall," Calm Seas gave a sound that sounded like it belonged somewhere between a burp and a retch, "...I, uh, needed to take a cocktail of PEDs. T-That's why I needed a medic before I could... d-debrief."

"So they're hostile, then?" Captain Bugle questioned.

"They seemed intent on either beating me to death or taking me to be lynched, yes," Calm Seas confirmed, taking another sip of water.

"Then their leader collapsed?" Captain Anchor spoke up, sitting opposite from the Admiral.

"I-I noticed that he did, yes... I was rather distracted with unlocking the exit to escape," Calm Seas nodded in an unnaturally jittery way.

"What about our assets at Gun Rush? The Vertibuck, the Rangers? The two MAs?" Azure asked.

"Word travelled slowly out of the council. I radioed them as s-soon as I was free. They retreated unharmed," Calm Seas hiccuped again, covering her muzzle for a few seconds before continuing, "C-Confirmed my suspicions. They aren't sophisticated enough to have radio commlinks between sections."

Lightning Bringer frowned, "Well if they weren't hostile, you pulling out as fast as you did probably confirmed the whole thing in their heads."

"She preserved herself and her subordinates against imminent danger, Commander," Captain Anchor grunted, leaning forward, "You did your best, Exo."

"Thank you, Captain," Calm Seas breathed a heavy sigh.

Roaring Thunder brushed some of his longer-than-regulation yellow mane out of his eyes revealing a very curious, blunted stump on his forehead, "So. I see you've learned how Tribals can be..."

Azure stared long and hard at the stump, her brain eventually realizing it was the base of a sawn-off unicorn horn. The rest of the room's eyes were directed in a similar direction, causing the stallion to slowly look up at his own forehead as well.

"Ah, well-" he chuckled, reaching up to touch the nub self-consciously, "Unicorn horns don't fit into Steel Ranger armor, and I was useless as a scribe."

Azure Bluette was the first to blink her shock away, before she coughed and looked around the room, "What's our intel, then? Enemy movements?"

"Hard to tell. The city may be abandoned and ruined, but it's still an urban environment. We've deployed a Warsprite, but they're finding it difficult to track movements amongst the ruins, especially when some of those can be civilian caravans moving between settlements," Captain Anchor reported with a somber frown.

"Warsprite?" Roaring Thunder suddenly asked.

"It's a heavy jet aircraft with an advanced sensor suite. We use it for scouting and intel-gathering," Lightning Bringer explained.

"Have you tried going above the cloud curtain with it?" Thunder leaned forward, ears perking up.

"Nope. The cloud curtain has a heavy amount of ionization in it. Anything we put through there will likely get fried," Bringer shook her head.

"Hmm..." Roaring Thunder muttered, leaning back into his seat once again.

Azure Bluette looked towards Calm Seas, "Any chance of a peaceful resolution to all this?"

Calm Seas, for her part, shook her head, "F-For what I can tell, the raiders aren't those to be reasoned with. Without their leader, I believe they will quickly radicalize against us."

"Know that you'll all have the full support of the Steel Rangers if it comes to war," Roaring Thunder assured.

Azure opened her mouth to ask another question, but the loud bell of the interphone ringing on the briefing room wall interrupted her. Captain Anchor, the closest high-ranking officer to it, got out of his chair and walked over to answer it, "Captain Anchor," he said as he placed the receiver to the side of his head.

He said no more as the muffled voice of the pony on the other side came through the set. Firmly frowning, he placed the interphone back on the receiver, before beginning to walk towards the door, "That was Lieutenant Charm. We might be under attack."

At that, everypony launched from their seats. Emerging from the briefing room, Azure immediately noticed the change in attitude amongst the officers around the CIC. Rather than leaning back in their seats and watching monitors, ponies were ramrod straight, hooves, telekinesis, and wings rapidly dancing around terminals and controls.

Walking through the CIC, they arrived at the command area, where one of the ship's lieutenants was minding the tactical map. Said lieutenant - the ship's third officer - saluted at the sight of the Captain and the Admiral, "Ma'am, sir! Armed combatants have been spotted on the other side of the gangway!"

Admiral Bluette looked up towards the bank of screens, showing the ship's exterior cameras. Several ponies, marked with red outlines by the ship's EFS scanners, had gathered behind cover on the other side of the long, makeshift bridge that connected the ship's flight deck with land. Reaching down and pressing a few buttons, the camera view zoomed in on the armed infantry.

"Raiders," Roaring Thunder immediately confirmed, reaching a hoof to tap the screen, indicating the makeshift, spiked armor the militants were wearing, "Probably armed with Anti-Machine rifles."

"Who's in charge of deck security?" Captain Anchor asked, walking over to the communications console.

"Lieutenant Full Clip, Marines," the third officer explained.

Dialing in the correct radio ID, the Captain picked up a radio receiver and barked into it, "Lieutenant Clip! Report!"

Through the crackle of the console's speakers, the Ranger stallion responded, "My crew has taken cover. They've made no attempt to cross the bridge thus far, but we've heard shots from the Survivor city. Not directed at us, we don't think."

Roaring Thunder scoffed, "What the hell do they think they're doing? Tribal gets an A-M Rifle and thinks they rule the goddamn world. You've got mounted weapons on this ship, right?"

Admiral Azure gave Thunder a cautious side-eye, before looking towards the weapons officer sitting a few rows down from her, "Weapons, arm the port side CIWS. Take manual control of Turret Three, do not fire without my direct order."

"Aye, ma'am!" the weapons officer responded. On a system status screen displaying the ship from a top down angle, several dots on the port side turned red. Text next to them read 'ARMED'.

"Captain. They're broadcasting demands over a loudspaker," the comms console squawked again.

"What're they saying?" Captain Anchor asked, pulling up a chair and sitting down, receiver still floating in front of him.

A pause, "...They're demanding we give them the ponies who shot up their base. They're saying they've taken hostages and have rocket launchers."

"Can they pierce the hull?" Admiral Azure asked calmly, walking down the length of the consoles, eyes firmly staring up at the various tactical displays.

"Depends what kind of rocket launcher. Our turrets have individual shields, but sustained fire could likely damage them," the weapons officer surmised, now handling a keyboard that directly controlled one of the ship's anti-air laser turrets.

"Hull's too thick, unless they're carrying a balefire launcher," Lightning Bringer shook her head.

Azure pursed her lips, before nodding to herself, "They may be trying to stop us from scrambling aircraft."

"Why?" Bugle asked, having been standing back and mostly silent as the navy personnel worked the ship.

"We depend on their trade for food. If we can't scramble aircraft, we can't use Vertibucks to attack them," Azure guessed, "They're planning on besieging us."

"They say they just want justice, Captain. They claim we've killed some of 'em" the speaker said, the pony on the other side being oblivious to the conversation being held out of earshot of the radio's microphone.

Azure Bluette ran her tongue across her teeth as her practiced, tactical mind drew up a plan, "Commander Lightning Bringer? What's the status of the 51st?"

Lightning Bringer's eyes widened, "Ma'am, you aren't seriously considering...?"

"Giving them up? No," Azure Bluette shook her head firmly, "Their suits are built for stealth. They might be the only ones who can safely get past their siege."

Roaring Thunder frowned, "Huh? You have guns trained on them, right? Those tin shacks aren't going to be able to protect them from the laser fire!"

Azure waved a hoof dismissively towards the Survivor Ranger, "They've taken hostages, and there's civilians in the way. Too risky. There's a much more elegant way to approach this."

Lightning Bringer nodded, "They 51st has been placed on standby for the past two days pending disciplinary measures."

Azure Bluette sighed, tapping her hoof, "...Tell them to arm up. They'll fly immediately to the Blueblood Academy. From there, they will assault the Gun Rush Casino with the help of the Rangers. Not too aggressively, mind you, they just need to move to threaten it. A full assault would likely result in too many casualties."

Roaring Thunder finally seemed to understand, "They depend on the Stables there for food. They'll have to move back to defend it."

"Our ship's Ranger-Marines have special suits of power armor that're waterproof," Azure gave a slight smile, turning towards Captain Bugle, "Get your ponies ready. They'll jump into the water from the starboard side, the side facing away from the enemy, then walk underwater to the shore. Once we have more intel, you'll be in a position to assault the enemy taking shelter there."

Bugle grinned, "I'll have us bring along some tear gas. We can mortar strike the town with it as part of an ambush. Doesn't look like they have any eye and airway protection."

Azure Bluette was a navy mare, not very educated in the concepts of infantry warfare, but she trusted the ranger-marine captain, "Sounds good, but you'll be staying here with half of your forces. Once we can eliminate any anti-air weapons from the town, you'll be scrambled to assault the Gun Rush," she spared a look towards the hornless unicorn, "Your ponies have override keys for Stable doors?"

Roaring Thunder gave a single, firm nod.

"Once we are able to sortie aircraft, we'll attack the Gun Rush Casino in a pitched battle. With air support and powered armor, the battle will be very one-sided. Once we capture their food supply, they'll likely have to surrender," Azure Bluette reasoned.

"I wouldn't count on it," Roaring Thunder frowned, "Tribals are foolhardy folk."

Azure Bluette wanted to question him on his word choice, but decided it was a question better saved for later, "Captain? Sound general quarters. We're at war."

BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG BONG!

Once again, Ice Slushee launched herself out of bed at the sound of the alarm. As the announcement of general quarters rang through the ship, her and her squad hurriedly scrambled down the stairs into the power armory. In a single quick maneuver, they donned their power armor, the all-too-familiar sounds of its pumps spinning up and electromagical systems booting filling her ears as she donned her helmet and respirator.

Quickly, before their CO opened a commlink and began monitoring their inventory and health statuses, she diverted a cheeky pop of one of her Dash canisters through her respirator, huffing in the sweet scent as the rest of the squad armed up.

Lungs clear, she sprinted ahead of the squad to the ship's exterior hatches, only to be stopped as the voice of Lightning Bringer finally came in over the comms.

"51, Commander Lightning Bringer. You're all fucking lucky bastards."

"Ready to learn why, Command!" Crystal Trail reported with sharp formality.

"We need you to sortie. Move to the starboard side hatches, not the flight deck hatches. The ship has been besieged by the buddies of those ponies you slaughtered."

Ice pursed her lips, turning with unnatural grace and walking towards the hangar and towards the starboard hatches, the rest of the squad doing the same.

"You're to immediately fly to the Blueblood Academy under radio silence and with the use of StealthBucks in order to evade possible enemy SAM positions. Once there, you will pass on a message. Message has been transmitted to your onboard computers."

"We're really under attack?" Shot Stack huffed as the entire squad's HUD lit up with scrolling text information, a log being downloaded, "Why don't we just fucking sail away?"

"Negative, 51. They have hostages. After you contact the Steel Rangers at the Academy, you'll take part in a feign assault on enemy positions at the Gun Rush Casino. Command has reasoned this is an important tactical position to the enemy and will result in them abandoning positions near the ship, leaving them more vulnerable to assault from the Ranger-Marines."

"Understood, Command," Crystal Trail nodded.

"Steel Rangers? At the Blueblood Academy? Are they ours?" Sugar Beach muttered, confused. Lightning Bringer didn't answer her, though.

They arrived at the exterior hatches, where several of the Ranger-Marines were arming up as well, spools of rope being released down into the ocean. Doing some final checks, the squad queued up their StealthBuck peripherals as they lined up for takeoff.

"51, be advised, your RoE has changed. Knights, Paladins, Scribes, Initiates, and others aligning with the Las Pegasus Steel Rangers are considered allied units. All other armed, non-Navy personnel are to be canvassed as enemy insurgents. This is now officially a wartime environment."

Ice's brain had little time, ironically enough, to consider the meaning behind those words. The electric zap of their StealthBucks initiating and covering them in a see-through cloak filled the air as they spread their wings and took off, taking a wide flying circle around the occupied town and up the river towards the army base.

Chapter 19: -War.

December 6, 1277 - Mission Day 58

Deep under the waters of the Bay of Fortune, a trail of Ranger-Marines casually strode through the silt and sand of the ocean floor.

All infantry-pattern power armor models had some waterproofing, as they needed to be able to keep a pressure seal. However, in most models long-term submersion would result in trickles leaking in through the joints and mechanisms eventually, drowning the occupant. This was not the case for Marine armor, which refused to allow the ocean and carefully controlled the buoyancy of the suit to prevent bogging or floating.

The water's surfaced glistened in the distance as they climbed the long, steep slope leading up towards the beach. Strange, bloated fish swam nearby, illuminated by the low light vision modes in their helmets. The undersea world was almost completely void of plant life or coral... though this was not unsurprising for a busy industrial harbor like Las Pegasus's.

It did beg the question in Lieutenant Full Clip's mind, as he strode onwards ahead of the assault squad, as to what exactly the fish were eating. Was there sea life farther offshore and this was some sort of breeding ground for them? Were they eating radiation or something? Apparently those zombies they kept in the lockup and the one going around masquerading as Captain Star Strider ate radiation, but he couldn't imagine them being too healthy to eat.

Then, he realized he was actively eating fish. As another one of the sea creatures crossed inside the range of his grainy vision, his stomach seized at its disgusting appearance combined with the memory of eating one of its brethren for breakfast.

"Surface near," he commented idly as their depth reached just twenty meters, the waves, surface, and beach appearing in the distance. Water sloughed off his team's armor moments later as they emerged, stomping deep potholes into the trash-covered sandy beaches of Las Pegasus.

Quickly - or as quick as heavy infantry power armor could move - they galloped across the beach and to the cover of the ruined buildings on the other side. Following the guidance of their automap, they walked through broken streets and alleys, slowly getting into a flanking position just to the north side of Sunset Town.

They chose an old schoolhouse as the staging area for their attack. The entirety of the central-city facing wall was destroyed, but the remaining walls and half-collapsed roof still provided cover from the enemy occupying the city. Full Clip himself stuck near a window, slowly scoping out targets in the wasteland settlement as his crew unpacked a mortar kit from a waterproof bag.

CS gas was loaded into the mortars, before being quickly and professionally zeroed in on the city. And then, they waited.

"Freaky," Shot Stack commented, watching as they were escorted deep into the refurbished ruins of the Blueblood Army Academy. His face peered through a door as they passed, showing a pony in priestly robes patrolling between tables of aging technology.

Two bulky Rangers in the standard T-51 Heavy Infantry Patterns walked with them, pistons wheezing and clunking with every movement and battle saddles in their safe positions. They'd, at first, been regarded with some suspicion an alarm - not completely surprising as they arrived under the cover of radio silence and stealth. However, once they explained they were from the Indefatigable, the Rangers didn't delay in taking them to their leader.

It had become almost immediately apparent to Ice Slushee and the rest of her squad that these were Survivor Rangers, not a squad from the ship that had set up an outpost. The scruffy ponies drilling on the fields, described as 'initiates', and the fact there wasn't a single star, chevron, or Equestrian flag in sight had clued them into that. She was also fairly sure that if any Rangers drill sergeant saw the state of their power armor, she'd probably faint on the spot.

A robed unicorn stepped out into the corridor out ahead of them, her mouth suddenly dropping in shock, "Are those MK II Advanced Pegasus!?" she gasped.

"Sure is..." Spear Bash muttered through her speakers, mechanized tail flicking nervously.

"Out of the way, Scribe," one of the Rangers escorting them growled through their, slightly crackly speakers. The unicorn hopped to it, clearing the hallway completely as the armored Pegasi and Rangers' bulk took up the entirety of the corridor.

"The phantoms continue to amaze me..." Ice heard the unicorn mutter to another robed pony, the two of them watching them as they walked away.

They walked into what seemed to be a computer room, with the mainframe control panel desk being converted into what seemed to be a command station for an elderly, earth pony mare. The room, however, was the first time Ice saw something familiar. A unicorn examined one of the computer CPU cards, a hoof to her chin as she conversed with other robed priest ponies. The symbol of the MAS was mounted on a patch on her shoulder.

Her eyes turned towards the new entrants to the room, "Oh! What're you doing here?"

"Carrying a message from Command," Crystal Trail informed as they walked by her, being lead by the armored ponies to the elder. The unicorn nodded at that, watching them go by.

Looking between their escorts and the unicorn, Ice let herself lag behind as she turned to the MAS tech, "What're you guys doing here?"

"Helping fix their stuff," the technician answered, levitating up a circuit solderer next to her, "We think if we can restore the rest of these computer banks we might be able to query the Single Pony Project."

"Didn't we try that from the ship already? Why would this help?" Ice furrowed her brow behind her faceplate and visor, a few meter's distance now growing between her and her comrades.

The technician simply shrugged, "I-"

One of the robed ponies interrupted, "Perhaps they have sealed this network connection to pre-war Navy computers, but not Army ones. Let's get back to work, Scribe Chip," the unicorn then urged, gesturing towards the circuit board.

"I dunno, but we've been helping them restore a lot of technology," 'Chip' explained, giving a slightly annoyed look towards the priestly unicorn, "We've even been working on a tank they have in the garage upstairs."

"A tank?" Ice frowned. Tanks were a very early war concept. A vehicle with enough armor to resist anything sort of specialized weapons. They were great, but got outmoded by the deployment of Power Armor. The Zebras stuck with the idea, though... the 51st had seen their fair share of striped tanks.

"Yeah," Chip turned around at another urge from the priest. She continued to talk over her shoulder, though, "It's kinda cool working with these guys go. I'm just an undergrad, but they treat me like I'm a sage fucking goddess here. It's great! The meals could be better, but it's great!"

Ice's ear flicked towards the sounds of conversation between Crystal Trail and the elderly mare sitting at the mainframe desk. After giving one more look up and down the computer bank, she hesitantly turned to join back up with her fellows.

The apparent leader of the survivor Rangers was rather resplendently dressed. Once again, it seemed to be some sort of religious robe, colored green and yellow after the primary colours of the MoWT. While it was well-decorated and looked nothing like the uniform of an Equestrian general or high officer, it definitely put off an air of authority and class. The mare within it, though, looked like classic Canterlot brass. Old, eyes crinkling at the sides... yep. Looked like she belonged at a podium making an inspiration speech about how next Hearth's Warming would be the big one.

"You are being besieged by the Syndicate Raiders?" the elder raised her eyebrow.

"Yes. Command believes a feint assault with your forces on their headquarters will force them to split their forces. We are already preparing a surprise attack on Sunset Town to take out any possible SAM sites. Once Sunset Town has been secured, we plan on reinforcing your side of the attack in order to capture Gun Rush Casino. You have the override codes for the Stable Doors there, yes?" Crystal Trail asked, reading almost word for word off of the text file Lightning Bringer had sent before they cut radio contact.

The elder nodded, though her face remained suspicious, "A seemingly sound strategy... and yes we do have Stable override codes, they won't be able to hold out inside the Gun Rush. The only part I'm still confused on is how precisely these raiders are threatening your ship. You have mounted weaponry and mortars, correct?"

"They've taken hostages, and there's civilians in the splash zone," Crystal Trail simply said.

Her eyes remained on Crystal's for the longest time, before she eventually muttered, "...Civilians and hostages, right. You know they're just trying to play with you, those tribals are in league with the Syndicate raiders, right?"

"What's a tribal?" Radio Whistle suddenly asked, despite an annoyed turn of the head from Crystal Trail.

"Others call them Wastelanders," the elder said, almost dismissively as she leaned back in her chair, "They are a savage bunch. As you can clearly see, they only respect the power of the strong and take advantage of the weak. They constantly fight and wear themselves out to the point where they can hardly maintain a community. They have no respect for authority, command, and order. I'm sure you can understand, you raided their outpost at Stable 83."

Pounce Chaser's ear flicked upwards at that, "They raped a bunch of captives and sent one of their parents to be sold as slaves."

"A just slaughter indeed!" the elder said, in a voice that almost sounded pleasant, "My word may not mean much to you, but I must personally commend you on that action. Were you ordered to do so by your superiors?"

"Why does this matter to the operation?" Crystal Trail said, her voice laced only very thinly with a veil of patience.

"Oh it doesn't at all. Either way, it was a most noble slaughter. You apparently didn't leave any prisoners, too," the elder straightened up, "We will mobilize all that we can. Did your commanders suggest a battle strategy?"

Ice narrowed her eyes at the mare. Did she not know about the rescued captives and the prisoner they took? Likely not...

"We suggest attacking the Harbor Bridge. From what our maps indicate, there is no safe crossing that will give us a fast enough route to reach the casino, not without an airlift, anyway," Crystal Trail suggested, once again from the transferred text file, "The threat of us taking an accessway to their headquarters is equally as threatening as attacking it directly, while being faster than going around the river and safer than fording it."

"We will bring mortar equipment to shell their compound. The bridge will be heavily guarded, but you're quite right. We don't need to take it," the elder nodded, "Will your team be supporting us?"

Crystal Trail gave a simple nod, before adding, "We may have to reposition at some point to establish secure contact with the ship, but we will help lead the first attack."

"Then may it be written in the chronicles of the Steel Rangers that on this day, the Ministry fights alongside its sister in battle once again!"

The whistle of shells landing on the compound of the Gun Rush Casino raised the alarm. Explosions shattered the already pock-marked plaza and guests of the casino and guards alike dove for cover as the detonations rang ears and filled the air with shrapnel. The first blood of the battle, a random gambler sitting just barely too close to a window, fell to the floor as a piece of mortar shell casing shot right through his skull.

Guards rushed to sandbag fortifications, quickly loading the exceedingly expensive boxes of machinegun ammo into their respective turrets in the nest. From across the river, on the other side of the bridge, fire was quickly returned. The rattle of heavy machine guns filled the air as long streams of tracer ammunition volleyed back and forth across the river.

To a gun commander's immense surprise, a flash of a laser weapon followed one of the rattles of gunfire. His head exploded into ash as the rest of his body quickly followed suit, leaving just a smoking hole in a helmet and an empty set of makeshift leather armor. More precision laser shots followed, firing from unseen positions in the ruins across the river, dusting more and more exposed heads. Faced with sniper fire, ponies quickly ducked further behind the sandbags. Machineguns moved to canvas the hostile positions, but isolated examples of fire continued to blast from all across the river bank.

There was no attempt by the enemy to actually attempt to cross the bridge connecting their sides of the river, yet local commanders were uninterested in that fact. They were more concerned that they, isolated from the rest of their forces, were being pitted against a full scale assault by the Steel Rangers.

The 5-inch turrets, usually used to stop illicit river traffic, rotated slowly by the use of manual cranks. A crew loaded a single shell before hauling the trigger, eardrums bursting as a hostile position disappeared in an equally loud detonation. Its sister gun fired shortly after, though its recoil arm decided to promptly crack in half and fall out the back of the turret shortly after its shell found its target.

Across the river, Ice winced as her automatic sound dampeners activated, numbing the sound of the blast just a few doors down from her position. Spreading her wings, she scooted out of her position as return fire laced her building, punching giant 50 cal-shaped holes in the concrete where she was hiding a few moments ago.

The Rangers, as usual, were standing stalwart as bullets ricocheted off their helmets and chestplates, filling the air with the whirr of miniguns and the distant rattle of rapid-fired grenades. Ice, for her part, was satisfied with alighting on a nearby tree, camly zeroing on a target as hostile fire impacted all around her, shooting, then scooting once again. Pink light blasted from her twin rifles as another unlucky soul with an assault rifle lost her life. She spread wings and moved again.

Their squadlink, paired with the Steel Ranger's channel, was all professionalism, though understandably crowded. The enemy heavy guns seemed to be being used extremely sparingly, which the Rangers reasoned was due to a lack of ammunition. They, equally, lacked enough mortar shells to destroy the enemy defenses and risk a push. As long as the enemy stayed entrenched, there was very little they were doing aside from wasting ammunition.

A hole was suddenly punched in the helmet of a Knight down on the road beneath Ice. Blood spilt from the hole as the Ranger, power armor still stiff, stood mid-stride. Following the shot, Ice's eyes immediately caught sight of several hostiles in the fortifications across the river, armed with A-M rifles.

She lined one of the easier to hit snipers up, blasting her in the exposed part of her head just after the other mare managed a shot. Taking a shot of Dash, she leapt off the branch she alighted on just as an anti-machine bullet split the air behind her. Sweeping down, she frowned as the Rangers slowly took casualties.

A lucky mortar strike on a hostile nest, an unknown amount of dead. Three strikes on power armored ponies. One limped away, hole clean through their leg and leg armor, two standing stock still with holes in their chest.

Still, no complaints from the Rangers. Just callouts, orders, and chatter- only occasionally punctuated by a grunt of pain.

Lead Syringe's ping on her compass flashed blue as he radioed in, "Ice, need your help here."

Swooping down from a destroyed window, machinegun fire lacing the air behind her, Ice ducked into a building to find the medic tending to a wounded Ranger. A foreleg had been lopped off, jagged metal marking the joint where the foreleg had joined with the main chassis. Only a few hoses and wires hung onto the other side of the hoof, which was lying on the floor, oozing blood.

"Hold the severed leg to the joint, I'm going to try and stimulate regeneration," Syringe ordered, one of his namesakes into a healing potion and tapping the needle. Ice did as she was told, looking up at the three other Rangers blasting heavy, deafening weapons through a nearby window at those on the opposite bank. The medic began to inject the regenerative solution, reuniting the hoof with its body as the bleeding stemmed.

A hole formed in the wall. The 5 inch shell soon afterwards exploded.

The shockwave carried Ice head over flank into the wall. Even the sound dampeners in her helmet could not fully mute the vibrations of the blast, squeezing the air out of her lung and causing her heart to skip a beat. Her head smashed hard into concrete, only saved from a fatal wound by the layer of alloy that dented instead. Alarms immediately rung in her suit as she lay on the floor.

WARN: Concussed

WARN: Crippled

WARN: Blood loss

WARN: Health State Critical

Fortunately, her suit automatically issued several healing potions. Coughing, her lungs failed to fill properly itself as Ice righted herself. Her organs screamed in pain, a rib firmly impacting something as she tried to right herself. Her blood vessels knitted themselves together, yet the regeneration was not quite enough to right broken bones and a concussion. Instead, she simply switched over to the bottle of Hydra she had in her personal medkit, ordering her suit to give it to her. There was a brief warning, issued by the Ministry, about the addictive qualities of the drug. Regardless, she was finally able to breathe as her bones knitted themselves back together.

Her respirator hung down around her neck, blood dripped down from a rapidly sealing gash in her forehead towards one of her eyes. There were shrapnel-sized holes in her armor, slowly being knitted together by the repair talisman in her saddle. As the concussion was cleared by the hyper-regenerative qualities of the medicine, Ice realized she was lying on the silty dirt of the outside.

Before her was a hole leading into a collapsed building.

"Ice! You good!?" Pounce Chaser shouted, coming up behind her comrade and placing a hoof on her shoulder, "We got an LOS from you."

"Must've taken out my comms. I'm good, I'm good! Got Hydra in my system," Ice waved away the helping hoof, looking up to the still-armored senior pegasus, "...Shit, Syringe was in there!"

"Also got an LOS from him," Pounce said, urgently moving away from towards the hole in the wall. Moving up behind the Dash groupie, the searing heat of the flames was only made vaguely bearable by the insulation of her armor.

A dark suit of power armor laid on the floor. It did not register as a dot on her EFS... neither did the Ranger beside them. Pounce Chaser still checked both corpses anyway, the corpse of Syringe being mangled by the blast. As the moment replayed in Ice's head, she slowly realized he was between her and the explosion.

Once again, she was the lucky one.

"Syringe is KIA," Pounce Chaser announced, shouting over the sounds of the fire. Removing the medic's respirator, a chunk of his muzzle falling off with it, she reached down the neck of his suit and retrieved his dog tags.

As holes were sealed in Ice's armor, a loading bar appeared on the side of her HUD as the repair talisman finally restored functionality to her communications systems. Her status appeared beneath the other... eight of her squad members. A grayed-out box was all that remained where Syringe's readout used to be.

"This is Beach," Sugar Beach reported over the comms. She had been sent to watch their western flank, watching for the expected reinforcements from down the road, "We have contact. Looks like a lot of them too. More than a hundred, I can say for sure."

"Affirmative, Beach. Radio, contact command and tell 'em that the mission's complete. We're falling back, ponies!" Crystal Trail announced, before saying on a direct channel to Pouncer and Ice, "Get Lead's body out of the fire if you can! If you can't, some of 'im will still be left when we get back, don't risk getting pincered by those reinforcements!"

"You heard our sister, all units fall back!" came the voice of one of the Ranger's officers.

Pounce gestured Ice over. She took Syringe's left shoulder while Ice took the other. He was dragged from the inferno and safely out onto the dirt. As Rangers moved past them, finally abandoning their firing positions and firing potshots over their shoulders at the enemy fortifications, Ice and Pounce took one more look towards their fallen comrade before taking off with them.

What seemed like a thousand images flashed through Ice's mind as she retreated with the rest of the allied forces. Like every time before, there would be time to grieve later.

"Tango. Alpha. Hotel. Golf."

As soon as the order was given over the radio, Full Clip moved his squad into action. From their hiding place, they moved at full tilt towards the gates of Sunset Town. Overhead, their mortar team fired away, shells of CS gas whistling towards the town. Big, white clouds of gas exploded on the high rises of the naval dockyard.

As opposed to the reaction to the high-explosive variants at the Gun Rush Casino, these shells immediately irritated the eyes and noses of those caught in or near the clouds. Civilians and raiders alike caught a first whiff - almost sweet smelling. Almost immediately after, though, they were caught with a horrid wrench of their respiratory systems. It was hard to even breathe in enough to wind up for a cough. Mucus spilled from noses and eyes immediately became swollen shut. Some, disoriented in the gas, collapsed. Others barreled out, desperate for fresh air as additional shells burst all around them.

Many were not caught in the blast. The Raiders amongst them called out the obvious fact that it was an attack, however as many were paralyzed by intense pain it was hard to coordinate. Many simply stayed inside, the houses giving at least some shelter from the gas as it blew through the town, gas shells continually emitting the noxious air.

A shell exploded right outside the gate as the Rangers approached. With thermal vision and airtight seals, they held no fear of the gas. A minigun buzzed as it blasted through the guard towers on either side of the town's main gate, instantly eliminating the four red pips atop the towers. A simple volley from a machinegun grenade launcher obliterated the combination of scrap iron and rebar that was the main gate, the attackers storming through soon after.

"SURRENDER AND YOU WILL NOT BE ANNIHILATED!" Full Clip boomed over his suit's loudspeakers, "DROP YOUR WEAPONS AND REMAIN ON THE GROUND WITH YOUR FOREHOOVES OVER YOUR HEAD. GRAB YOUR HORN WITH BOTH HOOVES IF YOU ARE A UNICORN!"

A rattle of fire sparked off the armor of one of his subordinates as Raiders with submachineguns opened fire. They were swiftly turned into a rain of red with the whizz of a minigun. The crack of an autocannon was punctuated shortly after by the explosion of a refurbished boat house, another red blip - and two yellow blips - disappearing shortly after.

"Watch your fire!" Full Clip scolded, "Civilians in our splash zones!"

The environment was heavily urban. The streets were crowded with barrel fires, clotheslines, tools, and trash. Fairy lights gave illumination, not that it mattered to the Marines as their world was covered in a rainbow of cold to warm colors. The tear gas had done its work, many had fled to concentrated areas away from the mortars, coughing their lungs out and blinded. The secondary problem, however, made itself known as they delayed heavily to properly disarm enemy insurgents. Quickly, the gas canisters ran out of steam. Another volley was launched from the mortar position, though that too would not last long; they hadn't brought a third.

They made their way forward across the pier. A hostile with an anti-machine rifle gave Full Clip just a moment of fear, though the shot went wide as he tried to peek from cover too quickly. He was answered with the rev of a minigun and a thousand holes punched through the wall he hid behind.

CRACK!

A KIA warning beeped through his squadlink as a soldier to his right obtained a new hole, his armor immediately shutting down. The building the hostile sniper had fired from was bathed in a volley of explosions from one of his squadmates' grenade machinegun, levelling the poor makeshift building on the spot. Four yellow blips disappeared, for one red one.

"They're fucking hiding behind the civvies," Full Clip growled. There weren't too many compliments the old stallion could give the trenches of the front lines... except that at the very least, there hadn't been any foals for the Zebras to use as cover.

The sound of a rocket's motor firing up drew his attention as a rocket flew across the water, exploding on the side of the Indefatigable's hull, just above the waterline. Minigun fire shredded the nest soon afterwards, civilians fleeing from the sounds of gunfire. The rocketeer fell, and another thermal signature behind him fell prone and shuffled behind a row of sandbags.

Cantering over, Full Clip's hooves punched straight through the wooden deck the rocket crew had been firing from. Walking forward still towards the red target, splinters and broken boards following every raised leg, Full Clip cornered the thermal signature. The mare, wearing spiked barding and a buckball helmet, literally shit herself as she drew a sidearm and blasted a few rounds of 9mm into the helmet of the Ranger-Marine.

Unimpressed, he swatted the sidearm away. With the same hoof, he grabbed her by the mane and pushed her through the deck and onto the concrete ground below. Screaming in pain, she flailed as he gingerly placed a hoof on her chest.

"Where are the other rocket positions? Where are the hostages?" Full Clip asked, taking great care not to engage the pistons on his foreleg.

The raider struggled to breathe against the pressure of the power armored hoof, wheezing out the words, "We-We were the only ones! Honest! The hostages are all around, w-we were supposed to use them as shields!"

The sound of another rocket firing reminded Full Clip of the futility of torture. He traced the thermally active trail of smoke back from its impact site on the side of the ship's hull towards somewhere down in the docks below, behind a set of buildings. A good choice, considering the ship's turrets were unlikely to be able to depress that far to hit it. With a sigh, he simply rolled her over, giving the quick order of, "Restrain her."

With the upper docks secured, a force of MAs wearing gas masks and kevlar vests ran across the bridge from the Indefatigable. Navy ponies, with assault rifles that they clearly had never held outside of basic training. What could possibly go wrong.

"Sir!" one of them shouted as they came up to the power armored Lieutenant, "Sergeant Race Track, reporting for duty!"

"Follow us. We'll soak up the fire, disarm and arrest anypony who surrenders," Full Clip ordered, before waving his squad down the sets of concrete stairs leading down to the rest of the settlement.

The CS gas had almost completely dissipated by now, the mortar team having repacked their equipment and moved up to join the rest of the Ranger-Marines. Many were still suffering the effects, slumped by roadsides and trying to recover their senses as those less effected tended to them. As the gas dissipated, the raiders grew more organized. Sheltering by quivering civilians, at one point Full Clip was forced to resort to a sidearm to take out one of the raiders, heavier weapons being too much of a risk.

Twenty five more yellow blips fell by the time they reached the rocket nest.

They'd fired off three more shots at the Indefatigable's hull. All they had accomplished was leave a scratch on the hull, as clearly their weapons were not made to pierce armor... let alone the multi-levelled construction of the carrier. The Ranger-Marines caught the rocketeers, out of ammunition, trying to escape on a wooden boat.

They even managed to shove off from the docks, spraying fire behind them. The roar of twin machineguns gave them a sinking feeling. One of them was spared from the carnage of the heavy weapon spray and managed to swim back to shore despite their armor and gear in order to surrender.

"Five Rangers KIA. Twelve dead in total," Full Clip reported. Despite being unarmored the MAs had simply not been priority targets for the enemy anti-machine snipers, and thus had suffered few casualties relative to their equipment, "Settlement secured. We are commencing a sweep now, but those should be all the rocket sites we know about... we got about fifty civilian casualties here too. In total there must've only been about thirty or so insurgents in the town."

"Roger that, assault team. MAs will secure the area, get back to the ship via the bridge for immediate redeployment," Bugle's voice said over the radio.

As they made their way back up to the ship, the non-power armored Masters at Arms sweeping the rest of the town, the signature whine of jet engines signalled the flight of the Indefatigable's air wing. Full Clip wondered, for a moment, if the primitive launchers they possessed were capable of even stopping the sortie.

Out of range of the Gun Rush Casino's defenses, the Rangers and 51st had turned to fight. Hunkered in buildings in a planned fallback area, reinforcements waiting as well, they delayed the enemy. Some had come surprisingly well equipped with makeshift steel plate, anti-machine rifles, grenade launchers, and even a minigun of their own. Still, both sides fought conservatively, the Syndicate forces once again slowly winning from attrition as highly equipped Rangers dropped off the EFS compass from lucky shots.

"51, this is Harmony-1, back in the air at last! D'ya miss us?"

"Hell yeah we do!" Shot Stack shouted in return, his laser rifles blasting before he quickly ducked under cover, bullets streaking off of his helmet and shoulder pads.

"Harmony-1, this is 51. We are at Alpha-twenty-two," Crystal Trail reported, crouched under cover next to Shot Stack and looking at her foreleg-mounted screen, "Enemy is half a klick to our southeast! Do you got our EFS info?"

"Yep. ETA two minutes. Wave hi to us as we pass over!"

"This is Warsprite-1, entering combat zone. We are tracking your IFF signatures and several hostile pips."

The 51 almost all mutually took full cover, avoiding any last minute casualties from the hostile forces. Rangers, still singleminded in their cause, remained at their posts, aggressively suppressing the enemy. Not even the slow, building whine of jet engines behind them could distract them from the roar of their heavy weapons.

"Unleashing the friendship!"

A flash of five multirole fighters glanced overhead before airburst rockets rained down on the enemy positions down the road. The whistle of their engines and the ground-shaking explosions of their rockets came along with the disappearance of tens of red dots from their compasses. Dust and particulate covered the area, causing the Rangers to cease fire as they lost tracking on their targets. As the smoke was slowly blown away by the breeze, the entire city block of ruins that the enemy had been hunkered in was thoroughly perforated with giant holes for shrapnel.

"Warsprite, 51. We are reading several tangos moving south from your position. It appears we've scared them into a rout."

"Harmony-1, bleed off that speed and strafe them. Rangers! The enemy has broken! Let's move back to the bridge!" Crystal Trail ordered, standing up from cover as the smoke cleared.

"Roger that. Be advised the Indy is deploying Harmony-2. They have orders to level that enemy compound by the Harbor Bridge."

Guards ushered the Syndicate's councilponies through the closing doors of Stables 84-86. Many still manned the machineguns, expecting a follow-up attack any moment. Things were looking dire. From down the river, they had seen large gouts of white smoke fountain into the air, shortly after losing contact with the Broken Ridge Gang stationed there. Then, the barely visible phantom ship had launched flying machines.

Many that day didn't even know what a flying machine was. There were some books about it, but the average guard - recruited from the ranks of the raider gangs - was not precisely known for their reading comprehension.

There was a strange whine in the air. Only some got a view of the aircraft as they approached their target, though they were unable to even bring their weapons to bear before the fighters were upon them. The rest got a front row seat to the destruction wrought by a single pass.

General purpose bombs rained down upon the fortifications of the plaza. Without a single anti-air system in sight, each shot hit its mark almost perfectly under the fine control of SATS-supported guidance. Towers of pulverized concrete shot into the air, punctuating each explosion. There was not a single shot fired in response - the enemy simply moved too fast. Then, the smoke cleared, revealing the concrete and sandbag defenses shoring up the riverbank - all turned into craters in the cracked tiling of the plaza. That same, haunting scream filled the air as the planes moved in for another pass.

Brass Bugle leaned out and viewed the battlefield through the doors of the troop Vertibuck. In the distance, Harmony-2 made its second pass on the hostile defenses. Fortunately, the wide plaza between the riverside defenses and the building had kept the latter mostly free from damage. The devastation wrought to the fortifications was not to be understated as the area had been reduced to a hellscape of craters, smoke, and fire. There nearly no bodies, because the bombs had left no bodies intact.

"Team Two entering the pipe," the Vertibuck pilot reported, "Thanks for flying Navy, Marines."

The Vertibucks carrying the rest of the Ranger-Marines soon crossed the river, engines turning as they entered VTOL. Smoke and ash was whipped away by the oscillation of the Vertibuck's rotors, the aircraft touching down. Marines piled out of the Vertibuck, moving to secure the compound... though there was very little resistance left.

"Whoowhee, ain't left nothin' for us!" one of Bugle's subordinates cheered, moving up to secure the entrances to the building.

The flap of wings came from behind Bugle as new, blue allied pings appeared on her compass. Turning around, she saw the jet black armor of nine MoA recons flying across the river to join them.

"Late to the party, Bugle, as always," Crystal Trail said through her speakers.

"What's the situation?" Bugle responded, having no time for petty rivalry.

"Suffered a bunch of casualties, but a good seventy percent of the Rangers survived," Trail reported, gesturing down the Harbor Bridge behind them. The Survivor Steel Rangers were moving up through the bridge.

Roaring Thunder, standing beside Brass Bugle with his two subordinates, gave a hearty chuckle through his speakers, "A most acceptable number, when victory is so close at hoof!"

Crystal Trail's head, covered by the insect-like eyes of her power armor, panned towards the Star Paladin for a moment, before she looked back to Bugle, "Lost one of ours too."

"Damn," Bugle admitted, "At least it ain't three."

"What's next?" Trail asked, looking around the area.

"Your friends got the codes to the Stable Doors?" the Marine captain nodded towards one of the Stable Doors, down a ramped path that lead into the foundation of the casino.

"Star Paladin Blazing Arc will have been entrusted with the codes," Roaring Thunder responded, "The tribals will be forced to split their forces to try and defend each door equally. We may use this to our advantage."

Bugle looked around as the rest of the post-war Rangers arrived on her side of the bridge, considering for a moment, before turning back to Trail and Roaring, "We'll split. Have more than enough numbers for it. 51, help scout and clear any enemy positions still in the casino. We'll half-n-half the Rangers on doors 84 and 86. A few minutes after we breach 84, we'll breach 86."

Roaring Thunder nodded, before looking up towards the other Star Paladin, suit pock-marked with dents and scrapes from the recent fight, "Arc. Half our forces. We shall breach the door to Stable 84 first, then you shall move and upload the override to the doors of 86 as soon as you arrive there."

"It'll keep the tribals guessing," Blazing Arc said, voice laced with an almost giddy tone.

The 51st, along with twenty of the Rangers, moved to begin clearing the casino. The rest of the power armored forces split into groups of eighty each, made up of around twenty Ranger-Marines on either team. Brass Bugle stacked up next to the giant, cog-shaped Stable door with the rest of the team, bright white armor mixing with the misty chrome all around her. Sandbags and wooden platforms had been built around the Stable entrance, machinegun nests bereft of their machineguns as they had been abandoned. A console sitting on an obviously pre-war platform by the door had been smashed to pieces by repeated strikes with a blunt object.

"That gunna be a problem?" Bugle pointed out to Blazing Arc, who confidently walked up to it despite its condition.

She shook her head, digging around amongst the rubble of the console and extracting a wire, which she plugged into a data port on her suit. After a moment, a loud alarm sounded and loud mechanical noises came from behind the door. Blazing Arc cantered off, moving to join the other team on the other side of the ruined plaza to open the second door. Loud, mechanical grinding came from the other side of the Stable Door before it began to grind back.

Hundreds of tonnes of blast-proof steel moved before her in a display that made even Bugle gawk. Stable-Tec weren't kidding, their shelters were legitimate. She could see how a blastdoor like that could withstand a balefire strike now.

Her wonder was cut short as the door began to roll away and bullets immediately roared out of the gap left behind it. The high caliber machinegun rounds ate through the yellow railings guarding the sides of the walkways leading up to the door and shot up spires of earth on the ramp behind it. Revving up her grenade machinegun, she quickly entered a command to set a fuse timer on the ammunition.

"Weapons free!" she ordered, before letting loose on one of the visible corners behind the door. Grenades hit the wall, bouncing around inside before blowing up in a cacophony of flashes, bangs, and shrapnel.

The machinegun fire stopped.

Repositioning herself, she looked through the camera mounted on one of her guns and peeked the corner. On the other side, nothing but scarred steel, destroyed barriers, shattered fluorescent lamps, and blood staining the walls. A radio call informed them that the second door had been breached, the sounds of more gunshots coming from the distance.

"Alright! Move up! Go! Go! Go!" Bugle shouted, waving her hoof as Knights and Privates alike spilled through the cog-shaped gap. Yet, the first Ranger-Marine over the gap was drowned in a rain of high-caliber, armor piercing bullets from a machinegun turret down a long, tight corridor past the entrance hall.

Roaring Thunder aimed two, giant almost naval-size cannons down the hallway. Each one fired once, ejecting a smoking casing. The machinegun was torn up in a bloom of shrapnel and fire.

A part of Bugle's brain requested she look around, see the sights. Posters hung from the walls, the floor was almost as clean as a deck of the Indefatigable, and all manner of things attracted her attention. Yet, the forefront of her brain, tempered by what had now been decades of the Great War, kept her on task. Thundering down the hallways, they met with several checkpoints.

In a show of some tactical awareness, the enemy no longer depended on ambush. Instead, they kept fortified positions behind thick, steel automatic doors. The crowded environment choked many of the Rangers, stopping them from using the full force of their numbers against the enemy. Every choke was a bloody mess, with fifteen more casualties cluttering the halls as they moved forward.

Bugle noticed as they continued on, fewer and fewer ponies seemed to be wearing the studded leather and scrap steel armor of the Syndicate. Instead, they were wearing Stable-Tec jumpsuits and padded riot armor. Weapons walked back from high caliber assault rifles and shotguns to pistols and batons.

The last choke they arrived at surrendered before a single shot was fired. Twenty ponies in jumpsuits had laid down on the floor, guns tossed in front of them, with hooves over their head. Bugle's tactical mind scanned for an ambush quickly, though there was nothing obvious.

Yet, it seemed, the enemy was nearly exhausted. Many of them had been caught outside during the bombing run. It seemed this was just a token force, trying to make a last stand.

In that time, one of the post-war Rangers walked forward, revved his minigun, and filled each and every last combatant with lead. Their screams filled the corridor as their comrades were gunned down, until the last one was minced, half-way up off the ground.

"Celestia on a fucking bike!" Bugle shouted, "Cease fire!"

The ranger's miniguns spun down and he looked over towards her, his dark eyepieces making him to look like he was staring up at her like a confused dog.

"What the hell are you doing!? They'd surrendered!" Bugle's professional demeanour broke as she screamed, eyes passing quickly between the pools of blood and ground flesh covering the floor and the Ranger. She'd hoped this shit would've been left back in the days before the bombs, not now, not here...

The Ranger's gaze passed between the corpses on the ground, then back up to the Captain. All he could manage was a shrug. A shrug.

"Should've known better than to surrender to Rangers," Roaring Thunder commented, voice even as he kicked away one of the skulls of the Stable guards, the severed head still lodged inside of its riot helmet.

Bugle's heart thundered as her gaze turned on the Star Paladin. The cold, dead muzzle of the guard rotated towards her, mouth half-open in a scream. Her right foreleg tensed inside her armor, the pistons tightening in tandem.

In an instant, she raised it and slammed it down across the Star Paladin's face. A loud 'THONG!' echoed through the hall as his helmet dented underneath the power of the strike. The force was enough to cause him to stagger, despite his own armor helping to hold him up. Blue pips suddenly turned red as the atmosphere grew tense, reticles settling on Bugle as the reticles of her squad's settled on the Rangers standing just feet away from them.

Roaring Thunder, however, did not bring his weapons to bear - likely the only reason his comrades slowly eased on their triggers. He held up a placating hoof as he straightened up again, locking eyes with the blazingly furious Captain Bugle, "Captain, he was out of line, he will be disciplined-"

"Mah flank he was fucking out of line!" Bugle roared in response, fortunately managing to stay her foreleg, "Soldiers don't just fuckin' do that, Thunder! They were ponies! Equestrian citizens! I don't know what your fucked-up religious cult calls 'em, tribals er what-the-Luna-damn-ever, but we call them ponies Prisoners of War!"

"Please, Captain," Roaring Thunder, now fully straightened up, raised his hoof again in a pleading motion, "We've been fighting these ponies for years. They're slavers and rapists. You can't... you can't tell me that you haven't seen a soldier shoot a surrendering Zebra before."

Bugle's mouth opened, breath rushing in for another heated remark... yet it didn't come. Her jaw clenched as she looked back at the helmet.

"We have a mission. The more time we waste, the more of our lives we threaten. It won't happen again, Captain," Roaring Thunder turned, waving his previously raised hoof at his subordinates. Slowly, they disenaged their weapons from the Ranger-Marines, the Marines slowly doing the same.

"Steel Rangers protect ponies," Bugle hissed, eyes still boring into Roaring's as the latter turned his head back to her, "Protect. Ponies. Do I make myself clear?"

Roaring Thunder nodded slowly, before placing his hoof to his chest plate, his voice low and solemn through his speakers, "Captain, I promise on my honor that you shall witness the errant soldier disciplined. I can even defer the choice of punishment to you."

Bugle stared at him, heart still thumping deeply in her chest. She couldn't quite find the words, her mouth staying shut. With a single gesture, she signalled the squad to move up, walking over the bones and mince of the dead guards. This time, Bugle firmly took up the front. Roaring Thunder got the hint, keeping his own ponies trailing behind the white armor of the Ranger-Marines.

There was very little further resistance from the enemy. As they passed through a habitation section, she saw yellow pips cowering behind locked doors. Windows into said quarters showed nothing... likely civilians hiding as best as they could from the incursion. Eventually, a team was sent back to the entrance to apprehend anypony trying to escape.

Finally, they reached a huge, open space labelled the 'Atrium'. As soon as they were through the door, they were stepping through tilled, flourishing earth. Even through the armor, Bugle's earth pony senses could feel the tiredness of the plants, the busyness of the bacteria in the soil, and the life budding across a giant plantation throughout the interior of the atrium. An inwards-curved tunnel extended from either side of the atrium, with scrap metal signs above each tunnel pointing towards 'Stable 85' and 'Stable 86'.

A side hallway to the left of the entrance to the Atrium lead through a door labelled 'Overmare's Office'. Roaring Thunder instructed a team to check the office, before following the rest into the field.

Apples, wheat, alfalfa, cucumber, tomatoes, potatoes... they didn't seem precisely healthy, but there was more life in here than anywhere they had seen so far in the Wasteland. Still, she was too mad to really appreciate it as she stomped through a path that had been left clear between the plants. The rest of the Rangers were smart enough not to trample the crops, sticking in the Captain's hoofsteps. After a while, they reached the entrance to the tunnel leading towards Stable 85.

Up ahead, it seemed the rest of their allies had pushed ahead. They had likely met with less resistance, Bugle believed, as their attack on the first door had probably attracted more of the enemy forces. Blazing Arc turned and met the rest of their allies.

"A successful takeover! Stable 86's Overmare's Office had its master controls locked out remotely. We believe the council evacuees are holed up in 85, near their Overmare's office," Blazing Arc reported, voice optimistic yet expression inscrutable behind her faceplate, "I see you're checking 84's computers now?"

Roaring Thunder nodded, stepping up past Bugle as he did so, "If they're holed up in 85, they've likely locked out all other systems across the Stables. If we can get to the terminal in there, we should be able to access the monitoring system and smoke out any remaining resistance."

Bugle sucked in a deep breath, before tilting her head towards Blazing Arc, "I don't suppose you've been slaughtering any surrendering insurgents, have you?"

Blazing Arc chuckled, "...Uhh, no. Nopony's been stupid enough to surrender to us," the Ranger-Marine officer standing behind Arc, Lieutenant Clip, turned around and mirrored Bugle's tilted head.

"Oh! Good! That's great, actually!" Roaring Thunder laughed, relieved. The Rangers sent to search Stable 84's Overmare's Office came back, reporting that the system had indeed been locked out.

"Where're them ponies holding out?" Bugle asked, stepping forward and pushing past Roaring Thunder again, gesturing for Full Clip to break off and follow.

"Overmare's Office... like I said... can't miss it," Blazing Arc muttered, vaguely pointing the way, giving her fellow Star Paladin an awkward look. It was indeed easy to find, as the hallway leading to the Overmare's Office was in the exact same place as it was in the previous Stable.

Rangers and Ranger-Marines were stacked up, weapons aimed towards the hallway. The entrance was firmly blocked by a heavy blastdoor, heavier than the normal variants of the sliding doors they'd encountered throughout the Stable so far. A Ranger and his pre-war counterpart were both crouched by the door, cutting at it with plasma torches... yet it was clearly slow work. Many, many yellow pips were crowded on the other side of the door. Bugle quickly dismissed the two technicians, before knocking firmly.

"This is Captain Bugle of the 3rd Ranger-Marines! Your forces have been depleted and we have gained control of all three stables and the Gun Rush Casino! You have done all that the honor of war demands of you, and we are ready to accept you as prisoners of war!" she said, setting her speakers to maximum.

There was a pause. Roaring Thunder and Blazing Arc caught up behind Bugle, muttering to each other in low tones.

"You're insane, right?" a muffled voice said from the other side, "You're Steel Rangers. You'll just kill us!"

"I can give you my assurance that, unlike my post-war comrades, I have no intentions of mercilessly slaughtering surrendering Equestrian citizens, despite your crimes," Bugle said, giving a glare over her shoulder.

"I'd honestly rather just let you cut open the door and gun down as many of you as we can before you kill us anyway!" the voice on the other side of the door shouted.

Bugle puffed out her cheeks and looked around the room, scanning her mind for her training on conflict resolution and surrender negotiation. Nodding, she raised her voice again, "Y'all must have sensors to see all across this here Stable, yeah?"

"...Yep!" the voice eventually answered.

Bugle turned around, waving away the nearby soldiers, "Leave this area."

The Ranger-Marines moved to comply, yet of course the post-war Rangers stayed. Blazing Arc shook her head, "Why are you negotiating with them?"

"I'm deescalating the situation so we can meet on common ground," The Marine captain explained in a clipped tone.

"You're moving support away from you so they can gun you down," Arc asserted instead.

The farm mare, however, disagreed, "I'm tryin' to save y'all a final bloodbath. They had time t' prepare, if y'all cut down that door they'd probably hit ya with a balefire egg with all we know," switching off her speaker and lowering her voice, Bugle added, "An' if this doesn't work out, we just use the ventilation to direct tranquilizer into their room. They gotta keep them ducts open to breathe."

"Why not nerve gas?" Blazing Arc said, exasperated as Thunder shimmied away from her a few inches, "Why are we negotiating with tribals at all?"

"I ain't got time t' argue to mah junior," Bugle said flatly, "Quite frankly, I am tuckered out convincing y'alls thick flanks today. I claim two-hundred-fucking-years of seniority on yer asses. Y'all take orders from my great grandaughter, so get back so I can negotiate a surrender."

Blazing Arc sounded like she was about to say something when Roaring Thunder interrupted, "Paladin Arc, if Captain Bugle wishes to risk her own life for this, then allow her."

The other Star Paladin said nothing, only staring between Roaring and Bugle each for a few seconds, before sighing and turning around, "This is... bordering on treasonous, Paladin Thunder."

Thunder lingered for a bit longer, before saying just loud enough for Bugle to hear, "Just doing what the Elder ordered."

Bugle's ear flicked towards him, but soon enough the other Rangers had evacuated the area. Now, all that was left was the buzzing of the lights and the smell of fertilizer. Turning back towards the door, she switched back on her speakers, "Alright. I'm vulnerable. Y'all could open that door right now and gun me down before they could come'n help. Both of our lives 're on the line. How about we chat?"

For several moments, Bugle's nerves tingled as she stared at the door, waiting for it to suddenly shoot open and a hail of gunfire to follow. She nearly flinched and backed away as the silence extended, the paranoid parts of her mind chewing on the words of the post-war Rangers. But, she was a stubborn old cow. She had been given something to prove now.

"...Okay," the voice eventually came, "Whaddya wanna talk about?"

"Surrenderin'," Bugle intoned, stepping forward a pace and leaning forward, "The way I see it, this'n could go several ways. Y'all refuse and gun down an entry team before getting turned inta chunks by high explosives. Or, we're smart and getcha while yer sleeping or on the edge of death from dehydratin'. Or, yer smart and get us back with an explosive trap 'er somethin'. In all of them situations, ya die. Sure, ya might get t' drag a few down t' hell with ya, but yer still dead."

A long pause, "...So you want us to, what, save us the fucking trouble of waiting a few more hours for you to kill us? If we were suicidal, we would've just done it by now!"

Bugle took a moment to process the thought, before eventually offering, "Maybe I can't get ya to trust me fully. All I can tell ya is that I ain't the same as them Rangers. Our soldiers shot at them raiders at Stable 83 cause they'd threatened to rape a foal. None of 'em surrendered, so we killed 'em all. Until then, we hadn't touched a hair on nopony's head. All we did was heal yer sick and fix yer power supply. We even got close enough so y'all could threaten us with them rockets. Didn't need t' do that, not unless we really thought we wanted t' help.

"I ain't askin' ya to trust me all the way, I'm askin' ya if y'all might think the slim chance of mah ponies not gunning you down and taking you as prisoners might be worth riskin' when opposed to certain death," Bugle concluded, before adding after a short pause: "And by prisoners, ah mean prisoners of war. Y'all would get a cell with a bed, toilet, food n' water. Just like the Ministry of Peace promises."

More silence from the other side of the door. Bugle looked over her shoulder, making sure the Rangers were still following her wishes. The room was still clear. The wait continued, the minutes growing painstaking.

"...If we accepted your offer, how exactly would this... work?" the voice asked.

Heart filling with a rare spark of hope, Bugle's head wrenched back towards the door, "Y'all come out, weapons holstered. Ya follow me to the surface, where you'll get disarmed and airlifted back t' the Indy."

"The what?"

She rolled her eyes, "...The ghost ship."

"Oh," another pause, "...Ahh fuck it, we really don't have any choice, do we?"

"Not if you want to live," she told them straight.

"Okay... okay, we're coming out," they admitted. A short pause, before the door slid open.

The ponies on the other side of the door, armed with assault rifles, braced as the shadow of Captain Bugle was cast before them. The Captain, for her part, knew that if with armor-piercing ammunition in that rifle was fired, there was a good chance it'd pierce a flat part of her armor plating and hit something critical. She was risking her life, just as much as they perceived they were risking theirs. Yet, the perception was just skin deep, she surmised. These ponies weren't hardened soldiers. Every last one of them wore Stable-Tec suits, they slung those weapons around like toys. Some of them even had fat clinging to their bones.

After a long minute of silence, no shots came. Eyes glanced around the room, waiting for some kind of trap or ambush. Yet, eventually Bugle, trying to keep her voice as calm as possible, explained, "I am going to turn to my right and lead you out of here. You'll all follow me, and nothing bad's going to happen to you."

The pony with the assault rifle nodded slowly, "...Okay."

Not minding the barrel aimed at her, the Captain turned and walked down the stairs back into the farmland of the atrium. She turned her head after a moment, watching as the Stable leadership hesitantly emerged from the Overmare's section. They marched back through the tunnel to Stable 84, then back through the hallways of slaughtered corpses.

Some of the civilians had emerged from their quarters, gazing around in a horrified daze at the carnage. One mare locked eyes with the assault-rifled pony, "...Did you win?" she asked as the trail of similarly dressed ponies followed behind Bugle.

"...No," AR Stable Pony admitted, "Stay inside."

The mare retreated back through her door, it sliding shut quickly behind her. Finally, they passed the destroyed machinegun and walked towards the exit. Out through the Stable Door and up the ramp, to the plaza beyond.

Masters At Arms, deployed from recently arrived Vertibucks, and the Rangers that had been assigned to rear security met them there. The Stable Dwellers, apparently consisting of the entirety of the party of the same name from the Syndicate council, surrendered their weapons at last as they were escorted to be detained. Bugle sighed a big sigh of relief as the Masters at Arms escorted them away.

The casino had been successfully secured and the last traces of resistance at Gun Rush quashed. The Syndicate had officially been decapitated, lines of armed naval ponies marched to occupy the area. The Syndicate banner was tossed from the top of the roof of the casino, with a cheer from both the military of the Indefatigable and the post-war Rangers.

At some point, Blazing Arc and Roaring Thunder emerged from the Stable. They said nothing to Bugle as they passed, the entirety of the post-war Rangers regrouping and debriefing on the cratered ruins of the plaza.

The cyan banner of Equestria was unfurled from the casino, minutes after the Syndicate banner was dropped. This time, only the Navy cheered as the Stars and Sisters billowed in the wind.

Author's Note

Another long one! At least this one has some action!

Chapter 20 - Indefatigable

December 9, 1277 - Mission Day 61

Thirty flags. Thirty bodies.

Around the flightdeck, on a sunless morning like any other in the Wasteland, many of the ship's company were gathered. Most of the crowd were the ponies associated directly with the dead - messmates, squadmates. The 51st and the Steel Rangers stood side by side, silent as they watched. The closest to the dead stood by their palls, standing at attention. Captain Anchor Aweigh, as the ceremonial sovereign of the vessel, stood as the head of the proceedings, the Admiral a few feet behind him.

The gale blew loudly enough that the rites, recited from the handbook he levitated in front of him, were barely heard to those upwind. As the Captain reminded everypony aboard that the Navy, country, and populace would remember their sacrifice long after they were committed to the sea, a salute of rifles were given - three shots into the air. Then, the palls were tilted as each's name was read, the body bags dropping into the sea with the slight flutter of the Stars and Sisters that had covered them.

The members of the 51st rejoined as the final rites were given for their fallen team member. Many of them, especially the elders, had seen members of their squad fall and be replaced several times. However, they had hoped against all hope, that maybe this time they'd all make it. As cruel reality had so quickly chosen to reminded, the lot of a soldier was one where survival was a luxury and death was but a waving flag and a splash in the ocean.

The Ranger-Marines helped their companions into the sea. Some had made it clear their will to be buried on land, wanting to be closer to the earth in their deaths. Many hadn't bothered to make their wants clear, death was not something to look forward to, nor was it something a Ranger ever saw coming. Many needed to grasp at photographs and memories to remember the ponies behind the faceplates.

There was a moment of silence afterwards, before the crew was dismissed.

Once again, the CIC's briefing room was sealed for just a few, important ponies. To the right side of the table sat the leadership of the Indefatigable, her Captain, the commander of her Marines, her intelligence officer, and her Admiral. To the left sat the leadership of the Steel Rangers, their Elder, and their two Star Paladins. Finally, sitting to the side of the Captain was the walking corpse of Captain Star Strider, sharing nervous looks between the smoothcoats on his side of the table and the ones on the other. Before them, a recently-printed paper map was flattened out, indicating a geographic map of the Las Pegasus region along with the locations and borders of the settled areas acquired from the Syndicate.

To the victors, went the spoils.

"We believe we should take control over these three settlements," Elder Bronze Pip reached out, tapping three locations on the map. The areas marked were named, at least by the automapping system, as 'Underpass', 'Castle Town' and 'Straddle', "They're the closest to the base, thus they make the most sense logistically. The rest, we're more than happy to leave to you."

Admiral Azure Bluette's eyes scanned the rest of the map. There were five other settlements - six if you counted the Gun Rush Casino - that hadn't been claimed. Sunset Town, Talley Bank, AllSpark, Sunny Trails, and Hoofhill Rises. Looking up from the map, she asked, "Tell us a bit about these settlements."

Elder Pip telegraphed her answer with an intake of breath, "Well-"

She was, however, interrupted by a raised hoof from Azure, "Sorry, Elder, I wasn't speaking to you," instead, Azure planted her gaze directly on Captain Star Strider.

The... ghoul coughed, "Erh, well..." reaching out and tapping Underpass, he explained, "Underpass is a town mostly built around turning cars into fresh metal and any mechanical parts they can find," then, to Castle Town, "Built a moat outta Balefire Lava. Pretty ghoul-friendly community. They built in an old arms factory, make ammunition for a living," then, his hoof slid across to Straddle, "Built in the swampy marshland on the elbow of the River Rush where it turns south. Swamp trees there adapted to the rads and lived on, so they cut 'em down and make riverboats out of them. Small community."

By the twitching of the ears of the two Paladins sitting to either side of the Elder, Azure could tell there was some tension between the living and the dead at the table. Still, she raised her muzzle, "A steady supply of metals, mechanical parts, ammunition, and access to riverboats, then?" she looked towards Pip.

The Elder took a calm breath, not taking her eyes off of Captain Strider, "More or less, yes. I believe you have your own workshops for ammunition tooling aboard this ship, those settlements provide their own supply of metals, and the Gun Rush has its own river docks."

Azure honored the response with a nod, before looking back to Strider and saying, "Go on, Captain."

He cracked a yellow, rotten smile at the ponies across the table from him. Finally, the Elder's muzzle twitched in disgust. Chuckling to himself, he moved his hoof down to the other settlements, "Gun Rush, y'know that one. Sunset Town's the biggest fishery n' ocean shipyard on the west coast. They also got that fancy tourist getup to take ponies out to see the sun-"

"The sun?" Azure spoke up.

"Well, yeah. Lotta wastelanders would kill to see the sun again. Just as many would give up their life savings to do the same. So, ponies with boats strong enough to battle the ocean swells give 'em the service of travelling out to a sandbar to see the sunset. I helped the first navigators there build ocean worthy boats," Strider chuckled, "Then they tried to claim I was going feral and got a lynch mob after me; they wanted to remove me from the profit cuts, I'm pretty sure."

Silence... then a cough.

Glancing around the room awkwardly, Star Strider cleared his throat and moved on, "A-Anyway. Talley Bank is up the coast from Sunset Town. They do some fishing, not as much as Sunset Town, but quite a bit. Biggest thing they do is crabbing and diving - crabbing for y'know... crabs, and diving for the tons of wrecks that got sunk by the balefire over the harbor. Lots of good salvage there," his hoof moved to AllSpark, "AllSpark's more than just the petroleum power plant. The Tarcoats restored a good portion of the riverside industrial park... though not all the machinery inside of it. AllSpark made mostly guided weapons and arcanotronics before the war-" a pause and another deathly grin, "...Well my peers at this table know that already.

"AllSpark's been powered down 'cause the Indy is powering most of the Las Pegasus region with her reactors. The substation there still regulates most of the power grid and the Tarcoats are doing their best to accelerate their efforts to restore an energy weapon facility there," Strider tilted his head from side to side, "The power plant was the most functional thing there, otherwise you just got a small chemical lab to help refine crude oil. AllSpark's not got a lot of place in this wasteland outside of it, but hell if you could find the ponypower to operate them assembly lines you could compete with Fillydelphia."

Elder Pip leaned in once again, "Speaking of Fillydelphia, the Syndicate held many trade deals for scrap metal and repacked concrete bricks to be sent out East via the river. They might try and threaten you into restoring those deals - don't listen to them. Not only could they hardly support an assault logistically, they're already tied up fighting our contingents in the East. You cutting this source of raw materials has already made our enemies nervous."

Star Strider frowned, the pleasure he'd taken in the conversation so far seemingly fading away, "...Unfortunately the smoothcoat is right. If you want to hurt the slavers, cutting trade's for the best. I'd recommend looking up Friendship City, though. Maybe you can find a deal."

Azure Bluette reached up, rubbing the space between her eyes, "The rest of the settlements, Captain?"

"Right, right," Star Strider extended his withered foreleg once again to tap another location, "Sunny Trails. Ground settlement built in a trailer park. They're a waystation for scavvers working through the central city blocks. Recently built workshops to process and clean scrap for resale. They also got a domestication business going on - they breed radigators, mostly for the eggs but the hide makes real good armor too. Some of the leather you see on the high up Syndicate is from there.

Moving his hoof to Hoofhill Rise, "Rise's the deepest settlement into the inner city. There was a skyscraper there that was under constructions when the bombs went. Only skyscraper in Las Pegasus still standing. That there's a pure mining town - they quarry down concrete into slabs, melt rebar, and sift through the collapsed rubble of the entire city. Then, they ship it all off to Straddle and Gun Rush to be taken upriver to Red Eye."

Lightning Bringer scratched her chin as the ghoul finished his explanation, "...A lot of scrapping and industry, yet not a lot of subsistence industry like farming."

"Yep. Las Pegasus is the source of most of the concrete and scrap metal in the Wasteland, but a low population of Stables means not a lot of growing space. Balefire Lava keeps the population of monsters low, so settlements can scrap more consistently. Anything Las Pegasus doesn't have, it trades with the Slavers for. Syndicate made up the rest of the food deficit with their plantation," Star Strider reached down, adjusting the belt of his recently laundered uniform with a sigh.

"I wonder how much of a deficit Las Pegasus will suffer from the lack of external trade," Captain Anchor frowned.

"Probably even more of a deficit than it already has!" Star Strider laughed, "You know, the Syndicate instituted rationing to make ends meet while trading with you. The Indy practically doubles the amount of population in the area."

Azure Bluette nodded, "With the plantation captured, we can work on expanding more growing space. The rationing may need to continue for a while."

"So, a five-eight split of administration?" Anchor concluded, looking over the map again, "I assume we're going to share logistics, allow trade convoys and such?"

"Of course," Pip said plaintively, "While all of us are in control of the land routes, I imagine you will be able to shuttle ponies around more efficiently without relying on your supply of jet fuel."

Azure Bluette stayed silent, for a moment, before changing topics entirely, "What is your plan for administration of the occupied areas?"

"We plan for an... occupation," Pip shrugged, "Keeping the tribal's needs met in return for the productions of their settlements. We'll need to call for some reinforcements from the Trottingham Contingent to enforce peace. Is your plan much different?"

"Perhaps more detailed," Azure muttered, looking away, "We'll need to commission several MAs so that security is kept aboard our ship, while still providing order amongst the settlements. We'll need to ensure laws are codified, administration is adapted accordingly to work efficiently with our own leadership. We'll be treating this area as being under martial law, which will require quite a few soldiers to sufficiently keep the peace, at least for the time being."

"For the time being?" Roaring Thunder asked.

"Well eventually they'll be naturalized," Azure gave a slight, knowing smile, "They'll be volunteering their own law enforcement officers, or our own soldiers will naturalize into their populations while still enforcing order. Civilians are inefficient when constantly under surveillance by an occupying force - the way to sustainability is by ceasing to be an occupying force eventually."

"Perhaps wise words from the pre-war philosophy, Admiral," Pip leaned forward, robe flowing down around her forelegs as she steepled them on the table in front of her, "I would caution against relying on ideas that have been outmoded for two centuries."

"Not everything outdated is wrong, Elder," Azure's smile grew.

The world was in almost sickly sweet, sharp colors and contrasts. The fog over Ivory's brain had been lifted, and the neural connections in his brain fired freely. Things seemed much clearer to him, though he couldn't precisely place his hoof on what.

What he did know is that suddenly he felt like playing cards again, rather than just lying down and sleeping the recreation time away on his bunk. Butter Apron had been all too happy to comply. Even the Steward had been convinced to play.

One might think a robot was an unfair opponent to play against in a game of poker, considering the machine constituted a perfect liar. However, it was clear to Ivory that it lacked in other ways - all of its decisions were formulaic, predictable, and fell into a pattern. While the steward had started out strong, Ivory had quickly taken control over the table as soon as he'd learned how it thought. Butter, poor Butter, simply sat in a corner losing out in almost every round.

The door of the kitchen suddenly opened, causing all heads except the robot's to turn. Standing in the doorway was the Admiral, still buttoning up the jacket of her uniform and straightening her cap, "Mr Heart?" she asked, eyes locking onto him, "...You look chipper."

"Yes ma'am," Ivory smiled, standing up to a stock straight position, Butter following along shortly after, "What can I do for you?"

The Admiral blinked at his tone, but shook her head and continued on, "You're a lawyer, right?"

"Yes, indeed."

"What kind of law did you specialize in? Civil? Criminal?"

"Civil law, but I would technically be licensed to practice either."

The satisfied nod that the Admiral gave made Ivory curious, though she didn't give his curiosity long to linger, "We need specialists in civil and criminal law to help administrate the Las Pegasus Occupation Zone. We have a military law advisor aboard, who specialized in criminal law, but as you well know matters of legality extend far beyond the realms of the purely criminal."

Ivory blinked a few times. Was she suggesting what he thought she was suggesting? He hadn't heard anything about a 'Las Pegasus Occupation Zone', though he could sufficiently connect the dots himself.

"There's not a single other pony aboard this vessel who passed the bar. Most ponies who are qualified to be lawyers simply become lawyers, rather than joining the Navy. I suppose you are a unique case, Mr. Heart," the Admiral commented, tapping a forehoof on the ground impatiently, "You would be out of here by the end of the week and relocated to Sunset Town, the settlement just across the land bridge. Your duties would extend to providing legal counsel to civilians and advising Navy personnel about civil law. There's no surviving court system, so we can't exactly reinstate an entire legal system- but you can help guide decision making about providing as smooth of a system as we can at this point."

She smiled, "The change in scenery should at least be refreshing, Mr. Heart."

Ivory was... confused. She was offering him freedom? Just a few weeks ago, she'd ordered what was practically his imprisonment and 24 hour suicide watch. Her comment about him being the only one aboard the ship specialized to practice civil law echoed in his mind - if he'd been a pony...

He shook his head, sharp and focused mind reminding him on what term he had to secure from her first, "I request that Steward's Mate Apron be moved with me as well, as counsel."

Looking over his shoulder, Ivory spied Butter's eyes widened in shock, clearly still processing the Admiral's words along with Ivory's.

Fortunately, the Admiral seemed to be unable to care less, "That's fine. You will report to the library and find all relevant reading material to refresh yourself. You will permanently requisition this material into your personal effects, as you will take it with you when travelling to land."

"I am also bestowing a field promotion onto you. You are now rated Ensign under the title Civil Occupation Advisor. Your counsel will remain the same rank. Start calling Mr Apron by an appropriate title, and I'm sure the name will catch on," leaving no time for the two to process their promotions, the Admiral turned face and stepped back through the door, only pausing to add, "Somepony will be down to tell you when you're leaving."

"Are yous even allowed to jus' rate somepony as a commissioned officer like that?" Butter Apron commented, incredulous.

"I appear to be the last surviving member of the Admiralty. As far as this ship is concerned, I'm Princess Luna. It's about time I started acting like it," Azure Bluette cracked a slight smile, turning around and drawing the door shut behind her.

A fluorescent light buzzed softly in the roof of the office. A vent fan placed in a duct nearby whirred, spinning and sending out a base rhythm throughout the room. A false window lined the rear wall, showing cinemagraph of Cloudsdale during peak traffic hours. Books lined a shelf near the wall, sitting right next to a vintage, signed Wonderbolts poster.

Lightning Bringer tapped the butt of her pen rhythmically on her desk to the beat of the vent fan, staring across deep into Ice Slushee's eyes. The commander leaned forward, her left forehoof holding the pen while her right was primed in the perfect position to push herself upwards if a better yelling position was needed. Ice, though, leaned backwards in her seat, trying to make herself a small as possible.

"You are identified as one of the primary conspirators in the unauthorized attack against the Stable 83, Corporal. Is this true?" Lightning Bringer asked, voice colder than the other mare's namesake.

Swallowing, Ice nodded, "...Yes."

"What was your role in this event?"

"I deactivated the sensing equipment that could allow Command to stop us from completing our objective. I also partook in the combat as ordered by my squadron leader."

"And what was your objective, Corporal?"

"...To neutralize the insurgent camp at Stable 83," Ice admitted, tipping her head slightly.

Lightning Bringer's gaze didn't let up, "And were you ordered to execute this objective by your commanding officer?"

"No ma'am."

"Do you happen to understand what this means under the Uniform Code of Military Justice?"

Ice's muzzle twitched. She forced her eyes upwards to meet Lightning's as she confirmed, "Insubordination."

"Insu-fucking-bordination. If this were the first ten years of the war, you could get hung for that kind of offense," Lightning Bringer spat, rising from her seat to rear up onto the desk and loom over her, "You compromised the integrity of this vessel by starting a war. This army invested three years into the service of Lead Syringe, and because of your actions we had to bury him this morning. You are a disgrace to him, to your country, and to your Ministry."

Ice grit her teeth, "...Syringe agreed to the op. We all knew what we were getting into."

"I'm not sure you did," Lightning's flank slammed back down into her seat as she crossed her forelegs. She remained leaned forward, invading Ice's bubble as closely as possible, "You and your team were made fully aware of the danger intervention posed to our strategic position. I placed my trust in you and your teammates to follow orders, like you always have!"

Ice Slushee, logical thought overcome, rolled her muzzle into a scowl. Her forelegs tightened around each other as they crossed, and she bit back, "Bullshit! You told us to stand by while civilians were being leashed and dragged off! You didn't fucking know it was strategically-fucking-significant. In fact, if we'd just opened up right there, none of this would've happened!" as soon as she spat the final words, the wind fell out of her wings. She swallowed, cowering back slightly from her CO.

Lightning Bringer, surprisingly, failed to immediately talk back. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, "You done?"

Ice opened her mouth, yet nothing came to mind. She shut her muzzle again and averted her eyes.

"What is the modus operandi of the Ministry of Awesome, corporal?" Lightning queried, picking up her pen and going back to clicking it.

"Take flight in the shadows to show others the sun," Ice muttered, eyes fixed firmly downwards to one of the legs of the desk.

"We aren't holy crusaders here, Ice. We're feared because we don't do the 'right thing'. We choose the greater good over ourselves every Single. Goddamn. Time," Lightning accentuated her last three words with clicks from her pen. When Ice failed to respond in the silence that followed, the commander sighed, "On the 2nd, a lack of respect for the chain of command caused a premature confrontation with the Survivors. We lost a total of thirty soldiers because of your fuckery, and even more civilians. If this were any other situation, I'd have your armor."

Ice hung her head.

Lightning continued to tap her pen. Through Ice's periphery, she could see her still glaring at her, "Now you're missing-mare, training a replacement will take years," Lightning Bringer sighed, looking down at the papers arrayed in front of her, "I know what you were thinking when you decided to defy your creed and country. You were thinking you were immune from punishment, just 'cause we might be unable to afford dismissing you."

The younger mare's heart began to race. She knew her sentence was about to be read, she just hoped it was as merciful as she believed it would be.

Lightning Bringer let the silence drag out, allowing her subordinate to squirm before she finally spoke again, "If you're going to act like a fresh recruit, I believe you should be disciplined like one too. I've arranged kitchen patrol for you and your lot, replacing all of your leisure time. It will last until I believe you've learned to act like special forces."

Another pause, before Lightning clicked her pen one more time, "Dismissed."

In the main building of the Blueblood Army Academy, there was an auditorium. It used to have been a grand hall, used for paper examinations and speeches, as evidenced by the rows of floor-to-ceiling windows that stretched across one side of it. A raised platform sat at one end, where a speaker would have been given a place to address their trainees and subordinates.

Now, though, where there were classroom desks there were now heavy work tables. Where there were windows, there was now wooden boards blotting out the view of the outside. Where there used to be instructors, there was now a grand desk and a heavily robed Senior Scribe, looking down her muzzle upon her juniors as they worked on their assigned projects.

Said projects were varied and unique. An old hoof-dryer was slowly being deconstructed for every last wire and screw. Useless, low-grade laser pistons were being deconstructed for their valuable spell matrices. The lucky Junior Scribes, who were favored in the eyes of their elders, were given more complicated projects. Old vehicle engines, broken terminals, simple fixes on actual laser weaponry, and one lucky bloke even managed to get entrusted with a PipBuck. Initiate Scribes, barred from touching valuable technology, bustled between work stations, assisting their seniors however they could and carrying trays of supplies and tools between desks.

Summer Fruit felt rather out of place, trotting briskly into the room. Where every single mare and stallion of post-war science wore silky, draping grey robes with the symbol of the Ministry of Wartime Technology, she wore a blue Navy-coded MAS uniform. She attracted eyes and whispers, brought to a sudden stop by the slam of a hoof from the Senior Scribe at the head of the room, causing all to snap back to their projects.

Summer Fruit kept her eyes on the prize: a tool cabinet along the left wall of the room. She had been told it contained a set of cutter lenses of a certain fidelity that she needed for a job. Yet, as she opened the cabinet, retrieved the desired tool, and turned to leave, a whispered voice came to her over the sound of power tools and machinery.

"Psst, Doctor!" said the voice, which Summer recognized as belonging to Junior Scribe Star Spark. The cream white unicorn stallion had been allotted to her as an assistant in the past.

Turning, Summer Fruit found him sitting at a nearby work station, an old military-grade spell matrix sitting in front of him. Giving a side-eye towards the head of the room, where the senior scribe looked down to her own work, Summer stepped forward towards his station, "Yes?"

"Could you give me some aid?" the young Scribe asked, using the formal, tense voice him and his brethren only used when speaking to a superior.

"Sure. Whaddya need?" she asked, walking over and placing a foreleg on the back of his chair, leaning over to examine his work.

"The probe, it-" the scribe held up a long, thin piece of metal connected to a cable that snaked underneath the table, "It keeps coming back negative, even though the matrix is energized and running."

"Well if the probe isn't giving a signal, then it's not running," Summer Fruit assessed. A strange feeling suddenly came over her as she glanced around the room. For a moment, she was taken back to her Thaumotechnics Foundations class back in college. A similarly sneering professor loomed over the lab while students, Summer included, slaved away at blank talismans and matrixes. To ask for help was to invite scorn, yet a completed product was worth half the grade.

Summer shivered.

"I-I'm sorry. I will investigate why it's not running, my apologies for taking up your time," Star Spark bowed his head, placing the probe down and energizing his horn again.

"N-No," Summer immediately retorted, perhaps a bit too loudly as other ears flicked in her direction, "No. No problem. You know, seven years ago or so I was doing something similar to this?"

"Huh?" Star Spark asked, releasing the energy in his horn and looking towards her.

"Yeah. I was in college in Canterlot, studying Thaumotechnics. They made me construct a matrix and a talisman from scratch," Summer Fruit lowered her voice, humor pulling at her lips, "I was terrible at it. I nearly flunked."

"Yet you are a master now. In only seven years, you know more than I ever will about..." he gave a vague gesture towards the matrix, "This."

"That's not true," Summer grimaced, before wiggling her hoof at the head of the room, "You guys aren't dumb. It's brilliant that you've managed to do all this with so little, just... maybe you're missing out on some fundamentals?"

Star Spark seemed to swell a bit with the praise, but still asked, "What are we missing out on?"

"I've observed your curriculum quite a bit since coming here. I've not really seen any teaching about observing phenomena, physics, or high theory," Summer observed, scratching her chin, "I expect that might be why you haven't really built anything... new, aside from that generator. Even that's a few decades old by now though."

Star Spark simply shrugged, "A lot of our training is apprenticeship. It tends to not leave a lot of room for airy, sophisticated theory work. Besides, old world technology almost invariably works better than any scrappy, craft-made gun does made today," a beat, "No offense, madam. I understand we came from very different learning cultures."

"No offense taken," Summer muttered, looking back down at the matrix, gears turning in her head, "...Hey, tell me- how do you think you and your friends would feel about taking some classes from me and the rest of the specialists? Like, just some short ones after duty hours?"

His eyes lit up, "You'd do that? I- I mean, I believe you could even teach the master Scribe a thing or two!"

Summer Fruit smiled at his enthusiasm, "Yeah. I think it'd be fun. Meet me by the Vertibucks tomorrow night, and bring whoever you want along. And..." she reached over to tap the matrix, "If you can't figure out how to fix this today, bring it along as well."

That evening, the flight deck became massively crowded. Pegasi flew over the sides and above it, making room for the earthbound to crowd aboard the deck. Sailors from almost every single department aboard represented themselves, leaving only those who could not safely fit above or safely leave their stations down below in the berths and compartments. Even wastelanders from Sunset Town, curious at the sight of the gathering sailors, paused their work to gaze upon the vessel.

By the superstructure, below the billowing ensign of the Equestrian Diarchy and the Navy, a space had been cleared by the Marines. A makeshift podium had been set up, sound equipment having been hauled out and connected to the ship's PA. The Admiral adjusted the starched collar of her dress uniform as she strolled out from the hatch and onto the flight deck. Eyes followed her as she strode confidently towards the stage, eyes shielded by the visor of her cap and muzzle held high.

A technician started the speakers with a whine as the Admiral took the stage. To her side, Captain Anchor stood at attention. Any murmuring amongst the crowd died down. It was her time, she had no notes. She'd never needed them.

"Ladies and gentlecolts of the Indefatigable," her voice boomed across the deck and across the water, "Ever since October, many of us have felt cast adrift. We wonder what terrible luck has put us in a position to watch our country and our loved ones die. And even I must admit, it is foul luck indeed. However, if any of us wanted good luck and smooth sailing, they should've gone and joined the air force!"

A wave of laughter broke out from those gathered on the deck.

"When Princess Celestia, with her ancient wisdom, made a force to guard the coasts of her burgeoning kingdom, she set a precedent. When Captain Pan Cook sailed the ocean and left the safety of clear skies and summer days, with nothing but flapping canvas and a wooden hull facing fearful odds and stormy weather, he set the stage for us. When Admiral Keel faced the combined Griffon Fleets at the great battle of the Foalfalgar, she charged full bore into the enemy and won us a country to fight for! Every day, we lived our lives in the shadows of those giants, reaping the fruits of what they bestowed upon us: liberty, strength, and courage.

"Today again, we face uncertain, fearful odds. We are stripped of our resources, of our world, and we are surrounded by potential enemies. All of this is true, yet I have heard a lie being propagated around this ship that I wish to clear up here and now!" Azure cleared her throat. This was the important part.

"Many say, the biggest thing we lack is a reason to go on. This is a myth, a lie, a farce of our own invention! Some may ask, 'Where are our loved ones'?" she gazed around the flight deck, "I see them right here. Each other, our brethren-in-arms. Where is our country?" she raised a hoof towards land, "Where is our countryponies?" she kept her hoof in the same position, "Right there, watching us and waiting. Finally, where is our purpose?" she cracked a smile.

"Our purpose is the same purpose that Keel felt. The same purpose that Cook felt. The same purpose that Celestia herself felt. We are entrusted with the toughest storms and the most harrowing odds, to serve our country and to serve it well. And though there may be a critical lack of ice creams and sugary cereals, our country still lives on. One day, there will be ice cream and sugary cereals for our children to eat."

Muzzles firmed, heads nodded, necks craned, lips came together in firm lines. The rush propelled the Admiral into the final act of her speech.

"Some day in the future, ponies will remember the Endeavour and the Victory. But, most significantly of all, they'll remember the name of this ship!" she gave a glance towards the Captain, who held his nose high beside her.

"Captain Anchor!" she shouted.

"YES MA'AM!?" the Captain projected his voice well, the sound throwing itself through the crowd, despite the microphone being unable to catch it.

"You're aware of the name of this ship, aren't you Captain?"

"VERY AWARE, MA'AM!"

"It bears a very proud name, doesn't it, Captain?"

"VERY PROUD, MA'AM!"

Raising her voice as well as she got into the final tempo, she continued, "It represents very fine sailors of an equally fine flagship, doesn't it?"

"VERY FINE, MA'AM!" the Captain's lips turned upwards.

"They live in the best country in the entire world, don't they!?"

"THE VERY BEST, MA'AM!"

"And what is that name, Captain Anchor?"

"IN-DE-FATIGABLE, MA'AM!"

"And what is that ship's motto?"

Together, every voice upon the flight deck echoed the same phrase, "Ever Indy, never ending!"

"Dismiss the crew!" the Admiral ordered, stepping away from the podium.

A shrill whistle blew through the air as the boatswain complied. The crowd began to disperse with renewed energy. All around the Las Pegasus Wasteland, in the occupied settlements, flags were raised and unfurled. It had begun.

Author's Note

Sorry for the very long wait between releases! I've finally come to the other end of exam season, and can start dedicating more time to writing.

I wanted to make sure War was published before I got too busy, as it was meant to be the climactic end to the first act. This is more of a return to normal as we get into the second act!

Chapter 1: In the Senior Service

October 23, 1007, Mission Day 13

The N-V Vertibuck soared through the air over the twinkling, blue ocean. IIts reflection, sallow and wrinkled upon on the ocean below, shone a bright white, matching the navy-coded vertibuck's paintjob. Long black streaks whipped across the waves as its rotors chopped up the sky, twin turboshaft engines roaring with highly pressurized jet fuel.

Its engines, set at a steep incline forward and keeping it moving along at a merry 310 kph, were slowly pulled back. In return, its bulbous plexiglass cockpit reared, light from the noonday sun reflecting sharply off of it. Inside, its pilot, an earth pony wearing an oxygen mask and radio helmet, spoke into her radio headset:

"HMS Indefatigable, this is Indigo Zulu Two Two Niner, approaching from course heading one-eight-two, carrying aboard Admiral Azure Bluette and orders from Command. Requesting permission to enter your controlled airspace."

In the distance, a giant form lumbered through the water. Its mammoth, 100,000 ton hull yielded not a single inch to the waves that crashed against her sides and bow. A massive white plume churned out behind it in one of the largest wakes any seacraft could produce in the world. She glistened like the crown atop the ocean's head. Upon her, a flare of light reflected off of the windows of its command bridge.

She was arrayed in all sorts of fanciful colors. Long, flowing banners were strung from her deck to the mast of her superstructure then back down again, in a triangular wreath surrounding a banner of Equestria. Below its national colors was the ensign of the Navy, the Eight-Armed-Sun arrayed over an anchor, set in a crimson red background. Sailing alongside the massive aircraft carrier, four missile destroyers escorted her. As the Vertibuck approached, each fired a flare in salute.

On the bridge, Captain Anchor Aweigh raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes, sighting the vertibuck on approach. Grabbing the visor of his cap with his magic and pulling it down over his salt and pepper mane, the old stallion looked to his left, "There's Her Majesty. Kept us waiting for long enough."

Commander Calm Seas ran an electric blue wingtip across her starched-solid dress collar, "Time to pipe her aboard, then?"

The Captain gave a short nod, lowering his binoculars and turning stiffly towards the boatswain, "Message to all hooves: Prepare to pipe aboard the Admiral."

A long, shrill whistle came over the ship's intercom as the Vertibuck circled overhead. A pegasus signaller took off from the flight deck as the controllers on the air bridge gave it instructions to land. With the mighty whine of hydraulics, the roaring engines of the Vertibuck turned to face fully upwards, slowing down as it entered VTOL. Two bright lights in the signaller's hooves carefully guided the vehicle to its landing zone, wind kicking up across the flight deck as the Vertibuck hovered into the space above it.

Hundreds of ponies crowded a respectful distance back from the landing zone, their rainbow of colors masked by a palette of navy blue overalls, white sailor's caps, and glistening officer's uniforms. Amongst them, a group of pegasi hovered over the heads of the other sailors, each wearing the dark grey fatigues of the Ministry of Awesome.

"All this pomp for a fuckin' Canterlot officer to come an' tell us what to do," a dark blue pegasus mare amongst them grunted.

"Hey Slushee," shouted a voice from across the group, coming from a yellow stallion with a bright green mane, "Fifty bits says she got a corn cob shoved so far up her ass that if ya tapped it, she'd cough it up."

"She's Canterlot, 'course she's stupid," Ice Slushee shook her head, "Go find someone who's a bigger idiot to extort for porno money."

"Wasn't she the one that was in command at Stripper Strait?" a brown stallion with a black mane in the midst of the flock looked around, raising an eyebrow.

In response, Ice Slushee looked back at the yellow stallion, giving him an I-told-you-so grin and gesturing with her eyes towards her other compatriot. Returning her grin, the stallion tapped the pegasus on the shoulder, asking, "Hey, Radio Whistle. Fifty bits says you're wrong."

Radio Whistle mulled it over for a moment, before nodding, "Yeah, you're on, Shot Stack."

"Fuck yeah!" Shot Stack pumped a hoof.

Marching through and cutting the crowd open, twenty power-armored ponies, the Ministry of Wartime Technology's logo on their chestplates, marched through. Each fall of their hooves resounded with a mechanical wheeze and a solid 'thunk' on the flight deck. The sun reflected off of their chrome-polished helmets as they approached.

"Here comes the cavalry," Ice Slushee spat as the Steel Rangers made their way past them, "How come they get to wear their power armor for this shit?"

One of the Rangers turned their head towards her, voice coming over the speakers, "Cause Marines get shit done, Corporal, unlike the Recons."

"What the hell does piping aboard the brass have to do with that, Gonkmare?" Shot Stack shouted from the back.

"Nothing you would understand. 'Sides, this is the flight deck. Should know you can't float around here," the Ranger spat back.

Ice Slushee crossed her forelegs, "You got a problem with that, should fly up here and stop me. Oh wait, you can't!"

A light grey mare with a firey red mane, who had been silent throughout the heckling, shook her head and said, "Stow it, Corporal Slush, Private Shot. He's right, get your asses on the ground."

Jeering on the Rangers the whole time, the squad landed, pushing their way into making a clearing amongst the groundbound sailors. Chuckling, the power armored ponies moved on, moving to form an honor guard in two rows by the landing Vertibuck. Following closely behind them strode the ship's captain, along with many of the officer corps.

Its landing gear opening, the Vertibuck finally touched down on the deck. With a long, wheezing sigh the engines began to throttle back fully and the rotors slowed from a feverish whine into a steady 'throp-throp-throp-throp', before dying off completely into a quiet murmur. The doors on the side of the craft began to slide open, prompting the boatswain to raise his pipe to his lips and blow, starting with a low note, before raising to a high note, and then moving back down to a low one.

Emerging from behind the doors was a light blue pegasus, featuring a dark blue mane and tail with a single, white stripe running through it. She held her head high as she walked towards the guard of honor, face straight and somber. She was wrapped in the uniform of an Admiral, complete with the gold epaulettes on her shoulders, and the pins of the sun and moon on her collar. Her left sleeve was tightly rolled up, a civilian PipBuck wrapped around it. Her cap, visor wreathed with gold leaf and the image of the Eight Armed Sun emblazoned on its front, gave a slight twinkle as the sun struck it mid-stride.

"Ship's company!" The boatswain bellowed, lowering his pipe, "Three cheers for Admiral Azure Bluette! Hip hip!"

The entire crowd shouted, "HUZZAH!"

"Hip hip!" the boatswain repeated.

"HUZZAH!"

"Hip hip!"

"HUZZAH!"

Each Ranger in the honor guard lowered their weapon, placing it by their side and saluting as the Admiral passed, keeping their chins as high as the mobility of their suits would allow.

Looking up towards the approaching Admiral, Captain Aweigh snapped a forehoof to his head, saying, "On behalf of the crew and officers; welcome aboard the Indefatigable, ma'am!"

Returning his salute, a smile spread across the admiral's face, "It's my honor, Captain. And I must say, you keep your ship and crew lively!"

There were quaint, forced laughs from a few of the nearby crew members. The Captain, lowering his hoof and mirroring her smile, gave a polite nod, "Thank you for the complement, Admiral. She is honored to be your Flagship, many of us have heard the stories of the Battle of Stripper Strait."

"I'm glad to hear your crew's enthusiastic to show the Stripes that Equestria still rules the waves," Bluette said, her grin growing wider. Turning a side-eye up towards the noonday, summer sun above, she pulled her visor down to shield her face, "While it's a great day for it, Captain, I must admit I'm not acclimatized much with the equatorial heat. I look forward to the air conditioned interior of the ship sooner, rather than later."

Anchors Aweigh nodded, "Of course. No reason to keep you waiting either way, Admiral," he looked towards the Boatswain, "Bosun. Announce to all hooves that dinner tonight will feature a celebratory meal of mushroom steak, fried broccoli, Sparkle-Cola, and ice cream for dessert in celebration of the Indefatigable's promotion to flagship."

"Aye aye!" the boatswain gave a short bow as the crew within earshot cheered.

Watching from the bridge, Commander Calm Seas hummed as the Admiral was led from the flight deck and the crowd dispersed. Around her, the bridge crew were arrayed at their stations. There were terminals for controlling the ship's rudder, engines, coordinating the defense grid, communications, RADAR, SONAR, close-in EFS threat discrimination sensors, and much more.

The ship's navigator, sitting at his station a few feet to her left, piped up, "You think we're gonna get any of the air cleared about this mission now that the flag's aboard?"

"You mean why we're chopping through the Luna Sea and not down south getting fucked by dragons?" the helmspony, a beige unicorn stallion answered.

"Yeah I mean what's the big deal? Big fancy ship, all this firepower, just going to some fuckoff atoll? The farthest place in the world we could be from the conflict?" the navigator shook his head, "Gotta be some sorta drill coming up."

Calm Seas turned away from the view and towards the two chatting officers, saying, "We are observing a megaspell test at the Sky Island Atoll."

"Yeah but-" the navigator's muzzle twitched, and he reached into his breast pocket for a cigarette box, "Why they need a Celestia-damn aircraft carrier for that?"

Calm Seas frowned as the navigator subconsciously began to take a cigarette from his box, "Take that shit outside after your watch, Lieutenant."

Realizing himself and packing away his box quickly, he apologized, "Sorry ma'am," a pause, before he added, "But seriously. You know anything you can tell us?"

"No," she shook her head, turning back to the window as the Captain and the Admiral entered the hatches leading into the ship's superstructure, "But there'll be a dinner for the Admiral tonight. Maybe she will elucidate us a bit more."

Deep down, fifteen decks below the surface of the ship, within an entanglement of long, winding corridors, was the ship's engineering decks. Grated steel covered the floor, where below cables and junctions ran, connecting every system on the ship back to its beating heart. A grapefruit orange unicorn mare trotted briskly down the halls, past sailors pulling carts laden with supplies and technicians running maintenance errands.

To her left, thick, reinforced windows looked into a huge, triple-decked compartment that ran from the ship's stern to her forecastle. Taking up the majority of the space within was a metal, orange tube, marked every twenty meters or so by a ring of bright blue gems. Going through the entire length of the ship, the orange tube almost seemed to be like its spine. Ponies inside the compartment wore full body hazard suits and carried clipboards as they analyzed blackened gems. Doing most of the actual work, three-armed Mr Gutsy robots fiddled with open panels, undid bolts, and soldered at damaged components.

Back in the ship's crew corridors, a sign hanging above the bulkhead ahead read 'LIFE SUPPORT', which the unicorn ducked through on autopilot. The journey down this corridor was one she had made many times before.

Orange and white tanks of gasses and liquids were mounted against walls, with pipes running between them and machinery carefully crammed in wherever it could fit. A set of airlocks to her left lead into the chamber where the tube lay. Warning signs plastered by the airlock doors cautioned about intense radiation, how protection along with a PipBuck should be worn at all times within.

A door squeaked open as a hazmat suited pony stepped through, hauling a cart filled with cases marked with radiation symbols on them. Recognizing him, the unicorn stopped, saying, "Hey! Eggs! How's it going?"

Reaching up and removing his helmet, taking strandfulls of long, messy mane with it, the stallion sighed, "Hey Sum. We just got done replacing the sixty-seventh emitter."

"So... five done and seven more to go?" she asked.

"Yep. It's fucking tedious and sweaty work too. Living in that suit all day is a real pain in the ass. It's nice that the Gutsies can do all the actual work, up until they can't figure out some stupid shit and I have to go over and babysit them," he sighed.

"Yeah well, good luck!" she wished, "Try not to get sterilized in there."

Pulling his helmet back on, the stallion gave a snort before continuing hauling his cart. Chuckling to herself, she continued on her way.

Water trickled through pipes to her left and right, coming down from four Water Talismans, creating water for both the crew's drinking and bathing needs and to fuel the steam turbines that ran the ship's engines.

Facilities passed her on the left and right, one belonging to the auxiliary oxygen generator, made to direct purified air through the ventilation system in the case of one of the chemical attacks the Zebras were famous for. She also passed the water heaters, air conditioning, and the firefighter stations. Various charging bays for the ship's robots were indented into the walls, along with the workshops and laboratories for those that maintained them.

Finally, ducking through another bulkhead, Summer climbed some stairs and entered a compartment labelled 'Grid Control'. A shelf of clipboards sat against the wall next to the entrance door, each one marked with a name. Reaching out with her magic, she grabbed a clipboard with the name 'Senior Technician Summer Fruit' written on a length of black tape on the bottom.

Humming to herself, she made her way to her station, writing the time of her arrival and flipping through the various tasks and reminders given to her for her watch. The control room was a room filled with giant floor-to-ceiling terminal banks and control panels that sat in ranks and files like bookshelves in a library. Several ponies tended to the various stations, many with the patch of the Ministry of Arcane Sciences sewn onto the shoulders of their uniforms.

Summer found her way to a station with the name 'Spark Harmonic Control' written above it. Another pony already sat in her seat, staring blankly at the monitors as a constant stream of information scrolled through the terminal screens sitting before him. Tapping him on his shoulder, she quickly whispered, "You're relieved."

"Thanks," the technician muttered, getting up and unplugging his PipBuck interface from the console.

Taking his place, Summer Fruit took out the cord from her military-pattern PipBuck, plugging it into the terminal and quickly logging in. Pursing her lips, she began to navigate the menus with the steady, staccato keystrokes. Just as she was beginning to embark on her first, routine task of the day, she herself was tapped on the shoulder.

Turning around, she was met with the face of the ship's head engineer, Ship Right, a safety orange earth pony with a yellow mane. She cleared her throat and stretched out a foreleg to lean on her console, saying, "Hey, Summer. Got a special task for you today, okay?"

"Uh huh?" Summer raised an eyebrow. At least she wasn't in trouble.

Taking out a stack of papers, clearly freshly printed from the Indefatigable's computer room, she placed it with a meaty thunk on the desk next to her controls, "I need you to program these shield harmonic values into the main array before they finish the repairs on the Sunrise. Once you're done just take it down to the computer guys."

Looking down at the phonebook-thick stack of papers, each page filled with long lines of mathematical values and emitter addresses, Summer frowned, "Like, change the whole smack?"

"Yeah it's something command wants done before we reach Skye Island. Something about it being friendlier for the MAS's recording equipment?" Ship Right shrugged, "How long do you think that'll take?"

Flipping through the pages of the printout, the smell of fresh printer ink filled the air as Summer's frown deepened, "Not gonna lie, ma'am, this is gonna take the rest of this watch and then probably the next one as well."

"I can get somepony to pick up your tasks if you just focus on getting this done," Ship Right nodded, patting the papers, "I trust you to know this shit."

"Huh..." Summer squinted at some of the values, "May I ask why we're changing the shield harmonics? You know reverting to standard isn't something that we can just quickly do if a Zebra squadron pulls up on us. Also, I thought we were at radio silence? Why we getting new orders now?"

"We're changing it now cause the projector's offline anyway, and it's better than risking changing it while it's up,. Besides from what I can see from the numbers they shouldn't affect the combat effectiveness that badly," Ship Right shrugged, "And those numbers and orders apparently came in with the Admiral."

Summer hummed, looking back to the printout and flipping through it some more, pursing her lips.

"Something the matter?" Ship Right asked, tapping the forehoof she had braced against the console impatiently.

"No ma'am. I'll get started right away," Summer said, turning back to her terminal and opening her logging program.

Nodding, the head engineer pulled away and walked back to her business elsewhere.

By far, one of the most busy and chaotic areas on the ship was the kitchen. Like a massive factory line, stainless steel counters were lined up side by side as a measly one hundred cooks worked to produce 4,000 meals for the day. Fryers steamed, ovens glowed, knives met chopping boards and shouts coordinated tasks. Mr Gutsies mopped spills and moved between counters, carrying finished food to the chafing dishes. Despite the best efforts of the mess staff to make the ship's kitchen as presentable as possible to the new flag officer coming aboard, rusty-colored stains still peeked out from where the counters met the walls and a thin film of grease covered most surfaces.

At one of the stations, a zebra stallion stood, apron covering his chest and hair net keeping his mane intact. Leaning over a chopping block, he fed an almost never-ending line of carrots into a knife, oscillated against the chopping board by his right forehoof. As soon as one was diced, he'd shove it off with his knife into a waiting tub, before moving on to the next carrot in the stack. Then, somepony would take the diced carrots for the vegetable broth and he'd set about another task.

A voice cut over the shouting and chaos of the kitchen, causing his ears to perk as the zebra looked away from his work in what had to be the first time in hours. Entering the kitchen floor, the head cook was followed by three ponies in unmistakeable white uniforms.

"ADMIRAL ON DECK!" the cook bellowed.

Immediately, the kitchen froze, each pony stepping back from their work and straightening up, those caught with tubs on their backs and boiling soup pots in their hooves standing and staring.

A blue pegasus pony, wearing a dress uniform with somehow even more gold adornment than the ship's Captain, stalked through the kitchen. She looked over the mess area, where finished food sat waiting for the lunchgoers to arrive. With a chuckle, the Admiral smiled, "If only every last pony in the armed forces could be as industrious as a ship's cook, the Stripes wouldn't stand a chance!"

"Aye, ma'am," the Captain nodded, "The only thing more important than the kitchen in my eyes is the power plant, and that's only because the stoves are electric powered."

The head cook leaned on a nearby counter, "Bah! If we got the power cut off, we would break the cafeteria furniture over a knee and start a fire to get dinner done on time!"

The statement was met with a laugh from the Admiral, followed by echoes of chortles from the gathered crew as the atmosphere detensified. Despite this, the zebra couldn't find the courage to laugh as well, still standing at attention with a knife in hoof and trying not to eye up the Admiral. As the laughter died down, an awkward silence hung in the air. He swore he felt the officer's eyes move onto him.

To his immense dread, the Admiral's voice boomed, aimed directly at him, "You there! With the stripes!"

He swallowed, turning to face the admiral as his heart began to race, "Yes ma'am!"

The Admiral's muzzle was drawn into a thin line, and she eyed him up and down carefully, "What's your name?"

"Ivory Heart, ma'am! Cook's mate," he barked in return.

"Ivory Heart?" the Admiral raised an eyebrow, "Not much of a zebra name, sir."

"No ma'am, I'm Equestrian through and through, ma'am!" he said, swallowing a lump in his throat as he felt beads of sweat form on his forehead.

"A true patriot, huh? You get up in the morning and pledge allegiance to Her Highness's image? Put your hoof over your heart in front of the flag? Stand for the anthem and sleep soundly on the souls of your flesh and blood?" the Admiral shouted, stepping forward.

Ivory looked up at her, before sucking in a deep breath and nodding firmly, "Yes ma'am!"

There was a momentary pause, as the admiral appraised him with narrowed, green eyes. Eventually, she reached out and slapped him on the left shoulder, "Good stallion! Don't slip poison into the food and we'll stay on speaking terms!"

"Thank you ma'am!" he responded, almost on instinct.

Turning away from him and back towards the Captain and the other officers, the Admiral waved a wing dismissively, "As you all were. Lunch waits for nopony, not even me!"

The bustle of the kitchen rose once again as work continued. The head cook's eyes lingered on Ivory for a moment, before he turned away to attend to his own business. After only a minute or so of continuing his work at his station, his eyes watered to the point where he nearly couldn't see and he had to excuse himself to the bathroom, where he collapsed into a cubicle, hyperventilating and sick to his stomach.

Walking through the berthing areas, the recreational lounges, a library, and a few commissaries for luxury goods, Admiral Azure Bluette and Captain Anchor Aweigh arrived at their final destination. Several cabins for the ship's commanding officers sat side by side, their doors having a much larger distance between them when compared to the individual berths for the crew and junior officers.

"And this is your apartment," the Captain introduced as he unlocked and opened the door, "Your luggage has already been moved in."

The apartment was hardly a luxury suite. A double bed, a kitchenette, writing desk with a personal terminal sitting on it, wardrobe, and a bathroom. All of it private and secluded. Hardly more than a studio apartment, but still a massive luxury compared to the quarters of others aboard the Indefatigable. Sitting in the center of the room was her luggage, a large steamer trunk and a suitcase.

"Your ship is in admirable state, Captain," Azure said, entering the room and turning around, "My compliments to you and yours. She has presented herself as more than worthy as a flagship!"

"You flatter me, Admiral," Anchor returned a genuine smile.

Taking off her cap, Azure stated, "I have had a rather long and arduous day. I'm just not made for those Vertibucks, I'm afraid. I am going to rest up in here for a while before the dinner tonight, which will be at eighteen hundred hours. I expect your officers there, as well as the commanders of the fleet."

"Of course," the Captain nodded, "I'll have that relayed. Have a good rest, Admiral."

With a nod, she watched as the Captain pulled her front door closed for her. Reaching forward, she slid shut the bolt on the door, before turning around and sighing, rubbing an eye as she relaxed for the first time since leaving Las Pegasus early that morning. Tossing her cap at a nearby rack and missing by several feet, she reached down to unbutton her overcoat. Taking it off and scratching at her neck, where her collar had dug into her skin and left red, irritated marks. Loosening her tie and unbuttoning her undershirt, she moved across the room towards the bed.

On her way over, she reached down and undid the buckles on her trunk, taking a single item sitting at the top of the possessions packed within: a holotape.

She leapt bodily into her bed, caring not for the impact on the mattress and the squeaking complaint of the bedframe. Crawling forward, she sighed and rolled over as she raised her PipBuck to her eyes. While many in the Equestrian military services counted the foreleg-mounted computer as part of their standard kit, this was the consumer version, sold for a high price for an individual unit or for a lower one alongside golden tickets to the Stables.

The PipBuck whirred as she turned a knob and clicked a few buttons, moving to its clock function and setting an alarm for forty-five minutes before six PM. It was enough time to get out of bed, shower, and put on her spare change of her dress uniform for the dinner.

After ensuring it was set, she took out the device's ear bloom and gently placed the holotape she had retrieved inside of the correct slot. After navigating to the newly inserted tape, the screen flickered to a less green-dominated, colorful video feed - a feature of the consumer grade version of the PipBuck as opposed to the standard military pattern.

A smile grew across her face as the tape began with a date - taken just a few days ago, October 15th 1077. A hoof-held camera panned around the image of a warm, suburban kitchen. Looking up into the camera with big, green eyes was a small pegasus filly.

"Say happy birthday to Mommy!" a male voice said from behind the camera.

"Hawwpy birfday Mommy..." the filly said, staring up at something that wasn't quite the lens of the camcorder.

The camera panned up to see the lounge, where a colt sat on a couch looking towards a television, where a cartoon cowpony was barely visible through the distortions provided by the video camera. The same voice from behind the camera said, "Hey! Cookie Comb! We're wishing Mommy a happy birthday!"

The colt turned around, peeking over the back of the couch and waving, "Happy birthday Mom!"

The sound of little hooves scampering off somewhere came from off-screen as the camera was turned around, showing a smiling dark grey pegasus stallion, "Come home safe soon, okay hon? Rose Tickle was really broken up you missed her song last week, but she knows it's really getting heated out there. I included that song. I know it's not regulation or whatever, but could you try and get a message back to us with something for her? I love you so much! Happy birthday, honey!"

A tear welled up in Azure's eye as she pursed her lips, looking away from the screen for one moment as the video cut to dead space. Eventually, it flickered back in to a stationary, mounted view of a stage. Rose Tickle stood in a spotlight in front of a microphone.

"Forget your troubles, come on get happy," her shrill, little voice wavered through the speakers and the static.

"You'd better chase all your troubles away,"
"Shout hallelujah, come on get happy,"
"Get ready for a brand new day..."

Fallout: Equestria - Indefatigable

Chapter 7: The Winter Shall Last Forever

November 10, 1077 - Mission Day 32

The ventilation fan rattled above. A fluorescent light buzzed in the ceiling. A pane of one-way glass covered one side of the room. Two Mares-At-Arms stood at either side of the window, staring across the metal table at him, their lips thin and eyes bleak.

Ivory lifted his forehooves from the desk, fetter chains rattling as he rubbed them together to try and restore some warmth to them.

The door opened, Admiral Azure Bluette entering, wearing her winter service uniform and breath fogging as she made her way for one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. Following her closely was the more familiar face of the ship's Captain, stepping cleanly through the bulkhead to take a seat by the table. Another pony in an officer's uniform walked in, carrying a tray with four cups of coffee steaming away on it. Rather than the sun and moon pinned to his collars, however, there was instead a trio of balloons.

"Why don't you tell the Admiral Bluette and Captain Aweigh what happened, Mr Heart?" the Ministry of Morale officer asked, sitting down at the table and levitating one of the cups of coffee over to him.

Ivory shivered, reaching out and wrapping his forehooves around the cup. His nerves stung as the heat battled with his freezing hooves, "Really bringing the full brass in here to finalize your decision?" he asked.

"Maybe," Captain Aweigh answered, looking at his cup of coffee but not taking it, "Why don't you just tell us the whole story over again from the top?"

"I was on my way back to my berth from the kitchen-" Ivory began to recite, only for the MoM officer to cut him off.

"You forgetting something?" he said, voice clipped.

Ivory blinked, before sighing and starting over, "I was finishing my duties in the kitchen. We had just finished breakfast, where I had been assigned to cutting vegetables. Like I always have. I stayed late after the food was cleaned up to scour the grill, and the guards left early along with my colleagues. Since nopony was watching, I took my kitchen knife with me rather than putting it in the washer with the rest of them."

"And what possessed you to do that?" the Admiral asked, raising her cup for a sip.

Ivory gave him a tired look, before saying, "I planned to walk back to my berth, wait until the head was empty, lock myself in the privvy and then slit my own throat sir."

The Admiral swallowed her mouthful of coffee, "Why would you want do that, sailor?"

Ivory gave a snort, "Because the world blew up, ma'am," he spat.

Azure didn't react, simply nodding and saying, "Go on."

"The usual route to my berth was blocked off because of the radioactive fires in the shield projector. So, I went around to the stairwell by the long way. When I made the final turn to the stairwell, these three ponies were waiting for me. They were wearing the uniforms of the military police, and I knew that the MPs usually didn't guard that hallway. They told me to stop where I was. I told them I wasn't looking for trouble, and they made it clear it was them that wanted trouble."

"How did they do that?" the Morale officer interjected.

"By taking out their batons and walking up on me," Ivory said through gritted teeth, "I feared for my life, since I happen to be a Zebra. Even though I was gonna try and end myself, I was pretty sure they intended to make it very painful for me. So I went for my knife and threatened them. That's when one of them tackled me from behind and I got prodded with the stuns. They beat me around the head and held me down. Their sergeant took out a plastic bag of glowing ash, and explained it was fallout from the flight deck. Then they held my mouth open and prepared to pour it in."

Ivory paused, looking between the two officers on the other side of the table. The Morale officer simply nodded at him to keep going.

"One of them spotted Butter Apron down the hallway. He demanded they let me go. A fight broke out, and he used a nearby fire extinguisher to knock a bunch out. He used the fire extinguisher to spray somepony, which happened to cause the dust inside of the sergeant's biohazard bag to fly up into his face. During the fight, one of the policeponies pulled out a gun and aimed it at Butter, who shielded himself with the body of one of the stunned earth ponies. The policepony shot first, and Butter responded by shooting the gun out of his teeth. Then, the sergeant pulled a gun on Butter, so I lunged for him and disarmed him with a stun baton. Soon afterwards, the Rangers from upstairs arrived, probably because of the gunfire."

Admiral Azure looked over to the Captain, who simply nodded back at her, as if giving her permission to go on. Sucking in a breath, the pegasus mare looked back towards him, "Despite the lack of CCTV coverage of that area of the ship, we have found other evidence to corroborate your story."

Ivory's ears perked.

"Namely that bag of radioactive fallout. As it turns out, it was missing from one of the sample containers in the sickbay. Investigation of various recordings revealed that Sergeant Coal Poke did indeed access the locker without authorization, stealing one of the samples," Azure pursed her lips, "Additionally, forensic investigation of the scene matched yours and Mr. Apron's stories. This has lead us to believe that there was self defense involved in this fight."

Ivory's expression didn't change all too much, him simply asking, "So...?"

"Private Twinkle Canopy, the mare initially attacked with a fire extinguisher, died from the head trauma shortly after being admitted to sickbay. Private Hill Skip, sprayed with the fire extinguisher, has suffered permanent sight loss along with disfigurement to his jaw and nasal bones. Corporal Button Basher has lost an eye and has permanent scarring to the face. Radiation burns to Sergeant Square Clock may be irreversible, and there may be unforeseen risks from such a high and concentrated dose of necrotic magic," Azure frowned, "Not to mention..."

Ivory raised a hoof, closing his eyes, "Listen, Admiral. I'm smart for a zebra, okay? I went to Pony School. You release me, they'll just be angry and the Sergeant's friends are just gonna come and finish me off. You just put me in front of a firing squad, or toss me over the side of the ship, then everything goes back to normal," he managed a smile, "It's okay. I want to die."

Captain Anchor gave a derisive snort, before levelling a hoof at him and saying, "See? He wants to die. Problem solved."

Azure gave the Captain a look over her shoulder, before shaking her head and looking forward again, "Listen, Mr Heart. What happened on the 2nd was a symptom of a greater problem. They didn't care about you enough before the bombs to threaten your life, did they?"

Ivory opened his mouth, before shutting it and shaking his head.

"They did it now cause they're angry. They want something to unite against, because they believe we're good as dead. Something they can do something about. Who're they gonna go after once you're dead?" the Admiral gave a dry chortle, leaning forward onto the table and steepling her hooves, "Aside from you, we're fresh out of Stripes!"

She changed her seating slightly, "Listen. I have to make the right judgement here. That judgement says you're innocent. But you're right, I can't just turn you loose or else you're gonna get yourself murdered," she raised her hoof to her muzzle, rubbing it for a moment, before saying, "Hey... you know how I told you that if you didn't poison the food we'd be on speaking terms?"

"Sure," Ivory grunted, eyebrow raised.

"Have you?" Azure asked.

"No ma'am."

She pulled her chair closer, "I also have been informed you've been Cook's Mate since joining this navy."

"Yes ma'am."

Azure nodded slowly, before letting her hoof fall onto the table, "Well. You and Butter Apron are promoted to Steward's Mate. He had the balls to take on four armed ponies for you, so it's unlikely you two will try and murder each other. Additionally, I highly doubt your new boss will harm you if I tell him not to. Both of you will have a berth up fore near the wardroom," she gestured towards the Morale officer, who reached for a keychain on his belt.

Ivory's brow crinkled, looking down as the officer undid his fetters. He opened his mouth again, but for what felt like the fiftieth time he couldn't think of anything to say.

Azure got up as the cuffs fell with a clank to the tabletop, "Oh, and I'll make sure Gutsy takes every measure to stop your suicidal ideations. If you're gonna kill yourself, make sure to figure out a conniving way of doing it that takes you long enough to plan that my message sinks in anyway!"

Captain Anchor sighed as he watched Azure pass him, going for the door, getting up himself and giving Ivory a sharp side-eye.

The door to the briefing room was closed and latched shut by the Master-At-Arms, the stallion himself stepping back and raising his chin to stand in the corner. In front of him, chairs scraped against the walls and the ship's officers sat down with the squeak of wood and the shuffle of coats and shirts.

Stepping to the forefront was Dr. Atom Bash, who looked between his levitated clipboard and back up at his audience, "Well. I am happy to report that over the last two weeks, our makeshift team of me, Dr Fruit, Commander Ship Right, Junior Lieutenant Click Pip, Dr Measures, and Dr Watts, have been working tirelessly to gain insight to the current situation

"We have collected constant data on radiation levels outside the ship, installed radiation filters on the air intakes, installed the washoff system to clear the flight deck of excess fallout, and performed modifications to the ship's heating system in order to offset the sudden drop in temperatures. After and while addressing those immediate problems, we have been looking into the cause of the sudden failure of the Sunrise Shield System, the continued faults with the ship's sensors, and a solution to our food problem."

Atom Bash flipped through a page on his clipboard, looking down through his glasses at his notes, "We have tried many methods to diagnose the fault with our sensors. These methods have included moving one of the scout planes onto the flight deck and having it use its own, onboard sensor suite. Aside from picking up our own superstructure, it could not detect anything either, experiencing similar distortions as to our main sensor suite. We believe the distortion must be some sort of external factor, perhaps a lingering EMP field from the balefire or some sort of Zebra superweapon."

Uncomfortable mutters came from the officers at that.

"We conducted a test where we ordered a Gutsy to fly in a straight line away from the ship and then to return in increasingly long distances. As it reached a range of 20 miles, something still within normal communication ranges for its model, we suddenly lost all contact with it. This was repeated with the other two Gutsies we sent out, even one that was shielded with lead. Due to this, it is our recommendation to command that we not launch any more aircraft from the ship until these issues have been remediated."

Another page was flipped over, "Dr Fruit has been looking into the sequence of events resulting in the full burnout of all transmitters on the Sunrise system," Bash nodded towards the technician in question.

Summer Fruit stood up, adjusting her midshippone's uniform, "I have good reason to believe the fault was due to the modified numbers given to us by command along with Admiral Bluette's arrival on board," she shrugged, "There's just- no real mechanical or software related issue that could explain it. The Sunrise's transmitter arrays were highly experimental, nopony really knows them fully, even me- who worked on the project personally," she reached up to her shoulder, where an Ministry of Arcane Sciences patch rested alongside her chevrons, "While the modified numbers seemed benign, I believe some unknown physical element related to the transmitter alignment must have caused the containment fields to fail to form energy channels correctly."

Atom Bash nodded, before looking to the back of the room, where Admiral Azure and Captain Anchor sat side by side, "I would like to ask Admiral Bluette if she perhaps has any insight on this problem."

All eyes moved to the back of the room. Admiral Bluette herself glanced around the room, before sighing and shrugging, "The entire move to this ship was rushed. I was hoofed my orders shortly after my promotion to full admiral, and told to come to the Indefatigable, which would join the fleet - and my flag staff - after completing its mission at Skye. I got on a train to Las Pegasus, and at the docks next to the Vertibuck they shoved those papers into my briefcase and shook my hoof. I know as much as the rest of you."

Eyes turned back towards the front room as her explanation finished, except for Captain Anchor's. The two caught each other's eyes, before he looked away to the front with a frown.

Atom Bash nodded, "Well, regardless, the projector is completely burned out. We do not have the spare parts to repair the main array, nor do we have the facilities or materials aboard to fabricate those parts. We have extinguished the fires and replaced the cladding, so that the radiation is once again contained. However, until parts are recovered it's a complete write-off."

There were some mutters from around the room. Captain Anchor simply shook his head, "Doesn't matter that the shields don't work anyway. Without sensors we couldn't see an attack coming from far enough away to stop it."

Ship Right spoke up, "You have our assurance, Captain, getting our sensors back online is of our utmost priority."

"I don't care if you need to spear the antennae up my ass and get me to yodel the praises of the Caesar, get those sensors back up! At the very least get us EFS so that our laser turrets can canvas incoming air targets," Anchor grumbled.

"Again, we are doing everything we can, Captain," Atom Bash held up a placating hoof, "The last item on our docket is, of course, the food problem. Dr Watts, the ship's nutritionist," the mentioned mare, wearing a Ministry of Peace uniform, gave a nod, "Has given us a general estimate of crop values and what a farming effort would require."

Dr Talley Watts smoothed out her labcoat , "It would be depressing, but technically the potato has all the nutrients we need to survive while eating it solely, and depending on a few vitamin supplements from our stores until we can plant other crops to fill the gaps. We also have enough for a starter crop of potatoes in the form of our Hearth's Warming meals."

"Eating potatoes is less depressing than having no food at all," Azure spoke up, "How much land are we talking?"

"Well, for a crew of 4,000, we need a harvest of around 163,000 potatoes every harvest cycle of 100 days, all of which would require around 7.7 square miles of dirt," Dr Talley bit her lip.

Murmuring echoed through the crowd. Captain Anchor shook his head, "Even if we covered the entire flight deck and stuffed every spare compartment..."

"We could shrink that down to around 4 square miles with some earth magic," Talley shrugged, "Still, it would be my recommendation to find a field to culture."

Azure Bluette pursed her lips. She could imagine it now. The crew working as farmers in the field, subsistence farming. Would they be like lords over the peasantry? The Ranger-Marines their noble knights, executing all the serfs that stepped out of line? She'd managed to avoid thinking about just how much the end of the world changed things, but as she looked around the room she wondered if the others were thinking along the exact same lines as her.

"How are we gonna do that?" Brass Bugle spoke up, folding her forelegs, "Farmin's harder than they give the earth ponies credit for. I can't imagine tryin' to raise crops in this weather, when there's probably all kinds'a nasty stuff in the dirt."

"Well, good news first," Atom Bash adjusted his tie, "While observing radioactive snow beginning to fall last week was concerning, along with the temperature drop, we have actually been observing an unprecedentedly fast retreat in the ambient radiation coming off of new fallout. Additionally, temperature appears to have stopped falling, and seems to have begun rising slowly again.

"Admittedly we don't have an explanation why. This could be a temporary reprieve, or it could be a sign of some sort of cleanup effort on behalf of the SPP system or..." he shrugged.

Lightning Bringer shook her head, "No, SPP isn't capable of that kind of weather control."

"What if it's not us, what if it's the Zebras?" Calm Seas brought up, raising an eyebrow, "They might have survived the blasts. In fact, it would explain their move to doom the world- if they had a way to rapidly repair the damage. They might have just prioritized taking out the Princess, since she's a demon figure in their religion, and then worked on reclaiming the ashes?"

There was silence in the room for a moment as eyes wandered and foreheads crinkled.

Lightning Bringer rolled her tongue in her mouth, "Surely we'd have picked up on such a project in advance..."

"Surely Awesome woulda given us all more'n 7 minutes of warnin'," Brass Bugle snarked.

Azure waved a hoof dismissively, "If the Zebras truly did this all as a tactical move, then we'd best prepare to throw ourselves at their mercy in surrender."

Many eyes turned to her, some horrified.

The Admiral simply gave a tired chuckle, "We criticized the Zebras for potentially ending the world just because they were losing a war. If this was their long game, then I have to admit we're probably beat, especially if we're alone as a surviving military unit. We would be hypocrites to stand and be destroyed for no purpose. I'm all for heroic sacrifice, but truly pointless heroic sacrifice is just tactically inefficient. Sometimes you have to know when to fold them," she shook her head, "That's all speculation though. The most likely scenario still stands that communually assured reciprocal existence has reached its doomsday conclusion, and that neither side has survived. We will continue to operate under that assumption until we obtain further information."

"If only we could contact command..." Anchor frowned, "Or find our missing fleet."

"Still no sign of them, Captain," Calm Seas said, "We've tried everything."

"We'll keep trying. If only we had working sensors invented in the last century," Anchor Aweigh growled.

After waiting a moment, Atom Bash nodded, "Back to the, erm, subject of food. In order to even start growing something to offset our supply problem and buy time, we need healthy soil."

Talley, turning in her seat to look back at the other officers, spoke up again, "We can take contaminated soil and purify it. However, doing so would also... sterilize it. We can take that and mix it with product from our septic tanks in order to enrich it with the proper bacteria to support plants. However, certain elements Earth Ponies introduced to increase crop vitality and growth rate do not survive in pony... excrement. We need samples of uncontaminated soil with active bacteria inside to introduce to our fields in order to use most of the spectrum of earth pony magic. We might find such samples in an agriculture lab at a university, which would likely be shielded from the fallout.

"Earth bacteria or not, we need soil, period. We simply just can't make a field purely out of septic tank tar. So, my primary advice is to make for land immediately."

"What is the status of our navigation? Do we know where we are with our sensor outages?" Azure asked.

Wood Sextant, the ship's master navigator, looked up from where he sat, twiddling his hooves, "We've been holding a search pattern ever since we lost contact with our escorts. We cannot talk with SPP for global positioning, nor can we pick up EFS tags with that system online. We can't even see the stars or sun for old fashioned forms of navigation. Fortunately, though, our compass works, and we can be sure of our position within about 30 miles. We just need to point our bow dead east and keep sailing until we reach land. At this rate, that'll be about 2 weeks away."

Commander Bright Bean's forehead suddenly wrinkled, "Wait- something doesn't add up. You said a potato's harvest cycle is 100 days?"

"Yes," Talley nodded.

"That can't work. We only have 76 days of food. By the time we reach land it'll be 62. We'll have to cut rations in half and plant the full smack in order to meet our needs," Bean gave an disbelieving chuckle.

Calm Seas steepled her hooves, "It's not the end of the world. Las Pegasus had significant food storage, both intentionally in its military facilities, and also by attribute of it being a city. We have the authority on board," she nodded towards Azure, "To access those emergency storage facilities. It is of course likely that facilities in Las Pegasus were made into strategic targets and levelled to their basements, but I find it highly unlikely there's no single food depot, megamart, or military facility in the city that was not destroyed. Even if it's outside the city, we have the Heavy-Lift Vertibucks to move cargo."

"Once we have land in sight, we can adjust our course to sail for Las Pegasus then," Sextant commented.

"Still, it is about time we cut our rations," Azure nodded, "Talley? How much can we safely cut down without risking malnutrition?"

Talley winced, "Military ration is already calculated around what is healthy for the soldier, Admiral."

Captain Anchor looked to his right, at the Admiral, "And the morale of the crew?"

"Hearing that we have a workable solution to our long term survival will outweigh the announcement of some light rationing, Captain," Admiral Azure dismissed, before looking back to Talley, "Give me a ballpark, then work out exactly what we can cut out later. I'm not asking you to make a new diet that keeps them plump and healthy for the next 50 years, just for the foreseeable future. Enough to keep them strong until we have a food solution."

"I'd say we're looking at about three-quarters rations at the very most," Talley nodded, "It's more likely to be around eighty to ninety percent rations, though."

"And this will apply to the officer corps as well," Azure added, "I know I'll be missing my sides and garnishes, but this only pans out of we're seen sucking on the hard tack as well. Understood?"

General affirmatives were echoed from the crew.

"Keep at your work diagnosing the sensors, and make with all haste towards land, Lieutenant Sextant," Admiral Azure Bluette said, standing up, "Dismissed."

Ivory Heart carried his ruck on his back, Butter Apron walking shortly behind him. Over the past several days, the air had warmed up again so much that it almost seemed like it was back to normal again. Thermostats claimed it was still a few degrees below what it should be at this time of year, but that along with the announcements about the officers finally having a plan had brought a bit of a spring back into the steps of every sailor aboard.

Rather than commiserate about lost family members, friends, luxuries, and countries over bottles of Sparkle Cola from the dwindling vending machines, sailors had started wondering if maybe they were actually alive. Maybe the Stables had accepted them on, or maybe they had made it to some other fallout shelters. Maybe they'd come home to see them someday still.

A small voice in the back of Ivory's brain asked if he had been too hasty in his plans earlier. It was silenced quickly.

"So, Butter," Ivory asked, looking back towards the stallion, now sporting one less PipBuck and one more roll of bandages around his shoulder (the equine shield he was using actually got off lucky as it went all the way through him, Butter had to be taken for surgery to get the bullet removed in case the healing potion didn't remove it), "Where did you get that PipBuck, and where did you learn to fight like that?"

"Got a friend downs in the armory whose a Stable-Tec Contractors. Got plentys of work brawling back in Manehatten," Butter grinned.

"Yeah. You totally get fighting experience like that on the streets and you are definitely not a Ministry of Morale Agent trying to keep an eye on me," Ivory frowned, "I thought you ponies were more subtle. The only thing I'm curious about is why you bothered to stop those MPs."

The stallion simply gave him an insulted look, "What if I just like yous, huh?"

"You should probably stop doing that then," Ivory gave a bitter grin, "It's getting you moved halfway across the ship to get away from ponies who probably want to bash your head in with a fire extinguisher."

"Nah, it gots me a promotion to Steward's Mate and a more spacious berth," Butter poked the zebra in the shoulder, "And I gots to beat the snot out of cops without being locked up myselfs."

"You're a really weird Pink, Pink," Ivory muttered as they made a turn, passing by several of the doors leading into the officer's cabins.

"I ain't a Pink."

"Sure."

When they finally reached the wardroom kitchen, it was locked, like most food preparation areas aboard the ship those days. However, after knocking, the door was eventually unlocked, revealing a robot on the other side.

"Ah! You two must be my new assistants!" said the floating Mr Gutsy on the other side, painted green like every other model aboard the ship, a star painted on its side, and a bowtie taped just above its levitator motor. Every maintenance-classed Gutsy had different tools for its job attached to its arms, this one had two precision grabbers and a blowtorch, "A Stripe and a bastard Stripe-fucker! I'd flambet you both right here and now, but I've been given explicit orders from the Admiral herself to cause you no physical harm! This can't stop me from throwing every racially-charged insult in my databank at you!"

The robot made the sound of a spit in their general direction.

"Well! What are you doing loafing about out there??? We have a soup to prepare! Are you trying to sabotage this ship by inaction? Hop to it, colts! Hup! Hup! Hup!" the Gutsy demanded, floating aside to allow them access to the kitchen.

Ivory gave a look towards Butter, who simply shrugged. Entering together, they looked around. Essentially, the Wardroom Kitchen was just a smaller version of the ship's main cookery, with all the same utensils, appliances, and fixtures. Ivory even recognized the same drawer of utensils in the corner, and opened it to find everything in the same place.

The Gutsy gestured towards a door in the back, "That's the way to your berth, by the way. They came and installed your bunks over there just as they took my two old assistants to go and replace some other robots that apparently flew away and defected! Probably a result of your sabotage, so you could take their jobs! Pah!"

Ivory walked over, taking a quick peek. Two bunks were sat in the corner, a writing desk installed on one of the walls, and three robot charging stations next to it. A small bathroom the size of a closet was crammed into one of the corners. He suspected he wouldn't be leaving the view of the Gutsy, even when he was asleep, and he was probably right. He sighed.

"What are you doing!? You think this is a royal tour, do you think this is a royal tour!? I'd rather donate my chassis to a Striped Tank than do that! Dinner is in two hours! I need two pounds of diced onions and carrots, a pot of tofu protein sauce, and a pasta defrosted on the double! Hup! Hup! Hup!" the robot angrily waved a grabber at them as it switched on a stove with another arm.