Never before had Drill Bit run so fast.

Blurry buildings and snow-covered street corners whizzed past him without intervention, weaving his way around worried crowds trying to evade the oncoming weather.

Everyone could feel the storm closing in. The Diamidians didn’t have to deal with nearly as many obstacles, some underground piping and hard rock but a pre-dug tunnel would handwave all of that away. He could not, would not, let them get away.

Smoke Stack led the way, the younger athletic unicorn making short work of the city streets just as much as Drill, and behind him followed the other four ponies from the patrol.

While he may have had his reservations about the Neighborhood Watch after his trip to jail, such thoughts couldn’t have been pushed any further to the back of his mind.

Finally, they caught sight of the Vehicle Deport, a massive building that in many ways would’ve reminded Drill of the old Canterlot’s train station.

There was a large curved roof skylight with some fancy enchantment to prevent snow buildup, a nice clean entrance to give refugees and visitors a good first impression, and was about the only building bar Administration that had any modicum of flare to it.

But, by and large, it still shared little if any of the grandiose design to its Pre-Frost counterpart. Much of it was concrete, stone and unpainted steel bars where it was needed, mostly broken up by the city’s banners where they could fit.

The inside was much the same and Drill wasted little time taking in the sights. When he finally caught up with Smoke Stack his lungs burned from overuse and he had to take a moment.

Smoke meanwhile ran up and placed a hoof on the counter, panting between words.

“Tell the Trainmaster there’s been a foalnapping…all outgoing departures are to be halted immediately and tell them to start searching every car for a trio of Diamond Dogs!”

The receptionist behind the counter turned to him with a smile, chuckling as they did so. “Son there’s a storm comin’, all travel’s been halted anyway.”

“Oh thank the sun.” He dropped his head low, taking in a deep breath. “We need to get to the platform, customs can’t wait.”

With a nod, the desk worker tapped a few buttons and raised a series of mechanical gates. Still out of breath, Drill briskly followed at a trott over a gallop. The whole squad followed him through into a huge, cavernous station with several platforms, many of them housing vehicles resembling steam locomotives.

But while they shared similar appearances, these weren’t like the trains of old, powered primarily by ponies pulling them from the front.

Steam Haulers could ferry multiple cars much like trains, but could be steered in any direction without the assistance of a track, and had massive wheels with paddle-like protrusions for swimming through the snow.

It was yet another achievement of modern engineering, one that now threatened Drill’s future as a parent.

Just as they’d entered and Smoke prepared to bark another order, one of the engines churned to life. Bellowing black smoke from its forward exhaust, its wheels slowly turning as the mechanical beast awoke.

Drill pointed a hoof and roared between breaths. “Stop that train!”

He tried to push himself forward but his body betrayed him, having crashed from his adrenaline high, he was unable to keep moving beyond a simple jog.

The guards, however, fared much better and began to rapidly close in. A pair of Pegasi took to the air and descended upon the platform just as the Hauler picked up speed. Drill’s heart braced at what would hopefully be a swift rescue.

But his hopes were dashed when the locomotive side window slid open and the Diamdian that’d frozen him poked out...

Holding a large gun.

“Iiiiiiiit’s duck season!”

Both ponies halted and tried to turn for cover but the Doberman fired first, Drill couldn’t tell what kind of weapon it was but it was some kind of automatic and featured a drum magazine. Its simple, pipe-like design indicating Diamidian origin.

Everyone darted for cover at the sound of gunshots, hiding behind cargo cranes, boxcars and other machinery.

The two pegasi were not so lucky, one managed to hide behind a neighbouring box car whilst the other caught a spray of bullets, grazing her legs and tearing up her wings. There was a short but shrill scream as she tumbled and slammed against the boxcar roof falling further to the ground, her companion rushing to aid her.

Smoke grimaced as the guards began pulling out pistols and rifles, having met the conditions for justification of force. A sentiment Drill shared and before a gunfight could ensue he shouted at the very top of his lungs, threatening his vocal cords.

“Don’t shoot! There’s a bucking kid in there!”

It was just enough to be heard over the sporadic bursts of Diamidian gunfire, but without any further intervention, the Hauler was free to speed up.

No, he wouldn’t let that happen again.

Fighting his own body the stallion pushed forward and gradually sped up, ducking from crate to crate he approached the platform from directly behind, where the shooter wouldn’t see him coming.

It seemed to work as the Diamidian pulled back now that the train was leaving. His only hope now was to board one of the boxcars.

With little time to waste, he sped up and once more broke into a gallop, just barely managing to jump and cling onto the very last car.

Clinging on for dear life the stallion’s lungs protested, his hooves wrapped around one of the large metal handles. The hauler bumped and shook as the platforms were left behind and Drill stole his breath back.

“This is it Drill, three Diamond Dogs, one pony.”

Saying it to himself finally made him realise the situation he was jumping into and the possibility he’d fail…yet his own desire to protect Comet shoved that fear to the ground.

“I’m going to make them regret this.”

Drill slung the door open expecting to climb inside and away from the cold.

Instead, he was met by the hulking form of a Diamidian several times his size and weight.

“Boss says you no welcome.” He plainly stated.

A fist the size of a fridge slammed into his body, sending him flying through the air like a discarded paper bag before sinking into the freshly piled snow.

If the pain from before was a protest, now it’d turned into a riot.

His limbs refused to cooperate as his chest heaved. The sounds of the world muffled as he laid there hyperventilating, the demand far greater than the supply. All the while the sound of the wind gradually overshadowed the mechanical engine.

He'd failed, again.

Drill sat in a room wrapped in a warm winter blanket with a cup of hot water in his hooves.

Thankfully he didn’t fall that far from the deport and had been dragged back in before the storm hit, but now the dogs had disappeared, having used the storm as a cover.

It was incredibly foolish and dangerous, but it worked. Nobody was keen to chase them in these conditions and those that did would face mother nature’s wrath. An infinite grey void where the sun held no power and survival depended on artificial means.

Which now meant Comet.

Boarding the train alone was a dumb idea in hindsight. He had no answer for any more cooling crystals they had, the giant dog alone might’ve been too much and even if he got past all that, they had guns.

So for all intents and purposes, that punch had knocked some sense into him and likely saved his own life.

But Drill’s guilty conscience harassed him no less.

The possibility of never seeing the colt again was not only real, but now likely. The weight on his mind threatened to pull him down through the floor and the whispers were near deafening. His eyes laid heavy and every now and then his face would ache, an aftershock of the boiling water from earlier.

Smoke wasn’t far off, Drill could hear the young unicorn speaking to the deport’s trainmaster about something from another room, their words too muffled to make out.

Eventually Smoke would re-enter the room doing so with a semi-cocky smile.

“Feeling better old bones?” He’d cheerfully ask.

“Hardly, and I’m not old, I’m forty years experienced.”

Smoke chuckled and took a neighbouring seat. “Colourful way of putting it, the Captain’s just been informed of the incident and uh…”

The guard hesitated for a moment, not sure how to get the words out, before jumping to the point.

“He wants to speak to you.”

Drill’s eyes widened with not so much shock as mild surprise. Given his last encounter with the Captain, he was either about to be given the biggest dressing down of his life or was about to have a heartfelt conversation.

For his sake, it’d better be the latter.

With a grunt, he got up and shook the blanket off before reaching for the telephone box in the other room.

As static-ridden as he was the captain no less held his stoic tone and Drill braced himself for the moody coin flip.

“Captain, this is Drill Bit, you wanted to speak with him?”

“Indeed I did, to my understanding, a few Diamidians have just ponynapped the kid you came to me about the Hothouses about, correct?”

“Yes.” Drill gulped slightly, already fearing the next few sentences.

“And I’m also to understand that not only did they run off with a Steam Hauler, but shot up one of my guards in the process?”

“Also correct, most likely being treated as we speak.”

“Smoke told me about your attempted rescue.” Iron notably paused. “Would you be willing to try that again, if given the chance?”

Drill didn’t even really acknowledge the quick shift to an offer of aide, too focused on the task ahead. “I’m going to do what’s right if it bucking kills me.” Well Drill Bit, time to put your money where your mouth is.”

“Absolutely.”

There was another pause, this time much longer. Drill didn’t have to be looking directly at the Captain to sense his hesitance and to an extent he understood. There were many unspoken factors he was considering that Drill may never become fully aware of. He spent so long on it that Smoke even had time to walk in and listen.

After a solid minute, the choice was made.

“Listen up son, storms are no joke, so I’m not going to make anypony who doesn’t want to get lost chasing a rogue Steam Hauler if they don’t want to.” He again paused. “But I know you’re not going to take no for an answer, so instead, Corporal Smoke is going to get a Steam Sled, some equipment and the means to defend yourselves if need be, and you’re either coming back with the kid, or not at all.”

Drill was stunned, he’d been expecting to be completely verbally torn apart, and here the Captain was offering him as much aid as he could?

“To that end, you have my express permission to use whatever means necessary to get that kid back. Peaceful, or otherwise.”

Drill felt a lump form in his throat from that, and all he implied, though it was something he’d anticipated.

“Do I make myself clear?”

Both stallions turned to each other and nodded. “Yes sir!”

“Good, I hope you boys the best, over and out.”

Smoke nodded and made for the exit alongside Drill, walking out into a hall where several guards all sat and waited. Some with rifles, some without.

“Okay listen up! The captain has stated that all who wish to help rescue Drill’s son are welcome to join us, but due to the ongoing storm, I’m obliged to only take willing volunteers. I know it’ll be tough and I know at least somepony is going to get hurt, but it’s our duty to protect the ponies of New Canterlot from acts like this and we can only do such a thing together! So who’s with me!”

A long moment of silence followed the speech, only briefly broken up by a cough…

“Seriously? This is the part where you're meant to agree and help us!”

“Buddy there’s a storm out there and I got two kids of my own.” One guard replied.

“If I get lost the snow’s gonna ensure I’m never found again.” Said another.

“Did you see what they did to Ms. Birch? Unreliable or not, those guns are scary!”

They continued providing reasons and excuses, some more justifiable than others, but to Smoke it may have well devolved into unified mumbling for all the good it did. Drill nodded in sympathy and patted his shoulder.

“Canterlot’s finest my bucking flank.” He mumbled through a facehoof.

Without further delay, they finished things up and Smoke led Drill towards an equipment storage. The deport wasn’t just used for Haulers as he soon found out.

Inside, racks and lockers were lined wall to wall. Contains dozens of items, from navigational equipment to weapons and tools, to ammunition and specialist items he couldn’t immediately identify.

But most notable of all was a set of lockers Smoke began opening.

Inside were a pair of suits covered in thick rubber tubing, leading to a boxy device that hung off the side. The suit itself was made of thick, insulative cloth with a ski mask, rebreather and goggles, all set to an arctic colour scheme with New Canterlot’s insignia stitched in monochrome.

Drill took the suit and curiously inspected it, “What are these?”

“Scout suits, about the only thing that’ll keep us warm for any amount of time outside.”

“Are these really necessary?” Drill lifted one of the metallic masks, looking less than excited at the idea of putting it on.

“Do you want the saliva in your mouth to freeze from inhaling arctic air? Or your eyelids to freeze shut?” Smoke replied.

“That can happen?!”

“From some of the stories I’ve heard, but those come from the Great Storm so maybe not. Willing to test the theory?”

Drill opened and closed his mouth a couple times before conceding. “Point taken.”

Drill quickly started taking the necessary equipment off the shelves, Smoke’s warning hanging over him.

“Maybe the guards had the right idea? Celestia knows I wouldn’t want to go out there but here I am.”

The two helped each other dawn their suits, a task made particularly finicky by the rubber tubing and Drill’s lack of magic. But, with some persistence, it was on, however uncomfortable it was. He then turned to the attached device hanging off his side which housed several large buttons and gauges, the name Thermal Regulator displayed in bold text on the top.

Its name said everything that needed to be said and the controls were simple enough a dense pony like himself could operate it. The furnace was already full and the crystalline battery was neatly sealed. Upon activation he felt a flood of pleasant warmth wash away what chill he still felt, causing him to shudder.

Smoke then began sharing their equipment. A compass, tinderbox, tinned rations, the kind of stuff he expected to see in an arctic survival kit.

But then Smoke pulled out an unloaded pistol, a boxy mechanism with straps for the hoof and a magazine sticking out the side.

The lump in Drill’s throat got bigger.

“Ever fired a gun before?” Smoke asked.

“Never once, was kind of hoping to keep it that way.”

“Well, you’re better off having it and not needing it than the other way around.” Smoke then twisted it around to show Drill its underside, where a tiny gemstone lay. “That’s called a Trigger Gem, a simple enchantment spell that reads the user’s mind. The moment you will it, the gem activates the firing mechanism.”

Handing the weapon over, Drill eyed it cautiously, half expecting it to fire on contact.

“So much for intrusive thoughts I guess.”

“Oh don’t worry, it's not that sensitive. You really have to will it to fire, like actually want to hit something with it.”

Drill stared at the sidearm as Smoke secured it in place, unloaded for now but the implications were becoming very real.

And it left him to wonder.

“Do I really have the capacity to end some-creature’s life?”

Drill’s mind flashed with different memories. The poster of ponies walking through a meat grinder, the attempted enslavement of the kirins, the attack on him and foalnapping of Comet…

He liked to consider himself a non-violent soul, all his life he’d avoided or resolved conflict whenever it cropped up. Obviously, he’d had violent thoughts in the past, that was true of everypony, but he’d never acted on those impulses and had hoped to keep things that way.

But the thought of one day seeing Comet’s cutie mark on a box of meat stirred up something within.

There was a burning inside of him, a potent mix of anger and passion, a desire to protect and punish, driven by a determination he long thought lost.

Drill may have not been a parent for very long, but no force of nature or artificial failing would stop him from the one thing neither could ever replace.

Family.

Click

“Yes.”

Drill put his hoof to the side as the mechanism chambered the first cartridge, hopefully it was as safe as Smoke described. If it weren’t for Cazrel Manx, he might’ve just started forming some very strong opinions about Diamidians right about now.

“I don’t care how many times I’m going to save that kid, the Reaper will kiss my flank before I let him go.”

He turned to Smoke Stack as the soldier loaded up the last of his equipment and the two set out into the depot, quickly moving to a section typically off-limits to the public.

It was a garage and storage for several small vehicles. Self-propelled sledges with a central track lined with paddles and a steering wheel with two large handles with hoofholds. Large enough for a driver and a single passenger.

The nimble Steam Sled.

“So this is how we catch up to them? Hardly seems protective.”

Smoke moved up beside one of the sledges and opened a hatch on the rear, tossing chunk after chunk of coal inside. “Well I was hoping the others would join us, they would’ve given me the justification to use something larger but as it stands, this is the best we’ve got.”

Drill sighed as he approached before fastening an extra set of bundled-up clothing to the side.

What they were about to do was desperate, stupid, and possibly suicidal, but it was Drill’s only shot. Every time he thought about backing out he’d hear a familiar voice echo in his mind.

“Get out there and show em’ what you’re made of!”

He’d come too far to give up now.

Author's Note

With limited time and resources. New Canterlot can’t train new recruits to the standard of Pre-Frost guards. So instead its training program centres on extensive drills and preserving ponypower where possible. Ideally ensuring every guard member has basic medical training and is good at the few things they can do.

The Diamidian idea of quality is quite different to what other creatures think. Instead of long-lasting or high-performing, Diamidian technology is instead cheap but easy to repair and use. This extends to their military where their weapons often appear ramshackle and unappealing but are capable and dangerous regardless.