It's Just A Shot Away

07:03 - 13/10/1014 - Librarsia, Wingbardy

Wingbardian troops were holed up in an old castle overlooking a strategically important valley. Intelligence suggested they were using it as an artillery observation post. Valuable intel or recently captured soldiers may be kept there, so bombing or shelling it wasn’t an option. Equestrian infantry had been attempting to take it, but they faced stiff resistance. Two assaults had failed already, and the commanders weren’t going to risk another. Not until they got tank support.

That support was on the way, rolling up a steep road surrounded by densely packed trees. Leading a column of three tanks, The Crusaders were on their way to their baptism by fire.

Following weeks of training, each of them had slotted into the role that suited them best. To nopony’s surprise, Scootaloo took to driving tanks like a fish took to swimming. Sweetie was the commander, all agreeing she was the most leaderlike of the four, or at least the one who could get the group to stop arguing all the time. Apple Bloom and Babs rotated between the two remaining roles, one was the gunner, the other was the loader. That night, it was Apple Bloom on the gun and Babs on the loader.

It was one thing to train in a tank. It was another to be sent into combat in a tank. The vibrations messed with Apple Bloom’s balance, the limited space restricted her movements, the rumble of the engine filled her ears, even though she thought she’d gotten used to both in training. Even with the engine revving forward, they could hear the pops and crackles from the nearby firefight. She only had two ways to see outside, through the cannon’s telescope and a rotatable periscope. She rapidly made glances through one or the other, just in case something lurked outside.

They’d made a few modifications to their vehicle to make it not just a tank, but the Crusader’s tank. Before they’d even got in, they’d stencilled ‘CRUSADERS’ in distinctive white paint on the front of the hull. Scootaloo had etched “REMEMBER CANTERPOINT” on the inside of her exit hatch. Little photos of family and friends back home were pinned here and there. Apple Bloom had even found space for a case of (non-alcoholic!) apple cider sent from home. Heat from the cramped conditions ruined it though.

On the way up the hill, the tank arrived at an impromptu frontline command centre nestled into a clearing in the woods. Dim red lanterns here and there provided enough light to see, and nothing more. Taking glances through the periscope, Apple Bloom could already tell that their tank was quickly becoming the centre of attention. Soldiers and officers darted between scattered crates of supplies, the air buzzing with clipped orders and the clatter of boots on uneven ground. At the edge of the clearing, a select group of non-commissioned officers huddled around a weathered fold-up table, its surface cluttered with maps, notes, and other assorted documents. Among the non-commissioned officers, a commissioned officer stood out. Thestral, mare, older than the others. Her presence radiated authority, sharp eyes scanning the maps with practised intensity.

Scootaloo brought the tank to a gentle stop, rendering the nearby gunfire all the more audible. The rest of the column came to a gentle stop behind them.

Sweetie popped her head out the commander’s hatch. She already had the infantry officer’s attention. “Lieutenant Fulminated Mercury?”

The officer flew up to Sweetie. “That’s me.”

“We’ve been placed under your command,” saluted Sweetie. “Where do you need us?”

The Lieutenant pointed up the road. “Castle’s just over the hill. Front gate is barricaded to hell and back and there’s nothing but a narrow bridge over a deep gully between our line and the castle. Main sources of enemy fire coming from loopholes around the gate and from the big tower in the middle. You’ll see it.”

“What kind of weapons do they have?”

“Just small arms, as far as we can tell,” said the officer. “They’d have blown the bridge otherwise, we figure. We’ve no reason to think they have anything that could penetrate heavy armor.” She tapped the tank’s hull. “I’d tell you and your column to just rock up to the front gates, but the bridge probably couldn’t take the weight of just one of you.”

“We’ve got some High-Explosive rounds, it’ll turn their defence into crumpets.”

“Sounds good to me.” The officer turned away. But then, she turned back. “Say, just to make it easy for you, I’ll have my ponies shoot off tracers where we want you to hit, and you fire. Once you clear a path, keep providing fire support as we storm the place.”

“Got it!” Sweetie said going back into the tank before popping up again real quick. “Ma’am!” She gave a quick salute and then dove back into the tank, closing the hatch behind her. “You three heard all that?”

“Loud and clear,” said Babs.

“Eeyup,” said Apple Bloom.

The tank shook and thrusted forwards, jerking everypony back. “You bet!” Scootaloo said, the grin on her face evident in her tone.

Sweetie gave her orders. “Scoots, take us up the road until we can see the target. Babs, load high explosives. And Apple Bloom, fire on my mark.”

Apple Bloom felt her breath getting heavier. “Gotcha.”

As they proceeded Sweetie echoed her orders through the radio for the benefit of the other tanks, coordinating the whole operation. They followed behind. Babs slid a heavy round into the cannon's chamber, the motion accompanied by a deep, resonant ka-chunk that bounced through the confined space.

Apple Bloom had to shoot. She was the gunner, that was how she was trained. She knew from the moment they got in the tank what she was going to do. Her job was to literally pull the trigger. Her job was to kill. And the moment in which she’d have to pull it drew closer with every turn of the wheels. She couldn’t tell what was pumping faster, the pistons in the engine or the ventricles in her heart.

But she couldn’t dwell on that now, she knew she couldn’t. What could she do, bail? Leave her friends, now? And every other pony outside the tank. Nevermind the firefight happening. Every other pony was threatened if the enemy were using the castle, that was what she was told. She steadied her breath, clenched her jaw shut, focused her gaze through the scope, and readied herself for what was to come.

The tank drove further up the hill. The further up they got, the more they could see through the trees. Soon, black spires silhouetted against the night sky reached into view. The higher they climbed, the more the forest peeled back, and the more infantry dashed about. More than once, a pair of winged medics carried a wounded soldier down the hill. Soon, spires silhouetted against the night sky reached over the visible crest. Old griffon castles were built vertically and without open keeps, accounting for the fact that almost every combatant on either side could fly. But in the age of firearms, flying into a defended castle would surely be suicide.

The crest neared. The two tanks behind them broke out of the column. They were to take positions at different points near the edge of the woods.

“This is it, girls!” Scootaloo laughed. “We’re gonna kick Beakolini right in his egg-hole!”

Sweetie peeked down into the tank’s interior, towards Scootaloo’s seat. “I don’t think he has a cloaca.”

“Shut up, Sweetie,” said Scootaloo.

Over the crest, the castle loomed into view, perched on a nearby hillside like a crown of shadows. Its towers and turrets jutted upward from the rugged landscape, wreathed in a ghostly veil of smoke that shifted and swirled, hiding the scars of battle etched into the weathered surfaces. A narrow bridge, too narrow for the tank, loomed over a gap in the land separating their position from the castle itself. Trees and bushes still stood between them and the edge, ideally providing some concealment. Through the shifting haze, brief flashes of enemy gunfire spat from the countless narrow arrowslits, each muzzle flare like the fierces glares from the eyes of timberwolves.

The first burst of tracers was shot off before they’d even gotten into position. The tank came to a stop, Scootloo parking it at an angle.

“See the tracers?” Sweetie bellowed. “Aim!”

Apple Bloom brought the tank’s turret towards the marked spot, arrowslits, low down on one of the towers. The tracers blazed like laser beams when seen through the optic. Having aimed the cannon at the target, she sucked in a breath. “Ready!”

“Fire!”

She pressed down on the trigger, and the world shook. The tank roared with a deafening boom that surged through the metal confines, a thunderclap that swallowed everything. She felt a shockwave crash through her body, rattling her bones and stealing her breath. Like she was at the epicentre of an earthquake, the entire tank shuddered as though the earth itself was tearing apart beneath them. All in less than a second.

For a moment, she was disoriented, the sheer power of the shot reducing her senses to a haze of sound and vibration. No amount of training could have prepared her for that. She couldn’t even see the impact, not at first. When the tremors finally subsided and her head stopped spinning, she blinked and peered through the optic. All she could see now was a churning cloud of smoke and debris where she’d shot. If the other two tanks had shot at it as well, she couldn’t tell.

“Direct hit, amazing shot!” Sweetie called.

Smoke cleared away from the targeted spot, revealing that the wall had been reduced to rubble in the blink of an eye. No more flashes of gunfire came from that spot, whoever was there wasn’t shooting any more, because she’d just killed somebody.

Apple Bloom froze. She’d just-

Then bullets peppered the tank’s exterior, echoing like popcorn kernels inside the tank. The sound was like a kick to the head, flinging Apple Bloom back to the present moment. Each ping, dink, and clatter, reverberated through the steel armour, pounding like a relentless drum. She felt each mark in her bones, dull thuds resonating in her chest. Noise echoed inside, endless harsh clatters that came from everywhere at once, making it impossible to pinpoint the source. They’d been acquired. They’d been targeted. They’d been shot. They needed to shoot back.

“Apple Bloom, tracers!” Sweetie shouted. “Up, to the right! Fire when ready!”

A solid ka-chunk bounded through the tank as Babs loaded another round. Apple Bloom narrowed her world into the scope, trying to ignore everything outside the crosshairs. Steadying her hooves, she shunted the cannon like how she’d been directed. Up. To the right. Another set of arrow slits, peppered with bold tracers. She pulled in a breath. And pulled the trigger.

She was better prepared for the thunder this time. It still hit her like a punch to the gut. She barely had time to register what damage had been wrought before-

“Apple Bloom!” Sweetie called. “Front gate!”

Almost automatically, she zeroed in on the front gate. More tracers. Wooden doors, held together by iron, weathered by time. Arrow slits on either side with repeating muzzle flashes almost immediately coming to a stop once the walls were struck with tracers. She waited until she heard that ka-chunk from Babs loading in another shell. She hit the trigger again.

The cannon roared. The impact was instantaneous and cataclysmic. A blinding flash of fire and debris. Wood splintered and metal twisted, fragments of the gate catapulted outward in a chaotic spray. Smoke swirled as the remnants of the gate scattered like broken teeth across the ground. Anything that remained was struck by the fire from the other two tanks. Hundreds of years it stood. Blown apart in an instant.

But she didn’t have any time to ruminate on that. Orders came again. The air inside the tank filled with thick smoke fumes and sweat. The confined space vibrated with the energy of the cannon as it discharged again and again. Outside, turrets buckled and collapsed. Sections of the wall exploded into clouds of dust and debris. Arrow slits were reduced to gaping holes in the stone.

She’d been pushed into a rhythm. A mechanical, clockwork loop of orders, ka-chunk, aiming, and summoning thunder. There remained that constant plunking of bullets striking the outside of the tank, threatening her with death if she dared come up for air. Yet the longer this cycle went on, the clinks dwindled. More time between each shot. Less places where enemy fire was observed.

Then a whistle. Sharp enough to steal Apple Bloom’s focus, piercing the air. Suddenly a flow of pegasi and thestrals burst from the forest and cleared the distance between the treeline and the castle in moments. A couple were struck by bullets and sent cascading to the ground, yet most made it across.

“What’s happening?” Scootaloo asked in Apple Bloom’s place.

“Infantry advancing, keep doing what you’re doing!”

Fire and manoeuvre. The infantry was the manoeuvre, Apple Bloom was the fire.

Tracers kept going off. Sweetie called them out. Babs loaded. Apple Bloom fired. Before long, they stopped seeing muzzle flashes and stopped hearing bullets ping off of the tank’s armour. Enemy fire had been totally suppressed. The enemy occupants must have been too preoccupied with the soldiers storming to the castle. That preceded another whistle, and a flow of unicorns and earth ponies to charge across the bridge unimpeded by enemy fire. Any signs of the enemy were quickly silenced by the tank’s thunder.

The constant rattle of gunfire continued. But only in quick, sharp shocks. Sweetie stopped giving orders to fire, yet the cannon remained ready. The distant whips and cracks from the castle were dwindling to a complete stop.

And through the smoke and dust, a Lunar flag was raised over the castle.

Apple Bloom needed to breathe.

She sat alone in the tank, insulated from the outside world. The other three had hopped out, offering an extra set of hooves for whatever needed to be done. That brief flash of combat hadn’t lasted much longer than, what, a few minutes? Yet it had drained her of all her energy.

Not to mention she’d just killed somebody.

The interior walls suddenly felt much closer. She needed to breathe. She needed something to focus on. She needed to eat. She needed to do something, anything.

She’d killed a lot of somebodies.

…She was being shot at. She had no choice. This was war. She didn’t choose to be here.

They didn’t choose to be here either.

She threw open the nearest hatch and leapt onto the roof of the tank. After landing on her back she shut her eyes and brought in a deep, controlled breath. The air was already fresher out here, even if the stench of exhaust and gunpowder was omnipresent. She was no longer sealed in a steel box where that was the only smell. She blew that breath out, opening her eyes. Above, extending monotonously eternally in all directions, the overcast night sky.

For a moment, she lay there quietly. Nothing came to bother her. Nothing from the outside, nothing on the inside. She could grow comfortable with nothing. Nothing seemed welcoming.

And yet, it wasn't truly nothing. The smell never left the air. Sounds of chatter and boots against the ground surrounded the tank. And she still had her bodily needs. She hadn’t eaten before they’d set off on this mission, and she could feel the pit in her stomach.

She dived back into the tank for a moment, only to retrieve a lantern, a can of cooked vegetables and a can opener. Before the tank set off, they’d written names and times on every can, indicating who it was for and the earliest time it was meant to be eaten. A little self inflicted discipline to stop them consuming more calories than needed and stop them from running through their rations too fast. She grabbed one marked with ‘AB’ in big bold letters, but she didn’t check the time. By the time she sat on the roof, she’d switched the lantern on and her hoof was fitting the can opener in place.

Then she noticed something. The can opener was branded.

‘Gauntworks’, a corporate logo etched on the handle.

Apple Bloom recognised the name immediately. Equestrian manufacturer of household and industrial tools, a subsidiary of Madrigal. Madrigal was one of those heavily diversified conglomerates that produced, distributed, and served basically anything that made money. Plus, the largest shareholders of Madrigal were all members of the infamous Shadowbolt Society, a gathering of some of the wealthiest monopolists and most powerful politicians in Equestria and especially New Mareland.

Then, like a switch had been flipped, the moment she looked up she noticed that just about everything else in sight was branded.

The can itself, branded. Her night vision goggles, branded.
She looked inside the tank. The radio, branded. The crate the cans came in, branded. The first aid kits, branded. The tank shells, branded. The cannon, branded. Just to be sure, she put her food down and took her boots off. Sure enough, more corporate branding on the insole.

A few names she didn’t recognise, the ones she did were those of huge private corporations or monolithic state owned enterprises. Honestly, Apple Bloom was a little ashamed of how much she knew about Lunar capitalists. She heard most of it from her older sister, who spent her days reading up on all the ways Equestria was being transformed. Even after Applejack had been released, the ever growing wealth of these companies was just one of those conversations that never left the kitchen table. It was one of these state-owned companies that now owned the old farm.

She looked closer at the branding on the insole. Company name, ‘Hamlin’. Once a modest sized firm. Same company that made Applejack's boots, the ones she worked the farm with. Or used to anyways. Seeing the name reminded her of one little data point that Applejack repeated at least once a week. Before this war, that company reaped profits in the tens of millions of bits a year. Since the war kicked off, it’d recorded profits in the hundreds of millions of bits a year.

Curiosity set in. How much of their equipment had this branding? Who else was selling them their equipment? Who else was seeing such massive returns? Slipping her boots and night-vision goggles back on, she hopped to her hooves and set off towards the castle.

Upon hitting the ground, she was greeted by the castle’s broken remains. The scale of the structure nearly stole her breath away. She’d only ever seen it through the narrow lenses of the optics, denying her the full picture. The smoke had cleared away, presenting walls torn apart by dozens of jagged holes, light from lanterns and fires on the inside flickering through. Some of the holes had collapsed into others, expanding them and producing long gashes across the wall. How many holes were there? How many shells had she fired?

She set off onto the narrow bridge. The bridge was split into two columns, one coming, one going. The one going towards the castle, an infrequent flow of Equestrian soldiers that Apple Bloom joined. The other, moving away from the castle, was a steady stream of disarmed griffons under the careful watch of armed pegasi. Nobody seemed to be getting mistreated, at least. The griffons she passed didn’t give her as much of a passing glance. They wouldn’t know it was her who, well…

She cast her gaze away as her pace quickened. She wasn’t halfway across when the castle dominated her entire field of view.

Once inside, there was enough light from recently placed lamps that she could take her goggles off. The lobby had been converted into a makeshift clinic, wounded ponies and griffons being treated side by side. Just about everyone appeared busy, not paying Apple Bloom much mind. Not wanting to stick her nose into the medic’s business, she only concerned herself with the few pieces of equipment that nobody seemed to be using.

Sure enough, ammo crates with branding. Weapons with branding. Medical equipment with branding. Rations with branding. Medical cots with branding. Even some of the discarded shell casings for spent bullets had branding around the primer.

Off in a quiet corner of the lobby, she spotted a curious little device. A screen, wired up to some delicate-looking electronics with an unknown purpose. Trotting up to it and looking closer, she couldn’t discern the meaning of any of the numbers or symbols on the screen, nor could she find any immediately noticeable branding. Thinking she may find branding on the bottom, she reached forwards to lift it up.

Only to feel a smack on the hoof before she could touch it.

“Don’t touch that!” Lieutenant Fulminated Mercury had slapped her hoof away from the device. “You know how much that thing costs?”

Apple Bloom stepped back, cowed by the Lieutenant’s glare. “Uh, no?”

“A lot!” Lieutenant Mercury barked. “And if you break it on my watch, it’s coming out of our pay. My pay! Your pay!”

“Ah were only havin’ a look, Ma’am.”

Lieutenant Mercury dragged a hoof across her face and sighed. A moment after she locked her eyes on Apple Bloom. She glanced at Apple Bloom’s coveralls. “You’re from the tank crew, aren’t you?”

“Yeah?”

“Gather your other crewmates, help with mopping up.”

‘Mopping up’. Apple Bloom cringed at the term, a bestialising phrase that belied the often cruel nature of such an operation. But she was in no spot to argue with her commanding officer, so she went to find the other crusaders.

Fortunately, they weren’t hard to find and finding one led her to the others. Apple Bloom, Babs, and Scootaloo strapped battle saddles onto their backs. Sweetie could just carry a weapon in her magic. Each had a pair of goggles with them, and a bag with plenty of extra space.

With them all together, they set off into parts of the castle that had yet to be examined with a fine-tooth comb. There were no hallways, just one room leading into the next, each entrance presenting them with little more than rubble and dust. Light was scarce enough that their goggles were a necessity. They moved in a tight formation, weapons at the ready, watching each other's backs and their eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement, but each new space presented only more of the same. No enemy soldiers, living or dead. A mercy, truth be told.

Before long, they came across a wide chamber with the base of a spiral staircase in the centre. Lanterns hanging from the walls and ceilings still gave off a warm glow, providing enough light to see without goggles. Sweetie, in the lead, took the first steps. It was wide enough for two ponies side by side, but Sweetie stuck close to the centre with Babs at her back. Apple Bloom was next in formation.

But before she took the first step, she paused. Most of her shots had been aimed at the upper walls, that was where most of the fire was coming from.

If there were any bodies yet to be removed…

“Hey! Girls!” Scootaloo’s voice. Apple Bloom turned around. The other two stopped and looked down. “I found something!”

Scootaloo had found a set of double doors, pushed away aside an inconspicuous corner. From where it was positioned, it would lead them further into the castle. A trail of dried red stains led to and under the door.

Giving a door a light push, Scootaloo failed to get them open, but they did creak a bit. She threw herself against the door with more force. Sweetie and Babs had come down from the stairs as she did, Scootaloo still fruitlessly battering away. Eventually, she groaned, conceding defeat. “Locked.”

Babs cast a smirk at Apple Bloom. “Wanna buck it open?”

“I don’t got a better idea,” said Apple Bloom with a shrug. “Let’s do it.”

And within moments, both cousins were in position to buck the doors open with the other two standing well back.

“Y’ready?” asked Apple Bloom.

“Sure am!” Babs confirmed. “One, two, three!”

Both threw their legs back, giving the door a solid synchronised buck that crashed them wide open. As the doors smashed and rattled against the walls on the other side, Sweetie and Scoots had already raised their weapons. The two earth mares both turned around to peer into the newly opened doorway.

Five griffons, squinting at the sudden intrusion of light. All in Wingbardian uniforms. All without weapons.

Packed on a stone staircase that led down into a pitch-black basement, all had one claw raised with their other claw spread out on the floor in front of them. Their surrendering posture. Even though the griffons were considerably taller than the mares, the foremost griffon was below eye level. Only one didn’t have a claw up, as one of their claws was bloodied and held up in a sling. To the last griffon, they all had bags under their eyes and dust scattered across their faces.

Two were young male recruits, one with the broken claw, the other trembling in place with tears welling in their eyes. They might as well be grade school colts compared to the Crusaders if Apple Bloom wasn’t sure on Griffon ageing. Another set were older griffonesses, eyes hollow and listless with heavy ragged breaths rushing in and out of their beaks, looking a little intoxicated.

The faint scent of alcohol and cigarette smoke flowed through the doorway. All four of their uniforms were a size too big, hanging like tattered rags and caked with dirt and grime, frayed edges and torn fabric revealing glimpses of feathers, down, and skin beneath.

The only one amongst them whose clothes remotely fit was the one closest to them. Tall. Male. Glasses. Early thirties. Greyed feathers speckled with spots of red mingled with patches of bare, scarred skin. He wore a black beret on his head, the same that commanders tended to wear. “I am the com-man-der of these sold-iers,” he confirmed. Each syllable was pronounced individually, his accent was thick as ketchup. “We surrender to you.”

“Alright losers!” Scootaloo reared with the aid of her wings, raising her weapon. The griffons shrunk back. “Up and out, get moving!”

The younger griffons hid behind the elder ones. The commander spread their wings. A wail from one of the younger ones echoed through the chamber. Scootaloo made another aggressive gesture with her weapon, gritting her teeth. Apple Bloom backed away from Scootaloo too.

But before it escalated for the worse, Sweetie grabbed Scootaloo’s tail and pulled her aside. Sweetie stepped out in front. “Siete gli unici là?”

The commander blinked, wings untensing. “Sì,” he said.

“Uscite, uno alla volta,” Sweetie commanded clearly.

And just like that, the griffons walked out in an orderly fashion.

Sweetie and Scootaloo lead them to the lobby to be processed with the others, while Babs and Apple Bloom stood by the basement entrance, keeping an eye out for anything else. For a short while, it was just the two of them, standing above the staircase that extended into darkness.

In the silence, Apple Bloom took the time to inspect her weapon, and the branding etched on the side. Gauntworks, again. She had no idea how much each gun or bullet cost to the Army, but it couldn’t have been cheap. While it was obvious where all that money was going, it was another question as to where it was coming from.

Babs soon broke the silence, her attention towards the stairs. “Think there might be anything down there?”

Apple Bloom peered into the dark. She couldn’t see much. “Probably.”

Babs was already on the move, goggles on. “Only one way to find out.”

Apple Bloom followed her down. The stairs went straight down, the deeper they got the scarcer light was. They needed to adjust their goggles every few steps just to see. She noticed a wide trail of blood, many of the splatters smeared by clawprints going in both directions. Chances were, that was the wounded griffon they just took prisoner.

Soon they reached the bottom, flat stone ground. The first thing Apple Bloom spotted was an abandoned first aid kit that the blood trail led up to, all recently used. Shattered glass from a broken oil lantern was scattered around. But right above that, graffiti in white paint dominated the wall. “LUNA DEGLI INCUBI è una PUTTANA,” said the thick white lines.

Babs spotted it too. “What’s that mean?”

Apple Bloom knew enough Wingbardian to recognise what it read. She chuckled. “It says, ‘Nightmare Moon is a bitch’.”

Babs couldn’t hold back a snort. With them both isolated from judging eyes, they felt free to share a laugh at their Empress’s expense.

“Somethin’ else, too,” Apple Bloom continued. “The ‘official’ Wingbardian way to say her name is Nottecavalla della Luna. It means night-mare, or mare of the night. Yet they picked the word Incubi, which means nightmare, like a bad dream.”

“Hm, tells us what they think. Why’d they vandalise their own castle?”

“Beats me. Maybe they saw the writin’ on the wall, knowin’ that the castle was gonna fall, and left some…” Apple Bloom gestured at the paint. “…Literal writing on the wall to make fun of us.”

“Awful poetic of them.”

“Lotta soldiers take up poetry.”

Then, Sweetie’s voice called from outside the basement. “Girls? Are you still here?”

“Down here!” Apple Bloom called up.

Two echoing sets of boots bounded down the staircase, one much quicker than the other. Scootaloo arrived at the bottom first, opting to jump over the last few steps. Upon landing, her goggled eyes scanned the surroundings. “Is it clear?”

“No-one’s shot us yet,” said Babs.

“Yeah, seems clear-” Scootaloo spun around, but stopped at the sight of the graffiti. “Huh.”

“Can’t read it?” Apple Bloom asked.

“Uhh… Luna means moon, I think. Put- Puttana is some kinda cuss word…” Scootaloo rustled her wings. “Hey, Apple Bloom, you know what this says?”

“Sure do.” Apple Bloom grinned. “I don’t think you’d like it.”

“Come on, tell me!” Scootaloo whined.

“You sure?”

“Yes!”

“Really sure?”

“Yes! Come on already!”

“Okay, okay!” Apple Bloom snickered. She pulled in a breath, ready to put her whole chest into her recantation. “It means, Nightmare Moon is a b-”

“Woah,” Sweetie gasped, gathering the attention of everyone else. “Look at all this stuff.”

The other three turned around. They had stumbled into a literal treasure trove.

Piles of centuries-old coins spilling from cracked chests, intricate works of art often kept in golden frames propped up against the walls, books of unknown age scattered across the ground, a rack of wine bottles coated in dust and cobwebs, and a myriad of other small artefacts made of gold and gemstones littered about. The air was thick with a mix of metal and dust. All four of them stood in awe, their gasps the only sound in the chamber.

“How’d we miss that?” Apple Bloom asked. But before Apple Bloom could get an answer, the other three had already dived into the stash.

“Look at this thing!” Sweetie’s magic unfurled a dusty tapestry, decorated with hundreds of tiny gemstones. “How old is this thing, and it’s still in good quality!”

Babs picked out a wine bottle, squinting at the weathered label. “The wine looks older than we are. Older than Granny,” she said, shaking the cobwebs off. “Might be older than Granny’s granny.”

Scootaloo picked up another. “Each bottle could be worth, what, hundreds?” She gasped, turning to Sweetie. “Thousands?”

“It’s not ours, though, is it?”

At that comment, all three pairs of eyes were on Apple Bloom.

“This stuff all belongs to somebody,” she said. “Probably a civilian.”

Scootaloo was the first to scoff. “Who do we leave it to, then? The fascists? The murderers?”

“To the guy who owns the place!” Apple Bloom said. “Like, howdya know that this place weren’t just taken from ‘em? Government coulda marched in and stole it.” She knew better than most how that felt.

“Yo, look at this!” Babs yelled. She kicked an empty wine bottle across the floor, sending it rolling to Apple Bloom’s hooves. “Fashbirds already helped themselves to the stash! If we don’t take it, somebody will! Least if we take it, we know where it’s going.”

Apple Bloom stepped aside from the empty bottle. Now that her eyes were down, she was spotting a lot of dark, red stains across the floor. By the first aid kit, by the stashes of loot, by the wine rack, everywhere. What was blood and what was wine, she couldn’t tell.

She pulled her eyes up and sighed. “If we’re doin’ the same thing, how we any better than they are?”

“Because we’re not fascists.” Scootaloo smirked. “Duh.”

“Not like we’re taking it all anyway.” Babs patted her pockets, already full. “Just lightening the load.”

Dumbstruck, Apple Bloom didn’t even know how to respond to that. “Sweetie, they can’t do this, right?”

When Apple Bloom looked over, Sweetie was levitating four separate bottles of wine in her magic. She was examining one of them quite closely. “It might not feel good, but…” A sigh. “We could all probably use some extra money. I know Rarity would want more than anything to buy her old boutique back. Or, heh, maybe she and Applejack could buy a new farm.”

That… sounded enticing, to be honest. All she’d have to do was-

What? No! Apple Bloom shook her head, smacking herself for even having that thought. Stealing is wrong! It is a fundamental moral principle that even a child can understand. Everyone knows that!

But her friends didn’t.

“I’ll take that reaction as a no,” Sweetie said, levitating one of the bottles back.

“More for us.” Scootaloo snatched up a golden necklace and put it round her neck. It had specks of red dried on.

“Well, maybe, if y'don't stop, I'll-” Apple Bloom nearly bit her tongue. No, she was witnessing an injustice. She needed to put pressure on them, even if it were empty. She pulled in a breath and straightened her posture. “-I'll speak to our commanding officer.”

Scootaloo and Babs stopped. They both looked at Apple Bloom like she was drenched in urine. “Come on. Don't be like that,” said Scootaloo.

“Yeah, don’t snitch, cuz,” Babs said. “That’s not cool.”

“Then don’t steal!” Apple Bloom blurted out, nearly laughing in disbelief. “That ain’t cool!”

“Nobody’s saying you have to join in, Apple Bloom.” Sweetie put a hoof on Apple Bloom’s shoulder.

Apple Bloom shoved Sweetie’s hoof away. “It’s not that, I know my friends are better than this.”

“Better than what?” Sweetie furrowed her brow.

Apple Bloom opened her mouth to answer. Only half a grunt came out. She looked over Sweetie, her bags filled with loot. She turned to the other two, still grabbing whatever they could carry. She couldn’t ignore the evidence of her eyes and ears. Better than what?

Instead of staying to argue, she turned and left up the stairs. Nobody called after her.

Retracing her steps took her into the lobby, not much had changed from before. Apple Bloom spotted Lieutenant Mercury right away, she was speaking with some other officer. Apple Bloom stood back, waiting for their conversation to end. It soon appeared so, the other officer trotting away while Lieutenant Mercury’s attention switched to the documents on the table. Apple Bloom took her chance and approached the Lieutenant.

“Excuse me, Ma’am.”

Lieutenant Mercury sighed at the sound of Apple Bloom’s voice. Her eyes remained on the table. “What is it, Lance Corporal? I'm busy.”

“My-” She had rehearsed everything she wanted to say in her mind. But when it came time to speak, nothing came out. Whenever she was about to name her friends, another urge bit her tongue, like there was a filter over her mouth. No, she wasn’t a snitch. She wasn’t a thief, either. Maybe just bringing the topic up would be enough to prompt action, encourage supervision of soldiers. “Are we allowed to be looting?

Turning her head to Apple Bloom, Lieutenant Mercury cocked an eyebrow. “Are you asking for permission to loot?”

Apple Bloom was thrown off guard. “Wh- N-no, nothing like that, it's-” She stopped, clearing her throat. “It's just I saw a couple ponies taking things from around the castle, and, I'm pretty sure this is, or, at least was, a civilian's property.”

“Look, Lance Corporal.” Lieutenant Mercury stepped away from the table to fully face Apple Bloom. “I have more important things to be worrying about than a few troops who want to take home a souvenir or two. Now is there something you should be doing? Didn’t I tell you to mop up?”

“Uh, sorry, Ma’am, I'm-”

“Ma’am.”

A non-commissioned officer trotted up to the Lieutenant, catching the attention of her and Apple Bloom. “Castle’s clear,” he said. “Last of the rooms have been checked. Some of the soldiers found a basement full of treasure.”

Lieutenant Mercury didn’t have much of a reaction. “Okay, thank you. Dismissed.” She turned to Apple Bloom. “Why don’t you go back to your tank, hm?”

In no place to refuse, Apple Bloom left.

Back in the tank, Apple Bloom returned to her earlier state of solitude. She took the time to run a couple checks on the hardware, ensuring everything still worked as it should. Fortunately, it did. It was only the first time this tank had seen combat and nothing penetrated its armour, so it’d be a shock if anything needed urgent repair.

But while she was in the belly of that beast, she again spotted more components and parts bearing the same old corporate branding. There was nothing innocuous about it. Each one signified a transfer of wealth. Each empty spot in the ammo racks signified another imminent transfer, the product having been consumed and needing to be replaced. But all that wealth had to come from somewhere. The end point was the named company. The starting point…

When the other three crusaders returned, they did so with sacks full of loot. Scootaloo still had that gold necklace around her neck. Behind them, the castle remained a hollow husk. It’d been picked clean of its valuables and its wealth was being carted off to Equestria. Someone would need to pay to repair it, too.

This was just one castle. The other crusaders were just three soldiers. The war was being fought across continents. Millions of soldiers storming through the homes, factories, mines, and farms of whole nations. How often did this story repeat? And whenever the war would end, when all the bodies had been buried or burned, who would reap the wealth produced in the conquered lands? There was an awfully huge bill, someone had to pay it.

The three were chatting away whilst they walked down the bridge, weighed down by bags stashed with looted wine as they stepped over the trails of blood on the ground. Every last drop meant profit. But once they got into earshot of Apple Bloom, they piped down. Once all were inside, Sweetie ordered Scootaloo to drive back to base.

Apple Bloom never had that promised talk with the Lieutenant. Or any commanding officer.