It's Just A Shot Away

14:20 - 25/10/1014 - Librarsia, Wingbardy

When Sweetie Belle informed the Crusaders that they had a mission with the Shadowbolts, Scootaloo squealed. Honest to the almighty above, squealed. The sort of squealing a teenage filly made when they were given a backstage pass to meet their favourite boyband. Just so happened that the boyband in question was a hypercompetent elite special forces unit.

That night, Sweetie commanded, Scootaloo drove, Babs operated the cannon and Apple Bloom loaded it. The four tankers felt the heavy rumble of the engine and every bump in the unpaved rural roads as their tank rolled along, much to their foreheads’ annoyance.

Theirs was just another tank in a column of four, two in front and one behind. Alongside the column, a jeep carrying their commanding officer kept pace. A couple squads of Shadowbolts accompanied their convoy, mostly pegasi and thestrals. A greater number of onhooves infantry marched alongside. The road ran alongside a village, to their right. Further down and on the left, a forest. At their eventual destination, the tanks and the Shadowbolts were to split up for their respective parts of the mission but for the moment they travelled together.

“This is Crusader-One-Three Actual, we copy,” Sweetie Belle said as she finished up her conversation over the radio. She turned to her crew. “Scouts say the road is clear. Nothing outta the ordinary sighted. They say the enemy presence is concentrated at the objective. You copy?”

“Copy,” affirmed Apple Bloom and Babs, one after the other.

Everyone noticed the lack of a third affirmation. “Scoots, you copy?” Sweetie glanced down at the driver’s seat. “Scootaloo?”

Apple Bloom took a look too. While not the least bit surprised at what she saw, she still rolled her eyes.

For what felt like the entire time they’d been on the move, one of the Shadowbolts had taken to sitting on the front of the hull and chatting it up with Scootaloo. Master Sergeant Midnight Rambler, if Apple Bloom remembered her name right. Scootaloo had stuck her head out her opened hatch, no doubt with her eyes off the road and looking up and down the shiny Shadowbolt.

“Oh, you’re definitely Shadowbolt material, Scoots,” Rambler purred.

Scootaloo squeaked a little. “You really think so? Even though I can’t… fly?”

Rambler crossed her front legs. “You don’t need to fly to be a Shadowbolt, Scoots. One of the best Shadowbolts I ever knew was an earth pony. He had that passion, that commitment, that drive to be one of the best. Most importantly, he looked stunning in black and purple.” A pause. “A lot like you I’d bet.”

A chuckle bubbled out of Scootaloo in a sudden breathless burst. “Oh! Um, you- you really think that?” she chuckled. Even though she couldn’t see, Apple Bloom could hear the blush in Scootaloo’s voice.

“One night, definitely. But, ehm, once this mission is done and we’re back at base, I think I’ll need somepony to help me outta this tight suit, hm?” Rambler was practically climbing into the tank with how close she was to Scootaloo. “Hell, if you do, maybe I could let you try it on.”

“Really?!” The tank jittered, momentarily decelerating before speeding up again. Scootaloo must’ve taken her hoof off the accelerator. “Eheh, I mean I’d like that,” she said. Apple Bloom was barely holding back the urge to scream at them, if only to stop her from grinding her molars.

Fortunately Sweetie got there first. “Hey! Eyes on the road! This isn’t the girls’ locker room!” By then they were passing the village on their right.

“Aw, come on,” Scootaloo whined, “we’re only having a-”

“Tsh-tsh. It’s alright,” Rambler hushed. From the tone of her voice, she didn’t seem nearly as bothered. “Another time. Talk to you later, Corporal Scoots-”

And metallic thunder screamed through the air.

The tank lurched to a stop before the screech even registered in Apple Bloom’s head. “What the hay was that?” She hadn’t seen anything. Just a screeching thud and suddenly the entire convoy had stopped. She looked through her periscope trying to find the source. All she saw was smoke and embers bursting out somewhere ahead.

“The lead tank was hit!” Scootaloo threw herself inside and slammed her hatch shut. Midnight Rambler had already leapt off the tank and out of sight.

“By what? Where?” Apple Bloom called back. Their tank jerked again. Scootaloo was already reversing their tank out of the column formation.

“Button up!” Sweetie had one ear to the radio receiver and a hoof to her own throat microphone. “They’re shooting from the forest! Return fire! Repeat, contact from the forest, return fire!”

Another crash of thunder. Louder than before. That time from behind. Apple Bloom swivelled her periscope around. Something, something heavy, had gone straight through the tank behind them. It had struck the engine, fire bursting out of the back and rendering it immobile, the armor already buckling from the hit. Its crew were already leaping from their hatches, abandoning the vehicle and dashing for cover.

“Angle the tank, angle the tank!” ordered Sweetie. Before Sweetie could get it out the second time Scootaloo had already turned the tank so that it faced the source of fire at an angle. The physics of it made their armour harder to penetrate.

With practised automaticity Apple Bloom loaded a high-explosive shell into the cannon while Babs turned the cannon towards the supposed source of fire. Through her periscope she could see little flashes and hear little pops, their diminutiveness betraying the lethal threat they posed to their entire column. Sweetie yelled the order to fire, and their cannon boomed to life. Somehow, Apple Bloom had gotten used to it. If it had an effect on the ambushers, she wouldn’t know.

All around them ponies were dropping to the ground, weapons returning frantic fire into the woods. Anypony who could grab a gun was engaged in the firefight. Shadowbolts, infantry, even tankers who’d been forced to abandon their machines. The spray of gunfire was constant, in both directions. Some of those bullets plinked off their own tank’s armour, a constant reminder of the lethal danger outside the steel walls.

Another crash. Louder. Closer. That time Apple Bloom saw the shell. That time she saw the impact. It hit the tank right in front of theirs. Like a streak of lightning bursting out of the forest, it struck the steel machine. Jagged shards of metal burst from the point of entry and sparks flew out like molten stars. Smoke and fire exploded out of the freshly made hole as the armour on the tank buckled and folded from the force within. From where the hole was it must have struck the ammo rack. Nopony was left inside to leap out for safety.

The air was growing thick with the stench of burning fuel and scorched earth. There was only one tank left for the ambushers to target, and they all knew it. “Get us to cover!” Sweetie yelled.

Their tank pulled back, moving to reverse. The nearest cover was the tank behind them. If they just got behind it, they’d be in cover. Until-

Another crash. That time their tank. The hit reverberated through metal and bone alike. Sound overwhelmed Apple Bloom, filling her skull with a thunderous roar that as though her ear had been pressed against a hammer striking an anvil. Each reverberation was a jolt of searing pain. Suddenly, the tank lurched, then ground to a halt. She could feel the sudden stillness in her bones, a terrible quiet that screamed louder than the chaos outside. A glance back. The engine wasn’t hit. She could see it still intact, hissing with residual heat, the metal casing smeared with grime and sweat. Why weren’t they moving?

“They hit the tracks, we can’t move!” Scootaloo shouted.

Suddenly their mobile armour started to feel like a steel coffin.

“We’re sitting ducks, everyone out!” Sweetie ordered.

“Into enemy fire? Are you nuts?” Babs yelled.

“I’ll throw up a shield, just go!”

The four of them threw open the nearest hatches as Sweetie’s horn flared. A wall of light was raised between their hatches and the wall of incoming fire. It’d stop distant small arms fire, and nothing else. Sweetie groaned at the strain while the rest scrambled out whatever exit they could like ants fleeing a crushed anthill. They left with nothing but the goggles around their necks and any other gear they were already saddled with. Apple Bloom hit the ground on her side, hard. The impact jarred through her body as she clambered to her hooves.

A moment later, Sweetie threw herself out, the shields dissipating as she hit the dirt. She looked like she’d just run a marathon. Her chest heaving like a pounding piston as she breathed. Apple Bloom lifted Sweetie onto her back and sprinted across the pockmarked terrain. Nobody stopped to look back.

They weren’t a moment too late. A shell struck the turret and tore it into a twisted array of metal and flame. None of them took a moment to look back.

Unpaved dirt beneath her hooves gave way to cobblestone as she entered the village. Bullets whistled past her, close enough to feel the heat of their passage, the crack of gunfire so near it shattered the air around them. Each of the mares moved with desperation and speed, knowing death was only a step behind. The weight of their gear dragged at them like anchors in a storm.

Their breath came in ragged gasps, lungs burning as they dashed towards a short stone wall in the village. They threw themselves behind the wall, hearts pounding against their ribs like the frenzied beating of war drums. The cover was scant, just high enough to shield their heads if they craned their necks forward.

Mud clung to their coveralls, sweat mingling with grime, and the smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air. Here, in this brief moment of respite, Apple Bloom collapsed. Sweetie rolled off her back. Apple Bloom could feel the vibrations of nearby explosions. The earth trembled beneath her as if it shared her fear. But she was alive. Her friends were alive.

“Fuck’s sake, recon told us the road was clear.”

Apple Bloom looked up. Sharing their cover was Midnight Rambler, strapping a battle saddle with twin machine guns to her back.

Rambler noticed them too, looking up at them all. “Oh, thank Nightmare you’re alive. Anyone hit?”

Sweetie pushed herself to her hooves the best she could, careful not to raise her head over the wall. “I don’t think so.”

“We need fire support.” Rambler put a hoof up to her ear. “I can’t get a signal. Fuck. Need a radio.”

Scootaloo dashed over to Rambler. “What do we do?” she pleaded.

“Over there, the commander’s jeep.” Rambler pointed across the village, all eyes following her hoof. An open top jeep thrown on its side, surrounded by lifeless bodies, separated from them by a brief stretch of open ground. “That should have a working radio. Get to that radio, and call fire support. Don’t all go across at once. When you’re on the radio, they’ll ask for authorization. If they do, say ‘bitter root’.” Another explosion rocked the air. “Did you get all of that?”

“Yea, I got it. Bitter root.” Apple Bloom breathed.

“How are we supposed to get there?” Scootaloo begged.

Rambler shot to her hooves and flicked her goggles over her eyes. “I’ll give you cover.”

Wings throwing her into the air, Rambler leapt out from cover spraying machine gun fire towards the woods. Bullets struck her enchanted suit, but splattered off harmlessly. The leaden streaks were nothing more than raindrops against her armour. Her wings launched her deeper into the fray, the spray of bullets continuing from her guns. She was drawing fire, she was drawing attention. That was their chance.

Sweetie spoke. “You heard her. Only two of us go. I-”

“I’ll go!” Scootaloo volunteered on the spot.

“I’ll go with her!” Apple Bloom added. “I know how to operate a radio!” The words just came out on their own. She wasn’t sure if she said it to prove her courage, to stand by her friend, or some mix.

“Alright, go, now!”

Apple Bloom burst into motion with Scootaloo ahead. She tore across the brief stretch of open ground with speed she didn’t know she had. The adrenaline in her veins turned every heartbeat into a pounding drum. Every crack of a bullet passing by felt like the reaper’s scythe slashing past her neck. The ground beneath her boots was a treacherous sea of cobblestone stained with mud and blood, littered with shrapnel and empty shell casings. No time to look back, no time to think of anything but the distance that still lay between them and the scant safety of the jeep ahead.

Yet they made it. The overturned jeep wasn’t much, but it was cover. Scootaloo slipped right up to the vehicle’s radio. Apple Bloom lagged behind a little, throwing herself to the ground once behind the cover of the jeep. She shut her eyes as she caught her breath. She could hear the jeep’s engine still running and the radio crackling.

Then, a rancid stench more potent than before seeped into Apple Bloom’s nose. Blood, smoke, and rot melted together in her nostrils and tore her eyes open. Immediately, she was greeted with a mangled array of corpses. Likely the jeep’s previous occupants. It was far from homogenous, bodies bore enlisted soldiers’ gear and officers’ uniforms alike. After all, bullets and shrapnel didn’t discriminate based on rank.

“Hey! Hey! We need fire support!” Already, Scootaloo was yelling into the radio. “Is anypony there?”

Scootaloo’s voice tore Apple Bloom to the present situation.

Apple Bloom brushed past Scootaloo, diving into a compartment beside the radio. First, she needed to figure out where they were. She searched through the mess of documents within, searching for maps. Every vehicle with a radio on this mission had been assigned a set of maps that detailed the area they’d be acting in. She found the maps before long, and a spare compass. The margins had coordinates, conforming to a grid reference system that could pinpoint any spot on the planet.

A crackled voice, barely discernible, came through the radio. “This is Jinx-Magic-Magic mortar team, please identify.”

“Uh, Corporal Scootaloo, we’re a tank crew, on a mission with the Shadowbolts, our unit was hit with an ambush, we need immediate fire support!”

“Please use your callsign and authenticate, Corporal,” said the voice on the radio.

Where were they right now? Apple Bloom snatched a glance upwards. Edge of a village. Buildings on their right side, left turn on the road up ahead. Forest further down the road, also to their left. That’s where the fire was coming from. Treeline wasn’t far, one-hundred to two-hundred meters away. There she saw infrequent flashes, settling smoke, and lots of movement between the bushes and trees.

“I-I-I-” Scootaloo was stammering. Apple Bloom could feel her friend sweating. “I don’t remember my callsign, but, we need-”

“No good, Corporal. If you can’t identify or authenticate, we can’t help you.”

Now just to find where that was on the maps. Fortunately they’d marked their specific route on each map. She flipped through map after map. Just looking for one that matched her- Bingo. Road, village, forest. She found their position on that map right away. She checked the surroundings against the compass, everything lined up. Her intuition did her well, the treeline with ambushers was a hundred and sixty meters away. North-north-west.

“You’ve got winged recon, right?” Scootaloo panicked. “Just go up. You can see a firefight going on, you gotta! Burning tanks, guns going off! Just fly in, and-”

“That’s a negative, Corporal. Without the right information I can’t-”

Apple Bloom snatched the hoofset. “Jinx-Magic-Magic, this is Crusader-One-Three Laughter. Fire mission, three-one-S C-U five-two-six-five-two, seven-three-zero-zero-one. Enemy infantry ambush in forest with anti tank guns. Danger close. Friendly position one-sixty meters south-south-east of target. Fire for effect. I authenticate bitter root, over.”

“Affirmative, Crusader-One-Three Laughter. Sending you thirty rounds of eight-one millimetre. Await.”

Scootaloo stared at the hoofset, then at Apple Bloom. She blinked, mouth gaping. “Wait, wait, did that work?”

“Better hope it did!”

For some time, it was like she’d done nothing at all. The cacophony of violence continued around them unimpeded. The plink of metal on metal still bounded through the remains of the jeep. Apple Bloom dared a glance back at Babs and Sweetie, seeing them still cowered behind the wall without weapons.

Scootaloo was getting more anxious by the second. “Do we call them again?”

“Splash,” crackled the voice on the radio.

Then she heard a whistle overhead, an eerie, descending shriek that froze her blood. Apple Bloom barely had time to brace herself before impact.

And impact it did.

The first explosion shook the earth, even with the distance between them. It sent a bounding shock thudding across the ground like a hammers’ blow. Both Scootaloo and Apple Bloom huddled together, seeking assurance from the other. The barrage picked up. Whistles and shrieks followed by dull thuds. The sound was deafening, a constant roar that drowned out even her own thoughts. Pound after pound, thud after thud.

Then just as suddenly as it had begun, the barrage ceased. No special signal came before or after the final mortar. It just ended.

But the firefight didn’t. Fire was still being exchanged. The threat to their lives remained. Little plinks here and there struck the jeep.

The voice from the radio returned. “This is Jinx-Magic-Magic. Did that do the job, Crusader-One-Three Laughter?”

An explosion, right on the other side of the jeep, rocked Apple Bloom’s ears. The moonlight blinked out as a shadow sliced through the sky. Apple Bloom’s heart raced; she glanced up. Midnight Rambler spiralled through the air, her form twisted as it slammed into the ground with a heavy thud, lifeless. Her gear scattered like leaves in a storm. It seemed like she’d joined the litany of corpses strewn across the street. But before the dirt had even settled, Rambler sprang to her hooves. With swift, smooth movements, she snatched up her gear and strapped it all back on.

Scootaloo watched with stars in her eyes. “Holy mother of…”

“Keep it coming!” Rambler barked at the pair. Crimson light glistened off of her suit. “You’re hitting them good! Keep it coming!”

Within moments she was airborne and unleashing another hail of bullets from her battle saddle. Like nothing had even happened to her.

“Crusader-One-Three Laughter, are you there?” The same voice.

Apple Bloom brought the hoofset up. “This is Crusader-One-Three Laughter. Repeat fire for effect, over.”

“Affirmative. Sending you thirty rounds of eight-one millimetre. Await.”

Apple Bloom huddled into the husk of the vehicle and put her hooves over her ears. Scootaloo did the same. It was only a matter of time before…

“Splash.”

The barrage returned. The first whistle and crash was as before. Only Apple Bloom was ever so slightly more ready for it.

Still, her heart pounded in her ears. It beat at a frantic tempo that left her breathless and trembling, mingling with the destructive thuds of mortar fire. Each breath was a harsh, gritty gasp that filled her mouth with the taste of ash and dread.

But as the barrage continued, she heard fewer bullets striking the other side of the jeep. The fire was more one-sided. Scootaloo scurried out of cover, hazarding a look over the top of the jeep. No harm came to her, no fire seemed to be coming their way. She had a look in her eyes like she was witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime natural phenomena.

“Woohoo!” Scootaloo threw a hoof into the air, her wings buzzing. “You did it, Apple Bloom! You did it!” Somehow she yelled over the barrage.

The danger appearing to have subsided, Apple Bloom took a look over the jeep too. There she witnessed the unstoppable devastation she had summoned.

Each impact sent up a plume of dirt and debris, filling the surrounding air with smoke and dust. Trees splintered like matchsticks, torn apart in an instant. Some of the strikes were followed by fiery secondary explosions, likely ammunition or fuel going up. Flashes of light flickered within the smoke in brief, violent bursts that illuminated the destruction for a heartbeat before vanishing into the gloom. In the flashes she saw trees, guns, and bodies flung into the air.

Then nothing.

The barrage had ended.

The firefight had ended.

Where once her ears were full of noise were only the echoes of the passed explosions, slowly fading into an uneasy silence.

No fire was being sent in either direction. The forest, now a smouldering ruin, was eerily still, the once towering trees now reduced to charred stumps and scattered debris. With much of the cover destroyed, the shattered positions of their ambushers was clearer in view.

A few of the Lunar soldiers were getting up and advancing. Nobody was being shot down, no cracks or pops were heard.

“This is Jinx-Magic-Magic. You alright, Crusader-One-Three Laughter?” said the voice on the radio.

Apple Bloom jumped over to the radio to reply. “Affirmative, Jinx-Magic-Magic,” she said breathlessly. “Fire effective. Target neutralised. No more fire needed.”

“Affirmative, Crusader-One-Three Laughter.” A laugh followed out of the radio. “Glad we were there to help.”

Apple Bloom didn’t have a chance to put the hoofset down before Scootaloo scooped her up in a hug.

“You did it, you did it, you did it!” Scootaloo squeezed Apple Bloom tight, hoisting her into the air as easily as if she had the strength of an earth pony.

At the first chance Apple Bloom pushed herself out of the hug. “I-” Her breath was still coming out in shallow, uneven gasps. “I don’t- I dunno if we oughta celebrate just yet, we dunno if-”

Scootaloo gasped. “Midnight Rambler!” And right away she dashed out of cover and into the open.

“Scootaloo!” Apple Bloom called. To no avail.

Undisturbed by her surroundings Scootaloo kept running, calling, “Rambler! Rambler!” She wasn’t being shot at, so there was that. If there were any enemy troops left, they probably wouldn’t waste bullets taking potshots at an unarmed tanker. Not when there were ponies with rifles and machine guns standing at the ready.

As Apple Bloom walked out into the open, the sudden absence of the roaring explosions left a hollow, omnipresent void as unnerving as the blasts themselves. Fires crackled like static on a busted up radio. She stumbled going forward, her ears still ringing with the echoes, a faint, persistent whine that made the quiet seem all the more oppressive. The need to rein Scootaloo back drove her forward. Though she would never admit it, a morbid curiosity drove her too.

Other soldiers stood up to advance; there was an eclectic mix of expressions all around. There were those with their faces frozen in thousand-yard stares, likely the newer recruits who hadn’t seen such a thing before. Leading the way were others, more experienced troops who’d seen all of this before.

Enough soldiers had advanced into the position of their ambushers that the all clear was being given. Some of the infantry ponies and Shadowbolts were advancing deeper into the woods in case more threats lingered, spreading themselves apart to not present too large a target.

Advancing further, the devastation wrought became all the clearer to Apple Bloom. What was once a forest was then a graveyard of blackened stumps and scattered wood chips. The tang of burnt wood and the chemical sting of explosives swirled in the air and flooded her senses. She could taste ash clinging to her tongue, stuck in her throat like something too large to swallow. All the underbrush had been scoured away, leaving only a carpet of dust and blackened earth that crunched under her boots. What remained atop was splintered wood, twisted metal fragments, small smouldering fires, and charred body parts. Even pools of blood had been scorched black.

She moved slowly, carefully, picking their way through the wreckage, alert for any sign of survivors, friendly or not. Each hoofstep was a deliberate act, every sense on high alert, the tension tangible as the ever-present cloud of smoke. Her eyes darted constantly, up and down, left and right.

A crack. Apple Bloom dived to the ground, eyes up. Others around her did too. Others raised their weapons towards the source. But as they soon noticed, it was nothing. Just another nearby tree succumbing to the damage, falling with a final, thunderous crash that sent a cloud of debris billowing into the air.

Relieved, she let out a breath. As she found her hooves and prepared to stand, she inhaled. She regretted it immediately as the stench of decay assaulted her, causing her to drop again. She leaned to her side, and retched.

To say that the griffon that lay next to her had been decapitated would be the understatement of the century. Their head had not been cut off, it had been blown off. Nothing above the neck remained. What remained of their neck had been blown apart like a burst steam pipe, with spots of shrapnel lodged in wet flesh.

Immediately it triggered a violent gag that Apple Bloom barely managed to suppress. She scampered to her hooves. Her stomach churned, roiling with a sudden wave of nausea that made his mouth flood with saliva, her body’s instinctive preparation for the inevitable. She tried to breathe normally, but every breath felt like swallowing poison. She had no calm response. This wasn't natural. There wasn't a creature on earth evolved to manage this.

But that feeling was interrupted as she felt a hoof on her shoulder, like a hook pulling her back to lucidity. She looked and saw it was Sweetie Belle.

“We’re alive. We’re uninjured,” Sweetie said. “That’s the best we can hope for.”

She didn’t shove Sweetie’s hoof away. The griffons had set up there. They’d attacked their column. Yet, the griffons were only stationed there as the Lunar column was invading their country. If the Lunar Empire hadn’t attacked, all of this could’ve been avoided. But the enemy posed a threat to their fellow ponies. But this. But that. She could dwell on that forever and never find a comforting answer. She’d been pressed into a situation where the best case scenario was a massacre. A massacre wrought by her own call.

And if she hadn’t, there’d have still been a massacre. A massacre of their fellow ponies.

“Keep your eyes up. There could be more of them,” Sweetie added, continuing onwards. “Babs? Scootaloo? Where are you?” she called.

A blur dashed across Apple Bloom’s line of sight. “Rambler!” Scootaloo was still running about, calling for the Shadowbolt. “Rambler, where’d you go?”

“Scootaloo, what’s up?” Sweetie called.

Scootaloo turned to Sweetie, but kept up her running and searching. She was at what was the edge of the forest. “I’m looking for Midnight Rambler, the Shadowbolt! She should be…”

Scootaloo’s voice trailed off, eyes having drifted to the ground as her legs froze. Whatever she was looking at, debris blocked Apple Bloom’s view of it.

The need to know set in for Apple Bloom. She made her way over and around the pile, up to where Scootaloo stood to see what had made her react.

Midnight Rambler was lying motionless on her back and her snout was gone.

Her whole snout. Gone.

Apple Bloom’s stomach lurched as she staggered back.

Where Rambler’s snout should’ve been was just a ragged gash of flesh bespeckled with burnt bone and shrapnel. Like a serrated knife had been jammed into her cheek and cut around the edge of the suit. Her mane had been torn to shreds, now resembling a nest of blackened, brittle twigs, each jagged strand clinging desperately to the ravaged scalp. The wings had all but been plucked clean of their feathers, leaving a skeletal frame of bone and sinew in its place. All laid still, no indications of breathing or blood flow.

Scootaloo inched back, tears already welling in her eyes. “No…” She dropped to her haunches.

When tears began to streak down Scootaloo’s cheeks, a painful ache seared through Apple Bloom’s chest. Her breath caught, throat sore with a sorrow that wasn’t her own, yet felt as deeply as if it were.

It wasn’t even clear what had killed Rambler. Her corpse lay at the edge of the forest. She’d have known about the mortars before they fell, surely. She’s the one that had told the Crusaders about them. But in the moment, only one fact seemed to matter. Rambler was dead, and Scootaloo already knew it. There was no denial. Grief poured out of her, like water bursting from a broken dam.

Remaining stoic, Sweetie crouched down and brought the goggles off of Midnight Rambler’s eyes. Her eyes, like orbs of cloudy glass, lay still in an unfocused stare. She put her hoof up to Rambler’s face and gently brought her eyelids shut.

While that happened Apple Bloom slowly approached Scootaloo and sat beside her. She put a leg over Scootaloo’s shoulders. Scootaloo fell to lean on Apple Bloom, sniffling as tears streaked.

While small fires crackled through the air around them, the only sound Apple Bloom was tuned into was Scootaloo’s hushed sobs. Mere minutes earlier Scootaloo was cheering with joy, triumph, and even relief. What she’d said through the cheers stuck to the front of Apple Bloom’s mind like tar.

You did it, Apple Bloom. You did it.