It's Just A Shot Away

by Moonatik

Rating: teen
Tags: Violence, Babs Seed, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Equestria at War, Dark, Death, Alternate Universe, Drama, Cutie Mark Crusaders
Length: 23587

War changes everything it touches. Four young mares pulled into the fray are no exception.

On all corners of the world, the Lunar Empire is embroiled in war. Its soldiers are deployed across three continents, most of them conscripts.

One such conscript is Apple Bloom, and she is far from enthusiastic. She knows she isn't being sent overseas on some glorious crusade or some great adventure, she knows she isn't fighting to protect her or the freedom of her fellow ponies. This war is a racket. A racket to bring glory to a tyrant and bring wealth to her underlings. Sentient creatures are hurled into the woodchipper, and gold is spewed out the other end. A woodchipper she faces herself.

If only her friends would listen.

New chapters will be published when I write them. No idea when that's gonna be.

Takes place in my New Lunar Millennium alternate universe. More information can be found here, but no prior knowledge of my AU beyond the general concept is required to read this story.

Cover art drawn by ReddTheBat. Post processing by me.

Proofread and edited by Izzy Incraft. Additional proofreading and consultation provided by ManniTeneriSunt and Kalashnikitty.

Published 2024-08-15 23:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-09-12 15:58:46 UTC

Prologue - A Missing Piece

17:37 - 26/11/1004 - Ponyville, Equestria

“And that’s how I beat Queen Chrysalis and saved Equestria!”

Before Rainbow Dash had even finished telling her story, Scootaloo was hopping up and down with her wings fluttering faster than a hummingbird’s. “That was the coolest story I’ve ever heard!” she beamed.

Her reaction was polar opposite to Sweetie Belle’s, her forelegs folded across her barrel as she leaned back into her beanbag chair. “Come on, Scoots. You don’t actually-”

“What?” Rainbow immediately picked up on Sweetie’s skepticism, throwing her proud grin away as she whipped her head to face Sweetie. “What do you mean you don't believe me? It's true! It's true guys! Everything I say is true!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sweetie rolled her eyes. “Sure it is.”

From the end of the school night to then, the Cutie Mark Crusaders had been under Rainbow Dash’s watch in the showroom of the Carousel Boutique. At that point, Rainbow collected the fillies from school on most nights, given that the crusaders’ families were busy with work at those hours and Rainbow was typically free.

It was rare for the three crusaders to go straight home. After school, they went out and tried to get their cutie marks with Rainbow always thrilled to supervise and encourage. But on many nights, when the three were particularly tired but still wanted to hang out, they’d spend it either at Scootaloo’s house or in Rarity’s boutique until their guardians got home. In any case, Rainbow consistently kept an active current running through the trio that they didn’t petter out until much later. It did make it a pain when clothes they planned to wear the next day ended up covered in tree sap, a surprisingly common occurrence.

“Well I believe you, Rainbow Dash!” assured Scootaloo. “You believe her, right?” she said, giving Apple Bloom a nudge.

“Hm?” uttered Apple Bloom upon being nudged. Truth be told, Apple Bloom hadn’t been paying much attention to Rainbow’s story. Just enough to catch the broad strokes, something about being there when Queen Chrysalis tried to take over Equestria, about two years ago. Rainbow only really caught her interest at the parts when she zipped up and down the boutique’s showroom, to act out some dramatic chase across Cloudsdale she claimed to have been involved in.

“You heard what she said, right? You believe it, don’t you?” Scootaloo repeated, nodding her head.

Apple Bloom shrugged, facing Rainbow. “I ain’t got no reason to think you’re tellin’ a tall tale.”

“Exactly!” Rainbow threw her front hooves forward, wings flared. “It all happened, exactly as I said it-”

“Just one small thing been naggin’ at me,” Apple Bloom continued, standing up, stretching. “If you really were there, why not, I dunno, let ‘em fight?”

That made Rainbow pause. “What are you talking about?”

“Chrysalis, Nightmare Moon, they’re both worse than a worm in an apple,” Apple Bloom claimed, waving a hoof in the air. “Wouldn’t it be better for everyone if they just, like, offed each other?”

Rainbow scoffed (and Scootaloo parroted her). “Uh, no!” Rainbow made no effort to hide the ire in her voice. “You know how bad Chrysalis was, right? If she took over Equestria, it'd be a million times worse! She’d be sucking all the love out of us, or she’d be turning us all into changelings, or, or she'd be laying eggs in us! And you don’t want to know how those eggs hatch!”

“Ew.” Sweetie shuffled back.

“Yeah! ‘Ew’ is right!” affirmed Rainbow. “You don’t want Chrysalis to win! You got that?”

Apple Bloom shrugged. “I guess so,” she said. She couldn’t look Rainbow in the eye as she said it.

“It’s not ‘I guess’, kid. Like, I know you got your reasons to think Nightmare Moon’s uncool. Most ponies have a reason. But stopping an evil greedy psycho like Chrysalis is good!” Rainbow hovered close to Apple Bloom, uncomfortably close. ‘Could feel sweat running down her forehead close’, and not her own sweat either. “Come on! You gotta admit that!”

In a moment, a hundred ways that Apple Bloom could’ve countered Rainbow’s point bounced around in her head. Such as how the Lunar Empire’s war against the Changelings was purely imperialistic and self interested. Or how the foreign threat was used to silence internal dissent. Or how the scale of the threat was exaggerated in ways Rainbow repeated frequently. She knew specific explanations of oft repeated lies. She knew specific crimes done in the name of ‘strangling the Changeling threat’. She knew all of this, she had the courage to speak up, and all she needed was for that courage to build.

But before she got that chance, the bell on the boutique’s front door rang, indicating it had swung open.

Rainbow spun around to face the door, creating distance between her and Apple Bloom whilst glancing at a clock on the wall. “Huh. Twenty-to-six already?”

Announcing her presence with an exaggerated yawn, Rarity sauntered through the front door. She’d already undone the shirt of her uniform, yet she hadn’t brought her mane out of its bun. “Hello everypony, I have returned!” she part-sighed part-sang.

“Rarity!” Sweetie beamed, getting up and trotting up to her sister.

A quick greeting of “Hi Rarity,” and “Hey Rares,” followed from the others in the boutique.

Once in hoof’s reach of one another, Rarity snatched up Sweetie Belle into a hug, eliciting a squeak of protest from the filly. “Oh Sweetie, aren’t you just the pony I wanted to see after a hard night’s work,” she said, smiling. “I trust Rainbow’s been taking good care of you?”

Sweetie Belle pulled out of the hug at her first chance. “Rainbow's been telling us stories about how she became a Night Guard.” She leaned in a step closer to Rarity and lowered her voice. “But I think they’re a load of minotaur shit.”

“Sweetie!” Rarity gasped. “You don’t use such vulgarity! Who taught you that word?”

“You did.”

Rarity brought up a hoof ready to retort, but her breath seemed to catch in her throat. “Oh.”

“Alright, Scoots!” Rainbow flexed her wings and stretched her legs. “I told your aunts I’d have you home before ten-to, so we oughta get going.”

Scootaloo clambered onto Rainbow’s back. “Bet you can’t make it back before quarter-to!” She gave a quick wink to Sweetie and Apple Bloom, unseen by Rainbow.

Rainbow laughed, lowering her body and spreading her wings out. “Think I can’t make it from one side of Ponyville to the other in five minutes? Oh, you’re on!”

“Later, girls!” Scootaloo waved.

And before anyone else could get a ‘goodbye’ or ‘adieu’ in, Rainbow blasted out the door. The thrust threw up enough air to rattle the hanging dresses and unsecured ponnequins across the showroom, loose papers on the checkout stand lost in the whirlwind.

Rarity scrambled to secure what she could with her hooves and her magic, ensuring nothing fell to the floor. After barely more than a moment, all settled calmly and she breathed a sigh of relief. “I would suppose that’s your cue, Apple Bloom,” she said. “Time for you to be off as well.”

Past a gasp, Apple Bloom’s jaw clenched. “Uhh, hey!” She forced a grin. “What if I stayed the night?”

Sweetie bounced up. “Yeah, that sounds like fun!”

“Again? For the third night in a row?” Rarity was folding up her uniform in her magic, but kept her attention on Apple Bloom as her brows knitted together. “Apple Bloom, I’m sure your grandmother is waiting for you to return home. You know she must be missing you.”

“S-sure, I know that,” said Apple Bloom. “But just, give her a ring, let her know. She’ll be fine.”

“Don’t you want to see her as well?” Rarity gave a tilt of her head.

“O-of course!” Apple Bloom stammered. “Just- Me and, Sweetie, were havin’ so much fun, here!”

Rarity sighed. “I really don’t mean to sound like I’m pushing you out, Apple Bloom dear, but I simply must concentrate on my work and I’d hate to be keeping you apart from your family.” Her voice was tight, words coming out soft and slow. “That, and you haven’t changed into a fresh pair of clothes all week,” added Rarity, wafting air away from her nose.

At that last comment, Apple Bloom gave her shirt a sniff. Ough. In all fairness, Rarity had a point.

Then, Sweetie trotted up to Apple Bloom before she could go anywhere. “I could walk home with you, Apple Bloom.”

“Sweetie, you have homework to do,” Rarity interjected. “I don’t want you missing another night of it.”

Sweetie deflated. “Dangit.”

“Oh, um, okay then,” Apple Bloom murmured. She turned to face the door and took a step towards it. She stopped, turning her head around. “Guess I’ll see y’all tomorrow,” she added, before laboriously shuffling her way to the exit.

Yet before Apple Bloom stepped out the door, Sweetie caught up with her and gave her a quick hug. “Seeya, Apple Bloom.”

Apple Bloom returned the gesture. “Seeya.”

Trying not to look back, Apple Bloom stepped outside and kicked the door closed behind her. Right away she sat on the doorstep, taking a few deep breaths before pushing herself to her hooves again.

Of course, Apple Bloom wasn’t insistent on staying at the boutique because it was so much fun. Compared to the house, there were just less reminders of what had been done to her family. Perhaps it took a while before Apple Bloom herself had noticed what she was doing, but by then Rarity had fully clocked onto it.

With the boutique behind her, Apple Bloom set off to her house. Each footstep was laboured, like she was taking her time with each individual step. Despite recent developments Ponyville was still a small town; there wasn't much distance to walk from the boutique and Sweet Apple Acres. Yet she took her time with every step, slow enough that she may have been individually placing each hoofstep. It must have felt longer than it really took, as well.

Walking home alone didn’t present any danger, even for a filly as young as her. Crime virtually never happened in Ponyville, both before and after the last sunset. Monsters emerging from the Everfree to wreak havoc on the town were a thing of the past, too. And the bulk of the old town remained safe and walkable, the old dirt paths yet to be replaced with paved roads and conquered by motor vehicles. Many other ponies milled about on the streets, fillies like her, adults going about their business, Night Guards on patrol. Smiles were few but nobody was frowning. Except Apple Bloom.

Then, once out of the heart of the old town center and on the way to Sweet Apple Acres itself, her path took her through the new developments. There the soft dirt paths gave way to hard asphalt, where older houses built of wood and straw sat beneath looming concrete apartments. She remembered when the pleasant smells of the countryside air lingered across the path, now crowded out by thick exhaust fumes of oil and tar. The majority of the road was surrendered to trucks and cars that frequently thundered past, restricting Apple Bloom to the pavement. Every time a car shot past, she could imagine the pony driving it. How they could have been walking just like her, maybe even with a smile and a wave as they passed. Now there was no time for either, now they were behind the wheel of a machine quick and heavy enough to flatten her without even noticing.

If her eyes went skyward, she was greeted with the same sight as always. An infinite inky black, stretching out forever. Tiny specks of light twinkled in the dark, yet they too were often obscured as bulky silhouettes circled throughout the sky above. Those were Night Guards, pegasi and thestrals, on patrol. They were there for her safety, she was told. Told at school, told by the odd guard themselves, told even by Scootaloo. Perhaps they weren’t as immediately predaceous as the cars, but they weren't exactly comforting. They still wore the same armour as the ponies who stormed their farm.

The house was in sight, but her field of vision was dominated by the same cursed sight that stood where the farm once was. A chain link fence surrounded the grotesque behemoth, all under the harsh glare of artificial lights. Even with distance, the air was thick with the acrid stench of diesel and chemicals, mingling with the sickly-sweet odor of overripe produce. Massive metal greenhouses, those soulless giants, stretched across the land with their corrugated walls reflecting the cold light. The incessant roar of heavy engines and the grinding of machinery shattered whatever stillness remained in the night, producing an unrelenting cacophony of metal against metal. As she approached closer, the ground underhoof vibrated with the pulse of the machines, while a bitter, metallic miasma lingered in the thick enough to taste it. Yet above all of that, the sickest mockery of all, positioned prominently atop the largest building on site, a colourful brightly lit billboard that declared this place to be ‘Sweet Apple Acres’, property of the Golden Fields Imperial Corporation.

When it all happened, Apple Bloom was too young to understand what was really going on. She was probably still too young to have a complete grasp of what had happened. All she knew is that she’d been forced out of her home and that the only times she got to see her sister since was through iron bars. And there was nothing that anyone could say to make her even consider forgiving the people who did that.

The only mercy they were granted on top of their so-called ‘just compensation’ was that they were allowed to retain a small patch of land on the edge of the property to build a new house. Probably because it was too infertile for anything to grow. On the outside, it sure looked like the old farmhouse. But as far as she felt, that was where the similarities ended.

Through the gate, up the lawn, through the front door, into the living room. Every time she returned to this house, she reflected on everything that distinguished this place from the old farmhouse. She had to remind herself every time, lest she forgot. Such a small, yet pivotal part of her life had been spent in the old farmhouse, before the land was taken and everything was torn down, all of it in view of her bedroom window. What were those differences? It smelled a lot nicer than the old farmhouse. The utilities functioned much better than the old farmhouse. It was warmer than the old farmhouse. It was bigger than the old farmhouse.

But that just made it feel all the emptier.

“There y’are sapling!” Granny Smith called, hobbling out of her rocking chair at the far end of the room and making her way towards Apple Bloom. “I ain’t seen ya since Monday, I haven’t! Big Mac’s been doin’ all the chores by his lonesome, now how’s that fair on the young stallion when he’s gots to run all the cider business by his lonesome too?”

In response, all Apple Bloom could muster was, “Heya, Granny.”

“Oh, I ain’t mad at you or nothin’, just worried worse than a guppy on a line.” Granny pulled Apple Bloom into a hug. “How was school these last few days?”

Apple Bloom held the hug for a moment. Eventually, she slipped out. “School was school.”

“Wassat supposed to mean, saplin’?”

“Y’know. Nothing special.” Apple Bloom shrugged, then made her way to the stairs. “I’m gonna change.”

Yet once Apple Bloom reached the first step, Granny again called, “Yer sister were on the phone yesterday.”

That made Apple Bloom pause. She turned her head back, blinked.

“Round this time a’day, as a matter of fact.” The pep in Granny’s voice was fading. “She were dyin’ to hear from you. Knowin’ she got a family to come home to just about the only thing keepin’ her going. They only let her make so many calls a week, you know!”

Apple Bloom struggled not to sigh. “I’ll remember that, Granny,” she said, turning back and carrying on up.

Top of the stairs. Her effort went into forcing herself to think about something else. Her clothes, she needed to change. Just get to her room and slip into something more comfortable. Or wear nothing at all, now that she was in the comfort of her own house. Those new, bizarre ‘decency’ standards didn’t apply here.

But between the stairs and her bedroom was the open door to another room. On passing, she somewhat knew she shouldn’t look inside. Every time she did, it only reminded her of what was missing. But the door was left open, again, and she felt her eyes drift into the room.

All was presented as it was before. The bed was as it was before. The wallpaper was as it was before. The cupboards and dressers were all as they were before. It had everything Applejack’s room in their old home did.

Everything except Applejack herself.

1 - The Call to War

18:00 - 03/10/1014

Screens all across Equestria displayed the same scene.

The broadcast opened with an orchestra of militaristic horns and pounding drums. The midnight-purple flag of the Lunar Empire fluttered in the wind beneath bold text that read NEWS FROM THE FRONT: STRIKING BACK AGAINST WINGBARDY.

Over footage of Lunar army trucks speeding through the villages and vineyards of the Wingbardian countryside, a presenter began to speak.

“The fearless forces of Equestria, New Mareland, and our Aquileian allies have launched a renewed counter-offensive into the wicked lairs of the Wingbardian fascist enemy,” he declared, tone both triumphant and bombastic.

The scene changed. Soldiers and officers were gathered around a table littered with maps and charts in a dim concrete room. The shot centered on a thestal mare dressed in an officer’s uniform at the head of the round table, who held the attention of every other being in the room, talking and gesturing vigorously but silently on camera. Most Equestrians would recognise her immediately, but the presenter was quick to clarify.

“General Midnight Blossom, overall commander of the Southern Griffonian front, has ensured that everything has been done for a quick and sharp strike against our foe, maximum efficiency and effectiveness at all operational levels. She has announced that the valiant offensive aims to cripple the aggressive capabilities of our enemies, targeting the very heart of the Wingbardian nation.”

The scene changed again, now it was in a dockyard. The camera moved close to the ground, showing off a seemingly endless row of tanks with their crews standing at the ready. Even more were being loaded off of ships in the background. The back of each tank held a flagpole that hoisted the Imperial Lunar flag up high.

“At the spearhead of the offensive, tanks fresh off the production line operated by expertly trained crews from across the Empire,” declared the presenter. “These advanced machines outmatch all other tanks in the world, made unstoppable by the skill, determination, and patriotism of the ponies that operate them.”

The camera slowed to a smooth stop to focus on one tank in particular. Text on screen identified it as a T-44, a subtitle claiming it to be the most advanced tank model in the world. Its crew of four ponies, all of them young mares, stood at the front of the tank in a perfect row. While their immaculate camouflage tanker overalls made the mares seem uniform at first glance, each was distinct with three out of four from different tribes. Uniformity and diversity, qualities the Empire was proud to flaunt.

Hard cut, close up to the crew members, camera panning across from left to right. First, an orange pegasus with a short purple mane. She snapped to a strong salute as the camera passed, hoof moving quick as lightning as her little wings flared. She barely hid her smirk, glancing directly into the lens.

Next, a white unicorn with her head held high and stoic determination across her face. Unlike the other three, she had a leather jacket over her overalls. She kept her eyes forward as the camera passed, lifting her hoof to salute in a swift, well rehearsed motion.

Then, a slightly slack earth pony mare with a camo-print bow in her mane. She dragged her hoof up in something like a salute, though she could’ve just been shielding her eyes from an unseen light.

But before the camera lingered on that mare too long, it passed to the last of the group. Brown earth pony with freckles across her cheeks and a feisty look in her eyes. She brought her hoof up to salute as the camera stopped moving, lingering on her. Just long enough to catch a shot of her blowing a loose lock of her red mane out of her face.

“These are the brave ponies who will assure total victory. Diversity in background, unity in purpose.”

Once again the shot changed. A diverse fleet of warships at sea, everything from comparatively diminutive destroyers to monolithic aircraft carriers, whilst masses of aircraft soared overhead like a flock of migrating birds.

“As the fall of Wingbardy draws closer, so does total victory in the war. Imperial Lunar naval forces fight valiantly to dominate the Middle Sea and exert greater pressure on the Arisian fascists, whilst our soldiers across Griffonia march with all their attention on toppling the Archons of Griffenheim.”

The screen faded from that shot to a different scene, displaying countless Equestrian soldiers in full combat gear marching in robotic unison. The background was dominated by the flag of the Lunar Empire, wind beating against it while leaving no sign of wear and tear.

“Across the entire world, the Imperial Lunar Military stands undefeated. Under the valiant wings of our Empress, we are unyielding, we are unstoppable! Like the night itself,” the presenter declared, the music climbing to a crescendo. “Our triumph is eternal!”

The music dropped in, screaming jingoism in musical form. Horns blared, drums pounded, it even had a soaring electric guitar. A montage of curated combat footage unfurled. Shadowbolt Special Forces braving an ocean of smoke and fire, unleashing a stream of lead from the twin machine guns on their battle saddles. A tank racing across an open field, screeching to a sudden stop to let its mighty cannon discharge a round and throw up masses of smoke and dust. An aircraft diving towards the ground and deploying an explosive payload on an unseen target, surely reducing whatever it was to flame and ash.

The broadcast continued, but the message was clear and unambiguous. So much so that no matter who viewed it, militarists and seditionists alike, all perfectly understood what it sought to say. The Imperial Lunar Military held might beyond comprehension, and nothing but pride and glory awaited those who fought in its ranks and woe to anyone who stood in their way.

2 - The Ruins of Canterpoint

15:57 - 05/10/1014 - Hoovesplain, New Mareland

Packed shoulder to shoulder with other soldiers in the back of a truck, the Crusaders were on their way to war.

So far they’d been taken by train, by ship, and by truck depending on whatever that specific leg of the journey required to bring them from the training grounds in Equestria’s heartland to the frontlines in southern Griffonia.

Everyone in the truck was a tanker, either trained to fight in a tank crew like the Crusaders themselves or in a maintenance role. Appropriately everyone was wearing tanker’s coveralls, some with padded tanker’s helmets. Everyone’s mane had either been cut short or tied back into a tight bun or ponytail, without regard to gender. With the exception of a few thestrals, everyone had a pair of night vision goggles either resting on their forehead or hanging around their neck. The oldest amongst them couldn’t have been a night over twenty-five.

The oldest pony in question, an earth pony mare with a shaven head, whipped out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. She put one in her mouth, but before she went to light it, she held the pack out in front of her. “Anyone want one?” she offered, having to raise her voice to speak over the engine.

A few other ponies reached out with their hooves, taking the older mare’s offer. A unicorn simply levitated one into their mouth and lit it with magic. Apple Bloom didn’t take one, nor did any of the other Crusaders. Apple Bloom had never smoked in her life and sure didn’t want to start tonight. The rancid smell that lingered around Applejack and Rarity when those two shared a cigarette was enough to dissuade her. And now they had to deal with that on top of everything else for the next few minutes.

As tobacco burned, it mixed with the already pungent stench of gasoline and rust. The engine growled and rattled every moment of the journey, filling their ears with noise and shaking the floor beneath. The main source of light was a dim lamp that only illuminated itself. At any given moment the little flickers of flame from the cigarettes were the brightest thing in sight.

Apple Bloom didn’t want to be here at all, and she made no secret of it. But it wasn’t like she had much of a choice when the conscription letter came in the mail. Somewhat fortunately, her friends were more than willing to enlist alongside her so she wouldn’t have to face the war alone. And of course, Scootaloo had been itching to go since she was a teenager. It had been a headache to get them assigned to the same unit, let alone the same tank. But Scootaloo had the Captain Rainbow Dash on her side, and Dash was more than happy to nudge the right ponies behind the scenes to make it happen.

At the present moment, Scootaloo’s feathers brushed up against Apple Bloom’s right side as Sweetie Belle pressed against her left, with Babs faring no better space-wise directly across from her. Every bump, pothole, or crater that the truck drove over jostled the packed ponies against one another, with one of them dropping something every so often. As uncomfortable as it was, being amongst friends made the experience all the more bearable for Apple Bloom. Better the Lunatics you knew than the ones you didn’t.

Yet there was still no shortage of complaints to be made. Apple Bloom pushed a heavy breath out, loudly but still obscured by the noises of the truck. “They got some real nerve to be sendin’ ponies into Wingbardy,” she grumbled.

Scootaloo leaned forward, turning her head to face Apple Bloom whilst furrowing her brow. “Why wouldn’t we be going into Wingbardy? They attacked New Mareland.”

Apple Bloom’s eyes met Scootaloo’s.“That don’t mean we should be sent to attack them.”

“Seriously?” said Scootaloo. “So, what, we should just give New Mareland up to Beakolini? Let this evil murderous dictator steal another country?”

“Course not.” Apple Bloom folded her forelegs. “If I were here to defend New Mareland and that was it, sure thing. I wouldn’t be smiling, but I get it right? Helpin’ out our fellow ponies. Makes sense.”

“And, we’re bringing the fight to the assholes who started it! So they can’t attack anyone again! That’s the point!” Scootaloo insisted, giving a little wave of her hooves to punctuate each word.

“Is that the point, though?”

Scootaloo deadpanned. “Yes. It is.”

“How’d you know that?” Apple Bloom continued. Scootaloo didn’t reply, so she thought to press the point. “Who’re they gonna put in charge of Wingbardy after the fascists are out? How do we know they ain’t just here to take it for themselves? Y’all know what the ponies runnin’ New Mareland are like, dontcha? This is the Shadowbolt Society we’re talkin’ about! All they care about is makin’ money!”

Scootaloo’s first response was a groan. “Apple Bloom, you’ve been whining about it the whole way here. How many times has somepony gotta tell you? Beakolini’s a bad guy. We’re here to bring him down. That’s a good thing.”

“I know, he’s a monster, I’m not arguing that he ain’t, but-”

“No ‘but’s, Apple Bloom,” Scootaloo cut her off.

“Well is Nightmare Moon any better?”

Everyone in the truck raised their heads. A moment earlier the other passengers weren’t paying attention. Now every pair of eyes was squarely on Apple Bloom. Most of the onlookers were nothing more than shocked. But a few, including every thestral onboard, looked at her like she’d just committed a murder. None of the frequent bumps in the road could snap the sudden tension.

She could feel the pressure of their eyes, and she hadn’t been raised to back down from her principles. “Well, is she?” Apple Bloom insisted, giving a defiant shrug. “How about the ponies runnin’ New Mareland, hm? Those no-good, money grubbin’-”

Apple Bloom felt a nudge on her left, distracting her train of thought. “Apple Bloom,” Sweetie Belle whispered, getting Bloom’s attention. “Not here. Not now.”

“Then when?” Bloom blurted out. “Somepony’s gotta speak the truth! And if we’re being sent to kill or die? I can’t think of a better time to be- ah!”

The truck lurched to a sudden halt, jolting every crusader and passenger against one another and eliciting grunts and yelps all around. Really, it was a miracle nobody fell over.

Just as balance was restored, right before someone would’ve asked what had happened, the tailgate was flung open. Outside, a stocky earth pony stallion in loose-fitting fatigues and a wide-brimmed hat leaned in. “Everypony out!” he shouted, voice laden with a heavy New Marelander accent.

A moment of confused hesitation passed, but they all filled out. Finally, Apple Bloom felt like she could move her legs in more than two directions.

Once outside, Apple Bloom couldn’t see much more than a few vague lights blinking in and out of sight in the near-distance, but the smell hit her like a falling anvil. Burning. Burning wood, burning fluid, burning rubber. She was oddly familiar with it, reminding her of the first time Applejack let her grill during a cookout. Used too much lighter fluid, burned the food, left enough filthy residue and a rancid smell that they couldn’t get out of the grill. At least she learned she wouldn’t be getting a cutie mark in outdoor cooking.

“Goggles on, you lot,” the stallion commanded. “Have a squiz.”

From what she could see, a few of the thestrals in their ground were already wincing. Then she fixed on her own night-vision goggles. Immediately, she saw why she’d been stopped there, and staggered. All thoughts of home were gone.

“I don’t expect any o’ya to get t’know me,” the stallion said, his face bearing night vision goggles and a stoic expression. “But I bloody well hope you get t’know Canterpoint.”

By his side, a battered sign reading ‘Welcome to Canterpoint’. Behind him, devastation. Buildings reduced to charred and hollowed out skeletal husks loomed above silent streets, no doubt once lively and full of joy. Debris clogged the pavements. On the street through the village lay the smashed remains of vehicles, machines, and even a pram. All throughout the village both soldiers and civilian workers were wrapping up bodies in bloody sheets and carrying them away. Even with the distance the mixed stench of rotting corpses and burned wood, like it were physically assaulting her.

“Fashcons are on the run but some of ‘em made a stop here. Few hours ago we caught up, chased ‘em out. But what did the fashbirds do before they legged it? Killed absolutely fuckin’ everyone in the village and burned as much as they could.”

A few in their group took a few tentative steps forwards, eyes going up and around the ruin.

“By all means, take a closer look,” the stallion said. “If it’d help you remember.”

Moving along with the others, Apple Bloom stepped forwards. Her eyes were up, as were her ears. There wasn’t a building in the whole village that hadn’t been hollowed out by flame. It seized her attention like a bear trap. So much so that she didn’t take much notice of the wet squelch as she set her hoof down. Then she nearly tripped on something at her hooves. She looked down, and was greeted by a dead pegasus whose face had been blown off.

“Augh!” Apple Bloom wailed, staggering back. Her stomach churned. Her staggers brought her back and through the source of the wet hoofsteps. A putrid puddle of dirt and blood collected at the severance point, the gory collection of fluids then staining her hoof. She brought her hooves up and shook them frantically, hoping it would cast the grime off of her hooves.

“Watch your step, they’re still clearing up.” The stallion turned away from the group, gesturing towards the wrecked buildings. “Every last home and business looted of anything valuable. Mares and stallions herded into houses and burned alive. Others raped and shot in the neck. Unicorns, thestrals, and pegasi had their horns or wings cut off their bodies. Anyone who tried to run away shot in the legs and dragged back to be beaten. Some carried up into the air and dropped to their deaths. Even the foals, the fucking foals.” A slight shudder was in his voice as they uttered the last sentence.

One of the ponies in their group staggered back, gagging and retching with a hoof up to their mouth. Before anyone even turned their head to look, they’d puked their whole stomach up. A pony next to them rushed to their aid. Another came to add to the pile. If Apple Bloom remembered right, these ponies were just mechanics, not frontline soldiers. Probably for the best that they’d not be doing much shooting.

The stallion, rubbing his eyes before reaffixing his goggles, turned back to the group, stoicism chiselled to his face. “In case any of you have any doubts about where you are and what you’re doing, about who you’re fighting against and what they’ve done, burn Canterpoint into your memory. You’re not in Equestria anymore.”

The distant crackle of still smoldering fires seemed to grow louder in Apple Bloom’s ears, bouncing in her head, banging inside her skull. If the stallion was still speaking she couldn’t hear it. Wind whistled through the husks of buildings, like it was carrying the cries of the dead. Her visions blurred like it would if she were crying, even though she felt no tears. All sound coalesced into indistinct white noise. The clearest thing she could hear was her own heartbeat, pounding like a piston. Her breath got heavier, her legs felt numb, she felt herself losing balance. A hoof slipped, and she fell.

But she stopped falling. A sudden stop, before she hit the ground. Scootaloo had caught her before she hit the ground.

“I got you, Apple Bloom, don’t worry,” Scootaloo reassured, helping Apple Bloom find her footing. Apple Bloom heard her friend clearly, like the very act of helping her stand restored her senses.

Apple Bloom took another look at Canterpoint, then faced her friend. “Thanks, Scoots.”

Before long they were all ordered back onto the truck. Once they’d shuffled back into their seats, the convoy was on the move again.

The rest of the ride took a few hours, and Apple Bloom was silent the whole way.

3 - The Fame of the Captain

08:06 - 08/10/1014 - Clawcany, Wingbardy

Apple Bloom couldn’t sleep.

She wasn’t entirely sure why either. It was raining lightly, and she’d slept through worse rainstorms before. Their unit was still some distance from any active combat areas. They weren’t due to be sent on any missions for quite a while. Perhaps it was just nerves, knowing she was in a warzone. If she’d heard anything from other soldiers it was that she’d learn to sleep anywhere before her tour was up.

She glanced at her watch for the sixth time in the last hour. However long it had been, she’d been still on her back, struggling to keep her eyes shut. Being on the top bunk meant she could stare up at the canvas roof of the tent rather than the bottom of a mattress, at least. From the sound of it, the others were having a hard time sleeping too. Babs was on the bunk under hers, tossing, turning, and groaning. She heard the others rustling around, some getting up and going out. Sounded like there was a large gathering of some sort outside. If it were important, she’d have been called to it. Maybe she could just ignore it and go to sleep.

Those hopes were dashed when Scootaloo barged into the tent.

“Babs, Babs!” Scootaloo shook Babs awake.

Startled, Apple Bloom heard Babs push herself up. “Wuh? Scoots?”

“Babs! Captain Blaze is here!” Scootaloo was making no attempt to keep her voice down.

Babs’s voice shot up. “No kidding!?”

“Yeah! Quick! He’s in the main tent!”

Heaving out a groan, which she made sure that the others heard, Apple Bloom rolled over the side of her cot. “You two mind telling me what the ruckus is all about?” she grunted. “I’m tryna sleep.”

Scootaloo whipped her gaze up to the top bunk where Apple Bloom sat. “It’s Blaze!” she said, very matter-of-factly. “You know him, right? Captain of the Shadowbolts?”

Apple Bloom rubbed her eyes. “No? Should I?”

Babs hopped up, looking towards Apple Bloom. “Hey, you should come with us, cuz!”

Scootaloo pulled away. “Ooh, ehh.” She rubbed the back of her mane, rustling her little wings. “I’m not sure if it’d really be her kind of crowd.”

“Won’t know until she tries, right?”

In all honesty, the thought of crowding into another tent with a bunch of rowdy soldiers to see some celebrity captain she’d never heard of didn’t appeal much to Apple Bloom. Then again, it wasn’t like she was going to fall asleep any time soon. Might as well be doing something. She shrugged. “Sure.”

Not stopping to wait, Scootaloo and Babs dashed out the tent whilst Apple Bloom climbed down from her bunk.

Before she was even properly outside, Scootaloo and Babs were already galloping out of sight, though it was easy to tell where they were going.

Out in the drizzle, the camp felt ghostly, nearly deserted. The eternally black sky, along with most every small tent sitting dark and silent didn’t help. Only the large central tent glowed brightly against the dark, a beacon of light in the night. From within, the low rumble of voices drifted out, punctuated by bursts of raucous laughter and cheers. It almost felt like she was going to the circus.

Inside was a swirling sea of soldiers packed tightly together. Laughter bounced off the canvas walls as they crowded around something hidden at the centre. Massive kegs lined the edges, explaining the sharp scent of booze hanging heavy in the air, mingling with sweat and smoke. Most of the soldiers towered over her, and by extension towered over Babs and Scoots. Their broad frames and stocky muscles created an imposing forest of bodies that dwarfed her. Scootaloo was hopping up and down fluttering her little wings, her head struggling to peer over the assembled soldiers.

“What's the big idea anyhow?” Apple Bloom asked. “All this for some old captain?”

Panting, Scootaloo stopped jumping and spun around to face Apple Bloom. “It's just not some old captain, it's Captain Blaze! The most famous soldier in the most famous division in the whole armed forces! He’s fought everywhere! From Olenia to Puerto Caballo to South Zebrica! And I mean fought! He could've gone General if he stuck to the career ladder, but no! He turned down every desk job he was offered and stuck to fighting in the field!”

Before Apple Bloom could reply, Scootaloo resumed fruitlessly jumping and flapping.

Then, out of the centre of the mass of ponies, an orange pegasus flew up and over everyone else. Whoever he was, he caught the attention of a good few ponies, including Babs and Scootaloo. Apple Bloom’s eyes were drawn to his spikey, styled-back mane, a vibrant fire of hot colours that got brighter the closer they were to the roots.

Apple Bloom tilted her head, pointing at the orange pegasus. “That him?” She thought she’d figured out why Scootaloo and Babs were so giddy.

Again stopping her hops, Scootaloo scoffed. “No, that’s Captain Fireblast, he’s a marine from-”

“Hey.” Captain Fireblast waved to the centre. “Bring the shorter ones to the front!” From his accent alone it was obvious he was a New Marelander.

Like a book being opened, the crowd parted for them. Babs and Scoots dashed through without a moment wasted, a few other shorter ponies shuffling towards the centre as well. While no physical pressure was put onto her, Apple Bloom still felt herself tugged along by Scoots' and Babs' invisible leash. Dozens of pairs of eyes pulled her further in, her hooves walking without her. A good few ponies she didn’t recognise, under and around her height, walked through with her.

Once she’d been pushed through to the centre of the audience, she gave a fleeting look back hoping to spot her friends. Then she turned forward, and froze. A pair of icy, azure eyes locked onto hers, belonging to an imposing pegasus stallion who could only be Captain Blaze.

Under his gaze, Apple Bloom couldn’t hold back a gasp. His mane burned orange and yellow, and his eyes shone like ice. Yet the ice in his eyes was offset by a generally jolly demeanour across his face. He wore a form-fitting bodysuit of purple and black, with yellow highlights, giving off a distinct glossy shine, unmistakably marking him as a Shadowbolt. That suit left nothing to the imagination, showing off toned definition in his muscles, suggestive of enough endurance and strength to outmatch most earth ponies. Yet his wingspan was broad enough to humiliate the average pegasus. Now she knew why her two friends were so excited.

“Ah, tankers!” Blaze peered down on Apple Bloom, grinning. While he appeared welcoming, Apple Bloom still inched back. “What might your name be, young mare?”

Before Apple Bloom had to answer, Scootaloo rushed in front of her. “Scootaloo, sir!”

“Scootaloo, then!” he chuckled. “Seen combat yet, Scootaloo?”

“No sir, this is my first deployment!”

“Then you have quite the adventure ahead of you, young mare!” Blaze patted Scootaloo on the shoulder, eliciting a squee from her.

There was a small entourage of other soldiers around him, including a few other pegasi and thestrals in Shadowbolt uniforms, and even a deer in an Equestrian officer’s uniform.

“Now, where was I?” Turning away from Scootaloo to face the audience more generally, Blaze stroked his chin. “Ah, yes! What you all need to remember about the northern side of Griffonia is that things up there are a lot less, mmh…” He twirled his hoof in a circle. “Developed, than they are here. This is relevant, you see, because while the norm down here is all brick and mortar type buildings, up there they still use a lot of timber. What’s so special about timber?

“It burns!” One pony in the audience yelled out.

“Yes, yes!” Blaze flapped his wings, hovering for a moment. “So what do you think I do when I find a wooden barracks with no windows and all the griffons inside soundly asleep?”

He thrust his hoof into the air and flames sprouted forth. It flared as the brightest thing in the tent, illuminated the surrounding faces with a flickering, fiery glow. Many gasped and recoiled, a few screamed. But, as the flames danced around his hoof and caused no harm, the tension melted away. First, Apple Bloom felt relieved. Then, the implication hit her like a brick to the face.

The fire went out, as quick as it started. “One of them got out, tried the old ‘stop, drop, and roll’, you know?” Blaze lowered his hoof and let out a giggle. “But I finished her off with my blades!”

A chorus of amazed yet disturbingly sadistic shouts and cheers erupted from the crowd. Each and every ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ sent a shiver through Apple Bloom’s skin.

“You want more?” Blaze asked, knowing the answer.

An immediate roar of “Yes!” burst forth from almost everyone in the tent. Almost everyone.

“Okay okay!” Blaze laughed. “This must have been a year ago or so, down in western Colthaginia. You all know where that is?” The gathered ponies all gave various signals of affirmation. “Yes, yes, so, the Colthaginians still use mercenaries to shore up their forces and, ehe, the thing about mercenaries is that they're not nearly as motivated as an actual soldier. Right? Right, right, we'd ambushed this one mercenary company of harpies, like a hundred of them, and they surrendered without much of a fight.” The more Blaze spoke, the more his words were laced with little tinges of laughter. “Then, hehe, then, rather than drag them all the way back to camp and go through the trouble of sheltering them or feeding them and all that stupid bullshit, let alone the paperwork… We herded them into a barn. And you know what we did?”

A thestral soldier on the other end of the tent leapt into the air, wings flapping frantically. “You cooked up some grilled harpy!”

“You really are my kind of ponies!” Blaze pointed out the thestral, speaking through chortles and giggles. “You should have heard the way they screamed! Like-” Blaze stood on his hind legs and flailed his front hooves. “Kwaak! Kwaak!”

Like a volcano spewed liquid magma, the crowd spewed a bout of laughter. Shrinking away, Apple Bloom glanced side to side searching for some sort of reassurance.

Instead, she found that Babs and Scootaloo were laughing along. It felt like a crowbar had struck her in the gut.

“Now, now.” Blaze cleared his throat and put on a stern, stoic expression, prompting the rowdy crowd to quiet down. His tone of voice changed to cold and serious, like a switch had been flipped. “I want to be absolutely clear. The Equestrian military does not deploy chemical or biological weapons on any level of operations. The same is true of the New Marelander military, and of our Aquileian allies.”

A low rumble of laughter came from the audience. Apple Bloom blinked, her brow furrowed. What an oddly specific-

A broad grin crawled onto Blaze’s face, dropping the pretence. “Chiropterra, however!”

That rumble of laughter escalated to an earthquake. It shook Apple Bloom enough for it to feel like one, her teeth chattering.

Once that died down, Blaze continued. “There was this village, somewhere in the north Zebrican territories, hippogriffs and a whole lot of them. Now, we’re special forces, we could’ve gone through the usual routine of swift fire and manuever with the weapons we had and we could have taken the village. But there were so many of them and so few of us and we’d done this so many times that-” Blaze stopped to giggle. “-that it was easier to just call in some artillery. But, we were with the Chiropterrans then and we wanted to have some fun, so we’d all brought our gas masks…”

Apple Bloom knew where this was going. The snickers and giggles of the ponies around her made it clear they did too.

Blaze himself was struggling to speak through his laughs. “Before- Haha! Before any of them knew it the entire village was flooded with sarin gas!”

And the crowd spewed forth another bout of laughter. The air felt toxic enough that Apple Bloom wondered if the tent had been flooded with poison gas too.

“That was you, wasn’t it?” Blaze nudged the deer next to him. “You ordered that strike!”

The deer looked caught in headlights. Several moments later they spoke. “In my defence, I-I didn’t know the settlement was populated.”

“Pfft!” Blaze flicked one wing dismissively and wrapped the other around the deer to pull them closer. “They’d have gone against us in the future anyway! Two problems solved in one, if you ask me! Come on Laurits, smile!”

All the while, a sour taste reached up Apple Bloom’s throat like she was about to throw up. Disgust piled up, coal was shovelled into a furnace. That furnace burned, hotter and hotter with every passing second, every laugh and taunt at the victims of these massacres was another heave of the shovel. The bile inside her twisted into something else, something raging and burning, something all consuming. The feeling in her throat turned ragged. Her eyes had locked onto Blaze. Where once she felt green, she was seeing red.

Her jaw was set, teeth grinding, hot air rushing out of her nostrils in sharp shallow bursts. Without even realising it she'd slipped her legs into something resembling a combat stance. She was face to face with a mass murderer. A mass murderer who got away with it. A mass murderer who was celebrated for it. A mass murderer who likely would never face any consequences or justice for what he did. But as her hoof pawed at the ground, Apple Bloom knew she could change that.

Every fibre of her being thrummed with the desire to punch that smug smile off the killer’s face, every chuckle only fuelling the firestorm within. She'd get in trouble for it. So what? She didn't want to fight for this armed gang of murderers and thieves. If she was going to fight, better to fight against it. Her mind's eye was already seeing it. All it would take would be a quick swing. She made no effort to hide her disgust. She made no effort to hide her intentions. She made no effort to hide her hate.

And Blaze noticed. His gaze locked onto her, like icicles stabbing into her chest. “You don’t look so happy either. Something the matter?”

“Uh-” Apple Bloom flinched. That flicker of uncertainty was enough for the flame to falter, for her thoughts to take in her surroundings. Blaze wasn’t the only pair of eyes locked onto her now that she’d been singled out. The laughs and cheers of the gathered audience died down, and for a moment that seemed to stretch forever, every new look another bucket of water poured on the furnace. Her lips sealed shut.

“Apple Bloom?” Scootaloo popped into her field of vision. So did Babs. “You good?”

“It’s-” Apple Bloom coughed. “It’s nothing,” she eventually spat out.

Her and Blaze shared a look for another tense moment. He grinned, eyes still cold. “Alright!” He spun away with a flick of his wings, facing another part of the crowd. “Well, anyway, I’ve got more, much more…”

Blowing out a breath she didn’t know she’d held, Apple Bloom scooted back and ducked. Keeping her pinned back and mouth shut, tried not to listen to the words being said. Maybe she’d find cover in the crowd. The very crowd that had just pressured her into silence.

She felt a nudge on her right. She turned, seeing Babs again.

“You can go if you want, cuz.” Babs patted Apple Bloom on the back. “Nopony’s gonna hold it against ya if this ain’t your thing.”

The cousins held their look for another moment, Babs giving a reassuring smile. It was enough to make the last few minutes fade out of her immediate thoughts, for the moment. Apple Bloom nodded, then took her chance and slipped away. Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice.

As she stepped outside, letting the rain hit her in the face, regret followed.

How how how how how HOW could she be such a COWARD?! She dropped to her haunches, her breath escaping in jagged, frosty clouds as she replayed the events over and over again in her mind. She could feel it in the moment, she could feel a righteous fury searing through her veins like electricity. And the force of the crowd short circuited it. Groaning, she buried her face in her hooves. She didn’t have to punch him, just say something. Say anything! Even if just one pony listened, even if just one pony took the time to think about what they were gloating about, then it would’ve been worth it.

With a grunt, she rose to her hooves. She turned back to the tent, seeing the entrance flap flutter in the wind. Momentarily, the thought of going back in and saying something, doing anything! It bounced around in her mind, but she knew what would await her at this point. Indifference at best, rejection at worst. Actually, given the crowd, more likely a beating. She sighed, turning away and walking back to her tent.

When she returned to her tent and went back to bed, she had about an hour to herself. Part of the time she kept her eyes open and watched the wind ripple through the tarp of the tent. At other points she forced her eyes shut. Regardless, she didn’t sleep a wink.

Later, the others returned. Gleefully chattering away about something that Apple Bloom tried to block out. Maybe if she shut her eyes tight enough she could will herself to sleep.

Babs jumped onto the bunk beneath Apple Bloom, jostling her up and forcing eyes open. “I’m gonna remember this for the rest of my life!” Babs said.

Apple Bloom shuddered. She didn’t know what would be worse. Forever living with the memory of tonight, or forgetting that she’d backed down and that her friends laughed with monsters.

4 - The Spoils of War

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.

5 - The Queen of the Battlefield

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.

6 - The Brawl in Talcara

13:40 - 14/11/1014 - Talcara, Wingbardy

Even with the offensive ongoing, soldiers needed some R&R. Living in dingy camps or trenches while in earshot of constant artillery every hour of every night whilst facing death as a matter of normalcy tended to drain a pony.

Hence why soldiers were often rotated away from active combat zones and into the rear echelon. The Crusaders had been brought to a Wingbardian coastal town called Talcara, some 60km away from the frontline. Imperial forces had faced little resistance in taking the town, sparing it from significant war damage, and at the time they were using it as a node in the logistics network.

In Talcara, one could almost forget they were in a country at war and pretend they were on a pleasant city break. High ceilings and tall, wide balconies, with lots of space for activities on the rooftops, perfect for the average griffon, but all a little big for four flightless ponies. As much as the calendars may have said winter was approaching, it was warmer than most Ponyville summers. Reminders of the war were common, such as Imperial flags fluttering in the wind atop buildings, military vehicles clogging up the main roads, and the common sight of both pony and griffon soldiers patrolling the streets. Most of the civilian population were trying to live their lives as normally as possible, with a muted minority relieved at the imminent demise of Il Duce, with others dreading what Lunar rule may bring.

Apple Bloom stopped in a nearby corner shop to grab some snacks. The only locals she saw inside were the shopkeeper and a teenaged griffon who wouldn’t stop watching her from behind the stalls. What caught Apple Bloom’s interest though, was the familiarity of the goods on sale: Equestrian snacks, Equestrian condiments, Equestrian canned goods, even Equestrian sports drinks. All imports, stickers with the nutritional information in Wingbardian language hastily slapped over the Equestrian nutritional information on the packaging. The war hadn’t done the local industry any good, the whole city was probably reliant on imports. It did mean she could snag a bottle of Sparkle Cola though, even if it came at a considerable markup compared to the cost at home.

She met her three friends for lunch at a little cafe in a quiet part of town. Thankfully the cafe staff spoke decent Equestrian. Setting them up at an outdoor table with plenty of open space, the staff was quite accommodating to the equine guests. The same couldn’t be said for the items on the menu. It was hard to find a single dish without any meat, and even harder to find anything made with apples. Sparkling apple juice was the only thing that came close, so Apple Bloom settled for one of those with a simple pasta salad.

A radio hung over the cafe’s door, crackling as it tried to play music, drowned under by tinny, warbling static. It was a Wingbardian model, mass produced and sold cheaply as part of a pre-war government initiative to disseminate propaganda, as the radios could only tune into state approved frequencies. Yet since this part of the country fell under Lunar occupation, those stations had been seized with those not under their control banned. The DJs had changed, but the purpose was largely the same. Apple Bloom tried to tune it out.

Scootaloo had brought a comic book along and after each bite of her eggplant and tomato toastie, she’d flip the page. Past the chewing, frequent groans, scoffs, and cringes were heard. It caught the attention of her friends.

“This might just be me getting older,” Scootaloo sighed. “But Power Ponies has gotten so much worse.”

“Y’think?” Babs leaned forward, chewing on her sandwich.

“Yeah, I can’t read it without cringing at every other panel anymore.” Scootaloo turned to the previous page and tapped on one of the panels. “Like look at this.”

Sweetie, Babs, and Apple Bloom put their dishes aside and peered at the panel in question. None of the three onlookers could recognise the character, a cyborg griffon with huge hulking muscles bigger than their head, metal wings, and a giant mechanical eye as well as black tactical gear strapped onto every square inch of their near-naked body. They were screaming at an offscreen character, their mouth open so wide that their jaw seemed unhinged. “You fool!” the character’s dialogue read, Babs providing a monotonous voice. “I’ll omegakill you!”

Babs chuckled. “What?”

“Yeah!” Scootaloo spread her wings and forelegs out. “Like, what were they thinking? It’s so stupid!”

“What’s his deal?” asked Sweetie, tapping the overdesigned griffon. “Is he a new character?”

Scootaloo sighed. “That’s Omegakill, he’s-”

“His name is Omegakill?”

“Yeah,” Scootaloo snickered. “He’s meant to be like, his parents were killed by the Archonate when he was a kid, and then they kidnapped him and turned into a cyborg supersoldier.”

“The Archonate?” Apple Bloom raised an eyebrow. “Archonate of Griffenheim?”

“Yeah, them,” Scootaloo confirmed.

Apple Bloom reached her hoof out, sliding the comic book closer to get a better look. There was the panel that Scootaloo drew their attention to, but Apple Bloom found her eyes scanning the earlier panels. They showed one of the Power Ponies (Zapp? Radiance? She wasn’t sure.) bloodied and bruised and backed into a corner by this ‘Omegakill’ character.

The superpony’s dialogue read, “You may kill me now, but you can never kill the Equestrian spirit! I am ready to die a martyr for the great Lunar Empire, if that is what you will do! I am not afraid of dying for my fellow Equestrians! For that is what it means to be a hero!”

What? It was enough to make Apple Bloom physically cringe.

“I know, right?” Scootaloo said.

Apple Bloom looked up from the page. “Have they always been like that?”

Scootaloo sighed. “No, they actually used to try.”

“No, I mean-” Apple Bloom pointed to the panels with all the patriotic mumbo jumbo. “-like that.”

Scootaloo’s mouth hung open. “Uhh…”

A chair scraped across the ground. Sweetie’s chair, scooting closer to the table and catching everyone’s attention. “Since the war started they’ve been leaning heavily into the military stuff,” she interjected. “They put a lot of effort into it, or at least used to. A lot of the new comics are based on true stories,” She looked down at the super cyborg griffon on the page, “Well kinda true, anyways.”

“Whaddya mean, kinda?” Apple Bloom’s ears flicked forwards. While Sweetie wasn’t a comic book nerd by any stretch of the imagination, she tended to know a thing or two about the process. Those stories were often more interesting than the comics themselves.

“First one they did was ‘Tropical Storm’,” Sweetie said. “Power Ponies fighting the Hippogriffs. The writers spoke with ponies who’d actually fought down there and based the narrative on their experiences.”

“Those ones are pretty good,” added Babs, “where they focus on things that actually happen.”

“You think this one might’ve happened?” Scootaloo flipped through the pages a little. “Maybe they got lazy and made Omegakill up.”

Sweetie’s hoof went to her chin. “Hm, might’ve been.”

Apple Bloom could catch glimpses of panels on the page whilst Scootaloo flipped through. Wingbardian soldiers were all over the pages. Faceless. Monotonous. Struck down by the dozen by bold Equestrian soldiers led by colourful superheroes. When they weren’t just fodder for the heroes to beat up, they committed acts of villainy that showed just how little imagination the writer had. Kicking dogs for fun, laughing maniacally at their own evil thoughts, and threatening to blow up the town’s dam, and the like. Come on. This wasn’t based on true events.

Scootaloo flicked the comic shut with a sigh, throwing herself back into her chair. “Man, I was so excited after Tropical Storm! I wanted to read more comics about real heroes and real bad guys! Then it got all… dumb!”

“Some of them are good!” Babs put her hooves on the table. “Did you read Endless Jungle?”

“Yeah, some…” Scootaloo sat up and took a bite out of her toastie. “I liked ‘Hold Hoovesplain’, to be honest.”

“Can’t forget ‘The Terrible Trinity’,” Sweetie added.

A snicker popped out of Scootaloo, along with some food. “That one was fun, but a bit much.” She wiped her grinning muzzle. “Aquileians believe in those gods, too.”

Apple Bloom’s whole body froze, only her eyes blinking. “Whut?”

Shifting in her seat a little, Sweetie cleared her throat. “They did a miniseries a while back., The Power Ponies went up against the Griffonian Trinity of Gods,” she said. “They uh, they cancelled it after the first issue. It kicked up a lot of backlash, even from a lot of ponies in Equestria.”

“Shame, I really liked it,” Babs sighed.

“Oh yeah, and the art in those temple scenes?” Scootaloo smiled, wings fluttering. “The way they drew those fanatics, the way they were all frothing at the beak! Nevermind how insanely detailed that crowd was, like an ocean of fanatics!”

The others chatted away whilst Apple Bloom herself pulled back. Truth be told, Apple Bloom hadn't been into comic books at any point in her life. But if what her friends told her was true, they'd taken the path of every other form of media in the last few years.

Movies, TV, novels, music, everything. Wartime censorship choked creative freedom, the military was forcibly integrated into the entertainment industry, and the mass cultural push of patriotic themes overwhelmed any relatable or personal themes. A newly released TV episode or action movie likely had more Imperial flags shown in it than Scootaloo had feathers on her wings, political interference being the only explanation that made sense.

But, what was the harm in letting the military get involved in entertainment? All that blingy tech and those massive budgets had them pushing the boundaries of filmmaking. Where’s the harm in suggesting your griffon neighbour might be a spy for a foreign enemy? It makes an incredible hook for an espionage thriller. What’s the harm in demonising foreign soldiers and rendering them as thoughtless explosion fodder? Don’t stop to think about that, just look at those effects!

And what’s so harmful about drilling this into the heads of millions of impressionable young ponies, before sending them off to a foreign land to kill? It’s just a story after all, isn’t it?

“Apple Bloom?” Scootaloo waved her hoof in front of Apple Bloom.

Apple Bloom blinked, suddenly more aware of her surroundings. “Hm?”

The other three were giving her a look. Scootaloo snickered. “You looked like you zoned out there for a minute, you good?”

“Ah- Nothing.” Apple Bloom shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Not got much to say. Ah was never into comics like y'all are.” Which was technically true.

The others stared at her for a second, then shrugged themselves. Scootaloo opened her mouth to speak but was cut off by clattering metal against the wooden table. Everypony turned their eyes down to the table. They gasped.

A grenade.

“Get down!” Sweetie screamed.

Apple Bloom threw herself down, and Babs and Scootaloo did so too. Her back struck the stone ground as a muffled bang filled the air. Sweetie screamed. Apple Bloom shot up to her hooves and spun towards Sweetie. Sweetie was still seated and whole, not a scratch on her, but agonised cries were escaping her mouth as her eyes were clenched shut. She frantically grasped her horn and writhed on the spot, nearly falling off her chair as she struggled to prop herself up.

“Sweetie!” Apple Bloom dashed over to help her friend, putting a leg around her to hold her upright. “Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

Sweetie’s eyes snapped open and locked on Apple Bloom. Pupils dilated, scleras practically blood red. Sweetie clenched them shut again. A groan passed through her gritted teeth. “I put a-a shield around it,” Sweetie gasped, tears welling in her eyes. “Taught as p-part of my training, but- nrrg!” She tensed up, Apple Bloom held her closer. “I didn’t think it’d hurt that much,” she cried, putting a hoof to her horn. “Dammit, aagh!”

A quick glance at the table showed the whole surface was undamaged. The grenade was nothing but a small pile of powder and fragments. Even their food was unharmed, but no time for that.

“Someone call an ambulance!” Apple Bloom yelled, looking around the street as an audience of ponies and griffons was slowly assembling. “Uh, ambulanza! Ambulanza!”

“There!”

Scootaloo’s voice cut the air like a guillotine. Both her and Babs were standing, thankfully uninjured. Apple Bloom looked where Scootaloo was pointing, at a griffon across the street. The griffon, light brown feathers and donning a black shirt, had his right claw outstretched as if he’d just thrown something, with the pin and spoon of a grenade at the ground before him. His face was clear in view, soft round babyish cheeks and a tense beak. His eyes darted from crusader to crusader, their breath getting heavier.

“Merda,” the griffon muttered, recoiling his extended claw. He turned and ran.

“Oh no you don’t!” Scootaloo dashed off after the griffon. Babs followed close behind, their hooves pounding against the cobblestone. The griffon attempted to jump skyward, his wings spread wide. Before he could gain altitude, Scootaloo pounced forward and bit into his tail. The griffon flailed his talons and wings in the air. With a heave, Scootaloo brought the griffon crashing down to the ground. He couldn’t attempt to get up before Babs kicked him into the concrete.

“Fuckin’ asshole!” Babs punted the griffon in the face. The griffon squawked, a cough of blood splattering to the ground.

“Trying to kill us, huh?” Scootaloo jumped on the griffon’s back, making him screech. “For what? Taking a night off?!”

Flinching at every punch, Apple Bloom watched from afar, her breath heavy and jaw hanging low.

“Ya don’t fuck with the Crusaders!” Babs kicked the back of the griffon’s head into the road.

“Break his beak!” Scootaloo had his wings pinned down.

As the beating continued, Apple Bloom held Sweetie tight. She had no idea her friends were capable of such savagery. Every good and honest instinct in her body begged for her to call for them to stop. Stop and take a moment to breathe. Stop and calm down. Stop and come help Sweetie. Stop and wait for the authorities to arrive so he could be dealt with properly. Stop before they’d seriously injure him or worse.

Yet the words never left her head.

“Hold it! Stop!”

A stern voice blasted over the street. Trotting up to the scene were a pair of Lunar soldiers, donning white helmets marked with the letters ‘MP’. Breaking off from the beating, Babs and Scootaloo promptly hurried to their hooves and stepped away from the griffon, lying bloody and motionless.

“What in Tartarus is going on here?” one of the soldiers barked.

“Uhh,” Scootaloo stammered. “Him!” She pointed at the griffon. “He threw a freakin’ grenade at us!”

“Yeah, he attacked us!” Babs corroborated. “He was trying to get away, so we stopped him!”

“Hey!” Apple Bloom called as she waved to the officers. “We need an ambulance!”

Babs and Scootaloo turned around, showing Apple Bloom their sweat-drenched, slightly blood-splattered faces. It took them a moment to process what had happened to her. “Sweetie!” They both rushed into gallops.

“Oh no, Sweetie!” Babs skidded to a stop upon reaching the table. “Sweetie, are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” Sweetie groaned, her eyes blinking open momentarily before clenching shut again. “It’s just my horn!”

Scootaloo rushed up by Sweetie’s side, her eyes already teary. “I-is that the grenade?” she stammered, pointing to the table.

Sweetie nodded her head, lips pressed tight. “What’s left of it.”

“Sweetie Belle, stars above, you saved our lives!” Scootaloo lurched forward to grab Sweetie in a hug, unknowingly pushing Apple Bloom off.

A smile finally started to grow on Sweetie’s muzzle, tears still streaking down her cheeks as she slowly opened her eyes. “I wouldn’t be a very good friend if I wasn’t looking out for you,” she wheezed through short chuckles.

Apple Bloom forced a smile, but she felt her eyes drifting back to the street. Soldiers were perched over the griffon and onlookers had assembled on the side of the street. The griffon hadn’t moved at all, blood trickling out of his mouth onto the cobblestone.

It wasn’t too long before two ambulances arrived on the scene, a military ambulance and a civilian ambulance. The griffon was loaded onto a stretcher and carried onto the civilian ambulance, while Sweetie walked herself onto the military ambulance with the Crusaders by her side.

After getting Sweetie Belle checked out by the medics, a local doctor told the Crusaders more about the assailant. Named Artiglio Marroni, a local member of the National Fascist Party’s youth wing. Due to the beating, his beak and wings were broken and he had gone blind in one eye. He’d soon be questioned about where he got his grenade and if he had any more information about fascist partisans in the area. Then he’d be tried in a Lunar military court for four separate counts of attempted murder, a crime punishable by death.

“Serves him right!” was Scootaloo’s initial reaction. She proudly spread her wings and held her chin up.

“Too bad we didn’t finish him right then and there!” Babs scoffed in much the same manner as Scootaloo, as a smirk reached across her face.

“One less fascist on the streets, I guess.” Sweetie shrugged. She still couldn’t stop looking up at her horn and wincing.

And yet when Apple Bloom heard all this information, and as she took in the reactions from her friends, she couldn’t share their glee. The medic mentioned another fact in passing. When Apple Bloom heard it, it was all that seemed to matter.

He was just 14.