This Galaxy Ain’t Big Enough...
Part 1: Planetfall
“It’s time to buck ass and drink apple whiskey! And I’m all out of fuckin’ whiskey...”
“The universe is a huge place. Ok, we shouldn’t go that grand. Let’s say the galaxies are huge places. They really are. Yet somehow, sentient creatures keep killing each other over planets? Well, it might be understandable with humanity and all the sub-breeds of humans. Even with advanced technology of altering DNA and space travel, none have the ability to shape the face of planets. The galaxy is huge, yes. But few planets are hospitable for human life, most of them are remotely able to support life at best. So Class III planets, which are almost identical to Earth, are treasures worth starting wars for.”
These strands of thoughts raced through the mind of Lieutenant Commander Desmond Blatcher, communications officer of the Monarchy Warship Titan, an Apocalypse-class Guided Missile Destroyer. He was proud of his service: the Titan was a legendary ship, almost a hundred years old, and second of her class (the first one, Apocalypse, met her end fifty years ago). She survived more battles than the rest of the destroyers combined. And to date, the Titan was the only chimeran ship that executed “Planet Scorching”, completely devastating a planet’s surface with orbital, thermonuclear bombardment. All in all, it was an honor to serve aboard this ship, and Desmond reveled in the opportunity. Still, their upcoming voyage troubled him. As he checked all the military channels, his thoughts drifted back their previous grounds.
“This planet... Equin Prime they codenamed now, will be different. This is so much more about that downed Confederate troopship, and what classified cargo it carried. This is the first time mankind is facing a sentient alien race, whom this habitable planet belongs. This is the moment we can truly show who we are. What will be the outcome? Will they be hostile?... Well, the crew of the Subotica might give a positive on THAT, but THEY were the ones who pissed that thing off with something... I guess if I got abducted, I would be rampaging too...”
As the staff prepared the ship for departure, the captain arrived for the final briefing.
“Captain on the bridge!” Desmond ordered as the senior officer. All three of them froze in a salute, till Captain Marrick eased them. He took his seat and strapped himself in on the center of the cramped, small bridge, and started up the command console and holographic radar projector. The dimly lit room was filled with pristine blue low-light as the tiny hologram of the Titan and its surroundings appeared floating at front of him. The three officers also fastened their seatbelts and readied themselves.
“All right, this is it.” Marrick said. “Everyone knows the plan, and their part in it. On note however.” the captain sighed in frustration. “We will have a little backup: The frigates Corinth and Minotaur will also shock into the system to cover Shockpoint Alpha and hold up possible Confederate rescue attempts to the troopship Subotica.”
Both Jamie Flinn, the fire control officer, and Nikolay Strovosky, the navigation officer grumbled on the change of plans, but Desmond remained silent. None of the crew liked to co-operate with dim-witted, snobbish frigate captains, whom thought they own space just because they commanded ships designed to bring down destroyers like the Titan. Marrick also noted their dislike. “I don’t like it either, but sack it up. Hopefully we won’t even meet them during the entire operation. Final prep check!” he ordered. Everyone automatically knew what to do. The first was Jamie.
“DEW 1 to 8 locked and ready. MAG 1 to 12 locked and ready. FLAK battery 1 to 16 locked and ready. Missile battery 1 to 6 cold, locked and ready. MAC chamber locked and ready. All fire stations reporting in and good to go.”
It was Desmond’s turn to call in all stations and report their status.
“Hangar deck is ready... Medical bay ready... Marine detachment set and ready... SeCorp detachment set and ready... Fusion reactor 1 to 4 reporting in, normal fluctuation and output, set and ready... Comm deck reporting in... Array 1 to 3 ready, control tower... uh, set, ready. All stations reporting in and good to go.”
Finally, Nikolay checked the engine deck.
“Engine deck reporting in... Sublight pod 1 to 6 burning on optimal output. Energy input stable... Shock Core reporting in... Core is charged to 60% capacity, should be at 100 till we reach Shockpoint Omega.”
“Acknowledged.” Marrick nodded contentedly and opened up a communication channel with the Navy High Command. “Command, this is the MWS Titan, all system green, we’re ready for departure.”
Thankfully the answer arrived with relative small lag, since they were still orbiting Chimera. “You have a go, Titan. Our future is writing on this, Captain, don’t fail us.”
“We won’t.” Marrick replied with sternly.
“May the Void watch over your voyage. Command out.” the channel was closed. There was nothing left to say. The captain took a deep breath before giving out the final order that will begin their, possibly, most exciting mission ever.
“Lieutenant Strovosky, set an escape course to Shockpoint Omega, full burn.”
“Aye, captain...”
***
For weeks now, the sun was scorching the Wastelands. It was hard to adjust to. The thick cloud layer gave such comfort to combat hangovers compared to that darn shiny ball of fire. Buckshot moaned as he slowly tried to open his eyes. The throbbing pain in his head was a little more bearable since his brain was properly plugged back to where it belonged. The Doctors said something about improvements and more clever thinking, but the raider buck certainly didn’t use these abilities to their full potential. Finally, he gave up the fight to see the world, and turned to his side. His snout twitched instantly when he felt the not-so-sweet scent of a familiar mare.
Stocker was already awake, stretching her limbs and yawning like a lazy cat. She winked at Buckshot and gently hugged her.
“Well wasn’t the last night something special?” she cooed.
“I fucked you a few times now, you know...” Buckshot grunted, lying still in the hooves of the mare. He tried to raise his eyelids again, this time, slowly, painfully, but with success. He soon regretted it.
They were holed up in his ruined two-story building, Celestia’s sun almost reached the zenith. All around them, empty Apple Whiskey bottles were stacked up. It wasn’t a surprising view, but something was awfully wrong, he could feel it, but could not grasp it.
“But you only screwed me once before, you stallion, you...” a low, powerful, yet clearly feminine voice purred from his other side. This made Buckshot puzzled for a moment. But when he slowly turned around, and faced the two-headed brahmin with a clearly satisfied grin on both of her faces, he wished he never woke up.
“Does this count as three-, or foursome?” Stocker asked absently as she curled even tighter on Buckshot.
“Well, Bertha also felt everything, so I guess it’s a foursome.” Fat Hilda snickered.
/If watching counts, than it was a fivesome.../ a timid voice squeed from the soundblasters of a pale-blue helmet, stacked up on an armor with similar coloring at a corner.
added the brain-controlled Flak Cannon next to Fluttersuit.
“I need more drink... Anything with ALCOHOL...” the raider buck slowly stood on all fours, and wobbled out of the ruins in shock. As the girls watched him, they exchanged an all-knowing look.
“Oh don’t worry, he just need to process all the good stuff he went through last night.” Stocker said. Suddenly, both of them burst out of laughter.
As Buckshot stumbled down to camp, he did try to conjure up all he had to endure last night. Fortunately, a thick cloud of consumed whiskey prevented that, and he even scolded himself for trying to tear up such horror on him.
“Buckshot!” somepony called out to him, but he just kept trotting, scanning his surroundings for booze with fierce determination. The raider ponies around him kept biting their lips and snickering quietly, avoiding eye contact. His tenacity was rewarded: the buck found a half-empty bottle of Apple Whiskey, which he instantly started gulping down.
“BUCKSHOT!” a giant of a mare barked, yet his only reaction was turning around slowly, with the bottle still in his mouth.
“Whaff?!” he frowned.
Bladethresher was wearing her trademark metal armor that clad most of her body in sharp blades. Her crazed neon gaze struck down on his subordinate, but Buckshot’s only objective was to absorb the delicious contents of the bottle, and he decided that nothing can prevent him from reaching this noble goal.
Yet something in Bladethresher’s snarky smile disrupted him. “Somepony’s here to see you.” she smirked.
“Whof?” he looked around, but saw no new face around the camp.
In opposite to balefire explosions, or anti-machine fire, it was the sound of this terrible strike that struck Buckshot first, not the visual. The source of the painfully familiar and constant, scratchy, grumpy voice slowly closed in. As the raider buck realized who has come to visit him, he facehoofed, with the whiskey bottle still hanging out of his snout. “Ohf fufck nhof...”
“Ya call this ey CAMP? This eys ey DUMP, EY PILE O’ WASTE AH SAY! Wha’ are ya lookin’ at, ya PUNK! If ya runt drop ey SINGLE RIVET of mah equipmen’, ah’ll END YA, YA HEAR MEH? Ah’ll SHOVE mah BOOMSTICK up on yer filthy BUNGHOLE! Oh boyo, how maney o’ ya youngster runnin’ ‘round ‘ere. Wha’s this, COLT COMM’NDO?! Anyway, where’s mah gran’son, tha’ lill’ sheit? BUCKSHOT, GET YER WORTHLESS HIDE OVAH ‘ERE, THIS ‘NSTANT!”
“Oh, he’s right over here, Old Flak, he was just about to greet you!” Bladetresher cooed sadistically. Buckshot spat the bottle “accidentally” at the direction of the mare’s head, but she evaded the glass projectile with ease.
“Hi, grandpa’...” the raider trotted forward with head down, staring at the dirt. The next moment, his head was bashed to the ground by a levitated, sturdy metal walking stick.
“There yer are!” Old Flak grunted as he had a look at his recovering grandson. A fully packed raider stallion crawled himself up to him, barely able to move under the pile of scanners, magical energy rifles, portable reactors and consoles. “Where would you like me to put these, sir?” he huffed in exhaustion before he finally collapsed.
“There well bey good, youn’ster.” the old unicorn noted it for a moment before turning his attention back at Buckshot. “Nah ah ‘ear ey lot o’ rumours ‘bout ya up in ol’ Buck’ngham. Bloo’wings chirp that ya had a lill’ farther-th’n-the-sky trip an’ brought down somethin’ ah might bey int’rested in.”
Buckshot frowned, but he didn’t expect much else from the old unicorn. Old Flak was a rarity in the Equestrian Wasteland, who would be called a “tech raider” by most ponies. He was obsessed with anything that is at least remotely related to technology, be it pony-, zebra-, hellhound-, or griffinmade, and as the years passed on him, he learned his trade with them to a level that would put Steel Ranger scribes to shame. He talked to the machines, and the machines talked back to him, no matter their origins or function. Most probably that is the reason why he was never able to handle other ponies, or as a matter of fact, any other organic sentient creature, and no one could bear him either for more than five minutes.
“Grandpa’, I don’t have a fucking clue where that ship crashlanded, I fell in a giant robot of theirs.”
“Ey that so, uh?...” Old Flak’s eyes shined up with an unnerving light. “But ya rem’mber where that robot landed, eh?”
“Well, yeah, but-” boom, another headshot with the Boomstick. “Ow...” the buck grumbled as he scratched his new, small bump on his forehead.
“Nay debation, then! Pack yer lunchbox, ‘cause wey set out ta see that robot righta’ nao!
“Yes, grandpa’...” Buckshot growled, and he was about to trot to his residence when Bladethresher intervened.
“Now just hold on a second, Buckshot’s MY minion, and he does MY bidding!” the giant mare stomped a hoof at Old Flak, however he didn’t even flinch. The pile of equipment came alive next to him, and suddenly, two dozen magical energy and plasma rifles shot in the air in levitation fields, each pointing at a member of the gang, except Buckshot, who just facehoofed... Some had the honor to be targeted by two or three weapons, like Bladetresher, stunned in surprise.
“Nao ya listen ‘ere, ALL O’ YA, ya maggots!” the old unicorn roared in an unnaturally powerful voice that made most of the raiders cover under their hooves. “This ‘ere is kin!” he waved a hoof at his grandson. “Meanin’ ahm doin’ WHAT’VER AHM LUNA FRAKKIN’ WANT! An’ if ah say ahm gonna take mah grandson to ey trip, than AHM GONNA FRAKKIN’ DO SO!”
As Old Flak finished, dead silence fell to the camp, which was only undermined by the humming of the charged magical energy weapons. The old buck noting his succes with a “hmpf”, he gathered up his guns floating all around him and turned to trot away. “Off with ya, Buckshot. Meet meh on the road in five!” he grumbled as he passed him.
Buckshot glanced through the camp, the raiders returning to their earlier stuff, but shooting nervous looks at the departing old unicorn. Bladethresher trotted up to him, but said nothing, instead she too was keeping an eye out of Old Flak.
“Yeah, well, like you heard, no debation here.” Buckshot snickered and the mare shot a look at him that promised tons of suffering.
“Just get back here as soon as you’re done with him.” she growled in frustration, but suddenly her ears perked up and a greedy smile appeared on her snout. “Come to think of it, if you DO manage to find that alien craft, I may be interested in its loot.”
Buckshot couldn’t help but start laughing. As Bladethresher raised an eyebrow, he huffed to be able to speak.
“If you think my grandpa’ let you take a single rivet from that thing, you’re a bigger idiot than I ever claimed you to be!” He kept snickering as he trotted up to his house. “Luna’s horn, that was a good one, baws...”
The giant mare glanced at him in silence till he disappeared behind the ruined walls of the apartment. As she turned to tend to the plans of their next raid, she just missed how a certain brahmin was bucked in the air and sent sprawling to the nearby hills from the house...
***
“At ease, take a seat...” Staff Sargeant Sakharov ordered as he rushed in to the briefing room. Before him, the whole company of the Marine Detachment was waiting hectically, yet in silence. Eighty pairs of silvery glimmering eyes fixated on him in the darkened room. He turned on the console before him and started up the holoprojector.
“I heard some wild rumours around the ship before we shocked in to this system...” He started, tampering with the machine. “Huh, I gotta say you guys have a pretty fucked up imagination.” He smirked as he dug up a small data storage device from one of his pocket. “But this shit beats all...” as he plugged in the device to the console, the holoprojector materialized a small, slowly rotating picture of an equin creture with a mohawk as a mane. It was wearing some sort of clothing that looked like it was stitched together from multiple fabric, and stained by fluids, possibly blood. While it mostly looked like an animal, twisted, evil sentience radiated from its ridiculously huge eyes.
“... What is this?” someone blurted out.
“This bastard is the alien that brought down the troopship Subotica.” the sargeant crossed his arms in disgust. Awkward silence fell again for a moment, but it didn’t take long for the floodgates to tear down and give way to the barrage of comments.
“It’s a horse...”
“Ahahah, good one, sarge!”
“Come ooon, this can’t be serious!”
“I think it’s kinda cute...”
“It’s a horse...”
“You’re right, sargeant, this beats all.”
“It’s...”
“Wait, what?”
“a...”
“How large are these things?”
“FUCKING...”
“Can’t be larger than a shadecat.”
“HORSE!”
“No, I think it’s a pony!”
Sakharov sighed and facepalmed.
“Enough! For all you idiots who think is a prank, I got news for you: it’s NOT. I don’t give two shits about how these aliens look like, all I care about is that a SINGLE little fucker of them killed off dozens of armed confederate soldiers, hijacked a Malkovite-class battlemech and caused enough damage for a troopship-sized vessel to crashland. In my book, they are considered hostile and extremely fucking dangerous, and ALL of you should take it that way. Now, for the objectives and playbook...”
It took about an hour for Sakharov to review all the details of the mission. In short, platoon Alpha and Beta will be dropped from low-orbit to the vicinity of the crashed troopship, while platoon Gamma stays behind as backup on the dropships. This caused some ruckus from the marines of Gamma, but the sargeant assured them they will probably see plenty of action, since initial telemetry scans of the Titan spotted several supposed infrastructure junctions in a hundred miles radius from the Subotica.
“Now, to sum it up: our main objective is to reach the Subotica, look for confederate survivors, and find out what classified cargo the troopship was carrying. Secondary objective is to capture one of these... aliens, if we happen to stumble upon them. Probability of this is unknown. Consider them hostile, and dangerous, people, despite how they look like. Remember, a single specimen wrecked a ship full of soldiers. ETA till mission start 5-0-0. Any questions?”
“No, sargeant!” replied the whole company in chorus.
“Dismissed, then...”
As the marines stood up and made their way out of the briefing room, Sakharov could hear the discussions among them.
“At least they are not human-plant hybrids this time...”
“Honestly, I would face the Clorwyons again instead of these. How am I supposed to shoot them? I’d die of laughter if we meet one.”
“Oh, so you rather fight against flesh-eating, blood-drinking demonspawns-of-humans again? You joined the Corps at the end of the war, but I saw the decks of their slaughterships... And they still haunt me in nightmares...”
“It’s a horse!”
“No, It’s a pony!”
As the room emptied, the sargeant turned his gaze on the still-rotating hologram. The creature grinned at him viciously.
“What’s so funny, huh? I’ll rip that grin off your fucking face once we get down there...” he said sternly before pulling the data storage out of the holoprojector, making the image disappear and plunging the room in total darkness...
***
“Ey still can’ imagine why the hay did ya left there lab so fast!” Old Flak grumbled for hours now, as the trotted through the wastes towards the crashlanded alien battlemech.
“Like I said, it’s either that or I get sliced apart by a fucked up giant robot.” Buckshot frowned, for hours now.
“Ya could ‘avee still grabbed more stuff than a... barkin’ gun and a whinin’ armor.” the old unicorn continued his never-ending bickering.
/He’s so mean... Why’s he so mean?!”/ Fluttersuit whimpered, guess what, for hours now. The raider buck tried to ignore both of them, inevitably failing at it. He always wondered why does he obey him at all. He didn’t even care about what Bladethresher orders him usually, he only does her bidding because he also feel like murdering and rampaging. But when he gets to do other stuff, that hulking bitch can’t make him go in the world...
But Old Flak... Old Flak never changes. He was always scared of him, especially when he was a little colt. When her mother ditched him to his grandfather so she can do drugs and whatever else with other raider stallions and mares, he spent a lot of time in his underground bunker deep in the ruins Buckhingam. Old Flak was just as much of an asshole back than. At least he got to play with a lot of cool stuff when the old unicorn had other things to do. He tampered with robots, magical energy weapons and command consoles controlling large cannons rigged on the top of the bunker.
Bukchingam, home of many raider factions killing each other off become more and more ruined with each of Buckshot’s visit to his grandfather. Of course when he was caught, Old Flak was always raging, but as soon as he had a look at the destruction the little colt caused, a shred of pride glimmered from his wrinkled eyes, before he smacked him with his Boomstick for good. A habit he seemed fond of to practice on pretty much anypony in attack range.
Old habits die hard, somepony say... He couldn’t help but think that’s the reason why he listens to that old bastard.
“So how’s Mom?” he asked to divert the subject from the Big Crater Labs.
“Frak if ah know...” Old Flak shrugged “Hope that bitch choked onna few trac’r shells.”
“Nah, we don’t have that fat luck...”
“Speakin’ o’ fat luck...” the old unicorn stopped and pointed a hoof toward a hill. “Is that the robot yer talking ‘bout?”
On the top of the hill, two enormous, insect-like legs starked towards the blue sky.
/Oh my.../ Fluttersuit muttered. /This is... gigantic!/
“Yeah, these aliens are compensating something if you ask me.” the raider grinned and glanced at Old Flak, but he remained just as grumpy as he always have been. Buckshot frowned and kept trotting.
It took them a while till they climbed the slopes of the hill, but as soon as they reached the crashed robot, the older unicorn dashed at the treasure. It looked exactly like when the raider buck left it. In fact, he was in a lot worse shape than the sturdy battlemech back then, and considering it impacted to stone after many miles of fall, it was quite a feat. Old Flak also noted this, as he crawled inside the cramped cockpit and started to tamper with the still functioning computers.
“Make yarself useful an’ keep ey guard up, aye?” he yelled from the inside of the mech, before returning to inconsistent mumbled and bashing the computers with his Boomstick.
“Yeah, whatever, old fuc- I mean Flak.” Buckshot grumbled, but he took a stance at the entrance hatch.
/Uhm... I’m really sorry to bother you.../ Fluttersuit said nervously. /But I noticed something hostile is approaching./
The raider shot up in anticipation, and turned to the direction of the small red icon on his EFS.
“Oh good, finally something to shoot!” he grinned, but that grin froze on his face when the creature climbed the mountain and appeared before him. “Luna rape me...”
It looked like the exact copy of the hulking alien that nearly killed him in the Big Crater Labs, if it wasn’t for Professors. This one didn’t bother with any introduction or show of emotion either, it immediately fixated its arm guns on him. Buckshot remembered well how the shrapnels barely put a dent on its thick armor, yet he opened fire nonetheless.
Clouds of splinter hit the alien, slightly knocking it out of balance and making it miss the raider. This gave him enough time to dash behind the elongated head of the battlemech for cover.
“GRANDPA’! COULD USE SOME HELP HERE!” He yelled while he peaked out of the corner, only to be greeted by twin coherent energy beams. The creature approached with stomping steps, constantly firing.
“GIT THE NOISE DOWN, YA ‘EAR? AHM TRYIN’ TO WORK’ ‘ERE!” came Old Flak’s annoyed response from the bowels of the machine.
/Can we finally try out my stealth ability?/ the A.I. timidly suggested.
“You have stealth ability?” Buckshot frowned as he gallopped away from the alien, which it reluctantly followed him, slicing and stomping apart everything in its path. If Fluttersuit would have hooves, she would have facehoofed, yet she activated her primal function. The greased panels enveloping the armor shimmered with magical energy. Suddenly, the alien stopped its chase, turned around in confusion and started walking aimlessly. The raider buck also slowed to a trot as he glimpsed back, and stopped completely as he realized his life is not in immediate danger anymore.
“Well Celestia blow me, this comes handy.” he breathed under his muzzle.
/They don’t call me stealth suit for nothing!/ the A.I. chirped with pride, but as a wild fizzing blew out numerous little panels and the stealth field dissipated, she let out a terrified /Eep!/.
“And how do they call you for that?” Buckshot snarked, while the hulking armor turned on him again. Its barrels were charging up but had no time to fire anymore: one of the legs of the giant battlemech twitched and smashed it to the ground with a thunderous thump that knocked Buckshot off his hooves.
As he recovered, Old Flak appeared from the hatch, now wearing a Pipbuck on his right forehoof. He glanced around and shrugged.
“Heh, those were da mov’ment controls, ah guess. Anyhow, ah got the c’ordinates for dat ship of theirs. Nay time fer dilly-dallin’ and lollygaggin’!” he levitated his equipment out of the cockpit and started to trot off the hill. Buckshot frowned but got on all fours to join his grandfather.
***
Aboard the Titan, its huge hangar bay was busy in that hour. While chimeran ships are generally large in size, their interiors are a maze of narrow corridors and cramped, small rooms. Besides from the usual Marine Corps or SeCorp detachment, the crew is surprisingly small. Most of the space is taken by the numerous weapon systems, missile batteries and the thick Titanium-A battle plating, which gives their gargantuan, menacing appearance. The only relatively large interiors in these ships are the mess hall and the hangar bay. Therefore, the bulky armour of the chimeran marines are stored in the hangar, so when a detachment is about to be deployed, the place is suddenly filled with life.
Staff Sargeant Sakharov observed the company with a faint smile as they suited up. He was already wearing his hulking Hauberk Marine Armor. Before him, man and women climbed into their open armors, or just finished their nerve linking and synchronizing to their suit. Technicians helped them enclose the equipment, and after a little pressure equalizing and movement tests, the giants fell in line, one by one, waiting for the final debriefing.
The Clarion dropships already started up their fusion reactors when the company commander, Lieutenant Kirovsky performed a quick muster on his readied marines.
“You know me, people. I’m not a man of big speeches.” he started, his electronically amplified voice filled the hangar bay. “We all know our task, yet we don’t know next to nothing about what we will face down there.” he snickered. “Does it make any difference?”
“NO, IT DOES NOT!” the chorus of 80 marines echoed through the bay, and probably through the whole ship.
“We’re Chimerans! We’re Marines! No matter what the Universe throws at us, we’ll CRUSH THEM, like we did with ALL FOES before. And if the Void claims you down there, welcome it with open arms, and with a brave smile! So haul in, and the Void watch over you all!”
War cries rocked the hangar once more, as the marines started to board their designated dropships. Sakharov was about to go too when the Lieutenant put a hand on his shoulderplate.
“You will lead Alpha Platoon, as always, Sargeant.”
“Aye, sir...”
“I’ll be in the skies with Gamma. When you’re down there fighting aliens, just think about your brethren above you fighting boredom.”
Sakharov couldn’t help but snicker. “Will do, sir!”
“Good...”
Minutes later the Clarion dropships were all preparing to launch in the closed airlocks. The sargeant checked the magnetic straps in his drop pod. Even with his armor on, the impact would crush him in half without proper fixation. The low humming of the engines throve to permanent roar and Sakharov felt the g-force as the dropships launched from the bay, into the dark void of space. To pass time, he linked his network on the gun cam of the dropship’s lower turret. The brown and deep blue marble of Equin Prime lay before him, most likely the locale of mankind’s next great act: interaction with real aliens.
/Reminds me of Earth./ an electronic buzz snapped him out of melancholy. He looked on the right left corner, where a “Sgt. Barne” label was flashing under “Incoming Transmission”. Sargeant Barne was leading Beta platoon.
“I’ve never been to Earth.” he replied
/I was, as a prisoner of war. Funny thing we’ve never been at war with the Solar Confederate, not officially at least./
“If they come after the troopship, that might change...”
As the dropships were accelerating into the atmosphere, the drop pod slowly started to shake, while Sakharov could see through the gun cams how the ships’ hull plating turn to blinding red. At the same time, the ship’s pilot ordered all marines to prepare for the drop.
/You know, I wonder.... How come an alien life form evolves to look like horses?/
“Once we get down there, ask them.” Sakharov frowned. “But they ain’t resemble horses.”
A high-pitched beep warned him that the pods are about to be launched.
/Huh?/
“They look more like ponies!” the sargeant laughed till the sudden g-force pushed his breath to his lungs. Almost 60 drop pods launched from the loose delta wing of dropships, burning through the atmosphere, right on the darkened lands of the midnight Equestrian Wasteland...
***
On this very wasteland, our two little raider heroes finally reached their destination. The moonlight shone on the thick hull of the crashed alien vessel that dwarfed the hills it crashed to. Even with the ship torn in half, it was a sight to behold. For the first time in their brief trip, Old Flak was speechless.
“Huh, it looked smaller from the inside.” Buckshot noted as he glanced at his grandfather.
“Make’s meh wond’r how noponey else d’scovered it. T’is thing is gigant’c!”
/Oh my... I have logs from Big Crater about small vessels crashed into the Everfree region, but I never thought they could build such huge ships!/ the A.I. chirped in anticipation.
“Wait, what?! The old ponies knew all along there were aliens?!” the raider buck’s eyes widened.
/Uhm... Uh, we knew something was among the stars, but nopony met them, since they never came here before! And the probes were held in top secret labs like Big Crater! And.../ Fluttersuit continued her desperate defense, but something else caught Buckshot’s attention: dozens of bright lights were falling slowly down the dark sky. Old Flak also noticed them.
“The hay?! Shootin’ stars?” the raider buck’s gut told him otherwise. Moreso when the “stars” changed course and were burning through the clouds in formation.
“Well, at least we’ll all have a lot of wishes, ahahahahah... Aw fuck...”
End of Part 1
What will happen to our brave and dirty raider heroes, and their faithful digital companions? Will they meet the mysterious and ruthless aliens? Will they get abducted (again)? Will they SURVIVE?
All your questions shall be answered in
Part 2: The Titan’s Belly!
But let’s have a sneak peak, shall we?
I think they’ll be fine...
Archived perks:
Famous Star: You’re well known by not just your (un)friendly neighbors, but also by extraterrestrial creatures! Every time you meet them, they recognize you as the Scourge of Aliens, which either routs or frenzies them, making them fighting even more viciously!
Family Companion: You gained a new companion! Well, a kinda old one actually. Still, Grandpa’ Ol’ Flak is thick as a Hellhound’s skull and he can magically understand and control every technological equipment and machine ever created by ponykind, or by Those Beyond the Staaars... The downside is he can push you around however he wants, making you wonder who is who’s companion in the end...
/This fanfiction is based on Fallout Equestria by Kkat; a familiarity with the source material may aid your understanding.
You can read Fallout Equestria by Kkat onEquestria Daily
If you enjoy Fallout Equestria Side Stories you will want to check theFallout Equestria Side Stories post on Equestria Daily and theFallout Equestria Side Stories thread on Ponychan
The Ponychan group is also ahatching ground that you can join if you want to share your experience, writing or comments with us./
