A/N: 1 hoof = 4 inches, or ~9.7 cm.

Here I, Shadow Wing, solemnly swear, by my life, my blood, and my immortal soul that I will serve, before myself, the citizens of Equestria until my dying breath, or until I am released from this obligation. I take this burden not only willfully, but with ardent joy, a thirst to do what is right, no matter the consequence to myself. I will give every part of myself to this service. My time, my pain, my tears, my blood, and my life if called upon.

I will treat my team as my brothers. The Timberwolves are now my kin, and I theirs, by our mutual shedding of blood. I will take care of my brothers. Nothing asked of me is too small or too petty, because nothing is too much or too terrible to ask of them. I will fight beside my brothers. While we stand together, death does not exist for us. I will kill with my brothers. Our foes do not fear the Timberwolf, but the wild within.

No power from Tartarus below, nor grace from Elysium above will stop me from delivering death and destruction to those who would harm my country, or prevent me from enduring hardship to protect it. I put aside any hesitancy, forget all fear, and cast out any weakness in favor of determination, courage, and strength. May I never forget my duty and honor, so help me sun, moon, and stars above.

-Lieutenant Grade Two Shadow Wing, Oath of Entry: Timberwolf Team

The dead of night was cold. Darkness prevented any hope of sunlight’s warmth from reaching down to embrace her subjects. Also devoid of heat were the vast reaches of the upper atmosphere. Too thin to hold up all but the strongest wings, aided by magic. Far below, the vast storm that had reigned for the duration of the flight was beginning to break up.

“Target ahead, one hundred-ninety miles. Begin deceleration. Four moons til descent.”

Three affirmations popped up in his helmet display, leading his eyes over to a few indicators for just how far out of place he was.

04:09:17

Altitude: 247, 192

Boom x 2.03

Buck. Me. It’s cold up here. Three hundred and twenty thousand hooves. There was barely any air left up here. Nothing else to stand in their way. At this altitude, the only reason for their survival was the combat skins that Refract Ray had made them. That black mix of pressure suit, camouflage, and magical body armor coated his body, sealed with a helmet bearing communications, night vision, a heads-up-display, and still more tech than Shadow could have ever thought to include. Guess that’s why I’m out here...to use it.

All around him, the thin air streaked along, harshly whining about how he shouldn’t be there. Nopony should. No pegasus had made it this far up without the aid of magic. Death by freezing, asphyxiation, and falling would soon follow. But this morning, Shadow knew he was to be bringing death-his own could wait until after the mission was done. In his view, three markers showed where Crash, Chaff, and Savage were flying in formation, a few hundred lengths in each direction to prevent the vortexes in the rare air from throwing of each other’s flight patterns. There were just markers, and even with night vision, the silver light of the moon was not nearly enough to pick out one of the operatives when they had their camouflage activated. Yet they were there, two to the left, and one to the right.

Below, the vast forests and mountains of Gryphemi were spread out like a map as they continued to slow down. Rivers and lakes gleamed under the stars, and a black void filled where the high plains, the forests and the mountains lay. He knew them well from many nights spent suspended over their vast sights, and many sunrises spent flying home. Far below, Redoubt Shatterclaw lay, the fourth red diamond on his display. It was quickly moving to be directly underneath him, and his airspeed had dropped below supersonic over a minute back. Time to go.

“Break form; free fall. Don’t go supersonic.”

“Sir.” Each voiced sounded in unison as they slowed their frantic flapping and sank until gravity overtook the forward motion completely and they fell. Face first, staring into the rush of wind parted by their visors they fell, wings arched to control the descent. The earth pulled them into its mighty embrace, as inevitable as the dawn. Faster and faster they fell, until the air would not let them fall any swifter. In that they way they fell, silent.

Shadow could only guess what his team was thinking on the flight down. Though they confided everything in one another, it was too difficult to know the mind of another before peril. What he knew is that they would do their best no matter what. As will I. But I can’t believe I’m doing this. Was it ever too much to ask the world just to be left alone? I guess so! Tempting it just once was one time too many. I don’t understand why all those stallions have mares practically hanging off their necks without ever having done anything for them. Here I worked my tail off for her for almost two years! And the only thanks I ever got for that and sparing them prison was being thrown out on my rump. Then she comes back, beats up what few friends I have, and reminds me of just how bucked up everything in my life is. And now I have to save her. Never should have tempted fate…this time, when she tries to talk to me afterwards, I’ll just seal up my damn visor and pretend like she isn’t there. Then it can’t hurt anymore than it already does...I hope. FOR FUCK’S SAKE! Why can’t I stop thinking about this? I can worry about whatever else after they’re safe.

It was all he could do to resist the temptation to shake his head in frustration; doing so could have thrown him well off course. There wasn’t anything else to focus on the entire way down, so Shadow ran the schematics of the fortress in front of his eyes again, for the fourth time that flight. There was never a such thing as too well prepared, provided there was room to improvise if things went wrong. Such thoughts ran around again and again in his mind, an ordered chaos of frenzied planning for every last contingency until the air grew thick again. Not warm, but at least it had substance.

“Thirty thousand hooves to target. Begin slow at ten-thousand.” Three acknowledgements flashed onto his helmet display, and they continued to fall. Gradually, the fortress came into view, exactly the same as the images Refract Ray had given them. The structure was built like a giant trapezoid, with the long end burrowed into the mountain. High walls ended into the sheer face of the cliff. Now, Shadow saw it clear as daylight through the lens of the night-vision spell built into his helmet. The latest upgrade allowed it to be in full color, rather than the dull green it used to be. Even as his eyes moved to track the sentries on the corner towers, red outlines took form around them, flagging them as hostiles. There were two on each tower, making for eight guards. Paltry.

With a flicker of thought, a section of the helmet visor zoomed forward and focused on the two on the north tower, then in turn to each of the other sites. It was an encouraging sight. Expressions of boredom and exhaustion were prevalent; none were alert and watching. Of the two on the southernmost tower, one was smoking, and the other looked by be playing some kind of game on a datapad. Not one of them had a rifle at the ready or was checking the inside of their own fortress. The only one with a pair of binoculars wasn’t even using them.

“Lets avoid taking them out if we can. Shoot only if they discover us.” The acknowledgements came again. As the rapidly spinning numbers in the altimeter slipped past ten thousand, they spread their wings as one, spreading out to hover in a wide circle. “Get the gear out. Quietly.”

The pegasi drew an assortment of pistols, rifles, shotguns, blades, and explosives from their saddlebags, quietly racking rounds and removing safeties before clipping and tying on their weapons. As each tool of death became one with its wielder, it too faded from view. Extra magazines went into gripped slots for quick access, almost begging for a chance to be used. Shadow tied on his knife, and then pulled out his newest piece of gear. Something halfway between the pistol he once carried and a cut-down version of the assault rifles that Chaff and Crash carried. It fired rounds almost as big and kicked just as hard, but fit on his foreleg without impeding movement too much, and it had saved his life more than once. No sniper rifle this time, as it would be almost all close quarters. “All good? Alright, move up.”

The walls passed below as they glided into onto the abandoned parade ground, landing like wraiths up near the far wall. The entire structure, at least the parts of it that were not contained within the mountain, were made of the same dull yellow stone that made up the surrounding cliffs. Three walls surrounded a spacious parade ground, and the rest of the fortress was built solidly into the mountain. Trees lined the space, suggesting it used to be used as a courtyard when still occupied. Over by the barracks door, a mass of stones and masonry tools were present, perhaps for building an outside structure. A few dozen barrels with open tops adorned the open section of the grounds to catch rain water. No gate was built into the walls, and no path lead up to the fortress. It was the territory of those who had wings.

Looking down, Shadow almost cursed as he saw the indents his guard’s shoes left on the cold, muddy ground. It was then the guard taking a smoke stretched his wings, and stood up. Within a heartbeat, weapons were trained on him and his partner, still fiddling with the datapad. Slowly, the griffon flicked the cigarette butt away, to fall many thousands of hooves to the plain below, and sat back down, drawing his coat tightly around himself. Everypony relaxed, but stayed trained on the guards as Shadow checked their entrance.

There was a grand door in the mountain wall, a dozen lengths tall and wide, curving up to a point at the top. Rusted iron reinforcing sheets and studs ran along it’s breadth, and two narrow iron bands had been nailed to the the doors where the centerline ran down from the top point. They were for creatures with claws; far too narrow to fit a hoof through. That wasn’t a problem, as Shadow could think of no noisier way to get inside short of blasting through the wall. There were however, several smaller doors at the base of the towers and to the side of the main entrance, and once they were inside, they could get anywhere. The one they landed by was at the south end, in the corner. It was the entrance to the old kitchens, which were supposedly unused ever since the Gryphemi monarchy stopped using the redoubt.

This door too sported a handle unusable for ponies, or at least those who couldn't think of a more clever way to get in. Slowly, Shadow tightly wrapped his foreleg around the hilt of his knife, and drew it free. Inserting it into the handle, he pulled back, only to find that the hinges were well rusted, and would not yield for such weak effort. They had suspected this would be the case. Time to field test one more toy Refract Ray had left them with.

“Ok Crash, I need you.” Crash slung his rifle, and sat down to get a small case out of his bags. Inside were a few dozen small black chips, humming faintly, and a remote detonator. They quickly applied two to each hinge in turn; one on the top, one on the bottom, keying the codes on the chips into the larger device. “This had better work.”

“It usually does, but you cover the top hinge just in case,” instructed Crash. Uncloaking, Shadow flew quietly to land on top of Crash’s back, and mimic him in spreading his wings in a wide arc around the hinge to cover the hinge.

“I’m sure there is some kind of irony in this…” mumbled Crash as he hit the detonator. The humming got slightly louder as the chips dumped current into the hinges, melting them from the door. The heat coming off the molten slag was impressive, and the light was well blocked by their wings, but the part that Shadow really enjoyed was the lack of noise that came with using those charges. “See, no proble--” the chips lying on the ground erupted in a mass of bright white sparks, which trailed into the air before fading out.

They turned, expecting to see rifles pointed and bullets flying, but the guards were just as still as before. Breaths rising with the adrenaline of danger, they each took a corner of the door, and lifted it, hinges and all out of the way. The whole assembly came free from the wall with not more than a few droplets of molten metal falling to the ground. Putting the door back wouldn’t leave it very stable, and would remove all quiet use of that door as an exit, but leaving it laying against the wall would risk the guards noticing.

“Shift to the other side, put it back in place as we enter.” His team moved to do so, and they moved into the stale air of the redoubt, the door now standing shut behind them. Now secure, they once against faded from sight. Crash took point and led them on.

A short hall led to the kitchens, dusty from decades of neglect. Old stone stoves and counters lined the walls, and the cupboards had been torn open and looted of anything left behind. It was quiet, but the stillness betrayed the peril within the redoubt. Stealth was their ally as they snuck through a derelict storeroom, and down a series of atriums and halls towards the nearest set of stairs. It have been poor guesswork, but Argent Fire suggested they check the old cell blocks first, in the likelihood that Rex Aguilares had simply opted to use cells and restrains already there instead of improvising their own. If the hostages were being held in one of the upper rooms or over by the barracks, everything would get much more difficult.

According to the schematics, there was supposed to be an antechamber before the stairs down to the lower level, and as they rounded the corner to that room, Crash froze. A very tired looking griffon in a worn coat sat at a small table, a pile of cards and a rifle laying on top. As Shadow watched, he shuffled the deck one more time, then rubbed his eyes before dealing a new claw of cards. He was so focused on his game against himself that he never saw the blurs in the air slink around behind. A knife materialized out of the air, and stabbed quickly into the griffon’s neck just above where the plumage ended, snapping the spinal cord clean in two. Crash’s knife, left in the griffon’s neck forced the small trickle of blood to be contained by the neck feathers.

While Crash slid the griffon out of the chair, Shadow was inspecting the hinges on the large wooden door that led to the caves below. They were either maintained, or newly replaced, and the door opened smoothly. Crash and Chaff grabbed the griffon, while Savage policed the weapon. Shadow led the way, stepping gently down the stairs. The murky air of the cave washed over him, causing him to shiver before pressing on.

Spitfire shivered, and huddled a little closer to Tameless. Last night, the ‘bolts had gone to bed early at the resort, with a promise that they’d have a sunrise flight tour of the surrounding mountains. The wakeup alarm came not as a call from the front desk, but a griffon in black cloth and toting a rifle opening her door. It was only in hindsight that they must have had a copy of the room key to get in, and that the resort was probably paid off by Rex Augilares. Such things were at the back of her mind as she leapt into the air and rammed into the ceiling, still half entangled by the blanket. She’d tried to tackle the griffon, but only received a rifle-butt to the face for her trouble, and then faded in and out of consciousness until she’d woken up here.

Where ‘here’ could be was an object of some consternation. The air was cold and damp, and had long since stolen any warmth from her bones, name aside. All of her team were holding each other close, trying to stave off the chill. Past preening the blood off their wings and making sure they were not laying on broken legs, it was all they could do. Consciousness had come from the feeling of being shook where she lay, pain spiking through one wing pressed against a cold stone floor. That pain told her body two things. The first was that she was still alive, and the second was to scream, causing Fleetfoot to stop nudging her and jump back in surprise.

“Sorry! I just wanted to make sure you were ok!”

Spitfire sat up slowly, wincing as her left wing didn’t quite fold up all the way. She turned to look at Fleetfoot, and gasped in shock. The small blue and white pegasus was now stained in the dark red of dried blood, trailing from a long gash in her side. “Well, I’m still alive, but I think my wing’s broken. What about you? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m fine...but I’m not sure about everypony else.” Fleetfoot waved her foreleg out in an expansive sweep. Following that gesture, Spitfire saw that they were in a large cell, thick iron bars covered in rust hemmed them in on three sides. The fourth was a crudely hewn yellow-brown stone wall, the same color as the floor and ceiling. A single bulb stood on a stand hooked to a battery in the middle of the room, providing a harsh light that didn’t illuminate much past the edges of the cell. Water collected into puddled on the floor, dripping from the ceiling above. In the spaces between the puddles lay her team.

It had been something over an hour, but it was hard to tell without her phone, watch, or anything else. Since then, she’d woken up everypony one by one, a nightmare of blood and tears. Those who had been enthusiastically beaten up had gotten the good end of the deal; broken legs and wings were far more common. Nopony had suffered anything so grievous as a broken spine, but that was unimportant; if they didn’t get medical attention soon, not even healing magic would be able to restore those limbs to full functionality.

Such worrying was foolish, thinking of her career at a time like this. Here she was, holding Tameless close just to stay warm in the chill of the dimly lit cave, knowing that sooner or later something terrible would happen. They’d already been beaten, but that was not out of the question for future abuse. Forced statements, mutilations...and eventually taped executions. A few minutes of searching had attested to the hardiness of the bars, and not even Fleetfoot was small enough to squeeze through. Escape was not an option, but whisperings of rescue had been passed around. They all knew it was possible. After all, they’d seen it before.

They all wanted to see that team bound in, shoot up the griffons, and carry them to safety. That might have been a bit ridiculous of a prospect, but unspoken hope was better than a certainty of a slow, painful, and humiliating death. And when--if--rescue happened, it would be awkward to say the least. She wouldn’t be flying out anytime soon, but carried out by somepony she’d accused of slander not two days before.

And that isn’t even the half of it. For us to get out, he’ll need fight and kill, and act like the monster I told him he was. But this time, I want him to do that, and I’m not so sure he’s being a monster. At this point, it might take that monster to get us out alive. But what if he’s too angry over it? Or if nopony found out where we were taken to? No...he’d come and get us, but how will I face him after this? I know I was drinking...but I meant what I said, and I saw how it hurt. And if he comes and saves me while believing that I hate him...I...Spitfire paused, trying to shake off the thought. No, none of that. I will thank him properly, but even if I did allow myself to admire him, there is too much bad blood between us to fix.

She shivered again, and Tameless pulled her a little closer under his wing. There was something intimate about it, not in the way a stallion courts a mare, but in the way that two ponies suffering trauma and fear hold each other close as a way to stave off impending dread and despair. A way of sharing those last moments when nothing else matters. Around the room, much the same was being exchanged between those who might not be able to hold each other in a few hours time. The lover’s embrace for Skyline Spirit and Eagle Claw, and Soarin’ and Rainbow Dash, but they were not the only ones sharing tender words. Confessions were made, forgiveness was given, and hearts shared camaraderie for all the hours spent together. Those times training to the brink of pain, the good times, the bad times, and those races.

“How long do you think it will be?”

“Huh?” asked Tameless. “Until the griffons come back or until help gets here?”

“Do you think help will get here at all?”

Tameless took a slow breath. “Yes, but I’m not getting my hopes up. And if it does, you know what you’ve gotta do. I really don’t care how you feel, but I expect you to apologize, and this time I’ll make sure he stays around to hear it.”

Spitfire sighed. “Sounds like a good time. Anything but this and anywhere but here.”

Tameless nodded in assent. “Here...did you see where they took us?”

“No. But I’m guessing we’re somewhere up in the mountains.”

“Oh.” They both knew what heights meant without working wings.

“Yeah…”

They sat in silence for a time, hearing the tender words of those around; a quiet murmur of solace and consolation, punctuated by tears. When an almost unfamiliar voice spoke up, they were all too exhausted to be surprised, but eager to see what the curiosity was. Looking over to the door, Spitfire saw something she’d be hoping to see for hours now. A visored face of a pony wearing all black, and several faint blurs in the air behind him. Oh, and everypony was getting back from the door quickly.

The cell was the single largest holding structure on the basement level, and exactly where Argent had suggested they would be. Well out in the open, and about fifty lengths down the stairs up against the wall. The hall, though it could be better described as a tunnel, continued deeper into the mountain to places used for far more grisly things in the past. Inside the cell was an atrocity. Over a dozen pegasi bruised and bloodied, and judging by the posture, more than a few broken wings. And there in the corner, cuddled up against Tameless was--No. Don’t think about her.

“Savage, make sure nothing comes down here. Crash, bust the lock. Chaff, once he does, assist him in checking the condition of the hostages.” They scrambled to get their jobs done, and Shadow sat still, opening up his comms. “Elder, this is Hunter. Confirmed hostages are alive, in the assumed location. Standby for full status, but it looks like we’ll need chariots to get them out.

Dive’s voice came back over the radio. “Understood. Second cav is one hour out, you’ll need to hold position until then. Your POC with them will be Commander Constant Vigil, callsign Goliath. He’s been read into the mission, so feel free to contact him with updates.”

“Thank you sir.”

Crash had faded back into view, and was started to apply thermite paste to the lock on the cell. At the sound of his voice, everypony in the cell looked up in joy. “Alright everypony. I need you to stay very quiet, and very calm, and we’ll get you out of this, ok? Now stand back from the door, this is going to be very hot.”

Hurriedly, those anywhere close to the edge of the cell moved over to the back wall, and once they were clear, Crash lit the paste. For a few moments, hissing and a bright light filled the room, as molten iron ate through the aged lock, melting it clean off the bars and dripping onto the ground below. The room quickly warmed up, only to be left cold again by the chill from further down the hall. As soon as the burning had stopped, Crash opened the door, and moved to check on the Wonderbolts. He would be done quickly, and that left just a bit more time to get radio issues out of the way. Shadow pulled up one of the newer contacts on his comms list.

“Goliath, this is Hunter.”

“This is Goliath, I read you Hunter.” The voice on the other side was calm and collected, but broken and hard to understand against the loud onrush of wind.

“What is your status?”

“Three-hundred miles out from target. ETA one hour.”

“Alright. We will be out in the courtyard by the time you arrive. If the situation remains stable, you will have to take out eight hostiles before making the rescue. We have sixteen civilians that will need transport. Once extraction is complete, we will escort you back to friendly airspace.”

“Understood.”

“Give me an update every ten moons on your ETA. Hunter out.”

Cutting the connection after getting an affirmative from Constant Vigil, Shadow checked to see that Savage had the door covered, and then headed on into the cell. Inside, Crash and Chaff had already splinted several legs and wings, and had left their medical kit open in the middle of the room. Pausing only to grab some medical tape and unfold a length of plastic, he hurried over to Aces High, who was lying in the middle of the room, holding one yellow leg out to the side.

“May I check on your leg?”

Aces High held it out, but cringed as Shadow drew close.

“It’s alright, I’m not going to hurt you. I do have to check where the break or fracture is, and that’s going to hurt a bit. I know you’re a big colt Ace, and this will hurt less than your practices did. Now stallion up and hold still so I can fix it.” The racer relaxed, and Shadow put one forehoof on each side of the leg, gently running them up until he encountered an unevenness that shouldn’t have been there. The plastic went over that, pressing it back into shape, and then he wrapped it tightly with the med tape. A few seconds of waiting confirmed that the pulse was still strong on both sides of the wrapping. “Ok, can you still feel the blood flow there?”

“Yeah, I can.”

“Good. Try to keep off that leg until I tell you it’s time to go though. Ok, who’s next?”

The next ten minutes were spent cleaning and bandaging wounds, splinting broken bones, and checking for concussions. Not being a doctor, there was only so much that Shadow knew how to do. Most of it was just limited to patching somepony to hold on long enough to see a real doctor. Between Crash, Chaff, and Shadow, the ‘bolts were bandaged up, and looking slightly better. At least they haven’t started making noise. We might yet pull this one off.

“This is Goliath checking in, fifty moons out.”

“Understood Goliath, situation is stable.”

Shadow was looking around for the next injured ‘bolt when Savage’s voice echoed in his helmet. “Contact on the stairs, coming down slow. Hasn’t seen anything yet, but in a few seconds he will.”

“Take him out, quietly.”

A moment passed, then the *whump* of a body hitting the stairs sounded through the cavern. By the time Shadow got over to the stairs to check on the situation, Savage had already shoved the body off into a dark corner. There was precious little to do for the blood spill on the stairs; they’d just have to count on the low light to hide it for the time being. Oh this is about to get sticky.

Shadow sealed his visor up again before talking. No need to scare the already frightened civilians even more. “That means trouble, colts. I don’t know if he was just a random wanderer, a roving patrol, or sent to investigate, but if it wasn’t the first, we’re gonna be found out. I’m not seeing a way out lower on down, so we need to move out now, before we get stuck down here. Get the hostages up, and those who can walk walking. For those who can’t, find somepony to carry them. We’re heading back to the kitchen, and we’ll try to hide and hold out there until we’re forced to move outside. Any questions?”

“One,” Crash ask quietly. “We have two weapons from the griffons we took out. Think we should let the hostages carry those?”

“They can’t operate those without guard’s shoes, so if one of you doesn’t mind donating your rear two, that can happen. Those aren’t suppressed weapons, so make sure they know not to fire it unless we give them permission. Savage, keep your post here until we get them all mobile.”

“Sir.” Savage passed over the well-worn rifle the griffon had been carrying, and then faded back into the shadows. Holding the weapon under one wing, Shadow hurried back over to the cell. Inside, Crash was explaining to the assorted pegasi exactly what was going on. Their expressions ranged from tired, to scared, to stoic, to pained, to panicked beyond any reason. They had every right to be; they’d been dragged out in the middle of the night, hurt, threatened, were waiting for more hurt, and were being told that they’d have to run and fight for their very lives. It’s not fair. But nothing ever is.

“Goliath, this is Hunter. We have a snag.”

“And that is?”

“Ran into a roving patrol, took them out, but discovery is imminent. This could get ugly quick.”

“Keep me posted. We’re getting there as fast as we can.”

“Got it.” Shadow cut the connection and entered the cell.

“...and so, we need two volunteers who are not carrying anypony else to take these spare guard’s shoes, and help protect everypony.” Crash nudged two steel horseshoes covered in black rubber forward, the flex pin still a bit red from where he’d just removed it. He looked a little uneasy with his hind-half a quarter-hoof lower than his front, but proffered the rifles and the ammunition bags the griffons had been carrying anyways.

“I’ll take one!” exclaimed Rapidfire, striding forward quickly. Hey looked down at the weapon for a moment, then at Crash’s shoe, then back up at Crash hesitantly. “Uhm...how do I use it?”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Spitfire took the other shoe, snapping it to her hoof with a slight gasp of pain. Then sitting on her rump and bracing the rifle with her other foreleg, she held it up for him to see. Rapidfire nodded and went to put it on, and while he was, she turned to Shadow. Oh skies above no. “Hey look, Shadow I need to talk to yo--”

“That can wait miss. We need to move now.” Shadow raised his voice just a little so all those gathered could hear him. “Alright everypony, I’m sure the lieutenant here already informed you, but we need to get out of here as quietly as possible, and lay low until our ride out gets here. And you two,” he glanced over at Spitfire and Rapidfire, “don’t you dare fire those unless one of us orders you to.”

“Got it!” agreed Rapidfire.

“Alright. Those of you who are well enough to carry those with broken legs, do so. Hurry up!” Were it not for the wounds and the cold stone walls, threat of discovery and possibility of death, it could have just been another Coach Wing workout; ‘carry your buddy to the other end of the castle.’ Nopony dared to say as much. Once there were all up, Crash opened the door, and led them all across the rough passage to the stairs. Savage was waiting at the top, one foreleg draped over the handle, watching as the line of injured ponies made their way up the stairs.

Every *click* and *clack* from a hoof-fall made Shadow wince. The bottoms of their guard's shoes had been rubber-coated for silence a long time ago, but the Wonderbolts had no such advantage, and the noise of hooves on stone was something that would get a lot of attention in a fortress occupied by griffons. It was going to be a long ways to the kitchens. Shadow sealed up his helmet again just long enough to go over the plan without scaring anyone else.

“Savage, I want you on point with me. Crash, Chaff, head up the rear. If we somehow make it to the kitchens without raising an alarm, we can wait it out, but somehow I don’t think that’s gonna happen. Either way, that’s the exit we want, because they won’t expect anyone to be coming from it. When we have to go outside, off the guards on the towers, then move to barricade the other doors. And stay uncloaked; we don’t want them to shoot at the hostages.”

“Got it.”

The table at the top was just as they’d left it, cards still strewn in front of the single chair. The halls were wide enough for two griffons to pass abreast, which meant that while Shadow and Crash were in front, everypony else could go four at a time. This has gotta stop...they’re making too much noise.

“Quiet. Tip-hoof if you have to. And don’t talk.”

The noise slackened off, but still seemed hair-raisingly loud to ears alert with adrenaline for the slightest sound of paws or claws on stone. Just make it there. Shoot anything that gets in your way. He started forward, moving slowly, carefully checking each hall or door they passed on the left. To his side, Savage was doing the same to every door on the right, though his longer rifle took a bit more time to move around the corners.

With each bend and turn in their way, and with every passing minute, still no griffons appeared. Each dusty old atrium and hall with arches created a new space to frantically look over, and each one was undisturbed save for the telltale pawprints of patrol routes. Soon those would be obliterated by a mass of hooves, clearly marking the way they went. There would be no hiding.

Two turns away from the old kitchens, Shadow poked his head around the corner to see exactly what he’d been waiting for. Twenty lengths down the hall, two griffons in cloaks and coats, carrying rifles. They saw the pony in black carrying something that was obviously a weapon appear, with another leveling an assault rifle, and squawked in alarm. One leveled his rifle to fire, and the other reached for a claw radio.

Against every desire for self-preservation, Shadow turned to move the sights over the one carrying the radio. Two to the chest. One to the head. It fell, the transmit button still unindented. Success. Then the bullet whistled past Shadows head to ping on the wall behind. From his side, Savage’s weapon coughed five times in rapid succession, and the second griffon was knocked off his paws, clutching his chest. One more shot served to leave him still. Shadow took a deep breath.

“Move up!” He was no longer whispering, but just short of a yell. There was no point in hiding that noise now that gunshots had been heard. Everypony broke out into a run. “Goliath, this is Hunter. We’ve been compromised.”

“Roger that Hunter. Be advised, we are still thirty-five moons out. You will have to hold on your own until then.” The commander paused for a moment. “I really hope you have something special cooked up, because that’s a lot of griffons.”

“I…” panted Shadow as he ran. “...am gonna try everything I can...sir. But if we can’t hold them off, I’ll...make sure to hold them off. Just be ready to come in hot.”

“You got it. Good luck.”

Everypony piled into the kitchens, gasping for breath, especially those burdened under another. “Chaff, stay here and protect them...Crash, Savage, on me. We’re gonna clear those guard towers. Move!”

The door had to be lifted out of the way, and it was certainly enough to get the attention of the now very alert guards on the towers. Endowed with the shorter ranged weapon, Shadow carried the heavy wooden door as it were a shield twice his size, while Crash and Savage faded from view and took to the air as soon as there was room. With each round that impacted the door, it slammed against Shadow’s body, bruising his shoulder and hammering his bones. As the moments passed, the pain grew more intense, but more intermittent. It was the longest fifteen seconds of the day, when Chaff finally called out.

“Clear!”

Shadow threw down the door and flexed his aching body. “OH THANK CELESTIA! Chaff, get them out here now! Chaff, Savage, barricade those doors with anything you can find. Move!”

As everypony jumped to, Shadow lumbered back over to the open doorway, still hefting the door. Once all the ponies had gotten out, he wedged it back in place, and pulled two nearby empty rain barrels to stick in front of it. It will have to do. On the far side of the redoubt inner wall, Crash and Savage had succeeded in moving several of the stone blocks in front of the barracks door. That only left--

“Sir, we’ve got nothing to cover the main door with.”

“Put it with flare charges and whatever demolition charges you have on it, and cover it with your fields of fire! Savage, you’ve got second volley. Guns on third.”

Disks almost glowing from the sunfire within and wrapped packages of high explosive were scattered around the front door; the most lethal door prank ever assembled. The sounds of claws on the other side of the door, and crashing and banging on the barracks door encouraged them to get back to where Chaff was waiting with the prisoners behind a small barricade of barrels they’d scraped together, training his shotgun on the door. They all followed suit.

“You two, get ready. Don’t shoot ‘til you see something that needs it.”

Spitfire and Rapidfire grimaced and hefted their rifles. Dead ahead, the door opened slowly, a half-dozen griffons pushing it’s massive weight. They had just enough time to take in the rapidly improvised barricade and the lack of guards on the wall towers when Crash bit down on the detonator, and they disappeared into the flame. Daylight harshly lit up all the courtyard chased down by a wave of fire. The heat washed over everypony, crackling the skin even under their coats. Several of the wonderbolts cried out, and several cried.

When the smoke cleared, the door was in ashes and a crater marred the earth under where it stood. Soot blackened the hall, and the nearby griffons that had not been incinerated were either dead or on fire. It was a sight right out of Tartarus, and only about to get worse. Now roused, the garrison was massing. Dozens of armed griffons, sporting not just rifles, but machine guns and launchers too were running and flying toward the door. The sheer firepower and number of gold cloaks on the beasts howling for their blood was inspiring of fear, until a whoosh sounded from overhead.

Trailing exhaust, the rocket impacted the middle of the advancing griffons, and for the second time in ten seconds, a shock wave passed through the huddled ponies. Dropping the spent tube, Savage took up his rifle again and dove behind the barricade. The smoke cleared yet again, this time with legs, wings, heads and torsos scattered around a two length radius, and those outside of it were crawling, shrapnel having torn their insides apart. Undaunted by, or perhaps in revenge for what happened to their comrades, more griffons kept on coming. On the far side of the wall, the blocks shifted under the weight of many blows, and the barracks door came off, even more griffons spilling out from within.

Shooting was an the only option they had left, and shoot they did. Crash and Savage with their assault rifles, expertly picking off the griffons one by one, Chaff with his shotgun, just as quietly but far more grisely. Spitfire and Rapidfire tried their best, but controlling a weapon that heavy without much experience was hard. Still, it was noisy and intimidating. Shadow for his part was clutching his short rifle tightly, carefully preventing those griffons leaving the barracks from getting far.

This isn’t gonna last. As soon as we swap mags they’ll advance, and we’re toast. Time to pull out all the stops. “Crash, we can’t hold this. I’m gonna put up a hurricane wall.”

“Dammit Hunter, that is not a good idea!”

“Better that than dead!” Shadow emptied the rest of his mag in automatic, and then dropped the weapon, his saddlebags, and his pistol to the dirt and sprinted out away from the barricade, spreading his wings as he ran. Fifteen lengths away, he dug one hoof in and made a sharp turn, and jumped into the air. Every last ounce of strength left in his body, edged on by the adrenaline of bullets flying by was thrown into making those wings beat harder. In a blink he’d made one circle around the barricade. Then two. Then three, and the wind rose with him. It was low, but grew as he flew higher until a cylinder of shear winds forty lengths across and a hundred high arose, capped off at the top. Clear at first, it soon accumulated the sand from the ground, turning brown and opaque.

“You might very well be by the time this is done.”

Spitfire tried to hold still as her rifle shook her. Holding it up was hard enough without it kicking hard enough to hurt her foreleg, neck, and shoulder all at once. The last round spat out, and she almost fell back. No! I must protect them! She reached down into the pouch that Crash and Shadow had given her to find that the griffon who had previously owned it had only left one magazine spare. Never having loaded a Harley Flock rifle before, she struggled a little bit in dropping the old magazine, and missed the right point to stick in the new one several times in her haste. The adrenaline made it seem longer, but it only took a few seconds to do.

Biting down on the charging bit, she racked a bullet into the gun, and lifted it back over the barricade. To her surprise, she could barely see the griffons behind a thick wall of wind, growing darker every second.

“Don’t shoot!” The yell came as one of the Timberwolves sprinted over and pushed her weapon down. “That’s a hurricane wall, and Shadow Wing doesn’t need anything else inside of it.”

He didn’t. “So what can we do?” She set the weapon down. It was heavy.

“We can wait.” Crash turned to face her, a grim frown on his lips. “And hope he holds it up.”

“Well how long will it be until help gets here?”

“A while.”

“How long!?”

“Half an hour.” Crash turned around and walked away. Not that there was very far to go. Just a little space on either side of the barricade was clear; stepping into the wall would strip flesh from bones unless one were to enter it at the same speed. It was like a tornado, but made be be completely impenetrable, so it required the creator to fly much faster and harder.

While physical strength and endurance was a hard prerequisite to make such a weather pattern, there was a second that few knew about. Spitfire herself had encountered it when learning how to perform the wall. The winds within were circling at hundreds of miles per hour, such that contact with even small particles of dirt could cause scratches that were painful, and even deep and bleeding. That’s why she’d tried it a thousand lengths in the air.

Half an hour...oh Sun above. When Spitfire had tried to hold up a hurricane wall, she’d come out of it, covered in scratches, and the doctors had told her if she’d been in any longer, the blood loss would have been severe. She held the current world record before becoming too exhausted to fly any longer. It was twelve minutes.

“This is Goliath. We’re ten moons out. You still hanging in there, Hunter?”

Shadow heard the words through a haze of exhaustion. Each breath from the recycler in his helmet was stale, and the voice on the radio didn’t share in his suffering. Turning his head down to look would have thrown off the form he was trying so desperately to maintain, to glean every last bit of strength from his exhausted body. But he wanted to look. He could feel the droplets running down the inside of his torn body suit, splashed into oblivion as soon as they met the howling wind. Each time he ran into another grain of sand, another pebble, it slashed him further, the thin material of the combat skin unable to protect him from the barrage. The only part that was free from cuts was his face and the top of his neck, protected by his helmet.

“I’m…” he gasped around the word, trying to get enough air to keep flying. “...yes.”

The bleeding had started about fifteen minutes in. Refract Ray had made good suits, but if they weren’t entirely bulletproof, they were not going to hold up to constant assault by flying debris. First his forelegs, then his back and hind legs, and now finally his neck were all getting scraped raw. Each wing was being worn down, and the effort to flap each limb grew as they became more and more bruised. With each impact the blood loss grew more severe. It had started as a burning pain, but now it was strangely numb. Cold almost. He'd felt it before.

First came the lightheadedness, something he had to focus hard to fight through. It’d only gotten stronger as the seconds wore on into minutes. Then came the deadness in the extremities, each leg growing even more leaden than exertion alone could cause. And now his core was growing cold. I guess Crash was right. Too damn late now.

“Hunter! Talk to me!” Constant Vigil called out desperately. “What in the name of the Sun are you doing?”

“When...you get here...I’ll probably be...unconscious...I...relieve myself...of command...talk to...Lieutenant ...Storm...Crasher...when you...arrive…”

“Hang in there! We’ve got medics!”

“Aff.” It was all the answer he had breath to give. When vision went to a tunnel, and the pain drove out anything else, that was when his trainers and teammates had always told him to push harder. And after that push, nothing else mattered. Now, everything mattered, hung in the balance on him keeping the wall up. The grim knowledge that a break would cause him to falter helped him keep driving the windstorm that was slowly ripping him to shreds. He was doing it for Equestria, but Equestria wouldn’t ever know of it. He saw in his mind’s eye Spitfire. I’m doing it for her. But I won’t ever see her again after this. If I must die, I will die well. This wall will not fall until I do. Deep breath, fast. Again. Again!

“Crash...you’re in charge...now.”

“Hunter, don’t you dare do this to me. If I could fly into that wall without being torn up you know I’d take your place right bucking now! So hang in there just a bit and we’ll patch you up!”

Saying those words left a deficit of air to make up, so Shadow declined to answer. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that the wall should hold itself up for a while after he stopped flying, so even if he blacked out sooner than help arrived, everypony below should be ok. The griffons had been kept out, the hostages were secure and alive for the time being, and so the mission would be accomplished.

A series of rapid loud noises rang out from below, which his tired mind catalogued as gunfire. The shots kept sounding, and a whistling noise filled the hurricane wall. The pieces of metal screamed past his ears, howling their intent to the pegasus sharing the airspace with them.

“Aaaaaagggggghhhhhhhh!”

One of the rounds tore through his right wing, leaving a wide bloody hole in the membrane and feathers. For a suspended moment in time Shadow continued on the same path through the wind, watching every particle that he’d dragged into the air go by. Then everything came back as his wing was dragged wide, forcing him into a hard left turn out into the open air, curving into an upside-down spiral to the ground below.

“Crash!”

Halfway to the ground, Crash was there, catching him in two black-coated forelegs. The impact stung, but Shadow no longer cared.

“Hunter, what did you do to yourself?!” Crash rushed to the ground, and after setting his bleeding captain gently to the ground, lunged into the open medical kit he had waiting. Out came the clot-dust. Not waiting to open it properly, Crash tore the bag clean in half with his knife, and dumped it over Shadow. The injured stallion gave a whine of pain, but Crash spread the off-white powder as far as he could all over any exposed areas he saw blood.

Spitfire hurried over, and setting her rifle aside started to speak quickly. “Shadow I need to--”

“Get out of here and let me work!” yelled Crash in desperation.

Before Shadow could do anything else, Crash grabbed a two part compression bandage, and planted it firmly on either side of the hole in Shadow’s wing.

“Gun…”

“What was that sir?”

“Get me my weapon!”

“You’re in no condition to fight, sir.”

Shadow forced himself up, and slowly walked over to his short-rifle, and changed the magazines from the pile below. Up above the winds were slowing and becoming clearer. “Let me take them with me.”

Each of his team put one hoof out, giving the most gentle of nudges they could and a solemn nod, before hurrying back over to their spots, getting ready for the barrier to fall. Shadow limped over to where his ammunition belt had fallen, propped himself up to half-lie on one of the barrels, and waited. Each second ticked by to a head lighter than air, stinging on his coat, and a cold thumping in his chest tingling with adrenaline. As he looked on, the wall began to fall. First from the top, and he lowered his head to rest on the back end of his weapon.

As soon as there was space over the top, the griffons began to fly through. They were met with every last bit of desperation the Timberwolves had, and Chaff took off to give his shotgun better use. Tracking those fliers took every last bit of strength Shadow’s forelegs had, and all of his concentration. It wasn’t until he’d shot three down that the darkness in the edges of his vision started to become a problem. Come...on…

The next time he squeezed his foreleg to pull the trigger, the weapon clicked empty. The ammo belt was all the way down by his hindlegs, a reach almost too far. It took two tries to pick up the magazine, looping the hook on his shoe through the loop on the mag. That’s when the leg wouldn’t come up any further. Through the choking dark he saw it wasn’t snagged on anything, his leg just wouldn’t lift it. Cursing, Shadow reached back to try to draw his sidearm. One pass at the straps, and the leg slumped onto the barrel. The *thunk* echoed as he closed his eyes, and the sound of a great deal of gunfire hammered his ears before he heard no more.

Author's Note

This has been in my head for over a year. Feels good to finally get it on paper. One more chapter after to wrap it all up. Thanks for sticking with me if you're still here.

Thanks one more time to Dizziestbeef, for somehow managing to find time to seriously edit this chapter while preparing to move. He's a boss.