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I just don’t know what went wrong. Everything used to be so simple. It wasn’t entirely sunshine and rainbows, but it was happier. Better, even. At least until Ponyville. The big turning point. It’s funny, really. There wasn’t anything special or notable about that little town, save for some surprisingly quality cider. Yet everything changed after it was destroyed. The Purge started, the war started, and everypony got really good at killing each other. At least we had her majesty. At least we had the Empress, probably the only good thing that came from Celestia’s death. Shards, maybe it all started then, when she came into power. She tried so hard to bring peace. Ah well, that’s all been almost thirty years or so past and then the meteors came and wiped out every reason to care about this history. None of it even matters now. It’s just as well, maybe the meteors were supposed to be some twisted chance at a fresh start. Some excuse to start over and do better this time...

I think we blew it.

* * *

“Please... let me find somepony. Please... just a little bit further... please...”

The colt staggered up the hill as best he could. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do with only three good legs, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull out the jagged bit of shrapnel in his flank. It wasn’t even that big of a hill, but between the dust choking his lungs and rough debris underhoof, he felt like he was trying to climb Mount Everfree.

Dust and dirt covered the land, his every step kicking up just enough to see evidence of grass before the wind kicked up and hid any trace. The sky was completely dark, and a thick haze concealed the sun. Or maybe the moon. He had no idea whether it was supposed to be day or night. The colt himself was stained grey with grime, making his normally cream-colored coat completely indistinguishable from his vest. He wiped dust from his eyes, despite his better judgement and the soreness in his raw face. A cloud of dust flew by and blinded him again.

Eventually, he reached the summit of the hill. He even caught himself smiling a bit as he squinted to try to see through the haze. He should have been able to spot the town of Outer Canterlot from here, but without any visible landmarks, he honestly had no idea where he was. The dust cleared up, slightly, and the colt’s face fell. Skeletal remains of buildings poked out of the ground, which was covered in rubble.

The colt, however, worried more with what he saw even further in the distance. Just on the other side of what remained of the town was Canterlot Mountain, with the famous capital city in its peaks. Or rather, it should have been. What he saw was a massive, smouldering crater and a giant pile of rubble.

Not possible, he thought, trying hard to deny what he saw. Then he recognized one of the city spires in the dirt and he collapsed to the ground, wincing as the shrapnel in his leg dug deeper. He wasn’t even entirely sure where it had come from, other than that it was a shard of the now ruined academy. The pain helped take his mind off the sight before him, and despite being thankful for a distraction, wanted to deal with the immediate problem. He vaguely remembered something from the academy about medical procedure, and resolved to remove the shrapnel before it dug too deep.

The colt twisted onto his side, injured leg up, and focused. A soft, green glow enveloped the shard of metal as he attempted to pull it out. He stopped after a couple of seconds, gasping for breath. After a moment, he shut his eyes, clenched his teeth, and tried once more. With a white flash of pain and a small yelp, it was free.

Satisfied, the colt pushed himself back up, but the pain from his injury made it difficult to do anything more than sit. He looked back over the horizon. The city was still in ruins, and Canterlot... crater was still smoking. He stared for some time, just taking in the sight. He looked for any sign of life, wanting to find some evidence that he wasn’t alone in the wasteland.

Well done, he thought, scolding himself. The next closest city was miles away, and he wasn’t even sure if it would still be standing. Canterlot looks even worse than the academy. How could this have happened?!

The colt gave a sigh and thought about how he could get to Fillydelphia, or maybe even Dodge Junction. He wasn’t sure which was closer. Before that, though, I should probably rest for a bit. Not for long, just a little rest. He continued staring at the ruin that had been home, unable to look away.

* * *

The colt snapped to attention. He’d started to lose track of time when a bit of movement in the ruins caught his eye. It was far off, and it wouldn’t have been the first time that a shimmer in the haze had tricked him. But there it was. In the distance, almost concealed by the movements of the smoke, something was moving. Moving fast, and kicking up a lot of dust.

“Too fast to be somepony on foot,” he said, mumbling under his breath. “An engine, maybe? That would mean somepony with the guard. Maybe several someponies!”

He started towards whatever he’d seen, but didn’t get far. He couldn’t move his hind leg, it felt like it had gone numb.

That’s odd, my leg’s asleep? the colt thought, shaking out his other limbs. He then levitated a small black box from a pocket in his vest and extended a long, silver antennae from it as he held it to his mouth.

“If somepony with the guard is still here, then maybe...” He pushed a button on the box’s side. “Hello? Can anypony hear me? Is anyone there? Uh... over.” Silence. Every second of silence that passed felt like an eternity.

“Hello?” a voice said, heavily distorted from static. “Who are you? State your name. Over.”

The colt almost dropped the radio from excitement. Fumbling with the button, he responded, “I’m, er, my name is Greenhorn, I’m a cadet at the Imperial Military Academy. Or... I was. I’ve been wandering for days, can you help me? O-over.”

“...A survivor?” came the reply. “Sure... we’ll help. Can you give us your location?”

“Of course!” he replied, searching frantically for anything that made the hill stick out. Finding nothing, he turned back to his radio. “I’m on a hill overlooking Canterlot... wait, I’ll try to make a beacon! Hold on. Over.” With that, he pocketed his radio and focused on his horn, tiny beads of sweat forming on his brow. After a moment, a brilliant ball of light erupted from his horn and soared into the sky. “Did... did you see it? Ov... over,” the colt said, and coughed up a lungful of dust as he tried to catch his breath.

“...Heh,” his radio crackled. “You see that, boys?”

“That we do, boss,” came a different voice.

“That’s your target,” the first voice said. “Find that cadet, and bring me anything he has. He’ll have a head start, so enjoy your chase. Leave him where he falls. Over.”

“W-what?!” Greenhorn cried out and tried to put distance between himself and his beacon, but only managed to flop over onto the ground uselessly. He looked back to see what he’d tripped over.

Nothing, he realized as he noticed his leg bleeding freely. He cursed under his breath and levitated the bad leg. It was awkward, but he managed to walk a good fifteen or so steps away before he dropped it from exhaustion. The impact of his leg against the ground sent a shock of pain through him, energizing him like a bucket of water, and he continued. Or attempted to, as putting all his focus into lifting his bad leg left little awareness.

He stumbled over some piece of debris and rolled down the hill, stopping abruptly against something hard and metal. The colt opened his eyes and tried to steady his head to stop the sky from spinning. He looked up to see what he vaguely recognized as tank treads, which belonged to the very much operational vehicle that he just slammed in to.

Is this it, then? he thought, trying to focus his eyes. He found it much easier to just close them.

“Dess?” the voice sounded so far away. “Help me get him in. They’ll be here soon.”

This sucks, he thought, finding it difficult to breathe as he lost awareness completely.

* * *

Greenhorn woke up. I’m alive? he thought. Why didn’t they kill me? He couldn’t see anything, even after he remembered to open his eyes. His surroundings were nearly pitch black, aside from a small sliver of light coming from somewhere to his left. He sat up, trying to get a better look at whatever it was. That was a mistake. His head spun, temples pounding, and a searing pain shot through his leg. He fell back, wincing. As if on a cue, light flooded his vision.

“Well, now,” a voice said, somewhere towards the light. “Looks like I just lost thirty bits. Like that even matters anymore.”

“W-what?” Greenhorn muttered, blinking the light from his eyes. After a moment, a figure came into focus. There was a pony standing in front of him, with a lantern on a table right behind it.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure you’d wake up,” it said, walking a bit closer, and letting Greenhorn get a good look. The pony was a stallion, a bit older than himself. He was sporting a dark blue mane, with a lighter, grey coat. He had a vest that matched Greenhorn’s own, though with fewer dirt stains.

“If it were me,” he continued, “I’m not sure I’d even want to wake up... but that’s life, eh?” He let out a small chuckle. “So what’s your story? Anypony with your expertise at calling raiders to come and kill you has to be interesting, right?”

Greenhorn blinked, trying to process the question. The stallion asked a second time before the colt found his words. “I was... just trying to find somepony. What happened?”

The stallion cracked a smile, then let out a laugh. “What happened,” he said, voice dripping with condescension, “is you called a bunch of raiders over to you and then knocked yourself unconscious. Way to go with that, by the way. You’re lucky the captain was there to save you.”

“You aren’t... with those ponies that tried to kill me?”

“Of course not, you silly foal,” he said. “We’re... eh... well the captain explains it better, what with him being a goody-goody and all. Point is, we’re the ones that saved you, and we aren’t looking to kill you. My name’s Fleethoof by the way, since you didn’t ask.”

“I’m Greenhorn...” the colt winced, rubbing his head. “I’m a cadet at the academy.”

“I know that, you dolt,” Fleethoof snarked. “You pretty much broadcasted that everywhere when you used that radio of yours. You might want to be careful with that thing... you never know who’s listening in. Or rather you do know. Everypony is.”

“So...” Greenhorn started, gathering his thoughts. “I’m alive, and I’m with a bunch of ponies that don’t want to kill me?”

“Yep,” the stallion said with a chuckle. “That about sums it up.”

“Oh... well that’s ...an improvement, then.”

“You really hit your head hard, didn’t you?” Fleethoof remarked, cocking his head. “Or maybe it was the blood loss. Yes, this is a vast improvement from bleeding out alone in the wasteland. Arguably.”

Greenhorn groaned, and tried to sit up. It went much better this time, with hardly any head-spinning at all, but his leg still hurt like fire. “Why’s it so dark?” he asked.

“Oh, so you can get up. That’s definitely a good thing... Probably.” Fleethoof looked back at an open book that he had next to the lantern. “Yeah, that’s a good thing. And of course it’s dark, what did you expect? The sun’s not out... I think, it’s almost impossible to tell time now, and we’re in a tent. It’s not night, and it’s not day. Ever since the meteors hit, it’s been like some kind of eternal dusk.”

“Or eternal dawn, just waiting for the sun to come back,” somepony said as another figure entered the tent. Another stallion, this one much more imposing looking than Fleethoof, and very nearly twice his size. He looked to have a white coat, but at second glance, Greenhorn noticed several patches of brown fur on him, and one over his eye. His other eye was covered by a very different patch, with a jagged scar crossing through behind it. He had a vest similar to Greenhorn’s, except dyed a dark blue with a grimy pin on the front. The stallion smiled when he looked at the injured colt, and extended his hoof.

“I’m Captain Pipsqueak, by the way,” he said, with hints of an accent that the colt didn’t recognize. “Glad to see that you’re awake, cadet. Sorry we didn’t warn you with the radio, but we couldn’t contact you without risking giving ourselves away as well.”

“S-sure,” Greenhorn replied, gingerly shaking hooves. “Wait... Pipsqueak?”

“Yes?” the captain asked politely.

The colt looked over the huge pony once more. “This must be somepony’s idea of a joke...” he mumbled. The captain raised an eyebrow. “Er, uh,” Greenhorn stammered. “You’re the captain of what exactly?”

“Ah, Fleethoof didn’t tell you?” he inquired, looking toward the smaller medical pony.

“Introductions are your strong suit, Captain,” Fleethoof said dully. “I’m just the pony that just gets handed the first aid kit.”

“You’re the one that signed on as a medic,” the captain said, patting him on the back. He then turned back to Greenhorn. “Though to answer your question, I lead the 4th Battalion, formed by the Empress herself.

“Formerly, welcome to the temporary new home of Pip’s Timbers. We’ve made it our goal to find and help anypony we can in the aftermath of this disaster, especially those that the raiders threaten.”

“...That’s great!” the colt said, smiling broadly. “Er, what’s a timber?”

“Timberwolves, like the animal,” the captain clarified. Though upon noticing the blank look on Greenhorn’s face, he continued, “A group that works together to become greater than the sum of it’s parts. I thought it was fitting.”

“Oh, thats... urgh...” the colt trailed off, clutching his stomach and groaning.

“You alright?” the captain asked.

“Sorry, yeah, I’m fine,” Greenhorn replied. “I just haven’t eaten in a while.”

“Oh, good,” Fleethoof said snarkily. “I didn’t want to stitch your leg again if you wound up tearing open your injury like an idiot.”

“That was your stomach?” Pipsqueak asked, shooting a glare at Fleethoof. “We can take care of that. There’s spare some rations, help yourself to a pouch and a canteen.” He waved at a pair of saddlebags hanging from under the table.

At that, the colt’s face lit up, and Fleethoof scoffed. “Don’t get excited,” he said. “Trust me, all we have to eat is plain, dry oatmeal. It’s hardly appetizing.”

“Sounds delicious!” the colt said, beaming. He chuckled softly and added: “It isn’t like I get a choice anyway, right?”

“Sir,” a voice came from outside the tent, and a mare’s head poked inside. “Finish this later, we’ve got raiders approaching.”

“Right, let’s get our tanks in position,” the captain said, already out of the tent. The mare glanced at Greenhorn briefly, then followed behind. Fleethoof sighed.

“I suppose that’s my cue as well,” he said, but didn’t move. He thought for a moment, then continued, “Don’t try to stand on that leg, if you open your wound and bleed out, I don’t want to be the one to bury you.” He started outside the tent, but paused again. “I hate digging,” he said, and was gone.

* * *

Greenhorn decided to try this ‘getting up’ thing once more, despite the advice of the medical pony. He was never good at sitting still anyway. He started climbing out of the cot that he’d been placed in, trying to balance on three hooves before letting his injured leg touch the ground. His head spun and the corners of his vision became blurred, distorting his balance and threatening to knock him over. He gave his head a good shake, which helped somewhat, and let his left-hind carry it’s weight. The colt took a few steps, wincing as he put extra weight on his injury, but other than a fair share of soreness, he seemed fine.

“Guess it wasn’t as bad as it looked,” he mumbled to himself, and started walking off the pain. The inside of the tent wasn’t anything fancy, he noted as he finally had a chance to look around without distraction. Aside from the lantern on the table, a pair of saddlebags hung from a rack near the ground. Inside was about a dozen small linen pouches, as well as several canteens.

I guess these are the rations? he thought, levitating one of the pouches out of the bag. He smiled upon seeing the contents. Oatmeal, just as advertised. He put one of the canteens around his shoulder and stepped outside.

“...Huh,” was Greenhorn’s only comment upon seeing the camp. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he just expected more. The entire operation consisted of about half a dozen tents, including the one the colt just left, all in different states of disrepair and almost all of them had at least one patch covering up holes. Towards the edge of the camp was a tent about double the size of the others. A pair of parallel tread tracks led out into the wasteland.

Slowly, he trotted around. It felt like the place actually was abandoned. Everypony was gone, presumably to help fend off the raiders. Greenhorn figured it was probably necessary, as there couldn’t be too many ponies living here.

The colt suddenly heard a loud rumble as his stomach reminded him of his hunger. He pulled the ration pouch from his side and mindlessly started chewing up the dry grains. It was hardly a meal, but he was happy to have something edible.

Greenhorn started towards the edge of camp, hoping to catch a glimpse of where everypony went. He followed the tread marks with his eyes, but stopped as he noticed the now familiar crater in the distance. It made sense that they would go to Canterlot, as it was the only major landmark on the horizon, but the colt dismissed the thought. He stomped the ground with his injured leg, and the inevitable jolt of pain told him that he wasn’t dreaming. That Canterlot being gone wasn’t just his imagination.

Suddenly, everything hit him at once. Outer Canterlot was a ruin, and his home on the second floor of his parent’s sweet shop was surely demolished. Peers he’d shared classes with just a week prior were left behind in the ruins of the academy. The capital was gone, along with the mountain that the beloved Empress watched over the land from. It wasn’t long ago that she’d given her speech to the academy instructors, thanking them for their contribution to the war effort. Even somepony as powerful as her couldn’t survive what happened to Canterlot.

His neighbors from home, his fellow students from class, and even the perpetually angry instructor Klaxon, whom he swore had a grudge against him, they were all gone. He was with a group of complete strangers that he decided to stay with only because they said they didn’t want to kill him. He fought back tears, realizing that he had absolutely no idea what he was going to do. It was obvious why that medical pony didn’t think he’d want to wake up.

And this oatmeal tastes terrible, Greenhorn thought with a grimace, trying his best not to gag. He went for his canteen to wash it down when the sound of garbled static caught his attention. His radio had been on, and it was picking up a signal. The colt hesitated, the dull throbbing in his leg reminding him of the last time he’d used the device. He assured himself that he was only found because of his magic, but resolved not to send any kind of message this time. He levitated the box from his pocket and started fiddling with the dials, causing the static to form into coherent speech.

“...don’t know why you’re bothering, friend,” a voice said. Greenhorn flinched when he recognized it as the pony who’d ordered him dead.

“It’s not hard to understand,” came Captain Pipsqueak’s confident voice. “I’m still a soldier, and it’s still my duty to protect anyone I can. You remember what duty is, right? You must have been with the Imperials, same as me. Unless you’re a rebel, but even they never attacked civilians.”

“Oh, please.” The raider’s reply was cold and unemotional. “That all stopped when the meteors fell. Equestria died, and we are all that’s left. There is no more law, and our only ‘duty’ now is to ourselves. That was true even before this all happened.”

“You’re wrong,” the captain said simply.

“You’re deluded.”

“Maybe,” the captain replied with a small laugh. “But if I’m the only one here to keep you from killing survivors, then that makes things simple. We won’t let you attack anyone else. That’s just our duty.”

“If you insist.” The raider leader sounded bored. “Captain... Pipsqueak, was it? That’s amusing. My name is Phalanx. If you survive this, I look forward to meeting you.”

“That’ll happen sooner than you think. Move out, Dess. Let’s end this quickly.”

Greenhorn scanned the horizon once more, looking for signs of the battle. Bizarrely, what sounded like orchestra music was playing over the radio now. He tapped the box a couple times to see if it was working properly.

“What are you doing?” a voice from behind made the colt jump and drop his radio. He turned to see the Fleethoof staring at him stoically.

“Didn’t you leave with the captain?” the colt said, shaking the dirt from his radio and pocketing it.

“And I thought you’d still be lying down,” Fleethoof countered, noticing the empty pouch at Greenhorn’s hooves. “How’s the oatmeal?”

“I can’t just sit around when something’s going on,” he replied, ignoring the question. “And my leg is feeling better, it wasn’t as bad as you thought.”

“You were still bleeding badly,” the medical pony said. “You should’ve taken it easy, but I can’t blame you for being restless. Hard not to be.”

Fleethoof sighed, then tapped the radio in his chest pocket.

“...case he got into trouble. I’d prefer to have you deal with that thing, Dess,” The captain’s voice came clearly through Fleethoof’s radio. “Since they’re just raiders, they’ll likely stick to their standard tactics, but this ‘Phalanx’ pony worried me. I need to know about any other surprises.”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Fleethoof said reassuringly to the box on his chest. “I haven’t left you yet. Just needed to get the treetop from camp. You’ll have friends in high places in just a bit, but with all this haze, it might not help.”

“Good,” came the response after a moment delay. “Don’t be so... forgetful next time.”

“I do try, sir,” Fleethoof said. He turned to Greenhorn. “You seem to be walking just fine, so follow me. This’ll be good for you to know.”

“Uh... sure,” the colt replied as Fleethoof ran into the camp, towards the closest tent. The colt followed, wincing slightly. He pocketed his radio and turned it off.

By the time he got to the tent, Fleethoof was already dragging something out of it. It looked like some kind of giant metal basket on treads. It was painted to look like tree bark and leaves.

“This,” the stallion said, hopping into it, “is what I call a treetop lookout.”

He fiddled with some of the controls inside, then beckoned the colt.

“Get in,” he said.

Greenhorn stepped up, opting to climb rather than jump in for his leg’s sake. As soon as he was settled, the treetop lurched forward. Fleethoof steered toward the edge of the camp, and the colt looked over at the controls, trying to figure them out.

It looked simple enough. A steering wheel, a couple of petals, two indicator lines, and a few switches made up the entire front end of the vehicle. There was also a polished red button about half the size of Greenhorn’s hoof.

“So...” Greenhorn started, transfixed by the button. “What’s this for anyway? I’ve never seen one before.”

Fleethoof noticed where the colt was looking and smirked. “Just a little something in case there aren’t any pegasi with us.” He made an exaggerated show of looking around. “Nope, looks like we’re on our own.”

The treetop slowed to a stop about fifty feet from camp. Fleethoof gave the colt a small nod. With a smile, Greenhorn mashed the red button. Fleethoof started snickering.

“That doesn’t do anything, by the way,” he said, as the disappointed colt hit the button a few more times for good measure. He then flipped a couple switches, causing the vehicle to shake again.

The basket started rising off the ground. Fleethoof stared at the slowly rising indicator lines as Greenhorn looked down at the ground. The basket stopped at about three stories up. A soft boom came from the distance, almost concealed by the static from Fleethoof’s radio.

“How you holding up, Captain?” he said, talking to his chest once more. “You’ve got eyes.”

“Good,” Pipsqueak’s voice responded. “What all’s around me?”

It was hard to see from higher up due to all the dust clouds, but Greenhorn could make out a few shapes in the distance. A pair of vehicles in an open field, with a half dozen dots of ponies between them and unorganized waves of raiders rushing towards them. Flashes of light pierced the haze with each shot fired.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” he said snarkily, producing a pair of binoculars. “But I think there’s raiders nearby.”

“Funny,” the captain said in a deadpan. “What else?”

“It looks like standard raider ‘tactics’ to me, they fling themselves uselessly at our guns and get mowed down until... oh, crap,” Fleethoof said, his face fell.

“What is it?” the captain and Greenhorn said almost simultaneously.

“Uh... Aw, hell,” Fleethoof muttered. “They got a little smarter, and parked what looks like an artillery cannon about half a klick south of you. You’re densely packed, if that thing-”

“I know,” Pip said grimly.

Greenhorn squinted, leaning over the edge of the treetop to find the cannon. Then he spotted it, near what probably used to be a copse of trees. Somepony was sitting next to it with a binocular, with somepony else on the way.

“...Crap,” the medical pony mumbled, fidgeting frantically. “I don’t know, maybe if you shoot a topaz or something well enough at the right angle, you can hit it first. I’ll try to figure out an exact distance, just give me a second.”

“By all means, take your time.”

“How can I help?” Greenhorn asked, feeling useless.

“Don’t distract me,” Fleethoof snapped, muttering numbers under his breath.

“Okay...” he said after about half a minute. “It looks like it’s somewhere between fourteen and sixteen hundred feet, so if you-”

A loud boom came from the battlefield. Both ponies in the treetop scrambled to see what had happened. Thick clouds of smoke and dust blocked their view, and only white noise came from the radio.

“Captain?!” Fleethoof yelled, tapping his radio frantically.

“...Crisis averted,” a mare’s voice said calmly. “Still doing well, sir?”

“Just fine, Dess,” Pipsqueak said. Greenhorn released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Fleethoof just gaped.

The smoke started to clear, at least somewhat, revealing that the timbers were, in fact, safe. The raider’s artillery cannon didn’t fare as well, as a small, blackened crater and clusters of scattered wreckage all around showed. Greenhorn whooped.

“What happened?” Fleethoof said, seemingly unable to close his mouth all the way.

“I saw the artillery from the start,” the mare said. “I took care of it.”

“But...”

“Headcount, everypony?” Pipsqueak said.

“All infantry present, Captain,” another voice that Greenhorn didn’t recognized said. “There aren’t even take any injuries. Nice job.”

“Good,” the captain remarked. “Nopony else deserves to die by those parasites if I can help it. Let’s head back. Take a few hours then we’ll comb the town for more survivors.”

Fleethoof sighed, turning off his radio. He lowered the treetop, and started driving back to camp. He started to get lost in thought until the colt broke the silence.

“That wasn’t like training at all,” Greenhorn said, mostly to himself. “And I wasn’t even involved. In a situation like that? If it wasn’t for that mare... I can only imagine what would’ve happened.”

“Here’s a tip,” Fleethoof snapped, making the colt flinch slightly. “Don’t think about it.”

They arrived back at the camp, and by the time Fleethoof parked the treetop back in its tent, the captain was nearly there. Greenhorn watched as they approached. A half dozen infantry all brandishing rifles on their sides and were led by two huge, twin vehicles. He’d seen them from a distance, and recognized them as magitanks, but they were so much more impressive up close. Each one made up steel armor thick enough to easily stop bullets, moving forward on huge, intimidating treads, and giving off a rhythmic, metallic clicking with each hoof length of distance covered. They had large, pivoting cannons mounted on top, both blackened with soot from use. As they arrived, a soft hiss came from the top, and a hatch clanged open as the captain climbed out of one.

“S-sir!” Greenhorn said, giving a hasty salute.

“Heh, good to see you up and about,” Pipsqueak said, walking over to him. “How’s your leg?”

“Just fine,” he replied, smiling. “But that’s not important. That battle was incredible! What happened to that artillery?”

“You were watching?” The captain gave a confused frown.

“He was with me,” Fleethoof intervened. “When I got back, he was already up and walking, so I let him ride along on the treetop. I didn’t expect there to be a major problem.”

“I see,” the captain said. “Well, it isn’t a big deal, as long as nothing came of it. As for that cannon? Ask Dess. She’s right behind you.”

“Huh?” the colt said, turning around. He was suddenly face to face with an orange-maned unicorn mare. “Gah!” he yelped, nearly falling over. She raised her eyebrow stoically.

“Lieutenant Dess, Fourth battalion,” she said coldly. “And you’re Cadet Greenhorn, former student at the Outer Canterlot Military Academy, correct?”

“Uh... y-yes,” Greenhorn stammered. “Where did you come from...?”

“My tank,” she said simply. “As for the cannon, it was a simple force field spell. You’ll likely want to learn it if you’re going to stay with us. If you aren’t useful, you might become a liability. We wouldn’t want that.”

“Easy,” Pipsqueak said. “We’re still here to help, not to threaten. He’s not a raider.”

“...Yes, sir. Just doing my job. I’ll report back in two hours. I’m going to get some rest,” she said, and walked off.

“Don’t mind her, she can be a bit blunt,” the captain remarked. “You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need. Though even civilians have to pull their weight sometime.”

“I appreciate it, and I’ll help however I can,” Greenhorn said. He looked past the captain, towards where he knew the ruins of Canterlot was. For a moment, he was in thought trying to once again wrap his mind around what had happened. Nothing had changed, everypony was still gone, but he was able to take his mind off of it. He looked up at Pipsqueak and smiled. “Thank you.”

* * *

Description
I just don’t know what went wrong. Everything used to be so simple. It wasn’t entirely sunshine and rainbows, but it was happier. Better, even. At least until Ponyville. The big turning point. It’s funny, really. There wasn’t anything special or notable about that little town, save for some surprisingly quality cider. Yet everything changed after it was destroyed. The Purge started, the war started, and everypony got really good at killing each other. At least we had her majesty. At least we had the Empress, probably the only good thing that came from Celestia’s death. Shards, maybe it all started then, when she came into power. She tried so hard to bring peace. Ah well, that’s all been almost thirty years or so past and then the meteors came and wiped out every reason to care about this history. None of it even matters now. It’s just as well, maybe the meteors were supposed to be some twisted chance at a fresh start. Some excuse to start over and do better this time...

I think we blew it.

* * *

“Please... let me find somepony. Please... just a little bit further... please...”

The colt staggered up the hill as best he could. It wasn’t the easiest thing to do with only three good legs, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to pull out the jagged bit of shrapnel in his flank. It wasn’t even that big of a hill, but between the dust choking his lungs and rough debris underhoof, he felt like he was trying to climb Mount Everfree.

Dust and dirt covered the land, his every step kicking up just enough to see evidence of grass before the wind kicked up and hid any trace. The sky was completely dark, and a thick haze concealed the sun. Or maybe the moon. He had no idea whether it was supposed to be day or night. The colt himself was stained grey with grime, making his normally cream-colored coat completely indistinguishable from his vest. He wiped dust from his eyes, despite his better judgement and the soreness in his raw face. A cloud of dust flew by and blinded him again.

Eventually, he reached the summit of the hill. He even caught himself smiling a bit as he squinted to try to see through the haze. He should have been able to spot the town of Outer Canterlot from here, but without any visible landmarks, he honestly had no idea where he was. The dust cleared up, slightly, and the colt’s face fell. Skeletal remains of buildings poked out of the ground, which was covered in rubble.

The colt, however, worried more with what he saw even further in the distance. Just on the other side of what remained of the town was Canterlot Mountain, with the famous capital city in its peaks. Or rather, it should have been. What he saw was a massive, smouldering crater and a giant pile of rubble.

Not possible, he thought, trying hard to deny what he saw. Then he recognized one of the city spires in the dirt and he collapsed to the ground, wincing as the shrapnel in his leg dug deeper. He wasn’t even entirely sure where it had come from, other than that it was a shard of the now ruined academy. The pain helped take his mind off the sight before him, and despite being thankful for a distraction, wanted to deal with the immediate problem. He vaguely remembered something from the academy about medical procedure, and resolved to remove the shrapnel before it dug too deep.

The colt twisted onto his side, injured leg up, and focused. A soft, green glow enveloped the shard of metal as he attempted to pull it out. He stopped after a couple of seconds, gasping for breath. After a moment, he shut his eyes, clenched his teeth, and tried once more. With a white flash of pain and a small yelp, it was free.

Satisfied, the colt pushed himself back up, but the pain from his injury made it difficult to do anything more than sit. He looked back over the horizon. The city was still in ruins, and Canterlot... crater was still smoking. He stared for some time, just taking in the sight. He looked for any sign of life, wanting to find some evidence that he wasn’t alone in the wasteland.

Well done, he thought, scolding himself. The next closest city was miles away, and he wasn’t even sure if it would still be standing. Canterlot looks even worse than the academy. How could this have happened?!

The colt gave a sigh and thought about how he could get to Fillydelphia, or maybe even Dodge Junction. He wasn’t sure which was closer. Before that, though, I should probably rest for a bit. Not for long, just a little rest. He continued staring at the ruin that had been home, unable to look away.

* * *

The colt snapped to attention. He’d started to lose track of time when a bit of movement in the ruins caught his eye. It was far off, and it wouldn’t have been the first time that a shimmer in the haze had tricked him. But there it was. In the distance, almost concealed by the movements of the smoke, something was moving. Moving fast, and kicking up a lot of dust.

“Too fast to be somepony on foot,” he said, mumbling under his breath. “An engine, maybe? That would mean somepony with the guard. Maybe several someponies!”

He started towards whatever he’d seen, but didn’t get far. He couldn’t move his hind leg, it felt like it had gone numb.

That’s odd, my leg’s asleep? the colt thought, shaking out his other limbs. He then levitated a small black box from a pocket in his vest and extended a long, silver antennae from it as he held it to his mouth.

“If somepony with the guard is still here, then maybe...” He pushed a button on the box’s side. “Hello? Can anypony hear me? Is anyone there? Uh... over.” Silence. Every second of silence that passed felt like an eternity.

“Hello?” a voice said, heavily distorted from static. “Who are you? State your name. Over.”

The colt almost dropped the radio from excitement. Fumbling with the button, he responded, “I’m, er, my name is Greenhorn, I’m a cadet at the Imperial Military Academy. Or... I was. I’ve been wandering for days, can you help me? O-over.”

“...A survivor?” came the reply. “Sure... we’ll help. Can you give us your location?”

“Of course!” he replied, searching frantically for anything that made the hill stick out. Finding nothing, he turned back to his radio. “I’m on a hill overlooking Canterlot... wait, I’ll try to make a beacon! Hold on. Over.” With that, he pocketed his radio and focused on his horn, tiny beads of sweat forming on his brow. After a moment, a brilliant ball of light erupted from his horn and soared into the sky. “Did... did you see it? Ov... over,” the colt said, and coughed up a lungful of dust as he tried to catch his breath.

“...Heh,” his radio crackled. “You see that, boys?”

“That we do, boss,” came a different voice.

“That’s your target,” the first voice said. “Find that cadet, and bring me anything he has. He’ll have a head start, so enjoy your chase. Leave him where he falls. Over.”

“W-what?!” Greenhorn cried out and tried to put distance between himself and his beacon, but only managed to flop over onto the ground uselessly. He looked back to see what he’d tripped over.

Nothing, he realized as he noticed his leg bleeding freely. He cursed under his breath and levitated the bad leg. It was awkward, but he managed to walk a good fifteen or so steps away before he dropped it from exhaustion. The impact of his leg against the ground sent a shock of pain through him, energizing him like a bucket of water, and he continued. Or attempted to, as putting all his focus into lifting his bad leg left little awareness.

He stumbled over some piece of debris and rolled down the hill, stopping abruptly against something hard and metal. The colt opened his eyes and tried to steady his head to stop the sky from spinning. He looked up to see what he vaguely recognized as tank treads, which belonged to the very much operational vehicle that he just slammed in to.

Is this it, then? he thought, trying to focus his eyes. He found it much easier to just close them.

“Dess?” the voice sounded so far away. “Help me get him in. They’ll be here soon.”

This sucks, he thought, finding it difficult to breathe as he lost awareness completely.

* * *

Greenhorn woke up. I’m alive? he thought. Why didn’t they kill me? He couldn’t see anything, even after he remembered to open his eyes. His surroundings were nearly pitch black, aside from a small sliver of light coming from somewhere to his left. He sat up, trying to get a better look at whatever it was. That was a mistake. His head spun, temples pounding, and a searing pain shot through his leg. He fell back, wincing. As if on a cue, light flooded his vision.

“Well, now,” a voice said, somewhere towards the light. “Looks like I just lost thirty bits. Like that even matters anymore.”

“W-what?” Greenhorn muttered, blinking the light from his eyes. After a moment, a figure came into focus. There was a pony standing in front of him, with a lantern on a table right behind it.

“I’ll admit, I wasn’t sure you’d wake up,” it said, walking a bit closer, and letting Greenhorn get a good look. The pony was a stallion, a bit older than himself. He was sporting a dark blue mane, with a lighter, grey coat. He had a vest that matched Greenhorn’s own, though with fewer dirt stains.

“If it were me,” he continued, “I’m not sure I’d even want to wake up... but that’s life, eh?” He let out a small chuckle. “So what’s your story? Anypony with your expertise at calling raiders to come and kill you has to be interesting, right?”

Greenhorn blinked, trying to process the question. The stallion asked a second time before the colt found his words. “I was... just trying to find somepony. What happened?”

The stallion cracked a smile, then let out a laugh. “What happened,” he said, voice dripping with condescension, “is you called a bunch of raiders over to you and then knocked yourself unconscious. Way to go with that, by the way. You’re lucky the captain was there to save you.”

“You aren’t... with those ponies that tried to kill me?”

“Of course not, you silly foal,” he said. “We’re... eh... well the captain explains it better, what with him being a goody-goody and all. Point is, we’re the ones that saved you, and we aren’t looking to kill you. My name’s Fleethoof by the way, since you didn’t ask.”

“I’m Greenhorn...” the colt winced, rubbing his head. “I’m a cadet at the academy.”

“I know that, you dolt,” Fleethoof snarked. “You pretty much broadcasted that everywhere when you used that radio of yours. You might want to be careful with that thing... you never know who’s listening in. Or rather you do know. Everypony is.”

“So...” Greenhorn started, gathering his thoughts. “I’m alive, and I’m with a bunch of ponies that don’t want to kill me?”

“Yep,” the stallion said with a chuckle. “That about sums it up.”

“Oh... well that’s ...an improvement, then.”

“You really hit your head hard, didn’t you?” Fleethoof remarked, cocking his head. “Or maybe it was the blood loss. Yes, this is a vast improvement from bleeding out alone in the wasteland. Arguably.”

Greenhorn groaned, and tried to sit up. It went much better this time, with hardly any head-spinning at all, but his leg still hurt like fire. “Why’s it so dark?” he asked.

“Oh, so you can get up. That’s definitely a good thing... Probably.” Fleethoof looked back at an open book that he had next to the lantern. “Yeah, that’s a good thing. And of course it’s dark, what did you expect? The sun’s not out... I think, it’s almost impossible to tell time now, and we’re in a tent. It’s not night, and it’s not day. Ever since the meteors hit, it’s been like some kind of eternal dusk.”

“Or eternal dawn, just waiting for the sun to come back,” somepony said as another figure entered the tent. Another stallion, this one much more imposing looking than Fleethoof, and very nearly twice his size. He looked to have a white coat, but at second glance, Greenhorn noticed several patches of brown fur on him, and one over his eye. His other eye was covered by a very different patch, with a jagged scar crossing through behind it. He had a vest similar to Greenhorn’s, except dyed a dark blue with a grimy pin on the front. The stallion smiled when he looked at the injured colt, and extended his hoof.

“I’m Captain Pipsqueak, by the way,” he said, with hints of an accent that the colt didn’t recognize. “Glad to see that you’re awake, cadet. Sorry we didn’t warn you with the radio, but we couldn’t contact you without risking giving ourselves away as well.”

“S-sure,” Greenhorn replied, gingerly shaking hooves. “Wait... Pipsqueak?”

“Yes?” the captain asked politely.

The colt looked over the huge pony once more. “This must be somepony’s idea of a joke...” he mumbled. The captain raised an eyebrow. “Er, uh,” Greenhorn stammered. “You’re the captain of what exactly?”

“Ah, Fleethoof didn’t tell you?” he inquired, looking toward the smaller medical pony.

“Introductions are your strong suit, Captain,” Fleethoof said dully. “I’m just the pony that just gets handed the first aid kit.”

“You’re the one that signed on as a medic,” the captain said, patting him on the back. He then turned back to Greenhorn. “Though to answer your question, I lead the 4th Battalion, formed by the Empress herself.

“Formerly, welcome to the temporary new home of Pip’s Timbers. We’ve made it our goal to find and help anypony we can in the aftermath of this disaster, especially those that the raiders threaten.”

“...That’s great!” the colt said, smiling broadly. “Er, what’s a timber?”

“Timberwolves, like the animal,” the captain clarified. Though upon noticing the blank look on Greenhorn’s face, he continued, “A group that works together to become greater than the sum of it’s parts. I thought it was fitting.”

“Oh, thats... urgh...” the colt trailed off, clutching his stomach and groaning.

“You alright?” the captain asked.

“Sorry, yeah, I’m fine,” Greenhorn replied. “I just haven’t eaten in a while.”

“Oh, good,” Fleethoof said snarkily. “I didn’t want to stitch your leg again if you wound up tearing open your injury like an idiot.”

“That was your stomach?” Pipsqueak asked, shooting a glare at Fleethoof. “We can take care of that. There’s spare some rations, help yourself to a pouch and a canteen.” He waved at a pair of saddlebags hanging from under the table.

At that, the colt’s face lit up, and Fleethoof scoffed. “Don’t get excited,” he said. “Trust me, all we have to eat is plain, dry oatmeal. It’s hardly appetizing.”

“Sounds delicious!” the colt said, beaming. He chuckled softly and added: “It isn’t like I get a choice anyway, right?”

“Sir,” a voice came from outside the tent, and a mare’s head poked inside. “Finish this later, we’ve got raiders approaching.”

“Right, let’s get our tanks in position,” the captain said, already out of the tent. The mare glanced at Greenhorn briefly, then followed behind. Fleethoof sighed.

“I suppose that’s my cue as well,” he said, but didn’t move. He thought for a moment, then continued, “Don’t try to stand on that leg, if you open your wound and bleed out, I don’t want to be the one to bury you.” He started outside the tent, but paused again. “I hate digging,” he said, and was gone.

* * *

Greenhorn decided to try this ‘getting up’ thing once more, despite the advice of the medical pony. He was never good at sitting still anyway. He started climbing out of the cot that he’d been placed in, trying to balance on three hooves before letting his injured leg touch the ground. His head spun and the corners of his vision became blurred, distorting his balance and threatening to knock him over. He gave his head a good shake, which helped somewhat, and let his left-hind carry it’s weight. The colt took a few steps, wincing as he put extra weight on his injury, but other than a fair share of soreness, he seemed fine.

“Guess it wasn’t as bad as it looked,” he mumbled to himself, and started walking off the pain. The inside of the tent wasn’t anything fancy, he noted as he finally had a chance to look around without distraction. Aside from the lantern on the table, a pair of saddlebags hung from a rack near the ground. Inside was about a dozen small linen pouches, as well as several canteens.

I guess these are the rations? he thought, levitating one of the pouches out of the bag. He smiled upon seeing the contents. Oatmeal, just as advertised. He put one of the canteens around his shoulder and stepped outside.

“...Huh,” was Greenhorn’s only comment upon seeing the camp. He wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but he just expected more. The entire operation consisted of about half a dozen tents, including the one the colt just left, all in different states of disrepair and almost all of them had at least one patch covering up holes. Towards the edge of the camp was a tent about double the size of the others. A pair of parallel tread tracks led out into the wasteland.

Slowly, he trotted around. It felt like the place actually was abandoned. Everypony was gone, presumably to help fend off the raiders. Greenhorn figured it was probably necessary, as there couldn’t be too many ponies living here.

The colt suddenly heard a loud rumble as his stomach reminded him of his hunger. He pulled the ration pouch from his side and mindlessly started chewing up the dry grains. It was hardly a meal, but he was happy to have something edible.

Greenhorn started towards the edge of camp, hoping to catch a glimpse of where everypony went. He followed the tread marks with his eyes, but stopped as he noticed the now familiar crater in the distance. It made sense that they would go to Canterlot, as it was the only major landmark on the horizon, but the colt dismissed the thought. He stomped the ground with his injured leg, and the inevitable jolt of pain told him that he wasn’t dreaming. That Canterlot being gone wasn’t just his imagination.

Suddenly, everything hit him at once. Outer Canterlot was a ruin, and his home on the second floor of his parent’s sweet shop was surely demolished. Peers he’d shared classes with just a week prior were left behind in the ruins of the academy. The capital was gone, along with the mountain that the beloved Empress watched over the land from. It wasn’t long ago that she’d given her speech to the academy instructors, thanking them for their contribution to the war effort. Even somepony as powerful as her couldn’t survive what happened to Canterlot.

His neighbors from home, his fellow students from class, and even the perpetually angry instructor Klaxon, whom he swore had a grudge against him, they were all gone. He was with a group of complete strangers that he decided to stay with only because they said they didn’t want to kill him. He fought back tears, realizing that he had absolutely no idea what he was going to do. It was obvious why that medical pony didn’t think he’d want to wake up.

And this oatmeal tastes terrible, Greenhorn thought with a grimace, trying his best not to gag. He went for his canteen to wash it down when the sound of garbled static caught his attention. His radio had been on, and it was picking up a signal. The colt hesitated, the dull throbbing in his leg reminding him of the last time he’d used the device. He assured himself that he was only found because of his magic, but resolved not to send any kind of message this time. He levitated the box from his pocket and started fiddling with the dials, causing the static to form into coherent speech.

“...don’t know why you’re bothering, friend,” a voice said. Greenhorn flinched when he recognized it as the pony who’d ordered him dead.

“It’s not hard to understand,” came Captain Pipsqueak’s confident voice. “I’m still a soldier, and it’s still my duty to protect anyone I can. You remember what duty is, right? You must have been with the Imperials, same as me. Unless you’re a rebel, but even they never attacked civilians.”

“Oh, please.” The raider’s reply was cold and unemotional. “That all stopped when the meteors fell. Equestria died, and we are all that’s left. There is no more law, and our only ‘duty’ now is to ourselves. That was true even before this all happened.”

“You’re wrong,” the captain said simply.

“You’re deluded.”

“Maybe,” the captain replied with a small laugh. “But if I’m the only one here to keep you from killing survivors, then that makes things simple. We won’t let you attack anyone else. That’s just our duty.”

“If you insist.” The raider leader sounded bored. “Captain... Pipsqueak, was it? That’s amusing. My name is Phalanx. If you survive this, I look forward to meeting you.”

“That’ll happen sooner than you think. Move out, Dess. Let’s end this quickly.”

Greenhorn scanned the horizon once more, looking for signs of the battle. Bizarrely, what sounded like orchestra music was playing over the radio now. He tapped the box a couple times to see if it was working properly.

“What are you doing?” a voice from behind made the colt jump and drop his radio. He turned to see the Fleethoof staring at him stoically.

“Didn’t you leave with the captain?” the colt said, shaking the dirt from his radio and pocketing it.

“And I thought you’d still be lying down,” Fleethoof countered, noticing the empty pouch at Greenhorn’s hooves. “How’s the oatmeal?”

“I can’t just sit around when something’s going on,” he replied, ignoring the question. “And my leg is feeling better, it wasn’t as bad as you thought.”

“You were still bleeding badly,” the medical pony said. “You should’ve taken it easy, but I can’t blame you for being restless. Hard not to be.”

Fleethoof sighed, then tapped the radio in his chest pocket.

“...case he got into trouble. I’d prefer to have you deal with that thing, Dess,” The captain’s voice came clearly through Fleethoof’s radio. “Since they’re just raiders, they’ll likely stick to their standard tactics, but this ‘Phalanx’ pony worried me. I need to know about any other surprises.”

“Don’t worry, Captain,” Fleethoof said reassuringly to the box on his chest. “I haven’t left you yet. Just needed to get the treetop from camp. You’ll have friends in high places in just a bit, but with all this haze, it might not help.”

“Good,” came the response after a moment delay. “Don’t be so... forgetful next time.”

“I do try, sir,” Fleethoof said. He turned to Greenhorn. “You seem to be walking just fine, so follow me. This’ll be good for you to know.”

“Uh... sure,” the colt replied as Fleethoof ran into the camp, towards the closest tent. The colt followed, wincing slightly. He pocketed his radio and turned it off.

By the time he got to the tent, Fleethoof was already dragging something out of it. It looked like some kind of giant metal basket on treads. It was painted to look like tree bark and leaves.

“This,” the stallion said, hopping into it, “is what I call a treetop lookout.”

He fiddled with some of the controls inside, then beckoned the colt.

“Get in,” he said.

Greenhorn stepped up, opting to climb rather than jump in for his leg’s sake. As soon as he was settled, the treetop lurched forward. Fleethoof steered toward the edge of the camp, and the colt looked over at the controls, trying to figure them out.

It looked simple enough. A steering wheel, a couple of petals, two indicator lines, and a few switches made up the entire front end of the vehicle. There was also a polished red button about half the size of Greenhorn’s hoof.

“So...” Greenhorn started, transfixed by the button. “What’s this for anyway? I’ve never seen one before.”

Fleethoof noticed where the colt was looking and smirked. “Just a little something in case there aren’t any pegasi with us.” He made an exaggerated show of looking around. “Nope, looks like we’re on our own.”

The treetop slowed to a stop about fifty feet from camp. Fleethoof gave the colt a small nod. With a smile, Greenhorn mashed the red button. Fleethoof started snickering.

“That doesn’t do anything, by the way,” he said, as the disappointed colt hit the button a few more times for good measure. He then flipped a couple switches, causing the vehicle to shake again.

The basket started rising off the ground. Fleethoof stared at the slowly rising indicator lines as Greenhorn looked down at the ground. The basket stopped at about three stories up. A soft boom came from the distance, almost concealed by the static from Fleethoof’s radio.

“How you holding up, Captain?” he said, talking to his chest once more. “You’ve got eyes.”

“Good,” Pipsqueak’s voice responded. “What all’s around me?”

It was hard to see from higher up due to all the dust clouds, but Greenhorn could make out a few shapes in the distance. A pair of vehicles in an open field, with a half dozen dots of ponies between them and unorganized waves of raiders rushing towards them. Flashes of light pierced the haze with each shot fired.

“I don’t want to alarm you,” he said snarkily, producing a pair of binoculars. “But I think there’s raiders nearby.”

“Funny,” the captain said in a deadpan. “What else?”

“It looks like standard raider ‘tactics’ to me, they fling themselves uselessly at our guns and get mowed down until... oh, crap,” Fleethoof said, his face fell.

“What is it?” the captain and Greenhorn said almost simultaneously.

“Uh... Aw, hell,” Fleethoof muttered. “They got a little smarter, and parked what looks like an artillery cannon about half a klick south of you. You’re densely packed, if that thing-”

“I know,” Pip said grimly.

Greenhorn squinted, leaning over the edge of the treetop to find the cannon. Then he spotted it, near what probably used to be a copse of trees. Somepony was sitting next to it with a binocular, with somepony else on the way.

“...Crap,” the medical pony mumbled, fidgeting frantically. “I don’t know, maybe if you shoot a topaz or something well enough at the right angle, you can hit it first. I’ll try to figure out an exact distance, just give me a second.”

“By all means, take your time.”

“How can I help?” Greenhorn asked, feeling useless.

“Don’t distract me,” Fleethoof snapped, muttering numbers under his breath.

“Okay...” he said after about half a minute. “It looks like it’s somewhere between fourteen and sixteen hundred feet, so if you-”

A loud boom came from the battlefield. Both ponies in the treetop scrambled to see what had happened. Thick clouds of smoke and dust blocked their view, and only white noise came from the radio.

“Captain?!” Fleethoof yelled, tapping his radio frantically.

“...Crisis averted,” a mare’s voice said calmly. “Still doing well, sir?”

“Just fine, Dess,” Pipsqueak said. Greenhorn released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Fleethoof just gaped.

The smoke started to clear, at least somewhat, revealing that the timbers were, in fact, safe. The raider’s artillery cannon didn’t fare as well, as a small, blackened crater and clusters of scattered wreckage all around showed. Greenhorn whooped.

“What happened?” Fleethoof said, seemingly unable to close his mouth all the way.

“I saw the artillery from the start,” the mare said. “I took care of it.”

“But...”

“Headcount, everypony?” Pipsqueak said.

“All infantry present, Captain,” another voice that Greenhorn didn’t recognized said. “There aren’t even take any injuries. Nice job.”

“Good,” the captain remarked. “Nopony else deserves to die by those parasites if I can help it. Let’s head back. Take a few hours then we’ll comb the town for more survivors.”

Fleethoof sighed, turning off his radio. He lowered the treetop, and started driving back to camp. He started to get lost in thought until the colt broke the silence.

“That wasn’t like training at all,” Greenhorn said, mostly to himself. “And I wasn’t even involved. In a situation like that? If it wasn’t for that mare... I can only imagine what would’ve happened.”

“Here’s a tip,” Fleethoof snapped, making the colt flinch slightly. “Don’t think about it.”

They arrived back at the camp, and by the time Fleethoof parked the treetop back in its tent, the captain was nearly there. Greenhorn watched as they approached. A half dozen infantry all brandishing rifles on their sides and were led by two huge, twin vehicles. He’d seen them from a distance, and recognized them as magitanks, but they were so much more impressive up close. Each one made up steel armor thick enough to easily stop bullets, moving forward on huge, intimidating treads, and giving off a rhythmic, metallic clicking with each hoof length of distance covered. They had large, pivoting cannons mounted on top, both blackened with soot from use. As they arrived, a soft hiss came from the top, and a hatch clanged open as the captain climbed out of one.

“S-sir!” Greenhorn said, giving a hasty salute.

“Heh, good to see you up and about,” Pipsqueak said, walking over to him. “How’s your leg?”

“Just fine,” he replied, smiling. “But that’s not important. That battle was incredible! What happened to that artillery?”

“You were watching?” The captain gave a confused frown.

“He was with me,” Fleethoof intervened. “When I got back, he was already up and walking, so I let him ride along on the treetop. I didn’t expect there to be a major problem.”

“I see,” the captain said. “Well, it isn’t a big deal, as long as nothing came of it. As for that cannon? Ask Dess. She’s right behind you.”

“Huh?” the colt said, turning around. He was suddenly face to face with an orange-maned unicorn mare. “Gah!” he yelped, nearly falling over. She raised her eyebrow stoically.

“Lieutenant Dess, Fourth battalion,” she said coldly. “And you’re Cadet Greenhorn, former student at the Outer Canterlot Military Academy, correct?”

“Uh... y-yes,” Greenhorn stammered. “Where did you come from...?”

“My tank,” she said simply. “As for the cannon, it was a simple force field spell. You’ll likely want to learn it if you’re going to stay with us. If you aren’t useful, you might become a liability. We wouldn’t want that.”

“Easy,” Pipsqueak said. “We’re still here to help, not to threaten. He’s not a raider.”

“...Yes, sir. Just doing my job. I’ll report back in two hours. I’m going to get some rest,” she said, and walked off.

“Don’t mind her, she can be a bit blunt,” the captain remarked. “You’re welcome to stay with us as long as you need. Though even civilians have to pull their weight sometime.”

“I appreciate it, and I’ll help however I can,” Greenhorn said. He looked past the captain, towards where he knew the ruins of Canterlot was. For a moment, he was in thought trying to once again wrap his mind around what had happened. Nothing had changed, everypony was still gone, but he was able to take his mind off of it. He looked up at Pipsqueak and smiled. “Thank you.”

* * *