Stalliongrad Blues

((Okay, lemme give this a try:))

((Fyodor is a rust-colored pegasus with a short copper mane. Before the war, he made a living - such as it was - as a barge captain ferrying cargo up the Foalga to Marescow and parts beyond. In the early days of the war, he used his barge to carry refugees down the river and out of Stalliongrad. Lately, however, the escalating conflict has turned the river into a shooting gallery, leaving Fyodor his barge sitting idle in what remains of the harbor.

Fyodor is calm, and not given to outbursts of emotion. He is normally quite cold and pragmatic, but has an astounding capacity for generosity if you press one of his weaknesses - children being one of them. He has some dealings with the rebels, putting his mehcanical skills to work on their few war machines.))

((How's that?))

(Eh, the magical thing sounds a little dumb. I prefer to think of it as No-Pony's-Land rather then Maaaaaaagical-Pony's-Land. Impending, that's a cool character)

"I dunno. Just seemed like a foal." Artyom shrugged. "Maybe the PENPAL sniper was improving his target practice? Anyway, I know a way that doesn't involve the no-pony's-land. It's... A bit dangerous. It involves the harbor as a starting point and ends at the icy wastes."

"I can't swim." Slag chuckled. "I don't think anyone can swim for long in the Foalga at this time of year anyway. I presume we'll be getting a ship?"

"Yes. I imagine I could pilot a boat. We take an alternate route, and boom. We're fine. I hear the Foalga is rather... violent, nowadays, anyway. "

"We're not too far from the docks now, and the only trouble in the way is the Records building; the Air Force is launching nonmechanical flights from there on a regular basis. We'll need to stay dark and quiet while we're near it."

"It won't be too long before the sun gets all the way over the horizon, and by then it'll be pretty bright. I suggest we get a move on." Slag began to trot faster, keeping his eyes moving.

The Records building loomed over the dockyards and the street like a depressing monolith to some sort of boring extinct race. Square, concrete and solid grey, it was almost intentionally designed to be as oppressive as possible. No-one seemed to have bombed it, or even fought near it.

"Wow. That's a building." Artyom said, looking up.

"I don't know if this place is giving me the creeps, but I have a feeling something horrible's coming. We'd best move, keep between the buildings and such." Slag peered into the alleyway and quickly slipped in.

The small group continued to move stealthily through the complex network of alleys and side streets as they made their careful way around the looming facade of the Records building, where occasional sentries could be seen gazing from windows with sharp eyes and loaded rifles.

"Keep your eyes on the sky, everypony. We don't want to get taken by surprise."

"It's too quiet again. Just like Commisar's Street." Slag sniffed and grunted. "I know we're under lockdown, but you'd at least expect to smell some breakfast."

Artyom noted that the entrance door was wide open.

"Why is the door wide open, instead of being closed?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

As if on cue, the doors were slammed shut. Soldiers appeared in the windows and over the top of the perimeter walls. On top of the building appeared anti-tank soldiers, the firing lines of their RPGs sweeping over the ground and sky.

The ever-loudening sound of helicopter blades came into hearing.

"Well, shit," Slag cursed flatly.

Artyom thought.

Then ran for the Records building. He bucked the door, and ran for the inside. He found himself on the end of a light machine gun on top of an Earth Pony.

Artyom improvised. He quickly took out a brush and drove it into the Earth pony's eye, point first. The Earth pony screamed in pain, and his teeth clutched the trigger. The light machine gun fired wildly, as Artyom ducked behind the door. One bullet passed through his hoof, making Artyom grunt in pain. Soon, the clattering of the light machine gun ended.

"Come on! This is the only way through that we have a chance in!" He yelled, biting the insides of his cheek.

When the jaws of the ambush began to close, Ivanov acted on old habit, galloping into a smaller, adjacent lot. He saw one of the others rush the door, shortly followed by an abruptly halted burst of gunfire. He shouted to the second pony who had followed the first in, "The docks, meet at the docks!".


Ivanov's instinct proved correct, as he quickly pried the ponyhole cover out of its place with a strong telekinetic grip. As he began to climb down, he noticed a mechanic pull himself out from under one of the parked APCs, responding to a radio hail. Desperately, Ivanov enveloped the stallion in another telekinetic field, yanking him sharply into the hovering ponyhole cover. He moved aside, allowing the unconscious pony to fall into the sewer with a small splash. Ivanov dropped down after, pulling the cover in over his head. In the near-darkness, he fumbled, trying to find the mechanic's toolbelt. After a few moments, he did, quickly unbuckling it and wrapping it around himself. The radio continued to squack, something about a pair of ponies infiltrating the neighborhood HQ in the Records building.

I guess that one didn't bite it, after all. Best to keep going, hope they heard me.

Pulling a small flashlight from the belt, Ivanov flicked it on, and began walking down the gentle slope, towards the exit at the river. The gentle slosh of raw sewage to his left accompanied the constant stream of reports from the radio.

Slag checked corners as the sound of the helicopter drew louder. He silently wondered if the helicopter would be relieving them of some of the hostilities.

A soldier armed with a carbine peeked around a corner down the hall. Slag put his sights on the soldier and pulled the trigger just as the other soldier did the same.

Only one's bullet connected.

Slag looked to his injured comrade. "Sorry I cannot help you with your wound, but my knowledge is of metal and mechanics, not medicine." Slag then ducked as more fire erupted from the hallway, putting his gun around the corner and firing blindly as suppression.

Artyom ducked as a bullet passed over.

"I'll be fine." He muttered. "We just need to keep going to a backdoor or anything..."

As the gunfire settled for a split second, Slag heard the telltale sound of a missile. He braced himself for impact.

BOOM! The explosion shook the building violently and Slag used the chance to open fire on the shaken guards, dropping two and appearing to injure one. He kept his ears open and his body braced in case whatever forces were attacking got another shot off.