(story extract)
 
The pleasant walk I was having through the snowy city was rather abruptly cut short, unfortulately, as the balefire egg from a seventeen-pounder shell screamed overhead and lodged itself through the wall of a cratered building, turning it into a literally cratered former building. The ringing in my ears subsiding and the shattered glass from the windows falling out and shattering, again, I switched off the radio and slowly turned about, flinching as the side doors swung open and clattered against the outside of the ridiculously long, familiar tank, an old, familiar gold face topped with a mess of greying mane, and wearing an all-too-familiar look of disapproval. Fuck me with a fuel rod… “Oh. Dad. Hi.”
 
“Night Strike. In the TOG. Now.”
 
“But, but Dad-”
 
“NOW, Night Strike.” Fuck… yeah, that’s dad. Twintails, one of the two great saviors of the north, destroyers of NEAMO, one unkillable bastard bathed in balefire and able to spit it from his mouth to roast anypony who dares cause trouble… well, that’s what people say. All things considered, they aren’t far off from the truth with the ‘spitting balefire from his mouth’ thing.