0622 Hours
Trottingham, Kingdom of Equestria

The First Year, by Aleksei Volkov

Chapter Three: The Invasion of Trottingham

Undoubtedly, the invasion of Trottingham, and the subsequent conflict, was one of the defining moments of the struggle for Human survival in what we then knew was an entirely new world. It was undertaken by the largest concentrations of human forces to date, including seven naval vessels, and four thousand American and Russian soldiers.

The first chapter of the battle began at six-twenty, when several Equestrian Navy ships were sighted...

Captain Leskov of the Borei-Class submarine Alexander Nevsky looked through the scope of his submarine, sweat beading on his forehead as he watched the wooden ships close to five kilometers away. He leaned away and reached for the communications headset. As the ship's periscope was above water, so was her radio mast, allowing each communication. The plan for the attack was for the Alexander Nevsky to submerge, and enter combat if needed.

"Captain Volkov." He said into the headset. "I need to be assured you see the nine ships headed your way."

"Of course, Captain Leskov. You worry too much." Leskov heard a chuckle on the other end as Volkov let off his nervousness in a very Russian way. "We shall take care of them. Do not worry: We have plans for your submarine in this battle. Volkov out."

Captain Leskov took the headset off, placing it down on the communications console as he looked at the tense faces around him in the control room, painted shades of blue and red in the dim light inside of the command center.

"They have it under control, I think." Leskov said, sighs of relief following this announcement. "The moment a single Kirov-class battlecruiser is incapable of rendering a wooden navy armed with large crossbows into a large tinderbox, I will tender my resignation."

"Be prepared to eat your words, Captain." His first officer said. "I do not think there is a single thing that a New Russian Federation officer can not do wrong."

"Do we have confirmation of their classifications?" Captain Volkov asked the technician on the communications console.

"Two galleons, three schooners, two brigs, a caravel, and a single ironclad in the rear." The technician said a moment later.

"An ironclad?" Volkov asked. "Have they managed to procure gunpowder weaponry as well? If they follow our technological path, they should have."

"No, sir." The technician replied. "It appeared to be armed with ballista, and is just a galleon with some type of iron plating on the sides."

"Then an ironclad in name only, I suppose." Volkov said. "Has the American given us permission to fire?"

"... Captain Henderson has given permission." The technician said after a moment.

"Then fire." Volkov said to the technician controlling the forward turret. With an ear-splitting boom, the 130mm cannon on the aft deck fired, launching its projectile towards the first pony ship.

The shell struck two and a half seconds later, blowing a hole through the upper three decks of the Galleon before detonating belowdecks, right along the keel. The explosion broke the ship's back, splitting it into two parts, both of which began profusely burning.

A full three seconds later, the Halsey and the Spruance fired as well, their 5-inch forward cannons launching their projectiles towards the second and third ship, both Schooners. The first one blew through the back of the ship before exploding right above the rudder, blowing the rear deck of the ship to splinters and sending the first half surging forward, digging its own grave in the water. The deck was completely submerged in moments.

The second Schooner was in a tight right turn as the shell struck along the side, ripping through the ship before exploding in the center, literally blowing the ship's middle apart, shattering its keel and blowing multiple holes below the waterline.

Twelve seconds into the battle, and three of the nine ships were down, with the others turning rapidly, trying - and failing - at evasive maneuvers. Five seconds later, the Spruance and Halsey fired yet again, both of their shells landing on a single Brig now near the front. The first one shattered the rearmost mast and crashed into the raised rear of the ship, blowing it - and the one steering the ship - apart. The second shell blasted into the left side of the ship at the waterline and detonated, tearing a massive, gaping hole in the side of the ship, as well as starting several fires, dooming the large Galleon to its fate.

Another shell from the Admiral Nakhimov reached out, turning the top of the remaining Brig into a raging inferno as it detonated on the main mast, sending burning shards of wood flying into the deck - and the crew members.

The second - and only remaining - Galleon was smarter: the next shell from the Spruance detonated twenty feet away from the ship, a glowing barrier revealing itself to be a shield.

On the deck of the submarine Alexander Nevsky, Captain Leskov watched this through the periscope with a wiry grin.

"Alexander, give me a firing solution on that Galleon with a RPK-2, one-o'clock forward." He said.

"Firing solution set. This is easier than target practice." The fire control officer replied.

"Fire one." Leskov said. Half a second later, a thud reverberated through the room as one of the torpedo-missile combinations was launched.

The RPK-2, also known as the SS-N-15, blasted out of the torpedo tube, activating its engine and rocketing to the surface - and out of it - a moment later. The missile headed straight for the Galleon, two and a half kilo meters away. Half a kilometer away and ten seconds later, the missile dropped towards the water, parts of it breaking off and transforming it into a 82R torpedo.

Guided by the massive wake from the Galleon, itself making enough noise to make its target known, it homed in on the Galleon, headed straight for it. The shield of the Galleon had withstood three shells at this point, and were holding up, if just barely. However, it only extended above the water.

One minute and twenty-two seconds from the start of the initial engagement, the Galleon simply exploded. The 533mm torpedo blew the Galleon apart, wood flying into the air as the entire center of the ship seemed to disappear in a ball of fire.

"See? Nothing to it." Captain Leskov said a moment later, smirking at the sight.

"Focus fire on the next ship." Captain Volkov said, not fazed by the sudden death of the pony Galleon. If anything, he was thankful to the submarine for the assistance on the ship.

The Caravel and Schooner in back blew apart, struck down by shells from the two American ships. The Kirov-class Battlecruiser shuddered as it fired, striking the iron-covered Galleon that was once in the center of the formation. Now it was the only ship remaining. While there was enough armor to stop any sort of ballista attack, it simply waved the shellfire through.

The first 130mm round blew through the centimeter-thick armor, exploding deep inside the ship a moment later, blowing several small holes at the waterline. The second shell from the Admiral Nakhimov arrived six second later, blowing the bow of the ship apart. With the ship still going forward, it rapidly filled with water, the armor plating doing nothing but weigh it down. Thirty seconds later, much of it was underwater.

Two and a half minutes after the start of the brief naval battle, it was over. Nine of Equestria's finest ships lay either burning or sinking in the middle of the harbor. To the horrified ponies watching around the harbor, it seemed as though they had not even had the chance the retaliate.

"Change of plans, Captain." The communications officer said to Volkov as he looked out at the remnants of the battle. "The initial landing time has been moved from 1020 hours to 0720 hours."

"An hour from now?" Volkov asked in surprise.

"Yes. The element of surprise is lost: It is just as easy to launch it sooner rather than later." The communications officer explained.

"Makes about as much sense as anything else." Volkov replied, turning back towards the city.

0718 Hours

The city of Trottingham was in a full-scale panic. Fifty minutes after the end of the naval battle, news had already spread of the entirely one-sided naval battle. Full-blown rumors spread across the city, building up over one another, and most of them were entirely wrong.

At seven-eighteen in the morning, the first naval elements of the attacking force began to the advance. The Amphibious Assault Ship Sevastopol and the massive Zubr-class Lancing Craft/Air Cushioned began to move forward. Meanwhile, over two dozen MH-60 Blackhawks and Mi-24 Hinds began to take off of the Gerald R. Ford and the Sevastopol, while sixty-four of unmanned MQ-8C Fire Scouts rose from various ships, all headed towards the shore.

Two small LCACs zoomed out of the back of the Sevastopol, turning in a wide arc and zooming forward. Distance to the shore: Half a kilometer.

The various transport helicopters were the first to arrive. They set down on the street at the top of the beach, with dozens of ponies running away, making enough room for them to land. Hundreds of Russian and American infantrymen swarmed out, rushing to secure the beach and the street. The two LCACs were the next to arrive, rushing from the water to the land and powering down. The ramp smashed down, letting four M1A2 Abrams tanks thunder onto the beach, rapidly moving onto the street.

The Sevastopol stopped itself three hundred meter from the shore as the Zubr-class LCAC switched from the water to the land, slowing to a halt and dropping its ramp. Half a dozen BTR-3s quickly went down the ramp, followed by two T-90M Main Battle Tanks.

The first of the MQ-8C Fire Scouts had arrived by this time, forming a serious aerial cover. The ponies who had been in the streets rushed inside as Russian and American infantrymen, often riding on the landed tanks or APCs, advanced down the streets.

Captain Henderson watched the 'Net' display with a degree of interest on the bridge of the Gerald R. Ford, as the US and Russian forces continued to move forward. Currently, they were four blocks in, with 6% of the city secured. So far, it was unopposed.

That changed in moments as first one, and then most of the units at the front had their symbols changed to 'Under Attack', and reports started to come in over the radio about small groups of the guards making stands in the streets. Captain Henderson could only sigh as two Mi-10s lifted off of the deck, carrying aloft a pair of T-90Ms towards the beach.

"Two guards, second floor and to the left!" One technician shouted to the other in the hanger of the Gerald R. Ford as they controlled their assigned MQ-8Cs.

"Got them." His friend replied, moving the controls and pitching the helicopter to the left. It moved sideways in the air as he launched a single Hellfire missile, striking the second floor of a building housing two of the guards. It blew them apart, as well as much of the wall surrounding them. The Russian and American soldiers in the street cheered, advancing forward.

Suddenly, a large spear bounced off of the front of a BTR-3 in the street. The small turret housing the 30mm cannon swiveled, firing five times in quick succession, picking off the foolish Pegasus guard who had launched the projectile.

A single unicorn guard walked out onto the roof of a nearby building, horn glowing an almost painfully bright color. A bright yellow line went from it to the first MQ-4C, blowing out its engine. The UAV lost control, falling in a circle towards the ground as its engine disintegrated, impacting a building two second later.

The second MQ-4C turned on a dime, firing the single M2 browning mounted below it at the unicorn, who quickly dived behind a piece of the building next to it that had fallen. That did not save it from the Hellfire missile that came a second later, blowing it apart.

"I'm taking over another one of the Fire Scouts." The technician whose MQ-8C had been blown apart said.

"Better luck this time." The other replied.

0738 Hours

First Lieutenant Miller flew over the city in his F/A-18E/F, scanning for targets. He had been given the mission of clearing the skies of any pegasi guards who might take to the air, considered a high priority. For what reason, Miller did not know, as he had not seen any so far.

The only part in the battle he had played so far was watching it. Sometimes he wondered why he had even taken off in the morning, much less had to go into the air with his wingman.

"Sierra-One, this is the Observatory. Do you copy?" His radio suddenly blurted.

"I copy, Observatory. What's your situation?" Miller replied.

"I have a large contact on the Sentinel: Around thirty to forty pegasi to the north, grouped in a large mass, and headed for the city. They're wearing bright gold armor, so they're not friendly. We'll need your flight to intercept."

"Copy, Observatory. Sending flight to intercept."

Miller checked the radio before switching to the squadron channel.

"Skybreaker flight, this is Skybreaker Lead. Heads up, boys. We have a formation of pegasi inbound from the north. Form up on me, and let's shred the fuckers." Miller said over the radio, followed by three acknowledgments.

As Lieutenant Miller turned towards the area they would be coming from, he ignored the three fighters going into formation around him to concentrate on his briefings. The pegasi were very maneuverable, and although they wore lightweight armor, the faster ones had been known to reach speeds just below the speed of sound.

Soon, the group appeared on his radar: A large return, just under twenty miles away.

"Skybreaker two, three, and four, make sure that your first pass counts. You'll have to engage them in a dogfight if it does not, and that is NOT a very good idea." Miller said over the radio.

"Lead, what if they do engage us in a dogfight?" Skybreaker Three asked.

"Hope you can outmaneuver a born flier." Miller replied. "That, and pray to whatever deity you happen to favor."

Soon enough, he could spot them visually: A bright clump of forty-six golden dots, spread out over an area fifty feet across. Miller armed his 20mm nose gun, hoping for the best.

For the pegasi, the four jet aircraft came out of nowhere, streaks of light blazing from their nose guns. Thirty-two pegasi dropped in the first pass as 20mm shells shredded through them, easily killing them. That left only twelve remaining in the air, all of whom scattered.

"Good job, everyone! Now let's finish them off!" Miller said over the radio as he sent his F/A-18 into a hard right turn. He quickly located the first pegasus he could see, turning the jet slightly to get behind it. Unfortunately, the pegasus was aware of his chase. It sped up, reaching speeds of almost five hundred miles per hour, with Miller pushing the throttle forward to speed up.

The pegasus went into a right turn, leading Miller into a small bank of clouds. While the pegasus had to maneuver around them, Miller could simply ram through it, and did. At this point, he was only forty meters behind it, well within gun range. He sent off a short burst, to try and spook the pegasus. It worked, and the gold-armored pony went into a quick turn to the left, throwing Miller off.

Miller sent the agile jet into a tight turn, straining to get behind the pegasus. When it went up and over a cloud, he plowed right through it, determined to kill it. Suddenly, it leveled out and sped up, trying to lose him in a straightaway.

"You're not getting away..." Miller said to himself, pushing the throttle forward. He quickly caught up with the pony, sending his finger to the trigger. He quickly fired off almost a hundred rounds from the cannon, all of them missing, some by only inches. By the jubilant shouts from the rest of the squadron, they were having much more luck than him.

Suddenly, the pegasus slowed down, coming to the left side of Miller's cockpit, only twenty feet away. His eyes went wide as he saw something small flying at him from the pegasus. Miller quickly rolled the F/A-18 sideways, pulling up and away on the stick.

Miller felt a massive jolt in the plane as the sound of an explosion rung through his ears. He quickly turned his head to check behind him, only to see black smoke streaming from what looked to be the left engine. Turning back to the cockpit, he could see dozens of red alarms popping up, alerting him to dozens of critical failures in the left engine.

"Gerald R. Ford, this is Skybreaker Lead. My left engine's down, and I need an immediate landing!" Miller shouted into the radio, prompting the other squadron members to quiet down.

"Rodger that Skybreaker Lead, the deck is clear. What the hell happened?" The carrier responded.

"Pegasus threw something at my jet. Next thing I know, my left engine is blown to shreds." Miller replied.

"... Copy that. Land immediately."

Miller turned off the radio, cursing the pegasus in the most creative ways he could think of as he redirected his fuel flow and struggles to keep his jet in the air.

"Shit! Look at that American jet!" Sokolov yelled at the others, some watching the battle taking place in the sky, others watching it from below.

"What the hell happened to that poor bastard?" Petrov asked, looking up.

"It was fighting with one of the ponies, and one of its engines blew." Sokolov replied.

"Think the pony had anything to do with that?"

"Probably just threw a rock or something into the engine."

"Ever happen to you?" Petrov asked.

"Once." Sokolov admitted. "In Chechnya. One of the rebel bastards shot an RPG-7 at me. Exploded twenty feet from my Hind, filled the right engine with shrapnel. A near miracle I got back to base at all, much less with an intact helicopter."

"I remember that mission." Bogdanov said, chuckling. "You could not stop complaining about it before you were sent out, and you wrote a letter of protest afterwards to the base commander. I hear he burnt it."

"The bastard better have not." Sokolov said, wincing as another explosion echoed between the buildings. The fighting had reached a point four blocks away from their building, close enough to heard but not close enough to intervene.

"Another group of guards passing below us." Vasilyev said as he watched a unit of twenty ponies, wearing the bright gold armor, marching in formation down the street towards the fighting. "I think it's time to make our presence known. Everyone, to the building edge."

All six men lines up at the stone wall, looking down at the group of guards eight stories below.

"Ready?" Vasilyev asked, receiving nods all around. "Open fire!"

Vasilyev lifted his Steyr AUG A3, squeezing the trigger as he saw gold-armored ponies in his red dot sight. The others in the group, aside from Sergeant Petrov, fired their weapons as well. In seconds, the entire column had been mowed down.

"Well, that was easy." Novikov said a moment later.

"And right in time for the advanced units." Petrov said, pointing down the street. Two M1A2 Abrams tanks, along with a single ZSU-23-4 Shilka, were slowly advancing down the street, with dozens of dismounted infantry running alongside the vehicles.

Suddenly, a series of blue lights hit the lead Abrams, doing nothing against the armor. Petrov looked to where they had come from, and saw three unicorns on top of a three-story building two blocks away, horns glowing.

As Petrov raised his rifle, an immense bzzzzzzz sounded, and the top of the building, along with the offending unicorns, was shredded by the four 23mm cannons of the ZSU-23 Shilka. With that being done, the small vehicle convoy resumed their movement forward.

Petrov let out a low whistle, impressed by the destructive power of the mobile Anti-Aircraft vehicle.

"They don't make vehicles like they used to, I swear." Vasilyev said, shaking his head.

"They sure as hell don't." Petrov agreed.

0754 Hours

"Fire now." Volkov said.

A loud boom echoed through the bridge as the twin 30mm cannon on the aft deck fired for the fifty-third time that day. The shell sliced through the air, moving inland, and hitting precisely on the second story of a building three kilometers away, blowing away another group of forces holding up the landing.

In the time since the landings, the Admiral Nakhimov, along with the two American destroyers, had moved to less than a kilometer offshore, and had been providing fire support when various units had requested it.

"Lieutenant Antoniuk, how go the rescue operations?" Volkov asked his first officer, a Ukrainian that he swore had as little humor as a human could possible get.

"By current numbers, three hundred and twenty-eight have been retrieved." The Lieutenant said, glancing into his 'Net' unit. "Of that number, almost forty percent have wounds of some sort. They have been transferred to the Sevastopol, which will temporarily house them until the city is secured. We have plans to turn a park two kilometers inland into a walled camp for us to house them."

"Good." Volkov said, turning back towards the city as the cannon let lose another shot, this one at a target far into the city. "What is the current collateral damage?"

"Estimated at fifty buildings damaged, four heavily damaged, and one that was completely destroyed. Civilian casualties are, at current numbers, hovering around twenty. The guard casualties are somewhere between two hundred and one hundred and eighty. Our casualties are standing at one BMP-3, two T-90Ms lightly damaged, and eight KIAs. Sixty-two are wounded to various extents."

Volkov turned towards the Ukrainian in surprise. "And the naval battle?"

"We don't know. Nine ships destroyed, with over eight hundred estimated casualties. We won't know until we get records of some kind in the city."

"Area secured?"

"Forty-two percent of the city is under direct control. The only remaining areas are in the downtown, and by the mountain. In addition, we have secured the docks. They are a mixture of wood and stone, but with some labor we can upgrade them."

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Volkov said.

Although he worried about the eventual outcome of this 'war', Volkov knew that they would stand in triumph at the end. After all, they had the best technology, the training to use it, and the will to fight for their survival. What more could they need?

0816 Hours

First Lieutenant Miller looked over his aircraft in the hanger deck of the Gerald R. Ford, astonished that he had even made it to landing. After some amounts of poking around, he and the debreifers had agreed that the pegasus had thrown something that had gotten sucked into the engine, blowing away some of the internals, and damaging quite a few of the tempered titanium blades inside of the engine.

It was easily replaceable, but that would mean dipping into the stores of spare parts. They were rather large, enough to sustain hundreds of such accidents, but what would happen when they finally ran out?

The thought was enough to sent shivers down Miller's spine. When they finally ran out of spare parts for their vehicles, or gas to fuel them, or even the rounds to fire them, what would they be reduced to? Miller supposed that it was that very reason why they were invading the city, and not out of some misplaced desire for conquest.

His main worry was still on his mind, however.

What if they ran out of the men to do anything at all?

The human forces that were here numbered somewhere over ten thousand: Miller had never looked at the solid numbers. When this focused group of soldiers and commanders, in forty years, finally started dying off, what would their legacy be?

Miller had no answer.

Author's Note

This chapter is brought to you by Painful Cough distribution, without which the early release of this would not be possible. The only good thing that has come of my cold is my writing, which has increased to an insane speed. Two thousand words in two and a half hours on Friday!

This also happens to be the end of Act IV. Act V will start coming out at some point in the next week. Remember, I'm a student: I can't spend all of my time writing, however fun it would be in comparison to the alternative.

I was originally going to use a real fighter squadron (VFA-32) for the fighter scene, but I eventually decided against it. I don't want to mess things up where I have the option not to.

Anyway, feel free to comment and such. A couple 'Intermission' chapters will be coming out between now and the start of Act V, so don't expect this to really go away. And please, please point out any errors. I am only one guy, without any kind of college, and only most of a High School education. I have no editors, no pre-readers. I'll always miss something, even if I try my best. So shoot anything you want my way. Comments on the story, suggestions about random things, criticism of something bad, it does not matter.