0001 - Bellatores Praevenimus
“We were all at once terribly alone; and alone we must see it through.” ~ Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front
Lunae Ascensionem
Bellatores Praevenimus
Sunday, December 8th - 5 Years After Luna’s Return
In the Northern Breaches of Equestria...
Sometime in the Afternoon...
Equestria was in the prime of it’s first winter snowfall, recorded to be the harshest since the time of Princess Luna’s return to Equestria. The once-green landscape was now transformed into a slurry of white and grey flakes that flung and clumped themselves against any surface exposed to each frozen drop.
A lone snowflake dropped into the confusion, its weight now carried by the howling winds that proclaimed the lands of the North. The white orb flashed by a lone, leafless tree with something that sat at its trunk, the inanimate object and returning to whizz by the tree once more in a powerful gust. Once more it turned tail, hitting the coat of something huddled under a layer of the freshly-falling snow.
The snow fell off in clumps as the thing lifted up from underneath it all. Now, standing at around five foot tall, was a brown Earth Pony stallion. His eyes blinked a few times, fully opening his eyelids for a moment to reveal the hunter-green that claimed the irises of his eyes. He looked to both sides, as if he were searching for something under the snow.
The stallion ducked down closer to the snow-covered ground, his eyes searching among every dip and twinkle of the clumping snow. Against the howl of the wind that continued to bring in more snowdrift, one could tell he had mouthed a curse to himself. His eyes began to frantically search around, his hooves sweeping away at the snow. He turned back to the base of the tree and dug into the drift of powder, his hoof scraping against a piece of fabric. This brought both a smile to his muzzle and sense of relief to his body.
“Almost thought I lost you,” the stallion chuckled in relief as he pulled the piece of fabric. It was wrapped around a long object, and when he managed to fully clear off snow with his hoof, he began to unveil a firearm from its protection against the elements.
As he pulled the white hooded duster away, his hoof held the forestock of a bolt-action rifle. The stallion didn’t have much time before he would freeze away, so he leaned the rifle stock-first in the snow cover against the tree. He then proceeded to pull on the white duster, leaving the hood off his head as to keep in from fluttering in his face with the hostile wind.
After slipping his front legs into the sleeves, he fastened the chest buttons and tightened the belt around his waist. With a satisfied nod, he grabbed the rifle from the tree and stepped his right hoof into the slack of the sling before ducking his head into it to firmly secure it against him. With the strap against his chest, he gave his disheveled mane a brush with his hoof. “Time to start moving.”
Against the cold, the stallion started his trek. He looked up to the sky for a moment as he plopped down one hoof after the other, wondering if he’d really make it to Canterlot. He had to tell someone what had happened hours before he found himself in the breech of the snowstorm. Before all of this, the stallion was enjoying a visit with his father in Stalliongrad...
* * *
The Spearhead Residence
7:45 AM
The sun had just risen over the waters of the Volga Bay, it’s reflections dancing in the eyes of waking ponies among one of the two industrial cities of Equestria. For a visitor to this wondrous feat of magic, mechanics and technological advancements, anypony would be surprised to see that some of the native citizens still admired the sun’s light among the calm waters of the bay. What they wouldn’t expect was the large ship that sat in anchorage in the large harbor of the city.
A certain brown-coated stallion was admiring the giant from a window in his father’s home. His eyes danced along the beautifully-paneled decks, watching as ponies of all races walked and trotted their way along them. The ship’s main feature, the three humongous triple-gun turrets that were placed two in the forward and one in the aft, were also crawling with ponies as they swabbed and cleaned the barrels of each naval rifle. Further still, the stallion scanned the battleship’s form, peering among it’s bristling defenses of anti-air guns that were strewn about among the mess of the turrets, bridge, and facilities housed within it’s jagged form that rose above the deck. A closer look along the hull revealed the ship’s honorary name to be the HMS Cadenza. “Simply. Amazing.” The stallion chuckled, putting his chin on his hoof as he continued to admire the ship’s gawking beauty.
“Dusty! Come have breakfast with your old man!” A gruff voice seeped through the walls and into his ears, making him shake his head from the trance induced by the giant machine of war.
“Coming Pops!” Dusty yelled with a lighter pitch of his own father’s voice before closing the window to the bay and turning tail to head downstairs to meet his father for the brunch that they’d plan since over three months ago. He was glad to have finally gotten some time to come down and visit his last piece of family from the Spearhead lineage, and being in the hoofsteps his father forged as a member of the Equestrian Guard only made the trip down from his post in Derbyshire to be that much sweeter. Without wasting anymore time, he trotted out the door of his old bedroom, heading down the stairs that led into the living room of the residence. It was there that he was met with the crimson gaze of his father, Ragtime. Dusty still found it funny that his father found his special talent as a musician, but appreciated the fact that his music was what gave the Golden Bugle Symphony their idea to create music in the name of military cadences and marching songs.
“Morning, Son,” the similarly-colored Earth Pony chuckled as he gave Dusty a big fatherly embrace, “Did you sleep well?” Dusty nodded in the hug, breathing a sigh of comfort through his nose.
“Sure did, Pops,” he chuckled quietly as he soaked in the emotion of father-son love. He had to admit that it was awkwardly refreshing to be sleeping alone in a large bed for himself. Back in Derbyshire, the troops were packed into a barracks and sometimes had to share a bed with one another, even the same blanket at times. Dusty had known of a few stallions who actually possessed feelings for one another, but he didn’t mind the closeness, for they were all comrades-in-arms that had been through a lot more than just bedding with one another. “How’d you sleep?”
“Fine, just fine,” his father assured him as he retreated from the embrace. Dusty nodded with a small smile, looking around the corner of the wall the stairs were emplaced upon to see if his father had kept his end of the deal. “You ready to eat? I made your silly dandelion sandwich too.”
“I’m starving!” he said in a tone of exaggeration, sighing with anticipation as he took off past his father to go and sit at the dining table situated in the kitchen. It sat just under the window that looked out into the bay, so Dusty was happy that he could still admire the ship from afar. As he took his seat behind the plate with his odd delicacy, his father trotted in from the living room, bringing with him a oddly-shaped bag of sorts. Dusty wasn’t going to question him and diggy into his fruity offering, but his voice was the one to stop him.
“Dusty, you remember when I served, correct?” He said as he leaned the bag against the side of the table. It stood on it’s own, the smaller tip of it standing at about three and a half feet above the tiled floor. Dusty raised an eyebrow and answered his father’s inquiry.
“Yep. You said that the bulge was your weapon and that the rifle was your sidearm.” Dusty chuckled afterwards, remembering that he used to laugh like a madpony at the saying as a young colt. His father smiled, most likely remembering those times as well.
“I still have my rifle, you see,” Ragtime pointed to the bag that he had carried in beforehand. “You’re grandfather Sherman gave it me when I joined the Bugle Corps as a young stallion like yourself.”
“Weren’t you issued a rifle like I was?” Dusty asked, his interest now piqued at the origins of the rifle. For all he knew, the quartermaster issued their rifles to them right from the start, but took them back before somepony went on leave. But he knew the reasoning, especially with the likeliness of a possible theft of firearms for black-market trading.
“Nope. The government issued me a bugle, and only a bugle. Back then, we didn’t have as many weapons as we do now.” Ragtime’s hoof graced the tip of the bag, making Dusty raise his eyebrow even further. “Your grandfather noticed this and went and bought me a rifle from the local gunsmith when we lived in Hoofington.”
Dusty’s jaw dropped slightly at this new discovery. He instantly made the connection to why he loved his grandfather so dearly before he passed away years ago. “So if he hadn’t went and bought that rifle...”
“Yep. You wouldn’t be sitting where you are now.” He chuckled afterwards trying to lighten the mood. Dusty thought otherwise.
“But why bring it up now, Pops?” Dusty said with a hint of curiosity, tilting his head in his father’s direction. Ragtime shook his head in response.
“Because I’m giving it to you,” he pointed between his chest and Dusty’s. The younger of the two’s jaw took a drop for a second time, his eyes shrinking in sheer surprise. “Dusty. Are are you listening to me?”
“Y-Yeah... But why give it to me? Grandpa gave it to you for a reason.”
“Dusty, I intend to start a tradition that will last in this family for a long time to come. Even if we’re the last of our own kin, I can live in peace knowing that you will continue the family line.” Ragtime chuckled, sending the tip of the bag in Dusty’s direction with a push of his hoof. The younger stallion’s instincts kicked in and caught the bag with a open fetlock. Still, however, Dusty’s thoughts were occupied with his father’s words: continue the family line.
To distract himself from the cold reality, he looked up at the small kitchen clock situated above the sink. 7:48, its hour and minute hands read with the methodical ticking of its gears...
* * *
Some Distant Wintry Knolls...
Sometime in the Afternoon...
Dusty’s hood was now over his head, covering up his forehead from any spry eyes that lurked within the snowstorm. The hood also served to protect the rest of his head from the cold, at least mostly from the gusts of wind that swept back and forth along his path. The snow had lightened up on the terrain, allow the lone trooper to see where he was actually heading.
His peripherals were able to mark his position as being in some type of rolling terrain, covered in the new winter’s dress. Even with the majestic beauty of Equestria’s first snow, the sound of hissing and buzzing wings were the predominate feature to capture his attention.
The new sounds in his ears triggered his natural instinct to drop on his stomach, lowering his silhouette in the grey of the lingering storm to a simple mound in the ground. He heard a hiss again, followed by the flutter of a pair of wings. The sound of them was rather beady for a pony, so Dusty thought. Quietly, but with urgentness, he unslung his rifle from his back and held it against his underside before laying on his left side of his frame.
Another hiss from within the storm cued his shimmie movement on his side, his form moving slowly and quietly among the wintry conditions. Dusty clutched the rifle tightly as he moved, not wanting to make a single sound if it meant the risk of his life. One slip of his hoof, and it could mean his own demise.
What made the stallion stop in his tracks, however, was a groan that was akin to ear. It sound much like a pony compared to beady and raspy hissing that he kept hearing. Now Dusty was presented with even graver situation. The possibility of there being a fellow comrade would be oddly high, having it only been a few hours since the events of Stalliongrad’s demise. Coupled with the fact that Dusty had only been traveling for about the past two hours from the outskirts of the city only served to lock down this unprecedented truth.
They’re going to take all of Equestria...
The now-wide eyed Dusty realized the importance of making it to Canterlot in one piece, for if he didn’t, his homeland would be in grave danger. But the groan of pain that emulated itself nearby brought him back to the beating of wings and hissing in a language that he probably would never grasp the basics off.
Dusty looked forward of him, finding a mound of snow that could help support his rifle. He scrunched himself closer together, shimmying toward the support for his rifle. Slow and methodical, just like the clock...
As he turned onto his stomach, a wail of pain was heard. The curses that were muttered afterwards were indeed ones of a pony, particularly a stallion. Without wasting anymore time, Dusty pulled the old rifle from underneath him and step the muzzle of his weapon just underneath the surface of the packed snow. As he straightened himself to set up his killzone, he noted that the sun was falling in the direction that he faced. It reminded him that he was lucky to not have a scoped weapon like some of the other sharpshooters he knew from his unit.
Peeking above the iron sights, Dusty’s eyes met the forms of a bug-like creature with a series of predominate pony features, aside from its jagged horn and wasp-styled wings. For some reason, he remembered these creatures. Their buggy eyes. The way they hissed to each other. The striking similarity to its partner...
It took him a moment to connect the creatures of the Canterlot Invasion to the ones that stood before him. About fifty meters directly ahead the muzzle of his father’s rifle stood two second-time invaders of Equestria above the body of what seemed to be a bloodied and maimed stallion. Dusty wasted no time in dropping back behind the rifle’s iron sights and took aim at one of the creatures looming over the injured pony.
Time slowed a bit for the riflepony as he maneuvered the sights to have his eight-millimeter round fly a direct path between himself and the front of its head. Dusty made sure that he would make his kill by aiming just below the horn, for it he hit it, the bullet could be redirected ,while simultaneously breaking it off, and completely miss. With only five rifle cartridges on his person, he couldn’t afford to miss, let alone the proximity he was located in compared to the two bug-ponies.
His hoof reached down to his large trigger and slowly started pulling back against it as his other hoof held the buttstock up from the snow beneath him. Dusty didn’t flinch at the large crack that bellowed out into the slurry knolls, his satisfaction of it being the creature’s head falling away from his iron sights. To be honest, he didn’t feel anything other than the recoil of the cartridge discharging from his weapon.
In one fluid motion, Dusty cycled the bolt of the rifle, chambering a fresh cartridge for him to take down the last bug-pony, who was looking around in bewilderment of his comrade’s demise. He couldn’t tell what emotions were playing out on it’s face, and he was never more thankful to not have a telescopic sight to see the gore of massacrated brains, goo, chichin that would have exploded out of the back of his first target’s head. With a quiet clack of his bolt handle cradling back into place, he lined up his next shot on the head of the frantic creature.
Another loud crack echoed through the snowstorm, a black form falling to the ground with a gaping hole in the side of its chest. Dusty, amidst the recovery of the rifle’s buck, cycled the bolt of the rifle once more, flinging another hot brass casing deep into the wintry landscape. He cursed himself for not getting the instant-kill shot to the head, but he knew the poor sod would be bleeding out soon since the destructive capabilities of the eight-millimeter were plotted high up on the charts.
“Help... M-Me...”
Dusty snapped out of his shooter phase, jumping up with his rifle and galloping as fast as his hooves could carry him over to the injured stallion. What he saw on sight made him grimace under his hood. Green gope and fragments of black chichin littered the top of the dying stallion’s form, his breaths labored and shallow with each draw of cold air he took. “Please... H-Help-”
The stallion’s cry for help was cut short by his body giving way to coma. Something in his fetlock fluttered, however, as if the stallion were going to give it to Dusty. The riflepony had deep reservations about taking things from the dead, but not only was he probably lost in the frigid north, he was also hungry as well. A deep rumble in Dusty’s stomach accented this fact and prompted him to search around for any rations that could be eaten by himself.
As he searched around the dead stallion, he began to notice the bite marks and stab wounds that dotted his exposed underside. Dusty could tell he was a soldier of some sort, but the jacket that the dead pony sported was too torn to shreds to even begin to decipher what unit he belonged to. A bandolier satchel was still slung to the dead form, and Dusty desperately needed ammunition if he even wanted to begin thinking about getting to Canterlot in one piece. Without a second hitch, he yanked it away and began searching through it. What he found was the last thing he’d expected.
Three stick magazines that belonged to only one weapon in the entire Equestria small arms arsenal were now clutched in his fetlocks. Dusty knew that these little morsels of military ingenuity belonged to a sub-machine gun that would most likely benefit him in the long run. His hooves stuffed the magazines back into the satchel and began searching around for the weapon, which he thought he’d felt just next to the dead corpse.
After a moment’s search, he now had a second weapon to call his own. The M/45 sub-machine gun was a find that Dusty considered himself lucky for, especially since the rifle ammo he desperately needed would only be in the deepest part of Canterlot. Still, he need food, and he needed it fast.
Taking one more search of his surroundings, he managed to scrounge a silly C-ration of flower jerky. Dusty thought it would be better than nothing, but he would need to save it until he needed it. The last thing he found useful was the piece of paper crumpled in the dead stallion’s fetlock, which turned out to be a map of eastern Equestria, along with Canterlot.
Dusty nodded and stuffed the parchment down into his duster, giving a salute to the fallen soldier. Even if he technically wasn’t the first casualty of the oncoming war, Dusty counted it as the first in his own little battle to save his homeland from assured destruction.
