Civil War (WIP)

[      Spring, 1914     ]

[    Western Front     ]

[  Fields of Ponyville  ]

The blade of her sword sank into the pony’s flank surprisingly easy. Eris gave a vicious twist to the weapon, then pulled it back out, covered in gore. The earth pony who was the subject of the griffon’s assault had been trying to drive a field gun to the rear of the battlefield, in retreat. The filly gave a cry and fell onto her side into the churned-up mud of no-man’s land. Eris took this opportunity the delve her sword once more, mercifully into the breast of the wounded fighter. A coup de grâce. The mud-covered earth pony’s cries and flails stopped, and her muscles slackened.

Once more withdrawing her sword, Eris took a moment to catch her breath and observe the field of battle. All around her, chaos reigned. The Rebels had been routed, and were trying to retreat to the safety of their unicorn-shielded trenches, but the pegasi and griffons of the 1st Baltimare Hussars - Eris’ unit - were cutting them down faster than they could run. Behind her, the rumbling steam-powered transports of the 102nd Mechanized Infantry were approaching fast - it appeared the Colonel was making a bid for the Rebel’s lines.

The distinctive ‘tearing’ sound of large artillery shells cutting through the air brought Eris back to her wits, and she reflexively took flight, bounding back from the front. From her new viewpoint, she was able to see that it was not the Loyalists’ artillery that was firing, but the Rebels’. They were shelling their own retreating forces in order to keep the 102nd from advancing to their trenches. Thunderous explosions took the lives of the enemy - thankfully her comrades had followed their training (ingrained as instincts, really, by this point) and were airborne.

A clarion call from behind her beckoned the Hussars and the Infantry into the safety of their own trenches. With a powerful flap of her wings, Eris made her way back as the infantry below her reversed their transports to do the same. Before she could even touch down, the thunder of nearby artillery signaled that the Loyalists’ had hunkered down for now, and were keeping the Rebel’s lines buttoned up.

Descending into the trench with a gust of wind and the flapping of wings, the Hussars made quite an entrance. Cheers from the ponies in the trenches travelled up and down the line, as the Hussars were given pats on the back - they’d been the ones to route the enemy, and give the rest of the army time to take new ground. The profits of that hour of carnage: a hundred feet or so of precious territory.

Once farmland, the upturned fields around Ponyville were now gouged and striped with trenches, each small gap representing countless lives and untold effort to take. Already, earth ponies were furiously digging a new trench for what was - for now - the front line.

The Rebels had been pushing towards the river in an attempt to open up a supply line from their stronghold in Las Pegasus. The Royal Navy had effectively blockaded the port to the sea,