The Continental War
It was the bloodiest war in the Republic's history. Over 3 million dead over the course of the war, and another 500 thousand dead in aftermath.
Some say we had no choice but to get involved - That the war and subsequent bloodbath was not our fault. That the dark ones are to blame for all the tragedy and death inflicted upon the land.
I know better. We had choices - We made the wrong ones.
They say that we learned our lesson - That warfare would cease to be as a whole.
They were wrong. It only changed.
The year is 43 A.L.B, and the world is once again nearing war.
A former ally now under the rule of a power hungry dictator.
A republic ruled more by it's generals and soldiers than it's actual leaders.
An enclave of victims stuck between the two.
The enemy is coming.
And on sky blue wings, we shall meet them.
Chapter 1: By Their Grace
Softspot Mountain Range
17th of the Month of Deep Winter, 43 A.L.B
7:30 Local Time
The Softspot Mountain Range was, contrary to it's name, not actually a mountain range; It was instead a collection of tiny hills, acting as a demilitarized gap between the two neighboring mountain ranges. Above these hills, a small group of pegasi flew through the cold winter air, all heading for the vessel they had been assigned to attended by the military academy they all attended together as a group. The group flew in a sloppy V formation and were all dressed casually; A mark of their status as the bottom recruits of their local Flight Academy, acting as a drill instructor's worst fear.
Leading the group was a bulky pegasus dressed in grey-colored heavy combat armor. His rank identification was barely visible, the two silver colored wings spread out blending in easily with the camouflage. He had introduced himself to the group as "Ghost", but refused to tell the recruits he lead his actual name, giving birth to semi-affectionate nicknames such as "Spooky", "Ghosty", followed by the less flattering nickname "Flankhat".
The group had been flying non-stop for 35 minutes, and the exhaustion was very visible amongst the recruits; Of the original 30 assigned, three had refused to tag along at the seven minute mark, and were sent back to their Academy with the promise of dismissal upon Ghost's return. Another five had dropped out at the 20 minute mark, whom were also sent back and promised dismissal, and two had separated from the group to take a breather - Both were left behind and neither had yet to return after 10 minutes.
The remaining 15 recruits consisted mostly of pegasi with all sorts of colors - Anything from pink to ink black was visible - and clothing, a few batponies with a general color scheme based around grey, and even a single changeling - or figulus as they were known to the educated - way back in the formation, who was trying their best to avoid any attention the group as a whole could direct at them by disguising itself as a dark grey pegasus.
The silence amongst the group was eventually broken by a question which had been asked many times already.
"Are we there yet?"
The recruit, in this case a pink stallion with blue mane and tail, was then rewarded with a slap to the back of the head by another recruit, in this case a light grey batpony.
"Shut up Pinky, don't bother Mr.Flankhat over there," the recruit said, pointing a hoof at the flight lead, who either didn't hear the question and nickname, or just chose to ignore it. The pink stallion frowned at the nickname he had been assigned.
"I already told you, Leathery, that I do not want to called that," he said.
The mare responded with a snort. "And I believe that I told you that I do not want to be called Leathery. Now we're even, yeah?" She responded, showing off her sharper teeth in a overly large smile.
The pink stallion simply continued frowning, and opened his mouth to counter when somepony cleared their throat just in front of him, drawing his attention. To his surprise, the flight lead had turned his head around while still flying perfectly straight - a feat very difficult to achieve for many recruits - and stared at him through his flight glasses with a sharp glare that simply said "Say it. I dare you". 'No response is best response', rose to the stallion's mind, and he remained silent while keeping his gaze on the ground.
Receiving no challenge to his dare, Ghost turned his head back straight ahead and continued going
Eventually, their assigned vessel - their final destination on this long trip - came within eyesight.
R.N.A By Their Grace
Royalty-class Battlecarrier
To the approaching recruits, By Their Grace was - compared to the rest of the airships screening it - like a giant dressed in a pink dress, or in this case a steel colored one. It stood out easily with it's large hull, multiple hangar docks, hundreds of flak cannons, and the sigil of the republic adoring its bow. To them, the vessel looked to be not even two months old - Every component of the vessel still had the glance of a newly constructed vessel, - but the sole veteran in the group could see every single scratch, every bloodstain shed that never fully faded over the 39 years since its last deployment.
Every year, on the 17th of the Month of Deep Winter, recruits who did not perform well enough were taken to a randomly selected vessel and paired up with the combat fliers stationed there in a sort of "team building exercise". This year, By Their Grace had been the lucky - or unlucky, depending on who you asked - ship selected for hosting the recruits on Newcolt's Day, the term chosen for this particular day.
The captain's bridge, located on the front-end of the superstructure, was filled with various crew members; Flight control, fire control, combat fliers, and even a few members of the cleaning crew not actually on duty - All watched the rag-tag group approach with great interest. It was the first time their vessel had been selected for Newcolt's Day, and none of them had any experience with handling fliers who were unable to handle themselves both in and out of combat.
Many seconds of silence passed as the flight crew simply watched the incoming recruits, before one of the flight control crew, a light blue unicorn dressed in the standard dark orange crew uniform of the Republic Navy, turned to his captain. "How long do you think until they'll be here, Cap'?" He asked.
The captain, an old dark green unicorn dressed in the light grey captain's coat, took his eyes off the incoming ponies to regard the crew as a whole.
"Well, the crew aboard the Divine loves their protocols to a religious extent, even more than those back at NORCOM. Since this visit isn't actually well planned, and the only flier amongst them who knows how protocol actually works isn't even from this airfleet, it might take years. If we're lucky, that is," the captain answered, causing the gathered crew to chuckle at the tension relieving joke.
"By Their Grace, this is the Divine, come in, over." A call on the radio came out. The head DICAR operator scrambled to his station, and the rest of the crew on the deck crowded around him as he exchanged words with one of the many escort vessels. A few minutes passed with a couple of heated exchanged words, including "against protocol" and two requests from other vessels for permission to fire (both of which were denied, backed by the threat of court marshall), before the recruits were cleared for approach.
R.N.A. By Their Grace
Hangar 3
7:50 Local Time
"Open hangar doors, protocol 23; Falcon-Silver en route."
