All Quiet on the Equestrian Front

Chapters

Antebellum
The Shire
The Bridge
Ashes
Frost
C.A.P
Black Betty
Panzerjäger
The War Room
Storm Front
Daybreak
Quassataeque Rates Pace

Antebellum

Si vis pacem, para bellum

One

Antebellum

The steady clip-clop of Twilight’s hooves across the elegant marble tiles of Canterlot castle echoed audibly throughout the grand hall, as the young Princess gazed about the empty throne room. The sun, having set hours before, had given away to Luna’s serene moon. Pale moonlight from the full moon of the evening flowed in through the stained glass windows, testaments to the successes of Equestria.

“Feeling nostalgic, Twilight Sparkle?” came the older, wiser, voice of who could only be Her Royal Highness Princess Luna, from her tone and tell-tale accent. “We dids’t not take thee for a nostalgist, but one who focuses on thy future.”

“Hm? Oh, hi, Luna…. And I don’t know, really. I just… felt a bit nostalgic, as you say. And.. perhaps a bit nervous.”

“Oh? Do tell, our friend? What ails thy thoughts on this peaceful eve?”

The younger of the two mares paused, before the newest stained glass window, peering up at its mix of bright, gleaming colors, mixing elegantly with the serene moonlight outside. “Hubris, I suppose. A year ago today, I, along with the girls, defeated Tirek. Before that, Sombra. Prior even to him, Chrysalis.”

“Ah, we see, friend Twilight. You worry for Equestria.”

The lavender mare blinked twice, as she gazed over to the midnight blue-coated alicorn, taking Luna’s posture and meaning in its entirety for several silent moments. “...Yes, I do. Maybe part of it comes from… seeing the other worlds; what could have been… Travelling after Starlight has really got me worried. Especially since,” she paused, taking a deep breath, her lips twitching ever so slightly, “the first world we were pulled into was at war.”

Silence permeated the hall, for a few vague moments, then gave way to the steady clip of Luna’s shoed hooves, as a large wing fell across the younger Princess’ back, the older mare herself sitting next to the troubled one.

“We... I understand your troubles, Twilight Sparkle. War is a troubling thought for sure, yet I can't help but feel similar. With the Griffon Empire of olde gone and Nova Griffonia a shadow of days past, not to mention Stalliongrad’s apparent revolt in my absence… it is strange to have seen Sister dearest keep such a small standing army.”

Twilight cocked her head to one side, lips pursed in thought. “Is it really that odd, Luna?”

“Perhaps a bit, truly. We firmly remember days of olde, whence Equestria had a grand army- thou must understand, young Twilight, that we were beset on three sides by the Dragons, Griffons, and the Deer.”

“The deer? Olenia?”

“Truly, yea. Honorable and dangerous foes under service of a mad king. Strange, after seeing the modern kingdom, is it not?”

The youthful alicorn nodded, absentmindedly, whilst images of deer warriors bedecked in steel plate and mail danced about her head. “Yeah, that's uh... wow.” She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. “But uh, back on the important thought.”

“Quite. You worry that Equestria is not able to defend itself.”

“If I may be blunt, Luna?”

“We would prefer it, Twilight. Thou knowest this.”

“For the last three years, Equestria’s main method of troubleshooting internal and external threats has basically boiled down to the girls and me… if nothing else, the Guard needs to be rebuilt into something that actually means something again, rather than just ponies sitting around looking pretty in shiny armor.”

“Hm. Oddly hawkish words coming from the proclaimed Princess of Friendship.”

Twilight blushed, furiously, snorting once. “I don't mean it like that! Luna!”

The elder mare tittered, folding one wingtip up to cover her mouth. “P-pfeh-pardon my snark, Twilight. We understand you mean well. Still, I do wonder what caused you to mull over the thought, as much as I do agree.”

The lavender mare sighed, glowering at the amused moon princess, before softening her gaze. “I was talking with Shining, last week; you know the girls and I went up north to visit Shiny and Cady... and Flurry. I guess I just… worry for my friends and family. I don't like having all that weight of their defense on my head.”

“You don't wish to be their only saviour.”

“I wouldn't put myself on that high of a pedestal… but… yes. What if anything happens to the girls or me? That’s it. No offense, but you and Celestia are only so powerful, without access to the elements. Chrysalis proved that.”

“Thy words wound, Sparkle. But, you are quite possibly correct. At the end of the day, powerful as my sister and I are, we are only two ponies. And, we are not immortal goddesses, much as our faithful little ponies make us out to be.”

“I think… yes, I'm sure of it. We need to look at our national defenses. Tomorrow morning, would you terribly mind staying up to help me make my case to Celestia.”

“Thou ask much of us, Young Sparkle! Woe, unto my sleep schedule.” The mare stood on her hind legs, front hooves stretched toward the roof as her wings covered her barrel and face. She held the pose for a few moments, before giggling, as Twilight joined in after a moment’s grumpy glare, and she sat back down to her previous position. “Yea, Twilight Sparkle. We shall help make thy case tomorrow. We must prepare for the future- for better or for worse.”

“Thank you, Luna. It means a lot to me.”

“Aye, ‘tis clear as the daylight sky. Go in peace, Young Twilight. We shall be up bright and early in the morn’ to meet thee at the castle.”

“Right. I'll uhm.. stay here for a bit, if you don't mind. I still need some time to gather my thoughts.”

“Quite. Very well, my friend. Do not overly trouble yourself so as to lose out on thy important sleep, but we shall respect thy wishes. Good evening, Twilight Sparkle.”

“And... you as well, Luna.”

Celestia hummed a soft, oft remembered, tune quietly, as her horn alit with energy, shuffling about several articles of paper from throughout the day’s court. Her ever-vigilant honor guards- Brass Shield and Fulcrum- stood to either side, their ceremonial spears resting idly in their harnesses and draped over their equally ceremonial golden armor.

“Miss Raven, which of my little ponies are next for today’s court? I believe with Mister White Wash’s proposal, we’re ahead of schedule today.”

“Oh, ah, of Course, your highness.” The young unicorn bobbed her head, as she took a look at the day’s schedule, scrunching her nose as she'd adjusted her glasses to properly see the list. “Let’s see… Er… Princess Twilight Sparkle, in regards… To the military?”

The mare hummed, blinking. “That’s odd. Wonder what Her Majesty’s interest in the armed forces is, Your Highness.”

Celestia let out a small hum of her own, levitating a fresh piece of parchment and quill over to her throne, dipping the quill pen in an inkwell along its route. “Well, I’m quite sure we’ll find out shortly, Raven. Go ahead and send her in, since she hasn't decided to just walk in already.”

“Very well Your Highness; I'll fetch her at once.” And with a curtsy, Raven left the throne room through the double doors for a brief moment, leaving the eldest of the alicorns to her own thoughts.

“Odd, indeed.”

Raven cantered back in with her usual measured poise a few moments later, with the new princess, as well as Luna, surprisingly, following shortly behind her.

“Presenting Their Majesties, Princesses Twilight Sparkle and Luna, of Friendship and the Evening, respectively.” Raven bowed in reverence, announcing the two to the room, as a few guards murmured interestedly amongst themselves in the eves and alcoves within the room.

“Greetings, Sister, and my faithful student. What brings you to the Solar Court this fine morning?” Celestia inquired, as the two gave their own curtsies and approached the throne.

“Yea, 'tis a fair morning, sister dearest, though we do perhaps wish that we were more awake to enjoy it so.” The younger sister agreed, before nodding to Twilight.

At Luna’s wordless approval, Sparkle cleared her throat, looking up to her former mentor.

“Right, well… Let me begin by providing some context as to what I'd like to present, Pr-Celestia.” The lavender mare began, pausing slightly as she gathered her thoughts, before launching into her clearly rehearsed speech. “The Equestrian Royal Guard is currently sitting at its lowest enlistment numbers in over fifty years- which spiked upwards once in Nine Ninety-Seven, only due to the short and bloody Equestrian-Buffalo conflict the same year. Since then, enlistment has continued to drop to the point that I can count the number of proper Royal Guard divisions on one of Spike’s claws.”

She paused for a moment, moving her gaze to the few Royal Guards in the room, now listening intently. “I don't mean any disrespect to the Guard itself, but it's turned more from a military power to a well armed police force.”

“If I may stop you there, Twilight; why is it important? The Guard hasn't really had the need to exist in large numbers for many, many years. The conflict with the Buffalo tribes was regrettable, for all involved.”

“I agree. But, I’d also like to counterpoint with the fact that Equestria’s been the subject of many other incursions that would have greatly benefitted from a well-trained, modern military force. Nightmare moon. Queen Chrysalis- who, as you know, retook control of the hives last year, and has already occupied Olenia. Sombra. Tirek.”

“Aye, Sister. Your former protege speaks truly. We art sure that thou remember the mad King Plegia of Olenia, and the scars he gave you in battle.” Luna nodded, taking up the slack whilst Twilight let her take up the debate.

“I do. Quite well, in fact. I suppose that… I can see your point, Sister, Twilight. With… The fall of Olenia, I worry that Equestria is next. I’m no blind fool. Chrysalis and her ilk despise us, and the Military ‘exercises’ on our border are clearly war preparations. But at the same time… to even consider re-militarizing... It brings back old, forgotten memories. And not particularly bright ones.” The elder mare sighed, pausing to look up and around the throne room, eyes glazed over in thought. “ What do you two suggest I do, then?”

Twilight blinked, in confusion, before taking a deep, calming breath, and providing her beloved mentor an answer. “I think that… forming voluntary militias would be a good first step. At the very least, it’s something to help start training ponies in the way of warfare, and raises awareness for the armed forces in general.”

“Yea. Not to mention that ‘twould help fill a few rather under-staffed border fortresses. We do not believe it’d be a hard sell, either, given the right circumstances.”

“Oh? Do you have a thought, Luna?” The alabaster master of the Sun regarded her younger sister.

“Yea, Cellie. Perhaps thou should’st present it as a...positive character-building experience, like the filly scouts, or the Stalliongradian Pony Pioneers.”

“...Pony pioneers.”

“No, no, P- Celestia, Luna may be onto something, there. Stalliongrad has an education program they call the pioneers- it trains their ponies in several useful and applicable areas, such as engineering, aeronautics, mathematics, applied physics, and military branch operation… Perhaps… using some of their existing systems wouldn’t be a terrible idea?” Twilight interjected, cutting off Celestia’s grumbling.

The alabaster mare hummed, quietly to herself as she mulled the thought over. “I’m loathe to give the Stallionists credit for anything, but… I do admit the idea has its merits… How about this, why don’t you two draw up a practical implementation plan, then we’ll talk it out over lunch, tomorrow? Think you can have it done that early?”

“The day after would be more realistic, Sister.”

“That is fair enough. The day after tomorrow, over lunch, then. I look forward to seeing what you two come up with.”

“We won’t let you down, Princess!” Twilight bowed quickly, before practically prancing out of the room, a moderately apologetic and slightly miffed Luna at her heels.

With a dry chuckle and shake of her head, Celestia returned to her papers, shuffling them to look over the requests of the next petitioner in line.

“You hardly ever do, Twilight Sparkle.”

The Shire

Older men declare war. But it is the youth that must fight and die.

Three

The Shire

Dawn broke. Rifles barked, machine guns chattered. Tank shells roared, echoing loudly throughout the town. Dive Bomber Devils shrieked down from above, and the ever present howitzer grumbled from far across the river.

This was the world Dusty Trails awoke to, the dull grays of the sky contrasted by the slowly rising sun.

“Well, they’re not in Canterlot at least.” Her loader- a bat pony mare named Gale Force- muttered, trying to keep herself from shaking, as she picked quietly at her morning ration. The Vickers 303 was resting against the front of the dugout, it’s burnt out and useless barrel replaced with a fresh one from the two’s stock. A new belt of ammunition gleamed along the side of the rifle, the deadly brass cartridges ready to do their work at a pull of the gun’s trigger.

“Guess not, kid.”

“Hey, I’m only, like, two years younger than you.”

“Uh-huh. What’s it look like out there?”

Gale shrugged, and sat aside her ration tin, presumably either full, or not that hungry. “Well, there’s bombers above us. Artillery over that-a-way, and rather pissy bugs a hop, skip, and jump across the river. They haven’t pushed hard yet, but…”

“Won’t be long, probably. Vicky ready to lock and load?”

“Ready to send some dead bugs straight back to the queen bitch herself, Dusty.”
Gale frowned, thrumming her hooves idly across her own preferred weapon, the “Chatterbox”. The ‘box, as it’s operators affectionately called it, was chambered in the short but potent .45 ACP, and a few lucky wielders had been given fifty round drum magazines to field test, as opposed to the more common twenty or thirty round box.

Gale had apparently gotten the weapon as a gift from her sister, a staff officer, as the only ponies Dusty had ever seen assigned them were NCOs and special operators, such as the wonderbolts.

Not that she’d actually fired the weapon for any length of time, at all. Not that Dusty’d gotten around to shooting off the Vickers 303 before yesterday, either.

Dusty slid behind the rather heavy machine gun, sloshing around the water jacket to make sure it was still in one piece. “Ammunition?”

“Plenty came along with the ‘Bolts land division. They've been hoofing it out amongst us. One of them uh, came by while you were asleep.”

“Aw, man, I missed a Wonderbolt?”

“Hey, your fault, not mine.”

“Well, I-” the two cut off their conversation, as rifle fire kicked back into gear, and Changeling tanks grumbled forward again.

Dusty raised the Vickers to a firing position, as Gale slid next to her, and the two set to work. Dusty’s steady hooves slid the Vickers gun across the river bank in long, staccato bursts as she swept the barrel towards any sign of Changeling soldiers.

Gale’s quick wings and hooves meanwhile kept the .303 caliber gun supplied with an ample amount of ammunition as it chattered noisily, bullets whizzing out of the end of the barrel at a lethal rate.

To their near front, a Stuka bomber screeched in from above, and the two stopped to watch it release its payload on an Equestrian position nearer the bridge, the two mares watching in horror as a hopefully dead pony went flying several feet into the air, before crashing down onto the cobblestone road. A few Spandau gun rounds from the Changeling end of the riverbank stitched up and down the corpse, now certainly dead.

Dusty swung the gun about to the far edge of her vision, spraying a burst at a flash of movement, and noting with grim satisfaction as a changeling toppled into the river. A panzer from across the river belched its reply to the gun nest, as a shell exploded against the front of the ruined house she and Gale had walled off with sandbags. Twitching and grimacing as ceiling plaster bounced off her helmet, Dusty glanced over to Gale, who was busy tearing open the top of a fresh .303 box. The younger mare paused momentarily to frown at the ceiling, before grumbling and returning to feeding ammunition into their machine gun.

“Where’s a Sparrow when you need it?” Gale whined, as overhead, another Stuka came screaming hellfire into the town. It’d only be a matter of time before an enterprising pilot decided to drop a bomb on their position. Or the veritable stream of retreating Equestrian soldiers- they’d been streaming in since late last night from fronts as far away as Vanhoover, or Acornage.

Dusty simply grunted noncommittally, as another Changeling panzer slid up to the next, it’s smaller autocannon steadily thumping back and forth across the Equestrian line.

Sparing a short glance to Gale, who was still arguing with the inanimate ammunition box, Dusty flopped herself over onto the ground, taking a surprised Gale with her, voicing protests. Barely a second later, loud and angry twenty millimeter tank shells burst above the pair, before moving on, away from the MG nest, and farther down the river line. Dusty exhaled quietly, before pulling herself back up and behind the Vickers, as Gale shakily opened up the ammunition box and began feeding the cartridge belts.

Off to their right, in the old bakery, the three pounder from the night before echoed out another shell, thankfully a direct hit on the Panzer with the autocannon. A few seconds later, the panzer began to cook off, as flame poured out the back.

The Changeling crewmembers bailed out of the fireball of a wreck, flames streaming from their uniforms as they ran about, attempting to put themselves out and screeching in pain.

Dusty blinked twice, before raising her gun barrel again, though she was halted by a shaky hoof on her left shoulder, her breath hitching momentarily in her throat.

“...Save… Save the ammo, Dusty. We’re running low.” Gale muttered, her voice barely above a whisper, as her eyes watched the immolating bugs begin to keel over and die.

Dusty let off the trigger, as the Vickers gun’s barrel glowed bright orange, and was careful not to touch the searingly hot metal as she let the gun rest against the sandbag emplacement. Sitting back, the Dodge Junction born mare ran a hoof across her brow, as her loader took stock of the pair’s remaining .303 belts.

“Think they’re done for today?”

“Too early.” Dusty shook her head, before pulling a ration bar out of her rucksack, after shaking off the ceiling plaster and roofing that had coated the burlap.

Gale began to say something, but was cut off by a shrill shriek from the opposite bank. The two’s gazes shot over to the bankside.

Dusty slumped slightly. A Changeling medic was attempting to treat one of the nearly incinerated panzer crew members. She was surprised the po-bug was still alive, herself. The pair watched the medic for several minutes, until the Changeling waved over a stretcher team. The four stretcher-bearing changelings carefully lifted the still shrieking Changeling, and carted it off, followed by the medic, who continued to administer… something, Dusty couldn’t really see what.

“Think he’ll live, Gale?” She found herself asking.

“I dunno, Dusty. I really don’t know.”

A few minutes later, the Changelings decided that attacking the Equestrians directly was beneath them, and the skies opened up once more with a rain of artillery. Shells of several large and varied caliber thundered down into the town, as the beleaguered defenders tucked into whatever cover they could scrape together. Gale and Dusty huddled in the far corner of their house-turned gun bunker, as the entire roof shook with the weight of shell after damnable shell.

The seconds turned to minutes, which drug onto hours, until dusk finally hit. Then, and only then, did the changeling artillery finally gave up trying to dislodge the defenders, either out of ammunition, or out of visible targets worth their time firing upon.

The sniper mare from the night before didn’t come around again to their emplacement, sadly, so the pair was out of cigarettes for the night, as they twitchily cleaned their weapons, and counted their remaining ammunition. Three and a half belts.

Gale sighed, and pulled herself to her hooves, tugging her chatterbox onto her back. “I’m gonna go find somepony with extra belts.”

“Good luck. I’ll come with.”

“Lonely?”

Dusty snorted, rolling her eyes. “Yeah, sure, Gale. Nah, just don’t wanna sit there alone. Just uh. Just in case.”

“Oh. Yeah, I get you. Alright, let’s get going, then.”

With a nod, Dusty followed Gale out of the nest, letting the bat pony mare lead. The two crept carefully back up the ruined street, towards the local church, where they knew a well fortified gun nest was set up in the belltower- miraculously yet untouched by Changeling bombers.

They’d made it out onto the street proper, when Gale halt, prompting the half blind Dusty to bump into her. “Hey, Gale, y’know I can’t hardly see when you-”

Whatever Dusty was attempting to say was drowned out by Gale quickly and promptly slinging her chatterbox about, and laying on the trigger, as Dusty hit the deck nearly immediately. Gale promptly followed her to the ground, whilst rifle fire from their immediate front hissed and snapped overhead.

“Changelings! Changelings across the river!” Gale practically shrieked, as she dropped the empty magazine out of her chatterbox, slamming a fresh one in from her side pack. Dusty felt something bump into her where she lay in the slight dip in the road, and without taking the time to think it through, shoved whatever it was out and away from the pair, before tucking in close to Gale, and dragging the mare’s head back down into the dip- probably a shell hole.

A second later, the hoof grenade that she’d shoved out of the hole detonated, and for a split second the Earth pony mare was able to catch sight of what Gale was firing at.

Reaching a forehoof into her own side pack, Dusty Trails rooted about in the burlap pack, until she prodded a familiar cylinder, pulling it free of it’s holder. Holding the object in her left forehoof, she shakily jammed her right forehoof into the object, and shoved her hoof forward with deliberate action.

The Colt Brothers revolver- a gift from her father- barked as the motion-driven action operated the trigger on the Single Action Army, and a figure in the darkness slumped back, as she drug her hoof back to her barrel. By this point, Gale had finished reloading her Chatterbox with a fresh drum, and the two rose back up together out of the shell hole, Dusty jabbing forward in another trigger pull, whilst Gale’s ‘box growled angrily into the darkness.

Along the roadside and within the houses, other ponies began to rouse themselves, and momentarily, a flare burst out from a destroyed house, lighting the immediate area around the bridge.

Dusty and Gale found themselves staring at a platoon sized group of Changelings around said bridge over the Shire, both parties bathed in the dull crimson light of the flare overhead.

Rifles barked, Chatterboxes lived up to their namesakes, and Dusty’s revolver echoed out four more times, before being traded for a dead Changeling’s Mauser carbine.

By the end of the night, only Equestrians remained on the town side of the river.

Dawn broke, as Dusty laid the empty Changeling rifle carbine against the wall of Her and Gale’s Nest, sighing weakly as she let herself slump against the sandbag wall. She was soaked with sweat, and bags pooled under her eyes, as Gale let her own weapon drop awkwardly onto her back again, before splaying out, herself exhausted.

Thunder cracked, for once, not artillery, as rain began to serenely patter down. The two beleaguered mares looked up at the overcast sky, then each other.

Gale cracked an exhausted smile.

“No planes.”

“Thank Celestia’s bright and shiny ass.”
Rain meant no planes.

No planes? No Stukas.

Maybe they’d hang on for a while longer after all.

The Bridge

O living pictures of the dead,
O songs without a sound,
O fellowship whose phantom tread
Hallows a phantom ground --
How in a gleam have these revealed

The faith we had not found.

Four

The Bridge

Dusty wheezed awake with a throaty coughing fit, as her lungs spat up the mostly gone flakes of roofing that had congealed in her throat, over the couple hours she'd been asleep.

The Changeling artillery was doubling down, apparently, what with the Stuka bombers unwilling to fly in the poor weather above them.

Gale quietly passed Dusty a tin cup, full of a dark liquid, before quietly sipping at her own. Bags pooled under the younger’s eyes, something Dusty no doubt reflected in her own. The Earth Pony took a sip from the tin cup, mouth twitching into a scowl as the familiar taste of black coffee wafted past her teeth and into the back of her throat.

Biting down the strong, bitter taste, Dusty shook her head in disgust. “Blegh, fuck, that's rank-ass coffee. Too strong.”

Gale shrugged, chugging away at her own cup. “Can't light a fire. Beats nothing.”

Trails gave a non-committal grunt in reply, as artillery echoed frustratingly in the distance, before taking another swig of the horridly strong- and rather cold- liquid. “Dunno how you stomach this stuff, Gale. I mean, damn.”

“Eh, my sister brews stronger. It's usually hot, though, yanno?”

“I fear for your sister’s bladder in a few years.”

That, finally, got a snort of amusement out of the bat pony, who shook her head, and downed the rest of the nearly syrupy liquid. “Alright, alright. That's enough fun for today.. They're supposed to blow the bridge today I think.”

“No shit?” Dusty shot back in question, downing the rest of the cup, and tossing it aside as she slid behind her Vickers gun for a third time in as many days.

“Shit.” Gale nodded, towards a group of ponies at the river’s edge. Most seemed exhausted, their rifles slung over their backs- or missing, in a few cases- helmets dented from combat; uniforms tattered or mud caked from constant battle. “That's the last group from Acornage. Just got here a few minutes ago. Had to shoot their way through the Changelings.”

“Damn. And they got through?”

“Most didn't.”

The group of Acornage survivors were fairly quickly shuttled towards the rear lines by another group of ponies- others from Dusty’s group, the ‘Bell Garrison. They were in no condition to fight, having been marching non-stop for three days, and nopony expected them to.

That fell to Dusty’s group of ponies. The Earth Pony private followed their trail to the rear for a few minutes, before turning back to her and Gale’s gun position.

The two mares sat tensely in the dugout. The Changelings had stopped firing their artillery a few minutes earlier. Yet, nothing had materialized.

Three boxes. Three boxes of four hundred rounds chambered .303 Canterlot Standard Calibre. Four belts per box, twelve belts in all.

If she was gentle with the gun, the ammunition would, perhaps, last a couple more hours.

Three boxes. Twelve belts. One gun.

The three pounder and its crew off to their right was busy reinforcing their position in the basement of the ruined bakery, probably just as exhausted, and probably just as low on ammunition.

The single three pounder gun- shipped to the Shire by accident when it'd been meant for Vanhoover’s Garrison- had been the sole deterrent of Changeling armor crossing the bridge over the Shire river. It's position shelled repeatedly; it'd been blasted away with Cannon, and was still somehow operational.

Dusty twitched her head back towards the front, shoving the Vickers barrel forward, hooves near the trigger grip.

Still nothing.

The mare exhaled shakily, and let the MG rest against the sandbag wall, leaning against it herself.

A smoke or two would have been great right about now.

The Field Marshall gazed out at the riverline, as artillery crews to his right and left were busy cleaning and maintaining their light field howitzers- the journey overland had been rough on the large caliber guns, and the constant shelling of Equestrian lines had been costly, if important.

The shattered gun caisson behind him spoke volumes, as the weary crews gave their cannons some time to cool off, and engineers time to check their structural integrity.

“More delays.” Trimmel muttered, shaking the morning condensation off his field cap, before replacing it atop his head. “More delays, damnable roads, absolutely pathetic weather.” The Changeling gazed about the artillery battery, and decided to take a stroll, as they’d be unavailable for several hours.

The Architect paused, however, as he felt something patter across his cap’s brim. Followed by a steady pitter patter.

The officer gazed upwards, toward the air above.

Rain.

It was raining.

The damnable pegasi had brought in storm clouds overnight.

Bloody, assault-stopping rain.

Trimmel spun about on his hooves. “I need a runner! Now, verdämmnt!”

The rain began to flow downwards, and shortly after, came the panzers.

Muck flew, splattering Dusty’s face, as she fell back from the Vickers gun in shock. Gale helped her back to her hooves, as she wiped her own face clear of mud, the two having very nearly been taken out by another tank. The three pounder roared, adding another Changeling tank to its tally.

Somewhere to the defense’s front, past the hastily dug foxholes that other infantry ponies had dug along the riverbank, the Royal Sapper Brigade had finally arrived, and were, if Gale was correct, wiring the bridge with explosives.

Thunder crackled as lightning flickered across the sky. Gale tucked into a corner for a moment, thinking the thunder enemy artillery again, as Dusty emptied out another ammunition belt into the steadily building storm. Her face flushed with exertion regardless of the frigid rain, Trails cracked open the next ammunition box, yanked a fresh belt free of the case, and began the somewhat slow process of reloading the Vickers gun.

At least the rain helped keep the last fresh barrel she had in operable condition.

Thunder echoed again, as Gale slid back over, next to Dusty, and went back to helping feed ammo belts into the greedy heavy machine gun.

Dusty twisted the gun about to face some sort of movement- barely visible in the rapidly building thunderstorm, when a flash of tank fire brightened the downpour, before an explosion threw Dusty back, towards the rear of the house.

Wheezing and wide eyed, the Earth Pony mare began patting herself over. A wince near her hip made her jerk away, before gazing back at her bloody fetlock, throat rather dry.

“Sh-ah… Shit I uh.. I think I got h-hit, Gale.”

The bat pony mare whimpered, as she pulled herself to a standing position, and slunk over, looking towards Dusty’s wound. She, at least, seemed unharmed, if somewhat badly shaken by the close call.”

“Oh- oh jeez that doesn't look good. Th-there's uh.. that's blood.”

“Hey, hey re-relax, Gale, it dunnit feel that bad, honest. Just a bit of a love tap, you know?”

“I-I ah, oh jeez, uhh…”

“Hey, uh, ow, shit. Careful, Gale. That still smarts.”

“Shit sorry! Sorry sorry sorry!”

Dusty grunted, as Gale backed off her a few feet.

“S’fine. Gun’s wrecked.”

“O-oh, uh. Yeah.” Gale blinked, then blinked again, finally realizing that their gun nest had been knocked out. “Holy fuck we just got shot by a tank.”

“Yeah… let's… not do that again.” Dusty wheezed, as she walked over to where the Changeling rifle carbine she'd stolen the night before had wound up- flung across the nest by the force of the tank shell.

Snagging up the Changeling rifle and checking the ammunition, she jammed the bolt forward, loading a fresh rifle cartridge into the breech. Two left, by the looks of things.

“So what now?” Gale questioned, as she unslung her chatterbox once more, checking her magazine seating.

“Guess we find a foxhole. I ain’t staying in a gun nest that's already been blown to shit once.” And then she was out the back door.

Dusty practically flopped face-forward into the muddy foxhole, and turned to its other occupant to say thanks for letting her hide inside it, but stopped, taking a good look at the pony against the other wall of the trench.

Quietly, she set aside her acquired Changeling rifle, and grasped the Type-K in the pony’s grip, checking its ammunition, before sliding a fresh stripper clip into the rifle’s magazine, after a short root around in the other pony’s pocket.

He wouldn't be needing it anymore.

Daring to peek her head over the lip of the foxhole, she strained through the rainstorm to make out the bridge again, as rifle fire snapped and hissed around her, and tanks incessantly belched forth shells from across the bank.

Sure enough, there were Pony-like shapes down below the riverbank and around the old stone bridge’s supports. Looked like they were blowing the bridge after all.

Focusing on the work in front of her, Dusty followed the opposite bank with her rifle sight, watching the occasional flashes of light, intermingled with thunderous lightning, illuminating the bank. She waited over one particular spot where she'd seen a flash repeatedly over a few seconds- about the time it took to rack a bolt- and, upon seeing it flash again, squeezed the trigger on her own rifle, before ducking back into her foxhole, as quickly as possible.

The mare racked the bolt on her rifle, and rose up again, making sure to shift to the opposite end of the foxhole, as she took stock of the engineers again- the rain was, for the moment, slackening off, though the storm clouds showed no sign of disappearing.

The Young mare watched as the engineers, doing their best not to draw fire from the Changeling side of the river, calmly crawled their way along the support stonework, the last Pony in line bringing a box attached to a wire of some sort alongside him- the detonator probably.

They'd made it nearly back to the foxholes, when Dusty was forced to duck down into her hole- a Changeling Spandau machine gun had begun raking up the riverbank, along their position. Inside her hole, she quivered, as the rippling cloth-like sound of the machine gun tore into what could only be the engineers group, before passing on down the river.

Peering up, Dusty’s eyes widened at the sight of the corpses, and the mare struggled to keep her lunch down. She was aided somewhat by the shock of watching a Changeling tank roll up to the bridge itself and position on said bridge. A three pounder shell ricocheted off the front of the tank’s armor, as it rolled it’s turret over to the bakery. There was a slight pause, then a roar, as the bakery exploded in all directions, brickwork and construction mortar flying in several directions, with a red haze momentarily filling the air immediately surrounding the basement.

The mare looked around herself. No planes in the sky. No other tanks or tank guns to help out. Just terrified ponies, struggling not to be shot to death, or blown sky high, alongside a muddy riverbank, with grinning death atop steel Panzers to their front.

Dusty’s gaze fell upon the corpses of the engineer team again- and the still connected detonator. She gazed over at the tank, then the bridge it sat on.

Dusty Trails sat her rifle down in its previous owners’ hooves, shed her kitbag, uniform overcoat, and helmet, and set her jaw, leaping from the foxhole.

A rifle cracked alongside her, as she felt the bullet brush her cheek, though she didn't take the time to stop and regard it, as it was followed by several others. Moving as quickly as she could gallop, the mare from Dodge Junction planted herself in front of the detonator, grasped the plunger with both forehooves, and gazed for a second at the tank barrel aimed in her direction.

“Fuck off and die!”

Dusty found herself on the ground, wheezing and whimpering, Spandau gun bullets stitched up and across her barrel. She lay there, shivering in pain, but smiling.

The bridge was gone.

Even if she hadn't been in the capacity of mind to enjoy it going off. She'd heard it go, and that was enough for her.

“Here she is, guys.” Gale’s soft voice carried over the evening breeze, as Dusty felt ponies shifting next to her in the darkness. “D-do you think she'll make it?”

A flash of light, that stuck around blindingly, for a few seconds before disappearing. When had she fallen asleep?

“Fuck, that's bad looking. Morphine.”

“Morphine check.” A tap-tap, against glass.

“You said she got stitched by a Spandau oh-two?”

“Yessir, right up the chest.”

“Ok, miss, take it easy. This is gonna sting.”

A short prick brought a low whine from Dusty, as she immediately felt tension begin to fall off her muscles.

“Surprised she's still alive myself. Ok, let's get her on the stretcher. One, two…”

Dusty felt herself being lifted, and heard Gale trying to say… something.

She couldn't tell.

She couldn't tell much of anything, as she let herself fade back away to darkness, the voices blurring into a low mumble.

We have sought God in a cloudy Heaven,
We have passed by God on earth:
His seven sins and his sorrows seven,
His wayworn mood and mirth,
Like a ragged cloak have hid from us
The secret of his birth.

Brother of men, when now I see
The lads go forth in line,
Thou knowest my heart is hungry in me
As for thy bread and wine;
Thou knowest my heart is bowed in me
To take their death for mine.

Author's Note

Minor edits to grammar, thanks to my good friend and editor Stemis! Dude's awesome.

Ashes

We shall defend our island, whatever the cost may be, we shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall fight in the fields and in the streets, we shall fight in the hills; we shall never surrender.

Five

Ashes

The mare wheezed as she sat up, followed by several hacks and coughs, trying to expunge the dirt from her throat that had congealed there.

“Easy, Sarge, we just dug you free,” came the familiar voice of Corporal Hooves, as she felt a hoof brushing something- dirt probably- off her left shoulder, as the Sergeant herself rubbed her eyes with her forehooves. “Take a minute to sit back and get your bearings.”

“Shit.” Sergeant Major Cheerilee, Vanhoover Garrison, whispered, as she blinked rapidly, taking stock of the well-ruined fortress. “Shit, I…” The middle aged mare paused, as she took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Help me up.”

“Yes’m Sarge. Up you come.” Letting the pegasus mare help her to her hooves, Cheerilee took the momentary pause to check her own state of being- uniform ripped and torn, maybe from shrapnel, and there was definitely something wrong with her left forehoof, judging by the lack of weight she could stand placing on it. A tendon, maybe, torn or shredded from artillery.”

“Thank you, Corporal. What's the situation?” Cheerilee questioned, gruffly, as she turned to face her fellow Ponyvillian.

Ditzy seemed in no better shape, one wing clearly torn and bent at wrong angles. If the wrong bones had snapped, she may not fly again, though Cheerilee wasn't a doctor, and had no way to tell for sure. “Fucked, Sarge. Captain’s dead, as is the first and both second lieutenants. Officer’s mess took a direct shell hit. I uh.. I think you're the highest rank here still coherent. Gunny Brook’s… out of sorts.”

“Out of sorts?”

“He's gone off the deep end, Cheers. Won't come out of the ammunition room. Just… sittin’ there, on an ammo box.” Ditzy shuddered, tucking both her wings back inside her uniform.

“R..right. H’kay. Who’s… who’s still alive?” Cheerilee began, gazing about at the ruined fortress again, this time looking for survivors.

“Haven't gotten an exact count yet, Sarge. We’ve mostly been digging ponies outta holes. Doc Heart’s treating those she can. Making those she can't, comfy.”

“I… ok. Let's start there, then. I need to see her anyways. Left forehoof has shrapnel or something I think.” Cheerilee gestured to the hoof with her muzzle, to which Ditzy nodded, and the two began walking over to the impromptu medical tent, where a single pony with a type K rifle grasped in his hooves was standing guard, looking rather shell-shocked himself. He hardly noticed as the two ponies walked inside.

Inside the medical tent smelt of blood and death so repugnant that Cheerilee nearly stopped dead in her tracks as she walked in the large, hastily raised tent, Ditzy’s urging the only thing pushing her forward. Injured and dying ponies on makeshift stretchers took up nearly the entirety of the tent, save the ramshackle operating table in the middle, with the Company’s Triage Nurse, “Doc” Red Heart leaning over- and midway through amputating the leg of- a wounded earth pony. A pile of discarded morphine syringe on a bloody tray next to her operating area told Cheerilee that this was not a good day to be an Equestrian soldier, doubly so not one wounded in action.

Red Heart spared the two a glance as they entered, then nodded to Cheerilee, before going back to her work. “Sarge.”

Cheerilee returned the nod, whether she was paying any attention or not. “Doc Heart. When you've got a moment, I need a check on my leg. Shrapnel I think. Not life threatening.”

“Right. Not life threatening, wait outside. I'll get to you when I can spare the time.”

“Yes ma’am, Doc. I'll be right outside.”

Cheerilee winced, as Red Heart roughly raised her hoof to eye level, her clearly exhausted gaze still sharp like a hawk- necessary for her line of work, no matter how much or little sleep she'd gotten the night before.

“Right. Definitely signs of shrapnel gouging and shock trauma, here. Not much I can do for the shock, except a half dose morphine to keep the pain down- and you still coherent- and I can dig the shrapnel out. It'll sting like a bitch, but it's better to get it out and wrapped than let it fester and get infected.”

“Let's get it done then, doc. Got any anesthetics besides morphine?”

“I've got a belt, Sergeant. Open wide.”

Cheerilee sat in the open field, idly rubbing her now wrapped forehoof. The leg still sent up radiating stabs of pain if she leaned too heavily on it, as she'd expected, but it was, at least, no longer at risk of infection, nor was it an open, festering wound. That'd just have to be good enough for now.

More important were the ponies assembled in front of her.

Originally, her Company had been privy to a hundred and thirty some-odd fighting ponies, along with their support units and whatnot. Thirteen had been flat out killed by artillery fire, another twenty were not expected to survive the night, and about ten were in no shape to go anywhere or do anything.

She'd already spoken to Said ten. They’d remain behind, and see if they could recover amidst the fort ruins for as long as there were food and water supplies. After that, they didn't know.

“Alright.” She began, as the ninety-two remaining ponies- a mixture of luckily unharmed and walking wounded- listened intently, in mixed stages of readiness and fitness. “We’ve been attacked. Probably by the Changelings. That was…. several hours ago. I don't know for certain how long. Maybe a day. Point being that we are not the front line. Nor anywhere near the front line.”

The Noncommissioned officer paused, licking her dry lips. “So we’ve got four choices, basically. One, we find the nearest Changeling rear guard unit, assuming they even have one, and surrender.” Cheerilee waited to let the thought sink in, before continuing. “I won't be doing that. Fuck Changelings, fuck being a prisoner of war. They attacked us without warning, and I'm pissed as all Tartarus.”

After waiting a minute for a response, and getting none, she continued. “Secondly we stay here, and hold out until the Equestrian army retakes Vanhoover. Then we.. link back up with them I guess. But I won't be doing that. I have no idea how long it'll take for Equestria to get back here. By that time for all I know we’ll have starved to death.” She paused again, throat suddenly rather dry. “So I won't be doing that. Thirdly… we take to the hills and mountains, and fight a Guerilla war. And that's tempting. Gods that's tempting. But I won't be doing that, either.”

She paused again, gauging the crowd. They were exhausted, battered… some still shell shocked. Possibly permanently so. But she owed it to tell them what her plans were anyways. They'd been through enough that they deserved the chance to disagree and say no. “I plan on marching through the mountains, as long as I have to, until I hit Equestrian lines. After that.. I'll regroup with the army and.. go from there. You're welcome to join me, or not, at your leisure. There's no guarantee I'll make it, or anyone else. And I won't force anyone to join me. I’ll be heading out tonight, after I gather up what I can carry with me.”

Having said her piece, the mare sat back on her haunches, and waited to see what the general response would be to her plans. The ponies to her front- the battered, worn survivors, who’d been forgotten by the changelings- looked quietly amongst themselves. For a minute or so, dead silence reigned in the fortress.

Ditzy spat on the ground, to her own front, and snagged up a type K rifle, before slinging it over one shoulder. “What the hell, Sarge. Let’s go hiking.” The mare practically growled, reseating her helmet. “I’m not stayin’ here on my ass for a year plus.”

The pegasus trotted her way over to Cheerilee’s side. After a few seconds, a couple more followed. After that, Red Heart followed, bringing her medical kit- or whatever remained of it- with her. For the better part of a few minutes, most of the ponies moved over to Cheerilee’s side.

Private Steel Edge met Cheerilee’s gaze, with a nod, as he looked to the four or so other ponies that had elected to stay behind. With a grim, but determined nod, he gave Cheerilee one last salute. “We’ll keep the wounded safe, ma’am. After that, we’ll bugger off to the foothills… Just… Don’t forget us, ma’am.”

Cheerilee nodded, just as grimly, if not as determinedly. “Stay safe, Edge. I’ll find you, if it takes two months, or two years. Godspeed.”

Steel chuckled, dryly. “You’ll need it more than we will, ma’am. Let’s get you supplied and ready to go.”

The Eighty-so odd ponies that left Fort Vanhoover spared one last glance at the ruined fort, from the nearby foothills.

“Almost looks peaceful from here.” Ditzy muttered, using her good wing to retrieve a cigarette from her overcoat. Lighting it with the same wing, the mare placed her cigarette in her mouth, before re-pocketing her lighter.

“Yeah, it Almost does, I suppose. Artillery holes and tank treads sorta ruin that.” Cheerilee replied, bringing forth a snort from the Corporal.

“Pft, yeah. Guess we gotta keep moving… You uh.. You think Edge and them'll be okay?”

He’d have made a good Corporal.

Cheerilee looked over the now decaying fort for another long moment, then turned about and took the cigarette from Ditzy’s mouth, taking a quick drag on it before replacing it in the mailmare’s mouth.

“Let’s get moving, Ditzy. I’ve… Got a company of lead.”

“Lead to where, Cheers? No telling where our ponies are, now.”

“Wherever the goddamn they happen to be. If we have to march to fucking Tartarus, we’ll march to Tartarus, and I’ll sing Minstrel Colt the whole goddamned march. We’ll march until we can’t march anymore. Whatever that ends up meaning.”

Ditzy waited for a moment or two, as the Sergeant began making her way to the front of the marching column, taking a long drag on her cigarette. She took one last look back at the fort, shrugged her shoulders, and got to moving, flicking the cigarette away into the bushes, after stamping it out. “Off to hell we go, then. Singin’ and cheerin’ like proper damn soldiers.”

Frost

There's something about being amid the chaos and the horror of a war that makes you appreciate all you don't have - and all you may lose forever.

Six

Frost

The snow fell down, wordlessly, amidst the just as silent ponies, marching stalwartly on through the onset winter. Cheerilee tugged her own combat uniform closer to her barrel, after taking a moment to adjust the Type L light machine gun she was toting. The Type L- a holdover from 997, was light enough for an Earth pony like her to lug solo, as compared to a Vickers Gun, and it’s horizontal pan magazine wasn’t too horribly awkward to carry- and easier to load than an ammunition belt.

It’d been a couple hours since the understrength company had begun it’s trek through the foothills. The higher they went, the more the snow fell. Cheerilee halted, at her spot near the front of the battered column. The mare patiently waited, as the forward team helped up one of the group members, who’d tripped on a particularly slick patch of ice.

A Private shivered next to her, sticking close to one of his squadmates for warmth. Barely into the mountain range itself and they were already frigid. It didn't bode well with the Sergeant, but she'd made her choice, and they'd chosen to follow through with it.

After an agonizingly slow few seconds- each of which bit at Cheerilee like a frozen hound of hell- the fallen pony was planted firmly on their hooves, and the ragged column continued on, deeper into the mountains East of Vanhoover.

“Alright, ponies, we’re stopping here for the night. Let's try and get some fires lit, so we don't freeze tonight. keep them as low as possible. The less attention, the better.”

“Aye Sarge.” Came a couple muttered replies, though most of the ponies present simply found a place to sit down, sheltering themselves as well as possible from the frosty wind and it's chill.

“First day, and I can't see Vanhoover anymore.” Ditzy mumbled, as she sat down next to Cheerilee, who was busy lighting a fire of her own.

“Better get used to it Corporal. Not much between us and wherever the front line is. We could detour down to Applewood, but something in my gut says that's a bad idea.”

“What about Whitebell, farther north?” Ditzy questioned, holding her forehooves near the glowing fire.

“If Vanhoover fell to the Changelings that fast, you can bet your flank that Whitebell did, too.” Cheerilee shook her head in response, holding a pack of Strikes in her hooves, as she debated lighting one.

“Mm. Fair point, Sarge. I just… I dunno. Guess I'm too hopeful.”

“Hey. Hope’s not a bad thing, Corporal. Just… trying to think realistically here. I don't want to march us down into a town and be surrounded by bugs. I'm thinking the Shire river area, myself.”

“That's a long walk, ma’am.”

“Then let's hope we run into them before then, Corporal.”

“General, sir, ah, what are you looking at?”

“Hush, Colonel Falks. See these tracks, here?”

“Yessir, General Opteris, sir.”

“Do you see how they are hoofprints, Colonel?”

“Erm.. Yes, General, sir.”

“Good, for a minute, I was worried you were going blind. Tell, me Colonel, if our troops are all riding trucks und Hanomags, why are there hoofprints in the snow?”

“I… Understand, General. I will assign a kompanie to track them down.”

“Good, Colonel. Report back to me when you’re done. We’ve got prisoners to deal with after this hunt. Dismissed.”

Cheerilee shakily stood to her four hooves, as Ditzy scattered the ashes of the fire they’d fallen asleep by, as the two readied their kits and gear. “Well, that’s one day down. A fair few to go. Let’s get everypony up and moving, Ditz. Short brekkers, then we’re off.”

“Aye Sarge, I’ll help you get everypony up and going.”

“Good mare. Have Ink Pen and Bright Eye move a few yards ahead as scouts, and skirmishers if it comes to it. Get Light Step and Arrow Fletching to pull up our rear.”

“You got it, Sarge. I’ll make sure everypony has their marching orders.”

“Good mare. Let’s get this show on the road.”

The group continued on throughout the day, as they picked and crawled their way across the mountain pass, doing their best to keep away the building blizzard. The night passed much the same as the previous, as did the following day.

As did the next, and the next, and the next. In fact, so did the week. The week passed in monotony, the only constants being hardtack rations, frozen solid water, and frozen solid weather. Thus began the second week; Frozen in the midst of the mountains East of Vanhoover.

Cheerilee was shaken awoke, in the early hours of dawn, and groggily rolled about on the half-frosted over, and horridly uneven ground. “M’mup. Whozzat?”

“It’s, uh, it’s me, Light Step, Sarge. You… need to see this.” The fairly thin Unicorn mare whispered, her Scoped Type K rifle slung across one shoulder, and wrapped in tattered bits of uniform- probably to keep the cold out of her hooves when she held the gun.

The Sergeant frowned, blinking herself awake, and grunted affirmative, snagging her Type L, as she pulled herself up, then followed the scout.

Step brought her over to a low-burning campfire, where Cheerilee stopped, and let her breath hang heavy with a deep sigh.

“How long’s Cobble been dead?” She questioned dryly, taking stock of the painfully thin- and equally painfully dead- Earth pony stallion. He was nineteen.

“I dunno, ma’am. He went to sleep, with me… Then he never woke up.”

Cheerilee inhaled, then exhaled again, taking a seat in the snow, across from the permanently asleep pony. “Alright. Go… Go find Ditzy, and see if you can get a burial detail going. After that… Have her report back to me.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“You wanted to see me, Cheers?” Ditzy inquired as she sat down next to Cheerilee, a cigarette hanging loosely from her lips, and sweat pouring from her forehead, despite the cold.

“Yeah. We lost a pony, you know. Redheart says it was frostbite… gods, how many more am I going to get killed up here?”

“Hey, you’re the one who took to the mountains. Us crazy bastards are the ones who followed you.” Ditzy shrugged, as she jammed a cigarette in Cheerilee’s mouth, before lighting it. The former schoolmarm did nothing to stop the pegasus, simply staring into the smouldering campfire before her.

“Gods, I’m going to get us all killed up here.”

“Hey, enough of that.” Ditzy scowled, lightly shoving her friend. “Look, Cheerilee. We followed you because we wanted you. Not because you ordered us, but ‘cuz you said you were going, and asked if anypony was coming with you. We figured, ‘hey, what the hell, beats staying here’. You can’t blame yourself for this.”

Cheerilee snorted, spitting the cigarette out, and stamping it down with a forehoof. “Dammit Ditzy, I’m the one in charge here. If no one else is going to take responsibility for anything then I’m going to, because god dammit someone has to.”

The corner of the pegasus’ mouth twitched, and her eyes narrowed for half a second, before returning to their normal wide, and somewhat off-kilter, gaze. “Look, Cheers. You’re doing your best. And by Celestia’s sun-bedazzled butt, that’s pretty damn good. We aren’t all going to make it back. We’re at war. We get shot at, we’re going to lose more than one pony. You cannot kill yourself over this.”

The earth pony was silent, for several seconds, before exhaling, softly. “You’re right. I just… I dunno. I just…” She shook her head, standing up from the fire. “That was a… wakeup call, I guess.”

“Mhn. Alright. Keep it together, Cheers. You’ve got a company to lead.”

“Yeah. Alright. Let’s get supplies sorted. Nopony sleeps alone, it’s getting too cold. Pairs or more, and have the scouts keep eyes forward for anywhere out of the weather when it starts getting late.”

“Yes ma’am. Anything else?”

“Yeah. Gimme a goddamn cigarette.”

Cheerilee halted in her tracks as a rifle shot rang out to their rear, midway through the next day. Ponies immediately went for cover, weapons at the ready, as Light Step came running for her life, helmet gone and rifle strap held in her teeth, the weapon itself trailing smoke behind her, as heat from the freshly fired rifle’s barrel wafted off into the frosty air.

“Changelings! Changelings rear!” The unicorn mare barked, as she slid behind a rock nearby, rifle dropping to flop around her barrel as she spat out the strap.

Cheerilee’s breath caught in her throat. “Shit.” Ditzy whispered loudly to her left, readying her own rifle.

“Battle line!” Cheerilee barked, setting up her machine gun, after checking to make sure the magazine was seated properly after the day’s march. Satisfied with the weapon, she rested it against a rock to her front, barrel pointed down the mountain trail. The ponies waited in tense silent for a few moments, until a changeling poked its helmeted head into view, holding a rifle in front of it.

A gun cracked, and the battle began in earnest.

Cheerilee ducked behind her rock, tugging the empty magazine pan free of the Type L, as she rooted around in her pack for a fresh pan. Ditzy, off to her left, shouldered her freshly reloaded rifle, stood for a moment, and let loose a shot, before ducking back behind a rock. A Changeling grenade found its way to her hooves, as the walleyed mare stared momentarily in shock.

Dropping her Type L, Cheerilee snagged the live explosive in her mouth, and flung it forward, back towards the changelings, before dropping back behind cover, as the grenade detonated amongst the bugs, a couple screeches bringing a grim smile to the schoolmarm’s face.

“You good, Ditz?”

“Y-yeah, Cheers. Just fine! Thanks for the save.”

“Just keep that gun firing; we’ve got bugs to kill, still!”

Light’s rifle barked one last time, as the mare racked the bolt, nodding in satisfaction. “I think that’s all of them, ma’am.”

“Right. Casualties!”

“Brass Pipe is dead!”

“We lost Four Leaf!”

A few more names filtered in, as Cheerilee waited quietly, keeping her gaze on the trail behind them, that the bugs had arrived from. They were being followed.

She’d lost fourteen.

With the couple of ponies that had died from the frigid mountain weather during the journey, that brought her original group from eighty or so down to about sixty four.

Damn.

“Alright!” She barked, after the reports faltered off. “Weapons and ammo… Strip what you can from the dead, they.. They won’t need it anymore, and we’ve got a hard trip ahead of us, still. Five minutes, ponies!”

Exactly five minutes later, the survivors were on the move again, now on edge and angrily aware that they were being followed. The ponies of the company continued to march onwards for the rest of the day, not running into any more Changelings, until the evening, at which point they bedded down for the night, again underneath the stars.

A rifle bark lit up the dark night, followed by the screeching of a sentry, followed by more rifle fire and a very un-equestrian machine gun roared through the night, the tell-tale rippling of a Changeling Spandau gun rousing Cheerilee from her shallow slumber immediately. Rolling over to her hooves, she immediately pulled up her gun, took aim at a Changeling not four feet from her, holding a bayoneted rifle, and pulled the trigger.

A cold feeling bloomed in her gut as the gun clicked. Jammed.

Thinking quickly, the mare threw the moderately heavy gun forward, smacking the bug square in the jaw. Closing the distance whilst the Changeling reeled, she threw a hoof forward, decking the changeling. As he fell, she ripped it’s rifle from it’s grip, before repeatedly slamming it down into its face. Sitting on top of the Changeling, the battle all around her a distant cry and deluge of chaos, Cheerilee shrieked at the top of her lungs, repeatedly jamming the rifle stock downwards, then back up again, then immediately back down again.

Something splattered against her barrel and face, yet she kept thwacking the rifle downwards, until finally, it broke in her hooves.

The roar of combat returned to the mare’s ears. Her chest heaved with exertion, as rifle fire echoed around her for minutes longer, before fading into the night.

Cheerilee flipped about, hoof at the ready, as something rested a hoof on her shoulder. “Woah Cheers, it’s just-”

Whatever Ditzy was going to say faltered with the bubbly mare’s voice.

“It’s not mine.” Cheerilee mumbled, slumping her shoulders, as she shakily stood from the decimated corpse , half-dragging herself away. The broken rifle and Type L lay discarded nearby, the enemy combatant’s face crushed to a pulpy mess.

Ditzy swallowed, her gaze racing back and forth between the dead Changeling and her exhausted Sergeant. “I-I can… I can see that, Cheers…” After a moment’s hesitation, almost fearful of touching the Sergeant again, Ditzy rested a wing on the other pony’s withers. “Let’s just… go find RedHeart, yeah?”

“....Okay, Ditzy.”

“Okay. Just… Just follow me, Cheers.”

Cheerilee shakily lit a cigarette, as Red Heart- a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around her own forehead, worriedly checked her over.

“Alright, Sarge… looks like you're ok… you still with us?”

Cheerilee sat in silence, for a second, as snow fell down about them, and the winter wind carried the howling wrath of Jack Frost. “Yeah.” She finally replied, mutely, taking a long, shaky drag on the cigarette. “M’still here… how many’d we lose?”

Red Heart paused, biting her lip. “A lot, Cheers. We lost a lot.”

“Dammit. Fucking bugs.” The Sergeant spat, standing to her hooves. “How many are still up and going. We’re leaving soon as we’re able.”

“Maybe thirty, ma’am. Are you-”

“Absolutely, Doc. We need to put as much distance between us and them as possible.”

“Right. Ok. You're good to go. Do what you need to, Sarge. I'll be ready when everypony else is.”

It'd been three weeks. Nearly four. Mid December. Hell, Hearth’s Warming was next week.

Cheerilee paused for a moment, her legs stiff and neck unwilling to bend easily. Her group of thirty had fallen to twenty two, today, including herself. They were all starving. They'd ran out of food the day before last. Water was still in ample supply, at least.

“What's that down there, Sarge?” Light Step wheezed out. The poor mare was ramrod thin, having lost a fair amount of weight during the three week journey.

Cheerilee looked ahead again, scarcely believing her eyes. “It's… it's…”

“It's the Shire-fucking-River.” Ditzy nearly cheered in joy, her exhausted smile telling enough.

“Look down there along the river line.” Doc Redheart warned, as she re-tied the bandage around her forehead again, with a freshly torn strip from her uniform, having run out of bandages long before. “Changelings.”

“Dug in Changelings.” Light Step added, gazing through her rifle scope. The weapon itself was empty, but still in serviceable condition. “Ma’am that's gotta be the front line.”

“Which means that our guys and gals are on the other side of the river?” Ditzy nearly screamed in joy, again, barely able to contain her happiness.

“Has to be.” Cheerilee nodded. “Girls… we made it.” She smiled, for the first time in weeks, before the fleeting moment passed. “Right. We’ll ditch unnecessary gear here. No fires tonight. Soon as it gets dark, we’ll sneak across the river. The Shire river is frozen solid this time of year. Ponies, we’re heading home.”

Under cover of darkness, Cheerilee took a deep breath, gazing about her. Yards away, to either side, rested Changeling tanks or machine guns, trained on the opposite banks, as the night sentries swept the hopefully Equestrian side of the river.

They'd done well to get this far.

Cheerilee took the first step onto the ice. It held. Another step. Then another. Finally, she was fully onto the ice. Staying as low as possible, she began to creep her way across, doing her best to avoid the ire of the Changelings.

Without much thought, more focused on silence, she found herself across the river- and staring down the barrel of a Type K rifle.

“What's the password?” Came the hissed, Quiet reply.

Cheerilee blinked. “Password? Gods, I don't know, we’re from Vanhoover.”

“Bullshit.”

The rebuttal stung, but it was warranted. But Cheerilee couldn't just well turn around and walk away.

“Look, I've got twenty more ponies across the river trying to get past bug lines, soldier. I don't know a fucking password, we’ve crossed the goddamn mountains to get here. Hell most of us aren't even armed. Please, let us get across.”

The plea quieted the Pony for several moments, before the rifle was lowered away from her face.

“Stay here. I'm going to go get my Captain. If you move, you're dead.”

The Pony returned a few minutes later with the aforementioned officer, who took one look at Cheerilee, and thanked the private. “Good job, kid, but they're the real deal by the looks of things. Spell’s not picking up any disguises.” He then turned to Cheerilee. “Bring you and yours across, we’ll cover you if it goes tits-up.”

Cheerilee nodded, wordlessly, and began the crawl back across.

The exhausted mare sunk into a cot in the rear line aid station, as a nurse doted over her. Ditzy was across the room, having her wing looked at. Red Heart was being rushed off to a doctor somewhere for triage, and Light Step was sleeping off to her left. The rest of her ponies that had survived the trip were around, resting, being treated, or doing the best they could to stay calm.

They were home.

They'd made it.

Cheerilee looked at the ceiling, tears pooling in the corners of her eyes.

She'd made it.

Three grueling weeks in the midst of a terrible blizzard, and while being hunted by a ruthless enemy.

But she was home.

C.A.P

The engine is the heart of an aeroplane, but the pilot is its soul.

Chapter Seven
(You’re welcome, Cyrus. :) )

Combat Air Patrol

“Oh~ it's a loong way, t’ Tipperary, ‘s a lon’ way ta’ go. ‘s a Long waay t’ Tipperary, t’ th’ sweetest Gal I know~.”

“Ahhh, Stick a sock innit, Wizard. I’m try’na nap ‘ere.” A fairly grumpy voice growled out across the spacious hangar, to the rest of the squadron’s cheer, as Wizard halted her ditty- and her maintenance work- to put a hoof on her hip.

“Oi, I dinna’ mak’ fun of the Stallski’s singin’.”

“That's because Scroupy-gal can keep on tune.” Came a third voice, that of another squadron member, as they sat on a box, flicking idly through a newspaper. “Besides, you're a better singer smashed, Wizard.”

“Oh feck off, Lightning.” The Unicorn mare- Wizard- snorted, waggling a levitated ratchet towards the opal pegasus mare. “At least I kno’ a few good ditties. You jus’ stare a’-”

“Ey, that's enough of that you crass children.” Another, more authoritative voice, spoke up, as the hangar’s side door swung open for a few moments, letting in a rush of frigid winter air, before slamming shut behind the intruder.

“Brigh’ an’ early to ya, Night Queen. I wunnit gonna say nothin’.” Wizard replied, pouting momentarily, before placing the ratchet back in her toolbox. Gazing over the box itself, she leisurely traded it for a buffing kit.

“Sure, Sunset. The sky’s also upside down, and the sea is made of salsa.”

“If’n ya dinni’ ken what th’ ocean’s made outta, I ken you outta go back ta’ flight school, laddie-boy.”

“Thunderlane, Sunset, that's enough, both of you.” The Night Queen griped, tapping her aviator’s goggles idly against her own barrel with a wing. “Everypony get prepped for a CAP. Words of wisdom from Command is that the Bugs have a flight of bombers heading towards the Shire, if partisan reports are moderately accurate.”

“With all due respect, ma’am,” Lightning Dust began, as she packed up her newspaper and swiped her skullcap and giggles from a nearby crate, “Sounds like a wild goose chase. Changelings would be crazy to fly in a damn blizzard.”

“Agreed, Airpony Dust, but command’s spooked anyhow, so… we’re on CAP. Wings up in ten.”

The frosted over hangar doors grumbled open, letting in the frigid air and wind from outside. Inside, the six planes of Blue Squadron were already spun up, their engines warm and propellers cycling happily.

“Night Queen” Night Glider’s Supermarine Spitfire- so named after the famed wonderbolt Captain who designed it- rolled easily out onto the runway in the lead position, followed by the rest of the Squadron. Sunset “Wizard” Shimmer was to her back and right, in Wingpony’s position. Behind her back and right sat Thunderlane, a newcomer to the Squadron, and Lightning “Gutsy” Dust, who’d been in the squadron longest out of all present. Across from them were the other two members of the flight, “Bolty” Bolterdash, and Scroup- a Stalliongradian Volunteer.

“Check one.” Night Queen began, as she tested her aileron flaps, the marginally snowed-over taxiway lit brightly by several fog lanterns, well visible despite the veritable blizzard.

“Seiceáil dhá.” Wizard’s reply followed, as she fell into her native brogue- something Night Glider never could pry the origin of, out of the mare. It sounded fairly similar to Shireish, but there were clear dialectical differences. Wizard, however, didn't like talking about home much. Still, Glider was glad to have her as a wingpony regardless.

“Ugh, Wizard’s at it again. Check Three.” Thunderlane griped, as he tested his own ailerons.

“Ya get used to it, ‘Lane. Check four.” Gutsy snarked back goodnaturedly.

“Aye, it grows on you after a while. Check five.” Bolty chuckled in bemusement, as his ailerons waggled. “Nix that, left is a bit touchy.”

“Copy that. See if you can get it to unthaw. Otherwise you're grounded unless we’ve got a backup plane.” Glider nodded, from her cockpit.

“Aye, ma’am. Give me five.”

“Check six.” Scroup finished, watching Bolty hop out with a rubber mallet and wrench. The Stalliongradian mare never spoke much, and had never given her real name, but insisted that everyone just call her Scroup. Whatever that meant.

“Why can’t the Wonderbolts get the bum jobs? Seems like we always get the shit end of the stick.” Thunderlane griped, rubbing his hooves together, in an attempt to stay warm. “Bet they ain’t flying in a blizzard.”

“Cos’ the Wonderbolts aren’t nutty enough to fly CAP in a blizzard. Why are we nutty enough?” Bolty snorted, as he hopped back into his Spitfire. “Check Five, my ailerons are good now.”

“Copy that, Bolty. And I prefer the term ‘brilliant, sexy aces’.” Night Glider chuckled. “Tower, this is the Night Queen. Blue Squad’s ready for takeoff.”

“I’d drink t’ that.”

“You’d drink to a lot of things.”

“Bugger off ya lickarse.”
—-

The blizzard howled about the six pony squadron, as snow flew by, overtaken easily by the powerful motors of the blue-winged Spitfires. The six aircraft stuck to a close formation, doing their best to maintain visibility despite the thick snowstorm.

“Ca— that we’re———-ing in th— sort—- weather.”

Night Glider frowned, as she looked down, flicking the switch on her radio. “Repeat that, Bolty, you’re cutting out.”

Bolty repeated what he’d said, just as garbled as before.

“Right.” Night Glider shook her head. “Everypony switch to one-five-five point two-zero.”

“One-five-five dot two-zero.” Came somepony’s reply, as the squadron changed frequencies.

“Go for Night Queen.”

“This is Queen. I read you, Bolty.”

“A-firm, Ma’am. I was just complaining about the weather.”

“Right, well, stop that. We’ve work to do. By my mark we should be…” Glider paused, to double check her map and her stopwatch. “Should be clearing the town of Shire now.”

“Tha’s ‘n aff’rm’tive.” Sunset chimed in, a few seconds later. “I’ve got the clock tower down there. River should be just ahead of us.”

“Wonder what it’s like, down there.”

“S’ hell.” Sunset Shot Back, nearly immediately. “Ought-ta be damn glad ye’er op ‘ere, Thunderlane.”

Nopony really said much, after that.

The flight cleared the Shire River, spotted by Lightning, and began their patrol of the area, remaining in a somewhat more spread- though not far due to the weather- formation.
—
“Gutsy here, I’ve got some shapes!”

“Shapes? The hell’s that supposed to-“

“Confirmed, we have Changeling Bombers.” Thunderlane cut Bolterdash off, supporting his wingpony.

“Shit, okay, we’re forming on you. Squadron! Combat formation!”

The six planes formed back up on the edge of their patrol zone, letting Lightning and Thunderlane take spearhead, since they’d spotted the enemy flight.

Within a minute, they’d located the flight of Heinkel bombers, alone.

“Whot the hell, no escorts?” Sunset muttered, her voice only vaguely audible over the radio and the snowstorm.

“Yeah that’s weird. Eyes and ears open everypony. Let’s go hunting.”

The six fighters split into a wide combat formation, each of the three pairs of lead and wingpony splitting off towards a different bomber in the moderate formation.

Sunset followed Night Glider up and over, then down into, one of the Heinkel bombers, their wing armaments- eight .303 machine guns each- blazing to life amidst the heavy snowfall, as the two pounced on the Changeling bomber.

Night Glider’s tracers stitched along the Wing-mounted engines, as Sunset drug hers across the dorsal turret towards the back of the plane, as the pair dodged the frantic Spandau return fire.

The engines on the left wing detonated, as the wing itself sheared off, and the bomber began to fall towards the earth.

The two came about for another pass on a second bomber, when Night Glider’s breath hitched in her throat. “Wizard, we’ve got a problem!”

“What sorta problem are we lookin’ at ‘ere, Queenie?” Sunset replied over the radio, her voice Heavy with static from the storm’s interference.

“Looking at nine BF109’s worth of problems. Whole ruddy squadron.”

“Bollocks. Prolly tha’ escorts f’r yonder bombers, aye?”

“Aye.” Night Glider frowned, gazing over and down at the nine BF109 flight. “Bugger, those are twenty-mils under the wings, I think.”

“Ruddy bugs and their ruddy cannons. Feckless arses, th’ lot of em.”

“Easy, Wizard. Squadron can take them.” Night Glider twisted her head to view the rest of the six pony squadron, who were still engaging the bombers. “Blue Squadron, form on Lead! We’ve some bug fighters to squash before the bombers are taken care of!”

She waited a couple seconds. “Blue Squadron this is Blue Leader? Do you read me, over?”

“Bloddy ‘ell, I dinnae think they’re readin’ us over th’ storm Queenie.”

“Damn... Right. Guess we’re up then.”

“Eh, we ken at least buy the Langer’s some time. Up an’ o’er?”

“Spot on. Taking the lead fighter.”

“Peckin’ the pox on ‘is asshole.”

And without further retort, the two Spitfires, .303s primed and gunsights at the ready, jerked upwards for height, before twisting back downwards moments later, on an intercepting course with the nine Changeling flight.

The one thing the two Spitfires had going for them was the blizzard, at least, as they roared downward towards the enemy formation. Their engines drowned out by the roaring winds and their blue and white paint masked by the snow itself, the two pilots watched their gauges warily, hooves grasping their controls in anticipation.

“Hold..”

Twenty thousand feet, and dropping like a brick. The wingtips Of Wizard’s Spitfire shuddered with the anticipation of it’s pilot, as she forced herself to take deep, deliberate breaths.

“Hold…”

Fifteen thousand. They were probably down at ten, level with the bombers.

Fourteen thousand.

“Clip their Wings!” Glider barked, as her .303s echoed over the blizzard, stitching across the sky, and along the engine block and canopy. Pitch black smoke flared out of the Messerschmidt, as Sunset emptied her own machine guns into her designated fighter, shearing it’s Wing off, as it toppled from the sky end over end.

“Well there’s two of the Dry Shites!” Sunset shouted, as the Spitfires passed the Messerschmitts in a downward descent.

“Quite! Seven to go.” Glider replied, whilst the two pilots leveled off and shot back up into an ascent, Sunset returning to Wingpony’s position, to the rear and left of Night Glider.

“Ach, Shooty now, numbers later.” Wizard snarked back, checking her gauges once more. Back up to twenty thousand.

The two wheeled about their fighters, searching for the enemy flight amidst the tempestuous weather.

“There.” Sunset waggled her wingtips, as Night Glider allowed her to take lead. “Looks like they’re searchin’ fir us’n now.”

“Mhn, I see them. We’ll smash them from above again. Probably get stuck in after that though, they’ll chase.”

“Aye, an’ those damn messers are tit fir’ tat on our Spitties. Rolls-Royce b’damned.”

“Yes. I just hope the others are having better luck that we are.”

“We better well ‘ope so.”
—

Sunset gazed down at the control yoke, blinking as her thoughts shifted momentarily.

“Wha’ a perfect storm.”

“Hm? Come again, Merlin?”

“Oh, nottin’, Arthur. Jes’ thinking about the weather we’er having. Think them Fokker Tris ken fly in this? I’d love ta’ ‘ave another go at tha’ red-winged bollix.”

“Soon, Merlin. Soon.”
—

“Earth to Wizard. Are you still with me?” Sunset blinked, letting her breath return to normal as she relaxed her Iron grip on her controls, leaning back in her cockpit.

“Aye, Queenie. Ah’m still ‘ere. Just lost m’self for a moment. Solid now.”

“Stay with me, Sunset.” Night Glider warned, as the two Spitfires finalized their attack run, beginning to dive back down towards the Changeling Messerschmitts.

The 109s split up nearly immediately as the Spitfires came into view through the snowstorm, and Night Glider and Sunset pursued their two marks.

A few machine gun bursts and some simple maneuvers later, and two more Changelings fell from the sky, pouring coal-black smoke from their diesel engines.

Five more to go.

Sunset split left as Night Glider split right, wheeling about in a large circle. Two of the five remaining planes were on their tails, whilst one dove low, another went high, and the pair lost track of the last one.

Finishing their loops, Sunset jinked right and started hammering away with her machine guns, as Night Glider tugged in the opposite direction and matched her.

The 109 on Night Glider’s tail fell from the air as green splotches smashed against the ruined cockpit glass, Sunset’s guns ventilating it front to back. The one on Sunset’s tail, having anticipated the move, stuck close to her rear, as Sunset dived low, attempting to shake the pilot.

“Any day now, Queen!” Sunset complained, as she twitched her controls back and forth, attempting to dodge the cannon fire of the 20 millimeters on the 109’s wings.

“Patience is a virtue Wizard!”

“Yah well, mebbe I’d be a tad mair patient if’n i wuddn’t gettin’ me feckless arse shot off!” The pilot snarked, as she twisted her Spitfire about, cannon shells bursting in the sky to and fro, and Spandaus occasionally perforating holes in her aircraft’s Wing. “Any feggin’ dae now!”

“Yes, yes I’m on it!” Night Glider growled, as she finished sliding behind the enemy fighter, shredding its tail with .303 caliber bullets until it sheared off and fell earthwards. “There you go, you wanker.”

“Much obliged, ma’rm.” Sunset snorted, slowing to return to formation. That made… Three more. One high, one low, one… somewhere.

“Right… Fuel and ammunition check?”

“Solid on fuel. Less on ‘munitions. Down to about…. Guessin’ two hundred.”

“Copy and similar. Buggery, wish these things held a couple more belts.”

“We’el make it work, Queenie, gel.”

The two circled back about, as the two fighters that’d gone high and low attempted to sandwich them from said directions. Sunset flicked right, as Night Glider tugged left, before the two dove after the groundwards directed fighter. Working together, the two easily tore the enemy fighter apart, before pulling upwards, and pursuing the other fighter- also short work. Which, just left-

Sunset immediately shoved her Spitfire into a panic dive, as cannon fire flared past the pair of pilots, and the Changeling fighter homed in on her tail. “Hurray suas agus a fháil ar an hoor seo!” The mare raged, slipping back into her brogue mid-sentence, as she bobbed and weaved away from the markedly better pilot, who stuck to her tail like a dog chasing a cat.

Diving low, and cursing the enemy ace’s name as Night Glider attempted to keep up and spray him down- to no avail, Sunset pulled herself level with the shoreline, her Spitfire nearly skimming the tops of the Changeling AA guns on the western bank of the Shire, noting in idle panic as the shocked Changelings watched the Spitfires and Messerschmitt dance a deadly tango, precious feet from the ground below.

“Fuck, Sunset, I’m outta ammunition!” Glider cursed, as her guns clicked empty, the three planes continuing to barrel down the frozen river.

“Are ye focken shitting mae?!” The unicorn practically screeched, as she huddled as low as she could in her cockpit, machine gun bullets and sporadic cannon fire tracing past her head.

“Just keep flying, dammit!” Night Glider barked, remaining on the Changeling pilot’s tail as closely as possible. “Fucking hell, this bastard’s good. Regular bloody Baron.”

Baron.

Sunset took a deep breath.

A baron she could deal with. A baron she had dealt with.

Granted, that was from a Sopwith Camel, which had a good tendency to fall… apart.. If you turned the wrong…

“Night Glider, pull off. I’ve an idea.”

“What, are you crazy?!”

“Le do thoil éisteacht liom ceart go leor?!”

Night Glider stopped her retort. Please listen to me. The Pegasus bit her lip, her gun sights trained on the Changeling fighter, and her ammunition belts spitefully empty.

“Aaaaah, fuck! Fine! I’m pullin’ back to the others. Gods-fucking-speed, you loon!”

“Eh, buy me a drink an’ a kiss on th’ pecker whaen we get back.” Sunset joked, grimly, as she flipped fully over the Frozen river, the Changeling ace following her closely, as Night Glider ascended back into the blizzard.

Sunset sat back in her cockpit, gazing out at the falling snow, and the howling winds. At the Ponies dug in along the bank to her left, and the Changelings dug in to her right. Shocked. Amazed, incredulous. How ridiculous, right? A dogfight in a snowstorm.

One hundred feet.

Bullets echoed, snapping by her face. One grazed her skull cap, narrowly scraping her left ear.

Seventy-five feet. Glass shattered around her.

Fifty feet. With her magic, she levitated a pocket-sized photograph from her pilot’s coat. Three humans- not ponies.

Twenty-five. Cork, Ireland. Happier times. Back before the Great War. Summer, 1913. Out on a Sunday morning picnic.

Ten feet.

Five.

She could almost reach out and touch the water. Her hoof tensed against a switch on her dashboard.

The pilot gazed back at the Changeling behind her. She’d begun her flight with two kills to her name in the Supermarine Spitfire. Who knew how many he’d shot down. He flew like an ace.

Had the killer instinct of the ace.

Five feet.

Lightning flashed in her mind’s eye. She’d been here before. Different rivers, different years. Different wars.

Different planes, different nations. Different reasons.

But she knew this place.

The Spitfire dipped to a dangerous two feet, and Sunset flicked the switch.

The landing gear shot down from the Spitfire automatically, hit the frozen river at an odd angle as Sunset’s wingtip slid across the ice, and snapped off.

With a smash of glass, the landing gear flew back, through the Messerschmitt’s cockpit, as it jerked upwards momentarily, then smashed down into and through the ice, into the frigid Shire.

Wizard exhaled, as she leaned back in her cockpit, exhausted, but alive. Pulling the abused Spitfire into a gradual ascent, as she twisted over the Equestrian side of the river, she smiled tiredly, at the cheering ponies below her, as she passed by.

Time to head home.

Night Glider sat, quietly, on the side of the Runway.

It was below freezing, probably, but the pegasus didn’t allow that to bother her. She was looking for Wizard. For Sunset.

It’d been nearly an hour. She should have been home by now. If Glider hadn’t been leaking fuel…

Ifs, ifs, and more damn ifs. If she had more ammunition. If she had been a better shot. If-

She was shaken from her thoughts by a steaming cup of coffee, as Lightning held it on an outstretched wing, sipping at her own.

The mare sat down next to her Squadron lead, wordlessly, as the two waited in the gloomy night.

Then it came. The low, rumbling sound of a Rolls Royce. Audible and easy to pick out, even amongst the snow storm.

The pair shot to their feet, all drinks and other thoughts forgotten.

“There she is!” Lighting pointed out with a hoof, as Night Glider just managed to make out the incoming fighter plane. Low and slow, light gray smoke trailing from the engine itself. She’d taken a few knocks it looked like, but she was back in one piece.

“Something’s wrong- look- oh, shit.”

“Fuck.” Night Glider swore, watching the incoming Spitfire. “She’s got no gear.”

“C’mon Sunny, nice and gentle…” Lighting muttered worriedly under her breath, as the two watched uselessly.

The Spitfire finally slapped down onto the ground, trailing sparks from the bottom of the fuselage as the engine sputtered and died, finally slowing to a halt as the engine burst into flames. The two rushed over, as Sunset ripped herself out of her belt straps, and leapt from the burning plane, and as far away from the burning plane as possible. The three pilots reunited on the edge of the runway, as a firetruck raced across the runway to take care of the wreck.

“Cutting it a bit close, Sunset?” Lightning whooped, as Night Glider squeezed the mare tightly, wrapping her wings about her wingmare.

“Too bloody close, Wiz! Too bloody close!” Glider chuckled weakly, as Sunset snorted tiredly into the pegasus’ shoulder.

“Aye, aye…. tá tú ina aingeal. Tá a fhios agat sin?”

“I…. have no idea what the hell you just said.”

“Well…. Buy you a drink, an’ I’ll teech ye?”

“Several. And, assuming you got that kill… Welcome to the Aces club.”

“Thanks for the stellar feckin’ welcome.”

Black Betty

“You hit somebody with your fist and not your fingers spread.”

Eight

Black Betty

—

The welding torch flared to life, hissing and crackling, as the scorching flame touched and began heating the metal on the side of the Riptide Cruiser Tank. The front armor had taken quite a beating, and it had been a miracle it made it back at all. Pockmarks from bounced shells littered the front of the tank, not to mention the full-on hole just left of the gun barrel.

“Jeez, looks like you poor fuckers went through the ringer.” Some Pony’s voice snarked, from off to the left, as Private Applebloom Apple stopped what she was doing, shut off the torch, and stood up from her hunched position atop the front of the Riptide.

“D’ya mind? Ah’m trying to git this varmint back in working order.” The yellow-coated earth pony griped, raising her welding mask above her face.

“Yeesh, you look like you went through three rounds yourself, kid.”

Applebloom just sighed and rolled her eyes, as she let the welding mask fall back over her face. She did look pretty terrible at the moment, sure, but hey, she looked better than the damn tank at least. “Yeah, yeah, why don’t y’all go choke on somethin’ and quit wasting mah time.”

“Meh, nothing better to do at the moment, Apples. What happened, you lose a fight with a boxer?”

The earth pony mare bit off her reply, as a pair of ponies- one a Pegasus and one a Unicorn- helped to roll a large, tank-sized engine into the maintenance bay, strapped to a shop lift that looked like it’d come straight from a mechanic’s shop. With the town of Shire nearby, it probably had in all honesty.

“Oh thank goodness, ah was gettin’ worried ah’d have to try an’ fix up the old one while tweedle dee an’ tweedle dumb here bothered me.”

“You two miscreants giving my engineer bullshit?” The Non-Commissioned Officer- A light lavender unicorn mare with a dirty blonde mane- griped, as she leaned against the new engine block, rubbing a dry cloth against her sweaty forehead.

“Eh, just a bit, Sargeant, ma’am. You guys get hammered out there?”

“You could say that. Betty’s gonna need a lot more than a new motor after all’s said and done. Transmission’s shot to shit too- and stuck in reverse.”

“Damn. And wait a minute. Betty, as in Black Betty?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” Applebloom nodded, as she hopped off the front of the tank, to inspect the new engine.

“No shit. We heard you took down like, twelve of those new bug super tanks.”

The Pegasus mare snorted, shaking her short magenta bangs. “Nah, just one. While we were busy shitting bricks, at that.”

“Understatement of th’ century, Scoots.” Applebloom snorted in amusement. “You wanna tell it, Dinks? Or should I?”

“Ah, you got to tell it last time. My turn to impress the miscreants,” Sergeant Dinky Doo chuckled dryly, before taking a seat at a makeshift table built from a worn metal side-plate. “Right, so… where to start?”
—-
Guess I should start with our old Sarge, Zecora. Zebra mare, but she was a pretty good sort. Not like the freaky tribals across the water. She’d been a friend of ours from Ponyville, back home. Knew a lot about the Everfree Forest, and that neat Zebra herbal magic stuff. Good friend of ours. Liked to rhyme a lot, though. If there was anything bad about her, it was the constant rhyming.

She was our Squad Lead when we first arrived at the town of Shire… We’d seen some minor fighting around Tall Tales before it fell, acting as rear guard for Colonel Berrytwist’s defenders when they finally pulled out. Heard they’d given a pretty damn good account of themselves, before we showed up.

Shire was different. See, the Shire was our first offensive action of the war. Blueblood called it Supercharge.
—
“This fight is sure to be deadly.. Apple Bloom, is the crew at the ready?”

“Yes’m, Sarge. Dinky’s complaining about poor turret pressure, but Scoots and I think we’ve got it sorted.”

The Zebra nodded from beneath her tanker’s skull cap, as the pair trotted purposefully along the line of idling tanks, back towards their own. “Let us hope; otherwise, we shall be useless, and Dinky I think will mope.”

“Mope. Mmmope. That’s a funny word.”

The Zebra shrugged, as the two stopped in front of their own tank, the words “Black Betty” painted on, above the sloppy painting of four Changeling military crosses- the crew’s tank kills up to this point.

“That is quite true. Regardless, without power to the turret, I think we shall have upon our hooves a very sad Corporal Doo.”

“Understatement of th’ day.” Applebloom snarked, as the two hopped atop the tank, a Riptide Cruiser Model. The Riptide itself was an excellent by tank, from what the crew of Betty had seen from using it, truly bridging the gap between the much lighter dart cruisers and the rather heavy Celestias.

However, its real strength lay behind the short barreled 75mm Main gun, almost directly taken off Changeling Panzer models. The key difference between the two models however, lay in the velocity. Whereas the Changeling Panzer Gun was more of a direct-fire howitzer for clearing out infantry, the Riptide’s main gun was designed for fighting tanks- something the Changeling Panzers had learned the hard way, back at Tall Tales.

Mounting up within their tank, Applebloom slid into the loader’s position, next to and slightly behind Dinky, as Zecora slid herself into the commander’s chair, closing the hatch behind her.

“Hey gals. We were worried you weren’t going to make it!” Their driver joked, as she let the Riptide’s diesel motor turn over, grumbling loudly, whilst tanks to their left and right did the same.

“We are quite sorry for the wait, but do not fret, for we are not late. Rather, worry for your life. As we are to be the tank dead center, we shall have before us, a fair bit of coming strife.”

“Oh shit, dead center?” Dinky Blinked, as she paused her cleaning of her gun sight. “You gotta be kidding me.”

“Those words I did in fact utter, and furthermore, did you hear me stutter?”

There was a momentary pause amidst the crew, as the only noise audible throughout the tank was the rumblings of it and the others surrounding them.

“Okay, so we’re middle of the damn line. Great. What’s the plan?”

Zecora cleared her throat, as she nodded for Scootaloo to begin rolling forward. As the young mare- barely an adult- did so, to their left and right, other tanks did so as well. “We are to push forward against the Changeling Line. Tonight, in Vanhoover, we are to dine. The enemy line shall be strong, and the battle shall be long. However, our forces shall strike deep, and at the end of the day, her many dead Changelings, the witch Chrysalis shall weep.”
—
Sarge, that is both brilliant and horridly cheesy at the same time. And she was always rhyming like that?

Well yeah, most of the time. She tended to drop the rhyming during pitched battle. No time for minced words while being shot at.
—
The Riptide known as Black Betty surged forward at the front of the armored Spearhead, other Riptide tanks from the armored division taking up the immediate left and right of the spearhead formation. Past them sat two groups of heavy armor attached to the division, making up the left and right flanks. To the far left and far right, out of vision of the medium and heavy tanks, light tanks backed by motorized infantry riding trucks were securing the sides of the spearhead.

Betty rolled across the snow, throwing white powder about, as it chugged across the town of Shire, towards the frozen over river. It was just a few days after Hearth’s Warming, when the river was at its most solid- solid enough, the engineers swore up and down, to support even the heavily armored, motorized bunkers that were Celestia tanks.

“Alright, moment of truth!” Scootaloo barked above the clanking din of the Riptide, as the medium tank rose up the short berm of the riverbank, then down the bank itself onto the frozen river. There was a short, second or so pause, as both Equestrian and Changeling defenders on either end of the river watched in shock, punctuated by the following of several other tanks, as the Riptides found purchase on the slippery ice, and started charging across.

Changeling Anti-Tank Guns roared to life as Machine Guns and small artillery pieces from both banks of the river echoed back and forth across the field. Off to the left, Zecora winced from the Commander’s hatch, watching from her glass viewports as an artillery shell detonated at the front of a Celestia tank. The resulting explosion did little to the vehicle itself, but shattered the ice beneath it, as the impressively heavy tank sunk immediately into the frigid river.

“Do not stop until we are across!” Zecora practically shrieked, as Scootaloo gunned it across the river, the Riptide’s treads and track wheels screeching as they slid and fought for purchase along the slippery ice.

A mighty clang echoed out as something struck the Riptide, sending it spinning dangerously across the ice, as it careened into a Riptide beside it, slamming both to a halt.

“It bounced! Fuck’s sake it was a bounce!”

“Worry later! Get us moving now!” The Zebra tank sergeant barked again, watching the battle unfold from the command ports, as Dinky swiveled the gun turret about to the offending Anti Tank Gun.

“Blasting that Gun!”

“Aim direct, ah’v got AP loaded!”

The 75 millimeter swiveled again and blasted forth a shell, piercing the Changeling AT gun’s heat shield. Inside the Riptide, Applebloom slung open the breach, ejecting the empty shell, twisting behind herself to snag a fresh shell from the rack, before slamming it into the open breech, sealing it afterwards. “HE up!”

Dinky declined to reply, instead adjusting her aim, and letting her cannon do the talking for her. The high explosive shell detonated against the base of the anti-tank gun, sending it careening backwards, as deadly explosive shrapnel scattered outwards from the impact. Up and down the line, the story was much the same, as Equestrian tanks engaged light Changeling Panzers, and copious amounts of anti-tank guns, of varying calibers.

Finally, Scootaloo found traction on the ice, and got Black Betty rolling again, slipping and sliding across the ice until her treads found firm purchase on the opposite bank. A little further down the line, other riptides and a couple Celestias were doing the same, guns chattering away at enemies on the bank.

“This is Betty to all tanks! We are across the river! Advance! Infantry will mop up the defenders!” Zecora commanded, as the Equestrian Armored Unit’s continued to pour onto the enemy held bank.

“Here goes nothing.” Scootaloo muttered, as she lurched the Riptide back into gear, rolling up the river bank. “Wonder what’s out there.”

“Dunno,” Dinky began, sitting back momentarily from her gun sight to wipe a hoof across her forehead, “but all that we’re gonna leave is dead bugs.”

Panzerjäger

“War is hell. You can’t photograph a flying bullet, but you can capture genuine fear.”

Nine

Panzerjäger

—
“Round up!”

“Target Panzer, ten o’ clock.”

“Engage.”

The Riptide rocked gently, as the 75mm shell left the barrel, as Applebloom slung open the breech and rammed in a fresh shell. “Don’t be too greedy with ‘em! Ah’m down to Five AP!”

“How much of the other, Apple Bloom?” Zecora questioned, above the echo of tank cannons sounding out across the winter morning.

“Ah’m down to Fifteen HE an’... the heck? What’s a Heap?”

“HE AP maybe?” Sweetie Belle questioned.

“Those are HEAT shells you dunderhead!” Dinky snorted, as she began twisting the turret to address another enemy tank. “High Explosive Anti-“

“Tank! What the flying fuck issat?!” Scootaloo screeched, jabbing a wing towards a large gray behemoth of an armored vehicle, which had crested the low rise.

“Engage! Quickly!” Zecora roared over the din of the tank formation, as other Celestia and Riptide drivers did the same.

Armor Piercing shells simply slammed home into the behemoth tank’s front plate and turret, having failed to penetrate, as the massive cannon on the front swung to face one of the surviving Celestias. With a mighty belch that sounded more at home on a Changeling Flak Gun than a tank, the large shell tore through the turret of the Celestia, leaving the vehicle dead in the water weapons-wise.

Zecora swore as she grit her teeth and watched her crew perform their duties. The advance had been going so well, too. They’d sheared straight through the Changeling line hours ago, across a frozen river of all places, and shoved their way past the light Panzers and massed Anti tank guns. Casualties hadn’t been light, but with the new Celestia tanks taking the brunt of the enemy AT fire, they hadn’t been heavy, either.

But this? This was new.

Applebloom slammed another AP shell home as quickly as her hooves would move, as Dinky blasted away at the enemy tank’s turret mantlet, Scootaloo fumbling with the controls to keep them mobile as they began backing away towards the Equestrian lines. Any tank that could disable a Celestia in one hit was not something they wanted to fight with.

The rounds continued to bounce off the thing’s frontal plate, as it cut down Celestias and Riptides like hot knives through butter.

“Son of a whore bitch!” Dinky raged vulgarly, shifting down to gaze at Applebloom from the gunner’s seat. “Gimme those HEAT rounds!”

“You got it! Round-“ she halted mid sentence as a massive force slammed into the front of the Riptide, making it lurch horridly, and sending the crew bouncing about like sardines in a shook can.

“Fuck! Damage report!” Zecora barked, bringing a hoof to her head with a grimace.

“It glanced off!”

“That was a ricochet?! That fucking pissant cocksuck ricocheted?!” Dinky bellowed, as the crew sounded off their state of affairs.

“Let’s not get hit by a shell proper then! Scootaloo, full reverse! Dinky, Sweetie, Button it up!”

“Hell with that sarge, I’m eating that fucker for breakfast!” Dinky barked, as she watched Applebloom load one of the so-called HEAT shells, as quickly as she could manage.

“Corporal that’s-!”

There was an awful clang and shearing of metal, as the Changeling behemoth belched it’s fire again. Dinky stared in shock, her scathing reply to her tank commander dying on her lips, as she stared at the massive hole in the side of the turret, where the commander’s basket had been.

“I-oh-oh fuck! Fuck!” Applebloom swore, bringing voice to what Dinky was unable to.

“Sh-shit I’m losing engine pressure!” Scootaloo warned, frantically tapping the gauges in a vain attempt to keep the meters up and not crash-falling.

“Radio is knocked out! I can’t get in contact with anypony!” Sweetie warned, as Corporal Doo remained staring at the hole in the side of Betty.

Her crew screamed in panic around her, as she gingerly waved a hoof where Zecora had been sat seconds ago, now simply open air.

The changeling beast echoed again. Load HEAT.

“Pressure down to Thirty PSI! What the fuck are we doing?!”

“What the hell does it look like ah’m doin’ dammit?!”

They hadn’t heard her, so she barked again, kicking a hindhoof out to Applebloom’s shoulder. A bit too roughly, but she’d be fine. Had to get her attention. “I SAID, LOAD FUCKING HEAT! The furious unicorn mare screeched aloud, cranking the gun turret, which whined and groaned, as she snapped out of her daze and back into action. “Sweetie, ditch the fuckin’ radio and start buttoning that panzer with the co-ax! Scootaloo, keep this thing fuckin’ reversing! Applebloom, hurry the fuck up! Move fillies! Move!”

They were not dying to some godsforsaken tank in some godsforsaken field with half a godsforsaken tank of their own.

It was enough. Scootaloo restarted the engine that had stalled, and the wounded riptide lurched backwards, as it’s machine guns chattered gamely away, plinking uselessly at the massive Changeling tank. Applebloom shoved one of the as of yet unused shells home, as Dinky sucked in breath and took aim at the tank.

Her breath hitched and her mind froze for a moment, as the enemy tank’s gun began to swivel back towards the riptide it’d thought it knocked out. She knew exactly how she was going to kill the bastard. “ROUND UP!” Came Applebloom’s frantic reply, as Scootaloo prayed to the goddesses, whilst the engine sputtered Black smoke and died all over again.

It’d been just enough to get the tank into a good firing position, the gun aimed and loaded.

Dinky took aim at the half-fractured front-left turret plate, nearly shattered from repeated 75mm shells that failed to fully penetrate. Her hoof tensed around the gun.

Now or never.

The Riptide rocked, as the gun discharged one final time, it’s crew staring in tense silence as the shell slammed home- then through the side plate.

A half second later and it began to cook off, it’s ammunition rattling as a gout of fire tore out of the command hatch, the changeling crew cooked alive in seconds. A mighty explosion- maybe the engine- rocked the monstrosity again, lurching it to one side. Dead.

Dinky sat back in her seat, shaking horribly as the adrenaline wore off. Patting herself down, she finally levitated a cigarette and match out of a pocket, and wedged it in her mouth. She started to light it, then remembered that she possibly had a fuel leak- if that black smoke was any indication, and simply rolled the stick about in her mouth, trying to calm her own frayed nerves, as the crew did the same. A Celestia tank- the one that’d lost its gun after a strike to the turret, rolled up alongside, probably checking for survivors.

The crew looked at each other, then up to Dinky, who took a deep breath, and nodded, before pulling herself out of the gunner’s hatch, the command hatch clearly ruined. Shakily clambering onto the roof of her riptide, she took a moment to survey the battle damage.

Five other riptides knocked out of action, and two Celestias. All from one single enemy tank.

One that they’d honestly gotten really fucking lucky taking out.

Dinky slid off her tank, trotting across the snowy ground, and over to the Celestia, pulling herself up the side and onto the turret’s roof. The tank’s Commander, Some tan earth pony with a seafoam green and white mane pushed her hatch open, looking at Dinky with exhausted eyes.

“You’re lead tank now.” Dinky began simply. “We’ll wait for infantry to pick us up. Keep pushing long as you can. Copy?”

The mare gazed for a second, then nodded, sliding back into her command basket, as Dinky shut the hatch for her, and hopped down, back towards her own tank.

Goddesses, she was tired all of a sudden. Sweetie and Applebloom were sat on top of the turret, watching the remaining tanks from the formation begin to lurch back into movement. Meanwhile, Scootaloo buried herself in the smoking engine compartment, making sure to come up for air, and wrap a soaked cleaning rag around her muzzle to ward smoke away as she worked.

“Hey, Dinks.” Applebloom greeted, as Dinky clambered back up, sitting with the two. All three of them were staring at the enemy tank. Not much else they could do, with the engine dead. Odds were they’d still be down an engine when the infantry arrived.

“Hey.” She replied, finally lighting her cigarette. She took a couple drags, then offered it to Applebloom, who took a couple puffs, and passed it to Sweetie Belle. Sweetie did the same, then passed it back to Dinky, who removed her tanker’s cap, running a hoof shakily through her mane.

“That was one tough tank.”

“No fuckin’ shit?”
—

Dinky chugged a cup of nearly frigid coffee, a neutral frown on her face, as she gauged the two GI’s reactions.

“Infantry showed up a couple hours later.” She finally began again, staring down at the cup of coffee for a moment. “They had an engineer that’d been an auto mechanic, and he helped us get our engine back up and running. We were down to three cylinders from our original eight, but we limped her home. I uh. Well, I got promoted to Sergeant, so I guess I’m Tank Commander now. We’re still waiting on a replacement gunner.”

“Damn. And the bugs have more of those… things?”

Dinky nodded, downing the rest of her coffee. “Yeah, they’re called uh… tigers, I think. We just call ‘em trouble, though. That or ‘oh fuck’.” She snarked. “And yeah, they’ve got more of them. They’re not invincible. Even if it kinda feels like it.” She sighed, and shook her head. “Anyways, that’s enough story time for one day. Piss off, ya kids. Go find another tanker to bother.” She chuckled, waving them off with a hoof.

The two ponies said their goodbyes, and then were gone.

“Hey Dinks?”

“Hm? What’s up, Applebloom?”

“How ya holdin’ up?”

The earth pony mare sat down across from Dinky, carrying fresh, warm cups of coffee- one of which she passed to the unicorn tank commander.

Dinky nodded thankfully, sipping once at it, then holding the cup between her hooves, as she looked down upon it, a frown tugging it’s way across her lips. She was quiet for several seconds, before shaking her head.

“I don’t know, Applebloom. I really don’t know.”

The War Room

“I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.”

Ten

The War Room

—

The Command Center map Room was thick with tobacco smoke, as cigars and pipes were lit and smoked from, a typewriter chattering away in a far corner of the room, as the officers discussed their state of affairs.

“Twenty-third Armored Division has punched through the Shire Defensive line as according to the goal of Supercharge.” One of the gathered Commanding Officers- General Blueblood, Of the Shire Front, stated. The prince-turned savior of the army during its early days frowned, then continued. “Fell short of Vanhoover by about sixty miles though. Changelings have rolled out some sort of new super-tank into combat service. Nigh impenetrable from the front. From recovered wrecks, we believe it to be called the Panzerkampfwagen six, or the ‘Tiger’ Heavy Tank.”

“It’s Performance As observed, statistically speaking, Nephew?” Luna, Warrior Princess of Equestria, and Field Marshall over all the Equestrian army, questioned, as the weary stallion nodded.

“Eight point eight centimeter main gun. Thick frontal armor- about a hundred millimeters at the front, and on the turret, with a further twenty at the gun mantlet. Unsloped, however, so shells are more likely to impact and get stuck rather than ricochet. Weight of about fifty tons at first estimate, and the engineers are guessing a top speed of about thirty kilometers an hour on a solid road, or maybe half that cross country at a good clip. Realistically with the terrain it’s working in, that’s probably more like eight to ten.”

“Well stated, Nephew. Do we have an estimate on Changeling numbers of the specific model presented before us?”

Blueblood sighed, and shook his head, puffing on his pipe before supplying an answer. “Only vague numbers at best, Aunt Luna. Perhaps a couple hundred to four hundred? At highest estimate, a probably ridiculous eight hundred.”

“It’ll do for now, thank you. General Berrytwist, an Update on the Las Pegasus Front?”

The cracked-horn unicorn nodded, and stepped forward, having taken over for General Soarin’, who’d happily returned to the airforce. “Progress is being made, ma’am, but it’s slow and ground out fighting over rough and difficult terrain. Once we hit the Vanhoover mountain range, that’s only going to get worse. Casualties are well within acceptable ranges, but enemy resistance is fierce and determined, and therefore requires a longer period to clear from our area of advance.”

Luna nodded, thanking the mare as she then turned to Field Marshall Armor- she’d already gotten Blueblood’s report- as he conversed with a pair of generals from New Mareland- Candy Garden, and Moonlight Poppy, both of which had been sent north to aid the smaller Crystal Imperial Military. “Prince Armor, how goes the war for the north?”

“Well enough all considered.” He nodded firmly, as the pair of officers fell quiet. “Slow, but steady. We’re making progress with the same issues as General Berrytwist, though we are more used to the terrain, and the Changelings are not used to such a long winter period, which has been severely hampering their efforts. I’m estimating us to be clear of the mountains in a month or so, continuing at our current pace.”

“All respect ma’am’s, sirs,it’ll be three or four before I can say we’ll be at Vanhoover at current pace.” Berrytwist estimated on the safe side of things, to which Luna nodded curtly. Fizzlepop was a tad slower than other generals in advance- but she therefore kept her casualties lower, and was unparalleled at tackling enemy bunkers and large fortifications- which was why Luna had earmarked her for the eventual siege of Vanhoover. “With Summer coming about in the next three weeks or so, it wouldn’t be unwise I feel to renew a general offensive across the line- something like Supercharge accomplished.”

“So soon after the last?” Poppy questioned, rubbing her tired eyes with a hoof. “Supercharge exceeded expectations, but it still fell sixty miles short of Phase Line Baker, and we wound up with horrendous casualties I’m not sure we can continue to maintain.”

“True, though we do have the numbers presently. We’ve always had the larger military than the Changelings, and we’ve probably replenished… about eighty-five percent of our numbers and supplies- including our armor, something we know the Changelings cannot do as readily, thanks to the Air Force and Royal Navy’s stellar efforts… I agree with Berrytwist. If we’re smart about this… we could use this offensive to break the Changeling Army’s back.” Blueblood cut in idly, gears turning in his head as he studied the map before them upon the table.

Luna hummed softly, as the officers looked to her expectantly. “It’s a valid thought. If we’re to commit to this however, timing is going to be everything. Blueblood, Nephew?”

“Yes, Aunt Luna?”

“Give me a time estimate. You’re center of the line, after all.”

Blueblood mulled it over silently for a few moments, before finally answering. “I’d do as General Berrytwist suggested, and advance during the first week of summer. Roads should be completely solid, and it gives the infantry three weeks of rest and skirmish operations before a deliberate assault. Not to mention an extra three weeks of replenishment of soldiers and their materials.”

The Field Marshall and princess nodded firmly. “Very well. It’s getting late for you, we know, so I want everypony to sleep on the matter at hoof. Get some rest . Front commanders, I expect rudimentary plans of assault by tomorrow evening. Talk them through with your officers, then report back. Dismissed.”

—

The war room emptied out relatively quickly, as the generals exited into the cool spring night to radio in to their subordinates that they weren’t going to be returning quite yet.

Luna stood quietly over the large central map, as she refilled the kerosene lamps within; electricity had been out since they moved back into the town of Shire from all the heavy fighting earlier in the week. Her aide de camp, meanwhile, cleared her typewriter and stood up from the corner, stretching out, before snatching her papers.

The admittedly short thestral mare held the papers out with a wing, trotting over to give them over to Luna. “Hours for your records, ma’arm.”

“My thanks, Captain Wind. Would you put us on a pot of coffee? I’d like to review the hours.”

“Of course your highness.”

—

A pot of hot coffee later, and the two mares were studying the map and the typist’s writing, half empty coffee cups only occasionally sipped from as they focused more upon their work.

“Talk me through this, Captain Wind. Let’s study possibilities again.”

“Aye, ma’arm.” The Shirish native nodded, rolling her neck to stretch. “From Th’ top then?”

Luna nodded, stifling a yawn. “Blueblood’s proposal- Supercharge Two.”

“Probably too costly, t’be honest. I know my tank was full’a holes by the time it was over. Lost my radiomare, too.” The former tanker hummed, scratching her chin with a leathery wing. “Works as a fine fallback, though. Say whot ya will ‘bout the Equestrian war machine, we’ve got plenty o’ ponies t’ throw at the Changelings to stop ‘em solid.”

“Horribly callous of you, Captain.”

“Aye, m’lady, it is.” The Mare agreed, with a frown. “Cain’t be nice inna war, tho’.”

“Aye, ‘tis true. Let’s put a general line offensive on backburner for now, though. General Berrytwist’s proposal?”

“Op’ration Hammer Toss. Left sweep ‘cross the West Coast t’ Vanhoover, a central thrust along the Acornage Salient, and cut off th’ Bug army group in th’ Vanhoover Mountain range.”

“A bit limited in actual scale, but meritorious on it’s destruction of Changeling fighting ability.” Luna hummed, tapping her hoof idly against the table. “I don’t like how exposed that leaves our center and left flanks during the Advance though.”

“Could cause a hell’o a lotta trouble if either flank gets bogged down, aye, an’ she’d need a lot mair armor an’ trucks- takes time t’transfer them, an’ if the Changelings are worth their intelligence ‘t all, they’ll notice it an’ react accordingly.”

“Definitely a fair point.” Luna muttered, sighing. “So probably implausible, much as I would adore bagging a Changeling Army Group before ‘Tia’s birthday. Remind me to give our own army groups a look over tomorrow, Tempest. We are considering attaching at least a moderately sized armor group to all our armies, to avoid this in the future.”

“Aye ma’rm, I’ll note it doon.”

“Which brings us to our third alternative. Prince Armor’s Operation Snap Freeze. Push through the mountains and down past Acornage.”

“Ah’d reckon it’s th’ worse o’ the three, but don’ tell ‘im I said that.”

Luna snorted in amusement, shaking her head. “How do you figure, Captain?”

“Shite tank country, an’ more or less this is a war o’ who ken bring the best an’ most to bear. North’s too static to make any lastin’ gains against th’ bugs. An’ sure, ‘e may get through th’ mountains after th’ offense eventually grinds doon the bug front line. Then he’s got swamp to contend with. An’ that’s a lot different creature to tackle than a mountain- an’ even worse tank country I’d wager.”

The Warrior princess of the night nodded and sighed, downing the rest of her coffee. “All valid points, Captain, though you do overstate the importance of the tank- as the defense of the Shire showed.”

“Fair ‘nuff.” Captain Wind nodded. “Bit for y’ thoughts?”

“None of these plans are suitable for my wishes. I wish to smash the Changeling army, and one of them is too limited in scope, whilst the other two are too ambitious. What a mess.”

“Aye, M’lady. An’ that’s not e’en counting for the Bugs’ side of things.”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, uh, well…” the Thestral took a deep breath, and steadied herself, having not been prepared for the follow up. “Well, we’re jus’ looking out our side o’ things. We ain’t payin’ any attention to how Trimmel’s gonna react.”

“Intriguing, Captain. And you think you have some idea?”

“A bit, Aye. Nae, I’m no field marshal, jus’ a Capt’n, but Ah’m a tanker at heart- same as Trimmel. Hell, ah’ve read ‘is book.”

“Infanterie greift an, yes.” Luna replied, curtly. “I didn’t take you for a fan.”

The Shirish mare simply sipped her coffee in response, emptying her own cup. “I figgur’d I should try ta figure out who we were goin’ oop against, when ya pulled me from m’ Company for your aide d’ camp.” She then hummed, for a moment. “In any case, whot dae tankers loik Trimmel an’ I look for when we’re workin? Three things. Ammo, fuel, an’ good weather.”

“Go on.”

“Well, Trimmel knows we’ve got ‘least two of ‘em- ammo an’ fuel. He also knows we’re jus’ waitin’ for the weather to clear up.”

“Meaning he’s probably expecting a summer offensive.”

“He’d be a right numpty not to, t’be honest, y’ Majesty. An’ I think we oughtta catch him a’fore summer for that regard. ‘Sides, the bugs are in jus’ as bad shape as us, really. Shite resupply means he’s gotta husband his fuel an’ ammo reserves more’n we do, and I bet they don’t have great winter gear- we sure as shoite don’t, an’ we have it as parta our standard kit.”

“They did conquer Olenia, Captain.”

“Aye, after about twenty days O’ fightin’. The winter didn’t affect ‘em. Bet queen bitch expected this war ta Go Th’ Same, really.”

“Perhaps. In any case, carry on.”

“I say we speed things oop ta the last week o’ spring. Two weeks’ rest, and mud’ll be off an’ on. First free day we get, we start pushin’. The mud’ll come and go, and we coul’ mebbe even use that to our advantage to keep th’ bugs bogged down an’ stick ‘em in place.”

“I like the idea, but that brings me to the important question: where do we Advance?” Luna pondered, gazing back over the large map. Then like a bolt of lightning , a thought struck her. “Everywhere.”

“Come agin Y’Majesty?”

“All three plans. Why stop at one army group when we can bag the entire Changeling front line?”

“You mean-?”

“I do.” Luna nodded firmly, smiling predatorily. “Blueblood’s Supercharge II to pin the line in place and throw Trimmel off focus. Berrytwist after some armored reinforcement- I’ll pull any mechanized or armored units arriving from home over the next two weeks for her front- to punch through to Vanhoover and then Northeast to Acornage, and Shining Armor with limited armor of his own to push through the mountains and southeast to Acornage. We’ll pincer off the entire damn line and let the Changeling army choke itself to death.”

“Ambitious, ma’rm. timing’ll hafta be perfect.”

“Yes. It will. But it’s something I can work with. Captain, get to writing. We’ve a lot of work to do.”

Storm Front

“War is not only a matter of Equipment, artillery, group troops or Air Force; it is largely a matter of spirit, or morale.”

Eleven

Storm Front

The blizzard looming over Vanhoover had finally moved back in, and with it, the heavy November snow. If the blizzard that raged two weeks ago was anything to go by as well, then it was shaping up to be a winter for the history books.

Sergeant Yearling snorted, shaking the snow out of her mane, before re-doffing her faded gray field beret, which blended in nicely with her mane and tail color. She missed her old pith helmet sorely, but there wasn't much left of the old thing except ash and cinders, after a much- too- close run in with a Changeling Flammenwerfer back in San Fransiscolt.

For now the beret would make do. Trotting carefully across the cobblestone street, Yearling moved to the company command post- formerly a post office- and slipped inside, breathing more easily once she shut the door behind her. Feasibly this was a secure block of Vanhoovet, but one could never be too sure, what with the fight for the city's sewers raging beneath the streets below their hooves. Removing her beret now that she was inside, Autumn allowed herself to relax, pocketing the beret.

"Evening, Sergeant." Another mare- she, a dusty brown Earth Pony with a Corporal's chevrons- greeted. Newly minted, based on the cleanness of the olive chevrons upon her tan uniform, most probably. That or a new uniform, which seemed less likely given the state of the siege of Vanhoover. A stripped down 'jungle style' Type K carbine was slung across her back, and belts of .303 Vickers ammunition was slung across her barrel and shoulders, bandolier style.

"Evening, Corporal. Headed somewhere with a machine gun?"

"Trying to, Sergeant." The Corporal nodded, enthusiastically. Much too enthusiastically. "Corporal Dusty Trails; I'm trying to track down my unit, Shire River Garrison Brigade, Section Baker."

"Oh, damn." Yearling whistled softly. "You're way off, then. Were you injured? They've reformed as First Shire Hoof Regiment under Colonel Midwinter Halo. Right now they're up on the northern edge of the city, pushing up the coastline towards the dockyards. How'd you end up so far off?"

"Oh, her, Sergeant? Corporal Trails here got shot a bunch of times back at the Shire river." One of the company's staff Sergeants waved a wing in her direction. "She just got back from emergency medical leave this morning."

"Yes, Sergeant." Corporal Trails agreed, nodding. "And I had to fight with my surgeon for a week and a half over it. I got stitched up pretty good by a bug tank."

"No shit?" Yearling blinked. "Hey wait, yeah, I remember you, Corporal. You and that bat pony friend of yours, Gale something. You two were crowing a Vickers gun. I gave you cigarettes."

"Hey yeah, I remember you too, sarge." The earth pony chuckled. "Didn't recognize you without that funky hat of yours, though."

"Got burnt up, sadly. Bug flamethrower."

"Ouch."

"Quite. Anyhow, I've got to report to command, if you'll excuse me?"

"Yes, Sergeant. Have a good one."

Sergeant Yearling waved a wing at the CO- a Second Lieutenant- as she entered her office. "Evening to you, ma'am. How's your week been?"

Second Lieutenant Cheerilee paused momentarily to smile at the Pegasus, looking up from her typewriter. Gesturing to it, the newly commissioned officer returned to typing her latest report. "It goes, Daring. Yours?"

"Oh, it went, ma'am." Daring shrugged, unslinging her type K rifle. The rifle she then placed gingerly on the wall rack, next to Cheerilee's own type L machine gun. "The bugs are finally starting to feel the pressure. Having to deal with First Vanhoover was already giving them hell, what with your regiment's skill and determination. With Keg's infantry on the other end of the city, and Halo dug in up north at the docks, they're hurting."

"Mhn. Colonel Keg'll be glad to hear his regiment is doing well, then, and Halo's really been a thorn in their ass for the past week or so. Good on her. Continue, Sergeant."

"Yes, ma'am. Anyhow, with first Shire holding the actual dockyards, you and Keg pushing from the flanks, and twenty-four armor corps being railed in, we've got them between the devil and the deep blue sea."

Cheerilee grinned broadly, then leaned back in her chair as she took a short break from her report. "Yeah, I agree. Now that Division's got it's head outta it's ass, we've got them where we want them. Now, we just need to hold them there. Any word on that fleet action we heard yesterday? That was close as hell to the docks."

"I've got one better for you, Lieutenant. I was able to shimmy up the top of that old Solarian church near the bay, and saw the whole damn thing from the steeple. Three of our destroyers and what I'm guessing was one of our cruisers are sunk, but we nailed two bug battle cruisers and an actual battleship, as well as a good chunk of their screen. I saw the Pegasopolis' torpedo bombers plaster a second bug battleship, and it had a pretty bad list to port, but it limped outta my view. I think it probably ended up limping home, unless the Big P sent out a second sortie of torpedo bombers I missed."

"Nicely spotted, Sergeant. Looks like the sea remains ours. Okay, that simplifies my report a bit then, so thank you for that. You up for another sally forth out into the wild, wild, west?"

"All day, every day, Ma'am."

"Brill. Alright, I've got a priority objective for you, then. I sent one of my Sergeants out to reccy this big-ass apartment building with her platoon a couple hours ago, and gave them orders to secure it if feasible. They still haven't reported back, and I can't raise them on the wire. I don't want another platoon walking into a Changeling ambush, but I need my missing platoon found. You have a map on you, Sergeant?"

"Yes ma'am." Daring Do- maiden name Autumn K. Yearling- nodded, producing a somewhat faded and quite well folded map of Vanhoover and it's surrounding suburbs. "Don't mind the pencil marks, I got it off an injured Louie headed back to Canterlot."

"I'm sure the Lieutenant won't miss it too badly from his hospital bed, Sergeant. Okay. We're.. here, at Company Command on Mulberry Avenue. My patrol went missing… over here, at this fucking four story apartment complex on the corner of Moonshine and Dayglow. It should be a safe enough trek until you hit Dayglow and have to start cutting Northwest, but past that it's disputed territory, still. Snipers, dug in panzers and AT guns, interlocking MG positions, it's a mess over on my end, Sergeant."

Daring nodded, humming. "Surface trek's out then. I'll have to take the sewers. Any sewer rats I can tag along with?"

"Sure, Sergeant. I've got a patrol heading out to sweep the sewers from Dayglow up to Westbrook, so you can follow them as far as Moonshine before you break off."

"You got it, Lieutenant. When do they leave?"

"Half an hour. Sit down a few, drink some coffee, and get warm. They'll rally up outside here before they leave."

"Music to my ears, ma'am."

Daring idly adjusted her beret, as she followed the sewer patrol towards the nearest sewer access hatch, their team leader up front and lugging an SMG. The weapon itself, a Stalliongradian PPSH-01, had been apparently given to her by her sister, a Lavochkin LaGG-3 Ace.

Maud. The dull gray earth pony's name was Maud. One of the famous Pie sisters, made famous by the family's two youngest- Pinkamena Diane and Marble, who were an Equestrian Brigadier General and a Stallionist LaGG-3 ace, respectively. Maud herself, though, was just a Sergeant. A Sergeant with a five pony patrol that was about to crawl through dark and disgusting sewers hunting for changeling infiltrators and infantrylings.

A thankless job, but someone had to do it, and that someone was Maud.

Maud nodded to Daring, as the sniper approached the sewer access her patrol was standing taking positions around. "Sergeant Yearling." She monotoned, her facial expression barely moving a millimeter in reaction.

"Sergeant Pie. Down we go?"

"Down we go."

The sewer was deceptively quiet, as the six pony patrol- counting Daring- crept through Vanhoover's ancient sewer system. The wind- occasionally sneaking in through cracks in the ceiling of the sewer tunnels caused by the constant shelling of the city that was still underway by the Royal 8th Artillery- caused a low constant howl of noise occasionally punctuated by the loud dripping of condensation from the ancient pipework.

The lead pony, a stallion lugging a trench gun, halted and crouched low, raising his scattergun as a Unicorn mare behind him with a New Mareland model Bits gun levitated the somewhat ramshackle SMG into a firing position over the point stallion's head.

The sloshing noise and low chattering the two point ponies had caught soon came into the rest of the patrol's hearing, and they too readied their mishmash of weaponry.

Three changelings eventually sloshed through the poorly lit intersection before them, toting sub machine guns of their own and chattering in their native language about Faust knew what. They slogged their way past the silent patrol, who waited a couple seconds before opening fire on the bugs, cutting the trio down in a couple bursts and a single shotgun blast.

The patrol waited another couple of seconds as the brass hit the floor or splashed into the sewer water, listening intently for any other noise or changeling response, before continuing on down the sewer.

This continued for nearly an hour, Daring guessed. They'd ambush- or be ambushed- by small groups of Changelings similar to their own, and then move on once the brass fell and the noise quieted. Finally, Maud halted her team, and turned to Daring as her team looked over ammunition and kept watch. "This is Daybreak and Moonshine. We'll escort you to friendly forces."

"Oh, no, that's not necessary, Sergeant. I can take it from here."

Maud just cocked an eye- by that, raising it all of a couple millimeters- as Daring turned and shimmied up the access ladder, out into the cold of Vanhoover's streets at night time. Daring took a quick peek around the street corner as she exited the sewer, spotting no one else- pony, changeling, or otherwise. Satisfied, she turned to replace the access hatch, and froze, as she met Sgt. Pie's stony gaze.

"If anyone asks, we completed our patrol, then doubled back to assist you."

Daring, for her part, inhaled and exhaled, before offering Maud a helping hoof. "Understood, Sergeant. I appreciate the backup."

The five sewer rats finished shimmying out of the access hatch after a minute or so, and Daring shut the hatch behind them, before turning back to address the patrol. "Alright. Lieutenant Cheerilee's missing patrol should have holed up in the runoff ditch across the street from that bigass apartment up the road. I think for now, we should operate under the assumption the bugs have observers or snipers or something on the top floors."

"Probably wise." Maud agreed, hefting her SMG. "We can probably use the brick wall along the road to crawl over without being visible to the top floors."

After a moment of surveying the wall herself, Daring nodded firmly. "Agreed, looks good as anything else to me."

The team got down low, and crept forward along the wall at a painfully slow pace. Idly, Daring noted that before the war, it was probably quite a nice privacy wall, judging by the effort put into the brickwork. At least, before the war and the bombs and fighting ruined it.

Oh well.

Sliding across finally into the drainage ditch, Daring wheezed softly in surprise as she just about tripped face first into a corpse.

Not a corpse, the sniper quickly corrected, as the frost covered pony shifted below her. "Oh fuck, hello there. Didn't mean to run you over." Daring apologized quietly and briefly,as she waved Maud and her team over with a wing.

"S'allright. Sergeant Ditzy Doo, First Vanhoover." The gray pegasus mare greeted, pulling herself into a low crouch as well. "You'll wanna stay low. Whole ton of bug snipers out there."

"Good to know, Sergeant Doo. Sergeants Yearling and Pie, from Delta Coy and Alpha coy, respectively. Cheerilee sent us." Daring greeted, as the patrol fell in with Ditzy's platoon in the drainage ditch.

"Glad to have any assistance. I bet Cheerilee got antsy when we didn't report in?"

"Nailed it in one."

"Yeah, I figured. Our radio's down, and that damned apartment's gagglefuck of snipers and MGs is keeping us from sending runners back to company; too dangerous."

"Makes sense. So the apartment's a no-go, in terms of feasibly capturing?"

"Now, I didn't say that." Ditzy chimed, glancing back at the building. "But there's a whole gaggle of snipers over there and my own sharpshooter, Light Step, doesn't want to get picked off."

"Mhn, yeah, that could be a problem I suppose. Where's Light Step?"

"Private Step's on the far right. Can't miss her, scrawniest mare I've got."

Private Light Step had never really recovered from the trek out of Vanhoover at the beginning of the war. She was still dull-coated, ramrod thin, and if other privates were to be believed, prone to night terrors.

But Light Step was a fine sniper, Daring noted, as she observed the pencil thin Unicorn mare. "Private Step? Sergeant Yearling. I hear you have a sniper problem?"

"Yes, Sergeant." The mare mumbled. Her breath was slow and steady, any movements deliberate and slothful on purpose. "I've counted scope glints from four different hides. Four snipers."

Yearling nodded. "I see. Locations last spotted?"

"Third floor; far left window, and third window from the right. Fourth floor; one far right, one direct middle."

"Any signs of them moving positions?"

"No, Sergeant. They've been pretty sedentary. I've been observing since we got here."

Daring nodded again, rubbing her chin with a wingtip. "Right. So, how's their aim?"

"Not the greatest, not the worst."

Yearling hummed then crept back over to Ditzy. "I need a runner for sniper bait."

"A runner for what now?"

"This is a stupid idea, Sarge!" The unfortunate private- Snap Freeze- complained with a hiss, shifting her weight back and forth whilst Derpy snorted.

"It's either that or stay here until they find the brain cells to rub together and start ranging mortars. Your call, private."

"Okay, but why me, Sarge? Green Grass is faster."

"Because Green Grass has a fatass head and a fatass body. Now get ready for my mark."

Daring and Light Step looked over from their positions on either end of the ditch, and gave Ditzy a nod each.

"Mark! Covering fire from the emma-gee!"

Snap Freeze leapt up from her spot in the snow covered ditch and took off at the dead sprint into the snowstorm, as Ditzy's Vickers gun team began to lay down suppressing fire towards the apartment complex.

Autumn raised her rifle to eye level, and began frantically scanning the apartment building's upper floors, where Light Step had pointed out- there, a small shift of movement, only just visible past the heavy snowfall. Eyeballing the distance as she squinted through her rifle sight, her hoof tensed around the trigger handle, as she centered her sight, adjusting for distance as the Changeling no doubt did the same.

The rifle in her hooves barked suddenly, as she eased far enough into the trigger for it to discharge. To her satisfaction, she watched some sort of spray- probably blood- erupt from the enemy sniper, as Light Step's rifle echoed out as well. Assuming she hadn't missed, that left two, as Daring went back to scanning the upper floors.

No doubt the two changeling sharpshooters were doing the same now, assuming they'd heard their rifles over the steady thrum of machine gun fire.

Or not, as a flash of light from inside one of the dark rooms on the upper floor took a potshot at Snap Freeze, missing her head by a couple of inches as she raced across the snow.

Daring returned fire, nailing the sniper, but swore to herself as the last sniper's shot slammed into the snow-covered berm of the ditch directly to her front. Thankfully, Light Step's rifle cracked shortly after, and the unicorn waved an all-clear down the trench line.

Derpy, Catching it as well, waved a wing to her platoon as well as the sewer rats. "Let's go everypony! Keep low and watch those bug MGs! Base of fire, break it down and get moving! Regroup on the first floor! Let's go, let's go!"

The ponies let loose a cheer, as they rose up, and the firefight began in earnest. Daring, still back at the trench with Step, snapped off a shot that pegged a changeling machine gunner, though not before a burst of his cut down teo of Derpy's soldiers. Light step was firing as well, though they both halted as Derpy's platoon closed and began heaving grenades into the building.

"Okay, time to go, kid." Daring ordered aa the explosives sent shrapnel and gore flying through the apartment. "Let's catch up."

"Right behind you, Sarge." Light Step stated, standing up and galloping after Daring, as the pair ran to catch up to the platoon, who had moved off the first floor and up to the second, as well as down to the basement.

The pair of snipers entered the house as machine gun fire chattered above and below them, as well as the heavy thuds of hoof falls on the wooden floorboards.

After a few moments, the gunfire stopped. "Clear up!"

"Clear down!" Came the reply from the basement.

"Casualties?!" Ditzy barked, as her platoon checked bodies and took up defensive positions.

"Coffee cake and Ash Wood, Sarge! They bought it from that bug MG."

"Dammit. Grab their rifles and tags, and move 'em down to the basement. The bugs liked this building, they're gonna want it back. Gimme two runners from the sewer team to report back to Cheerilee!"

Maid's voice cut through the shuffling movements, as Daring and Step passed Ditzy's vickers team lugging their gun upstairs. "I'll send Lugnut and Wind Chill. You two, report back to Lieutenant Cheerilee at Alpha Company command, let her know the apartment building is secure for the time being and will need reinforcements as soon as is possible."

"Yes sergeant. Stay safe."

"No promises, privates. Ditzy, I think we can probably salvage the changeling machine gun from downstairs."

"I agree; that'll give us two, and we're gonna need all the firepower we can get our hooves on, I'm betting. This… this is about to get ugly."

Daybreak

"Strength does not come from winning. Your struggles develop your strengths. When you go through hardships and decide not to surrender, that is strength."

Twelve

Daybreak

Daring jolted awake to the shrill drone of machine gun fire, as the tell-tale paper shredding noise of the captured Changeling machine gun destroyed the early morning's peace. A shout of, "Changelings outside! Incoming!" Lent good reasoning to the interruption of the Sergeant's sleep, as she stood quickly, snatching up her rifle as she went. Around her, others from Sergeant Ditzy's platoon and Maud's remaining team did the same, leaping up from their uneasy sleep and directly into combat, as rifle fire began to snap back and forth.

Sergeant Yearling herself moved over with her rifle and gazed out the window, selecting one of the dozens, if not hundreds, of targets, and squeezed gently on the trigger. The scoped type K pattern barked, and down went one of the Changelings. Dozens more rose forward to fill their place, even as the platoon's two machine guns tore into the Changeling advance.

Maud and her remaining sewer rats, weapons readied and loaded, rushed downstairs to hold the lower levels as the Changelings attempted to break into the apartment. Almost immediately, their submachine guns and shotguns began echoing out with fire, causing Yearling's ears to twitch from the noise. They'd be fine, she told herself, as she refocused outwards, raising her rifle back to eye level. Breathing in and out at a steady pace, she laid into the trigger on her rifle once more, causing it to bark harshly as a second Changeling fell outside.

Off to her right somewhere, Ditzy reached a wing down to her waist belt, tugged a grenade free of it's pouch, and primed it, chucking it hastily out the window after releasing the spoon. It was shortly followed by an explosion and pained cries of Changeling infantry, as Ditzy returned to firing her own carbine rifle. "Someone get up top and pop off a signal flare!" The mare barked, over the din of the gunfight. "And find me a fucking radio! I want that approach marked for artillery fire!"

"Radio moving, sarge!" Called one of Ditzy's Ditzy's privates, as they pulled back from their window and slid towards the gray pegasus.

Daring, meanwhile, snagged the platoon's flare gun from Ditzy's outstretched wing, nodding back at the mare as she did the same before turning to the radio set. Holding the flare gun tightly in her wing as she shouldered her rifle, Daring backed off the firing line and headed towards the central stairwell, whilst heavy gunfire echoed all around the building. Ducking with a short gasp as a burst of Changeling SMG fire stitched itself across the wall a couple inches above her head, she turned to face the downward staircase. By the time she'd spun around, however, Maud had slid out of a side room, and was dumping a magazine from her PPSH's large drum.

Exhaling the breath she'd been holding, Daring simply nodded to Maud before booking it upstairs and past the defenders to the fourth floor of the apartment building. The ceiling here had been partially collapsed by explosives of some sort judging by the shrapnel damage, Sergeant Yearling noted, before she was nearly immediately torn from her musings by a rifle shot splintering the door frame around her. Cursing loudly, she ducked back around the hallway, checking herself for any wounds. Finding nothing but a couple splinters, the pegasus Sergeant calmed herself, and readied the flare gun. Now was not the time to be playing peekaboo with Changeling sharpshooters.

Running back down the hall to the caved-in section of roof, Daring pushed out into the open, firing the flare gun with a snap of her wing and dropping the empty tube as she quickly doubled back down the stairs. A hasty rifle shot ricocheted off the collapsed roof behind her, the round whizzing harmlessly through her mane as she slid back into the safety of the stairwell. Rushing back downstairs and passing by Maud as the Earth Pony swapped out drum magazines from her large pockets, Daring pushed back into the room with Ditzy and gave the Pegasus a nod as she flicked on the radio set.

"Longsword, Longsword, this is Saber-One, over!" A pause, as Ditzy awaited reply. "Confirm, Longsword! Saber-One reads you loud and clear, break!" Ditzy paused again, momentarily, as she chanced a look outside. "Longsword I'll be brief. Situation normal, heavy contact, break! I need Earthquake One, break. Estimating enemy strength at battalion level, over!"

There was a pause as Ditzy listened intently to the radio set, exhaling in relief a few moments later. "Earthquake one, this is Saber-One, break. I need a fire mission at grid… four four eight, one zero four, break. Yes, I'm aware that's my last reported position, break! I need fire north of the shiny ass flare launch, break! Yes, fucking danger close! Fire for goddamned effect!" The mare dropped the radio as she turned to her squad, bellowing, "Take cover! Incoming, hot and heavy!"

The defenders tucked themselves as low as possible inside the apartment, and for just a moment, Daring swore she could hear the distant thrums of Twenty-Five Pounders losing their heavy shells- then came the terrifying and audible whirr of incoming howitzer rounds. Then, chaos reigned outside the apartment, as the large explosives blew massive holes in the snow outside, while snow, mud and gore sprayed upwards and through the shattered windows of the complex. Daring wheezed, as literal hell was raised a few feet outside her building's safety, and she could barely hear Ditzy screaming into the radio, any communications discipline gone from the sheer terror of the barrage.

"Fucking good effect on target! Holy Fuck! Adjust five degrees north and repeat barrage!"

The guns echoed again from the rear, as Daring chanced a glance outside the apartment. Shocked by the sheer carnage, her mouth went dry as she watched mutely, life and limb tossed apart by the Princesses' Own 49th Artillery Brigade. Whatever Changeling survivors of the hellish barrage could still walk or crawl began retreating back north towards their lines, as quickly as they could manage. "Cease fire! Cease fire! Saber-One calling fire mission complete. Stay on the wire, Earthquake. Saber-One out."

Daring exhaled shakily, as she shifted herself back to a standing position. "Don't get too comfortable, Sergeant Yearling. They'll be back." Ditzy warned, spitting out the window. "Fucking bugs. Casualties, weapons and ammo! Where's my runner?"

Any Changeling corpses that had been inside the building were unceremoniously dumped outside, whilst the four ponies that had been killed- three by Changeling fire and one by artillery shrapnel- were carefully laid out in one of the safer basement rooms. If they had a chance later they'd conduct a burial detail for the ponies and the Changelings, but odds were they'd be hard pressed to go anywhere for quite some time.

Any extra rifles and ammunition was gathered up and divvied out amongst the platoon, who themselves were shoring up holes in their defenses with anything they could lay their hooves on- crates, furniture, sandbags packed with mud and snow, et cetera.

"Company is doing it's best to push through the bug lines and open up a corridor to us, but it's pretty hard going." Ditzy groused, lighting a cigarette, before offering her lighter to Daring, who lit her own cigarette off the open flame. "Stiff enemy resistance two blocks over; dug in Pak guns and mg nests. Artillery is being tasked with breaking up what it can."

"I was wondering who it was trading gunfire behind us. Guess the bugs are about as dug in as we are." Yearling mused, gazing idly out the apartment windows, only vaguely sweeping for enemy threats. She'd taken the time after the bugs fell back to kill that upstart sniper, with a little help from Light Step.

"Mhm. I got through to Cheers- er- Lieutenant Cheerilee on the horn, though. Lead elements of Two-Fourth armored is on it's way through the city to help relieve us. High command wants this shitty apartment at least as bad as the bugs do."

"Guess we hold position then." Daring shrugged, taking a long drag on her cigarette.

Ditzy nodded, swirling her own cigarette around her mouth. "Hell or high water, yeah. You'd best find yourself a good firing position. Won't be too long now before the bugs are back in force, and I don't have any more artillery support from the 49th."

"Right, Ditzy, I'm heading upstairs. Get me if you need me."

"You got it, Daring." Ditzy blinked, then shook her head and held out a wing. "Hey, wait a sec. Just in case the bugs bring up armor, grab a couple AT grenades off the stash as you head up. We've got plenty of the damn things laying about, may as well use them."

"AT grenades, got it. You think they'll bring up tanks?" Daring nodded, dousing her cigarette.

"Well, that's what we're doing, isn't it?"

Daring scanned the roadways and bombed out buildings to the front of her as she shook off the morning chill. Only about an hour had passed since the first race, and in that time the wind had kicked back up- and with it, the biting cold. Not as bad as say, November or December's freezes, but still not anything near the Spring thaws.

Some warm coffee would have been nice right about now, but nothing for it.

Daring jerked back into attention, raising her rifle, and swore quietly. Here they came again, dozens upon dozens of bugs armed to the teeth. Squeezing on her trigger, Daring dropped the first Changeling she sighted in on, even as the machine guns downstairs sprung back to life.

A smallish explosive detonated near the base of the apartment, sending Yearling ducking for cover momentarily, as shrapnel scattered about and dug into the walls of the apartment. Peeking back up, Daring began to scan frantically with her rifle scope. The Changelings were still too far away to be chucking grenades, which meant they had brought up some sort of cannon or mortar. Hopefully, it'd be the latter, which was generally more exposed.

There, on the far end of a vacant lot past somepony's bombed out grocery store. It'd be a bit of a shot, what with the wind whistling around like it was, but she had to try. Taking a deep breath, Daring steadied herself as her hoof tended around the trigger. Breathe in, breathe out. She first settled her sights over one of the two Changelings crowing the small mortar tube, then began to shift her sights upwards and to the left, following the wind pushing against her. Breathe in, breathe out.

The bark of her rifle surprised her, as she'd been so focused on lining up her shot, but her eyes remained glued downrange as she observed the crew. She winced slightly, as her bullet visibly ricocheted off the mortar tube itself and buried into the throat of one of the two Changelings crewing the weapon. She grit her teeth and racked the bolt on her rifle, as the other mortar Changeling dropped to the floor and began dragging their comrade away, whilst said bug choked on their own blood. Snapping another shot frantically off, Daring cursed her luck as it ricocheted harmlessly off the nearby grocers', the Changelings taking cover behind the destroyed brick building.

Turning her gaze back to the advancing Changelings, Daring fell into a steady rhythm of aim, fire, aim, fire, reloading as necessary whilst the defenders from Ditzy's own platoon dumped their magazines into the advancing pile of Changelings.

Then, she heard it. The low rumble of a Changeling panzer. The enemy combat vehicle turned the corner at the far end of the block and began rolling down the street towards the apartments as Daring swore vehemently. Packing up her rifle and ammunition as quickly as possible, she booked it back for the stairwell not a second too soon, as the tank's main gun blew a massive hole in the fourth floor behind her. Wood splinters and shrapnel dug into the back of her uniform and stung her rear legs and back, as she continued down the central staircase.

"Tank! Fucking tank!" The mare bellowed as she rounded the corner of the third floor stair,as, then leapt back in shock as the Panzer blew apart the defensive line she'd been yelling at with a well placed shell. Debris and body fragments went everywhere, as Daring held back the urge to puke. The machine gun position was just gone, as was the poor sod who'd been lugging the radio set and a good portion of the area defenders.

Ditzy, having sprawled flat immediately at the call of "tank", hacked and coughed as she pulled herself out of the debris, coated in sawdust and blood splatters. "Faust alive, that thing's tearing us apart!" She spat, wincing as a glob of blood followed her saliva. "Think I bit my tongue, dammit. Medic! I've got wounded up here!"

"Moving Ditzy! Tank shell?"

"To the fucking everywhere. I'll help drag 'em out, where do you want-"

"Down, now!" The medic- a white earth pony with a pinkish red mane- barked as the two and Daring once more hit the deck, about half a second before the buzz of the tank's machine gun began tearing chunks in the far wall above them.

"Someone kill that fucking tank!" Sergeant Ditzy raged, as she and her medic did their best to sift through the rubble for casualties whilst prone.

Yearling's muzzle twitched as she rested a hoof on the anti-tank grenades she'd crammed into her grenade pouch, then sat her rifle down against the half destroyed wall, careful to stay low. "I'm on it." And then she was off, galloping towards the stairs. The angry snaps of machine gun fire behind her were close enough to feel the heat of the tracers whizzing by, and she didn't slow down until she hit the safety of the central stairwell.

Except, as she came face to face with Sergeant Maud Pie laying face down in a pool of her own blood, Daring figured this place wasn't safe at all. Reaching down to snag the dead mare's PPSH submachine gun from her lifeless hooves, Daring came face to face with the barrel of a Changeling rifle. The changeling who turned the corner was surprised themselves, and fired a snap shot as they brought their rifle up to a firing position that tore through Daring's shoulder. With a grunt of pain and dragging the discarded SMG with her, the pegasus mare slammed back into the wall of the stairwell, whilst the Changeling struggled with their rifle's bolt. Squeezing the trigger on her recently acquired gun, Daring shredded the changeling with a long burst of fire, as it tumbled backwards down the stairs with dozens of other corpses. Maud had been busy when she'd finally died.

With no idea how much ammo was left in the weapon, Daring took a moment to drop the PPSH's drum magazine, flipping Maud's body over so as to reach into her pockets. Pointedly ignoring the dead mare's glazed over eyes, Daring tugged a fresh magazine free of it's pouch and loaded the PPSH, before continuing downstairs. Spraying a couple bursts into the Changelings that were down there, Daring pushed across the bottom floor to a side door, and tumbled out into a mortar shell crater as she caught her breath.

There it was, still spitting machine gun fire angrily at the apartment building, and surrounded by Changeling infantry. Daring grit her teeth and jumped up from the shell crater, and began to rush towards the tank. She held fire until one of the Changelings happened to look in her direction, at which point she emptied the magazine into the group. As the tank barrel began to slowly swivel her way, she dropped the PPSH, letting it dangle from it's strap around her neck, and retrieved her two AT grenades. Rapidly judging the distance between her and the tank, she tossed the grenades before planting herself face down in the snow.

The tank detonated spectacularly, her aim true and on-point. The tank snapping and crackling loudly as the ammunition began to cook off, Daring picked herself back up off the ground, and rushed for the apartment, dodging sporadic rifle fire from surviving Changelings. Her lungs burning, Daring cleared the doorway, immediately ducking down as a rifle nearly took her head off from point blank.

"Fuck, Ditzy, it's me!" Daring swore, as her ears rung from the rifle shot.

"Oh, shit, sorry Daring. That you with the AT grenades?"

"Yeah, the tank's dead." Daring exhaled, wincing as she placed a hoof on her injured shoulder. "And, uh, I need a medic."

"Right. Back upstairs and we'll consolidate weapons and ammo. They seem to be falling back again; I think you spooked 'em." Ditzy replies, watching the door behind Daring.

"Thank Faust."

It was a shaky hoof that accepted a cigarette and a light from Ditzy, as Corporal Red Heart- Ditzy's medic- did her best to stitch up the hole in Daring's shoulder. "No way we can hold again if they bring up more armor." Ditzy began, lighting a cigarette of her own. "It's down to you, me, Red Heart, Light Step, and Cold Stream. Maud and her team are dead, 'sides those two she sent back last night. We've no machine guns, but if we scavenge the corpses we've got ammo at least."

"Well, we could always pull back. Is the radio still good, Sergeant?" Red Heart inquired, as she tiredly and methodically sewed up the bullet hole Daring had caught.

Ditzy shook her head. "Nope. Direct hit from the bug panzer. I dunno about you Doc, but I'm not about to pull back. Too much stake in this damned building for that."

Daring simply grunted, as Red Heart moved on to applying antibiotics and a gauze wrapping. Swishing her cigarette about once, the mare nodded. "Yeah, I agree. Was nice meeting you though, Sarge. Corporal. I heard about your slog through the mountains last winter."

Ditzy just chuckled dryly, shaking her head. "Oh no, a fan. Just did what we had to, Sergeant Yearling."

"Yeah, I know." Daring agreed readily, helping Red Heart hold down the gauze wrapping as she tightened it. "Doesn't make it less-"

"I hear it too. Damn, that's tanks." Red Heart sighed, as Ditzy checked the magazine on her Type K.

"Hell. It was nice knowing you all." Daring sighed, standing up and loading her- Maud's- PPSH with a fresh drum. "Well! Come on then, Changelings! We're over here, innit we?" The pegasus snarked at the noises outside, only stopping as Cold Stream nearly broke down the door getting it open. "It's twenty fourth armored, not Changelings! It's friendlies!"

Lieutenant Cheerilee sighed, as she gazed about the four story apartment building. Artillery spotters and sharpshooters were already reinforcing the top floor, which commanded this whole section of Vanhoover- the main reason she'd been ordered to hold it at all costs if taken. And what a cost that had been. Medical details had been working around the clock for nearly twelve hours to clear out the corpses of her ponies and three companies' worth of changeling casualties, and were expecting to be at it for several hours still, even whilst the Princess' Own 49th Artillery spent hours clearing land and setting up it's regimental guns for fire support.

Twenty Fourth Armored had pushed through the area and onwards, deeper into Vanhoover- and were still going, if the distant gun and cannon fire was anything to go by.

Ditzy and the remains of her unit- or what was left of it anyhow- were safely back at company command, receiving medical treatment and hot food, which was one less burden on the middle-aged schoolmarm turned officer's shoulders.

Turning away from the half destroyed building to look once more at the proud city that was once Vanhoover- now little more than a shattered ruin- Cheerilee shook her head, and re-donned her helmet, before walking back to her waiting jeep.

"I hope this damned building was worth it."

Quassataeque Rates Pace

War is Peace. Freedom is Slavery. Ignorance is Strength.

Two

Quassataeque Rates Pace

Vanhoover was rather cold this time of year, Cheerilee noted, as she trotted along the drill square her squad was gathered in, enjoying the crisp Autumn breeze.

Not that it was Vanhoover’s fault it was positively frigid come the fall months. That was what happened to ocean-side cities, after all. The summer weather was always neat and dandy, and the middle-aged teacher had taken her fair share of vacations out to the area in her youth, but she never stuck around in the fall and winter for already obvious reasons.

The Earth Pony mare paused her mid morning jog to catch her breath; she was starting to fall out of shape, apparently. Taking a look over at the assembled company- one of the new “On-Hooves” Militia divisions designed to fill out the ranks of the royal guards- Cheerilee couldn't help but feel conflicted.

The teacher in her felt that it was a wonderful opportunity for young ponies to get involved in their armed forces, in a new and earnest way, since the militia divisions were only going to be around for six months anyways.

The mare who’d lost a father back in 997 knew better.

A cry of, “Hey Sarge!” broke her from her thoughts, as one of her privates, whom she briefly identified as Private Steel Edge. The Earth Pony Blacksmith cantered his way across the grass towards his Sergeant at a brisk pace, as she halted her jog to wait for him.

“Bright and early to you, Private Edge. Did you need something, solider?” Cheerilee questioned, falling back into “NCO” mode, as she called it. Her tone was gruff; much gruffer than she'd have spoken around foals, but it demanded no nonsense- as befitting a Squad Sergeant.

“Oh, we were just wondering when Captain Brick was going to move us from PT to rifle drills, ma’am. Squad’s gettin’ a bit antsy and gun-happy.”

Edge’d make a good Corporal, the mare decided, as she hummed aloud. “Dunno, Private. Guess I can talk to him later today, if they're getting that jumpy.”

“Thanks, ma’am. I don't mean to be a bother like that, ma’am. It's just that uh… Trail was walking around with his Type K and complaining about a lack of fun things to do last night during your staff meeting. Ma’am.”

Cheerilee frowned, visibly. “I'll have a chat with him later, private. Can't just have some Pony waving a rifle around like a loon. As you were private, unless you've got other concerns.”

“No ma’am, that was all, ma’am.”

“Very well. Dismissed, Private.”

“Yes Ma’am, Sarge. See you around.” And with that, the young stallion cantered off, back towards the rest of their squad.

Steel Edge would make an excellent corporal- if she could get the poor bastard to quit tacking “ma’am” onto every sentence. It was getting a spot old. Made her feel more like an old nag than a middle-aged schoolmarm.

Scattered howitzer fire echoed through the morning dawn in the distance, as Cheerilee’s ears twitched idly beneath her mostly flat helmet. The Changelings were drilling again, apparently. Lovely, that. Crack of dawn most mornings and she was woken up to the steady thunder of field howitzers.

“They're a bit late today, don't you think?” The schoolmarm nearly leapt out of her own skin as a second voice spoke up from behind her and off to the left.

Practically leaping to face the new voice, Cheerilee relaxed upon coming face to face with 4th Squad’s Corporal. “Oh, hello Ditzy. You nearly gave me a heart attack, sneaking up on me like that.. But yes I suppose so. It is a bit odd for them to start so late in the day. Not as many as usual, either.”

The currently hovering pegasus shrugged her forehooves, as her wings beat steadily, keeping pace with Cheerilee as she resumed her jog. “Kinda odd, yeah. Maybe they've got them down for maintenance?”

“Possibly. Speaking of-”

The two stopped in their tracks as, like the roll of thunder, what seemed like every field gun the Changelings had in their arsenal opened up- and much closer than usual. The earth shook beneath Cheerilee, rumbling to the tune of thousands of massed artillery pieces.

The mare went to say something-anything, but found herself unable to, as the first shells thundered in.

The gods of war themselves let loose their shots, as artillery rained below from the heavens like wrathful darts, which exploded vibrantly, intermingled with the earth itself, the worked stone of the massive fortress, and the hapless ponies within.

And her world was naught but thunder and lightning.

The tanks rumbled through the open gaps in the old, Equestrian fortress, their Panzer Motors grumbling happily as the heavier and better gunned Panzer IIIs chugged along slowly, following aside or more often behind the much smaller and faster Panzer IIs. Behind each Armoured group, followed a motorcade of trucks and halftracks. The officer- architect would be more apt- of the rapid advance sat in the rear of his staff car, Equestrian “lucky strike” cigarette dangling from his fanged grin, as he surveyed the medieval stronghold from beneath the wide brim of his flat cap, before taking a deep whiff of the crisp autumn morning.

“Vanhoover, a week after Nightmare Night,” The green eyed Changeling muttered, swishing the lit cigarette across his mouth.

“Hrm? My apologies sir, I missed that.” Spoke up the several years younger staff officer to his left, her head nearly buried in some sort of area map she’d sequestered from one of the motorized infantry groups.

“Ah, no, I was merely rambling, Larx. Vanhoover after Nightmare Night- it’s an Equestrian Autumn harvest festival.”

“Oh, I see, Field Marshall… Perhaps we’ll be in Canterlot by...what’s it called, Hearth’s Warming?” the youthful General inquired, looking up from her maps to survey the fortress for herself.

Field Marshall Trimmel, second in command to the Queen herself, hummed aloud, looking up at the bleak Autumn sky. “Canterlot by Hearth’s Warming… Let’s hope it doesn’t take near that long.”

“Oh, Marshall?” Larx queried, cocking her head in confusion.

“I’d much prefer to be in Canterlot before winter, General Larx. The Olenian winter was harsh enough, I have no wish to repeat that. Now then, we’ve cities to capture. Onward, driver; we’re falling behind the panzers.”

The reports kept piling in. Blueblood paced back and forth across the war room, his tobacco pipe long forgotten; his tweed officer’s coat lay discarded on the battlemap- useless at the moment, both of them- and his flat cap had been forgotten in the bedroom.

The Prince was, as of current, the only ranking commissioned Staff Officer in Canterlot. Soarin’ was missing in action last he’d heard, and Fast Clip and Whiplash were en-route from Cloudsdale.

He’d have loved for Shining Armor to have been around, but the Stallion, and old Officer’s Candidate School roommate, had his own fish to fry, when it came to the defense of the North.

“Bollocks, there goes Acornage. Any update on Vanhoover, Lieutenant?” The immaculate unicorn griped, as he tossed aside the latest wire report of the Acornage Salient.

“No sah. All the perimeter fortifications are silent, and the city’s smoking.” His adjutant replied, one ear free whilst the other was practically glued to his radio headset.

Gods, they just kept piling in. Another report was handed to the blonde-maned stallion, who nearly immediately discarded it, before tugging it back to his front and sparing it a second glance.

“Fast Clip reporting… Soarin’ to retreat the Whitebell garrison to Shire. Will hold for retreating units from Acornage… Bloody good show Soarin’ you bastard. Right. Lieutenant Rock?”

“Aye sir?” Second Lieutenant Slate Rock questioned, temporarily removing his radio set.

“See if you can hail the Los Pegasus Guards, the Wonderbolt Land Division, and the Whinnyapolis Garrison. I want them moving as soon as possible to reinforce the Shire.”

“Aye Sah. D’ye thin’ we ken hold it?”

“Gods above I hope so. Else there goes a quarter of the damn army.”

“Why have your Panzers stopped, Hauptsturmfuhrer?” Trimmel demanded of the Captain, as the abashed Changeling Officer had the decency to look ashamed of himself.

“We ah… are having trouble with the roads, sir.”

“Trouble. With the roads.” Trimmel drug out, scowling; his tone demanding an explanation from the commissioned officer standing on the other side of his staff car’s door.

“Yes, Field Marshall, sir. They don’t support our panzers, sir. We’ve lost four of them so far. The ah, Panzer Twos seem to hold up alright, but the Hanomags are having trouble unless the infantry dismounts and slogs behind them.”

“Then send your twos forward, dammit! Your unit’s job is to keep pushing and encircle as many Equestrians playing soldier as possible!”

“Yes sir, but-”

“I want results Hauptsturmfuhrer! Not excuses! Get your damn vehicles moving again, or I will find an officer who will!”

With a gulp and sharp salute, the changeling galloped off back towards his unit, presumably to kick them back into gear.

“Bloody incompetent fools.” Trimmel groused, missing Larx’s company already, as he wedged another cigarette into his muzzle, levitating a small, metal lighter up to the paper tube, and lit it. The Marshall took a moment to gather his thoughts as he took a long drag on the lucky strike, tapping the interior of his car door with a hoof. “Take me to the Fifteenth Motorized, driver. We’ll see if Default’s having a better time of things near Whitebell.”

“Right away, Field Marshall.”

Trimmel did not speak aloud of his future considerations, if Default was having as much trouble as the Southern Salient was. The faster they hit the Shire River Valley, the better. The slower; the more dangerous.

“Sir, you should probably move back to a safe distance.”

“Hm?” The light blue pegasus stallion cocked an ear, twitching it slightly towards the sound of spandau fire, intermingled with the steady thrum of concentrated rifle fire. “Oh, I will, Sergeant… Just looking around.”

“Er, General Soarin’, sir?”

“Nothing, Sergeant. Let’s go. I’ve got to get word out to Fast Clip. How are the soldiers holding?”

“We’ll do, sir. The Shire’s ours.”

“Let’s keep it that way Sergeant. Come, I’ve got a radio post to find, and a proper Forward Headquarters to get set up.”

Artillery poured into the town of Shire, as Dusty Trails’ Machine Gun chattered wildly, her assistant gunner running belt after belt of ammunition into the water-cooled Vickers. The barely eighteen year old mare ducked down for a moment, as a tank shell screamed by overhead, before popping back up from behind the sandbag emplacement. Off to the right, a three-pounder gun belched back a reply, bouncing off the right of the Changeling tank’s turret, as it spun a few degrees to address the emplacement slapped together from the remains of an earlier ruined bakery.

Above the ponies, Hawker Hurricane Fighters, and even a few aging Gloster Gladiators, battled it out with Changeling BF109s, attempting to wrest control of the skies.

The telltale whine of a dive-bomber screamed in, and the ponies hiding behind rubble out in the street to Dusty’s right leapt for cover, moments before the hellishly terrifying Stuka bomber released it’s payload. Dirt and cobblestone flew in all directions, as blood splattered across Dusty’s cheek and shoulder, whilst the devil of a bomber skimmed the edges of rooftops, before climbing. It’s rear gunner began engaging something, before MG fire ventilated the enemy plane, which nosedived into an apartment building.

The white and blue colored Hawker Hurricane responsible for the kill waggled its wingtips at the few ponies who cheered, before peeling off to the dogfight above.

Waiting impatiently as her loader finished slamming a fresh belt of .303 ammunition into the Vickers, Dusty focused back on the opposite riverbank, where the Panzer that’d been harassing her position near the bridge- the only still-standing bridge in the Valley- had apparently been knocked out. Not that it mattered that much to the barely-an-adult; it was quickly replaced by another.

Dusty grit her teeth, as her gun’s barrel finally gave out from overheating, and sat back, momentarily, to take stock of her immediate front, before assisting her loader in swapping gun barrels. It was going to be a very, very long day.

“Cigarette?”

“Hm?” Dusty blinked, rolling her shoulders as she let the burnt- out Vickers gun rest against the half destroyed sandbag wall. Empty casings and ammo belts littered the floor of the nest, and three half-melted gun barrels lay discarded off and out the door. Her loader; such a small young thing of a mare, slept weakly, whimpering in her sleep and shuddering as Changeling shells grumbled overhead. Occasionally Dusty could hear the pained screams and calls for medics. One brave soul stood up from rubble somewhere, their head low as they rushed across the street, doing their best to dodge rifle fire from Changeling skirmishers across the bank.

“You need a light, Trails?” The tan pegasus asked again, holding out an open pack of cigarettes with one wing. Her rifle- a scoped Type K, marking her as a sniper- was held close to her barrel with the other. Ammunition was strapped across her sides and within easy reach of her wings. A pith helmet more befitting a jungle safari than a battlezone was strapped to her head, dented from one too many hard landings, it seemed. Her magenta eyes were pale, but not lifeless… dull, but still alive. Another casualty of the day’s fighting, Dusty guessed. Same as her loader.

Same as herself maybe, she couldn’t tell.

“I don’t smoke.” Dusty grunted, snagging a single cigarette regardless, holding her muzzle close to the other awake mare, as the markspony fumbled for her lighter, touching it to the cigarette before whisking it quickly back to a pocket.

“First time for everything.” The tan mare nodded, settling down next to Dusty, rifle now cradled between her forehooves. “Long day, huh?”

“Yeah. Long fucking day.”

“Yep.” The Sniper nodded, leaning against a crumbling brick wall, letting herself close her eyes, before quickly falling into a light sleep; probably her first in many hours given the day’s circumstances.

It’d been a long fucking day.

And it’d be a longer one, come morning.