16th August, 1015 E.C. 0949 Hours

Alarms blared, the floor shook, and steel groaned. A growing heat rose from the right. A deafening roar sounded over head, silence followed with small bells ringing inside his eardrum. Petty Officer 3rd Class Clover stood quivering from the last enemy slavo. He pulled the fire extinguisher closer and depressed the pump, unleashing a long stream of carbon dioxide at the fire. A second quick pull and depress on the plunger managed to contain, if not extinguish the blaze before another salvo crashed into the water, close enough that Clover felt the ship rock. He kept his balance and depressed the plunger once more, the fire wasn’t out but was subdued, he could leave it for now and his mate could finish it while he moved towards the power station, that was his true objective right now.

The station was dark, wires frayed and broken, and the whole instrument panel was gone, blown off in the recent explosion. He dug his hoof into the station looking for the bypass. This station was dead, he needed to reroute the power to the next station or this situation was only going to get worse.

He found the reroute box just as another salvo crashed nearby, rocking the ship. He grabbed the necessary power cable and ripped it from its place, he pulled up his wire cutter and stripped the wire’s coating off and got to work putting this wire in its new home.

A salvo landed, and water splashed, the ship rocked but Clover stood. 10 minutes, 10 long minutes in a battle like this. Salvo after salvo had been fired from enemy and ally. Only 3 kilometers separates the ships at sea, that's a knife fight. And the bigger knife always wins.

Clover was on a small knife. A small, fast, agile knife.

The destroyer HMS Soaring Heat was state-of-the-art, 10 years ago, in peacetime, in only one way. Her engines. A complex series of magic batteries and turbines. Capable of 34 knots under high stress and running at full capacity. Technically capable of 40 knots under those conditions but that would drain the batteries fast and damage the turbines and propellers.

The ship was currently running 40 knots.

The power stations were the first to go. They blew out the moment the first shell landed close enough to rock the vessel.

There were sixteen power stations running into and out of the engine room, all keeping the ship powered and underway. One power station out for more than a minute meant that any number of systems could be offline.

The power reroute was designed to keep power flowing through and not just stopping and being wasted. Now in truth, it did not move it through other station, once this was done, power would be restored and flowing, but you would be unable to regulate it. Meaning, under calm you had thirty minutes before a blowout, under high stress you had five.

Clover knew this, he had been drilled on it. A blowout meant the ship would be dead in the water until they replaced the wiring to the turbines. And at that point state-of-the-art meant too complicated for field repairs. He had also lived on this ship for over 3 years, and that brings a familiarity and also a know how to help make technology work just that bit better. He finished, put the wire in its new home and removed the stations primary feed that now only sucked extra power. That five minutes was now seven.

Objective complete, he moved on, grabbing his mate who had finally snuffed out the fire. He went to the next problem that needed him. Seven minutes is what he had left, seven minutes to try to keep the ship afloat for that seven.

16th August, 1015 E.C. 0953 Hours

The bridge light flickered back on, radar came up and started pinging rapidly. Comms started chirping bringing in new orders. Orders Commander Leaf knew already.

“Sir, the admiral is ordering us back to formation,” the comms officer confirmed.

Steaming full ahead away from the enemy after a successful torpedo run, or at least getting them away. In about four minutes they would know how successful the run was.

Four other destroyers had made the run too. An order that put five outdated, state-of-the-art destroyers at three kilometers from an enemy fleet triple their size. An enemy fleet now forced to turn to avoid the very dangerous torpedos.

Leaf had been running his ship at maximum the whole time, so he was the first to get to range but the last to turn around. A risk he had calculated that saw his ship only get hit two times so far, the other destroyers were not as lucky. Their more predictable path had seen to that.

The Heat continued to perform at her best, thanks to her crew. 40 knots, running, throwing smoke into the air, and guns still firing, this little destroyer had run the gauntlet just so it could die just a little closer to home.

The Commander knew this, planned for it. Closer meant possible rescue, or at least a higher chance. More likely, they would be sunk or captured. When the engines died he would order scuttling charges set. He should order it now, but any possible means of escape was enough to belay that order.

The ship shuddered, and Leaf fell forward, momentarily caught unawares. He caught himself just as his first mate LT Commander Grove called out.

“Starboard torpedo tubes hit, deck B through E reporting damage. Damage teams will acquiesce.”

“Thank you XO,” Leaf responded, standing upright.

The Navigation officer, Lieutenant Pocket, calls out, “Steering acting up,” as he attempts an evasive action.

At the same time the Engineering officer, Lieutenant Spree, calls out, “Engine room reports water, sir. That last hit must have opened us up.”

“Keep us straight helmsman, and thank you Spree, call down and prioritize securing the bulkheads, keep us moving,” Leaf ordered.

“Aye Aye,” they both said.

Running the ship this hard and now a hole in the side made this a whole lot more difficult.

“Comms, radio the Vanhoover, inform them of our condition, helm turn us 15 degrees port, angle us away from the fleet,” Leaf called out. That course would put them closer to shore, if they got any further.

Split second decisions made all the difference, the helm had just changed course twice in just a few second, of course the rudder wouldn't respond that quickly but that meant the ship, for the next few seconds, would be zig zagging very hard and in a close pattern.

Splashes erupted from the starboard and then port a second after. The enemy had anticipated the evasive move and fired accordingly, his order then reorder had changed the course by a faction of a second, just enough to save them this time.

“15 degrees port, aye sir,” Pocket called out, turning the wheel port.

Comms officer, Lieutenant Junior Grade Minute, responded only by unplugging and replugging wires in the switch board, a few seconds would pass before he would speak again, telling the comms officer on-board the Vanhoover the Soaring Heats combat conditions.

XO Grove calls out, “Damage teams report hull breach just above the water line, sealing bulkheads. Fires are under control.”

Leaf only nods as he stares out the bridge, his friendly fleet some 13 kilometers from him and the enemy fleet only 4. Closer to home was looking very far.

16th August, 1015 E.C. 0954 Hours

Gunner’s mate Seapony Hatch could have sworn he was floating. His limbs felt numb, his head felt fuzzy, and it sounded like he was underwater.

He liked the water, he loved to swim. Its why he said the joined the navy, why he accepted the position on the torpedo tubes, closer to the water. But right now, he wanted to hear things, wanted to see. His eyelids would not open. He could breathe just fine, which meant he was not underwater.

There was a pressure on his chest then on his head and then he was falling, falling into darkness, his family was with him, then his gun mates, then he was alone again. He drifted. He slept.

16th August, 1015 E.C. 0955 Hours

Petty Officer Clover slammed a bulkhead door closed, as hard as one could slam a couple hundred pounds of steel. The new open air window the enemy gave them was leaking a bit. Closing the bulkheads was priority.

The engine room was close by and would be affected if they didn't get these doors closed. Him and a team of 15 ponies raced deck to deck closing as many doors they could. If he got home after this, it would be a miracle, and just might get him to believe in the Creator, just might.

The door shut and locked, he turned and sprinted for the stairs, one to go if all was well. He bounded down the stairs, reached the bottom and ran up to the bulkhead door. He could see water splashing into the ship.

He started to close the door when a ship medic and one of the gunners mate came running around the corner carrying a pony.

“Hold the door,” yelled the medic.

Clover stopped and waited. They came through, the ship rocked from another close hit and water flooded in. He started closing the door again. Water rushed at him, knee deep, and he almost lost his balance. Another member of the damage team rushed from behind and helped close the door.

Bulkhead sealed, water not drowning him, the ship had another few minutes.

“Where’s the next problem?” he asked the Petty Officer next to him.

The Petty Officer shook his head, “Nothing on the horn. At least nothing that isn't already under control.”

The Petty wiped his forehead with his right fetlock, “Fires on deck C and B are still going and turrets 1 and 2 report electric problems.”

“Must be another power station, I'm heading there then,” Clover said as he started of toward the bow of the ship.

16th August, 1015 E.C. 0958 Hours

Commander Leaf watched as the fire near turret 2 licked at the nearby anti-aircraft emplacement, the crew having already moved away. He sighed and shrugged as he felt another impact both near and on his ship, he waited for the report.

“Turret 3 is critically damaged, fires are reported in the magazine room,” his XO called out.

Leaf said nothing, the damage teams would be notified and would respond as soon as they could. Fires in magazine rooms would take priority, if it didn't blow right away.

It had only been three minutes since there torpedo run, and the enemy was beginning to dodge the torpedos and have more effective fire on his little destroyer. This had given his fleet the time they needed to get away.

Another impact and shudder throughout the ship, “Rudder is damaged, engine room is taking on water,” the XO yelled.

“Radar is offline, Commander,” his radar officer cried out.

Leaf’s head hung low, “Abandon ship, all hands,” he said, voice low.

The XO began shouting into the ships intercom sounding the order, the navigator and helmsman locked the wheel into place and began bundling up maps and other documents. The chief weapons officer began sending final updates to the remaining gun crews. The comms officer sent a final message to the Vanhoover.

All the bridge officers then moved to the exit after all the final checks were done. Protocol would still be followed even when death stared at them. At this point, getting as many ponies off the ship, alive, was of top concern.

Commander Leaf watched as his crew moved to the lifeboats as he lowered the Equestrian flag from the mast, shells continuing to land nearby, splashing water on deck, some shells hitting their mark and causing more damage to the ship.

He folded the flag calmly, and pulled it to his chest when done. He watched the fires on board grow and consume the vessel he commanded. He watched the lifeboats be filled and launched, but yet he did not move. He knew that there were still ponies left alive on his ship, some that could still make it the boats.

He was the first one on this ship when it was sent out on this voyage, and he would be the last off. He knew the dead would not be leaving but if he got home he could tell them that they were the heros in this. The ship could only go as far as its crew allowed.

16th August, 1015 E.C. 1005 Hours

Rear Admiral Aquarium watched, through binoculars, the five destroyers burn, black smoke climbing into the sky. He turned and saw the damage those sinking destroyers had caused, three enemy capital ships were listing heavily and he would be shocked if they got home, at least 5, if not more, cruiser class ships were already halfway beneath the waves.

The remaining ships, about 15, were doing their best to get revenge but they were also breaking off. The torpedo attack was successful. Given enough time he would be able to send a few ships to pick up any surviving ship crews.

Five destroyers traded for three capital ships and at least 5 cruisers. In navy terms, that was a victory. The crews that wouldn't be coming home would be honoured and the survivors given at least a month of leave before reassignment. If any of the commanders lived they were in line for a promotion.

The admiral lowered the binoculars and handed them to the captain, who took them and used them to look at the enemy retreating. Aquarium trotted off the bridge and headed to his quarters. He had a report to write, recommendations to transcribe, and letters home he had to sign. He would be requesting leave for himself after this, he missed his wife and son.

16th August, 1015 E.C. 1109 Hours

In war there was not one true frontline. Commanders and leader had learned this very early, and the larger the nation, the more possible fronts, the more possible defeats.

General Whiplash was well aware of the nuasicances of war. Equestria may have been at peace for a thousand years, but that didn’t mean the world was. Equestria was in the business of loaning out some of its commanders, while also staying neutral in most conflicts. It helped to be the leading peacekeeper and one of the largest nations in the world. Whiplash had seen quite a few conflicts in his time, but none on his home soil.

The Equestrian Western sector was the closest to the Changeling Badlands and the Kingdom of Olenia. Whiplash and the rest of the Equestrian high command had watched Olenia slowly go from a free, democratic state to one that resembled the regime of the Changelings.

The attack on Canterlot a few years ago had made the watching of what they had thought a failing nation into a threat. Of course almost losing had changed a lot in the world.

Whiplash listened to the Western Sector Command Centers ambient noise; the radios chirping, the radar pings, and the chatter of staff. The report of a naval action less than 100 kilometers off the Las Pegasus port had caused a lot of commotion. Division Colonels and Air group commanders had begun giving ready orders to all standing reserves in the western sector. As the sector general Whiplash had given the mobilization order, but he would have to wait for High Command to give the full order. So for the time being, he would ensure that he would have his forces ready to fight, to repel the enemy. But he was not kidding himself, Equestria was big, peaceful, and most importantly, inexperienced. Recent army intelligence reported that the Changelings were most decidedly, not inexperienced.

Whiplash sighed, he had a long day ahead of him. A long night, a long week. The enemy had played the first move, and looked like they would get a second move in before he was able to do anything. He looked around at the command center and the ponies and wondered what was going through their heads, what were they thinking, and what were they planning. This was his staff after all, they would be drawing up battle plans, defense strategies, supply lines and schedules. He sighed again. Life after his promotion to this position had become dull. This war might actually make things a bit more interesting. A third sigh in less than a minute, his mind was really going places right now. The path of glory was paved with the bodies of the dead.

Glory, that was something that Whiplash and every general, in every army, fought for. Some harder than others, and most of the time, they bypassed the price altogether. 9 infantry divisions, 5 armoured, and 3 artillery. Equestrias Western Battlegroup. Over 200,000 ponies, combat and support. All numbers that had to processed and used. That's the worst part, knowing that. 17 combat ready divisions and the ponies in them were nothing more than numbers. It was going to be a long week indeed.

16th August, 1015 E.C. 1430 Hours

3 hours, it had been 3 hours, High Command had finally given the orders, to defend at all costs. Not the exact words but close enough. Whiplash was ordered to hold his position, he was to use his divisions in a retaliatory matter and not an offensive matter. Whiplash knew high command was worried, and honestly he was too.

Luckily the enemy had not shown their next move, they had been quiet, and Whiplash was afraid of that. His mobilization order would not take full effect for at least a week, and they have no idea how long the enemy had been planning this.

Latest Army Intel had the changeling forces at a total of 54 divisions, minimum. Overall 54 was nothing compared to what Equestria had to offer but at the moment it looked like the Western Battlegroup was the only ones to be on this front, meaning, that it was down to his 17 divisions to halt the enemy advance.

High command had refused to send any more reinforcements stating; “that Canterlot and the surrounding area was of higher strategic importance”, and that they were unsure that the changelings would be coming from that direction, even though that's where their Homeland was.

Whiplash sighed, he knew that his 17 divisions would not stop the changelings, they may not even be able to slow them down. He was just a number, that's all he was, that's all they were. He'd hoped that this would have never happened but here he was, commanding an entire section of the equestrian Homefront, defending it from an enemy that by all rights had them outnumbered, outgunned, and out maneuvered. An enemy that was known for its infiltration tactics, and an enemy that could sabotage anything at anytime.

He stared at that map of the western sector. His forehooves rested on the edge of its table. Pieces representing his current positions were placed close to their mustering points. A few of his subordinates had placed markers on locations and destinations for the divisions.

He looked at one of these markers, the one closest to the border and furthest from any division. He considered the outcomes, going for that point would ensure the enemy would most likely be encountered and the division would start the fight to take back the land, or he could move it back a bit, surrender the land, and ensure that his forces wouldn’t be encircled easily.

Over 1500 kilometers of border is what he was defending, and only 17 divisions to work with. He knew that this was improbable. He could put forces in positions that could defend multiple routes at once, as long as he could keep scouts and recon of those routes.

He then moved his gaze on the map to one of the forts that were on the border with Olenia. Formly put there as a friendly gesture, garrisoned by both Equestria and Olenia. But now, with the Olenians having moved out a few years ago, acted more like a buffer and an inviting target. He had 1 division there right now, an artillery division was in reserve, about 50 kilometers to the rear, and a second infantry division about 200 kilometers north-east, who was covering important roads into the Western sectors grassland and a few of the farming towns there.

It was almost a certainty that the enemy would attack the fort, at least along that part of the front. The problem was the whole border with the Changeling Badlands. There was no way to predict how they were coming through. Which was one reason why High Command was uncertain they would.

It was highly likely that they would ignore Equestria for now and go straight for the Crystal Empire. Equestria, with it current standing orders, would be stretched too thin to provide adequate aid. It would be inappropriate to think otherwise.

Whiplash looked at the sector map, he placed a hoof under his chin and hummed. He didn't like having to wait and see, having to react. He wanted to be calling the action and having the enemy react.

He had a few options open to him. Some that would angry his superiors if they caught it before the fighting broken out. Others that would put lives at major risks but have high reward. He was going to play a dangerous gamble.

He called over a few of his staff and got to work drawing up his defense plan. A 17 division defense plan to stop an unknown, mostly, enemy force. Without reinforcements, he would have to pray the enemy believed Equestria had more force than it did. Wishful thinking and good strategy would be the deciding factors in this opening week.

Author's Note

An idea can take years to finally become something worth while. I hope this is one of those ideas. If there any errors, any, please let me know or point it out. This is a story that will update every so often. I will try to keep it out of the once every year area. Thank you all for stopping by.

EDIT: A quick edit here to improve upon and add what I should have had to begin with.