The War for the Riverlands

Chapters

The War for the Riverlands
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4

The War for the Riverlands

The War for the Riverlands

The military encampment was a nightmare made real. Corpses lay everywhere, covered in purple spots, and in the distance the sound of dying ponies could be heard. Wheezing and coughing, weak panting, desperate whispers for help, for their mothers, for anypony. The plague had seemingly exploded among them, dozens if not hundreds falling ill simultaneously, and in the end the entire division had fallen apart faster than anyone could act to counter it.

Field Marshal Hector Lizzapin lay against the desk in his command tent, trying to focus on just breathing even as his lungs burned like fire and he could feel himself slowly slipping away. His gaze swam, yet he still made out the figures that stepped into the tent, weapons in their talons. It was at that point that something slowly clicked in his head and he realized how it all was connected.

“Damn you… all to… Tartarus…” he coughed weakly, staring up at the black-clothed Hellquill soldiers.

“You first, creature,” the Sturmgreif captain said before raising his pistol and executing the dying pony.

------xxxxxx------

“...Desponia, Coltsovo and Coltubarski have been completely overrun.” Field Marshal Lake Shield stated before the gathered River Council. “Jezeragrad is under siege, and while we have some reports of uninfected units resisting, the city has been devastated by the plague already. Unless a miracle happens, there is only a minute chance that we will be able to hold it. We are mustering what forces we can to form a secondary defensive line along Buckbanburg and Blessedgrad, but our main forces were stationed along the Hellquill border and must be presumed lost.”

“Do we know how far the plague has reached?” Chairmare River Swirl said quietly, not a single word coming from any of the other gathered council members. The entire chamber was deathly silent as the OHS director, one of the precious few who had managed to not be caught off guard by the invasion, stepped forth.

“We have reports of plague victims in Deponya, Lake City, Fir Tree, Wittenland and Bakara.” Arclight stated grimly. “We’re coordinating local law enforcement and militia units to limit the spread, but between the chaos of the invasion and this we’re having a hard time organizing anything. I can offer no guarantees that we will be able to quarantine it at all.”

“Damn it!”Crimson Heart exclaimed, slamming her hooves into the desk. “Those filthy, lousy COWARDS!” The mare was actually shivering, rage burning in her eyes yet not finding anything to be let loose at. River Swirl, meanwhile, sank slowly down in her seat, covering her face with her hooves.

“Celestia.. “ She prayed quietly “If you can really hear me… please… give me strength… now more than ever. Please don’t let everything we’ve built die here…”

She wouldn’t answer, River Swirl knew that. Celestia was still in the far west, trying to pick up the ruins of her once peaceful homeland. There were no gods to watch over them right now, only plague and death and this collection of allied nations that would have to do something. She looked out of the window, at the giant city of Rijekograd, her home and the beating heart of this Coalition which, after a lifetime of hard work, finally had materialized. And yet now… was it all going to fall apart?

It was at this point that, at the far end of the table, the newcomer who had made them all uneasy even before recent events stood up. Though he had chosen to be silent until now, Borad Grifnitsky spoke up loudly and clearly, his voice booming through the hall.

“So they bring war then!” this strange, strange griffin who had defied centuries of tensions, reached out a claw to the Coalition and who had managed to bring griffins and ponies closer than ever before, said. “A total war, a greater and more terrible war than we ever could imagine. I know what you all think: we should have known better, perhaps, than to let that disease fester to the west, but should haves and could haves will not do anything to solve this: steel and blood will.”

“We’re damn well aware of that, griffin! Your kind is currently wreaking it all over my homeland” Wavebreaker snapped at Borad, who stopped and stared him down for a few seconds and leaving the entire chamber to freeze. The Cossacks’ accession to the league had been controversial, and Wavebreaker had been one of the more fervent in opposition to it. Adding to that the pride of the cossacks, and you had a sudden spark that could unleash a wildfire.

And yet, in the end it was Borad who spoke up again.

“I swore, in this very hall, to join you all,” he said, his voice having turned softer. “I do not know what value you place on it, but you are all like clutchmates to me: this entire Coalition is. Cossacks do not give their word easily. I did not speak to brag, I say it because right now, as we speak, my people are rallying. I have ordered every cossack that can hold a weapon to march north. My entire people is on the move, and if we are entering an age of peace, then at least we shall see one final storm of war before it. Princess Molly, what of your hounds?”

“I’ve already ordered them all to rally,” the small, almost pup-like princess said from her seat, speaking calmly, despite the situation. Her eyes were narrowed, but those who knew her could see that her fur was on edge. “You all get your people to safety,” she told them, her voice speaking with a cold rage that was all too familiar to River Swirl. That was the kind of rage she remembered from Rover Diamondshield, Molly’s father. “We are going to buy you all the time you need, and they’re going to learn the price of hurting the Diamond Mountain’s pack.”

------xxxxxxx------

Coltljevo was burning. Whatever meager resistance the few remaining soldiers had managed to put up with swiftly swept aside and black-clothed Sturmgreifen were walking from house to house, killing whatever ponies that still remained in the city, using everything from their knives to flamethrowers to purge the town. What they called “the creatures” were helpless, making the cleanup easy, and the screams and prayers for mercy of the dying and burning fell on deaf ears as they worked with the cold, mechanical efficiency of someone who truly saw their victims as filth only. After all, when these creatures had been purged, these lands would be theirs.

Among them, some soldiers were already discussing where they’d build their new homes, with one of them mentioned with a pleased tone the small hillside cottage some distance from town where they just had dealt with some ponies. That place would be perfect for his family, and he’d made sure the creatures were disposed of outside to not damage the place. Heck, there already was a swing hanging from one of the trees there that would be perfect for his little brother.

Then a gunshot rang out, the tanks of one of the flamethrower units being struck and exploding in a giant cloud of flame that left them all recoiling in shock as, all around them, an army of griffons - unmistakable in their fur hats and facial hair as cossacks - came surging down upon their heads, guns already blazing.

“To battle and death!” Colonel Zelenka screamed, the cossacks replying as one. “KILL THEM ALL” they screamed, making the very ground shake as they landed, hard, upon the surprised Hellquillians, guns blazing and swords flashing. Zelenka descended upon the Sturmgreif captain, screaming in rage as he cut the griffin’s throat with a quick slash before grabbing his SMG off the ground and perforating two more griffins. A Sturmgreif came at him, trying to stab him with his bayonet only to be grabbed by his throat before Zelenka headbutted him and ran him through to the hilt. All around him, his gryphians threw themselves at their enemies, inferior in equipment maybe but unmatched in warrior spirit and, above all else, inexhaustible fury.

The Hellquillians did not have a chance: the cossacks gave no quarter, outnumbered their enemies ten to one and fought without fear. Within the hour, Coltljevo was already back in the claws of the Coalition. The enraged gryphians gave what help they could to the dying villagers - what little there was to give - before gathering in the town square where Zelenka stood upon the blown-up carcass of a tank.

“Look around you, my griffins!” he roared. “See what has been wrought here!! None of you are strangers to war, we have wrought it across Griffonia, and all of you are masters of it! We have been forged in the flames of conquest and battle since time immemorial! Yet look at this!” he said, pointing around himself with the scimitar. “They unleashed diseases to weaken these ponies, rather than facing them honestly, and they came here to murder them all, down to the youngest filly born yesterday! I ask you, my brave griffins, what is that?! Is that a warrior’s honor?!”

“NO!” the cossacks all responded, raising their weapons to the sky.

“Is it the path our Hetman showed us!?”

“NO!”

“It is the act of scum, of a craven plague rat no gryphian would ever call brother!” Zelenka roared. “So raise your rifles, my griffins! We march to war, a greater war than our ancestors ever knew! An age of storms and thunder, a sword age before the time of peace finally dawns upon us! Let these plague rats learn that the species we share will not defend them against our wrath! Let us show our Hetman that even in this new age, we cossacks do not stand idly by when dishonorable villains attack those we’ve sworn to stand by! For our Hetman, and for our allies! Uraaaa!”

“UUURRRRAAAAAA!”

-----xxxxxx------

Meanwhile, in the north, beyond the great river, desperate soldiers were trying to slow down the Hellquill advance but falling by the dozens and hundreds as they clung to the river crossing to Maneceaster. Their formations were in tatters and their equipment ramshackle: whatever resistance they could offer was being swept aside fast as the tanks rolled towards the bridge, guns blazing.

Yet, before they reached the bridge something happened. The ground gave way under them and left them crashing down into the earth with a deafening roar that hid the sound of tunnels bursting out of the ground all around the bridgehead.

Before anyone knew what was going on, Ironpaw soldiers surged out of them, howling. The Hellquillians tried to take to the air only to have them pinned to the earth, in some cases physically as the giant, beefy dogs leaped up into the air and grabbed the griffins to tear them down again. Leaping up onto several of the tanks, the Ironpaws bent the hatches open and threw grenades down the hatches before leaping off just as they detonated. The quick maneuver warfare Hellquill had thrived in turned in seconds into a close quarters slugfest. The dogs already had their jaws locked around their prey and were not letting go, not until they had rent and torn them to pieces, and within minutes the Hellquillians were all but annihilated.

One of the few surviving Sturmgreifen, a beaten and bruised officer, was dragged before a dog, relatively diminutive compared to the giant Ironpaws yet clearly the one in charge, and tossed onto the ground there where the dog placed one foot on his neck.

“Greedy greedy knights,” the dog growled. “You knights are never happy. You steal our treasure, you infect the ponies, you steal their land and kill everyone. Thieves and rats, all of you...”

“Fuck… you… creature…” the Sturmgreif spat. All he got for it, however, was the dog pushing down harder on his neck.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Colonel Gnasher asked. “Sorry, I don’t do birds. This one good enough?” Gnasher asked, looking to the side as he stepped off the Sturmgreif.

“He’s perfect,” a soft voice said, the Sturmgreif turning to see who it was, only to find himself staring at himself, hunching down by his side and looking him over. The copy of him reached into his pockets, patting the griffin down before relieving him of wallet and the letters in his inner pocket. The griffin began to struggle now, realizing what was going on, but the Ironpaws didn’t let him go even one bit.

“N… no!” the griffin yelled as his clone opened the letters and began to read them back to him.

“Dear brother,” the clone said, “The eastern expansion goes fantastically. We have made massive headway into the pony lands and I barely have time to write you this letter. I only wish you were here to be a part of this great task: we’re truly writing history right now. At this pace, I will be home before next year. Don’t slack off on your marksmanship while I’m gone.” The clone’s voice had slowly changed as it spoke, becoming a perfect copy of the Sturmgreif’s. Folding up the letter and looking through the wallet, the clone nodded. “Thank you for your service, Captain,” it said as the Ironpaws dragged the griffin away.

Chapter 2

------xxxxxx------

General Eisen Silberkrone clenched his claws into the desk, slowly carving deep scratches in it as he listened to the reports of what just had happened.

“Are… you… kidding me?” he asked at the officers in front of him. “Are you trying to tell me that a bunch of filthy dogs along with the happy-go-lucky hippies that the cossacks have degenerated into... actually managed to stop the offensive?” His voice was calm, yet his slowly curling talons digging into the table and the absolute glacial storm that was his tone said plenty.

“Y-yes sir.” One of the officers answered. “On both sides of the river.”

“...what are the casualties?” Eisen continued, locking the lieutenant with his glare.

“...to the south, Battlegroup Steel Claw was destroyed, with 80% casualties. Battlegroup Tartarus are in a fighting retreat.”

“And the north?”

“Battlegroup Fireburst was destroyed near the Maneceaster crossing. Our reports suggest no survivors.”

“Colonel?” Eisen asked, his second-in command being by his side in a moment. “Radio high command and let them know. Tell them to send two battlegroups as replacements.”

“Only two?” the colonel asked, having expected twice that at least.

“They’re trying to divert our attention from Jezeragrad, and I will not dance to these creatures’ pipe. They’ve lost the element of surprise: now all they have are primitive guns and a weak position. Send Battlegroup Bugbear to the south to secure the forest pass, that way they can’t outflank us, and bring up our artillery within firing range of Maneceaster. Start levelling the city, short bursts, use seismographs to detect the dogs if they try to dig closer. If they do, bury mines to blow up their tunnels.”

-----xxxxxx-----

“Faster faster!” Zelenka roared, being responded to with “KILL THEM ALL!” as the cossacks surged across the field towards Kicoltinda, artillery roaring far behind them and making smoke burst across the plains to cover them as they charged into the massed machine gun and mortar fire of the entrenched Hellquillians. Ducking and weaving, the cossacks wove erratic and unpredictable paths through the air to avoid being hit. Still, the blind barrage took its toll among the griffins, leaving warrior after warrior to drop from the air and crash into the ground.

It did not stop the cossacks, however, nor did it even slow them down. If anything, they threw themselves forward even faster, screeches of rage rising to the sky as they shot out of the smoke and into the fortified line, guns blazing. Some cossacks turned themselves into giant spears by bracing their bayoneted rifles against the body and diving straight at their enemies, throwing the Hellquillians back several meters as the cossacks crashed into them at full speed.

Guns blazed and grenades detonated all around them, the smoke slow to clear and instead creating a hellish inferno in which the Hellquillians heavier weapons were not half as useful due to the limited sight and the fact that the cossacks already were among them. A gout of flame spewed forth from one of the Sturmgreifen, burning several cossacks out of the machinegun nest they had claimed, but in the next moment a cossack, still burning from the fire, threw himself onto the Sturmgreif and ran him through with his bayonet, puncturing the gas tank through his body and making them both vanish in a giant cloud of fire.

Yet, as the smoke cleared and the roar of machine guns and the whistling of mortars began again, another thing became clear. Looking back over the field they had come from, Zelenka realized that there were movement back there. Tank movement. But how the hell… A tank shell struck the sandbags right next to him, courtesy of the newly spotted tanks, and Zelenka realized they were in a trap.

“Get the griffins to push into the town!” he roared to his subordinates. “They’re behind us, if we stay out here we’re dead! Push damn it, push like you’ve never pushed before, smash through them!” The subordinates dispersed to deliver his orders, even as the tanks barreled down on them.

Despite the chaos, the cossacks managed to respond admirably, even as the Helllquill jaws closed around them. They pushed forward into the city, throwing themselves into it and through sheer grit and audacity. One of the larger buildings, even if it was covered with machine gun fire, was stormed in seconds as the heavily armored Ritsars led the way, shielding their brothers in arms with their armor and even bodies when the latter were not enough. Even as the gunfire ripped into them and ended them, the sheer momentum allowed their bodies to crash into the windows and the machineguns, sending them tumbling as the Ritsars died so that their brothers in arms might live and extract vengeance for them.

In the end, the Cossacks managed to take the city and turn their enemies’ weapons against them, meaning that when the tank brigade that had been flanking them rolled into the town they were met not with an outflanked enemy force, but one who had managed to entrench itself in record time and fight back. Colonel Zelenka had spearheaded the charge into the former Hellquillian headquarters, which now became theirs as they organized to bite back against the attack.

“You live the most when you are about to die, no?!” his second-in-command asked with a wild grin, Zelenka laughing in response.

“To death and glory!” he yelled. Their people might have gone onto a new path, but considering all the things that wanted to bring harm to the weak in this world, he was right where he should be.

------xxxxxx------

The detonation collapsed the tunnel, leaving the Diamond Dogs to run and curse as several of them got trapped under falling debris and dust was kicked up throughout the tunnels, leaving them coughing and snorting.

“Everyone not dead, sound off…” Gnasher growled from the entrance to the side tunnel, only scowling even more when he was told the casualties. “Clever, clever knights,” he said, realizing what they were up to. Parking their forces out on the plains with seemingly all the heavy artillery they had, they had started to bombard Maneceaster while burying mines all around them. There was no chance to get closer to them without triggering the explosives, at least not underground. Above ground, however, the bastards had tanks, and plenty of them.

“Dig out to the sides,” he ordered, “Report back to me when the position is encircled at least one hundred and eighty degrees. What’s our distance to them?”

“Four, maybe five, kilometers.”

“Perfect. Let the reserve forces know that if they haven’t disassembled and brought up the light guns within six hours I’ll be personally ripping their guts out. I don’t give a shit if they carry them on their backs, just do it! Biter! Over here, I got a job for you...”

And so it was that as the evening slowly fell and the thunder of artillery continued, explosions detonated all around the artillery encampment in a wide circle, with diamond dogs swarming out of the holes like cockroaches, shovels and paws both at the ready as they threw up earthen works and dragged up light cannons out of the holes, sometimes outright blackpowder such, and furiously reassembled them on the spot to begin firing towards the artillery encampment, even as the night left them firing almost blind at times.

While the dogs of the Diamond Mountain always had kept to themselves, their sense of community was ironclad. Their new Queen had managed to play on this well and for months hammered home constantly how the river ponies, apparently, were part of their community now. Many dogs hadn’t really understood it, a lot of them hadn’t really believed it to begin with, but when push came to shove they were a people who understood, more than anything else, that when someone hurts your pack you tear their damn throats out. As Gnasher had ordered: they’d drown these murder-birds in death!The earthworks grew quickly, turning into barriers that in turn turned into trenches, as the dogs worked tirelessly and furiously to fortify their positions, dragging up more and more heavy guns out of the holes.

Yet, as dawn came, so came Hellquill’s counter attacks. Their guns were top modern and began pounding the ramshackle earthworks of the Diamond Dogs to devastating effect. Adding to it, tanks and heavy infantry assailed them ferociously, starting to break the improvised strongpoints one by one. Though Hellquill paid for each victory, the diamond dogs did so twice as much, and before long, Gnasher was snarling in rage as the enemy surged towards the last, surviving strongpoint - his - from three directions at once.

“Hold the fucking line dogs, hold it! The bugs will come through. Hold!”

------xxxxxx------

“The cossacks have been pinned down at Kicoltinda,Coltljevo and Novi Ponezar,” the colonel reported, pointing to the map. “Our battlegroups are failing to dislodge them, however, and casualties are mounting.”

What about the north?” Eisen asked.

“The dogs have surrounded our artillery encampments. They created tunnels just outside the minefield and blew them to create improvised trenches. They are putting the pressure hard on them. Lieutenant Colonel Heidenreich is dealing with the strongpoints one at a time. She is requesting reinforcements.”

“Granted,” Eisen said monotonously. “Commit the northern reserves to shore up the artillery. Inform high command that we are holding them for now. What are the news from Jezeragrad?” he continued, looking to the radio crew, where the radio operator looked up and nodded.

“The second army has broken through the outer defenses,” he told the general. “Fighting in the streets, but resistance is scattered ,the city is falling steadily.”

“Then the flanks hold,” Eisen said, a cold, slow smile spreading over his face. “Tell all forces to keep pushing. They may exercise some discretion, but I will not accept a single step back. Hellquill doesn’t need us to triumph, they need us to keep the enemy occupied. Let the griffins know that if they die, they die to bring their brothers in arms victory. Hellquill triumphs!”

“Hellquill triumphs!” the others responded before something exploded outside, leaving them all to startle in shock, Eisen’s claw going instantly down to his gun as he looked to the entrance.

“What was that?” he growled, demanding his soldiers to investigate at once, right before gunfire started echoing from outside, yelling following from outside.

“Halt, halt!” one of the guards yelled angrily.

“Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!” another voice came. “Captain Erhart, 8th battalion. Changelings have entered the base! They blew up the motorpool and have spread among the HQ staff! Don’t shoot.”

“Get him in here!” Eisen demanded harshly, his feathers standing on edge as the guards outside escorted the captain into the tent. “Who is your commanding officer and what is your service number?” he demanded of the griffin.

“Major Sieglied, 675-234-2!” the griffin stated and Eisen, while not letting go of the griffin with his eyes for a second, signalled for his staff to check the information and after a few seconds of furious scrambling they affirmed the information, with one glaring exception, which made Eisen draw his firearm and point it at the griffin.

“You are part of Battlegroup Fireburst, which was destroyed a week ago. What are you doing here?” he asked harshly.

“I escaped captivity,” the captain said rapidly, trying to explain himself. “Those damn changelings stole my face. I’ve been running for days to get here, only just...”

“And when I turn my back you will be one as well, good attempt,” EIsen said, executing the griffin point-blank. “Secure the inner perimeter, have the soldiers cut their arms to show they are not changelings, kill anyone who hesitates and inform command!” he said, looking to the dead griffin as it transformed into one of those disgusting insects that infested the island to the west of griffonia. Turning his gun to his colonel, he narrowed his eyes. “Bite your arm, now, I want to see blood!” he ordered with a hiss, the griffin quickly obeying. When seeing blood, Eisen backed off and quickly ordered the others to show they were truly his griffins as well before calling in the guards from outside.

His elite guards, the Totenkrallen, were all too eager to show they were who they seemed to be and swiftly began to quell the unrest outside. They swept the camp, forcing every last griffin present to, at gunpoint, bleed themselves to show they were not changelings, and though one of the changelings had managed to bomb the radio tower, he was quickly chased down and dealt with. Within the hour, order was restored and the tower was starting to be repaired. Eisen, meanwhile, was standing in his tent, watching the changeling corpse as it was dragged away from the tent. Those damned insects were trying to outsmart him, were they? He’d have to make sure that when their final victory was won, they would annihilate their entire breed as well!

-----xxxxxx------

Deep in the woods, several kilometers from the base, a small group of changeling Jaegers were hiding, listening in on the transmissions from the enemy HQ. They had hidden there for three days, barely even moving, and yet now went into action, flying up into the nearby trees to set up a large, improvised radio mast. They relayed the news of the message back towards the Coalition, sending it in the form of a furious chittering noise that was incomprehensible to anyone who didn’t speak the changeling tongue, filtering back through the front lines and eventually reaching Rijekograd, where OHS director Arclight was given a personal report of it.

Arclight was an utterly heartless pony. No one who knew him could say anything else. He was completely without any, pity, mercy and seemingly simple decency at times. Everything fit together into the greater plan, no matter how much blood was spilt, and the end always justified the means. They had to when you were where he was: Harmony was the goal, not the method. It was, however, this ruthless mindset that had left him one of the few who had been able to take the invasion in stride and immediately start doing all he could to help the defense. Stepping into River Swirl’s office, the OHS director studied the mare sitting behind the desk, trying to gauge her mental state as he did with everypony.

She was a wreck. Her face was haggard and she had thick bags under the eyes. Her teeth were clenched, he could tell from her jaw muscles, and she read through the papers in front of her with a stressed, uneasy flicker in her magic.

“News from the front ma’am,” Arclight said, putting the folder in front of her.

“Give… give me the cliff notes,” River Swirl said tiredly, putting the papers down and taking a deep swig of her coffee.

“Jezeragrad has fallen,” he said succinctly, watching her deflate in her seat.

“How bad is it…” she asked quietly.

“Bad,” Arclight said. “We don’t know much yet, but their MO seems unchanged from earlier conquests…” River Swirl sat quietly, no doubt struggling to absorb the fact that he had all but said that everyone who hadn’t died from the plague in Jezeragrad currently would be dragged out of their hideouts and murdered by the Sturmgreifen.

“Ancestors help us all…” River Swirl whispered. “What are the good news?”

“Nonexistent,” Arclight said. “Our Jaegers attempted to infiltrate and destroy the enemy HQ. They failed. We can’t presume that we can deploy similar methods from now on.”

“What of the flanks?” River Swirl’s voice was even quieter now.

“They are keeping up the pressure, but the attacks have stalled. They will not be able to save Jezeragrad at this rate. The Hellquillans are too strong.”

“Thank you Arclight,” River Swirl said. “I will debate this with the council…”

“If I may, ma’am,” Arclight said, not moving. River Swirl looked up to him and silently nodded for him to speak. “Militarily speaking, only dogs and griffins have bled so far. Ponies can die to the plague, or they can die fighting. That is all ma’am. Good luck,” he said, turning and leaving the room.

River Swirl had always been a pony so desperate to have consensus, and right now she didn’t know what to do. As Arclight left the office, he smiled though. River Swirl would work out in the end. Maybe she would need to be coaxed, but it’d work out in the end. Stopping by a window, he looked out over Rijekograd as he collected his thoughts. Even if it had taken some… work… to get the dogs and cossacks to launch themselves into the fight so fervently - not to mention the changelings - their sacrifices would make the Coalition stronger for it. The Coalition had not yet fallen.

Chapter 3

For days now, the battle had raged throughout Kicoltinda. Though the Hellquilleans had surrounded them and pushed from all directions, that only meant they found themselves fighting the cossacks not over long ranges, but eye to eye. House to house and room to room the cossacks and the Sturmgreifen had danced for days now. They were both suffering terrible losses in what many times turned into chaotic, swirling melee combat where all order broke down: meaning just where the cossacks wanted their enemies.

Still, even the cossacks were only mortals, and as the days had passed they had kept being pushed. House after house had been lost, even as the cossacks clung to what they still held with all they had. As it was, they were pushed to the center of Kicoltinda, having fortified the plaza and the areas around it while making every approach a nightmarish slog to proceed through. Tanks could not cross the rubble that the collapsed buildings could provide and artillery could not fire without risking blowing up the Hellquillians as well as the cossacks.

Zelenka sat down heavily on a chair as he finally could grab twelve hours of rest before going back into the fight. His entire body was aching and he felt as though he had lived here a million years. Had truly only two weeks passed? He felt as though he had been here for months, years even. For all his bluster, Zelenka knew a cossack could not live off war and death, nor was the sound of gunfire something that restored vitality to tired limbs more than briefly. The war of the modern age was something new, truly. No longer patient maneuvers leading to a sudden detonation of steel and death, now it seemed more akin to a meat grinder slowly chewing you up.

Still, Zelenka smiled to himself. All of that was true, but the Hellquilleans were no better off, and if they had thought that the Cossacks had just come surging in blindly… well they didn’t know cossacks. Also… was that the sound of mortar fire he heard? Slowly, he began to cackle as further away, the sound of gunfire and explosions grew steadily, sweeping in towards Kicoltinda from every direction.

“Not a second too late, Razbeak you old crow…” he said. Zelenka’s forces, a few divisions strong, had only been the vanguard, the brave who had first jumped at the call when summoned. Their quick leap into battle had given the rest of the cossacks time to rally whatever warriors were not immediately available and organize another host; one armed with all the panoply of modern war. This included the things that came flying over the rooftops now.

A squadron of metal birds roared past the window, the middle of their wings blazing as they spat out trails of heavy bullets that rained down over the streets, tearing the vehicles down on the roads apart before sharply turning upwards, buzzing by with the roar like giant dragonflies and leaving death and destruction behind and throwing the Hellquillians into chaos.

The attacks on the besieged cossacks had already ceased and instead the Hellquilleans, who earlier had managed to catch the cossacks in a pincer, now found themselves locked in much greater pincer, one of tens of thousands of cossacks, led by the great Stephan Razbeak himself. They moved like the wind and struck like thunder, sweeping aside the Hellquillians as they surged into the town from every direction, cutting off exits and coordinating with the Coalition Air Force to level the buildings where the Sturmgreifen tried to put up resistance. The end of the siege was gruesome and swift: once again the cossacks took as many prisoners as the Hellquillians had.

------xxxxxx------

The Diamond dogs had to let go of the last strongpoint and were in full retreat. Sturmgreifen assault teams equipped with flamethrowers chased them through the tunnels, even as the dogs tried to hold the rearguard as well as they could, but they were only driven further and further into their own tunnels.

Gnasher, meanwhile, was being dragged by some of his soldiers away from the fight, bleeding heavily from the head where a bullet had grazed his cranium and left him dazed. And yet, even as gunshots and screaming rang through the tunnels, he couldn’t help but cackle. What a fucking mess it all was, what a complete clusterfuck of epic proportions. This was like two pups rolling on the floor, scratching at each other.

“What are you laughing about boss?” the dog that was half carrying him said now.

“I’m so smart,” Gnasher cackled. “I’m so fucking smart… tell the dogs… we’ll blow the Alpha line…” he ordered, the message travelling down the columns of retreating dogs. As they poured into the main cavern that served a the command centre, they were organized enough that when they came in they fell into positions around the entrances, stopping the retreat in its tracks and rallying the dogs. Gnasher, whose head still spun, was riding high on adrenaline as he was put down against an ammunition crate as dogs scrambled around the entrance, attaching the wires in the right places and making ready.

When the Sturmgreifen, who even had managed to get a tank down in the tunnel to chase them down with, came roaring at them Gnasher gave the signal and within seconds the ground shook and heaved, as if it was about to split open, and with a deafening roar the entire tunnel they had escaped through collapsed, burying hundreds of griffins alive.

“And FUCK YOU TOO!” Gnasher yelled as the smoke settled, still laughing before coughing in all the dust that had been kicked up. “Get Biter on the phone, was this enough time for him to get behind them?!” he asked when he had recovered. After a while on the phone, one of the dogs gave Gnasher a thumbs up.

Meanwhile, above ground, the tanks and artillery pieces were being assailed again, this time from behind. Major Biter’s forces had clawed up a large hole behind them and unleashed an army of howling troll hounds: abominations twisted by dark magic and crystal engineering into something no longer dogs but writhing engines of destruction. Princess Molly had ordered for no more troll hounds to be made upon her ascension, but they still had a lot of them, so why not use them? The creatures took shots that would have annihilated regular dogs and kept moving, flipped tanks over with sheer berserker strength and ripped griffins apart like paper.

Breaking earth once again, Gnasher led his forces to charge to the troll hounds’ aid. The dogs were hungry and exhausted but Gnasher whipped them on, reminding them that no bird was ever going to get the better of them!

-----xxxxxx------

The initiative was back with the Coalition now, if barely, and while they suffered heavy losses the Griffons and Diamond Dogs to keep pushing. That left Jezeragrad though, and though both the Diamond Mountain and the Kingdom of Zapzhia were mustering all they had, there simply weren’t enough soldiers to strike at the city as well, not without the ponies.

High Command knew that, and therefore they had decided to take the risk. At Blessedgrad, Field Marshal Lake Shield had organized a combined force of the Coalition's best: Ponaidhean’s Anam-Teine monks, Bakaran Marines, Nimbusian Somatophylakes, River Republic RZPO units, Deponyan knight, Wittenland mages and even the few available units of Changelings that could be mustered.

Supported by as many alchemists and mages as could be spared, the best medical staff as well as water from the magical springs in the north, they had entered the plague-stricken lands and assaulted Jezeragrad in force. They had to do something, and either they died here or died later, so they might as well die for a chance at victory. The entirety of the Coalition’s air force and what Diamond Dog and Cossack forces were available joined in and descended on the city from three directions to break the backs of the Reformisten there.

Jezeragrad - the prized jewel of the Riverlands - had in only a couple of weeks transformed into a hellscape. Death was everywhere and the destruction that met them bore silent witness to how just how hard the Lake City ponies had fought despite the plague and overwhelming disadvantage they had been in. Yet, despite all that, as the Coalition counter attack poured in, it became clear that Jezeragrad had not fallen completely. In the depths of the sewers and in the back alleys, there were still ponies left fighting and dying when the Coalition Air Force roared over the city, beginning to mark targets and attack strongpoints. RZPO and Somatophylakes Pegasi had been loaded into transport planes and as the air strikes raged the sky darkened with hundreds if not thousands of Pegasi diving straight for the ground, using their wings to bob and weave through the scattered AA fire and landing hard on rooftops all over the city. as the outskirts saw the roaring of over five hundred tanks rolling along the roads into the city followed by thousands upon thousands of onhooves infantry.

The airdropped pegasi and the onhooves companies all carried radios to coordinate, something Lake Shield had insisted on, and the full use of this became evident as the spotters on the rooftops could call out ambushes and traps, blunting the effect of the Hellquillians’ defenses and directing the artillery to obliterate the barricades and strongpoints that lined the streets and the plazas.

Like elsewhere, the Sturmgreifen and the Hellquillian soldiers put up stubborn resistance, but they were in a city that they had not yet managed to pacity. Jezeragrad still drew breath and if it would be the last thing she did, she would not go down without the fight of her life. Desperate survivors who had been huddling in the basements and sewers suddenly came pouring out, armed with whatever they could find.

As Biter’s men flooded into the city from the north, they were assisted by sharpshooters who had been lying in wait for days among the corpses of their fallen comrades. These hard-bitten snipers picked off machine gunners and officers wherever they could, wreaking havoc among the enemy. In the east, the last remaining forces of the Jezeragrad home guard charged out of the sewers to attack a tank emplacement from behind. Using improvised fuel bombs and grenades, they destroyed the well-entrenched machines. Even as they fell by the dozens and hundreds, they died without hesitation for their city and their people. In the south Razbeak’s cossacks were pouring into the city when a flak cannon emplacement managed to blindside them and drown them in heavy fire. An old mare came running up in among the guns, a bundle of grenades clenched between her teeth right before she vanished, along with the guns, in a massive cloud of smoke that grew into a huge fireball.

The sky blazed with fire as the Nimbusian guards leaped from house to house, covering the streets below and pinning the Hellquillians wherever they tried to move. RZPO fireteams went house to house, using shotguns and flash-spells to clear them one room at a time. Anam-Teine monks bobbed and weaved through the rain of bullets, too fast to be easily hit by anyone, and engaged the Hellquillians in close quarters combat. Down by the lake, a battalion of Bakaran marines who had swimmed underwater for almost three hours, rose silently out of the water to get in behind the main Hellquillian force. Witteland mages made the very air crackle with countless spells, blocking machinegun fire, clearing buildings with fireballs and patching up wounds. The last, tattered remains of Deponya’s Royal Guards had joined in with commoner soldiers and hunters and formed an ad-hoc unit that now fiercely contested the main bridge. The Diamond dogs were in their element, gleefully making use of the sewers to pop up all over the city and rip and tear at their enemies with hit-and run attacks and the Cossacks dashed in to cut the Hellquillians down beak to beak.

Maybe one day this would be called their finest moment: the day the Riverlands stood and fought as one, but right now it was like a vision of Tartarus. Time was not on the Riverlanders’ side: already signs of the plague had appeared among the soldiers and the ferocity with which they attacked stemmed from a simple truth: they either died fighting for Jezeragrad or they died wasting away from the plague. This spurred them on beyond their commitment to save the city, giving them the courage, or perhaps desperation, to to fight like possessed, and while they triumphed steadily, house by house, block by block, the casualties mounted fast as well.

-----xxxxxx-----

“Perfect…” Eisen said slowly as the news came in of the ponies having gone all out, ordering a mass assault at Jezeragrad with several of their best units. His colonel looked to him in confusion as Eisen trailed the map with one talon. “They just committed all they had,” Eisen commented. The thing about doing that was that when it failed, you had nothing left. “Order the reserves up to the front and deploy them to retake the city. I want them to focus their attacks here, here and here. We will stagger our attacks to keep hitting them and always keep some element of our forces resting. Three battlegroups at a time. Let’s see just how much they can endure.”

As he ordered, Hellquill threw the entirety of its reserves into the fray as well, calling up new forces from the homeland to shore up the flanks as waves of tanks and motorized infantry struck at Jezeragrad. Using their vehicles to maximum effect, the Hellquillians began to bait out the enemy out of Jezeragrad and proceeding to, when it didn’t help, begin to pound the city with all they had, surging in to attack and retreating out to strike elsewhere when the resistance mounted. Eisen knew that the enemy was already wasting away from the plague and while they had retaken the city, they were already starting to die by the dozens and indeed hundreds. Having crawled onto the battlefield only to be laid out on the Anvil of the Purple Plague, the Riverlanders would now be slowly broken by the Hammer of Hellquill’s soldiers.

Chapter 4

Jezeragrad: the shining jewel of the lake, the heart of the Riverlands, the Lake City. It was one of the most beautiful cities in a part of the world filled with wonders. If one saw what it had become, no one could believe this as of now. The houses were at best frayed and pockmarked by shrapnel or shockwaves, at worst nothing but rubble. The wide boulevards were covered in debris, smoking vehicles and dead bodies. Black smoke rose to the sky from countless small fires and throughout the city the smell of earth, smoke, gasoline, waste and death hung.

The Reformisten just kept coming, hitting the Coalition forces again and again, leaving them pushed to the breaking point as soldier after soldier slowly succumbed to either disease or enemy fire. Even so, the Riverland kept rallying, time and time again, and shared what they had with each other without question. Fighting with grim determination and suicidal fervor, they pushed back attack after attack through whatever means necessary, if it so included booby trapping a building and blowing it up when their enemies stormed it or calling in artillery strikes right on top of them in their last moments so that they at least could take the enemy with them.

Those who had been infected many times refused food and water, asking that it was given to those who still could fight. They drugged themselves to be able to keep fighting when the pain became too much, sometimes by simply huffing glue, and asked their comrades to drag them into position to die with weapon in hoof when their legs gave out. The image of a soldier slumped against fallen debris, rifle still in hoof as they slowly expired from the plague - plaguesnipers as they came to be known - became an ever present sight throughout the city in the days and weeks that ticked by.

It seemed to simply not matter how many times the Hellquillians came or how many casualties they inflicted: they could not break Jezeragrads defenders. Even as they dragged themselves to the front line with barely treated combat wounds or plague boils all over them, they kept going. When their units were reduced to tatters, they merged them on the fly, improvising and working together without hesitation. Pony, Dog, Griffin or Changeling did not matter: they stood, they fought and they died as one people, one Coalition. The Coalition stood, the Coalition fought, and the Coalition held.

-----xxxxxx------

“Why are they not BREAKING?!” Eisen hissed, staring down at the map in front of him. His claws dug into the table and he breathed through a clenched beak. This was impossible! Everyone broke at some point, even the Longsword military broke in the end! How could they keep fighting through the plague that should have broken them?! These were mere ponies, critters who had been given the ability to think! Vermin! How could they endure like this?! Six weeks had passed and Jezeragrad was still holding!

“Sir, news from the front…” a messenger said behind him and Eisen spun around, staring down the young lieutenant who came up to him with it.

“What?!” he hissed and the lieutenant almost recoiled. Eisen made a note to have him dismissed from here. He did not need cowards.

“L-Lieutenant-Colonel Weirvul is reporting from Jezeragrad. The… he has noticed an increase among the enemies of ponies with… plague scars. They aren’t infirm though, they seem as healthy as any other… Also, resistance has stiffened noticeably. His assaults against the central town did not make any gains whatsoever, and he’s being pushed harder… he fears that… the ponies might have found a cure.“

Eisen stood still, listening to the young griffin’s words before turning around, silently staring down at the map. Taking the ruler, he did a quick measure and sighed deeply. One fifth of the way… one Maar-damned fifth of the way into these damned ponies’ lands before they had been ground to a halt. The plague was meant to clean out the ponies and it had done so splendidly, and yet this damned city Jezeragrad had ended up clinging to them, holding them in place and refusing to let go.

“Start to organize the retreat from Jezeragrad,” he ordered eventually. “See to it that they fall back in an organized fashion. Colonel?” he asked, getting the man to note down what he said. “They will be coming at us hard, but if we fall back to here, here and here, we can create a bulge that will draw them in. We engage them in a fighting retreat, mining the area as we withdraw, and buy the rearguard time to fortify the area. They will be thirsty for blood, and that will be our best chance to sap their fighting spirit before we reclaim the initiative. Send the message back to his majesty to inform him Jezeragrad is lost and that we are falling back. Make sure the gravity of the situation is made abundantly clear. We must replenish our losses; if we act swiftly we can do so as we fall back.” Though his voice was low, Eisen spoke with calm confidence. He was second only to the king himself, and if he lost his cool why would anyone else keep it?

What he didn’t know, however, is that the town where his headquarters was located was being watch. In the dark forest further away, watching the camp, eyes were glowing, teeth gleamed, low growls filled the air and wings twitched with nervous energy. The figures were watching the camp, quietly, as they moved through the shadows.

Finishing up the planning, Eisen ordered for the headquarters to be torn down. It was time to move further back as, within a week, his soldiers would be retreating over this very position. With practiced ease, they tore down the base, leaving Eisen’s maps and command center for last as he poured over the maps, trying to furiously think of anything more that could be done. He’d have to trade ground for time and give the rearguard time to set up the defenses. Could he still do it? The Jezeragrad defenders would need time to reorganize and push forward, and that meant the flanks would be the big issue.

All the same though… as he looked over the casualty statistics he knew one thing. Even while at the offensive, every Hellquill soldier dead had cost the Riverlanders five fighters. He knew the ponies outnumbered them, but the Reformisten were the champions of all griffonkind. In time, every dead Hellquillian would be replaced with new Hertzlander settlers and the ponies had no way to replenish those that had fallen except time. If the ponies were hoping to win this battle of attrition they would see just how hard the Reformisten could hold the line. Getting into the car that stood waiting for him outside, he kept silent, deep in thought, as they set off towards the west, into the homeland.

And then, as they drove along the road, the truck a the front of the column suddenly tilted forwards and vanished down into the ground with a loud crash. The second truck slammed the breaks, sliding along the ground and only barely managing to stop before the massive hole that now had replaced the road just as the first truck exploded in a huge fireball that rose up in front of them right before the sides of the road exploded with gunfire.

Eisen swore, grabbing his weapons and getting out of the car right before the windshield next to him broke when a rifle bullet tore through it. Firing several shots towards the treeline above, he ducked behind a truck to take cover as he tried to take stock of the situation. They had walked straight into an ambush. Enemies all around. Dogs on his right, griffons - cossacks - on his left. His Totenkrallen were rallying to his side, several vehicles were already destroyed. Curses! That meant their best hope was that the forces remaining at the base would hear it and come to their aid. They had some cover here though so…

He turned to the side, only managing to see the cossack that came flying straight at him, flying only few decimeters or so above ground at top speed. It was all he could do to leap away himself, having to take flight to avoid being run through. The cossack, a giant of a griffon with a large black beard and red clothes, sliced the throats of two of the Totenkrallen before they even knew what hit them and pursued Eisen up into the air.

Saber met arming sword as Eisen only just got his officer’s sword out - the last memento the Reformisten officers had of their knightly heritage - and parried the first rapid succession of slashes, leaving the two half flying and half tumbling through the air.

“Come to me, plague-rat!” the cossack roared as Eisen turned sharply downwards to avoid rising too high where he’d be a sitting duck. “Come to your death!” Pursuing Eisen relentlessly, the Cossack kept himself right in Eisen’s face, making it too risky for anyone to shoot at them. Eisen, however, hadn’t been a knight for nothing, and he made another quick turn, getting within range to deliver his own thrust towards the cossack’s face, forcing some space between them just as they both reached the ground almost fifty meters away from the fight and leaped up again. “Come on, face death with the honor you lacked in life!”

“Not today,” Eisen said, pulling out his sidearm. Did this fool imagine some honorable duel to the death? The commander of the Sturmgreifen didn’t deal in that kind of chivalric nonsense and he shot the idiot twice, managing to hit him despite the speeds they were moving at. The cossack crashed into the ground right next to convoy, battle still raging all around them, and Eisen landed in front of him. “You cossacks always clung to your honor…” he said, coming up to execute the griffin. He was not going to die playing this fool’s games. “That is why you are weak…” he said as he raised the pistol to shoot his downed enemy.

Then, right before he pulled the trigger, the ground burst under his feet and before Eisen knew what had happened a rifle butt struck him straight in the face and made him stumble into a truck, banging his face against the fuel tank and collapsing limply as his head spun. He tried to get up and as he looked back towards the cossack he saw a diamond dog having appeared from a hole in the ground, standing by the cossack, who was pushing himself up to stand as the gleam of heavy armor under his coat became visible.

“Toldya,” the dog said to the cossack. His voice was so distant, it was like Eisen’s ears were filled with cotton... “Rats are rats. Time for some good old pest control.” Raising the carbine he held in his paws, he shot at Eisen, four times, and the leader of the Sturmgreifen could only raise one arm to impotently try to shield himself before he realized he wasn’t hit. Had the dog really missed? His head swam too much, he couldn’t focus… he had to focus! It was only after a while that he realized he was turning wet as something was running down his shoulders, covering him… and that smell… gasoline? “Best way to deal with rats is to burn them out,” The dog said, lighting up a cigar that he had taken out before tossing the lighter onto Eisen.

Like a bonfire, Eisen exploded into flames, screaming hoarsely as the adrenaline impotently tried to give him strength to do something. He clawed around, trying to get up, but the fire was everywhere!, even below him as he slipped on the burning oil, falling down again.

“You!”... he screamed hoarsely, panic, pain and rage whipping him into a frenzy “You will never win! The Reich will never die! We’ll never…” he yelled before another round, this one courtesy of the Cossack. tore through his chest and left him collapsing, trying to gasp for air even as it all was devoured by the flames, just like him.

“Now we are square, plague-rat,” the Cossack said as he and the dog both fell back. Before long the fuel tank exploded, sending a massive fireball into the sky and marking the death of Eisen Silberkrone just as the last gunshots died around the area and the attackers faded away into the forest.

------xxxxxx------

That night, around a hidden campfire deep in the woods, Gnasher sat on a log, looking out into the darkness with only his thoughts to keep him company. He was so deep in it that he only noticed Petr Zelenka when the cossack sat down next to him, handing him a mug of tea.

“Thanks,” Gnasher said, sipping the mug before leaning back with a groan. “What a day, eh?” he said eventually, Zelenka nodding.

“Do you reckon this is it?” the cossack commented. The night was so quiet. It was unnerving almost, like finally, after weeks upon weeks, there was actual calm. “Or will they come back from this?”

“Silberkrone was their number two, yeah?” Gnasher commented. “Their head’s still left, but we got one of their paws.”

“Also the plague’s being dealt with,” Zelenka commented, silence following for a while before he spoke up again “I never would have thought the ponies would have thrown themselves into it like that.”

“Well that’s the ponies for you,” Gnasher said, smiling wryly. “Still feeling ‘eeh’ about this whole Coalition thing?”

“No, not after all this,” Zelenka said firmly. “I do not even think Razbeak will hesitate to call them brothers and sisters after something like this. But what of you? You’re as ruthless as they come, are you really convinced of their ideals?”

“Princess is, so then I am,” Gnasher said with a tone that implied that said it all. “Not my job to decide policy. I rip out throats when she needs it.” Zelenka chuckled in response.

“Not tonight though,” he said, raising the mug of tea to Gnasher. “To victory.”

“To victory,” Gnasher said, toasting him before they both fell silent, enjoying the first bit of silence and peace in two months. There would be more fighting. In two months the Coalition would be charging into Hellquill, laying siege to the capitol and dragging Wingfried out of the hole he had tried to hide in. They would even go so far as to put him before an international tribunal to utterly humiliate and break the Reformist ideology as even the Empire had to denounce them to save its face. It would cost tens of thousands of lives and cause destruction equal to what already had been inflicted on the world.

Not tonight though. Tonight the two officers, the first to the Coalition’s defense and the ones who ended its greatest enemy, rested, and for a soldier there were few prizes more valuable than that.