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.