The War for the Riverlands

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.