The Siege Of Canterlot

The thunder of a hundred guns roared out across the land as the Equestrian artillery opened fire, field guns hurling cannon shells over the heads of their advancing infantry. The Changeling army had entered their effective range, and the skilled gunners of the Holy Army were eager to show their Princess the power of their weapons. Cannonballs bounced off of the dry turf, ricocheting into the front rank of the Changeling regiments, rending flesh and tearing limbs asunder. Marching with musket and pike, the Equestrian infantry closed in on their opponents, standards and flags fluttering. Celestia rode the line atop her horse, galloping from one end of the front to the other with her sword raised, drawing cheers from her ponies and hardening their hearts with resolve. Any who knew fear or dread, any whose knees shook, any who considered flight to be an option, were filled with renewed vigor. Their Princess was with them, and with Her at their head, leading the charge, they could not fail. The day would be theirs, as sure as it followed the night.

Wherever she went, the Princess drew cheers of joy from her soldiers, who advanced steadily, resolutely, muskets loaded, bayonets sharpened. The cavalry waited patiently for Celestia's command, their mounts champing at the bit, ready to charge forth and unleash hell upon the Changelings. Pegasi sharpshooters, occupying the same niche role as other nations' skirmishers, prowled in the sky above with their muskets, gaining the advantage of altitude as well as being deadly accurate with their shots and able also to swoop down to engage the enemy in close combat if they spotted a weakness or a failing line.

The Changelings stood in mute defiance, their dark banners fluttering, the winged eye that represented their nation displayed proudly above each unit. The Changelings had but a light cavalry presence on the field as they did not need it; their drones were able to act as a fast moving strike force, as they had shown at Trottingham, and had the additional advantage of being able to fly, which the horses and camels of other nations could not. While they lacked in the sheer impetus of a cavalry charge, with their large, muscular mounts and thundering hooves, they made up for with their manoeuvrability. Their infantry, a mix of drones and workers with the officers leading each unit, were imposing in their uniformity, for while the bodies, manes and tails of the ponies were a multichromatic mix from across the spectrum, as were their uniforms whenever militia or provincial army units were involved, the Changelings were all a matte black, with sickly green manes and tails and membranous insectoid wings. Military uniforms were designed to give a sense of oneness and common purpose to the wearer, and either to dazzle, intimidate or impress the enemy and any onlookers, but the Changelings went so far beyond that it was almost frightening just to behold them in their formations.

Celestia held her nerve. To launch the cavalry charge too early would be to give the Changelings time for several volleys of musket and magic. To leave it too late would give the enemy the initiative, engaging with their own limited cavalry and their drone infantry. Once the Holy Army had drawn to within half a mile of the enemy, Celestia raised her sword one more and pointed it at the enemy before spurring her horse into action. The stallion whinnied, flaring its nostrils wildly before starting to gallop.

A great cheer rose from the cavalry as they began the charge, the hussars and the lancers following in her wake, the cannons roaring their encouragement from behind while the infantry continued their steady advance into musket range. Ineffective sporadic fire came from the Changeling drones who were acting as skirmishers in front of the army, before they began a rapid retreat as the cavalry bore down on them. The Changelings had but a few cannon at the rear of their line, being equipped more for a rapid advance and having presumably left most of their heavy guns behind at Saltsburg to help with the siege. They were outnumbered; the Holy Army had the advantage in numbers, and they would make it count.

At the head of the two-pronged mounted charge, Celestia spread her wings and grasped the reins of her horse, the wind whistling past her ears, making her effervescent mane stream out behind her, like the aurora one could see in the northern realms, twinkling and ever-changing. Her armour glinting in the sun, her ponies behind her, she led the right prong of the cavalry, mostly the Canterlot Hussars and those of the central province army, toward the enemy's left flank. The Changelings had a lack of anti-cavalry defences, as well as not having many mounted units of their own, but magic and muskets could prove a potent combination in defence as well as attack.

With the Princess being at the head of the line, Celestia naturally drew much of the ire of the enemy. She was an obvious target, not just as the leader of the army, but as the spiritual and political leader of the entire nation. Cut off the head, and the army would, at best, falter, if not turn and break entirely. But Celestia was no easy target. She was no ordinary pony, her armour was no ordinary armour, and her horse was no ordinary horse. All three were imbued with magic, her armour studded with ancient runes and gems of protection, custom-made for the Princess for a perfect fit over her divine physique. Her horse, The Nameless, was the latest in a line of such creatures from the royal stables, sired by her previous charger and birthed by a mare that Starswirl and Celestia had both spent days giving magical treatments to, ensuring her foal would have stamina, strength and resilience impossible for any other horse to possess. Then there was the Princess herself. It was no exaggeration when the followers of the Sun called her a goddess; even Starswirl, for all his alchemical prowess and knowledge of ancient spells, was but a foal to a giant in terms of sheer power. Just about the only myth about the Princess that was false was that she raised and lowered the sun, but astronomers knew now that the planet simply orbited around the giant ball of gas. Almost everything else, every story, every tale ever told about her, no matter how fanciful or impossible it sounded, was true.

Changeling fire bounced off of her armour, and where it may have struck her flesh, a musket ball simply melted into a droplet of liquid iron, sizzling and boiling away to nothing. As she drew nearer to the Changeling army, a few ineffective bolts of magic were hurled in her direction, with similarly negative results. If the Changelings on their army's left flank were not yet afraid, assuming Changelings actually knew fear, they very soon would be.

Celestia's horn glowed as she approached their line, a phalanx of two hundred hussars behind her, the thundering hooves of their horses echoing across the plains even above the sounds of musket and cannon fire. The Changelings on the flank were turning, prepared to meet the charge, pikes lowered in front to protect the ranks of musketeers who were steadying their weapons behind. That was the infantry's best defence against a cavalry charge; pikes in front to stop the mounted foe getting into close combat range with the musketponies who would cut them to ribbons with a disciplined volley. Of course, that didn't account for other assets that a mounted unit might possess.

The Princess lowered her horn and unleashed a swirling vortex of magic that kicked up dust and grass from the ground as it quickly covered the gap between her and her foes. The front rank of pikes were tossed bodily aside, scattering the first two ranks of musketeers behind, hurled back as though suddenly caught in a hurricane wind, losing their grip on their weapons, limbs flailing wildly. A few managed to fire their muskets, but then Celestia was upon them, bursting through the dust cloud of her own making, sword swinging. One drone was sliced in half, another lost its head and fell. The Nameless trampled two unfortunate pike-bearers who had lost their weapons, crushing their skulls under his hooves. The Changeling officers managed to steady the line and the third row of musketeers opened fire, a crackling volley at almost point-blank range that should have ripped Celestia to pieces. But it did nothing.

The flank was in disarray, and only now were the hussars arriving. With a huge gash cut in the protective pike-wall, the vulnerable musketeers behind were exposed, like a body with its ribs cracked open and its vital organs on display for the surgeon's knife. The only intact rank of Changelings had also wasted their volley upon the Princess, exactly as planned. The hussars raced in, trumpets and bugles blaring, scything through the Changelings, crushing them beneath the hooves of their horses and slashing with their sabres, widening the hole their Princess had created. Some Changelings managed to form a small square with their pikes, jabbing and stabbing at the incoming horses and wounding several, bringing them down and their riders tumbling to the floor. But the hussars, as well as their sabres, carried pistols, several to each rider, and quick, accurate shots from horseback killed several of the drones, collapsing the square they had formed. The rest staggered backward and retreated to the relative safety of their own musketeers, who were desperately trying to reload and form some kind of resistance. The hussars lunged forward again, slashing and shooting, and the third rank of musketeers crumbled.

Other elements of the Changeling line were now pivoting to reinforce the left flank, but the damage of the charge had already been done. The right flank had held up better against the Equestrian lancers, but only because they had lacked the power of their Princess, who could only be in a single place at once. The Changeling cavalry, what little there was of it, was now drawn into the fray against Celestia's charge, and she turned to face them.

At the same time, the Holy Army reached firing range and halted. General Ostmane's command was clear. The front rank prepared, took aim, and fired a rippling volley of shot. The Changeling front rank tried its best to survive intact, drones and officers throwing up shields of glowing green magic, but they were sporadic and could only cover certain angles. Many musket balls found their mark, and Changelings slumped forward, mortally wounded. The shields went down and the Changeling line prepared to fire, but so did the Equestrian's second line The front rank ducked down while those behind fired over their heads, catching the Changelings with their scant protection out of the way and inflicting more casualties. The Changelings managed a half-hearted volley of their own, but now it was the ponies' turn to raise their shields, unicorns casting spells, their horns glowing, protecting what they could. Nevertheless, musket balls hit home, and ponies bled and died for their Princess. The second line knelt, and the third line fired off their volley, before the command to advance was given. Back on their feet, the musketponies moved forward, keeping their formation, closing the gap to the enemy.

The enemy cavalry were mounted on strange, twisted beasts, half horse and half Changeling abomination, perhaps created through magic, or perhaps through medical experiments. The truth was unknown to Equestria, and truth be told it didn't really matter. They still died just like a horse, and just like the drones who rode them. Celestia led the counter-charge out from the enemy infantry formation, intercepting the Changeling riders and killing the leader and his mount with a blast of magic. Another rider tried to stab at her with a spear, but with a deft flick of her wrist she severed the spear just behind the point, and then let her sword carry on in a graceful arc to relieve the rider from the burden of having to carry the weight of his own head. The hussars wheeled around and followed her, using their pistols at point blank range as the Changelings charged with their spears. Again, the drones were outnumbered, and the Changeling charge quickly broke down as individual riders began to engage in close combat with their opponents, sword clashing with sword.

Once the ranged had closed to fifty yards, the Equestrian infantry fired their volleys again; front rank, centre rank, rear rank. Then, with a yell and a rapid beat from the regimental drummers, they charged, bayonets at the ready. The Changelings began to open fire, but the Equestrian cannons and muskets had already torn holes in their ranks, and their flanks were caving in. Now, thousands of Equestrian soldiers were charging at them, screaming, baying for their blood. They stood their ground, digging their heels in, reinforcing the front line from the other ranks and bringing up the second layer of infantry for cover. More pikes were moved to the flanks to protect against the Equestrian cavalry. Their airborne sharpshooters were engaged in a duel with their Pegasus equivalents, and the cannons of both armies fell silent, as they could not fire into the coming melee without hitting their own infantry. It was now a battle of grit, determination, blood and guts. Skill with the sword and the bayonet would carry the day.