The Siege Of Canterlot

While the Changelings assaulted the northern wall of Trottingham, another threat approached from the south. The Shadow Army was on the march, a black-clad foe that had not been seen in Equestria for many years. Like the Changelings, there had been a period of relative peace and calm between the two nations, but that was now well and truly over. King Sombra, the ruler of the Shadowlands, had long harbored ambitions to conquer Equestria. He was a pony, and he ruled over ponies, but the Shadowlands was a nation that was diametrically opposed to the rule of Celestia, and the values she upheld. Sombra ruled purely by fear, for he subscribed to the notion that it was better to be feared than to be loved, though forgetting the qualifier- if you cannot be both. Celestia was loved by her citizens, but feared by both her enemies and by those within Equestria who held greater power in their own sights. She was a just and fair ruler, but could be ruthless when circumstances demanded it. By contrast, King Sombra always chose the path of greatest impact. Why forgive, when you could destroy? Why ignore when you could punish? Why change, when you could force them to change instead?

The Shadow Army was a formidable force, but one which had been deployed relatively sparingly. It had been many years since they had made any kind of incursion into Equestrian territory, though they had been involved in wars against the Changelings not so long ago. The accession of Queen Chrysalis had seen an end to that, as an agreement had been signed between the two nations. Nothing more than that, however, so far as Equestria was aware, just a ceasefire. Yet, here they were, both the Shadow Army and the Changelings, striking together, a unified blow against the old foe that both of them shared.

While the Changelings tended to favour speed and maneuverability, the Shadow Army preferred brute strength, smashing through obstacles with massed formations of infantry or pummeling stubborn opponents with heavy artillery fire from siege cannons and mortars. If you wanted a lightning attack to capture an unsuspecting enemy position, then the Changelings were perfect. If you wanted to conquer a heavily-defended redoubt or fortress-city to rubble or brush aside an enemy army in the field, then the Shadow Army was what you needed. This attack had both, and that was no coincidence. The Changelings had caught the city napping; if truth be told, so had the Shadow Army's attack on the border posts, for despite news from the east about the Changeling invasion and orders received from Canterlot to prepare the city and take precautions, not much had been done. Plans had been in motion to strengthen the border posts and move up additional troops from the Corona Line, but the enemy attack had come before those measures could be completed, leaving Trottingham vulnerable.

Corporal Snapshot followed Sergeant Billhook down the stairs, passing militiaponies on the narrow path. Changelings down below on the street were fighting hand-to-hand with the guards inside the gate, while several other drones tried to force it open, removing the barricades and surging forward to try and lift the hefty wooden beam away to unbar it.

"Charge!" Billhook shouted, leading the way with his musket clutched in his hands, firing a bolt of magic at a nearby Changeling and striking it down before it could lunge at one of the guards. Snapshot and the rest of the unit followed with shouts and cries, bayonets raised and ready, moving to support the gate guards who were under pressure. He still had not reloaded his musket, for the process had been interrupted by the Changeling who almost bested him. He had his bayonet, however, and that was what was needed for the moment. Up close and personal, cut, thrust, parry, stab, step back, repeat.

Snapshot charged in toward a drone who was outmatching a guardsmare in close combat, stabbing it straight in its side with his bayonet, taking it by surprise. It slumped to the ground, clutching its side and allowing the mare to drive her own bayonet through its neck to finish it off. She nodded her wordless thanks, no time to do anything more, and turned to find her next foe. Snapshot moved up behind Billhook, who was dueling with another drone also armed with a musket and bayonet. Billhook followed the drill, imprinted into the minds of every soldier; advance, parry, thrust, guard. Step toward the enemy, counter his wild lunge, then drive your bayonet deep into his chest before recovering to the guard, ready to strike again. That was exactly what Billhook did, and his opponent went down, bleeding from its chest. Its? His? Her? Changeling genders were hard to determine, other than the Queen, for they had none of the characteristic muzzle shapes shared by pony stallions or mares that could be used to distinguish them from each other.

Not that Snapshot cared, for all that mattered was striking them down. Another drone came at him with an axe and he parried it, though the shock of the impact sent a great jolt up his arm. Bayonets were designed primarily to deflect other bayonets, not axes or swords, and a miscalculation could see the gun wrested from his grip or the bayonet bent out of shape and rendered unusable for anything more warlike than buttering toast. Fortunately the strike did not damage his blade, but it did stun the drone momentarily, allowing Snapshot to thrust forward with a grunt and stab up between the ribs. The Changeling squealed and squirmed, impaled upon his bayonet, before dropping to its knees as Snapshot pulled the blade back out. The drone slumped forward and fell to the ground.

The gate was still out of reach, tantalisingly, cut off by a thin line of drones, but they were receiving reinforcements as more Changelings dropped from the skies after flying over the wall. Worse news was to come from above as well, as despite the militia reinforcements, the Changelings had captured one of the cannons up on the wall and were in the process of turning it about, while Captain Oats and her ponies fought a desperate struggle to reach it and retake it before the drones could use it.

A group of drones blocked their path, finishing off the last of the gate guardians and turning to the new arrivals from the wall. Billhook took the lead, dodging a swung sword and pinning a drone's leg with his bayonet before a rapid withdrawal and another thrust right through the neck. Snapshot charged up beside his Sergeant. Adrenaline was coursing through his veins like a river. He had been in combat before, though only twice; as a border guard on the western frontier he had helped to fight off a party of Griffon bandits, and then as part of the garrison at Whinnypeg, his unit had been called in to deal with a troublesome group of cultists, members of the so-called New Lunar Republic sect that sought to overthrow Celestia's rule in anticipation of Luna's eventual return from her banishment, who had taken several city alderponies hostage in a futile and misguided attempt to obtain change in the town's governance. The mayor and the provincial governor had both agreed to use soldiers of the garrison to resolve the situation by a show of force. The Cultists had not backed down, however, and instead had started firing from the windows of the town hall, resulting in a significant loss of life, with two alderponies and four soldiers dead, along with all fifteen cultists, who had refused to surrender. There had been adrenaline on both occasions, of course, because Snapshot's life had been in danger. But this was different. This was no mere raid or act of terror, but an invasion of the motherland. It was not just his life at risk, but the entire nation.

Billhook fought side by side with Snapshot, the rest of the unit battling around them as more drones arrived, forming a cordon between them and the gate, while their compatriots struggled to wrench it open. Oats and the militia carved a path along the wall toward the cannon, but the Changelings had already turned it around to face the street. They could not depress the barrel far enough to hit the area in front of the gate, but that was no issue, for it was their own kind who occupied that dead zone. Two more squads of militiaponies were charging down the street to support them, either of their own initiative or directed by Colonel Graves. Their rag-tag clothing was no kind of uniform at all in truth, for it consisted of whatever they had been wearing when the call came, just like those up on the wall. Bakers, tailors, labourers, seamstresses, herbalists, masons, wagoners, prostitutes and innkeepers. Even petty thieves, drunks, and layabouts who otherwise had no profession could find part-time employment in the militia, so long as they could stand up straight long enough to learn how to fire and reload a musket, or at the very least, how to swing a sword without cutting their own fingers off. They were trained to the lowest possible standard for the most part, though the militias in frontier cities and those with greater budgets, such as Canterlot, could turn out quasi-professional, well-armed bodies of infantry.

None of that mattered much in the face of close-range cannon fire, however.

"Shit...shit, get down, boy! Get down!"

Snapshot felt himself being shoved bodily to the ground. Confusion gripped him. Billhook's voice, and Billhook's bulk, for certain, but why? What was he doing? They had to stand and fight, not dive into the gutter like some wastrel stumbling out of an alehouse at midnight.

The cannon up on the wall roared, the Changelings having achieved mastery over its firing and loading processes. They had loaded it not with a solid cannonball, but with grapeshot, a simple canvas bag filled with metal balls, each the size of a small orange or particularly large cherry. When fired, the bag was ripped open and the balls scattered across a wide arc. The advancing militia squads were the target, and they took the full brunt of it. Screams filled Snapshot's ears as Billhook rolled off of him and stood. The pegasus did the same, keeping a firm hold of his musket, and risking a glance back over his shoulder.

Where there had been two dozen ponies advancing, there now lay a string of bodies and a sea of blood leaking out over the cobbled stones. Several ponies writhed in agony, holes blown clean through them by the grapeshot. Others tried desperately to crawl back to safety while clutching shattered legs or trying to hold their guts inside them. The survivors, those lucky enough to escape the indiscriminate effects of the deadly iron balls, panicked. There were still friendly troops ahead of them, but they had just seen their colleagues ripped to shreds. Not just colleagues, friends. Their fellow citizens, known to them for years, decades in some cases, now lay dead or dying. Though a few pressed on to aid the soldiers, most turned and broke, fleeing back into the city.

"Stop! Hold fast, damn your eyes!" Billhook roared, seeing the militia flee, but it was too late. To add to their woes, the Changelings at the gate had managed to lift the heavy wooden bar free, letting it thump against the cobbles and throwing the gates open wide with a triumphant hissing. The Changelings outside, the workers without wings, began to charge toward the portal, their ticket to the city.

"Captain! Captain!" Billhook bellowed. "The gate is open! The gate is lost!"

Oats, up on the wall, heard his cries. The soldiers and militia under her command had finally broken through to the cannon, but it was too late. They slaughtered the Changelings who had commandeered it, but more were landing on the wall and Oats did not have the numbers to fight them off. With the gate open, Changelings were about to pour into the city.

"Fall back!" Oats shouted. "Everypony, fall back to the barracks! We hold them at the barracks! Fall back!"

"You heard the lady. Let's move, boy!" Billhook called. Having saved his life twice now, Snapshot was more than willing to follow the Sergeant, now having a completely different view of him than he had when he awoke that morning. Oats, too, had more than earned his respect, and now she was calling the retreat. Looking around, Snapshot knew she was correct. The gate was lost, and with their reinforcements slaughtered by the cannon, they had to fall back. If other support arrived, they could push forward and try to retake the gate, but to stand and fight at this moment would be to sell their lives unnecessarily and for no gain. They could not stop the Changelings' entry into the city. If they were lucky, they could regroup and push them out again. But even if they did, the Shadow Army was storming up from the border. Trottingham was in serious trouble.