We Sail For Celestia

Dear Father,

I am alive, at least as of this writing. I cannot speak too freely of what transpired, for I know the military censors will only edit out whatever they do not wish you to know. As you will know by now, we have been attacked, and Equestria is at war. I must confess, I did not expect to be plunged into conflict so soon after our redeployment to the Northern Fleet, though I was prepared for the possibility.

It caught us all by surprise. Nopony expected the Kirin, or anyone else for that matter, to be so bold and direct. We were out on patrol and found ourselves frantically relaying the message back to the port, for one of our sister ships had encountered the enemy and did not make it home that night. The city is in a state of nervous tension now. Nobody knows what is happening. The Yaks are mostly resigned to it, but there is fear among them, and among the ponies, too. And, dare I say it, among the sailors of the fleet.

The garrison here is strong, but not, perhaps, as strong as they would like it. The fleet is battered but unbowed. We will be alright, father, I am sure of it. Of my dear brother, I have no news. My hope is that he is somewhere safe, but I have no doubt that if that is the case, he will still be sent to fight here. Celestia willing, we shall see each other soon to shake hands in victory. I will end this letter here- in fact I may never post it at all. The censors will remove so much it will just be me saying hello and goodbye.

Your loving son,
Greenwood

A spare moment was always appreciated by ponies under arms, and Greenwood made good use of his, finishing his letter to his father and tucking it away into one of his books as a bookmark, a reminder to take it ashore and post it when he could. The Defiant was at one of the piers alongside half a dozen other destroyers, refitting as best they could after taking damage during their foray from port. Two shells had struck her and caused superficial damage, but only minimal casualties, with none dead and half a dozen wounded by splinters and concussion. They would all be back on duty within the day, according to the hospital on shore where they had been sent for treatment. That was welcome news, as was the arrival of a train of supplies from farther down the line. The crew had informed the garrison that the 1st Battalion of the 45th Infantry Regiment, who were meant to be aboard, had been deployed to protect a key bridge along the line instead. That both pleased and scared Greenwood, for he knew his brother was among them. On the one hand, he would not get to meet Greenshield any time soon, but on the other, it might at least spare his brother from whatever was coming their way in Harmony Bay.

The news of the Kirin landings had been met with incredulity from many, including Governor Cranberry Cream. How, they cried? How could the Navy let this happen?

Admiral Strongbow had argued back that the Navy could not have stopped it because nopony had warned them it was coming. The fleet, bottled up in port, had no chance to intercept the Kirin transports. A straight fight against the Kirin fleet would have turned into a slugging contest, hammerblow following hammerblow until one side was left crippled, burning or resting on the seabed, and in all probability, that would have been the Northern Fleet. They lacked the raw power to go toe-to-toe with the Kirin, who had come with overwhelming numbers on their side precisely, it seemed, for that very reason. They needed the Northern Fleet out of the fight, either by destroying them, as their surprise attack had attempted to do, or by keeping them tied up in Harmony Bay, unable to intercept the landings.

Estimates from the Bureau of Logistics suggested that the Kirin would need at least half a dozen heavy transports per day to make port somewhere along the peninsula in order to sustain a reasonable war effort that could hope to achieve their objectives, which, it seemed clear, were the capture of Harmony Bay and the capture or destruction of the Northern Fleet, as well as their stated propaganda aim- to liberate the Yaks, which in truth meant taking Northwick and presumably Yakyakistan to serve as Kirin satellite states to help ensure their domination of the Great Eastern Sea.

Hasty preparations had been underway in the city, strengthening cellars and shelters in case the Kirin got into artillery range from the landward side, or their fleet began a bombardment from out at sea. While the latter might have seemed unlikely on the face of it, given the presence of the shore batteries, in reality both the headland and Fat Colt Island were small enough that the Kirin ships could quite easily lob shells over them and strike the port, or the ships at anchor, though not with any real accuracy as they would be firing blind.

Greenwood returned to the top deck of the ship after leaving his cabin. With the ship at anchor, many of the crew were working on repairs and reprovisioning, but some had been granted shore leave, especially those who had been active in operating the guns or torpedo tubes during the battle. The ship was not expected to sail again for several days, if even then; patrols were still being sent out under cover of darkness, but that was a role currently being handled mostly by the torpedo boats, who were smaller and even more nimble than the destroyers. When the fleet would next sally forth to engage the Kirin en masse, none could say save for Admiral Strongbow, and even he might not know the answer, for it would depend on what orders he received from Canterlot.

Greenwood headed down the gangway and onto the solid concrete of the dock, its pilings sunk deep into the mud of the bay. The Windraven was moored at the next pier, its bridge a smashed ruin, with shipwrights and engineers working on it. Streams of sparks sprayed out like fountains from their welding torches. Her captain, Macaroni Mist, had been a former shipmate of Oakheart when they both served together on the old semi-armoured cruiser Crow, which, in a curious turn of events, had been sunk as an obsolescent target craft by the Celestial Spirit when the flagship had entered service, to test her guns and fire control systems.

Greenwood left the pier, dressed in his uniform beneath his coat, though he could have worn civilian clothes when going ashore; the Navy needed to do everything it could to portray a good image, given how the governor, and many citizens, felt they had let Harmony Bay and Northwick down by not stopping the Kirin landings. The radio communication problems they had suffered meant nothing to the civilians, it seemed, nor the surprise nature of the Kirin attack, nor the failure of Equestrian foreign intelligence to alert them to any developments. Nopony had seemed to deem it necessary to report the departure of the Kirin fleet from their bases, if indeed anypony had actually noticed. Other than the consular staff at the embassy and a few intrepid explorers and traders, there were very few ponies who actually lived or worked in the Kirin Empire.

The only reason, or so the story went, that the Kirin's lands had not been claimed by Equestria in the past were the great distances involved in crossing the sea. By the time galleons and frigates had come about to enable such a conquest, it had already been decided to leave the Kirin alone so long as they did not try to interfere elsewhere. That happy arrangement had continued until the Kirin put themselves into their reclusive period of self-isolation, during which time even less attention was paid to them. They had, however, clearly been busy developing their navy during that time. It was known that they had ships on a par with any Equestrian, Griffon or Zebrican vessel, but that had been accepted because they had not shown any kind of aggressive intent to deploy them in the past. It was only recently when their rhetoric had become more fiery, and directed itself against Equestria.

The port city was a lot quieter than usual. Gone were the crowds of shoppers from the drab high street, the foals playing hoop or ball in the park. There were a lot of eyes peeking from behind twitchy curtains, plenty of police and soldiers, and labourers hauling crates and barrels. That was all. If not for the gaily-painted houses, it would be easy to imagine that the entire city was a military facility and that there were no civilians to be found anywhere. The leaden skies and light drizzle lent further weight to that theory- after all, who would even want to live here?

It was not, he had to remind himself, for the civilians that they were defending this place. The city itself did not matter, and nor did its inhabitants. It was the fleet, the port, and the strategic importance that did matter. That was why the Kirin wanted it, too. It could be a useful staging area for them on this side of the Great Eastern Sea, but more than that, it would deny Equestria the same advantage, and it was now clear that the Kirin viewed themselves as a fair rival for the great power, at least in this part of the world. If their Empress fancied herself as a counterpart to the Sun and Moon, it would be the duty of every sailor and soldier who served the royal sisters to prove her wrong.

Greenwood stopped at the corner of two streets as a wagon rolled by, powered by a puffing steam tractor. He had suddenly realised that he didn't know where he was going, or why, and that he had been wandering aimlessly in the rain, his collar turned up against it, hands plunged into the pockets of his greatcoat. He noticed a tobacconist he recognised, and was able to get his bearings, setting course for the dismal little park he had spotted before, the one with all the dead trees. He found himself sitting upon one of the benches, slumping like a vagrant in the drizzle. What was it that his bunkmate Tracer had said? It looked like the last place ponies would sit before they jumped in front of a train?

It held little appeal, but it seemed as appropriate a place as any to spend a few minutes, to pass the time. If it was grim, why, that was because the whole fucking city was grim. The situation was grim. Here they were, thousands of miles from home, on the very edge of Equestria, the very edge of the world, in the damp and the cold and facing a foe whose capabilities were mostly unknown. One foray had already resulted in casualties to the fleet. More would no doubt follow, and Greenwood knew, as did Admiral Strongbow, that the Northern Fleet did not have the strength needed to break out of the Kirin trap. The blockade being enforced by their heavy battleships and cruisers was designed to keep the Equestrian ships bottled up and unable to influence the course of the war. So far, their plan was working.

The troops which had been landed by the Kirin were another unknown quantity. The Equestrians had never met the Kirin Army in battle before. In fact, beyond a few, mostly apocryphal reports of their fight against various tribes within their own lands, there was little information available. The Kirin Army, like their Navy, kept rough parity with the other major powers in terms of troop numbers, weaponry and artillery, but their tactics, fighting skill and logistics remained a blank in the files of the Equestrians. Only time would tell if they had what it took to achieve their goals.

After ten, or maybe twenty, timeless minutes sat watching the rain patter down upon an already-formed puddle, Greenwood rose from the bench. Nopony else had passed through the park while he had been there. He had been alone with his thoughts. Thoughts of home, of his brother, somewhere out there beyond the cordon that surrounded the city, the ring of steel that would, hopefully, protect Harmony Bay from the predations of the Kirin soldiers. With luck, Celestia willing, he would see his brother again.

Caught by surprise, the 1st Battalion wheeled around as best they could to confront the new threat. Kirin were rushing through the trees, from the direction that their initial attack was expected to come. They had confounded the Equestrians twice within the hour, and their bayonet charge pushed the 1st Battalion back across the rail track to the north. They found shelter among the rocks and scree, firing their rifles down at the Kirin, who used the railway embankment for cover, diving into prone positions and settling their rifles upon the lip of the earthen mound that supported the track as it approached the bridge. At least two sections of Equestrian infantry and some of the Frontier Guards were cut off by the sudden charge, finding themselves surrounded, but Greenshield and his company made it up the bluff, setting up their machine gun upon a boulder and opening up on the Kirin as they sought cover.

Within moments, the Kirin were joined by their fellows from the east, as thy came storming over the bridge, their mortar fire now rapidly re-targeted onto the slope where the 1st Battalion were now stationed. Deadly stone splinters were thrown up from each blast, cutting through flesh. Greenshield kept his position behind his gun crew as they rattled through belts of ammunition, scything down half a dozen Kirin. But the rifle fire from the enemy was accurate too, and casualties were mounting. One of his gun crew, Easy Peeler, went down shouting out in pain, shot through the side. Others were being wounded all around him, some rolling down the slope as they fell, others slumping wordlessly into a crumpled heap. It was everything he had feared combat would be; terrifying, awe-inspiring, dangerous and hellish, with courage on both sides. Several times, Kirin soldiers leaped up from behind the embankment and sprinted forward, hurling grenades and loud cries. Most were stuck down by machine guns, but that did not stop more repeating their brave charge.

It was working, too. Gradually, inch by inch, rock by rock, the Equestrians were being pushed back, their numbers whittled away, any advantage they had in holding the high ground neutralised by the fact that it made them an easier target for the Kirin mortars. Eventually, they were back to the tree line above the railway, low on ammunition and out of options. More Kirin were rushing across the bridge, while others were now firing from the high rocks above the ravine, catching the ponies in the flank and killing several more. Their position untenable, Major Blitz ordered another retreat to save what was left of his battalion. They had no choice; a suicidal charge down the hill might temporarily retrieve the situation, force the Kirin back and secure the end of the bridge, but it would cost them catastrophic losses and leave them unable to fight off the inevitable counterattack from the other end of the span. To stay in place would see them lose more and more soldiers without gaining anything. Falling back, though anathema to Blitz and his fighting spirit, was the only course of action he could take.

His orders were passed around by messenger, ponies scrabbling across the scree to shout commands to each section and machine gun team. Greenshield was given his orders by a very young-looking mare, barely old enough to qualify to put on the uniform in his estimation. It made him, at the tender age of twenty, suddenly feel very old indeed. She was a private, he was a Senior Sergeant, meant to be an example for the younger ones to follow- despite, in his case, being young himself. He hoped he had done that, to the members of his gun crew at least, but he was far from convinced in his own success. After all, they had not warmed to him in the way that all the stories said they should. The bond was more that of a forepony and his labourers in some factory, rather than true comradeship. He was happy, at least, that he had not broken down in tears or turned in terror during this, his first blooding in true combat. That was the minimum he could ask of himself; the minimum that the Princess could ask of any of her soldiers or sailors.

You are a soldier of Equestria, and you shall do your duty, as sure as the Sun will rise and the Moon will glow.

One by one, the sections and companies began to pull back, covering each other as they had done when retreating across the bridge. Greenshield's machine gun section kept up their fire, blazing through more of the long cloth-linked belts of ammunition, until ordered to pull back by Captain Fine Feather. Another machine gun covered them, then they stopped once more and returned the favour until the other gun had pulled back. The steady withdrawal, harried all the way by mortars and rifle fire from below, saved the rest of the battalion from destruction, but cost the Equestrians the bridge, and with it, the rail line and the only way to resupply Harmony Bay from the land. The Kirin had tightened the noose and cut off the final artery for the city. It would be a long, cold, lonely winter for the garrison.