We Sail For Celestia

"This is a disaster, Your Highness, an unmitigated disaster!" Prince Blueblood declared despairingly, hammering his fist upon the table for emphasis. The little flags and wooden unit markers representing different army corps and divisions jostled and shook from the impact, for it was a war map of Northwick and Yakyakistan that the table held, at the centre of the palace war room, where the Princess and her advisors planned their response to any attack upon their lands.

"That is overstating things somewhat, Admiral," Celestia replied, though her expression was no less grim than if Blueblood's words had been gospel truth. The Kirin had advanced with disturbing rapidity in the two weeks since they had established a beachhead around the village of Whalebone Beach. They had been very busy indeed, moving troops not just toward Harmony Bay, but also to the west and northwest, into the province of Yakyakistan and in the general direction of its capital, which shared the same name.

Another defeat had been inflicted upon the Equestrians, when the 12th Army Corps had been forced to abandon its hastily prepared defensive positions around the border between the two provinces, letting the Kirin pour through into Yakyakistan. The 45th Infantry Regiment, 1st Battalion included, had been rolled up into the 10th Corps, which had been digging in for the past fortnight in the ominously-named Yakfrost mountain pass that led north to Yakyakistan. To the east, Harmony Bay had been preparing for a siege as best it could, with all available troops from the surrounding towns brought in to support the string of forts that guarded the approaches to the city. The fleet had been sitting idle in the bay, for the most part, with only a few routine patrols being authorised.

Celestia had given Admiral Strongbow direct orders to make use of his fleet in any way he saw fit, except for an open attack upon the Kirin, for she knew from his reports that such a course of action would lead to the fleet's destruction. Strongbow had issued orders for minefields to be laid, a dangerous task given the Kirin's presence outside of the bay. But the fleet minelayers Adventure and Action had proceeded out under cover of night to plant mines in the approaches to the bay. Their risky mission had paid dividends, for the lookouts on Fat Colt Island had reported a large explosion one night in the vicinity of the minefield, and the silhouetted corpse of a mid-sized ship, probably a cruiser, slowly sinking into the sea until the fires were extinguished by the all-quenching waters.

"Your Highness, the Kirin are impeding our ability to resupply the port both by land and sea," Blueblood pointed out. "We must take drastic action. I am sure the garrison at Harmony Bay is ready for a prolonged siege, but I do not know if they can truly resist this attack. How long are they provisioned for? Ammunition? Are they ready for winter?"

"All reasonable questions, Admiral," Celestia nodded. "I am sure General Snow Meadow can tell us more.'

The other white mare present nodded. "Yes, Your Highness. The garrison at Harmony Bay is strong, though perhaps not as strong as we might wish. The city is protected by four forts to its west, arrayed across the width of the peninsula. These forts guard all land access and can be counted on to hold up any enemy, even when caught by surprise. We, however, have had a short time to prepare for the Kirin attack, and the defensive positions have been steadily improved over the past few years whenever funding was available."

"At the expense of the coastal defences," Blueblood complained. There was always much infighting over funds for the army and navy, and more than once money for some important project had found itself waylaid and diverted into the coffers of the other service, much to the chagrin of the originally intended recipients.

"Perhaps, but I imagine that your sailors are rather glad of them at the moment," the Army's Chief of Staff retorted before continuing. "The forts consist of strong concrete structures sunk partially into the ground, reinforced with earth, brick and steel where appropriate. Each one has an artillery compliment, machine guns, and its own garrison. In between each fort are numerous smaller defensive positions. Strongpoints, bunkers, trenches, minefields. Troops occupy all of these points."

"Can they hold?" Celestia questioned bluntly. "When the Kirin come, can they hold?"

"Yes, Your Highness. They can hold," Snow Meadow nodded assuredly. "The only question is for how long, and to that I do not have an answer. They are well-provisioned, both with food and ammunition, plus they have the naval reserves to fall back on if needed, and..."

"The army is not going to help itself to our supplies, General!" Blueblood blurted out angrily.

"Why not? The fleet is hardly using them at a prodigious rate," Snow Meadow retorted, prompting Celestia to intervene.

"Enough. If the army need the reserve supplies, they will have them. If the navy need them, they shall have them. It is as simple as that. Understood?" Both officers nodded.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"How long do you estimate the city will be able to hold out?" the Princess asked Snow Meadow.

"Months, Your Highness," she replied. "A minimum of three, perhaps six or more, if it is merely an issue of supply. They have enough for a prolonged siege. The main issue then becomes whether they can hold out against the Kirin attack."

"What kind of attack are we expecting?" Celestia asked, gesturing to the map, where half a dozen numbered wooden blocks depicted the Kirin Corps which had been positively identified- the 1st Army Corps, 2nd Army Corps, 1st Shock Army and the 7th Mixed, plus two cavalry units whose true size was unknown but estimated to be of regimental strength.

"It will be difficult for the Kirin to bring up their heavy guns, but I am sure they are doing everything in their power to achieve that goal even as we speak," Snow Meadow explained. "The forts themselves can withstand bombardment, but they can crack under the right pressure. If they can move siege artillery into range then they will be able to strike the forts with little opposition. Beyond that we expect direct infantry assaults upon the forts, possible flanking landings or diversionary attacks elsewhere on the peninsula, and the possibility of airship bombing, both of the defensive lines and potentially of the city."

"Surely they would not bomb civilians," Blueblood frowned, for attacking the civilian populace directly had been considered the tactic of despots and war criminals for at least a century.

"That depends how desperate they are to take the port," Snow Meadow replied. "Given that they launched their attack not at the end, but at the beginning of winter, I can only draw one of two conclusions. They are either so confident in their fighting prowess, or of our incompetence, that they believe they can capture Harmony Bay and the rest of Northwick within a matter of days before the real cold weather sets in, or that they are so confident in their own abilities that they think they can successfully fight through the winter, and believe the cold will impede our ability to resist them. Either way, it seems they wished conditions to be as favourable to themselves and as unfavourable to us as possible, hence the sudden and surprise nature of the attack and its unusual seasonality."

Celestia nodded. Most military campaigns were launched in spring or early summer, to give armies as long as possible to fight in good conditions, before the ravages of winter set in. Fighting a land war in the winter was difficult at best, and treacherous at worst, especially in somewhere as remote as Northwick. The cold could chill a pony to the bone, freeze them to death or induce terrible frostbite. The working parts of guns and motor engines could freeze solid- in particularly cold weather, even the antifreeze designed to thaw them out could succumb to the same effect- and gun oil and even gasoline could become gel-like and useless. The ground could be impassable thanks to snow or the thick, cloying winter mud caused when rain washed away the snow and turned the ground to a sucking mass that stuck to boots, trousers, coats, guns, wheels and anything else that it touched.

Nobody would willingly choose to fight in such potentially turbulent conditions unless they were confident in the extreme. Even the hardy Yaks of old would cease their campaigning against ponies or rival tribes when the grip of winter found them. So what made the Kirin so sure they could succeed? Overconfidence? Bravado? Good equipment? A combination? None could say for sure.

"How long until we can assemble enough forces for a counterattack to drive them from the peninsula?" Celestia asked, "We must push them out of our lands."

"Not for some time, Your Highness," Snow Meadow lamented. "Eastern Command is on the defensive everywhere. The Kirin are pushing forward, both toward Fair Valley and Yakyakistan, and we are having to adjust to counter those pushes. If we can throw back their offensive at both of these points then we might be able to consider limited counter-offensives. But it will take weeks to build up enough forces on the Equestrian border with Yakyakistan. They will have to be mostly moved by rail from elsewhere. I would estimate at least six weeks before we are ready for anything more than extremely limited and localised counter-moves. A major offensive against the Kirin? Perhaps two or three months, weather-dependent, of course."

"Two or three months?" Blueblood exploded. "Your Highness, if I may. There is more than one way to skin a Manticore, as they say. The Kirin are entirely dependent upon their supply lines if they wish to continue this offensive. Those supply lines cross the Great Eastern Sea."

"Correct. But the Northern Fleet is bottled up," Celestia reminded him.

"Yes, Your Highness. but the Home Fleet is not," he announced proudly.

"The home fleet is ten thousand miles away," Snow Meadow pointed out quickly. "It would take your ships as long to reach the area as it would for my soldiers."

"The difference being, General, that if my ships can reach the area first, your soldiers will find they have little to do once they arrive except to mop up dispirited Kirin, with no ammunition in their rifles and no food in their bellies," Blueblood boasted. "If we can cut their supply lines, then they cannot fight. They will slowly wither upon the vine."

"And what of the Equatorial Fleet, Admiral?" Celestia turned to him. "They are half as far from Northwick as your ships. Why do we not send them?"

"Because they are ill-equipped to meet such a challenge, Your Highness," Blueblood explained. "They are an anti-pirate fleet for the most part. Destroyers, corvettes, light cruisers. They have but a few capital ships, nothing to match the Kirin in number or firepower. The Overseas Fleet is even more distant than we are. Your Highness, I propose that the Home Fleet sail for Harmony Bay. As we engage the Kirin fleet, the Northern Fleet can sally forth from the harbour to support us and strike the enemy in the rear. Once the Kirin fleet is destroyed, has surrendered, or is in disarray, then they will no longer be able to protect their own supply lines, nor to stop our own supply transports through to Harmony Bay. Once that is done, it is only a matter of time before the war is won."

"Ambitious, Admiral," Snow Meadow nodded. "But as I said, it will still take your ships weeks to arrive. The war may already be lost by that time."

"Then it is upon the shoulders of your soldiers to make sure that it is not," Blueblood answered, one hand indignantly and flamboyantly upon his hip. "You said they can hold out. If they hold out, then my fleet will come to their aid. With your permission, Your Highness, of course," he added, almost as an afterthought, as though his grand war strategy had been something playing out inside his own head.

"Is your fleet ready for such a journey?" Celestia questioned him.

"No fleet is ready for such a journey," Snow Meadow interrupted before Blueblood could respond. "The Home Fleet least of all, I would argue. We have all heard the rumours..."

"The rumours. Pah!" Blueblood scoffed. "If you wish to hear rumours, there are plenty to go around regarding the army. Is it true that during the last Griffon War, the only thing the army charged was the interest on the money it lent to the locals to rebuild their militia?"

"Enough bickering," Celestia snapped, her unusually harsh tone drawing the attentions and the gazes of both ponies. "This will accomplish nothing. Admiral, I will ask again. Is your fleet ready for such a journey?"

"Not at this very moment, Your Highness, but we can prepare. I can order preparations to be commenced at once," he assured her.

"And is your fleet capable of such a journey? Not only completing it, but engaging the Kirin at the end of it, and overcoming them?" she asked.

"I believe it is, Your Highness," Blueblood nodded. "We can make haste to Harmony Bay. It will be a simple voyage, though a long one, but we shall make it swiftly and efficiently."

"Very well then, Admiral," Celestia faced him. "Prepare your fleet. Whatever supplies and personnel you need, take them on my authority. I will arrange for everything necessary to be done to facilitate your passage to Harmony Bay."

"Yes, Your Highness!" Blueblood clicked his heels and saluted smartly before turning and departing the war room.

"Do you believe him, Your Highness?" Snow Meadow asked. "Can they make it?"

"I do not know the answer to that question, General," Celestia replied. "All we can do is to hope, for I see no alternative."

The whooping whistles of the ships out in the harbour told Greenwood that something was amiss. He was in town again; not exactly his favourite place in the world, but there was nowhere else to go. The Kirin were closing the ring ever tighter out beyond the city's defensive line. The forts were being prepped for a long siege, with ammunition crates being moved every day from stockpiles in the city. Entire warehouses had been emptied by the garrison to make sure each fort could be self-sufficient for weeks on end if the enemy came knocking.

The past two weeks had been surprisingly quiet. Other than a couple of false alarms and routine patrols, the Kirin fleet had kept itself out of sight and mostly out of mind, staying well out beyond the range of the coastal guns, but close enough to control the waterways in and out. One bright spot had come a week ago when a freighter, wallowing in the heavy swell, had somehow contrived to ease its way through the blockade without a care in the world- her radio was out of action and she had received no word on the outbreak of war since leaving the southwestern port of Pebblesands some three weeks earlier. The lumbering cargo vessel had proceeded on its stately journey and the Kirin had either not noticed it or watched in amazement as it sailed right through their midst, flashing friendly greetings to what it presumed was the Northern Fleet out on maneouvers. It had brought welcome supplies of grain to bolster the stockpiles in the city, as well as some diesel fuel and oil, useful for powering generators and lighting rigs for the dock-workers and engineers who were working on repairing the fleet.

The little park he was in now held a strange, empty charm for him. It was as dead as ever- more so now, given how much colder it had turned just in the last week- but nobody ever seemed to go there, except for a few birds that he could not identify, who perched in the tops of the barren trees and warbled out an attractive, high-pitched tune. It was, he had decided, about the only thing about Harmony Bay that was attractive.

Every time he had been off duty and on shore leave, he had found himself in the park, sometimes just to sit and think, sometimes to while away the minutes before the bar or brothel opened for the evening. For his sins he had indulged in both vices several times since the Defiant had arrived in the port. He was not alone; he had seen officers from other ships in the company of whores, including at least one mare and one stallion who wore the gold rings of a captain upon their sleeves. He did not know whether that made it better or worse.

Leaving the park in the half-light of the early evening, or more accurately the mid-afternoon- it got dark early in this part of the world- Greenwood headed back down to the harbour. The sirens had not sounded to alert the whole city of an attack, but there was definitely something going on out there. He deemed it prudent to get back to the Defiant just in case. Searchlights were criss-crossing the outer bay, and as he walked he heard the roar of a distant heavy gun- the coastal batteries? But what were they firing at?

The Defiant was on alert, but not exactly thrumming with activity. They were in port, tied up to the pier, and there was not much they could do. It would take them some time to cast off and make ready for sea, and if the enemy were coming, it would likely be too late for them to take any effective action. A portion of the fleet was kept at full readiness at all times, including some of the capital ships, The coastal guns were ready to fire at a moment's notice, and it sounded like that moment had arrived.

Greenwood hurried to the bridge. "Reporting for duty, sir!" he informed Captain Oakheart.

"Thank you Mister Greenwood. We're standing by for now," Oakheart replied, at his customary place in his captain's chair. "Aft lookout, if you please. Something is going on out there and I'd rather like to know what."

"Aye sir." Greenwood left the bridge and made his way toward the stern, climbing to the rear observation platform just astern of the second funnel. It was a small place, windswept when out at sea and very lonely for the lookouts posted there, but it gave a clear view out over the fantail and into the waters of the bay beyond. A mare was already there, straining her eyes through binoculars against the gloom. One of the capital ships out in the roadstead had fired a pair of starshells, brilliant burning magnesium candles that hung in the sky, slowly descending and burning to illuminate the land, or sea, below. They revealed dark shapes, masses on the horizon at the harbour mouth, where the shore batteries were booming. Greenwood turned to the mouth of the brass speaking tube.

"Aft lookout to bridge."

"Go ahead, Mister Greenwood."

"I count five unidentified ships approaching the harbour mouth, illuminated by starshell, sir," he informed Oakheart.

"And the shore batteries are engaging them?" the captain asked.

"Aye sir, it looks like it," Greenwood replied.

"Keep monitoring the situation. I am ordering our boilers warmed up in case we have to move," Oakheart responded. "Let me know if anything changes."

"Aye, captain." Greenwood took position at the railing beside the lookout. The bay was lit by both the descending starshells and the beams of a score of searchlights, many of which were now focusing in on the incoming ships. Greenwood took the binoculars from the mare to see if he could identify any pertinent details to relay to the captain. He scanned over the dark blobs, running silent with all their lights out, for what little good it had done them. It had, at least, enabled them to reach the wide expanse of the outer bay, in between the headland and Fat Colt Island, but now they were coming under fire not just from the shore batteries, but also from the patrol ships and even some of the anchored capital ships, whose fore-turrets were aligned with the targets. Greenwood could see plumes of water rising around them.

Their squat, bulbous designs, wide hulls and fat smokestacks told him they were merchantponies, just freighters. So what were they doing? Was it a case of mistaken identity? Had more friendly cargo vessels made it through the Kirin's ring of steel? Were they firing at their own?

"Aft lookout to bridge."

"Go ahead."

"Targets appear to be freighters, sir. Coming under fire from the fleet now. They're approaching the outer roadstead."

"Understood...friend, neutral or foe? Any positive identification?" Oakheart demanded.

"No sir. No ensigns or signal pennants that I can see," Greenwood informed him. "I don't recognise the class. Could be Kirin."

"Very well. Keep me informed," Oakheart signed off. Several capital ships were firing now, the bright, harsh flashes of their guns adding to the glare of artificial light that now pooled above the waters of the bay. The freighters were right in the crosshairs of the fleet, but that hardly seemed to perturb them. They were in formation, each about a hundred yards apart. No merchant ships travelled like that, even in wartime. Most convoys ran in widely separated columns, in line astern and with escorts along each flank to watch for submarines and torpedo boats. There was something most peculiar about these vessels and their single-minded drive into the harbour. Fire ships, perhaps, or the modern equivalent? In the days of sail, obsolete galleons or lumbering coastal freighters were converted into blazing torches by liberal application of oil and naked flame, and sent into an enemy harbour with the intention of wreaking havoc on the wood-and-canvas fleets of the day. Bomb ships were a later update to the concept, filled with gunpowder and detonated in the midst of a harbour. Could this be a similar ploy, freighters loaded with high explosives to try and wreck the port facilities, destroying piers and dry docks and warehouses?

The lead ship was struck dead on by at least two heavy shells from one of the battleships. She swung out of line, smoke billowing from a gash on the side of her superstructure, the bridge crew dead or stunned. Slowly, the other ships began to follow suit, making the turn, following the example of their leader as more shells showered their decks with spray and splinters. Greenwood watched the slow-motion ballet with confusion. Why were the other ships turning? None of them had been hit, so far as he could tell. They were still in control of their steering, unless they had managed to foul the anti-submarine nets with their props somehow. But all at once? No, they were turning because the leader was turning.

More shells struck the lead ship and she faltered, floundering in the outer bay, just before the approaches narrowed, then opened out again into the roadstead where the capital ships were moored. Suddenly, Greenwood could see exactly what they were doing, and it was proven a moment later. A series of muffled booms rocked the bay, each ship shuddering with a series of internal explosions- all except the leader.

"Aft lookout to bridge."

"Go ahead, Mister Greenwood."

"Sir, they're blockships. I think they've misjudged it though. Looks like they've set their charges off prematurely."

"Understood, Mister Greenwood. Thank you. Keep watch."

"Aye sir." Greenwood looked on. The Kirin freighters had been sent in with one single purpose in mind- blocking the harbour mouth at its narrowest point. To that end, they had been outfitted with scuttling charges, something not often fitted to civilian vessels, explosives at key points which, when detonated, would cause irreparable damage to their hulls and sink them rapidly. Most likely their holds were filled with concrete or stone to add extra weight and make them extremely difficult to remove by salvage ships or tugs.

The spot at which the outer bay narrowed to a much tighter passage, before opening out again into the wide expanse of the roadstead, was the ideal point for such an attempt. That was where they had been driving for, but the lead ship had been struck by gunfire at just the right moment for the defenders. The ships had evidently been following a pre-made plan, to turn together with their leader, covering as much of the narrows as possible with their bulk, then scuttling themselves in unison. When the leader had turned, her bridge crew dead or steering damaged, the others had followed, and had detonated their charges prematurely as a result, while they were still in the outer bay. Whether they were blinded by the searchlights and unable to ascertain their true position, or whether their orders had been particularly strict, the result was the same. Greenwood could see four of the ships slowly sinking, but they were in deeper water and a wider section of the bay. Their mission would not succeed. They might limit approach routes and pose a hazard to navigation, but they would not block the harbour entrance as their Admiral had clearly hoped.

The lead ship, its charges undetonated, sailed on past two of its foundering brethren before beaching herself on the shores of Fat Colt Island with a grinding crunch, hull scraped clean of its anti-fouling paint by the sharp rocks. Her propellers continued to churn up the water astern of her quite ineffectually, for she was well and truly stuck fast. After a few minutes they stopped, and the party of soldiers approaching her from shore were able to take three Kirin sailors into their custody. Greenwood watched them through his binoculars. They looked smart, proud even, as they clambered down a rope ladder, carefully and slowly so as not to get themselves shot by the nervous soldiers. It was not the first time he had seen the Kirin, but it was, he imagined, the first time the members of the garrison had. He could imagine their fear; would the ship blow up? Were the Kirin sailors cut-throat desperadoes who would fight to the death with hidden grenades or knives or pistols?

In the end, they surrendered without a fight. As their companion ships sank into the bay behind them, the sailors were marched off into captivity. How long they would remain in Equestrian custody, and whether they would be freed by their own victorious invading army, remained to be seen.