We Sail For Celestia

Harmony Bay had come under sustained shellfire for almost an hour, with the Kirin Navy venting their frustrations at not being able to engage the Northern Fleet on their own terms. Once the all-clear signal had been given, the grim task of calculating the losses began. The hospitals and the fleet's hospital ship reported a total of one-hundred and sixty wounded. There were twenty six dead- eight Yak civilians, ten pony civilians, and eight serviceponies from the Army and Navy. Among the civilian dead were three foals, just to add to the public outrage. News of the attacks could not be send by telegraph to Canterlot, for the Kirin had severed the line when they captured the railway, but messenger Pegasi were sent via a circuitous route to friendly positions in the north near Yakyakistan, as well as a fast corvette, under cover of darkness, which slipped out of the harbour to relay the news to the nearest friendly port-town not already in enemy hands, and to evacuate some of the wounded sailors, for if the Kirin were to bombard the city again, the hospitals could soon find themselves overwhelmed with casualties.

The news, predictably, was greeted with anger in Canterlot when it finally arrived a day late, relayed by telegraph from Yakyakistan. Public opinion turned even further against the Kirin. Formerly regarded as a curiosity, a kind of hermitic sub-species of pony, they were now viewed as something to be infuriated, not intrigued, by. Bad enough that they should have attacked Equestrian territory; worse still that they had tried to take the life of the Princess, according to the official statements on the bombing. Now worst of all, they had committed what was widely regarded as a war crime, the indiscriminate bombardment of a civilian city.

Never mind, the hawkish firebrands in Celestia's government argued, that Harmony Bay contained dozens of legitimate military targets which the Kirin could plausibly claim to have been aiming at. No, this was not an attempt to hit warships, docks, fortifications or supply depots. It was cold-blooded murder of innocents, including foals, the most heinous of all murders. Public fervour was whipped up deliberately in fiery rallies in public squares, incendiary columns in the newspapers, speeches broadcast from the parliament building for public consumption via radio- those few, influential families which had home radio sets, at least, mostly nobles, industrialists and the like, the kind of ponies whose opinions actually mattered.

With the announcement of the intention to put the Home Fleet to sea, public opinion swelled even greater toward a decisive war, driving the Kirin back across the water. Equestrian lands should belong to Equestria, not to any foreign power. That included the Kirin, and crucially, it also included the Yaks whose former territory now belonged to the Sun and Moon. Even those ponies who believed that the Yaks deserved to rule over their own lands did not truly believe that the Kirin would actually hand the provinces of Yakyakistan and Northwick over to their original owners if they managed to succeed in wresting them from the vice-like grip of Equestria, and while thy may not have approved of war, they certainly didn't approve of simply letting the Kirin get away with their blatant landgrab, either.

Nobody, it seemed, on either side, actually bothered to consult the Yaks themselves and gauge their opinion on the matter, at least directly. Their tribal leaders in Yakyakistan, with Prince Rutherford at their head, had no choice in the matter. Equestrian troops were going to defend their city and their land, and that was that. There was no question of compromise or making peace- not that the Yaks would have agreed to such a thing, as they were a traditionally warlike and aggressive race- and the Kirin would be pushed out. The semi-autonomy granted to the Yak lands would remain; but first, the invader had to be repelled.

The public announcement of the preparations being made by the Home Fleet might have seemed like a foolish move, for to give away one's intentions to the enemy was never a good idea. But the scale of the undertaking meant there was essentially zero chance of a secret sailing. The seas were vast and empty, but Manehattan was not, and nor would be the coaling stations along the route. The Kirin, given their conspiracy around the bombing, clearly had a network of spies or sympathisers in Equestria. Even if the fleet tried to depart under cover of darkness, with no foghorns or sirens sounding and no fanfare in the press, the Kirin would know, and they would know that there was only one likely destination for it. There was no hiding the fleet from view, for the anchorage was visible from hundreds of streets and thousands of windows in Manehattan.

With that determination made, the choice had been between trying to disguise the purpose of the sailing- a futile effort, as it had nowhere else to go but the Great Eastern Sea- or to simply announce it publicly and garner public support for the move. Celestia chose the latter, and her advisors agreed- all except Blueblood. The Admiral feared the obvious dangers of the Kirin knowing his fleet was on the move, but General Snow Meadow and Minister Copperhead had successfully argued that surprise was essentially an impossibility, given the nature of the journey and its length. The fleet could not make its course a secret, because it would have to stop at coaling stations on the way, and any kind of unusual activity at those ports would alert whatever spies the Kirin possessed that something was amiss, even if they did not see the Home Fleet itself.

Reluctantly, Blueblood had agreed to the idea of a grand, showy departure, normally something he would relish- a chance to polish his medals and strut about on the flag bridge of the Chevaline while hearty cheers rang out from the crowds ashore. If it might put the fleet in danger, however, he was cautious, though he would never deny the will of the Princess in such matters. To add even more weight to his shoulders, Princess Luna had also given her tacit approval to the idea of a royal sendoff for the Home Fleet, and with both sisters on board, it would take a much braver officer than Blueblood to oppose them.

So, one fine morning, when winter's first soft touches were gracing the air, the ponies of Manehattan turned out, en masse, to see a great spectacle.

It had taken several weeks, longer than had been desired, but everything was ready. Every little aspect had been taken care of, it was hoped. The holds of the colliers were full of coal, and every last spare space aboard the warships had been piled high with sacks of the stuff, for Admiral Blueblood wished to reduce the number of stops to a minimum. There was coal on the decks, coal in the companionways, coal tucked under crewponies' bunks. There was coal everywhere, and with it came dust, thick, nasty, cloying dust, residue from the vital fuel that the boilers needed. It fed the lungs of the capital ships, but it also clogged the lungs and nostrils of the crew who served them, irritating their eyes, noses and throats, for it permeated the ships like a particularly unwelcome perfume, and would continue to do so until the excess coal had been used up- at which point it would be replenished at the next stop, and continue to have the same effect.

The storage compartments were laden down with tinned goods; fruit in syrup and sugar, beans, cakes, sardines, anything which could be preserved in cans for a longer life. There was fresh produce, too- potatoes, bread, fruit and vegetables of varying kinds, sacks of rice, biscuits, preserves, tea, coffee and, perhaps most importantly of all, alcohol. Sailors, and their officers, drank copiously when off duty- and sometimes when on duty, too- and beer, rum, and vodka were vitally important. Not for health or efficiency, but for morale, for if a sailor and his or her drink were to be parted, trouble would invariably follow. Alcohol, and to a lesser extent, cigarettes, were the only vices technically permitted on board ship. Gambling was overlooked provided the sums involved were small, and fraternisation between crewmembers was outlawed, though it was not rare for some lovers to be found engaged in a tryst in some cramped crawlspace or paint locker. Relationships were frowned upon, though more casual affairs between a stallion and a mare, or any combination of genders, were often ignored, usually with the tacit reminder to find somewhere more private next time.

Given the sensitive and vital nature of their mission, Blueblood had issued a fleet-wide order limiting each pony to half their normal ration of alcohol and cigarettes, and instructing officers to take a much harsher stance on any gambling or fraternising they came across aboard their ships. The task before us, he wrote, is a monumental one. I shall not have my crews distracted, their aim faltering, their courage fading, because of an excess of indulgences. This, naturally, was met with great resentment from the crews, not only because in their opinion, the opposite was needed- more leniency and more drink, to get them through the endless voyage they faced- but also because the stench of hypocrisy was almost as thick in their noses as the ever-present coal dust. Blueblood was a renowned socialite who very much enjoyed all those same vices he was now cracking down upon, and the sailors had no doubt he would not be quite so harsh on himself during the voyage.

All of this meant that the Home Fleet was not a happy group when it prepared to depart. Its sailors faced a lengthy voyage with uncertain dangers and an unknown end, while being deprived of much of the small allowances that could go some way toward compensating them for the risks and deprivations they were about to endure. While the exterior of the ships were decorated with bunting, bright pennants and flags, inside their hulls, the mood was dark.

Ponies lined the dockside to say goodbye to their heroic sailors. The fleet was leaving, how long for, nopony could say for certain. Until the job was done, however long that would take. The families crowded onto the quaysides, while onlookers and spectators thronged to the shoreline and the bridge that spanned the narrows leading out of the bay and into the open water. It was a calm day, with a calm sea, perfect for sailing, and in the outer harbour, being kept at a safe distance by police launches, were a host of masts and sails. Local yacht clubs and water taxi services had offered fares for curious locals and visitors to take a boat out onto the chilly waters of the bay, to observe the spectacle of the fleet on the move. Many had accepted the offer and were wrapped up warm in scarves, hats and gloves while some seafaring pony kept a steady hand on the tiller, giving them a special view of the vast, bulky, gunmetal-grey warships as they prepared to sail.

Aboard the Chevaline, bedecked with bunting and innumerable flags, Princess Celestia and Princess Luna spoke with Admiral-Prince Blueblood one final time before his departure. They had one simple message for him to relay to everypony in the fleet.

Do your duty.

Out on the foredeck of the flagship, in front of the mighty barrels of her heavy guns, the ship's band played the national anthem as Celestia and Luna inspected the crew. Whatever thoughts they may have had about the folly of their journey and the conditions it was to be conducted under were banished temporarily by the presence of their leaders, for Celestia and Luna were universally respected, revered as the holy heads of government and the demigoddesses of their respective heavenly bodies. Most of the sailors worshipped at the altar of the Sun, but some, favouring the link between the Moon and the tides, worshipped Luna instead. To have them aboard the ship was a great honour and privilege indeed, and it cheered the crew's morale just to lay eyes on their Princesses.

As soon as they had departed aboard the royal yacht, however, the mood quickly soured again as Blueblood ordered them to immediately prepare for sea. There had been hope among the crews of the fleet for a big pre-departure banquet, but alas, that was just a nautical rumour. Blueblood did not want to waste any time. If the fleet was ready and it had the blessings of the two Princesses, then it was time to go.

So, shortly after noon on that crisp winter day, the ships of the Northern Fleet weighed anchor to the cheers of the crowds and the triumphant brass of the fleet bands. Foals waved and mares blew kisses, while soldiers saluted from the quayside. As they passed the fireboat station, the vessel gave each warship in turn a sendoff with fountains of water from its multitude of high-pressure nozzles, creating a shiny, brilliant rainbow as the sun shone through the curtains of mist. The whooping sirens of the freighters moored at the plethora of cargo piers and docks gave their own maritime goodbye to the brave mares and stallions of the expedition. Out under the great bridge they sailed, where ponies waved and threw down confetti and rose petals onto the decks, while some of the city's few motor taxis had parked on the roadway to toot their horns.

The Chevaline led the fleet, out toward the open sea where four coastguard ships were keeping submarine watch. The deadly, invisible underwater threat was what Blueblood feared most, but there had been no sightings of any Kirin submersibles anywhere in the Great Western Sea. Indeed, it was not even a certainty that they possessed submarines at all, for none had been observed by the diplomatic staff in Kirinton, but other naval powers, including Equestria and the Griffons, had submarines, so it was not an unreasonable fear to worry about. After all, the enemy would know the fleet had been preparing to leave.

One by one, the ships passed under the bridge out of Manehattan's harbour and into the cool ocean water beyond. There were six battleships, led by the Chevaline, and three battlecruisers. Eight heavy cruisers, six light cruisers, and then a string of twenty-four destroyers, funnels pumping out smoke as they followed the leader.

To bolster the fleet, Blueblood had assigned several officers from other detachments to join him as subordinate commanders so that, if and when they saw action, each line of ships could be led by their own commander. To that end, Vice-Admiral Moonshot, a capable, if rather staid, mare, had been made commander of the Second Division, while the Third Division would be led by Commodore Green Haze, the commandant of the Manehattan Squadron of coastal defence craft. The long-serving officer had been given his promotion to Rear-Admiral, well deserved and only so long overdue because of his own reticence in accepting recognition of his achievements and leaving the Manehattan Squadron he so loved.

Also with the fleet were a motley collection of other vessels. There were two auxiliary minelayers, and two minesweepers, their purpose evident from their names. There was a hospital ship, the ironically named Peace, and there was a fleet maintenance ship, as well as a separate destroyer tender. The slowest of all the vessels, apart from the hospital ship, were the ones that carried the vital lifeblood of the fleet. There were two tankers, loaded with crude oil and diesel for the smaller ships to utilise in their oil-fired boilers, and there were four colliers, which had holds stuffed to the brim with coal. Besides the capital ships, they were the most important vessels, for without their precious cargoes, the fleet would eventually run, quite literally, out of steam.

While the ships had been able to funnel out of the harbour in single file to the adulation of the crowds, now that they were out at sea, things became a little trickier, and it did not take long for something to go wrong. The fleet had to form up into the formation decreed by Blueblood and indicated by signal lamps and flags from the bridge of the Chevaline to simulate operating under battle conditions where the radio, for whatever reason, was unusable. That meant tricky manoeuvring, in between other great armoured hulks, and though the sea was calm, at least one cruiser managed to make a complete hash of it, having to desperately bring the rudder about to try and avoid a collision with a battleship and failing to do so in time, cutting a great, nasty gash in the finely finished paintwork on both vessels. Blueblood had berated both captains over the radio for their inattentiveness. It was not a very auspicious beginning to the journey.

Once the fleet was in formation, they set course southward, leaving Manehattan behind and heading down the smooth, sculpted coast, past beaches which, in summer, would be crowded with ponies from the city, but now looked lonely and windswept even in the sunshine. It had taken several hours for them to leave the bay and form up, and it was already getting dark, the burning orb of the sun going down in the west and slowly giving control over to Luna's moon. For fear of inviting a Kirin attack, Blueblood had ordered the fleet to run dark without their searchlights, but thankfully the clear skies helped them to keep their formation in the dark as it was easy enough to visually locate other ships.

Below decks, the sailors ate a simple barley stew with potatoes instead of the fancy departure banquet they had been hoping for. It was filling and warm, but that was about all it had to recommend it, nothing at all like the rich cuisine that, the grumbling rumours went, the Admiral was no doubt enjoying in his cabin. Only the best for those of high-born status. At least, they sighed, they had their half-rations of alcohol to keep them company into the long winter night.