We Sail For Celestia

Canterlot had been a subdued city in the few days since the attempt on Celestia's life. Though the loyalists were overjoyed by its failure, the fact remained that subversive elements had managed to strike at the Princess in the heart of Equestria, in the capital, no less. That was an affront to the centuries-old rule of the Sun, to the very essence of the monarchy itself. Canterlot was the seat of power; it should be inviolable. Somepony had been able to attack the Princess in her own city, something which had not happened since the days of Nightmare Moon.

The street and the theatre had been sealed off by the Royal Guard and the Canterlot Police, who had conducted an intensive joint investigation. The dead bomber had been obliterated by her own device, but the body of the stallion with the gun had been recovered mostly intact, though riddled with shrapnel. His identity had been established; Sideswipe, a thirty year old from the eastern city of Trottingham. He had no previous history of criminality, or of membership of any prohibited group, or of any subversive activity. At first glance there seemed to be no obvious reason for his actions.

When the fragments of the bomb were analysed, however, it revealed something interesting.

"So in conclusion, Your Highness, we know the identity of the gunpony, but we have been unable to establish the identity of the bomber," Chief Inspector Nimbus Swirl, the tall, thunderhead-grey Pegasus in command of the Canterlot Police, addressed his Princess in her study, accompanied by Admiral Prince Blueblood, who had been on the receiving end of the blast also. There had been some speculation among the investigators that he might have been the intended target, not Celestia, but the dead gunpony had no links to the Navy that might have inspired his attempt.

Also at the side of the Inspector was Phoenix Crest, the commander of the Directorate of Military Intelligence, and not a stallion that Celestia had been expecting to see, taking her a little by surprise when the dull-orange unicorn had walked in together with Nimbus Swirl.

"But you found some possible evidence, yes?" Celestia asked, seated behind her desk, wearing a smart, businesslike suit instead of her traditional robes.

"We did, Your Highness," Nimbus nodded. "General?"

"Thank you, Inspector," Phoenix Crest took a step forward. "The Canterlot Police and Royal Guard asked for military assistance in the investigation, and the local garrison sent an explosives team to examine the remains of the bomb. They found a unique signature, one that is not common to any Equestrian-manufactured explosive device in military or commercial use."

"Unique to who, General?" Celestia questioned. "Where did these would-be assassins find their bomb?"

"The Kirin, Your Highness," Phoenix answered, a reply that drew the immediate attention of Blueblood as well as Celestia.

"The Kirin?" Blueblood exclaimed. "The Kirin gave a bomb to an assassin?"

"We do not know that for certain, Admiral," Phoenix replied. "Merely that the assassins acquired a bomb that had a uniquely Kirin construction. The bomb made use of ammonium permanganate, an explosive compound that, as I said, is not used by any Equestrian military or civil explosives manufacturer. However the Kirin have made extensive use of the compound in their domestic mining operations. We deem it extremely unlikely that the bomb came from any other source."

"The Kirin...those backward recluses couldn't organise a drinking session in a brewery. How can they be responsible for this outrage?" Blueblood asked, demanding answers from the General.

"The dead stallion, Sideswipe, was a resident of Trottingham," Phoenix continued, ignoring Blueblood's outburst. "We found a hotel room key on his body and searched the room. There was no mention of his partner in crime, but we did find his personal effects. He took a train from Trottingham to Canterlot ten days ago. Two weeks ago, a Kirin clipper called at Trottingham. Via telegraph we got in contact with the local police and had them investigate the port there. The harbourmaster showed them the shipping records. That Kirin ship was carrying a mixed cargo, but included among the manifest registered with the harbourmaster was a listing for two crates of miscellaneous mining supplies."

"So the Kirin shipped the explosives to Trottingham among other mining equipment?" Celestia asked, and Phoenix nodded in confirmation.

"That is how it appears, Your Highness, though we cannot confirm absolutely. However, what we do know is that Sideswipe worked at the port in Trottingham as a supervisor. Two days after that Kirin ship came in, he tendered his resignation to the harbourmaster. Two days after that, he traveled to Canterlot by train."

"It could be a coincidence, of course," Celestia pointed out. "Perhaps this Sideswipe merely saw an opportunity, and stole the explosives from the shipment."

"Perhaps, Your Highness. But we could not find any links between Sideswipe and any Equestrian extremist group, nor any anti-monarchist group, nor any separatist faction," Phoenix explained. "However, we were able to delve into his background. He used to work as a first mate aboard an Equestrian freighter out of Trottingham. Four years ago, his ship was sunk in a storm. He was rescued by a Kirin freighter the next day, along with two other crewponies who were adrift with him in a lifeboat. The Kirin ship was returning to its home port, but on its next journey it brought the two other crewponies home to Trottingham. Sideswipe, however, remained in the Kirin Empire for a little over three years before returning home."

"So he had the opportunity to be brainwashed by their propaganda..." Blueblood mused.

"Indeed, Admiral. That appears to be a distinct possibility, though again, with Sideswipe dead, we cannot definitively confirm that," Phoenix answered. "At the time of his rescue, the Kirin were still in their own form of self-imposed isolation. The only exception to that was their occasional trading vessel that would sail to Equestria, Zebrica or elsewhere. It was extremely fortuitous that the Kirin came across the survivors, given that they only had a few such ships operating until the last year. it is possible, though this is entirely speculative, that Sideswipe might have formulated a mindset that the Kirin were his saviours, and not Your Highness, your Navy or any other Equestrian, and that may have been a turning point, allowing the Kirin to influence him with their own ideology."

"What could they possibly say to make a loyal servant of the Sun and Moon turn their back on Equestria?" Blueblood scoffed. "The idea is absurd, patently nonsense, General, surely."

"Alas, we shall never know what they did to him," Phoenix responded. "As I said, this is only speculation. But it is the most likely explanation we have. It ties in with what we know of his movements, the shipment of equipment...'

"Then we shall work with that as the assumption. Thank you General, Inspector. You may leave us," Celestia informed them. "Keep me abreast of any new developments and continue your investigation. I want definite answers on this if at all possible, before I take any other action. It would not be wise to accuse the Kirin of something in which they are not complicit."

Phoenix Crest and Nimbus Swirl bowed before turning smartly on their heels and departing. Blueblood looked at the Princess.

"Do you believe them, Your Highness?" he asked her. "The Kirin...an outlandish suggestion, surely?"

"Not so outlandish as you may think, Admiral," Celestia replied. "The evidence is strong but it is not incontrovertible. Given that the dead stallion had no evident links with any other groups or organisations, it is quite possible that he was indeed working on behalf of the Kirin."

"But you met with their ambassadors just hours before the bombing," Blueblood pointed out. "Would they conduct so craven an act while maintaining civil diplomatic discourse with you?"

"Perhaps. It gives them a shield of anonymity, plausible deniability of the actions of these terrorists." Celestia stood and approached the large, mullioned windows of her study, looking out over the palace courtyard, drenched with rain from a fast-moving squall as the late evening wore on into night. It was almost ten in Canterlot, approaching three in the following morning in the eastern provinces. "Or we may have it completely wrong and they may be an entirely innocent third party. I suppose we shall just have to wait and see what other evidence comes to light."

"ENS Defiant calling Harmony Bay transmitter, Defiant calling Harmony Bay tranmistter, do you copy, over?"

"ENS Defiant calling Northern Fleet command, Defiant calling Northern Fleet command, do you copy, over?"

Greenwood stood in the radio room as the deck gently rose and fell beneath his feet. This was, what, the twentieth time that the radiomare had tried? And the twentieth time she had failed.

"Still no response on either channel, sir," she informed him, lifting one headphone from her ear. "I just can't get through. I don't know if something is jamming us or jamming them, but I'm not getting any interference. I can't understand it."

"Alright. Keep trying. Send a runner to the bridge as soon as you hear anything," Greenwood informed the mare, who seemed as infuriated with herself as with her equipment, even though they knew that the Destiny had also been having the same problems contacting the port. Greenwood returned to the bridge and clicked his heels. "Still no contact, Captain," he informed Oakheart, who was still puffing way on his pipe, like an old grandfather in his rocking chair in some peasant village hovel.

"Very good Mister Greenwood. Remain on the bridge, we are approaching the port. It shall not be long until we arrive."

"Aye Captain," Greenwood replied, taking his station. The lights had been dimmed; they were no longer at action stations, but battle stations, ever since the Destiny had reported coming under fire. There had been no more contact with the ill-fated destroyer since, and it seemed that they had been sunk, the first casualties of whatever it was that the Kirin fleet was planning.

The Defiant continued on through the night's gloom toward Harmony Bay, lookouts keeping a close eye out astern, for it was to the east that the danger reported by her sister ship lay. The Kirin fleet was an unknown number of miles behind them, the battleships and cruisers sighted and detailed by the Destiny heading, presumably, for the port. The Defiant was faster than any capital ship, but the last reported position of the hostile ships did not give them very long to report the intrusion and for the Northern Fleet to react. The Destiny had been ninety miles to their east, some three hundred miles from Harmony Bay. At a speed of approximately twenty knots, it would take them around twelve hours to reach the headquarters of the Northern Fleet. The Defiant pushed on at thirty-five knots, taking a little under six hours to make the journey home. That left but a few scant hours before the enemy could be expected to arrive, assuming they did not stop anywhere on the way, or deviate to some other unknown target.

As they approached the peninsula, the time was nearing three in the morning, yet every pony aboard was wide awake, adrenaline running through their systems. This could not be a mere surprise drill. Anypony who had overheard the radio call from the Destiny could confirm that. You could fake the sounds of battle, but you could not fake the emotions, the fear and the panic, in somepony's voice. Not like that.

The brilliant beam from the lighthouse on the headland outside of the harbour appeared on the horizon, guiding them home, and the helmspony adjusted course by just a little. Their navigation had been excellent, bringing them right back to where they had started without any issue. As soon as they came into visual range of the coastal fort on Fat Colt Island, Oakheart ordered the signal lamps to work, flashing out the message repeatedly.

Alert HQ. Hostile Kirin force to east. Attack imminent.

Again, they got no reply.

Oakheart ordered them to continue into the harbour, hoping to alert the fleet directly with the same signal lamps while cursing the incompetent gunners in the fort for sleeping on the job. Though it was a dark night with a little sea fog rising up, they should still have been able to see the signal and respond to it.

"Sir! Vessel close to port!" the lookout cried from the port bridge wing.

"Helm, two points to starboard," Oakheart ordered, the helmspony swinging the wheel accordingly, bringing the bow around to avoid a collision. "Course?"

"Into the harbour, sir," the lookout replied. "They're on the same course as us."

"Vessel to starboard!" the other lookout cried a moment later.

"What?" Oakheart frowned, taking a look for himself this time out of the bridge windows. The mist was coming up and visibility was poor, but there should not have been any other ships coming or going from the harbour. Destiny, so far as he knew, had been the only other ship out of port that would be expected to return in the next twenty four hours, and that was now no longer a possibility.

"Two vessels to port now, sir!" the first lookout cried again.

"Signal them!" Oakheart growled. "Identify those vessels. Mister Greenwood?"

"Aye sir." Greenwood hurried out onto the port bridge wing, where the lookout, wrapped up in a leather waterproof coat, was peering through the mist. Greenwood brought his binoculars up to his eyes. The mist was getting thicker, but he could indeed make out the silhouettes of two ships running in alongside them, on the same course and a very similar speed. Their shape was similar also- a pair of fast freighters, perhaps? No, not quite...and were those gun turrets...?

As the quartet of ships proceeded into the harbour, each perhaps half a mile from the next, a clear patch in the mist gave much better visibility to the lookouts. Greenwood rapidly scanned the nearest vessel. It was a destroyer, alright, but not one of theirs. Not an Equestrian ship.

"Sir! Those ships are hostile!" he cried, rushing back onto the bridge. "Kirin destroyers, Captain!"

"Are you certain?" Oakheart snapped.

"Yes sir. They're definitely not ours," Greenwood replied quickly.

"Very good, Mister Greenwood, port torpedo stations if you please!" Oakheart barked. Signal the fleet if possible. Miss Fennel, all guns are to prepare to fire. Mister Yellowstone, starboard torpedo stations, Mister Greenwood, port torpedo stations. Run out the launchers, all tubes to fire on my mark."

Greenwood rushed out of the bridge and down the ladder to the deck where the torpedo crew under Barleycorn were waiting, lounging about their launcher, having loaded its triple tubes hours ago ready for action.

"New arrivals for the fleet, sir?" one of the crew asked, with a nod toward the ships running parallel with them through the water.

"They're hostile," Greenwood replied tersely, drawing looks of alarm from the crew who had not heard the radio call and had only heard Oakheart's shipwide broadcast that they were returning to port to alert the fleet of a possible attack. The prospect of actual combat tonight, it seemed, had not really entered their minds. "Run out the launcher, get a bead on that closest vessel and standby with all tubes," Greenwood ordered, and the crew scurried to comply, swinging the heavy launcher out on its cradle and into firing position at almost maximum extension, aimed just ahead of the enemy ship.

Above them, the signal lamps on the bridge wings flashed out desperate warnings to the fleet in the inner harbour. The Kirin lookouts, however, seemed to be as dozy as the fortress gunners had been, for they did not notice that the Defiant, which had slipped into the midst of their attack run, was not one of theirs. Each ship was keeping station with the one to its port or starboard and the intruder, evidently, was going unnoticed, at least for now.

The destroyer to their port ran out its own torpedo tubes, and Greenwood got a glimpse of the enemy for the first time. Half a dozen Kirin crew were gathered around their twin-tube launcher. Their uniforms were a similar mix of white and dark blue to the Equestrian naval standard, and but for their peculiarities, the Kirin could have passed for a pony. Most of their torpedo crew wore the curious headpiece common to most Kirin tribes, a kind of forked or branched horn constructed of wood that rested atop their head, or in this case, rising up the outside of the front of their steel helmets. Most also had the long, verdant manes of the Kirin, thick hair draped around the shoulders or falling to the lower back, though trimmed shorter than civilians would possess due to military regulations. There were both males and females among their numbers, though thanks to the long hair shared by both, it was hard to tell them apart. Other than that, and a few foibles with rank insignia and uniform design, the Kirin sailor looked very similar indeed to their pony counterpart.

That was why it took a few moments for anyone aboard the Kirin destroyer to notice there was anything amiss. Whether it was the physical differences of the Equestrian crew, their uniforms, or a sharp eye spotting that the ship beside them had three torpedo tubes, not two, one of the Kirin gave a shout of alarm. The cry was taken up by others, along with frantic gesturing at the Defiant as they finally recognised the sheep in the manger.

"Port and starboard tubes, fire at will!" Oakheart's voice came loud and clear over the ship's speakers, and Greenwood slammed his hand down on the firing stud. All three tubes ejected their torpedoes with a loud hiss of escaping air. The three silver fish jumped into the water and began to speed toward the Kirin destroyer. There were more shouts of alarm on board, and at the last second, the ship tried to turn, but it was much too late. All of the torpedoes struck home, two in the bow and one amidships, and tore the destroyer apart. A great flash of flame lit the harbour and reflected from the fog bank as the ship's forward magazine exploded.

A dozen things began to happen at once. Two of the starboard torpedoes struck home in the Kirin ship on the other side of the Defiant, but while the Equestrian vessel was engaging the targets closest to it, the other four Kirin vessels, only one of which could actually be seen by the Defiant's crew thanks to the fog, began their firing manoeuvres, loosing torpedoes from both port and starboard launchers before turning away sharply and heading away from the inner harbour. At Oakheart's command, the Defiant's two forward guns began to engage the second ship to their left, the only remaining target they could see. Distant fountains of water showed where their gunfire had missed its mark, but the guns fired quickly, fed by the hoists from the magazines below, hurling a shell toward the enemy every eight seconds.

As the Defiant fired, sixteen torpedoes were streaking across the smooth water of the bay toward the capital ships of the Northern Fleet. In times of war, the harbour would have been strongly defended, the guns of the fort fully manned at all times, the lighthouse switched off to avoid aiding enemy navigation, patrol ships outside the entrance and in the outer harbour, the harbour entrance closed by a heavy boom and torpedo nets mounted around every anchored vessel. But there was no war. Equestria was at peace, and so was Harmony Bay, at least until the first Kirin destroyer exploded.

In the city, many of the senior officers of the garrison and the fleet had been attending a dinner and ball being held by the provincial governor, Cranberry Cream. The dull thud from the outer bay lightly rattled the windows of her villa as the party was starting to disperse in the early hours of the morning. As a few bedraggled survivors of the evening stumbled out into the street, keen ears heard the blast, and turned their eyes out to the harbour, shrouded in a light layer of fog. A slight orange glow way out in the outer roadstead- perhaps the sun was coming up, but surely not, it was the middle of the night. Most of the guests continued to stagger along and paid it no further mind as they continued their drunken progress home, but those accustomed to war began to feel unease. Carriages were summoned and the few motor-taxis in town were hailed by drunken, though eager, officers who wanted to speed up their return to port.

In the roadstead lay the capital ships of the Northern Fleet, sitting at anchor in the dark. The ships were silent, with just a duty watch on deck and many of their officers ashore at the party. It had been a quiet, calm night. Many seaponies had played a few rounds of cards, gathered around an accordion-player or fiddler for a singalong in the mess, or written letters, those who could write, to their families or lovers back home, before turning in for the night at lights out. The accommodation decks were dark and still, hammocks swaying gently, almost imperceptibly, with the movement of the vessels upon the slight swell. An occasional cough, groan or grunt and a chorus of snores were the only sounds common to every ship at night. Rest was vital at sea, for a tired pony could easily make a mistake that cost themselves their life, or worse, put the entire ship at risk, but even in port, sailors loved to snatch as much sleep as they could.

On deck, the lookouts kept a weary eye open. The monotonous landscape of the bay was, at least, obscured by the darkness, but that was even more tedious to look at. The lights of the city were visible, less than a mile away, and if one listened closely, the distant strains of music from the party could be heard over the creaks and groans of the ships at anchor. Resentful junior officers left in command of the great battleships and heavy cruisers whiled away the empty hours by demanding constant reports from the lookouts or haranguing seaponies over some tiny fault in their work. It was the same across the whole Navy; when there was nothing else to do, restless ponies turned upon each other with arguments and mis-channeled anger.

Nopony was looking for the telltale bubble trail that marked an incoming torpedo. There was no war, no foe to fear. Harmony Bay was a protected anchorage, fleet headquarters, somewhere safe. Even if they had been looking, it would have been difficult to spot the white streaks on the water. It was dark and the fog was rising. The explosion of the Kirin destroyer woke many crewponies and drew the attention of every sailor and officer on watch, but by then it was too late.

The first torpedo struck the battleship Indomitable just abaft the beam, heaving a great column of water skyward and sending dozens of crewponies tumbling from their hammocks and bunks. Other than the detonation of the Kirin destroyer's magazine mere seconds earlier, there had been no warning that anything was amiss. Alarmed ponies flicked on flashlights, torches and lanterns; the lights, which had been out to aid sleep anyway, had been knocked offline by damage to the electrical circuits. Cries and gasps of shock replaced the snores from moments ago as the crew staggered about in confusion.

The second torpedo struck the battlecruiser Moonrise just behind the heavily armoured prow, tearing a hole in the side of the ship big enough to drive a train through. Water raced in in great torrents, filling breached compartments in seconds and drowning dozens of those lucky enough to survive around the blast site but unlucky enough to be trapped below deck. The forward magazine for the ship's ten-inch guns was flooded, a lucky break when the third torpedo to be fired struck the Moonrise and destroyed part of the hydraulic piping system, igniting a wash of hydraulic fluid that spurted from broken pipes and would have seen the ship torn apart had the flames reached the ammunition.

The cruiser Triumphant was not so lucky. Its aft magazine was penetrated by another torpedo, and the entire bay was lit up like day as it exploded, ripping the rear third of the ship to pieces and killing three hundred ponies in a heartbeat. Flaming debris rained down across the roadstead, twisted shrapnel from the funeral pyre of their comrades wounding a number of other sailors who were on deck aboard other ships as they rushed about to take up battle stations.

A whooping siren sounded from the bridge of the flagship, the Celestial Spirit. Admiral Strongbow was ashore, one of the guest of honour at the party, despite his general dislike of glad-handing and schmoozing, but his flag-captain White Star was alert and on duty, the earth mare quickly directing the crew of the flagship to their posts, running out the torpedo nets and preparing the ship's boats to pick up survivors. In Strongbow's absence, the fleet was commanded by Vice-Admiral Noonglow, a capable unicorn officer and a good tactician, but caught by surprise at anchor in the bay, there was nothing he could do save damage control. It would take time to warm up the boilers and make steam, and the enemy destroyers were already turning away, having done their damage. Within minutes they would be out of gun range, slinking away into the darkness from whence they came.

More torpedoes raced in toward the now-alerted ships, buzzing with activity as searchlights flashed and stabbed through the fog, searching for more danger. Two other cruisers were struck and lightly damaged, and despite the rapid reaction of its captain and crew, the torpedo nets were not deployed around the Celestial Spirit fast enough, and the veteran battleship was struck once on its prow, though it did little more than superficial damage to the mighty craft, its armour holding firm against the explosive onslaught. One wayward torpedo missed the massed ranks of heavy warships and drove straight for the docks, striking a surprise blow against the stern of one of the destroyers tied up there, blasting the propellers to pieces and wrecking the propshafts that linked them to the engines.

Now the city itself was alive, lights coming on in hundreds of houses as ponies and Yaks were awakened by the commotion out in the bay. Many turned out into the streets and pointed with aghast expressions at the fires. A boiler explosion? Sabotage? What else could it be, they asked, debating amongst themselves, pony and Yak neighbours turfed out of bed by the explosions. Equestria was not at war. It had to be an accident, or perhaps separatist terrorists, like the ones who had tried to kill the Princess.

In the outer bay, the Kirin destroyers turned about, their work for the night completed. The Defiant blazed away with its guns, sewing confusion among the enemy. Those who had not noticed the Equestrian ship's presence believed that their comrades had struck mines; they did not know there was a foreign presence in their midst. The target of her forward guns managed to evade the shots, turning sharply to port after firing its torpedoes and disappearing into the fog. Captain Oakheart ordered the aft guns and lookouts to standby, while continuing deeper into the harbour. It was tempting to chase the enemy, especially as they didn't seem to be aware of the Defiant's presence, but their mission was to alert the fleet; not to the unexpected torpedo attack, but to the incoming Kirin battlefleet, which would pose an entirely different problem.

The Defiant entered mid-bay and was met by a dozen searchlights from a number of capital ships, including the flagship, and loud, insistent hails demanding to know their identity. The two twin twelve-inch forward turrets on board the Celestial Spirit began to traverse toward them, surprisingly sprightly for guns of such size, the largest mounted on any Equestrian warship.

Oakheart ordered the signal lamps to flash their name and the day's passcode, while flags were run up with the same message, as well as an additional Equestrian naval ensign, to show their identity. There was confusion among the fleet, and itchy trigger fingers could well inflict more damage upon an already shaken force if care was not taken. The Defiant, identity established, pulled alongside the Celestial Spirit. The prow was buckled and dented, with a gash along the side, but the ship was still in fine fighting shape. Nearby, the broken wreck of the Triumphant blazed, smoke rising high into the night as boats, tugs and motor launches swirled around to pick up survivors. Once the fact that there had been some calamity was realised, the fleet and the civilian crews in the harbour had been quick to respond, sending any boat that could round up enough of a crew to operate to try and help.

The torpedo attack had lasted less than two minutes from launch to completion, leaving behind two dead Kirin destroyers, but striking a powerful blow upon the Northern Fleet. One battleship was heavily damaged, one battlecruiser crippled. A cruiser was gone, resting gently on the bottom of the bay as it burned, and several other vessels damaged. Not a crippling blow, but a powerful one. How much difference the Defiant had made by knocking out two of the Kirin destroyers could only be speculated at, but it had prevented eight more torpedoes being fired, and they might have turned a serious strike into a catastrophic one.

Captain Oakheart ordered the Defiant's boats to join the search for victims of the Moonrise and Triumphant, ordering the destroyer to come to a halt alongside the flagship on its undamaged starboard side. Hails to its crew revealed that Admiral Strongbow was not aboard, but while Oakheart was debating with Flag-Captain White Star whether or not to recall one of their boats and take it ashore to find the Admiral, a lookout reported that Strongbow's launch, flying the Admiral's pennant, was returning from shore, where he had been enjoying the hospitality of the governor.

Strongbow came aboard his flagship and headed straight to the bridge, ordering his personal ensign to be raised and flown from the ship's masthead to ensure that the rest of the fleet knew he was back on board and thus back in command. He then strode out onto the starboard wing of his bridge, looking down at Oakheart in the much lower-profile destroyer, and demanding a full report.

Junior Lieutenant Greenwood had remained at torpedo stations until ordered to lead one of the boat search parties, taking to the water in one of the ship's pinnaces, half a dozen strong ponies rowing them through the water while others looked for survivors. The Triumphant had gone down fast by the stern, her prow sticking out of the water like the jaws of some ancient sea monster. Oil coated the water around the wreck, calming the slight waves that lapped against her. Many ponies had already been carried to safety or taken to the fleet's hospital ship, the Salvation, moored at the far end of the port, or to the city's medical facilities. Others were trapped in half-flooded compartments or twisted metal within the hull; it would take hours or even days to free them.

While Oakheart and Strongbow conversed, Greenwood searched, torch in hand, swinging the beam across the darkened waters in case anypony was floating unconscious or wounded, unable to cry out. A dozen other launches and cutters were doing the same grim work. It was a sorrowful scene, the fleet caught at anchor, taken entirely by surprise, with the Defiant almost, almost making it back to port in time to warn them. It was not the attack they had been expecting, but if they could have just shaved ten or fifteen minutes from their arrival time...

But they had not. They had done their best and arrived with hours to spare before the Kirin battlefleet approached, but not soon enough for the pre-emptive strike. The silent black lumps floating listlessly around the wreck of the Triumphant were mute testimony to that. Some were burned, their uniforms charred away, unrecognisable even as ponies. Others were drowned, their water-filled lungs preventing them from even crying out for their mothers or their Princess as they died.

Greenwood had seen death before, on land, though mostly of the enemy, separatists from Mare-Isle. Equestrian casualties in that campaign had been light, for the rebels were not a true military force. They had little heavy support, almost no artillery and minimal training. This was something entirely different. This was industrial death. These ponies had been killed by mechanisation, by the trundling wheels of a real war, and once those wheels were in motion it was very difficult to stop them crushing countless others beneath their bulk. The thought made him sick to his stomach. This war was less than an hour old, and it did not take some great intellect or intuition to know that worse was coming. Much, much worse.