Chapters “Lieutenant, I do not care how many there are . Your platoon will hold this damned corridor until you are ordered to withdraw, and not a moment shorter .”
“Sir, there’s not going to be a corridor left to hold in the next five minutes unless Luna herself is about to obliterate these damned-”
Steel Gear leaned forward, placing one hoof on the table, and slammed the radio into the ground. The salty air of Baltimare was tinged with the smell of burnt flesh this morning, a new addition to the unrelenting smell of gunpowder and death that permeated the city for the past few weeks. Yet it was eerily silent this morning.
The Heer struck at the defenders with unrelenting fury, and have been at it for weeks now. Artillery had slowly and steadily ruined the once magnificent city, caving in roofs and poking holes into the walls, crushing the last bastion of organised resistance in the entirety of Equestria. If the piecemeal reports from the perimeter were anything to go by, that was just the prelude - the Changelings had merely been waiting for the Jagers to catch up, unwilling to risk pushing into the city on their own again. Steel Gear considered that a point of personal pride. They tried three weeks ago, and the casualties the remnants of the Royal Equestrian Guard had inflicted upon them were apparently sufficient for them to back off for the time being. His own troops had paid for the ground in blood, of course, but things went down exactly as Marhall Blueblood had predicted.
Even the colts and fillies fought when their backs were against the doors of the evacuation ships. It was a bloodbath, yes, but the city held on just those few days longer - the evacuation managed to save those remaining in the city since then. Nobody but the volunteers was left. A victory. Probably the last one they would see for years.
Steel Gear knew they would lose, that much was obvious since the fall of Canterlot - but he still had a duty to perform. He still had changelings to kill. His troops were made up of few battered, starving and poorly equipped veterans, disparate remnants of two dozen divisions, and a citizen militia of tribals pressed into service sometime in the past six months. Altogether about eleven thousand soldiers, barely a division. Their backs were against the shoreline, and they were just barely holding open a corridor along the road east.
But SMILE - or whatever was left of it - had made a promise, and the Princesses themselves believed would be fulfilled. Steel Gears didn’t care if the plan had the same chances as a snowball during Winter Wrap-up; If it was good enough for Luna and Blueblood, it was good enough for him. The civilians were out, the ERNS Sisterhood still held its position just outside Queen Ember’s waters, and the three remaining transports in the docks were waiting on whoever would survive.
They didn’t have the capacity to fit a division. Steel Gear suspected it wouldn’t matter.
He laid his eyes on the empty docks, on the two dozen sailors who sat there on the dock, surrounding the only vessel that actually mattered. The submarine’s hatch waited, wide open, ready to receive the single most important piece of cargo a ship could carry. The wait was making the sailors anxious - the telltale tapping of hooves and pacing only furthering his own anxiety. But they were still there, the plan was still in motion. Hope lived on.
“There are civilians in the corridor, Lieutenant. Hold. Your. Position. ”
A blue-maned stallion slipped during work. The cardboard box he carried on his back cluttered to the ground with a crashing sound, spilling its contents into an expanding pool of brass accompanied by the sound or metal scratching against concrete. He didn’t let out a single word, just immediately got up and began trying to stop the shell casings from rolling further away. The rhythmic hoofbeats behind him didn’t stop him.
The stallion was sure to receive a dressing down by one of the changeling guards, followed by a painful whipping, if he was unlucky. Nopony in the factory bothered to slow their work, or even spare a glance to the poor soul that just caused himself a whole lot of trouble. A daily occurence. Something they’ve grown used to quickly enough.
Jade Jester didn’t blame them. None of them wanted to become part of that stallion’s trouble. He didn’t spare more than an acknowledging glance, either, even as the shells rolled away and their sound was drowned out by the echoing, harsh sounds of Changeling words.
Changeling. It didn’t matter what the guard was saying - Jade understood nothing but a few choice words, at least three of which were insults. All the guards spoke Equestrian, as far as he knew - but this one wouldn’t deign to talk to a pony in their own native tongue. That bode ill for the blue mane. He’d probably be the latest victim of a lashing. Such things weren’t uncommon, not really. Not after the equestrian army surrendered.
The factory floor was what it was.
Jade focused back on his own work, filling another shell with gunpowder, then passing it off to the next pony in line. He didn’t even know the mare’s name. She didn’t know his, either. It didn’t matter one way or another - the important part was that just like everyone else, she remained silent as their hooves moved in unison.
Sometimes, she would place her hoof on his, when the guards weren’t looking and the daily quota wasn’t so far away. It was a strange kind of kinship - they didn’t know one another, not really, but still they found one another’s presence comforting. In another world, maybe they could be friends. Jade didn’t hold out hope this one would let them, not even as she brushed up her hoof against his again when he handed her another soon to be complete bullet.
The cool metal felt different then the warmth of the mare’s hoof, and he once more remembered he stopped wondering how many deaths his work had led to years ago.
The stallion on the ground spoke up, and then fell back to silently collecting the casings when the butt of the changeling’s rifle struck against his muzzle. The other guards were staring now, following the screaming. They could’ve picked the casings up themselves using magic, instead of torturing the earth pony like this, but that thought didn’t seem to cross their minds. Only when the box of shells was filled once again did they lend a hoof - they got the pony up, then dragged him out the door. The silent sobbing coming from the group went unacknowledged
Once again, the electric lights and rhythm of machines became the only sources of noise on the factory floor, and nobody noticed that the pack of cigarettes in Jade Jester’s pocket now contained a bullet.
Walking in had been no simple affair - the streets were still patrolled by changelings, only some of whom cared about whether the passing ponies were innocently enjoying Manehattan’s nightlife or potentially suspicious rebels. Slipping between the guards was an art that many had mastered over the months of occupation. Guard patterns had become an ingrained memory for everyone who wanted to sample the best the city had to offer, and unless you knew what you were doing, you learned to not carry a bag after eight in the evening.
Straight Rock knew exactly what he was doing, and so the small leather satchel hung off his flank with all the pride its worn surface afforded. Walking quickly, not stopping to take in the familiar sights lest a patrol find him in an inopportune spot, all those were things he had done a million times. Maybe he could’ve talked himself out of being arrested immediately by using his position, if he was forced to, but taking that risk was irresponsible. The bar itself was only a short jaunt away, though, and he couldn’t resist. Not tonight.
He pushed into the Iridium’s front door, quickly sized up by the bouncer - who immediately relaxed as soon as he saw his face, and only nodded for him to continue inwards, past the heavy satin curtains. Not everyone had that privilege in here, and Straight Rock carried his badge of a regular with a modicum of pride - all while bemoaning the tab he had to pay at the end of each outing.
The club was dark, rumbling with beings of all shapes and sizes. Straight Rock couldn’t see them all in the twilight of dimmed lights, but he could still pick out shapes, the soft movements of wings and the quick flashes of eyes reflecting the few lights still on. It was packed tonight - as expected. Nobody worth a damn in the Manehattan underground would want to miss this one.
There, in the back, accompanying the flutter of wings and soft laughter, was the imposing figure of Von Limbeck. Her beak was one of the few things that one would have no trouble spotting tonight - and the fact a griffon noble would let herself be seen here tonight only further reinforced the importance of the coming show. Somewhere above him, the creaking of the rusty scaffolding used to hold the lights indicated Light Show was in her usual spot, overlooking the crowd. He knew he couldn’t possibly see her up there, but he flashed a smile to the ceiling anyways. A thestral’s eyes would see, and she’d know it was meant for her.
A small flash of green off the side of the room confirmed the mystery mare would be here tonight, too. Straight Rock allowed himself a sly smile - they all knew it was one of the changeling garrison commanders, not some reclusive unicorn, but they let her here among them nonetheless. If it was indeed a her. Not that that mattered - out here tonight, that changeling was breaking the curfew just like the rest of them, and she wouldn’t be the only one.
Pushing further into the shifting mass of bodies, past a large stallion who had his forehoof around a strangely bespectacled kirin, Straight Rock immediately located the source of the noise: a beige pegasus mare with a massive scar across her right flank. He couldn’t help but trace it up from where her cutie mark was supposed to be, all the way to her neck and face. She smiled at him, and he smiled back.
He could feel deep down that smile was empty.
“Wings,” he greeted her, sauntering over as nonchalantly as the packed club floor allowed. “Should’ve guessed you’d be here tonight. Nobody worth their time-”
“-Is missing tonight’s show!” Fluffy Wings interrupted, positively giddy with excitement. She nearly stomped her hoof, before stopping herself and giggling. “I don’t think anypony would actually appreciate me showing my excitement way before they get on stage, eh?” Her hoof went up to her face instead, scratching behind the ear. “Guess I’m more excited than I should be, hm? How about you, lover-boy?”
Straight Rock smiled genuinely this time as he nuzzled her, trapping her hoof in place. “You’re exactly as excited about this show as I am about seeing you. Did you see Light on your way in?” He stepped back, enjoying the way the mare’s cheeks flushed. She seemed to catch on rather quickly this time, looking away bashfully after shaking her head. “Nope, just the usual smile to the ceiling from me. I really have to make more time for her. Too bad her schedule leaves her free so early in the morning - I’m usually too hungover-
“-or too tired-”
“-Shut up ,” she gave him a sly smile of her own, returning the quip without breaking stride and making him flush in turn, “Or too tired to be awake at three in the morning. I don’t even get to know who her last catch was!”
Straight Rock shook his head in mock disbelief. “Truly, a catastrophe! You don’t get to know how many poor souls have fallen victim to her dark charms!” he rolled his eyes. “She’s fine, I’m sure. That mare is indestructible.” He leaned in again,this time to give Fluffy Wings a peck on the cheek - only to very nearly wince as his eyes slid towards her scar again. Fortunately, the pegasus didn’t seem to notice.
“So, when-”
As if on cue, the main stage lights came on, illuminating a quartet of ponies and bathing the front rows with more reflected light. Straight Rock shuffled over closer to his marefriend, pressing against her side, listening intently as the musicians began to introduce themselves. For a moment, he’d forget his daily work, the paperwork that passed under his hooves, the guards who watched him intently through every shift. Tonight, it was just him, the filly he loved and the music they both enjoyed.
Then the light reflected off the guitarist’s instrument, and for a moment he could see the small, green unicorn just under the stage, chatting warmly with the group gathered around the edge of the bar.
And for that moment, the papers in his bag felt heavier than anything in the world.
Ivory Shadow flew through the darkness above Vesalipolis, squeezing every last bit of enjoyment out of the wind that passed below her leathery wings, the strain on her muscles a comfort she would not have thought to feel out here. It was peaceful, simple, so much unlike everything else she had done in the past year.
Life felt like a play to her, now - from the oaths and the training to the long months spent getting used to life in the changeling capital, it was all a blur. Like the director of her life simply decided to make a montage in order to skim over the unimportant parts, to make the daily struggle she felt more digestible for those viewing it.
And only now, up in the air above the edge of the single most important city in all of Equus, did that director decide to pick her story back up. To give it more meaning. Perhaps even a conclusion.
She surveyed the street grid below her, suburban houses illuminated by a thousand little lights. The families that lived there were not the ones she swore to protect - those lived in and around the Queen's Tower, protected by a veritable legion of her fellow Jagers. Four divisions called Vesapolis home, the few formations of troops that led the last and final line of defense around the Queen herself as beacons of undying loyalty.
The Tower remained the single best protected structure in the world. Ivory Shadow knew. She and her thestrals had helped make it so.
The Tower stood as the single largest building in the city, a claw reaching for the sky itself, somewhere behind her back. She didn't turn to look back at it. She didn't have to. It was always there, always reminding her of the unending ambition of her changeling overlords. Just a few meters taller than the peak of Canterlot Castle. Just a little more magnificent.
She found it vain and pointless, but kept her muzzle shut. It was not her place to question the Queen, lest Dieter make her life a living hell.
So instead she flew through the night, content to survey the quiet suburbs below and enjoy the wind like she once did back home. It was her own kind of peace. For a moment, she could pretend the war never happened.
For a moment, she could close her eyes and pretend she was anything else but an oathbreaker.
Another gust of air under her wings shifted her weight again, forcing her to correct with a flap and open her eyes to check the cause of the disturbance. A stormfront approached from the south, just as the meteorologists had predicted. With a heavy sigh, Ivory Shadow forced herself to drop into a dive towards her target - it would do her no good to be caught up here in a storm.
She aimed for the edge of the suburbs, a small hill that could easily have been a park - were it not for the tall fence with razor wire coils on top surrounding it. A lone guard stood at the entrance, probably bored out of his mind, but fulfilling his duty nonetheless. His rifle laid beside him, propped up against the chain link fence. The guard immediately snatched it to himself the moment he heard the impact of hooves against asphalt.
He tensed up when he saw her, and immediately saluted her. Ivory could see the little glint of fear in his eyes as they rested on the lapel of her Queen’s Guard uniform. Ivory merely gave him the stink-eye as she nonchalantly passed into the compound. It was expected of her. Had the soldier been unlucky enough for tonight’s inspection to be handled by one of the more cruel officers, he’d receive a verbal lashing for letting his rifle leave the safety of his hooves.
Ultimately, it would be pointless. This place was protected by hundreds of thousand of Heer conscripts placed between it and the nearest hostile pony. The guard had performed adequately in his post - though “adequate” never seemed to be acceptable among the Queen’s Guard. Ivory Shadow merely kept up appearances. She was too tired to yell, anyways.
The walk up to the building was a short, brisk affair. Few trees still held onto their leaves at this time of year, but the gravel path remained clear of them, no doubt the work of some poor changeling who drew the short stick in this week’s duty roster, or perhaps irritated their immediate superior a little too much. The guard in front of the building also saluted her - this one had his rifle in his hooves. She paid this one no mind as she marched past, into the concrete hall.
The whirring of machines and buzzing of electronics welcomed her, like so many times before. The officer on guard turned around from watching his subordinates stare at screens for a moment, nodding to her almost imperceptibly. She nodded back, and trotted right up next to him. Her eyes surveyed the green of the radar readouts, searching each one for information - nothing. The no-fly zone had been observed, as it has been for years before.
“All quiet, ma’am,” the officer told her, his voice little more than a whisper. He was calm, bored. Like everyone else here. His eyes didn’t betray any hint of suspicion as he turned to her, one hoof gesturing towards the pot in the corner. “Would you care for some coffee?”
Ivory Shadow shook her head, and used the moment to conceal the discomfort the bomb vest under her uniform had been causing her.
“Thanks, but not today.”
"We're near enough. Ask already."
Soaring Cloud's words were the first any of the crew had uttered since they left the airfield. Nearly three thousand kilometres of flight, six hours of continued air time, and the first words any of them had used to break the grim silence were that .
Hard Target glanced at his instruments and allowed himself a small twitch of wings in annoyance. "We're still three minutes out. I'm not risking anything." His tone was hard, perhaps harder than his copilot deserved, but he couldn't bring himself to care. The young buck didn't fly in the war, but that didn't mean he'd let him off easy. Especially not now.
"We're well within their radar. They couldn't get a bird up here quickly enough if they-"
"Shut up, kid."
Flash Spark's voice ended the conversation just as quickly as it had begun. Hard Target was grateful to the old mare - his patience had been worn thin by long hours at full alert. The kid was right, of course, there was no changeling plane that could hope to make it to seven kliks faster than they could reach their target, and whatever AA they could scramble wasn't going to reach this high up. But that didn't mean he'd start being careless now.
He checked the instruments again, then looked out into the night sky. The descent rate had been at about a meter a second for quite a while now. Ever so slowly, the monstrous plane inched away from Luna's sky, down into the cloud cover. They would have to break below it for just a moment, then back up. It occurred to him that even this little part of their operation had probably been engineered - somewhere out there, a squadron of pegasi must've put the clouds into motion months in advance.
All of that effort just to give him a few extra minutes of undetected flight time.
The clouds outside the plane thickened, clinging to the machine as its eight jet engines roared into the night. They were too high up for anyone to hear, but Hard Target could not shake the feeling they were about to be discovered. A stray patrol, perhaps, or a lucky jager cadet out on night training. One hitch in the plan, one wrong move, and months of work would be forfeit along with their lives. All it would take was one mistake to invalidate a plan set in motion long before Chrysalis marched her cronies into the streets of Manehattan.
They could not afford that mistake.
"Lieutenant Cloud, give me our climb rate." Hard Target continued to stare out the window, trying to feel the plane's tiny vibrations through the flight stick. It was a bad habit from the early days of the war. Back in 1012, he could still feel the movements of flaps through the manual hydraulics, but now…
"Minus one point two. Should probably go to minus one point eight, now that we're close. Buy ourselves time to line up below the cloud cover."
Soaring Cloud sounded vaguely irritated. Hard Target barely noted it - it didn't matter. The kid was just antsy, nervous about their mission. He wanted to take risks, prove to everyone he was just as capable as the old veterans he worked with. All because he couldn't see past his own snout - all because he couldn't tell how those old soldiers became this capable, what they had to do and see to get there.
He reminded Hard Target of himself in his younger days.
He pushed the stick forward another small bit, forcing the plane to adjust its descent ever so slightly. A few moments later, the droplets on the windshield changed direction, travelling towards the edge just that little bit faster. Hard Target could swear he heard Cloud nod in his seat.
He checked his watch again. One minute.
Agonisingly slowly, the plane descended through the cloud. Seconds passed in silence, with nary a thought in any of the crew's minds but what they would do as soon as the cloud cover broke. Even the old Flash Spark was looking into the white outside, hiding whatever darkness clouded her thoughts behind a facade of pure stoicism.
The cloud cover broke, revealing the city below. Hard Target closed his eyes and breathed in.
"Call it."
A millisecond passed in silence. Then, a click of the radio sounded through the intercom, followed closely by an old mare's voice. Flash Spark sounded haggard, almost as if uttering the words was tearing her vocal cords apart. Neither of the pilots dared interrupt as they heard her speak, loud and clear despite the weariness.
"This is Liberator One transmitting to anyone on this frequency. In position, awaiting command."
A moment passed in silence, then another, before static filled the air, only to be quickly replaced by the voice of some faraway stallion. Hard Target pulled the stick to himself, levelling the plane out ever so carefully, watching as the lights of the city slipped out of view.
"Liberator One, this is Pirate Control. Confirm readiness."
Soaring Cloud audibly sighed in relief. Hard Target could not understand why as he listened to his WSO speak.
"Copy that, Pirate Control. We are green to go. Code Bravo-Lima-Alpha-Zulu-Echo. Orders?"
On his right, his copilot flipped the master arm switch on without uttering a word. The plane rumbled as the bomb bay doors opened, exposing their payload to the elements.
"Complete mission, Liberator One. Ashes. Read back."
A dozen flight crew to put the three of them in the air. Sixteen hundred warriors to secure the airfield for long enough to take off. Hundreds of factory workers to silently smuggle off the fuel and parts. Yet more to quietly move the resources necessary. All of them could be dead tomorrow because they dared to stand up to the changeling rule. Months of effort, coming to a head.
"Ashes. Celestia have mercy on us all.”
Hard Target could swear he heard the button click as the bomb released.
For a moment, Sehiria felt something was off. She looked out of the window at the sky, then back at her safely sleeping hatchling, and shook the feeling off. Her husband would be back in Vesalipolis in a few days, now that his tour was officially over. It was just nerves.
She did not get the chance to despair as her home was vaporized by the flash of a newborn sun.