A Trot Through Vanhoover

by LieutenantExcellent

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Sad, Changelings, Original Character, Tragedy, Profanity, Violence, Death, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark
Length: 10825

The changelings have finally been pushed back to the border. Vanhoover is encircled by Equestrian forces, with their formidable navy moving in on sea. Ponies and changelings alike are caught up in a cruel battle that already seems decided.

A Trot Through Vanhoover is a story set in the Equestria at War universe, with an emphasis on portraying two opposing perspectives of a conflict as a battle with almost certain results known in advance presses on.

If you're unfamiliar with the setting that is Equestria at War, it's a wonderful setting inspired by the grim realities of our own world wars contrasted with the cute, colorful ponies and other fantastical creatures of My Little Pony Friendship is Magic. The setting was created for and is on full display in the mod of the same name for the grand strategy game Hearts of Iron IV. If that premise sounds interesting or hilarious to you, I highly recommend you check out their Reddit/Discord. It's some high quality work.

It is early spring of 1013. The tides of war between ponies and changelings have changed at last, with the bugs driven into a desperate retreat across Equestria. Private Nimble Green, an Equestrian riflepony and Sergeant Decimus, leader of a changeling support artillery team are both thrust into the second battle of Vanhoover. With the ponies of Equestria having gained the advantage after months of struggling, a changeling victory is highly unlikely. Unfortunately, just because the changelings are clearly losing does not mean they have given up the fight, and what follows is sure to be a sobering friendship lesson on the nature of the conflict for everypony involved.

Cover art by the Equestria at War mod team.

Criticism and advice is both welcomed and encouraged!

Published 2022-02-21 04:50:00 UTC
Last updated 2022-03-09 22:25:01 UTC

Chapter 1: An Evening Chat

“How do I hold a gun with hooves?”

Nimble Green almost laughed thinking back to when he asked that very question. It had been nearly a year now since he had been conscripted. Back then, the idea of lugging this ridiculous contraption around mile after mile for the sake of playing soldier was absurd. He could distinctly remember his own confusion when first being handed his rifle, and the laughs from his comrades after asking the question, but he could even more clearly recall Drill Instructor Windsprint ensuring that he wouldn’t ever forget how to use the device by the time he was deployed.

As it turns out, it’s not too hard to hold a gun with hooves, and it was imperative to act like it under the constant threat of hoof-ups, extra laps around the camp and latrine duty in the event one failed to grasp and demonstrate this skill successfully. This was an effective means of encouraging full attention while training, a necessary measure for the peace-loving ponies of the Equestrian militias.

Regardless of how grueling punishments felt back in training, they certainly beat the march across northwestern Equestria amidst not only an increasingly desperate changeling retreat, but also the transition of winter into spring. There was no Winter Wrap Up anymore, and all Nimble had to look forward to for the next month was aching legs, mud, and of course the ever-looming threat that an artillery shell would land in whatever foxhole he was ordered to hunker down in that evening.

In spite of all the marching, the circumstances could certainly be worse. After all, the stagnant trench fighting on the front had finally given way to something he had hardly expected last summer: Equestria was winning the war.

The first sign was that the radio had finally started reporting on their battles again. Before the militias were formed, it wasn’t uncommon to hear about the hoard of bugs taking city after city. First Acornage, then Vanhoover and Tall Tale, but after Chrysalis’s hoof reached as far as Shire the messages stopped.

After the defeat at Shire, what followed was far more patriotic Equestrian music than was normal, curfew instructions, and endless encouragement for ponies to join the fight or the factories. Nimble himself figured that Las Pegasus had fallen by the time he was in basic training, but the insistence of his comrades that Equestria held the line drowned out most of the uncertainty. Only recently had the radio started reporting on the specifics of the war once more.

“Mead Lake secured by Equestrian forces!”

“Over 3000 changelings taken prisoner at Twisted Valley!”

“General Pie herself declares that Shire once again belongs to the rightful mares and stallions of Equestria!”

“Reports are in! Tall Tale is liberated everypony! Our ponies in purple continue pave the way forward past Applewood to the border, to the hives!”

For all of the time he spent listening to the radio, he had never felt more disconnected from the enthusiastic tone it had displayed. Growing up a large distance away from the big city, he used to depend on those wonderful newsponies on the air for a glimpse of the outside world, a world full of possibility that he was once eager to experience. Now, after having trot through the city of Tall Tale after the battle himself, and seeing the consequences on display, that optimism about liberation almost seemed like it was mocking him.

What active combat Nimble had seen was limited as a reserve force, but nothing was limited about the toll he saw the fighting take on his country. The bombastic descriptions of victory made him uneasy. He couldn’t say his squad mates felt the same, most of them were too eager to buck the changelings back across the border to feel miserable about the circumstances of their homes. They had a war to finish first.

He looked just over his shoulder across the foxhole to see Roaring Winds peacefully dozing off. His orange coat was covered in mud, spent bullet casings littered the ground around his hooves, and his back was up against still-thawing earth with a freezing cold rifle still in his hooves. The only comfort present was a tattered blanket very loosely wrapped around the front of the pony's body, which seemed to be only a very small comfort when considering the constant sounds of gunfire in the distance and the frost on the ground around them.

Yet, the pegasus was completely at peace in spite of it all. Even with his wings probably frozen to his side, Roaring was sleeping soundly in what Nimble felt to be some of the scariest conditions imaginable for a pony and he looked as though he’d be just as satisfied in a Las Pegasus resort hotel.

It was Nimble’s turn to take watch tonight of course, but he couldn’t help but feel irritated at the sight of his comrade looking so laid back at a time like this. He hadn’t had a good night’s sleep since the last trench battle began three days ago just a small ways over the hill they had dug into. He was only able to claim scattered naps amidst the drumbeat of artillery and machine guns rattling off day and night. Despite those moments of respite he was able to grasp in spite of his paranoia of getting blown to pieces, Nimble felt just as tired as if he had been awake the past seventy-two hours.

“Pssst,” a raspy voice called out from the next foxhole over, “pssst, Nimble, asleep on watch again?”

Nimble neglected to answer for the first three attempts at getting his attention, but he knew it would be futile. It always was.

“Okay Nimble have it your way, but when I report to Sergeant Leaf that you’re getting comfortable on watch just cause we’re reserves again, you’re gonna get it way worse than last time” the coy voice giggled.

“You know, us earth ponies don’t feel perfectly awake all the time in the dark like you Pteri,” Nimble sniped back in an irritated tone, “Besides, it’s not like I’ve had the privilege of sleeping anywhere near as comfortably as Roaring over here.”

“Oh come on Greenie, learn to love third shift a little bit, it’s the best part of our job,” the thestral replied.

“Maybe for a batpony,” he mumbled back "I think I'd prefer to be spending the night in a house for once. An intact one too."

Pteri paused as a smirk grew across her muzzle, “I figured somebody like you would love getting to lay down in mud for six hours,” she fired back playfully.

“And I figured a vampire would have more to do during night watch than harass a responsible riflepony doing his duty,” a sleep-deprived Nimble quipped.

“I've warned you before Greenie, call me a vampire again and you’re getting a pair of fangs in the neck,” Pteri said, slightly less playfully than before.

“Like tartarus you’d try, if you went after me right now Roaring here would-“ he looked over at his comatose companion, certainly not ready to assist him in the event of an attack, “-probably continue sleeping,” he sighed, “you win.”

The two ponies shared a cheap laugh. This had become a nightly ritual of theirs. Pteri was one of the few thestrals not ordered to the front at this time of night. He supposed there was some sort of logistical reason for her being in his squad, but in their months of being assigned together he had yet to figure it out. Still, getting to know a real batpony was a unique experience, given that for most of his foalhood they existed only as ghost stories. Yet, here Pteri was. If that wasn't enough, she was also the most lively pony Nimble had ever met. Always wanting to talk about anything at any time, she was hardly a picture of a scary monster.

The sound of yet another volley of artillery shells making contact with what was presumably their targets made itself known in the distance. An accompanying chorus of screams followed. Nimble flinched. This sort of thing didn't exactly surprise him anymore, but he sure wasn't comfortable.

“I’m telling you it’s not all bad out here Greenie, check out what Luna’s got for us tonight,” Pteri said, trying to take both of their minds off of yet another blast.

“I don’t see anything,” said Nimble looking up at the dark sky, “Is it a new moon?”

“Exactly silly, the thestral corps at the front right now are probably having a field day with the bugs, the gunshots are getting more distant,” Pteri theorized "we're gaining more ground tonight".

She was likely right. This was probably one of many successful recent nighttime raids for the Equestrian forces. All that marching everyday was towards the western border after all. Ponies were reclaiming more and more lost territory with each day. It seemed like it had been forever since Nimble had heard of a friendly defeat, of course that could simply be a matter of what he was allowed to hear. Still, they continued west nonetheless.

“We’re going to be at the border soon.” Nimble thought out loud.

The sound of a single changeling panther tank turret firing was heard, followed by several Equestrian twilight tank turrets responding accordingly. Nimble felt that he was becoming quite skilled at differentiating the noises of the different types of cannons.

“Close,” Pteri retorted, “we’ve one more city to visit first, remember?”

Vanhoover. How could he forget? It was all that the entire battalion had been talking about for the past week.

“Don’t remind me. I’ve had a rough enough time trotting across the country for the past month,” Nimble groaned, grimacing at the prospect of marching over another hundred miles of hilly, war-torn west Equestria.

“But you said you always wanted to visit ‘Applewood North’” Pteri suggested with a hopelessly optimistic tone. She had been referencing one of their many prior evening chats, and had always showed a curiosity in the films Nimble praised. After all, where she came from thestrals didn’t get to see much of the modern world until very recently.

“I don’t think we’re going to have much time to watch any movies,” he replied, “At least not while we’re helping burn more of the city down”.

“The changelings are the ones starting the fires Nimble,” Pteri quickly shot back, “ponies aren’t the reason the cities are burning.”

Nimble grunted in acknowledgement and said nothing. A momentary silence fell over the two ponies as they contemplated the words exchanged. Nimble Green knew Pteri was right, the changelings were the aggressors and claimed countless lives in their bid for conquest. They were brutal monsters to be sure, but Nimble rarely felt comfortable about the prospect of being ordered to gun them down on command.

Changelings were vicious bugs, but Nimble couldn’t help but think back to those stories of those same bugs playing games together with the ponies across the trenches at Hearths Warming Eve last year. Besides, there were even a few deer, bears, griffons and even pony prisoners intermixed across the changeling ranks. Why were they here?

The princesses had always espoused the values of harmony. Nimble couldn’t help but wonder what the point of it all was. Where was the kindness in gunning down other living creatures? What honesty lay in trying to constantly deceive the enemy? He certainly hadn’t been generous when ordered to help “re-distribute” farmer ponies’ equipment on the way here. Laughter certainly was present, but as a coping mechanism it seemed different. Maybe there was loyalty, but certainly the changelings were loyal as well. Magic was but a weapon to be used these days, and friendships had become factions. What did it all mean?

Why spend so much time preaching about these elements of harmony if it just resulted in ponies getting slaughtered when some other group didn't? They couldn't exactly follow Celestia's doctrine of friendship and win the war. The propaganda that the princesses themselves commissioned certainly reflected that.

Regardless of if the ponies won or lost, lives would be destroyed, and friendship wasn’t a solution to save everyone anymore. Nimble certainly didn’t see Princess Twilight out there in the trenches firing a rainbow beam at the changeling army to make everything okay again. No, the Equestria of the past two years was already irreversibly different from the Equestria of the past millennia.

These thoughts remained in the back of Nimble's mind every time he’d been told to pull the trigger. He was thankful he’d gotten this far without ending up in the thick of direct combat. He was a reserve soldier, and with all of these victories he had spent more time following the fighters than fighting. As long as he was here, the most he had to do was fire at vague structures too far away to see and make sure nothing snuck up on the ponies doing the real fighting. That was fine by him.

That was yet another notion he didn’t feel his entire squad shared. Ponies like Acorn Leap and Roaring Winds didn’t seem to have many qualms about pulling the trigger. Maybe he’d feel differently if it was his farm that got razed by the sudden onslaught of the swarm decimating the land. Maybe he wouldn’t, he certainly didn’t know. It didn’t matter anyway, here he was, just behind the front line all the same.

“Hey Greenie?” Pteri said, reigniting the conversation and pulling Nimble out of his own head, as she tended to do.

“Mmm?” Nimble hummed back quizzically.

“Remember back in Tall Tale?” Pteri asked.

“Pteri-“ Nimble sighed, almost interrupting the question, “-yeah, I remember Tall Tale.”

She’s been wanting to talk about it every night since we left. How could I forget?

It was the first city Nimble had seen that really embodied the full obliteration of the conflict. He knew it was a big target for the first changeling push into the country, but he certainly wasn’t prepared for the annihilation he witnessed.

“What do you think that ‘ling was trying to say back there?” the batpony asked.

Nimble thought back to the encounter. It was in one of the many craters littering the broken remnants of some unknown street in which he saw the bug. He had seen changelings before, but never close up, and certainly never attempting to speak with him. It was ironic that a creature so skilled in natural imitation could hardly speak any ponish. Still, he supposed it didn’t matter what she said; Acorn Leap would’ve reacted all the same.

No need to dwell on that.

He had become lost in his thoughts again, and as Pteri continued to go on a tangent about how quickly they were going to push through Vanhoover, Nimble’s eyes became heavy. Maybe Roaring’s ability to fall asleep easily out here wasn’t so crazy. The pony blinked slowly and nodded forward as the steady percussion of shells hitting the earth and bullets firing into the sky became a distant lullaby.

Chapter 2: An Evening Battle

“Heads down!”

The incoming shells came down with a sound resembling a choir of screaming fillies, a sound not entirely unfamiliar to Sergeant Decimus. He dove for the ground immediately and covered his head, praying that his expediency would be his salvation. Mud splashed high into the air. The earth shook with violent, explosive force.

Decimus felt dirt and gravel raining down around him for a moment before it was clear that he had not yet become another casualty statistic to be censored. The changeling sergeant looked over to his long-time comrade, Corporal Spurious, who also appeared to be uninjured. Decimus scrambled to get back up and compose himself as his subordinate did the same.

“I think they missed us!” Corporal Spurious choked out between gasps as he spat a fair amount of blood out of his mouth, “Hell of a night sir!”

“Astute observation corporal!” Decimus replied, letting out a pained laugh as he concluded that he may have cracked a rib diving to the ground, “But I don’t think they were aiming for our battery! Headcount!”

The eight other members of the howitzer team called out quickly, except for Private Quintus who simply made some kind of panicked cry, but he appeared to be breathing. The experienced corporals Spurious, Bactrim and Clelia were rapidly recovering, but the recruits still appeared shaken out of their minds.

Many of the fighters under the sergeant’s command were still green, a scenario not uncommon for any surviving drone at this point in the war. Many of these changelings were hastily gathered replacements for the many more drones lost in the first months of the retreat.

These new replacements were scrambled together out of the rural occupation garrisons, which had seen varying levels of combat, some having seen almost none until the past month. As it turns out, being a prison camp security guard was very different from fighting on the front. For whatever it was worth, Decimus at least hadn’t lost anybody tonight, and there were still enough ‘lings to operate the howitzer.

Upon a quick assessment of the area, it appeared as though the other five fire teams were operational as well. Across the entire battery, overturned lanterns and the occasional searchlight illuminated the sight of changelings scrambling to reorganize their positions in the aftermath of the counter-artillery barrage.

Though the battery worked to reorganize, Decimus knew that several kilometers over the hill ahead and past the trenches of the front line lay the Equestrian counter-battery, probably much better prepared and becoming more accurate while the changelings tripped over one another to maintain any kind of order in their position.

“Well then, it looks like we’re all still alive!” Spurious said, the blue changeling working to stand back up. He had always been one to try and make light of the situation.

“If you can call this living!” corporal Bactrim, a single-fanged changeling quipped back. Bactrim had served with the sergeant nearly as long as Spurious, having been on the fire team since the changelings were still pushing forward into this damnable pony country.

The sound of gunshots cut through the chatter as the team once again collectively dove to the ground. Several beads of light blitzed through the sky above the fire team for a brief moment. Fortunately, the enemy fire flew far too high and wide to kill, but the bullets proved no less threatening for it.

“Keep the banter to a minimum!” Decimus replied as he turned to face his team, “That Equestrian recon team is still posted up in the hill!” he shouted, “For the love of the Queen what is our perimeter defense section doing?“

“Sir!” The female changeling next to Decimus began, “I don’t believe we have a perimeter defense anymore!”

Her name was Corporal Clelia, and she was perhaps the most competent of the group next to Decimus himself. She had served nearly every role a drone could hold in this conflict, from field medic to machine gunner.

As Sergeant Decimus looked above the sandbag barrier in front of him, he realized the plume of smoke from where the counter-artillery strike had hit was conspicuously close to where their support MG nest was supposed to be firing from. In all likelihood, the security team was gone.

“We need that team suppressed before they call out the battery properly this time!” the Sergeant commanded.

“We don’t have infantry!” a worried recruit cried out.

“We are the infantry!” Corporal Clelia shot back, crawling towards her weapon as the other two corporals followed suit.

The changelings leaned up against the hastily-erected fortifications, weapons in their hooves. Clelia fired the first shot before Bactrim and Spurious joined in. Soon the entire team, then the entire battery was laying down suppressive fire on the enemy spotters,.

“Not too smart of them to use tracer rounds!” corporal Spurious noted as he fired at the ponies hiding in the foxhole ahead.

Within minutes, in what Decimus imagined was the result of a combination of abject desperation and panic, four pegasi flew from the foxhole into the violet, smoke-stained night sky in an attempt at a retreat. Despite the cover of darkness, it was clear that the suppressive fire had a profound effect on the ponies. In a moment, four broken equine bodies fell back to the earth, slamming into the semi-frozen ground with certain lethality.

“Confirmed kills on the spotter team sir!” Corporal Clelia announced, a hint of pride in her voice.

“Hail our Queen! For the hive!” Private Helix, one of the new replacement drones, cheered. Several of his fellow recruits joined in as some portion of the battery became filled with a new vigor at having survived the skirmish. Decimus was not moved by this optimism.

The sergeant had seen this evening before several times. Scattered Equestrian infantry would inevitably manage to break through the line kilometers ahead at several points, and the night would become a balancing act of preventing further artillery callouts on their position while attempting to be as accurate as possible when firing their own damned cannons.

What was especially worrying was that the enemy had already let loose a close counter-barrage, and the perimeter team was evidently gone.. The enemy spotters were gone as well, but more would come. Even ignoring that, there was no way of telling if the Equestrians already gathered enough intelligence to feel confident trying to attempt firing on the changeling battery again. He couldn’t imagine the trenches were in a much better scenario right now.

Still, there’s no order to retreat yet.

“Back into gun positions! Bactrim, begin priming more shells!” Sergeant Decimus said, putting his thoughts back towards their objective. The sergeant’s eyes proceeded to rapidly scan the battery for the newest member of the squad, “Private Quintus, is our radio still functional?”

“Y-y-y-“ the young changeling began to stammer out.

“Are you a larva Private? Out with it!” Decimus pressed the nervous soldier.

“Y-yes sir! Radio is fully operational, receiving shortly!” he cried back, adjusting some knobs on the large saddlebag-like device.

Sergeant Decimus felt a degree of pity for the young bug. He certainly hadn’t seen much combat, and he definitely had never been tasked with operating a radio at the front line. Still, this was no place to show weakness, especially under the circumstances.

It was remarkable how much danger they were in while being this far away from the front. Though it seemed to Decimus as if every battle had started to become like this. What had happened to the once-infallible swarm?

The changelings had suffered a brutal winter, having been pushed back across the entire country by the Equestrians. Each step they had taken over the past several months was backward, and it seemed as though they were all collectively scrambling over one another to outrun the ponies chasing them down.

This war in its entirety had become humiliating. Rage and a deep sense of embarrassment filled Decimus every moment he stopped to consider that for all the pastel-colored equines he had ended, they still overwhelmed the swarm by sheer numbers and logistical advantage. The promise of a quick and decisive victory had been crushed by seemingly endless numbers of tanks, planes and cannon fodder from the east. Worst of all, the opponents dealing out this vicious counterattack were ponies of all creatures!

In spite of his injured pride as a drone, cruel reality remained very clear to Decimus: The ponies had become wiser to their position in the wider world, and their massive waves of well-supplied troops showed it. The swarm was simply outnumbered, outmaneuvered, and outgunned.

The sergeant knew that the defensive front had already been broken through in several places and was likely much worse than command let on. It was anybody’s guess as to if they had already been cut off from the rest of the forces retreating to the border. This crusade had proven itself to be a fool’s errand, and it was he who was paying for the mistakes. He considered himself lucky for surviving this far into the retreat.

But then, luck doesn’t last forever.

“Sir!” called Private Quintus interrupting the sergeant’s brief reflections, “HQ reports that Yellow Jacket Platoon spotter is requesting fire mission! Grid 230742, direction is 60 degrees, requesting we destroy advance Equestrian infantry position!”

Sergeant Decimus reacted efficiently as though he were a machine. The sergeant confirmed and reiterated the instructions to his comrades as the other fire teams down the line of the battery followed suit.

“A-adjusting! Touchdown in 30 seconds!” Quintus spoke out over the radio. The changeling sounded as though he was on the verge of tears.

The changelings moved with remarkable efficiency. Quickly, the lack of perimeter defenses was quickly compensated for by the rapid emplacement of several machine guns that a few of the experienced drones began to operate with relative ease and a degree of confidence, watching the hills for any new interlopers. Orders began to flow in alongside truckloads of shells, making up the oil that kept this terrible machine running.

Shell after shell streaked through the violet night sky, heavy obscured by the growing numbers of smoke pillars arising over the hills ahead. Each call of the howitzer was followed by a distant explosion as a response, presumably accompanying Chrysalis knows how many deaths. The changeling war machine continued to hum along through the night, but it was not without error.

Decimus saw the growing clumsiness in each reload of the cannons as fatigue took hold over the hours. He saw the growing delays in logistics leading to their firing speed outpacing their resupply. Orders were being constantly dictated by HQ at a rate that had started to outpace the ability of the battery to fulfill them. Several of the trucks used to ferry munitions had become stuck in one of hundreds of craters littering the province, and the third fire team appeared to have suffered some kind of barrel malfunction that limited their ability to perform for at least half an hour.

These misfortunes could have perhaps been prevented with extra preparation time, but this battlefield had been used before and certainly hadn’t seen any upkeep during the retreat. The “legacy” equipment supplied was woefully outdated and undermaintained. The “battled tested veterans” were weary and underfed, and the “fresh” recruits were collapsing of fatigue, hardly trained as they were thrown into the empty spaces becoming more common in the ranks.

Sergeant Decimus recalled the fantastical blitz through the early battles of the war. The state of his unit like he saw now would have been worthy of disciplinary measures a year ago, but now this appeared to be the best they could muster in such circumstances. Here he was, shouting orders as he always had, firing the same guns, but where was the glory? Where was that old resolve? That old feeling that the swarm could topple anything? The sergeant found himself longing for the days when the ponies hardly knew how to hold their weapons.

Decimus had a feeling that he was stuck in the middle of a bitter cycle that he had seen over a dozen times. These recruits would soon come to the same revelations he had and would lose any confidence they had as time went on. These battles would drag on in attrition until an inevitable, blood retreat. This was assuming they weren’t totally annihilated before then.

Even if they were to survive this, Decimus knew he would continue to scrape by and have to deal with as many new faces as comrades he had lost with each encounter. Each time, the new faces were less experienced than the last. He found familiarity in his remaining corporals, but they too were becoming fewer each month it seemed.

These sentiments continued to stew in the back of the sergeant’s mind, yet he still operated as the cog he was trained to be and continued to shout his orders at his subordinates. Regardless of if his predictions would prove true, the guns continued to fire and the shells continued to land in the front. Somewhere ahead, a massive plume of flame illuminated the hill, and for a brief moment the horizon was clearly seen.

Several figures appeared over the hill, proceeding to swiftly navigate the underbrush as though they were wild animals accustomed to it. Though they were far away and were but mere shapes to the recruits, Decimus and his corporals recognized the sight immediately. The way the figures slipped through the night, nearly disappearing into the inky blackness ahead was undeniable.

“Jaegers?” Spurious exclaimed.

“What in Tartarus are they doing this far back from the front?” Bactrim started in a worried tone, “The jaegers never get pulled back this early, what’s happening?” The changeling turned to his sergeant, hoping for reassuring explanation.

Decimus said nothing and continued to stare at the figures. Jaegers had been widely known as masters of infiltration since the battle of Canterlot so many years ago. They served to envelop enemy infantry, often filling up the parts of the line unaccounted for along the way. They were a vital defensive component of the recent battles. Seeing them on an ordered retreat was a bad sign, but what was worse was seeing that they were retreating from the same direction the pegasi spotters had come from earlier. It was quite a large possibility that the entire defense in that direction was failing. Decimus turned back to his fire team to dictate the next set of orders to come through the radio.

“What is the major thinking? We’re sitting ducks if the line’s been broken again. We shouldn’t be here!” Bactrim continued, unimpressed with his superior’s lack of reply, “We haven’t even had a security team since they nearly killed us with the barrage earlier! They haven’t sent anybody over here for anything but to deliver more damned shells!” the changeling said, his anxiety rapidly increasing as he fumbled the munitions he was loading.

“Bactrim, get ahold of yourself,” Corporal Clelia said, attempting to diffuse the slow panic beginning to spread down the battery.

“We need an answer!” he fired back.

“We’ll get one,” Clelia said, turning to face the sergeant.

Decimus nodded slowly, processing his thoughts and maintaining his composure, he approached a sweating Private Quintus and began to operate the radio. A very short conversation followed, culminating in a very clear order.

“Major Vanco has not ordered a retreat at this time. Continue barrage-box suppression until ordered otherwise,” an emotionless tone conveyed through the receiver.

Decimus turned to face his squad and relayed the orders for continued fire at the predetermined coordinates provided to him. Their function now was essentially just to prolong the ponies while changelings pulled back. It was another defeat.

“Sir! We can’t expect to be perfectly fine here while we have our best units off the front already. If they advance on us now there’s nothing we can do! The major has lost his mind!” Bactrim called out, irritation overtaking fear.

Decimus continued to read out coordinates as the recruits fearfully looked at one another.

“For starters, you can start doing your job again,” Corporal Spurious interjected, “We’ve gotten this far following our orders and we need you to help push the next shell. Don’t lose your head Bact.”

Corporal Clelia began to turn the valves of the howitzer, adjusting for the next shot.

“We’ve gotten this far!” Bactrim retorted, “What about Aixan and Deztrix? Mintzi and Carapice? What did this retreat do for them? Doing nothing different and hoping we end up any different is madness!”

Spurious and Celia winced at the names of their fallen comrades. Decimus stood unmoving, as his head turned towards the raving corporal.

Many of the nearby recruits were now nearly petrified at this exchange, except for Private Helix, who was unabashedly trying to ignore Bactrim’s outburst as he assisted with positioning the howitzer. Quintus continued to fumble about with his radio, his expression similar to that of a prisoner ascending a set of stairs to the gallows.

Sergeant Decimus moved towards his longtime comrade, baring his fangs as he began to speak, “The retreating drones on the front need our support corporal,” he said while letting out a hiss, “We have orders. Your opinion on the matter is irrelevant,” Decimus moved closer, “Unless you’re deciding to become insubordinate.” Decimus emitted a low growl as he came face to face with Bactrim.

“S-sir?” Corporal Spurious stuttered, taken aback by the sudden hostility Decimus displayed. He had never taken such a tone with Bactrim before.

The sergeant took Bactrim by the collar of his uniform and pulled him away from the team as he continued in a lower tone as to not allow the others to hear, “You need to keep it together,” he said, gesturing towards the frightened recruits, “They’re relying on us now,” he said, glare softening, “We’ve made it this far west, I’ll get us out of here, but you need to have faith and do your duty.”

Corporal Bactrim breathed with relief, seeing that Decimus had no intention of harming him. He silently nodded with agreement, looking at the sergeant with an expression that seemed to say “I trust you”.

Decimus loosened his grip on Bactrim and stood tall, addressing the weary team, “Carry on.”

The drones began to continue the same mechanical process of receiving Decimus’s relayed orders, turning the valves to aim, priming and pushing the shell through, and finally firing yet another round. The process had grown noticeably slower than it had been earlier, but all continued to work at the task.

Not my finest bluff, but he can keep it together long enough for us to retreat.

In all honesty, Decimus related to Bactrim more than he would admit. A mere year ago, he would have gladly thrown his life into any danger for the swarm. After all, it was the destiny of all changelings. Now, he felt a hesitancy growing in the back of his mind that he had never felt before.

As the barrage dragged on, Decimus noted several trucks moving past the battery. He wondered if they were to finally prepare to tow the guns and retreat, but each glimmer of hope he had for retrieval was stamped out as the trucks continued to drive past without any sign of return. Bactrim among several others anxiously continued to look at each vehicle driving by, but remained silent. Decimus remained silent about his observation that the trucks were headed to HQ.

The process continued for another half-hour before the dreaded encounter occurred. It had started with distant gunshots becoming louder, then smoke over the horizon began to obscure the view over the hill ahead. Finally, the faint buzzing and humming of distant changeling wings made it clear that a hasty and troubled retreat was headed their way.

Screaming cut through the night sky as a platoon of drones came rushing down the hill in a full retreat. Those who attempted to take to the sky were cut down rapidly by gunfire coming from behind, concealed by the continually rising pillars of smoke.

Bactrim, Clelia, and Spurious all looked to their sergeant immediately upon seeing the distant carnage growing near.

“Combat positions!” Decimus ordered, grabbing his rifle.

Clelia immediately positioned herself on the MG emplacement and soon began to fire into the smoke once it was clear that there were too few remaining allies ahead to pose a significant risk of friendly fire. Certainly no changelings remained in the sky.

Spurious and Bactrim immediately leaned up against the same sandbags as before and awaited the inevitable. Private Helix and the recruits did much of the same as the entire battery prepared for a desperate defense. Gun teams all across the line readied themselves. Finally, the cause of their troubles was made known.

“Bats!” Clelia cried out.

They came from the smoke as demons piled through the gates of Tartarus in ancient myth. Thestrals were natural predators of the night, and they were always camouflaged under these conditions. Their advance was swift and merciless. The dreaded “vampire ponies” could see perfectly well in these conditions, and it showed as several gunshots immediately rang out that were accompanied by the collapse of drones across the line.

Decimus fired into the air ahead, accompanied by his squad they layed volley upon volley of rifle fire into the night air. Complemented by Clelia’s continuous fire, he counted at least four bats falling from the sky. A brief feeling of elation overcame the sergeant, but as the bats returned fire Decimus quickly dove behind the nearby howitzer, narrowly avoiding a hail of magic rifle fire on the way. Not many were as lucky, as Decimus quickly looked over to see that the fourth and fifth gun teams had already lost half their units.

Minutes passed as the sides desperately exchanged shots, but it was clear that the battery did not pose any more than an inconvenience to the bats. They had ceased flight and were steadily moving forward on the ground, but this was little consolation. The bats could be practically invisible simply by laying in the grass of the unilluminated areas. Perhaps if the battery had been supplied with enough searchlights to illuminate more than their immediate area, they would’ve had a chance, but as it was they continued to fire into the darkness.

As Decimus chambered another round into his rifle and leaned over the side of the howitzer to face the blackness of the night, he was taken by surprise as one of the recruits trotted towards him.

“Eughcanmelegs” the changeling gargled out before grasping the sergeant’s collar with his hooves. He began to let out a dreadful retching sound.

Decimus could hardly remember this one’s name. Was it Karx? Reticulus? It didn’t matter. The sergeant pulled him behind his cover as he realized his uniform was saturated with crimson. Decimus lowered the recruit to the ground as the retching noise ceased.

Looking across the howitzer again, he saw another of the new recruits rise slightly, and turn to face the scene that had just played out. Before Decimus could shout at him to lower himself back into cover, a similar crimson liquid sprayed across the dirt as this recruit too dropped to the ground.

From behind a nearby crate, Decimus continued to hear Private Quintus mewling.

“Speak up dammit!” Decimus called out.

“R-retreat sir! We’re to retreat and leave the guns!” Quintus replied.

“They’re too late!” Bactrim screamed as another burst of Equestrian rounds slammed into their sandbag blockade he was desperately clinging to for cover.

Corporal Clelia shouted something unintelligible before suddenly abandoning the MG. Her wings flared to life as she burst past the howitzer into cover behind a stack of more crates. Spurious followed suit, but Bactrim remained pinned behind his cover as more bursts of gunfire followed.

In an instant Private Helix dove towards the MG nest. He tossed something up from the ground and kicked it with a foreleg.

“For our Queen!” the private screamed.

A blast rang out, and Decimus collapsed.

A cloud of dirt filled the air around Decimus as he regained consciousness, and an incessant ringing overtook all ability to hear. The sergeant crawled across the muddy ground. He saw glimpses of changelings running past him. Webbed wings were visible for a moment before the smoke and dirt overtook his vision. Finally, the sergeant leaned up against some sort of object, though he could not tell what.

The scene played out soundlessly, only accompanied by the shrill noise persisting in the sergeant’s ears. An orchid appeared in the smoke, which was quickly revealed to be the cutie mark belonging to four legs emerging out of the chaos. Fangs glistened in the night, though they were not changeling fangs. The creature drew near.

The thing began to raise a pistol and took aim at the sergeant. Decimus would have winced if he had the faculties to do so, but he merely stared blankly forward as the figure continued to materialize from the smoke. Decimus could only conjure a single thought in his mind.

I can’t stand this ringing sound.

Decimus continued to stare as the batpony before him grimaced and began to pull the trigger. There was a flash before the thestral spasmed and fell to the earth as a slew of submachinegun fire cut through its side. He felt hooves pull him from behind.

“Get up Sergeant!” the muffled voice of Spurious called out. The ringing began to fade as Decimus was brought up back on his hooves by the corporal. They were behind a container full of unloaded supplies intended for the trucks. The constant sound of gunshots was fading.

“Are you shot?” Clelia said, approaching through the clearing smoke, “It looked like Bactrim got him in time,” the corporal began to pull out a first aid kit, “Decimus?”

The sergeant looked back at Bactrim, still crouched behind the sandbags. He gave him a thankful nod that was returned in full.

“I’m alright,” Decimus coughed, “What’s our situation?”

“Three casualties from the firefight, Private Helix and Quintus are the only green ones left on our team,” Clelia said, examining the sergeant’s thoracic region.

“That larva might have saved all of our lives back there,” Spurious said, “I think that grenade he kicked back took out a whole squad of 'em! They’re pulling back!”

Private Helix grinned in the distance before turning to take another shot at the enemy, “We’ve sent them running back to the line!”

“Pulling back? They looked to outnumber us three to one and had us completely overrun!” the sergeant exclaimed.

He looked to the few thestrals visible in the distance flying back over the hill. The battery was in such poor shape that not many were able to fire back as the bats made an easy escape. He thought for a moment on these implications.

His eyes widened as the realization dawned on him.

An unmistakable sound began to reverberate through the night air. It was as though a great storm had suddenly and rapidly begun advancing on their position.

“Typhoon!” a distant voice called out.

Typhoon. The final word of many changelings.

“Retreat now!” the sergeant screamed out, pushing Clelia off of him.

Decimus limped first, but began to enter a steady gallop. His wings felt as though they may snap if he tried to use them now. Spurious, Clelia, Helix, and Quintus followed behind, and scattered survivors of the others fire teams made a run for it as well. They made haste across the crater-covered fields behind the battery.

The sergeant turned to see Bactrim lagging behind a great deal. The changeling was limping on his back legs, and a wing was bent out of its normal shape.

He’ll make it. Bactrim’s always made it. Remember Applewood?

The changelings moved as fast as they could, but the Equestrian air force proved to be faster. The sound of the typhoon grew louder. Decimus was felt as though his heart would burst from his thorax as he continued to gallop.

That damned plane. That damned sound.

Decimus continued to spare glances behind him, growing more disheartened with each as he saw Bactrim losing ground.

Why doesn’t he catch up?

He couldn’t stop, he had the rest of the team to look out for didn’t he?

If I could just spare a moment to-

The whistling sound of the bomb falling grew louder than that of the plane’s motor as the earth beneath Decimus moved. He collapsed as the sounds of screams were cut off. The ringing returned along with the copious amounts of smoke.

How long did Decimus lay before he scrambled to his hooves? A minute? Five? A haze clouded his vision, but as he began to see clearly, he turned to see Spurious pulling Clelia away from a figure on the ground.

Bactrim’s back forelegs were covered in gauze soaked with crimson. His muzzle was moving, but Decimus heard no words. His horn was chipped in half, and he had double the holes in his legs than were normal for a changeling.

Clelia leaned down to attempt to rewrap a leg, but Spurious shouted something at her and they both began to gallop away towards the fallback line behind Decimus. Private Quintus was nowhere to be seen.

Decimus began to move towards Bactrim before a voice called out from the side as the auditory world came back into focus.

“Sergeant Decimus sir!” Private Helix called out.

The sergeant had no idea how long the private had been standing there, but he was flanked by four other survivors. Snapping back to his obligations, and giving Bactrim a final glance, he turned to face the drones.

“Retreat.”

Chapter 3: The Morning After

“Ah! H-hooves up!”

…

“Okay, okay, don’t panic.”

“Nimble what is tha-,” she gasped.

“Just stay calm.”

“-I’ve never actually seen one this close.”

…

“What’s she trying to say?”

“I-I don’t know. Do you speak ponish? Are you hurt?”

…

“D-do you have a name?”

…

“It’s okay, we’re not gonna shoot.”

…

“What in Tartarus is going on over here?!”

“Oh! C-corporal! We found one.”

A cacophony of rumbling motors and whirring propeller blades cut through the morning air.

Nimble jolted awake letting out a startled whinny as the Typhoons flew right overhead. He fell over gasping, and after looking about the foxhole, barely illuminated by the meager light of dawn, he concluded that he was in fact, still alive and that the planes were friendly. The pony wheezed as he strived to catch his breath, a moment of panic fading. He turned to Roaring, still asleep as he had come to expect. Surprise and relief were quickly replaced with embarrassment and irritation after he began to hear the laughing from the foxhole to his left.

“That must be a new record Greenie! I think I could see you jump from over here!” The familiar voice of his batpony friend rang out between fits of laughter, “Maybe if you were awake you would’ve heard them coming earlier!”

“Hey!” Nimble sniped, “Those featherbrains are flying way too close!”

“It’s called close air support for a reason Greenie,” Pteri replied, “Besides, you gotta keep a cooler head if you’re gonna be the kind to take naps at the end of the shift.”

“Pteri!” he shot back as his face flushed, “I figured you’d be more stressed than me right now, considering the sun’s gonna come up soon and turn you into dust.”

“Hey I told you earlier, it’s your neck if you say that again!” She snapped back as her giggling came to an abrupt stop.

“Try me, fangs!” He shot back.

“Gladly!”

Nimble’s confidence evaporated as heard the extension and flapping of webbed wings. A grey-coated Thestral with a rosey mane landed in front of the foxhole, fangs bared.

“Hey! Get back to your hole! Night’s not over y-“ Nimble didn’t finish as Pteri pointed a hoof towards the rapidly rising sun behind her.

“Let’s have a little more situational awareness Nimble,” Pteri hissed with a smug smile, “You wouldn’t want to be off guard on watch," the batpony bared her fangs.

Nimble gritted his teeth, “What? No, you-“

“Shuddup over there!” A deep voice bellowed from three holes over. “Rise and shine foals, we’re moving out today. Everypony eat, pack up, and be ready for a briefing by 0700.” Sergeant Whitemane said as he addressed all five foxholes containing the ten soldiers under his command, who were promptly awake or in the process of getting up.

The massive stallion sergeant began to climb out of his hole before he would march across the perimeter, assessing his ponies as he always did when the day began like this. Old Whitemane himself was not to be tested. Celestia help the pony who wasn’t awake and ready during his morning assessment.

Pteri, in a moment of clarity, immediately flew back to her hole at what must have been the speed of light, very narrowly avoiding the scorn of the sergeant now moving in her direction. He passed by, his iron stare lingering at Pteri’s foxhole before walking past and coming to Nimble Green’s hovel.

“Private Nimble! Look alive! Roaring looks ready to kill an Ursa on command, and you look about ready to turn tail at the first sign of a roach!”

“Y-yes sir!” Nimble stammered out while standing to salute, feeling a hoof slap his back from behind.

“Thank you much Sarge!” Roaring Winds happily said with his characteristic Appleloosan drawl.

Nimble turned to face his now very much awake-looking squadmate. The southerner had a massive, knowing grin on his face that certainly didn’t look like it belonged to somepony who had just woken up.

It was going to be a long day.

The water in the cast-iron pot began to bubble as Nimble looked across the fire at Pteri. He received little but a glare in response.

“Lover’s quarrel?” Roaring said, the same goofy grin on his face as always.

“Buck off Roaring,” Nimble replied as he poured his oats into the pot, “You know, you could’ve said something if you weren’t really asleep, I could’ve had a proper nap.”

“Oh come on you got a catnap in,” Roaring laughed, “There’s no need to be so angry. We’re all the same rank here anyway. It’s not like relationships are gonna get you kicked out of the militia.”

Pteri bared her fangs.

“Easy Pteri! There’s no reason to be mad, I’m rooting for you two!” the orange stallion continued, clearly the most amused he had been in days, “We’ve all been serving together for what, three months? You two already sound like a bickering old married couple to the point where your arguing wakes me up early. That’s impressive!”

“Now, now, Roaring,” a calm and collected voice to Nimble’s left spoke up, “The two clearly wish to maintain their privacy. Though shouting at each other in the morning certainly isn’t the most effective method of doing so, we should respect their wishes.”

The voice belonged to Private Finishing Touches, a grey-coated unicorn with an equally grey mane and an equally grey voice, if such a thing existed. As the squad’s closest thing to nobility, he worked to keep himself composed, though this didn’t mean he was opposed to good fun. His Canterlotian accent showed that though he was more subtle about it, he was just as amused as Roaring.

“Really Finish? I thought we were friends,” Pteri said, betrayed.

“Why of course dear,” he said, giving a soft Canterlotian smile back that acted as laughter in its own right.

“Then stop encouraging him!” the batpony said.

“Can we eat breakfast? The oats are almost done!” Nimble suggested, “We haven’t been able to have a fire in days!”

“It’s okay Pteri, you can trust us. I’ll keep it all under wraps, Sarge won’t even know,” Roaring continued, completely ignoring Nimble.

“You’re gonna need some wraps if you keep this up!” Pteri fired back.

“Oats are done!” Nimble said, taking the pot off the fire and getting the bowl out of his mess kit.

“Hey now sister there’s no need for fightin’ words, save it for the bugs and your coltfriend,” Roaring chuckled, reaching over and grabbing the pot from Nimble before the private could pour any of the oatmeal into his bowl.

“Um, could we stop fighting and eat please?” a purple-coated pegasus to the left of Pteri said in a voice as soft as silk, “I haven’t had oatmeal in three days and I really would like to take my time to enjoy this.”

Private Feather Fleece was an odd pegasus. Despite coming from Las Pegasus, she was easily the quietest of the group, though you’d be a fool to confuse that for meekness. She was full of contradictions.

“Yes, yes, terribly sorry dear Fleece,” Finishing said, horn beginning to glow. The pot of oatmeal floated out of Roaring’s hooves just as he was about to pour his share into his bowl, settling into Fleece’s hooves a moment later, “These three make quite the ruckus when left in close proximity with nothing to do I’m afraid. I’m sure it’ll get better on the road.”

“But I-“ Nimble started.

“It’s okay Finish,” Fleece replied, looking over at Pteri with a sympathetic smile, offering her the oatmeal.

Pteri gave a final glare to Roaring before letting out an exasperated sigh as she accepted Fleece's gift and poured the oatmeal into her bowl, “Alright I’ll relax if he shuts up. For the record, I’d never be interested in a stallion who falls asleep during his watch anyway,” she smirked, glancing at Nimble.

Nimble, in total dejection at his lack of oatmeal, was far too preoccupied with staring at his empty bowl to reply.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry bats,” Roaring conceded, tossing an apple to the thestral before snatching the bowl out of Finishing’s hooves as it was about to become Nimble’s turn for a serving.

Pteri caught the fruit and proceeded to bite through the skin with her fangs. Within seconds the apple was a dehydrated husk. Roaring cringed at the sight.

“Apology accepted my dear friend,” Pteri smirked.

Roaring gave another laugh, more nervous than the last, “Th-that’s what it’s all about yeah? Friendship is magic after all! Just like the princess says,” he continued before trying to change the subject, “Hey, did I ever tell you about that time the elements came to my hometown? The rumors about the random musical numbers are actually completely true!”

As Roaring went on another one of his stories, his voice faded into oblivion as he passed the pot to Nimble who was only focused on retrieving his rightfully earned breakfast.

There was probably about half a serving left.

Nimble Green stumbled his way up the hill, nearly tripping over himself several times in the process. He had decided to join the ponies from the other half of the squad in meeting the sergeant early. After all, he felt that sitting at a campfire without any breakfast would only serve to make his situation more miserable.

“Hey Green!” a cheery voice called from the side.

“Why do you look so-“an ever so slightly lower voice followed.

“-blue?” the two voices finished in harmony.

Nimble looked up to see the Stableside Sisters on the verge of bursting out in laughter.

“Didn’t get a good night’s sleep, or a good morning’s breakfast for that matter,” Nimble said unassumingly. It was always best to play it straight with those two.

“Poor Nimble,” Soprano, the elder sister called.

“Always drawing the shortest straw,” Alto, the younger followed.

“The worst luck,”

“The sorriest of fates,”

“The first to fall asleep,”

“The last to get oats,”

“Okay, I get it!” Nimble cut them off.

The two earth pony sisters grinned. They didn’t actually possess the name Stableside, but adopted it after their quick attitudes and heritage in the busy city bought them the title.

“How much of that were you watching earlier anyway?” Nimble questioned.

“Just enough!” Soprano giggled.

“In fact, we were just in the middle of devising a business venture related to your plight,” Alto added.

“Business venture?” Nimble questioned.

“Why yes Nimble, we happened to notice that Roaring, the dastardly and dreadful stallion that he is, took a large portion of your rightfully requisitioned oats! I have a solution for you my dear friend!” the mare said, pulling an orange-colored container out of her saddlebag.

“Is that-“

“The last carrot ration any of us will see for weeks? Possibly,” Soprano smirked.

Nimble perked up immediately at the mention of carrots, one of his greatest vices and comforts.

“All we ask for is an exchange of sorts; we understand that you’re one of the few ponies still in the possession of one of the boxes of sugar cubes we received from those nice folk in Tall Tale,” Alto said.

“You two want to trade for it? I’ll do it,” Nimble quickly replied, a hint of desperation in his tone.

“We weren’t thinking trade as much as we were thinking-“ Alto began.

“-a friendly game of Appleloosa hold em’!” the other sister finished, pulling out a deck of cards from her pack.

Nimble sighed, “Not again with you two, I’m already down twenty bits since last week’s game.”

“Aw, come on Nimble, you can’t win if you don’t play! We’ll even use Baltimare rules. It’ll be fun!” Soprano pleaded.

“Nobody wins with you two playing,” Nimble replied, his hopes of anything good happening this morning dashed.

Alto frowned, “That’s not true! Just two weeks ago, Feather-“

“Will you foals quiet down?” A bitter voice spat in their direction, “I’m trying to take in the view.”

Nimble turned to see more familiar faces at the summit of the hill. Corporal Acorn Leap scowled at the trio for a moment before turning back to look down from the hill at last night’s battlefield. The earth pony had a light-yellow coat accompanied by a brown mane. Acorn Leap may have seemed rather unassuming at a first glance, but it was known across the squad that he had been involved in the conflict longer than anypony, except perhaps Sergeant Whitemane.

Acorn Leap always carried himself in a way that made Nimble uncomfortable. Acorn hadn’t exactly made a point of becoming friends with the rest of the squad. He rarely played cards or even made conversation when it wasn’t necessary. In fact, Nimble only ever saw the corporal making any kind of casual conversation with the sergeant and the two ponies that flanked him.

Despite his asocial tendencies, Acorn was often followed by a thestral private named Noche and a black-coated unicorn named Ivory Arrow. Noche was the only other thestral besides Pteri in the unit, but was nowhere near as sociable. Ivory was much of the same in mannerisms, and often kept to himself. Nimble wasn't even sure where the unicorn was from.

Nimble hadn’t spoken to any of the three very much since their unit was formed, and it seemed as though they preferred to keep it that way. That trio shared a role as grenadiers for the squad, and they appeared to operate on the same wavelength, one that Nimble simply didn't comprehend.

Despite the ice-cold reception, Nimble decided to continue on to the summit of the hill, taking advantage of his chance to escape the Stableside Sisters, now discouraged by Acorn’s reprimand. The corporal’s rank wasn’t much higher, but he often carried some unspoken authority that had a way of commanding respect from the other ponies. After a brief trot to the summit, Nimble finally took in the same view that Acorn Leap had been staring at.

Smoke. One could see as far as what seemed like miles ahead from this position, but what caught Nimble’s eye most was the sheer amount of smoke. Panthers, now twisted and burning metallic bonfires, littered the fields. Even from here, Nimble could see that portions of the fields were littered with quadrupedal bodies. The trenches formed long lacerations in the earth that stretched on and on across the land, already peppered by countless craters and areas scorched by the brush fires. If you had told Nimble that this was Equestria several years ago, he never would have believed you.

Still, the sun shined down all the same. There was no terrifying storm or darkness to accompany the scene. The sky was a beautiful cerulean that looked no different than it had years ago. It was almost insulting, the way that the pleasant morning sunshine illuminated the carnage below.

“Looks, like the Typhoons did pretty good work,” Acorn said, a half-smile on his face.

“Yeah,” Noche replied.

Nimble continued to stand with the trio overlooking the site for several minutes that felt like an hour. Slowly, the rest of the squad began to come to the summit one by one. As each came to the same vista, sounds of conversation faded. Even Roaring, caught in another one of his tales was brought to silence for a moment, overlooking last night's consequences.

The silence was eventually broken by a resounding “Attention!”

All ponies turned to face Sergeant Whitemane, the leader standing tall before them. He was an older stallion, though the mane of his namesake was nothing resembling an elderly or weak individual. He had a coat the color of a stormcloud, perfectly matching the tempered mix of confidence and experience he exude.

“Fillies and gentlecolts, we’ve come far,” the stallion started, “You’ve all served Equestria well. We’ve come all the way from Las Pegasus, fighting to take back our lands, our homes, and our very lives.”

“If by fighting you mean a whole lot of walking and digging holes!” Roaring shouted from the crowd. Several ponies laughed, and even the sergeant smirked. All laughing was cut short when Roaring was ordered to do hoof-ups for the remainder of the briefing.

“Yes Private, we’ve been playing catch up with the frontline for months now, and we’ve had it pretty easy,” Whitemane said, “All of that is about to change. Equestria’s pushed back hard, and there’s already talk of ponies crossing the border.”

“But sir,” Finishing Touches interjected, “If the changelings are already pushed that far back, then what was the situation last night?”

“I was getting to that Canterlot, I recommend you don’t interrupt me again,” Sergeant Whitemane smirked, glancing at Roaring, his speed on each hoof up starting to slow, “The bugs we fought last night are cut off from the rest of Chrysalis’s roaches. They’re running back to the only port they have left in our country, and we have them encircled. General Soarin himself has given our division the job of closing the pocket and securing the last major occupied city in the Equestria. We’re going to Vanhoover.”

Nimble along with the rest of the squad exchanged nervous glances, with the exception of Roaring who was sweating profusely as his form became worse with each repetition.

“So we’re finally going to do something besides sit behind the line and shoot at hills?” Acorn Leap said with a grin.

“Correct Corporal,” Sergeant Whitemane said before again addressing the entire squad, “We’re going to be experiencing urban combat unlike most of you have ever seen. The bugs aren’t going to give up easily. There’s a lot of good ponies in Vanhoover, and they’re relying on us to set em’ free. If anypony wants to be a hero, now’s your chance.”

Roaring Winds collapsed into a pile on the ground.

“Pegasi forward parties have set up a nice spring day for us. We have orders to begin moving forward with the rest of the battalion effective immediately. Pack up your saddlebags and be ready to move in ten minutes. Dismissed!”

The ponies of the squad murmured amongst themselves about the implications of their assignment. The Stableside Sisters no longer appeared to be in the mood for cards. Finishing Touches and Feather Fleece exchanged a few calm words, but the looks in their eyes showed a growing anxiety. They had all known that they’d pass through Vanhoover, but now that the moment was approaching, it grew apparent to the party that they’d be the ones on the front lines this time.

The changelings weren’t going to be retreating further back into their own country. They were trapped in Equestria, and would hold the city to the end. Any hope of walking through an abandoned Vanhoover was gone.

Nimble had complained plenty about digging foxholes and marching everyday, but in reality he knew it was vastly preferable to fighting in a city. He heard stories about what happened in places like Vanhoover in the early days of the war. Times like those changed ponies and the lands they lived in, often irreparably. Tall Tale came to mind.

Acorn Leap appeared to be in better spirits than before the briefing, and was actually engaging in eager discussion with Noche and Arrow. He looked as though he was an excited foal eagerly waiting outside a movie theater for a new showing.

Nimble glanced down at Roaring beside him, still catching his breath. He turned to look out over last night’s battlefield once more. Soon he’d be walking amidst that same wreckage, and later he would become a key participant in its creation. A sense of dread overcame him, but was broken as he felt something brush up against his side. Something was thrust into his saddlebags.

Nimble turned to see Pteri walking by with a smirk on her face. He checked his saddlebags immediately. There was an orange-colored package in the left posterior bag that hadn’t been there before.

It was a carrot ration.