“Cryin’ shame, honestly,” the griffon commander muttered.
The cliffside would have been sunlit and largely present, with a brisk southerly breeze to gently stroke one’s coat (or plumage, if one was of more avian descent). Instead, the dust and ash that had been kicked up dulled the noonlight and a whipping gale tore at the grass and foliage, that which had survived the searing heat.
Ambivalent to the scene of devastation before him, Gerald the griffon passed Colonel Flashfire the half-finished cigarette, lit on the smouldering stump of a cliffside tree. The faint smell of burnt grass and sulphur permeated the air. Flashfire took the cigarette and took a long, languid drag, tapping the excess ash off the end with his hoof.
“I did try to get the peggies’ to do a tornado or something but they were busy. Event in Filly’ or something. I don’t know, really.” Flashfire shrugged, dripping nonchalance. “You know how the pegasi are. Flying contest this, race that. If they could speedrun life, they would. Some do, I think.”
“Would have been nice to just blow some wind and force us to retreat. Tornado or something. I’ve seen youse do it,” Gerald replied. “Good bit of area denial. Nothing fancy. Can’t fly in hurricane winds. Not worth a damn, anyway.”
“I’m aware.”
“Just saying. Waste of a good field.” Gerald gestured at the firestorm in front of them, toxic flames licking the ground even now, nearly an hour after the initial detonation. “Could have grown crops on that. Wheat or something.”
“Maybe oats,” Flashfire suggested.
“Nah. Climate ain’t right. Too dry, I think.”
“Is it?”
“I think so, aye.” Gerald gestured at Flashfire, more specifically, the now stub of a cigarette. “Gimme that back.”
Flashfire passed the depleted cigarette back, and Gerald eyed it with a disappointed, singular eye. The other was behind an eyepatch. Or maybe it wasn’t behind the eyepatch; it could be anywhere, really, and the eyepatch would technically be hiding an empty socket. Flashfire didn’t know, and felt it would be rude to ask.
“Sorry. Used it up,” he said.
“Fuckin’ ‘ell. That was my last one.” Gerald said. “Greedy hornhead.”
“I’ve got cigars.”
Gerald’s eyes widened. “You prick, why didn’t you tell me? Get them out, then.”
“Telling you now.” Flashfire plucked a box out from his uniform jacket. “Here. Enjoy.” He leaned back against the charcoal stump of a tree. “On a scale of one to success, I’d give this one a three. You know you fellas’ don’t have to invade every year, you know.”
“It’s traditional. What else is the Griffonian army going to do? We like to get a bit of a fighting force together. Have an argy-bargy. You know. A little bit of a wumpus-rumpus.”
“Nopony says that.”
“I’m not a pony. You can’t say ‘nopony’ to me. That’s speciesist.”
“No griffon says that. You made it up. Your accent. The whole thing is made up. You think I didn’t notice, but I did.”
Gerald shrugged. “Some griffons wear fancy ‘ats. I have an accent. Big fuckeroonie, you know?”
“You’re incorrigible.” Flashfire gestured at the former battlefield. “My point being, on no occasion have you even made it onto Equestrian soil. Not once. Yet you keep trying. Why?”
“Well, success isn’t the point. It’s about how close we get. It’s about sending a message.”
“If you wanted to send a message you could just send a message. You don’t have to wait until the next skirmish. We have mailponies, you know. Also, what message? There’s no message. It’s not a show of force because it never works. It’s also not threatening, because you know under no circumstances will we actually attack you back.”
“You might! You never know.”
“We won’t. Sunbeam Tsunami says:
‘Conventional warfare wisdom may indicate that with their magical superiority, complex and versatile doctrine, unpredictable civilian element and air superiority that remains unrivalled by any other faction on or under the globe, Equestria is the most unassailable nation in the world. This is, in fact, untrue. Whilst it is fact that Equestria features the most fearsome military, the nation that presents the most hurdles to invasion is in fact Griffonstone. Put simply, nobody, and I mean literally nobody wants to invade that desolate, debt-riddled pebble to the East due to the large chance that, upon a successful invasion, the invader will have to actually run the damn place and, even worse, inherit its' cosmic debt. The advantages to any successful invasion are also minimal, since griffons have negative productivity. For this reason, hostile factions would rather attempt a doomed assault on the nation with the literal God-princess than even come close to the Griffonian border. As they should.’
“He wrote that in six-hundred-and-eighty-nine; ‘Sayings of Sunbeam Tsunami’, which is the foundation of Equestrian strategic doctrine to this day. Centuries ago, we knew this. Not invading Griffonstone is baked into Equestrian military doctrine, crucial to our long-term survival as a geopolitical entity. The threat of possibly succeeding in an invasion and worse still, annexing Griffonstone is viewed as an actual potential existential crisis to our entire nation. When we plan conflicts against other factions, there’s always a bullet point that says ‘don’t invade Griffonstone, even by accident’. Griffonstone has negative strategic value beyond anything else on the planet and, presumably, off the planet too. Your national debt is just that bad.”
“Well you don’t have to be a prick about it.”
“Historically, border skirmishes against Griffonstone have been especially perilous because on multiple occasions, griffons defected mid-fight to switch to our side. We’ve had to turn them away in case we, quite against our own will, win the battle and mistakenly make territorial gains we do not want. It’s been a real struggle sometimes.”
“Aight, I get the picture. You can stop, yeah?”
“My point being, this was completely fucking unnecessary.”
Gerald smiled slyly, a difficult task considering the beak. “You say that, but I know you like firing off that spell of yours.”
“I don’t,” Flashfire protested, spluttering slightly. “It’s a horrifying spell. You can see the mushroom cloud from Canterlot.”
“You do. I read a bit about it. ‘Elderwood’s Supreme Fireball’. A spell so powerful that any unicorn with the specific talent to cast it won’t be able to cast any other spell. Very rare, I hear.”
“Yes, which makes it an even worse special talent to have. Imagine getting a mushroom-cloud cutie-mark, and then all of a sudden poof. No possibility to do any other kind of magic. Only fire.”
“But the rush though, right?”
Flashfire hesitated momentarily. “Well, it’s still an abomination of a spell and an abomination of a talent. You think it’s easy fitting into pony society with a talent that means I can level entire towns?”
“Not even that tactically helpful, now I think about it. Like that time your capital got invaded by changelings?”
“Yes. It’s pesky when the target is right in the middle of a major population centre. Especially our own.” Flashfire’s brow furrowed. “It’s a suboptimal option, but, admittedly, it’s acceptable area denial.”
“I bet you enjoy the pretty lights when it goes off, too. Besides, I think it’s cool that you have a spell nopony, not even them big horny-wingy princesses you have, can do.”
“Can’t look directly at it actually. You’ll go blind if you do that.”
Gerald clicked his tongue. “Bloody ‘ell you could have warned me.”
Flashfire sighed, relenting. “Okay, so I derive a small amount of enjoyment from casting magic for once in my life.” Flashfire took a cigar from Gerald. “Can’t even use telekinesis. What even is the point of being a unicorn if you can’t use telekinesis?”
“Horn looks good, though. You been filing?”
“I have, thanks for noticing.”
“Anytime mate.”
“Your feathers look shiny, too. Very glisten-y.”
“Got a new conditioner, didn’t I?”
“Nice.”
The pair looked at the devastation wrought by the Supreme Fireball. Flashfire sighed, watching the mushroom cloud that was his handiwork gradually float away into the sky. “Really is a shame we always meet like this,” Flashfire muttered. “I didn’t hurt anyone, did I?” he asked, concerned.
“Nah, I saw your horn charge up and told ‘em all to fuck off. This is war. Last thing anyone wants is an accident.”
“More like a border skirmish, really,” Flashfire corrected.
“Rude. We’re trying really hard, aight?”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to insult. Of all the things I can criticise, the degree of effort you barbarians put into this is not one of them.”
“It’s alright. One day we’ll make it to the border.”
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, we fuckin’ will. Just you wait.”
There was a sly enthusiasm in Gerald’s voice. Flashfire narrowed his eyes. “What are you planning?” he asked.
“Nothing!” Gerald said innocently.
“I swear to Celestia if one of you is digging a tunnel under the battlefield whilst you’re distracting me I’ll chuck another fireball at that field and collapse the stupid tunnel.”
“There’s no fuckin’ tunnel, mate!” Gerald protested, holding his talons up.
Flashfire narrowed his eyes. More.
“All right, fine. We dug a tunnel.” Gerald turned towards his troops. “Oi! Ginger! Tell Galacious to abort the tunnel. It didn’t work.”
Sub-minion Ginger turned to Gerald with a look of indignant revulsion. “But she’s not even halfway there! She’s been tryin’ real ‘ard, commander!”
“Well she ain’t gonna’ get halfway there if Flashfuck blows her head off, is she? Just tell her to go home. She did great.”
“She did do great, sir! Practised digging all week, she did. Trained her shovelling manoeuvres for hours.”
“I know, that’s what I fuckin’ said, didn’t I? Tell her I said that and tell her that I won’t even charge her for the shovels. It was a good plan and a good tunnel and she did Griffonstone proud.”
“She’ll be happy to hear that, sir.”
There was a pause.
“So get in the fuckin’ tunnel and tell her!” Gerald insisted.
“Fine, fine, I’m going! Bossy prick, don’t know who made you commander…”
Gerald shook his head, turning his attention back to Flashfire. “Fuckin’ hell. And after we spent ten bits on shovels.”
“Ooh, military funding get a boost, then?” Flashfire asked.
“Yup.”
“Baller.”
“Yup!”
Flashfire sighed. “You know, there are alternatives to meeting on the field of battle all the time.”
“Hmm?”
“Horsetown is right across the border. They have a nice bar. Could get drinks there?”
“In Equestrian territory? No chance, mate.”
“We have drinks with real alcohol in them, that aren’t called things like Slop, Piss, and Actual Vomit.”
“You son of a whorse, I’m in. We could do next Monday?”
“Don’t you have an invasion planned then too?”
“Oh, shit. Well. We’ll get it sorted quickly then I’ll pop over, how's about that? Give you a chance to pop off another spell or two, ey?”
“That does sound fun.” Flashfire nodded, and put on his military cap to leave. “Sounds good. See you then, Commander Gerald.”
“You too, Colonel Flashfire.”
Author's Note
Originally a speedwrite for Quills & Sofas with the theme 'War' and the prompt 'Shame we keep meeting like this', placed second. Cheers for reading, hope you had fun!
