War on the Shoulders of Giants

Chapter 1: Sky High

From the Journal of Maple Sugar: June 11, 1015

We got the news today that Raspberry Grove has fallen to the Changelings. Armored divisions broke over the river yesterday and are making a mad dash for Peachville with little in their way. The fifteenth and thirty second are holding them back in the White Tail Woods, at least for now, but orders are coming down that we’re going to be falling back behind the river at Ponydale to defend the supply depot there while the line is reformed.

I think everypony knew that was a bad idea. We’re holding the supply link from the north to the south in the Ruby Mountains, and I ain’t going to believe for a second a pony thought abandoning that is a good idea. General Reckless knew that, and this morning he gave a speech over the radio to us about the situation. Told us that the order is to fall back, and we are welcome to follow that order if we’d like.

Of course, he wasn’t going to do that. He said he’d be staying put, digging in deeper and making the Bugs dig him out with overwhelming force. I think that’s a sentiment that most everypony shared, I didn’t hear of one pony who will be leaving Dragon Mountain.

Today’s entry has got to be short. I’ve got work to do helping the squad digging some defenses facing south before the Bugs get here. Going to be losing sleep for the next few weeks, but Soft is holding out hope that the heads back in Canterlot are going to have this resolved before the winter sets in.

—-------

December 09, 1015

“So much for shit being fixed by winter.” A pony’s voice muttered. The speaker was hardly recognizable as a living creature, a heavy winter coat and scarf covering every bit of exposed coat aside from his green muzzle. The stallion stayed deathly still, a pair of binoculars pressed to the goggles over his eyes as he peered through a small gap in the snow bank that served as his cover.

“Ain’t gonna let it go, are you?” Said another white clad stallion lying in the snow. His voice was slightly higher than his counterpart, and carried a distinctive accent typical to southern Equestria. “I’m just tryin’ to keep morale up.” The pony continued, the tan hair of his right cheek resting on the stock of a white painted Lillia rifle as his blue eyes peered through the scope affixed to it.

“I think that ship has sailed, Soft.” The first pony said, lowering the binoculars from his eyes for a moment. He moved slowly to pick up a hoof full of snow, shoveling the cold crystals into his mouth before the binoculars came back up. Through the glass lenses, the stallion watched from on high a Changeling encampment some two hundred meters down the steep slope of the mountainside. Grey uniformed changelings huddled around fires to try and keep warm in the frigid winter conditions at the high altitudes of the Ruby Mountains.

“Ain’t sailed yet. We’re still kickin’.” Soft Landing spoke back to his partner. “Noticed any patrols headin’ out of there, Sugar? Officer has been talkin’ on that radio like mad for the last ten minutes or so. Gotta be some spotter somewhere eyein’ the supply flight.” The sniper spoke, remaining dead still as he could.

“None. Probably thinking they’re far enough downslope now to be off the frontlines.” Maple Sugar responded, squinting his tired eyes to stay focused on the picture beneath him. “Fuck, I’m tired. Flyboys need to pick it up, this is supposed to be my shift to rest.” He complained, lowering the binoculars again. He shuffled around slowly, pulling a carefully folded silk map from beneath his chest. He refolded it so a small portion of the map was face up, and he leaned it against the snow bank. “About five hundred meters out, are we worried about collateral on this one?”

“Naw. Think we’re far enough up that we ain’t gotta worry too much.” Soft responded, his gaze drifting to his right away from the lens of his rifle’s scope. “Don’t get antsy on me now. Ain’t our first rodeo, we’ll be fine so long as they don’t sneak patrols out of that camp. Keep your eye out for that.” He said, his eye fixing back into the lens of the scope. “How’s Stroke doing? You got to check up on her last week, she back on her hooves yet?” The sniper asked, trying to make small talk as the two waited.

“Better. She can walk again.” Sugar responded, lifting the binoculars again to peer into the changelings’ camp. “She’s on light duty at headquarters, serving as radio operator until she’s ready for action again.”

“That’s good to hear. I was worried she’d be down for the count.” Soft responded, before his body tensed slightly. “Hey, I got some wanderers. West side of camp, you see them?” The sniper spoke, the safety on his rifle flipping off as he followed his targets.

Sugar’s view shifted to the right slowly until he laid eyes on a pair of changelings that were leaving the camp in their direction. One carried a submachine gun, while the other hauled a small sled of supplies behind him. “Looks like they’re off to take some supplies to their OP if I had to guess.”

“Too bad we got there first.” Soft said, hoof slowly sliding towards the trigger. “Get on that radio to the flyboys. We’re gonna have to take ‘em out before they figure out what happened. Can’t do it myself or we’ll stir the hornet’s nest.” He said, following the bugs with his rifle as they began to slowly trudge through the snow on their way up the slope.

Sugar wasted no time in putting down his binoculars, turning around carefully to dust off the canvas covering of his saddlebag radio. He checked the settings of the radio, before he picked up the hoof set and placed it to the side of his head. “Giant, Brightside. Giant, Brightside. Do you copy? Over.” He spoke into the radio as quietly as he could manage.

For several seconds, there was nothing but the faint hum of static in his ear before a slightly garbled female voice responded over the radio. “Brightside, Giant. Go ahead, over.” It responded succinctly.

“Giant, we need to know when Tombstone plans to show up. We’ve got company incoming, over.” Sugar said, picking up his Limestone submachine gun from the snow bank beside the radio. He used a coat clad hoof to brush snow out of the action as best he could, before he pulled back the slide to make sure it wasn’t frozen shut.

“Roger, Brightside. Protect yourselves, I’ll get a sitrep from Tombstone. Giant out.” The voice responded before silence reigned again. The stallion continued to check over his weapon, ensuring there was no icing that would prevent the weapon from firing before closing the bolt and fitting a magazine into the weapon. “Alright old man, Stroke’s figuring out where they’re at. How’re we looking?”

“Praise Celestia, they’re taking their darn sweet time.” The sniper responded, still peering through the sight. “Think you can sneak your way back around the rocks to the north? They’re climbing the ridge to the north, could get a decent ambush over there.” Sugar checked the barrel of the weapon, notably a newer production model that included a much thicker barrel than most. Courtesy of an RAF resupply drop some months ago, Sugar had obtained a new model suppressed Limestone originally meant for the CSS commandos.

“I’ll do my best.” Sugar responded, turning to the other stallion. “Where’d you stash your mirror? That way I can signal you if I need to.” He asked, slinging his submachine gun around his neck and pulling his scarf over his muzzle.

“Top pocket of the saddlebag. I’ll keep an ear out for the call on Tombstone, stay safe out there.” Soft replied as Sugar began to dig through the pockets on the saddlebag for a small square mirror. Once he found it buried in the pouch, he slipped it into his bandolier. Sugar nodded, before crawling his way out the back of their enclosure. As he rolled out, he let his eyes peer off to the east, opposite the direction they’d been watching for some days to see the picturesque landscape that was the Dragon Mountain jutting into the sky.

The massive peak of the mountain and the smaller peaks of some outlying mountains were covered in gleaming white snow that caught the overhead sun. It was nature defined, and if not for the gun around his neck Sugar may have thought the world a peaceful place once more. The stallion took a moment to turn his head to the north, watching as the sheer cliffs of the mountains fell away into a lightly snow-covered valley over two thousand meters below. As far as the eye could see, there were gentle snow blanketed plains with the faintest detail of leafless trees merging into vague forests in the distance. As the wind blew into his masked face, his eyes raised to meet a swirling mass of dark clouds moving towards the mountain.

After a mere moment to bask in the beautiful landscape of the alpine front, Sugar ducked his head low and began to make a trot through the knee deep snow. He made sure to keep a low profile, making his way northwest to an outcropping of rocky terrain that jutted out from the snow and headed up the length of the ridge they had perched themselves on. He began to slide himself down the relatively steep slope, eyes scanning downslope from himself for the distinctive darker hues of the changeling uniforms or chitin. After an agonizingly long several minutes of pushing through the snow Sugar managed to press himself against the rocky ridge about two hundred meters from the observation post, steadying his weapon against the rocks towards the end of the rock formation ahead of him. His perch sat beside the gentlest incline up the ridge some fifty meters after it turned back south towards their previous position.

“Fucking Hell Landing…” Sugar whispered as he breathed out, his heart beating quickly from exerting his tired body. He moved a hoof up and pulled back the bolt on his weapon, the heavy bolt of the submachine gun locking back and ready to fire. The stallion then steadied his breathing and pulled down the hood over his head, revealing a dark brown mane and dark green ears that had perked up to listen for the changeling patrol. He strained to hear over the whistle of wind at the high altitude, but began to make out the chattering of the changelings as they approached.

The white clad pony wedged himself deeper in the snow between the rocks as he listened to them approach. As they closed in towards him, the crunch of snow underhoof and the scraping of the sled being dragged became more audible over the wind and Sugar’s hoof pressed lightly on the trigger as he prepared his ambush. After a couple minutes more the pair of changelings rounded the corner, their grey uniforms ill suited for alpine combat standing starkly against the white snow. The stallion squeezed the trigger with his hoof, tightening his grip down to control the recoil of the weapon as it spit bullets from its muzzle.

The weapon was by no means silent, though the suppressor muffled the sound of gunshots enough that there was no echo off the rocks or mountainside to carry over the wind. Sugar let off the trigger after a couple of seconds. As he lowered the gun he noticed the two changelings collapsed in the snow, green blood soaking into the white powder as he stood up out of his hiding place. His head snapped downslope, making sure that the changelings were definitely alone before he came out of cover. He pulled the white hood back over his head as he trudged through the snow towards the bodies.

“Sorry guys, nothing personal.” He said, shooting each changeling in the head to make sure they were gone before he pulled the white covers off of his hooves to grab onto the straps on the dead bug’s webbing. Green blood smeared over the pony’s hooves as he dragged them, the once warm liquid rapidly cooling into an icy and uncomfortable sensation on his skin.

Once the bodies were in the rocks, he recovered his hooves and pushed snow over them. He moved to cover the blood patches with snow as well before proceeding back up the slope. “Not perfect, but should buy us time until Tombstone gets back.” The stallion said, turning away from the downslope and starting the trek back up to the top of the ridge where his partner waited. The trek was long, made worse by his lack of rest for the last day watching over the enemy’s movements.

It took some ten minutes for the stallion to make it back to the perch, which he rolled into with a quiet warning.

“Heads up old man.” Sugar grunted, leaning himself against the snowy side of the nest. He took a few moments to huff as he tried to slow his beating heart from his short mountain climb. “Our problem is taken care of. What’s the word on Tombstone?”

“Got a quick call from Stroke. They’re about fifteen minutes from the drop zone for the supplies, so not too long a wait.” Soft said, his eyes still locked down his gunsight. “Your little adventure didn’t trip any alarms, so I think we’re cookin’ with fire.”

Sugar gave a weak cheer as he reached a covered hoof to pull down his scarf from his muzzle. “Lucky us. At least I’ll have enough time to not sound like I’m dying on the radio.” He groaned, picking a hoof full of snow from the snowbank to put in his mouth. The two sat in silence for a few minutes, the sniper keeping track of the Changeling encampment while his partner recovered from his jaunt down the mountain. After a relatively serene five minutes of peace and quiet, the radio began to buzz to life with faint static before a stallion’s voice sounded out faintly out of the earpiece of the hoof set.

“Brightside, Tombstone One. Brightside, Tombstone One. How copy? Over.” The voice over the radio asked quickly, the humming of a plane’s engine audible slightly over the pony and static from the radio.

Sugar pulled himself off the wall and reached for the hoof set, placing it to his ear and responding to the call. “Tombstone One, this is Brightside. Good copy, over.”

“Giant says you’ve got something for us.” The voice responded. “What’s the call, Brightside? Over.”

“Sector November.” The stallion responded, reaching for the map he had previously folded and placed in the snow. “Two five four, six oh one. Jager encampment, company sized detachment with minimal air defense. Two columns of smoke rising. Repeat, November two five four, six oh one. Company sized unit marked by smoke, over.”

“November two five four, six oh one confirm.” Tombstone responded, before falling silent for a moment. “Got it, Brightside. On the way, time to target, nine minutes. Tombstone One out.”

“About Celestia damned time.” Sugar grunted, shifting his body to lie prone in his observation position to the left of the sniper. He picked his binoculars out of the snow and peered back into the camp. The changelings still appeared none the wiser, which brought relief to the pair of ponies. “We’re back to HQ after this one is out, right? Seems to me like it’s been about two weeks.”

“Yup. This makes thirteen days. We’ll make the climb back tonight, and be back to worry over Stroke by lunchtime.” Soft said with a snicker. “Y’all are like, my newest little siblings or something. Number eight and nine.”

“Can’t believe your parents could put up with that many. I was a nightmare when I was a colt.” Sugar responded, his view moving across the camp to search for anyone sounding the alarm. As the two conversed, the drone of aircraft engines began to carry over the wind. The stallion couldn’t resist but smile as he heard the engines, the telltale sign that they’d be holding out one more week. “Sounds kind of light today. Let’s hope Tombstone is on their A game this week.”

“When are they not?” Soft replied, breathing out slowly. “Alright, keep your eyes on them machine gun pits on the east side of the camp. Thirty seconds and I’m gonna drop that officer on the radio. How far is the center of that camp?”

“Five hundred and eleven and some change. You’ve got a bit of a tailwind up here, looks like it drifts off to the southeast downslope.” Sugar said, watching the east side of the camp through his binoculars. The flapping of the canvas tents in the camp gave him some indication of the wind to communicate to his partner. “Ninety seconds until Tombstone is over target. Your window is open.”

“Yup.” Soft replied, going silent afterwards. The stallion’s hoof rested on the trigger and he steadied his breathing into a slow rhythm. Some seconds later, Sugar flinched slightly as his partner’s rifle fired. The sharp noise left a slight ringing in his ears, but the nest went completely silent after the shot for a couple of seconds.

“They definitely heard that. Sentries on the east end are spooked.” Sugar said, scanning the east end of camp as the bugs began to look around frantically for the source of the gunshot they heard in the wind. The sniper’s hoof moved slowly and steadily, cycling the action on his older bolt action rifle.

“Eeyup.” The response was punctuated by another sharp crack of the sniper’s rifle. “Got him this time.” He said after a few moments. “Definitely got their attention. Machine gun pits are the focus. I’m going to keep quiet so they don't lock in on us before the bombs start falling.”

As the sniper finished speaking, the drone of the engines on the wind gradually began to raise into a roar. The radio crackled to life as the roar of engines approached from the north. “Brightside, Tombstone One. Beginning attack, keep your heads down and prepare for BDA, over.”

“Roger Tombstone One.” Sugar responded, one hoof on the hoof set and the other holding the binoculars to his eyes. “We’ll keep their heads down on the MGs. Good hunting. Brightside out.” As the stallion placed the hoof set down beside him, he noticed several changelings running to turn the few mounted machine guns they possessed north. “Hey, I got three bugs in the northeast machine gun pit.”

“Roger. I’ll get on ‘em in just a sec.” Soft said, before his rifle cracked again and he moved to cycle the bolt quickly and firing a second shot. “Watch the west pit. Sent two their way to keep the heads down.” He said, moving to fire at the east pit.

“Right.” Sugar said, swapping his view left to the west pit. One changeling appeared to have been hit by one of the shots, while the other was back on the gun. “Got one on it solo.” He said before his partner’s rifle spit out another shot. As the sniper began to shoot, the roar of engines drowned out the shooting as two aircraft flew over the ridge from behind them. The changelings at the camp began to shoot back at the RAF planes, two streams of green tracers flying into the sky.

As the sniper lowered his weapon down to reload, a hoof snatching a stripper clip from the snow beside him, the planes began to fire back with their machine guns and cannons. Red tracers began to tear through tents and snow, kicking up clouds of debris as changelings began to run out from the tents as they used their small arms to fire at the planes in a desperate attempt to stop the inevitable. Some seconds later, fire lit up from beneath the wings of the aircraft as rockets were sent screaming into the changeling camp. Smoke and fire scattered about the tents as explosions tore through the snow and scattered bugs, equipment and fire.

After a mere ten seconds the planes began to pull up out of the attack, but not without letting loose the two quarter ton bombs that were slung under their plane. The planes turned sharply up and to the east away from the sheer faces of Dragon Mountain as the bombs plummeted with a whistle. Sugar dropped his binoculars and covered his ears as the bombs detonated, a shockwave visible as the explosions rippled out from the center of the camp.

“...Tombstone One. I say again, how do we look?” Sugar heard as he uncovered his ears. He snatched up his binoculars with one hoof in a rush and began to survey the camp as he felt around for the radio hoof set.

“One second Tombstone.” He replied as the hoof set came to his head. The camp was in ruins, several changelings still rushing about trying to drag casualties away from the burning tents. Much if not all of the tents and equipment appeared to be destroyed or damaged beyond usefulness, while it seemed almost a third of the visible bugs were casualties. “Tombstone, good hits. Enemy camp destroyed. Estimate sixty casualties. Good work. Over.”

“Roger that Brightside. Watch yourselves, snow on the face west of your position looked like it was knocked loose from the detonations. Careful for avalanches if you stick around. Tombstone One out.” The pilot replied, the sound of engines fading as the pilots made for home.

“Pack up, Sugar. We’re getting out of here while they ain’t organized enough to chase us.” Soft said, pushing himself up so he could turn around to begin collecting his saddlebags. “Make sure you got everything secured. This climb is gonna be a bitch with snow coming in tonight.” As he began to secure his gear, he pulled a small tube from one of the pockets and turned to Sugar. “Here, take one. Ain’t good, but you’re tired as a dog and you gotta make it through this climb.” The older pony tossed the tube to his partner before he began to pull up his hood and fix his goggles over his eyes.

Sugar caught the tube, labeled Benzedrine, and sighed. “Better than taking a long fall.” He said, popping one of the tablets into his mouth and swallowing it quickly. The stallion really wished deep down he could just fly back, but between the strong winds in the mountains and his rather… Conspicuous green coloration in the alpine snow, it would be too dangerous to both his own health and the secrecy of their positions to do so. “First hour is going to suck, but this will keep me going.” He said, slinging the saddlebag radio over his flanks and securing them tightly to his uniform’s webbing.

“I’ll take the lead today.” Soft said, retrieving a set of spiked shoes to fit over the boots on his hind hooves along with a pair of ice axes that he clipped to his webbing at his chest. “Once we get to the worst of the climb, you’ll tie onto me and we’ll get through it. Visibility is gonna be right awful once the darkness and snow roll in so be ready to stick close.” The stallion finished by slinging his rifle across his back and pulling his own scarf over his muzzle.

Sugar stood, his equipment secured to his webbing and a bundle of rope secured on his back for easy access when they needed it. The tired pony hazarded one more look over the snow bank towards the changeling camp to be sure they would be able to leave without being caught. It appeared that chaos was still reigning there, with casualties being gathered and bugs frantically gathering up supplies. “Looks like they may head back down. We should move while it’s still wild down there.” He said, moving his scarf back up over his face and slinging his weapon over his back.

The pair of ponies nodded to each other, before climbing over the back of their hiding place and heading up the slope of the mountain towards the northwest.

From the Journal of Soft Landing: November 04, 1015

I lost Inferno today. We were out on a raid down on the south face, had just gotten ourselves out of dodge before the bugs could tail us back up the mountain. Inferno was tied off to me, Stroke was with Sugar. Snowstorm had moved in during the early afternoon, which had been a blessing to cover our escape.

Funny thing about blessings. Sometimes, they end up as a curse too.

The wind had been picking up steadily all day. We were trying to make it to Fire Base Griffon before nightfall so we didn’t run the risk of freezing to death in the dark. On the climb up the rock face about two hundred meters below the base, wind caught Inferno and blew her off the wall. I kept a death grip on my holds in the wall, but the line caught a jagged rock and the piece of shit rope gave out.

Told Sugar and Stroke to keep on moving up. I went back and brought her with me back up to Griffon. I’ll bury her tomorrow if I can, or do the best I can.

Sugar and Stroke were beat up. Sent them to the barracks while I stayed up with the OP making sure we didn’t get followed. I’m in charge of the squad, and after five months of this frigid hellscape we’re a family trying to survive together. I failed them today, I was supposed to protect them all and I let Inferno slip through.

I should have checked those fucking lines. Really, I should have just fucking gone alone. I can’t risk losing any of them. I fucking wish I could go back and make Inferno stay in this fucking bunker.

They said it’s bad luck. I know they’re trying to make me feel better about it, but it’s not bad fucking luck. It’s my job to protect them and I failed.

I think that’s all I’ve got in me for today. As I finish up, I’m making a promise to myself.

I’ll get Sugar and Stroke through this, no matter what. If I don’t make it, you’re going to have to give this to the kids Stormy. They’ll understand why I had to break my promise to them.

Sorry guys, but I’ve got a bad feeling about that one.

“Fuck!” Sugar grunted, steadying himself as he planted his hind hoof back on solid ice while he looked down to watch the hold he’d tried to step on collapse away down the steep slope of the mountainside. The wind howled in his ears as he picked his head up to look forward, his view of the pony he was roped to ahead of him obscured by the dim light of the early evening as well as a constant stream of snow pouring out of the sky.

“You good!?” The lead pony called back, leaning off the wall slightly while anchored to the ice wall with a climbing axe. The slope they were climbing up wasn’t a sheer cliff face, but the incline of the glacial ice wall was steep enough that they needed to climb carefully or risk falling down.

“Yeah! Fucking snow looked like ice!” Sugar shouted back, kicking his hind hoof into the ice once more so that his spiked boots could catch. “We’re good! Keep going!” He yelled, willing his body forward up the mountain again.

In reality, this climb shouldn’t have been as hard as it was. Hopped up on drugs as he was, Sugar felt he had the energy to make this climb twice over on a normal day. The snowstorm was brutalizing both ponies, making the climb hard to see and the winds making progress an absolute crawl. Sugar felt himself being sapped of energy as the pair continued, around ten hours into their day long trek.

The pair continued the struggle against the mountain for some two more hours, and as the slope started to level off atop the glacier, the pair sat in some relative shelter underneath a rock wall that stopped the worst of the wind and snow. As the pair sat for a moment, Sugar pulled down his scarf so he could breathe easier. While Sugar panted in exhaustion, Soft struggled to free his canteen from within his heavy winter clothing. Eventually, the container came free and before he took a sip he offered it to his partner.

“Drink up, corporal. You ain’t gonna make it sounding like that.” He said, sitting down beside the other stallion and sighing. The older pony was quite tired as well, but was confident that he’d be able to make it back just fine.

“Fuck you. Don’t do that.” Sugar responded, declining the canteen and fishing around in his own jacket for his own. “I know you’re my superior Lieutenant, but I don’t need you to treat me like your kid. You need it just as much as I do.” The green pony said with a roll of his eyes at mention of the rank, before taking a sip of water from his canteen.

Soft sighed, pushing his goggles up his head so he could wipe his eyes before he drank from his own canteen. “Alright. I just worry for you. Stroke too.” He said wistfully. “I know y’all don’t like it, but I can’t help it.”

“I know, it’s your job. Just… Take care of yourself too.” Sugar responded with a sigh. “Easy part’s over now. Snowfall will obscure our crossing over the glacier onto Dragon Mountain again, but I’m worried we may step on a bug patrol if we’re not careful in these conditions. Got any plans for that?”

“Well, you’ve got that fancy gun.” Soft motioned to the weapon on Sugar’s back as he spoke. “With this wind ain’t nobody else gonna hear if we open up. Really it’s just shock ‘n awe for this one. Worst case if we stumble into one, these climbing axes are pretty good at punchin’ through their shell.” The earth pony took another sip of water before stashing the canteen back inside his coat. “But really, I ain’t thinking too much about it. Don’t wanna tempt fate.”

The two sat in silence, resting for what they could as the light continued to fade with the sun completely shrouded by the mountains to the west. Eventually, Soft put his goggles back over his eyes and pulled his scarf up. Sugar followed suit, and soon the two were standing and inspecting their gear. Sugar unslung his submachine gun from his back, shifting it so it was prepared in front of him in case they needed it.

“Worst part, then we’re on the home stretch. Let’s keep it together and then we can have a little celebration when we meet Stroke at HQ.” Soft said, checking the clips that had them tethered together as he let out the line to give them more distance between each other. “We’re gonna stay clipped. Not ideal, but with visibility shot we gotta stick together. Just keep track of the line, and we’ll be sittin’ pretty. Are you ready Sugar?”

“Ready as ready is going to get.” The younger pony responded, checking where he was attached to the line. “After you, old man.”

Soft nodded, turning around and heading out of their temporary shelter back into the ripping wind and snowfall. Sugar took a deep breath, steeling himself for the journey over flat glacial terrain to the sheer rock faces of Dragon Mountain, before stepping into the darkness of the raging storm.