The Adventures of Dobbelsteen Moerman

by TheDiceMan0407

Rating: teen
Tags: Violence, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Equestria at War, Dark, Main 6, Changelings, Original Character, Comedy, Adventure, Griffons, Princess Celestia
Length: 77847

Major Dobbelsteen Moerman, officer and not-quite-a-gentlegriff, is sent to an unprepared Equestria to fight the Changeling Empire. A light-hearted Equestria at War story.

Major Dobbelsteen Moerman is hardly a professional officer, but he is a professional. If there's one thing that could be granted to this egotistical, reckless, insubordinate, unable-to-take-anything-seriously moron (Adjectives sourced from the Griffonian Military High Command), it's that he's really good at war.

The Changeling Empire, however, is better. Far, far better.

Equipped with an overexaggerated reputation of heroics, a variety of allies within the Equestrian High Command, and a hunk of junk airplane he calls a mobile home, Dobbelsteen Moerman will fight battles across all of Equestria to defend a home that isn't his.

For under his bravado and indomitable humorous attitude, a war for the right reasons is exactly where he has to be.

'Equestria At War' is a total conversion mod for the Grand Strategy game 'Hearts Of Iron 4', where various countries based on the My Little Pony Universe battle eachother using the equipment of the Second World War. The Adventures of Dobbelsteen Moerman is a light-hearted, though occasionally dark, exploration of the Equestrian-Changeling war through the eyes of a military attache sent from the Griffonian Empire as 'lethal aid'.

Cover Art by https://www.reddit.com/user/Goered_Out_Of_My_/ , Go check them out!

Published 2023-04-27 18:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-07-23 01:46:29 UTC

Boreas' Most Annoying Soldier

June 29th 1010, 07:15

Aiwle, Feathisia

Although strictly providing breakfast, lunch, and dinner between the hours of seven in the morning and ten at night, the ‘Harbor Diner’ may as well have been mobilized to produce munitions and firearms for a coming war.

“Who's the ruler of the Griffonian Empire?” called a voice from the kitchen.

“Grover the…Sixth!” One Griffon chick, feathers as blue as the midday clear sky, said as her wings hovered over the tables of the diner inside, setting down four glasses of water per booth. “But his Aunt and Uncle run it because he’s too young.” She turned to the kitchen door. “Do you really think they were telling the truth?”

“I sure hope so!” answered another Griffon, coming through the door that led to the kitchen with plates of apple slices, grapes, toast, and other assorted food. No less than four plates had been balanced upon her claws. “Your father and I heard all about these soldiers, and what we heard is worth the preparation!”

“Your mother is right, Caroline!” called a voice from the open doors, back into the kitchen. “Even when she isn’t!”

The young blue Griffon nearly dropped the glasses of water in her claws laughing, as her mother, a Griffon whose feathers adorned a similar blue color to them, pivoted back to the door. “We’ll continue your study review after breakfast.”

She opened the door. “What was that, Brian?”
“Another four plates of waffles are ready!”
“That’s not what you said.”
“That is what I said, it's what I just said.”
“What’d you say before?”
“I didn’t say anything before!”

Caroline Harbor looked at her work, mumbling with excitement. “Forty-eight booths in total, multiplying that by four would equal one hundred and ninety-two, plus twenty seats at the counter. Two hundred and twelve glasses of water were all laid out in front of the seats. In conjunction, of course, with napkins wrapped around one knife, one fork, and one spoon, amounting to six hundred and thirty-six pieces of silverware for each of the-”

She looked up, her thought process interrupted. Her ears twitched. Caroline had already tuned out the noises of the kitchen and the gentle music playing over the radio on the counter, allowing her mind to totally focus on the counting in her head. Yet, something was new. A new sound. She flew over to the window, squinting through the beams of the rising sun, as the shadow of one Griffon appeared.

Then, one Griffon turned to seven when adding the six appearing behind him, and then thirteen when you added the row behind that, and then nineteen when you-

Oh, Caroline LOVED to count!

“Mom, Dad! The Soldiers are here!”

A new sound registered in Caroline’s ears, one that almost certainly was the shattering of a plate, and then the voices of her parents in unison. “ALREADY?!” Yet, that was not Caroline’s problem. She rushed across the freshly mopped and shining floors to the front door, opening it to hear them. The soldiers were sounding off in unison, repeating the words of the Griffon in front of them.

“They say that in the Army, the coffee's mighty fine!”
“They say that in the Army, the Coffee's mighty fine!”
“It looks like muddy water, it tastes like Turpentine!”
“It looks like muddy water, it tastes like turpentine!”

As the singing traveled up the dirt road and fell Caroline’s ears, she giggled to herself, but then slowly began to stop. She narrowed her eyes, and began to count… a lot of soldiers within the formation. Ponies, Griffons, Diamond Dogs…was that a Thestral? She could hardly tell with the sheer size of the bags upon their backs.

“They say that in the Army, the training’s mighty fine!”
“They say that in the Army, the training’s mighty fine!”
“Last night there were ten of us, now there’s only nine!”
“Last night there were ten of us, now there’s only nine!”

As the soldiers grew closer, she began to make out their features past the beams of the rising sun. Their faces had smeared camouflage paint upon them, weapons were strapped to their sides, and their uniforms had all sorts of equipment strapped to it. Stars appeared in Caroline’s eyes. “...Woah.”

--
“Major Dobbelsteen Moerman.”

The staff car shook with the uneven terrain of the dirt roads below its tires, with the two Griffons in the back seats both instinctively reaching out for stabilization. A curious glance to the rearview mirror by one of them, brown in feathers and green in eyes, prompted the Driver to slow down.

This brown Griffon took a claw to straighten his military uniform, wrinkled from the sudden shake, before looking back over to his fellow passenger. In her claws, the Griffon looked over a folder with a dozen or so pieces of paper. “Do you know him, Mister Best, sir?”

Pieter Best nodded, leaning back into the leather seats of the car and glancing out the window. “EveryGriffon whose someGriffon knows who Dobbelsteen Moerman is, more or less. He certainly has a knack for always being there for the reporters.”

“Not a fan?” The other Griffon asked herself dressed rather formally.

Pieter held up a claw, shaking his head. “Oh, don’t be mistaken, Martha. Out of all the officers within the Empire-” He turned over with a sigh, “And believe me, there’s sadly a lot, Mister Moerman is one of the few that lives up to his stories. None contradict his exploits and achievements, even the multitude that despise him.”

She looked up from the folder again. “Despise him?”

Pieter Best let out a small laugh. “Mister Moerman does not get along well with Griffenheim’s more…privileged individuals.” He said, before gesturing out towards the window. “Why do you think we’re all the way out in Aiwle to go meet him?”

“Would he even want to come with us?”

Pieter turned, raising an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

Martha set the folder down and scratched her red feathers for a moment. “If he managed to upset those in Griffenheim, they must have retaliated by sending him over here.” She shrugged. “I think I'd feel a certain kind of way about that. I wouldn’t want to head back there.”

Pieter Best leaned up, “Apologies, I misspoke. Moerman was not forced out of Griffenheim, no lowly nobles, officers, or third-rate members of Parliament could have convinced anyone to send him away. It was mostly a convenient excuse for him.” He gestured to the folder. “There are only two places Moerman feels at home. Out in periphery towns, or in conflict zones.”

“Hm.” Martha leaned back into the seats, resting her head on her claw for a moment. “So why would they recall him back to Griffenheim?” She asked. “More notably, why send us to go fetch him so quickly?”

“You could ask him if you want.” Pieter Best picked up his Officer’s cap and rested it on his beak to cover his eyes. “Wake me when we get there.”

“We’ll be there in fifteen minutes, sir.”
“Plenty of time, goodnight.”

Caroline hadn’t seen soldiers many times in her young life, however, even she knew that the soldiers who had visited her family’s diner were no ordinary soldiers.

They had barely communicated with each other. Two hundred Griffons, ponies, creatures of all kinds wore the same uniform, adorning the same flag of Feathisia on their shoulders that her father had raised on the flagpole in their house’s front yard.

They had grounded their vests, their huge backpacks, and even their weapons in front of the restaurant in lines, soldiers moving to predetermined spots with nothing more than nods to the others surrounding them. Their gear had been formed in boxes, with one soldier going through and taking five steps between each box. Not even Caroline’s mother was this focused on symmetry, and her dad said she had eighty HDs. Whatever that meant.

They fanned out as one Griffon, standing in front of all the boxes, pointed at them and then inside. The soldiers fell out by their rows and into the diner, however stopping at the front door to stomp off the boots laced around their claws and hooves. That was nice of them.

Whenever Caroline was not going around the diner carrying plates to the booths or refilling glasses of water, she would steal glances at the soldiers outside.

“Feel bad that we’re eating and the rest of them are doing pushups.” She heard one soldier, a Griffon, say.

A pony next to him looked over. “Don't you remember he made us run up the hill to make sure it was ‘safe’?” She then raised an eyebrow as she took another bite of some hash browns. “So that our food would be ‘Earned’?”

“Feels good to earn this food, just like they’re earning it now.” Another Griffon from the booth next to theirs turned around in their seat, their back against the windows of the diner. “Plus, he ran up that hill with us. Then he’s doing push-ups with them. See him complaining?”

“I’m not complaining! Sure wasn’t the one complaining on the run. mY ClAwS hUrT”

“That’s not me.”

The pony set down their glass of water, laughing. “Let's hurry up so we can free up our booths for ‘em.”

So they did. Although Caroline had to help out her parents with carrying plates to the soldiers and refilling their glasses of water, always receiving a chorus of four thank yous from each booth, she kept her eyes on the soldiers. They sat down, they ate, they wiped the tables cleaner than she had before, stacked their plates, and left. It was less a group coming out to eat and more a systematic process, a well-oiled machine going to work.

Forty-five minutes. Two hundred and forty-four soldiers came in groups, ate, and left. Caroline could hardly believe her luck. Maybe her parents would close the shop early and she could get back to studying in her treehouse.

Yet, the doors to the diner opened once more.

The Griffon from the front of the formation had stepped inside. Caroline watched from behind the counter as he turned to look at the tables. He bent down a little to be eye level with one, scrutinizing what appeared to Caroline as a clean table.

“What’s your name?” She asked him, suddenly.

The Griffon leaned back up, immediately turning to Caroline.

Now, Caroline was never really the biggest creature in the schoolhouse playground. But it didn’t take Twinkle Sprinkle’s Abridged Guide to the World, of which she owned two copies, to see that this was a really big Griffon. That was rapidly starting to unnerve Caroline, who had immediately taken steps back away. The two stared at each other for a moment.

“Well Miss,” The Griffon said, breaking out into a smile. “I’m Dobbelsteen Moerman.” The blonde feathered Griffon had pushed his sunglasses up. “What's your name?”

She smiled, “Caroline.” The young Griffon turned to the tables. “What are you doing?”

Moerman had reached into his uniform, digging around for something. “My father told me that there are three types of creatures in this world you ought to never disrespect.” He raised his free claw to count them off. “Those who give you food, those who clean the streets, and those whose job it is to save your life.”

He pulled out an envelope, holding it out to Caroline. “Give this to your parents. Both of them and you gave us food. So, the least my soldiers can do is clean up after themselves.” He looked back. “You should always leave a place better than you found it.” He blinked. “Well-... not to say-”

“Thank you, Mister!” Caroline held the envelope, though kept looking up at the soldier.

He looked back.

She blinked.

He blinked.

“...Is there some-”

“What are you?” Caroline asked.

He glanced down at his uniform. “I’m a soldier.”

“What do you do?”

“Ki- uh… Protect towns like yours.”

“Like a police officer?”

“...Depending on who you ask.”

The doors to the kitchen swung open and out came both of Caroline’s parents. “Oh, honey!” cried her mother, stepping over to her side. “Leave the poor Griffon alone, you’ll drive him crazy!”

Caroline scoffed. “I was not driving anygriff crazy!” She quickly gave the envelope to her mother and turned right back to Dobbelsteen. “How do I become a soldier?”

Moerman glanced at both of the parents, who began to open the envelope. He looked back to Caroline and smiled. “How old are you, kid?”

She beamed. “Thirteen!”

The soldier raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses, tapping his claw on the floor for a moment. “...Mirror what I do.” The large Griffon then knelt down, holding his two front claws on the floor and two rear paws close together. Caroline obliged, though was slightly shaking at the exercise before even starting. She was never the strongest Griffon. “Have you ever done a push-up before?” Moerman asked.

“...Once.” Caroline sighed. “I’m not really good at it. I only did one in the playground before I landed on my beak.”

Moerman nodded, before lowering himself and quickly raising himself up again. Eager to keep up, Caroline went with him.

Both of Caroline’s parents opened the envelope, squinting at the paper. “This document…” Her father began to read to himself, “...Serves as a legal check for…2500 BITS?!” They both looked up and then looked to the roof, before falling backwards, landing on their backs.

“What was that?”

Down.

“Your parents fainted.”

Up.

“Is that bad?”

Down.

“Fainting is a sign of elegance and material wealth.”

Up.

Caroline stopped at the up, her arms shaking like a leaf in the winds of autumn, before planting right onto the floor in exasperation. “..Ow.”

Moerman smiled, before standing himself upright again and picking Caroline up to stand again. “Good, you didn’t break your beak. Had that happened once, not fun.”

“Yeah…” Caroline lowered her gaze. “You guys do like… forty though.”

Moerman glanced at the bewildered and significantly wealthier-than-they-were-yesterday Griffons fainted upon the floor, and then back to the young Chick standing in front of him. “The last time I checked, Miss Caroline? Four is greater than one.”

Her eyes slowly widened with the realization, looking down at herself and then back up at the soldier. “W-Four?! I did FOUR!?” She smiled, jumping into the air and hovering with her wings. “I don't think half of the creatures in my class can do four pushups!"

The Major nodded, “See how that works?” He turned away. “Though I must get going, I and my soldiers are sure to be back. Tell your parents that the Commandotroops of Feathisia thank them for their hospitality, and we are sure to be back whenever we’re in town again.”

She waved as he neared the door, “Wait, Mister!” He hovered in the air. “How do I become a soldier like you?”

Moerman smiled, adjusting the collar of his floral shirt that peeked out and over his military uniform. “Do those push-ups every day for the next five years, then come find me.”

As Dobbelsteen Moerman exited her family’s diner with a nod, Caroline smiled to herself. “FOUR pushups!” She shouted, “Tomorrow I’ll get five, and then the day after that I’ll do six, and then seven…Mom, Dad, I wanna be a soldier when I grow up! Mom?”

The soldiers in the front of the diner had assembled of their own accord. Most of them sat upon their backpacks laid on the ground. A few stood behind their backpacks, talking and laughing with the others around them. Yet as Moerman pushed open the front door to the diner, they all immediately scrambled to their feet.

“Woah woah woah!” He said, “As you were, as you were.” He smiled before pulling out a pocket watch. “The train doesn’t leave for another hour. I appreciate the discipline, but relax.”

The soldiers gravitated back down to their bags with a sigh of relief.

Putting away his pocket watch, the young Major ran his claws through his blonde feathers for a moment, before his eyes set on a small cloud of dust kicked up down the dirt road. He took off his sunglasses, his blue eyes squinting to see.

“Who do you think that is, sir?” asked Lieutenant Lotte.

The all-black vehicle was adorned with two small flags of the Griffonian Empire on its front, its black paint job contrasting the earthy green textures of the forests around the outskirts of the small town of Aiwle.

“Oh no.” Moerman quickly put his sunglasses back on, immediately pivoting to his soldiers. “UP, UP, UP RIGHT NOW!” He said, pointing his claw down the road. “That’s an Imperial staff vehicle! My BOSS!”

Not even the most loyal of Changeling Hives acted so swiftly and with such single purpose, as the soldiers had practically jumped into the air from their bags and into the position of attention. Dobbelsteen Moerman himself straightened his uniform and hair.

“What’d you do now, sir?” joked one soldier in the formation, to the hushed laughter of the soldiers. As ill-timed and hectic as the formation was, it earned a smirk from Moerman.

The vehicle rolled to a stop on the gravel road in front of the diner, right behind the formation of soldiers. As the engine wound down, the driver of the vehicle, a Diamond Dog, exited to open the passenger doors. From these doors stepped out one Griffon, brown in feathers and facial features almost permanently scrunched, he stepped around the formation, locking eyes with Moerman. Another Griffon followed close behind.

Moerman immediately straightened upon seeing the General. As his claw raised to salute him, so too did the hooves, claws, and paws of more than two hundred soldiers in formation.

Pieter gave a quick glance to the soldiers, returning a salute so that they could rest at ease. “There’s only two hundred of you?”

“Sir, the majority of the Commandos are in garrison in Rottendedam.” Moerman reported, his usual upbeat and carefree tone of voice tempered with military professionalism. Well, as professional as one could get with an undershirt that had palm trees on it. “I take the companies out in pairs on Field exercises.”

Martha turned from looking at the formation. “Do you… usually go on field exercises with your soldiers?”

“Naturally.”

Pieter Best had a small smile on his face at that, gesturing to the formed-up soldiers. “Is your train ride still on schedule?”

Moerman nodded.

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but they will have to continue on without you.” He nodded to Martha. “Captain Martha will escort them to the station and return them to garrison. You’re going to have to come with me, Major.”

A few soldiers in the formation turned their heads, before quickly returning themselves before the General noticed. Dobbelsteen Moerman’s beak hung open for a moment, casting a quick glance to his soldiers and then back. “May I ask why, sir?”

Pieter Best looked to the Major. His brown eyes then looked to the Imperial flags, the colors of a Yellow background, orange borders, and a Griffon in its center. “Above my pay grade. We got a long drive ahead of us.”

“I have a plane nearby if you’d prefer.”

The General stopped, giving a glance around. “...Where?”

Another Settlement Needs Your Help

June 29th 1010, 12:27

Somewhere over Feathisia

A plane soared over the rolling fields and forests that surrounded the Imperial capital of Griffenheim. Normally this wasn’t anything too special, planes were becoming quite the trend in recent years. Yet, this plane was special. For starters, the seaplane had floats instead of landing gear, and it only got worse inside.

Pieter Best was a General of class. Now, he was no paper pusher, he had done his work in the field and you can always take the Griffon out of the Infantry, but never the Infantry out of the-

“Are you positive this thing is fit to fly?”

Moerman yelled from the cockpit. “WHAT?”

Oh. Right. They had to yell. Our genius pilot had classical music playing.

“ARE YOU POSITIVE THIS THING ISN’T GOING TO CRASH?!”

“YEAH, IT’S FINE!”

Pieter deadpanned to the windows. “ONE OF THE ENGINES IS SHAKING.”

“YEAH, IT DOES THAT! IT’LL FIX ITSELF”

Pieter shook his head. Well, at least he had wings just in case. Though the shaking of the left engine was the most dangerous of issues, it certainly was not the most disappointing. The plane, once a civilian airliner with forty-two seats, had only four seats towards the front remaining. The remainder of the plane had been converted into a sort of mobile home. A kitchen, a stove, a fridge, and blankets assembled on a sofa.

Leaning out of the cockpit of the converted passenger plane, the Major smiled. “DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY YOU CAN MAKE SELLING MANGOES?”

Pieter could barely hear over the plane’s speakers. “W-WHAT?”

“SELLING MANGOES. STALLIONGRAD, MANEHATTAN? MAKES A KILLING!” He said, returning to the controls with a maniacal laugh. Sure enough, Pieter glanced to the far back of the plane, noticing crates labeled ‘MANGO’. Some were even stacked under the couches.

“Do you live in this?”

“WHAT?”

“DO YOU- Ah, FORGET IT!”

June 29th 1010, 13:42

Griffenheim, The Griffonian Empire

Inside the Imperial Palace

The hallways of the Imperial Palace were needlessly complicated. Dobbelsteen Moerman knew a thing or two about navigating urban environments and governmental buildings in combat zones, but this was just plain ridiculous.

Red carpet hallways that went on and on into the horizon, garden after garden adorned with stained glass, elegant paintings of various historical figures every five feet posted upon the walls. Most notably of Grovers throughout the ages. None of the current ones, however. Not yet.

He followed close behind Pieter, as the two were escorted by four Diamond Dog Knights, the chosen protectors of the Imperial Palace and the Grover dynasty.

“You uh…know why I’m here?”

Pieter let out a laugh. “I don't even know where we're going. I bring you here, and then I return to my office across the street.”

Moerman looked at one of the guards. “How about you?”

He did not receive an answer.

Stopping before a pair of wooden doors with golden rings for door handles, two more guards stood their posts at either side of them. They froze for the moment, with the Major glancing between them all.

“Oh, that’s my cue,” Pieter said, turning to leave.

Moerman did a double take. “Wait, where are you headed?”

“Back to my office. This is your problem now. Good luck, son!” He said with a smile, turning to walk away into the maze of hallways of the Imperial Palace. At a corner, he confronted an Imperial Guard. “Hey, where’s the exit?”

Moerman however, remained. He watched as one of the six emotionless guards knocked twice upon the wooden door, standing for ten seconds. He then entered, closing the door behind him.

“...Well. How’s uh, guarding?”

The Guards looked to Moerman.

The blonde Griffon glanced up to the imposing guards. He gestured to them to lean down to his level, lowering his voice. “You guys get to raid the kitchen when no one's looking, right? Cakes, all that high Nobility stuff?”

Their smiles were their answer.

The doors opened, and the guard stepped back out. “His Majesty will see you now.”

Moerman nodded, stepping forward and through the door. “Thanks.” Moerman straightened his uniform for a second, before freezing two steps in. “Wai-MAJESTY?”

The doors shut behind him.

Documentation of Dobbelsteen Moerman, as well as all surviving records of his contributions throughout his career, vary in the words they use to describe his general demeanor and talent. He’d seen enough evaluation boards to know there were some… Well, a lot of General officers weren't on the best of terms with him. ‘To Tartarus with them’, he’d think to himself. ‘Desk officers have no power over a Commando’.

The Imperial Royal family, however, certainly did.

Before him was a room no more special than the average conference room within any minor castle. The table had about ten chairs, and the chandelier that hung from the ceiling casting its illumination upon the red and orange walls wasn’t as grandiose as the others he had seen in the hallways. The carpets were simplistic, and upon the walls laid only a map.

Yet the occupants certainly were special.

Black and gray feathers adorned the Griffon closest to Moerman, himself sat in the closest chair upon the left side of the table. His pipe rested in his beak as his claws held onto an open Manilla folder, a collection of others laid out on the table. His blue eyes looked up to the Major. The left one was notably scarred. Duke Gerlach IV of Feathisia.

Standing behind this Griffon was a lady, a Griffon with feathers of bright pink and eyes of a similar blue hue. She was hunched over, her head resting on the shoulder of the gray Griffon, her gaze also on the manilla folders as well. That was, until Moerman came in, quickly straightening up her posture as if no one saw. Duchess Gabriela Eagleclaw of Strawberry.

Yet most importantly, was a much smaller Griffon sitting on the opposite side of the table. The young chick had much brighter blonde feathers in comparison to Moermans, as he was doodling on a blank piece of paper before he too, looked up at Moerman. Emperor Grover VI of the Griffonian Empire. Soon to be, anyway.

Moerman held completely still, thanking the gods that had blessed all of Griffonkind for his sunglasses to hide his surprised eyes. His thoughts had kamikazed into the department of reason within his brain. Three of the most important Griffons in current history were sitting in a room before him. His words had to be chosen carefully. I mean, these were the leaders of the powerful, if recently reunified Griffonian Empire. The most prestigious nation in the history of Griffonia.

He looked at Gerlach. “...You got fat.”

The Griffon stared at him, his one functioning eye as ice cold as the black void of his subordinate’s sunglasses. His beak remained locked on his pipe. He then glanced Dobbelsteen up and down and raised his eyebrow.

Both Griffons erupted into maniacal laughter, Gerlach rising from his seat to shake claws with Dobbelsteen. “Glad you could join us, Major.”

“Whatever you require, sir.” Moerman turned from the clawshake with a smile, rendering a bow to Gabriela. “Your grace.”

The Duchess, though half unamused at the exchange between the Major and her husband, still managed a genuine smile with a slight bow in return. However, her eyes drifted to the young Griffon at the other end of the table, who simply remained sitting, beak agape and eyes shining like stars.

Moerman himself had turned, immediately kneeling in front of the Emperor and bowing his head. “Your Majesty.” He quickly returned to a standing position of attention in front of him. Even though the young Griffon could not have been older than eight, he was the heir to the Empire after all.

“May I ask you a question, Mister?” Grover said, briefly glancing at Gabriela after saying it. She returned a small thumbs up.

Moerman blinked, looking down. “Oh, of… of course.”

“How many badgiffs have you killed?”

“GROVER!”

Gabriela hissed to scold Grover, yet was entirely cut off by her husband. To his credit, he had immediately turned away to try and hide his usual stoic expression from cracking, but he was not successful. He turned back, wiping his eye. “That’s uh…” He met the stern look of Gabriela. “...oh come on, that's funny.”

Gabriela rolled her eyes, turning back to her nephew. “Never ask a question like that again, do you understand?”

“Sorry…” Grover lowered his head.

“It’s alright, your majesty.” Moerman gave a nod. “You didn’t know. But your Aunt is right. Some soldiers don't like answering those kinds of questions. No big deal.” He gestured to himself. “I still listen to my family whenever they tell me to do something.”

“Really?”

Moerman nodded, “Well of course.” His claw took hold of one of the free chairs at the end of the table, giving a glance to the other two adults in the room. “You should listen to these two. They’ve done things you read about in old Knight books.”

Grover looked over to his two caretakers. “Woah… you guys are Knights?”

The Duchess began to shake her head before Gerlach spoke. “Shhh.” He said, with a nod to her. “Your Auntie’s undercover.”

Gabriela swiftly turned her head, before being met with the starstruck gaze of Grover. “That’s so cool!” She blinked, getting a smile on her face. She herself made the ‘Shh’ gesture to Grover, before looking at Moerman.

The major shot claw-guns back.

“Well, sir…” Moerman began, “And, Madam. What is it you wish to discuss with me?”

“Take a seat, Moerman,” Gerlach said, sliding a Manilla folder over to the Griffon with a sigh. “This is going to be a long one and we need to get through it fast.” He put the pipe back into his beak. “We’re asking you to volunteer-”

“Fantastic, sir, sign me up.”

“Moerman.” He said, lighting a small match and beginning to smoke his pipe. “...Read the folder.”

The Duke looked Moerman in the eyes, “Just know. I am not ordering you to take this. You are not under any expectation to do so. This lies entirely within your personal choice.”

Dobbelsteen obeyed, picking up the folder and opening to a singular page. A telegraph, printed upon paper and dated last night. He began to read the letter, with Gerlach shuffling around papers upon the table as he did so.

JUNE 28TH, 1010, 9:43 PM

TO: GRAND DUKE GERLACH IV & DUCHESS GABRIELA EAGLECLAW

My name is Twilight Sparkle. I am communicating to you not as the Princess of Friendship, nor as a ruler of any country, only on behalf of the nation of Equestria. My home. I am in need of your help.

Equestria was a peaceful nation. Chrysalis, Queen of the Changeling Hives, already having attempted to overthrow our Princesses by subterfuge five years ago, has amassed the largest army on the continent and overran our borders for reasons unknown to us.

She has engaged in terrible acts of brutality against the ponies and other creatures of Equestria. She has vowed the destruction of our very way of life and the dismantling of Friendship which we all hold dear.

All attempts at diplomacy with Queen Chrysalis have failed. She is interested in nothing more than the total destruction and conquest of Equestria.

Our nation, our ponies, knew nothing about warfare and what it entailed. We despised it, shunned it, kept it as far away as possible, and swore that we would never engage in such a horrible thing. Yet, it has arrived. Ponies I have known to be shopkeepers, schoolteachers, Apple Farmers, and cake makers, have all enlisted to stop Chrysalis. Yet she unleashes upon us terrible weapons of combat we’ve never seen in our deepest nightmares, covers our skies with aircraft raining bombs upon our countryside, and outsmarts us at every turn.

We have no creature else to turn to.

I have studied in great detail all available history to me about the Griffonian Empire. Its founding, its rise, its collapse, and watched with my own eyes the reunification it has undergone through the leadership of both of you. The peaceful reunification. With kindness, improvement, and harmony. The Empire no longer stands as a terror, as it had centuries ago. It now stands firm on the continent, unifying the war-torn regions into peace and prosperity. From the Riverland Coalition to the Aquelian Republic, you have mended past rivalries and prevented countless wars. I wish we could have done the same.

There is another legend in your nation. One I wish to ask if they were to consider. A legend of Commandos led by one Griffon.

When the National Republic invaded the Kingdom of Vedina, the peaceful tribes of the North and the Skyfall Republic, the Commandos were the first over the border to defend them.

When bandits and robber barons had besieged the city of Griffonstone to plunder its treasures, they dropped from the skies and drove off the Invaders. They then engaged in months of mountain warfare, hunting the bandits until all of southern Griffonia’s trade routes were safe to travel, crushing, in two months, a bandit state which harassed nations for years.

When the rogue border state of Hellquill launched a campaign of extermination upon the ponies of the Riverlands, they stormed the city in defense of ponies they had not known. They had sailed upon the wide rivers straight into the capital city of the most terrifying nation on the continent with a force consisting entirely of volunteers.

Equestria has always been a peaceful nation. Yet, peace was stolen from us so quickly, breaking a thousand-year period of harmony and joy. Bread bakers, tailors, construction ponies. All were ripped away from their dreams and hopes for a brighter future, all replaced with the war. Fillies and Foals have now begun to conduct duck and cover drills in order to save themselves from enemy bombs that may fly over their towns and homes.

On behalf of Equestria, I request- nay, I plead with you. Please bring this message to the leader of the Commandos. We wish for his help. Although our nation has mobilized day by day, and our finest minds are engaging Queen Chrysalis with cunning and bravery, we still need more if we want to stand a chance. We wish to consult a professional.

With gratitude,

Princess Twilight Sparkle.

Moerman held the letter in his claws. His eyes looked to Grover behind his sunglasses, who doodled away on a blank paper, entirely oblivious to the conversation.

“...We’ve committed to diplomacy of strict neutrality in all cases leading up to this moment. In the interest of maintaining our reputation as mediators, hoping to prevent wars and disputes between nations on this continent.” Gerlach said, opening another folder and setting down a few photographs. “Yet… Chrysalis has assembled the largest army perhaps in the history of this planet.”

As Dobbelsteen looked at each of the photographs, Gabriela now spoke. “Tanks and mechanized vehicles upwards of fifty kilometers an hour, dispensing firepower at record speeds.” She slid a pile of folders on the table closer to him. “These came with the letter. Reports from the front.”

The Major noted the ‘CLASSIFIED’ stamp upon most of them. His gaze set on a photograph of a metal machine, towering over the tanks he had encountered in combat before no doubt, as Gabriela continued. “Airplanes numbering in the thousands dropping bombs on towns, not to mention the swarms.”

“Swarms?”

“Changelings are an insectoid species, in part.” Gerlach held out a photograph that depicted hundreds of black dots in the skies, rising over smoke and fire that scattered across a field. “Speed. The Equestrians are hit a thousand times before they can even blink.”

The blonde-feathered Griffon adjusted his brown Feathisian uniform for a moment, leaning back in his chair and staring at the photo from behind his sunglasses. Try as Moerman might, his eyes kept trailing back to the letter.

Something about that letter just… unnerved him. Stirred a fire within him. Moerman’s beak, usually home to an ever-present smile, had grown tight. His disposition, though always in carefree and welcoming expression, had grown broad and imposing. Most of all his voice had grown cracked and bitter. “Sir, please inform Twilight Sparkle that the Commandos are on their way to Canterlot.”

Gerlach sighed, holding up a claw. “The constitution of the Griffonian Empire states that no lethal military assistance can be provided to another sovereign nation without the permission of Parliament. I cannot deploy you.”

“Didn’t you two write the constitution?”

Gabriela held out her claws to gesture to Moerman’s response. “Excellent point, wouldn’t you agree?” She said, raising an eyebrow at her husband.

“We break one rule, all the others lose their legitimacy. I would never compromise the stability of the future for anything.” He said, giving a quick glance to Grover, who still had his head down, doodling. “But… there is a caveat.”

The dark feathered Griffon leaned on the table. “If we were to send you, as an ‘Official diplomatic ambassador to Equestria’...That would not count as lethal military assistance. Seeing as you are not lethal.”

Moerman raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses.

“Legally speaking.”

Dobbelsteen ran a claw through his feathers, pondering the situation over in his head. “So…” He sighed, taking off his sunglasses. “I would go it alone over there and link up with their Generals, teach them a few things, and stay with them until the war ended.” He cleared his throat. “Who will look after the Commandos?”

Gabriela now spoke. “Your second in command, Frank Lancaster, would be given command in lieu of your absence.” She nodded. “The Commandos would be maintained here to continue to serve the Empire.”

“Hm.” Dobbelsteen Moerman looked at the situation before him. He was being asked by the most pacifistic nation on this planet, who specialized, in their own words, ‘The Magic of Friendship’. Hoping that he could teach them to fight their way against the most powerful army in recorded history. With minimal technology and experience.

“Well, sir.” The Major stated frankly. “If the Feathisian Commandos cannot come with me, I will train the soldiers of Equestria in the science of warfare and turn them into soldiers fit to send that tyrant to Tartarus.”

Both Gerlach and Gabriela, smiles upon their faces, rose from their seats, and so too did Dobbelsteen Moerman. Grover scribbled harder on his paper.

“Thank you, Major,” Gabriela said, shaking his claw. “This country has asked a lot from you over the years. Your service is admirable. However, you must keep this in mind.” She dipped her head. “You must conduct yourself with the utmost secrecy. If the world learned of us getting involved… it would be quite difficult to explain.”

“Wouldn’t dream of anything else, Ma’am.” Moerman shook the claws of Gerlach as well before he felt a tug at his uniform. The Feathisian Officer turned to see Grover VI, holding out a piece of paper. Taking it, Moerman looked at a crude depiction of what he assumed to be himself shooting guns at ‘Evil bad bugs’, (conveniently labeled), on a field.

Moerman mouthed to the Emperor, as he folded it into his uniform. I killed a lot.

The small Griffon giggled, before sitting back in his chair.

“We could schedule a flight leaving from Griffenheim’s airport, but it's currently undergoing a massive expansion, so things might be a bit delayed,” Gerlach said. “We might be able to get you some priority.”

Moerman smirked. “I appreciate the offer, sir. But do not worry. I got my own plane.”

Point Insertion

June 30th 1010, 06:44

Canterlot Airfield

Standing still was something Constant Vigilance was very well-practiced at. As it happened, he also had experience in waiting, as well.

A small relief managed to shine in his eyes when the sun breached the skyline, reminding him of who in particular was the one who raised it. His distinct past allowed him to appreciate its warm glow, not as directed to the celestial body, but of the Princess controlling it.

Yet, Constant stood not in his usual place in the palace (by the side of the sisters), but instead overlooking the jutting runway of Canterlot’s airfield. His eyes scanned the horizon, his left scarred and milky white from an injury earned long ago before they raised to observe the sky above.. His coat was as gray as the stone of the mountains that shielded the airfield, and his mane as silver the lining of the darkest clouds in the sky above him.

Bitter as he was in his expression, even the first morning beam that cracked through the skies managed to soften his eyes, both healthy and scarred. His mind lingered in the silence of the mountain airfield, broken only by the occasional gusts of wind that carried their songs through the peaks.

Then Constant could spot something through the beams of gold, a barely visible black dot hovering in the distance. Vigilance was, after all, his name. The dot weaved through the clouds and descended their white slopes like snow. An airplane, Constant recalled, from his learnings on ‘modern technology’, like a bumblebee’s meanderings through the sky as it grew in size from a blot on the blue to a bolt in the blue.

The plane grew clearer as it glided in for a landing. It was hardly a plane fit for a defensive air base, it much rather looked like a civilian aircraft. Constant then noticed the floats below it, extending to tiny wheels as landing gear. Despite its astronomical size in comparison to that of the usual fighter aircraft he was still getting used to seeing, it touched onto the runway in front of the gray earth Pony like butter on bread.

Kicking up asphalt on the landing strip, the small airliner coasted along, its three engines slowing their speeds to a halt as the plane came to a stop right in front of him.

The engines of the plane lost their power. Constant’s memory turned to Princess Twilight’s rambling on and on about this Griffon visitor. A soldier from a faraway land with quite the accomplishments. Constant knew there was about a 72% chance that meant one thing: ego.

Even as he waited for a brief moment, his expression soured. This gray earth Pony was, or at least had been, a soldier. As much as he knew the importance of their role, it seemed that all officers these days were happier with the title and privilege rather than the responsibility. Another reason why he should not regret his expulsion released him from his own.

This particular meeting, though, had been a personal favor… how could he refuse ‘Tia’s kind gaze and Twilight’s polite words? He swore he was becoming more malleable in their hooves by the day.

His thoughts escaped him as the plane’s window opened, on the side dubbed ‘passenger’. Constant’s one good eye had to shift away from the conveniently placed door towards the rear of the plane, though he had more questions. It seemed highly unconventional for a Griffon, who he had known to be as stiff as he was, to not roll out the carpet of grandeur upon arrival. The thing they loved second-best to earning money was flaunting it.

Moerman had a bottle in his right claw, to begin with. His green military uniform had been unbuttoned at the blouse, his undershirt a floral patterned button-down like that of a tourist. His sunglasses absorbed all available light in pitch-black darkness, and his plume was styled back.

His feathers were as golden as the rays of the sun above and his beak immediately opened into a smile at the sight of Constant. He quickly hopped off the wing of the plane and onto the runway.

The gray earth Pony, although slightly disturbed by whatever queer Griffon has stepped into the country he served, managed to be amicable to this rare specimen. “Constant Vigilance, at your service. Welcome to Equestria, Major Moerman.”

Constant was what an individual would call, intimidating. If the scarred eye was not enough to convince you, his voice carried the energy of molten steel being beaten into shape. Sharp and precise in its professionalism, deep in its presentation, and dominating in its presence.

“...Pleasure to meet you, Constant! Mr. Moerman is alright with me!”

Dobbelsteen Moerman was the exact opposite. Sure he was a tall Griffon, but Constant was a tall pony. His voice was light and floated as his plane did mere moments ago, and whatever accent he had from the nation of Feathisia was near comedic. Yet, it all just left Constant confused. He looked down, noticing Moerman had extended his claw.

Constant stuck it out in turn, leaving Mr. Moerman with a one-sided hoofshake.

Moerman grinned. “Don’t worry, I’ve got enough claw to shake for the both of us.” He turned to the side and gestured with one of his wings toward the plane. “The door got jammed a couple of weeks ago and I haven’t gotten around to fixing it. Is it alright if I just… leave it hanging around here?”

Constant Vigilance glanced around, still a bit off-put. “I don’t believe it’s an issue. This runway is mostly for private use, and our airships have their own port.” He did a double-take between the Officer and his plane. “Forgive me, but you are admittedly nothing like I imagined.”

The Griffon turned back. “Some of the exploits are a bit over-congratulatory. I had a lot of help from my soldiers.” He looked down at his Uniform, before setting the bottle he had on the wing of the plane and beginning to straighten and button it. “However, I plan to exceed the expectations of Princess Twilight…” He leaned over. “Is she your… Secretary of War?”

Constant shook his head. “Princess Twilight Sparkle is the ‘Princess of Friendship’ in Equestria, Mr. Moerman.” The overwrought title was a bit on the edge for Constant. He still squinted at the Feathisian. “She handles our… diplomacy, to put it simply. She’s also a keen advisor.”

Constant Vigilance motioned over to the edge of the Airfield towards a dark green military Jeep, “Follow me, Mr. Moerman. I have orders to escort you to meet the rest of the General staff in Canterlot.”

Moerman quickly followed behind. “Thank you. So who’s your Secretary of War?”

“We don't have one.”

“...Commander of Equestrian Armed Forces?”

Constant put a hoof under his chin for a moment, before replying darkly. “...Prince Blueblood, though he is anything but.”

Dobbelsteen Moerman climbed into the vehicle, adjusting his sunglasses as he thought on the words of Constant. As the gray earth Pony settled behind the wheel, the Griffon spoke again. “Huh. I feel I should know these ponies.”

“I didn’t expect you to,” said Constant as they drove down a smooth-paved road away from the strip of tarmac. “As for Blueblood, you should count yourself lucky you don’t.”

The Griffon turned, as the scenery of the mountaintops gave way to thick forests as the road gradually descended. “Not to be intrusive, but I’m guessing you’re not entirely getting along with this ‘Command’ you’re taking me to.”

Constant looked at Mr. Moerman for a brief moment. “I get along just fine with the command. It’s the decision-making process I dislike.”

A wing was raised, “Never doubted that for a second, Captain. Just getting a feel for the kind of personalities that I’m going to be meeting.”

Constant turned the vehicle onto a more stable road, speaking. “To my dismay-” He briefly glanced over, “And personal objection, The earth Pony, Unicorn, and Pegasi Guard was disbanded, our armed forces. Our standing force consists of the Royal Guard, the Wonderbolts, and recently-drawn civilian volunteers of a rapidly-amassing half-baked attempt at a professional army. Likewise, our command consists of nobility in excess.”

Moerman let out a dry laugh. “I know how that feels.”

“The Princesses keep everything moving. Consistently.” He sighed. “They hope your ‘tactical advisory’ can inject some sort of energy into some of these ponies up there.” His hooves turned with the wheel. “And maybe, give them a reprieve.”

Moerman lingered on the words for a moment, adjusting his sunglasses with the roll of the car.

“What do you do, Constant?”

The pony behind the wheel glanced over, “Officially? I’m also an advisor to the Princesses, just like Young Twili-, I mean, Princess Twilight Sparkle. I give them my insight on many matters… some personal, others national.” He turned the wheel with his hooves as he spoke, “My duties are, inherently, to keep their majesties safe.” His expression was stern as his eye kept on the road. “By extension, the city of Canterlot and Equestria itself.”

Dobbelsteen Moerman nodded along, leaning back in the passenger seat as the vehicle drove along. “Huh…” He looked away from the windshield and over to Constant. “So you’re kind of a big deal, is what you’re telling me?”

Constant smirked. “For other ponies, maybe.”

Moerman laughed, “Feels like home already.”

June 30th 1010, 07:52

Canterlot Castle

“...Well, this is rather uncivilized.”

Moerman’s words had been useless to anyone but himself, as they were drowned out by the volume of what was happening before him and Constant. The moment the two soldiers of war entered the halls of the castle, it struck both of them as a combat zone.

Ponies were galloping in almost every direction, hooves full of folders, papers, and hardcover books as thick as their own heads. They dived and weaved in between the frankly dazzling architecture of Canterlot castle, as Moerman’s sunglasses and uniform both were adorned with the light of the sun, shimmering through the stained-glass windows.

The gray Captain did not share the Feathisian’s sense of humor, as the two soldiers pressed forward through the chaos. Though ponies briskly walked from one planning office to the other, each gave a brief pause to look in their direction.

“Are you a part of this meeting, Captain?”

“Officially, Mr. Moerman. The Equestrian War Committee is formed out of the essential leaders of the nation as a whole. Ponies of exceptional intelligence, sophistication, and standing.”

Moerman lifted an eyebrow. “...On paper?”

Constant actually laughed at that one, one of gallows humor that echoed across the walls of the castle. “Not all. The Princesses have gathered the finest minds of Equestria to help settle it. Not to mention the Elements of Harmony.” He smiled. “Those six ponies have saved us before. I am confident they can save us now.”

Dobbelsteen now walked to the side of Constant Vigilance. “Let’s hope you’re right.” Behind his sunglasses, Moerman glanced towards the offices as they walked deeper into the castle. “Hastily arranged, I assume.”

“They were built for parties…” Constant’s mood began to sour, as they now marched up a set of red-carpeted stairs in the center of the palace, light shining through a skylight and reflecting down upon their uniforms.

Moerman’s smile slightly faded as they walked. “...I’m sure you’ll have them again.”

Reaching the top of the staircase, palace guards stood beside heavy doors made from fogged glass. Lacking the usual grandiose designs of the many other doors in the palace, the doors before them were not made from gold. Unique not only in their translucent design but the thinness of these doors also allowed for some muffled conversation to bleed through. The guard's eyes widened and their posture straightened with crisp salutes at the approach of the two soldiers. Moerman stopped to give a small nod of thanks, then joined Constant at the handle of the door.

He knocked. “...Hope you’re ready, Mr. Moerman.”

June 30th 1010, 07:52

Canterlot Castle

Urgent War Committee

“Not to mention the steel of Olenia, the natural gas and oil deposits of the conquered polar bear communities…” Raven Inkwell adjusted her glasses as she stood at Princess Celestia’s side, her quiet voice helped by the echo of the room.

Perhaps the most important individuals on the continent of Equus were in this very room. General Officers in decorated uniforms stood huddled around one corner of the table, one unicorn with a blonde mane and white coat standing out in front of the rest. Yet, they were merely the lowest on this totem pole of power, as the other sides of this table were filled with the three princesses of Equestria, not to mention the six-element bearers, the gaps filled by ponies of widely different looks. Yet, their demeanor remained on the map of Equestria laid out upon the table, and the pieces that rested atop it.

“The conquered lands of the previous year have significantly added to the Industrial and military capacity of the United Changeling Hives.” Tempest Wind, a Thestral, said as her thin pupils cast their gaze to the northern sections of the map. “Organized resistance appeared behind the leadership of Queen Velvet of the Olenian Deer, Paw Wellington of the Polar Bear Communities, and a Changeling by the name of Thorax. Vesalipolis Office of Public Safety, V.O.P.S., rooted out all possibility of any action months ago.”

Fluttershy, standing side by side with Applejack and Pinkie Pie, looked up from the map. “Why didn’t we try to help them at all before?” Her eyes drifted from Tempest over to the three princesses. “Shouldn’t we have done something to prevent what is now happening to us?”

“Hardly our issue. So, foreign assistance is entirely out of the question.” Prince Blueblood’s posh royal voice easily drowned the ears of all in the room. “Seems quite typical.”

The general officers surrounding Prince Blueblood glanced between him and Fluttershy, as her eyes sank to the floor. “...Oh.” Though they nodded at his words, a choice glare from Applejack averted their gazes quickly elsewhere.

“The past cannot be changed.” Princess Celestia’s voice, mellow and lacking its reassuring tone, was carried only by the absolute silence of everyone else in the room. “The Changelings have seized the city of Anchorage, the Featherfall airfields, and are now engaged in active combat outside Fairflanks.”

“General Swift Wing,” now spoke General Selenite, a bat pony, herself standing with Princess Luna, “Is regrouping as many of the border guards she can find to hold the city of Fairflanks. Not just for itself, but what lies to the south. Vanhoover.”

Selenite’s silver mane rested atop her head as her hoof pointed to the coastal city. “Close to one million ponies live in Vanhoover, and the frontline is approaching them fast. The mountain ranges in the region practically split the only available routes of evacuation into two. One through Salt Lick City, and another through Tall Tale. The rail lines are already over capacity.”

Princess Twilight spoke. “If we can hold the front for long enough, we should be able to evacuate civilians far away from the front and to safety before any shells reach them. How exactly we could do that, I haven’t the slightest idea…”

“Well we know that the big scary things the Changelings drive around in can be pierced by Artillery pieces, right?” Pinkie Pie said, turning around. “...Where did I put my party cannon?”

“You’re not wrong, Pinkie,” Selenite said with a smile, setting down a collection of photos of tanks reduced to fire and broken parts. “Cannons are able to reduce these tanks to smoldering heaps of junk with one well-placed shot.”

Applejack took one such photo into her hooves, with Fluttershy and Pinkie Pie leaning to get a closer look as well as Selenite continued. “By outfitting our forces with artillery pieces of large enough calibers, the tanks of Chrysalis are sure to be halted by our overwhelming firepower.”

“That’s hardly a strategy for a war such as this.” modestly spoke Fizzlepop Berrytwist, leaning up from the table next to Princess Twilight and meeting the eyes of Selenite. “Engaged in singular combat Artillery could be used, but the mobility of the enemy over this broad of a front throws a wrench into such a strategy.”

Prince Blueblood spoke up, looking to the general officers at his side. “What does the former minion of a Yeti Warlord know about modern Artillery?”

“More than somepony who's never seen combat,” spoke Princess Twilight, casting a glare at Prince Blueblood. “The experience and perspective of Fizzlepop Berrytwist is invaluable to me, and this committee. I hope you come to understand that.” Twilight’s glare briefly turned to Celestia, who did her best to suppress a small smirk.

“I meant no disrespect, Princess.” Blueblood nodded. “I only wish to hear her perspective on how to halt this offensive, due to her invaluable experience in war, and invading foreign nations.”

Fizzlepop tensed, slowly ducking her head.

“Moving on.” Spoke Princess Celestia, whose glare had certainly struck a tinge of fear in the eyes of her nephew Blueblood. “Our main concern lies with the city of Vanhoover, and our plan to evacuate the civilians that are rapidly being swept into danger.”

“General Selenite has assured me, dear sister,” spoke Princess Luna, “that she began to assemble forces of the Night Guard that are currently in transit to Salt Lick City.” Luna continued as her eyes briefly met that of her pupil, “Her forces are planning to advance north of Salt Lick City and pressure the enemy forces on their advance, forcing them to withdraw from the city of Fairflanks.”

Prince Blueblood narrowed his eyes. “Our war is defensive in nature, and cannot be approached with the fantasy that we are permanently on our backs for this fight. You wish to attack at a time like this?”

Selenite was a bit on the shorter side in comparison to all others in the room, especially that of an imposing figure as Blueblood was, but her voice met him in its tone. “The Night Guard hasn’t run from a fight before, and this won't be the first.”

“The advantage of the fight lies in those who seize the initiative,” said Fizzlepop Berrytwist, gesturing to the silver-maned pony. “The only way to stop the momentum of this assault is with one of our own.”

“With what troops?” Blueblood asked, turning to glance at the entire room. “General Soarin, how many troops are the Changelings expected to be fielding at this moment in time?”

Soarin replied, looking up from the table. “One and a half million, sir.”

“General Fast Clip,” He said, turning to the pony on his opposite side. “How many do we have?”

Fast Clip’s hooves, preoccupied with the examination of a manilla folder with who knows what kind of documentation inside, hadn’t looked up when he spoke with a sigh. “Five hundred thousand.”

“On paper.” Blueblood turned from his Generals over to Fizzlepop and Selenite. “The forces you’ve mobilized may be formidable, but they are severely outnumbered. Our only hope is a calculated retreat to save what we have.”

“And simply wait for things to get better?” Rainbow Dash asked. “With each passing day, the Changelings gain momentum, and you want to give them more runway to gain speed?”

“The doctrine I have adopted for my forces, as Field Marshal of the Royal Guard, is delaying the enemy at all costs to buy time for the recruitment of more soldiers. Our firepower, as it stands, is not up to par. Let alone our numbers. Running is our only option.”

“What about the ponies that are staying behind?” asked Applejack, tilting her head incredulously. “If we plan to retreat each and every engagement.” She said, turning to Twilight, “Since we all know that we won't be able to meet the Changelings on an even battlefield for months at a minimum, what happens to the ponies we send to delay?” She turned to Fluttershy. “Or worse yet, the creatures that live there?”

Blueblood stared at Applejack. “You can’t win a game of Chess without losing a few pieces.”

Princess Celestia lowered her head as the argument continued. Her sister Luna could notice she hadn’t gotten much sleep these past several days, let alone carry the energy to listen to hours more of this. Her eyes slowly closed as she wrinkled her forehead in thought if not sadness.

The sounds of the war committee had drowned out Luna’s senses as well, as she tuned out their words and only noted their pained expressions. No matter their positions at the table or places in the arguments, each had traces of sadness. Twilight, most of all, looked like she was about to collapse from trying to keep the war committee in order.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Broken out of her trance, Celestia perked up at the sudden sound and the silence that followed. All eyes in the committee turned to look at the vast double doors of the council room. Everypony turned to look at Celestia and Luna, whose previous look of solemn anguish had been replaced with that of intense curiosity.

“...Do you think it's more bad news?” muttered Fluttershy.

“Come now, darling,” Rarity whispered, leaning into her friend. “Defeatism is hardly your style.”

With a nod from Princess Celestia, the guards stepped forward to pull open the doors, and the dim lighting of the Council room was quickly pierced by the morning light that lit up the hallway. Though, as the doors shut and the illumination of the more open interior faded, the gleam yet rested upon the two soldiers who entered.

Their uniforms, in contrast to the glamor and gold of the Equestrian Officers that now turned around to face the pair, were fairly simplistic. The Griffons’ in particular, a simple dark green with small ribbons and insignias upon its shoulders.

Constant Vigilance gave a deep nod of respect to the princesses of Equestria at the opposite side of the table, speaking aloud. “Everypony, please welcome Major Dobbelsteen Moerman, Commander of the Feathisian Commandos, and sent on behalf of the Griffons.”

The room froze. Even as Dobbelsteen Moerman gave a deep nod of respect to the Princesses, confusion still rested upon their faces. The flag upon this Griffon’s uniform and his introduction prompted murmuring among the Generals around Blueblood, who leaned forward to get a better look at the officer.

The Elements of Harmony looked to each other, and then back to the officer. It seemed only Fluttershy was pleased among them, as General Selenite and Berrytwist shared similar looks of apprehension. Among those not in the loop, only Spitfire was welcoming. She adjusted sunglasses of her own with a smile.

Moerman glanced at Constant, and back to the table. His tail shifted. “...Well, you’re all early.”

Princess Twilight was the first to move, briskly moving around the table and its audience and stopping before the Feathisian Officer. “Mister Moer-Major Moerman, it is a privilege to welcome you into Equestria.” She turned from him, briefly giving a nod of thanks to Constant, and spoke to the other occupants. “Everypony, this is Major Dobbelsteen Moerman, I have requested his help as a tactical advisor to Equestria.” Her hoof raised, gesturing to each member of the Committee. “Moerman, these are the finest minds of Equestria.”

“The Elements of Harmony, Applejack, Rarity, Fluttershy, Pinkie Pie, and Rainbow Dash.” Each gave a smile and a nod to the newcomer. “Spitfire, Commander of the Equestrian Air Force, Prince Blueblood, Commander of the Equestrian Royal Guard, Princesses Luna and Celestia…” Her hoof dropped, seemingly exhausted. “And… others.”

Dobbelsteen was not new to being under the watchful eye of those who held significantly more power than he did. Yet, something about the sudden shift in the room had a small flame rising in his face. The ‘Elements’, whatever that meant, were as friendly looking as anypony he’d seen, but all of the others looked at him with varying faces of confusion and dismissal. To make matters even worse, the military side of the table had significantly more shiny medals than he did.

He’d rather be in a trench right now.

“Twilight has spoken at length about you, Major.” Princess Celestia leaned forward with a reassuring smile, as both her and her sister breathed a slight sigh of relief along with Twilight. “She says you may bring much-needed insight in our struggle.”

“Uhm… well it certainly won’t be easy, your majesty.” Moerman stepped forward, the General Officers moving to make room as he peered down at the table, directly across from the Princesses.

As Moerman’s interruption caught the attention of everypony within the room, Constant Vigilance flowed like water on the edges of the room. Swiveling his gaze between all of its participants, His hooves stopped next to the elements of Harmony.

In hushed tones, Constant spoke. “How’re things?”

“Darling, we haven’t gotten anywhere.” Rarity said, squinting her eyes in quiet frustration. “The egos that fill this room make it impossible to breathe.”

Constant’s one good eye glanced at Prince Blueblood, and then back.

“If the creek don’t rise soon, the Changelings will end the meeting for us,” Applejack whispered with a sigh. “It’s a wonder the Princesses haven’t nearly collapsed at this rate.”

“You’re sent from the Griffonian Empire?” General Soarin asked, turning from Princess Twilight’s introduction to the Feathisian. “They’ve sent us help?”

Dobbelsteen smiled, adjusting his sunglasses. “I would feed you the idea that we’ve done this out of the goodness of our hearts and turning over a new leaf to harmony.” He turned to face Spitfire. “In truth, we ran out of wars to win, so they sent me to find a new one.”

“I’d assume you’ve had quite the experience in matters such as this.” Prince Blueblood said, adjusting his flashy uniform and comforted by the fact it looked significantly cooler than Moermans did. “The armored offensives employed by the Changelings are eerily similar to the periodic Griffonian wars, only on… much larger scales.”

Moerman turned to Twilight. “Where can I find a summary of your force composition?”

The Princess of Friendship blinked, before being briskly saved by Raven Inkwell, who flowed from her position at Celestia’s side and handed four manilla folders to the Griffon. “Thank you.” He smiled, quietly sifting through them.

As Moerman read, Constant Vigilance moved between Luna and Celestia, as the two looked down upon him with weary smiles, their conversation barely above a whisper.

“I see you’ve brought help,” Luna said.

“He’s… certainly not who I expected,” Constant admitted, turning to Celestia. “How are you holding up, Tia?”

Celestia couldn’t hide her smile of relief upon seeing her old friend, but still, she looked at her sister with a smirk. “Can you recall a time when he isn'tworrying?”

Blueblood leaned forward, speaking less to Moerman and more to the whole room. “The Changeling armed forces are highly mobile, as you know. Relying extensively upon their strength of vehicles and hordes of tanks and other machines, they are able to advance at speeds and run circles around our Royal Guard.” He turned his gaze back to the Feathisian. “Classic doctrine of the Griffonian unification wars.”

“Not on its own.” Selenite contradicted. “Studying the history of the Griffonian wars, be it through the Falcorian or Aquelian wars, or the Revolution of 978, mobile forces were efficiently dispatched by the superior firepower of the forces of the Griffonian Empire in the form of cannons.” The silver-maned bat pony nodded. “Even Grover II’s own conquests of much of the continent, though lost after his death, were won with Artillery.”

“How fast are they advancing?”

The argument which threatened to rear its ugly head was pierced by the words of Moerman, who looked up from the folders provided by Inkwell. “I’ve been told these tanks move up to fifty kilometers an hour even on a bad day.”

Now, Rarity spoke. Boreas in heaven, Moerman was losing track of the ponies in this room. “The Changeling’s focus on speed has overrun any organized defense of the city of Anchorage, and now threatens to surround Fairflanks. After that, Vanhoover seems to be in their sights.”

“So they learned.” Dobbelsteen turned from Rarity over to the pony with the flowing silver mane. “General Selenite, was it?”

The Thestral nodded, firmly standing next to Princess Luna. Now, the whole room’s attention was upon the words of the Feathisian, and the movement of his eyes behind his sunglasses.

“Such speed was never accomplished in the Griffonian wars, and such cannot be approached the same. The reason for this is how Equestria is built.” He leaned forward, his claw hovering over the map and room following his every move. “Anchorage first, then Featherfall airfields, now Fairflanks, and soon after Vanhoover.” He looked up. “Anygrif-...Uh, anypony notice a pattern?”

As the room followed along, General Fast Clip and General Soarin leaned away from their spots beside Prince Blueblood, getting a better look at Moerman.

“They’re targeting the cities and infrastructure one after another.” Princess Twilight said, looking down as her tone rose with newfound realization. “Entire sections of forest and plains are ignored, we only receive combat in industrialized areas.”

Moerman smiled, “The Princess is correct, and clearly the smartest among you.” He winked to Constant, who hardly held down his grin. “If the Changeling war machine relies so heavily upon its speed and shock, then it is confined only to the areas that will allow it to be operated.” He looked up at the silver-maned batpony. “You missed the trees for the forest, as they say. The Griffonian continent has entire regions which are untouched by civilization, mechanized forces work terribly in the forests of Angriver and the swamps of Feathisia. Equestria does not have the luxury of… well, being a terrible place to live.”

Prince Blueblood looked down at the map. “So, because their forces are built with vehicles as their core, their efforts will only be concentrated in areas where their heavy logistical needs can be supported.”

Moerman nodded. “I’m positive. With that in mind, we cannot underestimate the superiority these mobile units have over these urban environments. Such an army dispenses speed and firepower in such fluidity it's almost impossible to halt. It can only be beaten by an army of similar makeup.”

“The industry of Equestria is being mobilized by day, but it won't be able to catch up to the level of the Changelings for a year at minimum.” Raven Inkwell gestured to the papers given to Moerman.

“Let alone produce a tank army on par with that of the enemy,” Moerman added with a nod.

“So, how do we stop them, Major?” Princess Luna leaned forward.

The Feathisian officer sighed, before raising a wing to gesture to Selenite. “As the Mare said, artillery. As powerful as the enemy tanks are, mobile armored forces live in fear of support by fire elements that can be operated and dished out by any unit. I suggest you work on getting yourself a whole lot more of those, the twenty-five pounders.”

Selenite spoke. “Smaller guns will work far better for the job, Major.” She leaned forward, “They’re an excellent stopgap, but only in the traditional role of artillery. What you want is dispersed artillery that can be easily concealed and maneuvered by a light crew.”

Dobbelsteen Moerman stopped, looking up to Selenite. “...You… You have smaller guns?” He stuttered, faintly.

“Indeed, Major.”

“That can pierce the armor of these tanks?”

“Twice over, Major.”

Moerman blinked, looking at Princess Celestia, and then back to Selenite. “Wow. That’s uh,” He looked down at the papers on the table, and then backed up. “that’ll work perfectly, General Selenite.”

“So party cannons ARE authorized against the tanks?” asked Pinkie Pie, grin growing ever wider.

Rainbow Dash leaned over, shaking her head. “Confetti isn’t going to work, Pinkie.”

“It can fire high explosives!”

Meanwhile, Princess Luna gazed down at Selenite with a subdued smile on her face, prideful of her pupil. “Production of these smaller guns are far faster to start, and if they do perform well against the enemy tanks as you say they do, Inkwell and I will see to it that their production is exponentially increased to fulfill all of your needs and wants, General Selenite.”

“Thank you, Princess, but it will only work if we seize every advantage we can,” Selenite stated, looking over to both Spitfire and Rainbow Dash. “Artillery operates only when it is protected by a shield in the skies, emplacements are easy targets for enemy aircraft. We need absolute dominance in the air whenever possible.”

“Oh, don’t worry Selenite,” Spitfire said with a smirk. “We’ll give you that.”

“And the application of these forces?” the Noble unicorn turned to Moerman, giving a suspicious look at him. “How do you think is best to deploy our units?”

Moerman looked back to the map. “Committing them all to the front is a terrible mistake, and what the enemy strategy counts on. Breaches in the frontline must quickly be addressed with bountiful reserve units. Delaying the enemy is your only option until your forces can gather their strength.”

Blueblood smirked, turning to the rest of the room. “Those were my thoughts exactly. We have our long-term strategy of war in mind, but as for now, in the short term, we must commit ourselves to a series of tactical withdrawals to delay the enemy without losing our forces. Would I be correct, Mister Moerman?”

Moerman briefly took off his sunglasses, his blue eyes making contact with Constant Vigilance. They both glanced at Blueblood and then back to each other. They shared a nod. He put the sunglasses back on.

“Indeed, you would be.”

“And what of the ponies still in the city of Vanhoover?” asked Applejack, gazing directly into the soul of Moerman. “If we retreat now, you’re leaving close to hundreds of thousands of ponies to be captured by the invaders!”

Moerman actually recoiled from the sudden glare. “I-, I didn’t say that, Ma’am.”

Blueblood narrowed his eyes. “Our evacuation is going at its maximum capacity as it is.” He nearly let out a laugh with his sarcastic smirk, “What more do you ask, that the soldiers instead will stand to catch the bullets for them?”

Dobbelsteen quickly turned. “That’s exactly what we do.”

Leaning back from the Griffon, Blueblood and the whole room blinked at the sudden shift in tone from Moerman, his gaze turning from the Field Marshal over to Applejack. “You’re correct, Miss Applejack. Though I certainly support Marshal Blueblood’s strategy of defensive, calculated retreats, it will not be at the expense of the ponies of Equestria. I am certain you all possess the ability to evacuate these ponies out of harm's way.”

Blueblood’s jaw tightened.

Twilight, a smile growing on her face, turned to look at Princess Celestia, who was practically ecstatic with relief. Celestia leaned forward with the rest of the committee, jumping on the words of Moerman. “You’re certain, Major? You can get my ponies to safety?”

Dobbelsteen, now under the hopeful eyes of the Princesses, shifted out of slight unease. “Well…Not from here. The disconnect between here and the frontline is too great for me to give a true assessment, let alone firmly expect you to adopt any kind of long-term wear strategy.” Major Moerman flattened his uniform. “Through Fairflanks, the enemy could not only threaten Vanhoover but move towards Salt Lick City and cut off that evacuation route. Who commands the defense of this city?”

Princess Celestia looked down at the map. “General Swift Wing volunteered for it. She is currently on the frontlines delaying their advance as much as possible. ”

It was no secret as to why Celestia had remained as silent as she did throughout this meeting, with how her words now shook faintly. Princess Luna leaned into her sister to comfort her. The aspects of war manifested in the minds of each individual differently, but none had such a personal attachment to the populace of Equestria, as its leader.

“Suppose that’s where I’m headed.”

Major Moerman adjusted his sunglasses, even as the gaze of the room locked firmly upon him in surprise. Blueblood and his entourage of generals looked on in disbelief, Constant Vigilance across from them squinted in confusion. The eyes of the Princesses had gone wide, and Selenite tilted her head.

Only Rainbow Dash appreciated it, nodding her head in approval. “We’re scraping together as many pilots as we can to assist in the fight. We’re outnumbered, but we’re not out skilled.”

Moerman nodded. “In every sense, you’ll be a lifesaver.”

Twilight stammered, “Y-You’re going there? To the front?” She looked to the other Princesses, and then back to Dobbelsteen. “Mr. Moerman, you aren’t expected to-”

“I will not trust my own analysis of the situation, let alone suggest you believe it and put your nation's strategy entirely within it, without first doing my due diligence to not only confirm my thoughts but see this to the end. I’ll send reports to the frontline at every chance, so you can adjust your strategy if necessary.” Major Moerman flattened his uniform, taking a last look at the map, and then looking up to meet the eyes of Celestia.

If Constant Vigilance wasn’t surprised by the Griffon in the room before, he certainly showed it now.

Major Moerman flattened his uniform, taking a last look at the map, and then looking up to meet the eyes of Celestia. “By the orders given to me by Gerlach Weijermar and Gabriela Eagleclaw of the Griffonian Empire, regents of Emperor Grover, Sixth of his name. If the evacuation of Vanhoover is your order, Princess, it will be done.”

Captain Of The Night Guard

June 30th 1010, 09:01

Canterlot Airfield

“Canterlot not your fancy, Mr. Moerman?”

“I am actively heading towards a combat zone just to get out of here. What do you think, Constant?”

Though the airfield was, for the most part, only in use once in a blue moon, the gray earth Pony and blonde Griffon had taken notice of a number of ponies gathering around hangers and small fighter aircraft, with an assortment of notebooks strewn about their hooves as each group discussed far away from either’s ears.

Constant’s smile faded from Moerman’s sarcastic remark as they marched across the airfield, stopping right at the left wing of Moerman’s plane. Once again, Constant had to take quick glances between the plane, and its pilot. “...Out of all the possible aircraft in the world over in Griffonia. You chose this?”

Just like Constant, Moerman’s own eyes were admiring the plane. The Griffon simply turned with an incredulous look. “Chose? Boreas no, Constant.” He turned back to face the plane.

Constant’s head tilted in confusion.

The Major nodded. “I stole it.”

Military discipline. Constant Vigilance had quite the resume of feats in his own heyday and was perfectly comfortable with keeping his stories to himself. Yet, one thing the scarred, battle-hardened gray pony prided himself upon was Military discipline. Only one week into the start of the war, he had already lost it.

Constant laughed, truly. It wasn’t a belly-over, four hooves off the ground, tears in his eyes laugh, but a laugh it was. Moerman seemed quite happy with himself at that, laughing along with him, though not even attempting to control it. As he quieted down, his smile slowly faded.

“...That was a joke, right?”

Dobbelsteen Moerman moved forward, ignoring him. “I’ll have to thank you, Constant. I suppose they’re going to need you here in Canterlot for quite some time. Soldiers with brains are a rare commodity.”

Constant nodded back. “Somepony has to, Mr. Moerman. My days of running around and fighting the enemies of Equestria are far, far behind me. That is… unless you do an absolutely terrible job at the front.”

Pulling down the stairs, Dobbelsteen stopped to give a glance at the city of Canterlot in the distance. He gave a look back to Constant. “Blueblood is the Commander of the Equestrian Army?”

“The ‘new’ Earth, Unicorn, and Pegasi guard specifically. But yes, in essence, the Army.”

Moerman nodded. “See you soon.”

Shaking his head, Constant Vigilence’s eye was caught by the approach of a vehicle, the same model he used to drive the both of them to Canterlot, though with a fixed top. The vehicle drove across the runway, stopping right at the left wing of the plane, beside Constant Vigilance.

The gray pony only deadpanned to Moerman. “Your escape was going so well, Mr. Moerman.”

The car door swing open, and out stepped the exact opposite of the two soldiers. No, not Prince Blueblood, Moerman could at least grant that pony the credit that he was of normal height. Selenite, on the other hoof, was not as lucky. Closing the door behind them, Selenite and her silver mane stepped forward.

“Constant,” She said with a smile and nod, before turning to Dobbelsteen and acknowledging him with a tone of the utmost professionalism. “Major Moerman. I hear you are heading to the front.” She cast a quick glance at the plane. “...In this.”

Dobbelsteen smiled at his small civilian-airliner-turned-transport-turned-motor-home and gestured with his wings to it. “Right as rain. If this is about a fighter escort, she flies faster than any bullet in circulation.”

Selenite deadpanned to Constant Vigilance, who only shrugged in return. She sighed. “As interesting it would be to pull the exact measurements and statistics necessary to prove you wrong, that is not why I am here.” She cleared her throat. “I am here to hitch a ride.”

Dobbelsteen lowered his sunglasses for a moment tilting his head. Now it was his turn to be surprised.

Constant Vigilance glanced between the two of them. Even down to the uniforms, hers a dark gray with midnight blue stripes around the collar, and his deep green and shining brass buttons, the two were complete opposites. Then he brought his hoof under his chin. “...Escaping Prince Blueblood as well, aren’t you?”

“That’ll never hold in court, Constant.” Selenite let out a small smile. “In truth, travel to the front by any other means will take at least a week. I have an incentive to get to the frontlines as fast as possible for the sake of assisting the war effort. As do you.”

Constant Vigilance only stared at Selenite, before clearing his throat. Selenite nodded. “Oh, um… Please?”

Dobbelsteen Moerman squinted at the Artillery Officer for a moment, recalling the Urgent War Committee the both of them subjected themselves to. Pushing up his sunglasses, he grinned. “General Selenite, wave goodbye to the filthy Garrisonite on your way up the stairs. Let’s get this show on the road.” He disappeared into the doorway.

The silver-maned bat pony only looked at Constant, who seemed unamused in his Glare at Moerman. “At the end of this war…” he muttered, leaving the rest of the sentence to be filled by Selenite’s imagination.

Selenite, on the other hoof, briskly set off and up the stairs of the seaplane, as the engines began to turn with the sounds of ignition. Already aimed down the runway, the plane’s engines revved their power, as Selenite pulled up the ladder, and Moerman came back in the doorway next to her. “Be back soon, Old-Timer!”

The two Generals waved to Constant, whose grim demeanor broke with a smile, giving a wave back, as the gray scarred pony turned back from the plane and opened the door to the vehicle.

With the closing of the hatch of the plane and the gradual speed it picked up down the runway, Constant Vigilance watched through the windshield as it gently took its place in the sky, disappearing into the misty clouds above Canterlot.

“...Good luck to you, Mister Moerman.”

June 30th 1010, 12:36

Moerman’s Junkers 52 Civilian Airliner

Somewhere over Central Equestria

General Selenite wanted off the wild ride.

Now, it wasn’t a matter of being in the air that really bothered her. She was a Thestral after all, her wings and the altitude they could bring her were often a source of comfort. Nor was it the fact she was in a plane. Although fear of flying in the recent technological marvel that was the airplane was currently commonplace, she was not afflicted by it.

What she was afflicted by, was the crippling fear of a total moron being the pilot.

The plane had titled, swerved, and nearly rolled over on more occasions than Selenite was comfortable counting. Thankful that all of the haphazardly laid about furniture in this converted airplane was bolted down, Selenite straightened her military uniform… and her seatbelt.

An assortment of folders, maps, and books rested either in her hooves or on the seat next to her as well. She fastened their seatbelt as well.

“This was a mistake…” She muttered to the papers and gave a side eye to the cockpit. The papers did not respond.

Though, the horror was only beginning. Just as the plane was beginning to level out, into the cabin stepped Moerman. From the cockpit. Him being the only occupant of it. Walking past Selenite and the four factory-issued seats near the front, (which were turned to face inwards by some shoddy Do-It-Yourself engineering), he simply entered the open kitchen built into the side of the Airplane’s aluminum frame.

Unlatching one of the cabinets, he rummaged through the most-certainly-not-organized compartment. Moerman’s tail grazed the countertop as he practically climbed into it. Wait, were there dumbbells in there? Eventually, he pulled out a container and opened it, placing a sandwich in his claw. He found Selenite staring at him.

“...What?”

Selenite blinked rapidly, before raising a hoof to gesture wildly to the cockpit. “Wha- you- are-” Stopping herself before she could lose all sense of professionalism, she regulated her voice down to its normal level. “The aircraft, Mr. Moerman.” She said, pointing to the cockpit with her hoof and barely hiding her annoyance.

“...Uh-huh?”

“Where is the pilot?”

“Getting a sandwich.”

Selenite could have shot him right there.

Thankfully, Moerman knew when to quit. He gestured to the cockpit, flashing a smile. “Autopilot. Fancy little invention.” He turned, gesturing to the floor of the plane. “Two gyroscopes, kind of like little computers, measure the yaw, pitch, and roll of the plane. Messages are sent to the cockpit to a small box, which takes the controls when I turn it on.”

The Major sat down on the two seats opposite General Selenite, keeping a watchful eye on the cockpit and taking a bite of his sandwich. “We’re flying over the plains, on a straight heading, with little altitude change. You gotta give me more credit than that, General.”

Selenite’s scowl degraded to simple apprehension, glancing between the cockpit and the Major. “I’m surprised you were able to get your claws on such a system, Major.”

“You shoot a couple of bad guys, win a few scraps of metal on your shirt?” Moerman shook his head, listening to the white noise of the three propeller engines humming the aircraft across the blue sky, coasting between the clouds. “They’ll give you anything for free.”

“Well… that’s surprising of you to say.”

Now it was Moerman’s turn to look confused. “How ya mean?”

“I figured you would be quite proud of those scraps of metal on your chest.” She lowered her head, picked up a folder in her hooves, and went back to reading. “Given how they’re all you seem to talk about…”

“All of the others seem to talk about, General.” Dobbelsteen leaned back in the chair, leaning his head against the window and adjusting the sunglasses that rested atop his head. Unlike Selenite’s uniform which looked fresh off the parade deck, Moerman’s top had been unbuttoned to fully display a button-down shirt with tropical trees and various fruits. “Do I really look like I care for military bearing?”

Selenite eye’s glanced back, unamused. She fought the urge to roll her eyes, and her voice was as monotone as ever. “You are without a doubt the strangest military officer I’ve ever met.”

“I’m part-time.”

Now she did roll her eyes.

Only smiling, he flicked his sunglasses down to rest on his beak and leaned forward. “Alright, I’ll quit playing around. Whatcha working on?”

Selenite stopped, only bringing her gaze up to glare at the Griffon. You would have expected Selenite to be intimidated by this Griffon who was a whole head taller than most ponies, let alone her. Her piercing gaze cut settled the score. “...Thinking through the strategy of the war, Major. Something I expected a Griffon like you would understand.”

“Sheesh, Selenite. Not so rough when you rake me over the coals like that.” He smiled, standing up from his seat and peering towards the cockpit, and checking the autopilot. “The more you melt your brain looking at the same squares and the same contour lines, the less you’ll be able to use it when it matters.” He stepped back and walked down the frame of the plane and back into the kitchen cabinets.

Selenite tilted her head. “At what point would it matter more than now? Theorizing a strategy to win this war as bloodlessly as possible?”

“Probably when you’re shooting.” He paused after withdrawing a cardboard box and setting it on the kitchen counter. He turned around to face her. “You… have fired a weapon before, right?”

Selenite’s eyes narrowed. “I am the Captain of the Night Guard, appointed by Princess Luna herself.”

“Blueblood’s the Field Marshal.”

She looked back to her papers. “I don't think I need to tell an Imperial about Noble lineage and its powers.”

“You’re exactly right.” Dobbelsteen Moerman said, a grin appearing on his face as he peered inside the cardboard box, one claw sifting through it. “Which means that you and I are in quite similar predicaments, Selenite.”

Now, the silver-maned bat pony truly turned her attention from her papers and towards the Griffon, who retrieved quite a large book from an assortment inside the box.

“The only thing worse than being surrounded by a bunch of ponies that don't know sky from dirt in the realm of strategy and tactics is not being able to rely on an undeserved reputation to silence them without having to argue.” The Griffon gave a smile, then turned his gaze to the book in his claw. “Now this ain't much, but I only took the important ones they wouldn’t miss.”

Selenite quickly stood on her hooves, trotting over to the box and barely tall enough to look inside. Moerman awkwardly tilted the box down, adjusting his sunglasses with a free claw. “I assume military theory is hard to come by in Equestria. Figured it’d help.”

Selenite’s eyes widened upon glancing inside. “...On War by General Marten… Infantry Attacks by Rossum. She mumbled the selection of titles to herself before she practically jumped as her hooves settled on the one in Moerman’s claws, yanking it free of his grasp. “Battle Tactics of the Grover Campaigns!?!?”

Moerman’s smile slightly faded. “...Uh- be careful with that one! It’s very expensive!” He shook his head as her eyes and ears were only trained upon the book. He mumbled to himself. “Be a shame to the poor Griffon who paid for it.”

Selenite on the other hoof failed to recognize the felon in the aluminum room, instead opening the book, and then quickly closing it. “I mean, I’ll only borrow it for the plane ride. I mean, any literature about militaristic conquest and tactical operations is few and far between in all of Equestria, so much so that even Twilight had a hard time trying to find any for me!”

Moerman raised an eyebrow behind his sunglasses, the Griffon’s tail shifting with amusement. “I take it you’re a bit of a hobbyist? No Griff I know is this interested.”

“Well, of course!” Selenite regained her military professionalism, raising a hoof to articulate herself. “Grover II’s use of Artillery was absolutely pivotal towards defeating armies not only much larger than his own but in unfavorable conditions and with every conceivable military advantage stacked against him!”

“Nerd.”

“History is the source of every creature's greatest mistakes, Major.” Selenite grinned. “And for those of us who study it, it's an excellent tool to use against those who don't.”

Dobbelsteen Moerman smiled, storing the box back into the cabinets as he spoke. “There’s a bit of writing in some of the margins, but it shouldn’t be too much. Not a whole lot of thinking goin’ on here.” He stepped to the side, walking back towards the cockpit and adjusting the uniform top he had around himself. “We’re still a couple of hours out from Salt Lick City.”

Selenite looked up from the book in her hooves, turning around as she held it close to her uniform. “Major, may I ask you something?”

The Griffon stopped in the doorway of the cockpit, turning back from the instruments of the plane. “Hm?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, but… well, the answer you gave at the Committee didn’t seem to be genuine.” Selenite articulated. “Princess Luna heavily encouraged me to travel with you, certainly because of the impression you made.”

“Hope it was a good one.”

“But… personally, I would like to know.” She briefly set the book down on the counter of the miniature kitchen, tilting her head slightly. “This is no ordinary military assignment, not even an assignment in the first place. Why did you choose to come here?”

For a moment, Selenite saw Dobbelsteen’s smile fade to a fraction of what it usually was, his gaze drifting off to the side for a moment. Tapping the metal doorframe of the cockpit with his claw, he forced out an answer. “Soldiers go where the war is, Selenite. It’s what we’re built for.”

As he turned back towards the cockpit and settled into the pilot’s seat, Selenite blinked. Just as the dark clouds were brief blotches upon the blue sky through the windows, Moerman’s cheery smile and blatant violation of all uniform codes in Griffonian history contradicted his actions. An annoyance one minute, kind the next. She took the book on the counter into her hooves, as she sat with a curious glance to the plane around her.

“...What a strange Griffon.”

Stabilize, Stabilize!

July 1st 1010, 19:00

Moerman’s Junkers 52 Civilian Airliner

Skies of Salt Lick City

“And whoever this ‘Anonymous Author’ is,” said Selenite, who had refused to stop talking ever since she got her hooves on a newspaper article she strongly disagreed with, “they have absolutely zero clue what they are talking about.”

Dobbelsteen cast a glance to the co-pilot seat as he adjusted his sunglasses. Apparently, the setting of the sun hadn’t rendered the sky dark enough for him. “Seems he struck a nerve. It’s what Journalists are supposed to do.”

She brushed aside her silver mane with a huff. “Journalists are meant to tell the truth.” Turning the newspaper over with her hoof, she held it up. “Reporting on the ongoing war isn’t for any nimrod with a pen to do. At least this… Coral Ridge author seems to have an idea what he’s talking about.” She folded the paper as she cast a look of bewilderment to Moerman. “And he’s writing from Hippogriffia!”

“Is he correct in his writing?” The Griffon asked, not taking his eyes off the mountain range below them. “Or is he just writing what you want to hear?”

She placed a hoof on one of the paragraphs. “In comparing the industrial bases, fielded pony power, and all other material aspects of the war as we know it, victory for Equestria will be hard-fought, but in my mind, to be certain.”

His wings shifted in amusement. “So exactly what you want to hear.”

Selenite glared. “I’m here to make those words a reality, Major.” She adjusted her uniform as she sat in the co-pilot’s seat, before leaning down to the floor and picking up a few pieces of paper that rested upon the book borrowed prior. “I sincerely hope you do as well.”

Moerman only smiled, taking his gaze off of the mountain range and the growing night sky, peering through the dim cockpit to see Selenite reading the papers. “Easy for me to read in the dark,” Selenite said, seemingly reading his mind.

“I know that we’d always ban Thestral fillies from being the seeker in hide-and-seek at night when I was young.” He tapped the dashboard of the cockpit. “Rest the maps here, what are we getting ourselves into?”

She rested a black-and-white map of the general area around Vanhoover on a clipboard, then had it rest on display above the dim lights of the plane’s controls. As the hum of the engines was muffled outside the windows, Selenite pointed a hoof at a lake at the edge of the mountain range on the map. “This is Salt Lick City. Three hundred kilometers north, is the frontline.” Her hoof glided over flat plains and forested areas to the outskirts of Fairflanks. “The Changelings are advancing along the railways leading from the border city of Seaddle towards Vanhoover. Their armored forces primarily.”

Moerman gave a long look at the map, turning to Selenite. “So, why aren’t they heading for Salt Lick City? They’ve gotta know that's the sole route of escape.”

“And neglect the railway leading directly towards the city of Vanhoover?” Selenite’s eyebrow raised. “Plus, with Seaddle firmly under Changeling Control, it's far easier to supply an offensive directly on Vanhoover, rather than an attempt to cut off the city.”

“So they’re advancing directly along the railway lines.” Moerman thought for a moment. “If they’re permitted to send their armored forces with the speeds they’ve accomplished prior, they’ll surround the city before we can evacuate the ponies inside.”

“Thunderbolt Sentinel has been doing all in his power to prevent that.” Adjusting her position in the co-pilot's seat to face Moerman directly, she was able to reach the map easier. “He’s been deployed along the coast delaying the advance with trench lines. Though he operates on Blueblood’s orders, his defensive tactics are… far more innovative.”

“I assume he needs all the help he can get.”

“No doubt.” She grimaced, before shaking her head. “But the Changelings are advancing too quickly. Deployment of dedicated artillery to support him might be near impossible given the speed of their armored forces. Unless…”

Dobbelsteen turned his gaze, “Unless what?”

“Unless I was able to deploy the field guns within eight miles of the railway lines.” Selenite nodded her head. “The field guns at our disposal aren’t the best, but at close range, they'll blow their offensive sky high. Or, at the very least, halt their advance and take pressure off of Sentinel.”

Moerman laughed, shaking his head. “You expect them to let you bring those guns that close?” He adjusted the sunglasses on the bridge of his beak. “If they’re smaller guns, maybe in conjunction with Sentinel’s trench lines. But if I were the Armored corp, They’d merely fire upon you from the north.”

“Unless there was a certain somegriff holding that Northern flank.” She grinned, turning to Dobbelsteen and planting a hoof at the forested area between Salt Lick City and the Front Line. “Over two hundred square kilometers of forest to my north? My flanks are as solid as Canterlot’s walls.”

The Griffon fully leaned away from the controls and looked towards the map, regarding the bat-pony next to him with dumbfounded confusion. “You want me to hold the northern frontline? Against Changeling infantry? With who knows how many soldiers at my disposal?”

“Yes.”

Moerman’s tail shifted. “Completely to give your artillery a window to strike the advancing armored forces on the approach to the city.”

“Correct.”

“Even though my soldiers will be absolutely outnumbered and out-trained against a superior enemy, with my only supply line being the natural forest as all other efforts are concentrated on evacuation.”

Selenite grimaced, gesturing with her hooves to the map. “Oh come on. It sounds cool, doesn’t it? And it’s our only shot at aiding Sentinel!”

Dobbelsteen shook his head with a sigh. “And you think just because it sounds cool, that means I’ll sign up for a suicide mission.”

She merely raised an eyebrow.

“...It does sound cool.” He muttered, breathing a heavy sigh of contentment. The evacuation was the number one priority here. “When we land, I’ll do my best to convince the Salt Lick garrison to redeploy with me to the forest.” He flashed a smile. “I’ll do my best, General.”

Selenite smiled widely, confirming with a nod. “Excellent! With this, we might be able to get some headway.” She scribbled with her hoof onto the map, taking it down from its spot on the dashboard and stacked it along with the other papers on the floor neatly. Her hooves hovered over the papers for a moment, just as the plane was beginning its long descent. “...Hey, Moerman?”

The Griffon turned, his gaze seemingly lost in the starry skies above. “Hm?”

“You said you grew up with Thestrals when you were young?”

He smiled, nodding as he reset his gaze towards the controls, flicking a few switches to prepare for landing. “Thestrals, Ponies, Diamond Dogs, you name it. Feathisia has a lot of communities of all kinds of creatures scattered about, mostly in the swamps where I grew up.” He adjusted his uniform. “Why, what gave it away?”

She let out a laugh. “You seriously banned thestrals from seeking in hide-and-seek at night?”

“Oh, come on.” He narrowed his eyes. “It’s practically cheating!”

July 1st 1010, 19:46

Moerman’s Junkers 52 Civilian Airliner

Salt Lick City, Salt Lake

Stretched far and wider than any pilot could ever dream of, the vast lake that began at the base of Salt Lick City and stretched to nearly touch the horizon served as the easiest landing strip Dobbelsteen ever had to contend with. Flagged down by a pair of waving lanterns at the shore, the seaplane gently glided down from the skies and gently had its floats cut into the jet-black lakewater. Landing parallel to the shore, the three engines propelled the plane to coast along the shore until slowing to a stop in front of the lantern-waving ponies standing on a dock.

Salt Lick City itself, hardly anything to boast about, served almost as a lighthouse in the surrounding forest under the dark night sky.

With the engines of the plane slowing to a halt and powering down, Moerman quickly got up from the pilot’s seat and made his way to the cabin with Selenite, curiously discarding his uniform’s coat. As Selenite gathered her maps and warplans, stuffing them into a satchel on her side, Moerman walked to the back of the plane.

The Thestral paused at the door, as Moerman returned from the back carrying not only a lever action rifle but furthermore shrugging on two bandoliers of ammunition across his chest and hugging the root of his wings. Pulling the uniform’s coat over both the bandoliers and his floral shirt, he looked at Selenite. “...What?”

“...The Griffonian Empire issues lever actions?”

He shook his head, buttoning up his uniform and slinging the rifle around his shoulder and right wing. “When the commandos started, we were given outdated lever actions as opposed to the smooth bolt actions. Became a cultural thing.”

Selenite cocked her head. “You don't want to… upgrade?”

He stepped beside her, pushing open the door to the plane. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Moerman’s wings had to be tucked in in order to fit through the door and expanded into a stretch as he exited out of the Plane and onto the dock. As his paws and claws rested upon the dark wood beneath her hooves, one of the ponies holding the lanterns stepped forward.

His bright orange coat contrasted with the dimness of the night, as he gave a deep nod of respect to both the Thestral and Griffon before him. “General Selenite, Major Marman. Lieutenant Marephry at your service. You’ve arrived earlier than expected. We’re delighted to have you.”

Dobbelsteen blinked. “Wha….Moerman. Not Marman.”

“How earlier are we talking, Lieutenant?” General Selenite cast her gaze to the city, whose lights still shone out across the waters. “The Night Guard’s 2nd Artillery division is expected to arrive at 19:00, is it not?”

The Lieutenant before them grimaced. “Apologies Ma’am, but from what we’ve received up the wire is that the rail lines are backed up and busy with the evacuation of civilians. They have been delayed by a few hours.”

Selenite’s eyes practically bulged out of their sockets, “A few hours?!”

The orange pony before them took a step back under Selenite’s harsh gaze, Even Moerman, a whole head taller, slowly leaned away from the fear this small pony could incite. At least the Griffon found it amusing. “P-Prince Blueblood himself has assured their arrival before sunrise!”

“Oh, now you’re just making it worse,” Moerman said, cracking a grin at the poor pony before him, earning a glare from Selenite. His smile died away. “...Right. Not a time to joke.”

“What troops do we have, Lieutenant?” spoke Selenite, “Are any remaining in this city at this moment?”

Moerman looked over to the Thestral, stepping in to save the poor officer in front of them. “The war caught you by surprise, Selenite, all your uniformed soldiers are either being trained or at the front already, are they not?”

“All we have in this city are the injured, ma’am,” Marephry added.

“What’s the situation at the front itself, Lieutenant?” Selenite’s uniform and silver mane practically blended in with the night sky as if she were one with it, her gaze turning from the office and across the lake to the north. “Are there any remaining units from Fairflanks?”

“Apart from those rallied under Sentinel to the west in the defense of Vanhoover, I cannot say.” The Lieutenant sighed, “I’m two weeks off being a baker, my jurisdiction relies on the defense of this city. I only hope to hold it enough for the soldiers who… might have made it from Fairflanks.”

Dobbelsteen’s feathers ruffled from the lake’s breeze as it did Selenite’s mane, as his eyes trained on the officer before him behind his Sunglasses. “...Entrusting the defense of a city to a Lieutenant. That’s one way to learn.” His wing raised, pointing to the distant lights of Salt Lick City. “You’re in charge of this city, Lieutenant. Start preparing it for war.”

Selenite’s gaze turned to the Griffon, seemingly shaken out of a train of thought. “None of their soldiers are combat-effective, Moerman.”

“My thoughts exactly.” The Major turned, his green uniform hardly noticeable in the dark apart from its brass buttons. “Shut off the city lights. As the front advances, bombers are sure to target any buildings they can see. Clear the streets and mobilize any personnel not assisting with the evacuation to bring all civilians underground or to the lowest possible floors.”

The Lieutenant stammered. “Y-You don't think…”

Selenite nodded. “He’s right. The Changelings will be targeting civilian infrastructure, and we need to do everything in our power to make Salt Lick City a difficult target for their aircraft.” The Thestral turned to the Griffon, the wind almost making it difficult to hear. “I’ll start mobilizing first responders to start bringing civilians either on open trains on their way deeper into Equestria, or into shelter. It’s all we can do until the Night Guard arrives.”

Dobbelsteen adjusted the rifle slung around his back with his free claw. “I’ll head north towards the front line. If any of those border guard regiments were smart, which no doubt they are, they’ll be hiding out in that forest.” He turned his gaze toward the Lieutenant. “I’ll see if I can regroup them and send back the wounded.”

“You can take the vehicle, it’ll get you there much faster than your wings.” Marephry’s hoof adjusted his purple uniform as he spoke incredulously. “Are you positive, Major? Trimmel’s had us on the run since the start, and you’re going back?”

“Somepony’s gotta get your friends.” Moerman turned to Selenite. “I’ll do my best to hold their infantry in that forest. You should have enough of a window to move your guns into position to assist Sentinel.”

Selenite nodded, bringing up her hoof to a salute so crisp and professional it was right off the parade deck. “Good luck, Major. May the Princesses protect you.”

The Major’s response was almost grounds for court-martial, merely flicking his claw from his brow and forward, falling at his side. “I don't think they like me that much.” He let out a laugh, stepping off to climb into the jeep parked along the shore. As the vehicle roared to life, the Griffon gave a smile. “Good luck, Selly! If I die, you don’t get my books!”

As the jeep peeled off the gravel and sand of the lake’s shore and onto the road bound for the northern front, the Lieutenant turned to Selenite. “...Who in Celestia’s name was that?”

“...Somegriffon who's got a death wish.”

Misadventures Of A Henchpony

July 1st 1010, 20:24

Moerman’s Commandeered Jeep

123 km North of Salt Lick City

Under the cover of night and branches scattered upon the forest floor, Dobbelsteen’s jeep was successfully parked no more than 20 meters from a curve in the road. Laid out upon the hood of the vehicle under the branches, the Griffon hunched over a map of the outskirts of Fairflanks, now closer to him than Salt Lick City. Reaching into his dark green uniform, he withdrew a compass.

Orienting both himself and the map, his eyes followed the road north. Weaving and meandering through the forest, the road he traveled spread out into hundreds of trails like blood vessels coming out of a heart. As his eyes settled on the road, he became increasingly aware of how the trees swallowed it further down the horizon, into a labyrinth of leaves, shrubbery, and hills. He folded the map into his uniform along with the compass.

“Alright, Dobbelsteen…” He mumbled to himself. “It’s only the most powerful Army in history.”

With the headlights of his vehicle pointed into the forest and smudged with dirt, the Griffon retrieved his lever-action rifle into his claws and took flight. Only the rustling of leaves was the brief indicator of his presence, as the blonde Griffon’s wings propelled him into the sky.

Sticking close to the treetops, Dobbelsteen’s flight was more of a waltz between the trees, not allowing a blur of the stars in the eyes of a Changeling to become his undoing. His rifle stuck close to him, the sling wrapped around his left claw and bunched up beneath the barrel.

As his flight continued, the sounds of battle could be heard. Distant thunder from the cloudless sky could be felt as a wave through the forest floor. The Major ducked down to the base of a tree, the road not far off towards the left, himself traveling alongside it rather than on it. Retrieving the map once more into his claws, he felt something tug at his tail.

Briskly turning his head, a small raccoon looked up at him. The two stared at each other for a moment.

Neither creature blinked.

The raccoon slowly leaned forward, with Moerman holding completely still. Then, the animal squeaked, its eyes briefly glanced at the rifle, and Moerman looked as well. “I’d get out of here if I was you.” He said, in a hushed whisper, claws readjusting on his rifle, briefly setting the map down.

The Raccon’s claw dropped on the map. Three times.

Dobbelsteen blinked, looking from the map to the raccoon, the map again, and then the raccoon. His own claw pointed to the same spot. “Here?”

The raccoon nodded its head, squeaking again.

“...Why not.” The Griffon said, taking the map and bringing out his compass. Noticing a small river running perpendicular to the road no more than 10 kilometers northeast of him, that was the exact position the raccoon pointed to. Orienting himself with the compass, he stored both back into his uniform as he turned to the Raccoon. His claw pointed to the road. “Follow. Safety.”

The animal tilted his head, glancing between the Griffon and the road. He quickly sped off.

“...I’m taking military intelligence from a Raccoon,” Dobbelsteen whispered to himself, his eyes glazed over behind his sunglasses. “...This is going to be one interesting war.”

July 1st 1010, 20:46

The remnants of Fairflank’s Militia Forces

142 km North of Salt Lick City

The pony known as Jungle Trek hasn’t had the luckiest life so far, but this was probably the most unlucky several days of his entire life. To top it all off, he didn’t even have a pebble to kick to ease his nerves.

All this pony had was his rifle. He wasn’t even confident in that either.

Spread out and flat against the forest floor, he had a very limited view of the road in front of him, as the trees bent together like fabric to distort anything that attempted to peer through. His brown mane lightly flowed out of his helmet, and his ears perked up at the faint sound of rustling leaves behind him.

“Wild Strikes looks to be doing alright, Trek.” Another pony, contrasting Trek’s light blue mane with his own coat of light gray, spoke as he rested next to him, peering out into the forest. “We can’t see anything from here.”

“Meaning they won’t be able to see us, Brisk.” Trek’s voice was quiet, taking a deep sigh as his gaze turned back. Patting his friend on the back with his hoof, and retrieving his rifle from his side, the two ponies withdrew from the dirt mound and trotted back towards a depression in the ground, a natural foxhole that rested next to a long-fallen tree.

Several ponies were scattered inside the circle. Jungle Trek stepped down into the depression with Brisk Sweeper and first looked at the condition of Wild Strikes. Bandages were being wrapped in her white feathered wings by Caramel Crunch, his hazel coat briefly illuminated by the low glow of Shooting Steps’ horn. As those three huddled in the center of the depression, Sunrise Dare, Yellow Rock, and Sapphire Stream leaned against the edges of the hole, their bolt action rifles trained onto the forest.

Shooting Steps withdrew from the huddled pony, her horn’s glow fading away. Her gruff voice was only outdone by her piercing gaze. “...Her bandages are secure, Caramel?”

“Her bleeding stopped. She got really lucky, but she won't be flying out of here. The pain she’s in won't be going away anytime soon, either.”

Their words only served as a brief respite from the distant echoes of artillery and gunfire far, far off. Only the nearby flowing stream brought any sort of normalcy to the forest. The luckier creatures of the forest were able to run away from this fight.

“We can’t move her in this state.” Brisk Sweeper said in a whisper, his eyes darting from the pegasus to the other members huddled in the hole. “And the Changelings are marching through this forest like a walk in the park. They’re bound to be looking everywhere for u-”

Yellow Rock turned from her rifle’s gaze across the forest floor, her voice filled with venom. “Brisk. Shut up.”

“We’re hardly in a good spot here, Rock…” Sapphire Stream’s coat mirrored that of the distant stream, her hooves clutching her bolt action rifle close. “The whole company got split up, the other squads got taken!”

“We know that, Sapphire!” She said, hushing her voice so as to not alert the forest. “And we’re stuck here, yeah, I get it. Complaining about it won't save us.”

“Nothing is going to save us,” Brisk said. “With Wild Strikes in this state, we can’t move without attracting attention.”

Wild Strikes’ eyes merely fell, and Caramel Crunch’s gaze raised to Brisk, his voice cut off by Shooting Step’s scoped rifle falling into her hooves. Steps stared at him. “And what does that mean, Brisk?”

Brisk somewhat sank under her gaze. “...We won’t move until she’s better.”

Steps’ head lowered, looking down at her rifle. Blinking, she quickly went to turn away from Brisk but was stopped by a hoof being placed on her shoulder.

“We started with forty-four ponies, and now we’re down to only us eight.” Jungle Trek’s voice was tinged with the accent of southern Equestria, but his eyes captured the gaze of all in the foxhole. “We’re not leaving Wild Strikes. Our position as it is is stable until reinforcements from Salt Lick City arrive. Once they arrive, we can regroup and link up with our company.” His purple uniform was wrinkled, and his rifle was slung around his back. “We’ll stick together until that happens. Alright?”

Jungle Trek’s voice faltered near the end, the words settling in with each member of the foxhole. One by one, they gave a nod of understanding, turning back to their respective positions. Shooting Step’s scoped rifle rested on the edge, gazing towards the road. Brisk stepped back with Jungle Trek, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. “...That uh...That works for me, Corporal.”

“...Jungle?”

Barely a whisper, strained and breaking Wild Strike’s white coat shifted as she looked up at him. “Are we going to be okay?” She sniffed as Caramel’s hooves gently held her bandages in place. “...We’re going to get the others back, right?”

Jungle’s ears drooped, and the pony sank down into the hole and sat down. His head hung low as each of the squad members kept their heads on a swivel, all while Wild Strikes nuzzled her head closer to Caramel Crunch’s hoof, the red cross apparent upon his uniform.

“...I don’t know.”

Crunch.

Jungle’s ears perked up, his blue coat rising in a blur as he scanned all 360 degrees of his squad’s foxhole. His voice in a hushed whisper. “Eyes on?”

“Something moving out there?” asked Sunrise Dare, her eyes narrowing.

Brisk shook his head, whispering. “No, that had a thud. Something landed from above.”

“Towards the river,” muttered Shooting Steps, her eye focused through the scope of her rifle. It was trained on the distant shrubbery that dotted the forest’s landscape between the foxhole and the flowing water, herself leaning over the dead fallen tree to get a glimpse. “The shrubs moved.”

“How many?” Brisk moved next to Shooting Steps, both looking out over the tree.

“One as far as I saw. But it came from above. I saw it drop down.” Her eyes never left the scope.

“Recon bugs.” Jungle Trek stood in the hole. “Usually they send them in pairs to scope out the battlefield. Do you have a clear sight on?”

She shook her head.

Jungle Trek unslung his own Lavender rifle, taking a deep breath and he used his hoof to pull himself up and out of the hole. To the alerted gazes of the rest of his squad members, he looked back. “I’ll check it out. If that bug spots us, he’ll bring all of his friends. Don't fire unless absolutely necessary.”

The ponies nodded, Steps speaking. “Got you covered.”

Jungle Trek’s helmet was clipped tightly to his head, his ears poking out of the standard holes and facing the shrubbery not fifty meters in front of him. Crawling forward among the leaves and dirt, his purple uniform was somewhat helped by the night’s embrace, as he leaned against a tree stump right at the edge of the shrubbery.

Glancing back towards the foxhole, Jungle Trek could see six pairs of eyes trained upon him. He was able to give a small smile to his audience, as his hooves withdrew his bolt action rifle and-

POOF!

A cloud of dirt exploded in his face, caused not by gunfire, but by something kicking dirt right into his face. “Ah, HACK-” Falling back, he sputtered and wiped his eyes to see, just clear enough to see a blur tackle him onto the forest floor, rolling in the leaves.

“Oh, Horseapples!” Cried Sunrise, before clasping her hoof over her mouth at the loud outburst, as the rest of the foxhole panicked. Shooting Steps Grit her teeth, her scope attempting to follow the two creatures rolling around through the leaves.

“Can you shoot him?” asked Brisk, while Sapphire and Caramel both whispered in worried tones, “Is he alright? Can you see the other-”

“Not if you keep TALKING!” She turned briskly, twirling her dark brown mane. She looked back, attempting to get a clear sight picture.

Back in the one-on-one combat zone, Jungle Trek was not to be outdone. Bringing up his hoof to slam into the wing of his opponent, his enemy recoiled before clotheslining his helmet with his claw.

As it flew off, Jungle Trek scrambled to his feet, before being once more tackled to the ground. The Griffon seized Trek’s helmet, raising it high into the air-

Wait, Griffon?

“What do you mean, Griffon?” Asked Brisk, peering his own eyes out into the forest.

“It’s not a Changeling, it's a Griffon!” She whisper-yelled back, her sights firmly on the creature. “Do I shoot?”

“I-I don't know, are the Griffons our enemy?” Asked Sunrise Dare. “T-They didn’t join the war too, did they?”

Dobbelsteen Moerman’s sunglasses somehow stuck on his beak the entire time, as his gaze registered the earth Pony in the dirt. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, as his claw slowly turned to offer the helmet back to the pony.

He smiled nervously. “...Uh… Let’s call it a draw?”

“Wh-What?!” Jungle Trek stood up, his hoof instinctively going towards his own rifle, before stopping at the gesture. “Are you insane?” His eyes sized the blonde-feathered Griffon up and down, completely dumbstruck in confusion. His hoof took his helmet back, looking down at it, and back up to Moerman. “...Griffons didn’t join the war, did they?”

“...Only this one.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Nine pairs of eyes were glaring directly at the Griffon, so much so that Dobbelsteen had less fear of their guns at this point, his claw gently holding his own lever action rifle closer to him. Yet, that wasn’t even the strongest source of his confusion, his sunglasses loose upon his beak. With one claw to readjust them, he cleared his throat. “...Corporal? A corporal is the highest ranking soldier left?”

Jungle Trek nodded, sitting across the foxhole with the rest of the ponies. Wild Strike lay flat on the ground, glancing between the Griffon and the light blue earth Pony. Trek cleared his throat with a nod. “That’s me. Corporal Jungle Trek, 2nd Equestrian Border Guard Division. And… you are?”

The Griffon slung his lever action onto his wing, holding out his free claw. “Major Dobbelsteen Moerman. Feathisian Commandos.”

Each pony turned from their gaze towards the perimeter to blankly stare at the Griffon. Blinking once, and then twice, and then quickly scrambled. As quietly as possible, they set down their rifles and brought their hooves to a salute.

Moerman blinked, retracting his claw from the incomplete hoofshake. “What in Tartarus are you doing?”

“We haven’t encountered an officer since the first battle at Fairflanks, sir.” Jungle Trek said, lowering his hoof. “It’s mostly just been us and our platoon since the start.”

“Our platoon’s gone, sir,” Brisk stated, leaning forward now. “We don't stand any sort of chance against them on our own, not when they’ve all been taken.” He slung his rifle across his back, looking around at the other ponies. “And we’ll be taken to, if we don't get the hay out of here!”

Dobbelsteen’s claw dropped to rest on the light-gray earth Pony’s shoulder, his sunglasses turning to look at him. “...Are you hit, soldier?”

“..N-No, sir?”

“Then listen up.” He said, giving him a shake and looking at the rest of the foxhole’s inhabitants. “An ancient proverb says that Racoons work in mysterious ways. But not today.”

Jungle Trek blinked. He slowly leaned over to whisper to Shooting Steps. “He’s crazy.”

The Griffon continued. “Your rifles still work, and I know you all ain't been through your ammunition yet. A group of bugs are high-tailing it with your buddies and you’re just gonna leave 'em behind?” His claw adjusted the bandoliers under his uniform, glinting brass catching the eye of the rest of the ponies. Retrieving a map, he set it on the ground along with his compass. “About where did they get taken?”

Jungle Trek knelt down with the map, looking it over. “Here.” His hoof was planted not far to the East of the river. “We were walking along the road and a bunch of bugs just came outta nowhere. They rolled up in these… trucks and vehicles and surrounded us. My squad was able to get away due to us being at the far back, but… the rest…”

“Vehicles?” Moerman pressed, narrowing his brow.

Sunrise Dare nodded, turning towards the map. “Yeah, they drove up on us wicked fast along the roads.”

“Easier for us, we’ll go around the roads.” The Griffon’s eyes scanned the map up and down from the point they were captured. “...They couldn’t have gone far, not this deep into the night.”

“Sir, you can’t be serious.” Jungle Trek knelt opposite Moerman, looking at him sternly through his sunglasses. “The patrol we encountered heavily outnumbers us. Their weapons, tactics, and equipment exceed our own.” The blue earth Pony leaned forward, taking a deep breath. “I will refuse any order that sends my soldiers into the line of fire for a worthless death. Major or not.”

The squad froze. Though Jungle Trek’s voice had often been on the quieter, reserved side, a fierceness in his voice shot steel at the Griffon opposite them. His rifle rested along his back, as the Griffon’s did upon his wing. The squad of ponies anxiously looked between the blank stares of both Jungle and Moerman, both of them unflinching.

“Jungle Trek, right?” Dobbelsteen smiled. “You and I are going to get along just fine.”

The Earth pony blinked, leaning back as Moerman looked at the rest of his squad members. “I’m not your officer. I’m a liaison sent halfway ‘cross the world. I hold no superior rank over you. But if you trust me, Jungle… I promise I can get your soldiers back.”

“With what numbers?”

“It's not our numbers that matter, but their perception,” Moerman said. “If we set up an ambush along the road and catch them, their first priority is to immediately get out of there. They won't know if we number five, or ten, or five hundred. All they’ll know is they have to get out of there, and they’ll leave the prisoners if that means they can do it faster.”

Yellow Rock tilted her head, the edges of her sand-colored mane peeking out the ends of her helmet.. “How are we going to manage that?”

“Positioning. If we spread out this squad into teams of two, all firing at different angles at one spot, they’ll be convinced we’re a force larger than we actually are. We can beeline through the forest and free your friends, but we’ve got to move fast if we hope to catch them.” Dobbelsteen turned to look at Wild Strike who lay next to Caramel. “You up for it, Hero?”

Wild Strike gave a small nod of her head, and with Caramel Crunch’s help, was able to get to her hooves. Her wings stuck closely bandaged to her sides. “Yes, sir. I think I can make it, sir.” She turned her gaze. “Jungle…If he can save them…”

Moerman turned back to Jungle Trek. “Now that’s a soldier. We’ll move along the road, their vehicles have to stick to these winding roads, it’ll be cake to catch up with them if we make it fast. We won't make it by ourselves. If we want to get her safely back to a field hospital, we’ll need all of your numbers to make it out of the forest alive.”

Jungle Trek turned from the gaze of Wild Strike towards Moerman, clearly thinking it over. He looked down at the map, “What about here?” His hoof followed the road up and to the right, traveling northeast deeper into the forest. “They drove off towards the east, and these roads twist and turn through the forest. If you’re looking to catch up to them, this bend between these hills is a perfect spot. That could work.”

“It will work,” Moerman said, adjusting his sunglasses to look at the wounded pegasus. “Promise.”

“I’m Wild Strike, sir.” The white-coated pony stated, shifting her mane of blue with an orange line staggering across it. “Glad to meet you, Moor-Man”

The Griffon tilted his head. “It’s…Moerman. Moor-muhn. M-O-E….Ah, forget it.”

Sunrise Dare grabbed her rifle in her hoof, her red mane being smushed under her helmet. “Sunrise Dare. That’s Caramel, Brisk, Yellow Rock, Sapphire Stream, and the grumpy ones’ Shooting Steps.”

As Moerman folded up the map into his coat and caught one last glimpse at the compass for direction, Jungle Trek’s hoof rested on his soldier as the squad got up. “Major… I’m putting a lot of faith in you. It’s not my command, but this is my squad. All of our other commanders abandoned us. I won’t be one of them.”

Dobbelsteen adjusted the lever action across his back. “Neither will I.”

A Walk In The Woods

July 1st 1010, 23:17

3rd Platoon, Bravo Company, 14th Changeling Infantry Division

142 km North of Salt Lick City

Nopony could meet the eyes of each other.

Even as the truck rolled back and forth across the rocky road through the forest, and the restraints that tied their hooves together numbed them with pain, they couldn’t look at each other. Their eyes had been glued to the floor of the truck, the canopy overhead hiding them away from the rest of the world.

Being the closest to the back, Strawberry Cinnamon could catch glimpses through the canopy. Mostly to avoid the piercing glare of the two Changeling Soldiers inside the truck, watching over the dozen prisoners inside like prey. She could glimpse the other truck, noticing that the two prisoner transports were towards the rear of the convoy. Between their two modes of transport, a four-seater car rolled along, the Changelings inside swiveling their gazes to the forest.

Across from her, sat Berry Twist. He had been injured, as nearly half of the ponies in the vehicle had in one or another, his side loosely bandaged and his eyes sunken, his hooves wrapped around himself. He was shaking uncontrollably. So badly did Strawberry want to reach out, wrap his purple coat under her brown wings and hold him. She wanted to jump out, all of them too, to run as far as her hooves could take her and just leave this horror that wouldn’t let her go, wouldn’t let anypony go.

Brushing her red mane aside, she could feel a tear fall down her face and drop to her purple uniform. She sniffled to try and compose herself, but it hardly worked. She gradually let herself fall into a quiet sob.

She practically shrieked once the stock of the guard next to her jammed into her side, catching the attention of all the frightened ponies within the vehicle at the guard, whose simple words bit like venom. “Shut up.”

As she practically glued herself to the rear of the vehicle to get as much distance between herself and the guard as possible, he simply rested his hooves on his weapon, shifting in his gray and black uniform. His glare forced the gazes of all the prisoners down to the floorboards.

Even the guard across from him seemed off-put. He averted his gaze down to his weapon.

Silence fell in the back of the truck, only the muffled conversation from the two Changelings in the cabin filling the air.

Lucky Twirl was shrunk into her seat in the far corner. She hoped her small frame could be shielded behind the bodies of her fellow prisoners, as she raised her green eyes to glimpse at the guards. Seeing them occupied, she slowly leaned against the cabin walls, listening in towards the cabin.

“Where are we headed next?”

Two voices could be heard, one of them significantly more gruff than the other. Given her location in the bed of the truck, the older changeling was the driver of the vehicle.

“Nowhere until this forest is cleared out. Which, as we’ve seen, seems to be wrapping up quite nicely. We had quite the optimistic outlook, but we may even take this forest before Vanhoover falls.”

“I doubt that.” The younger voice scoffed. “General Roland has a dozen or so Tank divisions at his disposal. We’re stuck with Colonel Zellix in the middle of nowhere.”

“Colonel Zellix is not a Changeling to sneer at. Though our high command can be a bit… reckless, they are the finest minds on the continent, if not the entire planet. We’ve been practicing, and studying war for decades. Colonel Zellix gave himself until July 10th to take this forest, but I suspect he wants it before the eighth to beat Roland.”

“You think he will?”

“I think Roland thinks he will. Zellix is merely a Colonel and a bit… over the top, but he’s eager to prove his worthiness at the table. Surpassing Roland would certainly add to his credit.” There was a bit of a pause in the cabin, as Lucky Twirl strained to listen in. “But…it matters little to us. The Equestrian High Command cannot hope to match ours if theirs even exist.”

“I suppose we could stop by their office in Canterlot pretty soon.”

Twirl’s jaw tightened with frustration at the ensuing self-congratulatory laughter that came from the cabin, turning away from it and doing her best to drown it out. Brushing her auburn mane back with her tied hooves, she felt herself deflate under the sympathetic, defeated tone of the truck. She took a deep breath, leaning forward and trying to catch a look from Strawberry Cinnamon at the opposite end of the truck. She wanted to tell her that there was going to be a way out of this, but even Lucky Twirl couldn’t think of one. Still, the small hint of calm that fell over her friend Strawberry when they saw each other was enough to-

“SWEET CHRYSALI-”

The yell from the cabin was quickly cut off by the thunderous boom that jolted the entire truck awake, as something up ahead of them crashed onto metal and forced the convoy to a screeching halt. Everypony worriedly looked from one to the other, even Berry Twist shaken out of his injured state, his pain replaced with the panic that now infested the occupants.

“Move!” The guard behind Strawberry shouted, standing up with the other soldier across, their bolt actions at the ready as they dropped out of the bed of the truck, into the gaze of the headlights of the car behind them.

The occupants of the vehicle looked as confused as the two soldiers were, the four of them leaning out of the vehicle to get a look at the road up ahead.

CRACK!

The guard who once sat next to Strawberry now fell to the ground under her, as the air around them erupted with the lights of traces and the sounds of gunfire, the ponies inside immediately dropping to the floor of the truck as the outside became the most dangerous place on the planet for the all-too-brief spell of battle. As they huddled for the perceived safety of their comrades on the floors, only Cinnamon was brave enough to peek out the back of the truck’s canopy.

“Where?! Where!?” Shouted one of the soldiers from inside the four-seater vehicle, as the passenger seated Changeling raised his rifle to fire in one direction, before a bullet came and pierced his helmet from another direction, falling against the door of the vehicle. The interior of the cabin was splattered in bits of faintly iridescent yellow-ochre blood, yellow-gray brain matter, and black chitin on the window that separated the cabin and the bed of the truck. His body had fallen out of their line of sight, but the lack of sound made it self-evident that the impact had killed him.

The occupants of the vehicle fired back up one of the two hills the convoy was parked between, hastily cycling their bolts in a panic.

The truck at the very back of the convoy immediately roared in reverse, pulling away from the vehicle between them, before a volley of gunfire from another direction slammed right into the windshield. The truck began to spin, the body of the driver presumably stuck on the wheel.

“Along the ditch!” Yelled one of the soldiers in the vehicle, “Along the-”

Bullets fired off toward the convoy in cycles, all from different directions. The cacophony of fire threatened to drown out all other sounds; everyponys’ ears rang over the screams, shouts, and commands of the Changeling guards in the convoy. The sheer violence of the moment had utterly encompassed the usually peaceful forested road.

The driver of the car shifted the vehicle into gear and began to drive forward, before the spinning truck spun completely around and slammed it in the side, causing it to completely flip over, throwing the occupants onto the road.

“FOR THE LOVE OF-” shouted the other soldier from the truck, before bullets kicked up around him and he dove off to the side. The spinning truck came to a stop, stuck on the vehicle, as the passenger and two guards from it came out with their weapons raised.

Firing off towards the front of the convoy, the prisoners inside dared to raise their heads alongside Cinnamon, peeking out of the back. With the canopy of the other truck torn open from the collision, the eyes of the Platoon met each other amidst the chaos.

One of the soldiers turned from his squad of four, raising his weapon at the truck and shouting amidst all the gunfire.

BOOM, KACHUNK!

Falling to the ground, the other three soldiers immediately raised their weapons before three more bullets sailed towards them in rapid succession, ricocheting off the crashed car and forcing them into a rout. Three soldiers ran forward, a bandaged white pegasus and a light gray earth Pony with their bolt actions at the ready. Amongst them, the Griffon cycled his lever action once more, firing up the road.

“Trek’s got the rest of the convoy pinned, the tree’s split em in half! You two, bring this vehicle around and back to the rally point!” Nodding to the two ponies, they broke off and quickly threw open the doors to the truck, shifting it into reverse.

The Griffon fired his lever action rifle in quick succession, seemingly keeping the rest of the convoy pinned. As his gaze behind his sunglasses was set forward, the driver of the vehicle scrambled for his pistol along the ground, raising it towards him.

Lucky Twirl lept over Cinnamon and out of the truck, hastily bringing up the rifle of the downed Changeling and firing it off towards the car, the bullet shattering the left headlight.

The driver dove behind the overturned vehicle, with the Griffon turning back and pulling the trigger of his rifle, but only receiving a click. “Ten rounds ALREADY?!” He yelled to nopony in particular.

CRACK!

Falling into the gravel of the road, a blue earth pony stepped forward with a smoking bolt action. “The rest of the convoy peeled off, my teams heading back to the rally point, Moerman.”

Slinging his Winchester, the Griffon nodded. “Outstanding, Jungle. Let’s go.”

“Is-Is that Jungle Trek!?”

Whispers erupted in the vehicle amongst the prisoners, as the blonde-feathered Griffon and Blue-coated Soldier climbed into the cabin, the truck peeling back down the road, and away from the oak tree that cut the convoy.

“The sheer size of that tree…” Mumbled Jungle Trek from the cabin. “it must have been over a thousand years old!”

Dobbelsteen adjusted his sunglasses. “Eh, the weak should fear the explosive-capable-magical-unicorns. Sunrise Dare kicked some serious flank.”

“Th-That’s Jungle Trek!” Yelled another whisper.

Lucky Twirl’s eyes widened. “S-Sunrise Dare?!”

Strawberry Cinnamon’s smile crept upon her face. “And-And I saw Wild Strikes! Wild Strikes is okay!” The prisoners inside the vehicle got to their feet and onto the benches as the vehicle moved, as Strawberry Cinnamon slammed her hooves on the cabin’s walls. “Jungle Trek, you’re alright?!”

The earth Pony yelled back. “We’re gonna regroup the Platoon at a rally point and refit from there! Is anypony injured?!”

“No, No we’re all alright! Our injured ponies are stable!” Yelled Lucky Twirl, as the mood of the prisoners, ironically, shot up exponentially. Even Berry Twist has a smile on his face, as he was pulled into a hug by the pony next to him.

Strawberry Cinnamon turned back, “Wait… who was that Griffon you’re with?”

July 1st 1010, 02:58

2nd Platoon, Alpha Company, 2nd Fairflanks Militia

130 km North of Salt Lick City

Within the vast expanse of the forest, the sounds of war still carried. Be they through the whistling wind that pushed through the trees as water does through a stream, or in the distant flashes of yellow light that illuminated the horizon, there could be no denying of its continued presence.

Looking towards this horizon, rested Moerman. His wings had been pressed into his back and leaned against the base of a dark green Fir tree, identical to the thousands that dotted the rolling hills of his surroundings. His Griffon tail curled next to his hind legs, and his claws gently rested on the forest floor.

The tree itself rested atop a small hill, shrouded by the forest, yet still with a clear view of the surrounding nature, the distant road, and the horizon all around. Moerman’s lever action now rested on one of the tree’s surface roots, the lingering smell of gunpowder a reminder of hours ago.

Despite the horizon, no war could be heard by the Griffon. The forest was dead quiet, save for the swaying of the trees in the wind. Yet, it was not to last.

Ascending the gradual incline of the hill, Jungle Trek’s light blue coat blended quite well with the general moonlight illumination, his hooves gently trotting along until reaching a stop no more than four paces from Moerman.

Taking off his helmet and shaking out his brown mane, his eyes looked out as well. “Still no activity along the roads?” He mumbled to himself. “I’d figure they’d be scrambling to find us by now.”

The Griffon shook his head, his sunglasses trained in the same direction. “In the daytime, perhaps. Or in an environment with ease of access.” With his green uniform shrouded not only by the earthly colors of the trees and the shadows of the night, only his blonde feathers separated him from nature. “After a blow like that, I’d wager they’re still lost in the winding roads of this area.”

Jungle Trek had somewhat of a smile at that. “I’d pay to see that.” His gaze glanced back down the hill, away from the road. “We did head quite a distance from the ambush site. Getting those vehicles into the woodline was tough.”

“Better than on the road.” Adjusting his sunglasses, he reached for the ammunition bandoliers of his weapon and counted the rounds with his claw. “Even if they found them, our current distance to them acts as redundancy.”

Jungle Trek’s gaze turned from the road and over to Moerman, a strand of his brown mane faltering over his green eye. Brushing it aside with his hoof, he spoke. “I wanted to thank you, Dobbelsteen.” His purple uniform found its blend not with the forest floor as Moerman’s green uniform did, but from the hue of the night sky. “I’m sure the others will say the same once they’ve rested, but I truly mean it. You saved the lives of…well, a lot of my friends.”

The Major looked up from his ammunition counting, getting a smile on his beak. “We, saved their lives, Jungle. Trusting me was your own personal decision, but your soldiers followed your command, not mine. I’m sure the both of us are in for it when they wake.”

The earth Pony shook his head. “I’m no commando, Major.”

“But you are a soldier.” The Griffon said. “Being frightened, confused, worried, all of these things infest the mind of every soldier within war. Pushing through these emotions, you still managed to lead your squad to a place of safety. To reassess, recalibrate, and re-engage.” He shrugged his wings. “Good enough for me, I’d say.”

Jungle only gave a small grin, his own lavender bolt action rifle slung across his back. With a deep breath, he glanced back towards the road. “Been about forty-five minutes of outlook, as you said. Time to turn in with the others.”

Standing up, Moerman retrieved his rifle and bandoliers, setting off down the cliff.

“Hey, Major?”

Stopping to the side of the Griffon, Jungle Trek looked at him incredulously. “...Why are you here in the forest, anyway?” He looked at his uniform. “You’re half a world away from where you’re meant to be, it seems.”

Holding the look between them for a moment, Dobbelsteen eventually glanced back up the hill towards the horizon, where the brief yellow illuminations of shells could be discerned through the clouds. “War is what I am, Trek. Practicing it, living it, perfecting it.” He looked back towards him. “I need nothing else. It’s what I understand inside and out.” With a turn, he continued down the hill with his rifle. “‘It’s why Twilight wrote me to come here in the first place.”

Jungle Trek, walking alongside him, merely trotted towards the rest of his company before stopping in his tracks to stare at Moerman. “...You don't mean the Princess, right?”

No-Go Land Navigation

July 2nd 1010, 08:13

1st Platoon, Fairflanks Militia Remnants

142 km North of Salt Lick City

“At a certain point we have to ask, right?”

“Well, what did Trek say when you woke him up?”

“He said, ‘Five more minutes’.”

“After that.”

If Moerman was sleeping before, he certainly wasn’t now. Raising his head ever slightly, he squinted at the light of the morning, whose morning glow seldom breached this shaded area of the forest. His wings were facing towards the hill that he positioned himself as lookout on the night before, and he himself was laid atop a collection of small, jagged rocks as if they were a mattress.

His eyes eventually met those of no less than three dozen ponies, all tuning from each other over to him. With varying degrees of curiosity, each pony had in some way transfixed their gaze upon the Griffon.

Fumbling his sunglasses onto his beak, he glanced down to the rocks, and then back up to the ponies. “...Is this everypony’s first time in the field?”

“Our Company was to relink in the south-eastern portion of the forest, right along a river that leads into Salt Lick’s lake. Our Platoon was the last one out of Fairflanks and was thus caught while making our retreat to the forest. Until… you arrived.”

Dobbelsteen Moerman’s right claw had rested under his chin the entire time that Jungle Trek spoke. Whether he was actually paying attention was just the hope of the blue-coated corporal, but he was nodding along behind those sunglasses of his.

Continuing, Jungle took off his helmet with one hoof. “Yet, even if we were to have a map or a compass, we have no clue as to which of the hundreds of trails we’re currently on. In laymare’s terms, we’re lost, totally.”

With the two ranking members of this platoon conversing in the center of the platoon, the remaining soldiers had been evenly spaced out, each laid flat on the forest floor and facing outwards. Some perched themselves behind rocks, to the sides of trees, and whatever cover could be had.

Approaching both leaders, Sapphire Stream, Sunrise Dare, and Yellow Rock all returned from varying points along the formation and took seats on the forest floor next to them. Yellow Rock’s sandy mane shone with the morning sun as she spoke. “All of our squads are covered.”

Moerman glanced around himself. “Are their sectors of fire overlapping?”

The three leaders nodded, with Sunrise Dare being the most boastful. “Indeed they are. Covered and concealed to the best of my abilities. Well… most are, anyway.” She said, glaring behind her.

Jungle Trek turned his head. “Is… is Shooting Steps in a tree?”

Out of her helmet, Sapphire Stream’s blue mane gently flowed down her back. “She said it gave her a vantage point.” She sighed. “It took Sunrise a bit to just leave her be.”

“I’ll trust her decision.” Moerman then turned back to Jungle Trek, the creatures now in a circle, surrounding a patch of dirt. “How is Wild Strikes doing?”

“Better,” said Jungle, “Now that she’s truly resting. Caramel Crunch has a small little section of the formation surrounded by natural vegetation, as a makeshift ‘resting’ area for her. He and Brisk have been making rounds of the formation to make sure everypony is doing alright.”

Moerman’s gaze continued for a moment. “...How’s everypony else?”

Jungle Trek only lowered his head. “...They want to know if the rest of the company made it.”

With a pause in the conversation, the ears of everycreature twitched ever slightly, with a distant hum that could faintly be discerned throughout the skies. The eyes of everypony glanced upwards through the branches above, as the sounds of engines flowed through the valley.

Trek swiveled his gaze all around. “Bombers?”

“No, the engines aren’t loud enough. They’re reconnaissance planes.” Moerman stated, glancing back down. “No doubt looking for us and the rest of your company. Meeting up with them is an absolute priority if we want to stand a chance of keeping them from taking over the whole forest.”

Sapphire shook her head, “But how? Disoriented like this, if we walk in a random direction, we could be heading straight for the Changelings. We’re practically stuck in a maze!”

The Griffon raised his claw, slowly gesturing away from the group and towards the light of the shining sun that peered through the branches. “The sun rises in the east, and sets in the west.” He turned his body, his wings slightly flexing with the wind. “Facing north, East is on the right side, and if we’re to relink up in the South-east.”

Coming to a stop with his navigation, his claw hovered in a direction that pointed parallel to the road that was on the other side of the hill the camp was hidden behind. “That way.”

“Moerman.”

“Yes, Jungle?”

“You literally have a compass.”

Glancing down towards his uniform, the small pouch of the Griffon’s breast pocket did indeed contain a compass, which the Griffon withdrew. Staring at the spinning dial of it for a moment, he slowly closed it and put it back. “...Magnets can malfunction.”

“Didn’t you bring a map?”

“Courtesy of Equestrian Military… intelligence.” Moerman simply sighed. “It’s dated in 958. It only shows the main road going through the forest. Not even the rivers leading to the lake are on it.”

Jungle Trek’s head lowered in thought.

“Even if we know our direction,” said Yellow Rock, “How can we be sure of where to truly go? We have no visual landmarks, and the trails are as Sapphire said, a maze. We have no idea of what to truly look for. Walking blind is hardly a good decision.”

Dobbelsteen looked over to her, “Surely they must have given you all a route plan? A rendezvous point of some kind, easily identifiable?”

Everypony only shook their heads in response, leaving Dobbelsteen to contort his face in utter bewilderment. “...Amazing.”

Falling back into a more distant seating position, he turned his head downwards towards the ground and hardened his brow. His claw gently tapped the grass beneath him as he thought. In about 200 kilometers, Salt Lick City lay before him. The network of trails was bound to have some sort of direction that would lead him to the city, but could he really risk the lives of the Platoon on a scavenger hunt? Even then, the illusory rendezvous point isn’t at the city, but somewhere in between. How would he ever know where to find it?

“Can’t we just head back towards Salt Lick City itself?” asked Sunrise Dare. “I mean, we can't go wrong with heading back towards the city and picking up some other ponies and doubling back. The city is what we’re meant to be protecting, aren’t we?”

“It’d take too much time. Giving up the forest wouldn’t do us any favors either.” Moerman’s claw ran through the feathers on his neck. “Both ourselves and the operation at large have a better chance of fighting in the forest rather than the city.”

Yellow Rock only grumbled. “Seems like the ‘Operation at Large’ is to leave us in the dust.”

“The rivers.” Jungle Trek’s face brought a smile, as he looked over to Dobbelsteen. “Salt Lick City has an entire network of rivers flowing into it, following their streams is the direct path towards friendly forces.”

Moerman only raised an eyebrow. “So what? It doesn’t give us anything more than a general direction any more than our current heading does. Even then, who knows the twists and turns the rivers will take if the unlucky strain we happen to pick doesn't run off somewhere unrelated?”

“Except there’s only one north of Salt Lick.” Grabbing the map into his hooves from Moerman’s uniform belt, something which the Griffon took slight offense, he laid out the map. “It’s true that the map is terribly outdated, but it can still help us.”

“What do you mean by one river?” Yellow Rock only squinted. “Out of a forest as large as this, you mean to say there’s only one around us?”

“Only one that flows away from the lake.” Jungle Trek nodded. “Only one that cuts right through the South East. That’s where the Fairflank remnants ought to be, following the one major river that kept them bearing towards the South East.” Shifting his helmet back onto his head, he folded up the map. “Shifting our heading towards the direct East, we should run right into the river.”

Glancing up from his ramble, Jungle Trek was met with the mesmerized glance of Sunrise Dare, Yellow Rock, and Sapphire Stream. His hoof rested on the crook of his neck as he cleared his throat. “That’s where we’ll head.”

Now, the blue pony smirked. “Sounds good, Major?”

It was at this moment that Moerman glanced down, noticing the cutie mark of Jungle Trek to be that of a map and compass. Some were just better at Land Navigation than others.

July 2nd 1010, 06:13

2nd Night Guard Artillery Division

Salt Lick City

“There’s a citation from Grover the Second. Plans are nothing, but planning is everything. Something tells me Grover the Second’s conquest ended at Nimbusia because he could never appreciate a good timeline.”

Selenite’s expression soured, her gaze lifting up from her watch as the distant smoke of the train’s engine lit up with the morning rays of the sun, finally pulling into the station. “Apparently, neither can anypony else.”

Bounding out of the train before it even came to a halt, a young bat pony, who despite his towering size over the shorter Selenite almost shrank before her as he came to a halt in front of her, began speaking. “Deepest of apologies, General.” The two officers glanced over, as railcars rolled out entire platoons, and small towed guns were dragged off the freight cars by bare hoof. “It was a whole mess, first the trains were blocked, then other divisions were prioritized in transport-”

“Captain, there’s no point. If the fault isn’t laid on you, neither will my blame. That is reserved for a much more wealthy noblepony.” With a monotone glare, she nodded. “We’ve commandeered whatever vehicles we could find in the city. We’ll bring the whole division from here to the outskirts of Vanhoover by nightfall. If that demand cannot be met, you must inform me.”

Adopting an expression of Steel, the Captain nodded. “Our country is under attack, General. Not just theirs. The Night Guard will deploy as you command.”

Fighting a smile, Selenite turned. “I’ll telegraph Sentinel with the good news. Twenty minutes until step off on the street. See you then, Captain.”

With an equal salute to each other, both officers parted ways. Though Selenite could not stop herself from taking a moment to glance back at the long train stopped at Salt Lick’s rail station. The train station itself wasn’t long enough to accommodate the whole line, and thus the Night Guard was dismounting on the grass and rapidly moving their tools of war onto the road. Six pounders tied to the most enthusiastic of the ponies, weapons slung around their bat pony wings, all moving with enthusiasm and purpose.

Even though the sun had just broken through the horizon, Selenite truly smiled. The Night Guard was here.

Ducking his head behind the trench wall, once more sniper fire zipped through the air and landed into the dirt mounds behind Thunderbolt Sentinel. Dusting off his purple uniform, he met the eyes of a light gray-coated, regular soldier next to him. She seemed a lot more frightened than he was.

“S-Sir, are you SURE being this close to the front is a good idea?”

Contrary to the slight shaking of the soldier, Thunderbolt rested against the wall of the trench, listening for more sniper fire. His bright black and yellow mane peeked out of his helmet, and his yellow coat blended well with the sun. He only shrugged. “It’d be safer not to, Private Arrow. Yet if not me, then who?”

Rounding the corner of the trench system, another pony with a maroon coat and far more calm nerves met the eyes of the General. Holding his helmet close to his head with his hoof, he spoke. “General Sentinel, the scouting platoons have been dispatched against the Sniper. That should give us some wiggle room for the construction of the trenches.”

“It’s quite alright, Sergeant Pine. This trench line is doing its job as a pioneering element. Let them take their shots at this one, our real defense is behind us.” Standing up, yet still covered by the trench wall, Sentinel gave a smile to the soldier, before returning to the Sergeant. “Any news from Selenite?”

“Indeed, General.” His hoof reached into his uniform, pulling out a piece of paper and unfolding it. “Telegraph from Selenite no more than an hour ago. Her Night Guard has arrived in Salt Lick, and she promises to be able to render support by nightfall.”

Tilting his head, Sentinel looked down at the telegraph. “...Well I certainly admire her enthusiasm, but I certainly doubt she’ll arrive before the Changeling attack. Their tanks aren’t more than a couple hours from this position at most, and that’s if they take their time. We’re only 150 km from Seaddle at this distance.”

“Do you believe it’s wise to withdraw, General?”

Sentinel shook his head. “Marshal Blueblood has strictly forbidden it.” Noticing the common soldier within range of the conversation, he turned his gaze over the rampart. “No matter. The hills aren’t much to work with, but the scouts I’ve deployed should give us an early warning system. Combined with Selenite’s reinforcements, we should give Vanhoover enough time and space to evacuate.”

“Speaking of evacuating, General…” Pine only gestured with his hoof. “How about yourself?”

“Oh, don't you worry Sergeant Pine. I’m sure Marshal Blueblood can handle rear security by himself.” He grinned at the two soldiers. “Besides, I must coordinate our maneuver plan should the Night Guard not arrive on time. I will be with you every step of the way.”

With that statement, even the shaking soldier had a smile. As the General departed further into the trench system, the Sergeant only gave a glance as he trotted. “Sentinel is quite prideful of his trenches, isn’t he?”

The soldier only shifted their gaze downwards, muttering in a low voice.“Do you really think we can hold them, Sergeant?”

With the forced smile now leaving Pine's face, he only shifted down to sit where the General sat moments before. “Well, none of us are all too sure about that. Sentinel’s defenses are some of the best in the world. “He gave a small shrug. “I sure feel a little safer with a pony like that on my side.”

“What if we never get any reinforcements?” The light gray coated mare said. Arrow’s hooves lay close together in her lap, with her lavender bolt action rifle leaned against her shoulder. “If Selenite’s guns never show up, we’ll just be waiting to be overrun, won't we?” Her eyes remained holding contact with the Sergeant, leaning forward to ask another question. “...Is that what they put us here for?”

The Sergeant paused. The two soldiers had both their thoughts interrupted by another crack of sniper fire, this time aiming further down the trench line, kicking up more sand. Adjusting his helmet, Pine only gave a nod of understanding to Arrow.

“Maybe, Private. Maybe.”

July 2nd 1010, 14:00

13th Changeling Jaeger Division

201 km north of Salt Lick City

Dark and cold like the pieces of tin and ribbon medals on his chest, Colonel Zellix of the Changeling Army regarded the papers before him with much the same feeling. His eyes were narrow, laser-focused between the lines of the report, his eyelids twitching slightly. His hooves tightly gripped the dirt underneath him, his jaw almost wired shut with contempt. Those words that managed to escape from his mouth were bitter, sharp, and full of rage.

“Twelve Soldiers. A Platoon or so, routed and returning in pairs or alone.” He spat, shifting the papers in front of him on the chassis of the Tank before him. The sun had been obscured by clouds throughout the day, saving him from the persisting heat. He leaned back, hoping to not get the same mud caked on the tracks of the tank before him on his uniform.

“With a loss of four vehicles.” Stacking the papers together, Colonel Zellix turned to his subordinate commanders, a scowl on his face. “Four vehicles. An embarrassing failure on your part, and now it's on mine.” He raised his hoof to point into the forest, the rest of his body shaking with anger. “The little border guards we faced were practically annihilated not two days before. You expect me to believe these fleeing soldiers, who were in custody, escaped and overpowered your soldiers?”

An array of Lieutenants shifted nervously around Zellix and the tank. One of the tank’s crew, the commander, slowly closed the hatch to prevent their involvement in the conversation.

“Not only that, now you mean to inform me-” The wind cut him off for a moment, Zellix’s temper only avoided by the relief of a breeze it brought. At that moment, the officers only shifted under the glare of their superior, waiting for him to speak again. “These previously routed enemies have evaded your searches, to the point where the very advancement of our front is slowed.”

One Lieutenant cleared her throat, blinking her eyes up from the floor. “Colonel, the forest’s trails are a labyrinth. Advancing at a deliberate speed as we are at were your orders.”

“Only if we suffered resistance, Lieutenant.” Zellix snarled. “Which, thanks to you all, we now are.” With a huff, the Changeling folded up the map. “Forget what I said before. We are advancing through this forest at whatever pace I set; our front cannot slow in comparison to Vanhoover. Send patrols further into the forest and find the remnants before they can regroup.”

With a pause, Zellix shifted his gaze through the officers. “That means NOW!”

With that bitter yell, dust was kicked up under the hooves of the three officers. In different directions they went, whether to disseminate the orders of Colonel Zellix or simply to hide from him, nopony could be sure. Even the tank crew shrunk away from their windows at the sound of the order. The angered look did not leave the Colonel’s face as he trotted away from the tank, casting glares between the reports in his hoof and whatever soldier of his was unlucky enough to be within his sight.

In Good Company

July 2nd, 1010, 16:00

Fairflanks Militia Remnants

75 km north of Salt Lick City

Dipping her light blue hooves into the rushing river water and splashing it on her muzzle, Swift Roller took a deep breath, exhaling quite slowly. Thankful to be in a more shaded area of the forest, her brown mane flowed gently under her helmet.

Beside her, a notebook lay open. Taken from the pouch that rested on her hip, she gave a look-over to the make-shift charts and tables she drew in the lines of the paper. Filled with timelines, quantities, and the names of ponies, it was a rare moment her mind wasn’t keeping track of something.

Despite the war that hung heavily over her mind, she couldn’t help but smile, if only for a moment, at the hushed sounds of nature. With a shaky breath, she allowed the frantic memory of bombs, fires, and running for her life to leave for just the moment. The gentle sound of the birds, and the flowing of water, could soothe her just for a bit.

Until suddenly, they stopped.

The fleeting sounds of the birds were taken over by the far-off sounds of engines in the sky. The moment of peace couldn’t last forever, Swift Roller knew that. Bringing her hoof to wipe at her green eyes, she exhaled once more before her ears perked up.

A new sound. The voices of her friends were not so far behind her. Getting up to her hooves and storing the notebook in her pouches, she could hear them getting louder. The planes hadn’t sounded anywhere near close, yet the panicked thoughts still rested in her mind.

Bounding off through the forest, she looked around. The foxholes dug into the forest near the river were empty, the soldiers all corralled in the distance. The clearing, no more than two hundred meters ahead of her, led to the road they had marched along the night before.

Trotting on, Swift Roller leaped out of the woodline and onto the clearing, noticing the silent crowd of soldiers facing the dirt road. Worried that they may be spotted, she began to open her mouth before she was cut off, by the shifting of the crowd.

Through the opening in the middle, Jungle Trek stepped through, though his gaze was still behind him at the rest of the platoon, who trotted forward to the welcome of the rest of the Company.

Cheers of triumph and happiness infected the faces of Swift Roller’s soldiers, who herself were absolutely floored at the sight. The smiling faces of her friends, of the entirety of the Platoon they all thought to be lost, were right before her.

Strawberry Cinnamon herself was the most excited to see her friends again, pulling Berry Twist and a few of the other soldiers into one big group hug. Cinnamon had to push her red mane back and away from her eyes, lest it become wet with her tears of joy.

Lucky Twirl herself was practically lifted into the air by the more enthusiastic of the welcoming soldiers, cheerful that her optimistic demeanor had made its way back to them. Brisk Sweeper and Sunrise Dare were each pulled into embraces of hugs against their will, though Swift knew their objections were surface-level. Even Shooting Steps and Yellow Rocks had a smile on their faces.

As the Platoon mixed and mingled back with the company, the whole gathering numbering at least a hundred ponies in total, all shifted out of the way of one odd visitor. Contrasting the purple uniforms of the Equestrian Army, and noticeably lacking a helmet, a blonde-feathered Griffon whose claw gripped a lever action rifle stepped forward. As he turned his gaze from the road, his sunglasses gave regard to Jungle Trek. “Seems like your route got us to the right place, Trek.”

Jungle only smiled at the gathering, as the crowd grew quiet at the sight of the visitor. “The route was only one thing, Moerman.” With a smile, he slung his bolt action rifle across his back and tipped his blue helmet. “Getting us out of there alive was your doing.”

Swift Roller stepped forward, along with the inquisitive look of the entire company. “We heard that the Platoon had been captured after a firefight behind us. How-” She looked between Jungle Trek, Yellow Rock, and Wild Strikes. “How did you all escape?”

Leaning up from Caramel Crunche’s shoulder, the bandaged wings of Wild Strikes moved slightly as she shifted. “Our squad managed to slip through. We didn’t know what to do when we lost contact with both of you.” She grew a smile, looking at the Griffon. “But he helped us.”

“He ambushed the enemy convoy and rescued the Platoon.” Jungle Trek said, giving a small wink and patting his Griffon friend on the shoulder.

Contrary to his usual boastful demeanor, Dobbelsteen actually slightly shrunk under the eyes of the hundred or so ponies around him. With a hint of embarrassment at the praise of his soldiers, he spoke to Swift Roller. “I surely didn’t do it alone.” Extending his claw, he gave a warm smile. “Major Dobbelsteen Moerman, Feathisian Commandos. I’ve been sent by Princess Twilight to help.”

The whole formation froze, eyes staring at the Griffon. Shifting slightly, he still held his claw out. “...Do we uhm…” He glanced around, “Do we have a medical tent for Wild Strikes?”

After a pause, Swift Roller only pulled Moerman and Jungle Trek into a hug, much to the cheers of the surrounding soldiers. With both Trek and Dobbelsteen exchanging glances of confusion, Swift Roller shed tears of relief. “Thank you, so much. For saving my friends.”

“You know, Jungle. If I’m being entirely honest, they aren’t the worst foxholes I’ve seen.”

Standing over the array of ‘defensive positions’, if they could be called that, Jungle Trek and Dobbelsteen could only keep their heads on a swivel as they looked over the outline of the encampment. The hundred or so ponies were all gathered around, with the newly arrived members of the returning platoon finally getting something to eat.

The Griffon, on the other hoof, only watched.

“We’ll get them on the move before sunset.” The blue earth pony beside Moerman said. “Moving at night will attract far less attention. We should be able to make Salt Lick City before long, and get them proper rest.”

“Where were your officers?” Moerman asked, turning to Trek. “Out of this entire excursion, the only leader I’ve been able to come across is you. Not to say the soldiers are incapable of it in their own right, but… were you not outfitted with any designated commanders?”

Jungle only sighed. “Our officer corps was heavily staffed, but we rarely ever saw them. The Militia itself was commanded by a pony to this day we’ve never met, and we’re not even sure existed in the first place.” Kicking a pebble underneath his hoof, his gaze turned to the soldiers. “Most of the officers are in Canterlot, Major.”

Dobbelsteen kept his gaze on Jungle Trek for the moment, before reaching into his uniform and withdrawing a small notebook. Scribbling down on it, he attracted the curious gaze of Trek.

“...What are you writing?”

“In the absence of leadership, Jungle, take charge.” Ripping out the piece of paper, he handed over what looked like a diagram to Jungle Trek. “Keep your Platoon in this spot. I’m taking the two others and stationing them along the river.” He withdrew a small watch from his uniform. “From now until 1900, we are going to each Platoon and teaching them how to establish a Patrol Base one by one.”

Jungle Trek tilted his head. “A patrol base? That’s… that’s oddly specific, don't you think?”

The Griffon shook his head. “A safe place to sleep covers a wide variety of topics. Security, the importance of spacing between positions, how to properly construct defensive positions, how to use camouflage, intersecting fields of fire, all sorts of things.” He nodded to himself. “It’ll get the ball rolling and give them foundations to build their skills upon.”

“Sounds good to me.” Jungle Trek slung his rifle over his back once more. “I’ll push that out to everypony.”

“...Question, Trek.”

The pony’s ears twitched. “Hm?”

“Who is in charge of the Officer Academy in Equestria?”

“Field Marshal Blueblood, Major.”

“...Outstanding.”

July 2nd 1010, 22:32

2nd Night Guard Artillery Division

150 km North of Vanhoover

“Our Scout Platoons have been engaged in combat no more than ten kilometers north of this position, Selenite.” Thunderbolt Sentinel spoke to the short bat pony, yet his eyes peeked over the horizon from the trench. Giving up on peering through the pitch-black night, his gaze fully turned over towards her. “Elvir Roland has a habit of advancing his armor in the night.”

“Smart move on his part. General Roland has to know your trench lines have been constructed, and assaulting them in the day is an unnecessary risk.” Examining the rolled-up papers in her hoof, she quickly stowed them into her uniform. “My division has almost finished its deployment. Either at your signal or by midnight, we will commence our fire on these positions.”

Thunderbolt adjusted the helmet covering his black and yellow mane. “It’s quite the miracle you managed to arrive here on such short notice.” He tilted his head. “Are you sure area strikes such as this will work?”

“Though they aren’t my preferred choice of engagement, they are well suited for this situation.” She brushed aside her silver mane in the moonlight, as the two Officers noticed hoof steps coming down the trench line. “They should shake up Roland’s plans. Striking the roads he uses ought to slow him down.”

With the sound of hoof steps, Private Arrow came into vision, her gray coat not much unlike Selenites, only a tad brighter. Plucking a letter from her teeth with her hoof, she spoke. “General Selenite, telegraph.”

Selenite tilted her head. “...Moerman?”

The three ponies trotted off further back into the trench lines, into a small bunker. Thunderbolt Sentinel could hardly prevent himself from smiling at how well his defenses came together, but as Arrow sat at the station, placing her hoof over the messenger.

Selenite’s hooves began unfolding the paper, as she spoke to Thunderbolt. “Major Moerman is a Griffon sent by Princess Twilight. He’s a commando from the Empire, and went north to try and find any Border guard regiments still intact.”

Sentinel gave a quizzical look. “...The Empire?”

Selenite cleared her throat. “Relinked with Fairflanks Militia, STOP. Entire Company at my disposal, STOP.” She squinted, before looking at Arrow. “Why does it keep saying ‘STOP’?”

“That’s, uh…” She pointed with her hoof. “Not part of the message. It’s a break between sentences.”

“...Oh.” Selenite continued. “Heading North with Company at 04:30, Soldiers need rest until then after the retreat, STOP. Will deploy before Sunrise to guard as we planned, STOP.” Looking up from the letter, Selenite leaned towards the machine. “How recent is this message?”

“Two minutes, General.”

“Telegraph Moerman back, from General Selenite. He must deploy as soon as possible. The barrage will begin within the hour. Roland is no doubt going to try and try a probing flank before sunrise.”

With the tap of her hoof, Arrow sent the message across the waves. Waiting in silence for a moment, her ears perked up once more. “I’ve got a response!”

“...Are you kidding me?”

Dobbelsteen Moerman looked up from the telegraph and over to Berry Twist, who sat at the telegraph station inside what could only be described as a spacious shed, with the rest of the company outside. “She wants our company to move, now?”

“These Soldiers are barely trained, STOP. Cannot send them to their deaths, STOP. Cannot make road march in time, STOP.”

Arrow cautiously looked from the message over to the two Generals behind her. Thunderbolt Sentinel merely cleared his throat, but General Selenite narrowed her eyes. “Private Arrow, ask Moerman if he’s in the Air Force.”

“...What?”

“Do it.”

Moerman was refilling his bandoliers with ammunition, letting out a sigh. “...Maybe. If she really-” He stopped at the sound of the telegraph printing out once more. “What’s it say, Trek?”

Jungle glanced at the telegraph, before clearing his throat. “I, uh… I don’t know.”

“...You can read, right, Jungle?” Moerman paused, turning away from his ammunition. “...Right?”

“Will make it happen, STOP. Will use vehicles to deploy no later than 0200. Best I can do, STOP.”

Arrow turned back in her chair. “That’s the end of the message, General.” Her eyes went from Selenite over to Sentinel, who only raised an eyebrow at both the message and General Selenite.

“A company?” He turned, “I must agree with whoever's on the other side of this message, General Selenite. The forest is an extremely good advantage, but hardly enough to hold with three or four rifle platoons.”

Selenite adjusted her uniform. “Major Moerman has assured me he can do so. He is concerned with the timeline, and as strenuous as it is, I know he can make it work.” She cleared her throat. “Telegraph Moerman. A ‘Thank you’ will suffice.”

Sentinel stepped forward. “Selenite. They’re Border Guards. My soldiers aren’t exactly the warriors of the Night Guard, but the soldiers this ‘Moerman’ has, if you can call them that, hardly know how to fire their rifles. If they’re untrained as they are, it could severely endanger your position and that of the Night Guard.”

The Silver manned bat pony stared ahead. “I appreciate your concern, but the Night Guard will carry out its tasks as we promised. Holding Vanhoover for as long as possible is our only priority.” Regarding Sentinel with a nod, she spoke with an aura of confidence.

“The Border Guard is hardly trained, of course… but with Moerman? Not for long.”

Walking out of the spacious shed with Berry Twist at his side, Dobbelsteen Moerman adjusted the bandoliers across his body and under his wings as he crossed paths with Jungle Trek, now walking alongside him. “How are we looking?”

“All up and accounted for within six minutes. We’ve found some vehicles from the city that were left behind in the evacuation, and we can fit the whole Company using about six of those.”

Moerman adjusted the grip of the lever action in his claw, slinging that across his dark green uniform. “How are they feeling?”

“Exhausted, frankly. They feel like they haven't stopped moving since the start, despite the hour nap they recently got.” Trek clipped his helmet onto his head. “They’ll shake out of it, Moerman.”

As the Platoons filed past into their respective vehicles, most notably two vans, a bus, and three trucks used for hauling materials, Dobbelsteen stopped and began to speak.

“COMPANY!”

At the abrupt call, the whole gathering of soldiers, Jungle Trek at his side included, halted and turned their gazes to the Griffon. Even though the city lights of Salt Lick were shut off, the moonlight gave off enough illumination to show Moerman and shine on the brass buttons of his uniform.

“We’re heading back into that forest. One hundred kilometers west of here, General Selenite is deploying with the Second Night Guard Artillery Division, to shell the tanks of the Changeling Army to a halt.” He adjusted the sunglasses on his beak. “She can only accomplish this if we prevent the enemy from getting within striking distance of her guns.”

He gazed up and down the small convoy. “Vanhoover only has the amount of time we give it. Our role in this operation is critical. I will be there with you every step of the way to help you accomplish this.”

“...Is that understood, Company?”

“YES SIR!” The occupants of the vehicles, though weary from the long days as evident from the bags under their eyes, broke out into the affirmative. With a nod, Major Dobbelsteen turned over to Jungle Trek with a smile.

“Outstanding.”

The Art Of Shamming

July 3rd 1010, 00:42

Fairflank’s Reformed Militia

Vanhoover’s Northern Flank

Gunfire raged out once more in the forest.

Holding the bolt action rifle in her hooves, Strawberry Cinnamon felt as out of place as one pony could be in a firefight. Although her hooves had ached from the march from the vehicles to this position, and her eyes felt heavy not too long ago, the adrenaline and pure fear that raced through her heart awoke her once more.

Though she trusted that Lucky Twirl and Berry Twist had been on either side of her, the narrow view of her rifle and the darkness surrounding them all prevented her from seeing them. With flashes of ignited gunpowder filling the air and the smoke filling her lungs, it wasn’t much of a surprise in retrospect that she began to panic.

With each thunderous boom that echoed through the night and in her bones, Strawberry only desired to sink further and further into the ground, practically curling herself into a ball.

She yanked the helmet further down onto her head, shaking in the cold of the night. Her breathing had gotten completely out of control, and gunfire was all she could think of. The fear had taken full control of her and her brain was a prisoner within its grasp. “Think, Think!” Her mind raced back and forth, “What did Moerman say?”

“Uhm…Excuse me, Dobbelstain? What’s combat like?”

With the lack of seats available on the bus, Dobbelsteen had resigned himself to standing, with his claws wrapped around the metal frame for support. Looking over to Strawberry Cinnamon, he gently rocked back and forth with the swaying of the vehicle on the dirt roads. The lights inside, as well as the headlights, had been turned off at his order. Swaying in the darkness, and speaking to nearly half the company that crammed itself into this lead vehicle, Moerman obliged her question.

“Chaos is the best way I can describe it.” Though Strawberry was the one to ask him about it, he spoke in a general volume loud for everypony to hear. “There is no set structure, not like a traditional fight. Most often you won't be seeing the enemy, and he won't be seeing you.” His dark green uniform absorbed the faint illumination of the moonlight, to the point where besides the feathers on his face, he appeared almost like a specter to Strawberry, his eyes peering further back into the vehicle where she knew Berry Twist and Wild Strikes sat. “The best advice I can give you all is don’t panic. Recognize the ensuing chaos for what it is, and learn how to flow through it like water flows into a glass. Do not attempt to work against chaos.”

“Chaos is your friend. So am I.” Giving a passing gaze to the occupants of the vehicle, his head came back to smile at Strawberry. “In the end, it always comes down to the mare, and her rifle.”

“...And it’s Dobbelsteen.”

The gunfire began to hollow out. Though the deafening sound of the rifles all around her still shook her to her very core, the piercing stab it had upon her heart subsided. Strawberry Cinnamon’s breathing slowed.

She stuck close to the ground. Her eyes could not see her friends side by side, but the hints of their voices through the night broke past the gunfire and rested upon her ears like a blanket on a cold night such as this.

Darkness, though ever present, wasn’t as terrible a threat to her anymore. Through the flashes of light exiting her comrades, and the enemy's weapons, the surrounding area of the forest came clear to her with every burst of fire.

Strawberry’s eyes focused down the sight of the rifle, bringing it up in her hooves as she kept close to the ground in a prone position. Her hoof rested upon the trigger, until a flash of light made its appearance in front of her. A bullet whisked on behind her, striking a tree.

The target had missed. With her eyes trained on the spot which fired towards her, Strawberry fired back.

July 5th 1010, 10:14

Fairflank’s Reformed Militia

2nd Day Guarding Vanhoover’s Northern Flank

Under the shade of the trees, propped up against the bark of the largest one within the Patrol base, Caramel Crunch’s hooves ever so gently unwrapped the bandages from Wild Strike’s wing.

“I thought you’re just supposed to rip it off?” Wild Strikes said, her smile ever faint while looking over to Caramel Crunch. She leaned in, “You know, ‘like a bandaid’ and all?”

Carefully rolling the used bandages into his hoof and setting them to the side, Caramel Crunch’s eyes squinted at the wound on Wild Strike’s wings. “It’s a good thing this isn’t a bandaid, then.” He gave a small wink at her, gently inspecting her wing in his hooves. “It should be perfectly healed by now. I can’t do much for your pain, but moving it should no longer make it any worse.”

Wild Strikes only let out a small giggle. “You do plenty for the pain already.”

Caramel Crunch only glanced up towards Wild Strikes, and immediately glanced back down towards storing his medical supplies. Wild Strikes herself had her eyes widen, shifting uncomfortably while clearing her throat. “Uhm… oh, the Major’s back.”

“Oh, really? Caramel said, eager to move the conversation along. “Well uhm… let me know if I can do anything else.” He said, the two of them hiding a faint blush from the other, though a small smile for both couldn’t be hidden. “You know… for the pain.”

With an obligation for a romantic subplot out of the way, Jungle Trek held a compass and a map in his hooves in the far more productive side of the Patrol base. With Shooting Steps, Yellow Rock, and Brisk Sweeper all keeping watch in different directions, the majority of the soldiers were scattered about with their rifles close, resting on the floor and helping themselves to the packaged meals that came with their soldier’s kit.

Their eyes, however, were all trained upon the arrival of Dobbelsteen Moerman, who held the bolt action rifle of Lucky Twirl, who herself sat no more than ten feet from the Griffon, who began to speak. “Normally in an environment such as this, we wouldn’t be talking all this often. But Trek’s got us more than fifty kilometers away from the enemy, who we whipped quite readily the other night. Everypony get enough sleep?”

A round of nods and words in the affirmative, Dobbelsteen smiled and adjusted his sunglasses. “That’s great to hear. Eat and drink as much water as you can, you never know when you’re going to need the energy. We’re asking a lot of you, so it ain't no shame in informing us if you need more to eat. I’m sure the Changelings will be happy to give us more of their rations in addition to our own.”

Grinning at the response of hushed laughter, Moerman held Twirl’s rifle in his claw. “Now, this is the Lavender rifle.” Adjusting the bandoliers across his chest and snug against his wing, he continued. “A bolt action. It’s a slow rate of fire, but we can make it faster with a few simple tricks.” Dobbelsteen sat down, reaching for five bullets. “Instead of feeding the bullets one by one from your pouches, hold all five bullets in your claw. Or, well, hoof.”

Gripping the wood stock, his free claw yanked back the bolt and exposed the magazine receptor. “Hold the bullets in your hoof, and feed them in quick succession. Furthermore, when cycling the bolt, don't treat it like a friend.” With bullets loaded, he slammed the bolt forward and secured it. “It ain’t gonna break on you. You can avoid the majority of jams and misfires by being firm with the weapon.”

Dobbelsteen made sure that the safety was clicked on before handing the rifle back over to Lucky Twirl. “And always remember. This rifle is a tool, neither an enemy or an ally.” He gave a glance around to the Company. “Always treat it as if it's loaded, even if you know it isn’t. Keep it in a safe direction, always aware of what it is pointed at, and what's behind your target.”

A hoof was raised by Berry Twist. With his rifle rested in front of him and the muzzle pointed into the ground, he softly asked. “So… when we fire the weapon itself…” He said, his uniform closely matching his purple coat, “How do we do it properly?”

The eyes of the company panned from the small stallion and over to Dobbelsteen Moerman. His head lowered, with a claw running through the feathers on his mane, and a grin growing upon his face. “...Greatest question I’ve heard all day.”

July 8th 1010, 14:27

Fairflank’s Reformed Militia

5th Day Guarding Vanhoover’s Northern Flank

Shooting Steps didn’t need some Griffon to tell her how to do her job.

Yet as her eyes and scope both pierced through the forest, she couldn’t help but feel like somewhat of an amateur. The Changelings bobbed and weaved through the forest, moving up and down through its uneven terrain. Always a split second too late, her sights attempted to level on the enemy, before he ducked down towards the ground and out of sight.

Rapidly, she changed direction, her rifle swaying with the leaves of the trees as they advanced closer and closer. Though her mind was not wrought with panic, it was however filled with frustration.

Distant strikes of gunfire paid no heed in her mind, as her horn practically glowed with silent anger. Firing once and cycling the both, she muttered under breath as she missed again.

Her mind was brought back to the words of Moerman.

“Combat has a habit of moving at a thousand miles a minute. Overwhelming doesn’t even begin to cover the feeling.” Adjusting his sunglasses as the soldiers rested around himself, he brought his claw to gesture to the horizon of the forest. “A dozen Changelings are headed right towards me. Am I going to worry about every single one of them?”

Muttered words were exchanged between the ponies that surrounded, as Shooting steps looked on from the edge of the group. Itching at her black coat for a moment, she cast her eyes up to look at the Griffon if just for a moment.

“Of course not. I’ll focus on one.” Dobbelsteen’s beak hung open for a moment, before eventually turning it into a smile. “Think of yourself as a hunter. You can't bring down every enemy soldier, but choose one as your prey. Sure, they may duck behind cover, or move fast out of your vision, or hide until they hope you’ve forgotten them.” Turning his head to glance at Shooting Steps, he nodded. “But you won’t. Precision comes with focus.”

In her hooves, Shooting Steps cradled the rifle as she had practiced a thousand times before. Her breathing was trained, her posture perfected, she only had to give herself the chance to slow down.

Once again, she saw a Changeling duck into cover. Though, her scope did not pull away from that position. Soon, the invader once more peeked into her sights, hoping to advance further upon her position and harm her friends.

With a pull of the trigger, he didn’t get very far.

July 12th 1010, 17:12

2nd Night Guard Artillery Division

149 km North of Vanhoover

“FIRE!”

Selenite’s commanding voice was only bested by the piercing screech of the eighteen-pounder artillery pieces she had at her disposal, laid out on both sides of her behind the cover of Thunderbolt’s elaborate trench system. Looking back on it now, the way it incorporated the guns and gave them clear views of the battlefield, it was practically a work of art.

What truly stole Selenite’s heart, though, was the sight of the yellow beam of light that sailed through the air and made landfall into the tracks of the Changeling tank no more than six hundred meters in front of her. Smashing through its hull will ease and scattering the Changeling Infantry that massed behind it, fire burst from the hull and resulted in a cookoff of the tank’s ammunition. At least on this terrible battlefield, Selenite could still smile.

“What ever happened to area targets, General Selenite?” Asked Thunderbolt, though clearly not all too bothered by the display. Distant bursts of machine gun fire caught his attention for a moment, but he relaxed when he saw it came from his own trench.

“The Changelings are getting bolder with their attacks by the day.” Selenite mused, dropping down from the edge of the trench and into the safety of its constructs. “My division has dispensed almost half of its ammunition, holding with this slow movement of supplies is nearly impossible.”

Sentinel only shrugged. “Not much I can do about that, Selenite. Civilians are being evacuated at a record pace, but we’ll still need a few days at most to complete it.” The stallion withdrew a pocket watch, whose brass frame was not too dissimilar from the color of his black and yellow mane. “Though… this is certainly odd.”

Selenite paused, her eyes slowly trailing up from the battlefield into the sky.

“This cannot possibly be their entire force. We’ve only been seeing small contingents probing our lines.” He peered over the top of the trench. “It’s as if they’re only keeping us-”

Selenite could barely speak. “Occupied.”

Briefly turning his head, Thunderbolt followed the gaze of Selenite up into the rolling storm clouds above, and gasped at the sight. Planes. Easily a hundred of them, soaring out of the cover of the pitch-black portion of the sky. Seconds after, the sound of their engines sank from the skies and into the valley which the two ponies held, in an endless hum of war.

“SIR!” Bounding around the corner of the trench, Sergeant Pine held a piece of paper in their mouth. “Aerial reconnaissance has spotted Changeling Armored forces moving towards the east through the Salt Lick Forest!”

“They’re flanking.” Selenite softly said. “With everything they have.” Swiftly turning on her hooves, she belated orders to Sergeant Pine. “Raise the Anti-Air emplacements and fire on those planes, IMMEDIATELY!” She turned back to Thunderbolt, “I’ll move sections of my division to deploy north and intercept them if I can, but you MUST radio Blueblood for more ammunition, or I won’t be of much use!”

Passing Sergeant Pine, Selenite briefly stopped. “First, you HAVE to warn Moerman! General Roland no doubt thinks a much larger force is in the forest than there is, he has to get OUT OF THERE!”

As Selenite bounded off down the trench to react swiftly, Thunderbolt caught himself simply staring in disbelief at the skies above him.

“One single company deserves THAT?!”

A Bridge Too Far

July 12th 1010, 17:38

Fairflank’s Reformed Militia

9th Day Guarding Vanhoover’s Northern Flank

As the shells collapsed around them, Jungle Trek only shot an exasperated look back at Berry Twist, and the telegram in his hooves. “REALLY? I HADN’T NOTICED!”

Nearly the entire company was ducking for dear life. Over a hundred ponies had scattered themselves along a natural ditch that waxed and waned through the forest floor. They huddled together in pockets of four, though mindful to keep their spacing between each other should a grenade happen to land in one of their laps. Everypony’s rifle had been clutched in their hooves and over their heads, laying down and hoping that maybe it would absorb a bullet instead of themselves.

The entire planet was shaking, dirt and leaves kicked up from the rocking explosions that dropped either from the striking of Artillery or the bombs that screeched from the planes overhead and landed around them.

Fire had begun to appear in the distance, only brief hints of it. No doubt the flames were being hindered by the falling rain that accompanied the shells, both screeching from the dark clouds above. Darkness had encroached upon their position both in the form of storm and the form of war, and Moerman could hardly tell which was worse.

He did know which to shoot at, though.

Fire burst from the end of the Griffon’s lever action rifle. Cycling through four more rounds until only smoke from the gun and a pile of spent shells remained, Moerman yelled over the shells. “Jungle, Your platoon covered the retreat last time, now it's your turn.” His claw reaching his bandoliers, he loaded his rifle as he spoke. “Take Your platoon and 2nd, and bound back past the road and over the bridge.” Another shell struck no more than fifty meters in front of Dobbelsteen, causing everypony to hit the forest floor. The Griffon didn’t even move.

Trek only stared in disbelief. “You’re CRAZY, you know that!?”

He only replied with a smile, raising his rifle to quickly fire two bullets. His eyes didn’t leave the sight of his weapon. “That Artillery will only last for so long, they got this area pre-sighted. They must have known we would retreat across the bridge.” Another round. “We have to make it back across before their shells stop and their infantry comes across. I’ll keep them suppressed here.”

Jungle Trek scrambled to his feet, storing his map and compass into his uniform and singing his helmet down onto his head tight. “Major, you and I are having a LONG discussion about battle preparations after this!” Bounding off down the trench line, Jungle Trek screeched to a halt just as a shell crashed into a large oak tree not twenty meters from him.

Peering into the trench, the eyes of Strawberry Cinnamon met him. Yellow Rock and Shooting steps were practically flank-to-flank firing over their trench line, with Wild Strikes peeking over the trench line and firing with a fierce look of determination. Caramel Crunch was down further, helping feed the machine gun Sapphire Stream managed to get her hooves on.

Brisk Sweeper peeked up the trench. “Trek, what in CELESTIA’S NAME is the plan?!?”

Jungle Trek only cycled the bolt on his rifle, a bullet bursting from the barrel and felling a Changeling not twenty meters ahead of them. “FOLLOW ME!”

Swift Roller, however, remained on the opposite end of the natural trench. She could hardly raise her head mere inches before it was forced back down again by the percussive blasts of artillery that shook through the air. That was until she felt something jab at her light blue coat, peering out of her hooves.

“Hey, HEY!” Sunrise Dare, whose smile and red mane seemed absolutely indifferent to the chaos around her. Her hoof pointed over the trench line. “That Griffon is INSANE, Swift! How cool is that?!”

Swift’s eyes darted from her battle buddy over to Moerman, who was simply standing out of the trench and returning fire toward the enemy. “Ponies, I won't lie to you!” He yelled down the trench line to the three dozen or so soldiers that huddled in the ditch. “I may have overdone it!”

Swift must have gone crazy. When she thought upon the moment in retrospect long after, she certainly would have agreed. She, and everypony else, started laughing at the deadpan expression.

Glances and cheers were shared throughout the trench, as Ponies brought their heads up from the ditch and merely laughed at their situation. Seeing the bounding retreat of the trenches to their right, Dobbelsteen pointed with his claw. “They covered our retreat, now it's time for us to guard the home stretch, ponies!”

In synchronization, the Lavender bolt action rifles once more peeked from the trench walls. Despite the adrenaline that raced through her heart, the simple presence of her friend, Sunrise, was all Swift Roller needed. The two ponies leveled their rifles. With the trotting steps of their friends echoing behind them, the trench was ready to cover them.

Dobbelsteen stood behind the trench, his gaze keeping watch over every one of the rifles and their users. “FIRE!” His voice called, and the symphony of bullets that sailed through the woodline meshed with the screeches of bombs above, blurring into a mesh of war.

Yet, Swift Roller kept her nerve. Her friend was side by side with her.

Practically falling into cover before a round soared inches above her helmet, Sunrise Dare yanked herself and Swift Roller into the woodline and into a depression of land that was no less than 100 meters from the bridge.

It was almost like the road rested upon a steep hill, and her platoon had taken refuge in sliding down the decline of it into the leaves. The rain had only intensified, mud making it nearly impossible to slow their descent as they practically crashed into one another, before bounding forward to get their distance.

Slowing to a halt, Sunrise Dare dusted off Swift Roller and retrieved both their rifles from the forest floor. Facing towards the road and the bridge itself, Sapphire Stream slammed down her machine gun, with Caramel Crunch at her side to feed the bullets. As his hooves assisted the bullets going into the gun, he glanced back. “Where’s Jungle?!”

“Trek’s placed his platoon on the right flank, guarding the river!” Dobbelsteen had prone right next to the machine gun emplacement as it suppressed the enemy across the shaky wooden bridge. The divide between the two sections of land wasn’t anything dramatic, but the rushing of the waves combined with the fierce rainstorm certainly emphasized it. “Strawberry Cinnamon’s taken the others to guard the left.” Turning back, he called out. “BRISK!” Hearing no response, he called again. “SWEEPER!”

Wild Strikes gasped, nearly throwing down her rifle in shock. However, her voice was lost in the storm, as Dobbelsteen only squinted at her.

“W-WHAT!?”

Shooting Steps yelled for her, and though her eyes never left her scope, her eyebrows nearly shot up to her horn out of surprise. “HE’S ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER!”

Turning, Dobbelsteen could see clear as day now that he knew what he was looking for. Nearly face down on the bank of the river, hoping to use the decline as a natural cover, Brisk Sweeper was struggling with his jammed weapon while two ponies, one pegasus and one unicorn, lay on either side of him. All three were clearly injured, but surely alive.

Water droplets stained his sunglasses, as he yanked them off. “Sapphire, direct your fire towards the left and flank and cover me!”

“Y-” She tore her gaze away, as well as Caramel Crunch, from the gun and at the Griffon. “You’re going out THERE?!”

“Everypony wants to be Infantry until it's time-,” He said before a bullet nearly cut him off. Getting back up, his claws reloaded his lever action and cycled the lever. “Just, Do NOT shoot me, PLEASE!”

Leaping up from the dirt, Sapphire Stream and Caramel Crunch both followed their orders, Sapphire pulling the trigger and letting bullets out in bursts of fire that pierced into the collection of shrubs and trees across the river. Moerman’s paws and claws both galloped across the mud and onto the soaking-wet boards of the wooden bridge, as bullets kicked up around and jammed themselves into the frame.

Simply hoping to rush across the wooden bridge, his claws slipped right before a volley of rifle fire from the Changelings no more than fifty meters in front of him, sailed for him. Falling practically onto his face and off of the end of the bridge, The Griffon tumbled into the shallow bank of the river right next to Brisk Sweeper.

The light gray earth Pony only stared at his supposed ‘savior’, as well as the weary glances of the two ponies on either side of him.

Shaking the water from both the river and the rain out of the feathers, the mud-covered Dobbelsteen slammed himself down onto the dirt and on the left side of them. “Are all three of you injured?” He asked over the pouring rain.

Brisk shook his head, “I’m alright, but she’s got shrapnel in her side,” Brisk said, nodding to the unicorn, whose uniform came equipped with a satchel of grenades. He then pointed to the pegasus behind him, his spotter, “And he’s got a bullet lodged in his rear hoof!”

Moerman noticed the bloodied bandage around Brisk's foreleg but only gave a nod toward him. “Can you make it across the river?!”

With a glance towards the rushing stream, Brisk took barely a second to shake his head. “You’ve had A LOT of good ideas, Mr. Moerman!” He adjusted the helmet atop his mane. That certainly is not one of them!”

With his sunglasses stored in his muddied uniform, Brisk could now see the darting blue eyes of the Griffon. His blonde feathers matted down to his skin, rain pouring down his beak and soaked into his coat, his eyes settled on the wounded unicorn. “Take her, and give me your grenades.”

Retrieving the satchel full of explosives, Moerman laid them out in the dirt, as Brisk used his hooves to lift the unicorn across his back. “I will cover you, Brisk. You hear me?” He said, looking the earth pony directly in the eyes. “I have you covered. You pick her up and you run like your life depends on it. Got it?!”

Over the screaming rain and shells, Brisk nodded, before taking off over the bridge with the wounded soldier across his back. Practically sliding over the wooden bridge, bullets soared over his head, catching the eyes of the entire company.

Jungle Trek himself lowered his rifle, trotting over in a sprint and stopping right at the edge of the depression, not far from Sapphire Stream’s machine gun emplacement. He and Shooting Steps yanked Brisk and the wounded pony into cover, with Caramel Crunch switching out from his position as ammo feeder and beginning to treat the unicorn.

Shooting Steps could hardly believe her eyes, her hooves holding her scoped rifle loosely. Looking at Brisk, she actually managed to force out a smile. “Celestia, Brisk…”

With Sweeper practically falling over from exhaustion and relief that the soldier was getting treatment, Jungle Trek and the company as a whole turned their gaze across the river embankment.

Moerman was frantically cycling through the bolt of his lever action rifle, firing wildly into the forest, before an ear-piercing click rendered the gun inoperable. Attempting to rack the weapon once more, he was unable to clear the jam.

“...Major?”

Turning his head, the wounded, shivering pegasus looked on with worried, wide eyes. His dark gray coat, almost like charcoal, was blotched with the brown mud which stuck to him in patches. The cutie mark on his flank, a forge crucible with a hint of yellow streak that depicted glowing metal upon it, was dampened with the water of the river. “...Are we going to die?”

In a tactical pause, Moerman could see that the foreleg wound was only the beginning. Scratches and cuts had made their home all up and down this pony’s sides and back, and tiny bits of shrapnel had embedded into his right cheek. His blood loss, although not gushing, still flowed with the rain down his matted steel blue coat.

Slinging his rifle, Moerman paid no attention to the explosions behind him. He barely flinched. “What’s your name, soldier?”

He could barely get the words out, his uninjured hoof sweeping his black, sopping-wet mane out of his eyes. “...S-Steel Charts, sir.”

Dobbelsteen rapidly looked around. “W-What do you do, Steel Charts?”

“I, uh…” Over the sound of whizzing bullets, he managed to force out a laugh. “I-I’m a really bad metalworker.”

The Griffon seized a grenade from the satchel, one of his claws hooked around the ring of it, making direct eye contact with him. “Private Charts. I made a promise, and I’m not breaking it.” With a firm snap, he pulled the pin. “I’m getting you and your friends out of this alive.” With a turn, he threw the Grenade far into the direction of the forest, before seizing another grenade and doing the same. Dobbelsteen must have lobbed five grenades before finding the satchel empty, and quickly lifting the pony up in his claws.

Moerman’s Wings extended, scattering rainwater from his feathers, and launched across the riverbank with a thrust. Behind him, the percussive blast of the grenades practically scorched him with heat as he struggled forward, holding the wounded soldier in his claws. Powering on through the howling winds, the weight of Steel Charts, and the rushing current of the river, Moerman made it more than halfway across before he heard it.

Engines.

Trek watched on as Dobbelsteen turned around in the river, as the gaze of the whole company looked over in a rare period of silence, save for the storm. The behemoth that rumbled at the entrance of the bridge was forged of iron and sloped steel, with the emblem of the Changeling Empire printed boldly across its turret hull.

The turret hull, which was rapidly turning towards Moerman.

Jungle Trek bounded forward out of the trench, raising his rifle and firing wildly. “FLY, MOERMAN! FLY!!!” Following that call, the futile rifle rounds of the entire company sang out towards the machine, hoping to dent the monster at least.

Moerman felt as if he was in a terrible nightmare, running only as fast as his pursuer would let him. Never letting go of Steel Charts, Moerman’s Wings launched him onto the river embankment and dug into the mud Clawing up and dragging the wounded soldier, Moerman’s eyes met Jungle’s, and then shifted to his left in horror.

Another.

A practical copy, the tank roared its engine in a mad dash along Trek’s side of the river, leveling its cannon in his direction. Ducking down with the wounded soldier, Dobbelsteen could only watch as Jungle Trek scrambled to get out of the sights of both tanks, a futile endeavor.

The tank fired.

The shell exploded out of the turret in a blinding flash of fire, soaring across the sky. As Dobbelsteen watched from the river bank, it was apparent that Jungle Trek’s mad dash towards the ground, covering his head, was futile. It wasn’t even aiming for him.

The 75-millimeter armor-piercing shell cut through the air at supersonic speed, thrusting past Moerman’s head and embedding itself right at the tank that leveled its coaxial machine gun’s sights upon him. A direct hit right into the hull of the turret’s side, an explosion followed by fire cooked off the turret and cast it thirty feet into the air, in what could only be described as a fireworks display.

Silence. Shock, and then cheers.

The Entire Company sang out in thunderous celebration, as the machine gun of what appeared to be a Changeling Tank sprayed into the enemy forest, forcing the enemy back. Dobbelsteen Moerman scrambled to his paws and claws, dragging the wounded soldier out of the muddy river bank and into the hooves of Caramel Crunch. With himself, Wild Strikes, and Strawberry Cinnamon taking Steel Whistle into their care, he practically collapsed from relief hearing the words, ‘he’ll live’.

Turning with a bewildered gaze from the flaming wreck that once was the enemy tank, Dobbelsteen held his claw out to help Jungle Trek out of the muddy road at the entrance of the bridge, the two of them both shaking, practically frozen from the howling rain storm. Water poured down both of their matted coats, they both turned to look up at the tank that saved their lives, Jungle tipping up his helmet to see.

The entire company peeked out of the woodline to see the Commander’s hatch pop open, as the blonde flowing mane of a light blue coated mare, with an eyepatch across her right eye.

Announcing over the rain in a cheery voice, she spoke. “General Swift Wing, Equestrian Engineer Corps.” With a grin, she glanced down to her captured tank, which Moerman just now noticed had the Changeling emblem crossed out and replaced with a crude illustration of the Equestrian coat of arms. “...General Selenite said you needed a lift?”

Nearly collapsing into a fit of laughter, Dobbelsteen Moerman and Jungle Trek both seized each other into a hug, followed by the relieved cheers of the entire Company.

A Mere Militia

July 12th 1010, 20:47

Fairflank’s Reformed Militia

Salt Lick City

Marephry’s once bright orange coat had dimmed with the layering of dirt that had slowly been patted into it over the last couple of days. Even with the coming of the night sky, his weary eyes and fatigued limbs had subsided in their pains with the arrival of over a thousand ponies into Salt Lick City.

They had assembled themselves on every street, in every building, from alleys to intersections. The Fairflanks Militia could easily be spotted out from the crowd as their uniforms were matted with dirt, and their faces were evident of pure exhaustion. Though many took the opportune time to rest, Marephry could see that where the Militia gathered, they looked to be quite relieved in relative safety.

Gathered more towards the northern entrance of the city, where the streets gave way to the beginning of the woodline of the forest, Marephry walked through their company and onto the beginning of the paved road. Selenite’s Night Guard, distinguishing themselves with their midnight blue uniforms, had taken it upon themselves to bring ammunition and much-needed assistance to the heavily overworked garrison he’d been tasked with.

Weaving through the groups of ponies and Thestrals on the streets of the city, his eyes eventually set on the soldier he was looking for.

“Don’t push yourselves too far out, I don't want you all to be left behind in case we withdraw.” Dobbelsteen, (who stood on the periphery of a gathering of four or five dozen ponies, all of which were helping themselves to their rations while resting on the sidewalk), was speaking to a Thestral officer of the Night Guard while the ponies listened in. “Selenite pushed out a timeline for when your soldiers will get more information, correct?”

With a brisk nod from the officer, Moerman sighed in relief. The attention of both settled on Marephry, who stopped only a trot away from either. “Major Moerman, sir.” Regarding him with a quick salute, he continued. “Uhm… they’re waiting for you in the tent.”

Adjusting the sling of his rifle, Dobbelsteen glanced through the dark streets of the city. “Don’t salute me in the field, son. Snipers would love to have me.” Remarkably, he smiled, leaving the two officers to look at each other in confusion, and then nervously around.

The streets of Salt Lick City had been sparsely populated, the civilian populace all fled and were replaced only by the skeleton garrison that Dobbelsteen was a part of. The windows and streetlights both were dark, glinting only the reflection of the moonlight, waxing and waning in intensity with the movement of the clouds above.

Entering the Commander's tent, situated on the side of the road and hidden by the looming shadow of a hotel, the flaps of the entrance closed behind him. Taking off his officer's cap, Moerman noticed it was quite cramped.

General Swift Wing brought only the bare necessities along with her, herself hunched over a map together with Selenite. The latter’s silver mane shifted as she brought her eyes up to look at Moerman, which grew with sudden relief. “Oh, Thank the night you're alive, Moerman.” She trotted forward, while Swift Wing remained where she was. “I sent for runners to direct Swift Wing’s forces towards you, but I had no idea whereabouts in the forest you even were!” She leaned around, practically inspecting him. “You weren’t hurt, were you?”

“Me and my soldiers were perfectly fine, Selenite.” He dusted off some gunpowder residue from his uniform, looking towards Swift Wing.

Above her eyepatch, her brow only narrowed in confusion.

The Griffon turned back to Selenite. “Well, we’re fine now.” Circling the table, which looked to have belonged in the lobby of a building nearby, Moerman laid his claws on the map of Salt Lick City. “...How did we do?”

“You certainly did something, Major.” Swift Wing only raised her hoof to pull out a map from under Salt Lick City, laying it to the side and showcasing a broader, regional map. “The Changeling forces, though only a discretionary force from the broader offensive on Vanhoover, had to be significantly reinforced to secure the forest you held. It appears they figured a much larger force occupied it than…” She stopped for a moment, shaking her head. “A uhm, single company.”

Dobbelsteen adjusted his sunglasses on his beak, looking up from the map to Selenite. “So… what does that mean?” He took a deep breath, his claws tapping on the floor absentmindedly. “Did we succeed?”

Selenite nodded, placing her hoof on the map. “The redirecting of Changeling Forces, to include the air force, provided an eight-hour window of respite for the defenders of Vanhoover.” Assertively, her hoof returned to the floor and her eyes set on Moerman’s. “Combined with the broader effort of the Night Guard to support Thunderbolt, he’s stated we’ve bought days of time for the evacuation of Vanhoover.”

With a grin appearing on Dobbelsteen’s face, a claw ran through the feathers on the top of his head. “That’s great news… fantastic news. My soldiers are resting as of now, but they’ll be delighted to hear that.”

Swift Wing shook her head. “No cause for celebration yet, Moerman.”

The Griffon stopped, shifting his gaze from Selenite over to Swift Wing. “What do you mean? Something up?”

“My forces weren’t able to significantly damage the advancement of Changeling armor,” Selenite said. “While our assistance has been great as a diversion, Sentinel still informs me that enemy forces are soon to overrun his positions by tonight, and has begun to withdraw from Vanhoover.”

Swift Wing cleared her throat. “Something we must do as well. He plans to withdraw and fight while backing up toward Tall Tale in hopes of reinforcements.”

Moerman squinted. “...Hopes?”

“Bluebloods’ orders, Dobbelstein.” Swift Wing brought her hoof to push back her blonde mane. “Equestria is far from any militarized society, who knows how long it will take Blueblood to muster any trained divisions to combat the Changelings?”

The Griffon scoffed. “Well, it certainly won’t bring any comfort to Sentinel and the civilians he’s responsible for. What can we do to help him?” Moerman’s uniform shifted as his claw moved to pick up the map.

“Nothing, Moerman,” Selenite said with a sigh. “We can do nothing. There’s no available route for us to pass through the Unicorn Valley mountains that separate our fronts, and going back through the forest is suicide.”

With his eyes darting all throughout the map, Moerman found nothing to contradict Selenite’s statement. Slowly placing it down back onto the table, he spoke. “How about the civilians? How long ago did the Civilians escape from Vanhoover?”

“The evacuation was finished two hours ago.” Swift Wing said. “It may not seem like a significant head start, but the Changelings still have to occupy Vanhoover. We’ve bought enough time for Sentinel’s troops and the ponies to head back to Tall Tale and reconsolidate.”

“...We hope,” spoke Selenite, her head shifting down away from the table.

Dobbelsteen’s eyes remained on the papers on the desk, taking in the maps and drawing out frontlines into his brain. Persisting through the haunting reality of the situation that stole the words out of each of their mouths, he broke the silence. “Alright. Too easy, then.” He leaned forward, his claw pointing along the roads that branched southeast from Tall Tale. “We’ll bring our forces into the Yeahcon southwest of here. Roland’s armored forces have no reason to turn from the west coast.”

Swift Wing leaned in, tilting her head at Moerman’s words. “I thought the idea was to engage Roland’s armor. He’d never advance through the Yeahcon, it's a thousand kilometers through dense forest and swamp before the next city.”

“Which is why Moerman wants to fight in it.” Selenite’s hoof panned over to a larger map of northern Equestria. “If the Changeling forces rely on their tanks and aircraft, we’ll be free to pull back from Salt Lick City and reconsolidate our forces without fear of being pursued in the valley.”

“With the Unicorn Valley mountain range and the tough terrain, once we leave Salt Lick City the Night Guard and any other divisions that we scrap together can freely regroup.” Moerman nodded. “So, it was as we expected. Elvir Roland is pushing along the coast of Equestria, circumventing the undeveloped plains of Equestria entirely.”

“But the exact capabilities of her forces are still unknown.” Swift Wing stated. “You’ve experienced the worst of her Army and managed to claw out some small victories against them.”

Selenite nodded firmly. “Twilight will be itching to hear whatever information you have gathered. The sooner she receives it, the faster we can revamp our strategy for the war to better combat it.”

Hoofsteps could be heard approaching, catching the attention of all three officers inside. Swift Wing’s hoof absentmindedly moved to rest on the holstered pistol on her side, before the flaps of the tent revealed a familiar henchpony.

“Contact from the farthest scouts in our element, Moerman, no more than six kilometers from the entrance to the forest.” Jungle Trek took off his helmet, with his brown mane gently falling behind his face. “All scouts have returned as you ordered.”

“Very good. Wake up the soldiers and get them ready to be on the move as soon as possible. This city is no longer valuable or safe for any of us.”

“Heading where, Moerman?”

Dobbelsteen pondered for the moment, looking back down towards the map. “Whitebell is directly east, the Changelings might get there before we do. Shire’s too far towards the south.”

“Pine Creek, then,” Selenite stated. “Multiple roads lead towards the town, so we can split our forces along them to avoid attracting too much attention. It’ll be a long trek, but we should be able to lose the enemy on the way there.”

Adjusting her uniform, Swift Wing gave a smile to the both of them. “Even if we run into trouble, my forces can hold the security to the rear. They’re far more rested, and we should be able to throw a wrench into any of their advancements, so long as we spread out.”

“That settles it, then.” Dobbelsteen Moerman adjusted the bandolier around his chest. “Until we regroup at Pine Creek, Jungle Trek, you’ll direct the company through the forest. I’m sure everypony still remembers our movement techniques.”

Moerman gave a nod to Swift wing, before looking at Selenite. “Oh, don’t look so sad. I’ll only be gone for a couple more days.” He jerked his head out towards the tent’s entrance. “Look after them for me, will you?”

The bat pony rolled her eyes. “More if we’re lucky, Dobbelsteen.” She sighed, brushing her silver mane out of her eyes. “I know your soldiers took a heck of a beating. With the Night Guard, they’re in good hooves.” She turned back to the desk. “I’ll see you at Pine Creek.”

The blue earth Pony tilted his head, “Wait… where are you going?”

He brushed past him. “I gotta get my plane.”

Jungle Trek blinked, looking between Selenite and Dobbelsteen. “You… you have a plane?” He followed after the Griffon, as Moerman put on his officer's cap, the two of them entering through the flaps of the tent and out into the night.

Leaving the two of them alone, Swift Wing’s one eye turned towards Selenite. Gently scratching her eyepatch with her hoof, she only sighed. “You know, a lot of ponies say I’m the crazy one, and then he comes along.”

Selenite’s gaze only lingered where Moerman exited. “...There’s certainly a lot more to him than he wants ponies to believe.”

Using a discarded open metal ammo can as a surface to write upon, Swift Roller scribbled within her notebook. As the soldiers of the Fairflanks Militia buzzed past her, gathering their equipment and packs slung over their bodies, her gaze drifted upwards from her notes as she saw Dobbelsteen and Jungle walking past.

“Uhm, Major Doerman! Sir!” She said, trotting to a stop near them, holding out her notebook for both of them to view. “We should have enough rations to sustain the company, at least for a while. Fuel in the vehicles is running low, however, and we’ve been unable to find any spare gas in the city.”

As Jungle Trek took the notebook into his hooves to glance over the listed equipment, Moerman’s eyes stayed above to look at the company at large. Though they had spread out along the woodline at the entrance to the city, their eyes turned back to look at the Griffon.

With his lever action slung around his wing, the Griffon stepped forward and gestured towards himself. The Company of soldiers stepped towards Dobbelsteen, gathering around him in a circle as he took off his Officers cap. He didn’t even correct them using the wrong name. Again.

His mouth opened to speak, but the Griffon’s own words hid from him. At the gathering of the soldiers around him under the night sky, the gentle wind that swayed the trees and gently moved the waves of the nearby lake had brought shivers through his feathers. Though, Dobbelsteen could not be entirely sure if the chills he had felt had come from the wind, or the uncertainty that plagued his mind. For a moment, his eyes could catch glimpses of yellow light on the horizon.

“The evacuation of Vanhoover is nearing its end, soldiers.” His officer's cap held in his claw, he fiddled with the brim of it as he spoke. “We’ve bought invaluable time for the citizens and soldiers both, and they are as we speak moving towards new positions to continue the fight.” He paused, for a moment. “...You must do the same.”

After moments of silence, a voice spoke from the crowd. Lucky Twirl stepped forward, her bright cream-colored coat distinguishing her from the other ponies. “You’re not leaving us, are you sir?”

Taking off his sunglasses, the Griffon nodded. “Only for a short while. I must retrieve my seaplane and fly it back. All of us are to head towards Pine Creek and reconsolidate.” He leaned in, making sure his eyes had met each of theirs. “I wish to remind you, not to forget what I have taught you. Relying on the tactics we have performed these last couple of days, and relying on each other, will keep all of you alive.” Their gazes remained locked onto him as he spoke. “...I promise.”

“Sir.” Contrary to the more high-pitched voice of Lucky Twirl, Shooting Step’s monotone voice was recognizable anywhere. Some ponies had found themselves leaning slightly away from her sudden, imposing appearance, but her eyes only remained on the Griffon. “...We want to thank you.” She cast a quick glance around, clearing her throat. “All of us.”

The subsequent nods of the ponies that surrounded Moerman brought a look of confusion to the Griffon, who only fiddled with his cap more at the words. Jungle Trek leaned over, speaking. “They’re asking if you’re their commander now, Moerman.”

Clearing his throat, he placed his Officer's cap back on his head and nodded affirmatively. “If I am given the honor, Trek.” He turned, giving a small smile to his earth pony friend. “I’ll eagerly await to reunite with you all.”

Among the relieved murmurs of the company at large, Moerman’s ear twitched under his slight embarrassment. The warm feeling of belonging that tinged at him was slowly subsiding with the noise. A distant noise, one that he heard many times before.

The noise of aircraft.

Shattering glass was the first sound that pierced the air, as the fighters of the Changeling Army soared through the air and fired bursts of their machine guns into the buildings of Salt Lick City.

The Company immediately scattered to the forest floor. Shooting Steps and Brisk Sweeper dashed into action, wrangling groups of ponies into the woodline and out of harm's way. Moerman would have stopped to appreciate the sight of such effective dispersal tactics under incoming fire, had he not had to duck to avoid the low-flying enemy aircraft.

Caramel Crunch hooves kicked himself into action, yanking open the door to one of the trucks and rapidly starting the engine. He shifted into gear, as Wild Strikes jumped into the passenger seat.

“At least he’s thinking ahead!” Moerman yelled as he crawled swiftly along the ground over to Jungle Trek, the two of them hiding against the side of a one-story building.

“I thought we had Anti-Aircraft emplacements, Mr. Moerman!” Jungle Trek yelled, loading his bolt action rifle, and holding his helmet firmly to his head as the planes soared over them.

“Why can YOU get the name right, but nopony else can?”

“MORE IMPORTANT THINGS!”

“I’m sure they're working on it!” Looking around swiftly, his eyes settled on the lake behind him, and then back to Jungle. “Can you rally the platoon and bring them towards Selenite?!”

Jungle Trek looked at him as if he was the second coming of Nightmare Moon. “How in TARTARUS am I supposed to do that?!”

Firmly holding the sling of his lever action rifle, Moerman’s eyes darted back and forth. With a deep breath, he pushed up his sunglasses. “Don’t worry, Trek. I’ll give you a window. See you next week.”

Jungle Trek took his eyes off the soaring plane, to see Moerman runoff. “You-YOU BETTER NOT BE!”

Throwing open the side door of the seaplane, and practically jumping off the dock inside, Dobbelsteen discarded his rifle in the copilot's seat and situated himself in the cockpit, starting both engines.

With the roaring of both propellers, the plane quickly gained speed across the water, much to the confusion of any soldiers who happened to be near the shore. His claws firmly pushed the throttle of the aircraft forward. Within moments, Dobbelsteen was airborne.

“Alright Moerman, you’re in it now”. He said to himself, as the aircraft quickly climbed altitude. Quickly getting up from the controls, the Griffon sprinted through the cabin and into the back of the plane.

Digging through compartments and containers along the walls, he suddenly stopped. While the plane continued to climb on its own, the sunglasses-wearing blonde Griffon turned back to the kitchen, opening cabinets and moving aside packaged loaves of bread, pulling out a-

“Yes, Moerman, it’s crazy.” He said to himself, looking over the Vickers Machine gun in his claws and firmly emplacing the disc-like magazine atop of it. “This whole war is crazy, you signed up for it, didn’t you?” Moving back towards the cockpit, he was shaking his head at himself as he returned to the controls.

With a hard bank to the right, the aircraft quickly turned back towards Salt Lick City, with an altitude that was no more than one hundred meters above the sporadic five-story buildings within the city. Angling the aircraft at a slight incline, the windshield of the converted bomber was able to show the city, and the six Changeling fighters that burst their machine guns sporadically into the streets.

“Lieutenant Marephry!” Called Selenite from her vehicle, before ducking her head to avoid strafing from Changeling fighters. She called up to the rooftop of the two-story building once more. “MAREPHRY!”

“Yes, General!?” He said, his hoof retracting from directing the Anti-Aircraft emplacement from firing into the sky. “I hate to state the obvious, but I am QUITE BUSY!”

Selenite’s glare only got worse, but she shook it off. She herself was leaning out of a military jeep, parked along the side of the road as vehicles sped down the road. “The Night Guard has begun its withdrawal from the city!” She yelled. “When Swift Wing’s forces begin to withdraw, you better make sure you’re with them!”

“U-Understood General!” The orange-coated stallion looked around, before raising his hoof once more. “Changeling Bomber! Directly behind us!”

With the piercing sound of brakes catching the attention of both Marephry and Selenite, Caramel Crunch braked the troop transport HARD. Practically falling out of the back of it, Jungle Trek waved his hoof, “DON’T SHOOT IT! IT’S MOERMAN!”

Selenite gasped. “WHAT IN THE NIGHT'S NAME IS HE DOING!?”

With the aircraft being flown by nopony at all, the hatch at the roof of the aircraft was flung open, and immediately the rushing wind threatened to blind Moerman. Luckily, his sunglasses actively helped his tactical situation at this moment, as he brought the machine gun to bear on the roof of the plane.

The converted bomber was situated just behind one of the Changeling fighters, whose friends banked off hard to gain a new angle of fire down onto the streets.

“This is so stupid,” the Griffon said to himself, as he racked the machine gun in his claws and listened to the heavy sound of a 7.7mm round being chambered. His voice carried a simple monotone aura to it. Was it defeat? Acceptance? The creeping realization that adrenaline had once more overran what little intelligence this Griffon had? “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done.”

Nevertheless, he pulled the trigger, and a spray of bullets soared through the air. Tracers traveled the close distance between the two aircraft, punching directly into the fuselage of the fighter. Immediately it banked off with a sharp turn, abandoning its planned gun run off the street.

Down below, Swift Wing blinked her one eye in pure disbelief. Selenite, getting over her dumbfoundedness, threw her hooves in the air. “Alright, we’re rolling with it! Everypony is loaded up! You all know your route plans, and we’ll see you in Pine Creek!”

Inside the cabin, Wild Strikes practically punched Caramel Crunch in the shoulder. “Step on it, Caramel!” Swift Wing’s forces had begun to withdraw close behind, with the scarred General speaking to her surrounding officers. “That Griffons giving us time, start withdrawing all of our troops, but make SURE every wounded pony is out before we step out of the city!”

Back in the sky, the situation was only getting more ludicrous. Moerman had firmly held the machine into his shoulder spraying bullets toward other Changeling fighters. At this point, none of the bullets were getting anywhere near them, but they sure managed to gather their attention off them.

With a spray of bullets that threatened to take his head off, Dobbelsteen practically dropped the machine gun and slammed the hatch closed, bouncing back into the pilot seat. Gritting his teeth, he yelled. “Man, I just reorganized my furniture too!”

His claws yanked the steering widely upwards, turning the heavy machine into a rapid incline and disappearing into the clouds. The Changeling Fighters watched as the converted light bomber became one with the darkened night sky, as Moerman flicked off all navigation and cabin lights.

“Where?!” Yelled one Changeling pilot, “Where did that thing go?”

“How about where did it COME from!?”

“It's in the clouds, find that bomber!”

As the fighters picked up altitude in each direction, General Swift Wing caught the last glimpse of the city as their convoy of over a thousand strong pulled out. Lightly itching at her eyepatch, she sat in the backseat of a captured troop transport vehicle, looking over to one of the ponies whose eyes remained on the sky.

“...You from Fairflanks, soldier?”

Strawberry Cinnamon nodded. “Yeah… and that was our Commander.”

Recoil

July 15th 1010, 20:43

The Town of Pine Creek

500 kilometers south of Salt Lick City

The soldiers knew it wasn’t a calculated retreat, and it was the reason that despite barely having slept in days, most couldn’t bring themselves to shut their eyes, simply waiting for exhaustion to force them.

Jungle Trek was barely able to feel his hooves after their march south from Salt Lick, but that didn’t prevent him from absent-mindedly kicking the gravel that lined the streets of Pine Creek as he strolled from house to house, generously converted into barracks from ponies that lived here. Aside from himself, and the few patrols of ponies that ran deep into the night, the entire town had secluded themselves in their homes, not daring to go outside under the moonlight.

Trotting up to the building which, judging by its central location, looked to be a town hall, Jungle stepped inside and closed the door behind him, walking past with a nod to the two soldiers at the reception desk on guard. Shuffling past uniformed ponies each hunched over folders, maps, and radio equipment, he entered a center conference room.

“All of them accounted for, General,” Jungle said, taking off his helmet upon seeing both Selenite and Swift Wing. “Two soldiers on guard for each building. I uh… made sure they all ate and rested well today.”

Selenite’s silver mane turned with her head, as she gave a small smile. “Well, at least we have you to bring the good news. Ammunition resupply has been denied to both our elements at this time, Trek.” She blinked, before turning to fully face Jungle. “They…they have enough food, right?”

“The civilians have been cooking for them. We have rations, but… not many.” Jungle Trek stepped forward to the table. “Do you know how long it will be?”

Swift Wing’s hoof fiddled with her eyepatch for the moment, as she spoke. “No clue. Most of the available supplies are being shipped directly toward Tall Tale to defend it. Which…” She sighed. “...is understandable. If Roland’s tank corps isn’t halted soon, it's only a matter of time before he reaches Las Pegasus at this rate.”

“However, the Changelings to our north aren’t being idle.” Selenite’s eyes turned from the map and peered out to the window, squinting through the blinds at the town, and the surrounding forest. “They may take their time to lick their wounds, but they will advance soon enough to try again.”

Silence fell over the room as it had the rest of the town. Selenite kept her gaze through the window, while Swift Wing simply leaned back and eased herself down into a chair, her gaze unfocused and thinking. Jungle’s hoof fiddled with his helmet for a moment.

“Will they fight without Moerman?” Selenite asked, turning away from the window.

He nodded. “Absolutely. After my soldiers rest, I know they’re eager. They’ve been uh…gathering, talking over things they learned from Salt Lick and discussing amongst themselves on how to get better.”

There was a pause before he continued.

“But… they are asking about him. They want to know if he’s alive.”

Swift Wing couldn’t hold in a snicker, shaking her head with a sigh. “What kind of Griffon shoots a machine gun out of his own plane?”

“I can’t help you with that, Trek. We’ll remain in Pine Creek for a few more days. If he’s alive he’s either bound to turn up or send a message.” Her hoof gently tapped on the floorboard, her eyes falling back to the map. “I just hope he gets here soon.”

July 18th 1010, 21:56

Outskirts of Tall Tale

Four Days Later

“You’re certain?” General Bucket flipped the pages over in his hoof, ducking under the wooden beams sticking straight up into the roof of the underground tunnel. “If Thunderbolt’s initial lines have already been breached, then the city doesn’t have much longer to stand.” He glanced back, “I figured he would have told me directly.”

Dobbelsteen followed close behind him. “He constantly has to reposition his soldiers, any fortified position he has is either assaulted or driven around.” Despite Bucket being no less than a decade Moerman’s senior, the Griffon was finding it alarmingly difficult to catch up with him. “Sentinel needs artillery, General.”

Coming to a halt in an interchange in the tunnel, as the shovel-wielding ponies averted their eyes. Bucket stopped right before a steel-plated door. “Suppose he gets it, Major. Selenite’s division was only enough to halt Roland’s forces, and that was a given on much smaller ground.” The old earth pony’s eyes hardened. “I need those guns to protect this city.”

“This city will be surrounded in days if we don’t-”

“Major.” His hoof banged once on the door. “It will be surrounded in hours.”

With a strong heave, the steel door was pulled open by a pegasus, who brought Moerman and Bucket both into the room. Maps were illuminated by standing industrial lights, one particularly large one spanning the entire wall of this room in the tunnel. An entire meeting room was carved out of rock.

At the center of this room, one gray earth pony cast her eyes upon the map, her eyes half-lidded and her mane falling down straight around her face. In the pocket of her purple Equestrian uniform, marked gray and brown from dust and rock, a small pebble was evidently tucked away.

“General Maud.” Bucket said, bringing his hoof in a salute, a gesture Dobbelsteen mimicked. “I’ve brought help.”

She turned away from the map, her expression unchanging. “The stratified formations of these rocks, and their connecting caverns, is the only good news I can offer.” Her monotone voice continued. “How long do I have?”

Bucket only shook his head. “Hours, General.”

After a long period of silence, Maud turned over to the Griffon in the room. “What do you know about rock formations?”

Behind his sunglasses, Dobbelsteen’s brow contorted in confusion, before pulling his gaze up to the map itself. “General… what is all this?”

“The mountains of the Unicorn Valley range separate the fronts diagonally,” Maud said, her gaze keeping on Moerman. “Under the ground, the remnants of their rock formations spill out under all of Western Equestria.”

Bucket leaned over to clarify, his usual monotone voice somehow seeming lively in comparison to Maud’s. “She’s saying that she can make a tunnel system under Tall Tale. It won’t last long, but it allows us to keep up the fight and evacuate long after the city is surrounded. As of now, it's vital for the importation of supplies.”

Moerman took a deep breath. “That is…” He only took a deep breath, before looking back to General Maud. “This is probably one of the most impressive things I’ve seen in my life.”

Maud hid her smile.

“How long until it's complete?” Bucket stepped forward, darting his eyes across the map as he stood right in front of it. “Sentinel isn’t giving us much time to spare.”

“The Combat Engineers at my disposal will have the main lines completed within the hour.” Maud’s expression and demeanor turned to one that reeked of apathy and rock-hard determination. Heh. Get it? “The laying of tracks and auxiliary exits up and down the mountain range will take time after that, but we won’t leave until it's done.”

“How soon can I start sending civilians through?”

Maud blinked. “Send them now.”

Straightening his uniform, Bucket turned back and trotted up back to the both of them. “I’ll commence the evacuation. Most have already fled, but many have become stranded ever since the Changelings began bombing the rail lines.” His figure remained ever still, as he did his best to keep his eyes forward, not letting them sink to the floor in despair. “If the city cannot survive, maybe the ponies will.”

“I’ll head back across the front,” Dobbelsteen said. “Roland will cross only at one point on the river and flood through there. If I find that point, I might be able to call it up and have them bombard it to slow it down.”

“No.” Bucket said. “You can’t buy us any more time, Major.”

Maud only glanced between them as Moerman tilted his head. “Well… what will you have me do, sir?”

“Return to your soldiers.” Bucket said, giving a nod. For the first time, the old earth pony actually managed to give a smile. “I misjudged you. General Selenite sent me correspondence not long after you initially moved north. We can hold things here. Somepony needs to guard the exit of these tunnels in Yeahcon.”

“Even with these tunnels, you won’t hold this city for long.”

Bucket gave a small shrug. “What’s a soldier to do?”

Standing across from one another, both Bucket and Moerman brought their hoof and claw to meet, eyes remaining on the other as they shook. Stepping into the conversation, Maud asked, “Major? I have a request.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“Further north from here, around Yonderhill, is my sister.” Though her expression and tone remained apathetic, she shifted her hoof in the dirt below absentmindedly. “Her name is Pinkie Pie. If you do manage to see her, let her know that I am alright.”

Bucket and Moerman exchanged glances. There was a long silence.

“...Please.” She added, in the same monotone voice.

Cracking a smile, Dobbelsteen adjusted the lever action around his shoulder and gave a nod. “Understood. I’ll make my way there as soon as possible.” He gave a long look to Bucket and Maud both. “...Take care of yourselves.”

With a quick turn, Dobbelsteen Moerman stepped towards the door, which the guardspony from earlier was kind enough to hold open for him. Stepping out into the cold air of the tunnels, the steel-plated doors shut behind him.

Inside, Maud looked at Bucket. “You know where he’s from?”

“Certainly not around here.”

July 19th 1010, 06:32

Pine Creek

Moerman’s Company

Nopony waited for the sun, now crawling its way over the horizon, to bring them out of their beds and out onto the streets into their formations. Quickly trotting out of the converted houses and stories, the platoons which made up the Company of soldiers from Fairflanks formed into boxes, each facing the courtyard of the town hall.

Not to be outdone, the Night Guard, also stationed within the city, were formed inside of the town hall’s courtyard, their darker uniforms resembling that of the waning night cast with an orange glow from the sunrise in the distance. Moving down the steps and fastening her long, silver mane into a bun as she always had each morning, Jungle Trek was already standing out to greet her.

“Looks like they heard the news.” She said, moving her eyes over to all of the soldiers. “You weren’t supposed to let it slip out until we got confirmation.”

Trek’s helmet was fastened atop his head, bringing the sling of his bolt action rifle tighter around him. “It’s a good thing we got it.” Shrugging, he brought a hoof to point into the town. “Besides, I wasn’t the one. Swift Wing must’a done it before she moved towards Yonderhill.”

Selenite’s eyes trailed off to her sides, Swift Wing’s lack of respect for operational security fading out of her mind as she took in the sights of the formed Night Guard. Though certainly outnumbering Trek’s soldiers, it wasn’t much in terms of population due to its more technical role. Yet, the thestrals that comprised it had their eyes laser focused ahead, their uniforms pressed and their posture straightened.

Trek’s eyes, however, moved upwards. Peering far above, an aircraft carried itself down from the cloudless sky, the sound of its engine while quiet, causing the ears of many to twitch within the Fairflank’s militia. As it drew lower, it became obstructed from view from the rooftops and trees surrounding the town.

“That plane was ours, right?” Asked Sunrise Dare, her peripheral vision failing her.

Shooting steps gave a quick nod. “Had to be. It was alone.”

Strawberry Cinnamon couldn’t resist bringing her head slightly upwards to search the sky. “Is it him?” She brought her gaze back forward before anypony noticed. “It’s gotta be him.”

“I wouldn’t get my hopes up…” sighed Brisk Sweeper, adjusting his helmet. “The engine wasn’t loud enough-”

VHUUUUUMMMM

Be it the rag-tag platoons of Fairflanks, or the well-trained soldiers of the Night Guard, everypony had the immediate instinct to cover their heads and duck. The three engines hurled the seaplane forward across the sky and over the rooftops of Pine Creek, bringing wind down upon the soldiers formed below. Picking their heads and gazes back up, surprise grew into amusement and joy upon seeing the slow hunk of junk that sailed through the sky.

“Well….” Selenite said with a huff of amusement. “your de facto command was exceptional while it lasted, Jungle.”

He practically deflated with relief. “Thank Celestia, that idiot is alive.”

“Everypony has been catching up on rest, sir.” Swift Roller said, holding her officer's cap down on her head as a gust of wind kicked up through the town. “The soldiers themselves have reconsolidated the company into a more effective unit.”

Moerman glanced over as they walked through the town. “Explain to me like I didn’t go to college.”

“The more experienced and confident soldiers have been put into leadership positions. Strawberry Cinnamon leads the first platoon, Sunrise Dare second, and Lucky Twirl third.”

Moerman stopped along the road, holding his gaze onto Swift. “...Lucky Twirl?”

“That’s…” She said, nervously clearing her throat. “that’s not a problem, right?”

Dobbelsteen Moerman tilted his head for a moment, clearly reflecting on the name behind his sunglasses. He slowly worked himself into a nod, resuming their walk. “She’s the one that leaped out of the truck in the ambush and fired, right? Small green pony?”

“That’s her.”

“No objections on my part. How’s Trek and the others?”

Swift Roller continued. “Jungle Trek manages those three platoons, I think he’s with Selenite in the Town Hall at the moment. Brisk Sweeper is working the Company radio, Sapphire Stream is getting ammunition for me, and…” She flipped through the assorted list of names on her list. “the rest are being led by Squad Leaders in drill.”

“Town Hall, huh?” The Griffon looked around. “Suppose that’s where I’ll head after stopping by the barracks.” He snapped a claw. “Oh, the infirmary. I want to check up on Wild Strikes, make sure she’s alright.”

She smiled. “Wild Strikes is all healed, Major.” She brought her clipboard firmly under her hoof. “Caramel Crunch kept her for a few days in the infirmary, just to make sure her wing healed completely, but she’s been-”

A white pegasus practically crashed into the ground next to the both of them, a grin plastered on her face. Her hoof was firmly placed upon her brow in a salute. “Up and about, sir!”

Though Swift Roller jumped back in shock, Moerman laughed upon seeing Wild Strikes, returning the salute with far less rigidness. “I can see that, soldier. It better stay that way, too.” He gazed throughout the town. “If things go as planned, you should be seeing the medic a whole lot less.”

Wild Strike’s eyes shrunk. “H-Huh? Y… - heh, you don't really mean that… right?”

“Dismissed, Soldier.” Moerman said without catching on, and with a quick embarrassed glance to Swift, Wild Strikes flew away as quickly as she entered. The Griffon, now satisfied with the report, gave a nod to her. “Thank you for keeping on top of things, Swift. I’ll be speaking with the Company in their barracks once I meet up with Trek and Selenite in the Town hall.”

Swift Roller nodded quickly. “Understood, sir.”

“Hey, what kind of Griffon dogfights in a bomber?” Jungle Trek asked, as Moerman closed the door to the conference room behind him. The Earth Pony was reclined in a chair, his gaze fixed towards the roof as if he was asking himself a philosophical question. “Do you just wake up one day and decide, ‘You know, this has a 20% chance of working’, and do it anyway?”

He laughed at that one. “I’ve had much worse odds than that.”

Selenite nodded. “Wherever you go, they seem to follow.” She half-smiled, stood in front of the table in the room, and her eyes on Moerman. “It’s good to see that you’re alive, Dobbelsteen. You had Trek worried he might have to do his job.”

Dobbelsteen’s claw lifted his officer’s cap from the top of his head, resting it on the table. The metallic sigil of the Griffonian Empire stitched into the front of it, as well as the buttons on his green uniform, reflected the orange glow of the rising sun that peered through the windows behind Selenite. His smile faded, as his eyes came down towards the map.

Selenite’s gaze gently shifted to Trek for a moment, before coming back towards Moerman. Her voice was much softer in tone, as she said, “How bad?”

“Catastrophic.” Moerman said.

Jungle Trek pulled himself out of the chair and stepped towards the table, the three officers now all surrounding it. He leaned in, “Did… did you go to the front? We figured you needed to refuel in Tall Tale.”

He nodded. “I did. I went north to meet Sentinel to get his perspective. We were both at the most forward trench when they attacked.” Dobbelsteen brought his claw towards the map, pointing to the river north of Tall Tale. “Around here. Tanks ran through and over the trenches like it was nothing.” He kept his gaze unfocused. “Some even turned their turrets to face their machine guns along the trench line.”

“How…” Selenite said, stopping in her words for a moment, thinking through. “Thunderbolt couldn’t stop them? Did he have any support?”

Moerman shook his head. “Artillery had to be accepted by divisional commanders. The K-bullets weren’t doing anything to help against the tanks.” He lowered his head with a heavy sigh. “We uh… had to make do with the grenades we had.”

Selenite leaned away from the table, one of her hooves practically shaking in anger. “Divisional commanders? No integrated fires, not even Company requests for support being offered? Did he even have towed guns in his line?”

Jungle briskly turned his head to Selenite. “Why would they want Artillery pieces to answer to the Division?”

“Blueblood wants direct control over his guns,” Moerman said, his beak tightening. “He calls in full-scale barrages across the front. All fine for infantry attacks, but refusing to delegate his guns down to lower commanders let Roland exploit weak spots without direct communication.”

Jungle just shook his head in disbelief. “So… he just orders Sentinel to STANDthere?!”

“It would make sense if we weren’t dealing with a fully motorized army on well-built land,” Selenite said, with a heavy sigh. “Bluebloods committing to a static-line defense with limited counter-offensives. He wants to delay Roland’s forces and buy time for the rest of Equestria to mobilize.”

“Well it CLEARLYisn’t working!” Jungle Trek said, throwing his hoof up into the air. “The ego of that Canterlot-fed pony is costing the lives of soldiers! “ He said, turning back to Moerman. “What could Sentinel do to stop him if all his hooves were tied?”

Moerman tilted his head at the map. “Maybe he’s more concerned with defending the city than halting the Changelings. Even then, a static line only works for so long until the enemy hits something important and exploits it. There’s no way he thinks he’ll hold Tall Tale.”

“Maybe he’s waiting to consolidate?” Selenite said, bringing her hoof towards the map. “Outside of Las Pegasus, but the amount of land he’d give up on the trek down… that’s even assuming he’d stand and fight.” She grit her teeth. “Or just run away like a coward. Again.”

Looking between the two others, Moerman picked up his hat. “Well… time for me to do my job. Trek, show me where Brisk Sweeper is stationed. Tell him I have to steal his phone line.”

“Wha-wait…” Selenite stepped forward. “Moerman…Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Jungle Trek nervously regarded the Griffon in front of him, hiding it with a laugh. “Yeah, uh… Blueblood might not appreciate it if you directly spoke to the Princesses. Sorta steps over Chain of Command?” He blinked. “Something which… is still hard for me to understand as something within your power.”

Standing in front of his two friends, Dobbelsteen Moerman’s eyes glanced between them behind his sunglasses. Their words tried to make their way into his ears, but all that he could really perceive was the heat of the trench he felt mere days ago. The roar of the tracks pulling over his head, and the burning sight of the flamethrowers that filled the position of his fellow soldiers. He could count how many he escaped with. He couldn’t remember how many he lost.

“Don’t worry,” Moerman said, taking a deep breath. “I’ll be real diplomatic.”

Above Your Paygrade

July 19th 1010, 010:48

“Wh…- what are they saying?” Caramel Crunch said, albeit worried at the spectacle before him. “…Is it bad?”

“J-Just - hold still!” Glaring down below her, Sunrise Dare stuck her hoof up against the building to stabilize the tower of ponies. The entirety of Jungle Trek’s squad, and a few additional tag-a-longs, were crowded in the alleyway of the Town Hall, desperately working together to get a glimpse inside. Though, in terms of operational success and teamwork, it wasn’t going well. “Brisk, you are the WORST ladder foundation ever!”

“Oh, I’m SORRY, Sunrise!” The earth pony said, glaring up past Sapphire Stream, who worriedly looked at the ground. “There’s just a lot of WEIGHT to hold up, isn’t there?!”

Wild Strikes, meanwhile, was able to peek through the window using her wings, looking rather smug. “…Amateurs.”

Sunrise glared at both of them. “Caramel won’t be able to save you both.”

Not far from the tower of power, Steel Charts nervously glanced back and forth down the Town Hall alleyway. He did his best to keep as much of his weight off of his foreleg as possible. “Guys… what if somebody catches us? This is a really, really stupid idea!”

Shooting Steps huffed. “Don’t worry. I’ll see them coming.”

“Your eyes are on the tower!”

Her expression didn’t change. “It’s funny.”

“We’re LOOKOUTS! We need to LOOK OUT!”

Caramel Crunch glared at all of them. “Guys! They’re going to hear us!”

Wild Strikes leaned away from the window, her smug tone lifting off into a more kind manner of speaking. “They won’t hear us, Caramel. They’re doing too much of their own yelling.” She even lifted her hoof to do the age-old expression, “Cross-My-Heart-And-Hope-To-Die,” she ratted off, “Stick-A-Cupcake-In-My-Eye.”

Although the expression itself was lightning fast, caramel’s eyes went half-lidded at the flying pegasus’ whimsical flying. Although she was literally just hovering there, that's not what his goo-goo eyes saw. To him, it was almost a majestic waltz through the air. By Celestia, it really was a miracle Wild Strikes didn’t notice.

Everypony else, however, turned their heads. Sapphire Stream, shaking in the middle of the ladder, stopped to ponder the statement. “…Their Own?”

Jungle Trek’s pupils shrunk to little more than dots. “M-Moerman, please stop -”

The Griffon’s claw was swiftly brought up in the air to cut him off, as his cheek held the phone between his shoulder and his beak. Despite being offered a chair no less than twenty minutes ago, Dobbelsteen had refused to remain standing still, let alone take a seat, as he trotted around the table as far as the telephone cord would allow him. “One moment, Sergeant. Sooner or later, I’ll get my customer service.” His head tilted. “Oh! Miss Inkwell? Finally, someone who I can talk to.”

Selenite’s head fell into her hooves. “Forgive him, Princess.”

“Oh they’re in a MEETING? Oh…” He brought the phone away and spoke aloud with a happy sigh, “Oh, it’s gonna be a great day.”

Judging by how swiftly Raven Inkwell bucked open the doors, Celestia considered investing either in more guards, heavier wooden frames, or whatever physical fitness program her personal secretary was on.

Cutting directly through the roundabout discussions of the war council, Raven Inkwell trotted over to Princess Celestia. The Alicorn, however, kept her eyes on the various General officers and gathered ponies of influence around her. Spitfire, who was on the receiving end of a half-discussion, half-lecture from Prince Blueblood, eagerly leaned out of it to watch Raven cut through the room. Twilight Sparkle, who had been setting down reports and updating the sprawled-out map of Northern Equestria, which lay on the table, perked up, bringing with her the gaze of the gathered elements of harmony.

“She’s in quite the hurry.” Rarity said, worriedly leaning over to Applejack. “Oh, her mane even has strands loose!”

Applejack deadpanned away from the secretary to Rarity.

“It’s INKWELL, darling!” She hushed, “That is cause for concern!”

Raven herself took a deep breath, setting down a whole telephone receiver on the table, as two castle guards carried along a ridiculously long cord stretching out of the room. “Apologies, Princess,” Raven said, wiping her forehead with her hoof. “There are way too many stairs in this Castle.”

Luna tilted her head at the equipment, leaning down. “Miss Inkwell…” She said, casting a worried glance to her sister, Celestia. “Is something the matter?”

“There’s a war, dear sister,” Celestia said, taking a deep breath and lowering her gaze. “Something is always the matter.”

Raven Inkwell cleared her throat, as her hoof adjusted her thick-rimmed glasses against his brown mane. “This is my phone. Not many of our interns can really get the hang of the transfer system, so I figured I’d bring this call to you all.” She said, with a sigh. “Physically.”

“Call?” Twilight Sparkle leaned forward on the table, ahead of all of her friends. “From the frontline?”

Fluttershy looked at the telephone. “Is it who we think it is?”

To the side of the Princesses, who were seated at the center of the table, the faded eye of Constant Vigilance now paid full attention to the meeting. He gave a quick look at Blueblood, who sat almost in a cocoon of his fellow staff officers. The Prince’s half-lidded gaze regarded the telephone with a similar air to how he regarded most of everypony else. He leaned over to Celestia, giving her a small nudge. “I’ve seen a lot of things, Princess. I think I’m about to see another.”

At the edge of the table, he waited. One of his claws had practically worn a dent into the handle of the phone with how often he was tapping against it. Moerman’s uniform, unbuttoned and hanging loosely upon him, showing a floral patterned undershirt, was the least of Selenite’s worries at this moment. The Thestral worriedly gave her glances to Jungle Trek, as the two soldiers tried to find the right words.

“General,” Selenite started, taking a deep breath. “Frustration is understandable, but this?” She said, gesturing to the table, “It's a bad idea.”

Dobbelsteen regarded her with a tilt of his head. “I was brought on as an advisor, and I am prepared to do some advising.”

“In a POLITE way, Dobbelsteen!” Jungle Trek said, his helmet resting on the table, and his brown mane curled around his eyes. “I’m already beyond my wits with how you’re able to call these kinds of people, let alone your attitude towards most of them!”

There was an audible click from the telephone, prompting all three soldiers to jolt into silence. Their gazes turned to the telephone, Dobbelsteen brought it away from his shoulder where it rested and out, loosely directed towards his beak.

“Uh… Mr. Moerman?”

Moerman took a breath. “Speaking.”

Hundreds of miles away, traveling through the wires of Moerman’s telephone, across rivers, towns, cities, and forests, the underground phone line led its way all the way up into the deepest halls of Canterlot’s mountainside castle. In an instant, the distance between the capital of Equestria and its far-reaching frontiers and cities, now under assault, was closed. Distance between them mattered little, as with the advent of communication, the atmosphere on the other side of the phone line transmitted into the halls of Canterlot. As the phone sang out the noise on the other end, everypony felt as if they were all in the same room, far north.

Raven Inkwell leaned back from the telephone, its volume cranked up as a speaker to all around the table. “As you requested.” She said, giving a nervous glance to her left and right. “You’re in the War Room. Princess Celestia, Princess Luna -”

Moerman, on the other side, lowered the phone and just shook his head at Jungle Trek. He gestured with the phone as if he could spin it into a fast-forward mode through all of the names and titles.

“Ahem.” Selenite glared, and Moerman brought the phone back up, his golden wings sinking behind him slightly.

“Thank you Miss Inkwell.” Dobbelsteen nodded in the direction of the phone as if she could see his respectful gesture through it. “I’m calling you to give my report, as requested. I hope I’m not… interrupting anything important.”

On the other side of the phone, Celestia spoke. “Not at all, Major,” She said, giving a quick glance to Raven Inkwell, however leaning back upon seeing she already had a notebook out, ready to scribe for the Princess. “We’ve-”

“Been eagerly awaiting it!” Called a voice from the other side of the table. Twilight Sparkle had her own notebook out, too. Glancing between them, Celestia began to wonder who would take better notes. That’s a hard call.

“Excellent, because it's not going to be short, and it's not going to be fun.” Moerman dropped himself into a chair as the telephone wire extended to accommodate. He gave a wink over to Selenite, as he spoke. “You would not believe the week I’ve had.”

Resigned to her fate, the short bat pony took a seat as well, while Jungle Trek searched around the room for more coffee. This was going to be a long meeting.

The occupants of the war room couldn’t help from leaning in. Spitfire’s sunglasses were slowly pulled off of her muzzle and placed on the table in front of her, her eyes darting from the broadcasting phone and the rest of the table. Leaning away from the entourage of officers, Spitfire whispered to the blue Pegasus next to her. “Rainbow Dash…” She said, in a hushed tone. “The Wonderbolts need to steal whatever training the Griffons have.”

Rainbow Dash, eyes wide, could hardly stay still. “W-What happened next?!” She said, throwing up her hooves. “I haven’t heard this much action since A.K. Yearling’s latest Daring Do novel!”

“Hey…” Cracked the voice over the telephone, “I know those books.”

Moerman was snapped out of his recollection, but not his attitude. “Writing action is easy.” He said, leaning out of his chair and giving a glance around the room. “But if I were to put to paper the stupidity I have seen on the part of our Officers, well that’s just lazy writing.”

Selenite’s ears drooped.

Back in the War Room, everypony was jolted from the recollection of the day’s events to the harsh words of the present accusation. Prince Blueblood himself straightened himself at the table, squinting at the telephone. “...I beg your pardon?”

Moerman covered the speaking end of the phone, pressing it into his uniform. “How did he know I was talking about him?” He said with a grin.

Jungle Trek did his best to stifle a laugh, yet still tried to wildly motion to his Griffon friend to stop. Either the gestures weren’t vibrant enough, or Moerman simply didn’t care. The latter was the safer bet, as he brought the telephone back up. “What I mean to say, is this rigidity that your Army has decided to choke itself under.” He pushed up his sunglasses on his beak. “If anypony in this room has experience with a battlefield, you know it is the least pretty, or orderly thing creature kind could conceive, and planning for it to be such is to lose before you can fight.”

As the telephone carried Moerman’s words, Princess Celestia’s eyes glanced towards her left, towards her sister, who was already looking at her. Receiving a nod from Luna, she turned to her right, towards the scarred Earth Pony, Constant Vigilance. She received another nod, as the telephone carried on.

“Which…” Dobbelsteen said, scratching the feathers on his head with his free claw. “is exactly what you all have done. I’ve been informed that counter-offensives are being strictly policed, that defensive positions are not to be abandoned, or, Tartarus, even modified without significant approval from higher command -” He stopped, before leveling his eyes on Selenite.

The bat pony swiftly raised her hooves, beginning to cross them in a ‘NO, NO, NO’ fashion, swiftly trying to interrupt the message he was about to give.

It only motivated the Griffon. “I have EVEN been informed that artillery support is limited to divisional commanders. Keeping them out of the hooves of subordinate units has strangled any subordinate -”

“Who is this nopony we’re subjecting our ears to?” Crackled the telephone, and Moerman actually stopped in his tracks, not even noticing that he was pacing.

Over in Canterlot, Prince Blueblood spoke up from a sea of Equestrian Generals, some of them looking far more agitated at the telephone than others, but none as much as Blueblood. “They were my direct orders. I could spend all the time in the world detailing to YOU, Mr. Moerman, the importance of amassing fires and bombardment against an enemy based upon its firepower, but I figure it’d be lost upon you.”

Surprise. Pure, unadulterated shock. Then, turning his head, the Griffon holding the phone pressed it deep against his uniform, to hide the words he said to Jungle Trek and Selenite. “I have killed creatures for less.”

Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed when Selenite took the phone.

“Artillery won’t be lost upon me, General Blueblood.”

Never mind, her head was not cool either, especially with the tone Selenite so easily recognized. “I do not appreciate the way you communicate to the most direct account of the frontline, but I will not be as brash as our advisor is. I know it must be difficult to see it from behind those walls, sir.”

Jungle Trek leaned over towards the table, “Uh…Moerman?”

The Griffon didn’t take his eyes off the phone, mumbling to himself. “Doesn’t even know what a bullet feels like…”

If Prince Blueblood thought he would gain an ally by looking to Princess Luna, that idea was quickly shot down by the oppressive stare that Luna gave the Noblepony. The telephone did all the speaking for her, even as Blueblood attempted to get a word in. “This is a war conducted over entire fronts, you can not limit your assessment of the war to anecdotal battles -”

Selenite spoke quickly, “I understand, sir. I am merely asking you to consider the perspective of Moerman…” She paused, taking a deep breath. “And myself. I believe it would be better to delegate commanding authority down to the lowest level possible, it could -”

“What would you know of commanding authority, General?”

Selenite tilted her head at the phone, leaning away from it. Jungle Trek just appeared confused, while Moerman still stared at the phone.

“I’m sure not as much as you, sir. Much like you would not know how to operate a gun team as well as I.” Selenite stated, bringing her hoof up. “Guns can operate as teams, not entire batteries, they don't have to be restricted-”

In the War Room, Prince Blueblood stared the phone down from his surrounding entourage of Officers. “I care not for what you perceive. Your inability to understand the bigger picture of this war does not warrant my long-winded explanation, especially since there are much better things to concern oneself with.”

Princess Luna leaned forward, and now the War Room was scared for real. “Tell me, Blueblood.” She said, giving a quick glare to her sister. “Do you have greater concerns than one of my most trusted officers?”

Blueblood winced, but still maintained his ground. “Indeed, Princess. Like winning this war.”

“Wars may be written to be won by ponies like you, but the battles are won by soldiers. Like the ones who died these past few days because of your incompetence.”

The telephone’s voice had changed, and Dobbelsteen Moerman had the phone back in his claw. Jungle Trek swiftly nudged Selenite, and now the two were both leaning away from the Griffon. Back in the War Room, Prince Blueblood recoiled in disgust.

“You have NO commanding authority in this war, Mr. Moerman. Especially none to question the strategy of the larger war -”

“That’s exactly what I was invited to do!”

Twilight Sparkle slowly lifted her head from behind her notebook, her friends, also known as the elements of harmony, all crowding around her as well. Raven Inkwell’s eyes regarded the situation before her with confusion, while Constant Vigilance, between the two Princesses, sort of had a mix of bewilderment and amusement on his face.

“You are a FRONTLINE OFFICER, , not a decision-maker!”

“I wonder how many ponies you’ve gotten killed because of your haughty decision-making in that ivory -!.”

“Mr. Moerman.”

Called a voice, one that pierced the phone line and shook the Griffon out of his steel-eyed anger. Behind his sunglasses, his eyes darted over to Jungle Trek, mouthing. ‘Who is that?’

Celestia’s eyes tore harsher than her words ever could, and now they were piercing right at Prince Blueblood. “I will not tolerate this level of unprofessionalism ever again.” She lowered her gaze to the phone. “That is a thought I do not wish to entertain, Mr. Moerman, and I do not appreciate a statistic such as that being used to win a petty argument over actually executing on your statement and apparent belief.”

Dobbelsteen Moerman actually took off his sunglasses. “Uh…N-No, that’s…that’s not what I meant.”

“And you, nephew,” She said, looking directly back to Blueblood. “If advice is to be given by trusted sources, ones which I have specifically requested to be used to shape our defensive strategy, that is exactly what they will do. It is your duty to listen to those in the fight.”

From such a calm, reasonable pony such as Princess Celestia, even the slightest hint of unfriendliness cut sharper than any sword into the hearts of all who listened, even those not directly mentioned. They soon would be, as Celestia leaned forward from her place at the table, and dragged her gaze at all of its occupants. “Have I made myself clear to everypony here?”

Quick nods were seen from all creatures in attendance. Even on the other side of the phone line, Moerman nodded.

“Good.” Celestia leaned back, her old voice returning. “No more dwelling upon that, then. If what you say is true, Mr. Moerman, perhaps a more decentralized approach to our command structure, at least in the coming battles, could bring us far better luck.” She said, giving a look over to her sister.

Princess Luna now spoke, flashing a small smile at her sister. “I agree. I place the utmost trust in my Officers. If Selenite gives a recommendation, I would be made a fool not to consider it and give it the due process it requires to test.”

The Thestral practically beamed, even as Jungle Trek and Dobbelsteen were still frozen in fear.

“We won't, uh… have to look far.” Twilight Sparkle said, leaning out of her notebook. “If these intelligence reports are true, after the encirclement of Tall Tale, Changeling Forces are preparing to advance through the Pine Creek valley, presumably to the city of Yonderhill.”

“That’s where Swift Wing went off to. The Pine Creek Valley is swampy, forested, their armored forces will have a harder time advancing here.”

“We shouldn’t underestimate them now, Mr. Moerman.”

“...Yeah, you’re right. I can get a better look at them by heading north with my forces from Salt Lick. But… in advance, I’d recommend sending whatever you can to Yonderhill. Losing that much ground…”

Celestia thought on his words. “Can you beat them back, Major?” She leaned forward, and with that action brought the attention of the entire War Room upon her. “Equestria needs a victory. Up until now, the Changelings have had no point where they were halted dead in their tracks. If your exploits of the last couple of days have all been true, and I have the mission reports to believe they are… can I ask of you one more battle?”

The phone stayed silent for a moment.

“I can slow them. I can use the terrain, tear them apart, and make their journey to Yonderhill a nightmare. But in the defense of the City? I cannot do that on my own; not enough soldiers, not enough time. But I promise, reinforcements or not, I will be there.”

Princess Celestia’s face softened, and with it the whole room took a deep breath. “Alright..” The Princess said, tilting her head to look up at the room. “We will force an engagement on the approach to Yonderhill. A battle my ponies will not run from.”

Dobbelsteen Moerman lowered his head. “You need not worry about that, Commander.” He took a deep breath, “Your ponies were short on a great many things…”

“Bravery,” His voice, carried through the telephone, fell heavy on the hearts of the war room. “was not one of them.”

A voice, with an accent as thick as brush in the forest, spoke from the table. “Ah’ll go, Princess,” Applejack said, her hat in her hoof. “Pinkie ain’t that far off from Yonderhill. She’n I can bring some ponies there n’ make it a fortress.” She gave a stern nod, determined to please both of the Princesses. “We’ll beat ‘em back, I swear ta’ ya’ on that, ma’am.”

Rainbow Dash grinned, “Oh, now you’ll TOTALLY win if Applejack’s coming to help. Nopony in this world is tougher than her.” She brought her wings back to her side, effortlessly landing on the floor. “Well… except for me.”

“Mr. Moerman?” From the side of Twilight Sparkle, Fluttershy spoke. “...You uh… said a lot of pretty scary things, Mr. Moerman. I can’t imagine what it was like at Tall Tale.” She gave a quick glance to the ponies on each side of her. “...We can win, though… right?” She nodded directly at Applejack and Rainbow Dash. “I don't want any of my friends to be hurt.”

On the other side of the phone line, Dobbelsteen held the phone in his claw loosely. His claw gently tapped on it, as his eyes cascaded down to glance at the map of the Pine Creek Valley. It was treacherous, downright inhospitable terrain, and his last combat engagement ended with him running for his life. Dobbelsteen took a deep breath and nodded towards Jungle Trek.

“If I didn’t think we could win, I wouldn’t be here.” The phone crackled, as Moerman grabbed his sunglasses, placing them back on his beak. “And I won’t be going nowhere.”

Trek grabbed his helmet, and loaded his rifle.

Everypony Wants To Rule The World

August 4th 1010, 06:32

Vesalipolis

Capital of the Changeling Lands

The placement of the spire, piercing the sky far above any other building, was an adamant demand of Queen Chrysalis. It had to be in the center, merely one piece of her territorial fantasy. How it uprooted the city, sticking out like a blade that embedded itself into the city was fitting, as it was indeed the source of all of its pain. Her eyes happily devoured the sight of the capital, never stopping to rest under the overcast, cloudy days or the pitch-black darkness of the terrible night. Just as it was before she went to bed, so too did she see the city at work as she rose. It was on the clock, exhausting itself for her war, as the piercing tower of Vesalipolis cast it all into eternal shadow, shielding it from the faint glow of the sunrise. The city was desolate, depressing, surrounded by the black smoke of factories pouring out of its many hives.

Chrysalis didn’t care. Her tower was in the center, and that’s what mattered.

“The infrastructure lining the coast of Equestria has served as our own personal highway.” A voice stated, from the dark room behind her. “It's a shame it will run out soon. I was beginning to have fun just driving around them.”

Turning away from the windows, Chrysalis brought her attention to the room, not feeling a need to hold her insidious laugh down. “I may snatch victory from those ponies faster than I did from the Deer. They’ve put up the same sort of fight.” She grinned. “Not one at all.”

Hivesmarschall Trimmel’s uniform glistened with the shine of a dozen medals upon his uniform, bringing some semblance of light into the dark, dreary halls of the tower. “Let them cut and run, if they truly desire it. With the capture of Las Pegasus, we will bypass the Unicorn Range mountains, and southern Equestria will open up to my divisions.” He straightened his uniform, his gaze casting off to the side. “Tanks may have some obstacles on the approach, as the terrain is -”

Chrysalis’ gaze narrowed. “Excuses will not -”

“You will receive excuses from Roland, perhaps,” Trimmel stated, catching the Queen by surprise. He didn’t even flinch under her. “Not me. I am simply comforting myself with the freedom of movement Las Pegasus will provide my forces.” Hivesmarschal Trimmel stopped, bringing his eyes and sinister smile to his Queen. “And the glory it will provide to you.”

Now, the grin upon Chrysalis’ face returned. “Success is always something I can expect from you, Hivesmarschal. Indeed… with their prized luxury city in my hooves,” She drew his gaze and her right hoof upward. For dramatic effect or out of pure passion, is unknown. “Pure despair will infect each and every pony in all of Equestria!”

Her triumphant decree echoed up into the high ceilings of the Castle, twisting itself up its spires and out into the air. It tore into the sky and down into the streets of Vesalipolis, and the frightening visions of conquest were, to Chrysalis, enlightened glimpses of her triumph.

Hivesmarschal Trimmel wasn’t nudged out of his thoughts, gazing to his left. “Our main effort has concentrated on Las Pegasus, but we do not stand idle in other theaters of the war. Fierce resistance has been met on the border of the Crystal Empire, but their lands are largely unimportant. The real question lies in the Equestrian plains.”

Queen Chrysalis averted her eyes back down, and then up to the left where Trimmel was looking.

Both their gazes settled on a vast illustration, a map that clung itself to the stone walls of the tower, deep blue sections of the continent carved to symbolize the Changeling Empire, and the advancement of her forces. The swift Blitz of Trimmel’s tanks was depicted, as was the conquest of Olenia in the West and the fierce battle in the Crystal Empire. Noticeably, however, a chunk of the Equestrian border was left untouched.

“We avoided much of the main effort from those plains. Its lacking industrialization makes it a hard target for my armored forces, be it the far-stretching plains, rolling hills, or the forests and swamps, we’ve left it untouched past our seizure of Salt Lick City.”

Queen Chrysalis tilted her head. “I see no reason we cannot seize these areas in conjunction with yours.”

“It may not be as swift.”

“Yet it would happen.” The Queen gave a smile to Trimmel. “It will, as I have decreed it. They may not be as powerful as your lovely tanks, but our Jäger battalions are especially suited for such treacherous territory.” She gave a shrug to her trusted general. “They proved themselves in their swift crossing of the border at Fairflanks.”

Trimmel tilted his head but gave a nod of approval. “Additionally, in their raids against the Equestrian’s defensive lines around Tall Tale…” He looked up. “Excellent news, my Queen. I wasn’t sure they would be up for an additional deployment after their assignment to Roland.”

“Colonel Zellix commands the Jägers, he was merely tagging along with General Roland. I’m not too sure about his temper, his leadership, his bravery…” She stopped, letting Trimmel lean in to hear the final words.

She let out a low, sinister laugh. “But I am quite a fan of his brutality. I want to hear all about it in Yonderhill.”

August 4th 1010, 06:33

50km South-West of Salt Lick City

Headquarters, 13th Changeling Jäger Division

“Our battalions are near their full strength, sir.” One officer stated.

Another countered. “Our battalions are special battalions, a normal division numbers ten thousand at least.” She adjusted her cap, signifying her to be that of a Sergeant Major. “We hover near three.”

“The number is meaningless.” Spoke a voice within the Command tent, one that sharply cut the attention of all present. A dozen or so officers and senior non-commissioned leaders gathered and now cowered, before the officer at the head. “A division may be the appropriate size to achieve this maneuver for a normal outfit. We are not a normal outfit.” Colonel Zellix’s eyes hardened. “Jägers own these forests, these…”

His hoof faltered, gesturing to the treacherous terrain marked out on the map sprawled out between them. “Obstacles…” His glare rose to pierce his subordinates. “It may cause Trimmel to turn elsewhere, Roland to stop, and most any other officer to avoid it. Not I. If these ponies want to cower, it is my job as the metaphorical Eagle to drag them kicking and screaming from their holes, like rats to the slaughter.”

The Sergeant Major looked around, before taking a deep breath. “Sir, this entire environment is against us. We may be well trained, but our logistics will be impossible to handle -”

“Impossibility is the excuse of the weak, Sergeant.” Zellix’s voice and gaze grew bitter.

“But it's something to consid-”

Zellix slammed his hooves down onto the table, causing both the pencils on it and the attendants around it to jump. “CONSIDER…” His intense, yet viscous voice poured out from his throat in a faint growl of displeasure, as he twisted his head from one leader to another. “our mission. Yonderhill is the target, and the ponies will HIDE behind it until we seize it. The Queen herself wishes for its capture, and not ONE of you feels a call to satisfy her demand?”

Silence gripped the soldiers in the tent.

“I…” Zellix said, leaning back and regaining his breath. “have a mission. The cowardice of you ‘leaders’, so-called, will not stand in the way of it. If the ponies want to cower, we will hunt them. The Jägers will burn their forests, roll over their streets, and blast any opposition to that end.”

The Sergeant-Major stood as still as her fear would allow her. Her eyes stuck close to the ground, not daring to look back up, for fear of the monster before her.

“Is that clear… to ALL in attendance?”

She only nodded quickly, as did the rest of the room.

Colonel Zellix looked at his subordinates with further disgust, before his hoof gripped the pistol off of the table and slid it back into the holster on his side. He looked back down to the map, pushing his thin-rimmed glasses back up to his eyes. “If they wish to play the hunted,” He snarled, placing his Officer’s cap on top of his silver hair…

“I will all too eagerly play the hunter.”

August 4th 1010, 12:34

Griffenheim, Capital of the Griffonian Empire

“A month.” He said, his gaze still locked onto the papers in front of him on his desk, and a claw gently tapping upon it in thought. “I haven’t had word from that Griffon in over a month.”

Peering out the window of Gerlach’s study within the Imperial Palace, Gabriela Eagleclaw just gave a small shrug. “If the Empire had an idol for each time Dobbelsteen Moerman followed orders, you realize nothing about our situation would change, correct?”

Gerlach lifted his eyes, though only one was in a good condition to look at her. “You’re lucky sarcasm is one of many things that I fell in love with.”

Now she turned her gaze away from the window, eyes narrowed. “You say that about everything I do.”

Her husband shrugged and went back to work.

Rolling her eyes, though not without a smile, Gabriela fully turned to face Gerlach, leaning on the window. “You and I both knew he wouldn’t be content to stay in the capital. I told you as such.” She brought up one of her wings to enunciate her point. “It’s why we sent him, and none of the others.”

“Just hope I hear something from him soon.” Gerlach gently leaned away from the desk and stood up onto his paws and claws. As he raised his wing to push the chair in, he met Gabriela’s gaze. “This war may be the most important of our history. The technology, tactics, who knows who could learn from it.” His tone of voice was gradually working itself up, before with a heavy sigh, it wound back down to his usual, soft voice. “Who knows what they could use against him...”

Gabriela leaned off the wall, a coy smile on her beak. “You never stop worrying about him, do you?”

“Stones and glass houses, Gabriela, you’re worse than I am,” Gerlach stated, coming around his desk, as the two Griffons, and two rulers of the Griffonian Empire, met in the center of the study room. “Dangerous doesn’t begin to describe it. There is no such thing as being over-prepared.”

Gabriela shrugged. “We’ll have to be satisfied with Twilight’s correspondence as of now, Gerlach. There’s no use in worrying about things we cannot control.” She said, as her claw dug into one of her pockets and retrieved a small notebook.

“As for things in our control, Grover should be done with his lessons in fifteen minutes..” She continued to list off things, her claw pointing them out as she went. “Kogchel made a big speech about how great the both of us are after the housing program -”

Her husband winced, “I really don't want them to be called ‘Gerlach-blocks’. At all.”

She tilted her head, “It’s not the official name, just what… every creature calls them… in the press, on the street -” She cut herself off. “They all say good things! They all have a home, and it was your idea. It’s a term of endearment.” She said, her eyes meeting his with a reassuring twinkle. “Darling, seriously, they’re fantastic, you practically took years off your life perfecting the idea.”

Gerlach didn’t say anything for a moment. “...Don’t hold eye contact with me for that long, I may faint.”

Gabriela brought up her wing to cover her laugh, before nudging him with her wing. “Come on, we’ve got a lot more things to sort through.” She held open the door to his study for him. “Oh, and you know Count Francis, in Francistria?”

“There are nine of them.”

Gabriela rolled her eyes. “The one that’s alive, Gerlach.” Yet, she smiled as the door closed behind him. “He’s being married next month, to a Griffoness Noblelady named Bianca. We’ve all been invited to their wedding.”

A look of surprise flashed across Gerlach’s face. “...Him? Francis the Ninth? The Griffon who stutters every word?” He actually got a small smile at that. “Good for him.”

Gabriela smirked, as she brought her notebook back into her pocket. “Seems I started a fever that’s going around. Shy Griffons seem to be all the rage this summer.” The Pink Griffon cast her eyes over to her husband. “Good thing I got you before anygriff else did.”

Gerlach couldn’t hold down a smile breaking his usual stoic demeanor, yet he still tried. “...I don’t see harm in attending.”

August 4th 1010, 06:35

Canterlot, Capital City of Equestria

War Room

With no meeting scheduled this early in the morning, Constant Vigilance was given a small shock of surprise when the heavy doors pulled apart, the halls of Canterlot Castle echoing the distinct hoof steps of Princess Celestia, accompanied by none other than Twilight Sparkle.

Celestia smiled softly. “I hope you don’t mind me bringing along my most faithful student.”

Though he was leaning forward over the large conference table, Constant’s gaze had to be pulled away from the shining, stained glass windows to acknowledge the two Princesses. With a deep nod, he answered. “My protests would mean very little.”

Twilight gave a confused glance over to Princess Celestia, the two of them trotting forward to the table. In a gesture of reassurance, Celestia gave a brief nudge of her wing to her student’s side, as she responded. “Your protests would probably be the only one which would mean something. That's why I’m here.”

Now it was Constant’s turn to smile. “Here I thought you were checking up on an old friend.”

Celestia feigned offense, though not keeping her laugh down. “I can do two things at once.”

Twilight Sparkle managed to grow a small smile among their company, “I think this is the first time I’ve entered this room and not been scared out of my skin. It can get pretty noisy in here, with all of those ponies in one room.”

Celestia let out a chuckle, “Not just ponies, Twilight.” Though, as she brought her gaze back up across the table, her laughter slowly drifted off. Twilight’s did as well.

Constant’s eyes were back on the windows and in a haze. Not really focused on the windows themselves, or anything in particular. His eyebrows were narrowed in thought, yet he didn’t seem to be thinking of anything. His pupils shifted only slightly, but quickly. Only one of his eyes was scarred, yet both of them were blinded at this moment. Closing them didn’t block out the visions he experienced either, as the old, gray Earth Pony calmed his breathing.

Celestia leaned forward, slight worry in her voice. “Are you alright, old friend?”

Vigilance nodded, bringing his gaze back down to the map. “Yes, Princess. Worrying is my job, not yours.” He said, with an unconvincing smile. “It’s hard to remain in here when the fight is out there.”

Twilight tilted her head. “You’ve fought for Equestria on more occasions than most ponies. Ones most would hardly even know of.” She gave a look to Celestia, “And, being charged with the defense of Canterlot is very important! I know I couldn’t do that.”

“If I have to perform that job, Twilight, we may have already lost,” Constant said, not taking his eyes off the map. It was clear that the words of the Major had struck the heart of the older Earth Pony as he continued, “From here, it can be interpreted as a numbers game. It's why I don’t blame many of those in attendance for acting the way they do. We can send however many ponies, weapons, and equipment we can to whatever area of this map we desire.” He shook his head. “You can’t get the full picture from here.”

“Yonderhill could be how we turn this around, Constant,” Twilight said. “If we can win there, we can stop the Changelings from advancing in that area, and focus everything we can on Las Pegasus. We can buy ourselves time to…” She lost her words as she talked through it, huffing in frustration.

“If we win, Twilight.” Constant turned to Celestia. “I truly believe we encounter the difficulties we have in this war because of our attitude towards war. We know nothing of it, and the few of us that do never want to speak about it.” He gave a small shudder. “I know I don't. Many of us refuse to even try to learn it.”

Celestia tilted her head. “You speak of my nephew?”

“I speak of them all, Princess.” Constant sighed, pausing to think on his words. “The truth is, Princess, we’re taking quite a gamble with Yonderhill. It’s our only option, but you must understand that this will be vicious, chaotic, and Yonderhill will be unrecognizable after it.” His eyes leveled on the two Princesses. “In a fight as desperate as this, you cannot let the defense of the city be commanded from inside this building.”

“Applejack and Pinkie Pie are on their way to Yonderhill,” Twilight said, “But the two of them aren’t soldiers. My friends…” She breathed a shaky sigh. “I worry about them a lot, Princess.” She said to Celestia. “A whole lot.”

Taking in the worried gaze of Constant, and the breaking emotional wall of her student, Celestia cast her gaze off to the side to think. “...I worry for them too, Twilight. I know they’ll come back safe. I hope all of my ponies will.” As her flowing mane caught the sun’s light through the windows of the Castle, Celestia armored herself again with stoicism. “I know they will. My Little Ponies have their friends to protect. That’s all they need.”

Twilight Sparkle, comforted by the words of Celestia, looked back to Constant. “We can win this. I know we can, but… we hardly have any experience in this. Applejack is a farmer, Pinkie Pie is a party planner. My friends and the ponies I met who find themselves on this front are some of the most wonderful I’ve ever met, but… they aren’t soldiers.”

With those piercing, worried words by Twilight, Constant Vigilance was able to snap himself out of his trance, straightening himself and his posture. “I know a fair deal of being a soldier, Twilight. A battlefield is a chaotic, disorganized mess with confusion reigning supreme.” On those words, his visions returned in the slightest, but he shook them away. “Not always, though. In a group of soldiers, you may have those confused, those scared, those frightened out of their minds, plagued by the thought they won't leave alive. It can rule supreme, these horrible emotions, and lead all of them to their death.”

Twilight followed the gaze of Celestia down to the board. Pieces that symbolized divisions and cities were more than the wood they were made of. Each represented ponies, her ponies, and there weren’t as many of them on the board today as there was yesterday.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” Constant said. “All it takes is one. Any soldier can pierce through that cloud and lead them through that haze of death.” He trotted slowly around the table, standing beside Twilight, with Celestia on the other side. “One warrior on the battlefield will be worth more than ten thousand of these Jägers.”

Twilight looked to Constant. “One Griffon can’t possibly make that much of a difference. He can’t win a battle on his own.”

“He’s the only one who knows that.” Constant gave a small smile. “You may think they’re responsible for all victory, planning everything down to minute details and masterminding it all, but that goes out the window after the first shot. It’s why I detest being in this castle, but it's also why I have confidence in the outcome of this battle, at least more than the rest.”

Princess Celestia locked eyes with Constant. “...I put a lot of faith in my ponies, and even more in this officer. At your recommendation, and upon yours, dear Twilight.” She gave a brief nod of her head. “I trust the both of you but… how can you be sure, old friend? It seems ludicrous to ask this much of them.”

Constant’s hoof was brought up, rubbing at his scarred eye before placing it back down. “Unprofessional, yes. Lacking customs and courtesy, undoubtedly. But there’s a care in that soldier. He understands an Officer is concerned with only two things.” His gaze drifted back towards the map, towards the small dot that symbolized the city of Yonderhill.

“How to fight, and if necessary, how to die.”

August 4th 1010, 06:36

Shire Theater

Moerman’s Reorganized Forces

Thirty-Five minutes until movement to Yonderhill

How everypony fit in this auditorium, is a question for the reader, not the author.

It was packed. Those lucky enough to find seats watched either in slight sinister enjoyment or pity as their comrades were forced to either stand at the back of the now-closed theater or be one of the unlucky ones who laid down with their hooves outstretched in the walkways that cut between the sections of seats. Three sections, with each holding a platoon of ponies. At least, as much as it could hold. Lucky Twirl was among the few unlucky without a seat, but her eyes were laser-focused on the stage.

Off to the side, arriving a little late, sporadic visitors from the Night Guard Artillery detachment also intermingled with the crowd. Their dark, neatly pressed uniforms were often a quiet topic of discussion and good-natured jealousy among the rest of the room.

“There are three things that cause you to die in battle,” Moerman said aloud, turning back to the seats. “Does anypony wanna take a guess as to what they are?”

Worried mumbles, glances, and breathing, but no hooves.

“...I have candy.”

A lot of hooves went up in the air.

“Yes, Sunrise Dare?”

Shooting up out of her seat, she exclaimed. “The enemy!”

Moerman sighed, “Y-Yeah, I mean…” He sighed, pushing his sunglasses up his beak. “More so, abstract concepts.”

She sunk back into her seat, mumbling over to Shooting Steps. “What a nerd.”

“Swift Roller?”

Standing at the back of the small theater, the logistical officer held up her cap as a way of raising her hoof. “Preparation!”

“Uh…” Dobbelsteen shrugged, “warmer, but that’s talking about a mission. We’re focusing on you all as individuals right now.” Under his uniform, the collar of his floral-button down shirt stuck out around his neck, as the Griffon paced the small stage. “Think of things that you can do, or things that affect you.”

Shooting Steps rose, “Luck.”

Dobbelsteen pivoted, with a smile on his face. “Now we are getting somewhere. That’s exactly right!” He turned to address the wider audience. “An artillery shell, a grenade, where a Changeling just happens to fire wildly. There are many factors that are 100% out of your control in a fight that can give you an untimely demise through no fault of your own.” He reached into the pocket of his uniform and prepared to throw a small mint.

Shooting Steps stammered. “N-No, I don’t want any cand -”

The mint hit her in the muzzle, and she sat back down with the glare. Her hooves still unwrapped it, though, much to the jealousy of Sunrise Dare next to her.

“Major Maerman, sir?”

Dobbelsteen mumbled, with a dejected sigh. “Is my name really that hard to -” He let it go, “Uh, yes, Caramel Crunch?”

Near the front of the auditorium, and sitting right next to Wild Strikes, Caramel’s quiet voice felt no opposition in the quiet theater. “Doesn’t that mean that… we can’t really control if we get hurt?”

Bringing up a claw, Moerman was a lot happier than the rest of the room, who were now positively worried. “Hold that thought. What’s another factor? What’s the WORST thing you can do if somepony is shooting at you?” He paused for a moment. “...Shooting Steps is not allowed to answer this question.”

Her glare intensified, her hoof coming back down. “...I knew the answer, too.”

Sunrise sighed. “At least you got a mint.”

Sapphire Stream grinned, standing up from her spot in the walkways between the seats. “Freezing!”

Snapping his claw into a gun, Moerman nodded. “Exactly. One of the most common responses to sudden, imminent danger among those not trained, is to freeze. Confusion, shock, a whole list of things can overload our brains and lock us in place.” He addressed the whole auditorium now. “The absolute worst decision you can make is no decision at all. Get down to the ground, run away, shoot back, curl up in a ball, and sob if you have to -”

Laughter was started throughout the crowd, even all the way in the back, as Swift Roller nodded to the pony at her side, Strawberry Cinnamon. “That’s probably what I’d do.”

The Griffon continued. “Just… don't freeze. I’d rather you make a wrong decision than be dead. So, if the things that lead to our demise are concepts rather than single decisions, we have luck, we have making no decision at all…” He stopped his pacing on the stage. “...What’s one thing that's bigger than them all? These two only make up ten percent of deaths. What triumphs both of them?”

Ponies in the crowd looked around at each other. Sapphire Stream mumbled. “Wait… am I gonna get a piece of candy?”

Caramel leaned over, “...Bad medics?”

Wild Strikes glared back, nudging him in the side with a smirk. “We have a pretty good one.”

“STUPIDITY!” One voice called out, catching the attention of the whole room.

Selenite had to jump to be seen, being shorter than most of the ponies around her, but her piercing voice did most of the work for her. “Preventable, nonsensical actions that most of us wouldn’t do in a sane state of mind, but we do not think about when we are full of adrenaline!”

Silence simmered in the auditorium, glances exchanged between the Night Guard detachment, as Dobbelsteen stood still. “I’m not giving you any candy, Selenite.”

“I EARNED it!”

With a roll of his eyes, the laughter of the ponies throughout the theater, and the cheers of the Night Guard for their commander, Dobbelsteen adopted a perfect, hand-grenade throwing pose to launch a mint squarely into Selenite’s hoof. Oh, and he threw one to Sapphire Stream as well. Better late than never.

“Though that may sound like a personal attack, she’s entirely right,” Dobbelsteen said, bringing up his wing to gesture to the crowd. “when all of you are under the stress of combat, you think differently. Certain things don't apply, we rely on our basest impulses. In most cases, it keeps us alive. But it cannot run our minds.” He brought his wing down. “We must control it. Listen to it, but understand we are its master.”

Murmurs went through the crowd.

“But what does this mean, really mean…” He said, stopping and pivoting on his paws and claws to point at everypony's favorite medic. “Caramel Crunch?”

Standing back upon his hooves, the young medic now noticed the many pairs of eyes upon him. His eyes kept drifting downward in front of him, before a gentle nudge to his side, from his ever-present friend Wild Strikes, raised them. Her smile gave him comfort, enough comfort to look back to his commander and speak. “Uhm… if freezing and luck is only a small part,” He said, “that means that most of it is our decisions. We, on average, can control whether we…” He took a deep breath. “...die.”

The theater was left clinging on to Caramel’s final word, their gazes shifting uncomfortably from the medic to the Major. Dobbelsteen Moerman brought up a claw to straighten his uniform, giving a nod to Caramel. “Outstanding, Caramel. That’s exactly right.” Bringing up his blonde-feathered wing, he used it to gesture to the board. “Luck and freezing are minor compared to our own decisions. Training, discipline, and practice tackle 90% of death.” He stood straight before his soldiers. “In an average outfit, 90% of deaths are preventable.”

In the eyes of the soldiers before him, worry and fear gripped them. Breathing had all but stopped.

“We are not an average outfit.” Dobbelsteen Moerman went down the line, his sunglasses seeming to maintain contact with everypony at once. “Preventable deaths are preventable, and that is precisely what we will accomplish. You are all in one unlucky state, but if it weren’t an uphill battle, Griffenheim would not have sent me.”

Whispers arose from the crowd.

“...Is…Is he really from the Empire?” Asked one pony.

Another responded. “Jungle Trek said Celestia sent him here..”

The Major continued. “You were abandoned by your officers before, and you have fallen under my command. Abandonment will not happen again. I’m sure you all have been well aware of the coming engagement at Yonderhill. Jäger forces, the best of the Changeling infantry, will come to bear down upon it. We will be there to meet them. The High Command, The Princesses, and all of Equestria depend on this battle. I depend upon you.”

Silence filled the auditorium, with Moerman taking a pause in his words. They straightened, those ponies in the seats, in the back, resting upon the floor. Each strained forward to hear even the softest mutter from the Griffon.

“In war… soldiers die. I have been to Cloudbury. I have been to Griffonstone.” He straightened his posture. “I have fought the pirates of Haukland, the bandits of Blackrock, I led the best of soldiers against the worst of creature kind in Hellquill. I have never ended a deployment with the same numbers as I began with.”

The room was frozen.

Dobbelsteen brought up his claw, taking off his sunglasses. His blue eyes met those of the ponies in front of him. “I will do everything in my power to bring you all home. I will train you. I will fight with you. Be you alive or dead, I will never leave you. Going forth, I will impart upon you the experience that only a dozen wars, conflicts, and a dozen more that will never show up in history books will show. I can train you into the finest soldiers Equestria has known, and will ever know.”

Practically everypony was on the edge of their seat, the ponies who had knelt down to give an unobstructed view to their friends couldn’t help the urge to sit up straighter and taller.

“My training will prevent 90% of your deaths. Who here knows how to prevent 100% of them?”

Stepping out from the assembly of ponies in the back, Jungle Trek held his helmet in his right hoof, with his rifle slung across his back. The Earth Pony raised his helmet high in the air, announcing to a watchful crowd:

“By killing every bug you see!”

Worry dissipated, and fear was annihilated, as strength and determination rose in the soldiers assembled in the closed-down theater, with sporadic cheers and whistles of agreement rose. Their gazes returned to the Major, who smiled at the words of his friend.

“I know the kind of war Chrysalis thinks she will wage. A swift conquest. An easy fight. She marches her forces straight for us because of her own reality in which we do not fight back.” He looked down at his soldiers. “A reality which will shatter like glass.”

Smiles rose among the crowd, as conversations spread out between them.

Wild Strikes leaned over. “Hey, we’re going to be fine.” She held out a hoof to Caramel. “Promise.”

Caramel brought his own hoof up. “Emphasis on we, right Wild?”

She laughed. “Oh, have a little more faith in me than that. Somepony’s gotta make sure anypony who messes with you is as good as dead.”

Sunrise Dare looked over to Shooting Steps. “We can do this, right?”

The sniper, reserved as always, kept her gaze forward. “Somepony has to stop the Changelings.” She couldn’t hold down a smirk. “I don't mind being one of the first to do it.”

As resolve settled over the crowd, Selenite’s Night Guard expectantly looked to their commander, as she brushed her silvery mane behind her eyes. She gave a smile to Moerman on the stage, with a nod, one that he returned. Soon, the room returned their eyes back to him, as the Griffon picked his Officer’s cap up from where it rested, hanging off the chalkboard. “It will be hard, ponies. The training will be intense. Years of experience will be instilled in days. But know that it is possible. You and I have the opportunity to participate in the greatest battle of Equestria’s history. I won’t be able to guarantee your survival, nor my own.”

He paused, as he placed his sunglasses back upon his beak, and brought his Officer’s cap back onto his head. The acceptance of his own death brought the room to hang on his final words, words which brought the whole room into a determined rage. They wanted what he promised, something that breathed new life into Equestria’s struggle for survival. Dobbelsteen smiled and gave a promise.

“But I can show you the best way to die.”

The First Rodeo

August 20th 1010, 13:25

Yeahcon Valley

Moerman’s Militia

A gentle breeze threatened to toss some of her precious documents off of the table and onto the dirt below, but Swift Roller quickly shuffled them under an unlit lantern, her mind elsewhere. As her hazel eyes drifted over the columns, rows, and lists of equipment, the numbers of personnel and records of accountability, and the differences she was tasked with closing, it all blended in her mind in just the right way. Gently bobbing her head, pushing her dark brown mane behind her light blue coat, she kept a small smile as she shuffled through them.

“Hm, hm, hm-hm hm hmm…”

Her humming flowed up and down, briefly stopping when her eyes squinted at a discrepancy, and tilted her head. No, she already accounted for that. She returned to humming, stuffing the papers away.

“Bum, Bum, Bum-bum bum-” She now gleefully smiled. “Do-do, do do-”

A voice gently prodded from behind. “...Um, excuse me?”

The humming continued.

Selenite leaned forward, clearing her throat. “Captain Roller?”

Papers flew. Alerted out of her logistician’s daydream, Swift Roller swiftly turned around to be eye-to-eye with General Selenite. Not necessarily eye-to-eye, given the fact the Thestral officer was a whole head shorter than her, and the way both of them recoiled at the sudden movement didn’t help. Thankfully, both officers were able to snag the documents out of the air before they landed on the ground. “Oh, terribly sorry, ma’am, I must have lost track of time.”

Selenite shook her head, holding out her hoof full of documents back to Swift Roller. “W-Well, I should have knocked -”

“On a tent?”

She looked to the side. “Well, if this is your humming time, it's rude to interrupt.”

The two officers stared at each other for a moment, before breaking out into gentle giggling, Swift Roller shaking her head. “It’s just something I do when I get into long bouts of thinking. Makes it more fun as I keep track of more things.” Setting the documents down, she held up a hoof. “But… don't tell any other ponies, please. I got weird looks when I first started doing it.”

“Your secret is safe with me.” Selenite gave a smile, moving over to her side as the two of them averted their eyes onto the table. Gentle wind flowed from the forest that surrounded them, causing a gentle flap in the tent. The walls of the tent were rolled up, with groups of ponies working the earth, and the occasional Pegasus flying by. “My guns aren’t exactly the strongest of calibers, but I’ve had my Night Guard work to build them into the defenses.”

Selenite’s hooves placed themselves onto the map she brought. “This is an overview of the Yeahcon Valley.”

The supply officer blinked her hazel eyes. “Uhh…” She looked over. “There’s… nothing really on here.”

“Exactly,” Selenite grinned. “Because that’s exactly where we have the best shot.” Turning her gaze to the few markings on the map, she ran her hoof down one of its bolder lines. “There exists one major railway in the valley. It runs directly from Salt Lick City, through where we are, up these hills, and onto Yonderhill itself.” Barely holding in her excitement, the small Thestral leaned over to Swift Roller. “...Notice anything?”

“Well,” Swift Roller said, bringing her hoof to her muzzle to think. “If the rail is the only thing cutting through all of this forest, that's probably the path the Changelings will take.” Her eyes were brought up away from the map and to her surroundings. “And this is the same railway we’re positioning ourselves on?”

Selenite grinned, pointing at the map. “We are here, at this railway junction. It leads to Whitebell in the north, Pine Creek in the south, and Yonderhill straight through. It’s a pretty important place.”

Swift Roller’s pupils gradually receded. “That… sounds like a very important target.”

“Or,” General Selenite said, “A perfect opportunity. You received new shipments of ammunition and shells for our artillery, correct?”

Swift nodded. “Of course.”

“Rations for the next three days at least?”

“Four days.” Swift Roller boasted a smaller smile than her counterpart. “I’ve kept a record of incoming medical supplies as well to be dispersed amongst the platoon medics -” She raised her head, flipping through her papers on the table. “Not to mention our water supply as well -” She breathed a sigh, “If I’m honest, General Selenite, this may be the first time we’re… fully supplied.”

“Then the hard part is done.” Selenite grinned, stepping away from the table and looking out of the tent. Before her, hard wooden rail lines surrounded by pine forests met in a large, sweeping interchange in a clearing, spreading off in four directions. Mounds of dirt and sandbags were piled up and staged, as the shapes of ramparts and foxholes were beginning to take shape. “You have the most difficult job here, Captain Roller.”

Swift blinked. “R-Really?”

Selenite nodded. “As long as my Night Guard,” stopping for a moment, she gave a shrug, “And Moerman’s soldiers, if they can keep up, have their supplies? We can fight all day.”

Captain Swift Roller trotted over to Selenite's side, holding her papers in her left hoof. Her bright blue coat contrasted heavily with the dark gray of Selenites, not to mention their height and uniform difference, they were practically complete opposites. Still, they both smiled at the prospect.

“I’m sure we can fight all night, too, General.” Roller smiled. “My friends in this unit are the bravest ponies I’ve ever met.”

Selenite actually let out a laugh, turning to face her friend. “The day is yours to fight, Captain.” She said, before making a small show of adjusting her crisp, Night Guard uniform. “But the night is ours to win.”

Moerman’s Militia

Center of the Railway crossing

Steel Charts had brought his head up from the map in his hooves to his surroundings, and back down to the map about four or five times before he finally accepted the reality of the situation. “Fine… I suppose we won’t have any pillboxes.”

Waiting at his side, with very little patience, Brisk Sweeper sighed in relief. “We barely have the materials to construct an outhouse for everypony, much less a line of bunkers to turn this place into Canterlot!”

“Bunkers require concrete.” Steel Charts said, folding the map and putting it in his uniform. “You can make a pillbox out of sandbags if you want -”

“WE DON'T HAVE THAT MANY SANDBAGS EITHER!”

Glaring at one another, Steel Charts and Brisk Sweeper turned their gazes to an approaching Earth Pony, who took off his helmet to wipe a bead of sweat from his brow under his brown mane. Jungle Trek just shook his head as he approached. “Great to see the engineers aren’t digging any trenches out there with us.”

Steel Charts blinked his charcoal eyes, much like his coat. “Those tank traps you see down this rail line aren’t much, but scattered like that, they should hold back any advancing Changeling Tanks.” He shrugged. “That is, if they bring any all the way out here.”

“If they did, I’m sure Moerman already blew it up in his patrols.” Jungle Trek peered down the rail line. Sure enough, behind a line of sandbags, mounds of dirt, and assorted ponies on watch, a dozen heaps of raw metal sat cluttered in no particular pattern. “...Shouldn’t they be placed on some sort of line?”

Steel Charts shook his head. “Major’s instructions. No tanks driving around all those anyway, and they’re too scattered to cover any good amount of enemy soldiers.”

Brisk Sweeper leaned in. “Jungle, how far are you spreading us out in the forest? We don’t have that many ponies to begin with, and however many they are coming at us with, it's surely a whole lot more than what we’ve got.”

“Well, if we don’t hold it, any refugees from Tall Tale woulda’ went through all those tunnels for nothing.” Jungle held his helmet in his hoof, pointing down the railroad tracks. “Applejack and Pinkie Pie already arrived with whatever reinforcements they could muster.”

Steel Charts looked in confusion from Trek to Brisk Sweeper. “I'm still surprised somepony that important, let alone two, came out here"

“Hopefully, they can make miracles, Jungle.” Brisk Sweeper said. “We barely got out of Fairflanks and Salt Lick alive, and I don't like our re-debut onto the battlefield being this. This could end terribly, and we can’t count on strokes of good luck as we have been.”

Jungle Trek tilted his head. “You seriously do not have an ounce of belief in your body.” His rifle had been slung across his back, his uniform darkened by trudging up earth from the forest. “Now, are you two coming to help me dig trenches, or are you fine with second-guessing everything?”

Brisk Sweeper sighed, trotting over past Jungle Trek and Steel Charts. “Somepony has to.”

Moerman’s Militia

About 100 yards away

“Why do they get such cooler uniforms than WE do?”

Berry Twist slung the radio gently off his back and onto the dirt below, looking out to his left and right at the ponies working in the woodline of the pine forest around the railroad junction. “Strawberry, are our uniforms less cool than the Night Guard ponies?”

Turning her head away from the assembly of sandbags in front of her, Strawberry Cinnamon brought her rifle into her lap and brushed aside her red mane. “I don't think so.” She glanced down. “I think our purple uniforms have a nice simplicity to them.”

Her comrade only squinted. “You just called our uniforms lame.”

She tilted her head, “There is beauty in simplicity.”

Trotting forward to the sandbag line, Berry Twist dragged his radio behind the sandbags. “They said they wanted this radio right up at the frontline, so they could talk to all the other positions.” He said, looking over. “So, I guess that means we’re hanging out.”

“...Do you have any snacks?”

Berry Twist squinted. “I have to pay rent in this foxhole?”

The two laughed, as Strawberry Cinnamon shifted over behind her sandbag and leveled her rifle back on top of her fortification. Berry Twist, meanwhile, began setting up the peculiar impromptu radio station. Though her eyes focused down the rail line, which stretched out into the far distance and consumed by the pine forest, Strawberry Cinnamon’s mind drifted elsewhere.

It wasn’t too long ago, not long at all. It didn't take much for Strawberry to have her eyes haze over and her mind drift back to that bumpy, awful truck ride weeks ago. Her mind became tortured with the faces of her friends, the profound sadness and defeat she felt in that very moment lingering in her stomach. Shifting her head, she looked away from the sights of her rifle and to her side. Berry Twist, who sat next to her in the truck, was terrified. She wondered if he somehow hid it better than she did.

“...Twist?”

Berry stopped, the purple-coated stallion turning away from his radio at her tone of voice. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Strawberry lowered her rifle in her lap once more. “So… you remember when this first started, and they took us into that truck? Away from Fairflanks?”

Lowering his head slightly, he nodded.

“I wanted to talk about it.” Strawberry sighed. “Not really to bring the mood down or anything, but how that moment felt, and still kind of feels. You sat next to me in the truck, and you were a little scared -”

“Strawberry, I was absolutely terrified.”

Somehow, that got the both of them laughing. Berry Twist continued to speak, adjusting some knobs on his radio. “I know, and you were too. We were in a bad situation.” He ran a hoof through his mane with a sigh. “But… we got out. We shouldn’t keep our minds locked in a cage after we already broke out of one.”

“I wouldn’t say we broke out.” Strawberry looked back over the sandbag. “We had quite the unusual help. But, yeah I just wanted to make sure you were okay after all of that. If it bothered me, I know it must have bothered you.”

Brisk smiled. “I think we’re going to get our fair share of payback.” He did, however, raise his head. “...Still. Wonder how in Tartarus that Griffon showed up out of nowhere… and for wha -” He felt a nudge against his side, Strawberry Cinnamon nodding in a certain direction.

“Talk about being held prisoner, at least you’re not attending that class.”

80 Yards Away

The Longest Firearms Instruction Class In Equestrian History

“Most soldiers when they’re shot can't believe it.” Shooting Steps explained. Her hooves held her scoped bolt action rifles. “Oftentimes you’ll see a Changeling pop their head up, thinking they can only get shot once. Usually, the second shot is easier than the first, and you can get a really good one that sprays that ichor -”

Two dozen ponies stared in fear.

The silent, gruff sniper pony just sighed. “...So, this isn’t a safe space, I see.”

At her side, a slightly disturbed Sapphire Stream shifted the conversation. “Well, let's go back to being on topic. Now, the chances that you all will have to take my machine gun from my lifeless body are -” She paused to laugh, before quickly dropping to a stern glare. “Zero.”

The ponies didn’t know who was worse.

Sapphire beamed back up into a cheerful tone. “But, just in case, this:” She said, before holding up her weapon. “is a machine gun. It feeds ammunition from this big circle that clicks in on top of it, like so.” She pounded the magazine with her hoof on top of the weapon for emphasis. “Now, who can tell me what a machine gun does?”

“Kill Bugs.”

“I wasn’t asking you, Steps.”

One of the ponies in the crowd raised her hoof. “Uh… shoot really fast?”

Stream smiled, continuing. “Absolutely, it does shoot very fast. So fast that the heat of its firing could melt the barrel if you aren’t careful. Short bursts conserve both ammunition and the weapon itself.” She held her hoof up, closing her eyes in pride as if she were a professor. “A good rule of hoof is to say to yourself, ‘I like cupcakes with fries’!”

Shooting Steps grinned. “Or, you could say, ‘Die Mother-”

“NO!”

50 Yards Away

Sitting on the wooden beams that made up the railroad tracks, Sunrise Dare scarfed down another spoonful of her ration, hardly taking the time to chew before asking another question. “So, where have you been, anyway?”

Yellow Rock shrugged. “Here and there. Our squads kinda all have been separated these past couple of days, filling in holes left in other platoons and such. Me most of all though. A simple riflemare is ‘tradeable’ and all that.”

Sunrise practically choked on her food. Considering how often she talked with her mouth full, it's a miracle she didn’t. “That is SO not true. You can totally beat up five changelings with your bare hooves! Like me!”

Yellow Rock laughed, “Not what I was saying, and it's not a bad thing either.” She took a bite out of her own ration. “Plus, I got to go along a lot of the patrols with the Major. Until he, you know… figured out I went on three of them in a row.” Seeing the look her friend gave, she raised her hoof in defense. “I just wanted to help! I wasn’t tired or anything!”

Sunrise sighed. “I know. I wanted to do the same thing.” She reached over for her canteen, taking a sip of it before wiping her mouth with her hoof. With a shake of her head, Sunrise Dare shook out her red mane. “But, I was able to hang out and help Swift Roller with taking inventory of stuff, which was nice.”

“That sounds boring.”

“Well, yeah,” Sunrise said with a roll of her eyes, “But hanging out with Swift Roller is cool. She’s a bit of a nerd, so some stuff goes over my head, but she’s really cool when you get to know her. It’s gotta be even more boring doing that stuff alone.”

Yellow Rock nodded. “Yeah. Guess who I had to hang out with these past couple of days. Brisk Sweeper.”

“...That’s rough.”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t too bad. Brisk is just… right about a lot of things.” She smiled. “And he never turns down an opportunity to remind you. But he gave me some of his snacks, which was nice of him! I didn’t even ask!”

Back at the tents

Applejack held her hat in her hoof, gently squeezing it as her eyes hovered over the map. The breeze had picked up slightly, rustling her mane and blowing a few strands over her eyes. She blew them up and out of her sight with a sigh. “I reckon ah’ve done s’much as I can,” She brought her hoof to the distant town of Yonderhill. “Most’a my ponies are diggin’ in along the hills’a the town, in case the worst comes ta’ pass. Only six dozen or so came with me and Pinkie ta’ tow the guns themselves.”

Selenite tilted her head. “Who told you all to hold on to the hills of Yonderhill?”

Sprouting out of nowhere in particular, a cheerful pink pony appeared at the side of the Thestral, in between her and Applejack. “Prince Blueblood did, silly!” She paused, bringing her hoof. “Or…is now a General? I wonder what title comes first.”

The Night Guard commander’s eyes saw red. “I could think of a few -”

Swift Roller quickly leaned in, hiding her nervousness with a chuckle. “Well, uhm… that’s fine! The supplies you did bring brought us up to our full capacity, and we should have enough towed artillery pieces to hold off the Changelings.”

Selenite dragged her hoof down her face quite slowly. With a deep breath, she trotted away from the table. “We need to talk with Jungle Trek. “

Applejack looked around. “Is he the pony out by those barricades, barkin’ orders?”

“No, that’s Steel Charts.” Selenite raised her hoof. “Jungle Trek is the pony digging that trench in that group. He’s the one with the obnoxiously long brown mane.”

Swift Roller covered her mouth, stifling a chuckle. “I won’t tell him you said that.”

Under the shade of the Pine trees, which swayed back and forth with the gentle wind, a comfortably sized foxhole held two ponies. Caramel Crunch was hard at work, his nimble hooves tying a small bandage around his patient’s left hoof, his brow scrunched in concentration.

Wild Strikes just huffed.

“It doesn’t matter how small a cut is.” The small, brown pony finished tying it off, closing the medical bag on his back. “Any breach of the skin that causes bleeding can bring in any type of bacteria, infection, or disease. Then you’ll be wishing I did this.”

“I am a soldier, Crunch.” Wild Strikes brought up her wings proudly. “I can take as much damage as anypony else. More so, in fact!”

Caramel squinted. “Yeah, I know. The point is you not having to.”

The white pegasus raised their hoof. “Hey, Major Mar…Mer… How do you say his name again?””

“I just uh… I just say the Major.”

“Yeah, well HE -” She said with a smile, before pointing to herself. “Said I was one of the best scouts he’d ever seen when we were on our last patrol. He said I could totally go to special forces!” Slowly, her wings deflated. “...If Equestria had any.”

Caramel tried to hide his grin, resting his back against the wall of the foxhole. “The Major is special forces, I think. Some kind of commando.” He held the rifle in his hooves. “He might make us Equestria’s new special forces.”

The two of them got huge grins on their faces, facing each other in the foxhole. Wild Strikes and Caramel Crunch both leaned forward, their rifles in their laps. Caramel smiled, “I heard that they get to do raids in the middle of the night, super behind-enemy-lines kind of stuff.”

Wild Strikes grinned, “We both signed up as infantry ponies together. Why not join special forces together?”

“Provided you don't get hurt anymore, Strikes.” Caramel held up his hoof. “Promise?”

“Well, YOU have to promise too!”

“Fine, I promise. We both promise.”

Wild Strikes nodded. “We both promise.”

The two of them nodded in satisfaction with their demands, though neither leaned away from the other. Cramped in the foxhole, and even more cramped from their leaned, excited postures. Their smiles became less excited, and more so content in the moment. The wind ruffled their manes as it shifted the branches of the pine trees, small beams of sunlight cascading through the gaps in their leaves and onto the two of them. The Sunlight’s small highlights highlighted the orange streak in Wild Strike’s blue mane and sparkled in Caramel Crunch’s eyes.

“...If you did get hurt,” Wild Strikes said, “I’d just carry you.”

Caramel giggled. “You’re not a doctor, though. I’d have to bandage myself.”

Strikes shrugged. “I could just fly you to a hospital.”

“Could you fly me home?”

BONK!

The two lovebirds were shaken out of their romantic moment by the sudden appearance of none other than Dobbelsteen Moerman, who had gently hit Caramel Crunch on his helmet. “Hey, NERDS! What's my security posture looking like?”

Lacking any response as they quickly sprung up to attention, they heard another voice call down the trench line. “Lies, Mr. Moerman!” Jungle Trek said, holding his rifle in his hooves. “I had you in my sights the whole time!”

“Then why didn’t you take the shot, coward?”

Far from the woodline, Shooting Steps angrily brought down her detached scope away from the frightened pair of ponies, before deflating in sadness. To her side, Sapphire Stream looked away from the assembly of ponies, all of whom were getting back up after the end of the class, and nudged her friend. “You uh… okay there, Shooting Steps?”

“I was watching that.”

Center of the Railroad Crossing

Lucky Twirl was practically tripping over her hooves, concentrating her gaze on Moerman as they both walked rather than the ground in front of her. Nonetheless, her smile was beginning to grow with each word.

“Overall, Twirl, you did very well.” The Griffon adjusted his Officer cap, seemingly content with the amount of dirt that had stuck to his uniform. “Your enthusiasm will carry you far in any and all combat situations that you find yourself in. I’m sure you learned that when we got into a few skirmishes with the Changelings on the march.”

“Yes sir, absolutely!” The small, green-coated pony said, “But, are you sure? I always worry that I might rush into making the wrong decision, and I don't want to let anypony else down.” She stopped, and so did he, as she sighed. “I… want to prove that I’m good for command. That they can trust me, not because they have to, but because they want to.”

Moerman smiled, his claw pushing his sunglasses further up his beak. “We’re all our own worst critics. But it's good you know that at some points, you need to act, and some you need to think. Never be afraid to take that tactical pause.” He looked around, acting it out. “Where are my ponies? Where is the enemy? How do I maneuver my elements to defeat the enemy, or retreat from him safely?” He smiled, giving her a quick pat on the shoulder with his claw. “Four questions. The answers should be easy to find out, and they’re all you need.”

Lucky Twirl nodded vigorously. “Understood, sir. I’ll commit it to memory.”

Grinning, Dobbelsteen gave a small salute. “Nopony believed in me either, at first. That’s where most legends come from. Dismissed.”

As Lucky Twirl trotted off, softly smiling to herself, Dobbelsteen Moerman approached a group of very familiar ponies. “I hope the news you bring to this soldier is good, Selenite.” He came to a stop. “Because if not, I’m punching Jungle.”

“W-What?”

“Ready yer’ claws, Mr. Moerman,” Applejack said as Moerman joined the circle at her side. Pinkie Pie, Selenite, and Jungle Trek stood with each other. “Ah’ve only brought a detachment ta’ help move Pinkie Pie’s Artillery pieces, with the help’a their crews. The rest’a my ponies are all over in Yonderhill, diggin’ in.”

Dobbelsteen matted with dirt, dragged his eyes to every pony in the circle. “We’re facing three thousand Changelings, perhaps even more.” He brought up his wing to point behind him. “I got no more than eleven hundred, and that's including all of Selenite’s soldiers.”

Jungle deadpanned. “You want to guess who told them to stay there?”
“Awesome.” Dobbelsteen said, nodding. “Great in fact.” Turning around, he yelled across the railroad tracks. “SHOOTING STEPS, HOW MUCH FOR AN ASSASSINATION?”

Moerman barely caught the mare tilting her head in consideration from far off before he was yanked back to the conversation by Selenite. “Three thousand is something we can deal with. Backup defenses on Yonderhill isn’t… a terrible idea, necessarily.”

Pinkie Pie tilted her head. “But… by the time they get to Yonderhill, wouldn’t they have already cut off the evacuation tunnel routes? They’d have to wander through the whole valley that's occupied by Changelings!”

Moerman raised his claw quickly. “I saw your sister digging those tunnels.” He smiled. “Off topic, but, I just remembered. She said she was doing great.”

Pinkie Pie smiled. “Oh, Maud is a world-class Engineer. She’s got a Ph.D. in Archeology, you know!”

“Does she really?”

“Nope!”

Applejack sighed, “Ah’m real sorry ‘bout all’a this. I brought s’many spare ponies as I could’a, but it really isn't much. We arrived when you were out on yer’ patrol, so Selenite and I just had ‘em help Jungle Trek out with the fortifications.”

Jungle nodded. “Did you see anything else out there?”

Moerman shook his head. “They moved in platoons, but a lot of the time in trucks. Engines. They’re not really expecting us to hit them first, so we could always hear them coming. The good thing is, they’re severely underestimating us. Even though they got the advantage, they’re relying on it to win the battle for them.”

“Well it sure won't,” Selenite said. “I don't have too many powerful gun teams, but I’ve managed to spread them throughout the line as their own units. It should scare the Changelings off, provided they don't have anything larger.”

Applejack looked at Selenite. “We can’t rely solely on that. This ain’t just a battle that we have ta’ survive ‘er hold a defense. It’s much more’n that. We need ta’ win. Undeniably. We need ta’ show ponies that we’re still in this fight.” She brought her hat off her head, looking down. “All Equestria’s known this whole war is defeat after defeat. We have ta’ pull somethin’ grand if we want ta’ win.”

Jungle Trek held his helmet in his hoof, gesturing with it. “There’s not many ponies to hold them off, Applejack. We’re remnants of a border guard unit called up mere days before the start of the war. You and I can’t really be on our high command either.” He sighed. “We’re alone. Like always, outnumbered three to one, fighting against the best of the best.”

“Then it is an even fight,” Moerman said. “We’ve survived worse, Jungle.”

“We’ll only survive until the next battle, Moerman,” Jungle said. “One day we won’t be able to run anymore.”

“We’re gonna stop running now.” Dobbelsteen brought up his claw and pointed all around him. “There is nothing but nature for a hundred miles in any direction, and this is the only place the Changelings can force a battle. No dirty tricks, no hulking technology.” He adjusted his sunglasses. “There are only ponies and their rifles. The best chance we have of a victory is right here.”

Selenite shook her head. “There’s no infrastructure, Moerman, nothing but forest and swamp. We don't have the forces to make enveloping maneuvers on the enemy, nor the firepower to destroy them.”

“Feathisia is nothing but swamps and forests,” Dobbelsteen said, “It's a maze, impossible to move through, an unforgiving environment that is engineered to exhaust and disorient you. The Changeling Army has rolled over the fancy, well-maintained cities of the North and the coast, but this is my world they’re walking into.” He looked over to Applejack with a grin. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

Applejack clearly thought for a moment, her eyes scanning the woodline of fortifications, and then recalling the map that was laid out under the tents not long ago. “Neither’s it mine. Those overconfident buzzards will have walked right inta’ the last place their army ever wants ta’ be.”

“And!” Pinkie Pie called out, with a cheerful smile. “That’s exactly what we want. It is just like a rodeo, at a party! You just wrap your hooves around -”

Moerman finished her sentence with a grin, “And you don’t let go.”

The Battle Of Yonderhill

August 15th 1010, 14:06

Six Minutes Into the Battle Of Yonderhill

Colonel Zellix’s Recon Platoon

“Any Callsign, this is Two-Six Romeo, I have thirteen wounded, and seven dead!”

The situation was, as they say, rapidly deteriorating. Their transport truck, containing much of their spare ammunition, lay in a broken, smoldering husk along the railroad tracks. Huddled around the radio dragged from the vehicle, the Changeling squad leader yelled for help into the transmitter, as his forces fired through the trees and down the railroad tracks.

Bullets cracked around the ears of the dozen or so changeling recon soldiers, who were now in a ditch fighting for their lives. They hardly poked their helmets out to fire, letting their rifles rest on the forest floor and hoping their returning fire would buy them any sort of respite.

“Two-Six Romeo, this is Zellix. Additional Elements are flanking on your right. Hold position.”

In a look of disbelief, the squad leader looked down at the transmitter. “N-Negative sir, We need reinforcements at OUR position, we’re soon to be overrun!”

“Clear comms.”

The reconnaissance squad hunkered down in the ditch off of the railroad tracks, as their leader cursed the name of their commanding officer. Insubordination could be solved at a later time. The battle was here.

Rifles on a line cracked out of Applejack’s formation, sporadically down the railroad tracks and throughout the forest. Over their ramparts, the auxiliary detachment brought with Applejack, along with Selenite’s Night Guard, concentrated themselves on the railroad crossing, moving forward ammunition to the frontline.

“Any casualties will be brought into the woodline behind these fortifications. Swift Roller has already set up a triage area in preparation.” Selenite stated, matter-of-factly over the rifle fire. “It will be the safest place for them. My soldiers can operate these guns, but it’ll be up to your detachment to keep them fighting.”

Holding her hat down on her head, Applejack nodded. “You got it, pardner. Ya’ won’t have any sorta’ trouble with a lack of ammunition if ah’ve got somethin’ ta’ do with it. If we run out, Swift Roller showed me where more crates of shells could be found.”

Turning off the line, Pinkie Pie seemed agitated. “He-LLO?! We’re dying to shoot the party cannons here!”

Selenite seethed over the gunfire. “They are 4.5 inch Field Artillery pieces! Not party cannons! We need to conserve their firepower until the enemy has committed the majority of his forces! We have to make every shot count!”

“General Selenite!” One of the Thestral soldiers called, moving with a small squad out of the forest. “The Changelings are moving over to the left side, they’re headed straight for Strawberry Cinnamon’s platoon!”

Nodding, Selenite looked over to Applejack. “We may have over-invested our forces onto our right. The terrain to our left is easily traversable in comparison, and Jungle Trek can’t maneuver from one flank to the other to assist them if needed! The left flank might be in serious danger.”

The rancher looked around. “Where’s Maerman?”

“Where the danger is.”

August 15th 1010, 14:20

Twenty Minutes Into the Battle Of Yonderhill

Strawberry Cinnamon’s Rifle Platoon

This was happening. Strawberry Cinnamon had three dozen ponies with rifles primarily made of wood, and now the world’s most terrifying army, and one of their most terrifying units in that army, was engaged in battle with her unit. Of course, they had to choose her position to attack.

Ducking down from a sporadic burst of Changeling fire, Strawberry Cinnamon glanced on either side of her, as her ponies laid down shoulder to shoulder and fired here and there, trying to keep the enemy from advancing any further. It would have been really nice for Moerman to play along and actually pretend to be as scared as they were.

“You know for a bunch of Jaegers -” He said, as the Griffon perched himself on a smooth, large rock looking through the forest at the shifting enemy. “Whatever that means, I expected more than amateur execution. Are the uniforms just for show? I mean, they’re not even rushing in buddy teams, they’re just walking-”

“MOERMAN!” yelled Strawberry Cinnamon, ducked from her foxhole. “What the hay are we supposed to do? There's a whole company out there, all I have -”

Cut off by a burst of Sapphire Stream’s machine gun, Dobbelsteen Moerman held up a claw of understanding. “Eh, they probably have another company in reserve, but that’s alright. Now Strawberry, this is a good teaching moment. We are currently in defilade, but if we want to have a chance of holding such a large enemy, what we really needed is enfilade-“

“I DON'T KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS!”

He pointed to the far left, past her and most of her platoon. “You see that collection of rocks over there? Smooth like this one? Move a squad to get overlapping fields of fire on the enemy. We shoot em in the front, they’ll hit em in the side. ”

With a stern nod, Strawberry Cinnamon took off down the line and pulled ten rifleponies. Some scared, some eager, and most detesting the idea of leaving of their safe foxholes for a mad dash across the forest. Nevertheless, with a flanking element secured in movement, Sapphire Stream continued to fire at the Changelings. “Horseapples!” She yelled in frustration, as a rifle pony assisted her in reloading. “I can’t nick a single one! They keep hiding behind cover!”

The Griffon nodded. “Keeping them locked in place is a victory in itself. Nothing causes panic like being unable to move.”

“But they’re crawling… two whole companies, Mr. Moerman.” Sapphire Stream narrowed her eyes. “Just wish we could remove the cover entirely…”

Pondering for a moment, Dobbelsteen looked to two unfortunate Pegasi right next to him, who glanced away from their rifles up at the Major. With a quick point to each encouraging to follow, Moerman took off into the sky, away from the fight.

“Colonel Zellix, sir! We’ve reached heavy resistance on the right flank!”

With an expression of complete confusion, the Changeling officer tilted his head at the echoes of gunfire not far along the railroad tracks. As trucks of Changeling soldiers dismounted around him and moved into the forest, he threw a hoof into the air. “TWO COMPANIES can‘t handle a trot in the woods, is that what you’re telling me? Should I get this in writing?”

Shifting her weight away from the Colonel, the Sergeant Major sputtered. “They’re up against an entrenched force! They have no supporting fires! Our mortars are still on the trucks at the rear of the formation!”

Another officer, a Captain, skidded to a halt from a full sprint over to the Colonel. “Sir, the forest has a natural incline up to the enemy. Our view of their lines is obscured by the terrain, so we have no idea of their numbers! We can’t move against them without supporting fires at least, if not support from gun -”

Throwing his cap into the rocks and dirt underneath his hooves, Colonel Zellix was in complete disbelief. “Against a force like this? Untrained, outnumbered, and spread this thinly across this junction? You want this ENTIRE FORMATION, to pull out Vanhoover levels of firepower, because none of my officers have the courage to move against the enemy unless in complete safety?” Rifle fire continued to echo in between his yelling. “Take the forest, NOW!”

Overtaking both the yelling of the Colonel, and the sporadic shots of rifle and machine gun fire, the sound of explosions could be heard from the right flank. Distant pops of thunder caught the attention of the Colonel, whose look grew ever sour.

August 15th 1010, 14:45

Forty-Five Minutes Into the Battle Of Yonderhill

Strawberry Cinnamon’s Rifle Platoon

“Twist, pull, assume a good stance, throw and duck.” Moerman said, joined by his two new pegasus friends, who looked quite pleased with themselves as they tossed another grenade through the forest. With a pull, Moerman yanked them into a foxhole, only peeking up when the grenade went off. “Remember,” he said, “don’t look for the explosion, shrapnel travels. If you don't hear it, throw another. Oh, and make sure to teach your buddies this too.”

Standing up from his foxhole, keeping low from the now-panicked rifle from the Changelings, Moerman traveled down the line to set down a crate of grenades. As Sapphire Steam looked back, and Strawberry Cinnamon joined his side, Moerman handed them out to the platoon. “This is what we call a dilemma, Sapphire. If the enemy turns and runs, your machine gets him. If the enemy stays put behind cover, the grenades get him.”

Smiling, Strawberry looked around. “So we’re holding this, right? We’re good where we are?”

“They’re bound to have something further planned,” said Sapphire, who gave a burst of machine gun fire through the forest, as another explosion popped off. “They might go further left.”

Moerman shook his head. “No, he’s already trapped. If their commander moves even further left, he’s running further away from his own allies, then he’s really stuck.”

“What if they bring their vehicles here?”

Moerman turned, “Through this forest? I sure hope they do. If somehow they don't get stuck, we’ll pull a towed gun off from the junction and rain it down through here. No… they’re gonna move to the right, now. You got this well in hand, Lieutenant. Hold this flank through whatever means you deem fit. Good luck!” With a quick nod to Strawberry Cinnamon, Moerman took off once more into the sky.

Cinnamon, Stream, and a dozen rifle ponies all looked at each other, until one unicorn wondered aloud: “...Is this all they do in the Empire?”

“Are you KIDDING me?!” yelled Colonel Zellix, slamming his hoof into the dirt as the battle raged. “We’re pinned in the center, our right flank won’t move an inch because of a couple of farmers who can’t read, much less shoot!” Bitterly, he looked at his gathering of officers. “Take the other flank with the armored cars and soldiers. If they face anything that SCARES you into paralysis, you’ll have two additional companies, and two tanks to support the offensive.”

“Sir, the terrain is heavily unfavorable, the vehicles could get stuck!”

“Sergeant Major Adelheid, as timid as she is, has already been carving a path for you.” Follow the path of trails and lightly wooded areas!” Yanking out a map from his uniform pocket, he pointed under a heavily swamped area. “Stay out of this and in the forest below it. It is the perfect gap to break through, and I am giving you EVERYTHING. Now, execute the mission, and get us going!”

August 15th 1010, 15:03

One Hour Into the Battle Of Yonderhill

Jungle Trek’s Assembled Rifle Platoons

“Are you KIDDING me?!” yelled Jungle Trek, ducking behind a mound of dirt, as his company of soldiers each hid behind respective trees, shrubbery, and bushes, hiding from the rapid machine gun fire of the armored cars. “Moerman, what in Tartarus is THAT?!”

The Major, standing next to him, tilted his head and squinted behind his sunglasses. “...Looks like a tractor, dont it?”

“IT HAS A MACHINE GUN, MOERMAN!”

As if to enunciate Jungle’s point, the heavy chorus of crewed machine guns pierced through tree barks and limbs, forcing Dobbelsteen to duck quickly to the ground behind a fallen tree. As dust and dirt kicked up into the air, he crawled over to Jungle Trek’s foxhole along the line of soldiers. Jungle firmly held his helmet down to cover his head. “Wild Strikes and Caramel Crunch have been pulling any injured ponies off of the line and back for treatment, and Lucky Twirl’s company on the right side is facing the same amount of resistance we are!”

The two soldiers stole a look out of the foxhole and through the forest, as the armored vehicle slowly drove over the various rocks and fallen branches. “This is their main assault force. Strawberry and Sapphire have the left well in hand. You got anyone who can run a message, Trek?!”

He nodded. “SWEEPER!”

Brisk Sweeper pulled off the gun line with a spin, a nearby burst of machine fire forcing him to the forest floor, before he skidded to a halt before the two commanders. “What is it!?”

Firing his lever action rifle out of his foxhole, rapidly cycling the action to buy a window of reprieve, Moerman spoke. “Run to General Selenite. Tell her Immediate Suppression, 100 meters west of Jungle Trek. Enemy light armored vehicles, engage with High explosive and Fire When Ready. This is their concentrated force, and that’s how we break it!”

Brisk Sweeper, furiously jotting down Moerman’s words in a small notebook, took off from the gunline back in the direction of the railroad junction, as Jungle Trek got up to his hooves and held his rifle close. “They outnumber us by some wide margin, Dobbelsteen.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Low on faith?”

Jungle Trek loaded his bolt action once more, and Moerman could swear he saw a smile. “Only thing I’m low on is bullets.”

“That is the greatest news I’ve heard in my entire life, Brisk.” General Selenite said, looking up from the Call For Fire sheet, though the artillery pieces behind her had been focused on firing down the railroad tracks and into the enemy’s center. “Was Moerman an Artillery Officer at some point?”

Brisk Sweeper just took a breath from his full on sprint from the frontline, looking up at the Thestral. The uniforms of her soldiers sporting an all-black color scheme made these artilleryponies look unbothered by the losing battle, though the fire that came out from those guns convinced Brisk they had a chance of winning it. “The main effort of the enemy is coming through Jungle Trek’s flank. They’re coming with soldiers and escorted by armored cars -”

Selenite’s ears twitched. “...A-Armored Cars?”

“Well, they look more like tractors…”

“You’re telling me their maneuver element on the opposite flank is unprotected infantry and thin sheets of metal on wheels?!” The Thestral, usually calm and collected, practically jumped in the air. “Pinkie Pie!”

From behind the most forward artillery piece, the gunpowder-covered face of Pinkie appeared with glee. “Yes, ma’am, Artillery Mare ma’am! The enemy won't get through the center as you have ordered!”

“Aim these field howitzers to the right flank, degrees to follow.” She turned to Brisk. “We’ll chart out the maps and get those guns rolling. If this flanking attack is their check, we shall raise them a checkmate.”

Brisk wondered if the prerequisite for command in the Equestrian Army was psychopathic tendencies.

“Selenite,” Pinkie Pie asked, “What am I putting in the cannons?”

“High Explosive.”

In the cramped, fuming space of the armored vehicle, the hooves of a Changeling struggled to no avail against the terrain of the forest. Her hearing, consistently abused by the relentless machine gun fire going on in the turret behind her, made her deaf to the frustrations of her fellow crew. “This thing is STUCK!”

“Put it in reverse, then!” Yelled her assistant machine gunner, desperately searching for more ammunition in the small vehicle.

“The tires are caked in the mud!”

“Just do SOMETHING!”

Bullets pinged off the thin metal on the vehicles, ricocheting off into the forest with pings and pops as their sounds. Yet, as the engine continued to struggle against nature, the distant thunder of guns shook through each of their hearts.

“...Is - Is that Artillery?!” Yelled the Machine Gunner.

The assistant gunner pulled his friend out of the turret, just in time for the first shell to land and send debris and shrapnel tearing through the turret. “Tartarus! Stay low in here, it's the best chance we’ve got -”

The driver, a Changeling mare, took her two crewmembers by the hoof. “Absolutely not, our vehicles won't stand a chance against these guns. Follow me, and RUN!” Kicking open the door to the lightly armored vehicle, the crew sprang out and away just in time for a shell to land directly upon the engine block, causing an explosion that threw the vehicle into the sky, landing no more than five meters from a certain Changeling Sergeant.

She could barely hear. The harassment faced by her in the forests north of Salt Lick City had started this endless chase, and the fight her command was desperately searching for was now here. Despite her objections to Colonel Zellix, Sergeant Major Adelheid was now watching her soldiers die. She scampered away from the intense heat of the vehicle wreckage, as both artillery and machine gun fire caused her soldiers to hide as best they could behind cover. But they couldn’t stay here, they would die if they did.

Dashing through the gunfire, she managed to drag a detachment of Changeling machine gunners and bring them to the top of a small hump in the forest floor. Using fallen trees as cover, she brought the machine guns to bear up the slope.

As entire platoons of Changeling Infantry hid, Adelheid rose to fire with the machine gunners up at the pony positions. With a window of reprieve granted, save for the falling artillery shells, she ordered: “ALL JAEGERS, 300 METERS TO THE REAR!”

Shells and gunfire from the ponies continued to cycle, but the companies of Changeling soldiers regrouped on Sergeant Major Adelheid in close withdrawal back into the forest.

Although the haze of battle left the soldiers of each side wandering aimlessly through destruction, Moerman could clearly see the way the battle was going.

“Do -” Jungle Trek coughed, as Sapphire Stream loaded one of the last belts into her machine gun, “- do we got 'em on the run?” He said, looking around as if he couldn’t believe it. “They’re retreating?”

Lucky Twirl peeked her little head above the trenchline, followed by the eyes of all of her soldiers. Suddenly, she sprang to her hooves. “They are! They’re running, you guys!” She smiled wildly, followed by the cheers of ponies up and down the line.

“Oh, don’t worry, they won’t be going far.”

Dobbelsteen turned to Jungle Trek, bringing up his wing to point into the forest. “There is no way in Tartarus I’m letting them escape without getting something in return. They don't have the organization to conduct a legitimate retreat. This is the opening we need to tear the feathers from this Griffon before he can fly away.”

Jungle Trek tilted his head, “That is an… interesting metaphor.”

The sounds of battle had rested still, only the heavy breathing of the shaken but living ponies all around Dobbelsteen Moerman. Behind him, a quick approaching pony of the night guard made himself known. “Sir! General Selenite wishes to inform you, we’ve completely expended all explosive shells in repelling this attack!”

Sapphire Stream looked up from her machine gun, over to Brisk. “You’re sure you can’t find any more ammunition for me?”

Brisk shook his head. “If we expended all our shells, it's only a matter of time before they attack again!”

Once more, worry creeped into the eyes of the hundred or so ponies along the defensive line, some wrapping bandages around their more injured comrades. Dobbelsteen’s sunglasses reflected what little sunlight got through the haze of gunpowder and swaying trees, before the Griffon’s head immediately tilted with an idea. “Who here has heard of a ‘Shake and Bake’?”

With their very limits tested, the Night Guard hurriedly rushed new shells across the railroad junction and into the blazing cannons, their shells screaming across the sky, their close location allowing the artillery ponies to feel both the shooting and the impact of the shells. Down the railroad tracks, General Selenite personally stepped in for an injured thestral and sighted the weapon herself. That didn’t prevent her from being joyous.

“A SHAKE AND BAKE?” She exclaimed, somehow louder than the shells her troops were firing. “Yellow Rock, am I hearing you correctly?!”

Yellow Rock flustered, “T-That’s what Moerman said!”

Unloading yet another pile of crates for the fiending Night Guard, who eagerly picked up the shells, Swift Roller wiped sweat from her brow and adjusted her officer cap. “Shake and Bake… isn’t that a restaurant in Whinnyapolis?”

Selenite giggled to herself, the gremlin that she was, as she loaded the shells and instructed her crews to adjust the guns accordingly. It was only at this moment, with Yellow Rock and Swift Roller standing there without an answer, did they catch a glimpse of the label of the shells, proudly stamped in all capital letters: WHITE PHOSPHORUS.

August 15th 1010, 16:13

Two Hours Into the Battle Of Yonderhill

Sergeant Major Adelheid’s Shock Company

The forest was on fire.

Adelheid did her best to wave down as many of her soldiers as she could, and she had done one fantastic job of doing it. There must have been two and a half platoons all huddled around her, as she peeled her way to the front and hastingly placed them in sheltering positions along the forest floor. Most of the Changelings had made their way and back to the railroad tracks, but Adelheid tore through the forest to find the scattered remnants. Small ditches, natural trench lines, even the small crevasse of trees served as protection for her soldiers. Not only had high explosive rounds tore apart the weak shrubbery of her surroundings, but now white smoke had fallen onto the ground and ignited the leaves, its trails carrying fire all around her.

“I - I can’t see!” One voice yelled behind her, amidst the shocking exclamations of the soldiers behind her.

“It’s all on fire! How are we going to get out of here?!”

It made no sense to Adelheid. The ponies were running to the hills not just weeks before. Days ago, they had made her outfit bleed, and now it had them beaten and surrounded. How could this have happened?

She pushed it out of her mind. The fire was getting larger, abated by the wind. But, as the heat pulsed around her and her soldiers hid for their lives, she glimpsed some part of the blue sky. A beam of sunlight, coming down into her vision.

“Jaegers!” She yelled, to the worried eyes of her huddled Changelings. “The smoke won’t cloud us forever. Grab your wounded comrades and take flight with me!”

Hope flickered in their eyes, even as one Changeling scampered to his hooves. “How will we know where to go! The smoke in the sky is on fire!”

Adelheid took her weapon close, then raised her hoof to point out the opening in the cloud of White Phosphorus. Guided by the sunlight, Adelheid commanded her troops. “The Queen is not through with us yet! Fly!”

As the wings of the Changeling Soldiers, some eighty or so of them, fluttered upwards to zip into the sky, Adelheid watched on as she assisted her wounded soldiers. She would be the last one to leave, and as she made sure each and every one of those responsible under her fled to safety, a strange emotion burned in her heart.

Before she could contemplate it, gunfire erupted from the treeline. She ducked down to avoid it, but that did little as she desperately tried to return fire, smoke now slowly closing all around her, leaving her alone in the fiery forest.

Over the rock in which she took cover, Strawberry Cinnamon grasped Adelheid by her helmet, the quick reactions of both causing a tussle to ensue. The anxious, smaller pony had managed to catch the Changeling by surprise, but Adelheid was free to scamper to her hooves and create meaningful distance between them. Rifles shook in both of their hooves, as each raised it to be trained on the other.

Adelheid aimed. Cinnamon aimed. But as they did, an opening of sunlight breached through the haze again, and Strawberry slowly lowered her weapon.

Adelheid was confused. Surrounded by fire and smoke, the pony somehow seemed to shrink before her, even when she had the advantage. The Changeling’s ears perked up, as she could hear the trotting hooves of distant soldiers on her way. She felt her wings flutter. She wanted to flee.

“Go.” Strawberry said.

Adelheid felt her hooves go slightly limp, her weapon lowered in confusion. She took flight, but not before the pony gave her parting words that left her with even more questions.

“But when you go back to your officers,” She said, “You tell them it was Moerman, and all of Equestria, that threw you back.”

Jungle Trek couldn’t believe his eyes. His hooves were beginning to feel heavy, struggling to keep hold of his rifle as he watched them fly. Flapping their wings at high speeds, Changelings were disappearing into the skies, their figures quickly shrouded by the low clouds of smoke and fire that was beginning to spread throughout the forest in front of him.
His ponies, slowly peeking out of their foxholes and over mounds of spent cartridges, looked to each other in disbelief. At the center of the railroad junction, stacks of spent artillery shells littered the tracks as ponies of General Selenite’s night guard nearly collapsed from exhaustion, as even Pinkie Pie felt out of breath from all the excitement. Nudging her pink friend, Applejack tilted her rancher hat up to the sky to watch them fly away, as silence and crackling flame littered the battlefield.

But the loud revving engine of an armored car, littered with bullet holes and nearly missing its rear tires crashed over the ridge and out onto the railroad junction, causing Wild Strikes to yank Caramel Crunch behind crates and Applejack to command ponies to raise rifles to aim at the sudden intruder. Jungle Trek cycled his bolt action rifle and stood before the vehicle.

The door to the armored car shook, and seemingly giving up on the door mechanism, Dobbelsteen Moerman elected to simply kick the sheet metal out onto the tracks, climbing onto the hood. “Boreas-Damn-It Jungle Trek, those bugs are GETTIN’ AWAY!”

Selenite reacted with utter confusion. “Th-The Changelings are retreating, Moerman! We won!”

“This battle is not over until we have unconditional surrender.” The Griffon adjusted his glasses up into the clouded sky. “The White Phosphorus shells scattered the Changelings and I’m betting there’s still entire platoons out in the forest trying to avoid it. We need our elements to round up whatever bugs haven’t had the sense to take flight.”

Applejack adjusted her rancher hat and broke into a smile. “Well shoot, if its a ‘rounding up you need, you’ve asked just the right mare! Pinkie Pie, you can help Selenite here, me and Lucky Twirl can drag em out of the forest!”

The Thestral Captain turned back to the armored car, which she could swear was smoking under the hood. “What about you, Moerman?”

“We can’t chase em with our platoons, less we get baited into a trap. This vehicle holds enough maneuvering capability to harass any retreating elements-” He said, pausing to bring up a left behind Changeling machine gun emplacement on top of the vehicle. “And do whatever damage necessary.”

“You’re right!” Selenite galloped over the ramparts and climbed inside the armored car, bringing along a collection of maps under her wing which she layed out upon the dashboard. “If we hurry, we might be able to capture them, and their supplies!”

Jungle Trek shook his head. “You’re going to drive out there, ALONE? Just the two of you?” Around him, Sapphire Stream, Strawberry Cinnamon, even Shooting steps looked perplexed. “Surely you can’t be serious!”

“I am serious, and I’m not going alone.” Dobbelsteen Moerman patted his claw once on Jungle Trek’s shoulder. “You’re my driver.”

“Come on, Trek!” called Selenite from the truck. “Think of the firepower we can grab!”

He was really starting to regret being born in interesting times.

“Colonel Zellix!” Frantically, out of the retreating huddles and batches of Changeling soldiers, the Jaegers now either coming out of the wooded forests or landing as quickly as possible out of the plumes of smoke above, one Officer skidded to a halt in front of the Command tent off the side of the road. “Colonel Zellix, the ponies have repulsed our attack! The smoke shells lit the whole forest on fire!”

Zellix was barely holding it together, as he could clearly see brief hints of flames through the woodline. “I can SEE THAT!”

“Sergeant Major Adelheid brought Alpha and Bravo companies out, but they pulled too far back and we lost contact. They might have disengaged from the area to-”

It took everything in Colonel Zellix’s power to only hit the officer across the face and not just outright shoot him. The strike forced the officer to the ground, as he bitterly remarked, “I will not have cowards in the Jaegers. Turn these forces back and keep firing.”

Commotion emerged from the Command tent, as one of the Changeling radio operators stepped out, doing her best not to look at the Officer on the ground. “Colonel sir, Field Marshal Trimmel is requesting a report on the developing battle. What should we tell him?”

Trimmel flared, “You won’t tell him ANYTHING!” His glared around the entrance to the command tent. “Beset on all sides by total weakness, and against the best efforts of my officers, we will prevail. We have an armored locomotive in reserve, the ponies have spent all the shells they have, We will smash right down the center of this railroad junction and strike the ponies right in the center.” His eyes narrowed. “I. Will. Not. Fail.”

August 15th 1010, 16:45

Three Hours Into the Battle Of Yonderhill

A Barely Held Together Armored Car

Tearing through the undergrowth of the Yonderhill forest, with critters scurrying out of the way of its tires and fleeing the sound of its engine, Jungle Trek’s hooves barely kept hold of the shaking steering wheel, as his navigator in the passenger seat, Selenite, was hardly any help. His helmet, loosely placed on top of his head, shook with the rough terrain and had to be held down once or twice from flying off. Above him, Dobbelsteen Moerman had climbed into the turret and let a burst of machine gun fire, snapping twigs and branches.

“Selenite,” yelled Jungle Trek, “Where in tartarus are we going!?”

She squinted at the papers. “Uh… it’s beyond the brush!”

“It’s a FOREST, there’s brush everywhere!”

“Just keep following along these train tracks.” Moerman’s eyes peered through the forest, and fired again. “This gunfire is going to keep any Changelings from coming in this direction. Seeing as how these train tracks are their only way out, it’ll keep from stuck in place just for Applejack!”

Jungle Trek had to lean with the steering wheel as the car crashed through a ditch, threatening to tip the entire vehicle over as they lunged out onto the railroad tracks. Selenite’s hooves braced against the dashboard, tires screeching to a halt as Moerman leveled his eye sight and got his bearing in the turret, their vehicle now dead center of the railroad tracks.

What had to be over one hundred Changelings, hastingly assembled in scattered formations and groups dispersing their ammunition, tending to their wounds and waiting to regroup, all at once diverted their eyes to the Armored car. Frozen in place, they glanced to each other, and then back to the peculiar sight of an Earth pony behind the steering wheel, a Griffon in a floral shirt leaning out of the turret, and the Changeling vehicle they commandeered being riddled with bullet holes.

Click!

Jungle Trek’s pupils shrank to a comical size. “...What was that?”

Selenite shrunk back in her seat. “...Moerman’s out of ammo.”

The Griffon leaned down in the turret, nonchalantly looking at Trek. “...Back up.”

Sergeant Major Adelheid, bravely standing in front of her Changelings, raised her hoof in vengeance. “GET THEM!”

Dobbelsteen Moerman ducked just in time to dodge the fire of a dozen rifle shots directed towards the turret, hurriedly unslinging his lever action rifle and looking over at his driver. “BY THE GODS, GET US OUT OF HERE!”

Selenite screamed, “FLOOR IT, TREK!”

The Henchpony, possessed either by adrenaline, fear, or the power of alicorns, cast aside his impulses as he firmly slammed his hoof down on the accelerator, launching the armored car almost vertically towards the huddled group of Changelings. Roaring down the railroad tracks, Adelheid and the rest of the Jaegers jumped out of the way and into the sky as Moerman tried his best to return fire out of the turret. As Jungle Trek steered them out of danger, his ears twitched. “M-Moerman?!”

The Griffon kept firing, “YEAH!?”

“What’s that sound?”

“Burning oil? Gunfire? The voices?”

Selenite’s sensitive thestral ears twitched. “Hit the brakes! That’s a-”

As Jungle Trek reached a bend in the train tracks, the armored car lurched to a halt. Leaves picked up with the growing wind, fluttering around the damaged armored car as Jungle Trek leaned his head out the missing driver side door, and Dobbelsteen Moerman rose to the turret. The distant, roaring sound of an engine prompted the Griffon to raise a limp claw to his sunglasses, gently pulling them down his beak to take in the sight. The horn of a Changeling Armored Train, complete with artillery turrets, anti aircraft batteries, and a rushing locomotive sound its horn to shake the entire forests, as its wheels toe along the tracks. Directly towards them.

In a few moments, still reeling from their sporadic encounter, and making sure all her soldiers were still accounted for, Sergeant Major Adelheid glimpsed the return of the Armored car…reversing. At alarming speeds, and before any of her soldiers could react, flying once more through their hideout and down the railroad tracks, as trees splintered and fractured not far above them from what seemed to be an artillery shell flying down the tracks after them. Out of ammunition, weapons, but not lacking in confusion, her forces were only further starstruck by the appearance of a Changeling Armored train tearing down the tracks right after them.

The entire group now looked back to Adelheid, as one voice asked: “...Did we lose to those three idiots?”

Adelheid sighed. “...They had help from a fourth.”

Though Sergeant Major Adelheid and her forces had slipped their close encounter with death and made it to safety, the same could not be said for Jungle Trek, Selenite and Dobbelsteen Moerman. The locomotive tore through the forest along the train tracks, the slopes of terrain on either side making escape an impossibility.

“Damn it!” Yelled Jungle, trying to veer the vehicle offroad and out of danger. “I can’t get this hunk of junk over-”

The air screamed as an artillery shell nearly clipped the armored vehicle in half, fired by one of the turrets. Dobbelsteen Moerman leaned down from the turret, as if the sheet metal was going to save him from such firepower. “Brake! Get right up next to the train!”

As the turrets of the Armored Train reloaded, Jungle Trek’s hoof slammed on the brake and skidded the armored vehicle to a halt, cast in the shadow of the locomotive. As the train slowly inched forward, Dobbelsteen Moerman had barely gotten his bearing before the armored vehicle was violently shoved.

“THERE!” Raising their eyes and rifles in the bed of the truck, a military transport vehicle with six changeling soldiers peered out, and the direction of their weapons told Moerman that they were not particularly happy to see him. The Changeling Officer with them that called out raised the pistol in his hoof, and fired, in synchronization with his friends.

Bullets scraped and barely pierced the sheet metal as Moerman ducked once more. Cycling his lever action rifle, and then patting down his two bandoliers, the Griffon’s eyes went wide behind his sunglasses.

Selenite peered back, locking eyes with the Griffon. “You seriously need to have a lesson in ammunition conservation, Mr. Moerman!”

“Moerman!” Jungle Trek yelled, still trying to keep his hooves on the wheel on the rocky terrain, sandwiched between the armored train and the Changelings, whose bullets now scraped the hood. “Tell me you got SOMETHING!”

The weight of the armored car shifted, as the earth pony’s eyes went wide. “Selenite,” He peered at the passenger seat. “Did he just-?!”

Alfred’s hole-ridden hooves had barely just cycled through his rifle before it was kicked down to the bed of the truck, as each of the Changelings froze with the sudden appearance of a Griffon who looked like he should be on vacation rather than in a warzone, safe for the stench of gunpowder and loosely slung lever action rifle around him. A brief glance was shared between all the participants, before each Changeling rushed forward.

The Thestral artillery officer only let out a groan of exasperation as she, too, climbed up through the turret, much to the objection of her earth pony driver. “You are insane! He has an excuse of being Feathisian, but YOU -”

“Somepony’s gotta help him!”

Swiftly thrusting forward with assistance of his wings, the Griffon’s claws seized one of the Changelings by the neck and threw him into two of his comrades, who scrambled to take hold of the bed of the truck to prevent themselves from falling off. But the fight was far from over yet, as a Changeling soldier, braver than most, seized the griffon in a chokehold, causing him to stumble against the cab of the truck, whose driver was currently locked in a shoving contest with Jungle Trek’s vehicle. Another Changeling soldier threw a solid punch into Dobbelsteen’s chest.

Jungle Trek twisted the wheel hard to the left.

The truck lurched to the side, nearly tipping over as it just barely held on to the road. Dobbelsteen wiggled his way out of the chokehold, grasping the Changeling in front of him and throwing him directly through the cabin’s rear window, glass shattering inside as he grappled the Changeling behind him and tossed him over the side of the truck.

Now back on their hooves, however, the three changelings rushed forward with their rifles. A shot from one was only narrowly avoided by Dobbelsteen by wrestling it out of the Changeling’s hooves and firing it into the air. With a twist, Dobbelsteen swung the rifle like a baseball bat across the muzzle of one of the Changelings, knocking them over the side as he now gazed upon the three remaining Changelings, with their three friends either over the side or the one out cold through the cabin window. They rushed forward. However, a silver maned blur of rage cut down the middle of the truck and seized upon one of the Changeling soldiers, who promptly collapsed to the floor and began screaming.

Seeing this, the remaining Changeling soldier looked over to his officer, opened his wings, and let the wind carry him out of danger.

Selenite tossed the Changeling riflepony into the corner of the truck, knocking them out cold as she turned to face the remaining officer. Standing side by side with Dobbelsteen Moerman, they both gave a triumphant grin, as the Griffon spoke. “No shame in running now, lieut-”

The Officer answered with a grin of her own, and pulled out a pistol to fire towards them. With such a short distance between them, it was a miracle only one of them embedded itself into Dobbelsteen’s left arm before the pistol was seized by Selenite’s hooves, the two soldiers wrestling the gun in the air above them in an aerial tug of war. Twisting and turning as their wings propelled them further and further into the sky, Selenite grit her teeth and let go of the pistol… only to seize the Officer by the waist and propel them directly into the bed of the truck, crashing through its floorboard and throwing them onto the tracks below.

Dobbelsteen leaned into his minor wound, as he and Selenite exchanged smiles. “Hey,” The Griffon said, “That was pretty good.”

The Thestral beamed. “Thanks! The Night Princess grants me strength in all the foes of Equ-

“GET YOUR FLANKS BACK IN THE CAR!!!”’

Jungle Trek was currently playing derby between the Armored train and the transport vehicle, but found no respite as both Selenite and Moerman jumped only briefly onto the armored car. “Somepony’s gotta stop this train!” The Griffon jumped back onto the armored car, and yanked the earth pony out of the driver's seat.

“W-What are you doing!?”

As the vehicle lost control, Trek, Moerman, and Selenite landed onto the deck of the Armored train, as both trucks behind them collided and quickly lost speed off behind them. Retracting their wings and setting down their earth pony friend, their moment of respite was short lived as hurried hoofsteps all around the train caused the trio to move, breaching the command car in the center of the train.

Inside, a variety of officers and soldiers stared back. One of them seemed particularly angry.

Quickly backtracking, Moerman slammed the door shut in front of their faces, just in time to meet a column of Changeling soldiers ascending the stairs up the car. Jungle Trek drove them back as he raised his bolt action rifle and put shots through the first two Changelings at the head of the column. “Either of you got some kind of plan?!”

Selenite spread her wings, “Keep em occupied Trek! I’ll go around em!”

But, as Trek and Selenite advanced, the door opened behind them and yanked the Griffon inside the command car as Dobbelsteen wrestled with the multiple officers then tried to pin him down. The Griffon took flight inside the command car, managing to launch himself into a corner and furniture across the room as cover, as he tackled-

“UNHAND ME, BIRD!” Colonel Zellix screamed as he tried to pull the wings of Dobbelsteen Moerman apart. He had to keep his injured claw close to him, blood gently dropping down his claw as he fought off the Colonel, crashing into tables and assorted chairs, with Changeling Soldiers nervously pinned against the windows afraid to incur either’s wrath.

“Trek!” Called Selenite from the other side of the train, crouched behind cover. “Moerman’s inside the Command car!”

Jungle Trek, still firing in the open air, scanned the train around him for a solution…As his eyes grew wide with a plan in his head. “Grab their attention, Selenite! This train has all the weapons we need!” Galloping off down the way, Selenite played her part by dashing into the sky with a beat of her wings, and zipping around the heads of the dazed Changeling soldiers.

But, ignorant of the henchpony’s antics, Dobbelsteen Moerman fought for his life against Colonel Zellix, as the Changeling’s eyes bit with fire and venom. “I knew there must have been SOMETHING!” He spat, a brief distance created between them. “No stupid ponies could have proven to be such an annoyance!” His hoof grasped a knife from the table and slashed towards the Griffon, who quickly dodged around the blade and flew back against the wall. His claw found some fancy dinner plates.

“It’s MOERMAN!” The Feathisian yelled. “I’m actually a great creature once you get to know me!”

Soaring through the air, plates crashed across the room, shattering against the back wall and all around Colonel Zellix. “Will-” He ducked. “For-” Once more. “STOP THROWING THINGS!”

Dobbelsteen tossed a chair directly into the face of Colonel Zellix moving forward before the Changeling soldiers around saw their window and moved towards Dobbelsteen. The Griffon did his best to fight them off, trying as he might to avoid the jabs to his stomach and wings. Colonel Zellix, regaining his strength, seized Dobbelsteen and tossed him across the floor, sunglasses flying off his beak.

Crying out from landing on his wounded claw, Dobbelsteen propped himself up just enough to see Colonel Zellix withdraw his pistol, cocking it. “Your Adventure ends here, Mor… Maer… Mir-.”

Just enough time was purchased for Jungle Trek, rifle smoking from driving off a crew of ponies, to let the Dual Anti Air emplacement machine guns loose on the Command car. Flaming bullets and tracers shattered the windows of the command car, only Colonel Zellix and Dobbelsteen Moerman managing to get low enough to avoid the sweeping fire from left to right. The other occupants weren't so lucky.

As the fire died down, Dobbelsteen Moerman launched himself upwards, seizing the Colonel by his uniform with his claw and locking eyes with him behind his sunglasses. Try as Colonel Zellix might, he couldn’t escape the Griffon.

“This is your stop.”

Zellix was thrown through the shattered remains of the windows of the Command car, screaming as he crashed onto the forest floor they passed and quickly moved out of sight. Dobbelsteen Moerman took a handkerchief from one of the tables, wrapping it around his wounded arm.

Jungle Trek and Selenite burst into the room, the two of them glancing from the falling Changeling and then back to Moerman. “...Celestia-damn-it Moerman!” said Jungle Trek, “You are without a doubt the craziest creature that ever set foot in Equestria!”

Picking his sunglasses off the floor and placing them on his beak, he gently pushed them up and nodded to Jungle Trek. “With friends like you two, I think I might just stay a while.”

But the moment was short lived, as the three creatures moved through the command car and noticed the controls to the train were destroyed in the fight, as the locomotive continued to soar down the train tracks, directly towards the junction.

“...Wow!” Pinkie Pie exclaimed. “Does anypony else feel the impending march of mortality!?”

Swift Roller’s eyes shrunk to the size of pinpricks as she gazed down the train tracks. “That’s… that’s coming right toward us.”

“EVERYPONY!” Applejack hollered, “GET CLEAR!”

The three immediately sprinted off to the side. Swift Roller dropped a whole crate of ammunition off her to scamper away in time, as Lucky Twirl made sure to get her platoon and whatever Night Guard artillery soldiers she could find out of the danger area. Worried eyes looked to the soldiers in triage, only to find that Wild Strikes had already swiftly pulled them far off to the side. She was still holding on to Caramel Crunch, however.

Yet, even with advanced warning and considerable distance afforded by the watchful eye of Swift Roller and Pinkie-sense, nopony could of prepared for the burst of heat felt against their coats as an Armored train flew right through the railroad junction and soared right off the tracks, slamming right into the forest. As ponies scampered into the forests and out of the danger area, it only expanded to take up the entire junction as train cars twisted and turned, some launched into the air and careening down onto the junction, and that was all before the stockpiled ammunition for the gun cars cooked off and brewed one impressive mushroom cloud of fire, ash, and general destruction in plain view for the entire Salt Lick City Militia to view.

But, the final piece of the puzzle landed ever so gracefully, as Dobbelsteen Moerman and Selenite landed with the power of their wings, each providing a safe landing for Jungle Trek as the three soldiers took in the sight of their work. With the scattered train cars twisted and torn, and fire blazing into the sky and turning into blackened smoke, the trio breathed a collective sigh.

“Well…” Jungle gasped. “...That was enough excitement for my whole life.”

“...Is this what they teach you in the Empire?” Selenite asked.

“...No, Selenite.” Moerman shook his head. “I’m self taught.”

Turning away from the wreckage, they came face to face with the entire assembled companies of the Militia, adding in the Night Guard detachment, to be over 200 ponies staring right back at them.

Applejack shared a look with Pinkie Pie, as the entire formation busted out into cheers.

“...We gotta tell Twi and the others about this.”

Author's Note

In a surprising turn of events, this story will be finished. Driven into an unplanned hiatus since September due to my final year of university, my work on Equestria At War as a developer (working on Feathisia, where our main character is from), and more importantly the process of commissioning into the United States Army, I have only recently had the time to go back and finish this story before I head off. Though this was originally planned to be far larger in scope, the next chapter will serve as an epilogue to this first story, giving both a satisfying conclusion and characterization to the world of Equestria At War, and giving ample room to be picked up at a later date.

All in all, thank you all for the kind words you've said about my story! Sorry to keep you waiting!

WARNO

August 15th 1010, 20:00

End of the Battle of Yonderhill

Equestrians may have all been pacifist trainees in the eyes of an experienced soldier like Dobbelsteen Moerman, but this may have been the first time he’d been around soldiers that appreciate his love of a party.

Perched, literally, on the wreckage of his enemies, the Griffon commando who, in the eyes of all official sources, wasn’t allowed to go further than being a glorified advisor, was now meshed with the crowd of cheering soldiers of the bruised, battered, but unbeaten Fairflanks Militia who he had commanded. Watching the display of the gathered companies of her fellow ponies, the silver maned Thestral couldn’t help her stoic expression fall piece by piece into a smile.

“Damn the gods, Selenite, the setting of the sun can wait,” said Dobbelsteen Moerman, rising from the wreckage pile he was using as a chair, bringing a claw to dust off his floral patterned shirt and unbuttoned uniform. “Tell her majesty she’s going to want to wake up for this one.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s hardly a way to refer to her majesty.”

As the golden rays of the sun illuminated the clouds that approached with the coming of the night sky, Jungle Trek stepped out of the mob of celebrating ponies, a simple look of exhaustion and relief displayed on his face. Catching the glimpse of Strawberry Cinnamon, Shooting Steps, and others from his squad managed to get a smile out of him, as he looked at Moerman. “You are the craziest Griffon I’ve ever had the displeasure of working with.”

“That’s one hell of a thank you, Trek. Can I get it in writing?”

Turning away from the crowd and traveling down the rail tracks further back where their supplies and tents were assembled, Selenite was the first of the trio to speak. “Applejack and Pinkie Pie already picked up the first flight back to Canterlot to give Celestia and Luna both the good news.” She smiled. “Word of this victory is the saving grace we all needed to keep going, even if the fight continues elsewhere.”

Jungle Trek took off his helmet, looking over to his two friends. “We’ve done them a great blow here, haven’t we?”

Dobbelsteen Moerman adjusted his sunglasses. “A vast section of the Equestrian frontline, though sparsely populated and not holding much value, has now been secured from further attack. The fronts Equestria will have to cover will be greatly reduced.”

Selenite nodded. “I doubt Chrysalis will throw any more soldiers into this valley any longer, considering the losses we’ve inflicted. Not to mention the mountain pass from Tall Tale we’ve protected. Civilians should have no trouble escaping the Changelings.”

“It’s the first victory we’ve achieved… since the start of the war.” Jungle Trek said, gradually slowing to a stop with his two friends. “What we’ve done here today is far greater than any tactical value… the first time we’ve been able to give any of our soldiers, and all of Equestria, anything concrete to base their hopes on.”

“It’s hardly the end,” said Selenite, giving a glance towards her Night Guard soldiers celebrating with the Militia. “The Changelings are bound to return. If not here, then elsewhere along the front, and they’ll want their damages repaid tenfold for what we’ve done for them here.”

After a moment of silence, Selenite brought her eyes away from her soldiers, and to Dobbelsteen.

“It’s something to consider, Moerman. How long can we slip from defeat?”

If Dobbelsteen Moerman had an answer for the two of them, he didn’t say it.

August 16th 1010, 00:00
Good news had a way of not sticking around for long.

Despite the long ago setting of the sun, nopony had gone to sleep. Not long after the end of the battle, a much needed convoy led by the one-eyed General ‘Swift Wing’ of captured Changeling trucks, equipment, and rations brought much needed relief and supplies, with the official story being ‘You don’t want to know’. Yet, as radio communications had been sent up, news had come in just as reports were sent out.

“This is the final radio broadcast of the city of Tall Tale.”

The various platoons of the Fairflanks Militia and Night Guard Auxiliaries had gathered in the tree lines a kilometer or so away from the railroad junction, some few outposts on watch as most had gathered in an impromptu assembly area, basing its location off the only clear area Dobbeelsteen’s plane could land. Tents had been set up and lines of soldiers had sat on the ground, gathered around one of the truck radios.

“The Changelings will capture the city soon. We have exhausted all remaining ammunition, supplies and are down to the last of our numbers in holding them back.”

The cold breeze, either of the night or the words being heard, had driven the ponies closer and closer together. Even as the enemy had retreated far from where they could hurt them, they were still out there. Lucky Twirl found herself surrounded by the ponies she led in her platoon hours ago, briefly glancing at her for some look of reassurance. Sunrise Dare and Yellow rock remained uncharacteristically silent, leaning forward and hanging on every word of the radio. Sapphire stream took a break from cleaning her machine gun to turn to speak to Shooting Steps, but refrained when she saw her gaze. Locked on the treeline.

“To the defenders in the streets, the partisans in the fields, the soldiers in the trenches: Our city lives in those who have escaped. Equestria stands to avenge us. Fight hard. Die well.”

The radio had dissolved into a familiar chorus of static. The message had been on repeat for the last couple minutes. Yet, the message and its transmission had either been out of range, power, or time, as the battle for Tall Tale ended hundreds of kilometers away.

Swift Wing turned from the truck radio, her confident smirk absent. “...Not much of a signal remains.”

Sunrise Dare’s expression fell. “They – that voice said most of the ponies in Tall Tale made it out, right?”

“Yes.” Shooting Steps, nodded. Her eyes remained on the treeline. “...Just not its soldiers.”

The remnants of the Fairflanks Militia, some hundred or so, felt the familiar dread that had seemed to hound them since the beginning of this war. Each and every pony, in their own way, had worry creep into their eyes. Except Jungle Trek.

“Soldiers do their job.” Standing at the edge of the formation, the brown maned pony held his helmet loosely in his hoof. “Ponies like us bear the hardship of this world because it is what we have been entrusted to do.” He met the eyes of his former peers. “The Princesses have faith in us. And in these last hours, I have acquired great faith in you. We beat the Changelings back today, and we will do it tomorrow.”

Some ponies, whose eyes had remained glued to the dirt, found it in them to look at Jungle Trek as he spoke.

“You have all gotten me through this mess. From Fairflanks, to Salt Lick, to here. We may have had help from some… crazy feathered madgriff, but it was you who pulled me through it. I know that. You should all get some rest. We saved a lot of lives here today.”

The ponies of the Fairflanks Militia straightened their posture instinctively as Jungle Trek spoke to them. Memories and recollections of the battles in the last weeks, and their victory here today, had recovered some of the pride in their eyes. Out of the crowd, one voice spoke through the cold breeze.

Bounding to her hooves, Wild Strike’s couldn’t help but smile at Jungle Trek as the memories flooded in. “I knew you’d get us out of that foxhole, Trek. And I knew you weren’t going to leave any of us.” She raised her hoof, into a salute. “Thank you, sir.”

Jungle Trek could hardly process what was happening before Brisk Sweeper, on the other end of the formation, saluted him. “You got us through this, Trek. Thank you, sir.”

Sunrise Dare, Sapphire Stream, even Shooting Steps. The members of his former squad, and soon all of the Militia ponies that he had led to safety across miles of forest and danger had saluted him as one. Some hundred ponies looked to him, with hope in their eyes.

As Jungle Trek returned the salute, he found himself having some too.

“The fight has moved, everypony!”

News of the radio broadcast, and its developmental news on the war had spread to each soldier within the Fairflanks Militia. For obvious reasons, it caused no shortage of worry. Many of the soldiers gathered around a bonfire in the middle of the assembly area to accompany one another. That, and because the Griffon Commando was at it again, and Selenite had to admit he could draw a crowd.

“We may have beaten into the dirt these Jaegers of Colonel…” He stopped, turning. “What was his name?”

Jungle Trek leaned forward. “Colonel Zellix-”

“Colonel literally who, the point is he couldn’t step to us. Now I’m all for in and out operations, but this war you’ve all found yourselves in is going to be a long and terrible fight.” He brought up his wing to point in a vague, northern direction into the darkness of the night. “Even now we’ve heard of the enemy flowing like water through the paths of least resistance. They found a rock here, and have elected to go around us.”

Sitting in the grass amongst the ponies of her platoon, Lucky Twirl slightly tilted her head. “So…what do we do now?”

“We move the rock. Like furniture thrown in front of a pony who had a bit too many, we serve to trip the enemy into a cycle of frustration, forever unable to get their bearings, until their inevitable crash on the bar floor.”

Illuminated by the bonfire in front of him, his sunglasses reflected in small shines the eyes of each of the ponies of the Fairflanks Militia. His conduct, almost certainly unbecoming of an officer, elicited both the smiles and the trust of all of the ponies around him. Selenite could see that, and respect it.

“And crash they will, my ponies.” He leaned forward, glancing on either side of him to the gathered soldiers around him. “I am no stranger to their way of war. Ecosystems have thrived from those I put in the ground. I have changed the topographical depiction of Griffonstone’s mountain range with the amount of firepower dispensed upon bandits. I have the ultimate confidence in you, especially after today, to see this war through to an inevitable victory.”

Strawberry Cinnamon could feel her smile growing, even with her nervousness. It wasn’t long ago she was in the back of a transport truck. “What if they bring even more? Like those who took Tall Tale? Could we stop them there, Moerman?”

“There is nothing the Changelings would hate more, to face an enemy which has defeated them before.” He smiled. “And nothing we would love more.”

Selenite could see how it all came together. Their smiles remained, but the way the soldiers, even her and Jungle Trek, leaned in had them appearing less of a militia and more so the warriors they needed to be. The news of Tall Tale’s fall didn’t have them defeated, it had them eager to meet the Changelings again. All of her initial impressions of Dobbelsteen Moerman had been correct. He was a lunatic. He was out of his mind. He was a glorified mercenary, and he was the soldier the ponies needed him to be.

“The Warning Order has been given. The enemy may feel a giant amongst ants, and our fellow ponies may perceive him as an unstoppable force, but fear has begun to crawl into their veins.” His claw tightened in the air for emphasis, as the ponies followed his every move. “The enemy will become rash, as he will become paralyzed. He will be fearful, constricted by the terror we strike into him. We have achieved great victory here, my little ponies.”

Leaning away from the bonfire, his claw hung on the sling of his lever action rifle. Short weeks ago, Dobbelsteen Moerman met the scattered fragments of innocent ponies terrified. Now, they could stand on their own. They could be proud of themselves.

He grinned. “And I have a feeling you’re going to bring me a lot more, am I right?”

The soldiers erupted from the grass with their rifles in the air, cheering with excitement. Selenite and Jungle Trek couldn’t help themselves from joining in, though a bit more subdued than those around them. Weaving through the crowd of amped up soldiers, Selenite stopped before Dobbelsteen, and straightened her uniform.

“I think they’re ready to kill, Selenite.” He said, looking around. “Although this sort of completes my job…I’d like to stick around.”

Jungle Trek nodded. “Won’t hear an objection from me.”

The thestral brushed her sliver mane from out of her right eye, looking to Moerman. “The Changelings wont stop at Tall Tale, Moerman. If their momentum keeps up, they’ll be upon Las Pegasus by the end of the week. If that happens…”

Moerman looked between them.

“Las Pegasus is the largest city on the west coast of Equestria.” Jungle Trek said. “It connects to the entirety of Southern and Eastern Equestria. Its past the Ruby Mountains…” He nodded. “If they take it, there won’t be anywhere to hold the Changelings. The front will be too broad, it…It’ll be the end.”

Dobbelsteen Moerman looked to both of them. “That’s where we’re going. If Applejack’s forces, however little they are, are still near Yonderhill, they can transport us by train in time to defend Las Pegasus.”

“That’s a lot of pony power to move, Moerman.” Selenite said. “Remember, Prince Blueblood is still in Canterlot, and he controls what moves and what doesn’t.”

Dobbelsteen Moerman gave a look that seemed to be deep in thought, before he immediately gave a shrug. “Us three are going to Canterlot. I’m gonna talk to the princesses.”

Selenite deadpanned. “That’s a terrible idea.”

Jungle Trek’s eyes shrunk to the size of pinpricks. “T-The Princesses?”

“Yes Trek, the Princesses. It’s what we’re doing. I’m an advisor…or ambassador…whatever, I shoot bugs, that's all that matters.”

“Your language is precisely why this is a bad idea.”

Jungle Trek muttered to himself. “...I can’t go see the princesses…I-I haven’t even showered in days!”

“I’m gonna talk to your sun and moon god about how best to kill shapeshifters.” Dobbelsteen Moerman spread his wings for takeoff. “I’m gonna bring the plane around.”

Jungle Trek looked between Moerman and Selenite. “We don’t even have an appointment!”

Selenite narrowed her eyes. “I swear to the night Moerman-”

“I’m gonna ask for a salary, too.”

With that, Dobbelsteen Moerman took off into the sky, followed by a sigh from Selenite, whose wings thrust her also in the air. As the soldiers of the Fairflanks militia looked up to watch them go, Jungle Trek just shook her head, and put on his helmet.

“Suppose I’m walking.”

As the three heroes of Equestria each made their way to the mobile home of Feathisia’s most beloved and Skyfall’s most wanted, Wild Strikes and Caramel Crunch watched them go from the edge of the gathering of ponies. The white-coated pegasus turned to her friend, and asked. “Where do you think they’re going?”

Caramel Crunch only shrugged. “Wherever the next fight is.”

Author's Note

And so ends my first fic, LETS GOOOOOO TOTAL EQUESTRIAN VICTORY

A Story Best Told With Crayons

June 28th, 1010, 23:42

Six days after the beginning of the Great War.

12 miles outside Aiwle, Feathisia.

Rain had clogged everycreature’s wits and senses, and soaked their feathers as it had their gear. The night sky kept its rolling clouds hidden, shown only in the flashes of distant lightning that tore through them. From these clouds came the rain, its volume, and harshness swaying like ocean tides with the hours they had all been out in these forests.

The heat and humidity of the summer still lingered well into the night, as the soldiers had sweat through their feathers and their uniforms. Many had the desire to ditch their uniforms, helmets, and backpacks that weighed them down. None did.

One hundred and thirty-two soldiers of the Imperial Army kept their eyes on the distant borders of their encampment. Only the moonlight and flashing clouds gave brief illumination to their surroundings, as their eyes had to strain to stay alert. Some lay with their backs against the trees, propping themselves up. Some ponies had sprawled on the ground, their rifles in their hooves and their bodies laid flat against the forest floor, leaves covering their uniforms. A few Griffons had perched themselves in the trees, wings tucked in behind themselves as they hugged the limbs and scanned the area.

The soldiers hadn’t spoken since nightfall. They had placed their rucksacks, large backpacks packed with all sorts of gear and supplies, next to rock formations, trees, under leaves, and in small divots in the dirt to conceal them. The helmets that sat upon their manes and feathers were pasted with dirt as were their uniforms. Each soldier remained absolutely still.

Only the rain moved.

One hundred and twenty yards to the north through the forest was a ditch. Not significant in its depth, yet just enough to hold the one hundred and twelve soldiers, each with their own weapons laid on the grass peeking out of it and towards the enemy company.

The flag on the uniforms of these soldiers, who lay in the ditch and clutched their claws, hooves, and in some instances, paws around their weapons, could hardly be seen under the nightfall rain. Divided into three horizontal bars of blue, white, and yellow, with a Sword piercing through a dragon, the colors of Feathisia were stitched with pride in their uniforms, yet subdued by the dirt caked upon them.

Yet the major identifier of the soldiers in the ditch was the pasted clay on their fur and feathers that blended them so with the dirt they laid in. Arising from this dirt into a hunched-over stance rose a single pony, with a coat of bright green.

This pony brought their rifle close to their chest, raising a free hoof to shake in the air, catching the attention of one Griffon down the right side of the trench, and one dog down the left. The pony's eyes made contact with both, before extending her hoof out and then driving forward out in front of her.

Plonk!

One hundred and twelve pairs of eyes moved to glance at the pony, and the poor Griffon in front of her that she just hit on the helmet. He looked back to the pony only briefly with disappointment before all eyes returned back to their weapon sights.

Thanking the heavens the rain had covered the sound of the mistake, and wishing to the gods above that this would all be forgotten like the rest of her assigned leadership, the pony quickly repeated the gesture to the two nearest platoon leaders of her company. This time, no blue on blue hoof-assault.

With this movement, the company of soldiers that lay within the ditch had begun to tear itself into three sections. From a bird’s eye view, fifty-five soldiers in total had split and traveled down towards both ends of the trench, extending the line of soldiers. However, the new flanks of these lines had formed at angles, as the company formed in a wide ‘W’ shape.

The rain pattered the wooden stocks of these soldiers' rifles as they all aimed in line towards the encampment, of which almost none could spot through the darkness of the night. Only brief illuminations from the lightning cast sight upon moved trees and what may, or may not have been faint silhouettes.

The soldiers of the encampment peered their eyes in every direction, scanning for their hunters.

The soldiers of the ditch had their rifles raised and ready into the darkness towards their enemy.

The pony had raised their own from inside the trench, her eyes glued to the sight. Adrenaline had taken control of her senses, her body shaking from the cold rain. She struggled to maintain the focus of her rifle, even with it leaning down upon the grass. The company waited for her signal to begin fire, yet through her mind ran endless possibilities for failure.

Out of the darkness behind the trench, a new Griffon approached.

His steps were taken without a sound, his towering figure masked by the shade of trees he stuck close to. Entering the trench, he caught the eyes of some of the soldiers, who then quickly averted their gaze forward. He lay down beside the shivering pony.

His claw raised ever slightly, and the pony inhaled with a nod of understanding. When the claw lowered, she exhaled and returned her eye back to the sight. The rain was still cold but had failed to shake her further. The Griffon stepped back from the line, glancing down the left side of the trench, and slowly dragging his gaze to the other. A nod of approval.

The wooden stock of the bolt action rifle rested with the same stillness as those it targeted. The pony’s eyes tore through the darkness. She was certain, she could see two of those encampment soldiers now. She had her hoof slowly pulling on the lever of the rifle, farther and farther. Iron sights focused upon them. Her heart had slowed. Her gaze narrowed.

CRACK!

The encampment soldiers immediately snapped their gazes towards varying directions of the north, alerted and shaken by the sudden appearance of gunfire no matter how many hours they had anticipated it. Yet, the sound of the rain had muddied the sound. One Griffon leaned up against the branches of the tree, and called out into the night. “TWELVE 'O'CLOCK!”

The night erupted into a thunder of rifles that lined the ditch, each shooting out flames from their barrels and filling the air with gunpowder and smoke. The sudden symphony of gunfire had come in waves of segmented fire from its three sections, each volley coming almost immediately after the last.

The soldiers under fire immediately ducked into the dirt, abandoning their three-hundred and sixty-degree watch and focusing on getting to a safe location. A few soldiers caught out in the open scrambled for their rifles, before briskly taking cover. The encampment's soldiers rushed to safety, Griffons dove from treetops, snatching their pony comrades out of harm's way, while diamond dogs yanked their fellow soldiers to cover.

A Griffon, with feathers brown as the fallen summer leaves within the encampment, had leaned out of his position behind an old oak tree and raised his rifle to fire back towards the ditch.

“ON LINE!”

Rushing hooves, stomping paws, and fast claws tore through the fallen leaves of the forest floor, as the rain continued to patter their helmets as fast as their hearts did against their chests, the soldiers of the encampment began to form a spaced line that waxed and waned, jutting forward and back as the soldiers apart of it utilized whatever cover they could.

Now the guns sounded twice as loud throughout the whole forest, as the flames briefly illuminated the soldiers of each line for the other, only interrupted by the cycling of bolts and the loading of stripper clips.

Yet, the encampment had been outmatched. With the prepared volley fire allowing their enemy to fire at a constant rate in comparison to their hasty firing at will, the struggle for firepower was lost.

Some soldiers had laid still in the leaves, failing to get into cover in time.

Screams, cries of pain, and agony could be heard from the less fortunate ones.

The same brown-feathered Griffon looked to both sides of his company, who for the most part were sticking to their own natural cover. He called out, having to scream over the endless sound of gunfire and the constant rain.

“FIRST PLATOON, BOUND!”

Upon this order, the soldiers to the right of this Griffon had immediately picked up their rifles and in some instances, each other, and sprinted backward away from the enemy, while the other half had leaned out of their cover and began firing with increased speed, seemingly not bothering to aim.

However, the ponies at the trench had not sat idly. As the first section of the encamped soldiers had run for safety, the flanks of the trench spread like water flowing along two paths, continuing their angled positions forward, surrounding the enemy.

The center trench continued to fire, covering the advance of their flanks, as did the camp line to cover the retreat of one of theirs.

The soldiers had not run for long, however, and soon the creatures had all slid to a halt and fallen onto their bellies, raising their rifles back into the direction of the enemy. All in unison, a chorus of over forty soldiers sounded off. “SET!”

The Griffon called once more.

“SECOND AND THIRD PLATOON, BOUND!”

The process had now flipped, as the center and far left sides of the encampment retreated, grasping their rifles and high-tailing it backward, now covered by the first platoon of soldiers.

In an all-out sprint away from the pursuing gunfire getting closer and closer, the creatures of the encampment all slid into a distant, more well-constructed line about fifty meters further from the enemy.

The line looked forward, over the motionless soldiers of their company that now lay upon the forest floor, whose uniforms proudly displayed the yellow and blue flag upon their shoulders.

The brown feathers on the Griffon, now even more so stained from the dirt of the forest, had stood stiff with adrenaline. The soldiers of both companies, attacking and defending, yelled out into the night.

“I’m out of Ammo!” yelled one not far from him, a pony desperately patting himself down for any spare cartridges to load into his bolt action rifle.

“They’re moving to flank us, watch the sides!” yelled a diamond dog. She sat at the far left end of the line, directing her fellow soldiers to widen their scopes of fire to cover the flanks.

Yet, one voice sounded louder than them all.

“INDEX!”

The gunfire had halted, the voice coming from the trench further up. Yet although it came from their enemy’s lines, so too did the soldiers of the encampment halt their gunfire. They remained frozen for the moment, the majority of them catching their breath and looking around at their fellow soldiers.

The moonlight cast its illumination through openings of the tree branches and leaves above, with the rain maintaining a low but persistent hum. Though the darkness of the forest had nearly shrouded all in its mystery, the blonde feathers of this soldier could still be made out if one's eyes were keen enough. This, however, was not to overlook the silhouette of the figure himself, which certainly made a presence even without the assistance of moonlight.

Tall was one word to describe this Griffon. In relation to the other Griffons and ponies, that is, the diamond dogs within the formation still held overall superiority.

Imposing was better. The same towering figure that knelt beside the commanding pony of the trench now scanned the battlefield itself. His eyes, though they scanned, were not seen behind his sunglasses. Though one were to imagine being blind wearing sunglasses at night, this blonde-feathered Griffon examined everything with one quick glance. Gunpowder flowed through the air around him, surrounding him in the glow of the moonlight.

He looked down at the forest floor.

“...If it ain't raining, you ain't training. Get your flanks out of that mud.”

The ‘dead’ soldiers of the encampment forces on the ground began to move once more, this time with small amounts of laughter, and so too did the rest of the soldiers on either side of the exercise. The towering soldier offered his claw to a nearby Griffon on the ground, pulling them up with ease.

Soon, all two hundred and forty-four soldiers of the exercise had formed around this Griffon, chattering with the soldiers on their own side and the opposite with laughter.

The soldier in the center had a smile of his own, looking around at his soldiers. “Squad leaders, make sure you got everybody. Blanks can be dangerous too, you know.” His claws took hold of his sunglasses, adjusting them to rest on his square beak. His blue eyes briefly shone with the moonlight before being shrouded by the shades once more. “Got everyone?”

The brown feathered Griffon looked to the platoon leaders of his company, who in turn were looking to their squad leaders. A visual game of accountability was played before the Griffon turned back. “Bravo Company all accounted for, Major sir.”

The officer now looked at the pony from the trench.

She nodded enthusiastically. “All one hundred and twelve, sir!” Glancing rapidly to both her left and right, she took another deep breath. “Positive.”

Bolts of each and every creature's rifle had been locked to the rear, and ammunition stored in their uniform pockets. Helmets were also taken off.

“Major Moerman, sir?” Called a voice from the crowd of soldiers. “How do you think we did?”

Moerman, the Griffon who stood in the center of this circle, narrowed his eyes in thought. He flexed/stretched his wings in the wind, quickly recounting the events of the exercise. After a moment, the Major adjusted his uniform which bore the same blue, yellow, and green flag of Feathisia on his shoulder. The uniform itself contrasted with the flag, itself a deep green color with small brass buttons.

“Lieutenant Anika.” The Major said, turning to the green pony, who immediately shrunk away under the eye of over three hundred of her peers. The blonde Griffon, however, smiled. “What do you think you did right?”

She blinked, “Um…Did right?” She glanced between the soldiers to her left and right. She swallowed, opening her mouth. “I think-”

“You just ordered the deaths of over a hundred of Feathisia’s enemies as you should.” The Major said with a smile, prompting laughter from the soldiers around. “Talk to me about it, Warrior!”

Anika started to smile, clearing her throat and taking a deep breath, looking her superior in the eyes. “Everypon- Everycreature, sorry, did very well on the approach all the way to the trench.” She smiled. “We weren’t spotted at all like last time!”

A few mumbles of agreement with nodding heads from Alpha company were heard.

Major Moerman maintained his smile, looking to the half of the circle that consisted of Anika and the soldiers under her command. “Something that you organized rather well, Lieutenant?” He said, before turning to the entire circle. “I didn’t even think to tell you all this before, but it's a great idea. Having your platoons fire in cycles?”

Anika grasped her rifle tighter and bowed away from the approving eyes of everycreature else. “Well…I read it in a book.” She said, looking around. “Seemed like a pretty good idea…I think.”

Moerman sighed. “Wish I knew how to read.”

The soldiers had now begun to laugh along with their commanding officer, most of them slinging their rifles and beginning to take seats on the forest floor. Anika had also taken a seat, now looking her soldiers in the eyes a lot more. Moerman smiled.

He soon turned. “...Bravo company, you're laughing a bit too hard at that.”

Their smiles were still present on their faces when the Major’s eyes met with the Griffon with brown feathers. His rifle was still held in his claws when he spoke, his eyes sort of falling down to the leaves under him. “Lieutenant-”

“Lotte.” The Major finished, “Don't think I don't know, son.” He smiled. “Now, what do you think you did right?”

Lotte looked up, seemingly a bit surprised. He looked back and forth between his soldiers. “Well, I uh…” He blinked his brown eyes in a frenzy. “Bounding back away from the camp in an organized fashion. It kept every retreating element covered.”

An eyebrow was raised behind the Major’s sunglasses. “Sensing a ‘but’ in there…”

“I left the rucksacks behind,” Lotte said. “That and the fact I wasn’t able to spot-”

Moerman raised his claw. “We, son.”

Lotte nodded, “We uh, didn’t spot the enemy coming in before it was too late. Taken by surprise like that, we didn’t have enough time to properly grab our equipment and get out of there safely, so I tried to reform the line at a safer position but not give up the bags.”

In the center of the circle, the blonde feathered Griffon looked around at each of his soldiers, a Diamond dog with a light gray coat, before leaning over and extending his claw. “Corporal Maynard? Mind if I borrow your weapon?” He said, taking the rifle into his claws. He raised it up in the air.

“How much is this rifle worth?”

The soldiers glanced at each other, muttering varying numbers amongst themselves.

The Major gave a nod, bringing the rifle back down and looking over it. “Could measure it in the bits it took to make. Or the bits you could sell it for.” He looked up. “Maybe the time to build it, even. Takes eighteen hours to fully create a rifle in a factory.”

Moerman looked to the Lieutenant. “It takes eighteen years to create a soldier. Still, even with that clear discrepancy of value in time, there is even more so no such competition in the discrepancy of value in the life of a creature over material value.”

“One thing I ever teach you, soldiers, it's this.” The Major said, adjusting his officer’s cap and holding the rifle in his right claw. “Nothing comes before the lives of your soldiers. Objectives, materials, supplies? All can be regained and replaced. There are no second chances when it comes to creatures. They are the one thing you should never risk.”

The Major turned, handing the rifle back to Corporal Maynard. The Diamond Dog happily reunited with their rifle.

“Lieutenants, you did well filling the shoes of your Captains. Entrust that they will receive good word of your improvements over the course of these last couple of days.” Moerman turned with a smile to the rest of his soldiers. “That goes for the rest of you as well. Each and every one of you performed within the vision of your superiors while also keeping yourselves, and your battle buddies, safe and alive.” He winked at his soldiers. “Deserves a reward, don't you think?”

The soldiers, whose smiles were already long present, either sat straight back up or stood straighter under the eyes of the Major, hope swelling each and every creature’s heart. It had been days out in the field performing exercises at all sorts of ungodly hours. Be it in the summer heat or the middle of the night.

Rain still pattered on the uniform of Dobbelsteen Moerman, Major in the Imperial Armed Forces, as he adjusted his Officers cap. A button-down floral shirt could barely be seen/glimpsed from under the collar of his uniform. “I think it does.” He smirked. “Oh-Four Hundred Wake up, and a Ruck march all the way to Aiwle!”

Immediately, groans of betrayal and crushed dreams echoed throughout both companies. The soldiers began to lower their heads in disappointment. Such is the life of the Infantry.

Moerman continued. “...And a visit to the Harbor Diner. With Free drinks.”

HOORAY!!!

June 28th 1010, 20:21

Six days after the beginning of the Great War.

Ponyville, Equestria.

Though this was hardly new, Fluttershy was worried.

Although the sun had set over Ponyville in just the exact same way it had for the hundreds upon hundreds of times it had before, nopony had retired into peaceful slumber as usual. Even as the great white moon rose into the sky, not even the beautiful creatures the light-yellow pony loved so much could soothe themselves to sleep. From the light that still peered from the windows of the crystal castle in the center of town, neither could Twilight Sparkle.

Her hooves stepped onto the red carpeted floors, heading up the stairs of the castle and through its whimsical, winding hallways. “It’s a wonder Twilight doesn’t get lost in this place.” She said to herself, before coming to an intersection of hallways.

She squeaked. “...Or maybe I’m lost.”

Her ears twitched at a sound she couldn’t make out coming down one such corridor, whose double doors at the end peered with shining light under its frame. Fluttershy immediately recognized the doors of the castle library, thankful and relieved.

Pushing through these doors, Fluttershy squinted at the blaring lights still going well into the night. Yet, her eyes then widened at the sheer state of the once neat and orderly library, and her friend Twilight.

For starters, more books were on the floor than on the shelves, some with their pages turned and their rear covers facing upwards, some laid half opened and abandoned, and some had remained in unorganized piles waiting to be picked up to be read. Hardly the work of her best friend, surely.

Yet, there Twilight Sparkle was. Breezing past all of these inadequacies of an organized library, She had dropped one book on the floor carelessly and simply picked up another as if following along on railroad tracks, each book offering its information and knowledge to be used upon the next. The expressions upon the Princess of friendship however were not of discovery and connection. Her eyes were sorrowful, with her wings tucked to her sides and her mane unkempt. The doors had creaked upon opening, and she looked.

“Fluttershy!” She said, and the haste of her words nearly caused the doors to close once more. Twilight stepped forward, placing down her book on the large center table, where it joined many of its relatives. “Fluttershy, are you sure you don't have any more books at your cabin?”

She shook her head. “Well, none that I think you’d be all that interested in…right now.”

“No books on conflict?”
“Daring Do was a little frightening for me.”
“None on history?”
“There’s, um, one about old herbal medicine techniques.”
“Battle tactics?”

Fluttershy blinked.

Twilight sighed, turning to rest her head on the table in pure exhaustion, her eyes bouncing between the towers of paper she had assembled. “Nothing, Fluttershy.” Her voice was dry, almost with a rasp. “There isn’t a single book in this whole library, nor the libraries of all of Ponyville, that give any sort of help on ending this war.”

Fluttershy’s eyes sank down to the carpet underneath her hooves. “...Why don't we just try talking to them?”

“Chrysalis isn’t interested in talking, Fluttershy.” Twilight leaned up from her chin-resting position on the table and gestured to scattered newspapers on its corner. “Go read for yourself if you have to. Ever since her coup attempt on Canterlot five years ago, this war is all she’s been planning. She’ll never give up on revenge.”

Walking over and looking down at the newspapers, Fluttershy shrunk from the words as if they were terrifying creatures of the Everfree forest. There, depicted in one article after the other, and printed in black and white images on their covers, were hulking machines and weird-looking vehicles on the roads of towns not that dissimilar from Ponyville, and flying machines in smoky skies.

‘CHRYSALIS’ TROOPS POUR ACROSS THE BORDER’ were the bold letters that spanned the top of one such newspaper, as Fluttershy read more and more of Changelings flying through the streets of Anchorage and Vanhoover, as well as the forests themselves. Tears began to welt in her eyes before one of her hooves wiped them away with a sniff. “...I sure hope those poor ponies are okay…and the creatures.”

“We have to focus on stopping Chrysalis.” Twilight had moved another book, ‘An Overview of Ancient Equestrian History’ into her hooves. “That’s the only hope we have to save more ponies from harm's way.”

“Can we confront her?” Fluttershy said, looking up. “With the elements?”

Twilight shook her head, “I’m afraid not, Fluttershy. When we faced her before, it was only her and a small Army in one city. That and the enemies of the past were usually singular. But this…” She looked back down to her book. “Hundreds of Hives are involved, with millions of Changelings invading Equestria. A war can't be won by just six ponies.”

Fluttershy lowered her head down, picking up another newspaper. “...Oh.”

An uncomfortable silence had fallen over both ponies as it had over the entirety of Ponyville. Through the windows of the castle, Twilight saw that the clouds were still, the wind did not move the leaves of the trees that adorned the surrounding hills. Silence was the new normal for Equestria, this far from the frontline.

Yet the distant war at the far northern borders of Equestria was still as Equestria as Ponyville was, resting in the heart of the vast country. Twilight glanced over to a map of Equestria and its neighbors, visualizing the war between the Hives of the Changelings in the north as they swarmed across and down into Equestria. As her eyes traced down imagining these swarms, one small dot in the center of Equestria caught her eye, and if she squinted, the small label of Ponyville could be seen. It was the only identifier from all the other hundreds of identical dots stretching back up to the border.

“What’s a Feathisian?”

Shaken out of her imagination by Fluttershy’s question, Twilight turned back to her book, scanning each page for similar conflicts of this magnitude in Equestria’s history. None had been found yet. “Feathisia is in Griffonia, Fluttershy.” She absentmindedly placed her hoof on the map, resting on the continent opposite Equestria. “It's a state within the Griffonian Empire, north of Griffonstone. It has a lot of-”

Fluttershy squinted at the newspapers. “Swamps?”

Twilight Sparkle now looked up from her book and over to her friend, who had sorted the haphazard pile into a line, the newspapers now flipped a couple of pages in. Twilight trotted over around the table, “Yeah, is there something in the news about them?”

“A lot of times, actually,” Fluttershy said, raising her hoof to point at one newspaper article, and then another. The article titles spoke now of victorious operations, heroic engagements with bandits, and other various acts of bravery. It was around this time Twilight noticed half of these newspapers were from the Empire itself. “It’s not about the war Equestria’s in, but these Griffons seem to get into trouble. A lot.”

COMMANDOS DRIVE BANDITS FROM GRIFFONSTONE! Were the bold letters of one such article on the table, Twilight now looking at the printed words with curiosity. Fluttershy then picked up another newspaper, reading aloud the title of the next article.

“Burying the hatchet…” She looked up briefly. “That’s the um…title. “The hastily arranged militias of the Riverpony alliance caught unexpected allies in the form of the rapid deployment of the Feathisian Commandos against Hellquill forces bent on the oppression of ponies. Although Imperial forces and the Riverpony coalition have had troubled history, this joint operation has already raised strong hopes of peace between Griffons and ponies in the region.”

Twilight Sparkle now took hold of another newspaper, reading it aloud right for Fluttershy. “The one-year anniversary of the fall of the National Griffonian Republic. The long thirty-year history of the republic, beginning with the Imperial revolution of 978 and climaxing in the invasion of the peaceful northern nations of Vedina, Skynavia, and the northern pony settlements decisively ended with the involvement of the Griffonian Empire on the north’s behalf. The war was swiftly ended in the battle for Cloudbury, the republic’s capital, most famously fought by Imperial tank forces in tandem with…The Feathisian Commandos.”

Fluttershy set down her newspaper on the table, resting on top of ‘An abridged history of Olenian and Equestrian relations’. “Wow…Feathisia seems to be a really wild place. Chrysalis was lucky not to have invaded them.” Fluttershy chuckled.

Fluttershy looked at Twilight. “Also because she’d have to…cross a whole ocean…Twilight?”

Twilight’s eyes had begun to widen at the newspapers, with her wings slightly twitching. She scanned each article with extreme speed, before turning to suddenly pull Fluttershy in a great big hug. “You’re a genius, Fluttershy!”

“Eep!” Fluttershy yelled before Twilight hugged her, squeaking out in response. “I…am?”

Twilight Sparkle turned back, beginning to roll up the newspapers on the table and stuff them into her bag. “I should have known that I was never going to find any sort of ideas, let alone a solution just within this library.” She said, gesturing to the books thrown about on the floor. “I don't know anything about wars and combat. But what I do know is friendship.”

Fluttershy blinked. “Yeah, but um…how does that relate to the commando Griffons?”

“Those Griffons are our new lifeline, Fluttershy!” Twilight said with newfound enthusiasm quite the contrary to her previous raspy and downtrodden tone. “If I can get those Commandos over to help us fight the Changelings, who knows what they could teach all of Equestria about fighting and winning this war!”

Fluttershy began to smile, leaning forward as Twilight’s words of hope began to infect her. “Do you really think they’ll come to help us?”

The Princess looked down, “I’m not sure, Equestria hasn’t interacted with the Griffonian continent outside of a few instances.” She sighed, before looking back to the window. “But Equestria has never faced anything like this before. Celestia and Luna instructed me to find any information I could on how to stop the Changelings. This library had nothing…but maybe those Commandos will.”

Twilight nodded, “I’m going to meet with Celestia first thing tomorrow morning about this. It can’t hurt to at least try.”

Fluttershy lowered her head. “I hope so, Twilight. All of this feels like a bad dream a pony can't wake up from.” She turned from the table and began trotting across the library towards the door, stopping halfway to glance back at her friend. “Could you please, um…let me know if it works? If they agree to come and help us?”

“The world changed a lot overnight, Fluttershy.” Twilight tilted her head towards the newspapers in her bag, and then back to Fluttershy. “But the magic of friendship hasn’t. I’ll do everything I can to get us all the help we need.”

“Thank you, Twilight.” The light-yellow pony smiled as she closed the door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Fluttershy.” Twilight Sparkle called after and watched the door close. As it did, she remained standing where she was, her eyes sinking to the floor. Trotting around the scattered books, she hopped into one of the library’s sofas, lying down upon it.

Twilight cast her eyes up to the night sky through the windows of her castle, and wondered what she would dream of. That is if she dreamed of anything. Although the slightest glimmer of hope had been found after a week of consistently bad news, she still loathed the necessity of sleep. It took her away from her studies on how to end this conflict. After all, what was the point of sleep anymore, to dream?

Why would she ever dream if the nightmares were now real?

Bewegungskrieg

July 13th 1010, 02:23

Dobbelsteen’s Junkers 52 Civilian Airliner

Somewhere over Western Equestria

Moerman wasn’t going to risk turning the lights back on.

Having to continuously fly through the clouds was a challenge all on its own. The route he had to take was practically comical, forgoing any set azimuth and simply going a general direction, bouncing from one cloud formation to the next to keep hidden. Now, throw in attempting to read a map in the darkness of his cabin?

Well… just because something is unpleasant, doesn’t mean it's impossible.

With the gentle glow of the instruments in the cockpit , Dobbelsteen was able to navigate over large swaths of Forests and plains, stretching out beyond the horizon could show him. Only in the distance towards the East could he glimpse the Unicorn Range mountains. Turning his eyes back to the map, he managed to glimpse the city of Tall Tale. Though quite a measurable distance from Vanhoover towards the south, it was the only urban area marked upon the map between the two.

The Major squinted. An expansive river cut across the vast plains, from the mountains towards the coast, and right through Tall Tale. Well, at least there was something to go off of.

On the dashboard, pinned next to the speedometer, a crude illustration of the Major fighting a battle on a small piece of paper gently flapped with the air in the cockpit. The same one given to him by Grover, as evident by the crude signing of his name in the corner.

Static came from the radio, only for a brief moment.

The Griffon folded up the map, quickly checking his bearing once more, before gently adjusting the radio on the console. His eyes darted around the windows, yet he wasn’t able to see anything with the gentle illumination of the moon and stars above.

“....fied Aircraft, Identify yourself.”

“Aircraft, JU-52 passenger airliner,” Moerman stated into the radio, briefly clearing his throat. “Uh… where are you?”

Swiftly cutting through the air over Moerman’s airplane, a small, agile fighter aircraft practically spun into position on the left of his airplane, the cockpit windows of both aircraft level with one another. “Up and About.” The radio said once again. “You fly quietly for a Civilian Airliner.”

The Griffon only squinted, able to make out the markings of Equestria’s flag on the tail of the light brown colored fighter. He mumbled to himself in confusion. “Sentinel’s sending out fighters on their own?”

“Hardly any choice with the numbers we have. Scouting's all we’re good for so far.” The radio paused for a moment but kept transmitting. “Sentinel, you said?”

Flicking on one of the cabin lights, Dobbelsteen grabbed his lever action rifle in his claw and gently held it up in view, along with himself dressed, although loosely, in his field-service officer’s uniform. “Name’s Moerman. Coming down from Salt Lick.”

“Salt Lick? That’s a rough go of it.” The lights of the fighter also flicked on. The pilot, whose pegasi wings could be slightly glimpsed folded in the back, had a light blue coat that somewhat resembled the afternoon sky, or perhaps crystal blue water. His mane, brown as the coat of paint on his plane, was styled in a side part. “I’m Sky Catcher, Mar…Moe…Wow, that’s a difficult name.”

Dobbelsteen just shook his head.

“Where are you going now?”

“Tall Tale.” Moerman sighed, setting the rifle down and glancing back at his instruments. “I don't have the best direction, given that the retreat from Salt Lick was hasty, but I plan to follow the river that flows through it once I meet it.”

“Well Aren’t you in luck.” The pilot gave a noticeable smirk. “The finest pilot in Equestria happens to be going there as well.”

The Griffon kept quiet about the noticeable pile of spent brass casings that still littered the carpet of his aircraft, and managed to swallow his urge to brag. “Well, I’ll follow you then, Sky Catcher.”

“Just…One question, Mr.”

“Hm?”

“That uh, That is YOUR plane, right?”

There was a noticeable silence.

“I stole it in Griffonia a long time ago.”

“...As long as it wasn’t Equestria.”

July 13th 1010, 09:45

13th Changeling Jaeger Division

Somewhere South of Vanhoover

“I want to know where that plane went, and who was in it.”

Colonel Zellix’s hooves wrapped around his binoculars, surveying the horizon as two Captains of the Changeling Heer stood behind him, shifting in place. His gray eyes remained forward, but not his attention. “Anyday, now.”

“We…” One officer cleared his throat. “We don’t know, sir.” Behind them, smoke rose from the flames that engulfed a farmhouse, the road leading away from it and further south carrying trucks of Changeling soldiers.

“General Elvir Roland’s armored corps has advanced at a rate unprecedented in the history of warfare, if his reports are to be believed” Zellix lowered his binoculars, gazing at the road. “I can certainly believe them. What I cannot believe-” he turned to face the officers, “Is your failure. Total air supremacy. Overwhelming firepower. Our orders of course were not to advance further than Salt Lick, as the land is of no use to us.” His eyes narrowed.

“The city was taken, sir.” The other officer said. A certain striped ribbon seemed to give him the confidence to contradict Zellix, compared to his fellow Captain, who sought to hide from his glare. “With minimal damage, the enemy cannot possibly reform their troops in the swamps south of Salt Lick.”

Zellix only tilted his head, a contorted look of disgust upon his face. “Equestrian Artillery halted Roland’s forces for nine days. Nine. Days.” He leaned forward, the confident look on the Captain slowly diminishing. “Who knows how many untold soldiers were able to flee Vanhoover in that window of time? The inability of you all to prevent the movement of an Artillery unit in the forest, guarded by routed infantry, is incompetence on the highest level.” He glared particularly at the opposite Captain. “Grounds to be summarily shot.”

A sharp intake of breath was noticeably taken by the decorated Captain, while the other took an instinctive step back away from the Colonel. Zellix turned, brushing his silver mane out of his eyes and bringing up his binoculars. “The Jaegers have been attached to Roland’s forces. Perhaps honor can be regained through proximity.”

The wind carried his words to the ears of the officers. In the silence, the flames of the farmhouse behind them intensified with the wind, as the roof collapsed. Zellix kept staring forward.

“The fields mean nothing to us. Tall Tale is your chance to redeem yourselves. Dismissed.”

July 13th 1010, 09:56

11th Equestrian Combat Engineer Division

Tall Tale City Center

Moerman couldn’t bring himself to look away from the train station. Though one of many within the city of Tall Tale. Lined up down the steps, on sidewalks, and around city blocks, ponies waited in silence. Amidst the rapid movement of uniformed soldiers and police on the streets, these ponies kept to the sidewalks. Most looked down at the pavement. Some looked towards the soldiers, who certainly weren’t being picked up by train. Some took it upon themselves to distract the fillies and foals.

Thankfully, he was jolted out of his trance by Sky Catcher, the pilot choosing to look forward. “He’s around here somewhere. That old stallion refuses to sleep to get these defenses prepared.” His hoof gently adjusted his tan vest. “...As you can see, it's not much.”

“Nowhere near enough,” Dobbelsteen said, prying his eyes away from the station as they entered a park, now a city of tents and stashed military equipment. Following Sky Catcher, Dobbelsteen entered the largest tent, his claw still wrapped around the strap of the lever action across his back.

“If these roads can’t be effectively covered with our garrison, pile any obstacles on them that you can.” An older stallion, with graying black hair, stood at the head of the tent, gazing upon a map of Tall Tale. “We’ll have to arm our snipers and distance them on their own. If we can store them on the top floors, their view over the streets should assist our ground forces.”

A mare, whose mane was a light pink, spoke to catch his attention. “Sir… we don’t have any snipers.” She sighed. “Or dedicated marksponies of any caliber.”

“...Arm the fireponies. If the police can be converted into our local garrison, so can they.” Gazing up from the map with the intake of light from the tent’s flap opening, the older stallion looked only half-amused. “I was hoping you’d be shot down, not bring back friends.”

Sky Catcher gave a small smile. “Yeah… sorry to disappoint, sir.” He turned to his previously mentioned ‘friend’. “Mr. Moerman, this is Lieutenant General Bucket. Commander of the defense of Tall Tale.”

Dobbelsteen mustered a smile of his own, though a bit forced to cover the expression he wore through the streets of this city. He extended his claw across the table. “Major. Pleasure to meet you, sir. I’m here to-”

“Waste my time, most likely.” Lt. General Bucket only brought his hoof to his head, rubbing it. “You’ve flown off course, Major, so I’ll help you get back to where you need to be.” His gaze turned back to the map. “Maud Pie is bringing whatever forces she could muster north to reinforce Sentinel’s new defensive line north of here. She leaves in an hour.”

Moerman slowly retracted his claw, meeting the awkward gazes of the rest of the table. He brought it back down to the floor with a nod. “Understood, sir.”

“Was there anything else?”

“...Yes, sir.” Moerman glanced back out of the tent. “Do you know if any reinforcements are being brought here from elsew-”

“No, Major.” He brought his eyes to glare up from the map. “Any request regarding reinforcements and additional support is sent through a chain of command of Officers. Mine have already been sent, and a request on the specifics of me doing my job is not something I will indulge in.” He tilted his head. “Anything else?”

Dobbelsteen retracted away from the table, meeting the eyes of the rest of the table. He shook his head, “No, no sir.”

Without a word, Bucket looked back down to the map. Moerman still brought his claw up to a salute before exiting the room. Sky Catcher followed close behind, as they exited the park and back out onto the street. “Sweet Celestia, Mr. Moerman. That went rougher than expected… since when are you a Major?”

“I’ve had worse, from worse,” Dobbelsteen said, adjusting the bandoliers to fit better under his wings. “I don’t think I would take too kindly to an officer questioning me, either.” He gazed down the street. “Certainly not in an invasion of my home.”

Sky nodded, a hoof parting through his brown mane. “Where will you go?”

“Find this General ‘Maud’, but first I need to see Sentinel face to face.” The Griffon adjusted the sunglasses on his beak, turning to face his blue-coated pegasi friend fully. “I’ve been on the outskirts of the conflict so far. An examination of the wider general advance would help to understand how this war is being conducted.”

Taking a hoof step back, Sky Catcher only contorted his face. “You’re going back? On your own?” He swiftly shook his head. “Your uniform isn’t even anything like an Equestrian, let alone a pilot. Why would you go towards the frontline?”

“I’ve been sent by the Griffonian Empire at the request of Twilight Sparkle. My job is to analyze the combat capabilities of the Changelings and discover or develop a strategy to defeat them.”

A pause echoed between them all.

“...You’re a pathological liar, aren’t you?”

Holding his gaze for a moment, Dobbelsteen only gave a nod to Sky Catcher and extended his blonde-feathered wings. “Thanks for the escort, Sky. Hopefully, I’ll see you again.” With a quick claw-salute, he took flight off into the air.

Sky’s gaze shot upwards, as the Griffon flew to find the frontline. “You… YOU WERE LYING, RIGHT?”

July 13th 1010, 15:45

4th Equestrian Infantry Division

200km North of Tall Tale

“If my intentions were more sinister,” called Moerman, as he walked along the wooden boards that branched over the top of the trench line. “I would have you abducted and taken back to Griffenheim to build ours.”

Thunderbolt Sentinel only laughed, trotting forward as Moerman followed close behind. “Quite the honor coming from you, I’m sure of it. I wish I shared your enthusiasm.” The view of rolling hills and distant forests was obstructed by the fog that had settled, despite the illumination of the sun attempting to burn through it. Stepping down into the trenches, soldiers stepped aside to allow them both through.

Turning a corner into and ducking under one of the land bridges, the small hovel that Sentinel considered an office was lit only by lanterns. Maps and plans adorned the wall, most of them annotated extensively. “My creations won’t live long like this, Major.” Sentinel took off his officer's cap which covered his red and yellow mane. “Neither will my soldiers.”

“The advancement of the Changeling surely can’t keep up with this speed, Sentinel.” Dobbelsteen gave a glance at the maps. “There’s bound to be enough time to be reinforced with Artillery support at the very least.”

Sentinel shook his head. “Miracles may happen on your part, Maerman, but they won’t work for me. Any amassed Artillery bombardment must be approved by the Divisional commanders who are tasked to lead them.”

“It’s not Maer-” In the lantern-lit room, even behind his sunglasses, Sentinel could see Moerman’s eyes go wide in realization. “They’re… they’re not withholding Artillery support, are they?”

“Indeed, Major.” Thunderbolt shifted his hoof over towards his desk, withdrawing an envelope and storing it in his uniform. “Artillery Commanders as they are now have placed their belief of front-wide bombardment coordinated to halt the Changeling advance. It's why Selenite had to make the journey from Salt Lick for us to have a chance against Roland.”

“That’s ludicrous, General.” Dobbelsteen adjusted the sling of his rifle. “The Changelings attack at specific points and pour in through there. Front-Wide bombardment won't help if they’re already fifty kilometers past it.”

Thunderbolt didn’t respond. His eyes remained on the map.

Dobbelsteen’s wings flickered in confusion for a moment, before settling back down. “Sir.” He said, catching his gaze. “They’re putting you here to die.”

“I know.” His hoof slightly shifted, as he glanced down at the insignia of Equestria that was stitched upon it. “Makes no difference to soldiers like us, Mare-...Uh, Moerman.” He flicked his head to the side. “But not all of them are soldiers. I don’t know what else to do to…” The pony gave a heavy sigh, before looking back towards the map. “The defenses I have are extremely in-depth. I have them in intervals, Major. If one is overrun, ponies should be able to retreat to the next in time.”

“...What if they don't?”

“...I suppose that’s why you’re here, Moerman.” Thunderbolt gave a small smile. “If what Selenite told is me true, if you can…” He lost his words for a moment, searching for the right thing to say. “Find a way to stop them. I’ll be the first to back you up.”

Dobbelsteen froze for the moment. “Heh.” He said, breaking into a smile. “It’s the first time a General officer said he’d have my back.”

“Welcome to Equestria.” Sentinel grinned, placing his Officer's cap back on his head. “For now, though… It's why I’ve placed my command at this trench, as forward in the line as possible. Maybe General Maud can create something in Tall Tale, but if we’re limited on our guns and losing air superiority?” Thunderbolt Sentinel straightened his uniform. “All I can do is be with my ponies.”

A yell.

A pony ran past the door to the office.

Then three.

Dobbelsteen slung his lever action off his shoulder, giving a nod. “Changelings?”

“That’s impossible.” Thunderbolt lowered his head in thought. “They advanced a hundred kilometers in twenty-four hours?”

“Anything is possible, now. ” Dobbelsteen gave a quick mock salute with his claw, stepping towards the door and out onto the trench. “I’d get back across the River and relink with General Maud, sir. You’re no use to the Equestria dead.”

Sentinel raised a hoof in goodbye, with a nod of respect. “Neither are you, Major!” As the Griffon ran out the door, Thunderbolt Sentinel pulled a rifle from the desk inside the trench’s office, his eyes scanning the map. With a heavy sigh, he smashed an oil lamp against the diagram, casting the illustrated trench lines in flame. It couldn’t fall into the Changeling’s grasp.

Moerman moved forward through the trench, briskly moving past the collection of purple-uniformed ponies. Worried eyes darted all around him as he moved forward, holding his rifle close to him, practically galloping towards the most northern point of the barricades.

“What is it?” Called a Unicorn, whose helmet didn’t seem to fit him. Worriedly, he asked again. “Come on, what is it?”

The fog persisted, as Moerman saw as he ascended the step to peer over the trench wall and out into the limited visibility. He rested his lever action rifle on the trench wall, and the soldiers around him mirrored.

The same unicorn looked at his brown-coated friend. “Did you see any of them?”

“No.” The bat pony swiftly shook her head, tightening her rifle. “We heard them.”

Everypony faced forward with their bolt action rifles, gazing through the sights. Dobbelsteen glanced quickly to his left and right, and then back forward. Nopony made a sound, their ears twitching to hear.

They felt it first, and then they heard it. Then, try as many of the soldiers did, they couldn’t stop hearing it. Shifting through the fog like specters taking shape before their eyes, their treads pulled them forwards, clawing towards the trench. First two. Then three. Then Moerman couldn’t count them, as one pony down the trench yelled,

“TANKS! OPEN FIRE!”

Pops of gunpowder sounded and bolts cycled forward, as the distant impacts on the armor rendered nothing but hollow dread for Dobbelsteen. He brought his head subconsciously away from his sights, as they kept appearing. Staggered like an echelon, the more he squinted through the fog, the more he saw.

The machines rumbled forward regardless of the rifle fire, or the machine guns that eventually kicked up around the dirt and tattered into the front of their hulls. Distant vibrations could be heard from their engines, as the sound was drowned out by the rifle fire along the trench.

Moerman saw them halt.

Frantically, the ponies fumbled with the bolts of their rifles, frantically loading new ammunition. The iron machines creaked and groaned.

They stood motionless, as the Griffon leaned away from the barricades. His claw outstretched subconsciously furiously patting the pony to his right. “Down, Down-”

“Wha-” The unicorn said, pulling away from his rifle, as he had to lean against the trench wall to keep himself from falling over. “W-What, sir!?!”

He could hear it. Barely through the screaming of his own heart pumping blood throughout his body, he could hear, he could see the cannons rising to fire from each one of them.

“DOWN!” Dobbelsteen dropped his rifle and yanked the two soldiers on either side of him, hoping that his scream would reach the others in the second he was able to yell it before the cannons opened up.

All along the trench line, shells struck against the wooden trenches and kicked up dirt, and splintered the walls high into the air, as everypony’s vision filled with dust and smoke. The distant fire of the machine gun emplacement intensified frantically before more cannon shots replaced it forever.

Dobbelsteen brought the soldiers down to the floor of the trench as he shut his eyes, the initial volley of shells ceasing for a moment as he picked up his head and frantically got up, yanking his rifle.

The ponies in the trench were stumbling to their hooves, before being knocked down by additional strikes.

“Gre-Grenades?” Moerman said, looking around, and then looking directly at the bat pony. “Where are the grenades?!”

The brown-coated mare only shook her head, frantically shaking as she brought her rifle. “I don’t-... I don’t-...”

Ponies began frantically running in the trench, as the shells continued to fly. Trampling over each other, a stallion tripped over himself in the chaos unfolding and fell into the puddle of dirt, forced down by the hooves of his own compatriots, struggling to breathe.

Moerman moved towards him, his claws pulling on his hind leg out of the way of the trench corridor and up to his hooves, as his eyes were brought up to a different pony, an officer. Her hoof was holding a pistol in the air, her eyes frantically trying to make eye contact with her soldier. “Think fast!” she said, “Move back toward-”

A shell struck the trench again and covered her in smoke.

The rumbling was getting closer.

All across the trench lines, ponies were frantically pushing past one another to get by, most of them pulling themselves over the trench wall and running back. Dobbelsteen could hear the machine guns.

“NO, NO! STOP!” Moerman pulled himself towards the back of the trench wall, trying to get their attention. “PLEASE, STOP! GET DOWN!”

Bullets soared through the air, and almost acquitted Moerman with the grave, as he quickly ducked down back into the trench. The gunfire sailed over his hollow vision of the air above the trench, and the yells of pain confirmed his fears.

His claws gripped his rifle, as he positioned himself low and against the ground. The two ponies on either side of him. The engines became louder, as the cannon of the tank came into view overhead. Dobbelsteen scrambled under it, looking towards the soldiers down the left side of the trench. “GET THE GRENADES OUT!”

He saw as some of the ponies scrambled towards their belts, but the tank directly overhead Dobbelsteen Moerman had its turret swiveled into position. The mg sticking out of the hull opened fire perpendicularly into the trench line, cutting through the ponies that stood in the trench.

Screams, pure terror came from the ponies that were still living in the trench, as the iron husks of war slowly rolled over the trenches. The Unicorn next to Moermancurled himself up into a ball, hoping he wouldn’t be crushed. Dobbelsteen was almost bewildered that the trench didn’t collapse on top of him.

The tanks moved forward.

The firing continued.

Dobbelsteen scrambled up to his claws, seizing his rifle and the grenades from the belts of the dead pony across the trench from him. He grabbed as many as he could, looking back to the two ponies. “Come with me-” He said, picking up the Unicorn’s rifle and shoving it into his hooves. His words were spoken in a hollow fashion, as if he were convincing himself as much as him “Come on, come with me-”

“I CAN’T!” The Unicorn said, his light blue mane falling in front of his eyes. “I’ll - I’m going to die -!”

“You’re not dead yet, I promise you.” Moerman pulled himself over the trench wall, his rifle in his claw.

“Wha-” Tears ran down the face of the bat pony next to him, as the two looked on in terror at the slaughter of the rest of the trench, a sight that shook them to their core. Their hooves held their rifles low, their uniforms cut, their faces matted with dirt and sprinkled with the blood of their friends. Dobbelsteen had to get them out of there. He couldn’t save the others, he had to save them. They’d die if they didn’t move. “Who even are you?”

Moerman grasped the bat pony’s hoof. “I’m the Infantry.”

Scrambling up the trench wall, the fog almost obscured the tanks once more, as they advanced further. “The only chance we have at stopping those tanks are these grenades! We’re gonna run behind them and throw them into their tracks! Shoot them as they come out of the tank!”

He ran with them. As the cannons and machine guns still fired from the tanks ahead, each second that passed was filled with more screams and more dwindling rifle fire. Over the motionless ponies that lie between the trench lines, Dobbelsteen had to run.

The machine was an imposing force, a lion that didn’t have to face him to strike fear into his heart. He fumbled with the grenade, yanking off the pin and tossing it into the treads. Moerman quickly dived backward, as the other two ponies did the same.

With the burst of smoke, the tank screeched to a halt. Smoke began to rise from the windows, as even more ponies scrambled past Moerman. Hundreds of ponies galloped over the trenches and into the fog, doing anything to get away from here.

The turret still moved.

Before the machine gun could adjust its fire, Dobbelsteen’s wings propelled him forward onto the smoking head of iron, as he slammed the stock of his rifle down onto the barrel of the machine gun. Repeatedly, he banged and banged the rifle down onto it, before the hatch swung open.

POW!

The Changeling tank officer fell back into the tank, his green, ichor-like blood painting the roof of the turret, as the shaking hooves of the Unicorn chambered another round.

“THAT’S THE SPIRIT, SOLDIER!” Dobbelsteen said, before yanking out another grenade and throwing it right into the opened hatch, his wings propelling him off the hull before the explosion sounded off.

“S-SIR!” The bat pony said, pointing further towards the trench.

Fire. Controlled jets of flames filled the trenches where they once were, as the last stragglers of ponies poured out to flee from the flames. Raising his rifle to bear upon the Changelings, he stood side by side with the two ponies. “SHOOT, SHOOT!”

Cycling through the lower receiver until there were no more bullets left to fire, his shaking claws fumbled with the bandolier to load in a desperate manner, bringing the rifle back to bear upon the unstoppable jets of fire.

Bullets soared in retaliation, kicking up around the dirt and striking the hull of the smoking tank. The silhouettes of the Changelings could only be glimpsed, as guesswork had to suffice for his sights.

“GAH!” The Unicorn fell to the dirt, his hooves still holding onto his rifle, with blood slowly damping the upper sleeve of his purple uniform. “I-I’M – THEY, THEY SHOT ME!”

The fire wouldn’t stop. The bullets wouldn’t stop. The screams grew louder and the heat only crawled up Dobbelsteen’s feathers. He seized the shoulder of the bat pony, looking her directly in the eyes. “RUN! RETREAT, RUN!”

With the remnants of the trench’s pony occupants, Dobbelsteen Moerman grasped the Unicorn by his uniform and frantically started dragging him backward, until he stumbled onto his hooves and pushed through the pain to run for his life. The three of them sprinted. Dobbelsteen began to flap his wings to get out of there, but the looks of shock on the faces of the other two reversed his decision. So, Dobbelsteen Moerman ran. He ran for dear life.

All the while, the Changelings advanced.