You Don't Actually Want to Ride with a Valkyrie
Two minutes after the shore bombardment stopped, a dull thumping reverberated from the horizon. It echoed across the surf, gentle blue waves lapping at white sand in the morning sunlight. The waves broke against giant metal caltrops littering the sand; some were deformed by errant shells, resting in craters half-filled with water or broken apart.
Beyond the beach, a line of concrete bunkers waited. Most had collapsed. Smoke poured from a few, with low shrieks of pain emanating from the ruins. The survivors, bat ponies in black uniforms, had no time to tend to the wounded. They stumbled out of the buried interiors, taking stock of what remained. Heavy belt-fed machine guns, most a decade old, were quickly reset or propped in the rubble. Tired slit eyes squinted at the horizon, and the growing black dots coming towards them.
Beyond the ruined bunkers, a forest stood with burning trees and broken limbs scattering the ground. More bat ponies shoved artillery and anti-air guns forward from the safety of their covered encampments, readying for an assault they knew had been coming for months. A mare with a bat-winged moon on her shoulder pauldron pointed an arm forward, promising empty platitudes of service and the Nightmare's love to her subordinates.
And beyond the tree line, a village stood in a clearing. It had been spared the shore bombardment, and weary, tired bat ponies shuffled out on bare hooves and rubbed their tired eyes. The morning sun was scorching, too bright and hot even for summer. It was the day of the Summer Solstice, the longest day of the year.
And that day had been chosen for war.
A Thestral, barely more than a foal, wandered out between the legs of her mother, clutching a plushie of Nightmare Moon in one arm. Her devastated green eyes swept over their home, now nothing more than a crater of wood and brick from a heavy shell that overshot its target. She wept for the loss of her stuffed animals, now nothing more than burnt bits of felt cloth and lint.
The filly’s eyes skipped over the body of their servant they had left above when they sheltered in their basement. The Zebra had been captured in a raid on Warzena, and had served the family since before she was born. But she shed no tears for him, and her mother scooped her up in her arms and ran as the thumping grew louder.
The plushie of Nightmare Moon fell and joined the rest its destroyed brethren. A falling ember landed on the mare’s helmet and burned. Somewhere deeper in the costal village, a bell began to ring. It normally summoned Thestrals to worship, but now it was an unneeded alarm to head deeper inland. They fled with whatever they could carry, dragging briefcases and leather bags, carrying fillies and colts. Some prayed in the dirt streets on their knees.
The black dots on the horizon solidified, splitting apart into a line. The thumping grew louder and clearer, now distinctly the rotating blades of helicopters, something that very few of the Chiropterran defenders had ever seen before. They aimed their weapons up to prepare for an aerial landing.
It was a scorching day, and the line of helicopters dipped low and began to fly just over the waves. Abruptly, outboard speakers began to crackle. They had been tied just above the skids and fastened with cords and string.
Reinhard Wagoner’s Ride of the Valkyries began to play across the low tide, marking the helicopters as an assault squadron of the Griffonian Reich. Even fewer Chiropterrans had ever heard Herzlander music before. The music seemed to be purely for the amusement of the pilots and crews.
Fingers tensed on triggers as the defenders gauged the range. Anti-air guns wheeled forward from the forest, muzzles cranked high as bat ponies sat in seats and lined-up sights. The music grew louder, building towards a crescendo.
The barrel of a tank appeared in the surf on the beach, dripping salt and seawater. It roared forward, joined by another barrel emerging behind it, then another, then a line of sea-green, amphibious armor slowly rose from the depths. Sea ponies riding the tops tore off the protective coverings on their machine guns.
The defenders in the bunkers desperately shifted their heavy machine guns downrange.
“For Aris!” a voice called out, amplified by a speaker on one of the lead tanks.
“For Seaquestria!” a sea pony screamed just as the machine guns roared above the first turret. The tanks churned the surf and sand as they emerged onto land properly, spewing bullets and shells forward into the line of collapsed bunkers. Tracer fire flew back, sparking off welded armor. Sea ponies in flowing uniforms churned their tails in the surf as they advanced behind the armor, then grabbed at their pearl necklaces in the sand.
Hippogriffs stood. To most, a stallion in a skirt would be an absurd sight, but the hippogriffs called them kilts and would punch anyone that said otherwise. The amphibious soldiers charged forward on two legs, sheltering behind the armor.
The first helicopters screamed over the beach, unleashing rockets into the bunkers firing down at the soldiers. The anti-air in the tree line beyond opened up, but the helicopters weaved nimbly over the crescendo of their outboard sound system. Door gunners unleashed streams of bullets down on any exposed defender in the rubble, then liberally peppered the forest.
Several of the helicopters slowed for a moment just over the line of advancing tanks. Griffons and pegasi leapt out, falling the forty hooves to the sand before snapping their wings open at the last moment to arrest their momentum. Several teams broke away carrying canvas bags and long tubes, sheltering behind the caltrops that impeded the armor’s advance.
A griffon knight slid a rocket into the end and slammed a gauntleted hand on his partner’s shoulder as she aimed up at one of the bunkers. The rocket-propelled-grenade slammed home in the window and blasted apart the concrete, silencing the guns.
Other teams of heavily armored knights advanced in the front of the beleaguered tanks and rammed the caltrops out of the way as bullets sparked off their armor. The hippogriffs and pegasi poured suppressing fire down on the bunkers.
“For the Kaiser!” a knight screeched. One of the long metal poles extended into a proper small flagpole and was planted in the wet sand. The banner of the Griffonian Empire unfurled and hung in the hot morning sun.
“For Equestria!” a pegasus whinnied with more enthusiasm. She rammed her own flagpole down into the sand next to the griffon. The blue banner of the sun and moon hung just as limp as the roaring griffon.
Both stared at each other.
“I bet I can kill more than you, RD,” the knight challenged. She kicked a boot in the sand and pumped her shotgun with a lazy, one-handed rack.
“You’re on, Gilda,” the pegasus answered. “Loser buys drinks.” She flexed her wings, one flesh and one metal, then shouldered her assault rifle and inspected the clip.
They set off together behind one of the advancing tanks.
A small scout helicopter, painted black, buzzed low over the beach and stopped. It happened to be one of the ones with the outboard speakers playing the final notes of the Ride of the Valkyries. Dual miniguns spun and sprayed suppressive fire at one of the bunkers still putting up resistance. Two figures leaned out of the passenger bay, standing on the skids with one on each side.
The griffon and pony were both incredibly overdressed for the battlefield. The griffon leapt down, one hand on an ornate black cap with gilded trimmings. He flared his wings just before he landed, then adjusted his cufflinks and walked out of the surf with only sand on his black boots. The griffon stopped and crouched behind a caltrop for safety, orange sash jingling with medals. He leaned an elbow on the rusted metal and surveyed the battle pushing forward on the beach, dark blue eyes sweeping over infantry supported by armor.
The mare did not flap her wings. She dropped like a rock from her side of the helicopter, splashing down into the wet sand and surf in a three-point landing. It kicked up a spray of white water. Any normal pony would’ve shattered her knees from falling forty hooves.
But the mare flared large pink wings and stood with golden fire streaming from her horn. The Crystal Princess smirked under her tall-brimmed cap and shook her head, causing her purple and blue curls to bounce with her tail. She strode forward as the medals jingled on her purple, high-buttoned uniform, tall white boots kicking up sand.
Her hands went to her hips, then drew up. Flurry Heart, heir apparent to the Crystalline Throne, made a dual finger-guns in the surf. As she walked forward, she mimed firing in time with blasts from her spiraled horn.
The remaining bunkers shattered under golden beams, blasting concrete and rebar back into the village and tree line beyond. Screams abruptly cut short with tracer fire falling silent as fiery lances of gold laced across the beach over the charging army.
A rocket-propelled grenade fired up from the tree line, racing towards one of the circling helicopters. The Princess “discarded” one of her finger-guns to redirect the rocket back into the forest with a wave of her hand and horn. It exploded somewhere and a tree fell.
The bunkers fell silent, all shattered under the assault. Only small arms fire echoed from the rubble, disorganized without any command structure remaining. Flurry raised her remaining finger-gun to her muzzle and blew imaginary smoke from it while an actual wisp of smoke drifted from her horn.
“Damn, I’m good,” Flurry said to herself.
“And it’s cheap concrete,” Grover added from behind the caltrop.
Princess Flurry Heart scowled at Kaiser Grover VI. She placed her hands on her hips. “You do nothing but ruin my vibe, man.” A bullet whizzed past the tall mare. She raised a finger-gun in its general direction and bluntly said, “Pow,” in time with a blast from her horn.
One of the bunkers, already more rubble than bunker, collapsed as a laser slammed through it. The beam blasted out the back and kicked up dirt in addition to flakes of concrete and shards of rebar. Flurry waved her hand and a shield flared out in front of her.
“Huh,” she puffed her lips. “That is cheap concrete.”
“I suppose building your economy on slave raids for a thousand years doesn’t leave much room for infrastructure,” Grover commented. He stood up and inspected the golden shield. “Are we safe under that?”
“I know what I’m doing,” Flurry retorted. “I’ve been able to do this since I was in diapers." She flung out her arms with her wings, and the shield turned into a proper bubble with a chime from her pink, spiraled horn. It covered a large section of the beach down to the surf. Water lapped at the far edge.
Grover inspected the flagpoles, now inside the shield. “No wind in here.”
“No wind out there,” Flurry retorted. She took off her cap and tucked it under her armpit. “Hot as shit here. I already hate Zebrica.” The alicorn’s mane was already dampened with sweat. She tugged her curls back into a ponytail.
“We’re at the equator in summer,” Grover stated flatly. He removed his own cap and ran a hand over his head feathers. “What were you expecting?”
“Dunno,” the Princess shrugged an arm. “I’m gonna sweat my tits off. I was born in snow.” She glanced over Grover’s shoulder and her muzzle twisted. “Oh,” she groaned, “is that one of ours?”
Grover turned around and spied an assault rifle laying on the ground. An arm was still attached. He walked over to it, dress boots crunching on dry, white sand. The griffon crouched down. “Unless you are still using firearms from 998, no.”
“Great, I don’t have to reattach it.” Flurry folded her arms over her purple uniform. “How’d it get down here?”
“Thrown, I’d imagine,” Grover guessed. He lifted the rifle and pried the hand free. “It’s a good model,” the Kaiser commented. He brought it up to his beak and aimed down the sights. “Bet it still shoots straight. The Kabashnikov is a good workhorse, no offense.”
Flurry waved her hand. “Probably griffon black market dealers that sold them the damn things in the first place.” She stared up the beach. The shield had only slightly muffled the sounds of roaring gunfire and cannons.
Another line of tanks emerged from the water, driving up the underwater shelf. They took a moment for their exhaust pipes to clear. One drove past the shield with a dozen hippogriffs sheltering behind it. Bug Killer was scrawled on the side with a picture of Queen Chrysalis with her eyes crossed out, meaning it was an Equestrian tank crew.
A helicopter made another pass overhead, door gunner raining spent casings down on the shield. “Run, Batty!” was just audible over the bark of the heavy gun. There was a long, warbling cry from somewhere up the beachhead, distinctly a bat pony.
“How’d these assholes win anything?” Flurry wondered aloud.
“You can be King of Shit Mountain if you are just slightly less shit than everyone else,” Grover shrugged. He pointed the hand in her direction. “Everyone but Aris was weaker, and Aris got boxed in by Wingbardy.”
“Which is why you’re here at all,” Flurry returned.
“I have Wingbardian constituents and subjects,” Grover answered. He tossed the hand to the edge of the shield, where it burst into ash on contact. The griffon planted the assault rifle muzzle first into the sand and rested his hat on the stock. “Even then, it was a narrow vote in the Parliament for the expeditionary force.”
“You regret giving up absolute power?” Flurry smirked. She waved a hand at her horn. “It’s fun,” she added teasingly.
“Blessed Boreas, no,” Grover laughed. “I get to show up here because I have a Prime Minister. Let them deal with Griffenheim.”
“Mom and Dad got it covered for at least two more decades.” Flurry heaved a breath and wiped her forehead just below her horn. Her shield did nothing to abate the heat, and the sun continued to climb into the sky. “Where’s the damn reporters?”
“Last wave,” Grover answered.
Flurry’s eyes widened. “Oh, shit no!” she exclaimed in a high voice. “I am not standing on this beach to give some fluff interview. I’m gonna go clear bunkers.”
Grover gave her a look and folded his arms. “Then I’ll give the interview, but you think you’re going to be cooler slinging more spells?”
Flurry bit her lip, then her wings flared. She kicked a boot in the sand. “This sucks! I missed out on the Great War, and now I got to stand on a beach and sweat my tail off while everypony gets the real work done?” The alicorn twisted around and wrung sand from her tail. Her purple dress pants were equally coated in wet sand.
“What in Maar’s name was that jump by the way?” Grover asked. “You wrecked your uniform.”
“Superhero landing,” Flurry commented as if it was obvious. “Always wanted to do one.” She unbuttoned her high collar. “Fine, I’ll wait. What’re we supposed to do?”
Grover looked up and down the bubble shield. Beyond it, more squads pushed forward and up to the bunkers. They moved cautiously, clearing the rubble before taking cover from the secondary defenses in the tree line.
The Kaiser’s eyes stopped on a duffel bag that had been left within the shield, either fallen off one of the advancing tanks or left behind by one of the soldiers. He crossed to it and bent at the knees, wings fluttering in curiosity.
Grover eyed the nametag, which was painted over in the colors of the rainbow as if that was enough to mark the owner. He unzipped it and hummed to himself. The griffon reached in and rummaged around.
“What’d you find?” Flurry called out. She paced, fanning herself with her oversized, pink wings.
Grover pulled a volleyball free and held it in a hand. “Sports equipment!” he called back. “Someone wanted a beach day!”
“Ha!” Flurry laughed. “We need a net!”
“And poles!” Grover pointed out.
Flurry looked to the two flag poles and judged the distance with a thumb and forefinger. She scanned the surf beyond the shield, then her glacial eyes lit up. The alicorn waved her hand and the bubble shield partially collapsed. Her horn glowed as a fishing net dragged itself out of the water and up to her boots.
The Princess replaced the shield with a lazy wave, then cracked her knuckles. The net fanned itself out in her magic; it was too large for the poles and there were several tears, but it was good enough. She wrapped it around the flag poles until it was taught, spinning her finger with her other hand on her hip.
“Why do you do that?” Grover asked. He tucked the volleyball under an arm.
“Helps focus,” Flurry shrugged a wing. “Hand gestures make it easier to visualize, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. Because I’m a griffon.”
“Your loss.”
Flurry tossed her hat over to the duffel bag, then stood with her hands on her hips. Grover took the other side of the net. He undid his sash and hung it on the assault rifle as well, then shrugged off his jacket. After a pause, he unlaced his dress boots and pulled them off, wiggling bare paws in the sand.
Flurry stared at the griffon in a tight white undershirt and slacks. She upgraded her stare to a leer. “Not bad.”
Grover rolled his eyes. “You going to play with all those fake medals and tassels?”
“Hay, they aren’t fake!” Flurry protested with faux-anger. “These are the finest Filly Scout medals ever awarded!” Her smirk turned genuine. “Don’t be weird about his.”
“About what?” Grover asked, then immediately blushed as she ripped her jacket open. The Princess was not wearing an undershirt, only a black, tight-fitting sports bra under the jacket that exposed her abs and stomach. She flung the coat towards the duffle bag.
Her tall boots joined it, then her sand-slogged purple pants.
“Is that necessary?” Grover asked in a deadpan.
“Oh, come on,” Flurry snorted. She jogged in place, wearing only the sports bra and equally tight black shorts. “I’m still overdressed for the beach. Could be wearing a bikini.”
Grover gave her a flat stare.
“It’s good for morale,” Flurry defended. “Auntie Luna always says stallions fight for two things.” She raised a finger to her chest. “Princess and country.” Her finger moved between her cleavage.
“Is that why your mother does swimsuit calendars?” Grover needled.
“The MILF of the Crystal Empire!” Flurry declared with aplomb. “That calendar saved the entire war effort. It’ll be in museums one day. You know how to play?”
“Of course.” Grover tossed the ball up and caught it in a hand. “Watch the horn.”
Flurry crouched down and bent her elbows. “Watch the beak. Don’t pop it.”
Grover flung the ball up and punted it over the net with a slow arc. The alicorn immediately moved hard and fast to counter, lunging like a cobra and hammering the ball back.
It flew far too high and landed several hooves beyond Grover. He smirked. “Point—”
“Point for me!” Flurry declared. She cocked a hip. “Distracted?”
Grover blinked. “That was out of bounds.”
“What bounds?” Flurry blinked back. “You see lines somewhere?”
“That was obviously out of bounds on any normal court,” Grover retorted. “Come on.”
“Just use your wings,” Flurry extended her own. “Pegasi rules.”
Grover walked over to the volleyball and bent down at the waist to snatch it up. While he was bent over, he looked between his legs to see the Princess very openly ogling his ass. He stood up and turned around with a flicking tail.
Flurry had pretended to look at the concrete bunkers ahead. Gunshots echoed after the keening cries of bat ponies. Helicopters circled the forest beyond, spraying gunfire down and dodging bursts of flak.
The bunker nearest to them, the one that had totally collapsed, had an exposed entrance to a deeper complex. A team of mixed ponies from one of the later transports moved up in a series of hand signals. “The damn bats are holed up in there!” a griffon called out in warning from one of the higher, crumbling sections.
The squad advanced up to the remaining concrete. One mare lugging a flamethrower on her back posted up to the wall. The nozzle sparked as she gripped the trigger.
“Amethyst!” the sergeant called out. “Torch it!”
“Please!” a voice called out from the depths of the rubble. “We surrender! Stop!”
Any other pony might’ve hesitated, but unfortunately for the Chiropterrans the mare with the flamethrower was a crystal pony. She aimed the nozzle down and stood over the entrance. “You’ll join Sombra in a frozen hell, slaver!” the mare snarled. “Enjoy your last bit of warmth!”
The whoosh of the flamethrower nearly drowned out the high, shrieking cries from the ruined bunker. The crystal mare cackled, muzzle alight with the glow until she released the nozzle and stepped away. The sergeant peered into the hole, then flung one final grenade down. They pressed onwards to the next bunker.
Flurry twisted her head back to Grover. “Crystal ponies, am I right? Love ‘em to pieces.”
“My legs!” a stallion’s voice wailed from further up the beach.
Flurry and Grover paused.
“Oh, Nightmare! My legs!”
Grover shrugged his wings and spiked the volleyball to Flurry. She mirrored his shrug, then dove to punt it back. The fighting had spread beyond the bunkers now, pushing up to the forest and the village beyond. Helicopters still circled overhead, and the sunlight shining on the blue water dazzled beyond the coast. The faint dots of incoming landing craft were now visible in the horizon.
The alicorn played aggressively, but sloppily. The griffon was more reserved, using his wings for extra height for a quick spike or the last dash to punt the ball over the net. For a mare so seemingly concerned with the heat, the Crystal Princess began to sweat like a dog, now fully competitive.
Grover hit the ball over, managing to curve it with a slap. Flurry missed the dive, but reflexively caught the ball in an outstretched wing. She skidded in the sand. Grover wiped sweat off his head feathers, feeling a bead run down his beak.
“Point for—”
“You,” Flurry said for him. She chucked the ball back and kicked sand through the net. Grover suddenly twisted his head away and flared his wings around himself. He missed the catch.
“Watch it!” Grover snarled.
“It’s just sand,” Flurry retorted. She tugged on her shorts. “Believe me, I got more places for it to—”
“I’m wearing contacts,” Grover replied sullenly. He blinked deep blue eyes and lowered his wings.
“Oh,” Flurry pursed her lips. “I thought those were just reading glasses or something in the pictures.”
“No,” Grover said shortly. He stared up at the bright blue sky and blinked again, checking to make sure his eyes were clear.
“Sorry.”
Grover looked down. Flurry Heart scuffed her hoof in the sand—slowly this time—with a darker shade of pink on her muzzle. She wrung her hands together, also pressing her elbows into her sports bra.
“Sorry,” she apologized again. “I like to win.”
Grover tore his eyes away from the cleavage canyon. Flurry seemed ignorant of it. “So do I,” the griffon admitted. He raised a wrist and checked his watch. “We still have awhile.”
“Your serve,” Flurry waved her hand.
“Technically, it’s yours,” Grover retorted. He walked back to the ball. This time, he knowingly bent over at the waist and looked over his shoulder. The Princess’ wings twitched and she looked away.
Another wave of reinforcements landed on the beach in transport helicopters, this time a mix of every species in the expeditionary force. Most surprisingly, the nearest helicopter disgorged seven figures with buzzing gossamer wings. The changelings landed in the surf and strode towards the shield. They got looks from the other soldiers, a mix of ponies and griffon knights.
A crowd had gathered, ostensibly to assist with the supply lines and run ammo forward, but several dozen just watched the two royals play volleyball through the shield. It seemed to be an even mix of mares, stallions, griffonesses and griffons. With one sea pony laying in a tide pool and openly leering behind Grover.
The crowd gave the changelings room, mostly because the lead changeling, a dark green stallion with red antlers under a camo helmet, just muscled his way through the crowd hefting a heavy machine gun. He was already shirtless with a slick carapace coated in camo paint.
Flurry turned to him and beamed. She tucked the volleyball under her arm. “Pharynx!”
“Hey, kid,” the changeling greeted in a rough voice and lazy wave. The surrounding changelings, most vomit neon or other vibrant colors, glared down the soldiers, daring them to question their lifestyle decisions. “I brought the beach ball brigade in.”
“Aren’t you on another beachhead?” Flurry asked.
Pharynx rolled solid purple eyes. It was hard to tell he did. “They want us on code-breaking. Told them to shove it up their ass. I’m here to kill bats and chew bubblegum.” He smirked and exposed short fangs. “I’m out of bubblegum.”
“Prince Pharynx,” Grover nodded. He circled the net to stand beside the alicorn.
“Kaiser,” Pharynx nodded. “Having fun while the real soldiers get shit done?”
Flurry clasped her hands in a plea, pushing up her cleavage again. This time she hopped in place. “Please, Uncle Pharynx. Take me with you. I don’t wanna talk to reporters!”
“Your dad will kill me,” the changeling snorted. “So will my brother. Sorry, kid.” He gave her an even look before scanning the crowd. “You two are putting on a show.”
Grover twisted around, spying the sea pony in the tide pool. She waved a flipper and he turned back to the changeling. “Is that a problem?” the griffon challenged with a suppressed blush.
“Not for me,” the changeling hissed. His antlers glowed. “Good powerup.” The Prince of the Free Changeling Hives turned around and observed his colorful soldiers. “Listen up, bugs! Time for the trees to speak Changeling! You will not collect necklaces of tufted bat ears.” He glanced over his shoulder and winked to Flurry.
“That means he totally will,” Flurry whispered to Grover.
“I gathered,” he whispered back.
The changelings set up off the beach, and the crowd reformed around the bubble shield. The alicorn and the griffon inside it looked around warily. “Do…do they have something else they need to be doing?” Flurry asked.
“Half of war is waiting around,” Grover waved a claw. He pointed at another line of tanks emerging from the surf. The paintjobs dazzled in the sunlight. “More armor’s forming up to push inland.” The gunfire had quieted as it spread out through the forest. The helicopters now rained fire down without fear of flak.
Flurry and Grover continued their game until Grover scored another point. There was scattered clapping from the gathered griffons in the crowd. “I’m winning,” Grover panted. His cheeks pulled into a smile and he rubbed a claw on his chest.
Flurry placed her hands on her hips and jerked her head back, tossing her ponytail out of her eyes. “I’m still a point ahead.”
“No you aren’t,” Grover laughed. “I’m two points ahead.”
“She’s winning!” a stallion shouted out, hands cupped to his muzzle.
“The Kaiser’s winning!” a knight squawked in reply.
The crowd descended into arguing.
Flurry felt sweat trail down her abs. “Shit,” she swore. “Should’ve kept count with tallies in the sand or something.”
“Do you really care about winning?” Grover asked.
“A volleyball game? Shit, no!” Flurry giggled. “I’d like to win a war, but I’m still not allowed to fight.”
“I know the feeling,” Grover nodded. “You know I helped design those amphibious tanks?”
Flurry whipped her head to one of the distant parked tanks. Soldiers sat behind it, caught in a traffic jam as crews slowly cleared the caltrops and pushed up the beach. “No shit?”
“Yep,” Grover nodded. “That machine gun on the front can tear through soft targets like butter. Enchanted hollow-point rounds for maximum damage. Rends flesh like a sharp beak.”
“Cool,” Flurry commented. She fanned herself with her wings.
Grover did the same. “I’d like to see how well they do. Once we get further inland I’ll look over some battlegrounds—”
“They’re tied!” a watery voice trilled over the arguing in the crowd. Everyone, including Flurry and Grover, turned to the tide pool and the sea pony. She shrunk down and waved a flipper. “I’ve been keeping count.”
“Really?” Flurry called out. “When’d you get here?”
The sea pony blushed. “I’ve been here since the start.” She eyed Grover. “I can do wings if you want.” Her muzzle offered a smile. “But right now I’m wet.”
Grover stared blankly at her, then turned around to Flurry and spiked the volleyball. The sea pony sank down into water, rubbing her fins together sadly. A knight broke from the crowd, removing his helmet and waving to her. She eyed him, then shrugged a flipper in acceptance and slithered up the beach, transforming into a hippogriff in a flash.
The Kaiser slapped the ball over to the Princess, but his aim was off and it barely sailed over the net. Flurry punched it into the air, setting it up for herself, then leapt up with a vicious smirk and hammered it down onto the griffon’s side.
Grover dove, hands outstretched and bent back to punt the ball up. The griffon judged the trajectory while the alicorn readied to counterattack on the other side. It was a near thing, but—
“My legs!” the Chiropterran screamed again from somewhere in the concrete ruins.
Grover’s beak smashed into the sand just in front of the volleyball. He managed to close his eyes and spare his contacts, but the faceplant left his beak buried halfway in the damp sand. The ball landed just ahead of his arms.
“Point for me,” Flurry declared dryly.
“Oh, Nightmare!” the stallion wailed. “Where are my legs!?”
Grover pulled his beak free and scowled, spitting out sand. He turned back to the shield wall still on his knees. One of his knights tensed from behind a caltrop, meeting his Kaiser's furious glare.
“His legs are already with the Nightmare,” Grover snarled, “send the rest of him along to meet them!”
“My Kaiser!” the knight saluted, shouldering his assault rifle and running up the beach towards the ruined bunkers.
Flurry laughed on the other side of the net.
“What?” Grover huffed. He brushed sand off his slacks and stood.
“Cold,” Flurry commented with a slight smile.
“I’m sorry,” Grover faux-apologized, “am I supposed to have sympathy for lunatic cultists that worship a failed goddess?”
Flurry raised her hands defensively. “Hay, preaching to the choir here.”
She made mouths with her hands and flapped them, speaking out of the side of her muzzle in a higher-pitch. “Oh, they’re just misguided, sister!” She changed the voice to a deeper one. “You didn’t say that when your followers were burning my bat ponies, did you!? I do my own work!”
“How is Luna?” Grover asked as he picked up the ball. “She’s in the north, right?”
The moon abruptly eclipsed the sun, casting the world into shadow. Black tendrils roiled around the golden bubble shield, a light in the darkness as the world dimmed. From somewhere to the north at another beachhead, a voice reverberated across the continent.
“I shall show thee a Nightmare.”
The sun quickly shoved the moon back aside and the day returned to the normal, scorching heat. “Shame,” Flurry mumbled. “I was enjoying the moment of cool air.” An errant tide lapped up at the edges of the shield as the world readjusted from the eclipse.
“That’s going to play hell on our stock market,” Grover sighed. “Is she going to do that a lot?”
Flurry raised a hand and curled one finger into her palm. “She’s got four more. Celestia gave her five.”
“Seems like a lot.”
“Celestia doesn’t have much room to negotiate after they’ve been down here a thousand years,” Flurry snorted. “Novo’s demanding reparations.”
“Good luck,” Grover chuckled to her.
Flurry smiled. “Not my problem. Crystal Empire’s debt-free and MIA during the whole Nightmare Moon incident. It’s Auntie Twilight’s problem now, and she’s going to make Celestia work off whatever Equestria has to pay at the Golden Corral in Seaward Shoals.”
“Sounds like that will take awhile.”
“She’s immortal,” Flurry shrugged. “What’s she gonna do, learn how to knit?” Grover smiled to himself, then tossed the volleyball up and gave it a lazy swing to get it over the net. The alicorn bent her legs.
Flurry prepared to spike the volleyball with an easy smirk.
Then the rocket slammed into her bubble shield. It had spiraled into the air from the forest, missing the intended helicopter and coming down on the beach. The crowd broke away from the blast, dropping into the sand and retreating from the volleyball game, finally remembering they were technically in an active warzone.
The alicorn flinched. The volleyball smashed into her muzzle and bounced off, hitting the net and falling on her side. Flurry stumbled over her tail and fell to the sand. “Gah!”
Grover raised a hand to his beak, suppressing a smile. “Believe that is a point for me, Princess.”
Flurry scowled from the ground and brushed sand off her hands. She turned her head to the shield. Beyond it, soldiers were taking cover behind an advancing amphibious tank. Cozy Glow's muzzle was decaled on the side, with a speech bubble proclaiming Golly!
“Kill that rocket asshole!” Flurry barked at the soldiers. The alicorn stood up and placed her hands on her hips. Her horn glowed as she grabbed the ball with her magic. “Fine. I’ll count it,” she growled out across the net. Grover looked away and mimed at his chest.
“Yeah, you should work out more,” Flurry deadpanned. Her eyes still roamed over his lean muscles. Grover shielded his eyes with both hands and waved his wings downward.
Flurry looked down. Her black sports bra had been pulled down, exposing more than her usual amount of cleavage. “Eh,” she shrugged and caught the volleyball, tucking it against her hip while pulling the fabric back into position. Suddenly, her muzzle split into a grin. The alicorn turned back to the hunkering soldiers, both ponies and griffons. “Oh boys!”
“Blessed Boreas,” Grover muttered.
The firing quieted down as several dozen soldiers looked over at the Princess. Flurry flared her wings and gripped the bottom of the sports bra with one hand. She tugged it up as her tail lashed against her shorts. “First one to take the village gets to touch.” She dropped the sports bra back down and turned to Grover, making one last adjustment. “See if that gets them moving,” she said to him.
Grover ran his hands down his beak. He looked over her shoulder to the combined forces. The firing had quieted down for a moment, even the Chiropterrans in the tree line beyond the beach seemed to pause.
A griffon abruptly stood, firing his assault rifle from the hip and screeching a war cry. A stallion followed him, running in front of the tank meant to shelter their advance. Two dozen more followed, each one more desperate than the last.
“They have been on a boat for over a month,” Grover chided. “It is cruel to lie to them, even for motivation.”
Flurry rolled her eyes. “Who said I was lying?” she winked and tossed the volleyball up with one hand, spiking it with a deceptively strong fist. Grover dove to the side and countered it.
The game continued now just for them as the reserve forces joined the fighting. Both were coated in sweat, fur and feathers slick with perspiration. Flurry panted with her hands on her knees. Her bra and shorts were visibly drenched. Grover’s slacks were no better.
“Don’t you…” Grover gasped. “Have cold spells or something?”
“I can turn the beach into an ice rink,” Flurry offered. “Is that better?”
“That’s just the same problem in the opposite direction.” Grover stood up straight. “Maar damn it, Boreas needs to turn down the sun.”
“You mean Celestia,” Flurry giggled.
“Don’t start,” Grover warned in an exhausted voice. “No politics. Or religion.”
Flurry tugged on her sports bra to air her fur. She peered up at Grover, noticing his abrupt look away. “You like what you see?”
“I’ve seen you staring,” Grover retorted. He folded his arms. “And you aren’t staring at my tail.”
“You got some choice Kaiser rolls in that bakery,” Flurry admitted shamelessly. She stood and put her hands on her hips. Her cutie mark of a Crystal Heart with a cute tiara was half-exposed by her shorts. “You got a lucky griffoness back home?”
“No,” Grover replied bluntly. “I have 3,452 suitors.”
“Most boys would love to have that many girls.”
“Not all of them are girls,” Grover deadpanned, “and most of them I would count as vipers from the noble lineages.”
Flurry tilted her head to the side and used her wing to wipe sweat off her horn. “I don’t have suitors lining up for the heir to the Crystal Empire. Auntie Twilight’s not getting any. Is it an alicorn thing, or me? It’s not me, is it?”
Grover looked up the beach to the ruined bunkers. “I’m pretty sure it’s you.”
“Excuse me for being direct!” Flurry laughed. “I’m a natural-born alicorn!” She jerked her thumbs at herself. “This can’t be contained!”
A jet screamed overhead. Flurry’s ears perked and her eyes lit up. “Aw, shit yeah!” She pumped a fist. “Check it out!”
“Close air support?” Grover guessed. He walked to the other side of the volleyball net and stared up the beach. The jet screamed by, then circled around for another pass deeper over the forest. Grover spotted cannisters dropping.
Then there was a flash and rush of heat. Green fire exploded from the depths of the forest, rising in clusters and glowing with an unnatural purple hue. The griffon whistled appreciatively.
Flurry flung out her arms. “Balefire, baby!” she whinnied. “They ain’t gonna put that shit out with no water!”
“Must’ve been the village,” Grover assumed. “Probably fell back into hardpoints.” His look turned sly. “No touching for our soldiers, unfortunately.”
Flurry waved her hand. “I’ll do a shift in the medical tent. Let our precious wounded warriors have a feel.” She poked her cleavage again. “Who knows? Maybe my tits are magic. The frontline will stall until the balefire sputters out.”
“The tanks can clear it,” Grover said confidently.
“The armor will melt,” Flurry returned dismissively.
“It’s enchanted,” Grover replied. “It can withstand it. I’ve sat in one of those tanks while we poured napalm, drove it underwater, the whole works.”
Flurry raised a brow. “You’re serious about the tanks, aren’t you?”
“Everyone needs a hobby,” Grover shrugged. “I want to see what glorified armored tractor the Chiropterrans built to fight us. We got flamethrower tanks coming over directly from Aris.”
“Aw, shit yeah!” Flurry said approvingly. “You gonna drive a tank?”
Grover clacked his beak and tapped a finger on his elbow in thought. “If,” he began warningly, “if I just so happen to go for an unsanctioned joyride, I assume your magic will make it easier to get around?”
Flurry blew a raspberry. “Yeah it will! I can teleport that baby anywhere you want!” She tossed the volleyball back to the duffel bag. “You just got 20% cooler.”
Grover wiped sweat off his head feathers. “I don’t feel any cooler.”
Flurry jerked her thumb to the beach. “I’m guessing those boats are the last transports.”
The Kaiser turned around. Several landing craft slowly plodded along the surf under the mid-morning sun. They were in no hurry. The beach was littered with debris and discarded bags as the fighting advanced properly into the forest, only leaving behind token crews to hold the ruined bunkers and shove supplies forward. The helicopters began to peel away, rotors thumping into the distance, or they landed farther down the beach to be inspected for damage.
It was a good start to a short summer war. Grover nodded. Flurry Heart waved her hand and undid the makeshift volleyball net, bundling the fishing net into a rough ball and tossing it against her shield. It crackled and burst into sparks.
“Didn’t the ball bounce off that?” Grover asked.
“I can make it do what I want,” Flurry answered. She crouched down and shook sand off her jacket, then slapped her white boots together. With her back to him, Grover could see the wing muscles and her shoulder blades. An alicorn was strong because of magic, but it was clear the Crystal Princess worked out for fun.
Grover’s beak was dry, and he had an idea. The griffon rubbed his eye and walked over. “You got sand in my contact.”
Flurry grimaced. “Man, I’m sorry. I’m pretty sure you had more points than me.”
“I’m wounded,” Grover elaborated.
Flurry blinked, then her muzzle opened in a grin. “Oh?” She wrinkled her nose. “My nose smarts from that volleyball you hit me with.”
“It’s a bad start for us to have injured each other,” Grover added.
“Yep,” Flurry agreed. She set her jacket down and folded her arms under her sports bra. She didn’t inherit all of her mother's looks, but she was on her way to being similarly gifted up top.
And Grover inherited his ancestor’s height and frame. His feathers flushed around his beak while one hand cupped his ‘wounded’ eye. The lion tail bobbed against his slacks.
“You don’t get a touch if I don’t,” Flurry challenged. She turned back down to her outfit. “Sorry, but if this is a proper diplomatic negotiation—”
Grover found his voice. “Deal.”
Flurry paused, then stood up again with a flushed muzzle. “Well,” she said unconvincingly, “all right, then.” Her horn glowed and she waved her hand. The shield turned opaque.
Grover surveyed the area with his remaining eye. “Negotiations should be kept secret.”
“Yeah, of course,” Flurry replied.
Both hesitated. Flurry reached out, then put her hand on her hip. Grover’s hand lowered marginally, then returned to his beak. They stood less than an arm’s length part with nervous, twitching wings.
“How about on three?” Flurry suggested. Her light pink muzzle was scarlet.
Grover nodded. “One,” he creaked out.
“Two,” they said in unison.
Neither said three.
They stood as Appleoosan duelists like the clock chimed high noon under a sweltering sun. Both tails flicked and bobbed with drops of sweat, and a bead ran down Flurry’s horn at the same time one trailed down Grover’s beak. Hands twitched.
It was impossible to tell which one moved first, but a pink hand went low and a dark claw went high. Both made contact, squeezed, then retreated with the speed of a coiling snake.
Neither looked at each other.
“Right,” Flurry nodded.
“Yeah,” Grover agreed. “We should get dressed. For the interview.”
“Duh, yeah,” Flurry snorted.
“I’m going over there. To my clothes.”
“And I’m staying right here. With my clothes. That I will put on.”
Grover walked to the rifle planted in the sand at the edge of the shield. He turned around, then twisted back suddenly. Flurry turned back at the same time and made eye contact. They laughed unconvincingly across the shield and looked away, folding their wings against their backs.
After a moment, their wings extended for further privacy after shrugging on their jackets. Grover used his discarded undershirt as a rag and tossed it down, buttoning up directly and angling his head to the side while he smoothed out the collar. Flurry Heart peeked through her feathers on her right wing, missing that Grover did the same with his left.
The waves lapped at the shore in front of the beautiful café. There was a faintest of cool ocean breezes, providing the perfect relief for the morning sun. The umbrella attached to the outdoor table only enhanced the shade, plus the pink pegasus wearing a wide, high white sunhat also wore incredibly large sunglasses. She leaned back in her chair, sipping on a lemonade one-handed with her legs crossed.
It as a beautiful morning in Aquileia. While Aquileians did not practice the Summer Sun Celebration, the news of the expeditionary force’s landing was on every beak and muzzle. The advent of war reporters ensured direct footage from the frontlines made it to televisions across the world.
It would do Celestia and the poor, truly innocent Thestrals of Equestria no favors when the labor camps and science experiments of Chiropterra make evening news, but Luna was on a one-mare army rampage. She came out of retirement explicitly to command the entire expedition. No one contested the decision. The mare self-described as “too angry to go Nightmare.”
The supposed pegasus’ ears twitched under the hat at the click of heels following a whoosh of wings. She smiled. “Dear Duchess, is that you?” she said aloud. All the other patrons were inside, wasting a beautiful day just because it was a little hot.
“Of course, Miss Cadenza,” Gabriela Eagleclaw returned. The griffoness in a sleek blue dress languidly reclined in the other seat at the table. She grabbed at the spare lemonade and raised a brow in surprise. “Still cold.”
“I know spellwork.”
“I can see the tent of a horn in that sunhat,” Gabriela scoffed. “And you don’t hide your mane at all.”
Princess Cadance twirled a finger around her purple and gold locks. “It’s not a disguise,” she said defensively. “I just don’t want to be bothered. It’s rather hot today.”
“It will be a hot summer, Boreas willing,” Gabriela added ruefully. “Did you see the news report?”
Cadance took a long slurp of her lemonade, then raised a slim hand to the window of the café beyond the balcony. She snapped her fingers and pointed three. The griffon at the bar nodded and switched the channel.
“I had them save it,” she explained to Gabriela. “I want your thoughts.”
The TV in the window hummed and the griffon turned the volume up. A few of the indoor patrons glanced at the commotion in annoyance, then registered the two figures watching it outside. If they did not recognize the barely-disguised Mi Amore Cadenza, they surely recognized the Kaiser’s aunt and returned to their food and drinks.
“This is Coral Ridge with Aris—”
“And this is Light Narrative with Equestria—”
“We are here on the beach for Operation Nightfall with Kaiser Grover VI and Princess Flurry Heart of the Crystal Empire. Both have made brave landings with the first troops.”
The camera cut to Cadance’s daughter and Gabriela’s nephew. Both stood in their dress uniforms below two flags hanging in the humidity. The alicorn and the griffon had clasped their hands behind their wings and just above their tails, standing at parade rest.
It was clear they were sweating buckets, probably from their uniforms.
“Oh, Grovy,” Gabriela sighed. “Just as straight-backed and stiff-beaked as ever.”
“He must have rubbed off on Flurry,” Cadance agreed. “I’ve never seen her that rigid. Even her wings!”
“Him too,” the strawberry griffon observed. She leaned her beak in a hand. “War,” she sighed. “It’s a terrible thing.”
“It is,” Cadance said with her.
“Our combined troops have made great progress,” Grover said formally, enunciating every word clearly for the microphone. “We are proceeding ahead of schedule with every objective.”
“The priority, of course,” Flurry picked up, “is the liberation of the labor camps and return of the citizens of Maregypt, Aris, Hindia, and everywhere else they’ve been taken.”
One of the reporters asked, “What do you have to say about the accusations Commander Luna is going too far?”
“Chiropterra is a menace that has been allowed to fester for a thousand years,” Grover shook his head. “The Expeditionary Force is committed to limiting civilian casualties."
“Stopping them is a moral obligation,” Flurry agreed. “And the sooner we stop them, the better. Thestrals serve in Equestria’s army and with the Crystal Empire. This war is not about bat ponies; it is about slavery, pure and simple.”
“We saw the shield on the beach. Have either of you done any fighting?”
Flurry and Grover shared a quick look, then averted their eyes.
“No,” Flurry said. “We are about to head to the field hospitals once the fighting presses further inland.”
“For now,” Grover waved a hand down the sand, “you can see the initial aerial and amphibious assault was a massive success.” The camera followed the two royals as they awkwardly stepped around each other.
Cadance waved her hand again and the bartender turned the TV off. She sighed. “Ever since she was young, Flurry’s wanted to fight. It’s a bitter taste, war.”
“Grover was the same, always playing with his toy tanks,” Gabriela agreed. She pressed the cool lemonade to her cheek before taking another sip. “This is a good lesson, even if it is a hard one.”
“Yes,” Cadance agreed sadly, “but they’ll have each other to lean on.”
Gabriela clacked her beak and slurped the lemonade. “Was it a good idea or not?” she said teasingly.
“I am surprised you suggested it,” Cadance flicked a bangled wrist. She lowered her gaudy sunglass to peer across the table. Both pink royals had the same shade of purple as their eye color.
“Throwing Grover to your slattern of a daughter is a bit like throwing a sheep to a wolf, but the boy needs confidence,” Gabriela drawled. “No offense,” she tacked on unconvincingly.
“Oh,” Cadance giggled, “she’s all talk. Her heart is a frail crystal deep down. A nice boy would be good for a summer fling.”
“You sure the war will only last the summer?”
Cadance arched an eyebrow. “Did you see the eclipse this morning? It might not even last the month.”
Gabriela conceded with another sip of lemonade. Cadance mirrored her. Both turned to the water and watched the whitecaps sparkle in the sunlight. “If it goes public it will be a good precedent for the rest of the suitors,” Gabriela commented in a sly whisper. “They’ll back down for a bit before trying to compete with an alicorn.”
“It will go public,” Cadance retorted. “Flurry can’t keep her muzzle shut. She’ll get some humility and go back home. And she needs someone who won’t bend over at first blush to set the tone for a relationship.”
“Grovy’s still a griffon,” Gabriela laughed. “He needs confidence, but he’s not that spineless.” She smiled to herself. “He’ll be able to find a nice, quiet griffoness that likes to read like him, not any of these snakes after him now.”
“Flurry has the years to figure out what she wants,” Cadance said from the other chair, “but she has to start taking it seriously. Shining was ecstatic when she joined the military, but the constant attempts to make the propaganda posters a thing are making his mane go gray.”
Gabriela squawked a laugh and reached into her purse. She held out a folded slip of paper. “Another one?” Cadance groaned.
“You gave her too much of an allowance,” Gabriela chided. “Had to shut this one down hard.” The alicorn accepted the paper and unfolded it.
It was the draft of a poster. Princess Flurry Heart stood atop a tank, clad in impractical camo pants and a tube top with a heavy machine gun braced behind her head and arms looped around it. She had a lopsided smirk.
The poster declared, Fight for Princess and Country!
Cadance took a long drink of the lemonade, tasting the sting of the alcohol and wishing it was more alcoholic. Something about her daughter’s hip-cocked pose and smirk niggled at her memory, but Gabriela laughed and drew her attention away. The griffon raised her own glass in the sun.
“She’ll drive him up the wall, but he can give as good as he gets once he finds his footing,” Gabriela declared.
“Long term, they’re incompatible,” Cadance replied. “As you said, a good fling.”
“We’ll both get what we want.”
Cadance smiled softly. “We will. I just wish it wasn’t through a war.”
Gabriela shrugged a wing against the side of the chair. “Grover needs to understand it’s not a game. Looks like he had a wake-up call from that interview.”
“Same with my daughter,” Cadance agreed. “Same time next week?”
“Sure,” Gabriela agreed. “I’ll give you a ring if there’s more attempted posters floating around.”
“Thank you, Duchess.”
“Not a problem, Princess.” Gabriela drained the lemonade and stood with a swagger. The griffoness winked at the bartender and placed three Reichsmarks down under the glass, colors denoting them as high value.
The bartender got the message to keep his beak shut. He nodded while he cleaned a glass. Gabriela dipped her head to the Princess only partially as if she was saying goodbye to a friend. Cadance returned the gesture as Gabriela flapped off the balcony.
Cadance glanced down at the poster. Her hidden horn glowed and lit up the sunhat as she prepared to crumble it into a ball, then she paused and took it in her hand. She frowned and sucked down the last of the lemonade, then glanced out to the whitecaps on the beach.
The connection hit her suddenly.
Mi Amore Cadenza snapped her fingers and her oversized, heart-shaped pink purse burst into existence and thudded on the table. She stood and rummaged through it in the shadow of the umbrella, tail whipping against her chair. After a minute of searching, she pulled her miniature photo album free and a manilla folder. The manilla folder was blank, but stuffed with papers and pictures. Cadance opened it and slapped a photograph down.
Kaiser Grover VI stared back at her in his official picture, just after his coronation. The griffon stood at parade rest with a sash of medals, and his eyes behind his glasses were clearly nervous. Despite his posture and solid build, the griffon looked thin simply by the way he carried himself.
Cadance opened the photo album and flipped to the back, stopping on a picture of her and Shining Armor’s first date. She had gone to his house, even though he asked her out. It was too daunting to go to the palace. She withdrew the laminated picture and scrutinized it.
Shining Armor stood at parade rest with his hands clasped behind his back, clearly nervous in his cadet uniform. Despite his solid build, he carried himself like he was smaller. His pale blue eyes were wide.
Beside him, Mi Amore Cadenza cocked a hip in her varsity cheerleader’s skirt and top, brandishing two pom-poms and holding them up to her head. She had an easy, self-confident smirk that was absolutely at odds with the look from the stallion next to her. Cadance did not remember looking that smug.
She placed the picture down on the table, then idly banished her bag for more room. The alicorn moved the separate pictures of Flurry Heart and Grover to be side-to-side, poster and portrait. Finally, she put them below her picture.
Cadance looked up to the love of her life and their first date.
Cadance looked down to the summer fling she just set up.
The poses were identical.
“Oh, fuck,” she sighed.
