Onto Old Glory: An Imperial Timeline

6th of June, 1007 ALB (1962 AD)
13:40 Hours
West Zebrican Company Controlled Maregypt
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The night fell like a blanket over the Maregyptian desert, cloaking the resistance fighters in a comforting darkness as they huddled in their hideout. The evening had seemed calm, almost deceptively so, until the distant thuds began. At first, the ponies and zebras simply glanced around, confused. But then, as the muffled detonations began drawing closer, every gaze shifted toward the hideout entrance. Something was coming, and it didn’t carry the familiar scent of cordite. Instead, it slithered toward them on the night breeze, carrying a strange, almost metallic sweetness.

A zebra named Kendi was the first to react, lifting a hoof to his nose as his nostrils burned, the inside of his mouth suddenly feeling dry and prickly. "What is that smell?" he muttered, his voice trembling as he tried to mask his growing unease. The others didn’t respond. One by one, they began to sniff the air, wrinkling their faces in discomfort as their eyes began to water.

Azure Light, a pony who had fought alongside Kendi for months, began coughing, her throat raw and tight. "It… it smells… sweet," she rasped, panic flickering across her face. She wiped at her watering eyes, blinking rapidly, trying to clear her vision as an inexplicable itch began spreading across her body.

And then it began.

A zebra beside Azure collapsed to the ground, clutching his chest as his skin began to blister and swell, the fur peeling away as if scorched by an unseen flame. He looked down in horror as the skin on his forelegs began to bubble, turning red and raw. His eyes widened, his face twisted in shock as he tried to brush off the searing sensation that clung to his flesh.

“It’s… it’s eating me!” he screamed, the words ripping through the night as he clawed at his skin, desperate to rid himself of the invisible poison. His hooves tore at his fur, and to his horror, chunks of skin came away with it, leaving raw, bleeding patches in their wake.

The panic spread like wildfire. Azure stumbled back, clutching her own chest as a searing pain began to radiate through her body. She could feel her skin prickling, the sensation spreading up her legs, over her face, and down her back. The strange gas seemed to crawl into her lungs with each breath, its corrosive tendrils sinking deeper into her flesh.

"Get it off me! Get it off!" a voice screamed from the other side of the cave. One of the fighters, a pony named Dust Step, was clawing at his own face, his fur falling away in sticky, matted clumps. His eyes, wide and desperate, locked onto Azure’s as if searching for salvation. But there was none. Only terror and pain.

Kendi, barely able to breathe, felt his hooves give way beneath him as he fell to his knees, his vision blurring as the poison ate away at his strength. He looked around at his comrades, their bodies writhing and contorting in agony as the gas consumed them, their skin and flesh bubbling as if they were melting from the inside out.

"No… please…" Kendi choked out, his voice barely more than a whisper. He tried to crawl toward the entrance, dragging himself across the rough ground with what little strength he had left. But each movement was agony. Every breath, every scrape against the stone floor only made the pain worse as his own skin sloughed away, leaving behind raw, exposed muscle that stung with each agonizing heartbeat.

Azure Light tried to stand, her legs wobbling as she struggled to stay upright. The flesh on her forelegs had turned an angry red, the skin peeling away like bark stripped from a tree. Her breathing came in ragged gasps as she looked around, her heart pounding with a terror she had never known. The others, those who could still move, were clawing at their own bodies, some of them screaming in pain, others simply slumping to the ground, their bodies convulsing as the gas continued its relentless attack.

“It… it’s burning… it won’t stop…” Azure whispered, her voice barely audible as her own strength began to fade. She could feel the gas working its way into her lungs, searing them from the inside, each breath a new wave of pain that left her coughing and gagging. She looked down at her hooves, barely recognizing them as her own as her skin continued to slough away, her body dissolving before her very eyes.

A young zebra, no older than sixteen, stumbled toward Azure, his face twisted in a mask of terror and disbelief. “Why?” he rasped, his voice weak and trembling. “Why are they doing this?”

Azure could only shake her head, tears streaming down her face as she took one last, shuddering breath. She didn’t have an answer. None of them did. All they knew was pain—an unending, all-consuming pain that was beyond anything they could have imagined.

One by one, they fell, the gas reducing them to trembling, broken forms as it ate through flesh and bone alike. The cries that had once filled the hideout grew quieter, fading to weak whimpers and then, finally, to silence. The gas lingered, hanging in the air like a grim specter, its corrosive tendrils snaking through the hideout, leaving nothing untouched.

And outside, just beyond the reach of the deadly cloud, the desert was still. Not even the night wind dared to disturb the horror that had unfolded in the darkness.

The night fell over the Maregyptian desert, blanketing the resistance camp in a tense, fragile quiet. Around the campfires, weary faces exchanged anxious glances, sharing whispered fears and half-formed plans. They had heard the rumors — stories of unspeakable weapons and monstrous machines that the British had unleashed on other resistance cells. But they’d held their ground, clinging to the idea that they could somehow resist, that they had a chance of fighting for their freedom.

Then, the silence shattered.

The first to notice something amiss was a young zebra named Zuri, her ears twitching as she looked up from her spot by the fire. “Do you hear that?” she murmured, glancing around. It was a soft, metallic rustling, faint at first, like chains dragging over the sand. But it grew louder, closer, until the ground itself seemed to thrum with a sinister, creeping energy.

The others stood up, squinting into the darkness, straining to see. And then, slithering toward them like a nightmare come to life, they saw it: black, barbed strands of wire, writhing across the sand, undulating as if it were alive. Hundreds of feet of it, all moving with eerie purpose, advancing on them like some unholy predator.

“What… what the heck is that?” whispered a pony, backing away, eyes wide with terror.

“It’s… it’s alive!” Zuri cried, taking a few stumbling steps backward as the living wire approached. The barbs glinted in the moonlight, razor-sharp and reaching out hungrily. Her heart pounded as the reality sank in — it was no ordinary weapon. This thing was hunting them.

Panic spread like wildfire. Some tried to run, but the wire was fast, faster than they could have ever imagined. It snaked around them, cutting off escape routes, trapping them like rats. Zuri screamed as a length of the wire coiled around her hind leg, the barbs biting into her flesh, digging deeper as it tightened. Blood trickled down her leg, and she kicked frantically, trying to shake it off, but it only wrapped tighter, slicing into her skin.

“Oh, gods! Help me! It’s cutting me!” she shrieked, her voice breaking with terror as she clawed at the wire, only to have it ensnare her other leg.

Another zebra, Duma, tried to pull her free, but a length of wire whipped out, coiling around his arm and yanking him forward. He struggled, gasping as the barbs dug in, slicing through his fur and into the muscle beneath. Blood streamed down his arm, and he bit back a scream, eyes wild with fear.

“Get it off! Get it off me!” he shouted, thrashing against the wire’s grip, but it was relentless, pulling him down into the sand, tangling him further with each struggle.

Others had tried to climb the nearest rocks, but the wire followed, wrapping around legs, hooves, and necks, binding them where they stood. The sharp barbs dug in, ripping through flesh, and the air filled with cries of pain and desperation as they realized that no amount of struggling would free them.

“Why… why is it doing this?” wailed a young mare, her body shaking as she tried to peel the wire from her foreleg, only for it to dig in deeper, twisting and embedding itself into her flesh. Blood poured from the wounds, staining the sand as the wire seemed to pulse, feeding off their terror and pain.

Just when they thought it couldn’t get any worse, a harsh, choking odor drifted in on the breeze, making their eyes water and their throats burn. It was thick, cloying, filling their lungs with a sharp, acrid sting. Someone coughed, hacking and spluttering as the gas took hold, turning every breath into agony.

“Gas… they’ve hit us with gas!” a stallion choked out, his eyes wide with fear as he staggered backward, trying to cover his nose and mouth.

But there was no escape. The mustard gas spread through the camp, thick and relentless, settling over them like a poisonous fog. Eyes burned, skin itched, throats closed up as they gasped for air. Every breath was a struggle, every movement only worsening the suffocating, searing pain that invaded their bodies.

A group of resistance fighters managed to make it to the edge of the camp, only to be met by another wave of horror. Towering over them, looming like titans, were the British Striders. Their tall, mechanical legs thudded against the ground as they advanced, each step sending a shiver through the earth. Miniguns mounted on their frames whirred to life, unleashing a storm of bullets that tore through the air with a deafening roar.

The screams of the fallen filled the night as bullets ripped through flesh and bone, bodies crumpling under the relentless assault. Those who had managed to avoid the gas now faced a merciless hail of gunfire, unable to run, unable to hide. The Striders moved with precision, cutting down anything that moved, ensuring that not a single creature escaped.

From behind a rock, a trembling zebra named Tariq crouched, clutching a small dagger as he watched the horror unfold. His heart hammered in his chest, his entire body shaking with fear. He could feel the gas burning his lungs, feel the sting of barbed wire cutting into his skin, but he forced himself to stay quiet, to stay hidden. He dared not move, dared not breathe too loudly, knowing that the Striders’ sensors would pick up even the slightest sound.

Beside him, a young pony whimpered, clutching a blood-stained bandage around his foreleg. “Tariq… what do we do?” he whispered, his voice trembling.

Tariq could only shake his head, his mind numb with terror. “I… I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice barely audible over the distant gunfire and the anguished cries of his comrades. He looked down at his hooves, stained with blood, the reality of their hopeless situation settling over him like a heavy weight. “There’s… there’s nothing we can do.”

The young pony swallowed, his face pale as he glanced around, seeing the bodies of his fallen comrades scattered across the sand. “They’re… they’re killing us all,” he whispered, his eyes wide with horror.

Tariq clenched his jaw, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill over. He knew the pony was right. The British had come with weapons beyond anything they could comprehend, machines and gases that tore through them like paper. Resistance was futile. They were powerless, trapped in a nightmare with no way out.

And as the Striders moved through the camp, finishing off any survivors with ruthless efficiency, Tariq felt a sickening sense of despair wash over him. This wasn’t war. It was a slaughter. They were nothing more than insects under the boot of an unstoppable force, crushed without mercy, without pity.

The last sounds he heard before everything faded were the distant thuds of the Striders’ steps, the faint hum of the gas settling over the bodies, and the chilling, agonizing silence of a resistance snuffed out.

West Zebrican Company Official Report

To: Prime Minister Winston Churchill and Her Majesty’s Government

Subject: Final Report on the Maregyptian Resistance Campaign

Date: June 14th, 1962

From the Office of Governor-General Sir Evelyn Baring

In accordance with directives issued by Her Majesty’s Government and the West Zebrican Company, I am pleased to report the following conclusive results in the suppression of Maregyptian resistance.

Our objectives in Maregypt have been fulfilled with exemplary precision and resolve, delivering total security for British interests and future settlements. The concerted efforts of our military, mechanized, and aerial divisions have ensured that this territory, now free of obstruction, stands prepared for British habitation and resource extraction.

The achievements of this operation are as follows:

1. Village Elimination: Our forces have fully neutralized and eradicated resistance in no fewer than 50 villages that previously harbored dissenting elements.
2. Urban Reclamation: Resistance forces centered in Maregyptian cities have been thoroughly extinguished. As a result, three cities have been eliminated, ensuring full compliance and security across our major operational zones.
3. Casualty Count: Our recorded estimate of Maregyptian losses stands at a minimum of 432,095 confirmed dead. This number represents only those casualties directly counted and confirmed by Company forces.

This campaign stands as a testament to the efficacy and unrelenting resolve of the British Empire in safeguarding its domains. As of this report, Maregypt is fully secured and purged of resistance, ripe for settlement and development. Plans are underway to initiate the next phase, welcoming British citizens to begin populating this promising region under the Company’s governance.

On behalf of the West Zebrican Company, it is my honor to declare Maregypt officially prepared for integration into the Empire’s great legacy.

Signed,

Sir Evelyn Baring
Governor-General of the West Zebrican Company