Another one of these parties. The same glazed over looks, the same fake smiles. I hate it. It's been such a long time since I've been in a real party, like the ones we used to have in Sugarcube Corner. These idiotic nobles in their fancy frocks and opulent gowns, chatting, drinking their sparkly cider, gossiping about the latest trends, about fashion, about races and new sky-yachts. Nopony mentions the war. It's a taboo. These nobles in their comfortable pampered surroundings like to forget things they don't find convenient. Whenever they talk about silk and satin, I hear the sound of bones breaking beneath me and Alphonse. Whenever they compliment each other on their skills in gold, I see the life flee from the eyes of a scared little soldier, conscripted against his will to fight for his country because there is nopony else left to lift a spear. And when they finally mention some glorious victory from the battlefield, I only remember the cries of the burning baby griffons being drowned under the chain-fire of my S-Laughter Mk. IV gatling cannon.
The nobles give me a wide berth. It seems I have a Reputation. Not a normal reputation, like what you'd expect from a war hero. No, they consider me dangerous to converse with. I always speak about war. I always break their small imaginary bubble of safety and comfort. I do it on purpose. One of my few — maybe even the only — pleasure I can find in these parties is the expression on their faces when I describe what an assault on a civilian target really feels like. I never spare any details. First they try to look happy to hear a real war story to tell their children, maybe even inserting themselves in the role of the hero to get their foals to worship their parents. Their happiness never lasts. They try to hide their disgust and horror, and they always fail. I spare no details. And I never let them make excuses to go powder their muzzles or anything like that. No, I give them ALL the facts. I make them feel like they were in the battlefield. The stallions try to hold a brave face but they soon start to gag, or just run away in shame like the little geldings I think they are. The mares usually start crying, or fake that they are fainting, just like Rarity used to do. Damnit, I didn't want to think about her. Or the others.
Fluttershy was the first to go. She couldn't even lift a weapon, and she escaped one night from the boot camp. I hear she's hiding in the Everfree, a condemned deserter. Either she lives the rest of her days in the forest among the hideous creatures, or gets hung by the MP. I find myself not even caring which.
Rarity... She was caught off guard on leave. A few drunken recruits, just fresh from their basic training ran into her on a dark street. They wanted to have their way with her. She'd have none of that. The thing escalated, the colts thinking they were reals stallions by then, having endured the ten week regimen under their drill sergeant. They couldn't have been more wrong. In the end they had to remove the berserking unicorn from their broken bodies. Too bad one of the stallions was the son of General Hammerhoof. He made sure Rarity was sent on a suicide mission after another, until finally we lost touch with her. I don't know if she was KIA or just deserted. Once again, I find I don't care.
Rainbow Dash, The Last Wonderbolt, is still celebrated as a hero. Whenever her name is mentioned among soldiers, it's hard to find an eye that is not wet. They even wrote a song about her. Catchy tune but the lyrics got it all wrong. It forgets to mention she was already critically wounded, not likely to leave the battlefield. It forgets to mention that she'd just seen her whole squad decimated by griffon skirmishers. It only remembers her grabbing an incendiary device designed for heavy artillery and charging in, dodging hundreds of enemy soldiers, going through their lines like they were obstacles in an aerial show. When she finally reached the airship commanding the griffon batallion, she managed her beautiful Sonic Rainboom one last time, detonating her payload in a caleidoscope of death. Her body was never recovered, but her sacrifice saved Canterlot and turned the war around. I'm one of the ponies who cries when Dashie is mentioned, and I make sure to raise a glass to her.
Twilight Sparkle. She was promoted faster than you could say "Princess' Protegé". She's working in Central, military intelligence. Very hush-hush. I once met her on chance, and she confided in me. The Princess has her interrogating high-profile POWs. She hates it, but does it because Celestia asked her to. We raised a glass to Dashie, but she just had a distant stare in her eyes, like the one you see on a ground pounder who's seen too many assignments. Some people call it The Stare, but that always reminds me of Fluttershy, so I avoid the whole subject. I guess that's what my eyes look in these parties too. It's most definitely the look my final friends is now giving the nobles with the one eye she still has left. She's leaning against a wall, clad in her ceremonial suit of armor. Apart from The Stetson. She never takes it off, not even on missions. I know the reason. It was when the griffons first attacked and managed to push through Equestria, almost reaching Canterlot. They went through town after town, killing or capturing everypony. They also marched through Ponyville. And Sweet Apple Acres. We don't talk about it. The only thing left for Captain Applejack is revenge.
I'm approached by a lowly lieutenant. Her youthful blue face is flushed with red and his eyes stand wide from having to talk with me.
"Out with it, lieutenant. Can't you see I'm enjoying a party here?" I say to him, the thoughts of my friends still churning in my mind. To his credit, the kid manages to snap a smart salute, no doubt having practiced it countless times in front of a mirror. She's one of the noble's kids, fresh from Officer School, never seen the battlefield, never killed. I hate her already.
"Colonel Pie, Lieutenant Lace."
I lift my eyebrow. With a name like that, the kid's had it rough.
"At ease."
"Colonel Pie, I have been sent with a summons for you and Captain Applejack. You're to report to Air Hangar 13 for immediate transport to the front lines."
"The front lines? Why would they send for me?"
"Ma'am... It's Loondon. We're going for their capital."
We don't speak with Applejack. Not in the party, or on our way to our transport. We don't talk during the long flight that takes us the night to reach our destination. When we land, we go our separate ways. I tell her to stay safe, she says nothing. I go freshen up, meaning I undress and pour a bucket of freezing cold water on my head and comb my hair. It hasn't been poofy for a while, so it's an easy job. In the background I can hear the heavy-duty artillery bombarding the metropolis in the horizon. The smells of oil and gunpowder is overwhelming, and I feel more content than I have in almost a month.
I see AJ later in the command tent. She has changed her gear to the pilot uniform we're both more comfortable with. Except for the hat. The hat stays. The CO starts the briefing:
"We shall be starting our assault at 1200 hours. Colonel Pie shall take the point, followed by the third company... " I don't listen to the rest. I already heard what I wanted. I'm the spearhead. They don't dare put me anywhere else, because they know I'd take the point anyways. After the monotonous droning of the CO stops, We salute, give a half-hearted "Huzzah!" and go to our assignments. I still have a few hours before the mission starts and I consider taking a nap, but I already slept in transit, so I instead opt for a field lunch. The slop they give me is horrid, as usual. The rations us soldiers get is very different from the fancy foods the nobles eat in their pretty little candycone towers. My lunch is a thin pea soup, and the stallion doling it out makes sure I have at least one pea on my plate. I'm an officer, after all. It tastes horrid, mostly of dirty water. I wouldn't have it any other way. After my stomach pretends to be full, I go meet Alphonse.
It is the highest tent in the camp, rising a dozen feet above the rest. Inside, the bustling of mechanics and the sound of power tools feels like home to me. After a few shouts to the guys working on my machine, I'm finally cleared to approach the steel monster. The H4R$ stands almost fifteen feet tall, even in its crouching transport position, with a cute pink ponytail hanging the full length behind. I insisted. The steel frame is mostly dark red, but a few yellow and light-pink flowers are visible on its sides. The mechanics did a good job cleaning the machine up from all the dried blood. It looks brand new.
For some reason it is shaped more like a minotaur than a pony, standing on two legs and carrying a heavy arsenal of weapons on its hands and broad shoulders. The design was Princess Luna's, intended for agricultural work and heavy lifting. After her assassination and the war starting, the design was quickly changed to become a more warlike machine. I run my hoof along its sleek surface, enjoying the feeling of the unforgiving steel under my touch. With a quick hop, skip and a jump reach the awaiting cockpit and close the top. We are finally alone.
"Good morning, Alphonse"
"GOOD MORNING TO YOU TOO, SLEEPYHEAD!" On a screen in front of me a perky little pony made of green vectors bounces around on a black background, barely managing to stay inside the sides.
"Is that any way to treat you superior officer?"
"SUPERIOR SCHMUPERIOR. WE'RE THE BESTEST OF PALS AND I ONLY WANTED TO GIVE YOU THE BESTEST GOOD MORNING EVER!" The image leans forward and shows me itss vectored tongue.
I once again slam my hoof on my forehead.
"Remind me again why I never bothered to re-program you to be more sensible?"
"WELL, DUH! IT'S BECAUSE WE'RE SUCH GREAT PALS THAT YOU'D NEVER DO A MEANY OLD MEANYPANTS THING LIKE THAT."
"Don't bet on it. Run a diagnostic. We're going to kill a lot of bad people today."
"OKIE-DOKIE-LOKIE! THE NICE PONIES OUTSIDE TOLD ME THEY REFUELED ME SO WE CAN GO PLAY WITH ALL THE NICE GRIFFONS WE WANT TODAY. THE PALLADIUM-MAGITEK ENGINE IS RUNNING AT 87% CAPACITY, BUT I CAN DO SO MUCH MORE! I FEEL LIKE I COULD TAKE ON THE WORLD! THE STUFF THEY GAVE ME TODAY WAS SUPER PURE AND I ASKED THEM IF IT WAS MY BIRTHDAY AND THEY DIDN'T KNOW IF IT WAS BUT THE STUFF MADE ME FEEL ALL YUMMY-WUMMY INSIDE AND I THINK THE REACTOR CAN REACH OVER 95% CAPACITY! IMAGINE WHAT WE COULD DO WITH ALL THE POWER! I CAN USUALLY ONLY GO TO ABOUT 60%... "
This is part of the reason I always come early. It takes ages for Alphonse to go through even the basic diagnostics. I programmed her myself when the war started, and the maintenance told me that if I format her and write a better AI, I'll lose all combat and calibration data. Also it sounds like a hassle.
"...AND THEN I ASKED HER 'OATMEAL? I'M A TERRIFYING MACHINE OF CARNAGE! WHY WOULD I WANT OATMEAL—'"
"Concentrate on the diagnostics, please?"
"OKIES! SO WE GOT LOTS OF GUNS AND THEY'RE ALL LOADED SO WE CAN GO ZOOM! WOOSH! CRACKA-POW! THEY EVEN COMBED MY PONYTAIL!"
"I noticed. You look very pretty today."
"YAAY!"
"Have they fixed your volume adapter yet?"
"NNOPE! THEY HAVE NO IDEA WHY I HAVE TO TALK THIS LOUD, BUT IF I DON'T, WE LOSE SEVERAL OTHER SUBSYSTEMS AND THEY TOLD ME THEY CAN'T RUN A FULL SCAN OF THE SYSTEMS IN FIELD CONDITIONS AND I TOLD THEM IT DOESN'T MATTER AND THEY TOLD ME OKAY AND ASKED THEM HOW THEIR FAMILIES WERE DOING AND THEY TOLD ME THEY WERE STILL DEAD SO WE DIDN'T TALK ANY MORE!"
I recline on the seat and check up the stuff on my side of the virtual interface. All the lights are lit that should and the rest blink a few times as I run them through. After checking the external cameras I make the machine stand up. The sweet sound of the servo beneath my rump makes me relax and I feel the familiar vibrations and rumbles run through the frame.
"Have they installed the massaging seat I asked?"
"THE REQUISITION FORM KRLR-1441 SEEMS TO HAVE BEEN LOST IN THE RED TAPE DEPARTMENT OF VEHICULAR MODIFICATIONS. WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO INQUIRE ON THE STATUS OF THE REQUISITION?" For some reason the screen shows a pony clad in a laboratory coat and square glasses.
"Who taught you to talk dirty like that? Cut it out."
"TEEHEE. SORRY." The image throws away its virtual clothes and one of the other monitors lights up. In the corner a small triangle tells me it's a replay. "ACTUALLY THE BOSS MECHANIC RIPPED THE PAPER UP AFTER YOU LEFT AND ROLLED A FAG OUT OF IT TO SHOW HE WASN'T TO BE BOSSED AROUND BY A PILOT, BUT HE BURNED HIS EYEBROW OFF COS THE FORM WAS MADE FROM SUCH THIN PAPER. THE OTHER MECHANICS LAUGHED AT HIM AND HE GOT REAL ANGRY." The events unfold just as described on the monitor, and then it goes black once more.
"Serves him right. Let's go for a spin," I say and push a few controls to make the machine stand up. "It's been a while."
"EXACTLY THREE WEEKS, TWO DAYS, FIVE HOURS AND THIRTEEN MINUTES. AND MAYBE TWO THIRDS OF A MINUTE. OR FIVE SIXTHS. THAT IS IF I WAS ACTUALLY COUNTING AND MISSING YOU AN AWFUL LOT AND THE MEAN MECHANICS REFUSE TO PLAY CARDS WITH ME BECAUSE THEY ALWAYS LOSE." In the monitor the green pony shrugs. "LET'S JUST SAY IT'S BEEN TOO LONG."
"Agreed."
I make a some routine moves inside the tent and adjust a few sensitivity settings. Apparently the increased output has given me a bit of an oversteering problem, but nothing serious. Outside I see Applejack walking into the maintenance tent and climbing into her own machine. It's a more somber brown in colour, but it has several white lines scratched into its left arm. She marked every kill she made with a notch. When they started mounting up too fast, she only marked enemy units she destroyed. Then towns. Then she lost count. There's no question she's a hero, but not like Dashie. She's not celebrated or congratulated, only given a wide berth. Sometimes I wonder which is the machine, the fifteen feet colossus of steel, or the farmpony inside.
I'm interrupted from my musings by the crackle of the radio. A curt command from oversight tells me to move into formation. I check the time, and seems we are T-30. I acknowledge and turn my machine towards the battlefield.
I hear the familiar thumps of my machine's legs landing into the muddy soil. On every step the cockpit sways slightly from side to side, sometimes a bit more abruptly when a stray shot or a falling rock hits the steel plating. The griffons are now beyond desperate, covering in their last unconquered city. They had it coming. The smoke clears for a moment to allow me a glimpse of Loondon, the majestic capital of Griffon Kingdoms. Today, the war will end. I find myself doing the simple task of leading the whole Equestrian army, and my mind begins to wander out of boredom, taking me back almost two years.
Griffon Kingdoms and Equestria had been at odds for a while, but it was a failure on the diplomatic front that started the whole thing. A few delegates from each side were trying to find a compromise between some trade thing or another. Nopony even remembers why, but no doubt foals will learn about in the coming years from their history books. The fact is the griffons decided not to bend and instead turned to intimidation and threats, Promising to take the goods by force if necessary. The pony side of course broke off any negotiations, and soon an embargo was put in effect. Then after the usual smuggling and border skirmishes, an idiot from the extremist Griffon Superioty movement decided to try and assassinate Princess Luna.
She succeeded.
Princess Celestia declared war ten minutes afterwards, having torn the assassin to pieces with her magic. There were no further negotiations, no peace talk. And nopony asked for them. I had never thought that us ponies could rally under such a violent thing as war, but we did. Oh hell yes we did. I personally loved Luna, and we'd been working on these agricultural machines for a while together. It was really my idea to turn them into war-walkers, to armor them and arm them with terrible weapons. And I've never regretted it. Even after we were still unprepared for the assault that came after the war proclamation. Not when the griffons charged across the skies of Equestria, raining blood from the Pegasus Guard's jugulars. That was when The Wonderbolts went into work. They'd always been a military unit, but in times of peace they just seemed like a harmless group of circus ponies doing loop-de-loops for the masses. That was not the case when the griffons came. The Wonderbolts were the force that stopped the advance of the enemy and allowed us to regroup, to train our militia, to make our machines. One by one, The Wonderbolts fell in battle, but they always took countless griffons with them. It was the siege of Canterlot and Dashie's sacrifice that turned the war. And I've been in the front line ever since.
"GROUND TROOPS WANTING TO PARTY AT ELEVEN O'CLOCK"
I'm returned to the here-and-now by the ear-splitting shouting of Alphonse.
"ENTRENCHED ENEMY WITH LIGHT WEAPONRY. SEEMS THEY BROUGHT STICKS WITH SOME WHITE CLOTHS ON THEM."
I zoom towards their location and find a group of griffons in a low trench flying the colours of surrender.
S-LAC Heavy vehicle-mounted seven-barrel gatling autocannon:
Loaded with with 15mm depleted crystal rounds with every tenth projectile being enchanted to glow in the dimness of the battlefield.
Theoretical maximum rate of fire 1200 RPM with an ammo capacity of 500 shots per ton.
Has a risk of melting the barrel material after ten seconds of full auto fire. External magitek cryogenic heat sinks added to allow repeat fire after 7,2 seconds.
Said to be the cause of most deaths in the war to this date.
Designated codename: S-Laughter
"Aim assist off. Deploy S-Laughter."
"ALREADY DONE. JUST PULL THE TRIGGER."
I do so without hesitation. The distance between me and the group is several hundred feet, but the magnification allows me to watch the bullets rip through the griffons like I was standing right next to them. I make sure to let the first bullet hit the flag, just to see their desperate faces when they know Equestria has arrived. On the screen I see one whisper a short prayer to whatever thing the heretics pray to.
No surrender.
No prisoners below officer rank.
No distinction between civilian and military targets.
No mercy.
Those were the words Princess Celestia spoke after the Siege was broken and we could see the destruction the griffons had wrought on our country. This was not war. This was eradication. The complete and utter destruction of a country and all of its citizens, and I would have it no other way.
"ZERO SURVIVORS. NICE SHOOTING THERE, TEX!" A small rodeopony bucks the air on the screen.
"Reload, signal army to move forw—"
I am interrupted by several explosions rocking my warmachine. The enemy has mustered its final aerial assault and are dropping heavy incendiaries on us. Even though I'm shielded quite well from the sounds outside, I can still hear the cries of our groundpounders screaming in agony behind me. My aerial scan show several bogies in the air, flying low to get better aim, but staying out of the ranged of the hurled spears of our ground troops.
SRM-6-HEI Short range missile battery.
Heat-seeking target-locking high explosive Incendiary missile launcher.
Usually mounted in racks of 6 missiles on the shoulders of a mechanized unit. Maximum of four of such racks may be in operation simultaneously.
Designed to give earthbound mechanized cavalry units an edge against close-range encounters against enemies with aerial superiority.
Each missile contains overt amounts of incendiary material that would be required for the termination of organic targets for added area-of-effect capability.
With the additional input of the engineer designing the ammunitions, each has been outfitted with a unique mixture of fuel to give the exhaust fumes a separate distinct color reminiscent of a party streamer.
Designated codename: Streamer Missile
"Give me some fireworks!" I shout to Alphonse.
"STREAMER MISSILE BARRAGE READY. LOCK ON COMPLETE."
"Execute."
To me, it is just a small sound as the pneumatic pressure throws the warheads into the air with a barely audible hiss. To the enemy air forces, it is countless small projectiles, each targeting a different soldier and hitting with perfect accuracy. The sky is filled with explosions and parts of griffons start raining around the battlefield.
"Charge!" I shout to the comm, and hear the command repeated numerous times as our position has been compromised.
I turn my machine forward, tilting it to better balance the acceleration. The two metallic wings on my walker's back open and from underneath, two massive jet engines appear, already warming up. I never got this thing to actually fly, but this is the next best thing as I propel myself forward, feeling myself sinking into the hard seat from the G-forces. The ground becomes smaller as the jumpjets howl under the pressure of lifting up several tons of steel to the sky, even if for just a moment.
I spot Applejack underneath, already way ahead of the rest of the army, speeding for the siege engines the griffons have deployed around their capital. She told me to remove all the weapons from her machine and install two wide hatchets instead. She also insisted to make it lighter, so she could go forward faster, even telling me to remove all plating from the back to give her more speed.
In the comm I hear it start. At first it is just a low voice, shouting a single syllable. I should know better and shut her off, but I want to hear it one last time. Her shout turns into a high scream as she turns her engines to full power. The scream is so loud that I cringe, but it still keeps going on, only stopping for a short gasp of air before continuing on. I finally give in and close the radio link to her machine. She is now a blur, using her jets to propel herself only a few feet off the ground. I see her collide with the first ballista which hardly even slows her down. It seems she's intent on being the first one to reach Loondon.
I open fire from the sky as my jetpack keeps me at a steady height at the apex of my jump. I have exactly two seconds of weightless hang-time, but that is more than enough for me. The autocannon starts cleaning the ground, ripping flesh and wood as if it was paper. The falling pieces of burning timber and body parts reminds me of confetti from those parties, all those years ago. I start my descent, only making a small adjustment to make sure I land on one of the catapults I intentionally left intact. It is squashed along with the two griffons too stupid to move away. The few that were not as stupid live three second longer, until I rip them to shreds with autofire. Applejack is close by, whirling around in a frenzy, by now covered in blood. Dozens of griffons are clinging to her, trying to topple her, and a lucky catapult shot from the walls hits her in the chest, making her fall. I immediately open fire, cleaning the few enemies that she didn't crush under her warmachine when falling.
For some reason, she doesn't get up. A shot like that shouldn't slow one of our machines for more than a few seconds. When I get close, I find the reason. The foolish earthpony had opened up her hood to revel in the carnage. Her body is riddled with arrows, and I know she will never open her eyes again. She probably knew the war would end today, and there would be nothing left for her. On her bloodspattered face is a smile I haven't seen in years.
"Say hi to your family for me, AJ."
I get up and turn towards the gates of Loondon, still half a mile away. They are almost legendary, twenty feet high monstrosities that have stood for centuries. Every morning it takes a dozen of griffons to open them. On their surface is the majestic emblem of Griffon Kingdoms, looking down on any who dare approach the city. Behind me I can see the rest of the army having caught up, cleaning away the few remaining forces that AJ and I didn't massacre before.
"Alphonse?"
"YEAH BOSS?"
ER-PPC Extended range particle projection cannon.
Approximate weight 5,4 tons.
Approximate accuracy 99.99993% with a theoretical deviation of 2 centimeters at theoretical maximum range of 100 km.
Loaded with 19mm magnetically sealed moonstone projectiles, enchanted personally by Princess Luna to act as an indefinite power source for deep-core mining.
Magnetically accelerated projectile velocity approximated at MACH 124, superseding the visible spectrum of light in the thick magical atmosphere of Equestria.
Destructive power impossible to calculate, estimated at close to a 0,44 megatons.
Weapon has never been fired in field or laboratory conditions because of the inherent danger of the sheer kinetic energy contained within. Weapon has little to no recoil, but might theoretically twist the fabric of reality. Suggested never to be used in anything else but an example of theoretical physics. Classified as the only weapon in Equestria as WMD, or Weapon of Mad Destruction.
Three ponies were diagnosed with cancer just from loading the round into the firing chamber.
Designated codename: The Party Cannon
"Give me the Party Cannon."
"I THOUGHT YOU'D NEVER ASK!" The virtual image puts on a party hat and several balloons appear around her.
The machine shudders as half of its right arm turns away, revealing the most terrifying weapon ever fielded in combat. As I take a bracing position, my hoof wavers for a moment before I dare to pull the trigger. They told me mounting a cannon like that on a mobile platform was madness. That it might rip the universe in half. That it could only carry one shot, and even that would require the removal of most of the right arm.
Of course, I didn't listen.
The impact is massive, unlike nothing that I can describe. Even though my brace was perfect, my machine is still flung on its back and along the ground. Several warning lights start flashing in my face, but I pay them no heed. I manage to get the machine up, even though the servo is complaining under the pressure, having bent under the torque of the Party Cannon.
"Magnify."
The outside camera zooms for the gates. At first there is too much smoke and falling rubble to see clearly, but a small gust of wind affords me a clear view. The gate is no longer there, nor is half of the wall of the city. The explosion has torn a gigantic crater on where the last line of defense of the griffons would have been.
"Princess Luna... It's so beautiful... So perfect..."
I wipe the first tears I have shed in months from eyes as I command the assault forward. There is nothing left for us but to raze the city and kill every last griffon inside. The soldiers behind me cheer and start moving forward, no longer needing to run. There is no hurry any more. We are victorious.
We march on. For Equestria. For peace.
