Para bellum

Tacitus

The war room never slept.  Around the clock, ponies came and went, some bringing reports, others bringing coffee and food.  Radio chatter formed the basis for background noise, and the constant buzzing of tubes, transformers, aetherium generators, and switches electrified the atmosphere.  This may not have been where the war was fought, but it was certainly where the war would be won.  Shining Armor returned the salute of the guards at the door, waiting patiently as they opened the door.

The oaken slabs creaked open, projecting a widening wedge of twilight into the dim expanse of a war room lit only with aetherium lamps and the occasional flash of an amaneusis spell.  Shining Armor scanned the room as he crossed the threshold, finally meeting eyes with a familiar unicorn.

"Fletcher?"

"Shining Armor," came the flat response.

"Good to see you back on your hooves."

"Indeed."

Fletcher's response left Shining Armor at a loss.  From their brief prior meeting, the colonel knew him to be something of a hard-boiled pessimist.  Given the circumstances of that meeting, however, Shining Armor wasn't terribly certain his assessment of Fletcher's character could be accurate.  However, it seemed here that his gut feeling was correct.

A clearing of the throat brought all eyes upon the grizzled visage of General Ironwing.  Shining Armor, Acclaim, and Stone Bones instantly stiffened to attention, their right front hooves popping up in salute.  The General returned the salute, silently motioning to the war map immediately afterwards.  The assembled company took their places around the table, glancing back and forth at old acquaintences and former comrades in arms.  The General tapped his hoof on the table, formally beginning the meeting.

"Fillies and gentlecolts," General Ironwing began.  "I don't have to remind you how bad it is out there.  You see it every day if you look out to the western horizon.  You read about it every day in the newspapers and the casualty reports that no doubt have been landing on your desks."

Shining Armor had heard it all before.  After all, he was one of those tasked with coordinating local security and escalating it appropriately as the war approached Canterlot.  The colonel distracted himself by leafing through the documents provided by General Ironwing.  The General motioned with a hoof to the red spearhead that loomed over the western edge of the Heartland region.

"The ARM is making a determined push across the Heartland.  Thus far they've been ignoring defensive hardpoints and bypassing any hedgehogs we've left for them.  It's obvious that they are going straight for a decapitating strike against Equestrian leadership in Canterlot.  REA forces harrying the advance are slowing them down, but the fact remains that we don't have a lot of time left."

"How much time is 'not a lot'?" The first question came from Fletcher.

The unicorn's inflection was impeccable, precise.  He already had a plan in mind with what he'd gathered from Ironwing's notes and the war map.  That much Armor could see.  This was the Fletcher he knew from the dossiers, but there was a bit of an edge to his inflection that he hadn't noticed before.  He was eager... very eager.

"Two weeks if we're lucky," General Ironwing continued.  "Maybe more if the Griffons continue to be lax about protecting their flanks."

"A week should be more than enough time for Stalliongrad's fleet and a detachment of VSS to mobilize."  Tapping on the boundaries of northern Equestria, Armor motioned towards Stalliongrad with a hoof.  "We could use Stallian Guard battalions to blunt the Aquellian spearhead until we can muster enough forces to counterattack."

"If it were that easy, I wouldn't have called you all here."  The General's response made Armor's heart sink.

"Called it..." Fletcher uttered quietly.

"Stalliongrad is out of the picture."  The General pointed to the Northern Frontier territory, where blue boxes indicating Stallian airships and red boxes indicating Aquellian airships stood astride a line of question marks.

"Radio communications has been dodgy," the General continued.  "From what we were able to piece together, the whole of the Northern Frontier Territory is being hammered by a storm of epic proportions.  Our one consolation is that the Aquellian battlegroup sent to seize Stalliongrad is stuck in the same predicament."

"So it's just us," Shining Armor said quietly.

"Of course." Acclaim snorted, letting her hoof fall to the table.  "How could we ever fight a war if we were actually ready for it?"

"Without Stalliongrad's ships and the REA still reeling from the Blitz, we can't fight on equal footing with the ARM."  Ironwing concluded.

So it had come to this.  The Griffon fleet was steaming headlong towards Canterlot and there wasn't a damn thing that the REA could do about it.  Maybe Ironwing had called Shining Armor here to have him set up the shield spell to protect Canterlot until the fleets arrived?  Armor shook his head.  That was madness.  Stopping a few changeling drones and rooting out infiltrators was one thing, but halting unending barrages of cannon fire and an army of angry Griffons?  That was insanity.

"So what's the plan?" Armor asked slowly.

"We can't win a stand up fight, so we'll need to be subtle — unconventional.  I need unconventional warfighters."  The General paused for a moment to let it sink in.  "I need you."

"Well damn," Acclaim muttered in amusement.  Shining Armor caught her tail flicking and rear hoof tapping in barely contained excitement.  "Could have said that earlier!"

"Fillies and gentlecolts, welcome to Task Force Tacitus," the General smiled as he declared.  "Forget anything you heard from high command and OGA. From now on, you work for me.  You will have full access to the magical and technological might of the Royal Equestrian Army and full authority to conduct operations against enemies both foreign and domestic in support of the war effort."

This was it.  He  was really going to war.  He was going to take the fight to the enemy instead of sitting back awaiting his fate.  He would face capture and death and he would command his troops to do the same.  Armor could deal with the former, but the prospect of the latter chilled him to the bone.  These weren't just his soldiers he was sending into the maelstrom.  These were his friends.  His decisions would determine life and death.  Failure was not an option; the price was just too high.

"There's no question that we're going to lose Canterlot.  But before that happens, I need Tacitus to handle a few things for me.  It's still early in the war; the battlefield is still chaotic for both sides.  We can use this to our advantage."

"When do we start?"  Acclaim leaned forward, crossing her hooves on the table in front of her.

"Now.  We are on a very tight time table.  I've arranged for your issue gear to be transferred to our operations airship, though you'll have to gather any personal effects yourself.  Shining Armor will brief you on board ship while en route to objective."

"I will?" Armor sputtered.  He'd barely finished reading the notes in the folio he'd been issued and now he was expected to be the expert on the mission?  The colonel quickly regained his composure, scanning the pages for a departure information and clearing his throat to give himself a moment to refocus.  "I will.  Everypony make sure you're on the ship by... 2200 tonight.  She's docked at the palace complex's private berth.  Rest up and we'll brief at 0400 before mission.  Hooah?"

"HOOAH!" Came the chirped reply from Acclaim and Stone Bones; less so from Fletcher.

"Excellent," Ironwing nodded, concluding the briefing.  "Lieutenant Colonel, I will need to see you afterwards.  The rest of you are dismissed."

Armor bit his lip.  Now what?  Part of him still went through the same motions as an ornery colt who had just been called into the principal's office.  The other smuggly brushed his own shoulder and planned on sauntering up to the General, who clearly regarded his service as exceptional.  Holding them both together and driving him to trot over to General Ironwing was the training that all REA officers received on how to greet their superiors.  The other ponies slowly filed out as Ironwing looked him straight in the eye.

"General?" Shining Armor inquired as he paused at parade rest before Ironwing.

"Son," the General began, slowly pacing around the war room table.  "Do you know why I'm putting you in charge of this mission?"

"It's my job, sir.  When they — you — tell me to go, I go.  There's nothing more to it." Armor answered with the most generic answer he could muster.

"Armor, I had my doubts at first.  When I asked for a competent captain and I got you, I thought high command was joking.  But after Saraneighvo, I knew I had somepony special."

"Thank you, sir.  I'm flattered.  But forgive me if I don't understand what you're getting at."

"You can do a warfighter's job, Armor.  We need soldiers to fight this war.  But more than ever, we need ponies who remember who they are.  Regardless of the outcome, we can't afford to let the war consume us."  The General turned to face Armor directly, staring straight into his eyes as he spoke.  "We aren't savages.  We haven't gotten to where we are by butchering our foes and delighting in the slaughter.  With all the recent cries for Griffon blood, I need somepony who can keep his hooves firmly on the ground.  I trust you to be that pony."

"I won't disappoint, sir."

"Good.  Now call your wife.  It's going to be a busy week."

************

The clip-clops of bare hooves on marbled stone echoed through the vaults of the Southwest Colonnade.  One set of hoofsteps were brisk, but deliberate, angry, even.  Interspersed between them were lighter, more spritely steps, seeming to dance circles around their partner, never struggling to keep up.  Arriving at the terrace overlook, the steps became muted as they diverted from the walkway to the grass, finally stopping as they reached the balustrade ensconcing the small garden.  The two unicorns, originators of the dance of hooves stared off into the twilight, their manes drifting in the light breeze, until one finally broke the silence.

"You're not happy, are you?" Corona was the first to speak.

"Eager, yes," Fletcher spat.  "Happy, no."

"I know what you're thinking.  Armor doesn't deserve command of this unit.  But you could at least give him the benefit of the doubt.  You owe it to him after Saraneighvo."

"Noted, but he's still the greenest LTC I've ever seen.  I don't care how much training he's had, Saraneighvo is one real data point out of hundreds needed to make a capable commander.  Did you see the way he twitched and sputtered at the mention of combat?"

"Yes.  But who can blame him?  Wouldn't you do the same if you were in his horseshoes?"

"No!  I was trained for this, Corona.  I have field experience, I have leadership experience, and I know what it's like to be in combat.  Armor doesn't.  He's been in combat once.  ONCE!"

"He also has a wife and a family, Fletcher.  Those are things he has to think about.  Not everyone is as free from the burden of attachment as you are."

Fletcher gritted his teeth.  Armor indeed had family: parents, a wife, and a sister if Fletcher remembered correctly.  Fletcher, on the other hoof, was not shackled by such "commitments."  Though she spoke nothing but the truth, Corona's words cut deeper than any knife of steel or aether.

"We're going to war, Corona," Fletcher countered.  "If Armor's head isn't in the game, we're done and so are they."

In spite of Fletcher's riposte, Corona was ready with an immediate counterattack.  "Funny you should say that after Saraneighvo."

"Things have changed since Saraneighvo, Corona," Fletcher snapped.  "This isn't about me.  This is about Equestria.  Fresh meat just got assigned to lead one of the REA's crack special operations teams.  This has disaster written all over it."

"Only you would let somepony dragging your flank out of the fire sour your relationship."

"No, Corona, I'm genuinely concerned," Fletcher growled, visibly agitated now at her continual needling.  "Armor may be a nice guy, but palace security is nothing compared to this.  This is WAR.  There are no second chances, no magical rainbow beams and god-princesses to save the day when you buck up.  He doesn't have the stones for actual wetwork.  I don't even know if he could kill a Griffon if it came down to it!"

"I seem to recall a time when a certain captain felt the same way."

"That certain captain is no more," Fletcher said quietly.

"And now this agent of REIN doesn't trust that officer of the REA to do his job."

"I know enough about Shining Armor to know he'll do his best.  He's the REA's poster boy after all.  But I can't accept 'his best.'  Only victory is acceptable.  Equestria depends on it."

"If you don't trust Armor, do you at least trust General Ironwing?"

The remark was enough to give Fletcher pause.  Ironwing was something of a father-figure to him — in the sense of a father who would scold a foal prone to fighting in the schoolyard while simultaneously being proud of him for winning those fights.  Ironwing imposed his will upon Fletcher to be sure, molding him into the stallion he was today.  But Ironwing also cultivated in him a nose for trouble — a talent that had gotten him both into and out of many jams.

"I trust Ironwing," he finally said.

"Then trust Armor.  If Ironwing thinks Armor has what it takes, you should defer to the General's judgment."

"We'll see," Fletcher snorted in contempt, doing an abrupt about-face before returning to the walkway.  "I'm headed to the ship.  I'll see you there."

************

The cold radiance of the aetherium lamp in the security chief's office cast hard, sharp shadows from the pool of milky white centered on his desk.  Less a security post and more an executive office, the chamber was graced with a spacious ceiling, warm colored walls, expansive bookshelves, and a large bay window with a full view of the valley below.  But in the night the ceiling was dark, the colors faded to shades of grey, and the window smattered with the ghostly form of a single pony's reflection.  Of in the distance, the faint glow of fires tinted the horizon blood red long after the sun had set and radiant bursts of gun flash punctured the darkening sky with lances of fierce brilliance.

Shining Armor closed his eyes and sighed.  He thought he'd been prepared to leave at a moment's notice, but some things never changed.  After being separated by crisis after crisis, Armor wished that just once he could spend some quality time with his wife.  With heavy heart, the colonel turned to face his desk, lifted the reciever from its cradle with his magic, and dialed the number.

One ring.  Two rings.  Three rings.

"Hello?"

The voice of Mi Amore Cadenza was nothing short of magical.  It was that voice that Shining Armor first fell in love with, but the rest of her proved just as enthralling.  Twilight always joked about how birds and butterflies followed along in her hoofsteps and how she did nothing but spread happiness and joy wherever she went.  While the former was obviously hyperbole, the latter wasn't terribly far from the truth.  Armor rejoiced every night he got to see her, touch her, and love her.

"Hey honey, it's Armor."

"Hey, lovely."  Armor could hear the smile in her voice and felt one of his own tugging at his lips.  "Let me guess, you're going to be late because of paperwork?"

"Listen, I..." Shining Armor stuttered.  It would hurt her.  He knew it would.  "I know I told you I'd be home soon, but new orders just came in.  We're shipping out tonight."

"Oh..." Cadence was audibly crestfallen.  With the fall of her voice, so fell Shining Armor's spirits.  "I'm so sorry, Armor..."

"Me, too..." Armor sighed.  "Listen, honey, I'll check back in when I can but I don't know when I'll have access to a telephone."

"Promise?"

"I promise," Armor replied solemnly.  "I have to go now.  The ship is waiting for me.  I love you."

"I love you, too," she whispered.  "Stay safe, mio amore."

Click.

With the call terminated, Shining Armor clicked the lamp off and lit his horn, the ghostly purple glow of aether brushing the walls of his office with soft shadow and softer light.  Lamenting his own departure would get him nowhere.  His wife had her job to do and he had his own.  They would be together again once they had completed their tasks.  Picking up his pack saddle, he slung the harness over his back, adjusting the heavy rucks laden with his uniform and pieces of kit.  The colonel took a deep breath, collecting himself before setting off.

It was time.