The Fight for Cranberry Hill

Chapters

Part I
Part II
Part III

Part I

Part I

A FiM fic by (Insert Pen Name)

The crunching sound of tiny hooves echoed along the trench as three brave soldier-ponies scurried in single file through the narrow space. The first of these valiant ponies was a grim-faced earth-mare, her rose-red hair tied back with a ragged band of pink. Close behind was a pegasus, whose orange feathers bristled in the cold air as she struggled to see beneath the brim of a camo-patterned kepi that was really much too large for her. Taking up the rear was a white unicorn, her wool scarf tied like a hood over her pastel curls. Through the trench the three ponies trod, until they came upon the rest of their unit, lined up along the outermost wall, preparing for the upcoming battle. Out in the field above echoed the carnage of war.

Cranberry Hill lay just beyond.

“This it it, girls,” panted Apple Bloom excitedly. “This is the day we finally take Cranberry Hill!”

“That’s what you said last time,” groaned Scootaloo.

“And the time before that,” added Sweetie Belle.

“This time is different,” barked Apple Bloom. “This time, I mean it. We are gettin’ up that hill, no matter what!”

The sudden cry of a whistle ended the discussion for the time being. All eyes turned to the determined face of the ashen-maned colt who stood stoically at the head of the trench.

“Okay guys, listen up!” said Rumble. “The rendezvous point is the ‘shingle’ at the base of the hill. Use those –”

“Incoming!!!”

Everypony ducked down as an enormous projectile smote the far lip of the trench, showering the ponies inside with debris. Undaunted, Rumble shook himself off and continued.

“Use those defilades and keep moving; do not stop until you reach the shingle!”

“Thirty seconds!” yelled Chowder, placing a whistle of his own to his lips and turning his gaze to a battered old stopwatch.

Apple Bloom gulped.

“This is it, girls. Ya ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” said Scootaloo.

“I just want you girls to know... that I love you both,” sobbed Sweetie Belle. “In a totally platonic sort of way,” she added.

“What’s ‘plutonic’?” asked Scootaloo.

“‘Platonic’,” corrected Sweetie Belle. “It means ‘as friends’. Like, I love you both as friends.”

“Why didn’t ya just say ‘as friends’ then?” asked Apple Bloom.

“Yeah, what are you, a dictionary?” jeered Scootaloo.

“Seriously? That wasn’t even funny the first time,” groaned Sweetie Belle.

The shrill scream of Chowder’s whistle sounded.

“Go! Go! GO!” cried Rumble. “Over the top! Go!”

And so it began. In a single desperate moment of stumbling hooves, the assembled troops hurried scrambled up the wall and charged forward into a literal hail of enemy fire. Two foals fell almost immediately, one of them tumbling back head over hooves. Three more were wiped out as another massive round hit the trench. But our three heroines soldiered on, up over the top, into the field of battle. Onward they ran, never stopping, until they found cover beneath the crest of a snowy hillock, where they were afforded a brief moment to take in the violence that surrounded them.

The field behind the Ponyville Schoolhouse had been transformed from a winter wonderland into a frozen warzone. Crude trenches criss-crossed the field like scars in the snow. Unspent snowballs and battered snow-barricades littered the ground, remnants of many a previous after-school skirmish, and the yells of the embattled colts and fillies filled the air as snowballs fell like rain. And at the head of it all stood the single solitary snow-fortress atop Cranberry Hill.

Cranberry Hill wasn’t actually a hill, of course. Every winter, after each heavy snow, plow crews would visit the school overnight and clear the area around the schoolhouse. The plowed snow was then piled into a great heap at the edge of the schoolyard. Many fanciful names had graced this seasonal summit over the years: “Mount Snowshoe”, “Duke’s Ridge”, “The Throat of Equestria”. This year, the snowy peak was known, quite whimsically, as “Cranberry Hill”. Naturally, the summit made for an ideal strategic position in the school-children’s annual snow wars. Whoever controlled the Hill controlled the battle.

The three Crusaders were soon joined in their refuge by a trembling little colt in a large woolen tuque. Scootaloo immediately reached over to give the poor colt a firm pat on the shoulder.

“Hey there, Featherweight, still hanging in there?”

Featherweight nodded, though not convincingly.

“Don’t worry Featherweight, we’ll get you through this,” said Sweetie Belle warmly. “The Cutie-Mark Crusaders never leave a pony behind!”

“Look out!!!”

Another massive snowball suddenly smashed through a nearby snowbank, scattering the two fillies who had taken cover behind it. Apple Bloom gulped once again, then dared a peek out towards the fort on the Hill. At the crest of the mound, behind the snow-fort’s crenellated walls, towered a makeshift flagpole, from which flew a banner that many a colt and filly had come to hate with a passion over the past few weeks: a stylised white diadem on a mauve field. The very sight of it made Apple Bloom’s lip curl.

The source of the fearsome bombardment was readily apparent. Two long two-by-fours had been erected within one of the fort’s bastions, forming the frame for a massive bungie-powered slingshot. Its appearance came as no surprise; for the past week, it had been a painful thorn in their side, and all previous attempts to neutralise it had fared rather poorly, to say the least. As Apple Bloom watched, a team of older colts loaded another large snowball into the sling, drew back, and fired it into the field below, with devastating results.

“We can’t stay here,” said Apple Bloom. “C’mon, we gotta get to the shingle!”

Without delay, the three fillies – plus Featherweight – charged out from their hiding place and galloped through the deep snow towards the base of the Hill. Luck seemed to be on their side, until Featherweight suddenly stumbled behind them.

“Featherweight!” cried Sweetie Belle.

Before Featherweight could respond, a single well-aimed snowball hurtled down from on high and struck the poor colt on the back.

“Nooo!!!”

“Sweetie Belle, come on!” yelled Scootaloo.

“But –”

“Ain’t nothin’ we can do for him!” shouted Apple Bloom. “C’mon, we gotta move!”

Sweetie Belle made as if to protest, but a fresh volley from the Hill convinced her of the necessity of the situation. A few seconds later, the three fillies had joined their comrades in the shelter of the shingle. Barely more than a dozen other foals had yet made it across the field and now cowered against the cold, hard-packed snow, while blindly hurled snowballs rained all around them. In the midst of it all, Rumble sat shouting into a Wonderbolts-themed walkie-talkie.

“We’re getting creamed out here! Where’s our support?! We need reinforcements, now! What? Okay, roger that!”

Putting down his radio, Rumble turned to the others.

“Listen up, ponies: they’re sending up ammo and reinforcements! We need to provide covering fire, so get some snowballs ready. Wait for my mark...”

The next several moments were spent hastily scooping snow into suitable shapes.

“Mark!”

On Rumble’s command, the foals at the shingle leapt out into the open and hurled a volley of snowballs at the crenellations above. Some found a mark, but a second later, the defenders launched a volley of their own in retaliation.

“Keep firing!” shouted Rumble as one poor filly took a hit to the face. “Dodge em’ if you can, but don’t let up!”

As Apple Bloom stooped for another snowball, she caught sight of their reinforcements. At least half-a-dozen fillies and colts were galloping across the open field, dragging a large toboggan piled high with ready-made snowballs.

“Keep firing! They’re gonna make it!” cheered Rumble.

Unfortunately, in that exact moment, another round was fired from the fort’s massive slingshot. With uncanny precision, it sailed gracefully through the air before slamming directly into the toboggan, scattering its precious cargo into the snow. One colt stopped to gather up what he could, but was quickly struck down by a well-pitched throw. The rest of the escort abandoned the toboggan entirely and hurried forward to join their comrades.

“Darn it!” swore Rumble as they retreated back to the safety of the shingle.

“Sorry, sir,” mumbled one of the colts that had been pulling the toboggan. “We tried our best.”

“What are we gonna do without ammo?” wailed one of the other fillies.

“Forget the ammo; that we can improvise,” barked Rumble as he turned to the three Crusaders. “Apple Bloom, I need you and your crew to run out there and get that toboggan; we’ll need it for cover if we’re going to get up the Hill!”

“Never fear, sir!” declared Apple Bloom. “We’ll get it, no problem! Come on, girls!”

Without hesitation, the three Crusaders sprinted over to the abandoned toboggan and hefted it over their heads. Before they had gone more than three steps, however, a sudden gust of wind blew across the field, ruffling Apple Bloom’s mane, billowing Sweetie Belle’s scarf, and blowing Scootaloo’s oversized kepi right off her head.

“My hat!”

“Scootaloo, no!”

Before Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle could restrain her, Scootaloo took off after her errant headgear. Setting abuzz her tiny wings, Scootaloo leapt into the air, caught the kepi in mid-dive, executed a perfect landing, and was promptly hit with no fewer than four well-aimed snowballs.

“Nooo!!!”

Sweetie Belle immediately made to leap to Scootaloo’s aid, but was stopped at the last second by her surviving friend.

“Sweetie Belle, no! It’s too late for her,” said Apple Bloom as she pulled her friend under the toboggan.

“But Apple Bloom –”

“I’m sorry, Sweetie Belle, but we gotta go. She knew what she was gettin’ into.”

“But –”

“Let’s go!”

In silence, the two fillies hurried back to the shingle, stray snowballs rattling harmlessly off the toboggan’s polished underside.

“First Featherweight, and now Scootaloo,” spat Sweetie Belle as she glared at her friend. “Who’s next, Apple Bloom? Who else are we going leave behind?”

Before Apple Bloom could answer, Rumble’s shrieking whistle smote the air.

“Ad-vance!!!”

With one last defiant yell, the ponies charged up the Hill, some bearing the toboggan before them against the enemy’s missiles, others keeping to the rougher parts of the Hill, where there was some cover for their climb. Slowly, but surely, the valiant attackers drew closer to the summit.

Then tragedy struck. One of the toboggan carriers lost her footing, and in a flash, their indomitable shield was sent tumbling down the slope. Apple Bloom was able to scramble out of the way in the nick of time, but Sweetie Belle wasn’t so lucky.

“Sweetie Belle!” cried Apple Bloom.

“Go!” yelled Sweetie Belle as she slid helplessly back down the Hill.

“But you said –”

“Forget what I said, go!”

And she was gone.

For a long moment, Apple Bloom could do nothing but lie there helplessly against the slope. Wherever she looked, she saw ponies falling. Featherweight and Scootaloo, abandoned on that terrible field. Sweetie Belle, lying in a heap at the base of the Hill. Twist, Pina, and Dinky, all lost. And now even Rumble, beaten by a barrage of snowballs from on high, his Wonderbolts walkie-talkie lying dead in the snow. Apple Bloom shuddered. It could not end like this, it couldn’t! She had made a promise that this would be the day they took Cranberry Hill! Just like last time... and the time before that...

Silencing the dissenting voices in her head, Apple Bloom filled her lungs and let out an almighty shout to her remaining comrades.

“Follow me! Charge!!!”

And charge they did. With her comrades at her back, Apple Bloom clambered up the slope, dodging snowballs wherever they flew. One by one, the attackers were picked off and laid low, but not Apple Bloom. With the fury of a filly possessed, she reached the nearest bastion, pausing only to hurl a snowball into the first unfortunate face that dared show itself between the crenellations. Without fear, hesitation, or reason, she vaulted the walls of the fort and landed inside, just in time to see the giant slingshot fire a round straight at her head. With less than a second to spare, the filly ducked, and the shot exploded into the wall behind, showering her coat with its freezing shrapnel. For a long moment, Apple Bloom lay splayed out in a daze, until she heard footsteps approaching.

Looking up, Apple Bloom found herself staring into the face of the very pony she had sworn to defeat. The prudish pink filly smiled, her namesake accessory glinting like ice in the winter sun. A snowball of her own rested in the crook of her foreleg.

“Sorry, loser!” she teased with a sneer. “Looks like you lose!”

“Seriously? That’s your best line?” asked Apple Bloom.

Diamond Tiara said nothing, but merely put on a sour look and smashed her snowball into Apple Bloom’s face.

* * *

An hour later, the Cutie Mark Crusaders were sitting around a corner table in Sugarcube Corner, glumly nursing three tall mugs of Pinkie Pie’s take on hot chocolate (fill mug with marshmallows, add hot chocolate, stew). Though nopony had been genuinely hurt during the fighting, their spirits were another matter entirely. Only Sweetie Belle seemed unaffected by their recent defeat.

“Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad,” said Sweetie Belle. “So we lost again, so what?”

“We didn’t just lose, Sweetie Belle,” snapped Scootaloo. “We got our butts kicked! Again!”

“At least one of us got up the hill this time,” said Sweetie Belle.

“Yeah, one of us, for all the good that did,” grumbled Apple Bloom.

“Hey, it wasn’t not my fault,” said Sweetie Belle defensively. “I totally would’ve been there too, if they hadn’t dropped the sled.”

“And don’t get me started on you, Scootaloo,” continued Apple Bloom.

“What? What did I do?”

“If it weren’t for you and that stupid hat o’ yours, you could’ve been there with us!”

“It’s not a stupid hat, it’s Rainbow Dash’s!” Scootaloo retorted.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” jeered Apple Bloom. “I guess if it’s Rainbow Dash’s, then that makes everythin’ okay. Who cares if it’s too big on ya, or if it gets ya killed!”

“Girls! Stop! Arguing about it isn’t going to get us anywhere,” lectured Sweetie Belle. “What we need is to sit down and think about this. Now say you’re sorry to each other.”

The other two fillies glared at each other a moment, then started to back down.

“Sorry,” they both mumbled halfheartedly.

“That’s better,” huffed Sweetie Belle. “Honestly, just because there’s a war on is no reason to be fighting all the time.”

The mood grew more cordial thereafter. For the next few minutes, the debacle on Cranberry Hill was more or less forgotten as the three fillies enjoyed the warm sweetness of their marshmallowy hot chocolate. That is until the door opened, allowing a cold wind and two smug-faced fillies to enter the shop.

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Cutie-Mark Clutzaders!” jeered Diamond Tiara.

Apple Bloom let out a disgusted growl.

“What’s the matter, losers? Little blank-flank fillies can’t take the cold?” asked Silver Spoon sardonically.

“Maybe you could all get your cutie-marks in losing,” smirked Diamond. “By the way, how’d you like your snowball facial, Apple Bloom?”

“Go soak yer head in the pond,” spat Apple Bloom.

“Yeah, it’s bad enough getting pounded out there without you two ruining our R and R,” added Scootaloo.

“Whatever, losers. We just thought you might like to see what a real winner looks like,” said Diamond icily. “Let’s go, Silver dear, I’ve had enough loser-watching for one day.”

It was all Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo could do to stop Apple Bloom from tearing across the room and burying Diamond Tiara’s face in the nearest pie. Undaunted, the two irksome fillies departed in a chorus of cruel giggles.

“I’m really startin’ to hate those two,” muttered Apple Bloom. “Like, more than usual.”

“Did they seriously only come in just to torment us?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“I’m getting real sick of their bull-honkey!” swore Scootaloo.

“Yeah, they’re a pair of no-good meanie-pants!” added Pinkie Pie.

“Yeah! Wait, what the –?”

“Hi!” chirped Pinkie.

“Pinkie Pie? How long’ve you been standin’ there?” asked Apple Bloom.

“Hmmm, about six minutes,” answered Pinkie with a shrug. “You girls really should start panning to the left more often.”

“Okay...”

“So, what’s got you three all grumpy-grump-faced? Not enough marshmallows in your cocoa? I can always add more!”

“No, we’re fine, thanks,” said Sweetie Belle.

“No you’re not,” said Pinkie with a shake of her head. “You’re one-hundred percent not fine. Believe me, I can tell.”

“It really ain’t that big a deal,” said Apple Bloom with a shrug.

“It’s always a big deal when my friends are feeling all grumpy,” retorted Pinkie. “So come on, tell me! You know your Auntie Pinkie’s good for it.”

Apple Bloom sighed.

“You know the big snow-hill out by the school?” she asked. “The one we call Cranberry Hill?”

“Cranberry Hill...” murmured Pinkie thoughtfully. “Oh! You mean Mount Steeps!”

“Mount Steeps?”

“That’s what we called it,” said Pinkie. “Oh, we had such fun on Mount Steeps! We used to climb on it, and slide on it, and make snow forts on it, and write our names in it with our –”

“Yeah, that’s the one,” interrupted Apple Bloom. “Only we just make snow forts on it. Problem is, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon and a bunch of other kids built a real big fort on it last week, and they’ve been lordin’ it over us ever since!”

“Nopony can even get close to the Hill without getting shot at,” explained Scootaloo.

“The rest of us have been trying to push them off, but it’s been pretty one-sided so far,” added Sweetie Belle.

Pinkie Pie reacted to this explanation with a horrified gasp.

“You mean those mean old fillies are hogging the Hill?!” she asked in a harsh whisper. “But, where do you climb or go sliding, then?”

“We don’t,” shrugged Scootaloo. “Nopony does, really. All we do is fight.”

Pinkie gasped.

“That is just the meanest, selfishest, no-goodest thing I ever heard! Nopony should ever be allowed to hog the Hill!”

“Definitely not Diamond Tiara, at least,” muttered Apple Bloom.

“Well that settles it, I’m in!” she declared, slamming her hoof on the table for good measure. “You can tell all your little buddies that Auntie Pinkie Pie’s here to help!”

“Uh, we’re not supposed to get help from grown-ups,” said Apple Bloom. “Playground rules, ya know?”

“I’m not a grown-up,” said Pinkie brightly. “I’m only... hold on...”

She did some quick mental arithmetic. Her face darkened.

“Twenty-two...” she said finally. “I’m twenty-two years old. Wow, didn’t see that one coming.”

“Are you going to be okay, Pinkie?” asked Sweetie Belle sympathetically.

“I’ll be fine,” sighed Pinkie glumly. “But never mind me, what about you? We need to figure out a way to get mean old Diamond Tiara off her high horse! Not a real high horse, though, that would be silly, because –”

“Yeah, we get that,” interrupted Scootaloo.

“Oh, sorry. Any ideas?”

“Sort of. I was thinkin’ we could come up with some sort o’ trick,” said Apple Bloom. “Somethin’ real clever. Like that story about the big wooden donkey.”

“No way!” scoffed Scootaloo. “That’s the lamest trick in the book. What we really need is some serious firepower! Like that giant slingshot they have. That thing is just wicked.”

“I was thinking we could march all around the Hill a bunch of times, with trumpets and stuff, and then shout really loud at the top of our lungs!” suggested Sweetie Belle.

“How’s that supposed to help us?” asked Scootaloo.

“I dunno. Sounded a lot better in my head,” replied Sweetie Belle with an inferior shrug.

Strangely enough, Pinkie Pie remained silent throughout this whole exchange, her brow tightly furrowed. Finally, she looked up to address the three fillies.

“Those are all very good ideas,” she said levelly. “But I think I like Scootaloo’s the best!”

“Sweet! Heavy-duty firepower it is!” cheered Scootaloo.

“Not just firepower...” said Pinkie devilishly. “Party-power...”

To be continued...

A big thank-you goes out to Ponychan’s Pascoite

for helping me hammer this fic into shape.

Part II

The Fight for Cranberry Hill

Part II

A FiM fic by (Insert Pen Name)

Applebloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle shivered slightly as they sat against the back wall of Sugarcube Corner. A gentle snow was falling, and the wind had picked up slightly. Across the alley, a familiar puffy pink tail protruded from the open door of the tool shed as its owner rummaged around within.

“What exactly are ya lookin’ for?” asked Applebloom, having been waiting patiently for several minutes now.

"You'll see," answered Pinkie Pie. "I know I stuck him in here somewhere... aha! Found you!"

The pink party-pony emerged, carrying a large, pony-shaped piece of ¾” plywood. The Cutie-Mark Crusaders watched with renewed interest as Pinkie carried the strange object to the far end of the alley, about fifty metres distant, and stood it up so that they could see what was painted on the other side.

“What... is... that?!” asked Scootaloo in alarm.

“I call him ‘Mister Clowny Face’!” said Pinkie Pie brightly. “I use him for target practise. Normally, I shoot pies and cakes at him instead of snowballs, but I don’t think he’ll mind you girls borrowing him for a teeny bit.”

The Crusaders just stared. Mister Clowny Face was clearly the product of a very active, and possibly artificially supplemented, imagination. Applebloom was certain that he would give Sweetie Belle nightmares, Sweetie Belle shared that sentiment completely, and Scootaloo was struck by a sudden impulse to land a jump-kick on the plywood pony’s clown-faced head.

“So, now what?” asked Applebloom finally.

“Now we shoot snowballs at him!” said Pinkie Pie. “With this!”

With a flourish, Pinkie Pie suddenly, and inexplicably, produced her famous Party Cannon, much to the delight of the three fillies.

“Awesome!” squeed Scootaloo, her eyes wide with anticipation.

“You’re really going to let us use this?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“Of course! You said you needed better firepower after all. Except it’s not really ‘firepower’, it’s more like ‘snowpower’, since you’re shooting snowballs instead of fire, but then again, ‘snowpower’ does sound kinda silly, so I guess you could say ‘firepower’ if you really wanted to, even though cannons don’t really shoot actual fi-”

“So how’s it work?” interrupted Applebloom.

“Oh, it’s easy. Make me a big enough snowball, and I’ll show you everything you need to know!”

In a burst of excitement, the three fillies immediately fell to the ground and began scooping snow into a projectile that would fit the bore of the Party Cannon. Sweetie Belle suddenly adopted a frown.

“Hold on, how are we supposed to shoot snow out of a cannon? Won’t it melt?” she asked.

“No it won’t!” answered Pinkie Pie with a smile. “That’s what this is for!”

As if on cue, Pinkie deftly reached behind her and pulled out a thick, pink, paper tube, which she twirled playfully on the tip of her hoof.

“What’s that?”

“Pinkamina Pie’s Premium-Power Party Powder plus Primer (Patent Pending)!” answered Pinkie. “Try saying that ten times fast!”

“Huh?”

“You see, when I first started using the Party Cannon, I tried using plain old boring black-powder, but that didn’t work so well. Turns out that scorched cake and flaming confetti aren’t really good for parties.”

“Hey, I would love flaming confetti at my birthday!” piped Scootaloo.

“Well, maybe some parties,” chuckled Pinkie Pie. “Anyway, since the normal stuff wasn’t working, I decided to try and come up with my own recipe. So I spent a couple of weeks up in my room, mixing and–”

“Hold on, the Cakes let you experiment with gunpowder in their house?!” exclaimed Applebloom.

“It was kinda my little secret,” said Pinkie sheepishly. “Anyway, in the end, I came up with this stuff! It blows up so fast that it doesn’t have time to get hot, but not too hard that it ruins all the cake! So now my cakes don’t get burnt, and my confetti’s not on fire, and your snowballs will be A-okay!”

The Crusaders each exchanged nervous glances.

“Can explosives work like that?” whispered Scootaloo.

The other two merely shrugged.

“Right, let’s do this!” chuckled Pinkie. “Watch closely now.”

Applebloom, Scootaloo, and Sweetie Belle watched intently as Pinkie Pie casually kicked the Party Cannon into an upright position, dropped the powder down the barrel with a flourish, then loaded their specially-made snowball.

“Oooh, tight fit...” muttered Pinkie to herself as she started ramming down the snowball with a toilet plunger.

“Is that bad?” asked Sweetie Belle.

“I dunno. I’ve never fired an actual cannonball before, never mind a snow-cannonball. I’ve shot cakes, and pies, and presents, and confetti, and streamers, and scoops of double-fudge ice cream, but no cannonballs. Funny, eh?”

The Crusaders instinctively backed up a step as Pinkie directed the Party Cannon to fire on Mister Clowny Face.

“So...” began Pinkie as she carefully lined up her aim. “Ready to see some action?”

There was a threefold flurry of eager nods.

With a smile, Pinkie made one last adjustment, raised her hoof, and fired.

Three things happened thereafter. The first was a satisfying *boom* that echoed across the walls and elicited the response of several neighbourhood dogs. The second was that the Party Cannon recoiled about ten metres back, hurling Pinkie Pie head over hooves into a nearby snowbank. And the third thing was that the snowball fired clean out of the cannon, flew straight down the alley, struck Mister Clowny Face in the head, and promptly reduced the plywood pony’s entire top half to splinters.

“Woah!!!”

“That was awesome!” cried Scootaloo. “We are so taking this thing! Watch out, Diamond Tiara, ha-ha!”

“Are you nuts?!” wailed Applebloom. “We can’t use that thing out there!”

“Why not?”

“We’d take some poor pony’s head off! Literally! Seriously, Scoots, we’re fighting a war, not tryin’ to kill somepony!”

“Plus, I don’t think it’d work out so well for us either,” added Sweetie Belle, indicating the hapless pink hindquarters struggling to extricate themselves from the snowbank.

Scootaloo made as if to protest, but ultimately thought better of it.

“So now what do we do?” she asked.

“Wow! What happened hewe?”

All eyes turned towards the far end of the alley, where a small, wide-eyed pinto colt in a green beret stood inspecting the wreckage of Mister Clowny Face.

“Hey there, Pip!” called Sweetie Belle.

Upon hearing his name addressed, little Pip gave a sudden start, hurried over to the three fillies and snapped to salute.

“Pipsqueak the Pwivate, at yuh sehvice!” he said proudly. “I’ve been looking all oveh foh you thwee; I’ve got an impohtant message fwom Majow Wumble!”

“Alright, let’s hear it, then,” said Applebloom.

“Wight, The Majow has called a genewal stwategy meeting in Cohpowal Twist’s basement at 17:00 houws. I don’t know when that is, but he said you would, so that’s okay.

“We’ll be there, Pip,” said Sweetie Belle. “Tell Rumble not to worry.”

“Yes Ma’am!” nodded Pip. “By the way, is that what I think it is?” he asked, gesturing excitedly at the smoking Party Cannon behind them.

“Yep,” answered Scootaloo glumly.

“Wicked! Is it foh us?”

“Nope.”

“Nope?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?” protested Pip.

“You want some poor pony to end up like Mister Clowny Face over there?” asked Applebloom, indicating the splintered remains of the plywood pony.

“Ugh, good point,” said Pip, turning to leave. “Anyway, I’d betteh get going. See you lateh.”

“See you later, Pip!” Sweetie Belle called after him. “See you at the meeting!”

“Hey, Applebloom?” whispered Scootaloo.

“Yeah?”

“When is 17:00 hours?”

“Uh, not sure. Hold on, seventeen, take away... Hey, what’s seventeen minus twelve?”

“It’s seven, isn’t it?” suggested Scootaloo.

“No, that’s seventeen minus ten, you dodo!” Sweetie Belle rebuked.

“Okay, if you’re so smart, you tell us what it is.”

“Um...”

“Nevermind, I got it,” said Applebloom. “It’s five. So 17:00 hours must be five o’clock.”

“Cool. What time is it now?” asked Scootaloo.

It was at the exact moment that the town bell began to ring. The Crusaders stood frozen to the spot as the bell tolled one, then two, three, four... five.

“Oh shoot! C’mon girls, we gotta move!”

And move they did. With unchecked haste, the three fillies took off through the snow, out into the main street.

...

“Uh, girls?” called Pinkie Pie, her voice muffled by the heavy snow. “A little help, here? Hello? Anypony? Gummy?”

* * *

If there was one thing that could be said in favour of Twist’s basement, Applebloom was still trying to figure it out. Stacks of mouldering cardboard boxes, misshapen piles of dusty old furniture, countless grotesque artifacts from an older, tackier time; it was, in short, a complete dump. In the centre of this forsaken space, a round table and several small chairs had been set up, illuminated by the flickering glow of an ailing ceiling lamp.

Fortunately, the three Crusaders weren’t the only ones late to the meeting. Dinky, Shady, and Archer each arrived several minutes later, much to Rumble’s annoyance.

“What the hay, Sergeant?” he said as Archer trudged down the stairs. “You were supposed to be here like ten minutes ago!”

“Well maybe next time you should send a messenger with longer legs,” retorted Archer.

“Then how did he get here first?” challenged Rumble, indicating where Pip sat smiling beside him.

“Er...”

“Nevermind, we’re all here,” sighed Rumble. “Corporal Twist!” he called upstairs. “How’s that intel coming along?”

“Almoth finithed!” sang Twist in response.

“Alright. Well, until then, let’s get some other things out of the way. Captain Chowder?”

Chowder gave an affirming nod, then pulled out a notepad whilst clearing his throat in an authoritative, and plainly overwrought, manner.

“Okay, first item on the list... Applebloom’s promotion.”

“What?!” cried the Crusaders in unison.

“That’s right, Applebloom,” said Rumble with a grin. “For your heroics earlier today, I’m promoting you to Lieutenant. Congratulations, soldier. Here’re your bars.”

Rumble passed her two strips of yellow construction paper and a pair of safety pins. Beaming with pride, Applebloom made to put them on, realised that she had nothing to pin them to, and in the end simply set them aside with a resigned shrug.

“Heh, thank-you, sir, I won’t let ya down.”

“I’m sure you won’t,” answered Rumble as Applebloom exchanged silent hoof-bumps with her friends. “Anyway, next item?”

“Uh, let’s see...” muttered Chowder. “Twist is supposed to be next, but she’s not done yet, so... Oh, Private Dinky has something to show us. Dinky?”

All eyes now turned to the little mauve filly, who calmly stepped forward and drew out a large, dusty book from her schoolbag.

“Fillies and gentlecolts,” she began, laying the book open on the table for all to see. “These are the schematics for a weapon that will make Diamond Tiara’s super-slingshot look like a cheap rubber band, courtesy of our local library.”

Chowder leaned forward to read the header.

“What’s a... ‘treh-butch-ett’?” he asked.

“Trebuchet,” corrected Dinky. “It’s pronounced trebuchet. It’s sort of like a catapult, only bigger. And much more awesome. With one of these, we can pound Cranberry Hill back into the Paleopony Period!”

“Nice! So what’s it gonna cost us to build this thing?” asked Rumble.

“Well, I’ve made a rough estimate...” answered Dinky slowly. “Looking at the current cost of lumber and hardware and other materials, we’re looking at, say... A hundred-and-twenty-seven bits.”

The table fell momentarily silent.

“Chowder, how much do we have in our reserves?” asked Rumble.

“Uh, give me a moment,” mumbled Chowder, flipping through his notepad. “Uh, at our last count, eight bits, and I think I spent two of them to buy my whistle,” he answered sheepishly.

Dinky frowned.

“Well, I guess we could maybe scrape some of the materials together ourselves.”

“I think my dad has some two-by-fours in our basement,” suggested Shady.

“And we got tools up at the farm,” added Applebloom.

“We’ll take your idea into consideration, Private,” said Rumble gently. “But in the meantime, let’s look at more tactical solutions. Corporal Twist!”

“Aaaaaannnd... done!”

Moments later, Twist came down the basement steps, proudly bearing a misshapen mass of cake on a broad baking pan. Both items were slathered in a thick coat of vanilla icing. As she lay the strange confection on the table, everypony else besides Rumble and Shady stared at it in confusion. Pip was the first to recognise it for what it was.

“It’s the Hill!” he said excitedly.

“That’th right!” giggled Twist.

“Aw, sweet!” cheered Chowder, who immediately reached out for a hooffull of frosting, only to be thwarted by a timely swat from an extendable steel pointer.

“Hey, hooves off the intel!” barked Shady, waving his pointer menacingly as Chowder nursed his stricken hoof.

“Don’t worry Chowder,” cooed Twist, putting her forelegs affectionately around Chowder’s shoulders. “I’ll let you lick the bowl afterwardth...”

“Ahem, moving on...” said Rumble. “Sergeant Shady, you may begin.”

Shady nodded, then began his presentation of the vanilla-iced replica of Cranberry Hill.

“Right, as you can plainly see, Diamond Tiara’s got herself a pretty good setup on top of the Hill...”

He indicated with his pointer a crude facsimile of Diamond’s fortress, made out of miniature marshmallows.

“The fort itself is pretty well designed. These bastions in particular provide wide, overlapping fields of fire, which allows the enemy to defend the walls from just about any angle.”

“Looks like somepony’s just got their cutie-mark in architecture,” muttered Archer.

“The real issue, of course, is that darn slingshot,” continued Shady, pointing now to a pair of toothpicks stuck in the very centre of the marshmallow fort. “Not only can it hit our own positions down here...”

He indicated where their “trenches” had been carved in the icing.

“But there isn’t a square inch of that slope that they haven’t pre-sighted for bombardment. They can hit us anywhere, anytime,” he explained bitterly, swatting the “Hill” for good measure, then surreptitiously licking the icing off his pointer. “Clearly, our first priority is to figure out what to do about that slingshot. So, any suggestions?”

As it turned out, there were several. Dinky continued to extol her trebuchet design, Archer suggested building decoys to draw their fire, Chowder snuck a hoofful of icing, Twist proposed moving single file to hide their numbers, Scootaloo favoured an all-out bumrush, while Applebloom and Sweetie Belle fell to arguing over the virtues of digging a tunnel under the Hill. Amidst the chaos, however, a tiny voice spoke up.

“Um, excuse me?” said Pip timidly.

Nopony took any notice.

“Excuse me,” he said a little louder.

Still no response from the older foals.

“Hey! Somepony’s twying to talk hewe!”

That got their attention.

“You got something to say, Pip?” said Rumble with narrowed eyes.

Pip gulped.

“Um, I know I’m just a Pwivate and all, but is thew a weason we can’t just go awound?” he asked nervously.

For a moment, the table was silent.

“What do you mean, ‘go around’?” asked Shady.

“Go awound,” repeated Pip. “Like, instead of chawging head-on whewe they can hit us, why don’t we just hit them from the side whewe they can’t hit us?” he asked, illustrating his point by drawing a sweeping line around the side of the hill (and scoring a generous amount of icing in the process!)

Again, dead silence. Shady impulsively made as if to object, but quickly backed down.

“You know, that’s actually a pretty good idea,” said Rumble, visibly impressed. “Good one, Pip.”

Pip grinned broadly as the others voiced their collective agreements.

“So, which side should we attack from, then?” asked Rumble.

“Um... why not both?” suggested Pip.

“Both,” repeated Rumble. “Both. That is brilliant. This kid is a tactical genius,” he said, giving Pip a firm pat on the shoulder. “In fact, I’m giving you a promotion! From now on, we’re calling you Corporal Pipsqueak!”

“Corporal Pipsqueak, I like it,” murmured Chowder. “It’s got that ‘guy who gets ordered to do everything important’ kind of vibe.”

“Don’t listen to him,” said Rumble quickly. “Congratulations, Corporal. We’ll be putting your strategy into play tomorrow. Diamond Tiara won’t know what hit her!”

“Thank-you, siw!”

“Right, so, anything else?” asked Rumble.

“Um... No, sir, nothing,” said Chowder.

“Then in that case, I declare this meeting adjoined.”

“You mean ‘adjourned’,” corrected Sweetie Belle.

“Whatever. Corporal Twist, you may do the honours...”

At Rumble’s command, Twist advanced on the table, with an excited glint in her eye and a very large, freshly-honed knife clenched between her teeth.

“Who wanth cake?” she sang giddily.

To be Concluded...

Part III

The Fight for Cranberry Hill

Part III

A FiM fic by (Insert Pen Name)

High on the summit of Cranberry Hill, a blue colt looked out over the war-torn field, keeping watch for any sign of the enemy. He had been at this post for the past hour now, and the longer he stared, the more perplexed and frustrated he became with what he saw. Finally, he could bear it no longer, and called to his companion, who was napping comfortably in a nearby nook in the wall.

“Hey, Snails? Snails!”

“Ugh?”

“Get over here. Something’s not right.”

“Ugh,” grumbled Snails, as he ambled groggily over. “What is it?”

“Look,” said Snips, gesturing out over the field.

Snails looked.

“I don’t see anything,” he said at last.

“That’s the point!” exclaimed Snips.

Snails frowned.

“Uh, Snips, are you okay?”

“Look again,” groaned Snips. “What don’t you see?”

“I don’t see a lot of things.”

“Yeah, okay, but who don’t you see either?”

Snails blinked.

“I don’t see anypony.”

“Exactly! I haven’t seen anypony down there all morning,” said Snips.

“Nopony?”

“Nopony!”

The two shared a pensive pause.

“We should probably tell Diamond Tiara, huh?” suggested Snips.

“Yeah, maybe... no, wait, what if it turns out to be a fluke, and she gets mad at us again? Remember what she said last time?”

Snips gulped. The two colts each shot a sideways glance at the fort’s super-sized slingshot, each noting how closely the sling’s cup (which consisted of two sewn-together baseball mitts) suddenly seemed to resemble a seat...

“But, what if it’s not a fluke, and she gets mad at us for not telling her?” countered Snips.

An intense silence followed as the two colts debated their options. Then, as one, they each turned and yelled for their crowned commandress.

* * *

From the wooded thicket behind the trenches, safely concealed by the snow-encrusted underbrush, Major Rumble peered out intently at Cranberry Hill. After a few moments’ observation, he turned back to where his loyal troops sat huddled in a nearby gully.

“Alright troops, this is it,” said Rumble anxiously. “Time to put our money where our mouth is. Corporal Pipsqueak! Form your troops into an assault party and get them onto one of the enemy’s flanks.”

“Any pawticulaw one?” asked Pip.

“Use your initiative, Pipsqueak,” smiled Rumble. “You don’t want to stay a corporal the whole war, do you? Lieutenant Applebloom, you’ll do the same with the other flank.”

“Roger that,” nodded Applebloom.

“You’ve both got your walkie-talkies,” continued Rumble. “Keep behind the treeline, and wait for my signal before moving on the Hill. Any questions?”

“Yeah, what are you and the rest gonna be doin’?” asked Applebloom.

Rumble grinned.

“We’ll be providing the distraction. Now move it out! Double time!”

* * *

“Okay, what is so important that you two morons had to interrupt my pedicure?” demanded Diamond Tiara as Snips and Snails cringed at the foot of her frozen throne.

“There’s something weird going on, ma’am,” replied Snails. “You know how you told us to keep a lookout for enemy troops?”

“Yes...” said Diamond Tiara impatiently.

“Well, there aren’t any enemy troops to look out for,” explained Snips hastily.

“What?” asked Silver Spoon.

“Yep, we’ve been on lookout all morning. Nothing,” nodded Snails.

Diamond Tiara exchanged a curious glance with her friend, then turned back to face them with narrowed eyes.

“Show me.”

The four foals sprinted across the fort to the forward bastion where Snips and Snails had been on watch.

“There, see. Nopony,” said Snips without looking himself.

“Nopony at all, huh,” deadpanned Silver Spoon.

“Yep.”

“Then what’s that?” she asked, pointing down at the field below.

Snips and Snails blinked once, then nearly threw themselves against the battlements. Six foals were busily milling about outside the trenches, hastily rolling snow into larger boulders.

“What the– ? But they weren’t there a minute ago!” protested Snips.

“Sure, they weren’t,” groaned Diamond Tiara. “Honestly, Silver, why do we bother with these dumb boys?”

“I dunno,” replied Silver Spoon with a shrug. “They do seem to respond well to a dominant female leader.”

“I suppose there is that, yes,” Diamond Tiara nodded in agreement.

“Hey, uh, ma’am?” asked Snails timidly.

The prissy pink filly let out a derisive sigh.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Uh, maybe you should come see what they’re doing down there,” said Snails.

Rolling her eyes, Diamond Tiara turned to look back out at the field, and was surprised to find herself cocking her head in bewilderment.

“Are they making... snowponies?”

* * *

“Uh, why are we making snowponies, sir?” asked Chowder as he hefted a heavy ball of snow onto his back.

“It’s our distraction,” replied Rumble. “We need to draw their attention while Pip and Applebloom circle around.”

“Yeah, that I get, but why snowponies?” asked Chowder.

“Well, look at it this way: if you were up there, and you saw the enemy down here suddenly just building snowponies for no apparent reason, what would you think?” asked Rumble.

“I’d think something was up, I guess,” answered Chowder.

“Exactly. Something worth keeping an eye on, right?”

“I guess.”

“So, we keep building snowponies, and while they’re up there trying to figure out what our deal is, Pipsqueak and Applebloom will have the element of surprise.”

“What if they just start shooting at us?” asked Chowder.

“Even better!” said Rumble with a grin. “Then it’s a game for them, and now they’re even more distracted! It’s called psychological warfare, Captain. Look into it.”

Chowder nodded thoughtfully.

“I gotta say, you’ve got this all thought out.”

“That’s why I’m the Major,” said Rumble with a smug grin.

* * *

Back up on Cranberry Hill, a small crowd had gathered into the front bastion to watch the activity down below. Several snowponies had been erected already, with several more soon to come. Theories had already begun to circulate as to the purpose of this activity. Some opined that it was simply a misguided case of R-and-R, others proposed that they were some sort of decoys, and at least one young colt loudly proclaimed to all who would listen that it was an experimental effort to build an army of deranged mutant killer monster snow-goons.

“What do you think, Silver?” asked Diamond Tiara, observing the ponies below through a purple pair of toy opera glasses.

“I think they’re definitely up to something,” murmured Silver. “I have no idea what, but it’s something...”

“Agreed...” nodded Diamond Tiara. “Let’s shoot at it! Snips! Snails! Tell the boys to get the slingshot ready!”

* * *

“You know, I’ve been wondering, sir...” began Shady as he and Rumble put the finishing touches on yet another snowpony. “If you’re in charge, how come call yourself Major instead of General or Commander?”

“Just sounds cooler that way,” explained Rumble with a shrug. “I mean, ‘General Rumble’? Sounds like a crowded room or something. But ‘Major Rumble’, now there’s a name that sounds like trouble! Though ‘Commander Rumble does have a ring to it...”

“Maybe you can give yourself a promotion after we take the Hill,” suggested Shady.

“Yeah, I just might. Heck, we should give promotions for everypony!”

“Oh, oh, I wanna be Lance-Corporal!” yelled Chowder.

“Uh, isn’t that lower than Captain?” asked Shady. “Like, a lot lower?”

“Who cares, it sounds way awesomer!”

On this point there was consensus.

“How’re things looking on the Hill, Lance-Corporal?” asked Rumble.

Before Chowder could answer, there came a sudden scream from the other foals as one of the snowponies seemingly exploded in a shower of frosty powder. Jubilant cheers from up on the Hill quickly confirmed what everypony already realised.

“I think we got their attention,” said Chowder anxiously. “Incoming!”

* * *

Meanwhile, far off to the side of the field, three pairs of eyes watched intently from the cover of the treeline. Their owners remained perfectly still, with the exception of the one filly who had somehow failed to derive any tactical lessons from their previous action.

“Would ya keep still?” Applebloom whispered harshly.

“Sorry, it’s just this thing won’t stay put,” replied Scootaloo as she adjusted her stolen kepi for the forty-third time that day.

“Why are you even still wearing it?” asked Sweetie Belle. “I mean, it did sort of get you creamed the other day.”

“Hey, I don’t call you out on your fashion statements,” snapped Scootaloo.

“Quiet! Both of ya,” hissed Applebloom. “We need to be ready when Rumble gives us the signal. Sweetie Belle, ya see anypony up there?”

From their viewpoint, it seemed as though everypony in the fort had crowded into the front bastion to watch the shooting gallery below. The walls nearest to them appeared completely undefended; with a little luck, they could take half the fort before the enemy even knew they were there.

Applebloom turned to regard the rest of her crew. In addition to herself and her fellow Crusaders, Twist, Dinky, Pina, Button, and Archer were lying in wait for Rumble’s signal. Not a word was spoken between them as they steeled themselves for the battle to come.

A sudden crackling broke the silence.

“Okay guys, this is– Ah! Crap, that almost hit me... Sorry about that. Anyway, sounding the charge in thirty seconds! Move fast, get up that hill, and get the job done! Good luck up there.”

“Alright, troops,” said Applebloom. “You heard the colt. Keep movin’, and we’ll get through this, no proble– Oh, ya gotta be kiddin’ me!”

Up on the Hill, two fillies had just appeared at the near walls, having apparently grown bored with the spectacle down below. They stood idly chatting with their forelegs resting on the parapet, so far oblivious to the band of misfits hiding across the field.

“Now what do we do?” asked Sweetie Belle in a panicked whisper. “They’ll see us for sure!”

Before Applebloom could muster a response, the radio squawked back to life.

“Now! Go, go, go!”

For a split-second, Applebloom found herself at a complete loss for what to do. Scootaloo, on the other hoof, was experiencing a rare moment of Rainbow Dash-style clarity.

“Cheee-aaarge!!!” she cried.

And that’s exactly what everypony did.

To her credit, the two fillies on the wall were very much surprised.

“Keep movin’!” yelled Applebloom as they ran across the open field. “Don’t stop for anythin’!”

No sooner had she said this when a snowball whizzed past her ear and smashed poor Pina in the face.

“We’re under fire!” cried Scootaloo.

“Spread out!” ordered Applebloom, as a full-fledged volley rained down all around them. “Don’t give ‘em a target!”

By this point, at least half-a-dozen other foals had come to the aid of the two fillies on the wall. Despite the ferocity of their onslaught, however, Applebloom and her team somehow managed to make the final few treacherous metres to the base of the Hill.

“What now, Applebloom?” asked Sweetie Belle as they flattened themselves against the slope.

“I’m thinkin’, I’m thinkin’, I’m–”

Her train of thought was rudely interrupted by Button taking a snowball to the top of the head.

“Pony down! Pony down!” shrieked Dinky.

Several more near-misses followed. Looking up, Applebloom could see the enemy defenders firing down at them. The Hill was steeper here, however, and so in order to gain a good angle, the foals in the fort were forced to expose themselves by leaning out over the edge of the wall. Sweetie Belle noticed this as well, and quickly formed an idea...

“Cover me,” she said before rushing back out into the open.

“Sweetie Belle! What’re you–?”

In a flurry of dexterous motion, Sweetie Belle whipped her scarf from her head, folded it into a sling, loaded a snowball into its crook, gripped both ends in her teeth, and swung it in a wide arc over her head before letting one end loose. The snowball sailed high overhead and neatly struck one of the defending colts, who promptly lost his balance and fell from his perch with a cliched scream.

“Quick! Everypony return fire!” shouted Applebloom. “We gotta help Sweetie Belle!”

Nopony needed to be told twice. Caught out in the open as they were, it was the foals on the wall who now found themselves scrambling for cover. Seizing on this opportunity, Applebloom turned to the rest of her team.

“Now’s our chance! Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo, with me! Everypony else, keep up the pressure!”

While Dinky, Twist, and Archer maintained their suppressive volleys, the three Crusaders launched themselves up the Hill, picking their way up the slippery ledges until they reached a narrow shelf just below the right flank of the bastion.

“Ready, girls?” whispered Applebloom as they quickly gathered up what ammunition they could.

“Now or never,” breathed Scootaloo. “Let’s do this!”

With a girlish yell, the three fillies burst from their hiding place and began bombarding the surprised enemy. Within seconds, the bastion had been entirely cleared; those who hadn’t fallen to the Crusaders’ masterful manoeuvre had retreated back into the main hub of the fort.

“Nithe one, Applebloom!” cheered Twist as she and the others hurried up to regroup.

“It’s not over yet, Twist,” said Applebloom. “And besides, I couldn’t a’ done it without you two girls,” she added, putting a foreleg around each of her fellow Crusaders.

“That’s because we’re a team,” declared Sweetie Belle. “And teammates always work together. Right, Scootaloo?”

“Ugh, this is getting way too cheesy,” groaned Scootaloo. “Can we go back to senseless violence now?”

By this point, the battle in the fort centre had degenerated into a confused melee. Pipsqueak’s forces had already managed to force their way inside, followed closely by Rumble and his crew, and most of the foals had forsaken their snowballs in favour of half-hearted hoofticuffs and awkward attempts at wrestling. The notorious slingshot had been scuttled; only the two posts remained stuck in the snow, the cup and bungies no doubt borne away by one of the many colts and fillies fleeing from the fort. Applebloom didn’t care about any of that, though. She had fatter hay to fry...

“Everypony get in there!” she shouted. “And nopony lay a hoof on Diamond Tiara; she’s mine...”

With that said, Applebloom plunged headfirst into the fray, dodging stray snowballs, inspiring her comrades, and generally making life difficult for anypony who stood in her way. She cared not when Silver Spoon broke down and ran rather than face her hoof-to-hoof, nor did she pay any heed when Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle triumphantly pulled down that hated mauve banner. All that mattered was the snooty pink filly who now stood trembling before her, snowball in hoof.

Diamond Tiara was clearly not having a good day. Her mane was all askew, her fluffy, boa-like scarf was a tangled mess, and her face was creased with panic as she glared as Applebloom with equal parts scorn and desperation.

“Sorry, Diamond Tiara, looks like you lose this time,” grinned Applebloom.

“I don’t lose!” spat Diamond Tiara. “I never lose! Ponies like me do not lose to snivelling little blank-flanks like you!”

“In that case, I’d like to start a new custom.”

“Custom this, freak!!!”

With an enraged shriek, Diamond Tiara reared up and hurled her snowball with all her might at Applebloom’s head. Applebloom dodged in the nick of time, spun on her hoof, did a kung-fu kick just for awesome, and threw her own snowball straight at her foe. The frozen projectile struck Diamond Tiara square in the chest, and the defeated filly fell back with such force that her tiara was thrown from her brow and came to an ominous slow-motion stop.

“Now you know what a real winner looks like,” said Applebloom.

As if on cue, a tremendous shout of applause rose up in response. As Applebloom finally looked around, she saw all her schoolyard friends and comrades piled into the fort, cheering and jumping for joy. Before she could react, Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo rushed up to her, catching her in a crushing three-way victory hug, everypony else laughed and danced and sang for their success. The battle was over. Diamond Tiara (who took this opportunity to quietly skulk away) was defeated.

Cranberry Hill was theirs at last.

“Well done, Applebloom,” said Rumble, almost teary eyed from taking a spray of slush to the face. “And you too, Corporal Pipsqueak. Heck, all of you guys and gals did awesome today! This battle will go down in schoolyard history as the day we took Cranberry Hill!”

“Yay!!!” cheered an unexpected voice from above.

“Huh?”

All eyes immediately looked up in search of the source of the cheer. It was therefore much to everypony’s alarm when a certain pink pony suddenly burst up from the ground in a shower of confetti and streamers, bearing a large platter of iced vanilla cupcakes.

“Hi, everypony!” she chirped cheerfully. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping in!”

“But you just came in through the–”

“It was a euphemism,” said Pinkie Pie bluntly.

“Pinkie Pie?! What’re you doin’ here?” asked Applebloom. “How long’ve you been in that hole?”

“Mmmm... about five minutes,” said Pinkie with a shrug.

“Weren’t we all fighting here then?” asked Rumble, visibly confused.

“Yeah, but don’t worry. You weren’t in my way or anything. So, who wants cupcakes!”

Naturally, everypony did.

“But I don’t get it,” continued Applebloom. “What’s all this for?”

“Why, it’s a liberty party!” exclaimed Pinkie Pie, as a fife of indeterminate origin began playing in the background. “We’re here to celebrate the day you brave little ponies liberated this hill from the mean old yoke of tyranny in the name of free fillies and colts everywhere! Freedom! Yeah!”

Nopony was really sure what to make of that.

“So what’re we going to now, huh?” asked Pinkie Pie excitedly. “Are we going to make snowponies? We should make snowponies! Or are we going to go sliding now? We should go sliding now! Or maybe we could–”

“Enemy counter-attack!” yelled Chowder suddenly. “Advancing on our front!”

Everypony immediately hurried to the rear bastion, which had now become the front, and looked out into the other side of the field. It appeared as though the enemy had regrouped, and was now charging back towards Cranberry Hill. Pinkie Pie’s excited smile faded.

“Sorry, Pinkie Pie,” said Applebloom. “But it looks like it’s our turn now!”

“Alright, now we get a real fight!” laughed Scootaloo.

“This is even better than last year’s war!” added Sweetie Belle.

Pinkie Pie was completely dumbfounded.

“But... what about getting along, and having fun together, and all that?” she asked quietly.

“Oh we’ll get to that,” Applebloom reassured her. “When the snow melts. But for now, we got ourselves a war to win...”

~FIN~

“Inspired by the legally-harvested memories of a hundred childhoods. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it.” - the author