“BrightFlare… BrightFlare… LIEUTENANT BRIGHT-FLARE!?!?!?”
The force of the shout knocked Bright-Flare off of his seat, onto the hard metal deck behind him. He quickly squirmed off his back, onto his four hooves and sat back up at his station.
“Sir, yessir!” he replied with a bark, holding a hoof up to his brow in salute. The Admiral eyed the red and orange earth-pony with a weary look.
“Dreaming on the job again I see, how do you explain yourself this time eh?!”
“I… I… I-“he stammered, unable to regain his lost composure. The admiral shook his head and walked back to his command post, radiating disapproval.
“Having an epiphany and loosing focus, especially this close to the border, can be detrimental to not only your crew peers, but to your consideration for any form of promotion, Lieutenant!” spoke Admiral Warding-Spark, glancing back at Bright-Flare sat, his expression reaffirming his displeasure. Bright-Flare lowered his hoof, his ears flattened as his shoulders also lowered in defeat.
'Stupid, stupid, stupid, you need to focus-'
“It- It wont happen again sir...” he said, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. The admiral let out a scoffing sneer. Maintaining his dominant persona, he sat back up at the Main-helm.
“See that it doesn't Lieutenant!” he chided, turning to ascend to his normal seat on the bridge.
He rasped sharply at his forehead, trying to conjure his focus again.
'You're an idiot, a big idiot. Rumors of your promotion- and you let all your hard work slip away. Dad is not going to like his next letter!..'
His mind began to drift again, the lack of time-occupying orders leaving him with a nagging desire for activity. He decided to more closely examine his post, realising that he hadn't actually taken a personal survey to notice his peers properly.
The room was large, though that was a given considering its role as the brain for the entire 'Harbinger'. Across the front was the massive Observation-window, sweeping from the top all the way down below as one massive piece of foot thick protection, cradling the bridge with views that were to be reckoned with. Below the entire wall of glass were hills, graced by thick jungle-Forrest, rolling under and past them at an alarming pace, indicating the sheer velocity that they were traveling at.
In the center was a raised platform; The Main-Helm. The admiral was at work, surrounded by a panorama of dozens of monitors, humming with activity. A split in the middle allowed the admiral to see out through to the Observation-window, out into the real battle. The old stallion looked across the various info-feeds with a battle-weary eye, examining and coalescing the data with a practiced and logical mind while uttering under his breath his devised strategies. From his helm he could see many things. Engine status, weapon compliments, a list of orders to ponniel* in chronological order. He even had four video feeds of different angles from all sides of the ship.
Across the two walls aside from the widow were the various booths called “Ops”. Bristling with equipment, In each sat a pony, hooves a blur with activity as they crunched decisions and calculations into their specialized stations. The bridge was divided down the middle, the left being Tactical and Radar, right being Weapons and Engineering. The four sections were controlled and adjudicated by the four command ponies, their highly tuned and optimized stations adjacent to the Admirals elevated command hub.
There were four tiers; four levels of the deck. Main-helm, Main-control, Secondary-control, and the normal Staff-Deck. The admiral was atop, perched like a proud bird-of-prey; The second tier was a pair of Command-Units, the Main-Thruster-Control, or "MTC", and Main-Engineering, residing at adjacent positions to the left and right of the Main-Helm; the third tier was comprised of Main-Radar and Main-Weapons, Radar being directly in front of MTC, and Weapons being directly in front of Engineering; the fourth tier comprised of a further four sections, corresponding to the four lower Ops next to the main helm; Radar, Tactical-ponniel, Weapons-security, and Engineering-power. BrightFlare was the commanding MTC, meaning he had control over all of Tactical and ponniel.
The four commanding ponies were assisted by the staff on the bottom tier, requesting tasks or other intelligence as they saw fit. But of course, the Admiral was really in charge of his bridge. The distinguished roles could also be seen in the various attire, or uniforms. Engineer and weapon ponies wore clean overalls with tool or weapon belts, covered in the awards and decorations required to become bridge-staff. The radar and tactical officers had neat trimmed coats, sometimes with hats depending on their rank. The officers' uniform served no real purpose, other than to bedazzle and discipline; the small white-and-yellow coats emblazoned with the golden-sun clearly communicating their allegiance. BrightFlare's Uniform was a bit flashier, due to his proximity and importance on the bridge, Gold trim, White, with the Sun symbol emblazoned over his chest, and he hated it...
An alarm sounded directly ahead of him, breaking his calm composure.
“Sir, we have them!” called the mare at Radar-command. “Six Cruisers, and one Dreadnought, full complement of Frigates!”
“Where? Which Direction?!” asked the admiral. His constructive meditation stopped abruptly as he quickly turned his head to another monitor. The black-and-green Mare looked back, her expression of steel.
“Over the next mountain range: completely stationary. It looks like they knew we were coming, sir!” Her cutie mark was a red Cross-hair, seeming appropriate considering where she worked. BrightFlare didn't know her name, but she had always been posted when he was rostered on. This very first week as MTC-command had kept him on his toes, but she always helped him out whenever there was trouble.
“Lieutenant BrightFlare, set the ship speed to intermediate and proceed to take us closer.” The admiral turned to his side and grabbed a Boom-Mic hanging from the ceiling, its cord extending down as he applied tension.
“All ships, this is Admiral Warding-Spark, we have the enemies location and are ready to engage. All fighters deploy, stand ready, and wait for my signal to open fire-“
A second, louder alarm sounded, visually crushing the admirals dominant composure he assumed when addressing the fleet normally. BrightFlare looked around expectantly. When the admiral was concerned, it meant something was amiss
“Admiral!” screamed one of the Officer-ponies at a Tactical-Op behind them, his voice urgent. “Intelligence is way out! The Dreadnought, It's the Eclipse, sir! The Flagship is here!”
“Fuck!” cursed the Admiral, returning his focus to the Boom-Mic “Well... I'm sure you all just heard that... But this is not the time to panic or retreat. They will tremble at the might of our new weapon, and the presence of our own flagship. All hooves, this is the Admiral! Prepare the Solar-Flare Cannon. Here is where we shall remain; this is where we will prevail. We will hold the border for the Empire, and let this be our finest hour!” He relinquished his grasp of the microphone, and turned back to BrightFlare.
“Lieutenant, I want you to turn this ship around. Place us just before the village, in a defensive stance; we will command the battle from there.”
“Aye, Admiral!” Flame-Oath gave a quick salute and began to work.
He grabbed a touch-screen, swinging it on its pivoting hinges, and brought the computer to life with a sweep of his hoof. A bird's eye view of the surrounding terrain displayed, checked with a square-kilometer grid. Green icons representing their fleet slowly drifted towards the mountain, seeming to float away with the wind. Just beyond the ridge he could see the mass of red dots, lining the mountain like soldiers in a trench. He noted the location of the village relative to their position, and began to punch in thrust instructions into the input-panel below.
After making the necessary instructions, he placed the other hoof over the confirmation button in the center panel. Somewhere behind him, a deep, resounding noise emanated. The ships mechanisms roared to life, either coming to life from their dormant states, or changing speed and gears. The low rumbling of the streams of fire gently shook the massive ship's frame, propelling them into a wide arc.
BrightFlare scratched at his cutie-mark furiously with one hoof. The symbol of a flame and dagger always seemed to become irritated whenever there was a battle, or anything else of notable tension. He tried hard to ignore it, but could barely resist the urge.
He watched the Admiral expertly code in orders for the other ships to follow. His hooves glided effortlessly, with little or no hesitation. His proficiency put BrightFlare's youthful vigor to shame, as he tirelessly worked at his role.
BrightFlare's gaze drifted to the admirals flank, and he couldn't help but cringe in sympathy. No matter how many times your eyes came across it, it never got easier seeing the remnants of his torture at the hooves of the Republic. The jagged scorch mark left nought but short brown hairs, deeply contrasted against his gray coat and sapphire-blue mane.
BrightFlare was reminded of one of the oddest occurrences in the mess hall of the ship, a few months before his promotion to bridge-commander. One of the cocky Deck-hooves, an arrogant Pegasus with everything to prove, trotted over to the admiral during lunch, seeming quite pleased with himself without even doing anything. And without any shame, asked the admiral what his cutie mark had been before it was so cruelly removed. The admiral didn’t answer, but simply just left without a single word or remark, his half finished lunch remaining.
For many days afterwards, he looked rather distraught, avoiding almost everyone where it was permitted. He even didn't turn up for duty at the bridge on one of those occasions. But his attitude seemed to return to normal after one of Princess Celestia’s "Routine inspections". He seemed to appear from his sulking out of nowhere, appearing more cheeiry and active than before when she had arrived. Though, she seemed to have that effect on everypony, even during such dark times.
BrightFlare looked away and inspected their progress towards the allotted position. Temperatures – normal, Thrust – normal, wind speed – slightly elevated. He carefully adjusted the Main-thrust one more time before the silence of the bridge was corrupted by yet another alarm.
“Contact!” yelled another mare at the Weapon-command, her voice shrill with urgency. “The fighters and the Dreadnought have come over the mountain range first, sir!”
“Very good! I have ten cruisers engaging the Dreadnought, and the other two other Harbinger's are engaging the remaining enemy-cruisers stationed behind the range. We may have been unprepared for their flag-ship, but we have them severely out-gunned.” He grinned as he watched his main viewer overlaying an image of the battle, his eyes gleaming with the light from the monitor, producing a rather ghastly facade. BrightFlare looked away, and out through the colossal sheet of glass.
He watched the progressing battle, the wide window providing quite the view. The two other 'Harbingers' soared past, their gargantuan Thrusters spewing forth blue flames, gaining altitude and speed. Hatches on either side of the massive frame's swung open and a throng of small fighters dived out, like a curtain of death, blanketing the battlefield with the screams of their engines. Metal-slugs roared overhead as volley after volley of hot projectiles hissed away, the various cruisers pelting the enemy beyond with suppression. The admiral's grin became even wider as the 'Eclipse' came within eye-shot of one of his camera feeds.
“We meet again, Lunar, Your sister is very upset with your little uprising!” he said under his breath. BrightFlare was taken aback, not expecting to hear the soft whisper, nor the undeserving curse on Luna. He cocked his head in though, trying to contemplate what he had actually just said.
“Oh my- ADMIRAL! BRACE FOR IMPACT!” screamed the mare at Radar-command.
There was barely time to see it on screen as a rainbow flash filled the sky behind the mountains and surged forward, washing over the Allied ships before gushing through theirs. The wave of energy moved through, leaving every pony in its wake untouched. But as quickly as it came, it was gone, but with it had taken the electronics.
All circuits had been completely wiped and fried. Screens went dim, blinking lights shut-off, and the only source of light emanated from the window forward.
“AURORA CANNON, DAMN! Bright-Flare! Hit the secondary-power array before we fall out of the sky- NOW!”
Without further hesitation, BrightFlare kicked out of his chair, diving down to the lower tier, and galloped down the darkened corridor behind him. He had practiced the maneuver dozens of times before, the countless drills maturing to good use. There were no electronic lights now, so he had to make do with the light from the viewing-windows in the bridge, and his well-versed memory.
He kept one shoulder on the smooth metal wall, scrabbling through the hungry dark, bumping past somepony with little regard or care, even at their rather aggravated protest. Finally coming to the hatch, he slid it open with little effort, revealing a large, heavy lever. Using his two back legs, he gave it a kick, pushing it into the upright position. A small red indicator light began to blink above, counting down till the ships reboot.
Thats when he could feel it; the gut-wrenching sensation of slowly falling from the sky. Everything around him began to rise from the ground as the ship plummeted to the earth. Spanners, Wrenches, Bolts, Tools; anything that hadn't been secured slowly moved up to the ceiling. He held his breath, staring attentively at the small blinking light.
'One, two, three, four- BINGO!' The light went solid green, and just as quickly, the power returned. A chorus of metallic banging echoed out through the ship as gravity returned to the normal. BrightFlare released the grip on his breath with a sigh, and then swiftly returned to his station, apologizing to the engineer-pony he had bumped past in the dark on the way back.
“Good work, Flare. Now, can anypony tell me the status of my Fleet?” said the admiral, still seeming to be calm despite the surprise attack. The Radar-command pony spoke.
“Both of the other Harbingers are still airborne… and literally a couple of fighters, but otherwise…” She hesitated “All the Cruisers… are down, sir!”
He slammed a hoof on his console, now visibly angry.
“Then tell me that the cannon is ready!” he exclaimed, turning to both the Weapons-command and Engineer-command.
Both of them sat frozen, locked in the admirals death stare. The Engineer pony spoke. “Yes it is, sir...”
“Fine.. Fire directly below us….” There was the longest pause. All the ponies at their stations stopped, and looked back at the admiral, shock filing their expressions with worry and concern.
“But sir, the village is just below us-“ The weapon commander trailed off as the admiral's expression seemed to writhe and surge with rage. WardingSpark lent over the edge of the helm, staring down at the terrified officer.
“I KNOW YOU FOOL, NOW FIRE!” he ordered, slamming a hoof into one of his monitors, causing it to fizzle out with a sharp electrical spark.
Everypony hesitated again, still unable to comprehend the consequence of the command. The weapon commander, a decorated veteran with a decade of combat under his belt, cowered in fear, leaning away from the looming stallion.
“FINE!!! GET OUT OF MY WAY YOU INSUBORDINATE LOUT!!!”
He dived down, kicking the weapons command out of his chair with a violent two-hoof blow to the chest.
“IF YOU LOVE YOUR SUBJECTS SO MUCH LUNAR, YOU WILL FLEE AT THE SIGHT OF THEIR DESTRUCTION” he screamed, tapping in instructions to The Control-Unit. “THIS IS FOR MY FLANK!!!”
He stamped the fire button, and listened as the weapon below roared to life, the power surging through the rails below, screaming with the uncontrollable amounts of electricity.
BrightFlare rose from his seat, the morality of the situation breaking his restraint.
“Admiral Warding-Spark!... What have you done, what are you doing?!” yelled BrightFlare, the muted furry undeniable in his voice. Everypony else rose as well, turning to where the admiral now stood, surrounding him.
The Admiral turned back to BrightFlare, his mane furred in his fervor. His lip curled back in a snarl, and his eyes burned with his newly formed revenge as he screamed at the top of his lungs.
“WINING THIS WAR!”
*BOOM*
Authors Note:
* - 'ponniel': a replacement for the word 'personnel' ; the registered individuals in an establishment, especially for military.
--------
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Thanks heaps :D
“Behold! Look not upon me or our great city above, but upon yourselves, and rejoice. For you have been bestowed the presence of everything you have ever worked for” He called out amongst the hundreds of ranked soldiers, lined up into neat squares that stretched out far across the fields. His voice boomed into the microphone, carrying with it his message of pride and tragedy.
“What you see is yourselves, the mightiest of forces amongst all of Equestria. Today, we reckon what we have feared the most, and that is why we now act upon the cruel dealings of the foes, for this great nation. Today, we have received word of the massacre at the hand of the Empire. Be saddened, and weep for the lost, for to forget and not to love what we defend is to destroy what we strive to accomplish every day. For every day that the two dictators sit in their thrones of lies, hatred, fear and denial, their prisoners they call subjects cower and suffer. Tyrants of dark and light, fighting and plotting not only against themselves, but against the ponies that they claim to protect and serve.”
He slammed his hoof on the podium as his emotions and rage peaked into one point. “Today is a sad day, but we can only be relieved in this event- this filthy crime derived from jealousy and spite, we now have a reason to unleash our Glorious Retribution. We march to their death. We march TO WAR!”
The ranks of soldiers began to chant in time, stamping their collective hooves and calling out their agony for war. They had all been told of the Great War before their time, the war that set apart the Great empires. But that would now pale in comparison to the new scale and ferocity of this age. Empires for decades, in a constant flux of espionage and border-warfare, now unleashed upon the world in barbarous, intense campaigns of military acquisition and calculated destruction.
“Victory is assured, so long as we never falter. And our greatest accomplishment, the army that surrounds us now, will become the fable of every bed time story, of every pub bard, of every preacher and historian. The saga of our Holy Vengeance shall echo out forever through time. Hyperion shall guide us to destroy Lunar and Celestia, and to free our kindred. Through us their deliverance is close at hand.”
His expression darkened into one emotion. His face cruel, with longing remorse for the little action they had performed. He longed more than them to avenge the peoples of Equestria, and deliver them upon to a world without chains and fear, without rank or prejudice. He burned with the passion for war, to destroy his ‘makers’. His defiance would ring out across time.
“DEATH TO THE FALSE QUEENS OF EQUESTRIA, ALL HAIL HYPERION!!!”
The army roared, drowning out his speech, deafening him to all other sounds. He held one hoof high in the air, while firmly placing the other on the podium underneath him, shaking his elevated limb to the adopted rhythm of the troops below. He swept up his microphone and screamed a mighty war-cry out across the ranks, his voice pure and high, but harsh and loud at the same time. Many other voices faltered far weakening the volume of the ranks, their distant faces all gazing up at him in awe and wonder.
“NOW PREPARE FOR THE CONQUEST OF THE SOLAR EMPIRE. BEHOLD, THIS IS YOUR TSAR!!! AT SUNRISE TOMORROW, WE TAKE CANTERLOT FOR THE PEOPLE!!!”
Again, the armies roared, louder than ever before. And even in the temporary festivities of the war-speech at hand, they began to pass out across the fields in an organised manner. They filled, still keeping in their ranks, out across to the Air-Docks. Atop the docks were immense structures, Engineered to Deathly Perfection. Ships, armed to the teeth with an arsenal that would put their foes to shame. Small, one-man fighters screamed overhead, faster than a Pegasus could imagine. Large, brutal engines of war scared the ground as they rolled ever closer to their victory. And vessels of the air, with technology to lift entire cities, clamored with instruments designed to outwit any opponent.
Without their technology they would be nothing. An entire civilisation based on freedom and democracy, built off the one thing that neither princess could seem to grasp before they could not control it; The one thing that seemed to perpetually defy magic in all its endeavours: Science.
He looked upon his work one last time before retreating back from the announcement Balcony. His expression remained the same. He was good at what he did, and what he did was public speech. The empire valued him once upon a time, but he left in anger over the blindness of the Princess, her inability to see beyond the few towns she loved to visit, and onto the majority of her subjects; But most of all, Stalliongrad, his place of Birth. He cast himself out of Princess Celestia’s court, taking with him the majority of aristocrats, and joined Hyperion and his glorious vision for universal exemption.
His name was Rising-Idiom, an individual of great significance in the political realm of Equestria, especially for his ceaseless ability to ignite the imagination of anypony simply through speech. His flank was emblazoned with two Olive-branches, twisting around each other in a symmetrical twist, centred by a long Stiletto of Gold.
He calmly (or as calmly as physically possible) stepped down from view of the Armies, turned to the peers behind him watching, and bowed, releasing one hoof and letting his head descend; his chin almost touching the ground.
The viewers were still stunned, either their imaginations captured in the unrelenting grip of his words, or their awe for the newly established morale that burned like a fever throughout the ranks of the armies below. The group of ten on-looking ponies, blown away and wrapped up into oblivion by his Poetic Requiem of War and Action, needless to say hadn’t a clue on how to respond or congratulate to something as successful as what had just transpired. “That was amazing!” exclaimed a Mare Democrat, her jaw agape in shock. “You just gave all those recruits the confidence of seasoned veterans! How… I…” Rising held a hoof up to her mouth, stopping her rambling. “Now, now, we cannot get our hopes up just yet until they prove themselves in battle. Besides, I have done nothing… everything I said wasn’t some foul ploy to make fresh-grunts go headlong into battle without hesitation. Every word was true, it was merely the way I said it.” He said, still holding his hoof to the flustered Democrat’s lips, which still trembled in excitement and disbelief.
He swung back to the podium, turned off the microphone with a tap of his hoof, and grabbed the large, leafy manuscript, gently placing it in a small saddle-bag left to the side. He swung the luggage onto his back and quaintly trotted back into the large marble building, leaving the observers behind- attempting desperately to decipher the repercussions of the currently transpired event.
He began to reflect on it to. “What did I just do… well I roused up an army of patriots into what may be the greatest war ever conceived by pony kind…” he slowed, down to a walk before he completely stopped in his tracks. There was no other way of putting it. He just had a hand in sending millions of lives to their death, innocent or otherwise.
He trembled, his composure snapping into two halves of morality. “Why did you do that- because the ponies of this world have suffered too much- so you will have them suffer more torture and hardship?- it’s not like that, we can save the innocent from the tyrants’ rule!- Why? So they can be free for a time in peace before they are snatched up by a Fanatic or preacher like yourself- No, they will rule themselves in harmony without the influence of leaders or corruption- And how did you plan on doing that, by conscripting an army to serve another empire- It was never meant to be like that, ever- Well, then what was it meant to be like, trading one dictatorship for another?!-“
Rising seemed to sway, and almost buckle in self-pity and disgust before a saving grace blessed his presence. His intense lime-green gaze seemed to gash at any doubt or fear that Rising had. His coat was a deep, dark purple, almost black in comparison to the same green of his mane. Around each of his legs was a dark metal cuff, signifying not only his position and rank, but who he was.
Lord Hyperion, the only Alaecorn in existence other than the two sisters of the Sky. He was the leader and sole survivor of the most recent Celestain Regime. He fled Far East, further than Celestia dared look for him, and hid till she gave up searching for him. He built an entire society based on freedom and democracy. And as the world grew from his inventions of electricity and power, so did the ‘notorious’ Empire of Hyperia, an “evil, corrupt, and violent society of treacherous deviants”, or so the propaganda would have you believe. He had been good friends with Rising-Idiom ever since the second revolution of Celestia’s government where Rising had escaped her piercing clutches.
“Rising?! You look like you’re going to be sick?” He laughed, his youthful voice striking out at the strum of the armies synchronised hooves. “Are you okay, friend? It appears your Pseudo-leadership is working wonders” The words were like ecstasy, the charisma and charm of the Prince-Lord smiting all and any conflicts and doubts in Rising-Idioms heart.
Rising-Idiom realised he had held his breath from the moment his mind began to race with morale questions, but those doubts seemed to shred away in Hyperion’s presence. He let out a huge sigh, and walked closer to the Lord.
Hyperion glanced over Rising and gazed over the Marshalling-grounds, his eyes widening at the level of activity and organisation of the troops below the Acropolis of the Military HQ. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to controlling my own army. Too much stress and worry to bear, in my opinion.” Hyperion laughed nervously, and too gave out a sigh, but not from lack of breath.
“You should have been there, my lord!” spoke Rising-Idiom, “All the Democrats that attended had to scramble around for their dropped jaws. Apparently I was marvellous, again… I don’t think I have ever been able to understand why I am so ‘charismatic’ and ‘empowering’. To me it’s just telling it how it is. Sure I’ve always admitted that I have a certain way of speaking that boils the blood of anypony. But I have never had the real capacity to listen to myself talk-“he trailed off as he realised that Lord Hyperion wasn’t paying him an ounce of attention, his gaze still focused out across the flat grassy plains, eyes wide with the stark realisation of how far his empire had actually come.
Rising-Idiom sighed with weariness, this wasn’t the first time the young Lord had been distracted during one of their conversations. He carefully stepped aside, raised both hooves to Hyperion’s ears and clapped them together as hard as he could. The Lord jumped and looked around wildly before his gaze fell upon Rising again. “Oh- Uhh- I’m sorry Rising. I did it again didn’t I? What was it you were talking about then?”
Rising just grinned foalishly. “Oh never mind, Lord, let’s get back to the war room and tell the generals the status of their armies morale!”
