//------------------------------//
// Chapter Six: Holding The Line 
// Story: Rising Storm 
// by Arrenius 
//------------------------------//

	Gale ducked away from an incoming spear blow. The stone tipped assegai flew past, narrowly missing his ear.  After the first round of skirmishes the Zebras had come in force and closed to melee distance, the situation had been rapidly deteriorating ever since. The Zebra facing Gale thrusted for him once again, this time Gale reacted by moving quickly to the side, and gave a quick return jab with the bayonet attached to his rifle cuff. The knife found its way between two ribs just over the Zebra’s left foreleg, and Gale quickly retracted it. A nice clean parry and a textbook kill.
Of course, said textbook probably left out the part about the bloodcurdling scream that would escape the victim. As the Zebra fell to the ground, he let out a yelp of pain and a string of noises that could have been anything from gibberish escaping the mouth of a felled creature, or the defiant final words of a defeated warrior. Gale didn’t know or care what the Zebra had to say, if he had indeed said anything at all, there were too many more to deal with to contemplate any one.
Another of Gale’s own lanciers (armed with melee weapons instead of rifle cuffs to address the eventuality of close combat) moved in front of his commanding officer to hold back incoming warriors. This gave Gale a much needed moment to assess the situation.
The Company’s carefully constructed fortifications had all but collapsed. The redoubt was still (thankfully) standing, allowing a fallback position in the event the situation deteriorated further, but to retreat into it would be to cut off any possibility for escape. This wave of attackers had been the strongest yet, and so far the only wave to close to melee range, Gale estimated at least 700 zebras had been committed. If they could just drive this group off, the Impi they were facing may decide that their casualties were too great, and withdraw.
That assumed of course that they could hold off this wave. They’d come in hard on the southeast perimeter, and despite Gale committing all but two of his platoons to the makeshift rampart and firing like mad (at one point he’d been giving about seven seconds between each shot), they reached the defenses, and managed to gallop onto them. The fighting had been brutal to try and keep them off of the wall, but eventually through sheer weight of numbers, Gale’s soldiers had been pushed into fighting within the compound. Now a chaotic melee was underway, as it had been for a good fifteen minutes. The pace was frantic and confusing, and any hope of fighting in order or formation had been abandoned in favor of single combats between warriors. These duels were not, however, the focus of Gale’s attention.
Gale took the risk of flying about three meters in the air (dangerous and highly discouraged in melee as it made you an easy target) to try and get a sense of what was going on. A quick glance to the enemy formation on the hill made it obvious that the rest of the Impi was holding off. The Pegasus could only speculate on the reasons why, though some sense of honor was probably involved. It was no great proof of a Zebra commander’s skill that his four thousand could kill a hundred-fifty in a charge. Whatever the reason, the beleaguered Lieutenant was glad for the small mercies. He was not, however, glad for what he saw next. A group of Zebras that had not yet entered the compound to join the melee were heading in the direction of the hospital structure.
It was a bucking nightmare. There were still wounded ponies in there, nine of Gale’s own, and two natives. The Officer had no troops available, the whole company was committed. But Dwaal had made very clear what happens to wounded on a Zebra battlefield, and Gale had no desire to find the innards of soldiers he was charged with protecting and preserving adorning the walls of the only military hospital for over thirty kilometers. Better to have them adorn the walls of the church. Much more religiously proper and a last stand in a church would be a propaganda artist’s wet dream back home.
One way or another, the call had to be made. It was on Gale, as the Officer Commanding, he was responsible for the lives of his soldiers. Gale scanned the carnage, and picked out the first set of Corporal’s stripes he could find. 
“Corporal Flourish!” Gale called out.
“SIR!” Flourish replied, as he struck the side of a Zebra’s head with his right hoof.
“GATHER YOUR SECTION! NOW! I NEED THE HOSPITAL EVACUATED!”
Flourish considered explaining that he was clearly in the middle of something, but as much as it sounded heroic in adventure novels and war films, talking back to your OC in the middle of a combat scenario was decidedly inadvisable. 
“YES SIR!” The Corporal shouted. He managed to get a solid enough jab in to take down his foe, and then levitated his whistle up to his mouth. He gave two blows, hoping to Celestia that his section were both alive and listening. 
“FOURTH PLATOON, SECOND SECTION! RALLY TO ME!”
About eighteen meters away, Penitent Shield rolled his eyes. He couldn’t exactly rally while he had a shrieking striped monochromatic monster trying to tear his throat out. Logically that matter would have to be dealt with before he could respond to the command. The Zebra in front of Penitent had other ideas, however. It backed away from Penitent for a moment, but before the pony had a chance to collect himself, the Zebra let out a shrill cry and dove toward him, assegai outstretched. 
Penitent dove to the left, raising his right hoof to deflect the spear. With all his might he thrust the bracer on his right foreleg into the Zebra’s spear. Metal met wood, and turned Penitent’s opponents forward momentum against him, forcing the Zebra into the dirt. Not even taking a moment to catch his breath, Penitent reared on his hind legs, and with a guttural roar, brought his forelegs down onto the terrified warrior’s head. 
As he completed the kill, Penitent’s eyes met that of his adversary for the first time, the anger and determination of a trained warrior had disappeared, replaced only by the frightened stare of a being confronted with its own mortality. Penitent’s hooves connected with his quarry, and with a satisfying crack, ended this little melee. 
Penitent drew back his hooves and adopted a more comfortable position. In spite of his adrenaline, he allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. The blood of the Zebra warrior had covered his boots, and leaked onto his legs. Penitent reeled for a brief moment at the sight of what he had done, speechless and breathless, unable to take his eyes off of the prone warrior. Having participated in actions before, Penitent had taken life in the past, but never this close, and never with his own hooves. 
His pondering lasted only a moment as he saw Zephyr Whisk run by. Relief at his friend’s survival surged into Penitent, and snapped him back to some semblance of lucidity. He followed Zephyr to the Corporal, who wasted no time with their next orders. 
“Hostiles closing on the hospital lads! We need to move the invalids to triage in the church! Come on, we’ve not much time!” 
Penitent noted that, miraculously, the entire section was present. Thank Celestia for that, Penitent noted as they moved towards the hospital, we need every single one of them. 


 *****

It had seemed a great deal longer than an hour since Procurator Courser had entered the Princesses study, and Thorn was tired of waiting. He had half a mind to storm into the study and invent a ‘national security threat’ just to get a moment of the Princesses time. Something involving Griffins, or possibly Diamond Dogs. 
Luckily, the Daring Doo serial coming to life in the General’s mind was not necessary, as Courser emerged from Celestia’s chambers just as Thorn got to the part with the Diamond Dog death squads. 
Thorn rolled his eyes. And spoke impatiently to the young noble. “Muddy hay, that took long enough, what could you two have possibly been doing for all that time?” 
The smirk didn’t even fade from Courser’s mouth. Nothing the cantankerous old Pegausus could have possibly said would dampen his mood in this moment. 
“You’ll know soon enough, my dear General.” Courser said with confidence as he walked past the soldier. 
“You’ll know soon enough.” 

*****

“So what else can it do?” Shining asked curiously.
“Sir?” Chatterbox replied, puzzled.
“Does it... like, only do messages? And only the dots and dashes?”
“That would be a yes sir.”
“And.... how much did it cost again?”
“Not a feathered clue sir. I just push buttons and fix it when it’s broke.”
Venture spoke up. “Doesn’t matter how much it costs. What matters is I wanted to learn how to use it, and I got something better. Ponies who I can tell to use it for me.”
Shining shot him a look, and Venture shrugged at him. The Unicorn captain rolled his eyes and laughed a little.
The engineer who had been complicit in Chatterbox’s demonstration spoke up, but less casual than before. While not outright frantic, the engineer’s voice had become businesslike and urgent as he called to his immediate superior.
“Uhh, Chatter, I’ve got something coming through you might want to take a look at.”
“Let’s see it.” The same transformation occurred in the previously flippant soldier as he headed over to his subordinate. Shining felt a sense of satisfaction when he saw this professional manner among the sappers. For all their foolishness, they were soldiers, and soldiers did their jobs.
After looking at the message for a moment, Chatterbox turned to the two officers.
“Captains, I think you’ll want to hear this.”
“What’s the problem?” Shining asked.
“One of our outposts in Zebraland-Transvaal is under attack.”
Venture took over the questioning. “Which?”
The sapper looked back to the message. “Drift station. They claim to be outnumbered 30-1.”
“Luna’s mane!” Shining exclaimed. “How long ago was this sent?”
“Can’t be more than a couple minutes sir,”
Venture spoke up again. “Drift station is under command of Major General Bristle’s staff officers, Knight Commander Kami Sai. I know him, he’s a solid officer. He’ll be able to-”
“That wasn’t the name of the OC on the Telegram sir.”
Venture was taken aback. “What? He should be there, it’s his post.”
“The message was sent by a Knight Lieutenant identifying himself as the Officer Commanding drift station, by the name of Gale Storm.”
“Gale, what? Who in the hoof is that?” Venture asked, worried.
“I’m afraid I don’t know him sir.”
“I do.” Shining spoke up.
Everypony turned to look at the Unicorn captain.
“I know him. Those troops are in good hooves. How many did he say he has?”
“About one hundred fifty sir. But he’s claiming they’ve not got enough rations or ammunition for all of them.”
“He’ll need relief as soon as possible then. Where are nearby allied forces?”
“Last I checked sir, Major General Bristle called a load of them back to Winberg for some kind of training exercise.” The sapper said.
“Do we have any forces in Equestria that could be dispatched?” Shining asked Venture.
“We have I Corps, but it’ll take them a day to get to ready status, and another three to actually get there. The other two corps aren’t anything close to what you would call combat ready.”
Shining started. “And the Royal-”
“Don’t even go there. You take a single platoon of guards out of the capitol right now and we’ll have a mass panic. Not to mention the Security Council will have both our heads on a stake.”
“Then I guess Bristle’s training exercise is getting cut short. Sapper!”
“Yes sir.”
“Put a telegram through to the coalition base. Instruct them to send a relief column to Drift Station ASAP. Use my name rank and service number, 11301765.”
“Right away sir.” The sapper communicated the order to one of his subordinates with nothing more than a nod.
Venture spoke up. “Shining, not to be the rules lawyer, but perhaps you recall that your rank in the REA is equivalent to a Colonel?”
“What’s your point?”
“Last I checked Colonels can’t give Generals orders.”
“Does it matter? They’ve got colts on the danger line that need relieved.”
“Fair enough, but be careful, Major General Bristle has a.... reputation.”
“What kind of reputation?”
“The pompous, entitled kind.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. I can’t imagine him letting it get in the way of doing his job. Soldier first right?”
Venture stared blankly for a moment. And then shook his head.
This is why they shouldn’t allow ponies under the age of 30 to be senior officers.

*****

Penitent slammed against the door to the hospital with all of his might. With a crash of splintering wood, the door disintegrated and he stumbled through into the ‘foyer’ (really just a desk and staircase). Zephyr Whisk, Corporal Flourish, Dolce Di Mezzo poured in once the door was opened. The other four members of the section were holding outside the building, providing cover fire and keeping an egress route clear.  Zephyr stormed to the bottom of the stairs, aiming his rifle upward. Dolce and Flourish took the door to the central hallway, and Penitent turned 180 degrees to watch the door he had just broken through.
One by one the four called out the all clear, and the Corporal wasted no time giving his orders. “Di Mezzo, Whisk! Clear the second floor and get up on the roof, keep an eye out and give us a signal when you feel that there’re too many.”
“What’s the signal Corporal?”
“Improvise.”
“Understood.”
“Shield, you’re with me, we’ll clear the infirmary.”
Shield nodded and tagged along behind his section head. The two went down the hallway, similar in design and style to the one in the command post (the military was not known for their architectural creativity) towards the infirmary. The door was already open, and four stallions inside were on their hooves firing out windows. Penitent did a quick survey of the room. It was about ten by fifteen metres, with beds taking up the majority. There was very little room, but some beds had been moved around so that the able bodied stallions could have room to fire and reload at the windows.
There were twelve patients in the room, six fully ambulatory, who were at the windows, another four who appeared to be mobile, but not enough to fight. Two hadn’t even been stirred from their beds by the clamour of the ensuing battle. As Penitent was trying to think of a way to move them, he heard a banging and thumping on the walls. Not too uncommon in the infirmary, as somepony was usually trying to amuse themselves by making noise, but when Penitent looked in the direction of the noise, he noted with a groan, that the Zebras were breaking through the plaster.
“Corporal! We’ve got a problem.”
“I see it. You lot!” He turned to the wounded. “Who’s senior?”
One of them responded timidly, and indicated to one of the unconscious stallions. “Uh, that would be him sir.”
“Lovely. Private, you’re in command of these wounded now. Carry those two out to the church, and get yourselves there as well. Avoid the fighting as best you can. Your only job is to stay alive. Penitent and I will hold back the Zebras.”
No sooner had he finished than a section of the wall began to cave. The wounded private stood in front of the corporal with a blank look on his face.
“GO! NOW! We’ll be fine!”
The wounded obeyed, lifting the unconscious patients and supporting those having difficulty walking, they began to make for the entrance to the hospital. Flourish, with a war cry Penitent hadn’t thought him capable of, rushed toward the fresh hole in the wall, bayonet outstretched. The first Zebra through the open hole was met with only the Equestrian soldier’s bayonet as it cracked through his skull.
Penitent rushed to the aid of his section head, firing a round into the breach in the wall. Though he hadn’t aimed at anything specific, at less than ten meters his .68 calibre rifle made enough of a mess that he wouldn't really need to. A yelp of pain came through from the other side of the wall.
For about a minute they tried to keep the Zebras back, but with each passing second it became clearer that they wouldn’t hold for long. The breach was widening, and soon enough the Zebras would be able to come through two or three at a time. Penitent contemplated pushing over a bunk bed as a kind of barricade, but before he suggested it, he smelled smoke.
“Uhh, Corproal, do you-”
“Smell smoke? That I do lad. I’m going to assume this is Private Whisk’s signal... perhaps I should have been more specific.”
Penitent looked up to see that the damn roof was on fire. Flourish should have been a hay of a lot more specific.
Flourish looked up a second later.
“Oh not good. I recommend a hasty advance directly away from the enemy.”
Penitent had no choice but to agree with Flourish’s recommendation.
The two turned to leave, but as he started for the door, Penitent heard a cry of pain, not from a Zebra, but from his own section head.
Penitent frantically turned back to see that a spear was stuck through Flourish’s side, pinning him to a wall. Before he could even move to help, Flourish brushed him off.
“GO!” The Corporal exclaimed, abandoning his usual propriety. “Argh, go, bloody go right the buck now!” He slammed another round into his rifle and fired towards the breach, as Penitent stood there dumbfounded.
Flourish looked at him with fire in his eyes, and as Penitent remained rooted to the ground, the Corporal roared at his subordinate.“AAAAARGH! MOVE IT LANCE CORPORAL THAT’S A RUTTING ORDER!”
Penitent turned and ran. No more thought on his mind but escape.
As Penitent ran through the hallway, he heard the battlecries of the Zebra warriors as they closed on Flourish, he heard Flourishes own shouts of pain and defiance, he heard at least two shots, and finally he heard a short yelp, as one of the Zebras found his mark.
He stumbled out of the entrance and found Dolce Di Mezzo slumped over holding on to a nasty wound. In a moment, the responsibility he had just inherited took control of Penitents mind, and he addressed the soldier.
“Di Mezzo! You good?”
Dolce looked up with a grunt, and spoke between breaths.
“Yes, Lance, I, I’ll be alright, I fell off the roof and hurt my leg, I can still walk and fight, I don’t need triage.”
Penitent thought differently, but decided this was no time to order one of his only fighting-fit men to lie down when others needed attention more.
“Fine, where’s Whisk?”
“Zephyr’s still on the roof, there are Zebras up there with him.”
“What? Didn’t he set the roof on fire? Why the hay would he stay up there?”
“Not... quite what happened Lance.”
“Bucking great. The Corporal’s down, get the cover team back to the rest of the unit, I’ll haul Zephyr’s stupid flank out of there.”
“Down, Lance? As in...”
“He bought us time, don’t waste it. MOVE.”
The Private did as he was told, with a slight limp, but nonetheless effectively.
Penitent turned back towards the hospital, the roof now largely engulfed in. He could vaguely make out the shadow of equine figures battling atop it. Any sane Pegasus wouldn’t even attempt a landing in the middle of a fire, too many unpredictable factors even without a bunch of zebras trying to skewer you.
Then again, spending even a week with Zephyr Whisk was more than enough to drive one past the brink of insanity. Penitent took off, bayonet hoof out in front. As he rushed towards the Zebras on the roof, the flames parted around him, the rapid displacement of oxygen momentarily choking them. This gave Penitent a split second window where he could see three figures fighting in a desperate melee as the fire spread around them. One of them wore iron armor, and was in a disadvantageous position. Zephyr was fighting well, but clearly reaching the limits of his endurance. Not to mention he couldn’t maneuver properly for fear of catching fire.
Penitent swooped in on the Zebra closest to his friend, his bayonet making contact with the creature’s jugular. As the Zebra gasped uselessly for air, its fellow reeled in surprise at the sudden intervention of the airborne assailant. The surprise gave Penitent the time he needed to turn around and deliver a full force buck with both hooves at the other Zebra. Before Zephyr could even react Penitent flew over him and combat lifted him, tucking his forelegs beneath Zephyrs, and clasping his hooves over Zephyr’s chest. He then took off, turning back towards the Equestrians, who had actually managed to get into something of a formation again, thankfully.
Zephyr was about to speak, but Penitent cut him off quickly.
“If you so much as smirk, I’m dropping you.”

*****