//------------------------------// // XXV. Southwest of Manehattan. May, 1252. // Story: Equestria: Total War // by emkajii //------------------------------// XXV. Southwest of Manehattan. May, 1252. A light rain fell unbidden by any pegasus. It pinged and popped off the tightly stretched tarps of the veterans, and pooled in the baggy depressions in the loosely erected tents of the recruits. The Equestrian Army of Free Ponies stood assembled in the clearing near the officers' camp: the veterans in the front, the recruits in the back. On a hastily built podium, their general stood in her shining armor, her eyes shut, her body gently swaying. The soldiers had heard there was to be an address. They had heard, too, that there had been a disaster of some sort. They had waited nervously for the General to come out of her tent. They had watched her expression for any sign of what was to come. And now they waited, ears pricked and eyes forward--waiting for her to open her mouth and reforge their souls again with her blistering voice. On stage, Derpy breathed deeply. She had given many speeches. Speeches in celebration. Speeches in mourning. Speeches to inspire hope. Speeches to inspire bravery. Speeches to inspire rage. Speeches to inspire restraint. Many, many speeches. This was just one more. Her eyes fluttered open, and she stepped forward to the podium. She began to lower her mouth to the microphone, then stopped. She hated the microphone. Davenport had been encouraging her to use it--a sign of the army's prosperity--but it was so restrictive. With a hoof she pointed at a unicorn in the front row. Lyra looked left and right, then pointed at herself with her own hoof. Derpy nodded. Lyra grinned. She didn't always care for army life, but she certainly loved special attention--and as a Ponyville veteran, she got her share. "One Full House Special, coming up," she said proudly, just loudly enough for Derpy to hear. Lyra's horn began to glow, and a pale teal aura shimmered around Derpy. The general nodded again, in curt appreciation. She then cleared her head, and spoke. "Soldiers of the Equestrian Army of Free Ponies," she began, her voice spreading across the camp. It was somber--grave, almost. "I come before you amidst the greatest crisis our army has faced. I come before you amidst the greatest disaster our nation has faced. I come before you with our lives and our livelihoods--our homes and our homeland--hanging only by a fraying strand of rope." "At dawn ten days ago, the New Equestrian Army, under the joint command of our beloved princesses Celestia and Luna, tracked down and engaged an army of invaders. The Equestrian army fought valiantly, and fought to the last pony. Celestia herself fought in the line of battle. But by noon ten days ago, the New Equestrian Army ceased to exist as a viable fighting force. There is no pony army west of Canterlot." "The details of the battle are unknown. We do not know how many brave ponies died, nor what the losses of the gryphons were. We do not know how the gryphons will follow up on this battle, nor do we know what Celestia's plan is at the moment. We do not know what this means for the ponies who live in the Westmarch. We know precious little." "But we do know that our Princesses still live. And we know that is a direct consequence of the fact that the Elements of Harmony--the force of holy magic that imprisoned the ancient demon Discord and destroyed the regal corruptor Night Mare Moon--reformed and intervened in the battle." "And we know that the royal war for Equestria will continue. We know that as long as Celestia lives, she will fight. We know that the fertile towns and farmsteads of Equestria will provide the Princess with an ever-swelling list of reenforcements, as they have throughout the war and as they always shall. And we now know that the Elements of Harmony, our protectors through so many points of desperate crisis in the past, are again watching over Equestria." "But none of that removes a single feather's weight from the burden we now carry, nor does it remove a single spearhead from the army of armies that is now united against us. We are now the only army facing the combined might of the Kingdom of Gryphonia. We--a band of farmers and merchants--now stand against a hundred thousand lions and gryphons. In every cardinal direction marches a gryphon army outnumbering us. Beyond each of those marches another. And they now have no target--no driving purpose--but the annihilation of Equestria in general and this army in particular." "Their fires are lit. Their swords are sharpened. And we are in the greatest danger we have ever faced. Victory is impossible." She paused. "But we ourselves are impossible." She felt a white-hot energy rising within her. She began to pace. "Farmers cannot become soldiers. That is impossible. A band of ponies sworn to defend their homes cannot stand against invaders. That is impossible. A mob cannot become an army. That is impossible. An army cannot survive a winter with neither food nor shelter. That, too, is impossible! Ponies cannot rout gryphons in open warfare, no, that is impossible. A band of raiders cannot inspire an entire nation. Yes! That is impossible! A cross-eyed mailmare cannot become the general of an army. That is impossible! Again and again we have met the impossible, and we have defeated it again, and again, and again, because what is impossible for a pony to do is merely what we have not yet done!" By the end she was shouting with a wild energy, every agonizingly-planned word leaving her lips precisely as she intended, her voice shaking with passion and flooding her body with a nearly sexual sense of control. "We! We, the ponies! We the soldiers, we the saviors! We who have stood to fight again and again. We who have dared fate to stop us; we who dare the Gryphon King to kill us! To stop us who have dared. To kill us who will dare. And we have found that every dare--every single act of defiance--has exposed a fate that may be bent by courage, and has humbled an enemy that may be scattered by courage. Fate and the enemy--both are powerless against courage. And ponies of this army: we are courage. We are unbreakable. All Equestria has faced cruelty...and we are those of Equestria who have stood firm. And we are those of Equestria who will always stand firm." "On our rain-kissed farmlands, amidst the festivals of harvest, we were those who heard the profane drums of invasion--and who said, 'no, we will rise, and we will fight.'" She paused. "In the wind-swept winter, amidst starvation and disease, we were those who felt our very bodies failing us--and who said, 'no, we will live, and we will fight.'" She paused, longer than before. "Now, in the gentle spring, amidst news of disaster, we are those who see the world collapsing around us--and who say, "no, we will stand, and we will fight." "We will fight. We, indeed, will fight. We will fight again, and again, and again. We will fight and we will not stop. We will fight and we will win--because a single defeat will mean the death of Equestria. We will fight to the death--but not to our death. To theirs." "Ponies, we face defeat. Not our defeat, but the defeat of all ponies. We face enslavement. Not our enslavement, but the enslavement of all ponies. We face death. Not our death, but the death of all ponies. Truly we face the end: the last, true and final end, the end of freedom and the end of ponykind. But we are the ponies who can--and who will--carry ponykind past that end and instead to its next beginning." She paused again. "I have here with me a letter from Princess Celestia herself, issued and signed before the battle in which her army was scattered. I will not read it now; it will be posted in your camps. It declares that as of the moment of signing, our army is to be reorganized and renamed the Army of Northern Equestria, and given a full royal commission. Ponies, until now we have fought for the Princesses. We now fight with the Princesses. Our officers are no longer representatives of our army but of the Princesses themselves. Our soldiers will now swear an oath not to our army but to the Princesses themselves. And we fight not only to protect our homes, but for the Princesses themselves." "We are no longer merely the Equestrian Army of Free Ponies. We are now Equestria itself. We ponies have long brought the winds of Equestria. We must now bring a tornado to scatter and demolish the enemy armies. We ponies have long brought the rains of Equestria. We must now bring a torrent to wash away the blood of the oppressor and innocent alike. We ponies have long tended the hearthfires of Equestria. We must now stoke a wildfire to consume the overgrowth that chokes us all. We ponies are Equestria. And Equestria must fight." "Think back to your foalhood books. The history of Equestria is a history of myth and magic: of musclebound stallions and glamorous mares wielding inherited magic, and fighting monsters ugly and menacing. Today we face a threat far more dangerous than the ugliest troll. And though no magical heroes have yet come to save us...heroes were never the true strength of Equestria. The strength of Equestria has always been the quiet courage of the farmpony. The strength of Equestria has always been the simple dedication of the housepony. The strength of Equestria has always been the modest pride of the merchantpony. The strength of Equestria has always been us ponies. And now, banding together in a brotherhood that grows daily, we ponies shall be our own heroes. You are Equestria. We are Equestria And Equestria will fight." "We will fight. And we will fight with a wild fury. The days of retreat have passed. The possibility of cowardice has vanished. Death licks his lips, for he knows either he will have them or he will have us. So will meet the gryphons wherever they stand. We will meet them and we will fight them, and we will fight them with an unleashed and terrifying fury. We will fight them and we will scatter them again and again. We will shatter them. For we must. Victory and death lay before us--one or the other. And ponies, we must choose victory." She breathed deeply, and addressed them again, as shockingly clear and confident as if it were the first time they had heard her. "Ponies! Now we embark on the campaign that will end this war. Now we embark on the campaign that will free Equestria. Follow me. I have led you through terror. I have led you through pain. I have led you through hunger and cold and exhaustion. I have led you through this war. I will lead you through terror like you've never known. I will lead you through exhaustion like you've never felt. And I will lead you through this war. And together we will fight on. We will fight on through the scarred fields of Equestria. We will fight on through the broken buildings of Manehattan. We will fight on through the forests and through the hills. Through the swamps. Through the farms. And across the rivers and through the towering mountains and splendid valleys of Gryphonia itself! And we will fight on, through their cities, through their armies, we will fight on to the feet of the Gryphon King himself! And we shall dictate to him a peace that will last an eternity!" She let the last words hang. She felt the last words resonate through the crowd, blending with each that had come before it. She felt their roller-coaster of emotions come to a spiking climax. And then she let go of the energy, and she fell back, exhausted, onto the stool provided for her. She closed her eyes. She barely heard the cheers. --- Derpy stared at the maps. She stared at the red and blue boxes, and the red and blue lines, at the flags and diamonds and squares and elevation lines and rivers and everything else. She stared at the maps, begging them to show her something new. She stared at the maps, begging herself to find the opportunities she had missed and the threats she had overlooked. Five times she had come up with a plan for victory. Five times it had unraveled before she had put quill to paper. And it had been half an hour since she had noticed anything new--any possibility for her army or for the gryphons'--in the maps. She heard familiar hoofsteps--careful but weighty--coming up to her tent. "Come on in, Mac," she said, without looking up. Big Macintosh came in. He didn't bother with pleasantries. He didn't bother with hesitation. He spoke immediately and plainly: "Derpy. About your speech." She looked up sharply. "Did they like it?" Her eyes betrayed a childlike hope. "Yes, but--" She sighed happily and looked back at the maps as he spoke. "--but that ain't why I'm here. Do you know what you just said to 'em all?" She picked up a little stick with her teeth, and pushed a small rock across the map. "Yes." "Tell me, then," he said gently. "Tell me what you said." "I told them we're all going to die unless I am perfect and unless they fight better than any army ever has in history." She narrowed her eyes, shook her head, then dragged the rock back to where it had been. "We're surrounded and outnumbered by better troops and there's no hope of reenforcement anytime soon." "No, you told--wait, what? That was what you was tryin' to tell 'em?" He took a step back. He had been planning on telling Derpy that she had been a mite reckless in her portrayal. He was not expecting her claim to be that she had been mildly optimistic. "Yes. It is exactly what I told them and exactly what I wanted to tell them. We are most likely all going to die. Perhaps we will not. I suppose that strictly speaking I told them we wouldn't die, but they know me well enough to know what I meant. Every word I said could be true. But first I have to be perfect. Then they'll have to make those words true. And if they don't make them true then they won't be true. And they know that." Big Mac stepped forward. "Derpy, I know we're in a bucket o' trouble, but--but you're sayin' we're gonna take on every gryphon there is right now." "We are." She spoke calmly, sttill focusing on her map. "We can't do that. We probably can't even take on one little piece of 'em." "Probably not, no." She picked up a quill and began to write a note on a scribbled-up roll of paper. "Then why are--what the hay are you doin'?" he shouted in exasperation. Derpy thought a bit, then looked at him. "Mac, they fear me but they don't respect me." "So you're gonna get the army's respect by killin' em?! Are you buckin' serious!?" He backed away, looking wildly around the tent. "Huh?" Derpy put a hoof to her mouth, then smiled. "No, Mac. I meant the gryphons. Look here. No, I'm serious, come here. Mac. Come here and look at this." Mac stopped. He looked confused, angry, uneasy, and not a little embarrassed. "Oh, for--Mac, I know you, I'm not gonna make you read anything to me. It's a map. Take a look. You'll understand." He walked over beside her, then looked down at the maps. "They're maps, Derpy. They look like maps." She looked up at him and smiled, her crossed eyes sparkling. "I know they're maps, Mac. The blue is us. The red is them." "What's the lines?" "Don't worry about it. Just look at the boxes." "There's a lot more reds than there are blues," he said. "I ain't dumb, Derpy, I know there's more of 'em than there are of us. That was kinda my point, in a way." "But look, Mac," she said, still smiling at him. "No one collection of boxes is any bigger than ours." "Yeah, but there's a lot of 'em. Seven of 'em. And they're all over the place." "Exactly. They're afraid of me. They're trying to make sure they fight me and beat me as soon as possible." "I'm still not seein' why we're gonna fight all of 'em." "Because, Mac, they don't respect me. No, no, don't say it, it isn't like that." She preemptively waved away the suggestion with a hoof, then smiled again. "Look. No army is much bigger than ours. They think any of 'em can beat me in a straight fight. If they respected me they'd combine into one or two armies and ensure they wouldn't lose instead of ensuring that I wouldn't escape." "But they probably could beat us in a straight fight. Our soldiers ain't much, Derpy." She pulled her head back and glared. "Stop being contrary, Mac, it's not remotely attractive. Now look." She softened her expression. "We can't possibly beat them if they combine up. We can't escape without fighting. And we've got so many recruits--and we'll have to stop to bring in so many more--that they'll probably be able to overtake us even if they're combined. So that means we've got to fight. So if I'm perfect we beat them once. And then we've got to fight again. So if I'm perfect we beat them again. Then they start to respect me. And they start to combine their armies. And now we know we can beat a little army, so we fight as many as we can before they combine. And then...then I don't know what. But it's a much different war then." "But why fight 'em all? Why not just fight some and retreat like we've been doin'? We know the land better'n they do; you can't tell me they'll move faster'n we will. And heck, how did they all even get this close? We haven't moved in nearly a week. Why didn't we just get out?" "Because we have to fight them, Mac. If they combine we can't beat them. And we have to beat them. And now that they're close to us, they can't get any closer to each other without us getting in the way. And they can't escape us just like we can't escape them. We can break 'em apart piece by piece. If...if I'm perfect." Big Mac thought. Then, carefully, he began to speak again. "Derpy, I...this all relies on a lot of things that might not be true. We might not even be able to beat one of their armies. Each of those 'little armies' is as big as us, and it's all real soldiers." Derpy smiled. "We will if I'm perfect." "But...you might not be..." He trailed off. She stood up, and walked towards him, smiling gently. "Tell me I'm perfect, Mac." He swallowed. He knew what was coming. She spoke in a near whisper as she approached him. She gently shook her head, sending ripples through her mane. "Tell me I'm perfect, Mac. I need you to." "Derpy, I--" "We're surrounded, Mac. They've caught up with us. Our only hope is to fight over and over again. And that means I have to be perfect." She stroked his neck with a hoof. "So tell me I'm perfect. Tell me I can do it." "We can't do it, Derpy. We can't possibly--" "Shh. That's treasonous talk, Major." She smiled. "Your general hereby commands you in the name of the Princess to tell her that she's perfect." "Derpy, you're just a mare. You're a good mare but--" "--I'm a perfect one. I have to be." She nuzzled his chest. "Do you love me?" "...Yep. I do. But--" "--then tell me I'm perfect." "I can't." "Yeah you can." She nuzzled up his neck, then whispered in his ear. "You have to. You have to. Tell me now. Tell me I'm perfect." "Derpy, you know I don't like when you do this. We've talked about this. You can't just use me as some sort'a--" "--so tell me I'm perfect and maybe I'll stop." The room was almost silent--almost. "...you're perfect. Now stop." "No." "Derpy, stop. I said it like you wanted. Now stop it." "Not...a...chance..." --- Derpy sat at her desk. She knew she should feel guilty for manipulating Mac. She knew she should feel guilty for making him say and do things he didn't want to say and do. But she needed to hear those things. And god, she needed to feel those things. And hadn't he volunteered to be the one to say them? To make her feel them? And sure, he complained. But he kept giving in. And he kept forgiving her. Maybe he didn't really mind. Maybe he secretly liked being told to do things he thought were wrong--being told to do things Granny Smith wouldn't approve of. Like...well, like lying, for one. And he did them, didn't he? Big Macintosh, the pillar of righteousness, the pony who moved for nopony--he moved for her now. And Mac didn't move unless he wanted to, right? ...but she still felt like she should be guilty about it. And worse, she still didn't feel guilty at all. She sighed, then put him out of her mind. She looked at the map again, then at the envelopes on the table. One from Celestia, that had contained her commission as a General in the service of the Crown. Another from Celestia, written hours before the battle. And one from her daughter. She carefully pulled it back out of its envelope, then opened it and set it before her. And she read it again, though by now she had memorized every hand-scrawled word. Dear Momy, Hello Momy! This is Your litle Muffin Dinky. Spike said the Princes sent him a Leter saying that she Knew where you Are! So I am Writing you a Leter now, and Spike says He wil give it to the Princes and she wil Give it to You! Thigns are OK here. Not as god as they were when We were Together. I stil miss You. But there is Fod again and nobody is Mean or Stealing it now. Auntie Carrot Top has ben taking god Care of us foals sinse Auntie Cheerilee got sick and died. She is kind of leading All of Us now that Cheerilee is ded and the Mayor died when the Robers came for our fod. And she is doing a god job. We have fod and we have builded Homes and we have a litle Farm. We call it New Ponyvile which I think is a sily name becase we are going back to the old one after the war but they call it that anyway. We had a big Fight with the People who owned the land earlier but they let us have sum Land anyway. Carrot Top says it is becase they are Nice but I think it is becase Bery Punch said we wuld Hurt them if they did not give us sum Land for a Farm. But that is OK becase she was just Protecting us. I hear you are Protecting all of us. I think that is Realy Realy Realy God of you. I cant wait for you to beat all of the Grifons and come hom so we can all say Thank You and then we are Together again and you can call me Muffin and hug me again and we can have som god fod together. I love you Momy. Your Dinky Derpy read the letter, again and again and again. And then she stood, and she picked up her old mail bag. In it was each of the thirty letters she had written to Dinky, every one of her paintings, each of the drafts of each of her speeches, her letter of commission from Celestia, and the cape she had worn as Captain of the Ponyville Militia. She closed the bag, tightened the straps, then tossed it over her shoulder as she had done countless times before. And she left her tent, and found Skywishes waiting outside as instructed. Derpy saluted. "It's a refugee camp in the Southmarch. They have some buildings and a bit of farmland they took for their camp. They've named it New Ponyville. Getting past the gryphon scouts should be harder than finding the camp." Skywishes returned the salute. "I haven't met a gryphon yet who could catch me. And I'm not about to let any of 'em find out if they can." Derpy handed the bag to the scout-turned-courier, and saluted again. Skywishes put the bag on--almost as comfortably as Derpy had done. She returned the salute again, then turned, leapt into the air, and took off into the dusk sky. Derpy watched the bag as it grew smaller, then blended into the pony's fur, then disappeared with the pony into the clouds. And she began to cry. Yes. She might die. But with any luck, someday her daughter might know why she lived. She stood crying for some time. Then she wiped her face, and went back to her tent. The first five plans she had written up weren't going to work. Perhaps the sixth would.