The Age of Wings and Steel

by DSNesmith

14. Arranging the Board

The hot afternoon sun beat down on Trellow Bridge, reflecting off the coursing waters of the Grumar River. The bridge was a vast stone structure, weathered through countless centuries. It was over forty meters wide, arcing over a hundred meters across the narrowest part of the river. It was a marvel of engineering dating back to the old Empire. The stones, sitting under the sun, were hot to the touch. Though it was nearly winter, the southlands remained warm year-round, and today was no exception.

The surrounding scrubland was broken by a vast collection of white tents that had sprung up overnight. Flags bearing the design of a quadruplet of diamonds hung limply in the dead, hot air. From her position on the bridge, Celerity could oversee her entire encampment. She blinked away a drop of sweat and blew a strand of hair out of her eyes.

She was quite happy with her army’s rapid response. It had only been six days since the disastrous council meeting where the provinces had parted ways, yet all the forces she had summoned from Whitewall had already arrived. She herself had just entered camp yesterday morning, after several days of hard riding in a chariot pulled by her pegasi escorts. Celerity hated flying, but walking from Canterlot to Trellow would have taken weeks she could not afford to lose.

Despite her troops’ prompt mobilization, her camp looked vanishingly small. There were roughly three thousand of Whitetail’s finest here, mostly earth ponies and unicorns. They were well trained, but poorly equipped. It was no secret that southern steel was severely lacking in quality. Nearly half of her ponies were armed with nothing more than their hooves. Granted, those could be formidable weapons, but against the griffons, Celerity was unconfident that they would be enough. Once Baron Aubren took Easthill, she could expect enough steel to outfit the rest of her army, but until then she would have to make do.

The forces of Whitetail did not stand alone. True to his word, Lord Weatherforge had levied every available weatherpony from the southern provinces, and given them all to her command. The final tally was a generous commitment of seven hundred pegasi, unarmored and unarmed, but skilled in flight. Celerity’s gut told her that they would be the key to the coming battle. Holding Trellow would depend on holding the skies.

Westermin’s troops had yet to arrive. Her scouts reported that his army was on the move, and would reach Trellow by tomorrow evening. He was sending the majority of his standing forces, nearly a thousand able-bodied spearponies. When he arrived, her forces would number nearly four thousand troops.

The advance wave of the griffon army approaching them was reported to consist of over ten thousand. Celerity felt her stomach swim. All the strategic maneuvering in the world couldn’t help her against that brutal arithmetic. Yet she would have to do it, somehow.

The Belles were famous for two things: impeccable taste, and unmatched genius on the battlefield. It was they who had orchestrated the final stages of the Great War, six hundred years before, and it was a Belle—Lord Elusive Clement, Celerity’s distant ancestor—who had led the final charge against the griffon lines at the old Gryphan capital in the Everfree Forest. When Princess Luna had claimed the city as her own and rebuilt it as Lunaria, she had granted the Belles with the wide sweeps of land that constituted the Duchy of Whitetail.

Celerity was determined to keep it out of the claws of the griffons, but all the generations of Belles weighed down upon her. Nopony expected more of her than herself, but the task she faced might be insurmountable. Despite the pressure, she smiled. Her family had built their careers on doing the impossible. She would beat the griffons, somehow. And then, if she played her cards right, the Belles would be forever remembered not as the governors of Equestria’s largest province, but as the rulers of the independent south.

She forced herself back to the present. Even with Westermin and Weatherforge backing her up, the coming battle would be the most grueling of her career. The last time she had commanded an army this large was twenty years ago, when she’d driven the griffons out of Southlund for good—or so she’d believed. Under Shrikefeather they had grown bold, coming north over the border in greater and greater numbers, till they had finally been crushed near Sel-Paloth. But those had been relatively small groups of only a few thousand griffons. Even the largest warband was merely half the size of the force that now threatened her.

To win this, she needed an advantage. Her troops were better trained, better positioned, and better motivated than the griffon invaders, but even that counted for little in the face of such an overwhelming horde. She needed a symbol, something for her troops to rally behind, something to strike fear into the hearts of the griffons.
A glint of light caught her eye from the north. She stared up at the sky, squinting. The glint appeared again, surrounded by similar glimmers. Celerity’s breath caught. The objects were headed for her camp, soaring through the air. As they neared, it became clear that there were hundreds of them.

I'll bet there are three hundred and twelve of them, in fact. Celerity was filled with elation. Had Celestia finally seen reason? Had she really sent—no, surely not.

Shouts from the camp told her that her troops had noticed the new arrivals, too. Soon, the sky above the tents was filled with hundreds of golden-armored pegasi, gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight. They circled the camp, speeding through the air in rings and loops, intertwining in a breathtaking display of precision flying. The troops below in the camp cheered.
At last, the pegasi broke their formations and flew down to land. A sky-blue pegasus, her helmet emblazoned with the symbol of the Princess’s personal seal, dropped from the air onto the bridge before Celerity. She bowed deeply to the duchess.

“Captain Windstreak Strudel of the Firewings, at your service. The ‘Wings are at your disposal, Duchess Belle.” She looked behind her at the camp, where the rest of the Firewings were now landing and being greeted by the troops. “My apologies for the little flight display. My lieutenant thought your ponies could use a show for morale.”

With a wide smile, Celerity said, “Thank him for me.” She looked at the captain intently. “So, has Celestia finally seen reason? We have her support against the griffons?”

“I’m afraid not,” said the captain, looking a little sheepish. “We aren’t here with her blessing. She wasn’t happy about it, but we have to do what’s best for Equestria, and that means helping you fight the griffons.”

Celerity’s jaw hung open. Boggled, she said, “You mean to tell me the Firewings have deserted?”

“We prefer to think of it as doing our duty, Princess or no.”

The Duchess pondered this for a moment, feeling an uncontrollable cheer spring up inside her. “This is…”

“Unexpected?”

“Excellent. You may have just given me the edge I need to win this battle, Captain Strudel. I’m going to assign you and yours to oversee the divisions that Weatherforge has sent from Cloudsdale. Come with me, we need to discuss the battle plan in detail.” The two commanders left the bridge, passing through the camp to find Celerity’s tent.

As they walked past the soldiers, the sounds of cheering surrounded them. Celerity couldn’t help but grin. To her troops it seemed as if legends had suddenly come to life to fight at their side. This would make them confident, bold, and fearless. Just the way she wanted them.

They reached her tent at last. It had been erected on a small hill that rose above the rest of the camp, permitting her a view of the surrounding landscape. Celerity pulled aside the flap, gesturing grandiosely to the captain. They stepped inside the little structure.

Celerity gave a cursory scan of her tent to make sure everything was still in place. One of the perks of command was that her tent was much larger than those belonging to the troops; big enough to fit a full cot, table, and dresser. The cabinet containing her armor remained locked for now, not to be opened until the battle seemed near. The center of the tent was taken up by a large table that was covered in maps and flags.

She strode around the table to take her seat on the cushion there. She lifted a hoof and pointed at the map lying on top of the pile, indicating the bridge. “Here’s the situation. The griffons are marching straight for us out of Southlund. Shrikefeather intends to capture Trellow as quickly as he can to begin the invasion of Whitetail.

“He needs this bridge to move his heavy infantry and siege weapons into the north. The only other option he has for that is marching all the way west to Breton and attempting to ford the river—a hazardous prospect for any army, let alone one so large. And it would stretch his lines to an untenable size. They could never maintain that sort of a commitment.” She shook her head. “No, it must be Trellow. And that’s how we’re going to break them. My scouts tell me that they will be here within the week. Westermin’s troops should reach us before then, Sisters-willing.”

The captain made a doubtful noise. “Even with those reinforcements you’re going to be vastly outnumbered.”

“That’s where the bridge—and you—come into play, Captain.” Celerity grabbed the map and walked outside. The captain followed her. On the outside of the tent, Celerity unrolled the map and arranged it to match the direction of the real bridge before them. “The griffons will approach from here,” she said, pointing, “following the Great Road up to the river. When they arrive they’re going to find us defending the bridge.”

“Why don’t we just destroy the bridge?”

“I considered it. But if we do that, I fear that rather than risk the ford at Breton, Shrikefeather will simply order his infantry to abandon their heavier gear and fly over. They would take tremendous losses from an unarmed assault on Whitetail, but their sheer numbers would still carry the day. This is better.”

“I take it you have a plan, then.”

“A simple one, but one that Shrikefeather won’t be able to avoid. The bridge is only wide enough for fifty ponies to stand shoulder to shoulder across. That sounds large, but divide thirty thousand by fifty and the odds look a lot better for us.”

“The question is, will it be enough?”

“With the bridge nullifying their advantage in numbers, our superior training will easily stop the griffons from moving past us. There’s only one flaw in the plan…”

“The griffons’ aerial troops.”

“Correct. My soldiers can’t fight enemies in front of and above themselves simultaneously. But thanks to Lord Weatherforge, I now have a fighting force of seven hundred pegasi to defend our airspace with. And now that you’re here, my fliers number over a thousand. I need the Firewings to command the Cloudsdale pegasi and keep those skies clear for the bridge troops. Can you do that?”

The captain snapped a salute. “We’ll make sure none of them get through, Duchess.”

“Excellent. If we can hold out for at least a week and a half, I’ll be receiving more reinforcements from the rest of the southern provinces, along with some additional weapon shipments.”

“Weapon shipments?”

“I have one of my Barons working on that as we speak. It’s not a concern right now.” She gave a catlike grin. “We have to hold the bridge for a full week—just one week! And then we’ll be able to push the griffons back out into the desert and smash them on the dunes like the dogs they are.”

The captain nodded. “Then with your permission, Duchess, I’ll see to my ponies.”

“Go ahead, Captain. Just remember—as long as you keep those skies clear, then we’ve already won. The griffons will not take this bridge.”

* * *

Less than a kilometer to the south, a small hill rose from the otherwise-flat scrubland. Atop it perched two griffons. The larger had his helmet tucked under one leg, scratching a claw along the polished top of the iron.

The marching horde was still a few days behind them. General Shrikefeather scowled. The ponies had mobilized faster than he had expected. It looked like there would be a fight for Trellow after all. He wasn’t happy with the tactical situation here. He had the superior force, but that choke point was going to cost him dearly before the battle here was done. But he had led the forces of Grypha for nearly a hundred years, and he would not be stopped by a simple bridge and a bunch of rag-tag horses playing at war.

“Colonel.”

“Yes, General?”

“Are the attack wings ready?”

“As you ordered, sir. They’re prepared to fly tonight, if you wish.”

“Good. The ponies will almost surely be receiving reinforcements from the north. We need to harass them as much as possible before then. Have the raiders target food stores, water supplies, townsteads, scouts, anything to distract the ponies’ attention. But have them stay mobile. I want them harrying the Equestrians, not getting into a slugging match.”

“Yes, sir.”

“What of the siege?”

“The trebuchets are still en route from Grypha. They’re having trouble with the weather. The recent storms have turned the ground to mud, and the wheels are getting stuck.”

“That’s to be expected when fighting pegasi,” said the general, annoyed. “But I expect them to stay on schedule. If our primary plan falls through, those trebuchets will be the only means we have of breaching Canterlot’s defenses.” He drew a claw along the ground, running numbers in his head. “What’s the latest report on our trump card?”

“They’re on the way. Perhaps four days’ journey.”

Shrikefeather frowned. “They should have been here yesterday. What’s taking them so long?”

The colonel shifted uneasily. “Well, they had to go all the way south to enter Grypha. If you’ll remember, sir, you felt that stealth would be preferable to speed—”

Waving a hand in irritation, the general said, “Yes, yes, I know.” He sighed. “No matter. That’s a last resort, anyway. If all goes as planned, we’ll have the ponies cracked open by the end of the week. And then we’ll start moving north.” He looked at the Colonel with a faint smile. “By this time, two weeks from now, you and I will be sharing a drink in Cloudsdale.”

“Looking forward to it, sir.” The griffon bowed, and flew off to deliver the new orders to the aerial strike forces. Shrikefeather returned to watching the Equestrian camp across the river. The campaign was about to begin in earnest.

Comments

[Thread Necromancer]

This is EXACTLY like what happened when the Americans were planning to invade Berlin using a bridge. The Germans were blowing up all the other bridges that led into the capital, but didn't get to one in time. The Americans marched tanks and men across it and started the invasion of Berlin. The battle was over and so was the war of Europe.
So. Epic.

[PaulAsaran]

Celerity's thoughts about needing a symbol mere seconds before the Firewings show up? I don't know if it's possible to be more predictable.

A week? Celerity intends to hold the bridge for a whole week? A castle siege I can understand, but a damn bridge? She's got to be deluding herself.

A trump card? Moving around to the south to avoid detection? I smell Wild Land reinforcements. It reeks of giants (you wouldn't have mentioned them for nothing).

[Golden Fang Ryu Shenron]

Geez Celerity, what’s gotten into you?!

[SWEETOLEBOB18]

4875482
Historically, it's been done. Not very damned OFTEN, but it's not unheard of.
Big variable: Can they at least prevent the Griffons from controlling the air?
If so, they've got a shot. If not, they're all dead.