//------------------------------// // Finding Purchase // Story: The Great Retreat // by History Student //------------------------------// A half-moon sat in the dim night sky, obscured by clouds and a deep fog. The stars sat dimmer, hidden by the light pollution from nearby Canterlot. All across Equestria, ponies slept peacefully, having dreams of cake and tea. It was a silent night, a peaceful night. Shrouded in shadows, the thin fabric of the tent’s door was gently pushed open. Silently padding in, 5 figures lined up against the wall. Their expressionless gas masks hiding their faces. Bodies covered in a long dark great coat, they lifted their rifles and fired. The ponies didn’t sleep anymore. A flare rose into the air, shouts of alarm, shouts of pain, cries for help. The flare exploded and showered the hill in a bright light. The dim sky was lit by orange tracers, the silence shattered by gunfire and shouting. 6 hours since last enemy contact The sun rose over the green fields of Equestria, ponies awoke and greeted each other. A soft dew rested on the grass and vegetation. Small puddles inhabited the deep craters from the changeling artillery bombardment the night before. Some were from freshly kicked up dirt, while others were relics of months fighting on the Celestial plane. Smoke rose from a small building, the temporary command centre of Field Marshal Blueblood, supreme commander of Allied forces. The Marshal, nicknamed the bloody Marshall by his troops, leant over a map, surrounded by subordinates who battled for his attention. As with every day, Blueblood wore nothing but his best, full dress uniform with all his medals on. The most famous picture of the Bloody Marshal was him, covered in mud and leading a charge in person against a machine gun position, full dress uniform, medals and all. The map of central Equestria was hastily made, no one had considered the possibility of the changelings ever pushing this far, no accurate military maps existed of the area. The civilian OS map was covered with pins and small pieces, representing the two armies doing battle out there. Even Bluebloods most pessimistic predictions of the war hadn’t pushed them back this far. Swiftly taking control of the room, Blueblood raised a hoof “How many did we lose in the night?” The Bloody Marshal was used to this, the changeling Jaegers loved to launch night raids on their positions. After the first week of the war, he’d told the aids not to disturb him unless they had armoured support. Every morning it was the same, count the numbers and move on. Copious amounts of caffeine usually helped to desensitise him from that. Each day he handed the casualty reports over to an aid, said aid would add those names to several giant growing ledgers, he could drink himself to death and cry over the names after the war. “The changeling only launched one attack last night sir, a company of Jaegers stormed hill VB3.” Soarin told him. The former wonderbolt was one of his few consistently reliable generals. “It was held by troops from Stalliongrad.” Marshal Nestor Lunin stated, the communist was a new addition to the usual staff. Ever since Stalliongrad had intervened against the Changelings, Blueblood had to battle with their communist allies in the conference room. “And they were totally unprepared!” Soarin interrupted “the troops were green, it was their first time on the frontline. The sentries failed to spot the Jaegers until they’d entered the tents and started shooting.” “It’s not my fault the Equestria 12th armoured couldn’t support them properly! My men were left on that hill to die, if the changelings hadn’t pulled back then they would have been totally overrun!” Marshal Nestor spat back. “The 12th armoured were pulling back for rotation, they weren’t even supposed to be there to support your troops. If your men had posted sentries properly and spotted the Jaegers at any point before they were in insult range then we wouldn’t be having these problems.” Soarin returned. The Equestria general and Stalliongradian had been at each other’s throats from even before they’d met each other. Their arguments could be predicted like the weather. Raising a hoof to stop it, Blueblood got back on track. “Which Changeling unit made the attack?” “They were a jaeger unit from the 96th infantry.” Marshal Nestor told her superior. “Jachs troops, why’d they pull back? I’ve yet to hear of them retreating from a fight.” The Bloody Marshall asked. “We believe it’s part of a larger strategy sir, Princess Lunas southern army group reports changelings units on her sector are pulling back. Reports indicate that offensive action has been postponed until their southern troops arrive and they can consolidate.” chief of the airforce Kitty Hawk explained. Her air assets had taken a bad mauling the entire war, now they were mostly committed to defending urban areas from bombers. “I want our men to start patrolling forwards, mark positions and dugouts. If they’re consolidating, then we shell them whilst they’re at it.” Blueblood explained. As the aids started to scribble down his orders and pass them along, Blueblood looked down at the map. Something was wrong, the changelings normally kept up a constant artillery barrage along the whole line. Although it had become more sporadic in recent weeks, apparently, they were starting to run out of batteries, some of them were even sighted without their full equipment roster. For the changelings to have completely stopped shelling them had never happened. The single night raid was also concerning, they loved sneaking forwards and maximising casualties. For just a single raid to take place, and for them to be called back midway through the battle was also unheard of. Maybe it was part of some new strategy to conserve their offensive potential. Scanning up and down the line, Blueblood noted that it was the same. With a frontline stretching an entire continent, the changelings were worryingly quiet. The silence and lack of action was almost worse than the constant shelling and thrum of guns. Almost, knowing you don’t have a small chance of suddenly exploding was still better. “The southern forces, did Marshal Luna tell us where they were going?” Blueblood asked, he turned his head slightly and looked at his personal radio operator, some mare whose name he never bothered to learn. “No sir, she reports that they boarded ships and were gone in a few hours. The southern area army has yet to encounter resistance as it drives North.” She reported. Blueblood nodded and went back to examining the map as his subordinates went back to arguing. The only exception was Marshal Nestor Lunin, she looked at Blooblood, studying his expression. The two ponies looked at each other. She was a good Marshal, but was out of her depth, she didn’t have his experience fighting the Changelings. Quietly, she addressed him “you’ve spotted something?” “This isn’t like Trimmel.” Blueblood whispered back “I’ve danced with him for 2 years on the battlefield, he calls for constant offensive action. Attacking means you’re in control of the field, they’re outnumbered, can’t afford to lose that control or they’ll be pushed back.” Blueblood mused “getting rid of Trimmel at this point would be suicide, he’s basically holding the entire war together by force of will; he’ll still be in command or a civil war would have started.” “What is it then? Maybe Chrysalis gave a direct order for him to halt.” The Stalliongrad officer suggested. “No, Chrysalis may be arrogant, but she’s also a genius. She knows that Trimmel is basically her only shot at winning without burning through her entire population. He’s basically got a free pass on all strategic and military decisions.” Blueblood looked back at the map. “Have any transmissions come from Vestiopolis command to Trimmel?” “None to Trimmel sir, although General Argostrosi was trying to get into contact with General Larynx last night. His command seems to have lost contact with central command. Elvir Roland and general Pharynx also spoke this morning, we’re working on decoding it right now sir.” His every loyal radio operator reported, he’d seriously have to learn her name sometimes. Something didn’t seem right; the Changelings had been halted with the communist flood. Then they’d started to lose ground. For the first time, they were being consistently pushed back. Perhaps he wanted to adopt an active defence, but this wasn’t good ground for a defence. Blueblood held all the high ground, and so close to Canterlot, their supply turnaround was nearly non-existent. If he wanted good ground then the only place was… All the noise seemed to disappear from around him. It was like everything suddenly added up, the halt of attacks at the onset of night, their southern forces boarding boats instead of using trains, the fact that they hadn’t even been shelling his lines. They were retreating, and only good ground for an active defence was all the way back at the border where they could count on their supply lines to stay intact. Tartarus, it was the only place they could bring their entire airforce to bare and get radar coverage. “Generals, begin a general attack across the entire line. Every unit, every tank and every soldier is to begin moving forwards right now. Skip air and artillery bombardment and just move forwards.” Blueblood turned to the mare who worked his radio “tell Marshal Luna the same thing, forget all caution and move forwards as quickly as possible.” The assembled generals and staff stopped and stared at him for a few seconds. The only pony doing what he’d just said was the loyal radio operator. Blueblood took out a pad and started writing down a message on it, then he looked up at the staring faces “what are you waiting for? MOVE!” He roared. The urgency and anger in his voice prompted everyone to start carrying out his orders. As the sudden surge of action began, Soarin and Nestor leant over to Blueblood. “What is it?” Soarin whispered so no one could hear “you’ve seen something?” “Trimmel pulled back, it’s a general withdrawal. They can’t hold the whole frontline, last night, they began their usual attacks. But midway through, Trimmel decided to pull back causing the slightly chaotic retreat.” Blueblood explained. “Their southern forces boarded ships and are making a b-line for their new line.” “Where are they heading then?” Soarin asked. “Lieutenant!” Blueblood shouted, the radio operator looked up from her set “get me map 5A, the planned offensive from 1012.” The mare sat up form her radio station and went over to a cabinet on the far wall holding a selection of books and maps. Finding the right one, she returned and handed it to Blueblood. The Marshal thanked her as the mare returned to her radio. He should really learn her name some time. Roughly shoving the current map of the table, Blueblood rolled out the older map. Smaller models of changeling and Equestrian tanks either fell to the floor or were pushed to the edge. It showed pre-war planned equestrian offensives into the changeling lands. He always thought they were delusional, nothing more than a mental exercise; the Marshal was shocked to find out the diarchs took his plans seriously. Off to his left and right, Soarin and Nestor weighed down the edges with the models he’d been using to show their troops earlier. Nestor even used his Marshals baton, normally he would have admonished the communist, but he’d let it slide for once. Grabbing a red pen from a nearby pot, Blueblood started writing on the map as he explained the reasoning to his subordinates. “The southern area army will be dispersing through ports along the entire western coast as they make their way back. The Celestial see is too hot right now with our bombers currently committed to the area and the navy are pulling ships out of thin air to keep the war going, so that knocks off any ports along the occupied west coast. Our partisans in the area have also been raiding as far north as anchorage, so that’s the closest safe port they have.” Blueblood scribbled various lines onto the paper as Nestor and Soarin stated silent. “Trimmel likes elastic and active defences, can’t stand a static line.” The marshal continued. “He could pull back to the old sabre line, from Las Pegasus to the yakistan border, but the raiders behind the line would put him in a horrible supply position. Not to mention, his entire right wing would be all the way back at anchorage and the border. The only other good ground would be the border itself, where half his army is heading anyway.” “It’s a big risk, Chrysalis would lose a lot of support giving up all that ground.” Nestor mused. “No, the other queens have backed her thus far, they can’t pull out now without being overthrown; they’re fully committed to the war. If she goes down, they go down.” Blueblood mused as he bit his lip “this was will drag on, but if we can exploit this and push into their industrial heartland, then we’ll win the day.” “Don’t talk about victory right now.” Nestor scolded “we need to focus on destroying as many of their forces as we can. They’ll be disorganised and clogging up the roads and railways, if we can cut them, then a lot of their forces could be cut off.” The communist Marshall noted. Taking a pen out of a nearby pot, she circled some mountains near the crystal empires border “If the Crystal empires Princess Consort can cross these in good time and cut the railway, then their units in the east will be cut off.” Blueblood looked down at the map again, he visualised the crisscrossing areas of control between the Equestrian and communist forces along the frontline. Managing the whole front and the general advance of so many units from so many different countries would be a nightmare for him. The Marshall let out a sigh and shook his head, then he turned to Nestor and adjusted his hat. “Marshal Nestor, for the duration of this offensive, I’m giving you authority to take your units and act as you see fit. If you abuse this authority, I will have you removed from this cabinet and have a different general take your place.” Blueblood watched with some satisfaction as the communist generals’ eyes widened, a small smile appeared on her face. “Sir yes sir” she parroted. Standing to attention, Blueblood gave a stiff salute “Good luck Marshall. And Nestor, I said win the day, not the war.” Turning and striding out of the room and into the assembling army, Nestor disappeared. Approaching a window and looking out of it, Soarin commented “I don’t like her, gets the job done though.” “I don’t like communists in general, she’s a good leader though.” Blueblood concurred. “You still making that plan?” Soarin asked. “Of course, observing her strategy and mannerisms is helping with the plan. They’re our allies now, but I don’t expect it to hold together if we win this war.” Blueblood confessed without a moment of hesitation. “If we win?” Soarin asked, confused “you still aren’t optimistic? Admittedly I’m not either, but I suspect you’ve got different reasons than me.” “I imagine so” Blueblood confirmed without elaborating. Turning towards the door, he began to stride out “I’m going to the frontline, good luck on your advance.” Taking note of the change in the room, the lieutenant started to strap a portable radio onto her back and follow the Marshall. Sparing meanwhile turned to face Blueblood. “Good luck sir.” Without replying, the Equestrian Field Marshal made his way out of the small building, collecting his Marshals baton on the way, and into the nearest jeep. The lieutenant was close behind him, climbing into the back. Looking around, he spied several soldiers lounging around on two other nearby jeeps and laughing. Extending a hoof he shouted, “troopers, get those vehicles started and follow me.” The ponies of various types looked towards him, their expressions ranging from confusion to pissed. After a moment they realised who was shouting at them and clambered into action as Blueblood started his own jeep and sped off. 6 hours later, strategic area 62 North, Celestial Plane Passing the burning changeling tanks was surprisingly satisfying. After years of the seemingly invincible machines rolling unchallenged across Equestria, seeing them in retreat and burning in fields was cathartic. Sitting next to him was general Applejack, her units had encountered a retreating tank corps and encircled it with tactics mimicking the changelings own manoeuvres. The tank corps had been completely annihilated in just 3 hours of fighting. “Which unit was it?” Blueblood asked the earth pony general. “5th corps armoured cavalry, one of their crack units. We called em ‘the bastards’” Applejack replied. “Casualties?” He simply inquired. The jeep passed by a Chrysalis main battle tank; dead changelings surrounded it. “At least 10 000, most of em fought to the death. Mosta tha prisoners were from the ollenian infantry corps we caught with em. A company of Volksgrenadiers tried to break them out a while ago, we repelled em but took heavy losses.” The earth pony replied. “Why didn’t they run, their vehicles are faster than ours?” The Marshal asked. “We seemta catch em in the process of refuelling some tanks and abandoning others. They were basically stationary when we attacked.” She explained. “Air support?” The marshal asked. “First time in the war I’ve had it. The changelings threw up a few fighters of their own, but they were massively outnumbered and couldn’t do anything meaningful.” Applejack explained. Blueblood nodded in understanding, having any air support from the Equestrian Airforce was a rarity. Air marshal Rainbow Dash had developed the three-colour scene for defining air control: Green, yellow, and red. For the whole war, Equestrian forces had worked under red air, only able to achieve yellow for short periods by massing their entire Airforce. But with the Changelings simply not having enough airfields on the frontline for their aircraft, they were starting to see green air. Scanning the area, Blueblood spotted a disabled changeling tank. It was a rare Vestiopolis light tank. This particular vehicle seemed to have had it tracks blown off by a mine and had been abandoned. What piqued the Marshals attention was the red-sun painted on the side instead of the changeling symbol. A red-sun usually marked a vehicle as a command one in the Heer. Stopping the jeep, Blueblood got out and drew his pistol as he approached the tank, gun in one hand and baton in the other, as a leader should be. On the rare occasions that red-sun tanks had been captured intact, they often held good and up to date intelligence. On the rare chance that someone was alive in the vehicle, it was always good to have a weapon at hand, besides, Applejacks troops were probably still clearing out pockets of resistance. Approaching the disabled vehicle, Blueblood froze as somepony climbed out. A brown Pegasus wearing an equestrian army uniform clambered out, a submachine-gun hanging over his shoulder on a strap stood atop the turret of the tank. Held close to his chest was a pack full of papers and a box of matches. The two locked eyes with each other for a moment. While illegal and banned under his army reforms, soldiers looting a battlefield wasn’t unheard of. The marshal was about to call out to the soldier and reprimand him and demand the pack of papers when he raised the submachine-gun and slung it off his shoulder. The barrel seemed to align itself as close to his face as could be managed. Working entirely on instinct, Blueblood raised his pistol. The Pegasus fired first, the submachine-gun sending chunks of metal into the ground around him, pieces of dirt and grass flew up into the air. The marshal staggered back ever so slightly as one found its way into his shoulder. Blueblood fired back with his pistol and emptied the entire magazine, a bullet passed right through the Pegasus’s neck and several others found purchase in his flesh. The Pegasus fell from the tank and to the muddy ground bellow, bleeding heavily and coughing. The Pegasus quickly took out a match and struck it, holding the eager flame up to the papers. As the fire was ready to lap up the mysterious papers, a chorus of rifle fire screeched through the air. Blood spurted in the air as the Pegasus fell down and didn’t start to move again. Turning around, Blueblood saw the soldiers he’d ordered to follow him hours ago lowering smoking rifles and fanning out to secure a perimeter. General Applejack and the radio lieutenant galloped up to him, worried looks on their faces. “Are you alright sir?” The lieutenant asked. “I’m fine, thank you.” Blueblood huffed, ignoring the dull pain in his shoulder. “Ahm sorry marshal, we’ve been having issues with infiltrators for weeks. Bastards don’t know when to quit.” Applejack apologised. “No” Blueblood simply replied as he approached the corpse. “No?” Applejack repeated, confused by the simple response. “He hasn’t changed back, this one’s a pony.” Blueblood kicked the corpse and turned it over. Grasping the papers in his magic, he levitated them up and started to read the information. Normally when a disguised changeling was killed, they would revert to their original form; this Pegasus didn’t. Having traitors in their ranks wasn’t totally unheard of, often, ponies would carry out traitorous actions on the orders of commanding officers who were replaced with changelings. But given that General Applejack was right next to him, it was unlikely that he was acting on those orders. “A traitor in mah army, never thought ahd see tha day?” Applejack mused. Blueblood remained completely silent as he shifted through the papers. Faster and faster, he turned them over, each one increasing the speed further and further. As he read, a small smile started to grow on his face. That small smile grew into an outright grin, something seldom seen on the Marshals face. “We’ve got them.” He quietly whispered, maybe they’d win this war after all. “Sir, message on the wireless, Princess Celestia has recalled you to Canterlot.” The lieutenant reported to Blueblood, she spoke with a pronounced sigh, disappointment in her voice. Then again, the coming political battle would be far more dangerous and wicked than anything he’d see on the frontline. Placing the folder safely within his great coat, Blueblood made his way back to the waiting jeep. “Lieutenant, tell the airstrip to get me a plane, I don’t care what they have to ground. Impress upon them that this is too priority.” Climbing in the passenger seat, Blueblood let general Applejack drive this time. The lieutenant, who’s name he really needed to learn, climbed in the back and started to mutter various orders into the radio. Another soldier stepped into the back, rifle loaded and ready, his muscles tensed and ready for a fight. Blueblood turned around and looked at the soldier “Did you shoot the traitor?” “Yes sir.” He stiffly replied, the soldier wore the rank of Lance Corporal on his collar. “Thank you son, and congratulations on your promotion to corporal.” Blueblood replied stiffly, without emotions. The soldier ran it over in his head for a moment, then suppressed a small triumphant smile. “Thank you, sir.” As the vehicle set off, Blueblood was suddenly hit by a pain in his shoulder. Oh yeah, he’d been shot. It was too late to get a medic now, looks like some battlefield triage was in order. “Excuse me corporal, could I borrow your knife.” Drawing the knife and holding it up, the Marshal took it in his magic and levitated it in front of his eyes. Channeling his mana into it, the steel blade slowly heated up until it was red hot. Unbuttoning his dress uniform, he gently lifted it off his shoulder and let it dangle loosely off his other. The bloody marshal plunged the knife into his flesh where the bullet had penetrated his skin. The horrible smell of burning flesh corrupted the air around the open top jeep, a slight sizzling sound filled the air as the wound was cauterised. Wincing in pain, Blueblood remained silent as he worked, ignoring the mute horror of the other passengers. After a few agonising moments, both figuratively and literally, the small metal bullet flew out of his flesh and plopped onto the metal floor of the car. Placing the knife ice down next to it, Blueblood opened the glovebox and pulled out a roll of bandages. Wrapping several layers tightly around his shoulder, he let out a silent sigh as the horrible pain started to numb itself. Wrapping g his uniform around his shoulder once again, Blueblood did up the buttons and covered any bandages or indication of a wound. Picking up the knife in his magic again, he levitated it back to the corporal. The other pony looked mortified, turning a snow white colour. His mouth hand dumbly open, moving ever so slightly as words struggled to be formed in it. He accepted the knife, and looked down at its hot blade. “Thank you very much corporal.” Blueblood picked up the loose bullet in his magic and showed it to the corporal “want to keep this as a souvenir?”