Warhawk

by Moonatik

2 - Configuration

Few liked going near the frontline, but it had to be done. There was no way to really understand the state of affairs quite like going there yourself.

In commanding the Fourth Army, Selenite made many frequent trips to the frontline to meet with subordinate officers and inspect the conditions. But then, she’d received a summon from the Empress herself to inspect a section of the front that the First Army was responsible for.

Selenite’s jeep, carrying just her, a driver, and two bodyguards, rolled across the unpaved dirt road carrying her to the front. Two extra bodyguards, a pegasus and a thestral, followed the jeep from the air. She was reading through an after-action report, her notes and observations taking up more space on the page than the text of the report. Her rank and her purpose for being there gave her priority, allowing the jeep to rush past the columns of supply trucks locked in bumper to bumper traffic. Some troop transport trucks had turned back after being emptied of their personnel, the soldiers preferring to march or fly the remaining distance rather than wait in traffic for any longer.

At her stop, Selenite hopped out of the jeep, thanked the driver, fastened her leather overcoat and sprung into a trot. The whole site was alive with activity, busy soldiers rushing around from task to task like bees in a flowering shrub. Every soldier remained poised and ready, knowing that the enemy could throw a wrench into the clockwork logistical machine at any instant. Even the stationary guards were focused and alert, small arms and heavy guns pointed to the flat icy plains of no-pony’s-land ahead.

Luckily, her destination was easy to spot. A concrete bunker perched atop a steep hill poised prominently over the rest of the site. She cringed a little at the sight, thinking of how easy a target it would be for enemy artillery, if they had any. Knowing who awaited her inside, however, kept her reservations in check.

On the way up she overheard a chat between two grey earth pony soldiers trotting around camp.

“Warmaster Hawkrich is here, with the Empress, too,” the first one said, Selenite having to perk up to even hear her.

“Ohh, brilliant!” The second soldier was grinning.

Selenite passed them by. The soldiers stopped to look but quickly continued talking amongst themselves; Selenite's ears just managed to pick it up.

“Who was that?”

“General Selenite.”

“Who?”

“Commander of the Fourth Army.”

“Ohh.” A pause. “Where are they?”

At the bunker’s steel door, the two stocky guards standing by allowed Selenite through. Inside the single room, the concrete walls and shelves were decked with neatly arranged maps and planning papers. A large table in the centre of the room had many similar papers scattered, albeit in a less organised manner. Standing around that table, Nightmare Moon and Warmaster Hawkrich’s attention was fixed on a map.

Selenite bowed to Nightmare Moon. “My Empress.” She rose and saluted Hawkrich. “Warmaster.”

In lieu of her iconic armour, Nightmare Moon wore a midnight-black form-fitting military uniform, with a long cape draped over her body, somehow pillowing despite there being no wind inside. Her ethereal mane was also somehow tied into an elegant bun.

“General Selenite?” Hawkrich tilted his head, an eyebrow raised. His tone was more inquisitive than confused or surprised. “What brings you here? Aren’t you supposed to be-”

“I summoned her,” Nightmare Moon firmly interrupted. “I wish to hear her perspective on your affairs. As the front has broadly stalled, the Fourth Army continues a steady advance. Either she hast found inexplicable luck or her command displays qualities that the rest of you are lacking. I am partial to the latter theory.”

Hawkrich’s brow furrowed and his lips were held tight. After a moment he gathered himself as he took a deep breath. “Well, alright. General, please take a look at this,” he said, pointing to the litany of graphs, maps, and charts across the table.

Selenite approached the table, only to find it too high for her to get a good look. She pulled up a crate to stand on and observed.

“We’ve… taken your proposed reforms to doctrine on board, yet of course we still need to use artillery. For that, we’ve employed a mathematical approach to artillery deployment.”

Before her was a detailed batch of nomograms displaying factors such as the calibre of artillery and the size and type of their targets, displayed in a way that could be used to efficiently calculate how many shells would be needed over what period of time to destroy or suppress those targets. She was intimately familiar with these types of graphs, as the Lunar way of war was often more a science than it was an art. In the case of these graphs, everything seemed… correct. But if everything was right, why had she been summoned?

“Ground recon units have successfully identified the location of  Sombra’s forces, despite their camouflage, and confirmed that we are hitting our desired targets,” said Hawkrich. “But it is taking far longer than it should for us to eliminate the threat. Though,” his voice dropped to a murmur, “rounds-per-minute may be lower than projected? We’re frequently behind schedule, then again the weapons themselves and the crews are more than capable of firing at the desired rate…”

Still, Selenite pondered over the myriad of different problems that might be plaguing their forces. It was unlikely to be a mathematical problem, all the numbers matched her own experiences unless she’d missed something. Maybe she’d have an easier time thinking if those annoying trucks outside weren’t constantly honking their horns.

Selenite’s ears perked up, raising her eyebrows. She turned her head towards the loophole on the far side of the room. Trucks honking their horns? That was definitely what she was hearing, and not what she’d expected to hear in this place. It sounded more like a congested highway at rush hour than it did like a warzone. She stepped off the crate and made her way around to the opening.

“General? Have you identified the error?” Nightmare Moon asked. Selenite remained silent.

Gazing outside, and hovering so she could get a better look, Selenite saw the silent artillery guns sitting in their dugouts. All aimed upwards and onwards towards Sombra’s forces, while their crews milled about seemingly with nothing to do. Clearly not the source of the noise. Closer to their bunker, some hundred metres back from the guns, was a dirt road packed with back to back traffic. One vehicle had a group of no more than four ponies loading small boxes off of the truck and into pony-drawn carts, whilst others were unattended. Immediately, it clicked for Selenite. She was stunned that she hadn’t figured it out on the ride over. “Warmaster, I’m afraid you’ve missed the actual problem.”

“Excuse me?” said Hawkrich.

“Your math is fine,” Selenite turned to Hawkrich. “But your logistics are a mess.”

Hawkrich laughed out a dismissive breath, pulling a smile onto his lips. “General, you of all ponies should know our logistics network is the most robust and extensive ever devised. Using just the existing rail lines, I could ship troops from Manehattan, uniforms from Princesscyn, provisions from Ponyville, and guns from Vanhoover, tonight, and have them be here tomorrow, the next night at the absolute latest. Our logistics are more than capable of meeting demand.”

“On a strategic level, you could. But look." Selenite pointed at the trucks, drawing Hawkrich’s and Nightmare Moon’s attention outside. “There’s a traffic jam worthy of downtown Manehattan down there, and the soldiers are unloading boxes of individually packed artillery shells off the trucks. No wonder you aren’t firing as many shells as you need, there’s no way that so few ponies are going to unload that many shells delivered like that on your desired timetable.”

Hawkrich and Nightmare Moon walked to take a look, following where Selenite’s hoof pointed. The three ponies struggled to crowd around the small opening, so Selenite backed away.

“No amount of extra shells or extra guns are gonna fix the fact that they can’t efficiently unload the shells and guns they’re getting,” said Selenite. “Tartarus, they don’t need extra howitzers, they need forklifts!”

Hawkrich’s eyes darted across the sight below, Selenite could see him grit his teeth past ever-so-slightly curled lips. “They are packed that way so our unicorn soldiers can easily carry them. Most unicorns can’t carry a box of twelve shells or a whole pallet, but any old unicorn can carry boxes of ones or twos.”

“Do you see any unicorns down there?” Selenite waved her hoof down at the scene below them, motioning towards the absence of unicorns. Amongst the soldiers she’d seen at the position so far, there might’ve been one or two for every ten or so soldiers of other tribes. “Of course you don’t, they make up a quarter of our forces at best and the most capable ones are in specialist support companies being trained as combat mages and spell jammers, not in logistics companies lugging around boxes. Meanwhile, pallet jacks can be used by anypony. It’s a no-brainer.”

Releasing a groan, Hawkrich turned back towards the table. Nightmare Moon stroked her chin, her eyebrows pressing together. “How do you propose we apply these… ‘forked lifts’ to our situation?” she asked.

Selenite’s mouth opened then clenched shut. She hadn’t even considered that Nightmare Moon might’ve never seen a forklift in her life. But, equally, knew that drawing attention to her banishment-induced ignorance wouldn’t help at all. After her mind quickly cobbled together a beginner’s guide to forklifts that hopefully wouldn’t come off as condescending to Nightmare Moon, she spoke. 

“To start, we'd need to tell the manufacturers to pack shells onto racks, not into individual boxes of one or two shells. From there, forklift trucks operated by a single pony can unload shells from transport trucks some twenty-four shells at a time and carry them to the guns far quicker than on hoof,” Selenite explained. “It’s all motorised, and the trucks can move pallets off of and onto elevated surfaces.”

“And you have made use of these forklift trucks with regard to the Fourth Army’s logistics?” Nightmare Moon asked, a glint of curiosity in her eyes.

“Where applicable, yes,” Selenite answered with a nod. “However, that means they have to be in a form that the forklifts can use, like a rack or pallet. Otherwise we might as well be poking them with forks for how much use we can get out of them.”

“I see, I see,” Nightmare Moon smirked. “Warmaster Hawkrich!” she bellowed, startling both Selenite and Hawkrich, the later wincing since his ear was right next to Nightmare Moon. “See to it that-” She paused, glancing to the side momentarily. “-manufacturers pack munitions onto pallets and that the task of unloading is accomplished by use of the forklift truck!”

“Of course!” Hawkrich threw a foreleg up in salute. “Yet- How are we to address the immediate situation?”

“I shall do it myself!” Nightmare declared, and with a flick of her cape she marched outside.

The two stunned officers stared at the door for a moment, then spun around to look out two separate openings. 

Clear as night, Nightmare Moon had flown to the lead vehicle and barked orders at the nearest logistics officer. Everypony else immediately snapped to salutes, fell to bows, or simply froze in place. Hawkrich and Selenite could hear the boom of Nightmare Moon’s voice relatively clearly, in that they could tell she was asking how many shells were needed and where. Whatever the logistics officer said couldn't be heard, even as Nightmare Moon stopped to listen. Mere milliseconds after the officer raised his hoof towards a particular artillery piece, a flurry of boxes and crates engulfed in turquoise aura flew in that direction, landing gracefully beside the guns. This process repeated itself a few more times, and before long every gun emplacement in sight was stocked with shells.

“Well!” Hawkrich smirked. “Problem solved.”

Selenite cocked an eyebrow. “Only if you expect her to handle the frontline logistics of a four-thousand-kilometre-long front all by herself.”

“That was a joke, General,” he grimaced, rubbing his ear. “I’d hoped you’d have recognised that.”

Selenite mirrored his grimace, turning to give him a side eye glance. “Hard to tell given your usual plans,” she whispered to herself.

Below, Nightmare Moon was still speaking to the logistics officer. Not long after, she finished, punctuating her final point with a stomp of a hoof. The officer saluted, bowed, got up and saluted again, bowed deeper, only for Nightmare Moon to take off in the direction of the bunker before he could finish. Kicking up snow and dirt as she launched, she raced up past them and over the bunker, pelting wind and snow through Selenite and Hawkrich’s manes whilst blowing a few loose papers off of the table. Barely a second later and the wind had settled, replaced again by silence, save for the slouch of snow piddling off the two’s heads.

“General,” Hawkrich broke the silence to glare at Selenite. “Have you always been so insubordinate?”

“S-sorry?” Selenite stammered.

The steel door banged open. “We are so back!” Nightmare Moon announced, causing both Selenite and Hawkrich to jump and spin around. “General Selenite! You have provided valuable insight. I am most pleased.”

“Alright, good!” Selenite smiled. She took a quick glance at Hawkrich, his face frozen in a cold glower. He’d said something, but it didn’t bother her. The Empress was satisfied, she’d made an undeniably positive contribution, that was more important. “Am I dismissed, My Empress?”

Nightmare Moon looked at the table with a slight pout, then shifted her gaze at Selenite. “No. I believe there are other matters that could use your insight. May you remain a while longer?”

Selenite felt the weight of responsibility land on her back, even feeling her knees shake. Yet she saw not a burden, but opportunity. Opportunity to serve her Empress, to prove herself. Another challenge or expectation was more like kindling feeding a growing blaze of determination deep within her. Though as much as it thrilled her, outwardly she fought to repress any expression of excitement so as to not appear unprofessional to her Empress. Instead, Selenite simply returned a warm smile.

“Happily, My Empress.”