//------------------------------// // Interlude #5, Part 1: Carrying One's Weight // Story: Before the Storm: The Rise of Firefly // by Firesight //------------------------------// Before we conclude this volume and begin the next with the telling of the war proper, there is one final set of tales I wish to relate. ’Tis the story of my mentor, Sergeant Major Windshear, a stallion who became the only pony in history to earn not one, but two Defender of Harmony awards as well as the Royal Guard’s rarely-granted Ruby of Honor. His deeds that won them are well-known, but his past somewhat less so, and I wish to honor the pony who did so much to turn me into the mare and warrior I became… by showing something of how he became the stallion and soldier he was. Thus, before we relate how he gained his first Defender of Harmony award, I wish to tell the story of his first time in combat, some twenty years before the war began. ’Tis the same tale he related to me in his office when I came back from my first deployment, needing his counsel after my own first combat action; how he demonstrated to me by example that he truly did understand how I felt and how he had later come to terms with it. ’Tis been a long time since that day, and my memories of it had faded enough that I had a Corps unicorn counselor cast a memory recall spell on me, wanting to do his story justice. Such spells are not used lightly as they cause you to not just remember what happened, but relive it all, to the point that you experience again everything you felt at the time. In my case, that was the severe self-doubt over my actions and agony over making my first kill. ’Twas not pleasant, but I am still glad I did it. For I can now relate the tale he told me exactly as he himself said it. I was somewhat surprised to realize it took him nearly twenty minutes to tell it, for at the time methinks it felt far shorter than that. And for those who wonder why I did not relate this story in that earlier chapter, ’twas because I did not wish it overshadowed by my own. ’Tis certain his story deserves to be heard no less than mine or any other Bolt Knight, for without him, I could never have become an Armored Guardspony or have attained the heights I did… For without him, we would have had no hero or hope to inspire us in those first few terrible weeks of war. The following is recited verbatim from that long ago meeting, though I have also added a few asides here and there to make clear his mood or expression at the time. “If you still doubt yourself, let me tell you a story, Sergeant…” he began. “’Tis about a cocky young colt fresh out of basic, not too unlike yourself. One who thought himself invincible, was the best recruit in his class, graduated with a high starting rank and thought he could beat the entire Gryphon Empire by himself.” I guessed instantly who that colt was, but decided I’d play along. “Perchance I know him, sir?” “Perchance you do…” he granted, smiling wanly. “He was but eight weeks out of basic when he saw his first action, fighting out of Outpost Delta when a large force of gryphons raided Trottingham over the holidays…” Call to Duty Eight weeks into my first deployment, one thing I’d learned about the Corps was that border patrols tended to be long and monotonous. Tactics were a bit different back then. Squad leaders also acted as flight leaders, meaning there were twelve per squad instead of thirteen. So when on patrol, you flew out as a squad into three flights of four each spaced a mile apart, the squad leader commanding the middle flight, with each flight further back flying a thousand feet higher so if the ones in front got in trouble, the ones behind could see and speed to the rescue via diving. You flew out along the border canyon around sixty miles to roughly the point the next outpost’s patrols would take over, reporting back to base every twenty miles, then turned around and went back. You were supposed to be alert at all times and hold a diamond formation with the flight leader in front and those behind slightly higher, two to either side and one directly behind you above the rest. In practice, methinks discipline rarely held like that in the open air where nothing could reasonably approach you without you seeing it from miles away. We were supposed to keep watch for gryphons, but as raiders avoided patrols, you never saw them and ’twas never any action. ’Twas oft a boring task, and your attention tended to wander, or you started engaging in conversation or banter with your squadmares. Methinks I’d gotten to know mine quite well over the previous two months. My squad was fresh out of basic, and in a rarity for a stallion, I’d made Corporal right out of the gates. ’Twas a reward for my proven strength and combat ability, able to beat all my fellow trainees and even a few trainers to start. ’Twas rarer still for us to be given a combat post, but I’d all but demanded one, wanting to follow in the hoofsteps of my father, who made Colonel in the Corps. ’Tis the irony of the Corps, you know, one that holds to this day: though there are few stallions in combat posts, those that are tend to make it far by simple virtue of the fact they aren’t allowed to fight unless they show themselves to be a strong soldier with great combat ability from the start. Thus, if you see a stallion in the field or especially an older one in command, ’tis certain they are a very good warrior who saw and survived plenty of battles along the way. Such I was hoping ’twould yet be with me; I imagined myself as a Captain, a Colonel, or even the Corps commanding general someday. I could not hope to reach such rarified ranks unless I saw some action, but after weeks of fruitless patrols only interrupted by drills, inspections, and occasional assignment to weather duty or simply peeling onions and apples in the mess hall, methinks I was chafing at the proverbial bit. Windshear paused to rub his eyes with a hoof at this point, perchance thinking what a foal he had been. ’Tis certain I wasn’t the only one, either. The mares of my second flight were also eager for something, anything to happen, though ’tis certain we were increasingly finding ways to entertain each other when we were off-duty. ’Twas said to be one of the more unspoken duties of being a rare combat-assigned stallion that you did what you could for the mares you served with, and indeed, I’d already formed a clique with mine. It had earned us a stern talking-to by the XO, Sergeant First Class Anthelion, just a few weeks earlier; she promised she would break us up and transfer one or more of us out at the first sign that our little arrangement was interfering with good order and discipline. Thus far, we’d given her no reason to, nor did we plan to, as ’twas certain we were enjoying each other’s camaraderie and company far too much. “So, ’tis true you got leave for Hearth’s Warming then, sir?” Bluejay asked from my left as we hit the halfway point and made a slow, lazy arc to turn around. “Lucky.” “Methinks it’s not luck at all. So how’d you bribe Anthelion, sir?” Oriole asked from my right. “Methinks that’s none of your business!” I grinned back, knowing full well I was only inviting teasing. “Probably the same way he convinces us to follow him around. Show a little flank?” Cardinal suggested from directly behind me, causing me to grin again and offer my well-muscled hip up to the three for inspection. I was a young stud and I knew it; methinks I had no qualms about flaunting it then either. “Give me some credit, fillies. The XO is a perfectly reasonable mare. All I did was to offer her extra duty… and a small keg of Burro Sangria I’d had delivered all the way from Mexicolt!” ’twas my answer back, to the laughter of all. My mentor smiled as he remembered the banter and the colt he once was, his expression turning wistful as I inquired about the similarity of names of his flight mares. Privates Oriole, Bluejay, and Cardinal. ’Tis true, their names were more than mere coincidence—the three were sisters. Triplets, in fact; methinks I didn’t envy their mother for either their birth or upbringing, and beneath their fur dye they bore the colors of the birds they were named after. One thing I’d learned about them quickly was that they had each other’s back, and methinks you had to watch your own around them simply for the pranks they were liable to play, even out on patrol. Still, ’twas no question we got along quite well, both on and off-duty; the thought had already occurred to me that we might even make a good herd… A thought that was lost as my communication gem suddenly vibrated and emitted a shrill sound in its pouch, one that made my heart jump—an alert! Startled, I fumbled with it for a moment whilst the others gathered around me, the mood instantly turning serious. “Windshear squad reporting!” I acknowledged, wondering what was happening, half-thinking ’twas just a surprise drill—we’d seen neither fur nor feather of the gryphons since we’d been stationed at Delta, despite overly-dire warnings of raider groups operating in the area. To my surprise, ’twas not. “Corporal Windshear! We have multiple intrusion alarms going off in your sector! A score of gryphons from the Lythos raider group have been sighted by Army hoof patrols crossing the border! Probable raid underway, target Trottingham!” the voice of our watch officer, Flight Sergeant Warhawk, said. “Acknowledged ma’am! Will intercept and engage at once!” I promised in giddy excitement, one shared by my squadmares. A raid? That meant action! We were finally going to fight! But ’tis certain my hopes were dashed as quickly as they were raised. “Neigh, Windshear! Their numbers are unknown but likely too great for you to defeat alone!” she informed me. “Gather up your squad and head for Trottingham to assist the Army garrison in the town defense! Report to Army Spear Sergeant Ironsides on arrival and hold the line until reinforcements arrive! Delta is dispatching a platoon that will be there in an hour!” “Aye-aye, ma’am!” I acknowledged in disappointment—if they were raiders, who cared about their numbers? We were the Corps! ’Twas certain they were no match for us and certainly no match for me! But orders were orders. “Windshear squad en route! Let’s go, fillies!” I announced as I stood on my wing and banked hard left, the rest of the flight doing the same. Using separate crystals I called my other flights to me whilst doing some quick calculations, stopping long enough to wait for them to catch up and check a map of the area I kept in a storage pouch. Trottingham was about twelve miles from the border, but nearly thirty from our current position… and over sixty from Delta. They must have waited for us to pass and then slipped in behind our patrol, so they likely knew we were nearby; methinks they also knew how fast we and reinforcements from Delta could get there, so whatever they sought in their raid they would have to gain quickly and then leave. Methinks I had no idea what they wanted with Trottingham—the locals spoke oddly, a product of having been an isolated colony for several hundred years—and didn’t produce much of note except potatoes, tea and crumpets… and some surprisingly effective red-uniformed militia that was nearly on par with regular Army forces, a product of a long history where they were but a remote island within the wild Equestrian continent who had nopony to rely upon except themselves. Methinks their propensity to fry their potatoes was interesting, though… and surprisingly tasty from the one time I’d taken a two-day leave there. Having had those potatoes fed me by Swift Strike, I can say that he’s right! Their ale is quite good, too… It only took two minutes for my other flights to arrive at my position, but the wait still seemed interminably long. I cursed the delay, but standing orders were to never go into action against raiders as anything less than a squad, we’d been told repeatedly, or you’d risk being overwhelmed flight by flight. But arrive they did, at which point we formed up and headed for the town at intercept speed. ’Twas a pace you didn’t want to fly at for more than twenty minutes or so as ’twould tire you out, but I decided to chance it as ’twould get us there in fifteen minutes—hopefully in enough time to take part in whatever action awaited before the Army drove off the attack and got all the glory. The flight there may have taken fifteen minutes, but the town was in sight within ten… and the first thing we saw was smoke rising from several distinct points and a small cloud of about a dozen dots overhead swarming like desert gnats. But as the town did not have a pegasus population or Corps garrison, that could only mean… “Look, sir! Gryphons!” my second flight leader, PFC Stormchaser, called out, pointing. “It’s a raid, all right!” ’Twas then that I realized my initial fears were unfounded—there was going to be plenty for us to do, and despite what I was seeing, I couldn’t help but grin. This meant combat! And better yet, as ’twas clearly an attack, with fires set, our rules of engagement meant lethal force was instantly authorized. “Squad, on me!” I called out, deploying my wingblades, the rest of them taking my cue to do so themselves. “There’s only a dozen, so let’s take these chickenhawks down quick, before they can make a break for it! We attack from high to low, one flight element per gryphon!” I told them, already breaking with doctrine to assign my forces two to one instead of four to one. “Sir, yes sir!” my squad responded eagerly like we were back in basic, and I felt a moment of fierce pride. This was what I had always wanted, to lead troops into battle and fight for my princess and province! After a lifetime of waiting, including twelve weeks of basic and eight weeks of deployment, my patience had finally been rewarded! My heady thoughts only grew as we got closer, and the dots resolved themselves into alien figures, lean and predatory. They were as they’d always been described—half lion and half eagle with feathered avian heads and forelegs giving way to leonine hindquarters ending in a tasseled tail. They were larger than average ponies and also dressed in animal skins painted up to look like dragon scales—the signature of the Lythos group, we knew from briefings, who seemed to take the draconic races as their inspiration. I remember wondering idly what would happen if they encountered real dragons like that, and the thought brought a smile to my face. He wore a wry version of that smile and sighed heavily at this point, and then looked up at me. ’Tis no exaggeration to say I was an overconfident foal who was charging in headfirst—sound familiar?— and I learned quickly why as we dove on them only to be spotted, dropping just two on the initial attack instead of the six I’d hoped, most of our blades finding only air or a hastily drawn sword as our adversaries swooped, dodged, or even fired flares to alert their companions, surprisingly maneuverable in the air for their size. To my disgust, instead of engaging us openly, they then scattered to clouds and rooftops and started sniping at us from a distance with crossbows; a fact that was driven home when something sharp and narrow passed near my head. I heard a pained cry to my right and turned to see Private Corsair struggling to remain aloft with an ugly bolt sticking out of her side, a stain of red quickly forming against her light blue flight armor. At this point, Windshear turned pensive and stared into his tea. I had the thought then he looked like I must have when I realized I’d been tricked. Harsh Realities Methinks it never really occurred to me until that moment that combat meant casualties, and doctrine existed for a reason. Methinks I was also starting to understand that numbers did matter as I saw additional gryphons rising to meet us, leaving us outnumbered nearly three to one in the air. ’Twas then I decided that perchance our initial orders were best obeyed—despite whatever fantasies I’d been entertaining, a single Corps squad couldn’t win this fight alone, and there was a very real chance I or the others could die if we didn’t make for the Army base immediately. “Third flight, protect Corsair! First and second, on the wings! Carve a path to the Army garrison!” I said, turning towards the Army Outpost, its small series of green-hued buildings obvious against the backdrop of more colorful pastel ones. It also seemed to be the focus of the fires we were seeing, though ’twas also clear there were defenders alive and fighting as a gryphon was suddenly shot through by a longbow arrow and fell backwards off the roof he’d been sniping from. I could only hope they didn’t shoot us by accident, besieged as they were. ’Twas only then I remembered in the midst of the growing chaos that there were predefined signals I could use… so I fired the red flare on my belt. We got an answering one from the army base, colored green—and immediately made for it, passing through a sudden hail of crossbow bolts from above and below. We bobbed and weaved and dodged most of them, but my squad took a second hit as this time, PFC Stormchaser fell victim, taking a painful hit to the shoulder that caused her to shriek and her flight to falter badly. Fortunately, she made it the rest of the way, and we flew into the place we saw the flare launched from, an improvised bunker with a hastily opened skylight, swiftly closed behind us. The ponies there looked none too happy to see us, and methinks they had little reason to be, besieged as they were, the doors and windows barricaded, two gryphon raiders lying dead beside one. Alarmingly, I saw only twenty armored defenders instead of the forty I would have thought for a full army platoon; there were also around sixty civilians in the space, taking refuge, though many adults, mare and stallion alike had actively taken up arms as well from the garrison armory—clearly, Trottingham’s reputation for citizen soldiers was real. “Corporal Windshear from Outpost Delta reporting, sir!” I saluted the garrison commander slightly shakily, recognizing only then my close brush with death. “We’re here to help!” Far from grateful or sympathetic for our wounded, the large helmeted earth pony with four Spear Sergeant stripes and a crossbow strapped to his left foreleg returned my salute with a disgusted look. “And methinks you’ve done a magnificent job of that so far, haven’t you? Just what were you doing up there, Corporal? Methinks you lost two of your squad uselessly!” he said as his overburdened healers started to attend my wounded squadmares. Thankfully, their wounds were not lethal. I cringed like I’d screwed up in basic, feeling like I was facing my trainee instructor, Sergeant First Class Rolling Thunder again. “Sir, w-we tried to drop as many as I could on the first pass, sir! But th-they saw us and…” I barely began to stammer. “Of course they did! They have the eyes of eagles, you idiot! You had a chance to take them by surprise and you wasted it! Weren’t you ever told to attack out of the sun?” he reminded me heatedly, causing me to blink and my jaw to drop open. We were indeed taught that. Constantly. And in my rush to get into the fight, I’d completely forgotten the most basic of tactics, and thus two of my squad had paid the price. Worse, we were now as besieged as the army troops we’d come to rescue as a unicorn defender suddenly fell to a crossbow bolt fired through the window she’d been looking through, making her longbow fall to the floor with a clatter. “Corporal?” Ironsides called to me, but I didn’t hear him. For at that moment, I realized the enormity of what I was in, causing all my warrior fantasies about fighting and glory to evaporate. This wasn’t how I thought ’twould be! This wasn’t how ’twas supposed to be! As I watched, Windshear’s eyes turned something akin to frightened and bewildered as he suddenly found himself back at that moment. ’Twas then I knew he truly did understand what I was feeling, for he had his own difficult trial by fire. Though methinks I did not yet know how much worse ’twas going to get… “Corporal!” Ironsides called to me again, more sharply, but I didn’t respond. I felt frozen inside. Just… trapped. I did not know what to do. ’Twas as if all my training and skill suddenly meant nothing, and for the first time I feared we were all going to die here… and worse, ’twas all my fault… All my fault… A hoof grabbed my uniform tunic and shook me hard, snapping me out of my sudden self-pity. “Dammit! I don’t have time for this! Get your head in the game, Corporal!” Ironsides ordered me, the bite in his voice having some effect as I again felt like I was back in basic. “This fight is still on and we need Corps support! Our communications are out, so has Delta dispatched additional troops?” he asked me, getting in my face and forcing me to look at him. “I… what?” I struggled and failed to focus again, an unreasoning wave of fear beginning to overcome me as I heard an explosion outside as they tried to gain entry to the garrison bunker. “Troops… yes… platoon… coming…” I could only manage single words at that point, feeling myself starting to hyperventilate. I could only pray they made it before we were all dead… Sergeant Ironsides stared at me. And then he hit me. Hard. He gave me a right cross with an armored hoof, striking me with enough force to knock me eight feet sideways and send me sprawling to the ground. The blow to my head snapped me back to my senses and I gaped up at him in shock, only for the first time noticing my squad staring at me. Ironsides then hauled me up and threw me hard against a support column, and methinks his next words are seared into my memory to this day: “Now you listen and you listen well, Corporal. I realize this is your first fight, but I don’t have time to coddle you or any of your other hatchlings! ’Tis certain I need you and your squad now, so get your bucking head in order! You are a soldier of Equestria, so by Celestia’s sun, start bucking ACTING like it! Or does the Equestrian Army have to carry the Aerial Corps’ weight again?” he all but sneered, to derisive sounds from the rest of his hard-pressed but unimpressed platoon. As ’tis certain was his intention, the insult to honor got my attention and my fear was suddenly replaced by white-hot anger. The Corps was honor. The Corps was tradition. The Corps were warriors. And above all else, The Corps would not be overshadowed by the ground-bound Equestrian Army! My face contorted in a snarl of my own. “Shut up!” I shouted back, surprising him with a headbutt—my speciality attack, even then—staggering him enough that I could then backhoof him hard with my own hoofstriker, sending him to the ground as I then stood over him, wings flared in anger. He looked up in surprise at my strength, then smiled, pulling himself back up, rubbing a trail of blood from his lip. “That’s better. Methinks if you want a duel, you can have it later, Corporal… after we’ve dealt with these chickenhawks?” “Methinks I will hold you to that,” I said, still seething, the blow having felt far better than it should have. “My squad is at your disposal, Spear Sergeant. What is the situation and what are your orders…?” * * * * * He explained our predicament shortly over a map of the town. We were besieged by nearly eighty raiders—far more than the twenty I’d been told about; they’d apparently crossed the border at multiple locations but only one formation had been spotted—and their intent was a simple ‘smash-and-grab’, to use the Spear Sergeant’s term. Half of them were holding down his base whilst the others were looting the town, breaking into homes, pubs, and stores, knowing they’d be well-stocked with food, gems and other valuables during the Hearth’s Warming holiday season… and that his forces would be depleted with a third of his platoon on holiday leave, now crippled further by at least eight casualties. Worse, the raiders were almost certainly going to take hostages back to hold for ransom, and worse still… they’d be foals they could carry with them. “Not as long as we’re here!” I flared my wings, promising we’d chase them down. Ironsides was unimpressed at my sudden display of bravado. “And what will you do when they hold a knife to their throats in midair, Corporal, and you’re faced with a sobbing colt or filly? What will you do when they drop or outright kill one to make clear their intentions and then dare you to come after them whilst they likewise threaten the rest?” I deflated at that, as did my squad. In all my flights of warrior fantasy, I never imagined I’d face such ruthless or dishonorable foes. “Then how do we stop them?” “Methinks they’re not stupid. They mean to leave before Corps reinforcements arrive, but we may be able to make them stay long enough to get wiped out,” he told me, then went on to outline a plan. ’Twas said the Lythos group, unlike other raiders, swore an oath of allegiance to each other and weren’t willing to leave group members behind. So if we took some prisoners of our own as bargaining chips… “And that is where your squad comes in,” he took me over by an isolated corner and revealed a trapdoor underneath a rug. “This leads to outside the base perimeter and comes up inside the storage room of a local pub—never mind why,” he headed off my immediate question. “You can use this to deactivate the protective enchantment and raise the gate at the end,” he tossed me a small crystal. “Methinks this will allow you to take them by surprise, so don’t squander it this time! Heed my orders well, Corporal—kill what you can but do not linger or they will quickly overwhelm you with numbers. Stay beneath the rooftops and they won’t be able to easily use crossbows against you. Fight your way back in towards the base and bring at least two raiders back alive!” He poked at my chest with a hoofstriker repeatedly to emphasize his words, then grabbed a series of manacles off a nearby table and threw them at my hooves. “You can use these to secure them. Break their wings and limbs if you have to, even!” A chill and a thrill went through me. Methinks any other time I would have taken offense to such a dishonorable suggestion or being lectured on tactics by the Equestrian Army, but here, I realized he was right. “Orders understood. But why two prisoners?” I asked him as I passed the manacles out to clip to our belts, to which he smiled thinly. “So if they kill a hostage, we can kill one of our own and still have a bargaining chip left over.” Windshear paused at this moment to refill his tea, and mine. I had the distinct impression he was gathering himself before proceeding. Into the Fight Have I ever mentioned that I have a touch of claustrophobia? ’Tis said to be a common pegasus fear, but methinks I did not know I had it too until we started crawling through that tunnel, too small and narrow to fly through, forcing us to walk with wingblades retracted and wings tucked, single-file. The quarters were uncomfortably cramped and the air was stifling; methinks the general menace of the situation wasn’t helping either as we could smell smoke and hear indistinct noises above, including a few screams. ’Twas a dark and dirty tunnel, lit only by the light of the firegem I held, and I swore then I would never look down on the Equestrian Army in contempt for fighting from tunnels and trenches again. Fortunately, it did not last long. About three minutes after entering the tunnel, we reached the promised gate that marked the base perimeter. The unlock gem worked, and we passed it to emerge a minute later into the comparatively fresh air of a storage cellar, to my great relief. It had already been broken into, as shown by the ruined door and smashed chests, and its raiders were still nearby as we could clearly hear the sound of talon clacks and harsh Aeric speech upstairs, punctuated by the sounds of a crying foal and sobbing mother. Hearing that, my first inclination was to rush up immediately to rescue them, as ’tis certain was that of my squadmares. But remembering where rushing in headlong had gotten us earlier, I held up a hoof to stop them and signaled for quiet. We had to know what we faced first. I’d heard two gryphon voices, but that didn’t mean there weren’t others, just as there turned out to be four times the twenty raiders we were told of. Unfortunately, ’twas no way to see without sticking my head out, which could easily invite a crossbow bolt or worse, an explosive gem tossed down the stairs. But then I remembered the forgotten lesson of always striking out of the sun. We couldn’t do so in the literal sense here, but perchance there was a way to recreate that effect… My hoof went to my flare pouch. I had two remaining, one white and one blue, each in their launch tube. Though not a flash gem like the Lances used, they burned very bright and could be blinding at close range. Pulling out the white one, I looked back at my squadmares and indicated I was going to launch it upstairs and to cover their eyes. They gave nervous nods as they waited, not deploying their blades immediately as they, like me, had enough sense to realize the metallic noise of it could give us away. With a silent prayer, I triggered the flare, pointing the tube up the cellar stairs into the ground floor ceiling and waited, trying to will my foreleg not to shake. He then posed like he was doing so, his arm outstretched and an expression on his face I could only call frightened but determined. Methinks I was never so scared as it went off about a half-second later than it should have. It shot from the tube and burst right as it hit the ceiling in a brilliant shower of sparks, then fell to the floor beneath it in the middle of the room. After the initial flash had faded and I heard all the pained cries, I shot upstairs, my squad behind me. We burst out of the cellar, our blades deploying as we did so. We found not two, but four gryphons, clawing at their eyes, smoke rising from scorched fur and feathers, one cursing and wildly swinging his sword and the others staggering backwards… dropping their stolen supplies and hostage foal. She and her mother were temporarily blinded and likewise burned by the sparks that hit them, their fur singed in places along with the gryphons, but it couldn’t be helped. Our own vision intact, we acted immediately. My blades scored first as I took the most dangerous target for myself, the wildly-swinging gryphon, parrying his blind efforts with one wing and then slicing open his neck with the other. He gave a gurgling shriek as his lifeblood spilled out, spattering me with it. Methinks I had little time to register it as two of his comrades were cut down by Cardinal and Bluejay, at which point the fourth and final one threw down his blade and bared his throat, cowering in the corner. “Sur-ren-der! Sur-ren-der!” he begged us in broken Equish, holding open his taloned forehooves to show he was disarmed, his large eyes watering and visibly pained; his facefeathers scorched with a couple glowing sparks in them. ’Tis difficult to explain how I felt at that moment. Fear, fury, and elation all at once… and perchance even a moment of bloodlust as I realized I’d slain an enemy warrior—my first. Part of me recoiled, part of me wanted more. But for as much as was going through my head then, my sense of honor held firm—I could not slay a surrendering soldier. Methinks it did not, however, preclude me from knocking him cold. He crumpled nicely from my blow to his head, and methinks our minor success did wonders for my confidence… at least until I saw the blood on me and it truly sunk in that I had killed. For a few seconds, I stared at the gryphon corpse I had created. I felt faint, I trembled… and then I mentally stuffed it as far down into my soul as I could, knowing there was no time for it. I would ponder what it all meant later… if there even was a later to be had. I reflected at that point how lucky I was to NOT be trapped in a situation that called for further combat following my own first kill, given I fainted immediately, and told him as much. His reply was that ’twas certain to him I would have risen to the occasion, as he did… and had the situation then allowed it, he would have likely fallen to pieces as well. I had my doubts ’twas true, but did not voice them and let him continue his story. My squad was likewise shocked at their actions, looking alternately numb and horrified, but soldierly and motherly instincts quickly asserted themselves as Cardinal scooped up the foal and comforted it, my rear flight likewise lending aid and comfort to her mother, quickly reuniting her with her daughter. Unfortunately, ’twas little time for such things, and ’twas also time for me to act the squad leader I was supposed to. “2nd flight, escort these two townsponies back through the tunnel into the base… and take this trash with you as well,” I said, shoving the unconscious gryphon towards them. “Manacle him and then be certain to seal the tunnel gate behind you. 1st and 3rd flights, remain with me,” I added, stamping out a couple glowing embers around the slowly fading flare; its smoke partially filling the room and making my eyes water. In hindsight, methinks it helped us as this group’s comrades probably thought they’d set another fire and thus didn’t come to investigate. “Aye-aye, sir…” Private Lightning, my acting 2nd flight leader, said unhappily. “And what will you do? How will you get back? Methinks you should not be risking yourself, sir…” she offered cautiously on behalf of the rest. I glared her silent, indicating to all that my status as a stallion did NOT mean I was going to let them coddle or protect me. I’d had a shaky start, but by Celestia, I was a soldier and was going to play the part of one! “Our orders are to take at least one more prisoner,” I reminded them all. “And methinks we’re going to whittle down their numbers a bit in the process…” Windshear turned to stare out his office window for a minute. I wasn’t sure what was going through his head at that point, but given his distant expression, ’twas clear whatever came next ’twas unpleasant to remember. Trial by Fire I calculated my odds carefully. There were still sixty-plus gryphons outside, and now only seven of us. As I chanced glances out the broken window through the smoky air, looking for likely targets, I reflected that the Spear Sergeant was right—for this to work, we had to keep moving and keep our quarters close; if we got pinned down or lingered too long in open air, we had no chance. For this to work, we had to find another small group of gryphons to ambush, kill all but one, and then I would carry him on my back in a mad dash for the base whilst the rest of the squad ran interference for me. ’Twas undoubtedly dangerous, and not just to myself; I did not even wish to think that one of the mares I was increasingly coming to love could be cut down here. But at the same time, there were no others I trusted or wanted at my side more than them, and I issued a silent prayer to the Sun itself that we would all yet find a way through this. Unfortunately, methinks the gods of fighting are fickle. They have their own purposes, and finding a suitable group to attack with nothing more than a window view was a tall order. In the end, we got lucky, if that’s the word for it, as another small group of raiders broke into a house across the street as we watched. I counted seven this time, many already laden with purloined prizes they’d piled into packs and chests strapped to their backs; I even saw one wearing a string of gems around his neck. I remember marveling slightly to see so many males among their ranks, envying them for their lack of gender disparity—and wondering how mates and mating even worked in gryphon society. Odd things go through your head at a time like that, but sociological studies would keep for another time. ’Twas clear they couldn’t carry much more, meaning they were going to be leaving the town soon and attempting to escape back across the border. Worse, at this point they might be looking for hostages more than valuables, so ’twas certain we couldn’t tarry. We had our targets, and as we heard fresh yells across the street and even the breaking of furniture, I knew time was short. “Blades up!” I told my squad, my voice tense and jaw tight. “3rd flight, go through the upstairs windows and clear from high to low. Make plenty of noise as you enter to pull their attention on you! 1st flight, once they’re distracted, we’re going in the ground floor and clearing low to high. Hit hard and hit fast, but watch each other’s backs and be sure to leave one alive!” I reminded them. I waited for a chorus of quiet “Aye-ayes,” then nodded. “3rd flight! Go!” I ordered, and the three remaining members shot across the street, lowered their heads to present their helmets and smashed loudly through the upper windows, gaining the immediate attention, I hoped, of the gryphons inside. I waited to hear some startled squawks, imagined heads turning up or towards the stairwell, then lowered myself into a crouch for a combat takeoff, signaling my flight to do the same. “On me, fillies! We’re going in!” I announced, and, likewise lowering my head, we sprung into the air and covered the distance across the street in less than a second, smashing through the bottom windows in a hail of glass. Methinks ’twas morbidly fascinating to watch Windshear as he told this story; to see his expressions and tone of voice change as he continued; his mind clearly replaying not just the events but all the myriad emotions he experienced during it. Once I got inside and my head back up, I saw it had worked perfectly. They had turned away to face the new threat with crossbows pointed at the stairwell and ceiling, leaving the five gryphons I saw wide open to ambush. I wondered somewhat frantically where the other two were, but got my answer quickly as I heard a pair of swiftly silenced shrieks upstairs punctuated by Lightning’s shouted order to get back on her wing. The ground floor gryphons tried frantically to bring their weapons back around to bear on us, but for the closest… ’twas already too late. We cut down three in bare moments, and the remaining two could not fire their crossbows without hitting their comrades… so they discarded them and took an older stallion they’d beaten unconscious hostage, holding a blade to his throat, giving all my mares pause, backing against a wall and shouting at us in Aeric. Methinks I did not know the language, but their threat was plain enough, and they’d certainly known enough about ponies to realize that threatening a stallion, even an old one, was a way to freeze us. Or freeze my mares, anyway. Not me. There were two of them, both younger raiders, and they had only one hostage between them. So remembering Ironsides’ words that they swore an oath of allegiance to each other, I simply went after the hostage-less eagless—she couldn’t have been more than a teen and was very frightened—and, batting her blade aside, I threw her hard against a wall, pinning her in place with a hoof and putting my bladed wing to her throat. “Tell him to surrender or I’ll kill her!” I instructed Private Kingfisher, who I knew spoke Aeric—’twas the reason I’d kept her flight with me instead of 2nd. I couldn’t believe I was resorting to such dishonorable tactics myself, but I was getting a very quick education as to how little honor meant in an actual fight… though on that point, the worst was yet to come. He paused to glance at the citation accompanying his Wing Warrior badge on the right wall, which, I had not noticed before, also indicated awards for the Seal of Sacrifice and Sapphire Sun from the same action. Near as I could tell, he hadn’t done anything to earn them yet, so ’twould seem that part of the story was yet untold. Though unhappy, Kingfisher obeyed, and to my satisfaction, my threat seemed to give the tiercel pause. He was older than the whimpering, shaking teen, but still looked barely adult from what little I could tell; I couldn’t help but wonder then what experiences had shaped him to bring him to that point. A quick exchange followed. “He says you’re bluffing!” Kingfisher told me, to which I pressed my blade into my captive’s neck enough to draw blood, causing her to scream something at him through panicked sobs. His eyes darting wildly, he spoke again. “He wants to know if you swear to spare him and his sister?” “I do,” I nodded, surprised to hear they were related, and once my words were translated, the tiercel dropped his hostage and his blade, putting his taloned forehooves, palms out. “He gives up,” Kingfisher said needlessly as I likewise released the eagless. She slumped, shaking to the ground, a puddle forming beneath her hind hooves as my flight moved up to manacle them and I considered next how to get these two and the stallion back to base. Being younger, ’twas certain the eagless and tiercel were small enough that the mares could carry them, but I would have to carry the unconscious stallion, leaving only four of us able to fight. So mayhap ’twould be best to just leave the tiercel here and… He suddenly stopped speaking as his jaw clenched and his mug began to shake in his grasp. There was suddenly a blinding flash and scream. I couldn’t see anything, but I recognized the scream’s source as Private Kingfisher and dimly realized a flash gem had gone off. By the time my vision cleared, both our prisoners were gone, having flown the proverbial coop, and… He then raised his eyes to mine, letting me see the rage and pain in them. And Private Kingfisher was dying, her throat slashed by the tiercel’s backup blade! He had killed her! I had offered him honor, and he had taken advantage of it! I had given him my word, and accepted his, only to… only to… He brought both his hooves down hard on his desk, causing his mug to tip over. Fortunately, there wasn’t much left in it. He paused to gather himself again, apologizing and quickly wiping down the table—’twouldn’t do for recruits to see his desk messy or him in such a state, after all. It certainly gave me great pause, and I reflected then that this was where his story he told me in our first duel had come from when he had mocked me for expecting honor to ever be offered in battle. To this day, I cannot ever remember feeling so enraged as I saw the stricken body of my comrade lying there with her flightmates frantically calling to her, her lifeblood leaving her as my flight looked on in horror. I saw her eyes turned towards mine as her comrades tried futilely to stem the bleeding, only to see the light fade from them. She was gone, and so was her killer. Her murderer… “Leave her!” I shouted, finally regaining my senses, trying to blink away the remaining spots in my vision, uncertain how much of the wetness was due to the flash or my emotions. “We can’t save her! All we can do now is avenge her, and we can’t do that dead!” “But sir…” I don’t remember who spoke, and regardless, methinks I wasn’t having any of it. “We can’t stay here or they’ll come after us for killing their comrades and wipe us out! With or without prisoners, we have to get back to base!” I reminded them. I didn’t want to leave a fallen comrade or the older stallion behind any more than they did, but I had at least enough cognizance at that point to recognize that there would be even more fallen comrades if we lingered or tried to take her body or the stallion’s dead weight with us. Methinks my words seemed to snap them back to their senses. Though several were still crying, they formed up and, with one last lingering glance at Kingfisher, we took off. ’Twould seem we had already waited too long. We had barely made it outside before I spotted a score of gryphons descending upon us from the sky, having been summoned by the escaped pair. I didn’t see them, and in hindsight, methinks ’tis just as well. ’Tis uncertain I could have restrained myself from going after them even if it got me killed. “On me and keep low!” I ordered, leading my squad through alleyways towards the base through a growing hail of crossbow bolts, though the Spear Sergeant was right again that the close quarters worked to our advantage, neutralizing their ranged weaponry except for extremely narrow and lucky shots. By air, the base was only ten or twelve seconds away as the crow flies, but we were taking a zigzag route there and those seconds passed interminably slowly, with each moment in the air another in which a blade or bolt could find their mark. We were undoubtedly faster than the gryphons, but that didn’t mean a few weren’t already ahead of us as a group of eight appeared to block our way with a living wall at the base perimeter, hovering in the air with blades drawn. I swore violently, but realized instantly if we tried to scatter or go around, that would mean more time in the open air around the base and it became far more likely we’d be picked off one by one. So the only choice was… “Full attack speed! Cut right through them!” I ordered, lowering my head as my remaining squad of six spread out to engage eight raiders. Something plucked at my hip but I barely felt it, charged with adrenaline and anger as I was. He looked down at his hip at that moment, where his scar was located. The next few moments are a blur; it all happened so fast. I remember angry yells, gryphon shrieks, clashing blades and blood spatters. And suddenly we were past them with our formation intact. I thought all was well, with another four kills to our collective name… That was, until Cardinal suddenly keeled over and nose-dived into the ground, a scimitar blade impaled in her chest, a parting gift from the gryphon she’d likewise slain. “Sister!” Oriole and Bluejay called back, their flight faltering enough that I had to reach back and grab them. “NO!” I shouted, ignoring the agonized scream in my own soul at the loss of my flightmare and lover, sorrow and white-hot rage present again in equal measure. “You can’t save her! GO!” I all but threw them towards the base bunker as two more gryphons charged in to meet us but in my sorrow and rage I took them on myself, killing one and capturing the other, slashing the first one’s throat and then grabbing the other by the scruff as I passed and slamming her headfirst through a barricaded bunker window, using her body as a battering ram to break through. The pair of us ended up on the floor in a pile of glass and wood shards, the impact knocking her out and leaving me with an assortment of cuts and bruises around the light flight armor I wore. I didn’t yet realize I had a far greater problem at that point as the remains of my squad arrived hard on my wingbeats, entering through the broken window at full speed and crashing hard to the ground around us, skidding to a stop against whatever surface was available. There were a series of startled pony yells followed by rapid hooffalls. “Corporal…?” I heard Ironsides call out, opening my eyes and shaking off the impact to see him standing over me, staring at me agape. I can only imagine the state I looked at that point, my flight uniform torn and covered as I was in splinters, blood and dust. A fresh fury taking hold of me, I hauled myself to my hooves and saluted. “Two prisoners… as ordered, sir!” I spat at him, throwing the unconscious eagless I’d just captured at him and not understanding why I was having trouble standing and walking, my right hind leg not working properly. “And we slew at least twelve, taking two dead of our own! Still think we don’t carry our weight… sir?” I asked him bitterly through flared wings and welling tears, suddenly feeling lightheaded but at that moment only attributing it to the chase and close call… to say nothing of the lost lives of my squadmares I was only then starting to truly feel. In response, he stared at me agape for a few seconds, his eyes flickering from my face to my hindquarters repeatedly. He then returned the salute, his expression one of disbelief and admiration. “Well done, Corporal. We’ll take it from here. Methinks you’d best see to yourself now…” he pointed in a strangely hesitant manner behind me. “Myself…?” I stared blankly at him, then followed his hoof to see… A crossbow bolt embedded deep in my right hip, blood from the wound streaming down my leg. “But… that…” ’Twas only then the pain of it hit me. I went dizzy and nauseous and suddenly broke out in a cold sweat. Shock catching up to me and the adrenaline rush wearing off, I fell hard to the floor. Methinks the last thing I heard before I passed out was Ironsides calling for a healer and Oriole and Bluejay frantically calling my name. He turned brooding and downed his remaining tea in one gulp.’Twas nearly a minute before he spoke again. ...As a Battle Won I don’t know what happened after that, as I spent the rest of the battle unconscious. I didn’t wake up until the next morning in the Army Infirmary, overloaded with casualties though it was. I was later told that Ironsides’ plan had worked—that instead of escaping, the raider group had stayed and tried to storm the base to rescue their comrades and avenge their losses, but the Army and Trottingham militia along with my surviving squadmares held them off long enough for the reinforcing platoon from Delta to arrive. They descended and routed the remaining raiders with heavy losses, but to me, ’twas a pyrrhic victory at best… It took him twenty minutes to recount the whole story and by the end of it, my hoof was at my mouth. As bad as my introduction to the gryphons and fighting had been, ’twas clear the Sergeant Major’s was even worse. “And so that was it. The battle was won, and that young colt ’twas decorated for his actions, but it mattered little to him. Two of his squadmates died that day, including a lover, and part of him died with them. That’s when he realized ’twasn’t a game. That’s when he knew what he was up against, that honor meant precious little in an actual battle, that he wasn’t invincible… and neither were his friends. That to be a warrior meant death and killing… and forever sacrificing part of your own soul.” He looked down for a moment. “Just like you, he questioned himself and his own actions constantly afterwards, even considered quitting. But in the end… he did not. In the end he came to terms with it and emerged a warrior.” “And how did he come to terms with it?” I had to know. Windshear’s eyes closed in memory. “Fortunately, there were others who had done so already that he could talk to, and one of his new friends told him something that stuck with him. Something perhaps best passed on to you now…” At the time, ’twas indeed best, and methinks I will let that new friend finish this story. Greetings Captain, and all readers of this tale. I am Ironsides, friend of Windshear and later Captain of the Royal Guard. I met the future Sergeant Major under circumstances neither of us would have wished, but we forged a bond then that endured throughout the years we served together. At first that was in Trottingham pubs, as he visited me frequently after the battle whenever he could get leave, wanting male company and to commiserate over our shared losses. Later, ’twas through our time in the Guard as first I joined and later he did, eventually ending up training new Guardsponies together. I did not know him before that first raid, but ’twas certain I could see how he had changed afterwards. I wish it said now that he was a fine stallion and soldier, the finest I have ever known. He once told me the essence of a warrior was one willing to put others before himself, and ’tis certain he lived by that credo… and later died by it. And yet, of all the time together we spent, ’tis our second meeting that sticks out most in my mind. The raid on Trottingham was his first action, but my second, as I’d seen combat months earlier at Outpost Red. When I next saw him a week later, convalescing and on leave after the loss of his squadmates, he was full of doubt and sorrow, second-guessing everything he did… much like ’twould seem was the case with you. So I took him to my favorite pub, shoved a pint or three into his hooves, letting him drink and talk until he’d said what he needed to say. At the end, he finally asked me why we fought and what his mares died for, and ’twas only then I spoke. My answer was to simply look around him. That a grandsire, mother and foal still lived because of him and his squad. That this town still stood and thrived in part because of them. That their efforts resulted in the crippling of the Lythos group and whatever was left of them would not threaten this town or any other again, thus saving more lives in the future. That indeed, this once-isolated earth pony colony had only survived as long as it did because others had been willing to fight and die for it as his mares had. But he was unconvinced. ’Twas only when he stated mayhap that he should have died with his squadmares that I told him the stark truth, though in far blunter terms than this: That war is not about dying for your country. It’s about living for yours whilst making someone else die for theirs. It may sound harsh, but ultimately, the lives and deaths of soldiers have only what meaning we give them, so ’twas up to him to decide who and what he fought for—a lesson ’twould seem he then passed on to you. Methinks ’twas the reason he eventually herded with Oriole and Bluejay; that he—and they—wanted to honor their lost sister’s sacrifice by formalizing the bonds they’d made, promising to keep and love each other forever just as they’d loved Cardinal. But methinks that Windshear didn’t just take my advice. In the end, he lived it. He always put others first, fighting for his friends and his family, his princess and his nation. In the end, he performed heroically and became a hero for it right when Equestria needed one most; an inspiration and rallying cry that would echo through the Guard and throughout Equestria in the many battles to come… and even the decades since. In truth, methinks I sometimes wonder what he would have thought of how he was lionized afterwards; of all the songs, all the stories, of the statue erected in his honor at Fort Spur. ’Twas only at my insistence, after all, that he kept his Defender of Harmony award and Red Talon trophies on display in his office, not wishing to draw attention to himself. He believed the actions that won them were simply him doing his duty and defending that which he held dear. But I do know what he would have thought of you, Captain, who he once confided in me he saw as his beloved if slightly-wayward daughter: He would have said you’d done him proud and that the only honor he would wish you to give him would be to go to his favorite pub and raise a mug in toast to him in the presence of his old comrades. So to that end, I invite you to come here to Trottingham and do just that. Be warned, however, that for all the stories they’ve heard, my many grandfoals will likely wish to meet you. Signed, Captain Ironsides (ret.) Trottingham Thank you, Captain Ironsides. As I also owe Swift Strike a visit there as well, I believe I will take you up on that offer sooner rather than later. I also thank you indulging me with this letter, as I know you prefer the solitude of your retirement and the simple joys of being a grandsire after all the war you saw and fought. ’Tis worth noting that you, too, became an inspiration and symbol, and for your role in the war to come, ’tis no doubt he would have said that you deserved honor far more than he. As I complete this interlude chapter, I find myself reflective, remembering the stallion who became my first-ever father figure, who gave me some very tough love but to whom I and all Equestria owe so much. He told me once he wanted to make sure I would be ready for anything and could meet any challenge given me, and in the end, he succeeded. Not so much that he taught me everything I would later need, but he forged me into a superb soldier and showed me by example what it took to be one, making me nearly invincible in the air and unbeatable even then to all but the best opponents. Methinks the skills I added later—close-quarters combat, knife-fighting, weather-wielding, etc.—were only possible because he gave me the foundation for them, both physically and mentally, and for it I do consider him my mentor to this day. Perchance ’tis appropriate that this chapter is written just as his grandson now enters the guard, determined to live up to his grandsire’s name. ’Tis a tall order to be sure, but ’tis certain he is up to the trials and I look forward to seeing him in his armor. Know now that the following (and final) chapter of this tome will tell a second story of Windshear, a far more familiar one to most ponies, but this time told from a vantage point that has not been heard before. ’Twill be time for my former second to take up the quill pen again, for she was present for that fight, and ’tis a story she is only too eager to tell! Indeed I am, Captain! I only hope I can do it—and him—justice… —Fell Flight