Queen Atlanta planted her hoof on her face. Once again, pure stupidity ruled the battlefield. At least it was on the Dom side this time. Three Dominion battlewagons had simultaneously exploded while trying to unleash a broadside on Fort Azure, and the only thing Atlanta could figure happened was that they accidentally spiked all thirty of those guns. When the smoke cleared, all that remained was splinters.
A dense fog of white smoke obscured Fort Azure from view. However, cheering would probably not be a bad guess as to what the citadel’s occupants were doing. The Atlantean flag still flapped in the breeze on its iron flagstaff, barely seen above the haze. Stone dust blew in the wind as fifty-pound cannonballs embedded themselves into the walls. Meanwhile, the fort’s lighter thirty-twos fired rapidly into the tangle of ships, sending splinters piercing and sails tearing. The overpressure of the five-inch cruiser gun they’d taken from Indianapolis for studying months ago signaled the canvas-tearing shriek of its projectile as it spat it out with a licker of flame. Atlanta had placed that gun on her palace roof, where it could hit practically anything without risk of return fire, in hopes that it could turn the tide of the siege. So far, not so good.
“My Queen!” puffed a wheezing tired runner from her own palace ray-dee-oh. “Signal from Lavender Blue Sea!”
“Well, let’s hear it.”
He paused to catch his breath. Then he continued: “Commanding Officer Lieutenant Commander Crabwalker sends his regards, and says he will arrive in four days with the defense force at Haven Cove! If we can hold out that long,” he subconsciously added, eyeing the battle scene laid out before them.
“Tell him that he’d better hurry. Haven Cove is two days out. That means he’s giving the ships there two days to prep. I want that fleet on its way by dawn tomorrow, or he may be too late to save us. We cannot hold four days.”
“Yes, ma’am!” The runner scurried back to the ray-dee-oh to relay the message.
Atlanta turned to stare on at the once-beautiful city. Columns of smoke towered from the massive fires at their bases, ignited by incendiary shot and fueled by the wood spread through the streets. The upper town had been under bombardment for a week now, and not much more than a couple of buildings remained standing. The rest had crumbled into shards of stone and jagged splinters of hardwood. The lower city was even worse: hundreds of homes and shops were either ablaze or destroyed. Tiny muzzle flashes from the faltering defenders, made of police forces equipped with guns and scattered about with no hope of rescue or reinforcement, went unseen through the gray smoke and dust. From her position, she couldn’t hear them yelling at their comrades over the noise, feel them quickly bandaging their wounded and calling it good, or see their grimy, tired, faces, knowing that they couldn’t get help, knowing that even if reinforcements were coming, they’d most likely be too late.
From scouting reports she knew only fifteen groups of about five ponies each constituted this defense. Normally, the Doms wouldn’t care, but they had become enough of a pain in the ass that they were being systematically hunted down, group by group, pony by pony, until they were all dead and the Doms could pass freely without risk of attack.
An unexpected rumble brought her attention to the north. An airship had just unleashed a twelve-gun broadside down into the harbor below. It was flying the swirling blue with a golden clamshell and silver pearl of the Atlantean flag off its stern flagpole, and the dark grey balloon above it strained against the weight of the vessel beneath. She was fresh out of a shipyard, as her paint had barely a scratch and her soft golden bulwarks stripe appeared to be still drying. A single word in wide white letters spelled out her name on the hovergas-filled balloon: Ember.
Cheering broke out on the palace walls as the weary troops realized what it meant. They knew an airship called Ember had been practically attached to AREA and rumor had it she was supposed to signal their arrival onto the bluffs and begin their artillery bombardment.
As Atlanta watched, a large piece of cloth - signal flags! - was raised and lowered, soon replaced by another. The airship was communicating to hidden forces just over the bluff, telling them what the situation was. A flare shot up from the bluff, seen around the airship. A blue magic flare. Atlanta cast her own high into the sky, a red one this time, and waited for any response. She was about to send a second when several green magic flares were launched on the bluff. The queen counted. There was enough for each AREA regiment to have launched one.
Ember moved to a different position, one where she and her crew could support Fort Azure, but also out of the army’s way. Then, with a thunderous applause, every single cannon on the bluff fired. A huge cloud of white smoke obscured their crews from seeing what they hit, but each gun had been carefully aimed to purposefully miss any allied areas. The dockyards were completely blown into pieces three seconds later. Some cannonballs had been aimed high and exploded over the destroyed port, sending shrapnel screaming into the Dom ships closest to the destruction. Atlanta had just barely begun to register the significance of the moment when the artillery opened up again like a salute, one after the other, firing into the mass of warships riding at anchorage just barely in range. As the second third of guns started firing, the first one began again. And again. And again. Continuous thunder rolled down the bluffs and into the city like a never-ending storm.
Atlanta moved to the main gate and looked over the stone wall. As soon as she did, her helmet was taken off by a bullet and she fell down. Ponies raced to her, but found her without a single bullet wound. She frantically felt her face for anything. Then somepony came with her dented sunsteel helmet. Atlanta nodded, took the helmet with her magic, and grimaced. “Damn heavy thing saved my life.”
The sentry in one of the towers called down, “They’re comin’ for the kill!”
Atlanta hammered the dent back out and put the helmet on. She unsheathed her personal sword and ran down the steps. When she reached the scorched but soaked doors, her immaculate steel sword gleaming in the dusty sunlight, the six thousand, five hundred Tampa Guard not on guard duty let out a roar that threatened to deafen her.
“Some of us may not live through this madness,” she admitted loudly after the roar had subsided, “but fear not! Our army has arrived and is coming down the bluffs as we speak! All we must do is hold long enough to link up with them, and it’s game over for the Doms!” She finished with a shout much like a pre-battle speech.
For the next couple hours, the Guard listened as the sounds of battle drew closer. Finally, a sentry called out the distance to the attacking Atlanteans: five miles, four, three. Two miles, one. The clash grew in intensity with each passing minute. Harsh gunshots rang out. Short swords clanged against steel-bronze helmets. An orange flare flew. Not yet. A red one.
“Get ready!” Atlanta yelled.
The massive doors swung open. Atlanta, who’d sheathed her sword hours ago when it was clear she didn’t need it, now brandished it again. She squinted in the sudden brightness of the late afternoon sun for a moment. Then she let out a blood-curdling cry and charged. Behind her, sixty-five hundred troops followed suit and fired into the mass, being careful not to hit their raging queen. Then they ran into the fray, hacking nearby surprised Doms and shooting ones farther away.
Atlanta paused in a lull as her ponies - trained soldiers - passed her and continued on. She glanced to the north, where her reinforcements had come. Above the nearest Atlantean regiment flew the battle-torn flag of the Second Coastal. Knowing that her newfound link was a strong one, she sighed in relief and dug her sword into the ground. She leaned on it wearily, gazing on to the ruined city ahead.
The Doms, who’d been so organized, so efficient, and so very professional moments ago, suddenly broke. It was like they knew they were losing. It started slowly, the rearguard losing its wits, but turned into a panicked rush as the Dominion’s invasion force realized retreat was their only hope for escape and most likely survival as well. The ships of the line in the harbor had ceased firing on Fort Azure and Fort Lazuli, their captains choosing to get out while they still could. The fleet vacated the bay so quickly, in fact, that it was like they’d suddenly vanished into thin air.
“My Queen, are you alright?” asked a white Pegasus mare. By her rank pins, she was a colonel.
“Yes, thank you. If not for your timely arrival, I doubt we would’ve lasted much longer.”
“I’ll relay that to Sarge, with your permission.”
Atlanta looked the mare over. “I recognize you. Colonel Moonshine Silvercrest, Second Coastal Regiment?”
“Yes, ma’am. I run that joint.” Her eyes widened at the sudden conversational attitude she’d portrayed at her queen. “I didn’t mean it like that, ma’am.”
“I understand.” Atlanta took in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I hear you and Sarge have kept AREA from falling apart.”
“We do, ma’am.”
“I think you have it under control with that setup. You will continue to work with Sarge in running the army. Meanwhile, an officer of your choice from your regiment will become the commanding officer of said regiment, and is promoted to Colonel if he or she has not been already. I’ll need to know who you choose as soon as you can tell me.”
“I already have a pick, ma’am. Lieutenant Treetop would make an excellent CO.”
“It’s settled, then. Tell him to report to you and Sarge tomorrow for promotion, and make sure he knows the setup.”
“Yes, ma’am. Will do.”