Before we begin this crucial third chapter to the Battle of Cloudsdale, I would like to take a moment to thank all those who have contributed or still will to this growing work.
This includes the trio of guest authors that have penned these latest chapters describing the combat and outright carnage at Cloudsdale, to say nothing of those pegasi, civilian and soldier alike, who fought in the city’s defense. I know full well ‘tis oft painful to relive the battles we fought and remember those who fell, but ‘tis necessary that we do so to honor their memory and ensure their legacy lives on.
‘Twas not my original intention that we marked these chapters with visits to the battle sites we describe, but as we write we find ourselves all but compelled to, wishing to remember or at least reminisce. As the Equestrian Officer Academy was out of session for the recent winter holidays, the surviving Bolt Knights gathered in Cloudsdale for a New Years’ commemoration of the recently unveiled monument of Thunderbolt, an exquisitely carved statue erected in front of the Remedial Flyers’ School he once taught at, a place where he can forever stand watch over the city he once saved. I have more to say about this event, but this is one instance where I feel my words are best saved for the end; for after the full story of the battle is told.
In the meantime, I turn my quill back over to those who were present at Cloudsdale during the Gryphon attack. I promise that the story’s attention will return to my own battalion at Epsilon soon enough, but ‘tis simply little point in it for now. For mid-afternoon on the first of September, we were not under attack but knew well one was coming; with all the other outposts around us falling one by one I had no doubt that the next wave would hit us at nightfall and be far more difficult to defeat.
—Firefly
Thank you, Captain. ‘Twas good to see you again at the dedication, and Fell Flight’s speech in honor of Thunderbolt brought tears to mine and many other eyes. I, too, have more to say about the dedication and Thunderbolt, but like you, I feel ‘tis best saved for the battle’s end.
—Sky Sergeant Morning Glory
Head of Storm Cloud Production
Cloudsdale Weather Factory
Cloudsdale
Cloudsdale
Weather Factory
September 1st, 1139 AC
1252 hours
Methinks I had lost count of how many times I was certain I was dead.
Looking back, I’d had at least four of them to that point yet somehow, I was still alive and fighting—and so was Thunderbolt despite his burns and crossbow wound. He’d single-hoofedly decimated an entire century of elite gryphon warriors but now a second, larger force was streaking in from their siege of Fort Tempest, and they were forewarned as to what they were facing.
Recognizing that he was their sole focus and that without storm clouds we had no hope of helping him, he ordered us off, instructing us to defend the Rainbow Factory we were using as a base. But instead of engaging us, the Knights and Ravens ignored us, the second century of elite gryphon warriors fanning out to encircle him at a respectful distance, not immediately attacking. Burned and bloodied from the earlier wave—I couldn’t tell when, but at some point he’d been slashed by a Raven blade; there was a dripping red line visible on his side—he goaded them in their own language, but discipline held as no less than four sky gryphon mages confronted him from nearly a hundred yards away, each brandishing a gem-studded staff or larger stave pointed directly at him.
He could not counterattack as he had before, as he’d already discharged all of his stored lightning, and he could not produce more without additional storm clouds that we did not have. That, or allow himself to be struck with another mage-triggered lightning bolt to recharge him. Unfortunately, ‘twas instantly apparent that the Gryphon Magus Knights were fully aware of that as, at the shouted order of their leader, great gouts of magus fire erupted towards him instead of the violet-tinged lightning they had tried before. Though an impressive display, I couldn’t see what good that would do as he could—and did—just deflect them away with blasts of wind from his wings. He tried to redirect the flames towards the gryphons, but the distance was simply too far. And when he tried to close with them, he was met with shield and simple levitation spells, the mages magically holding him back as the atmosphere visibly heated up around him, causing the very air to shimmer, distorting what I could see of him.
‘Twas then clear what their plan was for dealing with him. ‘Twas as brilliant as ‘twas brutal to behold; methinks I must credit the gryphons for coming up with such an unconventional plan so quickly. First, two of the mages pinned him in place with levitation spells. As powerful as he was, they couldn’t hold him still to be targeted by crossbows, but they could limit his movement enough for the other two mages to then trap him inside a large shield spell.
Their cage created, the first two mages then dropped their levitation magic to pour fire inside the shield, turning it into a makeshift oven—one that would cook him alive if it didn’t suffocate him first. The flames rapidly sucked all the oxygen out of the air, leaving him clawing at his throat as he struggled to stay conscious and keep the inferno at bay with his wind. ‘Twas a task made all the more difficult as the mages then began to contract the sphere, both strengthening the magical barrier and giving him less and less room to fly in; he managed one last weak lightning bolt that caused the shield to falter briefly but a third mage than switched her spell, leaving just one to keep pouring fire within it whilst he was now trying and failing to penetrate a shield spell maintained by no less than three mages, all intent on killing him.
“Thunderbolt!” We called to him in vain as we could see our only hope for victory weakening inside it. He could not escape and there was nothing we could do to help him; methinks he had but a half a minute left before the flames or simply an inability to breathe slew him.
Watching grimly from below, Thunderbolt’s one-winged friend and former Corps Sergeant Virga Veil took command. He began shouting orders, having us set barricades and position the three remaining storm clouds that Thunderbolt had given us to defend the building, passing out the captured Raven gems to use as well. The Ravens had probed and sniped but had not returned since Thunderbolt’s appearance. Once he was dead, though, they or the Knights would storm the building... or, worse, I realized then with a sinking heart, they could simply have their mages level it with fire or lightning whilst we were still inside.
Once again, ‘twould seem we were doomed. Following Virga’s orders like the soldier I had somehow become, I readied the remains of my improvised platoon for close combat and what ‘twas certain to be a futile final stand, hoping to take out at least one or two more gryphons before falling.
As my life began to flash before my eyes, I thought of my parents, my herd, and my siblings, and with the latter, my thoughts settled on Fell Flight. I wondered if she was still alive, and if she was, if she would ever know of what had happened here and what I had done…
That I had fought and died trying to be like her, defending Equestria from the gryphons.
I did indeed, dear sister, and I admire you immensely for the bravery and boldness you showed that day, overcoming your fears to fight against opponents as numerous as they were dangerous.
‘Tis worth noting the old adage that courage is not the absence of fear, but acting in spite of it, and you did so, setting an example that your friends and fellow weather workers followed. I mourn their loss along with you, but I need not tell you any longer to not blame yourself or Thunderbolt for that. For in the end, as I said in the speech, he did not lead you to your deaths in a futile struggle, but rather, showed you how to resist and gave not just the weather factory but all of Cloudsdale a fighting chance for life. He showed you how to fight back, and better yet, gave you the tools to do so.
With your permission, Captain, methinks I would like to introduce the final pony to tell the story of the battle myself. I only met her once briefly before the war, at the ceremony where Windshear was presented by the Princess with his first Defender of Harmony award, but I took an instant liking to her. A retired Corps soldier and a member of my former commander’s herd, she remains loyal to his memory and foals she bore him to this day. She served with honor, she suffered his loss, and even before they knew his fate, neither she nor her sister hesitated to fight when Cloudsdale was attacked.
—Fell Flight
Thank you for your kind words, honored Emissary and former First Lieutenant. Know in turn that Windshear wrote and spoke of you repeatedly whilst in command of Outpost Omega, noting he’d never seen such an intense and driven soldier before and that your eyes were the greatest asset his base had. He once told me that you wouldst go far and had no doubt you wouldst end up with a command of your own one day, though methinks not even he could foresee that you wouldst in time become an ambassador and emissary to the bat-ponies, doing your greatest work in peace as opposed to war.
Greetings, dear friends and readers. My name is Orchard Oriole, former and forever mare of Windshear, and I wish to offer special thanks to Captain Firefly for allowing me the opportunity to pen my own part of this tale. ‘Twas fitting, methinks, that during the dedication she and her original Bolt Knight comrades stayed in the company of our beloved Windshear’s family, seeing his longtime home and herd for the very first time. Methinks it did our hearts good to at long last meet his legendary protege and see some of the many lives he touched.
For those who do not know, my two sisters and I entered the Aerial Corps at the same time as Windshear did so many years ago, ending up in the same training company and later, the same squad with Windshear in command of us.
‘Tis no exaggeration to say that we fell head over hooves for him during that time—for how could we not fall in love with such a strong and skilled young stallion who showed a surprising acumen for both combat and command?
We saw action together for the first time during a Gryphon raid on Trottingham that cost us my sister Cardinal, but ‘tis also true what they say about bonds forged in battle—once forged, they never falter, and ‘twas not long after that we formally herded. My sister Blue Jay and I left the Corps after our enlistment was up to concentrate on raising our first foals, but Windshear stayed behind, knowing the Corps—and defending the frontier from the Gryphon Empire—was where he belonged.
We worried about him, of course, none more so than when we received word of his first, near-lethal battle with a Red Talon. But his thoughts were ever of us and in the end, he left the front lines for us, transferring to the Royal Guard to keep himself safe and able to visit his mares and foals more often.
I will not linger too long on the rest of his story, which was told in the prequel of this one, except to say that I have never known a finer, more honorable or more devoted stallion before or since. We loved and revered him to the point that his herd stayed together even after his death... though ‘tis certain we faced our own ends that fateful first day of war as the Gryphons invaded Cloudsdale. But the great city of the sky was home to many present and retired Corps veterans as well as the Cloudsdale militia, as the gryphons would soon learn to their cost…
They would also learn that even civilian pegasi were not as far removed from their martial past as they might have believed.
—Orchard Oriole
Curator
Royal Legion Museum
Cloudsdale
Cloudsdale
Central District
Royal Legion Museum
September 1st, 1139 AC
1235 hours
Methinks there is little I can say about the prelude to the attack that has not been said already or otherwise rendered cliché.
‘Twas naught but a typical day for us in the Windshear herd household as dawn broke on September 1st. Our family was mostly grown at that point; the youngest of our nine foals was nearly thirteen whilst our four oldest had left home years before. Of those, three had joined the military, seeking to follow in their sire’s wingbeats even with his stated wish that they did not: Windshear’s two eldest daughters had both enlisted in the Corps as soon as they turned nineteen whilst Winter Storm, his 24-year old son borne him by Blue Jay (so named for an event that marked his birth), had not only followed them into the Corps but planned to transfer to the Royal Guard as soon as his new herd bore him a son of his own. Windshear was not happy about that—in truth, none of us were—but as he so often said, ‘twas not his place to deny his offspring the chance to serve and offer up their lives for Equestria.
‘Twas a normal morning, and I cannot claim I had any premonitions or troubling thoughts as I rose with my other herd mares to see our remaining five school-age foals off to class. There were four mares in Windshear’s herd at that point: myself and Blue Jay, a former PSD agent named Red Tail who now worked as a security guard by the weather factory, and the newest member of our herd was Gust Front, a retired Corps veteran who had been Windshear’s executive officer whilst he was in charge of Outpost Omega and had later succeeded him in command. Having left active duty to become a Corps recruiter, we accepted her readily because, like me and Blue Jay, she had fought at his side and truly understood him, eventually retiring to be with him after ending a fourteen-year Corps career, nearly five years of which was spent in his presence.
Having been with him ourselves for so long, we understood well enough that Windshear’s place and purpose was that of a warrior, so we never pushed him to retire as we had. Then again, nor could we escape our own martial past even after leaving the Corps—when Windshear defeated his first Red Talon following a massive raider attack on Outpost Omega, we immediately brushed up on our combat skills, fearing vengeance strikes from the Ravens. Red Tail taught us knife-fighting and close-quarters combat she’d learned in the PSD in case we needed it, and even obtained for us some PSD weaponry in the form of concealable blades, various nonlethal flavors of crystals and even the wrist-mounted miniature crossbows PSD agents favored to thwart assassination attempts.
I carried them all with me for a time, but eventually stopped after a few years except for a small knife hidden in my uniform jacket. Though the Red Talons had sworn vengeance against Windshear, we worried little about them as they and the rest of the Imperial military would consider targeting his family dishonorable. The raiders our stallion fought and defeated were another matter, but for them to travel the hundreds of miles inside Equestria to strike Cloudsdale itself ‘twould be complete and utter folly. They were vengeful, not suicidal, after all. Neigh, ‘twas certain that only the gryphon military itself had the training and resources to launch such an audacious operation…
But we never thought it could actually happen. Though a gryphon attack was certainly a contingency the Corps and Cloudsdale militia had planned for, as we knew full well the city was within striking distance of sky gryphon soldiers for at least a few months of the year around the end of summer, ‘twould be a lie to say we ever truly took the threat seriously. ‘Twas simply unthinkable to us that the Empire would send nearly two thousand troops over six hundred miles to attack our great city, defended by over double that number of Corps and militia troops as it was.
Unthinkable, but not impossible, as on that day we learned to our great cost that Imperial ambitions were great indeed.
The first inkling something was wrong was whilst Blue Jay and I were having lunch in the cafe of the Royal Legion museum we both worked at. We had just wrapped up morning tours for two field trips from local schools, and with them concluded were looking forward to a relaxing afternoon of tending exhibits and answering questions from the few adult patrons that we could expect on a weekday afternoon.
‘Twas then that a panicked young pegasus colt burst in on us and all who were eating there, saying that the gryphons had declared war and had been sighted approaching the city in large numbers; this despite the many hundreds of miles distance ‘twas for them to fly from the pony/gryphon frontier. In disbelief, we followed him outside where we beheld… hundreds of Imperial Knights, easily identifiable by their gold-hued armor, descending on the main militia base just a few miles away with a second, even larger group striking the distant other end of the city, where the weather factory and Corps base defending it lay.
My first emotion was shock over what was happening, which quickly gave way to fear for my family and city, then anger that the gryphons would dare attack them. My first thoughts, naturally, were of my own foals and family, wondering if being part of Windshear’s herd meant we would be directly targeted—were the Ravens sending assassins for us even as I watched? I wondered as I patted the knife hidden within the lining of my museum tour guide uniform. My second was of Cloudsdale itself, realizing that as sudden and large-scale as this attack was, that the city might not be able to defend itself. And my third…
My third was to shake off my shock and grab some old armor and weapons from the museum exhibits to join the defense of the city. The ancient Royal Legion had fought not with wingblades but with spears and short swords, protecting their soldiers with enchanted shields and armor; we kept our small supply of old equipment in working order and even demonstrated its use during tours and battle reenactments. So we not only had access to their ancient weaponry, but all of us who worked at the museum knew how to wield them. And perchance the gryphons, only used to modern Corps weapons and tactics as they were, might be caught off guard by them.
Blue Jay was of the same mind as I—once a soldier, always a soldier, and thus, we would fight! Though civilians, we were also Corps veterans, as were many others working at the museum or other nearby businesses that day, and it pleases me to say we wasted little time in organizing ourselves and the initially more frightened civilians into a coherent defense. Exhibits and storage vaults were broken into, weapons and protective gear passed out, and improvised squads formed along Corps lines; with a little encouragement and perchance a few reminders of friends at the militia base or weather factory now in danger. Spines were steeled, steel helmets were donned, and before long, methinks even our younger colts and fillies were soon ready and eager to fight the invaders.
Though gratified by their response, ‘tis certain Blue Jay and I were under no illusions of what we faced—we knew full well from countless Corps briefings that Knights were elite soldiers, far better than the average raiders we faced, and sky gryphons in general had a significant advantage in strength and stamina over pegasi—otherwise they could not have flown six hundred miles to a fight! And this was to say nothing of predatory features like their beaks and talons that were not only lethal weapons in their own right, but the latter could be used to grip swords and crossbows that pegasi could not easily wield.
Against that, pegasus advantages were speed and maneuverability, to say nothing of weather control. In days of yore, Cloudsdale did not have a weather factory and pegasi could not manufacture storm clouds on a mass scale. But the Royal Legion had not needed to; they had invented ways to enhance naturally occurring clouds to charge them with lightning and turn even common cumulus into lethal weapons. By chance, we just so happened to have their ancient means of doing so at hoof—a special magical concoction distilled from an extract of Lapis Lazuli crystals infused with lava from the Ifrit Volcano as well as a few other more minor ingredients; vials of a potent potion that, when added dropwise into a cloud, charged them with a single lightning bolt per drop.
We knew their formula and distillation process, and though strictly regulated and requiring several rather... rare reagents, some select unicorns at the EIS’s Office of Magical Research were allowed to produce it for us in small amounts for purposes of history. We had used them before in battle reenactments to show how pegasi of old fought using their environment; we just never thought that the ways of the Royal Legion would ever be useful in combat again!
We had a small supply at hoof, six vials each containing fifty drops, so we simply dug out some pieces of cloud from our own city’s surface and charged them with lightning in this manner. We charged twenty clouds with an average of ten bolts each until we ran out of the potion… except for two vials, which I thought was best kept in reserve. For there was a second way the Royal Legion could use them, but we needed a perfect set-up to do so.
Ten minutes later, we and nearly two hundred nearby pegasi were armed and ready to fight; organized into a single scratch company with the old Corps veteran who ran the museum, Captain Silverhawk, sire of Red Tail, in command. Appointed by him as a platoon leader, I was wearing replica pleather chest and foreleg coverings (this alone wasn’t authentic—the Legion used actual animal skins; ‘twas a different era and pegasi were far less reluctant to hunt and eat meat back then) as well as an old metal helmet that was proof against the blades and bows of the age. The metal torso armor the legion used likewise offered excellent protection against physical and magical attacks, but ‘twas simply too heavy for me so ‘twas reserved for stallions.
My ensemble was completed with a large enchanted shield that was the Legion’s signature equipment. The Royal Legion gave such shields to all their squad leaders whilst their rank-and-file got a spear and short sword, but we didn’t have enough of them to go around, so only platoon leaders got them. Squad leaders instead got swords as a sign of rank, whilst their squad members were given spears and storm clouds, one of the latter per squad, with those wielding the former expected to protect the latter as they did their deadly work.
‘Twas an improvised force based on what we had, and I did dread the losses we were likely to suffer as we took flight for the city militia base, still under siege and still fighting if the lightning flashes were any indication, blue-tinged pony-generated bolts alternating with the violet-hued ones from gryphon mages. As we neared, Silverhawk told us—quite properly—that the mages were our primary targets, and told our storm teams to concentrate lightning on them, saving the Knights for later.
Our actions were far from an isolated occurrence, as it turned out. All over the city, pegasi were rousing themselves to the city’s defense; forming improvised units and flying to the scene. Seeing our formation, many flew up to join us as we headed for the militia base armed with everything from privately owned wingblades to simple cutlery pulled from kitchen shelves. As I read the earlier chapter, I find that this was not so much the case at the weather factory, as perchance the shock of the initial attack was simply too great… or perchance ‘twas simply that those of us who were not under immediate threat had the opportunity to take stock and decide on what to do. In the end, with our family, friends and city in danger, there was but one thing our pegasi blood and warrior heritage would allow us to do.
Our numbers had swollen to nearly three hundred by the time we arrived at the scene to see the Knights having already reduced half the base and bitterly engaged with the on-duty militia troops, who fought in the cone-shaped aerial phalanx formations of old with spear and shield; only the flanking members of the phalanx having wingblades. The Corps thought such tactics obsolete, and not without reason as, facing well-trained Knights armed with more versatile distance weapons that easily overmatched militia spears, they were suffering severe casualties as the Knights and magus simply broke up their block formations with explosive-tipped crossbow bolts and lightning strikes, sometimes killing several at a time with a single bolt and allowing the gryphon soldiers to close-in to finish them with scimitars and steel claws.
Facing six centuries of elite gryphon soldiers, the twelve hundred on-duty members of the pegasus militia had hastily mobilized and fought valiantly—but futilely—against the superior soldiers and weapons, unable to do much damage. Their lightning teams had in fact accounted for the bulk of the fifty or so casualties the gryphons had suffered at their hooves rather than their spears, having apparently opened up on them during their approach, but their clouds and crews now lay fallow and shredded, with steam and blue vapors around them along with the smoking bodies of their teams that hadn’t already fallen through the clouds. And lacking the lightning support their old fighting doctrine called for, their phalanxes had been left easy prey; at least half their soldiers now lay dead, the Plum River stained red with their blood.
‘Twas a terrible sight that did indeed make our stomachs turn; none were unaffected by the sheer carnage we saw inside and around the base, many of us having friends within the militia. We didn’t know what had happened, but ‘twas quite apparent that the Knights had nearly completed their work, having driven their opponents to ground and now reducing the facility building by building. They saw us approach and an entire century broke off to engage us supported by three Magus Knights, but not without the lead one first calling out a warning:
“Equestrians! Listen and take heed!” The eagless mage announced in Equish, her magic making her voice boom loudly; we couldn’t help but stop short as we realized we were spotted. “The Gryphon Empire has declared war on Equestria, and this is an Imperial military operation against your city’s martial forces and industries! On our warrior honor, civilians and non-military targets will not be harmed... unless you wouldst attempt to fight us!” She warned us, igniting her stave and making it glow red with fire. “Turn back now, or you will be considered combatants! Turn back now... or you will be slain!” she warned us again, casting a shield spell as the Knights flanking her at the other mage notched crossbow arrows and took aim, threatening to release a deadly volley.
At that point, ‘tis certain we did not know the lie of her statements being proven at the weather factory, where an even larger force of Knights had pinned down the Corps battalion at Fort Tempest so that the Ravens could engage in a systematic slaughter of weather factory workers. We saw no Ravens amongst the attackers here, though methinks I knew better than to expect there were none.
“How dare you!” ‘Twas then that Captain Silverhawk flew forth, dressed in his old Corps Captain’s uniform and gear, all of which he kept at the museum he lived in as curator. “You expect us to hover meekly by and do nothing whilst you invade our city, slaughter our friends, and destroy our very way of life? All the while speaking to us of honor?” he said with a glance back at the other end of the city where the burning weather factory lay, speaking into his old blue command gem that amplified his words enough to be heard on both sides of the Plum River. To his credit, neither his voice nor flight faltered despite all the weapons trained on him, continuing to berate and threaten the invaders.
“You and your entire Empire have stirred a hornet’s nest by coming here, Second Spear! And for the lives you have taken, you and your troops will pay a heavy price!” he called out as the rest of us fanned out to engage, storm clouds going into a battle line and positioning to strike with massed lightning volleys, but the gryphon soldiers seemed strangely unconcerned by them.
The Magus was likewise unimpressed. “If death is your wish, former Captain of the Corps, we will grant it to you and all you now lead! Do not expect a favorable outcome if you wouldst fight!” she warned again, recognizing his older uniform design—clearly, the gryphons had been briefed well on what they might face.
Silverhawk looked at her in disbelief. “And methinks you are an overconfident foal! You are outnumbered three to one and face the equivalent of a full storm battalion, Second Spear! Your shields will not avail you against such an onslaught! But even if they could, do you really think you could withstand not only us, but the reinforcements to follow?” he challenged her looking back to see additional improvised formations approaching as many other pegasi throughout the city had had the same thoughts we had, gathering themselves and racing to confront the invaders from all corners of the city. “Cease your attack and surrender now, and we will not lay waste your forces!” he offered, fully expecting—and I daresay hoping—’twould be turned down.
She barely suppressed a sneer at that. “We make you the same offer, Captain!” The magus replied after a quick glance at her Wind Knight commander, who wore the insignia of a Centurion, getting a quick spoken order from him, his look smug. “We do not fear your storm clouds, and having already annihilated those belonging to your militia, perchance ‘twould be in your best interests to consider why! This is your final warning! Attack us and die!” She punctuated her statement with a squawked order to her forces who assumed attack formations of their own and a lightning bolt that passed close enough over our heads to raise the hairs on our manes.
In response, he looked back at us to gauge our morale, and we likewise all exchanged glances with each other. What he saw were a series of short but sharp nods that caused our commander to smile, seeing that our spines were steeled, our decision made. Whether veteran or civilian, mare or stallion, not one of us was going to take the offer, and with our force consisting of three hundred angry pegasi, nearly a third of whom were Corps or militia veterans, wielding various weapons as well as twenty freshly-charged storm clouds between us—surely the gryphons were not so foalish as to ignore their very real threat?—we knew we could give as good as we got, even facing the Imperial elite.
“So be it, Second Spear! Let us see whose promise is kept! Storm Teams! Target their mages! Platoons! Protect the gunners and prepare to engage the Knights at my signal!” Silverhawk ordered as he raised his hoof, causing his newly formed company to gather in attack formations as well, packing in close around the clouds with shield holders at the front of our forces as we’d already arranged.
His orders were met with matching ones from the gryphon side as the Knights scattered to a greater distance before the lightning threat, countering with crossbows whilst the three mages gathered together to combine their shield spells, reinforcing them and making them doubly difficult to batter down, though twenty clouds could do it. We had no idea why they were exposing themselves like that, nor why the Knights had not struck preemptively. But their discipline held; we later learned they were under strict orders not to engage civilians unless the civilians attacked first, and thus, they had to wait for us to make the first move.
Despite that, ‘twas clear they were planning something, but none of us yet knew what. “Hear me, gryphons! If ‘tis war you have declared, ‘tis war you shall have!” Silverhawk proclaimed, speaking for us all. “Storm teams! For Cloudsdale and all Equestria! Attack!” he ordered, and with that, twenty storm clouds were triggered at once in a deadly volley, their lethal bolts of electricity lancing upwards towards the three shielded mages.
Thank you for a very compelling opening, Lady Oriole, and know that you and Cloudsdale pegasi acquitted themselves brilliantly that day. It strikes me now that the gryphons were rehearsed and ready for Corps and Militia tactics, but had no idea there was another, far more ancient armed force who could reach out from the very annals of pegasus history to fight them.
But before we continue with this part of the story, a brief shift in perspective over to Epsilon is in order, as the question has been posed to me as this latest chapter is being written: did we at Epsilon know what was happening at places like Fort Spur and Cloudsdale? The answer follows.
—Firefly
Outpost Epsilon
Pony/Gryphon Border
September 1st, 1139 AC
1340 hours
“New message from Gamma, ma’am…” Fell Flight informed me in the early afternoon when our communications gems spat out a new scroll, and I knew from the look in her slitted eyes that the news was not good as she summoned me back to the watchtower from where I’d been, interrogating prisoners and policing the grounds. We’d been able to take only a few wounded gryphons into custody following the early morning battle, as, true to Talon form, most had killed themselves rather than surrender. “Cloudsdale is under heavy attack. Initial reports state the Gryphons have sent well over a millennium of Knights against it,” she told me, clearly struggling to control her emotions.
I did not immediately answer, though I understood the implications well enough, my eyes closing in silent prayer for the civilians and forces we had there. Even in my wildest fears and fantasies, I had not actually believed the gryphons could strike the great city so far inside Equestrian borders, and on such short notice. That they could ‘twas testament to their training, to their new Prelate’s meticulous planning… and their numbers that they had such forces to spare even as the Knights and Talons were steadily reducing the Army and Aerial Corps border bases to nothing. We were finding ourselves more and more isolated as both Delta and the Army base at Outpost Blue had fallen silent just in the past hour, meaning they were most likely lost…
Meaning that we were now likely the only border force still standing this side of Omega, which we had only fragmentary contact with. We’d heard little from anywhere else; I took some comfort from not hearing that Fort Spur had been struck as the stolen war plans had implied, trying not to think of the possibility that it and my sister still would be... or worse, the base had already fallen but word had simply not reached us.
“I see…” I told her at some length as I looked out over the canyon, lost in my own brooding thoughts, my forces now on continuous patrol and unable to do much except watch for and await the next gryphon attack. “I know how you must feel, Master Sergeant. If you need some time to yourself...” I felt compelled to add, but the lie of my own empathy tasted bitter on my tongue. For how could I know how she felt? I’d been to the city all of once whilst many soldiers under my command like Fell Flight and Blindside had their families there; I could only imagine what was going through Fell Flight’s head at this hour as both her promised command at Omega and her family at Cloudsdale were endangered, but she was unable to help either.
To that point, the gryphons had attempted nothing more than harassment since their disastrous first attack but were steadily closing the space in which we could operate, pressing in slowly from all sides and cutting off all possible avenues of reinforcement or escape. Patrols had spotted at least two points they appeared to be massing troops for their next attack and worse, a number of Knights had been seen among them. It meant the next attempt on our base, whenever it came, would be backed by their elite soldiers, and we could be assured ‘twould not repeat the mistakes of the first.
“How I feel is helpless, ma’am,” my second told me through clenched teeth. “Helpless to stop any of this, helpless to even fight back. Helpless just to wait for our own end and know that any other choice we make leads only to our earlier annihilation!” She brought her hoof down hard enough to crack the stone floor. “By the sun and Luna’s moon, ma’am, I want to fight!”
“Steady, Master Sergeant,” First Sergeant Still Way told her, the ranking member of our three Celestial Guardsponies having levitated himself up to the watchtower to stand watch whilst Steelheart rested and Stormrunner was out on patrol with Sergeant Blindside’s 3rd platoon. “To act in anger is to play into our enemy’s hooves. We must make our decisions calmly and rationally, and with an eye on what will either buy us the most time, or cost our enemies the most.”
Fell Flight was in no mood for such advice. “So you wouldst have us sit back and wait, First Sergeant? To do nothing whilst Equestria crumbles around us and our brethren in the Army and Aerial Corps fight and die unaided by our forces?” she challenged the strangely serene stallion, one whom I’d never seen raise his voice or show even the slightest hint of temper or frustration, even though he’d encountered plenty of the latter whilst trying to train our initially recalcitrant healer team to use longbows and defensive spells.
“I didn’t say that,” he replied evenly and with an odd smile, his own bow sheathed on his back with a nearly-full quiver of arrows still present. “Just that we make our military decisions rationally, not rashly.”
Before Fell Flight could retort, another scroll materialized at that moment from one of the Dragonfire gems in a puff of green smoke. “If I may, commander…?” he asked politely, and with my nod, Still Way plucked it up in his aura and unfurled it to read, gaining a smile as he did so. “Well, then. Perchance, Master Sergeant, there is a way we might satisfy both our desire to fight and the need to preserve our force. I believe you will both approve of what no less than Captain Sirocco has done… and find within a possibility for what we might do?” he suggested almost slyly as he motioned down at the scroll, passing it to us.
Fell Flight and I read it together, our eyes going wide as we finally read some good battle news, a toothy grin parting our lips as we learned what our Division commander had done. Methinks we both had the same idea as Still Way when we read the dispatch, and my already-great admiration for our esteemed Captain of the Corps 5th Division only increased for it.
“Orders, ma’am?” Fell Flight asked eagerly.
“Summon the ready platoon and half our storm teams!” I ordered Fell Flight, who nodded eagerly as I grabbed a map marked with the growing gryphon troop concentrations, studying it and making some quick markings on it. “If Gamma could do it facing much larger numbers, perchance we can too…”
Cloudsdale
Plum River, northwest of Militia base
September 1st, 1139 AC
1250 hours
We were surprised when the mages allowed our first volley of gold-tinged lightning bolts to impact their shields unimpeded.
They visibly grimaced under the onslaught, but their barriers held, though by the way they flickered ‘twas fairly clear they couldn’t survive more than one or two strikes more. We were doubly surprised when the Knights did not take advantage of our preoccupation by sweeping around our flanks or at least harassing us with crossbow fire, holding them at the ready but not triggering them, seemingly waiting for something—but what, I wondered as I continued to hold up my shield, keeping my tightly-packed platoon in its cone of protection. I had seen enough action in the Corps to find their tactics completely incomprehensible; even the raiders who had slain my sister had more sense than this! These Knights were supposed to be the Empire’s elite; surely they were not simply going to stand by and allow their magus to be slain...?
The answer came as the sulfuric smoke from the first bolts dissipated, leaving the mages exposed. As our storm teams readied a second volley—it normally takes a few seconds for a cloud to be able to discharge another bolt, and one of the disadvantages of the Royal Legion potion was an even longer delay before the next bolt could be loosed—the mages dropped their shields and counterattacked with magical beams of some sort that simply bypassed our shields and struck the clouds themselves, dead center of our formations in the midst of our tightly packed troops. There was a brief crackling and sizzling sound, and we all froze, uncertain of what it meant…
But nothing happened. Our Royal Legion-era storm clouds simply absorbed the beams and sat silently, still charged and waiting to launch their deadly bolts.
Methinks the expression on the lead mage’s face was something to behold—shock, confusion… and then outright fear as two more subsequent attempts against different clouds likewise had no effect as we watched slightly dumbfounded. They hastily brought their shields back up and called for help, but this time they were caught off guard and hadn’t reinforced each other’s spells. This in turn meant that they were—to borrow their own phrase—fish in a barrel, and we now had the spears.
At Silverhawk’s next order, the second volley took down their shields easily before the startled Knights could swoop back in and launch a hasty crossbow volley at our massed force from such distance that they couldn’t hope to hit much; a few bolts deflecting off the sturdy Royal Legion shields and none causing injury. Their power faltering and their staves cracking, the suddenly but sorely endangered mages took evasive action, but not even a pegasus in a power dive could outpace a lightning bolt; two were slain by the third volley and the last mage fled as we punched open a hole through their outer cordon into the still-fighting militia base.
‘Twas only much later, after comparing notes with surviving militia troops that we learned what they were trying to do, and how close we came to death: the mages wanted us to focus their fire on them and away from the Knights, knowing that they could withstand the first volleys, drawing us in close enough that they could counterattack with their new spells that would cause pegasus storm clouds to release all their lightning at once in every direction.
Had it worked—and in fairness, as it had already succeeded spectacularly against militia forces, they had no reason to believe ‘twould not with us—our own improvised artillery would have exploded in our faces, the eruption of lightning taking out half our close-packed force at once and scattering the remainder to become easy prey of the Wind Knights, who were ready to swoop in to finish our broken formations from the flanks with steel claws and crossbow bolts once the carnage was complete. Had it worked, we would have been wiped out in under a minute; had it worked; we would have been a very bloody object lesson for other improvised forces arriving on the scene, who might have been much more hesitant to challenge the Knights. Had it worked, the gryphon cohort would have had the chance to complete their destruction of the militia base, and then depart, their mission completed.
There are countless what-ifs of war, and I learned from my own engagements never to question its whims. What saved us were that these weren’t regular storm clouds the gryphons were familiar with. They were in fact relics of the ancient past, created by the old techniques the venerated Royal Legion once used, and as it turned out… as their lightning was imparted neither naturally nor via the modern pegasus methods…
They were completely immune to the spell!
But such would only be known later. We did not understand our good fortune of what seemed like incredibly ineffectual tactics, but did not hesitate to take advantage of them as a stunned Silverhawk ordered our teams to let the final mage go and open up instead on the Knights, who looked momentarily lost, suddenly deprived of their mage support and their Centurion commander visibly uncertain what to do. His hesitation cost them as a fresh round of golden bolts crashed into their ranks, spearing at least a dozen with deadly electricity, the jagged strokes penetrating their armor and sending them spiraling or outright plummeting into the Plum River below.
To their credit, the Knights and their commander quickly shook off their shock. They realized their only chance against a full lightning battalion was to close quickly with us so at their centurion’s order they did so, charging us in dispersed, zig-zagging, decade-sized formations designed to minimize vulnerability to lightning whilst calling for additional support. A second century and another mage peeled off the siege of the militia base to assist them, but they would be late in arriving as we got in two more solid volleys at progressively closer range before the Knights got into effective crossbow range, losing another thirty soldiers to our massed storm clouds, revealing yet another unexpected benefit of the ancient Royal Legion potion:
Knight armor was enchanted against the standard military-grade storm clouds the Corps and Cloudsdale militia used, but not against the Royal Legion variety, whose lightning had different magical qualities. Their normally sturdy breastplates offered very little protection against the powerful gold-tinged bolts, which had been designed for use against the dragons that once menaced Equestria. Now reduced by half, the Knight century loosed a mixture of explosive-tipped and armor-piercing crossbows, only to find that the large Royal Legion shields I admittedly was having trouble holding aloft were proof against them; I felt several deflect off my own, limiting their damage to few narrow and very lucky shots.
The Knights closed to melee range to preclude further use of lightning... which would normally be concerning except for the fact that with their losses we now outnumbered them nearly six to one; not even their skill in close combat could overcome such an advantage. We swarmed them with everything from Royal Legion spears and short swords to personal blades and kitchen knives; I took out one Knight by diving on him with my shield, using its very weight as a weapon to to drive its sharp tip into his shoulder blades, severing his spinal cord. Blue Jay covered me as she always did, surprising another Wind Knight eagless bearing the insignia of a Decurion with her wrist-mounted PSD crossbows, which unlike me, she never stopped carrying, a small but powerful bolt penetrating the Knight’s neck armor at close range.
Nevertheless, lacking sufficient armor of our own and facing such powerful foes, we took nearly fifty casualties in close combat over the next minute, including to my great sorrow Captain Silverhawk, who directly challenged the Knight Centurion with his wingblades. Though old and overmatched, he went out in a blaze of glory and with a cry of “for Equestria!” as he sacrificed himself to slay him—I regret I did not see how he did it; I only heard his shout and then saw them both plummeting—rendering both ourselves and the Knights leaderless.
The difference was numbers and momentum, to say nothing of available reinforcements. His death only enraged us further, and seeing our success, other pegasus groups who had been hanging back to see how we would fare began joining in, first a trickle and then a steady flood as they realized that the Knights could be fought and beaten.
Within minutes, several disjointed counterattacks all along the militia fort periphery had merged together into a mighty surge over the Plum River and onto the base itself, now over a thousand mixed civilian and military pegasi steadily driving the outnumbered and outgunned Knights back. They still had mages to be sure, and falling back on interior lines, they held the reinforcements at bay until my group reappeared, Royal Legion shields in the lead. With our strongest stallions now holding them aloft—I simply couldn’t carry it myself any longer and now wielded a short sword—we charged them in close formation, the shields doing what they did back then; forming a protective cone against magical attacks as both mage lightning and fire were deflected to their increasing consternation.
I saw one stallion drive a mage’s fire right back onto her, charging her like Flash Magus holding the great shield Netitus before a dragon, except her flame was far weaker than Dragonfire and posed little threat to him. Fighting true to ancient tactics, the squad that was surging in behind him in the shield’s protective shadow burst out right on top of her and slew her with ancient swords and spears; methinks I will never forget the shock on her face as she fell to the olden weapons.
Faced with overwhelming numbers and threats they had never imagined or prepared for, the Knights did their best—or perchance worst—against the onslaught. Even when we succeeded in isolating individual soldiers from their comrades, they fought savagely; some took down two, three, even four ponies with their swords and steel claws before succumbing to the swarming tactics of their attackers, and their good group tactics and uncanny crossbow bolt accuracy claimed at least a hundred more.
But such only went so far. Forced to split their attention, they were unable to keep the remaining militia troops pinned down, and our beleaguered soldiers finally took advantage, launching a counterattack using their remaining numbers and weapons. Finally free of mage bombardment, they used hoofilite-generated tornadoes to break up enemy formations and leave individual gryphon soldiers easy prey, taking revenge for the sneak attack and their massive casualties by reforming their phalanxes and descending on dazed Imperial troops with their own spears and shields, finally able to fight on their terms.
At that point, the conclusion ‘twas all but foregone. There is little more that need be said about this action except that within twenty minutes of our initial engagement, and perchance thirty of their first appearance, the tattered remains of the Knight cohort that had struck the militia base abandoned their attack and were fleeing Cloudsdale, recognizing further struggle was useless against the rallied militia and aroused pegasus populace. Victory was ours on the south end of the city at no little cost; nearly twelve hundred civilian and militia ponies were slain there with hundreds more wounded, most of the latter falling in the first few minutes as the Knights struck suddenly and their ability to turn militia storm clouds into deadly bombs decimated the garrison.
Songs and history have depicted this as a great triumph of pegasus civilians over Gryphon arms. But the truth is not so simple. Lest anyone think we showed the Knights to be something other than the elite soldiers they were, know that in return for the nearly sixteen hundred total casualties we suffered, including nine hundred militia lost, we only inflicted less than a third of that cost on the Knights, as a hundred and twenty of their original six centuries escaped the city. And even then, almost all their losses were directly or indirectly attributable to the Royal Legion equipment and lightning potions we had equipped ourselves with from the museum…
In effect, as Captain Firefly noted, the Royal Legion reached out from the past and the very pages of history to fight and win one final battle for Cloudsdale, and their old tactics and weaponry would yet play a role in the defense of Equestria to come.
But that lay in the future. The Battle of Cloudsdale was not over; the conflict continued on the other end of the city, where the weather factory lay and an even larger gryphon force had gathered to reduce it. Though exhausted and reeling from our losses, many of us nursing wounds, those of us who were able took flight for it immediately once the militia base was secure, for we still had some fight in us and storm clouds left…
And I had two vials of unused potion I hoped I might yet get a chance to use in a very certain way.
Thank you, Orchard Oriole. Your storytelling and hospitality are appreciated, as was the private tour you gave us of the Royal Legion Museum, which I note with satisfaction now sports an entirely new wing dedicated to the unlikely role the ancient organization played in the great battle… and the war that followed.
Though we had originally intended to conclude the battle in these latest pages, we decided that the final phase of it deserved its own chapter. Therefore, the fourth and final part of this attack—the climactic battle for the weather factory and struggle to save its workers—will be told in the next entry. I will not, however, wait to offer my own thoughts and perspective on it.
—Firefly
Bolt Knight Captain Emeritus
Military History and Tactics Instructor
Equestrian Officer Academy
Canterlot
In truth, there is little in this latest chapter I did not already know, having studied the battle extensively and even made it a yearly topic of my tactical classes at the Equestrian Officer Academy. I can point out many mistakes on both sides, and make doing so an exercise for my students. And yet, methinks that ultimately the biggest lesson that can be drawn from the operation on either side is simple:
Never assume anything.
By this I mean: Never assume you can plan for or anticipate everything in a military operation; never assume something can’t or won’t happen. Equestrians made that mistake by believing the city unassailable and not taking the possibility of an attack seriously, whilst the Gryphons did not truly understand what they would be facing or have contingency plans in case their chosen tactics went awry. Their force at the militia base was only adequate to the task if nothing went wrong…
And invariably, something always does.
‘Tis a lesson that holds true for both sides, but more on that later. Before departing for Thunderbolt’s dedication, I was given a personal message by Ambassador Kaval, who told me that an eagless wished a private audience with me and Swift Strike. By her request, we ended up meeting in a secluded pub of Trottingham following a Hearth’s Warming visit there—we tend to rotate who hosts the winter holidays amongst surviving members of the Bolt Knights.
Neither of us knew why until the eagless presented herself and announced in strictest confidence that she was and remains a Raven, engaging in a blade duel with Swift Strike himself and fighting him to nearly a standstill to prove it. She went on to say she had in fact participated in the attack on Cloudsdale so many years ago, one of a fortunate few to escape with her life from there, later leading a raid on the city that succeeded in stealing samples of the Royal Legion lightning potion and shields so the Office of Owls and Magus Legion could develop new countermeasures.
Though surprised by her declaration, we were not alarmed, as the Office of Owls was disbanded and the Ravens heavily reformed following the war. Now loosely modeled after the Lances, the Ravens have become what amounts to a secret warrior society that answers directly to the Queen and highest echelons of the Kingdom’s leadership, tasked with dealing with threats to the gryphon nation that lurk in the shadows.
She was not seeking absolution for her role in the attack or war, she told us, but she had seen Thunderbolt in action that day, losing many comrades and only barely escaping death herself at his hooves, showing us a series of burn and blade scars she’d sustained in the battle. She simply wished to offer him honor on behalf of her organization due a worthy opponent; one who, in the end, almost single-hoofedly thwarted their efforts and prevented the weather factory’s total destruction.
As I’ve been seeking additional gryphon perspectives on the war, I offered her the chance to anonymously pen a passage in the next chapter, but she respectfully declined, reminding me that much like the Lances, the Ravens keep their affairs private and generally do not speak of operations past... even long past. She did, however, ask me to deliver a Raven medallion to Thunderbolt’s statue, noting he had laid their entire organization low that day, reducing their highly adept and accomplished assassins to ‘mere meatshields’ in his presence, in her own words, forcing them to find new means to fight him and address the weaknesses he revealed.
I fulfilled her request and delivered the medallion, where it now sits unmarked alongside the other military honors Thunderbolt received. No gryphons were present at the dedication, not even Gavian, as the attack on Cloudsdale remains a point of contention between the two sides to this day. Pegasi consider it a war crime for the massive and deliberate civilian casualties inflicted, whilst the surviving gryphon soldiers believe the attack was justified given the city’s role in Equestrian weather control—that the weather factory facilities and civilian workers alike were therefore valid targets, and the subsequent uprising of the city populace left them no choice but to strike down soldier and civilian alike. They also consider Thunderbolt a murderer and outright war criminal in return, and not without reason given his penchant for taking no prisoners and oft-appalling willingness to kill noncombatants.
For myself, though I certainly understand the strong feelings at play, I must side with the Imperials in regards to the attack. I would start by noting that Equestrian hooves were far from clean with regards to civilian casualties in this war. The uncomfortable truth is that we committed more than a few atrocities of our own both during the conflict and even preceding it, going all the way back to the prewar Phoenix Fire operation where hundreds of Imperial civilians died and countless more were wounded in the indiscriminate attacks on Altair and Rial.
Indeed, Looking at it from a purely military perspective, the Empire’s only real chance to strike the city with any chance of success was on the first day of the war, when ‘twas closest to the border and not yet reinforced. Had they waited even one more day, the militia would have been fully mobilized by the Gryphon war declaration and the Corps presence at Cloudsdale quadrupled as per existing war plans, making even an attack by a full Knight legion unlikely to succeed against an alerted and prepared city mustering a defending force six thousand strong—four times what they actually faced.
Had their attack failed to knock out the weather factory, ‘tis certain their invasion faced a far greater chance of failure in the face of ramped-up storm cloud production and superstorm strikes against troop concentrations, cities and supply bases—indeed, readers of the original volume will recall that Princess Celestia herself threatened them with such strikes prewar.
At the end of the day, I cannot condemn the attack simply because I recognize the difficulties involved in planning it, and how critical ‘twas to the Imperial war effort. Further, though the Cloudsdale populace was unquestionably heroic in rising up to defend their city, once they did so, they became combatants and lost any and all right to be spared. I honor their bravery and sacrifice, but cannot and will not condemn the gryphons for their deaths. So the only remaining point of contention for me regarding this operation is: were the workers at the factory valid targets, as the gryphons claimed?
You wouldst forgive me, loyal readers, if I must reluctantly say yes given how easily the entire facility could have been converted to storm cloud production and how little retraining the average worker would have needed to make them. The Imperial military did what they must to knock out the factory and ensure ‘twould stay that way, and in the end, I recognize its necessity to their side.
In the end, I blame not so much the Gryphons for the carnage as the endless antipathy between our two sides that led us to this day; the inevitable result of two races who simply refused to understand each other or see things from the other’s point of view. And that is what I now ask of you, dear reader; that in studying these accounts, you attempt to see both sides of this battle and thus the greater war, and understand that nothing in war—particularly this war—is ever as black and white or good-versus-evil as the stories and songs may portray.
God fights on the side with the best artillery. –Napoleon Bonaparte
