//------------------------------//
// The Final Voyage of the HMS Thunder Child 
// Story: The Final Voyage of the HMS Thunder Child 
// by garatheauthor 
//------------------------------//

Vanhoover was burning.

The proud gem of the north laid shattered, black plumes of smoke billowing from her charred ruins. The downtown which, mere weeks ago, had been filled with skyscrapers now laid pulverized. Its buildings felled by constant bombardment.

The waterfront, which at its peak, had been a beautiful district for tourists and locals had been turned into a crater filled landscape. It’s buildings now blacken husks and its beaches pot-marked by munitions.

Yet the city stood defiant. It may have been surrounded by Changeling armies but still she remained free.

The armies of Prince Blueblood had fought tooth and hoof to ensure this. On the outskirts they had marked each metre of surrendered terrain with a Changeling corpse. When the outskirts gave way to suburbs, the fighting had only grown in intensity. Combat had been fought on a street by street basis, and then from building to building. Now, as they were threatened with complete annihilation, each room became a fortress and each ruin a micro-campaign in the grand scheme of the siege.

Admiral Fancy Pants watched this atrocity from the aft of his flagship. He was currently steaming away from this hellscape as fast as his convoy could muster.

The convoy he was escorting was vital to the defense of Vanhoover. It kept a constant supply of munitions, food, and medicine flowing into the city while evacuating what remained of its civilian populace.

These civilians were the chief reason that Blueblood held out in such a desperate defense. He would not allow a single innocent Equestrian to fall under Queen Chrysalis’ reign.

It was Fancy’s duty to ensure that this vital convoy was not sunken by prowling packs of submarines or squadrons of enemy aircraft.

His resources to achieve this were by no means ideal. A dozen destroyers, a few light cruisers, a single heavy cruiser, and his flagship, the Battleship Manehatten. While all of these had, at one point, been at the peak of naval technology, they were now antiques which were more than a decade out of date.

However, they were antiques with cannons, torpedoes, and depth charges, providing just enough firepower to keep hostile intentions at bay. A service which he took special care in providing. After all, each craft in his convoy was stuffed to the brim with refugees.

The ships he was escorting were an even more ragtag bunch. They were tugboats, fishing craft, merchant vessels, and even a cruise ship. Pretty much anything with a functional motor had been pressed into service.

Fancy began to walk along the deck of his ship, looking out upon the water. He was half expecting to see a periscope break the surface.

The air itself seemed to hold this suffocating tension. One little slip up and a torpedo was likely to plow into one of his ships. One little slip up and another steel skeleton would rest at the bottom of this bay. One little slip up and another thousand Equestrians would become a statistic for the newspapers.

He made his way past a few seastallions. They snapped off their salutes and he responded with a curt nod.

Fancy Pants had never thought of himself as fit for service. Sure, he had been educated at the Canterlot Royal Marine Academy but back then there was never a chance that war would visit Equestria. It was merely the duty of a stallion of his status. Do his time in the academy, maybe serve a few years commanding a tropical garrison, and then return to civilian life with a new degree of prestige.

Yet here he was, called up to serve as an admiral for some third-rate fleet, tasked with protecting literally tens of thousands of lives.

Fate could be a funny thing at times.

He made his way inside, heading towards the bridge.

When he entered, the room was a buzz with activity. Junior officers moved about their stations, instruments were studied, messages relayed, and charts updated.

Fancy stopped before a map in the centre of the room, studying it. A line of blue flags marked his formation. Currently there was only a few red flags present.

On the bright side, the three enemy ships couldn’t possible pose a threat on their own.

The bad news?

They hadn’t been there when he left.

“Any news?” Fancy asked, already knowing the answer.

His communications officer nodded. “Commander Sorrows and Productions are both picking up a few ticks on their sonar.”

Submarines…fantastic.

“Are they heading towards us?”

“They’re keeping their distance, but yes, they’re pursuing.”

Great, they had probably already communicated his location. It wouldn’t be long before the whole damned pack was upon him.

What could he do to counter this?

He could break off a portion of his fleet and try to scare them off. However, that would only leave an opening for other, undetected, submarines to slip through and exploit. It was a lose-lose proposition.

Fancy looked to his communications officer. “Have two destroyers break off and move about half a mile back. I want them to start dropping charges. Let’s see if we can maybe dissuade the bugs from following us.”

The officer nodded. “Right away, sir.”

Orders were relied, instruments studied, and charts updated. Before his eyes he could see two of his ships begin to lag behind.

It was just another day in the navy.





The hull of the heavy cruiser Thunder Child had been laid eighteen years ago in the port of Fillydelphia. It had a top speed of thirty knots and was equipped with a practical arsenal of firepower. This included, but was not limited to, ten 8-inch guns, eight 5-inch guns, twenty-four 40-mm anti-aircraft cannons, and eight torpedo tubes.

She was a respectable ship, but also one whose age showed. Breakdowns were not uncommon, the radar was spotty, the fire suppression systems archaic, and her firepower, while impressive, didn’t hold a candle to newer ships of the same class.

Still, she was the pride and joy of her captain.

Captain Shore Leave was a career sailor, who’d spent the last thirty years of his life climbing the ranks of the Royal Equestrian Navy. At one point he’d been on the fast track for admiral, but his age had overtaken his ambitions. He was now an old war dog with more grey in his mane than blue, a pot belly, and wrinkles which clouded his complexion.

To be honest, there could be a pretty accurate parallel drawn between himself and his ship. Both were antiques of a bygone era and probably should’ve faded into a peaceful retirement. Yet, here they both were, on the frontlines of a war.

“Captain,” one of his petty officers called.

He looked over. “What is it?”

The officer was staring through a pair of binoculars.

“I’m seeing some ships on the horizon. They’re about thirty degrees north of port.”

“Are they ours?”

“It’s hard to tell, they’ve got to be at least 15 miles out. Though they’re steaming right towards us.”

Captain Shore Leave looked to his communications officer, Lieutenant Thunderhead. She was a small pegasus mare with a solid blue coat and bright white mane cropped close to her scalp. While young, she proved to be more than capable in her position.

“Send a message to the Admiral. Let him know that we’ve spotted surface ships and that their current affiliation is impossible to distinguish.”

His attention briefly returned to the petty officer. “Can you get a bead on how many there are?”

The petty officer loudly clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“I’m spotting at least a dozen.” He tensed up. “Wait…”

“What is it?”

“I’m spotting a capital ship, either a battleship or cruiser.” There was a moment’s pause. “Wait no, scratch that, there’s two!”

Capital ships! By the gods, that wasn’t good.

Any Equestrian relief they’d received until now had come in the form additional destroyers. The navy was stretched too thin to risk sending them anything larger than that.

Clearly everypony in the bridge knew this because a dreadful silence over took them.

“Lieutenant Thunderhead, pass the word onto Fancy.”

His attention snapped to his First Officer, Commander Ivory Crescent. He was a slender unicorn who was maybe a decade younger than himself. His coat was a solid white and his mane a wavy sea of orange and red, with a healthy dash of grey.

“Signal the alarm, I want everypony to their battle stations,” Shore Leave ordered.

Commander Crescent didn’t even bother to snap off a salute as he rushed to his station. A switch was flicked and all over the ship sirens screamed.

Ponies who were on the deck frantically ran about, heading towards their stations. It wouldn’t be long before every gun, cannon, fire team, and repair crew was properly manned.

In the distance a light flashed, followed soon after by two more. Seconds ticked be, feeling like hours as an oppressive tension settled amongst them.

The first shell landed, hitting in the water about a mile ahead. It sent a geyser rocketing into the air.

Each of the shell’s companions fell far shorter, impacting the waters about two miles away from the convoy.

Captain Leave gritted his teeth. “Turn the 8-inch guns and return a broadside.”

The whole ship vibrated as all four of her massive turrets turned towards the enemy formation.

Before they could fire, an explosion erupted to his ship’s rear. Moments later there were pillars of water amongst the enemy formation.

It would seem like the Manehatten had somehow managed to fire before him.

This was truly a mark against his honour.

Seconds later plumes of fire billowed forth from the front of his ship as his own cannons fired.

At this range, accuracy had more to do with luck then actual technological capability or skill. Especially when a ship was moving as fast as his.

So, he was by no means surprised when all ten rounds splashed down amongst the enemy rather than hitting them

Lieutenant Thunderhead looked to him. “Sir, the Admiral is ordering every ship to move at full steam. He wants us to try and outrun the enemy.”

“What?!” Short Leave growled. “He has to know that’s impossible. Half the ships here can barely get 20 knots. He’s insane if he thinks we can outrun them.”

“It’s his orders, sir.”

“If we follow through we’re going to leave half the civilians behind. They’ll get cut to pieces without our support.”

“What do you want me to tell him?”

“Tell him…”





“I should’ve joined the air force,” Thunderlane said.

He really should’ve. As a Wonderbolts’ reservist with a weather engineering degree he’d probably have himself a pair of bars by now. He could picture it now, him commanding a whole squadron of Hurricanes over the Crystal Empire.

Instead here he was, crammed inside of a tin can which he was tasked with repairing. These ships were not designed with pegasus in mind. They were cramped, constricting, claustrophobic, and, this deep inside, barely had enough room for somepony to spread their wings.

“And why didn’t you?” Golden Harvest asked.

Thunderlane snorted. “The enlister told me that the navy was looking for capable pegasus to fly for their aircraft carriers. I guess they saw my qualifications and decided I’d be better suited down here.”

Golden Harvest was the one thing that made this position bearable. Another Ponyville local who’d been assigned to this ship. They hadn’t come from a large town and the fact that they had ended up together was either divine intervention or the purest form of luck.

Though knowing Twilight Sparkle, the princess of micromanaging, divine intervention was his preferred explanation.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a fine job,” she said.

He chuckled. “I try my best.”

When the alarm had gone off he had restricted himself to this part of the ship. It was here that he could do the most good. It was an equal distance to all the ship’s vital components, the engines, the batteries, the water pumps. You know, all the things that kept a ship like this alive in the heat of battle.

Outside another volley was fired from his ship, the whole structure shuddering ever so slightly. The guns were powerful but they relied upon a large frame to absorb their recoil. This meant that the ship barely even registered each shot.

“Have you gotten any letters from your folks recently?” Golden Harvest asked.

Thunderlane nodded. “Yeah, they’re doing alright. Rumble’s still in school, dad’s still at the weather office, and mom got herself a position at the new recycling depot.”

“Ponyville has one of those?”

“Yeah it sprang up about a month ago. They’re collecting everything they can get their hooves on. Tires, tin cans, telephones.”

Golden snorted. “Interesting times.”

“Ditzy didn’t mention it?”

“Must’ve slipped her mind.” Golden sighed. “She hasn’t been herself recently.”

“Why’s that?”

“Mailmares have been delivering a lot of bad news lately.”

Thunderlane winced. “That bad?”

Golden nodded. “It’s only gotten worse since the draft.”

A silence settled between them, though the ship was anything but. There was the hum of batteries, the sputtering of engines, the clattering of hooves, and the creaking of an ancient frame. All of which provided abundant background noise.

Suddenly the ship began to move towards port.

“We’re turning,” Golden said.

“Probably evasive maneuvers.”

He reached for his compartment’s phone.

“Who are you calling?” Golden asked.

“Elbow Grease, he’ll probably know what’s going on.”

Elbow Grease was the chief of engineering. He was exactly the opposite of what you’d expect. A slim earth pony who looked more fitting for a desk job rather than hoof-deep in a ship’s components.

He dialed the number and the phone jingled twice before somepony picked up.

“What do you need?” Elbow Grease asked.

The voice was soft, but the tone harsh.

“Elbow, it’s Thunderlane. Is everything alright up there?”

“Just peachy. How about on your end?”

“The ship’s running fine, though I’m wondering if somepony told you why we’re turning.”

There was a moment of silence and then Elbow Grease answered.

It wasn’t good news.





The massive 16-inch guns of the Manehatten erupted as another volley hurtled towards the enemy fleet. Each of the shells fired weighed 2400 lbs and were constructed from heavy steel and copper alloys. They could punch a hole through a mountain if aimed properly.

Unfortunately, the Manehatten was simply going too fast, and the two fleets were spaced so far apart that accurate fire was an impossibility.

Still the distance between the two fleets was far narrower then Fancy would’ve liked. His ships were just too slow compared to those in pursuit.

By now, the enemy had finally drifted close enough that their allegiance could be properly determined. The two capital ships were from the Royal Olenian Navy. They weren’t exactly state of the art but they probably had a good decade of technological innovation over the Manehatten.

The screen of lighter ships that travelled with them were a mixture of Olenian and Changeling vessels. These were far more cutting edge.

“Sir, the enemy is now within eleven miles of our fleet,” the radar officer reported.

"Son of a bitch," Fancy Pants cussed.

There was no way he could outrun the enemy. His fleet was simply too old. Even if he were to cut his slowest ships, that wouldn’t buy him nearly enough time.

Fancy looked to his communications officer. “Any word from the Vanhoover Aerodrome?”

She nodded. “Yes sir, they’re scrambling airwings but they’re still an hour out.”

He shook his head.

An hour was far too long. He’d be in the midst of a battle by then.

Another communications officer spun around in his seat.

“SIR! The Ruby Gleam is hit. She’s taking on water.”

“Fuck,” Fancy muttered.

The Ruby Gleam may have only been a destroyer, but if she was dead in the water then some very difficult decisions were about to be made.

He looked to this communications officer. “Are her engines still online?”

The officer asked the Ruby Gleam, waiting a moment for a response.

“Engines are still online but she’s leaking oil and her batteries are on the fritz.”

“Casualties?”

Another delay in communications.

“At least twelve dead and ten injured.”

“Tell her to break formation and head back to Vanhoover. We don’t have the means to get her out of here.”

“Right away, sir.”

A grouping of enemy munitions landed a few hundred metres in front of the Manehatten, sending a trio of geysers into the air.

With one emergency dealt with, another reared its head as the first communications officer looked to him.

“The Abyssinian Prince is reporting pings to the south-east.”

Shit, shit, shit. Just what he needed, more submarines.

“Range?”

“Eight miles out and closing fast.”

“Pull off the Abyssinian and Barn Raiser. I want them to litter the water with charges.”

The officer nodded and relayed his command.

One problem down and another cropped up.

A third communications officer turned.

Oh great, she was pale. That was never a good sign.

“Sir, the Thunder Child is breaking formation.”

Fancy was silent for a moment. In fact, he was stunned silent.

“Pardon?”

“They’re heading towards the enemy fleet.”

That couldn’t be right.

He wheeled around and faced the captain of the Manehatten. “Have they sustained fire?”

The captain was a stout but brawny earth pony mare by the name of Cannonade. She had a forest green coat and a shaggy mane of tan brown and red.

“I don’t believe so, sir,” she said.

“Then why are they breaking formation?”

He thrusted a hoof at the nearest communications officer.

“You! Pass me that headset and get me in contact with Captain Leave, right this instant.”

The stallion began to plug and unplug cords before pausing. The connection between the two ships took a few moments to establish, and when it finally had, he passed on Fancy’s demands to his counterpart aboard the Thunder Child.

Another pony rushed forwards, handing Fancy a headset.

Fancy levitated it onto his head.

For a moment there was silence, then a small pop, a bit of static, and finally, a voice.

It sounded distant, as if somepony was calling to him from across a tunnel. However, the voice was familiar.

“Fancy?” Captain Leave asked.

“Captain Leave, are you aware that you’re breaking formation?”

What a dumb question. It was a warship. Those didn’t break formation on accident.

“I’m aware, sir.”

“Are you damaged?”

“No, the Thunder Child has not sustained any damage.”

“Then why are you breaking formation?”

There was a silence. For a moment, Fancy thought the connection might’ve slipped.

He was about to address his communications officer when Leave’s voice returned.

“We’re buying you time.”

“What?”

“You and I both know that we’re sitting ducks out here without support. We’re too weak to fight and too slow to make a break for it.”

“Shore Leave, you’ll get slaughtered out there.”

“And the whole damned fleet will get slaughtered if I don’t.”

Fancy couldn’t help but growl. “This isn’t time to play hero. Get back in formation.”

“I can’t do that, Admiral. You and I both know that this is the only way you’re getting out of here.”

“Shore Leave, I’m ordering you back into formation.”

“No can do…sir”

There was a very audible pop as the line went dead.

Fancy furiously slammed down his hoof.

The whole bridge froze and stared at him.

He simmered for a moment, before taking a slow inhale of breath.

The fury bled away, being replaced with a raw emptiness.

Godsdammit Shore Leave.





Shore Leave gently placed down his headset.

All around him, the bridge waited with bated breath.

He looked to his officers, his gaze scanning the crowd. Most of the ponies here looked nervous or downright terrified. These were not the faces of ponies ready for combat and that needed to be addressed.

He walked purposefully towards Lieutenant Thunderhead’s station. Upon it was a microphone which was connected to every speaker upon his vessel.

“Lieutenant, I would like to broadcast a message to my crew.”

She nodded before flicking a few switches.

A red light bloomed at the base of the microphone.

He cleared his throat.

“This is your captain speaking. As you are likely aware, our ship has diverted course and is heading towards the enemy fleet. We do this in order to protect the evacuation from the enemy’s aggression. To our back are more than seven thousand ponies who have committed no crime besides being the citizens of a kingdom embroiled in war. Yet, to the monsters on the horizon these innocent victims are viable targets and their destruction or capture deemed vital to the war effort.”

He took a deep breath.

“So I, and I alone, have put us at great personal risk in order to ensure their safety. There is a chance that this ship will be sunk today. However, you are mares and stallions of the Royal Equestrian Navy. You have given your lives to the security of this kingdom and knew the potential cost such a commitment would entail. Though, do not think of this as some hopeless endeavour. Our ship has the best crew that our homeland can muster, and I have completely faith that we can weather this storm. Celestia herself will ensure that our guns fire straight and that our armour does not tarnish under the enemy’s abuse.”

He slowly shook his head.

“I am deeply sorry that our duty has come to this. It has been an honour to serve alongside you.”

He paused for effect.

“May the gods bless Equestria, and may they bless her rules.”

He nodded to Thunderhead who cut his communications.

The bridge’s gaze still lingered upon him, but to his relief, those eyes looked far less hopeless than before.

“Alright, everypony back to your stations,” he said. “We have a battle to fight.”

Shore Leave looked to Ivory Crescent. “Make sure our torpedo tubes are loaded and fully manned. They’re going to be our best chance at dishing out any damage.”

Equestrian torpedoes were some of the best in the world, as they were equipped with a magical infused payload that packed quite a punch. Far more than their Changeling or Olenian counterparts anyways.

A shell landed nearby. This one was so close that water splashed against the Thunder Child’s starboard windows.

Shore Leave slowly shook his head.

Though a fat lot of good torpedoes would do, if the ship got sunk before they were even in range.





“He’s going to get us killed,” Thunderlane said.

“Thunderlane…” Golden Harvest said.

“That godsdamn glory hound. He probably thinks he’ll get himself a monument in Trotfalgar Square for this.”

“Thunder…”

“The absolute bastard!”

“THUNDERLANE!”

“What?!” he snapped, whipping around to face her.

“You need to calm the hell down. Your panicking isn’t helping any one right now.”

“My panicking?!” he growled. “I’m not panicking!”

“Yes, you are. You haven’t stopped pacing since he made the announcement.”

Thunderlane paused and looked to his hooves.

He was standing up… When had that happened?

Golden Harvest walked over, placing a hoof upon his shoulder.

“Look, I know you’re scared.”

Thunderlane pulled away. “I’m not scared.”

“Yes, you are. You know how I know that?”

“…how?”

“Because…because I’m also really fucking terrified right now.”

She bore this hopeless little expression. “I’m really fucking terrified, but that doesn’t change the facts. The fact is, we are heading towards the enemy fleet. There is nothing that either of us can do about that.”

“I know…”

She held up her hoof. “However, we’ve been given a job to do. This ship is going to take fire. Torpedoes are going to hit her, shells will rain down on her, fires will start, and water is going to flood these chambers. We need to make sure that, no matter what, this ship and the hundreds of ponies aboard stay alive.”

He took a deep breath. “Do you…do you think we’re going to make it? Be honest with me here, Golden.”

She shook her head. “I have no idea…but…but they don’t call it a suicide mission for nothing.”

“Fuck…”

Golden returned her hoof to his shoulders. “Focus on me.”

He did.

“I need to make sure you’re fit for this fight,” Golden Harvest said. “Are you going to be able to do your job?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“Say it.”

“I’ll be able to do my job.”

There was a bit more determination to his voice. He nearly believed it.

“And what’s your job?” she asked.

“To keep this ship above water.”

She smiled and slapped him on the withers. “Then let’s get to it.”

Thunderlane made his way over to his workbench and slid into his harness. The tool belt which now dangled from his flanks was heavy. However, it was a reassuring weight.

That is, until he thought about what that weight would do to him when he was struggling to tread water on the open sea.

He furrowed his brow.

Don’t think like that, Thunderlane. Golden Harvest is right. There’s nothing you can do to change fate, so you might as well do your job.

He took a single step backwards and began to turn around.

Suddenly the ship lurched violently to the starboard side, shuddering from an impact. This knocked Thunderlane off of his hooves and slammed him into the ground.

The air was knocked from his lungs as he struggled to take in a wheezing breath.

The lights on-board began to dim. For a moment they seemed ready to go out, but at the last second, they recovered and flickered back to life.

Somewhere nearby a siren began to blare.

“That’s not good,” Thunderlane muttered through gritted teeth.

Golden Harvest was over him. “Fucking hell, are you alright?”

“I’m fine.”

He slowly got up, being aided by a helping hoof from Golden.

A phone began to ring on the wall of his station.

He rushed to it. “Thunderlane here, what’s up?”

“Good to hear from you, Lane.” It was Elbow Grease. “A shell went off a little too close and sprinkled our aft with shrapnel. We’ve got holes on C deck and it’s taking on water.”

“I’m on it.”

“Good to hear, stay safe.”

The line went dead.

Thunderlane wheeled around, rushing for the door.

Golden Harvest was right behind him. “Where did we get hit?”

“C deck, aft of the ship.”

“Is it bad?”

“According to Elbow it’s just a little shrapnel.”

“That sounds manageable.”





Fancy Pants watched the screen of oily black smoke rise from the inferno which raged on the aft of the Thunder Child.

“How bad do you think it is?” Fancy asked.

“She’s still steaming full speed ahead,” Cannonade said. “It could be worse…”

“She’s listing to port.”

“At least she’s still moving.”

Fancy looked to one of his communication officers. “Any word from the aerodrome?”

The officer nodded. “The swordfish are about thirty minutes out, sir.”

Fancy hated to admit it, but Shore Leave’s strategy, while reckless, appeared to be working. The Changeling-Olenian fleet had broken off their pursuit in order to turn upon their sacrificial lamb.

“How many are they sending?”

“Two squadrons.”

Twenty planes? Was that really all Vanhoover could spare?

For a moment a fury bubbled inside of Fancy. Couldn’t they see how many ponies were at risk here?

A more rational part of his mind soon kicked into gear, smothering such toxic thoughts. Vanhoover was a city under siege. It wasn’t like naval bombers were very high amongst their priorities right now. This would be true no matter how much Fancy begged and pleaded for it to be otherwise.

The cannons on his ship bloomed as they sent another volley arching towards the enemy. He had no doubt that these would miss. After all, his cannons hadn’t been able to score a hit even when the two fleets were at their closest. Now that the distance between them was once again growing, the chances…

“Hit!” a voice cried from the windows.

Fancy spun on his hooves. “What?”

“We’ve hit one of their cruisers, sir.”

Fancy rushed over, using his magic to yank the stallion’s binoculars away.

He looked through them and focused upon the enemy fleet. The stallion’s words proved true as one of the enemy’s ships belched smoke from its turret. The smoke was soon joined by a fireball which leapt at least three stories into the air. There fires began to spread as angry flames lapped at the wooden deck and engulfed the entire front half.

Then suddenly, a flash of light as an explosion tore through the ship. Its magazine must have ignited, as the whole structure was sent several metres into the air. It was sheared in two, with both pieces crashing into the waters below.

All throughout the bridge ponies began to cheer. It was a brief celebration, but one nonetheless.

Then a more somber tone settled back into place. They may have blooded the enemy’s nose, but at the end of the day an Equestrian ship would be at the bottom of this bay. An Equestrian ship which had paid the price to ensure their safety.





Another shell bounced off of the Thunder Child, deflecting loudly against its thick armour. It was a miracle that it hadn’t pierced the ship.

“Hard turn towards port!” Captain Shore Leave ordered.

The ship began to turn, bring its side to bear upon the enemy.

“Fire the torpedoes!”

There was a moment’s pause. Then suddenly four pairs of wakes formed in the water. Each belonged to a separate torpedo which made up the screen heading towards the enemy.

In the direct line of fire were a series of the enemy’s light ships. While any of these would’ve been a valuable bounty, the real prize was what laid behind. It was their flagship, a battleship which looked sleek, dangerous, and most importantly, costly. Its demise would surely be the perfect ending to Captain Leaves career.

All of the light ships were nimble craft and easily maneuvered away from the torpedoes, dodging them.

Well, all of them except for one. An unlucky destroyer avoided one torpedo only for a second to plow into its unprotected flank. The ship was instantly stricken dead in the water, floundering helpless onto its side.

Another hostile destroyer took advantage of the Thunder Child’s compromising position and unleashed a barrage with its cannons. Each of its rounds landed, though with a varying degree of success. Most merely bounced off, a couple slammed through the deck, one punched a hole through the thick armour, and another clipped the tower mere metres from the bridge.

“Get us straight!” Captain Leave shouted. “We’re exposed like this!”

The ship began to turn. Though it was sluggish and unresponsive.

“Get those tubes reloaded!”

“I can’t see a thing, sir. We’re blind in the water,” The radar operator shouted.

“We don’t need radar, Lieutenant. The enemy’s all around us.”

It was true. They were no longer heading towards the enemy fleet, they were amongst it. To the port, the starboard, the aft, and especially off the bow were warships. None of which were friendly.

Then right there, in the centre of his view, was the enemy’s battleship. The behemoth turned out to be surprisingly nimble as it weaved amongst the torpedoes, narrowly avoiding two of them by dodging between.

The battleship’s large guns then barked. For a moment, Shore Leave thought these rounds would land. However, a miracle prevailed as the munitions were diverted safely into the water.

Shore Leave took only a second to let out a pent-up breath before thrusting his hoof starboard.

“Turn!” he screamed. “We have plenty of torpedoes that need firing.”

The helmstallion turned the wheel hard, though the ship was lethargic to respond.

Another explosion, this one to the aft. Whatever was hit must have been vital as the lights within the bridge began to flicker. For a moment, they seemed to recover and then…

Darkness.

The only light within the entire room was that which poured through the windows.

“Situation?” Captain Leave demand.

“Radio’s dead,” one pony said.

“Same with the phones,” said another.

“Engines are still online, but steering’s not responsive,” the pilot chimed in.

The Thunder Child’s cannons barked and a shell exploded upon the deck of the opposing battleship. While the behemoth did sprout a brand-new pillar of smoke, the shell appeared to do little in actually hindering it.

“At least the cannons are still working,” Captain Leave muttered.

He looked to one of his junior officers.

She was this tiny pegasus mare, probably fresh from the academy. Her coat was a soft blue and her mane a straw blonde cropped close to the scalp, like that of any respectable military pony.

The poor thing looked utterly terrified.

“What’s your name?” Shore Leave demanded.

“Sun…Sun Showers…” There was a pause, then realization as she snapped off a salute. “SIR!”

“Sun Showers, I need you to get your flank down to engineering and tell Elbow Grease that I need the power back online.”

“Of course, sir.”

She lingered for a moment.

Shore Leave felt like he should have added something. A word of reassurance, something to let her know everything was going to be ok. You know, a message from one generation of warriors to the next. However, the words eluded him.

He lingered upon the thought for only a moment. Then the heat of battle drew him back in, tearing his attention away from her.

His parting words were, “dismissed.”

With that she was gone and he was back at the helm.

Would he ever see her again?





Thunderlane was in hell.

It was hot, impossibly hot. Flames surrounded him on all sides, lashing out and threatening to cook him alive. The oppressive wall of heat smothered him. It was suffocating and turned each breath into a struggle for consciousness.

Yet he moved onwards, pressed close to the floor and crawling forward one agonizing foot at a time.

If he were to raise his head even an inch he would choke upon the thick smoke which filled the room. It was already within his mane, upon his coat, and in his eyes and lungs. He felt it tickle the back of his throat and irritate his eyes as it mixed with each tear he shed.

In his hooves was a fire extinguisher. A dinky little device compared to the task in front of him. Yet, this was currently the only tool as his disposal.

He paused for a moment and pressed a plunger on the top of his extinguisher, sending out a wave of white particles to snuff out a flame in front of him.

As he paused, Golden Harvest’s head bumped into his hindquarters.

He looked over his shoulder. “We’re nearly there.”

Golden Harvest merely nodded her head.

She was covered in soot with her orange mane and yellow coat both darkened with black.

Thunderlane turned his gaze forwards and continued to crawl. Inch by painful inch he drew closer to his objective.

His destination was a bank of batteries stored in the next room. They were the ship’s backup power supply and, if he was lucky, they should’ve survived the bombardment mostly intact.

And if he wasn’t lucky?

He tried not to linger on that thought.

The ship rocked and an explosion erupted in the distance.

Another shell had landed.

The sirens continued to blare. Even without power they still managed to scream, letting everypony know just how fucked they were.

You know, as if the raging infernos and occasional explosions weren’t enough of a warning.

Thunderlane neared the watertight door on the far end of this cabin. When he finally reached it, he scrambled to his hooves, throwing himself at the metal latch and put all his weight into attempting to turn it.

In hindsight, this was a terrible idea. The latch had become superheated in the fire and felt like grabbing a baking sheet fresh from the oven.

Thunderlane cried out and instinctively inhaled. The dark smoke which surrounded him entered his lungs and sent him tumbling to the floor in a coughing fit. He hacked and hacked, desperate for even a wink of fresh air.

While the air down here was by no means fresh, it eventually managed to calm his fit.

Golden studied him with concern.

He gestured to the door, wheezing as he spoke. “It’s too hot. I can’t grab the wheel without frying my hooves.”

His gaze turned to the unfortunate hoof he grabbed the latch with. The frog was already red and inflamed. It was easily a first-degree burn.

Golden moved forward, getting to her hooves.

“What are you doing?” Thunderlane rasped.

She levelled the fire extinguisher at the door and depressed the plunger, spraying it down.

It took Thunderlane a moment to reach her conclusion, but he eventually figured it out. These fire extinguishers used highly concentrated carbon dioxide which came out bone chillingly cold.

She held the stream steady until the canister sputtered to an end before diving back towards the ground for breath.

Thunderlane sprang to his hooves and grabbed the latch. This time it was comfortable to the touch as he turned it with all his might. For a moment, it seemed to be stuck but then ever so slightly the tension gave way. It initially moved only a fraction of an inch. However, this was enough, as his next turn moved it an entire inch and then two. After that, it didn’t take much longer to open.

The door swung inwards and the thick smoke rushed past, billowing into the new compartment.

Golden Harvest was the first one in, followed immediately by Thunderlane.

Once inside, he slammed the door closed behind him.

The room they entered was nearly pitch black with only a dim red glow illuminating the battery banks.

At least nothing was on fire.

He heard Golden Harvest take in a deep breath of air. It may have been damp, moldy, warm, and stuffy, but it was certainty far more breathable then what they’d just left.

“Fuck,” Golden rasped.

Thunderlane nodded in agreement. Though there was no way Golden could possibly see him.

“You alright?” he asked.

“I’m fine. What about you?”

“Burned the hell out of my hoof but I’ll live.”

Golden walked towards one of the batteries, placing her hoof upon it.

“So, what’s your big plan?”

“Try and figure out why these things aren’t transferring power. Then after that, maybe we can see about getting the water pumps back online.”

Golden Harvest snorted. “Sounds simple enough.”

“Should be.” Thunderlane let out a grim chuckle. “That is, unless the enemy sinks us while we’re working.”

He walked along the edge of the room, attempting to find the control panel. It took a moment but eventually he found it upon the starboard wall. He opened it carefully and scanned the various breakers. There was one at the very top labelled ‘master’. He reached out and flicked it.

At first there was silence. Then suddenly, the sound of metal being violently torn behind him.

What the…

He wasn’t even able to wheel around before the enemy shell exploded a deck above.

His world was instantly engulfed in flames.

For a moment he heard screaming.

It was his own.

Then there was nothing.





The Thunder Child was dead in the water. She had been for some time now.

First, she had lost power. With the power gone it wasn’t long before the engines sputtered to a halt. When the engines died she had stalled to a standstill and this opened her up to a constant and punishing barrage. Now her hull integrity was breached and the vessel was slowly sinking as water gushed through her many gaping wounds.

The Thunder Child was wounded but not dead, however. The difference between the two is that a wounded entity can still bark, and bark the Thunder Child did.

One last turret remained defiant, firing its shells into the fleet which surrounded her.

In response, the enemy fleet fired back from every direction. Their bark turned out to have much more of a bite as it pulverized the Thunder Child.

Captain Shore Leave blinked as his whole ship shuddered. He laid upon the ground in what remained of his bridge.

There was a puddle of blood around him. Was it his own?

His eyes drifted down towards the various shrapnel wounds which marked his body.

The answer was…probably.

Five minutes ago, this room had been alive and well. Then some destroyer had decided to blow a hole through it.

In an instant they were goners.

He could see the motionless corpses of his officers.

Was he really the only one left?

He tried to roll over and see, but his body refused to move. Something was holding him in place.

His attention drifted to the piece of metal which he was currently impaled upon.

Oh right…

His vision began to darken.

In the distance he could hear a buzz.

It sounded… familiar.

Somewhere far away another volley abused his ship and finally she began to lean to the side. It wouldn’t be long before she capsized.

The darkness grew deeper and the buzzing closer.

What was that?

The last sound Captain Shore Leave heard was this relentless buzzing and then the subsequent pop of anti-air munitions.





“The Swordfish have entered their attack run, sir.”

Fancy Pants watched through his binoculars as the twin formations of little white biplanes descended upon the enemy fleet.

The Thunder Child sat as a bonfire on the horizon. She had long ago given up any meaningful resistance and was now in her death throes.

Her sacrifice had bought them miles and time. It was now up to the Swordfish to ensure that this investment paid off.

The little planes flew close to the water, being a little over twenty metres above the surface. Their target was the flagship at the centre of the enemy formation.

She was already smoldering and damaged from her tussle with the Thunder Child. The Swordfish had smelled the blood in the water and like a pack of lions prepared to pounce upon their wounded prey.

The enemy’s flak was not idle however, as it scored a hit and one of the bombers burst into flames.

“Come on,” Fancy muttered through gritted teeth. “Come on, just a little closer.”

Another torpedo bomber careened to the side, slamming into the water.

A third merely disintegrated in the air, with four and five joining it.

Yet, the enemy’s best efforts proved to be futile. Fancy could see the fifteen remaining bombers all drop their payload into the water. They then peeled off to return home.

The enemy’ flagship attempted to maneuver but she was hurt, clumsy, and slow.

A cheer erupted from the bridge as the first torpedo hit its mark on the bow of the enemy ship. It was followed almost immediately by eight other explosions. These peppered the ship along its entire length.

The battleship instantly began to slow and ever so slightly dip into the water.

The hunt was successful. Today would see a Changeling capital ship join an Equestrian one at the bottom of the sea

In response, the entire enemy fleet began to slow, moving towards their dying companion. The intercepting force now found itself in the midst of a rescue mission.

Fancy noted that a single enemy destroyer pulled up alongside the Thunder Child. Though he placed his binoculars to the side before he could determine its intentions.

He looked to Captain Cannonade and nodded. “Set a course for the nearest Equestrian port.”





In Fillydelphia, the frame of a ship sat in drydock. She had been under construction for four months now and it would be another eight before she was ready for service.

This was set to be the first of many Imperial Class heavy cruisers. These promised be the most advanced and well armed ship of this class that any navy possessed.

Currently, she was nameless.

However, one day a bottle of champagne would be broken upon her hull and she would be given a name.

That name would by the HMS Thunder Child.





Ditzy Doo looked at the door before her.

In her hooves was a thick letter with a very official government seal upon it

She had delivered dozens of these over the past year. Though the act had never gotten easier for her.

The text would always be the same. A cold and bureaucratic memo which would thank a mother for her child, a husband for his spouse, a son for his parent, or a sister for her sibling.

They would try and be personalized but when a hundred of these were being written everyday the unique character that each one received got slimmer and slimmer until the note held about as much warmth and reassurance as the income tax form you got in spring.

Her hoof came up and knocked upon the door.

There was movement on the other side as a voice called out.

“Rumble, can you get that?”





A train bounced along the tracks through the Crystal Empire. Aboard it were freed prisoners of war.

They had been exchanged mere weeks ago in a deal brokered between Equestria and Chrysalis in neutral Yakyakistan.

One of the prisoners was a mare with a yellow coat and golden mane.

The war had not been kind to her.

In her service to Equestria, a leg had been lost and her hide scared with burns. One eye had been blinded and an ear left ragged and torn.

Currently she was just happy to be heading home.

However, a fire burned inside of her. These fires were far different from those which had devastated her inside of the Thunder Child.

These were the fires of a poet and an author. The type of fires that could craft words into ideas and ideas into weapons. These were the fires of a revolutionary and a rebel.

Golden Harvest was not the same mare she’d been when she enlisted three years ago. She was now the type of mare that was needed for the future of Equestria. A future which could only be brought about by radical ideas.

Her ideas.