“There is only one tactical principle which is not subject to change. It is to use the means at hand to inflict the maximum amount of wound, death, and destruction on the enemy in the minimum amount of time.”
– General George S. Patton Jr.
“See the blood,” called out the youth, looking towards the car. His face was eager and excited. “It’s pouring out of his leg. It’s all over him.”
“Give him another,” yelled the old man. “Sink another into him.”
-Alan Marshall, First Kill.
Chapter 9: The Battle of a New Era
—Lyra—
“HOLY SHIT!”
The ‘complex’ seems to be a brick wall, with a tower in each corner, and inside two buildings stick up into the air, one producing a minor amount of smoke. Not enough to be noticed from Ponyville though.
Lyra couldn’t possibly believe what the receptors in her eyes are currently picking up, why in the name of Lauren Faust is there a HUGE relatively normal building in the middle of the EVERFREE Forest!??
Curiosity begins to overrule the green unicorn as she trots up to the defensive (what she assumes) brick wall, and touches it. All she gets in return is a dull *knock*.
Wait a second, why does she feel like she’s being heavily watched, like, serval ponies are just pointing weapons directly at her, and at any moment ready to strike? This is the same kind of feeling Lyra got when she ran into that Manticore.
Perhaps…she should get out of here, and tell Bon Bon about this place.
But, Lyra had never been so close to finding a real human! Maybe only a teeny tiny bit further.
Lyra places a hoof on the wall, and casts an ‘attraction’ spell, to allow a tight grip on any surface, no matter how slippery. Lucky she learned it when she was trying to grab some biscuits out of the cookie jar.
As soon as Lyra even moves a single centimetre, a loud blast and explosion of light appeared beside her. Causing the lime green unicorn to lose concentration and fall backwards, onto her spine.
‘Or maybe I’ve overstayed my circumstances,’ Lyra thought.
Another explosion to the right of her confirms this, resulting in a loud YELP, and her body to scramble onto her hooves, moreover, to sprint in the opposite direction at full speed. Only fuelled by the adrenaline rushing through her veins.
‘NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE’
“ENEMY SIGHTED AT OUTPOST B1, MOVE OUT!”
Immediately, the camp busts into life, Griffons rush everywhere, fulfilling particular duties. Myself, on the other hand, continue to sit with my haunches on the ground, and my right hoof under my muzzle, in deep thought.
I wonder what these griffons taste like, chicken perhaps? I know they’re part bird, and all feathered mammals taste like chicken, it’s a known fact. I don’t think the same applies to cartoon ponies though, besides a pegasus, the other two races probably taste similar to cattle. I’ll definitely have to test this out at some stage.
A griffon tugged my shoulder, snapping me out of my prolonged thoughts, “Ma'am, we’re moving out.”
I switched my gaze from the disorganised ground, and stare up at my disturber. His face takes up most of my vision, and my mouth starts to water. Chicken. I smack my lips, slowly licking my tongue around, attempting to savour a flavour that never even existed in the first place.
A month of eating nothing but fruit and vegetables, along with the occasional nutrient bar has started to affect me mentally. The atomic fabricator can’t replicate the real deal for shit, and these ponies don’t fucking eat it. No human has EVER gone for more than a few weeks without bacon, chicken, lamb shanks, juicy medium rare steaks, deliciously succulent smoked ham…. Mmmmmmmmmmm.
God damn it! I’m doing it again.
Point is, I can’t get my mind off it.
By the looks of things, a battle is going to occur soon. Perhaps nobody will notice if one or three bodies suddenly go missing….
I smack myself in the head. STOP IT BRAIN.
“Ummm, are you alright, ma'am?” The same Griffon as previously asked, worry and terror laced into his voice.
“Yeah…..yeah.”
A bloody battle should get my mind off things, in fact, I can already imagine the countless bodies that litter the ground, I merge into my excited state once again.
Date: 2nd of October, 989
Time: 11:26
Location: Shitick, Border Dispute
Major-General Chop Slice was standing to the side of 4000 troops, that happened to be under his command, all were in position, steel spears pointing outward, shields situated on the appropriate arm, amour made by the best blacksmiths in all of The Griffon Empire, and soldiers trained to perfection. Every fifty soldiers, the Griffon Empire’s flag waves proudly in the wind, situated up by a pole, and held within a griffon’s claw.
‘This is too easy,’ he thought, ‘We’ve won the last couple of battles, it’s only a matter of time before they completely break’. Over the past month, the Democrats were constantly pushing forward, mostly out of complete desperation, only in vain hope of causing disorganisation. All have failed, and now it's time to strike back, for the first time in the war, the Empire will take the offensive.
Although he has doubts, just like every other officer, the borders have been quiet, too quiet, for the past few days. Attacks were usually often, and huge in numbers, with barely any time to prepare and relax between the assaults.
Major Slice grabbed his binoculars from around his neck and peered into the high tech lenses at the assembling enemy army front.
Around three hundred metres away, Chop could only just make out what was occurring on the other side, there was an uneven line of enemy soldiers, who were all battle-torn, many still possessed heavy wounds. It requires great courage to be able to withstand that, thus he would normally give his respect. These, creatures on the other claw, are not ordinary, they don’t have the honour to be a griffon, much less even a soldier.
Their despicable ideology will only result in even more death and destruction.
These ‘soldiers’ were by the looks of things, were being replaced by other service-men. ‘This will be easier than I thought,’ Chop deviously thought, ‘Removing battle-hardened fighters, and replacing with a newly trained militia? What are those Generals thinking!’
‘And what’s this?’ Chop barely withheld a chuckle, ‘Replacing spears with short metal rods? Are they stupid? Do they seriously think those things will be able to reach us before we plunge our spears into them?’
Glancing left and right, Chop Slice manufactured a whistle. Prompting over another Griffon, he saluted, “Yes Sir!”
He answered in a stern, commanding voice, “Retrieve the Green flag, I would like to personally talk with the enemy’s commander.”
The other Griffon hesitated slightly, but after a brief scowl from the Major, he immediately went gather the requested item. Chop didn’t have to wait long, around 30 seconds later, the ‘Don’t attack me’ flag (dubbed by the soldiers), was within his grasp, literally.
Without even a farewell to his fellow soldiers, he marched through no-griffons land. Guards stood in awe, mouth agape. Their commander is brave and courageous enough to move into enemy crossbow fire, and not even break a sweat doing it! No griffon has been this valiant, propaganda was drilled into the minds of every Griffon enlisted, the Democrats were simply too barbaric, they would unambiguously kill him on the spot, without even a second thought.
Well, that’s what they assumed.
Eventually, Major Slice stopped directly in the middle of the field, standing perfectly, shoulders, arms, legs, claws, were in excellent proportion. He is the very definition of valiancy.
Not long after, a General from the other side carrying an identical flag walked deliberately slow, calculated movements, equivalent or maybe even more imposing than that of Major Chop. He, ultimately met up with him in the centre of the meadow.
The Democratic sternly stares, with a slight, almost hidden smirk, “You will lose.”
Major Slice snorts, “You say that every time, and yet, who exactly is winning this war?”
The other Griffon didn’t even bulge, not feeling threatened whatsoever, “We are giving you one chance to surrender, and we can promise you everygriffon all be spared.”
Slice institutes a snicker, only just barely withholding a full-blown laugh. The other Griffon doesn’t seem to notice or care, so he continued, “We’ll see who wins this battle, I have a feeling it’s going to be historical.”
That’s it, Chop could no longer conceal his laugh, it explodes at full force, so intense and deafening, that he had to cough half a dozen times just to stabilise himself, which, completely ruined the overall act.
‘He will pay for that,’ the enemy Griffon thought, ‘I will personally kill him myself.’
Major Slice wiped his eyes with his right claw while breathing rather rapidly, his voice still outlined by a light chuckle, “Historical, yeah, your right about that,” he then tries to look rather serious, but fails miserably, releasing another heavy chuckle, “Historically funny!”
The opposer is now silently fuming.
“Careful what you wish for General,“ he warned, a tiny smirk reappears among his facade, “I can guarantee you it’s going to be amusing, but not in the way you expect.” Without even giving Major Slice a chance to respond, he swiftly turns 180 degrees on the spot and marches back to his army.
All signs of happiness suddenly drained from Chop Slice’s face, ‘How DARE him! I’ll show that prick just how powerful the Empire’s armed force is, they ain't seen nothing yet.’ He swivels around, and walks back towards his men, hiding behind the lines to be out of combat.
Any moment he would give the signal to attack.
But first, a little speech would be necessary, Major Chop holds his right arm directly up, silencing everygriffon. Conversational mummers died down until the only sound was the howling wind and the occasional clank of amour.
(MUSIC)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1xzKtMqe_4&list=PLagw1OacLUg7y-7YoQai1hbwVNCl5nz-6&index=2
“Fellow soldiers!” he shots, his voice booming over the meadow, echoing, “Today is another chance to defend what is right, to defend our country, our honour and most importantly, our families! We can’t allow these barbarians to steal what we rightfully worked for! I say no more! WE HAVE A CHANCE TO POSITIVELY IMPACT NOT ONLY OUR BEAUTIFUL COUNTRY BUT THE ENTIRE PLANET. WE’RE THE HEROS, THE DEFENDERS, AND IT'S TIME TO SHOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU MESS WITH THE WRONG PEOPLE!”
Chop shouts the beginning of the famous war cry, “For the Empire!”
“For the King!” Every soldier joins in their little amount of fear already temporarily forgotten. The adrenaline rush through their veins preparing them for the massive assault.
“For GLORY!” The last word is shouted at the top of every griffon’s lungs, placing in every inch of motivation they could possibly muster.
An ugly, deafening horn blast explodes into the surrounding area, signifying the dawn of the attack. The first three lines rush at a full sprint directly towards the enemy, flags ferociously wave in the wind. Followed by groups of crossbowmen to provide cover support, and swordsmen to protect them, as they are quite valuable and vulnerable at close range. Another line of infantry follows close behind to protect the flanks from flying battalions.
Major Chop Slice watches the conflict from the safety of his binoculars
The rapid pacing literally shakes the ground, the sheer amount of soldiers and griffon-power is surely enough to demolish the enemy.
He notices the enemy lines proceed to point out their metal ‘sticks’ directly forward, in almost perfect synchronisation. Each, and every soldier not portraying the slightest bit of hesitation, it appears as though these troops know exactly what they're doing, even though the methodology is completely wrong. Spears are supposed to be pointed at a slightly higher degree to allow the ground to take some of the blunt force, empowering them to not be pushed backwards. Only now does Chop release that those ‘spears’ don’t even look like them at all, in fact, they have the appearance of nothing he’s ever seen before.
And that is exactly where it all went wrong.
The most ear-shattering, thunderous BOOM occurred from the lines, explosions of pure fire and energy outburst from the tip of every weapon, plumes of smoke rise, collecting into a cloud of smoulder, easily blocking them all from view. That’s nothing compared to what happened though, almost the entire first row of soldiers just suddenly dropped, dead. The ammunition tears through the thin steal armour like it’s wet tissue paper. Many used their claws to clutch the chest areas, the action, however, proved to be futile, as crimson blood continued to pour around the claws, and drop the essential liquid life onto the ground below. Some soldiers fail to notice their fellow brethren on the red-stained green grass, resulting in trips, and falling downwards too, others were unlucky enough to be inhaled by their own weapons.
Chop is horrified beyond belief, nothing should be capable of that sort of power! All the other soldiers seemed to reflect his current feelings, as many seem to just stop, their confusion taking the better of them. Disorganisation and confusion erupt onto the battlefield. If a whole line could suddenly be slaughtered, what’s stopping the enemy from doing it again? It's like all that training, was completely in vain, if they could literally just kill them without even the slightest bit of difficulty. Griffons couldn’t take it, several hundred became deserters, they decide to run in the opposite direction, without even looking back.
The small percentage that did continue to run forward become already too far ahead to reform.
Despite all this, General-Major Slice was still able to squark out orders, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? DON’T STOP! RUN! KEEP YOUR SPEAR STRAIGHT! CROSSBOWS! SHOOT YOUR ARROWS! BREAK UP THEIR LINES!”
His orders seemed to snap all the soldiers out of their trace, causing the ones who haven’t disbanded the battle, to continue forward. Range weapons were pointed at the sky in forty-five degrees and fired in small groups of around forty. A small hail of arrows rained down on the enemy lines, most missed, due to the separation between the two armies, a few nonetheless, where lucky shots, puncturing in unarmored head or chest areas.
Despite the reorganisation efforts, it became all in vain when the muskets fire another deafening round of explosions, soldiers continue to drop left, right and centre. Screams, screeches, and gunshots echo the surrounding area. Giving the atmosphere a nightmarish theme, as bodies continue to thump onto the ground below.
Almost every fibre of courage that used to swell inside each soldier, has declined to unmanageable lengths, held by a single thread, threatening to collapse at a moments notice.
Very few, brave Griffons who never stopped running from the beginning, finally made it to the enemy. The hacked, slashed and attempted to stab. Although their superior training gave them a slight advantage, it proved to be naught, as multiple enemy Griffons used a mix of bayonets and short swords focused one Griffon at a time. Without even much effort, all those attacking directly were finished off. Their bodies littered the front of the lines, creating an invisible barrier, that seemed all but impossible to pass.
The second wave became increasingly closer to the enemy, technically it all should have been one wave, but the massive divide gave the allusion there was two. Soldiers began to gather a small amount of hope, and courage, as they were twenty metres away from achieving their goal.
Then, the third round hit.
Although a few Griffons in the Republican army that fought claw to claw combat couldn’t fire, it didn’t seem to matter as shooting at the almost point-blank range is lethal beyond imaginable. Fire and smoke, yet again expels from the musket tubes, launching over 700 metal projectiles into the body and tissue of the still approaching army.
Flesh and bones drop like flies, skulls burst, chests concave, legs shatter, and torsos tear open. Less than two percent of the original three front lines remain. The single thread of courage that remained suddenly breaks, the majority attempt to ditch their armour and fly away. The symbolic flags are completely forgotten, and discarded. Few sporadic individuals drop their weapons, kneel and surrender.
Major Slice could not believe it. This battle must be some sort of illusion, no military can suddenly turn their fate by the flip of a hat. He, however, was not prepared to say the next words, the words that will haunt him the rest of his life.
“RETREAT! FALL BACK!”
The effect was immediate, previously confident soldiers revolve 180 degrees, and spirit with their tail tucked firmly beneath their legs, others flew. Some soldiers close to the front lines, including crossbowmen and swordsmen, simply surrender, as they don’t have the desire to risk being killed while withdrawing.
The Democratic army marches forward, a few dispatching from the others to arrest the surrendering soldiers.
A piercing whistle sounds over the hollow winds, every single Republican rushes forward, trailing the retreating army, some fly to catch the soaring Monarch soldiers. The Democrats don’t give them what they desperately desire, freedom.
An increasingly exponential amount of soldiers surrender when they see the charging army. Most simply don’t have the stamina to run or fly away, as it was utilised at the beginning of the battle, all soldiers were simply driving off the intense amount of adrenaline rushing through their veins.
The rear infantry is stabbed and impaled from behind by bayonets and short swords. Many continue to drop, blood staining the soldiers, giving them an almost demonic appearance.
Chop Slice only just now realised, the army is getting increasingly close to him, so he releases his binoculars and flies in a random direction, completely abandoning his army.
His soldiers witnessed this, he was their last hope the escape out of there alive, and he just discarded them, like they were nothing! With no trace of hope in their hearts, practically the entire army surrenders like a tidal wave.
The General spots the fleeing Monarch Major, immediately beckoning over a moderate number of Griffons whose muskets are already preloaded. He swiftly places them into a small line and begins the daunting command process.
“Aim!” He shouts in a hushed whisper.
“Fire!”
Gold projectiles launch from their firearms, speeding through the air. Most, however, miss their target, not inflicting any damage on the retreating Generall. Well, that’s besides one, it managed to clip his left wing. That, however, proved to be enough. Chop Slice instinctively closes his wings, causing him to plummet to the ground below, landing in a heap.
The Republican General doesn’t give him even a second to spare, he dashes to the fallen enemy. Chop bolts upwards, and sprints away with every bit of energy he can muster, while clutching his left wing with his claw.
This action proved to be a strain, as the approaching Democratic slowly catches up, and eventually slashes him in the back. Resulting in a spray of crimson blood to spray over the grass, Major Slice drops to the ground, conceding. Attempting to hold in his precious liquid life, by pressing his spin firmly against the ground.
“Why?” Chop gurgles.
“Exactly the same reason as you,” the Republican replies, “to protect my people.”
And with that, he does one final powerful swoop with his sword, it comes down on his exposed neck. Completely separating the head from his spine, and causing it to roll a couple of times with forever stained, wide eyes.
Major Chop Slice, is dead.
The still remaining General openly stares at his prior competitor, filled with satisfaction and a newly created spark of hope. Hope, that now they have the advantage, and can finally finish this war, once and for all.
Another soldier rushes beside the General, panting heavily, “Want—me to—begin counting the —casualties?”
The General looks his is right, now with a genuine smile, “Please do.”
—Meanwhile—
“…innie minnie miny mo.”
My hoof ends up pointing at a random dead Griffon, completely saturated in blood, I’m far enough behind the army for no-one to notice me performing anything. I haul the deceased soldier over my shoulder and walk to deposit the body in a bush to pick up later.
My mouth is already watering.