//------------------------------//
// The Return 
// Story: Strange Bedfellows 
// by BRBrony9 
//------------------------------//

The dropships swept in, falling on the city as unmercifully as the Chaos troops had done days earlier. Men landed on the tiled rooftops and ornate balconies of the Royal and Old quarters, their transports cutting the ropes as they powered up and away, clearing room for the next wave to run in. Small arms fire and a few missiles flashed and spat at the attackers, bringing down a couple of craft before they reached the walls, but most of the defenders were in disarray, caught napping, literally in many cases. The ponies on the walls quickly found themselves under attack from below, with enemies trying to storm the stairs once they realised what was going on. But they resisted, forming firing lines at the top of each staircase, so that whenever a Chaos infantryman reached the last few steps and exposed himself to the walltop, he was cut down with a volley of accurate rifle fire. 

The stunned defenders in the city were starting to formulate some kind of resistance, starting to regain their discipline and find some kind of order. Buildings were being occupied and barricades originally erected by the ponies manned once more, this time by the forces of the Archenemy. As the relentless dropship assault continued, the pony airships, heavy-laden with their own infantry contingent, drew ponderously closer. A missile from the final air-defence battery lashed out at the Canterlot, perhaps thinking such a large craft to be an easy target, but the missile burst harmlessly against the defensive shield. 

A few scattered survivors from the encampment outside of the walls, blasted half-dumb by shellfire, stumbled back toward the safety of the city gates. But they were picked off one by one by the barrier of Pegasi infantry atop the walls, keeping those inside in, and those outside out. A number of armoured vehicles, shrugging off the shelling, began to advance toward the city. The assault infantry lacked artillery or magic, and had little defence against the tanks that began firing once they detected pony forces on the southern wall. Another flare went up, this time a purple one,arcing over the wall towards the enemy and hanging in the air like a strange star as it slowly descended.

Almost immediately, the bows of the Luna and the Starswirl began to swing out of formation to starboard. Though they were out of range of small arms fire, the bombardment cannon on the prows of the Starswirl was at almost optimum range. It roared, and a heavy-calibre shell was sent on its way. Seconds later, a plume of earth and rock rose from the plateau in the path of the few surviving tanks. They continued on regardless. Another round of shells from the Imperial artillery, directed by the spotters aboard the airships, laid precision rounds on the target area as the Luna and Starswirl swung themselves about to present their broadsides, the delivery of their cargo taking a momentary backseat. Their deck guns lines up and illuminated the port sides of both warcraft brightly, unleashing enough force to swing the bows of the huge gondolas to starboard, counteracted by an altered rudder and pitch angle of the propellers. The shells raced in to add their firepower to the Imperial bombardment. High-explosive and airburst munitions rattled the tank crews, causing superficial damage, but the vehicles pressed on, powerful engines driving them uphill toward the city's southern gate. But the purple tank-alarm flare had not only alerted the artillery and airships, and without warning to the crews, two of the tanks suddenly exploded, shrapnel raining down and pinging from the armour of their fellows. 

One of the Valkyrie gunship escorts had spotted the signal and diverted from supporting the landing to protecting the southern flank from the enemy charge. Its missiles had found their targets, and it rotated switfly on its axis for another pass. Its wingman swooped in from behind the spires of Canterlot and let loose another pair of missiles that knocked out a personnel carrier and all but obliterated a flamethrower tank in a monstrous mushroom of fire as its Promethium tanks detonated spectacularly. Both craft remained well clear of the area being bombarded by the artillery, their long-range missiles allowing them to engage the tanks from a distance. A shell managed to shatter the track of one tank, and it slewed to a halt at an angle, only to have its turret ripped open by a missile a few moments later. The infantry escorting the tanks began to flee in panic as one by one their vehicles were destroyed. Shellfire cut most of them down, the last survivors from the encampment outside the walls.




Inside the city, a fierce battle had developed. The tight confines of the narrow streets, winding alleyways and fancy mansions of the elite and famous made for a confusing and deadly arena for such gladiatorial combat. The Imperial infantry had dropped on top of their enemy, sometimes literally, and dozens on both sides were already dead. The traitor forces were rallying, especially at key locations including the rail station and the royal palace, which dominated the Royal Quarter of the city. It was a prime target for the landing forces, with several hundred men dropping around the perimeter, in the main square outside and in the gardens to the rear. Las-fire met them from many of the ornate windows of the palace and its outbuildings. Snipers on the twin Towers Of The Princesses, the tallest spires in the city, picked off attackers with their long-las rifles. The towers had escaped all but the most superficial damage during the initial invasion, and Celestia had issued strict orders that they were not to be targeted with artillery or heavy weapons. The Imperials had reluctantly agreed, as they certainly understood the value of sentimentality regarding official buildings, the Ecclesiarchy taking a strong lead in such things, but something had to be done about the snipers.

Pinned down behind the statuary and low balustrade walls in the gardens, elements of the 40th Parvian Lancers, chosen for their previous combat experience alongside the natives, made vox-calls for air support. A Valkyrie responded. Mindful of the orders not to use heavy weaponry the towers if at all possible, the pilot brought VTOL craft in close to the Celestial Tower. His starboard door gunner swung his heavy bolter to bear and opened fire, explosive shells enough to chip the marble and gouge chunks from the stone, but not to cause any serious damage. One sniper went down, but his steel-eyed companion made a killing shot, and the door gunner slumped in his harness, his gun falling silent. The Valkyrie pulled away and swung around, multilaser flashing, striking the stonework and causing minor burn damage, but missing the sniper, who dove for cover inside the stairhead. A 'hotshot' high-powered las-round from the Lunar Tower cracked the cockpit glass of the gunship, and the pilot dipped away again, swinging between several of the shorter towers to try and bring the port gunner to bear. 

That was when the missile sprung up out of nowhere, a trail of smoke with a bright pinpoint of light at the head rising from between the spires. It struck the gunship amidships, well-aimed by the Chaos gunner. The explosion ripped through the passenger compartment, killing the portside gunner and tearing up the hydraulic lines and control cables in the cabin roof. The pilot struggled with the controls to no avail as the gunship dropped toward the city below. It ploughed through the wall of a four-storey stone townhouse and exploded, bringing almost the whole building down on top of it. 

The snipers returned their attention to the ground forces who were taking potshots up at them, but they failed to notice, or deliberately ignored, the approach of the primitive native craft. The EAS Canterlot drifted almost casually into view, broadside-on to the towers. Its artillery remained silent, but sharpshooters on its top deck could fire through the shield, and their aim was true. The other sniper on the Celestial Tower died unaware of the encroaching vessel. The two snipers on the sister tower heard the drone of its engines over the din of battle, and turned to engage. A snap shot punched through the magic shield and caused a tiny spot fire on the wooden deck railing. Half a dozen rifles fired in reply, shattering chips of stone from the tower as the snipers ducked for cover. As the airship drew closer, the swivel guns mounted on the railings were able to fire, short-range anti-infantry canister shot loaded instead of their usual explosive rounds, intended mostly for defence against enemy boarders. A spray of shrapnel blasted out in a broad cone, peppering the tower balcony and cutting into the flesh of one of the snipers, who toppled in a crumpled heap. The other sniper took careful aim and fired, his las-round putting a sizzling hole in one of the marksponies' heads. Her fellows replied with precision shots, striking the sniper several times. He slumped forward against the stone balustrade and tipped, toppling over and plunging hundreds of feet to the garden below, landing with a loud thud and a spray of blood.

Following the Canterlot came the Luna, back on track from its mission diversion to help engage the tank column. The Luna's objective was the palace, to support the human ground forces and to deploy her own pony infantry. With the Fillydelphia flying top cover, the Luna commenced deployment operations, coming in low over the palace gardens. The Pegasi assault detachment took to their wings and swooped down onto the rooftops and balconies of the grand building. The Luna engaged pitch reversal on its propellers, slowing the mighty craft into a steady hover. Ropes were dropped from both sides, ponies lined up in squads and, as a necessary step for a successful drop, the shields were lowered.

'Go, go, go!' the deck chief roared. Ponies climbed up, clipped on, grabbed the rope and stepped over the side. Fast-roping into a combat zone needed to be accomplished as quickly as possible, as the shield needed to stay down for the descending ponies to be able to pass through. leaving the airship vulnerable. As a result, the Air Corps trained with the Equestrian Army and Royal Guard regularly. The target was to have an entire Princess-Class airship emptied of its troop compliment within ninety seconds, using the more mobile Pegasi troops and supporting gunfire and magic to suppress enemy troops while the landing operation was carried out. The eager crew and passengers of the Luna accomplished the operation in just over seventy-five seconds, with just over five hundred ponies transferred from the gondola to the ground via the dozen ropes. With covering fire from the deck guns, the Canterlot and the Imperial infantry already on the ground, not a single pony was lost to enemy action during the landing. 

With her holds empty, the Luna reengaged forward prop pitch and climbed away, the shield rising again like a bubble around the airship. The pony infantry spread out, taking cover alongside their human allies in the palace gardens. Their desire to retake their capital, retake their seat of government, retake the palace, the home of the Princess, drove them onward. The affront to Celestia and her sister could not be allowed to continue; to have these evildoers pollute the hallowed halls of the palace for even a second longer was a grave insult to the royal sisters. Not every pony was devout, but the overwhelming majority worshipped Celestia, if not as a goddess then certainly as a ruler worthy of their utmost devotion and loyalty, and everypony who joined the military knew that they may be called upon to die to ensure that her word was upheld, that her laws were enforced, that her will be done.

Las-fire lashed out at the new arrivals from the palace. Two ponies went down screaming, their fur and skin charred. Return fire cut scars and burn-marks into the stone and marble of the facade, but the enemy inside were mostly safe behind the thick walls. The men and ponies outside the walls were held at bay, but there were men atop the structure as well.




Sergeant Argan gave the wooden door another firm kick. The southwest balcony would, he was sure, have provided a pleasant view across the gold and marble spires of the city during the day, but at the present time it was not an ideal place to be. A few shots whizzed around his ears as he tried again to get through the stubborn door. His squad had been landed on the roof of the palace and had dropped down the few feet to the balcony, but now found themselves under sporadic fire from higher enemy positions scattered around. Their aim was to get inside, and Argan delivered, finally breaking the lock with a powerful kick. He urged his squad on and half a dozen men, including the vox-man Merkev, rushed through the doorway. He followed them in, out of the line of fire, but into an unknown world. The enemy could be a thousand strong inside such a vast structure. The palace covered numerous levels, including, their briefing had stated, dozen basement and sub-basement levels. There were so many hidden passages and boltholes that the majority of troops aboard the EAS Luna were from the Royal Guard, as they were the ones who knew the palace best of all. They waited outside, but needed access, pinned down by fire from the interior. That was where Argan, his squad, and others like him, came in.

The more he fought alongside the ponies, the more Argan begrudgingly began to respect their bravery and combat ability. He could watch as the assault forces jumped from the relative safety of their airship into the maelstrom below, unheeding of the web of las-fire and bullets that criss-crossed the palace grounds. Only those fuelled by fear, hatred of faith would charge so readily into battle.

Which was it for them? he wondered. Discipline seemed firm but not overly oppressive in their military; certainly he had seen no sign of corporal punishment or any Commissar-equivalent officers or barrier-troop units behind the line. Though they undoubtedly loathed the invaders, the ponies probably lacked the full knowledge of their nature and the impetus of their treasonous acts that the Imperium felt to truly hate them. Which left faith.

Faith alone could be enough, provided one possessed enough of it. The same force that drove countless billions of human soldiers across the vast expanse of the Imperium, the same force that sustained them, made their bravery possible, their sacrifices meaningful, that gave men on a million worlds succour in their last dying moments. Love and devotion to the Emperor was what kept the Imperium together.

But these ponies know nothing of the Emperor. Faith in someone else kept them going, and it could only be their princess. From the brief facts Argan had received from the ponies in Griffonstone in between combat, he had learned that there seemed to be some similarities between the Emperor and their princess. Both fought to unite and protect their species from outside threats, both had fought against demons or gods of Chaos and triumphed, both had suffered the betrayal of a close family member, a sister to the Emperor's son. Both were powerful psykers and extremely proficient in combat. That was where the similarities ended, of course, for no matter how powerful she might be, she was not the saviour of mankind, and she was still an alien. And yet here Argan stood, attempting to recapture her palace for her.

The room beyond the balcony door was dark, unlit save for the moonglow from outside. It opened out onto a short corridor, which his squad were already covering with their guns. Argan gave a few curt hand gestures and his squad moved out, securing the hallway. The point man indicated he had a staircase heading down, and Argan directed his men to proceed. Cautiously but quickly, they made their way downstairs, not using their lasgun's flashlights as it would give their position away. Below them lay a landing, with several large vases smashed into a thousand pieces. Since the rest of the room showed no signs of battle damage, Argan assumed they had been broken by the occupying forces out of boredom or spite. There was no sign of the enemy, and Argan directed the squad towards a door leading from the landing. It would lead, broadly, to the south wing, where the enemy was resisting against the Imperials in the plaza. The second man opened the door and the point man quickly moved through, his gun scanning the hallway beyond. Still nothing.

The squad continued on, along the wide marble floor of the hallway. The palace was unlit, but even in the dark its opulence was evident. Alabaster marble, gold filigree, the remains of mostly-shattered stained glass windows, all the finery expected of royalty. The colour scheme, Argan noted, matched that of the princess herself- white for her coat, gold for her crown and the spectral mass of colour of the stained glass matching her mane and tail. He idly wondered if the choice was deliberate, given that Celestia apparently was technically co-ruler with her sister, to reinforce the message as to which sibling was truly in command. 

Gunfire inside the building was getting louder, the whip-crack of lasguns and the rattle of stubbers firing on full-auto. An intermediate doorway lay half open ahead, and suddenly flashes of light could be seen through it. The point man held up a clenched fist, a signal to halt. The squad complied, crouching with weapons ready or peeking out from behind pillars. The hallway would make for a fine killing ground given its lack of cover, and Argan moved up beside the trooper, intent on getting the squad out of it as soon as possible.

'Gunfire through that door, sergeant,' the trooper whispered. Argan nodded. 

'Copy that. Standby to breach, bang and clear. Stack up,' he whispered to the squad, who quickly moved into position, three men on either side of the doorway with the rest standing back behind pillars. Argan lined up with the door, exchanging nods of readiness with both fireteam leaders. He gave a strong kick to open the door before swinging out of the way to the side. Two men lobbed grenades through the doorway, and after the short fuses ran down, they detonated. A gurgled scream came from inside as the pointmen rushed in, the squad entering the room, one man from each side of the doorway alternating until all six were through. The rest of the squad followed as a hail of gunfire erupted from the Imperials. Argan stepped through into the next room, checking for targets. It was a large room with a row of windows overlooking the plaza outside. Several Chaos infantry lay dead, while several more were scrambling to take cover and return fire from behind the furniture scattered around the room. A bipod-mounted stubber sat abandoned, mounted on the sill of one of the windows. The sudden attack had caught them by surprise, and they had posted nobody to cover the door, leading to a further surprise as the Imperials stormed in. One man charged forward wielding his bayonet like a knife, no doubt hoping for blood in a close-combat situation, but he was gunned down before getting anywhere near the advancing squad. Las-fire struck one of Argan's troopers in the arm and he staggered against the wall.

Accurate fire cut burning holes in the wooden chairs and tables the enemy were hiding behind, punching through and striking them. Two more went down, leaving just one Chaos trooper crouched behind a sofa in the corner. Argan's squad opened up, setting the sofa burning and sending clouds of feathers swirling from the cushions. The man gave a shout and a groan, but a second later something rose up from behind the sofa, arcing toward the squad.

'Grenade!' someone shouted, and men dived in every direction for cover. Argan, only just inside the doorway, flung himself back through it as the grenade detonated. There was another scream, a short burst of gunfire, and then silence. The sergeant picked himself back up and returned to the room to check on his squad.

The men were getting to their feet. Apart from a few scratches, all were unharmed save for the already wounded man, Kallas, winged by the las-round. Still standing against the wall, he had taken a blast from the grenade and lay twitching in a pool of blood, much of his face ripped away. Argan grimaced, but he had seen such things many times before and found it did not faze him anymore. 'Medic!' he called grimly, though he knew it was a waste of time. The squad's medic, Jourdane, came over, giving the dying trooper a quick glance as he knelt beside him. He checked his pulse and ragged breathing through a ruined throat, and gave Argan a shake of the head. Argan left him to administer a shot of morphia to ease the pain and went over to check the room. The enemies were dead, the room clear. They had no time to treat Kallas beyond the basics, even if they had the equipment. The rest of the palace needed to be retaken. Argan took a glance out of the window. A Valkyrie raced by overhead through the city spires. He could see his fellow infantrymen in the plaza crouching behind fountains, walls and wooden carts, firing up at the palace, and he backed away in case a stray round should find him.

'Alright, we're moving on,' he announced as his men gathered round. 'We're going room by room until we link up with another squad. Keep your eyes open and your wits about you. The enemy could be anywhere in here. They've had a few days to learn where to hide. We only know the basic layout. But we have to secure this building. Alright, move out.' With the squad ont he move, he grabbed the vox handset from Merkev.

'Forest Gamma 1, this is Forest Gamma 1-1 actual. We are inside the palace, making progress. Moving room to room now, fourth floor, south wing, over.'

'Forest Gamma 1-1, Forest Gamma 1, copy,' came the reply from the platoon's command squad, somewhere else in the building. 'Sweep and clear along that floor. Be advised, elements from Forest Gamma 2 may be on that floor also, over.'

Forest Gamma 2 was the second platoon of Gamma Company, inserted on a different section of the palace, but the prospect of running into another Imperial unit and opening fire accidentally was very real.

'Forest Gamma 1-1 actual, copy. Out.' Argan gave the handset back to Merkev and set off after the rest of the squad, leaving Kallas to die silently in the corner, a tragedy, yet also a statistic. He was not the first guardsman to die on this strange planet, and he would certainly not be the last.




The battle raged across the city, the humans fighting to eradicate the scourge of Chaos, the ponies to reclaim their capital in the name of the princess. The EAS Starswirl lined up for a run on the palace gardens, coming on low and slow. The shield went down, the ropes went out and the ponies went over the side, joining their comrades below. But the infantry were not the only passengers aboard.

Princess Celestia rose into her sister's night, slowly, deliberately, making sure her subjects below could see her. A cheer rose from their throats as they saw their princess above. The Starswirl pulled away, leaving her floating over her palace, her city, her capital. Using the Royal Canterlot Voice, she boomed out a message.

'Ponies! Hear me. Today, you fight for those that have fallen. Today, you fight for your freedom. Today, you fight for Equestria.' Her unmistakable voice carried far, across much of the city, even above the gunfire. 'I know you will fight well, fight hard, fight bravely, as you always have. Your Princess is with you, and together, we shall not fail!' Another cheer went up from the ponies on the ground. Celestia continued. 'And to our allies. Your courage and tenacity in aiding us will never be forgotten. And to our enemy...' she paused for a moment. 'If you can hear me, I suggest you throw down your arms and surrender. Your deaths will still be inevitable, but perhaps you may suffer a little less in the process.' Another wild cheer came from the throats of the pony infantry. Celestia was back in town, and she was not messing around.






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