The EAS Canterlot droned steadily southeast. It had already covered a good hundred miles from the city for which it was named, pressing on staunchly into the land of the rising sun which bathed the craft in golden light. Celestia's light.
Cruising at an altitude of eight thousand feet, the Canterlot would have presented an imposing, dangerous presence to any creature of Equestria, Changelings included. A symbol of Equestrian might, the airship squadrons were the Hammer of the Sun, bringing death and destruction to those who would dare to challenge Celestia's right to rule. Zebrican foals were taught to fear them, for the sighting of a pony airship had only ever brought them pain. Yet while the other cultures of the planet may not have accepted Celestia's dominion over them, the princess herself understood and respected their denial. She had the power to crush them all beneath her hoof, and yet she had never done so, would never do so. If they fell into line through desire and willingness, she would welcome them with open wings. But if they stood against her, it was their choice, and while she would fight them if she had to, she would never destroy them merely for clinging to their own leaders and beliefs.
That was what inspired such loyalty, such faith and utter, undying devotion in her followers. Her ponies knew she had both strength and reason, both power and poise, both ruthlessness and reason. That was why they followed her, why they worshiped her. Justice, reason and the rule of law were powerful incentives to unite under her banner, as opposed to the almost anarchic leadership and infighting of the inept Griffon King and his barons, or the secretive tribal rituals of the Zebra ruling councils. Stability was very attractive, and that was what Celestia offered, and had been offering for centuries. With a new threat from beyond the stars, such stable leadership was surely more sought-after than ever before.
With the banner of the Sun fluttering from its rear railing, the Canterlot sailed on, her mission secretive, her orders clear. It was a different world up here, in this empire of the clouds. A steady breeze, a firm hoof on the wheel, the sun and the sky above.
The crew were wary, alert. The coastal plain had not been explored since the invasion. This mission was being conducted without the benefit of the humans and their spacecraft, which might be able to give readings or photographs of what exactly they were flying into. They were in the dark, but moving in the shadows was how the Special Tasks Group operated. Major Spitfire and her squad were aboard, accompanied by a company of Assault Infantry. Not wanting to unduly strip Canterlot of protection given Celestia's orders to reinforce the protection around the remaining Elements, Princess Luna had chosen to dispatch just the one company, though the holds of the airship could carry two. This was, in theory at least, just a reconnaissance mission, though both Spitfire and the airship's captain, Ironside, had been given their orders directly from Luna; if an opportunity presented itself somehow to rescue Twilight, they were to take it.
The chance seemed remote. They didn't even know, other than in the very broadest sense, where the Hive might be. Nor did they know necessarily that, even if they located it, that it would be the site of Twilight's detention. Perhaps there was more than one Hive; perhaps she was being held in some other secure location. Perhaps she was already dead, her Element shattered. But the chance, should it come, would be taken. The Special Tasks Group and the Assault Infantry stood ready, as they had for decades, to protect Equestria, to protect her citizens, and to carry out the will of Celestia.
The plains stretched out before them, unending miles of grassland and the occasional river. The coast was distant, not yet visible on the horizon. Lookouts kept a close watch, both for any signs of Changeling activity and for any other potential threats. One airship could not effectively cover such a large area except through a methodical grid pattern search that could last for days, but they knew that, if that was what it took, that was what they would do.
Aboard the Canterlot, Spitfire rested her forehooves on the railing, gazing out across the land as it swept by below. While her squad had handily defeated the unexpected dragon attack and recovered the rock sample, she couldn't help shake the feeling that it was all too convenient. Would the Changelings leave such evidence behind? Would they have left it behind deliberately to distract and mislead? Or was it perhaps bait, to lure the ponies into an ambush?
If that was to be the case, she had no doubt they would be ready to fight. While Spitfire had never belonged to the Airship Command, she was well aware of their combat prowess and, unlike many of her fellow officers in the Assault Infantry and STG, she had always been more than willing to accept help from the other branch of the Air Corps. Only by working together could the two arms of the Corps achieve their goals. They were the quick reaction force, the ones who could mobilise rapidly and get to a trouble spot, wherever it may erupt across the nation. Any bandit raid or border skirmish would know they only had a certain clear window in which to operate before the drone of powerful engines and a looming cigar-shaped silhouette told them they were in trouble. Often, the mere sighting of an airship accompanied by a small cloud of dismounting Pegasi infantry was enough to prompt a retreat, if not outright panic. The Changelings, however, did not panic. Their Hive mind connection saw to that. They would only flee when commanded, only give up the fight if the Queen or one of her chosen direct subordinates were to so decree it. They did not know fear- hesitation, perhaps, when confronted by some new or unknown threat, but after a mere moment they would be attacking regardless. It was a quality that made them a species worthy of both fear, and respect.
Looking down at the grassland below, Spitfire could clearly see the problems they would face. Spotting a Hive from the air was difficult at the best of times, and the Changelings would be especially alert to the potential dangers, given their actions thus far. They would be expecting company. Grass and branches could be used quite easily to cover up the entrance tunnels to the Hive. Changelings leaving the Hive for reconnaissance or supply runs would presumably be disguised as other native animals for safety- deer, perhaps, or cows, or even rabbits. Telling them apart from the real thing would be impossible from altitude, and the airship could certainly not pause to investigate every lone animal it came across. The task of locating the Hive seemed an almost insurmountable challenge in the face of such vast wilderness. A futile effort, but one that had to be attempted.
The airship's captain, Ironside, stood on the quarterdeck behind her. A veteran of every major and minor engagement of the last three decades, the dark-grey Pegasus had been reward for his stalwart and loyal service by being given command of the Canterlot, the namesake of the capital and the headquarters of both Airship Command and the Air Corps as a whole. It was an honour considered second only to being named to command one of the ships named for the princesses themselves- and Ironside had only been picked for the lesser reward because it was what he had requested. He had spent his entire career on the smaller craft, the fast attack airships and patrol vessels that formed the mainstay of the Air Corps fleet, and abandoning them in favour of one of the ponderous Royalty-Class bombardment airships would have seemed an affront to all those he had served on, and the crews he had fought beside. His choice was to transfer from the captaincy of the old Valiant, one of the numerous V-Class fast attack craft, to take command of the lead vessel of the new City-Class, and Celestia herself had pinned his Exemplary Service Medal to his tunic and presented him with his new captain's insignia. If there was anything he didn't know about airships, it wasn't worth knowing.
Spitfire had as much reason as any airship crewpony to admire the captain, even though she had not served in the illustrious command herself. As a young, inexperienced junior Lieutenant newly appointed to the Assault Infantry, some twelve years ago, Spitfire had seen a report in the newspaper about the exploits of 'Old Ironside.' A heroic ram and boarding action by the Vindictive had saved the crew of a fellow airship from a Griffon massacre, the day only being carried by the 'Bravery of the Vindictive's captain, who led the charge from the front, sword in hoof,' so the report had said. Seeing the example set by a fellow officer, not shying away from danger but charging into it, not asking his crew to do anything he wouldn't do himself, set in stone in Spitfire's mind that she must do the same. She had followed that tenet ever since, and upon meeting the 'Hero of the High Peaks' in person at an Air Corps' ball, the captain had taken a shine to the disciplined and tough lieutenant, despite them being in separate branches of service, more usually portrayed as rivals for funding in the media. Ironside had acted as a mentor to many ponies over his years of service, and Spitfire was among them. He had been able to watch her rapid rise from junior platoon commander, through company and eventually battalion command, and her acceptance into the Wonderbolts was her undoubted proudest moment. At the induction ceremony, the first pony she had thanked after her parents had been Ironside.
Spitfire wandered across the deck toward him. Ponies came and went, moving ropes, carrying supplies and cleaning the cannons. Though extra lookouts had been posted, the majority of the crew were on regular duties, keeping the airship running. Ironside turned to her as she approached.
'Major.' He gave her a nod, being rather more formal than he would have been were they not on such an important mission. Despite the apparent difference in rank, the complex structure of the Air Corps meant that both officers were actually equal. Exclusive to the Airship Command and the Navy, the rank of captain was actually one step higher.The captaincy of a vessel was the equivalent of a Major in the Assault Infantry, the Army, or the Guard, while a captain on one of those forces would actually rank as a Commander. In seniority, however, Ironside was many years ahead, added to which, as captain of the airship, the ultimate responsibility for its crew, its passengers and its mission came down to him.
'Captain,' Spitfire replied, removing her sunglasses, something of an affectation she had picked up after finding some inspiration somewhere, though whether as a result of joining the 'Bolts or the Special Tasks Group, she couldn't quite remember. 'Good weather for it, at least.'
'Good? This is perfect airship weather,' Ironside replied with a pleased grunt. 'Those bastards will see us coming from miles away. With most enemies that can be an advantage, but unfortunately against an enemy who wants to hide...well, they'll have plenty of chance to duck and cover.'
'Do you really think we'll find anything out here?' Spitfire asked. 'Hundreds of square miles...that's assuming it's even habitable up ahead.' She turned to glance over her shoulder at the horizon. The impact of millions of tons of debris from the human starship had caused unknown damage to the coastal areas, and they were the first official expeditionary force to attempt a return since the disaster. While the devastation had been infinitely lessened by the detonation of most of the ship while still at altitude, saving the planet from an ecological catastrophe, the facts remained that fast-moving wreckage and unknown energies had been scattered like buckshot across the landscape. Though contact with the humans and their machines had not thus far caused any kind of outbreak of disease the way first contacts sometimes had in Equestria's past, who was to say that whatever, or whoever, was aboard the ship in question might not create problems of its own?
'Who knows,' Ironside replied, with a practised, non-committal shrug. 'There's a lot of ground to cover and we can't stay out here forever, even with our extra supplies. No offence to you infantry boys and girls, but you're a lot of extra mouths to feed.' Ever the professional airship officer, Ironside couldn't resist a bit of gentle ribbing of his fellow service branch. 'We'll run surveys of the area, send out scouts once we reach the edge of the impact zone. Maybe everything will have recovered by now?'
'The Changelings only moved their Hive after the impact,' Spitfire pointed out. 'What if they relocated it inside the damaged area? If there are craters or trenches or...I don't know, toxic lakes...if they moved the Hive into somewhere like that, could we ever find them? Our maps would be useless.'
'We could find them, eventually,' Ironside replied. 'Given enough time and ponypower. We could redraw our maps, fill in the blanks. But we don't have that kind of leeway. I know the princess didn't want to draw too much attention to this mission, but we could certainly have done with at least one more airship being sent out with us.' Spitfire couldn't help but agree. One airship was a mere dot against the landscape, but a complete and thorough search of the area would have required entire regiments of soldiers.
'We'll do all we can, of course. But if necessary, I'll send a messenger back to Canterlot to request reinforcements,' Ironside continued. 'Either to continue the search or to assault the Hive if we find it.'
'There's no way a direct assault is going to work,' Spitfire commented, twirling her sunglasses in her hoof. 'Not without most of the army here as backup. Unless the Changelings aren't home, we'd be outnumbered...what, thousands to one at best?' She shook her head. 'The only way we'll get in there if we find it is to infiltrate it. We have procedures for such operations of course, but...infiltrating a Hive? That's never been done. At least, not by anypony who got out alive.'
'That's why my messengers will be standing by,' Ironside responded. 'If we find it, and it's still a big if, but if we do then I'll ask for reinforcements to attack the Hive. If you think you can get a squad or two inside, you're welcome to try, but...' He put a hoof on Spitfire's shoulder. 'Don't go throwing your life away. If you really think you can get in, then do it. But if you have doubt, any doubt, then don't commit. We can get more airships, more ponies.'
'If only this was just a reconnaissance, or a search and destroy operation...' Spitfire sighed. 'Not a hostage rescue. That complicates things. To get inside a Hive unnoticed, you have to be a Changeling. No ifs, no buts. If even one drone spots you, every drone spots you. You won't get ten yards. Honestly?' She looked at Ironside. 'I don't think we can rescue the prisoner. I just don't think it's possible.'
The senior of the two officers nodded slowly. 'In that case...we'll have to resort to the alternative.'
The Imperial Guard were on the march again, pushing through the streets of Manehattan. Familiar ground for many, disturbingly so. Though the Daemons had retreated, their taint was still evident. Playful laughter, many men swore, could still be heard echoing ethereally through the streets. Their corporeal forms had disappeared, whisked away in plumes of warpfire upon their eventual deaths, but the bodies of the fallen guardsmen lay scattered all around, like leaves after an autumn gale. The advance was fraught with imagined perils; every creaking door was a Daemon, every tinkle of broken glass jarred loose by the vibrations of nearby tanks was a shot. Valkyrie overflights reported nothing ahead, no sign of the enemy, and yet to the men on the streets, they were everywhere.
Their advance took them back through the financial and theatre districts where so many of their comrades had died, overrun by the Daemons or pinned down by enemy infantry during the initial assault. It took them through the streets where smoke still curled, drifting gently, disturbed by the passage of armoured vehicles, swirling in eddies behind them. It took them into the dockside districts.
Several days after the blaze, ignited, smoke hung heavily in the air, the acrid tang of myriad noxious gases. The whole district looked as though some great hand had simply poured a gigantic vat of molten metal across the cityscape. Everything was burned to a cinder, blackened and carbonised beyond recognition. Nothing had survived the holocaust that had raged through the alleys and yards. Metal water pipes and, ironically, fire escapes were the only thing that remained of most buildings, melted and twisted into crazed shapes like some kind of sculpture garden. There were bodies; hundreds, thousands, like lumps of coal, claw-like hands outstretched in silent, fatal agonies. They were the bodies of the enemy, but they still provoked some sympathy at the sight of the pathetic remains. Burning alive in the midst of an inescapable inferno was not a pleasant end, even though the traitors certainly deserved it.
Tanks rolled over the corpses, crushing them into ash which drifted away with the sea breeze. Once the armour halted, the most notable feature of the dockyards was the silence. There were no seabirds, no life. The embers gently crackled in places, and the cooling timbers, charred to blackness, creaked softly, but that was all. A bustling city of several million, according to the briefing, reduced to almost utter, abject silence. Had all the enemy perished, every last one, in the firestorm of their own making?
Auspex scans showed nothing. Valkyries circled overhead like carrion birds, but saw nothing. The men on the ground saw nothing. But they felt something.
Every man could feel it, in his mind, on his skin. Hairs stood on end; some men shivered uncontrollably, though the weather was fair. There were voices, though there were no mouths to speak the words,whispers carried on the wind. Here, the stain of Chaos permeated the land itself, the very fabric of reality. So much death and fire, so many bodies, had twisted nature to suit the whims of the Ruinous Powers. It was enough to drive some men to immediate suicide, out of their minds purely from the presence of the taint of Chaos, blowing their heads off with their lasguns.
Once again, the Guard retreated, seeming to be infinitely thwarted in their attempts to secure the city once and for all. But a tainted place was too dangerous to remain in. It could, and did, shatter men's minds to be exposed to such filth. To reclaim the city, the ground would have to be sanctified, inch by inch, street by street. Such an effort would take years, hardly practical at the best of times. Hive cities on Imperial worlds that befell the same fate would be glassed from orbit by a heavy bombardment of holy flame. Lord-Admiral Marcos would ordinarily not hesitate, but in this case he could not carry out such an action without consulting the princess first.
It seemed an anathema to a career officer of the Imperial Navy to have to ask permission from a Xenos for anything, but Marcos knew that levelling the city from orbit without her permission would, at best, anger her, and at worst, invite her wrath. While he had no idea if the destruction of an already-derelict and poisoned city would be enough to provoke her into retaliation against the fleet, but he did not wish to tempt fate. After all, just because he felt, when in her presence, that she held no malice toward them, did not necessarily make it so.
All Imperial forces were ordered out of the city, to hold position around the perimeter until a determination could be made as to exactly what to do with it. The Ecclesiarchy's Fleet Confessor was consulted as to the best methods of cleansing an urban area, while the princess was summoned to speak with Marcos over the vox. He would impress upon her the importance of properly sanctifying an area after it was touched by Chaos, of course, but something told him he should leave the ultimate decision up to her, as confused as that made him feel.
'My Lord, I have the Xenos princess for you,' the vox-officer informed him. Marcos nodded.
'Put her through to my ready room.' He strode from the bustling bridge to receive the call. 'This is Marcos, go ahead.'
'Good morning, Admiral.' Celestia's voice, as unflustered and silky-smooth as ever, came over the link. 'How may I assist you?'
'I have some news about Manehattan,' Marcos replied. 'It is...not good news, I fear. Our push to capture the dockyards was...thwarted once more.'
'Thwarted?' Celestia's raised eyebrow was almost audible over the vox. 'I was under the impression your surveys showed no enemy presence in the path of the advance this time.'
'That is so, your highness,' Marcos replied. 'But our scanners cannot detect the tainting influence of Chaos itself. It has seeped into the very ground upon which the city stands. I am afraid it is now poisoned by the warp.'
'Poisoned, Admiral? The entire city?' Celestia questioned in a skeptical tone.
'Not the entire city, no...at this stage, merely the dockyard district. The men have been reporting abberations, voices, sightings...'
'Your men have been seeing ghosts?' Celestia asked. 'And you abandoned the operation because of it?'
'No, your highness, not ghosts,' Marcos replied, a trifle irritated at her lack of understanding about the nature of the warp, though tinged also with a considerable amount of envy that her planet and species should have, seemingly, gone unmolested by the Dark Gods for so long. 'The men suffered from physical manifestations of the presence of warp taint. Rashes with seemingly no cause, bleeding from the nose and eyes, mental episodes, even suicides. It would appear that the deaths of so many of the enemy in the fires may have been used as part of the rituals required to summon any but the weakest Daemons. It is unsafe to operate in such a tainted environment. It drives men to madness, drives them to the darkness from which there is no return. Neither I nor the Lord-General will condone the loss of our guardsmen to reclaim a city that is tainted in such a way.'
'So what would you suggest, Admiral?' the princess probed. 'That my ponies take over so that you may spare your men? May I remind you again that our armies are far outclassed by both yours and that of your Archenemy, to say nothing of our depleted numbers.'
'No, your highness, I would advise against anyone entering that section of the city,' Marcos responded. 'In fact I would recommend that the site be struck from orbit.'
There was a moment of silence before Celestia replied. 'And undo all the good work you have done here? You will not sacrifice your men any further, but you will see to it that those that have already perished have done so in vain?'
'Not in vain, your highness, for no man who dies in the Emperor's service dies in vain,' Marcos pointed out. 'They fought to destroy the troops of the Archenemy, and in that, they have succeeded.'
'Then why is there any need for such drastic action?' Celestia questioned. 'Why not simply withdraw?'
'Because the taint of Chaos does not go away,' Marcos explained. 'It will not decay over time like radiation. It will not be washed away by the rains like a nerve gas. It will linger, for all eternity, or for as long as the forces of the warp exist, at least, perhaps beyond that. And whether you wait a year, a hundred years or ten thousand, the contagion will still be there, unless it is removed.'
'And it can be removed by heat?' Celestia questioned. 'By using those weapons of yours, you can eliminate it?'
'Yes, your highness. Somewhat ironic given that flame was the catalyst for it in the first place. But yes, the taint of Chaos can be burned away with holy fire,' Marcos answered. Celestia paused for a moment before replying.
'Then perhaps I can be of assistance.'