“Please stop running over the natives.”
—The Spiffing Brit
——
Chapter Twenty Six: Gunning up a hill.
——
[1st of December, 989. 10:29am]
Four non-commissioned officers stood wavering around a single circular table, within a tent. Their objective was, to formulate a strategy that they’ve never had the pleasure of facing before. The conflict approaching will be the first of its kind, and moreover, it’s likely it won’t ever be the last. Their decisions at this very table may shape the tactics with this sort of situation, for future events.
“Okay,” one of the Commanding Officers took a long swig off a nearby alcoholic beverage, “We’ve got an army of enemy muskets on top of a steep hill, two hours away, and the only possible solution to get past them is to take them out, “ He swallowed a few more gulps of the strong fluid, “Does anygriffon have one single fucking idea how to achieve this?”
“Why don’t we….” another Griffon, a lieutenant to be exact, began, “drain them of their ammunition? They don’t manufacture it themselves, so they’re guaranteed to only have a limited amount.”
“Good suggestion,” the commanding officer from previously stated, “but are you willing to waste our soldiers on that?”
The lieutenant shank back in his seat,
He sighed, “any more ideas?”
“I believe we’re overthinking it,” Shrewd Preparation pursed his lips, “why don’t we have the experienced division encounter them upfront, and flank my division around the right,” he leaned back on his seat, “the only real difference to a traditional battle would be to fire the muskets every couple of metres, and charge when in close enough range.”
Shrewd lightly sipped a glass of water next to him, “besides, sometimes the best of plans, are the simplest.”
A slight smile graced the commander’s beak, “Any objections?”
The room was silent.
“That settles it then,” he clapped his claws together, “now let's get into the minor details…”
[1st of December, 989. 1:40pm]
The enemy commander stood perched on top of a particularly steep hill, behind his troops. He may have already recognised the hopelessness of the situation—that the Griffon Empire was already doomed when muskets were introduced into this war. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean he won’t go without a literal BANG.
He may not be an expert when it came to firearms, but he, fortunately, did pick up a few strategies here and there from the Republic’s battle manoeuvres.
Due to the nature of the situation—being flanked on the right side— he’s had to split his army into two sections, roughly 600 facing the front, 600 facing the East, with matchlock muskets positioned in the first row, and flintlock muskets in the rear.
One thing he certainly had to be careful about; was his limited supply of ammunition, it’s estimated that each solider only had access to four rounds, tops. There’s no way he’s going to be able to have the same effect that the Republic generally has, but it’s certainly something. Using muskets will most certainly give their higher-ups a little scare.
However, all this is going to do—is delay the inevitable death of the Empire.
“PRESENT!”
The front Republican military came to a direct halt at the base of the hill, aimed their muskets in three continuous motions, and fired their weapons all at once.
“FIRE!”
BA~BANG!
Gold projectiles ripped through the atmosphere, most fell off from their original target and either embed into the moist dirt, while others persisted with flying over the heads of the Empire’s troops that stood on top—the correct angle for any foreseen effect was extremely small, and thus, only very few spheres actually punctured through skin and bone of the enemy.
One may think, that particular round would be considered unsuccessful…those with little to no intelligence would fail to actually realise the purpose of that shot wasn’t to prove damage, but instead, to frighten, and decrease morale of the enemy above.
In that certain case—yes, their action proved to be favourable
It scared the absolute shit out of them.
This occurrence was especially easy to achieve due to the limited training and experience these troops withheld, many had never even heard a musket fire in the first place.
So they did exactly what you’d expect—shake with as much strength as an earthquake, and practically drop their weapons in the process. Many even tried to run, but those in the circumference quickly put a stop to that notion.
The Republicans immediately began to reload.
Then, the other Republican division decided to show their presence too.
“FIRE!”
BAN~bang—BANG!
Despite allocating little to no damage—it still had the desired effect of decreasing more of the division’s morale, it was at this point the morel was so low; that the situation was literally balancing on a degenerate broken fence.
And they hadn’t even fired their own flintlock muskets yet.
There’s practically no doubt the Republic will win this conflict; all their attributes will easily allow them to overpower their components.
“Alright lads!” the leader of the division exclaimed, ”GET READY!”
This one, single order, appeared to have snapped a majority of the soldiers out of the preteen stocks, and into one of their rigorous military facades. Most aimed their firearms at their respective targets, still shaking from the adrenaline rushing through their body.
“FIRE!”
The field lit up with sparkling golden flames, pints of dust and bellows, smoke cascaded down the mountain, which slowly encroached on the Republican troops.
The tide had turned.
Unlike the previous battles, the Republic was defending; they never really, if ever, were the aggressors. Now the Empire was in the defensive position, and strategically good one too, mind you. It’s no wonder the Republic had previously stacked up considerable enemy casualties.
Spheres of golden origin launched from their respective metal tubes; propelled by an extreme dramatic increase in pressure. This allowed each projectile to puncture through the air at an incredible speed, aided by even gravity itself, and declined at a relativity good angle.
These two variables allowed more than a few griffons to be critically wounded.
Crimson life fluid spat at seemingly random directions, blood oozed from the fractured skin and bone, and the echoing screams of the individuals affected reverberated through the landscape.
This one singular act~ the explosion, the atmosphere, the screams of the Republican soldiers. Boosted the morale and attitude of the Empire’s troops. It felt invigorating to hold an armament capable of such massive destruction and death.
Not to mention the fact many of these troops felt no hope in winning the war; these weapons made that notion seem much less unlikely.
Imagine if there were weapons more powerful than this?
Just…imagine.
This was the thought process that transversed through the minds of the many individuals comprising this particular division of the Empire.
They all hastily began to reload their weapons.
It was at this point Major General Shrewd Preparation knew that this battle wouldn’t be as easy as he initially anticipated, though it’s never good to assume what the enemy will do— he believed that disorganisation would fall upon the Empire’s defensive division after the first volley. After all, their numbers, experience, and intimidation they withheld should've at least caused some of they’re troops to abandon posts.
And the most entertaining prospect of all; 10 seconds ago, they seemed to be on the brink of doing so.
This would’ve been the perfect scenario to utilise those new ‘bombards’ that were recently developed, pelting the hill would’ve softened up the enemy, and made this whole exposition much easier.
Too bad they don’t have access to any of them right now.
The only thing Shrewd Preparation can do is hope; hope that they win with the least amount of casualties as possible.
To say the least, the Republican troops were scared shitless.
Before this conflict has already begun, many thought this would be quick, easy, and painless to accomplish. Only for all these silent wishes to fall from their grasp, and reality to hit them like a truck full of bricks.
“FORWARD MARCH!”
After the initial gift of several hundred gold projectiles launched at them, a decent amount of griffons fell to the ground like a heavy sack of potatoes, writhing in agony. Their quiet moans of pain silently distressing their fellow soldiers.
Many that still stood had the desire to help their fellow brethren; but clearly reframed to due to military instructions.
The singular order provided seemed to have snapped a majority of those out of their foreseen anguish, and take purposeful paces over the almost deceased. They were to continue forwards.
To victory…
Many attempted to perform larger steps as to avoid stepping on any of them; some failed, their boots stamped fur, skin, and gore onto their heels. While ambiguously wincing the squish accompanied by it.
Troops proceeded with slowly marching up the steep hill, their facial masks, ultimately broken, their stern, military facade now dissipated into the wind.
It only took twenty-seconds for the Imperials to reload another round.
“PRESENT!”
Matchlock and flintlock muskets alike strayed in an arch lowered from the griffons’ shoulders, disembarked into a 120-degree angle.
“FIRE!”
With a simple click, and a BANG. Smoke bellowed from metallic tubes as result from the chemical reaction held within, projecting the gold ball to spit from the hole it found itself in, and rip through the air particles towards their destination.
Which just happened to be the Republican Soldiers.
The proceedings were similar to last time— deviating results.
Bodies yet again fell over in hot pursuit, their precious life essence, have been drained not the ground below. Their screams schooled through the countryside as they descended to the earth. One thing was for sure though; despite all of this, they continued onwards.
It was at this point the Republicans has crossed just over two-thirds of the way up the hill, the perfect distance—if I must say so myself— to fire their own counterattack.
“HALT!”
Over 2800 troops suddenly stopped in near-complete unison. Their muskets stained on their shoulders, further awaiting for any next orders.
“PRESENT!”
Muskets of mixed variety pointed toward the crest of the hill at a 20-degree angle. Each soldier silently waiting in trepidation for the next command.
“FIRE!”
Although last time sustained next to no results, this time, it was different.
Due to the slow decrease of supination as the troops travelled up the hill, it allowed a considerable amount of space for ammunition to be unloaded, and thus, a greater, more deviating effect.
BA~BOOM!
Despite the obscene amount of smoke and ash covering the republic soldiers, gold mental projectiles flew forward at blinding velocities, and splinted into multiple pieces within their opponents.
Although previously, the Empire’s soldiers’ mentality were of the highest order; practically buzzing with equanimity, this instantaneously reverted back to extreme trepidation.
Griffon bodies fell over in obscure agony, their warm crimson blood leaking from their lifeforms, dripping onto the earth below, the moisture scattering over a large area, and due to gravity, flow down the hill in a small trickle.
These griffons had never experienced such an action before; their mindsets were weak, and easily broken. Such is the result of limited training and next to no experience.
So, it doesn’t come as a surprise that many soldiers suddenly exposed to the blunt side of battle; had their intellect wholly broken, scared stiff and full of panic.
What happens when an army is scared?
When soldiers believe that their inevitable death is approaching?
It's simple
They run.
Griffon soldiers started to shake in absolute terror, their eyes darted in seemingly random directions, and clutch their weapons tightly.
Then, one ran.
And then another.
And another.
And another.
And another.
And….another.
Until, like one massive tidal wave, all ran away in compressive fear, unexpectedly sprinting in the opposite direction to battle, their honour, credibility, and value as a warrior, ultimately dissipated.
Even they're commanding officer had no choice but to join them in their perdition efforts.
Mud, grass, and deceased disembodied parts spat in the opposable direction to their scampers, spraying said mentioned parts trampling down the hill and into the displeased Republicans beneath.
Despite this, the soldiers belonging to the Republic persisted with sprinting up the hill, with darkened facades, until their destination.
Only to realise the Empire’s troops had already ran away in complete fear.
In consequence, they did what any reasonable person would do in this scenario.
Cheer to their heart's content.
The Griffon Civil War 989
Author: Black Firepower
Publisher: CanterlotWarTimes
Chapter Nine: The end is all but an illusion
The enduring battle that was foretold in the grass fields, commonly referred to as, ‘The Battle of Evolution’, due to the revolutionary change in warfare, tactics, and strategies portrayed that day. Although primitive, these basic strategies were tweaked and improved over the years to come, it was also the literal contributor to what we saw in the Crystal Wars a few decades ago.
Although the Republic retained 900 casualties, in comparison to a measly 400 enemy casualties, the Griffon Republic clearly claimed success on that day, [1/12/989] (day/month/year), however, yet would they realise, total victory was still very much from their grasp.
Battles along the rest of the Griffon border became a sticky mess of soup, with the democrats churning over any enemy they met. Opposition was futile, all morale was utterly dissipated, it was obvious which side would be the ultimate winner.
After some prisoners were collected by the victors, and when the army was reorganised. (Along with counting the dead), they continued on the trek towards the Capital, Griffonstone. They removed any and all resistance with ease, as the only combatants they encountered was unorganised militia with atrocious equipment, and no experience to open ended combat.
By the time the army reached the Capital, it had only been a mere, few days. Although ammunition was low, general supplies like food and water were plentiful due to pillaging local businesses and farms.
Nevertheless, as a portion of the military broke off to scour the city for the dreadful King, something….unexpected happened. You see, as they (along with General Shrewd Preparation) entered the throne room, as reported from eye witness accounts, there was —
In the future….[13th of August, 1067]
Celestia only had to take a quick glance at this informal book to know it was illegal, anything that contained, or even indirectly mentioned a very particular pony ultimately had to be removed.
“GEM!” Celestia called out.
Her assistant, Gem Speckle performed a bow as she entered the Goddess’ private study, “W-what can I do for you, your highness?”
“I want all of these,” Celestia levitated the book she skimmed in front of the pony’s face, “Burned,” she dropped it at Speckle’s hooves, almost slamming it into her face, “Immediately.”
Her assistant blinked a couple of times, picked up the book, and added the title to the infinitely growing list.
After all, Celstia didn't want anypony to get any specific ideas.
Today was a normal day.
After I recently died from the exposure of ‘a shit tone of gold projectiles’, I had lost my favourite weapon in the process—the Land Pattern Musket, as I was carrying it at the time, and so, like any reasonable being, I decided to go retrieve it.
This left me to where I currently am; slowly trotting down a hallway in the Republican parliament, invisible, to try and find it— the officials had done the reasonable thing to snatch it away from my dead corpse, and to do what I assume, study.
Now I have to go and find it.
It’s especially excruciating considering the number of useless rooms this place has; I had at one stage, ‘walked into a particular scenario that involved two beings of the opposite gender’, but I’m not going to get into that.
I’m just glad that I was invisible.
Though, to make up for all of these ‘misconceptions’, I’ve been manufacturing my own little fun-filled activities as I travelled down these hallways.
Pranks.
I’ve done the usual stuff; placed a whoopee cushion on the President’s seat, tied a few shoelaces here and there, and causally embedded a knife into the unwilling skulls of the slumbering.
You know; normal stuff.
And best of all, everything was effortlessly achieved with relative ease; none of these griffons suspected a thing—some would become slightly disturbed by the unnatural sound of taps against the floorboards, but most would shrug it off as no physical evidence could be perceived.
Of course, I was in actuality, invisible.
Any time a guard got a little too curious for my liking—by investigating the sound of source, I simply walked through the closest wall, and waited for the sweet resonance of retreating steps, and continued on.
This relatively simple process, however, began to grate on my nerves, performing it once or twice was completely fine, but after the sixth and seventh, it started to become a teensy bit boring. As a result, to speed up the location process, I decided to take matters into my own hands.
Namely, gathering information from a griffon who had mocked me somewhere in the past.
Secta Ironwreck was one particular scientist reasonable for the design and fine-tuning of the most recent invention, the bombard. After he received some very much unpleasant suggestions from the being known as Atomic Discharge, he had decided to ignore most of them.
After all, a pony of all things, mocking his work? Disgraceful.
In fact, the only feature that was even remotely similar to the quadruple’s highlights was that he replaced the stone wheels with wood. Even if he wanted to adhere to the pony’s propositions, he couldn’t, the model was already in the middle of being manufactured by half a dozen forges. There was no way he’d be able to change anything at this point in time.
Not that he wants to anyway.
Ironwreck quickly nodded without much exertion to the guards patrolling a doorway. He didn’t even have to present his ID.
His design, by his accounts, is utterly perfect.
This little notion brought a sincere smile to his face, as he strolled down a hallway. An almost, hippity hop to his step. Secta was clearly excited by the prospect of his weapons being utilised in the army.
The amount of money he’d get in the future from further designs, and military contracts, in consequence, caused a line of drool to slowly drip down his face, moreover, it’s all because of that pricy pony who had, already, terribly left. So what if that demon took down a couple of guards along with her? At least she’s finally gone.
But that musket she left….that is certainly interesting. The hieroglyphics and typography on it were utterly foreign to him, why would it say, ‘Made in the United Kingdom?’ What even is that place?
This daydreaming prospect of riches, schemes and unanswered questions was suddenly lost from his slippery grasp as something heavy, and metallic-like thumped against his face somewhere to the right of him.
CLANG!
Like the puss he was, Secta immediately passed out.
….[An undetermined amount of time later]….
The griffon scientist awoke in a startled heap as a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown on him, the chills silently got to him, and he started to unsteadily shake. His pupils scanned his surroundings, he peered upwards, left, right, even behind him, but the only thing he could see was darkness.
He had no idea where he was, or how he got here.
Then, pricing crimson eyes, without notice, appeared in front of him. Secta couldn’t perceive anybody, ears, or even mouth. The only object in this room was literally the narrowed blood-red orbs staring at him.
Not only did they send shivers down his soul, but he had this primal, nagging feeling that this would be the very last artefact he’d ever seen.
“Where’s my weapon?”
The sudden, almost kind, feminine voice seemingly echoed all around him. It utterly startled him. He was honestly expecting somewhere along the lines of, ‘I’m going to kill you now,’ or ‘You're going to die.’ This may have been reassuring to some, but to him, this just made the whole situation seem even creepier.
Well, once he realised who this actually was, Secta Ironwreck immediately reverted back to being unconcerned, and angry at the being in front of him. He could recognise that voice anywhere. Though, that nagging feeling still hadn’t left….
“YOU!” He sharply pointed at the eyes in front of him, “How the actual fuck are you still alive??!”
The hovering eyes appeared to have narrowed further, unimpressed by his efforts to seek domination in the interrogation.
“Where is my weapon?”
Secta scowled, “Do you really think I’m going to tell you that? What are you going to do?” He snorted, “Kill me?”
It was obvious he underestimated her.
Slow, purposeful hooves clopped against the hardwood floor, crimson eyes became larger as the demon in question got closer. She stopped roughly half a metre (1.65 feet) away and leaned in real close, with force, her snout slowly compressed against his face.
He could feel the warm breaths respirating from her nose, and the eyes, they took up the entity of his vision, horrendous blood encircled things with penetrating vision. He couldn’t look away.
“Where,” she breathed.
“Is.”
“My.”
“Weapon?”
Towards the end of her slow, and continuous question, the breath seemed to become harsher by the second.
As it turns out, a griffon can become terrified.
“It’s-s in-n the s-safe,” he stuttered, “fl-loor 1, room-m 69.”
For the first time, he could see her pearly white teeth. A smile if he’s ever seen one.
“Thank you.”
And then, all he saw was black….
It looks like his instincts were correct, the last image embedded into his mind was the bloodthirsty eyes of the pony in front of him.
As I stepped out of a reasonably large cupboard and closed the closet behind me, a puddle of a thick, red fluid began to seep through the crack between the doorframe.
“God damn it!” I whispered while attempting to kick the liquid back under the space, before finally sighing, “Someone’s gonna see this.”
But, who really cares anyway? I’ll be out of here before anyone notices, it’ll be fine.
Now, where is that safe?
As it turns out, it wasn’t that difficult to find.
In fact, it literally states, “SAFE” above the large entranceway, where a simple metal mechanical doorway sat. The question of which was how the bloody heck was I supposed to get in there?
The only problem of which would be to avoid notifying the multiple guards that sat around its entryway. It would be almost impossible to not disturb them while using a laser cutter, I mean, what the heck am I supposed t—
Wait.
I’m an idiot.
I’m invisible and can walk through solid objects.
After all, it did bring these small devices in my saddlebags for a reason. I’m not going to let them go to waste.
In consequence, I literally walked directly in front of all the guards, and straight through the doorway.
“Now…” I whispered, “Where the fuck is it?”
What greeted me was a collection of what was clearly, different artefacts, files, and various weapons. This was obviously a place to store sensitive information and objects that could potentially benefit the Griffon Republic’s enemies.
Like me.
I hummed a cheery tone as I began the searching process.
“Ooooo,” my eyes lit up, “what’s this?”
I had just recently noticed a transparent sphere that lightly glowed. It looked important. And very old.
What’s this plaque say? “A gift from Queen of Unicornian, Princess Platinum. To embellish further relations.”?
Yes, yes. Certainly interesting…
I should touch it.
My muzzle made headway with transporting oneself to almost smooching against the sphere, my eyesight scrutinising the surface. The only thing noticeable was the movement of a bunch of swirling light. Although eye-catching—it was certainly not beautiful.
I placed my front forelegs to the side of the object in question, proceeded to seize hold of the sphere, and slowly lifted it up one single centimetre at a time.
And then, I dropped it. Which in consequence, broke against the stone floor into thousands of pieces.
Which I totally didn’t purposely do.
Yes, totally.
As occurrence, smile tended to my lips, “Tsk, tsk, these hooves are too slippery,” I performed a mock head shake, “How can ponies manage with this?”
This, in actuality, turned out to be a terrible idea as the loud shatter seemed to have alerted multiple guards outside. Their steps unceremoniously squabbled around, and yelled all sorts of things that I honestly didn’t really give two shits about.
This just gave me an opportunity.
Anything that had the appearance of importance (which was everything) utterly disassembled, and destroyed by laser fire. Files were burned, artefacts were shattered, and weapons demolished.
In fact, in the heat of it all, I think I may have accidentally set the building on fire.
Although fun, that’s not what’s important.
That fact I had found my musket, was.
I grappled my right hood around it, and strapped it onto my saddlebag.
I lobbed a grenade from my saddle bag at the wall adjacent, resulting in a great one-way, blue like explosion that completely blew the heavy stones into dust, and lead to the glorious outside world.
Onwards!
EDITOR'S NOTE
Well, it’s bout time, right?
So, a few things for this one; Ponies spells morale as morel and it kills me inside to fix it. He also invented a new word, Decocratics, I have no Fucking idea WHAT THAT MEANS and it scares me.
Anyway, Reality is a Simulation, Life is valued in Paper, and Buy Programmer socks.
Sincerely,
Crimson the Editor at 5:45 AM