John took the lead, his large size barely squeezing through the winding narrow passageway.
Behind him snaked almost a hundred ponies. They’d been organised in teams, with the mechanised Thestrals situated at intervals to ward off the worst of any assault or ambush.
Most of them were civilians, with few Royal Guard surviving the defence of the theatre area. They’d secured the initial ingress, barricaded the doors and made their way deeper into the catacombs.
Midnight assured him they could still reach the East Barricade. In the meanwhile he kept his eyes and ears open. Managing to scale his personal radar down to their level, allowing him to ignore the surface activity and alerting him to any nearby threats.
After a thirty minutes march, the corridor opened into a drainage chamber. This, he was told, was the beginning of the city sewer network. Pipes along the walls disgorged a thick, almost black liquid, trickling into grates in the stonework.
The dark area bloomed as he activated his torch. The support pillars cast wild shadows around, making his eyes play tricks on him. A power armoured pony entered next, “bring them through – I’ll scout further ahead.” John said.
“Good luck,” the male soldier replied.
He turned and grimly stalked forward. His blood still pulsed heavily under his greasy flesh. The after effects of his body’s adrenaline dump made him ache. Yet John was tireless as always, and pushed aside his fatigue for now.
He drank from his water outlet inside his helmet, the chalky recycled fluid made him regret it. But at least he didn’t feel thirsty anymore. The chamber curved around on both sides and became more narrow the further he went.
The cobblestone room finished in a large drainage tunnel. Either side of the canal were walkways made of more dark brick. No guiderail or any hint of safety precautions.
The paths that remained at the same level as the large room were too narrow. Forcing him to walk down into the canal.
Water trickled and dripped and poured at varying distances. A chain rattled and rats ran just outside of his vision. There were a few of them in the slurry flitting about as they feasted on the sewage. There was this vague sound of wind and air blowing through. Plenty of other unexplainable noises from near and far created this ambience of the unknown.
Ankle deep chunky fluid sloshed as he walked and the stench was getting to him though his air filter. He considered using his internal air supply, but relented just in case. Experience had taught him you never knew when you might need two hours of oxygen.
Minutes of walking through the sameness of the tunnel were interrupted by a four-way intersection.
An oil lamp provided some light, a pair had been set up on each corner. With some supplies gathered along the right side.
His radar didn’t detect any movement and he saw no other signs of life. John stepped once and stopped to raise his weapon. A quadruped appeared from one of the corners on the walkway, hefting a spear.
He aimed under muscle memory, but quickly lowered the weapon. The Thestral didn’t lower the spear but their eyes narowed from aggression to suspicion.
“I’m Commander Maxon, I’m an ally. Lower your weapon.”
The guard did after a few tense long seconds. “I know who you are, but I didn’t really believe the stories.”
John shrugged and stepped fully into the intersection, they were the only two here.
“You’re alone?” He asked.
“I’m watching these tunnels to make sure we don’t get any uninvited visitors.” The guard stowed their spear and moved to the edge. Johns head was just below the rim of the gully.
John spoke fast, “There’s are a few dozen civilians en route with a mix of Guards. We blocked off the tunnel to the Theatre district, so unless they dig their way in – which is always possible, this way should be clear.”
John turned to look back, his light disappeared into the darkness. He used a mental command to increase the range of his radar. Nothing at first and then a small group of dots came into range. Still another few minutes away.
He turned to the Guard, “they're coming. Soon. Tell me what’s down those other tunnels?”
The guard pointed down the left passage, “about twenty minutes and you’ll get to the half way check point. Then curve around to the west and you’ll reach the barricade.
“Down the middle one just keeps going deeper into the network, there’s access tunnels back to the surface every once in a while. At the very end you’ll hit the filtering station, before the pipes drain into the Everfree.”
The guard hopped over the tunnel above John’s head, “down this one and you’ll loop back through the market and finally hit a big cistern. It’s from the original city. I think it gets used as storage by a brewery.”
John grunted. Not really listening. “Stay here, watch for them and point them in the right direction.”
The guard sniffed as an affirmative, “you got it.”
His armour hissed quietly as he strode onward, quickening his pace.
The tunnel was eerie, John didn’t subscribe to the supernatural. Yet if anywhere had an inexplicable inhuman energy – this was it.
Dark rusted metal and aged brickwork funnelled him into a small stream of literal shit.
It rushed quite fast, this was a bizarre intersection. Looked like a lower level of sewage fed into this gulley. He kept to the edge, passing easily through the veritable stream of waste.
No light ahead, and it allowed a feeling of uncertainty to fester. If the Thestrals had somehow been snuffed out, he could be walking into a big ambush. John checked his cell, and continued in a pose prepared for violence. The darkness receded, and before he could think- bright light practically blinded him.
Numerous voices shouted at him, asking for identification, after his business. He raised his arms and his weapon, proclaiming non-violence.
“I am Commander John Maxon. I’m allied with the Princesses’, allied with you.”
The light dimmed, and he could see again. The canal rose into another drainage chamber. It was practically empty of sewage, planks and supply crates covered most of the areas between the pillars.
“Yes,” a voice thick with ingratitude droned. “The alien here to save us. What do you want?”
John held his AER low, but he wasn’t appreciative of this pony’s tone. “I need to get to the east barricade and get a message out to Princess Luna or her sister.”
A sordid and ashen coloured Thestral stepped into the dim lamplight. He was atypical looking, aside from the streaks of dirt and gore.
“What message?” He all but grunted.
John hoisted himself out of the sewer stream and onto the planks. They groaned and cracked with his weight.
“Permission to destroy the city. Deny it to the enemy. Wipe out some of them and we retreat.”
The Thestral moved aggressively toward him, stopping just shy of his power armour. He was about as tall as John’s waist.
“You don’t understand because you’re not from here: we are not destroying this city. We’re not letting them have it, so either help toward those goals, or leave!” The Guard was pure scowling at him now.
John took stock of the room, the Guards all seemed to share their apparent leaders stance. The one in front had sergeants chevrons at his neck.
“Sergeant, why don’t you leave the decision making to men with bars?” John said.
The Thestrals face reddened and he looked set to explode.
“Look – if the Princesses’ don’t want to destroy your city, then I won’t. And that’s a promise, Sergeant.”
The scowling lessened a fraction. “Either way, Thestrals don’t retreat. For us it’s victory or death.”
John started to skirt around him, aiming for the dark hovel at the rear which guaranteed an escape.
“Stay here if you like, but if I’m allowed I’m lighting this place and running for the hills.” John spoke more to the entire room than just the Sergeant.
He bogged out, following a series of lamps along an access tunnel. The blackened brickwork narrowed evermore as the path rose.
He had to squeeze sideways into the next level – too broad to fit frontally. This cavernous room was devoid of life, natural light filtered through from a gated arch at the far end and the sounds and vibrations of heavy combat fed back down to him.
He sprinted across, reaching the portal in four great strides. He reached the steel bars and they smashed open loudly, John skipped up the crumbling stairwell and into bright daylight.
The plaza he’d entered had suffered worse than the rest of the city. The area was rounded at the sides and thick with action. The central promenade had been semi fortified.
Tens of unicorns huddled In-between the sparse cover fired magic blasts out at the surrounding mass of black Changeling regulars. Bright purple and magma-red shields kept them safe from aerial attack.
The bugs hissed and screeched, desperately trying to push past a three-deep wall of dark-flecked Thestral Guards. The Changelings tenacity was unwavering, regardless of the sheer volume of dead they were suffering – they just kept coming.
John pushed forward, the space between him and the bastion was clear of hostiles. The airspace hotly contested, both sides fiercely jousting one another.
Guards and Changelings alike dropped like flies. Crumpled bodies and blackened, ashen urbanisation ringed the entire ordeal and reminded John of his years spent slogging through war-torn Europe.
He roadie ran and hopped the small wall. Meeting several somewhat unwelcome and confused pony eyes. The mare in charge was non other than Lieutenant McKenna. She looked as bedraggled and beat-down as the worst of them. Yet her state of mind was clearly still composed, John decided.
She had chewing gum in her mouth and gave a single large chew as she looked him up and down head to toe, before facing the clash of her troops.
“Maxon, kind of you to join us,” she said humourlessly and somewhat hoarsely.
“McKenna. What’s the word?” He asked.
Smoke billowed along the backdrop of the Canterlot plaza. One building on the right at the far-back collapsed downward in a cloud of dust. It looked more like a controlled explosion, yet a hole existed where the structure had, and many black shapes rose out from it.
“We’ve been flat with them since they broke through and we’re greatly outnumbered.
A pair sneaked close to the unicorn line and were cut down with fusia blasts.
“They just keep coming,” she finished.
An explosion wracked the bug flank, culling many of them as red lasers were fired from out of sight. The bug troops massed to meet the new threat but lacked the cohesion to fight the two groups.
The unicorns alongside John and McKenna hurled explosive spells that disintegrated some and dismembered others. John had little ammo and so reluctantly held his fire, despite the usual urge to shoot until his arms were numb.
The cause of the flank became apparent as squat and blocky armoured shapes positioned themselves within a smaller plaza on the left side. They galloped full-steam into the Changelings. The bugs warped and writhed, desperately trying to overwhelm the new threat.
The three ranks of Thestrals tore into the hapless bugs in a bloody frenzy. Catching even John unprepared with their violence. He’d seen the ponies thus far be rolled over, and was constantly switching between belief in their immediate defeat and surefire victory.
And again, the pace of the fighting had been burned out. No changeling remained on the ground, yet the air battle raged continually.
A power-armoured Thestral peered into the emergence hole and tossed a canvas bag inside. A big whoomf from the exploding charge stirred the smoggy air, quickly shunting it all away.
The ranks of Thestrals formed up into three once more, with the new power armoured arrivals weaving and interlacing themselves amongst them.
Major Chironax revealed herself, she sported cuts and scrapes, she was sweaty and dirty. And panted for air as she all but slumped between John and McKenna.
She had a cauterised wound on her side. It was grey and ugly, the shiny flesh in he centre looked awfully sore. As did the surrounding redness.
One of the unicorns doubled as their medic, and began treating the wound with a field of orange magic. She hissed through gritted teeth. And looked fit to pass out.
“Maxon,” she grunted through the pain.
He nodded down at her as her eyes began to roll, her chest heaved with her breathing and the wound started to shift back to regular looking flesh. He gripped her shoulder, “I’m taking over.” He got a little affirmative motion in return.
“I need to get to the barricade,” he said to McKenna.
“Well good luck, buggers blew it to tarturus. Before the crystal communication array fell, we were getting reports of attacks on our major military command posts. Bastards knew exactly where to hit us.”
Well that certainly threw a spanner in John’s plan. Maybe the Sergeant in the sewer had a point, John didn’t understand because this wasn’t his home. He reckoned if he wanted to make it his home, detonating their Capital city wouldn’t make a very good impression.
“Incoming!” A guard a the front shouted, causing all of them to ready for more fighting. The shapes turned from a hazy black to colourful.
“Civilians!” One of the refugees called out.
John caught McKenna’s attention, “Lieutenant there’s civilians already en-route from the Theatre district. I suggest we get these inside as well and evacuate them toward the Everfree using the sewer.”
She nodded and looked approving. But then her expression shifted somewhat. “Maxon it’s your show, you got us off that mountain. I’ll follow you anywhere.”
“Appreciate that, come with me.”
He stood tall and marched toward the rear of the Thestral ranks.
“Any officers and NCO's, gather round.”
After some head movement, as they checked amongst themselves, nine ponies ambled over. A few regular and a few Mechanised.
McKenna spoke before he could, “This is Commander Maxon. Majors out, so he’s it. Do what he says, and we’ll win the day.”
“These lines you’ve got aren’t any good. Spread out, two or three together. Keep the Onyx Guards at the front, rest of you in the back. We hold this position as long as we can, getting civilians inside the sewers and evacuated out.
“Meanwhile, we need to work on getting the signal out for reinforcements, and fight hard to keep them from taking complete control of the city. Send some runners out to wrangle any squads or groups of civvies, and herd them over.
“McKenna,” he had her attention, “organise here, I’m going back to get Lieutenant Midnight. We'll take a small team and try to get word out.”
With that he spun and ran back into the sewer. Behind him he heard many orders being shouted, and forced his mind to race toward a solution for establishing contact.
He barrelled down into the drainage chamber. Bursting into the room filled with Thestrals. The Sergeant stepped right up to him, trying to figure John out.
“Well?” The gruff Sergeant asked.
“Barricades destroyed, I've decided for now to try to save the city. I need your help.”
He looked around at his troops, clearly surprised as his ridge-like eyebrows rose dramatically.
“Help with what?”
“Any minute now you’re going to be up to your eyeballs in civilian evacuees. Manage them, and send them down into the sewer. Send half of your guys down to the intersection, because we’re going to need to guard it in case they come at us from either the theatre or sewer sub station”
“Rooms a little limited,” he pointed out.
“So make room. The stuff in here – the boardwalk and crates, use them to set up defensive barricades near the archway, and take some down to the intersection to shore it up there.”
With that said, John stomped back into the awful sewage waste.
“Where are you going?” The Sergeant called to John’s back.
“To get reinforcements.”