Into the Storm: The Flight of Firefly

by Firesight

Second Offensive: 9 - Captain's Mast

Dear readers—

Gavian’s tour continues, or perchance more appropriately, begins. His training complete, he was at long last going to explore the wide expanse of Aresia with his family, who, by all reports, are at least starting to settle into the Kingdom after a two-week stay in Arnau.

I will not share his latest letter, but my son says that their daughter Sparrow Hawk is slowly but steadily adjusting to her homeland. ‘Tis certain she misses her pony friends to say nothing of the sweets and soft breads she enjoyed in Canterlot, finding gryphon scones far too tough for her tastes.

But I’m sure Fell Flight at least would be pleased to know that she loves their slow-cooked flying boar and smoked fish. She has also made some new friends, enjoying the fact that gryphons her age enjoy roughhousing just as much as the pegasi she knew in Cloudsdale and Canterlot did. 

‘Twould seem she has even gotten into a couple fights—far more a function of her mother’s temperament than her father’s, methinks—and acquitted herself well, finding to her surprise that the Kingdom does not punish them unless certain lines are crossed.

As for Cara, she remains reluctant to ever leave Gavian’s side, still worried that he might be challenged to a duel with lethal terms if she is not present. None would ever doubt how fiercely loyal she is to him, given the circumstances that accompanied their initial meeting long ago near the end of the war. Or that she, too, can fight, given the awful environment she grew up in.

But I will let her tell that story when the time comes. Having seen to the warrior half of his heritage, Gavian tells me he now wishes to know more about his race’s artistic side, but I fear he will find it lacking. For ‘twas once explained to me by Ambassador Kaval that the Empire purged almost all traces of a once-rich artistic culture, in their zeal to forge a purely military meritocracy.

Speaking of the Ambassador, ‘tis time for him to be heard from again. He wishes to relate the Imperial side of the operations around Maresk, which, despite meeting the immediate objective of pocketing the bulk of the 1^st Equestrian Army Corps, was meeting with its own issues, not the least of which was the failure to completely seal the pocket thanks to the future General’s stubborn defense of Harness Hill.

‘Tis certain the General himself will have some things to say about it, as ‘twill be the first time he hears of it. But as action at Harness Hill had at least temporarily ceased after the latest failed Imperial attempt to seize it, we will step away from it for a bit. In its place will be the Ambassador’s section, which he mailed to me from Arnau, delivered by the same courier that gave me Gavian’s latest letter.

But before that, ‘tis time, sadly, to tell the tale of what happened to me and Fell Flight in the aftermath of what might have been our alliance-destroying idiocy of dueling in front of the Nightborne Council. ‘Tis a painful memory to me, and not just for the punishment I was given. 

But for who administered it.

Captain’s Mast

EAS Loyalty
Topmost Observation Deck, in front of Mainmast
Cloudsdale Central District Airship Anchorage
September 5th, 1139 AC
1600 hours

“Attention on deck!” The call was made as Fell Flight and I were half-pulled, half-dragged before an audience that included a third of the ship’s crew and half the Corps contingent assigned to it. Also in attendance were the Nightborne of the Lunar Council, who looked less than happy about being up at that hour when they were normally asleep during the day. 

They grumbled amongst themselves at our poor discipline; my ears picked up the General of their self-described Army of the Night saying that if we were his soldiers, we would already have been stripped of our ranks and station and then received a series of crippling lashes to the wings.

I could only imagine how painful they would find tears in their membrane surfaces, and wondered what punishments the Royal Navy retained from Luna’s rule. We had been advised of what was to come by the Mare-at-Arms, who had made it a point to display a whip she said ‘twas used for extreme breaches of discipline amongst the crew. She was also very good at using it; she demonstrated by lashing the opposite wall, pulling the paint and even some splinters of wood right off it.

Fell Flight and I were still hurting badly from the damage we’d inflicted on each other. Worse, our wounds had only barely been treated and we were in manacles, our limbs so stiff and sore we could hardly move even without them. Methinks I cannot blame them for that; the guards we had roughed up who’d only been trying to prevent a bloody battle in sickbay were less than happy with us. So were the sickbay healers themselves, who methinks had more than their fill of us over the past day.

“Bring forth the accused,” the Mare-at-Arms directed, and we were half-shoved, half-dragged forward to face the Captain. She was standing on a small platform that surrounded the mainmast, bracketed by unsmiling sentries.

Father then walked before us and unfurled a scroll from which he read what I later knew to be the standard boilerplate for such proceedings. He wouldn’t even look at me, instead directing his attention to the assembled audience, speaking into a loudspeaking crystal.

“Master Sergeant Fell Flight of the Equestrian Aerial Corps! Master Sergeant Firefly of the Royal Guard! You both stand accused of gross dereliction of duty, conduct unbecoming a soldier, fighting an unapproved duel and multiple assaults on the Naval sentries who tried to stop you. These charges are serious, and as they occurred on board a Royal Navy Airship you were assigned as crew to, they will be adjudicated under the Royal Navy’s Code of Conduct, as laid out by Princess Luna at the Navy’s birth,” he began ominously.

I admit I could not help but swallow, for even before her fall into the thrall of The Nightmare, Luna’s reputation had been as a harsh mistress who did not brook any disobedience amongst the soldiers of her service.

“But before we proceed, ‘tis my duty to inform you that this is not a court-martial, and any determination of misconduct ‘tis not recorded as a conviction. But this also means that the formal rules of evidence and deliberation used in legal proceedings do not apply. If you wish a full court-martial with legal representation by Royal Navy barristers, ‘tis your right to request it, but the punishments that result may be even more severe and will be recorded as permanent marks on your military record,” he informed us both.

“If you waive that right, the Captain will hear the evidence and render judgment, imposing whatever punishment she deems fit in accordance with the Royal Navy’s General Orders and Princess Luna’s Code of Naval Conduct. Do you understand these terms as I have described them?”

“Yes, sir,” we said quietly. With Captain Typhoon glowering at me from off to the side, methinks I was certain my meteoric rise through the ranks was at an end.

“Then do you waive your right to legal representation and court-martial, and accept the judgment of the Captain if she deems you guilty of your transgressions?” he next prompted.

“Yes, sir,” we said again, not looking at each other. I’d barely glanced at her since the duel, but ‘twas certain Fell Flight was every bit as beat up as me; her Corps uniform torn to shreds just like I had many divots and outright gashes in my enchanted armor through which my wounds from wingblade slashes still slowly oozed blood.

She’d not held back, and neither had I. In hindsight, ‘tis a wonder that neither of us were permanently wounded or worse. She had proven herself correct in her claim that she could fight me on equal terms now, even going so far as to exchange a helmet-to-helmet headbutt that left us both reeling after.

“Then this Captain’s Mast will proceed, and we will call upon our first witness. Senior Starpony Nightingale? Step forth!” He summoned the head of sickbay forward first; she moved in front of us and saluted crisply, then stood to attention before him.

“Senior Starpony. By direction of the Captain, please describe what happened in sickbay, and what you saw.”

“Gladly,” she said in great ire, proceeding to give her statement.

For both myself and Fell Flight, methinks the next hour that followed was one of the worst of our collective careers.

‘Twas as everypony from the head healer to a series of sentries we’d tossed around with our wind or outright shocked into unconsciousness testified, that our folly was fully driven home. ‘Twas a litany of raw anger and escalation, the throwing away of all friendship and honor, and a complete inability to consider the consequences of what we were doing that was recited back to us, leaving me wondering if I had somehow reverted all the way back to my petulant teenage idiocy of old.

An idiocy I thought had been beaten out of me when I lost my first duel to Sergeant Major Windshear at basic over a year earlier, lying on the ground soundly thrashed, crying less from my broken wing than my shattered pride. But here I found myself again, facing yet another mayhap career-ending moment. And worse, ‘twas coming in the middle of wartime, right when we were needed the most.

What would my beloved mentor think of me now, looking down from the Summerlands as I so desperately wanted to believe he was? ‘Twas all I could do not to let the thought bring a tear to my eye. I knew not what was going through Fell Flight’s head, of course, but both of us declined offers to interview the witnesses ourselves or offer evidence on our own behalf. Our anger spent and seemingly having gained us nothing but the predicament we now faced, we knew full well our actions were inexcusable.

And more than worthy of severe retribution; I would have come down very hard on any soldier under my command who’d done what I did regardless of how much I’d liked them before. I’d heard from my father that the Navy still practiced various forms of corporal punishment, even capital when the offense was egregious enough. ‘Twas a throwback to Luna’s time, and ‘twas said the Mare-at-Arms was required to be skilled with a whip to administer sentence for the former.

Though I tried hard to keep my eyes fixed straight ahead—one must understand ‘tis very difficult to stand at attention for long periods of time, especially when wounded—my stance and gaze wavered repeatedly, going to the watching Nightborne to the side. They had stayed silent except for some whispering among themselves; their slitted eyes unreadable behind the nearly-opaque flight goggles they wore so they could see in daylight. But more than once I heard unfavorable comments, particularly directed at my second; I heard the term ‘Highborne half-breed’ or some variation uttered by members of the Lunar Council more than once.

Under normal circumstances, Fell Flight would have greeted those remarks with her trademark ire and intimidation; methinks to this day she is never afraid to give as good as she gets, whether verbally or physically. But now? She was silent and stoic, as was I, not even an ear flicked at the worst of what we heard.

Finally, after nearly an hour, the end of the interminably long witness list was reached. Having declined all offers to interview them or ask questions ourselves, we were asked by Father if we wished to offer anything in our defense.

“No, sir,” we said quietly. For what could we say? I admit I was somewhat tempted to take all the blame to spare Fell Flight, but somehow, I suspected that would only make things worse.

“And are there any witnesses you wish to call or evidence to present?”

“No, sir,” we replied again. Methinks I felt completely numb at that point, my anger burned out of me, leaving only the barely-dulled pain of my many injuries behind.

“And is there anything you wish to offer that would lessen the seriousness of these offenses or mitigate them?” Father asked; ‘twas certain his ire had only grown the more he heard and learned of what happened.

“No, sir,” we answered again.

“I see. Then ‘twill fall upon the Captain to present judgment, and having heard the whole story behind this disgusting and dishonorable duel, I must reluctantly recommend that—”

“Yes, sir!” came a voice from the crowd I shortly recognized as Blindside, who stepped to the fore before anypony could stop her. “I wish to speak.”

“Sergeant? Don’t,” I told her under my breath, but she ignored me.

Tailwind’s eyes narrowed as Shady pinned her with a stare; several naval sentries also stepped forth in case they were ordered to restrain her. “Sergeant Blindside, perchance you are not familiar with the procedures of a Captain’s Mast, but onlooking ponies may not speak unless invited. And you have not been.”

She stood to trembling attention but did not relent. “They have been granted no defense, sir. I wish to give it.”

“‘Tis not your choice to make, Sergeant. They were offered the chance to defend themselves but declined,” Father reminded her, a warning edge to his voice.

“If they will not defend themselves, then I will! Please, Captain! You must understand what they were going through. You cannot make a proper decision for punishment without it!” she tried again.

Father glanced back at Shady, who nodded once. “Very well. You are out of order, Sergeant Blindside, but at the Captain’s command, I will indulge you. What do you wish to offer on their behalf?”

“That Master Sergeants Firefly and Fell Flight are two of the finest soldiers I have ever been privileged to know,” she began. “That they have saved my life on multiple occasions, to say nothing of the entire Epsilon battalion! ‘Twas their training that turned us into elite soldiers who could take even the best the Gryphon Empire could offer, and they asked for nothing in return, save our loyalty and willingness to serve!” she said fervently, then turned to face us. 

“Without that training, we all would have died, mayhap in the initial Talon attack. Without it, we could not have held out as long as we did, and would not be standing here now. For all they have done for not just me and the battalion but all Equestria, I would not only serve under them, but I would die for them! And methinks nothing that happened today changes that!”

Her words elicited an eruption of cheers from the remaining Corps soldiers, but Shady appeared unmoved. “Methinks that is the minimum required for any soldier, Sergeant—obedience to orders from superiors, who are required to train their underlings satisfactorily in turn,” she replied. “That you are loyal to them is noted, but—”

“But this ship is the EAS Loyalty, ma’am! The embodiment of one of the six Elements of Harmony! You wouldst ask me to forsake all friendship and love for them simply because they snapped after days of unrelenting combat and abuse?” Blindside challenged, and I was surprised to hear the word ‘love’ from her; methinks ‘twas a rare slip of the tongue from a mare who to this day is still one of the most circumspect ponies I know.

She blinked once, then charged ahead; I’m not certain anypony interpreted that as anything but a soldier’s love for their leader. “I would have the Captain and all present know that Fell Flight lost nearly her entire herd at the Weather Factory in the Imperial attack—that every adult member of her family save one was slain! She suffered the loss of her entire clan whilst the adopted son of Master Sergeant Firefly was forced against her will into a duel with deadly terms… with mine and Fell Flight’s mentor!” Her voice was starting to quaver as a glance towards Typhoon showed his lip tight.

“We are aware of this, but—” Father began again, but Blindside charged ahead anyway.

“A beloved son that now lies near death in sickbay! So by Luna’s Moon itself, how didst you expect them to respond to these provocations?” She turned her glare on the Captain of the Guard next whilst some surprised murmurs came up from the Nightborne in turn. 

“That duel matched Firefly’s son with Fell Flight’s mentor! That meant that no matter the victor, ‘twas all but guaranteed that at least one of them would end up with a loved one gravely wounded or dead! And for this, you wouldst punish the inevitable explosion that results? Methinks a pony can only take so much!”

“I am aware of these facts, Sergeant,” the Captain said shortly, “But they do not excuse their actions. Or their assault on my sentries!”

“Perchance not. But they should at least mitigate them. I thus remind you of them, and say before all present that they are good soldiers who we cannot spare! Despite their actions, my loyalty to them remains, as does the entire surviving Corps force aboard this ship! Please… I speak for all of us when I beg you to not reduce their rank or remove them from command! For I owe them my life. We all do.” She made an expansive motion with her wing to the assembled Corps contingent around them.

Her actions elicited another cheer, which I admit I did take some heart from, though I also wondered if I was truly worthy of it any longer given what my actions may have cost us.

“You have said your piece, Sergeant,” Tailwind warned her with a glower. “Your defense has been heard and noted. Now step back, or risk arrest.”

“But I—” She didn’t move right away.

“Step away, Blindside,” I ordered her softly. “Do not sacrifice your career and honor for ours.”

“’Tis mine to give, ma’am,” she replied, her eyes glimmering. “For I would be neither soldier nor friend if I did not stand up for you.”

“Go, Sergeant,” Fell Flight addressed her next. “I thank you for your words, undeserving though I now feel of them. But for the sake of our alliance with the Nightborne, ‘tis what must be.”

“Sir. Yes, sir.” Blindside deflated and hung her head as she turned and walked off. Tailwind waited for her to return to formation before he continued. “You have heard all the evidence, Captain. Do you require time to consider this matter?” he asked Shady.

“I do not. For I have already heard all I need to and decided on my verdict. Master Sergeant Firefly and Master Sergeant Fell Flight, stand to receive judgment!” she instructed, causing us to be yanked forward towards her.

She pinned us with her stare, which ‘twas no less intimidating for being behind her namesake spectacles; in fact, methinks ‘twas more unnerving to not be able to see her gaze and read her eyes.

She then spoke into her loudspeaker crystal again. “Master Sergeant Firefly! Master Sergeant Fell Flight! I find you guilty on all counts, and I regret that I am not moved by the words of your adjutant or the loyalty of your soldiers. For you are hardly alone in the losses you suffered. Indeed, all aboard this ship can claim equal injury, from losing a third of our air wing in the Epsilon rescue mission to the instant death of our many friends and comrades on board the Duty,” she reminded us.

“By turning my ship into a battlefield—and worse, my sickbay!—you not only dishonored their sacrifice as well as yourselves, but you also conducted this ill-thought duel in front of honored guests whose alliance we very much need!” She paused to look out over the Nightborne, who I could not then see. What I could hear from them was decidedly negative, though.

She then turned her hidden eyes back on us. “I was told to remind the Lunar Council that the Royal Navy has not forgotten Princess Luna’s Code of Naval Conduct, and so I will. But may all listening know that my decision is not influenced by that, for I would impose an equally severe punishment for any member of my own crew without any audience for such flagrant and far-reaching affronts as these.”

She lowered her head and peered at us over her shades for a moment; for the first time I saw genuine rage in her gaze. 

‘Twas then that I learned that the Navy did indeed still impose corporal punishment. “First, I sentence you both to twelve lashes to the wingbase and flight muscles, six per side. You will then spend the next three days in the brig on hay and water, followed by a week of serving belowdecks as simple crewponies,” she informed us, causing my insides to clench at the first part of the sentence, which I knew would result in crippling pain.

‘Tis no doubt Shady knew it too, but she wasn’t done yet. “During that time, I will order that you perform the worst of our maintenance tasks, including cleaning the heads or disposing of their waste. You will do everything you are told without question or backtalk. You will perform to the satisfaction of your overseers. You will perform these punishment duties together. And there will be no more incidents between you.” I could see the muscle movement that indicated her eyes were narrowing, even though they remained hidden behind her shades.

“If and only if your behavior has been satisfactory, will I allow you both a single daily visit with your son and mentor. If and only if your behavior has been exemplary over those ten days will I return your ranks and armor at the end of your sentence, allowing you to resume command of the Loyalty’s Aerial Corps contingent. If not…”

She paused and glowered. “If not, then I will direct that you be removed from my ship, turning you over to Captain Typhoon for further punishment and possible court-martial. Are these terms understood?” she asked us shortly.

“Yes, ma’am,” we replied as one.

“Good. Sentence will be carried out immediately, starting with the lashes. The Mare-at-Arms will perform the duty. As is traditional, the lowest ranked member will receive theirs first, which due to service hierarchy is Master Sergeant Fell Flight. Master Starpony?” she then addressed Cutlass Cleave. 

“Bind her legs to the deck. Then strip her uniform and stretch out her wings. Let her feel all the pain that she has so richly earned,” Captain Shady said coldly, though ‘tis certain from the way she pushed her dark glasses more firmly onto her nose to hide her eyes that she took no pleasure in giving the orders.

“Aye-aye, ma’am.” Methinks the well-armed mare was only too glad to carry out those instructions, directing that Fell Flight’s legs be secured to holes in the deck. Once they were, the uniform and rank insignia that my second was so proud of were unceremoniously ripped from her torso, revealing her battered body fully, and then unicorn auras tugged her wings wide to bare her sensitive flight muscles.

‘Twas clear she was still in pain anyway, but she refused to cry out as the rough treatment reopened some of her wounds. My lip curled when I heard some of the whispered comments of the Lunar Council, including their General saying he didn’t expect a ‘Highborne half-breed as her’ to last more than a single lash before crumpling and begging for mercy.

If I heard him, ‘twas no doubt Fell Flight did as well. “Before I carry out the Captain’s sentence, know that you are allowed at least a small measure of pain mitigation. Do you wish for a blindfold, Master Sergeant?” Cutlass Cleave asked her in contempt; the cold gleam in her eye told me she’d done this before and even enjoyed it. “Or perchance a bit to bite on? Both are allowed.”

“No,” Fell Flight replied despite the ongoing humiliation she was suffering. “My sole request is that you turn me to face the Nightborne so they may see how much pain a ‘Highborne half-breed’ can take,” she hissed out the words.

The Mare At Arms glanced up to the Captain, who nodded once. “As you wish.” A minute later, the scene was set, and her punishment began. Wielded by the Mare-at-Arms, the whip cracked hard against Fell Flight’s side, flaying her wingbase and flight muscles, sending spatters of blood and shreds of fur and feathers flying forth as even the underlying skin was pulled off.

I grimaced with every strike, knowing I was shortly facing all that as well. But to Fell Flight’s credit, she stayed stoic and didn’t make a sound as the lashes were delivered, keeping her eyes fixed on the bat-ponies watching them. I am not certain, but I believe she locked gazes with the Nightborne general who had slandered her, given how his expression slowly fell—how his smugness gradually gave way to surprise, then astonishment, and then a grudging respect; methinks there were even some expressions of pity on the faces of a few thestrals by the end. 

Still, ‘tis no question her pain was horrific as she clenched her jaw and trembled violently as a dozen bloody welts added up on her wingbase and flight muscles. 

To her immense credit, she managed to stay upright until the very end when her legs gave out and she toppled forward, her ability to fly destroyed for at least the next week. The Nightborne were silent as they saw her whisked away; methinks she earned the admiration of all watching for her incredible pain tolerance and refusal to so much as utter a single sound.

If Cutlass Cleave was impressed, she made sure not to show it as she simply stepped back and smartly jerked the whip into a reel that wrapped itself loosely around her neck. “Take her to the brig. Cleanse her wounds and seal the worst of them with stitches. But do not heal or numb them,” Father directed the two healers present, then his jaw clenched. “Now bring forth Master Sergeant Firefly! Bind her legs and turn her to face the Lunar Council.”

Within a minute, I’d been thrown roughly to the deck and my armor ripped from me. Having already witnessed it, I had expected that humiliation—the symbolic stripping of my station as I was reduced to a simple prisoner who had no rights or rank. What I did not expect was the words of my Father to follow:

“Master Starpony! Give your whip to me. I will administer the lashes personally,” he ordered a surprised Cutlass Cleave as I, too, gave him a shocked look. But instead of addressing me, he turned to the assembled Nightborne. 

“For those of you who do not know, Master Sergeant Firefly is my adopted daughter,” he announced, eliciting some sounds of surprise and even an open jaw or two. “And thus, as both her superior and her sire, her punishment should belong to me. With your approval, that is, Captain.” He then turned to Shady and stood to attention.

Captain Shady nodded gravely. “As you wish, Commander Tailwind. On the condition that you do not go easy on her.”

His eyes narrowed and jaw clenched. “With due respect, you misunderstand my intentions, Captain. I am requesting the whip to make sure she feels every lash as keenly as possible. So she knows that by her actions she not only forsook her duties and honor, but her very sire.”

“So be it,” Shady replied shortly. “Administer her punishment, Commander.”

‘Twas then my turn as father accepted the whip and grasped it in his good wing, giving it an experimental crack that pierced the air beside me and stung my ear painfully with its sound alone.

“Father…” I called to him shakily, tears already starting to well in my eyes. I’d faced down Ravens and flown through superstorms, survived combat with centuries of soldiers, been struck by lightning bolts and endured many broken bones. And yet, all of that paled in comparison as I beheld the harsh eyes of my adoptive sire, whose gaze bored into mine.

“Be silent. And know that you brought this upon yourself, daughter,” Tailwind admonished me, anger and sorrow in his gaze. “As First Officer of this airship, I can neither pity you nor hold back. But as your father, this will hurt me as much as you!” he proclaimed as the whip in his wing lashed out in anger for the first time, striking me beneath my stretched-out side.

To my great shame, I couldn’t stop myself from crying out as each of the twelve lashes landed, six to each side, evenly split between my wingbase and flight muscles. But ‘twas not from the pain, which ‘twas certain was as agonizing as anything I’d ever endured to that point, even counting Windshear breaking my wing and the worst of the wounds Fell Flight had dealt me.

‘Twas from the knowledge that I had disappointed my mentor, my Captain, and the very stallion who had invited me to call him sire, seemingly destroying all their respect for me in a single ill-thought hour.

I remember little of what happened after, save that I was dragged to the brig in a haze of pain, ready to pass out as I was dumped in a separate cell beside Fell Flight’s. 

And yet, ‘twasn’t over yet as first our wounds were cleansed—with several buckets of cold salt water, which were thrown over us both, all but setting our whip wounds afire—and then the worst of our gashes were sewn shut without any anesthetic whilst we could only lie there and take it; even our twitches restrained by healer auras we were no longer capable of resisting.

As there was nopony left to impress, neither of us was able to keep from crying out this time. We were then left in a dank and dreary brig cell with little more than a sawdust-filled sack paired with a moth-eaten blanket for a bed, whilst our provisions consisted of a bucket of water and some half-rotted hay. ‘Twas all I could do after to crawl to the pail and drink, tears still streaming down my face. 

Methinks I had taken worse, from the at-times endless agony of basic to being struck by a full-strength lightning bolt. And yet, never was the emotional pain I suffered as great as ‘twas then…

Save for one, even worse occasion in the Battle of Canterlot to come. But that, like so many other stories, lies in the future. I will lay down the pen for now, as methinks that recounting this tale has taken nearly as big a toll on me as it did then to endure it. And yet, good would come out of it, including a restored friendship and the renewed respect of the Lunar Council for the Royal Navy.

I was aware of none of it then, and would not be for some time. But lest readers think the Sun and Moon Goddesses had completely forsaken me, methinks there was a strong salve for my wounds. It came in the form of news delivered to me that night by Blindside, who watched the entire ordeal unfold with tears in her eyes.

Gavian had awoken and was asking to see me.

Greetings, Captain. Having received this section to read over in Arnau courtesy of the same courier who delivered your latest letter to Gavian, I must offer my respect and approval for relating such a difficult tale whilst taking pains not to honey-coat either your role in it or the immense pain it caused you.

‘Twas no doubt an incredibly difficult tale to tell, and methinks I now understand just why you have been so reluctant to discuss what happened during your gap in action early in the war. Though I’m sure your old wounds now feel as much steeped in salt as when you first received them, ‘twould perchance interest you to know that such manner of painful punishments were oft administered in the Empire as well.

‘Tis certain that breaches of military discipline were oft dealt with quite harshly in Imperial times. Even Talaeus were known to receive them on occasion, though ours oft demanded the offender fight for his very life if he wished to remain in service. Unfortunately, such strict standards our soldiers were expected to follow also proved a double-edged sword at times. 

The effect was to discourage commanders and soldiers from taking chances not explicitly ordered, or to go against doctrine even when the situation seemed to demand it. Whatever the Prelate’s faults, ‘twas something he did try hard to correct, and a renewed acceptance of soldiers taking their own initiative ‘twould serve us well late in the war as well as the Dragon Lord Diabla conflict to come.

I will not linger in this matter, however, as ‘tis no doubt you are anxious to leave it behind. So I will simply say that I do consider your punishment justified, awful though I’m sure it was to experience. And based on what I know, ‘twould seem it went a long way towards helping win over the Nightborne whose alliance you sought. But I will leave that for you and your father to tell.

Invasion Advancing

Headquarters bunker
Eagle Aerie Supply Base
Outside Cirrus Cassida
September 6^th, 1139 AC
1015 hours

Two days into our second offensive, the results were generally promising. 

By taking the towns of Moonglow and Starlight, the northern drive of Sub-Consul Romulus had cracked the third line of Equestrian defenses and pushed almost to the shores of the Celestial Sea; she also reported that she had brought the Princess’s namesake fortress of Celestial City on its northeast shores under attack, and with barely more than a reinforced regiment defending it, she now expected it would fall within a day.

She also claimed that she could seize the Ursa Naval Base along with the critical Shetlandian isthmus soon despite what looked like a hasty pony attempt to fortify its approaches; the Equestrians had quickly discerned what our new strategy was and were moving what formations they could to block it. Unfortunately for them, they did not have many troops in the area that could be used; the forces we saw looked like mostly hastily organized militia, though increasing numbers of pegasi from the Aerial Corps 4^th Division were starting to appear over the front.

Further southeast, Maresk had been encircled but the ring around it had not been solidified; attempts to secure the retreat route southwest of the town had run into trouble. We were told only in passing that a surprisingly stubborn pony regiment had acted against orders to wrest from us an isolated hill that commanded a critical crossroads, and then held it even against a far more determined Talon attack later.

As a result, it had been estimated that at least a brigade and a half of pony soldiers had thus far slipped the trap. They had retreated southwest down what the ponies called the Harness Highway, though sub-Consul Keiling, who the Prelate had once described as a ‘competent but unimaginative commander’ he preferred to use on the defensive rather than on the attack, insisted he would have the road between the dry seabeds cut further west by nightfall, thus pocketing resistance on the hill as well. 

Though annoyed at the delay and failure to cut it sooner, the Prelate did not reprimand him as the sub-Consul’s original plan of a sweeping, much deeper pincer attack that terminated at Melody simply proved impossible. ‘Twas due to a reason not foreseeable as, to our surprise, the ‘dry’ seabeds proved anything but dry—they were extremely swampy and thus impassable to both ground forces and supply trains, whilst their width meant that earth gryphons could not overfly them.

Worse, the Diamond Dogs reported that they could not tunnel under them without going very deep, otherwise any tunnels they made would quickly collapse or flood. The end result was a much shallower encirclement that left open a narrow corridor between the two seabeds down which the ponies could escape.

Even further south, the going through the Northern Appleachians was slow given the narrow passes and stubborn resistance by well-entrenched Equestrian Army units—passes we needed to transport supplies and heavy weapons—but some progress had been made. On the border, Outpost Gamma alone remained defiant, and to the Prelate’s great annoyance, was tying up more than a legion of soldiers. But siege engines were finally moving up; they would begin a bombardment of the fortress-like base within two days.

We had also received a warning from the Office of Owls that the ponies were attempting to bring the Nightborne into the war on their side. They had even presented a plan of attack to them intended to cut off and destroy the Talon legions driving south through the province of Pristinia, involving three Thestralslovakian divisions working in concert with two Equestrian Army ones.

Primarch Livia Cassius Janus predictably pounced at the news, claiming that his refusal to attack the Nightborne immediately had invited such a strike. But the Prelate only replied that their entry in the war remained uncertain, and he saw no real danger in it anyway.

“By all means, let them attack,” he told me privately later with a thin smile. “For they will be flying headlong into a trap of their own.”

He did not elaborate in the Primarch’s presence, but I knew him well enough to tell he wasn’t just making airs—he genuinely did not fear such a move, and thus, he seemingly took no precautions against it, ordering the southern legions to continue their advance.

He did, however, dispatch seaborne reinforcements towards the area, and ‘twas from that I gained an inkling of what he was planning. We had no less than two legions afloat on transports in the area of what ponies call the Dolphin islands, where they had been prepositioned to support the southern drive, and mayhap even open a second front against the Campelonian provinces.

Their orders were to wait for our first dispatched airship group from the Imperial Navy to catch up to them, and then head at maximum speed for the coastline. The sudden arrival of those troops and the supporting airships would quickly turn any pony trap against them, as their assaulting Equestrian Army forces could themselves be cut off by two fresh Talon legions and four airships descending on their rear in turn.

I kept silent on the matter, however, not wishing to give an as-yet ignorant Primarch any hint of what was coming. ‘Twas no doubt that the Prelate was actually counting on her to complain loudly to the Empress that he was deliberately ignoring a threat to our advance, at which point the subsequent news that his sprung trap had destroyed the Equestrian counterattack and crippled the Nightborne in the process would make her look like a fool.

The Prelate was also impatient to get his mobile headquarters reestablished so he could keep watch on operations closer to the front, which was now steadily being forced back. We were promised ‘twould be ready within two days, as his reorganized and occasionally replacement staff geared up to support him, and this time, there would be sufficient sentries and defenses set to prevent another raid on his bunker like the one we had suffered the first day.

For now, however, we were still supervising the flow of forces into the theater from Cirrus Cassida. And even five full days after the start of the war, we were still debriefing first-day operations. It had taken nearly a week, but we had finally fully recovered the remnants of the deep-strike force we had sent to destroy Fort Spur.

Readers may recall that ‘twas an operation I had personally planned and selected the Talaeus commander for. And now I had to learn just what had gone wrong, and why less than forty percent of the two and a half centuries of elite Knights and Ravens we had dispatched to raze the base were returning. 

To say nothing of why one of my most skilled and trusted Talaeus was dead.

“’Twas going like clockwork, at least at first,” the raid’s senior NCO, First Spear Oralis Peritus reported. She had been personally selected for her post by Centurion Pylea; methinks I had wondered more than once whether her appointment was due to her ability or their rumored romantic relationship.

“We met our initial objectives quickly. We swept into the base and destroyed their storm cloud cache early, pinning the trainers and recruits near the armory—based on their level of preparation, ’twould seem they were forewarned we were coming by at least a few minutes as they were hastily arming the recruits for battle.” Her words elicited a frown from the Prelate, who glanced at me as the First Spear went on.

“The Centurion then challenged Sergeant Major Windshear to single combat, and he accepted. I thought ‘twould be over quickly, but ‘twas not—‘tis certain I never thought I’d see the day that a pony stallion could stand against her!” She shivered and a tear appeared in her eyes briefly, but she choked it back.

“I did not hear all of their words, but after their initial exchanges ended in a draw, the Sergeant Major told her she was treating this like a game. To which she replied that if ‘twas war we fought, ‘twas war she would give him. She then ordered our mages to create a fire tornado and aim it at the armory. They did so, and the storm smashed it despite the best efforts of their pegasi to prevent it. As they could not, they lost their redoubt, along with a fifth of their force.”

“And then what happened?” ‘Tis worth noting that the written report we had received from her already explained all this, but the Prelate much preferred to hear it directly. It enabled him to read his underlings; to pick out lies and omissions that might otherwise escape notice on a piece of parchment.

She shivered once more. “I know not, as the battle had begun anew. But then when I turned back, I witnessed the Sergeant Major plunging into the inferno with Centurion Pylea held in a death grip. He then used his pegasus power to tear the tornado apart from within, sacrificing himself to slay her and save his base.” She had to gather herself before continuing, though the Prelate took no offense. Even if he didn’t know about the two of them, ‘twas certain to me he could tell from her reactions alone.

Finally, she spoke again, declining the Prelate’s offer of tea. “As awful as ‘twas to witness, methinks ‘twas a deed worthy of remembrance, and the Equestrians took heart from it. Despite that, I immediately took command and attempted to complete the base’s destruction. But we were eventually undone by some very… unorthodox tactics, as well as the arrival of not one but two relief forces,” she recounted.

“The first was from civilians in the nearby town, which turned out to have a large number of retired Guardspony and other veterans who were more than willing to fight. They donned their old armor and organized themselves well before entering the fray. The second was two centuries of reinforcing Corps soldiers that caught us looking the wrong way and ended any chance of victory.”

“I see,” the Prelate nodded as I slowly absorbed her words. I had been convinced that Centurion Pylea could defeat the Sergeant Major in single combat, but my calculations had not considered that he might not be willing to complete the duel in the face of a renewed assault on his comrades and recruits, nor that he might be willing to sacrifice himself to save his base. “Your opinion, Tribune?”

“Yes. What do you think of your failed plan?” Janus needled me for a change. “You set out to avenge a stain on Talaeus honor and destroy the legend of a pony hero, Tribune? ‘Twould seem to me that your chosen warrior not only failed miserably in her task, but she only made that legend grow!”

My tail lashed. Methinks I must admit to a moment of anger and a desire to challenge her for slandering not just me but a fellow Talaeus, but the First Spear beat me to it.

“Shut your beak, you overstuffed Paladin peacock,” she trilled out the words to my surprise and at least a brief smile from the Prelate. Or perchance it should have been no surprise if ‘twas true she was Pylea’s lover that she would defend her good name. “And do not insult the Centurion’s honor in my presence. ‘Twas not the Tribune’s plan, or her skill that failed.”

Janus gave a warning trill of her own, lowering her head and ruffling her feathers. “How dare you speak to me of honor when you not only failed in your mission, but fled the field in disgrace!”

“Fled?” The First Spear’s wings flared in ire as she stalked up to the much larger Primarch, ‘twas clear she was ready to throw down the gauntlet and issue a challenge herself. “I continued the assault for as long as I thought there was a chance for victory, not wishing the Centurion’s sacrifice to be in vain! But after an hour of fighting we were exhausted and newly outnumbered by the Corps force that crippled us! To stay would have been to sacrifice our lives for nothing!”

“Then at least in death you might have redeemed your honor! For in the end, you were defeated by what? A few sorry civilians? Or some half-trained Guardspony Recruits?” the Primarch sneered out the words. “If ’twas me leading that force, methinks the base and town would have been razed and I would be standing before you in triumph!”

This time, I couldn’t resist. “If ‘twas you leading the attack, methinks our entire force would be lost and your head would now be a fresh trophy on the Sergeant Major’s wall.” ‘Tis certain I had heard about all I could stomach from her, hoping that the Prelate would assign her an attack to command soon so she would be slain leading it.

“Silence,” the Prelate said softly but sharply; I knew that tone of voice meant that he was in no mood for backtalk. We then waited as he drummed his talons on his desk.

“Having heard the evidence, I regret I am inclined to at least partially agree with the Primarch, Tribune. I consider this defeat a failure of planning on at least two points, and Centurion Pylea’s decision to renew the assault whilst the duel continued was also in error. She should have slain the Sergeant Major first and let that blow to pony morale be felt. Instead, her actions only renewed it and gave him no reason to continue to fight her. But every reason to do whatever he had to in order to slay her—even sacrificing himself.”

“My Lord.” I bowed my head, not denying it. For I knew of what two points he spoke of, having cataloged them myself—I had failed to account for the large retired military presence in the nearby town, putting it off-limits to attack, and also failed to guard against Aerial Corps intervention.

The former was because I had personally promised the Sergeant Major an honorable duel all those years ago after his slaying of the rogue Talaeus Miyal Calea, in which he told me that he would brook no threats to civilians. The latter was because I calculated the attack would be over and done before the nearest Corps forces could intervene.

‘Twas terribly wishful thinking, as for them to arrive within an hour of the attack starting, Corps reinforcements would have had to be dispatched even before our attack went in. Meaning they’d been alerted and were already on the way despite our best efforts to block communications from Canterlot and the border.

Thus, there was nothing I could do except admit to my shortcomings. “’Tis as you say, Prelate. I made not one but two glaring oversights in neither holding down the town nor guarding against an Aerial Corps appearance. One was due to putting honor before military necessity. The other was due to an invalid assumption I should have known better than to make. On my honor as the Tribune of the Talaeus, I will learn from my errors and remember these lessons well.” I stood to attention and saluted, baring my throat hard in apology.

He stared at me, then returned the honor and nodded; I have no doubt that if I offered any form of defense to him then, he would not have hesitated to punish me despite our long association. “Then at least you spotted your mistakes and made no excuses for them. You honorably took responsibility, so I will let this go with nothing more than a reprimand,” he decided, to which the Primarch frowned.

The Prelate then turned his attention to the Knight eagless. “And as for you, First Spear, I find that the Primarch’s criticisms are not warranted. ‘Twould seem you led your force well in the Centurion’s absence, and despite all our losses and facing unorthodox tactics, you still nearly carried the day. I thus promote you to Centurion in her place.” He nodded to his aides, who immediately left to get the requisite armor pieces and insignia.

“What?” the Primarch was as shocked as Pylea was surprised. “Bad enough that you do not punish your adjutant, but now you reward failure?”

He gave her an icy stare. “I reward taking command under difficult circumstances and dealing with each threat effectively as it came, as well as recognizing when the cause was lost and ‘twas time to leave. We need experienced combat commanders who can keep their head about them, not one less. Now reap the rewards of your service, Wind Knight of the Empire!” he turned to the no-longer First Spear again, who instantly came to attention as his aides returned, presenting the new armor pieces in their beaks.

At the Prelate’s nod, I took the pieces and affixed them to her, giving her a much better helm, metal vambraces, and shoulder protection as well as gold-tinted metallic graves to shield her throat. I saved the insignia for last, attaching them to her pauldrons, then stepped back. “Stand tall and continue to honorably serve the Empire, Centurion Peritus!” Gaius invited.

“For Empress and Honor,” she gave the ritual response and waited to receive the salutes of all present—‘tis worth noting that promotion is one of only two occasions in the Empire when a higher rank will salute a lower one—and then took her leave after requesting a new command commensurate with her rank with a bared throat.

He nodded respectfully. “I will assign one to you shortly, Centurion, once I determine where an officer of your caliber is most needed. In the meantime, rest,” he invited, to which she left with a parting salute.

“Disgraceful,” the Primarch pronounced after she exited. “The Empress will hear of this!”

“Then by all means, tell her,” he said sullenly, and methinks she’d used that threat so often it had lost any possible effect on him. “But unless she orders me otherwise, I will not hesitate to reward or punish our soldiers as I see fit. And that does include you, Primarch,” he reminded her, then went up to her.

“You are increasingly trying me. Question or even insult me if you wish, but you may not do so in front of others. To do so is to undermine my authority and publicly question my honor.”

She glared down at him, then smiled. “Have you forgotten I am the eyes of the Empress, Prelate? By her command, I am allowed to stay in your presence and say whatever I wish.”

“Unless you spill sensitive information or otherwise interfere with war operations. And if you keep it up, I might just consider you disparaging me before underlings to be such interference,” he warned her. “It is corrosive to discipline and morale.”

She sneered. “And do you truly think the Empress would accept such a feeble reason?”

“Continue provoking me, and ‘tis certain we will find out,” he told her coolly. “By my order, you will hold your tongue in the presence of others, or we will settle our differences sooner rather than later. I already promised you the chance to lead your forces into battle, so if you wish to keep it, mind your words and your manners.”

The Primarch was unrepentant. “Threaten me all you like, Prelate. It changes nothing. For I fully intend to duel you, but only after your grand strategy inevitably fails,” she informed him icily. “At which point I will slay you to take your rank and command of this invasion, and then lead it to victory.”

He glared at her. “Over my dead body.”

“If you insist,” she said with an unpleasant grin, then flared her large wings in warning. “Your day is coming, Prelate. I strongly advise you not to hasten your end.”

As I conclude this entry, it strikes me that there was an undeniable difference between the situation you faced, Captain, where you ended up severely punished despite your considerable ability and accomplishments, whilst the Prelate had to hold back on punishing a disrespectful subordinate for political reasons and tread very carefully around her.

And though ‘tis hardly on the same level as what you suffered, even his mild rebuke of my planning did sting, for the very same reason—it came from one I saw as a father. I would take great pains not to disappoint him again, but I fear in time, ‘twould be me and not him that would be disappointed.

I will have a final update to post from the gryphon side of the Maresk campaign later, upon my return from the Kingdom. But until then, I would at least note that the name of Rock Biter and his dangerously stubborn defenses would not reach the Prelate for some time. 

For though the future General was in large measure responsible for extracting some two millennia of sorely needed pony troops from the Maresk encirclement, he was still just a simple regimental commander whose actions were, at the time, merely a slightly annoying footnote in the larger campaign. 

‘Tis fortunate for him and the pony side that was the case. For had it been otherwise, ‘tis certain he would have been targeted for Raven assassination far sooner, and likely successfully.

I have shared your words with him, old friend, to which he only smiled and said ‘twas fortunate in turn he made as many mistakes as he did early on, else he might have gained that notice sooner when he was far less protected. ‘Twould interest you to know that he has expressed a desire to meet you, as I believe he has trouble comprehending how you and I could be such good friends after all the battles we fought.

Thank you for your words of balm as well. And to all who read this and wonder how Fell Flight and I recovered from such a near-mortal blow to our careers and psyches, I can only invite you to read on. I will simply say for now that the old adage is true—that sometimes you have to hit rock bottom before you can climb back up. 

Such it would be here. Naval discipline and punishments under the ongoing guidance of the lost Princess Luna were unquestionably harsh, but methinks they also had an important attribute not oft found elsewhere. 

Once those punishments were complete, your slate was considered clean.

“An angel who makes you cry is better than a devil who makes you smile.”

― Matshona Dhliwayo