Into the Storm: The Flight of Firefly

by Firesight

Second Offensive: 12 - Band of Brothers

Hello to all readers of all nations, as I am now told that this recounting of the war has gained followers as far away as Neighpon and Neighrobi. Indeed, I have recently received letters of admiration from the former and even a formal invitation from the latter, asking if I would be willing to give training seminars to Zebrican officer candidates.

I have even received requests to have the work translated into Sponyish from some pony clans in New Neighico, whilst ‘twould appear an unofficial Aeric translation is already making the rounds in the Gryphon Kingdom, written by an admirer of my son who turns out to be an eager young Talon Spear.

Such I have been told by Lycovenato himself for the latter, whilst Princess Celestia informs me that Prince Blueblood is considering performing the former translation himself. He knows the language well thanks to his sword school, and ‘tis how I know that despite all the indifferent airs he affects over it, he truly does enjoy this work.

For I know full well that he very much subscribes to the adage that if you want a job done right, you do it yourself. And the very fact that you find this to be a job worth doing right tells me that you do indeed see this recounting of the war as important, my dear Prince!

Regardless, he still refuses to directly contribute to this work for now. ‘Tis his prerogative, of course, but I do hope he will make time for this later, given his unquestionable contributions to the war effort, both politically and militarily. He single-hoofedly gained us at least two new sorely-needed allies, after all, both of whom would be crucial at various points of the conflict to come.

And my apologies as well for not saying much over the past two chapters, but as ‘twas stated by others, I simply did not feel myself worthy of being heard from. My fight with Fell Flight ‘twas unquestionably my nadir as a soldier; a low point in my military career rivaled only by my initial defeat to Sergeant Major Windshear and its aftermath.

That, and one more dark day that would yet come in the Battle of Canterlot, three and a half months in the future.

Healing Process
ESCAPE - Emotional & Dramatic Music Mix | Sad & Beautiful Instrumental Music

‘Tis certain I look forward to telling that tale no more than this one, but like the unhappy occasions that preceded it, it at least had some very good consequences even if I couldn’t fathom them at the time. At this point in the story, however, I lay broken and miserable in my cell, curled into a ball beneath a ratty blanket as my whip wounds still burned badly. Fell Flight was in the cell beside me, but we were unable to see each other through the reinforced wooden wall that separated us.

Nor did we speak, for what could we then say? “Sorry” didn’t even begin to atone for the idiocy of our actions, given we had quite possibly destroyed each other’s careers and shattered any hope of alliance with the Nightborne. Though Fell Flight would no doubt take exception to this statement, I still believe I was more at fault for our duel to this day. She didn’t start it, I did. She was also defending her mentor, whilst I sought to slay him over what was done to Gavian.

Blindside alone had come to see us an hour after the mast as Fell Flight and myself were not allowed visitors, and in her case, ‘twas only because Captain Shady consented for her to deliver the happy news that Gavian had awoken and was now considered out of danger. My future herdmate also said that he had asked to see me, but all I could do in response was write him a note in a shaky scrawl. In it, I said I was proud of him and loved him, but that I could not visit him just yet. I did not have the heart to tell him why.

As she accepted the note back, Blindside looked like she wanted to say something more, but the naval sentries told her she was not allowed to do more than the Captain had authorized. So instead, she came to attention and saluted me even though I was stripped of my rank and station, then turned to her left and did the same to Fell Flight’s cell. She further promised us that she would return when she could, saying her salute was on behalf of not just herself but the entire surviving Epsilon battalion, who offered their respect and regards.

For the first time that entire wretched day, I felt a moment of genuine warmth to receive such respect, which I interpreted to mean that their love and loyalty for us remained. And though ‘twas never my way to pray, I found myself doing just that, asking Celestia and the Sun itself that I would one day be worthy of it again.

In the meantime, our two remaining Corps platoons would stay under the command of Aves Osprey for the next ten days, who was promoted to Sergeant First Class for the purpose by Captain Typhoon—given their longstanding rivalry, ‘twas no surprise I heard Fell Flight cursing under her breath when we were told the news.

After Blindside’s visit, I was finally able to sleep knowing Gavian was out of danger. But ‘tis no question I would not have slept a single minute had I known that a now-mobile Thunderbolt was missing and presumed to have escaped, meaning a then-helpless Gavian all but lay at his mercy. Thankfully, I was not aware of this until long after the fact, nor of the role my then-adjutant and future herdmate had played in his unexpected departure.

But before I pass the quill to her, I believe Father wishes to continue the story from here. And though I know full well that my next words ‘twill only annoy you, please take it easy as you travel and inspect your ships, Father. Regardless of your wing’s status, Wind Whistler and I wish to see you healthy again for Hearth’s Warming.

You are correct that I find it annoying, my daughter, and that more than anything is why I am stopping my therapy and leaving Canterlot. I am tired of both being doted on and being treated as if I am in my dotage. 

Seventy-three years of age I may be, but ready to retire and be put out to pasture I am not! I will see you both again for Hearth’s Warming, but until then? I will be touring my bases and beloved airships, starting at Royal Navy Base Capricorn in Stalliongrad. 

That said, fair winds and following skies to all readers, as Commodore Shady likes to say. Before I continue the tale from where it left off, with the then-Captain and I sharing sorely needed drinks only to be informed of Thunderbolt’s apparent escape, I would like to say that I found the story of the Imperial assault on the Changeling hive as much intriguing as harrowing to read.

Having now met both belligerents in the chapter’s climactic battle, I find myself very relieved and grateful that the two survived. In different ways, each embodies honor as they bear their own wounds of war, and I further find myself with some jealousy that the Tribune has received an invitation to visit a Changeling Hive. 

‘Tis a rare treat to visit the home of such a secretive race; the closest I can come is our yearly Royal Navy parleys with the Harpie clans of the now-renamed Aerie Alps—‘tis what they call them; their former pony name of “Harpie Mountains” never took into account how the Harpies themselves referred to them—where I have seen their impressive mountainside fortresses, arboreal villages and shipbuilding industries. 

We alternate holding our annual parleys in their territory and ours; to the surprise of many, I can personally report that they treat invited guests well and can even serve up some truly magnificent feasts. They even have their own alcoholic brew which could rival Royal Navy rum, though I regret I have as yet been unable to convince them to export it. 

But I fear I am starting to ramble. So without further delay, let me resume the tale of Thunderbolt’s sudden departure, and the severe consternation it caused us. 

EAS Loyalty
Chief Engineer’s quarters
Cloudsdale, Central District Airship Anchorage
September 5th, 1139 AC
1643 hours

The information Cutlass Cleave bore us that Thunderbolt had disappeared from sickbay was not received well by either the Captain or myself. 

“You’re saying he escaped?” I stood up sharply and slammed my mug down hard on Flash Fix’s desk, causing half my remaining drink to slop out of it. “And how, by Luna’s sacred moon, were your sentries so unaware and incompetent as to allow that, Master Starpony?” I immediately demanded to know, given the Mare-at-Arms was responsible for the ship’s internal security. Though the Captain was by definition responsible for everything that happened on board her ship, the same held true for lesser ranks being held liable for the failures of those they led.

She held her rigid attention stance, unable to meet our gaze; methinks she knew full well how grave this failure of duty could be. “I regret I know not, sir—my sentries swear that he did not exit past them, and the sickbay healers sensed no teleportation! All I can tell you is that he is not in sickbay now, and nopony knows where he is! I can at least report that Gavian Ravenoff remains safe, sir. Be assured that I have doubled his guard and begun a systematic search of the ship.”

If she wanted praise for taking the initiative, she was about to be sorely disappointed. “You’d better find him quickly,” I told her, “because if he takes Gavian’s head, I swear by Luna herself I’ll have yours next! Sound general quarters and lock down the ship! I want the entire crew searching for him from bow to stern! Equip all archers with electrical stun bolts and—”

“Belay that,” Shady said softly, setting down her drink and straightening her uniform. “The Nightborne are currently sleeping. We do not want to rouse them or alert the Lunar Council to this failure of security, or they might look even more ill upon us when we are trying to impress them,” she explained shortly, causing me to blink and be chagrined—she was absolutely right.

“By my order, inform Captain Typhoon quietly of this event, and request he stand guard by Gavian, since I severely doubt our crew could stop Thunderbolt if he truly intends to kill your grandson,” she told Cutlass Cleave with a grave glance at me. “And as electrical stun bolts will only make him stronger, arm search parties with snares and sleeping draught from sickbay. Once he is found, entangle his limbs, hem him in with Still Way’s shield spells and then throw in a vial of that draught to fill the corridor with sleeping gas.” 

For those unaware, the brilliance of Still Way’s shield spells was that they were one-way, thus allowing objects like arrows or thrown blades to go out, but not in. Unfortunately, Still Way himself remained unavailable, in a deep sleep as his body slowly recharged his completely depleted magic. 

“Aye-aye, ma’am! Orders understood. But if we are unable to restrain him or start taking casualties given his horrific combat abilities, do we have permission to use lethal force?”

Shady closed her eyes briefly as she considered the question, but in the end, methinks it took her naught but a second to decide. “Yes. If at all possible, he is to be taken alive, but if not…” 

The Captain’s eyes turned cold. “If not, I’ll understand and accept the anger of Captain Typhoon. But regardless of outcome, that does not absolve you of responsibility for this severe breach of security, Master Starpony,” she further warned Cutlass Cleave, who visibly swallowed. “We will discuss this inexcusable failure later, but in the meantime, I expect you to act to your utmost in finding Thunderbolt. Are we clear?” Shady’s voice stayed calm but icy.

“Crystal clear, ma’am,” the Mare-at-Arms answered instantly, then turned on her heel and departed, taking two measured steps away before breaking into a gallop down the corridor.

I had to look away as the Captain completed her orders, realizing I had overlooked not one, but two important points in my own initial attempt to give them. For I had inexcusably forgot about not just the Lunar Council, but that Thunderbolt bore a well-developed lightning affinity we’d seen demonstrated quite vividly the previous two nights.

I realized then that I wasn’t thinking clearly, and thus, ‘twas best to remove myself from the situation as much as possible.  “Captain. I fear I am emotionally compromised again over the drink I have already had and fear for my grandson. As I feel myself to be unfit to direct the search, request permission to go to sickbay?” 

I stood to attention as I asked her, deciding that for as emotional as I was feeling again—methinks the alcohol already in my system did not help me on that score—all I could do was stand guard over Gavian myself. Methinks I was under no illusions that I could stop Thunderbolt, but Luna knew I would be there for him and die at his side in place of my imprisoned daughter.

“Granted. I will direct the effort myself and keep you informed as I can. Now go be at your grandson’s side, Commander.”

And ‘tis there my recounting of this incident ends. I wish I could report on the rest of it, but my time in sickbay stayed blissfully uneventful if not entirely pleasant. A still-weak Gavian didn’t understand what was happening and kept asking for his mother, though he did at least recognize me. Unable to meet his eyes for what I’d done to Firefly, I simply told him that she was unavailable for now, but that I was here for him, and would not be leaving his bedside for the rest of the evening. 

Methinks he sensed at least dimly that there was something I wasn’t telling him, but fortunately for me, he was simply too weak and in too much lingering pain to probe further. Indeed, he asked the same questions repeatedly like he couldn’t recall what he’d just been told, causing the healers to glance at each other and start treating him for a concussion. 

Despite that, he continued to ask uncomfortable questions. So at my pleading glance, the healers cast a fresh sleep spell on him, saying ‘twas to help him heal. He fell asleep swiftly after that, and methinks I decided ‘twas for the best. For if Thunderbolt did come to slay him—for reasons I would not learn until later, Captain Typhoon never showed up—at least he’d suffer no pain and die in his sleep.

And methinks he would also not have to see the death of his sentries and grandsire around him as that evil pony carved a bloody swath right through us to reach him. Such were my thoughts and how bleak I thought the situation was at that point, though methinks ‘twas me and not Shady that was being overly pessimistic. 

For not only did none of that come to pass, but Thunderbolt was indeed finally found—in the absolute last place I would have ever thought to look.

You and me both, Admiral. ‘Tis Commodore Shady speaking now from my Commodore’s office in Stalliongrad, and though the Admiral has already wished fair skies and following winds to all readers, methinks I will do so as well. 

I look forward to receiving him for the first time in half a year, especially given that our first Cutlass-class fast-attack escort is preparing to take its initial flight. Its design and name ‘tis heavily inspired by Harpie corsairs, which bedeviled both the Empire and Equestria alike at various points in the war. 

I would not say we are friends or allies with the Harpies now, given we must still contend with the occasional—if usually bloodless—raid on shipping or settlements, but there is at least mayhap a mutual respect and attempts to avoid casualties in our relationship that was not there before the war.

‘Tis a vast improvement over how things were, at least. ‘Tis still little known that there were not one but two bloody clashes with the Avian pirate clans that occurred in the invasion’s early weeks, as they sought to take advantage of the western frontier being stripped of soldiers to fight the gryphons.

But more on those later. For now, I will detail the search for Thunderbolt, which turned out to be mercifully brief. ‘Twas not even us that found him, for as we would soon learn, he was in fact not aboard the Loyalty at all.

In the end, I conducted the search operation not from the bridge, but from the First Officer’s quarters, deciding that my appearance at the former would only raise further suspicion. Methinks I did not want the bridge crew to smell the alcohol on my breath, either. 

To my great dismay, it turned out that Captain Typhoon could not be rousted because he was in a deep healing sleep. ‘Twas courtesy of his own pressure point power and an additional spell cast by his multi-talented adjudant Total Recall; ‘twas only then I learned that he had in fact suffered a severe dragonfire burn during his escape from Canterlot and had been hiding it all this time. 

His current state was such that he could not be awoken, I was told directly by his far-too-young aide, who apologized profusely to me for his absence whilst saying she had to remain to monitor him.

Even though my ire at him remained, my admiration for him grew. ‘Twas for how much he had done and how well he had borne up under what turned out to be an agonizing injury, amazed that he’d not only been able to journey here but take down Thunderbolt in spite of his state.

With the Captain unavailable, I knew not how we were going to stop Thunderbolt if ‘twas truly his intention to slay Gavian. I admit, I even considered going to sickbay myself in hopes that my bad luck power might help defend him. I still didn’t fully trust that though; in the end I could only pray that enough of the former Second Lieutenant’s duel injuries remained to slow him down, though the sickbay healers had warned me earlier that his wounds were mending with phenomenal speed.

Still, as the next several hours passed without word of finding him despite thorough and repeated searches of the ship, I realized that with the sun going down, the Nightborne would awaken soon and we would have to serve them breakfast. ‘Twould likely be no way to hide Thunderbolt’s escape from them then, and I could well imagine the derision that would result. Worse, ‘twould fall to me to deliver the news, and I knew then there was no amount of molasses from the galley that would sweeten it.

‘Twas only half an hour before their scheduled breakfast that I received word on Thunderbolt’s whereabouts—not from our frantically-searching security teams, but from a civilian stallion that had approached the ship and hailed our outside sentries. 

Was Captain Typhoon aware, he asked us in a befuddled air, that a still-bandaged and visibly wounded Thunderbolt was currently getting drunk in a nearby pub? Or that he was in the presence of several other equally inebriated soldiers, including a Corps mare and an Armored Guardspony?

The Prancing Pony Pub
Cloudsdale, Central District Business Area
September 5th, 1139 AC
2008 hours

Needless to say, of all the places Thunderbolt could have gone and things I thought he might do, this unlikely report was very low on the list.

Casting a cloudwalking spell on myself and the Mare-At-Arms whilst ordering the shipboard sentries and search teams to maintain diligence, I swiftly exited the ship, allowing another unicorn guard to teleport me the half-mile or so distance whilst a detachment of on-duty Naval and Corps pegasi flew there, armed with crossbows and wingblades.

But when we got there, ‘twas exactly as the civilian described. Thunderbolt was sitting around a table with three other ponies, a barely-touched bowl of thestral-delivered bread and fruit in front of them whilst they were now working on what appeared to be a third pitcher of ale. Two of the ponies were military; I was stunned to see the face of Sergeant Blindside. She gave me an unrepentant glare whilst the other was the Guardspony I recognized as Sky Sentry, who I had been told earlier was the sole survivor of Outpost Delta. 

He was now in a Royal Guard day uniform, as replacing his heavy enchanted armor would take the Loyalty’s metalworkers some time. But unlike Blindside, he paid me no mind; ‘twas clear he was nearly as inebriated as Thunderbolt and the one civilian pony, who was missing a wing.

Thunderbolt was both laughing and crying as he threw back another drink, downing it in a single long draw before slamming it down and allowing his civilian friend to refill it. He was also rambling, though ‘twas clear what topic was on his ale-addled mind. “No gryphon beats me. But then Gavian Ravenoff did! How? Why? What did the Captain do to him? And even b-before that, I th-thought I was invincible. No number of Knights or Ravens could slay me! But th-then the Captain just taps me a few times and I fall down! But now…” he abruptly broke down sobbing.

“What happened to me? I was loved by ponies and feared by gryphons! But now… I’m hated by all! Now I have no friends and no power. Now… I’m nothing.” He slumped to the table as my sentries surrounded him. 

‘Twas only then he looked up and noticed me through his glazed gaze. “Oh. Hello, Captain Shady. Methinks I’m surprised Typhoon himself didn’t come to get me.” He downed yet another drink as his civilian friend held his hoof. “Tell him if he wants to kill me, he can at any time. Methinks my life’s not worth living anymore.”

“Don’t say that,” Sky Sentry sniffled as he draped a wing over Thunderbolt’s battered and bandaged back. “For there are always things to live for, like my mare and daughter. And even in death, I will not stop fighting for my lost friends.”

Thunderbolt then stared at him in wonder, draping a hoof over his fellow stallion’s neck in turn. “I don’t understand…” he finally said. “You went through everything I did. You suffered just like me. You saw all your comrades slain. So why aren’t you like me? Why aren’t you full of hate and desire to kill?”

“Because I can’t be,” Sky Sentry said, tears now streaming down his own face. “I’m just not like that, Lieutenant. And even if I was, I could never look Applebee or Apple Sprout in the eye again if I did that. Or myself in the mirror if I gave in to vengeance and hatred.”

The two then forgot about us again as they began talking about their lost friends, describing them to each other in turn. Within a minute they were laughing and joking about them with the civilian pony—his name was Virga Veil, Thunderbolt’s only surviving friend from the IS-2 massacre, I would later be told—though their eyes remained wet as they continued to talk and down drinks, ignoring us.

‘Twas only then Blindside spoke up, standing to attention but swaying slightly from however much she’d had. “My apologies for sneaking him out, ma’am. But he needed this and ‘twas certain to me that neither you nor Captain Typhoon would grant him permission to leave. He needed an old friend to talk to and somepony who understood him over enough alcohol to float your airship. So with some… internal assistance, I got him both.” She nodded off to her side, where an older mare was paying for the drinks; as I watched she took two more pitchers of ale to them.

“Internal assistance?” I echoed angrily. “And which of my crew did you con into helping you?”

“Methinks you could call them interested parties,” she said with a shrug. “With their help, I smuggled in a short-range nullification gem charged by a civilian healer—and no, I will not tell you which one—to briefly disrupt sickbay’s magic suppression field, then had that same healer cast a summoning spell to bring him to the pub,” she announced as she threw back another mug of her own.

“So arrest and punish me if you must, but please don’t blame Sky Sentry or your security teams for this escape. ‘Twas my decision and plan, so if you or Captain Typhoon wants to punish me for this later, feel free. I will happily take my lashes and my place beside the Commander in your brig. But I care not as this needed to be done,” she told me unrepentantly, refilling her mug as if I wasn’t there.

“Are you quite through, Sergeant?” I asked her coldly, though I noticed great relief on the face of Cutlass Cleave beside me as she learned neither her nor her security teams had been at fault for this well-planned escape, given it had been an inside job.

“Almost. You may arrest me right now if you wish, but I respectfully ask that you let Thunderbolt remain here for now. For in his current state, he is no threat to Gavian, and methinks the presence of his friends and former students ‘tis the only medicine that can help him now.”

“Please don’t punish my daughter too harshly, Captain.” The older mare then came up to me. “I am Sweet Leaf, Blindside’s mother. I agreed to this because she was only trying to help her mentor, and this was the first time I’d seen her since February. I raised her as an only foal, so mayhap you’ll understand that I would do anything for her. Especially after both of us survived the first day of war.” She hugged Blindside close and began to cry as Blindside’s expression softened despite her inebriation, patting her mother on the foreleg with her hoof.

Methinks ‘twas only then I finally relented mentally, deciding that ‘twould cause far more trouble to break up this unauthorized shore leave than to let it continue.

“Uh… should we arrest them, Captain?” Cutlass Cleave asked me; methinks she looked extremely nervous to have clouds under her hooves. I can hardly blame her for that given the disconcertingly yielding softness of the city’s surface; I, too, was very eager to end this foray and feel the solidness of my ship to stand on again.

Though I was unquestionably angry at the turn of events—and ‘tis no lie to say that part of it stemmed from having my own badly needed imbibing with Tailwind be interrupted—I sighed and shook my head. “No, Master Starpony. Leave them be and let them drink,” I decided to the surprise of all. 

“Keep several sentries here, however. They are to wait until Thunderbolt passes out, and then return him to sickbay. Blindside and Sky Sentry may stay until then, but Thunderbolt falling unconscious will end this little portside party of theirs. You will then escort them to the ship as well, where we will hold them in the brig until Captain Typhoon has been informed of these events. ‘Tis only after consulting him will I decide what to do with them.”

“Aye-aye, ma’am.” She began to issue instructions, but I held up a hoof to give additional orders of my own. 

“Upon your return to the ship, tell Flash Fix that by my order, he is in temporary command. I expect him to take personal responsibility for the comfort and security of the Nightborne,  offering them due regrets for the absence of myself and Commander Tailwind with the explanation that we are both quite tired. Tell them nothing about these events, and whilst waiting for us to return, tell him to give them a tour of Engineering—methinks the Lieutenant Commander will be more than happy to conduct it himself,” I mused.

“In the meantime, you are to ensure that the ship is secured against such a clever escape scheme again,” I said with a glance and glower at Blindside, who only smiled sweetly, looking very pleased with herself. “I also expect you to personally inform Captain Typhoon of what happened upon his awakening. As for myself, I will retrieve Commander Tailwind from sickbay. We will retire to his temporary quarters to pick up where we left off…”

I then raised my eyes to hers and grabbed her uniform front with my aura, pinning her with my fiercest stare before she could acknowledge my orders. 

“And if you disturb us again for anything short of a full-scale Imperial attack, I will reduce your rank all the way back down to Starpony Apprentice. I will then strip you of your weapons and throw you in a cell with Fell Flight, who methinks even wounded will be more than able and eager to repay you in full for the lashes you dealt her. Are we clear, Master Starpony?”

She paled mightily at the suggestion. “We are quite clear, Captain.”

Well. Let me briefly interrupt this narrative to say that having written the last section over a full mug of Harpie Hooch—’tis the informal name we give their rather potent spiced rum; I received a impressively large barrel of it from them when ‘twas I and not the Admiral that attended our latest annual Pony/Harpie parley last month—I find myself feeling strangely nostalgic. 

But not over finding Thunderbolt in a pub. ‘Tis little else to say about the matter except that my orders were carried out and the future Admiral Tailwind and I did finally get our chance to unwind. In fact, methinks we ended up drinking ourselves into a stupor as much as Thunderbolt and his compatriots did, finding ourselves in a rather… compromising position when we woke up.

Before anypony asks—and with sincerest apologies to the wife I know the Admiral still loves and misses very much—neither he nor I can remember if anything happened between us, though  speaking for both of us, ‘tis probably for the best. 

My nostalgia stems from the fact that Flash Fix outdid himself with his latest brew, which we did take pains to inform him about later. As he eventually founded his own brewery after the war in Shetlandia and his surviving family now produces it in large quantities, methinks he agreed wholeheartedly with that sentiment.

Methinks I still miss him, even now. He was truly one of a kind, and though he would be the first to say he lived a full life and does not regret any of it, I find myself wistful and wishing that he had lived long enough to see this work published.

Methinks I did not know him as well as you, Captain, but he was certainly a character; a pony both portly and burly who drank as hard as he drove his engines and crew. He could also hold his own in battle with not just the gryphons but even the best of the Bolt Knights; methinks Fell Flight still regrets fighting him to this day.

But yes, I understand your sentiments, and judging by the turnout at his state funeral six years ago, many remember him well. So let us bring a keg of his brew to Hearth’s Warming to honor him properly. Though you wouldst forgive me if Fell Flight and I would also like to try your Harpie liquor as well!

I would like that very much, Captain. And fear not—I will save some for you both. But for now, allow me to complete this section of the story whilst my pen and ink flow so fluidly.

As for Captain Typhoon, I did not speak to him again until I pulled myself up and dragged my dehydrated and badly hungover body to the infirmary late that night, seeking a salve for my severe headache. I cringed to find a fully awake Captain of the Royal Guard already present there, and suffice it to say, I was shortly subject to a rather unpleasant interrogation of my own. 

‘Tis no lie to say that he was less than happy about the strange but ultimately harmless turn of events, which he had learned about from Total Recall and other sources by then. But he ultimately accepted my rationale for not arresting Thunderbolt immediately, saying perchance Blindside was correct and ‘twas exactly what he needed. He further stated he would have to ponder the subject of punishments for Sergeants Blindside and Sky Sentry, and only after speaking to them again. 

‘Twas then I additionally learned that Flash Fix had made mayhap too much of his temporary command, as he’d authorized a late-night gala to be thrown for the Lunar Council, to be held as dawn approached. But despite the reputation of my hard-drinking and oft hot-tempered chief engineer, ‘twasn’t just for fun and games. 

His reason, I shortly learned, ‘twas that a confrontation had occurred in Engineering between the Nightborne and our newly gained Earth pony maintenance crew from Swheaten. The latter had taken exception to certain members of the Lunar Council disparaging their presence, doubting the story they were told by Captain Typhoon about the Loyalty rescuing the Epsilon battalion.

‘Tis certain Flash Fix wasn’t happy either, though he at least held his temper long enough to stop Silver Seax from demanding a duel with one of the more obtuse Nightborne officials on the spot. Our chief engineer was then challenged to prove that what was claimed about the Epsilon operation actually happened—that ‘twasn’t just a story invented to draw bat-pony sympathy for the former service of Princess Luna.

But ‘twas Silver Seax that answered, saying he and his brothers could do so in a manner far stronger than simple words. He then suggested—of all things—a concert; one that the entire crew and even the civilians of Cloudsdale could participate in.

His claims were understandably met with sneers, but the Nightborne also agreed that they would attend before returning to Hollow Shades, where they would debate their role in the war again. Though the impression I’d had ‘twas that the visit to Cloudsdale had swayed a few of them, enough still resisted that nothing would be done.

I admit I had little confidence that such a thing would work, having no idea how they could prove the events of the Epsilon battles with mere music. But I granted ‘twould perchance be a needed boost to morale, especially after I was assured by Corps soldiers that the five brothers were also bards among their many other talents. That their ballads were both ‘original and uncanny’, though I had no idea what they meant by the latter.

‘Twas for that reason that I did not overrule Flash Fix—well, that and Captain Typhoon also seemed to think ‘twas a good idea for reasons I was not yet clear on. I instead took my seat of honor in front of their improvised stage with the Nightborne, still nursing a fading headache whilst awaiting the performance to come. 

And ‘tis there I will leave it off for now, as I am expecting the Admiral to arrive at Capricorn Base shortly. ‘Tis certain that war and the alliances it fuels turn on many things, but ‘tis also certain I never dreamt that music would be one of them! For that first performance I saw from Silver Seax and his brethren was no mere concert. ‘Twas a display of raw music and magical ability unlike any other, and none that saw or even heard it would be unaffected.

As you say, Commodore, though ‘tis worth noting that I knew no more about the extent of their abilities than you did then! I simply thought they were a band of brothers; a set of siblings whose bonds and love for their friends and comrades were so strong their music was backed by Harmony itself. I had no idea just how much so until I not just heard, but somehow saw the strains of their unlikely song that morn from inside my own cell.

But you wouldst forgive us, dear readers, if we refrain from telling that story only because  another one was left hanging. After this brief visit to Cloudsdale, ‘tis time to return the story’s attention back to the Equestrian Army on the retreat from Maresk. And though that would normally mean that the General himself picks up the quill anew, ‘twould seem he has assigned the task of writing the final section of this latest entry to an old and recently arrived friend.

Greetings to all readers from the Changeling known as Lycovenato.

Methinks I never dreamt the day would come that I found myself writing an entry to this work not from my isolated home in the northern Aresian Taiga, which would then be passed to my hive to be smuggled into Equestria, but whilst eating breakfast with other ponies in an Equestrian Inn, all of whom know perfectly well who I am.

And yet, ‘tis not the anxiety of exposure or the flashbacks of battle I feel in the presence of my old comrades and commander, to say nothing of Captain Firefly herself. To my amazement, their acceptance and affection for me are real, and given how attuned Changelings are to emotions, believe me when I say we can sense things like insincerity, hostility, or distaste from other creatures in an instant. And given we feed on those same emotions, I respond to them in turn, drinking them in like a sponge. Thus, I feel very warm and calm as I write this, like a youngling swaddled in a blanket.

Even the food and drink I have been served tastes far better for simply having breakfast in their presence, though I did have to explain to my curious hosts that Changelings most certainly eat—that despite what some may claim, we cannot survive on love alone. Indeed, ‘twas hard to hide my need for meat at points in the war, though methinks an occasional sojourn as a fox or hawk to catch a quick meal did not tend to draw too much attention.

Having written that, I am then asked if we acquire the diets of the forms we take, and the answer is—partially. I could eat hay as a pony, but not as a gryphon, for example. But regardless of our forms, our need for love remains constant. ‘Tis our truest lifeblood and most essential nutrient, and thus, all our skills and senses are keyed towards collecting it.

I readily admit ‘tis not always the most honorable of lives we lead, and some have called us little more than parasites for our proclivities. But nor did we ask to be born this way, and in the end, all we seek is no more or less than any other race of this world: to survive and thrive as best we can.

Put another way, I learned well of Harmony during my time as a pony soldier in Equestria—which ‘twas something I never dreamt could happen in wartime!—and I refuse to believe that Changelings have no role within it. In any event, I do not wish to linger on the burdens or purpose of my race. Not when I am here to see the General who once led me, and the other soldiers I once fought alongside.

Indeed, the General himself has all but ordered me to write the final section of this latest chapter, detailing the first part of his brigade’s flight down the Harness Highway. And though he and I may no longer be in active service, methinks I can refuse his orders no more than I could during the war!

Harness Highway
Five miles southwest of Harness Hill, astride the road to Detrot
September 5th, 1139 AC
1128 hours

For all I had already been through and experienced in the past few days, ‘twas only as I was being shepherded down the Harness Highway by two suspicious soldiers that I was sorely starting to question the choices that had brought me here. Mayhap even regret them.

Even now, with the threat of the Imperial pincers closing off our escape route ahead of us whilst their airborne forces had started nipping at our hooves behind us, I wasn’t certain why I was so desperate to help them even though I judged my chances of actually convincing the pony commander of what was happening to be poor at best. 

But the unsmiling middle-aged Colonel with a rock wall cutie mark had at least heard me out instead of summarily dismissing my claims. He’d done so even though ‘twas clear that he didn’t believe me; methinks I was certain my cover was blown when he approached me to lock his unflinching gaze with mine.

I know not what he was searching for in my eyes, but I sensed my explanation of just how they were crossing the marshes had shaken his confidence I was lying. For who would come up with a story as outlandish as that if ‘twas not the truth?

Still, I knew not if he would act on my information until his entire brigade suddenly leapt into action, hurriedly abandoning their defenses to enter march formation, then taking off at the double-quick along the highway with the guards assigned to me herding me along. 

I relaxed, but only fractionally. So he did believe me, but at the same time, ‘twas no guarantee their hasty retreat would save them. The hammer blow out of the Heron Marshes was falling on the pony lines some twelve leagues to the west, after all, and even for earth ponies, ‘twould take at least two hours to cover that distance, and more than that for the unicorns.

In between worrying about their fate and that of my Hive, which at last report from the Queen ‘twas still under attack by the Empire, I remember wondering then what I would do if the Equestrian Army force I was with was trapped and destroyed. Should I fight and die at their side? Or disguise myself and slip free to resume my original mission, trying to make my way to Detrot again?

Though the answer ‘twould seem obvious to any neutral observer—I could not help Equestria or my Hive if I was slain out here in my very first engagement—I decided then quite firmly that I would fight. 

‘Twas for two reasons, which I only fully understood after the fact. The first was that I could see how desperately and bravely they were trying to fend off their pursuit whilst continuing their withdrawal—see individual soldiers picked off by crossbow bolts and magus fire whilst rapidly teleporting and quickly tiring unicorn archers struggled to hold them off—and for me to leave them to their fate would be yet another wound in my heart I could neither heal nor forgive.

And the reason for that was very simple in turn. My beloved Plexippa had died delivering the Imperial invasion plans to Equestria. She had been willing to sacrifice her life to save the ponies, so I could do no less. And in the back of my mind, I thought that perchance if I fell here with the ponies I had accepted the mission to assist? 

Then I would be delivered to her immediately, our spirits reunited in the embrace of the Hive Mother herself.

Methinks it ended up being that desire that motivated me in many early battles—at least until I found myself bonding to my new comrades and commander, becoming willing to die for them as much as her and my Hive. But for now?

For now, I wondered if anycreature around would survive even the next few minutes as airborne  gryphons surrounded us. They rained death down upon us from above; there was no Aerial Corps presence to fight them given they’d all been ordered to assist the main battle for the Harness Highway underway between Yoke and Melody. 

Our adversaries were all sky gryphons, I quickly noted, as I supposed the bulk of their earth gryphons were either laying siege to Maresk or engaged further west along the highway, trying to close the second set of pincers I had spotted in the swamps. I knew not if they had succeeded given I was but a prisoner at that point; I was hardly entitled to be informed by higher command of such things. 

But as our withdrawal stalled due to increasing air attacks after only five pony miles—methinks the town of Yoke was about eleven miles away from Harness Hill, and only a third of the way to Melody—we were ordered to take defensive formations to both whittle them down and give the physically weaker unicorns a chance to recover some stamina before resuming the retreat.

At that point, sensing the fear and desperation of the ponies around me, I wanted to help. Neigh, I needed to help. Methinks that were my identity as a changeling no concern, then ‘twere any number of creatures I could have transformed into to do battle with airborne gryphons—a weather-wielding pegasus or fire-breathing adolescent dragon not the least of them. But keeping my true self secret took precedence, particularly since I feared to be revealed as a Changeling would get me executed as a spy on the spot. 

Still, I was only roused to action when a decade-sized gryphon force swooped overhead, loosing a crossbow volley that sent us diving for cover from the rain of armor-piercing and explosive bolts. One of the former impacted the nearest of my two guards, partially penetrating her armor and sending her to the ground with a cry of pain. She called through gritted teeth for a healer, who methinks were completely overwhelmed by the number of casualties they had to treat. 

“By the sun itself, give me my longbow!” I pleaded with them, noting our assailants were too far away to be effectively targeted with earth pony crossbows and the available unicorn archers were few in the immediate area. “I can kill them!”

The remaining guard stared at me in disbelief, shifting her loaded crossbow from me to the temporarily retreating sky gryphons before realizing they were out of range. They had escaped their latest attack run without a scratch and would shortly return again, no doubt leaving another one or two dead or wounded ponies in their wake. “How? I’ve never seen an earth pony wield a longbow!” she told me.

“I can! Now please!” I begged her again, to which she stared at me a moment more before releasing my restraints by twisting the top of a crystal off her belt. She then tossed my bow and quiver to me before shifting to cover her wounded comrade—I could tell from her worried emotions that they were much more than mere friends—raising her crossbow to target the latest approaching Talon decade.

Immediately adding the quiver harness to my back, I twisted my head to grab an armor-piercing arrow with my pony teeth and yank it free as I reared up to stand on two legs; ‘tis no doubt any pony watching me then ‘twould have thought I was drunk or insane to take such an unnatural bipedal stance. But I was very well-practiced in the process, and I silently thanked my father for forcing me to learn to use the bow without magic. 

Bringing the bow up with my left hoof whilst I pulled the heavy drawstring back with my right, I swiftly notched the arrow, took aim at the incoming force, and fired. 

The arrow flew straight and true right into the decade leader. He gaped at his pierced chest in shock before he went limp and fell lifelessly to the ground; his death caused his force to instantly scatter in surprise and fear as they no doubt assumed that unicorns were present to aim an arrow so precisely. I did my best to encourage that thinking by swiftly notching and launching two more arrows; they both found their mark in the flanks and backs of retreating Talons, which weren’t covered by armor. Neither was slain by my strikes, but ‘twas certain they’d be out of action with rather painful injuries for some time.

The immediate danger passed, I returned to all fours to see several ponies staring at me in amazement, including a unicorn Sergeant I hadn’t noticed was there before; I regret I do not remember her name.

“By the sun, who taught you to use a longbow?” she asked as the gryphons appeared to be in retreat again, at least for now; I heard orders to fall back into march formation being passed along.

“My sire.” Methinks on that matter, I could at least answer truthfully. “We needed them to fend off magical predators when we lived on the edge of the Everfree.” That, too, was basically true, though it omitted the fact that we also used them to hunt.

Two more stops and engagements later, we had closed to within three miles of Yoke with our force more or less intact. I had already hit six gryphons by then, though methinks only two were outright kills. 

Methinks it disturbed me how easily I was able to target and attack them given how long I’d lived among and interacted with them; how easily I shook off the emotions of gryphons and ponies alike who realized to their shock, fear or horror they were slain just before they died.

But I was a soldier now, fighting for a side, doing the job I’d ultimately been sent to Equestria for. I wondered what the Queen would think when I told her of what had happened, then I wondered again if the Hive had even survived their own battle. But I had little time to contact or ask her as to my surprise, the commanding Colonel approached me after having been told of the help I had rendered.

I stood at attention and saluted him as he studied me again and nodded; methinks I could all but taste the distrust he still had for me. “I saw your performance in the last engagement. Well fought, Corporal Bramble Tracker, if that’s your real name,” he said, causing me to internally freeze. “’I’m still not convinced you are who you say you are, and ‘tis certain I don’t believe you when you say you came here from Coltucky. But ‘tis also certain you saved us here,” he conceded in turn.

“Methinks we would have been trapped on the Hill and had no chance of escape without your report, so I will grant you the chance to prove yourself fully. As we currently lack dedicated Pathfinders, I need a proper reconnaissance unit to scout for safe routes and avoid ambushes as we suffered yesterday in retaking the hill,” he informed me as I inwardly swallowed, guessing what he was about to ask.

“As you claim to be a pathfinder yourself and otherwise seem to be a skilled soldier, I want you to organize one from the escaping forces we’ve collected from Maresk, most of whom have lost their commanders and organization. Ask for volunteers, then reorganize them as you see fit. I need that unit available by nightfall, as we will be attempting to escape the gryphon trap across the grasslands tonight.”

I felt my muzzle go very dry. I had trained to be a low-ranked pathfinder; no more and no less. But methinks now he was asking me to not just be a pathfinder, but a leader of them! “Is that a problem, Corporal?” he said upon seeing my hesitation.

“No sir. ‘Tis just that I have never commanded more than three ponies at once,” I offered weakly, to which he gave me an unsympathetic stare.

“And most of my officers are now commanding far larger forces than they did just a few days ago, so I expect you to do the same! You’re a scout and soldier of Celestia, so by the sun itself, act like it! Have your new unit organized and ready for action by evening! For ‘tis certain we will need it to continue making our way west during the night…”

As I reach this point in my retelling, I find myself compelled to ask the General if he ever thought I was a Changeling, to which he replied he had barely even heard of my race and for as secretive as we were, he could not have fathomed a reason why one would choose to assist ponies in the war, given war is hardly a breeding ground for love. 

To which I answered with a smile that he was, in fact, incorrect. War was oft where some of the most intense and potent love could be found, coming as it could from beings who thought each new day might be their last. My words were met with chuckles and smiles from his assembled soldiers, who nodded their agreement—indeed, I had a relationship with one of them for a time, with whom I exchanged a knowing look. But for the sake of their privacy, I will not divulge their identity unless they grant their permission.

But in any event, I was out of the frying pan and into the proverbial fire now, thrown into combat on the Equestrian side far sooner than I was supposed to. But ‘twas still the right decision for me to make, given the pony soldiers it saved. I wondered then if I would ever get the chance to reach Detrot or even contact the Queen again, who I had not heard from and was starting to worry about. 

To be Queen means that she could sense my emotions from afar along with all her Changelings, but I could not sense hers. There were times I wondered how it did not drive her mad given how much trouble it occasionally caused me to be saturated in negative emotions, but I was eternally grateful ‘twas her who was able to bear that burden for us all.

I will end this recounting here, as ‘tis nearly time for us to pack up and go to Yoke, following our retreat route there. I will pick up the pen again if the General orders it, of course, but he will forgive me if I prefer to remain in the background of this tale as much as possible. Old habits die hard, and even now, I prefer not to draw attention to myself.

Uncomfortable though it makes you, I thank you for coming and being willing to relate your side of the tale, Lycovenato—though as stated before, ‘tis certain ‘twill take me a while to get used to your real name. I cannot help thinking of you as Bramble Tracker, especially given you still look like him!

As I review this draft, I find that a surprising amount of ground was covered, and that we have in fact written our parts of this entry in the space of but a few short hours. ‘Tis what good drink and company allows, though I do hope our shapeshifting friend will consent to telling more of his tale. ‘Tis unquestionably interesting to hear the Changeling side of this story, and read about a culture so unlike our own. 

But for now, we lay down the pen to leave Harness Hill; a column of old comrades marching west again. The following chapter will detail the effort of the General’s Brigade to slip the trap and reach safety at Melody, and if time allows, the story of how the Lunar Council was finally won over. 

‘Twill be on that note that the third book in this magnum opus will end, and the fourth one will begin. But expect a time jump when it does so, as perchance readers will understand that myself and Fell Flight would greatly prefer to skip to the end of our punishment period.

"Behold the rain which descends from heaven upon our vineyards, and which incorporates itself with the grapes to be changed into wine; a constant proof that God loves us, and loves to see us happy."