North and South

by Tempest Wind

Chapter Four

The rest of the army officers of Twilight’s Corps had shown up as expected, filtering in over the coming days as the end of March bled into April- and with it, the Spring Thaw. Braeburn arrived first after Silver Star and Fleur De Lys’ hike through Confederate territory; much less dangerous, but also not hauling liberated three inch cannons with them. Stylus Pen - a Baltimare resident and reservist - arrived a few days after to prep and run the Corps’ eight gun Parrott Rifle battery. Soarin’ of Wonderbolts fame himself arrived last, having taken some time to finish the Cloudsdale Muster; now, technically, there were two regiments under what used to be the Wonderbolt Division - though Soarin’ mustered his force under the Cloudsdale Royal Guard. Something that could be addressed later, most likely.

Unfortunately, the issue could not be pressed at the moment. Down in Savannah, the vice president of the Confederate States of Equestria had delivered a rallying national address - Steel Vein, the stallion in question, had effectively lambasted Celestia’s government in front of several different news reporters and to a cheering crowd, before going on to set frames and groundwork for how the new Confederate States were going to work, politically - as well as confirming his President’s comments about raising a full army of troops to oppose Canterlot.

Twilight sighed, as she gazed over the April report, given first to Luna, then by Luna to her, as she needed to be made aware of it: the Confederates were being true to their word. A force of nearly ten thousand was mustering already, and more volunteers were on their way.

In return, Celestia had left the Royal Quarters to address the nation. She’d had her time to grieve, as Raven had mentioned when she’d arrived to become Twilight’s aide, and now had begun to push past what she likely viewed as a great failure. She had gone out before the newsponies, before the questioning crowds, and proclaimed the Equestrian Regular Army Act.

Twilight had… mixed feelings upon the matter. On the one hoof, she was quite happy to see an officially raised military force; one supposed to be nearly nine thousand troops strong itself, spread out amongst four infantry brigades - not regiments - , one cavalry brigade, and two fully staffed gun batteries. The fledgeling Equestrian New Model Army needed to pony power, and desperately. On the other hoof, raising the army had definitely cut from the Volunteer Army’s capability of training up new soldiers - after all, many of the regulars drummed up from under the act had once been militia officers and training sergeants themselves. Now that their examples were gone, the volunteers simply had to make do with what they had.  

On a third hoof, having a strong, regularized army force was something extremely useful and something that supposedly, the confederates did not have yet. Sure, they had declared that they were to raise a sixteen thousand regular strong army, but until that actually materialized, and they fought something other than the expected Confederate Militias, it was piss in the wind.

And then finally and on a fourth hoof, the regulars’ muster came with more good news anyways: The Sharps Rifle company, under the head of a Coltifornian stallion currently named Sharps himself (apparently short for Sharp Shot, or Sharps Shot, no one was actually clear on that), had given production licensing for their namesake rifle design and a purchase on behalf of the military had already been given the okay by Princess Luna, after a short discussion on whether the Princessdom had the coinage for it with her sister. Older rifles, such as Maresissippis, and Hawken rifles, were also being looked at for return to manufacture as they were retrieved from arsenals, but the debate was still on-going, for now.

Raven barged into the office, breaking Twilight’s train of thought, and flopped a fresh newspaper onto the Major General’s desk without preamble, before cutting Twilight’s line of thoughts again before the mare could even read the newspaper.

Fort Summer fell early the next morning, as the beleaguered but thankfully unharmed garrison surrendered after nearly eighteen hours of shelling from roughly sixty Confederate guns and probably ten or fifteen times that in cannon shells fired. 
With a heavy heart, Celestia officially declared the Princessdom of Equestria in a state of war with the Confederate States of Equestria. Peace had shattered, and the time for talk had abruptly ended.

Luna and Twilight began the movement of the Army of Equestria South; the Regulars were still mustering, but two further corps in the east and two in the west had raised on three month billets to help secure the Equestrian borders - even if the western two corps; the Department of the West and the Department of Baltimare; were more single brigades that corps.

The War of Southern Rebellion, as many had begun to call it already, did not open its first shots in the East. No, those began in the West, in Maresourri, as the woefully under-equipped and numerically weaker force of the Western Department - under Provisional Brigadier General Macintosh Apple, left the town of St. Louis, armed with a motley assortment of old flintlock rifles, a few rifled-muskets, and whatever fowling pieces could be scrimmaged up between the fourteen-hundred strong ponies.

Wincing to himself within his ramshackle officers’ tent as a confederate gun battery, perhaps currently the only gun battery in Maresourri, opened fire upon his defensive holes around Rolla depot - and yes, they were holes, not real and effective trench lines - Macintosh returned to the shoddy hoof-drawn map he’d been hastily provided, mopping his brow from sweat with a neckerchief. Applebloom had sketched it herself last evening when the Confederate artillery showed up to reinforce the Maresourri State Guard - as Sterling Price was calling his hopped up gang of rebels and bandits - and she’d taken a few peppers of cannon shrapnel as a result. 

She was out there still, leading the defense, as Mac swore to himself in his too small, too ramshackle, too frustrating command tent, wearing a circle in the ground with his hooves. But, he’d needed to wait. 

His patience was finally rewarded a few hours into the siege, as Crown Prince of the Crystal Empire, Shining Armor, stumbled into the smallish tent just after midnight, a frigid cup of coffee grasped in his magic. “Sorry my ponies are late. We had to rail all the way from the Crystal City, then Baltimare.”

“Ah, eyup.” Mac nodded, humming. “Ah reckon your folks are already out there diggin’ holes to keep pace wit’ mine?” The quiet stallion questioned, twitching an ear to listen for more cannon fire.

“For now. Their dander’s up, though.” Shining grunted, wryly. “They weren’t fans of the railroad trip.”

“Reckon not.” Macintosh muttered, frowning. “First light. We outnumber ‘em, now, iff’n you brought your whole brigade.”

“I did. First light?”

“Ayep. First light, we pitch out from the line, take the fight right to ‘em, yer highness.”

“Captain Armor’s fine. I’m serving in military capacity.” Shining shot back with a frown, as Applebloom slid quietly into the now cramped command tent. She’d gotten a fair bit quieter now that the shooting had started. Macintosh suspected she’d been part of it. He didn’t press her.

“Colonel at least then, iff’n yer in charge of a brigade. They done made me a Brigadier.” Macintosh groused, as he and Shining Armor shared a look of weariness. “Anyhow. Applebloom. You’n Shining’s Brigade are going to break the rebels' siege tomorrow at first light; ‘fore they finish their mess and campfires. We can’t afford to wait for them to bring up reinforcements.”

“That’ll mean chagrin’ a battery of field guns, Mac. Even if it is only four of ‘em.” Applebloom hummed in thought. “Ah can take a platoon, a couple hours ‘fore dawn, start creeping up. That way we can break their picket line and rush their guns ‘fore the two brigades come on line.”

“Shining, you think you can hassle moving two brigades at once?”

“Yeah. I can.”

“Do it, Applebloom. And be careful. Ah don’t wanna be writing anything back to Applejack. Or Faust forbid, Granny.”

“Ah will, Mac. We’ll spike them guns for ya. Just be ready to capitalize.”

Siege and siege breaking aside, the Army of Equestria and the Confederate Army of the Potomac River first met in battle not in April, but in May. 

Rolla Depot was quit by the Maressouri Guard with scant losses of maybe twenty or so due to an onset fog confusing the Western Army’s desperate attack, but it’d been chaotic enough to cause the Guard to withdraw in confusion, which meant that Equestria, through bold plan or foolhardy one, held onto Maressouri another month. 

In the intervening time, more regiments came on - line with the Army of Equestria, all reporting to Luna, as the Army of Equestria grew from one Corps, to Four, including the Regulars Corps, under muster of Major General Lightning Charm - the aging bat pony veteran herself marching them south via the Neigh York Turnpike towards the front. They weren’t expected for over three days, though. 

The same day, Luna ordered a probing attack into Virginia, as a means to distract the rapidly growing confederate army while Twilight’s own corps was sent to see off a Confederate corps that had bypassed the Royal Navy to land in Mareyland state. With Twilight Distracted, one Corps still stuck in Canterlot under Trixie Lulamoon forming up, and Lightning Charm marching south to regroup with Luna, that left the probe up to an Untested Lunar Guard officer - one of Luna’s own household knights, a young and recently promoted Brigadier General named Tempest Wind - apparently of Ravenholm, over in Fillisee, even though they’d chosen to throw their lot in with the Confederates. 

Four hours after entering Virginia, and after vaguely securing Haypers Ferry Depot, General Wind received reports from her scouts that a sizable Confederate Force, even with her own size but equipped like regulars, was marching up from Virginia Military Institute.

Tempest scowled, as she re-read the scouting report, dropping it frustratedly on the field desk in front of her as she held a leathery wing to her forehead. “And is this accurate? Are we absolutely sure?” She inquired, her voice thick with the hefty Ravenholmer accent that marked her as a Fillyseean, its rich twang marking her as a Southron herself. 

Cloud Jet, her second Division commander and a pegasus mare, nodded firmly, her muzzle set in a firm scowl. “Pharynx Vesali verified it himself after my scouts did, sending out his own once Harpers Depot was secure, ma’am. It’s a good sized force, about four and a half thousand, five, maybe six cannons. They’re regulars, too. Virginia Institute Cadets, most likely.”

“Dammit. And me here with the militia. We have more guns, not that anypony knows how to aim a cannon. Okay. Well, how about evacuating the depot and crossing back over the river?”

“Could, ma’am.” Pharynx Vesali - brother to the current King of the Changelings, and commander of Tempest’s First Division, nodded, scowling. “But we’ll have to hold them off regardless. We won’t finish the evacuation of arms before then.”

“And doing so would mean we lose a hoofhold across the Potomac River.” Tempest finished, re-surveying the map again. She sighed, and shook her head. “Whinnychester’s shit ground for fighting, and I’m loathe to fight in the town itself; too much risk to the depot itself, not to mention the Harpers Ferry Bridge. What’s this town south of Whinnychester?”

“That’d be Strasburg, General. Pretty firm ground there, around Bushong hill. Nice view of this valley, up the Cedar Grove Road.”

“How far is the march from here?”

“Couple hours south of Whinnychester, ma’am.”

“...Can we beat them there?”

“Sure as a spit-can, ma’am.” Cloud Jet verified. It’s twice that at least from Virginia Institute. Leave’s our flank wide open, though, if the Shenandoah army crosses near Whinnychester.”

“I know. But if we just sit here and wait for them to approach, ain’t no guarantee they won’t bring up the Shenandoan’s either. No, we’ll push south. Meet them here, at Bushong Hill, and pray to Faust that there’s a corps behind me in a few hours. Pharynx?”

“Yes’m, General?”

“Send a telegraph back to Her Majesty Luna. Message as follows:” She paused, awaiting his nod as the reformed changeling retrieved a pad and pencil to scribe her note. “Have taken Whinnychester and surrounding good ground, stop. Situation not currently tenable without reinforcement, stop. Requesting a Corps to cover my left, stop. General Wind.”

“I’ll have it sent out at once, General.”

“Good stallion. Jet, deploy a skirmish line ahead of our main force, sweep for any irregulars, and get me that damned hill. We’ve got a scrap to cause, folks, let’s hop to it.”

The march south to Strasburg took most of the day, as Jet’s skirmishers ensured the army would not be harassed on their way to Bushong hill. Tempest’s troops made camp in the early hours of 24th May around the base of Bushong hill, not bothering yet to build fortifications, as pickets surveyed the land, and scouts were sent far abreast of the main line to ensure they hadn’t been bypassed or surrounded.

Mid morning came, and after a cold breakfast, Winds’ Department of the Ponysyvania took Bushong hill with little fanfare, digging their antiquated six pounder field guns into whatever ground they could manage.

About midday, the Confederates arrived.

“Ma’am, I’ve got flags, marching up the pike!” called one of her skirmish line sergeants, as the mare retrieved a set of field glasses. Holding them in one of her wings, the bat pony swore, gritting her fangs as she watched the brigades and flags march up towards Strasburg itself.

“I see them sergeant, thank you. That’s at least one full size brigade, two regiments, and the battery. Damn. Alright, make sure we’re dug in low, folks. Hold here and make them come to us.”

The artillery duel began in earnest about fifteen minutes later, as the Confederate twelve pounder Neighpoleons blasted away at Bushong Hill. With the height improving the aging six pounder’s anemic range, Tempest’s gun battery could at least fire back, but without any real training, accuracy was low, and her hopes were… not great.
The Confederates began to advance a skirmish line about four in the evening, as her infantry took up their rifles for the first time since their muster. Her militia was at least uniformly armed with Hall rifles, Steedfield Rifle-Muskets, and a few older Hawken rifles - though that was little comfort, as the Confederates, with their stolen Manefield 53 and Steedfield 55 rifles answered back the rifle fire with the discipline of a regular army. 

A far cry from Tempest’s shoddy militia.

For nearly half an hour, shots were traded back and forth across the slope, as the Confederates attempted once, then again, to march up the hill, only to be frantically repulsed by untrained, panicky fire from both rifle and cannon. 

Cheerilee, her Battery Commander and a schoolmarm from Ponyville, was doing as well as she could, but already one of their guns had been knocked over with a shattered caisson, its crew likely dead, dying, or moved to the rear for treatment.

“Ammo’s starting to run low, General.” Jet grumbled, smoking a thin cigarillo, as the pair of officers - Thranx was still taking stock of his losses - stood in the defilade of the hill, just in case the rebels started firing cannons again. “I figure we could hold off one, maybe two more charges like that, before we’re down to knives and bayonets.”

“No, if it comes to that, they don’t have cavalry with them. We’ll withdraw once we’ve exhausted our ammo.”

“They’ll chase us.” Jet pointed out, sensibly.

“They will.” Tempest hummed, scowling. “Guess we’ll have to hope someone’s waiting for us at the river.”

“I’ll make you one better General!” Pharynx cheered, as he flittered over on his insectoid wings, a musket held in the crook of his forehooves. “Look behind you.”

With a blink, both the Thestral and the pegasus turned about, following Pharynx’s gaze. Galloping up the road behind the hill, in the direction they’d come previously, were the pennant-bedecked lances and glistening sabers of a Cavalry Brigade, designating them as the “1st Eq. Cavalry”. 

Reinforcements were here.

Lightning Charm surveyed the hill from behind her rimless glasses, taking a moment to remove and polish them, before addressing the Bat Pony wearing the armor of Luna’s Royal Guard. “Not a bad bit of soldering, General. Could have been bad if I hadn’t forced a march all the way here, but the ground’s good, and the objective’s good to go with it.”

“That was my thoughts, Major General Charm.” Tempest nodded in deference, watching with a neutral frown as her small corps began to dig further in along Bushong Hill, setting up more permanent positions, with their camps in the defilade behind the hill itself. “Good place to hold the turnpike, until I can make a push for the Military institute, iff’n you can hold my left flank.”

“Hold it, General? We’ll do more than hold it. We’ll keep pushing inwards until we reach Richmond, and kick JD Neighvis out on his flanks.”

“Hnf. Wish it was that easy. I lost four hundred, and this was just a skirmish.” Wind groused, scowling, and shaking her head.

“Sure, but I count double that in Confederate dead - not to mention those cannons, once we fix up their carriages. It was a skirmish, sure, General, but it was a good one.”

“A good one, ma’am?” Tempest scoffed, wearily. “I’ve never heard of a good killing, or a bad lack of one. And it’s only going to get worse from here.”