//------------------------------//
// Chapter 15- The Train Wreck of a War 
// Story: Whistling Rain 
// by Schwabauer 
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George hated the snow. No, that wasn’t quite right. George hated sitting still in the snow for hours on end. That’s what he hated. That’s why he left his family’s hunting lodge and joined the Jagers. And here he was, sitting in the snow for weeks on end waiting for a train to come by. Other than the occasional raid on a farm stead they had just been sitting in their camp. Only lighting a fire to cook breakfast and dinner. Wonderful. The rest of his days were occupied by standing guard in winter kit, spending a few minutes chopping at the train bridge supports or huddling in tents and igloos. The platoon of Jagers had been living in the embankments beside a frozen river that was the only train track in this Empire. They had slowly been whittling away at the bridge supports, cutting just enough that it would stand until the train ran over it. 

After two weeks of spending time cutting away the heavy timbers used to shore up the bridge there was nothing left for George to cut. It was all just on the brink of collapse. He was worried about a particularly strong gust of wind bringing it careening down around the platoon. It had been weeks since they last ate meat, only having grain and dried fruits taken from the local farmers.  

The farmers themselves were such pushovers, having now resigned themselves to fate and begun leaving out some of their food in baskets with notes in their illegible writing. George swore it looked like they had written it with their smooth hooves somehow. Yet that seemed like an impossible task for the pony peoples that resided inside the farms. He was also impressed at their ability to grow anything in such harsh conditions. It was truly unlike anything in his homeland of Sweden. There everybody hunted or fished.  

The rattle of train tracks pulled him from his stupor. He quickly hopped up and crawled out of the tent, grabbing his rifle and dashing through the thick snow towards the rest of his company. They were situated about, watching the tracks. The bridge shook violently, wood chips splintering off and falling to the icy river. George swallowed nervously and prayed to the Lord above that the bridge would hold till the fated moment.  

Within a minute the lights of the train glowed over the horizon, racing closer and closer to its doom. It blew a whistle with a shrill high pitch and raced just up to edge of the bridge. The moment before it passed onto it seemed to last forever to George. 



 

Study Plank sat in the train car bound for the Crystal Empire. With him were thousands of other fresh recruits, quickly thrown together following the declaration of war. While his group of poorly trained of volunteers were being shunted to the front to act as a stop gap for their allies Princess Luna continued to train the other half of the horde of eager fodder, shaping them into efficient spear and halberd wielding machines.  

The train he was on was dozens of cars long, transporting not the fifteen companies of spear ponies but also all their equipment and weeks of food and supplies. The train had been stopped for the entirety of their training period to facilitate the additions made to strengthen the engine’s power so it could haul more cars at the same speed as before. Now it could ship an entire army in just one trip. Truly an amazing feat. Granted, it was a bit crowded with absolutely no room to move, but the gloriousness was not lost on Plank. 

Glancing out the window he saw the train coming up on a bridge, the oil lamps illuminating the void on either side of it. As he craned his neck to try and look at the river below, he noticed that the bridge was shaking just from the train’s vibrations. His eyes went wide, nostrils flared, and he pulled back from the window, looking for a way out of the car. From his seat he couldn’t see the doors or a roof hatch. Instead, he turned to the window and smashed his hoof into it repeatedly, as hard as he could. The spear ponies around him started yelling at him, grabbing at his hooves and pulling him back before he started shouting about the bridge. 

Just as the earsplitting noise heavy timber shattering under downforce came up to the car. And the companies’ stomachs all collectively flew up and sat in their chests as the longest short fall ever rushed to an end. 



 

George watched the train barrel into the opposite bank, slamming through the snow and crumpling beneath the weight of the coal and passenger cars that followed it. Dozens of passenger cars slammed into the banks and broke through the river, twisting at the joints like an enormous snake. Cars crumpled, shattered, and were scattered in the frozen water, sending the contents of them into the frigid water and snow. Then the box cars joined them, flying off into the pile, adding yet more to the growing stack of lost goods and lives. Fire had broken out in the wooden cars and was spreading to all of them above the water line.  

George watched the fires light up surviving ponies, crawling about the wreckage, almost all looking for other survivors. With a heavy sigh he unslung his rifle and began to pick off the surviving ponies, yet again reminding him of his family hunting business. George swore he’d become a farmer as soon as he could. 



 

Twilight awoke in her room in the Crystal castle, her armor removed and her entire body aching. She looked around, confused as to where she was for a single moment before the events of the prior week came back to her. The horrible snow. Losing Rarity. Killing all those Prussians. Performing a fighting retreat to the capital, dragging as many civilians and supplies as they could with them. The Prussian raids continually forcing their ever-dwindling forces to withdraw time and time again, ever pushing closer to the capital. Heavy casualties with every raid, and extraordinarily little to show for it. 

She had spent the week in a fugue state, reacting to the Prussian probes and raids with increasingly erratic waves of violent magic. By the second raid her shots hit more friendly bodies than foes, leading to her older brother stunning her anytime the Prussians were spotted nearby. She could remember once destroying a farm with a beam of magic because she thought she saw Dragoons behind it. 

Twilight broke down in her bed, sobbing uncontrollably for a nearly endless time. Within minutes her family and friends arrived and attemtped to comfort her to no avail. Soon her tears dried up and there was nothing left to cry, leaving her to stare hollowly at nothing. After a while, her family withdrew, moving to attend to the day's situation. Not long after, her surviving circle of close friends also withdrew, giving her space to process a week of war and pain. 



 

Shining stood on the balcony overlooking the capital of his wife’s empire. The shield had become a more tangible force, shimmering in an opaque fashion tinting all outside of it a deep bluish pink. The remains of his army sat in their barracks tending to their few wounded and recuperating from the heavy losses. Shining shook his head and corrected himself. Not heavy losses. Complete eradication. His entire army had been condensed to just four companies, two of which had been left behind as a law enforcement body for the short-lived campaign. 

Looking past the limping army he looked out through the shield at the fields around the capital, now covered by a rapidly widening system of trenches. The Prussian army had arrived just hours after his own, and immediately set to preparing for a long-term siege. Thankfully, the favor was in Shining’s favor; the city had a sizable number of fields inside growing crops year-round. Combine this with the temperate setting making it the ideal location for copious amounts of grain to be stored by farmers, it meant he could last years, maybe even decades without leaving the city. Had this war begun just a few years earlier and he could have lasted indefinitely, but the city population had shot up enormously thanks to the refounding of the Empire and creative use of magic. Shining Armour’s other solace was that the Prussian trenches would not reach the tracks before his reinforcements were projected to arrive. A small army of recruits were being rushed by train. Initially it had been to act as a reserve, but now it would be all he had until he trained his own replacements.  

Shining glanced at the clock and noted that the train was late, having been scheduled to arrive fifteen minutes ago. Scrunching his brow he teleported to the train station, quickly inquiring with the depot about the train. They reported a lack of any reports regarding them and told Shining he’d be the first to know once they had. 

Two hours later the few survivors from the train staggered up to the shield, quickly ushered through by Shining’s guard. They told of a bridge over the river collapsing just as the train crossed it, and the Prussians lying in wait, picking off survivors. The officer among them confessed that the small contingent had to abandon any ponies in the burning cars for the fire to take. Shining nodded sadly, saying softly, “I understand. You’re not the only one to have to make tough decisions this week. I’ll send a message to Canterlot at once.” 

Shining trotted back to his room that evening exhausted, sagging under the weight of commanding a disintegrating army while trying to direct the recruitment of new troops. He had heavy bags under his eyes as he slid under the covers and cuddled close to his equally exhausted wife. 



 

General Karlson was ecstatic. The advance had gone perfectly. More than perfectly. For a mere hundred and twenty-eight lives he had nearly eradicated the enemy army and begun to encircle their massive capital. His army was not quite sufficient yet, but he would make do. Militia companies would be arriving soon to supplement his forces and he had heard on good word that two Bavarian divisions would be marching to reinforce in two weeks. All he had to do was hold the ground until then.  

His artillery was in position, and he had placed urgent orders for additional guns of any kind to be trained and brought to the front for use in the siege. The strange magic shield that surrounded the Crystal Empire was enormous, encircling it better than any ring of forts and armies could ever hope too. An added challenge was the large quantity of fields within the shield, greatly extending the length of the siege to the point he knew it would come down to violence.  

But he had an idea. A river ran through the city. And while it certainly looked like nothing got through, water still flowed out the other side. So that brought about the question of if the shield would filter out bad water, infected with the rotting flesh of horse, human, and pony carcasses floating in it. And perhaps he could force large numbers of cold, sick civilians and wounded, dying soldiers that had been captured into the city to spread furthermore disease. With any luck the Empire would be in no position to resist in a few short months.  

With an eagerness unbefitting a man who controlled the lives of thousands of men directly, and potentially millions indirectly, General Karlson marched to his doctors and began describing his plan to them. Their eyes nodded in a steely understanding, relating this to tactics of the Mongols of old. 



 

Admiral Kristofferson’s blockade was going flawlessly. The few number of cogs and frigates the Ponies had were greatly unprepared for a blockade by the Prussian fleet. His relatively lightly armed fleet outranged and outgunned the enemy fleet, quickly maneuvering it back into port and stopping all ships from leaving. Any incoming ships were stopped and turned around. Those that did not heed soon found alongside a broadside of carronades firing grapeshot through the ship and killing most the crew. Food was looted from these ships, and the derelicts were directed towards the shore or port.  

When these ships reached port, they often lacked many bodies and members of crew, having been taken by sailors desperate for fresh meat after weeks at sea. Those that ran aground or were dashed on the rocks were left to rot, no pony willing to venture out and see what fresh horrors had been inflicted on the crews of the boats. The occasional bombardment from the fleet kept the port living in constant fear, houses and storage being set afire by cannon shells smashing through them.  

After the second bombardment, the ponies rowed under a white flag to negotiate with the Admiral. After many hours of harsh debate, a deal was made. The Admiral would cease the bombardment of houses and eating of crews of the trade ships, and the pony fleet would be scuttled by way of fire. Admiral Kristofferson agreed eagerly, lacking the munitions to continue bombardments due to the lack of cannons on pony trade ships. 

The river boats though, were still fair game. Any that tried to dock alongside the deep-water port was met with a barrage from a frigate on the opposite side the bay, often sinking these flat bottom boats with ease. Millions worth of damage were inflicted in just those few weeks, with millions more being turned away from the port. Soon the effects began to show in the wider countryside as well. Timber could not make it to repair homes, leaving houses to slowly degrade without repair. Food stockpiles grew along the docks as they waited for a river boat or cart to brave the fire and drag it somewhere else for sale.  

Admiral Kristofferson now sat in his quarters, waiting for the next supply ships to arrive and bring more beans and hardtack. With luck they might just bring new warships to be sent further down the coast in search of more ports to blockade and harass.