July 2nd, 1010, 16:00
Fairflanks Militia Remnants
75 km north of Salt Lick City
Dipping her light blue hooves into the rushing river water and splashing it on her muzzle, Swift Roller took a deep breath, exhaling quite slowly. Thankful to be in a more shaded area of the forest, her brown mane flowed gently under her helmet.
Beside her, a notebook lay open. Taken from the pouch that rested on her hip, she gave a look-over to the make-shift charts and tables she drew in the lines of the paper. Filled with timelines, quantities, and the names of ponies, it was a rare moment her mind wasn’t keeping track of something.
Despite the war that hung heavily over her mind, she couldn’t help but smile, if only for a moment, at the hushed sounds of nature. With a shaky breath, she allowed the frantic memory of bombs, fires, and running for her life to leave for just the moment. The gentle sound of the birds, and the flowing of water, could soothe her just for a bit.
Until suddenly, they stopped.
The fleeting sounds of the birds were taken over by the far-off sounds of engines in the sky. The moment of peace couldn’t last forever, Swift Roller knew that. Bringing her hoof to wipe at her green eyes, she exhaled once more before her ears perked up.
A new sound. The voices of her friends were not so far behind her. Getting up to her hooves and storing the notebook in her pouches, she could hear them getting louder. The planes hadn’t sounded anywhere near close, yet the panicked thoughts still rested in her mind.
Bounding off through the forest, she looked around. The foxholes dug into the forest near the river were empty, the soldiers all corralled in the distance. The clearing, no more than two hundred meters ahead of her, led to the road they had marched along the night before.
Trotting on, Swift Roller leaped out of the woodline and onto the clearing, noticing the silent crowd of soldiers facing the dirt road. Worried that they may be spotted, she began to open her mouth before she was cut off, by the shifting of the crowd.
Through the opening in the middle, Jungle Trek stepped through, though his gaze was still behind him at the rest of the platoon, who trotted forward to the welcome of the rest of the Company.
Cheers of triumph and happiness infected the faces of Swift Roller’s soldiers, who herself were absolutely floored at the sight. The smiling faces of her friends, of the entirety of the Platoon they all thought to be lost, were right before her.
Strawberry Cinnamon herself was the most excited to see her friends again, pulling Berry Twist and a few of the other soldiers into one big group hug. Cinnamon had to push her red mane back and away from her eyes, lest it become wet with her tears of joy.
Lucky Twirl herself was practically lifted into the air by the more enthusiastic of the welcoming soldiers, cheerful that her optimistic demeanor had made its way back to them. Brisk Sweeper and Sunrise Dare were each pulled into embraces of hugs against their will, though Swift knew their objections were surface-level. Even Shooting Steps and Yellow Rocks had a smile on their faces.
As the Platoon mixed and mingled back with the company, the whole gathering numbering at least a hundred ponies in total, all shifted out of the way of one odd visitor. Contrasting the purple uniforms of the Equestrian Army, and noticeably lacking a helmet, a blonde-feathered Griffon whose claw gripped a lever action rifle stepped forward. As he turned his gaze from the road, his sunglasses gave regard to Jungle Trek. “Seems like your route got us to the right place, Trek.”
Jungle only smiled at the gathering, as the crowd grew quiet at the sight of the visitor. “The route was only one thing, Moerman.” With a smile, he slung his bolt action rifle across his back and tipped his blue helmet. “Getting us out of there alive was your doing.”
Swift Roller stepped forward, along with the inquisitive look of the entire company. “We heard that the Platoon had been captured after a firefight behind us. How-” She looked between Jungle Trek, Yellow Rock, and Wild Strikes. “How did you all escape?”
Leaning up from Caramel Crunche’s shoulder, the bandaged wings of Wild Strikes moved slightly as she shifted. “Our squad managed to slip through. We didn’t know what to do when we lost contact with both of you.” She grew a smile, looking at the Griffon. “But he helped us.”
“He ambushed the enemy convoy and rescued the Platoon.” Jungle Trek said, giving a small wink and patting his Griffon friend on the shoulder.
Contrary to his usual boastful demeanor, Dobbelsteen actually slightly shrunk under the eyes of the hundred or so ponies around him. With a hint of embarrassment at the praise of his soldiers, he spoke to Swift Roller. “I surely didn’t do it alone.” Extending his claw, he gave a warm smile. “Major Dobbelsteen Moerman, Feathisian Commandos. I’ve been sent by Princess Twilight to help.”
The whole formation froze, eyes staring at the Griffon. Shifting slightly, he still held his claw out. “...Do we uhm…” He glanced around, “Do we have a medical tent for Wild Strikes?”
After a pause, Swift Roller only pulled Moerman and Jungle Trek into a hug, much to the cheers of the surrounding soldiers. With both Trek and Dobbelsteen exchanging glances of confusion, Swift Roller shed tears of relief. “Thank you, so much. For saving my friends.”
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“You know, Jungle. If I’m being entirely honest, they aren’t the worst foxholes I’ve seen.”
Standing over the array of ‘defensive positions’, if they could be called that, Jungle Trek and Dobbelsteen could only keep their heads on a swivel as they looked over the outline of the encampment. The hundred or so ponies were all gathered around, with the newly arrived members of the returning platoon finally getting something to eat.
The Griffon, on the other hoof, only watched.
“We’ll get them on the move before sunset.” The blue earth pony beside Moerman said. “Moving at night will attract far less attention. We should be able to make Salt Lick City before long, and get them proper rest.”
“Where were your officers?” Moerman asked, turning to Trek. “Out of this entire excursion, the only leader I’ve been able to come across is you. Not to say the soldiers are incapable of it in their own right, but… were you not outfitted with any designated commanders?”
Jungle only sighed. “Our officer corps was heavily staffed, but we rarely ever saw them. The Militia itself was commanded by a pony to this day we’ve never met, and we’re not even sure existed in the first place.” Kicking a pebble underneath his hoof, his gaze turned to the soldiers. “Most of the officers are in Canterlot, Major.”
Dobbelsteen kept his gaze on Jungle Trek for the moment, before reaching into his uniform and withdrawing a small notebook. Scribbling down on it, he attracted the curious gaze of Trek.
“...What are you writing?”
“In the absence of leadership, Jungle, take charge.” Ripping out the piece of paper, he handed over what looked like a diagram to Jungle Trek. “Keep your Platoon in this spot. I’m taking the two others and stationing them along the river.” He withdrew a small watch from his uniform. “From now until 1900, we are going to each Platoon and teaching them how to establish a Patrol Base one by one.”
Jungle Trek tilted his head. “A patrol base? That’s… that’s oddly specific, don't you think?”
The Griffon shook his head. “A safe place to sleep covers a wide variety of topics. Security, the importance of spacing between positions, how to properly construct defensive positions, how to use camouflage, intersecting fields of fire, all sorts of things.” He nodded to himself. “It’ll get the ball rolling and give them foundations to build their skills upon.”
“Sounds good to me.” Jungle Trek slung his rifle over his back once more. “I’ll push that out to everypony.”
“...Question, Trek.”
The pony’s ears twitched. “Hm?”
“Who is in charge of the Officer Academy in Equestria?”
“Field Marshal Blueblood, Major.”
“...Outstanding.”
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July 2nd 1010, 22:32
2nd Night Guard Artillery Division
150 km North of Vanhoover
“Our Scout Platoons have been engaged in combat no more than ten kilometers north of this position, Selenite.” Thunderbolt Sentinel spoke to the short bat pony, yet his eyes peeked over the horizon from the trench. Giving up on peering through the pitch-black night, his gaze fully turned over towards her. “Elvir Roland has a habit of advancing his armor in the night.”
“Smart move on his part. General Roland has to know your trench lines have been constructed, and assaulting them in the day is an unnecessary risk.” Examining the rolled-up papers in her hoof, she quickly stowed them into her uniform. “My division has almost finished its deployment. Either at your signal or by midnight, we will commence our fire on these positions.”
Thunderbolt adjusted the helmet covering his black and yellow mane. “It’s quite the miracle you managed to arrive here on such short notice.” He tilted his head. “Are you sure area strikes such as this will work?”
“Though they aren’t my preferred choice of engagement, they are well suited for this situation.” She brushed aside her silver mane in the moonlight, as the two Officers noticed hoof steps coming down the trench line. “They should shake up Roland’s plans. Striking the roads he uses ought to slow him down.”
With the sound of hoof steps, Private Arrow came into vision, her gray coat not much unlike Selenites, only a tad brighter. Plucking a letter from her teeth with her hoof, she spoke. “General Selenite, telegraph.”
Selenite tilted her head. “...Moerman?”
The three ponies trotted off further back into the trench lines, into a small bunker. Thunderbolt Sentinel could hardly prevent himself from smiling at how well his defenses came together, but as Arrow sat at the station, placing her hoof over the messenger.
Selenite’s hooves began unfolding the paper, as she spoke to Thunderbolt. “Major Moerman is a Griffon sent by Princess Twilight. He’s a commando from the Empire, and went north to try and find any Border guard regiments still intact.”
Sentinel gave a quizzical look. “...The Empire?”
Selenite cleared her throat. “Relinked with Fairflanks Militia, STOP. Entire Company at my disposal, STOP.” She squinted, before looking at Arrow. “Why does it keep saying ‘STOP’?”
“That’s, uh…” She pointed with her hoof. “Not part of the message. It’s a break between sentences.”
“...Oh.” Selenite continued. “Heading North with Company at 04:30, Soldiers need rest until then after the retreat, STOP. Will deploy before Sunrise to guard as we planned, STOP.” Looking up from the letter, Selenite leaned towards the machine. “How recent is this message?”
“Two minutes, General.”
“Telegraph Moerman back, from General Selenite. He must deploy as soon as possible. The barrage will begin within the hour. Roland is no doubt going to try and try a probing flank before sunrise.”
With the tap of her hoof, Arrow sent the message across the waves. Waiting in silence for a moment, her ears perked up once more. “I’ve got a response!”
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“...Are you kidding me?”
Dobbelsteen Moerman looked up from the telegraph and over to Berry Twist, who sat at the telegraph station inside what could only be described as a spacious shed, with the rest of the company outside. “She wants our company to move, now?”
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“These Soldiers are barely trained, STOP. Cannot send them to their deaths, STOP. Cannot make road march in time, STOP.”
Arrow cautiously looked from the message over to the two Generals behind her. Thunderbolt Sentinel merely cleared his throat, but General Selenite narrowed her eyes. “Private Arrow, ask Moerman if he’s in the Air Force.”
“...What?”
“Do it.”
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Moerman was refilling his bandoliers with ammunition, letting out a sigh. “...Maybe. If she really-” He stopped at the sound of the telegraph printing out once more. “What’s it say, Trek?”
Jungle glanced at the telegraph, before clearing his throat. “I, uh… I don’t know.”
“...You can read, right, Jungle?” Moerman paused, turning away from his ammunition. “...Right?”
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“Will make it happen, STOP. Will use vehicles to deploy no later than 0200. Best I can do, STOP.”
Arrow turned back in her chair. “That’s the end of the message, General.” Her eyes went from Selenite over to Sentinel, who only raised an eyebrow at both the message and General Selenite.
“A company?” He turned, “I must agree with whoever's on the other side of this message, General Selenite. The forest is an extremely good advantage, but hardly enough to hold with three or four rifle platoons.”
Selenite adjusted her uniform. “Major Moerman has assured me he can do so. He is concerned with the timeline, and as strenuous as it is, I know he can make it work.” She cleared her throat. “Telegraph Moerman. A ‘Thank you’ will suffice.”
Sentinel stepped forward. “Selenite. They’re Border Guards. My soldiers aren’t exactly the warriors of the Night Guard, but the soldiers this ‘Moerman’ has, if you can call them that, hardly know how to fire their rifles. If they’re untrained as they are, it could severely endanger your position and that of the Night Guard.”
The Silver manned bat pony stared ahead. “I appreciate your concern, but the Night Guard will carry out its tasks as we promised. Holding Vanhoover for as long as possible is our only priority.” Regarding Sentinel with a nod, she spoke with an aura of confidence.
“The Border Guard is hardly trained, of course… but with Moerman? Not for long.”
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Walking out of the spacious shed with Berry Twist at his side, Dobbelsteen Moerman adjusted the bandoliers across his body and under his wings as he crossed paths with Jungle Trek, now walking alongside him. “How are we looking?”
“All up and accounted for within six minutes. We’ve found some vehicles from the city that were left behind in the evacuation, and we can fit the whole Company using about six of those.”
Moerman adjusted the grip of the lever action in his claw, slinging that across his dark green uniform. “How are they feeling?”
“Exhausted, frankly. They feel like they haven't stopped moving since the start, despite the hour nap they recently got.” Trek clipped his helmet onto his head. “They’ll shake out of it, Moerman.”
As the Platoons filed past into their respective vehicles, most notably two vans, a bus, and three trucks used for hauling materials, Dobbelsteen stopped and began to speak.
“COMPANY!”
At the abrupt call, the whole gathering of soldiers, Jungle Trek at his side included, halted and turned their gazes to the Griffon. Even though the city lights of Salt Lick were shut off, the moonlight gave off enough illumination to show Moerman and shine on the brass buttons of his uniform.
“We’re heading back into that forest. One hundred kilometers west of here, General Selenite is deploying with the Second Night Guard Artillery Division, to shell the tanks of the Changeling Army to a halt.” He adjusted the sunglasses on his beak. “She can only accomplish this if we prevent the enemy from getting within striking distance of her guns.”
He gazed up and down the small convoy. “Vanhoover only has the amount of time we give it. Our role in this operation is critical. I will be there with you every step of the way to help you accomplish this.”
“...Is that understood, Company?”
“YES SIR!” The occupants of the vehicles, though weary from the long days as evident from the bags under their eyes, broke out into the affirmative. With a nod, Major Dobbelsteen turned over to Jungle Trek with a smile.
“Outstanding.”