//------------------------------// // Chapter 6 // Story: The Griffon War: A Soldier's Memoirs // by Dusk Quill //------------------------------// The road to Midgard was shorter than Fleethoof had been expecting. The ponies arrived by mid afternoon a few days later. The small squad rose at the crack of dawn, a blood red sun rising across the land. He found it hard not to take it as an omen. Perhaps Celestia had been honoring the fallen over the past few days. The expansive city looked similar to Skyfall, but wider instead of stacked, and built of different stones. It sat on one of the flat plateaus of the highlands with several main roads connected at the city, spanning in each cardinal direction from it. The sky around the metropolis was hazy with smoke. The smell of gunpowder and burning debris filled the air, and dark storm clouds had begun to gather overhead. Two things struck Fleethoof right away: the lack of ongoing combat and the absence of any signs of life. Bodies littered the fields outside the city. He could only imagine what the inside of the city looked like, but there were no soldiers fighting, no ponies running about on the ground or griffons in the air. Everything was quiet, as if the battle had ended long ago. It was abundantly clear that 2nd Company had decided not to wait for them. The squad sat atop one of the hills surrounding the city, gearing up as Captain Phalanx finished fixing a second silver band to both Fleethoof’s and Shining Armor’s outfits with his magic. He stood up and walked over to the cart, grabbing his helmet and a rifle. “It seems like we missed quite a party, everypony,” he said, loading a magazine into his rifle and chambering the first round. “Some party…” Valiant muttered in reply, shaking his head as he observed the city. “Where is everypony, sir?” Shining Armor asked. “I thought we were supposed to meet the others here.” “We were. They’ve already gone about their business, it seems,” said Captain Phalanx. He slid his helmet on. “They probably began the assault days ago. But we still have a job to do here. Let’s make sure the city is clear before we move on to Asgard and meet up with the others.” Phalanx set off down the cobblestone road toward the city, everypony else following behind him in loose lines. The sight before them was dark. The grass was stained red almost everywhere with blood, the walls of the city were damaged, and the gates were blown apart and charred. Flickering flames could be seen inside and across the city as buildings and homes burned. Fleethoof tried to hold his breath as they made their way into the city, the stench of the dead and burned gunpowder rank in the air around the fields. Inside wasn’t much better. Corpses of every kind lay strewn about the plaza by the gate, more griffon than pony. The houses around them made of wood were either badly damaged or burnt to the ground, the blackened, smoldering skeletons of wood left in their wake. The squad progressed slowly down the main thoroughfare, covering all sides as they moved. They stepped with care past any fallen soldiers on the ground. Fleethoof was surprised that 2nd Company had left their dead behind and abandoned the city in such a hurry. What could have caused them to take off like that? he wondered. The soft sounds of their hooves on the stones mixed with the distant fires crackling, making the entire atmosphere creepy and unsettling. A sudden loud crash beside them made Valiant jump and everypony turn, weapons raised, as they watched a burning house collapse in on itself. Fleethoof breathed a sigh of relief and then carried on. The road was long with lots of structures on either side for enemies to hide in. They finally came across a massive plaza square, spanning dozens of yards across. Tall buildings dominated the area, glass storefronts smashed in and the stonework chipped and broken. Doors were kicked in, and dead bodies lay across the cobblestone and through windows, scattered everywhere and anywhere they looked. “Check the stores. There might be some stragglers scavenging for supplies,” Captain Phalanx said, then added, “and be careful. We don’t know what’s out here.” Fleethoof broke off from the group with Valiant and another pony at his side. They walked past a couple stores, looking through the broken windows as they went. They came to one that was completely boarded up, its door still intact and unharmed. Fleethoof motioned with his head. Valiant and the pony took up position on either side of the door. With a swift buck of his hind legs, the door flew inward and the two rushed in, guns raised. A set of screams came from inside. When Fleethoof entered, he saw three griffons huddled behind the counter of the store, holding each other close. One couldn’t have been more than a hatchling. He guessed they were the family that owned the store. “P-Please, don’t hurt us!” the male begged, raising his talon to shield his family. “Lower your weapons,” Fleethoof spoke, and the two obeyed. He blinked for a moment. Had he just given his first order? He shook it off. “Leave them be. Let’s keep moving.” “There’s still some civilians in the city, Captain!” Fleethoof called out to Phalanx once they had stepped outside. “Check your fire, everypony!” The search resumed, but all that turned up were more bodies and destruction. The squad regrouped, each soldier wearing the same look of concern and confusion as one another. They were losing daylight. 2nd Company had surely moved on, leaving them Celestia knew how far behind. “So what do we do now? Keep searching the city?” asked Shining Armor. “I think we’ll just find more bodies and scared civvies,” Fleethoof said. Phalanx pursed his lips, eyes distant, deep in thought. Just as the captain himself was about to give up on Midgard, a volley of shots was heard across the city. Fleethoof’s ears perked up. He recognized that kind of gunfire. Those were their rifles. There were still ponies in the city. “Did you hear that?” Valiant asked. “You bet I did,” Captain Phalanx said. “Squad, move! Get over there, double time!” “They came from this way!” said one of the ponies as he took off towards the sounds, everypony else close on his tail. For once since they’d left Skyfall, Fleethoof began to feel a glimmer of hope in his heart. Other ponies meant that there was a chance 2nd Company was still around. That meant they’d have reinforcements, and they could press onward, away from any hot spots. The ponies followed the main street again, trying to get their bearings and figure out where the shots had come from. More shots were fired much closer this time. Phalanx took off down one of the side roads, leading the others in the direction the sounds came from. Fleethoof felt his spirits begin to lift. It was the first time he had ever been excited to hear shooting before. Down the road, around another corner, more road, and down another side street. The group came to a pile of smoldering stone rubble. A powerful explosive force had leveled the building. Everypony stood still, breathing hard, listening all the while. It was quiet again. Fleethoof closed his eyes, hoping for one more round to go off. Just one more. They were so close. Bang! The sound was from the opposite side of the rubble. Shining Armor was the first to act, surging forward and climbing up the debris as fast as he could. Fleethoof took off after him, followed by Valiant, then everypony else. It wasn’t too much of a struggle to reach the top of the pile, no more than hanging from a bridge had been. Valiant arrived at the peak first, his wings giving him an advantage. “I see them! Seven ponies!” he said down to the other ponies as they clambered upward. Reaching the top, Fleethoof was finally able to get a view of the situation—and of the city. Houses and buildings ran in a gridlock pattern all around. Off a few blocks away, a church sat unscathed, its tall tower reaching well above the other establishments. He’d never figured the griffons to be religious, and wondered for a moment what they worshipped. Below them ran a waterway, a bridge spanning across its length to another street. On that street opposite of them were the seven ponies, armed for bear. “Hey! Over here!” Valiant shouted to them, waving his hooves in wide angles to get their attention. “Sergeant Armor, take two ponies and go lead them around to us,” Captain Phalanx said. Shining Armor nodded and motioned to two ponies nearest him before sliding down the rubble to the street below. Fleethoof swallowed hard. He didn’t like bridges anymore, and was glad the captain hadn’t asked him to go. “Heeeeeey!” Valiant yelled louder this time. That got their attention. Shining Armor and the others had just reached the bridge. The ponies on the other side waved their hooves in an exaggerated panic and shouted something back, but they were too far away. Phalanx mimed the action of not being able to hear them, and they shouted again. With a groan of frustration, he tugged his helmet off and put a hoof to his ear. “What?” he yelled. “It's a trap!” Boom! Fleethoof recoiled as the bridge exploded before their eyes, feeling his heart sink and his blood run cold. Thick smoke blocked their vision, making it impossible to see what had happened down there. “Shining!” Fleethoof cried out in fear, searching in vain through the dense smoke. “Shining Armor!” He looked anxiously to Captain Phalanx, waiting for some kind of reassurance or direction. The captain’s eyes were wide, and he simply stared in horror, guilt darkening his gaze. Then the smoke began to dissipate. All three ponies could be seen on the other side of the destroyed bridge, rising to their hooves, albeit slowly. They were still alive. Fleethoof gave a weak chuckle of relief and a shallow inhale, allowing himself to smile a little. The other ponies rushed over to help them get back up. Captain Phalanx opened his mouth to say something when more shooting broke the stillness. Bullets ripped through the air and struck the ground near the ponies across the waterway. They returned fire at their unseen foes, but the gunshots were unmistakable. There were still griffon troops in the city. “Everypony, listen up,” Phalanx said with panicked urgency. “We need to—” A distant crack was heard, and the stallion's head snapped backward with a splatter of gore. His body went tense before collapsing to the rubble. Fleethoof felt his heart stop beating. He stared down at his officer, too shocked and stupefied to do anything. A bullet wound ran straight through the pony’s forehead, blood pooling out beneath his skull. His eyes stared up at the sky, glassy and devoid of life. Captain Phalanx had been killed. Fleethoof could feel his lungs aching and realized he wasn’t breathing anymore. The sounds of the firefight were distant again, lost in a haze. He couldn’t stop staring at the body of his captain. What had just happened? “Sniper!” Valiant all but screamed, tackling the immobilized pony down while everypony dove behind the rubble for cover as another bullet hit near them. Fleethoof snapped back into reality in that moment, collapsing beside the corpse of Phalanx. He grasped the captain's uniform and shook him, trying to get him back up. “Captain! Come on, Captain, get up! You have to get up!” he cried out, shaking him with more force. “We need orders! We need you! You have to get up now!” Fleethoof received no response from the body. He could feel wetness welling up in his eyes as cold fear gripped at his soul. He didn't feel the tears as they cut through the thin fur on his cheeks. His stomach twisted into knots again, and he shook the body violently. “Captain! Captain Phalanx! Get up! Get up!” he begged, tears running down his face without hindrance now. “You have to get up!” “Fleethoof—” Valiant started, reaching toward the distraught pony. “We’re not leaving you, Captain! Get up! Tell us what to do!” “Fleethoof—” “Captain, please!” “Fleethoof!” Valiant grabbed the pony by the shoulders, jerking him around to face him. “He’s gone! I’m sorry, but he’s dead! There’s nothing we can do for him now!” “But he can’t be! We need an officer!” he said, voice choking up a bit. “You’re in charge now, Fleethoof! You’re the highest rank here, so you’re the officer now!” Fleethoof felt a pressure weigh down on him all at once, crushing his spirit. His breathing stopped again when he looked around at the other ponies. Valiant was right—they were all lower than he was. He was the highest rank as of today—he was the new commanding officer. “What do we do now, Sergeant?” Valiant asked, gripping his rifle and giving the shaken pony a look that spoke volumes of pure loyalty. Fleethoof looked around at each pony’s face, some burning with the want to act, others as shell shocked as he felt. All of them wore the same worried look. He was now responsible for each face. Every life was now in his hooves. He felt like he was going to throw up. His hooves were shaking, and he’d broken out into a cold sweat. The sounds of combat echoed all around him like a symphony of death. Run. One simple instinctive reflex burned into his mind. The natural fight or flight response. He had to protect everypony. He had to protect himself. But the ponies across the waterway needed his help. They were in danger, and they could end up like Captain Phalanx at any moment. Run. He felt hooves tugging him back down the rubble until his hooves hit the street below again. His mind tried its hardest to process what was happening, that he was now in charge, but it was struggling. The gears ground against themselves. He felt violently sick and unstable. Fleethoof stumbled over to a structure, resting his hooves against a broken window for support as he dry heaved a few times, breathing hard to try to steady himself. He had responsibilities now. Grave responsibilities. He had to get everypony out. He knew what he had to do, even as he took another long look at the faces before him. Another sniper shot ricocheted off a slab of rock beside his head, making everypony cringe back in fear. A couple even dropped to the ground. He could see the fear in their eyes. They were just as scared as he was. It wasn’t about him. Alone, he didn’t matter. He had to be brave—for them. Run. No. “W-We have to get behind better cover. Work our w-way around to the others,” he said while trying to keep his shaking voice as steady as possible. “We’ll come back for the dead, but we have to get out right now!” “Hooah!” a couple of ponies shouted as the broken squad made their way back down to the street below. Fleethoof took one last look at his fallen captain before swallowing back his terror and making his way toward his troops. The ponies were waiting for him, already looking to him for direction. Fleethoof motioned back the way they had come and they took off down the street, hugging the walls of the buildings as they went and checking every corner. Each time they got a glimpse of the waterway, they could see the other ponies running from cover to cover, returning fire and fighting for their lives. The sight urged Fleethoof on. He didn’t have time to care about his fear anymore. Ponies needed him and he had to get to them at any cost. He was a soldier of Equestria. He was going to do his nation proud. The squad made their way down the street until they came to another bridge. Fleethoof froze in fear for a moment, then took a deep breath and forced himself to run across it, his apprehensive team following behind him one at a time. Another distant crack was heard and the cobblestone beside Fleethoof exploded in a cloud of dust. He grit his teeth and pressed on. Halfway across now. Another gunshot in the distance. Fleethoof felt a sudden pressure hit his head and knock him off his hooves. He grunted and gasped as the wind was knocked from him, his helmet ringing and rattling his brain inside his skull. Everything was blurred and spinning, and the sergeant was suddenly very dizzy. He could see shapes of ponies rush past him to the other side. “Get up! C’mon, get up, Fleet!” Valiant’s voice was next to him, and then he was hauled to his hooves again. Valiant was beside him and tugging him along as they ran safely to the other side before Fleethoof collapsed against the side of a building. He pulled his helmet off and inspected the side, noticing a new, deep dent in the side of it. The sniper had landed a perfect headshot. What Phalanx had removed had just barely saved his life. “Fuck, that hurt…” Fleethoof muttered, rubbing the side of his aching head. His heart was beating so hard he thought it might burst. “That was a close call,” a pony said. “You okay, Sarge?” “Yeah, I-I’m fine,” replied Fleethoof and slipped his helmet back on. He went for his rifle, hearing the sound of gunfire close by. “Come on, we gotta get to the others, now!” The ponies were bolting down a nearby alleyway and down a parallel side street. The more they ran, the louder the shooting became until they were right up on it. Fleethoof motioned to a door; Valiant bucked it in. It appeared to be the stockroom of a store. The soldiers swarmed in, rushing around to the front. Fleethoof leaped over the counter, spotting the attacking griffons passing by the storefront at that instant. He gave the only command he could think of. “Open fire!” Rifles fired through the glass into the griffons on the street. The griffons recoiled, screeching and crying out in surprise as they dropped one by one until only a couple survivors took to the air, out of sight. Fleethoof burst through the door to the street, watching as the other squad picked them off before they could get away. He looked down at the corpses, the familiar numbness coming over him. He’d ordered their deaths… but he had to. His friends, his comrades, would’ve been killed otherwise. It didn’t matter how he felt. “Is this everypony that’s left?” he asked. “Who’s in charge in this squad?” “I am now,” Shining Armor said. “They’re a recon team from 2nd Company, sent to find us. Their CO was picked off when we heard the shooting way back.” “The company was heading up toward Asgard,” one of the ponies from 2nd Company said. “There was only a small force here, so the captain thought most of their troops were holed up at the capital.” Fleethoof nodded, then looked at Shining Armor as he searched their squad, looking at every face. “Where’s Captain Phalanx?” Shining Armor asked. Fleethoof didn’t say a word, but his dark eyes told the entire story. “Oh…” “We have to get out of this city and meet up with 2nd Company,” said Fleethoof. “But that sniper’s got the city locked down. We can’t get out unless we get rid of him first.” “I can take care of that.” A new voice caught Fleethoof’s attention. A blue unicorn pony standing a full head shorter than he did stepped forward. He wore a wry, cocky smile on his face. Dusty sunglasses rested above his brow. A single red crosshair was his cutie mark. “The name’s Shot, Sharp Shot. Corporal, 2nd Company, and it’d be my pleasure to make that griffon dead,” he introduced himself with a casual salute. “That griffon’s a good shot,” warned Fleethoof. Sharp Shot grinned wider and lifted his scoped rifle up. “I’m a better one.” His ego surprised Fleethoof. He remained doubtful. He’d seen enough ponies die. “We don’t even know where he is.” “That’s why it’ll be your job to flush him out,” Sharp Shot said, catching the sergeant off guard with his bluntness. “You start making your way out of the city. When he shoots, I’ll find him, and I’ll get him.” Again, Fleethoof looked to Shining Armor, a questioning look in his eyes. Shining just shrugged. “We don’t have much option,” he pointed out. Fleethoof took a deep breath and managed a reluctant tip of his head. “All right, Sharp Shot. Let’s see what you can do. What do you need us to do?” “Just keep running. I’ll find a good spot and cover you,” said Sharp Shot, and then took off down the road. “You wanna head one way and we’ll go the other? Keep the buzzard distracted until he’s gone.” Shining Armor gave his confident smile and determined gaze. “We’ll make for the north gate, and you head to where we came in. You can pick up Sharp Shot, and then we’ll all meet up back at Asgard.” “Sounds like a plan to me,” Fleethoof agreed. He paused. “Shining, watch yourself out there. You’ve got a family to go home to.” Before he could react, Fleethoof felt himself pulled into an embrace with his friend. He smiled and hugged Shining Armor back, his worries vanishing for one brief moment. “Don’t worry about me. I’m always careful,” he said, flashing a smile. “You take care of yourself, Fleet. You’ve got others to look after now. “You do too, my friend,” Fleethoof said after the two pulled apart. “Now go! We’ve got your backs!” Shining nodded and took off down the road away from him just as rain began to fall from the dark sky. Fleethoof watched him go until he had vanished from sight before leading his squad the opposite way. They hugged a turn and ran out into the open. All at once, he heard another far off gunshot and saw a piece of stone fly up past his face. He winced, but kept on running. “Come on! Move faster!” he called back to the others as another gunshot broke off a piece of the fence he was running past. And then he was back behind cover, safe—for the moment. One by one, everypony else caught up, hiding behind overturned carts, broken pieces of building, and anything else they could use as cover. They heard another shot, and then another. The sniper was shooting at Shining Armor now. “Keep moving! Go! Go!” he ordered while ducking out of cover and bolting down the road. There was a lull in the shooting, and then another bullet whizzed by his ear. He could feel it tear through the air beside his head. He ducked lower and slid across the wet ground behind a statue. He watched the rest of his squad run past, motioning with a hoof for them to keep going. Each pony made it behind another row of buildings a block away. They were safe. Fleethoof’s blue eyes scanned the rooftops, feeling his heart race. Where was Sharp Shot? The shooting resumed. He broke from cover and the shooting turned his way again. Sharp Shot grunted as he forced open the hatch to the store’s loft. He scurried up into the musty attic, peering around in the dim light that spilled through gaps in the weathered roof. This building had been one of the few with an actual attic, and it provided the best view of the city to boot. He’d been listening to the griffon sniper shooting, each bullet making his heart skip a beat. Each one meant somepony could’ve been killed. That meant one more failure on his part. He crawled over through the narrow space to one of the small windows and broke it open with the butt of his rifle. He rested his weapon against the windowsill, keeping it steady as he lay prone, listening and watching to everything. “Where are you, you son of a bitch…?” he whispered to himself in the dark, green eyes scouring the roofs for where he would have picked to shoot from. There were a couple of good locations, but only one offered perfect command of the city: the church tower in the center of Midgard. No sooner had he realized this, he heard another shot and saw a brief flash from one of the church windows. His eyes widened and a grin spread across his lips. Gotcha! Sharp Shot took aim through his scope, finding the church tower again. There were only two windows, so spotting the one was easy. He waited, watching the window, taking deep, slow breaths to keep his hooves steady and calm. Another shot fired. This time he could see the muzzle flash in the window through his scope. He had the griffon dead to rights. But all he could see was the enemy’s weapon. “Come on out… Just a little… Stick your head out, you buzzard bastard… Come oooooon…” “Go! Go!” Fleethoof and his squad sprinted out into the open, charging down the barren street as fast as they could. They’d made it a good way, but with each block they went, he began to feel more and more paranoid. The griffon’s shots were getting closer, like he was unhindered by the rain. He’d almost clipped his flank, and had scuffed Valiant’s saddlebags. They couldn’t keep this us forever. They made it behind some cover without a single shot fired at them. Fleethoof chewed on his lower lip. Was the griffon picking his shots more precisely? Was he taking more accurate aim? “Keep moving!” But as he stood to run again, the ground in front of his hooves kicked up in a burst of dust and dirt. The griffon had him pinned. He winced and recoiled back, watching as his squad took off without him. He was trapped. “Move… Do it… Move… Just a little bit…” The griffon’s talon had become visible now, clutching at his rifle. Just a little more and Sharp Shot would be able to see the griffon’s torso. Maybe not a perfect kill shot, but it would have been good enough. As it was, he was to go wanting. The pony sniper licked his dry lips, feeling his brow damp with sweat as he concentrated on the window. He was so close! What was the griffon waiting for? Then, without warning, the griffon fired another shot, then leaned out the window. Sharp Shot was surprised by such a brazen act of stupidity. That was when he realized the griffon was stabilizing himself for a better shot. Whoever he was aiming at was sure to be dead in a moment. Hooves moving with practiced movements, he swiveled the rifle until the crosshair was across the griffon’s head. He ran through the ballistics in his head in a fraction of a second. A triumphant smile replaced his grin while his hoof found the trigger. “Bye bye, birdie…” Fleethoof sat pinned behind what little shelter he had. The statue of some important griffon figure only offered so much protection, and he didn’t know how visible he was. He realized he only had two options: take a chance and run or cower and die. Taking a deep breath, he rose to his hooves and leaped out into the open. Bang! A distant gunshot. But it was in the wrong direction of the others. He didn’t stop to ponder on it though. He heard gunshots further down in the city and he wasn't dead. He had to get back to his team. Fleethoof ran down the streets until he saw the rest of his squad. They had made it back to the main thoroughfare and were hustling back toward the western gate. But he couldn’t leave with them yet. He pulled a small flare out of his saddlebag and ignited it. The red light burned bright in the rain. He waved it about for a bit before setting it down in the road and taking cover in a nearby building. Sharp Shot had to have seen that. He waited, and waited. The minutes that passed felt like ages. It grew darker outside while the rain grew heavier. Fleethoof shivered, chilled to the bone from the damp uniform clinging to his muscles and the cold. Before long, he saw a silhouetted shape appear around the flare, and he made his way out to the street—only to hear a gunshot to his side. He jumped back in shock and leveled his rifle at the shooter. At the other end of his barrel stood Sharp Shot, handgun in his grip, illuminated by the flare’s glow. He looked back to the other figure in surprise and saw the dead griffon. How many of them were there left in the city? “Thanks for waiting to pick me up, Mom,” Sharp Shot said with a trace of a smirk. “I told you I’d get that griffon for you.” “Yeah, thanks,” replied a surprisingly collected Fleethoof, not sure what else to say. “Come on, we have to get out of here.” “Let's try to do it sneaky-like, okay? I saw some more griffons around when I was making my way over here and I'd love to not be dead.” Fleethoof nodded. “Let’s keep it low and quiet then,” he said, flicking his head in the direction of an alley. “Let’s go.” The two ponies made their way alongside the street through alleyways. The darkness and rain masked their movements, leaving them free to move about as they pleased. The city was quiet again. It spooked Fleethoof. He didn’t like the silence any more than he liked bridges. Making their way to the gate wasn’t difficult, but once they got there, they found a trio of griffon soldiers standing guard at the gate. Two more patrolled the square, looking for the ponies, no doubt. Their golden armor glinted faintly in the light from the streetlamps: elite soldiers. “How many did your company leave alive?” Fleethoof asked, giving Sharp Shot a condescending look. “Why don’t you ask how many I personally left alive?” he snapped in retort. “None. Zero. Zip.” “Well good for you.” Fleethoof glowered out at the infantry. “We’ve gotta get past them somehow…” He thought for a good, long moment, analyzing his surroundings and every option. They were outnumbered and overpowered, but right now they had the element of surprise. All the sergeant could think of was one solution. “Wait for my signal, then make a break for the gate,” he murmured to the sharpshooter. He pulled at the bandages wrapped around his wing till they gave way. The cool rain felt nice against his feathers after their time under wraps. He then rose to his hooves with slow grace and stepped out of their hiding spot. He could hear Sharp Shot hissing something at him—probably trying to get him to come back—but it was in vain. The pony stepped onto the street and into the light, his hooves shaking with each step. He was fully aware that each step could be his last. But he had to face his fears; he had to find some courage. This was war. The time for him to stop acting like a foal was now. The griffons spotted him when he came within a couple of meters, turning and staring in disbelief. “Hey, you! Pony!” one called out, drawing his sidearm and turning menacingly toward him. “Where do you think you’re going?” Fleethoof stared the griffon down as his allies turned, taking a deep breath as he tried to act like Phalanx. He had to be like the captain now. No more excuses. He brought his rifle up in a flurry of movement and fired two shots into the griffon as his enemy tried to raise his pistol, killing him instantly. That caught the attention of the others in a flash. He fired two more shots into another before taking off into the air, hearing the shouts and the shooting behind him. Putting all of his faith into his wing, Fleethoof flew through the dark air, navigating mostly by the streetlamps down below. His wing ached a little, but it didn’t hurt to fly anymore. He smiled, and then he laughed. The feeling of being airborne again was liberating, and the cool mist of rain against his coat washed the sweat and grime from his body. And then he heard another gunshot behind him and felt a bullet nip past his flank, reminding him of the peril he was in. A quick glance back confirmed his suspicions: the three griffons were pursuing him through the air. He grit his teeth as another bullet rushed by, much too close for comfort, and beat his wings harder, trying to get away. He was fast, but the griffons were faster, and were quickly closing the gap between them. He zigzagged around buildings and ruins in the dark, narrowly dodging fallen columns as he took off through the labyrinth of streets. He was afraid to fly above the buildings. Going into open air would make him a vulnerable target. He put all of his faith into the gridlock of the city—and in his aim. Turning over in midair wasn’t an easy feat—in meant Fleethoof wouldn’t be able to see where he was flying—but another close bullet left him with no choice. He flipped over, facing his pursuers, and fired a volley of bullets at them. Several times he heard the sound of metal hitting metal, but not once did they go down. He clenched his teeth. He forgot they were all clad in heavy armor. He turned back over just in time to see the black silhouette of a building veering closer. He took a sharp turn in the air and rushed down another street, hearing the griffons shout out behind him. The rain was getting heavier, on its way to becoming blinding. Dangerous flying weather, but he had no choice. Fleethoof rolled over again and fired until his magazine went dry. This time, as he fired his last shot, he heard the agonized screech of a wounded griffon, and saw one of his enemies spiral out of control, crashing head first into a building, most likely dead upon impact. He grinned—then lost his victorious smile. There was only one griffon on his tail. Where was the other one? A roar above him answered his question. He looked up in time to see a griffon dive-bomb him, sending both warriors spiraling out of control in midair. Fleethoof grunted and tried to push the griffon off, hooves struggling against talons as they fought each other’s might. After what felt much too long for comfort, he managed to slip a hoof free and delivered his hardest blow he could manage across the griffon’s beak. He heard his opponent caw, then felt a hard skull smack into his. The griffon head-butted him. Fleethoof saw stars as they spun in the air. A powerful punch across his jaw sent his mind reeling into darkness for a split second. When he snapped back, a brief flash of lightning illuminated the area for him. He was still grappling with the griffon—but he could see a building behind him, and they were headed right into it. He braced himself just as they made impact, hearing glass shatter and then felt his shoulder smack into solid ground. The griffon was torn away from him while he tumbled about for a bit before coming to a stop on his side. Another lightning bolt lit up the building. It looked like a library of sorts. Fleethoof grunted as he struggled to his hooves, his entire body aching and sore. The library was dead silent. Only the rhythmic rainfall broke the quiet with constant white noise. Thunder rumbled overhead as the pony got back up, breathing hard and trying to look around while his eyes adjusted to the dark. He couldn't hear or see anything. No sooner had Fleethoof gotten up, he felt a strong arm wrap around his neck from behind and squeeze down hard. He gasped and choked as his airflow was cut off in an instant and he was lifted off the ground, his hooves kicking in the air in a panic. His forelegs scrabbled at the arm holding him in a chokehold, trying desperately to pry himself to freedom as his lungs burned for oxygen. “Shh, shh… Just give in, pony…” a cold, snide voice whispered into his ear from behind, the soothing voice trying to lull him to his doom. “It’s all over now… Just—grrr, just go to sleep…” Fleethoof’s heart pounded in terror in his head. Adrenaline rushed through his veins, fighting to keep him conscious and alive. His vision was beginning to blur into indistinct shapes and his body was overcome with a tingling numbness and dizziness as his brain began to shut down. He felt the arm around his throat squeeze a little tighter and knew the end would be coming soon. “That's it, pony... That's it... Sleep... Sleep and die...” Just as the sergeant’s heart started to slow to dangerous levels, he let a hoof drop from its frantic struggle down to his waist, feeling around until he bumped the cold metal grip of his handgun. Fighting just to stay awake, he struggled to draw it a few times before it finally came out of its holster with a snap. He lifted his hoof, pressing the muzzle of the firearm into the griffon’s elbow, and squeezed the trigger. A satisfying gunshot rang out in the library, followed by a shrill screech of pain. Fleethoof felt the pressure around his neck disappear and he met the floor hard. He gasped, drawing in huge lungfuls of air at a time, coughing and choking while he crawled away from the griffon. His chest felt like it was on fire and his lungs hurt with every breath, but he was alive. The griffon growled and roared. The pony heard heavy footfalls pounding across the floor and looked up. The griffon was charging him. He lifted his pistol, but the griffon got there first, pinning the pony’s hoof as he fired a shot harmlessly into the floorboards and then tossing him clear across the room. Fleethoof cried out in pain as his body impacted with a bookcase. He fell to the floor, books pummeling him from above. The griffon growled like a wild animal again as he grabbed the pony’s fallen pistol, racking it and turning to approach his opponent. He could see the pony crawling across the floor behind a desk near where they had crashed. He grinned. He had him now. “I gotta give you credit, for a pony, you’re pretty tough,” the griffon menaced, savoring his moment of victory. “But you’re still a worthless, pathetic waste of a life. And now it’s time for you to lose.” He approached the desk, just a few steps away—and saw the pegasus leap up out of cover. In his hooves, Fleethoof clutched the griffon’s fallen rifle. He fired a single shot into the griffon’s chest. His enemy lurched backwards, collapsing atop another desk and dying with a rattling exhale.  The sergeant dropped the enemy’s weapon with a heavy sigh, approaching the body and prying his handgun out of its talons with some effort. Down beneath his hooves, Fleethoof heard wood smashing inward and glanced down at the floor. Muted sounds of footsteps and talons on wood came from the floor below, making their way around. Fleethoof held his breath. It was the last griffon looking for them. He stood still as a statue, trying to keep quiet while listening to the griffon stumble about downstairs for a while. And then everything went still. No movement was heard from downstairs. Fleethoof could scarcely breathe. His body was tense, taut up in an attempt to resist moving. Time passed by like eons. Nothing but the rain could be heard. … … … … Thump. Fleethoof all but jumped out of his skin as something made a noise beside him. He turned on his heels and saw the griffon’s body now slumped across the floor. He must have been sliding off the desk when he’d retrieved his gun from the corpse. Below him, he could hear the sound of footfalls again, running about, then pounding vertically. He traced the sounds with his eyes. The griffon was coming up the stairs. Fleethoof bit his lip and bolted across the room, darting through a section of bookshelves and pressing his back up against them. He heard a door on the other side of the room break in, followed by the inevitable sounds of something hefty walking in. He kept his breathing fast and shallow so as not to make too much noise. Pistol clutched tightly in his hooves, he waited and listened. His rifle was still somewhere out there on the floor. Without it, he suddenly felt very, very vulnerable. The griffon made its way across the floor, strafing as it went. Then a bout of silence fell over the library. Fleethoof tried to figure out what was going on. A snarl, and then the sound of a bolt snapping into place was heard. They must have found the body of her comrade. “I know you’re in here, pony,” the griffon hissed out, her voice low and deadly. “I hear you. I’m gonna gut you for what you did to my friend.” The footsteps were slower now, each one more deliberate. She was hunting him down methodically—all while trying to get inside his head. “You think you can get away from me? Do you know how many of your pony friends I gunned down?” she continued to jeer, moving down through the rows of bookcases now. “Do you want to know how many of them cried? How many begged for mercy out of fear?” Fleethoof bit his lip, feeling bottled emotions welling up inside of him. His grip tightened to the threshold of pain around the grip of his gun. He had to stay calm. “We’re going to win this, you know. You’ve already lost. And when we kill you all, we’ll take Equestria, along with every single worthless pony with it.” His eyes screwed shut, breathing deep and counting numbers in his head to steady himself. He listened to each footstep. She was only a row or two away now. “We’ll kill all of them. The stallions, the mares, and the foals. They’re all going to die because you were nothing more than a bunch of cowards.” One more row… “And they’re going to die painfully and horribly... just like you…” Fleethoof’s eyes snapped open as he heard the griffon come round the corner. He gave a loud battle cry and charged her, catching her off guard as he barreled into her chest. Both creatures went hurdling backwards. There was smashing glass again, and then coldness as they launched back out in the rain. Gravity kicked in, and they fell. Fire burned in Fleethoof's heart as they both flared their wings and took off into the sky again. The griffon shot up like a rocket. Fleethoof had no qualm following her. They were the only two combatants left. Aerial combat didn’t scare him as much anymore. Just above the skyline, she swerved in midair, turning to get a shot off at him, but Fleethoof had been faster than she imagined. As soon as she turned, the pony collided with her, her gun going off and firing a shot into black nothingness. Fleethoof landed a swift right hook across her face and bucked off her chest, sending the avian spiraling through the air and knocking her gun from her grip. Stunned and dizzy, the griffon took a moment to right herself again. That was all Fleethoof needed. Charging into her again, he hit the griffon below her ribcage, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending the two crashing down onto the rooftop of a building. The force knocked them apart, but only Fleethoof was left standing after the fact. He stood over his fallen enemy, jamming the barrel of his gun to the side of her head, pressing her skull firmly against the shingles of the roof. Cold rain poured down across their bodies, a flash of lightning lighting up the anger in the pony’s dark blue eyes. It wasn't enough to extinguish the rage in his soul. “Do it, you pony bastard! Kill me!” the griffon spat out. Her eyes glared daggers up at him. “Pull the damn trigger!” Fleethoof felt his jaw clench and teeth gnash together. He pressed the gun harder against her head, watching how she flinched. Even the freezing rain couldn’t cool his anger. All the emotions he’d been bottling up since his arrival at Skyfall came to a boiling point and were spilling out. Rage, fear, worry, hate, sorrow... “What are you waiting for, coward?! Just get it over with!” He could feel warm tears on his cheeks, a stark contrast to the chilling raindrops. It would be so easy to just pull the trigger and end it all. The griffon would be dead—just another casualty of war, another statistic in a history book. Ponies everywhere would be a little safer. He could kill her right now. He should kill her right now. But he couldn’t. Not like this. He was no murderer. “No,” he said, voice hoarse and just audible over the rain. “I’m not going to kill an unarmed enemy. I am a soldier, but I’m not that kind of pony.” Fleethoof slowly dropped his gun from his foe’s head and sighed, seeing confusion and apprehension in the griffon’s eyes. Just as he started to move off of her, he felt a sharp, stinging pain rip across his chest. He cried out in shock and stumbled back, then looked down. His uniform had been sliced open, and a shallow wound was trickling warm blood across his chest. The griffon rose up, clutching a knife in her talons. “Well I am that kind of griffon!” she shouted and rushed him. Fleethoof fell onto his back and caught the griffon square in the chest with his hooves as she leaped at him, bucking her forwards and tossing her off the edge of the roof. The griffon screeched in surprise as she flew forward, smashing through the dilapidated roof of the neighboring building. Fleethoof made his way to the other roof and looked down the fresh hole in the ceiling. The griffon lay across the floor, a large piece of a broken beam jutting through her chest. She was dead. Fleethoof was breathing hard as he came down from his adrenaline rush, feeling fatigued and sore. His body hurt all over and his chest burned where he'd been cut. He gently lowered himself into the building, shaking the rain from his coat the best he could. With the weather the way it was, it was much too dangerous to try to fly out of Midgard. He’d have to wait out the storm. A quick examination of the building revealed it to be someone’s home. There was a lack of personal mementos and belongings, leading Fleethoof to assume the occupants had evacuated prior to the battle. He made use of the house, finding a basic first aid kit in the bathroom to dress his wounds and some dry food left in the kitchen. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t have agreed with taking others’ supplies, but the situation was anything but ordinary. Making his way to a bedroom, he collapsed onto the mattress and curled up in a blanket. His wet coat started to make him shiver. Lightning flashed and thunder rumbled while the torrential downpour continued outside. He wondered where his squad had gotten to, and if they were waiting for him just outside the city or if they'd left him for dead. Tired and beaten, Fleethoof lay down with his journal and waited for the rain to let up. Somewhere between waiting and writing, he passed out into a fitful sleep. By the time the storm had moved on, the morning sun had broken the veil of night. Dawn cascaded over the horizon in hues of deep purples, maroons, and golden light. A small band of ponies sat atop one of the many hills surrounding the city of Midgard, canvas tents set up as their shelter from the downpour. They had waited all night for their leader to return to them. For a while, they had believed their hopes had been for naught. The sound of gunfire in the city had ended long ago, well after Sharp Shot had returned to them, telling a fanciful story of how Sergeant Fleethoof had stood toe-to-toe with the griffon elite and got away. Now they were living on a prayer, waiting to see if it was time to give up and move on. Valiant sat watch at the top of the hill. He hadn’t moved much throughout the night, except to swap out watch with somepony else. He still held hope. He didn’t want to believe they’d lost two leaders in one day. “Well, I guess that’s it…” he sighed, his face expressionless as he stood up, grabbing his equipment. “I guess we’re on our own now. Let’s pack up camp and go meet up with 2nd Company.” “Wait!” Sharp Shot was pointing to the top of a hill. Off in the distance, a single pony silhouette approached them. His golden mane ruffled gently in the morning breeze. Sunlight lit up his crimson coat. Life returned to Valiant’s eyes as he saw the figure, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Sergeant Fleethoof! He made it!” he cried out as the pegasus approached the camp. Cheers rang out from everypony. Even Fleethoof couldn’t keep a small smile off his lips. He looked around at each soldier. Despite the death of their captain, nopony else had been lost in the crossfire. He’d done his job. “How?” Sharp Shot asked with wide, incredulous eyes. “How did you get away? Those were griffon elite soldiers. You should have been killed!” Fleethoof shrugged a little, trying to repress the images flashing in his memory. “It wasn’t easy, but I guess I’m just lucky. My armor didn’t even hold up though. What kind of armor doesn’t even stop a knife?” “I think it’s more of a uniform than functioning armor,” said Valiant, pulling at the material of his own uniform. “Then I’m definitely fucking lucky.” “No way that was luck. You’re a natural killer, Sergeant!” one of the soldiers said. Fleethoof tried his best not to cringe. “You’ve got skills as a fighter.” “I don’t think I’m that good, guys. But thanks. We should get going though. We’ve lost a day, and we need to catch up to the rest of the army before they—” “Delivery!” An unexpected female voice caught the attention of everypony, some startled enough to turn with their weapons raised. A gray pegasus pony with a mailbag flew down to them. Fleethoof recognized her as the emissary who brought the news of war. What was she doing here? No sooner had the question passed Fleethoof’s mind, she stepped up to the group, her wonky golden eyes looking around at all the ponies. “Um, which one of you is the pony in charge?” she asked. Fleethoof hesitated, then remembered it was him and raised a slow hoof. The filly smiled as if she wasn't in the middle of a war zone and pulled a newspaper and letter from her bag, handing them to Fleethoof. She then gave a mock salute and took off into the air, heading off northward. Fleethoof watched her go for a moment before looking down at the two items he had just received. The first he opened was the newspaper, reading the headline with shocked eyes. PRINCESS REVEAL TRUTH: WAR! “Earlier yesterday morning, Princess Celestia and the recently returned Princess Luna revealed growing tensions between Equestria and the Griffon Kingdom,” Fleethoof read aloud to his soldiers. “Whoa, wait, back up. Did that say Princess Luna's back?” “Princess Luna? Wasn't she Nightmare moon?” “I thought that was all a myth?” Fleethoof cleared his throat to quiet the discussion before continuing. “In a press conference to Canterlot, Celestia is quoted as saying, ‘Recent threats on the griffons’ behalf have led us to take action in protecting Equestria. With the imminent rise of Nightmare Moon and the return of my sister, I did not want to cause panic.’ While many ponies are upset by the fault in leadership, earlier festivities had kept popular opinion high, with Equestria calling for one thing in recompense…” He lowered the paper, reading the last line with deliberate emphasis. “Bring our ponies home.” Murmurs ran between the soldiers for a moment as Fleethoof finished the article. “Princess Celestia has assured everypony that this is not a declared invasion, but missions abroad for peace between the nations, and that diplomatic negotiations will be beginning today.” “Diplomacy begins today?” Valiant asked, looking suddenly more intrigued than ever. “How? We’re in the middle of a war?” “It’s not a war, not according to Celestia,” somepony joked. Fleethoof took the moment to open the scroll, sealed with the official mark of the Royal Family, and began to read. Everypony waited in silence as they watched their commanding officer’s eyes run across the parchment. “Our troops have the city of Asgard surrounded. Princess Celestia is sending emissaries to the other officers ordering them to hold the attack, so she can speak with the griffons' king. She’s trying to honor Equestria’s demand to end the war and bring us all home without violence, so she’s opening negotiations with them before it becomes a bloodbath. As of right now, the war is in a ceasefire.” Everypony was quiet for a long while. “So what do we do now?” asked Valiant, the first to break the silence. Fleethoof rolled up the scroll and stowed it in his saddlebag before trotting over to the cart and grabbing a rifle to replace his lost one. “We head to Asgard. Princess Celestia has requested every commanding officer to be at the negotiations, and since I have to take over for Captain Phalanx, I need to be at that meeting. At least, I think I do. I have the summons for him right here and I dunno what else to do with it.” He looked up at everypony for a moment, a nervous smirk playing on his lips and a terrified look filling his eyes. “I guess I'm going to meet the griffon king.” Sergeant Fleethoof 3rd Company, 1st Squad, Equestrian Army Midgard, Griffon Kingdom Dear Journal, Forgive the tearstains on you before I’ve even written anything. It’s been a trying few days for me, and the next sentence I write should explain it all. Captain Phalanx is dead. He was killed in action by a sniper during our raid on Midgard today. He just… went down and didn’t get back up. I still can’t believe it, Journal. I keep looking around for him, waiting to hear for his orders. And then I remember I’m the one giving orders now… I don’t even have Shining Armor to help me anymore. We split up in Midgard to get out alive. He’s probably miles away with his squad. I miss having him around. His presence made me feel safe somehow, like nothing could go wrong. But he’s gone now too. I pray for his safety, and I hope I’ll see him back on the boat going home and not lying on the ground of some battlefield. I never asked for this, Journal. I never expected any of this to happen to me. But what can I do now that it has? I have a responsibility as a soldier to fight for my country, and a responsibility to my fellow ponies as their leader. But I’m afraid I’m going to screw up. I’m afraid I’ll do something wrong and ponies will get hurt because of me. But isn’t that what every leader has to do? Take charge when others won’t even with such great risks? Midgard was awful. The entire city was in ruins and there were bodies everywhere. It’s different when you’re involved in the fighting. You don’t notice them as much. When you walk through the streets in the aftermath and you get to take a good look at all the damage and death, that’s when it gets to you. I nearly died a couple of times in Midgard... but I don’t want to talk about that. I’m just glad it’s behind me. We’ve been travelling all day today. The road to Asgard is long, and we have a week to get there for the negotiations. I wonder if Princess Celestia honestly wants to make peace with the griffons. From the demeanor that I’d seen before, I wouldn’t think she’d just roll over and give up when Equestria was in danger—but maybe it isn’t in danger anymore? Maybe we weakened the griffons enough that she doesn’t see them as a threat? Or is she just doing this to please everypony back home? Whatever it is, word is out. Equestria knows we’re over here, doing our duty and keeping the griffons at bay. They don’t know the severity, of course—they just know we’re here. Celestia wanted to keep it quiet because apparently something big went down back home and she didn’t want to cause uproar. I think it has something to do with Princess Luna coming back. If the legends about here are true... I don’t know what happened, but it must’ve been pretty massive to worry a princess like that. I wonder how my parents are taking the news, or if they've even heard… Anyway, Journal, that’s all I can think of to write at the moment. I’ll let you know if anything else happens, but it should be a pretty clear road to the griffon capital. I’ll write back when we arrive. Until next time.