Twilight Sparkle slowly walked up and down the length of the base. Her eyes were blank to her surroundings, while her mind was working double-shifts on holidays during lunch hour.
But seeing as this was Twilight Sparkle, this was more or less average.
They had gotten no answers from the griffons. Ironclaw couldn't provide any information. Not even the Captain they had managed to capture would answer the one, burning question in all of their heads.
Who was in charge?
Their purpose was obvious. Their mission was no secret. They were after the rich, juicy innards of the countries to their south. Oil and access to the Coral Archipelago was why they were occupying Saddle Arabia, the healthy land of Equestria would prove most useful in growing food, and the Badlands were an obvious stepping stone towards rendezvousing with their navy at the White Cliffs, a massive chalk and limestone formation that overlooked the Sapphire Sea. No further answers were given, but it was obvious that the higher-ups wanted to keep on, and eventually make a landing at Myanga, the westernmost point of the Savanna Continent.
Of course, that was assuming they hadn't already.
They had not gotten the answer they had wanted, but in the end, they were not at fault.
Even without Applejack, it was obvious that they didn't answer the number one question, because they couldn't.
Twilight stepped over a rock without a second thought.
They truly didn't know.
King Hugo of Griffonia wasn't a pawn. He was a knight. Not totally worthless or disposable as the common infantry, but not as valuable as the pieces that usually dominated the chessboard. He was important to the overall scheme, but was not at the center. He had his uses.
Alpha Prism of the North Diamond Dog Mines was a name most hadn't even heard of, but a quick relay of information to and from Princess Celestia resulted in many answers.
Prism was an Alpha who had gotten power and supporters through abandoning traditional gemstones and migrating to the north, where crystal gemstones were plentiful, all with permission from the Equestrian government, hence why her presence was well documented. A few years later, when the Crystal Empire reappeared, she had to suppress uprisings of her own in an attempt to stop the rather unhealthy obsession with invading the once-forgotten city. But with promises from the Alliance, they had managed to make dream into reality, overthrowing the Alpha that they called "cowardly" and "useless."
The mare stopped and turned, having reached the border of the base. Men lounging on crates ticked off another mark as she traveled back. Eighteen marks were gouged into the crate, each one counting her return.
Elder Gray was one name that managed to shock Princess Luna. Gray was apparently an old friend, one that she was meaning to visit sometime in the near future. But with the appearance of the mysterious mastermind, it had seemed that the once honor-bound dragon had turned on them. No one had seen the Princess of the Night for hours.
General Linch of Griffonia.
Commander Sharpwood. Forest Corps.
General Thorn. Experimental Weapons and Technologies.
Brigadier General Jet of the Green Division. Whatever that was.
Commander Pixel of the Griffon Defense Force.
Admiral Whitewater of the Navy.
Colonel Bash of the Lava Force.
But no name for their elusive Commander-in-Chief. Nor his base of operations.
Twilight gritted her teeth, and her mind wandered onto the thought of what happened to the ponies of the Crystal Empire. While the last resort plan was the result of a ten-month study, the Crystal Empire was not included. They were worse off than any of the ponies who had managed to meet at the rendezvous points within the borders of Equestria. No supplies, no promise of an evacuation, no plan for surviving, and the fact that their leaders were unable to return to the country helped nothing. There was little to no chance they would be seen again.
Sighing, she wiped away a few tears that seeped out. She needed to be strong. At least she could stand up straight.
But with further questioning, they had gotten more than just names.
Project: Mariposa was one such item of interest. Interestingly, the name had originated from a Sergeant in the Supply Corps. He had said that he and his team made multiple trips to Base Hills in the Badlands with carts filled with tightly sealed barrels. Through the labels and the paperwork both claimed that they were filled with water, he thought differently. While water was a necessity anywhere, the fact that a total of seventy "water" caravans made the trip to the Badlands within a month made many suspicious. Though another fact was almost a confirmation that something was brewing.
Brutus, like his name suggests, was the Sergeant's strongest griffon. A barrel filled with water was an easy load for him. But when he tried to pick one up on one of the many trips to Base Hills, he nearly broke his back doing so. At least four griffons were necessary to move one barrel of "water." Whatever lurked in those barrels was much heavier than simple water.
More information seeped up from various sources.
Operation: Boomerang was mentioned a few times, though it seemed like it was more of a political creation than an actual plan. It mentioned five thousand ships swarming the eastern shore of Equestria, taking ports and coastal cities by surprise. But to conduct an operation of that size would require an unthinkable amount of supplies and workers, resources that would be better used in the ground campaign. Either it was a bluff to throw off potential spies, or they had gravely misjudged the enemy's capability and supply chain.
Project: Spice was... odd, to say the least. It was a declassified test in which clouds of ground Griffonic Peppers would be released as an eye and skin irritant. The test was considered a failure, but the soldiers who participated apparently enjoyed all eleven tons of the remaining red powder.
And after all those months, they had gotten the name to their own invasion.
Operation: Granary
A two-pronged attack from the north would conquer the coastal cities and move towards the southern border, were the two armies would squeeze the remaining targets in a pincer movement. The entire invasion was planned to take eight weeks. And eight weeks later, their flags flew on conquered cities.
Twilight sat down in the sand, and organized her thoughts.
They had much, much more answers than before. But what got her thinking even more was the fact that the information was willingly given. All of the prisoners had claimed horrible living conditions, and brutal commanders. Some even compared them with slave drivers.
She wondered whether propaganda would work. If most griffons were willing to surrender, then maybe this war could be ended with one less casualty.
Before, they were in the dark, but now, they were prepared. They were ready.
But deep down inside, she knew that things would go wrong. They always did. She knew that experiments could be repeated, and its results reproduced. But with the flow of fate, the decision of millions, and the fact that this could only be done once, Twilight Sparkle knew that redundancy plans, weren't, and that one day, Plan C would be the only plan they could have left.
To a pony who once planned out her entire life, it was a heavy moment.
***
South of the Iron Mountains but north of the Neighagra Falls was the hardy, industrial center of Equestria. It was always cold, no matter the season. A few large mountains made the horizon to the east, their peaks covered with snow year-round. Small holes dotted the bases, the remains of countless ore mines, most decades, some centuries old. It was these mines that allowed a small blacksmith town to bloom into an industrial powerhouse. It was said that whoever had Stalliongrad under their control would dominate the world.
Mayberry Ironworks was the largest producer of metal products in all fields, from kitchenware to heavy industry. If one wanted quality, there was no other to turn to. Every item they manufactured was stamped or engraved with the letters "MBI" in fancy lettering, proudly displaying their heritage and history on every rail, bathtub, and fork that emerged from their factories.
The robot whirred as it emerged from the cover of a bush, pushing off a layer of snow that had accumulated on top. The camera slowly moved to the left as it took a panorama of the city.
Through the thick haze of falling snow and clouds, smokestacks stood straight and tall into the sky, while smoke adding to the already stuffy sky. It was almost impossible to see the individual buildings hidden in the snow, but a few silhouettes could be seen near the small fires that burned inside barrels on random street corners.
***
"Stalliongrad is our priority, but we have to be fast if we want to avoid any unnecessary collateral. Unfortunately, the weather means we cannot use aircraft for reconnaissance."
The Helix lumbered through the cold, frigid air. In the back sat a woman. Her usual outfit was hidden by the heavy coat and boots. There were no computers to hack, nor were there any vehicles to disable. However on this mission, her skills in information gathering would prove most useful. As the helicopter descended, Black Lotus closed her laptop with a quick snap.
"Our resident hacker has your complete mission order locked away safely. We can't risk it being intercepted. I know that this world doesn't have the necessary equipment to successfully decrypt secure channels, but that doesn't mean we're going to be lazy. Long-range radio transmissions are to be used only in an emergency. Short-ranged radio transmissions are to be used only when necessary."
A commando rappelled down a mountain, he and his winter camouflage invisible in the falling snow. As soon as he reached the bottom, he loaded a full magazine into his rifle in a well-practiced maneuver. Making sure that his other equipment hadn't fallen out, Colonel Burton reached the rendezvous point and covered his eyes from the snow blown up by the Helix.
"You are being sent deep into enemy territory, right where their first major offensive took place. Best of luck, and stay frosty."
A few rocks tumbled down the cliff. The sniper paused, and peeked down. Fortunately, while the snow covered his little mistake, it also reduced his vision. Cursing a few words in Arabic, Jarmen Kell slung his Dragunov behind his back and crawled towards the city.
"No pun intended."
***
For a second, the mountain echoed with the sound of thudding coaxial rotors as the heavy-duty Chinese helicopter landed on a ledge so small that only a suicidal pilot would attempt with such a large aircraft. But fortunately for the crew and passengers, it was enough. The Colonel shielded his eyes from the large cloud of snow blown up by the rotors.
"Hey! Looks like you made it." Burton said in his usual gruff voice, though there was a shadow of a grin on his face, happy to see an old friend again.
"And it appears that you didn't get lost." Lotus playfully returned as she gracefully hopped off. Along with her signature briefcase that held her laptop, she also carried a burlap sack with an unknown cargo.
They only laughed. It was just like old times.
The Helix's engines whirred louder, the pilot giving the two commandos a quick thumbs up before taking off, and eventually disappearing into the clouds.
"Where's Jarmen Kell?" the hacker asked, her voice now serious and no-nonsense.
"Doing his own thing. I'm not surprised if he's already in the city."
"Then I guess we should hurry."
Lotus checked her watch. The sun would set in an hour. Already, the sky was tinged orange with whatever light managed to pierce the clouds and snow.
"Yeah. Let's do this."
***
"Kell, you read?"
Jarmen Kell flinched in surprise. He silently cursed the American for having the worst timing to call. Under his perch, the two guards paused, squinting their eagle eyes in hopes of finding whatever made that sound.
He held his breath. Breaking all forms of logic, the griffons could not spot the sniper wearing loose, sand brown robes.
With one last suspicious look behind them, they walked off.
"You could have gotten me killed Burton!" Kell growled in his headset as he jumped from his spot and scurried towards the next vantage point.
"Sorry. But that's on you for not meeting us at the rendezvous point. Where are you?"
He didn't answer until he got to the top of the unusually tall tree. From the very nice position, Stalliongrad could be seen in all of its glory. Thick stone walls separated the city from the wilderness outside, with the only points of access into and out of the city were the two heavily guarded gates and the similarly guarded tunnel with a pair of rail tracks laid down.
The sniper checked his compass.
"I am to the south of the city, currently in position on top of a tree."
"Is it the tallest one?"
"Yes."
A pause. Kell returned to setting up his rifle and was about to calculate the distance between him and any potential targets when the Colonel returned on the radio.
"I see you. Hold on, we'll meet you up there."
According to the few crude sketches and measurements he made, the average griffon was a little more than half of a standing adult human. He peered through the scope. Kell adjusted his rifle with his experienced and precise hands, and picked out a guard.
A few moments later, he estimated the distance was a rough three hundred meters, well within his abilities to place shot after shot wherever he wanted.
***
After one boring minute, the trio was finally complete. Jarmen Kell and Colonel Burton silently glared at each other, their histories had brought each other to a gunfight time and time again. But for the sake of the mission, they promised not to stab each other in the back. The Colonel smirked. He was the one with the knife.
Black Lotus only rolled her eyes at the silent contest and read out their mission on her laptop.
MISSION PARAMETERS
1 - Do not engage the enemy unless in retaliation.
2 - No civilian casualties.
3 - Keep interaction with civilians to a minimum.
MISSION PRIORITIES
PRIORITY 1 - Provide detailed locations of enemy garrisons, fortified buildings, and supply dumps.
PRIORITY 2 - Identify officers, leaders, and potential defectors.
PRIORITY 3 - Relay information about the current political stance of Stalliongrad. Identify key members of the civilian population, and any possible rebellion movement.
Burton grinned. He twirled the trigger of his detonator that he had recovered from the Ranger. His demolition charges that were used in destroying Bone Meal Mine were also returned. With the comfortable weight of C4 back on his belt, he felt ready to take on the world.
***
The dog growled, his nose high in the air, sniffing at an unfamiliar scent. He gripped his spear tightly, ready to fight whatever he came across.
Below him, Colonel Burton held his breath as he clung tightly to the side of the wall, the cold threatening to numb and weaken his fingers. After what seemed like an eternity, the dog slowly continued on his watch.
"Clear."
Even with the sub-par sound quality of the toughened radios, Jarmen Kell's accent and rough voice could be easily identified. And though he had no love for his long-time nemesis, he silently admitted that it was nice to have a second pair of eyes.
With a soft grunt, Burton scrambled onto the raised walkway and silently sprinted to cover behind a pile of empty barrels, most likely containing alcohol at one point, and most likely brought up onto the wall against orders.
The Colonel frowned as another guard dog stopped in his tracks, his head snapping from side-to-side as he tried to locate the source of the foreign scent.
But lady luck intervened once again, and the mixture of wind, smoke, and snow allowed the commando a small window of opportunity to escape.
He sprinted towards the bastion, taking only seconds to travel the ten meters. In his mind, he berated himself for not checking whether the small tower had any inhabitants.
"Wha, dy'a lose a bet 'r somthin'?" an extremely slurred voice called out.
Around a table were four guards, cards in paws, money on table, and each an blood alcohol content that should've killed them hours ago. In the corner was another pile of barrels, some slowly dripping, others somewhat full, and two still unopened.
Colonel Burton tried hard not to laugh. He was trained to bring down alert, sober enemies while not being detected, but four drunks and their drinks were too easy. He silently brought out his combat knife and approached the group, his specially-made boots releasing no squeaks.
They went down within seconds, and for good measure, Burton knocked over their tankards, releasing the dull, musky smell of their alcohol. Anyone who would investigate would not see the difference between the blood seeping out of their necks, and the blood-red wine spilled all over the floor.
"All clear. I'm at the third guard tower from the left. Dropping rope in twelve."
Totally oblivious to the events above, a pair of dogs patrolled the base of the wall, only to stop and sniff the air. He growled, knowing that the officers had drunken themselves silly, like last week.
They passed, and as promised, a climbing rope dropped from above.
Climbing quickly to avoid detection, the two commandos raced to the top.
***
Jarmen Kell stared through his scope.
The wall was not the only barrier. Between the wall and the city was a buffer zone, one that would have to be traversed to gain access to the wall. Sharpshooters waited on standby in guard towers, silently watching the troops enter and exit the wall.
But there were bigger problems.
"What do you see?" Black Lotus whispered.
He stayed silent, but handed the hacker his rifle. The usual cool and calm attitude disappeared as she peered through the scope.
Multiple wooden cages lined the area between the guard towers, each filled to overflowing with-
"Ponies." she whispered.
"Hostages." Burton whispered back, peering through his own binoculars.
"So." Kell murmured in a sarcastic tone, "No American Shock and Awe this time?"
"No," the colonel huffed, "We just need to be smart."
The sniper nodded. There was a time and place for overwhelming firepower. Stealth would be mandatory on the main offensive planned in a few weeks, not to mention, right now.
***
Hours later, they had finally entered the city proper.
All around them, life went on just as it had been for years. Ponies walked to work, and they walked back. Iron ore was mined, devoured by furnaces, shaped into its basic forms, then used in manufactured products. Wheat was ground, baked, and eaten. There was nothing to show that yesterday, today, or tomorrow was, is, or would be any different.
Except for the giant radio tower. That was new.
"AND I SAY, WHY NOT-"
"Jesus! Christ! Lotus!" Burton whispered loudly, though not as loud as the voice on Black Lotus' civilian radio.
"Apologies." she said with her teeth clenched, her fingers furiously turning the volume knob until the small black box was silenced.
Jarmen Kell's eyes almost seemed to twitch as he scanned the immediate area for any possible hostiles who may have heard them.
The air was as still as ever. An overflowing dumpster, month-old newspapers, and bare brick walls surrounded them. The whole alleyway experience was complete when a meowing cat jumped from a broken window and onto the street.
Burton motioned for Lotus to check the interior of the building that the cat had exited. A quick sweep of the room revealed that it was a warehouse, now totally empty.
The trio entered like ghosts.
***
The entire warehouse was completely empty, both inhabitants and stored items were missing, not even the wiring was left intact. Stalactites of ice hung outside the broken windows, making for an awe-inspiring and beautiful display as they sparkled in the dim orange lights from the furnaces in the distance.
They had decided to take a short breather while they could. Lotus tuned her radio again, making sure to keep the volume low.
"-from the bottom of my heart, I swear to whatever you believe in, we are not here for your destruction! We are not here to liberate you from your tyrannical leaders! We are not here to replace magic with technology! No! Our goal is not something as petty as that! No! Our beings, our very souls are mere stepping stones in the larger of plans! We will not blame you if you do not trust us. You are forgiven! Do not worry! In time you will know, and hopefully, you will forgive us as well!"
Jarmen Kell tilted his head and let out a few words of Arabic, mostly muttering under his breath that at least the extremists back home had a clear objective.
"But as always, when the day has passed and night guards the sky, we have Commander Sharpwood of the Forest Corps, here with a few words of wisdom."
A few moments of silence were quickly swept away by the booming and friendly sounding voice of the Commander.
"Good evening friends!" His voice had an echo, as if he was speaking from the top of a stadium. "I'd comment of the weather, but we've been having the exact same snow and cold for a few months now, I can't really say anything about it!"
He laughed, as a grandfather would laugh in response to an innocent child's question.
"What? We got twelve minutes of sun yesterday? I think that's a record! Anyhow, back to business. We've had a few reports of theft and one attempted riot. Fortunately... eh, how shall I say this... Fortunately they have all been captured before major damage or death occurred. As always, cooperation is appreciated. I don't know how long we're going to be freeloading, but let's work together to make sure that nothing major happens..."
"Nothing major he says." Burton huffed, "An invasion of a country isn't major he says."
Commander Sharpwood continued, on, talking about the daily life in this city, though if one listened closely enough, it was as if he was talking with a knife to his throat.
"...And I said to him- I've heard you say some stupid things, but then why do you keep talking?!"
He laughed, his booming howls of amusement echoing through the studio, clearly audible through the handheld.
"And then-... What? Oh. Well folks, apparently I've gone five minutes past my time. I'll see you next week, when I will be talking about how my friend stuck his head in a barrel filled with Surströmming as a bet. Spoilers- He lost."
The radio clicked, and the regular announcer returned.
"And with that, we return to our normal broadcast."
Black Lotus switched the radio off without a second thought when the propaganda returned. The sound of the wind replaced the white noise, and the winter cold only chilled their spirits.
Twilight had told them of the story of the Windigoes. Whether they were confined to the limits of storytelling or not, the snow seemed to dampen their willingness to continue forwards.
Dampen, not destroyed.
***
Hours passed, and the night only got colder.
The ice that frosted the windows and cobblestones sparkled in the warm, orange glow of the smelting furnaces.
But they were not furnaces.
It was almost routine to them. Sneak past guards, copy some important top secret documents, take a few photos that could be used for blackmail, and then map out the entire town and any position of interest. It was a job that they had repeated countless times over their careers, and would do so in the future.
It was almost... boring.
But here, now, they laid back on the highest maintenance platform of the radio tower as they watched the city sleep below. Black Lotus had her notebook out, combining the information her pictures held into a single sketch. Although each piece of the puzzle only confused her when they had obtained it, the overall picture was even more so.
Like any occupied territory, a civilian resistance existed. They hoarded weapons, had a secret base, use codes, the whole nine yards. But unlike any civilian resistance, they openly existed. They rallied publicly, and their supporters wore cloaks of white, purple, and gold, to signify their allegiance. And unlike any occupying force, Commander Sharpwood had done nothing in response to their uprisings.
It was as if the resistance and the counter-resistance were in on the same joke, and the punchline had yet to be delivered.
Jarmen Kell silently observed the Iron Dragon he had shot earlier. On his belt was a small bag filled with "Special" ammunition for taking down the pilots or drivers of vehicles, and, as he demonstrated earlier, also proved effective against dragons if he could hit their brains through a weak spot through their eyes.
There were few underpaid conscripts that would risk the rage of waking a sleeping dragon, just to make sure he wasn't dead.
But there was plenty of information that would only be useful tonight. Information was like food. Fresh as possible, was preferable.
From up high, they stood above a sea of lava, the black and red deeply contrasting the pure white and light yellow glow of the sunset.
But what appeared to be lava was in fact a sea of torches, torches that were each held by griffons in one claw, and a spear in another.
The entire air was silent, save for the whistling of the wind.
And there was one griffon above all.
"At ease!"
The soldiers all assumed the stance, metal armor clanking as they moved as one. Though they had been ordered to ease, to trained military eyes it was obvious that the new position caused even more stress on the weary and cold soldiers.
His familiar voice boomed. Though the voice in the radio was scratched and white noise blurred the finer details of his speech, there was no doubt as to the griffon's identity. The sky blue and grey griffon took one last breath of the cold winter air, puffing up his chest in an intimidating manner. But his eyes told a different story.
Commander Sharpwood had the stage.
"As much as I want to be dramatic right now... The orders from up high are too important to be put off..." He sounded tired, unlike an athlete who just finished traversing an obstacle course, the commander sounded defeated, as if he was forced into his current position.
He sighed, and his voice boomed into the night.
"We have orders to mobilize!"
At this, even the most disciplined reacted visibly. Grimaces appeared, and their wings tensed. The least disciplined screeched in surprise, breaking their stance. Above them, Sharpwood only watched. And above him, the three commandos noted the turn of events.
Eventually, they stopped.
"Just a few hours ago, I received orders that the Third Striker, Fourth Striker, First Conscript, Eighth Conscript, Second Engineering, Thirteenth Supply, and the First Medical Battalions are to begin preparations for a long-term campaign! All commanders are to report to First Lieutenant Wells for supplies!"
The entire mass of soldiers were visibly rustled, some ground their talons into the frozen cobblestone, not feeling warm to the idea of fighting yet another campaign. They had gotten used to the quiet life of an occupational force.
Sharpwood sighed, he needed a little of his signature humor, and hoped his next words would raise morale, even slightly, "I'd be lying if I said that you've been all warm and cozy during your stay. But I'd like to announce that where we're going, it's going to be hotter than your wives."
Chuckles and grins broke through the icy mood. The Commander too, grinned.
The speech continued.
***
"...the exact location isn't going to be announced. That would be stupid. But what I can tell you is that we're going to win. Our enemies are split amongst themselves. They think we can't do it. They think we're going to get stuck. Let's show them otherwise!"
Cheers erupted in a frenzy, but as the officers regrouped their units, Commander Sharpwood's grin soon drooped into an angry scowl.
Friends said their farewells, and comrades wished each other luck.
And eventually they dispersed, leaving three commandos with grim looks on their faces.
***
"This... does not bode well."
Even without her Royal Canterlot Voice, Princess Luna had the ability to weave a powerful speech, able to tug on emotions, and blow on the embers of patriotic fervor.
But now, even after their last-ditch plan succeeded in turning the tide, the months of uncertainty and worry finally caught up to her. Though her words were prim and proper, there was an audible quiver.
It wasn't hard to imagine her with her hair in tangles, trying to deal with the stress.
"We're right above Sharp's office. It's pretty nice. Guy has air ducts and a fireplace." Burton whispered, with a sarcastic nod of approval only men could understand. Black Lotus only concentrated on recording Commander Sharpwood's personal conversation with his captains with more James Bond-esque gadgets. Jarmen Kell had remained on the radio tower. A life out in the open deserts of the Middle East didn't make for a person who would willingly go into a claustrophobic space.
"What was that about air ducts?" The General spoke up.
"Well sir, I think he should be very glad he doesn't have asthma." the Colonel replied, trying not to sneeze.
"...You're in the air ducts. Aren't you?"
"That is correct sir."
Tom sighed.
A tractor that shot anthrax. A plane that shot nuclear missiles at other planes. A tank that shot microwaves towards an enemy severely lacking in popcorn.
He concluded that an action movie cliché was almost... normal.
Lotus hissed, getting the attention of the Colonel. He assumed his serious demeanor, and leaned over the small opening. The general and the princess were also silent, listening closely to the conversation that took place hundreds of miles away. Below them, Sharpwood briefed his subordinates.
"...been fine. We don't have any allies on the Savannah Continent, but they're confident we won't be able to launch a naval assault and secure a beachhead at Myanga."
One of the captains grinned. "They don't know about the Lav-"
Another griffon smacked his head, "We've been given strict orders from General Thorn not to speak of any prototypes or projects of any kind."
The others audibly gasped at the scene.
"You goofed up Helix." Major Sturmkin turned and growled, not liking being struck by a lesser officer. "I never liked you. But this is going-
"Yes, we know how much you don't like me. Now stop waving your prick around."
"What!?" the griffon exploded, not used to this level of disrespect. "You're willing to go this far? I'll have to report to General Thorn on the quality of his-"
"General Thorn isn't the kind of superior that confiscates dirty magazines. In fact," Helix turned and stared into the senior soldier's confused eyes, "he's the kind that passes them out."
Sturmkin gurgled and stepped back, not expecting the answer. "Thorn- he..."
Sharpwood sighed, and placed his face in his talons. Simply ordering them to shut up had not worked. Technically he was in command of them, but they each had their own loyalties. With Sturmkin in charge of the Stalliongrad branch of the Supply Corps, and Helix being the representative of Thorn's R&D division, Sharpwood had authority, but the two had influence. It was best to let them burn each other and continue over their ashes. Like the last four times they had fought over their respective ideals.
"He's the kind that makes sure his soldiers have more than enough water to drink. Unlike you. He's the kind that lets you go on leave when your wife gives birth. Unlike you. He's the kind that started his career as a private. Not at some fancy officer academy. While he did eventually enroll in one, he didn't need bribes to get in." Helix once more stared into the Major's eyes. "Unlike. You."
"Alright. This is getting stupid." A particularly buff griffon stepped forwards and into the two arguing officers, his muscled mass ramming both Helix and Sturmkin away from each other and into the floor. "Commander Sharpwood!" he called out, "What of the other factions?" The commander raised his head, but once he realized that the argument was over, he gratefully continued.
"Ah, thank you Barricade." The Corporal nodded in response. He returned to his post next to the door, where he kept guard. Sharpwood quickly tidied his stressed feathers, and composed his thoughts. "So only The Pride expects to see us there, and only because we're a challenge. I'm sure we all know how much the lions like fighting. The Zebra Union is operating as normal, though with Equestria conquered, they're a little worried. The giraffes are sticking their heads in their scrolls, as usual... and no word on the Antelopes."
"So we should have an easy go at them?" The same Corporal spoke up, not wanting let Helix or Sturmkin speak up again.
"With Thorn's new..." Helix silently dared the Commander to continue. Sharpwood smirked, "...tools, shall we say, it should be a little more difficult, but overall, we should be fine. If things go as planned, we may even finish ahead of schedule!"
"And what of the occupational force? The Battalions requested consist of almost eighty percent of the forces currently stationed in this city. If they were to leave at once-"
"That's part of the next order I got." Sharpwood interrupted.
"And...?"
The Commander sighed, "Over the next few days, we're going to empty this place."
Surprised looks and tilted heads of confusion was the response.
"The ponies of this city are to be shipped to Stronghold Sierra in the badlands. We're to receive empty cargo trains within the next few days, enough to move approximately one-fourth of the ponies in this city. Every train will contain some of our soldiers to reinforce Sierra and to guard the cargo."
"And this city?"
"Will be empty in less than a week."
Silence.
The officers squinted their eyes, trying to figure out what was happening.
"But... why?"
"Please don't ask. I'd answer if I could."
"So are we going to be re-assigned?"
Sharpwood nodded.
"Who'r we workin' with?" A griffon who looked like Barricade's twin brother asked.
"If I'm not mistaken..." the Commander hummed as he shuffled through his papers, "You're going to be with Brigadier General Jet, and his Green Division."
Grumbles of annoyance sounded.
"I don't like them." Sturmkin spoke up once again.
"I don't like you." Helix responded, "But I like them less."
"Agreed."
"Agreed."
Commander Sharpwood took another deep, tired breath, but internally, he grinned. It brought him some sort of peace that both Sturmkin and Helix had come to an agreement. He lifted his head up one more time, and spoke.
"Alright comrades. We have four days. Let's not mess this up."
***
"Four days. We got four days..."
"That might be or might not be enough time to build the Particle Uplink Cannon Accelerator Complex itself, but I can't guarantee we will be able to get the satellite on-line within four days."
"Begin construction."
"Yes sir. Anything else?"
"I want everything on Stalliongrad. Maps, tourist brochures, and ponies who lived, visited, and were born in Stalliongrad. I want UAVs in the air, Sentry Drones surrounding the area, and Pathfinders in positions around the city. The works."
"Sir, Pathfinders are only available to Generals who have been promoted to a Three-Star level."
"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."
"If you say so sir."
"And I say this is going to end. Call the Commandos back, and gather the crews. We've had enough waiting. It's time to move."