November 19, 1939
HX-1 Crash Site
Constellation and Lieutenant Sunburst had been waiting for about 45 minutes now. Lightning Twister had been sent to get some sort of help after the death of the human. The remaining four humans were on top of a formidable piece of metal, out of the freezing water. They were as far away as possible from the pegasi, not trusting them after the horrendous death of their comrade.
Constellation herself was broken up over the incident. However shortly she had known the human, he had put his trust in her, and what had happened had shaken her to the core. She had promised him he would be all right, that they were going to help him, and she had basically dragged him to his own doom.
Overwhelmed with guilt, she looked over at the humans huddled together on the wreckage. The humans who had just lost a leader, and possibly a friend, because of her and her ignorance. She knew in her mind, of course, that she wasn’t actually responsible, but her heart just refused to accept that.
Very slowly, the pegasus walked across the metal plate toward the naval officers. One of them took notice and inched away fearfully. “S-stay back!” He called out. Constellation stopped in her tracks.
“I....I just wanted to apologize...” she whispered, making eye contact with the metal beneath her. The sailor scoffed. “Well, you apologizing won’t bring back the officer you got killed, will it?” He shot back, dismissing her apology. Constellation hung her head, a tear dripping from her eye. “I’m sorry,” she started, “I wasn’t trying to get that human killed. I was trying to save him. And now he’s dead... and it’s my fault.” She tried to stop herself, but she couldn’t. Tears started to stream down her cheeks, and she collapsed on her belly, sobbing openly.
For a moment, there was silence. Then, a young sailor started to move toward the sobbing pony. “Where do you think you’re going?” One of the older sailors hissed. The younger one turned to his superior. “I’m going to comfort this pony. Can’t you see the state she’s in?” He replied. The sailor continued toward Constellation, and reaching her side, awkwardly started to stroke her mane.
“There, there,” he said awkwardly, obviously not knowing what he was doing, “um, I don’t blame you. You know, for that Sub Lieutenant. I know you didn’t mean him any harm.”
Constellation looked up through her tears. “You don’t? Really?”
“Um,” he said, “Well, I know you weren’t trying to kill him. Which means it wasn’t your fault.”
The pegasus gave him a tiny smile. “T-thanks,” she sobbed. For a moment, the only sound audible was her sobbing, and the ocean’s waves.
“So... um... what’s your name?” The sailor asked, trying to start a conversation, “I’m Ordinary Seaman Register. Greg. Call me Greg.”
The pony looked up and offered a small smile. “Constellation,” she said, “My name is Constellation.”
December 1st, 1939
West of Sligo, Republic of Ireland
Senior Cadet Daniel Allen was a soon-to-be section leader in the Irish Defense Forces. The IDF was the new name for the recently reorganized Irish Republican Army, playing neutral in the Second World War and at “peace” with England. His squad was completing combat training for full integration into the Irish Army.
Not that the Irish Army was anything remarkable, of course. Actually, the only remarkable thing about the IDF was its inability to fight. If it could, it would have joined the Germans in the fight against England - but it couldn’t. The politicians were negotiating - well, pretty much begging - for supplies from Germany, and so far, some guns and explosives had started to trickle in. When Allen’s section was certified for combat, they would be placed in reserve, waiting to fight for years at a time.
No point in thinking these things in the meantime, though. They had to focus on the mission first.
The eight men under his command huddled around him and his small map. They were standing in a grove of trees on the edge of an open, grassy meadow stretching on for miles, trees scattered across the landscape, hills and ditches for cover. Their objective was a small farmhouse a few kilometers downrange. Basically, they had to exercise combat tactics in taking the building. No actual rounds would be fired.
The men were carrying British Lee-Enfield rifles, bolt action rifles that were exceptionally accurate at long range, but not exactly the best for close quarters combat. The exception was the two men who made up the machine gun squad, firing the .303 Bren light machine gun, a weapon that would spit fully automatic fire from its barrel.
The men were split into two rifle squads of three, as well as the machine gun squad which would provide covering fire.
“I want first squad with the machine gun to move down the field, dig in on that hill, and suppress the enemy in that building,” he said, “Myself and second squad will move along that ditch and make a flanking run. Once you see us in position I want the Bren to cover first squad as they move to take the left flank. Understood?” Everyone nodded.
As the unit was about to move out, a sergeant suddenly spoke up with panic in his voice. “Sir! Look!
Everyone turned to face where he was pointing, and were shocked to spot a sea of flying objects. For a second, the officer-in-training feared the worst. “Is that an air raid?” He heard the sergeant speak.
Then, he realised the flying objects were not aircraft. Rather, they looked like huge birds. They swooped down to them, and Allen vaguely recalled the newspaper headlines that had been made when ponies had met with Allied leaders in London. The winged ponies continued toward the city of Sligo as a squad separated and descended toward them.
Ten of the armored ponies landed in a loose circle around them, their hooves making muffled thumps as they made contact with the grass.
Allen had no idea what was happening, but he gripped his rifle tightly as he waited for the one in the lead to speak.
“Hello, sir,” the pegasus said politely, “I’m Warrant Beaten Hoof. I need you to hold still while you are restrained so you can be integrated into her majesty Princess Celestia’s kingdom.”
The soldiers merely stared at the guards dumbfounded. “What...” The officer started.
The guards suddenly lunged at the men, tackling them to the ground. Private Brian Kale, a young and skittish soldier, panicked and raised his rifle while simultaneously chambering a round. As a pegasus lunged at him, a loud crack rang through the air, and a .303 round was ejected from the barrel of his rifle. A red mist sprayed from the pony’s back as he was hurtled away.
Instantly, multiple other guards pounced on the soldier, while his human comrades tried to pull them away. Allen grabbed who appeared to be the pony leader and tossed him off of the young private, only to be tackled from behind by yet another pegasus.
The pony dragged him backwards, attempting to restrain him, but the officer managed to overpower the small equine, flipping him over his head. Allen slammed the butt of his rifle into the jaw of the disoriented pony, grimly satisfied as he heard a loud and painful crack.
As the human squad found themselves in one on one melee combat, two of the larger pegasi managed to separate Kale and pin him down, one keeping him secure while the other removed his weapon from his grasp. The pony drew a small syringe from his saddlebag, and after removing the safety cap, slowly injected it directly into his thyroid artery.
The young soldier yelped and stiffened, his whole body tensing as the liquid passed through the needle and into his bloodstream. The guards got off of him, leaving him lying in the grass and moving to rejoin the fight.
Meanwhile, Allen drew his bayonet and plunged it deep into the armour of the pony he was fighting. Before he could triumph over his victory, however, he was hit hard from behind as he felt two large forelegs grab him and bring him to the ground. Jerking his elbow back, he tried to slam it into the muzzle of the attacker pressing him to the ground. The hit landed inconsequentially on the pony’s armour.
As he struggled to get up, he could hear some of his own men crying out in pain. Suddenly, there was a pinching sensation on his neck, and it all went dark.
One Hour Later
Derrygonnelly, Northern Ireland
Republic of Ireland - Northern Ireland Border
The Royal Ulster Rifles was a British infantry regiment, assigned to the 9th Infantry Brigade of the 3rd British Infantry Division. Able and Baker companies of the regiment was deployed to the border town of Derrygonnelly, to reinforce the border between the two unfriendly nations. Although it was a pretty safe deployment, rumor had it that if the war against Germany resulted in infantry action, their unit would be one of the first deployed.
Captain Nathan Hennessy was the commander of B company, and his company was currently on watch. Of course, there really was nothing to watch - two unmanned Bren guns sat in their nests while the soldiers ate lunch or played cards.
“Two Pair.” One of his platoon leaders, Lieutenant Ramsey, said. Hennessy nodded. “Pitcock?”
“Strait.” He said, putting the cards down. Hennessy put on a smug smile as he showed his own cards. “Full house!” He gloated, reaching for the pile of cash.
“Not so fast,” 2nd Lieutenant Brixby said. Showing his cards, he put on an even more smug smile. “Royal flush.”
Hennessy stared at the officer in question. “Cheater!” He accused.
“Cheater?” I’m a British officer! I carry myself with honour!” Brixby said indignantly.
“Honour my-”
The two men were interrupted by a lookout calling out. “Sir! I think I see something - possible air raid!”
The officers jumped up instantaneously. “I want first and second on the air defences, and I want third on the machine guns and land defence.” Everyone nodded and rushed off to their respective jobs.
Hennessy picked up a pair of binoculars and scanned it across the clear sky, spotting the air raid the lookout had seen. He squinted, frowning. There were far too many aircraft in the air - the Irish air force was really nothing to speak of, and the two nations had been at a tense, bitter peace for the last few years as well.
“Sir!” Someone cried out, “Dispatch from Salisbury!” Salisbury, England was the location of Divisional Headquarters for the British 3rd Infantry Division, and it was where their orders came down from. The runner came over and handed the message to the captain.
Hennessy scanned the paper quickly, his eyes widening as he realised what it was saying. Grabbing his binoculars once more, he examined the group of ‘aircraft’ flying toward him.
“Lieutenant Brixby!” He shouted. The officer came running up to him. “Sir?”
“Those aren’t aircraft - those are ponies!”
The Lieutenant was confused. “You mean those horse things that can talk? The ones in all the papers?”
“Yes!” The captain exclaimed. He shook the dispatch at him. “They’ve attacked Irish units all over the place, they’ve attacked Royal Navy ships! They are to be considered enemy forces! If those bastards come within range, I want those Bren guns to open up. Understood?” The Lieutenant nodded and rushed back to his men to give orders.
As the swarm of ponies entered the effective range of the machine guns, about six hundred yards, the order was given. “Open Fire!”
The machine guns dropped the ponies in the lead, but guards split into two formations, one going left and one going right. As the operators reloaded the twenty round magazines, the two groups flew out of the horizontal range of the machine guns and came in from the flanks.
The infantry soldiers opened fire with their high velocity Lee Enfield rifles, but the ponies weaved in and out of their panicked fire. All of a sudden, a wave of crossbow bolts came flying at the disorganized humans, hitting two men in the shoulder and the chest.
As the pony force moved closer, the 3.7 Inch AA gun opened up. The weapon had been assigned to the unit by pure chance, probably a clerical error, but Hennessy hadn’t exactly complained about accidentally receiving heavy weaponry.
The shell exploded in air, wounded several of the pegasi, finally routing the inexperienced forces. They retreated fairly quickly, moving far to the sides so as to stay out of reach of the lethal Bren guns.
As the two forces disengaged, the captain sighed in relief. There had been at least five dozen ponies coming toward him, and he knew that if they had been experienced troops, if they had just rushed him, he would have easily lost the outpost. They were there as a deterrent - the unit wasn’t combat ready.
“Runner!” He yelled, drawing a soldier to his position. “Send an incident report to Regiment,” he said, “Engaged approximately fifty - pegasi?, wounded approximately fifteen, killed unknown. We have two wounded, no dead at this time.” The runner nodded and ran off.
Press Conference by Prime Minister Chamberlain, Late Afternoon, December 1, 1939
Parliament of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland
London, England
Ladies and Gentlemen. Speaker of the house. Members of Parliament.
Today, at eight AM, four major Irish cities were blatantly attacked by the nation of Equestria. Equestrian troops made use of a potion, a potion that strips a being of its humanity, against unwitting humans after assurances of peace were made. Ships of the Royal Navy, as well as British troops holding the border, were attacked, and multiple casualties were suffered.
We can not allow this to stand.
We can not allow this complete and utter disregard for the will of human beings everywhere to be ignored. The Equestrian people have shown that rather than waging war with one nation, they are waging war with all nations. They will not stop until their task is completed.
Today, at 6:14 PM Greenwich, I ask the Parliament of Great Britain to issue a declaration of war against the state of Equestria, and I ask our allies to stand by us as we fight for humanity as a whole!