James sighed; it was the third time he had lost the draw for a seat to sleep on. The trip to Trottingham was another long one, and they had all just drawn straws. Shield and Knight won.
Right, I'd better not become addicted to gambling, or I'll be in serious trouble. He contented himself with reading a WWI book; the sun hadn't completely gone down yet.
The others had all found a place to lay down, and soon they were all asleep, except for Shield who seemed deep in thought as James continued to read. The human found the First World War to be applicable to many of the situations he was likely to be facing, although he intended to lay off the massive frontal assaults.
"Jim, I was just thinking..." Shield whispered.
"Yes?"
"The two sides in the Civil War claimed to be fighting for republican ideals. Why do you think that kind of government is worth fighting for?"
James thought for a minute before giving an answer. "Because democracy gives the average citizen some say in their government", he said at last. "Under an absolute monarchy, the rulers would be above all forms of law; hang it, they'd be the law. The people would have no say in the matter." He sat up straighter. "My forefathers fought for their independance from a king who taxed them with out allowing them to represent themselves in his government. When they resisted, and rightfully so, seeing as how many of these new taxes didn't care whether they hurt the local economy, he sent troops to garrison the colonies, with the soldiers having the priveledge to take up residence in people's homes. They would have to care for those soldiers, and worse, the soldiers didn't have to pay a cent. Against these and other injustices, my ancestors fought their battle for liberty, and, after eight and a half years of fighting, won it."
"I hope our own war doesn't last so long."
"My hopes are the same." James closed the book. "I was just answering your question."
"So you were." Shield shifted to a more comfortable position on the seat. "I at least understand why you prefer to be under that type of government, even if I don't fully agree with it."
"And I can understand why you feel more comfortable under a monarchy." James rested his head against the war of the car. "After being under a ruler who has reigned for over a thousand years, and very successfully, a different type of governing system seems less effective, or perhaps new-fangled."
He set the book down; Shield looked at the cover. "'First World War...'"
"You'd cry if you saw the casualty lists."
The Guard looked him in the eye. "That bad?"
James took a deep breath. "The majority of the war was fought on one continent, however, many of the nations involved had overseas empires, whose resources they utilized for the fighting." He paused for a moment. "The fighting destroyed much land in a country called France, and an entire generation in Europe was called upon to fight." He paused again. "One man said, as the war began, 'The lights are going out all over Europe. We shall not see them lit again in our lifetime.'"
"Why was the war fought?"
"It's immediate cause was the assassination of the Austrian Archduke. The long-term cause was the rise of nationalism and the imperial dreams of the warring countries, as well as revaunchism in France, which had been humiliated by Germany in an earlier conflict."
"Sounds... complicated."
"Yes. A system of alliances were in place on both sides to protect the nations in their respected alliances. However, this backfired; when war was declared on one country..."
"The rest had to follow."
"Yep." James looked at the book as well. "Pride can be just as lethal as the enemies we make, or perhaps imagine, in some cases. At first all those soldiers thought the war would be over quickly, because they thought that just because they came from such and such a country they had to be superior." He shook his head. "The idealism got knocked out of them pretty fast."
"I would imagine so." Shield looked outside the window. "It sounds like your world is filled with wars."
Perhaps you're right, but I'll argue about it as much as possible. "Peaceful events happen more often than ones featuring conflict. The reason peaceful eras aren't covered as well is because nothing really tended to happen that would catch the eye of many readers." He sighed. "During those times, people fell in love, got jobs, did everything people are supposed to do. Wars are discussed so much because they are disruptive."
"No kidding."
"We're still here, and we're ready as we can be."
"I just hope we can defend the city and the ponies in it."
"Me too."
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The march to the camp from Trottingham station was not all that long. James till had to endure stares, glances, and whispers about him, but at last that torment was over, and he found himself at the camp... which wasn't in the best of condition.
Eventually this torment - and the town - had passed, and the soldiers of Equestria were in the camp, getting decent food for the first time in a couple of days. Everyone seemed to relax.
Everyone, that is, except their commander. James still had work to do, with planning the upcoming campaign being the foremost concern on his mind. Once his tent had been set up and the table set, he got a map and began placing units. He got a few more stares from soldiers who hadn't seen him in a while, but he appeared to have the respect of the troopers he had lead against the Changelings, so he wasn't all too upset.
He kept trying to find a way to inhibit the Griffons' supply lines; doing so would hinder them greatly, as they had already come quite a ways already; fortunately they had not taken any major settlements as of yet, as much of the area was mere grassland and forests. In spite of devoting an hour to the problem, he could find no way of doing it without compromising the forces he already had. Such an operations would take hundreds of soldiers to pull off correctly, probably thousands.
There was a crash outside, and the sounds of an argument.
"Could you keep it down, I'm busy!" James shouted, before realizing he was being ridiculous, and rushed outside, fearing an enemy attack. Upon coming outside, he swiftly knew that the Griffons had not made any move of any sort - or at least not yet - and that the commotion had come from several ponies, one of whom had been carrying a tray that had been smashed. Some of those involved in the quarrel were plainly soldiers, while the others... The others were dressed in clothing that a fan of Napoleonic history would have worn, clothes that suggested these individuals had tried dressing up to be soldiers but hadn't mastered the know-how. Some carried ancient swords, others held anything sharp that they could find, including scythes and sickles; quite a few of them carried hammers. A few had bows and arrows slung over their backs, and a very small number of them wore old, rusty armor.
"Now what's all this about?" the human asked, walking over to the scene.
The conflicting parties separated, some of the newcomers looking surprised to see him. He did his best to ignore it.
A regular, one he recognized as one who had fought in the Changeling campaign, turned to him and said, "Sir, these ruffians came into the camp, pushing past the guards who tried to stop them. They said they wanted to speak directly to you."
The Colonel's eyebrow raised. "Then what happened?"
"We tried to stop them for inspection, and they refused. Then a fight started."
"And?"
"Then somepony bumped into the fellow carrying the tray, and then you came."
And? That would have been simply annoying. Instead, he turned his head to look at the newcomers. "And what is your justification for barging into a military camp, breaking protocol, and disturbing the peace in the army I command?" He thought afterwards about the irony of that last statement; soldiers' jobs were typically non-peaceful.
The leader of the armed crowd, a red-orange earth pony with what appeared to be a legal document forming a cutie mark and wearing a brown coat similar to those worn by sharpshooters and frontiers men in the American Revolution, walked up. He wasn't a "horse" or "stallion" pony, but he was still almost as tall as James. He also looked a little apologetic. "Pardon us for tha disturbance, sir," the pony said, in a voice that sounded very much like what Abraham Lincoln was supposed to. "I didn't wish to intrude upon your time, but I wish to speak for those of us who want to defend our homes and our families from the vicious jackboot of the invader."
Why did I not see this coming?, James thought to himself. It would make sense that a group of civilians would want to fight without going into the army; for one thing, they could protect their own towns and homes without a general giving orders to leave those homes for the enemy to take, for whatever reason. For another, they worked hard to develop the land and the towns they lived in; it was simply inevitable that something like this would happen.
"And is that an excuse for shoving aside guards who are trying to protect the camp?" he asked, hoping to keep the conversation alive in order to learn about this group.
The pony stiffened. "Our foals and wives are more important."
Damn if I couldn't see that tidbit coming. The Colonel sized up the militia - as it undeniably was. They all wore something unique, except for a few who wore nothing at all. Their weapons were as varied as their uniforms and armor, and much of it looked worn.
One thing he did see from all of them was a fierce determination in their eyes, and, while morale was not everything, an army with good spirit had halfway won any battle it fought. And these individuals wanted to fight.
"And what do you call youselves?"
The members of the militia turned to each other, whispering. Then the red-orange pony came back. "I am Colonel Rusty, and we are the Unauthorized Regiment of Equestria.*"
Several Guards nearby lost their composure and burst out laughing, and even the regulars chuckled. This failed to faze the newcomers, who endured the embarrassment. Rusty ignored the laughter almost entirely, except to add, "We might not be the most elegant soldiers out there, but we are willing to risk our lives to protect the people and land we love."
"Unauthorized indeed." James' eyebrow raised itself even higher. "I have not received the paperwork for it yet, not that I have any regrets on that, mind you." That was met with laughter from everyone. He waited for the mirth to quiet down a bit before going on. "In all seriousness, I am glad to have any assistance I can get. However, I am concerned about the discipline of your group. It may not hold up to the same standards that we go by. Can I expect your boys to follow orders?"
Rusty looked slightly uncomfortable at this, but he answered readily enough. "So long as those orders are the best for those were serve."
You'll tell us to fuck off if we give you an order you can't fathom obeying, such as a withdrawal from this region. James could read between the lines well enough. Before he could act on that thought, a Guard spoke up. "Sir, you aren't seriously suggesting we take in a band of undisciplined ragamuffins, are you?"
They're a cute looking breed of cats. Mental joke aside, it was a controversial decision. He thought for a minute before answering. "They know the local terrain and geography better than we do, and we need all the help we can get in this war." He turned to Rusty, the appointed Colonel of the so-called Unauthorized Regiment. "I expect cooperation from you and yours, 'Colonel' Rusty", he said, put an emphasis on the rank; it had been given the earth pony as if it were a title to be inherited instead of a rank to be earned. "And I intend to inform the Princesses of this development."
Rusty stayed impassive. "I would expect no less; I was a lawyer before this whole mess."
"Then you'll understand my concerns."
"I understand them entirely, as I understand who and what you are." James must have looked surprised, as the former lawyer went on, "My brother serves in the army, Colonel. I know you are a human, and that you were chosen to lead us."
At least I don't have to explain about all that, then. James got an idea. The militia force could prove useful indeed. "Come with me, Colonel Rusty. I have a plan in which you and your group could help."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
They went inside the tent. James went over to the table and sat down facing the door and the voted-in militia officer. "Colonel, I have a, er, order which I need someone to carry out."
"And why have you not given it already to your own soldiers?" Rusty asked, a little aggressiveness in his tone.
"Because we need those soldiers to hold the line. I can't afford to send a quarter of my forces to do the task I am about to lay before you."
"And? What exactly would you have us do?"
"Look here." James pointed out a number of dotted red lines on the map. "These are the enemy supply lines. They are supplying the Griffons with needed food, ammunition, and equipment to wage war. We have to at least try to cut those lines." James looked up. "I believe your... warriors could more effectively do this than the official military forces of Equestria could."
"We mean to fight, sir, not steal." Rusty looked a bit angry.
"If the Griffons don't get their weapons and food, they'll starve and have to retreat. And I'd rather have that than have lives lost by fighting them openly." Noticing the earth pony's sudden anguished face, he added, "I must note that your warriors have inferior equipment, armor, and discipline to ours. If they go out to battle the enemy face to face, they'll die. And then they will be unable to protect those they sought to keep safe. This job is much safer." He toned down his voice. "You know the land better than we do; you can hide easily, and you know the best places in which to set up traps and ambushes for the enemy. You would be serving your families best by doing this, and you'll gain experience with these raids."
Rusty looked at the map, and thought for a moment. "I can see your point," he said at last, sighing. "You work as well with words as you do an army, and I have fought many verbal battles in many courts; I have had few who were able to disarm me so well." Shaking his head, the pony went on, "I will relay your order to my boys; I'll try to tell 'em what you told me. I just hope they take it well."
"If you use the right words, they will listen, Colonel."
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Rusty turned out to be a good speaker; the militia troops did listen to him, and it was clear that they trusted him. James could tell that most of the Unauthorized Regiment were of the sort who could live off the land; most were farmers. That wasn't to say they were uneducated. From what he could gather, Rusty had started as a farmer and had used knowledge of the law to become a lawyer, one who was competant and fair, and he was well known in this province.
In the meantime, James had other things to attend to. After noting the militia were obedient to their leader's orders, he walked around the camp on his daily patrol; he liked to see the state of the camp in person.
He heard someone talking in a foreign language. That was odd. Other than the Changelings' insectile tongue, he hadn't heard another language being used so continuously in Equestria. James listened in order to get the direction the voice was coming from, then walked to an area behind two tents. Two horse/stallion-type earth ponies were chatting. There was an empty bottle next to one, with fuller bottles close by. They went on, oblivious to his presence for the moment. James managed to hear a few words he identified as Russian. He noted the colors each pony sported; one, who looked a little tipsy, had a brown coat with black mane and hooves. The other was dark green with tan mane and hooves.
The brown pony noticed the human after a moment, then said something that sounded a bit outraged and questioning. James felt his eyes widen in surprise, but it wasn't the knowledge he had been seen, or the aggressiveness of the question, whatever it was. He had heard an offensive word, one that, despite the Russian, he understood.
"You realize who you're talking to, right?" James said in English. He looked at the bottles; sure enough, something was written in Russian on them...
"I'm sorry, your Excellency," the green pony said in a Russian accent. "He is..."
"Drunk. Yes, I know. And being drunk on duty is a punishable offense." James had no real intention of punishing the two soldiers for this instance, but he had to give the warning nonetheless.
"Forgive me, Colonel," the green soldier said, looking a bit fearful. "Not on duty, we're resting, having gamble." The soldier pointed at a pair of dice with his right hoof. "Not knowing you would come."
Obviously.
The brown soldier said something in Russian, and his friend recoiled in shock. Looking at James' inquiring glance, the green pony said, "He... he says... insults. He says bad things, very bad things."
Drunk, insulting an officer. If I really wanted to press on, I could at the very least court-martial this soldier. He refrained from doing anything for the moment. The soldier was, after all, drunk and therefore not thinking clearly. And this is a perfect example of why I will never drink an alcoholic beverage... as if my vow didn't set that in stone.
"Colonel, please, forgive us."
"You're forgiven, but know that other officers may not be so forthcoming." James turned to the brown trooper. "Am I understood?"
The soldier's eyes came together in a moment of clearity. "...Da."
"He says yes."
"I know. I have enough Russian to understand that and a few other phrases."
"We speaking... no, speak, in Stalliongrader. Small city, to north."
What a surprise, another re-named Earth language. "Has it been overrun by the invaders?"
"Nyet... I mean, no."
"Good." James turned to go.
"Wait."
"...Yes?" James stopped.
"Th... Thank you."
"...You're welcome."
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The next few days were frantic as the invading Griffon army came closer. Luckily they didn't seem to be moving very fast; they were confident that they would be unopposed, that victory was all too close for failure to be possible.
Skirmishers did their best to make them think twice; regulars and militia sniped at the enemy from behind fences and houses, forcing them to stop in order to deal with the problem every mile or so. Again fire and fall back tactics were working, even more so now that the enemy was no longer a mindless horde.
The "Unauthorized Regiment" was doing it's part to slow the invaders. They would ambush wagons and convoys of food and supplies, bringing back what they could and wrecking that which they couldn't. Each attack killed or wounded a few of the enemy and disrupted their ability to resupply.
Better still, the guerillas captured a few advanced enemy weapons, guns to be precise. James was very happy to have some matchlock-style muskets in his possession, along with the ammunition. Unfortunately the only one who could use them was the human commander; the trigger guards and design of the guns was beyond the easy use of ponies. He sent most of them back to Canterlot to be studied, but kept one musket and it's ammunition for himself. It turned out to be much harder to load than his revolver or a crossbow, but it was designed to shoot farther, even if it was inaccurate.
The Griffons, even with all these problems, didn't stop, although they had definitely been slowed down. They kept coming in spite of everything done against them. They seemed to have taken an arrogant attitude, one that shrugged of the attacks as nothing important, as pinpricks that would have no effect on the war at large. James knew that sooner or later, he would have to face them in the field. His army was in good spirits, and moreover, the enemy's tendancy to loot civilian houses proved to hurt the Griffons more than help; the Equestrians were fired in anger over the thefts. They had better artillery, and more of it; many of the Griffon clans had no artillery at all, and much of it was very outdated, to include ballistae and catapults. Only a few, very wealthy clans had any cannons worth mentioning.
All that was necessary was to use the forces he had to beat the foe, which was easier said than done. The one place he was outdone was in numbers. James counted a force of 4,103 battle-ready soldiers. The enemy had about twice that, and while numbers were no guarantee of success, they did help to get there.
"Colonel, sir!" a pegasus said, arrving in the human's tent.
"Yes, private?" James replied.
"The Griffons are marching on a village north of Trottingham. If they take it, they will have a base from which to launch their attacks."
"...Alright, thank you soldier. That will be all, unless you have more news."
The soldier shook his head, saluted, and left. James looked at the map and sighed. He had to make a move immediately. He had known of the enemy force, and it's numbers, about two thousand strong, a vanguard to take the village, Starshine by name, and hold it until their main force arrived.
Here's a good chance to defeat them in detail. If we can destroy this force, we will stand a better chance against the main body. He knew he had to leave some of his forces behind, in case the enemy was using this force as a diversion and had planned a bigger attack elsewhere. He chose to take some of his veterans as well as a smaller force of inexperienced soldiers, in all utilizing a force of about 1,500, with the rest of the army to move up later and form a reserve.
The march began in the wee hours of the morning; everyone in the units that were to fight were tired and yawning, but there were few complaints. Soldiers checked their equipment and, in the case of the Royal Guards, armor. For his part James made sure his musket was ready for battle. He kept some matches in order to light the thing; matchlocks lit their charges by touching a slow-burning rope to a charge of gunpowder.
The march went on in the light of the moon. They at least could use the roads to travel, which increased their speed to some extent. The army marched through much of the day to reach Starshine, during which there was plenty of talking and chatting.
"Why don't you speak a language everypony can understand?"
James stopped and turned around. A dull red pegasus was hovering in the air, looking at the two Russian-speaking ponies he had encountered a few days ago. The brown pony wasn't drunk anymore, but he was clearly upset. He started using Russian again, obviously insulting the flyer, who just looked irritated rather than insulted.
"Break it up, break it up." James walked over and separated the two parties. Turning to the pegasus, he said, "They have a right to speak whatever language they want; if you don't like it, you don't have to listen." The pegasus, upset that his side had lost this particular battle, flew off in a huff.
"To thank, Colonel." The brown stallion spoke in English for the first time in heavily-accented tones. "To be grateful."
"You're welcome, just try to be careful in case you run into him again."
"To be doing, thanking you."
"Hmmm..." James tipped his hat and kept marching.
-----------------------------------------------------
"Colonel, the enemy is advancing on the village. What are your orders?" asked a blue unicorn regular.
"Alert our forward positions, and make sure the Second Stalliongrad Regiment is ready on the right side of our line," James answered, getting up from his chair. They had been in camp north of Starshine for two days, and for whatever reason the enemy had taken their sweet old time getting here.
"Oh yes, uh, the Stalliongraders." The unicorn's face had a slightly disgusted look on it.
"What's wrong, private?"
"It's just that Stalliongrad has a rather... poor reputation, sir."
"...I see... Dismissed." The pony left. James went back to the map and moved the markers displaying the Griffon army southward, toward his own forces. The Equestrian army was ready for the foe.
Soon enough the forward units were in their positions on the field, to the west of Starshine lake, which anchored the eastern flank of the army. Soldiers waited with crossbows loaded and cannons unlimbered.
James looked at the trees about a mile or so away to the north. The enemy would be emerging from there shortly... wait. Several Griffons came flying in, high in the sky.
"Shoot them down!" James shouted.
"Sorry, sir, the AA battery isn't fully prepared yet."
"Damn." James turned back to the enemy flyers. They didn't appear to carry any weapons, now that he was looking carefully, just baskets.
The Griffons flew over the Equestrian lines, and turned their baskets upside down as they did so, but instead of dropping bombs, as James expected, strips of paper came fluttering down, landing among his forces.
Some soldiers fired crossbows at the Griffons, who ignored the shots and flew back toward their own troops.
James picked up one of the pieces of paper the foe had dropped. It was as he had expected;
Soldiers of Equestria! Your Princesses no longer command your loyalty! We come to remake this land from the corrupt and soft mess it has become. Do not resist our invincible advance; flee to your homes, and ready yourselves and your families for the new order! If you do so, you will be rewarded. If you choose to fight regardless, you only lay down your own lives for a dead cause. Give up, and face the light of the new dawn!
Bastards. James looked around. Other soldiers had also picked up the propaganda leaflets, and there was some muttering going on.
"Sir, what do we do?" asked Silver Shield, looking nervous. "Some of the boys might take these papers too seriously."
James forced himself to laugh. "We should thank the Griffons, sergeant." To Shield's confused face, he added, "They gave us free tissues and toilet paper. We were starting to run low." This was met by immense laughter from everyone. He could tell that most of the anxiety was gone, and that which was left was usual battle concern.
"Sir, the AA battery has been set up."
"Good."
Despite their flyby, the foe didn't show themselves en masse for fifteen minutes. During that time, the Equestrians made their defenses as airtight as possible, filling any holes in their lines. Many of the troopers chatted with one another simply out of boredom. For a moment, battle seemed far away.
"Sir," said a gray pegasus, "the enemy are setting up a battery of ther own!" The regular pointed with a hoof. James trained his binoculars on the place the trooper had indicated. Sure enough, a group of kilted Griffon warriors were setting up three ballistae. One of them fired; the rounded stone fell short of the line.
"Use our own guns; blow that battery out of existence!" James shouted.
His gunners obeyed; their pieces were already loaded, and seconds later they opened fire. Shells landed around the enemy position; one of the ballistae was hit directly, and the explosion wiped out it's crew. Four more shells landed around the other two wooden excuses for cannons, practically obliterating the Griffons trying to load them and wrecking the pieces. Five more shells landed in the position; the enemy battery was gone.
As the last shell detonated, a line of Griffon warriors marched out from the treeline, shouting and sounding battle cries; many, James noticed, had blue paint on ther faces and bellies, and occasionally on their wings. They wore kilts and came bearing swords and spears, with small, round shields bearing pictures that had to represent a noble house or clan. One of them marches slightly ahead of the others, carrying a flag; on the flag was a picture of a white battle axe with a background of green.
Other enemy units began to step out of the trees; one of them wore red uniforms and carried muskets, with a banner that bore a light blue x on a deep cyan background, bearing a Griffon figure in the center, with a crown outlined on it's head. The rest wore uniforms in between the two extremes, some wearing green and other blue, brown, white, and so on and so forth. Their arms were as varied as their uniforms, with some carrying pikes, other guns, some carrying whatever they could find; he could have sworn he saw a few individuals carrying clubs.
The spectacle was a sight to behold... but James knew he couldn't afford to waste time.
Especially as some of the units, including the one resembling Scottish highlanders, began to recklessly charge forward. Shouts of "Raneiro!" and "For old Graywing!" and other slogans filled the air as the charge gained momentum.
"All cannons, fire!" James shouted at the top of his lungs.
The artilleryponies obeyed; shells and cannonballs streaked into the enemy lines; some hit multiple foes in a row, causing an errily funny tumble backwards. Explosions blasted the foe, who kept coming.
Some storms of lead were unbearable. This one wasn't... completely. Some of the enemy troops, instead of continuing their advance, began to falter. A few ran away, back northward, dropping their weapons, some of them taking flight in blind panic. The rest just kept running forward.
James steadied his musket on a fence post, aiming for a Griffon soldier in a red uniform who appeared to be an officer; he carried a sword and was shouting orders. James fired. The officer fell to the ground, clutching his left leg. James had been aiming for his chest; the bigger the target, the most likely he was to hit it, not that he had. With a musket, you had to take credit for whatever hits you got, especially at this distance.
He looked to his right, at part of his own line. Some of his soldiers looked nervous; they would be firing on living, thinking beings this time around, who had families and friends of their own. They weren't organic robots, like the Changelings.
He waited as the foe got closer. "Fire!"
Most of his soldiers did shoot, and crossbow bolts flew into the enemy lines. Griffon soldiers toppled, falling, many clutching at themselves as they were hit, others crumpling instantly.
A roar and a lasting hiss; the artillery had begun firing canister. Enemy soldiers and warriors fell en masse, in ranks, looking for all the world like toy soldiers a child had discarded. For many of the Griffons, this was too much to bear; they started running and flying back in the direction they had come, some carrying or dragging injured and dead comrades.
A majority, however, remained in line. Most of those who did bore muskets and other ranged weaponry, which they now leveled at the Equestrians. A crossbow bolt tore through the air next to his ear, and he ducked down. He brought his weapon to bear, pulled the trigger...
Nothing happened. He looked down. He had run the rope into the ground, dowsing the fire on it's end and spilling some of the powder from the weapon onto the ground. He heard screams around him, and heard bodies hit the ground.
"Damn it!" He managed to fix the problem by re-lighting the rope and replacing the lost powder. This time, the gun went off, hitting an enemy flagbearer, who dropped the banner and fell to the ground without a cry, or at least not one James could hear. He cursed again and began to reload as best he could.
"Verdamnt!" James heard the German cuss coming from the foe's lines, and turned to see one of their soldiers drop to his knees - uninjured, in spite of the storm of bolts and canister rounds - and pick up the soldier he had just shot. More German, this time mournful.
What am I doing? The enemy are people too! How can I keep doing this!?!
A pony next to him toppled, a bolt stuck in his upper foreleg. The soldier screamed as he fell.
That's why. If you don't, they'll kill you and many of your troopers. Get up! He did so, grabbing the soldier's discarded - and loaded - crossbow and shot it. He failed to hit anyone, but one of the soldiers next to his target ducked, so he or somebody else must have come close.
From what he could see, the less-well equiped foes suffered the most; those with melee weapons had to close with the ponies, exposing themselves to heavy fire. Those who did come close were gutted by ready spears and stuck by energy from unicorn horns. The foes doing well - relatively - were those who simply stood still, loading, firing, and repeating their actions. They were inflicting casualties, although they suffered terribly from artillery fire. The red-uniformed soldiers were the most composed; they calmly went through the motions, unconcerned with death or injury unless it happened to them.
After what seemed like forever but had to be only fifteen to thirty minutes, a bugle sounded from behind the enemy lines. Upon hearing it, the Griffon units began to retreat, though not all of them did. A few units, including the highlanders, kept fighting; apparently they didn't know what the bugle call meant. They soon learned they should have fallen back, as they noticed after a few minutes that their allies were abandoning them. Then they began to fall back, many throwing down their weapons as they did so. After a few minutes, the sounds of battle ceased, leaving a field full of smoke and bodies, the majority - perhaps the vast majority - being Griffon.
James let his breath out; he hadn't even noticed he had been holding it. Turning to his right, then to his left, he could see shocked and scared soldiers, one of them continuing to load his crossbow and fire it, somehow unaware the battle was over. Some stared into the distance, their eyes alive but unseeing. The thousand-yard stare had been reborn in a peaceful land.
He found Shield crouching behind a stone wall, checking his weapon. "Take a few of your boys, gather the wounded, both ours and theirs," James ordered.
"Yes sir." At least the Royal Guard didn't seem to have shell shock. He obeyed the order, gathering a group of ponies around him and going out onto the field.
How long can we endure this horror?
----------------------------------------------------------------
"How the hell did you bungle the attack so badly?" shouted an angry Griffon General.
"Sir, we met heavy resistance from the Equestrians," answered a Royal officer from Raniero's personal army, with a British accent in his voice. "They used cannons and crossbows to halt our attack. Hundreds are dead, maybe a thousand or more."
The General snorted. "You exaggerate." He got up from his chair. "The ponies are weak, peaceful, incapable of mustering the resistance you have suggested."
"You would not call me a liar if you could have seen the field."
"Silence!" The General's claw swept the table, smacking the officer across the face. "I will not tolerate insubordination, am I clear, leftenant?"
"...C...Crystal, sir." The lieutenant lifted a claw to his slapped cheek.
"Good, now reform the ranks and make prepare to attack again. Flank their positions. Trap them, and force their surrender."
"Yes sir, will do." The lieutenant walked out of the room, still clutching his cheek.
"Oh, and lieutenant?"
"Yes sir?"
"There will be no excuse for failure this time around."
"...Understood, sir."
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*Note, I got the idea for the Unauthorized Regiment from Harry Turtledove's book How Few Remain, in which Theodore Roosevelt forms a volunteer militia to fight an invading British force coming from Canada (read the book if you want to know more).