The Fight for Cranberry Hill

by Insert Pen Name

Part I

        The crunching sound of tiny hooves echoed along the trench as three brave soldier-ponies scurried in single file through the narrow space. The first of these valiant ponies was a grim-faced earth-mare, her rose-red hair tied back with a ragged band of pink. Close behind was a pegasus, whose orange feathers bristled in the cold air as she struggled to see beneath the brim of a camo-patterned kepi that was really much too large for her. Taking up the rear was a white unicorn, her wool scarf tied like a hood over her pastel curls. Through the trench the three ponies trod, until they came upon the rest of their unit, lined up along the outermost wall, preparing for the upcoming battle. Out in the field above echoed the carnage of war.

        Cranberry Hill lay just beyond.

        “This it it, girls,” panted Apple Bloom excitedly. “This is the day we finally take Cranberry Hill!”

        “That’s what you said last time,” groaned Scootaloo.

        “And the time before that,” added Sweetie Belle.

        “This time is different,” barked Apple Bloom. “This time, I mean it. We are gettin’ up that hill, no matter what!”

        The sudden cry of a whistle ended the discussion for the time being. All eyes turned to the determined face of the ashen-maned colt who stood stoically at the head of the trench.

        “Okay guys, listen up!” said Rumble. “The rendezvous point is the ‘shingle’ at the base of the hill. Use those –”

        “Incoming!!!”

        Everypony ducked down as an enormous projectile smote the far lip of the trench, showering the ponies inside with debris. Undaunted, Rumble shook himself off and continued.

        “Use those defilades and keep moving; do not stop until you reach the shingle!”

        “Thirty seconds!” yelled Chowder, placing a whistle of his own to his lips and turning his gaze to a battered old stopwatch.

        Apple Bloom gulped.

        “This is it, girls. Ya ready?”

        “Ready as I’ll ever be,” said Scootaloo.

        “I just want you girls to know... that I love you both,” sobbed Sweetie Belle. “In a totally platonic sort of way,” she added.

        “What’s ‘plutonic’?” asked Scootaloo.

        “‘Platonic’,” corrected Sweetie Belle. “It means ‘as friends’. Like, I love you both as friends.”

        “Why didn’t ya just say ‘as friends’ then?” asked Apple Bloom.

        “Yeah, what are you, a dictionary?” jeered Scootaloo.

        “Seriously? That wasn’t even funny the first time,” groaned Sweetie Belle.

        The shrill scream of Chowder’s whistle sounded.

        “Go! Go! GO!” cried Rumble. “Over the top! Go!”

        And so it began. In a single desperate moment of stumbling hooves, the assembled troops hurried scrambled up the wall and charged forward into a literal hail of enemy fire. Two foals fell almost immediately, one of them tumbling back head over hooves. Three more were wiped out as another massive round hit the trench. But our three heroines soldiered on, up over the top, into the field of battle. Onward they ran, never stopping, until they found cover beneath the crest of a snowy hillock, where they were afforded a brief moment to take in the violence that surrounded them.

        The field behind the Ponyville Schoolhouse had been transformed from a winter wonderland into a frozen warzone. Crude trenches criss-crossed the field like scars in the snow. Unspent snowballs and battered snow-barricades littered the ground, remnants of many a previous after-school skirmish, and the yells of the embattled colts and fillies filled the air as snowballs fell like rain. And at the head of it all stood the single solitary snow-fortress atop Cranberry Hill.

        Cranberry Hill wasn’t actually a hill, of course. Every winter, after each heavy snow, plow crews would visit the school overnight and clear the area around the schoolhouse. The plowed snow was then piled into a great heap at the edge of the schoolyard. Many fanciful names had graced this seasonal summit over the years: “Mount Snowshoe”, “Duke’s Ridge”, “The Throat of Equestria”. This year, the snowy peak was known, quite whimsically, as “Cranberry Hill”. Naturally, the summit made for an ideal strategic position in the school-children’s annual snow wars. Whoever controlled the Hill controlled the battle.

        The three Crusaders were soon joined in their refuge by a trembling little colt in a large woolen tuque. Scootaloo immediately reached over to give the poor colt a firm pat on the shoulder.

        “Hey there, Featherweight, still hanging in there?”

        Featherweight nodded, though not convincingly.

        “Don’t worry Featherweight, we’ll get you through this,” said Sweetie Belle warmly. “The Cutie-Mark Crusaders never leave a pony behind!”

        “Look out!!!”
        
        Another massive snowball suddenly smashed through a nearby snowbank, scattering the two fillies who had taken cover behind it. Apple Bloom gulped once again, then dared a peek out towards the fort on the Hill. At the crest of the mound, behind the snow-fort’s crenellated walls, towered a makeshift flagpole, from which flew a banner that many a colt and filly had come to hate with a passion over the past few weeks: a stylised white diadem on a mauve field. The very sight of it made Apple Bloom’s lip curl.

The source of the fearsome bombardment was readily apparent. Two long two-by-fours had been erected within one of the fort’s bastions, forming the frame for a massive bungie-powered slingshot. Its appearance came as no surprise; for the past week, it had been a painful thorn in their side, and all previous attempts to neutralise it had fared rather poorly, to say the least. As Apple Bloom watched, a team of older colts loaded another large snowball into the sling, drew back, and fired it into the field below, with devastating results.

        “We can’t stay here,” said Apple Bloom. “C’mon, we gotta get to the shingle!”

        Without delay, the three fillies – plus Featherweight – charged out from their hiding place and galloped through the deep snow towards the base of the Hill. Luck seemed to be on their side, until Featherweight suddenly stumbled behind them.

        “Featherweight!” cried Sweetie Belle.

        Before Featherweight could respond, a single well-aimed snowball hurtled down from on high and struck the poor colt on the back.

        “Nooo!!!”

        “Sweetie Belle, come on!” yelled Scootaloo.

        “But –”

        “Ain’t nothin’ we can do for him!” shouted Apple Bloom. “C’mon, we gotta move!”

        Sweetie Belle made as if to protest, but a fresh volley from the Hill convinced her of the necessity of the situation. A few seconds later, the three fillies had joined their comrades in the shelter of the shingle. Barely more than a dozen other foals had yet made it across the field and now cowered against the cold, hard-packed snow, while blindly hurled snowballs rained all around them. In the midst of it all, Rumble sat shouting into a Wonderbolts-themed walkie-talkie.

        “We’re getting creamed out here! Where’s our support?! We need reinforcements, now! What? Okay, roger that!”

        Putting down his radio, Rumble turned to the others.

        “Listen up, ponies: they’re sending up ammo and reinforcements! We need to provide covering fire, so get some snowballs ready. Wait for my mark...”

        The next several moments were spent hastily scooping snow into suitable shapes.

        “Mark!”

        On Rumble’s command, the foals at the shingle leapt out into the open and hurled a volley of snowballs at the crenellations above. Some found a mark, but a second later, the defenders launched a volley of their own in retaliation.

        “Keep firing!” shouted Rumble as one poor filly took a hit to the face. “Dodge em’ if you can, but don’t let up!”

        As Apple Bloom stooped for another snowball, she caught sight of their reinforcements. At least half-a-dozen fillies and colts were galloping across the open field, dragging a large toboggan piled high with ready-made snowballs.

        “Keep firing! They’re gonna make it!” cheered Rumble.

        Unfortunately, in that exact moment, another round was fired from the fort’s massive slingshot. With uncanny precision, it sailed gracefully through the air before slamming directly into the toboggan, scattering its precious cargo into the snow. One colt stopped to gather up what he could, but was quickly struck down by a well-pitched throw. The rest of the escort abandoned the toboggan entirely and hurried forward to join their comrades.

        “Darn it!” swore Rumble as they retreated back to the safety of the shingle.

        “Sorry, sir,” mumbled one of the colts that had been pulling the toboggan. “We tried our best.”

        “What are we gonna do without ammo?” wailed one of the other fillies.

        “Forget the ammo; that we can improvise,” barked Rumble as he turned to the three Crusaders. “Apple Bloom, I need you and your crew to run out there and get that toboggan; we’ll need it for cover if we’re going to get up the Hill!”

        “Never fear, sir!” declared Apple Bloom. “We’ll get it, no problem! Come on, girls!”

        Without hesitation, the three Crusaders sprinted over to the abandoned toboggan and hefted it over their heads. Before they had gone more than three steps, however, a sudden gust of wind blew across the field, ruffling Apple Bloom’s mane, billowing Sweetie Belle’s scarf, and blowing Scootaloo’s oversized kepi right off her head.

        “My hat!”

        “Scootaloo, no!”

        Before Apple Bloom and Sweetie Belle could restrain her, Scootaloo took off after her errant headgear. Setting abuzz her tiny wings, Scootaloo leapt into the air, caught the kepi in mid-dive, executed a perfect landing, and was promptly hit with no fewer than four well-aimed snowballs.

        “Nooo!!!”

        Sweetie Belle immediately made to leap to Scootaloo’s aid, but was stopped at the last second by her surviving friend.

        “Sweetie Belle, no! It’s too late for her,” said Apple Bloom as she pulled her friend under the toboggan.

        “But Apple Bloom –”

        “I’m sorry, Sweetie Belle, but we gotta go. She knew what she was gettin’ into.”

        “But –”

        “Let’s go!”

        In silence, the two fillies hurried back to the shingle, stray snowballs rattling harmlessly off the toboggan’s polished underside.

        “First Featherweight, and now Scootaloo,” spat Sweetie Belle as she glared at her friend. “Who’s next, Apple Bloom? Who else are we going leave behind?”

        Before Apple Bloom could answer, Rumble’s shrieking whistle smote the air.

        “Ad-vance!!!”

        With one last defiant yell, the ponies charged up the Hill, some bearing the toboggan before them against the enemy’s missiles, others keeping to the rougher parts of the Hill, where there was some cover for their climb. Slowly, but surely, the valiant attackers drew closer to the summit.

        Then tragedy struck. One of the toboggan carriers lost her footing, and in a flash, their indomitable shield was sent tumbling down the slope. Apple Bloom was able to scramble out of the way in the nick of time, but Sweetie Belle wasn’t so lucky.

        “Sweetie Belle!” cried Apple Bloom.

        “Go!” yelled Sweetie Belle as she slid helplessly back down the Hill.

        “But you said –”

        “Forget what I said, go!”

        And she was gone.

        For a long moment, Apple Bloom could do nothing but lie there helplessly against the slope. Wherever she looked, she saw ponies falling. Featherweight and Scootaloo, abandoned on that terrible field. Sweetie Belle, lying in a heap at the base of the Hill. Twist, Pina, and Dinky, all lost. And now even Rumble, beaten by a barrage of snowballs from on high, his Wonderbolts walkie-talkie lying dead in the snow. Apple Bloom shuddered. It could not end like this, it couldn’t! She had made a promise that this would be the day they took Cranberry Hill! Just like last time... and the time before that...

        Silencing the dissenting voices in her head, Apple Bloom filled her lungs and let out an almighty shout to her remaining comrades.

        “Follow me! Charge!!!”

        And charge they did. With her comrades at her back, Apple Bloom clambered up the slope, dodging snowballs wherever they flew. One by one, the attackers were picked off and laid low, but not Apple Bloom. With the fury of a filly possessed, she reached the nearest bastion, pausing only to hurl a snowball into the first unfortunate face that dared show itself between the crenellations. Without fear, hesitation, or reason, she vaulted the walls of the fort and landed inside, just in time to see the giant slingshot fire a round straight at her head. With less than a second to spare, the filly ducked, and the shot exploded into the wall behind, showering her coat with its freezing shrapnel. For a long moment, Apple Bloom lay splayed out in a daze, until she heard footsteps approaching.

        Looking up, Apple Bloom found herself staring into the face of the very pony she had sworn to defeat. The prudish pink filly smiled, her namesake accessory glinting like ice in the winter sun. A snowball of her own rested in the crook of her foreleg.

        “Sorry, loser!” she teased with a sneer. “Looks like you lose!”

        “Seriously? That’s your best line?” asked Apple Bloom.

        Diamond Tiara said nothing, but merely put on a sour look and smashed her snowball into Apple Bloom’s face.

        An hour later, the Cutie Mark Crusaders were sitting around a corner table in Sugarcube Corner, glumly nursing three tall mugs of Pinkie Pie’s take on hot chocolate (fill mug with marshmallows, add hot chocolate, stew). Though nopony had been genuinely hurt during the fighting, their spirits were another matter entirely. Only Sweetie Belle seemed unaffected by their recent defeat.

        “Oh come on, it wasn’t that bad,” said Sweetie Belle. “So we lost again, so what?”

        “We didn’t just lose, Sweetie Belle,” snapped Scootaloo. “We got our butts kicked! Again!”

        “At least one of us got up the hill this time,” said Sweetie Belle.

        “Yeah, one of us, for all the good that did,” grumbled Apple Bloom.

        “Hey, it wasn’t not my fault,” said Sweetie Belle defensively. “I totally would’ve been there too, if they hadn’t dropped the sled.”

        “And don’t get me started on you, Scootaloo,” continued Apple Bloom.

        “What? What did I do?”

        “If it weren’t for you and that stupid hat o’ yours, you could’ve been there with us!”

        “It’s not a stupid hat, it’s Rainbow Dash’s!” Scootaloo retorted.

        “Oh, I’m sorry,” jeered Apple Bloom. “I guess if it’s Rainbow Dash’s, then that makes everythin’ okay. Who cares if it’s too big on ya, or if it gets ya killed!”

        “Girls! Stop! Arguing about it isn’t going to get us anywhere,” lectured Sweetie Belle. “What we need is to sit down and think about this. Now say you’re sorry to each other.”

        The other two fillies glared at each other a moment, then started to back down.

        “Sorry,” they both mumbled halfheartedly.

        “That’s better,” huffed Sweetie Belle. “Honestly, just because there’s a war on is no reason to be fighting all the time.”

        The mood grew more cordial thereafter. For the next few minutes, the debacle on Cranberry Hill was more or less forgotten as the three fillies enjoyed the warm sweetness of their marshmallowy hot chocolate. That is until the door opened, allowing a cold wind and two smug-faced fillies to enter the shop.

        “Well, well, well, if it isn’t the Cutie-Mark Clutzaders!” jeered Diamond Tiara.

        Apple Bloom let out a disgusted growl.

        “What’s the matter, losers? Little blank-flank fillies can’t take the cold?” asked Silver Spoon sardonically.

        “Maybe you could all get your cutie-marks in losing,” smirked Diamond. “By the way, how’d you like your snowball facial, Apple Bloom?”

        “Go soak yer head in the pond,” spat Apple Bloom.

        “Yeah, it’s bad enough getting pounded out there without you two ruining our R and R,” added Scootaloo.

        “Whatever, losers. We just thought you might like to see what a real winner looks like,” said Diamond icily. “Let’s go, Silver dear, I’ve had enough loser-watching for one day.”

        It was all Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo could do to stop Apple Bloom from tearing across the room and burying Diamond Tiara’s face in the nearest pie. Undaunted, the two irksome fillies departed in a chorus of cruel giggles.

        “I’m really startin’ to hate those two,” muttered Apple Bloom. “Like, more than usual.”

        “Did they seriously only come in just to torment us?” asked Sweetie Belle.

        “I’m getting real sick of their bull-honkey!” swore Scootaloo.

        “Yeah, they’re a pair of no-good meanie-pants!” added Pinkie Pie.

        “Yeah! Wait, what the –?”

        “Hi!” chirped Pinkie.

        “Pinkie Pie? How long’ve you been standin’ there?” asked Apple Bloom.

        “Hmmm, about six minutes,” answered Pinkie with a shrug. “You girls really should start panning to the left more often.”

        “Okay...”

        “So, what’s got you three all grumpy-grump-faced? Not enough marshmallows in your cocoa? I can always add more!”

        “No, we’re fine, thanks,” said Sweetie Belle.

        “No you’re not,” said Pinkie with a shake of her head. “You’re one-hundred percent not fine. Believe me, I can tell.”

        “It really ain’t that big a deal,” said Apple Bloom with a shrug.

        “It’s always a big deal when my friends are feeling all grumpy,” retorted Pinkie. “So come on, tell me! You know your Auntie Pinkie’s good for it.”

        Apple Bloom sighed.

“You know the big snow-hill out by the school?” she asked. “The one we call Cranberry Hill?”

        “Cranberry Hill...” murmured Pinkie thoughtfully. “Oh! You mean Mount Steeps!”

        “Mount Steeps?”

        “That’s what we called it,” said Pinkie. “Oh, we had such fun on Mount Steeps! We used to climb on it, and slide on it, and make snow forts on it, and write our names in it with our –”

        “Yeah, that’s the one,” interrupted Apple Bloom. “Only we just make snow forts on it. Problem is, Diamond Tiara and Silver Spoon and a bunch of other kids built a real big fort on it last week, and they’ve been lordin’ it over us ever since!”

        “Nopony can even get close to the Hill without getting shot at,” explained Scootaloo.

        “The rest of us have been trying to push them off, but it’s been pretty one-sided so far,” added Sweetie Belle.

Pinkie Pie reacted to this explanation with a horrified gasp.

“You mean those mean old fillies are hogging the Hill?!” she asked in a harsh whisper. “But, where do you climb or go sliding, then?”

“We don’t,” shrugged Scootaloo. “Nopony does, really. All we do is fight.”

Pinkie gasped.

“That is just the meanest, selfishest, no-goodest thing I ever heard! Nopony should ever be allowed to hog the Hill!”

“Definitely not Diamond Tiara, at least,” muttered Apple Bloom.

“Well that settles it, I’m in!” she declared, slamming her hoof on the table for good measure. “You can tell all your little buddies that Auntie Pinkie Pie’s here to help!”

“Uh, we’re not supposed to get help from grown-ups,” said Apple Bloom. “Playground rules, ya know?”

“I’m not a grown-up,” said Pinkie brightly. “I’m only... hold on...”

She did some quick mental arithmetic. Her face darkened.

“Twenty-two...” she said finally. “I’m twenty-two years old. Wow, didn’t see that one coming.”

“Are you going to be okay, Pinkie?” asked Sweetie Belle sympathetically.

“I’ll be fine,” sighed Pinkie glumly. “But never mind me, what about you? We need to figure out a way to get mean old Diamond Tiara off her high horse! Not a real high horse, though, that would be silly, because –”

“Yeah, we get that,” interrupted Scootaloo.
 
“Oh, sorry. Any ideas?”

“Sort of. I was thinkin’ we could come up with some sort o’ trick,” said Apple Bloom. “Somethin’ real clever. Like that story about the big wooden donkey.”

“No way!” scoffed Scootaloo. “That’s the lamest trick in the book. What we really need is some serious firepower! Like that giant slingshot they have. That thing is just wicked.”

“I was thinking we could march all around the Hill a bunch of times, with trumpets and stuff, and then shout really loud at the top of our lungs!” suggested Sweetie Belle.

“How’s that supposed to help us?” asked Scootaloo.

“I dunno. Sounded a lot better in my head,” replied Sweetie Belle with an inferior shrug.

Strangely enough, Pinkie Pie remained silent throughout this whole exchange, her brow tightly furrowed. Finally, she looked up to address the three fillies.

“Those are all very good ideas,” she said levelly. “But I think I like Scootaloo’s the best!”

“Sweet! Heavy-duty firepower it is!” cheered Scootaloo.

“Not just firepower...” said Pinkie devilishly. “Party-power...”