//------------------------------// // The Battle of Valneigh // Story: Armor's Game // by OTCPony //------------------------------// “You’re certain you’re comfortable with the plan, Captain?” On the reverse of a slope a thousand yards from Valneigh, Captain Isabelle Lilly Pie, No. 1 Battery, Royal Artillery, fixed her General with a penetrating gaze. General Sir Time Target, commander of the army’s artillery park, was nothing if not thorough, though perhaps slightly too thorough. “Sir,” she said. “I’ve made sure that my ponies have been thoroughly briefed, and they understand it as well as anypony. We will hold on this reverse slope until 0900 hours, at which time the entire artillery park will advance to a firing position. From there we will lay down a continuous barrage, rippling our fire by batteries, to support the infantry encirclement and assault.” “Good, good,” muttered the General. He pulled a hoofkerchief from the pocket of his blue jacket and mopped his forehead around his horn. It was a chilly morning, even as the first rays of Celestia’s sun broke behind them, but sweat still beaded his brow. Inkie Pie couldn’t blame him. For four miles to the south of them, almost to the bank of the Canter Creek, were twenty-four artillery batteries, all concealed behind reverse slopes, within woodblocks, of behind the ruins of ancient farmhouses and holdfasts. One hundred and ninety howitzers and cannon all stood ready, their barrels pre-sighted so that when they were rolled up, they could be fired instantly down on the Changeling legionary camp below. Time Target commanded the single most destructive concentration of firepower in the entire army: One misfire, one out-of-place gun, or one jumpy officer firing off too early, and the entire plan could be blown. “But you’re certain you’ve got it?!” he blurted again. Inkie sighed. “Don’t worry, sir. We have something of a tradition of artillery in the Pie family.” *** Shining Armor’s command was based at the windmill Rainbow Dash had spotted hours previously. When the time came to attack, from here he’d have a perfect all-round view of the batteries on both sides of him, and the brigades that would come in from the north and west. Major General Neigh had taken the 3rd Division north at first light. Their orders were to cut off that axis as an escape route for the Changeling force. Travelling with them were the 11th and 12th Light Brigades, cavalry units that would move further west and ensure that a Changeling retreat in that direction was impossible. Then they’d tighten like a noose around the Changeling legion when the barrage began. He was terrified, and it was all he could do not to show it. His other officers in the windmill, gathered around the hastily thrown-up map table, were all anxiously pawing at the ground, playing with uniform items, or repeatedly checking their watches. He could not afford the luxury of releasing stress, though. He was the General, the pony who made the final decision. He had to look utterly confident and in control. As he stood there in a perfect parade-rest position, he ran the plan through his mind. The potential reward was enormous – nearly a tenth of the Changelings’ forces in the Lynx Territories wiped out – but still the risks nearly outweighed it: if Neigh’s encirclement could not be completed in time, they might have to attack early, and that would leave a corridor through which some Changelings could escape. If even one Changeling made it back to Lord Cocoon at the Diamond Dog Pass, the chance of victory was much less certain. Or a Changeling scout party might come over the hill and spot one of their artillery batteries. The sentries and gun crews had been ordered not to make ready their spears: any killing of scouts before the battle began was to be done silently with swords, knives and spearpoints, but that meant his ponies would have to get perilously close to do damage, which would also give the scouts time to get away... The door swung open and a Pegasus in the uniform of Beryl de Topaz’s 10th (Imperial Crystal) Hussars pushed in. A fur-trimmed, indigo-faced pelisse was thrown rakishly over one shoulder, and his busby bore the badge of a winged Imperial Snowflake. Shining Armor had split the 9th Light Brigade and sent the 10th Hussars over the Canter Creek to cut down any Changeling stragglers that tried to swim the river. From their flanking position, they were best placed to be his scouts. “Report, Corporal,” said Shining Armor. “No sign that they’re moving, sir. We flew down under the mist. We couldn’t see much on our side of the Creek, but it looks like they’re draining some Lynxes before they move.” Shining Armor grimaced in disgust. “Thank you, Corporal, you may go.” The Hussar saluted smartly and swept out of the room. The planning officer, Colonel Warning Order, checked his watch and moved a few unit icons on the map table. “0700 hours, sir.” Two hours to go. *** Major Rolling Thunder pawed at the ground nervously. He stood behind the crest of a hill overlooking Valneigh, becoming more nervous by the second. This plan wouldn’t work. He just knew it. Did Shining Armor really think that the Changelings’ scouts would just miss all of their batteries?! And they were too exposed as well! If they were quick about it, the Changelings could surge up the hill and overrun dozens of batteries in detail before they could put together a counterattack! Rolling Thunder gulped and looked down the hill to his battery, positioned a short way down under camouflage netting. He had eighty-eight ponies manning six cannon and two howitzers. His cannon could each send a twelve-pound iron roundshot over a thousand yards downrange and still expect to do damage to a formation. His howitzers could lob a five-inch shell packed with explosives 1,750 yards and expect to destroy a whole company. And they were just sitting here! He’d been told that Shining Armor was a tactical genius and a great leader of ponies. Well, great leader he certainly was, if he could convince an entire army to go through with this insane plan! “I’m going to take a look over the top again,” he said to his Company Sergeant Major. “In case we need to make any elevation changes.” “Very good, sir.” Rolling Thunder hoped that walking would steady his nerves. He couldn’t afford to be seen pacing. That would let his ponies know he was nervous and it would make them nervous too. Then again, they had every reason to be nervous. He dropped to his stomach and dragged himself to the top of the crest with his forelegs. When he looked down into the valley below at Valneigh, he could see at once that they were going to have problems. The morning mist was clearing quickly and the Changelings were active. They were massing into units amid the knee-high ruins of ancient buildings. He knew if they did not strike immediately, the entire legion would get away, and they still weren’t supposed to strike for nearly two hours! What was that? He reached a hoof to his belt and battled his binoculars from their pocket. He focused them on the outskirts of the village right below his hill. A Changeling unit was massing there, probably one of their centuries of eighty, judging by the frontage that had already formed. And they were facing straight up the hill! That was it. He wasn’t staying here to die. He scrambled off the crest and galloped back down to his battery. “Move the guns forward!” he shrieked. “Open fire!” *** “Sir!” cried Warning Order. “No. 3 Battery’s opened fire!” “What?!” Shining Armor shoved through his staff and galloped out of the farmhouse. Sure enough, muzzle flashes and booms resounded from one of the hills on their right flank. “Who gave that order?!” he hissed. He pushed aside any thoughts of the horrible things he would do to the officer that had ordered that. Now he had only one goal left. The Changelings were alerted to their presence and surprise was impossible. Even if the encirclement was completed, whoever was in command down there had probably already sent messengers off. All he could do now was try to kill as many Changelings as he could. He turned to face a collection of shocked-looking staff and aides. “New orders to all batteries! Open fire as per original fire plan!” *** Clyde and Sue Pie had raised their daughters too well for them to swear or curse, but Inkie Pie thought that now would be a good occasion to do so. Certainly her ponies thought so, cursing through the bricoles held between their teeth as they dragged their guns to the top of the crest. Three heavily-loaded carts, towed by Buffalos employed from Thunderhooves’ tribe, followed them. They stopped at a line Inkie had scored into the turf with her hoof an hour ago. The Sergeants of each gun checked their positions, made sure elevations were correct, and then shouted, “READY!” “Ears, ears, ears!” bellowed Inkie. All eighty-eight ponies slapped their hooves to their heads to check that their foam earplugs were firmly in. “FIRE!” she shouted. Privates touched portfires to or directed blasts of magic at the touchholes of their guns. They leapt and roared like dragons, fire and smoke erupting from their mouths as the gunpowder cartridges ignited, sending six roundshot and two shells into the camp below. Inkie could see that it was in chaos: Changelings scurried everywhere like ants, trying to reform their units as their shot fell among them. The cannonballs had already ripped through six tents, and the shells fell seconds later, kicking great plumes of dirt into the air, as well as the torn remnants of a dozen Changelings. Inkie grimaced. The barrage had not been as effective as she’d hoped. No. 3 Battery’s pre-emptive firing had dispersed the Changelings from the positions they’d sighted earlier and their shots had landed mostly in empty tents. “RELOAD!” she shouted. Spongeponies thrust damp sheepskins mounted on staffs down the barrels of the Pattern 996 12-Pound Cannon to quash any embers. Loaders hoisted canvas bags holding gunpowder and shot into the muzzles, and the spongeponies reversed their staffs and rammed the charges home while ventsponies kept their hooves over the touchholes to prevent a draft that might ignite hot embers that could set off the charge prematurely. “READY!” bellowed the Sergeants. “HOLD AND WAIT FOR CORRECTIONS!” shouted Inkie, gazing at the fall of shot from other batteries, as bursts of fire and smoke rippled along the line of batteries positioned on the hilltops, and explosions filled the village below. *** Colonel Morning Star heard the gunfire coming from the hills in front of him and resisted the urge to curse. Something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong. The bombardment was not due to begin for another two hours, when the Changelings would be fully encircled. Then, supported by the artillery, the infantry would echelon out between the hills and assault the camp. But for now that was impossible. He’d kept his ponies in column in a woodblock behind the hill to keep them concealed, but it would take them at least ten minutes to get out of the woods and into a position to march towards Valneigh. For now the Changelings were holding fast and trying to assemble into a battle formation, but if they realised they were going to be attacked... “Orders, sir?” asked his Regimental Sergeant Major. One thousand ponies of 1st Battalion, 4th (Royal Fillydelphia) Regiment of Hoof sat behind the RSM, staring at their commander, their faces worried and expected. Their red coats were faced with blue and they bore the Liberty Bell of their city, surmounted by scales of justice, on their shakos. Morning Star had trained with them for months and he knew that they wanted to get into the fight. He had drummed into them the offensive spirit. But if they attacked, he knew, if the Changelings saw that an infantry force was massing that had the firepower to drive them from the field, then they’d retreat. That wouldn’t be a problem if they had them encircled, but the Changelings’ route east was still open, and no matter how much he wanted to, he could not drive the Changelings away. Morning Star sighed deeply. “For now, we wait.” *** Major General Neigh had followed his orders to the letter. The 3rd Division and the cavalry brigades had marched north at a perfectly timed pace, and then turned west to begin the encirclement. Everything had followed the timetable perfectly. That had until the first dull booms of gunfire had rolled over the hills from the south. The division and brigades – over eight thousand infantryponies and four thousand light cavalry – were now completely out of position, and the confused soldiers now turned their eyes to their commander. “New orders!” Neigh bellowed at the collection of battalions milling around in the fields around him. “We march south!” Brigadier General Sword Knot, commander of the 5th Brigade, stared at his commander in disbelief. He knew that the ruddy-coated Earth Pony was aggressive, as well as something of an outspoken maverick, but he couldn’t believe this. Neigh was doing nothing less than breaking every order Shining Armor had given him! “Sir, we have another two hours of marching to go before we can think of moving south!” he said desperately. “The 11th and 12th won’t even be close to being in position yet!” “Can’t you here that, Knot?” demanded Neigh. From over the low hills to their south came the sound of gunfire. “For whatever reason, General Armor’s opened fire before he said he was going to. I know him; he’s not the sort of pony to do that without reason. If he’s done it, it’s because he’s in trouble. He needs our help.” “But sir, our orders were explicit. We’re to cut off the Changelings no matter what.” “Those orders were based on the assumption that the bombardment would start at the correct time,” said Neigh. “They are clearly no longer valid. You remember the first thing we were taught when we were trained as General Officers? ‘If in doubt, march to the sound of the guns’!” Knot could only stand and stare. Neigh would not be talked out of this course of action. “Yes, sir,” he whispered. *** They’d been firing for so long that the air seemed to have acquired a grey tint. Thick clouds of gunpowder smoke hung over them, and a stinking, sulphurous reek filled Inkie’s nostrils. She hawked and coughed and directed her binoculars to the Changeling formation. Their discipline was impressive. Even after half an hour of continuous bombardment, they’d managed to assemble into a three-line battle formation on the eastern outskirts of the village. They must be regrouping before attempting to storm the summits of the hills, Inkie thought. Well, there’d be none of that. The Changelings had managed to pull back from the worst of their fire. Precious shot and shell were crashing uselessly into the ruins of Valneigh, and only a handful of balls reached the Changeling lines. Well, she’d have none of that. Hers was not No. 1 Battery for no reason. “CORRECTIONS!” she shouted. “LEFT TWENTY, ADD FIFTY!” The Sergeants at each gun battled with hoofspikes and elevation wheels to adjust the aim. Then they fired again. Shot and shell arced over Valneigh. The balls fell short, but the gunners had planned for that, and they grazed off the ground and bounced into the Changeling ranks at an upward angle. Inkie saw one ball scythe through the heart of a century, sending an officer and twenty-five drones disappearing in a shower of torn flesh, vaporised ichor, and shattered metal from shields. Then the shells fell and exploded. Their fragments had a maximum danger zone of about thirty metres, and the frontage of a Changeling century was roughly half that. Entire blocks of Changelings fell like wheat before the scythe or apples bucked from a tree. Inkie Pie watched impassively. Her parents had taught her that stoicism was a virtue, and she felt nothing for the Changelings. Not anger at their deeds or sadness that she had to kill them. It was just her job to land shot on them. *** Shining Armor watched the volleys, his face grim. The artillery had lost much of its awesome initial destructive power, with gunners not bothering to adjust their fire once the Changelings had moved out of the worst of the storm. The gunners seemed to be more impressed with the fireworks display their barrages were giving them than actual results. “Target,” he said to his artillery commander. “Make sure the gunners are adjusting their fire correctly. I want that first line of theirs in tatters. Also, shift some of your batteries so we have a beaten zone behind the Changeling legion. If they start to retreat, I want the heaviest barrage possible on them.” Yes, sir!” Time Target galloped off. Amid the storm of cannon fire, Shining Armor stood next to the windmill, his staff milling around him. Some gunners were already beginning to notice that their shot was falling short and were adjusting their aim, he saw. Already he could see the clouds from shells burst over the legion. Whole blocks of Changelings vanished. It was as if the Changelings wanted them to kill them. Months of war against individualistic Lynx warriors had convinced them that deep blocks of organised troops were the best way to wage war, but it was linear tactics that would have saved them now. Despite that, their discipline was incredible, almost admirable. The Changelings still stood there and assembled under fire. When they’d first started moving, Shining Armor had feared that they were about to retreat, but rather than move off in column, they’d began to assemble into a battle formation, as if they were ready to storm their artillery positions. If that analysis was correct, then so was his and Crystal Thought’s belief that the Changelings were willing to take huge losses to ensure the hive’s survival. “New orders,” he said to his aides. “The infantry is to advance up behind our firing positions and hold on the reverse slope. If the Changelings make it to the top, I want them to advance to the crest and open fire at close range. Meet them with cold steel if necessary.” The aides-de-camp hurriedly scribbled down orders and took off. Shining Armor was at a communications disadvantage in that he was four aides short: he’d sent two pairs off to find the 3rd Division and 11th and 12th brigades to tell them to keep marching. He needed that encirclement completed, and if the Changelings were holding fast, there was no reason to pull them in. He needed to make sure there was no confusion. Next to him, Colonel Warning Order’s ears began twitching. “What’s that?” Shining Armor frowned and strained his ears. Over the cannon fire, he could hear it: somewhere to his right, the distant rattle of snare drums and the trumpeting of bugles. Oh no. Oh no no no no... Shining Armor summoned his binoculars and scanned the northern edge of the battlefield, and his worst fear was confirmed. Debouching from the shallow valleys between the low, grassy hills were the eight battalion columns of Major General Neigh’s 3rd Division. Their uniforms were brilliant red against the grass, the points of their spears were glinting, and their gloriously-coloured flags fluttered in the breeze. It was a glorious sight, and a terrible one, because the Changelings had seen it as well. Whoever was in command down there had realised he was on the point of being pinned and flanked and had ordered a retreat: already the first line was retiring through the second, and the third was preparing to peel off to the south west. Away from him, and back towards Chrysalis. Shining Armor tried not to let any emotion show in his voice. His next order was given with neither rage nor sadness, just with utter stoicism. “I want as heavy a barrage as we can manage across their line of retreat. Have Neigh spread his division so he can catch their rearguard. Get another runner up to the 11th and 12th as well. Tell them to keep away from the Changeling army: they’re too organised. They’re to focus on taking out stragglers only.” Shining Armor wanted to rage and curse and storm and swear. From how shocked and disappointed his staff looked, perhaps they would have found it better if he had. The first battle he’d truly commanded had been a failure. All he had to show for it was a ruined village, pockmarked with charred-black artillery craters and the body parts of a few hundred Changelings. His entire advance was compromised. He had won the field, but he knew that he had truly lost the battle. And with it, he might have lost the war.