25 December, Y.C. 969
Blackacre
Beatrix had never seen so many ponies before in her life.
There had been the ticker-tape parades after the Skirmishes, of course; the moment Kissinmare’s declaration of peace hit the airwaves, half of Equestria turned out for the celebrations in Canterlot. Victorious though they may have been, the returning forces were severely weakened. They had celebrated, understrength and injured, and everypony seemed to ignore just how few of them there were.
Perhaps a better analogy would have been to the parades at the beginning of the Skirmishes, when the legions marched the streets and clipped the skies, festooned with flowers, bravely moving out to protect innocent ponies from the evil dragons, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed with the naïveté of inexperience. Even then, though, they had marched past in long formations, never more than a few battalions visible at a time. This… this was something entirely different.
All along the west bank of the river stood ponies in what might as well be an unbroken line. They stretched from the far side of the bridge off to the north; scouts said the banks were manned all the way to Saddle Lake, up past Ponyville. To the south the line continued, if slightly more ragged; the border might end at the bridge but the threat did not.
The soldiers were three, four deep at times, ponies and unicorns alike, each and every one of them wearing the brilliant blue and yellow of the Royal Army’s uniforms, sticking out on the white snow like a thousand flowers. All of them stood at something resembling attention. Decorum hadn’t displaced sensibility, though; every single one was no more than two or three paces from the nearest bit of cover, be it a tree, rock, or field fortification.
Shadows flitted by overhead as countless wings of pegasi wheeled past, lazily going up and down the river. Not a single one crossed the water’s centerline, but undoubtedly each wing was tensed, ready to scatter and dive at a moment’s notice. Like the ponies below, each of them was wearing the standard blue and yellow uniform of the Air Patrol. They weren’t subtle, but with their numbers, they hardly had to be.
On the other side of the bridge itself, the rows of ponies went from three and four to five, ten, twenty deep. The earth on either side of the railroad tracks themselves seemed almost ridged, various fortifications installed every dozen feet to give boundless cover to whomever was behind them. The railroad tracks were cleared, though there were of course no trains on it. Likewise, the bridge itself was clear, save for sheer rock emplacements rising from the wide piers on either side.
There was certainly plenty of room for it; the bridge was built wide and long, solid enough to stand for a hundred years without even the most cursory of maintenance. It had to be long because it was built almost at the river’s widest point; it had been cheaper and easier to build a bridge here, where the river was wide but relatively shallow, instead of farther up or downstream, where it was narrower but much deeper.
Shallow or not, though, it wasn’t completely iced over. The riverbanks, rising up at a steep angle from the white water below, were coated with snow and caked layers of ice, but the water itself was too agitated to freeze. Every so often small cakes of ice floated downstream, but for the most part the river was clear, waters burbling coldly to themselves, with only the occasional shadow below to mark the passage of an Army frogpony, checking the riverbed for trickery.
Even though she had been staring at a topographical map of this very scene for days now, it still took Beatrix a few moments to take it all in. She had been rushed to the front in near-total silence, a muffled sledge pulled by a team of timberwolves leaving nothing but long runner tracks in their wake. Burdened by snow as they were, the forest treetops provided total cover; no aerial patrols would have seen her.
Of course, the fact that they were asking for somepony to speak to meant that they already had a pretty good idea of where she was going to be. Honestly, who did they think she would send? As Gaston had warned her on the way over, if they were going to try anything funny, now was the time. Still, something in her gut told her they wouldn’t do it that way. Celestia might, but she would come in the dead of night. Here, there were too many witnesses — Royal Army or not, the story would get out. No, if they had asked her to negotiate, then there was still some hope of a peaceful resolution. A slim hope perhaps, but one nevertheless.
On their side of the bridge, a half-dozen ponies milled about behind the fortifications. Forty more lay in trenches, largely out of sight; it was always better to give the appearance of weakness, for even if you were weaker, you could still trigger overconfidence in the enemy.
The enemy. When had they started being the enemy? Never mind that — there were more important things ahoof. Beatrix stepped back to the treeline and called a pony over, still keeping an eye on the teeming mass on the other side of the river. She recognized him as the one in charge of local defense, a certain Charger Wheel.
“Give me the quick version,” she said.
“What you see is what you get,” said Wheel, dipping his helmet slightly. “For land and sea and air, Canterlot is there.”
She snorted; the old recruitment slogan was always a bit excessive. She had never thought it would be quite this applicable, though.
“We’ve been getting the reports; Gaston has been keeping me appraised. I know where they are and how many of them there are.”
“You do?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Please, tell me. I could use some hard numbers.”
“Ha,” she said pointedly. “Ha. There are a lot of them, and they’re everywhere. That about sums up the tactical situation, now doesn’t it?”
“Just about,” he growled. “I hear the strategic isn’t any better.”
“It’s not,” she said, rolling her eyes. Not that that was news, either. “I want the quick version, though. Your quick version. Ignore the numbers; what do you think?”
He gave a quick nod and thought for a moment. Ponies scurried around them, nearly all of them wearing some sort of body armor. The earthworks had been completed for days, and almost everything else was in position, but there were always a last few things to do. You could never put too much cross-bracing on the walls. The tunnels wouldn’t hurt for being a few inches deeper. There was always something more to do, even now, on the brink.
“They’re in uniform,” said Wheel gravely. Beatrix considered biting back a retort, but he wouldn’t have stated the obvious unless there was something more to it. After a few seconds, her patience was rewarded. “If they’re going to move in, that’s not the way to do it. They’re not dress uniforms, but it’s snowy out. No one’s in camo.”
“Doesn’t mean they can’t move in.”
“No,” he agreed, “but it means they want to make it look good. Roll through the bridge, take out the local resistance… blue and yellow plays better in the photos than camo does. They might be moving in, but they’re not striking deep.”
“All that, just from the uniforms.”
“I’m sure of it,” he said with a curt nod. “Pommel is running this show. You know his style; hit hard, hit fast, and take any advantage you can. Even with overwhelming force, he would still pull it off by the book — his book. Everypony would be in camo. Half of them would be hidden. Their flyers would all have altitude advantage, ready to dive at a moment’s notice. There would be a breaching train on those tracks, coming straight in to distract us if nothing else.”
Beatrix nodded. Pommel had written the book, quite literally, on contemporary Equestrian tactics. His chapter on aerial combat was nothing short of revolutionary, and was credited with turning the tide during the Skirmishes. His style was just as distinctive; if he was in charge of this operation, he would grasp the sword with both hooves and ram it through to the hilt: hard, fast, and without mercy.
“Someone else is in charge, then?” she speculated.
Wheel shook his head, gesturing out at the bridge. “That’s his personal guard out there. He’s definitely on the ground. And if he’s on the ground…”
“…then anypony with half a brain would be listening to him,” she finished. “The courier mentioned Eisenhorner, though.”
“Unfortunately.” Wheel rolled his eyes. “Pommel may be around, but Eisenhorner is taking care of the deployment. Which means that somepony took Pommel off the job.”
“Or somepony tied his hooves,” offered Beatrix. “Pommel doesn’t work for the photos. He gets it done. If that’s not the goal, I can see him handing the planning off to someone else.”
“Agreed,” said Wheel. “Pommel would never do this.” He paused for a moment. “So what does that change?”
“For one, we’re dealing with Eisenhorner,” said Beatrix.
“Not quite,” said Wheel with a laugh. “You’re dealing with him. I’ll be standing here, waiting for talks to fall through.”
“That’s optimistic of you,” she deadpanned. He gave an apologetic shrug, but they both knew he was right. They wouldn’t have brought out the Royal Army unless they meant to use it. Officially, that would consist in “assisting local authorities.” That might go over… might. Unofficially, though, that meant shaking down every last mare, stallion, and foal until someone confessed. And that was simply not acceptable.
She shook her head to clear it.
“That’s that, then,” she declared, catching the eyes of some of the ponies milling about near the fore barricades. “Looks like our guests showed up to the party. It would be a shame to keep them waiting.”
“All right!” shouted Wheel, his bark fully drawing the attention of the others. “She’s going out to meet them! I want a standard reinforcement team, a standard pull-back team, and then I want two more reinforcement teams for them!”
Ponies sprang into action before he had even finished speaking; within twenty seconds he had two dozen unicorns lined up in front of him, ready for action.
“You know the drill. Keep her safe, keep each other safe.” Wheel looked them up and down for a moment before giving them a last nod. “Do it.”
Within a moment, twenty-four horns started to glow. One of the lead unicorns gestured at Beatrix.
“When you’re ready, ma’am.”
Beatrix took a few steps to the front of the fortifications. Her eyes fluttered shut and her own horn started to glow; almost immediately a pale blue field formed itself around her. It faded ever so slightly to become almost entirely transparent, little more than a thin blue splotch around her.
The field settled in a few seconds, and she gave a nod. It immediately lit up again, swirls of red, azure, gold; the colors quickly faded into the blue, turning the field a gauzy white. Behind her, six thin filaments of color connected the field to six unicorn horns; as long as she stayed within eyesight of them, they would be able to greatly amplify her shield.
After a few seconds more, she felt the slightest of tuggings. She waggled a hoof experimentally; it moved easily enough, but with the slightest hint of resistance, almost like being under water. She knew that that would be the second team behind her: her backup plan. The shield could keep her safe enough, but if she couldn’t retreat easily — if, for instance, artillery took out the bridge, a very real possibility given the forces arrayed against them — the pull team would physically telekinese her back to safety. With these many unicorns around, teleportation was unreliable; sometimes the easiest way was the best.
A few shuffling sounds came from behind her as her protective teams received their own layer of shielding. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Wheel give the go-ahead.
“Be back soon,” she called.
“Stay safe.”
With a last look at the troops around her, Beatrix took a step over the earthworks, towards the bridge. A few more and she was past the front line, perhaps only a dozen feet from the start of the bridge itself.
On the other side of the river, she could see a slight commotion in the Canterlot lines. A spotter must have seen her. They probably had been watching her ever since she stepped out of the treeline, but now they knew she was coming out, and were scrambling to find their own representative, whoever he was.
In a few steps she was at the bridge. Experimentally she placed a forehoof on it; the sound echoed dully, the huge iron structure barely affected by a single pony, small as she was.
Well. If they were staging it all for the photos, let the photos show that they came to her, and not the other way around. She broke into a brisk walk, threading between railroad ties, on her way directly to the center of the bridge.
Her motion felt slightly restrained, but it was no more than a light touch. Her pull team didn’t have to actually do anything at the moment, of course; they were just keeping their magical connection at the ready. Just like with the shield, which glowed a faint ivory around her.
She was more than capable of generating her own shield, of course; her star-themed cutie mark was proof enough of that. She was, in point of fact, much more powerful than any single unicorn on her team; probably more powerful than a half dozen of them all together. The difference lay in specialization: whereas she could work any number of spells at a modest level, they were trained and drilled for a certain set of skills. She might be able to generate a raw shield field, but they would be able to maintain it both stronger and longer. All she needed to do was maintain a basic low-level field, and they could pump enough energy in to it to make her effectively invulnerable to anything up to and including pinpoint artillery strikes.
She shivered slightly. All lined up or not, there was more to the Army’s front lines than just pretty-looking troops. They undoubtedly had a number of artillery emplacements set up, probably paired party howitzers. They wouldn’t be perfectly zeroed in on the bridge, but at this point accuracy was secondary: they would be shooting for saturated fire.
The deep echoes on the bridge faded out as she drew to a stop at its middle. It was a low design, metallic truss frame mounted on broad stone piers; the top deck of the bridge was almost entirely level, with only a token retaining wall on either side, maybe two or three feet high. From here, she had a fantastic view of both sides of the river bank, not to mention both sets of ponies, all lined up and waiting to see what happened next.
There were a lot more ponies in blue and yellow than in green.
After perhaps a minute or so, the commotion on the other side of the bridge resolved itself into a figure. As it drew closer, she could make out the blue and yellow body armor of what was a well-built pony. The colors were clear and crisp; while the other ponies might be wearing clean uniforms, this one was going out in style. Well, if it was all for the photos….
Closer still, and she could make out the faint shield around him, too. His was a slightly gold color; the composition of the field was entirely due to the magic hues of the generating ponies, so she had no doubt they weren’t chosen at random: the color gave him an aura of power. Not quite the same as when Princess Celestia was backlit by the sun during the summer sun celebrations, but the thought was there.
And, for the photos, that’s all that mattered. She had no doubt that, among the ponies on the other side, more than a few would be photographers, eagerly taking in the scene and snapping shots with full abandon. If things went teats-up, this would be the best-documented battle Equestria had ever had.
The pony — an Earth pony, she noticed; the shield must be entirely extrinsic — drew to a stop at a respectful distance from her, planting his hooves firmly in the thin bed of gravel between the railroad tracks. No, she corrected, not respectful: strategic. It was just a hair too far away to be comfortable. Any normal pony in this situation would take a step or two closer in; if she did that, though, they would be able to get photos of her walking up to him. Didn’t matter that she was there first; the photos wouldn’t show that.
She remained exactly where she was. Let him make the first move.
After perhaps a minute or two, he did exactly that, taking a few steps closer. Somehow, though, he made it seem like a victory: he looked like he was circling her, observing her, judging for weaknesses. He was also drawing closer, but nopony would know that based on his body language alone. The photos wouldn’t show it, at least.
“You must be Mayor Beatrix,” he said, satisfied that they were close enough to not be overheard from the shore.
“And you must be the duly authorized representative of the Canterlot government,” she said in an unimpressed tone.
“Major-General Sheldon Eisenhorner,” he stated crisply.
“Beatrix,” she countered, dropping the title. Mayoralties were assigned by the Princess; no need to acknowledge that here. “I speak on behalf of my people.”
“And I on behalf of Equestria.”
A pause.
“Mayor Beatrix,” he started, adding the honorific back in and launching into what sounded suspiciously like a prepared remark, “Princess Celestia formally requests the assistance of you and yours in apprehending the criminals responsible for the destruction of the EAS Mane and subsequent deaths of two hundred and sixty-six ponies.”
“And you have it,” she said, eliciting the barest look of surprise before he caught himself. “Blackacre’s internal security forces have conducted a regional sweep, in accordance with Canterlot standards applicable to all regions. Whoever the perpetrators are, they aren’t here.”
“We have discharged our duty,” she said, with the slightest of smiles. She extended a hoof towards the west bank of the river. “I suggest that you call taps on this little parade of yours and deploy your troops towards actually catching those responsible. Right now, the only thing they’re catching is cold.”
“The execution of your internal sweep has been deemed ineffective,” he said impassively. “The Royal Army and Air Patrol are present to assist local forces.”
“We deem the sweep effective,” she shrugged. “You have no jurisdiction here.”
“We serve at the Princess’ pleasure,” he said stiffly. “As do you. You will allow the Army admittance to assist your local investigation.”
“To assist it,” she said quickly, “even though it’s ineffective? Sounds to me like you’ll just need to conduct an entirely new one of your own.”
“That may be necessary.”
“Hm,” she said, entirely nonplussed. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t allow that.”
Eisenhorner blinked.
“You see, we deem our sweep effective. It has been carried out to the full extent that all the other sweeps have been. There’s no reason to believe Blackacre’s was any less effectual, or that there would be any added benefit in conducting additional investigation here, as opposed to anywhere else.”
“The investigative committee report —”
“Oh, please,” she said, swatting the thought away. “Let’s just cut to the chase. You’re loaded for bear. Is there anything we can do to stop it?”
Eisenhorner blinked again. “Mayor Beatrix, we are here solely to assist the internal investigation.”
“I’ll bet you are. Just like I bet your own special brand of investigation will end up with you mysteriously pulling out me and mine for ‘questioning,’ only to disappear into a hole in Canterlot Castle somewhere, conveniently coming out just after the Princess appoints a new mayor.”
“We’re just here to investigate,” he reaffirmed. “Nothing more.”
“But if your investigation ended up with removing the current layer of Blackacre government….” She spread her forehooves. “How awfully convenient for you.”
“Madam Mayor,” he said, huffing slightly. “I can assure you that we have no such intent.”
“Oh,” she said. “Your assurances. Call your photoponies and hold the presses, this changes everything.”
“We have no intention of executing a regional coup.”
“Ah, but you never do, do you.”
“Mayor Beatrix!” he shouted, flustered.
“Major-General,” she countered, rolling her eyes. “Is there anypony else I can talk to? Because I’m starting to get the impression that you don’t actually know what’s going on around here.”
“I am in command here,” he said, eyes narrow. “I know exactly what is and will happen, because I am making it happen. You will comply with this investigation, or else we will conduct it without your assistance.”
“Without my assistance,” she echoed. “And what if I do not comply?”
“Then, compliance will be forced.”
“Yes, I suppose it would be,” she said, nodding absently. “That’s one way of putting it.”
“It’s the only way of putting it,” he said. “Look, Mayor —”
“Beatrix.”
His jaw clenched slightly. “Look, Beatrix. All we want is to come in and make sure that a known enemy of the state isn’t hiding out in the woods somewhere.”
“We already did that,” she said, smiling sadly. “What makes you think you’ll be able to do it any better than we did?”
“The insufficiency of the process —”
“Has not been established.”
“Has been declared by the Princess,” he finished, irritated.
“And why would you be able to do it any better than we did?” she repeated.
He extended a hoof to the countless soldiers behind and above him.
“There are a lot more of us.”
Beatrix cracked the thinnest of smiles.
“And we know this forest a whole lot better.”
For a moment, neither said anything.
“Mayor,” started Eisenhorner softly. “We will conduct our investigation. It can go quickly and smoothly, or it can go slowly and painfully, at least for your forces.” A note of passion entered his voice. “You, and you alone, have the power to determine how this plays out. And for the sake of the ponies of Equestria, for the ponies of Blackacre, I hope you do the sensible thing.”
For a long moment, she said nothing.
It was so tempting. His offer sounded genuine; she had known mummers in the past, had even been one at a particularly low point in her life, and she knew when somepony was dissembling. He was genuine. For whatever foolhardy reason, he actually believed that this was an investigation, nothing more.
She suddenly understood why he was standing here, instead of, say, Pommel.
As earnest as Eisenhorner might be, though, she knew his words could not be trusted. However much he believed them, the simple fact of the matter was that he wasn’t the one who made those calls. The troops might enter Blackacre under the genuine belief that they were there to help, but at the end of the day, once they were in, they were in. From there, it only took one word. One word, and the army would be in control — Celestia would be in control. One word, and everything they had fought for would be over, forgotten under the crush of a kingdom desperate for a scapegoat.
“No,” she said under her breath.
This was it. No turning back.
“No,” she repeated, looking him in the eye. He was taller than her, but not by that much. Most importantly, she was right. She had fought long and hard to get here, faced many opponents and survived on wits and luck alone, but this was something different entirely. Here, she was right. The truth was on her side, and nothing could take that from her.
“No,” she said a third time, her voice ringing clear as a bell. “Blackacre is master of its own destiny. We have complied with your demands. None of us would act against the Princess, but if this madness continues, we will have no choice.”
Eisenhorner exhaled slowly; she could see his jaw clenching up, controlling himself. She hoped that one of the ponies back on shore had good enough ears to catch this; it was a pity to waste this rhetoric on an idealist.
“The ponies of Blackacre have exercised their Charter rights to self-determination, and they have elected me to speak for them,” she said, fire in her eyes. “They have seized their freedom; they master their own ships, guide their own destinies.” A slight smile came onto her face. “If for that we must lose our lives, so be it. Our lives, you can take. Our freedom —”
With a blinding flash her shield exploded into existence, shutting out the outside world with a deafening roar. An instant later she was yanked backwards as if by an invisible chain. She sensed her shield collapsing as a wave of heat washed over her and then, quite abruptly, she felt nothing at all.