Wildcard stirred, and then finally awoke. He wasn’t sure where he was, all he could see with his tired eyes was darkness. The stone floor was cold, and his body felt like a bag of potatoes that had fallen off a truck; bruises, everywhere. He wasn’t sure if it was preferable being dead.
He moaned and rolled on his stomach, wiggling on the ground and trying to physically get his bearings. He felt a chain, which apparently clung to his leg and attached him to the floor. He also felt what appeared to be a wooden “bed” attached to a stone wall, and a door. Why he wasn't on the bed, he had no idea.
Granted it made little difference.
He was pretty sure, considering what his groggy brain remembered, where he was:
Chrysalis’ Dungeon.
Wildcard knew that that meant. He knew his failure. He laid back on the floor, his sore and bruised back cooled by the stone and somewhat relieved. He had failed. His eagerness and hasty planning had cost him victory, and Luna knew what else might have happened while he was out.
He spent what felt like days thinking in the dark, alone and in the deafening silence. As time went on he became hungry, and his mind conjured images in the darkness that terrified him. Eventually he wasn’t sure if his eyes were open or closed, all he knew was darkness. He swore he heard voices in the dark; they taunted him.
He heard his wife, her voice was soft and yet piercing, and every syllable dug into his skull as if she was stabbing him.
“You’re a failure, Wildcard. You knew that our foals life was in on the line, but you failed anyway. You’re a lazy loser, and I never loved you.”
He heard Luna. Her voice was loud, booming, and felt like it would shake his body apart.
“You’re a failure, Wildcard. You knew Equestria needed you, but you failed anyway. You’re a pathetic and foolish leader, I regret putting my faith in you.”
This continued for hours, and he weeped quietly as his soul was trampled on with repeated insult. It was torture, and he screamed as loud as he could to drown it out- but still he heard them. He screamed until his throat bled, and he cried until his eyes hurt, but still it kept up.
“You were a bad friend,” Flankenstein said, again.
Then, oddly, he heard Luna again. Her voice was too soft to make out, but she seemed to be arguing with someone else. The other voice was sharp, and while this went on the door creaked open. A blinding white light poured in, and Wildcard pulled against his chain as he crawled towards it.
He pulled against his chain and, to his surprise, broke it. Then he was flung out of the room, and into a white void. A voice spoke in his head, that of Princess Luna.
“This failure can yet be reversed, Wildcard. Fight while you still can.”
Then he woke up, to the sound of the door jostling in its place. He perked up his ears and could hear noises outside, faint gunshots and rumbling explosions. He sighed, and waited.
A rather close explosion blew the door back and knocked him back into that black abyss.
____
Princess Celestia desperately fought to keep herself from crying, keeping a strong image for her people was important during a crisis, and especially when faced with such horror as this.
She looked from the balcony of the school baring her name, across the city; to a billowing cloud of flame that was spewing fire and ash all over the once peaceful metropolis. The refugee train had arrived hours ago.Their families had been waiting at the station, desperate to see loved ones that had been taking shelter in the Hive.
The train had been rigged with enough explosives to destroy everything in a three-block radius. Hundreds had perished instantly, and thousands more were injured. Entire families had been wiped out, and once again the city was brought to its knees.
There were no panicked crowds this time though, no screaming masses trying to run away. Elsewhere in the city business continued, even while sirens blared and emergency services strained to take care of the wounded. Canterlot had become used to violence, and that thought sent a terrified shiver down her spine.
Ponies were used to death now, it was a weekly affair. The military losses had slipped back from the first, to the second, pages in the newspapers. Now they were somewhere after sports statistics.
She shook her head and turned away in disgust. Disgust for what the world had become, and disgust for what Equestria was becoming. They were a peaceful people, a happy people, and now they knew the horrors of war. Equestria was finding itself rather adept at it as well, and she was certain a hundred changelings would perish for every Equestrian.
She sat on a pillow, and wished desperately for it to all just end. She would have to give an address soon, and calm the nations nerves. Not for their sake, but for the sake of the changelings. There was going to be blood.
And it was going to be green.
Luna meanwhile was busy. She had been asleep when the report was delivered to her by Malgavian, and it had taken quite a good bit of convincing to deny him the right of suicide. He thought he had failed, but that was untrue.
Shining Armour had finally managed to arrive at the Changeling Hive an hour ago, and had faced fierce resistance from the Changeling gun-towers. All of them were still operational, the Night Guard’s valiant efforts last night were fruitless. Their explosives had been tampered with, as near as either of them could tell.
She should have slaughtered all of those damned shapeshifters when she had the chance, Luna fumed. She was angry, red-faced and screaming incoherent curses, while Malgavian stood at attention near the door.
When she received word of the attack on Canterlot, her anger exploded literally, and the room burst open with a magical outburst. Malgavian’s armour was, thankfully, protected against such things, and he stood there stone faced while Luna panted for breath, surrounded by the ashes of what had recently been a bed and other furniture.
“We’re going to kill them, every single one of them!” she yelled, and grabbed her crown before racing out of the room.
“Assemble whoever is available, and arm them well! We are going to the hive, and we are going to ensure that Shining Armour takes no prisoners. This act of terror will not be taken lightly…” she said, and felt a prickling on the back of her head.
She had not felt a prickle like that in quite some time, it was the curious feeling she felt when there was a disturbance in the pseudo-magical realm of dreams. Very few had the power to influence dreams, only three that she knew of. One was herself, another her sister, and the other...
“I have something to attend to… go on your own, I will catch up,” Luna commanded, and quickly darted back into her room.
Without waiting for a response from Malgavian, she slammed the remains of her door up against the doorway, and her eyes shone as she entered a magical trance. The effect was such that her minds eye entered the world of dreams, she was adept enough at dream walking at this point in her life that she could do it while awake, but it still took a great deal of focus.
The intrusion was rather obvious. Tendrils of green energy whipped into the void from a point some far away, and she guided her mind in that direction. Not many were sleeping right now, and the inky black fog that marked someones intervention in an others dream was obvious from anywhere. The green tendrils stabbed into it, emotional spikes being driven into someones mind without any mercy or compassion. She could feel the sadness, the despair, and the anger, as she approached. As fast as she could, desperate to save her subject from whatever Chrysalis was doing, she came upon the black void and swooped into it.
Luna made herself glow, a shining sphere of white in the inky darkness, as she searched for the source of the tendrils to fight it.
Chrysalis, a fool and out of her element, appeared as herself. Her entire mind was focused on this, and Luna knew she was straining to keep up. Dream walking was hard, and it had taken her centuries to become adept at it. Chrysalis was only centuries old, and as far as she knew had never done this before.
Part of Luna wanted to toy with her, but the rest of her knew time was of the essence. In the world of dreams she could have been tormenting her victim for what would seem like weeks, so she attacked her openly, shooting a dark blue bolt of magical energy directly at her, and then gripped her with a field of the same colour.
“Vile fiend!” Luna shouted into her mind, tearing at her consciousness with her own, “Did you not think I would find you?!”
“Of course I did!” Chrysalis snarled back, her voice sharp and almost stinging with pure hate. “I wanted you to find me! Face me like a mare!” she yelled, and shot forth a green bolt of her own magic.
Luna dodged it easily, and painfully squeezed the black and green mutant with her own magic. Fear exuded from her, even as she snarled back.
“You will die for your crimes, Chrysalis,” Luna said, and put all her will into hurting the insect-like mare as much as possible.
Luna pressed on, staring into Chrysalis terrified eyes as she squeezed her body as much as she could. Smaller bones cracked, and tears of pain dripped down her face.
Sadly, Luna wasn’t able to hold for for long, and Chrysalis body soon woke her up. She was no doubt injured, but only just. Luna sighed, and turned back into the black void. At it’s centre she found a black box, with a brown bolted door at one end. She opened it.
Inside, blue eyes looked back at her. The changeling, moderately larger than most, looked back at her with the look of a caged animal that had been tormented. He was shaking, and wet with his own tears.
Luna felt sorry for the former ambassador, tortured mentally for who knows how long by his former leader, and did what she could to sooth his body and mind. Soon he awoke, and the inky blackness vanished.
Luna’s blinked her eyes, and bowed her head in reality. She had often taken that pony for granted, but what he had just gone through… no pony should have to endure that.
____
First Class sat in the commanders chair of the Ace in the Hole, her hooves tented before her, and her eyes peering intently out the window. They were coming up on the Changeling hive, and one thing was apparent- a lack of smoke. If the Night Guard had done its duty, there should be a pillar of smoke ahead of them.
Instead the sky was cloudless, although a low fog and rolling sand-storm made it look like the air ship was sailing atop a billowing sea of grey. Below and behind them the Equestrian army moved forward on her command, which she was starting to have second thoughts about. She shook her head, and turned the chair to the side.
“Order Dash wing to perform close recon on the Hive,” she ordered.
Spitfire stood up at the first mates station, fuming, but kept her mouth shut as the order was relayed. First Class turned the chair to face her now, looking down on her from the heightened command station.
“Is there a problem, Martial?” First Class asked, the question sharp and sounding more a challenge than an interrogative.
Spitfire stared up at her. She was a smart pony, sharp as a whip, but politics was a puzzle she had never really unraveled. She was far too honest, to the point, and selfless for a career in politics; and preferred to keep herself and the Wonderbolts strictly military. Now she looked up into the eyes of a pony she had personally failed in the academy, who now commanded her, and had just sent her best squadron into Hell.
“You’re going to get them killed,” Spitfire growled.
First Class wasn’t fazed, and continued looking down on her, while the bridge crew quieted and looked on.
“If they die, they will have died with honour and glory for Equestria. They signed up for the Wonderbolts as volunteers, and they are the best squadron you have, am I correct?” she retorted, and spun back to face the window.
“I need to know what’s happening, and they are the most likely squadron to make it there and back. Would you prefer I send one of the others on a one way trip?”
Spitfire’s eye twitched, and she sat back in her own chair- normally where the first mate would sit. She didn’t reply. She had a new enemy now, and she would have to learn how to best her in the future.
First Class smirked to herself, and looked forward as a rainbow trail shot out from a ways ahead of the ship. The military class were smart, but they needed to know their place- below her. They served her needs, and her whims. She set the mission, and they carried it out. Argument was treason.
It was too bad she was such a brilliant and capable commander, there were much more loyal pegasi out there, more easy to control, that could take her place. Rainbow Dash was young, nieve, and desperately ambitious. Perhaps she…
First Class rolled her eyes. The war wasn’t even over yet, and she was thinking about perverting the military to be more loyal to her? What was going on, since when did she think like this?
The changeling hive was coming up fast, and that broke her off from her introspection. The helm officer reported their distance every kilometer as they slowly crept up on the changelings with 5,000 tons of metal and fire. The Ace in the Hole was a rumbling, unstoppable, force heading their way, and First Class anxiously awaited Dash Wings report on just what exactly it was heading for.
Eventually they spotted the end of the fog, while still waiting on the report. Ahead on the horizon the fog was broken by a deep valley, and a seemingly tiny black monolith stood out from the deep forest.
“Fifty kilometers out ma’am, halting as planned.”
First Class leaned forward and squinted her eyes. There was one thing that they had all expected to see today, and the lack of it was greatly concerning.
Fire.
As she squinted forward, praying to find some sign that the Night Guard had succeeded, the fog was blown back by an explosion some distance from the valley. A blazing trail of rainbow broke into the sky, and sped towards them at an impossible pace.
“Dash wing reporting ma’am, the report is… uhhh…”
First Class turned her chair to face the communications office, who had a hoof on her ear and was concentrating on listening.
“She says… “they expected us”.”
First Class turned back just in time to see the first wave of changelings crash into their defensive Wonderbolt screen, and the bridge exploded into chaos. Orders were thrown around haphazardly, reserves were flown out, and guns were called to bear. The general quarters alarm sounded like a banshee, and point-defence guns on the side spat out a defensive volley of flak as a warning against any brave changeling trying to go for the ship. First Class remained silent through it all, waiting for the first orders to go out before giving her own.
Then, with the view ahead of her full of flak and gunfire, she stuck her hoof up. It only took moments for the bridge to fall silent, and she turned her chair to the shaken crew.
“Martial Spitfire, get your gear on and go lead the screen in person, you haven’t forget to fly, have you?” She ordered first.
Spitfire saluted, and dashed out of the bridge.
“Helm, turn this thing on its side. I want our guns ready to fire on the hive on my command,” she ordered secondly.
The helm officer nodded, and First Class turned her chair again. Activity resumed instantly, and a yellow bolt of light shot out from beside the window as the frigate turned its guns to bear. It was not a capital ship, nor even a very well armed ship, but no weapon stokes fear quite like one that the enemy is unable to repel. Equipped with a few 100mm cannons-, this frigate could rain hell on the changelings; and they couldn’t do anything about it.
“Gunnery, how much ammunition do we have?” First Class asked, still staring out the window at the furball ahead.
“Enough for two hours non-stop firing, high explosive.”
First Class tented her hooves, and twisted her chair to keep the hive in view through smaller side windows as the ship turned. She strode up to one of them, and looked out of it towards the den of the enemy.
“Eyeball it for five minutes. I don’t care if you hit anything, just remind them why we’re here,” she ordered.
____
Shining remained in the command post, and he wished he was out there. It was slow going for his men, the forest was treacherous even with a railroad to lead them, and the heavy fog kept them on high alert for ambush. He picked up a rifle off the rack, and strode out of the command tent to get some fresh air. The birds went on with their lives as if the world was at peace, tweeting and fluttering around, creating strange shadows in the fog.
Shining sat down and admired them while he slowly disassembled the rifle- one of the first-run bolt actions they kept in reserve- to calm his nerves. One of the most harrowing actions any person can take is sending good people off into war, and then waiting. It was out of your control now, you had sent the lives on thousands careening towards what would inevitably be the death of some of them, and all you could do was hope in the end your planning was good, the weather held, and it was all worth it.
He took his time taking apart that rifle, caring for every screw. A soldier could do well to love his weapon, since as soon as the fight started a tiny spec of sand might mean the difference between misfiring, and saving your life. A tiny spec of sand could change the tide of an entire battle, which would win or lose an entire war. Equestria would be won or lost on specs of sand.
He paused as a thundering report from somewhere far away started the birds, and their spectre-like shadows vanished from the fog. Not long after, while he stared into the distance wondering, a signals officer reported to him.
“Wonderbolt’s reporting contact sir, the Changelings were tipped off,” he said.
Shining swore and dumped the rifle parts on the ground, and then pushed the officer to the side on his way back into the tent.
“Get me Sandstorm, right now!” he ordered, and pulled himself up to a desk covered in plans. He swept them all side except for the original map of attack.
Quickly, with rigid precision, one of the officers put a radio beside it and handed the receiver to Shining. Like the bridge of the Ace in the Hole, the command post exploded into action.
________
Flash Sentry had become a Colonel at this point, and led his chosen team forward: Captain Macintosh, nominally head of the heavy weaponry section, carried a heavy gun on his back to his right. Captain Rona Excavo, normally head of the signals section, carried a portable radio to his left. Together they seen action all over the continent and beyond, having served together since the Equestrians first set food on Waylay island.
Together, they sung.
“Give me Luna, I’ll fill her moon!”
“Give me Celestia, I’ll light her fire!”
“Give me Cadence, I’ll show her love!”
“Give Twilight a few more years!”
It was certainly not the most respectful of songs to be song, nor the nicest on the ears, but it kept the march going. Between the columns that marched, tanks rumbled along the clearing next to the railroad tracks. Their drivers stuck out of their hatches, and the gunners made idle conversation with the mechanics that rode along “for unit cohesion”. Those "lucky" soldiers would be the ones left to clean up after all was said and done, so Flash forgave them the laziness at the moment. In the forests around them the First Infantry- the unit Flash was attached to at the moment, kept a close eye on any potential ambush. Colonel Hoofclaw trotted up on the rail itself, a good bit ahead of all the others. He was a strange stallion, and walked with the confidence of someone that figured they could walk into hell if he wanted, and come back out ruling it.
He took a deep breath of the crisp, watery, air, and glanced back at the soldiers marching with him.
“You smell that? That dewy smell? That’s anticipation boys! Fate knows there’s going to be a battle here, and the very earth herself is wet in anticipation for our glorious victory! I want two changelings for every round you fire, and three for every grenade!" He bellowed.
He was, indeed, an odd stallion. His cocky attitude and demeanour did wonders for morale however, and Flash looked at him with a great deal of respect. He was a pony with a cutie mark of a claw embedded in a hoof, and it seemed like he had been living his whole life waiting for his true purpose: war. He was in his element, and Flash had read reports of his exploits before getting here. Hoofclaw had once routed an entire Griffon company with only a logistics company by charging with broom handles and firecrackers.
They called it the Clean Sweep manoeuvre.
The fog was swept away for a moment as something huge passed over the, with an enormously loud report. Every soldier dove into the mud, and the tanks halted. For a few moments it was silence but for the clanking of tank hatches closing.
“You hear that boys?” Hoofclaw asked, and turned back to them all as a strange buzzing sound grew in the distance.
“Looks like dinner is coming to us!”
Hoofclaw dove into the mud himself, and wiggled himself in deeply. Flash saw the wisdom in this, and covered himself in it as well. It was pretty cold, but anything that helped you not get shot was welcomed. Flash felt Rona rub his side, and she leaned in to whisper in his ear while he took his rifle from his back.
“Command says they know we’re coming,” she said.
Flash rolled his eyes, and looked at her, “No, really?”
She shrugged and pulled out her own weapon, and they both watched the edge of the fog closely. The buzzing rumble slowly increased in pitch, and then the first changeling burst through the fog. The last image on his face was one of utter shock, before several tanks and a few dozen infantrymen put rounds in it. Flash amongst them.
While he ran the bolt of his gun the changelings response came, a torrential hail of gunfire from just beyond what they could see in the fog. It became a game of cat and mouse from there, Equestrian infantry firing at muzzle flashes in the fog, and the changelings firing back at the same- both trying to hit the enemy without being seen. Sandstorm and his tanks slowly rumbled forward past the infantry, bullets pinging off their armour while internal machine guns swept ahead. Slowly but surely, the infantry crawled forward with them, and they all advanced.
Foot by foot, inch by inch, they moved forward on the changelings, and the responding muzzle flashes slowed to a trickle. Each sporadic flash was responded with a burst of fire, and none fired twice. Eventually they stopped all together, and the First Infantry ran around the tanks to check the way ahead. When they gave the all clear, Hoofclaw stood and shook off the mud.
“That’ll do it boys! Onwards, there’s more where that came from!” he shouted with his deep voice, and leaped up back onto the tracks.
Flash and the rest stood, and he wiped the mud off while Big Mac reloaded his gun- taking a 12.7 box from a nearby tank for that. The gunner didn’t complain, and just looked at the pony like one would look at a god.
They trotted forward through the dead changelings left behind from their failed charge, a hundred black bodies buried in the mud, stained with green and surrounded by shells and shoddy weapons. They looked less like infantry with rifles and more like children with popguns.
Hoofclaw walked amongst them and with a pop from his handgun, ended the lives of any that lingered. They knew just how far these changelings went, brainwashed to utter subservience to their queen. Orders were to spare none unless they surrendered, otherwise they were just asking for a stab in the back.
The tanks didn’t adjust their path, and Flash squinted and stared straight forward to avoid seeing the effect 30 tons of metal had on a body. He could hear it however, and tried to make up for that by sparking conversation.
“So…” he shouted over the sounds around him, “how’s the farm back home?” he asked Big Mac.
“Good.”
Flash wiggled his nose and tried again, “How’s your sister?”
“Been better.”
He sighed and shook his head.
______
Spitfire felt good. She hadn’t felt this good, or this free, in ages. It was just her, the sky, and her gun. Ahead of her changelings buzzed around, trying to get the better of the Wonderbolts that fought with them, and inevitably failed. She knew in her rational mind that these were thinking creatures, capable of thought and emotion, but she was not in her rational mind now.
Spitfire was an apex-predator, and she was on the hunt. Every few seconds her rear legs pressed up against the metal on her back, and sent a buzzing hail of bullets towards yet another enemy, sending it falling out of the sky trailing green and black. None had even graced her, and her dance of death in the sky was a beautiful ballad of gunfire. A twisting ribbon of yellow that was only matched by the rainbow one that often crossed and overlapped it. Two un-matched predators in their domain, ruling the sky.
It was only minutes before the sky was clear, and the two that had nearly single-hoofedly destroyed a hundred changelings met face to face.
_____
Flash Sentry continued along the railway, and only the sound of armoured behemoths rolling was audible. They had been marching for hours now in total, and it had been half an hour since they engaged the Changeling scouts. Nothing else had greeted them except silence. The border post was abandoned, and the rail leading from it to Equestria had been cut quite deliberately. He shook his head as he passed, the idea that the Changelings would last enough for Equestrian reinforcements to arrive by rail was a dark joke.
“Why do they keep fighting? Why not just… stop?” Rona asked, nothing Flash’s gaze.
Flash looked back at her, and hugged her to himself with his wing.
“If it was Canterlot, and she was Celestia, would you give up?” he asked.
Rona considered it for a few moments, and then looked up at him, “No, but Celestia isn’t evil.”
Flash snorted, “Do you think they know that? They’ve lived their entire lives being told Chrysalis can’t do any wrong. Nobody evil knows they’re evil, Rona. To them, we’re the evil ones.”
Rona glared at him, “Don’t give me that subjective morality bullshit, they kidnapped a foal, they are evil.”
Flash punched her playfully on the shoulder, “I know that! What do you think I am, an idiot? I wouldn’t be here, with this gun, if I thought they were good,” he said, and pulled her ahead. "I'm not some goddamn Manhattan hippy burning my draft notice and calling Celestia an imperialist, don't worry."
“They’re evil, and that’s the truth of it, but they don’t know that. That’s the real tragedy here Rona, they’ll fight and die for an evil queen that doesn’t care about them, and all the while they’ll think they’re dying as martyrs for some great cause. She’s bent their perspective so hard that they’ll die willingly. Would you die for Celestia?”
Rona nodded.
“Exactly, so don’t hesitate to let them die for Chrysalis. The blood is on her hooves Rona, we’re just the ones that have to play middle man. She’ll get hers, in the end.”
“I got sixty-five inches here to see to it,” Big Mac chimed in.
They continued onward, bursts of strange gunfire crackling from the sky for a while, until silence once again fell over the deep fog. The fog started to think eventually, and a pale blue sky became visible. So did the edge of the forest, and Hoofclaw called a halt from ahead. He darted to one of the tanks- the lead one with a radio mast- and had a very blue-coloured conversation with command before leaping atop it and shouting at the group. A rather chubby stallion popped out with binoculars to look ahead while Hoofclaw looked back at them.
“Y’all remember those goddamn bats, the ones that near blew up Canterlot?” he bellowed.
The group murmured, and Flash tensed up holding his rifle.
“Yeah well, those fang-toothed mutants were supposed to blow the damn gun-towers up, but you know what I see? I’ll tell you what I see. I see gun-towers. Four of them. I hope you all brought plenty of ammo, we’re in the shit now,” he shouted, and knocked on the tank below. It rumbled back ahead, and the group marched onwards at a faster pace.
“Goddamn bats,” Flash mumbled under his breath.
Their opposition became apparent as the road angled downwards into the valley. A mile ahead, and a few hundred meters below, four grey stone towers stood around a fifth, black, monolith.
“Sweet Celestia, how the hell are we gonna break through that?” Flash wondered aloud.
Hoofclaw apparently heard him, and cracked his neck as he rode the tank, “Company halt!” he ordered, and then opened the hatch to say something to Colonel Sandstorm. He lifted himself out of his tank, and plopped into the mud while Hoofclaw took his position back on the line.
The tanks then shifted ahead of the group, and lined up ahead of them all. The crews popped out of their hatches and lined their turrets up against the distant buildings. Sandstorm, smiling like a maniac, stepped before them and held a fat arm in the air as they finished their rudimentary targeting.
“One!” He shouted, and threw his hoof down. The leftmost tank fired, and the shell whistled into the distance. It impacted on one of the towers, and exploded stone debris outwards. Ultimately, however, it seemed to do nothing.
Flash looked through his scope when the second fired, and watched the projectile arc through the sky. That one missed the towers, and wall, entirely. It sailed into the courtyard, and destroyed a crude wooden shanty. Splinters flew everywhere, and small dark objects ran from it.
The third shot impacted against the fortress itself, striking the side and bouncing off into the distance unknown. The fourth exploded within the courtyard again, and ignited a fire that sent acrid smoke into the sky. The others missed completely, seemingly being dud rounds that didn’t make it far enough, and blew holes in the distant ground on impact.
“That is how we’re going to break through that, soldier. Brute force," Sandstorm said, staring directly at Flash Sentry as he clambered back into the lead tank.
As Hoofclaw trotted to return to lead them onward, a gigantic roar sounded from behind them, and instinctually everyone dove for the mud. Something huge shot over their heads, and onwards to the hive. Flash scrambled to look with his scope, and watched as a huge explosion tore into one of the gun towers, and then three more blasted against the surrounding wall. While they were definitely still standing, each had a sizeable chunk gouged out.
“Wonderbolts got their own toys, now let’s get moving before they beat us to it!” Hoofclaw yelled, and led them into a faster march ahead.
They moved much faster now, and the artillery fire from the Wonderbolts became constant. It wasn’t very accurate- most shells exploded against the ground, missed entirely, or hit a bad angle and bounced off- but it was having an effect. At the very least it meant that while they walked onwards in peace, the changelings cowered under a rain of death from the unseen sky.
Flash considered bringing up the idea of just laying siege to the bugs, but he remembered his briefing. They were self-sufficient under that damn fortress, and even the odd artillery shell that hit it had absolutely no effect. Chrysalis could hide in there for centuries, corrupting the child she had enslaved and denying her parents raising her. There was not a mare or colt in the formation that wouldn’t die to right that injustice.
Flash certainly would, but he would rather make them die for it.
The infantry, Flash and his group included, ducked into the trees as the neared the hive. The railway led through an open field to a metal gate in the walls, which had been hastily welded shut. The smell of smoke filled the air, and the field was filled with debris and craters from the artillery barrages. For a few moments they waited for that to firing to halt, lining up in the tree-line and peering forward. The tanks had formed up by themselves now, and would be leading the charge to the wall.
Combat engineers, stacked up with each squad of infantry, carried explosive satchels. The name of the game was getting to that enormous wall, hiding against it out of the line of fire from those gun-towers, and breaching it somewhere.
So they waited, Flash with Big Mac and Rona beside him on either side. Their objectives were vague, they were mostly there for propaganda value. Flash Sentry was hailed by the newspapers back home as the deadliest thing on three legs (which had been quietly dropped), and Big Mac with his 12.7 gun was a popular title page for recruitment materials. They were a commando unit, and basically just there so Spitfire had someone she count on on the ground.
They waited, as silence fell on the valley. Total silence, un-natural silence devoid of the normal chitters and chirps of animals and birds. The silence of the calm before the storm.
Then the tanks fired up their engines, belching smelly fumes into the air and rumbling the ground. A burst of gunfire from one of the towers buzzed against the grassy clearing, kicking up dirt, and the nervous gunner was quickly dispatched by a returning series of explosions from the tanks. Then they charged, a dozen metal leviathans lurched out of the forest and were met by gunfire from the towers. The effect was minimal, and the bullets bounced off the thick steel armour.
Then the infantry charged: with a screaming fury they ran past Flash into the field, overtaking the tanks and dashing towards the wall. Scattered firing back against the gun towers pelted the stone walls, but the moving tanks and running soldiers might as well have thrown their bullets and shells. Dozens fell to the sweeping buzz-saw of Changeling fire, but the vast majority made it across. Flash had taken the slow approach, and hid behind one of the rear tanks. Bullets whizzed over them as they struck the tank, only a tiny part of the intense cacophony of sound.
Gunfire, screaming, rumbling, gigantic explosive reports of tankfire. The sounds of chaos drilled into Flash's head, but he was a veteran and remained lucid through it.
They made it to the wall, and as the tank reversed to transverse its gun against the gunners still firing down, they formed up against the grey stone.
Combat engineers had done their job, and all over the line dozens of holes burst into the wall. Infantry poured in without pause, and Flash grabbed Big Mac’s neck to pull him close.
“You’re up front, put three holes in anything not wearing a uniform!””
He nodded and grinned while he cracked his neck. They went in with a wave of infantry, dashing into the dust-filled courtyard. Overturned market stalls, wooden debris, and changeling bodies littered the ground everywhere. Increasingly spent brass added to the detritus of war, and Flash slid behind a stall that had recently been full of apples.
They were rather fresh, so while he paused to catch his breath, he ate one. He tossed one to Rona as well, slumped behind a large rock that had been knocked out of the wall.
Big Mac was rather busy firing 12.7 at some unseen enemy, screaming a war cry that was smothered by the sounds around him. Flash gestured Rona stay put, and then spun around to lay his rifle against the stall. He looked through the scope downrange, trying to get a view of how things were going.
The changelings had fallen back on a series of barricades before the entrance to the fortress proper, as well as several others outside the “barracks” buildings at the courtyard sides. They had made their entrance closest to the east one, which had collapsed and was little more than ruins. The west one was still intact however, and gunfire rained down from the windows while machine-guns out front swept along their lines. Equestrian infantry was held up for the moment, unable to move from the sheer amount of bullets being tossed at them. Grenades were thrown, but all those did was drive patches of changelings back for a moment before they returned.
Flash sighted the gunner outside the barracks, firing a machine gun fed from a large box beside it. He aimed carefully, aiming for the small crack from the box that the belt fed from, and fired.
Then he ducked, since it had exactly the effect he hoped. His bullet hit a live round inside, which went off and started an explosive chain reaction that sent bullets whizzing haphazardly from behind the changeling lines in all directions. The gunner was quickly made into even more swiss-cheese than he already was, and the infantry was quick to make use of the diversion to move up slightly, but not much.
Flash considered what to do next, and tossed an apple at Rona. It hit her in the head, and she looked at him annoyed. He gestured her over, and she teleported herself to his side.
“Call the thunder, we need that building demolished!” he ordered.
Rona nodded, and set her saddlebag on the ground. She quickly set up the portable radio, using their cover as a sort of stand for it, and dialled Spitfire.
______
Spitfire and Rainbow Dash fell back on the ship, flying over it as a pair while it slowly ambled towards the now-smoking Changeling Hive. Their soldiers were striking from the ground now, and the guns had been silent for quite a while. They waited for word that ground fire had been cleared to swoop in, and annihilate any hardened positions by 12.7 millimetre rain.
“So, Dash,” Spitfire started up, totally at ease even as they flew towards an uncertain future, “that was a pretty impressive move back there- using your guns recoil like a jetpack.”
Dash did a loop in the air and flew to the other side of her commander, flexing her legs outwards to click the safe-locked hammers of her twin 12.7 guns.
“I know, it was so awesome!” she gloated, and playfully shoved Spitfire, “and you, you came in… you came in like a bat out of hell!”
Spitfire made a mental note to keep a careful watch on that one, such glee in war could have tragic consequences left unchecked. Granted, she felt pretty damn good about herself too. There was no feeling quite like meeting a truly evil enemy, and crushing them. A feeling she hadn’t felt since the week at Waylay, and when the dragons came before that.
The air smelt like gunpowder.
Gunpowder smelt like victory.
They flew onwards, the changeling hive before them slowly growing, and the ship halted at the planned distance. Close enough to easily eyeball targets with the guns, but far enough that they would be out of range of any return fire.
Medical teams, Wonderbolts that had failed gunnery practice, flew down from the ship into the trees to relieve any wounded soldiers down there. The ship itself turned on its side once more, putting its guns towards the Hive.
Spitfire, as the commanding officer of effectively everything, had her pick of the gear to bring. She had a radio pack on her back as well as a customized single-barrel 12.7 gun. Far less firepower than the standard Wonderbolt loadout, but it allowed her to remain in contact with home, and she was precise enough that it didn’t matter.
Her headset crackled, and a slightly-static voice reported to her.
“Air Martial Spitfire, are you re-“
“Yes, what is it?”
“Ma’am, ground teams are requesting a fire mis-“
The speaker was cut off, and the guns immediately started firing on the ship. The booming sound deafened Spitfire for a few moments, and then stopped just as abruptly.
“What the hell was that?” Spitfire demanded, and angrily spun around to face her ship. She could see the bridge quite well from here, and someone looked back at her.
“Uh, ground teams requested a fire mission ma’am, but First Class approved it for you.”
Spitfire cursed under her breath, and then realized she was still broadcasting. She tore the headset off and threw it towards the ground.
“Dash, you’re with me! Fuck protocol, we’re going in ourselves. I want a piece of Chrysalis for myself!”
Dash grinned, and the pair shot off towards the smoking changeling hive. They arrived in time for the second barracks to collapse, a vast explosion belching fire into the sky as the stored weaponry went up in smoke. They easily dodged the scattered groundfire, and sighted changelings on the ground. The pair split up and sent gunfire hailing down on them from the sky, sending those below diving for cover in a panic. Those that didn’t dive instead fell silent, and Spitfire slowed herself to hover, firing down on anyone she could see.
“Take that you shapeshifting bastards! Don’t fuck with Equestria!”
With their force now being attacked from the ground and the air, a master sharp-shooter quickly removing any of their machine-gun nests, and a fierce force of infantry closing in on them, it would seem reasonable that the changeling would surrender.
They did not.
Over the next half hour they held out to the very last, forcing the soldiers below and Spitfire above to double check any bodies were indeed dead, and more than once a supposedly fallen changeling would fire a round into an unlucky soldier. By the end however, they were victorious. The courtyard was a ruin, both of the stone barracks were nothing but rubble, and the gun-towers were destroyed by charges from inside. Spitfire landed on the courtyard surface, trotted past the soldiers with her head held high and Rainbow Dash at her side, and about-faced ahead of the permanently shut door to the fortress.
She turned to the soldiers, as they counted up their dead and tended to the injured, and she spoke. Loudly, proudly, she stood before the victorious legion.
“Ponies! Today we have proven our worth to the world! Let every one of you remember this day to tell your children, and your grandchildren. On this day we destroyed an entire army of evil, and we’re not going to stop there! We’re going for Chrysalis’ head, and if any more of these insects stand in our way- theirs too! Stand tall, and stand proud, today we take our place in history.
Burn the bodies. The changelings aren’t worth burying.”
_____
Wildcard awoke, again, and found himself surrounded by debris. The door was scarily close to his head, broken into timbers and lying on the floor. He painfully rose, and a blaring screaming noise assaulted him from inside his ears. His head felt like it was going to explode, and his vision was blurry as can be. He was concussed, but from the looks of the room around him he was just lucky to be alive. He trotted forward on rubbery legs, and shifted the pile of rubble before him so as to wiggle through the ruins towards the sunlight pouring down from the open sky.
When he wormed himself free, what he found was ruin. He looked down on the courtyard of the Changeling Hive from the third story of the west barracks, and it was covered in debris, bodies, and smouldering fires. The battle was long since over though, and Equestrian infantry rested. They had emptied the stalls for themselves, and it looked like they had converted most of the area into triage.
A few dozen black bags were outside that large tent setup in the centre, and as Wildcard looked down on it blearily, he slipped on the rubble. His body tumbled downwards like a rag-doll, powerless to change the course of his fall, and he landed on his face beside a few chattering ponies.
“Oh, lookit that,” one of them said, “I think that’s the ambassador.”
For the third time that day, Wildcard’s lights were knocked out.