Roland wasn't feeling very good as he was finally led out of solitary confinement. "You get your taste of being a fool, or do you want more?" the officer in charge asked.
"I didn't do anything wrong," he insisted.
"Still a fool, then." The officer smirked. "We know what to do with fools who don't want to do their part in the war."
"A war that's lost."
"Silence!" The officer slapped him. Roland tried to slap him back, but the officer dodged, and one of the guards got the hit instead. The officer knocked him off his feet and hit him again. "You are to obey," the officer said. "You will be silent, and you will do what you're ordered without question. That is the new state of affairs. And we don't tolerate defeatism."
"I'll speak whenever I please."
Slap! "Then I'm obligated to strike you whenever you disobey, idiot."
The guards frog-marched him to a field full of new recruits, most of whom looked quite unhappy. Some were cursing, and almost all were unhappy.
"Is this where you're going to make me train?" Roland asked.
"Be quiet." The officer went up to another griffon with a fancy uniform and a number of medals. The officer whispered to the colonel or general, pointing back at Roland every so often.
The higher officer frowned. He walked over to Roland. "So, you're a defeatist and a disobedient fool?"
"I don't see why I should die in your war when my brother already made his sacrifice."
"At least your brother was a hero and died for our people. He'd weep in his tomb at your attitude. You're a disgrace to the Empire."
"How dare you assume what my brother would say or do!?!"
The colonel paused. "There will be no training for you."
"Oh good," Roland replied sarcastically. "Now I can leave."
Slap! This time, it was the colonel who slapped him. "Don't be stupid. You are on the Probation list. We're going to use you, defeatist or not. You're going straight to the front lines. You'll be given a matchlock and thrown in with the other garbage who don't like the new state of affairs. We'll send you into battle and see how many of you come back. If you live through the war - and that seems unlikely - you'll get your rights back. Until then, you're scum made to serve the Empire's cause." The colonel waved. "Take him to the penal battalion. He is to be made to serve in the front lines, along with the other troublesome idiot we picked up from the capital."
The guards dragged Roland some distance to a different training field. These soldiers looked even more unhappy. They wore khaki uniforms that were faded, more like sackcloth than anything. They fumbled with their weapons, clearly unused to them. Their officers didn't even bother trying to show them how to use them; in fact, they were mostly standing by, watching their troops fail, laughing at every soldier who couldn't even hold his matchlock the right way up.
Someone shoved a matchlock in his claws. "Here," another officer said. Take it."
"How am I supposed to use this thing?"
"Don't ask questions, stupid. Just get in line."
Roland went to his assigned place in the line up after taking his so-called uniform, grumbling furiously. To his surprise, he wasn't the last one. Other griffons, all looking as miserable as he felt, were thrown into the faded uniforms that would have better served as rags.
The griffon to his right bore a rather obvious set of bruises on his face. "Stinkin', rotten no good filthy sons of goats and rats," he said. "Wish I could boil the one that did this to me," he added, pointing to his scar.
"I think I know you from somewhere," Roland said.
"Not sure, lad. I've met a lot of folks."
Roland studied his face for a moment. "I do know you," he said, recognizing the other. "You're that merchant the soldiers beat up."
"And you're the fellow who said we were goin' into a civil war. Well, so much good our mutterings did, to drag us in here."
"What happened?"
"What do ya think? They set up a roadblock and started nabbin' folks. They tried to nab me, and I struck him. Next minute, they were all on top of me, beatin' me senseless. Musta been knocked out, because the next thing I know I woke up here, and they told me that my business was being confiscated by the Empire for my 'crime', and that I'd get it back - maybe - if I lived through the war." The merchant - the former merchant - shook his head. "Like that'll happen. They'll make sure I'm on the front rank every time, to make sure I die and my family end up homeless, to make us suffer even after I'm dead. Worthless, filthy loser of a rat-born Emperor."
"More talk like that, and we won't bother setting you on the front rank at all," a nearby officer said, approaching. "We'll just shoot you, and then your family will definitely remain homeless and poor. Shut up, and stop blaming His Highness for your stupidity, or we'll shut your beak for you... forever."
With that, the officer departed. "Freak," the merchant whispered. He offered his claw to Roland. "I'm Marley, not that it's any consolation to either of us."
"Roland." He took the offered claw and shook it. "We're in the same boat now. Might as well try to survive together. Two work better than one."
"Aye, maybe. Just maybe..."
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Silver Shield led his company forward as the Equestrian Army and its allies continued the advance. The enemy had abandoned their effort to defend every inch of ground, and were falling back in some disorder, if his eyes weren't lying to him.
It had been a week since the advance had begun. The griffon forces did attempt to fight back sporadically, but the results of their recent "experiment" had crippled them; their cause was no longer united, and the confusion engendered by the purge had robbed the enemy of many of their best officers and soldiers. What was left wasn't able to hold back the victorious allies. In skirmish after skirmish - they couldn't properly be called battles, given how short they were and how little real resistance was encountered - the griffons and their mercenaries were routed.
"We'll be out of these stinking woods soon," he muttered to himself. Then the fight would resume in more open ground, where the advantage would shift, or so he hoped.
It came sooner than he'd expected. His company reached a decent-sized clearing in the forest, a mile or so wide and about half that long. It wasn't quite the end of the woods, but if the maps he had were anywhere near accurate - and they weren't always (he could swear that even the griffons didn't have clear maps of their own territory) - they were getting close.
"Hey, Captain," one of the soldiers closest to him said. "I think I see griffons on the other side of the clearing."
"I see them," Shield said grimly. There was at least a regiment in front of him, and while the rest of the regiment his company was a part of was coming up, he'd be on his own for a few minutes.
For their part, the enemy didn't look particularly eager for battle. Their "uniforms" weren't of very good quality; Shield would have had a fit if any Royal Guard had showed up to work wearing such apparel. They advanced, but it was clear they weren't the most eager of recruits, and recruits they were, for they didn't bother to advance in any sort of skirmish formation or with any real caution; they remained in a block-like formation, with close ranks and files. Of course, a thousand fighting a hundred could push the latter back and possibly destroy them if they got the chance.
"Spread out," he ordered. "Have the first rank lie down, and the second line fire over them. Wait for my order to fire before giving it to them; anyone fires before I give the word, they'll be on KP for a week!"
The company moved to obey. Though the majority were recruits as well, the difference between their training and that of the enemy unit before them was apparent, and the veterans gave some quick advice to the new guys as they hurried to follow his instructions.
Another line came out of the woods behind the first enemy unit. Shield swore under his breath, but then noticed that the second unit wasn't particularly strong; they were perhaps a hundred strong, and for whatever reason, they stopped some distance behind the first unit. Oddly enough, they still acted alert, even though they weren't going directly into battle. They wore red uniforms, and were well armed, but weren't advancing to engage the Equestrians, at least not immediately.
What is their deal? Shield thought to himself. Any halfway sane commander would try to pile on what they had right now, especially their best troops.
Regardless of the enemy's reasoning, he wasn't complaining. He'd fought the King's soldiers before, and they were the toughest soldiers he'd fought discipline and weaponry-wise. If they weren't going into the fight themselves, fine by him.
The first unit began to increase speed as it's officers gave commands in a rather contemptuous tone. One struck a soldier with the hilt of his sword and began scream at him and the others around him.
"Not yet, not yet," Shield said to himself.
The enemy came closer.
"Not yet..."
The enemy were well within range now.
"...FIRE!"
A solid sheet of smoke and fire erupted from the barrels of a hundred guns. The smoke rose above the battlefield, though not entirely obscuring the vision of the enemy.
The enemy unit had been decimated by the disciplined fire. Most of the first rank was down, along with many from the second and some from the third. Some of those in front who had survived kept moving. Others, behind those who had just become casualties, halted, having seen the elephant of battle for the first time.
The Equestrians ejected their first rounds and fired again. More of the enemy fell, some just crumpling to the ground, others twisting in a darkly humorous way and a few still standing, screaming and clutching wounds.
Through the smoke that was now hanging over the battlefield, Shield could see that some of the enemy soldiers were already trying to fly away even as others raised their weapons and still others kept trying to move forward.
The line of red-coated soldiers began shooting as well... at those griffons trying to flee the battle. The deserters were shot down without mercy; every last one who tried to flee was killed or left screaming in pain on the ground.
Just like at Trottingham, part of his mind said, remembering the ponies the griffons had tried to force into battle. They'd had troops arranged to do this too.
Whatever the effect the Equestrian fire had, it became clear to the enemy in the first unit that they had no choice; either keep fighting, and possibly die or be wounded, or try to run and definitely die. The majority stayed and began shooting. They were only armed with the now out-of-date matchlocks, but there were so many of them shooting that every now and then they were bound to inflict casualties. Sure enough, a few Equestrian soldiers cried out, or crumpled to the ground and moved no more.
However, the Equestrians continued to fire; the enemy took between fifteen seconds to a minute or more to reload, whereas the ponies could just eject a spent magazine and put another in its place in a matter of seconds. The weight of fire told; the enemy continued to fall in heaps.
But there were a lot of griffons. And, seeing as they were essentially doomed regardless of whether they stood or ran, they kept fighting, though less out of patriotic duty than out of fear of their superiors. After a few minutes, some of them got the idea and either crouched or laid down as well, using fallen comrades for cover. Even though their fire was slow and inaccurate, it would be foolish to regard it as harmless.
Shield didn't. He sent a runner to bring up the rest of the regiment, which arrived in short order. Backed by fresh troops and firepower, the tide of battle turned against the enemy. Scores were being shot down by the weight of fire alone.
The enemy squawked and yelled in dismay. At this, most just stopped firing and ran or flew toward the Equestrian lines, their arms raised in surrender; Royal soldiers shot a few of them down, but the majority of this band of deserters were able to escape into Equestrian lines.
"Come on, we've got them!" Shield shouted. "Forward!"
With a mighty shout, the Equestrian force surged ahead. Fewer and fewer of the enemy tried to fight back; most just gave up on the spot when approached by a pony. The only one who put up any real resistance were the outraged officers, who only lasted moments before being overrun.
The Royals in front of them pulled back; their job was over with. Shield felt enraged; sure, the griffons were the enemy, but no one had any business using their best troops to murder unwilling combatants.
Then he had other things to worry about. More of the enemy, all in red, began to emerge from the trees. This force formed up in line and began firing. Their weapons weren't mere matchlocks; their rate of fire wasn't that far from the Equestrian weapons.
"Front line down! Second line crouch!" Shield ordered, speaking as quickly as he could in the hopes of reducing casualties. Those who heard obeyed.
Now it came down to both sides banging away at each other. The enemy were quick to copy their Equestrian foes; they spread out quickly. Bullets flew over head as Shield laid down and began firing his own rifle.
"Captain, I think we've got an enemy unit trying to outflank us to the left," a soldier said, running up to him.
"Ugh. Another thing to worry about." Inside, he felt concerned. Where did they get the numbers to outflank our army this quickly, and where did they come from?
That worry was irrelevant for this fight; the enemy had the numbers to do it. What mattered was how he and the rest of the army dealt with it. "Keep me informed." With that, he went back to shooting.
"Yes, sir."
The enemy began to push forward. Urged on by their officers, they began to advance, firing as they did so. While these soldiers weren't experienced either - they stood up straight rather than crouching or rushing - they were willing, unlike the previous regiment. They soaked up their losses and continued fighting, even though the score chart wasn't favoring them.
Artillery behind the Equestrian lines began to open up. Shells fell on the griffons, who, though noticeably shaken by the barrage, nonetheless kept up the advance. Their fire wasn't well aimed, and Shield was sure that the enemy weren't used to their weapons. Even so, they inflicted casualties, though not in the numbers they themselves suffered.
It was unclear how long the two sides banged away at each other; Shield had learned by now not to trust his sense of time in the middle of battle. All he knew was that his rifle required him to constantly shove more ammunition into it.
Presently, he reached for another magazine and ended up with an empty hoof. "Oh, that's just great," he muttered.
He looked around. Fewer and fewer soldiers were firing; they were running out of ammo as well. Soon, the entire company would run out, and the regiment with them.
The enemy was getting closer. They'd been shooting the whole time, but from their attitude, it seemed as if they were thirsting to charge, even though many of them were no longer among the living.
They'll be upon us soon enough, bullets or none. We'll have to get them first before they get us. With a sigh, he dropped the rifle and picked up his spear; even though bayonets were fast replacing spears and swords in the army, he still preferred the weapons he'd originally trained with. "Fix bayonets," he shouted. "Get ready to receive them with cold steel!"
The company followed suit. Soldiers fixed bayonets to the end of their guns and braced themselves for the order.
"Belay that order!"
What!? Shield looked behind him, where the voice had originated. A brown stallion with a tan mane and tail stood there, waving to the regiment.
Colonel Briar! What's he doing? Can't he see...
"Withdraw immediately!" the colonel continued. Before Shield or anyone else could protest, the colonel added, "We've been flanked. Our division is pulling back. Let's go, before they can encircle us!"
...And maybe I was the one who was wrong. Being outflanked was a good reason to retreat. Getting encircled was no fun. "You heard him, boys," he said. "Pull back... but in an orderly fashion, like soldiers, not a mob. The artillery will cover our withdrawal. Let's go!"
The company - and the rest of the regiment with it - began to fall back. The artillery continued to fire as they did so, for the enemy still advanced, even more eager now that their opponents were withdrawing. As the last few ponies made it to the woods' edge, the artillery crews switched to canister. The effects of this volley cut down many of the enemy that were still on their feet, and allowed for the artillery crews to withdraw without further harassment.
Shield wasn't happy, though, not one bit. The enemy had halted the advance and were in the process of throwing it back. Fortunately, most of the wounded and dead had been taken away by the withdrawing soldiers, but the field still belonged to the enemy.
-------------------------------------------------------
James frowned. "Are you certain they're pressing that hard on our left?"
"Yes, sir. I saw their troops myself," Colonel Briar answered. "They managed to outflank us, and we had to fall back as a result."
"How far have they pushed you?"
"About half a mile, sir. We're digging in as we speak, hopefully we'll be able to hold their counterattack there."
"I'd hoped they wouldn't have reinforcements this soon," James said, letting the air out of his nose in replacement of a sigh. "Why couldn't they just curl up and go away?" He hissed to himself. "Never mind," he added, seeing that Briar was about to answer. "We'll just have to find some other way of kicking them in the teeth, that's all. Good work saving your regiment."
'Thank you, sir. It wasn't all due to our own efforts, though."
"Explain."
"The enemy, sir. The first unit engaged was wasted in an assault on our unit, with outdated firearms. They were clearly unwilling; their uniforms were little more than washing rags made into something remotely resembling military outfits, and when a group of them tried to flee, a line of soldiers in back shot them all."
James let his fist fall on the table. "Barrier troops, trained purely to kill deserters. It's not the first time we've seen this."
"Yes, but now they're shooting their own people; what on Earth's going on up in Gryphos?" Rolling Barrel asked.
Another military dictator has happened, that's what. A brutal one, too. I'm surprised one this vicious has come to power in this world, but then I shouldn't be surprised by much here anymore. I've seen Chrysalis just as willing to kill her own people just to temporarily escape us.
"Whatever's going on, we need to overcome their army," Shining Armor put in. "It's clear that these were recruits, if not the most willing."
"The second unit were all in red, and very willing," Briar added. "Not very well trained, though somewhat adaptable, but very willing."
"Most of the units we engaged today are in red, and the Royals' efficiency as fighters has gone down overall," Barrel said, chewing on a piece of grass. "Either those guys were left out of the war from the beginning, or they're new recruits as well, meant to be... I don't know how to say it... it's like they're meant to be bodies thrown into battle to stop us, and send some firepower down range."
"It worked," Briar answered. "Our regiment ran out of ammunition. Captain Shield was about to engage them in close quarters, but I countermanded him; we were outflanked already."
"I see," James said. "Alright, they've thrown more bodies into the battle, and I'm assuming this is going on all along the line. Was there any sign of more enemy artillery than usual?"
"No, sir. We didn't suffer heavy bombardment."
"I'm hoping that means that their productive capacities have not yet caught up with their, er, griffon-power," James finished lamely. "If so, they have soldiers, but no increased artillery or defensive capacity. We should keep pressing them. We need to keep pressing them, and break them if possible. Those people cannot be allowed to rally and gain time for their King. We'll need to send in our armor."
"That wouldn't be a bad idea, but we still face a mile or two of woodland," Shining said. "Our armored units won't be effective, or at least their ability to move will be badly restricted."
"Hmm. Problematic. And yet the tanks are our best weapon in this case, especially against those who have never faced them."
Crystal, seated, put his front hooves under his chin, clearly in thought. "I'd almost recommend... no, no, too risky."
"What's on your mind?" James asked.
"Oh, sir," Crystal said, jerking out of his reverie. "It's nothing. Nothing particularly useful."
"Well, let's have it. Can't be any worse than what we've come up with so far," Barrel said.
"...I was just thinking of the tornadoes, the kind pegasi can create?" When he got nods, Crystal went on, "When these get to be strong enough, they can topple trees and smash things. We really have to be careful when creating and using them. What I was thinking is that we could use them to wreck some of the woodland in order to create a sort of instant highway, if you will, allowing our tanks a good pathway to get through."
"Please pardon my boldness, but I wasn't finished."
"Boldness pardoned. Please continue."
"I was going to add that this would be quite dangerous. The pegasi involved would have to maintain control over a prolonged period of time, under fire from the enemy and with all sorts of refuse from the forest getting caught up in it; it's not like a city or town's effort to send water up to Cloudsdale, you know."
"I see." James set a hand under his chin. "Couldn't the pegasi just maintain control long enough to direct the thing towards its target?"
"Ugh..." Crystal looked shocked. "That would be extremely dangerous, sir. We wouldn't have any control over it once the pegasi left the twister, and I can't be sure how long it would last, or even if it would stay on course. It would likely either turn and wreck us, or fizzle out once the pegasi left it."
"Ah." James sighed in frustration. "Well, so much for that idea."
"Perhaps not," Shining said.
"Oh?"
"The pegasi might not be able to remain with the tornado for long," Shining continued, "but unicorn magic may be able to..."
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Jones stood at his post, a sentry in the woods. He checked his rifle, which had been a matchlock before being remodeled, as well as his armor for the umpteenth time. He sighed; there was little else to do. He couldn't even set his rifle down and lean on it; that would be against regulations, and given the change in government and the takeover of the army by fanatics loyal to the King - Emperor, now - breaking rules would be the worst idea he could think of.
Not that he approved per se of the whole "Emperor" thing; deep down, he was loyal to his clan. However, the thought of even showing that loyalty made him want to pull feathers and call himself stupid. And the ponies were on griffon land; if they won the war, well, the results might or might not be worse than the purge that was, to his knowledge, still ongoing. If the Empire won the war, maybe things could go back to something not far from what they were before...
He felt a breeze pull at his feathers. It was odd; usually, the wind couldn't be felt much this deep in the woodlands that formed the border between Equestria and the Griffon Kingdom - well, Empire. Of course, every once in a while the weather could be fickle rather than predictable.
Instead of going away after a few seconds, though, the breeze actually began to get stronger. "What in the name of..." Jones said, grabbing as his coat. The breeze became a wind, and the wind became a gale, all in just a few seconds. He heard timber creak in the distance, then crack sharply, as the wind continued to increase in force and speed.
Then... then came a sound he dreaded. It was like the sound of a freight train rumbling, but much worse.
Sentry or none, this wasn't something he could stand up against. Not alone. He dropped his rifle and began running, for it was too dangerous to even try to fly.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
The tornado rapidly gathered speed. It was much larger than James had seen them get in the show; this one was huge, and it was being used to tear through the forest. Trees were uprooted or else destroyed in the whirlwind, and he could only imagine what it was going to do once it was released and let go. He'd had to remove his kepi and hold onto it to keep it from being swept away.
All of a sudden, the twister began moving northeastward. So far, so good.
Flak began bursting in front of the incoming maelstrom. He'd expected no less, but he worried, as he often did, whether he'd sent a bunch of loyal soldiers to their deaths in a project that might well fail. Luckily, the enemy hadn't calibrated their weapons properly for the first volley, but that would change, and quickly.
The destruction was awesome. James hoped that whatever animals lived in the path of the twister had already evacuated, and felt a moment's pity for the obliteration of their homes.
I need to keep my troops alive and moving, and this was the best way. God, please forgive me.
The tornado continued it's path of destruction. Behind it was left fallen trees, liking for all the world like giant, broken toothpicks, as well as the occasional stump. Wreckage was everywhere.
Just before the halfway mark, a multi-colored glow surrounded the tornado, and pegasi began to emerge en masse from the gigantic vehicle of destruction they had created. It wobbled, and badly, but it continued on the course that the pegasi had been previously steering it on.
He drew out his sword and pointed it forward.
At that moment, engines started; hundreds of engines started, and a pall of black smoke briefly arose on the plain below the hill on which James stood. Dozens of tanks, both of the "Barrel" and "Gallop" designs, had been waiting for this moment, to rush ahead. Unicorns were clearing away wreckage, along with those earth ponies and pegasi who were standing by for that purpose.
The armored cavalcade began moving forward, engines backfiring and guns at the ready. Shields began popping into place.
May God keep you safe, boys. I hope as many of you as possible you return safely. It's up to you now.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
Barrel had been waiting for the signal. Now, it was time to go and try to end the war.
"Forward," he said, tapping the driver with a hind hoof in case the latter hadn't heard. He heard a muffled response (the engines were so stinking loud!), and then the tank began to surge forward.
I've wondered what might have happened if the three tribes hadn't unified. I think I may have found a piece of the answer. The twister the pegasi had created for the battle's purpose had destroyed, uprooted, and outright smashed almost everything in its path. If the pegasi of old had been able to create something of this nature, they'd have something not far off from a superweapon at their immediate disposal. Of course, knowledge of available options had increased since then; if it had not, everyone would still be fighting with spears, swords, arrows, and other archaic weapons.
The tornado continued on for a few minutes before the unicorns released it. Barrel braced himself, but the spiral of destruction didn't turn upon those who had made it. Instead, it continued on roughly the same path, though it kept jerking back and forth. It definitely reach the enemy lines; Barrel saw, or at least thought he saw, an enemy cannon being thrown half a mile away as if it were no lighter than a toy.
Eventually, the whole thing started to fade out as it lost momentum. It died out surprisingly quickly after it tossed the cannon, among other objects. It finally disappeared, leaving no evidence that it had ever existed.
Well, other than the trail of devastation, of course.
"You could make a highway out of what got cleared out," Barrel muttered to himself. The noise of the engines carried his voice away, but the idea remained. "Or it would make a good cutting for a railroad. Regardless of what happens later, it's our road... the road the Gryphos, and eventually to peace."
As they closed on the enemy lines, there was no gunfire, as Barrel had expected. Were the enemy so stunned by the tornado that they weren't going to fight back?
As if in answer, a shell landed nearby. The fragments merely bounced off the magical shields of his tank and those nearby. A few more touched down, but not very many.
Then they got to where the enemy front line had been.
We wouldn't have even needed tanks to go through here, Barrel thought. I think it's safe to say that we've blown away the competition.
More shells landed in the dirt around the tanks, as if the enemy were starting to truly wake up for the first time. However, it was inaccurate, and the shells that hit weren't able to penetrate the shields of the tanks.
A few gunshots rang out; not all of the griffons had been swept away or too traumatized to fight back. A few of the ponies advancing to either side of the tanks fell, but their firepower was more than enough to suppress the enemy. And when Barrel's tanks began firing, the few remaining defenders were either blasted from the remains of their fortifications or began to wave white rags in miserable surrender.
Barrel stuck his head out of the commander's hatch. "Keep going!" he commanded. In case that wasn't clear enough, he waved his hoof to the northeast. His troops got that, alright, and continued their advance in confidence.
-----------------------------------------------------------
Grayfeather wasn't pleased, but for once, he didn't have anyone to blame, not when he'd seen the twister with his own eyes. Equestrian tanks were barreling through the gap left by the whirlwind, and there was nothing he could truthfully do to stop them. Even bringing up units from the side and engaging wouldn't help; the enemy had cut off a piece of his army, and he wouldn't be able to coordinate a counterattack with that particular wing. Unfortunately, that meant the inevitable; another retreat, with what forces he could bring out of the battle.
"Another loss," he muttered. The enemy had found a way to break the stalemate he'd hoped to force upon the enemy, which, had it succeeded, would have allowed time for the rebellions currently taking place to be crushed, and the resources the Empire could then gather would have been brought to bear. "Curse that two-legged menace. Curse the Equestrians. And cursed their benighted, filthy allies!"
No, I won't lose control, like Hawkfrost did. Remember your duty to the Ki- Emperor. He gathered himself and sighed furiously. "Prepare to withdraw," he said to an aide. "Destroy anything we cannot take with us. We must not allow out entire force to be cut off and surrounded by this thrust."
"Yes, sir." The other griffon flew out of the tent.
"Sir," another aide said, somewhat worriedly, "how do we prevent them from doing this to us again?"
"You mean the tornado?" Grayfeather thought about it. "We'll build underground bunkers, deep enough where the whirlwind could not reach them, or the troops and artillery inside them. We'll just hide in them, and when the storm passes, we'll emerge to strike again." It was a good idea, but it wouldn't save him here. He shook his head in frustration and sorrow. "Make the preparations. We'll set up another line further back, a few miles to the north of here." Maybe there we might find some way to halting the allied tide.
----------------------------------------------------------
Windrunner sighed as the Emperor's troops approached the rebel village, the homeland of the Highwind clan. His home had been attacked one by the Royals, an attack which had been beaten back. Since then, they hadn't come again, though the clan's scouts had informed the village of a gathering force of about three thousand strong. Where they got the troops, considering the needs of the front line and the Saddle Arabian landing in the south, he wasn't sure. However, it was true that, if the reports were accurate, then the Highwinds were outnumbered by greater than three to one; they were barely able to muster eight hundred warriors to protect them.
Red-coated soldiers marched from the woods, more than he could hope to count. They were superbly armed, and clearly well lead, considering how disciplined their ranks were. Cannons were also brought, but did not yet fire. Clearly, the Royals wanted to overawe the village, and force it to give in without a fight.
That wasn't going to happen. The clan leader, Stormheart, had convened the entire town last night. He had informed the village that the King, who had elevated himself to an Emperor, had declared war on all the old ways and the whole system of clans throughout the griffon lands, how the clan's troops on the front lines had been killed by the backstabbing Royals and their officers taken to prison for a kangaroo trial, to be hanged at a later date.
The village had erupted in mourning; cries of sorrow and grief had torn through the night air. Among them, however, were loud war cries and shouts of rage. With one consent ,the entire village had chosen to further resist the Royals, and never submit to their rule.
The enemy lined up, just outside of the range of the village's best gun; the best they had were some badly outdated arquebuses, some crossbows, regular bows and arrows, and, of course, armor and swords. The enemy had artillery; he counted at least eight, whereas the town had maybe two ancient ballistae, and only one could be brought to bear on the front where the foe would advance.
It would be an... interesting battle, assuming the enemy really pushed. And it looked like they would.
First, though, a group of three enemy officers - Windrunner recognized one as the soldier who had lead the initial assault about a week ago - came forward, waving a white flag. They were going to ask... no, demand, surrender.
Stormheart wasn't having any of it. "Stop right there, or we'll blow your worthless heads off!" he shouted from his position on the wall.
The three officers stopped. "How dare you threaten agents of the Emperor like that!?" one of them shouted.
"You're here to take our freedom and our autonomy; there is nothing to discuss. We refuse to bow to your filthy Emperor!"
"Then you will die, and we'll take your people as enforced servants to the Crown, and requisition your goods in the Emperor's name!" The officer shouted. "Your bodies will lie where they fall; no one will bury them, and your village will be burned down, until all that is left is a monument to your stupidity!"
"It's better to be free than slaves!"
"Then you condemn yourself and your people! So be it!" The officers turned around and marched furiously back toward their troops.
Windrunner braced himself. He had his crossbow, a relic of his father's and grandfather's. He wouldn't let it fall into enemy claws, not without a fight.
The enemy cannons began to fire. The wooden walls of the village were no match for the superior projectiles of the big guns, which ripped the wood apart and sent splinters flying everywhere. Along with the screams of the wounded and dying came the sounds of houses being hit; some were set on fire by the barrage, others simply crumbled.
Windrunner simply gritted his beak. This wouldn't end well, but at least the non-combatants would be about a mile or so to the east already; they'd escape safely, with much of their belongings, so the dire consequences the officer - probably a colonel or brigadier - had predicted would not come to pass. He was glad they weren't here; they would have hated to see their ancestral home torn down like this. Stormheart had told his son, who was only fifteen, to take charge of those who were fleeing, so that the clan would survive even if the village and its defenders didn't.
It was likely that Stormheart knew that the odds weren't good that those who were to defend the villages would survive the onslaught; as the leader, he would have been the first the scouts had reported to. Even so, it was almost inconceivable to not attempt a defense of the place where the village and its people had lived for centuries. So the decision had been made; for a group to defend the village while the rest escaped. They'd be able to restart later... If the enemy were held at bay long enough.
The enemy's guns fired for about fifteen minutes. The wooden walls, at least those in front of the enemy cannons, were reduced to rubble. Dozens of the defenders were down, wounded or dead.
"This is your last chance," the enemy officer from before shouted over a bullhorn. "Surrender, and your lives will be spared. Resist, and we'll slay you all as traitors and make your people serfs!"
"Shut your filthy beak! There's nothing to discuss, as I said before!" Stormheart retorted.
"So be it!" the officer shouted again. "Legions, advance! Execute the traitors and leave their corpses for the birds to eat!"
The Royals began moving forward. Their ranks held bayonetted rifles in their claws as they marched forward. None of them shouted battle cries, as was common in conflicts where griffons participated, but maintained an eerie silence, with the only sounds from them being their feet striking the ground as they walked.
There was an angry yell from the remains of the walls; an arrow sped toward the attackers, only to bury itself in the ground some distance ahead of them.
"Don't fire till I give the word!" Stormheart yelled. "When I do, give them fury!"
The enemy continued their merciless advance. When they were about three hundred feet away, they stopped and began to raise their guns to their shoulders.
"Now! Let 'em have it!"
Arrows, quarrels, a few bullets, and a stone from the lone ballistae, which had survived, flew toward the attackers. Dozens went down, screeching in pain. The stone from the ballistae knocked several off their feet, and the stone splintered in the process, sending fragments into nearby Royals.
The Royals didn't take this development well. They began firing into the rubble that had once been a decent defensive structure. Bullets struck down many of the defenders; splinters killed or wounded even more.
The crew for the ballistae released another stone, then the crew was shot down. The machine itself was battered to pieces by all the bullets shot at it; it fell apart and collapsed, the wood and ropes falling here and there, leaving behind a shapeless wreck.
The defenders kept shooting. The Highwinds weren't going to lose this easily. More of the Royals went down as ragged volleys of arrows and arquebus bullets fire tore into them.
None of the enemy tried to flee. They kept shooting as well. They hadn't needed to come this close, that was certain; they just wanted to make sure their shots connected and did maximum damage. If they'd wanted to, they could have just sat beyond the defender's range of fire and shot them to pieces, forcing them to either surrender, withdraw, or engage in a futile charge. The Royals wanted to make sure the resistance was dealt with, swiftly and decisively, and were willing to take losses to make sure that happened.
Why do they hate us so much? he thought. We weren't doing anything wrong. We're just defending ourselves.
The Royals had better guns, that was also certain; they were able to fire five times before needing to reload, and that only took a couple seconds; it took between fifteen to thirty seconds to reload an arquebus after a single shot, with about ten to fifteen seconds for crossbows and two to five for the normal bow and arrow. Since the defenders were already badly outnumbered, the rate of fire the enemy was bringing to the fight was wearing them down, and quickly.
The unequal contest continued for about ten minutes. The Highwinds did what they could but their firepower was insufficient. They took losses.
"Charge! Wipe these cretins from the face of the earth!" the enemy colonel shouted. "Don't let any of them escape!"
Here it comes, Windrunner thought as he fired at a an enemy soldier who was bracing himself to charge. The soldier went down, but there would be far too many to fight off with melee weapons; that was clear enough at just a glance; the Highwinds had suffered too many casualties to have a chance.
Just then, loud shouts came from the south, and a large multitude of armed griffon warriors charged at the enemy from the side. A horn sounded as they came.
The unexpected army crashed into the flank of the enemy as they charged. Large numbers of enemy soldiers went down, never having thought that the village would have help.
Neither did we. The Highwinds hadn't sent for aid, and for good reason. The griffon clans tends to be at odds with one another, and the Highwinds were no exception.
Regardless of the circumstances, Stormheart, who had managed to survive, yelled, "Run down this rabble o' Royals! Finish them, like wanted to finish us!"
Windrunner and those of his clan didn't hesitate. They took flight and surged toward the enemy, who, being struck in the flank by surprise, were in a state of confusion.
More cries came from the northeast. Other griffons charged, flying and running as fast as they could, carrying swords, spears, and blunderbusses.
Windrunner cut down two of the Royals before they had a chance to fight back, then managed to cut down a sergeant who was better prepared, but still out of position. Stormheart took an enemy's head, bashed it against his own armored cranium, and then gutted him.
The fight lasted about five minutes. Finally, someone on the other side who had survived shouted, "Retreat! We'll deal with these traitors another time!"
That wasn't going to happen. If these soldiers got away, they'd just send for more. Windrunner and his clanmates, along with their unexpected allies, continued their attack, giving the enemy no chance at all to flee. He would forget most of the battle, though flashbacks and short memories would remain; of how an enemy soldier, a spear through his throat, expired as he passed by; how an enemy officer continued to issue commands that could not be obeyed, before being blasted off his feet by a blunderbuss-carrying warrior; A Royal and a comrade on the ground, squeezing each other's throats and hissing threats to one another...
He had no idea just how long it lasted, but suddenly, there were no more enemies to fight, no swords and rifles clashing, no further griffons being cut down. Windrunner looked back. The entire enemy force was down, dead, dying, or wounded. Only the artillery crews, who had been a fair distance from the fighting, had evidently escaped.
His body began to register how tired it was. He sat down, out of breath, a sigh passing his beak. He eyed the newcomers...
"Ach, the Green Valley boys," Stormheart muttered. "Why did you boys come up to save us?"
It was a valid question, Windrunner thought. The Green Valley Clan were the archenemies of the Highwinds.
"Couldn' let you Highwinds 'ave all the fun," one of the newcomers said. "The Royals tried this with us, only with just a hundred instead of a few regiments. The survivors are all in our local jail now," the other griffon added, grinning rather predatorily. "With the King turning against the clans, I'd say our struggles with each other'll just 'ave to wait til he get his royal rear end kicked off the royal throne, don'tcha think?"
Stormheart thought for a few seconds, then nodded. "Aye. We'll just have to put aside our rivalries for now, til the king get's his. But only til then.
"Well, of course."
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