Strange Bedfellows

by BRBrony9

Inside These Walls

It had been a long, hard sail across the open sea, for the second time in a week. Conditions were considerably more unsettled than they had been during the last crossing; a spell of bad weather seemed to be forming not too far off the coast, ready to move in, either towards eastern Equestria or perhaps moving east itself into the Zebrican Kingdom. Grand Admiral Bluewater was most certainly not a meteorologist and could not predict which way the band of cloud and drizzle was most likely to head, but it did not matter. His fleet had driven through it, and out the other side, into clear air as they approached the other continent.

Bluewater knew that the navy was very much the bastard stepchild of the Equestrian military. There was no denying that, any more than there was any denying that his initial appointment as naval commander had been very much as a result of his political wrangling, rather than any actual military experience on his part. He had wanted a position of some respect and power, unlike his brother Blueblood who was content merely to be a pampered prissy prince and letting his name do the talking for him. Not that Bluewater hadn't done that on occasion, of course, notably to get the job as the self-styled Grand Admiral, but he wanted to be respected as well. Being the head of the Royal Navy had not given him quite the boost in respect he had desired, however, due mainly to the fact that the Navy itself lacked the respect afforded to the other services.

Equestria had never been a particularly big naval power, due to the fact that its holdings were concentrated almost entirely on the planet's main continent. Yes, there were some outlying islands, especially the souther archipelago, which had always needed patrolling, but beyond that there had never been a major need for a strong naval force. No power had arisen to challenge Equestria's automatic domination of the seas. They did not use many ships any more, not since the introduction of the airship fleet, which allowed for coastal and regional patrols of plentiful duration, and airships were frequently used to escort high-risk cargoes that were being moved by sea. They were significantly faster than naval vessels, and better protected thanks to their shields, armour and heavy anti-air armament. That was why the former galleons and other ships of the line had been supplanted over the recent decades, their numbers dwindling until they were done away with entirely. Only recently had the two frigates, the ENS Celestia and the ENS Luna, been commissioned and constructed, to give some semblance of power projection back to the navy, and by totally outclassing anything

They were fine, steam-turbine powered vessels, and easily handled the heavy seas as the small fleet had passed through the squall lines off the coast. They had made good time once they were through the storms, and had reached the Zebrican Kingdom, mooring up once again at the port where they had resupplied on their previous visit. They had a definitive objective this time. The Hive they had been told about before had to be definitively identified. There could be no mistakes. They had to know for certain if it was indeed the target they sought. If it was, then they would have to send one of the fast ships back to Manehattan as soon as possible so that the message could be relayed to the Princess. If it was not- then they had wasted their time.

Grand Admiral Bluewater had no reason to doubt the word of the Zebra hunters and scouts who had informed him about the existence of the Hive on their last visit. They had seemed convinced that something was indeed there, something that had not been there before. His own patrol had seemingly confirmed the sighting. That was what they had reported; it looked like a Changeling Hive, but of course they dared not approach close enough to find out for sure. There was no sign of Changeling drones, but if they were trying to lay low, that was hardly a surprise. They would be in disguise, as animals, birds, perhaps insects or even trees. Maybe they already knew that they had been sighted, either by the Zebras or the ponies. If it was the former, that perhaps would not unduly concern them. It was not the Zebras who were chasing them, after all, but the forces of Celestia.

The Zebras had been surprised, though quite pleased, to welcome their pony visitors again so soon. The trio of smaller corvettes had been tied up at the wharves of New Zebrica, while the two frigates stood off in the bay. They were too big to dock at the relatively small port, which usually only saw Zebrican skiffs and the occasional trade clipper from Equestria. Bluewater's ships were resupplied with coal, as they had been on their previous visit, while the Admiral and his officers were feted by the Zebra Chieftains again in their extravagant jungle palace, built from rock and wood and decorated with ornate carvings and sculptures, rich rugs and wall coverings that represented each of the many proud tribes that now formed one unified nation. Bluewater enjoyed the extravagance- after all, he was a prince, and it was only fitting that he be treated in such a way.

But he was still there for a specific purpose. Celestia had given him his orders, and while the majority of crewponies did not know the exact nature of their mission, his officers had been informed, as had the shore parties who would be responsible for identifying the Hive, making absolutely certain that the target was what they thought it was. They were to scout conditions, look for signs of life. The construction of the Hive had been reported as looking fresh, recently built. If indeed it was a Hive then it surely had to be the location that Chrysalis and her minions had retreated to after their volcano lair had been discovered.

The next morning, the landing teams had been sent ashore. There were three in total, each led by a Lieutenant from one of the corvettes. The ponies selected were not exactly soldiers; ships of the navy did not carry members of the Assault Infantry as did their airborne cousins, nor did they usually embark soldiers of the army, unless being deployed for some specific mission. This would be the ideal opportunity to bring along army support, but there had been no units in or near Manehattan that could be spared. This task would fall on the shoulders of the crews, and every ship maintained at least a platoon's worth of trained ponies outfitted primarily for the defence of the ship against boarders, but also for landing operations.

With Zebra guides, they trekked through the jungle, hacking away at vines and cutting through branches with magic as necessary. It was hot and sweaty work; the climate was more humid than it was in most of Equestria, and much of the Zebra lands were covered in verdant, lush foliage that made it rich in natural resources such as food, timber and various herbs, spices and other extracts which could be used as medicines, potions, in scientific processes- or for chemical warfare, which the Zebras had experimented with frequently in the past.

On they trekked, several miles inland from the city, where the jungle became so thick that only the bravest and most experienced hunters and trackers would operate. For a nation used to living in such conditions, that meant something. Their progress slowed right down, every yard being a struggle against nature. There were steep, muddy slopes, vines, thick underbrush and all kinds of potentially poisonous plants, fungi and small creatures. The expert Zebra guided made sure the ponies did not fall foul of any of nature's pitfalls, and in turn the ponies provided the motive force, hacking away with their combat knives and swords, burning through small areas of especially thick brush with magic. They were laden down with equipment; their armour, repeating rifles, canteens, knives, flashlights, axes, rope, demolition charges. Everything they might conceivably need once they reached the Hive.

Their orders were specific, coming right from the Grand Admiral himself. They were to locate the Hive, mark its specific location on their maps with the aid of the Zebra guides. The precise coordinates would have to be recorded. If there was no sign of Changeling activity, they were to approach and examine the entrance. If they were attacked, they were to pull back immediately; that would be enough proof. If they found nothing, then they were to return to the ships post-haste with a report.

As they neared the location where the scouts had spotted the Hive, they switched to a stealthy approach. Silence was maintained, with the Zebra hunters leading the way, their faces daubed with camouflage paint. The lead scout signaled that they were getting close, and the party split into three, each group of ponies forming up into a smaller column of crew from each corvette. Accompanied by a guide, they slowly, cautiously encircled the location, taking up positions and peering through the trees.

Binoculars and indeed the naked eye confirmed. Every pony saw it. This time there were three dozen witnesses. It was unmistakably a Hive, nestled deep within the jungle, perched on the edge of a rocky outcrop and draped in vines. There was a small clearing around the entrance, and no sign of any drones. No sign of movement at all.

Hesitantly, the officers in charge of each column ordered the advance. Half of each unit remained in a covering position, ready to engage if there should be contact. The rest, along with the Zebra guides, moved forward cautiously, their rifles at the ready. Changelings could spring out from the tunnel or other hidden entrances at any time.

But they didn't. The three teams, approaching from different sides, reached the tunnel entrance unmolested. There had been no hisses of alarm, no flashes of magic, no blood spilled. What would they find inside? Their doom?

The answer was simple enough. They found nothing.

The Hive was empty, though it had very clearly been occupied until very recently. There were decomposing animal carcasses, bones, fruit just starting to rot. Every chamber they searched was devoid of life. Not even a bug or a spider seemed to be living in the darkest recesses of the tunnel network carved from the rock. Of the Queen, or her minions, there was no sign.

The search teams returned to the surface. There was a Hive, but no Changelings. Several of the Pegasi among them took to the air, climbing up above the treeline. The jungle stretched out like a canopy across the land, stretching off to the north, east and south for endless miles into the continental interior. To the west lay the glittering fringe of the sea, from whence they had come. Out there in the bay sat the twin frigates, the silent grey ironclads looking out of place against the glistening blue backdrop. The Pegasi produced signal flags, part of a semaphore system that enabled them to communicate with the fleet. Flags held in different positions signaled different letters and numbers. A quick message was flashed out to sea. A signal lamp on the bridge of the ENS Celestia flashed back in reply. The communication continued for a minute or so. Two of the Pegasi flapped back down into the jungle, leaving just one, who moved over to the side and, after a short delay, sent another message with his flags. A few moments later, there was another flash on board the flagship. Several seconds passed.

A roar filled the air, a sound like tearing canvas, or the Manehattan-to-Baltimare Express thundering past. A plume of smoke erupted in a brilliant pulse of light, sending trees rocking and bending as though in a hurricane. Seemingly from nowhere, the calm of the jungle, all chirping birds and whirring insects, had been shattered utterly.

The signalpony, now some half mile from the smoke plume, send a rapid message with his flags, one hoof up, the other out at his side. An answering flash came from the Celestia, and several seconds later, another roar filled his ears. Another explosion, flattening trees. The signalpony sent the same message; one hoof up, the other out at his side. More seconds passed, then another roar and another bang. This time, he raised both hooves above his head. There was a flash from the Luna. then a roar, and an explosion once more. He raised his hooves above his head again. Flashes greeted him from both frigates, and he waited with bated breath.

This time, a roar like the end of the world filled his ears, and a string of explosions rippled across the jungle. Trees toppled and shattered, their branches shattered and torn. His job as signalpony was done; the initial ranging shots from the Number 1 turret of the ENS Celestia had been slightly off target, but he had corrected its aim with his flags; one hoof up, one hoof at his side. Adjust aim right, the particular flag used giving the number of degrees correction required. Once the flagship was on target, it was the turn of the Luna, who, relayed targeting information by the Celestia, managed to get her first shot right on the money. A quick signal, and both ships had opened up with both barrels of both turrets, eight shells in total whistling in and ripping up the jungle canopy, tearing trees apart with blast and shrapnel, exposing the rocky roof of the Hive below for the second volley. More shells streaked in and detonated against the earth.

The Hive was not constructed like a bunker. It was merely hollowed out from the rock and turned into living space for Changelings. There was no reinforcement, and as a result of the sudden bombardment, dirt and dust and rock cascaded down from the ceilings of the many chambers. The mighty twelve-inch cannons roared again and again, and more shells came in, smashing into the ground above the Hive, digging great gouges and craters in the earth, shaking the foundations of the Changeling construction. Cracks appeared in the rocks, weakened by the digging and tunneling the Changelings had conducted. The guns fired again, and more damage was done. Rocks tumbled into the subterranean chambers of the Hive, ceilings and walls giving way under the sudden and unexpected pounding. Rubble poured down, filling smaller rooms entirely and causing larger ones to crumble. Another volley came in, and another, and another. The Hive cracked and crumbled, a symphony of rumbling rock and collapsing terrain, the ceiling of the structure falling in on itself. More shells provided extra impetus, more damage, more violence. The Hive gave way with a groan, the entire thing collapsing in on itself with a thunderous crash and a burst of dirt and dust spraying skyward.

That was the contingency plan. By Celestia's order, if a Hive was found and it was occupied, then it was to be left alone and a message relayed to her in Canterlot. If an abandoned Hive were to be found, then it was to be destroyed in the most expedient manner possible; using the main guns of the fleet. With the exception of the more specialised main bombardment cannon fitted to certain airships, they were the heaviest guns ever produced. Unlike the bombardment cannons which were specially made by Air Corps gunsmiths and teams of trained experts in Vanhoover, the naval guns were produced by the National Arsenal in Fillydelphia. They had a long range and packed a mighty punch, their heavy armoured tips capable of smashing through solid rock before detonating, shaking and rattling the subterranean Hive and bringing it crashing down.

The Hive tumbled into a sinkhole, trees and rubble falling with it, the ceiling of the great chambers within crumbling under the firepower of the Equestrian frigates. The Hive had been destroyed, but that left one very big question totally unanswered. The discovery of the place had seemed to indicate they would find Chrysalis and her minions there as well. but the scouting party had seen nothing at all. No Changelings were present in the Hive, though they had seemingly recently moved out. The question was, where had they gone?

The general alarm began to sound on deck 11. The reason why was not immediately clear to most crewmen, but to Lieutenant Jarrick, supervisor and district security officer for the starboard midsection, lights flashing on the panels in the deck armoury showed him the location. It was coming from the starboard side, hangar bay number 20. The Lieutenant investigated further, checking on the signal source, scrolling through the security logs that were displayed on his vid-screen. He selected bay 20 and read through. Situation Report: Nominal. Situation Report: Nominal. Fluctuation Detected In Forcefield Power Generator 1A (Condition Corrected). Ah, there it was, the most recent flag.

Biohazard Alarm: Unknown Contaminant Detected.

Unknown contaminant? Jarrick frowned. The maintenance team must have brought some kind of pathogen over with them from the Polaris Maxima. Perhaps it was from the planet. He checked the system logs for specifics. It didn't quite match up. The alarm was only sounded after the landing barge had already docked and reported its hatches open. If it was some kind of virus or pathogen in the air, it would have been detected sooner than that.

Another alarm sounded. This time it was from hangar bay 21. The same alert; Unknown Contaminant Detected. Two separate landing bays with the same problem? There must be a widespread contamination aboard the Polaris Maxima, then. But surely her crew would have detected such a contaminant with their own internal sensors and corrected the issue, or quarantined themselves if necessary?

Another alarm. Bay 24. Three alarms? What the hell was going on? That was not normal. No way it was a system error, though. If it was, every bay in the section would be going off, not just those with recently docked barges and shuttles. Something didn't quite seem to add up. Perhaps it was not an airborne contaminant within the barges themselves, but something within the equipment they carried for maintenance work, only being picked by the sensors once their gear had been opened in preparation for getting to their tasks. Something still didn't add up, though. Jarrick picked up the vox handset.

'This is Lieutenant Jarrick calling bay 20. Status report,' he ordered. He received no reply from the hangar bay in question, where the first alarm had sounded. He tried again, repeating his call with the same result.

'Lieutenant Jarrick calling bay 21. Status report!' he called, trying a different location, the site of the second alarm. Still no reply from them, either. He tried bay 24. Nothing.

'What the hell is going on?' he muttered. Comms trouble too, or something else?

'Chief Petty Officer of the watch!' he called, getting a quick response from his NCO crew chief.

'Sir?' she called back.

'Assemble a team. Head down to bay 20 and find out what's going on,' he ordered. 'Take an engineering section with you in case there's some problem with the comms.'

'Aye, sir!' The Chief Petty Officer set off from her station to round up a security detail and head down to the hangar bay for a search. The Lieutenant needed to know what was going on before he made any kind of report or request for help from other decks. It might be nothing, but just in case, he needed to reestablish contact and find out what had caused the alarms to go off and cut communications.

It couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Three bays in his sector, all with recently docked craft. Something was going on.

He tried again to contact the hangars but still got no response from any of them. The alarms were still sounding; if there was no problem, someone would have cancelled the alarms by now, or at least called in to explain what was going on. Something must have either disabled the comms within the hangars, or, more worryingly, disabled the crews on duty there, as well as the maintenance teams who had come aboard.

The Chief Petty Officer headed out of the armoury with a squad of armsmen, and a trio of deck engineers, who tagged along with the hope of being able to repair the vox system or correct whatever condition was causing the trouble. The armsmen were equipped with shotguns and autoguns; there was always a danger that a few survivors of the Chaos boarding parties had holed up somewhere in the dank depths of the ship and found their way to deck 11 to wreak further havoc. But the chances of them evading the security sweep was low, and moving between decks when the ship had been on lockdown was very difficult. Combine that with the coincidence of the incoming barges having docked moments before the alarms sounded, and that seemed an unlikely prospect.

Jarrick watched the displays for any sign of further developments. No more alarms went off; the other hangar bays, where no barges had docked, were quiet. He was able to get into contact with bays 22, 23 and 25. All reported no problems whatsoever. The security station was not equipped with detailed scientific displays. That would be the responsibility of the deck command station, who were now getting in contact over the vox.

'This is Lieutenant Jarrick,' he spoke in reply. 'Go ahead, Deck Command.'

'Deck Command, we're receiving anomalous readings from hangar bays 20, 21 and 24,' they informed him. 'Can you confirm and specify the source?'

'I can confirm, sir, but we have no source as of yet,' Jarrick replied. 'I have a team en route to investigate. I have no vox contact with any of the three affected hangars.'

'Understood, Security. Are any of your other hangars affected?' the command station asked.

'No sir. All clear,' Jarrick replied. 'Full vox contact and no reported issues.'

'Understood, Security. Stand by and relay information as you receive it,' the command station ordered. 'We're sending a scanning crew down to you to investigate the readings.'

'Yes, sir. I'll let you know as soon as I learn anything,' Jarrick assured his superior. 'Security out.' He switched channels and tried to call the Chief Petty Officer who he had dispatched.

'Go ahead, sir!' she spoke, her voice crackling over the link.

'Any sign of anything?' he asked, receiving a negative reply.

'No sir. We're approaching bay 20 now. Standby for a report.' The footsteps of the team could be heard as they approached the door to the hangar bay. The door ground open with a clank, and there were more footsteps, and then a shout.

'Contact! Contact front!'

Rapid bursts of autogun fire and the boom of shotgun rounds barked, causing Jarrick to lean away from the speaker instinctively.

'Report! What's going on?' he shouted, while reaching over to slam the deck alarm button. Sirens began to blare, signalling the whole of deck 11 that something untoward was happening. The vox system played a string of gunshots and then some unnerving screams, static crackling over the link. The Chief Petty Officer did not say anything else; whether her vox had been knocked from her head, whether she was too busy, or if she was already dead, jarrick did not know. What he did know was that somebody was attacking his armsmen.

More squads hurried into the armoury to gear up upon receipt of the deck alarm. Nobody knew what was going on. Jarrick couldn't get a hold of the team, the vox being overwhelmed with screaming and hissing. He shut down the link and called the command station.

'Deck Command, Security! We have an emergency in hangar bay 20. Hostile contacts, type unknown,' he shouted. 'Requesting support teams and additional personnel at once!'

'Copy that, Security,' came the reply. 'Additional personnel en route to you now.'

Jarrick grabbed his own hellgun from the rack and readied it for combat. He did not know if it might be needed, but he had to be prepared. Squads of men lined the armoury walls and defences, getting ready to defend it if necessary.

'Contact!' someone shouted. Something was coming down the passageway. A single figure.

'Hold your fire!' Jarrick ordered, eyeing over the figure. It was one of the engineering section who had gone in with the Chief Petty Officer. he was alone, and covered in blood, staggering desperately toward the armoury.

'Medic forward!' the Lieutenant shouted, heading over to approach the man. Two other armsmen ran to aid him, carrying him into the armoury. Jarrick was with him, kneeling alongside him as the medic worked on him. Deep gashes were opened in his side, and some kind of burn was affecting half of his face, turning it into a mass of black tissue.

'What happened?' Jarrick questioned. 'Was it the Archenemy? The Chaos boarding party?' The man slowly shook his head in reply.

'No sir...' he croaked.

'Then who is it?' Jarrick demanded.

The man could utter but a single word before he passed out from the shock.

'Monsters...'

Comments

[Booster Spice]

I suspect the Bridge is too busy dealing with teh whole ship to notice such strange sensor effects, or they wouldve have ordered the whole hanger section vaccuum sealed? Or has Chrysalis gained high enough officer intelligence to trigger this sequence knowing its below the excessive response otherwise?

[Merula]

Hold up a sec...two twin turret 12 inch guns on a surface naval vessel, by all means what would be a pre-dreadnought by normal standards, and the Equestrians regard it as a frigate.

What the hell would a cruiser look like to them, or even a battleship?! o_O

[BRBrony9]

10328132
It's just a classification thing because they've only ever had coastal patrol vessels and galleons prior to these ships entering service. They could have called it a battleship but that would imply it was ever likely to face another fleet in open battle, but the Equestrian Navy is really the only organised seagoing force that exists in this story's reality. It's a kind of name creep I would say, like how a modern destroyer is the same size as a WW2-era cruiser, and a modern frigate is the same size as a WW2-era destroyer.

[RDDash]

Airships have a complete superiority over Naval power? I don't buy it. This is truly a Steampunk nation.