Strange Bedfellows

by BRBrony9

Close Encounters

Princess Celestia had been suitably impressed by the size and evident power of the Imperial guns, but Major-General Marwan's boundless enthusiasm for espousing the excellence of his siege works and his men in such a way as to make sure most of the glory reflected upon himself, became rather grating rather quickly. The preparations the humans had been able to make in just a few days showed the strength of their logistics arm, especially since their supplies had to all come from orbit. Logistics was always a field of significant struggle for pony military operations, relying on good rail connections to move large quantities of supplies at once. Priority items such as ammunition could be shuttled by airship, but anything particularly bulky, such as engineering supplies or the heaviest artillery pieces, simply couldn't fit through the hold hatches of even the largest cargo dirigible. Such materiel had to travel by land, either rail or, depending on the location of the campaign, by sheer ponypower, several soldiers being lashed together to provide the motive power for a field gun, a cart of rations, or an ambulance for the wounded. That meant that, in general, for every fighting pony in the frontline companies of a division, there were another six behind them as part of the divisional logistics chain, and countless dozens more from specialised transport and supply regiments. The Imperial advantage was mechanisation- they had trucks instead of carts, dropships instead of wingpower, and much of their artillery was self-propelled. Their aircraft reached speeds unheard of by ponies, other than a few specialised combat and stunt flyers like the Wonderbolts and Rainbow Dash. All this meant that one man could do the work of a dozen, a hundred, or even, in the case of the huge bulk landers and shuttles, a thousand or more ponies. That, as much as anything else, was, she suspected, the reason why these humans had apparently been able to colonise the galaxy in the face of so much hostility, not only from alien species, but also from within their own.

Celestia had also been impressed by their relative organisation. Given that there were numerous different regiments present which, she had been informed, all came from different worlds, they generally seemed to mesh together into one well-oiled unit. The preparation of such intricate siege workings in such a short space of time was testament to that, and could not have been achieved solely by the technologies they possessed. Many of the engineering vehicles present, such as powered cranes, were just more powerful versions of technologies already possessed by ponykind. Evidently technological development in certain fields could only progress so far. But in other aspects, the Imperium was infinitely ahead of Equestrian society. Lasers, space travel, jet and rocket engines, tanks, nuclear reactors, and countless other items that Celestia could only guess at. It was a great contrast, however, to witness a great mass of metal descending from the skies seemingly unaided, almost silently, to deliver supplies, only to turn and see a man digging a field latrine with a simple shovel.

Marwan had managed to wax lyrical about the art of siegecraft for a considerable length of time about a subject he clearly felt some passion for. The battle was still underway in Manehattan, but none of the guns, in this sector at least, had been called into action. As the sun continued its stately progress across the western sky, it was time for the inspection to end. Celestia had been pleased by the reports of good progress in several sectors in Manehattan, and the hope was that much of the business and theatre districts would be cleared by the end of the next day. There had been no further Daemonic activity reported, and the enemy had been falling back in several locations, though Lord-General Galen had cautioned against reckless pursuit, as the enemy could easily be dropping back to draw the attackers into an ambush. Booby traps were also considered, as the enemy could easily have rigged an elevated roadway with explosives to collapse as Imperial tanks passed over them, or even an entire building to come down on top of their infantry.

The Starswirl remained at anchor just behind the siege lines, and Celestia made her way back towards it, with Marwan still espousing the virtues of various aspects of Imperial firepower and culture. It seemed that he did not often get the chance to do so, at least not to someone not already familiar with such things, and was very happy to do so with Celestia.

'Thank you again for the tour, General. It was most illuminating,' Celestia assured her guide, who had been happy to answer most questions that she had posed, even a few he probably shouldn't have. 'While I am sure you would find our own artillery primitive in comparison to yours, perhaps you would care to visit one of our batteries some time soon. If so I am sure a tour can be arranged.' Marwan gave a bombastic nod.

'But of course, Your Highness! That would be most fine indeed. It may be primitive, but artillery is artillery the galaxy over. When you have a passion for something, it is well to indulge in it from time to time, don't you think?' He smiled. 'And now it is time to say goodbye.' He gestured broadly toward the airship, its gasbag looming like a skyscraper laid on its side, or a cloud hanging a few dozen feet off the ground. The honour guard of guardsmen lined up with their weapons at the present. Marwan escorted her along the line, greeting each man and woman in turn. 'Corporal. Very smart indeed, thank you for your participation. Private...Mattias, is it? Jolly good show. Ah, and Sapper...'

As Celestia drew level with Private Mattias, the young trooper raised his lasgun, leveled it at her, and before anyone could react, he fired.

His ears were still ringing, his throat choked with brick dust. Slowly, he opened his eyes, quickly remembering where he was and what was happening.

The enemy were coming.

Sergeant Argan scrambled to his feet, mostly unhurt by the blast, concussed, but still able to fight. The dust was all around him, like a thick fog. He lasgun was mercifully still in his grasp, and he brought it up to his shoulder, which ached from where he had landed on it. He scanned around for targets or for friendlies, needing to regroup and reorganise, link up with the other platoons and the other companies. He could see a few fellow guardsmen here and there, and, coming through the smoke, the howling fiends of the Archenemy.

There were three men, their blood-red uniforms coated with brown dust, daubed across their faces like warpaint. The pale dust highlighted their crazed, bloodshot eyes, eyes that knew anger, hate and madness. One man clutched a lasgun with a barbed bayonet, another held an axe already slick with fresh blood, and the third held a laspistol in one hand and a rusted dagger in the other. The collapse of the theatre building had been an advantage for the Chaos defenders, disrupting the unity of the Imperial attack and separating units from each other in the twilight of the dust cloud.

Argan could rely only on himself. Even as he raised his weapon, the enemy soldier with the lasgun fired and killed one of the dazed guardsmen in his path, dropping him with a well-placed shot to the chest. Argan responded in kind, returning fire and blowing a hole through the man's ribcage, sending him sprawling. The other two enemies were charging at him. The axeman was in the lead, and the other man seemed to have forgotten he was holding a pistol, seemingly preferring instead to get into close quarters with his knife. They were already danger-close, and Argan began to back up, letting off a burst of fire. The axeman went down screaming, but before he could fire again, Argan heard rapid footsteps to his side. He turned, but too late to react in time.

A large brute of a man slammed into him bodily, manic laughter on his frothing lips. The club he held cracked into Argan's skull, catching him a glancing blow, but enough to make him see stars. His lasgun bounced on the cobbles, skittering out of reach as he hit the ground. The big man raised his club again to smash Argan's head like an eggshell, but he managed to roll to the side, the blow striking the cobblestones instead. Argan looked for his gun, but it was out of reach, and now the other man with the dagger and pistol was arriving. He pulled his combat knife from its sheath and tried to stand, but found the club had struck him harder than he thought, and his legs swayed weakly, barely supporting him. He took a step back and stumbled, falling back onto the ground. The clubman stepped forward to finish him off.

That was when his face disappeared, a steaming hole already cauterising around what was left of his head as he crumpled to the ground. The other man turned in alarm, and he went down too, his chest shot away.

'Sergeant!' Merkev, the vox-man, arrived at his side, a curl of smoke rising from the barrel of his lasgun. 'Are you hurt?' He knelt beside Argan, but kept his head on a swivel. Since his near-breakdown when confronted by the traitor Astartes in Griffonstone, the young guardsman had undergone almost a transformation. Whether it was his acceptance of the inevitability of death, a realisation of the shame his fear would bring, or just the loss of what sanity remained, he had become a totally dependable soldier, not shirking his duty, and certainly not cowering in the corner.

'I'm alright,' Argan grunted. 'Thanks for the assist. We need to regroup.' He sat up, holding his head for a few moments, but there was no time to rest and recover. The battle was still raging all around, las-fire whizzing through the choking smoke, the muffled sounds of screams and shouts audible, but who was where and who was firing at who remained a mystery in the darkness of the dust cloud. Merkev offered his hand, and Argan took it, hauling himself to his feet. He located his lasgun and picked it up, giving it a quick once-over, but the tough, rugged weapon would take more than a little knock to damage. Everything seemed to be in working order, both on the gun and on himself.

'Give me the vox,' Argan ordered. Merkev offered him the handset. Argan took it while Merkev kept a wary eye open, scanning for any more targets that might emerge through the dust. Caught in the middle of the dust cloud was not the best place to be, but they needed to establish if anyone else was still alive, and still present in the square.

'Forest Gamma 1, Forest Gamma 1-1 actual, what's your location, over?' Argan asked, hoping for a reply from Albrecht as to where his platoon command squad was. There was no reply, even when he repeated the question. He tried again, calling for second or third platoon's commanders to respond, but there was just dead air. He shook his head and replaced the handset. 'Come on. We can't stay here, let's fall back to the edge of the square.' Merkev followed his sergeant as they made their way back to what they thought was the street they had come up, passing bodies, both friendly and enemy, mingled together in the confusion of close combat.

Another man appeared from nowhere, and both Argan and Merkev shot him down. Heavy gunfire erupted from off to their right, and Argan signalled Merkev to stop. They ducked into cover behind a concrete barrier. A string of explosions rang out, but the dust kept them from seeing any indication of what was happening. It might be the surviving Leman Russ cutting a path through the charging enemies, or it might be its death knell, melta-bombs ripping through its armour. A guardsman ran across their eyeline, but a shot to the back brought him down. Argan swung his weapon around, but whoever had killed the guardsman decided not to follow him through the dust cloud.

After waiting for a minute, Argan moved on, Merkev covering him and then following along across the street. Plants were covered in dust as they passed by them, and so were the bodies of the dead. They pressed on, seeking clear air and seeking their comrades. The attack had stalled, which was not good, but they had made excellent progress before the tide had temporarily turned. Argan had no doubt that they would bounce back after regrouping, but it was critical that they did not panic and remembered their training.

Towards the edge of the square, the dust cloud thinned out, shafts of sunlight breaking through the gloom. Here, there were some guardsmen, having the same idea and regrouping in the clearer air, caked in dust, some looking shellshocked by the sudden melee that had broken out. Two more tanks idled on the street, waiting for the dust to clear so they could aid in the advance. Several members of Argan's squad were present, as well as men from both second and third platoons. There was no sign of the company command squad, and they could not be reached over the vox. Fighting was still going on behind them, but until the smoke cleared, a full picture of the situation could not be gathered. Everything was supposed to be going well, the enemy was crumbling under the firepower of the Demolisher tank. But the nature of combat, especially urban combat, was such that great changes could happen at any time. The value of visibility, of being able to clearly see what was happening and where the enemy were, was being made abundantly clear before their very eyes.

Panicked shouts broke out immediately. Major-General Marwan stumbled, taken off guard by the sudden shot behind him. The other members of the honour guard reacted, grappling Mattias, wrenching his lasgun off of him and pulling him to the ground. Someone shouted for a medic, and a squad of infantry came running, summoned by the noise.

The only one seemingly not perturbed by the commotion was the princess herself.

Even the mere moment it had taken for Mattias to raise his rifle and fire had been more than enough, given her preternatural reflexes, and a magical shield of amber had surrounded her instantaneously, taking the high-powered las-bolt with nary but a tiny shimmer of light, like a single raindrop on the surface of a lake,

Recovering from the shock, Marwan turned unsteadily. 'Your Highness, are you injured?' he asked, seeming gobsmacked that she was not.

'I am unhurt, General,' Celestia replied calmly. 'But please, explain to me why this happened.'

'Yes...yes, I would like to know that myself.' He rounded on Mattias with a sudden fury on his face.The other three members of the honour guard had dragged the shooter to his feet, restraining his arms.

'Fetch Commissar Birbeck!' the Sergeant of the newly arrived squad shouted, but Marwan stopped him.

'There's no need for that. Guardsman! You have five seconds to explain your actions before I have you shot.' Mattias retained a calm air to him, in stark contrast to his commander, who was venting anger from every pore, steadily getting redder and redder the longer his silence continued.

'Very well. Major!' Marwan addressed his adjutant. 'Execute this man!' The honour guard parted, leaving Mattias standing to face his fate.

'Yes, sir!' The adjutant stepped forward, withdrew his bolt-pistol from his holster, raised it, and fired once.

It found its target, and chaos erupted once again as Major-General Marwan collapsed to the ground, his head now just a bloody stump. The adjutant turned his weapon on Celestia, but again the bolt-rounds found themselves detonating harmlessly against a protective sphere. Celestia took not a step backward, but merely lowered her horn. A torrent of golden magic atomised her assailant.

But Mattias, the original gunman, was now free, as confusion set in. His lasgun was held by one of the honour guard, but the Major-General's las-pistol with its ornately carved grip was within a short distance. He lunged for it, pulling the gun from the headless corpse. Private Langstrom, another of the honour guard, tried to stop him, but was suddenly struck from behind by las-fire. One of the squad of infantry that had arrived at the sound of the first gunshot began spraying shots everywhere, felling two of his fellows. Madness was unfolding where there had been a calm and peaceful meeting.

Mattias charged the pistol and took aim once again at the princess. This time she was distracted, but it made no difference as her shield was still as unyielding as ever. The erstwhile assassin emptied the entire power pack of the las-pistol at her, thirty rounds pinging off the golden orb. He tossed the weapon aside as she turned to face him, and drew his combat knife from his belt, before starting a headlong charge. He raised the knife high to sink it into her neck.

Instead she lowered her horn and he ran straight into it at full tilt, the sharp tip stabbing through him like a power sword, Celestia's precise control of magic allowing her to remove a tiny portion of the shield around her horn while leaving the rest intact. Mattias slumped lifelessly, and Celestia used a mild concussive blast of magic to push him off of her horn.

Pony sharpshooters on the deck of the Starswirl were eager to protect their princess, but they did not know who to shoot. Many of the humans firing at each other wore the same uniforms, and theoretically they were all meant to be on the same side. Airship Captain Lance took to the railing, trying to get Celestia's attention, urging her to retreat to the deck until whatever was happening had been dealt with.

Apart from the men directly attacking her, Celestia had the same problem. She did not know which humans were trying to kill her and which were not. She took a glance at the Starswirl. It seemed like a sensible place to be, and with a flicker of her horn she teleported onto the main deck, arriving with a flash among her ponies.

'Your Highness!' Captain Lance approached her. 'What the hell is going on down there? Should we cast off?'

'No, Captain,' Celestia replied, expanding her shield to protect the airship and her crew in case of stray fire. 'This...disturbance appears localised. We shall wait it out here, and then, hopefully, we can establish the full facts as to exactly what just happened.'

Darkness had fallen across the rooftops of Canterlot, her dreaming spires of marble and gold glittering gently in the moonlight. It was a city of intellect, a city of hope, a city of promise. It was where Twilight Sparkle had been born and raised, and now she could feel she was home.

But she didn't, not really, not entirely. The years she had spent in Ponyville with her first real, true friends had left her heart there, and now that town lay just a few miles away, but still in the hands of the enemy. The enemy that had come, struck from across the stars, killed so many, and were still stubbornly crawling across the face of the planet in so many locations.

The battle for Canterlot was over, the battle for Manehattan was ongoing, but the battle for Ponyville was in limbo. The town had fallen at the start of the invasion, and since then nopony knew what ravages the enemy had subjected it to. Many of her friends had been in town and, with the exception of the other Elements, she had no knowledge of what had happened to any of them. From the balcony of the room she had been given in the palace, she could see out along the valley to Ponyville. She could see the familiar bend of the river, and the nearby Hoofer hydroelectric dam, long since gone dark and not supplying any power, meaning Canterlot was still without electricity, save for a little provided by wind turbines. The palace was one of the few buildings to have any lights on.

Twilight's reunion with her parents had been tearful, and had been exactly what she needed to help ground her and remind her of what was real. For a while she had been able to banish memories of the past few weeks, and go back to her foalhood, when she would sit in her father's office watching him work, take regular trips to the candy store with her mother, and play ball in the garden with her big brother. Things had changed greatly, even before the invasion, and she hadn't been able to spend as much time with her family as she had wished, what wish Celestia sending her to Ponyville, Shining's role as guard commander, and the various crises that had befallen Equestria.

This invasion was the latest in a long line, but by far the most dangerous. From what the Imperials had relayed to their new allies, both they and the enemy had the ability to destroy all life on the planet if they so desired. Twilight certainly believed that the enemy would do so if they wanted to, but there were still doubts in her mind about the Imperium. If they wanted to destroy them, why would they be aiding the ponies? They had saved them from the enemy, of that there was little doubt. But why? From what Twilight had learned about them, they were not exactly reknowned for their love for other species. It seemed that they were merely allies of convenience, but when the battle was won, would they turn on the ponies?

Twilight somehow doubted they, or the enemy, could be swayed by the power of friendship. It sounded like one side was possessed by evil, and the other had been on a relentless war of conquest and expansion for millenia. Neither sounded like they would be likely to see reason. Celestia had not been confident of such things when Twilight had spoken to her, though she did seem adamant that the planet would stay safe from such a catastrophe. Twilight was not so convinced.

She looked out across the rooftops towards Ponyville again. Hopefully one day soon she, and the rest of the Elements, would be able to return to the town they called home. For now, she was confined to the plushly uphoulstered room provided at Celestia's behest. A large four-poster bed, a chaise longue, a bathroom of tile and marble. Everything somepony would think of when Canterlot came to mind. Twilight trotted back inside from the balcony, where a cool breeze had begun to ruffle her mane. She sat on the bed and continued to look outside. Luna's moon provided enough illumination that the street lighting wasn't necessary, which was useful for the pony guards patrolling the city.

A knock at the door distracted her from her thoughts. She wondered who it could be at such a late hour, and got up, trotting over and using her magic to unlock and open the door a little.

Outside was a human female, wearing the dark green combat uniform of the small remaining Imperial force in Canterlot. Twilight cocked her head. She hadn't thought any of the humans were stationed in the palace, raher being on the perimeter walls of the city.

'Yes?' Twilight asked, cocking her head. She didn't get a reply.

Something moved behind her, and Twilight started to turn, but something flashed, and she felt a sharp pain in the back of her head. She slumped down and tried to crawl, but another pain shot through her skull, and she faded into blackness.

Comments

[RDDash]

I hope Twilight lives

[OneAmongOthers]

9762205
I don't think Twilight is dead as the first impact seems to relate she was probably hit and knocked unconscious. It seems these chaos dudes have intent to capture them not kill. Also it would seem pretty stupid for Twilight to be suddenly killed for no reason. Hopefully next chapter comes soon! I am interested in seeing what is going on.

[Animatorsnake]

First there are several flaws with this, one how the heck would the chanfelings know how to use human weaponry, even from a glance and two, shouldn’t they detransformed upon death.

Twilight’s kidnapping is probably not chaos related, changelings and seeing how everything is faring so far, I don’t think the changelings are working with chaos

[Bronzer]

Neither sounded like they would be likely to see reason.

Lol. Twilight, saying “Let’s all just be friends and get along” works fine on a world with zero scarcity. It doesn’t work anywhere else. And in 40k, the Imperium is as close to “reason” as exists.