Strange Bedfellows

by BRBrony9

Strike Force

Private Phantom looked up from behind the boulder as she heard the drone of airship engines kick in. The mighty craft had been hanging stationary overhead, engaging in battle with the Changeling swarm. But now one of them was pulling away from the line, its bow swinging to starboard. She wondered where it was going; were they retreating? Was this the start of the rout that would see them all overrun without air support?

She followed its course and realised it was heading for the transports, pursuing a large group of Changelings who had clearly spotted the opportunity to attack the unescorted craft. They were some distance away, and Phantom could not waste her time following the outcome of the chase. There were more important things to deal with down on the ground. The Changelings were still pushing, popping up all over the place, seemingly from nowhere, coming out from behind rocks and boulders that seemed too small to hide them. Some were disguised as tiny creatures; rats, spiders, even worms. Their sneaky, unobserved approach would then manifest in a sudden lunge by a newly revealed drone and end with a pony's throat being ripped out.

Rifle fire rippled along the line. The officers had managed to organise a stable position, with the front rank crouching behind cover and the rear rank standing to fire over their heads. Other squads were assigned to protect the rear, as the Changelings were apt to spring up from any direction. A fresh wave was charging for them, some on the ground, some flying low, weaving from side to side while hurling green magic that blew chunks out of boulders and blew holes in flesh. Phantom took aim again and fired, missing wide of the mark. She checked her angle and squeezed the trigger again, this time hitting home, blowing a drone's sinister eye out of its socket, driving the bullet into its brain. It dropped from the sky and rolled as it hit the ground. She spared time for a brief grin at her success, but more Changelings were still charging.

She found that, the more she concentrated on killing, the more her fear of dying faded away. No doubt there was something deeply meaningful in that, and the divisional psychologist would have a field day psychoanalysing her thought processes, but none of that mattered. All that mattered was staying alive, and that required a steady hoof and a good eye, both of which she now found that she possessed- no, she rediscovered the fact. She already knew from training, where she had scored among the top ten percent on the rifle range. There was a world of difference, however, between the training grounds of Vanhoover's Fort Unity and the field of battle on the approach to a Changeling Hive, with the air full of hissing fangs and magic.

She banished all other thoughts from her mind and focused once more. A Changeling was leaping with effortless precision between rocks and boulders, evading all attempts at bringing it down. She sighted in, took a deep breath, exhaled steadily, hoof tightening on the trigger. One shot, one kill.

Except this time the bullet didn't kill the target. It passed seemingly harmlessly through the creature's flapping, lace-like wing. The Changeling continued its advance until other bullets cut it down. But there were more following behind, and they were closing in rapidly. The saving grace was that there was little time to stop and think. Aim and fire, aim and fire. Repeat the process and forget your fears. Phantom found herself following the pattern almost rhythmically, ignoring all else, just as the training had intended. New targets were plentiful, and she carried a good amount of ammunition. The weight of her bayonet threw off the aim of the rifle slightly, but she knew to correct for it. Hopefully she would not need to put it to use.

The Fillydelphia pulled out of the line and drove hard for the transports and the swarm that lay between them. While the cargo airships were not defenceless, they mounted only a pun armament of two machine-cannons for anti-air work. While a dozen such ships could put up a considerable amount of flak with their combined firepower, it would be insufficient against the masses of drones. In addition, cargo crews did not warrant the inclusion of a unicorn shield section, and while unicorn soldiers or Guardsponies being transported could throw up a basic defence, it would not be enough to protect the airships for very long.

The engines of the Fillydelphia droned and whined as they were pushed to the maximum. The airship needed to catch up to the swarm in order to be able to swing around and engage with all of their anti-air guns. Their bow chaser machine-cannon would add almost nothing to the fight by itself. The full barrage would be needed if they were to fight off the enemy and protect the transports.

Ironside stood firm on the quarterdeck, eye glued to his telescope, peering through. He could see the swirling storm of drones ahead, hundreds, most likely thousands, having split from the main group that were besieging the battle line. Below were thousands more, a mighty struggle ensuing with the attacking infantry on the ground as well. It seemed likely that the assault would take a heavy toll, but they had been assured that it was a vital mission.

The transports might hold the key. Their lower decks rammed with infantry ready to deploy, they would need to be carefully shepherded into position. It had been hoped that the Changelings would ignore or simply not notice them loitering in the distance, but some eagle-eyed creature had evidently sighted them, and the Hive Mind had dispatched a large contingent to intercept.

They could fly fast, but the City-Class craft could fly faster. The Fillydelphia was overhauling the swarm, but they were getting into range of the transports now. Flashes of magic could be seen ahead as they began to engage. Thin shields of varying colours had been hastily flung up around the transports as the enemy approached. Urgent signals were being flashed from them to the Fillydelphia, appealing for aid. Ironside ordered a quick response signal; Hold Firm.

They were closing in rapidly now, as the Changelings had stopped advancing, starting to swirl around the transports. Rifleponies lined the rails and their machine-cannon flickered, but there were so many drones it was hard to make an impact. Ironside bellowed orders, and the crew obeyed. The bow hove to starboard, bringing the port side gunners round on target. They were ready and willing, and a barrage of shells leaped out, striking the Changelings from behind. Many dropped from the sky, wings torn to tatters. Others were spread across the sky like a fountain of spray from a can of soda being opened as they were hit by the blast wave from the airship's main guns. Many of the creatures turned to engage the new threat.

Ironside scanned the row of transports quickly with a practised eye. He could see at least one whose shield was faltering, and shouted orders for the anti-air gunners to concentrate fire upon it, clearing its exterior as much as possible. They could not direct fire onto its far side, however, and there were still Changelings there, stubbornly clinging to their assault despite the petulant fire of the single gun on the transport that could be brought to bear on them. The flickering shield was in danger of collapse.

'Bring us alongside that craft, port side to port side!' Ironside ordered. The helmspony swung the wheel, easing the warship alongside the transport. There were many Changelings bashing into and firing magic at the shield, like ants swarming over a picnic site. Care had to be used; though the shells of their guns could not penetrate through a magic shield from the outside the way they could from within, too much firepower smashing into the shield would cause it to collapse just as efficiently as the Changeling attacks would. The use of the main guns in defending the blind spots of a fellow airship, therefore, was strictly prohibited except in extreme circumstances.

With the Fillydelphia coming alongside, the machine-cannon and rapid fire guns were able to sweep the transport's port side clean, but the Changelings were wise to it. They had spotted the real danger and turned away from their prizes to confront it. The vast majority of the swarm was now closing in on the warship, with only one intention in mind.

Unlike the transports, however, the Fillydelphia was more than capable of holding her own. Backing out from the previously threatened cargo airship, her guns flashed and roared, main batteries joining in the fray now that they were able to target clear air. Guns on both sides of the airship were able to engage as the Changelings swirled around them. Dozens of magic bolts slammed into the shield from all sides, sending crazed ripples across its surface. Once again the Changelings dove below the airship's keel to attack from underneath, and with no other warships in the line to protect them, the Fillydelphia's gunners could do little about it. Pathetic gunfire from the few nearest transports trying their best could only fell a small number of the drones lurking beneath.

It was time for the onboard infantry to earn their keep. With a few signals and a blast on a whistle, the rifleponies lining the railings leaped over the side. With the Fillydelphia's shield able to be pushed farther from its structure as there were no other airships in line with them, there was space for the Assault Infantry to fly alongside. They dropped down and took aim at the Changelings massing where the deck guns could not engage. Rifle fire was as effective as cannon fire at killing drones, and rapid, accurate shots brought down plenty. There were still masses of them, however, with almost all of the separated swarm now attacking the Fillydelphia. as if they had disturbed a nest of angry wasps and were now paying the price for their carelessness.

Magic bolts continued to pound into the shield. Under such a heavy onslaught, the barrier wavered and shimmered, threatening collapse. Drones went down by the dozen, falling to their deaths below, but there were enough of them to do damage. With shocks to the barrier coming in from all angles and feedback coursing through the minds of the unicorns powering it, the Fillydelphia's shield collapsed with a loud pop of displaced air. Ironside drew his sword from its sheath as the Assault Infantry hurried back aboard.

'Prepare to repel borders!' he roared.

The steep side of the volcano was littered with ejecta, pock-marked with craters and scarred with fumaroles. It would have been an arduous and dangerous trek by hoof, and so it was a good thing that every one of them had wings.

The group of Pegasi had approached the volcano from the northwest, having skirted the valley where battle now raged. Waiting until they heard the unmistakable sounds of gunfire, they had flapped their way up the side of the cone, almost to the crater at the top, before finding landing spots and waiting. Observations were made; of the downward slope, of the fighting raging below, of what could be seen of the tunnel entrances.

Spitfire lowered her binoculars, tucking them away in her belt. Her Special Tasks Group stood ready behind her, along with three companies of Assault Infantry. While the combined-arms assault distracted and occupied the attention of the vast majority of Changeling defenders, the small but elite pony force had outflanked them around to the north, coming up from behind the volcano with the intention of trying to slip into the Hive.

The mares and stallions of the infiltration team had no idea what would be waiting in store for them. The extent of the Changeling's engagement with the main force was unknown; were the bulk of their number still below ground, waiting, or had they thrown everything they had at the airships and infantry? Were the tunnels empty, or were they clogged with reinforcements heading for the surface? What were they likely to run into? They could only wait to uncover the reality that lay before them.

Spitfire surveyed the area below. The airship fleet could be seen hanging in mid-air, cannons blazing continuously as they held a battle line around three quarters of a mile from the Hive tunnels. Huge numbers of drones were besieging the attacking force in an odd example of role reversal. The artillery and some of the main guns of the fleet were striking targets and tunnels lower down the mountainside, but staying clear of targeting the possible entrances that lay farther up the smoking slope.

Going inside a volcano was a terribly dumb idea. Going inside a Hive was a death sentence. Going inside a Hive that was inside a volcano was just about the height of lunacy, and yet that was exactly what they were about to do. If all went well, either they would be in and out before the Changelings could react, or if not, then they would be joined by the main assault force, deploying from the transports and warships once they had broken through the defences. That was a nice theory, but the reality, as every mare and stallion knew, was always likely to be entirely different. Nevertheless, each one of them was ready and willing to lay down their life in the service of the Sun if necessary.

For Spitfire and the Special Tasks Group, it would be the third Hive they had raided in the last fortnight. They might be termed experts, except that both other Hives had been devoid of all life, save for one dragon. This time would be different. It might only take a solitary drone on guard duty to spot them, and for all they knew the whole of the force currently attacking the airships would sweep back to defend their home, and rip the invaders apart. All they could do was try not to be spotted, and if they were, try to fight their way in and out.

Spitfire took one hoof off of her machine-rifle to quickly signal to the troops behind her. They began their slow, cautious advance, not flying now, but walking, one step at a time, trying their best to avoid attention, to blend in to the rocks and scree on the side of the volcano. Their faces were painted, wings, manes and tails covered with camouflage polymers. Even the Assault Infantry who, by their very nature, did not normally excel at covert operations and infiltration, were bedecked in the black and grey scheme to limit their visibility. They did not want to attract any undue attention whilst on the side of the volcano, and though the Changelings were heavily engaged in battle, it would only take one eagle-eyed drone to see them for their whole raid to unravel before it even started.

Farther down the slope in front of them, a particularly large and sulfurous fumarole was belching out acrid steam and smoke. The ponies used the vapours to further disguise their approach as they trod carefully, watching not to dislodge any rocks that might alert guards below; though none were visible at the entrance they intended to use, it was always possible that the Changelings had disguised a few drones as tiny creatures such as beetles or ants. The two squads of the Special Tasks Group led the way, edging their way lower, past small vents and craters, past streaks of dried lava. The Changeling cover story had been a good one. This was not some imitation volcano, with magic smoke and artificial lava. This was very much the real thing.

An entrance came into view through the sulfur clouds below them. It was a tunnel, with a significant carapace of rock overhanging it. No smoke poured from within, no lava flowed through it. It was a way inside the Hive. Cautiously they moved down to surround it, guns aimed. There was no movement from within, and no evidence of guards anywhere nearby. Spitfire and her squad led the way, slowly and deliberately moving in, covered by three dozen guns behind. Once they had made entry, the rest of the infiltration team began to follow them inside, into the darkness. Into the Hive.

Though Captain Ironside was old, he had not forgotten how to fight. With his sword gripped in one hoof and a pistol in the other, he prepared for battle once more. His ship and his crew were under threat, and this time the action would be a lot more personal than the relatively indiscriminate act of hurling anti-air fire at an enemy. The Changelings were coming, and they were coming for his gunners, for his observers, for his medics. They were coming for him.

The onslaught arrived from both flanks simultaneously, Changeling drones landing on the top deck. They were immediately forced back by the Assault Infantry passengers who lined the rails, beating the attackers off with rifle fire. They came again straight away, from the bow and stern now as well as the sides. Three drones landed on the rear rail and pounced towards the command crew. Ironside cut one down with his pistol and countered the lunge of another with his sword. The third was set upon by the helmspony and gunnery officer who hacked it to death. Ironside turned to finish the second drone, but it took to its wings, fluttering up into the rigging cables that connected the gondola to the gasbag above. It began firing green bolts of magic down towards him, blowing splinters of wood from the deck planking. Ironside dodged the fire as best he could until a rifle found its mark and the creature tumbled to the main deck below. Ironside could see the gun crews struggling in hoof-to-hoof combat as dozens of Changelings came aboard.

This time they could not be held back from getting onto the deck, through the weight of sheer numbers. They were able to force themselves aboard in significant numbers. Additional ponies were coming up on deck from below to fight them, although their attentions were also needed on the gun decks, as some drones were able to force their way through open gun ports. The main focus of combat, however, was on the top deck. The Changelings were trying to swarm it, hurling more and more drones into the action.

Airship crews were not used to repelling boarders. Close combat was most certainly part of their training, as were intruder drills and how to conduct and fight off boarding actions, but never with a serious expectation of having to use the techniques they learned. An Equestrian airship had not been boarded since the Griffon Wars; and even that incident had ended in a massacre of the Griffon platoons that attempted it. The Changelings, however, were a different proposition entirely. They were not using the subtlety or subterfuge that was their typical remit, but rather they were throwing sheer numbers at the problem. The Fillydelphia's normal crew of one hundred and fifty six ponies was augmented by some additional personnel from the Canterlot that Ironside had brought over with him, plus the two companies of Assault Infantry she carried, bringing the total number of ponies on board to just over three hundred. Though nobody could count them all, there were far, far more drones surrounding them.

Magic flashed across the deck, both green from the Changelings and an array of other colours from the crew unicorns. While the magic shields of airships or indeed cities were uniformly a deep pinkish red in colour, due to the combination of many different magic sources needed to erect them, the individual magic of a particular unicorn could manifest itself as any shade or hue of the rainbow. A blue blast here struck a Changeling bodily in the chest and sent it sprawling, while there at the fo'c'sle a thin beam of dark yellow cut a drone in half. Magic could be unwieldy at close range, but all military unicorns were trained in its use for self defence.

A more common choice of weapons among the crew and passengers was rather more direct and physical; a rifle butt smashed across the temple, a length of chain, crowbar or spanner used to slug an opponent, or even a swift kick with powerful hind legs. Those crewponies who had had time were able to procure a rifle, shotgun or hoofgun from the weapons racks, adding their firepower to that of the Assault Infantry who found themselves frustratingly confined to the deck, as to fly would invite friendly fire from those ponies trying to engage drones that swarmed over the gasbag and the ropes. There was a danger, all too clear and present now, that the Changelings might try to cut the strong steel and rope cables that held the gondola to the gasbag above, which would see anypony unable to fly or unable to reach clear air above deck smashed to death as the contraption fell to be dashed on the rocks below. Carefully aimed gunfire picked off those drones who seemed to be attempting to gnaw through the cables or burn them with the magical heat from a glowing horn used like a blowtorch.

Captain Ironside swung his sword against the throat of another drone that landed a scant few feet from him. A bolt of magic from the side whizzed past him, and he turned. There was another of the foul creatures, horn lowered and ready to fire again. Despite his age, he was too quick for it, bringing up his pistol and snapping off a shot that struck home square in the middle of the forehead. The drone crumpled to the deck. Something bumped into him from behind, and a quick glance revealed it was one of the Assault Infantry, her face contorted in a grimace of pain, blood speckling her white coat. And no wonder; most of her right foreleg was missing. Ironside whirled around as she collapsed, and her assailant closed in on him. It was a Changeling, to be sure, but not an ordinary drone, not in appearance at least. Rather, a hulking brown bear had apparently appeared on the deck of the Fillydelphia, its strong jaws and vicious teeth having ripped through the mare's leg. It now threatened the ship's captain in much the same way, but he was able to dance back with surprising agility thanks to his wings, getting clear of its reach. Two pistol shots from his service weapon struck it, but either the Changeling had extra resilience when in another form or his bullets were passing through space that was not truly occupied by the drone's actual mass. Either way, it seemed to have no effect. Instead, the bear trampled deliberately on the squirming mare who it had already mauled, crushing her skull effortlessly and ending her suffering.

Ironside gave a shout for aid, and half a dozen ponies leaped to assist him. More bullets peppered the creature and a shotgun blast took away half of its face, but still it came on, roaring like a real bear might, cracking the deck plating under its bulk as it charged towards the captain. Ironside flapped his way into the air and out of harm's way, but quick as a flash and with a shimmer of bright light, the bear was suddenly not a bear anymore. Instead it was a Changeling again, albeit with one eye blown out and part of its brain exposed. It still retained more than enough functionality to kill. Its horn flashed, but sputtered out; at least some neural damage must have been done. The drone fell back on its more primal functions, and took to the air after Ironside, wings fluttering. The captain had a single pistol shot left, and scant seconds to aim. He raised his hoof and fired.

The Changeling bucked, struck in the thorax. The shot didn't kill it, but it was enough to send the drone spiraling to the deck below. Ironside rapidly landed once more, beside the bested foe. His sword slid easily through the thinner carapace of the back of the drone's neck as he made sure of his kill. There was still much work to be done. He turned to quickly surveil the deck.

Changeling bodies littered the planking, some draped over the guns or curled up among the crates and ropes. There were dead ponies, too, but certainly nowhere near as many, though each one lost was a tragedy. The sad truth was that, at least to Ironside, in the thick of the fighting for so long in his career, including since the human invasion unfolded, the deaths of ponies under his command had long since lost meaning. What mattered was the mission. What mattered was fulfilling the trust and responsibility placed upon him and his crew by the princess herself. Every airship and every pony assigned to this fight had been repeatedly told of its importance, though not necessarily the specific purpose. Ironside knew, however. He knew, as did each airship's captain, each officer above the rank of Lieutenant, that they were attacking the Hive not to destroy it, though that would be a nice bonus. They were attacking the Hive to recover the Element of Magic, and if ponies had to die to restore Equestria's most potent magical defence beside Celestia herself to full capacity, then so be it. Those that served did so knowing that each fight could be their last. For Ironside, he had been aware of that for over thirty years. For whatever reason, on countless previous occasions, Celestia had decided that he would not die. He hoped that she would continue that streak today. A brief glance to the north showed that the princess was still there, still fighting, her golden magic clearly visible even from a mile away. It gave him confidence, renewed his vigor.

Though I may walk through the land of death, I know no fear, for Celestia is with me.

The ancient prayer had never been more relevant, for there she was, fighting alongside her ponies. Even as the Fillydelphia's crew and passengers struggled for their individual survival, the princess was struggling for the survival of the entire species. She had never failed them before, and she would not fail them now. Ironside made a determination of his own, one which he had made many times before. It was the work of but a moment in his mind. He would not fail her. He would do his duty, as he had for three decades. He would fight until he could fight no more, and he would ensure his crew did the same. He would fight for the Princess, and if necessary, he would die for her.