The life and times of an Earth Pony.

by TheRealShadowFoot

Part 5: Final Resolution

This was the moment the New Equestrians had waited for. In less than 24 hours, the rest of the forces would be scattered around the Old Equestrians' Capital City. As far as Intel went, all of the Oldies had been chased back to their capital from their outlying territories. With half of the Pegasi and Zebra forces guarding the way home, there was a very, very slim chance that any messengers or spies would make it past the varying roadblocks and patrols. As the hours dragged on, soldiers, officers, grunts, and all manner of fighters were fidgety and eager. Anticipation never sat well with experienced warriors, so they spent their time sparring, playing gambling games, or making sure all their body parts and weapons were in working order.

In a tent deeper in the camp, North and Shadowfoot were sitting with bated breath. For the first time in months, they were actually asked to work together to act as a right flank, entering from the hillsides and forest, pegasi dropping flash kegs and incendiary rounds built from hay and tar, enchanted to flame up on impact. The Earth ponies, being the bulkier of the three races, would act as forwards. whatever was in their path earned a snapped neck, and the unicorns, some being healers, others being pure combatants, would mop up whatever was left with silent kills and last rites. Shadowfoot had jettisoned his secondary blade so he could keep up with the Earth ponies on their rampage.

Shadow would retrieve it later, if there was a later for him. flipping his blade back and forth, to and fro, he was practicing his timing for his strikes. He noticed the blade moved incredibly fast when wielded singulary instead of in tandem with another blade. This also made it possible to drop the blade from above the trees or push through cover. In turn, each strike was a flash of metal and a satisfying "snick" noise, when tested against trees. In short, every stroke was a clean, silent kill. Being outfitted with some Royal Guard armor was a bonus. It was surprisinlgy light and sturdy, and barely limited his movement at all. He was quite pleased.

True North was almost as occupied. His wing had healed fairly quickly, and with the help of two unicorn medics, he was back in flying order in no time. Outfitted with light, woven armor worn only by the most revered of Pegasi warriors, North was getting used to moving around. His old plant weave armor was surpisinlgy restrictive to his wings, but the pegasi armor was built for constant flight. Light and breathable, it was almost like flying naked. With a satisfied, toothy grin, North munched on some apples and carrots that had been left for him by a runner. He had to eat before the conflict started, otherwise he would have no energy for flight.

Normally, North and Shadow would have jettisoned such comforts as armor, but they had something to live for again. They had found out their parents were taken as prisoners in a raid on a nearby settlement, only a few miles from their homeland. There was no news given of prisoners, so they assumed the worst. But now they had young mares waiting for them, ready to settle down and start a family, if the boys lived long enough.

As first light approached, Shadow and North embraced as brothers often do. They would be apart for the next few hours, though on the same formation. And they would only see each other after the initial assault. They had always come back unscathed, but this was going to be a literal hell of a fight. The Oldies were still almost even on numbers, on home turf, albeit desperate. There was no middle ground this time and one side would end up nearly wiped out.

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As the right flank moved through the woods and into the open countryside, all eyes were in all directions. Any sightings by a scout, sentry, or wandering Oldie could buck up the whole plan. First the flanking squads would move in, and when the Oldies tried to retreat to the north or south, there would be battalions upon battalions of fighters waiting for them. It was kind of like squeezing an orange from all sides until all the juice spurted from the fruit. As Shadow scowled at another wasted life taken by his hooves, he risked a glance above and saw his brother, North, flapping along silently, a small orange and black blob in his hooves. One of the incendiary bombs. He himself had formulated this brilliant little device. Magically enchanted to burst on impact and light anything within 20 feet ablaze, this was truly an instrument of death if dropped on a pony. Imagine collateral damage to houses and such, which were moslty buitd of hay, wood, and tar. Snapping back into search and destroy mode, Shadow took aim at an Oldie a few meters in front of him and shot his blade forth like a spear.

North was not at all happy about his job. He never liked fire to start with, much less weaponizing it. But this simply had to be done in order to produce the desired shock and awe effect. He was not supposed to drop this precious cargo on ponies, only on clusters of homes. He carried two more under each wing, giving him a total of 5 flaming death balls before he had to retreat and reload, or fight. It was his choice what he wanted to do. Looking at his two wingponies who served as guardians, they were outfitted much the same as he was. but they also carried flash kegs, designed to make a briliant flash when dropped. they would most likely stun and disorent anyone within a few feet, friend or foe. This allowed the ground patrols to move in slowly, taking advantage of the confusion to snap necks or slice enemies.

These tactics were more brutal than anything they had used before, but the Oldies were just as brutal, kidnapping and killing innocent mares and fillies, and requisitioning the stallions and young colts to fight for their causes, or die where they stood.