Chapter 1
The deafening boom of rifled cannons could be heard in the distance. A small grin parted the General’s lips as he listened to the sweet music of solid shot. He’d helped design those guns two years ago. Now, they were doing the Lord’s work here in front of Dodge City.
“General, we shouldn’t be so close to the forward trenches. If the Tartarians break through here, you could be killed,” the pony paused before continuing. “We can’t afford to lose you, sir.”
The General turned to face the pony who spoke. Gently he replied, “Your observation has been noted, Major Macintosh, but I’d rather be here with my boys than sitting on my hindquarters in the city.” Placing a hand on his wooden field desk, the General looked down at the map that was spread upon it. “Besides, if they break us and roll up our line, then my safety is of little importance. Her Excellency can promote generals, but she can’t replace this army.”
At that moment the General felt a light tapping on his leather boots. He looked down and saw a small blue and gold dragon with a piece of parchment between his claws.
“Message from Major General Applejack, sir,” the little lizard said in a squeaky voice.
“Thank you, Corporal Tike,” the General replied as he took the offered message from the dragon.
The General broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. “Have you received any word from Lieutenant General Hayseed?”
“No, sir, General Jackson. I would have given it to you if I had. I am a bit worried, though. Usually my brother sends a message around this time to let me know he’s okay.”
Stonewall pulled at his beard for a moment, and turned to one of his staff members and called, “Lieutenant Brass Hoof.”
“Sir?” The dark brown earth pony replied.
“I want you to run over and see what has become of General Hayseed. Head for the cannons down the road; he should be nearby.”
“Yes, sir,” Brass Hoof saluted.
“And check on Tike’s brother while you’re there.”
The pony nodded and took off down the communication trenches.
“Thank you, sir. That makes me feel a lot better,” Tike murmured.
The thanks fell on deaf ears, for Jackson was reading the new dispatch from Applejack. As he read the message, the General noted that the ponies manning the cannons had switched their ammunition to canister shot. The demons were attacking in force again but were paying in blood with every foot of ground they crossed.
Stonewall Jackson read quickly, and when he was through, his eyes lit up. He announced to his staff in a proud voice, “Friends, Providence has smiled upon us this day. Major General Applejack has repelled, pursued, and destroyed the Fifth Horde in front of Appleloosa.”
A loud cheer erupted from the throats of Jackson’s earth pony staff. None were louder than Big Macintosh.
All were cheering, save for one pink pony. She wore a bleach-white skull mask over her scarred, pink, face. The bone-mask clashed with her black leather armor making her look like a vision of death itself. Pinkamena Diane Pie never cheered nor spoke, but her death mask always smiled. She paused and looked up to hear the General speak. He was the only one she truly listened to after he had saved her from the fire all those months ago. Shying away from that memory, she returned to sharpening her already razor-edged scythe after the General had made his announcement.
As the cheers died down, Jackson picked up a lemon from a nearby bucket and began to suck on it noisily. Careful not to get juice on the note, he added the message to the other dispatches he had received from his subordinate officers. Other than Applejack’s good news, the picture the messages painted was bleak. The demons were attacking the Army of Southern Equestria all along the Desert Front, but thus far, all the assaults had been repelled. But holding back the flood of Hell Denizens came at a price. The thin brown line that connected Appleloosa to Dodge City was getting thinner, and Canterlot could spare no more soldiers. This worried the human, but he did not let it show. He despised this war of attrition he was being forced to fight. His victories came from outthinking and outmaneuvering his opponents. That being said, he could not abandon the two towns to the Tartarians. The repeating crossbows and the new artillery had bled the demons badly, but the enemy could replace their losses easier than he could.
As Jackson pondered this, Tike belched forth another message wreathed in blue flame. Jackson snatched the message out of the air with his metallic left hand, paying no heed to the baby dragon’s scorching breath. Stonewall frowned. The note, according to the seal, was from General Hayseed. However, that was not the troubling part of the letter. Half of the dispatch was covered in a green sticky liquid, almost like dragon . . .
In an instant, Jackson spat out the lemon and tore open the seal. He turned his body away from Tike, blocking the dragon’s view of the letter.
“General? What’s wrong?” the dragon asked.
By this time the other ponies were looking at Jackson with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. The General ignored the question and the stares as he read the message. It only had three-blood covered words.
WE ARE LOST
The words were hurried and scrawled, but Jackson recognized the handwriting of Tike’s older brother.
Crumpling the bloody letter in his grasp, he threw it as far as he could. Before anypony could ask any further questions, Stonewall bellowed, “Attention!” A dozen ponies and one dragon became rigid as statues. Calmly, Jackson sat down in his chair and began to write, his hand a blur across the paper.
Seconds later, the human handed Tike the completed message. “Send that to the Sky Marshal and all Corp Commanders.”
Obeying, Tike set the paper ablaze with azure fire.
Jackson, rose from his chair and donned a steel helmet. “Major Macintosh.”
“Eyup Sir?
“Escort Corporal Tike to the rear and evacuate the field hospital to the town,” Stonewall said as he buckled on his sword and put on the last pieces of his armor.
Big Macintosh’s jaw clenched tightly in distaste but he held his tongue.
Tike, on the other hand, had no such restraint. “What? No! What, what was on that letter you threw away? Why did it have dragon blood on it?” Tears welled up in the dragon’s eyes as the General paused and looked at him with boundless pity. “No . . . NO!” the dragon wailed.
Jackson ignored as best he could the heart-wrenching cries as Tike was carried away by Major Macintosh.
After saying a quick prayer for Tike’s brother, Stonewall yelled to his tiny command, “The rest of you with me!”
All of Jackson’s staff dropped their maps, charts, and quills in favor of swords and crossbows. They moved past Jackson down into the trenches. Only Pinkie and Jackson were left in the dugout. The skull-faced pony planted her scythe in the dirt and looked at the human expectantly.
“The Cherry Orchards,” the General said as he picked up his own crossbow and ammunition. Jackson then turned and followed his earth ponies into the split in the earth, not bothering to look behind him. He knew the pink pony was no longer there.
Jackson led the group deeper and deeper into the maze of trenches, all the while panning left and right with his crossbow for targets. They were close to the orchards now. The smell of rotting cherry trees mixed with the putrid fumes of decaying corpses. Jackson barely noticed the stench as he stepped over the disemboweled body of Lieutenant Brass Hoof.
Seeing movement to his left above the trench, he brought his crossbow to bear upon the unknown threat. The enormous creature he saw was once a unicorn, judging from the warped protrusion sticking out of its forehead. But whatever creature it once resembled, the creature was now a nightmarish mockery. The abomination had no skin and galloped forward on legs that belonged to a much larger creature. Jackson let loose a bolt at the monster as did those who accompanied him. The creature stopped in its tracks as it was pierced to death by nearly a dozen steel-tipped darts. It fell twitching to the ground in a pool of its own black blood. Its pathetic mewling and moaning cut short by a dart to the head.
Down the narrow confines of the trench came several dozen fresh horrors. They came lumbering forward on limbs with too many joints, brandishing misshapen claws, hooves, and weapons. Stonewall’s stomach turned as he witnessed their unyielding, sickening approach.
“General, we have to go back. There’s too many of them,” said a mare with a terrified edge in her voice.
Jackson replied coolly as he stared down the demons in front of him. “Never take counsel of your fears.”
Handing his crossbow to one of the soldiers behind him, Jackson brought up his metallic appendage and pointed it at the demons. The ponies behind Stonewall got down and covered their ears. They knew what was about to happen. Where once an arm was attached to the general, there was now a cannon barrel. The demons were close, almost within striking distance of a spear. They pressed forward, heedless of their own safety.
Jackson said something, but his words were lost in the deafening explosion as he fired his weapon into the mass of monsters.
The slaughter was terrible. The demons were torn to shreds as hundreds of serrated metal balls penetrated their bodies. One blast was all it took to kill all of the creatures.
As the general coldly surveyed his grizzly handiwork, his weapon melted and reshaped back into an arm once again. This was not the first occasion he had used his weapon against the enemy, but it was the first time he let them get this close.
Staggering to their hooves, some of the ponies arose with bleeding ears and noses from the concussive blast. The first to recover was a mare from Manehatten. Cautiously, she climbed up a wooden firing platform and peered over the trench. She saw hunched, shadowy figures marching quickly in the neighboring trench. Pushing her way through her still recuperating comrades, she made her way to the human and tapped on the back of his mud-brown armor.
The General turned and saw Major Coco Pommel. She was trying to tell him something, but he couldn’t hear her.
“What?” the general asked loudly.
Not bothering to repeat herself, the Major pointed down the trench where the Tartarians had come from and raised her crossbow.
Catching the pony’s meaning, the General got down on one knee and raised his metal arm again.
This time, what came around the corner of the trench was not a monstrosity, but a grime-encrusted pony. The soldier came forward a few steps looking from side to side, his loaded crossbow grasped tightly in his hooves. He stopped dead in his tracks when he looked straight ahead. Eleven crossbows and one cannon were aimed at his head. His fear of getting blown to pieces turned into wonder as he asked, “General Jackson . . . is that you?”
The General couldn’t hear the soldier speak, but he could read lips well enough. As he and the rest of his command lowered their weapons, he beckoned the soldier forward with a wave.
Sergeant Buck Wood nodded and turned to look down his end of the trench. “Come on, you foals. It’s the Iron Ghost. He’s here to get our asses out of the sling.”
“What? Are you sure, Sarge?” asked a soldier from behind Buck Wood.
Grabbing the Private by the neck of his jacket, the Sergeant dragged the confused soldier around the trench corner. The Private’s jaw dropped when he saw the gore-splattered human looking back at him with his piercing blue eyes. Letting go of the pony, the Sergeant walked forward, picking his way through the eviscerated bodies of the Tartarians. When he reached the human, he began to speak but was cut off when the General raised a hand.
“I can’t hear you, Sergeant. I managed to deafen myself. I need you to take me to General Hayseed if he yet lives.”
Buck Wood’s shoulders slumped as he looked at the General. “He’s dead, Sir.”
The muted words flayed another piece from the human’s already battered heart. Closing his eyes, the General concentrated on what to do next. They had come too far to retreat now, and he doubted that they could even if he ordered it. No, retreat was out of the question; they had to buy time for the army to reorganize and refuse the broken line, but how?
As Jackson pondered this, the ears of everypony perked up as they heard the all too familiar gibbering battle cries of the Tartarians. Major Pommel, having been in enough fights, knew that a huge force was coming up behind them.
The Ghost opened his eyes and saw the nervous faces of his troops as they looked around. He didn’t have to guess what they were hearing. Looking behind the Sergeant, he spied in the distance a lone artillery piece up on a small hill. Strangely the cannon shared the hill with a blossoming cherry tree.
“The Lord doth provide,” Jackson whispered to himself.
“Sir?” Buckwood asked quizzically.
“Follow me!” Jackson yelled.
The ponies didn’t hesitate as they followed their general up the hill to the very top. Jackson looked behind him and counted how many ponies he had. His force had tripled in strength since he had led them on this errand.
A low, loud rumble issued from his stomach. Firing his weapon had cost him more energy than he had feared. Feeling a tapping on his human arm, he turned to see a soldier offering him a piece of fruit. “Thank you, Major Pommel.”
The pony nodded. She knew that if the General didn’t eat, his weapon would get its raw material from somewhere else in his body.
As Jackson ate the rest of the fruit, he was proud to see the ponies readying the cannon and themselves for combat. They fanned out and took whatever they needed from their fallen brothers and sisters who surrounded the hill.
Watching the ponies drew the human’s eyes to the cherry tree in the center of the hill. Removing his helmet and wiping the sweat and blood from his face, he approached the beautiful object. Jackson marveled at the tree’s endurance, having survived so much in the center of this Hell. Almost nothing would have made the General happier then to lie down beneath its branches and sleep. He would dream of Virginia, his home where he grew up and learned about the world, about life, and about God. He would dream about a time before the war that tore his home apart. But most of all, he would dream about his wife and baby daughter. He would go to them and . . .
Jackson turned sharply from the tree. He could not afford to go to that painfully sweet place in the back of his mind, not now.
Donning his helmet, he looked off in the distance and saw nothing. He knew they were out there though; with every fiber of his being, he knew the demons would come.
“We will defend this place,” said the Iron Ghost suddenly.
Jackson unbuckled his sword and after drawing it, threw away the sheath. He turned to face his soldiers who were staring at him with a mixture of resolve and fear.
“We will defend this place as if it were Canterlot itself. We will buy the time necessary for our army to destroy the black tide. And we will acquit ourselves before God and Celestia this day, my friends, for they are watching. Do not disappoint them.”
No sooner was the General done speaking, then the first demons came into view. Jackson turned his head and nodded at the ponies manning the cannon. Seconds later, a black sphere of death crashed through the Tartarian vanguard, killing a score. The demons pressed on, rising and falling like waves as they crossed over and into the pony-made trenches.
While the ponies played havoc on the enemy ranks, Jackson turned his eyes to the heavens. A black cloud was forming on the horizon. Stonewall smiled as the thrill of battle began to sing through every part of his body. This is what he lived for, to fight in his Lord’s name and to destroy his enemies, whatever form they might take. Reveling in the moment, the perfect weapon for this sort of occasion began to take shape from his metal arm.
Standing by the General’s side, Sergeant Buck Wood saw the human’s artificial appendage begin to change. The metallic mass had reformed into a rod surrounded by six tubes with a hand crank at Jackson’s elbow. Knowing that the General couldn’t hear him, the soldier said to himself, “What is that?”
Surprisingly, Buck Wood heard the General say, “It’s God’s mercy.”
No sooner had Stonewall uttered those words, than the tubes began to spin, and the metal crank turned on its own accord. His weapon spun faster and faster until it began to spit death at the coming cloud of demons. The winged Tartarians fell out of the sky in droves, as each round Jackson fired found its mark. The pierced, bullet-riddled bodies crashed down onto their grounded brethren below.
Jackson fired until crimson streams ran from his ears and down his armored shoulders. The ponies, emulating their leader, sent bolt after bolt into the packed ranks of horrors, but still they came. Marching over the bodies of the fallen, the monsters weathered the storm of bullets, bolts, and cannon fire. After what seemed like an eternity of bloodshed, the first of the demons reached the hill.
Feeling something pounding on his left side, Jackson turned to see Coco pointing desperately down the hill. The Iron Ghost turned his Gatling-arm on the Tartarian infantry as the last of the winged demons were blown out of the sky. The hill became slick with gore as the horrors climbed over corpses to make it up the hill. Little by little, they clawed their way forward.
After reloading his crossbow for what seemed like the thousandth time, Sergeant Buckwood caught a glimpse of the General. Jackson’s weapon was now a blur. As the barrels whirled, the human was paying for that blistering rate of fire.
Jackson dropped his sword and fell to his knees, clutching his stomach with his normal arm. His reserves of energy long spent, the weapon was now claiming other sources of fuel. Fat, blood, bone, and muscle were now being taken from the Iron Ghost and being turned into ammunition. Ignoring the crippling pain from his chest and stomach, Stonewall continued to feed his weapon.
Knowing there was nothing he could do for the General other than pray and fight, Buckwood turned back to his own killing. As he fired what must have been his hundredth bolt at the demons, he heard the Iron Ghost’s weapon begin to slow. Seconds later, the buzz-saw noise was gone altogether. He glanced to his side to see Jackson down on all fours. The human was vomiting grey bile onto the muddy earth; the weapon had taken too much.
The demons, sensing the tide had turned, redoubled their efforts to take the body-strewn hill. Jackson looked up just in time to see an ugly, two-headed demon running toward him. He tried to bring his Gatling-arm to bear one more time but could not. It was just too heavy. As the demon raised a huge club to end the General, the earth in front of Jackson erupted upwards.
A black and pink pony seemed to arise from Hell itself. Its bone mask was grinning with savage glee. In one motion, the equestrian killing machine bisected the demon with her unbelievably sharp blade. With the slightest of efforts, she turned and sliced upwards, eviscerating another Tartarian that had tried to sneak behind her. Pinkamena didn’t utter a sound as she went about her business; she let her weapon speak for her.
All around Jackson, ponies clashed with the denizens of Tartarus in brutal close quarters. The Equestrians bravely stood their ground against the ocean of enemies. For every pony that fell, five demons fell with them.
His chest screaming in protest, Jackson picked up his sword and came to his feet in the epicenter of the maelstrom. The ponies were fighting all around him, protecting him from the nightmarish fighters. Once more his metal appendage changed, this time as an axe blade.
Summoning the very last of his strength from the corners of his soul, Jackson waded into the fight.
No sooner had he taken his first halting step, the Tartarians fell back in the face of the Equestrians. They withdrew several paces creating a ringed no man’s land between themselves and the surviving ponies. Major Coco looked around to see how many ponies yet lived. Besides herself, Pinkamena, and General Jackson, only four other ponies were left standing. She saw Sergeant Buckwood lying among the dead, his body cut in twain by a Tartarian blade.
Jackson saw the corpse of the mutilated Sergeant as well. Pure rage threatened to overtake him as he glared at the demons with bloody weapons. Taking a deep breath to steady his abused body, he focused on the hatred and not on the pain coursing through him. With practiced ease, he unhooked the clasps at his sides in preparation for the next round of fighting. The battered mud-brown breastplate that had protected him throughout the campaign fell to the blood-drenched earth. While taking a halting breath, he spied a black cloud floating up the hill. The demons didn’t part ranks to let the cloud through; it just washed over them like morning fog. Coming to the General’s side, Pinkamena recognized the face that had materialized in the center of the gaseous dark blob.
“Sombra,” Jackson whispered to himself.
The gas quickly took the shape of a black and grey unicorn, and it stood there smiling wickedly at the survivors.
“Very impressive,” the dark unicorn’s lips didn’t move when it said this, but to the Iron Ghost, the harsh voice was loud and clear. “I’ve never seen such slaughter since I happened upon that camp of mares and foals six weeks ago. Oh, what was the name of that place? I forget.”
Trembling, Jackson screamed, “Camp Hope, you butcher! May God damn you forever for what you did!”
Sombra’s smirk widened as he saw the human wince in pain as he finished his tantrum. He also reveled in the hate-filled energy coming from the surviving ponies in Jackson’s group. “Yes, that’s the place.”
Two lances of black energy shot forth from the unicorn’s horn. Not having time to reform his metal appendage into a proper shield, Jackson stepped into the beam, swinging his axe arm. When Jackson’s weapon and the black beam met, a blinding light encompassed all who beheld the General’s feat. Sombra’s energy lance was cleaved in two. The dual beams struck two demons behind the Iron Ghost, killing them both.
As Jackson’s vision cleared, he felt a sharp pain in his right leg. He looked down, and to his horror, he discovered he was no longer attached to the appendage. Eyes wide in shock, the General fell backward onto the red ground. As Jackson’s mind was overcome with agony, he saw that the blossoming cherry tree had been felled.
Berserk with fury, the earth pony soldiers launched themselves at the unicorn who had assaulted their leader. The demons laughed at the futility of the assault, for the ponies didn’t have a prayer. Sombra killed three of the attackers before they even got close to him. The fourth made it into striking distance, but the former Crystal King easily dodged the pony’s hasty attack. Becoming bored, Sombra gored the pony through the eye and threw the body away casually.
Maneuvering herself out of the unicorn’s peripheral vision, Major Pommel threw a dagger at the distracted Sombra. The weapon flew straight and true, but before it could pierce the back of the unicorn’s exposed head, it stopped. The blade hung in mid-air, suspended by Sombra’s magic. The unicorn turned and shook his head. He then reversed the dagger and sent it speeding on its way into the heart of Coco Pommel.
As the last pony fell to the ground, the demon leader roared his triumph to the heavens. The demons took up the cry and joined their master’s cheer. Smiling maniacally, the unicorn slowly walked to where Jackson lay. His body was broken, but the slow rise and fall of his chest confirmed he yet lived. As Sombra stepped over the corpse of the pink earth pony, he knew he would treasure this victory forever. Except something troubled him as he gazed at Jackson’s form; it was like he had forgotten something.
A second later, he remembered what was lost from his mind. He never killed the pink pony. This fact dawned on him, as he collapsed onto the bloody stumps of his hooves. Suddenly in a pool of his own blood, Sombra looked skyward and saw the skull-faced pony looming over him. It was the last thing he saw as Pinkamena’s scythe pierced his brain.
The demons stood and stared at the earth pony, not quite comprehending what had happened. As the Tartarians began to close in around Pinkamena, she somersaulted backwards to where the General lay. Determined to die protecting the one who saved her, the pony made ready for the end.
From above, a whistling sound was heard. The black-garbed pony watched as black spheres tumbled from the sky and exploded among her enemies. She fell to the ground and covered Jackson’s body as the sound of screaming and renewed slaughter filled the air.
Minutes later, she heard a voice, “Pinkie, Pinkie are you okay?”
Other than the voice, Pinkamena could still hear the distant sound of combat, but it was miles away. Raising her head off the General’s chest, she looked up into the face of a pegasus. She knew this pony, although it had been some time since she had last seen her. Ignoring the new comer’s question, the skull-faced warrior got to her knees and put her ear to the general’s heart.
“Is he alive?” the pegasus asked nervously.
Pinkamena nodded.
“He looks too bucked up to move. We’ll have to do what we can for him here.”
Several ponies came forward wearing hospital uniforms. Armed with the tools of their trade, they began the battle to save the life of Equestria’s greatest soldier.
The black-garbed demon slayer noticed that the sky was filled with pegasi. Most were heading toward the fighting, but some were gazing with worried looks at the human. Turning her attention back to the General, Pinkamena watched the ponies work feverishly to save the human. Never taking her eyes off him, Pinkamena removed her bone mask and let it drop to the ground.
“Don’t worry about Thomas. They won’t let him die,” said the familiar winged pony behind her.
She turned to face the pegasus who did not recoil at the hideous burns all across the earth pony’s face. Instead, the pegasus stepped forward and said, “It’s good to see you, Pinkie.”
In reply, the pink killing-machine enveloped the other pony in a delicate embrace. She whispered, “It’s good to see you too, Dashie.”
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5419381
What are you, dumb? The South will obviously rise again!
Please, take your zebra lovin' speakin' outa here, scum. But, even tho you dumb like a northern yankee, I like that wizard idea.
I like the idea, I shall read it later. But, until then, I shall give this its first Like.
I, myself, am a big fan of Stonewall Jackson.
Anyone who dislikes this story is imperial scum.
Wait, so Luna is a racist?
And she didn't have the mettle to murder other races, so she planned on bringing in an alien racist to murder others for her. Truly a sick and brilliant plan.
5419472 I like your attitude. We should write a story together.
I don't know why this story is getting so many downvotes. It's awesome!
A confederate general with a magic cyborg arm, leading a group of ponies into one last suicide battle against Sombra's army of demons, with death, gore, and Pinkie being a badass with a scythe. What's not to like?
5419381
Actually, know. Stonewall Jackson's death predates the founding of the Ku Klux Klan, which was founded by his fellow confederate general, Nathaniel Bedford Forrest, well after the war.
5419814
There's no actual historical evidence that Jackson was a racist, just that he was a slave holder.
It's a major problem, I think, that the various Confederate generals, which for the most were courageous gentlemen, get shit on, when you have the Union generals being...
Burnside: Other then creating a facial hair style, was an idiot who couldn't take a bridge.
Sherman: An absolute monster that would have burned the South to the ground and salted the Earth like Rome did to Carthage.
Grant: A drunkard that was lead on by commanding staff, a trait of cronyism that would be a black mark of his presidency.
And finally...
Hooker: Do I really need to say it? The less things said about General Hooker, the better.
Didn't mean to put it on the Clopfics Folder. But this looks promising. Looking forward to more chapters.
5420458
You fucking lost-causers...
What about General Meade, who handed Lee his first defeat with brilliant use of the high ground?
What about General Hancock who, hoping to encourage his men, refused to get off of his horse during the battle of Gettysburg, getting wounded in the process? What about the fact that after he was shot, he demanded to be treated in the field and refused to leave the field until the battle was done?
Meanwhile, Lee regularly captured free black men during his northern campaigns, sending them south to be forced into slavery.
Sherman often sent people ahead of his army asking cities to surrender, his goal was to cripple the South's ability to wage war. The reason he burnt everything down is because no one surrendered. He actually ordered his men to leave non-combatants alone throughout his campaign. With the manpower at his disposal, he could've done a lot more damage than he did if he had so desired.
Get down off of your fucking high horse and realize that there were monsters and honorable people on both sides of the war, and that there's nothing glorious or honorable about fighting to keep millions enslaved.
Hi guys.
First off, thank you all for commenting and voting on our story.
For my part, my passion is learning about the American Civil War. My new passion is My Little Pony. So I thought why not combine the two. So I got to looking around this website for the various American Civil War fics. And you know what? I didn't find that many of them, and the ones that were available were mostly from the Union perspective, or from the ponies.
So long story short I thought I'd try my hand at writing a fic about the war between the states. But I also wanted to be different, so I thought why not bring a Confederate General over to Equestria to help the ponies fight a war? I know importing humans is not original, but I have not seen this done with Confederate Civil War Generals.
To be honest with you guys, I know more about what went on in the Eastern theatre of the war than anywhere else, so I chose Stonewall Jackson as the main character.
As to how Stonewall got to Equestria, I shall reveal in later chapters.
I wrote this story not to glorify war, slavery, or death.
I wrote this story because I wanted to.
Merry Christmas guys.
There seems to be a good deal wrong with this; I'll go through what all that is tomorrow when I've got more time.
5420989 5420458
There's a good deal more history falling into what happened rather than just saying one side was in the right or who had the better men. Most historians generally view the Southern Generals as being superior to most Northern ones, while the North's surplus is what carried it all the way through. The Union did have a handful of good men in the form of Meade, Sherman, Grant, and Admiral David Farragut.
In terms of humanity, it's rather jumbled. Lee never agreed with Secession, while his racial views seemed to have been mixed early on and, from the letters I've read, sided more towards equality as time went by. Though at the same time many others still viewed slavery as a necessary institution, including Jackson (though to be fair his were more religious based and more 'humane') and it was former Confederates who founded the Klan after the war.
The Union generals were also rather muppled up. Sherman's tactics during the March to the Sea, even if warned ahead of time, still blatantly targeted civilian property and infrastructure and was based solely on utter devastation; but again, to be fair, the Scorched Earth policy enacted seems largely necessary, and was probably the single most effective campaign of the entire war. Yet at the same time, Sherman is also known for not having sympathy with Abolitionism, and during his campaign he seemed to be careless about doing anything to improve the lives of those slaves freed; I've even read a story where a group was following his army and, as they were sucking off supplies and not seen as a necessary force, destroyed a bridge the army crossed so they could not follow.
So, to summarize, it really is mixed and comes down to a personal level; not so much the sides they were on, for humanity.
I feel the best comparison to the fascination of the Confederacy can be best compared to Germany during WW2. What they had, did, and accomplished was respectable and incredible, but in the end they weren't exactly on the righteous end; they needed to lose, and I'm glad they did.
Can we not argue American history here? Yes he was a confederate general who believed all the evil stuff the confederacy stood for. But he was good at one thing-- winning. No one can deny that and I think that's all the princesses care about. Fight the devil with a devil. Let's just hold our breaths, count to ten, and see where this goes. Save the "OMG this is the dumbest thing ever" for chapter 3 or 4.
A good idea that could have been played off WAY BETTER. The potential was lost.
5422366
Thank you for being sane in this constant argument.
Ok, I love action as much as the next gal, but I hate medias res beginnings.