Advance of Night

by The Lord Inquisitor

Chapter 2: A dusting of lightning

Enemy air, what else could go wrong? I ask myself. However, the pegasus roars in over my head, right through the throat of the valley and down upon the hostile vehicle. I lift my head, releasing the downed pony to stare at the pegasus as she swoops downwards and opens fire with cannon, two bright vicious blue lines of cannon fire sprouting from the sides of the combat saddle to slam into the enemy chariot, splashing it with red dust. Red smoke erupts from the chariot’s turret and the enemy infantry shift their fire to try and take the air-pony down but the pegasus has already banked up and started climbing. I quickly get on comms as I look up, catching a glimpse of a deep blue flight-suit, streaked with a flash of yellow, and a brightly coloured tail as the pony banks away up to higher altitude, tracers streaking vainly after the pegasus as she levels out and starts to circle once more. I click my comms, trying to find out who has just strafed the enemy position. “This is Moonstrike calling air asset over our position, please identify.”

There’s a pregnant pause on the other side of the line, before a young brazen female voice speaks, “This is Anchorhead Three-Two calling Moonstrike, we were in the vicinity, and we tried to raise you on comms, we were on our way back from tasking and diverted to assist, we assumed you were down, how copy?”

“Solid copy Anchorhead, you’ve got good hits on the hard target down here, want to come in and mop the rest up?”

“Sure, tipping in with guns, call for clearance.”

“In hot, fuck ‘em up.” I reply as quickly as I can, before diving for my belly as a scything volley of enemy gunfire rips over my head. Fortunately the Royals seem to be taking a leaf out of our Haymareican colleagues’ training manual and volume rather than accuracy seems to be their main concern. As I watch, the first pegasus sweeps around and then comes in low, a second pegasus tipping in on her wing. The two pegasi come thundering in at incredibly low altitude, a second vicious strafing run tearing right over our heads, punching into the treeline on both sides of the valley. Their fire is lethal and accurate, and I notice a definite decrease in the fire coming in on our positions.

I then turn my head away to start moving my downed fellow night-guardspony back behind the rocks, using the opportunity afforded by the two strafing runs to drag him behind cover. I manage to get him back into safety behind the rocks and then release the strap from my teeth, wiggling my jaw. Dragging ponies around by the mouth, particularly ones in full battle order, is not much fun, but needs must. I then raise Anchorhead as they climb away from a third strafe.“Anchorhead, how’re you doing up there? You seeing anything?”

“That’s a negative.” Anchorhead’s voice is breathless, as it might be from conducting three thoroughly awesome strafes, but it’s also jubilant. “Enemy forces are pulling out into the treeline, toss me a BDA when able. We’re leaving your overhead now, you owe me two cases of hayfries and a cider, Moonstrike. Anchorhead clear.”

“Meet me after endex, and I’ll oblige, those were some top strikes, Moonstrike out.” I reply, before cutting the connection and glancing around. The fire has completely vanished: the enemy have melted into the gathering dawn, though the signs of battle still hang in the air. Red smoke still billows steadily from the downed chariot and the scent of ozone and gunsmoke hangs upon the air. The rocks we’ve been hiding behind are speckled with scorch marks where rounds have impacted, and the heavy weapons have torn holes the size of one bit coins into the smaller rocks and buried channels into the larger rocks before the incantations powering the rounds lost their energy.
“Re-org!” Corporal Punishment bellows and I form up with the others, getting into all round defence with the remaining seven members of the patrol, the medic continuing to work on the downed pony, Guardspony ‘Mossy’ Hill.

“Right, top notch FASTAC support,” Corporal Punishment slaps me on the shoulder once we’ve re-organized ourselves and got back into some sort of fighting shape. “I know it was a bit awkward to get that air support coming in on target the first time, but once you got that down… first class strafes from whoever you called in. Nice job grabbing Hilly over there as well, risky but it paid off… everyone else, good actions on from you ponies, you did what you were meant to and got the fire down where it counted. It was a pig of an ambush, but we’re out of it now and once Doc has pronounced Hilly fit to travel, we’ll continue on our route back to base.” Corporal Punishment takes a moment to turn her head and take a sip from her camelbak.

Unlike the rest of us, who are wearing combat helmets and visors, Corporal Punishment is wearing the dark blue Lunar Guard beret with its distinctive silver bat-moon badge blacked out so as not to shine. She’s wearing a pair of tactical goggles, the same array of information that we get projected upon our helmet visors and monocles projected onto her goggles, and she gets the same targeting monocle as we do. Whilst it’s against uniform regulations, no one really cares in the field. Corporal Punishment has always been one for bending or outright breaking the rules as needed, as evidenced by the fact she’s still a corporal despite five years in the Equestrian army followed by another seven years in the Lunar Rifle Regiment.

“Right ponies, form up and we’ll move out.” Corporal Punishment orders and we turn and start to move, the other guardsponies forming up into formation, Hilly clambering to his hooves to move out with us. Nopony wants to be carried off the field after all; that’s one of the traditions that the ancient Honour-Guard of Nightmare Moon imparted to us.

We march onwards, the weight of my saddle starting to dig in. Like most of the ponies around me, I’m dressed for combat and my saddle reflects that. I’m wearing solid ceramic armour plating over my barrel, neck and legs along with the helmet, over which goes a combat saddle which contains all the things I’ll need for battle. I’m carrying food and water for seventy-two hours, an individual first aid kit plus the advanced computer systems required for the sling and helmet to link my weapon to the helmet monocle in a seamless extension of my will. Then you add to that the specialised comms equipment that I’m carrying as a FASTAC- (Forward Asset Tactical Air Control)- to allow me to direct the attack pegasi onto a target and you get an idea of quite how heavy this equipment is. All this is done up in green, brown and black arranged into a funny pixelated design, as opposed to the multicam-type pattern that the rest of the Equestrian army wear. Needless to say, with all this bulky gear strapped to me and screwing my aerodynamics all to hell, flying is out of the question.
I flap my wings experimentally as we continue trotting onwards into the dawn, along MSR Canterlot and out of the valley of death, towards a hill that rises gently from the flat fields and treelines surrounding it. At the top of the hill is Forward Operating Base Nocturne, our base of operations for this exercise.

FOB Nocturne is not much to look at. A series of barns and brick buildings that have obviously been made with a farming community in mind, have been converted into a makeshift forward operating and rearming point, with barricades and watchtowers built around the perimeter of the FOB itself. Overhead a pair of pegasi slowly circle in a slow and lazy orbital pattern, the whisper of the wind over their wings hissing a soft melody. The light of the dawn splashes the barns with crimson as the sun rises over Birch Ranges. Slowly we make our way up the hill, our bodies aching from the low that follows the adrenaline high of combat. The night’s activities have taken it out of all of us; we were on a rather painful patrol that started at 1700 yesterday afternoon, a patrol that took us from one end of Birch Ranges to the other seeing neither hide nor hoof of the enemy. We’d expected the patrol to end without incident, in fact, having expected one of the other platoons to establish some form of in depth security. If the enemy can move armour around within a mile of our home base with impunity then we’ve got problems.

I sigh and shake my head, not sharing my worries with the others, not when we’re nearly at base. They’re smart enough; they should have an idea of what enemy armour within a mile of our base can mean, particularly for an infantry company like ours. I’m deep in thought as we cross the field, climbing the hill and advancing upon the FOB, the flag of the Princess of the Night flying proudly over Nocturne.
Once through the gates and into the FOB, Corporal Punishment gestures with a hoof.

“Right ponies. Fill your water bottles and camelbaks and replenish your batteries… then take a pew over there by that hay pile and wait whilst I see what’s kicking, Bouncer’s is in charge.” Corporal Punishment says firmly.

I nod quickly as Punishment turns and trots off towards the farmhouse where the command post has been established, the others heading over to one of the covered carts and starting to distribute sets of batteries among themselves. I wander over and join them, taking a couple of packets for myself. Magic is a critical part of our arsenal, even those of us who aren’t unicorns have had enchantments placed upon our equipment here or there, however electricity is just as important, and running the batteries down could be fatal, so every soldier carries plenty of spare batteries for his equipment and ‘Mossy’, as the resident workhorse is carrying a dynamo for charging our gear and our weapons’ power cells back up.

As we fill our webbing and vests and re-fill our canteens and saddles, the rest of the section chatter amongst themselves and I slowly learn more about the disparate group of ponies that I’ve been working with for the last month or so. Lance corporal Glancing ‘Bouncer’ Blow is the next senior pony after myself, and he's a very competent stallion despite the fact he's only been in the Lunar Guards for a year and a half. He's apparently a very knowledgeable pony when it comes to regimental history of not only our own regiment but almost every other regiment in the Equestrian order of battle. He's also very finicky about uniform and likes to make sure everything is just so, according to Guardspony Autumn Breeze, the youngest member of our section at just sixteen. One of our resident unicorns, she's also the comedienne of the section, with a sharp joke or a whiplike come-back for almost anything. Like Glancing Blow, Autumn Breeze is an educated pony, though she doesn't say where she went to school. However her crisp Canterlotian drawl tells a story all of its own. Guardspony ‘G-D’ Apple stands at the other end of the spectrum, a tall powerfully built golden yellow earth pony with a leafy green mane (who refuses to confirm or deny whether he's related to The Apple family) is our taciturn support gunner, the large weapon resting easily across his back.

Guards-ponies Phalanx and Broadsword are next, two ponies who opted to change their names when the Lunar Guard gave them the opportunity and I ask no further questions lest I invade their privacy, however it doesn't escape my notice that both wear thin whiplike scars through their steely fur. Last but by no means least is Guards-pony 'Hilly' Mossy Hill, the section's other Earth Pony and our sapper/explosive specialist/cook. He's also one of the most accident prone ponies in the regiment according to Autumn Breeze. Watching them talking and laughing and fooling around as soldiers do, I smile faintly. These ponies have all proved themselves today, and they're exalting in coming out of the fire with their honour intact.

We slowly spread out, collapsing upon the hay pile to enjoy a moment of relaxation in the field. Not a pony among us would not consider that rest well and truly earned, and as we flip up our visors and monocles and let our weapons hang loose, I unfurl my wings, stretching them out to allow the feathers to breathe and the other two pegasi among our section do the same. We relax and the good natured banter flows, and I allow myself to think back on how I managed to wind up here.

Comments

[Saint Henry The Pig]

Nice

[SwordTune]

I do so enjoy war stories, particularly ones that try to convey truth rather than excitement. I will admit, your method may be a more material way of expressing it, but differences in how shouldn't matter as long as it conveys the what.

[NicLove]

Before I read it, what is the gore for ?

[The Lord Inquisitor]

7720542 Because it's a war story and occasionally there are going to be bodies that have been mutilated by shrapnel etc

[NicLove]

7720552 How bad ?

[The Lord Inquisitor]

7720561 Reasonably bad, but not overwhelming. It doesn't seek to delight in gore or jamfests and the gore tag is mainly there as a safety precaution.