The Atlantean-Dominion War

by The Atlantean

38. Summercrest Confrontation

Atlanta stared at Summercrest through a scrying spell. The Second Coastal hadn’t left, which in itself was weird, but they’d also apparently began to beef defenses around the governor’s residence. Either her messages had never gotten through, or they had been ignored. Given Colonel Treetop’s practically spotless track record, it was most likely the former. But that didn’t explain the defensive strategy.

She shifted her spell to the harbor. Indianapolis was still there, a wisp of dark gray smoke lazily curling above her funnel - no, it was called a “smokestack.” The morning’s seagoing patrol was coming back to port as the afternoon ship, a Fireheart corvette, cast off and began its journey to the open ocean. A pleasant surprise came as she turned her attention to the yard, where a downscaled version of the cruiser, also built of steel, was in the early stages of construction. Its keel had been laid and the two boilers were clearly visible in the midday sun.

She ended the spell and quickly brushed her mane to the side as she heard a knock on the door. “Come in.”

“Ma’am.” General Continuum looked worried, just like any officer should during a war. “You wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Atlanta replied, sitting down behind her deep brown desk, resting her hooves on its dark wood. Her personal office was where she normally dealt with the day’s political issues, and it was decorated so. The room was clean and tidy, with not a single speck of dust hiding from watchful eyes. Her oak bookshelf, tucked away in the corner, was full of her favorite books, mostly alternate-universe fantasies and fiction, but some notable fairy tales and a couple nonfiction volumes were in there as well. The official ship commission manifest and army regimental charters sat on the bottom shelf, out of the way of the Queen’s everyday needs for a good story.

The fairly dim candlelight was assisted by the sun’s golden rays that shone through a decently sized rectangular window to Atlanta’s left. It reflected off her calm turquoise eyes and tired sea-blue face, her neatly trimmed mane, and nervous ears. A lot of the shine across the room was from the Queen’s armor and helmet, hanging from their rack directly across from the window, and the vanity mirror, used when she accidentally fell asleep in the office and had to make herself presentable.

The alicorn took her crown off and placed it beside her hooves, signifying that she only wanted to be addressed as Commander in Chief, not Queen. She sighed. “Records show that you sent messages out of the palace this past week. I just need to know what they were and to whom they were sent.”

“Ah, those,” Continuum said, evidently knowing what she meant. “As you know, I am Spymaster, so I was sending notes out to some of the boys in the field, ma’am.”

“Forgive me. I forgot you had that role.” Atlanta slightly bowed her head in acknowledgement.

“You do not need to apologize, ma’am,” Continuum assured. “We are in the midst of a war, after all, and you have much more on your shoulders than ever. The stress must be great.”

“It is,” Atlanta admitted. “However, I plan on making sure we pull through this on top. I will endure the weight if I must.” She gestured to the door. “Thank you for your honesty, General. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Continuum said. As he passed through the doorway, however, a villain grin broke across his face. She hadn’t suspected a thing.

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Captain Middle Road stared down at the steel skeleton in the drydock she walked alongside. A brisk wind was blowing from the sea, signaling an approaching storm. She hoped that the temporary roof the yard workers were erecting would both stay in place through the howling wind to come and protect the unpainted steel from the rain. They had already started to paint the round bottom as its plates were bolted, its rich red easily found amongst the dull browns and grays around it. Her XO Tie Dye and Harbormaster Nightmane had agreed that it could save a couple days at the end of the line, and she wasn’t about to argue against that. Given that it was an experimental ship, she was more than willing to start sea trials on the first - but possibly last, given the trouble they were having - Atlantean-built steel vessel as soon as possible.

She spun around to look inland. Just ahead, half a mile away, was the military checkpoint that the Second Coastal still hadn’t abandoned, despite the new arrivals. In fact, the regiment had simply dug in deeper these past couple days. Treetop explained to her that it was suspicion of conflicting orders and maybe a conspiracy to take Summercrest. She accepted the explanation, but didn’t quite understand.

A commotion was stirring at the checkpoint. She hurried to see what was going on.

Two Changelings sat at the checkpoint, half-heartedly listening to the pony’s shouted complaints. He wanted them to leave so that he could take the post like he was supposed to, but they weren’t inclined to really care what exactly he said. The stallion finally shut up.

“Sorry, but we’re under Colonel Treetop’s explicit orders to not leave this spot until we’re relieved by somepony from the Second Coastal, not your regiment, whatever it is.”

“The Fifteenth Tributary.”

The Changeling on the left would’ve raised an eyebrow if he had one. Instead, he just acted like he did. “Hey, wait, did you say Fifteenth Tributary? Last I heard, they’d only gotten to Seventh. Isn’t that right, Buggy?”

“Yeah, Shadow-Head,” the other Changeling, the one on the right, said. “The Seventh Tributary Regiment, organized two months ago.”

The stallion realized his mistake. “I meant Fifteenth Coral Reef! Coral Reef!”

Shadow-Head laughed. “That’s a good one! What did you say you were yesterday? The Sixth Coastal, which, by the way, isn’t due to form for another week? Seriously, what regiment are you in?”

“Just let me take my post!”

Buggy grunted, a sign that he wanted the pony to leave. Changeling body language was not the same as a normal pony’s, but the stallion got the point. He spun around and strode away, a disgusted look on his face. Buggy and Shadow-Head hoofbumped. They had the best photographic memory in the Second Coastal, which was why they hadn’t left the checkpoint for a week. One typically slept while the other guarded during the day, swapped at night, with their meals brought to them. They also did clean, one at a time, but at least one of the the two was always at the checkpoint at any given time.

“I’m going back to sleep,” Shadow-Head said before slumping back in his chair and closing his eyes. He smiled, clearly enjoying his afternoon siesta. Meanwhile, Buggy stayed alert for any more troublemakers.

A tan Unicorn approached from the yards they were guarding. “Exactly what happened, soldier?” she asked.

Buggy whirled around, shocked. He tapped Shadow-Head, who did the same. They quickly stood straight and saluted. “Good afternoon, Captain Road, ma’am!” the two chorused.

Middle Road returned the sharp salute. “I’ll ask again. What happened?”

“That stallion wanted to replace us at our post, ma’am,” Buggy replied. “We told him we weren’t moving.” As an afterthought: “Ma’am.”

“Treetop tell you two to have somepony from his regiment, and only his, here at all times?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll hafta talk to him,” she mumbled. She spoke up again: “You two don’t happen to know why Treetop is doing this, do you?”

Both of them shook their heads. “No, ma’am,” they both said in sync. “The Princess just told us what he told her,” Buggy continued.

“Princess Mirage is involved?”

“Yes, ma’am. How else would two Changelings come to be guarding the yard?” Buggy instantly shut up with a clop as he realized he could have crossed the line. “Sorry, ma’am,” was what came out of his mouth next.

“No need to apologize.” Middle Road started to turn back to the yard, but noticed Buggy beckoning to somepony down the street. The pony jogged over breathing hard.

“I’ve been lookin’ all over fer you guys,” he panted between deep breaths. “The Colonel’s got somethin’ brewing, and he’s deadpan excited to start! He just needed to know how you were first.”

“We haven’t left this post unattended for weeks,” Shadow-Head said bluntly. “How could you not find us?”

“I think he assumed I knew and sent me.”

“That seems legit.”

“I know, right? Anyway, you two good?”

“Just tell Colonel Treetop that we’re waiting on him.” Buggy waved the pony off.

Middle Road nodded, finally leaving the two Changelings to themselves. Colonel Treetop had better know what in the world is going on, she thought, ‘cause I sure as hell don’t.

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The leader of the replacement regiment looked down on the red Pegasus as if he was but a bug. The Warrant, however, did not back an inch, nor did he falter under the criticizing gaze. He simply stared back, right into his adversary’s sky-blue eyes.

Tension was rising between them, almost palpable now. Crimson and his friends (excluding Mirage) were locked in a staring contest in the town square. Their opponent: the commanders of the replacement regiment, calling themselves the “True Atlanteans” this time. Given the resolve both sides had built either over the course of the war or somehow else, the contest could last years if it had to.

Treetop stood straight against a nearby building, just barely seeing the standoff around the corner. He was behind the “True Atlantean” side, between them and their main HQ. In a large formation encircling the regiment’s commanders, and protecting its rear from possible attack, his regiment lay in patient wait for the signal. Treetop just needed proof of whose side they were on.

A pony tapped him on the shoulder. “Sir, Mirage has returned.”

“Good. You take watch. I’ll see what she has to say.” He walked to his temporary headquarters, the local police station two buildings down the street, where he could direct the possible fight on-site. The Changeling Princess Mirage was waiting for him in the central room with the help desk and saluted briskly as he came close. He returned it. “Report.”

Mirage said nothing at first. Instead, she pulled several papers out of her saddlebag and placed them on the desk beside her. Then she spoke. “All fifty of these papers have the Dom seal at the bottom, signed by both Jagged Edge and his main general,” she explained. “I checked six times. They’re all genuine, and I had to break the fabricated Atlantean seal on about half of them to check. These three,” she said, pulling out three more papers, “are replies to the most recent messages, not sent.”

Treetop stared at the fifty-three messages. One talked about taking Indianapolis. Another mentioned the Aquarius Fork. A third talked about taking the ship boiler technology, then allowing the Doms to build steam-powered ships of the line using their industrial might. The fourth wanted them to steal the flying machine that came with the cruiser. Each one was an upfront attack on Atlantis, Queen Atlanta, and the safety and security ponies should have.

But the last one was the worst. He only saw the last sentence:

After Atlantis, Equestria.

Treetop slammed his hoof down on the desk. “Unacceptable! Just unacceptable! Mirage, if you would send the signal.”

The Changeling smiled. Walking under the open skylight above, her horn lit up and a red magical flare shot into the sky. Almost immediately, gunshots rang out - warning shots, hopefully - as the Second Coastal moved in. Ten minutes later, Crimson brought the enemy commander into the police station where Treetop was still fuming.

“You have betrayed the Queen with your actions today!” the commander said.

“Please, sit down.” Treetop gestured to a seat at the desk he stood next to. His voice was audibly controlled in a barely calm but condescending manner. The commander sat, not knowing what else he could do.

“Thank you,” the Colonel said. “Now, do you see these messages on the desk before you?”

The commander let his eyes drop to the fifty-three papers scattered all over the desk. His eyes widened as he recognized every single one of them. “How in all hell did you get ahold of these?”

“You forget that I have a detachment of Changelings under my command,” Treetop smiled. “My agent found all of the messages before you in your personal quarters, which she has complained to have smelled like an overdose of perfume. What do you have to say for yourself?”

The commander spat out a series of insults and words that Treetop mentally tuned out. As the prisoner finally pulled in a breath of air, he asked, “What did he say? I wasn’t really listening.”

“He essentially called you a motherfracking son of a female dog,” Mirage replied. “At least, that’s what heard.”

“Right. Are you done yet? If so, shut the hell up. I run the Army’s presence here, which means I directly represent Queen Atlanta, and your entire regiment has been confirmed to be Dominion. Therefore, by the Atlantean Rules of P.O.W. and Espionage, I can declare you spies and am authorized to simply execute you all here and now.”

That made the commander shut his mouth. Then he went into a barrage of “you can’t do this” type comments. Treetop was tempted to tune him out again, but didn’t. At the end, the Colonel looked at his officers, all of whom had now gathered around to watch. He couldn’t back down in front of his own regiment; he’d look like he was letting spies get away. At the same time, being too strict could get him fired.

“The soldiers may be like those guys Warrant Janelane picked up at Pacifica,” Treetop said in an aside to his second-in-command. “They may not have a choice. However, the commanders have significant influence, and allowing them to live would be a problem.”

“You’d let the enlisted live, and execute the officers?”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean that the enlisted most likely don’t have a choice in the matter of doing what they did. The officers, on the other hoof, would have to be dealt with case by case. The NCO’s too. You know what - we’ll deal with each soldier on an individual case-by-case basis. If it turns out that they could’ve said no, then they are to be treated as spies. If not, they will be pardoned. Those are my orders.”

“Yes, sir.” The Lieutenant turned to the other officers and NCOs of the Second Coastal. “Atten-shun!” They all stood straight. “Inform the enemy regiment of the situation. Each soldier will be dealt with individually. If they are caught escaping, you are authorized to use nonlethal force. Tell them that we want complete cooperation and honesty, or they will be treated as spies. If they are determined to be spies, despite the aforementioned actions, they will receive the same treatment. If they are not, they will be pardoned from execution and will be treated as P.O.W.’s. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!” all of them shouted in response.

“Good. Colonel?” He looked at Treetop, who nodded. He turned back to the officers and NCO’s, still standing at attention. “Dismissed!”

They all filed out. As Crimson walked through the door, he asked Mirage, “What did you find in there?”

“Collaboration with the Doms at least,” she replied. “Maybe orders. The Dom seal was hidden in each of those letters somewhere, hidden behind text, under the Atlantean seal, you name it. I might’ve not even found all of them.”

“Damn.” Crimson watched two fillies play in the streets, the tension gone and fight over. “Those poor bastards had better hope they’re determined prisoners of war.

Author's Note:

Back to the action! Anyway,I think a lot is going to go down in the next couple chapters, so they might be longer and they might take more time to write. I also have school now, so that'll definitely slow me down a little bit. Not by much, but a bit.

Feedback appreciated.