The Atlantean-Dominion War

by The Atlantean

41. A Changeling's Job (The Battle of Whitecap Point Part 1)

Colonel Treetop peered through his binoculars at the lighthouse across the smooth beach between him and Whitecap Point. The Dominion’s red and black colors flapped in the wind above the lighthouse, confirming Captain Road’s guess that the area was indeed controlled by the enemy.

Not far out to sea, the breakers that gave Whitecap Point its name crested over a small reef. They weren’t very big waves, but they served as a natural barrier against amphibious invasions as they rebounded and created general watery mayhem that had shipwrecked many an unfortunate sailor. The lighthouse was built here fifty years ago to help prevent that kind of event, doing its job well.

The lighthouse itself was built from exactly five hundred sixty-seven solid blocks of Whispering Mountain granite with a circle wall of Emberforge-carved quartz to refract the firelight at the top for dozens of miles around. It was around two hundred feet tall and had a diameter of fifteen feet at the top, twenty at the bottom. The staircase, made of treated spruce wood, hugged the walls as it spiraled to the firepit. Four strategically placed windows let the sun’s rays in during the day, while quartz mirrors reflected the brazier’s light down into the tower at night. The lighthouse keeper’s white-painted home seemed to be the Dom headquarters, given that several guards were stationed outside the door.

A lumber mill had been set up near the lighthouse. With no nearby rivers to assist in running it, there was little doubt that the Doms had acquired a great many workers. The mill was a recent addition since the roof had yet to be built. Either that, or the Doms seriously didn’t care about their mill being worked in all sorts of inclement weather. Several carts filled with cut and trimmed logs were carried to the nearby train station, where they would be transported to who-knows-where, carrying out King Jagged Edge’s plans in his conquest of Atlantis.

Treetop slid back into the trees behind him, once again becoming indistinguishable from the forest surrounding forest. Not if I have anything to say about it.

Crimson was waiting for him. He jotted down notes as Treetop explained the area, frowning at the lumber mill and more so at the lack of a roof. After he showed the notes to the colonel, and Treetop agreed with them, the two slinked away to the Second Coastal’s base camp half a mile to the south. There, they repeated what they’d learned to the other officers and NCO’s.

Once a plan had been formulated and backup planned, they broke to their individual groups to prepare. Janelane and her turncoat Doms repaired any weapons that needed it, doing their absolute best to keep the noise and smoke to a bare minimum. Mirage spread her Changelings throughout the forest to learn the guard rotation and where they slept. Crimson drilled his platoon and Platinum and South secured the supplies. Lieutenant Sharpshooter set up the watch for the next couple nights. A few foggy mornings later, Treetop’s troops were in position, ready to strike. There they would lie in wait for the whole day until the evening watch change.

A pony in Crimson’s platoon held up his hoof, ready to sneeze. The one next to him immediately covered his muzzle while the pony tried to stifle it. All they succeeded in doing was make a loud snort-like noise that made no sense whatsoever in what it was - halfway between a sneeze and a pig’s honk.

Fortunately, it didn’t attract much attention - at first. Then it happened again. Crimson glared at the pony, who sheepishly explained he was allergic to the grass-like plant drenching the forest floor with its leaves. Crimson nodded and almost turned around into a Dom guard. He quickly pulled the guard down and bashed his hoof into the stallion’s face, knocking him out. Conveniently, the guard looked a lot like the red Pegasus. He donned the armor and continued on the guard’s path, making sure that his second-in-command knew what he was doing.

“Hey, you! Sergeant Hawk!” called another guard. Crimson froze, realizing that he’d just impersonated that exact pony. “Go check on the northern cliffs!”

“Then who will guard here?” Crimson called back in his best imitation of Sergeant Hawk’s youthful voice.

“Caffeine will, you idiot. Go do it!”

“Yes, sir!” Crimson whirled around and walked to the northern cliffs, following the road to his destination. He passed under thick scrutiny from the colonel who’d just ordered him to go, but wasn’t called out. As he left the colonel’s earshot, he grumbled, “This is a Changeling’s job.”

The northern cliffs were uninteresting. All they were were rock walls that reached from the lighthouse to the forest. At the top, Crimson leaned over the side to see a camp that stretched for miles along the shore. Being positioned in the extreme left of his regiment, he knew that nopony else knew this even existed.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” A lieutenant had walked up behind him.

Crimson mentally told himself not to freeze. It could get him killed. “Yes. Are all of these for the troops when they come in?”

“I wish. Prince Flawless Ice said that he can’t override his father’s decree about labor, but he can at least require us to give them shelter. Waste of logistics, if you ask me, but the King hasn’t said no, so we do it. What’s your rank?”

“Sergeant. Sergeant Hawk, sir.”

“Ah. You got a ways to go before playing with the big boys, but you’re getting there, Hawk. You heard about the flop at Summercrest? If that garrison comes here, we ain’t holding them back with our dinky single-shot muskets. They got repeaters, dammit!” He saw the rifle slung over Crimson’s back. “Is that gun in regs?”

“I hope so.”

The lieutenant bore his gaze into the clouds above as he took a long drag from his cigar. “I’m Earbud, by the way. Lieutenant Earbud. I hear everything that comes through this branch of the Domination Army.”

“Did you hear of the sympathisers to Atlantis?”

“Yep. I don’t know who they are, and I honestly don’t care as long as they do their job and don’t betray the King like the 36th Elites.”

“Yeah, that’s just messed up.”

“I know, right? Say, did you carve your name on your gun? That’s out of regs, you know.”

Crimson unslung his rifle, carefully concealing the AREA symbol and magazine with the way he held it. “I don’t see anything.”

“Flip the damn rifle.”

Crimson did. There it was, “Crimson Dawn” carved into the wood stock. “Oh, this is a family heirloom. Old gun. My grandfather carved that.”

Earbud eyed the name closely, trying to connect it to anything. “Isn’t Crimson Dawn one of those damn Atlanteans who helped the Changelings at Emberforge Valley?”

“I don’t know.”

Earbud lit up. “He is! Who are you, really?”

Crimson looked around, making sure that nopony else could hear him. “If you come with me to the top of the lighthouse, with nopony else up there, I’ll tell you.” With no other way to get information, Earbud agreed, and they had reached the top within minutes. “Alright.” Crimson took off his armor, revealing his Atlantean uniform. “That thing is heavy.” Before Earbud could yell, he whacked the lieutenant upside the head with the butt of his gun. The Dom recovered slowly, helpless as Crimson threw greens and small logs into the brazier’s tiny flames. They took a second to flare up and start spewing lots of smoke into the air. Crimson then lowered the quartz refractors to send a bright signal to his comrades.

Author's Note:

This and the next chapter should be released at the same time.

Feedback appreciated.