Second Offensive: 3 - Rock of Equestria
To all readers—
‘Tis Fell Flight writing now. As Captain Firefly has departed to see her son and daughter off to the Gryphon Kingdom; the former to an uncertain reception and the latter to potentially dire dangers, I will take up the quill at least briefly in her absence.
For those that are curious, preparations continue to honor Omega, but ‘twill not happen immediately, much as we might wish it. Not just for the difficulties involved in reactivating it as an active outpost, but because the Society of Omega Survivors has decided that we will coincide our beloved base’s celebration with the 30th anniversary of the war’s start, and the Outpost’s subsequent last stand.
That leaves us enough time to fully prepare, ensuring that certain of its facilities are rebuilt—we do intend to leave some of the ruins intact to make clear to visitors how bitter and bloody the final battle was—and that various new exhibits, monuments and museums are erected in time for their reveal.
But I will not dwell on that now, having spent far too much time on it over the summer. In truth, the contents of this coming entry were a subject of some debate even before the Captain’s departure, as we have received requests from friends and readers on both sides to return to combat—to show something of the renewed Imperial offensive that was launched on September 4th, three days after the war began.
‘Tis not that we are unwilling to. ‘Tis simply that none of us were in action at that time, ensconced in Cloudsdale as we were. As combat was not in our immediate future—‘twould be a full fortnight before we set sail for battle again—‘twas the Captain’s original intent to pass the quill to the Nightborne and Highborne. The former would show the negotiations between the Lunar Council and Captain Typhoon that took place that night in Hollow Shades, whilst the latter would detail their own negotiations with Imperial agents as to the terms of their alliance, including and most especially the disposition of Thestralslovakia after the war.
Having spent time with the Highborne that apparently forms the base of my bat-pony blood, and even been received by the High Priestess herself in my guise of Emissary, ‘tis certain I have a few things to say about that. ‘Twould be best saved for later, however.
I will instead open this chapter with but a brief post-duel interlude before we fulfill reader requests, returning to tell the tale of the war proper.
—First Lieutenant Fell Flight (ret.)
Thestral High Emissary
Thestral Enclave
Canterlot
Sickbay
EAS Loyalty
Cloudsdale
Central District Airship Anchorage
September 4th, 1139 AC
2355 hours
Methinks I cannot even begin to describe the emotions I felt to not just watch the duel between Thunderbolt and Gavian, but to hear my mentor’s name bespoiled as his evil deeds were laid bare.
Far from impressed at the feat or satisfied over his defeat even though I knew it necessary, ‘twas nothing but the greatest sorrow I felt to see him not just bested, but completely and utterly broken. Indeed, methinks I felt the pain of Gavian’s final strike just as keenly as he did; felt his agony as he was forced to learn the lesson at the point of a well-wielded gryphon blade that there was nothing harmonious or holy about his hatred.
That it neither made him invincible, nor granted him the power of life and death over all gryphons.
‘Twas a sorrow that quickly gave way to fear as Gavian announced himself the victor, raising that well-wielded blade to deliver a killing blow. “No!” Blindside and I shouted, but Gavian acted as if he did not hear us, and we had no way to stay his slaying strike.
Nor, I knew deep down, did we have any right to stay it, given Thunderbolt’s innumerable crimes against not just Gavian, but the entire gryphon race.
But at the apex of his upswing, he hesitated. I knew not why he stopped, as I saw him looking around in what seemed like surprise and confusion—but stop he did as Captain Typhoon reached him, blocking his blade and convincing him to stand down.
With some parting words of triumph and insult—what did he mean when he told Thunderbolt he was sparing him so he could ‘salvage his soul’? I remember thinking—Gavian stepped off him and then tried to fly towards us, only to collapse to the cloud surface as Typhoon’s astonishing technique lapsed and his own ugly injuries overcame him.
‘Twas not that I had no sympathy for our young friend, or lacked admiration for his incredible deed. But my first thoughts were of Thunderbolt, and thus I raced to him and swept him up, cradling his broken body to me whilst not even waiting for the healers.
“Hold on, sir! I’ve got you...” I tried to reassure him—I’d never gotten out of the habit of calling him by the officer honorific, as he’d had me do during my training to get me used to military address and obedience to orders. He was crying as I hefted him, and ‘twas not just from pain, I realized as he hung limp in my arms; his defeat punctuated by the severe slash across his chest from which he still oozed blood.
Looking back, methinks ‘twas only the cleaved four-point chest latch of his wingblade harness that had saved his life. It had took the brunt of the horrifically powerful blow, robbing Gavian’s ultimate attack of just enough momentum to prevent his blade from penetrating Thunderbolt’s shattered rib cage entirely, keeping it from his heart and lungs.
Which ‘twas not to say he was out of danger, from either his severe physical or emotional wounds. “It’s over. Just let me die, Fell Flight…” he begged me through a rasping cough, to which tears welled in my eyes.
“No!” I shouted again as I took flight with him for the airship; a barely flightworthy Blindside beside me—in hindsight, methinks that was the first time she’d taken flight since being wounded in the superstorm fight.
‘Tis true. And ‘twas two days earlier than I was supposed to fly, too. How you felt is how I felt as well, First Lieutenant, except that I also felt utterly useless, unable to even help carry him inside. With my flight muscles still inflamed and not meant to be used, ‘twas all I could do to keep up with you despite the pain in my still-healing sinew, and try to hold his hoof.
—Blindside
Your presence alone was still appreciated, First Sergeant, both by myself and methinks by Thunderbolt at a moment he thought he had no friends and no reason to go on. He later told me that the two of us helped give him that reason, just to know that we were there and still loved him even after all he had done.
—Fell Flight
“You must live, sir! For me and for Blindside, please live!” I pleaded as we landed on the upper gun deck and Blindside ran ahead of me to open the door that led to the ship’s infirmary, or ‘sickbay’ as they called it.
He stayed silent after that except for his labored breathing, coughing and wheezing as I carried him into the infirmary. I shouted for assistance as I laid him down on a table, but was then flung bodily away from him by a Naval healer mare with a curse. She immediately picked him up in her aura and repositioned him on the surgical surface to take pressure off his cracked-open chest, and then severely berated me for moving him in such a state, saying I was only worsening his wounds.
She then ordered me out. I knew not if she had the authority to do so—she bore the Royal Navy enlisted rank of Senior Starpony, which was roughly on par with my own rank; who was actually superior given different service rank structures were still somewhat ill-established at that point—but I did not care, initially refusing to leave his side. Nevertheless, Blindside pulled me back out of the way, saying gently we needed to give her space.
Though annoyed, the Naval healer did not press the issue further as she began focusing her aura on his chest, trying to plug the punctures of his lungs. His coughing became less frequent as her supporting apprentice healers worked on setting bones and sealing wounds; as I watched, the ugly gash in his chest began to close as a series of what I can only describe as seamstress stitches were used to seal the breach—something they only did when the damage was so severe they couldn’t mend a wound quickly or directly with their healing magic.
‘Twas only a minute later that Typhoon arrived, but distraught as I was, I regret I remember little of what was said. In fact, I only recall him ordering the healers to let him approach Thunderbolt’s broken body, then studying him whilst my mentor asked weakly if he was there to mock or finish him.
The Captain’s response was dry but something to the effect that ‘twas far worse than that—he had come to save him, eliciting a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a sob. He then tapped my mentor in a few places on his chest and side away from his wounds, causing Thunderbolt to give a low groan and then fall silent, his eyes closing and head lolling to the side.
Once his efforts were complete and Thunderbolt had passed out from whatever had been done to him—the healers later told us they had not sedated him immediately because they feared he would not wake up if they did so before he was stabilized—the Captain approached us, though I regret that I once again cannot recall his words.
He told us and the healers that he had put Thunderbolt to sleep safely and supercharged his body’s natural healing abilities—I did not question it, but simply assumed he could, given what his incredible art had done for Gavian.
He further told us that Thunderbolt would recover, and to let the healers work, gently herding us out. He also ordered us to avoid Firefly until he got back from Hollow Shades, as ‘twas likely she would have little sympathy and no little anger at us given Gavian’s state. And finally, he promised he would visit Thunderbolt—and us—later, after he returned from his negotiations with the Nightborne, thanking us for our support of his plan.
—Blindside
Thank you, First Sergeant. Methinks you held up far better that night than I did, as my emotions were so roiled I remember little of his visit. You say he ordered us to stay away from Firefly? ‘Tis certain I do not recall that. But even if I had, ‘twas very likely I would have deliberately disobeyed it. And methinks the outcome would have been no different.
—Fell Flight
After finally being escorted out by sentries summoned by the annoyed medical staff, Blindside and I stood vigil outside of sickbay after, able only to await some word of Thunderbolt’s fate as he entered surgery, whether for good or for ill.
‘Twas not immediately forthcoming—’twas certain his slashed chest and broken ribs required a great deal of magical mending, to say nothing of whatever other internal injuries he had suffered that we could not see—and by 2 AM, methinks I was nodding off to the point that I was completely unaware of a new presence until he spoke in my ear.
“Master Sergeant?” a familiar stallion’s voice asked.
“Sergeant Sentry?” My slitted pupils focused just enough to recognize Sky Sentry’s face before me.
“Aye,” he confirmed, bearing a pot of steaming tea and some fresh pastries on a platter; their sweet smell causing an immediate rumble of my stomach. “Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but have either of you eaten or slept?”
“Not since this morning, and not in over a day,” I told him blearily, and ‘twas the truth given we’d been kept on alert for our arrival, and then affairs with my family and Thunderbolt had kept me awake after that. I normally slept during the day anyway, but looking back—’tis certain I wasn’t even much capable of simple math at that point—it had now been over thirty hours since I had last closed my eyes.
“Then rest,” he told me, using his wing feathers to pour the pot into the first of two mugs. “‘Tis mint tea from the galley and the galley cooks promise ‘twill help you sleep. I watched the duel with the Naval crew from one of the gun decks. I’ll stay here for you both,” he promised. “If any change should happen for better or for worse, I’ll come get you.”
“‘Tis appreciated,” Blindside answered gratefully, starting to reach for the mug with a wing before grimacing at the pain that shot through her muscles, which had stiffened up quickly after her impromptu flight. She then reached for it with a hoof instead, picking it up by the thick handle slightly awkwardly before sitting back to hold it in both hooves, carefully raising the steaming drink to her muzzle. “After the revelations of the duel, ‘tis certain we feel like we are now the only friends Thunderbolt has.”
“‘Be assured you are not,” he said simply as he passed me a pastry, all but forcing it into my hooves. “He now has me as well.”
“You?” I wasn’t sure if ‘twas simple tiredness that made me not understand his statement. “Why?”
“Because methinks at this moment, I am the only one who understands him,” he told us simply but solemnly as he poured the second mug of tea.
“Understands him?” I said blankly, exchanging a confused glance with Blindside.
“Aye.” He squeezed his eyes shut tightly in pain before speaking. “Because ‘twould seem that twelve years ago, Thunderbolt went through what I did four days ago.”
‘Tis certain that caught us both short as we fully took his meaning. “Sergeant, I…” I began tentatively, only to trail off as he held up a halting hoof.
“With all due respect, ma’am, you have already said your piece,” he told me somewhat shortly as he passed me the steaming mug of tea next. “You have helped me, and I am grateful. For learning that Thunderbolt has in fact suffered as I have, ‘tis my intention to help him.
“Methinks I now have as much interest in saving him as you, for I alone know his pain. And mayhap by helping him, I will help myself,” he admitted with a brief quiver of his voice and glimmer in his eyes. “You have both done all you can for him. So see to yourselves and allow me to stand vigil over him in your stead.”
I fell silent, speechless at his incredible kindness as Blindside stared at him. She then approached him, looking into his eyes with her one good iris before hugging him hard.
“Nopony should ever know that pain,” she told him with a sniffle. “Thank you, Sky Sentry. And know that if you will be his friend, you will forever be ours as well,” she further promised him, and I could only nod my agreement, though fraternization rules regarding the difference in ranks would preclude me from doing so in the civilian sense.
“You are welcome, Sergeant. Now sleep,” he instructed again, gently shooing us away.
We both retired after that, with Blindside heading for the enlisted racks whilst I belatedly remembered I was supposed to be on liberty, and my promise to spend the night with my surviving siblings.
I barely recall the flight over, or the conversation I had with my slightly-frantic sisters afterwards. They had not gone to sleep whilst waiting for me and were alarmed by the fresh bloodstains from carrying Thunderbolt on my uniform—methinks I hadn’t even noticed them until they pointed them out. Despite my worries, either from the tea or simple exhaustion, I fell asleep in my old bed within minutes, and did not wake again until mid-morning.
As events would have it, it might have been better if my leave had lasted another day, but that unpleasant story lies in the future. For now, ‘tis time to return our focus to the war itself, describing the frontline fighting once again. And to that end, ‘tis my great honor and privilege to introduce the latest member of our writing team; a pony who needs no introduction to most.
He is known as The Rock Wall, or simply The Rock of Equestria, and ‘twas a moniker he earned not just for the defense he is most famous for, but for a series of them starting in the initial days of the war. Defenses that bought us precious time when Equestria was in desperate need of it.
Though ‘tis certain some would say that one should not be made famous for retreating, Firefly herself would teach in her tactical classes that there is no more difficult task for an Army or even a small unit than a fighting withdrawal. He proved to be a master of them, and over time turned them into a tool for bleeding gryphon forces dry.
—Fell Flight
Greetings to old comrades, former foes and other interested readers alike. Whilst Captain Firefly is traveling with her son and daughter on the initial leg of their journey to the Gryphon Kingdom, I will take up the pen for the first time in this tale of war and woe.
In truth, ‘tis not the only time she made the request of me, having originally approached me during the writing of the previous volume for my recollections of the IS-2 incident, and the Phoenix Fire operation that followed.
I declined then, having no wish to relive those days any more than I do the ones of the war. Though my role in it ‘tis famed, I take no pride or pleasure in it. For all I can remember are the terror and bloodshed and the sacrifice of far too many ponies, the loss of so many under my command as we struggled to hold back the Imperial tide.
Methinks to this day, I still find myself in possession of a siege mentality, always looking at whatever terrain or town I pass with an eye on bottlenecks and barricading approaches, wondering how long our supplies or defenders could hold against an airborne enemy determined to root us out.
I earned my title as the Rock Wall of Equestria by stopping the enemy cold at every turn, particularly when our situation was most dire and retreat was not an option. I’ve even been called “The Savior of Stalliongrad”; the pony who saved all of Equestria by holding the city when its loss meant certain defeat.
Whilst ‘tis true my soldiers and I fought in many important battles in the course of the war, ’twas oft not heroism and skill that let us live another day, but sheer luck and chance. ‘Twould also be a lie to say I always stopped the enemy cold, especially in those early weeks of war, when buying time and inflicting a few casualties whilst avoiding encirclement and annihilation was all we could reasonably hope to accomplish.
The scars of war linger in me, as they do in so many others, and ‘tis not until now that I have decided to contribute. As for why I changed my mind, ‘twas simply reading this account and realizing that I did have things to offer it, and seeing that other authors have apparently found some salve for their war wounds in doing so. Mayhap ‘tis a forlorn hope, but perchance in writing for this account, I may find some measure of long-absent inner peace as well.
As I sign off this introduction, I will list my many combat commands. Not to brag, but so that readers may understand just why I am so weary of war—why I am so wary of describing it, and why I declined promotion to full General and command of the entire Equestrian Army following the conflict’s conclusion.
‘Tis simply that after years of unrelenting warfare; after countless bitter battles, sieges, and endless savagery, I have had enough. Whether my entries into this volume leads to the catharsis I seek remains to be seen, but I will at least grant it the chance to do so.
—Lieutenant General Rock Biter (ret.)
Commandant, Sunset Pointe Equestrian Army Officer Academy
CO, Equestrian Expeditionary Force
CO, 1st Shock Corps “The Solar Spear”
CO, Stalliongrad Corps “The Indomitables”
CO, 1st Corps “The Solar Shield”
CO, 1st Corps/5th Division “Wild Rose Division”
CO, 5th Division/3rd Brigade “Lily Valley Brigade”
CO, 3rd Brigade/2nd regiment “Daisy Regiment”
XO and then CO, Outpost Orange
Equestrian Army Encampment
Regimental HQ
Twelve miles southwest of Maresk, astride the road to Detrot
September 4th, 1139 AC
1830 hours
So ‘tis time for me to write about the events of the early days of the war, including the gryphon assault on Maresk and siege of Fort Ironheart. For those unaware, the latter was named for both an old Hero of Equestria and—’tis rumored—a pony so noble and mighty he was worthy of being the lover of Princess Celestia herself.
Methinks I will let her speak to that, however. To begin with, let us set the scene. In the prewar planning of facing the gryphon threat—’tis worth noting that regardless of their imperial ambitions, we simply did not think they could muster enough legions over such a long distance to launch more than limited territory grabs, let alone a full-scale invasion—two entire Army divisions were based at Maresk. They formed the nucleus of the 1st Corps, which was responsible for frontier defense.
The divisions were the 5th and 6th, of which I was initially assigned not a brigade, but a regiment in the former. The corps itself consisted of no less than six divisions—half the prewar Equestrian Army—which were never kept at more than half-strength in peacetime, and four of which were assigned to border defense, filling in the areas between Aerial Corps Outposts.
The two divisions at Fort Ironheart were—in theory—there to backstop the border defenses. Their mission was to reinforce any threatened area of the frontier within a day or two, and otherwise provide the third line of defense for the border.
That most raider incursions were over in hours as opposed to days never seemed to register on our planners, but more on that later. Much more, methinks.
In responding to attacks, whether by raiders or the Imperial military, the far more mobile Equestrian Aerial Corps was always the first line of defense, whilst the Equestrian Army was the second. It would provide ground support by garrisoning towns and villages with forces ranging from platoons to entire battalions, depending on town location, size, and the level of Imperial or raider threat. The major border bases from Red to Blue themselves were garrisoned by regiments and brigades, and their larger forces were likewise meant to provide a ready reserve for the towns and villages in their respective area of operations.
Unfortunately, this arrangement proved wholly inadequate and a complete liability when dealing with the Imperials, as it spread us out dangerously thin over the 800-mile long pony/gryphon frontier. As close to the border as our forces were, they allowed airborne and far more mobile Imperial Talons to strike suddenly and destroy our forward divisions in detail when they invaded.
Methinks the results speak for themselves, as even with more limited numbers, they crushed our first two lines of defense on the first day of war.
In truth, such a tactical arrangement ‘twas also utterly useless in dealing with Owl-sponsored raider groups, for as stated before, the typical raid was over and done long before Army forces could react.
‘Tis certain I learned this the hard way personally at the IS-2 massacre, when we received word of the attack whilst out on exercise. We were already halfway to the settlement, but we were still too far away to assist, able only to behold the horrifying sight of slaughtered villagers afterwards and tend to the innumerable dead.
Thus, Army engagement with raiders was typically limited to town and village garrisons. And as raider groups inevitably avoided the larger towns and cities in favor of smaller ones they could easily knock over with a quick hit-and-fly attack, we were all too often at a disadvantage in fighting them, able only to barricade ourselves in our bases and hold out until Corps reinforcements reached us.
‘Twas not that these shortcomings were unknown. They were in fact repeatedly pointed out by myself and others in the leadup to the war, only to be just as repeatedly brushed off by Army Command in Canterlot.
‘Tis little remembered now that I was in fact unliked and out of favor at war’s outbreak, for pushing too hard and too loudly to have the border defenses completely reworked.
Methinks my gravest sin was not, in fact, advocating that the most indefensibly forward frontier towns and farms be disbanded, and their colonists relocated further back. But rather, pushing for cooperation between our very insular services to allow for a far more mobile border defense—one focused on maximizing our numbers at the point of contact rather than scattering them piecemeal across a long frontier.
I wanted Corps and Army forces set further back from the border practicing raid responses together. Worse, I even suggested Royal Navy rearmament and an increase in their transport capability. The former’s airships could be on station within hours and bring massive firepower to bear in a fight, whilst the latter would enable Army forces to redeploy quickly aboard Naval vessels, giving us the ability to concentrate on a threatened area and counterattack swiftly.
But as the Navy was looked down upon, such opinions were anathema. Not only for giving favor to a rival service, but because the Army Generals were trying to convince the Princess to let them procure their own transports, not wanting to be dependent on the Navy for them any longer.
‘Twas thus that, even nearly twelve years after my ascension to the rank of regiment commander—a post I earned when our former CO was slain on the streets of the Lucavi Capital of Altair in the Phoenix Fire Operation—my Army career had advanced no further. Even as late as six months prior to the war’s outbreak, I still remained the same Lieutenant Colonel I had been made in the operation’s aftermath.
Perchance if our warnings had been heeded; if we had defended the border properly in depth instead of forward-staging all our forces where they could be overwhelmed by a sudden invasion—pinned in place, enveloped and annihilated with no chance to maneuver or flee—the early days of the war might have been far different, even with the near-total surprise we suffered.
But they were not, and ‘twould be a lie to say that I am not bitter about such needless and only too predictable defeats to this day.
‘Tis not a slur against the Army and Aerial Corps forces stationed on the border, who, by gryphon reports, fought bravely and desperately against impossible odds. ‘Tis simply that they were left in an unsupportable and ultimately untenable position from which there was no escape. The initial survival of Outpost Gamma and the Naval rescue of Epsilon were the sole exceptions to that rule, and are examples of what could have been accomplished with full prewar cooperation between the services, and a capable Naval reserve force that could react to an attack.
Readers must understand that the loss of our four forward border Army divisions on the first day of the war took out a third of the Equestrian Army’s peacetime combat power. Like the Aerial Corps that far too many of my fellow officers disdained, our forces were only kept at half-strength outside of wartime. 'Twas certainly folly given wars how oft come without warning, but 'twas even more so that the Army required a full fortnight to bring the border forces up to full-strength 5,000-strong divisions. In fact, a general mobilization of the Army took a matter of months, as we had to conscript and call up reserves to fill the ranks.
Needless to say, ‘twas time we did not have as the renewed gryphon offensive was launched after consolidating their gains and reorganizing their forces, following their crushing of the border defenses on the first day of war. It quickly became clear from fragmentary intelligence and the occasional Corps recon flight that the city and its large Army base were a major objective of the second Imperial offensive, with two Talon ground columns converging on the city from the north and east.
Thus, we knew they were coming, and we had prepared to meet them as best we could with the city’s 10,000 available Army and militia troops, knowing well that four times those numbers of gryphons could be closing on us.
Along the rest of the makeshift third line of defense, which primarily consisted of hastily mobilized Army regiments to hold various towns and crossroads, the news was mixed. The Towns of Bridle to the east and Starlight to the north had quickly fallen, though that was expected, as their garrisons had been withdrawn except for a screening force into Maresk and Ironheart. The large settlements of Celestial City and Moonglow to the northwest had not yet been struck, whilst further south, Sunset Pointe had been enveloped but had prepared for a long siege and could tie up considerable griffon forces for some time.
Even further south, the news was actually good—we were heartened to hear that despite being badly outnumbered, fresh Equestrian Army regiments were jamming the narrow mountain passes through the northern Appleachians with some success, meaning our flank could not easily be turned from that direction.
Which ‘twas not to say we faced no danger of envelopment for as exposed as we were, and to their credit, the Generals in Canterlot realized that. Though I knew this not at the time, we had been given orders to abandon Maresk and commence a fighting withdrawal towards the town of Melody and eventually Detrot, along the major roadway that led there.
The road, called the “Harness Highway’' for the long supply trains of harnessed wagons that were often used to deliver goods to the city and the further border towns, was also a major supply artery into the interior of Equestria.
One the gryphons would have to seize for use by their own supply columns and siege engines.
Our instructions, direct from the Princess herself, were not to hold the city. They were to evacuate entirely and conduct a staged retreat toward Detrot, which was considered the gateway to the Equestrian interior and a major milestone on the road to Canterlot, preserving our two divisions for future use whilst inflicting as many casualties on the gryphons as possible.
Unfortunately, such orders were unpopular, given many of our soldiers had homes and herds in Maresk, and ‘tis not slander to say that most commanders were simply not up to the task of carrying out such a difficult assignment when we had never practiced for such a thing, nor imagined it could ever be necessary.
Particularly not without sufficient Aerial Corps support, which we were loath to admit we needed but was unavailable anyway. ‘Twas due to the near-total loss of the border-assigned Corps 5th Division whilst the Corps own border backstop—Outposts Mu and Nu—were also unavailable for aid, having already dispatched their six hundred soldiers to the defense of Cloudsdale. Their two battalions were now out of contact, feared lost along with the city, which seemed certain to have been struck to destroy its weather factory.
More pegasus soldiers were being drawn from the remaining four Corps divisions, which were hastily shifting from other areas of Equestria, but ‘twas a long way for them to fly. Their redeployments had to be done in stages as they could not generally move more than 150 miles before requiring rest, unlike the 1000-mile range of well-conditioned sky gryphon Wind Knights. And what few Corps platoons were available simply could not loiter long due to overwhelming gryphon numbers before having to flee, lest they were overwhelmed in the air or forced to ground where they were far more vulnerable.
The best they could do for us was reconnaissance or to launch a raider-like hit-and-fly attack, hoping to take out a quick score of Imperial soldiers before the sky gryphon Talons turned on them and drove them off. Or worse, enveloped them with superior numbers and wiped them out.
Thus, ‘tis certain the Maresk Army forces were, for most intents and purposes, on our own as we attempted to avoid a similar fate on a much larger scale. Fort Ironheart had been struck on the first day of the war by Wind Knights and mind-controlled civilian assassins; the former succeeding in destroying most of its Naval transport allotment in a lightning raid, whilst the latter slew several unwary officers, including the Corps Commander, Lieutenant General Rockadile, throwing us into disorder and preventing a quick mobilization of the Fort’s forces.
Methinks I was too low-ranked to bother with killing, but the losses higher up the chain did put me back into combat command for the first time in ten years. ‘Thus, by the time of the second gryphon offensive, I had become one of three regimental commanders assigned to the brigade overseeing the rear of the Maresk sector.
I’m told the first indication we had of the invasion were mysterious messages from Outpost Epsilon warning war was imminent. Unfortunately, they were initially dismissed as either a gryphon trick or a very bad joke. Until, that was, a war alert message was received from Outpost Gamma at dawn, just as the initial wave of assassinations hit Maresk and the frontier forces reported they were under attack. ‘Twas then the first gryphon legions rolled over the border, descending upon and crushing Army Bases Green and Yellow efficiently and completely without mercy.
Such was the eventual fate of all the Army outposts, as well as Fort Ironheart and Maresk itself. In the end, my regiment would be one of the few to escape the trap. My life was paid for by the blood of many good soldiers and for that, I write of these events not as a hero, but as a lucky minnow in a school of fish who only narrowly avoided the jaws of death. ‘Twould be the first of many close calls as we were forced to retreat again and again, holding out for the day we could turn and strike back.
Methinks myself and the Equestrian Army learned many lessons, all of them the hard way, during the course of the war. But such lessons paid for in blood and territory were necessary. None of us could have then foreseen during what seemed like endless defeats how profound an effect our tactical retreats and hard-won lessons conducting them would have on the course of the war. But change that course they did, and we eventually did get our chance to push the gryphons back, only to find them even more cunning and dangerous on the backpedal.
But ‘tis certain that story lies far in the future. So let me relate the one at hoof now.
My apologies for the long leadup. I fear that all this detail may make for rather dry reading, but ‘tis necessary to fully explain our situation and what we then faced.
In truth, I am using it to refresh my memory and order my thoughts for recounting the battles ahead, as time—or mayhap a deep-seated desire to not recall them—has dulled my recollections of these early days of war. I hope readers will forgive me as I reminisce, and hope they will also indulge me one final time as I detail some of my own prior combat action.
After nearly sixteen years in the military and two spent studying at Sunset Pointe—whose tactical training I considered more indoctrination than education for how wrong-headed I found it even at the time—I was no neophyte in the realm of fighting, having been bloodied in actions against raider groups whilst assigned to various towns and villages.
Without going too deeply into it, I will simply say that I quickly learned that set-piece battle tactics were almost completely useless against an irregular airborne enemy. There was simply no easy way to anticipate or outmaneuver a foe whose objectives were not to take and hold territory, but to raid weakly-defended towns and farms for resources before melting back away into the border desert, whether those resources were gems or grain or hostages they could then ransom back.
Unfortunately, the invasion would quickly prove that our pre-war defensive doctrine was worth even less against the Imperial military, who possessed mobility and tactical agility far in excess of our own.
Though I’d certainly seen my share of fighting before that, my true development as a combat commander began in earnest during Phoenix Fire. Methinks my short account summed up the whole terrible ordeal for me and the ponies of 3rd division’s 2nd regiment. Only 60% of the Equestrian Army units that entered Altair exited alive and uninjured as the Lucavi—and the city’s populace—resisted our invasion savagely.
And in fairness, ‘twas not without good reason, given the outright atrocities committed by pony forces under Corps Lieutenant Thunderbolt’s command in Rial.
I was but the executive officer of a single regiment entering the battle, though I would shortly ascend to CO. ‘Tis certain my first outing as a regimental commander degenerated into, if not a complete disaster, a chaotic and disorganized mess as Altair’s well-equipped and desperate defenders ambushed and opened fire on us from every direction, using the streets and tunnels of the gryphon provincial capital as a maze to lure us into traps down every alley and street corner.
Worse, they unfortunately knew to concentrate their crossbow fire on officers, as their tactics claimed my regimental commander, Colonel Plowshares, and left me to try to command an urban night fight against an entrenched and implacable foe.
Methinks there are always excuses when things go badly during a fight: we’re a green outfit, we’re unprepared for urban night combat; mistakes higher up the chain placed us in a hot zone without proper support, we had poor intelligence, the Corps attacking early cost us surprise, etc.
But in the end, ‘tis all they are—excuses. Ultimately, such things are inevitable in warfare, and one of the first lessons I had to learn was that you do not get to pick and choose the situation you find yourself in.
That you have to go into battle with what you have and accept the hoof you are dealt, to use the cardplaying term.
‘Twas a very eye-opening experience to me as to the Equestrian Army’s shortcomings, from our overemphasis on mass to a lack of mobility, as I believe Corps Captain Fairweather herself pointed out in her missives during the operation.
Yes, we could move quickly when we had proper planning and lead time, as we did at the start of Phoenix Fire, advancing thirty miles in a day. But we proved unable to adapt to quickly changing battlefield conditions, to our great cost. Our smaller units—squads and platoons—generally performed well, but we were simply too rigid and lacked the operational agility we needed. Methinks we required not just more transport capability, but an entire change in emphasis from mass to mobility and maneuver.
But when I pointed all this out after the operation, detailing in exact terms to 1st Corps Command what was needed to correct it, including completely scrapping our static defensive doctrine and more closely integrating our operations with the Aerial Corps and Navy? I was ostracized and relegated to administrative jobs in rear-line units. But I persisted, making myself a pariah with Army Command in Canterlot as I warned repeatedly that the Gryphon military was far better at offensive operations than we.
Lest those reading think I was predicting the war to come, I was not. Methinks that I, too, believed the gryphons could not launch a full-scale invasion so far from their homeland; ‘twas simply my worry that our obvious weaknesses might invite some form of limited land grab and border war.
But in the end, it mattered not. ‘Twas a critique that questioned the very foundations of Army doctrine, and thus was treated as utter heresy. As a result, in the nearly twelve years between the end of the Phoenix Fire operation and the first day of the war, I was overlooked time and time again for promotion, only having achieved full Colonel six months before the real fight began.
And even then, methinks ‘twas only a begrudging attempt to get me to retire, as full Colonel meant a full pension.
The only post they kept me in was supply officer, which I will at least say did let me master the art of logistics—an art I would sorely need in the months and years ahead. That I now had command of one of the 5th Division’s rear regiments was, again, only due to the officer assassinations at the brigade and division levels on the first day, with the regiment’s commander and second having to move up to brigade command to take the place of those slain.
Ordered to guard the road west for the civilian evacuation of Maresk, I was held in reserve of the still-mobilizing Fifth Division in the rear of the city under the overall command of newly elevated Corps Commander Major General Breech Lock. She was best described as an overzealous yet meticulous old mare who would not have her judgment questioned, and who saw her ascension to command of the old fortress as her single overarching destiny in life.
Formerly commander of the 5th Division before the assassination of Lieutenant General Rockadile, methinks everything within her area of command—which was basically everything inside the road triangle formed between Melody, Starlight, and Bridle—was her kingdom, and woe upon the poor soldier soul who didn’t follow her decrees to the letter.
Unfortunately, one of those decrees was to hold Maresk and Fort Ironheart at all hazards. Instead of readying a retreat, she deployed the main strength of the 1st Corps into strong defenses along the two main avenues of approach, declaring bombastically that the gryphon wave would break upon—and then be broken on—its Equestrian Army-held lines.
She further boasted that we would win this war ourselves, and that our retreating civilians would be able to return in a matter of weeks, detailing two brigades to hold the rear sectors and keep the lines of communication open.
Only aware of her instructions as I was, ‘tis certain I knew not that she was disobeying orders from Our Princess herself at that point, only that such orders seemed very foalhardy given the Imperial speed of advance and their demonstrated ability to rapidly envelop border formations. What if they were doing it here?
To little surprise, my warnings to Division that failure to retreat at once could get us all pocketed by gryphon pincers went unheeded; the only response I got was a tersely worded warning from the Major General herself to obey orders or be relieved and demoted to Private, assigned to guard civilian convoys as a simple soldier.
And when I persisted, she’d arrived on a rear area inspection the day before to tell me to my face that I had a “reputation for sloppy work” from what happened all those years ago, and that she was “keeping an eye on me,” taking pains to dress me down in front of the entire regiment.
‘Twas not as if I heard such dismissive sentiments from only her, either. The officers and enlisted I worked with simply did not understand the peril we were in. My orders to dig in and patrol the perimeter were met with cries of “but we’re two hundred miles from the border!” and “the gryphons will never make it this far!” as my warnings to my own troops too often fell upon deaf ears.
In fairness, ‘twas not entirely their fault. My battalion commanders were also green; in retrospect, the only reason they even got their assignments was due to their predecessors being dismissed for minor infractions. These included such affronts as subordinates interrupting the paper flow to headquarters by leaving early at the commo shack, or cutting corners on patrol so they could get back to camp early.
The latter was either to gamble their bits away on a card game, or scout for booze and some friendly mare or stallion company amongst the civilians in town.
Knowing that discipline had been lax so far from the frontier amongst our rear guard units, I’d done my best to instill some and drill our forces hard during the past few days, so as not to meet the same fate as our border bases. But I knew full well that our time was limited, and to whip them into shape properly would take weeks.
All of the above factors found me and my regiment twelve miles to the rear of Fort Ironheart on the main road to Melody which then turned south towards Detrot, in a camp amidst a field of poppies—not daisies, as many believe.
And before anypony asks, ‘twas not that field of flowers that would later earn my original unit the nickname of the Daisy Regiment, but for another—and far darker—reason I will detail later.
In fairness, our defenses seemed well-set, both around Maresk and along our planned path of retreat. Army companies were digging in on the outlying towns to assist and guard the civilian evacuations, and the crossroads of Harness Highway with the rougher paths that skirted the northern shores of the dry seabeds—known informally as Prairie and Eerie Roads—was commanded by Harness Hill, which was held by an Earth Pony militia company.
‘Twas certain I did not think much of militia abilities, but sitting as they were at the center of several rings of defenders, their mere presence there would be enough, I thought.
In truth, we were enjoying our first cool evening heralding the changing of the seasons—an odd event given that pegasi were no longer exercising weather control over greater Equestria, by order of Celestia herself—and the climate was such that the war seemed impossibly far away at that moment.
In fact, methinks my earth pony soldiers were the happiest I’d seen them in months, believing that once we broke the Imperial invasion against the earth and ironworks of the Fort and City, they would then be released to attend the coming harvest around Maresk, instead of digging trenches whilst looking out for enemies who they had convinced themselves would never come.
‘Twas no question ‘twas terribly wishful thinking, and despite my own unanswerable prayers that we would yet be spared battle, methinks I sensed even then that it would take an actual appearance by the gryphons to teach them otherwise. The sky on that fourth day of war, which had progressively grown darker as we neared evening and I filled out the piles of paperwork, was filled with stars by the time I completed the endless reams of reports the Major General demanded. Breech Lock, unfortunately, was the kind of commander who wanted to know and control everything.
She never understood that such was impossible in wartime, both due to the general chaos of warfare and the fact that the enemy always gets a strong say in such matters.
Despite that, and despite the reports of two columns of gryphons advancing on the city, the area in front of Maresk and Fort Ironheart that day had been very quiet. Battle warnings had been given to the frontline forces filling the barricades in front of the Fort, with four entire brigades straddling the two main roads into the city ready to hold firm against any ground or air attack. But surprisingly, no gryphons had been sighted, either on the ground or in the air.
I admit I was given some pause by this, wondering if the reports were wrong and we were simply not the target of their latest operation. But why would we not be, given Maresk commanded the main trade highway west and south between the dry seabeds towards Melody, and then Detrot? ‘Twas the most direct route to Canterlot, after all, and a major supply route they would have to seize were they to advance that way.
I knew not the answer then, but ‘tis certain I was genuinely wondering by evening whether all my fears were in fact misplaced. Working the crick out of my neck, I decided to check in with the communications shed one last time for any new orders or war news, and then patrol the perimeter before ordering some dinner. Thus, I exited my improvised tent office, told my personal sentries to fall in behind me, and set out into the night.
As dusk fell and a blood-red moon rose, I saw tents all lined up in neat rows spread out before me like a vast city. Between them, roaring campfires crackled cheerfully, surrounded by chatting soldiers, resting after a day in the field. Tin plates covered with the remnants of that evening’s dinner—fresh peaches were being served in various culinary guises, as they were the very first item to be harvested when summer made the turn towards fall—set before the group nearest me who rose and saluted me with canteens in hoof.
“Good evening, sir!” The senior earth pony NCO greeted me on behalf of the others as the red war moon cast an auspicious ruddy glow over everything. It had been eerie and ominous at first, but after four days of it, methinks we were getting used to it. “Any news from the front?”
I saluted back crisply—respect offered should always be returned, after all. I admit I considered lying to them to keep them alert, but decided against it—if they learned I had, they’d be far less willing to listen to my admonitions or orders.
“Nothing to report since the last briefing, Spear Sergeant. ‘Twould seem the gryphons have still not reached Maresk or breached the Applelachians. If they do, you’ll know quickly. We will continue our current patrol patterns for now. Good night, comrades!” I favored them with a nod.
“Goodnight, sir!” they called back. As usual, they’d forgotten to address me by rank, but I cared not at the time. I walked away shaking my head at the thought. Even with all my drills and attempts to instill discipline, methinks I’d always been too easy on those younger soldiers.
I’d made it but halfway to the comm shack before a new pony came running up, her ill-fitting armor rattling loosely against her barrel. “Colonel, sir!” A bespectacled unicorn mare came to attention and saluted, looking flushed in the cheeks and slightly out of breath. “Methinks we’ve got serious trouble!”
‘Twas our junior communications pony, Corporal Far Cry. “At ease, Far Cry. What’s the matter?” I asked, noting favorably that she’d at least addressed me by my rank.
I had stiffened initially at her appearance, thinking she was about to report an attack, but then relaxed again as I spared a look around and considered the situation. I noted quickly she hadn’t seen fit to sound the alarm in regards to whatever trouble she was reporting, and the birds and crickets hadn’t missed a beat since I’d left my office—one thing I’d learned from battles with gryphon raiders was that birds, particularly crows, grew silent before an attack—so whatever news she was here to convey, ‘twas not about an imminent gryphon assault.
“Colonel, methinks our crystal communications network is being jammed! Fort Ironheart missed their check-in ten minutes ago and I haven’t received any messages on the dragonfire gems in almost an hour!”
My lessening anxiety level suddenly spiked high again, as I considered the potentially dire danger of what such large-scale jamming would mean for our entire sector. ‘Twas certain the gryphon raider groups had used such jamming to conduct raids on border bases and towns in the past, though their means to do so was almost certainly supplied by the Office of Owls. ‘Twas certain the Imperial military would be even better equipped for it, but we couldn’t know if ‘twas everypony or just us affected.
So much for a restful night! I thought, trying to work up some humor to still my sudden sense of danger. In any case, ‘twas certain Breech Lock would need to hear about this. I could only hope she understood all it could mean, or if she didn’t, that one of her mare or stallion staff officers would grow a pair of apples and spell it out to her.
“Understood, Corporal. I’ll send out messengers to Fort Ironheart to let them know our communications are down. In the meantime, methinks we shouldn’t assume anything. Stay with the communications crystals and be ready to sound an immediate alarm if somepony sends out a distress or attack signal.”
“Sir, yes sir!” The mare saluted and returned to the shack. My dinner put on hold, I hastened back to the office, drawing odd looks from my staff as I sat back down behind my desk. Ignoring their queries, I took out my blue command gem and inserted it onto a stand so it would broadcast to all the crystal speakers. I just hoped they weren’t jammed too!
“Attention all soldiers.” I was somewhat relieved to hear my voice coming through loud and clear. “This is Colonel Rock Biter. We are now at Threat Level Yellow! Enemy forces suspected in the area. Take battle positions and report to your commanders for further instructions. Captain Starstruck and Captain Ice Break, report to regimental headquarters immediately! That is all.” I summoned the two battalion commanders belonging to the units furthest east and west along the road from Maresk.
With that simple declaration, I waited in my office mulling over the situation. I felt alone inside a bubble within a bubble cut off from the world, though at least everyone inside the base now knew something was amiss. Methinks it gave me some comfort to know that whatever was wrong, we were at least alert to it and would hopefully be ready to meet it.
As the silence of the room began to settle in after I made my announcement, I began to feel dread creeping in anew at the thought of falling into the enemy’s plan by staying put. Somewhere in the back of my head, I sensed a trap being sprung, but I knew not its nature yet or what I should do. In my mind, I knew ‘twas right of me to assess the situation before acting, but ‘twas also certain that waiting to do something whilst our enemy was perchance already on the move struck me as dangerous.
Or perchance even disastrous.
‘Tis perchance the greatest lesson I can teach after far too much practice that war should be fought proactively, and not reactively, but in this instance, methinks I lacked the information to do so. ‘Tis certain not knowing what’s coming ‘tis not a good feeling at all, and thus, my priority was attempting to find out before deciding what to do.
My suddenly brooding thoughts were interrupted by the distinctive pop of Captain Starstruck’s teleportation spell outside my door. “Come.”
A pair of Captains, one an earth pony stallion officer with his armor only hastily pulled on accompanied a longbow-armed unicorn mare, who’d demonstrated mastery of the somewhat tricky teleportation spell. She was attired in standard cloak and chainmail armor, though she bore not one but two bows and arrow quivers on her back.
One was her standard-issue Army longbow, but the second was a much more ornate one that accompanied her dress uniform. She’d told me earlier that she’d abandoned her home in Bridle immediately upon word of the gryphon invasion, ushering her foals and stallion to safety at Maresk, stopping only long enough to grab her armor and all her weapons before doing so.
The ornate one was her own personal bow, which I’d seen once at that year’s Summer Sun Celebration at Fort Ironheart. She had shown it to me then, boasting she’d made it herself. She further said ‘twas much more powerful than standard longbows, capable of piercing almost any armor or magical shield it encountered, at the cost of requiring a much stronger aura to wield and draining its user quickly given its much greater tension and higher-level enchantments.
“Reporting as ordered, sir. What’s the situation?” Captain Ice Break asked, saluting along with Starstruck.
I returned the honor crisply. “Please soundproof the room first, Starstruck, if you wouldst.” I inclined my head towards the door.
The unicorn looked taken aback but acceded to my request with a flair of her horn, casting a quick spell over the tent. “Methinks I don’t like the sound of this, sir!”
I raised a reassuring hoof, knowing that if I came off as afraid at this new situation, ‘twas likely that fear would swiftly sweep through the ranks in turn. “Just a precaution, Starstruck. ‘Twould seem our base’s crystal communication is being disrupted by an unknown and presumably feathery force of hostiles, and you wouldst understand that I don’t wish to be overheard.”
After a quick glance exchanged with Starstruck, Captain Ice Break nodded to me, his face carefully composed despite his obvious anxiety. “Orders, sir?”
I considered my words and instructions carefully. “Methinks we are an oasis of calm amidst a sea of doubt. Methinks we need to expand our little sanctuary in order to make sense of our situation. I want you both to send out runners, east and west. Have your messengers talk to the militia in the neighboring towns and order them to signal with green flares if griffons are sighted; red flares if engaged,” I told them as I hurriedly wrote down my instructions, and then passed them off to a unicorn staff member to make copies.
“Tell them to go to full alert and secure the roads leading in and out of Camp Poppy, and to get as much information as you can from the locals and any ponies retreating through the area. And Starstruck, I also want you to dispatch unicorn couriers to Fort Ironheart to report our communications are out, and then report back on the Fort’s situation. If we’re lucky this will all prove to be a wild harpy chase when our scouts establish contact,” I said idly, even though I didn’t hold out much hope.
Speaking of the Harpies, ‘tis worth noting that during my early Army career, I’d been stationed in the southwest deserts near the city of Verdant a couple of times, near the foot of the Harpy Mountains. The avian pirates that dwelled there presented an equally lethal threat as the gryphons, though their tactics tended to be much different. ‘Tis not important here, but among other things, they’d had a habit of leading us around by the nose when we or the Corps gave chase to their small but swift gunboats, often into an ambush.
“Yes, sir,” Starstruck replied, accepting a set of freshly copied notes. “If I may, sir, ‘twouldst seem like a bit of an overreaction, given there’s been no sign or so much of a single feather seen of nearby gryphons or battle. If the Fort or City were under attack, ‘tis certain we would be able to hear the sounds and see the fires, even at this distance.”
I considered that. On the one hoof, she was correct. But on the other? “Mayhap you are right that there has been no attack. But ‘tis quite possible a communication blackout may be a prelude to one,” I reminded them as I leaned forward over my desk, pressing my hooves against its surface as I fixed the pair with a stern gaze. “As such, instruct your couriers to not take chances in the dark. They will teleport and pass from place to place as if they’re in hostile territory, and fire blue flares if attacked or they discover evidence of one. Dismissed.”
The pair departed with a salute, leaving me with my thoughts. Having had enough of brooding in my office, I went out to go speak with the troops now pulling on their armor and milling about in concern. I took ten minutes to order fires extinguished and personally inform the third battalion commander to get troops into trenches with unicorn archers at the ready.
I had just about completed my pass when a trumpet sounded, signaling a returning party through the rear gate; a non-hostile unfamiliar host of ponies specifically. I also heard the call for unicorn healers go out, and a request for the commander’s presence buzzed over my red gem.
I acknowledged and headed for the rear gate. Finally some answers! I thought, as I galloped forward to meet them, arriving in under a minute.
Unfortunately, those answers were not happy ones. Indeed, what I found shocked me. Our arrivals were a party of about twenty ponies, mostly mares with some foals, only five of which were still standing. The others were horribly injured and loaded into carts for what looked like a very hasty getaway. I looked inside the cart to see a mare missing one of her forelegs, the floor of the cart was coated with blood as she clutched her crying foal with her good arm.
Despite her state, she looked up at me with her cheeks pale; the light in her eyes nearly gone. She was clearly going into shock along with others nursing hastily and oft-poorly bandaged blade wounds; some even had gryphon-made crossbow bolts sticking out of their sides.
‘Twas not as if I’d never seen such gruesome sights before, and on far larger scales. Still, I had to choke back the bile when I saw the state of the others, some of whom had already perished. “What happened here? Where were you attacked?” I asked the two mares pulling the cart, who had minor wounds of their own but had persevered for the sake of their friends.
“Please… help us, soldiers!” the younger one begged us through tears. “Our town was attacked by gryphons and we barely escaped with our lives!”
“Attacked?” I repeated in confusion as the unicorn medics teleported in with an assortment of supplies, feeling my guts clench anew despite my long combat experience at the gruesome sight. “But why come here? You were supposed to be heading away from the gryphons! Why are you coming east instead of heading west along the path of retreat?”
“Because we can’t!” she clutched at me with her hooves in fear and desperation, tears streaming down her blood-streaked face. “The gryphons have already arrived! The route west is blocked! They’ve taken Harness Hill, and they’re slaying all who try to pass it!”
Methinks I will pause the story there for now. I apologize once again for all the information I felt I had to convey to readers up front, but ‘tis important that all who read this understand our predicament in front of Maresk, and all that led to it before beginning the tale of the Equestrian Army’s campaign proper.
Much sacrifice and hardship was ahead, as well as far too many defeats. Whether Equestria would survive or not would depend on how quickly the armed forces in general, and the Equestrian Army in particular, learned our lessons and internalized them in enough time for it to matter.
‘Twas no different with me, as I, too, would have to learn some hard lessons about the nature of retreat and defense before all was said and done. And yet, ‘tis hardly all I did despite my reputation as a defensive genius.
‘Tis ironic, methinks, that the first action of my wartime service began not with one of the stalwart stands I was so famous for, but with a desperate attack to clear the retreat route west.
—Lieutenant General Rock Biter (ret.)
Farmer and father
Amber Apple Orchards
Outskirts of Stalliongrad
If I may say, General, we in the Royal Navy were unaware you were advocating our replenishment and a much greater role in Equestria’s defense. Perchance your career was quashed to ensure that word would not get out, for the Army might then lose prestige and primacy to a rebuilt Navy.
What foals we all were; so blindly loyal to our own service branches and so in love with their own history and traditions that we failed to see that we were part of a greater whole. That no one service was sufficient; that Equestria could not properly defend itself without the four branches working together as those of our enemies already did. Combined arms warfare was an art the gryphons had already mastered, but we had to learn the hard and bloody lessons of how to practice it on the fly.
‘Tis Admiral Tailwind writing now. My frustratingly slow recovery continues, and ‘tis all I will say about it other than that I am finally out of the hospital but physical therapy goes on. After a full month of it, which consists of many hours of physical and magical stimulation, I have gained perchance three inches of wing mobility—still nowhere near enough to attempt flight, and ‘tis uncertain whether the stubbornly stiff muscles at the wing’s base will ever loosen enough to do so.
But I will not dwell on that for now, and as my daughter Wind Whistler constantly reminds me, the progress is there, just painfully slow and only evident over the course of several weeks. Regardless, I speak for the first time in many chapters to write a rare ending to an entry in the absence of my daughter, My Princess and Fell Flight.
You know where Firefly is, but My Princess is unavailable for now as she continues to entertain Queen Lepidoptes IV. ‘Twould seem the Changeling Queen has extended her stay in Equestria by an entire week to the apparent consternation of her advisors, in order to be granted a tour of greater Equestria.
Though ‘tis certain our respective rulers have found themselves to have much in common and certainly seem to enjoy each other’s company, one cannot help but wonder if ‘tis less for the tour than so Celestia can better learn and compete with the Queen in the chess-like Changeling board game of Chameleon.
I witnessed one of the games played during a private party limited to trusted advisors and guests, and can report it involves a multilevel board where even minor pieces can change form suddenly into different races and ranks, acquiring their abilities instantly—but only for a set number of turns before they lose form and are vulnerable. Or are attacked only to be revealed as a much more powerful piece, to the attacker’s chagrin.
From what little I saw of it, ‘tis a game of deception and disguised intentions that requires a strong strategic mind to master. ‘Twould seem Celestia likes it, for after being taught it, she has been playing it with our honored guest frequently even if she can still not defeat her in it. Even Prince Blueblood has taken an interest in it, as he has challenged the Queen’s security chief to both a game and a blade duel in the castle garden. Methinks ‘twill be an interesting pair of matches, given both possess keen intellects and are masters of their respective crafts.
As for Fell Flight, she is unavailable again, meeting with Corps Command regarding the logistics of reactivating Omega and rebuilding its facilities in the manner the Society of Omega Survivors wishes.
And as for myself, I would apologize for not being heard from much in the past few chapters. ‘Twas not that I did not wish to—believe me when I say I enjoy all the distractions I can get from my slow rehabilitation, especially writing for this account! But ‘twas simply because the spotlight belonged on others, including and most especially my grandson during events in Cloudsdale.
I can at least say now I did witness his duel with Thunderbolt, appalled and aghast though I was to learn of Captain Typhoon’s plan. I was told of it as I was summoned to the top deck of the Loyalty to witness the duel when there was no chance for me to object to it, able only to wonder why my obviously unhappy daughter had allowed it and pray for my grandson’s safety against a foe of such awful ability.
But he not only survived, he triumphed, even if I knew not how, counting down the minutes until I was off-duty and could go to see him. As events would have it, I was unable to, given I was asked by Captain Typhoon to accompany him as the Royal Navy’s representative to Hollow Shades.
But that is a story for later. I now use the final words of this entry to report that I have learned from Ambassador Kaval that, following the story of his defeat of Thunderbolt, a very special honor is planned for Gavian upon his presentation to Queen Jeyenne in the Gryphon capital city of Arnau.
I cannot say more for now, as both my grandson and his mother remain unaware of it. Suffice it to say, ‘tis likely to be extremely controversial, but ‘twill also be well-earned.
—Admiral Tailwind
Commanding Admiral, Royal Navy
Royal Navy Base Polaris
Canterlot
A true leader has the confidence to stand alone, the courage to make tough decisions, and the compassion to listen to the needs of others. He does not set out to be a leader, but becomes one by the equality of his actions and the integrity of his intent.
Welcome back to Firefly! Sorry for the info dump chapter, folks, but there was a LOT of information that had to be conveyed, given that we were shifting perspectives to the Equestrian Army for the first time.
This was unquestionably a hard chapter to write as well. The reason of the repeated delays was multiple editing pass and the fact that this really needed some good graphics to illustrate the info dump, which took me around 40 hours total to create and left me pounding my fists in frustration more than once trying to figure out how to make the newest version of Photoshop do what I wanted.
Thanks go as always to AJ_Aficionado and Silentwoodfire for prereads, the former for his many comments on the google doc and for giving me a starting point in the form of a few pages he'd previously written on Rock Biter I could then build on. Rock Biter is AJA's character, for the record, so once again I'm using someone else's OC.
PS: For those unaware, I've received permission from the mods to write a continuation of Demon Eyes Laharl's Feathered Heart, given DEL appears to be gone for good and has not responded to pings. If you haven't read it, do so--it's a modern day Gryphon/US Marines crossover military thriller set in the Gentlemanverse with Gilda as the protagonist; it has no right to work but very much does. In fact, that story's griffon lore was used for this one, and it references the conflict that Firefly describes.
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Hell of a return chapter. I really like how detailed everything is. The maps always appreciated, too, though I think there's a minor inconsistency with them. In the first one, the Fort near Maresk is called "Fort Ironmane" while subsequent maps (and the actually story) call it "Fort Ironheart". I do kinda feel bad about pointing that out given the A/N about how much time this chapter took and how much effort is put into this story as it is, but....yeah...
Anyways, I do like Rock Biter. He really shows how unorganized the Equestrian military as a whole was. And I always appreciate the voice of reason. It's no small wonder Equestria won this war (presumably, anyway, given it's still standing and the Griffon Empire has since reformed into a Kingdom) given how disastrous the start of it was. The border collapsing completely, Cloudsdale assaulted and sabotaged, Canterlot under dragonfire siege.....I don't think they could have had much of a worse start. I suppose the only thing worse would be if the Griffon's plans hadn't been discovered.
A couple of questions. I don't remember if this has already been addressed in this or the previous story, but how long after the war is this being written? And given that we're only 4 days into the war, and 31 chapters and nearly 320k words in, there's no way the entire conflict is being covered in this story, is there? I'm curious what the cut off point for this story would be.
Nor, I knew deep down, did we haveany right to do so
Also some really large spaces a couple lines above this one
This reads to me like two dependent clauses linked together, without a preceding independent clause to latch on too. Not sure what can be done to fix this. Just feels weird.
Poor Thunderbolt. May he awake to a better song than what is currently being sung. Maybe some Nightwish perhaps?
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ukDEYRXoH2g
Like the Aerial Corps that too many of my fellow officers disdained,
If an invasion came suddenly, we require a full fortnight to bring the border forces up to their full-strength of 5,000 strong divisions. This was even greater folly to me.
Great post! Can't wait to read more about pony Fabian
This was an interesting chapter and it seems that the military command in Equestria at the start of the war was focused more on office politics than anything that's actually relevant to their job. The mention of towns named Starlight and Melody reminds me of My Little Pony Tales since 2 of the protagonists are named Starlight and Melody. All I know about that is from fanfics putting them in the same world as Friendship is Magic. On a different note it is interesting to read about the army for the first time.
Thanks for saying so! Those graphics were a LOT of work.
Good eye. The original name of the place was Fort Ironmane, but then I changed it to Ironheart for whatever reason. At some point I'll go back into the graphic and fix it.
Not so much unorganized as improperly organized and insular. The Equestrian Army was the largest service and in some ways the most stubborn and intractable when it came to doctrine and addressing its own deficiencies.
In that case, an Imperial victory was pretty much assured. But that, in turn was the major flaw in the Prelate's plan--it was completely dependent on secrecy and surprise, and were they lost, the entire war could be thrown into doubt. You could then make an argument that keeping it secret was just too tall a task for the amount of time required; that if the Changelings hadn't given it away Equestrian intelligence would finally have noticed something amiss. Suppose a diamond dog who knew what was happening was captured, for example? Suppose an Owl agent got drunk and spilled the beans to a disguised Lance? Or a civilian barbird wondered aloud in the presence of an undercover agent why he kept seeing different unit insignia from week to week as legions were shuffled into and out of Eagle Aerie for training?
It's all academic at this point, but consider this: if the ponies and Celly had found out about the invasion *without* Gaius knowing his plans were compromised? The results would have been disastrous as Celly orders a devastating superstorm strike on the Empire and then brings all the invasion tunnels down on their collective heads. By the time you summon the dragons, it's too late as your invasion force and above ground cities lie in ruins. the dragons then have no reason to stay and fight, but plenty of reasons to stand back and let Celly annihilate you so they can then plunder your wealth from the Empire's ruins.
This recounting was started 28 years after the war began, four less after when it ended. And no, it will not be. The plan--subject to change as always--is to break this story at the point of the climactic Battle of Canterlot, which is the culmination of the initial Imperial invasion. Yeah, I know it seems a long way off, and it is. But for now, the story will go for as long as it needs to.
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All noted issues addressed.
Thanks! Interesting way of addressing him, but basically correct. The gryphons are more formidable than Hannibal's forces, however, which were a mishmash of mercenaries and other forces united only by a desire for pillage and a dislike of Rome.
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More or less. It was particularly bad in the Army, however, which was also the largest and longest-lived service branch of Equestria.
Can't say I've read those, sorry.
That was the idea! They certainly have their own story to tell, as they took the brunt of the fighting and casualties in the war. More battles are coming after this info dump of a chapter, which will hopefully make battle chapters to come much more meaningful and easy to follow to readers.
So many military disasters happen due to pride, arrogance,and sheer stupidity
As always, very happy to see Firefly return!
This chapter took a little bit to get started, but the graphics greatly helped out. By the end of the chapter, the slow burn had me biting my nails in anticipation. It was frustrating to hear all of the examples of him being ignored, knowing what we now know. I definitely look forward to his redemption in the eyes of his peers.
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Yep. Just recently, AJA and I watched A Bridge Too Far, a star-studded movie depiction of the doomed Market Garden operation in late 1944. It was a prime example of all three. Wishful thinking, disregarded intelligence, and too narrow a road with too many chokepoints all lead to its failure and the pointless sacrifice of far too many soldiers.
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Thanks! Always good to hear a comment from you, too.
I'm glad. That makes the enormous effort they took worth it. In the end, I decided this info dump of a chapter just couldn't go without them or readers wouldn't be able to follow.
Good. That's exactly what I was going for.
He will gain it, but it won't be instant, and he won't care about it because the enemy will be before him constantly. He'll be the face of the Equestrian Army in this story, for the most part, which is the largest service branch and will bear the brunt of the fighting in the war.
I deleted the comment I was working on yesterday for this chapter and I still want to scream. I'm going to try to look at this with fresh eyes.
Ahh Rock Biter. I created this OC in the winter of 2017, envisioning him as a Constantin Rokossovsky figure. People ought to look him up. He's an interesting guy. Nearly purged by Stalin, relegated to rear areas and side theaters for most of him fighting career with the Red Army but a man who survived by being the last man standing. He waged a heroic defense of Mozhaisk -- a city so impossible to spell, I have to search it every time I bring it up. He was a major proponent of the two-pronged attack and despite being an old cavalry officer, he had an intuitive grasp of mobile warfare. We owe much of the success of Bagration to his careful planning. Loved by his men and hated by his leader, he wasn't granted a place of honor until well after his death when Nikolai Khrushchev became premier.
This paragraph comes more or less from the four pages of writing on this chapter I did before just flat out giving up. I just didn't have confidence in my writing on this chapter. My biggest problem is the size of this story, the immense amount of plot to go through and the fragmented "one job at a time" nature of my prereading. Good story but difficult for me to retain. Plus, it just has to be said that I'm not nearly good enough to be writing on your level. Seeing what you made of my 4 pages is proof enough of that.
God, I feel bummed today. What a crappy day it's been.
It wasn't just the fact that Roko survived the purges that made Stalin hate him. At Kiev, where a million men were captured, It was him that defied orders to fight to the last at the city to escape with as many artillery pieces as he could to fall back Moscow Oblast to dig out the trenches and fortifications of the Mozhaisk Line that stopped the Wehrmacht, sustaining a leg injury in the process. Stalin thought he was a coward but in fact Stalin was just a terrible leader who thought he could play Warlord. Fortunately for the Soviets, nearly losing the capital made him loosen his grip... slightly. It wouldn't be until 1943 and the unmitigated disaster at Kursk when he let his military leaders make the critical decisions from then on.
And I do call Kursk a Soviet defeat. Quite a massive one, in the tactical sense.
This probably isn't the best place to bring up clopfiction but the Wild Rose Division is named after Aetherpony's Wild Rose, the story that inspired my first story. It's also the name of my starting army in every single game of Civilization V I've ever played.
God bless Civ 5. Hell of a game.
It is going to be a little weird explaining to the Flower Trio they're all named after military units though. Especially Rose. As a nymphomaniac, she's about as "not military" as you can get aside from her habit of not wearing underwear when she dresses up.
I'm going to finish this tomorrow on my day off. We've got a terrible movie to watch! Last Jedi, here we come!
Good ol' Civilization V. I associate this tune with Fallout Equestria, particularly chapter 3. In Civ 5 it plays in the Modern and Atomic age during drawn-out periods of warfare. It evokes the image of loss in the trenches and the futility and savagery of mechanized warfare. Perfect for Rock Biter's struggle.
Also perfect for post-apocalyptic Ponyville. RIP childhood...
And well-endowed to be sure. She's a big girl (4U)!
This turns out to be quite important later on when the decision to hold fast on the border is made and the gryphons have more troops than originally thought. Perhaps, if Equestria had been taking the threat more seriously, a more sound doctrine would have been adopted.
This speaks to an insular attitude of ponies miles away from any danger thinking of war in terms of the bigger picture and losing sight of the smaller failures that add up to something big long-term. Elites are like this — always the last to suffer from their oversights that hurt the little guy.
Assuming a prescient Equestrian High Command and a skillfully handled withdraw at the corps level, a withdraw with minimal losses to a narrower line centered at Melody with the Lunar Sea and Appleachian Mountains on its flank, would have kept Equestria in the fight, albeit being still in great danger until Equestria's resources could be fully mobilized. Still, I could see Gryphon ingenuity and ardor in battle allowing them to overcome the purposed Melody Line at great cost — and committing a full-effort to the center — before being overwhelmed by a counterattack originating out of Thestralslovakia and pushed back slowly to the frontier.
Definitely a game-changer if the Equestrians escape the trap. Consider the Finns did this very thing in 1945 and got off after 4 long years of sieging Leningrad with a slap on the wrist and a status quo peace, accepting the borders spelled out at the end of the Winter War .
Rockadile Dundee! Now this is a knoiiiiife!
Little did they know he would level up after each kill during his fighting retreat.
This is why ISIS still holds a fair amount of territory in Syria after facing Assad, the United States and Russia for nearly a decade. Those guys will simply never go away, killing 2 people here, 20 people there and generally making life hell for Syrians until the end of time.
Ironically, losing a border war and shortening their line would have made Equestria more secure over time and ensured a generations-long struggle between ponies and gryphons, not unlike the one between France and Germany. In this version of history, I could even see a rapid rapprochement between the Three Equestrian Tribes and their Bat Pony cousins and even eventual ethnic and cultural assimilation between all four races as they bond to face a common enemy.
A very fascinating alternate history for Equestria to be certain!
Oh my God, I love this detail! I must have missed that during my preread. So the attribution of daisies to getting killed is actually a misunderstanding of a historical event. That's entirely believable and a pretty inspired addition.
Not to be compared to a wild Bantha chase which is far, far more arduous.
Pirates are essentially raiders for the most part, avoiding all contact with military vessels and concentrating on raiding towns and vessels of opportunity. A pirate nation on the other hand, I could see developing anti-ship military doctrine emphasizing the pitting of many smaller craft against a single larger one to cripple or even capture it for spare parts, supplies and hostages.
It was at that moment they realized, they'd bucked up.
I'm happy to see that you more or less kept my original concept I had for this chapter and did an excellent job with it. And those maps! I know you suffered a long time to bring those two us but the work you put into them really shows. Excellent chapter and I look forward to the follow up where we see Rock Biter escape the closing pincers to temporary safety.
False pride, neglected to stop enemy Contacts become a regular occurance and leaving viligant elements rotting instead of heading them. The Griffon Empire earn their success until destruction well.
Directly opposition to her Princess orders? What a lunatic...
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There’s an old saying that says that an Army is only ready to fight the last war they had instead of the one they now face. But in this case, the Equestrian Army wasn’t ready for the original war, either, because their Generals refused to see how vulnerable and useless their doctrine actually was.
Yep. Breech Lock is exhibit A of what was wrong with the Equestrian Army, putting personal preference and refusal to surrender her base or city over her orders. She honestly thought she could win the war herself by holding the city, not understanding or accepting that the gryphons could very easily cut her off.