The Life of Penumbra Heartbreak

by Unwhole Hole

Chapter 57: The Trap is Sprung

“GRIFFON! Five o’clock, eighteen yards!”

Major Force did not even need to look back.

“Formation seven, progression four! On my mark!”

There was no verbal mark; the major simply made the slightest of motions in his wing pattern and his squad responded instantly. The rear forms of the V split, and over his shoulder, Major Force could see the confusion on the bird-creature’s face, not knowing which group to follow. He himself dropped back suddenly, his wingpony at his rear, preparing for attack. The griffon focused suddenly on him, lowering her enchanted spear- -but as she did, the squad sergeant dropped from above, pummeling the griffon in the back of her head with a single blow. She gave out one squawk and immediately spiraled downward, landing head-first in a large snowbank.

“Resume!”

The formation reestablished: a V of Pegasus ponies, the major at the front with his wingpony to his right and the sergeant to his right, with the further parts of the V being lesser-ranked ponies of the Her Majesty's Solar Air Battalion.

“LIEUTENANT!” shouted the major.

“- -yes, sir!” stammered the wingpony.

“You were slow on the mark! This isn’t the proving grounds, Firefly! This is REAL WAR!”

“Y- -yes, sir, sorry, sir- -”

“We’re in deep! If you go down here? You’re NOT getting back up!”

“It wouldn’t be called ‘reconnaissance’ if we were looking at our own stuff,” joked the sergeant, though with little humor.

“But that was our forth griffon, if they actually had a formation- -”

“Stop wasting time and FOCUS! Griffons NEVER form units, they can’t work together!”

“Besides,” said the pony behind lieutenant Firefly, “just be glad we’re not getting flak like the eastern squads- -”

As soon as she said it, Firefly looked down to see an enormous machine mounted on the back of a giant pony-like machine fire several projectiles. He heard the chugging sound, and in the distance, saw the shells.

“FLAK!”

It was too late; the shells exploded on both sides of the formation. One of the fliers in the rear cried out, either in surprise or pain- -or both.

“SNOW!” yelled the major, turning his head. “Are you hit?!”

“I- -it’s not bad,” he replied, his voice wavering. It had been a near miss; one of his wings was charred, and the burnt feathers were glittering with fragments of metal. “I can keep going!”

“You had better! There aren’t any safe LZ’s for two clicks!”

Another flak shell exploded to the right of them. This time, the major led them out of the radius just in time, engaging an element barrel roll to avoid the plume of dangerous metal shards. “We have to clear a path! The zeppelins can’t get in if we don’t chart the way!”

“YES SIR!” replied the others in unison, bracing their wings and charging into battle. Firefly simply watched in awe, honored and somber at the same time. Honored to be the wingpony in this battle, even if he was terrified nearly out of his alumnoid armor- -but somber, because seeing the major, Firefly knew why he had been picked as wingpony, and knew that he would never make it past that role.

He had already decided. After this was over and there was no more war, he was going to retire. Hopefully without a metal wing.

None of the Pegasi knew that, not far away, the field marshal of the Crystal Empire sat, watching from her hiding place. For her, there were no sounds of battle. There were no explosions or cries of battle, or even the roar of the growing wind. The only sound was that of quiet- -and of the hum of enormous, unspeakable machinery.

“Slave,” she said, still staring at her map. “What is the percentage of involvement in the battle?”

“One hundred percent of our forces are currently engaged, while the Equestrian forces retain a thirty percent reserve closing in on the border of the city. Their forces outnumber ours fifty to one.”

“I like those odds,” replied Asahel. “Nice and round.”

“They are within striking distance,” said the field marshal.

Asahel giggled. He knew what she was thinking. “Time for politics...”

The slave turned sharply. “Field marshal, if I may- -our forces are still deployed! The amount of collateral damage- -”

“Will be complete and total. All areas not under the shield dome are to be utterly leveled. No buildings. No farms. Nothing but a blasted-out wasteland.”

“But without those farms- -”

“You will not need them,” said Asahel, shrugging. “The king will provide. Phase three is due to start very, very soon. You’ll have all the food you ever need.” He turned to the field marshal. “Our forces are superior to organics in every way. We can endure the strike, and charge through it.”

“See that you do. Crush them.” She paused. “But more importantly, send them into confusion. We only have one chance. Once we engage, we have only a limited time for Penumbra to act. Their forces cannot be allowed to interfere.”

“But our own forces...” The slave shook his head.

“The crystal ponies will teleport back to the Heart of Darkness for fear harvesting. The golems will survive. All other units are expendable.”

“But nearly ten percent of our forces are unicorns, Pegasi- -and the yaks- -”

“Are an enemy anyway. Or will become one, once they realize we intend to own their land. This will save us the time of rounding them up later.” The steward stared hard at the slave. “If they were not expendable, I would not have sent them. Question me again, and I will have you thrown into Gxurab’s reactor core. Your crystal body will survive just long enough for your mind to shatter on the horrors that lurk on the other side of that particular door.”

The slave shivered and turned back to his controls. “Yes, field marshal. Of course, field marshal. The lives of ponies are irrelevant in the face of the will of the king. In the name of the safety of our citizens, we will sacrifice them.”

The field marshal nodded, because he was correct. The safety of all ponies of the Crystal Empire was drawn from Sombra. She would gladly sacrifice them all to save him. As things were going, that was in fact a likely outcome of this war. But to her, it did not matter. Sombra must survive.

“Asahel. Bring up the reactor output.”

“I do like activating things.” He did not move, but the machines suddenly began to hum louder, signaled through the cables implanted in his robotic neck. Outside, through the clouds, the running lights ignited, distant just slightly through the clouds. Dark shapes began to move quickly amongst them.

The field marshal stepped forward, picking a spot on the map that had the most signatures of living beings. She touched it, highlighting it. “On my mark, fire here.”

“I would be glad to,” said Asahel. “Father never let me play with the fun toys.”

“Not you.” The field marshal smiled at her slave. “He will do it.”

“S- -sir- -”

The smile vanished from the field marshal’s face. “I have selected you for a great honor, slave. I am sure you are aware of the consequences of refusing it?”

He was crying. “I am,” he said. Slowly, he turned back to his console. With one shaking hoof, he set the controls. “P...prepared to fire. May Epona save our souls.”

“Slaves have no souls,” mused the field marshal. “All aspects of us are owned by another. There is nothing to save. Hail the Witchking. FIRE.”

Comments

[alamais]

“Slaves have no souls,” mused the field marshal. “All aspects of us are owned by another. There is nothing to save. Hail the Witchking. FIRE.”

She's such a charmer.