> The Retaking of Canterlot
>  by Charles Rocketboy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Routed
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

They had two minutes warning before the shield caved in and the changelings were coming down everywhere. Under-Secretary Greyjoy and her guard had been one minute from Canterlot Central Station and that was pretty much all that saved her – she got into the station as the ornate window over the lobby, the Great Ten engineers raising their tools to the sun and moon, smashed to pieces as the changelings bombed through and right into the packed, screaming crowds. 

There was a stampede for the last two trains out. 

Actually, no. One other thing saved Greyjoy: she ran for the front and the driver’s compartment, hoping to beat the crush. That meant her bodyguard was right behind her, which might he saw the driver was being pinned by a changeling in a train guard’s hat—

And kicked the changeling in the face with a cry of “GET THAT STITCHED!”. 

Right. Control was back in their hooves then.

Greyjoy hauled the driver up with a spurt of magic – a bit rougher than she should but things were a bit rushed. “As representative of Their Majesty’s government, I am authorising you to get moving.” She turned round to the guard, in sudden fear. “My briefcase, did I—“

“Yes, ma’am.” 

“Thank you.” Time to get the train secured. “Sweep down through the train, make certain this was the only changeling.” 

“Ma’am, the second train—“

“Is compromised too, I know.” That was all that could be said.

The train began moving; out the window, she could see the platform was empty now. And the second train was covered with changelings like fries on rot. Soon, she could see changelings around the entrance, a lone Guard still trying to fight. And the red flare that lit the sky: ‘this city has fallen’. 

The moment had been prepared for. Her job, as the Under-Secretary for Defence Support, Magic, and Technology, was to evacuate the city so that, if necessary, she could become acting-Secretary of State for Self-Defence. She’d helped draw up the contingency plans, she knew them inside and out; reports and figures and minutiae was what she was good at, even her cutie mark was a ticked box. She could work out the odds: with the speed of attack, a large chunk of the cabinet – maybe even the Prime Minister herself – would be captured but enough of them would escape to the Cloudsdale redoubt. Their Majesties would follow, rather than kill their subjects in an all-out battle. It’d be a mess but doable, this was nothing like Discord, nothing at all (she dreamt about Discord, sometimes). She’d do her job if necessary but—

The black flare went up. Code 113: ‘Princesses Down.’ 

And Greyjoy’s composure cracked. 

--

CODE 113: Following the Interregnum, Celestia created a formal line of secession to prevent similar chaos – if she was ever missing or incapacitated, it would be clear who should take charge. (The name is believed to be an in-joke on Celestia’s part, origins unknown) In 750 years, it has only been used twice: after the Schmooze’s attack and for classified personal reasons during the Regency Year.
Since the return of Princess Luna as co-monarch, Code 113 now covers both alicorns. It is supremely unlikely to be used.
- The Joint Forces Officer Cadet Handbook (9th Edition)


There are only a few ground entrances and exits. We can have control in minutes and once we have them, the city is a one-million strong larder.
- Queen Chrysalis’ private notes.

> Cabinet War Clouds
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Salad Daze hadn’t been invited to the wedding and had spent a good few days making herself feel insulted, only to give up and have a drink. Maybe more than “a” but screw it. She’d made the Progressive Party, she’d spent eight hard years in the shadow cabinet and as party leader getting the pro-technology message out there, circling round the kingdom, over to the dominions – she was the first party leader of any party to go to Neighpon in years – and the slogan, “The White Heat of Progress”, she was pretty sure that was hers. (Or was it--? Damn, what had been that PR colt’s name?) So she liked a drink and a party, everyone had to unwind after all that work. 

And then one day, all the ponies in her shadow cabinet had come together and told her that “for the good of the party”, she had to step down for the next election. She was getting a bit out of hand and “needed help”. She could be Party Chairpony in recognition. And that was the election the Progressives won a majority, and that was Salad Daze done. Wouldn’t that make you drink? Everything she’d fought for and other ponies profited in the end. Scalpel Wit profited, she’d given that mare a job and right in the back…

And now she didn’t get the invite. A nationwide train network was part of her old manifesto, try seeing half the guests turn up in time without that.

Salad Daze was drinking a third glass when there was a knock at the door. The earth pony considered combing her green mane, decided she couldn’t be arsed, and opened the door to see two Town Watch ponies looking like Tartarus had opened.

“Ma’am, we need you to come with us. There’s, ah, we’ve been told to tell you Code 113.”

Oh, well now she definitely needed a drink. “Okay. Just… okay. What does Prime Minister Wit want me for?” 

“She did not make it out of the redoubt, ma’am.”

“Then who is—oh. Oh, no. You…” Well, you had to laugh (so she did). Be careful what you wish for and all that. 

Bloody, bloody damn.


***

When he’d seen Great-Aunt Celestia get smashed into the floor, Blueblood had… well, he’d been grabbed by one of the guards and yanked out of the hall. He’d been relieved but quickly decided he was (should be) angry that a guard was denying him the chance to stand up and fight the enemy. He struggled, or that’s what he told himself anyway. He certainly yelled at the guard: “Unhand me!”, “I pay your damn wages!”, all that.

And then the great shield broke and the changelings came down in their thousands and the guard teleported them (Blueblood hadn’t noticed what species the guard was until then) right into Canterlot Central and then the changelings hit that, and he started yelling for the guard to protect him as he ran. He’d shouldered ponies out of the way to get onto that damn train and once he was on he realised the guard wasn’t.

Out the train window, you could see the guard being swarmed. Then the train started moving and he vanished from sight.

Blueblood suddenly wished he hadn’t yelled so much at the stallion, and then he briefly feared that he wouldn’t be safe surrounded by the common folk on his own but another guard came through… and past him without paying attention, and that was the thing that finally shocked Blueblood. He was Prince Blueblood. He was eleventh in line for the throne in case anything happened to Celestia! And it had, and yes, okay, Luna would be taking control but he was still bally important! What was going on if the Royal Guard could ignore him?

Seriously, what was going on? What was a changeling anyway? Where had they all come from, why was he being taken out of the city—

“Sire.” The guard was back. “Sire, I need you to come with me.”

That’s more like it, he thought but said, “Look here, colt, what is going on? This is an intolerable--”

“Under-Se—I’m sorry, Secretary of Self-Defence Greyjoy will be able to fill you in better than me.”

Blueblood was ushered to the front of the train, the first-class carriage (this was more like it), where a unicorn mare with a completely dull grey coat and mane, with sharp teal eyes, was going over a table of paperwork. She glanced up at him, grimaced, and back to her work. “Is he it?”

“I think I saw a Conservative Party MP. Represents Everfree, I think—“

“Fetch him please.” Then Greyjoy – he assumed – turned back to Blueblood. “This will be easier to explain just the once,” she said, then back to her papers.

“Look here, I’m a Prince and I demand to know what’s going—“

“113.” What was that? She looked at his reaction and said “Military code meaning Celestia, Luna and Cadence are missing in action. As well as Canterlot lost, as well as the Elements of Harmony.” And then back to the damnable papers after just telling him the world as known was dead—

The guard came back with a portly earth pony, a scuffed and dirty suit covering a reddish hide. He looked like he’d eaten all the pies and they were disagreeing with him. “Greyjoy? I’m Stoutheart, I don’t understand what… Oh. Oh, please tell me this isn’t a continuity government.”

Greyjoy nodded. “For purposes, assume every minister in Canterlot is captured. It will be us and whoever was outside the city today.” Back to Blueblood, and why was she looking at him like that? “With your assent, sire.” Then back to papers, like her life depended on them. “The changelings are a race of shapeshifters that feed on love – standard procedure is to replace a loved one. They can also imprison a sentient and drain them over a few days. We believe – sorry, the Ministry, Prime Minister Scalpel Wit, that we – that Queen Chrysalis, the changeling’s commander, is planning to do this with all Canterlot.”

Her horn glowing, she levitated several photos around: empty ships, an island resort that you wished was empty. “Intelligence suggests they’re responsible for the loss of a griffin pleasure cruise and a zebra trading vessel, and we know they’re responsible for the loss of Seadonia—“

“I remember them,” interrupted Blueblood. “One of those islands that ponies set up because they think Great-Aunt Celestia is a dictator and there’s too much harmony, isn’t it? All that ‘Solar Empire’ silliness.”

Greyjoy flashed her eyes up at him and there was enough disdain in them to make him fall quiet (what had he done?). “Yes. They had ponies on them that were defenceless and had no ties to Equestria, and could be secretly devoured.” (Oh.) “The pattern suggests dry runs, getting the swarm trained and building up a larder. We learned Queen Chrysalis planned to attack Canterlot, on paper our defensive plans worked. The problem is that we didn’t expect Shining Armour to be… compromised.    

“We have contingency plans for the fall of Canterlot and continuity government, but most assume we have time to evacuate and that the princesses are here.”


That was the last she said for a while.


***

Cloudsdale was in uproar – it was common knowledge that the city was the first redoubt in emergencies, being the only city in the world that could move under its own power, but it had been decades since anyone had expected this to be needed. Everywhere were armoured pegasi from the 2nd Cloudsdale Dragoons and the City Watch, trying to lock down the entire sky. The Dragoon HQ had been made the temporary government HQ too, so that had the extra chaos of pegasi and airsick land ponies (enchanted to cloud walk or, in some cases, with butterfly wings) rushing around with papers and chairs or just rushing.

You got through all that and the Cabinet War Room, which was actually the officer’s mess for the moment, was almost a bastion of order. Except the acting-Prime Minister Salad Daze kept tapping her hoof against an empty glass, Stoutheart (the temporary Minister of Justice and Emergency Planning) kept leaving his chair to pace, Blueblood kept barking orders for updates every ten bloody seconds, and there was a very worried goat, Billie of the Plaid Capra party, who looked like she didn’t know why she was there at all. Greyjoy looked calm on the surface until you wondered how many times one mare needed to check those papers. Brigadier Geldmore of the Dragoons (because he was the highest-ranking pony in the area and they didn’t have time to wait for a general) was keeping a stiff upper lip but Blueblood’s constant demands were making his eyes twitch.

This is what the new Ministry of Labour – and, as the most senior United Species Party MP anyone could find (Hottrot lived in Cloudsdale and had been home ill), the Deputy PM – found when he walked in. He waited a few seconds and then boomed out: “So, we know what we’re doing then! Hooray!”

“I don’t know why I’m here at all!” burst out Billie. “The Prince here calls my party traitors every other week! And I’m not meant to live in the sky, how do you pegasi stand this? The floor’s a freaking cloud!”

“Why is she here?” asked Blueblood.

“For obvious reasons, none of the two goats from the independence-from-pony-monarchy-boo-hiss party were at the royal wedding and she’s the leader, and coalition governments need senior MPs,” said Salad Daze (tap, tap, tap). “Meet the Minister Without Portfolio, aka the one who does the tie-breaking. She thinks you’re a parasite on her species but if I have to put up with the MP for Students and Armchair Radical Bourgeoisie, what the hay.”

“MP for the Ponies, as the slogan goes! No offence there, Billie,” said Hottrot, easing into a seat – that had indeed been his election slogan, the red-mane pegasi was very good at coming up with them. “So are we all here?”

“We are,” said Blueblood, hardly looking happy with his war cabinet. “Geldmore?”

The Brigadier got up; olive-green, moustached, slightly paunchy but crammed into full combat armour ‘just in case’. “Our immediate forces are the Dragoons, of course, currently at three thousand fighters, engineers, and medics.” His voice was stuffy and ramrod straight. “The 7th Emergency Response Cavalry (they number 1,100) are grouping near Ponyville, along with a thousand ponies from the Territorial Army’s Everfree Regiment and thirty from the Wonderbolts reserve. In approximately ten hours, the 2nd and 3rd Battalions of the North’s Watch will be arriving outside north Canterlot via train – that’s six hundred.”

“The Cavalry are primarily disaster and monster response, not combat,” said Stoutheart.

“That’s true, sir.”

“The Watch can only spare 600? They’re a massive regiment!”

“Castle Pink say they cannot send more than that without creating a security risk.”

“Is that it?” asked Blueblood (he could see Geldmore was affronted and didn’t care). “We only have one proper combat brigade and that’s because they’re living right here, and everyone else is a reservist, a Manticore basher, and whoever the Watch deign to send? Where’s the rest of the army? Canterlot has fallen!”

“The rest of the army is mobilising but will take time to arrive,” snapped Greyjoy. “This should be obvious. For the moment, we only have this force to work with.”

“How do we only have that?! We’re Equestria, for Sun’s sake—“

“Yes, that’s a shock!” snapped Daze (taptaptap). “The country surrounded by peaceful neighbours and that hasn’t had a conventional war in thirty years has an army restructured for what it does face, which is random disasters and monsters and magical idiots with amulets! Similarly, we don’t trenches and pillboxes across the Griffon borders!”

“What are the changeling numbers?” Billie asked Geldmore, quickly and loudly.

“We estimate anywhere between twelve to sixteen thousand. Normally the city could hold them off until reinforcements arrived but it would not normally the enemy would not know every Royal Guard position, nor be able to turn the main defences off, nor would early-warning lines be cut.”


”So we wait until the main force arrives, I assume,” said Stoutheart.

Tap, tap, tap. “Changelings get strong off love, that’s how Chrysalis beat up Celestia, yes?” said Daze. “So we leave them with Canterlot, they’re only going to get stronger and stronger. All of them. Then we all get to fight super-changelings.”

“But we don’t have even seven thousand ponies on hand, let alone twelve to sixteen! We can’t - I assume we can’t make an attack already?”

“We can,” said Greyjoy, “but we run the risk of severe casualties or outright failure. Potentially, we could lose most of the force. That would, however, distract the changelings from harvesting up the citizens and then the main army has the advantage. It should be on the table.”

“You’re advising we deliberately send ponies to die?”

“I’m saying it should be on the table.”

“And we can’t send every soldier to Canterlot because then we’re leaving somewhere else vulnerable,” said Billie. 

“The positions of major cities—“ began Greyjoy. 

“I’m from Gruff Valley, what about there? Or the rural heartlands and small towns? We can’t commit everything to one city, even if it is the capital.”

”Recon flights have found pockets of resistance,” said Geldmore, cautious. “Six to start with but down to five now. Not all of the Royal Guard has been captured and there seem to be civilians assisting them, and we can assume others may be waiting for aid before rising up. We have an unknown number of allies on the ground and the changelings are definitely not trained to the standard of Equestrian soldiers, it might not be a massacre…”

“And if the changelings dig in, you and the lovely Greyjoy are saying it’s definitely a massacre,” said Hottrot. “Well, who wanted a boring job in government, eh? Guess our first decision is this one.”

“If the changelings can do all this, why… why only now?” asked Stoutheart. 

“They haven’t been this organised in over four hundred years,” said Greyjoy, eyes flicking over a sheet. “The history is complicated but the basics are that the Changeling Hivegemony was a superpower that dominated the Aerstrapun continent. They openly ruled a collection of client species, feeding off the background love or more; by our standards this was a horror but it was stable. By the time Equestria reached Aerstapun, the Hivegemony was tearing itself apart in a civil war – most records were destroyed, along with most of the client species. We got lucky. A few years earlier and they’d have been conquering us instead. Since then, most ponies believe they’re extinct. 

“Chrysalis is trying to create a new ‘Kingdom’ for the species. Intelligence was warned of the Canterlot plot by a changeling defector. We’ve only seen one defector or dissenter. It’s that sort of kingdom.” Greyjoy bit her lip. “Don’t ask if we can question him more. Transquito was in a safe house in Canterlot that Shining Armour knew about. He’s dead or worse now.”

The room went silent; Blueblood and Hottrot both felt the need to fill that silence, but neither had the chance. A messenger came in with a green globe, glowing like sick, in her mouth. It took a few seconds for everypony to recognise it as a message orb, a magical means of instant communication that the higher unicorns could pull off, and what the colour signified. 

“It appeared on base,” said the messenger. “We’ve checked it for traps.”

Suddenly Blueblood didn’t feel like talking, and so Hottrot went through, his voice normal at last. “Queen Chrysalis, I presume?”

The orb flickered once and the changeling’s face appeared in the centre. “Finally. I sent this thing half an hour ago, I do have other things to do, you know. I tried to send this direct—“

“What’s your message?” asked Blueblood, trying for calm but hearing the slight shake in his voice.

Chrysalis looked bored. “You’re the acting monarch? Now that’s just sad. You know everyone laughs at you behind your back? Well, I’m sure someone here is the real boss, so: I have a very reasonable proposition for you all! There could be a war and I could defeat you as I did Celestia and I could feast on your captives and sweep through this land, but I’m feeling in a good mood so how about I promise to leave Equestria unharmed? All the little foals shall sleep safe in their beds and no stallion has to die for his country and Blueblood gets to pretend to be adequate – and I’ll make sure your princesses continue to raise the sun and moon from captivity, because I quite like the world not being dead.

“And all I want from you is to agree that Canterlot is mine.

“And it is – you lost it in minutes. There’s a changeling on every street corner. We’re up a mountain and we have your weapons here. And you definitely can’t starve us out when there’s a million walking lunches with us but don’t look at me like that, we’ll keep them in good health—“

“I’ve seen the photos of Seadonia!” spat Stoutheart, rising to his feet. “Over three hundred dead!”

“Yes, yes, we had a few teething problems with our new farming method back then, but we have that sorted.” She smiled, showing teeth. “Let me a bit more blunt: I flattened Celestia in five seconds. I have all your colleagues and could execute them at a whim. The city – is – already – mine. Fighting to keep it will just be a long, expensive hassle for the both of us but every time we take one of you, we get more food. You are a lot easier to starve out. I’ll admit that you might win but the suffering and death will be a lot more than one million, and what do you think will happen to Canterlot in this war anyway?

“Do the smart thing.”

Silence.

Then tap. Tap. Tap.

“I’m very sorry,” said Salad Daze, “but I thought this was Equestria.”

“I don’t understand—“

“No, I don’t expect you do.”

Then she threw her glass at the orb and it broke to bits on the surface, leaving no damage.

“I was hoping they’d both break. That’s a bit embarrassing.”

“Well, I think we can call that a metaphor,” sneered Chrysalis. “Everyone else?”

Blueblood looked at the glass fragments, closed his eyes and said: “I’m the one who makes this decision, at the end of the day. And after hearing the arguments, I am taking the advice of my Prime Minister. I want this formally recorded, as befits matters of state: I, Prince Rex Blueblood, acting-monarch of the Princessipality of Equestria and its Dominions & Protectorates, in the name of the Pax Equestria and the sentients of our commonwealth, declare to Queen Chrysalis of the Changelings to withdraw from Canterlot within the hour or face total war against Their Majesties’ Self-Defence Forces, and furthermore I say you’re so ugly you couldn’t pull a rotten tooth out of a dead stallion’s head!!” 

This was formally recorded.  Chrysalis’s profanity laden response was recorded too. And that was it: there was no turning back after this. This hurried and slapdash War Cabinet, people who would never have been there if anyone else had been available at the time, had dived right into the deep end and were heading down.

“This reminds me of debating your parties,” said Hottrot slowly, the first to speak, “in that, no offence, it’s all a load of waffle you can’t sustain. Does Chrysalis seem like the sort of mare who would make a deal if she believed her position was so strong? Or that she would stop at one city if she had the numbers to take more?”

“Or she thinks our position may be stronger than it is and wants to delay us until hers is,” said Stoutheart. “Either way, she’s made it clear ponies will suffer. Your majesty, I change my stance: we should attack as soon as possible.”

The vote was unanimous and Blueblood gave it the nod, and at that a little under six thousand ponies were committed against an entrenched army twice their size. 

-----------

“There are reactionaries out there who chitchat about how nothing can be done through politics, and like to repeat that oh-so-fresh and mirthful comment about the many blood-devouring parasites. I say to them absolutely nothing, because none of them are daring enough to say that to me in person. This is a place for ponies who want to get things done.”    
- Prime Minister Scalpel Wit, addressing parliament after re-election 


After the Princesses, their ‘leaders’ are a hodgepodge of squabbling factions with silly names – without an obvious strong leader, they’ll be useless and cowed.  
- Queen Chrysalis’ private notes.

> Barely Controlled Chaos
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The alert hadn’t gone out but the Territorial Army reservists in Ponyville knew to gather and suit up because they could see the explosions in Canterlot. Everypony was outside and everypony was scared and when the explosions stopped, even before the flares went up and the church bells rang, they were still scared. That was Canterlot. The princesses lived there. These things did not, could not, happen.

In old war stories, the town turned out to cheer and wave flags when their sons and daughters went off. Everypony just looked sick. Since Amethyst Star felt sick too, that didn’t bother her much but she could see Thunderlane and Cloudchaser were rattled; those two had always bought into the rah-rah. She’d joined the TA for the extra cash. She hadn’t expected to ever have to do anything.  Who were they even fighting?

Her helmet chafed around her horn and the boots felt like chains. 

“EYES RIGHT!” snapped Filthy Rich – 2nd Lieutenant or Platoon Leader Rich, she’d have to remember to call him. He was more serious and his voice harsher than he’d ever been in trained, and he looked older and weaker. 

She felt a nudge on her side – Hayseed Turnip Truck, of all ponies. “Got butterflies there, Am?”

“Could say that.”

“Private Am now, Ah guess. Hey, heard the joke about the private? ‘What’s yer name, soldier?’ ‘Parts, sah! Private Parts!’”

She burst out laughing and felt very ashamed, especially when the rest of the platoon turned to stare at her.

“Something you want to share with the rest of Ponyville Platoon, privates?” snapped Rich.

“Uh, yessir, Platoon Leader,” said Hayseed. “Basically, it was ‘What’s yer name, soldier?’”

“Parts, sah, private parts!” barked out Sergeant Breezy. “That’s a good one.”

Rich started to chuckle, and tension drained out like it had been punctured. “Yeah, alright, that is a good one,” and his voice was back to normal. “Hey, anyone heard this one – there were those three stallions, one from Canterlot, one from Brayfast, and one from Shetland…”


********


Outside, the streets were deserted but the skies were black with her swarm. Every building in sight had a broken door and there were impact craters on the ground: every pony around the castle had been collected. Inside the castle, her castle, her throne room, were feeding sacks with the princesses and Twilight & her annoying friends and the highest of politicians and one of the serving staff who’d just pissed her off, and in the corner stood poor, dazed, delicious Shining Armour. All of them got to watch her win. 

On top of that, Celestia’s old throne was really comfy. Chrysalis had it made. 

One of her scouts came buzzing in: “Your highness, as you expected Cloudsdale is moving towards us. We’ll be in range soon. We’ve also spotted a small army gathering on the ground some miles away.”

“They really do want to go play war. Adorable.” She looked up at Celestia, smiling. “Hear that, Celly? I get to kill some more of your little ponies!”

Whatever Celestia said couldn’t be heard through the goop but she was sure she got the gist.

“I want word sent out, we’ll stop the collections for now – the whole swarm must be in the air to meet their attack. Overwhelming force should, well, you know. Take prisoners if possible, we can do with the extra food.”

“Your highness. Oh, Commander Strect asked if we should concentrate on the holdouts before—“


“No, keep them under siege, capture any that fall, but otherwise, let the holdouts see their rescuers come and get routed. They’ll go down easier when they know there’s no point.”



*****


The rendezvous was at Midway Greens, a train station between Ponyville and Canterlot that thought it was a village, and Amethyst’s first thought was this looks like Dinky’s room. It was a mess of barely controlled chaos and loud noises, with a few regimental and national flags limping on poles, and the green-and-gold of the Self-Defence Forces glittering everywhere. Hundreds of ponies jostled for space and tried not to poke each other with spears. Tents and carts kept being moved around. Armoured pegasi, and what she was pretty sure were the Wonderbolts, were lying on clouds and shoving them together for an easier chat. 

“Fixer upper,” muttered Filthy Rich, but Amethyst probably wasn’t meant to hear that. “Alright ponies, we’re with D Company. They’re around somewhere, we just find someone in charge—“  

“ATTEN-SHUN!”

That voice was definitely in charge – over to their right, a few dozen ponies were snapping into rank as Iron Will, the famous (and bloody loud) assertiveness trainer, marched in front of them. She hadn’t known he’d been a reservist and she definitely hadn’t know they made armour that fit minotaurs. Iron Will had a truly massive war hammer in his left hand, a captain’s bars on his shoulders and (slightly too big) helmet, and a face that said he was having the time of his life.

“Remember – the changelings think they’ve won…”

“WE MAKE THEM DONE, SIR!”

The minotaur caught sight of her platoon and snapped a salute. “2nd Lieutenant Iron Will, Soydon Platoon, D Company! Retaking Canterlot’s the game--”

“And the changelings are lame, I’m guessing.” Rich cut him off with a smile that, for a brief second, didn’t quite meet his eyes. “2nd Lieutenant Rich, Ponyville Platoon, and we’re in the same company. We’re, ah, not sure where to stand?”

“Captain will be back soon enough, Richy – in the meantime, got any chants of your own? Good way to build up the platoon spirit!”

”I do not, sorry.” 

Amethyst Star was starting to feel better now – you looked at this sort of chaos, it was hard to think of anything truly bad happening. 

*****

Blueblood’s bravado had drained away hours ago and now he felt like throwing up. His cabinet kept talking and talking and he wasn’t sure of everything they said now, but he nodded and things seemed to happen after that, and at least they talked to him like they remembered he was a damn prince. He was important.

That meant, of course, he had to give the final say to sending ponies to their deaths. He had to tell Greyjoy and Geldmore to slow down and repeat themselves and then repeat themselves with smaller words (that mare kept biting her lip for some reason) because he needed to understand all this. When Geldmore said they were “air-heavy”, for example, and said that meant too many pegasi. The Brigadier was a pegasi, what did that mean? Was he self-hating?

“I mean that all-pegasi groups are trained differently to earth ponies and unicorns,” the stallion said. “They were trained for air-drops and to replace ground forces when necessary, but street-fighting would be done by non-pegasi and groups where pegasi train alongside others. Our problem is that the Dragoons will have to do the street fighting if we want to retake the train station.”

“Which we need to do so we can shuttle everyone else in,” said Blueblood, because he wanted to make sure he had this straight.

“Exactly, your highness.”

“I thought there were unicorns and earthies in the city.”

”Numbers are unknown and they’ll be fatigued after being under siege,” said Greyjoy, still stuck in her papers. “This is all doable but we expect severe casualties.”

Geldmore nodded and said nothing. It struck the prince then that the brigadier was worried about sending ponies to their deaths too; after all, they were his ponies. He was like Blueblood. The prince had a sudden urge to tell him not to worry.

“We can’t go up the mountain?”

“Canterlot is defended against mountain attacks. We plan to send North’s Watch up the north cliff as a feint, but they’ll be a small number trained for this.”

“By your command, we’ll send a recon flight to gauge the changeling’s positions and attack plans,” said Geldmore. 

“Do it, yes.” Maybe it would work out fine. “When is everyone else coming back, anyway?”  

“Not until the attack starts,” said the mare. 

He wanted to complain about that but when he’d said something before, they’d talked and talked about civil service and infrastructure and communication lines and all this stuff that, frankly, he’d started to tune out but Blueblood got the impression that it was all important. It saved him having to do it, anyway; that was what the cabinet was for. Yes, they dealt with all the unimportant stuff and he rubber-stamped the coffins.


*****


They’d scrapped up enough MPs and a few city technocrats – the head of Manewaring Bank had found himself the new Finance Minister and looked like he wanted to cry – to form the rest of the cabinet, even if it gave them a mix of all six political parties. There’d been some argument breaking out between old rivals until Salad Daze started to bang her hoof on the table yelling “ONE!” every two seconds.

“That’s how often a pony is dying in Canterlot.” (With no new food and drugs coming into the hospitals, that would soon be true) “Nopony has time for anything but our best. Got it? This will be your finest hour because it freaking well has to be. Now, you, Friendly Smiles, I want the Foreign Office and by that I mean whatever office your desk is in to start sending messages to every friendly state and protectorate ‘asking’ what help they can give. Even if no help can arrive in time, I want us to be able to say that the Zebrican Navy is going to sail warships up the River Celeste. And, what was it, Count-Up, yeah you better cry cos half our cash reserves is in Canterlot and so is the damn mint and the Royal Bank, but I want you to use every sneaky bit of wordplay possible to make everypony think the bit is stable. 

“And you, I’m commandeering your glass.” Salad Daze grabbed and drank the Minister of Transport’s wine (he was Solarian Democratic Party, sod him). “Right. Okay. Any questions?”

Across Cloudsdale, Billie – because, apparently, Minister Without Portfolio meant Odd-Job Goat – was organising a new ad-hoc civil service when the bulk of civil servants and all departmental records were back in Canterlot. Cloudsdale’s city council and every town in the immediate vicinity was sparing every pony it could and some it couldn’t (and the magic it was taking to get & keep all the non-pegasi up there was surely going to be a resource issue soon enough) but numbers couldn’t compensate for lack of records. 

“Look, can we just… How much of this can we just delegate to regional and town offices?” She held up a hoof to silence to inevitable yelling. “They do the work on the ground, even if they don’t have all the records on them they can still make do for a week or something, right?”

“Welfare offices can still offer cheques to ponies they know, yes ma’am,” said a bureaucrat whose name she’d frankly forgotten. “Anything more complicated, like adding new ponies to the list or carrying out investigations or—“

“Then we put a moratorium on everything but the basics until we have this sorted out. I realise, no, quiet, I realise that this will cause harm to some but we can’t overstretch now.”

And at yet another end, Stoutheart was learning that Watch Intelligence had a list of over 400 known changelings in Equestria.

“That’s just the ones investigated, found innocent, and living here under registered identities,” said the spy, a dusty brown unicorn crammed in an uncomfortable City Watch dress uniform. “There’s also the few hundred in jail for abduction and emotional crimes. We have a penal colony for them up in Port Mareion – the princess thought it best to keep them a secret, after the ‘trials’ in Sabreen. Before you ask, turned out there were no changelings in Sabreen.”

“They’re living here?” Stoutheart repeated, feeling like the cloud-walk spell was about to give. “They feed on our emotions, how--?”

“Registered changelings invent a pony form or, with consent, assume the identity who already died, and they can feed by gaining friends and family. Abducting and replacing a pony is just easier.” The spy shrugged. “Some of those we arrest claim that it’s ‘cultural’ to do that, but they can shove it, sir.”

“Has Blueblood seen this?”

“We’re preparing copies for the whole War Cabinet, sir.”

The Commissioner of Cloudsdale Watch grimaced. “I can begin internment in—“ and then stopped because Stoutheart was on his feet.

“We are not jailing four hundred Equestrians without proof of wrongdoing. In the heat of war, we get scared and say stupid things, don’t we, commissioner?” He sat back down and turned to the spy. “Careful Reading, I’m assuming your men are going through the list and checking each changeling is still legit. Carry on and, ah, make it clear what will happen anyone who ‘let’s slip’ who is a changeling, eh?”

And in a local radio station, Hottrot was running through his speech notes: someone had to address the nation, and Salad Daze was busy and Blueblood… Yeah. Well. Hottrot had the best patter anyway, and was probably the most famous MP in the War Cabinet; “the Red Dread”, the right-wing parties and papers called him, the scourge of companies and banks, four-time MP for Cloudsdale North. He could have been party leader if they weren’t worried that his affairs would come out.

Anyone could do a speech, it was him. 

Outside all looked calm but inside he was shaking. The speech was half-baked, he knew that, but tone and delivery would sell it. What if it didn’t? What if it worked but they lost, and he was remembered for fine words that got ponies killed? And what if someone found him out? They had him on a list somewhere, and this was a time when people would be seeing traitors under every rock. 

But outside, all was calm as he spoke into the microphone: “And while I can confirm Canterlot has fallen, I can also confirm Operation Celestia Endures has begun…”

Blueblood had come up with that name. It was inspired. Hottrot wished he could claim it.  


*****


There were other pockets of resistance in Canterlot, Flash Sentry was sure of that, but for the moment they were on their own. At the start of the battle, the Royal Guard and a ragtag civilian militia had held half the street and Flash had just been second-in-command of the air cover. Then, he’d landed for ten minute’s rest to find their resting post (it had been the roof of his favourite Buckstar’s before) had been infiltrated: one of the pegasi had been replaced mid-battle and Sergeant Stalwart… 

Well, Flash was in command after that.

Then the east barricade was penetrated (one of the civilian refugees had been a changeling) and Flash’s colts were too busy preventing another air bombardment to help. Half the street was overrun and the civilians evacuated into Harrier’s department store (joining others already sheltering there). When the changelings pulled back, it turned out Flash Sentry was now in total command and that meant it was him who had to say that the west barricade was never going to hold. 

Now, they held Harrier’s, the buildings either side, and the street around them. Only a third of the Guards remained alive, uncaptured, and uninjured/walking wounded, and the civilian militia had gone from support to front-line. There was enough food in the store to keep everyone going for another day or two, but the toilets were going to back up and the medical supplies… well, there weren’t any. 

And the changelings were overheard, always overhead, watching for weakness and Flash Sentry was the son and grandson and great-grandson and great-great-grandson and so on for three hundred years of professional soldiers and gendarmeries, so damned if he was showing weakness. He had a pony watching every roof and every window – and half of them were window dummies but the changelings couldn’t tell that – and everyone held a weapon and only those he knew weren’t going to blink were up front. And every twenty minutes, he’d make a circuit between every building they held checking up on his men and he said no word, nor threatened, nor even looked at the changeling patrols.

Because he wasn’t scared of them. And if he wasn’t, others would know not to be. And he wanted the bastards to see that.    

He wasn’t scared.

Someone (Stavia? Octave?) was playing the violin back in Harriers, someone else was playing dubhoof. All upbeat, lively songs. Good. Take that, you slavering freaks. That’s what we think of you. 

Because we know help is on the way. 


*****


The press was there to watch the recon team fly off – two squadrons, one for the recce and one to cover them. So fine in their blue-grey barding, with the regimental band playing March of Thunder. Prince Blueblood saluted them and they saluted back, an image for that same press. 

Operation Celestia Endures was a go. 

----

--

BG: Official protocol is that we randomly name operations --

BB: Oh blow protocol. Picture this: the Times or I suppose the Sun-and-Moon for the common folk, a huge headline saying ‘Celestia Endures’ and a photo of the Dragoons in full flight. Now try that with “Operation White Manticore” – hardly gets the blood stirring, does it? Chrysalis isn’t going to hear “White Manticore” and freeze in dread. No, Celestia Endures. That’s a statement of intent. 
- Official War Cabinet transcripts


The one thing that I can’t get: these ponies are just so weak. Why has nobody tried this before?  
- Queen Chrysalis’ private notes.


> "Incoming!"
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was ten at night but the sun remained up as the battle started.

On the one side, twenty-four combat pegasi covering sixteen recon pegasi, each split into two-pony leader/wingpony teams. On the other side, nopony would know until the changelings came screaming at them. 

For the moment, all was calm.

“You know, it’s not too late to pull a sickie.”

“Oh shut up, Vantage,” said Air Razor. Her coat was grey-blue and in uniform, it looked like she was wearing all-over armour. “One time, one freaking time. Let it go.” 

“Recon’s accelerating,” he said, levity gone. “Flight and strike.”

“Wilco.”

Everything came into sharper focus: the city below and the battle-marked buildings, and the distant (not distant enough) black blobs; the Recon Three flight they were shadowing; her team leader; every angle of the sky that a changeling could potentially come up. If and when the changelings came, Vantage would cover the sky-spies and she’d cover him. She didn’t look behind but she knew there were eight ponies, including Squadron Leader, hanging back to cover them (and everyone). She did her job and everyone did theirs, then everything should be fine. 

One minute crawled by, then two; she could see the changelings were watching but Recon Three was going unmolested. Vantage glanced back, checking for any signals from Leader. He didn’t say they were being drawn in because a foal of four could have guessed that. 

Do your job and they do theirs.


*****


General Strect had been with Chrysalis since the start and he was loving how Canterlot was going: kicking the crap out of ponies in minutes. It was the most satisfying parts of warfare thrown together, the intellectual thrill of intricate planning and the more savage thrill of a one-sided beatdown.  Seadonia had been a nice test but this was the real deal.

It was certainly better than the start, when she’d been forming her new kingdom and he’d had to slaughter any hive that didn’t fall in line. Second battle in, he’d lost his left eye and almost died from infection. He’d been soaked in ichor and he’d had to put down the elderly (the Queen was right, the kingdom needed to be strong in body and mind; it still wasn’t much fun). Monstering the prey was much more satisfying.

Word had been sent down the city: every changeling on patrol was to keep an eye on the interlopers. Strect and some trusted subordinates were buzzing down the lines (four changelings weren’t going to catch much attention from up high) so that at a second’s notice, when the pegasi did what he was expecting, hundreds of changelings could attack. The ponies would think they were psychic. 

And until then, the ponies would be bricking it about when they were going to be jumped. 

The Queen would be proud.


*****


“Hawker, light up!” snapped Flash Sentry – at his command, one of his unicorns sent up a flare. This was only a testing sortie, they’d have to hold out a bit longer, but the Dragoons would see his position and mark it. Help would be coming.

Some of the civilians had come out of Harriers and were watching the sky. He decided, and he was sure he might regret this, to let them. They had to see that they weren’t abandoned.


*****


”They’re still not moving,” said Air Razor. “Changelings everywhere and all just watching.”

“Been in the city borders for three minutes, this is mad,” hissed Vantage. “We’re going to be stuck— belay that, leader’s waving the flag, we’re pulling out! Watch my flank!”

“It’s overrated.”


*****


And the very second the Dragoons started to withdraw, three hundred changelings made their move.


******


“Incoming!” screamed Air Razor. “In—HELL!” 

Every fourth changeling coming at them was firing green energy – the shots were missing her but only just, and keeping her from falling back. A quick glance showed Vantage was hemmed in too, and Recon 3 with them – no, one of the sky-spies had just taken a glancing blow. The pegasi was lurching sideways, slow, four changelings closing in on him.

“We clear the path!” yelled Vantage and dived, right through the gaps in the shots. Air Razor followed, all the while knowing every other damn changeling was coming up to them – 

Two shots hit Vantage and sent him spinning out into the changeling mass. 

She could either catch him or cover the recon team.

Air Razor dived in spear-form, legs straight and hoof-boots jutting out, and crashed into the first changeling; the sudden movement scattered the other three, the sudden impact split the first’s skull open, and she turned and rose to follow Recon Three out. All feeling was shut down and replaced with cold instinct. Escape and kill.

She narrowly avoided another shot. The pegasi were flying up and out, and a hundred changelings were pursuing.


*****


One stallion had a snapped wing but was actually fighting for the right to fall to his death: every changeling grabbing him was taking a beating. Strect gave up after the pony hit him and gored him through the throat. A quick glance of the sky showed four other ponies had been taken hostage and they had enough food at the moment anyway.

Forty pegasi had flown in, only twenty-eight remained now and that was falling. The sky was awash with green energy (twenty-seven pegasi now) that would be seen for miles. Ah, victory.

Twenty six.

“Well, come on, men!  Let’s follow and kill!”


*****


Changeling after changeling came at Recon Three and Air Razor batted them aside – she couldn’t get a good killing stroke in but at her speed, with her armour, she could deliver concussive blows. Problem was they were lagging; one of the sky-spies needed to support the other. As far as she could see, everypony else was ahead of them (or gone).

A changeling got on her back and she rolled, fast, but after it fell another on was on.

And then a bit of changeling fire hit it in the head. 

Air Razor laughed and accelerated.

The support flight were just a few seconds ahead, covering the retreat; the leader was there too, soaked in ichor.  So close. She ducked right below Recon Three, kicking down at any changeling that was coming up, and counted those seconds until she was out. 

She was at one second when two blasts hit her in the stomach and head. 

When she came to, she was falling fast and the building was coming up and she had time to think now I’ll never be twenty-two


******


Chrysalis had watched the whole thing from the balcony and when the last Dragoon was out of Canterlot, she went back inside to the cocoons. She touched a hoof to Luna’s prison and her horn began to glow its sickly glow, and Luna writhed.

“Come on, princess. You know you’ve got to do it. Come on…”

And slowly, haltingly, at the end of the first sortie of Celestia Endures, the sun finally began to set and the moon to rise.

Chrysalis started to laugh.


******


Flash shouldn’t have let the civilians see, he knew that now. Damn it. 

“They’ll be back,” he said, and he believed it. Those ponies, those tired and scared ponies, clearly did not believe it anymore.

He recognised the violinist (Octavia, that was the name) among them, and she looked tired and she looked scared but she also looked angry. Ten minutes later, she’d taken up her violin and the national anthem echoed through the store.


*****


Forty had set out to pomp and ceremony, and twenty came limping back – eight of them were clearly injured, three severely. Medics were rushing out to get them and the press, shocked and sick, were snapping away, and in all of it Blueblood could just turn to his Prime Minister and say: “We had to send them.”

“I know that,” she snapped. “I was in favour of it.”

“I just want ponies to know we had to.” 

Brigadier Geldmore said nothing. Instead, he turned to a unicorn stallion with an eyeball cutie mark: “Now.”

The horn flashed once, light shot out and hit the Dragoons, and suddenly two of their number became changelings. There was a brief, embarrassed second, and then one was beaten into the clouds and the other was yelling “Pax! Pax!”.

“Oh look, sire,” said Salad Daze, baring her teeth. “They gathered intelligence.”

------

We’ll sing together
Our different choirs
With just one heart

We’ll sing together
In the darkest hour
Of the coldest night

As long as you keep
Harmony in heart
You’ll never sing alone

- First verse of Equestrian national anthem (“Our Different Choirs”)


The last hive to oppose me? That’s their leader on this stick.  
- Queen Chrysalis’ address to a dissident group

> The Minor Hope
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sky had been lit green and night had fallen and news was spreading of only ten ponies returning uninjured, ten out of forty. That was when, mysteriously, all of D Company were doing practice drills and Iron Will had started bellowing slogans at them. Amethyst Star was torn between going with the flow & letting herself get in the rar-rar groove or going oh crap oh crap in her head. Maybe everyone else felt like that too and was just hiding it. 

Well, not Thunderlane and Cloudchaser, who were practicing mid-air punches and dagger thrusts and yelling “I WRATH AT YOU!” loud enough that Queen Krissy-Something could hear them. 

“Hayseed, stronger stance there!” called out Filthy Rich, walking down the lines. “Britelight, you’re swinging to the right a bit, just – that’s good, keep that up! Amethyst Star, shield up!”

She dropped into a crouch and flared up a white half-shield of energy around her front. Rich whacked it hard with his left hoof; it wobbled.

“I’m scared too, Amethyst,” he said quietly. “There’s no shame in it.”

And now, of course, there was shame. “The Dragoons and Royal Guard were the pros and we’re—“

“We’re a platoon with citations for our commando raid and demolition trainings,” he said, a bit of his salespony work creeping into his voice, “and we’ve got thousands of ponies backing us up. And we have something to actually fight for and the changelings don’t. Your sister, Dinky wasn’t it? Now, shield up!” 

It held this time.


*****


One changeling had refused to talk, except for his constant refrains of “I don’t talk to food” and “Long live the Changeling Nation!” and “you’ll never get anything from me!” that came out every time the interrogator said anything. The other prisoner was visibly nervous, so they’d left him to stew in his cell for the best part of an hour. 

Careful Reading had advised a ‘special’ second interrogator and an amber earth pony with a beehive cutie mark had been ushered into Cloudsdale soon after, looking scared and irritated in brief measure. The standard remote-viewing spell was set up in the prisoner’s cell for the War Cabinet and the interrogators sent in. Blueblood peered into the viewing globe, not realising he was blocking other pony’s view.

“That mare doesn’t seem like she’s Watch Intelligence or military,” he said to Careful Reading. 

“Honey Doo is entirely civilian, sire. We’ve temporarily drafted her because, well, you’ll see in a second.”

From the globe came the tinny sound of a pegasus interrogator saying: “I believe it’s customary for name, rank, and number?” No response. “Okay son, I realise I look and sound like I’m going to hurt you. My name’s Hard Boot, this is Honey Doo. Does that help?” No response. “Ms Doo?”

The amber mare sighed and, in a flash of green light, there were two changelings in the room.

Blueblood was sickened but said nothing. Salad Daze spoke instead: “And you’re sure of her?”

“She was thoroughly questioned when we picked her up ten days ago,” said Careful. “No sign of any wrongdoing, three years of normal life in Trottingham. She also has a foal. That will keep you—“

“They can breed with us?” asked Blueblood, horror and disgust in his voice. “Tartarus! Do we want that?”

“Hardly matters if you do or don’t,” said Hottrot, terser than normal.

In the cell, while they’d talked, the prisoner had been freaking out and had now just finished calling Honey Doo “traitor” over and over. With great, deliberate calm, she asked: “Where are the civilians of the Changeling Nation?”

“Everyone fights for the Nation, pony! There’s no dead weight!”

“You surely don’t make the larvae fight.”

The prisoner didn’t look as defiant anymore. “There are no larvae, not yet. Chrysalis says we have to wait until their future is secure. Once Canterlot is ours, then the next generation can be born.” 

“The Nation was formed out of hives, wasn’t it? There are always larvae and elderly in hives: the future that we need to care for and the past we need to revere.” Everyone saw the prisoner flinch when the elderly were mentioned. “They have to be somewhere.”

“The larvae are in the old hives,” said the prisoner, defensive. “One hive, it’s near Vanhoover, that’s where we keep a few women and the ones too young to fight yet. They’re not part of the Nation – I mean, every changeling is in the Nation but they’re, uh, not quite yet. They’re not properly, uh---“

“The elderly?”

The prisoner turned his head away. “Chrysalis said we need to make sacrifices—“

Hard Boot had his wings stretched out in front of Honey Doo before she could move. “Is that really how a new country should be founded?” he asked quietly. 

There was more but it was covered up by the Cabinet’s reactions – Hottrot’s enraged scream and expletives most of all, and Blueblood’s snarl of “savages!”.  

Greyjoy raised a hoof: “We can instruct the Vanhoover Lancers to start searching but this will delay their deployment to Canterlot.”

“I think we should do it,” said Stoutheart. “If we do force a retreat from Canterlot, we don’t want them falling back to the north-east. No, we find this hive and ask for a conditional surrender.”

“And I think we should tell the press that Chrysalis had her followers kill their elderly and abandon their young,” said Salad Daze with a snarl. “We already knew she’d culled every changeling who wouldn’t play ball but this will get ponies right in the emotions. This says we need to take her down, no damn mercy – yes, what is it?”

This last comment to a military runner; a Dragoon, out of breath. “Ma’am, sire, we have multiple fliers and an airship inbound, they’re requesting landing clearance. They appear griffon and they’re flying the right flags, but considering the enemy can shape shift--”

Blueblood was about to speak but Geldmore cut him off: “Grant permission. I know exactly what this is.”



*****


The airship was cloud-grey and ornately armoured, the front curving into a huge beak; gold writing marked it out as the Last Argument. Hundreds of griffons peeled off from around it, each clad in dark blue-grey armour and wicked steel claws on each paw; they landed hard, predator crouch position in three-strong rows. In the front row, in the silver helmet of command, one griffon snapped off a salute.

“Superior-Chief Grizalda, Rapid Response Alpha battalion, Griffon Kingdom Air Army! Under the mutual defence clauses of the Treaty of Tall Tale and the order of His Majesty, I place myself and all three hundred and fifty of my command under Equestrian direction. Our main expeditionary force will be arriving in three more days.” She finished the salute and let herself smirk. “We’re counting this as your Solstice present.”

Blueblood stepped in before Geldmore could and flashed his most dazzling smile. “Charmed, my dear. Consider your present accepted and approved.”

Grizalda blushed. Still got it, thought Blueblood and then he let Geldmore forward. 


*****


News of the Griffon advance reached Midway Greens and caused a mix of cheering and bemusement. As Thunderlane said: “So we had a minotaur on our side and now we’ve got griffons, who’s next, freaking Discord?”

Amethyst pictured changelings turned into cotton candy. “That would be cool.”


*****


“With the griffons, we’ve got an extra group of professional soldiers and support, and furthermore the Griffon Air Army trains for air and ground combat,” said Geldmore. “We planned to use pegasi to break out the holdout areas, with severe casualties: the griffons will drastically reduce that. “ He jabbed at a map of Canterlot, marked out with little pony modules and black stationary to represent changelings. “Two of the holdout zones are in the south, near enough to the station. We concentrate on them, unite those forces, establish a zone. Then we fight our way to Central Station.”

“And then we send in our whole force by train!” cried out Blueblood. “Marvellous species, the griffons! If any country club in Equestria dares exclude them from now on, they’ll have me to answer to!”

“The changelings will throw everything they have at the zone,” said Greyjoy. “We will still have severe casualties from that.”

“It may take a day, two days even, to take the station,” said Geldmore. “The changelings will have numerical and positional advantage. It depends on how long the other holdouts and the North’s Watch diversionary attacks can last. Unfortunately, it’s our only option at the moment. At least we know the bulk of the changelings’ positions from our prisoner, and their battle doctrine of overwhelming melee attacks from the recce, Celestia bless them.” 

“Anything else beyond fine tuning?” asked Salad Daze. When the answer came back as no, she abruptly got up and began walking out the door.

“Don’t look at me like that, it’s almost midnight. If we start nodding off in the middle of battle plans, we’ll be idiots. Four hours minimum and a ton of coffee and brandy.”

Blueblood, his mood collapsed after Geldmore’s words, nodded. “Maybe all this will look better in the morning anyway.”



*****


Changeling and enemy positions had been marked out using, of all things, the cutlery and condiments from the wedding dinner. Commander Strect bet the Self-Defence Forces had nice shiny models of every possible species. When the Changeling Nation was established, so would he. He’d have a proper war room instead of having to use the Queen’s throne room, and every changeling that mattered would have an equally grand room and just as many cocooned lunches to snack on. That was the promise. 

“The North’s Watch, their elite arctic regiment, they’ve got ponies being tracked down to the north face here. We have control of all of Canterlot’s mountain siege defences but the Watch are skilled mountain fighters, we have to be careful here. The land forces are gathering at Midway Greens here, no sign of movement but they’ll be waiting until the train station is in pony hands again.”

“Good luck with that,” sneered the Queen.

“Exactly. The griffons will make this harder but the same principle applies: superior numbers in the air, and with any breakouts we bomb them back. By the time their full force shows up, we’ll have inflicted so many casualties they’ll think twice—“


”And we’ll have a chance to gorge.” The Queen looked at the cocooned Cadance and waved. “The entire centre of Equestria gets to be ours.” She glanced at the map. “And that town there, Summit – that’s a suburb around Mount Canter, you wouldn’t have heard of it. All my time in Canterlot and it only came up in very unfunny jokes by rich people. Check there are no forces sneaking in there.”

“Your highness.” Damn, he should have spotted that. 

Maybe he’d burn Summit once they’d driven the invaders off, that’d show the dump.


*****


Tired as she was, Billie wasn’t sure she could sleep in a room on the clouds. The magic keeping her walking around should last two more days, or so the unicorns claimed. It was still freakish. It was like the first time she’d gone to Canterlot, the subtle feeling that she didn’t belong.

Waiting for her in the corridor was a bat-pony (thestral, she corrected herself) clutching paperwork. That was worrying – what did the military want with just her?

“Hi, Minister. I tried to see you earlier, it’s about sewage.” He pointed a wing at a badge. “Cavehang, director-general of the Canterlot-and-Summit Sewage Works.”

“The what? I thought all you thestrals worked in the forces.”

“I thought all you goats were farmers,” he said coolly.

Oh hells, I did sound like… well, like a pony. “I apologise, Mr Cavehang, it’s been a busy day. Can this wait until the morning?”

“I just want to know – right, sorry, context. We process the sewage from Canterlot out through the mountain and Summit and we didn’t know what we were supposed to do. Are we meant to shut down the pipes or not? The changelings are all using the toilets but so are the ponies up there, so do we want to stink both out or—“

Something clicked in her mind. “Wait, the pipes?”

“Yeah.” His voice had cooled again. “Sewage goes through pipes.”

“How big are these pipes?”

“Pretty big, otherwise we couldn’t fix blockages—“

“Right, I’m going to bed now and you, you are going to get me the maps and schematics of the entire system and get it back up to Cloudsdale as soon as possible, and you will wake me up as soon as you have, and I will wake up the Prime Minister and Prince Blueblood because if this means what I’m thinking it does—“


--

“The mutual defence clause – specifically, 3(3) of the Treaty – was an innovation of Celestia’s, which is believed to have come from a candid conversation with ‘the Good King’. The Griffon Kingdom put a great deal of stock in its military strength and while humiliation was necessary to prevent a second Great War, too much humiliation could do the same again. Hence, it was written and publicly declared that both nations would defend the other, without question, if they were attacked. The griffons were explicitly being called equals and told that Equestria wished to be friends, if the Kingdom followed the Treaty.

Mutual defence pacts would become a key feature of every victory until the last war against the Taurus States…

- Excerpt from Steel Hoof in a Velvet Boot: Equestrian Foreign Policy by Clever Cloggs 


Too long have we hid and pretended and schemed and using mewling subtlety – I say, why do that when we have the power to take?
- Queen Chrysalis’ coronation speech to her hive


> Second Strike
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Our first problem is not being outflanked but the weather factories have been working flat out on that…”


***


Dawn was breaking over Canterlot when the storm rolled in. The large, wrath-of-gods storm being pushed from Cloudsdale to Canterlot by hundreds of pegasi, pro and deputised. The changelings sent up interceptors when they realised what was happening but the pegasi were already peeling off, leaving the storm to drift on until it came to a stop. Hard rain, high wind, and lightning pounded the north and west of the city, while the clouds almost blocked out the daylight. 

And Chrysalis roared and threw things at the wall, because this left it difficult for her changelings to take to the air in that part of the city – not unless she wanted an exhausted, soggy force and dozens of changelings injured before any battle. The army started to regroup.


***


“We’ll have to face the same numbers but only in part of the airspace.” Geldmore rearranged the changeling markers on the large map. “The enemy can clear the storm if they take the form of pegasi but it will take hours, and casualties.” (Blueblood was about to open his mouth) “Any pegasus can physically disable a storm cloud but doing it without injury or accident takes care and training. After the storm is in place, the Dragoons and our griffon friends will move in to central and south…”



***


It was something to see.

Thousands were in flight, armour glinting, arranged into squared ranks, weapons at hoof. Discipline, strength: you looked and felt either fear or hope. Barely noticed were the outfliers, buzzing between the ranks and above and then back, scanning the city below and the sky around for surprise threats. 

Above them were four balloons, each containing two ponies and telescopes for each to spy on the battlefield; a third pony manned a stripped-down radio to code back what was happening. Behind them, guarded by a reserve platoon, was a mass of floating clouds with the red-cross-and-hearts flying on flags: medics were making last-minute checks of their beds and drugs, waiting for the inevitable.

And in the centre flew two armoured titans: the griffon Last Argument and Equestria’s Necessary Action airships, each encased in battered steel, cannon and crossbow-positions at the ready. Inside, the battlefield commanders and their staff were seated, ready to take reports from the watch balloons and to send out orders through a complex mixture of coloured flag, light show, and dedicated message-pony. 

Equestria had reared up and was about to come down on Chrysalis’s skull. 


***


“At the same time, North’s Watch will begin climbing Mount Canter at the north face. We hope that Chrysalis will believe that they’re clearing the way for our reinforcements, and that our forces at Midway Green are an elaborate diversion – and if that doesn’t work, that she assumes the south isn’t under immediate threat. Meanwhile, a spearhead will be moving into Canterlot from Summit via the sewage network…”


***

“What, we’re what?”

“We’re going into Canterlot first, private; which bit was unclear?” Captain Ironhoof was a thick, dull-red earth pony with a voice like the Apple family, and did not sound thrilled at Amethyst Star’s outburst. “Ponyville and Soydon Platoons have both been trained for raids, demolition, and the like. We’ll be working with four to five teams from the Emergency Cavalry and two guides from the sewage works. I hope I don’t have to tell anypony here that they need to bring their A-game and not ask silly questions.”

Yes, thanks for that, Ironhoof.

First land troops into a city full of changelings. Citation or no, there was no way they were up to this. No way. 

“Our mission is critical: sneak out of the sewage works and retake Canterlot Central Station. It only needs to be held for a few minutes until reinforcements arrive. It is entirely doable as long as we bring… what is it?”

He was looking at her.

Well, screw it. She was going no matter how she felt.

“Our A-game, sir!”


***


“Griffin-headed wingtroopers will assist the remaining holdouts in the Royal Guard and civilian resistance, and allow for ‘breakouts’. Of these, our highest priority at the two holdouts in the south: we want the breakouts to join up and hold. The changelings will know about this and assume that this is how we intend to retake the station, as was the original plan. Instead, the TA’s will take retake it and the held area will be where reinforcements will head for. The objective is to take the entire south of the city.” 


***


As soon as the air fleet came into view, the enemy began to double around the barricades and the sky. Flash Sentry had every Guard and civilian fighter out on the street and in the air, and Harriers boarded up behind them. Nopony would be able to fall back but he doubted they were in a fall back situation anymore.

“Attention, lunch!” A particularly large changeling in purple armour had arrived at the western barricade. “You surrender now, you get to live and serve – anypony who fights is dead!”

Flash’s ponies looked to him: time for a display. “If you surrender now, you will be treated with mercy and compassion – any of you that fights will be throwing their lives away once the Dragoons get here.” 

“You think you’ll live long enough for them to save you?”

“I think if they could shatter the Taurus State’s airship fleet, they’re going to rip through your drones like they’re grass.” 

The storm picked that moment to rumble with thunder and Flash Sentry was very glad of that. He knew he wasn’t the most charismatic pony, he’d take any help he got. That purple bastard was starting to look worried now. 


***

“And all that sounds fine and dandy, but the changelings still have us outnumbered,” said Blueblood. “The warships will look impressive but Chrysalis will know we can’t fire often, not when stray shots will hit our own city.”

“We’re fairly sure that our training and discipline is better, and our troops more adaptable. The enemy doctrine is overwhelming mobs and, when not applicable, individual sneak attacks. We can prevent them from the former.” 

“We have a reason to fight,” added Salad Daze. “We have families – foals – down there. You’ve seen the report, you know what the changelings have.”


***


The Vanhoover Lancers had been searching the countryside for hours and yes, fine, the orders said that the hive was believed ‘unguarded’ but each pony hoped there’d be a soldier or ten. Everypony wanted a chance for justice for Canterlot and the Dragoons’ recon team. By Magic, Land, And Air We Kick Your Flank. 

So you can imagine the horror when they’d found the hive, entered, and found their military might was being met with terrified mothers and crippled youths and hundreds of starving larvae, their eyes sunken in. And the tiny graves with their tiny markers. 

Brigadier Sunswept stared at the sight and turned to her adjutant: “What did Cloudsdale say we needed for food?” 

“Ah, it was love spells, ma’am – synthesised, they work as an emergency—“

“Do we have enough and can we manufacture more if not?”

“Ah, I don’t believe—“

“Contact the mayor’s office and get us aid now.”


***


“At the end of the day, we just have to do our best.”


***


“CHANGELINGS – KILL!”

A thousand screaming maws flew at the Dragoons’, aiming for the central phalanx. Impact would be twenty seconds and their formal square would be too easy to encircle and swarm. Following behind, slightly slower but in squares of their own, other changelings waited to fire on any squad that tried to intervene.

The phalanx flew on, slow and steady.

Ten seconds.

Everypony was sweating and every nerve screamed bolt!, but they flew on.

Five seconds.

The changelings were pumped up on adrenaline and thinking they’d have an easy kill; the ponies were just too obvious a target, too slow. And because they were focused on that, what the mob weren’t seeing was that behind enemy lines was a force of fifty pegasi speeding towards the battlefield, spinning round and around as they went. 

Weather ponies used the Mega-Twister formation to clear winter clouds from a large area. The slipstream had been known to almost pull trees up, if a team wasn’t careful, and airspace had to be kept clear in case of accidents. Equestrian forces hadn’t used the move in combat in over seventy years but, unknown to most, every pegasi unit had to practice it just in case.  

“SCATTER!”, and the phalanx duly scattered and the changelings flew right into an incoming twister and over a hundred were killed and crippled in seconds and the roofs were torn off nearby buildings. 

The central changeling swarm was scattered and panicked, and the swarms to their side wasted precious seconds on shock before unleashing a barrage of green energy – but by that point, most of the organised squares had divided into small squads, diving down to pursue those that had scattered. Pony and griffon alike took fire, but in the scores rather than the planned hundreds. For the first few minutes, Equestria had the initiative.  

“THE PRINCESS PROTECTS!” screamed a thousand pegasi.


***


And at Summit’s grand sewage works – and it was grand; the Progressive Party loved their Classico-Futurist architecture, all white-and-gold shine and faux-medieval style for the latest infrastructure – D Company and friends had passed the steel doors and the marble lobby and the statue of the ‘father of sewage’ Night Bucket, and were into the dirty innards. Amethyst Star, horn shining ahead, found herself taking point as they entered the maintenance tunnel.

From this point, they weren’t going to stop until they were back in Canterlot Castle. 


--


TIREK’S RIGHT FIST DESTROYED
Warship Downed By Cloudsdale Dragoons, HMA Appropriate Force
Captain Air Hammer: “The Air Is Ours”

- Evening edition of The Day’s Events, during the Sheepavia Intervention (popularly Tirek’s War)



Why aren’t they scared?
- Chrysalis’ private notes

> "So far, so good..."
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

There was 360 degrees of chaos and she was flying through noise and one changeling had almost crashed into her by sheer accident and she’d almost stabbed her own wingpony before realising who it was. Diamond Eyes had joined up for physical action (she wasn’t going into the family banking business) and be careful what you bloody wish for.

A changeling came head on; she banked to the left, spear stabbing out from her right. Then she banked up because she was about to smack into a building; then she instinctively dropped down as emerald fire started to zero in; then another changeling who’d been this close to getting her was being kicked into the building by Shady.

“The rest of the squad is back there!” he yelled, jabbing a dusk-dark wing into the distance. “We’re way off! Open those eyes, Eyes!”

“Oh, what a faux pas!” 

She saw flashes of fire from where she’d just been but ignored it; saw a griffin plummet screaming past her, wings shredded, but ignored it (too late to act); saw a spear, didn’t ignored, rolled to avoid being hit and carried on. There’d been something about pursuing scattered enemies but that had been two minutes ago: a lifetime. 


***


Diamond Eyes and Shady didn’t notice the balloon above them, but Watcher Three noticed them.

“Ponies moving to regroup, seven to nine o’clock – eleven heading back to squads—“ Bead Eye chewed his lip. “Changelings pursuing, multiple angles; rough count thirty, converging!”

Comms pony Bluster, clashing off-red and yellow, tapped out frantically on the radio set….


***


Onboard TMA Necessary Action, it was ‘controlled’ chaos, ponies in smart dress uniforms noting down radio codes & magic letters and moving models around a careful map, but it was still chaos. In the middle of the cramped Ops Room, Brigadier Geldmore was a rock of order and gruff calm. Gunnery Officer Rockit felt  better every time he glanced at him.

That vanished when a comms pony turned round: “Watch3 thirty change prep mob regroup squads; location…”

Part of him checked the location against his own map, marked with its little Hasbrony toy of an airship model; in range of Cannon Baker. Part of him quaked in its boots. Any shots fired would hit a building; any part of any building could have civilians. One press of a button and a cannon team would be killing people in his name. 

He had one second to make the call.   


***


Gary was a second-generation Equestrian griffin and proud of his country, which didn’t stop him getting a thrill seeing Griffon Kingdom soldiers fly alongside Equestrians. That had been four minutes ago – now his whole world was narrowed down to the stretch of sky in range of Cannon Baker. One turn of the steering wheel and a pull of a chain, and the killer behind the steel wall would turn and strike, and anywhere it pointed—

If he was lucky—

“WE GOT FIRING LIGHT!” 

Gary was turning the cannon as soon as the spotter had said the first syllable. A mass of changelings were organising in front of him, and he yanked the chain before he could think beyond that.


***


There was a roar like thunder and a rush of air, and Diamond Eyes glanced behind her to see two dozen changelings ripped to pieces. (Unseen, those little ping-pong ball sized bits of lead and stone – “anti-flier rounds” – that hit nothing carried on and tore through the nearest wall)

Words failed her. 

She flew on and two squads regrouped. 


***


Flash Sentry heard no cannon; he saw nothing but the changeling commander, trying to bring a hammer down on his skull, desperately parried with each turn. 

Two minutes ago, the horde had started their bombardment strikes; thirty seconds of that had overwhelmed the western barricade and shattered any unicorn shield spell and sent his land ponies staggering back. The pegasi had to land to give them a chance to recover. By then, the entire group was backed up against Harriers and a sixth of their number was dead. 

That had been a minute ago. Then the changelings had swarmed and it was hoof-to-hoof combat and Flash Sentry’s world had condensed. 

Now, he stamped down, hard, on his opponent’s foot. The changeling screamed in pain and flew back: “Swarm, back! Charge and fire!”

The changelings leapt back as one, leaving behind dead and wounded – and a quarter of Flash’s ponies numbered among them. Now, boxed in, tired, the rest of his ponies would join them once the changelings opened fire. 

At least they’d given as good as they’d got. That was something. 

Flash was trying to think of something defiant to yell when, by chance, the changeling leader glanced up and yelled: “Oh crap! EVERYLING SCATTER!”

Two seconds later, the rear ranks exploded into flame – flame that reached out and scorched half their number – and the changelings were fleeing, and two seconds after that a griffin had landed talon-first on the changeling leader. No more changeling leader.

Flash had heard about the Griffon Kingdom’s firebombs (their chemical make-up was still a state secret) and of the firestormer tactics used in the Great War. Hearing isn’t seeing.

The griffin saluted – “Yo!” – and charged off. Now Flash Sentry could see there were twenty griffins on the air and ground, ripping through the changelings like… well, like predators. The air stank of something he could barely comprehend. Things were feeling a little fuzzy around the edges. 

Everything snapped back into place when some ponies – the Dragoons! – landed. (There were two griffins with the heart-and-cross, but he didn’t notice) “Sergeant Fireflight, sir!” snapped out the Pegasus in charge. “Sitrep!”

“Acting-captain Flash Sentry: we have one hundred and sixty four civilians in the shop, and…” (quick count) “nine ponies wounded here, sixteen more inside. When are we breaking out?” 

“As soon as.”

Right. He jabbed a hoof at one of the civilian militiacolts: “Joe, get the barricade back up!” Jabbed at a Royal Guard who was clearly exhausted and would need lighter duties: “Stomper, get that building prepped for prisoners!” At his third-in-command, since his 2IC was currently down and bleeding: “Shine Up, take command of the centre and rearguard!” Jabbed at the three Guards in best condition: “You three, you’re with me – we’re going back into the breach!”

Oh Sun yes, he was going back into the breach. 


***


All the stress of the War Cabinet was gone now: he was where he belonged, snapping out orders and making quick decisions and directed a clear, ordered group. From here, when Geldmore didn’t have to be afraid, everything was simple.

Markers were being moved at street level: breakouts in three of the four points. (The changelings were successfully pinning down the fourth) Geldmore nodded to his aid: “Take a note. Your highness and your honours; the enemy’s first wave has been comprehensively routed and three of four breakouts achieved. Casualties remain in the dozens.” Elsewhere on the map, clumps of black markers remained. “We expect the changeling counter-attack to start imminently. The Princess Protects.”


***


Strect had wasted valuable seconds staring in horror as his drones were routed, he knew that, but he had recovered. His first wave needed to be written off. It was the swarm on the right flank that he needed now; he’d buzzed up and down the line to make sure everyone knew their job. 

He waited until the pony front ranks had regrouped into larger squads and yelled: “FIRE!”

Down the line, a wave of energy ripped forth again and again.


***


The squad leader was yelling to fall back before Diamond Eyes even knew why, and by the time she was moving the squad to her right had fallen like stones. Fire was hitting where she’d been and moving to catch up – there was a brief scream behind her and she knew it was Shady. She cut her speed, heard him scream he was okay (“keep bloody going!”), kept going, swore loudly as a shot just missed her belly.

She was back with the main force of pegasi and the changeling fire stopped there; it was continuous, threatening to cut down anypony who flew away from the front ranks. Well, in that case…

“Sir, permission to escort my wingpony to medical post!”

The squad leader looked at Shady; his side was charred, second-degree for sure. “Granted. Hurry back.”

Diamond Eyes put a leg round her partner and said: “No protests, dear heart, you look like you’ll get the vapours halfway.”

“Not complaining, Eyes,” he said through gritted teeth. “My side feels like hay fries here.”

“Do you mean how it would feel to be hay fries or Tartarus take us!” She’d glanced down and seen a swarm of changelings moving at street level, right where everyone hadn’t been looking for too long, right under the bunched up front ranks, taking up position, horns up and glowing…


***


And in Watcher Three, they’d seen it too. And the word had gone to the Necessary Force, who adjusted position and passed the word to air-to-ground Cannon Diner, and semaphore went out and down the lines as flag-ponies gave the signal to ‘veer left’…


***


And there was another roar of thunder and the changelings behind her exploded, and so did the pavement, and so did the walls of the nearest right-side buildings.

The changelings were fleeing every which way and ponies are flying down to harry them, but Diamond Eyes carried on with escort duty and hoped really hard that the ringing in her ears was going to stop.

“If the changelings don’t surrender after all this, Chrysalis is an utter quim!”



***


They’d have cannons when this was over, Strect promised himself that, and when they made their inevitable attack on Cloudsdale he’d plead for Queen Chrysalis to let him fire the first shell right into the most crowded street. 

Hundreds of changelings were dead but he’d been paying attention to how the ponies were doing it. A few more seconds and it was all going to change for them…


***


“Everything’s turning back here,” reported Bead Eye. “Changelings are regrouping at, what is that building, it’s got minarets in the shape of the bit symbol—“

“That’s the Royal Mint, you git, where’d you go to school?” said Bluster, tapping out the report as he spoke. “Gilly, anything?”

“I can see Breakout Candle is—hey, hey!”  The second spy-pony pulled back from her telescope in disgust; a Dragoon had just flown up in front of the telescope. “Get out of the way! I can’t spot changelings with your fat plot in the way!”

The Dragoon smiled. “About that.”

And then changed back to changeling form.

Bluster had time to tap out S-O.


***


“Sir, we’ve got infiltrators – C Company is moving.”

“Good.” Geldmore had known infiltrators would get through. C Company had been tasked to stay behind the frontline, patrolling for any changeling that got through – anyone caught was to be taken alive if possible for interrogation. Two could play at being underhanded—

“Watcher Three’s down!”

“Watcher One came under attack but is being defended by—“

“Watcher Two’s reporting – no, lost! Damn it!”

He cut through the chatter: “Order Watcher One to withdraw. Watcher Four is to maintain position over Central Station.” Which meant a 50-50 chance of being killed but they needed the station watched. (Could the Last Argument act as replacement watcher? No, that would leave them with a vulnerable spot…) “Tell Cloudsdale we need replacements sent.”

That would take time, twenty minutes at best. Until that time, he wouldn’t have real-time oversight of the battlefield and the ability to respond in seconds to any development – a cornerstone of Self-Defence Force capability and strategy, one of the key advantages they’d had over the changelings. Now both armies would take as long to respond and they had the greater numbers. 

“Tell Cloudsdale we’ll need more medics and supplies as soon as they can.”


***


And in the south of Canterlot, in the ignored and silent sewage works, a few dozen soldiers were emerging from the pipes and taking a few hallowed gasps of fresh air.

“So far, so good,” said Filthy Rich.

Now for the hard part.


--

I again implore you, we are not yet past the brink; there can still be dialogue and peace between our peoples. In peace, children bury their parents but in war, parents bury their children. We both claim to be enlightened rulers and as such, we have the responsibility to not cause such atrocity if we can avoid it. 
I also must make it clear: I am thinking of griffin parents as well. I implore you to do the same. 
- Excerpt from Celestia’s final letter to King Gareth VI before the start of the Great War


Tell them not to worry, I’m practically a non-combatant in this thing. I basically get paid to stare at people.
- Excerpt from Bead Eye’s final letter to sibling before the start of Operation Celestia Endures

> Holding Nerve
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------



“We have to pull back, tell Geldmore to pull everypony back to the border.” Blueblood had been pacing for a minute now and only stopped when none of his cabinet responded. “Did you not hear what I said?”

“If we lose the initiative and have to stop the infiltration mission, we may not be able to establish a bridgehead,” said Greyjoy. “Then, we’ll have to order a frontal assault.”

“I’m not interested in how you’ve swotted up, Greyjoy, not when ponies are going to get slaughtered because we can’t tell what the enemy are doing! We can’t fight without the overwatch!”

“We have before.”

“And look how many died in those wars! I’m not ordering another Barnheim!” He turned from his Secretary of State – maybe ex-Secretary – and stared at each minister in turn, daring them to speak. “I have the final say, not you! Which of you wants to be the monarch and put their name down on the coffin orders?”

Salad Daze looked to her colleagues, then finished off her glass and turned to her monarch. “Is this about the soldiers or about your ego?”

“How dare you.”

“How dare you! You’re the damn monarch in wartime, you have a job and your bloody duty like the rest of us, and part of that involves not wussing out as soon as things get difficult! Not undermining your own war plans because you can’t handle the fact that those plans involve death!” By now she was on her feet and coming at him, and Blueblood, to his credit, was standing his ground. “See? See how you’re standing there, like you’re an actual stallion and not some bratty foal in the playground pretending he’s a bigshot? Do that!”

“This doesn’t help the soldiers or Canterlot,” said Stoutheart quietly, firmly. “If we could all just calm down and be rational about this.”

Salad Daze returned to her seat first, muttering under her breath. She looked sick, like it had taken something out of her. Once she was sitting down, Blueblood sat down.

“Will this ‘duty’ actually achieve anything?” 

“Fifty-fifty chance,” said Greyjoy. 

“What happens if Chrysalis decides to join the fight herself? Can I call a withdrawal then?”

Greyjoy didn’t smile but she did sound smug: “There’s a plan for that.”

“And is that fifty-fifty?”

“No, your highness.” She didn’t sound smug now. 


***


They’d split into three groups, each taking a different path, all regrouping by Breezy Street and storming the station – if one group was spotted, it could (theoretically) distract the changelings from the others. Filthy Rich had sounded very confident when he’d explained their orders. Amethyst Star was choosing to take him at his word and make herself feel confident (it wasn’t working too good but it was a nice try).

Her team crept through the shadows, Amethyst always taking a few steps ahead and then signalling for them to follow; they were leapfrogging their way down each street and back alley. Once, two changelings had flown overhead and her heart had pounded fit to burst but the changelings didn’t look down. Spear dodged.

Then she heard two changelings talking, just round the corner. 

She reared up, jabbed her spear up: ‘enemy here’. Cloudchaser, Hayseed, and Scoops crept forward, weapons drawn; in too short a time, they were with her. 

Please surrender when you see us.

Cloudchaser mouthed ‘now’.

The changelings had been slacking off and drinking coffee they’d ‘scavenged’ from a house. When four armed ponies charged at them, the quickest witted of them threw his drink – the earth ponies instinctively dodged and that gave him chance to draw his weapon, and it meant Amethyst threw her spear at him. 

She’d put telekinesis behind the throw. What would have been a glancing blow hit him dead-centre. 

Cloudchaser tackled the second and he screamed “surrender!”. (If he’d known his friend had been killed, Bruzz would have kept fighting; that’s what he told himself afterwards, at least)

When it became clear nopony had heard or saw the fight, the squad moved on, the prisoner wing-bound and gagged and dragged along (in an ideal world they’d leave him somewhere now but on their timescale, quicker to dump him somewhere right before the charge). Amethyst had to pull her spear out of somepony’s chest and hear the noise it made when it came out. 

Hayseed put his hoof on her shoulder. “You had to do it.”

“I know. I just wish he’d been doing something evil when we found him, something I could… Never mind. The sooner we get this done, the sooner Chrysalis gets hit and the sooner everypony can go home.” 


***


Ten minutes without overwatch and it was all going to cack; exhausted runners were dashing in and out of the Necessary Action’s command deck, and half of them were carrying messages that contradicted the other half; the semaphore network was breaking down. Every platoon, every squad in some places, was fighting on their own right now. Ideally, Geldmore would order the Dragoons to fall back into a larger, more easily directed formation, but then the changelings would have an easier target and at least now, their platoons were all over the place too. In the not-too-long term though, enemy numbers were going to tell.

Geldmore wanted to rip his mane out but on the outside, he was calm and his upper lip remained stiff. He wouldn’t let the side down.

“Signal the Last Argument to support Echo Platoon; then, Echo is to push forward and Last Argument to support Check Platoon.” That would allow both platoons to hit the changeling’s secondary lines. The cost was that the griffin airship would no longer be covering the rear, but he was gambling that it could return to the rear before the enemy could fully exploit that. “Medical clouds?”

“Managing so far, sir—“

“Sir, we’ve got two dozen changelings heading right for us---“

He nodded to Rockit. “Guns to fire at will.”


***


Strect was getting sick of hearing the damn guns. He was getting sick of seeing so many damn ponies in the damn sky. Despatch fliers were telling him that the three breakouts had stalled and that wasn’t enough. What he needed was a massacre, something that would sicken and terrify the ponies into running away.

“Sir!” This despatch runner was grinning like Chrysalis during feeding. “We’ve found their field hospital.”

“Excellent.”


***


There were no more changelings en route and that was a relief; most of them must be at the battle. (You could hear it, distant yelling and zaps and sporadic artillery) With luck, the station would be lightly guarded. 

Amethyst Star reached the rendezvous point and the station was not lightly guarded. 

Her platoon, once they were all together, turned out to be outnumbered two to one. Heavyset, pike-wielding changelings were ranked at the entrance, and on the roof, and hovering by every large window. 

“That’s why we didn’t see patrols on the way here, they’d pulled back!” Lieutenant Rich looked sick. “It makes sense, they’d be patrolling for fleeing locals – and this is the only place to flee too, and our strategy wanted them to think the Dragoons were trying to reach here, so why not regroup here?”

Captain Ironhoof glared at him – the universal ‘not in front of the kids’ glare – and said: “Okay. We can’t overwhelm as planned. Time to improvise.”

“Improvise to pulverise,” said Iron Will, before catching herself: “Sorry, ma’am. Habit.”

“Granted.” There was pain in the captain’s eyes when she looked out at the station, Amethyst could see it. “All unicorns here have been trained for group shields? Okay, good.” At that, Ironfood bent her head down and retrieved a firework (“SELF-LIGHT MAGIC – CAUTION”) from a clip on her left leg. 

That was the signal to send the trains.

She had to speak: “Ma’am, with respect, if we send the signal now—“

“The estimate was that it would take five minutes for the first troop train to get here. We can possibly seize the station but we can’t hold it for five minutes, so we tell the trains to arrive early. Success before safety, private.

“Now then: is everypony familiar with the tank formation?”


***


The casualty figures had jumped sharply in the last few minutes and if this kept up, the medical cloud was going to need an extension. Amble On’s life had turned into a blur of painkillers and water and comforting words, and soldiers alternately crying in pain or exchanging how-I-got-mine tall tales. He’d be more tired than he’d ever been if we wasn’t keyed up on adrenaline and patriotism (and coffee); it’d all come back to haunt him when (when?) the battle was over.

“Painkillers, I got painkillers!” he sung out, flapping down to the slightly-less-badly-wounded soldiers, jars of leaf goop strapped to him. “Who wants painkillers? Shady, I know you want paintkillers!”

“Shut up and shove them down my throat,” said the dusk-coloured soldier, “I’ve got an itch and you don’t want to know what happens if I scratch it.”

“Pus comes out,” said Shady’s ward-mate Tumbler.  

Amble On was reaching for the first jar when the cloud exploded behind him – while he was righting his balance, he saw too late that part of it had dissolved and Tumbler had fallen. Up above, a wing of pegasi were turning into changelings and he could hear two other explosions and then—

And then Tumbler was flying up through the hole – his bandaged wing suddenly not-so-bandaged and a dagger in hoof – and a dozen other patients across the cloud were doing the same. The changelings outnumbered them two to one but being attacked that quick, out of nowhere, reduced that number by half and scattered the rest. In seconds, the changelings had broken formation and were retaliating, but the guards were flying in. One changeling bombed his way through a ward out of spite, the rest ran or surrendered.

“How,” began Amble On, watching Tumbler fly down. “You. What.”

“Command thought that the changelings would attack the patients, command knew the changelings would bypass the guards, command had us pretend to be wounded so when—“

“You used the bedpan, you sick—“ Doctors were rushing by; there were more and worse casualties now, Amble On remembered. He rushed to do his job, the rest of the sentence forgotten. 



--

GJ: The basic strategy is to use any misdirection, any trick, any bit of technology to keep the changelings confused and off-guard. This will negate their numerical advantage.

HT: Just so I’m clear, ah, if it comes to a straight fight before we can get reinforcements in, the changelings will win?

GJ: Yes.

HT: We’ll resort to underhanded trickery then. Someone get the Conservatives in here! 

SD: [laughs]

SH: [inaudible]

-	Official War Cabinet excerpts


We estimate that Queen Chrysalis will enter the battlefield as soon as Grand Central is secure and reinforcements can enter via train. Battle plans show enough soldiers can overwhelm – our most recent is the Nightmare Moon Hypothetical Battle Plan - but on an open field, which we will not be on. Cannons could only get an accurate lock at pointblank range, an unlikely occurrence.  

No solution at this time. Possibilities will be looked into ASAP.
-	Report from Self-Defence Forces to Greyjoy, during planning Operation Celestia Endures