Corporal Bastion, a FASTAC with the elite Lunar Rifle Regiment, is a pony on the run. On the run from his past mostly, however his past is not something he can run from. Not when the fight of his life is beckoning.
Corporal Bastion is many things to many ponies. A well bred pegasus who cast off the trappings of his station to serve with honour in the newly formed Lunar Rifle Regiment. An almost exemplary corporal well on his way to his third stripe. A sneaky bastard with an eye for devilish cunning. However Bastion is a pony with a past, a past that he's spent years trying to forget. A past that has been seared into his mind with the force of a brand. Now, with an upcoming deployment in the works, Bastion's pretty sure he's finally managed to shake it off... but the past is like that. No matter how far or fast you run, it always catches up with you.
Now, with that past bearing down upon him and the other members of his section, Bastion is in for the fight of his life.
MSR 'CANTERLOT', 0524, Birch Ranges. One mile East of FOB Nocturne.
“Contact front!” The bellowed roar splits the morning like an axe, followed by the sudden sharp and unwelcome whip-crack of rounds incoming. A bright flash of gold slices through the darkness as a flurry of tracer rounds snap past us. Instantly we whip around and start to gallop for whatever cover we can find, the unicorns among our patrol hurling up shields to protect us from the enemy fire whilst the rest of us dash into cover. The enemy have chosen their ambush point expertly, and fire streaks down at us as more weapons open up on our exposed patrol.
The thickly wooded slopes of the valley on either side of us are providing excellent cover for the ambushing force; whilst the rocky terrain directly to our front just beyond the bend likewise provides perfect cover for the heavier weapon that is now battering our little patrol. Rounds snarl over our heads, bright yellow tracers scoring vivid lines in our Night Observation Devices and puffs of dust erupt all around us as the enemy find our range.
I duck behind one of the larger rocks on the right hand side of the trail, fire snapping at the air behind me. I quickly raise my head to scan for targets along the left side of the road, and it takes me only a moment to spot my first target: a unicorn mare, clad in bulky ceramic plating, not all that dissimilar to the suit I'm wearing.
I quickly squint, feeling the enchanted rifle shifting below my neck as the helmet-mounted targeting monocle directs the weapon into the aim. I zoom the monocle in on the unicorn mare, and the little red light in the corner of my eye turns green to let me know I've got a valid firing solution.
She's standing in the open, just letting loose with her rifle and trusting her shield to soak up the rounds. That’s an amateur’s mistake. As I’m about to fire however, I see a figure hobbling past her, likewise dressed in Equestrian army issue camouflage ceramic. He’s stumbling, dragging himself forward on two fore-legs, his hind legs dragging behind him.
I can hear him shouting at the unicorn to leave him, and I can hear her equally frantic cries for him to move faster. Too late now, buster. I squeeze the firing toggle, my jawbone pressing against the firing switch lodged between jaw and cheek.
My rifle opens up with a sharp rattle, the report of the assault rifle ringing in my ears as I fire, three bursts of bright purple tracers that skip through the sky to slam into the unicorn's position. Dust leaps up around her and her shield sparks under the impact of the first burst of rounds and fails under the second. The unicorn starts to gallop for the nearest cover, however, the third burst of rounds slams into her, splashing her armour with red and sending her sprawling. I shift my focus, turning my head to take aim at the ‘crippled’ target, and three shots to the barrel put paid to him.
Around us, I can hear my colleagues barking out contact reports as they engage targets with mixed results. The volume of fire we're taking is unbelievable, the air is thick with golden tracers. I can hear the fire all around us now, intensifying into a blistering hail. I duck my head as another round thumps into the ground next to me, the shockwave of its passage rippling through my mane. I move to reposition, hunting for another more sturdy rock to hide behind as the enemy start firing at me in earnest, their own NODs giving them good eyes on my position. I whirl as a round sizzles through my tail, the smell of burning keratin reaching my nostrils along with the stench of ozone and smoke. We’re being engaged by more than just small arms now, and I can hear the thud thud thud thud of some kind of crew-served weapon tracking my progress.
I dive behind the nearest set of rocks I can find and realise I'm not alone in my new cover. Corporal Punishment, the fire team lead, is likewise firing at the enemy position, putting one volley after another in the direction of the enemy. “Lovely weather we're having,” she says brightly. “Very sunny, clear skies, maybe you can do something about that, Baz!” her tone sharpening as she turns to glare at me, her magic keeping her weapon pointed at the enemy as she lets off another withering burst of fire without even looking at a target. Bloody unicorns, they get all the fun things.
I nod, shifting my hooves and using my wing to flick a boom microphone attached to my helmet down. As the FASTAC attached to the patrol, my job is to call in such air or artillery support as I can at need. It's exciting, complex and challenging role and one that I've only just graduated into. It's also a hell of a lot of fun. I quickly look down to read the aide memoire attached to my foreleg, a quick tug with my teeth pulling the velcro cover away to reveal the relevant pages. I quickly scan through them, my grin widening as I realise what callsigns are in the air tonight. We’re deep in the shit and we are getting deeper by the second, we need air support urgently or we will take casualties. With that in mind, I fire up my radio.
“This is Moonstrike One Five calling Birch Forward; I have troops encircled and under heavy fire; requesting tasking at grids five one zero eight one nine, Danger close. Ground commander initials are Sierra Lima-32.”
“Moonstrike, this is Thunder-Cloud One-Two.” Jackpot, I think as Birch Forward chops a new voice onto my frequency. Thunder-Cloud is the callsign of the Wonderbolt attack team in the vicinity. I haven't heard much about how good the famous pegasi are at anything other than formation flying, but I'm looking forward to finding out.
“Thundercloud is a two-pony multi-role flight, standard loads and unlimited playtime.” The voice continues into my ear as more gunfire rings out around me, thwacking into the rocks around our position, our section digging in and returning fire bravely. However, we’re outnumbered and outgunned, and the situation is worsening by the second. I can hear more enemy heavy weapons opening up, and the rumbling of an approaching armoured vehicle “Cool, Moonstrike is a patrol on MSR Canterlot, friendly grid, zero one zero eight, three four nine two. Enemy hoof mobiles in hard cover among rocks, grids to follow. Our position is extremely tenuous at this time.”
“Copy that, assets en route.” The voice doesn’t sound like any of the famous Wonderbolts, but I’m not picky. To be quite frank, I’d accept junior speedsters with beebee guns and slingshots at this point. I start rattling information off for the incoming flight of pegasi, exchanging grid references and generally trying to give the incoming flight as much information as I can about our position. But all my business talking the air-ponies on to target is rather suddenly brought to an abrupt stop.
“PONY DOWN, PONY DOWN!” The voice rings out over my headset and I look up from my cover to see one of our unicorns down in the middle of the road, red dust splashed across his breastplate. I only get a second’s glance before more fire forces me to duck behind the rock. “Get some fire going!” Corporal Punishment snaps over the radio “Put smoke up, somepony grab him!”
With that, I redouble my efforts with the air support. “Thunder, we’ve got a pony down here and enemy danger close, I need you in my overhead right the fuck now!” I snap into my microphone as I look around. The others are dug in and in good cover now, but no one’s moving to get our downed colleague. I can see the position marked on my helmet-mounted display in red along with a timer to simulate how long till he bleeds out. He doesn’t have long, “01.00” is displayed before my eyes - a minute at most. Somepony needs to get to him right now, get him back into cover and administer ‘first aid’.
“Moonstrike, this is Thunder, we’ve been re-tasked.” Thunder’s voice is apologetic, as well she might be. Without Thunder, we’re well and truly up shit creek with no paddle. B Company is an infantry company after all, and whilst we’re mechanized, nopony has seen fit to let us bring our chariots with us tonight. The only carts we have available are the ones we used to bring our heavier gear up, all of which are back at base. For support assets, it’s not much better. Whilst Fifth Battery, Royal Artillery has sent some mortars to train with us, they haven’t sent their larger ordinance to come and play. In short, without that close air support, we’re fucked.
“Copy that Thunder, fuck off and clear my frequencies, Birch Forward, do you have anything else?” I ask irritably.
“That’s negative, all other assets are on tasking or unsuitable.” Birch replies grimly.
“Copy that, out.” I knock the boom microphone out of my muzzle and glance around the edge of the rock. A hail of bullets sends me scampering back behind cover. I’m the closest to the downed unicorn. With that I glance at Corporal Punishment who smirks back at me. “You’re going to try and get him?” she asks, and I nod quickly. She grins in reply. She’s always been a sucker for the big play, and if I manage it, it looks good for her. That being said, the enemy have us boxed up tighter than a Hearth’s Warming gift and the moment I stick my muzzle out, I’m going to draw fire. However it’s my buddy, my comrade out there and I’m not leaving him behind.
The ground starts to shake beneath my hooves as the enemy start opening up with mortars, the shrill whistling ringing in my ears as hostile shells fall from the sky. It’s a rather gutsy move, given their own troops aren’t exactly far away, and one misplaced shell will paste them just as easily as a good hit will paste us. But the point cannot be clearer, we need to get moving, if only to get out from under those mortars. “Well, good luck, we’ll give you cover fire.” Corporal Punishment says, freeing a smoke grenade from her webbing and preparing to throw it with her magic. With that, I check my equipment and then prepare to do something really stupid.
Corporal Punishment hurls the smoke grenade out. I wait three seconds, hearing the gentle hissing of the smoke building, then I flex my legs and prepare to dash out and snatch my wounded comrade. Outnumbered, outgunned and surrounded on all sides. Welcome to the Lunar Rifle Regiment. With that thought, I raise my voice.
“For the New Lunar Republic!” I bellow, and as a torrent of guffaws echoes through my headset I leap over the rock, my wings straining to give me the required lift to get up and over the rock.
I hit the ground then start galloping towards the downed unicorn, the thick smoke filling my vision as I dash towards him. I can feel a gust grasping at my ceramic armour. The blanket of smoke is snatched away from around me and the gunfire starts, the rattle of rifles and the thunder of heavy repeaters fills the air with a furious tumult. Spellfire strikes the ground around me, and I hear the fizzle of weapons fire against the shield that the other unicorns in the patrol have thrown up around me.
I reach down, grab the unicorn by the strap at the back of his armor and start to pull my comrade back with my teeth, backing up as fast as I can as the shields put up by my unicorn comrades begin to fade beneath the relentless onslaught of enemy fire. My colleagues are returning fire as best they can - putting out a truly vicious amount of fire - bright tracers sparking as they snap past me.
“Keep going, you’re good, you’re good!” Punishment’s voice rings in my ear as she punts another smoke grenade into position. I can’t return fire since I can’t tilt my head up to look around for enemy forces and get a sight line on them for the monocle. However as the growling of the approaching armour fills my ears, I start to move faster, trying to drag our downed unicorn back to the cover of the rocks. I know I’m not going to make it as I hear the scraping of tracks on the road as the chariot turns the corner and lines up its weapon. Then I suddenly hear a rising howl behind me, a roar like a powerful gust, a roar that I’ve heard before. It’s the sound of a pegasus on an attack run, coming straight in at our position.
Enemy air, what else could go wrong? I ask myself. However, the pegasus roars in over my head, right through the throat of the valley and down upon the hostile vehicle. I lift my head, releasing the downed pony to stare at the pegasus as she swoops downwards and opens fire with cannon, two bright vicious blue lines of cannon fire sprouting from the sides of the combat saddle to slam into the enemy chariot, splashing it with red dust. Red smoke erupts from the chariot’s turret and the enemy infantry shift their fire to try and take the air-pony down but the pegasus has already banked up and started climbing. I quickly get on comms as I look up, catching a glimpse of a deep blue flight-suit, streaked with a flash of yellow, and a brightly coloured tail as the pony banks away up to higher altitude, tracers streaking vainly after the pegasus as she levels out and starts to circle once more. I click my comms, trying to find out who has just strafed the enemy position. “This is Moonstrike calling air asset over our position, please identify.”
There’s a pregnant pause on the other side of the line, before a young brazen female voice speaks, “This is Anchorhead Three-Two calling Moonstrike, we were in the vicinity, and we tried to raise you on comms, we were on our way back from tasking and diverted to assist, we assumed you were down, how copy?”
“Solid copy Anchorhead, you’ve got good hits on the hard target down here, want to come in and mop the rest up?”
“Sure, tipping in with guns, call for clearance.”
“In hot, fuck ‘em up.” I reply as quickly as I can, before diving for my belly as a scything volley of enemy gunfire rips over my head. Fortunately the Royals seem to be taking a leaf out of our Haymareican colleagues’ training manual and volume rather than accuracy seems to be their main concern. As I watch, the first pegasus sweeps around and then comes in low, a second pegasus tipping in on her wing. The two pegasi come thundering in at incredibly low altitude, a second vicious strafing run tearing right over our heads, punching into the treeline on both sides of the valley. Their fire is lethal and accurate, and I notice a definite decrease in the fire coming in on our positions.
I then turn my head away to start moving my downed fellow night-guardspony back behind the rocks, using the opportunity afforded by the two strafing runs to drag him behind cover. I manage to get him back into safety behind the rocks and then release the strap from my teeth, wiggling my jaw. Dragging ponies around by the mouth, particularly ones in full battle order, is not much fun, but needs must. I then raise Anchorhead as they climb away from a third strafe.“Anchorhead, how’re you doing up there? You seeing anything?”
“That’s a negative.” Anchorhead’s voice is breathless, as it might be from conducting three thoroughly awesome strafes, but it’s also jubilant. “Enemy forces are pulling out into the treeline, toss me a BDA when able. We’re leaving your overhead now, you owe me two cases of hayfries and a cider, Moonstrike. Anchorhead clear.”
“Meet me after endex, and I’ll oblige, those were some top strikes, Moonstrike out.” I reply, before cutting the connection and glancing around. The fire has completely vanished: the enemy have melted into the gathering dawn, though the signs of battle still hang in the air. Red smoke still billows steadily from the downed chariot and the scent of ozone and gunsmoke hangs upon the air. The rocks we’ve been hiding behind are speckled with scorch marks where rounds have impacted, and the heavy weapons have torn holes the size of one bit coins into the smaller rocks and buried channels into the larger rocks before the incantations powering the rounds lost their energy. “Re-org!” Corporal Punishment bellows and I form up with the others, getting into all round defence with the remaining seven members of the patrol, the medic continuing to work on the downed pony, Guardspony ‘Mossy’ Hill.
“Right, top notch FASTAC support,” Corporal Punishment slaps me on the shoulder once we’ve re-organized ourselves and got back into some sort of fighting shape. “I know it was a bit awkward to get that air support coming in on target the first time, but once you got that down… first class strafes from whoever you called in. Nice job grabbing Hilly over there as well, risky but it paid off… everyone else, good actions on from you ponies, you did what you were meant to and got the fire down where it counted. It was a pig of an ambush, but we’re out of it now and once Doc has pronounced Hilly fit to travel, we’ll continue on our route back to base.” Corporal Punishment takes a moment to turn her head and take a sip from her camelbak.
Unlike the rest of us, who are wearing combat helmets and visors, Corporal Punishment is wearing the dark blue Lunar Guard beret with its distinctive silver bat-moon badge blacked out so as not to shine. She’s wearing a pair of tactical goggles, the same array of information that we get projected upon our helmet visors and monocles projected onto her goggles, and she gets the same targeting monocle as we do. Whilst it’s against uniform regulations, no one really cares in the field. Corporal Punishment has always been one for bending or outright breaking the rules as needed, as evidenced by the fact she’s still a corporal despite five years in the Equestrian army followed by another seven years in the Lunar Rifle Regiment.
“Right ponies, form up and we’ll move out.” Corporal Punishment orders and we turn and start to move, the other guardsponies forming up into formation, Hilly clambering to his hooves to move out with us. Nopony wants to be carried off the field after all; that’s one of the traditions that the ancient Honour-Guard of Nightmare Moon imparted to us.
We march onwards, the weight of my saddle starting to dig in. Like most of the ponies around me, I’m dressed for combat and my saddle reflects that. I’m wearing solid ceramic armour plating over my barrel, neck and legs along with the helmet, over which goes a combat saddle which contains all the things I’ll need for battle. I’m carrying food and water for seventy-two hours, an individual first aid kit plus the advanced computer systems required for the sling and helmet to link my weapon to the helmet monocle in a seamless extension of my will. Then you add to that the specialised comms equipment that I’m carrying as a FASTAC- (Forward Asset Tactical Air Control)- to allow me to direct the attack pegasi onto a target and you get an idea of quite how heavy this equipment is. All this is done up in green, brown and black arranged into a funny pixelated design, as opposed to the multicam-type pattern that the rest of the Equestrian army wear. Needless to say, with all this bulky gear strapped to me and screwing my aerodynamics all to hell, flying is out of the question. I flap my wings experimentally as we continue trotting onwards into the dawn, along MSR Canterlot and out of the valley of death, towards a hill that rises gently from the flat fields and treelines surrounding it. At the top of the hill is Forward Operating Base Nocturne, our base of operations for this exercise.
FOB Nocturne is not much to look at. A series of barns and brick buildings that have obviously been made with a farming community in mind, have been converted into a makeshift forward operating and rearming point, with barricades and watchtowers built around the perimeter of the FOB itself. Overhead a pair of pegasi slowly circle in a slow and lazy orbital pattern, the whisper of the wind over their wings hissing a soft melody. The light of the dawn splashes the barns with crimson as the sun rises over Birch Ranges. Slowly we make our way up the hill, our bodies aching from the low that follows the adrenaline high of combat. The night’s activities have taken it out of all of us; we were on a rather painful patrol that started at 1700 yesterday afternoon, a patrol that took us from one end of Birch Ranges to the other seeing neither hide nor hoof of the enemy. We’d expected the patrol to end without incident, in fact, having expected one of the other platoons to establish some form of in depth security. If the enemy can move armour around within a mile of our home base with impunity then we’ve got problems.
I sigh and shake my head, not sharing my worries with the others, not when we’re nearly at base. They’re smart enough; they should have an idea of what enemy armour within a mile of our base can mean, particularly for an infantry company like ours. I’m deep in thought as we cross the field, climbing the hill and advancing upon the FOB, the flag of the Princess of the Night flying proudly over Nocturne. Once through the gates and into the FOB, Corporal Punishment gestures with a hoof.
“Right ponies. Fill your water bottles and camelbaks and replenish your batteries… then take a pew over there by that hay pile and wait whilst I see what’s kicking, Bouncer’s is in charge.” Corporal Punishment says firmly.
I nod quickly as Punishment turns and trots off towards the farmhouse where the command post has been established, the others heading over to one of the covered carts and starting to distribute sets of batteries among themselves. I wander over and join them, taking a couple of packets for myself. Magic is a critical part of our arsenal, even those of us who aren’t unicorns have had enchantments placed upon our equipment here or there, however electricity is just as important, and running the batteries down could be fatal, so every soldier carries plenty of spare batteries for his equipment and ‘Mossy’, as the resident workhorse is carrying a dynamo for charging our gear and our weapons’ power cells back up.
As we fill our webbing and vests and re-fill our canteens and saddles, the rest of the section chatter amongst themselves and I slowly learn more about the disparate group of ponies that I’ve been working with for the last month or so. Lance corporal Glancing ‘Bouncer’ Blow is the next senior pony after myself, and he's a very competent stallion despite the fact he's only been in the Lunar Guards for a year and a half. He's apparently a very knowledgeable pony when it comes to regimental history of not only our own regiment but almost every other regiment in the Equestrian order of battle. He's also very finicky about uniform and likes to make sure everything is just so, according to Guardspony Autumn Breeze, the youngest member of our section at just sixteen. One of our resident unicorns, she's also the comedienne of the section, with a sharp joke or a whiplike come-back for almost anything. Like Glancing Blow, Autumn Breeze is an educated pony, though she doesn't say where she went to school. However her crisp Canterlotian drawl tells a story all of its own. Guardspony ‘G-D’ Apple stands at the other end of the spectrum, a tall powerfully built golden yellow earth pony with a leafy green mane (who refuses to confirm or deny whether he's related to The Apple family) is our taciturn support gunner, the large weapon resting easily across his back.
Guards-ponies Phalanx and Broadsword are next, two ponies who opted to change their names when the Lunar Guard gave them the opportunity and I ask no further questions lest I invade their privacy, however it doesn't escape my notice that both wear thin whiplike scars through their steely fur. Last but by no means least is Guards-pony 'Hilly' Mossy Hill, the section's other Earth Pony and our sapper/explosive specialist/cook. He's also one of the most accident prone ponies in the regiment according to Autumn Breeze. Watching them talking and laughing and fooling around as soldiers do, I smile faintly. These ponies have all proved themselves today, and they're exalting in coming out of the fire with their honour intact.
We slowly spread out, collapsing upon the hay pile to enjoy a moment of relaxation in the field. Not a pony among us would not consider that rest well and truly earned, and as we flip up our visors and monocles and let our weapons hang loose, I unfurl my wings, stretching them out to allow the feathers to breathe and the other two pegasi among our section do the same. We relax and the good natured banter flows, and I allow myself to think back on how I managed to wind up here.
My history with Her Lunar Majesty’s Royal Rifle Regiment began five years ago when I walked into an armed forces recruitment office intending to join the Royal Guard, or the Grenadier Guards Canterlot and Hoofshire Regiment as they’re officially known. However just as I set my hoof through the door, I found a couple of pegasi dressed in uniforms I’d never seen before. Rather than the tan working dress uniforms of the Equestrian army or the ceremonial golden armor of the Royal Guard, these two pegasi were dressed in jet black uniform jackets with silver buttons and midnight blue cuff-titles.
To my sixteen-year old eyes, those uniforms were the coolest things I’d ever seen. I approached them and asked them a few questions, and I soon found out that they were NCOs in the newly re-constituted Lunar Guard Regiment, which struck me as odd. I’d seen Lunar Guards before, and they were distinctive, to say the least, with those bright golden eyes and bat wings. However the two guardsponies explained that the armor carried an enchantment to make the pegasi of the company look like bat-ponies, and non-pegasi were simply kept out of ceremonial duty.
Half an hour later they’d sold me on joining the Lunar guards instead of the Royal Guard. Joining hadn’t been an easy process, despite the fact that the regiment was under-strength and still being formed; the NCOs and officers intended those joining to be up to the task of guarding the Lunar Princess, in addition to meeting the Lunar Rifle Regiment’s commitments on the battlefield. The result was a regiment with six companies rather than the normal five, with one company, Noctis Chapter, dedicated to the personal security of the Princess and the other five companies tasked with ceremonial duties in addition to performing our battlefield role as an infantry regiment. It also resulted in the most lethal regiment in the Equestrian army, made up as it was of the best NCOs from the regular army, a pool of young and aggressive talent and a patron who took an aggressive interest in our well-being and development as a regiment and as individual soldiers.
Before joining the army, I didn’t have a hope in hell of amounting to anything in civvie street. I’d had a ‘challenging’ childhood in Cloudsdale, and the highlight of my school career was when I evaporated the maths classroom’s roof on a dare. This itself wouldn’t have been a problem had a Prench class on the floor above not decided to stay behind after hours for extra credit. So in short, my resume upon leaving school was ‘unimpressive’. Now, six years after leaving school, I’m a corporal in Princess Luna’s Regiment with experience in a variety of disciplines that would make most of my former classmates green with envy.
I didn’t make the cut for Noctis Chapter and, so I was put into K company of the light infantry portion of the regiment, where I was posted until Gryphonia. After that went belly up, I was posted into B Company, which was part of the mechanized component. I’ve been on training exercises, overseas on friendly training ops to Germaneigh and various other bits and bobs. It’s been a blast, figuratively speaking, especially for the pegasus pony who never really saw eye to eye with civvie street, particularly the civvie street embodied by my upper class Cloudsdale family, where everything I wanted could be laid on for me with just a flick of my pinions. Here however, everything I've become, I've earned with my own hooves. No-pony cares what my family name is, which suits me just fine.
It hasn't been easy of course, memories of sharp conversations with stupid NCOs and even more idiotic officers play through my head as I lie back in the hay, my eyes half hooded. More than once I've been in trouble for getting into fights with ponies from other regiments or companies who tried to take the piss, but then that spirit characterises the Lunar Regiment all over. An aggressive determination to succeed, to take on all comers by any means needed and a willingness to punt the rulebook through the nearest window and follow it in, weapons blazing.
I'm distracted from my ramble down memory lane by a sudden sharp whistling. My eyes snap open and I leap to my hooves even as the other members of the section do the same. Around us there is a sudden palpable frisson of activity and energy. The mortar crew who had been sitting around opposite to us are now leaping to their hooves and grabbing shells to load into the mortars that have been brought forward for our use. Other Lunar Guards-Ponies are coming out from where they've been billeted, under the cover of the sheds that house the other platoons, weapons already armed and active. Platoon sergeants are stalking among them like sharks among the minnow and corporals are barking out orders. Sections are dashing this way and that in response to orders and a frisson of excitement and nervousness fills the air. Corporal Punishment forces her way through the press of two platoons of ponies forming up to move out as the whistle continues to blow. “One-Three, where are you?” We see her looking around the court-yard, and I gesture for my comrades to move up with me “Come on, One-Three, form up on me!” She commands as we quickly clatter up to her, forming up in a cluster around her.
“Right ponies, short and simple, the enemy are going to be attacking our position in five minutes in overwhelming numbers,” She says frankly. “Estimated strength... a full company plus armour and air support, our orders are to hold this position for as long as we can,” She grins at us, a savage predatory grin that makes me wonder if the ancient line of bat-ponies runs a little truer in her family, or else if she had a timberwolf for a cousin. “I've got us front row seats, we're going to be the commander's quick reaction team, the moment that the enemy attack, we're going to be thrown in to help bolster the defence where needed.” She turns to me, “Bastion, you're staying right on my six; I'm going to need you where I can see you so you can do your job, if you need us to move then let me know, are you okay with that?”
I nod quickly as she goes on to describe what she wants everyone else to do. It's a good plan as far as plans go. Essentially it boils down to keeping me alive so I can direct my strikes to hit as needed, keep her section fast and loose to respond to threats as and when they crop up rather than getting bogged down in firefights, and inflict as much damage as we can before we get taken out. That is a plan I can work with, and I have my sights on taking out an enemy chariot or two. It won't be that hard even. This hill is a natural defensive position with excellent unobstructed sight lines across the surrounding terrain. The enemy have to gallop across open ground for a minimum of three hundred metres, in plain sight of our weapons until they're right under the brow of our hill. However there are natural features that make our job a little more difficult. Three hundred metres to the north of the position is a wood, with dense foliage and fairly good cover for an attacker to get into position and lay down covering fire, whilst five hundred metres out to the west is Heartbreak Ridge, a natural ridge that provides excellent cover for somepony to get chariots into position. Chariots, or even gun carriages five hundred metres out could annihilate an infantry company with very little trouble. Still, they're Grenadiers and we're Lunar Guards. They won't stand a bucking chance even if they come with all the airships in Canterlot.
My confidence however is rather swiftly shaken when I ask who's commanding the enemy company. I’ve heard that General Shining Armour has recently got bored with being a prince of polished glass and decided to come back to being a leader of ponies, with his wife's blessing according to Autumn Breeze. I've never worked with Shining Armour but you don't get to be a general at his age unless you've got a clue about what you're doing, even if you're boning one princess and related by blood to another.
Corporal Punishment notices the others looking at each other nervously in response to this bit of unwelcome news and clears her throat. “Ponies, we're the Lunar Guard, they could come with Celestia herself directing their efforts and we'd still batter them across the plains.” She growls, stamping her hoof to make her point. “We're faster, better trained and better armed than they are, we can-”
WHOOMPH.
The percussive thump of an artillery shell smashing into the ground short of the position makes the earth shake and Corporal Punishment chuckles, before raising her voice, “Right, time for making speeches later bitches, for now we make history!” She gestures with her hoof at the gate that leads out towards Heartbreak Ridge, “We're going to move out, get ourselves established behind the friendly position and await their armour... word is they're going to bring the armour from that side so-” Another shell screams in to detonate inside the walls of Nocturne itself, hurling a great fountain of dust and smoke skywards, interrupting Punishment who scowls but starts to gallop and we follow her out, through the gates and down behind one of the barriers next to the gate.
More artillery shells scream overhead to land among the forward positions, the powerful explosions making our ear-drums ring. However the enemy are not showing themselves, content to let their attached artillery earn their keep. I however have other ideas and with one wing, flick my boom microphone down in front of my muzzle.
“Birch Forward, this is Moonstrike, I'm calling in imminent Troops In Contact.” I have to shout to make myself heard over the barrage, “We're under indirect artillery fire and we suspect contact to be imminent, any assets available?”
“This is Anchor-head calling Moonstrike, looks like you owe me more cider, you alright down there!?” The mare from earlier is still as brash as ever, however I'm no less glad to hear her voice.
“Anchor-head, we’re up to our knees in shit here, I need you to hunt out artillery positions that are shelling my troops, find them and take them out.” I pause, checking my map for friendlies outside our own perimeter, “Your choice ordinance and attack angle, no friendlies nearby.” “Copy that, I'll start hunting; will get back to you when I've taken them out, Anchor-head out.” With that, I turn to start scanning for further targets, before consulting my aide-memoire. There are three pegasi attack teams assigned to us for this exercise and I've got one on tasking, the other two aren't doing anything but I'm not going to exhaust them yet. I want to keep them in reserve till I need them for GCAS strikes rather than tire the ponies out during the preliminary phases.
The artillery fire continues to rain down upon us for another half hour before ceasing abruptly. I grin, even as my radio squelches. Anchor-head sounds exhausted, but I cannot blame her in the slightest.“Good effect on targets,” She pants. “Three self propelled gun carriages taken down, Anchor-head is RTB to rearm.”
“Copy Anchor-head, meet me after the end of the exercise for that cider,” I say gratefully, even as I hear the distant rumble of chariots drawing closer.
“You can count on it Loonies, Anchor-head out.” With that, my comm frequency goes silent and I smile slightly, glad to have taken the enemy artillery pieces off the field before they could inflict serious damage upon our position. Our mortars are still in reserve until the enemy are in the open, as are our own heavier weapons, such as they are. As the chariots draw closer, I feel my heart start to pound in my ears and my knees begin to shake; my tail twitches as the adrenaline starts to rush at the prospect of a fight. Next to me, Corporal Punishment shifts her hooves irritably as she glances down the line, checking the rest of the section who are likewise looking nervous yet excited at the thought of imminent violence. “You nervous, Just’?” I ask with a chuckle and she tosses me an evil glare.
“In your dreams Corporal,” she replies snidely, “I just hope you don't kill them all before the rest of us get a turn.”
“Patience is a virtue my young apprentice, trust in Luna and she will provide,” I reply sanctimoniously and she sticks her tongue out at me, blowing a very loud raspberry, then she draws her breath to respond. However before she can do so, a sharp crackle rips through the air as enemy infantry suddenly spring up along the lip of Heartbreak Ridge, firing long bursts of suppressive fire to keep our heads down. They come galloping over the ridge line, hurling smoke as they advance to mask their attack in a thick haze of white smoke. Unlike the forces we made contact with this morning, we don't have any former weather ponies in the company and so the smoke builds in thick heavy curtains. All that we can do is fire our mortars fruitlessly into the smoke, watching the plumes of dirt punch through the cloud of white. I start scanning the smoke cloud for movement, even as the sudden rattling of weapons firing on my right makes it clear that the enemy are behaving as expected: attacking with a two pronged assault and trying to tie us down by engaging two sides simultaneously.
We start to return fire, G-D opening up with his support weapon as other Lunar Guards also start firing into the smoke, long bursts of heavy weapons fire ripping through the clouds of smoke and sending violet tracer rounds leaping upwards as they ricochet off shields or the ground or somepony's armour plating. All the while golden tracers fly right back into our faces, snapping and snarling around our positions. As I start counting tracer and firing points, a rather horrific realisation occurs to me. This thrust is not their main attack, only a platoon at most has been committed to this angle against two of our platoons. “We need to go,” I say quickly to Corporal Punishment, my voice betraying my nervousness. “The enemy might be attacking on the other flank, they've only got a squad here, one platoon max.”
Punishment nods, her glance letting me know she's been thinking exactly the same thing. Instantly we're rushing to our hooves once more, galloping back through the gate into the camp and turning as quickly as we can. I suddenly hear a shrill howl, like the roar of an incoming train or a howling gale and I throw myself to the floor. I barely have time to yell out “ENEMY AIR!” before the enemy flight team is overhead, swooping low like falcons to come barreling in to strafe our lines. The furious growl of their chain-cannons sounds like the roar of a leviathan at this range and the crack of the rounds slamming into their target rings like the crashing of thunder. We claw ourselves to our hooves and open up with our rifles, firing in vain as the hostile pegasi swiftly climb beyond the range of our weapons.
I frantically start calling in the other two air teams to try and take these guys out, knowing that if Shining Armour has decided to commit air assets then an all out assault will not be far behind. We dash through the base, past the courtyard where the mortar team are punching round after round skywards. I can hear the furious roar of battle all around, voices shouting at other voices even as heavy weapons thump and lighter infantry weapons crackle. The air sparkles with tracers of every colour and the smell of burning ozone hangs thick in the air, along with the chemical stench of the smoke.
As we continue running, the shrill roar of the enemy air picks up again and once more we throw ourselves to our bellies as the enemy pegasi swoop in for a second strafing run, the snarl of their weapons joined by a furious crash as the roof of one of the sheds collapses under the weight of fire. Behind me somepony yells out and in spite of my aching legs, heavy armour and the fact I’m covered from head to hoof in mud and dirt, I’ve never felt so alive.
The enemy air is a problem, however I’m determined to do something about it. “Birch-Forward, Moonstrike here, we need assets in my overhead right now, I’ve got enemy air on grid niner zero two three one eight!” I bellow into my headset, and I’m rewarded with a quick response from Birch-Forward.
“Assets en route to your position, time to target is zero five mikes, intercept vector two five nine.” Relief spreads through my heart as I leap to my hooves and dash after my comrades in the direction of the gate.
We sprint out the gate to take position opposite the wood line where the enemy are slowly pushing forward from, eschewing smoke in the favour of sheer weight of fire; two heavy repeaters are set up in the wood-line under the cover of shield teams. As I watch, the first shield disintegrates, only for a second unicorn to instantly snap his shield up to take its place. Great, fucking relay shields I think bitterly, knowing that a well drilled team can keep this little stunt going for two hours per unicorn. We don't have six hours to wait for them to get tired and so we start returning fire, adding our own weapons to the two platoons who are already putting fire down on the grenadiers who are carefully putting up shields to cover their assault forward and moving by bounds.
However the one thing they haven't plotted for is about to happen. Our own unicorn stoops down and snatches up a series of pebbles to hold them firmly in her magic. She then hurls them all at once at the advancing infantry-ponies. The infantry’s shields fizzle and die under multiple kinetic impacts and our own guards-ponies rapidly seize the advantage and switch fire, cutting down one section in a withering rain of purple tracer and forcing the remainder to withdraw with heavy casualties, crying foul as they flee.
The gun team however is made of sterner stuff, increasing their rate of fire to force us back into cover whilst their colleagues withdraw, screaming insults as they make it back behind the cover of their guns. Whilst Autumn Breeze is a good shot with her rocks, she can't project them the three hundred metres with the force required to break three shields.
“Where'd you learn that trick?” I ask, astounded and Autumn Breeze grins.
“Magical Theory class,” She replies, panting from the effort. “You throw enough rocks at a shield at once, it overwhelms the shield.” I nod, understanding it vaguely. It sounds like physics, which is something that all pegasi should have a reasonably good grasp of, gravity being such an influence in our lives. However I don't need to think about it right now, since those two platoons are now setting up positions with their colleagues and have started putting down fire, casting their shields to form an impenetrable shield wall. Great.
Again, I get that sinking feeling. The enemy have only committed two and a half platoons here, and whilst that is a respectable number for a main offensive, they don't have any armour support and their air will be getting distracted shortly. The timer on my visor is rapidly ticking down, but it still seems to be taking forever. A quick glance skyward tells me that the enemy pegasi are keeping their distance and letting their accuracy suffer as a result. It looks like we have this situation all wrapped up. As famous last words go, those will take some beating.
The snarl of chariot weapons is the first thing that lets me know something is wrong. The loud percussive clatter of enemy cannon fills the air as the Armoured Infantrypony Support Vehicles open fire on our southern flank. Our defences are concentrated on the north and west, those being the points that everypony expects an attack from and those are the points from whence an attack came. Nopony attacks from the south, it's open ground from start to finish for eight hundred metres. However Shining Armour is now making his play and he's brought his armour forward for the job. I turn and start galloping for the southern side of the fortress, Corporal Punishment and the rest of the section charging in behind me.
We round the corner and I rapidly see how bad the situation is, just before the enemy spot me and try to take my head off. Sixty ponies plus armour are heading our way. Shining Armour has committed everything he has to this thrust, including his HQ element which will mean General Shining Armour himself is down there somewhere, leading from the front. I quickly dart behind cover and start dialling up the air. However an unpleasant shock greets me the moment I reach Birch Forward. “Moon-strike, we can’t give you any more air support… you’ve winchestered one ground attack team and your two interception flights are overhead now. Word from higher is that you get no more air, part of the exercise parameters, sorry mate.”
I roll my eyes and try not to swear into the microphone. Birch is just doing his job and it must be pretty thankless, however that doesn't mean I'm happy about it. My two interception flights are indeed overhead right now, but they’re going to be about as much use as hocks on a hot rock for ground attack, and as I glance upward I can see that the enemy ground attack flights are fighting hard.
“Copy that Birch, Moonstrike out,” I say shortly and flick the microphone out of my face. Without that air support, we don't have anything that can take on enemy armour on anything like equal terms, except anti chariot missiles. That being said, we're not going to go down quietly. I quickly get in behind cover and then pop my head out to scan for a target. I spot a slightly overweight pegasus who is lagging just behind the formation. You’re going to fuckin’ have some I think. I quickly take aim and fire, the rifle roaring as the first set of rounds rip over the top of the small shields the unicorns have put up and slam into the pegasus, sending him sprawling to the ground, red dust blooming from the impact.
The enemy response is murderous, a wall of golden tracer rears up to greet us as they start malleting our position with everything they have: chain guns, rocket launchers and small-arms all opening up to smash this small section of Lunar Guards. I actually feel quite flattered that they're making this much of an effort to kill us. That being said, it's bloody annoying not being able to return fire.
However we do our best, hunching as low as ponies can in bulky combat armour and darting out to fire a burst before darting back in again behind the cover which is starting to disintegrate under the withering onslaught. It's a good strategy and one that pays dividends in forcing the enemy to use care as they advance, a steady trickle of manpower draining away as our rounds score hits.
But then their rounds score hits too, and the losses are felt more keenly among eight than among sixty. G-D gets knocked out fairly early on, staying out in the open when he should have got into cover like any sensible pony would have done and it doesn't take long before an enemy manages to slot a round into his armour, then a second and then a third; the spells woven into the training rounds splashing red dust over the earth pony and knocking him out cold. Other ponies soon follow, the enemy fire becoming more effective as they draw closer and our own fire weakens as our numbers drop. Soon it's just me, Autumn Breeze and Corporal Punishment. “Corp, I have an idea.” I suggest, and Corporal Punishment raises an eyebrow from her position next to me.
“I'm listening, Bastion,” she growls, making my adrenaline fueled smile widen.
“Boss, we're fucked aren't we, we’ve got no air and no armour support... we're going to lose this exercise anyway, right?”
“In a nutshell yes, what're you suggesting?” she asks, intrigued.
“Well... can you and Autumn cast that invisibility spell?” I ask.
“Yes, so what're you suggesting, we cloak up and get into another position to hit them?”
“Not exactly,” I reply. “We wait for them to take the fort, cloaked up and all, then we'll see if His Nibs shows up in the fort... if he does then we'll try and take him out before they call an end to the exercise?”
Corporal Punishment's grin is absolutely feral and I can see that Autumn is likewise rather enthusiastic about the idea.
“What about him?” Autumn asks, gesturing at me and Punishment shrugs.
“I can get him under a cloak, but only for about thirty seconds at a time.” Punishment's tone is dubious and I grimace.
“Don't worry, there's plenty of hiding places in there, particularly after you've torn down one of the buildings to make it look like they blew it up,” I suggest and Punishment nods.
“Sounds like a plan, let's do it.”
With that, we withdraw as quickly as we can, pulling back behind the wall. Inside the FOB is a madhouse with ponies sprinting this way and that, carrying more batteries for this or more shells for that as the mortars are laying down enough fire for ten. Our headquarters element is already laying down fire from the upper windows of the Command Post, whilst a storm-group comprising of the company chef, the padre and two mortarponies dashes past us. They sprint past us into the southern position that we’ve just vacated, the chef still wielding a spatula and a machine pistol. They and we both know they're fucked but they move in anyway.
We rush to the command post, forcing our way past the curtain to find Major Shattered Lance standing at a map table, his company second in command and his company sargeant major with him. He looks like a broken stallion, and I can see why. The enemy are advancing on all fronts and he’s being forced to give ground to conserve his meagre resources.
“What do you want?” He growls and I explain what I have in mind to him. Shattered Lance's mouth curls upwards into a smile, the kind of smile that would have mothers dragging their children off the streets in terror. The notion of going out with a bang appeals to him rather more than it should. He knows the sensible thing to do is surrender, to save the notional lives of the ponies under his command. We're Lunar-Guard. We don't surrender to any-pony, ever. I think, going down fighting is our way and always has been, even back when we were Nightmare Moon’s Life Guard cavalry. Hence why there are no Bat-Ponies anymore. “Do it,” he growls “Make sure you capture that smug prick's face on film when you do.”
With that, he dismisses us to plan the rest of his doomed defence, the smile fading as we charge out of his office to find somewhere more appropriate to hide. It doesn't take us long to find a suitably ruined building and it takes even less time for Punishment and Autumn to set the three of us up underneath the rubble in such a way that only a very careful observer will be able to spot that there are actually ponies hiding in the ruins and from there we watch the battle continue towards its doomed conclusion.
The chef’s desperate defence of the southern gate will go down in regimental legend as he lays down fire with G-D’s ‘borrowed’ machine gun, hurling army biscuits at the advancing enemy troops with his magic whilst he blisters the air with curses.
B company manages to hold out for much longer than anticipated, taking two more long and gruelling hours of brutal fighting as they force the grenadiers to pay dearly for every yard of ground that they manage to take. However as the casualties mount, their defence becomes weaker and the enemy press the advantage, using their armour to hammer strong-points and smash last bastions of resistance. The climax, a ruthless battle over the CP where quarter is neither asked for nor given, is worthy of a Final Cut film as our soldiers fight desperately for every last inch of ground. However the result is inevitable, and eventually the CP is taken down, leaving us still in the fortress, alive and unseen. The wait for Shining Armour then begins. The grenadiers, having wiped out the CP, are obviously expecting end-ex, or end of exercise to be called. In their eyes, they've just taken the last bastion of the New Lunar Republic and so the exercise should be over, the briefing clearly stating that end-ex will be called when we're all dead. Thus, the ponies start to mill around pointlessly, sitting down to do admin or go and chat with their mates, rather than start sweeping the fortress to make sure it's clear. The chariot teams even dismount their vehicles to get a cup of tea going. Nopony likes amateurs- I think. Hidden away in the rubble, we silently watch. Nopony dares twitch or whisper or even breathe loudly. The enemy are trotting right past our position, so close that we can feel the vibration of their hoof steps as they trot past us, gassing about and getting admin done.
Then, half an hour after the last Lunar Guards-pony has been supposedly cleared from the fortress, Shining Armour appears, looking irritable. The Lunar Guards who were 'killed' during the exercise have got up and gathered together in a corner of the FOB and they are likewise getting a brew on. They're just as surprised as the Grenadiers that the exercise has not been ended. Shining Armour trots over to Shattered Lance and offers him a hoof shake, which is dutifully returned, though we cannot hear what words pass between the two senior officers. Eventually, Shattered Lance starts to lead General Armour towards our position.
Prince-Consort General Shining Armour is not actually quite as imposing as his reputation would have us believe. He's a large pony with a deep blue mane with electric blue streaks running through it, and his fur would ordinarily be white, though like the rest of us, his has been stained brown by the dust and mud and gunfire. His bright blue eyes gleam and he's actually got quite an infectious smile. His armour is mussed and muddied just like that of the ponies under his command, and the rifle under his chin has the distinctive pale dust upon the barrel where it's been fired quite a bit. Magical residue or something from the training ammunition we use, I don't care too much.
What I do care about is that he's drawing closer to our position, being drawn forward by Major Lance. He's laughing now, laughing at a joke that his own company sergeant major has told him. He looks a little more at ease now, no one's yet suggested to him that there might still be Lunar Guards in the fortress. My knees flex and I take a deep breath as he draws nearer. He's close now, fifty metres or less. My breath catches in my chest, my heart pounding.
“Take out the CSM, then just blow away as many as you can,” Corporal Punishment mutters and I shake my head.
“I'm going for the General, you hit the CSM, Autumn... fuck up whoever's closest.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Autumn whispers as Shining Armour draws nearer. Her horn starts to glow as she prepares the incantation that will breach us out of here.
Shining Armour stops, barely ten metres away from our position. He's so close I can almost hear his breathing. His nostrils tighten slightly and I realise with horror that he can feel Autumn's magic. With that, the time for thinking is over. Autumn hurls her charm at the tightly woven lattice holding the rubble off of us. The rubble erupts outwards. We rise from the rubble in one flowing movement, the world slowing down to a crawl as we rise to our hooves. Every sound hangs in my ears as I bring my weapon up, zeroing it in on Shining Armour's neck and face. His mouth opens but no sound emerges. I squeeze the firing toggle, depressing it firmly and holding it down.
The sling jerks against my neck, the weapon vibrating as it fires, the bright purple light of my weapon flashing in General Shining Armour's eyes, my muzzle flash reflected in his monocle. His own weapon is coming up but it's too slow, he's not ready. His horn sparks as he tries to summon one of his infamous shields but he's too late. Red dust blossoms as the rounds strike home at point blank range and Prince-Consort General Shining Armour, commander of the Grenadier Guards Canterlot and Hoofshire Regiment and protector of the Crystal Empire collapses like a puppet whose strings have been cut. I'm aware of words coming from my mouth but I don't know what those words are.
Next to him, the broad and bulky sergeant major is likewise going down, red dust billowing from his torso. Other ponies are running this way and that, levelling weapons at us but we're already firing and more red dust flows as pony after pony is hit. Then I feel a powerful slap to my flank as a Grenadier finds his mark, my own knees buckle and I collapse to the ground as more shots slam into me, the roar of weapons fire filling my ears. As I collapse to the ground, I can vaguely hear another roaring.
The whooping cheers of Night Guards-Ponies are audible even over the clatter of weapons fire as my vision starts to turn grey and the world fades to black as the stunning spell built into the training rounds takes hold.
The last thought that crosses my mind is a satisfied, Job Done.
Army Medical Centre, Eastfather barracks, Canterlot.
The two princesses gaze into the recovery room, their faces grim as they gaze at the storm-cloud grey pegasus with a short black mane that has been cropped close down the neck. The pegasus's wings and fur show signs of damage, patches of skin are visible where fur has been scorched away. The pegasus is asleep, an oxygen mask clamped over his face. The machines strapped to the pony blip and hum gently as they take various samples. Long leads hang from the pony to the machines. Stacked in one corner is a battered and cracked set of combat armour, scorched and charred from the heavy onslaught of fire that it had taken. Ceramic is strong, but nopony expected it to withstand the kind of punishment that the Grenadiers inflicted upon it. Five hundred rounds of training ammunition were fired in thirty seconds into plating designed to take a maximum of two hundred and fifty over the course of its operational life.
The two alicorns are very different from each other in appearance. One is a rich midnight blue where the other is a brilliant pale pink in colour, and the first has a long flowing deep blue mane that glitters with stars whilst the second princess has a simple tri-coloured mane that hangs down her neck in glorious curls. To look upon them, none would know they were related. Princess Luna, the ultimate commanding authority in all matters concerning her beloved regiment, is not happy at all. “What news do the doctors bring?” She asks her niece.
“He will make a full recovery.” Princess Cadence says after a second, “Corporal Bastion is very lucky indeed, as are his two colleagues. His radio and vest took most of the fire, as did the camouflaged fabric over his wings.” The periwinkle coloured mare extends a wing, folding it over her aunt who sighs and relaxes into the comforting gesture, her starry mane billowing slowly and languidly, her expression drawn and mournful.
Princess Luna sighs softly “Those are glad tidings Mi-Amore Cadenza and thy words should inspire me to joy, yet I cannot find it in my heart to be joyous to see my soldiers in so grim a state.”
“Shining Armour sends his apologies-”
“None are needed, the Grenadiers acted properly to neutralise the threat though their fire discipline could stand to improve. Nay I do not hold he or his regiment to fault for this. Accidents happen in training, this is an accepted fact among military professionals. So was it before my exile and so it is now. However that makes it no easier to see my sworn defenders laid low for feats of bravado intended to win my favour.” The Night princess sighs mournfully, her tail twitching faintly. “Am I such a ruler, Mi-Amore Cadenza, that my subjects would commit feats of suicidal bravery for naught but my approval, Am I a bad pony because I approve of this... stunt?” She turns to the princess of Love, who sighs comfortingly.
“Princess, no one blames you for this, or your regiment... the Lunar Regiment is well known as a bunch of hard-flanks who like pushing themselves.” Cadence says reassuringly “And I suppose, from a military standpoint, there's a lot to approve of?”
Luna nods grimly, her mouth setting into a thin line. “From a military standpoint, there is much to approve of. I lost three additional ponies and a position that would have fallen anyway in exchange for a general of the enemy forces. The company that I lost defending such a place is easier to replace by far than a pony of Shining Armour's stature. Not only do the enemy lose a valuable and experienced commander, but the damage to their morale is equally crippling.” Luna says, placing a wistful hoof upon the glass of the treatment room, then her eyes flick upward to Cadence's own eyes which are flickering around nervously.
“Thou be more tense than a farmer a'fore the swarming season, there is something thou art keeping from me Cadence.” Luna says archly after a moment, and Cadence sighs, finding no easy way to say what she needs to. “His wings took most of the fire, and the doctors... well they do not think he will ever fly for a while.” The Alicorn says sadly and Luna nods shortly, her face falling. Cadance clears her throat quickly
“It’s not that bad, they say he could fly in six months or so, it’ll just take a while before he’s fully flight capable.”
“I see, my thanks Mi-Amore Cadenza, and also my gratitude to thee for thy sweet words, they are a much-desired solace to me in these sore times.” Luna's head drops and her wings droop upon her back, her mane's languid flow slowing to a crawl. Cadence sighs gently. “It is not as bad as it could have been,” Luna says suddenly “Thy husband, Shining Armour, he also took-”
“Shining Armour's fine, his pride is about the only thing that the dumb colt hurt today,” Cadence cuts across her elder, her tone cross, “I told him he should stay back and let the company commanders do their job, maybe now he will actually listen... Oh, I'm sorry, that sounded-” “Nay Mi-Amore Cadenza, thou art right to look for the brightness in such matters, and it is good that thy husband will be where generals ought, thou art his wife and thou does not wish him to come to harm in his occupation.”
“You are too wise for your own good auntie.”
“It comes with years Mi-Amore Cadenza, however though I appreciate thy effort to give me succour, I would ask thou to give me peace for a moment.” Luna sighs softly and Cadence nods grimly, before turning on her hooves and trotting mournfully down the corridor, leaving Luna gazing into the treatment room at the bed of Corporal Bastion, B Company, Her Lunar Majesty's Royal Regiment and very nearly the first pony to die in her service for a very long time.
The corridor is silent but for the gasping sobs of the Princess of the Night.
