0300 19th of January 1882. HMS Armifer.

Admiral Iron Breast nervously taps her foot upon the tiled floor and tugs her collar. Fear is not something that she is used to. As commander of the Sixth Aero-fleet, her word is law on this base and a hundred others. Feared and loathed by many, including her fellow Admirals, she holds the unconditional loyalty of her own troops for being a commander well known to dispense with politics in favour of efficiency and effectiveness.

Yet the person that is waiting to see her on the other side of her office door has an even more fearsome reputation than she does. Iron Breast can still remember the Field Marshal’s return three years ago like it was yesterday.

She had been little more than a joke at that point, she was the sole woman among the Admiralty, purely there to keep Princess Celestia happy about the Navy’s commitment to equal opportunities. Her fleet was one of the best drilled and best kept in Equestria, yet that strength was being depleted patrolling the borders of the Crystal Empire, a sector that was strategically pointless, since beyond that was the North Fleet which sucked up truly massive amounts of resources in keeping an eye on the ‘Valorossiyan threat’. She had been summoned on short notice to an Admiralty meeting by Princess Celestia with very limited explanation. When she had arrived she had met the other Admirals, all of whom looked just as perplexed as she did. All of them had started bellowing at each other for answers as to what the issue was, with Admirals Armour Pierced and Stalwart Defender accusing each other of various indiscretions during assorted Mess Dinners.

The door to the chambers had then opened and a short woman had swept in, dressed in raiment that looked positively ancient. Segmented battle armour that had been polished to a mirror shine, leather skirt that came down to the knees, greaves and sandals and even a short sword of the kind the ancient legions wore during the Great Equestrian Civil War. Her long blue flowing hair sparkled like stars in the night sky as it billowed behind her, and a deep lavender star spangled cloak hung from her shoulders. Long forgotten history lessons sprung to the front of Iron-Breast’s mind, that the Celestial Legions did not wear that kind of armour, and purple is a colour worn only by royalty. The tiny discreet silver olive branch wreath poking out from above her ears was yet another symbol of note. However her fellow admirals continued to bellow at each other as though this woman was not even in the room. The woman adjusted the flat steel mask upon her face slightly, and then raised one gloved fist. She then brought it down hard upon the table with a thunderous crash.

All conversation ceased, the admirals stunned into sudden silence. That was the first time that Iron Breast had heard the Royal Canterlot Voice directed at her and she’s been fortunate that she has not heard the like again, at least not directed at her. There have been occasions since where she has been stood on the other side of a door whilst the Voice was directed upon some other deserving unfortunate. These experiences of the Royal Canterlot Voice left an indelible mark upon her psyche. It was a solid, overpowering wall of sound, indistinct at first, but rapidly becoming manifest into words.

“THIS IS MY NAVY?” Her voice rapidly dropped down to normal levels, but became no less scathing. “I had sincerely hoped my dear sister was joking when she had mentioned slight problems within my Imperial Navy, I had hoped that therein I would find a solid core of strength from whence I could reform the Army!” As she said this, the woman lifted the small sack that she had been holding and promptly upended it upon the table.

A tidal wave of gold washed across the conference table, a shower of medals, braid and ceremonial swords, wreaths and even little crown pips. Sitting atop the pile of gold are five ceremonial batons.

“I have visited the Headquarters of the Army already. I was displeased by what I saw there.” She said, somewhat unnecessarily gesturing to the small mountain of gold before her. “Yet now, lest my eyes betray me, I see here before me a similar state of affairs. No matter, a similar response should suffice.”

She walked up to the head of the table, where Admiral Vaught-Carter was standing in shock.
“I relieve you of your command Admiral.” She said firmly but Vaught Carter stiffened, puffing out his chest.

“Who exactly are you, and why should I accept this mutiny?” he demanded, puffing up like a bullfrog.

The woman shrugged, before calmly drawing her short sword. The whisper of oiled steel upon leather rang like thunder in the room. Unlike all the other swords in the room, the one in this woman’s hands was not a ceremonial blade. No elaborate filigree, just a razor sharp point and a wicked cutting edge.

“Pray tell, what is the definition of mutiny?” The masked woman asked softly, hefting the blade in her hands.

Silence filled the air until Iron-Breast found her tongue.“It is when an airship’s crew overthrows its superior officer, ma’am.”

“Correct. Now, Admiral Vaught-Carter, hast thou consulted thy charts, the ones published yesterday?” The woman asked coolly.

“I have no need to consult the Palace on these matters.” Vaught-Carter responded, an edge of unease in his voice.

“No? Allow me to refresh thy clearly flawed memory then, who doest thou report to, as supreme head of the Navy?”

“I report to Her Solar Majesty, Princess Celestia” Vaught-Carter replied nervously, a cold sweat appearing on his face.

“As the quicker witted among you may have gathered, there has been something of a change in management. Princess Celestia has relinquished her control of the Equestrian Armed forces into mine hands.” At this, the woman produced a scroll and opened it, reading the royal proclamation aloud. As she does, Iron Breast watches the other admirals slowly deflating and shrinking.

“I, Princess Celestia, do hereby solemnly resign all control of the Imperial Equestrian Armed forces without exception of branch or rank, to the control of my sister, Princess Luna.’ I would draw thine eyes towards the bottom of the document, those of you that can read should take note of the golden seal and signature of my sister.”

The atmosphere in the room had completely changed by the time Princess Luna had finished reading the declaration. The assorted Admirals are pale and shaking, two of them openly weep before the Princess of the night.

“So... thus stands the matter.” Luna said coolly “I have toured thy units, spoken with thine officers and thy men. All is not well. Gross mismanagement and negligence for anything even resembling military propriety reign supreme, chaos and corruption and dereliction of duty go unchecked. I have thus seen fit to instigate some changes within the Navy, those changes shall be dependent upon thy performance here today. Shouldst thou prove thyselves competent then I shall reward thee.”

The assessment did not take long and by the end of it, Iron-Breast had received a series of rather surprising promotions. She had been taken from her dead end sector and placed in command of the rather more important Eastern Sector, tasked to keep watch upon the Khanate.

That was over three years ago and the events of that day still ring in Iron Breast's mind, clear and true as a bell. Since then she has had all manner of trials and tribulations to overcome. Her predecessor had not left things in a ‘strategically optimal fashion’ as her reports phrased it. He had apparently been embezzling funds meant for various out of the way garrisons and suchlike, something for which he had paid with his life. Field Marshal Luna’s methods are unconventional and authoritarian and just what the Navy needed. Three years later she’s still unwinding the messes he left behind in addition to taking on a new project for the Field Marshal.

Admiral Iron-Breast is distracted from her grim musing by a knock upon the door. Without waiting for a response, the door eases open to reveal a short woman in a simple Lunar Guard tunic, trousers and knee high jackboots. The decorations and braid that she normally wears has been left off, leaving her in a simple uniform and dress sword. However no one could mistake the Night Princess for anyone else with her flowing hair and that grim steel mask that Iron Breast has never understood. Every time Iron-Breast has seen the younger Princess she has worn that steel mask with its distinctive silver moon engraving. As far as Iron Breast understands it, no one has seen Princess Luna’s face in over a thousand years.

“Ma’am,” Iron-Breast says politely, snapping to attention and chopping her hand up in a crisp salute, which is returned by the princess. “Welcome to HMS Armifer, I hope your stay will be comfortable.”

“I shall not be staying for long, I am here for the contents of Hangar B15”

Iron-Breast winces. Hangar B15, the largest of the R&D hangars has been off limits for two years now. She hasn’t been told what was going on in there and she hadn’t really asked. She saw technicians, workers and raw materials going in each day and waste coming out. However she hadn’t seen any of the usual supplies of canvas going in which raised her suspicions immediately. Reinforced canvas is an essential component of making airships after all. Sentries have reported construction going on long into the night, well after all the other hangars had ceased production for the day. Many officers have also reported approaching the hangar to see what was going on, only to be rebuffed by Lunar Guards manning a cordon around the hangar.

“Ah yes, B15” Iron-Breast says grimly. “Of course ma’am, I will send a runner to let them know you’re here.”

“A runner?”

“Doctor Freeman requested the communications lines between B15 and the rest of the base to be cut, all save the emergency lines, he didn't say why.”

“Very prudent of him,” Luna nods approvingly “Given the nature of what is going on in B15 I can understand why he wishes to keep loose lips tied shut as it were.”

“I see” Iron-Breast replies, rising to her feet “If I might ask ma’am, what’s going on out there? Many of my officers have expressed concern over noise and various other issues.”

Luna pauses for a moment, obviously thinking about something. “You are aware that what is going on in hangar B15 is classified at the highest level correct?”

“Clearly, if they weren't even willing to tell me then something must be up.” Iron Breast replies.

“Hmm, that may have been pushing it,” Luna concedes “But yes, I will tell you, or rather I will show you what is going on in hangar B15 since it concerns you rather directly, walk with me.”

The two women leave Admiral Iron Breast’s office and start to wander through the corridors of the administrative block, past paintings of dreadnaughts and battleships and destroyers. “So how is this facility’s output?” Luna asks quietly.

“Much better since we ironed out those supply difficulties ma’am. We’ve turned out at least twenty new destroyers in this quarter alone and the ten Conqueror class battleships you put an order in for last year are nearly complete, we’d be able to do more but B15 siphons off a good twenty per-cent of everything.”

Luna nods approvingly “As they should.” She says softly “The efforts in B15 will revolutionize the very face of war to Equestria’s advantage. We shall no longer have to cower in fear of the Valorossiyans, or make nice with our feline neighbours when they offend us.”

Admiral Iron-Breast never thought she would ever be afraid of someone that barely comes up to her shoulder when she joined the Navy. However the younger Diarch standing next to her sends a shiver down her spine. Her absolute certainty is terrifying to the career military officer. She has seen zeal like that before and she's never liked the people that spouted it. Zealots get people killed in her experience.

“Ma’am, Equestria has been at peace for the last two hundred years, I would hope to see that peace continue.” She says firmly, and the ageless Diarch nods.

“Of course, as would we. Peace has its place after all and no one sane hopes for war. Yet our neighbors are restless Admiral and We would not compromise Equestrian strength by clutching to the bosom of peace whilst the wolves circle at our door.”

Iron-Breast nods slowly as she leads the Princess out of the administrative block and out towards the landing pad, where a skiff is already waiting for them, its formerly golden solar sails already caked in soot from the chimneys. Luna climbs easily into the skiff that has ferried her here from the navy base at Stalliongrad, her guard force sitting patiently in the skiff. Iron-Breast climbs quickly into the skiff with her Princess, a life spent patrolling the skylanes making her feel at home in these tiny launches.

“Take us to B-15” Luna instructs the pilot, who hauls on the collective and gets the engine going. As the skiff lurches skywards, Iron-Breast gazes out across the expanse of chimneys that arrogantly thrust themselves upwards, like hands reaching up for the sky as if to clasp the bashful moon. HMS Armifer is busy at all times of day or night as one of the largest Imperial Navy bases in the world, producing airships of all shapes and sizes. Skeletons of airships are being drawn this way and that, like the ribcages of giants. Pipes wind through the skeletons like intestines, and reinforced canvas is being drawn over frames like skin.

Even at this late hour, lights bloom from windows and welding torches spray sparks through the darkness. The thunder of machine presses and tools rings through the night in a thunderous din. As far as the eye can see there are cradles for airships, factories or barracks for workers. Huge grimy quadruped cargo walkers thunder this way and that, the ground shuddering beneath their powerful footsteps, their smokestacks billowing thick clouds of vapour that get lost in the roiling clouds of smoke pumped up by a hundred chimneys. Warning beacons pulse in the darkness and searchlights stretch dirty yellow fingers of light skywards to get lost in the gloom.

Iron-Breast is used to this. Whilst HMS Armifer is not her base of operations, she has spent quite a lot of time here of late ensuring Princess Luna’s demands for more airships are met. Iron-Breast cannot help but feel a slight giddy surge as she looks around the base. The knock down, drag out fights she would have with the Ministry of Defence and its infamously niggardly Procurement Department three years ago are a distant memory. Now she merely has to turn to Luna and tell her what she needs and why she needs it and she gets whatever she needs with very few questions asked, and when she’s not doing that she’s having to tell the younger princess “No, the war reserves are perfect, yes we have all we need, thank you for asking Princess.”

Iron-Breast glances down to see the floodlit perimeter of B-15 approaching. Hnagar B-15 is instantly distinguishable thanks to its red and white chimneys and the dull grey roof of its containment shelter. She can see Lunar guards patrolling the perimeter, grinder-hounds on their leashes. Iron-Breast turns to see a Lunar Guard gunship drifting lazily overhead turning in the smoky air like a prowling shark. Its two searchlights sweep the perimeter hungrily like the eyes of a demon hunting for the faithful. As it turns once again, a glimmer of light passes over its underside to reveal the bulbous gun-turrets that silently follow the searchlights like the fingers of a silent deity, ready to strike down any that stand before it.

Iron-Breast suddenly notices the tiny skiff is not slowing down. It is speeding over Factory B-15 and continuing onwards into the night, into the salt flats that surround HMS Armifer.
“Where are we going?” Iron-Breast asks after a moment, and Luna glances out into the darkness.

“We are on our way to an experimental testing facility, there we shall behold Equestria’s newest and greatest hopes in the final stages of their construction.”

That does not comfort Iron-Breast that much. These remarks do not sound like the remarks of a woman interested in peace. She gazes out into the horizon as if expecting to see answers materialize from the empty desert. She is not dissapointed.

As they clear the perimeter and clear the thick blanket of smoke that hangs over the factory, Iron-Breast notices a series of lights lying close to the ground on the horizion. The skiff banks around and starts to head towards that collection of lights. As they draw nearer Iron-Breast notices buildings among those lights, temporary construction shelters and accommodation bunkers and more permanent concrete bunkers and defensive towers that bristle with anti-aircraft and anti tank guns. The fortifications certainly look like they could withstand a large war, and all of them are manned by paramilitary Night Guard troops rather than Iron-Breast's Naval Infantry if the deep blue flags with their silver emblems are anything to go by.

Inside the wire, Mechanized walkers are moving this way and that with a brisk sense of purpose and as they draw nearer to this secret base Iron-Breast can see that the activity seems to be focussed around four titanic scaffolds, each one of which seems to be at least a mile in length. Lights bloom from within, yet Iron-Breast cannot even get a glimpse at whatever infernal machines reside inside the massive cage. Iron-Breast feels a chill ripple down her spine as claxons start to blare across the base as their skiff slowly orbits the base.

So the Princess has built this base, two miles from one of Equestria’s largest ship foundries, without telling me. Does she even trust me?

The answer to that particular question is obvious. Iron-Breast’s hands tighten around the gunwale of the skiff as she gazes down into the hive of activity far below. Then, as the skiff sweeps in over the scaffolds, she finally sees the massive machine below. Iron Breast’s jaw drops in shocked awe. She cannot help it. Iron Breast has always prided herself on being in control of her emotions, of being able to keep a cool head when everyone around her is stricken down by fear. However the machine far below is truly awe inspiring.

The machine is over four hundred metres in length and nearly a hundred metres wide at its widest point, twice the size of even the largest Equestrian airship in existence. The massive dagger shaped warship exudes raw lethality. The raised bridge is placed to the rear, at the ‘hilt’ of the dagger, where communications aerials protrude like the antennae of a giant insect.

Massive gun turrets are staggered along the flanks of the battleship in diagonal lines to allow the gun turrets to fire a broadside or to fire forwards without hitting each other. The slate grey geometrically precise warship is like nothing that Admiral Iron-Breast has ever seen before, having grown up commanding the golden fleet.

“This” Luna whispers reverently “-Is the HMS Umbra... my new flagship. She will bring us victory in the field admiral, her and her siblings.”

“I see no mounting points... it looks too large to fly, we’ll need truly huge quantities of flotgas to make that thing lift... or does it have tracks or legs?”

Luna chuckles in response. “No admiral, this ship requires no flotgas or legs to move. It uses a rather complex piece of technology called a levitation drive, which requires our magic to make it work. As a result of this, it can be much heavier than the air that surrounds it, which means more armour and larger magazines.”

Iron-Breast nods slowly, unable to do much more. She understands the science vaguely, airships have to be lighter than air and conventional magic could only account for so much. As a direct result Equestrian warships tend to be brittle, relying on their speed and maneuverability to keep them in one piece or else long range weapons in the case of the larger battleships. This huge machine is in direct contradiction to every piece of tactical doctrine dreamed up by the Equestrian general staff in the last thirty years, doctrine that she helped to write. The huge turrets that are now being installed are not just long range bombardment guns, but also much smaller five inch casement guns along the flanks of the warship designed to get up close and personal with enemy airships. The notion of this piece of weaponry being out on the battlefield fills her with dread, but not just dread. For the first time in however many years, Iron Breast feels like Equestria has the capability to fight and win against a serious army.

“I see ma’am” She says softly as she gazes down at the vast machine “So how near are we to seeing this thing on the battlefield?”

“Hopefully you shall never have to.” Luna replies “This warship and her sisters, Corona, Heart of War and Crimson Sunset are to be deployed only in time of great need. Their very presence is intended to strike fear into the hearts of those who would oppose us. That is not to say they are incapable of anything other than intimidation, with its sixteen inch cannon and the various other armament, I intend it to be capable of holding its own in a skirmish.”

Iron-Breast nods in silent awe, unable to do much else. To her the warship looks like it has dropped out of the sky, as though it has arrived from another planet.

“When will these ships be ready ma’am?” She asks at last, finding her tongue.

“Within the week. We intend to take these ships to Canterlot, and you shall be flying with us. We would like you to select part of your fleet to fly with us as our honor guard.”