The heavy thumping of rounds hitting the sandbag berm before Cloudchaser only earned a brief flinch from her as dirt rained down from the shells. Around her, the dark was barely kept at bay by strings of gently swaying Hearthswarming lights that were daisy chained across the trenches. Her uniform was utterly soiled from nine days of constant fighting, and her coat was stained black by the filth she’d been wallowing in. Despite her filthy appearance, her grenade rifle was as clean as it could be with the circumstances. It had to be, It was the only thing keeping her alive. The shield shimmered above as the distant navy ships pummeled away at it, seeking a crack in Celestia’s willpower. The shield only covered the arc of artillery, so as to save energy and strengthen it against the monstrously heavy shells of the ship cannons. On occasion, the ground would light up as if it were day, though the light would swiftly vanish, telling of the dreadnought testing the shields itself.

"Alright, listen up. Local time is 0300 hours, weather is cloudy and warm. The first Expeditionary have finished with their fortifications, and are waiting on our go ahead. The enemy numbers one point six million, and have our objective, our capital, completely surrounded."

Letting out a shivering breath, Cloudchaser turned her gaze to the lines past her own. Because of the shield’s location, they had cover from artillery, but no cover from ground forces. That’s what the trenches were for, she figured, but what was the point of them if they were just as likely to put you out of the fight with trenchhoof as a hostile knife or bullet?

There were more knives than bullets, of course… The valley was full of mind controlled ponies and griffons, far too many for the Imperial war machine to equip at all, let alone properly. Thus, she often found herself facing down waves of ponies wielding nothing but crude tools, or their own hooves. The first few days had shattered her heart every time the civilian waves crashed upon them, but after seeing so many of her squadmates be bludgeoned, stabbed, or ripped apart by them, she’d grown cold to it. As long as they were mind controlled, they were as much of an enemy as the imperial soldiers. She could hold back the horror of it all so long as they were the enemy. Killing the enemy wasn’t anything like killing a real pony.

Next to her in the trench were a pair of zebras, brothers displaced from their home in Neigh York by the coming tide. Their white stripes had become so mudded and stained with soot that Cloudchaser had swiftly found herself forgetting about their origins, as she could no longer tell them apart from the reflections of herself she saw in the trenchwater puddles. The elder brother Chance was on the mounted gun, firing off wild bursts of fat bullets into the night, no doubt scoring kills regardless of his poor aim. His sibling, Fate, fed the belt to him as it chattered through the crude stamped receiver of the weapon, speaking words of encouragement to his sibling as the latter continued to yell, scream, and laugh in the face of it all.

Soon though, the fire died, and all that illuminated the trench was the soft glow of the festive lights. Voices called out, before muting as a rifle grenade whizzed by, and exploded inside the trenchline, unleashing a phosphor burst that flashed in the dark like a firework. Again, the world went silent for a moment, before distant cries soon filtered in without the thundering of guns to drone them out.

“I think there’s one left, out passed the wire…” Fate said a little too loudly, his hearing shot from the first fire firefights. Blood had stained the fur on the right side of his head, but it was likely he had no clue.

“I’ll get the fucker!” Chance swivelled his gun across his murderhole, spewing more rounds wildly into the night. “YOU THINK YOU’RE BAD, MOTHERFUCKER!? YOU THINK YOU’RE BAD!? COME GET SOME! COME GET SOME!”

Pulling at his brother’s shoulders, Fate shook his head. “No man, no, listen… It’s just one guy…” Again the firing paused, giving the mounted gun a chance to cool off.

Tilting her head slightly, Cloudchaser listened to the sound of hell around her. It was close, sure enough. Some brainwashed griffon, screaming obscenities at them. At first, the enemy hadn’t spoken at all, they’d been eerily silent for almost the whole war, but now, when Equestria was backed into a corner and had grown cold to the silence, Order’s troops started with the psywar ops.

“You’re all going to die if you keep fighting! We’ll rip your guts out and feast on them!” There was a brief pause in the taunting as another machinegun burst whipped over the speaker, muting him only momentarily. “Just give up, give in! Order will be kind to those who surrender!”

Turning, Fate cantered into the trench, keeping his head down as he shook Cloudchaser. “Hey yo, Cloud. We got a spook on the wire.”

“I hear him. He’s stuck under his buddies.” Cloudchaser spoke softly, not bothering to raise her voice as she pushed herself up, and slowly trotted to the gun pit. Spent brass clattered against her boots as they sloshed into the waterlogged pit. The duckboards were fucked, simple as that.

“You need a flare?” Fate asked as his brother turned, casting a wild eyed gaze back at them. Their eyes all but shone in the dark; pinprick small pupils surrounded by seas of bloodshot white. She looked much the same, like a ghost haunting the trenches.

Slowly shaking her head, Cloudchaser loaded a 35mm grenade into her rifle. “No, he’s close.” She slowly lifted the barrel of her grenade rifle, gauging the distance as the soldier continued to scream at them in the dark. The buttstock of the weapon kicked against her battlesaddle as she squeezed the trigger bit, the anemic round belching out of the muzzle with a muted fwomp. A brief pause passed between the shot and the impact, cutting the soldier off mid-sentence. Slowly sitting back down, Cloudy cracked the action of the weapon, letting the shell fall into the dirt. With her head falling back against the dirt berm, she let her eyes drift upwards to the trio of airships that sat above them, hiding under the shield. Their spotlights swept back and forth, illuminating the ground lining the edge of the shield. It almost looked as if little buzzing creatures were flitting back and forth through the dark, only pausing seldomly to pan about, before scooting off. Waving off the image as a hallucination, Cloudchaser closed her eyes again.

“Where are you, flitter…”

”The enemy is seeking to destroy our homes, kill our families, and annihilate our way of life. They have a god on their side, and they’re willing to throw away lives by the thousand to achieve their objectives. They’ve committed atrocities, and they’ll commit more.”

“Close the shutters, the attack wave is over,” Marsa ordered as she turned away from the bridge window, shaking her head. “What a waste.” Falling into her command chair, the Captain of the battleship Righteous Justice rubbed at her face with her hooves, pressing them deep into her gaunt features. “How is Celestia faring? How much longer can we keep this up?”

Continuing to stare out the window down at the dark fields below, Luna watched expressionlessly as tracers arced back and forth through the night. “Sister can last as long as her ponies need her to. Even if the sun must never rise again, the shield will hold.” The shutters slowly rattled over the windows, protecting the occupants in case of the worst. Letting her head fall slightly, Princess Luna turned away, and began trotting into the bridge. Her ancient, arcane armour shone like the night sky, unmarred by the days of brutal fighting. “Get some rest while you can, Captain. They will attack again soon.”

“They always do.” Marsa murmured quietly. “I’ll rest here, It’s where I’m needed.”

“Captain! Spotters have noted some strange lights heading upwards, kilometer from the shield limit.” One of her ratings called out to her, the radio headset sitting half cocked over their ears. The bridge reeked of sweat and heat, but it wasn’t like anybody on it could tell anymore.

“Likely another Imperial tactic. Mark the location it came from for later bombardment.” Sitting forward, Marsa shook her head, and cast a glance to the tactical map. “The bombers are still on course. Princess?” Marsa called over her shoulder, causing Luna to pause as she headed for the bulkhead door.

“Yes?”

“You may want to gather your night guard. Once those bombers get in range, they’ll be priority targets for the Imperials. They’ll need more than just the Wonderbolts and their fighter escort if they’re going to have a ghost of a chance.”

“Leaving the shield will make us the priority for their guns.” Luna answered idly, turned her attentions back to the door. “I will gather volunteers. What was it again, that we wished to achieve with the bombers?”

Shifting her gaze away from the princess, Marsa sank into her chair. “Get us more time...bloody the enemy’s nose a little… one last cry of defiance, does it really matter any more? Did it ever?”

Sighing softly, Luna set off out of the bridge. “I suppose we will find out soon enough.”

The great ship groaned gently under Luna’s hooves, as if the metal could feel the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. A general call sounded over the intercom, stating the attack to be over, and requesting reports from each station. Aeronaut’s cantered back and forth, many wearing as little uniform as possible to dissuade the oppressive heat that filled the ship, telling of it’s magical generators working overtime to feed additional power into Celestia’s shield. The shield could not fail, for if it did, it’d be the end of the war. The defenders would swiftly be overrun from all sides, and the city would be shelled until the mountain itself was naught but a smoking ruin. The million civilians hunkering down in the crystal caves would be slaughtered, and for what? Luna felt disgusted by it all… Even the Nightmare had wished to rule over the lands, she’d had goals, tangible plans… whatever Jalgromak and Carolus were planning was nigh on apocalyptic.

At the thought of the young griffon Emperor, Luna bristled deeply, feeling remnants of the Nightmare stir in her chest. She had to force them back down, despite the potential it could offer her. She had to win, without falling to the siren call of the Nightmare. She knew that deep down, Celestia felt the pull of her own demon, the beast of rage that had begun to rear its ugly head when the solar diarch had fought Jack in the castle.

They had to fight the pull, because they knew that letting go was exactly what Carolus wanted, and by extension, what Jalgromak wanted. Why exactly, neither knew. They just had to hold on.

”Below us, right now, our people are fighting to the last bullet, fighting to their last breath. They’ve held on long enough for us to arrive, and for that we’ve got to give them our all. We’ve trained for this, amassed an army and weapons beyond our wildest dreams. We’re going to use it all, and then some.”

“Hurry, Flitter. Jack.” Luna let her head fall slightly. “Forgive us.” Her horn ignited, whisking her away to the Nightguard staging ground. She had a battle to prepare for.

Barely two kilometers away, Carolus hummed softly to himself as he slowly swirled the cool whiskey rocks around his glass. He stared off through the view port that covered most of his lounge wall aboard the dreadnought. Below him the battle found it’s lull, letting the world fall to darkness without the flashes of gunfire to illuminate it. Gently setting his glass aside, Carolus began to pace, letting his talons click rhythmically across the wood floor.

“I am curious.” King Xerox began, as he formed from the shadows. “Tell me, why have we not simply taken the capital? Was that not the purpose of gathering souls from every population center between here and the mountains?”

“The Lord-” Carolus began as he lowered himself into his lounger. “-works in mysterious ways, and we both serve his will. Do not question it.” There was a brief silence between the two, as Xerox continued to stare. Letting out a grunt of annoyance, Carolus sat forward, and fixed the bug king with his most regal glare. “The Lord has demanded we not push in, just yet. He is waiting for something, though what it is, he will not say.”

“Perhaps he waits for the Goliath to show himself again.” Xerox paced to the window, and peered out into the dark. “The Lord was not pleased that you allowed him to slip from your talons.”

Lunging forward, but stopping himself before his flanks left the lounger, Carolus did his best to not bristle. “That, is because the ‘Goliath’, as you so reverently refer to him as, is nothing but an Equine attack dog. Broken and beaten, by none other than Celestia herself. He hasn’t interfered for nine days, he is likely too wounded to kill a hatchling. The Lord wants nothing from such a creature.”

“Then how is it such a beast escaped from the depths of your most isolated, well defended fortress? From the dungeon, no less. He killed your favourite pet, slew scores of guards, and killed some of the few scientists bright enough to not benefit from the Lord’s wisdom. Not to mention the loss of the noble conspirators within Canterlot, and the teleportation machine.”

“Watch your tone, Changeling.” Carolus growled as fury spiked his brain. “Your own spies confirmed his battle with Celestia, and do not forget, that YOUR plan to take the chaos core out from under them failed spectacularly, alongside the foolish attempt to assassinate Celestia. We learned nothing, and lost a dozen spies in the process. Perhaps your contributions to the war should be scrutinized. Pray tell, how goes your crusade against Omega hive?”

“Slowly. They are nestled into their jungle and kill any of your soldiers who enter.” Xerox continued to stare out the window, his wings buzzing gently. “It will be over soon. My hive has had many prime breeders plucked from the masses, and our numbers are increasing exponentially. Our weapons division has made progress as well.” The Changeling king glanced over to Carolus. “They will not stand for long. How goes Forge’s experiments?”

Waving it off as he drank, Carolus suppressed a growl at the burn of the whiskey. “The good Doctor is making ‘great advances’ within his lab hidden in the Crystal Kingdom. We have a platoon of the latest progeny at our disposal, as well as a ‘special unit’ he refused to provide details on. If it were not for his work on the Lord's new form, he would have long since outlived his usefulness. The progeny have been more a hamper for our advance than a boon.”

“Once the work is finished, he should be removed.” Xerox turned his attention back to the window, just catching glance of small lights flitting fast up into the sky. Furrowing his chitin brows, Xerox shook it off. The lights were well outside of the shield, and couldn’t be anything but imperial.

”So to our enemy I say this: NO MORE! Not one more atrocity, not one more victory, not one more step forward! We will deny you at every turn, fight you tooth and nail for every inch of ground! This is our home, this is our world, and we’ll kill you all for what you’ve done to it!”

“On that-” Carolus lifted his glass to toast as he gently plucked up the record players arm, setting it down as the vinyl spun. “-we agree.” Gentle opera began to echo through the ship as the dreadnought continued to float high above the battlefield, utterly untouchable by anything of Equis.

Far, far away, above the clouds surrounding the great mountains, bomber wing Molotov droned on toward the battlefield, their crews girded in high altitude clothing and breathing masks. Passing through the bomb racks, Private Fedorovich looked out through the view ports, trying to catch sight of the Wonderbolts as they flew escort. The massive 1000Ib magical napalm bombs swayed gently in their racks, each carrying enough raw energy to immolate dozens of meters of ground. The private worried slightly as he leaned on one, craning his neck to look out the port. A small smile crossed his muzzle as a blue-yellow jumpsuit flitted by, covered by high altitude gear and submachine gun battlesaddle. One of Stalliongrad’s own aerofighters droned up alongside the huge six engined bomber, the pilot giving a hoofsign to the pilot. The fighter was new, that much Fedorovich could tell. The fighter had no paint, instead the base metal was polished to a mirror shine, making the fighters like bolts of silver lightning in the skies.

As he remained at the port, admiring the engineering of the craft, a call went out for all stations. Cursing softly, Fedorovich hustled up to his gun nest, climbing up the ladder and forcing his earth pony bulk into the ball turret. The dark skies greeted him as he nestled in, pulling on his radio headset. “I am here, comrade captain.”

“Welcome back old chap.” The tail gunner greeted him gently over the comms. “We’ve quite a storm building over the eastern mountains, should make for some rough flying, the pilot says.”

“Is just clouds…” the young earth pony responded as he waggled his thirty caliber machineguns back and forth, testing their responsiveness. “How bad could it be?”

“Gunners, look ten o clock!” The spotter called out as lightning cracked the sky and flashed against the clouds. “Multiple contacts! How are they up this high!?” Another flash of lightning earned a chorus of curses as it illuminated an Imperial corvette, hiding among the clouds. Immediately, the corvette began disgorging troops, intent on swarming them. It’s guns spoke, and flak burst around the lead bomber.

Gasping in pain when hot shrapnel punctured his turret, Private Fedorovich slumped in his seat as wild wind bellowed by his head. His blood was already running down his legs and pooling at his feet, his oxygen hose punctured and hissing. He could feel his head swimming in the high altitude as he gasped for air, and more flak bursts lit up among the formation. The corvette would shred them soon enough. Whether he’d be conscious for it remained to be seen.

“This is Soarin, we’ll take on the fast movers. Molotov, don’t wait up.” The Wonderbolt sounded tired over the radio, as if accepting his fate before it had been confirmed.

Of course, Fedorovich couldn’t blame the stallion. They all knew this flight was a one way trip. They’d all volunteered. Letting his head loll back as his blood poured out, Fedorovich let out a soft sigh as he slowly began to close his eyes.

Before dark enveloped Fedorovich, the clouds above him began to part as a smooth bellied alien craft slipped out from its cover there. How long had it been there, he wondered quietly as the other guns opened fire on the approaching griffons. “What are-” His breath was stolen away as the belly of the craft blossomed open, stealth plating sliding back to allow rotating racks of ship killer missiles to slide out into the jet stream. As the craft slid back and forth across the air, he found he could see no glass, no cockpit. The only identifying marks on the craft were a trio of strikes that ran across the vertical ailerons, and snarling shark teeth that coated the nose. The young buck found he just… had to keep living, just to see what would happen next.

As Fedorovich pressed a hoof against his wound, the alien craft suddenly rolled across the top of his bomber, sliding over the jetstream like a fish. As it flattened out, one of the missiles on its belly ignited, and leapt forward like a bat out of hell, streaking off toward the corvette hiding in the clouds. “Blyat…”

”So ready up, JSOG! We’re dropping feet first into hell, and I plan to give that Devil Carolus a taste of my boot treads! There will be no retreat today! Not one step back! We win here, or we die trying, so give them a taste of real war! RETREAT HELL!”

“RETREAT HELL!”

“Now that’s what I’m fuckin talking about.”

Author's Notes:

Hot damn, look at that! Another chapter without a month long wait!
Now, here's some sick-ass fan art!
Courtesy of The Commandant

And Rooty Tooty! (I'll throw down a deviant art link if he gives me one.)