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Good Trooper Gilda

by Mitch H

Chapter 20: Airships, Politics, And Other Uses For Hot Air

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"Why aren't we talking to the princess again?"

"Because I am grounded until further notice for making princesses cry. So saith the captain."

"I'm never going to get used to you calling her that. And you've never made me cry."

"Give it time, Lady George. I disappoint everygriff eventually. And I'm not sure I'm ready to forgive the princess for promoting the captain like that, so offhand. Like it was something she needed to clear out of her throat. Like a bit of phlegm." Gilda hacked up a gob and spat to the side, away from the turul flying beside the bat-hen over the griffon side of the city.

The old bird flying in formation on Gilda's other side gave the corporal a dirty look. The file-griffs weren't any more used to Gilda's promotion than she was, even if it gave her the requisite rank to hold the position that she'd already held over them, with Gustav on medical leave. They were Gustav's toms, and they were more than a little salty about it.

As old salts got.

"The captain had been fighting so hard for her promotion, working herself into pass-out-into-your-bunk comas to prove herself out in the field. And what happens? The princess shows up and hoofs her a promotion as a greeting. Not for anything Gleaming Shield did, but because that's what princesses do, apparently."

"I have never promoted anybird, ever."

"Your bizarre turul customs aren't at question here, bizarre pony ones are. And they're supposed to promote on rigid, time-locked schedules. Not at the whim of some childhood friend. Unless a princess shows up and overturns the applecart."

"And that's why…"

"Why the captain and her anti-gonne spell is off playing bodyguard for the princess while she meets aldermares over on the pony side of town, and we're looking in on the guildgriffs and your financial empire. Before the former steals the latter. There's Tenpenny Road."

Gilda and her file of rankers stooped beside the great bird, landing in front of the Tenpenny Guildhouse. Nogriff was outside waiting for them, because Gilda wasn't big enough of a fool to trumpet her movements ahead of time.

Gleaming Shield might have a magic shield that kept her from getting perforated, but griffons didn't have horns.

Gilda was still laughing at the mental image of an alicornic griffon, horn jutting awkwardly through the Crown of Grover, when she tracked down the guildmaster. Or rather, the guildmaster's right-talon hen, as that worthy wasn't in the guildhall, and nogriff knew where she'd gotten off to.

Goldclip was the griffon that she and Lady George needed to talk to, anyways. Gilda and two of her old birds grabbed the gabbling villain and dragged her outside to talk to the turul.

"B-bob! Lady George! I can explain, I 'ave your bits!"

"Of course you have my bits, Goldclip. I gave them to you. My agents must be misinformed. You couldn't possibly have misplaced my bits. What I want to know is where are my bits' friends? They were supposed to be recruiting in your talons, Goldclip. Seven will bring me three, was, I believe, your words to me. In three months' work. Lady Rarity spoke highly of the Tenpenny Collective Cooperative, and your technological wonders. You were doing great things."

"W-well, there were tooling 'eadaches. And we gots ourselves raided by the beefeaters in September. That ate up time while I bailed out me designer and two of me master craftgriffs..."

"I invested in August. It is January. And I never heard a word from you about these delays. What is the state of my investments?"

"Non-liquid! I swear, we're making good progress! It's just, we had to divert craftgriffs to the militia, and guard duty. But we got replacements, and more than replacements! Griffons got excited when word spread of what we've been working on in this district. In the middle of a war! Tight, lightweight frames! Magically enscrib'd circuitry! Gearwork so finely interwoven, it'll make watchmakers cry! Cid Sawhorse is a bleedin' talent for the ages, 'e is. Not a bit of bodge in his 'ide. First-rate right down the line, ship-shape and Bristle fashion."

Gilda allowed the shaky guild-griff to lead her and one of her rankers back into the guildhall, and they threw open the windows in the blueprints office to the frigid January air so that Lady George could stick her crowned head in and follow the discussion.

Gilda found herself impressed but a bit cowed by the technical details. Goldclip actually had something to offer, and the mechanical master she pulled out of an office across the way knew the project top to bottom.

"...We'd be nowhere near prototyping if it weren't for those refugee tinsmiths. For every griffon we lost to this bollocks in the alleys and on the streetcorners, we've 'ad a tinker at loose ends with the technical know-'ow to make things happen. Cid is besides 'isself. You've never seen a 'appier 'orn'eaded pony."

"So… explain this so that a stupid non-com can follow it," begged Gilda. "What is all of this… for? It looks shiny and technical and complicated. But I don't understand why Rarity is involved in a - it's some sort of drive train and engine? I think?"

"No, no," waved Grov the master-mechanist, "that's not Lady Rarity's department. She's working across Fourpenny with Bright Stitch and Gloria, the wing an' the 'ull and the envelope. That mare is a real Reneighssance… mare, I guess. This whole side of town is like a kicked-over anthill. Everygriff's been pushed into everyone else's space, and there's just - ideas bouncing off of every wall!"

Grov walked over to the wall opposite the open windows, and waved at all of the pictures cut out of newspapers, and a few precious photographs of military airships landing and taking off from Trottingham's airship field.

"We 'ad to bail out Giovanni twice over this 'spying' nonsense, but look at how great the pictures came out. Trottingham once was in the forefront of aerial innovation. I remember the good old days, when the Terror sent more and more baroque mechanical monstrosities into the pillar-pitch!" The master-mechanist waved at a fading cloudball poster on the wall to his left, drawn in fin d'ère style, proclaiming some long-ago victory by the Trottingham Terror.

He looked at Gilda's unit badge. "The Territorials, is it? Have you served with Gary?"

Gary? That name seemed vaguely familiar, but Gilda couldn't remember where she'd heard it.

"Sergeant-Major Gary?" piped up the other Territorial in the room, a ranker named Gwen. "'e's with the Twenty-First. Everygriff in the ranks knows that."

The rest of the griffons turned their eyes questioningly at Gilda, their expressions silently demanding to know how she possibly could not have heard of the famous Gary.

"You can't expect much of' the corporal, Master Grov. She ain't from the city. You can tells by 'ow funny she talks, right? Complete treebilly, the corporal is."

"No idea who Gary was…" clucked Grov. "What a shame. The Trottingham Terror was our pride and joy, they was. And 'ere we are, ten years later, with the skies of Equestria teeming with self-propelled aerocraft getting more and more advanced with every month, and we're not involved. Trottingham needs to get back into the aeronautic game, it's a patriotic duty, it is!"

"Airships," muttered Gilda to herself. "You're talking about building airships. In a city on fire."

"It takes a fire to get an 'ot air balloon off the ground!"

"You're a madgriff."

"I know, ain’t it aces?"

"The important bit is that the ship-builders are interested, now," interjected Goldclip. "They've had their eyes on the Equestrian airship business, and wanted a part of it. But the weight concerns kept tripping them up. The difference between a zeppelin and the heavy oak constructions of seaships are just too wide, they kept tripping over each other…"

She and Grov went off on a technical argument that Gilda didn't follow at all. She sat there, ignoring them quarrelling over the alleged contributions of the ship-building guilds, and stared at the beautiful, cryptic blueprints spread out before her.

Never had Gilda so regretted being poor. This was a massive investment opportunity.

She had to tell Gleaming Shield.

If only the captain was speaking to her.


Things were wrapping up with Lady George promising to double down on her investments in the guild collectives' airship project, when a shout from one of the rankers guarding the turul's rear out in the street came wafting through the open windows. Gilda walked over to stick her head out the window as Lady George extracted her head and turned to look.

Grant was waving at Gilda up in the window, and he turned to point at a column of armored ponies surrounding a familiar pink-maned head marching down Tenpenny Road.

"Oh, hello up there!" chirped Major Pie, waving a hoof from the middle of her herd of expressionless, helmeted ponies. "Is Guildmaster Gillian up there?"

Gilda climbed up on the sill, and jumped out the window, fluttering down beside Grant and the other rankers. She squared herself to await the pony delegation. Goldclip's head was now poking out of the window above, and the guildgriff shouted down at the pink pony as she and her guards stopped in front of Gilda's own guards.

"No, sorry," apologized Goldclip from her window. "The guildmaster is still out with the militia, not expected back until evening."

"Well, nutberry scones and butter! I thought for sure I'd catch her on my way to see Boss Gabon. Eh. I think I can trust my itchy left hoof to tell me where to track down our missing guildgriffon. Come on, Marble, we have little to do and too much time to do it in."

"Major Pie!" barked Gilda, knowing she was making a mistake even as she opened her stupid beak. "Might I accompany you through this district? It isn't safe for VIPs on the streets."

"Oh, I know, that's what everypony tells me. But I know better! Tenpenny Road is having a safe day, and will be absolutely harmless for… at least thirty-six hours. I think. Marble, what did I say yesterday?"

"Mm." The armored pony next to Major Pie showed her something on a clipboard.

"Ah, forty-eight hours! Wait, that was fifteen hours ago…"

"Mm."

"Oh, and Marble says that you should address me by my current rank. Lieutenant Colonel! See? New tabs and everything! Gotta run!"

Gilda waved her griffons into column with the little party of ponies from - what regiment was this? Gilda didn't recognize them. Grey armor, grey unit flashes… She put herself next to the manic pink lieutenant colonel, and opened her stupid beak again.

"When did that happen? You were a major last time I saw you."

"Do I know you, corporal? I don't know very many griffons."

"Captain Gleaming Shield's adjutant, lieutenant colonel ma'am."

"Oh, right. Twilight's taxi driver. What can I do for you, Twilight's taxi driver? And what's with the big bird?"

"Big- oh, this is Gertie, she's our unit mascot. A tamed roc!"

"Why is your tamed roc wearing a golden hat? Is it part of the Fifth Territorial's fancy dress uniforms? Very snazzy, I liked the figure you guys cut on the march. Really ramped up the game, helped a lot in getting the rebels pissed enough to strike." So the mad pink pony knew who they were? Wait - she could see the heir's coronet?

"What hat?"

"Gold. Hat. Crown thingy? Hey, Marble, what do you call things made out of gold and worn on the head?"

"Mm."

"No, tiaras don't have a full circlet design. Coronets, that's it. Hey, birdie, why do you wear a coronet?"

"Is she talking to me, Gilda?"

"Oh, neat, the bird talks! I mean, I've known ponies who talk to animals, but they don't generally talk back, you know? Hi, birdie, Corporal Gilda here says your name is Gertie!"

"If Corporal Gilda says that is my name, I won't contradict you. You can see my coronet?"

"Why wouldn't I see it? Is it supposed to be invisible!" Lieutenant Colonel Pie gasped. "It's invisible, isn't it? Why don't ponies tell me these sorts of things! I haven't outed you as a secret agent, have I, Gertie birdie girl?"

"If you have, I'm sure it will be fine. Look, could we talk about something else. Your guard is getting glassy-eyed, and we're going to block the road if we don't keep moving."

"Oh, wow, Marble, Sergeant Chip! Snap out of it, keep the troops moving! We have three street bosses and two guild masters to invite to the party before nightfall."

"Mm? Mm!"

"What? Oh, come on, I haven't been breaking operational security. If I were, I'd be talking about the mmhfprmfm!" the officer said through a mouthful of her assistant's hoof.

"Mm!"

"Nonsense! Gilda here is a good friend. Because she's a loyal bird, aren't you, Corporal Gilda."

"As far as you know, lieutenant colonel ma'am. Although I'm a bit alarmed at this subject of discussion in the middle of a busy street."

"Look around, corporal! Only ponies or griffons in earshot are you, my ponies, and your griffons. And your giant talking bird, I suppose."

"Mm!"

"How have you operated like this for so long, and not lost us the war?" demanded Gilda, wild-eyed and terrified of the pony babbling about operational security and secrets and all but self-destructing right in front of her beak.

"On that note, Gilda, I am leaving before I get involved in," Lady George waved a wing vaguely in a circle, "whatever madness this is a prologue to. Good day, Lieutenant Colonel Pie, I'd like to talk to you later at some point about me and my invisible gold hat."

"Ooh! That sounds like... Wait. Let me think. Square root of fudge, carry the two, multiplied by - yeah, I think that will be fun!"

With an amused squawk, the great turul took off, her vast wings beating the frigid air into submission and taking her in the general direction of the garrison and the battalion barracks.

"That was a very friendly giant predatory bird! You keep interesting company, Corporal Gilda! Unfortunately, I plan on keeping rather infuriating company, and daylight is burning. Marble! Let's get this evil plot on the road!"

Gilda waved her griffons forward, and kept pace with the pink officer who clearly was trying to dismiss her.

"So, I don't recognize the unit your escort is from. What-"

"Oh, come on, how come nopony ever recognizes our home town regiment? These boys here are friends from back home. Say hi, Rock Valley Pioneers Company B!"

"HELLO!" shouted the marching company of ponies in unison.

"And they're in… garrison here? I've never seen them before."

"No, they're new. The clans out in the districts have started mining the roads in some places. The Rock Valley Pioneers are acclimating to the climate before we sent them out into the hills to get sniped at and blown up by bombmaking clangriffons. So I thought I'd take these guys out for some air. Can't get acclimated if you don't get out and enjoy the bracing climate!" Lieutenant Colonel Pie took a deep breath of frigid winter air, and started coughing furiously, her guard Marble pounding on her heaving back.

"Y-y-yeah, that's the stuff. Brisk!" The pink pony started moving again, shivering. "Let's keep moving, don't want to freeze on your first day in Trottingham, Pioneers!"

"Wait, I was just out at the airship field yesterday, there weren't any troopships moored!"

"Did I say they came by air? Did I say that, Marble?"

"Mm."

"Well, there's no need to be sarcastic. And it wasn't a secret that they used actual seagoing troopships for the Pioneers. No need to waste expensive airship resources on a regiment of pioneers! It's not like they're a gloomy pink princess and her thundering herd of perfumed parasitical courtiers and associated ponces!"

"Mm!"

"Oh, don't fret, Marble. Princess Gloomypants loves me! And by that I mean she makes a face like she stepped in something stinky every time she lays eyes on me. It's how she shows she cares! Aha! There's our missing guildmaster! Gillian! You've been a naughty, naughty catbird thing!"

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" asked the perplexed guildmaster, standing among a small clot of griffons holding spears and wearing heavy quilted jackets. "That's enough, journeygriffs. Go find a warm spot to roost, we'll deal with the Ninepennies in the morning."

"No, you don't know me, but you will soon! I'm Lieutenant Colonel Pinkamena Diane Pie, and you're invited to the inaugural meeting of the reconstituted Griffish City Council!"

"The what? They haven't let us in city council meetings since Gilbert and Pickle Jar mauled each other in '92 in front of the whole council."

"As you should know! You were alderhen from 182 to the moment they threw you aldergriffs out of the council in 192! I want you to be our council speaker. You have the experience!"

"We're kind of in the middle of a war, here."

"More towards the end than the middle, I hope! And getting you griffons representation is part of that ending. We want you resolving your differences across a table! Hopefully without weapons held under the table."

"Interesting… tell me more." The mismatched pair walked off as Lt. Col. Pie jabbered wildly, expressively, and the guildmaster looked half-confused, half intrigued.

"So," Gilda asked the quiet grey mare with the sergeant stripes. "You been working with your officer for long?"

"Mm."

"You don't say much, do you?"

"Mm."

Gilda stuck to the mysterious Pinkamena Pie throughout that day, trailing her increasingly bored and irate rankers behind her. The griffons that Lieutenant Colonel Pie visited ran the gamut from gruff but decent guild masters, to the worst kind of neighborhood 'bosses'.

One of them, Gilda was pretty sure, was a relative of the griffon she'd stabbed during a hijackers' raid a couple weeks back. The one who was biding his time in a POW infirmary until he was well enough to be transported to the 'new territories'. His brother - or cousin, or uncle, all Gilda knew was they looked related, and the new 'boss' glared feathered death at her - didn't strike her as any more respectable or law-abiding. A gangster, in her estimation. This was aldertom material?

The pink pony never once told her uninvited guests to take a hike. She just let Gilda loom disapprovingly over her shoulder as she cajoled the good, the bad and the ugly into signing on to her 'party'. Nor did she ever explain why exactly the head of Special Section for Plotting, Planning, and Partying was organizing a civilian political organization into… organizational existence?

All Pinkie Pie would say was that 'political parties are still a kind of party. Even if they're the boring, corrupt, meanypants kind of party.'

Something about the whole situation made Gilda drool.

She always did when she smelled a rat.

Author's Notes:

Thanks for editing and pre-reading help to Shrink Laureate, Oliver, and the general Company.

Next Chapter: A More Collegial Exchange Estimated time remaining: 3 Hours, 32 Minutes
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Good Trooper Gilda

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