(Dun-dun-nah-nah! Welcome, fillies and gentle-colts, to the endgame of Guardians! I can honestly say that's it's primarily thanks to your support and ideas that this story has stayed alive as long as it has, keeping me in high spirits and all of your cravings for soldier pony satisfied!

Now, a few announcements before we begin:

Chapter 15 will be coming out -next- week. The epilogue will come out the week after.

Unfortunately, the first chapter of Ceasefire will not come out the week after that. I'm setting a new standard and high bar for Ceasefire where I can promise that each chapter will be approximately twice as long as those you see here in Guardians. That means anywhere from 5000 to a whopping eight or ten -thousand- words per chapter, simply because I have so many ideas and so much to cover.

This means, however, a slower update schedule because of my job and school responsibilities. I have bills to pay and college to attend like everypony else, y'know!

Now, onto the good news! I can guarantee that Chapter fifteen will be the -largest- chapter I have ever written for Guardians, larger even than this one! The Epilogue will be as long as it needs to be, but with the last actual part of the story I intend to -really- put the screws to it and stuff as many details and events as I can for your reading pleasure!

Also, I have been approached by a few writers interested in collabs and side-stories, and already one has been published. If you haven't read it, go see it now. It's called Operation: Pony Express by GBscientist, and while it consists of a short one-shot it is a good tie in to the second story. It goes on at the same time as Guardians, and GB has told me he wants to upload it to ED. But that's not the main point, the main point is that if you have a collab idea or a side-story you wish to publish or bring up, feel free to PM me. I'm usually pretty accepting and give all ideas a thorough look over before I decide what to do. So yeah...

Anyway, Responses!

DoctorWhooves: while Equestria does indeed require advances, Twilight seems to me to be more of the magic expert, so you will certainly see her acting in an advisory role to the Magic Corps, but technology doesn't appear to be her forte...to me, anyway.

paxtofettel: haven't seen you in a while! Glad to see you sticking around!

Vivvav: kind words, and I always thank kind words!

Nightmare Luna: too many varied comments to answer right now, my dear. Thanks to my blathering, people are probably not even reading this part (lol jk. I know you guys will read -everything- I put up!) but I will answer one point. I did want to put a name and face to the puppetmasters pulling the strings, and Boxer was perfect for this role. He's sly, manipulative, and as you will see below, he's not afraid to wield his authority and knowledge like an axe.

The Socialist: I know, maybe pointing out that comment was a bit tactless, but you have been making a few other political comments in some of your reviews. That's all. Otherwise, thanks for the praise, you've been here since the beginning, so I can't fault you too much.

And now, here we go!)

Guardians

Chapter 14: Cascade

Stalliongrad, Northern Equestria

Matriarchy Armed Forces, 4th Airborne Division

Mobile Airbase 16, AKA "Artemis"

Over the Industrial Sector, Engaged in Bombing Operations

"Colonel Coldheart! I'm getting a radio transmission from the ground!"

To say that Harriet was annoyed would be putting it lightly. She'd been deep in discussion for the past half hour, even as the bombs began dropping, debating their next move. Though the 4th consisted of several thousand hardened and able griffon soldiers, they could only cover so much of the city. They would need to decide where to place the majority of their strength in order to contain the dogs where the bombs could kill as many as possible. They only had so many, after all.

To say Captain Gilda Axeclaw was her preference for a second in command was to tell a blatant lie. Axeclaw's personal ambitions and goals for glory came with an immense drive and will, but also an immense arrogance and sense of self-importance. Like many other officers, Gilda seemed to only be using her service in the Legion to advance herself in society. Academy, to Officer Candidate School, to the Airborne Legion. Such a rapid chain of events that shaped the unsavory, if capable, soldier before her.

But enough thoughts of unwanted baggage. Harriet Coldheart turned, stalking over to the rail of her command dais and leaning against it, purposefully ignoring Gilda's irritated growl. "What have we got, Specialist?"

Ranks in the Matriarchy worked differently from Equestria ones. Though a lot was borrowed from the ponies (the griffons' military structure loosely based off their royal counterparts) there were many differences. Instead of corporals, they had specialists. Instead of sergeants, they had wardens. The woman before Coldheart, Specialist Gale Windheart of the Heart Clan, was Harriet's own niece, albeit from another family of the clan. Still, she did not have any room inside of her for special treatment (nepotism was rife in the Matriarchy), and Gale oftentimes found herself on the lash of Coldheart's sharp tongue, simply to reinforce that the lieutenant colonel wasn't doing her niece any favors.

"Picking up radio signals from the garrison. Hang on, I'm still tuning to get the best quality."

"Don't worry about quality, Specialist. So long as we can hear it, it's good enough. Put it on speakers."

Windheart glanced over at her aunt, pausing only briefly before nodding, turning to the radio set before her and, after a few more minor adjustments, reached for the speaker set. Griffon radio technology had evolved past the point of squadron radio packs, and instead distributed short-range headsets to every soldier, just like the Canids up north did. This freed up the largest radio for long-range communications instead of sending messages between units, so the single radio on the table was the only large piece of communications equipment on the whole of Artemis.

"Putting it on speakers."

The room was suddenly filled with the static-ridden hash of the radio call, from somewhere down below the heat and dust and snow interfering with the signal. It sounded like a male pony, a stallion, and he was hurriedly calling out whatever message he had to send.

"-is Corporal Drab of the 71st Royal Army Battalion, Equestrian Armed Forces to the Matriarchy airship above! Cease bombing operations, we have survivors and wounded down here! You're going to kill us all! I don't think they're listening Major!"

"Try again, you must, for if you don't we'll be pounded to dust."

"Wait a minute…" said Gilda, stepping closer and listening harder. "That's a zebra! They're the only ones I know lame enough to rhyme all the time!...uh, ma'am."

Coldheart finally pulled her narrowed eyes off of the captain, turning to Windheart and asking "Is there anyway for you to check its authenticity?"

The Specialist shook her head, feathers ruffling slightly. "No, Colonel. The call was sent out on an open channel, so anything could have made it. I'm getting back radio codes associated with the 71st, though."

Coldheart paused, considering the situation at hand. The 4th had been provided with the portfolio from Canterlot Army High Command of the contingency wireless codes that Colonel Eagle Eye used. But those had been filed a month ago, and given the current state of the battle, the diamond dogs could have compromised communications. Just because something –sounded- like a pony didn't mean it was. On the other hand, if she ignored them and continued bombing, lots of innocent creatures could get hurt. But if she continued anyway, no one would find out.

"No," she finally said, moving away from the console. "We have no way to confirm if they are who they are, and any authorization codes could have been discovered at the garrison. Better to keep going, full steam ahead."

Just as Harriet was about to step away, however, that damnable Gilda spoke up, out of turn as always. The captain never did seem to realize that military procedure was there for a reason, and that reason was obviously not so it could be ignored. Coldheart bristled as she realized that no matter what she did, Gilda Axeclaw would never respect her betters.

"Hold on…I do remember that the Royal Army battalion's Two-I-C was a zebra. A Major Zo Di'ac, if I'm picturing the briefing correctly." She smirked smugly at Coldheart's glowering form, inspecting her claws casually. "The dogs wouldn't know that we know, and they aren't exactly smart enough to rhyme –all- the time. I think we've got our confirmation right there."

Lieutenant Colonel Coldheart had disposed of many rivals before. Idiot women who tried to move ahead of her just because it was the next rung in the ladder. But, as she swung back to hear Gilda's argument, she realized that for the first time she was considering getting rid of an underling.

Stalliongrad, Northern Equestria

9th Hegemonic AOT (Advanced Operations Taskgroup)

Current Mission: Espionage and Resource Retrieval

Dorsal surface of Hegemonic Fleet Submersible CNV-1108 Seawolf, Docked with Pride of Ottapaw

"Garret, shut up."

The Fleet officer stared, dumbstruck, as the ex-Marine turned special forces brushed off everything he'd been saying. Commander Michael Garret was a seasoned veteran, a dog who had worked his way up through the ranks. He'd –earned- this position, dammit! And that meant not being bossed around by those who were not only underneath him in rank, but also of a different branch.

"Wha-how –dare- you?" the Corgi spluttered, raising a small paw in indignation, claws wrapped in a fist. "You can't speak to me like that, I outrank you!"

"Actually, according to the Command Authority Amendment from ten years ago, all operations in which a special forces operative of the rank lieutenant or higher is present fall under the purview of the Black Ops," Boxer replied calmly. The Major was inspecting his own claws now, the cigar clutched between them. "President Chewchill himself suggested it after a wolf blocked him from an assassin's bullet, after the local Fleet officers ignored the wolf about potential sniper angles."

President Winston Chewchill. Now there was a tub of mixed grease if ever there was one. Chewchill loved to love himself, and as such spent most of his time lounging around, smoking cigars, drinking brandy, chewing on the finest bones and attending social galas from one end of the Hegemony to the other. But while it was fair to say that Prime Minister Mation ruled supreme in matters military and foreign, Chewchill clutched his power of internal affairs and the economy itself with an iron paw. Which was the main reason Mation even listened to the President at all.

And now, the luxury-loving bulldog was the reason Major Boxer was stepping onto the sub, whistling lightly as Hegemonic Marines streamed out past him and the black-clothed wolves behind him, both of which were silent. How such a brash and carefree dog had reached the rank of Major, much less entered the Black Ops, was a mystery to Garret, but he didn't care enough to ask. Right now, he just wanted Boxer out of his sight.

"Alright, fine! What do you want, Major?"

Boxer grinned widely, exposing a set of perfect, sharp teeth that meshed together without a hint of a gap between them. He looked the very essence of a predator about to enjoy an easy meal; satisfied, yet bored that there had been no chase to catch it. The look sent an unexpected chill down Garret's spine, and he didn't know why. He'd battled sea dragons and hydras, after all. A single special forces operator shouldn't…shouldn't…

"Have we heard back from Captain Frost yet?" Boxer asked, his face resuming its normal amused passiveness. Garret snapped himself back to the present, shaking his head and replying "No. But the gyrodynes only left a few hours ago from the Recalcitrant. She's still waiting thirty-five miles out at sea, where the Royal Army Harbor Watch can't find her."

"Recalcitrant…Packmaster class Gyro-Carrier, correct?"

"Correct. She's set to receive the cargo from Frost's team, as well as yours."

"Well, Commander. You have two choices here, for I'm not leaving behind one scrap of cargo. You can either make a few trips, or get on the horn to Recalcitrant and ask her for some muscle."

Stalliongrad, Northern Equestria

Matriarchy Armed Forces, 4th Airborne Division

5th Battalion, 1st Company, Salamander Squad

Industrial Sector, Mining Guild Mineral Refinery

Warden Tempestia Bravencrest could brag about her veterancy. She'd served in two foreign wars, both of which were complete successes for the Matriarchy, and had the honor of wearing the Remembrance Cross for recovering dead soldier's ID tags and returning them to base at the risk of her own life. She'd scored top in her Weapons Handling test scores time and time again, and was fit as a fiddle, muscles and sinews tight like a drum, mind as sharp as a steel trap. Power-Jumping (what the Legion called flying over obstacles with just enough power to make it look like one giant leap) came naturally to her, and her skill in close-combat was so extreme that she could gut any opponent before they had a chance to react to her first blow.

Bravencrest could brag for hours. Any other griffon, hell any other –creature- would. But not her. She wasn't proud of her achievements at all. The things she'd seen, the things she'd –done- disgusted her beyond belief. She didn't want to serve anymore, but a military term in the Matriarchy was a full ten years, a long-term commitment to the empire (oh, they might not have called themselves that anymore, but she knew that's exactly what they were).

For now, at least, there was no fighting. Her squad was holed up in this refinery, having just cleared it of dogs and ordered to remain here to maintain the perimeter while the bombing went on further to the south. It was a traditional griffon tactic, use numbers and maneuverability to force your enemy into a corner and then smash the daylights out of him with as much heavy ordnance as can be brought to bear. Bravencrest could attest to seeing it's immediate effects come through with some measure of success, for it made morale drop instantly and the enemy surrendered nine times out of ten. But there would be no surrender here…

"Salamander One Actual, do you receive?" That was Bravencrest's wireless, a headset that covered half her head, letting her hear radio calls from her superiors. All Airborne soldiers in the Legion wore them, and it allowed for greater tactical flexibility and speedy deployments without the need for the pause to confer. While Canida did have this technology as well, they rarely used it to its full potential, preferring to keep their soldiers in tight formation. Equestrian soldiers, at least, could work around their handicap, it seemed.

The warden reached up, keying her headset and replying "This is Salamander One-One, we're hearing you. Go ahead." The call would be from Artemis, either from an officer up there or relayed from her own commander's outpost in City Center.

"Be advised, we're receiving radio chatter from the ground. Sounds like some Royal Army troopers survived in the garrison and need extraction. The colonel is rather doubtful, but is willing to look into it. The bombing will stop for five minutes, and you're the closest squad in the area."

"Understood," replied Bravencrest, nodding even though the radio operator was nowhere close enough to see her. "We'll find them. We'll pop a blue flare for pickup and a red flare if it turns out to be a ruse."

"We'll be attaching Ironwind 6 to give you support. Good luck, Salamander." With that, the line went dead, and Tempestia let out a huff of a sigh. Five minutes to get to the garrison, easily a mile away. That wouldn't give them much time to search, but it was better than nothing. But the needed to move fast, and they needed to move now.

"Alright, form up!" she called out, hefting her LSG-41 and grunting at the ammunition. While the magazine-fed automatic shotguns were the most famous and standard issue for Airborne Legionnaires, supporting weapons for being on the ground were a needed piece of kit. The Light Support Gun was an automatic rifle with a big magazine, meant to suppress enemy forces and let other Legionnaires with more accurate weapons get the shot they needed. Around the sergeant, her five squad mates assembled, ready to go. She sighed as she looked upon them, wishing (not for the first time) that she had her old squad from Kodiak. They'd been a crack team, a lethal machine of weapons, wings and claws. Only problem was, she'd gotten the Remembrance Cross because of them. Hard to give orders to dead women.

"Alright, ladies! Lock and load, check your shit and your sights! We're going in, and we're going in hard and fast. Word is there are survivors holed up at the Royal Army Garrison, a mile south of here. We are to move out in Jump order, secure the area and ascertain if the call is genuine. Watch your corners, keep your teammates in sight and whatever you do, don't freaking waste your ammo. Fire in short bursts, I'm not gonna say it again."

She could see the looks of eagerness in these young recruits' eyes, and knew her words would have no effect. Glory-hunting rookies always did things the stupid way, and she wondered which of them would get killed first and how many it would take before the rest snapped into line. Two? Three?

Regardless, she knew she'd have to hold the squad together, and so she turned, extending her wings and leaping high into the air, out through the hole in the ceiling they'd made to get in, out and up into the night sky. The district was a mess, with fires burning everywhere and choking the stars off with billowing clouds of smoke, obscuring the rest of the city from sight. That could also be because Stalliongrad's power supply had been destroyed as well, but she wasn't one for guessing.

As she reached the top of her Jump, Bravencrest glanced over towards the south, at one of the largest patches of light she could see around. According to reports from battlefield surveillance, about two hundred Royal Army troopers with air and magic support had stood their ground against thousands upon thousands of dogs, and almost won. But they hadn't, and the garrison was crawling with dogs right now. How a single squad with tank support was supposed to clear the place and extract any survivors was beyond her, but maybe these ponies were supposed to have something to do with it.

Bravencrest felt the pull of gravity, and pulled her wings in tight to increase her falling speed, slamming into a rooftop on her specially constructed shock-absorbing leg frames, designed to take and channel away all force from impacts, allowing Legionnaires peace of mind as they performed their Jumps. The rest of the squad fell in behind her, arranged in a crooked line with their weapons up. Three possessed scatter guns, while another held a marksman rifle and another had a single shot grenade launcher. Not a very heavily outfitted team, but apparently enough to get the job done, according to Artemis.

The warden took off once more for the second jump, feeling the cold air sweep through her feathers and fur. Her simple leather vest was lightweight on her frame, but she could still feel the ammunition and other equipment strapped to it weighing her down. At least they didn't carry heavy packs full of gear like the ground forces of other armies, she considered. She loved feeling the wind move past her like this, no control over where she landed as she free-fell towards her destination. It was the one thing she loved best about the Legion, the chance to fly around the world and see new places, feel different environments on her face…

As she came back to earth again, this time landing on top of a bakery, her headset crackled once more. "Salamander, this is Ironwind 6. We just passed the marker, less than one hundred meters from the target, over."

Featherweight light tanks were halftrack contraptions. With the quick guidance of a front set of wheels, powered by treads that could conquer any surface, they were able to tackle even the most inhospitable surface and come out on top, and they were fast to boot. The only problem, of course, was their thin armor and light cannon, barely sufficient to clear out infantry with. Put a Featherweight against even an Equestrian Crusader battlewagon (seriously? Battlewagon? Why couldn't they call it a tank like the rest of the world?) and the battlewagon would win. And yet, the Featherweight was the most commonly used armored vehicle in the Matriarchy…

As she took off again, Bravencrest replied "Roger, Ironwind. Keep a foot in the door; we're almost there, over."

Featherweights were crewed by four griffons, which at least kept the tank in working order. In those cramped conditions, however, movement was hindered by both close quarters and the griffons' wings. Tanker crews took extensive training not to unfurl their wings when they felt surprise or anger or any other strong emotion (avoiding what Pegasi slang designated a 'wing boner.' Honestly, how childish). In the distance, Bravencrest heard the cannon thump, followed by the explosion of the shell and the rattling of the machine guns. The dogs would be on that tank like…well…fleas on a dog. They had to get there and provide cover.

Fortunately, with Artemis no longer dropping bombs, the relative silence allowed her to pinpoint the sound of the tank over the chatter of infighting diamond dogs elsewhere in the district, and it was on her fifth Jump that she finally found herself splashing onto the muddy avenue next to Ironwind. She straightened instantly, LSG up and ready to go, expecting a wave of inbound dogs…

Only to find herself staring at an empty field. Ahead were piles upon piles of dog corpses, and beyond that were the ruined defense works of the Royal Army battalion. But there were no dogs charging them. Beside her, the guns of Ironwind were silent, steaming in the chill air as the temperature sapped the heat from their muzzles.

"Uh…Ward?" asked one of her rookies as the squad fell in alongside her. "Wasn't this place supposed to be swarmed with dogs?"

Bravencrest nodded slowly, tapping her fist on the side of Ironwind. In a moment, the hatch up top swung open, revealing the leather-cap clad head of the commander, a young one who squinted down at Tempestia with barely disguised irritation.

"What is it, Warden?"

"What the hell were you firing at? I can't see anything but bodies."

The commander shrugged, as if there was nothing to worry about. "Some scavengers. A few dogs were collecting weapons and ammo from the field."

The warden nodded, considering the situation before stating "Stay here and cover us. We'll go investigate."

Before the commander could answer, the sharp snap of rifle fire and the howling of several diamond dogs rang out, causing every soldier nearby to snap to, guns raised and ready. Ironwind's commander disappeared inside her tank, and the Featherweight lurched forward, rolling towards the destroyed gates slowly. Bravencrest didn't get on the commander for breaking orders, for she knew the situation had changed. She gestured to her team, and the squad fell in behind the tank, using it for cover as they hiked up the quarter-mile of killing field towards the garrison.

Up close, it was horrible on an unimaginable scale. Bodies (or pieces of them) were scattered all over the place, pony and dog both. Piles lay in and around the trenches, and other were tangled in the barbed wire defending these areas. Bunkers were split open, their guns lolling in the firing gaps. The Featherweight passed a destroyed battlewagon, it's barrel split open and peeled back like a banana, the burned corpses of its crew laying half in and around the wreck.

A squad of dead ponies lay next to the gates, established behind two sandbag embankments with heavy machine guns. At least two dozen dogs lay dead around these areas, and it looked as though the squad had run out of ammunition and were forced to hoof-to-paw combat before being overwhelmed and hacked apart. At least they took the bastards with them, Bravencrest considered.

Finally, they entered the garrison, but it was just as horrendous as the outside. An enormous pit was sunk into the center, taking the Pegasus service pad, an artillery position and an entire brace of mortars into the ground, where their crews and whatever other soldiers were left had been slaughtered.

"Poor bastards…" muttered the grenadier in her squad, peering down into the pit. Bravencrest had to agree, glancing up at the wrecked and still smoldering command center at the top of the fortress. These soldiers had been cornered, and from what she could see the fighting had been savage, fierce. The ponies had taken from the dogs until their last bullet was expended, but that still hadn't stopped the canines. Such a bittersweet victory, she considered. For the dogs, at least.

Suddenly, from inside the garrison, a rifle cracked again, followed by a short burst. Ironwind, which had to remain at the front gates, wheeled its cannon around, tracking the sound. The warden raised a hand, gesturing for the squad to move inside. Upon entering, however, she found the site of another carnage, this one wrested on the dogs. More piles of corpses were gathered around, laying on top of each other as if someone had thrown them into these positions. But there were no pony corpses to be found.

"Contact!" hissed a private, and the entire squad brought their weapons to bear as a single diamond dog stumbled around the corner, running for dear life. Upon seeing the griffons, however, he skidded to a halt, eyes wide and afraid. Very afraid. Before the griffons could do anything, however, another shot resounded through the hallways, splattering the dogs brains on the walls and sending its body flopping to the floor. Salamander squad braced themselves, waiting with baited breath. Was this another squabble between the dogs? Or were there really pony survivors still in the garrison?

There was the slow, methodic ringing of iron shoes on concrete flooring, and the squad tensed up even more. Whoever this pony was, they were vicious and lethal, showing that they had no mercy in them. Salamander squad needed to be on their guard around this trooper. But now the hooves were joined by another set, and another, and another. Four ponies? Not a squad, Royal Army doctrine stated that a full squad was nine troopers plus a sergeant. Then again, they'd been in some fierce fighting…

A tall, blue stallion strode around the corner, covered in head to hoof in grime. At first, the warden thought he was just a civilian, but she quickly realized that he was wearing winter battledress and blue body armor, his rifle yoke resting easy around his neck. He seemed unsurprised at seeing the griffons, and strode forward casually, stepping over the body of the dog he'd just shot. But he wasn't alone. Three others followed him, two earth ponies and a unicorn, all of them weary and battle-worn. Only the earth ponies were armed, however, and the unicorn didn't even wear a helmet.

"It's about dang time," said the blue stallion levelly. "Was wondering when you lot were going to stop bombing us and finally come rescue our sorry hides."

71st Royal Army Battalion, 1st Company

Forward Positions, assisted by elements from 2nd Company

Dawson Avenue, Receiving Survivors

To say that Sanders was shocked to see Major Di'ac was putting it lightly. To say that he was astonished to find Colonel Eagle Eye still alive and recovered enough to begin issuing orders from his stretcher was an understatement.

But to see the Army Sky Corps suddenly appearing on the horizon with a squad of large, muscular troopers in tactical body armor calling themselves RAIC troopers was too much for the captain, and when Major Di'ac asked if he would turn over command of the remnants to her he left her with it gladly. Let somepony else sort out this mess, he was getting some bucking sleep.

Twilight had to admit, the sensation of safety was overwhelming after a long day spent on the front line. 1st Company had done well for themselves, holing up here for so many hours. Now, with survivors being brought in from all over the city thanks to the griffons, their numbers had swelled to just a little over two hundred serving on the line, with a few hundred others being tended to in several small triage areas.

Still, as she lay tiredly on the steps in front of the Golden Ox Hotel and watched the proceedings, she knew this wasn't over. Celestia may have been a beneficial monarch and deity, but even saints knew where to draw the line. Somepony would pay for this, and Luna would be the one to extract Equestria's vengeance. For now, however, she enjoyed her first real taste of safety all day, the salty air from the harbor helping her relax and realize just how tired she was. She'd barely been awake enough to listen to the briefing by Captain Sanders, explaining about the sub and the ship. Even now, General Spitfire of the 89th was working with Colonel Eye and Captain Tabbs (commander of the RAIC squad) on a plan of attack, the higher ranking Wonderbolt deferring to Eye's superior knowledge of the city, the dogs and overland tactics. The three officers were in constant radio communication with Lieutenant Colonel Coldheart onboard the flying airbase, deciding on a plan of action to put the screws to the real enemy here; the Canid Hegemony.

Twilight could hardly believe what she was hearing. Why would Canida attack Equestria? Princess Celestia and President Chewchill had been on good terms only a few years ago, and there hadn't been any major falling outs since then. There had even been the idea brought up and considered of Canida downsizing their military, but of course that was out the window now. But a Fleet submersible in an Equestrian harbor wasn't much in the way of peaceful action. Worse, the griffon infiltration team that had been sent to sabotage the ship hadn't been heard back from yet, and they were thought to be dead.

Twilight reached a hoof up, rubbing at her eyes. She was tired, confused, thirsty and shaken. Her mind was a jumble and her focus so shattered right now she couldn't even conjure a simple glass of water or lift a sheet of paper with her magic. Spike, at least, was her anchor with reality. Amazingly, the little dragon had seemed to shrug off all the trauma of the battle, and was as chipper and efficient as ever, caring for Colonel Eye even as the commander tried to run the entire war from his bed with broken ribs. Then again, if you survive a rocket attack, she supposed there wasn't much else that could phase you.

The door into the hotel opened behind her, and she glanced up, away from the train of wounded troopers and medics moving back and forth up and down the avenue, to find Short standing next to her. Her heart seemed to skip a beat, and she blushed lightly, though she knew she shouldn't have. What was happening to her, blushing like a school filly every time a particular stallion walked by? She smiled, hoping he'd come out to chat.

"Twilight…you better come inside."

"We've identified the submersible as the Seawolf," said Lieutenant Colonel Harriet Coldheart's voice from the wireless set Corporal Drab was operating on the dining room table. "Our intel says she's supposed to be in the Howlifax Naval Dry-docks, due for a refit to become an Orca Class Attack Submersible again. Certainly she's not supposed to be on the other side of the ocean with a Marine escort in tow."

"Then we can confirm that this is indeed a black op," said General Spitfire, resplendent in her blue uniform. Nearby, Major Soarin munched thoughtfully on a pie he'd undoubtedly smuggled in, and Colonel Surprise stood at the General's side, watching carefully and quietly. The Pegasus mare was the Wonderbolts' second in command, and from what Rainbow Dash had told Twilight she had the authority to command the entire 89th all on her own.

"But they've pulled up to that cargo ship. They're putting something onboard, and I don't like it," replied Colonel Eye from his cot, propped up into something resembling a sitting position by the stack of pillows behind him. The black stallion was a mess. Bandages covered his head and torso, his right foreleg was held in a sling and there were at least a dozen burns covered in salve that Twilight could see. It was a miracle the colonel was sitting up, much less giving orders!

As Twilight and Short walked in, her eyes snapped to the right, where Sergeant Gunn and Azure were waiting off to the side, at least marginally cleaned up. The commanders had called Victor Squad in to recount their various experiences out on the battlefield. Thanks to their testimony about the gyrocopter and a sniper named Quick Craft describing a Canid soldier she'd seen, the officers finally had all the proof they needed. Nearby, Major Di'ac noticed Twilight and shook her head, raising a hoof to her lips. Twilight understood, and slunk around with Short to join Gunn and Azure off to the side of the dining room, watching the proceedings. Gunn was as stiff and martial as ever, while Azure seemed to be barely staying awake.

"We've gotten reports of Canid gyro-craft spotted heading inland. Whatever they're up to, the dogs aren't putting all their eggs in one basket," said Coldheart over the radio, continuing the discussion.

"That means they need some kind of carrier craft," said Spitfire, musing over that briefly. "But that's beside the point. We need to stop that submersible. Colonel Eye, how many soldiers do you have combat ready?"

Eye opened his mouth to answer before a series of coughs escaped his lungs, ragged and wet, and he cleared his throat before he answered, in a hoarse and scratchy voice "Barely two-hundred with about thirty armored vehicles, and there's still a few thousand dogs in the city. I'd rather not compromise what little defense we have left in case they decide to push, General."

"Fair enough," replied Spitfire, frowning at the map of the city before her. "With the Pegasi from the 71st incorporated into the 89th, I have a thousand fliers. So far as I know, 4th Division numbers about seven thousand, right Colonel?"

"Correct, General."

"Captain, you have a full squad of commandos?"

Captain Tabbs had, for the most part, kept off to the side, his scarred face kept emotionless and his voice silent throughout the proceedings. But her stepped forward exactly three paces and answered "Yes, General. Ten stallions, ready to launch."

"Hmm…" Spitfire raised a hoof, rubbing her chin, and Twilight felt a pang of apprehension at the Wonderbolt's musings. Surely she could be asking about all these numbers because-

"Then it's settled. We'll use –our- overwhelming numbers and completely swamp those two ships with an aerial attack. So far as we've seen, they've got no anti-air defenses."

"Beluga Class vessels are usually armed with only a deck gun, and the cargo ship has no obvious weapons. They pose no threat to us."

"I don't like it," said Eye, straightening up a little and grimacing. "So far, the dogs, and I mean the actual soldiers here, have been very adept at identifying our weaknesses and nailing us where it hurts. I've been fighting their soldiers for nine hours, and I can honestly say that I don't think they would just leave the two ships they were supposed to be keeping secret completely defenseless. This is a trap. I guarantee it."

"Colonel Eye, while your council is useful, we have no data to suggest they are expecting a counter-attack," replied Spitfire neutrally. "In fact, we have shown no evidence to suggest that we know they're there, or that we have reinforced."

"Besides," piped up Soarin as he pulled out –another- pie (Where was he keeping them was what Twilight wanted to know) "What can they do against eight thousand fliers? They can't have more than a few hundred Marines and spec ops there with them, and we haven't sent any scouts out to tell them we're here."

"Yes, but-"

"Honestly, the situation's too perfect for us to ignore. We've got the advantage in numbers for the first time all day, I say we use it."

"Lieutenant Colonel, I-"

Abruptly, however, the meeting was interrupted by another source, this one an outside influence. The dining room doors flew open, admitting one very haggard looking Lieutenant Dandelion, her saddlebags stuffed with papers and a bundle clutched between her teeth, a wild look in her tired eyes. The two troopers guarding the door outside obviously hadn't stopped her, though she could have simply used her authority to boss her way inside.

"Colonel!...uh…General? Uh…" she balked, frowning as she tried to think of who to report to. Eye saved her the trouble by waving with his uninjured hoof. "Over here, Lieutenant. What is it?"

"We've got a problem, sir. Another ship is pulling into the harbor."

"What? Do you have photos?"

"No need, sir. You can look out the window and see it coming straight towards us."

(Ain't I just a stinker? President Chewchill and Captain Frost are both the property of BGscientist, by the way. All credit to him.)