> Warhawk
>  by Moonatik
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> 1 - Conversation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


21:58 - 30/07/1003 - Whinnyapolis, Manesbury


There was once a time when the chamber Selenite sat in was used as a lavish dining hall and the lengthy table she sat at was once used for feasting on extravagant banquets. All around her was evidence of this, in the elaborate bejewelled chandeliers and towering gilded columns leading up to the vaulted ceiling. Yet since the beginning of the Lunar-Crystal war, the whole manor had been transformed into Warmaster Saturn Hawkrich’s headquarters, with the dining hall being converted to a meeting chamber.

Graphs, reports and notes were strewn across the long table at the centre of the room, maps and charts were spread across the polished stone walls; the many murmuring voices of the thirty-odd members of the Lunar War Council echoed from one end of the hall to another. Officers, politicians, high ranking civil servants, even scientists all among them, each intended to represent a different expertise that would be valuable to maintaining the war effort. All the ponies from the military appropriately wore military uniforms, varying in colour depending on branch but matching in their form-fitting style along with silver pipings around the edges and up the stiff collars.

Selenite herself was one such General, as commander of the Fourth Army. At the moment she was in conversation with the pony seated next to her, General Midnight Blossom, discussing frontline logistics. She had a neat stack of documents in front of her, with a notebook at her hooves and a pen at the ready. While she’d been at meetings like this dozens of times before and had no trouble presenting herself professionally, she felt a tense stiffness run up her back. It was hard not to feel tense, given the gravity of the discussion, who was currently in attendance and who was soon to be in attendance.

At the head of the table sat Warmaster Saturn Hawkrich himself. Tall and amazingly fit for his age, the quinquagenarian thestral had slicked his well-groomed greyed mane back with the sandy-tan of his coat contrasting firmly against his blue and silver uniform. He kept his head up high, as if to show off that rapier-sharp jawline of his that looked strong enough to cut glass.

Before the onset of the New Lunar Millennium, Hawkrich’s only experience with warfare was as an amateur historian specialising in military history. Naturally, some may have questioned Nightmare Moon’s decision to appoint him as her Warmaster, but given his extensive networking, experience in leadership, and stacks of resources, there was no better choice at the time. The naysayers were silenced as Hawkrich’s accomplishments piled up over the last three years. He’d led the Lunar forces to total victory against the Celestial Loyalists, oversaw the internal monster hunting campaign, and masterminded the triumph over Chrysalis’s changeling armies.

Only recently had he hit a snag. The war against Sombra had consumed far more ponies, equipment, and time than he’d anticipated.

It didn't help that Sombra returned whilst the bulk of the Imperial Lunar Army was finishing off the changelings. Nor that the failure of Hawkrich's initial offensive against Sombra stained his near-spotless reputation like oil.

Opposite the Warmaster at the other end of the table, a tall, elaborately carved wooden chair loomed over the council, easily big enough that any normal pony in the room would sink into its cushion. Obviously, it was reserved for Empress Nightmare Moon, who was absent from the meeting as her escort was ambushed by Sombra’s forces on her way to Whinnyapolis. However, the escort had arrived in Whinnyapolis just fine, minus one Empress. The Empress herself had gotten carried away and went on an extended rampage against the attackers. The arriving escort added that the Empress didn’t want the War Council to wait for her to start the meeting, not when she had to, quote, “finish crushing those ambushers into the dirt”.

A sharp clink echoed through the chamber as Hawkrich tapped a spoon against a champagne glass, prompting the members of the War Council to direct their attention to Hawkrich. “As Warmaster of the Lunar Empire, I call this meeting to order!” he proclaimed. He spoke much like a member of Canterlot high society, but carried a subdued shrillness common to northern thestral accents.

Hawkrich sat, but kept his chin up with his wings slightly outstretched. “Now, let us begin with the state of the war. It should be obvious to everypony in this room that the current conduct of this campaign has lacked central coordination. To be frank, each of you has forgone joint operations in favour of your own approach.”

Eyes around the room darted from one pony to another. As awkward as it was to admit, nopony could really deny it. Given how quick and relatively one-sided the wars against the Celestials and Chrysalis were, complacency had set in amongst Lunar command that left them unprepared to face the tough resistance of Sombra’s Empire.

Hawkrich continued. “We’ve seen the results. Our forces have struggled to make much, if any, headway against Sombra’s army despite our numerical and technological superiority. What I intend to accomplish with this meeting is the reaffirmation of a common doctrine and assuring maximum coordination across the whole front. Don’t worry, I’m not going to invent a new military science on the spot and demand that you follow it. Simply, I direct that you all should go back to basics and follow our tested and established doctrine.”

Interest around the room increased. A few ponies shuffled in their seats, leaning closer to Hawkrich. But for Selenite, her guts immediately knew that something was off. Ears forward and pen to notebook, she focused her undivided attention on Hawkrich.

“Our doctrine makes use of not only our physical weapons but psychological weapons! We warp the enemy’s perception of the battlefield by ruthlessly pushing our advantages, thus leading them to think they are facing an overwhelming foe,” Hawkrich summarised. “By hitting enemy command and control nodes and troop concentrations with a never-ending barrage of fires, neither the soldiers nor the commanders get a moment of rest. Should they somehow find sleep, our oneiromancers harass their dreams. By the time we attack, best case scenario they’ll be too scared to fight and worst case scenario they’ll be too tired to aim their rifle properly.”

Selenite knew their established doctrine like the back of her hoof, she was there when it was devised. Heck, she wrote some of the passages! She also knew that if the doctrine was going to work, the war would be over by now. A quick glance around the room and at the few ponies with raised eyebrows or uneasy postures showed her that she wasn’t alone in that thought. She made sure to note Hawkrich’s mention of psychological weapons.

Hawkrich continued. “To this end, whole artillery divisions have been assembled and are in the process of being assigned to your commands. Their full combined might will have the capacity to launch three-million shells in a twenty-four hour period. Productionwise, we have a steady stream of shells and guns with more than enough output to meet our needs as well as enough surplus production to effectively react to any surprises.”

No issues there, Selenite thought. She’d looked into production reports and had rarely dealt with ammunition shortages in her part of the front. The industrial capacity of one of Manehattan’s boroughs alone would humiliate the meagre, ancient industry of the Crystal Empire.

“In terms of air power, more than half of our infantry are winged and we possess advanced, modern aircraft. The opportunities this brings in regards to carrying out aerial reconnaissance and delivering air support should be obvious to all of you. Sombra’s centres of operation will be located from above, and the assaults on these positions will be supported from above. Now, disregarding a few captured pegasi, thestrals, and anti-air batteries, Sombra,” Hawkrich paused for effect, “does not have an air force.”

A few ponies around the room chuckled at Hawkrich’s comment about Sombra not having an air force. Selenite wasn’t one of them, instead sitting still and noting down Hawkrich’s key points. The point itself was certainly true, but still, the skies were hardly clear.

“In total, we have absolute superiority with regard to technology, trained personnel, industry, and reconnaissance. We should make utmost use of our advantages by administering overwhelming force. If this strategic framework is implemented with no delays, the war should be over before Sombra wises up to the fact that he is fighting a modern war in the Lunar millennium. Now!” Hawkrich clapped his hooves. “Does anypony have anything to add?”

A few things, Selenite thought, but a quick look around the table showed that nopony else was taking the chance to speak. Or at the very least they were taking their time. Or decided this was the perfect time to practise their miming skills. There was a lot Selenite had to say, but she knew she couldn’t get it all out at once. Perhaps a solid dose of honesty would work best to start? Then she could make a modest point, before working her way to the root problems. Gathering her courage, Selenite motioned forwards. “Excuse me, Warmaster?”

“Yes, General Selenite!” Hawkrich bellowed, leaning in Selenite’s direction. “What is it?”

“You’ve presented a very good framework for fighting a conventional army,” she said, sitting up straighter.

Hawkrich’s grin grew broader.

“However, and with all due respect…” Selenite raised her voice but kept her tone clear and professional. “We are not fighting a conventional army.”

Hawkrich’s grin collapsed.

“For starters,” said Selenite, feeling confidence build. “Sombra makes extensive use of camouflage and cloaking magic to conceal his forces, rendering their positions invisible from above. We do have a recon advantage, but without a broad expansion of ground-based recon to catch these blind spots, our aerial recon might as well be useless.” She paused for a moment, until another realisation washed over her. “Worse than useless, in fact. How many times have our troops been led into traps due to these deceptions?”

For a moment Hawkrich was quiet and still. He then nodded his head, eyebrows raised. “You raise a good point, General. I’m sure we have more than enough trained ground reconnaissance personnel to mend this. More will be trained if we lack capable personnel. Did you have anything else?”

“Yes,” Selenite said just before she’d realised she was throwing herself into a prolonged debate. “Beyond the recon issue, your general assessment assumes that the formula that worked against the Celestials and the changelings will work in this war. While exhausting and frightening the enemy into retreat or surrender worked against our previous adversaries, the overwhelming majority of ponies in Sombra’s army are brainwashed slaves or undead thralls.”

Hawkrich sat silently for a second. “Meaning?” He cocked an eyebrow.

“Quite simply, fear is out of the equation. A typical soldier in Sombra’s army cannot feel any fear and their basic self-preservation instincts are repressed. Suppressive fire has a physical impact, obviously, but no observable psychological impact. As far as we know, they might not even get tired. Focusing our efforts on scaring or exhausting them amounts to nothing if they’ll robotically obey orders regardless.”

Forcing out a snort, Hawkrich smirked. “Well, they’re controlled by their officers, aren’t they? Sombra’s officers retain their mind and their fear, so if we can push them to issue erratic or irrational orders, our forces will have an easier time.”

“You’d think,” Selenite said. “Except, from what we’ve observed, the behaviour of a frightened Sombrite officer has been to put as many slaves and thralls between themselves and our forces, either hiding as far from the front as possible or literally using pony-shields. The usual result is a bloody massacre, with heavy casualties on each side. Given a choice, the best thing we can put in an enemy officer’s head isn’t fear,” a pause for emphasis, “it’s a bullet.”

A few snickers and suppressed laughs murmured through the chamber.

Hawkrich, however, was not laughing. His face slightly twisted to a scowl, he shifted his weight from side to side as his wings twitched. “Obviously, General. That’s how war works. Yet doing so would require us to commit ourselves to a lengthy, costly process of training legions of elite snipers capable of silently slipping through the lines and eliminating Sombra’s officers.”

“That’s exactly what the Fourth Army under my command has been doing, and it has been neither costly nor lengthy,” said Selenite.

Hawkrich went still, blinking a few times.

“As a matter of fact, just last week we launched a successful operation to eliminate a Crystal artillery position. Our troops freed well over a thousand soldiers, just by the now-liberated village of Coltiston. A small team of snipers snuck behind their lines and eliminated their mages and officers. With most of their commanders dead, the rank-and-file soldiers dispersed into a disorganised horde. And without the coherent orders of their controllers, they fell back on simple programming and just charged, firing blindly at our soldiers without cover,” Selenite explained. “At that point, getting our spell jammers close enough to disable their helmets was trivial, and the battle was won with minimal casualties. Mind you, most of the snipers weren’t hardened Chiropterran Legionnaires, they were conscripts.”

“That’s very impressive, General,” Hawkrich threw his back into his chair and dusted his forehooves. “But perfection is the enemy of good. Better a good plan now than a perfect plan in two weeks.”

Selenite sighed. “Not in this case, Warmaster,” she asserted. “Time is on our side in this conflict. We know this. Sombra's stuck with the limited resources and antiquated industry he has while we have a modern, industrial economy. They didn’t even have guns until they picked them off Equestrian corpses. Mind you, said corpses wouldn’t have been there had we not entered this war by launching a hastily planned offensive into his territory.”

“So you suggest a siege then?” But before Selenite could answer Hawkrich rose from his seat as his brow furrowed and continued. “General, do you know what happens to ponies under Sombra’s rule?”

Selenite gave a slight nod. “I’ve heard and read countless reports of atrocities, yes.”

“Allow me to paint you a more vivid picture.” Hawkrich’s wings reached out as he put his hooves on the table, pushing himself up. “What we face is the end of life as we know it. Every stallion, mare, and foal is stripped of their free will and forced into back-breaking slavery. Even those fortunate enough to keep their minds, if you can call them fortunate, have every moment of their lives directed and controlled. Not a moment of true rest, not a moment of life granted to anyone outside the elite. Arbitrary murder, torture, and-” Hawkrich shuddered. “-and rape are common practice at all points up and down the hierarchy.”

Selenite didn’t dare interrupt. She was all too aware of the horrors that Sombra and his minions had inflicted on their subjects, and, well, she could see that Hawkrich was using them to make his point. Nothing good would come from interrupting or disputing a word of it. Let him make his argument and respond to that, she thought.

“And you suggest we delay the liberation of the Crystal ponies by rebuilding our doctrine from scratch?” Hawkrich added. “Every extra night we spent trying to reinvent the wheel is another night of suffering for the ponies under Sombra’s tyranny. The soldiers know this, it is their brothers and sisters in arms who have suffered the brunt of it. They know what they are fighting for and are ready to make the sacrifices. It is our imperative to tear Sombra down as soon as possible. Agreeing to a good plan tonight is better than having a perfect plan after three months of inaction.”

Selenite waited a moment to ensure nopony had anything to interject with before responding. “I understand sir,” Selenite admitted. “My contention is that by sticking to an inappropriate doctrine, we risk greater numbers of ponies being lost to Sombra’s forces, either being killed or captured by slaves. Our current doctrine has so far allowed him to capture our equipment, and worse yet, to capture our soldiers for enslavement or enthrallment. When every battlefield casualty or captured soldier means adding even more fodder to Sombra’s forces, minimising the overall loss of life and taking the extra time to ensure that is critical.”

“No, General,” Hawkrich leaned towards Selenite. “We must not give him any more time! No more time to violate the hundreds of thousands he has enslaved. No more time to find a way to turn this around. No more time to influence surrounding nations or attract any foreign support.”

Selenite was pulling in a breath, getting ready to respond at length. 

“About that, Warmaster,” a gruff aged voice belonging to Cipher Lock, Head of Military Intelligence, cut her off. “So far we have no reason to believe that there’s any danger of foreign support for Sombra. He’s an international pariah. The griffons have imposed a strict embargo, and the yaks don’t seem to care. At most, opportunistic bandits and crooks from the Griffon Frontier are running guns, but in no threatening quantity. The Nova Griffonian-Crystal border is simply too undeveloped for a robust supply chain of munitions to flow across.”

“Alright, but,” Hawkrich shuffled in his seat. “He might attack any of these nations at any given moment and seize control of their industry and connections.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” scoffed Major General Alesia Snezhnaya in her heavily accented voice. “The only successful offensive operation the Crystal Empire has achieved was the attack into Manesbury, Blackthorn, and Marechester near the beginning of their campaign. Even then, they were fighting mostly over flat terrain, they barely managed to take Riverpool and Whinnyapolis, and we ultimately forced them out. If Sombra’s forces cannot successfully hold cities close to their border with no natural obstacles in their way, what hope do they have of launching an attack over the mountains into Yakyakistan or Nova Griffonia?”

“Really,” an officer from down the table snickered, “we should encourage him to waste resources attacking his other neighbours.”

A few dark laughs rang out in the chamber. Hawkrich glowered at the laughing ponies and slowly slunk back into his chair.

Selenite was not amongst the laughing ponies, but she patiently waited for the laughter to die down before resuming to speak. She felt the gravity in the room shifting towards her. “Furthermore, considering that a great many of Sombra’s soldiers are captured and mind-controlled Equestrians, both military personnel and civilians alike, there’s been a certain unwillingness amongst our ranks to shoot to kill. I’m sure you’re all aware of this.”

All traces of laughter died out as murmurs of agreement rumbled up and down the table. Even Hawkrich nodded his head, even if he averted his gaze from Selenite as he did.

“Therefore,” Selenite continued, bringing out her chest as she reached her main point. “I propose a greater emphasis should be placed on capturing as many soldiers alive as possible, rather than eliminating them, for both practical and moral reasons.” 

Hawkrich sat up. “Pardon me, but as far as I’m concerned, wars are won through the ruthless application of overwhelming force. Trying to minimise enemy losses will only slow us down.”

Selenite raised an eyebrow. “The Fourth Army has placed special emphasis on minimising enemy casualties and we’re seeing better results than any other sector on the front. And we’ve focused our offensives on liberating as many ponies as possible, the result being more ponies going home safe and free.”

“Speed is a necessity, given what you propose,” Hawkrich alleged. “Sombra’s conversion camps, where the captured are kept and the worst atrocities are carried out, are positioned away from the frontline while being makeshift enough that they can always tear them down and pull them further away before our forces can catch up.”

“We could bomb them from the air,” said General Helion of the Air Force.

Heads around the table slowly turned to General Helion.

“Well, why not?” she shrugged. “It’d pretty heavily destroy their usefulness to the enemy, it’d be quicker than anything else, totally cut off Sombra’s supply of soldiers-”

“We’d be bombing our own soldiers,” Selenite said flatly.

Hawkrich scoffed at Helion. “The whole point of this war is to end the suffering of Sombra’s victims, not add to it!”

“Not to mention, how heavily Sombra makes use of cloaking magic,” added Selenite. “When striking solely from above, we won’t know what we’re hitting without a significant ground-based recon element.”

“It wouldn’t even do much if we did that, the bastard has necromancers in his army,” General Midnight Blossom said.

“Okay, okay, forget I said anything,” said Helion, sinking into their seat a little. A few ponies rolled their eyes.

“Regardless,” Selenite continued. “I understand that speed is important. Therefore, by investing resources on improving our capabilities, we can train more than just specialised recon scouts but a whole range of specialised personnel. It’s not any specific tactic that’ll crack the formula, but using a range of tactics aimed at draining Sombra’s officer corps. In the immediate term, we can utilise manueverable, low-caliber indirect fires such as mortars to ambush officers and strike them surgically from afar. Longer term, we could train stronger mages capable of jamming spells over a larger area, or capable of quickly teleporting in and out of enemy positions to assassinate commanders. We could train deep cover infiltrators, sabotaging every level of their operations. Perhaps, instead of recruiting ponies for that role, we could even recruit changelings-”

“Changelings?” Hawkrich interrupted. Selenite glanced around the table, noticing that others were hitting her with sceptical stares, a few eyeing their peers to make sure they didn’t mishear. Perhaps she overplayed her hoof. “You can’t be serious, General.”

“I’d be wary of that,” Cipher Lock spoke up. “At this time, the changelings would not take kindly to being called up to fight a war for Equestria. We’ve proposed it before, and even the most cooperative Hive Queens are wary of how their drones will receive it.”

While shaken by the kickback to her suggestion, Selenite kept a calm exterior. “It’s an idea,” she said.

“And I’m sure that it could be a useful idea in a future conflict, as could the rest,” said Hawkrich. “But we only have the here and now, and it would be much more productive to centre our discussions on current capabilities. To enact what you broadly propose, General, we’d require a superweapon capable of penetrating deep behind enemy lines able to strike without warning and move at impossible speeds.”

The doors flung open. Immediately, something about the air of the chamber shifted as everypony intuitively knew who had arrived before they'd even turned around. Sure enough, an elegant black alicorn in light silver armour, bespeckled with spots of fresh blood, stood in the doorway, two guards by her side. “We are back,” Nightmare Moon announced. “I trust the delay brought you no trouble.”

A discordant barrage of “My Empress,” and “Your Highness,” followed the scrapping of chairs hastily rushed out as everypony bolted to attention, saluting. Nightmare Moon motioned for them to all pipe down and sit down.

Sauntering to her chair, Nightmare cast her piercing gaze across the council table. “Warmaster,” she said as she sat down. “Has the matter of your strategic doctrine been resolved?”

“Quite!” Hawkrich grinned. “I believe we are nearing reaching a conclusion.”

“What?” Selenite blurted out. Eyes around the chamber, most noticeably Nightmare Moon’s, turned to Selenite. She felt the pressure pile onto her immediately, but her confidence didn’t waver as she composed herself. Quickly she thought of something to say that didn’t explicitly contradict Hawkrich. “We were making progress debating core questions of our doctrine before you entered, Your Highness. If you permit me, Empress, Sombra’s Army is not a conventional army, so we can’t fight them like one. Our usual doctrine, which relies on manipulating the psychology of our enemy, won’t work when the typical enemy soldier is incapable of feeling any emotions at all. Hence, we have to adapt our doctrine, and develop a consistent strategy that reflects the war we’re fighting.”

Nightmare Moon put a hoof to her chin. “Is that so? This isn’t just you as the sole dissenter, is it?” she said, then taking her gaze off of Selenite and aiming it at the council more generally. “What about it, council?”

“She has raised many important points,” asserted Major General Snezhnaya.

“I agree with General Selenite wholeheartedly.” General Midnight Blossom nodded her head.

“We’ve had a fruitful discussion,” added Cipher Lock.

More statements of agreement followed. Nightmare Moon’s eyes glided around the room as each member of the council spoke. Until her piercing gaze soon locked on Hawkrich. All other eyes in the room followed hers.

“It doesn’t sound like you were nearing a conclusion at all, Warmaster,” chided Nightmare Moon.

Aside from his blinking eyes, Hawkrich seemed to freeze. He held back a cough. “Before I was interrupted,” he spoke up, “I was going to say we were reaching a conclusion regarding… having to adapt our doctrine to our unique foe.”

“Is that so?” Nightmare Moon was evidently far from convinced or impressed. “Regardless… Now that I am here, amongst you all who possess a broad understanding of the state of the war, I believe it would be advantageous to hear your opinions on what I should do to best aid my soldiers.”

Hawkrich smirked. “I believe your current role is working wonders, My Empress. You’ve performed admirably at devastating Sombra’s forces.”

Nightmare Moon glowered. “Yet, the front has stalled.”

Hawkrich opened his mouth, then shut it and sank into his chair slightly. 

Selenite shuffled forwards. “Excuse me, may I make a suggestion?”

Nightmare Moon turned to Selenite, her chin raised a little, motioning her hoof a little. “Go on, General.”

“Instead of focusing on broadly destroying enemy forces, I believe you should focus on eliminating commanders and freeing enslaved soldiers, with a focus on liberating conversion camps,” said Selenite.

“Oh?” Nightmare Moon raised an eyebrow. “Do explain.”

Selenite smiled. “Seeing as you are effectively invulnerable to most forces, capable of flying at tremendous speeds, and possess unparalleled magical ability, you should be able to eliminate enemy commanders with pinpoint precision and jam their spells. This would almost entirely disintegrate their ranks, preventing any unnecessary bloodshed that comes from killing a soldier who doesn’t want to fight, brings our own captured personnel back into the good fight, and gives us the chance of recruiting the freed soldiers. Not to mention the message it sends, proving to the naysayers of Equestria and the world that you are a liberator and that our cause is just.”

Nightmare Moon grinned at the last of Selenite’s comments, a subtle gleam of delight in her eyes. “And are these not the sort of operations that the Fourth Army has focused on?”

Selenite nodded her head. “Yes, Your Highness.” Good that the Empress knew of that.

“Then you make a compelling argument. Any dissenters amongst you?” Nightmare Moon asked the council.

The chamber was mostly quiet, until Hawkrich stood up. “If you think it is right, then we have no reason object.”

“Then it is decided!” Wings flared, Nightmare shot out of her seat. “We are to refocus our efforts on the surgical elimination strikes on our foe’s commanders and to the liberation of captured soldiers!”

At her declaration, Selenite took a glance at Hawkrich, who was nodding along with a grimace on his lips. Selenite struggled to repress a chuckle at the sight. Nightmare Moon announced it, and Hawkrich just followed along. Were office politics always this easy?

“And to follow on.” With a push from her wings Nightmare Moon jumped onto the table and landed square right in front of Selenite, startling the little thestral as a few of the maps fluttered about. “General Selenite!”

Selenite pulled her wings and hooves close, but still slapped a quivering smile on her lips. “Yes, My Empress?” The words flew out her mouth a little too quickly.

“I am bestowing upon you-” Nightmare Moon threw out a hoof to point at Selenite, stopping only an inch from her muzzle. “-the responsibility of overseeing the implementation of this liberation-centric doctrine!”

“Absolutely, My Empress!” Selenite couldn’t hold back a glowing smile. She pushed herself up, regaining some composure as she saluted her Empress. “It will be done!”

“Wonderful!” Cackling, Nightmare leaped off the table and trotted towards the door, more of the maps and charts fluttering in her wake. “I want to know everything about your adaptations once I return!”

That caused a few ponies to sit up and exchange confused glances. “Your Highness, aren’t you going to stay?” Hawkrich tilted his head.

“At a meeting? Ha!” Nightmare threw her head back. “This is a mere detour on the route to my next battle! I am needed out there, carry on and ensure my will is done!”

Without another word and with a regal flourish, Nightmare parted the doors ajar and strode out. She slammed them shut behind her rumbling the very foundations of the room; only an empty air of silence was left in her wake.

Hawkrich cleared his throat, his chin up and hooves on the table. He motioned to speak, opening his mouth.

“General Selenite.” The authoritative voice of Major General Snezhnaya sliced through the air. “You mentioned special forces you had trained. I would like to hear specifics regarding their application.”

The focus of the room firmly fell onto Selenite. It was clear that everyone was under the impression that Nightmare Moon was going to stay for longer and provide strict direction for the meeting, beyond what Hawkrich could give before her sudden departure. But given  the Empress’s sudden personal endorsement and how Hawkrich had been so thoroughly challenged, Selenite could feel herself having to fill the silver sabatons that the Empress left behind.

“Absolutely, Major General,” said Selenite. She reached into her files and retrieved a small file of papers. “To use a recent example, an after action report about the operation in the Stormreach valley…”
> 2 - Configuration
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


06:27 - 10/08/1003 - Frostfall Pass


Few liked going near the frontline, but it had to be done. There was no way to really understand the state of affairs quite like going there yourself.

In commanding the Fourth Army, Selenite made many frequent trips to the frontline to meet with subordinate officers and inspect the conditions. But then, she’d received a summon from the Empress herself to inspect a section of the front that the First Army was responsible for.

Selenite’s jeep, carrying just her, a driver, and two bodyguards, rolled across the unpaved dirt road carrying her to the front. Two extra bodyguards, a pegasus and a thestral, followed the jeep from the air. She was reading through an after-action report, her notes and observations taking up more space on the page than the text of the report. Her rank and her purpose for being there gave her priority, allowing the jeep to rush past the columns of supply trucks locked in bumper to bumper traffic. Some troop transport trucks had turned back after being emptied of their personnel, the soldiers preferring to march or fly the remaining distance rather than wait in traffic for any longer.

At her stop, Selenite hopped out of the jeep, thanked the driver, fastened her leather overcoat and sprung into a trot. The whole site was alive with activity, busy soldiers rushing around from task to task like bees in a flowering shrub. Every soldier remained poised and ready, knowing that the enemy could throw a wrench into the clockwork logistical machine at any instant. Even the stationary guards were focused and alert, small arms and heavy guns pointed to the flat icy plains of no-pony’s-land ahead.

Luckily, her destination was easy to spot. A concrete bunker perched atop a steep hill poised prominently over the rest of the site. She cringed a little at the sight, thinking of how easy a target it would be for enemy artillery, if they had any. Knowing who awaited her inside, however, kept her reservations in check.

On the way up she overheard a chat between two grey earth pony soldiers trotting around camp.

“Warmaster Hawkrich is here, with the Empress, too,” the first one said, Selenite having to perk up to even hear her.

“Ohh, brilliant!” The second soldier was grinning.

Selenite passed them by. The soldiers stopped to look but quickly continued talking amongst themselves; Selenite's ears just managed to pick it up.

“Who was that?”

“General Selenite.”

“Who?”

“Commander of the Fourth Army.”

“Ohh.” A pause. “Where are they?”

At the bunker’s steel door, the two stocky guards standing by allowed Selenite through. Inside the single room, the concrete walls and shelves were decked with neatly arranged maps and planning papers. A large table in the centre of the room had many similar papers scattered, albeit in a less organised manner. Standing around that table, Nightmare Moon and Warmaster Hawkrich’s attention was fixed on a map.

Selenite bowed to Nightmare Moon. “My Empress.” She rose and saluted Hawkrich. “Warmaster.”

In lieu of her iconic armour, Nightmare Moon wore a midnight-black form-fitting military uniform, with a long cape draped over her body, somehow pillowing despite there being no wind inside. Her ethereal mane was also somehow tied into an elegant bun.

“General Selenite?” Hawkrich tilted his head, an eyebrow raised. His tone was more inquisitive than confused or surprised. “What brings you here? Aren’t you supposed to be-”

“I summoned her,” Nightmare Moon firmly interrupted. “I wish to hear her perspective on your affairs. As the front has broadly stalled, the Fourth Army continues a steady advance. Either she hast found inexplicable luck or her command displays qualities that the rest of you are lacking. I am partial to the latter theory.”

Hawkrich’s brow furrowed and his lips were held tight. After a moment he gathered himself as he took a deep breath. “Well, alright. General, please take a look at this,” he said, pointing to the litany of graphs, maps, and charts across the table.

Selenite approached the table, only to find it too high for her to get a good look. She pulled up a crate to stand on and observed.

“We’ve… taken your proposed reforms to doctrine on board, yet of course we still need to use artillery. For that, we’ve employed a mathematical approach to artillery deployment.”

Before her was a detailed batch of nomograms displaying factors such as the calibre of artillery and the size and type of their targets, displayed in a way that could be used to efficiently calculate how many shells would be needed over what period of time to destroy or suppress those targets. She was intimately familiar with these types of graphs, as the Lunar way of war was often more a science than it was an art. In the case of these graphs, everything seemed… correct. But if everything was right, why had she been summoned?

“Ground recon units have successfully identified the location of  Sombra’s forces, despite their camouflage, and confirmed that we are hitting our desired targets,” said Hawkrich. “But it is taking far longer than it should for us to eliminate the threat. Though,” his voice dropped to a murmur, “rounds-per-minute may be lower than projected? We’re frequently behind schedule, then again the weapons themselves and the crews are more than capable of firing at the desired rate…”

Still, Selenite pondered over the myriad of different problems that might be plaguing their forces. It was unlikely to be a mathematical problem, all the numbers matched her own experiences unless she’d missed something. Maybe she’d have an easier time thinking if those annoying trucks outside weren’t constantly honking their horns.

Selenite’s ears perked up, raising her eyebrows. She turned her head towards the loophole on the far side of the room. Trucks honking their horns? That was definitely what she was hearing, and not what she’d expected to hear in this place. It sounded more like a congested highway at rush hour than it did like a warzone. She stepped off the crate and made her way around to the opening.

“General? Have you identified the error?” Nightmare Moon asked. Selenite remained silent.

Gazing outside, and hovering so she could get a better look, Selenite saw the silent artillery guns sitting in their dugouts. All aimed upwards and onwards towards Sombra’s forces, while their crews milled about seemingly with nothing to do. Clearly not the source of the noise. Closer to their bunker, some hundred metres back from the guns, was a dirt road packed with back to back traffic. One vehicle had a group of no more than four ponies loading small boxes off of the truck and into pony-drawn carts, whilst others were unattended. Immediately, it clicked for Selenite. She was stunned that she hadn’t figured it out on the ride over. “Warmaster, I’m afraid you’ve missed the actual problem.”

“Excuse me?” said Hawkrich.

“Your math is fine,” Selenite turned to Hawkrich. “But your logistics are a mess.”

Hawkrich laughed out a dismissive breath, pulling a smile onto his lips. “General, you of all ponies should know our logistics network is the most robust and extensive ever devised. Using just the existing rail lines, I could ship troops from Manehattan, uniforms from Princesscyn, provisions from Ponyville, and guns from Vanhoover, tonight, and have them be here tomorrow, the next night at the absolute latest. Our logistics are more than capable of meeting demand.”

“On a strategic level, you could. But look." Selenite pointed at the trucks, drawing Hawkrich’s and Nightmare Moon’s attention outside. “There’s a traffic jam worthy of downtown Manehattan down there, and the soldiers are unloading boxes of individually packed artillery shells off the trucks. No wonder you aren’t firing as many shells as you need, there’s no way that so few ponies are going to unload that many shells delivered like that on your desired timetable.”

Hawkrich and Nightmare Moon walked to take a look, following where Selenite’s hoof pointed. The three ponies struggled to crowd around the small opening, so Selenite backed away.

“No amount of extra shells or extra guns are gonna fix the fact that they can’t efficiently unload the shells and guns they’re getting,” said Selenite. “Tartarus, they don’t need extra howitzers, they need forklifts!”

Hawkrich’s eyes darted across the sight below, Selenite could see him grit his teeth past ever-so-slightly curled lips. “They are packed that way so our unicorn soldiers can easily carry them. Most unicorns can’t carry a box of twelve shells or a whole pallet, but any old unicorn can carry boxes of ones or twos.”

“Do you see any unicorns down there?” Selenite waved her hoof down at the scene below them, motioning towards the absence of unicorns. Amongst the soldiers she’d seen at the position so far, there might’ve been one or two for every ten or so soldiers of other tribes. “Of course you don’t, they make up a quarter of our forces at best and the most capable ones are in specialist support companies being trained as combat mages and spell jammers, not in logistics companies lugging around boxes. Meanwhile, pallet jacks can be used by anypony. It’s a no-brainer.”

Releasing a groan, Hawkrich turned back towards the table. Nightmare Moon stroked her chin, her eyebrows pressing together. “How do you propose we apply these… ‘forked lifts’ to our situation?” she asked.

Selenite’s mouth opened then clenched shut. She hadn’t even considered that Nightmare Moon might’ve never seen a forklift in her life. But, equally, knew that drawing attention to her banishment-induced ignorance wouldn’t help at all. After her mind quickly cobbled together a beginner’s guide to forklifts that hopefully wouldn’t come off as condescending to Nightmare Moon, she spoke. 

“To start, we'd need to tell the manufacturers to pack shells onto racks, not into individual boxes of one or two shells. From there, forklift trucks operated by a single pony can unload shells from transport trucks some twenty-four shells at a time and carry them to the guns far quicker than on hoof,” Selenite explained. “It’s all motorised, and the trucks can move pallets off of and onto elevated surfaces.”

“And you have made use of these forklift trucks with regard to the Fourth Army’s logistics?” Nightmare Moon asked, a glint of curiosity in her eyes.

“Where applicable, yes,” Selenite answered with a nod. “However, that means they have to be in a form that the forklifts can use, like a rack or pallet. Otherwise we might as well be poking them with forks for how much use we can get out of them.”

“I see, I see,” Nightmare Moon smirked. “Warmaster Hawkrich!” she bellowed, startling both Selenite and Hawkrich, the later wincing since his ear was right next to Nightmare Moon. “See to it that-” She paused, glancing to the side momentarily. “-manufacturers pack munitions onto pallets and that the task of unloading is accomplished by use of the forklift truck!”

“Of course!” Hawkrich threw a foreleg up in salute. “Yet- How are we to address the immediate situation?”

“I shall do it myself!” Nightmare declared, and with a flick of her cape she marched outside.

The two stunned officers stared at the door for a moment, then spun around to look out two separate openings. 

Clear as night, Nightmare Moon had flown to the lead vehicle and barked orders at the nearest logistics officer. Everypony else immediately snapped to salutes, fell to bows, or simply froze in place. Hawkrich and Selenite could hear the boom of Nightmare Moon’s voice relatively clearly, in that they could tell she was asking how many shells were needed and where. Whatever the logistics officer said couldn't be heard, even as Nightmare Moon stopped to listen. Mere milliseconds after the officer raised his hoof towards a particular artillery piece, a flurry of boxes and crates engulfed in turquoise aura flew in that direction, landing gracefully beside the guns. This process repeated itself a few more times, and before long every gun emplacement in sight was stocked with shells.

“Well!” Hawkrich smirked. “Problem solved.”

Selenite cocked an eyebrow. “Only if you expect her to handle the frontline logistics of a four-thousand-kilometre-long front all by herself.”

“That was a joke, General,” he grimaced, rubbing his ear. “I’d hoped you’d have recognised that.”

Selenite mirrored his grimace, turning to give him a side eye glance. “Hard to tell given your usual plans,” she whispered to herself.

Below, Nightmare Moon was still speaking to the logistics officer. Not long after, she finished, punctuating her final point with a stomp of a hoof. The officer saluted, bowed, got up and saluted again, bowed deeper, only for Nightmare Moon to take off in the direction of the bunker before he could finish. Kicking up snow and dirt as she launched, she raced up past them and over the bunker, pelting wind and snow through Selenite and Hawkrich’s manes whilst blowing a few loose papers off of the table. Barely a second later and the wind had settled, replaced again by silence, save for the slouch of snow piddling off the two’s heads.

“General,” Hawkrich broke the silence to glare at Selenite. “Have you always been so insubordinate?”

“S-sorry?” Selenite stammered.

The steel door banged open. “We are so back!” Nightmare Moon announced, causing both Selenite and Hawkrich to jump and spin around. “General Selenite! You have provided valuable insight. I am most pleased.”

“Alright, good!” Selenite smiled. She took a quick glance at Hawkrich, his face frozen in a cold glower. He’d said something, but it didn’t bother her. The Empress was satisfied, she’d made an undeniably positive contribution, that was more important. “Am I dismissed, My Empress?”

Nightmare Moon looked at the table with a slight pout, then shifted her gaze at Selenite. “No. I believe there are other matters that could use your insight. May you remain a while longer?”

Selenite felt the weight of responsibility land on her back, even feeling her knees shake. Yet she saw not a burden, but opportunity. Opportunity to serve her Empress, to prove herself. Another challenge or expectation was more like kindling feeding a growing blaze of determination deep within her. Though as much as it thrilled her, outwardly she fought to repress any expression of excitement so as to not appear unprofessional to her Empress. Instead, Selenite simply returned a warm smile.

“Happily, My Empress.”
> 3 - Contradiction
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


18:00 - 20/08/1003 - Riverpool, Manesbury


“Behold! The T-28!”

On Hawkrich’s command, a pair of unicorns pulled away the tarp and revealed the mechanical beast beneath. The Lunar Empire’s newest tank prototype already towered over Hawkrich in height and was several ponies in length with the tarp on, but the imposing multi-turreted war machine presented an undeniable aura of absolute dominance. Massive rugged tracks wrapped around its series of wheels. A thick, heavy turret crowned the top of the tank, with two smaller machine gun turrets jutting out at the front. A moving fortress of steel.

Surprise and astonishment touched the faces of all the officers and members of the Lunar War Council gathered in the warehouse, a chorus of gasps and expressions of curious wonder followed the reveal. They’d all seen tanks before, but none as big, breathtaking, or bizarre as this. 

“No, your eyes do not deceive you friends, this magnificent thing is the latest work of the Experimental Design Bureau. I instructed them to design a tank capable of crashing through fortified enemy positions. They worked through the prototype with me first, and now you all get to gaze upon the beauty of our results.”

Among the audience were General Selenite and Empress Nightmare Moon, the latter swelling with pride at the sight while the former baulked in bewilderment.

“Forty millimetres of steel armouring! A top speed of forty-two kilometres per hour! An operational range of two hundred and twenty kilometres! A seventy-six-millimetre main gun with four heavy machine guns! Our current tank models should now be considered obsolete. With your approval, this will be sent into full production and will replace what we have now as our primary armour,” Hawkrich explained. “Any questions?”

Selenite swiftly raised her hoof. Several others followed.

“Yes, Captain Gray Matter?”

Captain Gray Matter, an armour officer, stood up. “How does it fare in freezing temperatures?”

“Exceptionally well, as it was designed for this environment. You’ll receive the full results of all field tests shortly,” Hawkrich answered swiftly. He pointed out someone else. “Yes, Major Pimento Cheese?”

Another officer stood. “Are those multiple turrets?”

“Your eyes do not deceive you, Major!”

Hooves kept going up, with Hawkrich prompting those speakers, and a whole raft of more technical questions followed. All the while Selenite stubbornly kept her hoof in the air. She felt like she was in school again, where teachers avoided letting her speak after they got sick of her taking over their lessons with what they called ‘pedantry’ and she called corrections. Only now, everypony here was an adult in what was supposed to be an environment of mutual respect. She figured at this rate Hawkrich would sooner take questions from the janitor than her. 

Her suspicions were soon confirmed when the only hoof in the air was hers.

“No more questions then?” Hawkrich’s voice carried through the warehouse. “Excellent! In that case-”

“Warmaster.”

Silent tension descended on the warehouse. All eyes turned to Nightmare Moon, standing up tall as her massive wings reached slightly from her sides.

“General Selenite raised her hoof,” said Nightmare Moon. “I want to hear what she has to say.”

The smile never left Hawkrich’s lips, but his eyes morphed to a scowl. “Naturally. I must have simply missed her hoof next to your eminence. Go ahead, General.”

Everyone’s attention quickly switched from Nightmare Moon to Selenite. Hiding any intimidation she may have felt from the dozens of pairs of eyes now on her, she raised her head. “What is the estimated cost and timeframe of switching production to this new model, Warmaster?”

For a moment, Hawkrich said nothing. “That is yet to be determined, General. But given our situation, I doubt you’ll need to concern yourself with that.”

“Warmaster, I’m only asking for estimated time and financial figures,” Selenite added.

“And I’m telling you that we’re positive that the mass deployment of this fine vehicle will outweigh any financial cost,” Hawkrich insisted.

Selenite raised an eyebrow. “How exactly, Warmaster?”

Hawkrich snorted. “Because it’s a damn good tank!” he asserted, punching the tank’s hull causing it to emit a solid thump. “It’s passed every test with flying colours, and our troops deserve the very best!”

“I’m not doubting that, it looks… impressive,” Selenite said, hiding her instinctive reservations regarding multi-turreted tanks. “But is it necessary? We already have effective armour in the field, and Sombra’s forces lack any kind of anti-tank capabilities, let alone adequate enough to counter anything we currently field. Really, what does this system do that current systems can’t?”

“It’s-” Hawkrich started, only to pause and glance at the floor. He looked up, his jaw tense. “It’s a statement! A statement-”

“Do we really need to spend however many millions of bits for, what, prestige? Again, we’re not facing an opponent whose soldiers can be cowed into surrender or whose leaders care for a negotiated peace,” Selenite said. “The only language they understand is the swift and precise application of force.”

“General, I do believe it was you who argued that time was on our side and that we should take the time to develop advanced capabilities, argued it before the whole war council if I’m not mistaken,” said Hawkrich, bearing a smirk. “And now you complain when we do as you ask because it’s too expensive and time consuming?”

“My concerns and advice didn’t mean that our armoury should waste time on expensive gadgets like this, what I meant was that we need to leverage our advantages and not leap headfirst into hasty decisions. To strengthen the capabilities we need to fight the war we’re fighting, and this looks like it was designed for a different war entirely,” Selenite said. “On a related note, Warmaster, how has your procurement of forklifts been going? I believe there was a great emphasis put onto those.”

“We-” Hawkrich grunted, his ear twitched. “We are still working on that. I don’t have all the details.”

“It’s been ten nights,” said Selenite.

“Nothing gets done in ten nights,” said Hawkrich, his voice growing slightly louder. “And there are more important things-” 

“Like tanks we don’t need?” Selenite countered. “How’s that more important than logistics?”

“This has been months in the making, General!”

“Still took the time for this-” Selenite threw a hoof out to gesture at the tank. “-instead of ensuring basic logistical needs are met!”

“Even if I spent every waking moment shipping forklifts, it wouldn’t be done any faster! Do you even know where to buy forklifts?”

“Well have you at least-”

“Silence!”

All talking ceased, as if Nightmare Moon’s voice held the power to force her will into reality. She stood up, her wings spread. If she wasn’t towering over everypony else before, she certainly was now. Selenite went stiff and still, slowly turning towards her Empress.

Nightmare Moon’s face was still, but she could still be seen pulling in a deep breath. “It is apparent to me that this machine is unproven for the battles we face,” she declared. “Until a proper review of the cost estimates and the necessity of this model has been conducted, production will not be switched. Current models shall remain in production until further notice!”

Hawkrich flinched. “Oh, Your Highness-”

Nightmare Moon clapped her hoof against the ground like a gavel. “That is my word, and it is final!”

Hawkrich’s jaw clenched shut. Nightmare Moon took her eyes off of him and glanced around the room, seeing every other pony in the room stunned into silence as well. Then, seemingly on a whim, she turned around and marched out of the warehouse. Not even following up with anything. She simply left.

Only infrequent blinks distinguished Hawkrich from a statue, being that still. Gradually, the utter silence was replaced by a murmur that rose over the warehouse as ponies started talking in hushed tones. Most just talked about getting out, keeping their thoughts on what just transpired unsaid. If Nightmare Moon left, perhaps they assumed the meeting was adjourned. A few slipped out of their chairs. One pegasus was even stretching their wings.

Hawkrich blinked and shook his head. His eyes darted around the room, definitely noticing how a few ponies were already getting ready to go without his approval. “Well! Thank you all for coming!” He forced a grin that did not reach his eyes, shifting his weight as he spoke. “I believe many of you would appreciate the work of the Experimental Design Bureau, even, if… I want you all to return to your duties.”

That was the confirmation everyone needed. Just about everypony who wasn’t already leaving hopped out of their seats, while those who were prepared already were halfway to the exits.

“But before you go, General Selenite,” Hawkrich spoke again. Selenite looked over, seeing his stare squarely on her. His grin morphed into a scowl. “I want you in my office at twenty hundred hours.”
> 4 - Confrontation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


20:00 - 20/08/1003 - Whinnyapolis, Manesbury


The first thing the eye was drawn to when entering Hawkrich’s office was the gigantic two-metre-tall portrait of himself on the wall. Every time Selenite had been in this office it grated at her, as if ponies didn’t already know whose office it was. Purely redundant excess, she considered it.

It felt more like a museum than it did an office. There was enough space for it to act as a museum and more than enough expensive trinkets and works of art lining the walls and situated on podiums to fill one. Nothing looked like it was worth any less than a couple months of the average soldier’s salary. Even the pencils looked premium. There could’ve been enough space in here for five or six ponies to comfortably work, but it was the exclusive domain of the pony at the broad, black wood desk at the far side of the room.

Even seated, Hawkrich’s height dwarfed Selenite. Might have just been the size of the desk, and the size of the chair, but the size of the stallion couldn’t be disregarded. She may be standing and he may be seated, but she’d be looking up at him for the coming conversation.

Calmly approaching the desk, Selenite saluted. “Warmaster.”

Hawkrich looked up from his desk, slapping Selenite with a condescending glare. “General. I was wondering when you were going to arrive. At ease.”

Lowering her hoof, Selenite glanced up at the clock on Hawkrich’s wall, another priceless antique by the looks of it. It was mere seconds before eight o’clock, assuming it had been set to the right time. Making a mental note of that, she reached for a chair in front of the desk.

“Stand where you are,” Hawkrich commanded.

Selenite stopped, her eyebrow slightly raised. After a moment she pushed the chair aside and stood up straight.

“First question, do you want to keep your position?”

Selenite blinked. Was that a threat? She felt like she’d been lightly pushed in the chest, not enough to alter her balance but enough to take her aback. “Of course.”

“And does the fact that I am a superior officer mean anything to you?”

“Of course,” she repeated.

“Then why are you undermining my authority at every possible opportunity?”

There it was. Selenite fought back a grimace. “I’m sorry, sir, but as an officer in the Imperial Lunar Army, it’s my duty to report any flaws-”

“Reporting flaws?” Hawkrich seethed. “What you have done goes beyond reporting flaws. Several times you’ve directly undermined my authority, in front of the war council, in front of the Empress herself! Do your own subordinates speak to you the way you’ve spoken to me?”

“Yes, all the time!” Selenite blurt out. Hawkrich blinked, his wings quivering a little. “What kind of General would I be if I didn’t heed input from other officers?”

“Does that include trashing everything I introduce in front of the Empress like that? Making me look like a fool? It’s as if…” He groaned, putting a hoof up to his forehead. “Are you trying to get me sacked?”

Selenite’s brow furrowed. “Is that all you care about?”

“What I care about is carrying out my Imperial mandate without subordinates who have no clue what tack is and who don’t know their place standing in my way.”

“Respectfully, Warmaster, none of us would need to ‘stand in your way’-” Selenite made air-quotes with her wings. “-if you weren't hounding us with all these ill-conceived plans at the expense of resources, the expense of the war effort, the expense of lives.”

Hot air huffed out of Hawkrich’s nostrils as he sat back in his seat. “No offence, General,” he snarled. “You are twenty-two years old. There are ponies several years your senior who are struggling to pass their exams in officers' school. You are the rank you are because you were in the right place at the right time for the Empress to notice. In a proper army, an officer knows their place.”

Her jaw hanging low, Selenite blinked. “Sorry, my age? What has that got to do with anything?”

“Talk back to me like that again and you’re sacked.” The words were blunt and straight, brooking no argument.

“What do-” Selenite screwed her jaw shut. The barely concealed threats were now just threats. She sighed, bringing her wings tight and close to her side. “I understand, Sir,” she said, doing all in her power to restrain her tone.

“It seems you can be made to see reason,” Hawkrich sneered. “If you try to make a fool of me in front of the Empress again, you will be very sorry.” Hawkrich leaned back. “Dismissed.”

Despite every bubbling instinct in Selenite’s body urging her to at least hit back with a snarky insult, she kept a cool head on. Anything less than standard decorum would be suspicious, so she threw up a hoof in salute. Then immediately turned to leave without another word. She knew what she was doing next. Not that he needed to know.

Once out she carefully shut the door behind her. She walked past Hawkrich’s secretary like nothing was amiss. Then, once out of sight of his secretary, she dashed for the nearest phone. The manor was a centre of command, so phones were everywhere. She knew the only real way to resolve a conflict of character was to appeal to higher authority. And there was only one authority higher than Hawkrich.

She dialled in the number of the Imperial Secretariat as quick as she could and put the hoofset to her head. Soon came the voice of Mineral Fragment, Nightmare Moon’s personal secretary. “This is the Imperial Secretariat, please state your name and authorisation-”

“Mineral, it’s Selenite. Code three-eight-three-four.”

Silence on the line for a moment. “...Hello, General.”

“I need to speak with the Empress, as soon as possible. It’s a matter of personal conflict disrupting command and it’s imperative that she resolves it.”

Through the phone she heard rustling papers and a short “hmm” from Mineral. “Seems you already have a meeting with the Empress and Warmaster Hawkrich booked for tomorrow at eighteen hundred hours.”

Drat, she nearly forgot. She was invited by Nightmare Moon to plan an operation to liberate a conversion camp. And the mission involved troops both under her command and Hawkrich’s direct command, meaning both of them were being herded into a room with the Empress at the same time. Not what she needed then. “I need to speak to her before that.”

“I can try to get a message through to her, but she’s off at the frontline right now. Chances are she won’t be available again before your meeting tomorrow.”

“That’s-” Selenite groaned. “I’m sorry, that’s not soon enough.”

“General, you think I can wrest the Empress herself away from an active battlespace?” Mineral made no attempt to hide the ire in her voice. “Even if I could speak to her right now, the earliest you’re ever going to speak to her is tomorrow.”

“Look, I know it’s short notice-”

“You have your meeting tomorrow, Selenite. Take it.” Even through the phone, Mineral’s voice carried weight.

Selenite sighed. “Okay. Fine.”

“Will that be all?”

“Yes, thank you.” And before Selenite could add anything else, Mineral hung up.

Selenite slammed the phone down and clenched her wings. She blew out a deep breath and put a hoof to her forehead. 

It took a second, but she pushed the frustration to the sidelines of her mind for the moment. No point wasting time here, she thought. Best to prepare for that meeting.
> 5- Condemnation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


10:17 - 21/08/1003 - Whinnyapolis, Manesbury


Heavy saddlebags stuffed with documents weighing on her side, Selenite burst into the planning room. Hawkrich was already there, seated at a table before a collection of documents. The room itself was dim, only the wall maps detailing the state of the frontline being well illuminated. Despite the lack of light, Selenite could see perfectly well, and she could easily match Hawkrich’s glare that pierced through the dark.

“General.” Hawkrich glared at Selenite.

“Warmaster.” Selenite glared back.

Doing her best to ignore him, Selenite put her bags onto the nearest table to prepare what she intended to present to Nightmare Moon. Though oddly enough, all the tables were higher than any she’d previously seen in the manor, so much so that she had to pull up a chair and partly stand on it just to reach.

As she gathered the documents from her bag, she felt an indistinct presence looming over her. She brought her eyes up to Hawkrich and caught a glimpse of him watching her. He pulled his eyes in another direction right as Selenite noticed. For a moment Selenite returned to her work, but upon bringing her eyes up again, she found Hawkrich’s gaze had fixed on her again, only to be quickly torn away.

Frankly, it was too distracting. She looked up at Hawkrich and saw him look away. Instead of returning to her work, Selenite didn’t take her eyes off of him until he would at least acknowledge her. After a moment he looked back. Yet neither of them dared speak. Silent tension hung over them like a pack of vultures.

The double doors burst open with a crash. “We are so fucking back!” announced Nightmare Moon as she proudly marched into the room, her head held high and wings spread wide.

The tension snapped like elastic as both Selenite and Hawkrich turned, staring at their Empress with their jaws hanging low. “Your Highness?” said Selenite.

“Contemporary profanity is so much fun to say!” Nightmare Moon cackled.

While the Empress marched to a map on the wall, both Selenite and Hawkrich took another glance at each other. While Nightmare Moon's new…colourful vocabulary had shocked the two, it didn’t clear the air between them, not entirely. Both got up and moved to better speak with Nightmare Moon.

“Put your attention here!” Nightmare Moon pointed to a spot on the map. “I have devised a plan to attack this site!”

Hawkrich’s mouth twitched into a proud grin. “An excellent plan, My Empress. I shall follow it to the letter,” he said, putting a hoof to his chest.

“I haven’t told you what the plan is yet, Warmaster.”

Hawkrich blinked. “Of course. Explain away.”

At the centre of the table, Nightmare Moon unfurled a more detailed map of the spot she specified. The topography showed a row of hills cutting between mostly flat plains, with markings on the north side of the map showing the estimated location of Sombra’s units and similar markings on the south for Lunar units.

Nightmare Moon pointed to a marking on the north edge of the map. “This is the conversion camp.” She moved her hoof south of the hills. “Our forces are here. Between us and the camp, a heavily entrenched enemy presence.” Nightmare Moon motioned to the various markings used to represent Sombra’s units. 

“On the night of the attack, we will begin by sending Selenite’s snipers to proceed through gaps in the line to get good shots at commanders.” Using her magic, Nightmare Moon pencilled in some arrows from the Lunar side to various points on the map before them. 

“Once the snipers engage the enemy we will begin an artillery barrage to attract the attention of the bulk of their forces, whilst throwing down a smokescreen to give cover as our forces advance to better positions. Then,” she paused to snicker, “I will strike.” Leaning over the map, she struck her hoof against it.

“Above the battlefield I will cast a jamming spell to disrupt the control that Sombra’s magic has over his soldiers.” A small circle of magic appeared on the map, right at the point of Nightmare Moon’s hoof. “If executed well, this will disintegrate the force entirely, but should at least provide enough of a disruption for our soldiers to advance and liberate the camp.”

Hawkrich nodded his head. “Excellent. Nothing to add, Your Highness.”

Nightmare Moon shot Hawkrich a barely concealed sneer. “There is the matter of where best I should position myself for the spell. Your input is requested.”

Selenite stepped forward. “About that-”

“Sombra’s forces are concentrated around the gap on the far side of the hills.” Hawkrich interrupted, marching in front of Selenite and throwing a wing out towards the map to point to the spot. “Over this location, at whatever altitude best suits you, you will have maximum coverage over the greatest number of enemy units.”

Nightmare Moon blinked. “Are you sure, Warmaster?”

“Yes.” Hawkrich smirked. “In any case, they’d have no choice but to pass through the gap if they engaged, the hills on their side are much too steep for an onhooves advance,” Hawkrich added.

A hoof to her chin, Nightmare Moon smirked “Well, I suppose that settles-”

“Your Highness?” Selenite said, not intending to interrupt but doing so anyway. Nightmare Moon turned her glare to Selenite, an eyebrow raised. Hawkrich snapped his head in her direction, his face twitching to resist turning into a scowl. “There’s more to consider about this position.”

“What is it, General?” said Nightmare Moon.

Selenite dropped a folder on the table and opened it. “Our scouts have identified numerous anti-aircraft batteries of Equestrian design, either the platforms themselves were stolen or reversed engineered from captured guns. It seems like the bulk of their anti-aircraft equipment has been spaced amongst this part of the front, covering as much sky as possible.”

“Ha!” Nightmare Moon laughed. “I’ve taken many anti-aircraft rounds to the face and come away with no injuries to speak of. They pose no threat to me.”

“My Empress, they’re counting on you believing that,” Selenite said. “Turn to page eight.”

Nightmare Moon’s pleased grin remained as it was while she flipped through the documents. Until she got to the page Selenite specified, and her lips curled down.

“They aren’t just using regular anti-aircraft rounds,” said Selenite. “These specific units have been seen using enchanted obsidian rounds.”

Then Selenite was hit with a sight she’d never thought she’d see. Nightmare Moon’s confidence wavered. The Empress’s breathing got steadily heavier and her chest tightened up as she took a step back from the table, eyes fixed on the documents. Even before the invention of firearms, enchanted obsidian struck fear into the hearts of warriors across the land, mortal and immortal alike. A single small projectile could turn any organic being to frozen, fragile crystal on impact, rendering them no more resilient and no more animate than glass. Even immortals. Even alicorns.

Nightmare Moon’s gaze rapidly switched between the documents and the two ponies in the room. She gulped, and brought her head up. “In that case…” Nightmare Moon’s voice was hardly higher than a murmur. “This plan will need to be reconsidered.”

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me!” Hawkrich sneered, glowering at Selenite.

“W-Warmaster?” Selenite stammered.

“Why are you so immature?” All hints of sophistication were gone from Hawkrich’s voice, he was practically shrieking. “Even to the Empress herself, you’re sowing doubt and failing to be even remotely deferential to higher authority! Have you no respect for the chain of command?”

Selenite nearly hit back, a dozen retorts rapidly amassed at the tip of her tongue, ready to charge forth into the rhetorical battlefield. Instead, she grit her teeth and sucked in a breath through her nostrils. “Your Highness,” she slowly turned to Nightmare Moon. “This is something I wished to discuss with you in private, but the matter has-”

“Did you know about this, Warmaster?” Nightmare Moon hissed. Staring daggers into Hawkrich and paying no heed to Selenite.

“Her insolence? Oh, more than-” Hawkrich froze when he made eye contact with Nightmare Moon, his jaw snapping shut. “What do you mean?” he said meekly. “Your Highness,” he added, much too late not to be noticed.

“The enchanted obsidian,” Nightmare Moon repeated. Her voice was clear and biting, like frigid arctic air. “Did you know about it?”

Hawkrich’s eyes went wide as sauceplates while his pupils shrunk to pinpricks. “I… I believe- believed-” He shuffled back, then froze. Finally, he squeaked out, “Yes. I knew about it.”

Suddenly Hawkrich was hoisted into the air, his neck wrapped in a turquoise glow. He gasped, clutching his throat. Selenite jumped back. Nightmare Moon bared her fangs and dragged Hawkrich towards her through the air. The Empress was so close that Hawkrich could likely feel her hot breath blowing against his face.

“You knew of this danger, yet you said nothing?” Nightmare Moon seethed.

“I-” Hawkrich gasped. The words were catching in his throat, along with his breath. “I- I didn’t want to contest your authority!”

“So you concealed crucial information?” Lightning crackled in Nightmare Moon’s horn. “You- You’re fortunate I haven’t petrified you on the spot!”

“I-I-I didn’t mean-”

Nightmare didn’t wait for Hawkrich to finish before ripping his rank badge clean off of his uniform.

“Eek!” Hawkrich shrieked. “B-but-” Nightmare Moon threw him to the ground, cutting him off. He rolled onto his back and pushed himself away.

“You are stripped of your office, reduced to the rank of General, and relieved of all your commands! You will not show yourself before me unless and until you are personally summoned!” Nightmare Moon barked. “Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, yes you have!” he panted, shielding his face with his wings.

Nightmare narrowed her eyes. “Then why are you still here?”

Hawkrich tripped over himself trying to get up, landing on his back. He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Frantically he beat his wings and got to his hooves. He scampered out of the chamber without another word.

Throughout the whole ordeal Selenite was frozen on the spot, only now realising she was hyperventilating Even her wings were hanging limp. She was only pulled out of it when she felt a tug on her uniform, right where her rank badge was.

Blinking, she shook her head and folded her wings. She saw Nightmare Moon glaring down at her, calmer but still stewing, levitating a rank badge away from her chest. A rank badge for a General.

At the same time she felt something else being pressed into her chest. She looked down, and immediately took a step back. Hawkrich’s rank badge. The one and only Warmaster’s rank badge. On her chest.

“Huh?” Selenite stepped back. “Your Highness? Is this-”

“You are my Warmaster now. I’d be dismayed if you managed to disappoint me, as my reference point for Warmasters is low.”

Selenite looked up at Nightmare Moon. “I- I don’t-” Her breaths came in rapid bursts. Her wings flinched and fluttered. It was like a tornado was whipping around inside of her. “I’m more grateful than I can possibly describe in words, but- I- I don’t know if I have the experience needed to be Warmaster- the Warmaster. It’s- It’s more responsibility than I-”

“Are you contradicting me?”

“Wuh?” Selenite tensed up. “Well- I don’t know if this is the right choice, so, yes!” She blinked a few more times. “Your Highness,” she hastily added. 

Nightmare Moon held her chin up and blew air out of her nostrils. “Then you have more courage than every other potential candidate for this position. You are qualified.”

That- Made sense. Didn’t it? Selenite stood frozen. Her mouth was wide open, but no words were coming out, only rushing breaths halfway between gasps and laughs.

“Now get over yourself.” With a flex of her wings, Nightmare Moon turned back to the planning papers. “There are war plans to revise.”

Time seemed to stand still for a moment. Could she do it? Hawkrich wasn’t wrong about Selenite being young and inexperienced, even if he’d said in the worst way possible. There were already questions, questions she was asking herself, whether she’d be able to take on the responsibilities of a General at her age. But she still did it. Did it well enough to not just climb the ladder, but fly up.

Selenite sucked in a deep breath, counted to four, and breathed out. “Yes, My Empress,” she said without a hint of hesitation. Without an audible hint, at least.

She… She could do it. She’d have to do it.
> 6 - Confirmation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


18:54 - 23/08/1003 - Whinnyapolis, Manesbury


It had been more than two full nights, yet the chair at the Warmaster’s desk still felt far too big for Selenite.

It didn’t help that it was very literal in the case of her actual desk. She needed an extra thick cushion under her so she could actually use it. Might be worth investing in a higher chair, at some point. Or looking into those height spells. But there were bigger matters on her mind than that.

Already she’d sent out numerous orders to all the army groups across the front to ease the transfer of power and prevent disorder. Keeping casualties low was now the priority, which meant the army was not to go on any kind of offensive for the time being. She’d have to convene the War Council at some point too, and make sure a consistent strategy was being followed. The nights of “better a good plan now than a perfect plan later” were over, and the goal was now to make a perfect plan fast.

Naturally, the goal of developing a perfect plan quickly meant Selenite’s hooves were full with coordinating the broad effort. Pulling together the brightest minds, mulling over every scrap of intelligence regarding Sombra’s forces, devising counters, planning first for wargaming the enemy, using the data to come up with plans and backup plans and backup backup plans. Everyone had to work around the clock, and work around the clock she did. Over the last two nights she’d had six hours of sleep, if she was being generous.

She gazed up at the clock to check the time, but she couldn’t look away from the vast blank space on the wall where Hawkrich’s portrait once hung. It was the first thing to go from the office, and its removal was definitely the easiest decision Selenite had made as Warmaster so far. But truth be told, she wasn’t sure what else to put there. A map of Crystalia had been her first thought, but she’d need to request a map  that size to be custom printed to fit the space. And well, the printers had their hooves full printing maps to actually be used in planning rooms.

While she’d efficiently grinded her way through the majority of her urgent tasks, there was still a growing stack of unread letters on her desk, ones that had been marked as not urgent or not related to the war effort. Now that she had a quiet moment, perhaps the first quiet moment Selenite had gotten since the promotion, perhaps it was  time to read them.

Selenite plucked the first letter off the top of the stack, itself enclosed in a purple envelope bearing a high-priority stamp and the seal of the Chiropterran Ursa Legion. “Huh. Must’ve gone by air mail or dragonbreath,” she thought aloud, given there were thousands of miles and a whole ocean between Whinnyapolis and Chiropterra.

She unsealed the envelope and pulled out the letter. Right away she recognised the hoofwriting. 



Dear Warmaster Selenite,

Congratulations on the promotion!

I’m amazed but not the least bit surprised that you’ve attained such a position so quickly. It’s great to see more forward thinking ponies taking on more prominent roles in our great Empire. My confidence in Her Imperial Highness has only increased.

You might like to hear that since we last wrote, I’ve been trusted with most of the legion’s military affairs to the point that I’m effectively their commander. I’m looking to make it into a specialised counter-insurgency unit, I know we’ll need one once we expand east. Grandfather is still in charge on paper, but he was and still is more a civil servant than a military stallion.

Unfortunately, there isn’t much else in the way of good news from here.

You’d think Empress Nightmare Moon personally ordering an end to the forced labourer system would’ve put a stop to  it, but no. Former labourers are being paid wages, but they’re horrifically low. Not enough to live independently, so they’re dependent on the state to house and feed them. They’re really pushing it.

Political reforms aren’t any closer, either. We’re supposed to be delegating authority and government positions away from the Legionary Council, but hardly anything has been brought under civilian control. Even in the institutions that have been properly reformed, ponies sent by the council are still effectively in control. The most bizarre is the Forestry Commission, which is still under direct council control.

I understand that you’re probably far too busy to write a reply anytime soon, or to deal with the politics of a dominion on another continent, so don’t stress yourself. You’ve got enough on your plate already, Warmaster! 

I hope this letter has found you well, and for all our sakes, best of luck.

Nightmare bless,
Lucent Eclipse

P.S. Next time you’re here, you need to try a Moonburger. I’ve heard the ones they make in Equestria are nowhere near as good as the ones here.



On reading the final line, Selenite smiled. She wasn’t smiling much for the bulk of the letter, but it was nice to know her friend still wrote to her like a friend. It had been a while since she’d last seen Lucent, given the distance. Either him or Selenite making the trip across the ocean to visit was rare, and there was far too much going on in their home countries for either to make a transcontinental social call on a whim.

Or, if he was managing the military affairs of his legion, maybe he could bring his forces to Equestria? Maybe not, he said the Ursa Legion’s specialties were in counter-insurgency and there was no insurgency to counter in liberated Crystal territory. She thought she’d figure something out later as she filed the letter away, making a note to write a reply at the first opportunity.

Though as she checked the stack, she noticed the next letter was also from Chiropterra. The same priority stamp, but bearing the seal of the Nightmare Legion instead. She opened it and read the plain, brief, typewritten letter that barely filled a quarter of the page.



Warmaster Selenite,

Congratulations on the promotion. I am certain you will carry out your work in line with your ideals. I wish the Empire success under your management.

Nightmare bless,
Lady Auburn Leaf



Hm, how cold. But the blunt message served as a reminder as to the breadth of her responsibilities. There was once a time where she’d have called Auburn a friend, but her commitment to the most vicious aspects of the Chiropterran caste system had taken a toll on their relationship. Resisting every reform, keeping power in their own hooves, brutalising the lowest rungs of society, Auburn Leaf and the high society of Chiropterran did all of it supposedly to protect and strengthen the Empress’s bastion in northwestern Zebrica. Debatably a noble goal, but Selenite could only see such means leading to suffering and ruin.

Whatever warm feelings she had regarding Lucent’s letter were quickly chilled as the weight of responsibility flooded over her. She wasn’t just Warmaster of Equestria, but Warmaster of the entire Lunar Empire. She had to manage the armies and wrangle the politics of an imperium spread across three continents.

Selenite dragged a drawer in the desk open, quickly retrieving a folder regarding Chiropterra. For all his faults, Hawkrich’s workspace was very well organised. She popped open the folder and the first document on top was a letter dated about a week ago. A letter addressed to Hawkrich from Viceroy Stars Whirl, the representative of the Imperial government in Chiropterra. A letter stating their intent to resign.

Clenching her teeth, Selenite read over the letter. The Viceroy gave their reasons for why they didn’t think they suited the role as well as the usual spiel about a desire to spend more time with their family. Fortunately, they said they weren’t going to step down until a replacement was named, and clipped to the letter was a list of names Hawkrich had considered. Even with that lessening the urgency of the matter, there was still so much she needed to catch up on and not much time to do it.

She glanced at the empty whiskey cabinet. She let Hawkrich take all his liquor, it was his own personal supply after all. But damn, her deliveries couldn’t get here soon enough.

The intercom on her desk beeped. “Hey, Gen- sorry, Warmaster!” came the exasperated voice of her secretary, Timetable. She’d been Selenite’s secretary while she was a General and was still with her after the promotion, consequently she was dealing with a much bigger workload herself. “General Hawkrich is here to see you.”

General Hawkrich. Hm.

Sorry, not enough room in here for me and his ego, Selenite thought to say. But as fun as it would be, it was hardly professional. Selenite pressed a button on the intercom. “Send him in.”

The door creaked open, and General Hawkrich slumped into the room.

“General Hawkrich.” The corners of Selenite’s lips quivered as they neared a smirk, but she held a poker face.

“Warmaster,” he breathed, his voice hoarse, saluting.

“At ease. I don’t believe we have an appointment,” Selenite stated coldly.

Hawkrich sighed, his head bowed slightly, eyes falling to the floor. When he spoke he did so slowly, one syllable after another like each word was being chosen individually. “I feel as if I should apologise…” His eyes and mouth clenched shut. He pulled his head up and looked Selenite in the eye, his voice picking up. “No, I must apologise. The way I’ve treated you the last few months has been inappropriate, unprofessional… unacceptable, frankly. For that I am sorry.”

You’re not sorry for that, you’re sorry you had to face consequences is what Selenite was going to say if she didn’t bite her tongue. An urge crawled up her back, begging her to make him squirm, to make him suffer the humiliation of having to crawl to her now. Barely a few nights ago he’d been where she was then, berating her just for doing what was right. Well, what goes around comes around, doesn’t it?

But the urge never reached her lips. One look at the old stallion. The wrinkles under his eyes seemed more pronounced than normal, his blinks slow and tired. Even his wings hung limp from his sides like the petals of wilted flowers. If there was something worthy of beration in Hawkrich, it wasn’t there right now. Honestly it was just kind of sad.

And what had brought him down, really? Pride? Arrogance? Believing himself above the standards of others? Tormenting him in this moment would be the epitome of that same pride and arrogance. The whole point of Selenite being in his former position was so she could be better than him, not to replicate his mistakes. If there were any actual crimes, she knew she was far from one to pass judgement on him. He was just kind of an asshole, and seemed genuinely apologetic about it.

“Apology accepted, General,” Selenite said. “Will that be all?”

“If you need any assistance while you get acclimated to your new role, I offer my full cooperation. And… That’s all, Warmaster. I thought I owed it to you to say it in person.” He sighed. “I don’t know what I’m going to do next.”

Hawkrich raised his hoof in a salute, then turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Hawkrich stopped. He glanced back. “Yes, Warmaster?”

“I’m not done with you yet.”

Ears turned forwards, Hawkrich turned back towards the desk. There was a slight quiver on his lips.

In all truth, Selenite wasn’t totally sure about what she was about to offer. But it was a harmless gesture of reconciliation, so she might as well. “In about an hour I’m going out to greet wounded soldiers. The hospital is on the northside of town. Most of them seem to be from the First Army. Only I’m still something of an unknown to soldiers outside the Fourth Army, and the troops love you.”

Hawkrich blinked. His wings fluttered a little. “Are you inviting me to come with you?”

“They could certainly use a famous face to help raise morale,” said Selenite.

Glumness was banished from Hawkrichs’ eyes as they glistened with joy. “It would be my pleasure, Warmaster.” He grinned humbly.

Selenite settled her hooves on her desk. “That said, I am not restoring any of your commands in the war against Sombra. There are other ponies better suited to the task,” she added. Hawkrich silently nodded, wordlessly conceding the point. “Plus, Her Highness is still pretty mad at you, so I doubt she wants to see you much in the planning rooms. Which brings me to something else. I want to know more about the situation in Chiropterra.”

“Ah, yes. The security situation is where we want it, no imminent threats to their territory and their military is more than capable of defeating any attacks,” said Hawkrich. “But I suspect you mean the political situation?”

“I do,” Selenite confirmed.

“Well…” Hawkrich sighed. “Since you’re asking, you know it’s far from ideal. If my hooves weren’t full in Equestria, I’d have done more to ensure that the directives her Highness ordered two and a half years ago were better implemented. The reforms so far have been lacking, and many of them only exist on paper. Oh, and I haven't had the chance to tell you yet, but Viceroy Stars Whirl is planning on stepping down.”

“I saw it in your files,” Selenite said, pushing the Chiropterra folder to the centre of the desk. “I wanted to ask about that.”

“Hm, just as well.” Hawkrich walked closer to the desk, pointing to the file. “I jotted down a list of potential replacements, but I thought about it more and I’ve considered a few other ponies-”

“General.” Selenite put a hoof forward, prompting Hawkrich to stop speaking. Now came the true offer of reconciliation. Not a gesture, something with real consequence. She didn’t let her reservations show. “I was planning on offering you the post.”

Hawkrich’s wings shot out, a gasp escaping him as he stepped back. “You want me to be Viceroy?” He pulled his wings back in and fixed his composure. “After all the… bullshit I gave you?” He straightened himself out a little. “Ah, excuse my language.”

Selenite smirked, unbothered by his profanity (she was absolutely far from one to pass judgement there). “That just shows me that you’re not afraid to rap people on the hooves, just that you need to be rapping the right sets of hooves. Beyond that, you’re respected, you’re resolutely committed to what you think is right, and you know what’s wrong with Chiropterra. Might as well put you in a place where you can fix it.”

“Viceroy of Chiropterra.” He shook his head, the smile not leaving his lips. “Vice, roy. Vice to royalty, after the royalty in question expelled me from my position.”

“If I can convince her, the job is yours.”

Hawkrich chuckled. “You know, that sounds an awful lot like an attempt to get rid of me.”

Selenite cocked an eyebrow.

“Send me off to another continent to hold the leash of the most zealous ponies in the Empire?” Hawkrich circled a hoof around. “Best case I’m over there and out of your very long hair, worst case I get eaten alive?”

“I didn’t mean for it to come across like that.” said Selenite hastily. After a moment, she threw Hawkrich a smirk. “Maybe Her Highness will.”

“Well, if that’s how you present it to her, and it works, I wouldn’t be offended.” He shrugged.

Truth be told, Selenite really hadn’t considered it a way to dispose of Hawkrich. If she wanted to get rid of him, the easier thing to do would be to further foster Nightmare Moon’s frustrations with him and get him petrified, not go through the trouble of convincing her to trust him with an important post.

“That all said…” Bringing his head up high, Hawkrich snapped his hoof up to a strong salute and raised his voice. “I swore a vow to serve the Empire faithfully. Whatever you ask, Warmaster, it will be done to the best of my abilities.”

“Excellent.” Selenite smiled, standing up to salute Hawkrich back. “I’ll speak to the Empress and I will see if I can get you appointed.”

“Thank you, Warmaster.” Hawkrich lowered his hoof, but kept his chin firmly up. “Am I dismissed?”

“Yes. See you at the hospital at twenty hundred hours.”
> 7 - Consolation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


20:10 - 23/08/1003 - Whinnyapolis, Manesbury


It didn’t take long at all for an audience to assemble around Hawkrich.

The hospital’s garden courtyard was rapidly approaching capacity. Soldiers on crutches and in wheelchairs were rushing out to see their now-former Warmaster speak. Selenite could recognise a lot of pegasi from the 515th “Wayfarer” Battalion. Considering their unit suffered the brunt of a fiery explosion, they were remarkably well off. A few of them were airborne, by necessity as one or more of their legs were injured.

Hawkrich himself was hovering up in the air, as a squad of pegasi flew next to him with practically a whole company of cheering soldiers on the ground. A hoof to his chest and his head held high, his speech was delivered with impassioned fervour. “All of you have given a part of yourselves to the struggle against the tyrant Sombra, a part of yourselves that can never be repaid. Few causes in all of history will be remembered as being more righteous than the one you have devoted yourself to.”

As for Selenite, she was watching from a window in the hospital stairwell, alone for the most part. Best to let Hawkrich suck up all the attention he could ask for, she thought. She’d had asked him beforehoof if he had a speech prepared, a notion that Hawkrich laughed down. He said he'd stick with his usual modus operandi, go up and let “words of inspiration and strength” fly out, as he put it.

“In the annals of valour, your glorious sacrifice shall be inscribed in letters of fire, immortalised for all eternity as a testament to the unyielding fortitude of the Equestrian spirit! For you have not merely fought against the forces of evil, you have become beacons of hope, illuminating the path to freedom with the radiant brilliance of your unwavering resolve!”

Selenite’s eyes couldn’t roll back any further into her head as her brow furrowed as the speech went on, much to her irritation. The gathered audience was eating it up, that was for certain. Selenite heard one soldier shout “That’s us! He’s talking about us! Hell yeah!”

“While the scars of battle cover you on the outside, know that within you all burns an inextinguishable flame of courage, for you are the vanguard of righteousness, the guardians of our Empire, of our people! The very embodiment of heroism itself!”

Okay, this was getting a little silly. Maybe it was time to check on the soldiers inside.

Once she’d pushed through the doors into one of the wards, the stench of bleach and bile was thick in the air, but so too was the lively banter of bed-ridden soldiers.

Two ponies deep in conversation watched over the ward, both wearing combat fatigues and with their flanks to Selenite, clearly not paying attention to her entrance. One a small white pegasus mare with a lemon-yellow mane in a tight bun, a medic going off of the white armband displaying a red cross. The other a lanky unicorn who was red and brown all over, his rank patch identifying him as a Lieutenant. Right away Selenite spotted unit insignia on the Lieutenant’s uniform, he was from the Fourth Army.

The mare was the first to notice Selenite enter.

“General!” The medic spun around and brought their hoof up to a salute.

“Warmaster.” The Lieutenant turned around and saluted swiftly and firmly.

The medic jumped back. “Wait, Warmaster?”

“You didn’t hear?” The Lieutenant whispered, raising an eyebrow at the medic.

“No, I’ve been very busy-” The medic cleared their throat. “Ehem, Warmaster,” she said, returning to salute with an uneasy smile.

“At ease,” said Selenite, prompting the two to lower their hooves. “Is all well in this ward?”

“We’re overstocked on morphine but, eh.” The medic shrugged. “Not a bad problem to have. Everypony’s being looked after. If you want a complete picture you might want to talk to the head doctor.”

“That’s where I’m headed,” said Selenite. “Only here for a quick personal assessment.”

“Long as you’re here, Warmaster,” the Lieutenant said, getting Selenite’s attention. “There’s only a few ponies from my company here, and they all should all be back in shape before long, except for one.”

Selenite tilted her head. “Who?”

The Lieutenant huffed. “Junior Sergeant Solana Nightshade. Nearly got her whole hoof torn off by shrapnel. She ran like a hundred metres out of cover all to save just one guy, Private Elysian Revervie.”

Selenite blinked, impressed by that level of courage. “Are they both alright?” She then blinked a little, remembering the Lieutenant said one was off in a bad way.

The medic smiled. “Oh, yes, we cleared Private Revervie to go an hour ago. Probably watching Warma- erm, General Hawkrich’s speech.”

“Shouldn’t be too long before they’re back in action,” the Lieutenant said, followed by a grunt. “All Nightshade did was make us have to drag two ponies back into cover. Under fire.”

“Is she gonna be alright?” Selenite asked.

“Physically? She’ll live. Probably be out in a week. Two tops. But if she goes right back into the field, I don’t know. That kinda thing isn’t just a risk to herself, and I can’t lose good troops to that sorta gung-ho attitude.” The Lieutenant shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, just- This isn’t the first time she’s done something like this. She’s been showered with medals for bravery, but there’s a difference between courage and recklessness.”

Selenite rustled her wings. “I could go talk to her.”

“It would be most appreciated, Warmaster. If you have the chance,” The Lieutenant pointed across the ward. “Down there, bed thirty-eight.”

Proceeding down the ward, Selenite pushed open a curtained-off area with two beds, numbered thirty-seven and thirty-eight. Thirty-seven was empty but a smalt-blue unicorn lay in thirty-eight, the chart on the end of the bed identifying her as Solana Nightshade. Her mane, coloured with a mix of  black and aquamarine blue, had tied back into a tight, short ponytail. Her eyes were focused on a grip strengthener held in their magical aura. On the bedside was a stack of books and letters along with a neatly arranged medalset, including a prestigious Silver Crescent.

Nightshade’s eyes flicked to Selenite. “Warmaster Selenite?” She saluted but winced as she did. The salute showed off that her lower right leg was wrapped in bandages. “What are you doing here?”

“At ease, Junior Sergeant,” Selenite replied, motioning for them to lower their hoof. “Only checking up on the wounded.”

“Wounded? I’m right as rain.” Nightshade cast a cocky smirk, stuffing her bandaged leg under the covers. “Just waiting for them to clear me and I’m ready to get right back into action.”

Selenite’s eyebrows shot up, looking down to the covered cast and then back up to Nightshade. “Hm, is that so?”

“Yes.” Nightshade’s ear twitched. “Forgive me if I’m overstepping, but, couldn’t you just clear me to go? I’m fine, and they’re keeping me here while ponies are needed at the front. I’m sure you know that better than anypony.”

Selenite took in a deep breath. “I just spoke with your commanding officer.”

At the mention of her commanding officer Nightshade groaned, looking away from Selenite and shaking her head a little.

Selenite continued undeterred. “They briefed me about your circumstances, about how you got that wound in the first place. Neither they nor I will clear you to return to combat unless they can be sure you won’t needlessly endanger yourself or anyone else.”

“Look, it's nothing, alright? I'll walk it off.”

“Can you walk?” Selenite kept her tone light but formal. 

“If they'd fuckin' let me!” Nightshade snapped. She snapped her jaw shut, slipping down the bed a little. “Ok, fine, as soon as I can, I’ll be ready. Anything else, that’ll just heal on the way.”

As much as she felt her patience wane, Selenite maintained a calm and professional exterior. “Look, Solana-” Selenite sighed. “Do you prefer Solana or Sol?”

“It’s Junior Sergeant Nightshade!” she snapped. When Selenite hit her with a Look, the full weight of a commander that would bring no insubordination, she pulled back and sighed. “Sol. I prefer Sol,” she murmured.

“We’ll stick with Sergeant, then,” said Selenite. “Sergeant, it would be unconscionable for any CO, or a medical professional for that matter, to clear a soldier for combat when they’re not physically fit or of sound mind.”

Nightshade groaned. “Well the other stallions aren’t crying over every little boo-boo, why should they, or what? It’s a fuckin’ war. You get hurt! And right now, while I’m here? You know how many more are getting hurt way worse than this-” Nightshade waved her bandaged leg, gritting her teeth as she did. “-and, and they don’t deserve it! There need to be ponies there to protect them! They shouldn’t have to die before I do!”

For a few tense moments, Selenite said nothing. Simply looking back into Nightshade’s eyes. Neither mare blinked, neither mare moved. Selenite eventually broke the silence. “I know that look.”

Nightshade blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I see it a lot,” Selenite said. That strained composure, that façade of stoicism. Lips pressed into a thin line with the jaw clenched, betrayed by the flicker in the eyes and the slight quiver in the chin. That struggle to put up a confident front, it was all over Nightshade's face. “You feel you have something to prove, or there’s something you’re trying to distract yourself from, and that the way to deal with it is by putting your neck on the line when you don’t have to.”

“You think I’m running from something?” Nightshade forced a chuckle. “Ok, what is it then? I didn’t realise that being Warmaster carried a psychology degree.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Selenite admitted. She’d just met Nightshade, after all. “What I do know is that self destructive behaviour is not the way to do it. You’re putting yourself and your comrades at unnecessary risk. Because good soldiers throwing themselves away doesn’t help anybody but Sombra.”

It looked like Nightshade was going to respond, but she stayed silent. The forced composure on her face slipped slightly.

“And I doubt that just telling you all this is going to change your behaviour,” Selenite asserted. “So, you won’t be cleared to return to combat until you see a therapist.”

Nightshade snorted. “S-seriously? I have to see a shrink?”

“Yes,” Selenite confirmed, deadpanning.

Nightshade cringed. “That's pussy shit. There’s a war to fight-”

“Sergeant,” Selenite firmly cut her off. Nightshade backed away. Returning her voice to a calm yet authoritative tone, Selenite took a breath. “Whatever’s going on in your head can impair you just as much as a wound from bullets or shrapnel, and quite frankly can be far more dangerous, especially to those in your squad. But it can all be treated. And you won’t be the best soldier you can be until it is.”

Little by little, bit by bit, Nightshade's expression changed. Before long the cocky exterior had faded away entirely. She looked thoughtful, her eyes cast down. Slowly nodding her head, she took a deep breath in and out of her mouth. “When you put it like that… Alright. I’ll tell the Lieutenant, or the head medic, or whoever. Just-” She looked up at Selenite and smirked. “Don’t let the other stallions in my unit know. Don’t want them to think I’m dodging my duty.”

“I’ll speak to your Lieutenant on the way out,” Selenite added. “You stay here, let your hoof heal.”

“Yes, Warmaster.” With a smile, Nightshade brought her bandaged leg up to salute, wincing a little less than before. “Thank you, Warmaster.”

Selenite saluted Nightshade back and turned to leave her be.

On the way out a quick parting word was had with the medic and the Lieutenant. Fortunately the medic knew a few good therapists in that very hospital, while the lieutenant confirmed that it would be done.

While confident that she’d done a good thing in taking care of a rank-and-file soldier, Selenite was fully aware of how unscalable it was. She couldn’t spend any more time micromanaging this one soldier’s situation, she’d just have to trust their CO to ensure they were treated. There were over a million ponies in the Equestrian Army, even more in the whole Imperial Lunar Military. Even if she could devote every second of her time to it, she couldn’t do that for every Private Snafu, Sergeant Reckless or Major Dumbass. How many more ponies were like the mare in the bed there? How many had already died?

Passing by a window, Selenite looked out and saw Hawkrich, still speaking and still surrounded by adoring soldiers. Listening to his speech about the ‘glory of sacrifice’, if she remembered right. How many ways could he come up with variations to “Your sacrifice is appreciated and we will remember”?

Another thing on the agenda then, ensure that the soldiers were as mentally healthy as they are physically healthy. The how was another matter. Perhaps she could empower junior officers and NCOs to send their troubled troops to therapy when needed, whilst training them to know what to look out for. But she didn’t know how many capable therapists there were on hoof. Then, maybe they could train specialised psychologists, one for each company, or one for each battalion if that was too much to ask. Nevermind that it could be abused as an easy out for conscripts looking to bail from their service.

This was going to take some time. Selenite grit her teeth and blew out a breath. Now all her free time was another casualty of war. But for now the war remained on and so she would fight.

Back in the ward, Sol Nightshade was staring at the ceiling whilst unknowingly slipping under the bedsheets. Even as they tried to focus on the grip strengthener squeezed in their magical aura, they couldn’t help their mind from wandering a bit. There wasn’t much else to do but let the mind wander, really. No TV, no radio, only a few books and the food only came by every so often. As much as they tried to push any thoughts down and simply will their hoof back into shape, that wasn’t going to happen realistically.

They’d been injured before, sometimes by being stupid, but they’d gotten through it every time. No head doc wanted or needed. The bucket full of Pink Hearts back at base confirmed that. Yeah, Selenite had raised some good points, but Nightshade only really wanted to get back in the field and if they had to go through this, the faster the better. Mind over matter, and their mind was strong.

Yet, their Lieutenant saw a head problem. Maybe a few other comrades saw a head problem. Nightshade didn’t, not really. They’d spent a lot of time wondering a few things about themselves, even as far back as when they were a foal. Though they always told themselves that they were just dumb, inconsequential thoughts. Could’ve been something more to them, but there weren’t many ponies they could easily go to for a second opinion. If only there were professionals for this sort of-

Oh.

“Damn it,” they groaned.

Maybe seeing a shrink would be good after all.