The Battle for Trottingham

The purple uniforms of the Equestrian Army stretch all around the town. The gryphon occupiers manning their recently constructed defenses know what's about to come. Cannons are loaded, and aimed. Rifles arrayed in trench lines, with plenty of ammunition stocked. Across the nearly bare field stands an army more than twice their size, but even that might not be enough to dislodge them. After all, they're the ones on the defensive, and gryphons are naturally more resilient than Equestrians. At least, that's what the gryphon officers kept telling their men. Major Ridgewell II stands beside the first company of his regiment as they stand ready. All along the lines regiments stand at the ready, simply waiting for the signal to attack. All is quiet, and still. Soldiers offer quick prayers to the monarchs, or say their goodbyes to their loved ones. Others check, and re-check their equipment. The blaze of the sun beats down every soldier standing in the field. With no shade to be found, the mares and stallions do what they can to keep their uniforms from being stuck to their bodies by sweat. Did the generals really have to choose such a hot day to launch the assault? For a brief moment a few soldiers across the lines are afforded a modicum of shade. A few look up to see not clouds overhead, but pegasai. Shortly after they see gryphons rising from the town to meet them. Then, a horn is sounded. Followed by more all across the lines. Major Ridgewell II lifts his saber high before uttering a shout to his unit. "Company! Advance!" The unit takes their first steps towards the town, and the battle begins in earnest. Cannons from both sides billow out smoke as they hurl their explosive ammunition at the opposing side. Shells burst in air, in the open field, or among units of soldiers. Some smash into buildings, or defensive works, and others sail harmlessly by. Rifles crack, and others answer. Lines of soldiers fire, reload, and advance. The once clear skies become a chaotic swirling melee of pegasai, gryphons, and powder smoke. As equestrians advance they're forced to avoid the pegasai and gryphones falling out of the skies above. Major Ridgewell II continues the advance. Only ordering his company to stop to return fire after they've moved forward at least 20 meters. Soldiers fall, and are replaced by others behind them. The ranks are opened, and closed almost like clockwork. Despite marching while directly under fire none of the major's company flee. Cannon shells burst above their heads, and rain shrapnel on those below, but the march continues. Major Ridgewell sees the flash of cannon muzzles, followed by an explosion far to his right. He watches earth and sky intermingle with a few equestrians caught in the mix. He then turns to his company. "Company! Double time! That cannon emplacement is tearing up our chaps!" The company responds by quickening their march to something more akin to a jog. Once they're within 20 meters the major orders a halt. "Company! Fix Bayonets!" From here on, it will be brutal close quarters fighting. "Company! CHARGE!" The block of around 150 equestrians surges forwards, with their major at the front. The banner of the company flies high as the soldiers rush towards the trenchline ahead. The gunfire they receive is greater than before, but the company manages to weather the storm, and jump down into the enemy trenchline. Rifle and bayonet clash, with sword and claw. Major Ridgewell II dispatches one of the defenders using his saber, and raises his revolver to dispatch another defender holding one of his men against the trench wall. The world around him descends into shuffling melee. The mud of the trenches adopts a red tinge as more fall in it's corridors. The company slowly batters it's way into the trenchworks, and manages to gain enough of a foothold to allow other companies to access the enemy trenchworks. From there the other companies begin to assault other enemy positions, and slowly begin to take the trenchline. Despite their losses, Major Ridgewell II, and his company press onwards. After managing to batter their way nearly to the town itself the company assaults the heights where the enemy has set up some of their cannons. They manage to take the works with the cannon crews opting to surrender, rather than risk annihilation. Now all that was left was to re-group, and push into the town. An old mare clutches her granddaughter tightly. Her old house rocks with each explosion from outside. Her heart and mind race with thoughts of what might happen to her young granddaughter. She didn't dare open her window to see what was going on outside, lest she invite trouble. She hears shouting, followed by rapid hoofsteps, and finally the crack of rifles. After hours of battle Trottingham eventually falls silent. With their positions overrun, the defenders do their best to withdraw as many of their number as they can. The few who are unable to withdraw attempt desperate defenses to give their comrades time to escape, but surrender once the last ship has set sail. There is no celebration, or any cheering. There is only a solemn quiet. It was not time to celebrate. It was time to help rebuild.