False Memories
It had started as a normal day, just like every other. Wake up, enjoy a pleasant meal in our secluded cabin. She would work on one of her many stories, honestly I don’t know how she manages to keep them separate in her head. Time would tick on, every so often she would ask for my input on how her latest tale is going. It was never anything overly important, do these lines seem right? How should this character react to this? Does this or that make sense?
Every once in a while though she would ask the tougher questions, I loved those times. Partially because my talent is imagination, mostly because it would be my small contribution to a story that so many would enjoy. Today however, I wish once again that I had some other talent.
A rich imagination is a wonderful thing, at least that’s what I’ve been told. However mine isn’t just rich, its vivid. When I get caught in a idea it becomes real, to me anyway. Its like walking in a memory, in some respects I was there, it did happen, it just never happened to anyone else.
Today’s story involved a topic that I usually like, war. Now that’s not to say I like war, just some parts. Making up new weapons, tactics, the evil our hero will face, are some of my favorite topics. Behind that looms the horrors though, the things we can never undo, the truth of war. Death.
Just a few moments ago she asked a innocent question that set my mind ablaze with the possibilities…
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“Hey muse, how would somepony get weapons to a militia group without them being noticed?” she had paused from her writing for the first time in hours, looking to me expectantly. Her quill twitched expectantly in the faint cobalt glow of her magic.
“Well, I suppose they could use a arms dealer, or maybe just some smuggler for hire” Even as I say it, it sounds far to mundane “so why are they trying to smuggle weapons anyway?”
“Well, the main government is trying to get one militia group to kill off another so they don’t have to use their own forces against them” she tossed her head with the reply casting the stray bits of her crimson mane back into place. The deep cobalt of her coat compliments it so well, she’ll never believe me no matter how often I tell her.
“If they did that then the group the supplied could rise up, with the new weapons they could pose a real threat. Maybe it would be better to simply sell to a arms dealer and have him then sell the arms to both sides?” reaching up out of habit I run my hoof through my own inky mane, something I must have picked up over the years.
“Hmmm, maybe, but why would they do that? Wouldn’t both sides just be equally matched still? It just seems like that wouldn’t get them anywhere” her brow has furrowed a little, a sure sign she’s working out the finer details.
“Yes, both sides would be about equal still, but they would also have a greater ability to kill each other faster, thus the government supplying them can sit back and wait until the other groups are to weak to fight and sweep in. After the militia groups are gone the government could claim it was necessary to protect civilians and get off free and clear” yes, that’s about perfect, just one loose end “there is one problem though, the arms dealer. He would be the only one that knew the truth and could talk”
“So what should be done about him then?” now I’ve really got her attention, her jade eyes are alight with anticipation.
“They could bribe him, but he might talk anyway. Could imprison him without trial but still, word could get out and that would look suspicious. The best way would be to just eliminate him, a small group would just sneak into the country and kill him, blame it on a deal gone bad…”
“Thanks muse! That will work perfectly” I know she said it, but her voice comes as if through water. Even as I look down at my hooves the room begins to fade, the little bit of her story forming in my mind and playing like a movie.
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Three days, its been three days in this Celestia forsaken land and still we wait. Finding the camp had been easy enough, our C.O. had told us where it would be and given us the orders to locate, observe, and eliminate. We have been doing this for so long I barely listened to these briefings, location, what to do once there, and what my target looked like. That’s all I ever needed, once I had a face I was set.
In all the years as Shadow Guard I’ve never once know the name of the dozen or so ponies I’ve ended, if your on my list then you no longer needed one. It makes it easier I think, without a name then their just another animal. Without a name they can be killed and forgotten about in the same day.
West and I were the best, trained as a sniper team in secret and given the title Executioner. it’s a small group of ponies that serve as the left hand of the Shadow Guard, we exist to do what our leaders cannot have traced back to them or the army. We didn’t get medals, no parades, on paper we didn’t exist. If we are captured then our existence is denied, or they claim we are rogue, or some other lie. The simple fact was West and I, we are as ghosts.
For three damned days we haven’t moved, we found our objective and now we waited. Supposedly this guy might have important information, I’m to relay what he says to West and he writes it out. So far we have three days worth of sexist, immature, racist, and just plain lame jokes from the camp below.
Our location was ideal, save the glaring sunlight, the itchy grass against my coat, and the damn bugs. Why West chose to be in full sun instead of shade I’ll never know, after the chill of night its nice, for a hour, then it gets obnoxiously hot. I’m going to have to have a word with him after we fly out.
Fanning my wings out in a futile attempt to abate some of the heat I adjust my position, pressing my cheek into the stock of my rifle. Through the scope its like I’m right there, down in the thrown together camp. It was a slapdash effort but effective, crates stacked two high made up the walls, just high enough to walk under the camouflage netting that composed the roof. The camp had been made in between two hills, from the air it was almost invisible, from our spot on the hill however we had a clear view of every action within.
“He’s coming out now” barely a whisper passed to my partner “finally, I was starting to think he wasn’t here at all. Alright, he’s heading to one of his guards” quickly I fiddle with the scopes adjusters, easily the focus sharpens to crystal clarity. She’s been with me on every mission, I’m as close to her as I am to West. Today she sports a tan camouflage much like my own coat, almost like aged parchment.
My beautiful MPLR50, what they call a Magic Powered Long Rifle, fifty caliber. Originally a matte black when I got her, every mission she changes to match the land like a mare putting on a new dress for each party. I’ve lost count of how many she has killed with my hoofs guidance, today she is focused on a zebra that knows to much.
“West, we have a problem, he’s got a convoy coming to pick him up today. Come on you jackass, where are you going, say it!” grunting into the grass I glance at West as best I can without moving “and he’s going back inside without giving up any information, again”
“Relax Muse, we have time. I don’t see any dust clouds, the sky is clear, and unless his transport magically appears we will have plenty of warning” he didn’t even look up from his own scope to whisper, keeping his face glued to the eyepiece. A mesh similar to the one on the crate camp hides him from view, his turquoise coat and aqua mane would be a dead give away on the plain.
“Wait, something’s happening, the one on the radio just ran into the crates after him, wonder what is so important he would abandon his post?” my mind races though the possibilities, maybe the deal went bad, the convoy got held up, a enemy is headed this way, “what for the love of Celestia has made you run off?” a predatory edge has crept into my voice, each time a shot is near I cant hide the excitement I feel.
“He’s smiling, I guess something good happened” a little of the tension leaves me, something good, great, he can live a little longer. “He is running to the radio, says hello into the mic, blah blah blah, ok this is odd, his wife is on the line”
“Your kidding, his wife? Your one hundred percent sure of that?” disbelief practically dipping off his words.
“dead serious, its his wife! At least they get one last talk before he dies” being a sniper had its perks, for one you rarely got shot at. And you got to play god a little, you decide who dies, when they die, and how they die. Over the years I’ve let them enjoy a final meal, tell a joke amongst their friends, even finish their chores before taking the shot. I like leaving them with one last good memory to take with them to whatever waits after life.
“This truly is a first, lets just see what they are talking about” slowly and carefully I ease into a more comfortable position, sinking a little lower with my rifle. “man I hate radios, ok, I think she is at a hospital, near the capital, come on stop talking about the staff and give me some details” Radios can be so irritating, you only ever get one side of the conversation.
“Finally, I thought he was going to just blab on about nothing all day. West… I’m not sure how to say this” from idle curiosity to numb disbelief in a heart beat, a chill runs up my spine causing my coat to stand on end “West, his wife had a foal”
“Oh no, that cant be right, it just cant…” his voice echoing the hollow sound of mine as the news sank in.
“That’s what he said West, a boy, healthy, I’d tell you his name if I could pronounce it” glancing over I see that West has paled, all color has drained from him, and he’s focused the spotting scope away from the camp.
“Muse, I’ve got worse news, convoy spotted, ETA three minutes”
Three minutes, just three minutes left before our window closes and he gets away. Time has some interesting qualities, when you want it to speed up it slows down. Right now I would be overjoyed if it would just stop altogether, but it seems to be speeding up, rushing away. All you have to do Mr. zebra is say your goodbye and put that radio down, you have the time to leave her not worrying about you.
“two minutes, looks like enough wagons to get the cargo and some for him and his guards”
Nonononono he’s still talking, I don’t dare listen anymore. His guards have found some cigars and what looks like cheap wine, damn it all they are having a party down there! Hang up you rotten son of a bitch! Just say goodbye and hang up!
“Less than minute Muse, take the shot”
“Not yet, he’s still on the radio, just a little longer West” come on come on come on! Hanguphanguphanguphanguphangup! One of his guard is slapping him on the back, I can hear their cheers, so happy. Glancing up I can see the dust, just seconds left. In one fluid movement my rifle is readied, the safety switch turned to fire. A gentle hum and vibration raises as the magic charges.
“Muse, times up, you have to shoot”
My only reply is a grunt, that’s all that was needed. Radio still in hoof, he sees the convoy, finally he says what I’ve been waiting for too late.
I will be home soon.
“No you wont, I’m so sorry” gently I squeeze the trigger back, a flash as the spell activates. Though my scope I get a front row seat to my action, every muscle wishes to look away yet I cannot.
A small flash, the sound of lead zipping through the air, a wet smack, and its over. The longest split second of my life. One moment he’s happily talking to his wife, the next the mic falls from his hooves, his head slaps with a wet ring against crates stained red. Shock pulses through his guards, a cigar falls from a mouth to the dirt. A bottle of wine shatters, dropped by another. Their screaming, I’m used to that, what is unsettling is the scream I cant hear. Somewhere in a zebrican hospital is a wife that’s lost her husband, a foal without a father. A scream I cant hear, a scream I cant forget. With one swift movement I’ve completed our mission. And murdered a family.
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“Muse, are you alright?” she’s beside me now, I don’t know when she came over. Her arms around me now “your shaking, what’s wrong?” my wings bristle uncomfortably, my whole body is trembling, I can feel tears burning down my cheeks. For long moments I just sit quietly in her embrace.
“I-its nothing, just, just a bad dream” even my usually steady voice trembles as I try to stumble through “it was just a bad dream….” yet it felt so real, West, the rifle, I can still feel the grass biting into my chest, even the heat of the glaring sun. “I’m ok Scribbles, I’ll be ok, I just, need a moment to relax and forget” forget… I will never be able to forget, I can still hear the scream. “just, stay with me a moment, please”
Her embrace tightens, “alright, I’ll stay” with her soft voice, gentle words, and loving embrace. I sit, and let the tears roll free, Desperately seeking the comfort the mare in my nightmare will never know again.
The truth of war, its not who you kill that will haunt your memory, its not the evils you do in the name of your country. Its who lives with what you’ve done that will not let you rest.
Author's Note
This story is a revision of a nightmare I had while at work, it was a normal night and while I was alone this came to me as vividly as though I was there. The only things I've changed are the physical details, otherwise its exactly the same.
