Sokolov grunted as he jumped down into the trench, before moving forward to lean against the wood-lined walls a second later. The defenses had been finished a mere two hours before, forming an interlocking series of firing positions, entrenchments, and minor fortifications, all done with the help of the 6,000+ ground forces currently inside of the camp, along with airlifting done by the four Mi-10 heavy-lift helicopters stored on the Sevastopol.

The Russian pilot lifted his MTAR-21 to his shoulder, pointing it across the two miles of plains between the firebase and the large forest. To his left and right, a mixed assortment of Russian and American soldiers stood with their various weapons at the ready, with scattered British and Norwegian Marines also manning the defenses.

The trenches had emplacements scattered all across the lines, with crew-manned weapons such as the American M2 Browning or 40mm Mk-47 Striker Grenade Launcher. Sokolov could see hundreds of 'Blue' contacts displayed on his 'Net' unit's glasses, although the nearest one from the MVD team that he had been traveling with was two hundred meters to the south.

"What's the threat?" One of the Russians to his left asked.

"I do not know." Sokolov admitted. "The alert stated that there was a group of ponies headed this way. Guards, armed at that, such as that brave one that strode up several hours ago and demanded our surrender."

The Russian next to him chuckled, trying - and failing - to contain laughter. The video logs that several of the men at the 'gate' had taken were spread around the camp within minutes, leading to a general feeling of amusement at the odds of the ponies.

"Didn't you hear?" A man in an American BDU said in Russian to his right. "The unicorn types have got to have some sort of internal weapon. The ponies we have say it's magic, but I'm a bit skeptical of that."

"I, for one, believe it." Sokolov replied. "If they have the technology to use telekinesis, weaponize high-temperate plasma-like bolts, and do all of the things I have seen them do, then why are they still living in wooden huts and wielding spears and crossbows? And why would only the unicorn types be able to have it?"

"To hell with them all." The Russian man to his right said. "We're stranded in God knows where, while they're trying their best to kill us."

A chorus of agreement went down the line among those who heard him as Sokolov turned back towards the forest. He began to notice small things, such as the lack of any wildlife visible in the forest four kilometers away, as well as the roughness of the wood reinforcing the trench. There had been little to no time and no proper tools to make the boards, so they were roughly cut with the issued axes that several Russian marines had, and the very nonstandard variety of hatchets that some of the Americans had 'somehow' found inside of their belongings.

A notification popped up on his 'Net' unit, center-screen, simply stating that a area-wide video transmission was incoming. Seconds later, it was replaced by a large box on his 'Net' glasses' LCD screen, quickly changing into a live video feed. The clip had 'Gerald R. Ford, Captain Henderson' subtitled in both English, Russian, and Norwegian across the bottom.

Said captain appeared in the frame a second later.

"Good evening, gentlemen." He said without pause a moment later, his voice being translated into Russian and Norwegian a moment later, and appearing as text at the bottom of the screen. "As some of you know, we have spotted a rather large contingent of ponies headed this way. Guards, mostly likely. They are armed with a variety of crossbows, spears, and various other point objects."

After the round of laughter on the bridge - and on the ground - died down, he continued. "Their estimated strength is at the eight hundred mark. We do not expect serious opposition, but in any case you on the ground are expected to preform to the best of your abilities. Just aim for the golden armor."

With that, the transmission clicked off. A small video feed appeared at the upper-right corner of the display, showing a high-altitude view of a column of gleaming figures. It magnified, showing hundreds of white ponies, all clad in golden armor, making their way through the forest along a dirt road. The dust they picked up was not enough to obscure the view, which included several dozen pegasi. The camera then zoomed out, displaying a view from ten kilometers in the air. The column was shown to be a mere six kilometers from the firebase, and only two kilometers from exiting the forest.

"Why don't they get aircraft and bomb them?" One of the Americans next to him asked another in English.

"Because they don't want to waste aviation fuel and ordinance just yet." The second one replied. "Even though we probably have more than enough for a few months of combat operations, we need to make every round last."

"It's not like we'll be facing T-90s supported by Su-27s." Another noted.

The chatter quickly died down, with orders being passed up and down the line. Apparently, they were only to fire once the ponies got within a kilometer of the defenses. The ground forces would also be supported by several helicopters. Even now, Sokolov could see two Mi-28s in the air, along with three Mi-24 gunships and eight of the MQ-8C unmanned helicopters, each one with four AMG-114 Hellfire missiles hanging off of eternal pylons.

Sokolov directed his attention back towards the treeline, watching for movement. He calmly waited..

... And waited...

He was still watching, two minutes later, when the first hint of yellow showed through the trees. According to the UAV feed, it appeared as though they were coming through the forest. The single dot of gold quick expanded into several, and then into an entire line. The UAV feed showing in the corner magnified, showing them forming ranks at the tree line. A quick magnification using his 'Net' unit's camera confirmed it.

"All units, hold fire." The voice of Captain Volkov from the Admiral Nakhimov said over the coms, repeated a second later by Captain Henderson in English. "We will be using a flight of two F/A-18s if our attempt to make them cease fails. Beyond that, you have full authorization to shoot the bastards."

A single MQ-8C Fire Scout flew overhead, with a loudspeaker mounted below it. It flew across the field at about fifty meters up, before coming to a stop half a kilometer from the ponies.

"Cease your advance!" The loudspeaker said, audible even over the three kilometers between the forward ranks of the ponies and the fortifications. "If you do not, lethal measures will be taken."

Several dozen brightly colored bolts seemed to lance out like tracers from the formation, a few making impacts on the helicopter, doing little apparent damage. Sokolov watched as the last attempt at a peaceful solution turned around, banking back towards the fleet. As it flew back overhead, Sokolov could make out half a dozen black marks, clear proof that the unicorns certainly had some sort of ability to use 'magic' as a weapon.

The formations of ponies broke apart into a few smaller groups, before speeding up into a brisk run. Magnified, Sokolov could see the stern expressions of the ones in the lead, and knew that they would not break off.

They quickly closed to a distance of one and a half kilometers, well within rifle range. By then, about sixty pegasi had taken to the air, golden armor easily visible as the sun sank towards the horizon.

A low roar filled the air as two F/A-18 Fighter-Bombers, each one loaded with ordinance, burst below the clouds at 1,000 feet above the ground. They quickly flew low, closing distance with the formation of ponies. One object detached from one of the fighters, and a low buzz filled the air as both fired their 20mm M61 Vulcan Miniguns. The pegasi in the air were cut apart as the .787-inch-wide projectiles flew through the air, cutting through armor, flesh, and bone equally.

The two jets, US Navy proudly printed on the sides, pulled upwards as they finished their run, leaving the descending bombs to impact the ground.

Seconds later, the CBU-67 Combined Effects Munition, commonly known as a cluster bomb, opened at an altitude of a hundred feet. The CBU released 202 submunitions, each one containing half a pound of Cyclotol, a 60-40 mix between RDX and TNT. They spread out rapidly from the bomb, hitting at hundreds of separate points inside and outside of the formation. Around five percent of the bomblets failed to detonate, but saturated as they were, it did not make a difference.

Almost two hundred separate explosions blossomed everywhere along the formation. Some of the ponies simply disintegrated when multiple bomblets hit near them. With over half of the formation dead, and more than eighty percent of the survivors wounded in some way, it would make sense for them to falter.

Nearly two hundred of the ponies remained fit for combat, still futilely charging at the massed defenses. All at once, without an order, hundreds of rifles fired, the sheer volume of bullets easily felling the survivors. Sokolov did not fire, as he felt that, in this situation, any rounds he fired would only compound the overkill.

With the battle over within seconds, silence went across the line, with only the occasional screams from the 'battlefield'. Moments later, a notification went across his 'Net' display.

[Captain Henderson, CVN-78: All ground units, please render aid to those ponies who require it. We're running a battle here, not a massacre. I do not want to see behavior contrary to the Geneva Conventions, semantics or not.]

With that, several dozen soldiers, including Sokolov and the men next to him, walked out of the trenches and onto the battlefield. Or, what could be called a battlefield. It had been entirely one-sided, with no casualties of any kind for their forces, and resulting in the near destruction of the formation of ponies. Dozens of obvious wounded were scattered around, along with ones who were entirely dead.

Sokolov walked up to a pegasus who had several major cuts along its torso. He slowly slung his MTAR and took out his basic First Aid kit, the one he had been given as a pilot in the event he was shot down. He crouched down on the ground and took out a container of disinfectant, holding down the pony with one hand while shaking some of the powder onto the wound with another. The white pegasus stared at him in what seemed to be shock as he took out a roll of gauze, making several, short strips and putting them tautly over the wound.

"... What are you?" The pegasus weakly asked as he finished covering the wound, opting to leave the more advanced care to those who knew more than he did.

"Only a human." Sokolov simply stated, before marking the location on the local 'Net' unit with a [Render Aid] marker and moving on.

First Lieutenant Miller flew high above the firebase, staring down through the thinning clouds at the scurrying figures on the ground. He felt no regrets from dropping the bomb. In a way, it would have happened anyway, only with a much larger use of ammo. At least, that is what he told himself.

"That's something I'd never though I would ever be able to do." His wingman said. "Mowing down a pegasi midair. Now imagine this: They've got nothing that can shoot us down. We're practically home free!"

"Rodger that, Gamma-Two. RTB. The Capt. doesn't want us wasting any more AvGas."

"Copy Gamma-One. RTB."

With that, both of the fighters banked down towards the fleet.

Author's Note

Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Major criticisms? Put em' down there. That's what the comments sections is for.

Well, I just committed one of the major do-nots of writing a story on here: Having a pony, or a hell of a lot of ponies, die. Sue me. If anybody here wants to know more of the how/why from each side, all you have to do is ask.