Uphill Battles

“Holy shit, grenade!”

Stanson moved, diving on top of the explosive, holding it in his abdomen while he waited for the inevitable. He hoped all of his armor would shield his friends, but it was too late to do anything else. The seconds crawled by, seemingly endless amounts of time passed before he heard the detonation - heard it, more than felt it - and was launched into the air. For a second, he thought he was flying, until the ground raced back towards him. He lay where he had fallen, unable to make his limbs to move. The ground swam in front of his eyes for a few seconds before he heard his comrades screaming for a corpsman in the distance.

***

It had been a long time since the last time he had visited, he knew that. At least, he had had many dreams since the last visit. It seemed that the place had aged too, changing from the dismal snow-blanketed village that it had been into a cheery market. His entrance was loud, just like the last time. This time, however, there were many figures that filled the place to witness his arrival. Last time, the place had devoid of life, the snowflakes that fell being the only movement he had seen.

His entrance into the square, though, was terrific and loud. A loud bang, about the volume of an engine firing, echoed about the square. It clearly startled many of the figures that inhabited the market, each making about a foot of vertical air. They turned towards him, but he sensed that they could not see him, as they seemed to look through him. He proceeded towards the closest figure, which grew clearer and clearer the closer he got. It appeared to be a purple horse, though there appeared to be a horn-like object protruding from its forehead.

His vision was strange, just like last time. It was like looking through warped glass rather than through his own eyes. Stanson looked down, peering at his body. It was torn and mangled, just as he remembered. His intestines hung out of a gaping hole in his stomach, dripping a thick black substance. It terrified him that he was so gravely injured, yet so clear-headed and able-bodied. Looking back at the being in front of him, he took another step forwards.

He was now within touching distance of the horse, but it still had not acknowledged him beyond staring at the spot where Stanson had entered the place. He tentatively reached out with his hand, brushing the figure with his palm before retracting it. His hand quivered, but he did not back away. Of all of the dreams he had had, none had seemed so vivid and strong.

***
Bang! Twilight jumped, dropping the inkwell that she had just purchased. It shattered across the cobble, the ink spilling into the cracks between the bricks. Twilight looked around quizzically, briefly wondering whether Pinkie had set off her party cannon. This was unlikely, however, since Pinkie stood across the square with the same curious look on her face as Twilight did. Twilight froze, feeling... something.

The workings of a unicorn’s horn are strange. They draw energy from the world around them to power spells, so it would make sense that using a horn, a unicorn could paint a picture of their surroundings based on energy alone, similar to sonar. Using this, Twilight could very clearly sense a presence, close enough to touch.

Inkwell forgotten, Twilight stepped forwards, willing the aura to present itself with her magic. After a few seconds of prompting the being to emerge from hiding, its form appeared, hazy at first. It stood upright, with extra tendrils that extended from its midsection. Its neck was almost nonexistent, and its forehooves appeared to have fingers, much like Spike’s claws.

The thing grew more and more clear, colors along its coat starting to become recognizable. Its coat was strange: it looked crumpled and loose, almost like the suits the stallions had worn at the Gala. This was strange, because no creature from beyond the Equine race ever dressed up. Nevertheless, it wore clothes that seemed to be camouflaged for the desert. It was a uniform tan color, excluding a large patch beneath the place where the tendrils emerged that was stained a deep crimson.

Twilight gasped, realizing that the thing was quite injured. It was staring at her with wide eyes, aware that it was being studied. Its forehoof was extended towards Twilight, its fingers stretched wide. Slowly, its jaws opened, revealing rows of sharp teeth, meant for tearing meat from bone. Twilight released her grip on the thing’s aura in sudden horror, pushing it back into an invisible shroud of mist.

***

Stanson felt himself becoming more and more... transparent, the connection with his own body being dampened more and more. He had been trying to talk with the creature, but he guessed his movements had startled the thing. He tried to hang onto the dream, but he could already feel himself slipping back into the ambiguity of his own mind.

***

Doctor Schneider stepped back as his patient’s convulsions started to subside. He had been called in after the man’s wife had called for assistance. After an Antispasmodic had been administered, the man had finally started to calm down. Schneider rubbed his temples, weary of seeing countless young men admitted to his hospital straight from the Middle East, some with no hope for recovery. This particular man would probably end up dying; his legs were all but gone and his innards had only barely been contained with the help of hundreds of stitches and staples. As it was, his abdomen was bloated and bleeding.

The woman spoke up, and Schneider put on the most reassuring mask he could muster, “Er, yes. I believe he will wake up soon. No need to worry.” The german national fumbled with his english, hoping to use that as an excuse for the distressed look that had briefly flashed across his face. The traitorous muscles had quickly been controlled, and the look of hope and optimism returned.

The woman looked relieved, and turned again towards her ailing husband. As Schneider understood, she had flown from the United States to the german hospital, just to see that her beloved would get better. Not that he would.

With that, the doctor turned from the bed and strode into the hallway, trying to stifle the tears that were breeding in his ducts. He shook his head. Too many young men dying... and for what?

***
Stanson had launched into another dream, this one even more familiar than the place.

“Hey Aichele, you sure this is the right place? There’s no people, and it’s kinda givin’ me the willies.” Staff Sergeant Freudemann spoke, breaking the tense silence that had been present since the squad had stepped out of the Humvee for patrol.
“Just watch your fuckin’ lane, Fruity. I don’t care if we’re the last people on Earth. But yeah, we’re in the right place”, Captain Aichele responded, not mentioning that streets that were devoid of civilians usually meant trouble. Not mentioning it would be a costly mistake.
A crack resounded around the empty streets, and dust kicked up in front of Meiners’ feet. “Holy fuckin’ shit! Get to the Humvee!”, he yelled, sprinting back towards the transport vehicle. Freudemann turned towards where the noise had come from, raising his M16. He let loose some suppressing fire before retreating as well. It looked like there were insurgents on every roof.
Aichele leapt for the radio, reporting gunfire near their position. That’s where he stood when the grenade had appeared from behind an adjacent wall.
“Holy shit, grenade!”

Stanson moved, diving on top of the explosive, holding it in his abdomen while he waited for the inevitable. The seconds crawled by, seemingly endless amounts of time passed before he heard the detonation - heard it, more than felt it - and was launched into the air. For a second, he thought he was flying, until the ground raced back towards him. He lay where he had fallen, unable to make his limbs to move. The ground swam in front of his eyes for a few seconds before he heard his comrades screaming for a corpsman in the distance.