Flashing lights. Buzzing alarms. Frantic radio calls.
The spinning. The falling.
The impact.
Darkness.
It's all I feel right now. Smothering, and strangely soothing.
And then, with a jolt of pain, I awake.
...
My eyes shoot open, and I try to inhale with a wheezy gasp. But I freeze as my fractured ribs protest in agony. I resort to taking small, quick breaths to keep myself conscious. The agony in my chest clears away the fog from from my mind. I can't think at all, the pain is so strong. All I can do is struggle to breathe, as if I had been paralyzed. But instead of being paralyzed with nothingness, I am paralyzed with pain. Pain that floods my body and squeezes out any desire for movement. Pain that threatens to choke me until the quiet grip of death takes over.
Eventually, the pain relinquishes its hold on me, and my breathing slowly returns to normal. I slowly become conscious of the ruined cockpit of the helicopter I flew. Everything is shattered. The floor, the instrument panel, the doors themselves, have either dented or heavily cracked. I can easily see outside through the completely shattered windshield.
I take my right arm and slowly paw my way around the back of my seat. I don’t move my body at all for fear of attracting another jolt of pain. I try to keep calm, but my rapid breaths betray my true feelings.
I eventually feel a ribbed, cylindrical piece of plastic. I pull on it, but the rifle behind me seems jammed into my seat. Realizing I can't get it, I know I'll have to move around to position myself better. I take my left arm and pat down my body to check my injuries. I gingerly push on one of the fractures, and the searing pain makes my eyes water and my breath catch in my throat.
A bright light suddenly shines upon me, and my eyes shut reflexively.
“Freeze! This is the Royal Guard!”
God damn ponies...
...wait a sec. English? Don't these guys usually have their own language?
“Hands above your head!”
Screw the language right now. I curse under my breath, and pull my right arm back in front of me. I slowly raise my left hand in a surrendering gesture, as I use my right hand to support the ribs my left hand had abandoned.
“I said ALL your hands!”
I take a few light breaths, and manage to gasp out, “I’m…fucking…hurt!”
Silence on the other end. I'm guessing he's listening to my labored breathing.
“Fine. Keep your hand up, and we’ll get you some medical attention.”
I nod in understanding. The bright light stops, and I open my eyes. My heart sinks as I realize I’ve been discovered by a patrol of a few ponies. A couple batponies, a pegasus in bright yellow armor, and a white pegasus with a medical hat surround the chopper, the last carrying what looks like a medkit.
The sight of the ponies surrounding the chopper churn the depths of my mind. I’d heard the stories. The stories of how they would take you back to camp and pull you in with offers of kindness. The stories of how they would use some sort of special magic to read your mind like an open book. The stories of how living through it was like death…but in this death, you served them.
I slowly lower my right hand as the pegasus approaches. My right hand carefully curls around my pistol, and I size up what I have to hit. The armored pegasus is distracted, and seems to be talking to…something. The other batponies are watching me, and the medical pony is working her way towards my position. The batponies notice me sizing them up.
“Hey. What are you doing?”
I depress the holster release. My training kicks in instinctively. I was a good shot on the pistol range, but this is something else. This is nothing like the range…where you’re at least safe.
I focus on my target, blocking out the pain. I start to get tunnel vision. The pistol seems to whip out of the holster by itself, and levels with the armored pegasus. As the sights line up, I pull hard on the trigger.
The pistol jumps, and the gunshot echoes through the crisp, nighttime air. The pegasus drops instantly, as I level the pistol back at one of the batponies.
I pull the trigger again, but the shot flies high as the batponies had recoiled from the noise of the gun shot. They have their ears flat, pressed down by their hooves, with anguished looks on their faces. I don’t have time to think as I adjust my aim and pull the trigger again. The bullet whizzes through the air, and a small puff tells me my aim was true. I dispatch the other batpony in quick succession.
I whirl back at the medical pony, but she’s gone. I quickly look around, but it looks like she fled.
I gotta get out of here. The gunshots will have attracted attention.
I reach behind my seat, further this time. I feel some textured nylon, and pull on it. This one comes out easily. I fumble with the bright orange emergency radiobeacon, and push the switch to turn it on. A light comes on, but it seems to do nothing else.
Trusting that it’s working, I drop it and fumble for the emergency door release. I grip the yellow handle tightly and pull on it. Luckily, the door pops right off, and I can haul myself out.
I clamber out, and land heavily on the dirt. I glance back at the mangled helicopter, as if to dispel any remaining feeling that this is all a bad dream. I focus ahead again, and spy the nearby trees. I take one step towards them, and falter. It’s as if my own body can’t support my weight. Cursing my injuries, I get on all fours, and crawl towards the woods. It’s a long trip, and with each passing second, I worry about getting pounced on by another pony patrol.
As I get near the woods, I pause to look for any ponies in the sky. My adrenaline rush is wearing off, and the pain is starting to return. With a few final heaves, I haul myself behind a couple of bushes. I land flat on my back with a jolt of pain, and pause to let myself rest. For now, all is quiet.
I finger my injured spots again, The ribs feel just at painful as before, and the bruises ache with any pressure I put on them. The pain brings tears to my eyes, and I’m reduced to short, gasping breaths. But I have to push on and find out what I can fix right here, right now. I can’t be in this condition when more backup shows up. I have to-
A rustling motion surprises me. I hurriedly lift my pistol and point it in the direction of the rustling.
A shape is hidden behind a bush near me. I can see something, but I can’t tell what it is. I squint, trying to see it more clearly…
It moves, and a white head pokes out from the bush. It’s the medical pony! She gasps, and retreats her head before I can get a shot off.
I start from the quick motion. Shit, I have to get out of here! I sit up and try to scoot away, but I pause when I hear something coming from the bush.
It doesn’t sound like an impending attack. She doesn’t even sound like she’s moving. She sounds like she’s…crying?
The odd sound surprises me. Usually ponies are either civilians that run away, or soldiers that fight. I've never had a pony try and hide in a combat area. And for the first time since my tour started, I'm at a loss...what do I do?
I stop and consider my options. She’s not armed, she can’t surprise me with magic, and she DOES have medical experience…
It’s a bitter battle in my head. The memories of the warnings from my friends clash with my desire to get healed while I wait for evac. I can’t decide! I don't know if I have any bad injuries I can't see, but I don’t want to expose myself to any more threats. I could call her, and hope she comes over. She’s probably too scared to do that, though. I could go to her, and keep my pistol at the ready. But that’ll probably scare her off! I could-
I take a small breath and push the thoughts from my head. I’ll give her a chance, but no funny business.
I keep the pistol at the ready, and I gingerly call out, “Hello?”
The sobbing skips a beat, and pauses.
I suck in a moderate breath for me to speak. Forcing myself to speak as normally as I can with these ribs, I quietly say, “Hey, it’s okay. I’m...not going to hurt you.”
Nothing.
“No, seriously. Look, I’m kinda hurt, and I could...use your help. Just…please?”
Still nothing.
I curse quietly under my breath. Now what? I probably scared her off…
A rustling sound interrupts my thoughts. A white head pops out, eyes slightly bloodshot from crying, and with a medkit in her mouth. She looks at me with a curious look, mixed in with fear.
“Hey, it’s okay. I could really use your help, though.”
She looks unconvinced.
I reflexively sigh at our miscommunication, but my chest reacts violently. I suddenly have gasping coughs, and fall on the ground. A bit of blood leaks out from the corner of my mouth. I shut my eyes tightly to block out the pain. I desperately try to recover by taking spasmodic breaths. My ribcage protests loudly with each intake of breath I make. My throat seems shut tightly from the pain. I can’t breathe, I can’t see, I can’t do anything except surrender to the pain…
And then, a reassuring touch. As if it knew what to do, a few gentle prods in the right place ease my coughing fit. I slowly wipe the tears from my eyes as the pain gradually fades to a dull ache, and I open my eyes.
The white pegasus is there, gently poking my ribcage. How she knows where to poke through my armor is beyond me, but I’m glad for it. She catches me looking at her, and she darts away with a fearful look in her eyes.
I try to smile through the pain to show my gratitude. I slowly take the pistol in my hand, and slide it back into my holster.
She gingerly approaches me this time, and a small smile forms on her mouth too. But unbidden, her head turns, and she catches sight of her fallen squadmates. She turns back to me, slowly.
It’s as if a switch was flipped in her head. Her eyes glare at me with bitter anger. She assumes a stance reminiscent of a tiger about to pounce on its prey.
I jerk my hand towards the pistol and grab it. As I do, her angry look disappears, replaced by fear again. She holds her stance, but seems…conflicted.
My own emotions are in turmoil too. She’s the enemy: I should shoot her! But at the same time, I need her help. I can’t figure out what I should feel. Should I be angry at myself for not shooting her? Should I be sad for her loss? Should I try and be understanding to her when I can’t even understand myself?
Her big eyes look into mine, and a small spark of understanding glints in her eyes. Her stance slowly straightens, and she quietly comes back next to me. She doesn’t have a smile on her face, but she doesn't look angry either. Satisfied she won’t hurt me, I take my hand off the pistol. The gesture looks like it goes unnoticed as she slowly pokes and prods gently to see the extent of my injuries.
We get a primitive form of communication going. It’s obvious she doesn’t speak English, as she seems to talk to herself in a rhythmic neighing sound, reminiscent of horses back home. She pokes in a bad spot, I suck in a breath from the pain. She pokes a good spot, I relax. She eventually figures out my injuries, and opens the medkit. She starts to bandage up my ribs. It helps ease the pain slightly, but it still hurts.
Suddenly, a loud bleating sound. Her head whirls towards the dark sky, only to have a dozen batponies land on the ground harshly, surrounding us. She freezes, and I can only lie on the ground, silently cursing myself. I can’t take on a dozen batponies with a holstered pistol. I’m not THAT good.
A dark pegasus with a light gray mane walks through the line of batponies surrounding us. He gives me with a challenging look. I glare right back at him.
His gaze shifts accusingly to the mare helping me. The silence stretches for a bit, until some foreign sounds come out of his mouth, escorted by an angry look. She responds in a quiet tone.
His hoof violently slams the ground, and he retorts back. The two get into a sparring match of words, with me lying helplessly, wondering if my life hangs in the balance. The two argue for a while, and I look at each of the batponies to pass the time. They study me as well, with many of them eyeing the pistol carefully.
As they argue, I notice a gradual shift in the conversation. Her voice is slowly sounding more and more exasperated, and her body quivers from the occasional sob that escapes her eyes, as his voice slowly gets stronger. His tone changes, from accusatory to a quiet sense of disapproval. She seems…apologetic? Whatever it is, the tears in her eyes and her protective stance suggest she wants me to be alive. It’s almost as if I’m at the chopping block, and the blade is over my head, ready to strike me down as I lie here.
And then, I hear it. The distant, pulsing sounds of helicopter blades.
Another loud bleating sound echoes through the woods. Everyone hurriedly takes off, except for the white mare. She turns to me, eyes bloodshot from crying again. She looks at me, a mix of confusion and accusation.
“Hurry up and fly away! I’m getting evac’d!”
My hurried tone makes her take a few steps away, but she doesn’t fly away. She’s….sad? Mournful? Disappointed?
I don’t know, and I don’t care. I don’t want her to get shot, and I gotta get her out of here. “Hurry! They’re gonna get here any second now!”
The shrill sound of the engines is noticeably louder now, and I see her make up her mind. She steps away, and takes off, without a second glance.
A sense of pride and calm fills me. As I watch the group fly off, I lie back down in the bushes. It’s not long before the bright searchlights of the rescue heli fly over and touch down. The medical team investigates my injuries, and check out the dressing. They put me on a stretcher, and haul me back to the helicopter. The helicopter takes off, and starts to fly back, as another team starts investigating the wreck.
I feel a small pang of sadness as the memory of that mare floats to the surface. My hands gently touch the dressing, as if to support it. The examination by the medics felt cursory, practical, and above all, distant. I don’t know what it was, but what happened with the mare back there was something different. Something connected. Something slightly…magical. I don't know what it was, but what she gave me was more than a dressing. If I had to guess, I'd say she gave me hope. Hope that this war wasn't just so black and white. Hope that not all of us want to fight one another. Hope that maybe someday this war could end.
I smile as I lay in the stretcher. I guess it'd be nice to see a friendly face once this was all over.
