6: Gouldmining

        Everyone knew the story of the Medic, Steven Gould.

        He was known as one of the only survivors of the Malmedy Massacre. Every survivors' story was heart wrenching and gruesome, filled with death and loss. But Gould's was the one which stood out the most. And the distress didn't start at the Massacre itself.

        At first, when World War 2 was drafting in America, Gould was one of the first to willingly apply. With a background in medicines and psychology, a Medic was the perfect job for the eighteen year old man. However, after reality struck and he backed down, his father forced him to attend. That could definitely be the cause of his sour attitude, although nobody asked him.

        Gould's career was solid and with good pay, but in no way did he ever like it. When children and young men died, he was among the first to witness it up close and personal. He was the person who held the person as they passed away due to mortal wounds, trying desperately to fix them. It wasn't worth the rare saving of a life.

        However, none of the earlier horrors could ever compare to the Malmedy Massacre. On December 17, 1944, near Belgium, the 1st SS Panzer Division was searching and rummaging American Allies both dead and living, questioning the ones who spoke German and paying little heed to the ones who didn't. Gould was one of the latter, tending to the wounded and dying. He was scared and confused, mad mostly at his father who he blamed for everything bad in the Military.

        He was treating a young man with a bullet in his knee when an American prisoner gave in to the pressure, and made a run for it. He was quickly dispatched by a Nazi officer, but that wasn't the end of the excitement. Chaos broke out in the location, Americans running and the few who stole guns from officers shooting, while the Germans easily picked them off. Gould's patient was shot again and killed, making the young Medic run for his life. The uprising was short, and resulted in around eighty American losses, but it provided a distraction for Steven and a select few others to escape into the snowy wilderness.

        That's when the Medic found a group of other survivors: Oberon Winley, Shirly Kendrick, Gordon Gunderson, and Nathan Greer. Gould stayed distant from the group, not wanting a relationship as he knew something must certainly happen. Too many deaths had already happened in his life for him. He even insulted Nathan because of his religion as a sign of seclusion, as Gould was a strong Atheist.

        After a two-day escapade in the German forest, however, tragedy fell upon the group and a dreadful firefight took place. Only Gould, Winley, and Greer were left. During that time, even if Gould knew he was right all along, he couldn't help but feel sorry for Deacon, who lost his best friend. At first, it started as a comforting pat on the back, then it went on from there. Eventually, they became best friends themselves.

        But that friendship didn't last very long. The group had to cross a German camp, disguised, to reach American lines. But after that plan went to hell, they were stranded in the middle of a battlefield.

        After a noble sacrifice by his late best friend Greer, or "Deacon," as he was called, Gould and Winley were safely transported to American lines.

        It had been a night since the now-famous Deacon had passed away. Still, the memory haunts him. The thoughts of Gould's Atheism getting in the way of their friendship seemed smart at the time. But now, he was smarter, and knew the ways of his error.

        But Gould still has a remnant of Deacon, something he would never forget him by:

        Deacon's Bible.

        In fact, he was currently reading the countless verses, intrigued by the contents of his late friend's religion.

        Steven has never been a religious man. In fact, he was a strong Atheist.

        Was.

        Now, all he could think about was the endless revelations Deacon's Bible provided. He read the Bible by the verses, then the chapters, then the Books. He devoured the text, his heart swollen with greed for more.

        More of revelation. The Bible.

        More of Deacon.

        In a way, it was a way to say sorry for how unfairly Steven had treated Nathan at first, solely based off of his religion. But now, now that he knew more than any school could have taught him, he could consider himself forgiven. Deacon would be proud.

        It was late afternoon, in the infirmary tent which was newly appointed to the tired Medic. Ironically, Gould himself was the injured one. Almost all of his fingers were blue with frost bite.

        The camp outside, although muffled, was calm. Camp fires all around were cracking and sissing, soldiers were talking about previous events, and everything sounded well.

        Unlike the war which was on its peak in Genisis 14. Gould was currently reading the verses, silently noting Abraham's three hundred and eighteen soldiers' bravery. At first, when he confiscated the Bible from his friend's corpse, he was weary. But then, curiosity got the better of him, and he began reading. And never stopped.

        But his inner peace was shortly lived. That was when the first signs of battle came from outside.

        At first, it was a distant rise in volume of the voices in the camp. They quickly escalated from yelling to screams. Then came the gun shots. They sounded muffled and far away, but they were gunshots nevertheless.

        The moment those were heard, Gould's reality shifted.

Steven's entire body became ice cold as he witnessed the first bullet enter Deacon's body.

        His friend stood there for a moment, staring down at the wound in his chest. His knees buckled from underneath as another short was heard. A bullet whizzed into Deacon's heart: the death blow.

        A tear slipped out from Gould's eye.

        That was it. Just like that, his last friend was dead. And they were so close to Home...

        Another gunshot. Another spurt of blood from his friend. This time, though, Deacon collapsed completely.

        Even from this distance, Gould could see the head of his friend turning towards him. And, for the first time he saw Deacon smile. At him. But Gould couldn't smile back.  All he could do was stare in pure horror as Nathan's curve of a mouth slowly dissipated, the light draining from his eyes.

        "NO!"

        Gould instantly dropped the book, his hands bolting to his ears to shut out the surprise chaos. A distant rumble took place, and more soldiers screamed. More gunshots fired. His tent shook and the outside was illuminated.

        "No.." Gould muttered out loud. "Please, no.. This can't be another battle. I need rest..."

        His only response was the ground shaking. As if it would do anything, Gould hugged his knees.

        "This can't be happening," he repeated. "I just got out of combat.."

        The flab to his tent opened quickly as a Paramedic rushed in.

        "We have to go, Gould," he hurriedly explained. The second Medic was by Gould's bed side in an instant, dragging him off.

        Steven only nodded numbly as he was led to the exit.

        When the other Medic opened the flab, a deafening explosion was heard. Before Gould could catch a glimpse of the scenario outside, dirt and snow exploded into the tent, knocking both it and its occupants into thin air. When Gould landed, he was a mess of blurry vision, dirt, and blood.

        Shellshocked and confused, he could barely make out the camp, but it wasn't the same anymore. Through bleary vision and ringing ears he could make out people screaming, faint explosions, and the black sky overhead turned orange by the fire. Steven groaned as he attempted to right himself, slowly and unsurely.

        That was when a foot crushed his side in what he could only guess was a hard kick. Gould only grunted, dazed as he saw figures running around and over him. Another kick, this time in the chin.

        The ringing in his ears only intensified as the boot broke skin. He let out a shrill yelp of pain, holding the bleeding spot.

        But that wouldn't accomplish anything.

        So, Steven groaned as he tried to shakily kneel up. Another kick sent him back down. The people running around him probably didn't even see him or were ignoring him completely.

        Finally, a hand grabbed his jacket collar, pulling him up. Gould's senses worked hard to regain themselves once he was thrusted into a state of running blindly, bumping into other soldiers and knocking over tents.

        Finally, his eyesight and hearing cleared long enough for him to capture the scene. All around him, soldiers were hurriedly getting their weapons and equipment, some still in their sleeping garments in the snow. There was no one wounded either on the floor or running, which was peculiar. In the midst of the chaos, various fires and smoke pillars were rising from between the soldiers. Gunshots, yelling, and explosions filled his hearing.

        It was another battle.

        Steven almost threw his helmet off of his head at the realization. He hated everything about War. The battles, the drills, the cruel sergeants.

        Gould was rushed, more so by his comrades then himself, to the front of the camp, where a heavy firefight was taking place. Their were no breaks of fire, no quiet parts, and certainly no mercy. The Nazis were scattered across the woodland entrance around the American camp. For every kill made by the Allies, three more were made by the Nazis.

"Medic!" Gould heard from the crowd.

        Anger pulsing throughout his system, Steven pushed through the crowd to the explosive front lines, searching for the distress call's owner. There were already about ten or so dead soldiers, either being dragged away by their comrades or lying still. But, soon enough, he spotted a wounded soldier being dragged to safety.

        He jogged over to the woundee, stopping him in his tracks. He held a hand out to his friend as he opened his medkit. "I'm a Medic," he said. "Stand back."

        The soldier looked down at his wounded friend, looking scared beyond relief. Gould didn't blame him; the wounded Private looked young. A little too young for the Army. He carefully sat the wounded friend down, the latter groaning in pain.

        "Go back to the battlefront," Gould commanded him, showing his superior rank. "I'll take care of him."

        The soldier reluctantly obeyed.

        Steven, not wasting any time, filled a syringe from his medkit with a numbing drug. "It's for the pain," Gould said as he inserted the needle into one of the soldier's veins. The latter bit his lip, but said nothing. With a slow and steady push of his thumb, the clear liquid was inside the Private. Gould, fetching new supplies from his medkit, stole a glance at the soldier's name tag.

        It read: Pvt. G, Barnes

        As Gould withdrew his cleansing alcohol from the kit, he dared a small talk with the soldier. "Your name Barnes?" he asked, unscrewing the cap. An explosion shook the ground, making Gould cringe as he almost dropped the cap.

        "Yes," came from the soldier. Barnes looked around uncomfortably. "My first name is Gordon, actually."

        "You don't look like a Gordon," Steven remarked as he poured some alcohol onto a cotton pad. He then rolled Gordon's pant leg up, then padded the area around the gory hole with the liquid.

        Gordon cringed, but the numbing drug helped resist the pain. A lot. Most people scream the first time. "I was born an Andrew. Changed my name when I was seventeen."

        "Why?" Gould remarked. Now was the hard part. He took a pair of heavy duty tweezers from the medkit.

        Gordon shifted uncomfortably in his spot once he spotted the tool. Obviously, the recent question was going unanswered, but irrelevant nevertheless.

        "It won't hurt," Steven said. "At least, not a lot."

        Before Barnes knew it, the tweezers were in the bullet hole. He gasped, but didn't scream.

        "Do you know what happened?" Gould asked, working his way through muscle. "I was in the medical tent when it exploded. Kinda confused on this whole ordeal."

        Gordon nodded, looking anywhere but the bloody metal digging into him. More gunshots and screaming was heard from around them.

        "Nazis. I think everyone else is as confused as you. They came from the forest, spread out and hard to hit. They took out the guard towers with silenced weapons." A wet schlick from his leg briefly interrupted his explanation. Gould cursed himself under his breath; his focus had slipped from his patient. Something that should never happen. After a quick apology, Gordon gagged as he saw fresh blood ooze from the faulty move by the tweezers. "They shot me with a silenced gun in the leg. I screamed, and the camp must've heard me. Next thing I know, I'm in the middle of a firefight, wounded, and confused." Gordon gulped. "It wasn't a sniper shot; the wound is small. Right?"

        Steven nodded.

        Gordon looked at the messy hole and gagged again. "That's the part I don't understand. They could've killed me; I was standing still. They killed the other guards.."

        Gould pulled out what he presumed was the bullet, and the perpetrator bounced off the hard snow below. It was unusually small.

        "Looks like a pistols shot it," Gould marveled. He looked up at Gordon. "They don't have very good range. Did you see anyone come out to shoot at close range? Anything moving?"

        "Nothing," Gordon whimpered. "I swear, I saw nothing. I didn't even hear anything, either. It was like the Nazis have some silencer that can not only lower the sound, but eliminate it. This is scary."

        "Do you have any ear or eye problems I should know about?" Gould asked as he retrieved a cloth from the kit, and started wrapping it around the Private's leg.

        "None. I'm healthy."

        "Hm," Gould simply remarked as he tightened the cloth. He then tied it extra tight, to the cringing of Gordon. "There. No arteries or bones were damaged, so you're lucky. That's surprising, mainly because of the location. There's a major artery in your leg." Gordon nodded, mentally demanding to know the recover time. "But, I don't have enough information to know how long the wound will take to heal. Recovery time depends majorly on the pistol caliber and velocity, although both is unknown. Personally, I'll give it about a fortnight."

        Gordon only nodded, thankful the bullet was out. "Thanks, anyways," he said.

        Gould nodded, waving for someone to take him away from the battle lines. Not surprisingly, Gordon's friend from earlier came running to his aid.

        "Wait," Gordon said hurriedly, pulling away from his comrade. "I need to tell you something."

        Gould, packing the supplies back in their order in his medkit, only said, "Eh?"

        "I know Deacon," Gordon said. "And... Just wanted to say I'm sorry. He was my brother in law."

        Gould visibly faulted in his actions, and sat still for a second. But then, he shakily continued his packing. No words passed through his mouth.

        "Well.. I just needed to tell him something," he continued. "I'm not sure it matters anymore, but my sister had a baby. Deacon's wife had a baby."

        Gould's pessimism slowly settled in. "...Doesn't matter now, does it?"

        "But it does," Gordon said. Steven noticed his voice cracked. "She died while giving birth."

        Gould strapped his medkit to his waist, standing up. Sadness was evident, but otherwise he was uncaring. He's had enough drama.

        "In all honesty, I'm sorry for your sister," he said, his face darkening under his medic helmet. "But we have enough shit happening here anyways. And don't ever talk about Deacon again."

        Gordon looked like he was about to speak, before his friend hoisted him up and said, "Er weiß es. Er kann ihm jetzt sagen."

        Gould froze in his place.

"German." he said, eyes wide.

        Before he could do anything else, a shot was heard from behind. Unlike any of the other gun shots surrounding him, this one was louder. Closer.

        Pointed at him.

        Gould's knees collapsed from underneath him. He looked down, and found an open bullet hole in his chest. Blood spurted from it, showering the ground below and his clothes.

        Steven slowly turned his head around, wanting to look his killer in the eyes, but only came across Gordon, holding a Luger pointed right at him. Smoke rose from its barrel.

        "Tell Deacon what I told you," Gordon said. This time, however, his voice was deeper. Angrier. "He will be in a prison with a mare. Tell her this: 'Andrew Davis brought both of you here. Blauesherz' human is not dead.'"

        Gould could only stare as another flash came from the gun, and another bullet entered his body. This time, Steven collapsed on the ground, panting lightly as death swiftly came to him. Before he died, though, one more sentence came from his bloody mouth.

        "I don't follow your commands, Nazi."

        Then, his head fell to the floor, darkness engulfing his vision.

-  -  -

        "We'll need a distraction."

        The statement came out of Applejack's mouth before she knew it was even out. Her two siblings both looked at her, as if surprised a plan could have come to light that quickly. Applejack didn't know why she said it herself, but the more she thought of it, the more it made sense.

        "...Yes, we'll make a distraction first!" Applejack exclaimed, joyfully accepting the idea. "With these blueprints and Rarity's volunteers, we could start a distraction by our ponies killing the guards, maybe even setting off a few explosions. That'll be enough for us and a select group to sneak in."

        The nurse operating on Applejack rolled her eyes. "With your current condition? You won't get within a mile of the camp, no way. You need to rest."

        The orange former farm pony glanced patiently at the nurse, although a fire was behind her eyes. "With all do respect, Nurse, our three friends are being tortured in that building, and we are going to help them."

        The nurse seemed aggravated, but didn't show it. "Not exactly an 'eye-widening' speech, but I don't expect much from wounded ponies, as their minds are scattered." (Applejack fumed with frustration at that statement) "Expect a lifetime of limping if you get shot again. Not many ponies get away with even one shot anywhere and no traumatization."

        "I know somepony who got shot four times in the chest and is still functioning," Applebloom mumbled rebelliously.

        Applejack coughed rather loudly in her hoof and made a "cut it!" sign.

        "Oh, really?" the nurse said in mock unbelief. "Tell me about her."

        Applejack gave her sister another signal to stop, but Applebloom seemed set on showing the nurse up.

        "Him. And his name is Nathan, or Deacon." Luckily, Applebloom hadn't inherited her sister's profuse honesty. "He's an earth pony, and has had a lot of experience in the Military. He's a Hero."

        "I wouldn't say 'Hero,'" Applejack corrected her sister. "But he did something very noble, yes. And he doesn't like it when people talk about him behind his back."

        The nurse, now completely done with Applejack, pulled up a chair from the corner of the tent and sat. Obviously she wasn't being payed to do this part. "What did he do, exactly?"

        Applebloom, finally realizing her error, gulped and glanced at Applejack. The latter only gave her a "Think before you leap" look, not offering any help.

        The tent flap opened abruptly. The entire group turned to look, and was surprised to see a young stallion with a black coat and an equally dark mane in the doorway. It was evident he was a Private, considering his age and medal. The pony was dressed in the same greenish style of the other soldiers, although the helmet on his head was a bit oversized. The last part only reminded Applebloom of Deacon, and she sulked.

        He looked as if he was about to speak, but a look from Remy quickly brought him back to realization. He unsurely saluted the Medic, then started to speak.

        "Remy, Scarlett, there is a disturbance outside," he said unprofessionally.

        Remy gave him yet another look. "En français," he said irritably, as if they were related.

        Nurse "Scarlett" quickly explained to the clueless trio, "They're brothers. Remy is constantly trying to get him to speak French, it's some kind of tradition."

        Meanwhile, the young black stallion looked as if he was shot. "Remy, this is serious!"

        "Same with Tradition," Remy said in his best English. "You do not speak French, I do not respond."

        The exasperated stallion sighed impatiently, doing a little dance with his hooves. Obviously this was important. "Remmy... Il y a une probleme... à l'extériere."

        "À l'extérieure," Remy corrected. He glanced back at the trio, told them briefly to stay, then followed his brother out of the tent.

        Through the thin tent fabric, they could hear Remy say, "Ton fançrais suce."

        After a couple moments of awkward silence, Scarlett leaned back in her chair, her mood visibly happier than before. "His name is Arnaud."

        Applejack gave a playful look to her sister. "Quite a handsome stallion, isn't he, Applebloom?" she commented. The statement made Applebloom look offended.

        Before Applebloom could respond, however, Scarlett spoke up. "Oh, trust me, he doesn't like romance. Never once has he had a marefriend."

        Applejack could sense some depth to the statement, as if Scarlett  may have asked Arnaud himself.

        Before she could ponder more on the subject, however, a commotion became evident outside. At first, it was just ponies yelling to each other, and hoof steps running past the tents.

        Then, however, there was a massive wind current which struck the tent. The howling of fast air traveling between and around the tents of the camp instantly filled the room. The fabricate walls rocked back and forth, knocking over medical supplies. Scarlett was quickly on them, however, hurriedly cleaning them up.

        "That's strange!" Scarlett had to yell over the howling of the wind and the piercing sound of a flag being whipped around. "Unless the Blofigans broke our War Rules, I think those are our pegasi make a tornado!"

        Applebloom and Applejack both looked at each other, their eyes wide. Although they were safe from the awesome weather outside, their hearts were pumping as fast as the tornado.

        "It's like when Deacon came," Applebloom said ludicrously.

        As Scarlett was picking up supplies knocked from the table near the tent wall, Applebloom quickly sat up.

        "What are you doing?" Applejack remarked.

        "I have to see what it is," Applebloom said. "It'll only be a couple seconds." Then, she was out the flap, much to the dismay of Applejack.

        The first thing Applebloom noticed was the wind. It instantly and brutally crashed into her frame, Applebloom shaking as her eyes watered. Her stitches began to reopen, and she cringed at the unpleasant feeling. After a few seconds of recollecting herself, she could muster up the eye power to steal a glance up.

        As expected, there was a massive tornado outside the camp. Ponies, both dressed in military attire and undressed, were running around her. Some gave her nods of recognition as they ran past, some glanced confused at her beaten face, and some completely ignored her. Tents everywhere were being nailed down or just plain rolled up.

        All in all,  just a normal drill for an average tornado, made by their pegasi for an unknown reason.

        But the mare knew it was much more than that. Applebloom, after a quick look at the wind-beaten tent behind her, slunk off to the edge of the camp, in the direction of the tornado.

        Deep down, she knew this had something to do with Deacon.