To serve and slay the Sun and Moon

To serve the Sun and Moon

Part 1

She always said I should keep a diary, but first some explaining. My name is Mic, it is usually followed by the title ‘the microphone’ but not for much longer. This I hope will explain why I am going to do it. This is 7 months ago now, well here I go.

17 November

I lay there, looking at the dirty roof of my small one pony room thinking about politics, how us earth ponies were screwed over so often. We were the inventors for this great nation, but couldn't fight in its great wars.
I flicked my red and brown tail at some flies in my hot room. We were in the north desert, it was my first day but I could already tell it was going to be a scorching 3 weeks.
I love my gift, the art of music, but sometimes I feel a bit useless. I wish I could be out with the wonder bolts or the majestic 3, fighting the never ending horde from the Order of Discord. I hum a few bars of music and grabbed a pencil in my teeth and wrote some words down to a commissioned song, from the princess no less but I am on a very tight leash. It has to be positive. The whole "smile people, we are winning the war" kind of jazz. I don't much like it, but it puts food on the table.
It’s not all bad here, I get to hear the war news untainted by any propaganda and censorship. We are only just winning according to the propaganda so yeah, we are kind of in a tight spot. We just have to hope Discord has another killing spree in his own army just to show them whose boss, then we may have a hope.
Anyway up to dinner.
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In the army camp I got to the mess tent and ate at the 'special guest table'. It's more the 'don't hear military secrets' table, so it is particularly boring. I think I’ll take up the lovely desert chefs’ offer. So now I’ll just go in late and eat with the cooks and chefs.

24 November

I've been here a week and I can safely say that I only leave my room for food and that's the best time of the day. The chefs are all a great bunch, but I have taken a shine to one of them. Her name is Berry Punch, a beautiful purple pony with a dark purple mane.
She is the desert cook and let’s just say that the Hearth Warming Eve cake only gets half the brandy it deserves, but we have fun talking about life before the war. She grew up in a small town called Ponyville, yes the very same that Wing Commander first class Rainbow Dash comes from. I told her of my time in Trottingham and growing up there. We are slowly getting closer, but I'm just not sure with us being this close to the front line whether it's a good idea. Any way it will be fun while it lasts.
So far I have written 2 generic up beat songs, a 'we'll get the neatherlings on the run' type of song and a sombre war march regarding the death of Twilight Sparkle, the element of magic and leader of the majestic 7 (the primary generals of the unicorn division). It's been a hard few days and we shall be moving on soon, to the east in the mountains where the Wonderbolts and the EFC (Equestria Flying Corps) are holding up the griffin boarder. We had for the most part had peace with the empire of leoavian, but now they are in severe food shortage and sooner or later they will invade.
It started to rain a few minutes ago. It's a miracle, maybe luck is on our side.

December 19

It's been heavy rain nonstop for just under a week, we tried to get out but the road has been washed away. Right now I'm stuck in a room in the largest storm I have ever been in. There was a new assault today, the neatherlings now have blades for arms so some pore pony has to invent light battle armour. Me and all the other useless ponies are kept in hear for our safety but I think they don't want us to see the true horrors of the war that they won't show us.

The room is an old shed that has been made into a make shift sleeping quarters. I got kicked out of mine when a new general came to replace twilight. He was a light yellow unicorn named Lord Mustard. He was more the sit in the tea room and send his "good 'ole chaps" to fight this wonderful war.
Earlier I Went over and sat on the sleeping berry punch. she said something but it was nonsensical I poked her with my hoof, nothing I proceeded to start rubbing her face with my charcoal crimson tail. She pulled her head back and gave a yawn and decided to take my tail between her teeth and gives it a tug.
“Hey I was dreaming of you, why did you have to go and wake me up”.
I gave a quite chuckle and told her to keep down. That was rule 23 in the grand army, no internal relationships. While I was not in the army should have made it ok but the good wing commander took me aside and gave me a stern warning that if
“I were to give the troops something to jealous about, it would not go down well with the general” who would probably cancel my shows meaning suddenly no way of lifting the soldiers spirits and no food for me. But I am never one for rules anyway, every time for the last 3 weeks when I came to do my shows in the north my bed was never slept in and also technically neither was hers but it looked a lot worse for wear.

We have not known each other very long but in times of war it’s now or never. We have a spoken agreement that if we got out alive from this hell hole we would toast bread together and try to start a family in the south, right on the coast where we would not get invaded. We keep telling ourselves this but slowly I am beginning to suspect that this will never happen.

25 December

This bloody war is really just the higher ups fault, Discord just wants these marshes that we took from him in the great purge 70 years ago. I say we just give them to him. I have Been trying here 3 and a half weeks trying to get out of this land forsaken by Celestia herself.
Us normals have started to be treated a lot worse these last few weeks. We are now common pack mules working 15 hours on, 8 off. No fancy food any more, only the head chef cooks now with what small unknown tree he finds in this rain swept desert. We all now carry artillery and ammunition to the front lines.
Fairy floss was the first civilian causality she was taking a saddlebag of mines to Sargent Brussels and one went off. The good General said it was a damn shame she wasn't shot because then they would still have a saddlebag of mines. From that moment on I had no respect of my country or its pointless war.
I am right now taking a break from my planning to escape; yes that's what it's come to. We are just slaves for this great nation. I asked Berry if she wants to come but she is a bit apprehensive. She thinks we should stay and help the fighters. She just nipped out to go get a bottle of brandy from the secret pantry. We may as well still celebrate hearths warming trying to forget the horrors of this was while trying to keep the memories of our lost friends.

26 December

She is dead. Only writing about it lessens the pain.
This morning she woke up early for her shift taking ammunition to the front. I went back to sleep after she kissed me good bye. I could still taste the alcohol in her mouth but did not say anything about it. She wandered off and I went back to sleep.
There was a knock at about 3 I sleepily walked over to the door to answer. It was Corporal Chalk."it greaves me to tell you, but miss berry punch was killed today. A misfire from a private hit her in the back of the head when she was returning after her second shift." he looked and spoke in a whisper "my condolences sir, she was a good friend."
I stared blankly and asked one question "who fired the fatal blow?" I could feel my main slowly unravelling and my mind slowly twisting. He gulped and shook his head.
I repeated myself and he finally gave in "it was private Butterscotch."
I did not answer I just slammed the door and downed the half bottle of brandy that was left from last night’s fun and thought.
End part one
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