Can I Trust you?by aFluffyGuyChaptersFront And Center: Chapter 1 - The New KidsFront And Center: Chapter 2 - A Morning FlightFront And Center: Chapter 3 - A Life on the LineFront And Center: Chapter 1 - The New KidsI slowly trot down the front trench to check up on the recruits that has arrived a couple of days ago, noticing the rows of sandbags adorning the top of the dugout that provides an extra layer of protection for us as I head down further to the left. The front is quiet for the most part, save for the occasional riflepony who decides to take a couple of rounds across the field, not really having much luck reaching the other side. I find it pointless to take pot-shots, accomplishing only wasted bullets on a crater-covered dirt canvas that can probably be displayed on a museum in the "modern art" section if it were taken at a bird's eye view. I cannot understand how ponies can be captivated by those black-line-across-a-ten-foot-canvas paintings they call art. With my daydreaming making the quarter-mile trip through the trench feel like nothing, I can make out the rank-signifying patches of the recruits a few feet from me. Apparently they are too focused staring at the dirt field ahead of them to notice me. I give the recruit, who I am next to, a tap on the shoulder as he's peering out through the barrier. I expect this bunch to be a bit jumpy from sudden provocation, preparing to take a step back as they let themselves go. But this company is different, or at least this pony as he casually turns his head to the right to see me. He takes immediate notice of me and brings himself into a crisp salute. "Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?" "At ease, soldier," he obediently lowers his hoof. "I just came here to check up on you and the recruits. How are you guys doing anyways?" I say in a affable tone. "I'm doing fine- I mean, we're doing fine, sir. For the most part." His self correction makes me curious. I lifted an eyebrow. "May I ask why did you correct yourself?" "I'm sorry?" says the recruit, a bit confused, raising an eyebrow himself. "Well I don't mean to be rude, but you did stop mid sentence to change what you just said. I'm just wondering why did you do that. And ease up!" I mention giving him a pat on the shoulder, because I notice he's locking his knees and sticking his chest out and being all formal like what they showed him. While I do like seeing others give me respect, I quite enjoy having a casual conversation with others that seem like a good pony, like this one for example, as I tend to do so with the new guys. As what the academy teaches them won't really matter when the front lines boils down to experience. And some are really stingy when it comes to regulations. I continue. "The problem is, when the new guys like you see me in the front like this, they tend to act nervous. I didn't come here just to scare the new guys: the front alone is a big enough scare." I wave to the nopony's land in font of us. "Think of me as a friend, alright? You could say I'm one of the, 'easier-going" lieutenants so you don't need to be so formal around me. Especially here in the front." I can see him relax a bit, his straight posture easing into the natural curves that a pony would always have. "Oh, well. You see sir, Sergeant Graph has been yelling at us for not addressing the company as a whole and that were doing it at an individual standpoint, specifically when we're together." His talking, starting to be less monotone, finally has some emotion behind it. "Sergeant Graph, huh?" I say with a huff. "Did he give you any punishments for doing that?" "Well once," he answers. "And?" "Uh.. he made me crawl through the mud a few times by myself. And then I had to run a few laps after that." "Did you collapse?" "Almost." I put a hoof to my snout in frustration sighing all the while. "Don't worry. I'm not mad at you," I clarify with a subtle wave with my fake headache-suppressing hoof, and back to what it was doing, assuming he thinks I'm upset at him for almost collapsing. "That guy, really has to stop," I say under my breath. "Um... sir?" He asks me. "Yes?" I say, springing up from my contemplation. "May I ask who would that be?" Overhearing my out loud thinking "Take a guess," I say flatly. "Graph?" "Mmhm," I say with a nod. "Ya know why?" "Why?" "He's been doing that for the past two months since he's been assigned as one of the drill sergeants. And he's getting worse from what you told me." I explain. "He's been managing to get several of the recruits to pass out and, after they could walk again, come to me to tell me after their session, 'Sergeant Graph is too hard on us.' And my favorite on is, "Oh my gosh, Graph is the meanest pony I've ever met. He's been making us run and run and run through the whole place! I mean were not going to be running a marathon out in the trenches!'" Saying the last quote in what seems to be nowadays, a teenager's tone. He starts to grin as I notice the corners of his lips pulling up. "Don't worry, you can laugh." But he chooses to still be a bit reserve. I continue, "But that was the first instance of that happening. And do you know what I told him?" I point a hoof at him. "Uh, what sir?" He asks. "I told him, 'well if you're not too busy complaining all the time, telling me your whole life story, maybe you can appreciate what he's doing when you're running that marathon during a charge.' And the way he said it really ticked me off. And I'm not usually like that. Well, I guess I better spare you of my life story. And I'll go check on the others." After noticing myself talking too much. I tend to do that sometimes. "No sir, I wasn't bothered at all," he reassures me. "I quite enjoyed that story," he says with a chortle. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Take care and stay safe, kid." "Thank you sir. Will do sir," I see him give me a quick salute in my peripheral, and returns to peeping through the hole he peered out before. I continue going down the lane, meeting most if not all the recruits, checking up on their status. Most of them are a little bit nervous being in the front, worrying about shells and such things they can't see coming. A typical response to those who spent only two days in the front. I am surprised not one of them has snapped in their time here, but I guess it's from the lack of heat from the griffons. I think of the few back at the last time I was here. Rocking in the corner of the covered parts of the trench. Poor guys I think as I stray not too far away from the recruits. I decide this is good enough and I find a comfortable and well protected place in the walls of the trench, fairly near the recruits that I just checked on just in case if they need me, and close my eyes and I slowly drift to sleep. Most of my dreams a while back consisted of nightmares from the front. Dodging the explosive power of shells only to get hit by one and wake up, breathing heavily with the feeling of cold sweat clinging onto me. It happens still, not as intense, but this dream in particular isn't one of those. My mind slowly wakes from its peaceful sleep; enjoying what memories of a dream it still has left as the vibrant colors of mysterious wonders slowly blotch out into black, and leaves me under the veil of darkness beneath my eyelids as I toss and turn under the blanket and get a few more minutes of sleep. Everything is quiet: no distant shells going off, the cracking of rifles, or machine guns barking. Everything was peaceful. A little too peaceful. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks: I'm not suppose to be sleeping on a bed nor should I not be hearing the absence of war. I threw the blanket sprawling to the other end and spring up; propping myself on one elbow and snapping my head around the room to see where I am. Instead of finding myself in the trenches of the battlefield, I see instead a quaint bedroom embellished with bookshelves and wooden decor. All dimmed by the curtains blocking out the rays of the sun. I rub my eyes to clear the haziness in my vision, as well as the confusion I have when I woke up in the first place, and I think about how did I get here. Is the war over? Did we win? Or... did we lose, and I'm being held captive? No. I shouldn't be a captive: they don't provide them with such luxury as this. I have to find out what is going on and where I am. I think to myself, slowly sitting up on the side of the bed just in case if I am injured, feeling drowsy from what seems to be a long nap and after a few seconds or so, slowly made my way across the room to the door, being ever so quiet as if my enemies are behind this door waiting for me to come out. I don't think I'm injured: I'm walking perfectly fine. I think to myself, pressing my hooves a bit harder than usual to the ground, hearing the wooden floor bend beneath me, further proving my able body. Why am I here then If I'm not hurt? I twist the brass knob, suppressing my paranoia, and push the door open, letting the hinges let off a quiet creak as I go through. I squint at the sudden change of luminosity from the several windows that happily accepts the sun's blinding light. A few moments after my eyes stop hurting, I glance around the perimeter that appears to be the living room; with a few sofas and a nice coffee table in the middle. And I cautiously make my way though the set, and into the kitchen, noticing a wall of wooden-framed glass at the other end, revealing the lush meadows behind it. I couldn't help but bask in its nature but I still don't know what's making me so anxious, but I suppose it's from me waking up here in the first place. How did I get here anyways? I think as I idly walk pass the dining table and unlatch the hook of the glass door and step into the awning-covered balcony. Everything is so quiet. So pretty. So, peaceful. It makes me feel foreign but at the same time, makes me feel like I belong here in this lone home, set near an unbelievable location of beach, meadow, and forest. And I am enjoying every second of it, placing my hooves on the wooden hoof rails and closing my eyes feeling the sun bathe me in its warmth, breathing in the cool spring air. "Awake already?" comes a mare's voice from behind. I quickly turn my head around to further address the anonymous mare behind me. But the mare I see isn't anonymous at all, no. She is familiar; very familiar. "Sis?" I call to her, questioning my right of mind. "Mmhm," she confirms with a nod, and gives me a warm smile as she starts to walk into the balcony. I stand in disbelief as it has been so long since I've seen her: about three years as we parted ways after we graduated. Her pursuing her engineering dreams in Cloudsdale, and me wanting to join the military. Everything was nice back then: we use to send each other mail about how we're doing, saying we miss each other so much and we should meet up after I'm finished with my training. It was great and all, was even a lieutenant after a while in the military, but the real scare was when there were reports on the radio saying that we waged war with the griffon kingdom due to our elements of harmony being stolen by them. I was called to action before me and my sister could even meet up, and I had to send a letter saying that I'm sorry that we couldn't meet up, and possibly we might not even see each other again due to me being sent to war. It was probably the hardest thing I could have done. And now she's here with me in the middle of nowhere. Apparently my face shows that as she is concerning about my mood. "Everything alright?" She asks me. "Yeah," I say in a huff. "I'm fine. I'm just having some thoughts about some things," I try in an attempt to mollify her. She brightens up a little, but not completely satisfied, from my reply. "Want to talk about it? I'm sure it'll make you feel better if you do." She puts a comforting hoof on my shoulder as we stand side by side facing the meadows. I take a deep breath in contemplation. "I guess it's because I missed you so much, and now were here together in what seems like nowhere," I say to her as I stare at a bird flying from the forest, chirping a little quip every so often, as it looks like it's flying to me. "Well I don't blame ya: we never seen each other in three years. And that's too long for two siblings to never see each other. Again, possibly." She says, trying to comfort me. "... I guess you're right" "You're not alone ya know. When I got the letter saying that were not going to meet, and possibly not meet again, I was sad. Cried even. Because... well... I hate to see you go without even saying goodbye to me." She looks like she is going to cry, and I bring her into a hug to quell those possible tears. At first she just accepts the hug, sniffling as this is the first time in a long time since we hugged, but eventually, she hugs me back. "Shh... don't worry, I'm here; I'm alive." I start to slowly rock her as she started to cry openly, humming a song that me and my sister use to listen to when our parents use to rock us to sleep. Even though I was comforting her, it was comforting me too as this was my sister I'm trying to calm down. It reminds of the times we were together. But also unnerves me because it reminds me of the few soldiers I had to comfort when they snapped in the front lines. It was scary for both me and them. They wanted to go home, they didn't want to die, saying how pointless the war was. And I don't blame them: why start a war over the rumor of a faction stealing the elements of harmony? I know they're missing but what caused them to suddenly turn to the griffons and not somepony else? And all I could do for the poor stallions was to hug them on the shoulder and wait for them to come to their senses. On some occasions I would do what I am doing to my sister now, to them. It was a little embarrassing for me to do that; I even got teased by some of my comrades about how I'm their foalsitter or something. But I warned them if they were ever in that position, I'm not going to come singing to their rescue. But all in all they were my good friends in the war, so we had a good laugh. After a few minutes my sister calms down, and we break the hug. "Thanks. I needed that," she says, wiping a tear from her eye. It's been so long since I've been this happy to see anypony again, and for once in a long time I actually give a smile. She smiles back to me too through a few hiccups. I give her another hug as I feel like she is reluctant to break the first hug. We embrace in silence, hearing the wind whistling in my ear. Then I hear another whistle, not from the wind, but from a bird that was on the railing a few inches from us. We jump a little as it was rather loud and we look at what looks to be a cardinal. The bird gives another little tune, not very afraid of us as it has all the rights to not be. I turn to him and meet him at eye level, holding a hoof out for the musical little tune to perch on and the bird gladly took it. I bring him closer to my face to inspect this flying beauty. "Isn't he cute sis?" I turn to my sister. But she wasn't there anymore. "Sis?" I call out again, scanning inside the house to see if she's there. I turn back to the cardinal. "Do you know where my sister is?" I ask the bird as if he knows what I'm saying. He lets out another whistle, but it wasn't that of a bird would normally do, more of a held out whistle, slowly bending pitch downward. I raise an eyebrow. "You alright there buddy?" I ask him, who was still holding out the descending pitch. I start to feel colder all of a sudden. What's going on? Where is my sister? Why is the bird whistling like that? The whistling starts to get louder, making my ears hurt. "Hey! Cut that out!" I say covering them. The cardinal didn't listen and continues his ear-piercing whistle. And I can still hear it loud and clear. My heart started to race all of a sudden. My eyes frantically darting around the environment, and finally back at the cardinal. I then listen to his whistling. Wait a second... that isn't a bird's whistle. My eyes shrink to pinpricks as the whistling is nothing of a bird. Then a deafening zing! flies out of the cardinal. My eyes shoot open again from another sleep and then I realize what is going on. It is all a dream. Then a booming explosion goes off. And I'm sent flying through the air. Front And Center: Chapter 2 - A Morning FlightThe morning airfield was filled with the mixture of steel, gasoline, and flowers as I remembered it being. And it hasn't changed ever since, except I'm now flying into war instead of practice. I can feel the butterflies in my stomach as I'm soon going to pilot the airplane above my enemy's base to take some pictures for reconnaissance. A simple task in mind, but when accounting for the several rows of machine guns committed to anti-air, it's anything but. "Colvan, you ready for this?" Comes a voice next to me. I snap out of my dreaded daydreaming and turn to my friend who looks a bit tired from the early wake up. "It looks like you might need some coffee my friend," I tease him, trying to shrug the task ahead off. "Well you shouldn't be laughing: this is a solo mission you're flying," he said in repartee, pointing a claw at me. "Because If there's too many of us, they'll take immediate notice. And you're the best pilot out of the bunch." "Well what happens if something were to go wrong?" I ask him, a little bit afraid of the "if"s. "Well what if? You got wings, a beak, claws, and a gun. You can take care of yourself: you're not a kid anymore," he reassures me, pointing out the various body parts that I'm more than well aware of. "Yeah. Thanks for the anatomy lesson but I think I have to go," I say to him, feeling a bit more confident in the task as I take note of my several ways of escape and defense, "thanks for the pep talk by the way." "No worries," he says, giving me a little wave as I walk towards the plane. With a flap of my wings I take to the air and sit myself on the plane, adjusting my goggles. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down while I wait for the signal. After a few minutes, a griffon appears and starts to direct me to the strip. I flip a few switches on the dashboard and the plane rumbles to life. The propellers start to spin faster and faster into the growling that gives the plane its signature sound, sending clouds of dust into the air. I increase the throttle enough to make the plane start to move forward. And I slowly make my way through the airfield and into the strip, stopping when I reached the start. After one final check of the systems, I'm ready for takeoff. I swallow the lump in my throat. Here we go. Then I see the griffon give me the "go." I put the plane into full throttle and the machine drives further through the strip, picking up speed. The world around starts to zoom past me. I feel myself pressing into the back of the seat as I close in on the proper speed. After I'm about a third of the strip, I slowly tilt the nose of the plane up, feeling the wheels pick up off the ground and the wings catching the air, making the plane wobble on its ailerons as it steadies itself. The rumbling ceases. And now I have liftoff. I pull the nose up a bit more and I feel another force pushing me down into the plane as I'm climbing higher into the skies and it feels like I weigh much more; a typical experience for me as I have done this several times in training, but I can't help shake the feeling of something else that's pushing me down that's making me so anxious. A few minutes after, I level out on the plane as soon as I reached the appropriate height, feeling the chilly air of the high altitude bite at me. It's about an hour from here to their base, so I might as well try and relax. As I notice myself already tense. I try to take a few deep breaths to drive the nervous energy elsewhere but the whipping wind keeps choking me every time I try to get even a little sip of air into my lungs. Not to mention accidentally swallowing a bug. Ugh. After what seems like forever, the forest beneath me opens up into the shell-riddled dirt field that is the war zone. At the moment I am flying over my comrades; I just hope they don't shoot at me my mistake, thinking I'm an enemy due to this model being for stealth which blends with the skies of blue, but I assume they're too busy fighting down below to notice me anyways. The plane starts to shake as I'm start to experience some turbulence from the headwinds of the field and I descend a little bit to alleviate the shaking, watching the several rows of trenches pass under me. After our front lines pass behind me, I'm flying over the no-pony's land: the area between the two opposite trenches where of course, no pony, or griffon, should go as it is riddled with shell holes and death. Like one of my friends say, "out of the trench you peek your head, under a minute you're as good as dead." I take the camera out of the compartment next to me and hold it in my talons, spinning the reel to charge a shot. But now, I'm thinking about things as I'm inspecting the photograph device: is it really true that the ponies did, in fact, stole our artifact? I heard it in the news, but the evidence wasn't corroborating to the ponies being the ones at the fuse, as if it were intentional. Could it be? That they were framed? When I put that thought into heart, all my doubts about being in the army comes back in full as I'm tempted to hurl the camera off the plane in exercise of how pointless this war really is. So many lives are lost because of a stupid notion that the ponies were the ones who stole our prized artifact; the priceless symbol that signified our independence as the Griffon Kingdom. No doubt we had the rights to be mad. But to then immediately turn around and wage war back to them within a day because they thought we stole their elements of harmony instead of being civil and discuss the matter? It's ridiculous. Even if we have our despise to them. That was ages ago! We shouldn't be keeping such hatred to them. Maybe... maybe I shouldn't have joined the army at all. I should have stayed home with ma' and help her around the house and live a happy life. Maybe finally ask the girl I have a crush on out on a date. But instead, I abandoned them and now I'm here, supporting this war. What am I going to tell her? That I killed a whole bunch of ponies because a griffon told me to and you should be proud of me? No! ma' would never be proud. And my love would probably hate me. Heck I would be lucky if ma' would let me back home and even then, she would hate me forever, coming home a murderer and not the child she once cared and loved for. She would be devastated. And I would be too. I feel depressed. Maybe it isn't too late. Maybe I can just turn around and say there was too much heat from them and I couldn't take the picture. They'll believe me. Right? You know what: I'll just take one picture and that's it. I'm going back home to ma' after I'm through with this mess. Yeah. Through my few hours of contemplation killing all that travel time, I'm about twenty or so miles from their base, and I'm now crossing through their lines; where the machine guns are. Best of luck, myself. I say in my head. And as if by coincidence, a spray of bullets zoom past me, sending my adrenaline through the roof, which made me send the engine into overdrive, moving as fast as I can through their rows of trenches and into their base, avoiding the bullets, and get this over with. Can't I just turn back now? I think to myself, already regretting that I'm risking my life over a picture. A picture. How pointless am I. I hear a few bullets pierce the hull of the plane but my head is too busy throbbing so hard that I feel like my head would burst to even notice that it not only pierced the body, but through the fuel tank. And even my wings, barely missing my vitals. But I didn't even notice the pain as I fly past the effective range of the machine guns, and closing in on their base. Thankfully I didn't burn out the engines through that bullet rain as they sound fine when I put them back into the normal throttle. I unholster the camera again and with shaky claws, I take the shot of their base. It got a good amount of the field for the generals to get a good look of what they're dealing with. Time to go home. And into safety I think to myself as I prepare to turn around. But a few more sprays of bullets from who knows where manages to land on the plane again. Suddenly, the engine stops. And the propellers with its last few rotations die out. I quickly assess the damage: four bullets near the base of the left wing connecting to the hull, and I'm out of fuel; been out of fuel. Great. Now I'm left with a plane with a damaged left wing on a spiraling crash course to the base grounds. Things can't get any worse as the heavy pumping of my heart makes its reappearance. Making me start to panic once again. I desperately try to unbuckle the belt and spread my wings so I can escape from this soon to be crash. But as I open my wings, searing pain shot through them and I let out a terrible cry of pain as I try to cope with the stabbing in my wings, as well as an entry in my shoulder as I felt the pain from that when I tried to open the belt. All that I can do now, Is to close my eyes and sit and wait for me to die. Ma', I'm sorry... I'm not coming home. I'm going somewhere else that I will soon call home. I'm sorry that I couldn't keep the promise I made. The promise. Of coming back alive. I can't die now by giving up this easily I say to myself, clenching my jaw to try and suppress the pain. It helps, but not a whole not. I look at the altitude meter on the dashboard. Eight hundred feet till I hit the ground. I still have time! I take immediate action, ignoring the almost unbearable pain from my left shoulder, and pull back at the handle as hard as I can. I scream at the top of my lungs from both the pain and my now undying will reemerging I feel the plane start to level. But now the major problem is that I have too much speed. And I'm only a hundred feet from the ground. Then I hear a loud snap! And I see the left wing of the plane, tumbling away as the bullet holes made it too fragile for the stress that I gave it. And I think now is the time that I would die. I'm sent spiraling towards the ground. I stare at the altitude meter, along with the world spiraling without it, reaching critical heights: Fifty feet. Forty feet. Thirty feet. Twenty feet. Ten feet. And here is where I will say I'm going to die. The plane lands with a horrific crash! and I black out. My life is over. My goals, my dreams, my happiness. All gone in this one instance. I think I would never wake up again. Never see those I love. And the one I love. But some divine force, denies me of death, and my eyes gingerly open again to the blurry world I see. I'm alive... I'm alive! I yell in my head, tears streaming down my face as I get to see the light of life again. But my self-rejoice is short lived as I hear several hoofsteps closing in on me. And the next thing I could make is an image of a pony in front of me. I look around to see where I am. Apparently the force was enough to send me several feet from the plane itself, but all I can make of the world is one big fuzz as I'm laying on the dirt ground. My eyes adjusts its focus back to him, and I see something else that comes into vision: a rifle. And I'm staring straight down the barrel of it. I wish I had never opened my eyes. And fresh new tears rolled down my cheeks as here is another instance of death. And I don't think luck is with me anymore. But he didn't shoot me, or, hasn't yet. Instead, he lowers his rifle and turns to the others around him. I hear him say something but my ears are ringing and everything was just a blur once more as my eyes give up on focusing. He closes in on me and puts a hoof on my left shoulder. It hurt, but I'm too busy trying to keep conscious to barely notice the pain. He slowly backs away and I hear him give orders to the other solders around him. I see a brown satchel thrown to him and he quickly puts it on and closes in on me again. I feel him pick me up by my right arm. It felt painful, but at least it isn't unbearable. I try to resist, pulling away with what little strength I have left that isn't trying to keep me awake, but I let out a groan of pain as a stabbing pain shoots through my lower back instead. I hope I'm not paralyzed I worry to myself as I can't bear to imagine coming home on a wheelchair. But I guess it's better me than a graveyard lot on a letter. I am now at his mercy and I let out another grunt as he puts me on his back. Another voice calls to him, I think. And I can finally hear what he is saying in reply. "Somewhere safe. As you were, soldiers." And a few seconds later, we are off into the air. And I can see the world around me growing smaller and then flies past me. What's going to happen now? Am I going to be left somewhere out in the forest to die like this? Am I going to be tortured until I tell them intel about things I have no idea about? The thoughts scare me, and I let out a terrified whimper. I hear him quietly shush me. "Don't worry: you're going to be fine. Just stay with me okay?" I hear him say to me. And I could feel our speed picking up. His voice sounds calming, like he was going to take care of me. Or is it false hope, and he's going to bring me somewhere that I will never see the day of light again? I couldn't think what will happen or what said safe place would be. And I can't think what will happen as I start to see spots in my vision. And I slowly slip back into the void. Front And Center: Chapter 3 - A Life on the LinePiles of dirt are sent flying through the air. And from the force of the impact, sends me flying several feet above the ground. I feel like I'm stunned from the explosion as if my body is recovering still from the shock wave. I worry about the shell fragments that has entered my body, possibly through my spine which probably is the reason for my limp feeling - I hope that isn't true. I hit the ground, hard, knocking the wind out of me as I'm left lying on the trench ground, desperately gasping for air. I can hear the bullets flying over me and guns banging in my head; it starts to hurt. I think my wounds are worse than I thought they would be, I think through my blurry vision as I carefully inspect my limbs for any type of harm from the explosion and if I need to call for medical assistance, hoping there is no need for me to such thing and that they're on their way. I gingerly test my limbs to see if there is any broken bones, because of the absence of topical lacerations or as from what I can tell since I'm covered in muck, struggling to pick up my left hind leg, then I move to my right, and finally my forehooves. After a second check, I let a sigh of relief after the pain from my tested hooves fail to register in my brain. Oh thank Celestia, I thought. I'm not harmed. But I am not ready to get up and go because I can breathe only to the equivalent of an asthmatic pony who ran too much. I can hear a pair of hoofsteps, gradually getting louder. It's the medics coming for me, probably. Then I realize that others may be hurt, and I try to turn my head see if there was anypony else who was also hit by the same shell. But the zigzagged design of the trenches prevents me from doing so. The thought about others being in worse condition than I, makes me worried as I cannot help but think that there are others dead because of this one shell. A few of my friends even died because of them. And from the two ponies that are carrying a stretcher, as they turn the corner, confirmed my thoughts of help coming my way. Through my hazy vision, I can see them lay out the stretcher before me. I feel myself become weightless as I'm being slowly levitated onto the fabric. And a few moments later I'm lifted with the stretcher, and quickly moving through the trench. For the first time, passing through the trenches was a bit frightful. Looking up into the sky and hearing only the gunshots and distant explosions. I am beginning to question how did I not lose my sanity for the weeks I spent here. I let that thought linger in my mind as I slip into the unconsciousness of sleep, entering the world of my dreams. Everything I see is a blur. Not knowing where I am at the moment, but my vision starts to respond. A few seconds later, I can make out the shapes around me. And eventually what I am standing in front of. I can see the few two-story buildings that make up this fence-bordered complex. As well as a few stray buildings around them. The asphalt that I am standing on is cracked. And the white paint that was on it, stripped and weathered away. I can feel the cool air enveloping me as I notice the lack of distinct shadows that usually adorn the trees and buildings around me. I stare at the sky that now took the look of a cloudy gray, and it seems to me that it's going to rain. My mind was tired and weak from this war that I didn't bother to notice that I'm dreaming. Choosing not to take control. And simply roam around in the imagination of my brain, wondering what's next around the corner. But I didn't wait for the overcast to identify itself as rain or harmless dark clouds, and I make my way through the lot. And under the breezeway. I quietly saunter down the covered pillars, passing by a couple of familiar buildings on my way to where I think I'm going. Everything was so quiet. Not hearing the hum of silence. Nothing. As if sound needn't to make an appearance in this place. I can see ,through the silence, another building. The library. I wonder, why the library? But I am not in control of my legs anymore. I let them bring me into the library entrance, and into the lobby where I notice the glass display in the wall is empty of contents. Usually, this place is full of students, wanting or not wanting to learn, that hang around this area. But the only thing that is hanging around here now is the silence of my own heartbeat, as I peer through the library doors and start to make out the shadow of a figure. Who could that be? I wonder to myself. I see the figure turn to me in the darkness. "Brother?" says the all-too-familiar voice. I can even hear her smile from her tone. My ears perk up to hear her voice. "Sister!" I cry out, letting her know it's me. And I start to run to the door. My hoof was about to touch the handle of the door when suddenly an ear-piercing screech breaks the still air. And I can see something from a distance come crashing through the glass entrance, scattering the glass shards all over the floor. And then the blurry figure lands dangerously near me with a loud thump!. The blurry figure, it turns out, is a shell. Right before it explodes. And I wake up again snapping the half of my body up, eyes wide open to take in the tent walls that surrounded me, along with a couple of others that are probably in worse shape than I am. I can feel my heart pounding and I take a couple of breaths to calm myself. Don't worry: it was just a dream, I say in my head as I'm further surveying the camp infirmary. But the dry feeling in my throat makes me start scanning for any water instead, wondering how long I was out for me to be this thirsty. I manage to find one sitting next to me and without hesitation I grab the drink and drain the glass of its life-giving liquid, quenching my thirst. With that settled I start to focus at the empty glass in my hoof, starting to let my thoughts wander about. Why am I starting to think about my sister? I never had those thoughts before until recently. Is it a sign that I have to go back home? To see her? Is she in danger? I let those thoughts go through the back of my head as I uncover the bed sheet that I'm under to survey the damage of my body. There isn't any gauze anywhere on me as I can see my soft uninterrupted coat flushing perfectly with my body. "Glad to see you awake Lieutenant," the doctor says cheerfully. I snap out of my daydreaming and stare back at the doctor. He is a purple unicorn wearing a white overcoat and a stethoscope hanging around his neck with a pen and clipboard in his aura. "Why am I here if I'm not injured?" I ask him, going straight to the point with the assumption that I'm fine. He gives me a puzzled look. "Did you look at the bandages wrapped around your head?" Pointing to my head with his pen. "What bandages on my hea-" I stop and drag a hoof across my head. Sure enough, I can feel the fabric of the bandage instead of a tuft of my mane. "You had a fairly large gash on your head - presumably from a shell fragment - I'm impressed that you only have that from a shell," the doctor continues after realizing my injury. "You were out for three days in case you're wondering. So it's safe to take off those bandages." He adds after noticing me picking at my bandages. "So wait: you're telling me that this is the only injury I have?" I ask. "Well beside from a concussion, nothing. Your wings, your limbs, your vitals - possibly your state of sanity - are all fine. So if everything is sorted out, you may go." He starts to write something on his clipboard. "Alright then." I say, a bit unsure. I slowly take the end of the bandage and unwrapped it from my head, feeling the pressure from my bandages slowly dwindle after every round I make. Is this why I didn't wake up? I wonder because of how tight the dressings are. After the last few rolls are unfurled, I shake my head letting my mane fall into its usual style. The doctor makes a last check on my forehead and scribbles something on a piece of paper. "Well it looks like it's fine now," the doctor rips something with his magic which I assume is a discharge slip and levitates it to me. "You're all set." I grab the piece of paper, put on my uniform that was hanging on a hook next to me, and head out the tent. A feeling of relief washes through me knowing that I'm well again, and I walk, without the slightest of pain, through the camp to find my friends at the lunch benches, playing cards. "C'mon! Hit me again!" I hear one of my friends say. I can see the dealer throw down another card, and from the disgruntled groan my friend gives probably means he lost. And from the bits that was tossed around. A bet. "That's another fifty for me boys!" Another one of my buddies exclaimed. I leaned on the shoulder of my losing friend. "Oh. Who are these losers?" I say in play. We always greet each other with such rudeness. "Oh. Who is this patient?" my fifty-bits-less friend retorts, not really in the mood for any witty replies as he usually gives me. "Getting out out the infirmary in three days," I say casually, showing them my slip. "Well that must be some kind of record for you to be showin' us!" I hear the small crowd cheering casually, with their hoof stomping. "Now, now, gentlecolts," pretending to be an Nobel prize winner, with my hoof in the air to quiet the crowd and all. We broke into a round of laughing. I take a seat and we casually continue our time off the front to enjoy what little pleasures life has to offer us. Eating lunch, playing cards, and other things a group of old school pals would do on their weekend. Except we're in the middle of war instead of a movie theater. We start to tell stories about the front. And one specifically makes me laugh in irony due to one of my friends saying, that one of our school buddies in this little story table of ours was out in the front, not really fighting because he was too busy cowering in a corner. And what's more amusing, is that he was the one who teased me about my foalsitting the soldiers out on the front. And this was recent too. I turn to him with a cocky smile, not wanting to wait any longer to rub it in. "See? Not singing to your rescue." "Shutup. I didn't get enough sleep, that's all," he says defensively whilst crossing his hooves. "Suuure," I say, casually leaning closer to him. "But hey, anything happened during the past three days?" I ask the group in seriousness, dropping the teasing. "Not much," one of them replies. "Define, 'not much'," I ask him to specify. "Well we just got a bit more rations to go around. Hence, the larger meal." he waves the tray at me. "Well okay then. But don't expect me to know everything when I'm unconscious." "Aiight," he shrugs. For some reason that touched a nerve on me. But I let my abrupt anger out in a calming exhale and continue on with the general conversation, assuming he probably didn't mean to do that. After a few topics gone over, my friend decides to be the one pony that asks that one age-old question. "So, what are you fellas going to do after this war?" The crowd became quiet. Possibly thinking about what to tell the gang. I can even hear hoofsteps come closer to us. "Well... I'm going back to my lovely mare after this," another one of my schoolmates speaks up "Oh this I have got to hear," I say, turning to him. He was never one with the girls. And for him to get one is a story to hear. By the encouragement from the others, I am not alone on that one. He needn't to begin to speak for me to know he is reluctant to even mention that. "Okay, okay. Well... you see..." he starts to rub the back of his head. "This was a mare... I had a crush on since... high school." The last two words falls upon deaf ears. Save for me, who was sitting right next to him, barely able to hear his whisper. "Well who is the mare you asked in high school, huh?" Nudging him to continue on, reiterating to fill in the blanks for the others. "Ahem." A gruff voice outside the group, halting us of our crush cracking case. We turn around to face the interrupter. From the look of his appearance and patch, the pony was Sergeant Graph. I remember him from a couple of recruits who had the courage to ask me that he was too strict on them. Drilling them over and over again with rigorous courses. Usually I don't pay much attention to them but after more instances started to occur, it really got me curious. And apparently he doesn't notice me at the moment, and I haven't address the issue yet. So now would seem like a good time to do that. "So. Why aren't you soldiers already out for training?" He asks in that strict voice he has. The rest turned around to see the neighboring tables, still occupied by others. Another one turned to his watch. "Are you sure sir? Because everypony is here, and the fact that training hasn't even started," the pony to my left explains. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that I gave you permission to speak," he snaps. "I want every pony of you out into the training area in fifteen minutes! That's an order!" "Objection." I say like a persecutor, stamping my hoof on the table, already disliking the sergeant's attitude. Apparently this is what he does on his free time. "And when did you suddenly have the audacity to stand up to me?" Yelling at me. "I would be careful, sergeant, on where you say those words," I warn. "And who would this prince be for whom I should give respect to?" He says behind clenching teeth before realizing my rank in this military. "That prince who you're yelling at, is a lieutenant." I show him my shoulder patch. And like that, his shooting dagger glare immediately changes to one that would be fitting for somepony who just seen a ghost. "I-I'm sorry sir. I wasn't aware you'd be around this area," he fumbles over words to try and reassure me, and ends up giving me a salute. "I had to get these soldiers because somepony in their group decided to act up in training. And that I'm here to give them a punishment," he adds desperately, trying to clear the waters before he himself gets punished for disrespecting an upper. "If that's true, then be careful on what you say to a group of strangers. To a possible battle standpoint, you shot before you even confirmed your target. And you wouldn't want that to possibly stain your rank, right?" I say, savoring the moment. "No sir. I wouldn't want that." "Now. Who is the one that specifically needs to be punished?" changing the subject to give him some breathing room. He points to the pony that was to the left of me. The one who hasn't told me who the mare is yet. I don't like having unanswered questions. And I couldn't help but slightly pull the corners of my lip up in the upcoming punishment I'm going to give. "Him." "Well then, I'll take care of him for you." I turn to the group, not really looking at him specifically, with a smile on my face. And I quickly put a hoof up to my chin to partially obscure the grin I garner as I turn back to the saluting soldier. "Dismissed." He lowers the salute and walks away. "Also, sergeant," I call to him. He turns around to me and quickly trots back to me. "Uh, yes sir?" He says, standing stiff again. "Go easy on the recruits. Because the next time I see another one walk up to me after dismissal, mentioning your over-strictness, you won't be seeing me letting you off this easily." The last bit worries him. "You may go now." And with a wave of a hoof, he departs once more, and a bit more hurriedly . "What was that all about?" The troublemaker asks once the sergeant is out of earshot. "Well let's get to the point," I start, sitting back at my previous position. "You were the one who made him come here and try to punish you guys. But now, I'll do it for him. So you guys are off the hook. Except for you." I point a hoof accusingly at the one to the left of me. "Uh... what are you going to do with me?" He says with a nervous chuckle. "I'll give you the liberty of choosing. You can run two laps around the camp. Or, you can tell us who that mare is. Because I think it's safe to say that we're all curious about who your lover is." "I-I'll take the two laps," he says almost immediately. I spring on that partial enthusiasm. "Really now? Seeing how eager you are to run two laps, I'll go ahead and make that four." I lean on a hoof and near closer to him. I am close But my curiosity is quelled when a screaming of propellers and whistling caught my attention. It wasn't that of a shell, no. When I look about in the camp, nothing around me would give such noise. I turn to the sky, and I can see it from a distance. A plane, spiraling down behind a plume of black smoke. "What's going on?" I say to no one in particular. But the rest of my comrades turned to the skies, also seeing the dying aviation machine. And it's heading straight for us. "Get out!" I yell. And not a moment after everypony clears the area, the plane comes down in a crashing halt. Hearing the mechanical wonder being ripped to ribbons. And I can see a figure, which looks like the pilot, fly out of the plane. I quickly grabbed the nearest rifle, after clearing it of any failures, and ran towards the figure. I hesitate no longer and I point the barrel at the griffon. A griffon? What's he doing here? I think to myself. A small crowd forms around me and the griffon in critical condition. I can hear one of them shout, "shoot him!" But I know it's wrong to kill already wounded soldiers. He doesn't deserve to die. He's just another pawn in this war. Just like me. I lower my rifle. "Someone give me my saddlebag!" I say to the crowd. And one of my friends ran into my tent. A few seconds later he comes back with my bag in his mouth, and tossed it to me. I grab it and quickly put it on, knowing this guy has not much time to live if I don't act fast. I toss the rifle to him in return and I come closer to the griffon. I pat around his shoulder to see if he didn't dislocate any, but I can gingerly feel his left shoulder out of place. I quickly took his right instead and put him on my back. He is quite heavy, but nothing that I can't carry. "What are you doing?" Asks my friend. "I'm bringing him to a hospital. Not this one or else he will be killed here if the others find out." I adjust him on my back, noticing a camera dangling around his neck. Was he taking pictures of our base? I wonder as I open my wings and taking off soon after. I don't have much time, I think. And after I climb high enough, I quickly flap my wings as hard as I can to quickly reach the nearest town. My home town. It's quite a ways but I know they can treat him there. I start to think about my sister, and that I'm going to see her again. I hear the griffon on my back let out a whimper. Poor guy, he must be terrified. "Don't worry: you're going to be fine. Just stay with me okay?" Is all I can say for now as I try and push myself further to save his life.
Front And Center: Chapter 1 - The New KidsI slowly trot down the front trench to check up on the recruits that has arrived a couple of days ago, noticing the rows of sandbags adorning the top of the dugout that provides an extra layer of protection for us as I head down further to the left. The front is quiet for the most part, save for the occasional riflepony who decides to take a couple of rounds across the field, not really having much luck reaching the other side. I find it pointless to take pot-shots, accomplishing only wasted bullets on a crater-covered dirt canvas that can probably be displayed on a museum in the "modern art" section if it were taken at a bird's eye view. I cannot understand how ponies can be captivated by those black-line-across-a-ten-foot-canvas paintings they call art. With my daydreaming making the quarter-mile trip through the trench feel like nothing, I can make out the rank-signifying patches of the recruits a few feet from me. Apparently they are too focused staring at the dirt field ahead of them to notice me. I give the recruit, who I am next to, a tap on the shoulder as he's peering out through the barrier. I expect this bunch to be a bit jumpy from sudden provocation, preparing to take a step back as they let themselves go. But this company is different, or at least this pony as he casually turns his head to the right to see me. He takes immediate notice of me and brings himself into a crisp salute. "Good afternoon, sir. How may I help you?" "At ease, soldier," he obediently lowers his hoof. "I just came here to check up on you and the recruits. How are you guys doing anyways?" I say in a affable tone. "I'm doing fine- I mean, we're doing fine, sir. For the most part." His self correction makes me curious. I lifted an eyebrow. "May I ask why did you correct yourself?" "I'm sorry?" says the recruit, a bit confused, raising an eyebrow himself. "Well I don't mean to be rude, but you did stop mid sentence to change what you just said. I'm just wondering why did you do that. And ease up!" I mention giving him a pat on the shoulder, because I notice he's locking his knees and sticking his chest out and being all formal like what they showed him. While I do like seeing others give me respect, I quite enjoy having a casual conversation with others that seem like a good pony, like this one for example, as I tend to do so with the new guys. As what the academy teaches them won't really matter when the front lines boils down to experience. And some are really stingy when it comes to regulations. I continue. "The problem is, when the new guys like you see me in the front like this, they tend to act nervous. I didn't come here just to scare the new guys: the front alone is a big enough scare." I wave to the nopony's land in font of us. "Think of me as a friend, alright? You could say I'm one of the, 'easier-going" lieutenants so you don't need to be so formal around me. Especially here in the front." I can see him relax a bit, his straight posture easing into the natural curves that a pony would always have. "Oh, well. You see sir, Sergeant Graph has been yelling at us for not addressing the company as a whole and that were doing it at an individual standpoint, specifically when we're together." His talking, starting to be less monotone, finally has some emotion behind it. "Sergeant Graph, huh?" I say with a huff. "Did he give you any punishments for doing that?" "Well once," he answers. "And?" "Uh.. he made me crawl through the mud a few times by myself. And then I had to run a few laps after that." "Did you collapse?" "Almost." I put a hoof to my snout in frustration sighing all the while. "Don't worry. I'm not mad at you," I clarify with a subtle wave with my fake headache-suppressing hoof, and back to what it was doing, assuming he thinks I'm upset at him for almost collapsing. "That guy, really has to stop," I say under my breath. "Um... sir?" He asks me. "Yes?" I say, springing up from my contemplation. "May I ask who would that be?" Overhearing my out loud thinking "Take a guess," I say flatly. "Graph?" "Mmhm," I say with a nod. "Ya know why?" "Why?" "He's been doing that for the past two months since he's been assigned as one of the drill sergeants. And he's getting worse from what you told me." I explain. "He's been managing to get several of the recruits to pass out and, after they could walk again, come to me to tell me after their session, 'Sergeant Graph is too hard on us.' And my favorite on is, "Oh my gosh, Graph is the meanest pony I've ever met. He's been making us run and run and run through the whole place! I mean were not going to be running a marathon out in the trenches!'" Saying the last quote in what seems to be nowadays, a teenager's tone. He starts to grin as I notice the corners of his lips pulling up. "Don't worry, you can laugh." But he chooses to still be a bit reserve. I continue, "But that was the first instance of that happening. And do you know what I told him?" I point a hoof at him. "Uh, what sir?" He asks. "I told him, 'well if you're not too busy complaining all the time, telling me your whole life story, maybe you can appreciate what he's doing when you're running that marathon during a charge.' And the way he said it really ticked me off. And I'm not usually like that. Well, I guess I better spare you of my life story. And I'll go check on the others." After noticing myself talking too much. I tend to do that sometimes. "No sir, I wasn't bothered at all," he reassures me. "I quite enjoyed that story," he says with a chortle. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. Take care and stay safe, kid." "Thank you sir. Will do sir," I see him give me a quick salute in my peripheral, and returns to peeping through the hole he peered out before. I continue going down the lane, meeting most if not all the recruits, checking up on their status. Most of them are a little bit nervous being in the front, worrying about shells and such things they can't see coming. A typical response to those who spent only two days in the front. I am surprised not one of them has snapped in their time here, but I guess it's from the lack of heat from the griffons. I think of the few back at the last time I was here. Rocking in the corner of the covered parts of the trench. Poor guys I think as I stray not too far away from the recruits. I decide this is good enough and I find a comfortable and well protected place in the walls of the trench, fairly near the recruits that I just checked on just in case if they need me, and close my eyes and I slowly drift to sleep. Most of my dreams a while back consisted of nightmares from the front. Dodging the explosive power of shells only to get hit by one and wake up, breathing heavily with the feeling of cold sweat clinging onto me. It happens still, not as intense, but this dream in particular isn't one of those. My mind slowly wakes from its peaceful sleep; enjoying what memories of a dream it still has left as the vibrant colors of mysterious wonders slowly blotch out into black, and leaves me under the veil of darkness beneath my eyelids as I toss and turn under the blanket and get a few more minutes of sleep. Everything is quiet: no distant shells going off, the cracking of rifles, or machine guns barking. Everything was peaceful. A little too peaceful. Then it hits me like a ton of bricks: I'm not suppose to be sleeping on a bed nor should I not be hearing the absence of war. I threw the blanket sprawling to the other end and spring up; propping myself on one elbow and snapping my head around the room to see where I am. Instead of finding myself in the trenches of the battlefield, I see instead a quaint bedroom embellished with bookshelves and wooden decor. All dimmed by the curtains blocking out the rays of the sun. I rub my eyes to clear the haziness in my vision, as well as the confusion I have when I woke up in the first place, and I think about how did I get here. Is the war over? Did we win? Or... did we lose, and I'm being held captive? No. I shouldn't be a captive: they don't provide them with such luxury as this. I have to find out what is going on and where I am. I think to myself, slowly sitting up on the side of the bed just in case if I am injured, feeling drowsy from what seems to be a long nap and after a few seconds or so, slowly made my way across the room to the door, being ever so quiet as if my enemies are behind this door waiting for me to come out. I don't think I'm injured: I'm walking perfectly fine. I think to myself, pressing my hooves a bit harder than usual to the ground, hearing the wooden floor bend beneath me, further proving my able body. Why am I here then If I'm not hurt? I twist the brass knob, suppressing my paranoia, and push the door open, letting the hinges let off a quiet creak as I go through. I squint at the sudden change of luminosity from the several windows that happily accepts the sun's blinding light. A few moments after my eyes stop hurting, I glance around the perimeter that appears to be the living room; with a few sofas and a nice coffee table in the middle. And I cautiously make my way though the set, and into the kitchen, noticing a wall of wooden-framed glass at the other end, revealing the lush meadows behind it. I couldn't help but bask in its nature but I still don't know what's making me so anxious, but I suppose it's from me waking up here in the first place. How did I get here anyways? I think as I idly walk pass the dining table and unlatch the hook of the glass door and step into the awning-covered balcony. Everything is so quiet. So pretty. So, peaceful. It makes me feel foreign but at the same time, makes me feel like I belong here in this lone home, set near an unbelievable location of beach, meadow, and forest. And I am enjoying every second of it, placing my hooves on the wooden hoof rails and closing my eyes feeling the sun bathe me in its warmth, breathing in the cool spring air. "Awake already?" comes a mare's voice from behind. I quickly turn my head around to further address the anonymous mare behind me. But the mare I see isn't anonymous at all, no. She is familiar; very familiar. "Sis?" I call to her, questioning my right of mind. "Mmhm," she confirms with a nod, and gives me a warm smile as she starts to walk into the balcony. I stand in disbelief as it has been so long since I've seen her: about three years as we parted ways after we graduated. Her pursuing her engineering dreams in Cloudsdale, and me wanting to join the military. Everything was nice back then: we use to send each other mail about how we're doing, saying we miss each other so much and we should meet up after I'm finished with my training. It was great and all, was even a lieutenant after a while in the military, but the real scare was when there were reports on the radio saying that we waged war with the griffon kingdom due to our elements of harmony being stolen by them. I was called to action before me and my sister could even meet up, and I had to send a letter saying that I'm sorry that we couldn't meet up, and possibly we might not even see each other again due to me being sent to war. It was probably the hardest thing I could have done. And now she's here with me in the middle of nowhere. Apparently my face shows that as she is concerning about my mood. "Everything alright?" She asks me. "Yeah," I say in a huff. "I'm fine. I'm just having some thoughts about some things," I try in an attempt to mollify her. She brightens up a little, but not completely satisfied, from my reply. "Want to talk about it? I'm sure it'll make you feel better if you do." She puts a comforting hoof on my shoulder as we stand side by side facing the meadows. I take a deep breath in contemplation. "I guess it's because I missed you so much, and now were here together in what seems like nowhere," I say to her as I stare at a bird flying from the forest, chirping a little quip every so often, as it looks like it's flying to me. "Well I don't blame ya: we never seen each other in three years. And that's too long for two siblings to never see each other. Again, possibly." She says, trying to comfort me. "... I guess you're right" "You're not alone ya know. When I got the letter saying that were not going to meet, and possibly not meet again, I was sad. Cried even. Because... well... I hate to see you go without even saying goodbye to me." She looks like she is going to cry, and I bring her into a hug to quell those possible tears. At first she just accepts the hug, sniffling as this is the first time in a long time since we hugged, but eventually, she hugs me back. "Shh... don't worry, I'm here; I'm alive." I start to slowly rock her as she started to cry openly, humming a song that me and my sister use to listen to when our parents use to rock us to sleep. Even though I was comforting her, it was comforting me too as this was my sister I'm trying to calm down. It reminds of the times we were together. But also unnerves me because it reminds me of the few soldiers I had to comfort when they snapped in the front lines. It was scary for both me and them. They wanted to go home, they didn't want to die, saying how pointless the war was. And I don't blame them: why start a war over the rumor of a faction stealing the elements of harmony? I know they're missing but what caused them to suddenly turn to the griffons and not somepony else? And all I could do for the poor stallions was to hug them on the shoulder and wait for them to come to their senses. On some occasions I would do what I am doing to my sister now, to them. It was a little embarrassing for me to do that; I even got teased by some of my comrades about how I'm their foalsitter or something. But I warned them if they were ever in that position, I'm not going to come singing to their rescue. But all in all they were my good friends in the war, so we had a good laugh. After a few minutes my sister calms down, and we break the hug. "Thanks. I needed that," she says, wiping a tear from her eye. It's been so long since I've been this happy to see anypony again, and for once in a long time I actually give a smile. She smiles back to me too through a few hiccups. I give her another hug as I feel like she is reluctant to break the first hug. We embrace in silence, hearing the wind whistling in my ear. Then I hear another whistle, not from the wind, but from a bird that was on the railing a few inches from us. We jump a little as it was rather loud and we look at what looks to be a cardinal. The bird gives another little tune, not very afraid of us as it has all the rights to not be. I turn to him and meet him at eye level, holding a hoof out for the musical little tune to perch on and the bird gladly took it. I bring him closer to my face to inspect this flying beauty. "Isn't he cute sis?" I turn to my sister. But she wasn't there anymore. "Sis?" I call out again, scanning inside the house to see if she's there. I turn back to the cardinal. "Do you know where my sister is?" I ask the bird as if he knows what I'm saying. He lets out another whistle, but it wasn't that of a bird would normally do, more of a held out whistle, slowly bending pitch downward. I raise an eyebrow. "You alright there buddy?" I ask him, who was still holding out the descending pitch. I start to feel colder all of a sudden. What's going on? Where is my sister? Why is the bird whistling like that? The whistling starts to get louder, making my ears hurt. "Hey! Cut that out!" I say covering them. The cardinal didn't listen and continues his ear-piercing whistle. And I can still hear it loud and clear. My heart started to race all of a sudden. My eyes frantically darting around the environment, and finally back at the cardinal. I then listen to his whistling. Wait a second... that isn't a bird's whistle. My eyes shrink to pinpricks as the whistling is nothing of a bird. Then a deafening zing! flies out of the cardinal. My eyes shoot open again from another sleep and then I realize what is going on. It is all a dream. Then a booming explosion goes off. And I'm sent flying through the air.
Front And Center: Chapter 2 - A Morning FlightThe morning airfield was filled with the mixture of steel, gasoline, and flowers as I remembered it being. And it hasn't changed ever since, except I'm now flying into war instead of practice. I can feel the butterflies in my stomach as I'm soon going to pilot the airplane above my enemy's base to take some pictures for reconnaissance. A simple task in mind, but when accounting for the several rows of machine guns committed to anti-air, it's anything but. "Colvan, you ready for this?" Comes a voice next to me. I snap out of my dreaded daydreaming and turn to my friend who looks a bit tired from the early wake up. "It looks like you might need some coffee my friend," I tease him, trying to shrug the task ahead off. "Well you shouldn't be laughing: this is a solo mission you're flying," he said in repartee, pointing a claw at me. "Because If there's too many of us, they'll take immediate notice. And you're the best pilot out of the bunch." "Well what happens if something were to go wrong?" I ask him, a little bit afraid of the "if"s. "Well what if? You got wings, a beak, claws, and a gun. You can take care of yourself: you're not a kid anymore," he reassures me, pointing out the various body parts that I'm more than well aware of. "Yeah. Thanks for the anatomy lesson but I think I have to go," I say to him, feeling a bit more confident in the task as I take note of my several ways of escape and defense, "thanks for the pep talk by the way." "No worries," he says, giving me a little wave as I walk towards the plane. With a flap of my wings I take to the air and sit myself on the plane, adjusting my goggles. I take a few deep breaths to calm myself down while I wait for the signal. After a few minutes, a griffon appears and starts to direct me to the strip. I flip a few switches on the dashboard and the plane rumbles to life. The propellers start to spin faster and faster into the growling that gives the plane its signature sound, sending clouds of dust into the air. I increase the throttle enough to make the plane start to move forward. And I slowly make my way through the airfield and into the strip, stopping when I reached the start. After one final check of the systems, I'm ready for takeoff. I swallow the lump in my throat. Here we go. Then I see the griffon give me the "go." I put the plane into full throttle and the machine drives further through the strip, picking up speed. The world around starts to zoom past me. I feel myself pressing into the back of the seat as I close in on the proper speed. After I'm about a third of the strip, I slowly tilt the nose of the plane up, feeling the wheels pick up off the ground and the wings catching the air, making the plane wobble on its ailerons as it steadies itself. The rumbling ceases. And now I have liftoff. I pull the nose up a bit more and I feel another force pushing me down into the plane as I'm climbing higher into the skies and it feels like I weigh much more; a typical experience for me as I have done this several times in training, but I can't help shake the feeling of something else that's pushing me down that's making me so anxious. A few minutes after, I level out on the plane as soon as I reached the appropriate height, feeling the chilly air of the high altitude bite at me. It's about an hour from here to their base, so I might as well try and relax. As I notice myself already tense. I try to take a few deep breaths to drive the nervous energy elsewhere but the whipping wind keeps choking me every time I try to get even a little sip of air into my lungs. Not to mention accidentally swallowing a bug. Ugh. After what seems like forever, the forest beneath me opens up into the shell-riddled dirt field that is the war zone. At the moment I am flying over my comrades; I just hope they don't shoot at me my mistake, thinking I'm an enemy due to this model being for stealth which blends with the skies of blue, but I assume they're too busy fighting down below to notice me anyways. The plane starts to shake as I'm start to experience some turbulence from the headwinds of the field and I descend a little bit to alleviate the shaking, watching the several rows of trenches pass under me. After our front lines pass behind me, I'm flying over the no-pony's land: the area between the two opposite trenches where of course, no pony, or griffon, should go as it is riddled with shell holes and death. Like one of my friends say, "out of the trench you peek your head, under a minute you're as good as dead." I take the camera out of the compartment next to me and hold it in my talons, spinning the reel to charge a shot. But now, I'm thinking about things as I'm inspecting the photograph device: is it really true that the ponies did, in fact, stole our artifact? I heard it in the news, but the evidence wasn't corroborating to the ponies being the ones at the fuse, as if it were intentional. Could it be? That they were framed? When I put that thought into heart, all my doubts about being in the army comes back in full as I'm tempted to hurl the camera off the plane in exercise of how pointless this war really is. So many lives are lost because of a stupid notion that the ponies were the ones who stole our prized artifact; the priceless symbol that signified our independence as the Griffon Kingdom. No doubt we had the rights to be mad. But to then immediately turn around and wage war back to them within a day because they thought we stole their elements of harmony instead of being civil and discuss the matter? It's ridiculous. Even if we have our despise to them. That was ages ago! We shouldn't be keeping such hatred to them. Maybe... maybe I shouldn't have joined the army at all. I should have stayed home with ma' and help her around the house and live a happy life. Maybe finally ask the girl I have a crush on out on a date. But instead, I abandoned them and now I'm here, supporting this war. What am I going to tell her? That I killed a whole bunch of ponies because a griffon told me to and you should be proud of me? No! ma' would never be proud. And my love would probably hate me. Heck I would be lucky if ma' would let me back home and even then, she would hate me forever, coming home a murderer and not the child she once cared and loved for. She would be devastated. And I would be too. I feel depressed. Maybe it isn't too late. Maybe I can just turn around and say there was too much heat from them and I couldn't take the picture. They'll believe me. Right? You know what: I'll just take one picture and that's it. I'm going back home to ma' after I'm through with this mess. Yeah. Through my few hours of contemplation killing all that travel time, I'm about twenty or so miles from their base, and I'm now crossing through their lines; where the machine guns are. Best of luck, myself. I say in my head. And as if by coincidence, a spray of bullets zoom past me, sending my adrenaline through the roof, which made me send the engine into overdrive, moving as fast as I can through their rows of trenches and into their base, avoiding the bullets, and get this over with. Can't I just turn back now? I think to myself, already regretting that I'm risking my life over a picture. A picture. How pointless am I. I hear a few bullets pierce the hull of the plane but my head is too busy throbbing so hard that I feel like my head would burst to even notice that it not only pierced the body, but through the fuel tank. And even my wings, barely missing my vitals. But I didn't even notice the pain as I fly past the effective range of the machine guns, and closing in on their base. Thankfully I didn't burn out the engines through that bullet rain as they sound fine when I put them back into the normal throttle. I unholster the camera again and with shaky claws, I take the shot of their base. It got a good amount of the field for the generals to get a good look of what they're dealing with. Time to go home. And into safety I think to myself as I prepare to turn around. But a few more sprays of bullets from who knows where manages to land on the plane again. Suddenly, the engine stops. And the propellers with its last few rotations die out. I quickly assess the damage: four bullets near the base of the left wing connecting to the hull, and I'm out of fuel; been out of fuel. Great. Now I'm left with a plane with a damaged left wing on a spiraling crash course to the base grounds. Things can't get any worse as the heavy pumping of my heart makes its reappearance. Making me start to panic once again. I desperately try to unbuckle the belt and spread my wings so I can escape from this soon to be crash. But as I open my wings, searing pain shot through them and I let out a terrible cry of pain as I try to cope with the stabbing in my wings, as well as an entry in my shoulder as I felt the pain from that when I tried to open the belt. All that I can do now, Is to close my eyes and sit and wait for me to die. Ma', I'm sorry... I'm not coming home. I'm going somewhere else that I will soon call home. I'm sorry that I couldn't keep the promise I made. The promise. Of coming back alive. I can't die now by giving up this easily I say to myself, clenching my jaw to try and suppress the pain. It helps, but not a whole not. I look at the altitude meter on the dashboard. Eight hundred feet till I hit the ground. I still have time! I take immediate action, ignoring the almost unbearable pain from my left shoulder, and pull back at the handle as hard as I can. I scream at the top of my lungs from both the pain and my now undying will reemerging I feel the plane start to level. But now the major problem is that I have too much speed. And I'm only a hundred feet from the ground. Then I hear a loud snap! And I see the left wing of the plane, tumbling away as the bullet holes made it too fragile for the stress that I gave it. And I think now is the time that I would die. I'm sent spiraling towards the ground. I stare at the altitude meter, along with the world spiraling without it, reaching critical heights: Fifty feet. Forty feet. Thirty feet. Twenty feet. Ten feet. And here is where I will say I'm going to die. The plane lands with a horrific crash! and I black out. My life is over. My goals, my dreams, my happiness. All gone in this one instance. I think I would never wake up again. Never see those I love. And the one I love. But some divine force, denies me of death, and my eyes gingerly open again to the blurry world I see. I'm alive... I'm alive! I yell in my head, tears streaming down my face as I get to see the light of life again. But my self-rejoice is short lived as I hear several hoofsteps closing in on me. And the next thing I could make is an image of a pony in front of me. I look around to see where I am. Apparently the force was enough to send me several feet from the plane itself, but all I can make of the world is one big fuzz as I'm laying on the dirt ground. My eyes adjusts its focus back to him, and I see something else that comes into vision: a rifle. And I'm staring straight down the barrel of it. I wish I had never opened my eyes. And fresh new tears rolled down my cheeks as here is another instance of death. And I don't think luck is with me anymore. But he didn't shoot me, or, hasn't yet. Instead, he lowers his rifle and turns to the others around him. I hear him say something but my ears are ringing and everything was just a blur once more as my eyes give up on focusing. He closes in on me and puts a hoof on my left shoulder. It hurt, but I'm too busy trying to keep conscious to barely notice the pain. He slowly backs away and I hear him give orders to the other solders around him. I see a brown satchel thrown to him and he quickly puts it on and closes in on me again. I feel him pick me up by my right arm. It felt painful, but at least it isn't unbearable. I try to resist, pulling away with what little strength I have left that isn't trying to keep me awake, but I let out a groan of pain as a stabbing pain shoots through my lower back instead. I hope I'm not paralyzed I worry to myself as I can't bear to imagine coming home on a wheelchair. But I guess it's better me than a graveyard lot on a letter. I am now at his mercy and I let out another grunt as he puts me on his back. Another voice calls to him, I think. And I can finally hear what he is saying in reply. "Somewhere safe. As you were, soldiers." And a few seconds later, we are off into the air. And I can see the world around me growing smaller and then flies past me. What's going to happen now? Am I going to be left somewhere out in the forest to die like this? Am I going to be tortured until I tell them intel about things I have no idea about? The thoughts scare me, and I let out a terrified whimper. I hear him quietly shush me. "Don't worry: you're going to be fine. Just stay with me okay?" I hear him say to me. And I could feel our speed picking up. His voice sounds calming, like he was going to take care of me. Or is it false hope, and he's going to bring me somewhere that I will never see the day of light again? I couldn't think what will happen or what said safe place would be. And I can't think what will happen as I start to see spots in my vision. And I slowly slip back into the void.
Front And Center: Chapter 3 - A Life on the LinePiles of dirt are sent flying through the air. And from the force of the impact, sends me flying several feet above the ground. I feel like I'm stunned from the explosion as if my body is recovering still from the shock wave. I worry about the shell fragments that has entered my body, possibly through my spine which probably is the reason for my limp feeling - I hope that isn't true. I hit the ground, hard, knocking the wind out of me as I'm left lying on the trench ground, desperately gasping for air. I can hear the bullets flying over me and guns banging in my head; it starts to hurt. I think my wounds are worse than I thought they would be, I think through my blurry vision as I carefully inspect my limbs for any type of harm from the explosion and if I need to call for medical assistance, hoping there is no need for me to such thing and that they're on their way. I gingerly test my limbs to see if there is any broken bones, because of the absence of topical lacerations or as from what I can tell since I'm covered in muck, struggling to pick up my left hind leg, then I move to my right, and finally my forehooves. After a second check, I let a sigh of relief after the pain from my tested hooves fail to register in my brain. Oh thank Celestia, I thought. I'm not harmed. But I am not ready to get up and go because I can breathe only to the equivalent of an asthmatic pony who ran too much. I can hear a pair of hoofsteps, gradually getting louder. It's the medics coming for me, probably. Then I realize that others may be hurt, and I try to turn my head see if there was anypony else who was also hit by the same shell. But the zigzagged design of the trenches prevents me from doing so. The thought about others being in worse condition than I, makes me worried as I cannot help but think that there are others dead because of this one shell. A few of my friends even died because of them. And from the two ponies that are carrying a stretcher, as they turn the corner, confirmed my thoughts of help coming my way. Through my hazy vision, I can see them lay out the stretcher before me. I feel myself become weightless as I'm being slowly levitated onto the fabric. And a few moments later I'm lifted with the stretcher, and quickly moving through the trench. For the first time, passing through the trenches was a bit frightful. Looking up into the sky and hearing only the gunshots and distant explosions. I am beginning to question how did I not lose my sanity for the weeks I spent here. I let that thought linger in my mind as I slip into the unconsciousness of sleep, entering the world of my dreams. Everything I see is a blur. Not knowing where I am at the moment, but my vision starts to respond. A few seconds later, I can make out the shapes around me. And eventually what I am standing in front of. I can see the few two-story buildings that make up this fence-bordered complex. As well as a few stray buildings around them. The asphalt that I am standing on is cracked. And the white paint that was on it, stripped and weathered away. I can feel the cool air enveloping me as I notice the lack of distinct shadows that usually adorn the trees and buildings around me. I stare at the sky that now took the look of a cloudy gray, and it seems to me that it's going to rain. My mind was tired and weak from this war that I didn't bother to notice that I'm dreaming. Choosing not to take control. And simply roam around in the imagination of my brain, wondering what's next around the corner. But I didn't wait for the overcast to identify itself as rain or harmless dark clouds, and I make my way through the lot. And under the breezeway. I quietly saunter down the covered pillars, passing by a couple of familiar buildings on my way to where I think I'm going. Everything was so quiet. Not hearing the hum of silence. Nothing. As if sound needn't to make an appearance in this place. I can see ,through the silence, another building. The library. I wonder, why the library? But I am not in control of my legs anymore. I let them bring me into the library entrance, and into the lobby where I notice the glass display in the wall is empty of contents. Usually, this place is full of students, wanting or not wanting to learn, that hang around this area. But the only thing that is hanging around here now is the silence of my own heartbeat, as I peer through the library doors and start to make out the shadow of a figure. Who could that be? I wonder to myself. I see the figure turn to me in the darkness. "Brother?" says the all-too-familiar voice. I can even hear her smile from her tone. My ears perk up to hear her voice. "Sister!" I cry out, letting her know it's me. And I start to run to the door. My hoof was about to touch the handle of the door when suddenly an ear-piercing screech breaks the still air. And I can see something from a distance come crashing through the glass entrance, scattering the glass shards all over the floor. And then the blurry figure lands dangerously near me with a loud thump!. The blurry figure, it turns out, is a shell. Right before it explodes. And I wake up again snapping the half of my body up, eyes wide open to take in the tent walls that surrounded me, along with a couple of others that are probably in worse shape than I am. I can feel my heart pounding and I take a couple of breaths to calm myself. Don't worry: it was just a dream, I say in my head as I'm further surveying the camp infirmary. But the dry feeling in my throat makes me start scanning for any water instead, wondering how long I was out for me to be this thirsty. I manage to find one sitting next to me and without hesitation I grab the drink and drain the glass of its life-giving liquid, quenching my thirst. With that settled I start to focus at the empty glass in my hoof, starting to let my thoughts wander about. Why am I starting to think about my sister? I never had those thoughts before until recently. Is it a sign that I have to go back home? To see her? Is she in danger? I let those thoughts go through the back of my head as I uncover the bed sheet that I'm under to survey the damage of my body. There isn't any gauze anywhere on me as I can see my soft uninterrupted coat flushing perfectly with my body. "Glad to see you awake Lieutenant," the doctor says cheerfully. I snap out of my daydreaming and stare back at the doctor. He is a purple unicorn wearing a white overcoat and a stethoscope hanging around his neck with a pen and clipboard in his aura. "Why am I here if I'm not injured?" I ask him, going straight to the point with the assumption that I'm fine. He gives me a puzzled look. "Did you look at the bandages wrapped around your head?" Pointing to my head with his pen. "What bandages on my hea-" I stop and drag a hoof across my head. Sure enough, I can feel the fabric of the bandage instead of a tuft of my mane. "You had a fairly large gash on your head - presumably from a shell fragment - I'm impressed that you only have that from a shell," the doctor continues after realizing my injury. "You were out for three days in case you're wondering. So it's safe to take off those bandages." He adds after noticing me picking at my bandages. "So wait: you're telling me that this is the only injury I have?" I ask. "Well beside from a concussion, nothing. Your wings, your limbs, your vitals - possibly your state of sanity - are all fine. So if everything is sorted out, you may go." He starts to write something on his clipboard. "Alright then." I say, a bit unsure. I slowly take the end of the bandage and unwrapped it from my head, feeling the pressure from my bandages slowly dwindle after every round I make. Is this why I didn't wake up? I wonder because of how tight the dressings are. After the last few rolls are unfurled, I shake my head letting my mane fall into its usual style. The doctor makes a last check on my forehead and scribbles something on a piece of paper. "Well it looks like it's fine now," the doctor rips something with his magic which I assume is a discharge slip and levitates it to me. "You're all set." I grab the piece of paper, put on my uniform that was hanging on a hook next to me, and head out the tent. A feeling of relief washes through me knowing that I'm well again, and I walk, without the slightest of pain, through the camp to find my friends at the lunch benches, playing cards. "C'mon! Hit me again!" I hear one of my friends say. I can see the dealer throw down another card, and from the disgruntled groan my friend gives probably means he lost. And from the bits that was tossed around. A bet. "That's another fifty for me boys!" Another one of my buddies exclaimed. I leaned on the shoulder of my losing friend. "Oh. Who are these losers?" I say in play. We always greet each other with such rudeness. "Oh. Who is this patient?" my fifty-bits-less friend retorts, not really in the mood for any witty replies as he usually gives me. "Getting out out the infirmary in three days," I say casually, showing them my slip. "Well that must be some kind of record for you to be showin' us!" I hear the small crowd cheering casually, with their hoof stomping. "Now, now, gentlecolts," pretending to be an Nobel prize winner, with my hoof in the air to quiet the crowd and all. We broke into a round of laughing. I take a seat and we casually continue our time off the front to enjoy what little pleasures life has to offer us. Eating lunch, playing cards, and other things a group of old school pals would do on their weekend. Except we're in the middle of war instead of a movie theater. We start to tell stories about the front. And one specifically makes me laugh in irony due to one of my friends saying, that one of our school buddies in this little story table of ours was out in the front, not really fighting because he was too busy cowering in a corner. And what's more amusing, is that he was the one who teased me about my foalsitting the soldiers out on the front. And this was recent too. I turn to him with a cocky smile, not wanting to wait any longer to rub it in. "See? Not singing to your rescue." "Shutup. I didn't get enough sleep, that's all," he says defensively whilst crossing his hooves. "Suuure," I say, casually leaning closer to him. "But hey, anything happened during the past three days?" I ask the group in seriousness, dropping the teasing. "Not much," one of them replies. "Define, 'not much'," I ask him to specify. "Well we just got a bit more rations to go around. Hence, the larger meal." he waves the tray at me. "Well okay then. But don't expect me to know everything when I'm unconscious." "Aiight," he shrugs. For some reason that touched a nerve on me. But I let my abrupt anger out in a calming exhale and continue on with the general conversation, assuming he probably didn't mean to do that. After a few topics gone over, my friend decides to be the one pony that asks that one age-old question. "So, what are you fellas going to do after this war?" The crowd became quiet. Possibly thinking about what to tell the gang. I can even hear hoofsteps come closer to us. "Well... I'm going back to my lovely mare after this," another one of my schoolmates speaks up "Oh this I have got to hear," I say, turning to him. He was never one with the girls. And for him to get one is a story to hear. By the encouragement from the others, I am not alone on that one. He needn't to begin to speak for me to know he is reluctant to even mention that. "Okay, okay. Well... you see..." he starts to rub the back of his head. "This was a mare... I had a crush on since... high school." The last two words falls upon deaf ears. Save for me, who was sitting right next to him, barely able to hear his whisper. "Well who is the mare you asked in high school, huh?" Nudging him to continue on, reiterating to fill in the blanks for the others. "Ahem." A gruff voice outside the group, halting us of our crush cracking case. We turn around to face the interrupter. From the look of his appearance and patch, the pony was Sergeant Graph. I remember him from a couple of recruits who had the courage to ask me that he was too strict on them. Drilling them over and over again with rigorous courses. Usually I don't pay much attention to them but after more instances started to occur, it really got me curious. And apparently he doesn't notice me at the moment, and I haven't address the issue yet. So now would seem like a good time to do that. "So. Why aren't you soldiers already out for training?" He asks in that strict voice he has. The rest turned around to see the neighboring tables, still occupied by others. Another one turned to his watch. "Are you sure sir? Because everypony is here, and the fact that training hasn't even started," the pony to my left explains. "I'm sorry, I didn't know that I gave you permission to speak," he snaps. "I want every pony of you out into the training area in fifteen minutes! That's an order!" "Objection." I say like a persecutor, stamping my hoof on the table, already disliking the sergeant's attitude. Apparently this is what he does on his free time. "And when did you suddenly have the audacity to stand up to me?" Yelling at me. "I would be careful, sergeant, on where you say those words," I warn. "And who would this prince be for whom I should give respect to?" He says behind clenching teeth before realizing my rank in this military. "That prince who you're yelling at, is a lieutenant." I show him my shoulder patch. And like that, his shooting dagger glare immediately changes to one that would be fitting for somepony who just seen a ghost. "I-I'm sorry sir. I wasn't aware you'd be around this area," he fumbles over words to try and reassure me, and ends up giving me a salute. "I had to get these soldiers because somepony in their group decided to act up in training. And that I'm here to give them a punishment," he adds desperately, trying to clear the waters before he himself gets punished for disrespecting an upper. "If that's true, then be careful on what you say to a group of strangers. To a possible battle standpoint, you shot before you even confirmed your target. And you wouldn't want that to possibly stain your rank, right?" I say, savoring the moment. "No sir. I wouldn't want that." "Now. Who is the one that specifically needs to be punished?" changing the subject to give him some breathing room. He points to the pony that was to the left of me. The one who hasn't told me who the mare is yet. I don't like having unanswered questions. And I couldn't help but slightly pull the corners of my lip up in the upcoming punishment I'm going to give. "Him." "Well then, I'll take care of him for you." I turn to the group, not really looking at him specifically, with a smile on my face. And I quickly put a hoof up to my chin to partially obscure the grin I garner as I turn back to the saluting soldier. "Dismissed." He lowers the salute and walks away. "Also, sergeant," I call to him. He turns around to me and quickly trots back to me. "Uh, yes sir?" He says, standing stiff again. "Go easy on the recruits. Because the next time I see another one walk up to me after dismissal, mentioning your over-strictness, you won't be seeing me letting you off this easily." The last bit worries him. "You may go now." And with a wave of a hoof, he departs once more, and a bit more hurriedly . "What was that all about?" The troublemaker asks once the sergeant is out of earshot. "Well let's get to the point," I start, sitting back at my previous position. "You were the one who made him come here and try to punish you guys. But now, I'll do it for him. So you guys are off the hook. Except for you." I point a hoof accusingly at the one to the left of me. "Uh... what are you going to do with me?" He says with a nervous chuckle. "I'll give you the liberty of choosing. You can run two laps around the camp. Or, you can tell us who that mare is. Because I think it's safe to say that we're all curious about who your lover is." "I-I'll take the two laps," he says almost immediately. I spring on that partial enthusiasm. "Really now? Seeing how eager you are to run two laps, I'll go ahead and make that four." I lean on a hoof and near closer to him. I am close But my curiosity is quelled when a screaming of propellers and whistling caught my attention. It wasn't that of a shell, no. When I look about in the camp, nothing around me would give such noise. I turn to the sky, and I can see it from a distance. A plane, spiraling down behind a plume of black smoke. "What's going on?" I say to no one in particular. But the rest of my comrades turned to the skies, also seeing the dying aviation machine. And it's heading straight for us. "Get out!" I yell. And not a moment after everypony clears the area, the plane comes down in a crashing halt. Hearing the mechanical wonder being ripped to ribbons. And I can see a figure, which looks like the pilot, fly out of the plane. I quickly grabbed the nearest rifle, after clearing it of any failures, and ran towards the figure. I hesitate no longer and I point the barrel at the griffon. A griffon? What's he doing here? I think to myself. A small crowd forms around me and the griffon in critical condition. I can hear one of them shout, "shoot him!" But I know it's wrong to kill already wounded soldiers. He doesn't deserve to die. He's just another pawn in this war. Just like me. I lower my rifle. "Someone give me my saddlebag!" I say to the crowd. And one of my friends ran into my tent. A few seconds later he comes back with my bag in his mouth, and tossed it to me. I grab it and quickly put it on, knowing this guy has not much time to live if I don't act fast. I toss the rifle to him in return and I come closer to the griffon. I pat around his shoulder to see if he didn't dislocate any, but I can gingerly feel his left shoulder out of place. I quickly took his right instead and put him on my back. He is quite heavy, but nothing that I can't carry. "What are you doing?" Asks my friend. "I'm bringing him to a hospital. Not this one or else he will be killed here if the others find out." I adjust him on my back, noticing a camera dangling around his neck. Was he taking pictures of our base? I wonder as I open my wings and taking off soon after. I don't have much time, I think. And after I climb high enough, I quickly flap my wings as hard as I can to quickly reach the nearest town. My home town. It's quite a ways but I know they can treat him there. I start to think about my sister, and that I'm going to see her again. I hear the griffon on my back let out a whimper. Poor guy, he must be terrified. "Don't worry: you're going to be fine. Just stay with me okay?" Is all I can say for now as I try and push myself further to save his life.
