The rain had started a few minutes ago. It pattered off the leaves of the forest, dripping lower to reach the men huddled on the ground.
There were eight of them. It used to be ten, no, thirteen. John had a hard time remembering. He concentrated for a moment. It was only with effort that he remembered everyone he had fought beside in the months since he had joined the fight. The exact dates and the many faces had blurred into the past.
John was one of the newer members. Some of the others had been fighting for a lot longer. He’d arrived with all the enthusiasm that a young man could muster, ready to change the world and be a hero. Maybe the others had started that way, too.
The rain had started to run down the back of John’s shirt. He shivered, but there was nothing he could do. None of them had proper rain gear, or really, any proper gear.
There was top-notch equipment to be had elsewhere. John had seen others parading it around. His boots and clothing had been stolen from a ransacked shop. The rifle he carried had been taken from a dead soldier. None of the men with him had anything better.
This was the struggle. They fought an enemy that was better equipped, supplied, and trained. John couldn’t understand how things had gotten this way. Why hadn’t good men like him done something before now? Why had they allowed injustice to rise?
There was a quiet hiss of static as someone turned on the small portable radio. Batteries were scarce, and they could only listen to the airwaves reservedly.
The wash of white noise persisted. The dense forest allowed few signals from the outside world. But then, a smoother silence came through the small speaker. Everyone crowded closer.
Hello. This is a message from Equestria, on behalf of Princesses Celestia and Luna.
The translation was very good. The female speaker sounded almost human.
If you can hear this, you are taking shelter in the Everfree Forest. We know where you are, but we haven’t come for you yet. You are unimportant. You are at the bottom of our list of priorities. Instead, we’re dealing with your bosses first. They tell you what to do while they stay away from the danger.
The message was always different, but always some variation of the same theme.
If you are listening, it means that we aren’t coming for you today. You still have time to leave. Go home. Go back to your families and tell them that you fought. You can be a hero. Or you can stay, and one day, we’ll eliminate the more important targets from our list. And then, we’ll come for you. We don’t want to hurt you, but if you stay, we will take it as a threat and we will be forced to eliminate you, too.
John breathed a little easier. The ponies weren’t coming today.
Why they bothered to declare their intentions, no one knew. They just did. John figured it was a pony thing. It could have been an attempt at psychological manipulation. Not that it would do any good. Not that unicorn magic or pegasus weather sorcery or anything else ponies could throw at them would work.
A burst of static came out of the radio. There little point in leaving it on any longer. The message would just repeat until the ponies were sure they’d heard it. John hunkered down, and did the only thing he could do these days: he held his weapon, and waited.
As the day wore on, the rain didn’t stop. Not that it would have made much difference. Between sleeping on the ground and the threat of constant danger, none of them were rested.
There was little to do. Sleep, perhaps, although even as night began to fall that didn’t come easily. Eventually, in boredom, someone turned on the radio again. It took a few minutes of exploring the airwaves, but they found a different broadcast.
Broadcast sounded like just the right word. John remembered that it meant a transmission that was one way only. The ponies broadcast their radio messages, while he and his fellows had no hope of replying. Not that the ponies would care. They were deaf to the message, blind to see the error in their ways.
The radio played something different this time. The mare, John supposed, sounded more accusing.
You have trespassed on our lands, on our world. You are not welcome here.
That was good for a half a chuckle. Ponies weren’t welcome on Earth either, as far as John was concerned.
You have come to destroy. But what do you plan to build instead? What you failed to build on your own world? Did you expect us not to resist?
Ponies were pushovers. They kept playing the recorded messages but had done nothing.
We hope you are enjoying your stay in the forest. You know that if you venture outside, you will all be killed or captured. Meanwhile, how is the rain? How are the insects and the cold ground?
So smug. What had ponies ever done to feel so superior? Was it the fact that they thought clothing was superfluous? They could eat grass or whatever they found. Did they think that made them better?
You should stay in the forest. Maybe it will teach you about proper fields of battle. We know you are only brave enough to attack our small towns and our children. We don’t want to hurt you, but...
A long pause. The raindrops began to come faster than before. And then,
Can’t you see that you are in the wrong? What mind could even consider doing what you have done? You are the evil!
The message abruptly ended there. Despite the inhuman voice, John thought he had detected a rising tone. Maybe she had been too angry to continue.
There was a small comfort in that. He could only listen to the radio, but just him existing was putting a thorn in the ponies’ sides.
John frowned. It was a small victory, one of precious few these days. How sad it was to call it a victory when the enemy did little more than play radio messages at them.
He glanced up and immediately wished he hadn’t. The constant drizzle was turning heavier. There was a distant rumble of thunder.
The last message from the radio had ended on an emotional note. It was the first time any of the broadcasts had done that.
John considered it as the rain picked up. He knew the feeling of righteous anger at injustice and the thrill of battle. He’d never seen ponies show anything like that.
Moving to the meager shelter of a tree, he sat and huddled over his weapon. His fingers brushed over the gun. He wanted to use it. The ponies never gave them an opportunity. They never presented easy targets any more. Whenever the men tried to assemble a larger group to attack something important, some pony would always blunder through. They would play their terrible music over the communications radios. They would conjure apparitions and tricks. Sometimes they would simply watch from a cloud, out of danger, but close enough to keep watch.
A dim flash was followed a few seconds later by a rumble, signaling that the storm was picking up. John gritted his teeth and hugged his gun closer. It was an insult, being forced to scrape just to survive. The days of being a lion were gone. Now he was just a scavenger.
His fingers gripped the gun more securely and his jaw tightened. The struggle would go on.
A flash of lightning cracked overhead. An inhuman shadow loomed over him, wings spread, weapon pointed.
“I don’t want to hurt you, but if you move, I will take it as a threat.”
The voice hadn’t come from the radio.
Author's Note
John is a terrorist, BTW
