From No Mares Land

There was always a time of fear. A fear that gave the the slightest jolt to one's body, and thrust the hardest war horse from the warm ignorance of sleep into the harsh reality that gave no mercy to the awakening senses. Crackshot, with weary eyes looked upon his comrades still enjoying what little rest they could get. Frost coated and stiffened their filthy shelter halves draped over their sleeping forms. As the initial shock faded a  list of concerns began to form in his mind: the machine gun crews would need to thaw their water cans, fires were going to reveal troop positions, frostbite would need tended, food was going to be frozen solid, and hooves would be cold. As if coaxed by Crackshot's concerns, the OD green pile that was Braeburn and Big Macintosh came the first spoken words of the day. "Buck my hooves are cold"

"Then how 'bout ya use 'em ta go buck yourself."

"Mac, that don't make no sense at all."

"Doesn't have ta make sense. Its cold and ya woke me up."

"Well it aint mah fault no one else'll bunk with me. Speaking of that, why's no one else willing to bunk with me?"

"Because you're a little light in the loafers, if I may interject." Crackshot's words brought a smile to his own face.

"What the hell 'er ya callin me?"

"He's sayin' yer a fruit bowl"

" A what?"

" A coltcuddler Braeburn, I'm calling you a coltcuddler." Braeburn came tearing out of his fortress of green canvas clearly embarrassed, the small amount of warmth he had in him rushing straight for his face. He rushed and fumbled to find words to retort:

"W-well if ah, was, was ah coltcuddler-which I ain't- why would it even matter, ya know, if were all at war together an' all?"

"Cause no one wants ya  huddled up to 'em." Mac said joining in on the fun.

"Besides, don't you farm boys like to keep it in the family?" Big Mac shifted slightly so that half of his face could be seen  clearly agitated by Crackshot's comment.

"If it weren't so cold ah'd come over there ahn' beat you--"

"Just like daddy back on the farm right?"

"Buck you Crackshot," Mac said with a light chuckle "maybe ya should try yer social skills with the dogger's 'cross the way huh?" Crackshot laughed in kind,

"Yeah, Maybe. Happy Hearth's Warming by the way." After some effort dealing with wet materials, cook fires again crackled  along the trenches. Work was under way to get frozen machineguns to function. Several water cones had either buckled or cracked due to the freeze, no water cone meant no sustained fire. Crackshot took a small trot down the trench to gauge the state of affairs, of course it was poor. Judging by what could be presumed as swearing in a foreign language in the enemy trench just fifty yards away. Trotting along side him (or as close to alongside as possible in a narrow trench) was Paramount, a young dark blue pegasus. He spoke with a small amount of cheer with a constant line of questions for CS.

"So what do you think about the freeze?"

"It's got its ups and downs."

"Like what?"

"Well, gear malfunctions in sub-freezing temperatures, and its far from comfortable, but Jerry Horse across the way isn't going to attack."

"Wait, how do you know they won't attack?"

"If we don't want to fight in the cold the day after that shit storm yesterday, neither do they."

"Oh, I guess that makes sense. So, what do you think about yesterday?"

"What do you think I think about it? We lost colts, we killed, and we rolled the bodies over the top of the trench like sand bags. Like I said, it was a shit storm."

"Okay, well then how about the sky?"

"What about the sky? Its gray, and its cold, just like everything else out here."

"Well yeah, but don't you wish it was blue?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't." aggression was now becoming more noticeable in Crackshot's voice.

"Why not?"

"You want to know why?"

"Well ye--"

"Because the sky is blue at home."

"So?"

"SO, we aren't home, were at war. If the sky was blue here, It would be more like home. When I see blue skies again I don't want to think about what I did here. Can we stop with the questions for a bit now?"

"Oh... I guess that makes sense. I was just thinking about my sister." CS paused for a moment to think over what  Paramount was saying.   

How was any of that in any way about that was in any way about his sister? As Paramount began to explain Crackshot began to walk again.

"Derpy always loves it when its all sunny and the sky is blue. When I was still a colt, sometimes on weekends my parents would give us a few bits to go to Sugarcube Corner to get muffins for the whole family. Those were Derpy's favorite days."

What kind of parent names their filly Derpy? What kind of pony is named Derpy?

"Those were good times. I used to write her and my family almost every day. Now even if I could get a letter to them I wouldn't know what to say about stuff like yesterday. To be honest I don't want to tell anyone, I'm afraid of what they might think of me. I'm not like you."

"What do you mean by 'not like me'?"

"Well, you know. Everyone kinda looks to you. You're always the first one over the ledge in a charge, you give good advice, you take care of us, I guess you're kinda like a father."

What the hell does that even mean?

"Paramount, you know we're almost the same age, right?"

After their rounds the two returned to their cook fire, tended by Big Macintosh, for breakfast. Forks, spoons, and knives scraped and clanked against tin mess kits. As he ate Crackshot looked over to Braeburn, who was staring at the sky over the Germane trench.

"Something caught you eye up there? Maybe a cute pegasus stallion?"

"Shut up Crackshot, ah was lookin' for smoke. But there ain't any."

Then maybe you should stop looking. "So?"

"Well ah was thinkin'--"

"That's a stetch." His red cousin cut in with a smirk.

"Hey, you shut up too Mac. Ah was thinkin' that means they ain't got no food to cook. And, I was thinkin' since you speak a little Germane you could ask em' CS. Ah mean, we got tons of apples."

"Do you seriously want me to just call out loudly in Germane, in the middle of meal time, and expect no one to try to shoot me or open fire on them and start a fight? Besides my Germane sucks."

"Everyone pass the word Crackshots gonna try ahn' talk with em'." Whispers spread up and down the trench and then a complete silence weighed down on the battlefield. "That's yer cue." As every stallion in the trench looked expectantly at Crackshot he heard enemy rifles being prepared across the way. Silence like this usually only came before a charge. There was no turning back now.

"Guten Morgen , wie geht es Ihnen heute?" (Good morning, how are you today?) There was confused murmuring in the Germane trench before a lone speaker responded.

"Kälte, und verwirrt." (Cold, and confused)

"Mein Freund will wissen, ob Sie hungrig sind." (My friend wants to know if you are hungry)

"Warum Sie wissen wollen?" (why do you want to know?)

"wir haben viele Äpfel, zu viele wirklich . Die Äpfel werden verderben , wenn wir nicht etwas mit ihnen zu tun . Wenn Sie hungrig sind, möchten wir ihnen zu teilen." (We have many apples too many really . The apples are spoiling , if we do not have anything to do with them. If you are hungry, we want to share them .)

"Ist dies nicht ein Trick , stehen über Ihre Graben . Wenn Sie das tun wir alle stehen, um Sie zu begrüßen wie eine Faustencorn geschickt Bruder."  (If this is not a trick , stand over your trench . If you do that , we all stand to greet you like a Fausticorn sent brother.)

"Spread word along the line that I'm going up" Crackshot took hoofhold of the trench's ledge pulling himself over, unarmed. Silence bore down on him like the weight of the world. He thought for a moment this 'sign of faith' was a trick. Crackshot braced for a volley of death and lead to strike him down, but it never came. He looked across the field, as the gray slightly loosened its tight grip on no mares land, the opposing line rose from their entrenchment like corpses from a dim grave returning to the world of the living. A muddy Germane soldier stood before Crackshot and spoke in a familiar voice and a strong accent,

"Happy Hearth Warming Eve."

"glücklich Feuer Erwärmung Vorabend"