I: March of the Free American Army (North)
"Welcome, weary traveler, to the hell-hole that is our base. You must be new here, I can tell by the neatness of your uniform. Soon enough it'll become as dirty as mine, so you have that to look forward to. On your left is the motor pool, where our Humvee's, Abrams', and Bradley's go to take a rest. The airstrip is over yonder, next to the giant-#ss tower. Beside that are the helipads. On your right are the barracks; good luck getting a good bunk now, Replacement. A little further ahead is the infirmary, and I recommend you make it a point to not end up there. Directly in front of you is the Command Post, where the Colonel and his staff work 24/7 going over plans, reports, papers, maps, files, you name it. Grunt like you will be spending a lot of time out in the field, or helping to shore up the defenses."
The muted sound of an explosion drew the recruit's attention away from the rainbow-haired woman before her. Tucking her long strands of pale pink hair behind her ear, the recruit met her tour guide's eyes once more, "W-what..."
"What was that? Oh, just an enemy mortar. You get used to that sound eventually, and sooner or later you'll get over the fear that one will hit the barracks while you're sleeping. Or you won't. So, go put up your stuff and meet me back here. Ten minutes."
The recruit headed for the barracks, taking in its damaged state and the suffocating silence that came from within. A barracks should be a place where the soldiers can unwind and relax for awhile...I wonder why it's so quiet... she shook off her thoughts and entered the low, gray-ish building, her eyes looking over the rows of neat bunk beds until she found one that had yet to be claimed: top-bunk, near the back. Someone named "Gilda" had claimed the bed beneath hers, and, following their example, Fluttershy stuck her name on the metal frame of the bunk bed. Fluttershy returned to the open area where the rainbow-haired girl remained, coming to attention and saluting.
"All settled in? Good. Now, let's get you debriefed. A couple days ago some crack-pot fool from the 122nd Airborne stumbled upon a nest of Confederates. Woke up the whole damn neighborhood. To make matters worse, a division of New Soviet fighters had been patrolling the same area. Ever since, elements of the 122nd Airborne, 367th Infantry, and 25th Armored Corps have been trapped in a deadly crossfire between New Soviets and Confederates. It's up to us to get them out safely and preferably eliminate the enemy resistance. You'll be riding shotgun with me. Keep those eyes open for any trouble, and let me know right away. We're on point. Mount up, Replacement." The entire time she'd been talking, the two women had been walking to the motor pool, where a contingent of vehicles were undergoing last-minute check-ups. Fluttershy climbed into the passenger seat of the light-armored Jeep, her superior officer taking the driver's seat.
"What's your name, ma'am?" Fluttershy asked, taking her rifle off safety.
"Captain Rainbow Dash. What's it matter, Replacement?" Rainbow Dash asked, bringing the Jeep roaring to life under slender hands and small feet.
"It doesn't, really, I just...I guess I just wanted to know..." Fluttershy didn't know how to explain, especially under the withering gaze of her superior.
"Thought we could be friends, maybe? Buddies? Tell each other stories of our old lives? Yeah, cause that'll help anything. Listen here, and listen good: 'Ain't no one left to care whether you live or die.' The moment you walked into base camp, you became a number, a statistic. Your life don't matter anymore. You're a pawn, Replacement, made to be cast when death is inevitable, so the more valuable units can live to fight on. Cannonfodder, I believe they used to call it. Useless, expendable." Dash's voice was cold and heartless, iron-clad in its certainty.
The man in the turret leaned down and put his two cents in, finding it almost impossible to resist, "Well, Cap, that's a beautiful way to introduce the new kid," he remarked drily.
"I'm only being honest, Jolt," Captain Dash shrugged, knocking the man hard on his helmet, "Get back in the turret." Fluttershy was quiet during this exchange, still fretting over Captain Dash's tirade.
The ride was uneventful for the first hour, as they had lots of open ground to cover, and it wasn't until 1300 hours rolled around that things got interesting. The first sign of trouble were the holes pockmarked throughout the terrain, some still smoldering. Next were the husks of vehicles, twisted and charred. One of the medical transports stopped by each one to check for survivors while the main column continued ahead. The final sign of warfare came as the column was passing the first buildings on the town outskirts. The foundations were unstable and collapsing from explosive damage, vehicle wrecks lay scattered in and around other buildings, and bright flashes (almost invisible due to the hour of the day) accompanied by explosions and bursts of small arms fire.
Over the radio, Captain Dash coordinated the movements through the town, "Split into three groups. Lieutenant Haul, take your group on the left flank. I want you to attack the Confederates. Lieutenant Flash, you take the right flank, engage the New Soviets. My group, we go through the town itself, come up on our boys from the rear, get them out, and take their place. Once they're clear, all groups disengage and fall back to the rally point. Keep an eye on your watches, boys, we need this to be clean and professional. I want everything coordinated. On my go." The groups split up, using the sounds of combat to mask their movements. Guns were loaded, turrets were checked, and various equipment was checked and re-checked.
Fluttershy hefted her rifle, still uncomfortable with the feel of cold metal in her grasp. If it hadn't been for Thunderlane's insistence that she go in his stead (Thunderlane was an old friend and had suffered a tremendous injury, preventing him from enlisting), she wouldn't have even signed up in the first place. The idea that she could end another human's life with only the squeeze of a trigger was horrifying in the extreme, and went against every fiber of her kind, gentle being. Basic training had pounded out most of her "good will towards men" but a small reserve still held on, keeping the demure girl from becoming completely heartless.
