Stories of War Poniesby Redemption HorseChaptersTale of an Machine Gunner PonyTale of a Survivor PonyTale of Mortar PonyTale of a Stoner PonyTale of an Machine Gunner PonyBridge duty. It was boring as usual. I sat behind my .30 caliber machine gun for days on end. The boys and I took turns while the others slept or did other things. Every now again a squad would pop across and we would unload lead death into them. One or two would escape to tell the tale of the heroic Equestrians blocking the evil Changelings from invading…wherever the hell we were. But one day something else happened. A pair of Gryphons came along and placed some suspicious looking bags on the bridge, I didn't pay them any mind passed that, they were just Gryphons. But then, an entire convoy of tanks and infantry poured across the bridge. I sat there, minding my post. I heard the sounds of battle in the distance. Then it went quiet again. After a few minutes that same convoy came strolling across the river only missing a pony or two here and there. I was right confused. Then, a TANK came rolling up, I shot at it in a frenzy, not knowing what else to do. Then the bridge EXPLODED, I was amazed! Some miracle of Celestia saved my life that day. But even with the bridge gone I was still told to stay right where I was, in fact the area was even more reinforced with anti-tank guns and more infantry, all on this blown up bridge. I held my ground like a true soldier. Then the bridge started repairing itself, metal plates coming out of nowhere. Then, like a flash, a horde of tanks rolled across, but no miracle came today. They fired on every position we had, obliterating everything. An explosion ripped apart my sandbag wall, throwing me back, I started blacking out. But a voice echoed in my mind... "Don't worry guys, I have a Tiger Tank coming in a minute." Tale of a Survivor PonyWe stood in the dank and dark room (probably more of a closet than anything, listening to the unnerving moans and groans form outside the red door, barred from the inside. I loaded my last magazine form the scattered mess of ammo scattered on the table. My team, an old veteran that amidst the apocalypse still managed to find a pack of cigarettes, a biker with a knack for shotguns, a young-mare that was handy with a pistol, then myself; How the hell have I survived? Everyone checked their ammo, grabbed a medpack, and gathered around the door. We took the bar of and the door swung open, revealing the late, misty night that was in front of us. We slowly, and uneasily stepped outside. Within a split second the rounds were flying as silhouettes fell near and far. Amongst the chaos no one noticed that the old war vet had disappeared. It was pretty smooth sailing through the alleyways of East Manehattan. A pack here, and a horde there, but nothing we weren't able to handle. That's when we heard it. A faint, and distant, "Oh, Shit!" We knew it couldn't be good, and after a quick headcount we came to the conclusion that it was the old stallion. We picked up our pace, as the curses became more frequent. The ground started shaking, which was never a good sign and only meant one thing: "TANK!" We turned tail in the other direction, firing blindly through the giant chunks of concrete raining down on us. Eventually, the action died down as the behemoth fell. Everything was fine until that phrase rang through the streets, "Fuck I'm down, guys hurry up and get me!" We were on the clock now, we had to hurry, and we ceased being careful, more worried about our friend in need. I rounded the corner and saw him lying on the ground, those things gathered around him beating him to a pulp. But it was too late, he was dead, and soon we were overtaken by the horde. As we fought to no avail, a voice echoed in my head... "You guys are fucking assholes, why couldn't you get me up!?" Tale of Mortar PonyI was sitting near the front lines the other day, it'd been awhile since we'd seen any action. Jim was cleaning the mortar tube and Chuck was pulling security, he was always jumpy. I was just writing to my sweetheart back home in Appleloosa. We were with a bunch of other mortar ponies, too. I didn't know them, first time seeing them was when we got here. They weren't really talkative either, we all just minded to our own teams. I noticed a Captain approaching the cluster, a stern look on his face. He cleared his throat, and everyone went silent, giving him their full attention. "Gentlecolts, as of right now, the war effort no longer needs your assistance." Everyone roared with excitement. "Sir, so we're finally going home!?" echoed from the back of the crowd. I heard the boom of artillery in the distance that must be why they didn't need us anymore, they brought in the big guns. AND, we were finally going home. "No, gentlemen. You're all going to die." The Captain was engulfed in the fireball of an exploding 155mm shell. Then they rained down on all of us unrelentlessly. We didn't even have time to scream The last thing I remember hearing was the voice of an eighteen-year old, much like myself, saying, "Can you guys kill my mortars so I can call in tanks?" Author's Note The tale of tragedy begins Tale of a Stoner PonyIt all started on a cold summer afternoon. It was rather warm out today and I couldn’t be bothered with the sea. So I stepped outside to chat with my friends, or at least I called them friends. Actually I just hang out with them. I don’t like to talk about it. They don’t really say much. Oops, sorry I fell asleep. They don’t really talk much. As I walked through the double doors I noticed the heater was on. I stepped outside and it was too cold. I went over to a shady spot. Not that shady. This is the kind of shady spot where you see people smoking. I decide to go over there to warm up. As it is in the most direct sunlight. As I walk over there I take a seat on the concrete, awkwardly. I just sit down on the sidewalk. I reach into my pocket to pull out my friends. One, his name is Mr. Stub. He has been through a lot these past weeks. And I have been trying to make him last. Next I pulled out Mr. Cool and peered inside his plastic case. Inside I see little to no flame left. For he has been burned. As I touched the metal hat he wears I noticed it is cool to the touch. So I put him inside to get warm. So I sit there and look at Mr. stubby and then back to the shady. Shady has another Mr. Cool, this one is blue colored and has the words BIC on the side. A BIC lighter. I look at him and say “that hurts you know? Breathing.” That was it.
Tale of an Machine Gunner PonyBridge duty. It was boring as usual. I sat behind my .30 caliber machine gun for days on end. The boys and I took turns while the others slept or did other things. Every now again a squad would pop across and we would unload lead death into them. One or two would escape to tell the tale of the heroic Equestrians blocking the evil Changelings from invading…wherever the hell we were. But one day something else happened. A pair of Gryphons came along and placed some suspicious looking bags on the bridge, I didn't pay them any mind passed that, they were just Gryphons. But then, an entire convoy of tanks and infantry poured across the bridge. I sat there, minding my post. I heard the sounds of battle in the distance. Then it went quiet again. After a few minutes that same convoy came strolling across the river only missing a pony or two here and there. I was right confused. Then, a TANK came rolling up, I shot at it in a frenzy, not knowing what else to do. Then the bridge EXPLODED, I was amazed! Some miracle of Celestia saved my life that day. But even with the bridge gone I was still told to stay right where I was, in fact the area was even more reinforced with anti-tank guns and more infantry, all on this blown up bridge. I held my ground like a true soldier. Then the bridge started repairing itself, metal plates coming out of nowhere. Then, like a flash, a horde of tanks rolled across, but no miracle came today. They fired on every position we had, obliterating everything. An explosion ripped apart my sandbag wall, throwing me back, I started blacking out. But a voice echoed in my mind... "Don't worry guys, I have a Tiger Tank coming in a minute."
Tale of a Survivor PonyWe stood in the dank and dark room (probably more of a closet than anything, listening to the unnerving moans and groans form outside the red door, barred from the inside. I loaded my last magazine form the scattered mess of ammo scattered on the table. My team, an old veteran that amidst the apocalypse still managed to find a pack of cigarettes, a biker with a knack for shotguns, a young-mare that was handy with a pistol, then myself; How the hell have I survived? Everyone checked their ammo, grabbed a medpack, and gathered around the door. We took the bar of and the door swung open, revealing the late, misty night that was in front of us. We slowly, and uneasily stepped outside. Within a split second the rounds were flying as silhouettes fell near and far. Amongst the chaos no one noticed that the old war vet had disappeared. It was pretty smooth sailing through the alleyways of East Manehattan. A pack here, and a horde there, but nothing we weren't able to handle. That's when we heard it. A faint, and distant, "Oh, Shit!" We knew it couldn't be good, and after a quick headcount we came to the conclusion that it was the old stallion. We picked up our pace, as the curses became more frequent. The ground started shaking, which was never a good sign and only meant one thing: "TANK!" We turned tail in the other direction, firing blindly through the giant chunks of concrete raining down on us. Eventually, the action died down as the behemoth fell. Everything was fine until that phrase rang through the streets, "Fuck I'm down, guys hurry up and get me!" We were on the clock now, we had to hurry, and we ceased being careful, more worried about our friend in need. I rounded the corner and saw him lying on the ground, those things gathered around him beating him to a pulp. But it was too late, he was dead, and soon we were overtaken by the horde. As we fought to no avail, a voice echoed in my head... "You guys are fucking assholes, why couldn't you get me up!?"
Tale of Mortar PonyI was sitting near the front lines the other day, it'd been awhile since we'd seen any action. Jim was cleaning the mortar tube and Chuck was pulling security, he was always jumpy. I was just writing to my sweetheart back home in Appleloosa. We were with a bunch of other mortar ponies, too. I didn't know them, first time seeing them was when we got here. They weren't really talkative either, we all just minded to our own teams. I noticed a Captain approaching the cluster, a stern look on his face. He cleared his throat, and everyone went silent, giving him their full attention. "Gentlecolts, as of right now, the war effort no longer needs your assistance." Everyone roared with excitement. "Sir, so we're finally going home!?" echoed from the back of the crowd. I heard the boom of artillery in the distance that must be why they didn't need us anymore, they brought in the big guns. AND, we were finally going home. "No, gentlemen. You're all going to die." The Captain was engulfed in the fireball of an exploding 155mm shell. Then they rained down on all of us unrelentlessly. We didn't even have time to scream The last thing I remember hearing was the voice of an eighteen-year old, much like myself, saying, "Can you guys kill my mortars so I can call in tanks?" Author's Note The tale of tragedy begins
Tale of a Stoner PonyIt all started on a cold summer afternoon. It was rather warm out today and I couldn’t be bothered with the sea. So I stepped outside to chat with my friends, or at least I called them friends. Actually I just hang out with them. I don’t like to talk about it. They don’t really say much. Oops, sorry I fell asleep. They don’t really talk much. As I walked through the double doors I noticed the heater was on. I stepped outside and it was too cold. I went over to a shady spot. Not that shady. This is the kind of shady spot where you see people smoking. I decide to go over there to warm up. As it is in the most direct sunlight. As I walk over there I take a seat on the concrete, awkwardly. I just sit down on the sidewalk. I reach into my pocket to pull out my friends. One, his name is Mr. Stub. He has been through a lot these past weeks. And I have been trying to make him last. Next I pulled out Mr. Cool and peered inside his plastic case. Inside I see little to no flame left. For he has been burned. As I touched the metal hat he wears I noticed it is cool to the touch. So I put him inside to get warm. So I sit there and look at Mr. stubby and then back to the shady. Shady has another Mr. Cool, this one is blue colored and has the words BIC on the side. A BIC lighter. I look at him and say “that hurts you know? Breathing.” That was it.
