Call of Recess: Schoolyard

by falcon4

Rating: teen
Tags: Alternate Universe, Random, Adventure
Length: 4463

Only foals will understand their own set of games.

Recess; that period of time where the foals are set free to play their games outside. While the adults tend to see it simply as just mindless running and screaming, their own perspectives tell a different story.

Some random thing written to refresh the skill on writing combat related pieces.
Inspired by violent video games and the countless periods of recess in Elementary school.

Update, March 25/15: Plotting and summary edited slightly.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-03-25 04:20:01 UTC

Weapons and explosions, from the safety of our schoolyard!

“Alright, settle down everyone,” Scootaloo raised a hoof in the air, signalling for the three other subordinates to scuttle down in front of a park picnic table, “We just got orders from Company HQ, ordering us to abandon our pocket.”

She laid a map on the table, pointing a hoof towards a road junction with a small town, “Nearest, and easiest way out is at this road junction over here. The enemy are trying to get to there to cut us off, but they are unlikely to deploy sizable forces there in time; we can expect several platoon sized units to a company sized one.”

“Our Humvee's out of fuel, so stock up on what you need from what's remaining inside it,” she added, “Furthermore, a Germane company is coming for relief, and they got air support. It should be fairly easy with our numbers.”

“Easier said than done,” Applebloom stated pessimistically.

“Don't be so hard on yourself, it is possible,” the Sergeant planted a hoof over the machinegunner's back, “In fact, the more we think about failing, the higher are our chances to failure.”

“I agree,” Sweetie Belle nodded.

“Not much to add, other than good luck. We're leaving once we're all ready. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir!” the others responded in chorus, marching off to their humvee to stock up.

Scootaloo did the basic check over everything that she needed for the upcoming firefight; she still had a sizable supply of the standard 30 round STANAG magazines and the typical handful of 40mm grenades for the underbarrel grenade launcher. She still had the regular assortment of thrown weapons, namely the fragmentation and smoke grenades stuffed in the extra pouches of her bulletproof vest. Then there was the other essentials, consisting typically of the map and compass, sustenance material, medical supplies and the gas mask, just in case the enemy decided to get creative with their selection of battlefield tactics. The last piece to go was the M9A1 pistol and its spare 15 round magazines; she wasn't carrying a full load of gear, but she determined that it would be adequate for one skirmish, as they were going to breach the line in one complete thrust.

The pegasus shoved a magazine into her rifle's receiver and pulled back the charging handle with an audible click, “One, ready!”

“Two, ready!” Sweetie Belle affirmed, pulling the charging handle on her M16 with an identical click.

“Three, ready!” Applebloom slung her M249 at rest.

“Four, ready!” Babs simply raised a hoof.

“Let's move,” Scootaloo instructed, “Stay close, but don't obstruct!”

The fireteam filed in as Scootaloo led them out of the bushes from the side of the road, crossing the pavement and spilled in towards a partly logged field on the other side. They would stay out of open areas for the time being, as their group was simply too small to be considered a proper formation filed down on paper; any opposing unit would be larger than them, with the exception of an individual enemy fireteam.

They approached another road on the other side of the field, after picking up their pace from a walk to a half jog. Clearing out the bushes slightly, they saw a fat green object grumbling at the side of the road, with its black diesel smoke visibly erupting from the exhaust pipe of the engine deck. It was an M60A3 MBT, bearing the combat marking of the Equestrian Marine Corps at the side of the turret.

“It's a tank!” Applebloom remarked, brushing aside the bushes from her view to open up the visibility entirely, revealing two smaller vehicles behind it.

“It's a vehicle column,” Sweetie Belle corrected.

“Someone's there!” a voice called out from the column, in an accent not to dissimilar to their own.

“Soldiers on your side!” Scootaloo called back, stepping out of the brush and waving a hoof, “Hey!”

“More Equestrians, good,” the voice came back upon hearing their voices, “Hopping on for the breakout?”

“Yeah, company's orders, although I really want to stay to fight them,” Scootaloo gave a snappy salute to the revealed figure and his squad filing up behind him.

“Can't be too stubborn about that Sergeant,”  the stallion reminded, giving a gesture to their tank, “But you can ride along on the tank, as we don't have spaces for the PCs.”

“Sounds good by me,” she looked back at her team as they all nodded in agreement.

“Road junction is just over that hill,” the squad leader pointed at the road just in horizon's view, “They're closing in fast, and there are rumours of them using their indestructible T-90A tanks for the first time.”

“That's a lie, man.”

“Let's hope it is Sergeant,” the lieutenant showed a hint of worry at the mention, “Cause rumour says that its impervious to our 105mm guns and handheld recoilless rifles.”

“Nothing is impervious,” Scootaloo reassured matter of factly by patting the squad leader's shoulder. “They can be destroyed, one way or another. In fact, I'd hate to sit in a T-90 while 105mm shells are slung at me!”

“That's true Sergeant, thank you Sergeant,” the pessimistic stallion now smiled at the reassuring words coming from his subordinate, “Hop on, we're going to leave now.”

The fire team climbed up onto the engine deck of the M60, hanging on to whatever to keep themselves stable on the tank. The squad leader barked out his commands to his troops, ordering them to re-embark onto the LAV-25s. The low pitched grumbling of the AVDS diesel engine was joined up by the unmistakeable forward lurching motion, prompting the four to hold onto the turret baskets in the rear to keep their balance in the momentum of the acceleration.

There were no resistance encountered whatsoever so far, which Scootaloo could consider as a good thing; being caught in the open of the road would make them easy targets to any lurking tanks in the hedgerows- then again, they would probably be massing most of their available units to close of their gap of escape, and then proceed to gobble them up little by little once surrounded.

She listened up on radio traffic, with the company commander informing everyone that the 1st, 2nd and 4th platoons have already reached nearby positions up at the town on the road junction, and are waiting for the 3rd platoon and their detachment to catch up with them. They were already encountering their first sparks of resistance from the enemy hastily entrenched in order to cut off their line of retreat, and notified them to hurry up.

Scootaloo and her team heard all sorts of stories of the enemy torturing their prisoners, and subjecting them to degrading living environments. She knew that such stories were generally false in the large picture, but still cannot be overlooked in the small percentile that mistreat their prisoners. Such units were present on all sides of the war, but it rather comes down to a matter of frequency when it does happen. Nonetheless, no one wanted to get captured, as even if they are treated well by their captors, it would significantly diminish their image as a capable fighting figure.

The tank was about to crest the hill, and Scootaloo motioned her team to disembark from the moving vehicle before they reached the top. In a rather unwise but potentially lifesaving manner, the four jumped off the tank towards the sides of the road while it was still in motion, causing them to fall forwards and sideways at the same speed of the tank as they rolled on the ground. Although it was slow on paper with a top speed of only 48 kilometres an hour, it was still comparatively fast for infantry at a rest, and it definitely wasn't pleasant to fall off one while it was moving at around that speed.

Scrambling back up in a daze, Scootaloo realized that she dropped her rifle somewhere in the fall; luckily, it was only a few steps from the scrunched up grass created in her rolling maneuver, with its pieces appearing intact. She picked it up, feeling the bulky weight of the rifle shifting forwards from the underbarrel attachment and magazine in a numb gesture from the fall.

Her train of thought derailed upon hearing a sharp crashing sound and a plume of dust kicked up nearby her a tad too close. Looking around in half panic, she saw a wedge of dirt in the ground, with what appeared to be steam simmering out of the artificially created hole- it was a SABOT penetrator, probably from one of the classic 125mm smoothbore guns. Looking over to the direction where the wedge was pointed towards, she saw the group's tank and PCs spilling into their side of the ditch, trying to minimize their silhouette from the oncoming line of fire. A closer observation in the distance spotted the source of the oncoming fire; a flat silhouette, identical to the T-72s that she was used to see in briefing pictures.

The sharp crack from the M60's gun snapped Scootaloo back to attention that they were in the middle of the crossfire, and that their danger has just begun. Up ahead, she saw the small town, with its stubby buildings visible in the distance. Her ears were still ringing from the blast of the tank gun, but she made out the panicked calls from her friends out of the squad leader's stubborn barking at his troops hurriedly dismounting from the LAVs. Glancing back at the T-72, she saw a tracer streak towards it, and englufing it in a plume of smoke, grinding it to a halt. She didn't know if it was destroyed or not, but a strike like that should by most means cause some damage if it came to a stop.

“The junction's just up ahead,” Scootaloo shouted over the noises of combat, gesturing meaningfully towards the small town, “We should find cover in one of the houses.”

The group nodded, following their leader in a line formation as they went along the side with the infantry squad advancing in line with the LAVs. Suddenly, a loud burst came from one of the house windows directly in front of them as they got close enough: A PK machine gun. It managed to rake two of the soldiers at the far side of the echelon before it was quickly put down by the high explosive 25mm chaingun rounds from one of the LAVs.

The infantry squad broke up into fireteams similar to Scootaloo's, taking individual houses and clearing them with grenades before breaching the structure itself, to clear the remains of the first floor and the second floor, if there was one. Scootaloo hunched down at the front door of a two storey house, with Sweetie Belle occupied in unpinning and lobbing a grenade through one of the front yard windows as Babs and Applebloom scanned their rearward positions.

“Grenade!” Scootaloo heard one of them calling out, with the faint audible noises of objects being knocked over before a loud bang filled up the room.

“Breaching!” Scootaloo kicked in the door in one swift motion, quickly scanning the short hallway leading down to the living room. The bodies of two griffons laid in the TV room to her immediate right, being splintered and missing chunks of flesh from the explosion of the M67 grenade. Sweetie Belle joined up by taking position outside but in direct view of the doorway, being able to watch over her superior's rear from the stairwell leading to the upper floor.

The pegasus looked around the living room, but quickly dropped down behind a turned over couch in panic and confusion upon the porch door shattering into a frenzy of glass, followed by a picture frame just before her head. It was followed up by a consecutive series of clattering sounds from the outside, producing the trademark whizzing sound as it penetrated the wooden boarded walls of the house, or a dull thump as it lodged itself into the soft fabric of the couch, but failing to penetrate past it and into its intended target.

Scootaloo unholstered her pistol, firing blindly above the cover of the couch to hopefully force the aggressor back; She would've used her rifle, but it was too bulky in such a scenario. It seemed to work, as the bullets seemed to stop, followed by the sound of someone running on the grass. She dropped her pistol quickly popped out of cover, training her M16 at the direction of the shattered porch door, catching glimpse of the griffon flashing back behind the cover of the wooden shed, tearing the empty magazine out of his rifle. She didn't hesitate; she threw two bursts of fire in the direction of the shed, her bullets penetrating the brittle wooden board of the structure with ease. Sure enough, a body fell over out of the shed's cover, posessing a couple of extra holes in the chest and torso, with all signs of  life drained from it. At the same time, Sweetie Belle dispatched another griffon scurrying down the stairs from the upper floor, possibly trying to take out Scootaloo from behind when she was occupied with its comrade.

“First floor's clear,” the Sergeant informed, tucking her pistol back and heading back to the doorway, “Up the stairs, everyone.”

“Got it,” Sweetie Belle chimed back, moving into the doorway with Applebloom and Babs filing up behind her.

Scootaloo glared up the stairs, spotting a feathered figure dash into one of the rooms and slamming the door shut. She fired hastily through the door, unsure if she nailed the enemy or not.

“Search the other rooms,” she instructed, “I'm going to check this one for myself.”

“Understood,” Applebloom replied, heading for the bathroom in the hall, where Babs went for the guest room and Sweetie to the bedroom.

Jingling the doorknob slightly, the pegasus found it open, slipping the door open a crack as she peered her gunbarrel through it. Thinking the coast was clear, she swung open the door and moved forwards, before feeling a surprisingly strong claw grab her gun by the barrel and swung her forwards towards a bookshelf and into ground, separating the gun from her reach as she let out an audible 'oof'.

“Scootaloo!” Sweetie Belle called out, upon hearing trouble from the master's bedroom. “Quickly, she's in trouble!”

Quickly looking up, she saw the griffon, drawing out a PPM pistol and training it towards her. Rolling over behind the cover of a nearby bed, she bought herself some time as the 9mm rounds narrowly missed her body and lodged themselves inside the ground instead. It was followed up by the quick scurry of hoofsteps and a hollow, blunt smacking and the sound of a body hitting the floor in pained anguish.

“Scootaloo!” Sweetie Belle called out again. The Pegasus this time rose above the trench between the wall and the bed, spotting her friends take point over the incapacitated enemy. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine, thanks for the save Private,” she smiled gratefully, picking up her rifle from the ground.

“I thought we're past the formalities already,” the unicorn let out a false 'hmph' of disappointment.

“Sorry, I just like to mess around,” the Sergeant teased, “Anyways, let's set up over here, it has a good view from the road; Sweetie, you cover the stairs and make sure they won't get up here.”

“OK!” the three all chorused. Sweetie Belle left for the most concealed position overlooking the stairwell, while the other three set up in front of the large, shattered frame of the bedroom window.

A boat shaped object grumbling in a low tone of its diesel engine snaked around the corner, before stopping in front of the LAV-25s. The BMP-2 opened up with its 30mm autocannon, its sharp series of metallic clattering drenching the left wheeled APC with its volley of solid core APDS shells. The crew didn't have time to return fire before suffering the damage, and bailed out of the stricken vehicle for their lives. She didn't see the driver's hatch budge, probably being killed before they even knew what happened in the tragedy of war.

Babs took aim with her M203 at the BMP, lining up trajectory with the armoured vehicle. While the HEDP round for the launcher wasn't designed to fight armoured targets, it can still penetrate a respectable amount of plating for its size. However, she dialled in her shot incorrectly upon panicking at the loss of their LAV, with the round missing the BMP completely and instead exploded near a line of infantry towards its immediate right, managing to wing two of the griffons in a burst of crimson as they were pushed aside by the blast. Applebloom saw the infantry group in the open, and opened up on them with her M249 while the opportunity persisted. Scootaloo emptied her magazine into the infantry positions either in the open or in the houses, before yanking the empty magazine out and smacking a fresh one back in.

The BMP didn't notice them yet however, instead turning its turret towards another one of the houses being garrisoned by the marines. This time, the marines were quicker, with a bright plume lighting up in the house it was aiming at as an 84mm warhead detonated on the infantry fighting vehicle, engulfing it in a plume of smoke as its components ground to a halt.

By this time, the M60A3 pushed aside the knocked out LAV-25, providing suppressive fire from its commander's M2HB heavy machine gun, while the gunner used its main gun to clear out any hard points still entrenched with infantry. The second surviving LAV-25 followed suit, picking out any targets that the tank crew seemed to have missed. Another BMP was about to turn the corner before being spotted by the tank crew, dispatching it quickly with a HEAT shell from their main gun. An enemy AT trooper tried to take out the M60 by launching their RPG-7 at the lumbering steel beast, but failed to do crippling damage before his position was put down by the LAV still chuffing away at the houses.

“Enemy T-90! Take cover!” one of the marines shouted through the company's channel. The words shook Scootaloo to some degree upon hearing that one of the newest weapons of the were being unveiled in combat for the first time. While confident that anything could be defeated, she was still fearfully curious in how effective their new weapon could be.

Crashing through one of the forward convenience stores at the end of the T-shaped intersection, a T-90A had its 125mm gun pointed at one of the houses, not taking notice of the M60 right away. Scootaloo could tell that it was one of the T-90s, distinct from the new add-ons to the turret, upper and side hull. Its gun barked in the tone as the commonly encountered T-72: loud, but lower pitched in comparison to their own 105mm guns. Its HE shell blew apart the second storey of a marine occupied building, with the Sergeant unable to make out if anyone was inside the second floor at the time. With the enemy infantry beginning to advance again under the cover of their new main battle tank, the M60 crew quickly loaded their own APFSDS round to counter with the threat, and set it loose on target.

Scootaloo had to force back her jaw from dropping once the smoke cleared up; the 105mm shell had merely scuffed the upper glacis of the T-90. She could clearly picture the crew panicking inside their own tank, as the M60 desperately backed up to get out of the line of fire as the T-90 turned its gun towards them. The marine crew let out another shell, this time managing to blow off the left track of the 46 ton juggernaut, but still failing to cause crippling damage to it.

The T-90 crew was not amused; they retaliated to the futile attacks with their own ready loaded long rod penetrator and fired its gun directly at the M60. More than a dozen painful but yet still spectacular events happened at once for the M60, with its turret being gutted out of the turret ring in a huge plume of flame as it was lifted skywards from the massive overpressure created by the cooked off ammunition. It was followed by a rain of black debris, with the burnt metal, cooked off ammunition, and even the remaining pieces of crew raining down as charred black. The LAV-25 retreated behind the cover of some houses while they still had time in a wise move, saving their own lives and vehicle from an otherwise futile effort.

Scootaloo's eyes widened as she caught glimpse of the enemy tank crew turn its turret and elevate its gun, this time directly at their house. She stopped focusing on the oncoming waves of infantry and towards their own survival, quickly yanking at the neck of Babs and Applebloom's bulletproof vests, whom were briefly paralyzed by the shock at the events unfolding on the street.

“Get out of the way, you damned idiots!” the Pegasus barked at the two, pointing a hoof towards the doorway as their mildly dazed expressions joined up with Scootaloo's panicked one.

The two Earth ponies didn't need to be told twice once they snapped back to alert; they both grabbed their weapons and dashed out the doorway with Scootaloo. Sweetie Belle gave them a confused look initially when they joined up, but was quickly pulled down by Applebloom down the stairwell. It was just in time; the second HE shell blew apart the entire second storey of the house, turning the top into a crescendo of concrete, wood and brick, partially plastering the four huddled in the stairwell. They were covered in dust, but were still largely unhurt.

“Scoots!” Applebloom shook her superior, “Scoots, are you alright?!”

“I'm fine,” she coughed a few times from the dust persistent in the air, “How about you?”

“I'm good,” Applebloom reassured.

“Me too!” Sweetie Belle affirmed.

“Me three,” Babs concluded.

“Good, let's get out of here then.”

The four got down the stairs, making a beeline for the backyard porch door, knowing that there would be a tank waiting there for them. She dared to peek out of the backyard alley, spotting what appeared to be another T-90 crawling down the road. She snapped to her senses this time, remembering the most powerful weapon a team leader possessed; the radio. There should be friendly air support in the vicinity; she remembered that the oncoming Germanes had such elements available, and were available to use on the Equestrian side.

“Snake 1, Valkyrie, we need close air support near the road junction; Enemy T-90, over!” she called into the radio, sounding a bit more frantic than she intended as she remembered their callsign.

“Copy, standby Snake,” came back the Tornado crew, in a surprisingly minimal Germane accent.

About 20 miles away and 20,000 feet above in the air, a pair of Tornado IDS strike aircraft picked out their ground targets through their FLIR imaging systems to paint out for their AGM-65s. They released their ordnance at around 15 miles away, with the bulky subsonic missiles gliding in on target through infrared imaging. The infantry on ground received their desired effect some seconds later; erupting in a loud bang, they would spot a huge cloud of dust kicked up from around their targets, engulfing them before revealing their burning husks after the obstruction cleared away.

“Follow!” Scootaloo ordered, gesturing with a hoof.

The group proceeded carefully down the alleyway and peered out onto the streets in both directions. Most of the enemy has retreated from their attack once their tanks were destroyed, leaving behind the dead and wounded. There were still some individual stragglers that refused to surrender, which were picked off with easy by the marines who came out of their cover now. The damage has been done however, with over five M60 main battle tanks being knocked out in the immediate vicinity, along with several more LAV-25s accompanying the wrecked tanks. The most disturbing part were the dead crewmen, either dead in their vehicles or shot upon bailing out. This was partially compensated by three burning husks of the 'invincible' T-90 tanks, along with additional pieces of knocked out BMPs.

Then, a familiar, but friendly, grumbling sound came up from all around them as they walked out onto the streets, prompting them to look back and smile.

“The LAV!” Sweetie Belle remarked.

“Not that soldier, look!” Scootaloo pointed towards the West end fork of the road, where the buildings dissipated into the field.

The other three turned to face their superior's hoof, spotting the shapes and hearing their diesel engines grumbling in the distance. This time, it was a welcoming sight; instead of the hell bent T-72s and especially T-90s, these were the Germane Leopard 1A5s, coming in to relief their trapped company. They had finally broken through-

.

A sharp, metallic bell ringing in the distance passed through the ears of the four crusaders, forcing them out of their lucid state of imagination. It was most disappointing, as it signalled the end of their recess, and their colourful play session.

“Drat!” Sweetie Belle cursed, tossing her 2x4 down onto the grass, “Always when we're about to complete the adventure, the darned bell rings!”

“I didn't even have enough fun in destroying them,” Scootaloo added, nudging a knocked over salt bin with a hoof.

“Hey, look at the bright side,” Applebloom reassured, taking over the formally optimistic position of Sergeant Scootaloo, “That was way better than some computer screen.”

“Heh, you were right,” Babs nodded in agreement, “Can't get that feeling behind some screen.”

“Told ya,” the butter filly smiled at her cousin.

“Hey, I just have a great idea,” Sweetie Belle stated.

“What is it?”

“We should totally get more friends together to play a larger round of the game,” The butter pony suggested. Her friends all grinned at the suggestion.

“After school?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The four friends hid their 2x4s and M1 helmets inside the bush they used to always hide their otherwise illegal toys in after recess ended, and scurried off for class, leaving behind a trail of destruction left over from their play session. Babs looked back at the havoc they caused, and can't help but to grin widely at the sight- it didn't earn her any experience points or new emblems, but it caused her mind to swell with a renewed sense of happiness as she actually looked forwards to the next time she could go out with her friends.