Shots fired through the air. The hot desert of the Southern Rims was cut by bullets flying through the air. Screams cried out from a small town in the middle of the sandy wasteland. Inside, the streets of the bazaar were packed with panicked civilians, griffons and ponies alike, running to find a place to hide away from the fighting. Fiery mushrooms clouds bloomed as the griffon insurgents pressed forward, eager to get to the invaders.
The invaders, however, were not moving from their position. After all, Marines don’t retreat.
With that thought in his head, one of the Equestrian Marines stood up, his M40A5 sniper rifle raised. He scanned down the street, spotting close to 100 insurgents roughly 800 yards out. He cursed. If they stayed here, they’d get overrun. Yet at the same time, they couldn’t retreat anywhere. Behind them was a beach, followed by a wall of water. He looked to his small squad of 15 Marines. Scanning his men he noticed that the youngest one, a private, was trembling. He was crying, shivering as he laid on the dirt street. He frowned. As their commanding officer here on the battlefield, it was his job to motivate his men and get them to safety. He couldn’t do that if they were all too terrified to move.
“LT! What do we do?!” said a voice next to him. LT looked over, seeing a pegasus hiding behind a fruit stand with a rifle like his. He had that same desperation in his eyes that the private did. “If we don’t make a move, we’ll get slaughtered!”
“Shut it, staff sergeant. That kind of talk isn’t helping!” He barked, and immediately the pegasus shut up. LT turned his attention back to the private, who looked up at him with eyes too young to witness the horrors of war.
His heart broke, and was made whole again with a solemn promise to himself. They would not die here. Not today.
Offering a hoof to the private, he looked him in the eye. “We’re not going to die today, marine. You’ll see home again.” Hope flooded into the young colt’s eyes, quenching the despair. He got up, grabbing his rifle in the process. The private stood up and looked at him, eyes still shining with more than just fear now: they shone with determination.
“What should we do, sir?”
Seeing the youngest of their group ready to fight, the rest of the Marines gathered around him, their commanding officer. LT looked around, proud of the stallions for overcoming their fear. He thought for a moment, and soon the start of a plan came to him. He remembered from looking through his scope that there was a defendable building just about 200 meters up the street. If they could get to that position, then they could hold off the insurgents until they could an evac and some air support. They just had to get there.
He looked at his surroundings, and noticed a ledge overlooking the whole street about 50 meters away. Remembering that they had two snipers--himself and his pegasus friend--his strategy was complete.
“Alright. Here’s the plan. Staff Sergeant Wings--” He gestured over to the pegasus from before. “--and I will take an overwatch position on that ledge,” LT said, pointing at hoof at the rocky outcropping. “and give you all sniper sniper support. The rest of you will advance to the school up the street. It’s about 200 meters up, so if you haul your asses you can get there quickly. You’ll know it when you see it; it’s the one with the red flag next to it.
“Once there, you need to call in for an evac and air support. Staff sergeant Wings and I will support you from our position until the evac gets here.” He stopped, and looked around. “Any questions?”
Nopony spoke up. The cries of the griffons only got closer.
He hefted his rifle up with magic and pointed to an earth pony to his left. “Alright, Corporal, you’re in charge. Understood? Okay, move out!”
As soon as he said that the marines let out a spirited ‘Oorah!” and advanced, firing as they pushed to the school. He smiled grimly. He wouldn’t serve with anypony else. Looking over to Staff Sergeant Wings, he nodded, signalling to him that they had to get to their position. Wings responded by working the bolt action of his rifle, making that sound: cha-chak. It was the sound of power.
“Ready when you are, sir.”
He turned around and started sprinting in the direction of the cliff. LT followed suit, running as quickly as his legs could carry him. If they got there fast enough, they’d be able to make sure that no griffon insurgents shot down their friends. That’s what mattered, nothing else--not even their own safety.
As the cliff drew nearer, he began to feel a little uneasy. Something didn’t feel right. This was a little too easy.
“Sir, look out!” Wings cried, dashing forward and knocking aside an insurgent with a body slam; the griffon had been hiding behind a well off to the left. Wings punched him with his left hoof, but the griffon clawed at his body armor with his sharp talons. The freedom fighter squawked and tried to aim his AK at Wing’s stomach. Thinking fast, LT’s horn glowed and he drew his pistol. Time slowed down. LT could hear his own heavy breathing, the quick beat of his own heart, even the blood coursing through his body. He aimed his pistol, putting the griffon’s head in his sights. The insurgent was concentrated on Wings, and had his claw on the trigger.
No you don’t! With that, LT pulled the trigger of his pistol. Time resumed and his pistol fired, sending a .45 calibre slug right into the head of the insurgent. Blood spurted all over Staff Sergeant Wings as the griffon fell to the floor, dead. Wings crumpled beneath the weight of dead body, covered in blood, but alive. He gasped in air, air that he had taken for granted just moments earlier. Looking over at LT, he grinned slightly, pushed the griffon off of him and got up.
Wings, flapped his wings and hovered over to LT. “Celestia, man. I thought I was a goner.”
“Not on my watch, you’re not.” LT said, smirking. “Now, we need to get moving. Fly up to the ridge and secure it. I’ll meet you there.” Wings nodded, and zoomed off to the cliff. LT closed his eyes, and his horn glowed. Soon, he felt a flash of energy, and he opened his eyes to see himself standing on the ridge, overlooking the whole town.
Laying himself down, LT put his rifle in front of him, and looked through the scope. He looked back and forth, until he saw his squad but 50 meters from the school. They were firing at advancing griffons, but were pinned down.
“Alright, Wings. You’re my spotter.” He said, gritting his teeth. “Tell me where to shoot.”
Wings looked through his own scope, and immediately identified what was pinning their squad down. He cursed. “Shit, there’s a machine gunner further down the street. That’s why they can’t move upt. Looks like a .50 cal. Estimated distance: 72 yards from the squad’s position.”
LT adjusted his scope, and the griffon on the .50 cal came into view. “I got him.” He moved, putting the crosshairs right on the griffon’s head. His horn glowed, and then there was a BANG! The insurgent fell off the MG mount, his head now into tiny bits. With the gunner now taken out, the squad was able to move forward, and finally got into the school. LT worked the bolt action, expelling the spent 7.62 cartridge and loading in a fresh one.
“Alright, Wings. Pick out the tangos as you see fit and eliminate them.” LT said, already aiming at another insurgent. “It’s time to teach them real fear.” BANG! “There’s one down.”
Staff Sergeant Wings let out a snicker. “Aye aye, LT.” BANG! “Tango down!”
The comm system in LT’s ear crackled, and then a voice came over. “ZZZT--Sir we’ve--ZZZT--in the evac--ZZZT--be here in about--ZZZT--minutes, over.”
Wings kept firing away, but LT brought his hoof up to the comm. “Repeat, what’s the ETA on the evac?”
Static.
“Hunter 2-1, this is Guardian one!” LT shouted. “Repeat, what is the ETA on that evac, over!”
“ZZZT--ten minutes sir, I repeat, tango, echo, november! Over--SHIT! RPG!”
An explosion blasted both in the distance and through LT’s comm system. “Hunter 2-1, do you copy?! Over!”
Silence. LT’s heart was suddenly gripped with fear. “I repeat, Hunter 2-1, DO YOU COPY! OVER!” One second past, then two, then five, then--
Hunter 2-1 responded, coughing. “Guardian One, this is Hunter 2-1! We read you loud and clear, over.”
LT let out a sigh of relief. “Thank Celestia. Any casualties? Over.”
“Affirmitive--ZZZT--got Hoofkins with shrapnel in his left hind leg, but he’ll live. Over.”
Helicopter rotors whirred in the distance. LT looked behind him, and saw three specks in the distance. Smiling, he looked over at his friend. “Hey, Wings. Looks like our ride’s--”
Wings eyes suddenly went wide. “BUCK! LT, GET DOWN!” With that, he tackled LT, sending the two of them off the ridge. An RPG soared over them, exploding on their previous position. Rocks and shrapnel flew in every direction. Several shards of metal pierced the pegasi’s wings, causing him to scream. LT turned over, and the last thing he saw was the ground rushing to meet him. After that, a rock hit the back of his head his head, and everything went black.
1st. Lieutenant Saxon gazed at the casket as the preacher continued his sermon. Flashes of that fateful day kept running through his head. His fellow Marine and closest friend was dead—and he couldn’t help but believe that it was all his fault. Saxon had believed the battle over, that the enemy had retreated and that evac had arrived.
The result of his pre-mature relief? A small concussion for him, with minor cuts and brusies. Wings hadn’t been as lucky. Shrapnel had riddled his body, damaging major blood vessels and piercing his neck. By the time the corpsman had gotten to him, he was fading. By the time Wings was aboard the medevac helicopter, he was gone.
Sniffs were abundant to Saxon’s right, but he dared not look. There, sitting dressed in black, was Mrs. Wings, his friend’s widowed wife. Wings died saving his life, and because of that she had lost a husband. Lt. Saxon couldn’t bring himself to look at her; the guilt weighed too heavy in his heart.
“Ready...fire!”
Seven simultaneus rifle shots cracked through the air, startling Lt. Saxon out of his thoughts. The 21 Gun salute was being executed, a final salute to all who died while in the service. The marines bearing the rifles charged another round, making that same cha-chak noise. The sound of power...this time, it seemed to be the sound of fate. Each shot that followed rang in Saxon’s ears and mind. Each one saying the same thing to him.
Crack!
Semper Fidelis.
Crack!
Semper Fidelis.
Semper Fidelis...Always Loyal. Saxon bit back his tears. As the casket was lowered and the folded flag handed to the widowed Mrs. Wings, Saxon got up and walked away.
Always loyal indeed.
