Cowardice

Fresh steel wheels ground against worn iron tracks, marked with the imprints of a thousand journeys that had taken place in the years since its construction. Ponies had holidayed at stops along this line, ponies had experienced incredible things in the places it brought them to and had made new friendships along the way. However, it no longer retained such a purpose. In fact, for the ponies who took this route, it was almost certainly a one way trip.

Troops, still raw from their uncomfortable days in training, sat on this train, on their way to the front line of a civil war that had divided Equestria for the best part two years.

Astral Haze, a young unicorn sat among these troops. He jittered in his helmet. He had not realised what he had signed up for the day he enlisted. He was rich; he wasn’t supposed to go to the front. He was supposed to have accelerated command, and give orders from afar.
The compartment was dark and smoky, occasional flitters of light shooting through the curtains that concealed them to the world. The sleeping soldiers swayed from side to side with the carriage as it clattered along the tracks. The smoke was the result of the officers in the next compartment, who were all vigorously puffing on cigars. They were the type who would likely go on to spend days in excess behind the front.

Across from Haze, an earth pony sat forward a smirk on his face.

“You look scared” he said.

Haze glared. He hated being called a coward. It was half the reason he enlisted.

“Shut your mouth!”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I am.”

Haze glared for a few seconds, silent in his unwarranted frustration, before shifting his gaze elsewhere. He tried looking out the window to keep his mind off the other soldier, whom he knew was still looking at him.
‘Come to think of it’ he thought ‘I pissed off all the other recruits. This stallion could me my only chance at having someone to watch my back. Plus, I can be done with him any time I want.’

He turned his eyed back toward the still confidently bright eyed soldier.

“Sorry. That I snapped.”

“Aaw. Ain’t that sweet.” He replied sarcastically.

Haze tried to keep his expression calm and passed the remark off with a smirk before continuing.

“So, what’s your name?”

“Ponies just call me Coal.”

“Coal, huh? Doesn’t sound like a real name to me.”

“Well, it’s my name. What’s yours?”

“Astral Haze.”

“Okay then, Astra...”

“Don’t call me that.” Haze said calmly, but with a hint of spite. “Just call me Haze.”

It was Coal’s turn to smirk. It was evident he was enjoying this. He could tell just how scared and just how irritated Haze was. He had figured out in just a few moments, exactly where his buttons were.

“Alright Haze, it’s nice to meet you.”

He held out a hoof. Haze resisted the urge to snarl, and begrudgingly shook it.

“Right back at you.” He practically spat.

“You know what” Coal began “I’m going to catch some shut-eye like these clever bastards here. Don’t shoot me while I’m out.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Haze replied without an ounce of joking tone.

A soft, cautions “Mhm” was elicited from Coal’s mouth before he leaned back. A few minutes later he was asleep.

Haze was shivering again. His nerves had refused to quell. Simply the presence of the uniforms and rifles around him made his chest feel tight. His lungs burned as though he were caught in a sandstorm, and his head ached as though he had been slugged about the head with a hammer. He couldn’t stop thinking about the gunfire. He couldn’t stop thinking about how he could die.

The shivering didn’t stop, nor did the pang in his gut. It made for a very long and uncomfortable train journey.

The arrival at the front line was swift. The train shuddered to a halt, they were barked awake, and herded off, all in a matter of minutes, and once it was over the train was off again, hurtling back towards Canterlot.
The platform they had just arrived upon was rather dull. Plain greyish sandstone, stained and chipped formed the floor, and a metal canopy, painted in a horrid green, bubbled and uneven, no doubt covering years’ worth of paint layers, guarded the skyline.
Haze felt a sudden lurch in his stomach, as though it were trying to leap out his mouth. He recognised the feeling quite well. Bile squirted through his teeth as he tried to retain it. After a few seconds of fighting with himself, he opened his mouth and began to wretch violently, sending foul liquid spilling all over the station floor. The bile quickly sank into the small indents in the sandstone, which would no doubt make some elderly pony’s day much worse, in giving them a tough mess to deal with.

The rest of the unit, bar Coal, made several homogenous steps back to avoid the tidal wave of vomit that threatened them.
A confused gurgle was elicited from Haze’s mouth between bouts of bile, as Coal stepped towards him without hesitation, holding his helmet upturned in one hoof. Manoeuvring skilfully around Haze, he made sure to catch the subsequent splurges of sick in his helmet, trying to keep the affair relatively clean.

After a few more seconds of retching spasms, Haze’s stomach was empty, and the best part of its contents slopped about in Coal’s overfull helmet.
Spitting out the last excess fluid in his mouth, Haze straightened up and looked Coal dead in the eye, as if silently questioning him. Coal seemed to receive the message.

“Just because you acted like a dick on the train doesn’t mean I’ve not got your back.”

He leaned closer in.

“You’re the only thing resembling a pal I have here.” His tone was neither joking nor serious, somewhere in between, in fact.

‘A pal, eh? Could work out well for me.’

Haze heaved in several deep breaths before he had recovered enough to talked. He put on the most sincere smile he could muster given the circumstances, however, it looked more like an expression of discomfort.

“Right then...” he said, voice still gravelly “...I’ve got your back too then.”

Coal started over to a bin on the platform, a contented look on his face, and emptied into it what had been, that morning, Haze’s breakfast. Obviously the prospect of having a friend in the conflict seemed to him, quite too good to be true. He was even prepared to handle copious amounts of bodily fluid.

Once said fluid had been disposed of, the group of young ponies reformed and shuffled awkwardly into formation to begin the immense march to the front.

As the young soldiers marched, the warm light of the sun began to ebb away. As darkness fell, so did the temperature and soon the unit began to shiver unanimously. The cold chilled them through, as though making brittle their bones, and rusting their joints. Aching, they continued to march. Step after step, call after call, shell after shell.

By midnight they were in the middle of the reserve trench; thin, ill looking ponies peered at them as they passed through, with a look of pity on their faces. Not worry, or fear, simply pity. One of the larger stallions in the unit called out to the sergeant.

“Sir, can’t we stop here for tonight?” he boldly shouted.

The sergeant spun around, practically without lifting a hoof, and charged to the young soldier. His horn was aglow, brandishing a small whip in aggressive fashion, muzzle resolutely and condescendingly up in the air. The light from his horn cast an eerie burgundy hue against the dark surroundings, overpowering even some of the lamps. As he halted in front of the soldier, he peered down at him as though staring at a pile of excrement.

“Would you kindly repeat that I didn’t quite hear you?”

“Nothing...sir...”

“Well then, nothing is as just a cause as any.”

He brought the whip to bear on the poor soldier’s face. It connected with a sickening crack. As the young pony lifted his head from the blow, everypony became aware of a deep cut across his right cheek, pouring with blood.

“Any other wanton enquiries you would like to pursue?”

The soldier could to all but shake his head.

A pony, obviously the physician of the group started towards the profusely bleeding pony, but was interrupted by the hoof of the sergeant.

“No stitches. He needs to feel this one for quite some time.”

Pupils shrinking, the medic backed off and fell back into the ranks. The sergeant turned to the rest of them as though nothing had happened and cocked his head, displaying clearly that he wished for them to fall back in. Fearfully they all obliged and continued the march to the front.

By the hour of daybreak, they had arrived at their destination: the front line trench. Now they awaited orders. The trench was silent in the faint light, everypony was either too tired to talk or had fallen asleep upright, and nopony was in any mood to converse or become committed to any sort of activity.

Suddenly and loudly, a group of around twenty ponies, clad in thick material and lugging heavy rucksacks came lumbering into their area of trench. Their equipment clattered with a ridiculous noise, startling awake most of the sleeping ponies, and bringing the rest back to reality from their tired daydreams.

A loud, strong voice bellowed out into the quiet trench.

“Mornin’ lads! How’re you all gettin’ on?”

Evidently it came from the leader of this new unit. He was a rather tall stallion, who looked like he was getting on a little, but was muscular and powerful nonetheless. His coat was an off white, stained by black splotches. Haze noted that he saw bundles of sticks on their belts, designating them quite obviously as a demolition team.

The sergeant, who Haze now knew to be called Merlot, was visibly upset by the sudden call from the new figure, and with his typical uppity posture, strode over to him.

“I see they’re handing out command to just about anypony these days, eh.”

The new figure’s face saddened and then regained composure. He must have been used to this. He responded calmly, keeping his cool.

“Yes sir, I guess they-”

Sharply he was interrupted by a younger member of this demolition unit. She was short but stocky, and had an auburn coat, and had the same dark spots as her leader.

“No, not just anypony! You’re looking at one of the best mining technicians in Equestria!” she yelled.

He lifted a hoof and gently rested it on her shoulder, and she seemed to calm down a little.
Sergeant Merlot looked like his head was about to explode. His eyes were practically bulging from their sockets.

“You had better keep your animals under control.”

The sergeant obtained a communal scowl from the entirety of the new unit.

“I better had.”

Sergeant Merlot then charged off, with a look of disgust and fury on his mug.

The large, patchy figure found his way over to the rest of the group to announce himself and his unit. With a hoof behind his head he began to speak.

“I am sergeant Fuse Shaft of the Northern Technicians. To spare you a speech, we’re demolitions experts.”

He then shuffled to the side of the trench, draped his rain cape around himself and lowered his head. Promptly, the rest of his unit followed suit and hunkered down wherever they could find decent shelter and took rest.
Sergeant Shaft looked up once more.

“Didn’t your officer say when the whistle is blowing? Six. Tomorrow. Get a bloody good sleep, lads!”

There was a short buzz of movement and quiet chat as the sore ponies shuffled around and made the best of what they could to warm and shield them. Slight rustles came from a few ponies eating from their ration tins, and a little chat continued on for several more minutes before everypony began to at least doze.

Haze and Coal had ended up only a few feet away from sergeant Shaft. Haze felt somewhat safe in his presence; he looked strong, and had no doubt seen his fair share of battles. He was curious about him though. Why didn’t he sleep in the bunker? That was the designated sleeping are for officers, why not use it? As his head drooped sleepily sideways, he kept his eyes trained Shaft, and only broke contact once he had fallen asleep.

Sleep was restless. Broken and disturbed; plagued by the noises of a daytime battlefield. Blasts of magic, shells, small arms fire and the dying screams of ponies so loud that they could be heard a mile off. As night fell once more, the noise quietened down as mutual sleep was assumed by both sides. Sleep was still broken, but became a little more restful, which Haze was somewhat thankful for.

Haze sat up, his neck sore from lying against the trench wall. He lit his horn and raised his timepiece from under his cape, taking some comfort in the warm glow. Its dial showed that it had reached around half past one in the morning. He sighed and sat back, trying to gain as much relaxation as he could given the circumstances.

Suddenly, he was alerted by a noise in the distance, clanks and hisses echoing shrilly into the night. Haze chanced a peek over the parapet.

He ducked down in fear. Metal clad ponies, glowing blue were marching slowly towards them. Their armour was a dark black, riddled with tubes running in and out of, coursing with some luminous blue liquid. They carried large and intimidating weapons, cannons of some sort.

Haze scurried his way over to Coal and Shaft, fumbling and tripping over himself in fear. Like a child trying to wake a sleeping parent, he began to shake them and mumble somewhat incoherently. Confused and dazed, the two bleary eyed ponies looked up at Haze in confusion.

“What’s wrong boy?” Shaft asked, reassuringly.

“They’re attacking!”

Realising there was a night raid imminent, the sergeant of the technicians stood up and barked the troops awake.

“Night raid! Night raid! Everypony on your hooves!”

Haze interjected.

“They’re going to kill us!”

“Calm down boy.”

“No they’re-”

“They’re made of metal!” one mare screamed, falling onto her back away from the parapet in a mad scramble to find cover.

Stoically Shaft made his way over to the trench wall, and unafraid he stuck his head over the parapet. His eyes widened in shock, and his brow furrowed, but he remained calm and turned his attention back to the troops.

“Miners! Heavy explosives! Now! The rest of you, make good use of your grenades! We want to stop them from reaching us!”

The trench was suddenly alive with ponies setting up equipment and checking their weapons. Everypony milled about, bracing themselves for the fight. Everypony bar one. Haze was making his way to the back of the trench amongst the confusion hoping no pony would notice.

He was headed for a small supply trench he had seen on the way in. He had logged it even then, as a place to hide.

Shaft lobbed a grenade with his hoof, landing it directly at the feet of one of the armoured warriors. The small ball of explosives went off with a thunderous crack, sending debris flying in all directions. However, through the smoke, the armoured warrior ploughed onwards, as though nothing had happened. The rockets they launched had the same effect, nothing seemed to be breaking through the armour.

In return a beam of blue energy soared over their heads, catching one poor colt across the face as he tried to let off a rocket over the parapet. He tumbled the ground, crying in agony, and clutching his face. As a few ponies closed in to help, they noticed that his coat and skin were melting into his hooves as he tried cover the wound. Two ponies, presumably his friends, pinned his arms away from his face, as a third administered some form of anaesthetic.

A second beam roared over head, this time with a ear splitting whistle, before an almighty boom broke the commotion. A curious few peeked over the parapet to see what had happened.

The pony who had been the operator of the cannon stood alongside his comrades. He stood, missing not just the cannon, but also his head and most of the right side of his body. The few ponies that carried the same weapon shed their load, terrified.

Now, the charge began. The armoured equines sped up their pace and frantically moved as fast as their metal encumbrance allowed. Steadily they made headway, no gun able to penetrate their armour, no magical blast able to incapacitate them, unhindered and aggressive. Once in range, they returned with their own small arms fire. The unicorns among them drew blades and raised them for a jump into the trench.

Several colts fell to Coal’s side as a hail of bullets rained down on them. The whole unit scattered backwards and took cover behind anything they could find. Returning fire was pointless, but they did anyway. It seemed, at least, to make the armoured attackers hesitate in their assault, however it did very little to stifle their intentions.

Metal boots came clambering over the parapet and down into the trenches, and blades began to swing. It could only be called a massacre. Hooves, heads and tails flew in all directions, trails of blood coating the wall and floor of the artificial pit. The fire from above halted and instead the attack was left to those inside the trench.

“Retreat! They’ve got us beat!” cried Shaft’s strong, commanding voice.

With that, both battalions clambered backwards, heading for the previous trench-lines, and hopefully backup. As the distance once again widened, the hail of small beams and bullets started once more, and scores of ponies were struck down, fear now forever etched on their faces.

Haze, cowered as the troops moved past him. He stayed hidden, knowing that he would be shot, either by the enemy or as a traitor if he was found. Luckily, curled under stacks of crates and barrels, he was invisible to those rushing about in all directions.

He heard the ruckus die down after a few minutes, and realised the battle had been taken further up the trenches. The young coward of a stallion poked his head out from under the wooden pile. The cold night air once again hit his face, and he flinched at sensation, letting out a slight, pathetic whimper.

Haze began to crawl from under the boxes, thinking about ways out of the situation in which he found himself. He could desert, he could work his way back to the unit once the fighting stopped, hell, he could go and get himself cut up and lie pretending to be unconscious down at the front. As he pondered, a cold, steely claw gripped his neck and lifted him from the trench.

Twelve feet above the trench floor, Haze dangled in the mechanised of one of the battalion’s attackers. The figure tilted its head to the side slightly, and its shoulders moved almost as though it were sighing. It reared up on its hind legs to bring up its other front hoof, on which a mounted gun was perched. The metal figure brought the weapon to bear on Haze’s head.

Haze convulsed, as though fitting from epilepsy, as adrenaline and fear took over. His pupils looked simply like dots in a vast ocean of white. He frantically thought to himself about his own demise, of eternal darkness.

Suddenly, in a mad frenzy of hysteria he managed to swing his shovel up into the head of his would be executioner, the bladed edge catching in the cables the ran in and out of the armour, severing them, and seemingly causing the armour to seize up. Blue neon liquid poured like blood from a gaping artery onto the soil.

Haze swung again, catching the helmet dead on and sending it flying from its wearer. Haze swung a third time, too crazed, too terrified to notice the young mare inside the suit crying in surrender. He swung a fourth time, unaware that she was already incapacitated. And a fifth time, ignorant of the fact her forehead and eye socket had fractured, and now resembled a gory pulp.

The jittering, screaming stallion raised his shovel to strike again, when the metal instrument was torn from his grasp, at which point his screams turned into whimpers. He fell to the ground, face first in the soil, and his whimpering became crying.

A large group of rather concerned ponies stood around the nervous wreck, and gazed on in bewilderment and horror at the scene. They looked at the mangled and barely breathing armoured opponent, revolted by the sight. They looked at haze, pitying his curled, pathetic frame.