Cowardice

Haze sat upright in confusion, his mind a blur at the sudden change of location and the bright light spilling onto him. He was shivering, and he could feel a cold sweat make his uniform cling to his now matted fur.

Moving into a proper seated position, he took in his surroundings. He sat on a collapsible bed under a green canvas tent, the side of which had been rolled up, revealing a cold and bright reserve trench coated in a light mist. The scene looked somewhat ethereal.

Looking over the side of the bed, Haze noticed that the ground was covered in rudimentary wood panels. It was damp, round and knotted, but it most likely made for a more hygienic grounding than mud.

Wondering why exactly he was there he took a look around his own body as far as was possible, but he came across no lacerations, no bandages, no splints. He kept trying to think about what lead him to be here, and after a few seconds of racking his brain it came flooding back to him.

The assault, the armoured ponies, the gun inches from his head. The shovel. On a closer inspection he could still see flecks of blood on his uniform, like gelatinous lice frozen in place, head to hoof. He began to sense the reason for his discomfort upon waking.
The disconcerted stallion raised a hoof to his forehead as he recalled the event of the previous night, his total and utter loss of control, even in the surrender of his assailant. His physical refusal to stop bashing his metal instrument down on her skull, over and over again, half revolted and half entertained in his episode at the crunch each blow made. He felt sick. Both at the image the remembrance conjured up and at himself.

He felt his abdomen quiver as his breathing began to jump. He tried to resist, but it was ultimately pointless. Tears of fear and regret began to pour down his face, feeling like hot lead as the rose from his eyelids. By the time they had reached his chin, they had passed through the blood embedded in his fur and dropped onto his off white sheets a pale, swirling red.

This sufficed only to make his fit of hysterics worse. From soft self pitying moans, he went to cries of anguish. Luckily there was no one around to wake up in the other beds, as they all lay empty. Some however, were coated in copious amounts of blood. The wounded alongside him must already have died and been taken away.

After a few seconds of his hysterics, somepony who was presumably a field doctor came charging from a bunker off to the side, eyes wide and teeth clenched, towards him. In her short trot, she spouted phrases like ‘hush’ and ‘calm’ and ‘it’s alright’.
Once at his bedside, she lay a hoof across his hunched shoulders and tried to quieten him as best she could. In as motherly a way as she could muster, she stroked the back of his head and continued to shush him. She continued to do this until his crying became a slight repeating, hiccup like murmur.

“Alright now. Alright.” She cooed “Sit there and I’ll get something to calm you down”

His lip quivering and his eyes bloodshot, Haze turned his head to her and nodded with a pathetic whimper.
The mare trotted back to the bunker. After several minutes she returned with a piping hot mug, giving off steam in the cold air. She held it out to him, and he levitated it over to his mouth. His body loosened off at the soothing taste that hit his mouth. It was hot chocolate. He let out a noise not dissimilar to a chuckle, though it wasn’t exactly a happy noise.

“Feeling a little better now?” The mare asked softly. "You were fitting last night."

Haze nodded.

“Enjoy it. We’ll have to send you back to your unit once we check you over.”

His stomach plummeted. He looked up at the mare with a look of despair plastered on his face. She stared back, a concerned yet resigned frown on her brow. She looked as though she sympathised.

“I’m sorry. It’s just what happens.”

“Right... I get it.”

The doctor took a few steps backwards and beckoned for haze to follow her. He shifted out of his sweat soaked sheet and followed her as she lead him to the bunker from which she originally emerged.

Minutes later he emerged, with little recollection of what had gone on due to the pace at which it occurred. The evaluation had been blisteringly fast, and he could barely recall what the inside of the concrete shelter looked like.

“Well, that’s you. You’re gonna need to start heading.”

“Thanks...” he said, through teeth clenched in fear.

“Stay safe.”

“Thanks.” He repeated, a little more confidently. He felt a little special for a moment until he realised that she must have given the same routine to at least another dozen ponies.

“Well, goodbye.” The doctor said, nudging him slightly in the direction of the path to the front with her muzzle.

“Right. Bye.”

And without another word or glance, he started off towards the front line. After a few seconds he turned back, realising he hadn’t got her name, however she had slipped back into the warm bunker. Shrugging it off as best he could, he turned yet again and started walking, on his way to regroup with his comrades.