The Defector

When I came to, the world around me was dark. It was a great struggle to open my eyes, and when I finally managed to crack them open, a blinding light above me forced them shut again. The only thing worse than the headache it gave me was the stinging pain in my side. Combined with the dull aching that covered the rest of my body, I could almost swear I was dead. A part of me wished I was dead. Maybe then the pain would go away. But it stayed, a constant reminder that I was indeed still alive, and unsure how I got into this situation.

Muffled voices pulled my attention away from my pain. They sounded so distant; I couldn't make out what was being said, or if I recognized them. As I slowly, painfully eased my eyes open, I was able to take in more of the room. It was a completely concrete structure, with a single light in the center of the ceiling. There were two figures standing by a rectangular shape I could only assume was a doorway. My vision was blurred, so I couldn't make out any details, but the silhouettes showed them to have equine features.

Despite my pain, my instincts took over and tried getting me up, only for me to find my arms and legs locked in place. The dull ache around my wrists and ankles increased to a stinging pain as what felt like leather straps tightened around them. I sighed angrily and relaxed my muscles. Somehow, the bastards had gotten me. At first, I was unsure how they did, until the image of Dixon getting a round to the face flashed through my mind. Suddenly, everything came back to me all at once. Dixon, Murray, McGee, Powell... they were all dead.

And the bastards responsible were standing in a doorway not ten feet away from me.

One of the figures shifting brought me back from my memories. As it got closer, my vision slowly returned to normal, and I found myself staring at a dark brown earth pony in a doctor's coat. He was looking down at me, and... Was he smiling? He was. He gave me a warm, kind smile as he looked me in the eye.

"Good to see you've finally woken up," he said to me, the smile never leaving his muzzle, "I was worried you had gone comatose on us."

"You shouldn't stand so close, doctor," I heard the second equine say from the doorway, "It's still dangerous."

"Nonsense!" the brown pony retorted, "He is a patient, and I shall treat him as such. Besides, there isn't much he can do whilst strapped to his bed." He gestured toward my bound arms with one hand.

The doctor spoke in a light, kind voice, with an accent I could best describe as lightly English. Beneath his doctor's coat, I saw he was wearing street clothes: a pair of faded blue jeans and a white polo shirt. His fur was completely brown, apart from his hands, which were jet black. One of them was holding onto a wooden clipboard.

"Now, I'm sure you are wondering where you are?" the doctor said, his attention again on me. I found myself unable to speak, so I simply nodded my head weakly, a move that still sent a fresh jolt of pain down my spinal cord, "You are in a hospital, being treated for some serious body trauma. You took a fair bit of shrapnel in that explosion. It took a long time to get all of the pieces out."

The image of the Humvee being destroyed flashed through my mind again. Finally finding my voice, I asked what I thought was the most important question at that moment, "Did... did anybody else...?"

"I'm afraid not," the brown pony said, the smile finally fading, replaced with a look of sadness and pity, "We managed to get you and one other out of the battlefield - a man who identified as 'Edward Collins' before he passed out. We did what we could, but he... bled out while we were operating."

Collins... I remembered seeing him during the fight. He was the one who had patched McGee up and carried him to the other Humvee. I had figured the grenade took him out. I guess it did in the end.

"I am truly sorry for his death," the doctor added. The thing that caught me off-guard was that he did seem genuinely upset. It threw me for a loop, and I found myself unable to reply. I just stared up at him, a look of confusion plastered on my face. It must have been obvious, because he felt the need to add on, "Please do not think that we are all the heartless monsters your leaders paint us as. I care for all of my patients, whether they be human or pony."

"A sentiment not many are keen to share, doctor," the pony from the doorway butted in.

"Precisely!" he replied, turning away from me to face the door, "Which is exactly why more of us need to start. The more we play into the humans' stereotypes about us, captain, the more ammunition they have against us, and the longer this war will draw out. Something I assure you nopony wants."

"I'm not too sure about that one doctor," the "captain" replied. He then moved out of the shadowy doorway to stand at the foot of my bed, allowing me to see him. He was a white unicorn, wearing a very ornate Royal Guard uniform, minus the helmet, "Now can you please finish up here so I can conduct my interview with the prisoner?"

God, this guy sounded like a fucking frat boy in college, how the hell was he a captain?

"Patient, captain," the doctor corrected, "He is my patient, and will be referred to as such for as long as he is under my care. Once he is transferred to the military prison in Cloudsdale, you can call him a prisoner, but until then, he is a patient. Understand?"

Th frat captain gave out a heavy sigh before replying, "Yes, doctor. Now, can you please finish up with the 'patient' so I can conduct my interview?"

"Yes, yes, of course," the doctor waved his hand dismissively at the unicorn, "But I have a few questions of my own to ask first. Could you please step outside a moment? Can't break the 'doctor/patient confidentiality,' can we?"

The captain opened his mouth to protest, but stopped himself. He sighed angrily before marching out the door, which he slammed shut.

"I apologize for him," the doctor said, his attention again turned back to me, "Some ponies lose their sense of compassion in trying times such as these. Some more than others, but who could blame them? Now, let's begin a cursory examination now that you're awake. Do you feel any pain?"

I told him exactly where, which was everywhere, but focused just above my left hip. He informed me that I had taken a large chunk of metal shrapnel to the abdomen. It was by far the largest piece of shrapnel he had removed, but there were many smaller silvers of metal that pelted my body as well. The shock wave and impact with the door had also left me with several bruises and a hairline fracture on my left leg. Basically, I was going to be under his care for awhile.

He gave me a few painkillers - helping me sit up enough to swallow them - and while we waited for them to kick in, he examined the more serious wounds on my body. He also started asking me a few questions while he worked. It started out innocently, with him asking my name, where I was from... the usual doctor-to-patient small talk you would get from a routine check-up. Somehow, he managed to lower my guard. So much so, that his latest question threw me off.

"I feel I must ask, sergeant, what exactly were you doing in the middle of a destroyed housing project in Manehattan?"

I almost answered him truthfully, but managed to catch myself. Telling an enemy the details of a mission while captured was extremely dangerous. My Ranger training would not allow me to go that far, and I tried to make it obvious to him, "I'm afraid that's classified, doctor."

"Very well, I won't pry. I'm sure Captain Armor will already pry plenty for both of us," he waved his hand again. The warm smile from before had returned on his face, "But I assure you, anything you say will not leave this room if it's only me here to listen. I take the confidentiality very seriously. I just figured it would be nice to discuss what happened, to lift any unnecessary weights on your chest."

"The concern is appreciated, doctor," I replied, keeping my tone professional, "But I ask that you keep in mind, I will not risk putting my fellow soldiers in danger. I will not answer any questions about our operations."

"I understand perfectly, sergeant. Though, I doubt Captain Armor will share my sentiment."

"Do I look like I give a fuck what that frat boy thinks?"

"Fair enough," the doctor shrugged his shoulders, and continued his work.

By then, the painkillers had kicked in, and the only thing I could still feel was the wound in my abdomen, but it had dulled to a weak ache. The doctor worked in silence for a few moments as he replaced a few small bandages on my right leg. He had removed the strap on my right ankle to allow himself freedom to work, but left the others intact. After awhile, the silence was broken by another one of the doctor's questions.

"So tell me, how long have you been in the military?" he asked, "You seem fairly young to be a sergeant."

"I'm not that young, I'm twenty-two," I replied. I hesitated to answer the first half of his inquiry, but figured there would be no harm in it, "And I've been in the army since I left high school. Got into the Rangers at nineteen."

"How long have you been a sergeant?"

"About a year now."

"And how did you accomplish such a feat?"

"By being damn good at my job," I gave him a confident smirk.

"Well, I suppose one would have to be," he chuckled lightly as he finished with my leg and reapplied the restraint. He was about to move up to my arm, but stopped himself, "I'm afraid the captain is going to have to return for this portion."

"Damn, fun time's over," I sarcastically replied as he made his way to the door. A moment later, he returned, followed by the white-furred unicorn from before.

"Standard procedure, I'm afraid," the doctor told me. He nodded to the captain, who shocked me by drawing a pistol and aiming it at my head. Once the doctor received a nod back, he began undoing the restraints on my right arm.

"Don't try anything, human," Captain Frat - sorry, "Armor" - warned me, "I won't hesitate if you do."

I hadn't planned on doing anything in the first place; I found that I actually kind of liked the doctor. But I understood. While I thought the methods were excessive, I understood, and nodded curtly at the captain.

The awkward silence that followed was excruciating. The doctor worked on the bandages as quickly as he could, but it wasn't fast enough. In my tense boredom, I found my eyes wandering to the weapon aimed at my skull, and realized I recognized it.

"Is that a TT-33?" I asked the captain, which caught him off-guard.

"I-I'm, not sure..." he stuttered.

"What does it say on the slide?"

He turned the gun sideways and looked at it, "I-I've no idea. It has a fifty-four and... some weird symbols."

"So, a Chinese copy, then," I said, more of a statement than a question. It was very common for Equestrian forces to carry Chinese and Russian surplus weapons "gifted" by the "generous" nations. In reality, it was them dumping some of their old shit on a nation they thought they could manipulate and control if they won the war. I was always seeing the Equestrian militia carrying Chinese-made AKs, but I had always thought the Royal Guard would be better equipped, being Equestria's proper military and all. Guess I was wrong.

"And... there!" the doctor suddenly said, "Only one more arm, and we're done."

He replaced the strap on my arm and rounded the bed. As he began working on my final limb, I found my gaze returning to the captain. He was still aiming his pistol at me, but his grip was looser. His formerly piercing gaze had relaxed. I tried to resist the childish urge to mess with him.

"That gun's going to fly back into your face with you holding it like that, frat boy."

I failed. Miserably.

He tensed up a bit at the sudden verbal jab. Once he realized what I was talking about, he grabbed onto the weapon with both hands and straightened his arms up as much as he could. He also returned to his sharp facial expression, but this time with a bit of red to his face. I guess he didn't like being made to look foolish.

"And done!" the doctor again interrupted as he finished fastening the restraint. He gave the captain another nod, who then slipped his weapon back into its holster, "He's all yours, captain. Try to go easy on him, would you?"

"I'll do my best, doctor," the captain replied, though he was giving me a subtle smirk as he said it. I could tell I wasn't going to like this.

"Well, then, I must go see to a few other patients," the doctor started toward the door. When he opened the door, he turned back to add, "Try not to kill each other while I'm gone, okay?"

As soon as the door shut, the captain's smile grew wider, "No promises."

I really wasn't going to like this.