Dead Mare Walking

by fuck mcdickbutt

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Romance, Adventure
Length: 1843

Art Coming Soon!

When Bonbon and Lyra are convicted of first-degree murder, they are given the choice to join the Equestrian Penitiary Force, more commonly known known as the E.P.F.. A unit of convicted criminals that would otherwise be executed, the E.P.F. goes anywhere, does anything, and faces everything that other units can't.

Is now a one-shot.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2012-06-29 22:24:04 UTC

Prologue

"M.P.G!!! Hit the dirt!!!" Screamed Corporal Lyra, straining her lungs. She promptly flattened herself to the floor of the shallow trench.

Lance Corporal Bonbon ducked under the trench as a Magically Propelled Grenade (or more infamously known as an M.P.G.) round whizzed overhead, lightly brushing against her multicolored mane. However, the trigger did not depress, so it sped past her, detonating roughly 20 hooves behind her. The detonation noticeably shook the ground, and it rained dirt and mud all over her.

"Close one there." She muttered under her breath, prone.

Lance Corporal Bonbon stood at only three and a half hooves tall, making her easily the shortest pony in the platoon. Her feminine mane and candy cutie mark helped conceal the fact that underneath her well-groomed coat hid a monster of rage.

And these guys were pissing her off.

She took a deep breath, and popped her head over the top of the foxhole for a quick look behind her.

The M.P.G. had taken out a large support beam of their platoon's command centre. The large concrete hexagonal structure was done for, crumbling to bits from the last blast of hurled high explosive. The large pieces of broken cement had buried themselves in the mud. Maybe they would make good barriccades later...

The Lance Corporal swore under her breath, the likes of which would have made even the most foul-mouthed drill sergeant gape in disgust. That was the last command post she'd had under her jurisdiction ever since the previous attacks. The platoon now had no cover whatsoever, save for the poorly dug trenches cutting into the hillside. She poked her blue head further above the trench, and looked around.

Her ponies, nowhere to be seen, had fallen back to the line of trenches about ten hooves behind her, leaving her and Corporal Lyra the only ponies in the front line trenches. Dirt and lead rained all over, the former blasting away from the impacts of the latter. They were pinned down by suppressing fire from the opposing force. Heavy machine guns poured on the heat, their loud torrent of gunshots making the fire works of the Grand Galloping Gala seem like m80 firecrackers. All around them, explosions rang out from where the enemy was lobbing around explosives like there was no tomorrow. The opposing force, or OpFor, was in a line of dense vegetation about twenty hooves in front of them. In between them was only a small no-pony's land filled with lead and spent cartridges.

In other words, they were fucked.

"Celestia's blazing bits, is there any end to their ammo?!?" Cried Bonbon.

"I don't think so!" Replied Lyra, her second-in-command.

As if to drive the point home, a salvo of Ibex sniper fire from the west whizzed over her head, making telltale snaps as the .50 rounds broke the sound barrier. Bonbon ducked into the foxhole once again, cursing her lack of weaponry. Some well-placed .357's could put those posers right back in their place.

Smiling at the thought, Bonbon pressed herself further into the mud at the bottom of her foxhole, soiling her mane as she did so. Contrary to girly steryotypes, she loved getting dirty. "Extra camoflauge", she called it.

Lyra, prone next to her into the mud, was careful not to soil her mane. She spoke:

"Boss, that's a fucking fifty! We're gonna have to make a run for it at one point!"

"Sure. Get out that radio. We need cover fire." The thought of what she was going to do next made her smile even wider.

Lyra fiddled with the boom-box sized radio for a second, and spoke into it, contacting the communications branch of the E.P.F..

"This is Misfit Actual, command squad. We need Chopper and Ozone on the line, over."

F.M.G. Lyroy "Chopper" Jerkins was having a bad day. A very bad day. But then again, people shooting at you before you even got a chance to take a crap tends to do that.

The sturdy gray Earth Pony ducked behind a barricade, about halfway between the trenches and the OpFor's position. They were in Nopony's Land, full of craters and shells.

Right where he belonged.

He smiled to himself as a machine gun bullet, fired from the side, pinged off his helmet, snapping his neck to the left.

"Man, the sides are getting pretty hot!" He exclaimed to his partner, Ozone. His thick Germane accent masked most of the emotion in his voice.

The purple gunslinger unicorn, in a prone position, gave no reply. All of his energy was focused on sniping, with one lens of his shades pulled up to accommodate the scope to her custom-built .50 sniper rifle, held using both her hooves and her magic.

"You're boring." Stated Chopper over the sounds of perpetual gunfire. "Loosen up." Chopper had always been a bit blunt with words, as his Equestrian was pretty limited.

"Talking to you is like talking to a brick wall."

Ozone racked the bolt on his rifle, completely ignoring Chopper.

As he said this, the stallion yanked out a large drum magazine from his saddlebags with his teeth and slammed it into the slot in his custom-extended l86 Squad Assault Weapon. The bullpup rifle made a click as Chopper pulled the bolt into an open-bolt position.

He activated his tactical mic, which was attached to his ear by a piece of duct tape. After this long in the E.P.S., a guy learned a few tricks.

"Rookie, how's it all up there?"

The garbled reply came through, breaking up a bit.

"Tangos, mostly to your eleven and two. Orders to take em' out." Replied Troy."And don't call me rookie!"

"Got it."

Pushing the straight-pull bolt to a closed position with his left hoof, Chopper extended his tactical bipod, and placed the Squad Assault Weapom on the lip of the trench with his head still under, preparing to fire.

"Three... Two... One."

On one, Chopper stuck up his head, aimed through the iron sights at the bushes at eleven and two, clicked off the safety, and pulled the trigger with his tongue.

In less than a second of firing, seventeen .288 F.M. jacketed armor-piercing rounds with c-90 explosive cores flew into the bushes at the two designated directions. Shaking from the incredible teeth-jarring recoil, he took up the bipod and ducked back under the barricade.

"Good hits, Chopper. Good hits. Two confirmed kills."

Chopper responded. "Thanks. I'll...

Chhhhhk!!!

"Sorry, I got another contact, Troy."

Chopper switched to channel thirteen on his mic, blinking twice at the tiny display on his retina. Having a microchip as a cutie mark had it's benefits.

"What."

"Chopper, this is Misfit Actual. Can you give us some cover fire?"

Chopper replied as a few pot-shots flew over his barricade. Ozone, lining up a perfect headshot, prepared to shoot at an Ibex officer. His first shot of the day.

"Negatory, we're out on the northern front. Nonpony's land. Nowhere's near you. Try Troy's un-HOT DAMN THAT'S LOUD!

"What?" Replied Troy.

"Sorry, Ozone just took the shot. Over n'out."

He put away his radio, and pulled out his LMG from the flor of the trench the sound of an Ibex charge from the north. He replaced the magazine. This was going to be a long, long day.

"Targets to your two and eleven." Said Troy into his tacmic. He watched from his vantage point, concealed by a ghillie suit on a grassy hill, as Chopper shot at the designated bushes where he had spotted Ibex troops. Troy pulled out his binoculars, and watched as two telltale puffs of red smoke floated from the bushes that he designated. With a grim satisfaction, he reported:

"Good hits, Chopper. Good hits. Two confirmed kills."

He paused for a moment, waiting for a negative reply and admiring his work.

"Anything else?"

"Nope. We don't need a spotter anymore. Move!."  Yelled Chopper across the mic.

He was done here. Ripping off his ghillie suit, he stood up, his custom under-camoflauge optical suit becoming useless as his silohuette became visible against the horizon.

Ripping out a tac-3 smoke grenade from his saddlebags, he pulled the pin and yelled:

"Popping purple smoke!

A magical white aura surrounded the grenade, which he promptly lobbed between himself and the OpFor. He ducked back down into his tall grass.

A few rounds whizzed over his head, but not enough to tell him that the entire enemy force had seen him.

"C'mon, c'mon...."

The purple smoke's timer reached ten, and the grenade began pouring out purple obscuring smoke, hiding them from the forces in the dense jungle cover. The wind was in their favor.

"MOVE! NOW!" Cried Seargent Troy, in a strong Trottingham accent.. The rest of his squad, two female Earth ponies, shed their respective ghillie suits and stood up, the black-painted barrels of their scout rifles clenched in their mouths giving off no gleam to reveal their position. They were, after all, a First Recon squad.

"Thirty hooves, east! He shouted, directing his squad. He pointed his left hoof, showing the direction in which they were to run.

The squad set out over the nopony's land at a brisk trot. If they ran, it would give away their position.

As they navigated their way over the nopony's land between the hill and the trenches where the rest of the unit resided, the cover of the purple smoke started to drift upward, alerting a few hostiles to their position. A machinegun began to fire upon them, and the depleted uranium bullets fell around their hooves, splashing them with mud.

Troy looked ahead, and signaled to Frost and Blackjack to move faster. The purple smoke was beginning to fade, almost as fast as it had started.

"Dive for it!" Yelled Troy to his squad. He dove into the trenches, skidding on the mud, and scraping himself on the hot spent shell casings that adorned the trench floor. He looked up.

A large, mint-green pony stood over him. Hatred burned in his heart.

"Fancy seeing you here." Said Corperal Lyra. She stood over him, dominating him with her stallion-like height.

"Likewise. Where's the Lance Corperal?" Asked Troy, his eyes shifting to the left. This mock politeness would be no longer. Soon..

"What, scared?"

"That has nothing to do with my question. I need to see the Lance NOW.

Lyra turned around, looking down the narrow trench. "She should be right over-"

She was interrupted by the cold feeling of a barrel against her neck.

"Take me to her." Instructed Troy, cocking the pistol with his magic.

Dear Readers:

Thanks for sitting through the prologue. I know things hapened a little fast, but this chapter was only supposed to introduce the main characters (Bonbon, Lyra, Troy, Ozone, and Chopper) and leave a cliffhanger, so it isnt exactly a real chapter.

Oh, the next chapter is a kind of "Six months earlier" kind of thing.

Dont worry, Dash comes soon.

PS first person to spot the shameless pop culture reference gets a virtual hug from fluttershy herself...