Flashes in the dark. As far as she was concerned, this fight was nothing but flashes in the dark. At first, things had gone well. They had taken the objectives and driven most of the enemy forces away from the area. But the darkness... the darkness made everything harder. After the auspice had given up, all pretence of order had disappeared. The troops had scattered, training and instinct had fully taken the relay, hijacking her muscles and leaving no place for reflection or hesitation. There were no objectives, no enemies nor allies. There were close and distant bursts of light. Bumpkin shot the distant ones in hope she was killing the right kind of ponies. And now, on top of it all, she had to gather the remnant of the fourth and organise a "strategic retreat". Fancy name for saying getting the Tart' out of here.
"For the Empress..." she muttered silently as she got out of cover. Las shots and bullets flew in her general direction, with no more consequences than making her run faster. She ran for what felt like an eternity, but she finally reached the Cantina. Once it had been one of the few bars she and her squad tolerated this side of town. Now, it was just three and a half walls. Coincidentally, it was still one of the few tolerable place to "hang out" this side of town. She and some of the survivors of the Fourth had found cover here. Since, they had tried to regroup and organise.
She got inside, still wary of an ambush. She had not been gone long, but there were stories of soldiers dying for more stupid mistakes. She climbed the stairs to the first floor, her weapon ready. She entered the room silently, her lascarbine aimed at the ponies inside. At the window, a greyish-blue, crimson-maned stallion was aiming and firing with his long-las, regularly bathing the room in warm, red light. In a corner, a green mare with pale yellow mane attended the wounds of a third soldier whose yellowish hair and fur got ablaze with every sniper shot. Split, Honey and Jonagold, the only one that had survived her squad. The three other scouts, that constituted the rest of their current forces, were still outside.
If they're still alive, a treacherous part of her brain whispered. She shook her head, as if to get rid of the invasive thoughts. They'll come back.
She refocused on the present members. They were alive and well. Relatively speaking.
"Nice to see you so alert," she said, putting the safety of her weapon back on.
"For the love of..." Split jumped slightly, her weapon firing a last shot at the shadows. "Bump'! You're still alive?"
"No I died," she deadpanned, "but I missed you, so I decided to come back."
The two other privates laughed at that. The atmosphere in the room became instantly lighter. "Did you bring back ammo with you from the other side?" Jonagold asked.
"Yeah," she answered, taking a pack of salvage ammunitions for the mare. "Still a loosy shot, hey?"
Jonagold "Golden Shot" took the ammunitions and fed it to her desperately empty gun. "Shut up," she finally answered as she finished.
"Got any idea how to get out of this mess?" the last member of the group asked.
"Yeah. We gotta retreat. Sergeant's order." She informed, pointing at the salvaged vox on her back.
"And I was having so much fun..." Split sassed. "But an order's an order."
"Yeah. A shame really." She was about to add more sarcasm when hoofsteps interrupted her. Every weapons instantly lifted toward the entrance, only to lower when the scouts came into view.
"Bumpkin! We have news!"
~o~
Only two of the scouts had come back. The third had stayed behind to let them a chance to bring back what they'd learn and while she respected her bravery, she couldn't help but feel guilty and resenting her for it. Which in turn added more guilt. The news were rather positive. A good part of the fourth was still alive. Some had naturally converged towards the rally point. Others were looking for her and were coming to her position. Her work had been chewed by good training and discipline. This however was not the info that preoccupied Bumpkin.
A squad of the Fifth had been trapped in the area. They were under heavy fire and requested help. Bumpkin's group was the closest from their position. Their life, the life of her ponies all of it hung above her head. This was the epitome of what she hate about leadership. Her life was hard enough to protect without having to decide for the fate of others.
She sighed dramatically. What would the Sergeant do? she wondered. The answer was pretty obvious.
"We have to help them."
"You heard that? That sounded like a very bad idea," said Splitter, packing the few remaining equipment he still had.
"We have to try!"
"Who died and made you boss?" the stallion asked jokingly. "Wait... Strud' did... nevermind then,-" He reloaded his weapon and put it back at his side, a serious expression on his face. "-You know that's a bad idea. We can't afford it."
She turned toward Jonagold and Honey.
"You know we'll follow you," the former said.
"Like Split said, it's a terrible idea... but you're the boss," 'Golden Shot' added with a nod.
"So you're all planning on letting me take the bad decisions?"
"Yep!" they collectively confirmed.
"And we're blaming you when it turns horribly wrong," Split added.
"Great... I feel the joy of the responsibility already."
~o~
Bumpkin looked around the corner with apprehension. The flashes were closer now.
"Okay follow me," she signed the rest of her group. They progressed into the battlefield, getting deeper and deeper into the darkness, if such a thing still made sense. The gunshots detonation and las weapons whizzings got stronger. The fighting was way heavier here, and if this was any indication, at least a dozen of DPs were present. As well as an impressive horde of heretics.
"Okay, we found them," Split whispered, "now what do we do about the horde of uncooperative ponies between us and them?"
"We kill them," she sentenced.
"Yeah sure," she could guess the eye roll in his words somehow, "but how?"
Bumpkin thought about it for a few seconds. They didn't have much. They had enough ammunitions for now, voxes that would fail to deliver any meaningful message, and one smoke grenade. The flashes became somehow more desperate. Time was running.
"We could surround them..."
Split looked around, then back at Bumpkin. "No. No we can't."
"We're barely twenty Bump'," one of the scout, whose name she couldn't remember, added. "We should stay together..."
Bumpkin sighed. "I know that. But we know they outmatch us. They don't necessary know that. If we make them believe that they're surrounded they may flee. Then we can rescue them and get the Tart'out of here."
"You want to play dare with them?"
"Got a better idea?"
"Not really... Can I still protest?"
"No."
"Okay, but how do you want to do that?"
"Okay hear me out..."
~o~
First, we must create confusion. That way, we don't die and theyo're easier to deal with. Win-win
The gas grenade fell on the ground with a soft 'clunk'. It bounced two times before stopping between the hooves of a cultist. This one was a baker. Fate and luck had saved him for the reality of war. This was ironically what had drove him to rebellion. Security had become boredom. Boredom had become rebellious thought. And rebellious thoughts had become sedition. This attitude was, in turn, ironically the reason Luna's Bats distrusted mortals. The grenade settled softly between the legs of the pony. Hot and corrosive gas erupted from under him, scalding his barrel, stinging his eyes and attacking his lungs. All around him, the cultists, his newly found alliance, started to cough and sneeze, trying to escape the toxic cloud. He never got this chance. He staggered a moment before his limbs went limp, he fell next to the grenade and died a painful and slow death.
Then, we must convince them that we mean business.
The war songs erupted from all sides, one after the others. It was loud and off key and Bumpkin hated her voice on the speakers of her vox. But it worked. The lack of true hierarchy or cohesion worked in their favour. The traitorous DPs were too few and the cultists too anarchic to be contained. Every attempt failed in a matter of seconds. It didn't help that frequent lasgun fire pierced the cloud. It was as abundant as it was inaccurate. However, the goal was not to hit but to make believe that there were plenty of soldiers shooting at them, not just a bunch of injured ponies.
That's when we strike... and pray the Empress that everything worked.
The real attack came from the side, up close and personal. They rushed the cultist, guns and blades ready to strike, pieces of torn cloth protecting their muzzle. They'd strike relentlessly, shooting at point-blank range in the crowd of heretics. But it was all a diversion. All they wanted was to get the Fifth out, and that's where Honey stepped into play.
We mustn't let all of them flee! If they all get out, they'll soon realise what we've done. We MUST eliminate as many of them as possible.
They'd fight, never resting in place, never resting at all. They'd switch target as often as possible, shooting or slicing once or twice before fighting another foe. Sometimes it was enough to kill. A lot of ponies managed to leave the cloud, to be shoot at by the scouts outside. Sometimes, it was enough to kill.
Then... we hope we survive this.
Bumpkin and her soldiers fought with all they got. They fought until every fibre of their being screamed in pain, past injuries and exhaustion. They fought to the point where time lose all meaning beside the next attack and the next target. It felt like hours, but the lingering haze of smoke was a painful reminder that not even a minute had passed. They fought, with their life and their comrades' on the line.
Outside of the cloud, the Fifth was slowly getting out of hiding. Too slowly.
Bumpkin stabbed a cultist in the spine, killing them instantly, then turned toward the next foe. She grumbled. This one would be a problem. His posture showed that he was familiar and trained to the art of war. Just as any DP should. Despite the black moons painted on his uniform and the crude weaponry he bore, he was still a DP. The mare couldn't help but wonder. Had she seen him before? Which company was he from? How long had he planed to betray them? Could she have prevented it? Questions she would probably never have answer to.
Their weapon clashed. He was stronger and in way better shape than her. Her parries were merely buying her some time she didn't have to begin with. She tried a feint, then another. He saw through them effortlessly.
Moonit! Why did Applejack made us that good? she thought bitterly.
All her attacks were fruitless while the stallion was putting more and more pressure on her. This fight could not end well and she could not flee. She was about to attempt something stupid when a gunshot interrupted her. The stallion collapsed in a heap. Dead. She looked around and saw Jonagold fuming pistol. The yellow mare did not even have the time to celebrate her kill, she was already in another fight.
The cloud was dissipating at last. She could see the result of her assault. They'd done a pretty good job. How many laid dead? A dozen? Twenty? More? If they added the number of injured and incapacitated, it was easily twice as many cultists they had stopped. It had been a good attack. Just not good enough to wipe this stain. The Fifth was nowhere to be seen. The operation was a success, it was time to leave.
"Retreat!" she ordered.
~o~
They'd retreat as fast as their exhausted bodies could afford. The process was way harder than actual running but once again, Applejack's training had paid off. They'd keep the cultist at bay by regularly firing at them in a perfect show of discipline. The head of the cohort would shoot while the rest of the ponies advance until the head become the tail. Repeat as many time as necessary. They arrived at the rendez-vous point, exhausted but alive. The cultists had not dared facing the additional soldiers in position there. They disappeared in the shadows, as if they were but figments of their imagination.
"They'll be back in numbers," Split had said.
"I know."
"What do we do?" She asked.
"We wait for the Sergeant's signal."
~o~
Flashes in the dark. As far as she was concerned, this fight was nothing but flashes in the dark.
"Stay alive. Help is coming." That's the only message they'd received. That was also the only message they needed. The fight had started again, the remnant of the Fourth and Fifth company against legions of ravenous heretics. The losses had been minimal so far and the enemy was kept at bay... but nopony had illusion on how desperate their situation was. The question was not if they'd win but whether or not they'd run out of ammunitions before they would be killed. But they kept fighting, not only because it was their duty, but because Applejack had told them that help was coming. She had ordered them to stay alive and wait for help. So they would, for Applejack's word was worth more than anything on this planet, including and not limited to their life.
A new kind of flash illuminated the darkness. Purple. Bright. Lethal. The screams of the cultists resounded in the night. The good kind, that came when facing the divine wrath of the Empress. Next to her, Split started singing one of the company song. She joined him, and was quickly followed by a number of her soldiers.
"Twilight Sparkle to Fourth, do you receive?" came the powerful voice in her vox.
Bumpkin did her best to hide her relief. "Lady Twilight Sparkle, we hear you."
"Get ready to evacuate."
The words were liberating, saving. It was as if they'd lifted a terrible curse. "Understood, my Lady" the soldier answered, a smile slowly forming on her face. "What about you?"
"I am going to open the way. Then I'm going to clean up the filth."
"Good hunt, Lady Twilight."
