"What do we do when pushed...?"
A two sided coin.
By Hawker Spitfire
The sun was just beginning to set below the Equestrian horizon and fall beneath the hills, shards of light making one last defiant push into the sky before being replaced by Luna's night. While the rest of Ponyville began to shut up shop for the night, the Castle of Friendship still very much alive with activity. As Equestria's only human lay back in the chair he'd been given, the Princess of Friendship finished scribbling down her report on human history.
"Your history is certainly quite...dramatic...you could say." Twilight remarked as she finished the sentence she was on.
"Yes, just a bit." the human laughed as he stared up at the ceiling, focussing on nothing in particular. As he freely admitted, he was nothing big back on earth, not that he'd said that much about himself to anypony, but Twilight knew a few things; his full name was Michael Connor Maye, he used to do something in the military back on earth and...well...that was about it. Twilight had always thought he appeared rather enigmatic, the way a lop of brown hair would fall across one of his steel blue eyes had always been fascinating while his thin face always held of a look of grim determination, why was yet to be known.
"There's still one thing I can't help but wonder though." Twilight paused and looked at Michael, her eyes fixated on him in a look of curiosity. "What is your species actually capable of? I mean, ponies are capable of acts of extreme violence just like any other species, yet are also capable of extreme kindness and bravery. I...ugh...it's a stupid question-"
Michael sat up, "You want to know how far we'll go when pushed don't you?" he replied calmly, almost nonchalantly, his thick Belfast accent shining through.
"Well...I suppose I do..." Twilight replied, levitating the scroll on the table into a box on the far side of the room, snapping it shut. "You're right. I just didn't know how to ask without it seeming offensive thats all."
"Oh please..." Michael responded. "It's all like water off a ducks back. I get it and to be fair, it's a good question. But..." he trailed off and sighed, staring into space and picturing what had happened before. He stayed there for about five minutes, death to the world,
"MICHAEL!" came an irritated and angry bark from the princess snapping him out of his stupor. He pulled himself out of the chair,
"I've been here about 4 months right?" he said, his voice had become more mellow, more quiet.
"Give or take." Twilight responded.
"I guess it's time I gave you an explanation then..." he sighed as he paced around the room.
"What do you mean? You've told me everything." she replied, a degree of worrying slipping into her voice.
"No. I haven't. You know I told about that big war in a place called Europe?" he continued
"Well...hows that relevant? It happened, things like that always happen."
"I never told you there was a second one..." he sighed. "Let's just say it made the first one look like a day out in the park."
"Do you mind if I...well...look into your head?" Twilight somehow managed to get out of her now dry mouth.
"In terms of what?" he replied
"Well, look into your memories. See what you're on about?" Twilight explained
"Go ahead, knock yourself out." he replied, still lacking any real emotion. It took some time to extract the memory but eventually, Twilight had extracted one, and began to play it out in her mind.
"The D-Day Dodgers in Sunny Italy..."
The Churchill VII parked in the depot was battle scarred and looked more like a bunker on tracks than a tank while the Spitfire Green paint was scratched from wear and tear. A 76MM gun pointed slightly skyward, ready to return fire while a small chalk message was inscribed on the barrel,
"To Hitler, with compliments"
Moving backward, another message was scribbled on the turret,
"MONTGOMERY'S D-DAY DODGER"
The area around it was alive with activity as five men began passing shells in a human line to a man waiting in the turret,
"How many of these are there?!" the loader, a Scotsman by the name of Bryce, sitting down in the hull, grumbled as he slotted yet another Armour Piercing shell into place in the ammo rack.
"I don't know Bryce. But whatever we're doing, something bigs happening..." came another voice kneeling on the turret, a Cornish accent belonging to the co-driver, Caden came through as he grabbed a High Explosive shell off the man behind him and passing it down to Bryce.
"Ach...suppose thats a fair one , now how many more of these things are there?"
"ABOUT 15 PLUS A FEW MG BELTS!" yelled the driver, a young man from Wales named Dylan, "AND DO YOU EVER STOP WINGEING BRYCE?"
"COURSE NOT MATE! WHERES THE FUN IN THAT EH?" came an equally cynical reply.
"Ach, true true." He muttured.
"Heads up boys! Boss is here!" the fourth member of their party, a Canadian gunner, William spoke up as he passed up a belt of Machine Gun ammunition and placed it up on the turret. All the men clambered off (or out of) the tank as a lanky figure walked towards them, the officers beret on his head along with battle dress being immaculate. Around his neck hung a pair of binoculars, one of the lenses cracked. The remainder of the crew snapped to attention and saluted.
"Stand easy boys and gather round." he finally spoke. His name was Michael Maye, and he had just been giving the briefing for the next few days. In a few moments, the crew gathered round, waiting to hear their orders. "Right boys. There's no easy way of saying it..." he sighed fixing his gaze on Bryce, "We're storming the Gustav line."
Bryce whistled and looked around, "Well...talk about throwing us up shit creek without a paddle or a boat eh?"
"You could say that..." Michael replied looking at each man round him. "Here's the plan..." he pulled out a map and laid it down on the ground, "...all of this..." he waved his hand across an area of the map, "...is Machine Gun Bunkers, Anti Tank Guns and artillery emplacements for about four miles. Us and the North Irish Horse have to punch a hole through that lot and get onto Highway 6." He pointed at a black line running beside a river with the word "Liri" next to it. "Once we do that, we're on our way to Rome. The North Irish meanwhile will support our flank and advance on Cassino. It's the highest point around so if they don't take that...well...the mind boggles as to what's going to happen to us.." Michael trailed off. Silence invaded the group like a pack of wolves, waiting for the quarry to make a mistake. Finally, Dylan broke the silence,
"Any armour sir?" wishing he hadn't asked almost immediately after he'd opened his mouth.
"Panthers and Tigers. The front armour and the turret will hold out against both but our sides are easily penetrable. Any other questions?" the group was silent. "No? Good. Now before I forget..." Michael trailed off again, staring straight ahead, "Pretty much everyone we're coming up against here is from the Waffen SS. If we end up getting hit, stay inside. I'd rather burn to death than see whatever they have in store for us." He sighed before continuing, "I can't stress how important it is this goes according to plan. If we don't break through, the infantry are going to be annihilated. Italy falls here."
"Always one for making things positive aren't you boss?" Bryce replied as the memory ended.
Twilight looked over at Michael, a hybrid of shock and worry on her face, "What was that? Or would I rather not ask?" Michael got up and stretched,
"That...was the Second World War. And that was Italy. They called us the 'D-day Dodgers in Sunny Italy'. If only that were true."
"Well, what happened next?" Twilight continued, now looking scared,
"Well; why not find out?"
