Hearths Warming on The Front
Author's Note
I've since quit the fandom.... I'm only publishing this in case some of you want to see what I had planned. If you want the story, then bloody take it. 
Contact me and Ill arrange a transfer.
Hearths Warming on The Front
Hearths Warming on The Front
Written by: The Dark Soul
Created by: The Dark Soul
The sky was dark.
And the clouds were all-consuming.
The air was radiated, and the ponies had their gas masks on.
One could smell the sea air, but it was little comfort.
And in all of this, the soldiers looked out to 'The Field'. An affectionately named portion of New Oatleans South. It had only two ways in, but had only one way out. Or, at least for the soldiers. Boxing it in were rows of destroyed buildings, and the only way into The Field were from the New Oatleans Downtown Police Station, and the towns local library. The Field itself wasn't an actual field, more like a destroyed street with rubble, debris, sand, dirt, dust, and other remnants of the old world piled on top.
The New Califoalia Republic owned the North part of town, while the South part remained under the control of the Steel Rangers. There was a western part of town, but it remained neutral from the conflict. A sort of settlement of its own.
The town was unwelcoming of both factions.
There was reasoning for both factions being in the destroyed city. The Steel Rangers were there because there was something of great value to them. Technology that they were willing to send a large detachment to claim. Coincidentally, the same could be said of the NCR. The NCR were never fans of the quasi-religious Rangers, deeming them fanatics and dangers to both themselves and others. Suffice to say, they had no problem offing a Ranger. The NCR had their own issues themselves, however, as the ponies of the Wasteland viewed them as a lost cause. A movement that failed from the very beginning. Whether it was true or not, the NCR was itself a faction to be considered a nation. They had a sizable population, and a great army that could have rivaled the Enclaves power, were they still around.
The Rangers themselves believed that good could only come of finding and protecting technology. Keeping it from those who would use it for evil. But they were never knights in shining armor to the denizens of the Wasteland. It was a common conception that Rangers would take what they want, when they want. And if you refused to hand it over they killed you.
And goddess forbid if you had something very rare and high-tec, such as a pip-buck.
Although petty rumors they were, they actually could not be disproven. But, everypony was different. In one place, a Ranger could've wasted a pony for their plasma caster, and in another place a scout of could've rescue a group of slaves from certain abuse at the hooves of another.
And now, fate has brought both factions to war. The NCR had numbers, but the Rangers themselves had firepower. Every one Ranger was worth ten NCR Troopers. It was a sad fact that even the footsoldiers knew, but they gladly fought as long as it meant bringing order and prosperity to the NCR.
This is one of the many frontlines that dot New Oatleans. But far apart each one may be, reinforcements arrived each day because neither side was able to defeat one another. Instead, they all remained in a stalemate, constantly shooting at each other and hoping they killed an enemy. This was stretch of no stallion's land that would remained contested for possibly many months. Many ponies would come and go. Be it from wounds, tours being over, or desertion.
Or, in the worst cases possible, death, separated from your group and dragged away from preying slavers, or lying wounded in no stallion's land awaiting mauling from a large rat or canine.
Though the soldiers had their heads poked out from the safety of the walls, none were getting their skulls ventilated by the enemies snipers. The bullets had stopped flying for the day, and they could even see the enemy watching them. Deciding if it was worth to even raise their guns once again. The night was Hearths Warming Eve, and no one wanted to be manning their posts. Rather, many preferred to be back home with their families and friends, not staring at their enemies emotionless helmets. The Steel Rangers were perhaps another story. They had each other, and that's possibly all they needed. At least that's what the soldiers gathered from prisoners they have captured. Being a Steel Ranger, according to them, is a lifelong service that lasts eternity.
Staring through his masks goggles, he watched. Staring at the other end of the field, the stallion exhaled. Condensation building up inside. Ironwright eyes shifted down The Field. Unmoving, his battle saddle strapped tight and ready to fire, though it may be useless as of now as breathing in the radiated air could mean instant death. New Oatleans was often plagued with Radiation Storms. A lethal natural disaster that blows in from the ocean. If you're outside, it was highly recommended to have a gas mask on, or risk death. Being inside was safer however as, while radiation could still hit you, it wouldn't hit you hard enough you start breathing it in large doses.
Ironwright looked to his left. Asleep was an NCR Ranger named Ghost. A mysterious mare she was. Void of emotion and cold to her enemies. She was a soldier that to be considered her friend was a high honor. But a while back she took a liking to him. Calling him a "naive sonofabitch" during Basic. He never gave her the time of day, but she saw potential in him. They became inseparable. Best friends. But not anywhere close to lovers. He wasn't her type.
In more ways than one.
She never snored when she slept. She was a light sleeper. The slightest bump in the night would wake her, snatching the weapon she always kept close at hoof. But, her station here at The Field had deprived her of sleep. Much sleep. Same could be said of a good dinner, but she was a ranger. They were hardcore, hot meals never on their agenda. She had her signature sunglasses covering her eyes, and her ranger hat tipped downwards to cover her forehead. He smiled and glanced around. Soldiers moving to an fro in the trench. Officers discussing battle plans and other shit not for his ears. Off in the distance one could hear the wails and despaired moans of those wounded and dragged off The Field. Infection would set in rather quickly in this battleground, so life expectancy should you get wounded would be plenty low. But they had top notch doctors working behind lines. Some comfort for the soldiers there.
Many soldiers were snoozing in the dirt they made their home. For the soldiers, the eiderdown one could dream of wrapping up in the colder months was dirt and mud soaked rain-capes- a cape one would wear over their armor to protect against elements such as rain and hail. Also worked well when walking along the coast. The waves were often violent. Many a ocean critter would wash ashore; grotesque beings that could easily swallow a pony.
"Masks off!" He heard.
Looking around, the green mist that the radiation created had quickly dissipated. The overcast ahead clearing quickly, showing the night sky. When Ironwright was a child, from when he barely remembers, the clouds were everlasting. The Enclave slowly killing the ground inhabitants from deprivation of sunlight. How crops could be ground down here during that time was beyond him. But, on his fifth birthday, the clouds cleared for the first time since fire scorched the planet. It was a sight to beheld. Some thought it to be an omen of ill will, and some thought it to be a miracle. But to him, it was more than a miracle. It was hope itself. The Enclave, due to the efforts of some hero whose name he never learned, forever lost its grip upon the clouds. And sunlight and moonlight could be cast upon the ground and those below.
He faintly remembered crying. Tears of joy they were. But he cried nonetheless.
Grabbing the bottom of the mask, he lifted upwards, the mask sliding off and allowing the fresh air, if it could be called that, enter his nostrils. His vision clear of murky glass. The smell of sea salt strengthened. He smiled and looked to Ghost, tapping her on the stomach.
"Wake up, wake up!" He called to her. She stirred quickly, her eyes shooting open and her head jerking up. She was ready for combat. "Relax, we're fine. Rad storm is over, you can remove your mask." He said. She sighed, sliding the mask off.
"You scared me."
"Seems I always do when your sleeping."
