0136 hours, southern Mane Valley, 36 km south-southwest of Ponyville. The cloud cover was still heavy, so it was difficult to see too far ahead. Not a problem, PVT Steadfast could still see as far as his squad mates in front of him. As long as he had visual contact with them, he knew he was safe. LT Spearhead was leading the way. He was using his unicorn magic to light the way ahead.
Being the smallest stallion in the squad, Steadfast was issued the heaviest weapon in the armory. The upside was he could now handle anything the Equestrian Armed Forces could field. Running with it was also no problem, as the last six months of his life were tough, rigorous physical training.
Finally, the company reached its destination: the narrowest point along the Golden River Gorge. A mere fifty yards wide, vertical rock walls bottlenecked the gorge to the point where it made the perfect kill zone.
"Get on line! Focus on the bottleneck!" the lieutenant ordered. He stopped dead in his tracks to act as a marker for the rest of the platoon. Where he stood, the platoon would form up on him, machine guns and pikes facing toward the enemy that would soon appear.
The two sergeants led their respective squads to each side of the lieutenant to form the wings of the firing line. Orders were flying from their mouths in all directions. "Move up! Get that gun unpacked! Pikes, form a wall! HURRY UP!"
Ponies holding pikes formed the first line of defense. A concave semi-circle of sharp spearheads faced the narrow passage, ready to lash out if anything decided to come through early. This was only temporary, as the four machine gunners were working furiously to deploy their heavy weapons. Each one was operated by two ponies, one trigger colt and one bullet bug.
Pet names aside, the pairs worked with speed and professionalism to mount and load the guns. Steadfast was the first of the squads to call out with "Set!", letting the rest know that downrange was now a hot zone. The rest of the pike ponies slowly backed up to get on line with the gunner.
Once the guns were set up, the squad sergeants reported in to the commander. "Right wing is formed, sir." "Left wing is formed, sir."
Now that the squads are ready, the commander issued the first order of the mission: "Wait for my command, then shoot at anything that moves." The sergeants relayed the order to the rest of the squad.
At this point, four MG-66s were aimed at a narrow canyon passage. Each one was guarded by eight pike ponies, a fallback plan in case the enemy got too close for comfort. Still, even when the order to fire would eventually come, only four ponies out of forty-three would be actively engaged. The rest would be waiting for a fight that may or may not come.
Steadfast had trained long and hard for this, but he never truly felt prepared for a fight. He was the son of a school teacher and a coal miner. He never thought of himself as a soldier, but the army life grew on him. Still, he had no combat experience. The drills and training exercises he had gone through were pale impressions of what was to come.
His face was pressed hard against the stock, his right hoof wrapped around the trigger, ready to react to the lieutenant's order. He was staring into the canyon through his weapon's iron sights. From his position, the unlit canyon seemed to suck away what little light there was. In fact, the black sight post seemed to disappear into the abyss.
His mind was racing with thoughts of what lay beyond the bottleneck, of what to do once the order to fire came, what would happen if he faltered. He was almost aware of his own pulse pounding in his ears, of the sweat running across his brow.
Steadfast's hoof twitched reflexively as somepony touched his shoulder. Good thing the safety was still engaged. Turning his head slowly, he saw that it was SGT Scarr. The anxious thoughts in his mind were quelled almost instantly.
"Calm down, son," whispered the sergeant to the nerve-wracked gunner, "Remember, you're not alone out here." Those words were meant to inspire confidence, but Steadfast still felt a bit uneasy. Scarr was no longer Steadfast's overbearing drill sergeant, but rather a role model and experienced leader. Perhaps it was the battle scar through the sergeant's left eye.
"Yeah, battle buddy. You know I've always got your back," another soldier chimed in. Turning to face the source of the voice, it was his ammunition carrier and best friend, PVT Irons. This face he knew very well. They trained together and had become close friends.
With one deep breath in, followed by a long exhale, he calmed himself, cleared his mind and refocused on the task at hand. "I'm good, sarge," replied Steadfast. Scarr continued his patrol of the firing line looking for other defects that could lead to disaster. "Thanks, Battle," Steadfast said turning to his closest battle buddy. He got a nod and a warm smile in response from Irons. Perhaps this deployment would not be so bad. As long as he had Irons by his side, he felt motivated to fight no matter what happened.
Spearhead was still looking straight ahead, his eyes looking for the smallest sign of enemy advance through the darkness. The moon had begun poke through the cloud cover, so the canyon was lit just well enough to see without magic. It was not a sight that got the lieutenant's attention, but a sound. He recognized this sound. It was akin to a herd of stampeding cattle, but he knew better. Raising his right hoof above his head, this was the cue everypony was waiting for.
The pike ponies leveled their weapons toward the narrow pass. The machine gunners mounted their guns, and waited to engage. Steadfast gripped his weapon tight and lined up the sights downrange. He was the first gunner to identify the threat: a horde of changelings. Slowly, but surely, their sickly green-blue eyes and glossy exoskeletons came into view. He had no problem hitting a target at 300 yards, but he received no order to do so.
As the horde charged, its sounds and sights grew clearer. Hissing and screeching that only these insects could produce. The semi-glossy shells reflected what light reached the canyon floor. 200 yards and the commander's hoof remained held high. What was he thinking? Had he locked up from fear? Was he about to let the platoon get wiped out?
100 yards, right in the bottleneck. Spearhead threw his hoof down to now point out the charging changelings. "FIRE!" he bellowed. Less than an instant after the words hit the platoon's ears, four machine guns erupted with angry streams of lead. The only sound to be heard now was bursts of machine gun fire. Bright muzzle flashes lit up the kill zone like a horribly calibrated strobe light. Changeling bodies exploded as rounds impacted with them. Bluish-green gore painted the rock walls with its unnatural hue.
Those that did not explode were simply shot in half, their upper bodies clinging to life, trying in vain to flee the carnage. Once it registered to the charging horde that they were outmatched, they tried to evade, but were met with rock walls on either side and volleys of bullets ahead. Piles of dead changelings were forming in the choke point. Two small mounds slowly started to build up to a pile spanning the entire narrow passage. Climbing the mound proved fruitless, as there was still machine gun fire being sent downrange.
When Spearhead determined that the enemy had been sufficiently mulched by the guns, he called for a ceasefire. He had an impressive set of lungs to be heard over still-roaring guns. as the last bullets left the firing line, the smoke and dust cleared to reveal a pile of carcasses taller than a pony stood. The platoon took this time to reload and change the smoking barrels of their weapons. Perhaps they should have continued firing. Something seemed off to the commander...
What was that twitching at the bottom of the mound? Was one still alive? As soon as the gunners have reloaded, one more volley should silence the stragglers. Wait... Why are there so many still struggling? And why are they all at the bottom of the pile? Oh, S***!
Changelings spilled from the base of the pile of their own dead. Spearhead realized this sneaky tactic too late. "Engage! Hold the line!" As the changelings met the ponies, three of the gunners were already returning fire. Steadfast was still struggling to lock the new barrel in place. It took two ponies to turn the barrel far enough to lock in place.
The other three fired back as the next wave advanced. Changelings who dodged the bullets met spears and fore hoof-mounted bayonets. Finally, Steadfast's weapon was ready and no sooner had he opened fire. The few changelings that remained made him hopeful that he would survive the onslaught.
Seemingly out of nowhere, a changeling tackled Irons and ripped the belt of bullets from the weapon. Not only had most of his ammunition been ripped away, his friend was in danger of losing his life in close combat. Irons and the changeling were locked in a deadly struggle, both intent on killing the other. Razor sharp fangs struggled to get past a hastily drawn combat knife.
Seeing his comrade in trouble, Steadfast abandoned his weapon to help, his own bayonet now strapped to his fore hoof. He was mere feet from Irons, but the changeling was already biting into his comrade's flesh, drawing blood. He may as well have been miles away for all the help he could give.
The blood curling scream of pain only made him more determined to save his friend as he buried his bayonet into the changeling's skull. After the creature went limp, he tossed the corpse aside, then turned his attention to his wounded comrade. "Irons!" Stead fast called out, "Can you hear me?"
Oh, Celestia, no, he thought to himself as he tried to dismiss his deepest fear. Irons was not moving. The moonlight reflected off a shimmering trickle running down his friend's neck. A strong ferrous scent flooded his nostrils.
Suddenly, a shocking realization hit him. Irons' eyes were staring off into the sky behind him. The expression in his face screamed fear and little else. As he tried to make sense of what was in front of him, the rest of the world seemed to dissolve into obscurity.
Private Irons had been killed in action. He had put up a brave fight, but ultimately not enough to emerge victorious. Was I too slow to save him? Could this loss have been prevented? This was no time for questions. Irons needed whatever treatment he could still get. Perhaps he could still be saved.
Before he called for a medic, Steadfast looked up and inhaled to call, but the words never left his lips. Looking around, all he could see were fallen soldiers and changeling carcasses. They had fought each other to the death, Royal Guard and changeling alike. It took Steadfast a while to realize it, but he was the last remaining pony of the platoon. Even the lieutenant had fallen wielding a bloody spear.
By some miracle of Celestia, the force sent here had been precisely enough to hold off the wave of insects down to the last pony. The anxiousness from earlier paled in comparison to what he felt now. Fear bordering on panic, helplessness and remorse clouded his vision, though his tears were doing most of that already.
He was snapped back to reality by a small sound, a familiar sound. The first time he heard it was not five minutes earlier. It was the stampeding sound signaling the approach of another wave. How would he survive the onslaught in such a state. He was unfocused, still dazed, unarmed and afraid for his life. He should run back to his base camp and seek safety.
No, he thought to himself just before he took off. I am the reason others are safe right now. Besides I can't run away from my duty, from my fallen friend. If he were in my position, what would he do?
Unlike Steadfast, Irons' family was steeped in military history. He scarcely had an ancestor who did not serve at some point in their life. In fact, it was he who taught Steadfast all about loyalty, duty, courage, discipline, honor and so much more that made Irons the commendable pony that he was. To run away with his tail between his legs now would be a great disservice to himself, Irons, the Guard and everypony who was now counting on him to see this ordeal through.
His mind was made up. Since his base camp was many miles away, he could not outrun the advancing horde. Besides, he still had a working machine gun with plenty of ammo ready. Back at the gun, he took the two spare belts of rounds and linked them together. He opened the gun, placed the first round into the feed paws and slammed the gun shut. As he pulled the charging handle back, he thought of all the events that led up to this point.
His first day of basic training, combat drills, meeting Irons, survival training, machine gun maintenance, graduation, his first deployment, his first combat experience, and finally, this moment. Every moment of the last six months was so vividly clear and it replayed in his head several times a second.
The clouds cleared from the skies, allowing the moon to give a brilliant, yet eerie, light to the canyon. Steadfast could now see all the way down the gorge which was now flooded with changelings. He had 200 rounds ready to give one last defiant push against these parasites. Once he lined up the sights, he picked the front most changeling and pulled the trigger.
The weapon lurched back and bounced with each round fired, but his determination was stronger than the steel death machine. Keeping the barrel level, he kept the changelings at bay, but they were slowly advancing.
189 rounds remaining
These things were responsible for the deaths of his squad mates, his commander and his best friend. He would not allow them to harm the innocent ponies back home. He would not allow them to take his life so easily. Steadfast was now the last line of defense against the ravenous changeling horde.
160 rounds
He was no longer thinking of himself. He had resigned himself to death the moment the rounds started flying. Instead, he thought of his mother, educating the younger generations to inherit the world he would leave behind. His marefriend, Junie Sweets, was still expecting him to come back home. He didn't want to let her down. He had three younger brothers, each of whom looked up to him as a hero. They each wanted to be just like him, a real Equestrian hero.
125
Losing somepony precious would normally break a pony, even a soldier, if their constitution was lacking. Steadfast was not dissuaded by the his recent loss, but rather his will to continue was bolstered more than ever before. His anger toward the changelings burned as hot as the glowing red barrel of his weapon. He could feel the pulse in his hoof as he squeezed the trigger. He had not let up since the first round.
89
Despite his best efforts to suppress the advancing mass of changelings, he simply could not overcome the sheer number of them. His ammunition was running out, but he had not noticed. He was focused only on venting his rage on the enemy in front of him. Each one represented a fragment of unnatural evil that deserved death. Each round he fired carried the spirit of a fallen soldier, the memories of a loved one, and of course, his own fury made manifest.
66
There was no fear or doubt of himself left. Not even his own name was familiar to him. Only his cast iron determination to defy the enemies of ponykind and to do his duty, even at the cost of his own life. The changelings were getting dangerously close to him. Still, he persisted. As long as he drew breath, nothing would get past him. Nothing.
37
The barrel was smoking and glowing a bright bloody red. The last few rounds were being greedily consumed by the powerful gun. He had enough energy for one last wordless guttural roar of unadulterated rage. This would be the brave stallion's last great act of defiance against the mass of black chitin and vicious teal eyes.
5
Changelings leapt from all directions, flooding his vision. Pain wracked his whole body as it was torn apart by the mass of angry insects. The unsettling sound of shrieks, growls and hisses these creatures made drowned out all other sounds in the immediate area. His last view one of an overwhelming sea of changelings, their empty eyes somehow staring him down. Despite all this, his rage had not subsided. His determination and will to win had not wavered. In fact, there was little else left running through his mind.
He had paid the ultimate price. So too was the fate of many warriors before him. Many more would follow him in this war. Had he sacrificed his life in vain? He had held the line as long as his body, his equipment and his spirit would allow, but to what end? He would never again see his family, enjoy the morning sunrise, or even serve as a role model for his brothers. His life was over and he could not explain why it had to be this way.
From the suffocating darkness came a bright light somewhere in the distance. It was warm and inviting in contrast to the void in which he currently stood. From the silence came many soft, soothing voices. As the bright light washed over him, so too did a sense of relief. There was no more pain or suffering, nor was there a furious storm of emotions in his heart.
From the heights of heaven, one gains an unparalleled view of the world below. It was here that Steadfast realized that he had finally passed from the life he knew. He wanted to return and finish what he started, to keep promises he made to everypony he loved. He could only look down from on high, wishing he could return to his life. Despite his deepest and only wish, it was not to be.
From on high, Steadfast could see more than he ever could in life. He thought of those he left behind, how their lives would change without him. Many visions were presented before him, each one showing a different pony's future after his own passing.
He saw his brothers, each one inspired by their brother to become soldiers who go above and beyond the call of duty. His marefriend, though heartbroken, never lost hope and never forgot about his bravery. His mother taught young fillies and colts the story of Steadfast, the hero. He was filled with such peace, seeing visions of Equestria free from invaders and enslavement.
Seeing all this, he knew he had done his part in life. He could rest easy knowing that he gave his life for a good reason. He did not regret his decision. In fact, if it meant peace for all of Equestria, he had no problem doing it all over again. r
