A small bump caused the tank to rock slightly, sending everyone inside rattling around like a ship in a storm. He poked his head out of his hatch, doing his best to keep his meager lunch down. He had heard of ponies getting seasick in tanks, but he had never believed the stories…
The air was cool, a soft breeze blowing, the first signs of the coming winter blowing in, and was much better than the hot, stuffy interior of the tank. He sniffed the air, finding it smelled of grass and wildflowers, and it helped calm his stomach, just as long as he attempted to ignore the underlying layer of distant smoke and rotting flesh that seemed to hang over everything.
But than he gagged slightly, catching a whiff of something most unpleasant. He caught himself, quickly glancing around to see if anypony had seen him. Nopony had.
He sighed, the lungful of the smell of rot he had taken snapping him out of his delusion that he was on some peaceful tour of the Griffonstone countryside. The smell came back, stronger than before. He tried not breathing through his nose, but the air hung over them, heavy.
He looked out the corner of his eyes to see if anyone else was suffering from the stench, only to find them looking straight, calm, as if nothing was wrong.
Of course, he reasoned. They had been on the front for years, fought their way from Equestria to the Dragonlands, to Griffonstone. They were hardened veterans, based on what the officer who had assigned him here had said about them. They wouldn't be affected by something as trivial as a bad smell.
He shuddered slightly. The thought of getting used to the sight and smell of death scared him. But than again, so did dying. He admitted he would gladly take the former over the latter.
He had been on the front less than two days. Trained as a tank loader, he was assigned to the 77th Armored Battalion, and as soon as he arrived he was scooped up by a tank crew and sent out on an assignment. He barely even got to meet the crew, only a short exchange of names, most he failed to catch, before they rolled out.
Their tank was the head of a column of armored vehicles, most tank from the same battlion, with a few halftracks and trucks loaded with supplies bringing up the rear. They were moving towards a town called Eisenach, recently liberated according to what he had heard from the commander. It had been over half an hour since they had set out, and not one thing had happened, everyone remaining silent and looking straight ahead.
He wasn’t sure if he should be happy about that.
Suddenly, as the tank crested a small hill, they passed a group of Griffons, all trying to get as far away from the fighting as possible.
There was a long line of them, moving slowly away from the front. Some carried small packs of belongings, some carried nothing at all. More than a few trailed along with children at their side. A few wore tattered grey uniforms, the field wear of the Griffon Reich, the former soldier giving them a blank stare as they passed. All looked exhausted and hungry. However, it was the first one in the trail that caught his eye.
It was a female, seeming in her early teens, her white plumage feathers stained with red, although he couldn’t tell if it was blood or natural color. A bandage was wrapped around her head, covering the left eye, and she kept her head down as the Equestrians rumbled by.
“She’d fuck you for a candy bar.”
He turned to the mare poking her head out of the gunners hatch. “What?”
She motioned with her head towards the Griffon. “You heard me. These Griffons been living in poverty so long they lost all their dignity and sense of self worth. It was all about the regime, the state, before, right? So most of ‘em will gladly take a few food scraps for a good fucking.”
Noticing his worried expression, she turned to him and said “War is hell.”
“Aw comon Tropic. You know that's not true. Sometimes you can get away with half a bar.” A voice said from below. He looked down, finding a lime green earth pony stallion looking up at him from the driver's position.
Turning back to the road, he said “Don’t listen to Tropic. She’s just upset her special somepony got shipped out and she ain't got no dick to suck anymore.”
“I’m also the mare who's responsible for keeping your sorry ass flank alive by killing all the ‘Birds, so you better watch it.”
Their conversation halted when the sudden rumble of artillery fire sounded in the distance, drawing everyone's head towards the noise momentarily. A hill on the horizon in front of them lit up, sparks signalling where artillery shells struck, a steady pillar of smoke rising in the sky. There was no response from the Griffons they were shelling, if there were any on that hill in the first place.
“You know you love us.” The bow gunner, a young grey unicorn stallion who looked like he couldn't be older than seventeen spoke up next, resuming the conversation.
“Damn right I do.” She grunted. “You three make my life hell but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She turned to him, “As for you, we’ll see. Just don’t fuck it up, ‘kay?”
He gulped and nodded as everyone returned to what they were doing before.
He sighed as he leaned back against his hatch, trying to get the taste of diesel fumes out of his mouth. He shivered, suddenly feeling eyes on him. He lifted his head, looking for the source.
A .50 cal ammo belt draped around her neck as she loaded magazines for their Thompson submachine guns, their commander occasionally glanced up at him before returning to her work. She was a light pink earth pony, with a darker shade of pink for her curley mane.
Noticing that he had noticed her, she locked eyes with him. “I never caught your name, greenie.”
He shuddered as he looked into her blue eyes. Despite not lloking at him with any anger or harmful intent, those eyes still bored straight through him, and he felt she was looking right into his soul.
Even when he turned his head away for a second he could still feel her gaze on him, the air around him growing colder the longer she had eyes on him.
This mare had truly seen some absolute shit.
“Brew.” He said. “My names Home Brew.”
She nodded. “You trained in tanks?” She tapped the turret with her hoof.
“Yes Ma’am. Fort Steelback, just outside Manehattan.”
She sat there silently. “Call me Pink. Everyone else does.”
He nodded.
“Welcome to the crew, Brew.” She slid the Thompson to the side. “Don’t fuck this up.”
He gulped. “I won’t, Ma- Pink.”
And with that, the crew of the Party Machine drove off to war.
