A War On Two Fronts

Six months had passed since the Liberation of Havarit, five since the Liberation of Minos and the entire Minotaur Republic. As expected, many minotaurs in the army deserted to fight a violent civil war among their countrymen, with dozens of Partisan cells vying for control of the shattered war torn country. They were so busy with killing one another that they generally left the Equestrian convoys through their country unharmed. This had made the start of the next campaign much easier, known as Operation Upward Thrust. It was intended to liberate Maretonia from Griffon Control, but as the winter months began to close in the army was forced to slow its advance.

For Samantha Turner, however, all that the cold months meant was more firewood rationing, more food rationing, and more rationing in general. This was compounded by the birth of her daughter Paige, not that she was complaining. She couldn’t really explain why she had gone with the name Paige considering it was her husband’s name, one he was unhappy with… But Sam found it cute enough, and it gave her something to remind her of her husband.

It had been two weeks since her daughter had come into the world, on a cold and otherwise unremarkable morning. Thankfully Gwen was around to help babysit while Sam went out to run the errands. It was for that precise reason that the woman who had revolutionized warfare with the advent of the Conquistador Fighter Bomber was currently standing waist deep in freezing grayish-white snow.

The line for basic rations stretched from the intersection half a block away, all the way around the block… And Sam was smack dab in the middle of it. She wore a heavy black wool coat over her old red wool coat and warm pants, which in turn was joined by a sweater and a pair of longjohn’s she had managed to loot from the few pieces of Turner’s clothes that she had managed to bring from their home in Silver Lake. Despite so many layers she was still freezing cold, and the snow was only becoming deeper.

There was little information on how the war was going other than the basics, all paper and ink was diverted for the war effort, no news papers, no radio reports. Sam didn’t know what was going on half the time, even with her extensive military connections. The word had come that, yes, Turner had been wounded. That had scared her considerably, but the subsequent letter from his doctor had reassured her. Whatever was going on, however, it didn’t seem to be going all that well.

As the line inched forward at a snail’s pace the only thing to keep her mind off the steam rising from her breath and her running nose was the thought of her newborn daughter. Even as the weather teams were powerless to stop the winter, even as temperatures dipped to their lowest point in seventy years because of all the ash and soot in the atmosphere, it was all made bearable by that little seven pound bundle of joy. Sam couldn’t help a smile as she thought of those tiny little fingers clasping onto her finger with a surprisingly strong grip. It made the events of the last six months seem okay, and honestly gave the woman hope she’d needed since Turner had been lead away on that train.

The war was not going well for the Equestrians, despite the gains made in the Minotaur Republic and Maretonia. For every mile the southern forces gained, the northern front was pushed further into Equestrian territory. Air raids launched from Trottingham still had the capacity to strike the Equestrian mainland as far as Canterlot, and despite the fighter cover it wasn’t enough to take down entire Griffon Airships. In weather the current weather the planes couldn’t fly, and that left the undermanned Anti-Air Batteries as the only defense.

Sam was jolted from her thoughts when the pony behind her gave her a slight nudge, she didn’t realize that the line had moved up a foot or so and quickly took a step or two to close the distance. She was standing next to the bombed out remains of what had been a donut shop now, a good portion of the buildings on the street were in similar condition. Some had merely collapsed in on themselves from the weight of the snow. The streets were clear of rubble and snow, if only because it would otherwise interfere with military forces in the city.

As Sam got closer to the end of the line she began to hear shouting from up ahead, it was a mixture of anger and desperation that Sam had heard a lot lately. Gradually more people in the line seemed to start getting upset, and like a chain reaction more and more people began to hear what the shouting was all about.

“They won’t give any more food!” A pony about ten ahead in the line shouted back towards Sam and anyone else within earshot. “They’re not honoring ration stamps anymore!” Sam was sure that wasn’t the case, it was likely the stamps that they had tried to use had expired… But the line was a powder keg, and the fuse had been lit.

“If they aren’t going to give it to us then let’s fucking take it!” A more vocal stallion shouted, Sam could tell by the stump of a right foreleg that he was a veteran. The entire city was like a coiled spring, tensions had risen since the majority of Minotaur forces deserted to fight in their civil war and the Equestrian Army had been forced to conscript more and more younger or older stallions to take their place.

It all came to a head in the next thirty seconds, when at the end of the line a nervous National Guard’s Pony slipped in the snow. He hit the ground with a loud thud, his rifle under him responded by firing off a round into the snow. No one was hit, but it set off the entire line and rapidly the massive waiting throngs of ponies turned into an unruly and absolutely furious mob.

Sam began running in the opposite direction as more shouting rose up from the food rationing site, her blood ran cold in her veins when she heard the first burst of machine gun fire and the cries of panic from the mares and foals caught in the angry fray. The riot that had started to form was rapidly spreading through the city to other waiting lines of desperate, borderline starving ponies. Lines for firewood, lines for wool blankets, lines for bread and especially toilet paper… All of them hitting their flashpoint and swarming on the ration stations.

Sam’s heart pounded in her chest as she heard gunfire from around the city, and soon saw the headlights of the rest of the National Guard forces stationed at the castle as their trucks streamed past. They weren’t armed like the usual riot police that Sam had seen before, they carried rifles and submachine guns. What was far more intimidating were the newly introduced E-34-88 ‘Matador’ tanks, one of the many weapons that Sam’s factories had created to fight the Griffons… Not Equestrian civilians.

“Attention! All civilians are to return to their homes immediately! The Princesses have instituted Martial Law! Anyone caught outside their homes will be arrested!” A stallion riding in the back of one of the trucks announced through a megaphone while driving past. Looters will be shot!”

Sam felt her heart catch in her throat, it had been bad enough when the Griffons were the ones pointing the guns at her… But now Equestrians as well? Howling wind and gunfire echoed through the city as the woman trudged home through the snow, occasionally looking over her shoulder. Both in case she was being followed by looters or, the slightly more nerve racking option, the National Guard. Sam was shivering by that point, it seemed that the temperature had dropped another five degrees and the snow was rapidly growing deeper.

After an agonizing fifteen minutes Sam finally was able to make it home, she came through the door and quickly closed it behind her. Bolting it shut and moving the table beside the doorway in order to barricade it. She looked around the room, then quietly moved to each window and started to drop the blackout shades. For some reason when the last window she came to gave her a moment of pause, her eyes looking out at the city as pillars of smoke began to rise in the distance… To her shock and horror, these were not the only thing in the cold sky above. It clearly wasn’t a Griffon Airship, or a group of bombers and fighters.

“Dios mio…” She said in barely a whisper, watching as three ghostly pale white horse like figures seemed to swirl over the city. Their eyes shimmering with a terrifying brilliance, she could recall only hearing of such creatures in stories. Windigos, creatures that fed off of hate and violence, but they were supposed to be just stories… Right? That’s what she had been told ever since she had shown up in Equestria. The woman closed the blind and ran through the house, her panic rising.

“Gwen!” She looked in each room she passed, but every one was empty save for the furniture within. “Gwen! Paige! Where are you!” Sam had never felt so afraid in her life, each second that passed without knowing where her daughter was was agony. She would’ve rather had lost hearing in both of her ears than endure that hell. When she reached the door to her bedroom she was practically in shambles, opening it she peeked her head in.

As she laid her eyes on Gwen and the bundle in her arms it was like a weight being lifted from Sam’s shoulders, Gwen was seated on the floor wrapped in practically every blanket in the house. Paige was sleeping softly in Gwen’s arms, Sam could see that the infant had a pair of earmuffs on over her ears… Likely to blot out the sound. Sam took off her snow covered clothes and boots before moving over and sitting down on the floor beside Gwen.

“What’s going on?” Gwen asked in a whisper while Sam got under the blanket wrap with her, the two of them sharing one another’s body heat. This wasn’t the first time they had run out of firewood, and with the riots there was no chance of getting more.

“Martial law…” Sam replied while looking at one of the windows on the wall, the shades were down but she could still see a bit of the sky through the small gap between the window and the curtains. “There are things in the sky… Not Griffon.” Sam said nervously as she took Paige in her arms and held her close. “You’ll think I’m crazy, but… They’re windigos, Gwen. Like the stories…”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.” Gwen replied with a shiver before wrapping them more tightly with their fortress of blankets. “Sam… I’m scared.” She closed her eyes and did something Sam had never seen her do before, she made the sign of the cross over herself. The woman stopped her shivering when Sam rested a hand on her shoulder.

“Pray with me, then…” She said quietly, Gwen nodded and closed her eyes. Somehow, despite being in a small but upscale home in the noble quarter, Sam didn’t feel quite safe. The gunfire outside grew more pronounced, and to Sam’s horror the distant wail of air raid sirens began to blare… Accompanied by the droning hum of Griffon Engines. It was as if the entire world was about to come to an end. “Lord, grant us the serenity to accept the things we cannot change, the courage to change the things we can, and the wisdom to know the difference… Amen.”

Turner dove for cover as metal fragments tore up the ground beside his foxhole, the ground was trembling as shells poured down like rain. The freezing cold Maretonian Snow was just as chilling as the snow back home, tinted a sickly grey from the ashes and soot in the atmosphere that came as a result of the Pipeline Fire in the warzone known formerly as The Minotaur Republic. Turner was glad for the snow, however, it was a lot better than the heat of the arid Republic. Tall pines and stately spruce trees towered around the miniscule fortified position which he now found himself sitting in.

Since the first snow falls the advance into Maretonia had been absolute hell on earth, at some points it was almost as bad as the landings at Barbos. The hardest part was the mail being stopped back at Battalion HQ, mail which could’ve told him whether he was the father of a son or a daughter. He knew Sam had to have had the baby by that point, and not knowing left with a tremendous weight on his shoulders. Turner adjusted his helmet, which was topped by a light dusting of the snow that continued to fall like so many deadly shells.

The snow was almost past up past his waist, every soldier on the ground was forced to slog through the white powder into the eternal meat grinder that was the Griffon Army. It was no better for the Griffs on the other side, which was why both sides had settled on shelling the absolute shit out of each other for the duration of the weather. Something that was far from Turner’s first choice of how to spend his winter. As he hunkered down in the foxhole he found that he was by himself, the previous occupant had seemingly left it unattended.

With the barrage in full effect Turner did something he had become adept at doing over the past six months, staying low. He sat on the snow covered floor of the hole, rubbing his leather gloved hands together as he watched his breath fogging up every time he exhaled. The man leaned his head back against the wall of the hole, rubbing his stubble covered chin with the cold leather before letting out a long drawn out sigh. Overhead he could see the cloud cover was thick and heavy, making it hard for him to get a read on what time it was. It was late in the afternoon from his best estimate, and he had been running from hole to hole since he’d woken up that morning.

Alone and with nothing better to do, Turner reflected on what had happened over the past six months. Six weeks in the hospital and he was back up with the 777th Rapid Infantry Battalion, but due to his lengthy absence his squad had been reassigned. Yet again the men he’d sworn he would protect were taken from him though, mercifully, only by bureaucracy rather than bullets. If that wasn’t bad enough, his old squad had put in paperwork for him to receive a medal after what he had done on the burning tank.

Needless to say, he was surprised when he woke up one morning and found himself surrounded by reporters, Thomas, and Princess Luna. They had given him a medal in addition to the two Magnus Crosses issued due to his injuries in combat, the medal that had drawn all the fuss was the Silver Crescent of Valor. Apparently it was akin to winning a Medal of Honor, and Turner couldn’t refuse to accept… Even if he felt like it wasn’t his right to wear such a thing. He’d gotten on that gun because people would’ve died if he hadn’t, and that would have driven him mad… it was a selfish urge to protect his sanity that had lead his ‘heroic’ actions, not some noble sense of duty.

The final bit of bad news came in the form of the new stripes sewn to his faded and filthy olive drab jacket. Gunnery Sergeant Paige Wilson Turner, it was further in rank than he had ever wanted to advance, but again… How could he refuse when the Princess was the one making the promotion? The crossed sabres within the space between the top and bottom stripes were something new, but it reflected his ‘Military Specialty’... Infantry operations. It was those damned sabres that had him freezing his ass off in a hole in the ground.

Thomas, the bastard, had assigned him to serve as his ‘Eyes and Ears’ in the Battalion. That didn’t entail him filing papers or reports… No, his job had him instead running from fox hole to fox hole making sure that the lines were holding. If need be, if a unit ended up losing its CO, Thomas would send him out to replace them until another commissioned officer could be found. Now, however, it was getting dark… Turner’s legs were sore, and he couldn’t get thoughts of home out of his head.

He was snapped from those thoughts by the crunching of snow, so close he could hear it over the boom of the artillery. The man gripped his SMG and quietly flicked the safety off, there weren’t supposed to be any Equestrian troops out this way. He ever so slowly adjusted his position and peeked his head up over the edge of the hole. Not five yards away was a bipedal figure trudging through the snow, a human from the looks of it, but he was coming in from the wrong direction for it to be Thomas. Somehow the figure didn’t see him as they moved closer, a rifle apparently slung over their back.

Turner sat back down, taking several deep breaths and looking around before grabbing a handful of snow and stuffing it into his mouth. The next thing he did was lean back and slump his head forward, the snow would hide his breath for the time being. To the enemy soldier he would appear as just another dead Equestrian Trooper, considering he wasn’t sure if this soldier was alone Turner didn’t want to take the chance that lighting him up would get him wacked by an MG team. Gradually the shelling trailed off, as it did the crunching footsteps became closer, until finally they were right on top of the fox hole.

“Whoa!” Turner heard a surprised yelp as some snow fell in from the side of the hole, the Gunnery Sergeant didn’t budge an inch. His eyes darted to the side, listening for the soldier to just move on. Truth be told there was another reason he didn’t want to kill this man, and that was because he was a human… A young man by the sound of his voice. “Hey, fella, mind if I drop in?” When he got no response the young man hopped down in the trench, landing softly in the powder before looking over at Turner’s ‘corpse’. “Whoa, a biped? Neat…”

The young man inched closer, examining Turner’s SMG and glove covered hands, the falling snow thankfully had made it seem like he had been there longer than a few minutes. Turner held his breath, the cold snow in his mouth beginning to melt, still he stayed his hand. Ever so carefully the young Griffon soldier reached out his hand towards Turner’s helmet, Turner didn’t budge.

“Second division? Holy shit…” He sounded more like an amazed schoolboy than a soldier. He began to grab the helmet and started to lift it away. “Mom isn’t gonna believe this when I send it to-” The soldier yelped and coughed as a freezing cold leather glove jumped up from the snow and wrapped around his neck, before he could react the young man was pushed onto the ground and pinned.

“Shhh…” Turner raised a finger to his lips, the young man stared at him with fearful panicked eyes. “I don’t wanna kill you, son… Understand?” The young man nodded rapidly, and Turner loosened his grip on his throat. He sat back against the wall, this time gingerly aiming his SMG towards the Griffon soldier. The grey of his winter uniform and his youthful features almost made him seem like some sort of Confederate Civil War Reenactor. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen from the looks of things. “What’s your name, boy?”

“C-Collins, Francis P. Private. G-G-Griff-” Turner waved him off dismissively, prompting Francis to stop talking while examining the older man with mild curiosity. “You’re human?” Turner nodded wordlessly. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“I been in this war since De Barro, son.” Turner replied as he reached into his pocket and fumbled around for something with his free hand, after a few seconds he withdrew a small orange cardboard packet. Inside were small sticks of mango-orange flavored gum, he had traded gum chewing for cigarette smoking as his way of dealing with stress. Wordlessly he offered a stick to the Griffon Private, who hesitantly accepted. ”Tired of killing unless I have to…” He looked briefly at the SMG which was still trained on the Private. “So don’t make me have to.”

“O-Okay…” Francis replied cautiously, he examined the man sitting across from him now that he could see him in the rapidly darkening light. He was old by the look of things, despite being closer to thirty the man looked around his early forties. His stubble covered chin bristled with rugged manliness, while Francis could barely manage to grow peach fuzz. His eyes were sunken, tired, and sad… With deep dark bags beneath them and bloodshot veins criss-crossing the white portions. Beneath his olive drab helmet he could see equally olive drab wool from what appeared to be a watch cap. “You know my name. Who are you?”

“Staff Ser-” Turner paused. “Gunnery Sergeant Paige Wilson Turner.” Francis’ eyes went wide and he seemed almost instantly frightened of the man. “I take it my reputation precedes me?”

“Y-Yeah… Y-You and the Second Division are some seriously tough guys.” The young man admitted, briefly the two of them ducked their heads as a shell exploded a few yards away. Without missing a beat they looked back at one another. “Even we know heroes like you.”

“Don’t call me that.” Turner replied sharply, Francis seemed surprised by the reprimand. “I ain’t no hero, son…” The Private nervously rubbed the back of his neck and began to reach for his pocket, he froze as he saw Turner’s grip tighten on his weapon before slowly Francis continued withdrawing a pack of cigarettes. He offered one to Turner, but the man shook his head. “Nah, son… Trying to quit.” Francis returned the pack to his pocket. “What brings you out here, boy? Last I checked the Griffon lines were that way.”

“I wanted to come see what I could find over here, maybe get some cool stuff to send home.” Francis admitted quietly, Turner sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t expect to run into anyone actually alive.” The Gunnery Sergeant didn’t care this boy was a Griffon soldier, but he was not a fan of enemy troops picking over Equestrian dead for trinkets like their corpses were some sort of flea market. “So… What happens to me now?”

“We’ll wait for the shelling to stop, then I’ll take you into battalion. Congrats, son, you’re war is officially over.” Turner replied tiredly while he chewed his gum, Francis looked at the floor with some trepidation. “So, what’s it like back on Earth? You seem new around here.”

“Earth?” Francis asked with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, I’m not from Earth.” It was Turner’s turn to look surprised. “I was born in a place called Bell’s Pass. I’m a Griffon citizen, born and raised. Mom and Dad are the ones to talk to about Earth.” Once again both men seemed to instinctively lean forward and cover their heads as the wail of an incoming shell pierced the air and there was a tremendous crashing explosion only around ten yards from the fox hole.

“How long have humans been in the Griffon Empire?” Turner asked, looking at the man with uncertain astonishment. If he was born there, then it would mean that humans had been popping up around the world for at least the past twenty years, maybe even longer.

“I think the oldest one I know has been here sixty years?” Francis replied, as if unsure of himself. Turner was absolutely amazed, his entire timeline of who had gotten to Equestria first was completely blown out of the water. “The Empire mostly let us keep to ourselves in our own communities, when the war started a lot of us decided to come and do our part… Guess that didn’t work out so well for me.” He laughed nervously. “Do you humans have things like that in Equestria? Settlements, I mean.”

“No…” Turner replied wearily. “There’s only four of us… Well, five now, I suppose.” Francis saw the man’s eyes light up, the ghost of a smile playing across his lips for the briefest of seconds in the darkness of the coming night. The man briefly removed his helmet and reached inside, still smiling as he withdrew one of Sam’s pictures from his helmet liner. He made sure it was the one where she was wearing clothes before showing it to Francis. “My wife was pregnant when I shipped out, must’ve had the baby by now… Still waiting to hear whether it’s a son or a daughter, god help us if it’s both. Twins would be crazy.”

Francis was oddly moved by the display as the Gunnery Sergeant tucked the photo back into his helmet liner and placed it back on his head. Many times, in the wake of battles, his friends would go out among the dead and take anything they thought would be of interest. He had seen so many similar photographs of wives and girlfriends either discarded or worse… The Private hadn’t given it much thought until he saw the look of joy in the cold eyes of the man sitting across from him. The war continued to rage around them, but in that isolated fox hole… Francis didn’t see the Gunnery Sergeant as his enemy, and he could tell that Turner likely felt the same way.

Artillery from both sides crashed down around them, all the two foot soldiers could do was hunker down and pray for the shelling to stop. Their conversation was interrupted as the barrage picked up, explosions rocking the ground in all directions as time wore on. Trees exploded into kindling, one of them toppled over the fox hole and plunged it into darkness as its branches blotted out what little light remained.

“Fuck!” Turner cursed in the chilling darkness. Francis considered trying to get out of the hole and away from the Equestrian, but several pounding thuds ended those plans extremely quickly. “God damn it, your guys have us fuckin’ zeroed!” The edge in the man’s voice was sharp, but beneath it Francis detected the faintest sound of fear. The tree that covered the fox hole protected the two enemies from raining shrapnel and dirt, but they could barely see one another. The peaceful conversation between the two of them almost certainly unsalvageable as the battering fire continued to punish the ground.

“We need to get the fuck out of here!” Francis shouted in a panicked voice, this time actively trying to climb up out of the hole. He yelped as Turner grabbed his leg and yanked him back down into the darkness.

“You trying to get yourself killed!?” Turner shouted as the explosions seemed to draw ever nearer. “Those are Griff Fragmentation shells! They don’t care what uniform you’re wearing, they’ll tear you apart!”

Francis could see the cold glint in the man’s eyes, even in the dimly lit foxhole. Francis gripped his helmet nervously, stuffing his hands over his ears and clenching his eyes closed as snow seemed to pour in from the pine needles above. The Private was surprised when things became slightly lighter in that hellish pit, and cautiously Francis opened his eyes to find himself looking around the gloomy hole with the aid of a small flame. The lighter in Turner’s hand was adorned with a hand of cards, four aces from the looks of it.

“You’re gonna be okay, son. Keep your head!” Turner shouted, as if barking at one of his own men.

This boy that sat across from him was no enemy soldier, not in the sense that Griffons usually were, Turner could see that now. The discipline wasn’t there, the accuracy drilled into every enemy soldier was sorely lacking when it came to the boy sitting there huddled in a ball. Francis knew to duck when the artillery came, knew to keep as quiet as possible, but when it came to being under fire Turner could see he likely hadn’t been under any sustained fire in his life. The Gunnery Sergeant didn’t care if Francis was an enemy soldier, he wasn’t going to send any more boys to the slaughter… Letting him go out into the raining hell would be condemning him to death in the most gruesome way.

The lighter blew out, leaving both of them in the darkness as the final fading glow of the evening gave way to night. Thick cloud cover barred any light from the stars or the moon, and soon the only illumination available came from the quick flashes of shell detonations punctuated by a staccato thunder of explosive concussion and fragmentation which perforated the trees and dirt around them. It went on for an hour and a half like that, the freezing cold made Turner’s legs and rear numb while Francis continued to rock back and forth in the corner.

When the shelling finally began to abate Turner let out a sigh of relief, it seemed his number hadn’t come up yet. Gradually the explosions grew less and less frequent, until finally Turner heard the final few shells coming back to earth after their flight from the Griffon Artillery Battery some five miles behind their lines. Just as he thought it was safe, however, Turner heard one shell growing closer and closer… The whistle becoming higher in pitch with each passing second. He ducked instinctively as the shell fell two feet from the fox hole on the side closest to the Griffon line. There would be no way to survive a blast that close, and so he closed his eyes…

Nothing came, nothing but a heavy thud and the hiss of steam. Turner was nervous, fearing that this final shell contained gas, but as he hesitantly looked up out of his foxhole he could see the shell had burrowed into the ground and was melting the snow around it… It was a dud. As he was about to thank god for shoddy Griffon craftsmanship, however, he took a closer look.

“Fucking… God damn it!” Turner cursed loudly as he clambered out of the hole, Francis following on instinct alone. “It’s one of ours! Fuck!” He gripped his SMG tighter and took the rifle from Francis’ shoulder. “Get moving! Unless you want to be here when that damn thing goes off!” Francis needed no further motivation than that, and so the two of them began their slogging sprint through the snow towards the Equestrian Battle Lines. Not five minutes later, when they were safely out of danger, they heard the heavy explosive concussion of the shell finally exploding. “Hey, kid.” Francis looked at Turner curiously. “Gimme one of those cigarettes.”

“Thought you said you were trying to quit.” Francis replied with a raised eyebrow.

“I am.” Turner said resolutely, his tone conveying that he was quite serious. “Now give it here.”

Francis nervously handed the man one of his cigarettes, and watched as Turner lit up with the oddly marked lighter. In the distance the sound of artillery began to echo across the landscape for yet another barrage, this spurred both men to increase their pace towards the Battalion HQ. Francis had more than his fair share of other things scare him, however, as more than once an Equestrian soldier had popped up from a foxhole ready to shoot him… Only to stop when they saw the Gunnery Sergeant escorting him through the freezing snow.

Gradually, after around ten or twenty minutes, Francis noticed that they seemed to be passing by some of the same locations. He was confused, and supposed that was the point. If he got away, he wouldn’t be able to tell his comrades where the enemy HQ was. Honestly, though, the sound of exploding shells in the distance had removed any thoughts of escape for the time being. Another fifteen minutes passed before the pair happened upon a small collection of tents and lean-to shelters which were illuminated by lanterns. The glass around them was red in color, minimizing their visibility from the air even further.

The soldiers there were surprised to see Francis, but again a quick look at the Gunnery Sergeant and they knew he wasn’t a threat. The pair approached a tent near the right side of the encampment, from inside Francis could hear someone screaming angrily followed by a brief silence, and then more screaming. Turner nudged the tent flap open and then pushed Francis inside. It felt surprisingly colder within the tent than it did outside, but the waist deep snow was thankfully replaced by mud encrusted wooden boards that served as a makeshift floor.

“Listen to me you bird brained prick! You shelled OUR position! Adjust your fucking fire or so help me god I’ll come down there personally and shove my boot so far up your ass I’ll have to pry your jaws open to tie my laces! Is that understood!?” Thomas shouted into the radio headset, his face red with fury while a vein bulged on his neck. “Good!” With a loud metal clanking noise he slammed the receiver down on the radio. All to aware that someone had entered the tent, he whirled around to face Francis and Turner. “What the fuck is it-” His words abruptly stopped.

“Sir.” Turner said simply, before gesturing to Francis with a casual hand motion. “Captured a prisoner.”

Thomas quietly rubbed his eyes, which were surrounded by various wrinkles and crow’s feet. His forehead was marred with worry lines, his hair peppered with a flecks of grey that didn’t seem right on a man of his years. The last six months had been hell on the Lieutenant Colonel, the Maretonia Campaign had been almost as taxing of his faculties as the early days of the Barbos Campaign and the defense of Acksyuk. In the time since Havarit Equestria had captured exactly fifteen more human POWs, each was fairly tight lipped when spoken to and neither Turner or Thomas had been in a position to question them personally.

“I was about to send a patrol out looking for you, Gunnery Sergeant. Those retards at the 98th were hitting our own lines with fragmentation, thought you might’ve got caught up in it.” Thomas stated, a look of relief briefly passing over his features as he walked to a nearby table and picked up a metal can filled with a vaguely milk like substance. It was milk of a sort, provided by a goat that had been ‘liberated’ from a local farm on orders of the Battalion doctor. He took several quick gulps, his face grimacing from the odd texture before he grabbed a small glass bottle and opened it.

“They damn near got me too, thank god for those shitty Mark Three Detonator Fuses.” Turner replied, watching as his friend emptied two chalky purple tablets into his palm and popped them into his mouth. He chewed them with a disgusted expression before gulping down more milk.

“Fuck me…” Thomas groaned, shaking his head briefly. “That fuckin’ ulcer won’t let up lately, every day ends with a Tums Festival.” He walked towards Francis, then looked at Turner who was standing near the still open tent flap. “Would you close the fuckin’ door!? Tight!” Turner wordlessly closed the flap, but showed no outward signs of being in a hurry. “Now, onto you. You speak English?”

“Collins, Francis P. Private. Griffon Army. 091-0-20.” Francis said quickly, snapping to attention, but Thomas gave him a dismissive gesture to stand at ease.

“Simple yes would suffice, Collins comma Francis.” Thomas said with a moderate scowl, he looked over at Turner. “If you got any intel from him, mind sharing it?” The Gunnery Sergeant nodded quietly and quickly explained what he and the Private had talked about during the barrage, needless to say Thomas was surprised to hear some of it. In some cases, though, Turner noticed he seemed less surprised than expected… As if he had more of an idea on what was going on. He was an officer, though, and that usually meant they were better informed.

Turner took a drag on the cigarette, which by this point he had subconsciously been puffing on during the trek to the camp. It was nearing the end, and he could feel the heat just barely burning his fingers. With that he tossed it on the ground and crushed it under his muddy boot. Thomas had more military questions for Francis, but in that respect he held his lip pretty tight, he was more willing to talk about humans than his buddies… Respectable, but annoying. Turner didn’t pay it much mind, as he quickly grabbed a cup of near freezing coffee and swished it around his mouth before spitting it into a nearby bucket, anything to get the taste of cigarette smoke out of his mouth.

He barely noticed the MPs when they came and escorted Francis out to be processed with other POWs, when he was finished with the coffee he walked back towards Thomas who was now leaning on a map table and appraising the current front lines. Turner peeked at them as well, his expression more neutral now. Talking about humans was fine and all, but the freezing cold and the pounding guns made the war a far more acceptable topic of thought at the moment.

“Who’s winning?” Turner asked, slinging his SMG over his shoulder. Thomas sighed and pointed at the Griffon battle flag.

“They are, if only barely. We’re practically useless here, even if we could get the trucks moving in the drifts out there.” Thomas replied tiredly, his expression was one of near exhaustion, but that was common nowadays for everyone on the line. “Not to mention half our force is back at Regimental basking under heat lamps like supermarket chicken…” The man quickly downed more of his milk, sighing while Turner grabbed another piece of gum and started to chew. The man realized that during the excitement he had swallowed his last piece, but that didn’t concern him too much. “Dragons are great fighters in the summer, but that cold blood makes them useless in the snow. We’re pretty well hamstrung.”

“How about on the whole?” Turner asked, gesturing to the rest of the map. “We making any gains at all?” Thomas shook his head and ran a hand over his hair, which Turner noticed was starting to seem thinner than it had been even a few weeks before. “Mail?”

“Sorry, nothing yet. Don’t expect it for a long while either, word on the grapevine is that there’s some serious shit going down back home, not including the Northern Front.” Thomas explained, he could see Turner’s expression visibly darken at the mention of no mail, but it shifted to concern at the mention of problems back home. “Princess Luna won’t give me much detail on it, but she seemed right pissed when last I saw her.”

“Lieutenant Colonel! Lieutenant Colonel!” A frantic voice drew both men’s attention to the door as it was unbuttoned and a frantic snow covered minotaur private rushed in. “Sir! You need to see this!” Without hesitation, Turner and Thomas followed the frightened soldier out into the snow. They didn’t have to go far to see what he had come to warn them about, overhead there were at least half a dozen swirling lights that looked vaguely like horses. “What the fuck are those!?”

From the Griffon lines they heard a sudden clamoring panic, the thundering rumble of gunfire began to waft through the trees. Artillery batteries that had been shelling the Equestrian positions were now suddenly turning their guns skyward, and the unmistakable flashes of Flak bursts filled the sky. Tracers soon joined in, but the explosions and whizzing bullets had no effect on the horrifying creatures that dominated the air above.

“Lieutenant Ergo!” Thomas bellowed, not taking his eyes from the sky. A minotaur poked his head out of the tent behind them wearing a heavy wool jacket and earmuffs. “Get on the horn with Command! Find out what the fuck those things are!” The minotaur nodded and ran towards the radio, meanwhile Thomas and Turner could only watch transfixed like the rest of the encampment. The snow began to swarm in, the wind began to howl, and Turner felt like the temperature dipping even further into the negatives.

“What do you need from me, sir?” Turner asked, looking at Thomas as the man rubbed at his stomach with a pained expression.

“See if you can get any of our trucks started, I know it’s a long shot but if the reaction those Griffs had is any indication… We might need to bug out.” Thomas replied, Turner gave him a quick nod and started towards the area where they had parked the trucks. “And Turner!” The Gunnery Sergeant looked back at his friend. “Watch your ass!” Turner gave him a quick salute before continuing off towards the motor pool.

Once again it was just him and his weapon, trudging through the snow was exhausting and he could feel the sweat on his forehead start to freeze. The gun fire from the Griffon Lines was less prevalent, but their screams still carried a great distance. The walk through the snow to the trucks would’ve normally taken five minutes in knee deep snow, but waist deep made it that much harder, and the fact the snow was blowing practically sideways wasn’t helping either. Gradually he arrived at the vehicles, which had been spaced out and covered with olive drab tarps to protect them from air attacks.

There weren’t any troops with the vehicles, as they were all but useless at the moment. Turner had joked that even though they were based on his Ford, they still weren’t American made… He just wished he didn’t think that was the precise reason they were screwy. Human cars had special oils with different viscosity depending on the climate, something the Equestrians seemed to lack. That wasn’t the big issue, though it probably contributed, no he suspected the engines just weren't designed to function as they did in the cold. Once they were started they had no trouble running, but getting them started was the main issue.

Turner tossed one of the tarps off the hood of one of the Marshals and opened the hood, at which point he leaned his SMG against the front of the truck and sighed. The vehicles had been repainted to a familiar Olive Drab once they had crossed into Maretonia. It had taken some serious work, but they had been able to restore some of the insulation they had pulled during the Barbos campaign. The windows had been the toughest thing to come by, but now Turner wished they’d spent time getting Arcane Plugs and batteries. He rubbed his gloved hands together and began to check the engine as he had done at least seven times in the past two weeks.

It was difficult to stay focused on the truck, as he was constantly reminded of the night back home where he had nearly frozen to death while being tormented by Discord. His expression remained neutral, and his heightened sense of hearing helped him to listen for any of the tell tale sounds of another common problem that had come as a result of winter… Rodents. Rats, squirrels, and even the odd gerbil had tried to make nests in the parked vehicles. There were none of the usual skittering noises, however, which was one less thing for him to worry about.

As he worked he began to think back to the day he had been wounded six months before, it was something he found himself thinking about more and more, especially as the odd creatures in the sky circled with their cold malevolent eyes. More and more of what he had seen had come back to him over the months, and he wasn’t really sure how to take it. There weren’t any priests or chaplains, and if he wrote about it to Sam the censors would likely think he’d gone nuts and have him committed. All of it was made real by the presence of the lighter in his pocket, his uncle’s lighter had no reason for being there. No logical one, at the very least.

What had gotten him rather concerned was what his Uncle had said right before he had returned to consciousness, that he would keep his seat warm. Did that mean something? Was Turner’s demise that close, or was his uncle just trying to be good natured? Not knowing carried with it it’s own sense of dread. It had made him far more cautious in the long run, he didn’t plan on repeating his ‘Heroic’ deed any time soon. Of course, if the need arose... Well, Turner would rather take the leap than have someone take it for him.

His thoughts were snapped back to reality as he heard the soft almost imperceptible crunch of snow, even with the artillery pounding and the howling wind, he managed to make it out. They were heavy footfalls, heavier than most of the troops in the battalion. Turner cautiously and slowly moved his hand out of the engine compartment and inched it towards his SMG. The footsteps continued to get closer, moving as if unimpeded by the heavy drifts of snow. Gradually a soft humming song was audible over the wind, and Turner lost any pretense of subtlety. The trooper grabbed his SMG and began to look around him, shouldering the weapon while his breath hitched in his throat.

Looming like a specter, barely visible through the dark fog, was a large quadruped creature that looked vaguely familiar… Like a horse, but on a scale that would make a Clydesdale look like a pony. There was another humming song and it began to approach Turner, slowly gliding through the snow as it swung powerful legs forward and back.

“Star!” Turner shouted at it as it got closer, his voice booming through the wind and snow. There was no response, so the Gunnery Sergeant aimed his weapon for the form’s center mass. “Star! Or I will fire on you!”

No countersign came, Turner exhaled and tensed his finger on the trigger, but… Before he fired the form shifted in size and shape, gradually becoming smaller and more demure. It shifted from quadruped to biped, which was so strange to watch Turner wasn’t sure what was happening. When he finally saw the form emerge from the snowy mist he was surprised to see a human woman with skin nearly as pale and white as the powder falling from the heavens. She had expressive blue eyes that seemed filled with sadness, a deep sadness that turned Turner’s guts. Long flowing red hair blew in the wind, as did her white robe… Was she insane? A robe, in that cold?

“Not one step closer!” Turner shouted, staring at the woman with an intense fear as he kept his weapon leveled. He didn’t want to open fire, she didn’t seem armed, but she definitely wasn’t human either… How could she be if she had gone from such a massive equine form to what now stood before him? He hated how he felt, and he hated that it seemed he always ended up seeing the weird shit that no one else would believe. “Discord, if that’s you it ain’t fuckin’ funny!”

The woman frowned, and that sadness in her eyes seemed to grow, but she didn’t run off or turn into Discord or anything like that, she merely hummed a soft and flowing tune… Turner felt oddly at peace as she did so, and it became harder for him to hold his aim. The woman stepped closer to him now, and despite Turner’s urgent attempts to pull the trigger his finger wouldn’t comply.

“I mean you no harm…” The woman’s voice was calm, but tinged with an air of that same sadness. “I am Devana, the guardian of these woods.” Turner groaned, despite her words he was utterly terrified, he couldn’t fight back as his arms felt like they were encased in solid concrete. Why was it always him that had to meet this world’s strange ‘Gods’ and ‘Guardians’, why couldn’t it be some schmuck from F Company? “Why are you here?”

“I’m trying to fix these vehicles…” Turner replied, not entirely of his own volition, but Devana shook her head and stepped closer. She pushed Turner’s arms down gently, and then examined his uniform closely.

“You are a soldier?” She asked, Turner could only nod. “Why are you here?” The Gunnery Sergeant could see the sadness in the woman’s eyes much more closely now, it was so intense he almost felt overcome by it himself. “Why do you harm my domain so?”

“I’m not the one to ask.” Turner replied shakily, his eyes unable to move away from hers. “I’m just a grunt, I don’t make decisions on where we fight.” Devana looked puzzled at the word ‘grunt’, but other than that her glare didn’t waver. “I was drafted, that’s why I’m here! I don’t know what you want me to say!” Turner was actively fighting against himself now, trying to raise his arms, or to will his legs to run, but Devana held his gaze and he could see deeply into her eyes that there was some sort of power within her he could never hope to comprehend. Even when he spoke, it wasn’t a conscious decision.

The woman looked up at the falling snow, which was notably grayer than usual as the wind picked up more and more ash and soot from the atmosphere. She held out a hand, snatching one of the flakes from the air and examining it, oddly enough it didn’t melt in her hand. Gunfire rang out from the camp in the distance, followed by several screams, and both Turner and Devana saw tracers streak into the sky towards the circling monsters. Devana’s eyes turned back to the Gunnery Sergeant as she discarded the snow flake, though they were filled with anger now.

“Fall back! Fall the fuck back! Jesus Christ, what the fuck are those things!?” Thomas’ voice was growing louder, as was the gunfire. “Turner, what the fuck are you-? Who the fuck is that!?” Turner couldn’t move, but Thomas could see he was trying, as did many of the retreating Lunar Corps Troopers of 2nd Division. “Get the fuck away from him!” With that, Devana vanished in a flurry of pure white snow that blew away on the wind. Turner gasped and readied his weapon, turning towards Thomas as he caught breath he didn’t know he had missed.

“What the hell’s going on!” Turner shouted as he saw the rest of their forces falling back from the line, more were shooting at something in the mist that Turner couldn’t make out. Thomas started running towards the truck, not even bothering to fire back over his shoulder as Turner felt the ground tremble, as if artillery shells were detonating deep underneath his feet.

“Get to the trucks! Go!” Thomas shouted, that was all Turner needed to hear, he slammed the hood down on the truck he’d been working on and ran to the driver’s seat while Thomas and as many Troopers as possible clamored to get in. Turner tried to start the engine, he could hear the starter whining as it spun, but it didn’t turn over. “This isn’t good man!” He turned the key again, and to his relief the engine finally rumbled to life. It was already set for four wheel drive, so all he had to do was put it in gear. A massive flash of light filled the sky, and for a second the engine seemed to cut out before coming back from the brink of a stall. “Whoa!”

“Don’t stop, keep moving!” Thomas ordered out the window the soldiers still frantically running for their vehicles, Turner floored the gas and the Marshal began to tear through the snow like a bat out of hell.

“Holy shit!” The Gunnery Sergeant shouted as the other trucks began to roll out behind his, tearing through the forest with no real set destination in mind other than away from the flashes of light in the sky.

“Go go go!” Thomas shouted in a very commanding tone, but Turner didn’t need to be told twice. The engine roared even louder as he put all his skill, all his knowledge of driving from his time as a Sheriff’s Officer to his time back in Wyoming, to use.

“What the hell is going on!?” One of the soldiers that had piled into the back shouted over the noise, more flashes illuminated the sky above and the ground once again rumbled and rolled so heavily that it was hard for Turner to keep avoiding the numerous densely packed groves of trees.

“A.R.E.!” Thomas shouted over the noise, Turner looked at him in stunned amazement and nearly hit a tree in the process. An A.R.E., short for Arcane Resonance Event, was only theoretical. In essence an EMP for magic, that when it went off, would fry every arcane construct within its radius for a good long while, if not permanently. “Just keep moving!” Thomas looked ahead of the truck. “Look out!” Turner swerved to avoid one of the trees as the other Marshals followed it. With a slight jump the truck hopped up onto one of the many dirt roads in the area, at which point Turner made a right turn and kept his foot on the gas. “Go! Go!”

As Turner continued driving he could see the sky was getting brighter and brighter, and the howling wind seemed more like a predator preparing to attack its prey. The snow was blowing hard against the windshield, and Turner was having enough trouble as it was keeping the truck straight and steady on the icy snow without the tremendous gusts of air. The sky suddenly burst into a rainbow of colors that seemed to radiate out from a point behind the truck, as it flashed overhead the engine in the Marshal quit… And with it went the power steering.

Turner saw only one alternative to crashing into something like a tree, and so with all his strength he took the truck off the road and into one of the snowy drifts on the side. They hit with tremendous force, Turner smacked his head into the steering wheel while Thomas put his arms up in front of his face to soften the blow. The troops in the back were tossed about like toy soldiers, but the impact was far less intense than it would’ve been if Turner had wrapped the truck around a tree.

It was quiet, with nothing but the dying of the wind and the falling snow… The vehicle lay in that ditch for some time, each man inside in varying degrees of unconsciousness. None were even vaguely aware of the soft crunch of snow that neared the truck, or the shifting shadow of the figure that regarded the vehicle with a mix of uncertainty and unspeakable despair. The sky above was clear of the thick clouds that had reigned before, though they still deposited snow on the ground. The moonlight was able to cut through, giving just enough light for both warring sides to see the aftermath of the shimmering in the sky.