A War On Two Fronts

Turner and Thomas sat quietly in their foxhole not twenty yards from the treeline, over the last few days they had been getting hammered fairly hard by the enemy. Desertion was thankfully down, as both had answered Luna’s plea to try and inspire the troops. Turner did it rather hesitantly, and Thomas couldn’t really blame him for that. Both men could see the writing on the wall, the war would either end before the end of winter or become a brutal all out brawl at the start of spring. The Dragons in the south had finally gotten organized now that they weren’t being hit as hard as before, and when the cold weather let up their cold blooded legions would be ready to storm north and aid Luna’s beleaguered force in a drive for the throat of the Empire.

The news on the Northern Front had all but stopped, there were only a few hold out positions left while the rest of the Griffon army had drive across the railway bridges that served as the only overland route between Equestria and the Empire. Of course, now that it was firmly secured they had built half a dozen more bridges and were streaming in like a river. The last that either Thomas or Turner had heard, the Crystal Empire was still remaining out of the fight, though the rumor was they’d join in when the Dragons did.

Spring was still a long way off, however, and the war was still very much present. It was Christmas Eve, the hour was late, and Artillery Fire was coming in sporadically. Occasionally a mortar team would pop up an illumination flare, just to see if any forces were crossing between no man’s land. They never were. Thomas frowned as he picked at his ‘turkey’ in his mess kitt with his battered old fork, everyone knew it was just the Emergency Ration Paste molded into the shape of a turkey. Turner had finished his a few hours prior and he still could sense the chalky aftertaste in his mouth.

“Won’t be long now…” Turner mumbled, looking at a watch he had taken from a dead officer. The distant rumble of artillery had become the norm on the front line, and both men had found that on nights when the shelling was very light they had trouble sleeping without the familiar explosive barks in the distance. “Seven minutes to midnight.” Thomas sighed as he forced himself to eat another bite of the cold chalky protein paste.

“Where would you be now, if the war weren’t on…” Thomas asked curiously, Turner sadly reached into his pocket and withdrew Sam’s picture. He looked at her smiling face, so beautiful even as the paper had degraded and become stained or creased.

“Where I always would be…” He mumbled faintly. “Back in Silver Lake, probably working the graveyard shift again, just sitting in my truck. If that weren’t the case, though…?” He trailed off, and Thomas heard a slight hitch in his voice. “Home, with Sam and Paige… We’d be celebrating her first Christmas…” The man looked at the ground. “I still can’t believed she named her after me, you sure Woodham told you the truth?” Thomas nodded. “Shit… What about you?”

“Canterlot Castle, in the banquet room… Just Twilight and I…” Thomas said wistfully, eventually giving up on his food and tossing the rest of the cold food out into the snow. “We’d be sitting by the fire right now, sipping one hundred and fifty year old brandy after finishing dinner.” The man looked at the floor of the foxhole and sighed, meanwhile Turner glanced at the watch again… “How much longer?”

“Thirty seconds…” Turner looked up from the watch and tucked it into his pocket. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I’d want to spend another Christmas in Equestria anyway… Not now, after all that’s happened.”

Thomas nodded, then raised an eyebrow as Turner pulled his harmonica from his pocket and brushed it off. It was a little dirty, a little dented, and it hardly shined as it had when it was brand new. It had traveled thousands of miles, faithfully playing as well as the first day Turner had picked it up, and Thomas knew that now would be no different.Then, it became oddly quiet, both men looked at one another in confusion as the distant rumble of artillery went silent.

“Merry Christmas, Tom.” Turner said with a faint smile.

“Merry Christmas, Paige.” The Lieutenant Colonel replied as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. Equestrian made, the good kind. He handed them to Turner, the man tucked them into his jacket pocket. They had made a side bet, Turner had bet that the Griffons would hold their fire for the holiday while Thomas was skeptical. It had happened before, on Earth, but with all that was going on he doubted it would be the case here. Turner brought his harmonica to his lips, slowly the soft notes of ‘SIlent Night’ began to carry from the foxhole to the surrounding area.

Turner didn’t expect anyone to start singing, it was a human song after all, but for the two men it was a good reminder of where they came from. Then, there came a sound that neither of them had been expecting. Wafting across from the other side of the front line were the unmistakable sounds of a fiddle, playing in almost perfect time with Turner. Thomas looked almost surprised as Turner, a big grin spreading across his face. Soon, they heard humming from other foxholes around them. Even if the ponies didn’t know the words they had picked up the melody fairly well.

Thomas cleared his throat, and in a voice made raspy from shouting commands and smoking, he still was able to sing. It sounded terrible, god awful, but no one cared. After a few minutes there was humming and singing from the Griffon side of the field as well. Turner and Thomas looked overhead at the sky, usually choked with clouds as windigos would prowl around and make it snow. The bright moonlight shined down clearly, the sky was clear, and for the first time in what felt like months both sides could see the breathtaking tapestry of stars.

The music went on for some time before eventually fading away, but no shots followed, no shells or grenades rained from overhead. Turner tucked the harmonica into his jacket, his eyes felt hot with tears. Not from sadness, but from joy… He could feel deep down that there was still a spark inside him, something human, something decent. The violence and the anger cleared from his mind like the clouds in the sky, and for the first time since being drafted he felt like himself again… If only for a short while.

The man wiped his eyes quickly, not wanting the tears to freeze against his skin, and after a few deep breaths he had reined in his emotions. Thomas quietly poked his head up from the foxhole to look out into no man’s land, in the distance was the familiar ‘thwump’ of a mortar firing. Overhead a bright flash filled the sky as a flare illuminated the landscape, Thomas looked out past the trees and saw in the glow that there were several Griffons and humans looking back from their own fortifications. A few of them were approaching the treeline, but had their arms held out to the sides, except for two who were carrying two heavy looking items. Turner stood up as well and blinked a few times until his eyes adjusted, that was when he saw them.

“Hold your fire! Pass it down!” Thomas yelled down the line, the order was spread as well. “Gunny, looks like we’ve got some carolers. You mind answering the door?” Turner nodded quietly and stood up out of the foxhole tentatively, when no gunfire came his way he slipped his rifle down off his shoulder and back into the hole. The man straightened his helmet and uniform before carefully walking out into the pale light of the flare over head. Both sides watched with uncertainty as two Griffons, two humans and a lone Equestrian Gunnery Sergeant stopped midway in the unheld territory.

“You speak English?” Turner asked, looking at the group. The two men lifted what they were carrying, for an instant Turner thought about going for his pistol. He stopped himself as they planted the short but full looking fur tree down in the snow, it had a small stand fixed to it that would keep it upright and Turner could see it was decorated with empty shell casings and a few cloth belts that would be used to hold machine gun rounds.

“I should hope so.” One of the men said, an older man that was about Turner’s age, who spoke with a distinct british accent. From the markings on his grey snow covered uniform Turner could see that, like him, this man was a senior NCO. “I’m Senior Sergeant Reginald Q. Davenport, and this is Junior Sergeant Gerald Blair.” He gestured at the other man before offering his hand, Turner looked at it for a moment before hesitantly offering his own.

“Gunnery Sergeant Paige Wilson Turner.” Turner replied, a smile crossing his face as he shook hands with a man that by all accounts was his enemy. He looked at the tree for a second, then back at the four Griffon Army troops.

“Are you serious? You’re Terror Turner?” Reginald asked with surprise, Turner nodded slowly and withdrew one of the dog tags hanging around his neck to make it clear. “Well, I should say it’s jolly interesting to meet a man of your caliber here of all places. You’ve built quite a reputation for yourself.”

“None of it good, I hope.” Turner joked as he tucked the tags back under his jacket, Reginald and Gerald both let out a few chuckles as they shook their heads. “Is this for us?” He looked at the tree, resting a hand on his hip.

“Oh, yes, it is.” Reginald said with a similar smile, Turner could see his features more clearly now as another flare was hanging in the sky. He was rather chubby, with small eyes, rosy cheeks, and a big bushy mustache. “The lads and I were remarking earlier on the Christmas Truce of 1914 and thought we might commemorate it, if you were willing of course.” Turner’s smile grew wider. “After all, just because we’re at war doesn’t mean we can’t share a day of peace.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more, Sergeant Davenport…” Turner replied, looking over his shoulder at Thomas who was watching carefully and giving a thumbs up. Gerald cleared his throat and reached into his jacket and withdrew a small flask, which he opened and took a swig. Likely not only to calm his nerves, but also to show it wasn’t poisoned.

“Care for a belt?” He asked, Turner smiled and humbly took the flask. He took a quick swig himself before wiping his lips and handing the flask back.

“I haven’t had that in…” Turner said as he tasted the smooth bourbon, it had to be bourbon, and that made it a rarity all its own. After all, ponies didn’t know much about alcohol other than beer, hard cider, or wine. What was more, however, was that Turner recognized the brand. Not only was it bourbon, but bourbon from Earth no less. “That’s some good stuff you guys have there. Earth alcohol is rare, haven’t had any in going on seven years now.” He patted himself down for a second. “Sorry I don’t have much for you in return…” He withdrew the pack of cigarettes that Thomas had given him, then offered them to Reginald.

“Quite alright, we didn’t give much notice after all.” The Senior Sergeant replied amiably, he took the pack of cigarettes from Turner’s hand and examined them. “Lone Pines? These are quite rare as well.” He tucked the pack into his jacket, he noted that Turner’s pocket was still open, and the glint of a faintly dirty piece of metal caught his eye. A closer inspection prompted him to smile widely. “I say, were you the one playing harmonica earlier?”

“That’s me.” Turner said, looking at his pocket for a moment. “Give my compliments to the guy who picked up that fiddle, it was a shot in the arm for all of us.” Gerald smiled and took a step forward. He was a lot thinner than Reginald, with somewhat shallow cheeks and a narrow face, he couldn’t have weighed more than one twenty soaking wet, and he looked barely old enough to shave. “That was you?”

“Yeah, that was me.” The young man replied, tucking both hands into his jacket for warmth. The two griffons, unable to speak English, simply watched in quiet amazement as their Senior and Junior Sergeants chatted like old friends with the enemy Gunnery Sergeant.

“How old are you, boy?” Turner asked in a curious voice.

“Seventeen.” Gerald replied, and a small frown crossed Turner’s features. So it wasn’t just Equestria that was sending boys to die now. At least it wasn’t as bad as things on the Equestrian side, which many had already taken to calling ‘The Slaughtered Generation’.

“Well, keep your head down… All of you.” Turner said in a slightly more somber tone. “I’m sorry, for any ills or woes we may have caused y’all.”

“And I to you…” Reginald’s own somber tone was so similar to Turner’s that Gerald seemed surprised. Reginald was a bit of a legend in his own right, though likely not known in the Equestrian army as Turner was. The Senior Sergeant had seen more than his fair share of combat, and a great deal of troops relied on him for courage. In fact, Gerald dared to say that the two men were mirror images of one another. “Let’s raise a final drink before adjourning, perhaps tomorrow things will be better.”

“To peace on Earth, and good will to man.” Turner said quietly, removing his helmet. The others removed their helmets as well and held them under their arms. “May this war be short, and the number of lives lost low.”

“Indeed, to peace…” Reginald replied as Gerald passed the flask around, and each member of the party took a drink. “I fear that soon we may be ordered to return to our lines, take care Gunnery Sergeant.” Turner nodded and shook the man’s hand.

“You too, Senior Sergeant.” He added, with that both men placed their helmets back on their heads and snapped respectful salutes. The humans and griffons returned to their line quietly, while Turner picked up the tree that had been set there and quietly carried it back to his own lines. He carried it past the foxhole, through the snow and ice, as the many soldiers watched him quietly.

Finally, he stopped in front of the Headquarters. Judging by the activity it was clear they knew what had just taken place, and within a few minutes Princess Luna had emerged from the building. Turner placed the tree down in front of her, then stood beside it with a neutral expression on his face.

“The Griffon’s sent this over.” Turner explained calmly, a soft frown crossing his features. “I know you probably don’t want my opinion, but may I say it anyway?” Luna wordlessly nodded, examining the tree as she kept her stoney expression, she was quite good at hiding her emotions. “Ma’am… I ain’t sayin’ this as a Gunnery Sergeant, I’m saying it as a human being.” He took a deep breath. “This war may as well be over already, we’ve been hanging on by a thread and I can say for certain tomorrow a lot of guys out there aren’t going to fire… Why should they? It’s ultimately pointless now with things the way they are in Equestria.” Turner removed his helmet and looked at the tree. “On behalf of all of us out there in the foxholes… End it tonight, right this second if possible. Any more deaths that come from this war with the Griffons will ultimately be in vain...”

Luna looked at him with some uncertainty growing on her face, without saying a word she turned around and walked back inside the headquarters. Turner frowned and quietly put his helmet back on his head, looking at the tree, the brass casings and bottles now glittered in the light of a nearby campfire. With a sigh, the man left the tree and returned to his foxhole…

Whatever happened, he knew he could never fire his weapon in anger at the Griffon troops again. He was still a man, and he had a choice… Even if they tossed him in the stockade, even if they shot him for treason, he resolved then and there that for him… The war was over. He couldn’t see the enemy as faceless anymore, they were people, they had dreams, emotions, thoughts and ideas. They would be off living their lives, for all he knew composing music or discovering new scientific data, if not for the damned war…