A Lost Brother

by MrUser

Rating: mature
Tags: Other, Adventure, Tragedy, Violence, Slice of Life, Death, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 2907

In commemoration to those who fought bravely in WWI. This story follows a young stallion who is set in the trenches, battling in harsh conditions against the enemy. Orders are shouted, pellets and magic flies, but no one knows they're brothers.

In commemoration to those who fought bravely in WWI.
Operation Stormfighter: Four sections rebel against the forces that line the shore in Manehattan.

We were promised a great adventure, a satisfying reward - not a traumatic experience and an insane devastation. On the attack of Manehattan, not only did casualties double from our previous assault but a horrific truth tore against my will to fight: we are killing our own, our population, our citizens, our brothers.

~There is not too much emphasis on a war that goes on in this story if that is what you were looking for. The message is more important, in my opinion - just like any other story.
-Mr.User

Published 2018-11-11 06:50:02 UTC
Last updated 2018-11-11 06:50:02 UTC

Operation Stormfighter

"I am Recruit Black Well, from 6th Section on a boat to Manehattan. I am Recruit Black Well, from 6th Section on a boat to Manehattan." I repeated myself continuously as the fierce waves glided across the heavy metals.

I attempted to keep myself optimistic about the eventual battle on the rocky shores of Manehattan - a town I used to play around in when I was just a small colt. Now, I was going to infiltrate it with my section and destroy everything it offered me and us soldiers in the past. My breaths met haste as I heard the pegasi soldiers' horn, signalling battle, which only made me nervous. I had already seen the devastations of this war and I never wanted to see its light, but my forceful captain pushed me on board with my weapon. My stomach grew sick of the constant flow of the boat as my repetitions slowed and a well of disgust formed in me.

A forced grunt escaped my muzzle accompanied with my MRE that spilled overboard, some splashed against the boat. A subtle punch entered my weak spine as a trickle of vomit rested on my bottom lip. My weapon nearly fell out of my hoof as another sudden wave hit our side. I fumbled with the metal, gripping it tightly. An MK09 - a medium-barrel weapon with a bolted receiver that held four bullets inside its cartridge to the side of the weapon - found a perch against my shoulder as traced along my dark uniform painted with stripes. My hat covered Celestia's legacy as it faced forward where the enemy lurked in lower bunkers. The rocks ahead began intimidating me as it stared with pointed edges.

"Chill out," Said the sergeant calmly, on the bow of our boat, "We'll storm this rocky disaster and Manehattan will be ours in no time. The city will most likely be destroyed but hey, this is war, anything can happen."

As our boat neared the shoreline, on the horizon were four cement bunkers side-by-side. They began to fire.

The captain shouted, telling our heads to cover in the sturdy metal. I peeked my head slightly, gliding my mane away from my eyes as I glanced into the heart of a projectile coming straight at us. A blue jolt of magical aura punctured our ship, sending the sergeant overboard and into the now bloody surface. Our vessel took in some water, filling the sergeant's spot and some panicking soldiers into the water.

"Abandon!" Our captain yelled, diving into the water with his sidearm in-hoof.

Following his orders, I leapt out of the boat, flailing underwater to get myself above the deep depths. I felt a sudden gust overwhelm me as I was taken above the water level by a pegasus. Giving my regards, I was set down into the rough surfaces as he dashed to retrieve more soldiers. The whizzing of lead and magic came straight my way as I ducked into the defensive cover Manehattan supplied.

Suddenly, bombs began whistling to the ground, exploding vigorously as a bunker to the far left no longer had a roof. A layer of cement must have crushed the soldiers below. My breaths began to quicken as more and more shells rained down with the mixture of pellets suppressing my position. I needed to move but I had no clue where. More stallions found my safe zone and huddled near me, asking my section. It seemed as though everyone I met was separated from their squad and section. It was a relief to know that an officer made it on shore with me as his orders had determined the battle.

As we maneuvered carefully on the hard terrain, a wave of metal crashed on several soldiers who attempted to cross cover that opened to the bunkers, "There's an open bunker there, sir, to the left!" A soldier stated.

The officer turned to see the opening of a bunker that was heavily bombarded by both the infantry and aerial assault. He gestured us to move quickly to the section that was suppressing the bunker. Dodging various obstacles, a few pegasi fell from the sky all bloodied and batted with pellets. One managed to crack their skull against the rock as we crossed paths with 3rd Section. Our officer informed the sergeant about the mix-up of units as both commanders had similar problems. They planned to fire at the bunker to take out any troops and we would sweep the objective - opening up a breach for our units.

I was nominated to sweep the bunker with several soldiers, one I actually regrouped with my section - Second Corporal Sand - who managed to take out the objective with an automatic sidearm. We secured the bunker, only have a few casualties as more soldiers were met with a gruesome fate as soon as they stepped on the other side. The air support ceased on our side of the defence as it trailed to the final three bunkers. During that time, I covered my head as I hid my face under a table of ammunition. A magical surge blasted a part of the bunker, exposing half our troops who were obliterated by the rain of magic and lead.

After the enemies failed their recapture, I was taken out from under the soothing cover and was put to work. The sound of bullets and magic flew across the air as more shells ran down the bunker adjacent to ours. The once sunny sky now turned dull and cloudy like the uniform I wore. I cantered carefully in the front, trying not to ruin the brown-coated bodies that laid dead on the wooden floorboards. The stench of decay filled my nose as I tried not to mimic what I did on the boat. Reaching the first cross-section of the network, I peered left towards the next objective we were supposed to take: the trench through A Pony's Demise, or No Ponies' Land as some would say commonly.

As my head turned oppositely, an enemy rushed at me with a knife in his dirty hooves. In a foolish attempt to cover my muzzle, a deafening shot rang in my ears. I caught a glimpse of my enemy without a jaw at its helmet had clunked on the floor. His once yellow jaw was now in a crimson mess, teeth struck out of place and a jawless pony laid dead in front of me - its green eyes faded into a lifeless colour. I tried to breathe slowly to ease the mental pain that flew my mind as my ally comforted me, telling me to stay back. My head came in contact with the boards behind me, resting my addling mind and setting my flimsy hat to the ground. The wet and sweaty nature had me without head gear for the entire day.

Explosions kept ringing in my ears for the next several minutes until more soldiers began filtering in from the other side or so I was told. A breach had been made on Bunker 4 that was on the other side of my sections' attack. Some familiar troops began to pile in the trench network as a new order to clear the next trench was made. Surfacing from the terrifying experience, a new, deadly obstacle blocked our victory.

As my weary eyes glanced over the edge, I saw the trench that some stallions were stationed for battle and a dangerous amount of supplies that could have been used to take us out. Large crates and boxes were stacked together, each having their labels: 7.62, smoke bombs, mortar rounds, magic storage. That last one bamboozled me for quite a while until I realised that the 'magic storage' must have been the force that broke our boat apart. I never thought that a single unicorn would be able to smash a metal boat so a much larger force would have done it.

I gripped my weapon as I made my way into the next trench where my team was already firing at the next wave of enemies. Finally, I was at a safe distance to fire my weapon. I adjusted my weapon, clamping it onto my shoulder at it hung over the side of the trench. Resting my cheek on the stock, I gazed through the sights provided - a post for accuracy and a horseshoe as rear sights for alignment. Comfortably breathing, I guided my left hoof into the trigger as I pulled - a helmet flew from my shot. Removing my muzzle from the weapon, my firing hoof handled the bolt, driving a new, sharp pellet into the receiver. I repeated the process and another bloody splatter stained the trench.

As soon as my ammo was gone, my friend dropped me a pack of pellets. I had made some friends during this war but some had died in battle. I gained the motivation to fight for my fallen mates and more faces became familiar, battling alongside me in the face of distraught and discouragement.

As we fought, barbed wires were lined randomly in A Ponies' Demise with the combination of bomb residue that struck the dirt - a perfect opportunity to strike at the enemy from our cover. A few explosives nearly detonated in our trench but our experts lobbed them over just in time to not cause too many deaths for our allies. Soon, the next section came in to provide support for our depleting troops and I was called down by my captain who survived the boat's devastation. I was told to search the remaining bunkers for any additional ammo or any live enemies in the bunkers - probably those who hid under the tables like me, those who didn't want to fight. Like my brother.

Rain began to pour as more clouds accumulated in the atmosphere, making it difficult to not step in dried blood and muddy spaces. As soon as I ducked my head under one of the bunkers, I wished to stay there for the remaining period but I knew I needed to keep moving. I managed to scavenge a long strip of pellets, useful for light machine guns (that were not light at all) and a couple of explosives that hadn't been activated yet. Dropping the items, I made my way to the final bunker - Bunker 4. I crept to the bunker for I was told that there may be a few survivors from the raid. Barn Thatch, one of my closest allies, had ensured that I was going to be fine - and I hoped I was. Of course, a few of us laughed a bit but once I was on my own, my hooves were shaking with each step from the cold rain and terrifying imagination of being tortured by an enemy (the bunkers were spread widely).

Nearing the bunker, I heard small, echoing clops in the structure, halting my approach and reaching for my knife. The adrenaline made my breathing difficult to slow as I trudged forward into unknown territory. Scraping against the grey wall, my ears perked to the distinct sound of struggles. I attempted to listen more, holding my knife firmly until my hind legs accidentally hit glasses that laid on the floor, now shattered and having the enemy alerted.

My eyes widened at the realisation and I rushed in the structure, yelling manically as I found my target - the enemy. The soldier seemed to brace for impact as I dug the blade into his shoulder, pain shouting from his lungs. He didn't seem to budge from the knife that stuck in him, only a sudden head movement that faced me.

I retracted the knife and stabbed into his abdomen, causing another shout to overwhelm the bunker but that was overcast by the heavy rain. He was pinned in the corner of the bunker, bleeding furiously but I noticed something was wrong. As blood creased my hoof, a familiar voice spoke out to me on his words. They weren't foreign.

"Black Well?" He whimpered.

My mind raced, telling myself that it's not him. My pupils died in shock and I was quick to pull off his helmet.

"Brother!" I said, paralysed by the sight in front of me. I just stabbed my brother, "I'm so sorry! Everything will be all right, I promise." I rushed out the bunker, desperate to find medical supplies on the bodies outside. A medic had been lying in a puddle of mud when I snatched a kit off his corpse.

I returned to my young sibling who was in mental and physical pain, just as I was crying inside. I hurried to empty the pouch as I pulled the weapon slowly out of my brother, the suffering made a flow of tears coat my damp fur. Immediately, I pushed against the wound, staring into his eyes as I told him that everything was going to be fine. I squeezed a tiny load of morphine into him as I helped him hold his wound. I needed to save him.

"Don't look there. Look at me, Scratch. Page Scratch, look at me!" I needed his attention away from the wound, "I didn't mean to do this. I'm sorry. I'll make everything better, just hold on!" I cried out, trying to cover the regrettable damage I had done.

A gurgle of red came to his mouth as some contents spilled onto my uniform. My breaths became ragged and heartbroken as desperate attempts to heal my brother was made, "No!" I yelled out as he caressed my hooves with his own - only smaller and more calming.

His chest rose slowly, "I'm. Okay. Just happy to see my big brother. The hero of my story. I was writing it... when the war began and," He sighed, "This is the end, I guess," A cough escaped his mouth, "Didn't think it was going to be like this."

"No, it won't!" I desperately said, "You'll survive."

"I won't, and you know that," He paused, "I know you didn't stab me on purpose. We're... supposed to be enemies. But. That won't stop me... from meeting my best brother in the world," Scratch took his last, deep breath, "Thank you, for everything." A long flow of air passed my face.

My heart sank and my body dropped next to my brother who passed. My eyes replicated the rain's tears as it streamed down my coat and onto my brother. His peaceful eyes soon lost its colour but his smile remained as my sobs echoed in the gloomy bunker. At moments, I took in a sharp intake of air and it soon came booming down into more cries. My brother, Page Scratch, was gone.

I remembered the story he told me about just before he died and I searched his bag that he carried. A strap led to a medium bag with a clip that tugged against my fragile heart. A book was his iconic mark and it was engraved on his lock. I unclipped the trinket and caressed its brass metal, admiring the work and remembering the past. I bit my lip to stop the sobs overtake my already deep sorrow. I stored the insignia in my pocket.

I searched through the bag, the contents already falling out - the book was in my grasp. A bottle of ink rolled to the side, it was nearly empty and a few broken quills were trashed in the storage. There were two left, just how I remembered. I bought my brother five quills, two jars of ink and a book before I left for war. Flattering to see that it made it through several battles still in one piece. The wood was sustained and the pages inside were legible with the familiar writing I had come to love so much.

I skimmed through his writing, some of his plans were on a separate parchment that detailed each event so thoroughly that I was personally amazed by his skill. I never knew that all that 'alone-time' had been put into such effort. At that moment, I regretted not meeting him more at home and to ask to read his stories. I uncovered the book's contents - a nearly completed story that followed my path of the war, the 'enemy's' perspective in their case. But more significantly, it featured me.

I was in that bunker for a long time, reading my brother's unfinished creation. I was called out by my section leader, taking the final look at my brother until I had to walk the bloody battlefields once again. I took the saddlebag with me. I left the knife in there.

Author's Note

In wars, when soldiers shoot at other soldiers, they never know that they're firing at another human being. But once they figure out that they've killed one of their own brothers, their own comrades before the war. They were conditioned to see their enemy as not their own but a different entity in the world. Everyone had a life before the war even the civilians that were stuck in between the ferocious gunfire of both factions. Over 20 Million people (both civilians and soldiers) lost their lives, brothers and relatives after the war ended - some didn't even know who the other forces were. They could have been companions but it never came to be.