Author's Note

Chapter two, Hell yea! Hope you enjoy, and lemme know if there's anything I need to work on.
Cheers!

~Reichmeister

Voice, France

The French town of Voice was silent. Dusty winds billowed through the streets and rustled the trees. Shutters clattered against long-shattered windows and doors squeaked on rusty hinges. Distant artillery thundered, shaking the very air and the Earth beneath it, making an oddly comforting atmosphere. Rubble and shattered wood littered the cobbled roads, and dark stains had seeped between the cracks in the stones. Piles of rubble scaled down away from the houses, and all was still save for the black rod of iron swinging to and fro ever so slightly.

"You sure the mag's full Al? Feels a little light." Came a concerned voice, echoing off of the surrounding buildings. The metallic sounds of a gun being loaded almost drowned out the voice.

"Sure of it Wimp. You can thank the Brits for the weight. What with them usin' .303 instead of .30-06." Responded another voice with a chuckle.

"Whatever you say Al."

"Would the two 'u ya shuddup? What point a' 'keep quiet' do the two 'u yus not understand?"

"Oh what difference does it make Bag? We're all probably dead anyhow." The voice belonging to Al responded, a hint of irony laden in his tone.

"I don't know about you Al, but I'd at least like to live as long as I can, so could you please shut the fuck up." Someone growled from within a crater in the road.

The metallic shhk of the bolt racking on Wimp's Bren silenced everyone around. "Loaded." He whispered loudly.

Scoffs, sighs and chuckles filled the air at this. Winfred Pierce, or as his friends called him, Wimp, was still quite green in terms of combat experience. He was only eighteen, and since his recent birthday was only a runner, nurse, and just an odd hand around the division. In simple terms he was the 22nd Marines adopted son. His dark brown eyes had always burnt with an excited fire, and his short, shaggy brown hair had almost blended him in with the rest of the squadron. Winfred's appearance was sudden, and he was only fourteen when the 22nd had found him. He had no family to speak of, and no one ever considered bringing it up. He had proven himself since then, and this was to be his first engagement.

Alton Dial, Al for short, was the closest to a father figure Winfred had. More of an older brother if anything. He had, relatively, short, brown hair, and green eyes. A pacifist at heart, he wanted to become a priest before the war. He had never gotten the chance, and instead became a corpsman for the 22nd. The red cross on his helmet had long since faded away, and the only recognizable emblem denoting his hospitality was the white bandana around his arm adorning the cross and a similar banner hanging from his pack.

Bag was a mysterious character. He hailed from the Highlands. So he said, but nobody quite knew for sure. He was quite good on the bag pipes, respected by those who didn't even like the shrill instrument, hence his name. Matted, fiery red hair and green eyes betrayed his origins from miles away, and his accent did him much less of a favor. Freckles dotted his face, and he burned easily in the sun.

"You remember how to fire that, right?" Al asked, looking back to Wimp with a knowing smile. Wimp hesitated before answering.

"You... uh... you hold the trigger and pray?" He said, uneasily. He put on a lopsided smile before looking at Al, an eybrow raised above the lip of his helmet. Wimp look back away from him, chuckling nervously.

"No son, sprayin' will just waste ammo. You gotta fire in bursts." He imitated shouldering the machine gun, and kicked his shoulder back periodically. "Get what I'm saying?"

"So like this?" Wimp asked, squeezing the locked trigger. After a short time, he released it, and squeezed down on it again. He did this for a few seconds more before Al laughed softly.

"There ya go, son. That's more like it." he patted his shoulder and looked over the top of the mound they sat behind. "Keep that in mind, cause I think we've got company." He shook the shoulder his hand was resting on and pointed to a hill beyond the streets of the town. Wimp followed his gaze and looked down the road.

Down the grassy hill came a figure. It was sprinting towards their position and holding down the helmet atop its head to keep it steady. Soon, the clatter of the soldier's equipment could be heard over the wind, and his boots scraped on the stone beneath. Heads peeked up from their hidden positions, much like moles coming up from hiding. Green helmets soon dotted along down the road, and faces of all kinds waited expectantly for the news to come. The approaching figure began to make gestures with his hands and arms as he ran, his slung rifle bouncing wildly on his shoulder.

"Yep, like I thought. Keep that gun down the street, and don't shoot until allowed to, yeah?" Al said.

"Yes sir." Wimp replied, nodded quickly. Al patted his shoulder once more and ran to the Marine. They exchanged words swiftly and Al returned to his position beside Wimp. The Marine ran by them quickly and began shouting jut loud enough to be heard over the wind, but not too loud.

"What now?" Wimp asked, lifting the lip of his helmet to be able to see Al squatting next to him.

"We wait for 'em. Remember, don't shoot until you're told. Don't matter how close they get, hold your fire." The young gunner nodded again, flicking the safety of the Bren and shouldering the heavy gun.

The jingling of cartridges of racking of bolts filled the air for a time as the Marines prepared themselves for the coming attack. Soon enough, however, the only sound was that of the ever present wind skating between the buildings and whispering into each man's ear. It was rhythmic and comforting, if cold.

It came slowly, almost blending in completely with the wind. But it was there. It was an indescribable sound, but its source was obvious. It was a sort of clattering march. Metal jingled and hooves stomped upon the ground. It soon came over the wind, turning into a deafening rumble. The ground seemed to tremble with the force of the approaching force. Pebbles and rocks fell from their mounds and clicked along the roads. All who were present were wide-eyed and anxious. Wimp especially, who began to grip the handle of the Bren just a little harder. It was coming quickly and soon the army would charge over the hill and swarm their position.

And just as suddenly as it had come, it was gone. Again, only the wind filled their ears. Only this time there was no comfort behind the whistling song. Only anticipation and anxiety. The silence only served to let the minds of the Marines wander. How would this force decimate them this time? How far would they retreat? Could they even retreat? Where was the nearest friendly encampment? The thoughts were flushed away quickly as a bell was sounded somewhere beyond the crest of the hill. This caused all rifles to be turned towards the general direction.

A single spear tip rose above the hill. The point was a reflective black that seemed jagged. Just under this point was a large, fluttering flag. It was a dark blue, almost black square of free-flowing silk. Adorned on it was a white crescent moon, bisected by a gold war axe. The sight of the flag made Al's blood run cold.

"God damn..." He hissed.

"What is it Al?" Wimp whispered, concern deep in his voice and embedded in his features.

"It's the God damn Night Guard." He said angrily. Before Wimp could ask of the significance of the 'Night Guard,' Al was already running into a nearby house, daring not show himself to the approaching enemy. Turning away from where Al had run, Wimp returned to watching the procession ahead of him. The wielder of the spear had already crested the hill, and was perched atop it, surveying the town. After a time, it turned to look behind it, and made a motion with one of its hooves. Another twenty of the Equines rose the hill, armed with spears, and stood to the left and right of the color-bearer.

W-what's going on? What are they doing? Wimp thought, nervously shifting the Bren.

The troops began their approach.

_*_*_

Dark Spear surveyed the small town ahead of her. The top of the hill was quite the vantage point, and was surprised she hadn't been attacked from there. The village had long-since been reduced to ruin, and was vacant for a time already. Subsequently, she expected no resistance here, but orders were orders. And besides, who was she to pass it up if there was a good fight to be had?

Dark Spear was a fighter at heart, and considered herself an excellent leader. She took orders from superiors without question, and her bravery knew no bounds. She had conquered most of the Medeeteranan continent with her 3rd Legion., and was promised a large estate in the Eastern settlements after humanity had been squashed. Her command was brought mostly from her role in the Court of the Royal Sisters. Her family had a long history of nobles, and she was to be the first to lead a Legion.

Her appearance was common among the bat-pony race. Grey fur, and a mane and tail a vibrant shade of purple. Her frame was sleek and nimble, and her leathery wings showed nothing but speed and intimidation. Her teal eyes, also common with the Night Guard, were divided by a serpentine slit.

"Shaded, Razor, collect your troops and prepare for picket duty." She said, looking at the amassed infantry behind her. The two in question saluted and began shouting orders.

She looked up to the 3rd Night Legion, and felt her heart race, as it always had in the Night Guard. Thousands of gleaming, obsidian-clad bat-ponies lined in their respective squares, ready to take orders as they came. Most were veteran, having stormed the pitiful human world, but many were still green, and fresh from the homeland.

From the Amereecan continent to Aseea, the Ponies were slowly expanding their borders across the vulnerable and easily exploitable humans. It was much easier than thy had expected, and was much of a surprise when they learned of their inability to preform magic. All they had were swords, spears, and strange explosive devices that seemed to throw small pieces of metal at range. These machines were devastating to the flourishing race. At first.

As soon as word had spread of the weapon, Equestria's best mages were on the hunt for a new barrier spell that could counter such powerful opposition. It was a quick and easy fix, and at the year's end they were no match and every Legion was to have at least thirty unicorns that could preform the spell. It was cheating in Spear's opinion, but orders were orders.

Shaded Dusk and Razor Edge trotted up to the left and right of Dark Spear respectively and scanned the town. Soon after was the jingling of the picket force rising next to their comrades. The two stocky stallions flanking her were, unlike her, not of nobility. It was a shame, for she would have easily fallen for either of them were it legal. However, they were extremely experienced in battle and were willing to give Dark Spear their opinions on military affairs. Something many were unwilling to do.

"Ready to advance at your word, Legate Spear." Came Shaded Dusk's baritone voice.

"Thank you, Tribune Dusk. Let us advance quickly. I do not wish to spend more time here than necessary.

_*_*_

"You gotta send that to HQ sarge'." Came Al's distraught voice. He was standing in the makeshift tent that was the command center in the rear of the town. His played with his helmet in his hands.

"What's so special 'bout this 'Night Guard' anyway?" Sergeant Duke Willis asked quizzically. "Makin' 'em out to be some sort of Stormtoopers." He passed a piece of paper to the radioman behind him.

"That's exactly what these guys are sarge'. They're savage. Thy don't have any o' the unicorns and just use hand-to-hand. And man is it brutal." Al said, fiddling with the straps in his lining.

"How do you know all this exactly? An' how come I ain't heard of it?"

"I don't know sir. They're the ones that took our country away from us. I just remember them decimating my home town. They took no prisoners, sir."

Duke was about to respond when machine gun fire tore through the air. The slow staccato the British machine gun echoed all around.

"Damn fucking kid!" Al shouted, sprinting away from the tent.

_*_*_

Wimp watched the Equines approach. The color-bearer was clearly some sort of authority, having been the most talkative walking down the street. None of the troops broke rank, they all walked the road in two columns, six deep with the leader taking up the center-front. The closer they got, the more his stomach tingled, and a growing urge to chop them down built within him. The closer they got, the slower time seemed to pass.

He began to study them, having never gotten a close look at them before. Their armor seemed to replicate older Roman armor, but he was no expert. It was made of a black, very reflective material. No stains adorned any of the Equines. No blood, mud, nothing. It was as if they had never seen a proper fight before, but from the way Al had reacted to seeing them, he wasn't so sure.

The line stopped, and the leader looked around quickly. The flag that waved upon the spear disappeared with an audible pop. The spear was lowered and the troops behind it suddenly spread out to envelope the whole of the street, spears trained ahead. Wimp watched this all the while, machine gun still and trained to the center of the group. Looking back to the leader of the group, he was met with a deep, serpentine gaze. He shut his eyes and squeezed the trigger, letting loose a hail of bullets.

The magazine was quickly emptied down the street and pink mist flew into the air. The report of the gun echoed through Wimp's ears, it almost masked a dull ringing in the back of his head. When it passed, he opened his eyes and looked at the carnage ahead of him. None of the Equines were left standing. All had dropped to the ground, and were in some state of injury. He was suddenly jerked from his prone position behind the rifle by his collar.

"What the fuck did you do?" A dull, faded voice asked.

It took a moment for the question to register, but when it did, anxiety wracked his body.

"What the fuck did you do son?" Al asked again, dropping him. His knees buckled and he crumpled to the ground. He looked down the road, then up to the hill. A thought crossed through his head. He turned to the nearby crater to where Bag and several other men lay, wide-eyed.

"All of you, come help me nab some of these horses!" He said. He was met with silence. he glanced towards the hill again. "Come on!"

"What the fuck for?" Bag asked, stroking his rifle stock nervously.

"Cause I'm a corpsman and that's what I fucking do!" Al responded loudly.

"I'll help." Wimp mumbled loudly, running forward. Al looked back to the men in the crater before running over to the injured Equines.

Most of them lay still, no breathing, no pulse. Nothing. The color bearer and a rather muscular soldier breathed with raspy lungfuls of air.

"These two." Al gestured to them, and began to procure bandages from his pack. The color-bearer had minor injuries, though several bullets had torn through its legs. The bulkier one, however, had taken several hits to the chest and legs. Blood seeped from his mouth. Al turned to scold Wimp, but thought better of it. That could be done later.

"God damnit Al! Get outta there!" Al looked back to the crater the shout had come from when a spear landed not three feet from his left. "Shit! Wimp grab the smaller one! Lets get the Hell outta here!" His sentence was punctuated by suppressive fire screaming right into the face of the army now marching down the hill. "Grab its back legs!"

Wimp could only nod and do as told as more spears began to whizz from the hill. The Equine was heavy with its equipped armor, and the two men struggled with their burden.

Bag saw this and turned to George Murdock to his left. "Let's go." George nodded and the two leapt from their cover and raced to help the two men. Before they got half way, however, the sound of a Jeep's horn blasted away behind them. "What the fuck?" Bag said, turning to look at the Jeep bouncing on the ruined street towards them. A man stood atop the back seat, waving those in its way to move.

The Jeep skid to a stop in front of Wimp and Al anf the man standing quickly jumped down from where he stood. Someone stood in his place and opened up with the .50 mounted on top.

"Quickly now, quickly." He was a German officer, and he seemed anxious. Excited even. He rushed over to help the two men and hefted the Equine to the floor of the Jeep, .50 brass clattering off of its armor. They all ducked behind the vehicle after the chore was done. "Were there any others?" He asked. Al only looked into his crazed eyes.

"Just a really bulky one. I say its about three hundred pounds with all the armor. He probably won't last much longer" Wimp said.

The officer seemed to droop a little at this, but immediately perked up agian, looking over to the unconscious Equine.

"No matter, this one will do. We have provided trucks for your squadron here and you are to evacuate post haste."

"Won't have to ask me twice." So replied, running back and rallying the men out of their homes. He quickly formed a crowd behind him.

Wimp stayed for a time, listening to the spears strike stone and warble away.

"What'll ya do with that?" Wimp asked the German now clambering into the Jeep.

"She'll save the world my friend." The officer replied as Wimp followed him into the Jeep.

"I'll just hitch a ride to the trucks." Wimp said cautiously. He felt strange about the sudden appearance of the mad-doctor-like man before him.

The Equine stirred, and the officer reached down and touched it. The movemeny stopped, and Wimp swore he saw something mive from the officer's hand.

"W-what's your name?" Wimp asked. He shifted as far to the edge od the seat as the small car would allow.

"Hans Orwitz. Hauptmann Orwitz. Private Winfred Pierce, yes?" He replied, a enthusiastic grin on his face.

"Y-yeah. How'd you know?" He hadn't even registered that he was speaking to a superior.

"Just a knack. Now, here is where we part ways, Private." The Jeep stopped, and Winfred made no hesitation. As soon as he stepped off, the Jeep sped away,and he sprinted for the now loaded trucks.

"Let's go Wimp! Time's wasting!" Al shouted, pulling him into the truck. "You okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine."

"What was up with the Kraut? Just kinda came from nowhere huh?" Came a voice.

"Yeah, seemed real interested in that horse too." Said another.

Soon, the truck was abuzz with chatter as they pulled away from the town. Glimpses of the Equine's shiny armor could be seen as they sped away. They would never catch up, and if they did they'd be easy targets.

"'ja talk to the Kraut?" Am leaned over and said, knocking Wimp from his stupor.

"Yeah. Not sure about the mental state of that guy. Said that the horse was gonna 'save the world.'"

"Huh." Was all Am responded with, letting it sink in as the truck rumbled on.