Mars dragged the body of his friend across the tall thin, pale grass for another 20 feet before giving out to exhaustion, and perched his friend on a tall rock with jagged edges. Both he and his friend, Mason, slummed to the bottom of the rock, using it as a prop to hold them up. It was dark, but enough light left in the day to see. Mars was so disoriented that he didn’t know whether it was becoming day or night. The heat the Sahara like plains usually produced began to subside, allowing cool air to slip through with the moon and stars.
“Huh, well, I guess it’s getting’ night… ain’t it, Mason?” Mars asked with a huff, trying to chuckle, but still out of breath from the event before. Mars’ russet cote was full of dirt and grime. His short mane and upper body were matted with filth and fresh blood. The dull emerald stripes on his mane and tail were occupied by filth and sweat.
Looking to his friend, noticing no response, he quickly put his hand over Mason’s muzzle. Mars clinched his teeth and widened his eyes in horror. To Mars’ dismay, his friend’s breathing had slowed to a dangerous low huff every few seconds.
Mars took action and stripped Mason’s combat armor of his slim lifeless body. Three red fleshy bullet holes riddled Mason’s midriff, side, and shoulder. His shoulder didn’t look to bad, probably shrapnel.
Mars’ hooves were trembling. He winced at the pools of blood pouring out slowly of Mason’s body.
“Shit, Mason, hey…you’re gonna be fine, you’ll be ok! C’mon, don’t” Seeing Mason’s muzzle open slightly, Mars stopped speaking to hear his friend.
Nothing but mumbles slipped from his bloody lips. Something about an orb.
Mason couldn’t keep his head up, due to blood loss, and could not continue the brief chat, and began to slump down, blood pouring out his chest.
“Damn it! Get up you bastard!,” Mars spat, catching Mason in his hoof, pulling him up to the rock, and drew out his field medical kit.
Mars set in motion some field dressing to his dying friend. He tore out the bullet in his friend’s gashed stomach. Mars studded the round that had lodged its way into Mason’s body. Was it a 6.82 round? No, that can’t be right; the enemy only has 5.56, unless they picked up one of ours…Or worse, friendly fire. That was the only explanation.
Mars patched up Mason’s gruesome body, his hands now well soaked with blood. He put bandages over his friend’s wounds, blood seeping through changing the color of white to a velvety red. Mars decided against tearing out the shrapnel in Mason’s destroyed shoulder. He would have to live with that in his shoulder, assuming he even lives on their way back to camp.
Mars cleaned his hands, using a touch of water from his canteen. He put his hand up to Mason’s muzzle, once more, to checking his breathing. No air flow. Mars pushed him down onto the ground, and began to beat at his chest, forcing his heart to pump blood.
“Mason!,” Mars cried, ”Mason, Luna damn it, get up!”
But to no avail. His friend was not moving. His bandages were well beyond the point of soaking. Mars tried feverishly to bring life back to his dead friend, pounding at his heart, harder now, begging it to beat as it should. Mars could not bring breath back to the body of his friend.
Mars was in tears but his face showed no emotion. He moved off the Mason’s inert body. He ripped one of the colt tags off Mason, leaving the other to identify the body, should anyone come across his corps.
Mars held in a wild violence, swearing to avenge the death of his comrade in hoofs. He knew the risks of yelling or fiercely running at the enemy. So much as showing his signature meant his own demise. And besides, no matter what he did, it would never bring back his companion.
This hit Mars hard, and his logical side took command. He lifted Mason’s combat armor with a hoof, rifling though for supplies. He came upon a limited selection of gear. Two assault mags, Mason’s loaded sidearm, a half empty canteen, and a small blue orb.
Mars never knew what the orb was, but he knew his friend always kept it with him, and he wouldn’t allow the old savanna or the enemy ponies to claim something so significant to his friend. It seemed to blaze a gentle blue as he placed in his battle bag. Mars ignored the orb; there were more pressing matters on hoof. He pulled and checked the ammo in his clip. It was half empty. He placed the half empty mag in one of his many pockets, rather than allow the auto-reloader to do its job, he pulled out a fresh one, leaving now 3 and a half, and loaded into his M8
The weapon Mars had loaded was a Coltman M8V2. It was the 8th model, second version of a Coltman Design. Coltman, being the manufacture of many mechanical and industrial inventions in the past, was chosen by Celestia herself to start a firearms project. Seeing as how there wasn’t much to compare to, or even experience to look to for practice, the weapon was at first, a failure. After many months of trial and error however, the weapon finally became mass produced and sent to training camps all over Equestria.
The M8V2 uses a large leather strap that raps around the right shoulder of the operator, giving accuracy and stability. The rest is pushed forward on a shock mount, latched to the right arm. It uses metal slides and joints to stay on the colt, even if the weapon’s strap should fall sort. The magazine is chambered in by using a small mechanism on the right knee of the operator it takes a mag you previously put in and automatically reloads the weapon. This is seen more common with earth ponies. Unicorns use their magic and a pegasus would use its wings. The combat uniform is far more sophisticated than the others, given less of an advantage. It’s also very small, only 2 inches longer than a common sized colt’s outstretched arm. The weapon is very complex, but very easy to use.
“I hate using this thing,” Mars whispered to himself. He was used to use his magic to operate firearms, but he was out of options, and was spent on power.
Celestia’s sunlight began to flee the landscape. “I need to leave now…” Mars glanced at Mason’s lifeless body once more before leaving. “I will not let you die in vain brother…”
Loud voices rang out not to far from me and were followed by the sounds of gunfire and screams.
Mars looked to his weapon and selected a small button, allowing the weapon to be fired in a semi-auto fashion. The satisfying click told the colt it complied, but it also gave his position away. Mars had not anticipated the enemy to get so close so fast.
Several thunderous rounds echoed around him. All he could see was the muzzle flash from the various weapons, so he pointed at the flash and swiftly returned fire before turning tail and begin the run for his life. On Mars’ charge around the large rock he was just on, a round grazed his back left flank, right over his covered cutie mark. The tall grass slapped violently at his wound, sending sweltering pain throughout him.
Using the rock as cover, Mars guessed it would be able to provide him with just enough time to get to another piece of cover. The enemy emerged around the rock in mere seconds. Once around the rock, they took the opportunity to take pot shots at Mars. Two of which came dangerously close to his head, just barley whizzing by, braking holes in the surrounding scenery. A small bricked tool shed grabbed his attention. It was only 20 feet to his direct right.
It was twilight, the moon and stars flooding in. But the sun can still be seen, if only slightly, but enough to blind any one that looked directly at its brilliant light.
If they chase me, the sun will be in front of their view, and may throw their aim off, giving me enough time to get to the tree line.
This saved Mars’ life, for the second he fled to his right; a massive round blew a five foot hole right under his hooves. If it was concrete instead of tall, pale grass, the shrapnel alone would have ended him. Luckily, when Mars flew upward, he saw a rather deadly piece of sharp metal pass right underneath. The adrenaline pumped blood through the colt’s veins so fast; he was expecting them to pop. The next blast tore through the red bricked building, demolishing it completely. Now, well past the tool shed, Mars was able to use the last bit of fleeing sun light to his advantage. The next massive cannon round hit behind him, missing, but sending the russet colt to the air, nearly into a flip. The shrubs softened his landing and he was able to recover quickly. The M8V2 was well beyond busted. It was in pieces and fell off Mars’ shoulder, but the bulk held on his forehoof and bounced about, smacking his stomach and chest back and forth as he headed to the tree line, full of vigor.
The tree line was next to a massive river that carried to my camp. Mars didn’t hesitate jumping past the trees and into the river. The fall was much longer than expected, as it was 13 foot drop. A round found its way to in Mars’ left side. An enourmise amount of stinging pain erupted throughout the colt’s body.
Authors Note--
This is my first try at a fan fic, but don’t hold back. If you wish to criticize, it’s welcomed.
The picture I used is by pig fish, and more images can be found here-
http://www.fobequestria.com/2012/08/artillery-inbound-006.html
