A pause between the waves...
An explosion rocks the ground above your little bunker, flakes of dirt and muck dislodge from the makeshift roof and fall to the ground around you. But, you paid it no mind, the barrages of Alchemical Artillery stopped scaring you years ago.
Years…
It was hard to believe this damned war would’ve even lasted one, and yet, here you were. Almost five years in, and a whole lot of fuck-all to show for it.
At your side, you hold dirty rifle tightly under a faded yellow wing. You remember when you were the best of the best. Nopony could out-fly you, nopony would even dare.
Now?
You’re just a faded relic. You gave up your flight to save a Goddess who had been broken long ago.
Ponies used to look up to you, they would give everything to join you in the ranks of the elite. Yet, they all seemed to forget all too quick once you couldn’t remind them of your abilities. Ponies barely looked at you any more, they couldn’t see past the layers of scarred tissue that mars your hide.
Another explosion, closer this time, rips a few bunks from the walls. It didn’t matter though, the ponies that once used them had died already.
Lucky bastards.
You aren’t even sure why you were here anymore. After being discharged from the Wonderbolts, they had expected you to stay home.
And yet, here you are.
Command had stuck you with a bunch of Green-wings, slapped a rank on your side and told you to charge.
How wonderfully that went.
The damned Zebras cut your squad down without a thought. The comms officer, a bright eyed unicorn by the name of Tellis, caught a round through the eye. It had plastered brains and gore across your remaining wing, and even after numerous scrubbings, you swear there is still some left in between the feathers.
Tellis. Comms officer.
Peach. GI.
Rock. Heavy Gunner.
Even fucking Sweet Tooth, this little filly barely old enough to have a cutiemark, killed beside you by a stray bullet. There wasn’t enough ponies to fight this damn war, the recruitment officers have even started ignoring age. If you have a cutiemark, you can hold a gun and fight for Princess Luna.
Princess Luna…
Fuck her most of all. Ever since her sister stepped down, this is on the highway to hell. Celestia wouldn’t have brought in conscription, Celestia wouldn’t let her ponies die in this pointless trench warfare.
Luna does though.
She can’t see the facts in front of her, can she? She can’t see that the war is lost, hell, she can’t even see past her own damn pride.
Hate the zebras she says, on her high and mighty throne. They did this, they are the problem she claims.
Bull. Shit.
You doubt she even knew the half of the shit you had to do out here. Had holier-than-thou Luna had to cleave through a drugged up super-soldier with a shovel? Had she been forced to charge into walls of gunfire on threat of being shot for desertion?
This war seemed so much simpler when you had command. There was a distance between you and the soldiers you sent to their deaths. You didn’t need to look out across scarred countrysides, you had a neat little map detailing the movements of the ‘grunts.’ Well, used to.
Now you were just another grunt.
A fucking grunt.
A small noise unnoticed by those who matter in this world. Your passage would’ve meant something when you could fly, there would’ve been a memorial and everything. Now? You’d be impressed if there was a fucking footnote in the daily paper.
To be fair though, the paper never covered the dead nowadays.
They had at the start, but now M.o.M cracked down on it. You won’t even know someone died until they are scheduled to come off of rotation.
Speaking of, a sharp whistle blares in the distance, forcing you to your hooves for another attack. They had given up charging over the trenches, but instead, you get the “great honour” of fighting through them.
It’s a fucking blast.
Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if the bunkhouse you sat in used to be zebrican. It had gotten to the point that this bloody battle was just charging through trenches in the general direction of the foe.
Thank Celestia this area didn’t have any of the turncoat zebras, it was hard enough not to shoot fucking ponies in this labyrinth.
Clicking your rifle into your battlesaddle with a practiced shug of your remaining wing, you set out to fight the enemies of Equestria.
Maybe they’ll shoot right this time and hit something important.
Hopefully.
The harsh light of the glaring sun stung your eyes as you trot into the muddy trenches. A light fog hangs around the battlefield, not strong enough to block the light, but heavy enough to make fighting a pain in the ass.
Ponies rush around you as they set out into the maze of shoddily dug holes in the ground. Mainly earth-ponies, with a few unicorns around. None of your kin though.
No surprises there.
The cracks of energy weapons cut through the air, with the harsh tones of ballistics popping up every now and then in retribution. It was quite amusing though, the zebras brought in heavy metal armours, you get given energy weapons. They bring in close-quarters masters, you get given a shovel.
A fucking shovel.
It didn’t matter though. The damn energy rifle broke third day on the field, forcing you back to your good old kinetic rifle. The shovel however, actually… kinda, helped. Kinda.
It did nothing against the CQM, as the greenwings called them, but it helped with the zebra’s GIs. The CQM’s armour was too thick for the dull weapon, but the GI’s cheap, disposable armour had enough of a hole around the neck to allow for a good decapitation for those with enough strength.
Thankfully, strength was one of the few things you kept from your old life.
You pick up to a light gallop as you pass the threshold of nopony’s-land, doing your damndest to ignore the rotting remains of the last souls to had attempted to advance.
It was just another day in the trenches.
Yay.
Author's Note
Just something I had on my google drive... I can't remember when I made it, but figured it was good enough to upload.
