Where We've Been

by SouthernGhost1865

Rating: mature
Tags: Gore, Dark, Alternate Universe, Romance, Rarity (EqG), Original Character, Equestria Girls, Profanity, Adventure, Violence, Sex, Death, Human
Length: 4096

When Rarity and her assistant Daytime Breeze are sent to Arabia as an NCN Rep in the current conflict. The two are horrified at the things they see, things far worse than they had ever seen.

Rarity and her assistant Daytime Breeze make their living as journalists for NCN, they're well known for getting up close and personal with their stories, going into the fray to bring the news. But, their newest assignment is to report on the current war in the Red Sea Union. They had gotten close to fires, they had gone into storms, and they had gotten up close and personal with murderous psychopaths. But, war is something else, something worse.

This is kind of supposed to be a dark romance of sorts, two characters falling in love while all this stuff is happening around them. And while I avoid it hugely, there will possibly be sex here, even if it goes against what I stand for, I can't confirm I will though.

WARNING: This story will contain the usage of racial slurs and slurs related to sexuality and mental illness. Just know I do not hold such views and am using these purely because the world is akin to that of the 1950s-60s Cold War Era United States.

Published 2022-04-24 05:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2022-05-01 03:30:31 UTC

First Day In

Author's Note

This is probably gonna seem rushed, but I honestly more feel the story of following a small group of individuals rather than many others, I've decided to at least put Invaders on hiatus. With present circumstances and with no clue on how to describe a large battle, I will be using the idea of a limited perspective to hopefully make a better story concept. Here's hoping this does better than my previous stories.

First Day In

April 5th, 2020

Near Fort Ironside in the Province of Arabia

The blades of the helicopter cut the air like swords. Their motions sounding like loud thumps, the door to the chopper's bay was wide open, a brown-haired man in gray army fatigues, an Alabama flag on his shoulder, and a set of body armor covering his chest. He was also wearing a helmet similar to the German Stahlhelm. His left foot dangled out of the chopper, his other foot propped him up. In his hands was a GPR12, a combat rifle based on the FAL, wooden furniture, and a folding handle, chambered in .308.

A scope was mounted on its top on a bracket connected to the side of its receiver. Besides him, on a chair and close to the front of the chopper was a black man donning matching gear and a matching rifle, sitting on its butt in his large hands gripping the barrel. Another passenger aboard the chopper was Daytime Breeze, a young woman with cyan skin and blonde hair in a ponytail. She wore a light blue button-down shirt and khaki cargo pants tucked into a pair of dark brown boots.

She sat on wooden crates of camera equipment and other things, holding onto a rail and staring out at mounds of sand passing by. Rarity watched her happy assistant, trying to take her eyes away from the unfamiliar world they were in. Sweat pooled in the pits of the dark blue suit jacket she wore, luckily she wore a short skirt and open-toed shoes. Beads of sweat dripped down her face and from out of her indigo hair, even in the air blowing through the bay door.

"Ya know," shouted the door gunner of the roar of the engines in a thick Alabaman accent "I have a lotta respect you guys, reporters and such," he stopped and leaned forward, spitting a stream of brown tobacco juice into the wind "Only an idiot would walk into a warzone without a gun like you," he laughed, showing the tobacco stains on his teeth. Rarity just chuckled nervously. He continued "yeah, we're practically flying into a warzone here, some of them rag-heads started slingin' mortar shells at 'em bout a week ago," The black man spoke up in a deep booming voice:

"My brother's stationed here," he said looking at Rarity, "Says they hit one o' them six-ton trucks, blew the roof off, and killed two men in Logistics. He says they got it in a garage, you can just look at it if ya want to,"

"Well... that just sounds lovely," responded Rarity in her posh accent jokingly, trying to mask the anxiety, her assistant seemed just as chipper as ever. She had been Rarity's assistant for a couple of years by now, always the adventurous type. She was a hard worker, and athletic in nature, she reminded Rarity of her old friend Rainbow Dash. Dash had long ago joined up with the Naval Air Corps, last she heard she was on the CSS A. P. Hill in the Caribbean.

"Here we are!" shouted the door gunner, Rarity leaned forward and looked out the door, before them was a military base, dozens of buildings were lined up in neat rows among more neat rows of vehicles ranging from tanks and infantry support vehicles to transport trucks and engineering equipment. They passed over and landed among rows of X88-A attack fighters, swept wings mounted with missiles, a single jet engine built into the fuselage, rounded noses armed with three barrelled rotary cannons, and bubble domes.

Among other jet and piston engine aircraft and some helicopters like the one they were in, cockpit atop the craft and a large troop bay below on four small wheels. A man in tan fatigues and a reflective vest guided the crew with batons. The aircraft slowly rolled on its rear wheels before finally settling on its forward wheels and slowing to a stop. The engines continued to rumble as the two reporters stepped off the chopper.

While they were unloading an opened-top pickup truck, tan in color, stopped beside them, two men wearing tan army fatigues greeted them. The passenger greeted them in an Alabaman accent similar to their previous companion, a skinny man wearing aviators with a black mustache.

"Nice to meet ya, I'm Corporal Richards, this is Corporal Hemingway," he pointed to a man with a round face, blonde hair under his tan fabric protected helmet in the driver's seat "We're gonna be givin' you fine ladies a tour of the base, so why don't y'all just put yer things in the bed and hop in?" Daytime put the crates and bags into the spacious bed of the truck, Rarity and Daytime climbed into the truck's back seat, their only means of protection being a thin metal door and a lowered windshield.

The four drove around the base, Corporal Richards pointed out all the many sights along their journey. While on their journey they pass a row of garage buildings and Rarity caught site of the six-ton truck she had been told about. Its blackened and twisted remains were near unrecognizable. The tires were fat deflated sacks, the grill was like a twisted monstrous grin, and its body was warped and mangled into a shape that reminded her of a twisted dead tree.

They passed by in a flash and it was gone like a fleeting memory. The group finally reached the barracks, long rows of long tin-roofed and gray painted wooden houses, a single door, and a set of steps at the end of every one. The truck swerved around men who were milling about and several plastic kiddie pools where men were laying and drinking beer. They stopped at a build near the end of this row. It was different from the others, somewhat more homely in appearance, a very large building too.

"This here's the officer's barracks, it's where you fine gals'll be sleepin' tonight," said the Corporal as he looked back at the two, "I suppose me and Hamingway'll help y'all unload," The two men proceeded to help the two ladies unload their gear and luggage carrying it inside and sitting it in one of the spacious and vacant bedrooms "Farewell to you ladies," said the chipper Corporal Richards, tipping his helmet like a hat, Hemingway did the same and they left.

Rarity plopped herself down on one of the two beds, relishing in the refreshing cold of the air conditioner as it touched her reddened sweat-covered face. She laid back on the bed and kicked off her heels.

"I'm gonna take a nap," she said wearily, closing her azure eyes. Daytime sat herself down on the bed, watching as she slept. When the blonde girl was sure Rarity had fallen asleep, she quietly stepped over one of the smaller wooden crates and quietly opened the hinged lid. Inside on a bed of wood shavings was a white and black ComTech polaroid camera with a black neck strap attached, next to it was a small felt-covered box containing a single silver pin that read National Confederate News in sharp letters, her name below.

She tiptoed out of the room and house, slipping on a pair of aviator sunglasses that she, for some reason, was not wearing earlier. She walked down the crowded path, dodging relaxing soldiers as they milled about. She walked all the way back to where the vehicles were kept. The young photographer parked herself in front of a CHT98 Bobcat, a massive beast of a tank, its great 88mm jutted out from its squarish-shaped turret.

She kneeled down and snapped a picture with her camera, the camera ejected her prize, and with a couple of shakes, the colored image of a tank appeared on the paper. She stepped forward and ran her hand upon the front of the tank, she had always had a fascination with the steel beasts. It ran in the family, her father had been a tank gunner, a career she had wanted until she found journalism, and Rarity.

As soon as she met the reporter, she had taken quite the liking to her, an almost romantic attraction to the blue-haired lady. One that Rarity did not know about, though it was well known she seemed more into women, Rarity was a friend who accepted the young lady. She felt a hand grab her from behind and pull her away from the tank.

"Civilians are not allowed to touch army equipment without the permission of a commanding officer," said a soldier in a stern, almost emotionless voice. "Clear out of this area immediately," Not wanting to get into any trouble, Daytime obliged and left. She walked all through the fort, watching as soldiers went about their duties, mostly just firing drills and moving around equipment. She snapped some photos of smiling soldiers and other workers as she went about.

All of it became rather boring after a while, it seemed everyone was either gambling their pay away or sweeping the floors in the shops. Tired and dripping with sweat from the sun's blistering heat, she was finally ready to turn in and go back to her barracks. Then the sirens went off, and soldiers scattered as their horrible wale echoed over the base. Daytime dashed into action, grabbing her camera, ready to snap pictures of whatever attack might happen.

She was shocked when the only action she saw were two bright red six-ton trucks and several red jeeps began rushing to the airstrip. In the glare of the sun appeared and X88-A approach the strip, plumes of black smoke trailing from its rear. In a flash, its glass canopy was thrown in the air and the pilot shot up like a rocket before the burning craft came crashing down. A great fiery ball of smoke it skidded to a halt, leaving a burning trail in its wake.

She dashed along with many other soldiers to the site, camera in hand. She was absorbed in her work as she snapped as many pictures as she could before her film ran out, any action seemed to be a relief from what had quickly become a droll monotonous day. Once she realized she had run out of film she shot across the base, faster than she had ever run back to her quarters. Once she reached the officer's barracks and had promptly burst into her friend's room she called to her:

"get your makeup ready, we've got a story!"

A Whole World Away

Author's Note

This chapter will be featuring some rather nasty language relating to race, as will the entirety of this story.

A Whole World Away

April 5th, 2020

Fort Ironside, Province of Arabia RSU

Rarity stood on the airstrip, behind her were two massive firetrucks, sprayers shooting white foam over the still-burning wreckage of the attack fighter. In her hands was a large handheld microphone held up to her chest. She stood rigid and sincere when she began to speak, her posh accent in a calm and collected form.

"I am standing here before the wreckage of what we have just found out was X88-A number 36009X. At 3:35 PM today, the aircraft approached the Fort Ironside landing strip experiencing engine issues. At just eighty feet above the strip, the pilot was forced to eject before the jet crashed into the strip, leaving a trail of burning wreckage in its wake," Once Rarity had completed her statement, Daytime zoomed the large video camera in one the burning wreckage.

A moment later, the two approached an older man donning a gray officer's uniform consisting of matte gray slacks, and a white dress shirt, J.R. Clemson embroidered above the left pocket anda black tie, his gray coat was hung over his arm, and a gray peaked officer's cap, a crossed rifles pin on its face above the brim, a pistol hung from his hip in a brown holster. His face was worn like leather, his eyes were surrounded by bags, his face was covered by a thick beard, a fancied up mustache above his lip.

He watched the men putting out the fire with keen eyes. The two journalists approached him and began questioning him about the situation.

"I was in the radio room at around 3:20 PM when we received the distress call from the pilot of 36009X, Captain George Hill," He said in a course, aged voice, "He told us his craft had been struck by surface to air rockets, and that the undercarriage and his engine was in dire condition. When his craft was within a mile of the strip, the pilot told us that the engine was on fire and that he was losing control of the spoiler. When he approached the strip, his gear failed to deploy, forcing him to eject or face near-certain death,"

"And what injuries did Captain Hill sustain?" questioned Rarity sternly

"He is currently in the infirmary, his condition is unknown but seems minor, nothing more than a couple of fractures," Once finished, he nodded and turned away to watch the firemen's continued efforts. Daytime lowered her handheld video camera.

"Alright, I think that's enough footage for now," She looked at the man and said "Thank you, Colonel," Colonel Clemson saluted her as the two began to leave the scene. Rarity looked to her companion and said

"Oh darling I'm quite famished," Daytime just laughed and said jokingly:

"Quit being so dramatic, you ate before we left Jeddah,"

"But that's been hours ago, and it's so damn hot," replied Rarity in her usual overdramatic way.

"Oh grow up, we once spent two days in Fort Stockton reporting on the oil fires," said Daytime smiling.

"Oh but it's so much hotter here," Rarity shot back.

"Not really," replied her blonde assistant shrugging. Though it was obvious that Rarity was practically melting, so grabbing the reporter by the wrist she drug her to the long and wide building that made up the mess hall. The mess hall was not much cooler than the outside, all the windows hung open, and large fans blew down over the eating troops. The duo made their way through the crowd of troops gathering their rather late lunch.

They got in the short line to the lunch counter behind two soldiers donning only wife-beater t-shirts and tan army pants held up by black suspenders. Once they reached the serving area they were both given aluminum trays with piles of piping hot chicken and dumplings alongside green beans and macaroni and cheese. The two moved further up the line, grabbing utensils and then making their way to one of the tables, grabbing sodas from a navy blue cooler.

The two wandered for a moment before finally settling near a group of dining soldiers huddled around a small wooden box with an antenna jutting from its top. It was a small portable TV with a small 6' by 6' colored screen and two plastic knobs. Curious, Daytime halted her gait to watch it, Rarity halting as well. On the screen was a scene before the white antebellum-style mansion that made up the President's Manor.

It was on the balcony with a podium adorned by numerous microphones in front of the two brown wooden doors that made up its entrance. On either side were two guards in decorated gray uniforms, GPR12s pressed to their unarmored chests. The roar of a cheering crowd sounded out of picture.

"ATTENHUT!" called a voice over a loudspeaker. The crowd grew quiet as the soldiers clicked the heels of their combat boots and placed their rifles into the left shoulder, sites sticking out, holding their right hand in salute. The twin doors swung open and out stepped two men. One was a rather lanky man wearing a white dress shirt and black tie concealed by a black suit jacket, and black slacks.

His hair was short and well kept, dark gray in color. His face was light in aging, few wrinkles and bags marked it. The man behind him had a bulky stature and donned a suit that matched his companion in everything but color. His coat was adorned with golden buttons and numerous medals on his left breast. Across his chest was also a large revolver inside a brown leather holster, a typical service pistol on his hip.

His face looked far more rugged, hidden behind a graying black beard and a mustache that made the scar on his upper lip stick out like a sore thumb, his bald head was beneath a gray officer's cap. His hands were folded behind his back as he stood next to the black-suited man who stood before the podium.

"Introducing!" called the loudspeaker again "President James Robert. Chapman, and Military Governor Aaron Lee. Thatcher!" The first man spoke in a deep, calm voice with a Mississippi accent:

"Ladies and Gentlemen," The crowd sat silently "Fellow Confederates... I am here to say... That as your president I will put you first and foremost. Many before me have said this, but I mean it. I have served you before as a soldier," His once calm voice began to fire up "And I serve you now as your president. I will fight for you as hard as I did on the beaches of Cuba, Jamaica, and Bermuda. I have been before the supreme court to fight not only for the rights of colored people but for the rights of all confederates!" His voice was fiery like a preacher "I have fought for your right to bear arms and to worship in the churches and mosques and synagogues! I have fought so that the people of this country will be free, and I stand before the Manor to say to you!" He halted for a moment "I am here to uphold all that has been done for you," The crowd erupted into cheers as he made one final statement "God bless you and the Confederacy! I will now hand the podium over to Governor Aaron Thatcher,"

He stepped away from the podium and his companion stepped in. The soldiers surrounding the TV began shouting at the TV in anger at the newly elected president, one man called him a Nigger Dick Kisser in his rage. Once the men had calmed down Daytime and Rarity could make out what the newly elected Military Governor was saying:

"Good Afternoon, Fellow Confederate Citizens," His voice was deep, harsh, and cold "I will not be giving you a speech relating the things I have done for you. You can tell by my suit the many things I did for you, instead, I will be quoting The Book of Romans Chapter Thirteen Verse Four: 'For the one in authority is God’s servant for your good. But if you do wrong, be afraid, for rulers do not bear the sword for no reason. They are God’s servants, agents of wrath to bring punishment on the wrongdoer.' I say this not to you, but to those who bring arms against the Confederacy and our allies, the terrorists who have taken arms against our Christian brothers in the Red Sea will be crushed below the mighty boot of the Lord God, and the treads of the Confederate tanks as they roll in to retake the homelands of our brothers. I also say to the ones in our military who claim the war in Arabia is unwinnable. Who are you to say such a thing? If you were to command your armies as if they were a proper army and not a flock of retards, maybe we could win this war!" His shout echoed over the crowd "That is why I stand before you, to ensure that our army, our navy, and our air corps are commanded like a true military force, and not a bunch of retards carrying wooden popguns! And it is with this statement I conclude my statement, Deo Vindice, and God Bless!"

The crowd erupted into great cheers, as did the men surrounding the TV, the cheers quickly spread to the whole mess hall. The two girls left the hall with trays in hand, struggling to hold them amid the jeering crowd. Daytime had it the hardest as she balanced protecting her food, and the video camera hanging at her hip like a purse. They finally left the crowded building, sneaking off to a parked six-ton truck nearby. The two parked themselves on a matte gray wooden crate marked HMG15 in black.

The crowd was but a distant whisper here, it was like the truck was across the desert from them. The two sat there, dining on the dumplings like two school children hiding from bullies on the playground. The two began talking to each other.

"That was something huh?" asked Daytime in between sips of red cherry cola

"What?" asked Rarity confused

"What happened back there, all those people just got so riled up by the governor's speech"

"Well, I guess he would... I couldn't relate to a thing he was saying, what's this mess about an unwinnable war?"

"I don't get it either, I guess being in the military means he knows more but about the situation,"

"And the way those men acted about the president's speech, such crude language," Rarity paused "And even so, I hear Chapman's not so kind to people of your... Persuasion,"

"You mean homosexuals?"

"I was trying to avoid that word," said Rarity rather embarrassed

"Why?" Questioned her blonde companion with a laugh "It's what I am. And trust me, I know what it's like for people to dislike me for my 'persuasion',"

"Really? I-I mean I'm not surprised but..."

"Ya know something, I tried to get in the army to be a tank gunner... Just like my dad," her face turned glum.

"Is he... you know?"

"Dead? No, he's missing an arm but he's fine... But, I was just out of basic, assigned to the 4th Mississippi Armored Division, my whole life was laid out for me... Then they found out about me," She placed her tray down and rested her elbows on her thighs, and head on her hands.

"How?" asked Rarity with a curious look on her young face.

"There was this girl, I can't really remember her name... But, she was beautiful, red hair, soft skin, a curvy... Tempting figure. I had hardly accepted myself when I met this lady. I had my first attempt at making love the night we met, and in the midst of that pleasure, my senior officer found us," A tear dripped down from her navy blue eyes "How do you explain to your senior officer what you're doing when you on your knees naked with your face in a woman's... place," her voice cracked like a window struck by a bullet. "I was discharged immediately, not even properly assigned to a unit yet and I'm gone," she dried the tears that had been dripping down her cyan face.

"Oh, dear I... I'm sorry," said Rarity sympathetically, placing a kind hand on her shoulder.

"Oh don't be," replied Daytime, recomposing herself "At least my family accepted me, my dad even gave me his old army jacket," she let out a laugh "When I asked him how it survived when his tank got hit he just told me 'I wasn't wearing it that day'," She said it in a cartoonishly deep voice. The two shared a laugh, a rather abrupt end to the melancholy story just a second ago.

Daytime turned to face Rarity, whose hand was still on her shoulder. Their gaze met, and the two held it. A longing gaze that could not have lasted more than a few seconds but felt like years. The two snapped from their trance and turned away from each other, blushing embarrassed. The two quickly finished what was left of their meals and left the location, heading back to their housing. While en route to their current home, a strange thought floated inside the dark-haired reporter's head. Daytime's eyes were beautiful