We're Gonna Hang Out the Washing on the Lunar Line

Dear Diary,

December 12th, 937 P(ost)S(plit)

Hey, Trixie here. Writing my, what, seventh entry now? Damn, it’s been a while. Tell you about what happened later. Anyways, let me continue after that last trench run with a bit of a time jump. Sorry, life’s been busy and not too much happened these last two weeks.

So, to recap. Over a few months, our group grew closer and closer, as you can probably tell. Us seven ponies always managed to stay together and alive somehow, forming a little clique within the company. The blue stallion - solid blue, eyes, mane, and fur - is named Hardy Heart. Although his heart is just average, his eyesight is real good. His marksmanship skills have bagged three snipers so far, and one was with a pistol! Wish I was that good. His eyesight saved us many other times, mostly from booby traps, and he is most certainly a central part of the team; I am happy he’s made it along this far.

Curling Tendrils is, how do I say, a graceful exceptional mare. With dark purple fur and a bright red mane, along with those cool, brown eyes, she isn’t easy to hide from anything, and it shows with how she acts. She’s much more brutish than the rest of us; always at the front of a charge, and her gun - Sten or Stan, some sub-machine gun, like that monster from earlier - worked well in such a role. She earned a reputation for clearing several trenches by herself with a grenade and two knives at the recent Battle of Leneighgrad, and a promotion to match it. Now our sergeant, she keeps us out of harm’s way, at least where possible.

Slinking Fetch is that one mare who will disappear, then show up an hour or two later with three heads and some officer’s papers. No, seriously; it’d happened at least twice this month, and it’s only the 12th! December’s wack. Other than that, I can’t say I see her much; most of her time is spent away from the group, doing fuck knows what. Probably getting more heads. Not in that way you dirty little

Sorry. The voice spoke up again.

Valiant Merry is the closest to an ‘average’ pony you can get in this squad. He’s always happy, and looking after everyone else. Hell, he even tried to talk to Slinking once, and although it... didn’t work out - his knife wound attests to that - that says something about him and his heart. Valiant even talked to me once, at night! Everyone else was asleep, and we laid under the stars, alone, just talking to each other until I

“So where do you come from?” Trixie asked, still looking up. The two had just laid down, a few dozen steps from camp so they wouldn’t wake anyone. Their camp itself was at the edge of a clearing; a cleared forest laid to one side, the remaining trees at their back.

“Sacramento, Calhayfornia. You?” That’s why he’s got a movie accent.

“Albaneigh, Neigh York,”

“Heard of it, sounds like a decent place,” Valiant prodded her flank, causing her to turn her head. “Want some?” he asked, holding a bottle of... some sort of alcohol, Trixie didn’t know.

“No, I don’t drink,” She looked back up at the stars.

“More vodka for me,” Valiant began to quietly sip as the two looked up at the stars, slowly shimmering in the sky. As they were looking, the stars bounced, twirling in circles above them. It was like watching someone paint, but you couldn’t see what they already painted; just the brush, slowly moving up and down.

After a few long seconds of watching, Valiant said, “You know, Luna may be our enemy, but the night still looks damn... beautiful,”

“That’s what I’ve always thought! The stars are just so... peaceful!” Unlike life here...

“Yeah! It’s a moment of calm in the storm we live in,”

“Even at home, it... it always calmed me down,” Heh, Trixie thought. My excuse of a house anyways.

“I hear ya,” Valiant took another sip. “Always calmed me down after a long day with family. Like, after Hearth’s Warming, I would just get onto the roof and stare. Felt like a little reset, y’know?”

“I... yeah...”

“Speaking of family, I’ve got a little foal who’s supposed to be born about now. Wife was just unfortunate enough to get pregnant right before I left,” Valiant gave a hearty chuckle. “What about you? Who you got back home?”

“...” Trixie, you gotta say something!

“Trixie?” Trixie saw Valiant poke his face into her view, a little frown on his lips. “You o-”

“Does Blaze count?” she quickly blurted out. Well, something that’s not that...

“I... when’d they die?” Valiant looked sorry, but he kept pushing. What a fucking idiot.

“I... I have no clue if they even did...” Trixie could feel a tear forming at the corner of her eye.

Valiant’s frown grew. “Oh... I’m sorry-”

“Don’t be,” Now go away.

“Ok,” After a few seconds, Trixie felt Valiant’s forelegs wrap around her chest in a hug. It felt warm, calming. Inviting. Yet, before she knew it, she had shoved him off and stood up, staring at him with anger in her eyes. “Trixie?” Valiant looked up, concerned piercing his otherwise stoic eyes.

Without another word, Trixie trodded back to her tent.

Stirling Shield is a really small pony. Her white coat and orange mane hardly matter when you see her; her tiny, foal-ish stature immediately encapsulates your attention. And to be fair, she really is a foal still; unlike the others, Stirling is just 17. 17! Yet she consistently remains the most valuable fighter, always killing the most of those pitiful savages. Her rifle is always the hottest, her bayonet the bloodiest, her belt the emptiest. She’s like a professional soldier, but just a foal. What a paradox, eh? She should be whining about calculus, not the missing rations...

Blaze has changed, just like the rest of them. I couldn’t put a hoof on it, but she’s... scarier. She no longer feels like a safe zone, but more of a brick wall; sure I could lean against it, but it won’t lean back. Blaze is no longer the pony I knew for all those years; the change hadn’t been noticeable day to day, but it shows after three months. She’s... At least she fights well; nothing outstanding, but she makes a good riflepony. She could quickly reload her Lee-Enfield in just three seconds and fire off the whole clip in about two.

I’m... wasn’t sure how I have changed. But I know how her role has. One day, Curling walked up to me and...

“Trixie!” Curling called out, her new rank resting on her right shoulder. Her step had a certain bounce to it and her voice a tinge of excitement.

“Yes?” Trixie popped out of her tent, rifle slung into her backpack. Another patrol? I just got back two hours ago...

“I have something for you lass! C’mon, follow me!” Trixie obeyed - funny how quickly they train you into that - and the pair started heading over to the truck that just dumped off three boxes and left. Unloading duty? “So, I’ve noticed that you’re a lot less aggressive, and much more defensive than everyone else...”

“Y-yeah...” Fuck.

“So, I thought to myself: ‘What do I do with her? She’s clearly not fit to be a riflepony...’”

Please don’t execute me. Please.

“And so...” Curling opened a box with the Solar Eagle on it. Inside laid a really big, long gun with a box on the bottom and a smaller, yet still large, gun with a round drum-like object in the center. “You are the heavy weapons mare for our squad!”

Trixie immediately relaxed, releasing the tension that had been silently building. “Th-thank you...?”

“You’ll be using these prototype weapons! This one is a BAR with a box magazine...” Curling pulled the first gun out and swapped it for Trixie’s rifle. “It’s full auto, and has about a hundred rounds in it. Be careful though; you’ll need that bipod to shoot with any sort of accuracy, and...”

The first thing Trixie noted was the weight. It immediately poured stress onto her back, straining her weak muscles. Fuck! She slowly breathed in and out, in, out, calming them do-

The other gun was set upon her back, doubling the weight. Although she could faintly hear something about prototype and grenades and drum mag, she was mostly struggling to maintain her balance. St-steady! Trixie very slowly gained her balance, swaying as she stood. She managed to listen back into what Curling was saying.

“That’s all you need to know private!” Fuck. Now, off you go!” Curling patted Trixie on the back, causing her to collapse under the sudden weight. Bith guns immediately went off, the BAR filling the weapons crate with bullets and the other gun launching some sort of explosive into the nearby tree, causing it to fall down onto a nearby tent; thankfully, it was empty.

Fuck.

“Trixie...?”

I’ve grown better at holding the BAR and, as I now know, M32, but it was a struggle nonetheless. I often set up behind my comrades, providing inaccurate suppression fire or cover destruction. The BAR feels nice and comfortable, but the M32 is more powerful, so I gotta take both to be effective. Yay me. At least my muscles grew.

As for me as a pony... ask anypony else and I’m a stone-faced killer. Using my BAR without a complaint. But this BAR is... frightening. I kill ponies in swathes as they run towards me. Sometimes I see it in their eyes; the terror, the fear of death. No one wants to eat a bullet. But here I am feeding it to them. Sure they may be savages, but they look pony. Not like the failed imitations they are, but like if you add a horn they’re proper ponies. It’s scary.

I

I need to talk about today.

Trixie quietly sung her marching song to herself as she fiddled with her spare mags for the BAR. “Praise the Sun, and pass the ammunition,” She carefully loaded in the bullets - .30 cal in fact - and counted how many fit in it. After she filled it to the brim, she picked up her pen and wrote 197 on the side; as each mag had a different capacity - something something decentralization bad - she wanted to know how long each one would last before she needed to reload. She put a little cover over the top and set it down with the other four spare mags, picking up another empty one.

She sat behind her sandbag wall in this stupid jungle. Word is that there were Earthies around here, so her company was sent as rearguard for key installation. Trixie and Blaze were stationed together at an airbase, with just a radio set, their bullets, and some ammo to keep them company; resources were tight, so they split up along the base’s entrances.

Crack.

Trixie threw the mag down and grabbed her BAR, flipping the safety off. “Who’s there?!” Her eyes darted over the treeline, searching for enemies. The trees all looked the same, but she had heard a crack somewhere... Nothing, nothing, no-

A bullet suddenly whizzed past her. She turned her gun towards where she thought the source was and opened fire, sustaining it for a couple seconds. A couple shots rang out in response. “Die you filthy savages!” She swept her gun back and forth, making sure to cover her whole arc of fire before she heard a click click click. “Fuck!”

She threw out the old mag and grabbed a new one, ripping off the cover and jamming it in. She slid the bolt back, cocked it forwards and turned her attention back to the forest. “Any more of you fucks out there?!” After a few seconds of nothing, she heard footsteps behind her. Blaze.

“Trixie! What happened?!”

“Something shot at me!”

“I’ll check!” Trixie set the BAR down and grabbed her pistol while Blaze went into the forest. Keep calm, don’t let them notice you’re nervous... Savages sense fear, so stay brave... Blaze will be back soon...

“Trixie! Found them... Or what’s left...” Trixie jumped over her sandbags and rushed to where Blaze was. The trees smacked her face with branches as she dashed through, but she got there in decent condition, skidding to a stop in the clearing.

“Holy...” The first Earthie was a victim of the initial spray. About 17 bullet holes covered his face, and another dozen covered his chest. Blood seeped out of most of them as his hole-riddled body was slumped back, against a tree, his sub-machine gun laying next to him with a backpack of explosives. The pool of blood was, most likely, his, as his comrades were a bit away. The second one had a single bullet hole through his heart, the exit point being his lower abdomen. Blood had seeped out of it as he crashed into the ground, his face planted in the pool of blood. His rifle had fallen into him, the bayonet digging into his foreleg. The third one just a few feet away on top of a slight incline, had so many bullets through his legs that they were cut clear off. The stumps of his forelegs laid an inch behind the rest of his body, which slumped forwards. The only reason there wasn’t screaming was the other bullet holes that riddle his chest; Trixie could see his lungs through one of them. His own machine gun laid on the log keeping his body up, having fallen off during the shooting.

“...shit...” Blaze finished Trixie’s sentence. She picked up her radio and said “Minor threat dealt with. Three saboteurs disarmed...”

It was just as gory as it sounded. Now I need to sleep. It’s 21:57 and lights out at 22:00. Goodnight.