All things considered, Ditch Digger was not having a good day.
He'd been coasting off of his experience from the Canterlot invasion, and had been enjoying the peace of the last few years.
That was until the reports from Acornage started flooding in, the changelings were attacking, using giant lumbering metal boxes, faster than a Pegasus and more powerful than a Unicorn.
He understood that it was all rumours and slander.
Probably.
They still scared him, these…things. They shouldn’t have existed. He was used to small magic fights, tests of skill and honour with petty thieves and pickpockets, not the devastation that these oversized toasters had wrought.
Still, Ditch hadn't seen any today and that didn't seem to be changing any time soon - which meant more time in his dingy hole in the ground with his assigned rifle, helmet and Personal Anti-Ta… Well he never understood the name, so it was easier to call it a PIAT.
You'd expect anypony named "Ditch Digger" to be familiar with the intricacies of trenches, but he had always absolutely abhorred them.
Muddy holes half-filled with blood and rainwater, waiting for a metal box to drive over or an artillery shell to break in, even now he silently thanked Celestia each time he heard a distant explosion, because that was one less shell that could land on him.
Of course, it was likely that same shell was landing on another poor pony, but that's neither here nor there. Ditch didn't really want to put too much thought down that path.
The distant explosions were slowing down, before finally…
Silence
Deafening, Deafening silence.
How can silence be so damn loud? Ditch didn't really know.
All he knew was that he wasn't looking forward to what came next.
After a few moments of anxiety-filled peace, occasionally broken by the cracks of shots in the distance, a single piercing noise began to screech.
A whistle.
Followed by a rush of shouting ponies, and more cracks of gunshots.
Ditch knew he had to join them, he’d seen what had happened to poor Crack Shot, but his instincts were screaming at him to stay, to duck, to keep his head down until the loud noises stopped.
But despite everything Ditch was still a Royal Guard, an inspiration to the common conscript. He could not cower and wait while his friends were dying, his oaths wouldn’t let him even consider it.
After a brief internal battle, a small distraction, his oaths won out and, hearing the moving crowd, Ditch hopped out his foxhole and joined the surging mass.
Ditch could hear the frenzied shouts of his fellow soldiers all around him drowning out all noise, all doubt and all worry. Or rather, almost all.
As though a counter to the cries, rapid buzzing shouts ringed out ahead of the herd, reminding him of his situation.
These weren’t the only noises, as the last vestiges of shock wore off, the loud rings of gunfire rose to replace them. Starting off as occasional snapshots from the trenches and quickly rising to the coarse cacophony of constant machine gun fire.
Mud sprayed up at Ditch’s feet, disturbed by hoofprints and shells. Cracks rang out as ponies began to fall. And yet they marched on.
His herd was thinning out. Ponies were falling. The screaming began to overtake the shouting. The muzzle flashes grew brighter. And yet they marched on.
Shells began falling, closer and closer. The assault was flickering, losing ponies left and right. And yet they marched on.
The flashes were bright, the buzzing growing more frantic as the shouts echoed less. They were nearing the trenches, losing more and more. And yet they marched on.
The remaining front of the herd flooded over the entrance to the trench, flowing in with cries and cracks and as the bugs began pulling back. Ditch watched as a brave pony charged after them, only to be torn apart by a MG nest.
Swallowing his bile, the unicorn turned and followed the remnants of his herd through the trench line.
Fierce resistance met them, rapid loud buzzing preceding charges that were countered by shot and spell. Ditch startled as a thought-dead changeling stood up and lunged at him, before he blasted it back into the waiting arms of its smoking comrades.
Looking around Ditch observed the remainder of this sector of fighting, the organised line formations and bayonet attacks devolving into brutal brawls and feral light shows as spells and blood flew by.
This couldn’t be war. War wasn’t fun, but it wasn’t this horrific either. Ditch closed his eyes, trying to shut out the approaching noises. Shouts, Shells and Screams rang out around and he lay down in the thick mud.
Ditch didn’t know how long he lay there quivering, he didn’t care either as the screams had died out in favour of cheers. Cheers absent of buzzing.
Coming to his senses, Ditch pushed himself up and caught sight of the brutal scene before him. Bodies, both of friends and foe, littered the trench, turning the mud below them into red mush.
And yet, standing before him, was a small group of ponies in uniform. The friends of those who lay resting. The remainder of the herd. All cheering together, trying to focus on the victory and not the cost.
It was enough to drag Ditch out of his haze, as he limped towards the group, ready to do anything that distracted him from the scene surrounding the group.
The group surrounded a box, upon which was a mud covered gramophone, slowly spinning. A creation of peace laying in a field of war. Much like those who had fought for it.
The music was…nice
It didn’t help with the sights, nor the smell, but it helped bring these ponies some comfort after such a struggle.
Plopping himself down, Ditch sat still in the mud and blood, just zoning out of the field as hushed talks were had around him.
After a few moments the peace stopped. And the rumbling began.
The air around Ditch, rank already with the smell of the scene behind him, began to tense, as peacefully partying ponies all around prepared to panic.
There were few things that rumbling could be, yet none of them could be friendly.
As the wails of far off artillery came closer, the rumbling got louder, heavier and more varied.
Ditch peeked over the edge of his trench, and beheld his dreaded fear.
Two separate sights, a train unloading its buzzing passengers and a group of the tracked terrors.
Ditch lay down again, gathering his breath. Looking around he seemed to be the only pony with a PIAT and fear gripped him again.
He would have to be called. He would have to do his duty. And he was likely not coming home.
The oath he had taken on his first day in the guard flashed through Ditch’s mind.
“I, Ditch Digger, do swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to The Sun and The Moon. I swear to give my all, my heart and my soul for Equestria and her ponies. So help me Sisters.”
No matter the cost, no matter the fate he would suffer.
Ditch swore an oath.
He promised his everything to the sisters.
And a guard always upholds his oaths.
Pushing himself up and out of the mud, Ditch looked over the other fearful members of his herd and raised his head.
A single word came out, with a commanding voice nopony would dare question, and the others ran.
Leaving Ditch alone to buy time, the thankless task of the guard weighing on his shoulders as the gramophone uncaringly continued to spin.
Gritting his teeth, Ditch gathered his equipment, rubbed mud on himself, and set his PIAT at the edge of the trench. Then he waited.
A squadron of Gladiators flew by, distracting the approaching infantry, as the…tanks continued to roll towards him. Ditch still waited.
The Gladiators finished their pass and began to fly back, as MG tracers chased them. The tanks were almost upon him. Ditch waited once more.
The gramophone continued to spin. The leading tank was around 35 metres away, just out of certain reach. So Ditch waited a little longer.
The only sounds Ditch could hear were the rumbling of tank treads, the approaching buzzing of changelings and the ending of the song on the gramophone.
Until everything lined up.
A click of the trigger, the clunk of the mechanism and the loud Shunk of the PIAT all broke through the ambient sound.
A brief whizz through the air, a sharp crack and the fierce thunder of direct hit all came together to freeze the field for but a moment.
A brief moment it was, with loud angry buzzing shaking Ditch out of his short-lived stupor.
The changelings were approaching him now, his one shot leading them right to him.
So be it.
After a final look at the burning heap of a tank, and a final feeling of accomplishment for beating his own fear despite the dozen functioning tanks approaching his position cautiously, he left the PIAT and prepared for his fate.
All things considered, Obergefreiter Charax was not having a good day.
He’d heard reports of an Equestrian breakthrough and after his unit was shouted at pointlessly by his superiors they were sent to hammer the ponies back, alongside 2 platoons of assorted Panzers.
Assumedly overkill, or so he thought at the time, but Charax and his unit were not stupid enough to argue with some stuck-up hive official about what should go where so he followed along.
Now his unit were stuck in the fierce mud of the Western Crystal empire, stuck peeking through an abandoned trench while his tanks stayed back uselessly.
He had half a mind to order them to come closer, but then he’d be no worse than the coward that sent them here. Seeing one of your own blow up from an ambush was enough to give anyone caution.
Still, his unit hadn’t run into any contacts here, just old bodies, no surprised MG bursts, no bottles of fire, nothing.
Everything was oddly quiet, except for…
Is that a gramophone?
“It’s a long way to Tippermarey! It’s a long way to go!”
Surrounded by bloodied mud and the muddy dead, the device still sang as though surrounded by comrades in arms.
“It’s a long way to Tippermarey! To the sweetest mare I know!”
An eerie island of calm in a sea of bodies.
“Goodbye, Salt Lick City! Farewell Whitebell Square!”
Keeping an eye out for potential ponies, Charax slowly approached the singing box.
“It's a long long way to Tippermarey! But my hearts right there!”
As it continued to talk about a world alien to him, Charax was distracted enough not to hear the Zap to his left.
Ditch watched as the first changeling dropped, collapsing in front of the gramophone as his buzzing slowed.
He prepared another spell at the gathered ‘lings, as they began charging in.
One was hit, but it wasn’t enough to keep the bug down. So he fired another.
And another. And Another. And Another. And ano-
Ditch’s latest cast was thrown off, as a burning sensation ripped through his side.
He tried to ignore it. To throw just one more spell. But his body would take no more.
He looked up at the approaching changelings, not knowing when he fell to the floor, and shuddered a final utterance to the void.
“Celestia… Luna… I did it.”
“It's a long long way to Tippermarey! But my hearts right there!”
Author's Note
Hey Lads, I genuinely didn't expect to get this finished in time but my mates managed to give me the motivation I needed to do it. I'd make a pun about Friendship being magic but my head is burnt out from this so just give me a bit, alright?
