Red Stalliongrad Riflemare
A harsh sun glared down over Stalliongrad.
Red and yellow streaks of hate shone down like spotlights, highlighting to the world the chaos and bloodshed spreading through the streets of the capital city. Thousands of creatures competing in a game where the winner takes all, and the loser dies.
The enemy, vile insectoids who offered nothing to the world but leeching the blood and souls of good ponies, were winning.
An Earth pony mare watched morosely as another pair of Changeling dive bombers bombed some distant target with impunity. Her dark green fur was concealed under an ill-fitting beige uniform, her grey mane covered by a green steel helmet. Her red eyes showed concern and only the slightest hint of fear.
She’d heard the news last night, that the second defensive ring centered around December Square was overrun by a Changeling armoured spearhead. No chance of withdrawal.
She’d stopped listening when they told her what had happened to the prisoners.
“Corporal, is the platoon ready, and have you followed my instructions to mine the rear entrances?”
Corporal Peace Anew turned to regard her commanding officer, a pegasus Junior Lieutenant named Sunrise Mors. He had bronze fur, a blue mane, and piercing green eyes. His serious tone was somewhat diminished by his young age and unkempt stubble. He’d come to rely on Peace Anew after the Platoon Sergeant had been killed at Marks Gorge.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve deployed the platoon throughout the adjoining buildings, they’re connected through holes made on the second floors, the alleys have been mined except for the North-East one in case-”
“You know the General Secretary’s orders, we can’t fall back… there’s nothing left to fall back to.” He murmured the last part. Mors’ pessimistic attitude had always irked Peace.
“There’s always a place to fall back to, even if we hide in sewers, or in the mountains, I’m not getting taken alive.” She said bitterly. He nodded gravely at the second part, and even though he said nothing, Peace could tell he didn’t believe in any fantasy of escape. Neither did she, in truth.
They’d set up around Trotsky-Darkwing Station, number 6 line. The platoon occupied the main building and a few connected warehouses. Emplaced infantry covered the wide trainyard, ensuring nothing could advance unopposed. If the Changelings broke through they’d be eight hundred meters from the Presidium. General Secretary Valery had opted to stay in the city to boost the morale of its defenders, and the Changelings knew that too. If he was captured… she shook the thought from her mind as a machine gun began firing to her left.
“Contact!” Somepony shouted. She peeked cautiously out the window, the Lieutenant shadowing her. The street was filled with Changeling troopers in their field gray uniforms, firing as they moved. Some would take cover, use their eldritch magic to shift into the form of a Stalliongrad soldier, then peek out and fire while the gunners hesitated at the sight of their own. That trick only worked once though.
The platoon was pouring out fire and attackers were being cut down at an alarming pace, their bodies littering the street and railyard like fallen leaves. They clearly hadn't expected such fierce resistance.
Then a tank showed up.
It crashed through an adjoining brick wall on the far side of the railyard, and an angry-looking Changeling in the cupola pointed aggressively in her platoon’s direction.
“Looks like a Mark Four.” The Lieutenant said, unnecessarily.
Before Peace could reply, their allotted anti-tank weapon on the second floor opened fire. There was a screaming woosh as the armor-piercing rocket soared through the air, over the tank, and into a housing block fifty meters beyond.
Peace swore. The tank leveled its barrel at the building and fired.
Everypony was thrown to the floor as the foundation did its best to shake off the blow. Dust choked the air. Before she could recover, the tank fired again. Somewhere in the building, a fire started which quickly filled the rooms with ashen smoke. Ears still ringing, Peace stood up, walked over, and grabbed the Lieutenant.
“What do we do?” He asked between hacking coughs, trying in vain to clear the dust from his lungs. He was bleeding from a wound on his head. His rifle was lying on the floor, mangled. Peace couldn't see her own weapon, presumably buried in the nearby rubble.
“I’m going upstairs to find out if the AT is still up.” Peace said as she pushed her way past him and began climbing the stairs, stepping gingerly over the body of one of her comrades. The Lieutenant was hot on her heels.
“I’m coming with you!” He said with the surety of the sinking ship, which, come to think of it, was an apt description of their defensive position.
The anti-tank team was dead, the second shell had hit them directly if the grisly mess was any indication. By some miracle, the rocket launcher remained intact and operable. Peace Anew calmly loaded the weapon and twisted the connector on the back to arm the rocket. She sighted the weapon to three hundred meters. Before she could fire, a hoof tapped her shoulder, she looked over at Mors.
“You’re overestimating the range, you’ll need to aim lower if you-” She ignored her Lieutenant's advice, and fired.
The rocket soared out of the building into the sunlight, cleared the infantry fighting in the courtyard, and at the last second, she realized he’d been right. The rocket flew over the tank. Its gun swiveled, re-sighted her position, and fired.
The shell tore past them, through the room, crashed through a back window, and detonated just outside the back of the building. Her ears bleeding, Peace tried to regain her bearings. The tank’s coaxial machine gun stitched neat lines through the thin walls as it tried desperately to suppress them. She stood up anyway, her body keeping her acutely aware of just how many ribs were broken, and the taste of blood fresh in her mouth. She could see the tank barrel, its muzzle solely aimed at her through the storm of gunfire. A bullet ripped through her hind leg.
She aimed low, and fired, the tank fired too.
The Lieutenant regained consciousness a few moments later. He looked out of the broken wall and saw the Changelings in full rout. The tank’s hatches were blown open and jets of fire streamed out of them. He thought he could see wriggling movement inside the cupola.
“Excellent hit, Corporal, though you need to learn to trust my advice, I’m the leader after all.” He admonished as he turned to regard her. “Corporal?”
There wasn’t much left to admonish.
Author's Note
Thanks for coming.