Foxhole

07:17 - 21/09/1005

Several hours later Selenite stirred awake.

Upon waking up she said she had no memory of being contacted by any oneiromancers. Nor could she remember any events from her dream, just the vague feelings relayed within. Being cradled by warmth and comfort, only for a piece of that feeling to slip away from her.

While she explained, Sol took a moment to change out her bandages for a clean set. Upon finishing up, Sol felt his throat feel dry as the sand around him, so he brought his canteen to his lips.

“How are we for water?” Selenite asked, eyeing the bottle.

Sol swished the canteen around, peeking one eye into the neck. “Bout a quarter left.” He held the canteen up to her. “Why, thirsty?”

“Yes, but-” Her hoof went up to her mouth, clenched shut. “I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“If you’re thirsty, you should drink,” Sol noted.

Selenite shuffled away. “Well, we need to ration our water-”

Sol felt his ears droop. “No no, we don’t ration water, we ration water loss.” He chuckled lightly, a little amused at Selenite’s inexperience. “Hell, why do you think I pissed in a scrape on the ground? Increases humidity, our sweat’s gonna evaporate slower.”

Selenite tensed up. “Mrm. I see.”

“So come on, drink up.”

“It’s just-” She shook her head, then sucked in a breath. She looked him in the eye and spoke with an authoritative tone. “I saw you drinking from it the last night and I think it is best to maintain hygiene. Lest we spread germs.”

Sol got it. He got it, but it didn’t deter him one bit. “Seriously?” he groaned. “Warma- Selenite. You are going to die if you don’t drink enough water.”

Selenite’s lips remained tightly shut. “Hence, I’d prefer to avoid any risks to my health.”

“Dehydration is going to be a bajillion times worse than whatever the fuck you might get from us sharing a bottle.”

“Someone might find us before I have to-”

“And is that ‘might’ worth worsening the odds of your survival now?”

“Look, I know it’s not totally rational-”

“It isn’t. At all. It’s suicidal.” Sol held the canteen to Selenite’s face. “So drink the fuck up.”

For a second, offense flashed on Selenite’s face. It disappeared, replaced by something between annoyance and relief. “Fine.” Selenite took the canteen off of Sol. For a second or two she just stared at it, wiped her hoof across the rim, then slowly put it up to her mouth. She shut her eyes and winced, making the same face she made when Sol was cauterising her wounds.

Yet as the first drops of water surely cascaded down her throat, her eyes flew open, wide with glutton lust. First she only took a sip, then a full swig.

At no point did Sol move to stop or slow her. “Better?” he asked.

After pulling the canteen away and licking drops of water off of her lips, Selenite exhaled. “Much better. Thanks.”

Selenite returned the canteen to Sol, taking a peek inside. There was still enough to keep him satiated, at least for a time.

“Yeah, that wasn’t bad. Wasn’t bad at all,” Selenite breathed. “I was honestly, really worried that you were gonna have us drink our own pee.”

Sol nearly dropped the canteen. “What?”

“Well, you know, if we ran out of water-”

“No!” Sol slapped himself on the forehead. “That’s a myth. You wouldn’t hydrate yourself, you’d just dehydrate yourself faster. Like, piss is all the stuff your body wants to get rid of. Don’t put it back in!” Sol paused for a moment. “And it’s disgusting!”

“...oh.” Selenite’s voice was small. “That makes sense.”

“You didn’t know that?” Sol said. “Have you ever been in the field before?”

“The concept disgusted me so I never looked into it,” she said. “Probably reading about it in adventure novels when I was a kid prompted me to think it was real.”

Sol blew out a breath. “Wow.”

Nothing was said for a while, the pair settling back into their regular positions. Sol watching the road, Selenite watching behind.

Selenite broke the silence. “For the record, I have been in combat before.”

Sol looked back. “You have?”

“The Battle of Canterlot believe it or not, my first engagement. I saw my CO’s head get blown off,” she said calmly. “After that, I took charge of our militia.”

Sol blinked. “Oh, stars,” he murmured. “Bet that’s had no lasting effects on your sleep quality.”

“Heh.” Selenite smirked at his quip. “Then the next night before I even knew it, the Empress herself made me a General, and I’ve been spending most of my time at an office desk or a meeting table since. Still go to the frontline when I feel something needs a personal inspection, which happens a lot.”

“Like last night?”

“...Yeah. Like last night.”

At the mention of it, both ponies cast their eyes to the wrecked jeep on the road. Perhaps it was time to address the elephant in the room. The smoldering, mangled elephant in the room.

“I’d just reviewed a front-facing AA battery,” she explained. “We were meant to be heading back to base, and… And I guess someone made a bad call.”

“Think your driver may have made a wrong turn?” Sol asked.

“I hope that’s it.” Selenite buried her face in her hooves. “Fuck.”

“Who were they?” Sol shuffled onto his side to better face Selenite. “Driver, the others in the car?”

“The Driver was Fleetwood Bounder, and there was my bodyguard Tucumcari, and staff officer Mesa Verde.” She brought her head up. “Tucumcari was usually quiet but vigilant, always focused. I didn’t really get to know Mesa, she just needed a ride and we were there.”

“And Fleetwood?” Sol prompted.

“Fleetwood has been with me since I arrived in North Zebrica. Chiropterran with an Equestrian father, believe it or not. They left Equestria whilst Chiropterra was still hiding from the world, so they’re real faithful. Mother’s a Chiropterran.” She paused briefly, eyes falling down. “Now they’re both without a son.”

Sol looked away. They always said it got easier, losing a soldier by your side. If it happened enough, you’d get used to it. Yet he could never shirk the expectation that even if he may not make it, the ponies who he fought alongside would.

And every time it happened, as it inevitably did, it stung just as much.

If anything, it was good to know that even the top brass felt the same way.

He looked back at her. He didn't know what the next few hours, or nights, may hold. But he’d see to it that Selenite would make it out.

No.

They’d both make it out.

If only one of them lived they’d be wracked with guilt at the death of the other. He couldn’t be another dead soldier at Selenite’s hooves. They were in this together, and they were going to make it.

Suddenly, Selenite froze. Her eyes were aimed above the horizon. “Airship,” she said bluntly.

Sol turned around. There, an array of powerful searchlights crept towards them and swept the ground below, their beams cutting through the darkness with surgical precision. Each spotlight moved with deliberate, searching motions, illuminating swathes of desert in merciless, oppressive light.

The moving lights surrounded the frame of a monolithic silhouette that blotted out the stars, like a hole cut out of the night sky. The low rhythmic hum of its engines grew louder as it grew closer, already loud enough that Sol couldn’t believe he hadn’t heard it sooner. It couldn’t have been anything else, and the sight alone stole Sol’s breath.

Most of the time an airship was just a slow moving target for artillery and fighter aircraft. Every time he’d seen one was shot down by a howitzer or a fighter squadron just further baffled him as to how those things had rampaged across an entire continent with impunity. Only then, lying in a ditch with nothing but small arms, he understood why. He, and every poor Zebrican who lacked an industrial army at their back, might as well have been going solo against Tirek.

If there was any fear displayed on Sol’s face, it wasn’t for longer than a moment, and he sure didn’t let Selenite see.

He spoke without hesitation. “Cover. Now!”

Immediately they threw the nighttime blanket over themselves and huddled close. Every strand of Selenite’s far-too-long mane was stuffed under the blanket. If any part of them reflected back at the ship, that’d be enough for them to be spotted.

Sol kept his breath shallow and controlled. He could feel Selenite’s fear radiating off of her, as sweat rolled down her face and the tight space felt all the more humid. Every muscle in the mare’s body was held taut. The slightest movement, the smallest sound, could mean death.

Light filtered through the threads of the blanket, nearly blinding them after so long in the dark. It was passing directly over them. They could only hope that whoever was on board didn’t stop to investigate. Or that they didn't blow them up instantly.

Yet eventually, the spotlights moved away. Selenite exhaled slowly, her breath a ghostly wisp in the cool night air. Sol brushed his hoof against hers, giving what reassurance he could. They remained motionless, waiting, listening to the airship’s engines fade into the distance.

After enough time, Sol felt comfortable to move. He remained still for the moment, though. “I think it’s passed,” he said.

They emerged from their hiding place, the blanket slipping from their backs. Darkness had closed in around them, more welcome than it had ever been.

“Pass me the binoculars,” Selenite said, “I’ll check for ground units.”

They shuffled around again, Selenite facing the road with binoculars up, and Sol looking in the opposite direction, where the airship was slowly floating out of sight.

Thank goodness for that blanket. Without it Selenite may have been spotted easily thanks to that… damn officer’s uniform. Sol really didn’t get it, they were such impractical little getups. Solid blue with no camouflage to speak of, silver piping and reflective black rubber boots that always caught the light, only two uselessly small pockets on the flank or no pockets at all and, stars above, did they look a tight fit. They must have been individually tailored, or had some sort of spell on them. Only explanation for them being as snug a fit as they were. That or some of the generals were all really ready to have a dick measuring contest, given how tight they could be sometimes.

When Sol turned to look at Selenite, her back was facing him. The pants were tight enough that he could see the crack of her butt. Sol’s teeth clenched on his lower lip. It must have been morning because Sol could swear the desert just got warmer.

He shook that thought out of his head. “I’m sorry why the hell are officer uniforms so impractical?” he blurted out.

Selenite didn’t look back. “Hm?”

“I mean, look at it. You’ve got no camo, no usable pockets. Stand out so much that you might as well be given to snipers on a red velvet pillow.” Sol reached for Selenite’s sleeve and tugged. “Are they even armoured?”

At that point, Selenite did glance back. She kept facing the road, binoculars staying up. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t noticed the same problems,” she said, fiddling with her collar.

Sol brought his hooves back, using them to adjust the straps on his body armour. “In the field, you should at least be wearing a combat uniform.”

“If I were a company officer or field officer, I probably would be,” she admitted. “But I’m the Warmaster and the Empress ordered me to wear this pretty much whenever I’m on duty. No room for compromise on that.”

“I thought you were in charge of the army,” Sol inquired.

“An army that answers to the Empress,” Selenite grunted. A moment later, she set the binoculars aside and turned her eyes to the moon. “It’s strange. Some things I’m given all the trust and autonomy in the world to manage. But then there’s all these little things, like uniforms, or decorum, or the aesthetic of our public relations, and that’s what needs me to compromise, that’s where she needs control.

“Probably better that she’s more focused on the smaller things than the more important ones. If just for her own good, she needs somepony else making those kinds of decisions. Not even she knows how catastrophic some of her more impulsive ideas would be. And when she isn’t steering the ship, you’ve gotta keep an eye on her, or she’ll go off to play with matches in the gunpowder hold.”

Then like she’d said nothing at all, she put the binoculars back up to her eyes. A brief scan of the environment followed. “Alright, we’re clear for ground units from the looks of it. No other airships either. I think we’re good.” She turned to look back at Sol, and it wasn’t until a few seconds later that she recognised the look on Sol’s face. “What?”

Sol was holding his hoof to his mouth, trying to contain some breathy chuckles. “I just heard the Warmaster herself say the Empress played with matches in the gunpowder hold.”

Selenite’s mouth opened like she was about to speak, only to hold frozen for a solid few seconds. She shivered, and that probably wasn’t due to the cold. “For the record, I have nothing but absolute loyalty to-”

“Hey, hey, no need to be so uptight!” Sol laughed. “Everypony in my platoon has grumbled or griped about high command, or some politicians, or the Empress herself before. But like, it’s not something you report up the chain.”

“Like you just did then?” Selenite said.

Sol’s expression dropped. He chuckled sheepishly. “Oh. Yeah. Top of the chain, aren’t you. But then again they never say anything bad about you,” a slightly smug smile coming to his face.

Yet instead of judgement, Selenite replied with a smile and a playful eyeroll. “Guess this can just be our little secret.”

Sol snorted a laugh. “First you sound like a moonspeaker, now you sound like a teenager.”

Their conversation stopped, interrupted by repeated rattling bangs in the sky above. Sol had been in the field for long enough to recognise what a Hurricane Mk I fighter plane attacking sounded like from the ground.

Both ponies rolled to look over the hill and get a look. A dogfight had ensued between the distant airship and the small fighter aircraft. The zeppelin had brought its spotlights up and blasted tracer fire after the plane, which deftly weaved through the fire whilst hitting the airship with fire of its own.

It was rare for just one plane to be going up against an airship like that. Maybe they were like him, separated from their squadron and stuck somewhere behind enemy lines. Difference was they had nowhere to hide. Though they had wings. And the protection of bulletproof glass and steel armour plates. And an eight-hundred kilowatt engine. And eight heavy machine guns. Perhaps they weren't much like him at all. Lotta ways he wished he was like them, though.

Sol always found it strange watching air combat from below. To have a more complete picture of the battle than either of the combatants, but to be utterly unable to interfere. He remembered a time, a few months before, when he was on garrison duty in this small Zebrican coastal village. One night they were in the midst of an air raid, spotlights and heavy tracer rounds blasted into the sky. Airships being cast down in flames. Dozens, maybe hundreds of soldiers on either side working like mad to assure victory. Yet all he could do was stand guard and watch.

Then as all that was going on, this little zebra filly came up to him and asked, in her own language, why 'they'd' been putting on so many shows in the sky. He told her, utilising what little knowledge he had of the local language, that it was there to keep them safe, and that she should get to shelter. In all the months since, that exchange had stuck with him like glue. Even in these circumstances, some managed to be so innocent and blissfully unaware of the horrors all around them. She didn’t even ask what it was to keep her safe from.

Yet wherever that train of thought may have led, it was shifted off track as a flash of fire bright enough to fill the foxhole with light burst from the airship. A series of explosions rippled through the envelope, and the massive structure shuddered violently. The lights flickered and died, and the low hum of the engines faded into a haunting silence.

“They won,” Sol observed.

As the wreckage of the airship crashed to the ground, the Hurricane soared triumphantly into the night. And in one extra way, Sol now wished that he’d be like that pilot.

“Whenever an airship is shot down, the pilot needs to report where it crashed,” said Selenite.

“And if it’s in range of mobile units and not behind enemy lines, a task force is sent to the wreckage in case there’s intelligence or other assets to retrieve.” Sol finished Selenite’s point for her.

“Oh, yes, of course you’d know that,” Selenite said. “Then you also know what that means for us, don’t you?”

Sol certainly did. Help was on the way.

12:28 - 21/09/1005

Noon had come and the water had run out.

It was inevitable, Sol’s canteen had only enough to keep him going for a night or two. Adding Selenite’s dry throat to the mix only drained it quicker.

A small number of Lunar aircraft had been sighted in the last few hours, yet the planes had solidly kept their focus on the crashed airship. Not a single one had passed directly overhead from their foxhole. And while the temptation was strong to flash a light or make some sort of signal, any signal they made risked alerting their presence to the enemy.

At the very least, the morning wasn’t too hot or too cold. It would be a while before the invisible sun would fry them. And, with the two making friendly banter, the time had passed quickly. As before, both lay on their front with Sol facing the road and Selenite looking over the hill.

“Half an hour ago I should’ve arrived for a meeting with Viceroy Hawkrich.” Selenite noted, looking at her watch. “Maybe now they’d have noticed I’m gone.”

“Oh, yeah, that guy,” Sol said. “Weren’t he Warmaster before you? What happened there? He didn’t seem like the kind of pony to go into Chiropterran politics. Nevermind how sudden it all was.”

Selenite’s answer came immediately. “After four and a half months, it had been determined that progress during the War Against Sombra has stagnated to an unacceptable level. The military hadn't achieved its intended objectives, and taken unacceptable losses. In response, Her Highness decided that a change in leadership was necessary to revitalize the campaign,” she said, her voice clear and controlled. Unnaturally so. “Her Highness chose me, given my successful record and unique perspective, and-” Selenite stopped. “Why the look?”

Making no effort to hide his lack of belief, Sol had been casting a smirk. “Come on. You sound like you’re at a press conference. What was the real reason? Did he fuck up?”

“I can’t speak ill of a fellow officer to an enlisted soldier.”

“Speak ill?” Sol giggled. “Oh, so now I know there’s something spicy here.”

“That’s not what I said. It’s clear you’re fishing for gossip, and I won’t bite.”

“Selenite, you already vented all your grievances about the Empress, like anything you say about Hawkrich is gonna be any worse.”

Selenite opened her mouth, then shut it tight. She shrugged. “Huh. Fair.”

Sol leaned back and kicked his hind hooves up, at least as much as the foxhole would allow.

“At least watch the road while I’m talking,” Selenite added.

Acquiescing, Sol rolled back onto his front with his face and rifle aimed down to the road. But it was pretty obvious his eyes were looking back at Selenite.

“Without sharing secrets…” Selenite bit her lip, gaze turning over the hill. “Let’s just say he had a habit of putting his career before his duty.”

“And?”

“And he was kind of an asshole.”

“And?”

“The Empress thought he was a sycophant and I’m not one to disagree.”

“And?” Sol repeated, louder.

Instead of replying quickly, Selenite hit Sol with a cold stare. “And any more than that would be classified, sergeant.”

“Well there’s gotta be something that isn’t classified, right? You just said he put his career before his duty. Like, that sounds bad, let’s hear the deets!”

“Sergeant, I won’t…” Selenite cut herself off without warning. She looked away. “Hm.”

Sol leaned closer. “Abyssinian got your tongue?”

Selenite rubbed her chin. “I’m trying to think of all the times he said or did something objectionable. But now all I can think of now is the moment he apologised.”

Sol blinked, his brow rising. “Oh? For what?”

“Well, for being an asshole,” Selenite said, punctuated with a chuckle. “Happened the same night you and I met. Just a few hours before, believe it or not.”

“Did he make good on that?” Sol asked. “Apologies aren’t worth the breath they’re said with unless they change their behaviour.”

“Yeah, actually,” she answered, her tone surprisingly lively. “Since then, since he’d been appointed Viceroy of Chiropterra, he’s surprised me. Both personally and professionally, he surpassed my expectations. Only been a couple years, but he’s done a good job reigning in the Hardliners, boosting the voices of moderates, emboldening reform efforts, expanding the civilian role in government, real progress. Hasn’t even let the war slow the reforms down. Turns out that when the military doesn’t need to worry so much about running a domestic government they can focus on what it’s there for, fighting the war. ‘course, Hardliners haven’t gone away, the LMRD is still full of them. But if you shove all the Hardliners into labs and keep them away from administrative offices, that’s fine by me.”

It didn’t seem she’d noticed Sol’s demeanor change towards the end of her lecture. “The LMRD,” he breathed. “Hm.”

“That’s the Legionary Medical Research Division. They-”

“I know what it is.” Sol put up a hoof. “It’s just-” He circled his hoof in front of his face, like he was trying to conjure the words out of his mouth.

“What’s the matter?”

For a few long moments, Sol was deep in thought, his focus slipping out to nothing in front of him. He knew what he wanted to convey. The how was another question. Eventually, he spoke as he faced Selenite. “This was about a month or so back. Me and my platoon were on a mission with this Chiropterran unit. Before we went out, everyone was issued a gas mask along with the usual kit. Wasn’t anything unusual for me, happens on every mission where I’m alongside Chiropterran troops. But a few of the younger ones in our platoon got all spooked when they were given masks. They tought they'd be up against something much worse than they’d faced before. Officers sought to soothe it over with them. ‘Better to have it and not need it then need it and not have it’, they said.

“Then we’re out on the mission and we face unexpected resistance. Fighting our way through this village that some airships bombed to rubble and the Storm troops had entrenched themselves in. Nobody could get a clear shot at the enemy. All of us pinned down. Both platoons at risk of encirclement.” He took a deep breath. “That’s when I hear two long peeps from a whistle followed by a quick short peep. Means-”

“Put your gas mask on immediately,” Selenite interrupted.

“Should’ve figured you’d know that,” he said. “That’s what we do. Some NCOs, myself included, shout ‘gas masks, now’, just in case the greenhorns didn’t get it. Seven seconds later and everyone’s put on and cleared their masks. Didn’t take much longer than that for the shells to drop and for yellow clouds to appear.”

“Your unit was hit with a gas attack?” said Selenite, more a statement than a question.

“No.” Sol rubbed his snout. His hoof didn’t move from his mouth. “Those masks that the storm mooks wear only filter smoke, not toxins.”

Selenite’s eyes went wide. “Wait, the Chiropterrans were dropping gas on their own troops? Our troops?” Her wings and ears jittered. “That’s insane.”

“If it’s crazy but it works, then it’s not crazy,” Sol countered. “And it did. A bit later the suppressive fire stops and we’re all getting up. All we heard from the other side is gasping and choking.”

Sol’s eyes were cast down, far down.

“See, I’d been told for a very long time that the Equestrian Army doesn’t use chemical weapons. Something about them being indiscriminate and cruel. And like, that’s something we’re supposed to feel good about. ‘We might not be perfect but we don’t do anything too bad like those guys’, or something. But Chiropterrans do. Got stockpiles of them.” Sol thought he was rambling, and stopped himself for a moment. He turned to look directly at Selenite. “You’ve never ordered the use of chemical weapons, right?”

“No. Never,” Selenite answered quickly.

“Yeah.” For what it was worth, he believed her. “I remember reading somewhere that storm creatures are forbidden to ever remove their masks in the presence of other species, or something like that. On that night, I saw one of those poor bastards ripping their mask off and gasping for clear air. I don’t think I’ll ever get that out of my head.” Sol shut his eyes. He held his hooves close to his body. A tense, quiet moment passed, then he opened his eyes and faced Selenite. “And if they hadn’t dropped that gas, that could’ve been me choking to death. What the fuck am I supposed to think about that?”

“That’s just war, isn’t it?” Selenite muttered, tone uneasy.

Sol struggled to repress a sneer. How he’d heard that line a thousand times. “War is hell, right,” He said, his caustic bitter tone not as easy to repress as the sneer. “So it doesn’t matter how depraved we get, how cruel our weapons are, just as long as the job is done, right.”

“No, it matters,” Selenite said, sighing as she gazed up. “I’ve done what I can to keep suffering to an absolute minimum. On all sides. Chiropterrans are stubborn and thick-skulled, with how ingrained they are in cruelty-as-a-doctrine, getting them to change has been like pulling teeth without anesthesia. Shutting down production of the worst sorts of weapons, that I can do. And I’ve done it. But the ones they have still have stockpiled still find their way into frontline arsenals. They’re not supposed to use them, but if nobody reports…” Now it was Selenite’s turn to realise she was rambling and she paused.

Sol was only half listening. He understood the general gist of what she was talking about, but while it felt broadly honest, it didn’t feel truly authentic.

Selenite reached out and put her hoof on Sol’s shoulder. His ears twitched, his eyes snapped up to meet hers. Her gaze was steady, firm. “Sol, have you done right by your squadmates? Done right by your friends? Done right by your principles?”

A slow, measured breath. He nodded. “Yeah, I hope so,” he eventually answered, his voice a low murmur.

“Then you’ve done the very best you can do,” she asserted. Her tone suggested nothing but confidence. “You can take pride in that.”

Sol’s ears flicked again, and he swallowed hard. Much as he tried to hide how she’d eased the knot in his chest, his facade was paper thin. No force on the continent could stop a smile from slipping onto his lips.

“Thanks,” he said. “Still. Maybe there was another way. Where we wouldn’t have had to be in that situation in the first place.”

Selenite tilted her head slightly, nodding thoughtfully. “There usually is,” she admitted. “But it’s not like anypony can see the future.”

Silence stretched between them. Not uncomfortable, but thick nonetheless.

The entire time up to that point, the eighteen hours they’d spent together, something had gone unaddressed. Almost like a third pony in the foxhole with how present it felt. Partly, Sol hadn’t mentioned it to keep this professional. But the truth was that the Warmaster had always been more than some superior officer or grand general to him. They’d met before and they’d both mentioned it, but he hadn’t mentioned the weeks that followed their meeting.

Sol shifted, his hooves pressing into the sand as he gathered the volition to speak. “You know, you saved my life back then.”

“Hm?” Selenite blinked, her ears perking as she turned her full attention to him. “You mean in Whinny?”

“Yeah, it’s uhm…” He stopped. Lips quivering, his hoof hovered in front of his mouth as if to conjure the right words out. Instead, he let his eyes drop, focusing on his left leg.

He pulled back his right sleeve, revealing the scar that marred his coat. From the shrapnel injury that landed him in hospital. The same hospital he first encountered Selenite. Selenite shuffled closer, her wings shifting slightly at her sides.

“I’m not gonna lie, every time I see it I’m reminded of that time you came to see me,” he said. “You- you helped me to make the most out of my life, to stop being so self destructive, to actually live my life.”

The pair exchanged a quick look. Sol refocused on the scar.

“That’s a permanent reminder,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “That I couldn’t go on like I was. At the time, I-” He swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “I wasn’t looking after myself. I couldn’t. I hated myself, my body, all of it. I couldn’t see any future for myself where I’d be happy. I’d all but resigned myself to the idea that I’d end up a casualty. And I didn’t even mind.”

He rolled his sleeve back down, covering the scar. “Better give myself up for something bigger than to shamble through this fraud of an existance for another fucking moment.”

He finally looked back at Selenite, and he jumped at the look she was giving him. Eyes wide and focused, lips parted but jaw tense. She looked at him the way a mother might look at her injured foal, unwavering sorrow and compassion. Had she seen something? Why that look?

It wasn’t until he felt a tear streak through the sand on his cheek did he realise he’d started crying.

“Oh, shit.” Sol’s hooves snapped to his face to wipe his eyes. All it did was smear sand and dirt across his snout. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

Selenite shot up. “Hey, hey now.”

“What is this shit.” Sol’s cheeks and lip pulled up, like he was trying to force his tear ducts shut. “Stop it.”

“Sol, Sol, don’t worry.”

“Fuck, what is this?” Another tear rolled out his eyes. Why wouldn’t they stop? Now he was behaving like a whiny crybaby and knowing that made it worse. Box breathing, that tended to calm him down. Inhale. Count to four. Exhale. Count to four. No, they only seemed to make the tears flow faster. “What’s with this? This is dumb.”

“It’s fine, Sol.”

“No, it’s dumb.” For fucks sake. He'd been through war. Why were some stupid thoughts making him act like this? He smacked himself on the side of the head. Stop it. Stupid. Stupid. “We need to conserve water. It’s improper for a soldier-”

His hooves were taken up into hers, cutting him off. Like a static shock had jolted up his leg at her touch.

Their eyes locked. The combined splendor of the thousand stars glistening the sky above could never match the vibrance behind her eyes. And at that moment the warmest thing in that desert was her smile.

“You’re the finest soldier I’ve ever met, Sol.”

Their eyes locked. His body froze, yet his heart was sent racing.

Just like that, it was okay. When she said it was okay, she meant it. She was being honest. He knew he could share his true feelings with her, and that it was okay. Amidst the raging waves, she was an anchor.

His tears stopped flowing, but the well of emotion didn’t. Not from what had troubled him before. No, this was something new.

The wider desert faded away. Thoughts of rank or professionalism faded away. All that remained was her voice, her presence, and the steady reassurance she offered.

They weren’t an officer and a soldier at that point. They’d become-

Sharply clearing his throat, Sol cut through the tension like a guillotine. He wiped the look off his face and threw up a blank stoic stare. “Warmaster. If you’re thinking what I think you are, that would be fraternisation.”

“Yes,” Selenite blinked, her ears flicking back as she mirrored his sudden shift in demeanor. Her posture straightened, and her wings tucked neatly at her sides. “Yes. Of course, Sergeant. That would be unprofessional, unethical, and represent a failure to adhere to discipline, and create a conflict of interest, and…”

Selenite had trailed off. Sol completed her sentence with, “And so on.”

“Yes.” Without standing up, Selenite scooted back to the other side of the foxhole. “Let’s not, then,” she said, her eyes switching to face the road. Silence dropped with all the grace and cordiality of a bomb.

Sol shuffled away, avoiding eye contact. As an automatic motion he reached for his canteen and took a swig. It was only when he felt meagre droplets fall on the back of his throat did he remember it was empty.

He cautioned a look at Selenite. “Permission to make a run for the wreckage, Warmaster. To see if there’s any water left in there.”

“Granted, Sergeant,” said Selenite. “There were jerry cans of water in the trunk.”

“Permission to requisition your Marechester while you keep watch with the rifle,” he added. He knew which weapon would be better in a close quarters situation.

Selenite glanced over. “Granted.”

The two swapped weapons and Sol quickly checked over his equipment. Marechester clean and ready to fire, thirty-two rounds in the magazine. Combat knife in his belt and at the ready. Goggles on and the world was illuminated.

Then, for the first time in their sixteen hours together, Sol hopped out of the foxhole. He slinked down the hill, moving close to the ground and staying out of sight as much as one could in such a desolate environment.

That left Selenite alone in the foxhole, rifle in her grasp. She shuffled herself around and adjusted her grip, trying to settle into a position that was both sturdy and allowed her to use her good shoulder. Selenite wasn’t a bad shot, by any stretch, but she was far from perfect and her injuries likely meant she couldn’t keep up a suppressing fire.

Though there was a good chance she wouldn’t need to use it. All signs indicated that Lunar forces were advancing. Sol hadn’t been shot at yet. And if he did face danger? He’d manage it. He’d be safe.

Such hopes were snuffed out as a familiar blue light shone from the edge of the road.