Foxhole

by Moonatik

Rating: teen
Tags: Violence, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Equestria at War, Death, Alternate Universe, Romance, Thriller, Drama, Original Character, Bat Pony
Length: 18098

Trapped behind enemy lines. No safe place to go. Nothing to promise respite, but each other.

Sergeant Sol Nightshade has fought against the Storm King's rampage across North Zebrica for months, just one of many thousands of Lunar soldiers. When he finds himself pinned down behind enemy lines, he has no choice but to dig in and wait for reinforcements. Amid a precarious, lonely wait for help in the scant safety of his makeshift shelter, fate delivers unexpected company from the top of the chain of command: Warmaster Selenite herself.

This far out, in such danger, rank might mean nothing at all for a couple of lost, lonely souls.

Co-authored by Danielle666!

Takes place in my New Lunar Millennium alternate universe. More information can be found here.

Published 2025-02-14 18:20:01 UTC
Last updated 2025-02-18 03:34:00 UTC

1 - One Becomes Two

18:38 - 20/09/1005 - Zebharan Desert

The foxhole was dry. For that much Sol could be thankful. He’d been in wet foxholes before and he’d take hard-packed sand over swampy slurry any night. That and the fact that the Storm King’s troops hadn’t found him were the only upsides of the last two nights. His canteen was half empty, and he was already thinking of desperate ways to extend the lifespan of the meagre vessel.

He glanced at his shovel. It had saved his life, that much was for sure. He’d hacked away at the hillside’s sand, rock, and dirt for hours to make this little shelter, wielding it with hooves and then with magic and then with hooves again. It blended in with the surrounding rock formations, just well enough to not be noticeable in the night’s dark. And not a moment too soon either. The shells had started falling just after his shelter was complete. Then came the enemy patrols, then the combat engineers, then the minelayers.

His hillside position was nestled admist loose rocks and dry shrubs, blending in with the environment. Downhill to the north, a dirt road ran some hundred meters away, cutting across the sand in a rough line from west to east. It was the only evidence that civilization had come to this part of the world. On top of being rigged with enough mines to stop a whole platoon.

He wiped the sweat from his brow, baking in the heat of the invisible sun and wondering how much longer he could live like this. The desert switched between swelteringly hot or bone-chillingly cold and there was nothing to go by in the sky above to indicate when the change would occur.

What’s the point of eternal night? He asked himself, as if there was anything else to really do. It’s dark, can’t see anything and it makes you want to constantly go to sleep. Truth be told, he never really ‘got’ Lunar philosophy.

Clutching his Lilac Mk.III rifle, Sol mused on his chances of survival between staying put versus making a run back to friendly lines. Instinct nagged for him to attempt the latter, though the risk of exposure to hostile fire was far too great. Compared to fighting hordes of undead thralls in the war against Sombra and surviving by the skin of his teeth, sitting still and staying out of sight should’ve been a trifle.

His first aid kit had been all but used up saving someone else in an earlier engagement, but his supplies weren't totally exhausted. His water and rations would keep him alive for a week, at most. Surely his platoon-mates would come for him before then. Surely they would. Surely they had to know he was MIA, pinned down in what was supposed to be friendly territory. It was only a matter of time. Surely.

Sherly’s a dependable guy after all, he made a glib remark to himself.

His train of thought halted as he heard a rumbling sound coming somewhere ahead of him. He took a peek, adjusting his night vision goggles, the world now rendered in grape flavor, compared with the utter black it used to be. He made out a jeep’s headlights illuminating the road at the bottom of the hill, the vehicle itself steadily making its way down. Sol smirked. Don’t they know where they lay their own mines?

Then Sol’s smirk disappeared. Storm forces don’t get around in jeeps, they use airships for everything or go on foot.

Sol jumped out as the realization hit him. “Wait!”

A deafening blast rocked his ears. He shrank into his shelter. The jeep was thrown off the road, a smouldering crater left where it once was. On impact with the ground its metal chassis crumpled like cardboard. The twisted wreck started smoking, fire shimmering through the skeleton. Faint curses and cries mixed with the roar of the blazing vehicle.

A pony's body had been hurled out of the truck, lifeless and bloodied on the roadside.

Sol felt his heavy breath rush past his gritted teeth. He was shaking, drenched in sweat, and not from the heat. If the enemy was around, they surely heard that and they’d be on their way. His self-preservation instinct screamed for him to stay put, but there were ponies in that wreck, ponies lying around helpless. There was a chance some survived. But was it enough of a chance for Sol to risk himself?

“Agh, screw it.”

Rifle slung on his back, Sol launched himself from the foxhole and immediately hit the ground. He slithered forward, inch by painstaking inch, his legs moving like clockwork. Harsh, coarse, coat-blastingly gritty sand filled his mane, his coat, even his mouth. The closer he got, the anguished cries of a mare grew louder. Someone was still alive and needed help. Acrid smoke spiralled upward. Each passing second heightened the urgency, heightened the screams. If he didn’t pick up the pace then there’d be nobody left to rescue. And if the enemy was close, they would have already taken their shot.

He sprang to his hooves and galloped down the sandy incline, narrowly maintaining his balance. Within moments he skidded to a halt near the remains of the jeep, the searing heat of the flames licking at his coat. Up close, the devastation was far worse; the vehicle twisted into a grotesque sculpture of mangled metal and scorched rubber, barely recognisable as the vehicle it once was. The stench of oil, blood, and burning flesh hung heavy in the air. He’d have gagged had he not grown numb to it already.

“Help! Oh Nightmare, help!”

A desperate voice pierced the cacophony of destruction. Beneath the wreckage, a small thestral mare clawed her way into the open, her eyes wide with fear and pain. Once-sleek silver hair was a tangled mess, her blue Equestrian officer's uniform shredded and stained. A Marechester SMG was strapped across her body, and a gruesome shard of bloodied metal jutted from her shoulder.

Sol's instincts kicked in, and he darted to her side, grasping her legs to pull her free. “Come with me if you want to live!” he called.

The mare didn’t protest, her agonised cries punctuated by sobs. Sol hoisted her onto his back, her hooves feebly clinging to him as he carried her away from the fiery wreckage. He set her down gently on her back, preparing to scan her wounds. Only then his breath caught in his throat. He recognized her. Not just recognized, he had met her before.

“Warmaster?” Sol gasped.

Then the air filled with thunder. Something exploded, the fuel tank most likely. It sent a shockwave of heat and noise bowling over him. He instinctively ducked down to shield the Warmaster with his body, feeling the scorching air sear his back. Miraculously, no debris struck them, and Sol pushed himself up to examine her injuries more closely.

The mare, Warmaster Selenite herself, lay weakened and injured. Eyes clenched shut, her face was smeared with dirt and bespeckled with cuts and bruises. First her eyes opened slowly, then shot wide open, slit pupils dilating as they met his. Her mouth parted slightly, breath catching as if words were stuck on her lips. Within moments her eyes softened. A grunt, then she spoke. “Th-thank you-” She took a glance at the rank badge on his collar. “-Sergeant.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Sol replied, looking her over, seeing the metal shards still jutting from her shoulder. “First I'm going to get that out of you, and then,” a pause, “then I'm going to cauterize the wound.”

Selenite panted heavy breaths as she looked at Sol. She looked at her wound, then back at Sol. She nodded her head, her breathing easing ever so slightly. “I-I understand, Sergeant,” she gasped.

Before removing the metal, the deep-lilac aura of Sol’s magic yanked a cloth from his saddlebags and put it next to the wound, ready to stop the inevitable bleeding. His magic then engulfed the metal in Selenite’s shoulder, and he pulled. To their mutual relief it came out quick and clean, Selenite only releasing a grunt and a whimper. Before much blood could flow out of the open wound Sol pressed his cloth into Selenite’s shoulder. It would slow the bleeding for now, but they both dreaded the more permanent solution.

Whilst Sol’s magic unfastened Selenite’s jacket he withdrew the knife from its sheath, the steel blade gleaming ominously in the flickering firelight. With a swift motion, he wiped it clean and cut through Selenite’s undershirt to provide clear access to the wound. Then, he levitated the knife into the flames. The metal began to glow a sinister orange, promising pain. Meanwhile, Selenite yanked off a glove with her teeth, her movements hurried and jerky. She stuffed it into her mouth, her eyes betraying the dread of what was to come.

As the knife heated, Sol's face was set in grim stoicism. It would hurt to do this, it would hurt her even more. But he pulled it from the fire, the blade now glowing fiercely, and brought it towards Selenite. “Ready?” His voice kept low and steady, more confident than he was. Their eyes met, and for a moment, he saw raw fear stayed only by trust in her gaze.

The knife hovered above her wound, radiating heat. Selenite's eyes widened, reflecting the fiery blade for a moment before she met Sol's gaze. She took a deep, shuddering breath and gave a shaky nod. “Do it,” she grunted around the glove in her mouth, her voice trembling. She bit down hard on the glove, eyes squeezing shut.

“One, two, three!” On three Sol pressed the knife to her wound. Selenite barely held back an anguished howl, teeth pressing into her gloves. Instantly the smell of singed flesh hit him like a howitzer shell. Selenite’s repressed wails set every empathetic fiber of Sol’s being into overdrive, screaming at him to stop. But he couldn't. He had to save her.

The knife burned against her skin, the searing heat cauterizing the wound. Sol's arcane grip trembled, but he kept the blade steady, counting the agonizing seconds. He pulled it away, allowing Selenite a moment to breathe and respite, only for him to press it back again. The cycle of press, groan, and release continued, one press after the other until the bleeding had stopped.

Once the bleeding stopped, Sol drove the knife into the sand, the hiss of cooling metal a small relief. Selenite collapsed onto her side, clutching her shoulder, her breaths coming in ragged gasps. The scent of burnt flesh lingered, already fusing with the stench of burning oil and rubber. Sol's own breath was shaky, calmed only by the knowledge that the operation had saved her.

But he knew there was no time to dwell on that. Turning himself in each direction, Sol scanned the horizon. No sign of incoming enemy activity. But he knew a bright smoking fire in the middle of a dark desert would attract every yeti eye, just from sheer curiosity if nothing else. He had to get them both back to cover, now. Carefully, he lifted Selenite onto his back, plucked the cold knife from the sand, and started back up the hill.

Sol charged up the hill with a determination that matched the intensity of the desert heat, ignoring the protests from his stiff and strained legs. Selenite clung to his back, her small frame trembling with each jarring movement. Her body trembled with each sob, salty trails of her tears cutting through the dust and grime that clung to her cheeks like rough brushstrokes on a weathered canvas.

“Th-this was,” Selenite gasped, “s-supposed to be, friendly, t-territory, nrgh…”

Carrying on without a word, Sol didn’t stop to correct the Warmaster. Best to give her space, he thought. He gently lay Selenite down in the foxhole, pausing to catch his breath before applying clean bandages to her wound.

“We’re…” Selenite was almost hyperventilating while Sol worked. “We’re moving. Soon as-”

“We’re staying put,” Sol interrupted, continuing unabated with his work on Selenite’s wounds.

Selenite shook. “Wh- No!” she blurted. “I can’t stay, I need to get to a proper medic.”

“Warmaster.” Sol cut back. “We’re miles into the enemy territory with them alerted to us and probably out patrolling right now thanks to that explosion and you can’t even walk. They’d catch an overencumbered me pretty fast. The safest place near anywhere is right here,” Sol insisted, carrying on.

“But-” Selenite gasped. “But we’re in-”

A bright bluish-white light shone down the road. It stabbed through the dark and caught both ponies’ attention. Down by the east end of the road, a squad of storm mooks entered into their line of sight. Right where the Warmaster’s jeep had been going.

“...friendly territory.”

Even at a distance, their hulking silhouettes were imposing. A yeti in the lead held up a staff, casting blue light to guide their path and illuminate their targets. Sol counted seven, maybe eight of them. More than he could ever hope to take alone.

“Stay out of sight,” whispered Sol, clutching his rifle close and concealing it inside the foxhole. “Hide anything that catches the light-”

One look at Selenite and Sol froze. There were few things about her that didn’t catch light. The silver piping on her uniform. Her rank badge. Heck, even her black leather boots gave off a shine somehow. Even her eyes reflected light, like they glowed in the dark. The whole mare was a damn mirror; if a single slither of light reflected off of her wrong they’d be dead.

“Where’s your blanket, sergeant?” Selenite asked. Of course she’d know what a standard issue combat kit included.

“Here!” And without a second thought Sol scurried through his pack and tossed his blanket over Selenite. She didn’t protest one bit, quickly and easily obscuring herself underneath.

With their position concealed, Sol took a closer look at the encroaching threat. Each storm mook brandished a different weapon, some with modern machine guns that were bigger than some ponies (at least 20mm caliber, by Sol’s estimate) and others with weathered arquebuses. They walked across the rough slopes on the side of the road making their footing unsteady, but they had to do it in order to avoid the mines that they had laid.

Thankfully, they were sticking to the roadside and their predetermined path, and so hadn’t given any indication that they’d spotted him or Selenite.

Upon reaching the crash site, a couple storm mooks chanced a cautious step onto the mine-ridden road to rummage through the wreck. They looted weapons, ammo, food, even the dead. One of the storm mooks plucked a dead pony out of the jeep. An officer, if their uniform was any indication. The mook inspected the corpse like it was a souvenir, then stashed it into a sack much the same.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sol noticed that Selenite was cautioning a peek through the blanket. “This fucking road was meant to be safe,” she muttered.

The yeti with the lighting staff made some gestures in either direction up and down the road. A few low grunts and growls could be heard, unintelligible with the distance between them. Then again they were unintelligible to begin with. About half the storm mooks proceeded further west, with the rest returning east.

Sol breathed a sigh of relief, but his focus didn’t lessen. Even with that threat passed, there could always still be more.

When Sol lifted the blanket, Selenite was drenched in sweat and breathing profusely through her teeth. Being wrapped up in a blanket designed for desert cold in the height of desert heat tended to do that to someone. Then again, it could also be shock setting in from her wounds. He hoped it was the former, that he at least could treat. Sol went straight for his canteen and held it up to her, unscrewing the cap as he did. “I got water,” he said. “You want some?”

Yet to his surprise, Selenite didn’t take the canteen right away. Instead she tried to pull her hooves close to her chest, her wounded shoulder not really responding well, whilst staring at the nozzle with her lips pressed tightly together. “I’ll be fine,” she said, finally.

Sol gave a confused tilt of his head, only to shrug it off. “Suit yourself.” He screwed the cap closed and stashed the canteen away. He brought his rifle back up and watched the road.

A minute or so passed by uneventfully. Then out of the blue, Selenite asked, “Where have I heard ‘come with me if you want to live’ before?”

Sol’s ears perked up, but he didn’t lose focus. “It was a- uhm, a reference to a movie, Warmaster.” Okay, yes, it was a little corny. But it did feel cool at that moment. If anything, Sol was surprised she remembered that. “That’s fine, right?”

“Nothing wrong with it, don’t worry.” Selenite shook her head. “It’s Sol, right? Sol Nightshade?”

That definitely threw his focus off. “Yeah, how’d you know?” He looked back at her.

“I thought I recognised you,” she said, smiling. “I remember you from the hospital in Whinny. You left an impression on me.”

“Really now? What kind of impression?” He’d remembered meeting her, that was for certain. Who could forget a one-on-one visit from the Warmaster?

Though he was certainly surprised at how she’d remembered him. Surely, the Warmaster herself would meet dozens if not hundreds of enlisted troops every night.

“You were wounded and given a ticket home. Your CO wanted you to go on leave until you’d recovered, but you refused. You wanted to stay and fight. Demanded to stay and fight.” She paused and let out a short chuckle, though it became a cough. “Gosh, I think I had to order you to go to therapy, right? That sort of dedication is rare.”

Dismissively, Sol shrugged. “Thought that was just being a good soldier. I couldn’t abandon my siblings in arms at the front.” He couldn’t hold back the smirk growing on his lips, however.

“Most conscripts jump at the chance to go back home, but you’re still here,” Selenite added. “It’s impressive.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” Sol felt a grateful smile meet his lips. “Glad to have made that impression.”

“Guessing the therapy helped?” Selenite asked.

Sol paused, mulling it over for a moment. “Yeah, I’d say it did,” he answered, with a confident nod. “I’m as effective as ever.”

Selenite smiled and exhaled. “Either way, thank Nightmare you were here Sergeant.” She tried to straighten up her uniform, high collar and everything. “Now give me the situation. You clearly know it better than I do.”

Sol cleared his throat. “I haven’t been anywhere else the last two nights. The enemy has advanced and laid mines. No sign of an enemy retreat or withdrawal. Your crew were the first friendlies I’d seen in a long time.”

Selenite put her hoof to her chin. “What kind of units did you see advancing?”

“Heavy infantry and combat engineers, I’d say,” Sol answered. “No vehicles, artillery, or aircraft.”

Selenite was quiet for a moment. “Okay. They’re probably setting up concealed positions far forward of the front lines, looking to ambush advancing units. Which means they could be concealed anywhere, ahead of us or behind us.”

Sol nodded. “Exactly.”

“Do you have any idea where we are?” Selenite continued. “Coordinates? Grid position? Noticeable landmarks?”

Sol felt a droop in his ears. “There’s this hole, and the sand, sand, oh and even more sand. Also the minefield, but you already knew that.”

“Understood,” Selenite said, though it came out like a groan.

One thing Sol had been trying to figure out the entire time was his exact location, but he just couldn’t do it. He didn’t have a map, he didn’t know any of the landforms, he could barely retrace his steps. It was desolate desert for miles in every direction and that’s all he knew. “Not exactly helpful to us in this position anyways, is it?”

“If I sleep and any oneriomancers, or the Empress herself, comes to my dreams, I can relay information back to them.”

Oh yeah, oneiromancy! Dream walking! It was one of those tricks that the Imperial Lunar Military had to communicate long distance, as distance didn’t matter in the dream realm. Sol had spoken with oneriomancers in his dreams before, but hadn’t had the chance this time. When he slept, he hadn’t recalled meeting any oneiromancers or having any lucid dreams. And even if he did, the only information he had to relay is ‘I’m alive, but behind enemy lines’.

“Sorry, but I don’t know our exact location,” he said.

“Well, if you don’t know, you don’t know. I definitely can’t sleep now, so we may as well do something.” Grunting, Selenite shifted her body to face uphill, opposite to where Sol looked. She prepared her SMG, bringing it up and awkwardly checking the magazine, as she tried to make her injured shoulder work. “You watch the road, I’ll watch the back.”

“You should rest,” Sol commented, looking over the Warmaster, making sure none of the bandages were coming loose.

“I’ve still got my eyes, Sergeant,” she replied. “If all I can do is keep watch, then keep watch I shall.”

At first Sol thought to protest, but he acceded. “Understood, Ma’am,” he said, then setting his focus on the road below. If he were speaking to a subordinate he may have insisted they just rest while he took up the burden. But, y’know, Warmaster and all. Besides that look in her eyes told him this wasn’t an argument he could win.

Silence fell gently, like a bedsheet. There were a few other bursts of small talk interrupting the quiet of the next few hours. Not much else to do.

That was how they remained. Minute upon minute. Hour upon hour.

Occasional signs of enemy activity. No sign of help.

Nothing to keep them company but themselves and the blazing heat of the invisible sun.

21:53 - 20/09/1005

Hence, the temperature drop hit them like an avalanche.

Already the temperature had fallen below freezing, and they could both feel it. Earlier on they ate an MRE each, which seemed to just make them feel colder. Still, better to be cold than to be cold and hungry.

Sol’s ears flicked against the biting icy wind, his rifle held against his body. He glanced at Selenite, who’d wrapped herself up in her wings as her teeth chattered. “You’ve been remarkably calm this whole time, Warmaster, all thing considered”

“Thanks,” Selenite breathed, her breath coming out in wisps of fog. “Really, I’ve got no choice but to stay calm.”

Sol blew out a breath, feeling the cold scratching at his skin and biting at his nostrils. It was clawing its way down his damn throat. “You cold?” His voice was jittered from his chattering teeth.

“I’m freezing,” she admitted. “How about you?”

“I’m fine,” Sol said, swatting away the question. He tried to stop his jaw from chattering, but the tension only made his face ache. His eyes darted around the foxhole until he spotted his blanket. “Ah, here. Use this.” He scooped it up and tossed it to Selenite.

Selenite caught the blanket and blinked, her eyes darting between the blanket and Sol. Her brow furrowed. “You look like you could use this as well.”

“I said I’m fine, I’ve been soldiering out here for a few days now, I’m used to it.” Sol forced casualness into his tone. “Get some rest.”

For a moment, Selenite hesitated, studying him with her gaze. But eventually, she wrapped herself up in the blanket.

Time passed, and the cold deepened. It crept into every crevice of the Foxhole, every crevice of Sol. He stayed focused, his rifle cradled in his forelegs as though its weight might shield him from the chill. His breath came in short, visible puffs, the air around him growing colder with each exhale.

Sol absently started fiddling with his night-vision goggles. The road ahead was empty, save for the occasional swirl of wind that kicked up loose sand. He glanced over at Selenite. “You’re good under there, right?”

Quite clearly, she was. She’d stopped shivering entirely, cocooned by the warmth of the blanket. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” His breath hitching as he tried to keep the tremor out of his words. He adjusted his grip on the rifle, almost cradling it. “Yeah, of course.” He tried to smile but his clattering teeth ruined the effect.

After a while Sol noticed Selenite’s stare pressing against him. For his part, Sol didn’t return the gaze. He kept looking all around them.

Her eyes scanned his trembling frame and the way he seemed to shrink into himself, his shoulders hunched against the cold. Her lips pressed into a tight line, and her brow creased.

Sol groaned. “Y’know, I don’t see what the point of this whole ‘eternal night’ thing is if we’ve still got a day and night cycle behind it all.”

Selenite quickly perked up. “Oh, there’s good reasons for it, though…” Her ears drooped forwards a little, eyebrows pressing together again. “I’m sorry, are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes! It’s just-” Sol’s eyes darted around the foxhole. He spoke quickly, tightly pressing his lips shut between words hiding his chattering teeth. And then, he spotted it. “That a Marechester?”

Selenite blinked. Her eyes darted to and from Sol to her Marechester SMG. “My gun?”

“Yeah, that!” Sol nodded rapidly. “Ever used it in combat?”

“No?” Selenite tilted her head.

“Oh, it feels great to fire these things.” Sol sat up and grabbed the SMG, spinning it around in his hooves as his eyes traced up and down the barrel. “High-quality, reliable, and at an affordable manufacturing cost. Receiver a bitch to clean but it’s perfect when you need a lot of guns and don’t have a lot of time. Used all throughout the air force and navy, for good reason. I tell ya, if a bunch of hippogriffs tried boarding a warship I was crewing, I’d feel pretty damn confident with this in my hooves.”

Sol’s attention was solely on the Marechester. Not the cold. He needed Selenite to know, he was not shivering to the bone.

His jittering hoof traced the magazine. “Hm, you only got a thirty-two round magazine here. They’ve got fifty round mags too, though I might be biased for the fifty, being a unicorn and all. It's a bit harder to load such a heavy mag when all you’ve got are hooves.” He chuckled. No matter how much he spoke, his chattering teeth still stabbed through the air. “I mean, you know all that, don’t you?” He looked up at Selenite.

Silence hung for a moment. “Yes,” Selenite answered plainly.

“Yeah, of course you would,” Sol laughed with a shiver, eyes returning to the weapon. “I mean…”

Selenite rustled under her blanket. “Sol, that's all really cool, but, uh… you're not fooling anyone.”

Sol blinked at her, his ears swiveling forward. “Eh?”

Selenite’s lips curled into a soft smirk, and she tilted her head. “Your teeth are chattering louder than the innate chatter at a war council meeting.” She gave an exaggerated shiver for effect. “You’re freezing.”

“Oh,” Sol glanced down, a sheepish chuckle slipping out. His ears pinned back as he scratched at his neck with a forehoof. “Well... You’re my CO and you’ve got the only blanket. Not like I can deprive you of it.”

Selenite blew out a breath. “That's not what I'm suggesting,” she said plainly. “Would it help if I ordered you?"

Sol could’ve sworn she saw Selenite crack a smile there.

"Um…” Sol rubbed the back of his head. “Maybe?"

“Alright, Sergeant.” Selenite shifted slightly, lifting the blanket with one wing, presenting a space just wide enough to fit another pony. Her voice turned firm, as she looked at him with authority. “I order you to get under this blanket before your extremities start freezing off.”

“Oh!” Sol stuttered, a blush flashing on his cheeks.

This was far from the first time he’d had to huddle for warmth with a comrade. He’d done it with those who outranked him, and those who he outranked. Rank didn’t matter much when you equally risked freezing your hooves off.

This time instinctively felt different. And it wasn’t entirely down to the rank disparity.

“Eheh, I mean…” Regardless, he gave an awkward, bashful grin. “Yes Ma’am.”

His movements were slow and awkward, he pushed his goggles up onto his forehead and slipped under the blanket. At first, he kept himself rigid, a deliberate inch of space between their bodies. During any kind of contact, like when his side accidentally brushed against hers, he jerked back, muttering an incoherent apology under his breath.

Selenite must have noticed his nervous dance because, after a moment, she unfolded one delicate wing and draped it across his back. The wing rested against him like a leathery shield, and she gave him a gentle tug closer.

Sol released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Relaxed by her warmth and encouragement, he settled, pressing closer until their sides were flush. Her body radiated a steady and comforting heat, evaporating the chill that had sunk into his bones and muscles.

The blanket trapped their combined warmth, forming a cocoon of comfort. Sol could feel Selenite’s chest rising and falling, each breath a soothing cadence that matched his own. He’d tucked his hooves awkwardly beneath him, like a loafing cat. Selenite, however, dared to stretch hers out a little, their legs brushing together. Sol shifted at the touch, but settled quickly as warmth followed.

A content sigh escaped Selenite as she nuzzled into his shoulder, her muzzle burying itself in the thick fur. Sol felt his cheeks flush, but he couldn’t stop himself from dipping his head to nuzzle into her mane.

The world around them fell silent save for the distant desert breeze and the steady beat of their shared breaths. One could almost forget they were in an active warzone.

Soon, Sol pushed against the gentle silence. “I don’t think you told me why this whole eternal night thing exists.”

Selenite stirred, her ears twitching as she shifted her gaze upward. “Look up,” she said, her voice soft and inviting.

Following her lead, Sol rolled onto his back, his eyes lifting to the infinite expanse above. Stars as far as the eye could see, unspoiled by light pollution or water vapor. Even after all his time in the field, it never ceased to surprise him. They were such a rare sight in Manehattan. Selenite cleared her voice to speak.

“The eternal night is dark and omnipresent, but full of wonders,” she said, tone clear and steady, but reverent. “It is our message to all creatures of this world, unmissable to all who walk this earth, clear and comprehensible regardless of language and culture.”

Sol cocked an eyebrow. “And that message being?”

“Whether you’re in Vesalipolis, the Storm Lands, Rijekograd, anywhere, you see it. Every moment of every night. You look up and see proof of our power, our mastery over the sky itself, a reminder that they follow the rules of nature that we alone have the power to write and rewrite as we please. Much like the sight itself, the choice it presents is unavoidable and inevitable.

“You may reject it, shirk away from it. Those who choose to do that will always find themselves enveloped by its vastness, standing beneath its impossible strength.

“Yet to those who are receptive, those who embrace it, they are welcomed into a concert of unimaginable beauty. For as dark as it is, the night is a window to wonders beyond our mortal comprehension. Stars, comets, nebulas, other planets perhaps just like ours, entire galaxies. It is mezmerizing in its endless possibilities.”

Sol nodded along. “Hm.”

“That is the choice presented to all creatures of this world.” Selenite breathed. “Cower beneath the eternal night, or bask within it.”

“You sound like a moonspeaker,” Sol quipped.

“Thanks!” Selenite smiled. “Though I doubt you meant that as a sincere compliment.”

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” said Sol. “Also, bit of a flaw in your ‘universal message’ thing: You had to explain it for me to get it.”

“You may not have noticed-” Selenite tapped Sol on the forehead. “-but your brain did.”

Sol chuckled. “If you insist.”

As the moment passed, Selenite wrapped a leg around Sol’s shoulder. Encouraged by the gesture, he brought his own hooves out, hesitantly intertwining them with hers careful not to disturb her wounds or bandages. Soon there was nothing hesitant about it. Only the warmth, comfort, and reassurance they shared.

They settled down. Settled into each other. Soon, sleep would take them both, as they were embraced by the night.

02:51 - 21/09/1005

Sol’s eyes fluttered open. Selenite’s wings were wrapped around him.

That wasn’t that which awoke him, though. No, he felt an itch in his crotch. Damn, he needed to take a piss. Definitely the sort he couldn’t just hold in.

Carefully, he wriggled out of Selenite’s grasp. Selenite’s wings and limbs released him without resistance, still sleeping soundly. He brought his head back, only to stop upon realising Selenite’s fringe had tangled into his own hair. Pulling on her hair too hard would wake her up, this required him to be delicate.

A little annoyed, but not the least bit deterred, he held still and kept his breath steady. Magic flowed into his horn, deftly untangling and releasing the rough strands of hair without disturbing Selenite. He still knew a thing or two from foalhood, when he and the other fillies did each other’s manes during recess. Could probably braid Selenite’s mane up if she asked for it. Of course, that was all before he figured it was way more fun to play hoofball with the colts.

With their manes untangled, he carefully wriggled out of Selenite’s grasp and stood up. He made sure that Selenite was comfortably wrapped up in the blanket before proceeding.

He dragged his shovel across the bottom of the foxhole, creating a thin scrape in the ground. He did his business in the scrape and buried it. Hopefully, it’d provide the foxhole with a little moisture without being too unhygienic.

Honestly, being able to aim his piss after lacking the biology to do so for the first twenty-three years of his life? Huge improvement, unspeakable improvement, well beyond the affirming factor. It was like he’d been short sighted his entire life and he’d only just discovered glasses. Oh and the speed at which he could just go? Not needing to fuss about positions or anything like that? Wonderful.

Zipping his pants back up, he turned to Selenite. Still soundly asleep. Her long mane seemed massive and fluffy enough to serve as a pillow. He’d become quite familiar with that mane, having had a face full of it for the last few hours. Rather coarse and rough, more massive than her head, and becoming increasingly caked in dirt and sand. Shame for such a magnificent mane to be sullied with so much filth, but such was a soldier’s life.

He felt his hoof rise up to run through his own mane. Still mil-spec for a stallion, but with enough length for it to be smooth and flowing. Very fortunate he wouldn’t have to worry about pattern-baldness. At least once a week another stallion would throw a flirtatious comment at him based on his mane. Which, while sometimes annoying, was better than every other way he’d had his hair. He’d been through the phase of going clean shaven before, and all that resulted in was regret and a lot spent on ineffective mane growth potions. The less said about the time he grew the shittiest moustache of all time, the better.

Though even with the blanket in the way, Sol could see Selenite’s legs wiggling around restlessly. Like she was grasping at where she thought something should be.

With the blanket covering her up, he couldn’t see her rank badge or uniform. But at this point, neither of those mattered. Just a mare who needed help.

Ah, screw it. Sol was already awake. He’d dive under the blanket if he needed to, but as long as danger lurked out there, he couldn’t be passive. Besides, they were still behind enemy lines. Both of them resting was probably a luxury they couldn’t afford right now.

He prepared his rifle, checked it was loaded, and aimed it towards the road. Deep, focused breathes, in and out.

Eyes open, ears up, mind sharp, the cold night passed along.

2 - We'll Be In Equestria At Last

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.

3 - Two Becomes One

Shit. Shit. SHIT!

Ok. Stop. Think.

Selenite sucked in sharp, controlled breaths. She couldn’t panic. Panic is the mind killer. In this case, it was very literal.

Centering herself, Selenite did a quick headcount. Two yetis, one with a light staff, and seven storm creatures.

Immediately Selenite pulled the rifle close, feeling her chest tighten. She quickly checked to ensure the rifle was loaded. It was, but she couldn’t tell how many bullets were in the magazine.

Calling out to warn Sol was the worst possible option. It would only expose herself, and if he ran back, that’d expose him too. There was no way to solve this without revealing herself or sitting idly by as he was discovered. Hunkering down and hoping for the best was also out of the question, with the yetis and storm creatures advancing down the road, a firefight was inevitable.

May as well make the first shot.

Readying the rifle Selenite, despite the pain in her forehooves, aimed at one of the yetis. He held the staff, he was the commander. If there was anyone to target, it was him.

She held her breath, focused on her target, and squeezed.

Sol threw himself onto the ground as the rifle rang out, ‘shots fired, take cover’ being his first thought. The stupidity of diving onto a mine-laden road was his second thought, but thankfully not his last.

He recognised that sound, it was undoubtedly a Lilac rifle shot and it came from up the hill. He took a glance up the hill, where Selenite was. That’s where he thought it came from, and it didn’t look like anybody else was up there. What was she shooting at?

That’s when he noticed. A blue light shone from the other end of the road, dancing through the air and shining through the wreckage. Sol stuck to cover. That must have been it, the enemy were here and Selenite was shooting at them. Then right as he hit that conclusion, another flash and a bang from the foxhole.

A crack loud enough to deafen Selenite roared for a moment as the rifle fired. It punched her in the shoulder a second time and her whole body seared with pain. Of course she missed both shots and her wound stung more. She pulled back the bolt to cycle the next round.

The yetis and storm creatures had mostly gone prone. All except the yeti with the light staff, who’d taken a knee. He was spinning the light staff in all directions, shining over every inch of hillside in search of their assailant. She ust had to hit him before he-

The light hit Selenite, blinding her. The yeti called out. Squinting from the intrusion, Selenite focused and squeezed the trigger.

And the yeti went down!

He was still moving, but his staff had fallen into the sand and he was clutching his neck. If it was fatal or not didn’t concern Selenite, just that they’d been disabled. Selenite cycled the bolt and prepared to take another shot.

Only to have to duck as the storm creatures returned fire. Selenite slipped under just in time, narrowly avoiding getting torn apart as bits of earth sprinkled over her.

Sol witnessed the engagement, peeking through a window in the wreckage. The mooks and the standing yeti were shooting at Selenite. They’d already won the firefight, no doubt Selenite was hopelessly pinned down.

But they hadn’t spotted him, or had any idea he was there. He had cover, the element of surprise, and a Marechester submachine gun with thirty-two 9mm rounds. If he aimed well, that’s four bullets per foe. More than enough to secure kills.

He’d faced tough odds before. All his life, he’d faced tough odds and survived. Yet this already felt different. Like he intuitively knew this would be his last battle.

But the Warmaster’s life on the line, Selenite’s life, he couldn’t leave her alone. He couldn’t disappoint her, couldn’t fail her, not now. Through unrelenting effort and determination, he’d have this. This was a fight he could win.

There was no time for hesitation. Keeping his head low, he held his gun against the wreckage. First, the standing yeti. If the staff wielding yeti was down, command fell to him. Sol stopped for a moment, barely a breath, to aim. Then squeezed.

The Marechester rattled as it sent a quick three round burst of smoke and hot lead. A shriek, then the yeti collapsed like a ragdoll.

Far from done, he shifted his aim to the nearest mook and let off another burst. The act was automatic, almost mechanical to Sol by this point. Through the debris he saw the mook stumble. He took no time to slow down; he aimed his next burst.

But a barrage of lead was sent his way before he could get another burst off.

Bullets cracked all around him, dinking off the metal of the jeep as he dived behind the metal wreak.

The incoming volume of fire was too much. If he exposed himself at all, he’d be lucky if he got hit in the head. Fortunately, he had telekinesis. All he needed was a mirror and he’d have what he needed to fire over cover. To his luck, one of the jeeps’ wing mirrors was lying face down in the sand. He picked it up in his magic and wiped the sand off with his hoof. Dirty and cloudy, but a mirror’s a mirror. At least it wasn’t cracked.

With his magic, he held up the mirror at an angle to watch the oncoming assault. While the dirt fogged up the already narrow field of view, he could tell they were doing basic fire and manoeuvre. Of the mooks who still stood, three had taken a knee and took to fire either at him or Selenite. Two were advancing uphill towards Selenite. One of the fallen yetis was shooting towards him with a sidearm. The other lied still.

The priority were the ones advancing on Selenite. He floated his gun upwards and angled the mirror for the best view. He’d been in this sort of engagement before, and it had worked then, now just to sort it all out. It took far longer to aim and was much more inaccurate than firing down sights, but he couldn’t dwell on that now. No time for doubt, only action.

He’d unleash burst after burst until he could fire no more.

Selenite flinched with every shot fired at her. Not the sound of the distant guns popping themselves, she’d gotten used to that long ago. It was every time a supersonic bullet cracked like a whip as it flew overhead. Each one promising death, each one meant for her. That she wasn’t used to.

Her chest was tight as a wound vice, the imminent threat of panic and shock filling her. Eyes shut, she focused on her breathing, hugging the rifle. She loosened up the slightest bit.

Then pain raced through the side of her head. A sudden, sharp, shock. She ducked deeper into the sand, some got into her mouth. Sweat trickled down the right side of her head, hot and-

It- It wasn’t sweat.

She wiped her temple with a hoof, bringing the hoof up to her eyes and seeing the leather glove slick with blood.

She’d been shot in the head.

She’d been shot in the head she’d been shot in the head she’d
been shot in-

-the ear. She’d been shot in the ear. It had only gone through the tip of her ear as she winced in pain from the raw nub of it. Okay. If it had penetrated her skull she’d be dead, and definitely wasn’t dead. It hurt like Tartarus, but that just meant she was still alive to feel it.

Minor panic over. Only then did Selenite notice how out of hoof her breathing had gotten.

As long as it didn’t get infected she’d be fine. A problem for much much much later. But the shot served as a lethal reminder, she still had to hunker down to avoid further injuries. Or worse. Had she leaned just that much farther in one direction or another, that bullet would’ve gone through her brain. She tried to focus on controlling her breathing, but adrenaline and panic clutched her up still.

Only for the sound to change. It was subtle, but important. Distant pops of gunfire continued but there was no longer that whip-crack sound of a supersonic bullet whizzing over her head. Whether or not they might be going somewhere else she couldn’t risk exposing herself. Except, she still had a way to “see”.

She clenched her eyes shut and chirruped, as loud and as intense as she could manage. It strained her throat but her one good ear swivelled up and around collecting information abound. Like she was plunging an invisible hoof into water, the returning ripples and waves of infrasound signalled what surrounded her.

The hillside was riddled with motionless storm creatures, none of them advancing, their profiles too low for them to be running or standing. She couldn’t hear well enough to tell if they were dead or merely disabled, but the imminent threat of her foxhole being stormed had been delayed. That must have been Sol’s doing.

But where was Sol?

More chirrups, more intense. There was movement at the jeep, too far away for her to determine what it was. But there was more movement further up the road. Large, hulking movements on either side and advancing towards the jeep. Advancing towards Sol!

Sol had been so focused on shooting whoever was coming up the hill, he hadn’t even looked at the road.

Damn the risks. She dived for the rifle.

When the second mook advancing uphill fell, Sol groaned. By his count, he had about half the mag left, maybe less. He assumed less to be safe, ten rounds maybe, if he was lucky.

He swivelled the mirror back to the point where the staff lay. Only a single mook was firing on him, the yeti with the sidearm keeping up the assault. He considered for a moment whether it was best to finish the yeti off for good, only-

Where were the other two mooks?

He swivelled the mirror around. For a flash, barely a half-second, a mook quickly flicked in and out of the narrow frame. He spun the mirror the other way and saw the exact same thing on the other side. They were coming right at him! One approaching from the left side, another from the right. They must think he can’t shoot in two directions at once.

Except, he could.

The Marechester still held in his magic, he aimed it to the right. All the while he charged additional magic in his horn. He’d aim to get the jump on whoever was coming from the left while suppressing whoever was advancing on the right.

A quick moment to steel himself, then he leapt into action.

The Marechester rattled as he fired towards the right. As the charge of magic built further in his horn, Sol jumped out on the left. Immediately he was face to face with the advancing mook. The hulking behemoth, three times his size, had already raised its rifle. But not far enough. Sol discharged a bolt of energy from his horn.

The bolt struck the mook in the right bicep. Not enough to kill, he didn’t have that kind of magic even if he tried, but more than enough to throw off their aim.

A shot rang out from the mook’s rifle. It harmlessly kicked up a plume of sand someway up the hillside.

Preparing a second strike, Sol took a look at the mook’s weapon. He could probably use it, it-

It was a modified Centavros Type 35. A muzzleloader.

A muzzleloader! They’d given the mook a muzzleloader! A muzzleloader designed seventy years ago! They had one good shot and they just blew it, leaving them with a useless stick! It didn’t even have a bayonet!

Perfect! At least one threat had been temporarily dealt with. Sol had every chance in the world to confront the one advancing on his right.

He spun around on a quick heel turn. He’d just been randomly firing Marechester bursts in that direction to keep them suppressed, and barely had the focus to properly aim or control the bursts. By now his magazine had run empty.

The other hulking mook emerged from behind the jeep. They had an LMG.

Sol very nearly panicked. For a microsecond, his eyes met the mook’s. They were locked onto him with the mechanical precision of a power drill. That gun would rip him to shreds in an instance. Only, the mook was still swaying the weapon up at Sol. If Sol jumped to the left, he’d be directly in their line of fire. If he went right, they’d overaim.

Sol leaped right. The mook fired. A burst of lead passed mere milimeters from his side as he moved. It tore a hole in his saddlebag, feeling like nothing more than wind ripping through the fabric. A further blast of bullets peppered the wreckage of the jeep sounding off with sharp metallic pings.

Sol was now more exposed, but better that than being bullet ridden. The fiery blue light in the mook’s eye sockets burned at Sol. But they had well over aimed, far off to Sol’s left. There was an opening, a narrow opening, where the mook’s gun wasn’t aimed at Sol. Sol’s magic gripped his knife as he prepared to charge.

Except suddenly, a Lilac rifle shot rang out. Specs of blood splattered out from the masks’ eye sockets. The mook barely made a gargle or a whimper before they went limp and crashed into the sand.

Sol staggered on the spot, his purposeful charge robbed of purpose. That shot must have come from Selenite. But at that range, with that rifle, and with mere iron sights? Most experienced rifleponies would struggle to hit that. An incredible shot from the Warmaster.

Then a blunt object struck Sol in the back of the head.

His head went numb and his magic sputtered out. He was still conscious, but thrown to the ground. It was ‘only’ a grazing blow. He rolled onto his back to face his assailant.

The other mook loomed over him, wielding the Centavros like a club.

Right. Not a useless stick.

The mook swung their makeshift club at Sol like a sledgehammer. Sol rolled right as it struck the ground. Narrowly, it missed his head and only threw up sand. Rolling, he bumped into the wrecked jeep. He’d ended up right within the wreck in such a way that the only way out was the way he came.

And only then did he realise he’d cornered himself. Before Sol could react, the mook had already lurched for him with their right hand, going right for his neck. The mook clutched tight and pressed him into the ground. For Sol, it felt like the weight of three other ponies had come down on him at once.

They were strong. Indescribably strong. Their hand was bigger than Sol’s head and they easily overpowered him. Already his breathing was cut off. He couldn’t just lay there and count on any more lucky shots from Selenite. The mook was already choking him out, assuming his neck didn’t break first. Sol’s hind hooves kicked out wildly. His forehooves punched at the mook’s tree-trunk of a forearm. All of it was in vain.

But he still had the knife on his belt. He reached down with his left hoof.

All he felt was the mook’s other hand crashing down onto that hoof, pinning it into the sand. The mook had absolute command over his physical body, and wouldn’t relent until all life had been drained from it. But he still had his horn.

It became harder to focus any energy at all into his horn as the world fell away from him. Darkness crept into his fading sight, like a burning photograph. The only light was from his horn. Weaving its way around the knife in his belt.

His last grip on consciousness, on the world, was on the grip of that combat knife.

And with the last of his strength, he yanked out the knife and slashed.

Then air, light, sensation returned!

Something hot and wet splattered his face. The mook was stumbling back, their left hand clutching their right wrist. Sol must have slit it right open.

Without stopping for a second, Sol jumped to his hooves with the knife in his aura. He lunged at the mook, hacking away at their neck. He stabbed again. And again. And again. And again eleven times more until the mook could barely open its eyes. Only pained groans and grunts came from their mouth, while blood leaked from their mask.

The sight may have made him sick, but no time to dwell. His and Selenite life were still on the line.

The other mook’s LMG still lay in the sand. He picked it up and looked over it for a moment, identifying it as a Wingbardian Greda 30. Definitely not the best weapon, but he was in no position to complain. Any port in a storm and what not.

He lowered himself and held the mirror aloft, flashing a look down the road… What?

There were more mooks now. Four, five? Far away but charging on either side of the road. Must have been another patrol that heard the firefight.

But that wasn’t the end of it. The yeti that had been struggling before had gathered enough strength to get on a knee and switch their side arm for a heavier, automatic weapon. Ducking quickly away, their fire kept Sol firmly suppressed.

From his position he could try to shoot them all down. But if even one got through, it might be the end of him. That last fight was close enough. Couldn’t do much more rough and tumble in the mine ridden sand.

The- The mine ridden sand!

Sol set the Greda onto the jeep. If he controlled the recoil right, it’d spray the road with bullets, certainly striking something.

He held his breath and let the bullets loose.

The road erupted into a furious cascade of thumping explosions. One after the other, sand and fire burst from the ground. It rocked Selenite’s ears and blocked her sight. She ducked deeper into the dirt.

Selenite wondered, had every mine gone off at once? As the echoing rumble of the explosions fell away and the ringing in her ears receded, she noticed the rattle of gunfire had died too. She cautioned a peek over the edge of the foxhole. Thick clouds of smoke and sand still hung in over the road, forming a barrier impenetrable to light.

A yeti burst from the clouds, a machine gun in their hands. Marching in a straight line for Selenite.

Selenite’s breath hitched. But she didn’t panic. She raised her rifle and squeezed the trigger. Smoke and fire burst from the other end as the butt punched her shoulder, her teeth clenching from the pain.

And all for nought. She completely missed her shot. The yeti advanced.

Staying off panic, she grunted as she cycled the bolt without lowering the gun. Aiming again, she took a breath to aim better and squeezed. Except… Nothing. All she heard was a high-pitched dink. Out of bullets!

The yeti advanced.

She slipped deeper into the foxhole, head only barely protected by the ground. She snatched up the bags Sol had left with her. She practically tore it open and spilled out the contents in search of bullets. She dug through little bits and pieces, quickly finding one rifle round.

The yeti advanced.

She fumbled as she pulled back the bolt, juggling the round as loaded the bullet into the rifle, and slammed the bolt closed. This one shot would have to count.

The yeti had arrived.

Her eyes went up before her rifle did. And she was staring down the barrel of an enemy machine gun.

Eyes clenched shut, she’d braced for the imminent agony.

And the rattle of automatic gunfire broke loose.

All froze.

Silence followed.

But the expected end never arrived.

Still feeling her heart pounding like a war drum, she knew she was still alive. The dirt and sand still pressed against her backside while thick beads of sweat rolled down her blood soaked face, she knew she’d been spared.

Hesitantly, she cracked one eye open, her sight blurry and vision blocked as her wings were up to shield her.

Parting her wings and gazing through the haze and the darkness, she caught a glimpse of the yeti staggering. Before she’d even managed to register it, its massive form crumbled down towards her, forcing her to roll out of the way. The collapse whipped up a gust of sand stinging her face and forcing her eyes shut again.

When she blinked her eyes open again the yeti lay motionless before her, its weapon sticking out of the sand. Through the abrupt silence, the faint patter of hoofsteps reached her ears, growing louder with each heartbeat. She brought her eyes up.

At last Sol crested the hill, his stance weary but triumphant and his chest heaving with exertion. His face, slick with sweat, shone in the dim light. He carried an LMG in his arcane grasp, its barrel still smouldering, sending ghostly tendrils of smoke curling into the air.

Adrenaline was the only thing keeping Sol upright, like an electrical current surging through his veins. Relief washed over him as he saw Selenite mostly unharmed. A nick in her ear, but whatever, nothing fatal. Had he been a moment late she’d have been killed, no question. He didn’t want to think about that. Yet he didn’t need to think about that. There she was, as safe as she could be.

Sinking into the foxhole, Selenite exhaled deeply as her weapon dropped to the side. Her face was slick with sweat and bright with a blush. Through ragged, shaky breaths, a smile spread across her face as her legs and wings sprawled out, like the flower of a cactus blooming amidst this desolate landscape. There she lay, undefended and at his mercy.

The silent invitation sent an electric shock through him. His tail stood stiff on end, nearly sticking straight upright. The adrenaline hadn’t worn off and the air between them crackled with magnetic tension. It took more effort to stay still. It was obvious what she wanted him to do. Needed him to do it. Hell, he needed the same thing.

Not breaking eye contact for a heartbeat, he tossed the Greda to the side.

“Agh, screw it.”

He pounced like a tiger. Upon landing their lips locked in a kiss.

After countless, breathless heartbeats with their muzzles pressed together, Sol pulled away, leaving Selenite blushing a fierce crimson.

She lunged forward, capturing his lips again with a fiery urgency. As they kissed, her wings wrapped around him, pulling him closer. His tongue wrapped around hers, hers around his, deepening their embrace as the world around them dissolved into nothing but the heat of their passion. Without breaking the kiss, Sol brought his hind legs up. Instinct replaced thought. He was already kicking off his boots. His magic gripped his-

“Uhh, Warmaster?”

Both Selenite and Sol froze at the unfamiliar voice. Selenite turned her head, causing Sol to pull away and look back.

A thestral soldier stood just outside the foxhole, all on their own. Their wide stare was only interrupted by frequent short blinks. Not even their tail was flicking. In the dark it was hard to tell they were anything more than a statue.

“W-what are you doing here!?” Selenite suddenly barked, voice full of indignation. “You’re heading into a heavy enemy presence!”

“We’re, um, looking for you, Ma’am.” The soldier pawed at the sand. “You were reported MIA. I heard a firefight and investigated.”

Now it was Selenite’s turn to freeze. “...Oh. Of course.” She cleared her throat. “Excellent work, Private!”

Selenite rolled onto her front as Sol stepped aside. Once she'd stood up, Selenite dusted her jacket off. The lone soldier extended their hoof to assist Selenite. She took it, only to pause and hit him with a fierce stare. The soldier recoiled as Selenite spoke in a tone harsh enough to sand down steel. “And everything you just saw is completely classified.”

4 - I’ll Come Back To New Ayacacthli

11:32 - 21/09/1005

They weren’t lying in the dirt for much longer after the thestral soldier arrived. First came the rest of their squad. Then the rest of their platoon. Then the armoured cars ready to take them back.

Sol and Selenite opted to sit together in the back. A cramped space for most, but the two of them fit easily. Once under the protection of more soldiers, the first thing Selenite asked for wasn’t food, or a first aid kit, or a bandage for her ear, or even a bottle of water, it was a notebook. She was provided with everything regardless, but not before pencil hit paper and she started scribbling something down.

Stealing a glance at the fresh notebook, Sol read what he could. Considering her injured shoulder, all the bumps in the road and the fact she was writing on her lap, her hoofwriting was remarkably neat. Neater than Sol’s own writing, horn, hoof or mouth, at its best.

For Mesa’s parents- I am writing to you personally to express my apologies no gratitude definitely no condolences sounds best…

Letters to the families of the deceased. She spent her time writing those, Sol keeping his eyes up and only taking a few curious glances. Though, what came on the next page drew him closer.

Sol’s parents find their names later- I am writing to you personally to express-figure this part out later. I am pleased to inform you that your son has performed acts of exceptional valour that…

Yet before he could see where that particular letter was heading, they passed through the forward operating base’s gates. Selenite stashed the notebook away as they were waved through.

Once the vehicle had stopped, Sol opened the door and led Selenite out. However the driver rushed out the front and cut them off. “Ma’am, you shouldn’t walk.”

Selenite raised a hoof. “It’s fine-” A glance at the driver’s rank and name badge. “-Corporal Maine. The Sergeant’s got me.”

They set off around the base, Selenite’s bad leg over Sol’s shoulder while she directed him where to go. A few looks were exchanged between camp personnel and the returned pair, but soldiers by and large continued with their work. Just as Selenite preferred, no doubt.

“Okay, got to see a doctor, got to get back to work as soon as I can,” Selenite breathed, half to herself from the sound of it. “But before I do anything else, I’m taking a shower.”

“Shower sounds great,” Sol observed. It wasn’t hard to see why Selenite thought so. Her mane was clogged with enough dirt to fill a foxhole. Even before he discovered himself, he could never understand why mares kept their manes that long. “Probably going to spend a week at a spa when you get back, right?

“I wish.” Selenite rolled her eyes. “Still need to do some personal examinations of the occupation and after that get some politicking in the Chiropterran metropole done. But I’ll be faaar from the frontline, if that’s what you’re asking. As far as I can see, General Tempest is doing her job well and has proven her loyalty to us.”

“That bugs me.” Sol talked as he walked. “I’m Sergeant Nightshade, not Sergeant Sol. Why is it General Tempest and not General Shadow?”

“She prefers it. Same reason I’m Warmaster Selenite and not Warmaster Berzel,” she said plainly. “Plus, if we were to use her actual name, it’d be General Berrytwist.”

Sol nearly stumbled to a stop, wide-eyed. “Seriously? I thought that was a joke!” He gave a snort, stifling a chuckle.

“Heard it before?”

“Yeah, and it sounds too funny to be true!” He spoke through laughter. “You know, this morally dubious former foe who turned against her dark master to join our Empire, tortured by her past of isolation and ostracisation, channeling her resentment into becoming a ruthless mercenary warlord, guess what, her name is Fizzlepop Berrytwist!”

“Keep your voice down!” breathed Selenite, shushing Sol.

By then Sol noticed a few heads were turning on him. “Oops, heh.” He piped down. “Well, may we meet on the frontline sometime again.”

“Oh, you’re not gonna be here much longer either! When I’m back at my desk, first thing I’m doing is writing your discharge.”

Sol felt his legs jerk to a dead halt. “What?”

“An honourable discharge! If anypony’s earned it, it’s you! I could probably get you a second Silver Crescent, too.” Fortunately Selenite stood steady when Sol stopped. “I’ll need to write a letter to your family, too.”

“Selenite,” Sol interrupted, “I can’t leave. I’ve got friends here. Comrades. Brothers and sisters in arms. You can’t ask me to just up and abandon them.”

Selenite stopped. She blinked, mouth agape. She quietly cleared her throat. “Well, there’s no reason you’d have to leave anybody behind. We could probably move your unit as well. If they’ve produced a soldier like you, I’m sure they’ve earned it as well.”

Sol raised an eyebrow. “And deprive the front of a company as capable as ours? And for what reason exactly, anyways?”

Selenite glanced over her shoulder. “Sol, the more you stay the more chance you die.”

“I know what I signed up for, as did a lot of other ponies. I gotta get back in the field.”

“You could die at any point between now and whenever you leave.”

“If that’s what it takes, sure. I’ve marched straight into danger before and so far I’ve come out on top.”

“That might not happen next time, and I don’t know what I’d do if-”

Selenite bit her tongue. For a moment her eyes and her mouth were clenched shut. She brought her eyes open and looked at Sol with a pleading, almost exasperated expression. Sol knew exactly what she wanted to say. And clearly, she knew that he knew.

By that point the feeling was mutual.

“Selenite!” The word broke the spell.

“Selenite Selenite Selenite Selenite!” was all either of them heard before a peach-pink unicorn jumped out of seemingly nowhere and tackled Selenite in a bear hug. “Oh my stars oh my stars, I thought you were dead!” The collision looked powerful enough to bring them all to the ground, but Selenite remained standing.

Reciprocating the hug, Selenite chuckled. “It’s good to see you too, Time.” Selenite struggled to say in the embrace of the hug. Once they pulled apart,” Selenite took a small breath and looked to Sol. “Sol, this is Timetable, my secretary. Timetable, this is Sol, the stallion who saved my life.”

It wasn’t until they made eye contact that Sol noticed that Timetable had thestral eyes, ears, and fangs. Sol affixed a smile to his face. “Just doing my duty.”

Timetable turned away from Sol and to Selenite. She gasped. “Oh stars above, your shoulder! And your ear! And your mane!!”

Selenite held up a hoof. “It’s healing, don’t worry.”

“Do you want me to get a medic?” Timetable asked.

“Already arranged. I’m sure I’ll be back at my desk before long,” said Selenite. She raised a wing. “But would you mind showing me and the Sergeant somewhere private?”

Timetable blinked. “Oh! Sure thing, Selenite.”

Timetable then led them to an empty conference room and gestured them inside. The room carried the faint scent of old parchment and chalk dust, and the only movement came from a few loose papers. Timetable left them be, shutting the door with a quiet click.

Selenite strode to the furthest corner of the room, glancing over her shoulder to beckon Sol forward. He followed, each step cautious.

The pair stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other. Sol didn’t dare speak up.

“Look, Sol.” Selenite took another look over her shoulder. She stepped close, keeping her voice low yet clear. “You were right. What we did was fraternisation. And that…” A deep breath and a momentary break of eye contact. “Now any order I make that involves your unit, I just can’t. I can’t do it, I can’t be swift, decisive and impartial about it. I’m always going to have that feeling- that knowledge that I risk sending you to your death. And if I start going out my way to keep your unit out of harm's way, then I have to order in another unit. And then if it happens again and again, ponies will notice, will note that your unit always seems to have preferential treatment. And that will weaken the trust and cohesion of a whole division. Of a whole army!”

Sol winced. He broke eye contact for a moment. He looked back at her, his lips pressing together tight. “Well, I don’t want preferential treatment. I’m just another soldier, just like everyone else out there and I can’t just leave them. I have to look out for my unit, what’s best for them.”

Selenite put a hoof on his shoulder, cutting him off. “You want what's best for your unit?” she said, tone authoritative but compassionate. “Accept the discharge. Accept this most honourable of discharges. Don’t go on trying to meet some noble end or take a bullet you didn’t need to.”

Sol broke eye contact as his mind raced like a fighter plane, turbines spinning overtime as he tried to come up with a counter to Selenite’s arguments. He couldn’t. Nobody would blame him for taking a discharge. This wasn’t a hill worth dying on. Not that he really had a choice, in any case.

“Huh… We’re here again.” Sol’s eyes drifted to the floor, a smile crept onto his lips. “You’ve been right so far about me and my dumb feelings, haven’t you.”

The severe expression faded from Selenite’s face, giving way to a tender smile.

For years he wondered if there would be a life for him after his service. As if nothing that followed would ever be as meaningful or important as this. He’d started to believe there was something more than this when Selenite set him on the right path, but doubt still lingered. It always did.

Now the doubt was gone. There was a future worth living for after service. And she was standing right in front of him.

“Guess that’s what being a good soldier is.” He brought his eyes up to meet Selenite, keeping his posture upright. “Doing what’s best for your comrades, even if you don’t feel right about it.”

“Good.” Selenite let out a light chuckle. “I’ll formalise your discharge later, but I really gotta go take a shower. See you around, Sol.”

Releasing a breath, she walked past him, the tip of her wings brushing by his side.

“Wait.”

Selenite paused mid-step, glancing back at him. One brow lifted, questioning.

He cast the dirtiest, sleaziest, horniest smirk a stallion could possibly muster. “There room for two in that shower?” he purred.

Her wings shot out with an audible flap, stiff as iron rods.

Selenite fully turned around to face Sol, her eyes wide and wings sticking out. For a moment Sol wondered if that discharge was being downgraded to dishonourable.

Until Selenite mirrored his smirk and wagged her tail.