How did anything live here?
It was cold. It was desolate. It was dangerous. It was dark.
Wind-swept plains where nothing could grow. Dark, looming forest where foul creatures hid in every shadow. Endless expanses of wet marshlands where one wrong step could almost drown you. Despite the fact it was almost summer, the air always felt freezing, the ground was always rock solid and the wind cut across exposed skin like a knife. It was nothing like winter in Olenia or Equestria, where at least the sun would come out and bring some relief. Here, it was like all the light and warmth had been sucked out of the world.
If this was where the Changelings lived, then no wonder they hated everyone around them...
Pitch blinked. He'd zoned out, lost focus, lost track of time and what was going on around him… Again. But who could blame him? Night watch was boring. And lonely. And freezing. Nothing noteworthy had happened in the past four hours, and he didn't expect that to change. Still, there was the off chance of some Changeling infiltrators trying to slip by…
Pitch sat up taller and quickly scanned his surroundings. His position wasn't elevated, but the flatness of the terrain and lack of vegetation made it easy to see anyone approaching, especially on a clear night like tonight. Not that there was anything to actually see. No dark figures moving in the distance, no disturbed snow and not even a suspiciously well placed rock he could take a pot shot at. He sighed, partially in relief, partially in disappointment, and slouched back.
Dear Celestia, why had he volunteered for this? Oh right, because nopony else had. Why did he always volunteer for the worst jobs? Stupid. He didn't have to be here. He could have been back home, back in Ponderosa. They'd offered to send him home so he could work the land. He would have never had to step hoof off the farm again. Why hadn't he done it?
'Stupid stupid stupid…' His mind echoed
A strong gust of wind blew, slicing right through his winter coat and uniform. Teeth chattering, Pitched pulled his coat tighter and swore under his breath. He raised his left hoof and looked at his watch, only to groan when he saw that it was still thirty minutes until midnight. That meant four-and-a-half more hours until he'd be relieved. He started to mindlessly paw at the dirt with his right hoof, just to occupy himself with something. As usual, the dirt was so cold and so frozen, that it felt more like digging at concrete than the earth.
Completely absorbed in his thoughts again, it wasn't until it was too late that Pitch noticed that it had suddenly grown darker. Something deep down and primal noticed for him and told him to stop moving. He obeyed and remained frozen stiff for a moment as a pit of dread filled his stomach and his eyes glanced around wildly, trying to figure out what was wrong. Darkness? Why? Luna's Moon was almost full tonight, and so low in the sky it looked ready to crash into the ground. Slowly, Pitch grabbed the rifle that sat propped up next to him and raised his head, taking another look around himself. When a beast from the deepest parts of Tartarus failed to be responsible for the growing darkness, he nervously raised his head and looked to the sky.
He hadn't noticed it before, but the dark clouds that always hung heavy in the air had started clumping together at some point, eating the stars one by one and creating a wall that blocked out the night sky. Pitch watched in horror as the clouds began to tear chunks out of the moon, greedily stealing it for themselves. He could only look on as the last cloud gently floated into place and finished bricking up the last sliver of moonlight behind that damned sky-wall. In an instant, it was like he'd been swallowed up by a void. Nothing but inky blackness surrounded him, so dark that he couldn't even look down and see his own hooves. Tartarus, he felt like he could hardly see down his own snout.
Without the moon's light, the night air felt even colder and the wind even sharper. Another gust blew across his body, and he shivered again while slowly drawing his rifle over his chest. Before, he'd felt confident that nothing was out there and that nothing could sneak up on him and that picket duty was a complete waste of time. Now, his mind screamed that something was out there, lurking in the darkness, slowly making its way towards him, its footfalls covered by the wind and muffled by the snow. As quietly as he could, Pitch worked the action of his weapon and chambered a round.
Just before he could level it, or flail it around like an idiot, the rational part of his brain spoke up. There's nothing out there. Nothing can sneak up on you. The Changelings are miles away, digging in around Vraks. There's a batpony not far away, and he can probably see even better now than before and he'll see anything coming. Don't panic. Soldiers don't just panic just because it gets dark. The clouds will clear. You'll be relieved. You can sleep soon. Just hang on.
All that was enough for Pitch to loosen his grip on his rifle and take a long, deep breath. In through the mouth, out through the nose. Well, he tried to do that anyway. The air was so cold that it hurt his lungs to try and hold it in and he had to quickly blow it all out. It took everything he had to maintain his composure and stifle a coughing fit, just in case his rational side was wrong.
For what felt like an eternity, he sat there, hairs on end, rifle held to his chest, his head craned upwards towards where the moon had been, waiting for it to come back. With his eyes all but useless, he perked up his ears and listened out for anything. He regretted it though, when he realized that the night was almost completely silent. No night critters, no chirping insects. Nothing but the faint whistle of the wind. Either it had always been like and he'd never noticed, or something made it so silent.
Pitch had just about convinced himself he was dead when a blip of light suddenly appeared out of the darkness. It took him by surprise and caused him to scoot back. Where the buck did that come from? He eyed the intensive white light suspiciously when several more dots of light suddenly sprang up. Already bewildered, he watched in utter confusion as the lights, all of the same color and brightness, began to move around in patterns. They were so bright compared to the surrounding darkness his eyes were growing accustomed too, that he had to turn his head and rub his eyes.
What was it, some kind of… Long range code? Some kind of new enemy weapon? An elaborate distraction? His eyes playing tricks on him? Some kind of crazy creature he'd never heard of? Dear Celestia, were aliens like from his comic books coming to take over the entire world?!
Searchlights.
That very sensible answer popped into his head and made Pitch feel incredibly silly, especially with his last outlandish assumption. Hive Vraks was somewhere north-westernly and was probably on the look out for aircraft. Since it was so dark, he could see their lights from even miles away. Yeah, that explained everything, even the patterns. Just search patterns. Just spotlights, that was all. Now that he looked harder, he could see beams of light shooting into the air and the silhouettes of the hive spires. He relaxed again, comforted by the mundane explanation and oddly comforted by the company of the lights.
He leaned forward, chest pressed against the dirt wall of the foxhole and his head rested on the edge. Aliens. Hah! What was he thinking? Dear Celestia, he needed sleep…
With nothing else to do, he watched the lights. Something about the rhythmic movements was oddly calming and they began to feel almost… hypnotizing. The wind slowly died off, relieving him from some of the cold. The ground he laid his head on began to feel less like cold stone and more like a cool, unfluffed pillow. Pitch did his best to keep his eyes open, but that quickly became a losing battle. What was just a few minutes…
He found himself back home. It was a bright summer day, the kind that called for you to enjoy it. Warm air flowed through his mane while the sun shined happily above. Something about the day just told him it was close to the Summer Solstice. He always liked the Solstice.
His family was there. Mom, Dad, his two little sisters. Mom had packed a picnic, Dad had brought his fishing pole. They were going down to the river today, that was how they always celebrated this time of year. They settled under the shade of a tree and Mom started to unpack. Dad wadded off into the river, cast his rod and began to talk with one of his buddies about the local hoofball game. Nip and Bud ran around, screaming and laughing as they played a game of tag. Pitch helped Mom unpack everything while enjoying a sweet smell that wafted in on the breeze. She asked him something about the war. He just smiled and told her it'd been fine. She smiled and nodded before calling everypony back for lunch.
Fruit salad with plenty of watermelon in it, his absolute favorite. He could taste the melon, so sweet and juicy. Mom and Dad idly chatted. His sisters whispered back and forth to each other, giggling all the while. He just leaned back against the trunk of the tree and enjoyed the familiar sounds of his family.
Eventually, he got the idea to stand up and take a walk along the river. He walked for what felt like a long time, but every time he looked over his shoulder, he could still see his family waiting for him under that tree. He came across a mare, a pretty one. She was from the village, he knew it, but he couldn't give her a name. She didn't need one anyway. He approached her and asked what she was doing. She said taking a walk just like him, then she pointed to his chest and asked about the big medal that hung from his shirt. He said something, something suave and brave and cool. Something so cool that she blushed and smiled and leaned in and kissed him. He kissed her back. Then they dove into the river together and clung to each other.
He smiled as they floated away, away, away in the calm, cool flowing river . Drifting… Drifting…
Pitch was rudely pulled out of the calm waters of his dreams and back into cold reality when a soft buzzing sound reached his ears. His eyes shot open and his head whipped around towards the direction of the sound so quickly it hurt his neck. That didn't matter though, because he recognized the sound of a low flying aircraft anywhere. He held his breath, flattened his ears and listened to the whine and roar of the engine become louder, obviously getting closer. If not for the pitch blackness and wall-like cloud cover, he might have had a chance in seeing the aircraft. But he could only listen as it seemed to fly almost directly over him before the noise began to die down. When it disappeared in the distance, he slowly let out his breath and counted his lucky stars. There was almost no chance that any plane could have actually seen him or his regiments camp, but he'd been on the receiving end of one too many Stukas to not be scared.
Once he was sure the plane was gone, Pitch eased up and wondered what a lone plane was doing flying in from Equestria. Was it a Changeling recon plane headed home? Maybe a straggling fighter or dive bomber looking for somewhere to land? Or was it an Equestrian plane out on some important mission? Thoughts of spies being dropped behind enemy lines from low flying aircraft filled his mind. That sounded a lot cooler than his job right now.
Before his imagination could run wild, two lights appeared in the air over Vraks. One was green, the other red and both were so bright to make it seem like the clouds around them had suddenly been lathered in paint. Pitch had to squint just to look and watch as the lights slowly drifted towards the ground. No outlandish thoughts entered his head this time, he knew what these were: Signal flares. The kind that were impossible to miss on a night like tonight. He knew that something big was coming, and he idly shuffled his hooves, a little excited and equally nervous about what he might have a front row seat too.
It wasn't long after that he could hear the distant sounds of engines again. There were so many that the air gently vibrated already even as the aircraft were probably miles away. Despite having a pretty good idea that these were on his side, his instincts still told him to get down. He resisted the urge for a while, but as the whine became more of a roar and he could tell just how large these planes were and the ground started to shake, he threw himself to the bottom of his foxhole and curled into a tight ball.
Once they got close enough, Pitch couldn't even begin to guess how many there were. He could only assume that they were bombers and big ones at that. Celestia, why were they so loud? How far off the ground were they?! They couldn't be that high up, they felt like they were just over his head! He turned his body, turned his head and briefly scanned the sky, but even with how low the planes felt he couldn't see them past the impenetrable veil of clouds. So he turned himself and pressed his head to the ground, eyes shut tightly
When the planes got directly overhead, the cacophony of engines overpowered everything. It felt like a wall of sound was pushing him harder into the earth. His teeth chattered despite clenching his jaw so hard it hurt. His ears buzzed and vibrated and he had to place his hooves over them to get them to stop, worried they might rupture. While it probably lasted a few minutes, it was an agonizing amount of time that felt like hours to Pitch as he lay on the ground, listening to what to be waves and waves and waves of bombers. Sun and Stars, it felt like the entire ERAF was flying over his foxhole! But eventually, the planes passed and the noise dissipated, settling back to a distant drone. Pitch took a deep breath, then slowly uncurled himself and sat up on shaky front legs, his gaze drawn north-west in the direction he assumed the bombers were going. He licked his lips and watched as the spotlights continued to frantically scan the air, his eyes to the skies like he was an aircraft spotter.
Though he didn't see anything, someone must have. Rapid flashes of light began to appear from the ground and the shadowed spires, streaks of yellow and green shooting across the sky. It was anti-aircraft fire. Watching it from afar made everything suddenly feel much more real and brought Pitch back to when he'd been home, back when the bugs had tried to take Las Pegasus. Soldiers had come by, asking for a healthy pony from every household to come with them. Dad had offered to go, but Pitch had gone instead. A rifle and a shovel and a helmet, that was all they gave him and then they ordered him to dig and wait. And he sat in a slit trench for days, watching the distant explosions as the Changelings tried to bomb away the city of debauchery he'd always been warned to never go to. Always scared that those bombers would turn south and go for his home instead. He'd joined the army to make sure they didn't.
Now, sitting here, watching the Changelings about to get a taste of their own medicine with his own two eyes, something swelled in his heart. A feeling that pushed all of his fear and anxiety and worry out and brought with it a warmth that made his skin flush and his fur bristle. At that moment, the world wasn't very cold or very dark at all.
"Y-Yeah!" He yelled, a burst of excitement and adrenaline spurring him to say something "Go get 'em!"
Pitch leaned back and continued to wait for something, a warm smile on his face. More red and green flares appeared in the air, guiding the planes into their final approaches. Searchlights tried in vain to pierce the cloud cover and the anti-air guns continued to fire wildly. If they were able to hit anything, it wasn't obvious. Pitch could almost hear the air raid sirens start to wail and he pictured the lead bomber almost over its target. Steady. Steady on the beam. Bomb bay doors open. And…
"Bombs away!" he whispered excitedly
There was a beat and then another, and then one of his ears drooped in disappointment. He hoped that by some cosmic chance, his countdown and reality would match up. It would take another moment of breathless waiting before the first explosion went off and then another moment for the 'boom' to reach his ears. He giddily stomped his front hooves and watched as more went off, plumes of dust and smoke being shot into the air. With every explosion that came after, pride swelled up in his chest even more. In just a few short minutes, he heard and saw hundreds of explosions go off. There was no way anything would live through something like this! They'd kick those stubborn bastards asses and have Vraks by the end of the week!
As he watched the bombardment in awe, something caught his eye. A new source of light peered through the dark night, easily told apart from the tracking spotlights and desperate anti-air guns. Brilliant orange and shimmering wildly, moving with a mind of its own as it spread quickly across the hive, joining together in groups before spreading out even further. As soon as the question of what it was popped into his mind, the obvious answer rang out in his head: Fire. They were dropping Celestia knew how many tons of ordnance on that city. It was almost guaranteed to start some kind of fire. But watching how quickly it spread, how many different blazes there were. How they all seemed to join together into one massive flame…
He stared at it, like a moth mesmerized by a light. He knew the destructive power of fire, better than most ever would. He knew that most Changeling hives were flammable, burned quickly and were usually crowded. It was one thing to see a room, a bunker, a house burned and charred. But an entire city, slowly succumbing to a raging inferno … Why did he always volunteer for the worst jobs?
The snap of a twig broke his focus, his ears shot straight up and the fur on his neck stood to attention. Pitch swung around, rifle in hoof and leveled where he'd heard the noise. A dark figure stood just a few feet from his foxhole, looming over him ominously, one hoof mid step. He'd caught on trying to sneak up on him! Some no good dirty Changeling had snuck past him! His hoof tensed to pull the trigger before something stopped him. Those wide, bright lavender eyes had white in them, white that pierced the darkness like a hot knife through butter. Bug eyes didn't do that.
"Woah woah, take it easy there!" the figure said in a hushed tone, sounding more annoyed than concerned about the rifle being aimed at them
Pitch recognized that voice. It was Spark, his batpony partner for tonight's watch. While assuring, he didn't relax yet. One could never be too safe with infiltrators around.
"What's the passw-" He began, before getting interrupted
"Sunset squash. Now you're gonna lower that rifle or what?"
Pitch slowly lowered his rifle and watched as Spark walked over and clambered down into the foxhole next to him.
"Buck's got you so jumpy?" the thesteral asked, stretching out his wings lazily.
"Uh, I dunno, it's kinda our whole job." Pitch said, frowning and setting his rifle on its butt "What're you doing over here anyway?"
"You have a better view of the fireworks than me."
Pitch rolled his eyes. "Seriously? Come on, what if they slip right past us?"
"Like any bugs gonna be coming this way when that's happening." Spark said, pointing a hoof in the direction of Vraks
Pitch paused as he became acutely aware that red and orange light was flickering at the edge of his vision. His eyes gazed up and saw the same angry light painted the clouds above. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder. Somehow in the short time he'd looked away, the fires had spread to engulf what seemed to be almost the entire hive, with only the tallest spires spared for now. He blinked in astonishment before turning the rest of his body, forced to squint just in order to stand looking at it. In no time at all, the fire climbed upward and began to lap at the sky, as if still hungry, greedily looking for anything to consume. Bombs continued to rain down, with no almost no gunfire in return. Were it not for the columns of black smoke that marched into the air, Pitch might have been able to see some of the planes as they turned and began to return home.
"One heck of a light show, huh?" Spark asked, his tone excited just like Pitch's had been earlier
"Huh? What? Yeah."
"Damnnn, all that ordnance, right on their heads. Look! I think that big tower's about to come down."
The batpony was right. Pitch watched as one of hive spires began to lean further and further before suddenly toppling over. It almost seemed to turn to ash as it collapsed, like a stick in a campfire.
"How much you think they dropped on it?"
"What?"
"How many bombs you think?"
"I-I don't know. There was a lot of planes. Hundreds. Maybe more."
"Fire took quick. Guess bug buildings ain't built to code, huh?" Spark joked, giving Pitch a firm nudge with his shoulder
Pitch briefly looked down, before giving a single lame nod. "Yeah. Guess not."
They continued to watch in silence as the flames raged on and the bombing continued. At some point, Pitch began to hear distant crackling that drowned out the engines of planes that passed overhead. He couldn't hear it, but he swore he did. Right on the edge of his hearing. His skin began to feel dry, like when he sat too close to a fire. Like when he was younger and he'd stare at the bonfire his village made for the Summer Sun Celebration…
They'd spend a whole week making it, tossing wood on it until it was taller than any stallion in the village. Everypony would chip in. It was a contest for the foals to find the biggest or best piece of wood. He'd even gotten into a fight over that once, silly as that seemed now. Then, the night before the longest day of the year, they'd light it and spend the entire night partying and dancing around it before the entire village would watch the sunrise together and their little fire would be completely dwarfed.
During that sunrise, he'd always felt like he could reach out and touch the sun. Snatch it out of the sky and hold it in his hooves and play with it like a ball. He felt that same way now, but without any of the comfort and warmth that idea used to bring. Another sun sat in front of him, but it was nothing like the one Celestia rose. Her sun was gentle and tender and brought life to the rows of crops he and his family planted. That sun loved and was loved. This… monstrosity was nothing like that. It was hateful and angry. It raged and snapped at everything around it, devoured anything that stood in its path. Hated everything that wasn't itself. Despite the night air feeling warmer than ever, Pitch still shivered and continued to watch the fire.
It crept up on him slowly, but he realized that there was no cut to the wind any more. Tartarus, there was no wind any more, the night air was dead still. Where before he'd felt like he might freeze to death, Pitch now felt like he was burning up. Beads of sweat began to appear on his brow and he adjusted his helmet to let his head breath, but it did little to help. Quietly, he unbuttoned his coat and opened the front but that didn't help either. Neither did rolling up his sleeves. Sweat dripped into his eyes, his head started to swim. Every breath he took felt like inhaling volcanic ash and the all too familiar scent of smoke clogged his nostrils. Finally, he dropped his head and took in a raspy breath of fresh, clean, cool air.
His gaze remained fixed on the ground as he continued taking deep breaths, trying not to lose himself. He felt something reach out and touch his shoulder, but he shrugged it away. After finally catching his breath, Pitch tore off his coat like it was on fire and threw it out of the foxhole with an angry grunt. A feeling of relief washed over him and he began to feel cool again. Not freezing like before, but not burning up either. He closed his eyes, wanting to remain in that stasis forever.
"Hey. Pitch. You ok?"
The concerned voice of Spark made him open his eyes and turn to the batpony whose face was set in a concerned frown. He didn't say anything and watched as they reached a hoof out and placed it to his forehead.
"Tch. Luna's full Moon, you're burning up like you've got jungle fever. You feeling ok?"
"N-Not… Really, no." Pitch responded in a shaky voice, his head still spinning. He just focused on not looking up at the angry sun.
"Shit… You probably need some rest… Alright, how 'bout this. You get some shut eye and I'll wake you up before relief, alright? Maybe make you feel a little better."
Pitch wanted to protest. He was an honest pony after all and he tried to be a good soldier. What soldier gave in just because he was hot? But something deep in his brain screamed at him to rest and it wouldn't take no for an answer. So, he nodded and slumped over, letting his weight be held up by the side of the foxhole. He closed his eyes and listened as Spark stood up and climbed out.
"Sleep well Pitch. I'll be back in a few hours. Hey, don't you worry, you'll be ok. We need you in shape to burn out whatever bugs the air force didn't get tonight."
He nodded again and heard the crunch of snow as the batpony walked away, before there was a pause and the hoofsteps drew closer again. Something fell over him
"Here. Put your coat back on. Too damn cold to be without it."
He nodded again and waited for Spark to leave. Once the batpony was gone, he threw the coat off of himself and slowly fell face first into the hard dirt. With a quiet groan, he rolled over and stared up at the sky. If he hadn't known better, he might of thought it was dawn with how the sky roiled in angry red and reflected that sickly orange glow. He closed his eyes again, but it didn't go away. He tossed and squirmed for a while, still unnaturally warm before his body got too tired and finally relaxed. He couldn't hear the crackling anymore, the orange sky disappeared into an inky oblivion, the cold ground soothed him and the wind washed over him again. The quiet nothingness was relaxing.
At some point, he found himself gently floating on that river again, staring up at the endless night sky.
Would anything survive? Would anything sprout there again? Would it just be more desolate than before? Would the fire scare away all the monsters? Would they find any resistance? Would the Changelings hate them even more now?
Why did he care so much? It was just another bombed city. Vanhoover, Seaddle, Vaverfront, Acornage, Tall Trees. He'd seen all of them destroyed and burned, what was different now? Had he not been that fiery, angry sun himself? Had he not gleefully watched as flames ate everything? What was different now?
That sun, that was what. That damn sun that his mind had turned the fire into. The one that had risen in the west, the one that scared him. The one brought not by a caring, benevolent, merciful being but brought by hate and fear and anger. That red sun, that was war itself. All its destruction, all its cold difference and warm blood. He wanted away from it. So impossibly far away from it. Somewhere it would never scorch the land or burn him or turn him to ash. Somewhere where only the gentle rays of Celestia's sun shone down and he could reach out and feel safe with the sun in his hooves.
Home… He wanted to go home. He still had a home.
