Pony Tankers

They finally returned to the camp in the evening, as the sun was setting. Turnip got a curious look from the sentry on duty, but she didn’t care. They tromped into a subdued atmosphere, even more sullen and tense than before, and Corporal Dusty went to deliver his report.

Dusty, Strongheart, and Jerky, although Turnip greeted him as ‘Beef’ like he asked, found them late that afternoon. Dusty had marched up at the head of the trio, looking fit to chew Turnip out for getting lost and making him leave one of his squad behind, but when he saw Turnip and her new and larger collection of bruises and bandages, he relented and told the two of them the news instead.

And what news it was! Dusty said they had been able to avoid Crystal Empire patrols and make contact with the new Equestrian front line, which wasn’t actually very far away at all. They had retreated across a river behind the old headquarters during the attack, across an old bridge over a narrow and steep channel. Oddly, while the Equestrian forces were holding it just fine, they also didn’t seem to really be under attack, beyond the daily skirmishes with small parties of Empire troops. Turnip listened closely to his description of the day’s journey. Then he finished, and it was her turn to swap stories.

She left out what she couldn’t remember, but they could guess, as she did, by the dried blood crusting her hooves and shovel. Beef suggested finding the body, and since his was the darkest coat, they pushed him up into a tree for a better look, but he never saw anything, and nopony was about to wander into the grass to try and find it. After that, they all made the several-hour journey back together.

“Thanks fer the ride, Shortcake,” Turnip said, as they entered the camp proper. “I really ‘preciate it.”

“Oh, no problem, Turnip,” Shortcake said, crouching low to the ground to allow Turnip to climb off her back. “And you can call me Strawberry, if you want.”

Turnip chuckled weakly. “I’ve been somethin’ of a dead weight lately, huh?”

“Don’t say that,” Strawberry said lightly, flicking Turnip with her tail. “Thanks to you, there’s one less enemy soldier for us to fight.”

“Yeah…” Turnip agreed noncommittally. She turned away. She was glad she couldn’t remember what exactly she did to that mare.

“Yeah…” Strawberry echoed, sensing the change in mood. She awkwardly cleared her throat and looked around. “Who’s that over there?”

Minty and Supercharger were making their way over, jockeying to get ahead of the other while still keeping to a walking pace. Thrash moved languorously towards her from a different direction. Summer was making her way over, too, flanked by Cashmere, at a much more leisurely pace. Turnip sighed.

“My crew.”

Minty reached her first. “You’re back,” she observed simply.

Supercharger was less restrained. “You’re alive! We were so worried about you!”

Turnip leveled a lidded look at the pony. It seemed to her that insincerity dripped from every word Supercharger said. She only wished she knew why.

“And just where did you go all day, anyway?” Minty asked crossly, frowning as she noticed Turnip’s splinted muzzle. “I saw you dash off to the weapon stockpile in quite a hurry.”

“Yeah, where did you go, the enlisted mess?” Supercharger cut in, stepping in front of Minty.

“Give her space,” Minty ordered, putting out a forehoof to guide the grey pony back alongside her.

Turnip tried to draw a deep breath through her nose, found it blocked, and snorted out a clot of blood to one side. The offending lump landed near an enlisted infantrypony, who gave her a dirty look. “I went out,” she began tiredly. “On a recon patrol. This here pony,” and she nodded at Strawberry, who was just turning to walk away, “Can tell ya’all ‘bout it.”

Strawberry stopped where she was and turned around, giving Turnip an annoyed look at being put on the spot.

“Reconnaissance? I hope you aren’t reconsidering your place in the army, Enlisted Sprout.”

Summer trotted up. Minty and Supercharger duly moved aside, although they were already doing so in the pursuit of answers from Strawberry.

Turnip said, “Evening, sergeant,” and saluted loosely. She shook her head despite the twinge of pain. “I haven’t, sergeant.”

She ignored Cashmere, standing quietly beside the sergeant. There would be time to confront her properly in a moment.

Summer chuckled lightly. Was she… in a good mood? “It’s good to hear that, Enlisted Sprout.” She put a hoof familiarly on Turnip’s shoulder. “I do believe I have some news I think you will like.”

Supercharger looked over and her eyes darted to the approaching Thrash, suddenly seeming very anxious.

“Yes, sergeant,” Turnip agreed, keeping a neutral tone and expression.

“Enlisted Sprout, I have decided to restore your rank of loader within my crew. That is, of course,” Summer said, with a conspiratorial look at a confused Strawberry, “If you accept the offer.”

Turnip was also confused. Summer had been practically dead on her hooves last she’d seen her, and now here she was energetic, getting unusually familiar, for a unicorn, and giving her a choice? Well, at least it was a relief to finally know she wasn’t stuck fighting with the infantry…

“I’d be… I mean, of course I do, sergeant,” she managed.

Summer put out a hoof. Turnip hesitantly shook it.

“Wait! But, Thrash, the coaxial!” Supercharger protested despairingly, appearing beside them. Thrash, who had just walked up to the group, silently blanched.

Summer slowly turned towards the pony with an air of magnanimity, a proud little smile on her lips. “At ease, corporal. Enlisted Metal is hereby demoted… to assistant loader. His primary duty shall be the secondary gun we so rely upon.” She looked at all of them. “Any objections?”

Nopony had any. The unicorn clearly thought she had worked out the perfect compromise. Supercharger looked relieved; Minty looked like she wanted to say something, but she held her tongue. Turnip kept her own reservations to herself. How much room did Summer think there was to work next to the gun? Not enough for two ponies, that was for sure. If she said anything, though, Summer might rethink that ‘stroke of genius’ of hers and decide Turnip wasn’t in after all.

“Splendid! Get acquainted, you lot, I’d best go see what the other commanders got up to while I slumbered.”

Summer gave a brief nod to Turnip and left them. The crew looked at each other uncertainly. Now what?

Minty sucked in a breath. “Well,” she said, “Turnip, you’ve met Thrash, Thrash, you’ve met Turnip. I think we all know each other now.”

“Yeah…” Supercharger agreed, looking suspiciously between Turnip and Thrash.

Turnip closed her eye. “Yer right.” She opened it again and jabbed a hoof at Cashmere. “But you an’ I got unfinished business.”

Cashmere looked to either side, and, seeing nopony there, pointed at herself. “M-me?”

“Yeah, you.” Turnip limped over and reached up and threw her wounded foreleg up over Cashmere’s pink withers and began leading the unresisting but confused mare towards the tanks. “Just a li’l thing, just the two of us, we urgently need to have a li’l discussion on.”

Turnip flashed what she hoped looked like a reassuring smile towards Minty, who frowned and narrowed her eyes. Maybe the muzzle splint made it come off wrong?

Once they had reached the tanks, Turnip checked behind her. Minty was asking Strawberry questions, but keeping an eye in their direction. Supercharger had sidled close to Thrash and was pretending like she wasn’t. Strawberry shot a glare at Turnip over Minty’s shoulder, and Turnip shrugged and grinned apologetically.

She ducked back and pushed the other mare with her. Once out of sight behind Summer’s tank, Turnip roughly shoved Cashmere against the tubular exhaust drum and stepped back. She grinned wolfishly.

“Didja think I wouldn’t notice what ya were?”

Cashmere’s face had gone from confused to confused and afraid. “H-how’d you find out?”

Turnip flipped a hoof with exaggerated casualness and scoffed. “Yer cousin Corduroy told me.” It was a guess, but it was a fair one; what would the odds Turnip had just happened to run into her former crewmate’s brother? No, he must surely be a slightly more distant relation.

And the guess struck home. Cashmere paled and her knees started shaking. “W-what’d ya do ta cousin Corduroy?” she asked. There was the accent she’d been doing so well at hiding.

Turnip’s grin got wider, and a feeling of uneasiness roiled in her gut as the thought of what she was doing struck home. “The same thing I’m fixin’ to do to you. Hold still.”

Cashmere started shaking like a leaf. “W-what?” she said, but she sounded like she already had an idea in mind. Turnip tried to swallow down the feeling of shame of using her f… enemy Corduroy’s name in this way, but it wasn’t quite enough to make her stop. Cashmere reached a conclusion. “HEL-”

The pink mare was cut off by a pair of hooves driving into her chest, knocking the air out of her and slamming her back into the exhaust again. She rebounded only to be caught by an uppercut to her jaw that sent her reeling again.

Turnip started to feel kind of bad as she battered the pink pony to one side and fetched a knee, or rather a bent wrist joint, into her gut. “Sorry, kid. Clan rules,” she muttered. Maybe she should be angry. She certainly felt like she should be, but Cashmere never even tried to defend herself. How could you get mad at somepony who wasn’t even trying to hit back? Turnip’s heart just wasn’t in it, and as a result, her hooves weren’t either.

It was just as well, then, that Minty arrived unexpectedly to pound Turnip hard in the chest with both forehooves. It wasn’t even a particularly hard strike – more of an aggressive shove, really – but it sent Turnip back reeling, gasping for breath, as a piercing lance of pain radiated through her barrel.

She held a crooked foreleg over her chest where Minty had struck and backed off a few steps further with a crabbed three-legged skitter. Right, Strawberry had mentioned something about cracked ribs. Ow.

“Turnip, what in Celestia’s green pastures is the meaning of this?” Minty asked, a hard edge of rage coloring her voice that Turnip hadn’t ever heard from her before in their admittedly brief time together.

Turnip breathed hard, wincing at the pain in her chest. Now that Minty was here, she was once again painfully conscious of how tired she was. Why had she gone and done this completely foolish thing, again? Oh, right. “Clan rules,” she answered simply.

“Clan rules? Clan rules?” Minty sputtered, marching up and looming over Turnip. “You dumb hick, we’re at war! Look around you! At our situation here!” She gestured around them. “You’re practically dead on your hooves, and you start picking fights with a crewmate because of some stupid… clan rules!”

She raised a hoof as if to strike. Turnip scowled and pinned her ears back, but kept eye contact. Shame burned in her aching chest. “Go ahead. Hit me. I deserve it,” she challenged the forest-green mare. Celestia knew she’d already been beaten up plenty today, so what was one more hit?

Minty met her gaze for a long second, then slammed her hoof down in front of her. “AAARGH! I can’t!” she suddenly cried aloud in frustration and threw her forehooves in the air. “Nightmare take you, Turnip. Nightmare take you right down to Tartarus, because that’s where you belong,” she said bitterly. “Listen. This isn’t over.”

Minty turned back and helped Cashmere get to her hooves again. A little dribble of blood ran down the front of Cashmere’s muzzle, and she wiped at it with a fetlock and sniffled. The look she gave Turnip was… sad. She sniffled again and looked down.

“There’s going to be action soon,” Minty continued, patting Cashmere on the back gently. The hard edge hadn’t left her voice. “Very soon. And we’re going to need you in the best possible condition. A condition which you weren’t in after getting away from headquarters, and which you’ve now ruined some more with your selfish antics today. Why couldn’t you have just stayed nice and safe and bored like the rest of us?”

Turnip shrugged warily. She knew mentioning whatever was going on between Minty and Supercharger wouldn’t excuse her in the slightest.

“So I won’t hit you. I can’t.” Minty stroked Cashmere’s mane protectively, almost exactly like a fussing mother. Cashmere looked very much like she wanted Minty to stop and go away, but she didn’t say anything. “Yet.”

Turnip stirred and thought about the apology she owed Strawberry. “Ya could have jest left it at ‘there’s gonna be some action’ or whatever.”

Minty heaved a deep sigh and put all four of her hooves on the ground. Cashmere sidled away with a slightly relieved expression, and Minty didn’t seem to notice. “Did you happen to find any cigarettes on whoever it was you killed out there?”

“Um…” Turnip scratched at her muzzle nervously, getting a sharp twinge of nasal pain for her trouble. How was she going to explain that she had been too shaken up to even think about searching the body? “…She didn’t smoke?”

“Hay, I’d even take chew,” Minty said wearily, as if Turnip hadn’t said anything. She gave both country ponies a tired glance. “Oh, well. Stow whatever you want to take with you on the tank while you have the chance. And don’t kill each other.”

She turned and stumped away, looking sharply around the camp for something, and left Turnip and Cashmere eyeing each other warily. Cashmere wiped at the streak of blood on her muzzle again but made no attempt to leave. After a moment, Turnip took the initiative and walked up to the pink mare.

“Go ahead, hit me.” She prodded herself on the chest meaningfully.

Cashmere hesitantly raised a dirty pink-shod forehoof and gave her a poke.

Turnip rose up on her hind legs and spat. The glob of spittle landed on the other pony’s coat. She waved her forehooves threateningly. “What the hay was that? Go on, hit me!” she demanded.

Cashmere took a deep breath, reared up on her own hind legs, and shoved both forehooves at Turnip’s chest with a tiny little grunt. On contact, Turnip instantly went down, again.

After a long moment spent heaving like a beached fish, Turnip managed to recover and climb painfully to her hooves again. “That’s…” she wheezed, struggling to breathe through the excruciating pain in her chest, “Good enough.” Those ribs could not heal fast enough. She summoned enough breath to spit on her hoof and hold it out for Cashmere to shake. “Clan rules satisfied?”

Cashmere considered her for a long moment, her watery, sky-blue eyes scanning Turnip’s bandaged face for any sign of treachery. She wiped her muzzle again and put on a wan little smile and spat on her hoof. “Clan rules satisfied,” she agreed, shaking the offered hoof.

Turnip didn’t think she would ever get used to how soft this pony’s voice was.

Turnip had just let go of Cashmere’s hoof and was starting to wonder if there was a chance she could catch some sleep when a bellowing voice from the center of the camp answered that question for her.

“EVERYPONY LISTEN UP!”

Turnip followed Cashmere around the tank and saw the rumpled tan unicorn in an officer’s uniform standing in the center of their encampment, outside the brass tent. What was the Major’s name again? Right, Grapevine. At this distance and with the gathering dusk it was only barely possible to spot the thicker silver trim on his cap and shoulder boards.

The unicorn glared around him. When it was clear all eyes were on him, he continued in the same deep bellowing voice. Turnip noticed his horn glowing pale green; no wonder he was able to keep up the volume. “PONIES! IT’S BEEN A HARD FEW DAYS!”

Murmurs of assent were heard, a few surprisingly close by. Turnip only hawked and spat.

“NO FOOD! NO BULLETS! NO WARMTH! NO MEDICINE!” he continued. “SCAVENGING FROM THE HATED ENEMY! HIDING FROM THEIR FLYING MACHINES!”

He paused for significant effect, turning in a circle to look at everypony near him.

“YES, IT’S BEEN HARD. BUT TAKE HEART, PONIES! FOR I HAVE GOOD NEWS!”

He stressed the last part with a stomp for each word.

“GRAB YOUR RIFLE! EAT YOUR FILL! THIS TIME TOMORROW, WE’LL ALL EITHER BE EATING DAISIES IN A HEATED BARRACKS, OR PUSHING THEM UP ON A COLD FIELD!”

An uproarious cheer erupted from the tired infantryponies around him. Turnip and Cashmere joined in, and so did the few other ponies lurking around the tanks. That she had expected something like this to happen made the energy of the unit no less infectious.

“YES, THAT’S RIGHT, PONIES! WE’RE BREAKING FOR EQUESTRIAN LINES TONIGHT! RIGHT NOW! NO MORE WAITING! NO MORE GUESSING!”

The Major pumped a hoof in the air triumphantly and looked around him. The cheering got louder, if that was possible.

“YOUR OFFICERS HAVE THEIR INSTRUCTIONS! THEY WILL PASS THESE ON TO YOU! I’M COUNTING ON EVERYPONY, AND I MEAN EACH AND EVERY ONE OF YOU, TO DO THEIR PART TO ENSURE THE SUCCESS OF THIS OPERATION!”

He paused again, then, with a note of finality, shouted, “CELESTIA BE WITH US!”

The soldiers roared harder. Turnip roared harder, though it made the back of her throat hurt. Privately, she felt it might be more appropriate to invoke the princess of the night for success, since it was nearly night now, but who cared about Luna, anyways? And she was the field marshal in charge, anyway, so perhaps this mess they were in was all her fault.

A bout of hard coughing next to her brought Turnip back to herself. It was Cashmere, bent over nearly on her knees as the coughs shook her barrel. Turnip hesitated, torn – just because they had agreed to let go of that minor thing a few minutes ago didn’t make them friends – then patted Cashmere’s back heavily. When she looked back up in the Major’s direction, he was gone, and the camp had exploded into activity in his absence.

“Ya alright there?” Turnip asked, once Cashmere had managed to get herself under control and stand up straight again.

“Sorry,” the pony replied hoarsely. “Yelling.”

Turnip coughed and cleared her throat. “Sure thing. Looks like it’s time to climb aboard.” She nodded at the tired light-green-coated unicorn picking her way towards them.

“Get in,” came a muffled hiss from behind them. Turnip turned; it was Minty, pulling Supercharger by her ear. Thrash, standing next to the pair, gave a toothy grin and waggled his eyebrows suggestively at Turnip, as if he’d just said a knowingly bad joke. Minty spat out Supercharger’s ear and nudged the grey pony forward with a hindleg and began addressing her.

“Now, you listen here, and you listen good. I specifically said…” Minty began, but Turnip flicked her ears forward and tuned out the rest of it, focusing instead on climbing her aching way up the track and onto the engine deck. From there, she stepped up to the open commander’s hatch and paused. Summer had reached them.

“Excuse me, Corporal Twist, but have we enough fuel to make it to…” she began, lighting her horn to pull out a local map. Minty and Supercharger both turned to face her, both scowling. “…Here, from here?” she continued, pointing with a forehoof at the floating map.

“Just enough left,” Supercharger volunteered, stepping away from Minty and straightening up. “If we go straight there.”

“I… see,” Summer said, rolling the map back up. “Very well,” she went on, her face hardening with sudden resolve. “Corporal Supercharger, get us moving. Enlisted Sprout and Metal, you’re sharing a station. Enlisted Cashmere, Corporal Twist, climb aboard and carry on. I suppose the details of the plan aren’t exactly secret, so… we’re in the vanguard. Ours is the duty to open the way and hold off any enemy counterattacks while the wounded are taken through on the trucks.”

Summer reached up and pulled her hat off with a forehoof, carefully pulling it up and off her horn. Behind her, one of the other tanks’ engines chugged to life. “I realize I haven’t been the most transparent with you lot…” Minty’s mouth hardened in a thin line at that. “But I felt you should know. There’s a very real chance we may not return from this mission. An even higher one we’ll have to ditch the tank, if what Corporal Supercharger says is true. I just wanted to tell you all that if the worst should happen, well… Princess Celestia, Equestria, and most of all, B Company of the 67th hoof, thank us dearly for our sacrifice.”

Another engine started, on the other side of the tank this time. Summer cleared her throat self-consciously and set her hat back on her head. “And I expect we should be going, then.”

At the second speech in such a short time, Minty snorted and rolled her eyes. Supercharger frowned, shot an anxious look at Thrash, and went to retrieve the crankshaft from its retaining strap. Cashmere ducked her head and disappeared inside the radio operator’s hatch. Turnip met the eyes of her new co-loader, spat, and turned away. And that was all.