Where Fear and Friendship Meet
In spite of how violent warfare turned out to be, many sought comfort in a hopefully quick, relatively painless death. After all, if they were to die, why not die quickly and easily? It made sense too, they charged head-first into a violent storm of steel and wire, and in return, they got laid to rest peacefully.
But alas, Death plays no sides. Death is blind yet unequal. Death need not care for the sins or blessings, and in a time of war, Death need not care.
Wrapped in Barbed Wire
By MlpHero
The endless rain poured over the vast Western Fields, a land barren, with only rocks and stone for miles and miles. Not many lived too far out here, save for a few rock farms and mining families. But aside from that, it wasn’t worth living out here, even for the rare chance to strike rare jewels or precious metals. Hell, to the common pony, the Western Fields were just a small blip on the map, barely worth anyone’s time of day.
But in the midst of the Changeling-Pony War, any ground to be in Equestrian hooves was wanted and needed. It was the first war they’d been in for about a century, back when their bolt-throwers were simple breech-loaders, and since then, they’d been using similar tactics. Stand in a column and fire volleys. But now, they were forced to adapt to trenches and wire. Soldiers were forced to learn how to swing clubs and spades and make do with what they had. For the ones behind the front, they were quick to adapt and change tactics.
As for the soldiers, not much had changed.
~~~
Winter sat along the stony walls of the Equestrian trench, clutching his longthrower closely. He was on the shorter side, but still had a good amount of fight in him. He was white in color but had a dark red mane, with matching eyes.
He fidgeted and twitched, his uniform tight around his body. The standard was still their signature gold, but underneath they wore cotton uniforms. Winter hated the uniform personally. It was far too heavy, especially since they had other equipment to carry. But still, whoever was in charge insisted on keeping the gold helmets and chestplates. Of course, it would be different if they were down here with the soldiers, but alas, no one’s complaining about protection.
Today marked his third day on the Western Front. Three days trapped in ‘The Hornets Nest,’ as they called it. The changelings and hippogriffs had been attempting to break through for a while now. But alas, they were still trapped in a stalemate. And it looked like it would stay that way for a while, especially since with each passing day, the Equestrians were sending in new volunteers. Then again, it’s not like many of them helped in any meaningful way. Not that Winter had much room to talk, having been part of the reinforcements himself. But what set him apart from the other reinforcements was the fact he’d survived. Sitting in the trench, he was ready to carve a fourth mark into the rock walls.
Despite his confidence, he kept his head low, lest he be shot by a rogue sniper or auto-thrower. He stood, feeling his bones crackle and pop in relief. He took a breath, beginning to carefully move down the trench, gripping his longthrower closely. His head occasionally darted and snapped around, paranoid that a stray shell might fall into the trench.
But alas, nothing befell him.
He wasn’t exactly sure where he was running. He just occasionally moved between the trenches. It kept his nerves in check and calmed his paranoia. Maybe it was just his muscles needing to move around though. He soon found himself by the cook tent. He sighed, sitting against the wall.
The rain began to pour. Never a good sign.
Sure enough, just as he sat down, he heard shouting from a few meters left. He groaned, standing and straightening out his posture. Soon, an officer came by, turning to him. “Get ready to charge in five,” he said calmly, patting Winter’s shoulder, before continuing down the line.
Winter sighed, running over to join a few other ponies. He huddled close to the group, watching as they unsheathed their bayonets, attaching them to their longthrowers. He didn’t attach his bayonet, mostly out of fear he’d trip and impale himself. He sighed, before planting himself into the ground. He began to breathe rapidly, wincing through his teeth. Come on you bastards… Just do it… he cursed in his mind, his heart beating down on his chest.
Then it happened. A high-pitched sound ricocheted through the trench walls, causing the soldiers to start their ascent.
Winter grabbed a rock off the ground, before carefully climbing over the trench. Above the walls, there it was. Western Equestria. An endless rock field with seemingly no value at all. But they were here for some ungoddessly reason.
Winter moved carefully, to not trip over the spike rocks. His eyes faced forward, waiting for the bolts to fly. And then, they did.
Sounding like a thousand hornets, the steel rain began to tear through the field. Winter dove to the ground, nearly impaling himself on the jagged ground. He winced but continued to crawl, his golden armor making an awful screech as he dragged himself. He looked around, watching as his allies were brought to the ground by the hail of steel. He crawled towards a large boulder, resting against it.
He sighed, taking the opportunity to rest. He looked around again, watching as another soldier ran past. He looked panicked, seeking shelter from the violence. Then, a quick snap came, and the soldier tripped to the ground. Winter winced, before turning away. He sighed, pressing up against the boulder, his breathing as quick as the automatic fire. He steadied himself, before raising on his hind legs. Chambering a bolt into his longthrower. He aimed down the crude sights, his hooves shaking. He squeezed the trigger, feeling a kick. A blue flash of light and a loud pop rang out, causing the automatic bolt-throwers to swing in his direction. He quickly ducked behind the boulder, bits of rock and dust kicking up as the automatic fire pinned him down. He slouched against the wall, catching his breath. The automatics soon swung away, allowing him to rest and rack his longthrower. As he calmed himself, he suddenly heard a frill, almost guttural shriek. He turned back to the pony who’d been shot. He was writhing on the ground, crying out for help.
Winter gritted his teeth, watching the pony shriek and flail. He could run out and try to help, but at the same time, he wanted to go home alive. After a while, he yelled out and ran toward the pony. Galloping towards his comrade, he prepared to grab the pony. As he inched closer, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye. A lime-green light came from the changeling trench. Winter’s eyes widened, just as the light suddenly transformed into a beam that blinked across the field. Before Winter’s mind could even comprehend the shot, there was a loud but cut-off crash before everything went dark.
~~~
A thousand lights spun in the sky, dancing and moving along the darkened realm. Winter’s eyes trudged open, feeling stuck together. He let his eyes adjust, wary of the spinning sky. After a while of letting his mind catch up with his body. He tried to move his legs, only for a sharp, stinging pain to shoot through his body. He flinched, causing more pain to run through his body.
With each twitch, he felt something cold wrap around his body, like frozen snakes coiling around his every bit of body. He wanted to stop moving, but the pain kept causing him to flinch and jump. His eyes snapped around, trying to catch whatever was trying to hold him down.
As he flailed, he heard the sound of metal rattling, like tin cans and chains bouncing against each other in a box. A dark part of his mind compared it to cymbals crashing, or maybe the sound of a metal fence.
The pain got worse. He began screaming and howling out, begging, pleading, praying for the pain to stop. With each twitch and flinch, he felt a prick or singe against his body. He heard the screech of his metal armor scratching against metal. He fought for a little while longer, before he simply couldn’t anymore. And now, he just lay there.
His body soon ran warm with a heavy liquid. At first, he’d assumed it was water. No… too heavy for water…
It was only when it ran down his face and into his mouth did he realize. Metallic taste… I’m bleeding…
His vision focused and unfocused, the lights in the skies dancing and twirling. As he looked around, he noticed the gleams of metal a bit above him. His breathing quickened, and he tried to flail again. As he thrashed and snapped, he suddenly felt a bit lighter. He felt his armor come loose, before sliding off. With some effort, he was able to turn his head downwards, just able to watch his armor crumble down into the pit, the sound of the metal scrapping and banging against metal. There was suddenly a loud crack, right next to his ear, causing Winter to jump, and the pained cycle started again. He began screaming as he pulled and yanked again and again, trying to. He then tried to flip over.
As he thrashed left and right, he felt a sharp pain burn deep into his stomach. Everything suddenly went still and cold. His vision began to blur further, blinding him. He was able to look around, just enough to see a detached bayonet. He couldn’t help but crack a smile.
Son of a bitch…
~~~
“Watch that pit.”
A patrol of six changelings crawled along the rough terrain of the Western Deadzone. Carefully, they tread along the rocks, avoiding pits and line-of-sights. The leader, Kaptian Foresight, guided his patrol through the remnants of the earlier charge. The five changelings behind him were named Baxter, Lyce, Curvature, Kater, and Syx
Foresight stopped, signaling to the others to halt.
“Hold up… there’s a pony up here…”
“Patrol, sir?” Lyce, asked, drawing her knife.
“No… Injured, probably from this morning…” Foresight replied, aiming his sidehoof up. He squinted, looking at the pony’s silhouette amongst the rocks. He was breathing, and could still pose a threat. He took a breath, turning back to the others. “Alright, you five hang here. I’ll see about this pony.
“Aye, Kaptian,” Baxter, replied, his voice shaking.
Foresight began to crawl over to the pony, careful to not alert the pony. He held his breath, finally inching closer to the soldier. The moonlight soon hung above the still pony, revealing him to Foresight, whose eyes crept open, shocked at his state. The pony was missing his hind legs, and the wound was cauterized. Foresight winced, before continuing his crawl.
Eventually, he reached the pony. He took a breath, before covering the pony’s mouth, causing him to wake. He thrashed in fear, attempting to fight and scream. Foresight desperately shook his head.
“No no, shut up! Hey, shut up!” he whispered, putting a hoof to his mouth. The pony began to calm down, going still. Foresight nodded, slowly removing his hoof. “They hear us, they kill us…” he murmured, pointing over to the equine lines. The injured pony nodded.
Foresight reached into his saddle, pulling out his canteen. He raised it, giving it to the pony. “Drink… water,” he lined it against the pony’s lips, letting him drink. After a while, the pony returned the canteen and nodded.
“T-Thank you…” he replied.
“Of course… Here, lemme move you somewhere closer to your line…”
The pony again, nodded. Foresight turned to his patrol. “Hey! I’m dragging him to a patrol… y’all stay here, I’ll be back.”
The group replied with “aye,” before watching Foresight carry the pony off to the opposing line.
Baxter pulled himself over to the pit. He peered down, careful not to fall into the pit, lest there be pesticides or wire at the bottom. However, there was something else that caught his eye.
“Oh fuck, y’all look at this…”
The other bugs crawled over to meet Baxter, peering down into the pit. There, they saw a white pony, entangled by barbed wire. Curvature choked, trying to not throw up. “Ugh… poor fella…” he said, adjusting his glasses. “Hope he ain’t suffer long.” He sighed, peering in. “Oh Tartarus, look at that…” he pointed down into the pit, to which the others watched. To their horror, they realized the damage was more severe than they’d initially realized.
“Wires gutted’em like a fish…” Kater murmured, shuddering. Unlike Curvature, she couldn’t hold in her disgust. She crawled away, heading over to a nearby crater to vomit.
Lyce shook her head, before turning back to the pit. “Y-You think they’re still… y’know?” Lyce asked.
“In that state? No way… death ain’t that cruel… is she?” Syx asked.
“Let’s hope not…” Curvature added, shuddering. “Let’s uh… let’s leave…”
The group didn’t argue. But Syx stayed for a bit, just to pray over the fallen pony.
“Queen Cocoon, Goddess o’er the Hive, sister of Queen Chrysalis, watch over this fallen enemy. He does not deserve to suffer, not as he has suffered in death. May you and the other Gods and Goddesses welcome him with open wings, and grant him passage into Elysium. We thank you, our beloved Cocoon.”
Syx took a breath, opening his eyes. Though a bit scared, he allowed himself to be at peace. He unclipped his canteen, shaking it. At the sound of the sloshing water, he screwed the top, taking a drink for himself. He then tossed the canteen into the bit of wire, by the fallen pony. He could always find an extra canteen, there surely was no shortage here.
Syx sighed, before crawling back to the group, leaving the pit and the pony to rest.
