As a young nymph, I admired everything our army stood for. Honor, valor, pride, all of it was important to a changeling. Before I hatched, I’d been adopted by an elderly changeling, an old veteran. He was tough as iron, took no shit, and expected me to do better than any other nymph in the Academy. He taught me to shoot and load a bolt-thrower before the instructors had even brought them up.
He was a bastard. But I loved the old bug.
Some time after the seventeenth anniversary of my hatchday, a war had broken out. I wasn’t sure who had dared to try our hooves, but I remember the words of war we sang, the eagerness we had.
My papa said, “son, the Queen, she needs you. Go join the grand army in a crucial breakthrough.”
Coward
I had spent but a day in the trenches along Forever Field. We were cheering, singing songs, and getting drunk, anything to pass the time really. My broodmate, some older bug named Faie, wouldn't stop talking about some ‘ling she was gonna see after the War. We doubted her, of course; friendly teasing. She didn’t care none though, mocking us for being pure. I don’t remember much of what she called us, but… I don’t remember a lot to be honest with you.
The trenches, though… They were quiet, almost cozy, I guess. The Termites, these ‘lings who loved to dig and stuff, had dug these ditches wide enough for us to flow through relatively smoothly, while we helped the Leafcutters, the bugs who know what the Hel they were doing, decorate them with beautiful wood walls. Then we’d hung lanterns, pictures, and signs along the walls, carving our names into the logs we’d spent so long stacking. The polished wooden floors thumped beautifully as our boots beat against them.
In the distance, I could hear the drums of artillery beating down. They weren’t aimed at us, thank Goddess, but even from so far I could feel the shockwaves rattle my bones. I wasn’t scared though, never. I feel the anticipation made me antsy, wanting to charge head first into battle. The things that raced through my mind—honor, valor, pride—all felt like achievements so far out of reach where I stood. War was just a few miles away, and here I was, getting drunk with a bunch of damn idiots.
I suppose I felt special, more important than everyone. That I was the one destined to end this war. That I would have a shiny piece of metal or silk cloth strip pinned to my uniform. I suppose in the end, I did though.
I don’t remember much of how it happened, but one day we were being pulled out of her comfy trench, being funneled through to the forward trench. Somehow, those feelings of invincibility, those brave ideals felt washed down. Like, they’d been flushed down our throats by a wave of water. The skies went a horrible grey and the artillery drums beat down so close, I felt my insides quake with each step we took. Then, one came close. Not so, but that whistle… that goddess forsaken whistle sent us the ground. The officer looked at us, his mouth hurling profanities I hadn’t ever heard in my life. I felt someone grab me, some other officer. They yanked me by my uniform’s collar, throwing me to my hooves. If I didn’t hear it the first time, I heard it when this second officer screamed in my face about wasting valuable time; I wasn’t the only one.
When we got to the frontline trench, I could swear the air felt poisoned. Their walls were tighter, more wrecked than the rear. The wood was dead, near soggy, the floor had this awful, spongy feel, with awful creaking and squelching. I watched as one of us stepped ahead, the wood giving way and their boot getting stuck in the mud. And the vets? They just laughed.
Something about them, the veterans I mean. Their eyes were… stiff, almost empty. They’re chitins where slowly cracking, some wings mangled beyond repair. Some had these… wooden limbs in place of their real ones. The part that scared me most though… their souls felt all wrong. I could feel it; tired, bloodthirsty killers with souls cracking like the wood under our hooves. They felt like corpses with souls barely pulling strings. Ghosts of what were our brothers and sisters.
I was there for maybe five hours. I had sat quietly in front of two older looking bugs, watching as they passed a cigarette to each other. One of them then turned to me, extending the cigarette to me. I tried to refuse, but they told me, “you only live once kid, better try it now.” And… I caved. It damn near burned my lungs. They laughed at me, taking the cigarette back. Told me not to worry, everyone starts somewhere. Looking back on it… I feel like they know what they meant.
The fifth hour of my stay had stuck, and I heard it. A whistle. “Time to go!” one of the cigarette bugs stated, standing up with his longthrower, his friend following suit. I followed them as they marched boldly down the line. As we lined up, I watched an officer mow down, barking loudly. He then approached me, probably having seen my uniform. The officer told me, “forward, don’t come back.” Then, we were pushed. Going over the top felt… strange, almost cathartic. The sights of the lingering dead, the smells of goddess knows what… I felt free but scared. As I ran, I watched as my friends led the charge ahead of me.
Then the shooting began. Like someone had flipped a switch, the automatics began firing. Burning steel bolts soar at us, sending some of us the ground. It wasn’t like the books I’d read. There was no dramatic kick or flail… It felt more like someone cutting a puppet’s strings. They just… stopped moving. Like if you stood a bean bag doll up, then let it go. In the chaos, I found myself disoriented. I’d fallen down, and when I looked up, I saw bugs in both directions. The yelling and screaming were the worst part. Everything was so loud. The only thing I knew for sure; In the Deadzone’s muck, I’m lost and stuck.
As I stood, I tried to catch myself. I fell again, my clean uniform dirting with each movement I made. I pulled myself towards a small lump in the dirt, resting on it. I turned to let forward. There, I saw a young Ryadovoy with his guts spilling out. I’d never seen such horror before, and yet just a few days ago, I wished to die like this. His face, his anguish, it was all so awful, I questioned how, no, why the Gods allow this to happen to someone. His eyes bore terror, with fear about. As I turned, I grabbed my longthrower from the ground, clutching it closely. My eyes began to drift again, and I watched my Serzhant shield a young colt. They both were shredded by automatic bolts.
I sat there for a bit. My mind couldn’t comprehend any of it. I didn’t know what to think, what to feel. My breath was ragged, hanging by a thread. I was trembling, trying to keep my head together mostly. My eyes caught the sight of my fellow bugs running toward the enemy. I felt… compelled I guess, to follow them.
As I ran through this hellish field with not of a friend, the horrors and violence never seem to end. Then I felt my body lock as a sudden wave of fear washed over me. The whistles of artillery and the roar of the bolt-throwers began to weigh on me. Felt like I was carrying the weight of a thousand moons. My lungs collapsed, my throat tightened, everything became a daze. I dropped my equipment and turned to flee.
I don’t know how long I was running. Just… anywhere that wasn’t there. As I cleared the Deadzone’s mud, I found grass. Real grass. I had never seen it before. It was strange to say the least… It itched. It was pokey yet flexible. I kinda liked it. It kept walking tiredly, looking around for a resting place. Near Baltimare city, hid under a tree. When some Equestrians stumbled upon me. I was slightly excited. I raised my hooves, attempting to surrender. But when they saw me, their eyes didn’t reflect my sympathies. I felt my heart sink into my throat as I tried to, but one of them shouted at me; then the rest began their own shouting. I flinched, leaning against the tree. They called me a bastard, a coward, a rat. I tried to defend myself of course. I just wanted to get out of this forsaken war. They didn't listen to me, the only saw me as a deserter, and in their eyes, that made me an even greater enemy. I was barely able to speak before the Sergeant drew his sidehoof… And put one right in my head.
. . .
My papa said, “son, our Queen, she needs you. Go join the grand army in a crucial breakthrough.”
