In Golden Armor

Red Ink sat in his trench, not daring to look out into the wasteland beyond him. No pony's land.  It was pockmarked with craters from the pony's artillery.  Griffin and pony bodies littered the field, like a bumpy, fleshy carpet; hidden under the mud, and the dirt, and the flies.

Red Ink counted down the seconds from ten, telling himself that when he hit zero the griffins would charge.  He had been there for two hours.  Zero.  Nothing.  More waiting.  Other ponies trotted behind him in the trenches, mumbling soft curses and complaints.  They hadn't figured it out yet.  It was best not to complain.  Those that were new always complained, but they stopped after the first few weeks.

There were no weather ponies there to regulate the skies, but it was a bright sunny day regardless.  Perhaps it would have raised the spirits of the soldiers, but all it did was make the corpses rot faster.  Zero.  Red Ink's armor was worn and stained from dirty water, mud, spit, and blood.  His sword was chipped and shortened from his sharpening.  He'd been on the Griffin front for three months now.

A replacement asked Ink when they were going to attack.  Red Ink steeled himself and continued to stare at the wall of the trench, counting down the seconds.  The recruit's last name was Powder, maybe.  Red Ink tried not to remember the names of the recruits, and nobody fraternized with them.  They weren't worthy, and most of them would be killed before they would be worthy.  Zero.

He heard Black Hat holler for him, and no doubt the griffins fifty yards away heard him.  Red Ink looked up from the trench wall and saw that the replacement had left, something Ink was glad for.  He didn't want to see his face.  He made his way down the trench, passing several platoon mates along the way.

Ink reached Black Hat, who sat with one of Ink's closest friends in the company, Linked Chain.  They were seated on a stack of old worn timber, tucked away in a pocket in the trenches. Red Ink sat down on his haunches in the mud and leaned against the wooden wall of the trench pocket.  Zero.

Linked Chain told him how he needed an opinion on a subject, that being that if the griffins were letting wounded go off the front lines, why didn't they just let soldiers who'd had enough of war?  Red Ink had thought of that question many times, but told Chain that they weren't here to think, they were here to kill griffins.  Zero.

Chain laughed while Black Hat muttered something about bucking teachers.  Chain Link asked him if he'd thought about it.

Red Ink told him yes, he had.  Chain replied that if all the soldiers just stopped, then there wouldn't be a war anyway.  Red Ink nodded his head.  But they won't.  And so there is a war.

Chain grinned and looked around the trench, littered with filthy, smelly, tired, scared, and angry ponies.  Yeah, there sure is a war isn't there?  Zero.

____

Red Ink blinked and glanced at the clock above it read 6 o'clock.  She would be arriving any minute.  Red Ink closed his eyes and sighed as he sank deeper into the chair.  Zero.