The rain pelts down on my news van as I gaze out the window of the small cottage that my crew and I now inhabit. I rest my feet on the soft, felt rug as we await our host's return from the modest kitchen to our left. Pictures of serviceman in fatigues line the mantle above the fireplace, snapshots of memories that had occurred long ago. Brady Fitzgerald, my camera man, tinkers with his state-of-the-art dual lens camera while Sarah Hardy, my boom microphone specialist, fidgets with her thumbs. We're all quiet, knowing full well the endeavor we were about to undertake. We were all interns, just a couple a' kids trying to get by in life, when our director comes up to me and gives me the assignment. He told me to pick my cameraman and someone to hold the boom mic, grab the company van, and drive cross country searching for a select group of people for a special documentary they were filming for the History Channel.
That was two days ago.
About five hours ago, we found out who we were looking for and why.
"I've got chamomile and ginseng. Take your pick, it's all I got and to be honest, the chamomile tastes much better."
The three of us look up and smile as Bill Powers, former U.S. army infantry man steps through the door holding a tray of old mugs. The warm steam, matched only by his smile, beckons us after our long drive through the chilly Ohio countryside. I can hear the bones in his back crack as he lowers himself into the corduroy recliner. At the age of 42, Mr. Powers has lived on his own in the small town of Tippecanoe, many deep stress marks creasing down his face. He rests his left hand on the armrest and I take notice of his thumb and pointer finger, or the lack of them. Mr. Powers' right ring finger also seems to be missing, a long scar running down his right arm complimenting the grotesque wound.
Mr. Powers was number one on our list.
"So, I suppose you're gonna be filming this?" He asks.
"Yes sir, we'll begin whenever you're ready." Says Brady, all the while not taking his eyes off of his camera.
Powers takes a long sip from his tea, savoring every last drop. Sarah levels the mic in the crook of her arm for support, waiting on the seasoned military veteran to speak. This is why we were here for Mr. Powers. The only reason we even bothered to visit this little town in the middle of nowhere.
Because Mr. Powers, had been in the first wave of infantryman to invade the foreign world of Equestria.
Bill Powers gives us all a short nod, signifying that he is ready. Brady hits the timed record button on the side of his camera and gives me a countdown, dropping a finger with each number.
Three . . .
Two . . .
One . . .
Go . . .
"Bill Powers? It says here in your dossier that you were a corporal in the First Infantry Division." I say.
"Yeah, that's me. I can give you my serial number if you'd like." He says as his face shoots me a smirk.
I gulp before speaking my next words, this being my first time on camera. Powers doesn't even flinch.
"No that's fine. We're here to document your service in the U.S. army during the invasion of Equestria. Can you tell us a little about that?"
Powers shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his face donning a somber look.
"Wow . . . where do I start?"
"Anywhere you think would be most comfortable, then just go from there." I say.
"Sheesh, okay. Well, as you probably know, the army mobilized after that big fiasco with the Equestrian government when we declared war on each other, but that's a whole other story for a different time. You're here for the nitty-gritty stuff right? The battles? The inside story?" He says.
"I guess, in a sense, yes. That is what we're here for. Could you indulge us?"
"You bet your candy-ass I could. Pardon my French, but I'm sure you could just bleep that out right?"
I smile as I nod gently, his humorous approach at such a touchy subject kind of off-putting. He takes another long sip of tea, this time finishing off the mug. He belches as he sets the mug down, preparing for his story.
"Alright, we deployed a month after the initial call. A bunch of us were pretty surprised that we were going to war with the ponies. I mean for god's sake, it sounds stupid just saying it! They were walking coloring books! More than half of their population were females who gardened and sold fruit at some two-bit stand. None of us were really geared up for doing this anyway. No one wanted a war. Especially between our two countries."
Powers pauses to cough, then sneeze twice.
"Sorry, this weather is really messing with my sinuses. Anyway, what ticked us off the most-"
"Us?" I interject.
"The grunts. The infantryman that were going to fight the war. What ticked us off the most was that the world just stood by and watched us half ass our way into a conflict. A conflict that we so foolishly got ourselves into! By Day seventeen, we had already boarded the C-130's and were on our way to the IDTP."
"The IDTP?" I ask.
"Inter-dimensional-transportation-portal. Just a long name that the geeks at the Universities called the portal to Equestria. The thing was pretty wide. Eight of us could stand shoulder-to-shoulder and walk straight through. Hell, that's exactly what we did."
"I see, and can you tell us what happened when you got through?"
Powers takes a deep breath.
"Well, it sorta happened like this . . ."
Author's Note
When I kick off the story in the next chapter, the point of view will be reverting back and forth between the man interviewing the veterans and a flashback taken in third person from the veteran's point of view.
I first thought of this when I read Max Brooks' World War Z about a year or two ago which is pretty much where most of the inspiration came from.
Fun Fact: The story was originally going to be about a seventy two year old veteran who is the last surviving member of the war named Louis Castillo.
(Important) When the story moves to the flashback, it will be signified as such: ---11 Years Ago--- and will revert back to the present day following this: ---Present Day---
We're still sitting in anticipation as Mr. Powers returns from the bathroom for the forth time since the beginning of our meeting. He sits down and seems to clear his head as he reaches for his tea mug. Realizing it's empty, he retracts his hand and clears his throat.
"Damn. So, uh . . . where were we?" He asks.
"You were talking about your unit's deployment into Equestria." I answer lightly.
He shifts in his chair, then takes a breath before speaking.
"Okay, the invasion. It was really big back in the states. I mean, you saw the infomercials right? They were all over every channel! They were even cutting time off of Nick Jr. to show footage of the task force."
"You were part of this task force?" I ask.
"You bet. Me and my unit had just finished basic, so yeah. We were the first in. We kicked in the door, and believe me when I tell you, that was a bloodbath . . ."
---11 Years Ago---
"God damn it, I just stepped in someone's lunch!"
Light shone upon the grassy open field as Corporal Bill Powers and his squad mates surveyed the terrain. With the rest of the first infantry division trailing behind them, the men examined the landscape set before them. Ted Bertram, a spry kid from Savannah, had just stepped in vomit, likely the aftermath of an anonymous infantryman's entry into the new world by way of portal transportation. Bill himself had almost keeled over were it not for his strong stomach.
"Damn Ted, good luck getting that out." Said Private Withers.
"Ah shit, this is gonna take forever to wipe clean . . ."
Powers chuckled lightly and turned facing east of their position. Beyond the rolling plains and scattered woods stood a settlement. That was their first objective. A small hamlet called Ponyville.
Cheesy as hell.
"Alright gather round!" Called Sergeant Hayworthy, taking large strides as he confronted his men.
"The rest of the division is backed up, so we're gonna recon the area, advance, and dig in south from the village. They don't know we're here yet, so we'll wait until the rest of our boys get here. Understood?" He stated.
"Yes sir!" Replied the infantrymen.
"Good. Gather your gear, we're moving out in five."
---Present Day---
"You and your unit, you were the first?" I ask.
Powers looks up and tilts his head in question.
"The first what?" He asks.
"The first hostile human soldiers to set foot in Equestria."
"Ah, yep." He nods as he recollects his thoughts. "We were the first in and the last out, as most of my buddies liked to say."
"And there were no Equestrian guards at the opening of the portal to stop you? I assume entrance into an enemy world like that must have been like hitting the beaches at Normandy." I say, an abundance of skepticism in my voice.
"Yeah, you would think that, but what most of the public doesn't know, or would rather care less than to know about, is that the geeks that operated the portal changed the re-entry coordinates in the portal's transportation mechanism. Even the brass didn't know where we'ed be landing."
"Isn't that dangerous? Couldn't you have ended up on a mountain? Or at the bottom of a lake?" I ask in slight shock.
"Oh sure, the entire invasion was a huge gamble. But it was a risk we all had to take," Powers heaves out his chest and dons an empowering voice. "For the good of the American economy!" He says in a tone mimicking much of the charismatic propaganda of the day.
My team and I shift uncomfortably, noting the disapproving atmosphere filling the room. It had been long since the director of war propaganda had been tried in court for his irrational yet efficient methods of slandering the name of the Equestrian government.
"Anyways, as I was saying, the sarge had given us a good five minutes to gather our bearings . . ."
---11 Years Ago---
The shuffling of boots and the clatter of equipment could be heard as the forward elements of the first infantry division slowly advanced along the tree-line south from Ponyville. Bill Powers and his squad marched directly behind sergeant Hayworthy, who crept silently through the tall grass.
"Hey Bill, how many quads do you think I can bag before we win this thing?" Asked Private Nicholson.
"Hell Jimmy, I don't know. Lets just hope we win this war quick. Here we are in the ass-end of the world looking for a town filled with colorful, talking horses. I think I've had enough of this shit already." Said Powers.
"All right, all right, I was just-"
A sharp shush and the abrupt raising of Sgt. Hayworthy's fist shut the entire platoon up and halted all movement. Even with the dead silence, the consortium of soldiers all knew what the simple hand gesture meant.
Get down and shut the hell up.
Sergeant Hayworthy motioned the men down and stalked forward, not making a sound. Powers and the rest of the men watched in anticipation as Hayworthy climbed the small bluff, took the binoculars from his neck, and gazed through them.
"What do you think he sees?"
"Shush!"
Moments later, Hayworthy returned and crouched low in front of the platoon, relinquished the small entrenching tool from his pack, and pointed to the top of the small incline. This was a motion that the entire platoon was trained to understand long before they moved out from the encampment.
Start digging there.
---Present Day---
"We were digging for hours. I was still picking dirt out from underneath my fingernails a few days afterward." Says Powers, throwing a glance at his withered fingertips.
"Digging? What for?" I ask.
"Yeah, digging. We were building breastworks and good firing positions. Of course then we didn't know that they could shoot back at us, so we obviously thought the cover we were building was totally absurd. The quads must've noticed-"
"Quads?" The use of the word piquing my interest. Like past wars, grunts and G.I.'s had taken to giving the enemy a nickname to their liking in order to ease the tension.
"Well, we had to call the ponies something. Saying 'pony' just sounded weird, as if by just saying it we were lampooning the whole idea of the war with such a childish name. So a bunch of the guys started saying 'quad'. Four legs, quads. It just kinda stuck after that. As I was saying, the Equestrians must have noticed we were there after a few hours because they started amassing troops on their southern flank. By then, we had the entire first and second infantry divisions on site helping us shovel."
"Was there any initial hostilities? Did any of the ponies attack your positions?"
Powers chuckles lightly, and sits up from his relaxed storytelling position.
"Hell no, not at first, but it was getting really awkward staring at the things, just eyeing each other from across the field. It literally got to the point where we were shouting at one-another, and to be honest, it was kinda funny. . ."
---11 Years Ago---
"GO HOME WHILE YOU CAN YOU QUADRUPEDS!"
"NOT A CHANCE MONKEY!"
The yelling had gone on for hours ever since the opposing armies first caught sight of each other. Though the digging continued, every now and then an almost playful gesture would be shouted across the open field. Bill Powers and his comrades gripped their shovels in their clenched hands and watched the folly from the foxhole under construction.
"Hey watch it Jerry, your side looks a little fragile right there." Private Turner explained.
Corporal Church sneered and stabbed his shovel spitefully into the ground.
"Well then why don't you dig it oh great lord of the foxholes." He jabbed.
"Just saying . . ." Muttered Turner as he continued to dig.
"Pfft, foxholes, why the hell are we even building these?" Complained Powers.
"Because," Said a voice as it dropped into the hole next to him. "Command wants good cover and concealment for the battle to come." Spoke sergeant Hayworthy as he picked up an entrenching tool and started reinforcing the left side of the dugout.
"Y-yes sir. Of course." Said Powers, returning dutifully to his work.
A pair of boots stepped in front of the foxhole, prompting the infantrymen digging it to glance up.
"Can we help you fellas?" Asked sergeant Hayworthy.
A small group of soldiers had gathered in front of them looking rather confused.
"Uh yeah, can you direct us to B company? We're kinda lost." Said the man in front.
Sergeant Hayworthy leaned on his shovel and wiped his brow.
"Sheesh, they're all the way down the line, that-a-way." He said, pointing to their right.
The disorganized troops fumbled with their weapons and marched onward, leaving Powers' squad to their chore. The brief interruption had granted Bill a quick reprieve from the work. Taking the chance, Powers cracked his back and looked up, realizing he hadn't lifted his head the entire evening. Taking a glance at the sun, he noticed it was setting and colored a fiery orange.
"Jesus, we're gonna be here all day." He said before picking his shovel back up and resuming the dig.
---Present Day---
"Were you there all day?" I asked.
"You bet. The heat was really getting to us. But by the time the third division had arrived, we had constructed an intricate wall of fortifications, clearly sending out our message to those four legged weirdos." Says Powers.
"Which was?"
"We're here, and we're not fucking moving unless you kick our asses out."
We paused the interview for a second, allowing Powers to catch his breath, then continued shortly after. We realized the contradiction in what he had just said, the aftermath of the battle clearly stating what was just spoken to us.
"It was getting dark, and we knew that the order was coming."
We snapped back towards Powers, our short recession coming to an end.
"I'd say it was about 8:30 in the evening when the commanding officers started sweeping through the foxholes, telling us to grab our weapons and get ready to move."
"And abandon your posts? The ones you had been digging all day?" I asked in shock.
"We were just as surprised as you are now. The quads hadn't built any fortifications, instead they just watched us sweat and toil in the sun for a few hours from the safety of the town ahead of us. Could you believe the look on our faces when they told us we were going to deal the first blow of the war?" Said Powers.
"But you were confident." I say in a sure voice. "You were armed with weapons far more superior than that of the Equestrians, right?"
Powers leans in to chuckle a nasty little guffaw and dons a smirking, disbelieving face.
"Are you kidding? We were armed to the teeth with the best shit around! I'm talking GM-31 Sub-machine guns, DAT-51 fully automatic shotguns, and even the new-model M5-A3 assault rifle which was the mac-daddy of all the M5 rifle series. We even carried these little grenades that exploded on impact, sending napalm and shrapnel into whoever the unlucky bastard was that happened to be standing nearby! We were packing some serious fucking heat!"
"But it wasn't enough?" I ask in an unsure tone.
Powers leans back as a somber look adorns his creased face.
"All the weapons in the world couldn't prepare us for the disaster that was the first battle of Ponyville. Can you imagine it yourself? The superiority of the United States' army swatted like a fly by a bunch of technicolor ponies?" He asks in disbelief, raising his arms so that my crew and I could see his grisly wound.
"I-I'm sorry, but I thought that the first battle of Ponyville was a draw?" I say, doubting even my own words.
"Really? Is that what it says in the textbooks?" Powers scoffs, then sighs. "You weren't there. You couldn't hear the screams of dying men as our line broke and we were sent running back into the woods like rats. We were about to be taught a lesson as old as Sun Tzu himself, that even with all the firepower in world, it ain't worth jack-shit against someone who knows the terrain let alone has the ability to manipulate it . . ."
---11 Years Ago---
"Man this is some bullshit. We spent the entire day digging this damn thing and now we're leaving it!" Shouted Bill Powers.
The first, second, and third infantry divisions began gathering their equipment and sorting the supplies, readying for the attack to come. Gathering into their respectable squads, Powers and his comrades formed up by sergeant Hayworthy for briefing on the coming assault.
"Everyone here? Good." Hayworthy stated as he picked up a twig and began drawing in the soil. "We're here. The enemy is stationed at these locations here, here, and here. Division wants us to form up at the center while the second and third divisions advance on the flanks. From this rally point, we'll- Private! Are you listening?" Hayworthy shouted, staring at private Crowley in annoyance.
"S-sorry sir. It's just . . . something about those clouds. It's bugging me." Explained Crowley in a nervous tone.
Half of the squad glanced up, squinting in the evening light to take a look at the clouds in which nothing was out of the ordinary.
"Well, keep your head out of them, and maybe we can get on with the war!" Barked Hayworthy.
The squad, including Powers, jumped and returned their undivided attention to Hayworthy, who had thrown the twig into a bush and began pointing at various places that he had drawn.
"This is the town square. Take a good long look at it, because that's where we're headed. We capture this, and the entire garrison surrenders. Stay behind me and if you get lost, find a buddy and advance. We're gonna show 'em what it's like to mess with us."
The squad replied with hearty cheers and uproarious comments, confident of the given plan. Powers showed a smirk of assurance, but remained silent as he stared out toward the town. Commands and hushed whispers could be slightly discerned from the interior, but the sound of a bustling marketplace of commerce had long been silenced. The shouts between both armies had died down long ago, the commanding officers on both sides maintaining a disciplined silence.
"Alright, that's the signal. Lets go." Said Hayworthy as he cocked the mechanism on his rifle and led the way out of the foxhole.
Powers stepped up and crept towards the town with his comrades, gazing at the rest of the army that had joined them. The first and second divisions were leading the way, the third on the right lagging behind as reserves.
"Hey Bill! You see any quads?" Asked Corporal Rowe, panting as he advanced alongside Powers.
"No, but I-"
"COVERING FIRE!" Shouted sergeant Hayworthy as the men of the first infantry division raised their rifles and opened fire.
The order seeping into his head, Powers shouldered his weapon and fired. Pock marks lit up in the walls of the town houses and shop stalls, goods and pottery shattering into pieces. Powers could faintly see the ponies, most of them ducking behind cover. Powers and his squad were some of the first to reach the town, their rifles lighting up anything that moved. Rowe grunted and flew back, hitting the ground behind Powers.
"Holy crap! Jack, you alright?" Asked Powers.
Rowe's combat fatigues were singed black and steaming, but he was alive.
"Damn, that burns! I didn't know they could shoot back!" He shouted.
A burst of energy grazed Powers' face and slammed into the wall next to him, leaving the same black trace as that on Rowe's vest.
"TAKE COVER!" Shouted Hayworthy as he ordered men into various positions, returning fire fiercely.
Hoisting Rowe back onto his feet, Powers jumped behind a low concrete wall and peeked up. A flash of light shined in his eyes and he ducked, a beam of energy just missing his head. Poking his head back out, Powers gazed back across the courtyard and noticed a small ruffle of hair behind a brick wall. It looked like some kind of fashion wig, but further examination proved otherwise. The face of a quad peeked out and tried to aim it's horn.
It was a unicorn.
Powers aimed his rifle, sighted in the pony, and fired.
---Present Day---
"Did you kill it?" I ask, hoping the question isn't to personal.
"I don't know, I guess. When I fired, I saw the quad pitch backwards. It's mane flipped up into the air like some kind of shampoo commercial in slow motion. After that, we started picking them off just like that. They weren't good shots, you could tell. Everyone knew that these ponies hadn't seen combat like this before." Explained Powers.
"Were all the ponies fighting there unicorns?"
"No. In fact, there were more Earth ponies than that of the unicorns! It was a straight shot through their lines. Hardly any resistance."
"It sounds like you were winning."
"Hell, we were. In the beginning at least. I hopped the wall with a bunch of my buddies as the fire started dying down and started moving forward toward the town square, like Hayworthy told us to."
"Did your squad take any casualties?"
"Well, I told you about Rowe. When we leaped the wall, I saw a couple of our boys on the ground. Some of 'em weren't moving. A lot of them that had these deep burn marks were lying on the cobblestone crying for their mothers. I tell ya, that didn't do too good for morale that's for sure . . ."
"What about the ponies?"
"Oh yeah, a lot of them fell in that first part of the battle. When we reached their side of the courtyard, we saw a lot of dead ones. Did you know that half of the soldiers the quads used that day were mares? Females?" Says Powers.
"No, I didn't. Did killing them feel any different than shooting a male?" I ask, trying to comprehend the feeling myself.
"I guess, it just felt weird. Shooting the opposite gender regardless of a species barrier feels wrong either way."
"I see. Did you make it to your objective?"
"It was a slow advance to the square, picking off loners and destroying little pockets of resistance, but we made it eventually. We had to find our way through the maze of alleyways and streets, but we made it."
"Was that where the battle shifted in their favor?"
Powers pauses, takes a deep breath, then sighs.
"Yeah. That was when the whole thing went to shit."
---11 Years Ago---
"We got 'em on the run! Keep pushing!" Yelled sergeant Hayworthy.
The courtyard ahead of the attacking humans had turned into a war-zone, bullets and all manner of projectiles sailing through the air, some hitting their mark and others embedding themselves into the side of a building. Powers and his squad, alongside the many infantryman that had already reached the square, had driven the equine defenders inside the perimeter of the town hall.
"Hey Bill I see two on the left, you got 'em?"
"Yeah I see 'em!"
Powers aimed down the iron sights of his assault rifle and focused on the two Equestrians taking cover behind a fruit stand. Gazing at his enemy through the magnifying scope, Powers observed a unicorn and an Earth pony, the Earth pony spotting targets for the unicorn. He could only hit one before the other ducked, so he chose the one that was currently doing the most damage. The unicorn.
A mare.
Pulling the trigger, Powers recoiled from the shot and centered his scope back on his targets. The unicorn had disappeared behind the counter.
Direct hit.
The Earth pony, a short, scruffy looking creature, was backed up against the wall probably staring at the fallen body of his comrade.
---Present Day---
" . . . and that's what I hated about the optics on those rifles we had. You could see so clearly what you were about to shoot. What you were about to end." Says Powers in a melancholy tone.
There is an uncomfortable silence afterward, one that spans too long for the documentary we were shooting.
"Would you like to continue?" I ask hesitantly, being careful not to pull any sensitive strings.
"Of course, of course. I'm sorry, normally I get a little bit choked up about stuff like that, y'know?" He says.
"I understand completely."
"Alright, where was I? Oh yeah, we were just about to claim victory when . . ."
---11 Years Ago---
Powers and his squad-mates were getting nearer and nearer to their objective. The town hall was only about a hundred yards away. Sergeant Hayworthy led on, giving commands to each individual man in the unit.
"Jordan! Take your men around their left and concentrate fire on- what the hell?"
A bright flash engulfed the courtyard as both human and pony flinched from the light. When the spectrum of colors died down, three ponies showcasing gleaming horns and unfurled wings were levitating in mid-air in the center of the square, eyes glowing a searing white.
"LIGHT 'EM UP!" Shouted a voice on the far side of the left flank.
Reacting immediately, Powers raised his weapon and fired mechanically at the floating quads. To his and the rest of the infantrymen's disbelief, the bullets had no effect as they bounced off of the ethereal shield the quads had formed around them.
"Damn! Bullets aren't gonna cut it!" Yelled Powers.
The shooting died down just as the three ponies touched horns, a visible wave of energy blasting outward and into the advancing infantry.
"Oh shit, GET TO COVER!" Yelled Hayworthy as the shock wave spread outward.
But his calls were in vain, the powerful blast picking up several squads of troops and flinging them far out of the village, most likely to their deaths. Those who weren't shot out of the town were slammed into walls, leaving indents in the hard wood and stone. Coughing heavily, Powers pulled himself out of the hay stand he had crashed into and gazed upon the impossible. Although the burst had kicked up much dust and debris, the estranged soldier could clearly see the entire army, or what was left of it, picking up their weapons and running. What had started out as a decisive attack had spun out of control into a disorganized retreat.
"Get up man!" Yelled a voice as Powers was hoisted out of the rubble.
"Holy shit, what the hell is going on!" Powers asked through sputtering coughs.
"The quads are counterattacking in force! We gotta get outta here!"
Following the man in front of him, Powers grabbed his rifle and ran hard, bringing up the rear of what was left of his squad. With the entire detachment routing en-mass, the only thing on Powers' mind was to find his way out of the town and consolidate with whoever was left.
Of course, that would prove difficult with three godlike entities on their tail.
---Present Day---
"We ran like a bat outta hell after that." Chuckling, Powers shakes his head in disappointment and continues. "Who would have thought that the quads would send not one, but ALL THREE of their princesses directly into this fight and send us packing? Not me, that's for sure. We could tell the quads were getting desperate though as we approached the town square. By then, they had already stopped trying to grab their wounded and just retreated further into town." He explains.
"That is, until their rulers appeared and turned the tide, right?" I ask.
"Yeah. Boy did they give chase too. That's how I got this." Powers explains as he lifts his arms and shows his wound once more. "I turned around to return fire when one of those energy bursts from a unicorn blasted me. The beam ran straight down the barrel of my gun and exploded. What are the odds of that, huh?" He asks.
"Did they keep up the chase after you left town?"
"Yes. God yes. Remember when private Crowley thought something was up about the clouds? Damn, was he right. You know how the quads with the wings, the pegasi, can move clouds? Yeah, well they can also sit on 'em. Y'see, the pegasi had gathered hundreds of clouds over Ponyville while we were digging foxholes and positioned themselves snugly inside 'em to ambush us. We ran right into that one. They started sweeping down on us like wasps, skewering us with these lances they'd attached to their chest plates. God, it was chaos."
"How did you escape?"
"Shit, that's a blur. I just ran. Ran as fast as I could. A couple of guys in front of me from second squad got kabob-ed by this one quad. The freaking thing just shook their bodies off of it's lance and took off like it was nothing. I looked up and one was dive bombing right at me. I could see it's face through the helmet and boy did it look pissed. I ducked low enough so that he missed. I didn't get out of that one clean though. That spear gave me a big gash on my back that scarred after it healed. Now it looks like there's a giant zipper running up my back. You could see it if you want." He says.
"No thank you. Please, go on."
"Sure. Anyways, everyone was running every which way. No one could find anyone higher than the rank of Corporal. No one ever saw Hayworthy again after the blast. A chunk of the third infantry division surrendered right there in the middle of the field. They just got down on their knees and put their hands up. It was like the battle of Bull Run from the civil war. We just dropped our weapons and ran. A good buddy of mine, Marty Willows, got picked up by this quad and got dropped about forty feet from the ground. He hit the ground hard in front of me." Says Powers as his tone grows much softer.
"What did you do?"
"What was I supposed to do? His legs were bent in the weirdest positions, so I knew they were broken. I dragged him off into the tree line and out of sight. There must have been some internal bleeding because he was breathing pretty shallowly and blood was coming from his mouth. I told him, 'Everything's gonna be fine', then I looked out towards the rest of the army out in the field. Everyone was either dead, wounded, or surrendering. If you weren't any of those three, you had probably ran into the forest like me, only to get picked up by a passing patrol. When I looked back down to Marty, he was dead. My wounds must have been worse than I'd thought because I got very lightheaded and collapsed right there in the brush."
"Were you taken prisoner?"
"No. Thank god no. One of our patrols came by later and found me and my buddy and dragged us out behind friendly lines."
"Tell me, do you consider yourself lucky to have survived?" I ask.
"Do I consider myself lucky? No. Am I thankful that I am alive? Yes. Sometimes I wonder though, when I'm lying in bed at night or watching television, why did I make it out of that when so many others didn't? Marty Willows was a married man with three kids. I don't even have a girlfriend. He left behind an entire family just because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I often tell myself that it should have been me instead of him, but there's no changing that now. I already tried confronting his family. To tell them how brave of a man he was. God give that woman strength to give her kids that kind of news and still go on with life."
Powers stops talking, but I do nothing to continue the interview out of sympathy.
"And that's all I have to say about that."
The park bench we're sitting on is covered in pollen, some of it washed away from the sprinklers that have been going off for the last ten minutes. My camera man, Brady Fitzgerald, rubs a tissue across his nose.
"Man, these allergies are really killing me . . ."
I pay no notice to his discomfort, the man sitting to my right having my full, undivided attention.
Jacob Briggs, a seasoned mechanized infantry soldier, stares solemnly at the birds flitting about on the brick road as he gently tosses them some rye bread from a pouch. He is an aged man of fifty-two years old, having served in the war at the age of forty one as the gunner of an M2A3 Bradley light infantry transport vehicle. He had seen action at the battle of Chestnut fields, the first victory for American forces in Equestria.
"I suppose now's a good time as any to start. Are you rolling?" Asks Briggs.
"Yes sir, begin whenever you want." Says Sarah, my boom mic specialist.
Taking a deep breath, Briggs begins in a soft tone.
"Well, my unit was deployed shortly after the first battle of Ponyville. Y'know, the one where we got are asses handed to us by the Equestrians?"
My team and I nod, but remain silent.
"We went in alongside a small detachment of armor, a couple of Abrams tanks I think. Whatever it was, we were really bringing it to those four legged bastards. My regiment of Bradleys, along with support from the armor, were tasked with escorting elements of the fifth infantry division across a tiny patch of land called Cashew . . something with a peanut, I forget. Anyway, command wanted us to get the infantry to the red zone then provide fire support once we got there. Supposedly, there was a large Equestrian encampment sitting smack-dab in the open, just waiting for us to roll in and kick their asses."
"How did your vehicles fare against the terrain there? I understand that the landscape wasn't exactly fit for driving over." I ask.
"Interesting you'd asked that. Actually, the M2A3 Bradley is built for that kinda shit, crossing rugged terrain and such. It was a cakewalk for us but for the tanks, well that was a whole other story. Y'see, there were no paved roads large enough for our tanks to cross, so they lagged behind us until they found a way into the fields. We were without fire support for a while, but we pulled through."
---11 Years Ago---
"Shit. Would'ya look at all of 'em?" Asked Jacob Briggs' driver.
The long line of wounded snaked across the two way lane, one side for retreating men, the other side for advancing soldiers. Some were missing limbs and on crutches while others, adorned with bandages and gauze pads, slowly made their way down the road. Briggs' Bradley transport inched along with the advancing column of vehicles and infantry, creeping toward their next objective.
"Must've really gotten their asses handed to them by the quads, eh?" Said Briggs.
The shuffling line of troops kept moving, paying no mind to Briggs' remark.
"Briggs! Button up and get down here!" Shouted the vehicle commander, Lt. Phelps.
Closing the hatch on the Bradley, Briggs clambered down into the bulky interior, trying not to bump into the protruding equipment the entire way down. A herd of cows had stopped up the road ahead, giving the vehicle commanders a short recess, just enough time to brief their crews on the coming assault. Phelps leaned into the center of the vehicle, brandishing a large map that had been sloppily unfolded.
"Alright fellas, listen up because I'm only gonna say this once. Our objective is some piss-poor patch of land north of here called Chestnut fields. The quads are dug in around that area, resting from their recent victory over our boys a few days ago. They don't know we're coming, so we'll insert at dawn tomorrow, drop off the infantry at the deployment zone, and then provide fire support for them as they push through their camps. They have their own objectives, so we're only there as transport and insurance. We've got a few tanks from the 206th armor battalion on call for our operations. They'll roll in after we secure a safe access point into the field. Got it? Good."
Phelps returned to his position, listening to radio chatter and tinkering with the vehicles operating systems.
"Hell Briggs, you're about the only one working this scrap-heap that doesn't need to do anything right now. If I were you, I'd get some shut-eye, tomorrows gonna be a long day." Said the M2 Bradley's driver, Shawn Collins.
Tuning out the worrying thoughts of tomorrow, Briggs leaned his head up against the HE shell compartment, shut his eyes, and drifted off to sleep.
---Present Day---
"It was a pretty quiet night after that. Aside from the G.I.'s in the back, there wasn't much noise going around the convoy. Quads actually left us alone for the entire day. Hell, they were probably popping open the bubbly after the victory they won over our boys." Explains Briggs.
"How many vehicles were in your convoy by the time you had reached Chestnut Fields?" I ask.
"Well, I was still asleep when we'd linked up with elements from the 104th mechanized infantry division. They brought along a few more toys that definitely helped when the fighting started. When I woke up the next day, I saw a Humvee towing along an M119 Field gun. That's a howitzer, one of the big guns that we like to tote around for show. Anyway, they deployed that sucker about a mile away from the battlefield, and boy did that thing raise some hell."
"When did the actual battle begin? I read in an article that it was jump-started by Captain Mulcahy's artillery crew, most likely firing a shell from the field gun you were just talking about."
Briggs chortles heartily, then continues in a smug tone.
"Really? Is that what they said happened?"
"Was that how it happened?" I ask.
"Well, sorta. This doofus from B-company was carrying munitions over to the howitzer as the crew was loading it. We were already in the field, and captain Mulcahy was awaiting the order to commence firing when the kid handling the shells tripped over some rocks and knocked over the gunner. That set the damn thing off, and all of a sudden we were sitting ducks in the middle of a field, frozen in place wondering what the hell just happened. The shell landed about fifty yards off target, and made this big-ass crater in the ground." Explains Briggs.
"Didn't that jeopardize the mission? I mean, it must've alerted the Equestrians of your presence in the fields." I say.
"You bet it did, and we had to lag our asses through that botched attack all the while waiting for our armor that had been stuck in a rut ever since we crossed over the Hibiscus River into the region."
---11 Years Ago---
BOOM!
The infantry in the field, not far off from the Equestrian camp, froze in place. The transports alongside them rolled to a dead stop, and inside his Bradley, Jacob Briggs shivered.
"Oh shit! What the hell was that? Mulcahy wasn't supposed to fire until we gave the order!" Said commander Phelps.
The military encampment ahead of them stirred, and hundreds of Pegasus sentries rose into the air. Shouts from across the field could be heard as every detachment of the Equestrian army in the surrounding area bolted to attention.
"All units! Sight in your targets and fire! Aim for those winged bastards and push forward!" Said a voice crackling through the radio, waking Briggs from his drunken stupor of awe.
Commander Phelps patted Briggs hastily on the leg, speaking with loud gusto even as he marked targets through the Bradley's optics system.
"Briggs, 10 o'clock high! Engage those quads!" He yelled.
The Bradley's main gun jolted to life, firing shot after shot of deadly shells into the gathered mass in the sky. To Briggs' disbelief, the rounds passed straight through the enemy, his targets too nimble to hit.
"I can't hit anything! It's just going right through 'em!" Shouted Briggs.
"Acknowledged! Now shut the hell up and keep firing!" Yelled Phelps.
His finger tight on the trigger, Briggs maintained his grit as he swapped between targets. They had begun to swoop down, spearing the infantrymen with their lances and causing heavy casualties. Across the field, the two other equine races had already begun their advance, filing into their ranks and trudging toward Briggs and his men.
THUD!
A silence, then Collins spoke up.
"What the hell was that?"
"It sounded like it came from the top of the vehicle." Phelps said in a low voice.
Suddenly, a loud slicing noise ripped into the ear drums of the crewman as a long metal rod smashed through the hatch and came tearing into the shoulder of driver Shawn Collins.
"AAAAAAAAGGGHHHH!" He screamed.
A lance had bore it's way through the hatch, a purple aura surrounding it's metal tip.
"Holy-"
The spear ripped out of Collins' shoulder, bringing along with it some manner of gore that was indescribable given the current situation. Collins slumped over, whimpering like a kicked dog. Briggs reached out and grabbed him, pulling him lower into the vehicle. Another spear tore into the hatch, widening the hole it had made upon it's earlier entry.
"Holy shit, they're sitting on top of the damn Bradley!" Yelled Phelps.
The hole was just large enough that Briggs could see the quad on the other end. It had blue fur, much like the color of his school bully's T-shirt, Bo Keating.
He hated Bo.
"Shoot that bastard Briggs!" Yelled Phelps, handing him his M9.
With agile hands, he trained the sights on the hatch and opened fire. Five quick shots followed by a pained scream. A trickle of blood hit Briggs' nose and began to tear drop it's way quickly down his face.
---Present Day---
"So you just kept the vehicle rolling?"
"Yep. Collins was hurt pretty bad, so we had to alternate between positions, me and Phelps. Collins . . . he, he died shortly after the fight in some dirty-as-all-hell field hospital. He's buried over in that cemetery they've got dug in Equestria right next to the other one-hundred and fifty-one men we lost that day. Victory my ass." Stifles Briggs.
"What happened after that? After the ordeal with the hatch?" I ask.
"Whaddya mean? We kept moving, shooting at anything that got in our way. The tanks from the 206th actually managed to get to our position before the shooting stopped, however we'd already mopped up most of the Equestrians defending their camps."
"So, that was it? That was the battle of Chestnut fields?"
"Yeah. What did you expect? Some giant thousand-man melee? The seventh cavalry riding in to save the day? Buddy, this was modern warfare slapping Victorian-era battle tactics directly in the kisser. That "skirmish" only lasted for a good twenty minutes. We had them in an open field with no cover whatsoever. It was like shooting fish in a barrel."
---11 Years Ago---
The fires of Chestnut Fields had died down significantly as the last remnants of the Equestrian army scattered messily into the nearby forest and mountains. American soldiers dismounted vehicles and rounded up prisoners, assessing the situation.
There was no cheering to be had, especially in a field where thousands lay torn to pieces.
The banged up Bradley slowed to a creaking stop and the damaged hatch flew open, revealing three equally fatigued men which scrambled out in a hasty manner.
"Briggs! Get Collins, easy though, he's got a freaking hole in his shoulder." Said Phelps as he lowered the near-motionless body of their driver into the hands of the shaking gunner.
Grasping him gently, Briggs could almost feel Collin's gentle heart rate, beating ever so slowly as the seconds ticked by. The two conscious men clambered down the tank, disregarding the shooting that could be heard in the nearby tree-line.
"Medic! We need a medic over here!" Yelled Briggs as he set Collins on the slightly singed fabric of a ruined tent.
The tent had a beautifully emblazoned sun dedicated to the celestial princess of the day that decorated it's outer covering. Underneath lay the misshapen bodies of two equine figures. Briggs used the odd clump in the fallen tent to support Collins' head, ignoring the blood that was pooling from the two cadavers below.
"Damn, we really grilled these bastards. I wouldn't have been surprised if all of the poor sumbitches had died." Said Phelps, gazing into the body laden field. Briggs looked down and saw the body of a large stallion with red fur. The tattoo on it's flank bore a large green apple, partially deformed from the gaping hole created by god-knows-what. He'd read in a pamphlet that these marks represented the owner's livelihood or what they were best at. He pondered the thought as a combat medic took Collins from his arms and began to dress the wound.
"NO, WAIT! PLEASE-"
The sound of rifle fire in the distance caught Briggs' attention toward a line of infantry that had just mowed down a group of surrendering Earth ponies. Phelps and Briggs stared for a long time before they came back to reality and began to mill about, scavenging the battlefield for trinkets. All Briggs could look at however were the bodies that littered the grassy plain, and the marks on their rears that seemed so innocent without blood spattered on them.
"Like shooting fish in a barrel." He said before pulling an expensive looking watch out of a Unicorn's saddle-bag.
