Warmongers

by TheNocturnalLoner

Rating: teen
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Human, Sad, Princess Luna, Original Character, Other
Length: 6554

War! Celestia has declared humans a blight on the planet and intends to eradicate them. Can mankind survive a war with the ponies after barely surviving World War III?

**Placed on hiatus for the foreseeable future. The story will be finished, but my writing effort has been redirected back to my main story. It is very likely that this story shall remain on hiatus until my other one is complete.**

The third world war engulfed the world in a nuclear holocaust. Very few survived, and those that did only cared about their survival. The remains of the U.S. military resurfaced and restored order to the American wasteland. While rebuilding their shattered world, the ponies appeared from their destroyed dimension. The two races met and formed a peaceful relationship based on cooperation. Peace and prosperity came as the two species worked together to restore order and purify the planet.

However, not all ponies viewed the humans as valuable partners. Celestia saw them as an evil, warmongering blight on this world. They had destroyed their world and almost themselves. She reasoned that true peace was impossible, as the human lust for war could not be suppressed forever. Setting her plans into motion, she declared war and launched a human genocide. The vastly outnumbered American people and military made what may be mankind’s final stand.

Have the great warmongers finally met their match?

Published 2013-03-10 05:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2013-06-12 03:04:49 UTC

Charge

Silence. Deafening silence. This assaulted the ears of a young mare who was part of the 23rd Royal Infantry Division. Opening her eyes, they were bombarded with blinding flashes of light that threw up fountains of earth and ponies through the air. The humans had called in their thunder from the sky and it was tossing ponies and their bloody pieces every which way. It all seemed so strange and surreal to her, seeing all of this without sound. For she knew that each deadly missile screamed as it came in, then thundered as it exploded while ponies screamed in pain and in fear.

One of these strange objects had exploded next to her, tossing her to where she currently laid as well as stealing her hearing. Dazed, she tried to roll upright and stand. She found that she could not, as her body refused to obey her commands. She felt numb all over, as if she had been submerged into a sea of cotton. A tingling sensation spread from her neck to the rest of her body. After a few seconds she found she could move her body again. Rolling herself upright slowly, her head pounded with pain and a nausea that threatened to make her vomit.

She could not suppress the feeling, and turned her head to the side and upchucked her half digested breakfast of oats. Wiping her mouth with her hoof, she could only stare dumbfounded as she watched her division (or the remains of it) continue to charge the entrenched human position. Celestia had personally motivated her division and asked them to defeat this small force of humans. As a result many fanatically charged the position, regardless of life or limb. Not her, she only snorted in disgust as several careless ponies were felled by what the humans called a ‘machinegun’.

She did not believe in Celestia’s opinion that all humans should be eradicated. She did not say such a thing however, doing so could make you disappear. So like any good soldier, she kept her thoughts to herself, her mouth shut, and did what she was told. She knew this attack was a doomed suicide mission. Their enemy was entrenched and had their cannons on treads with them. They thought they might have a chance at victory, no matter how small it was. She gave up that thought when she saw the humans’ metal birds in the sky and when the rain of thunder began.

Several of her comrades sprinted past her as a loud ringing in her ears deafened her once more. The ringing stopped and was abruptly replaced by the chaotic sounds of battle. The screaming and explosions of the thunder missiles, the yells of her comrades, the cries of the wounded and the dying, and the ever present chatter from the humans’ rifles and machineguns. Collecting herself, she knew she had to carry on with the attack or die a coward. She pushed herself up shakily and took a step forward.

She fell into a heap, but tried to get up again. Again she fell, to her great frustration. Becoming aware of the feeling of pain, she looked at her legs and sides. She was bleeding from her left side and left legs. The missile had wounded her and left her unable to stand. Still losing blood, she put pressure on her wounds and cried out for a medic. To her dismay, the only ones she saw were too far away to hear her or dead. Hurriedly she applied the bandages she kept with her on her wounds. They would hold until she received proper medical treatment.

After a short while of crying out, a medic finally came to her to properly dress her wounds. He worked quickly, his face devoid of emotion or empathy. He had seen much death and it made him hardened to the harsh realities of the world. Earth and metal flew around him as he worked, giving him the appearance of some invincible saviour. “You’re lucky the fragments didn’t puncture any organs.” He said emotionlessly. She only grunted in response as he tightened the bandages around her wounds.

The sound of rushing air became audible and both ponies cringed in fear of their incoming deaths. “Get down!” The medic screamed as he shoved her flat to the ground. He then threw himself on top of her. The impact shook the ground violently and the last thing she heard was the angry explosion of the earth.

Silence. Silence greeted the ears of the mare as she stirred from her forced slumber. This time her hearing was not stolen from her, the cawing of gore crows confirmed that. She jolted awake, remembering what happened before she blacked out. Surely she is dead, there is no way she could have survived. Forcing her eyes open, the same battlefield greeted her. The only difference was that there was more blood, a few more craters, and more bodies littering the field. Gore crows and vultures were mercilessly picking at the bodies and she forced herself to look away.

The battle was over. Whether her division won or lost, she knew not. Her eyes fell to the macabre sight at her feet. The medic who dressed her wounds was laying before her. His bottom half was missing and his entrails were strewn out from his torso and onto the ground that was slick with his blood. She almost vomited again, but restrained herself. He had shielded her and he had saved her. A thin smile was on his lifeless face. Seeing this, she wanted to cry. Why should he have died, while she was unscathed from the second missile!? Why!?

Tears formed in her eyes as she began to weep openly. She brought up her hooves to cover her face, but stopped when she noticed they were covered in dried blood. In fact, she noticed that almost her entire yellow body was covered in the crimson liquid of life. Suddenly, she realized that all of this blood probably came from the medic when he was blown in half. Saddened even further, another wave of nausea overcame her as she vomited for a second time.

Plunging into depression she buried her hooves into her face, disregarding the dried blood on them. She wailed for what was lost on this day. Her comrades, the humans, and the medic. She also cried for those that she had killed and regretted some of her past actions. She had slain a defenseless human family just because she was ordered to. How would she justify that to the judges of the afterlife? That she was ordered to do it, that it was beyond her power? No. She was responsible for her own actions, and she had willingly carried out her orders.

Emptying all of her regret, sorrow, and guilt, she cried and she wept. For countless minutes she did so, as the faces of her dead comrades and her victims haunted her. Voices in the distance snapped her out of her despair temporarily. Abandoning her sadness, she thought that her comrades were searching for survivors and that they had triumphed. With tears still in her eyes, she looked up excitedly for her fellow soldiers.

What she saw was not what she expected. Four figures were walking toward her, and indeed they were the voices that she had heard. Her joy turned into fear and sadness once again as she was able to make out the figures. They were taller than a pony, walked on two legs, and held rifles in their hands. They were humans.

Author's Note

I just got inspired to write this earlier today while thinking about stuff for my other story. Anyway, this is just a short little story I guess. I'll mark it as incomplete for now. Let me know if you guys want me to add to it and continue it on.

As always, I'd appreciate it if you guys can alert me of any spelling or grammar errors. Now back to working on Luna's Lunatics.

Capture

A young lad, no older than nineteen or twenty, walked through the corpse strewn field with three of his fellow soldiers. They stepped carefully, as the ground was slick and wet with the blood of thousands of equine warriors. All of the fallen ponies they saw, had upon their faces expressions of intense hatred or determination. The young man shifted the weight of the M240L machine gun in his hands, as his comrades spoke about the war and the pony kingdom.

“What’s the ruler of these four-legged fucks again? Princess Luna or some shit like that?” One of them asked.

“She’s one of them, but Luna is the younger of the two. Celestia is the real bitch behind this nightmare.” Another responded. He took a drag from his cigarette and continued. “I heard that our boys up north near Minneapolis actually were able to take some prisoners.”

“Really? These ponies are so damn suicidal, I thought none would be taken alive.” Said the medic.

“Well one prisoner to be exact. Plus he didn’t come quietly. If I remember, that pony stabbed two of our guys before they got the weapon away from him.”

“We get any info from this P.O.W.?” The first soldier asked.

“Not much initially, but after a few days of getting the shit kicked out of him, he finally spat out something other than his name, rank, or division.” He paused, taking another puff from his cigarette. “The ponies are divided. He said that the high casualties and slow progress are making the pony public weary of the war. Many want peace, but bitch-on-high Celestia won’t let anything like that happen. She crushes all who oppose her, and ponies who question her disappear.”

“Damn. She’s like a ponified version of Hitler.” The medic laughed.

“That’s just FUBAR.” The first one spoke. “A pony Hitler who stirs up her troops to suicidally charge entrenched positions defended by machine guns, tanks, and artillery? And on top of that, she intimidates her own kind. That’s just messed up, she has to be a sociopath.”

“Probably.” Replied the medic. “But you have to remember, the ponies claim that her and her sister are goddesses. That’s why they’re so afraid to go up against her.”

“I thought divine rulers were supposed to be kind and compassionate.” The first said in a condescending tone.

The group of soldiers laughed at this, and even the young machine gunner laughed with them. For he had been mute during this conversation.

“Peterson.”

The machine gunner turned his head to the first soldier, who had an ace of spades playing card stuck on the side of his helmet.

“Yeah, Ace?” Peterson asked.

“You okay? You haven’t spoke a single word since the attack. We were starting to worry about you, ya know? Afraid that maybe you finally cracked from it all.”

“I haven’t cracked.” Peterson said gruffly. “I’ve just been thinking.”

“Suit yourself, just checking on you.”

Peterson only grunted in response, returning to his thoughts. All he could think of was the previous battle a few hours ago. How he had wielded his machine gun and killed well over one hundred ponies in this battle alone. How the bodies had piled up so high that the ponies had to climb the mountains of their own dead, only to be mown down and become part of the hill they climbed. How that one of the forward positions was overrun and everyone there was slaughtered. How the smell and sight of the huge amount of bodies made everyone want to vomit.

He looked down at the weapon in his hands. His M240L seemed to be covered by a shroud of malice, gleaming hungrily in the sunlight. The twenty-two pound weapon had taken human lives before, but now it took the lives of countless ponies. He did not know how many lives, human or pony, that he and the extension of his arm had taken, nor did he want to know. Deep down inside, he was saddened and sickened from the amount of lives he had taken during this war. While the ponies weren’t human, he could not help but sympathise with them slightly. He respected their determination and bravery, but at the end of the day, it was them or him.

Ace spoke again after a short while. “So why are we here in this field of death and blood again? Shouldn’t we be back at base camp celebrating or something?”

The soldier with the cigarette, who was their Corporal, replied. “Well Pvt. Jackson, we are out here because command told us to be out here. As for our objective, we are looking for survivors, so as to obtain prisoners. If we find one, hopefully we’ll be able to get some intel from it.”

“Watch the corpses carefully.” Peterson suddenly stated. “Sometimes the wounded bastards who survive play dead until you get close to them. Mind yourselves.”

“How would you know this?” Ace asked, being a smartass. “Personal experience or something?”

Peterson stopped walking and was instantly transported into a flashback. The horrible memory played in his mind as he could only watch in despair, unable to change anything.

“Peterson?”

He heard his name faintly in the background as the terrible scene unfolded. He relived it all again, him and his buddy walking through a field, the pony jumping up and stabbing his friend, him shooting the pony, trying hopelessly to stop the bleeding, his friend dying. He was powerless, and that feeling of helplessness and guilt still haunted him. Why did his friend have to die? Why not him instead? Why?

“Peterson!” His name ringed in his ears, and he was pulled back into reality. His Corporal was shaking him as he regained awareness.

“Are you okay Peterson?” He asked, concern lined his face.

“Yeah... just a flashback...” Peterson said as he looked away and started walking forward again.

The Corporal looked at Ace and gave him a stern look. Ace shrugged and mouthed, “How was I supposed to know?”

The group combed the field extensively. After a few hours, they had found nothing but corpses, some intel, and a few “souvenirs”. They were about to call it quits when Peterson stopped suddenly, looking around frantically.

“Did you hear that?” He asked.

“Hear what?”

“Sounded like coughing.”

A muffled noise came from a distance away, and it did sound like coughing.

“One of them is alive somewhere, and I think I know where.” Peterson said as he pulled the charging handle back on his M240L, chambering a round. “Cover me.” He said as he moved slowly to a shell crater with some corpses strewn around it, holding his weapon up to his shoulder.

The light yellow earth pony was terrified. She had laid there for hours, waiting for the humans to go away. When she thought they had gone, she had let out a sigh of relief. Unfortunately, she began to have a coughing fit, due to accidentally inhaling some of her own saliva. She heard one of them say that he heard something, and had failed to successfully muffle her coughing sufficiently. The crunch of his boots came closer and closer as she frantically pressed herself against the side of the crater, praying to Celestia that he wouldn’t see her.

The human approached the crater, and stood on the edge of it, directly above the mare. He scanned it, and the surrounding area. He seemed not to see her as he jumped down into the pit in front of her. She wanted to scream, but shoved her hoof in her mouth to keep herself quiet. The thoughts and rumors she heard of what humans did to captured ponies, especially mares, flooded her brain. She had heard stories that humans liked to beat and torture ponies, and that some of the most disgusting of the humans would rape mares.

The human moved around, no doubt searching for her, and was becoming frustrated. “I could’ve sworn I heard it come from over here.” He spoke to himself.

Apparently giving up, the human approached one side of the crater and yelled out, “Don’t shoot me, I’m coming back up.” As he took the step out of the crater.

At that very moment, the mare felt another wave of coughing coming up. She tried to stop herself, being filled with fear with what might happen if the human found her. Like most coughs, it irritated her throat and would not go away until it was released. Tears accumulating in her eyes, she tried not to cough. But her breath was running out and the cough was practically forcing it’s way out of her throat. She had to open her mouth to let the used air out of her lungs, and the coughing followed.

The human stopped dead in mid-step upon hearing the coughs. His head whipped in her direction as his black, empty eyes stared at her. For a moment both human and pony sat there surprised and afraid. Suddenly, he called out, “I found one!”

The mare gave a loud shriek and tried to pull herself out of the crater with her injured body.

The human wasted no time in acting. He turned on a dime and leapt at her. She shrieked again as she feared for her life. She was defenseless, having lost both her sword and dagger when she was injured by the thunder missile.

He landed on her back and wrapped one of his arms around her neck, trying to put her into a choke-hold. She whipped her head back and smashed her helmeted head into his. Stunned, she was able to shake him off and continued to climb. She had reached the rim and was about to pull herself out. He recovered quickly, and grabbed her hind hoof and pulled her back into the crater.

She flipped herself on her back and lashed at him with her caught hoof. It struck him in the chest as he lost his grip on her and his weapon. She flipped over again, and tried to ascend the crater side once more. But again, he pulled her back down.

This time, she rolled down the side of the crater colliding with him. The two combatants turned over a few times, wrestling to end up on top. They stopped rolling and the mare’s heavier weight went against her, as the human ended up on top of her. He pulled out a knife from his belt and tried to stab her. She stopped his arm with her hoof, while he gripped her other hoof to prevent her from lashing out with it.

The two sat there for a few moments, struggling against each other. Slowly, the human was bringing his knife ever closer to her neck. He was going to win, unless she acted fast. An idea crept into her head and she chose to enact it, as risky as it was. She allowed the knife to come closer to her. Sensing this change, the human thought victory was assured.

He stopped pressing after the tip touched her neck. “Yield. You’re done.” He said.

Surprising him, she gripped the flat of the blade with her teeth. She then yanked the knife out of his grasp and hit him in the chin with her now free hoof. She rolled them both and now he was on the bottom, pinned by her. Flipping the knife into the air, she caught it by the handle with her mouth and spoke through it, “No, you are done.”

“Hey! Equine bitch!”

The new voice startled her and she looked up just in time to see the butt of a rifle slam into her face. The force of the impact knocked her off of the human and onto her side while the knife flew from her grasp. The last thing she saw before losing consciousness was the dirt brown side of the crater, with three ominous shadows looming over her.

Asylum

The young earth mare awoke with a start, struggling to remember what had happened to her and where she was. Looking around, her surroundings only perplexed her. She was laying on her back in a bed of some sort, but did not remember falling asleep in such a place. Thinking hard for a minute, she began to remember. The battle, blood everywhere, thunder missiles, fighting the human hand-to-hoof, and being knocked unconscious.

Her mind clicked and she quickly became fully awake and aware as she realized her predicament. Whipping her head around violently, she hastily took in her surroundings trying to figure out where exactly she was.

The walls were made of fabric that were a sterile blue color, while the floor was smooth gray concrete. Several small machines occupied the space to the side of her bed, making small irritating beeps and noises. A couple had screens that displayed info she could not understand, while several wires and tubes snaked from the machines into and onto her body. She looked at the wires with a feeling of morbid curiosity, while wanting to desperately rip them off of her.

Frightened, she moved her hoof and was about to brush the foreign objects off of her body. After moving her hoof maybe an inch, it stopped, as if held in place by some unseeable bond. Frowning, she looked down to see the problem and was surprised. Looking at her limbs, she saw that all four were restrained in such a way that she could only move them an inch or two in any direction. The reality of her situation hit her like a punch to the gut. She began to panic. She was a prisoner, lying in a hospital with strange machines plugged into her for who knew why.

Struggling against her bonds, she began to flail and thrash on the bed. Her pulse and breathing intensified, as did the blips coming from the neighboring machines. Twisting her body, she gave out a sharp cry of pain. She stopped flailing and looked down at herself again. New bandages were wrapped around her side as she remembered that she was wounded, and that she couldn’t support her own weight, let alone walk or run. Defeated, she gave out a disgusted snort as she tugged hopelessly against the restraints on her hooves.

After a short while, a human doctor pulled open the curtain wall in front of her. Clipboard in hand, the doctor began to ask her some medical questions with a tone of practiced indifference. She would not speak to him, and only gave him a hateful glare. Getting nowhere with the questions, the doctor walked closer to her bed. He checked the machines and scribbled some notes onto his clipboard. Afterwards, he left her alone once more and closed the curtain behind him.

She sat in silence with only the blips of the machines for company. Minutes passed, then hours. She had given up tugging at the straps of material binding her hooves, as doing so only made them sore. With nothing else left to do, she closed her eyes and fell asleep. While asleep, she finally dreamt a dream of things that made her happy, instead of the morbid nightmares of war. For the first time in a long while, even without her knowing it, she smiled.

PFC. Peterson was laying in his cot staring at the ceiling. Today had been a tiring day and all he wanted was to sleep. Just as he was about to drift into the land of dreams, footsteps approached his cot.

“Private First Class Peterson, get up.” A gruff voice commanded him.

“Knock it off Ace, I’m not in the mood right now for your bullshit.” Peterson grumbled as he turned on his side, facing away from the man.

The man kicked his cot hard and tipped it over. Peterson gave a cry of confusion as he was dumped onto the floor. Angry, he pulled himself out from the upturned mess of the cot.

“Damn it Ace, you lousy son of a bitch...” Peterson trailed off as he looked up at the man standing above him. It was his Sergeant.

Scrambling over himself frantically, he somehow managed to stand up, assume the position of attention, salute his Sergeant, and shouted, “Sir!”

“At ease, Peterson.” His Sergeant said. “Kicking you out of your cot was punishment enough, albeit satisfying.” He finished as he chuckled at his own joke.

Peterson merely relaxed and rolled his eyes.

“Anyway, I’ve got news for you Specialist Peterson.”

“Wait, what did you just call me, sir?”

“You heard me right, Specialist. You just got a promotion.”

“For what, sir?”

“For finding and capturing that prisoner.”

“Did you happen to give me that promotion by chance?”

“Nope, came from Cpt. Yossarian himself back at CP. He heard about what happened and promoted you on the spot.”

“Well I’ll be. I guess he isn’t as crazy as everyone says he is. Thanks for informing me Sarge.”

“Don’t thank me yet, there’s more.”

“More?”

“Cpt. Yossarian also gave you a new assignment. Until further notice, you will be guarding our newly acquired prisoner. You will monitor and protect her at all times, as well as report any relevant intel you can find out from her.”

The color drained from Peterson’s face as he heard this and replied, “That bastard is crazy! What is he thinking!? That thing tried to kill me for crying out loud! Now he wants me to guard her? What is wrong with this world?”

“Calm down, I know it’s not desirable, but you just have to grin and bear it. Also, you are to be given this.” The Sergeant handed him a piece of folded paper with signatures lining it. “In accordance to your mission, you must keep her within your sight at all times. That document there gives you the permission, right, and authority to disobey orders and remove obstacles that threaten the prisoner, or otherwise impede your mission. Provided of course, that said orders are not given by an officer who outranks Cpt. Yossarian.”

“So, I’m chained down, but given freedom at the same time.” Peterson mused.

“Yep, now get going to your new post.”

“What!? Now?”

“Yes, now. Cpt. Yossarian was very insistent on this.”

The next morning, the light yellow earth mare awoke feeling happy, her dreams fresh in her mind. She wasn’t depressed, even upon remembering where she was and her predicament. She felt in such a good mood, that she thought she might even answer the doctor’s questions if he came back today. That changed after she looked around her small curtained enclosure again.

To her right sat a human soldier, dressed in his camo uniform and sitting on a metal chair. His helmet was askew and pulled down over his eyes. His pack and gear, as well as his weapon, laid against the wall to his left. She could’ve sworn she heard snoring coming from him, and assumed he was asleep. On his chest was a patch that she assumed was his name. It read; SPC Peterson.

Great. She thought. First they tie me down to a bed, now they have a soldier guarding me. I guess they really want to hammer home that I’m a prisoner. It must be a mind game, they’re trying to get me to break and reveal information. They won’t get anything from me!

After a while, the same doctor from yesterday came back in. He entered and stood rigid when he saw the soldier. Angrily, he demanded to know why he was there, invading the privacy of the patient. The soldier held out a piece of paper for the doctor to read. After glancing through it, the doctor looked up from it while giving a disgusted scowl.

“I don’t like this.” The doctor replied with a German accent.

“Orders are orders.” Peterson glumly replied from behind his helmet. “I don’t like them any better than you do doc.”

“But the privacy of the patient is being compromised.” The doctor protested.

“I’m not interested in her medical records, nor is command. Besides, she’s not even human. Who cares if others hear she has the pony version of the common cold, or the flu? I’m not gonna record a bunch of medical jargon, nor am I going to remember it. Just carry on like I’m not here.”

The mare thought she heard the soldier’s voice before, but just shrugged it off. Most humans sounded the same to her, and she assumed that humans thought the same of her kind.

“Alright, fine.” The doctor said with resignation. He cleared his throat and turned toward her, clipboard aloft in his hand. “Let us start, yes? First off we need a name. What is your name?”

The mare frowned with hatred in her eyes, and stated firmly, “I am Corporal Sunflower of the Royal 29th Infantry Division. My serial number is 2390-3125.” Her voice sounding like a gentle wind, blowing softly through their ears.

Peterson began to laugh. “Well look at that doc, you finally get her to speak, but she won’t say anything than the captured prisoner recording.”

The doctor continued on unfazed. “We also need to confirm your gender. You are female, yes?”

She raised her eyebrow without amusement and gave him a look that said: Really?

He cleared his throat again. “Yes, female.” He said as he scribbled it down. “Do you have any known allergies?”

Sunflower looked away from him and closed her eyes.

“Family history of major medical ailments or problems?”

Sunflower didn’t stir.

The doctor was becoming exasperated now. He was not making any progress at all.

“Hey doc.” Peterson piped up.

“What?” He snapped.

“Did you guys even check her for a military I.D. or anything? You know, like dog tags or something?”

As one, the three heads in the curtained enclosure turned to look at her neck. Resting across it, was a small metal necklace with a circular piece of metal attached to it. Etched into the metal circle were words, no doubt containing some personal information.

The doctor stepped toward Sunflower and reached for the dog tag around her neck. Snarling, Sunflower tried to bite his hand as he nimbly avoided the attack. Sunflower began to writhe on the bed, scowling and snapping angrily while the doctor held her dog tag and read it.

“The only new piece of information on these is her religion.” The doctor stated in a melancholy tone as he let the tag fall from his hand.

After about an hour of asking medical questions, without getting any answers or response, the doctor finally had his fill and left after checking the readings on the machines once again. Shortly thereafter, another human, a female nurse, came into the curtained space with a tray of food for the mare. She placed the tray on the bed while she undid the restraints holding her fore-hooves in place. Peterson held his weapon while the nurse did this, his finger resting near the trigger while he pointed it in the pony’s general direction.

With her fore-hooves now free, she was able to sit up in her bed. The tray was placed in front of her and she began to eat. The tray was filled with various fruits and vegetables, and she hungrily devoured them all. After she finished, she allowed herself to be restrained back to the bed by the nurse. Only after she was restrained once again did Peterson relax and lean his weapon against the wall.

Thus, the daily cycle was set. The mare received two meals a day, and the doctor visited often, either to check on her wounds, take samples for tests, or unsuccessfully ask her more questions. Peterson rarely left the chair that he had made his new permanent residence. The few times he was away, he was only gone for a couple minutes at most and always took his weapon with him. He had meals brought to him in his chair and sat in silence all day, as did the mare.

Both saw only anger and hate in each other and did not want to engage in conversation. They never looked each other in the eye and engaged in their own activities to pass the time with their boredom. Sunflower occupied herself with her memories and sleep, and she also began counting the stitches in the curtain.

Peterson occupied his time between reading and writing letters to and from his family. When that was done, he placed his M240L on his lap and tinkered with it. He would disassemble and reassemble his weapon several times as day. On top of that, he would open the ammo box attached to the weapon and count the rounds in the detachable box magazine.

Holding the belt of disintegrating links with both hands, he would slowly feed them back into the magazine. Counting them one by one, ensuring that he had an even two hundred rounds at all times. He always did, since he did not fire the weapon, but he counted regardless. He even did it with the spare magazines he kept with him as well. Sunflower was convinced he did all this counting and tinkering on purpose to annoy her. The clanking of the rounds and metal parts made quite a racket in her mind’s eye, and the sounds often prevented her from going to sleep or kept waking her up.

About a week later, Peterson was up late in his chair writing a letter home when Sunflower started tugging at her restraints as much as she was allowed. All the while she was mumbling and talking in her sleep. Peterson focused his attention on her in case she would speak about military intel or other info in her sleep.

“No... I don’t want to... Why should they die...” Sunflower mumbled as Peterson listened intently.

Sunflower became quiet for a minute, her ear twitching throughout. Suddenly she upheaved wildly for a moment and started screaming in her sleep.

“Go away! I’m sorry I killed you! Just leave me alone, I had no choice!”

She was having a nightmare, and Peterson gauged it was one hell of a doozy. He continued to listen as he heard running footsteps in the distance.

“Why!? Why did I have to kill you!? Why did the medic have to die!? Oh dear Celestia! Not the medic, take me instead! Kill me!” She continued to scream at the top of her lungs, while she began to flail once more.

The footsteps came closer, but still Sunflower screamed and raved.

“Take me! Let the others live! Why should they die in this suicidal bloodbath while I’m cursed to live!? End it all! Oh great creators, dear Celestia, end my life! The voices, the faces, It’s all too much! Kill me!” Sunflower screeched as tears began pouring down her cheeks.

At that moment, a nurse rushed through the curtain and assessed the situation. Before Peterson could say anything, the nurse pulled a syringe out and readied it. She jammed it into the IV drip and dispersed the sedatives into the tube leading to Sunflower’s bloodstream.

Slowly, Sunflower’s screaming quieted down. Now she was whimpering and sobbing as tears continued to stream down her face. Becoming still, she began to quietly mumble.

“Why... Why them.... Why not me... I’m a horrible pony... I don’t deserve life...” She finished as she trailed off into a deep and sedated sleep.

Sunflower awoke and she could still feel the tears in her eyes as she remembered the terrible nightmares she had last night. Her dreams had been the most unpleasant she had experienced in a long while. She was haunted by memories, her past actions, and the faces of those who died, both human and pony. She looked down at her blanket sadly as the doctor came in early that day.

She stared down all throughout his visit, and refused her morning meal. She was too sad to eat, and her conscience too heavy and guilt-ridden. How could she satisfy herself when the faces of the dead haunted her mind? Sunflower thought of the unthinkable, she thought of how to die. She wanted death, to be free of the phantoms and faces, to be free from the guilt and the pain. So she schemed in her mind how she might accomplish this.

Maybe, I could get the human to shoot me. Get him really angry, then pow, lights out. Or I could just starve myself. That might take too long though, plus they would probably start to force-feed me. I guess I just have to get him angry enough to shoot me.

She opened her mouth when Peterson spoke, his eyes once again covered by his helmet.

“Thinking about ending it all then? Is the pain too much to bear? Only cowards would kill themselves, rather than ride out life until the end. I would’ve thought your kind would understand that, but then again, your kind isn’t the brightest.”

“Fuck you!” Sunflower retorted promptly.

“Well, well. You actually said something other than your pre-recorded message. I congratulate you on your milestone.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Sunflower harshly stated.

“Understand what? Killing another being, fighting for your life, or watching your comrades and friends die all around you while you somehow still cling to life? I’m a soldier, and I’ll wager I’ve been one longer than you. I’ve seen it all. I’ve held my friends as they died in my arms, killed many humans and ponies, and been haunted by the faces of those I’ve killed and those who died before me.

“I very well understand what you’re thinking and going through. But unlike you, I’ve gotten my shit together and squared it all away. Sure, I get some flashbacks and nightmares every once in awhile, but I don’t let them faze me. I guess you could say I’m devoid of emotion or empathy. I’m desensitized.”

“You sound like a heartless bastard.”

“Call me what you like, I am what I am.”

“Then I guess you’re a dick slurping man-whore like your father.” Sunflower replied, hoping to enrage him.

To her dismay, Peterson laughed. “Ha ha ha. Go ahead and insult me, it won’t help your situation. Even if you do get me angry, I’m not going to kill you. I have orders and I’m not giving you the luxury of leaving this world.”

“Go burn in Tartarus.”

“I very well might, little pony. The same goes for you. I guess we’ll have to wait and see after we’re dead if our repentance in this life is enough to guarantee our passage to Paradise.”

Author's Note

Sorry for this chapter being a bit on the shorter side as well, but I just couldn't think of a way to drag it out any longer. I'm sure you guys understand though. Chapter four will be an attempt to get at least 5k words, as well as getting the story moving a bit faster. I'm sure you noticed that this chapter was a little slow.

Anyway, let me know what you thought of this chapter, and please point out any grammar mistakes you see. Thanks in advance!