Manifest Destiny

Chapters

Processing
Barracks
Training Begins
The Theater
Rifle
Marechester
Cold Blooded
A Hero and an Idiot
Debt
The Woods
The Battle of the Galloping Gorge
Fillydelphia
After the Battle
The Battle of Cloudsdale
Clockwork
Conditioning
A Lesson
Waking Up
Bodies
A New Type of War
10 Months Later
Preparations
A Dark Night for Everyone
The Second Battle of Canterlot
The Machine
Waiting
Break
Deadeye's Last Day
The Wrecker
A Debriefing of a Different Kind
Peace
The Truth About War
The Deal
Manifest Destiny
The Battle of Canterlot

Processing

PROCESSING

While the air in the waiting room may have been thick with perspiration, it was at least relatively quiet. As far as Static Sparks could tell this room was hotter than the last, thicker with perspiration, but most importantly filled with an annoying loud buzzing sound emanating from somewhere in front of him. He waited in his line, shuffling forward with the other ponies, with nothing to do but to wait for his turn to confront the maker of the annoying buzzing.

The worst thing about the waiting was it gave him time to think, and thinking is nothing a pony being sent off to war wants to do. He tried to keep his mind off of it by trying to figure out what the sound was coming from, but that was pretty simple. He thought about his parents back in Fillydelphia, wondering if they were worried about him.

‘They shouldn’t be worried yet, I have 2 weeks training before they rush me to the front’ he thought. He shuddered at the last part. 2 weeks until the front; it was a crash course in basic fighting, not good training, but Equestria needed boots on the ground, and would take what it had. The front also scared him, reports were spotty, but he heard rumors the same as anypony. He heard they could turn invisible, could teleport themselves right behind you and stab you in the back, and had mages that could make fire out of thin air and would cook the flesh off a pony in seconds. He shuddered again; he couldn’t even imagine that sight. He didn’t want to.

The line shuffled forward, and he could see that his suspicions on what the source of the buzzing was were confirmed. The floor was choked with the colored manes that had been sheared off of ponies previously. Just a few ponies in line ahead he could see a mare operating the shearers, and another one that cut off the excess of the conscript’s tails. The blond one with the apple on his flank, Braeburn if he remembered right, was currently getting sheared, his large thick mane falling to the floor.

The line moved again, and Sparks thought about his mane. It was never a particularly impressive thing; it wasn’t very well kept, wasn’t large, wasn’t even too good at keeping his head warm in the winter, but he liked it alright. He liked it even more now that it gave him an excuse not to think about that. The line moved again. The tall unicorn in front of him had a mustache, the mare sheared it off, the line moved again. It was his turn.

“Stay still”, said the mare, the shearer ran over him, and in 4 quick passes his mane had fallen to the floor. A loud snip signaled the demise of his tail. “Next” said the mare, and with that part one of Sparks conversion was complete.

If he was honest with himself though, not having a mane was pretty great. Already he felt cooler now that his mane wasn’t trapping the heat, and he never really knew how much it weighed on his head. He felt lighter, and his head just felt more responsive as he looked from side to side. He shifted his attention to the line in front, trying to figure out what was to happen next.

He was close to the exit of the room, the whine of the shearers behind him, another triple set of double doors to the front. He couldn’t see into the room ahead because of the two tall unicorns standing in front of him. He strained his ears to try and hear what the room ahead of him held in store. Just above the sound of the shears, he heard the unmistakable sound of splashing.

His line moved through the double doors into the next room, and while he had been expecting the Equestrian Calvary to try to de-individualize everypony, he hadn’t expected this. The seventy ponies in his line gathered at the edge of what in peacetime would have been a swimming pool. Now it was filled with ruddy brown water that smelled strongly, of what he didn’t know, but something. The floor was caked in dried layers of the stuff. Unbelievably the air in this room was thicker than the last, any worse and everypony would have to start swimming from point A to B. Each room was getting more and more insufferable.’ This can’t keep up’ he thought. ‘No way.’

“LISTEN UP!” Portrait Painter yelled, making his way through the assembled ponies to the front of the line. Sparks could see that he had also been sheared, his silver mane reduced to nothing, but his mustache still on his face. “Everypony goes into the dye baths! Once you are in, shut your eyes tight, hold your breath and submerge yourself for 30 seconds. DO NOT have your eyes open in the dye bath! If you do the doctors will be able to fix you, but you do not want to have to be fixed! AM I UNDERSTOOD?”

“SIR YES SIR”, Static Sparks screamed along with the other 70.

“Into the dye bath!” Portrait Painter ordered as he turned and waded into the mud brown dye. Everypony followed him in. the dye was blessedly cool, and was a welcome change from the veritable furnaces that the last rooms were. The ponies waded until they were neck deep in the dye. “Breathe!” ordered Portrait Painter, and Static Sparks took a large breath. ”submerge!” and everypony closed their eyes and lowered their heads into the dye.

For the second time today Static Sparks had a chance to stop and think. The dye muffled the noise that everypony was making, and he couldn’t see if he wanted to. Despite being surrounded by 70 other ponies, he was on his own. It was peaceful, and for a half minute he could forget the war and the unicorns and the front and the whole rotten mess. He could feel the cool dye flow around him and rock him gently to and fro. A thought hit him as he relaxed in the tranquility.

‘This might be the last moment of peace that I have for a long time’.

‘Enjoy it.’

And just as quickly as it had come, the peace was shattered by the sound of a whistle from above. Static Sparks raised his head up above the dye, and was thrust back into a sea of 70 ponies scrambling out of the pool, throwing dye everywhere. They emerged from the pool, all now a uniform earth brown. Static Sparks looked to their flanks, and everyone was bare, cutie marks buried under a layer of brown dye. For the first time since grade school he wasn’t the only blank flank. The 70 lined up in front of Portrait Painter, who was now dyed the same as everyone. Excess dye dripped from the ponies as they awaited their orders.

Static Sparks looked at Portrait Painter, dye was still running down his face, and he looked almost pained. Static Sparks could tell that he wasn’t looking forward to what was going to happen next.

“Everypony, lets dry off.” Portrait Painter spat the words out, turned, and opened the next set of doors. They all followed him into what for all intents and purposes looked like an absolutely empty room. The doors shut behind them. And then the heat lamps turned on.

The temperature in the room shot up to 130 degrees, and all of the other rooms in comparison looked like the snow wastes of the Crystal Empire. Where the 30 seconds in the dye bath went by in a flash, for Static Sparks and every other pony in the room time stretched out like a blade. It was a literal hell. The excess dye was almost immediately evaporated, and now chocked the air with its thickness. Sparks could literally taste the bitter dye it was so thick. The extra humidity trapped the heat, making it worse. The whole room glowed red from the lamps, adding to the effect. Static Sparks started to panic; he couldn’t breathe and was burning alive. Just by looking around he could tell that the room was on the verge of a breakdown, they had to get out of there.

Mercifully the heat lamps shut off with a loud clunk, and the doors out swung open as the ponies rushed for the exit. They cleared the room as fast as they could manage while staying in their order. The room they entered was absolutely bare, and seemed to serve only to allow everypony to recompose themselves after their trip through Tartarus. This room was blessedly cool, and the air was clear and dry. Static Sparks gulped in a mouthful of the wonderful air, and couldn’t remember the last time that something had tasted so good.

“Dear Celestia I’m glad that’s out of the way”, Sparks heard somepony mutter, and to his surprise it was Portrait Painter. Portrait quickly recomposed himself. “Alright everypony, go through out-processing and then your through with this.” This was met with panting and wheezing as everypony was still trying to shake off the horror of the last room. “Oh for Celestia’s sake GET OVER IT”, Portrait snapped. The heavy breathing stifled. “Good.” Portrait painter turned and opened the last door.

It was another line. More time for Static Sparks to think. But by now he was just too tired to do even that. The furnace had sucked all the energy from his body. Too much had happened since this morning when he got off the train and walked into the building. Dear Celestia, how long ago was that? Ages, at least it seemed that way. He shuffled along with the line, only faintly aware of the incessant clattering of typewriters and occasional heavy thudding from the room ahead. At least this was the last hurdle in the processing operation.

‘Yeah, and once this is over then I get to go train until I drop.’ He thought sullenly. ‘And once that’s over I get to go sent off to a war where either I kill or die trying. Face it Sparks, this is the best you’re going to have it for a long time, maybe the rest of your life.’ This realization deflated him even more. ‘What the hay am I even doing here?’

With this thought in mind he entered into the last room, the rattling of the typewriters giving him a headache. He blankly stared at the surroundings. The room was filled to capacity with mares at desks, each interviewing a volunteer while hammering out paperwork on their typewriters. He saw a mare at a desk with her hoove raised in the air, staring pointedly back at him. He looked at her dumbly, only realizing that she meant for him to take a seat at her desk five seconds later. He hurried over to her desk.

“I’m sorry about that; the furnace really threw me for a loop.” Sparks clarified. The mare smiled and shrugged it off.

“That’s fine; a lot of the guys that come in here are like that. What’s your recruitment I.D. number?”

“Oh, yeah.” Sparks strained to remember the number. “Zero-one-zero, five-one-eight, four-one-two. That’s it.”

“Name?”

“Static Sparks.”

“Postal code of city of residence?”

“40823.”

“Age?”

“21.”

“Blood type?”

“B+.”

As he answered the mare filled out paperwork, hitting a switch on her typewriter as she filled in the I.D. number, postal code, age, and blood type. As she finished up she fed a small tag into a slot on the typewriter and pushed a button. The typewriter made a loud THUD, and with that she retrieved the tag.

“This is your identification tag; you have to wear it at all times.” The mare slotted a die onto the bottom of a stamp and rolled it in ink. ”Hold still”, she said, then she stamped Sparks information on his right flank. “Follow the line on the floor outside and stand at attention. NEXT!”

Sparks followed the line through a last set of double doors outside, and for only a second got to appreciate what a beautiful day it was. A cool light breeze blew across the field, in the distance Foal Mountain rose up over the green plains. He lined up alongside the other ponies and stood at attention, a quick glance to his left confirming that everypony that went through the out-processing had received a stamp on their right flank.

The ponies stood in front of a parade field, to the right Sparks could see the beginnings of an obstacle course, to the left what appeared to be a target range. Behind the field he could see several barracks. ‘None of this was here 3 days ago’, he thought. Three days. It was so long ago.

Standing at attention was actually one of the harder things he had done so far today. Granted, worse was yet to come, but he had never really thought about how grating standing could be. His hind legs were growing stiff, and he couldn’t shake it off. ‘Hope I don’t get a charley horse, that would be my luck.’

Portrait Painter trotted back and forth across the parade grounds in front of the lined up ponies. He also was stamped with the identification information on his right flank. He turned, and Sparks could see on his left flank portrait painter bore a crown. Portrait Painter continued to trot among the ranks.

Sparks heard the doors behind him shut, and Portrait Painter looked up with anticipation. He marched to the center of the line. Another speech, it seemed, was in order.

“Good. You all look like killers now. Maybe that’s all we need. We’ll march to the front, and once they see us they’ll call it a day, say they’re sorry for the invasion, and give us back our land. You’ll be back home in a week.” He grinned at the thought. “Somehow I doubt that though. At least you look like killers now, but looking the part doesn’t liberate our country, I’m now going to have to train you to act like killers. But first, some rules.”

“None of you have names anymore, you left them behind, so I do not want to hear anypony calling anypony else by any names. Until you prove to me in training or in battle that you are worthy of a good killing fighting name you are to be addressed only by number. You will never refer to me as Portrait Painter again. From here on in you address me as Sir, or Major, or if you so wish you may call me The Artist. I am called The Artist because you are nothing but clay, and I must mold you into the killers that Equestria needs.”

“Now, you are to go to your barracks, meet with your squad, and square away your belongings. Training starts at 1500, so you have 75 minutes to get your affairs in order. Are we clear?”

“SIR YES SIR”, the ponies answered back immediately and forcefully.

“Dismissed.” And with that, the line dissolved as 210 ponies marched to the barracks across the parade field. Barely over an hour remained before training would begin in earnest.

Barracks

BARRACKS

Being out in the open did miracles for Static Sparks concentration. After spending all morning in that horrible processing building the breeze on his face and grass of the parade ground under his feet made him feel like a new pony altogether.

‘But Sparks, you are a new pony. You aren’t even Sparks anymore, remember? You’re 010518412 now.’ He reminded himself as he trotted towards the three barracks buildings in the distance. Barrack 3 for third platoon was his destination, and it was the furthest from the parade grounds. He looked around at the other ponies making their way to their respective barracks. It looked off. The sky was colorful, the fields were a luscious green, but the ponies were all so uniform and dull. It just didn’t match up.

He arrived in front of the large wooden barracks for 3rd platoon, and the fact that the building didn’t exist three days ago was apparent. He could see small gaps between planks in the construction, and the smell of paint still lingered in the air. He shoved open the door with his hoof. Inside the barracks a single large fan spun from the ceiling, fighting to keep the temperature that was brought in by 70 ponies down. The only things in the room were several groups of two-pony bunks, each clumped in groups of five. On the floor next to the groups of bunks Sparks could see inscribed squad numbers. Each bunk had an I.D. number stamped onto the end; all that was left to do now was to find his and he would be paired up with his squad.

He had a top bunk in the cluster for 5th squad, and at the base of the bunk where two footlockers. One of them had his I.D. Number stamped on top. He trotted over and casually kicked the top open. Inside there was a dress uniform on the left, a large hollow area that he was meant to fill, and most importantly papers and a set of pencils on the right. Sparks didn’t bring any personals with him, so that part of moving in was easy. The paper, on the other hoove, that was important.

Sparks levitated a sheet and a pencil and climbed up the small ladder on the side of the bunk. He lay down on the mediocre spring mattress and began to write.

Dear Mom and Dad,

I’m just writing to tell you that I’m alright. They processed us earlier today. Dyed us all brown, cut our manes, took our names and gave us a number. They said we had to earn new names, and that they were going to make us killers. The guy in charge knows what he’s doing. We have only two weeks of training before we get sent to the front, but I know that by then we’ll be ready to fight.

Sparks stopped as he wrote the words. By then we’ll be ready to fight. Would they be? He looked over from his bunk at the other ponies in his squad. He recognized the twin unicorns and their tall spindly frames. There were two other unicorns that were about his size, maybe taller. A unicorn with a large build. A large earth pony. And three other earth ponies of roughly regular size. Already the dye had made them hard to separate. Earlier it had been so easy to identify who was who. But now…

Now he was getting distracted. He looked back at the ponies of his squad, all busy writing letters to loved ones. The entire barracks had gone quiet except for the sound of pencil on paper. Were they ready to fight? Were they even capable of fighting? Sparks thought back to the past, to school. He was picked on for being a ‘blank flank’ but he never got into a fight. He never even seen anypony fight except for in the movies. He remembered what that pony said earlier before the conversion.

“Do you want to be a killer!?”

“Naw sir, Ah’ve always tried my hardest ta never even hurt anypony.”

Has anypony ever been in a fight?

Sparks heard the sounds of the pencils stop suddenly. He looked and saw his squad mates looking back at him.

“What was that?” one of the earth ponies asked, his voice tinged with the unmistakable accent of Manehatten. Sparks sat for a moment; he must have spoken his last thought out loud.

“Has anypony ever been in a fight?” Sparks asked again. His squad mates stayed silent, some shaking their heads no.

“Well, ah was almost in a fight once”, a familiar country drawl said from under Sparks bunk. Sparks leaned over his bunk and looked down at the earth pony who spoke. It was the same one from the beginning room, Braeburn, maybe?

“Almost in a fight?” asked Sparks incredulously.

“Well, yeah”, Braeburn replied. “When we settled Appleloosa we made all the buffalo upset because we planted trees on their stampedin’ grounds. After some bickerin’ they decided ta kick us off the land, and us settler ponies fought them back.”

Sparks furrowed his brow in suspicion. “But you said you were ‘almost’ in a fight?”

“Ah didn’t take part. Ah didn’t want ta fight ‘em is all. Those buffalo folk were plenty kind enough and we get along great now. It was just a misunderstanin’ was all.”

“Okay, has anypony actually been in a fight?” Sparks asked. A few of them shook their heads no again, the one with the Manehatten accent simply resumed writing his letter. Dear Celestia, none of them had ever fought, not even on the playground as kids. “How about shot a rifle?” he asked. It was a longshot; he didn’t know anypony who actually owned a rifle, and if nopony ever even threw a kick then he doubted that anypony would have fired an honest-to-Celestia gun.

“Ah’ve shot a rifle before”, Braeburn responded. At this the squadponies stopped what they were doing. Braeburn had their full attention now.

“You’ve shot a rifle?” asked Sparks.

“Yeah, a beautiful .30-30 Marechester lever action, model of 997.” A smile grew on Braeburns face as he remembered back to it. "She held 15 rounds, and could shoot a tick right off the back of a coyote at 50 yards.”

“Was it somepony else’s?” one of the unicorns asked.

“Nah, a lot of us settler ponies had a rifle of some sort when we set off to found Appleloosa, for shootin’ varmints or in case some bandits were out there. Ah bought mine for 150 bits.”

The earth pony with the Manehatten accent sat up in his bunk and looked at Braeburn. “If all of you settler ponies had rifles, and the buffalo start giving you grief, why the hay didn’t you use your rifles on the buffalo?”

Braeburn looked horrified at the idea. “Ah couldn’t do that! We didn’t want anyone hurt, and I don’t think that they did either. Our hearts just weren’t into it.”

“If you couldn’t use a rifle then, what says you’ll use one now?” Manehatten shot back “I don’t want to be in a squad with some conscientious objector.”

“You know full well that this is different now. Ah’ll fight just a good as anypony.”

Manehatten narrowed his eyes. “You swear?”

Braeburn stared the pony down, eyes filled with intensity. “Yeah, ah swear. I ain’t afraid of a fight, ah just don’t want ta get in one unless it’s necessary.”

“Alright then”, said Manehatten, seemingly satisfied with that answer. One of the normal build unicorns turned to Braeburn.

“if you didn’t use your rifles, what did you fight with? Harsh language?”

“Naw, we used apple pies.” Braeburn said it with absolute conviction. Everypony in the squad stared in disbelief. Manehatten started chuckling, and buried his head into his sheets.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Oh Celestia, this is rich.” Manehatten started back to writing his letter. “We should get baking; Apple pies will fell the armies of Unicornia.”

The others took the news less well. One of the earth ponies finally broke the silence. “So out of us ten, only one of us has ever almost been in a pie fight, and now we’re gonna go up against unicorns who flay the flesh off of bone.” It was a statement, not a question, and the meaning of it made the whole squad still.

“We ain’t gonna be ready, are we?” Braeburn asked. Nopony answered. Manehatten continued his writing, and then looked over to Braeburn.

“Speak for yourself, pilgrim. I’m gonna be ready. Or I’m gonna die trying.” He picked his pencil back up with his mouth and went to writing again. Through gritted teeth he continued to speak. “You know what’ll happen to ponies that aren’t ready. That won’t happen to me. I’m going to be the best soldier there is, because I have the soldier’s mentality.” He looked over to Braeburn. “It’s a mental war, pilgrim. You gotta be a killer in here” he said as he motioned to his head with a hoove. “You gotta be able to put all that ‘good folks’ garbage away. I can, and that’s why they aren’t gonna get me.” With that, he went back to his letter, satisfied that he had the last word on the matter.

“I just hope the training works”, Sparks said. The others nodded in agreement and went back to their writing. Sparks looked for a clock, and found one on the back wall. 2:10. Fifty minutes until training. Time was crawling. Thank Celestia.

He looked at his letter. Despite the Manehattenites bravado, Sparks wasn’t sure they would be. Still, it would probably be better to lie than to tell his parents he was going to war and wouldn’t be ready. As a matter of fact the letter looked fine to him. There wasn’t too much to talk about anyway, other that the torture of the heat lamps. “Screw that room”, Sparks muttered. Just thinking about it drained the life from his body. Come to think of it, a nap seemed to be just what the doctor ordered. With that, he put his letter up and lay down on the cot to sleep.

Sparks couldn’t see.

He could hear a harsh metallic heavy breathing, and feel uneven loose rock beneath his hooves, but he couldn’t see more than five steps in front of him. Grey dust filled the air to choking, but his lungs were fine. It was dark, like during a heavy snowfall at dusk. Ash drifted from the grey heavens above. He saw this world without color through two heavy lenses, like portholes on a ship. He listened more. The breathing was his. He heard something else from his back right.

“-othing left, -ey detona…”

“-there anyone out there?”

“-elestia, they’re all…”

“ -asting on all frequencies, help is inco…”

The box on Sparks’ right saddle continued to make these sorts of strange noises. He felt like he was in the dye bath again, like he was swimming from place to place. All of the noise was muted, and he could only just feel the loose rocks beneath his hooves. He looked over his left shoulder, he was carrying what looked like a small cannon.

There was a light patch in the fog ahead, and sparks started toward it. He could make out the outline of a pony with some weapon he had never seen before in the gloom. Without thinking he grabbed up the small cannon and reared up on hind legs, tucking the stock of it into his shoulder and aiming down the barrel at the silhouette.

“Starswirl!” Sparks shouted. Even as he said the word he was confused.

“Bearded”, The silhouette responded. “Calm down Commander, it’s me.” The silhouette trotted over, revealing an earth pony in a gas mask and light uniform, with a searchlight mounted on his back. “Found anypony?” Sparks stood confused. How did I get here? Who is this?

“Commander?” the earth pony asked. “Commander, Wake up.” The pony said as he shoved sparks with his hoove.

“WAKE UP!”

“WAKE UP!” Braeburn shouted as he shoved Sparks hard in the chest. Sparks woke with a start. “It’s about time ya woke, ya got to get to trainin’ soon. Just about slept through everythin’” Braeburn said with a characteristic grin on his face. “Ah reckon ya could sleep through darn near anything, could ya?”

Sparks looked to the clock on the wall. 2:50. Training was set to start soon. The other squad ponies were getting up and putting up their things. He looked at Braeburn. “Do we need to bring anything?”

Braeburn smiled “Naw, just your four hooves and a willingness to exercise.” He seemed almost too happy to Sparks. Didn’t he realize he was only two weeks away from a war? Maybe this was his way of coping, sparks thought. Maybe this was just what he was like. Sparks dismounted his bunk.

“Hey, partner”, Braeburn said with a serious tone, and Sparks turned in response. “Can I ask ya a question?”

“Sure”, Sparks replied.

“Seein’ how we share a bunk and are in the same squad and all, would ya like to be mah buddy? Ya know, watch my back and ah watch yours. Help each other out. That sorta thing?”

“I guess” Sparks said groggily, still trying to sort out the events of the past few minutes. The dream was already fading from memory. He remembered a radio, Something about a gas mask, and grey. Even as he tried to think of it the memories was slipping away.

Braeburn was smiling again. “Well let’s get goin’ partner, ah would hate to be late. The Major wouldn’t take too kindly to that.” He was already trotting out of the barracks as Sparks stood in confusion. “What the hay are you waitin’ for, let’s go!” Braeburn shouted from the doorway.

Sparks began to follow him absentmindedly, still confused and not entirely awake. He caught up to Braeburn. “Hey, just a question”, Sparks asked.

The stallion turned, big silly grin still plastered on his face. “Shoot.”

“What happened back there?”

“You made a friend, partner.” Braeburn said with a smile. Sparks stopped and stood there, trying to comprehend that piece of news.

“I made a friend.”

Despite the processing and the training and the war and the whole rotten mess, it was beginning to look like a good day after all.

Training Begins

TRAINING BEGINS

“Fifth squad, third platoon, stand at attention!” the Artist commanded, and they did. He looked them over, eventually looking at an earth pony and large unicorn standing next to each other. The one on the left was certainly average, but he had a fire in his eyes. The other was a large fellow, and for what The Artist had in mind that was all he needed.

“You two” ,he said as he pointed a hoove at them, ”you’re going to be 5th squads machine gun team. Understood?”

“Sir Yes Sir!” the one on the left shouted with a strong Manehatten accent, intensity in his eyes. He looked almost glad that he got the position of squad machine gunner. The Artist continued to look over the squad members, finally stopping in front of a unicorn.

“You good with magic?”

“Sir Yes Sir.” Not even half the enthusiasm of the Manehattenite.

“Do you want to be a killer son?”

The unicorn paused for a second, then weakly answered, “Sir, no Sir.”

“Well consider yourself fortunate, you’re the squad medic. You should buy lottery tickets while your luck holds out.” The Artist said.

“Sir, thank you Sir!” the unicorn said in elation.

“Can it!” The Artist barked. “As for the rest of you, you’re just Calvary ponies. Deal with it.”

“Sir Yes Sir!” Sparks replied with the rest of the Calvary ponies of his squad. He was just glad that the squad duties were almost doled out. They had been standing at attention for the past twenty minutes as The Artist went through all 21 squads in the company giving out positions. Only two squads were left to go.

Sparks continued to stand at attention. The Manehattenite was squad machine gunner. He definitely seemed like the one that would be able-no, willing-to do the most damage with a machine gun.

“Everypony listen up!” The Artist bellowed. “Do you see that in the distance there?” he said as he motioned to the mountain behind the camp. “That is Foal Mountain. Every day you all will run the mountain, three miles up and three miles back. Do you understand?”

“Sir yes Sir!”

“Then get going.”

“He’s dying on you soldier!” The Artist yelled at Sparks. “If you can’t get him to cover he will be DEAD!”

Sparks was struggling to drag the limp body of Braeburn twenty five feet into the trench. It was one of the Calvary requirements. If anypony couldn’t move one of their injured squad mates to safety by the end of the two weeks they would wash out in a second. He had his forehooves wrapped around Braeburns and shove against the dirt with his hind legs, but it was little use. Braeburn was just too heavy.

“Try harder soldier, you have ten seconds!” Sparks quickly glanced behind him to see how far he was from the lip of the trench. Still about ten feet to go. He planted his hindlegs into the ground and pushed with all of his strength, Braeburns body slowly moved across the ground.

“Too late, you're both dead.” The Artist said. Braeburn got up as Sparks fell to the ground from exhaustion.

“Sir, Ah’m sorry Sir", Braeburn said as he snapped to attention.

“It isn’t your fault soldier”, The Artist said. He turned to Sparks. “Well, at least you tried; you’re just not strong enough yet.” The Artist leaned down towards Sparks. “Do you know what will make you stronger?” Sparks looked at The Artist as he continued to inhale deeply.

“Sir, what will make me stronger sir?” Sparks panted.

“Running the mountain. Be back in an hour”, smiled The Artist.

Sparks shakily stood up upon his hooves and threw a salute to the Major. “Sir, yes sir.” Sparks said wearily, but in his eyes the Artist could see determination. Sparks turned and started to gallop towards Foal Mountain.

‘Equestria could use more soldiers like that.’ The Artist thought.

The Manehattenite trotted across the parade field towards the mess hall. He made the run up Foal Mountain. He passed the body drag. He sat through a boring presentation on land navigation. And now he was going to enjoy a nice batch of crispy hay fries. ‘Who am I kidding? I’ll probably have a better meal by eating grass off the parade field.’

“Hey, you from Manehatten?” the earth pony turned around and looked across the parade field for the questioner. It was a unicorn, the large one that was on his machine gun team. He also seemed to be from Manehatten if his voice was any indicator.

“Yeah, I’m from Manehatten”, He replied.

“Great. I’m from Manehatten too, my names-“ the other one raised a hoove and shook his head no.

“Stop right there, names aren’t allowed, remember?”

“Oh, that’s right, sorry about that.” He furrowed his brow in thought “but since I’m part of the machine gun team with you, you gotta call me something.”

The earth pony looked him over, “I’ll just give you a nickname. You look like an average pony, how about I call you Joe?”

The large pony looked confused for a second, head cocked to one side “but my name is-“ he stopped himself this time. He straightened up and smiled. “You know what, that’s a good name. Call me Joe.”

“Alright Joe. You just call me, well, whatever you want. Until I earn my name that is.”

“How ‘bout I call you Manehatten, for now anyway?”

Manehatten smiled, “No, even though everyone’s thinking it. Just call me 57. Last two digits of my I.D.”

Joe chuckled “O.K. 57. Let’s get some food. Us Manehatten boys gotta stick together, you know.” 57 nodded.

“You know Joe; I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Sparks shambled into the mess hall for dinner. He looked about the room, and it was exactly what he expected it to be. Rushed construction, the smell of paint, inadequate air conditioning. It was pretty much par for the course. He looked along the tables for 3rd platoon, 5th squad, and found it on the third row, near the back. He hobbled over to the table. Running the mountain once was bad, but the second time without anyone to pace himself off of was far worse. Braeburn had a seat left for him.

“Ah’m sorry about the drag, partner. Ah tried mah best to be as light as could be and help out.” Braeburn said.

“It’s okay”, Sparks muttered, “I need the exercise if I’m going to be a good soldier.” Braeburn nodded in agreement. A smile suddenly erupted on his face as he turned to Sparks in excitement.

“Hey, ah got some good news!” he said. Sparks levitated some salad from the community bowl onto his plate.

“What is it?”

“Ah checked the regulations on rifles, and it turns out ya can bring your own if ya can prove that it works better than the one they give ya. So ah sent a letter home telling them to send me mah Marechester. Ah’m gonna be able ta use mah own rifle!” he said triumphantly. “Ain’t it great!”

“Sure pal, that sounds fine”, Sparks muttered in exhaustion. In truth he was only half paying attention. The salad was pretty good though. At least he had that.

“You feelin’ alright?” Braeburn asked with a tint of concern, “ya don’t look too good.”

“Yeah, I just need to recuperate for a while.”

“Alright partner, I’ll leave ya be if that’s what ya want.”

“Thanks.”

That night the Pegasus weather teams had arranged for a light rain. Everypony in the barracks knew this because it was pretty much raining in there too. Every few seconds a drop would fall from the ceiling and land right on Sparks pillow.Miserable.

“Hey Pal.” Sparks whispered to Braeburn.

“What?”

“Want to switch bunks?”

“Naw, Ah’m perfectly fine and dry right here.” Braeburn whispered back.

From across the room they heard the Manehattenite. “If I ever find the carpenter, I’m gonna kick him in the face.”

“Amen”, several voices agreed in the dark. On that conclusion day one of training ended.

Author's Note

Feel free to give feedback, as I think that this is the weakest chapter that I've written so far and would very much like to improve it.I just don't really know how.

On a different note, I find myself in the interesting position of having multiple story elements that don't need to happen at any specific time. so I'll just ask you. Would you rather see rifle training, or get back-story on Sparks past? both will happen eventually, i just want to know what people (Or person) wants to see first.

The Theater

THEATER

With a loud ‘BANG’ The Artist threw open the door to 3rd platoons barracks building. “RISE AND SHINE! WAKE THE HAY UP! THERE’S A MOUNTAIN OUTSIDE JUST WAITING FOR YOUR COMPANY!” he yelled with glee. The whole barracks erupted with life as the 70 ponies it housed scrambled from their bunks.

The rain had only increased in intensity as the night wore on, and there were puddles scattered across the floor of the barracks. As Sparks dismounted his bunk he slipped on one of the wet steel rungs of his ladder and landed in one of the puddles with a splash. A helping hoove came down from above, and Braeburn helped to pull Sparks back on his hooves.

“The sooner you run the mountain the sooner you get breakfast and the longer your break! I reward the strong; the weak have no place in my army!” The Artist continued to bellow.

The ponies started spilling through the door and galloping for the mountain. The sun had not been raised yet, and with the rain visibility was low. The large shadow of Foal Mountain could be made out in the distance rising above the barracks building.

“Hey partner, ya just stick ta me and we’ll be in for breakfast before ya know it.” Braeburn said to Sparks as they began the run. Running the mountain twice yesterday and sleeping in a veritable lake had left Sparks sapped of all energy. The Mountain loomed in the distance, appearing taller now than it ever had before.

“I can’t do it.” Sparks said in defeat. As the rain streamed down. “I don’t have the energy.”

Braeburn turned around and slowed up for Sparks. “Ah’ll help ya, ya just got ta keep pace with me. Ah won’t let ya quit partner. Now follow me, ya understand?” Sparks weakly nodded. “Alright then” Braeburn said, “let’s run this mountain.”

45 minutes later Braeburn had lead Sparks up the mountain and back, and true to his word had actually lead Sparks to beat a lot of the other ponies. Braeburn showed him where to push, where to lower the tempo, and as a result they passed several many who had burnt out on the arduous climb.

They trotted into the near deserted mess hall as Celestia’s sun began to break through the clouds. They were among the first back from the run, which gave the added benefit of not having to wait in line for breakfast. As they returned to their squads table with their meals they saw that they were the first to finish the mountain run.

“See, ah told ya I’d get ya up the mountain and back.” Braeburn said with a tired triumph as they sat down at the table.

“You sure did” Sparks said in agreement. “You know, you could be a good leader if you had to be. You lead me up the mountain pretty well.”

Braeburn motioned to himself. “Me? A leader? Lands no. Just because Ah can lead a pony up a mountain don’t mean Ah can lead a bunch in a battle.” With that his face turned sullen, and Sparks could instantly tell what he was thinking about. 13 days to war.

Just as quickly as the melancholy came Braeburn shook it off, a smile erupting back on his face. ‘Gee’ Sparks thought, ‘nothing can keep this stallion down’.

“Hey, ah was just thinkin’, now that we’re friends maybe we should get ta know each other. Ah mean, ah don’t even know your name!” Braeburn said.

“We aren’t supposed to use our names, remember?”

“Ah ain’t sayin’ we use them, ah’m just sayin’ I should know my friends name is all. And look around”-Braeburn gestured to the whole room-“there’s hardly anypony here, and nopony that’ll care. Ya agree?”

Sparks looked out at the room. It was pretty barren, and he liked Braeburn alright. He nodded his head. “Ok, let’s talk then.”

Braeburns smile grew even bigger. “Alright, mah name’s-”

“Braeburn” Sparks interrupted. “And you’re a settler from Appleloosa with a Marechester lever action who runs an apple orchard and almost got into a pie fight once.”

Braeburn deflated slightly as he realized he was beaten to the punch. “Well, you’re mighty observant. And ya put me at ah disadvantage. Ya know all this stuff about me, but ah don’t even know the first thing about ya, ‘cept that you’re a unicorn. What’s your name?”

“My name’s Static Sparks”

Braeburn perked up at this. “Well it’s a pleasure ta meet ya properly” he said as he offered a hoove across the table for Sparks to shake. ”Now, in mah time in Equestria ah’ve learned that ya can tell a lot about a pony by their name.” He paused and looked Sparks over, then made a proclamation. “You’re an electrician ain’t ya?”

Sparks shook his head “No.”

Braeburn leaned in closer “Ah course not, ‘cause you’re an inventor. Right?”

“Wrong again.”

“Well what was ah thinkin’, you’re called Static Sparks ‘cause ya can shoot lightnin’ from your eyes and barbeque 20 unicorns at once!” Braeburn proclaimed triumphantly.

Sparks chuckled at this. “Well, I’ve never tried that, but that’s not what I do.”

Braeburn deflated yet again. “Alright, ah give up. Usually ah can guess a ponies special talent in three tries, but ya got me.” He picked up again slightly, “so what’s your special talent?”

“I don’t have one” Sparks said with a tint of sadness in his voice.

Braeburn looked at Sparks as if he was seeing him for the first time. “Why, you’re that unicorn from the staging room. Ah didn’t even recognize ya.” Braeburns voice turned apologetic. “What’s your story, Sparks?”

“Are you sure you want to hear it?”

Braeburn nodded. “Yeah, ah’m sure.”

“OK”

4 days previous

Sparks sat at his typewriter as he tried to marshal his thoughts. A soft incessant whirring seeped through the noise dampening spell he put around the equipment in the room. What to type about this? The Fillydelphia Flyer would go to presses in 14 hours, and he needed a review submitted by then.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp ‘DING’ as the warning bell rang. Sparks got up from his desk and trotted over to the equipment. It was time for a reel change.

He stood next to projector two as he looked through his small window at the film. ”Daring Do and the Alicorn Amulet” had been playing for almost a week but it was still a packed house. All the ponies in attendance were enthralled with what was happening on the screen, but Sparks had fixed his concentration on the top right corner.

A small x flashed onto the screen for a half second, and Sparks hit a button on projector two. The motor whirred to life as it began accelerating the film up to 24 frames per second. Sparks moved a hoove to a large lever on the side of the projector, eyes still fixed on the corner.

A second small x flashed on the screen and Sparks threw the lever. The light on projector 2 turned on, showing the film in perfect coincidence with projector 1. Sparks threw the lever on projector 1 as the film reel ran out, shutting off the bulb. He quickly looked out to check that the film matched with the sound, and satisfied with that began to return to his desk.

He stopped briefly and looked at the audience. Just like that, he knew what he was going to write. He returned to his typewriter and began.

I have been in this job long enough to know when a movie is good, or when it is not. It isn’t a measure of story, or effects or acting or direction. It’s the audience. From my point of view behind the projector I not only get to watch the movie, but I get to see how the world reacts to it. I have seen walkouts, I have seen ponies converse during scenes, and I have seen watches be checked time after time.

A good movie keeps everyponies attention; a good movie makes them completely forget the outside world and keeps their interest on the screen. I’ve been projecting this movie for the past 5 days, and hardly once have I seen anypony not be totally entranced by it. After playing it for five days I still sit at the window and watch every scene. “Daring Do and the Alicorn Amulet” is a great film.

It wouldn’t make any ‘greatest films ever’ lists, or win any awards, but at the end of the day this is the movie I’d watch before any others. It does exactly what I want a movie to do. For 115 minutes it makes me forget who I am, and travel into a world of action, adventure, magic. It’s pure escapism, and it’s all I can hope for.

10/10. The Projectionist.

Sparks looked over what he had written, and he looked over the last paragraph with a tint of melancholy. For 115 minutes it makes me forget who I am, it’s pure escapism, and it’s all I can hope for. That was the truth of his condition. He didn’t like being him.

He remembered when he was just a colt and he knew he was going to be an electrician. He remembered growing up and watching everypony else get their destinies. He remembered growing apart from several of his old colt friends. He remembered how he couldn’t get a job because he “just wasn’t meant for it.”

That was a while ago though, now he had maybe the best job he could hope for. Every day he could isolate himself from the world and go somewhere else, where he wasn’t looked at funny, wasn’t different. The pay was decent, his apartment was nice. He had even gotten some recognition under the pen name ‘The Projectionist’, and his reviews were posted around the country. Life was better than it was before.

But at the end of the day Sparks still had to deal with the one constant that never left him. He didn’t have a special talent. He didn’t have a destiny. That’s what kept him up at night. Not knowing.

Sparks thoughts were interrupted by heavy knocking at the door. He trotted over and opened it.

“Sparks my boy, have you reloaded the first film reel yet?” It was the owner of the cinemas, Movie Mogul. He was a short stout orange earth pony, who had appeared to have worked up a sweat. He was clearly anxious about something.

“No, I haven’t changed the reel on projector 1 yet. Why is this so important?”

“Too much to explain, but it’s big” Movie Mogul spat out hurriedly. He grabbed a film can marked “Equestria News Network” from his back with his teeth. “’ere, take this, put it on before the next movie.”

“Ok” Sparks said cautiously. What was getting this pony so worked up? “I’ll be sure to do that Mr. Mogul” he said as he took the can of film from him. Movie Mogul turned and began to trot away. He looked back at Sparks briefly

“Sparks, if you love this country, you need to start praying.”

Sparks closed the door. What the hay did that mean? He opened the top of the first projector and removed reel 4 of “Daring Do”, and slotted in the newsreel. He magically put the first frame into the film gate, and then closed the top shut. Now there was nothing left to do until the movie ended, and even then there would be a half hour break between films. What could be going on?

The credits stopped rolling for “Daring Do” and Sparks turned the theater lights back up. The theater cleared out as an intermission song started to play through the sound system. Sparks sat and took a listen; he had nothing better to do for his half hour break.

“I’m sittin’, on top, of the woooorld. I’m rollin’ aloooooong, yes rollin’ aloooooong.
And I’m sweatn’, the blues, of the woooorld.I’m singin’ a sooooong, yes singin’ a soooooong.”

The song was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. He smiled. He knew who it was already. Sparks trotted over and opened the door.

“Hello Amber, what brings you here?” he said with a smile. Amber Waves was the one friend he made who never left him over the years. She was an amber unicorn, roughly his size, with a bushel of grain as a cutie mark. Her mane and tail were bright yellow and orange.

She smiled back, “You told me that this was the best movie you’d ever seen. I just had to see it for myself. How have you been, Sparks?”

He let her into the projection room as he answered. “I’ve been alright. I like my job; I got a new review I have to get to the Flyer before the nights out. And I get to watch ‘Daring Doo’ all day for free. It’s been great. How about you?”

“Oh, my little shops been running just fine.” Amber answered. “There really isn’t much to tell.” She trotted over to the empty Equestrian News Network film can. “What’s this?”

“That’s just a film reel that the owner said that I have to play before the movie. That’s what’s loaded into the projector right now, actually.” Sparks furrowed his brow. “It actually has me concerned; he was stressed when he gave it to me, and wouldn’t tell me what was going on. He said if I love Equestria I needed to start praying.”

“Well why don’t you just put it on?” Amber asked, “The movie doesn’t start for a half hour, and I would like to see how you do this.”

“You want me to put it on?” Amber nodded her head.

“Alright. So first I cut the music and dim the lights” Sparks said as he trotted over to the light panel and magically lowered the switches. In the theater the lights all dimmed to a slight yellow glow. “I open the curtain”- he flipped a switch next to the light panel and in the theater the curtains in front of the screen began to part-“and I spool up the film.” He hit the button on the projector and the motor noisily rumbled to life. Sparks cast the sound dampening spell over the motor. “Once it’s up to 24 frames per second I pull that lever, and the film starts.” He looked over at Amber. “You want to do it?”

She started back in surprise. “Me!? Really!?”

“Yeah, it’s easy. This was your idea anyway. You should throw the switch.”

Amber trotted over, placed a hoove on the lever, and then threw it down. With a clunk the film started, and in the theater the black and white Equestrian News Network logo flashed onto the screen as a trumpet fanfare echoed through the empty venue. The title card changed, and the happiness immediately died from the room.

INVASION!

The newscaster’s voice echoed in the hall. “Mere hours ago the long peaceful empire of Unicornia launched a surprise attack on Equestrian soil. The Unicorn Empire, long known for splintering off from the unicorns that would help to found Equestria in order to preserve their country, has taken control of the city of Vanhoover. The Canterlot royal guards have been dispatched to attempt to reclaim the city.”

“All attempts to contact their leaders have been met with silence, and while unconfirmed, there have been reports that the invaders have killed Equestrian police forces that resisted the occupation. Princess Celestia addressed the country earlier today.”

The film cut to an obviously concerned Celestia standing upon her balcony before legions of ponies. She raised a hoove for silence, and then began to speak.

“My subjects. Equestria faces a threat like no other in its past. I have tried to reason with the leaders of Unicornia, but they have not responded to my messages. I fear that in the face of this evil that our problems cannot be solved peacefully, or even without the intervention of good ponies. Therefore it is with a heavy heart that I have created the Equestrian Calvary to combat this evil and liberate our fellow countryponies in Vanhoover. I see no other option open to me other than to fight this foe. And as long as there are good ponies who love Equestria as much as I do we will fight them, until such a time that this war ends.”

The newscaster began speaking again. “The Republic of Gryphens has pledged logistic support and arms production for Equestria but at this time refused to commit griffons to battle. At this time the Equestrian Calvary is accepting volunteers for fighting. Anypony that wishes to join the Calvary can do so at the following recruiting stations.” with that an address flashed upon the screen, and then the film ran out, leaving the screen a blank white.

Amber pushed the lever back up and hit the button, shutting the projector off. Sparks sat down on the floor in shock, and Amber soon joined him. After sitting for a moment Sparks finally broke the silence.

“My dad always said that destiny would find me. I guess he was right.”

Amber looked over with concern. “Sparks, what are you saying?”

“I’m going to join the Calvary.”

“What! Are you mad!?” Amber was almost yelling as she said the words. “Didn’t you hear what he said? Ponies have been killed. Noponys ever been killed. Not when Chrysalis invaded, not when Discord got out, and not when Nightmare Moon returned. You could die!”

Sparks stood up. “If nopony joins because they are afraid of death then we might as well give all of Equestria to them. I can’t let that happen.”

Amber stood up as well. “You could help in some other way! You don’t have to go to die! Other ponies will go fight.”

“I’m no better or more important than any other pony in Equestria. Equestria is filled with good ponies. Ponies with wives and kids, familys and friends. If I join and save even one of them, it’ll be worth it. I’ll have made a difference. If I stay here and run films in this box while good ponies fight and die for this country I’ll survive, but I don’t think I’ll be able to live with myself. ”

“You don’t have to stay here, you could make food, or try and become a doctor, you don’t have to fight.”

Sparks sat down again. “I want to go for myself as well.”

“Why”

“My father always said that destiny would find me eventually, and I think it has. I think that I’m supposed to join, that I’ll find my destiny there. I don’t want to spend the rest of my life doing this, not knowing who I really am. I could, I could do this until I die. But I will have never lived, I will never know what I was meant to do, and I will never be noticed by anypony. I’d rather die for something than to live for nothing. I want to matter. Don’t you understand, I want to be somepony.” Sparks looked up at her.

“But you do matter Sparks” She said as she sat down. “You could stay.”

“Why do you care so much?” Sparks asked. At this she looked down toward the ground.

“Well, I’ve always kind of liked you” She said softly. Sparks sat and stared as he contemplated that statement.

“Why me? I’m not special, I’m not anypony. I don’t have a destiny or a talent or any of that.”

She looked back up at him. “That doesn’t matter though Sparks” She said. “Your entire life isn’t dependent on some sign on your flank. You are special; you just need to realize it. You’re a lot better than a lot of ponies that do have ‘talents’. That’s why I like you, you’re good.”

Sparks sighed. “You like me?” She nodded. “I chose the wrong day to grow some courage.” He looked at her again. “I’ve got to go though, I’m sorry.” He paused again, thinking of what to say next. “Would you wait for me to come back?”

She smiled softly “so I could be your marefriend?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

She got up from the floor. “Would you buy a mare a meal?”

He got up, a sad smile on his face. “Yeah.” Out in the theater he could hear music softly playing. He trotted next to her and propped the door open. “I wish we could have done this sooner.” And then he closed the door.

“After that, I bought her a meal; we ran the projectors for ‘Daring Do’ together, I quit my job, signed up for the Calvary, and here I am. That was my first date. So now you know about me.”

The mess hall was busier as more and more ponies returned from the run. Sparks looked over. The Manehattenite and the unicorn that was on the MG team with him had returned from their run and had been listening to their story.

“I hope you get back to your girl.” The Manehattenite said.

“Thanks.”

Braeburn leaned back. “Wow partner, that’s one hay of a tale.”

“Yeah. It is, isn’t it?”

Braeburn leaned in again. “If it makes ya feel any better ah’ll do whatever ah can ta get ya back home In one piece.”

“Thanks, I’ll do the same for you, shake on it?” Sparks asked as he extended a hoove.

“Deal partner!” Braeburn said as he shook the hoove eagerly. “Now let’s get goin’, we got rifle trainin’ ta look forward ta.”

Author's Note

Finals begins soon for me, meaning that you shouldn't expect an update for two weeks as of April 21, 2013

anyone interested in the music? because here it is

as always, feedback is appreciated.

Rifle

Rifle.

“Can anypony tell me what this thing is?” The Artist asked as he nodded towards what he held in his right hoove. Everypony knew what it was; the questioning was more of a formality really. It was what everypony was there for. One of the trainees raised a hoove.

“You, can you tell me what this is?”

“Sir, that’s a rifle sir!” the trainee shouted.

“Correctomundo! It’s a rifle! A Clockwork-Canterlot SMCC to be precise. Can anypony tell me what a rifle does?” The Artist asked. As aired his question the quiet excitement that the idea of shooting a rifle had brought to everypony turned to discomfort. Yet again everypony already knew the answer, but this time none of them were really keen on answering.

“Well, a bunch of idiots, eh? Nopony out of 210 who knows what a rifle does?” The Artist said in disappointment, before perking up a bit. “That’s downright incredible! Maybe you just need to clear your thoughts on the mountain is all!”

At that the Manehattenite raised a hoove. “You there, enlighten these idiots!” The Artist called.

“Sir, a rifle kills, sir!”

“Absolutely! Up until this point you all may as well have been training for the Equestrian Games, but now we give you the tools to become what your country needs. We start with the rifle. Anyone knows any history about this thing?” Utter silence apart from the wind across the rifle range soon made the answer painfully clear.

“Alright then, a history lesson. Two hundred years ago the griffons are cleaning up shop on their continent. The griffons had very rarely ever lost a fight at the time, because they could tear up just about anything that walks or crawls or flies on this planet. They run into the Minotaurs. And they begin to lose. They have to fight something that they can’t just rip to bits. So what do they do?”

“They get smart, they rob the Minotaur of his strength advantage, they rob him of his close combat prowess, they increase the range. They invent the rifle, and they fell the Minotaur threat.” With that The Artist looked back toward the rifle he cradled in his hoove. “This thing was never designed for hooves; it was designed for talons, for digits. It’s awkward to use, you have to be standing on hind legs to use it, like so”

The Artist shakily stood upon his hind legs as he attempted to aim down the rifles sights with his forelegs. His right hoove slotted inside the oversized trigger guard as his left tried to line up the rifle with a wooden bull’s-eye target about 50 yards in the distance. He took a deep breath to try and steady his aim then jerked the trigger hard. With a cataclysmic BANG the rifle flashed in response, and 50 yards downrange a chunk of wood exploded out of the top left corner of the bull’s-eye. The recoil almost knocked The Artist over, but he caught himself as he removed his right hoove from the trigger guard. He clumsily slapped the bolt up and back, ejecting the spent cartridge. He fell back onto three hooves, and reset the rifle on his shoulder as he turned back to the trainees.

“So if this thing is so hard to use then why the hay are we training you how to use it?” he asked. Sparks knew the answer; it was the only logical reason. He raised a hoove. “You there” The Artist called out, “why do we use this thing?”

“Because it’s the most effective weapon we have.” Sparks said, and the Artist nodded in approval.

“Absolutely. Nopony or any other creature has ever devised a more effective weapon. The griffons use this because it gives them the ability to kill from 300 yards at the drop of a hat. We use this because this gives you the ability to kill from 300 yards at the drop of a hat. And the unicorns use this because it gives them the ability to kill from 300 yards at the drop of a hat. They may have their mages, and their magic, but this”- he motioned to the rifle-“this makes everypony equal.”

“Enough talk though, Equestria needs you to know how to use these things, not how to pass a test on them.” The Artist motioned off to the range on the far end of the parade field. “Over there you will receive your rifle. We will teach you to load it, fire it, and clean it. Once you receive your rifle you will keep it with you at all times. You eat with your rifle, sleep with your rifle, run with your rifle. AM I UNDERSTOOD!”

“SIR YES SIR!”

“To the range then” The Artist ordered, and the 210 rose from the bleachers and began their walk.

“Hey, partner.” Sparks turned to Braeburn

“Yeah?”

“Now he may try to tell ya how ta use that rifle, but I don’t think he has a very good idea on how ta use it himself.”

“Who, The Artist?”

“Yessir, he may tell you otherwise, but ya always shoot on the exhale of your breath. Ya got ta control your breathin’. Oh, and squeeze the trigger, don’t yank it. Yankin’ it will mess up your shot. And keep the stock tight against your shoulder, unless ya want a bruise that bad.”

Sparks looked incredulously at Braeburn as he processed the information. “Are you sure about this Braeburn? I mean, this is the Calvary, they probably know what they’re doing. You want me to just disregard whatever they’re going to try and teach me?”

Braeburn nodded. “Yessir partner. Ya wanted me ta help ya, so Ah’m helpin’ ya. And remember, a week ago the Calvary didn’t exist, and our Major was a painter who never shot a rifle. Ah have. So remember what ah told ya, and ya’ll do fine.”

The ponies arrived at the range, which was little more than a long corrugated tin roof that extended over 200 individual benches. Past this building was 500 yards worth of various wood and steel targets at different intervals. All of this wasn’t as interesting as what was laid out on the benches before them.

“All you ponies on the machine gun teams follow, uh, that pony over there” The Artist said as he motioned to an earth pony at the far end of the range. “Everypony else take a bench and a rifle.”

Sparks sat down at the nearest bench available, and was only faintly aware of Braeburn taking the one adjacent to him. He sat and stared at the rifle before him. It was polished walnut, which stood in contrast to the dull but polished gunmetal greys. Sparks didn’t really know how the hay the thing worked, but even without that knowledge he knew that the rifle took considerable craft to make. Next to the rifle where ten clips of ammunition, the brass of the bullets glinting in the sun brightly.

“Look over here” Sparks turned over to face The Artist along with everypony else. “Ground rules before I tell you how to shoot. Rifles kill, so treat it like it is always ready to. If I ever see anypony pointing a rifle at anypony else they will run the mountain until they die. Keep it unloaded unless you intend to kill another pony.” The Artist frowned as he racked his brain for anything else, and then nodded his head. “And that’s it.”

“Alright everypony pick up your rifles” The Artist ordered, and whole line rustled with movement. Sparks finally got to weigh the rifle in his forehooves, using the table to help balance his body. Front heavy, no doubt due to the length and additional heavy steel at the front of the barrel. He slid his left hoove forward along the rifles bottom until the rifle felt balanced in his hooves.

“Now, I am going to give four commands, and you will follow all of them to the letter. When I say ‘Load’ you will open the bolt, take a clip, place it in the clip guide here”-he pointed to a small bridge piece above the rifles magazine- “and push the rounds into the rifle hard. You will do this twice, leaving the clip in the rifle the second time. Are we clear so far?”

“Sir yes sir.”

“Good. Next I will say ‘Ready’ and you will close the bolt and lock it down with force. If you do not the spring will throw the bolt back and you will run the mountain because you do not have the strength to push a bolt forward, and are pathetic. You will take the safety switch to the left of the bolt and push it forward. Forward to fire, back to block, Remember this. Are we still clear?”

“Sir Yes sir” Sparks said with everypony else as he looked over the rifle for the components mentioned. ‘Where the hay is the safety’ he thought. He looked over to Braeburn. ‘Safety?’ he mouthed. Braeburn pointed at a small lever hidden by the wood stock from where Sparks could see. He leaned his rifle to the right, and located the annoying switch.

The Artist spoke again. “Then I will order ‘Aim’, and you will line up the front sight post with the rear sight valley, and put that on the target, and hold your breath to steady the shot. Finally I will say ‘Fire’ and you will fire the rifle at the 50 yard target until empty, open the bolt, put the safety on and lay the rifle on the bench. Am I understood?”

“Sir yes sir”.

The Artist smiled slightly. “LOAD!”

Sparks levitated a clip of five rounds up and into the bridge piece with a ‘click’ signifying that it was locked into place. He pushed the rounds into the rifle with his hoove, and then knocked the clip out. The second clip floated and locked into position as he shoved the rounds in then quickly checked to see that they all fed into the magazine properly.

“READY!” Sparks put his hoove on the back of the bolt, and pushed hard. With a ‘ping’ the clip was shot out of the bridge piece as the bolt was pushed to the front. Sparks traversed his hoove over the bolt and pushed down, locking it into place. He magically pushed the safety forward. The rifle was ready to fire.

“AIM!”

Sparks took a long, deep inhalation as he focused on the notch in the metal a few inches from his face. He shifted his focus to the post about a foot and a half beyond that. It was simple; put top of the post in line with the notch, then put that in the middle of the circle 50 yards distant. He forced the wood of the rifle stock hard into his shoulder as the front post neatly came in line with the indent on the back. Sparks left hoove traversed the rifle up and slightly to the right as he finally got the bulls-eye in the distance to complete the three points needed. Notch, post, target, check. His right hoove slotted into the trigger guard.

‘Remember what Braeburn said’ he thought, ‘fire on the exhale, and squeeze the trigger instead of jerk it.’

“FIRE!” The line erupted in a cataclysmic roar, faint smoke filling the air. Down the range dirt was being kicked up everywhere, and aside from the occasional lucky shot the bulls-eyes stood unmolested. The only pony who hadn’t yet fired was Sparks.

He exhaled, and squeezed the trigger gradually, making sure that the motion would not throw off his aim. The rifle bucked back into his shoulder hard as the muzzle flash obscured the bull’s-eye in the distance. A split-second later he saw a chunk of wood erupt from about 6 inches to the right of the bulls-eye. His hoove left the trigger guard and hurriedly pushed the bolt up and back, a still smoking cartridge confirming the rifle was cleared. Now he pushed forward and down, and a metallic ‘click’ told him he was ready to fire again.

The rifle flashed forth, and at roughly the same spot another hole was punched in. Sparks now knew what to do. His hoove flew from the trigger guard to operate the bolt as he inhaled, then back to the trigger as he sighted during the exhale. He traversed the rifle to aim a half foot to the left of center. Fire. The rifle exploded forth again, and the center of the target blew out.

Despite the still ensuing roar of gunfire from all sides, Sparks was utterly focused. The whole world could have gone away, leaving just a pony, a rifle and a bulls-eye, and all would have been well. Even the ear splitting roar of the rifles around him didn’t register. He fired again, this time making a conscious effort to operate the bolt as fast as he could. The action was smooth as silk as a spent cartridge flew out of the gun. Sparks let up on accuracy and now focused on getting as many rounds to hit the bulls-eye as quickly as possible.

Within 20 seconds he closed the bolt for the last time and pulled the trigger to a slight click. He pulled the bolt up and back and took a quick look inside the chamber to check it clear. Ten smoldering cartridges lay scattered across the bench as Sparks flicked the safety switch back and gently set the rifle on the table. He looked out to the range, the bull’s-eye was reduced to shreds. The entire right side had been blown clear off, and the left was only held together by splinters. He sat back down, and only now noticed that his shoulder ached from the recoil.

“What do you know about that?” Sparks turned in surprise to see The Artist standing behind him a smile on his face. “The colt’s a natural.”

“Well that’s great partner!” Braeburn said with his almost mandatory ear-to-ear smile. “Ya even beat me at the shootin’ and this is your first time. Ah mean, ya finished first, ya just murdered that target, ya’re a natural, just like The Artist said ya were.” He paused for a second to take a bite out of one of the apples he had lined up at the mess halls table, and then continued. “Did ya see how many ponies had ta run ‘cause they couldn’t get the bolt right? Dear Celestia, must’a been ‘bout twenty. You’re better than all a them for sure. Ya might even get your mark for this!”

Sparks just looked at his daffodil and daisy sandwich in thought as he massaged his bruised shoulder. “Yeah, I might, huh?”

“Course ya might! Ya beat everypony at that rifle, right outta’ the gate!” Braeburn took another bite from the apple. “Ah wonder what a rifle mark would even look like?” he said as he leaned back in his bench. Sparks set his sandwich down without even a bite.

“Is that what I want though? He said as he looked at Braeburn. “Rifles kill, so do I want a mark that says it’s my natural talent to kill other ponies?”

Braeburn took another bite from the apple, and scratched his chin with a hoove in contemplation. “Well, just ‘cause ya got a rifle mark-which we don’t even know just yet- doesn’t mean that your talent’s just ta shoot other ponies. Ah mean, Ah got a rifle, and ah’ve never shot anypony before.” He looked at Sparks, who still had a pronounced frown. “Besides, ain’t this the whole point? Goin’ out here ta find your destiny? Ah thought ya would be happier ta find somethin’ you’re good at.”

Sparks shrugged, “I just don’t want to go home knowing that I’m meant to do harm instead of good.”

“Sometimes ya do good by doin’ harm on bad people, if that make ya feel better.” Sparks stared blankly, head cocked slightly to one side. “ya ain’t buyin’ that, are ya?” Sparks shook his head no. “Well would ya rather I said ‘Partner, ya think you’re somethin’, but ya ain’t? This time tomorrow everypony will be better than ya, and there’s no chance at gettin’ a destiny from this?”

“Honestly, kinda.”

“Well then partner, ya think you’re somethin’, but ya ain’t. This time tomorrow everypony will be better than ya, and there’s no chance of getting’ a destiny from this .Only reason ya did so good today is ‘cause ya took mah advice.”

A bit of relief shown in Sparks face. “Maybe that is why I did so well, just following your advice. Thanks.”

Braeburn nodded “Nothin’ to it.” Another bite. “Ya know” he said as he chewed, “ya’re just about the strangest little pony ah’ve ever met.”

A smile finally cracked on Sparks face. “Thanks again.”

“It’s what ah’m here for.” Braeburn paused to take another bite from the apple, but all that was left was the core. He shrugged, and grabbed up the next apple in his row, then leaned forward. “But ya know what ah think?”

“What?”

“Ah think that ah’m gonna take ya ta task once mah Marechester shows, whether ya’re a natural or not.”

Author's Note

Well, only about two weeks behind schedule! I blame my deadbeat editor, updates should start becoming more frequent,just expect it to take a day or so once published to actually look good grammatically.

Anybody wanting to know more about the Clockwork Canterlot SMCC can find out more here

Yeah, its just a Lee Enfield. what can I say? its awesome!
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Marechester

“PONY DOWN! PONY DOWN!” screamed 801, the earth pony squad leader. “FOUR-ONE-TWO, GET HIM BACK HERE!”

“SIR YES SIR!” Sparks yelled in response as he slung his rifle over his saddlebags and readied himself for the jump from the trench. Next to him another slight unicorn was pressed up against the trench wall, saddlebags filled with medical supplies and a red cross hastily plastered on his flank. As Sparks looked up to the lip rain fell into his eyes, he looked down quickly to wipe the rain from his eyes with his foreleg. Nope, not happening while he was covered in mud.

“READY!” the rifle ponies put their bolts forward, as they flattened themselves against the trench wall. Sparks looked to the earth pony in charge and nodded once. “AIM AND FIRE!” Everypony but Sparks rose up on hindlegs and began pouring rounds forth. Sparks felt a sudden burn on his ear and shook violently in response, a still smoldering .303 cartridge falling from his head into a puddle of muddy water before him.

“FOUR-ONE-TWO GET UP THERE! GO!” Sparks leapt up from the trench onto the field, the roar of the rifles directly behind him, and the air thick with the whirr of rounds. About twenty five feet away, a pony lay limply on his side. Sparks galloped over to the body, a tall and lanky unicorn, and threw his forearms around him. Behind him, the rifles stopped as he began to drag the body back to the trench “RELOAD! MG, SUPRESSING!”

To his back left, the MG began its horrifying symphony. He remembered what the Manehattenite said about it at lunch two days ago. “I don’t know why they even need you guys; you got your rifles, ten rounds each, about twenty seconds to empty them. I can unload ten rounds in one second. One-one-thousand, and I’ve done your job in a twentieth of the time.” Being in front of it, Sparks couldn’t argue with the Manehattenite. He glanced over his shoulder to see his distance from the trench, and immediately turned around. The muzzle flash from the machine gun extended at least three feet from the barrel, a tongue of roaring flame that drowned out all other noise with its fury. And it was shooting its standard 600 rounds per minute just feet to the left of him.

Sparks looked back down at the unicorn he was dragging through the mud. How long had it been since he had started the drag? Too long, no matter how much time it had been. Every second out here was another second to get himself killed. He dug his hindlegs into the dirt and gave a powerful shove to move the unicorn, but the muddy grass gave way under the pressure and he fell backwards to the ground with muffled thud. The machine gun still rattled off as Sparks got back up and resumed the drag.

Suddenly the air was still, the machine gun silent. Sparks ears readjusted to the quiet, only the sound of rain pattering on metal. Sparks knew what had happened, and he didn’t like it.

“THAT WAS PATHETIC AND UNACCEPTABLE! EVERYPONY LINE UP TO MY FRONT NOW!” The past week had eaten away at The Artists demeanor, and right now he looked mad as hell. “EIGHT-OH-ONE! TELL ME WHAT THE HAY WENT WRONG THERE!”

“Sir, 412 did not retrieve the casualty sir!” The Artist trotted right up to 801 and leaned in close, mouth contorted in rage.

“WHAT ELSE WENT WRONG!?”

Eight-zero-one tried maintaining his composure, leaning back slightly and licking his lips nervously “Sir, that was all Sir.”

The Artist simply leaned in closer. “That was all? Four-one-two did not retrieve the casualty, and that’s all you did wrong?” Eight-zero-one looked nervously off to the others in his squad, then back to The Artist.

“Sir, y-yes sir?” he stammered weakly. Sparks winced on his behalf. Wrong answer.

“EIGHT-OH-ONE, YOU HAVE WASTED MY TIME AND MY PONYS FOR TOO LONG! I CANNOT ACCEPT MEDIOCRE PERFORMANCE, AND I WILL NOT TOLERATE POOR LEADERSHIP! TELL ME WHAT YOU AND YOUR SQUAD DID WRONG OR SO HELP ME CELESTIA!” Eight-zero-one801 had been pushed back to the trench wall, and was shrinking now against the verbal onslaught. His eyes watered and his lip trembled as he opened his mouth to speak.

“S-sir, I-I, I don’t kn-know Sir” He whimpered as he curled up in a puddle of mud at the bottom of the trench.

“Well, Sergeant, I can’t even yell at you properly anymore,” The Artist rasped as he glared at the quivering mass at his hooves. “But I’ll let you know that your squad is hopeless.” He looked up to the rifleponies and pointed an accusatory hoove. “For starts, the only two ponies that you got that can shoot worth a pile of garbage are the hick there, the weakling there, and that one on the MG. Everypony else was just hoping Celestia would take time out of her day, fly down from Canterlot, and guide their bullets to the target.”

He pointed specifically at the tallest unicorn there. “You need to use common sense, or you will get killed first. I gave you a trench to use, so use it. You were sticking at least two feet out the top.” He motioned over to the unicorn Sparks had been trying to drag, “same applies for you.”

He pointed now at the medic, and his eyes lit back up with anger. “You, you might be the worst! Everypony else was trying, they sucked, but they tried! You haven’t even moved! You didn’t make any preparations to receive the casualty at all! In fact, run the mountain, when you get back, run it again. GO!” The unicorn got up hurriedly and began to gallop off to the hazy blur in the distance.

Now he looked to Sparks, and the fire in his eyes subsided as quick as it had come, replaced by something different, maybe worse. Remorse, and defeat. The Artist sighed, then spoke. “Kid, you are the best shot in this squad, and you try harder than any of them, but if you can’t drag anypony to safety in a week, I’ll wash you out, I can’t have anypony die because of your failings.” Sparks stood immobile, but inside he felt a pang of guilt.

The Artist finally moved his gaze to the lump of flesh on the ground. “That’s about it; your squad is a disgrace. The only ponies worth the cost to feed them are the hick and the MG team, and they are not worth a hill of beans if they don’t have a good leader. So you have one chance, tell me what you did wrong.”

Eight-oh-one didn’t even look to meet his gaze “Sir, I do not know sir.”

“Eight-oh-one, you are demoted to Private . I can’t have a leader as weak as you for my ponies. I can’t have you getting them killed because you are too stupid to know when you put them in danger. The only reason you aren’t washing out is because Equestria needs anypony it can get, even if it’s one as pitiful as you.” He looked up to the rest of the squad. “Can any of you tell me what he did wrong?” the pitter-patter of rain was the only answer he received. The Artist looked down at the ground and sighed in defeat. “Celestia help you, because I can’t, not anymore.” He looked over to Braeburn, “You’re in charge now, hick; you’re the only one worth keeping anyways. Run them up the mountain.”

Sparks glanced over at Braeburn quickly. If Braeburn was at all surprised about the recent turn of events, he did a very good job of hiding it. All he did was snap a salute, “Sir, right away, Sir.” Braeburn trotted to the front of the squad “Fifth squad, run the mountain, full battle dress. Ya’ll on the MG pack it and catch up, understood.” The two Manehattenites gave a quick nod. “Alright, Follow me.”

Braeburn turned and began to gallop off to Foal Mountain, everypony except the MG team following behind. The Artist watched them fade into the haze of the rain, and then checked his pocket watch. There were only five minutes until the next combined test. He sighed again. There was still a week to go, but these ponies just were not ready, not by a longshot.

“Ah wonder what this makes me, a sergeant maybe?” Celestia’s sun was getting low in the evening sky as Braeburn and Sparks trotted across the parade ground towards the processing building at the front of the camp. “That’ll mean ah got ta get the three chevrons put on mah left flank for identification.” Braeburns usual chipper mood had been subdued, the smile replaced by a stoic line.

Sparks turned to face Braeburn. “Alright, what’s bothering you? This is the first time I’ve ever seen you down, and considering we have been training to go to war that’s impressive. What’s up?”

Braeburn looked to the ground as they keep trotting forward. “It’s me bein’ a sergeant. Ah mean, ah’ve already told ya that ah don’t think ah can lead these ponies, and now ah’ve got ta lead these ponies. It’s just stress is all.”

Sparks chuckled, “Come on pal, you said that you run an apple orchard, so you have leadership experience. You’re smart enough, and I don’t think you’re a wimp like 801. You’re going to be a great squad leader.”

Braeburn shook his head. “Ah just don’t know ‘bout the smart enough part though,.If Ah was smart enough, then Ah would know what 801 did wrong today.” He turned and looked to Sparks. “And honestly partner, can ya tell me what he did wrong?”

Sparks had to admit, 801 really didn’t do anything wrong. Between the rifles and MG fire was consistent, orders were given clearly and with force, and the orders given would have fulfilled the mission parameters of getting the casualty back to the lines. In fact 801 had done well until he broke down in front of The Artist. Just as soon as the thought entered his head the events of the drill made sense.

“Maybe he didn’t do anything wrong, and The Artist just told him that to see how he would react? You know, maybe see how he would perform under duress?”

“Ya mean ya think the Major grilled that boy just ta see if he would break down?”

Sparks nodded in excitement, “Yeah, and when 801 freaked out, he failed the test. You wouldn’t do that, so you would pass. What do you think?”

Braeburn stopped trotting, and stared off into the sinking sun in contemplation. Finally he shook his head. “Partner, that makes sense, but ah can’t bank on it. If he really did make a mistake and ah just do what he did earlier today, then ah’ll fail too. Ah need to figure out what he did wrong, and ah can’t.” he sighed a little. “Ah well, maybe it’ll come ta me later”, he said without conviction. “Let’s just see if we got any mail.”

They trotted across the parade field and back into the processing building. The last room, which used to be choked with typewriters and administrators, now lay largely bare. What was important was the mailroom, tucked away in the far left corner.

The mail officer raised a hoove in recognition. “Looking for your mail.”

Sparks responded first. “Yes sir, anything for us today?”

The mail officer chuckled, “You haven’t gotten anything all week, and you think that will change today?”

“Yes.”

The mail officer nodded. “Okay. Identity tags please.” Sparks and Braeburn held their tags up to the unicorn, who nodded once in approval. “Alright, let me check and see what I’ve got.”

As the mail officer trotted to the backroom Braeburn turned to Sparks. “Ya think that they are denying us our mail?”

“What? Why on earth would they do that?”

“Ah don’t know, but don’t ya think it’s odd that we haven’t gotten our mail in a week?”

“Not really, it’s the mail. It’s usually this slow.”

“Not for me, when ah mail my cousin Applejack in Ponyville, it takes three days round trip.”

“Well, you don’t live in Fillydelphia;, it usually takes forever for mail to show in Fillydelphia.”

At this, the mail officer returned with a large package and a few letters in his mouth. He stopped at the table and set the letters down. “Two letters for 010518412, package for 010518393.”

Sparks levitated the letters on the table while Braeburn bit the strings off of his package. One letter was from mom and dad, the other from Amber. “Thanks.” He turned to Braeburn, who was busy opening his package. “Don’t you want to open that in the barracks?”

Braeburn shook his head. “Naw, ah’ve got ta check ta see if it’s all in one piece.” On the table in front of Braeburn was a long wooden crate. Braeburn popped the latches with a hoove, and then swung the lid open.

“That’s the Marechester?” Sparks asked

Braeburn nodded, smile back on his face. “Yessir partner, that’s her. Ain’t she sweet?” Sparks couldn’t argue. The whole rifle was about 4 feet long stock to barrel, and looked like it should have been a museum piece. The stock was walnut polished to a high sheen, the action and receiver a shiny brass, and the barrel and feed tube a bright nickel. The receiver was covered in beautiful swirling etchings. Sparks looked to the barrel, and instead of being circular like on his Clockwork Canterlot it was a heavy octagon. The feed tube had slits cut it at regular intervals so that the user could see how many rounds were left.

Braeburn picked the rifle up and slotted his hoove into the lever, and racked the rifle forward. He paused to check the gate on top for any rounds in the chamber, and then closed the lever. With one hoove, he pulled the trigger as his other eased the hammer back into the safe position. With skilled practice he popped up the rear sight leaf, and then adjusted it up and down to see that it was still in working condition. Satisfied with its condition, Braeburn put the leaf down and lay the rifle back in the crate. Lining the bottom of the crate were five boxes, each labeled “100 rds 30.-30 Marechester”. Braeburn nodded in approval, and then shut the box.

“Thank ya for the mail, sir,” Braeburn said with an honest smile on his face. The mail officer only shrugged in response. Braeburn turned to Sparks as he slung the large wooden crate onto his back. “Well come on partner, ya know what we gotta do now.”

Sparks looked confused for a second, “what do we have to do now?” By this point Braeburn was already heading for the door. Sparks started after him. “Where are you going?” Braeburn was outside by the time Sparks caught up. “What are you doing?”

Braeburn looked into the setting sun as he trotted along at a quick clip. Sparks and his short legs struggled to keep up. Braeburn abruptly turned a faced Sparks as he continued his driven trot. “How much time do ya reckon there is until the sun sets?”

“About an hour? Can you tell me what you’re doing?” Sparks said, almost having to gallop to keep up with the stallion ahead of him.

“Sure thing partner, now that ah got mah beautiful little Marechester, ah want ta use it, and that means ah gotta get mah superior officer ta approve it. ‘Cause The Artist hasn’t promoted anypony ta platoon captain yet, that means that ah got ta go ta him for approval. So, ah’ll get him, lead him to the range, and show him how great mah little sweetie here is. And Ah just thought that ya should tag along.”

“Okay, why?”

“So that ah could make ya feel better about yourself. Ya’re still concerned ‘bout being the best shot in the squad, right?” Sparks nodded after a second, he was still the squads best shot, and the possibility of having his destiny be that of murdering other ponies wasn’t appealing to him. “Good. Ya just follow me and the major ta the range, I show ya just how much better ah am than ya, and then, ‘cause ya’re just the strangest little pony ah’ve ever met, ya’ll feel better ‘bout yourself.” Braeburn smiled broadly at his plan, the depression that was present five minutes previous obliterated from memory.

They trotted into the barracks for first platoon and made an immediate right to the Major’s quarters. Braeburn rapped on the door with a hoove, and a few seconds later the door opened. The Artist stood before them, shrunken in stature, ears down, looking for the entire world like a defeated pony. He looked at Braeburn in recognition. “Ah, my newest sergeant, what do you want?”

Braeburn snapped a salute. “Sir, ah would like ta test out on mah own rifle, sir.” The Artist looked suspiciously at the crate, and then glanced over to the desk in his room. He looked back to Braeburn, “Alright sergeant, convince me that what you have in there is better than what I’ve given you and I’ll sign you off.”

Braeburn maintained his at attention posture. “Sir, permission ta bring the private, sir?” The Artist looked at Sparks with skepticism.

“Why?”

“The private is the best shot in mah squad., Ah figure that ah should compare mah results ta his.”

“Alright then,”, The Artist said with a shrug. “I need to get away from the paperwork anyway. Lead on sergeant.”

“Sir, yes sir.” The three trotted outside, and The Artist paused for a second to look into the setting sun. He sighed briefly, and then continued to follow Braeburn and Sparks. Braeburn looked at The Artist with concern. “Sir, permission ta speak freely, sir?”

The Artist nodded, “Yyes son, you can speak freely.”

“It seems that ya’re under a lot a stress. Maybe getting it off ya’re chest would do ya some good.”

For a moment, The Artist hesitated, as if debating with himself, then nodded, “Yes sergeant, you are correct. I was going to tell everypony tomorrow at Reveille anyways, but now is as good a time as ever. You know how the Royal Guard was holding the unicorns at the aptly named Unicorn Range?”

Sparks knew immediately what had happened. “Dear Celestia, how bad was it? Did the line stabilize?”

The Artist nodded. “It could have been worse. The Royal Guard is now using the Galloping Gorge to the north and the southern half of the unicorn range as a natural buffer. It funnels them into the forests in that area. Bad news is we now know their plans.”

Braeburn cocked his head to one side quizzically, “how do ya know their plans, and what are they?”

“We know because of how they are moving their army. If they wanted a land grab they would have swung south to the Whitetail Woods. They aren’t heading that way though, oh no.” The Artist stopped walking, and dropped his head to the ground. “They are going straight for Canterlot.”

Sparks furrowed his brow, “what does that mean for us?”

The Artist looked back up and met Sparks gaze. “All that this means is that if we get pushed back again, they rush the company to the front, two weeks training or not. And we need all the training we can get.” This was met with silence from Braeburn and Sparks, and the three ponies were lost in thought for the rest of the trot across the parade ground.

With the sun to their backs, they arrived at the rifle range, their shadows stretching off before them into the distance. Braeburn set the crate down on the bench before him, and popped the latches as Sparks unslung his rifle, and trotted to the ammunition shack to retrieve some rounds. Behind him he heard the crate open, and The Artists subsequent groan.

“Great, just great. I must say sergeant; this instills a lot of confidence. When you finish missing the enemy with your 50 year old archeological find, you can just use it to blind them. Sweet Celestia, you might be able to just buy them off….”

The voices faded into the distance behind him, and in a way Sparks was glad to be alone. He always was able to think better without distraction. ‘Celestia, I think of Braeburn as a distraction?’ the thought mortified him. ‘Calm down Sparks, rationalize. It’s been years since I’ve actually really had a friend, so I’m just used to being alone. And just because I think better on my own doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy the company.’ The thought made him feel better, but just marginally. He needed to get his mind off of it.

As he opened the ammo shack and grabbed a tin of 100 .303 rounds, he found himself wishing he was thinking about his dumb introversion problem. The only other thing to think about was the fact that he had a week tops before he would be getting busy killing or getting busy dying. Neither option appealed to him, but given the choices the answer was easy. ‘At least I’m a good shot.’ He started trotting back to Braeburn and The Artist at the far end of the range.

It had only been a minute, but his brain was thinking at a thousand miles per second. ‘Will I even be able to shoot another pony? Will anypony else? How do the unicorns kill? Why?’ all questions without answers, at least not yet. He looked to his left at the range, and the various bulls eyes scattered across a field that now had a radiant orange hue from the sunset. ‘How will I react to a target that isn’t a plank of wood, but is a target that fights back?’

Luckily for Sparks, relief came in the form of The Artist calling over. “Private, you’re wasting my time, if you need motivation to move, the mountain’s right over there.” Sparks increased his pace. ‘Thank Celestia,’ he thought, ‘I could drive myself mad thinking of all of these questions.’

Sparks set his rifle on the bench next to Braeburn and opened the ammunition tin. He retrieved his clips from his saddlebags and began the process of slotting rounds in. At the adjacent bench, Braeburn was dropping his .30-30 rounds into spare rifle tubes. The Artist stood off in the corner rapping the ground impatiently with a hoove. “Alright sergeant, you have five minutes to make me a believer in your family heirloom. Go.”

“Yes sir,” Braeburn turned to Sparks. “Alright private, what ah want ya ta do is ta put thirty rounds into that bulls-eye at 150 yards. Me and you are gonna see who gets done first. Ya clear?”

“Yeah, I’m clear,” Sparks replied as he topped off his third five round clip. Braeburn turned to The Artist.

“Sir, would ya happen ta have a watch?” The Artist pulled one from his uniforms vest pocket and held it up for Braeburn to see. “Great. If ya could give us the firing orders that would be nice.”

Sparks finished topping off his last clip, then looked over to Braeburn and nodded. Braeburn lazily faced The Artist. “Ready when ya are, Major.”

The Artist looked at his watch, eyes and body clearly conveying just how little he cared about this. He didn’t bother to look up as he gave the order. “Load.” Sparks opened the bolt and charged the first clip. To his right Braeburn nonchalantly picked up a rifle tube and slotted it into position under the rifle, then locked it into place. As Sparks charged the second clip he was still thinking. The Artist stood in the corner, now fixated on a spot of rust in the corrugated tin roof of the range. Braeburn leaned back in his bench and stretched his forearms.

‘Am I the only pony here who cares about this?’ Sparks thought. The Artist now issued the next order, “ready”, never once looking way from the suspect rust stain. As Sparks pushed the bolt home and locked it into position with a satisfying ping, Braeburn simply racked the lever forward and back.

‘Yes, I’m the only one who cares’ Sparks now thought glumly. Yes, The Artist probably wouldn’t care, but that was fine. What was annoying was the absolute lack of interest Braeburn was showing, and he was the one who wanted to do it.

“Aim.” Sparks and Braeburn both shouldered their rifles. Just as he had been doing all week Sparks completed the picture, setting it dead on the 150 yard wooden target. He heard a mumble to his right, and glanced over to see Braeburn flipping up his rear sight leaf and making a quick adjustment. Sparks inhaled deeply, and awaited the order.

“Fire.” Both rifles went off simultaneously, Braeburns shooting out flames at least two feet long. The report from Braeburn’s Marechester drowned out the noise of Sparks SMCC . Sparks hoove flew from the trigger guard with practice and pulled the bolt up and back. He pushed the bolt forward, and the second it hit the front position another cataclysmic BANG issued forth. Sparks jumped in his seat ‘sweet Celestia, my rifle slamfired.’

This thought was quickly interrupted by a rapid mechanical ‘schick-chick’ from his right, followed immediately with another ear-splitting BANG. Sparks realized that his rifle hadn’t slam fired earlier, the bang came from Braeburn. ‘And he’s fired three for my one’ Sparks thought as he locked his bolt and fired his second shot.

Sparks fired as fast as he could and still maintain accuracy, but Braeburn was pulling away fast. Sparks fired his tenth and last round as Braeburn fired his fifteenth. Sparks kept the bolt open, put a clip into the charging bridge and slammed the rounds in with a hoove. To his right Braeburn had stopped firing, and Sparks could hear the metallic actions of him reloading. ‘the only way I can beat him is on the reloads’ Sparks thought briefly as he knocked the first clip out and levitated the second one into the charging bridge. As sparks pushed the rounds in he heard the telltale “schick-chick” the Marechester made when it was racked. He closed the bolt, but it was too late, the Marechester and Braeburn were blasting forth again.

Braeburn fired another 13 shots in rapid succession, each one blasting a chunk of wood from the 150 yard target. Braeburn slowed up with his last two, the first hitting one of the posts the target was held on and severing it. As the target spun lazily Braeburn fired at the second post, and the bullet riddled target collapsed to the ground. Sparks fired his 9th, then his tenth, and opened the bolt to charge another clip.

“Private.” Sparks didn’t notice as he placed the clip in the charging bridge and prepared to slot the rounds in. “PRIVATE!” Sparks looked over to Braeburn. “Ya can cease fire now, partner.” Sparks nodded slowly in recognition, then put his rifle down. He had only gone through twenty rounds; ten still lay out on the table.

The air was heavy with smoke, which still poured from every opening available on the Marechester. All was silent on the range, Sparks and The Artist still with disbelieve. Braeburn simply smiled at his handiwork. The smoke dissipated out, but the silence remained. Finally, The Artist spoke.

“OK. I’m a believer.” He tried hard to sound disinterested, and kept his body still, but Sparks could tell that The Artist was impressed by no small amount. “Your rifle puts a lot of lead downrange son.”

Braeburn nodded, and then smiled even more. “Lead downrange,” He muttered, then looked up. “Ah figured out what 801 did wrong this mornin’.”

The Artist blinked in confusion. “What was that now?”

“Ah figured out what 801 did wrong during the combined test.”

The Artist looked in confusion, furrowing his eyebrows and pursing his lips. “What did eight-zero-one do wrong?”

“Well Sir, he should’a staggered our rifle fire so that there wouldn’t have been that pause when we had ta reload. If he did that then he wouldn’t a had ta hold the machine gun fire ta wait ta cover our reloadin’, we coulda had that shootin’ the whole time. He also should’ve ordered the runner ta give his rifle to the MG loader in order ta maximize our firepower.”

Upon hearing this The Artist now looked genuinely surprised. “Huh, well, I hadn’t thought of that. I just wanted to know if he had the conviction to stand by his orders, or ask what he had done wrong.” The Artist furrowed his brow again, this time in thought. Finally, he made a proclamation.

“Sergeant, I believe that you have demonstrated fighting spirit and intellect enough to merit an award. From now on you will no longer be refered to by ID number, but have earned a good fighting name. You are now ‘Repeater Rifle’ until this war is up. Having been named you can issue names to other such outstanding ponies. Congratulations Repeater, you have earned it.”

The pony once known as Braeburn smiled and saluted. “Sir, thank you sir,” Repeater Rifle said.

Author's Note

holy crap was that a lot of writing, at least for me. My number one assistant did a whole mess of editing, so props to her.

for anyone interested, here is Braeburn's rifle.

the only difference is the lever also serves as the trigger-guard, and the tube slides out to facilitate quicker reloading.

next chapter will be up someday.

Cold Blooded

“I’ve been saying it since day one, it doesn’t matter how strong you are or how good a shot, if you don’t have it in you to kill another pony then we lose this war.” The morning reveille had indeed revealed to the entire company that the unicorns had made another advance, and even as everypony gathered in the mess hall for lunch, the Manehattenite 57 had yet to get over it. “And guess what? I don’t think that even a quarter of these ponies has it in them.”

“Alright, can ya tell me how ya think our squad stacks up?” In his first day of leadership, Repeater Rifle had set to getting a feel for his squad’s standings. Sparks he knew fine, but he didn’t quite know the other ponies as well. It stood to reason to get to know them in order to find out how good a fighter they would be. Sparks was obviously solid, and the Manehattenite seemed to be maybe the most effective fighter they had.

The Manehattenite was also highly judgmental and blunt. Elsewhere it would have been annoying, but Repeater Rifle knew that the Manehattenite would tell him straight just how effective everypony was.

The Manehattenite stopped and at a few more oats from his plate, then looked back to Repeater Rifle, “You mean, who in our squad has it in them?”

“Yessir.”

The Manehattenite stopped and scratched his head with a hoove for a second. “Well, I’m good. I think Joe’s good; at least he wouldn’t leave me in a fight. The li”-

Sparks cut in on the Manehattenite musings, “Joe? Who’s Joe?”

“Oh, sorry about that. This guy right here”-the Manehattenite gave a hearty pat on the back to the large unicorn sitting next to him-“is Joe. He needs a better fighting name, but Joe suffices for now.” He waves a hoove dismissively, “Anyways, Joe’s good.”

The Manehattenite pointed a hoove at Sparks now as he continued to address Repeater. “The little unicorn, he’s a good shot, but I don’t know if he’ll run or not.” He looked at Sparks as he grabbed another mouthful of oats. “Why did you join again?”

“To find my destiny. I think I’ll find it out here, for better or worse.”

The Manehattenite nodded in approval. “Destiny’s quite the motivator, so he’s good. You”-he pointed at Repeater now-“are probably good, I’m not 100 percent on you because of the Appleoosan thing, but I think you’re probably the best candidate for sergeant that this squad has to offer.”

The Manehattenite leaned in and lowered his voice. “That’s it for this squad. Eight-oh-one is gonna fold the second he sees the unicorns, I guarantee it. The medic is garbage, and I hope he fails physical readiness so we don’t have to drag him along. The unicorn twins might be good, but they keep to themselves so much that I can’t be sure. And the last two are just fodder; best we can hope to get out of them is a distraction.”

Repeater Rifle contemplated the analysis. “Four outta ten? Are ya sure? That bad?”

“Yeah, that bad. Maybe it’s 6 in 10. But I doubt it.”

Sparks shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “You’re talking about ponies being a distraction, that’s pretty harsh, don’t you think?”

“Yep, it is. It’s also the truth. They probably shouldn’t be here in the first place.”

Their half of the table stayed silent for a few seconds after that grim conclusion. Sparks, Repeater, and Joe were silent because they were contemplating the news, and more importantly the Manehattenites casual attitude toward the war. The Manehattenite was silent because he was eating more oats.

Sparks could see that the analysis that the Manehattenite gave was affecting Repeater the most. As Sparks took another bite from his salad, he saw Repeater flinch at some unknown thought. ‘If I know him well, he’s going to try to change the subject,’ Sparks thought. ‘I wish that he would though.’ Sparks looked across the table to the unicorn twins, the medic, 801, and the other two. Suddenly he imagined their spaces were empty. It wasn’t a graphic mental picture, but Sparks shivered too.

‘Half of this table may be killed.’ While the thought had occurred to him before, only now did it really sink in. ‘Oh Celestia.’ That was all he could think. Sitting in the mess hall Sparks was suddenly overcome with fear.

“Hey kid, you OK?”

Sparks looked up to the questioner; the Manehattenite sat staring at him. “You don’t look too good right now. You OK?”

Sparks nodded quickly, “Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” He nodded some more, as if nodding would shake the thoughts from his head. “I’m alright, just nerves is all.”

“Ya sure partner, ‘cause ya look pretty bad off. Hey, ya’re sweatin’! Do ya want ta go ta the infirmary?” Repeater asked the question with sincerity. Sparks shook his head no.

“I’m okay.” Maybe if he said it enough he would believe it. The Manehattenite waved a hoove to get his attention.

“Hey pal, you need to get those nerves taken care of before we get to the front. The last thing any of us need is for you to freeze up when the lead gets thick.” Sparks immediately thought of the front again, and of monsters who conjured flames and ripped flesh from bone.

“Where’s your manners?” Repeater Rifle snapped at the Manehattenite. “Can’t ya see that it’s the war that’s got him all spun up like that?” Sparks shook himself again from his thoughts and returned to the table . “Why, it probably ain’t a good thing ta dwell on right now.”

The Manehattenite shook his head. “You can’t avoid the war forever; they’re out there, and they aren’t gonna leave.”

“Well, Ah can avoid it for at least six more days, and Ah fully intend to.”

“If you can’t face it, you aren’t gonna make it, and you’ll be just like the others,” the Manehattenite motioned to the other half of the table without looking. Sparks frowned; he couldn’t stay quiet any longer and be in good conscience. This pony sitting in front of him showed no emotions, no respect for life. He was not like anypony Sparks had ever seen. He looked over to the Manehattenite.

“How can you just write those ponies off like they’re nothing?”

The Manehattenite looked back at him and answered calmly. “Because I don’t view anypony here as a pony anymore. Everypony in this room is now an instrument of war.” He waved a hoove around to the entire room. “You, me, everypony. Ponies have families and friends and dreams. Instruments don’t. Ponies were supposed to stay in the processing building. How can I write them off? Because they are ineffective instruments of war.”

Sparks shook his head no. “They’re still ponies with families and all that, no matter how much paint you put on them. How can you write them off?”

The Manehattenite pointed a hoove now, his voice raising. “That’s why they aren’t effective, that’s why they I write them off. You have to have the hardened mindset or you’re already dead. You have to leave that stuff behind. They haven’t, so they will fail.”

“Celestia, you want us to forget about all of our loved ones and aspirations in order to fight? If we give up that, then what the hay are we fighting for?!”

Repeater shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Partner, ya’re getting’ a little heated here, do ya want ta calm down?”

Sparks turned to face Repeater, “You’re darn right I’m getting heated! I’ve never seen anypony as distant as this; it’s like he has no soul! I don’t want to be in a squad with a pony like that!”

The Manehattenites voice dropped back to even, “I fight for Celestia and Equestria, and I’m the most effective one in this squad because I’m the one who left his old self at the door, so you should be glad I’m here.”

Sparks wasn’t going to let this go. He was going to make the Manehattenite show some scrap of the pony he was before or die trying. “What about me, and Repeater and Joe? Remember when I told you about Amber? I still write her every day. Does that make me ineffective?” The Manehattenite opened his mouth, but Sparks kept right on going. “Repeater still writes back to his family in Ponyville and Appleossa. Does that make him ineffective? Joe has family he stays in touch with”- Sparks looked to Joe-“right?” Joe nodded weakly.

Sparks leaned in, a confident look upon his face. “You’re the only one here that’s like this, and you’re wrong. You don’t need to leave everything behind, because that’s what keeps us going.”

Something about this statement hit a nerve with the Manehattenite. “That’s what I used to think as well, but that’s all a bucking pile of garbage! You have to leave all that stuff behind because if you don’t then they’ll wash you out just like they did to me!”

The table grew silent, then Repeater Rifle spoke. “What do ya mean ‘washed out’?”

The Manehattenite sighed in defeat as he slumped back into his seat and looked down to the table. “Alright, I’ll tell you my sob story, but this is all you’ll ever hear about my old life.”

“When I was growing up, I always wanted to be in the royal guard, defending Equestria and the princess and all that stuff. Be a hero, you know. That was my goal in life. I enlisted, and I passed physical readiness. I was living the dream. Then it all ended.”

He looked up to Sparks and Repeater now. “Our drill instructor was a Pegasus mare, just got the commission a week before. She had us doing a training exercise for evaluation, not on us, but on her. The royal guard is generally used as bodyguards, so in the drill we were escorting a VIP. We get ambushed by the baddies, a bunch of other royal guards painted up as zebras.”

“So we’re being ambushed, and this ‘zebra’ is coming right for our VIP. The zebra has a lance on his shoulder. I come in and blindside him, knock him to the ground. All the lances are dull, but they have these little red tips on the end, that’s how you can tell that you tagged a baddie. I’m about to tag this zebra, and he looks me dead in the eye. I pause. For a second I just see a pony with parents and family that I’m about to deprive him of. But then I remember this is what I have to do. So I move to tag him. Never got to.”

His eyes narrowed, and deep within them a flame began to burn. “I get tagged, and I turn to see who it is, and it’s our instructor. She isn’t painted up. She points at me and says, ‘You hesitated.’ She spins about and tags our VIP. Turns right back to me and says, ‘and now he is dead.’ Exercise ends, and everypony is confused because our drill instructor just ‘killed’ the VIP. “She then begins to address everypony but me. She says, ‘Hesitation gets you killed. Worse, hesitation gets others killed. And I will not- correction, can not- tolerate hesitation.’"

“She then turns to me, and I say, ‘It won’t happen again.’ She says, ‘You’re right. It won’t.’ And she washed me out. Bam. Dream over.” The Manehattenite eyes burned with an emotion that Sparks had never even known. Hatred.

“If you wash out of the Royal Guard on psych grounds, they never let you back in. my entire life’s goals died that day, just so that little Pegasus could show some Marshall how tough she was. If I ever run into her again, I don’t know what I would do. I doubt it would be good.

The Manehattenite nodded in conclusion. “For the record, I think that you’re right. A pony needs to keep his family and friends; he can’t just leave that behind. But when that, that pathetic bucking mare killed my dream so that she could live hers, she taught me a lot. She taught me that in war you can’t have feelings, or second thoughts, or hesitations. You can’t. And if you family or friends or you own conscience make you hesitate, you have to let it go.”

“She also taught me that the same applies for dreams. So that’s what I’m doing. I’m chasing the dream. That’s why I’m so cold-blooded. Do you understand?”

Sparks nodded immediately. “Yeah, I get that. The same thing happened to me.”

The Manehattenite shook his head. “Not like this.” And with that the table fell silent again. Sparks looked over at the Manehattenite, who sat glowering with anger. Sparks wonder what it would feel like to feel anger like that.

Suddenly Repeater Rifle hit a hoove on the table, traditional smile erupting on his face. “Ah got it!” he pointed at the Manehattenite “You’re called ‘Cold Blooded’ from now on!” The Manehattenite pointed to himself for confirmation, and Repeater Rifle nodded in the affirmative. “Yeah, Cold Blooded is a good fightin’ name, and it fits ya like a glove. Also sticks it ta that Pegasus, ‘cause the pony she washed out is the hardest little killer in the whole dang Calvary.”

The Manehattenite stopped for another mouthful of oats, and chewed them slowly and thoughtfully. Slowly, the fire faded from his eyes. Finally he nodded in approval. “Okay, Cold Blooded.” He turned to Joe, “Ya hear that Joe?” Joe nodded dutifully.

“Yep, a stone cold killer. Got it.”

Sparks let out a sigh that he didn’t know he was holding. ‘Thank Celestia for ponies like Repeater.’ The drama and thoughts of the war were gone with the wind, and the new name put everypony into good spirits. ‘While I’m thinking of it…’

Sparks turned to Repeater, “Why don’t I get a name?”

Repeater shrugged. “Ah just don’t know a name that’ll fit ya. The names gotta stick ta the pony. ‘Repeater Rifle’ sticks, on account a’ me being the best shot alive with mah pretty little Marechester.” He pointed across the table at the newly christened “’Cold Blooded’ sticks cause that pony has no soul.” Cold Blooded nodded.

“I left it at the door.”

“See what ah mean!” Repeater said with a smile, “Cold Blooded, ah hope ya run into that mare someday, just so she can see ya now.” He faced Sparks again. “Point is, ah don’t got a good name for ya, despite how much ah know ya. Best ah can do right now is ‘Crack Shot’, and that just don’t sound right.”

Sparks nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds pretty lame. How about ‘Dead Eye’?”

“Hay no!” Repeater said with an accompanying hoove-slap of the table. “Partner, have you ever been given a nickname before?”

“No.”

Repeater lowered his head into a hoove and shook it slowly. He looked up and over to Sparks, then went right back down to the facehoove, “Celestia preserve me.” He finally looked back up to Sparks, and began a lecture. “Ya can’t just give yourself a nickname, it ain’t right. The kind a pony that gives himself a nickname is”-

The door to the mess hall threw open with a BANG. The Artist stood in the doorway. “Everypony with a horn on his head needs to be out of here in five minutes! Special training! Let’s go!” The mess hall erupted to life. Sparks grabbed his saddlebags and SMCC and began to head for the door.

“Good luck at the training,” Repeater Rifle said and Sparks gave a quick nod as he headed for the door.

A Hero and an Idiot

The unicorns of 3rd platoon gathered in the center of the rifle range. Over the week the clean grassy field of the rifle range had been ground up by preparation for war into a scarred wasteland. Shattered and bullet ridden wooden targets lay scattered haphazardly across the field, and running down the center was the trench dug for the combined arms exercises. Amongst all of this was The Artist, standing with another unicorn and with a crate at his feet.

He kicked the latches off of the crate, and produced a rounded metal sphere roughly the size of an apple with a latch similar to the crate latches on the top.

“This is a grenade. It’s a new weapon, developed by the unicorns, and it is the most dangerous item that you will deal with in your training here. This is more dangerous than your rifles,and your spears. If you do not show this the level of respect that it deserves it will kill you, and very likely everypony around you.”

He looked intently at the grenade as if he were studying it. “It’s simple in its design, but deadly. Upon opening the latch on top, a five second timer is set off. At the end of five seconds it detonates five ounces of explosives, which shoots metal fragments at 2000 feet per second. Once it goes off it’ll kill anypony within a fifteen yard radius. It doesn’t kill quick or clean, but it’ll still do it.”

“The unicorns like to throw them through windows and into confined spaces, and they work well on trenches. Observe.” The Artist popped the latch with a hoove, reared up on hind legs, and threw it into the trench before them. After a few seconds there was a loud BANG, and some dirt flew out of the trench.

‘That’s it?’ Sparks thought in confusion. “He’s been building this up and that’s the worst it does? As he turned to look around, it was obvious that everypony else was unimpressed too. Joe snorted in disapproval. The twins shrugged. Everypony else stared off in different directions or pawed at the ground.

“Retrieve the Targets instructor”, The Artist ordered. The unicorn that stood nearby levitated 6 wooden targets from the trench, and at once everypony stopped what they were doing.

Two of the six targets were held together by splinters only, hardly an inch unscathed by the fragments the grenade threw through them at 1200 miles per hour. The next two faired only marginally better, but still had enough damage to make it apparent that it would have killed anypony in that range. Only the two farthest from the grenadeseemed survivable, but even then there were enough gashes to guarantee severe injury, maybe a slow, grueling death..

The Artist gave a low whistle in respect for the grenades potential, then faced the unicorn crowd. “It’s very effective, but these things can kill you if you are not careful. That’s why you are here, not to be trained on how to use these, but how to use these safely. But first…” The Artist retrieved another grenade from the crate, faced out toward the field again, and popped the latch. He reared up on hindlegs to throw, but as he did so the grenade rolled off of his hoove and fell to the ground behind him with a ‘clink’. It rolled lazily up to a petrified crowd of the 26 unicorns of 3rd platoon.

Sparks stared at the little metal ball in horror, just like everypony else. ‘Celestia, we’re all dead.’

No. Not all. Not everypony. In an instant Sparks knew what his destiny was. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was why he was here. He sprung forward and put his body on the small metal sphere, putting as much of him as he could between the crowd and the death beneath him. One in exchange for twenty five. It was good enough. He shut his eyes tight. For a split second he saw Amber at the projector back in Fillydelphia. There was a flash of light.

‘I’m sorry.’ And with that Sparks waited for inevitability.

The light disappeared, and Sparks heard a voice. “You’re a hero private. The first one of the war.” Sparks opened his eyes and was met with Celestia’s glaring sun. A silhouette appeared over it and Sparks couldn’t make out who it was. “You’re in all the papers now, you’re famous. Celestia gave a speech in your honor, says that today is to be made a holiday in your memory. Ponies say that they may even make a statue in the Canterlot gardens of you.”

Sparks looked up; he still couldn’t make out the figure in front of him. He became aware of the grass beneath him and of an ache in his ribs. He looked down, and saw the grenade pushed slightly into the ground.

‘I’m alive,’ he thought in awe.

He looked back up and saw that it was The Artist that stood over him, and for a brief second felt stupid that he thought it would be anypony else. The Artist looked at him with a strange air of admiration. Suddenly his face turned dark with anger.

‘Oh crap’ thought Sparks.

“You’re also dead! And an idiot!” The Artist yelled. He reached out with a hoove and grabbed Sparks’ horn. “What’s this tumor growing out of your head?” he shouted as he shook his hoove violently.

Strangely enough a thought ran through Sparks head as The Artist jostled him about. ‘Don’t crack like 801.’ Sparks yelled his answer, “Sir, that is my horn sir!”

“Does it work private!?” the Artist yelled.

“Sir, yes Sir!”

“I’m not convinced private; if it did work then you would have attempted to do something less idiotic than jump on a live grenade! Do you know any magic!?”

“Sir yes sir!”

“Then that means that either you were incapable of preforming it or were too stupid to think too! Were you too stupid to think to use magic on the grenade!?”

“Sir no sir!”

“I don’t believe you Private. I think that it’s time to ‘get rid of the dead weight’ around here. If you are incapable of using magic, then we need to get rid of this tumor.” The Artist turned and faced the unicorns, keeping Sparks pinned to the ground by his horn. “You!” The Artist shouted, pointing at the medic on Sparks’ squad. “Amputate this growth from the private!”

The medic took a step back away from The Artist. “Sir, a-are you sure?”

“Yes medic, I need you to cut this tumor out of the private!” The Artist said in exasperation. The medic stood immobile, horribly confused by the order. The Artist shook his head. “Come over here medic, now.” The medic slowly trotted over. With one hoove The Artist threw open the medics’ saddlebags as the other kept Sparks pinned. The Artist cracked a smile, and then retrieved a bone saw with his teeth.

“Prepare to stabilize the casualty” he said through gritted teeth, as he twisted his head and aimed the bone saw for the base of Sparks’ horn. The medic looked on in horror, as did most every other pony.

Sparks looked at The Artist intently as the bone saw drew closer. ‘He isn’t going to do it’ Sparks though with confidence, ‘I’m not going to break like 801’. Sparks looked into The Artists eyes, trying his best to stare him down. As the bone saw touched the base of his horn, Sparks noticed that the confidence that he was showing was also burning in The Artists eyes. ‘Oh Celestia’ Sparks realized in horror, ‘he is about to cut off my horn!’

On instinct Sparks levitated the bone saw right out of The Artists mouth, and threw it into the trench. Instead of expressing shock or anger The Artist grinned in triumph. “So you can use magic! That makes you an idiot! Why didn’t you just throw the grenade in the trench private?”

“Sir, I did not think to sir!” and indeed, Sparks felt like a total idiot. ‘Crap’

“Idiot” The Artist said dismissively with a wave of a hoove. “don’t bother getting up, private”, The Artist said as he turned to all the other ponies.

“At least this idiot died a hero.” The Artist gave a look of utter contempt to the twenty five unicorns that stood before him. “if it wasn’t for this one dead idiot I would be looking at twenty four dead and dying idiots, and I would have to write twenty four notes to family saying: ‘Your son is dead because he was an idiot’,”

“If we are going to fight a war against an intelligent enemy that is skilled in the use of magic I need our unicorns to be able to beat them on magical terms. The Calvary can teach magic, but we cannot teach intelligence. I had 23 ponies whose best idea when confronted with a grenade was to die. I had one idiot who jumped on it. He’s dead now, but Celestia, he did something.”

The Artist now brought a hoove to his chin and looked in contemplation at the group. “I did have two of you that did do something else entirely though.” He pointed now at the unicorn twins who stood at towards the back of the group. “The two of you shielded yourselves after the idiot jumped on the grenade. Interesting. Why didn’t you put the shield over the grenade?”

The twins looked to each other quickly, looking for the other to answer. Finding nothing, they faced The Artist.

“Well, my brother and I,sir, we-“

“We didn’t think to put the shield there, sir.”

The Artist nodded in contemplation. “Equestria needs ponies that can react to changing scenarios and respond intelligently to them. Because these two are the only ones that reacted they are the only ponies who are not running the mountain. If you aren’t back in a half hour you run it again. Understand?”

“Sir yes sir.”

The Artist nodded. “Dismissed.” Sparks started to his hooves to run with the others, but a tap on the shoulder stopped him. “Dead ponies can’t run private, you stay here.” Sparks nodded and sat back on the ground.

As the as the thundering of hooves faded into the distance the instructor finally spoke. “Major, how am I supposed to train the unicorns in magical deterrents to grenades if they are running up a mountain?”

The Artist shrugged, “oh, dreadful sorry about that, take thirty minutes, train them when they get back.” The instructor snorted briefly in disappointment, and then turned and started for the mess hall. The Artist’s mouth quirked, repressing a grin. “Rarely have I seen a pony that is disappointed in a break from work. Good thing he is though, need good CO’s like him.”

The Artist turned to the twins now. “The hero deserves a proper burial; see to it.”

For once the twins didn’t act uniformly; one quickly dug through his saddlebags and retrieved his entrenching tool, flipping it open with a well-practiced shake of his hoove. The other was more hesitant, clearly confused. “Sir, why do we have to dig, sir?”

“Why do you think? To bury the hero, I already told you that.” Even as the brother began digging the other shook his head.

“But sir, we we’re the only ones who used magic against the grenade: we passed. Why do we have dig?”

“Get to digging and I’ll tell you.” The Artist said. The second brother dutifully retrieved his entrenching tool and started digging with his twin, who had already dug a hole three feet deep in the short amount of time that had passed. The second brother looked to The Artist for answers.

“The reason that you two are digging is because I have to train instinct out of you.”

“Beg pardon sir, how do you mean, train instinct out of us?”

The Artist trotted up to the shallow hole they were digging and leaned in to the second brother. “When I dropped that grenade you didn’t have time to think, only to act impulsively. How did you react?”

“My brother and I raised a shield.”

The Artist shook his head. “No, the answer is selfishly. The action that you took would only save yourselves. If the idiot over there wasn’t here then I would be looking at 23 casualties. On instinct his thought was to save everypony else. One casualty. I can’t have ponies in my army that put themselves in front of their countryponies. I need you two to change. Understood?”

The brother nodded once, a little wiser. “Get to digging then and think on it”, The Artist said, and then trotted over to Sparks and left the twins to their work. He took a seat, and then turned to Sparks. “Do you know what your problem is, son?”

Sparks thought for a moment, mainly on how to respond. He didn’t know what his problem was, other than that he jumped on a grenade instead of doing anything smarter. “Sir, I do not know sir.” He finally said, hoping that this answer wouldn’t merit an outburst. Thoughts of 801 still hung fresh in his memory.

Much to Sparks surprise The Artist nodded. “Of course you don’t know, if you did you would have corrected it. Would you like to know?”

“Sir, yes sir.” Sparks said eagerly.

The Artist chuckled and stared off toward the looming mountain. “You can knock off the sir sandwiches, son. Consider yourself at ease until the others return. Where was I?” he sat for just a second, and then lit up in remembrance. “Ah, that’s right.” He turned to Sparks again. “You don’t embrace your strengths.”

This caught Sparks off guard. “How?”

“Perhaps a better place to start is what do you think your strengths are? I have to know what you think before I can help.”

Sparks sat and stared off into the distance as he tried to think of his strengths. He wasn’t strong, and wasn’t the smartest based on the grenade test. As Sparks tried to think of a thing that he could determine was an advantage that he had, he found that he couldn’t name one. ‘No wonder I don’t have a mark’ he thought glumly. He couldn’t think of anything that he could do. He gave his evaluation to The Artist.

“I don’t think that I have any, sir.”

The Artist instantly scoffed at this. “Like hay you don’t. I don’t know you very well son, but I can give you a few concrete strengths that you have. You jumped on the grenade, which shows that you are quick to react and also selfless. Stupid, maybe, but selfless. On that first day after running you up the mountain and PT I asked you to run it again, and you did so without hesitation. That shows drive and determination, and that you will do what needs to be done despite being given difficult or uncomfortable tasks.. And like it or not you are very good with a rifle.”

“Barring any of that, you can use magic. And judging by how effective the unicornians are that’s a pretty important strength.” The Artist leaned in towards Sparks slightly. “You can use magic, so use it. Understand?”

Sparks cocked his head to one side, “I already use magic.” The Artist simply sighed in reply.

“Well, hopefully you’ll know when to use it. Embrace your strengths private, and you will perform well.” He looked up to the twins, at least one of whom was digging at a ferocious pace. The Artist smiled slightly in approval. “You’re digging awfully quick son”, he called over. “Were you a miner or farmer?”

“No sir, sir.” The twin replied back. “My brother and I were traveling salesponies.” a voice emanated from the hole. “I prefer to think of myself as an inventor, brother.”

“So what is it? Inventors or salesponies?” The Artist asked.

“Both sir.” The digger replied. “We invent our own product, we don’t sell others. Our big one was the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000.”

“Come again” Sparks asked.

“We built a mobile apple cider press, that’s what got us our marks. We even made a jingle.” The twins smiled with pride at the remembrance of it. The digger resumed digging, murmering as he shoveled.

“We’ve got opportune-i-tyyyyy in this ve-ry comm-unit-yyyyy”

The Artist looked somewhat annoyed. “That doesn’t answer my question. If you’re an inventor salespony then how are you so good at digging?”

“I…do… not… know,” the digger answered between throwing shovelfuls of dirt out of the grave. “I’m just”-crunch-“good at digging.”

Sparks briefly felt annoyed. ‘So he’s an inventor, salespony, and digger by birth? Why does he get three talents when I get none?’ his brief thought was interrupted by The Artist. “Muddy Ruts” he muttered with a single nod.

“Beg pardon?” asked the digger.

“Your fighting name is now Muddy Ruts. Feel free to let it be known.”

A voice emanated from the hole again. “My brother and I have always had similar names. Sir.”

“Then you had better do something that earns you a fighting name that is similar to your brothers, because I don’t care. And be more like your brother and dig faster!”

Sparks stared up at The Artist, brow furrowed, mouth a razor like line, simply waiting to be noticed. Finally The Artist looked down at Sparks. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“He gets a name for digging a hole, and I don’t get anything for jumping on a grenade?”

For a single second The Artist looked surprised “Oh, yes, a name. Hmm. Well.” He put a hoove to his chin and scratched as he looked to the mountain in thought. “Well, we could call you ‘Hero’, but that would go to your head.” He faced Sparks and cracked a smile. “We could call you ‘Idiot.’

Sparks chuckled slightly, “That name can be applied to everypony here sir.”

The Artist nodded in agreement and resumed his thinking. “Jumped on a grenade, let’s see. Got it.” He turned to Sparks with a mischievous grin on his face. “Ground Beef.”

“Ground Beef? What the hay does ‘Ground Beef’ mean?”

“Oh, it’s a Griffon thing.” The Artist said. “And I’ll leave it at that.”

“So I’m Ground Beef now?” Sparks asked in detest. He had no idea what it meant, and it certain as hay didn’t sound like a good fighting name. Repeater rifle, yes. Cold Blooded, yes. Even Muddy Ruts wasn’t a half bad fighting name. But Ground Beef? Awful.

His distaste for the name must have been apparent to The Artist, for he shook his head. “No, that will not do of course; I have nothing for you private. Sorry.”

The thud of hooves began to grow in the distance, and Sparks and The Artist looked toward the mountain to see the 23 ponies running back into the training area. The Artist sighed, and leaned over into the hole dug by the twins and said, “Time’s up, ponies. Muddy Ruts, go to the mess hall to let the instructor know that his class has returned and it’s time to resume training. Step to it!”

Muddy Ruts shot out of the hole toward the mess hall, and the other twin dutifully retrieved both entrenching tools and packed them back into their bags. By this time, the other ponies had returned and were resuming their positions, and with a slight sigh Sparks trotted over next to Joe, the unicorn that he knew best. They stared off at Foal Mountain for a moment.

“Why are you… sighing?” Joe rasped as he tried to catch his breath. “You didn’t… run up a mountain.”

“One of the twins got a name.” Sparks said in disappointment staring pointedly at the mountain. Joe kept looking at the mountain as well as he answered

“What?”

“Muddy Ruts.”

“Why… Muddy Ruts?”

“Because he dug a hole.” Sparks spat out in annoyance.

“Did you… get one?”

“No.”

Joe looked over at Sparks. “Don’t worry… you will. It’s like Cold Blooded said… your good.” He nodded and smiled a little, and then looked back to the mountain.

Sparks just sat there, contemplating Joes comment. The Artist believed in him, Cold Blooded believed in him, Repeater believed in him, even Joe believed in him. A worrying thought ran across his mind.

‘But I don’t,’

Muddy Ruts returned to the field with the instructor in tow, and a seminar on explosives survival began. Sparks hardly heard a word of it.

Author's Note

I Finally did it!

As you may tell, I'm relatively stoked. After 5 weeks of not publishing jack shit it feels pretty good just to get this stuff out there.
And if you care, I'm putting up the next two chapters in rapid succession. Expect the next one this time tomorrow

Debt

Repeater Rifle shambled in through the Third Platoon barracks’ door. Luna’s moon was rising in the sky, meaning that the third to last day before being sent to the front had come to a close. He slowly trotted to his cot, lost in thought.

He found himself thinking more nowadays, now that he had the responsibility of being Sergeant. Right now, he was mentally running through a checklist of things the squad needed to be able to do before they shipped out. By his reckoning, they needed to be competent at using their rifles, needed to be able to overcome their fear, and needed to trust him and follow his orders.

The good news was on the rifle front. In between the Calvary teaching everypony incorrectly and him pulling as much free time as possible and putting it into the range, Repeater guessed that they were the best squad in their platoon when it came to firing rifles, maybe even the company. He cracked a tired grin as he clambered into his bottom bunk. There at least he had done well.

The last two criteria both required Repeater to know his squad and know them well, so he went through what he knew about them in his head. Sparks, Cold Blooded, Joe and himself were good beyond doubt. 801 and the medic were on the far end of the spectrum. 801 was nervous all the time, and it was pretty apparent that he would crack. The medic was just incompetent, and more afraid than 801. Repeater shook his head as he thought of those two. He had tried to help them but so far nothing had worked. ‘Maybe they can’t be fixed,’ he thought glumly as he rolled over to make himself more comfortable. ‘Some ponies just can’t be helped.’

On the up-side, the two that Cold Blooded had claimed wouldn’t make it were actually performing at what he would call average. One of them, 382, was a large earth pony, and from conversing Repeater found out that he was a native of Dodge Junction, and actually worked at a general store there. The other was 736, a unicorn hailing from Las Pegasus that had just dropped out of the school of magic there in order to join. They were all around good ponies once he had gotten to know them.

This brought Repeater right back to the down-side. He had yet to be able to get to know the unicorn twins. The most that he had been able to talk to them was when Repeater asked Muddy Ruts about being named by The Artist after hearing this news from Sparks, and just as soon as that had ended, the two retreated back to the armory, their usual hangout during any and all free time. Repeater frowned as he stared up at the bottom of the bunk above him. If he didn’t know them, then he didn’t know if he could depend on them, and not knowing whether he had 6 or 8 dependable ponies was important.

He closed his eyes in exhaustion and for the first time that day was able to relax. The night was the only time that he could. As he began to nod off he threw out a quick prayer. ‘Celestia, give me the courage and wisdom to lead my fellow ponies in battle. Luna, relieve me of my worries from the day.’ With that, he gave up all attempts to stay awake. His body ached from hooves to head, particularly his right shoulder. He loved his Marechester, but dealing with the kick for 3 hours a day was killing him. Buying his own nonstandard ammunition was too.

Just as he began to get his aching body into a comfortable position the bed creaked and squeaked violently as Static Sparks clambered up the ladder. Repeater cracked an eye and glared at the pony as he continued his loud ascent.

Sparks noticed Repeaters stare and froze, pencil in mouth and paper levitated slightly above him. He levitated the pencil out of his mouth and spoke. “Oh Celestia, sorry about that. Where you asleep?”

“Naw, not yet anyways. Ah was just thinkin’ is all,” Repeater muttered. He had been that close to getting precious sleep, but at the same time didn’t want to upset his friend. A look of genuine relief washed over Sparks face.

“Oh thank goodness, I’d hate to have woken you up.” Sparks said as he flopped into his top bunk. Repeater closed his eyes, hopefully for the final time tonight as he blotted out the general din of the barracks and the scratching of pencil on paper from above. After a few seconds Repeater heard a voice emanate from above.

“So what were you thinking about that’s keeping you up?” Repeater cringed, ‘is sleep too much to ask?’ All the same he answered.

“Ah haven’t got a chance ta talk ta those unicorn twins yet, and ah got ta get ta know ‘em before we head out. If ya would please leave it at that, it would be much appreciated. If ya want ta know more, please ask me in the mornin’. Thank ya, and good night.”

‘Maybe that’ll do it,’ Repeater thought as he tried to go to sleep for the third time. He became faintly aware of the clip-clop of hooves nearby.

“Excuse me sir, can my brother and I trouble you for a moment?”

Repeater sat up in bed and faced the assailing voice. “WHAT THE HAY COULD YOU POSSIBLY WANT AT THIS HOUR!?” he bellowed. In front of him the twins backed up, clearly startled.

“Oh, uh, sorry Sergeant Repeater. My brother and I wanted a word with the pony on the top bunk.”

“Yes, we wanted him to test out our latest product.”

Repeater shook his head, then continued to glare at the twins. “Do your testin’ and talkin’ and whatever else away from here. Some ponies are tryin’ ta get some shut eye, ya hear!” the twins nodded hurriedly. “Good!” Repeater said as he slammed his head back against his pillow.

The bunk started creaking and squeaking again as Sparks descended the ladder. “Hey Repeater, aren’t these the ponies you wanted to talk to?” he whispered as the twins backed further from the bunk.

The question snapped Repeater awake. ‘They’re standin’ right in fronta me, and Ah tell ‘em off. Ah must be more sleep deprived that ah thought.’ Repeater sat up in bed and put a hoove to his face to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Yes partner, those are the ponies that ah want ta talk to.” He tiredly turned to the unicorn twins. “Mah apologies for yellin’ at ya, ah’m just worn out’s all. Would ya’ll mind if I came with?”

After his initial outburst, the twins seemed a little more relaxed. “Absolutely Sergeant, feel free to take a sneak peek at our latest invention,” said the one on the left.

“Yeeeeesir, it’s guaranteed to give you the results you want,” the one on the right chimed in.

“Okay, can you tell us what it is?” asked Sparks as they began to trot to the twins’ bunk.

“We can show you,” the one on the left said grandly as he arrived at his bunk and kicked open his trunk. Out of the trunk he levitated… an object. Repeater and Sparks simultaneously cocked their heads to one side as they tried to figure out just what the object was that the twins were beaming in triumph over. Finally Sparks stated his conclusion.

“It’s a metal rod with a pin in the top and the sole of a boot glued to the bottom.”

“No,” said the one on the left with a sly smile. “This contraption that you see before you is the prototype for our latest invention, the Recoil-Reducing-Rubberized-Rearpiece, or Quadruple-R in short.”

“It’s a metal rod with a pin in the top and the sole of a boot glued to the bottom,” Sparks repeated.

The twin looked somewhat annoyed now. “Well, I did say that it was a prototype, didn’t I?”

“So, ya’ll are inventors?” Repeater asked.

“Yes sir, inventors and traveling salesponies, nonpareil” the one on the right said as he took his SMCC off of his shoulder. “Would you mind, brother?”

“Of course not, brother,” said the one on the left as he handed off the thing.

“Non-par-what?”

“Nonpareil, or nonparalleled, my good pony,” the one on the right said. Sparks and Repeater saw that the stock of his SMCC had a hole bored into it, and after taking the pin off the top, the twin slid the contraption into it until only the sole of the boot remained sticking out, covering the back of the stock. The twin re inserted the pin through a smaller hole cut toward the front of the stock, gave the rubber a quick magical pull to make sure it was in place, and then handed the rifle off to Sparks. The one on the left started to speak excitedly.

“Our invention reduces recoil in two ways. The weight of the metal makes the rifle heavier, which means the bullet has more mass to move. It also makes the rifle less front heavy, test the balance for yourself. The rubber piece makes the recoil more comfortable than the solid wood.”

Sparks weighed the rifle in his hoove, checked it clear, and brought it up to aiming position. Everything the twins said was true, and the additional weight at the back did make it less tiring on his forehoove. “So, what do you want me to do?”

“Tomorrow, we want you to test our rifle against yours to see if our Quadruple-R really works.”

“And once our design is finalized, you can have one for yourself for only 20 bits!”

Sparks lowered the rifle and looked at the twins in confusion. “Twenty bits? If it helps us, why not just make them for free?”

“You can’t have salesponies without sales.”

“And it will be well worth the price!”

Sparks was about to protest further, but was cut off by Repeater. “Ah say let ‘em sell it, Ah don’t see the problem.” He turned to the twins, “The private will test out your invention, and ah hope it works for ya. But that ain’t what ah’m here for.”

“And what are you here for sergeant?” the one on the left asked.

“Just ta talk is all, ah want ta get ta know everypony in mah squad, and the two a ya are the only holdouts. So ah heard that one a ya got a name?”

“Muddy Ruts, sir.” The one on the left answered sharply.
“It’s nice ta meet ya properly as we only talked briefly earlier, but now ta business. Tell me ‘bout yourselves. Ya’ll were traveling salesponies and inventors, so what did ya’ll invent and sell?”

Muddy Ruts started, “My brother and I were born in Baltimare, and in our youth we made all sorts of inventions; we had a knack for it you see.”

The unnamed twin leaned in towards Sparks. “Perhaps you have heard of the Pneumatic Power Grabber Glove?” Sparks shook his head no, the twins shrugged. Muddy resumed with his tale.

“We tried and had modest success, until we invented the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 1000.” At the mention of this Sparks noticed Repeaters eyes narrow and face harden. The twins took no notice, and Muddy continued. “Suddenly we were a success, our machine was making quality apple cider by the barrel load, and Baltimare loved us for it. We went through a couple of improvements, until we made our piece de resistance.”

“The Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000.” Repeater said, still stoic. Sparks twitched his tail in discomfort. Something was wrong. The twins remained oblivious.

“Precisely, Sergeant, precisely. A mobile apple cider press, so that we could share our quality goods with all of Equestria,” Muddy said with satisfaction. His twin picked up.

“That one you have heard of.”

Repeaters face could have been etched in stone as he responded. “Yessir, ah heard of that from mah cousin Applejack.” The twins mouths dropped slightly and their eyes widened.

“A-Applejack, of the Apples family?” Muddy asked weakly.

“Yessir, Ah take it that that makes the two a ya Flim and Flam. It’s nice ta meet ya properly.” Repeaters Face remained hard, but deep in his eyes a fire was growing. The twins stood slack jawed and speechless. “It’sa small country after all.”

Sparks slowly trotted between the opposing parties and faced Repeater. “You know them? How?”

Repeater gave his answer, all the while staring over Sparks at the twins. “What they didn’tell ya was about how they rode into Ponyville on their fancy machine and tried ta run mah relatives outta business and take their farm.” Sparks turned to the brothers in contempt.

“Really?”

“There’s more to it than that!” Muddy pleaded. “The Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000 went over budget and we had to take out a loan! The bank wanted their investment refunded or they would take it! We were desperate!”

“That won’t absolve ya, it’s no reason ta try and take someponies land and business. The two of ya listen ta me now. I’m gonna ask ya a question, and ya’ll are gonna answer me. Hear?” the twins nodded. “Why’d ya’ll join the Calvary?”

“The bank collected the Super Speedy Cider Squeezy 6000. We were unemployed, and needed work. This was the only place we could turn.” Repeater scratched his chin in thought.

“If ya’ll were ta be, say, removed from the Calvary, it would land ya in the poorhouse, correct?”

Muddy shook his head vehemently. “Please don’t. Please.”

Repeater continued his thinking. “Ya’ll are at mah mercy, then.”

Sparks spoke up now, planting himself firmly between the two. “Don’t do this Repeater; even after what they did to you cousins, they don’t deserve it.”

“Well partner, you’re wrong, but ah ain’t kickin’ them out.” Muddy’s face and his twin’s lit up with relief.

“Thank you, Sergeant, tha-” Repeater held up a hoove and Muddy stopped talking.

“The way ah see it, the two a ya owe the Apple family for the stress that ya caused them, and now ya’ll are gonna pay it back. For the rest of this war, the two a ya will never be more than ten feet away from me. If ah’m ever in trouble, ya’ll are gonna bail me out or ya’ll will die tryin’. And if Ah get it, which ah may, the two a ya will be the ones ta bring me home. If ya’ll ever break this deal, ah’ll have ya discharged so fast the door won’t even hit ya on the way out.”

“Sparks, if that rifle-thing a theirs works, ya tell me, and ah’ll get them ta make one for everypony in the company, and make ‘em submit a patent for no pay.” Repeater pursed his lips, then turned to the twins. “Additionally, Ah see ya’ll have a creative mind. Any other inventions, ya’ll come to me, and we’ll make em’ work ta our advantage.Ya’ll get that?” they nodded quickly in unison. “Good. Now, ah’m of ta bed, goodnight partner.” He faced the twins one last time. “Ya’ll are welcome.”

Author's Note

See, this time I was only two days past when I promised it, therefore I will never promise anything again. Next chapter will be up... someday.

The Woods

“I’m awake!” Sparks shouted, but he didn’t know why. His voice sounded wrong even as he said the words. He opened his eyes. In front of him was an earth pony, roughly his size. He wore a woolen uniform and a gas mask on his face. On his saddle there was a large searchlight, closed up and off.

“Good to hear, Commander. For a moment there, I thought that you had gone ‘back home early’ on me,” The pony said, voice warped by the gas mask that he wore. Sparks became aware that he was wearing one too, the lenses distorting his vision and the feeling of leather on his face. Funnily though he couldn’t really feel the weight, it felt removed by miles from his head.

“Found anypony?” the pony in front of him asked. Sparks shook his head

“No, nopony yet, not even any bodies.” Sparks didn’t choose to say what he said, but he said it anyway. He looked around behind the pony. Snow and ash fell in equal parts from the sky, a dark ominous grey. All around him, dust hung in the air like a mist, obscuring his vision. Through the dust he thought that he could make out something towering overhead.

“You should hit your headlamp, Commander,” the pony said, and Sparks lifted a hoove up to his gasmask and pulled a lever he didn’t know was there. A light cut through the gloom. The towering thing was nothing more than shattered concrete and rebar, jutting up towards the sky at crazy angles, as if it was trying to escape the devastation on the ground. Sparks panned his head around, following the headlamps beam. There was nothing but rubble.

“I’m heading over here, Commander, going to see what I can find,” the pony said as he pointed a hoove off into the dust. He started trotting off, leaving Sparks on his own.

Suddenly the sound of static filled the air, and Sparks looked quickly to his right to see where it came from.

“All –orces in the aff--- -one –ve on a eas---ack. –apid response teams are---, -andby…”

The noise from the radio on the right side of his saddle faded out into nothing, and Sparks began to walk through the rubble. ‘I think I’ve done this before,’ he thought. ‘But it was different last time, right? Was there a last time?’ He continued trotting through the rubble, but he never felt his hooves touch the ground.

“Commander, I’ve found some,” a voice called out from the gloom. It was the earth pony. He didn’t sound excited. Sparks headed toward the voice. Soon he saw him, standing in front of a pile of rocks. “It isn’t pretty, Commander,” the pony said, pointing a hoove at the pile before him. Sparks trotted closer to see.

With a howl the wind picked up, and the dust flew so thick that Sparks couldn’t see a thing. It blew harder, and Sparks threw himself upon the ground to shield himself. He closed his eyes. The wind stopped. He opened them.

He was in an empty field in the middle of the night, a full moon bathing the countryside with silver light. He looked over himself, and all of the implements of war that he had were gone. He now looked forward.

In front of him were woods, the trees reaching up to incredibly tall heights. In the woods was a unicorn, looking at him with glowing eyes.

Sparks jolted upright and looked around hurriedly. He was in a ditch, ‘Why am I in a ditch!’ he thought in alarm. ‘Wasn’t I in a field a second ago?’ He looked up out of the ditch, and above him trees extended until they disappeared into the thick morning mist. ‘Oh, right,’ Sparks thought in mild annoyance. It was a dream.

He checked over his shoulder to make sure that he still had his SMCC and saddlebags at the ready, then peeked out from his muddy foxhole. The steady drone of crickets emanated from the forest around him, punctuated by the calls of songbirds. The woods stretched out over flat wet ground and into the fog. He continued looking out west for a minute, slowly scanning from left to right for anything suspicious. Apart from the noise, the woods were still.

He continued panning right, now making out the small indents in the forest floor that indicated friendly foxholes. Finally, he rested his eyes on a small fire to his direct rear, and the ponies sitting around it. Repeater raised a hoove a waved him over. Sparks crouched back into his foxhole, and then leapt out in a bound and trotted over towards the campfire.

“Take a seat, Manifest Destiny, breakfast is almost ready,” Repeater said with his customary grin, and for once Sparks grinned right back. Manifest Destiny. His new name. He looked around the campfire. So far it was him, Repeater, Joe, and 382 around the fire. Repeater and 382 were cooking something over a skillet.

“Do you think the smoke is going to attract attention?” Sparks asked. Repeater Shook his head, and stoked the small fire more.

“Naw, the fire’s small, and it’s a misty mornin’; the smoke’s gonna dissipate before it gets into a position that any unicorns can spot it from. And besides, this here wood is Elm, it ain’t green anymore, and it’s dry, so it won’t smoke anyway.” He looked up at Sparks. “Have you ever gone campin’ before?”

“No.”

Repeater looked down and shook his head in contempt. “Well, Ah guess that Ah don’t know what Ah expected. It don’t matter though, ‘cause me and 382 here have. Settler ponies, ya know? Anyways, we’re makin’ breakfast.”

382 nodded. “Yeah, pancakes, biscuits, scrambled eggs. We’re used to making breakfasts like this.”

Joe spoke up, “I could make a pretty good breakfast, if I had an oven.”

“They make those, you know?” 382 interjected. “Little ovens that are good for camping. You put hot embers on top of them and it bakes the stuff inside. Dutch ovens, they’re called.”

“Really?” Joe asked. 382 nodded. “Then I need to get one,” Joe stated, “make breakfast pastries like I used to. I used to be-“

“Shove over Joe. I need to take a seat.” Cold-Blooded grunted as he shoved Joes shoulder. Joe scooted to the left and let Cold-Blooded sit down, then shoved him right back, knocking the comparatively small earth pony to the ground. Everypony save Cold-Blooded chuckled as the pony got back up into sitting position.

“Manners, Cold,” Joe said jokingly, “You gotta be nicer to your squad mates, am I right?”

Cold-Blooded fumed for just a moment, and then nodded. “Yeah, I’m not a morning person. Especially when there’s a war on.” The smile crept away from everyponies face. Until now it had simply been a campout with an overabundance of rifles, but Cold-Blooded had brought them back to earth. “I was just talking with a few Royal Guard ponies, trying to find out what I could first hand. You want to hear it, Sergeant?”

Repeater sighed heavily. “Well, ah guess that ah have ta. Tell me what ya learned.”

“Alright then,” Cold-Blooded said. “Good news first, you know all those stories that we heard back home, about how they can teleport and make fire appear from thin air?” Repeater nodded. “The good news is that most of them can’t do that, they’re just ponies with guns like us. The bad news is that some still can. The guardsponies called them Mages, and they seem pretty intimidating.” He paused for a moment, staring at the campfire as he thought. “That wasn’t what they really seemed concerned about though.”

“Really?” Sparks asked. “They weren’t concerned about ponies that teleport and conjure flames?”

“No, they were concerned about their artillery.” Cold paused as he thought about it for second, staring into the crackling campfire before him, then he looked back up at Repeater.

“If they are correct, then the unicorns’ artillery – it’s – it’s 200 millimeters.”

“Dear Celestia,” Sparks said, the meaning of the statement sinking in. Everypony else around the fire stared blankly. Repeater threw up a hoove in defeat.

“Ah’m sorry, but 200 millimeters don’t mean a thing to me. Can ya say it like a regular pony?”

Sparks turned to him. “Two-hundred millimeters means about 8 inches in bore, and that’s big. Our biggest gun is the 25 pounder, and that’s 88 millimeters.”

Repeater furrowed his brow and looked up as he mentally crunched the numbers. “So that’s ‘bout a sixty pounder they got then?” Sparks shook his head.

“No, because the round is longer as well. They probably have a gun that shoots a two hundred pound projectile.
That’s 8 times ours.” Everypony was silent for a second, only the steady crackling of the fire and chirping of songbirds providing soundtrack.

“What does a 200 lb explosion look like?” 382 asked. Nopony answered. Nopony could. They sat around the fire in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Sparks looked up at the canopy that disappeared into the mist above him. It looked so peaceful, so picturesque. He saw a pair of songbirds chasing each other through the trees, and more than a few squirrels bounding through the branches. He tried to envision an explosion in the midst of it. He didn’t know how to.

The ponies became aware of the clip-clop of hooves approaching behind them, and turned to face it. A unicorn that they had never meet before was trotting over, coated in the standard equestrian brown earth dye. He trotted right up to the fire.

“Which one of you is Repeater Rifle?”

Repeater raised a hoove, “That’s me. What can ah do for ya this fine morning’?” he said cautiously. The unicorn faced him.

“I understand that two ponies in your squad are in the business of digging foxholes?”

Repeater relaxed, and smiled broadly. “Yessir, they most certainly are. I ‘spect you need a hole dug for ya then?” the unicorn nodded. “Well, if ya give me four bits and your location, then ah’ll point them right to ya when they get on back.”

“421rst Alpha Company, 4th squad. You’ll find us a half mile to the south.” The unicorn levitated four bits out of one of his saddlebags and laid them on the ground.

“Thank ya much, Ah’ll let ‘em know when they get back.” Repeater said as the unicorn began to trot back off into the morning mist. Repeater grinned as he looked at the bits before him.

“Ya know, this whole debt that they gotta pay me back on is a pretty good deal. Where are those two ponies, anyways?”

“Last I saw they were digging out me and 801’s foxhole,” said 382.

“Bring ‘em on over, would ya kindly?” Repeater said. “Breakfast is ready anyhow.” 382 got up and trotted off to back to his foxhole, leaving the others by the still crackling fire.

They sat in silence again, back to fighting the ever present war against their own fears, keeping them hidden from the other ponies. Sparks dug into his saddlebags and pulled out a pencil and notepad that he kept with him. The best way to fight the fear, he found, was by writing to Amber.

“What day is it?” Sparks asked as he began to write.

“It’s the tenth, partner,” replied Repeater. “What are ya writin’ about?”

“The same stuff that we just talked about. Telling her about it.”

“Has she wrote ya back yet?” Sparks shook his head.

“I imagine that she has, but we just arrived at the gorge yesterday, any mail sent to me wouldn’t show up yet.” Sparks continued writing, and it was quiet once more. Joe spoke up after a short time.

“I’ve never been in woods like these before. Never camped out either. We don’t have that luxury in Manehatten. The closest that we would ever get to camping was when Mom would let me and my brother go out onto the fire escape and count the stars. We had a little telescope, and we would look at the Mare in the Moon. My brother, he always would recall the legend, and I never believed him. I had to give him one hundred bits when he was right.”

He spoke to no one in particular. He spoke just to put himself at ease. Nopony interrupted him though. Anything was appreciated. Joe trailed off. “I miss that fire escape,” He concluded weakly.

Approaching hoovesteps signaled the return of 382 with the twins. Repeater perked up a bit at the sight of them. Sparks turned to look at them. The twins were both covered in mud, and glistening with sweat. In the cool morning, steam rose off of their bodies as they panted for breath. They flopped down in front of the fire as their legs gave out from under them. Repeater just chuckled.

“Diggin’ foxholes is gettin’ ta the two a ya, ain’t it?” Muddy nodded once, his bother too tired to even do that. Repeater grinned even more. “Well, ya’ll will be glad ta know that ya’ll are becomin’ famous ‘round here. Just got the first request from somepony outside the company. Gave us four bits for a foxhole.” Repeater slid one bit along the ground to the two exhausted ponies.

“And as per the deal we, what did ya’ll say again? Ah, that’s right. We ‘split those sweet, sweet profits 75-25’,” Repeater said with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “And I’ll even throw in breakfast for free.”

The twins looked at the bit with contempt, until Muddy spoke. “Where were you when we were doing all that work?”

“Makin’ ya’ll breakfast, and advertising ya ta all the other ponies. It’s hard work, ya know? Earned all 75 percent a these profits.”

“But you didn’t do anything!”

Repeater laughed, “A course Ah didn’t! That’s the best part!” The twins were not amused. “Come on now, Ah’m just doin’ what ya’ll wanted ta do ta mah cousin and her entire family.” Now the twins shifted uncomfortably. “That’s what Ah thought. It don’t feel too good, don’t it?” the twins remained silent. “Consider this ya’lls first lesson, and keep the bit so that ya’ll will remember.”

“Anyways, breakfast is ready.” Mess kits were passed around, and given small helpings of eggs, two pancakes, and a biscuit each. Silence reigned again as the ponies began to eat breakfast. Joe broke the silence again.

“Is camping always like this? A lot of silence and waiting?”

“Only if nopony talks about anything,” said 382. “Anypony got anything to talk about?”

Silence again. The obvious thing to talk about was the war, which hung over them like the morning mist in the trees. Still though, nopony wanted to admit that it truly existed yet, save for Cold-Blooded. He never talked anyway.

Sparks thought of something though. “I had this dream last night.” Everypony perked up and looked expectantly in his direction.

“Well, spill then partner. What happened?” asked Repeater.

Sparks cut out a bit of pancake, and levitated it up to his mouth as he remembered back to his dream. “Well, it was getting dark, and it was snowing, and it was dusty. I was in a gas mask, and I was walking around with some other pony looking for something. It was all wreckage.”

All the ponies looked a bit unnerved as Sparks spoke. He had broken the unspoken rule of not mentioning the war unless it was necessary. Only Cold-Blooded seemed interested.

“What happened?” he asked

“I don’t remember,” finished Sparks lamely. He wracked his brain as everypony continued with breakfast. “Wait, I ended up in this field, and I was outside of the woods.” Everypony looked back to him mildly interested in what he had to say. “I saw somepony in the woods, it was a-“

The ground shook. The woods fell silent.

A pair of songbirds took flight suddenly, flying east as fast as they could. The dew that had accumulated on the trees was shaken off, and fell to the ground like a light rain, pitter pattering on leaves as it fell to earth. Everypony looked into the mist to the west.

There was a deep muffled ‘thud.’

“Celestia,” whispered Cold-Blooded, his eyes fixed on the woods.

Their wait was over. The war had come.

Author's Note

If you've played Call of Duty recently, you'll see that there's this warning at the beginning of the game. It says "this game is really violent." consider this that warning. Next chapter the gore tag kicks in, but I'm not certain its bad enough to need a mature tag. if you people think so, then I'll add add one, but until that point I'm keeping it where it is.

The Battle of the Galloping Gorge

The ground started shaking continuously, and to the west the rumble of the guns picked up. The ponies sat around the fire, frozen in shock. Then the first round hit.

One hundred yards to the west, several tons of rock dirt and mud rocketed into the sky, propelled by 250 pounds of high explosives. A tree above where the Unicornian round impacted erupted up into the canopy, disappearing into the leafy overgrowth. The blast wave dissipated all of the mist, and for only a split second the ponies could see the shock wave approach them. Then it hit.

It was the single loudest noise that Sparks had ever heard, so intense that he could feel it in his chest. The blast blew out the campfire like a little filly blowing out a birthday candle, and scattered their breakfast into the distance. Amazingly, Sparks was able to hear the sounds of the snapping of tree limbs, and looked up to the canopy. The tree that had been blasted into the air was making a reappearance, smashing its way through the canopy and landing with a crash just a few feet in front of them.

Repeater snapped out of his shock. “EVERYPONY TO THEIR FOXHOLES” he yelled at the top of his lungs, only barely being heard by his squad. Sparks didn’t waste another second, erupting into a full gallop toward his hole 30 yards away. The rounds began falling steadily now, their all-encompassing ‘BOOM’ echoing crazily through the woods. He just ran forward, and slid into his foxhole.

“MANIFEST! WHAT THE HAY IS GOING ON?!” yelled 736, his foxhole buddy. He must have been sleeping through breakfast, but the Unicornians now had his undivided attention. Another round landed, this one close enough to shower them with mud and dirt. Sparks turned to 736.

“THEY’RE DROPPING ARTILLERY ON US!”

“WHAT THE HAY DO WE DO?”

Sparks thought for a moment, and then made up his mind. “LOAD UP AND WAIT FOR IT TO END!”

“ANYTHING ELSE!”

“PRAY!”

“EVERYPONY TO THEIR FOXHOLES!” Repeater yelled, and Cold Blooded immediately got to his hooves, dragging Joe up as well. He started his sprint to the foxhole, looking behind him to make sure that Joe was keeping up. Just as the second rounds began to hit, they leapt into the relative safety of their hole. At the bottom was their Browns Machine gun, mounted on a tripod but knocked over on its side. Even as the shells began to hit the ground and shake the very earth that they stood on, Cold Blooded checked to make sure the machine gun was alright. All that he would need to do once the barrage stopped would be to tip it right up and load it, then it would be good to go.

He looked back over to Joe. The big pony was curled up against the side of the hole, hooves over his head, rocking back and forth with his eyes squeezed shut. He was muttering something, but Cold couldn’t tell what. Cold reached over and put a hoove on Joe’s shoulder.

“Hey, look at me,” Cold said at regular volume, his voice drowned out by an exploding shell. Joe looked up anyway. “Joe, we’re gonna be alright, we’re Manehatten colts. But I need you to be ready to load the gun when the artillery stops, alright? Don’t worry, we’ll make it.”

Joe may not have heard a word Cold Blooded said, but he nodded anyways. The two ponies sat there, and began to wait.

“EVERYPONY TO THEIR FOXHOLES!” Repeater yelled at the top of his lungs as he started up and sprinted to the nearest trench. The rounds began to hit as Repeater leapt into the foxhole, right on top of 801 and the medic. He looked around briefly and though, ‘I’m in the wrong hole.’

A shower of dirt and mud told him that he wasn’t going to leave as Muddy and his twin slid into the crowded foxhole. ‘Five ponies here,’ thought Repeater. Now there was nothing else he could do but hope that his squad got to cover and didn’t get a direct hit. That wasn’t going to happen though.

801 grabbed him and looked at him with frantic eyes. “WE GOTTA GET OUT OF HERE SERGEANT! WE’RE GONNA GET KILLED! WE GOTTA FALL BACK!” Another shell landed, showering them with more dirt. “WE’RE GONNA DIE!”

“WE’RE NOT GONNA DIE!” Repeater yelled back, “WE’RE STAYIN’ RIGHT HERE ‘TIL THIS ENDS!” the medic was curled up in a fetal position at the bottom of the trench, absolutely silent. The twins were clutching the side of the hole, but they looked functional. 801 was still in total panic.

“THEY’RE GONNA KILL US, WE HAVE TO LEAVE!”

“YA AINT GOIN’ ANYWHERE PRIVATE, YA’LL DIE IF YA LEAVE!” another round hit, the closest one yet. Suddenly the medic got to his hooves.

“I CANT TAKE IT ANYMORE!” he screamed, and before anypony could react he leapt up out of the foxhole and galloped off to the east as fast as possible. Repeater’s squad was falling apart.

“GET BACK HERE PRIVATE!” Repeater yelled as the medic kept running off to the east. All the ponies in the foxhole were poking their heads out, watching the medic run off to the distance.

With a hellish scream a shell flew overhead, and the ponies watched as it crashed through the top of an oak tree, splitting it like an axe through dry timber. “DOWN!” Repeater yelled, and then the 250 pound charge detonated. The oak tree shattered, instantly reduced to splinters that shot out in all directions. The ponies in the foxhole ducked as the 2x4 sized projectiles whizzed overhead. Then they heard screaming in the woods.

Repeater poked out of the top of the foxhole again. 50 yards away the medic lay on the ground, screaming in agony. A giant chunk of wood was embedded in his flank, which was matted a dark muddy red. 801 peeked up and saw the medic.

“We gotta help him,” he said to Repeater, just barely able to be heard through the ponies aching ears. Repeater thought for a moment about sending a pony out to retrieve the medic, but then with a thunderous boom another tree disintegrated into deadly splinters. The medic was missed, but Repeater saw a 2x4 sized piece of shrapnel gouge a hole into the ground just a foot away from where the medic lay. Sending another pony out would be suicidal until the barrage ended.

Repeater shook his head no. “WE CAN’T UNTIL THE ROUNDS STOP!”

“WE’RE LEAVING HIM TO DIE OUT THERE?!” yelled 801 in disbelief.

“ANYPONY THAT GOES WILL GET TORN TA SHREDS! WE’LL GET HIM WHEN IT STOPS, BUT AH AINT SENDIN’ ANYPONY OUT TA DIE!”

801 stood for a moment, then spun around and pointed a hoove at the twins. “YOU TWO, RETRIEVE THE MEDIC!”
Muddy yelled right back, “YOU ARE NOT THE SERGEANT!”

“I SHOULD BE!”

Repeater and the twins stared in shock. Artillery was falling like rain, the medic lay out in the open with a tree limb buried in his flank, and now 801 was trying to mutiny. Repeater was at an absolute loss. ‘I can’t lead; I don’t know what to do, and I can’t lead.’ Muddy’s twin reached for his rifle, but Muddy reached over and put a hoove on his shoulder. 801 looked wildy at the ponies in front of him.

“RETRIEVE THE MEDIC!” he ordered again. The twins shook their heads no. 801 reached for his holstered rifle in desperation. Repeater simply looked on in horror. Muddy’s twin leapt up and snatched the rifle out of 801’s hooves before he could bring it all the way up, and jammed it barrel first into the ground.

“WE ARE NOT DOING ANYTHING THAT THE SERGEANT DOESN’T TELL US TO!”

As more rounds continued to fall outside, everypony began to realize the importance of what just happened. ‘He was about to threaten us at gun point’ Repeater thought in horror. He had lost control of his squad. The ponies sat in the trench for a moment, staring at the rifle that Muddy’s twin buried in the mud. 801 looked up at the ponies in fear; they all glared back at him.

“You shouldn’t be sergeant”, said Muddy.

801 looked at the angry faces in front of him. “I’M LEAVING!” he yelled. “IF YOU ARE TOO AFRAID TO HELP HIM, THEN I WILL!” He turned and leapt out of the trench. The twins didn’t try to stop him.

“GET BACK HERE!” Repeater yelled as 801 galloped over to the medic on the ground. The shells were still bursting as 801 grabbed him and began dragging him back to the foxhole. The twins peeked over the lip of the foxhole to watch 801’s progress. Another round exploded behind them, but 801 had about half the distance to the hole.

‘He might make it,’ Repeater thought.

The ponies heard a high pitched whistle, then the ground beneath 801 and the medic erupted into the air. The ponies ducked back into the foxhole as mud and dirt rained from the sky. Repeater looked back out of the foxhole quickly. He couldn’t find them.

The twins looked out of the foxhole as well. “Celestia,” said Muddy’s twin. “They’re gone.”

Repeater fell to the bottom of the foxhole. Two of his ponies were dead. One had tried to threaten him with a rifle. He sat in a daze, another round shaking the earth as he tried to comprehend what had happened. Only five minutes ago they were sitting around a campfire. Muddy shoved his shoulder hard.

“WHAT DO WE DO NOW, SIR!” he yelled over another blast. Repeater snapped back to focus. He still had to be able to lead the other ponies in his squad. After what had just happened, he wasn’t too sure that he could.

“WE WAIT HERE FOR IT TA END, AND THEN GIVE THEM UNICORNIANS WHAT FOR!” he yelled with as much conviction as he could muster. It was enough for the twins at least; they nodded in the affirmative as they unsheathed their rifles and opened their bolts to load.

Another round screeched out of the sky and landed with a thunderous roar at the base another nearby oak, blasting the bottom out from under the tree. With a loud groan and the snapping sound of breaking wood the tree began to lean towards Repeaters foxhole. The ponies looked up as the oak finally broke all ties with the earth and began falling towards where they sat. Repeater ducked down into the bottom of the foxhole, clutching the earth and hoping that he wouldn’t be crushed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the twins leap out an away, then with a thunderous “CRASH” and the snapping of limbs the tree came to rest upon the hole. Repeater looked up. He was alive, miraculously, with the trunk of the oak only a few inches from his head. Thick foliage blocked any route of escape, but he was unharmed at least.

“MUDDY! ARE YA’LL ALRIGHT!” he called out. Another ground shaking boom emanated from outside of the foxhole, and beyond the giant oak that trapped him.

“WE’RE FINE!” he heard from outside the hole. ‘Thank Celestia for small miracles’ he thought. There was only one logical thing to do.

“YA’LL FIND ANOTHER FOXHOLE AND WAIT FOR THIS TA END, AH”LL BE ALRIGHT!” he was lying, there was no way he was going to be able to get out of this, and if the unicornians attacked he would most likely be killed or captured. Even then, that was assuming that artillery didn’t get him first. That didn’t matter though, what mattered was that the twins got out of the open and into cover.

“SORRY SERGEANT, BUT MY BROTHER AND I MADE A DEAL! WE’LL BE RIGHT BACK!”

“WAIT, WHAT!?” yelled Repeater in confusion. The ground shook some more, but there was no response from outside the foxhole. Repeater had nothing else he could do but wait and hope.

With a heavy shove, Sparks jammed the last five rounds into his SMCC, and threw the bolt forward and down. He looked up to 736, who was also locking the bolt on his rifle. The artillery had been falling for a while, but there was no way to tell for sure. It may have only been a matter of seconds, but the steady fall of howitzer rounds had blasted all perception of time away.

He leaned up against the edge of the foxhole, and closed his eyes and began to wait. ’They won’t attack until the artillery stops, and the artillery will stop,’ he thought. 736 was taking his advice from earlier, kneeled down in the center of the foxhole and muttering a prayer. Another earthshaking roar and rain of dirt convinced Sparks that that was probably a good idea.

Suddenly a pair of unicorns leapt into the foxhole, nearly landing on 736. ‘Celestia! They’re already attacking!’ Sparks thought in shock. He quickly snapped his rifle up at the assailants, both of whom had their hooves over their heads showing that they were unarmed. It was the twins. Sparks lowered his rifle with relief.

“It’s you.” He said at normal volume, voice drowned out by another blast. He spoke up now. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE!” he yelled at the twins “I DARN NEAR SHOT YOU!”

“801 AND THE MEDIC ARE DEAD, MANIFEST, AND REPEATER IS PINNED IN THE FOXHOLE UNDER A TREE!” Muddy yelled back. Sparks let it sink in for a second.

“DEAD?” he asked. He always thought that they wouldn’t be able to fight, but the idea of ponies dying was still foreign to him.

“YES, DEAD! GIVE ME YOUR ENTRENCHING TOOL!” Muddy yelled, Sparks quickly unslung it and handed it off. “YOU TOO!” He yelled at 736, collecting his as well.

“WHY DO YOU NEED THEM!?” yelled Sparks.

“TO GET THE SERGEANT!” replied Muddy as he handed an entrenching tool to his twin.

“WHAT?” yelled Sparks, but the twins didn’t answer, instead leaping out of the foxhole and back into the barrage.

The two galloped back to the fallen oak, to the slight depression that indicated where their foxhole was just moments ago. Muddy skidded to a halt next to the oak as another boom reverberated through the forest. With a practiced flip the entrenching tool snapped into position, and Muddy shoved it into the earth by the foxhole.

“CUT THE FOLIAGE, BROTHER!” he yelled, and his twin swung his entrenching tool down on a obtrusive branch like an axe, splitting it. As he levitated it off to the side and prepared for another swing he yelled back at Muddy.

“IF WE DIE FOR HIM, BROTHER-“

“WE WON’T,” Muddy interrupted as he dug out another shovelful of dirt from under the tree. He could now just see into the foxhole through the small hole he had excavated under the tree, and saw Repeater inside.

“WHAT THE HAY ARE YA’LL DOIN’?” the earth pony yelled through the hole.

“MAKING GOOD ON OUR DEBT!” yelled Muddy. Repeater opened his mouth to argue, but Muddy simply jammed his tool back into the ground and dug out another shovelful. His twin cut loose another branch that was near the exit that Muddy was digging out. In a minute or two Repeater would be able to escape.

Another blast reminded Muddy that a minute may be too long still, so he dug all the faster. His twin had finished clearing branches from Repeaters soon to be exit, and was now helping to excavate. Finally Muddy threw down his entrenching tool and reached into the hole.

“COME ON SERGEANT! WE HAVE TO GO!” Repeater started to crawl through the small gap that the twins had cleared and out of the foxhole. Suddenly the horrible shriek of another 8 incher sounded out from overhead. The three ponies were completely exposed, Repeater stuck halfway out of the foxhole. They looked behind them, and saw as the round plowed into the dirt at the base of another oak. With a green glow the twins put up a shield between themselves and the round. Then it detonated.

The round vaporized the tree it was under, turning it into thousands of deadly projectiles which screamed toward the ponies at 1500 feet per second. The shrapnel hit the twins’ shield, cracking it in a cobweb pattern, but it still held. With a crack, the twins dissipated the shield and Muddy turned to drag Repeater the rest of the way out of the hole.

“Why are ya’ll doin’ this?” Repeater asked, genuinely confused. “Ah told ya ta leave.” Muddy shook his head.

“Maybe later,” was all he said, and then he turned and looked for a foxhole. The barrage had already left many suitable craters around, but Muddy looked for one of the squads originals. “OVER THERE!” he shouted, and the ponies galloped off to the foxhole that he had pointed out. The three of them slid into the hole, next to a surprised 382.

“ARE YOU OKAY, SERGEANT!” Muddy asked. Repeater nodded his head, still a little confused. 382 interjected.

“WHERE THE HAY HAVE YA’LL BEEN, I’VE BEEN SITTNG HERE ALONE FOR THE WHOLE TIME.”

Repeater shook off his confusion, and then answered. “WENT TA THE WRONG FOXHOLE!”

“I’VE BEEN SITTING OUT THIS BARRAGE ON MY OWN!” 382 complained as another shell landed close, spraying them with dirt. 382 yelled up out of the foxhole, “FOR THE LOVE OF CELESTIA, WILL YOU UNICORNIANS JUST STOP ALREADY!”

No incoming rounds answered his question, and for a moment the ponies kept quiet. Outside of the foxhole it was miraculously still. Repeater poked his head out of the foxhole and looked out to the west. A few hundred yards away the mist picked back up, any closer and the blasts of the artillery dissipated it. He couldn’t see any movement toward the enemy lines. He made a decision.

“Ya’ll load up and stay here, Ah’m going ta check on the rest a the squad. Ah’ll be back.” The ponies nodded, and with that Repeater left the safety of his foxhole and went out onto the battlefield.

Cold Blooded was counting. ‘one Fillydelphia, two Fillydelphia, three Fill-‘ the ground shook again with the force of a two hundred and fifty pound warhead. It had been two and a half seconds since the last burst. He started again. ‘One Filly-‘ BOOM. A close one. He started again.

‘One Fillydelphia, two Fillydelphia, three Fillydelphia, four Fillydelphia, five Fillydelphia’-Strange, he hadn’t gotten to five the whole barrage-‘six Fillydelphia, seven Fillydelphia, eight Fillydelphia, nine Fillydelphia, ten Fillydelphia.’ He stopped counting. For a moment, he listened closely for the telltale ‘thud’ of the enemy artillery firing, and felt for any vibrations. There were none, and no thuds either. He peeked over the lip of the foxhole. No movement to the west.
He turned to Joe. “You alright, Joe?” Joe nodded. “Good, now to business.”

He grabbed the leg of the tripod that was closest to him, and pushed down, tipping the machine gun upright. He flipped the rear sight leaf up, glanced at the woods in front of him, and adjusted the range to 150 yards, which as best as he could tell was where the mist made vision impossible. Joe had popped the bridge on the machine gun, and was now mounting the first ammunition can as Cold checked to make sure the barrel would clear the lip of the foxhole. Joe set the belt up and closed the bridge, and finally Cold pulled back on the hammer and let go.

“Ready,” he announced. Joe pulled his SMCC from his holster and began loading that as well. “How many cans do we have Joe?” he asked.

“Five plus the one on the gun,” Joe replied. Fifteen-hundred rounds in total. Hopefully it would be enough. With a satisfying ‘ping’ the Clockwork Canterlot ejected its loading clip as Joe closed the bolt, then set the rifle on the edge of the foxhole.

“What now?” Joe asked, looking into the mist to the west with scrutiny.

“We wait some more,” Cold replied.

Outside of their foxhole, they could hear voices calling up and down the Equestrian lines. They could also hear a scamper of hoovebeats to the right. Cold looked over to see the Sergeant running over to their foxhole. Repeater hopped in.

“Is everypony alright?”

“Yes sir, Sergeant, we’re fine here.” Cold said, still looking off to the west. “And we’re ready, worry about the rest of the squad.” He paused for a moment, and then looked back at Repeater.

“We’ll make them pay for every inch.”

Repeater galloped along the line, running for Manifest Destiny’s foxhole. Up and down the line he could hear ponies calling out. The thing that they called out the most was “MEDIC!” as he galloped he saw a few pony shaped lumps near a foxhole. ‘Don’t look at it’ he thought, then he arrived.

Manifest Destiny and 736 had their guns trained on the west as Repeater slid into the foxhole behind them. “Manifest! 736! Ya’ll alright!”

“We are,” Manifest answered, eyes west. He glanced at Repeater. “Is it true what the twins said about 801 and the medic?” Repeater stopped, now thinking about it for the first time. The medic ran, 801 tried to threaten him. They died.

“Yeah partner, it’s true.”

Manifest bit his lip, and looked back to the west. “Do you think that they’ll attack us?”

“They might, partner; either that or they just want us out when they start that artillery again.”

Manifest nodded once. “We’re ready.” He turned to Repeater. “Are you?”

“What the hay kind of question is that?” Repeater replied in annoyance.

“No, I mean are you loaded?” said Manifest. He wasn’t. Repeater unholstered his Marechester, and looked at it for a second with melancholy. The beautiful nickel and brass decorations were already muted with mud splatters and a layer of dirt. ‘It don’t matter,’ he thought as he grabbed out one of the rifle tubes and slotted it into place at the bottom of the rifle and racked the lever.

He looked back over towards the foxhole that the twins and 382 held. It was the centermost one, and therefore the one that he should be at. He looked back at Manifest quickly. “Ya’ll stay here, Ah’m headin’ on back.” He paused for a second, thinking of something inspiring to say. “Do Equestria proud,” he said finally. Celestia, did it sound corny, but it was the best he could manage right now. He leapt from the foxhole, and galloped back to the twins.

Sparks looked back to the west as Repeater galloped off to the squad’s central foxhole. Out west was the only direction bereft of activity. To his left was his own squad, repeater jumping into his own foxhole as sparks glanced that way. To the right was sixth squad, and just beyond them was seventh. He looked over to sixth briefly. The closest foxhole to Sparks was smoldering, and outside of it were a few still lumps on the ground. A medic ran over to one of them and flipped it. Sparks tore his eyes away from the sight. He didn’t need to see that, not now.

He heard chatter to the right, and some yelling to the rear, but he gave it no attention. He looked into the mist intently.

“How long before they do something, Manifest?” 736 asked.

“Not long enough.”

Sparks still wasn’t quite used to the name. Manifest Destiny. He still thought of himself as Static Sparks, film projectionist and blank flank from Fillydelphia. Maybe someday he would feel like he was Manifest Destiny. His ears dropped, and he looked at the ground for a second. Maybe he didn’t want to be somepony else.

Out in the mist there was a shrill whistle. Sparks immediately brought his rifle up to bear, aiming it into the fog ahead. Then there was a bloodcurdling yell.

It sounded like thousands of ponies were screaming in the woods ahead, and Sparks stomach dropped. The ground began to vibrate, and underneath the yell in the forest he heard the thunderous drumming of thousands of hoovebeats. They were charging.

Sparks couldn’t see them yet, the mist obscuring them from sight, but they were coming. The vibrations from the charge were slowly disrupting the dirt around them; a rock slowly jittered its way across his field of vision. Then he saw movement to the right. Six ponies from sixth squad got up out of their foxholes, and ran east at full gallop. Beyond them Sparks could see everypony from seventh bail out of their foxholes and sprint east, throwing down their rifles as they went. He looked on in horror.

Over half of their company was running away. Not 5th squad though. Sparks looked out into the woods again. ‘I might be killed’ He thought in panic. Out to his left he heard Cold Blooded scream. “COWAAAAAAAAARDS!” 736 turned to him.

“We got to fall back Manifest! Without 6th and 7th we are going to be overrun and killed! We have to fall back!”

There was movement in the mist to the west, hundreds of shadows racing through the woods towards them. The only option was to stand and fight. That was barely an option at all.

“COWAAAAAAAAARDS!” screamed Cold Blooded at fourth squad, as they threw down their rifles and ran east. For the tiniest of moments he considered turning the machine gun on them. Then he saw movement to the west. He aimed down the sights.

“FIRE!” he heard Repeater yell. Cold depressed the trigger, and the Browns machine gun roared in response, supported by the cracking of rifles. At 600 rounds per minute the machine gun flung rounds into the woods, dirt and wood chips being knocked from the trees as the bullets hit. Through the sights he saw some of the shadows in the woods in front of him buckle and fall over.

With a loud bang and a few clumps of dirt thrown in the air the first Equestrian artillery round fell onto the field. Then another fell, then another. The effect of the rounds was pathetic when compared to the 250 pounders, and it didn’t even seem like there were as many as the unicornians first barrage. More Bangs rang out, but Cold Blooded couldn’t see where the rounds were hitting. Suddenly with a loud crash a tree limb fell to the ground next to their foxhole, he looked up briefly just in time to see the top of one of the oaks get blasted from the rest of the tree with a bang, and slowly begin to crash through the foliage to the ground. The Equestrian rounds were detonating before they could hit the ground.

The Unicornian army erupted fully out of the mist, countless numbers of uniformly grey unicorns with spears charging across the last 150 yards to the equestrian lines. Cold swung the Browns to the most densely crowded part of the charge and let loose. The unicorns began falling before the Browns, an invisible hand reaching out 150 yards and knocking the life from their bodies with small puffs of red mist.

The Unicornians shifted their charge, now running parallel to the Equestrian lines as opposed to straight at it, skirting along Cold Blooded’s field of vision and back into the mist.

“We did it,” said Joe, “we repulsed them.” The sounds of the thundering charge slowly shifted from in front of the ponies to the sides. Cold shook his head as he traversed the machine gun to face the south. The artillery stopped.

“No, we didn’t. They’re flanking us.” He quickly checked to see how many rounds he had left in the belt. Maybe 100. Joe looked at him with concern.

“Flanking us?”

“Yeah, avoiding resistance and going through holes left in our line by the cowards. They’re just going to bypass us completely and deal with us later.”

“Well then, what do we do?”

“Ask the sergeant.”

Repeater unlatched the empty feed tube from his Marechester and slotted a new one in, racking the lever to chamber a new round. He had blasted off the last 15 already, still taking the time to aim each shot. He had no idea it he had hit anything, and frankly he didn’t care. If the unicorns had chosen to simply wade their way through the incoming fire they most likely would have managed to kill everypony right off.

Fortunately though they didn’t, and his squad hadn’t taken a casualty yet. ‘Except for our medic and 801’ he thought, then banished it from his mind. He couldn’t think about that right now.

“Squad, Check in!” he said

“MG’s fine!” he heard Cold yell. 382 and the twins were alright, they were right next to him.

“We’re good here,” he heard Manifest shout. That was everypony.

“Sergeant, I believe the Unicornians are bypassing us.” Cold Blooded called out. Repeater thought it over briefly. If they were being bypassed then they were behind enemy lines, and would remain there unless there was a successful counter attack. If there wasn’t then soon the squad would be found and mopped up. There was only one option to Repeaters mind, and it wasn’t a very good one.

“Squad, pack up, we’re fallin’ back,” he heard the sound of the machine gun being broken down off to his left.

“Sergeant, the Unicornians are behind us though,” Muddy said with concern. Repeater nodded.

“Yessir, they are. We’re gonna have ta punch through their lines somewhere ta reconnect with our forces.” Repeater raised his voice as much as he dared to, “Fall back in pairs, twins, MG, then me and 382. Manifest, ya’ll bring up the rear. Understood?”

“Yes sir,” Cold Blooded called out.

“Understood, Sergeant,” said Manifest.

“Alright everypony, execute!” said Repeater, and the twins leapt out of the hole and galloped 50 yards to a suitable crater, then waved an all clear. To the left, Cold Blooded and Joe clambered out of their foxhole and headed to the crater the Twins marked out. The twins were already on the move again, scouting out the next suitable point. The MG team arrived at the initial foxhole and paused, waiting for another move up signal. Repeater could just make out the Twins about 100 yards distant waving another all clear. The MG team began to move up again, and now it was time for Repeater and 382 to begin to fall back.

Repeater turned over to Manifest’s Foxhole. “Good luck,” he said, and then he and 382 started their long fall back.

Static Sparks watched as Repeater and 382 left their foxhole and began to move on up to the first crater that the twins cleared. In a few moments, he and 736 would be able to get the hay out of there as well.

“C-Can we fall back with you?” a voice called from the right. Sparks turned around to face the voice, and saw an earth pony from sixth squad poking his head out of a foxhole. “There’s just four of us, our sergeant turned tail and fled.” For a second, Sparks wondered why the earth pony was even asking, instead of just falling back with them anyway. Sparks answered though.

“Yes, you can.”

“How do you want us to?” the earth pony asked. Sparks sat for a moment. This private was asking him, another private, for orders. Sparks looked at the pony some more, studying him. The pony’s eyes were wide with fear, and constantly darting back out west. This pony wasn’t in any position to be giving any commands to anypony else. Sparks was going to have to play Sergeant for a moment.

“Fall back in pairs. Once we get to the first crater send a pair out to follow us, and once they get there then send out the last one. Keep a watch on the west, don’t bunch up. Understood?” the pony nodded. Sparks felt a nudge on his shoulder.

“It’s time to go.” 736 said.

Out in the mist to the west he heard a ‘crack-crack’. It wasn’t a rifle, it sounded like a whip snapped twice in rapid succession. Sparks snapped his Clockwork Canterlot up to the misty woods before him, 736 doing likewise. There was nothing in the mist, nothing that they could see anyway.

With a flash of light in the mist there was another whip like ‘crack’, followed immediately by a closer flash and louder crack. The rifles shifted to the most recent flash. ‘Crack-crack’, ‘crack-crack’, ‘crack-crack’. The flashes were coming closer, popping up behind a tree around 100 yards away, then 75, then 50.

“What do we do Manifest?” 736 asked. ‘Crack-Crack.’ A shadow appeared behind an oak just 25 yards away. Sparks didn’t know.

‘Crack-Crack!’

A large grey unicorn clad in silver and red armor flashed from thin air right in front of the foxhole of sixth squad. His mane and tail were a deep crimson, complementing the gleaming silver and blood red armor that covered his whole body save his head. The unicorn squinted down at the foxhole before him, and the cowering ponies inside it. With a pale blue glow his horn lit up, and a fireball fizzled into existence next to him, cackling for a moment.

One of the ponies of sixth started scrambling out of the foxhole. The fireball flew forward at the unicorns command, straight into the screaming ponies of sixth squad. The foxhole erupted into flames, a funeral pyre for the ponies that recently inhabited it. A part of the fire struggled to break free from the rest of the inferno, lurching out of the flames and racing off into the woods. After a measly twenty feet the burning thing collapsed in a flaming heap.

The unicorn looked over at Sparks’s foxhole, the flames of sixth squad dancing in his eyes. Sparks and 736 snapped out of their horror and into action, leveling their rifles at the Mage before them. They pulled the triggers, their Clockwork-Canterlot’s responding with a satisfying ‘BOMF-BOMF.’

The unicorn was quicker, however, and with a ‘crack’ vanished from the space that he inhabited a second earlier, only to reappear in the center of the field before them. Sparks cycled the bolt as fast as he could, spinning the rifle to aim at the Unicornian. He lined up the sights again; valley, post, enemy. The Mage cracked out of existence again as Sparks hoove depressed the trigger, rifle recoiling into his shoulder with another “BOMF”. His hoove flew from the trigger guard and cycled the action again as he looked for the enemy in panic. His eyes briefly crossed over the burning body of a pony from sixth squad.

‘I lost him’, he thought in horror. Behind him he heard a yell.

“MANIFEST! LEFT!” Repeater yelled from fifty yards behind as he raised his Marechester. Sparks spun left and fired wildy this time, the shot flying wide of the enemy. 736 was pouring shots as fast as his hooves would let him, The Unicornian Mage simply teleporting out of the way before they could get a bead. Sparks saw 736 open the bolt and attempt to levitate another clip into his rifles bridge. Sparks cycled the bolt again, the unicorn flashing into existence just a few feet to the right.

“HEY!” the unicorn turned. “YA LEAVE THEM ALONE!” Repeater screamed, and the Marechester fired with a heavy “BOOM”. Sparks flew from the Unicornian’s armor as the 30.-30 pinged off harmlessly. Repeater racked his Marechester and shot again, the Unicornian not bothering to move. The round pinged off once more, scratching some of the red battle paint from the armor. Repeater started firing as fast as he could, round after round bouncing off of the Mages thick armor. Finally his gun responded with a click. The Unicornian cracked an evil grin, then turned to face Sparks’s foxhole.

736 tried placing another clip in his rifle, but couldn’t get the jittering clip to slot in correctly as the Unicornian mage strode slowly and purposefully toward the foxhole. Sparks stood on his hindlegs frozen in fear, rifle still held in his forehooves. They couldn’t kill the mage, and now he and 736 were going to die.

The mages horn glowed again as another fireball cackled to life. Sparks tried walking backwards away from the approaching death, but lost his balance. He closed his eyes and waited for the worst as he fell back hard against the edge of the foxhole.

“BOMF!”

Sparks waited for a second, braced for death, but it did not come. He cracked open his eyes, expecting to see a fireball race into him and end his life. The Unicornian stood there immobile, the flame snuffed out. Slowly his eyes rolled up into the back of his head, drawing Sparks attention to a small hole placed perfectly in the dead center of the Mage’s forehead, just beneath the horn. The Unicornian’s legs buckled, and he fell to the ground with a thud. Behind where the Mage stood Sparks saw a tree branch slowly shaking back and forth. He looked closer.

Bits of skull and brain matter were coating the branch, the weight slowly shoving the branch to and fro. Sparks looked in shock now at the body. A small trickle of blood oozed out of the hole in the mages head and pooled in the body’s rolled up eye. The Unicornan’s legs twitched in a death spasm. Sparks couldn’t tear his eyes away from the horrible sight before him, looking now to the back of the Mage’s head. There wasn’t anything left, the whole thing shattered beyond recognition, blood splattered down its back.

Sparks vomited into the foxhole, but still couldn’t tear his eyes away from the macabre sight before him. Slowly he looked down to his rifle, a small wisp of smoke coming out of the barrel. His hoove shakily moved from the trigger guard, to the bolt. Eventually he managed to pop the bolt up and back and a spent cartridge flew out. He stared at the cartridge. ‘I killed him,’ he thought.

He felt light-headed, with all the strength rushing out of his body. He didn’t even heed the beating of hooves behind him, or the hard shove on his shoulder.

“MANIFEST!” Sparks didn’t move still. “COME ON!” He looked over at Repeater.

“I killed him.”

“Ah know, but ya can’t think about it, and ya can’t look at it. We gotta go partner, before more show up.” Sparks looked himself over and shakily got to his hooves. His rifle still had the bolt open, so he shoved it forward and locked it down. “Are ya alright, partner?” Sparks shook his head as he looked at the carcass that he created.

“No, I’m not,” he looked over at Repeater. “It shouldn’t be like this.” Repeater looked at the body quickly, and then turned away from the awful sight.

“You’re right, but it is. Can ya still function?” Sparks nodded after a moment. “Alright, we’re fallin’ back.” The three ponies turned and began their run back to their own lines, leaving carcasses of Unicornian and Equestrian alike on the field of battle.

Repeater galloped through the woods with 736 and Manifest in tow, and leapt into the first crater that the twins marked. 382 had already moved on up to the next position, a dry riverbed, and was waving them clear to come over. Repeater glanced back at the two ponies behind him, and then ran from the crater to the riverbed where 382 stood. Manifest and 736 were still shaken up, but they were improving. Good, they would be needed soon.

Repeater leapt into the creekbed next to 382, and Manifest and 736 did likewise. “What happened back there?” 382 asked.

“Killed a mage, but he wiped out sixth.”

“Sixth was still there?” Repeater didn’t bother answering.

“Where’s the MG team?” he asked instead. 382 pointed to a set of bushes in the distance. Repeater nodded. He could hear the chatter of a machine gun and the steady “BOMF” of rifle fire in the distance, but couldn’t see it yet. “Why haven’t they moved up more?

“Don’t know, Sergeant.” There was only one way to find out.

“Alright, move on up.” The four got up out of the creek-bed and ran to the bushes ahead. They stacked up behind Cold Blooded and Joe. Cold was poking his head out from behind the foliage, scanning the mist off east. “Why have we stopped?” Repeater asked.

“The twins signaled us to stay here, and have been creeping up slowly ever since,” Cold answered. “I think they might have seen baddies.”

“Where are they?”

“Way up there, just a few yards right of the oak with the big split in the trunk. Around 125 yards,” Repeater looked hard for the twins, then finally found them, laying down behind a large root from the tree in question, at this range just visible through the morning mist.

“Have they waved us up yet?”

“Not yet, Sergeant.”

They waited now. As dangerous as it was to wait and risk being spotted by reinforcements from the west, it would be far worse to stumble into the main force that had bypassed them earlier. The sound of gunfire was louder here than it was earlier, but Repeater still couldn’t see the sources. Finally one of the twins raised a hoove, and slowly waved towards himself, then put the hoof to his mouth in an unmistakable ‘shhh’ motion.

“Move up quietly,” Repeater whispered, “as a group now, so we got the whole squad together if they really did find enemies. Don’t bunch up. Clear?” the ponies all nodded affirmative. “Go.”

The squad moved out from behind the bush, and slowly began making their way towards the twins, darting as quietly as they could from tree to tree. Repeater kept scanning the woods in front of him, looking for any traces of the Unicornians. Aside from what he heard the woods were still. Finally he made a last quick run to the root that the twins were hiding behind.

“Enemies ahead, Sergeant,” Muddy whispered, barely being heard above the firing from ahead. “See?” he said, pointed out into the distance. Repeater squinted in the direction of Muddy’s outstretched hoove, but couldn’t see anything.

“There, and there, and there, and there…” his twin whispered, pointing out individual trees at the edge of their field of vision. Repeater could see them now, the Unicornians hiding behind the trees from some unseen force, but easily visible to the 8 ponies who were coming in from behind.

“They all have lances,” Muddy said quietly,

“And my brother and I have seen some go down, so they must be within visual range of our forces.”

“Which means that we must be less than 300 yards away from our line.”

“How many have ya’ll counted?” asked repeater.

The twins looked at each other, then gave their answer. “Around 50 dead ahead,” said Muddy.

“Many more left and right,” said his twin.

Repeater thought it over for a moment. They were going to have to punch through, but were outnumbered as best as he could tell 50 to 6, nearly ten to one odds. The unicorns were already taking fire from up ahead, but were in pretty good cover from it. They only had spears though.

“Alright. Ah want us ta move up ta within 100 yards a them so we can see them clearly. Find some good cover, and a position where we can start hittin’ them with the rifles and MG. Since they only got lances, they’re gonna have ta charge us ta get us, and that means they’re gonna have ta leave their cover, so hopefully our guys can get them too. Once we’ve thinned them out enough, then we break through at the thinnest point and get back ta our side. Ya’ll ready and loaded?” The ponies nodded. “Alright.” he looked back out towards the unicorns, and saw a slight ditch around 50 yards away. “We’ll make a standard firing line there.” He said as he pointed it out. “Go.”

The ponies silently got up and ran for the ditch, ever mindful of the Unicornians ahead. Repeater arrived first, unsheathing his Marechester as he lay on the ground and aiming it at a unicorn about 100 yards away. He quickly scanned to see that he hadn’t been spotted, but the now clearly visible unicorns seemed oblivious to his squad’s advance from behind. In the mist, even past the unicorns he could see flashes. ‘Those must be friendlies,’ He thought with hope. They were close. All that was needed was one more push.

The rest of the squad started stacking up along the edge of the ditch. Manifest scooted up next to him on his right, the twins to the left. Beyond them Cold and Joe fell in, Cold grabbing out the Browns and hastily propping it on Joes back. 736 and 382 positioned themselves on the far right. Everypony looked to Repeater expectantly.

“Don’t use the machine gun unless they charge in mass, alright?” repeater said. Cold nodded once. “Alright. Ready.” With a few clicks the safeties were disengaged on the SMCCs. “Aim.” The rifles silently snapped level, and Repeater pick out his target, a unicorn pressed up against a tree 75 yards away. The unicorn peered around the tree towards the Equestrian forces hidden in the mist. Repeater lined up his sights on the pony.

“Fire.”

With the characteristic “BOMF’s” of the SMCC’s and a roar from the Marechester, the squad opened up. The unicorn that Repeater was aiming at shuddered, and then dropped limply to the ground. ‘Don’t think about it’. He turned over to the next closest target as he racked his Marechester, everypony else cycling their bolts. He settled his sights on another unicorn, who was looking in surprise to his rear for the unseen attackers. The Marechester roared again, and the unicorn dropped his head and slumped up against the tree. ‘Don’t think about it.’

In his periphery, he saw more unicorns being felled by the steady bark of rifles that ensued from his squad. He heard one of the unicorns in the distance shout, “Enemy to the rear! CHARGE!” As one the unicorns turned around and began to run full bore back towards Repeaters squad. Just as soon as they left their cover they began being cut down, the Equestrians in the mist ahead finally were having clear shots on them.

At least twenty were still charging forth though, covering the ground between them and Repeaters squad quickly. Repeater aimed and fired at the lead unicorn, who fell to the ground with a puff of red mist.

“JAM,” yelled Cold Blooded off to the left. The machine gun was out, and there were still at least two unicorns for every pony Repeater had. They were only 50 yards away.

Repeater reared up out of the ditch and pointed the Marechester at the most crowded part of the charge, and let loose. He shot as fast as he could fire and rechamber, barely taking the time to aim his shots. “BOOM-ch-chick-BOOM-ch-chick-BOOM-ch-chick”. The rounds flew into the charging mass, dropping the leader, then the one behind him, then the one behind him. Still the Marechester roared away, the other rifles “BOMF-ing” in support. In just a few seconds, the twenty unicorns were reduced to ten, then five. The charge faltered, the Unicorns now scrambling away from Repeater’s rifles.

Repeater kept firing, now taking the time to aim his shots at the retreating forces. The rifles barked still, and the last unicorn fell as he ran. In front of them the field was littered with bodies. ‘Don’t think about it.’

“CHARGE!” yelled Repeater as he slung his Marechester over his back. The hot barrel burned, but he hardly noticed. Everypony holstered their rifles and ran forward, over the field of the dead that they made. Repeater noticed one of the Unicorns roll over and reach out toward him as he ran. ‘Don’t think about it.’ They were now even with the position the unicorns once had, and continued their dash forward.

“HOLD FIRE, THEY’RE OURS!” they heard from the mist ahead as they ran. They had almost made it.

Repeater saw from the corner of his eye movement to the right. A lone unicorn who had stayed back was now charging at him, lance mounted and ready to kill. He was only a few yards away. There was no time to stop and grab the Marechester off of his back, and he had no weapon. As the unicorn galloped toward him screaming, Repeater realized there was nothing he could do.

Suddenly one of the twins rushed up from behind, entrenching tool out and forward, and tackled the oncoming unicorn. The two rolled across the ground, driven by the twin’s momentum. They rolled to a stop, the twin on top of the heap. He got up, and Repeater could see the entrenching tool lodged in the unicorn’s side all the way up to the end of the spade. The twin grabbed it and looked away as he pulled it out and threw it over his back. Repeater stopped running and stared at the twin. He seemed shocked at what happened, staring off into the woods away from the body. ‘Don’t think about it’.

“COME ON!” Repeater yelled, and the twin looked over briefly, then shook his head and began running again. They started passing foxholes, MG nests, all equestrian. They had made it. Ahead of them, they saw a white earth pony in the standard golden armor of the royal guard, the rest of the squad had already gathered around them as Repeater and the Twin galloped up.

“SERGEANT! KEEP YOUR SQUAD FALLING BACK, OUR SOUTHERN FLANK HAS FOLDED. THERE’S A TRAIN ABOUT A HALF MILE TO THE REAR; GET ON IT.” Repeater nodded once, and the squad just kept running.

They ran from the sounds of rifle and machine gun fire until all they could hear was the beating of their hooves on the dewy morning ground. They ran out of the wood and into an open field. The mist was finally letting up, allowing them to see the smoke of the waiting engine ahead. They ran past abandoned tents, past emptied carts. They got closer to the train, and could see ponies shoving the twenty-five pounders onboard. They didn’t stop running until they saw a pony leaning out of a boxcar waving at them, and they jumped aboard.

There were already twenty or so ponies in the car as they clambered aboard. Repeater quickly checked to see that everypony had made it. Manifest was there, the twins were, the MG team, and finally 736 and 382. They had all made it. Repeater collapsed to the floor of the car, out of breath from the sprint.

“What happened to you?” Repeater heard a pony ask. Repeater looked over toward the source of the voice, and saw twenty clean ponies in good condition. He looked back at his squad. They were all out of breath, covered in mud almost from head to hoove. Manifest stared out of the door of the boxcar, not looking at anypony. The twin did the same, Muddy sitting next to him to try and comfort his brother. On the twin’s back was the entrenching tool, coated a dark red, matching the streaks that ran down his back.

Cold Blooded slowly got to his hooves, shaking loose his saddlebags so that he could actually stand.

“We fought. What the hay did you do?” the ponies before him were silent ears turned down. A few looked to the ground, refusing to make eye contact. “Cowards,” Cold said. “Because of ponies like you, we were left to die. Because of ponies like you, we lost.” Outside the royal guard ponies ran up and began boarding the car behind them. A whistle blew, and with a chuff the train started up.

“What happens now?” Manifest asked quietly, staring out the door still. Cold turned and looked out as well.

“That royal guard pony said our southern flank fell, we have to fall back or we’ll be cut off.”

“Where do we fall back to?”

Cold didn’t answer for a second. “Haven’t you seen a map? There’s nothing but plains all the way between the Princesses and them.” He faced Manifest, and the rest of the car.

“We’re falling back to Canterlot.”

Author's Note

So the war finally happened, hooray! seeing how college has started for me this means either I'll have a lot more time to work on this or it will come to a screeching halt. Right now it looks like more free time, so fingers crossed. My editor has the next two chapters right now, and I will be (hopefully) updating weekly now.

Fillydelphia

With a ring the alarm clock went off at 7:00, just like it always did. Amber rolled over in her bed and slapped at it lazily, not bothering to open her eyes. She just glanced it with the edge of her hoof, sending it skittering across the bedside table and onto the floor, where it still rattled and rang about. ‘Great’ she though dejectedly. There were two types of mornings, mornings where she shut off her alarm clock, and bad ones. She cracked open her eyes and threw off her blanket as she looked over the edge of her bed. ‘Even better,’ she thought. Her alarm had fallen under her bed.

She grudgingly got up and looked under the bed for the infernal noisemaker. There it was, shaking itself out of her reach. “Come back here you!” she muttered as she levitated it up off of the floor and into her waiting hooves. She pressed it off, and the obnoxious ringing stopped.

She looked over at her bed wistfully. On a good morning, she would shut off the alarm and then just lay there for about a half hour. It never took her long to get ready for work, and it was only a five minute walk to her shop anyway. This wasn’t a good morning. She was already out of bed. She trotted over to the window and threw open the curtains. The sun was rising steadily in the morning sky, and the streets were slowly waking up and buzzing to life.

‘I guess I’m up, may as well go out.’ she trotted away from the window and shoved open the door with a hoove. She trotted through her kitchen, levitating her saddlebags up and on as she walked out of her apartment and down the stairs.

“Good morning, ma’am,” the desk clerk said as she descended the stairs. “You missed your alarm?”

She nodded. “Yeah, you know me. Has the Mail arrived yet?” she asked as she trotted over to her mailbox.

“Yes, ma’am,” the clerk said. Amber fished out her key, opened the box and grabbed her mail. She sifted through it quickly, some bills, advertisements, fluff. ‘Aha!’ she thought, holding a letter from the 421rst Equestrian Calvary, C-company, fifth squad. She looked up at the clerk.

“Letter opener?” He fished one out from a drawer, and she levitated it up and cut open the envelope. “Thank you,” she said with a smile as she replaced the letter opener onto the counter.

“You’re welcome,” the desk clerk said as she opened the door and walked out into the morning. A cool breeze blew over her, tossing her mane as it went by. It was a cool, crisp morning for July. She looked down at the letter that she now levitated in front of her. The last one that Sparks sent was from the last day of training. He was worried that he wasn’t going to make it, but that his next letter would tell. ‘Time to find out’, she thought. She folded open the letter before her, and began to read as she trotted down the near empty street.

Dear Amber,

I made it! I am officially a part of the Royal Equestrian Calvary. I passed the body drag, nearly killed me doing it, but I passed it. Turns out being a unicorn is a good advantage to have, I just levitated him up as much as I could, and then I could drag him. Feel like an idiot that it’s taken me this long to figure that out. I suppose that I have to start thinking with my horn. I bet that they do…

So now I’m in, and I guess I have mixed feelings about it. On the one hoof, we ship out tomorrow, off to the Galloping Gorge to help the Royal Guard hold them off. I’m still not sure if I’m ready to fight, but at least I’ve got a good squad to help me. That’s the other hoof. Repeater Rifle, Cold Blooded and Joe, Muddy Ruts and his twin, even 736 and 382 to some extent. They’re the squad, but you know this. They’re also my friends. I’m glad that I meet them, simply because it’s been so long since I’ve had any. It only took the largest war in Equestrian history to get to make them.

Oh, and one last thing.

I have a name.

Manifest Destiny. Repeater gave it to me once I completed the drag. It comes from the settler ponies idea that destiny is something that you have to earn. Repeater says it fits me well. I’m not really used to it yet, but I will be soon.

We ship out to the Galloping Gorge tomorrow, but you don’t have to change anything; as long as you address the letter to my regiment, company, and squad, then I’ll get it. Please keep writing, you have no idea how much it helps to get mail.

Love (should I write love? It seems out of place)

Manifest Destiny

Amber smiled as she trotted into “Mr. Muffin’s Bakery.” She had barely even entered the door when a shout rang out from behind the counter.

“Amber! How have the parasprites been treating you!” Greeted the yellow unicorn behind the counter jauntily. She shuddered at the memories of the great Fillydelphia parasprite plague of 1000

“Not funny, Banana Nut,” she fired back in jest. Immediately, his ears dropped and he put on a comical frown, bottom lip downturned and quivering.

“You don’t have to be so meen. Calling me a nut, you hurt my feelings.”

“It’s your name.”

The unicorn forgot to keep his sad face on as he propped his forehooves on the counter, trying to gain height on Amber. “My name is Mr. Muffin,” He said royally, ”and as long as you are in my store you are not allowed to use my first or middle names.”

“Banana Nut.”

The unicorn gasped in horror, then flung a hoove in the direction of the door. “BEGONE, YOU LOTHESOME MARE! LEAVE AND NEVER RETURN!” Amber just stood there smirking.

“That’s my order.”

Banana Nut dropped back to the ground. “Oh, okay then. Anything else?” he asked as he popped open the counter display and levitated a muffin out.

“Wakeup Fuel.” She said as she looked over the letter. He nodded again, and poured their daily dark roast into a small white mug.

“Heeeeeeeeeeere you go!” He said as he ran the plate over to where Amber sat, skidding across the linoleum floor the last few feet. He hastily set the plate down as he slid into the seat across from Amber. She stared at the unicorn across from her blankly as he bounced up and down in his seat, leaning forward slightly.

Amber placed the letters down. “What are you so excited about?”

“Just wanted to talk to my number one customer! Is that a crime?” before she could move to answer he nodded towards the letters. “Who’s that?”

“Static Sparks.”

“OH-ho-ho!” he said, rubbing his hooves together. “How’s Sparky doing, anyway?”

“Fine, he’s officially made it into the Calvary now, and got a new name.” Banana Nut nodded enthusiastically.

“So he passed that whatever test you told me about, right!?”

“Yeah,” she nodded as she took a bite from her muffin. She had never known a more energetic pony than Banana Nut. Secretly she doubted that one existed. He didn’t give her much time to ponder over it though.

“That’s great!” he said. Quickly he looked around to see if anypony else was in the barren bakery, and then leaned in close. He motioned her to lean in as well. She took a drink from her coffee, and then leaned in.

“What?”

“So when are you two going to hitch the wagon?” he said mutedly.

“We aren’t hitching any wagons, or discussing hitching any wagons.”

“But are you thinking about hitching a wagon?” Banana asked with a grin. “Ah! You are!” She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks now, she must have blushed. “When?”

“Alright, Nut. Maybe, when the war ends, and who knows when that will be, we may go out. Then maybe we’ll think about. Then maybe we’ll hitch a wagon.”

“Good!” Banana Nut said as he leaned back in the bench, “that means that I’ll have at least one party to cater in the distant future!” she opened her mouth to ask if that was all that this conversation was about, but Banana Nut kept on going. Suddenly he was all business, leaning back in, smile gone. “Speaking of which, your family, the farmers, have they sent you any more grain, wheat, barley, oats, whatever to your shop?”

She snapped into seriousness as well. “Mr. Muffin, since the war has started my family has diverted about half of what we grow to go to the Royal Guard and Calvary. Raw goods like what you want are going to be harder to get.”

“Even for your number one consumer?”

“You aren’t my number one consumer. You aren’t even in my top five consumers.”

“How about for your favorite consumer?” he said with an evil grin. She smiled as well.

“Alright, for my favorite consumer.”

“Good,” he said, reclining again, smile losing its edge. “I was going to up the prices for the muffins and coffee you get by 500 bits if you didn’t. How’s that muffin?”

Amber took another bite from the warm muffin, and nodded her head in approval. “It’s pretty darn good.”

“I’m glad you think so. Good enough for a sizable tip, maybe?”

Amber snorted. “You have no tact, you know?”

Banana Nut nodded solemnly. “Maybe…maybe, but maybe I’ll still have a generous tip?” Amber took another bite from her muffin. It was as she said, pretty darn good. She levitated ten bits from her saddlebags and set them on the table before the unicorn.

“OH-ho-ho! Moneymoneymoney !”

“Three for the muffin, three for the coffee, and four for pity.” She said. Banana Nut frowned again.

“Well, if you’re going to be like that then, well, there’s the door.” He stopped as he pointed a hoove toward the door, a look of confusion popping up on his face. Amber turned around in her seat. Through the shop’s front window she could see a bunch of ponies gathered around the street corner, pushing their way toward the center of the impromptu mob. “What the hay is happening outside?” Banana Nut asked as he stood up and slowly trotted to the door. Amber got up out of her seat and started for the door briskly, shoving her way past the unicorn. She opened the door.

“Oh no.”

Out on the street corner, a little colt was waving about a newspaper as he stood on a cart, the ponies all gathered round trying to get a copy of the edition. What the colt was saying brought her to a dead stop.

“Entire regiments of the Royal Calvary lost in battle! Remnants and Royal Guard divisions falling back to the Cloudsdale line! All land west of Canterlot being evacuated in the face of the Unicornian threat! Read all about it in the Flyer!”

Amber sprung forward and into the crowd, shoving her way through the mob to the cart at the center. Quickly she threw out a hooveful of bits onto the cart and snatched up a paper before ducking her way back out of the crowd. Banana Nut was waiting for her at the edge.

“How bad?” Amber didn’t answer, quickly glancing at the front page before she tore the paper open. ‘Where is it?’ she thought. Banana Nut talked again, but she didn’t even register his voice. On page 12 she found what she was looking for. In the far right of the paper there was a column labeled “10,000 estimated casualties”. She scanned down it quickly ‘please don’t be there, please don’t be there,’ she silently pleaded.

421rst Royal Calvary: 40% estimated casualties.

“How bad?” Banana asked again, face fraught with worry. She passed the paper off to him silently, then began to slowly trot down the street. The colt continued to cry out the news to the crowd behind her, but she tuned them out. She kicked open the door to the “Fields of Grain” unprocessed food store. She trotted to the counter, and turned to see if anypony had followed her in. The closed sign still hung above the door.

‘There’s a two in five chance that Sparks is dead. Ten thousand ponies are,’ She thought.

Her legs gave out beneath her. For the next half hour, she cried.

After the Battle

After the battle.

Dear Amber,

I wanted you to know that I am alright, fine, okay,

Manifest Destiny crushed the paper with magic, and then stomped on it for good measure. Of all the things that he was right now, “alright, okay, and fine” were none of them. He pulled out another sheet, and started again.

Dear Amber,

I wanted you to know that I am alive. Our squad lost two ponies, 801 and our medic, but everypony else made it. I’m alive.

They attacked us at breakfast, starting with artillery to unnerve us. Then they charged, and every squad except for ours in our company ran away. They just ran.

Manifest stopped for a second, and looked away from the paper, a flame burning in his eyes. ‘We could have stopped them,’ he thought. In front of him, the squad was busy digging out the trench, ‘The Line in the Sand’ it was called, stretching from the bottom edge of the Unicorn Range to the Neighagra River. His break only lasted five minutes. He resumed writing.

They were able to run right past us, because we had nopony to help us. We were surrounded.

You’ve heard of how they have unicorns who can teleport, shoot flames, all those terrible things. We tried to fall back, and one of them attacked us. I watched as four ponies from sixth squad were burned to death. I watched bullets bounce from his armor.

I killed him. Shot him right through the head. I can’t stop thinking of it. When our squad fell back, we ran into a group of about 50 unicorns. They had lances. Just the 8 of us wiped them out. I killed at least 5 more then. I’ve killed six ponies. Dead. Gone.

They call us the Miracle Squad, because we were the only one that got encircled and made it back to our lines. The only ones. We’re heroes, of a sort. Heros don’t kill ponies. ‘

All that I know is that I’m not Static Sparks, not anymore. Static Sparks doesn’t kill ponies. Manifest Destiny does.

I’ll come back home, and I’ll be Static Sparks again, but until then, I’ll be a killer.

Manifest Destiny.

Manifest looked at the letter that he had just written. There was no way that he could send that off to her. It was too violent, too awful, and too negative. He couldn’t do that to her. With a pale blue glow from his horn he crushed it, and violently chucked it over his shoulder. He got up to his hooves, magically yanking his entrenching tool out of the ground before walking back to the squad.

They were all digging in silence, only the crunch of shovels in dry dirt being heard. Manifest jammed his tool into the ground, and then threw a shovelful onto the ground to the west, deepening the trench while also adding to their protective embankment. A cloud of dust blew from the pile that he threw back into his face, prompting Manifest to wipe his eyes. His hoof came back with a thin layer of sweat on it. He looked up into the burning July sun in a cloudless hazy sky. If he didn’t keep drinking he could get dehydrated soon.

He looked up and down the trench. Repeater was just to his right, 382 and 736 beyond him, the twins to his left. Cold Blooded and Joe were nowhere to be seen. He stood up on his hindlegs, trying to peer over the trench to see if he could find them.

Out to the west were open grassy fields, shimmering in the heat haze until they faded into the jumpy horizon. He glanced behind him to the multitude of ponies throwing up earthworks, digging trenches, trying to find the two. Back past the work he could see the twenty-five pounder field guns being dug in in the distance, and a few tents signifying the regimental headquarters. Looming in the far distance was Canterlot, a small outcrop on the side of the tallest mountain in Equestria.

“Manifest, ya gotta keep diggin’,” Repeater said. Manifest dropped back down into the trench and retrieved his entrenching tool. “Did ya write the letter?” Repeater asked as Manifest jammed his tool into the loose dirt.

“No, it was too…dark. She doesn’t need to have to read about what I did. She doesn’t need my baggage.”

“Well, ya got ta write her. Ah mean, she’s probably worried about ya, ya know?” Manifest nodded as he threw another shovelful.

“Yeah, but I keep on writing about that mage that I killed.” He turned to Repeater briefly. “You saw him, right?”

For once Repeater didn’t meet his gaze. “Ah try not ta think about it.”

Manifest resumed shoveling. “You did see him though.” Repeater nodded. “What do I tell her about that?”

“Pa always said tell the truth in as positive a way as possible. If ya don’t want ta disturb her with the details, just say that ya killed a mage, and saved the squad. And make no mistake, ya saved the squad. If ya hadn’t shot him, he woulda just worked his way on up and wiped us out at his leisure.”

“You saw what I did to him?”

“Ya saw what he did ta sixth.” Manifest fell silent. “Ah know that ya feel bad about killin’ him, but if ya didn’t then ya wouldn’t be writing any letters. Ah know it’s a horrible thing that ya did, but ya had ta do it. We all had ta. Understand?”

Manifest stopped and looked up at the city in the clouds above them, the rainbows falling like water from the edges before dissipating into the air. It was beautiful. He couldn’t reconcile the vision of the city in the sky with the body of the Unicornian he killed. “What do I tell her about the five I shot during the break out?”

“Don’t. Manifest, Ah shot-“he paused for a minute as he thought about it “-twelve ponies. The entire time, Ah just kept tellin’ myself, ‘don’t think about it’.” Repeater turned back toward Manifest. “Manifest, don’t think about it.”

“I don’t know if I can stop.”

Repeater starred at Manifest thoughtfully, and then asked, “Can ya still do your job though?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all that matters right now. Someday we’ll be able ta talk about this, but until the war ends ah just need ya ta keep on workin’.” Manifest nodded. “Just tell her that ya saved the squad, killed a mage, and helped us ta break out. Did ya tell her about our new name?” Repeater said with a slight grin, the first one that he had made all day.

Manifest didn’t smile as he continued to dig, not yet. “Yeah, the ‘Miracle Squad.’”

Repeater chuckled. “Ah think that she’ll be impressed by that. We’re heroes! Mares love war heroes, or so ah’ve heard!” Repeater grin slowly grew into a smile as he continued. “Ah imagine every mare in Fillydelphia is gonna be jealous a her. ‘Y’all know Amber’ they’ll say, ‘Ah hear that she’s datin’ a War Hero.’ ‘Oh really?’ ‘Yeah, a part a the Miracle Squad.’ ‘Celestia, really?’”

Manifest finally smiled. “I don’t remember any of the mares in Fillydelphia speaking with an accent like that.”

“Naw, just the ones worth keepin’ around.” Manifest shook his head. At least Repeater was happy. “Ya know, ah heard that we’re gonna be in the papers ‘cause everypony’s looking for a good story ta read, in light of the war and all. We make for a pretty good story, huh? The reporters are bound ta come by soon.”

Suddenly Manifest felt the happiness disappear at the occurrence of another thought. He couldn’t tell Repeater, not when he was looking up for the first time since the battle. Repeater sensed it though. “What’s up Manifest, what are ya thinkin’ about?”

Manifest sighed, ‘sorry, Repeater,’ he thought.

“What do we tell them about the medic and 801?”
The smile ran away from Repeater’s face. He turned away from Manifest and went back to digging. Manifest wasn’t there when it happened, he only heard that 801 and the medic died, hit with a 250 pounder. Repeater just dug in silence. Manifest dug with him. If Repeater didn’t want to talk anymore, then Manifest wasn’t going to force the issue.

“We’ll tell’em the truth, in as positive a way as possible,” Repeater said abruptly. “We tell’em that the medic was caught in the open, 801 went ta help, and they got hit.” He dug a little harder. “We don’t tell’em how the medic ran, or how 801 tried ta take over the squad, or how he tried ta pull a gun on me and the twins.”

Manifests eyes widened as he heard what Repeater was saying. “Celestia, he pulled a gun on you?”

To his left, Muddy Ruts piped up, “Yes, he did.”

“I stopped him, threw his gun down,” said his twin. Manifest looked over at the twins. One of them still had dried blood all down his back. It had been days since they had been able to wash up. Repeater kept digging, brow furrowed, and ears down.

“No matter what they were, if anypony asks ya about them, ya say they were hero’s.”

“Why?” asked the unnamed twin. “They don’t deserve it.”

“Ah know they don’t. But we’re gonna do it for their family. We ain’t tellin’ anypony what really happened. If ya had a son, he died, and then ya hear that he tried to threaten his own squad with a rifle, it would kill ya.” He jammed his shovel into the dirt with force. “Maybe someday we can tell everypony what really happened, but not yet.”

Repeater threw out another shovelful of dirt. For the second time since they had met, Repeater was angry. Manifest searched for something to say to make Repeater feel better. After all, Repeater had done that for him countless times. Before he could think of anything, Repeater spoke up. “Manifest, ya know where the MG team went?”

“No.”

“Go find them, they said that they were gonna set up the gun. Ah just let’em do what they want, Cold knows more about this then ah do.” Manifest stayed for a moment, wanting to say something. Repeater noticed his hesitation. With a slight, tired smile he spoke. “Go on partner, Ah’ll be alright.” Manifest nodded.

As Manifest trotted away, he shook his head in disgust. ‘You had to go ahead and ruin it, didn’t you? Everypony’s loosening up and you just have to mention how two of the squad died.’ He looked up and down the trenches for the MG ponies, but couldn’t find them. ‘801 pulled a gun on them though? I would have never thought that he would do that.’

He looked a bit more, and threw up a hoove in defeat. They were nowhere to be found. “COLD! JOE! Where the hay are you!”

“Out here, Manifest!” Cold called. His voice came from the field out west. Manifest hopped up to the lip of the trench and looked out. He couldn’t see anypony. A group of buckets about twenty five yards away drew his attention to a small hole. Manifest crouched down and leapt from the trench, and trotted over to the hole. He looked down to see a tired Joe, and a relatively excited Cold Blooded.

“Manifest, we’re gonna get so many Unicornians from here,” Cold said, almost smiling. At the bottom of the hole the machine gun was already set up, pointing northward at the side of the hole. Joe continued to dig, carefully putting the dirt into a bucket before levitating it out of the hole. The grass that they had displaced was laid out flat neatly next to the buckets.

“I don’t get it,” Manifest finally said. Cold simply shook his head as he looked to the ground in disappointment.

“Alright then, look north, what do you see?” Manifest looked to the north. About a foot away from the northern edge of hole there was a shallow irrigation ditch, which ran parallel to the trench for about the length of a football field.

“A ditch.”

Cold nodded. “Yes, a ditch. Its three feet deep and runs for 112 yards, I had Joe pace it out for me.

Manifest shrugged. “So?”

“This ditch is prime real estate. Look west, what do you see?” Manifest looked west now into the open plains. They were completely barren all the way until they faded into the wavering horizon in the distance.

“Nothing.”

“Yes. When the Unicornian’s attack they’ll have to run across that field. No cover. Nothing. They’ll be eating our artillery and bullets every step of the way. When they see this they’ll think it’s the answer to their prayers. This ditch will be filled to the brim.” He pointed at the Browns. “When it’s full, Joe pulls on this string, the tarp comes up, and the Unicornians have a machine gun pointing all the way down their cover.” He propped himself up on top of the hole and looked down the ditch, a ghost of a smile on his face. “We’re gonna get so many of them.”

Manifest looked down the ditch, and imagined it choked full with Unicornians. For a brief second he thought of the mage’s body again. He shook the thought from his mind. ‘Remember what Repeater said, don’t think about it.’ He turned over to Cold Blooded, who seemed lost in his own world as he looked down the ditch.

“Do you think you’ll be able to?” Manifest asked.

“What, shoot them?” Cold said as he snapped out of his daydream. Manifest nodded. “Yeah, I already hosed 30 of them at least at the Galloping Gorge.”

“Did you see what happened to them though?”

“They died.” Cold said matter-of-factly. “Little puff of red and they fell over.” Manifest looked Cold over closely, looking for any signs of emotion. He couldn’t find any. Cold Blooded was still cold blooded. Manifest decided to change the subject.

“How are you going to keep them from noticing your hole?” Cold nodded back to the tent tarp.

“We stretch this over the top of the hole, cover it with the grass. We’ll blend in with the earth enough that they shouldn’t notice, especially if they’re getting shot and blown up the whole time they sprint across this field. They won’t notice us until we pull up the tarp and start hosing them.”

Manifest looked back out west again. The Unicornians would be coming, maybe in a day, maybe a few weeks. Whenever they did though it appeared that Cold would be ready and waiting. There was nothing really left to see. Manifest looked on down into the hole at the pair. “Need anything?”

“Water,” Joe said, “it’s sweltering down here.” Manifest nodded.

“Alright then, water.” He turned and trotted back to the trenches.
.

Repeater jammed his entrenching tool into the soft earth again. Digging was strangely liberating. He didn’t have to think of the squad, or the casualties, or the killing, anything. All he had to do was move dirt from the bottom of the trench up to the top. He had calmed down from thinking about the ponies who ran, who tried to take his squad from him, who died under his command.

He wasn’t thinking about that though, not now. Now all that he was thinking about was deepening this trench. He hardly noticed the hoofbeats approaching from his left.

“Would you like help with the digging, Sergeant?” Repeater turned over to face Muddy Ruts, standing by with entrenching tool in hoof.

“Don’t ya have your own bit of trench ta dig?” Repeater asked.

“My name is Muddy Ruts, sir. I’m good at digging.” Muddy Ruts said as he nodded to the bit of trench behind him. His twin was still digging, but the section that Muddy had worked on appeared to be as deep as the trench was required to be. “Would you like help with the digging, Sergeant?”

Repeater shook his head. “No, Ah’m fine, but your brother may want some.” He faced the dirt again and stabbed again with his entrenching tool. This time though, his brain didn’t just shut off. Muddy talking to him reminded him of a question that he wanted answered. He turned to the twins. ”Back in the battle, ah was pinned under that tree, remember?”

The twins stopped and looked up at Repeater. “Yes, we remember.”

“Ah told ya’ll ta leave, but ya’ll ran through that barrage twice ta get me out. Ya disobeyed mah orders. Why?”

Muddy shrugged. “You told us to keep you alive.” His twin nodded.

“You said something along the lines of ‘if I’m in trouble, you save me or die trying.”’

“But Ah told ya just then ta go and leave me, and ya coulda been killed. Hay, ya almost were killed. Why’d ya come back?”

“We told you, you said we have to pay off a debt, so we’re paying it off.” Muddy said. Repeater sat for a moment. ‘These are the same two ponies that tried ta put mah relatives out of business, and they’re tellin’ me that they saved me because Ah told them they owed me?’ It didn’t add up. ‘There’s got ta be another angle here.’

The unnamed twin noticed the look on his face. “You told us to get you home, so we’re getting you home. That’s all there is to it.”

“Despite what you may think, we aren’t all bad.” Muddy chimed in. He lowered his voice as his twin went back to digging. “Don’t think that us saving you hasn’t had any consequences.” He nodded over to his brother, the dried, matted blood still on his back from the battle. “Stabbing that unicorn really messed him up.”

Repeater nodded. “Ah’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, it wasn’t your fault.” Muddy said, “He probably would have done it even if you weren’t in danger. You remember how the breakout was.”

“Ah know, ah just feel bad anyway,” Repeater finished. “Is there anything that ah can do ta help? Ya know, help him get over it?”

Muddy shook his head. “I don’t think so, Sergeant, I think the only thing for it is to give my brother time.” Repeater nodded once.

Over Muddy’s shoulder, Repeater could see Manifest walking through the trenches toward them. Repeater leaned around Muddy and called out. “Did ya find’em?” Manifest nodded.

“Behind me about twenty yards, then west twenty five. They’re dug in at the end of an irrigation ditch. They’re away from the trenches, so I don’t know how to connect up with them other than getting out and running overground.” Repeater looked to Muddy.

“Ya said ya were done with your part a the trench?” Muddy nodded. “Alright, Ah want ya ta take five, then help your brother finish his bit. Once ya’ll have done that then you’re gonna dig a tunnel from here ta their foxhole.” Muddy threw a salute.

“Alright, Sergeant, when do you want it done?”

“Before the Unicornians show.” Muddy nodded again. “Bring your brother over here, would ya kindly?” Muddy turned and went to fetch his brother as Manifest trotted up to Repeater. He turned around and looked at the twins.

“Celestia, look at him.” Manifest said, nodding at Muddy’s twin. “He still has the blood and guts running down his back.”
He turned to Repeater. “When are we going to be able to wash up? We look like we’ve been to Tartarus and back.”

“Well partner, we kinda have, haven’t we?” Manifest shrugged then nodded in agreement. “Anyways, Ah don’t know when we’ll wash up, this may well be our look ‘till the war ends.”

“I was afraid you would say that.” Manifest said in disappointment. “I guess that he gets it the worst, with the blood and all.” Repeater turned over to him quickly.

“What did ya say there partner?”

“I guess he gets it the worst, with the blood and all?” Manifest said quizzically.

“Naw, earlier, ya said he still has the blood and guts runnin’ down his back.”

“Yeah.” Manifest looked in confusion. Repeater started to smile again.

“Manifest, you’re a genius.”

“What?”

The twins trotted on over to them, and lined up before Repeater. “You wanted something, Sergeant?” they asked in unison.

“Ah just wanted ta thank ya’ll for what ya did for me. It means a lot ta me, ya’ll doin’ what ya did. So thanks.” The twins nodded. “Also, Ah got somethin’ for ya,” Repeater said as he pointed at the unnamed twin. “Your new name is Bloody Guts. Feel free to let it be known. It even rhymes with your brother’s name. Alright, ya’ll are dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir,” Bloody Guts said, perking up a little. He hesitated for a minute, then turned to go follow his brother. Repeater faced Manifest.

“See, Ah told ya ya were a genius.”

Manifest nodded, “I know.” The two ponies sat there for a second, looking at the newly christened Muddy and Bloody brothers and the ponies further down the trench, digging away. Manifest spoke. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

Repeater shook his head. “Don’t worry about it, ah needed ta get it out a mah system. Besides, it ain’t gonna happen again, ‘cause ah’ve got a great squad.” He looked up and down the trench. “When the Unicornians come again, ah know ya’ll will be ready for them.”

“Will everypony else be?” Manifest asked. Repeater looked down at him again.

“Were you this negative back in Fillydelphia?”

“I think so.”

Repeater shook his head. “Well Manifest, if we have a good leader, then ah think they will be.”

The Battle of Cloudsdale

“Barbed wire?” Repeater asked in disbelief. The squad stood up peering over the edge of their trench at the Royal engineers, who were busy spooling out the wire from a cart that they slowly pulled out around twenty yards from where they were. “Ya’ll know that they use barbed wire ta stop farm animals, like pigs and chickens, right?”

736 chimed in. “Well, they are chickens, so this should end the war right here.” Some ponies chuckled at this, but Manifest didn’t look to see who. The wire was at least four strands thick, and curled wildly around from the end of the cart. The engineers grabbed wooden planks from the back of a second cart, jammed them into the dirt, and carefully wrapped the wire around each subsequent plank.

“What’s it supposed to do though?” 382 asked as they watched the cart slowly make its way across the field. Manifest turned over to Cold Blooded; generally he had the answers to any and all questions concerning warfare. Everypony else did as well. Cold finally noticed the expectant eyes looking to him and faced the ponies.

“I dunno.”

Everypony shrugged, and then turned back to face the cart as it squeaked along. Manifest looked up and down the trench after a moment. A few ponies from 4th squad were still putting up wood planks along the sides of their portion of the trench. Manifest looked at 5th squad’s portion; the wood in place with no gaps, and their artillery cover dugout behind them was deep and well kept. Just behind Cold and Joe was the entrance to the tunnel to their machine gun nest. Manifest nodded in approval. ‘The miracle squad digs a pretty good trench.’

In the 9 days since they had arrived at the field, the trench system that they made had grown from one strip into a labyrinth maze of bunkers, machine gun nests, and artillery and mortar pits. All of it looked like it was ready for war, except the singular barbed wire fence that was being strung out across the field.

“Well, Ah guess that puttin’ that fence up can’t hurt us any.” Repeater finally concluded. Everypony nodded in agreement, and with that the squad dispersed. Repeater looked over to Manifest. “Hey partner, ya got any paper?”

“Yeah, give me a minute,” Manifest said as he dropped down from the trench ledge. He turned and ducked his head as he trotted into the low dugout behind them. The artillery cover dugout was a small room under 6 feet of earth, with just enough floor space for the eight ponies of the squad to sleep. At the end of Manifest’s plot of earth was a footlocker. He kicked it open. Inside was a box of 100 rounds, gun oil, and most importantly the paper and a single pen with a small ink cauldron next to it. Manifest levitated up a sheet, then carefully turned and trotted out, being sure to keep his head down.

“Here you go Sergeant,” He said as he handed it off to Repeater. He hopped up next to him and looked back out west across the field as repeater grabbed his pen out of his saddlebags. “What are you gonna write about?” Manifest asked as he looked off into the distance.

“Ya know Ah can’t really talk while Ah write, right?” Repeater mumbled past the pen in his mouth.

“Oh, sorry.”

Repeater shook his head. “Naw, its fine. Anyways, ya notice how it’s hot and the suns always shinin’ and asides from Cloudsdale”- he pointed a hoove straight up at the city above them-“there ain’t any clouds?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Ah’m used ta that ‘cause it’s always like that in Appleloosa, but in Appleloosa Ah had somethin’ that Ah don’t got here.”

“What?”

Repeater motioned to the top of his head. “Ah want mah hat back. Ah’ve been missin’ it for a while now.”

“Oh,” Manifest said. Repeater adjusted the pen in his mouth and began writing again. Manifest kept looking out west. He had heard that the Unicornians had pushed to within 20 miles of them, but from their position on the field he couldn’t see them. He looked out west regardless; they could attack at any time.

“Have you read the paper?” Manifest looked over at the questioner, 736 sat at the bottom of the trench, reading last week’s edition of The Canterlot Crusader. “Our story made the front page!”

“Yeah, Amber sent it to me a few days ago.”

“They really loved Cold Blooded, quoted him a lot.” Manifest nodded. He still didn’t know 736 that well, not as well as the other ponies anyway, so he didn’t quite know what to say. Repeater stopped writing for a moment.

“Ah didn’t like it much at all, they were quotin’ me wrong the whole time.”

736’s eyes widened slightly. “They misquoted you?” Repeater shook his head.

“Ah don’t talk like how they wrote me, like, they wrote what Ah said, but not how Ah said it.”

Manifest looked over, “What, without the accent?”

“Yessir.”

736 chuckled, “Do you know how annoying it would be to write everything that you say with an accent?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be all that bad, and it would help them ta know me more.”
736 waved a hoof dismissively and went back to reading the paper. For a moment there was quiet in the trench, and then 736 spoke up again, “Who’s on our side?”

Manifest turned over to 736 in confusion, “What do you mean, who’s on our side?”

“I mean, who’s helping us in the war?” 736 answered, not quite looking at Manifest so much as staring down the length of the trench in though, head propped up by hoof.

Manifest thought about it. “Well, the Zebras don’t have the capability to get involved. The Minotaur’s don’t care. The Crystal Empire is sitting this one out, I guess they’ve had enough conflict for a thousand years. The Griffons are making weapons, but that’s it.” He paused, thinking if he had missed any kingdoms or countries. “I guess it’s just the Griffons.”

“Why aren’t they fighting though? I thought that the Griffons lived for war?” 736 asked. Manifest shrugged.

“I guess that they don’t think of this as their fight.”

“So you’re saying that we are on our own?” 736 asked.

“Yeah, we’re on our own.”

“But there’s got to be somepony or thing that will help us.” 736 paused and rubbed his temple for a minute as he looked back at The Canterlot Crusader. “Wait, how about Discord? Send him over there and the war’s up in ten minutes!”

Manifest looked at 736 in disbelief. “No! Dear Celestia No! You want to let him out to do his chaos? What if he didn’t stop? That cure is worse than the sickness, believe me.”

736 looked down in dejection. “What about the elements of harmony?”

“What would that even do?” Manifest asked.

“I don’t know, something?” 736 thought about it for a moment. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted in defeat. He perked up again. “Wait a minute, you know that princess, Twilight Sparkle?”

“Yeah,” Manifest said.

“Doesn’t she have a dragon, her own personal dragon?” 736 said in excitement, leaning forward.

“Yeah, yeah she does,” Manifest said. “It defeated King Sombra about a year ago, right?”

736 stamped at the ground once in excitement. “Yes! We could use that. Attack them with a dragon and we’ll win this war tomorrow.” Behind them, Manifest could hear Repeater chuckling. “Hey, what’s so funny?” 736 asked in dejection.

Repeater shook his head as he finished writing his letter, then replaced his pen in his saddlebags. He looked over at 736 and Manifest. “Ah’ve seen that dragon. Ya’ll know how big it is?”

“It’s got to be pretty large; I heard that it almost destroyed Ponyville once!” 736 said defiantly. Repeater shook his head as his grin grew all the wider. Finally he raised a hoove to about chest height.

“Your dragons’ ‘bout that tall.” 736 and Manifest looked at Repater in disbelief.

“No way, you’re messing with us,” 736 said with less conviction that he had before.

“Yeah way, Ah’m right.” Repeater leaned in towards the pony sitting at the bottom of the ditch. “If this dragon wasn’t just chest height, why the hay haven’t they used him ta light a barbeque?”

736 sat and considered this for a second. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Manifest looked over at Repeater.

“You’ve seen the princess’s dragon?”

“Yessir partner, and Ah saw the princess,” Repeater beamed.

“Really?” Manifest asked.

“Yessir partner, remember how ah told ya about us fightin’ the buffalo?” Manifest nodded. “She was there. She’s good friends of mah cousin Applejack.”

Manifests eyes widened slightly. “Really?”

“Yeah, mah cousin’s one a’ the elements a’ harmony. Loyalty.”

736 threw up a hoove. “You’re telling me that your cousin is one of the six defenders of friendship, and personally knows one of the princesses? You’re pulling my leg, you can’t back that up.”

Repeater smiled some more, this time a sure and confident grin. “Ya sure Ah can’t?” 736 nodded. Repeater casually looked over to Manifest. “Partner, have ya seen the twins about lately?”

Manifest looked around. “They were here just a minute ago,” he said in confusion, reaching up and scratching his head as he said it. “I don’t know, Sergeant.”

Repeater sighed, and then shook off the disappointing news. “It don’t matter, when the twins come back they’ll tell ya ah’m right.” 736 nodded slowly, clearly still not a believer in Repeater’s claims.

“Yeah, sure they will.”

Manifest looked back west again. The field looked the same as it always did, shimmering in the summer heat. Watching the field before him ripple under the gaze of the sun reminded him of the parched feeling in his throat. Manifest popped open his saddlebags and levitated out a small canteen, looking west the whole time. Nothing changed in the 10 or so seconds that he drank from the canteen. The field still fluttered green, the cart with the barbed wire still continued its slow advance north, and the sky was still cloudless, stretching into a hazy grey in the distance.

As he put his canteen down he thought that he saw something, a glint of light in the sky in the far distance. Quickly he looked over to where it was, focusing as best as he could at the patch of sky that he saw it at. Now there was nothing, if there was ever anything at all. ‘Still though,’ he thought, ‘it might be something.’ He turned over to Repeater.

“Do any of you fine gentlecolts have a mirror we can borrow?” Manifest glanced over to see the twins trotting down the trench, one of them carrying a wooden footlocker. It was Bloody who spoke, his voice being slightly deeper that his brothers, and that being the only defining characteristic between the two. Repeater perked up a bit.

“Ah was waiting on ya’ll!” he quickly pointed to 736. “Would ya kindly tell that pony there who my cousin is?” the twins instantly snapped out of their joyful mood at the mention of Repeaters cousin. They stood quiet for a moment. “Well come on, ya’ll can tell him,” Repeater said beaming.

“His cousin’s name is Applejack,” Muddy finally said. Repeater grinned toward 736, whose mouth dropped agape at the confirmation.

“And who is Applejack’s good friend?” Repeater asked, still grinning like crazy at the shocked unicorn ahead of him.

“Twilight Sparkle,” Bloody said, looking at the ground in dejection.

“Ya see!” Repeater said in triumph, “Ah am tellin’ ya that mah cousin is one of the six defenders of friendship, and personally knows one of the princesses! And Ah backed it up!” 736 shook his head slowly in disbelief. “Believe it!” said Repeater. He looked over toward the twins, who still seemed put out after being reminded of their time in Ponyville. “Aw, don’t worry about it ya’ll, Ah didn’t tell him how ya know mah cousin. What did ya want?”

Muddy looked up, the enthusiasm that he had when he came over long gone. “My brother and I just wanted to know if anypony had a mirror that they didn’t need.”

“What for?” Manifest asked. Bloody nodded to the footlocker on his back.

“We had an idea.”

“Well come on ya’ll, spit it out!” Repeater said enthusiastically. “Ah told ya ta tell me about any ideas that ya had!”

Muddy spoke up. “Well Sergeant, when the unicornians arrive we’ll need to be able to see over the trench without exposing ourselves, that’s what this’ll do.” He pointed to the footlocker on Bloody’s back. Manifest looked at it, there was a decently sized slit cut into the top of it, but apart from that it looked like a footlocker.

“It looks like a footlocker with a mailhole cut into it.” Manifest said. Even as he said it he knew what was going to happen next.

Muddy looked over to Manifest with a hint of contempt. “No, the contraption you see before you is prototype for the Pony-Portable-Pack-Periscope.”

Manifest grinned, content to egg the twins on. “It looks like a footlocker with a mailhole cut in it.”

Muddy looked annoyed, as though he had to explain to a filly why she couldn’t have cake for breakfast, lunch and dinner. “I did say it was a prototype, didn’t I?”

“What does it do?” Repeater asked.

Bloody swung the footlocker off of his back and opened it up. “The Pony-Portable-Pack-Periscope is just a modification of the footlocker that everypony is issued. You can put all of your valuables in it like a regular footlocker.” He pointed to the slit cut in the lid of the footlocker, and at another one on the far end of the opposite side. “If you take out all of the items that you put in it and set up the mirriors like so”-he levitated a mirror out of the box, and slid it into a small groove just behind the slit-“you can use this to see over the trench without having to pop your head out.”

“Does it work?” Manifest asked.

“We need another mirror.” Muddy said. Repeater pointed into the dugout.

“Mah locker, go get it.” Muddy leaned down low to get his tall frame to fit into the dugout, then returned with a small mirror levitated before him. Quickly he slid the mirror into the remaining groove of the footlocker, closed the door, and then looked through the bottom slot.

“It works,” he said, passing the box off over to Repeater. Repeater held the box in his forehooves, and propped himself up against the trench wall. The top of the box jutted up just above the lip of the trench as Repeater looked into the bottom slit.

“It sure does. Try it out Manifest.” Manifest levitated the periscope from him and peered though. Reflected through two mirrors, Manifest could see the field shimmering in the heat out in front of him. It did work. He started to look away and put the periscope up when he saw it again. Through the mirrors, a glint of light in the sky to the west. Manifest quickly brought the periscope back up and looked again.

“What’s wrong?” Repeater asked.

“I think that I saw something in the sky out west, something reflective.”

“Aw hayseeds,” Repeater muttered. Manifest heard the rustling of saddlebags to his right as he kept looking for the glint off in the distance. The rustling stopped, and the two ponys looked out west. After a moment Repeater spoke. “Ya did see something out there Manifest.” Manifest looked over to Repeater, who had propped himself up against the lip of the trench and was looking through a set of binoculars. “Ah count… 7 airships.”

Manifest looked back through the periscope, looking for what Repeater could see, but the airships were too far off to be seen without magnification. Repeater spoke calmly, not looking away from the airships in the far distance. “736, ah want ya ta run ta company command and tell them that we’ve spotted 10 plus airships out west. Tell them that we don’t know exact numbers, or intentions. Go.”

736 scrambled to his hooves and went running off down the trenches. Manifest kept searching for the suspect airships, but couldn’t see them. “You have any orders, Sergeant?” he asked as he continued scanning the sky. In his periphery, he could see Repeater nod.

“Ah want ya ta get the rest a the squad, and tell them ta be ready for fightin’ orders. Go ta Joe, get his binoculars, and then ah want ya ta scan the ground. The Unicornians may be goin’ all at once.”

Manifest handed the makeshift periscope off to the twins, pausing for a second as Muddy and Bloody received it. “It’s good,” he said motioning to the periscope, then he turned off and ran down the trench toward the MG tunnel. As he rounded a slight corner he saw 382 leaning into the hole that would lead to Cold and Joe’s nest. 382 glanced over at Manifest.

“What’s happening?”

“Tell them to be ready for orders. We saw Unicornian airships out west, so they may be attacking soon.”

Just as soon as Manifest finished his sentence, he heard Cold’s voice emanate from the hole. “Don’t worry about us, Manifest. We’re always ready.”

‘Of course they are,’ Manifest thought briefly as he trotted over to the opening of the tunnel. “Does Joe have his binos?” he yelled down the hole.

The response came echoing back, “Yeah, I’ll run them out.” The interior of the tunnel was dark, save for a small flicker of light at the end. Manifest could see the light get blocked by a body as Cold began to crawl through the low tunnel. Manifest looked nervously back west as Cold crawled closer. He could now see a few black dots with his naked eyes, all slowly moving toward Cloudsdale.

Cold popped out of the end of the tunnel, binoculars in his mouth. Manifest levitated them up. “Hey, if you could get the twins over here, I got some ideas that I think need working on,” Cold said. Manifest nodded hurriedly, hardly concerned with Cold’s ideas in the face of the Unicornian threat in the air.

“Just be ready,” Manifest said as he turned to gallop back to Repeater. In a few quick seconds he hopped up next to the Sergeant on the lip of the trench and put the binoculars to his eyes, scanning the plains for movement. The fields danced in the summer heat, their movement magnified by the binoculars. There were no Unicornians to be seen on the ground.

Manifest continued to scan though, the two ponies silently looking out west. “How many airships?” Manifest asked.

“Ah counted at least 30,” Repeater answered as he continued to monitor the enemy’s movement. “They’re all stoppin’ ‘a couple miles off, bunchin’ up so they can all attack at once. Ya tell Cold and all ‘a them ta get ready?”

“Yeah, he said he’s always ready,” said Manifest. Repeater snorted.

“Ah coulda guessed he would.”

“Has 736 come back yet?”

“Naw partner, not yet.”

The two stopped talking, each focused on their prospective tasks. Eventually they heard hoof beats behind them, followed by the crunching of dirt as 736 leap back into their trench.

“Cloudsdale’s tracking over fifty airships, can’t see any ground forces for 20 miles, and those aren’t moving. Company command told us to sit tight, say we can’t do anything to help.” He paused for a second. “It’s all up to them.”

Repeater didn’t break his stance as he asked his question. “So they don’t need me ta keep tabs on them?”

“No Sergeant.” Repeater immediately folded the binoculars shut.

“Ya can stop partner, at ease.” Manifest closed his binos as well, finally allowing him to look up at Cloudsdale. A few Equestrian airships were launching off of the city and beginning to fly west to meet the threat in the distance. Manifest turned and looked behind him. A few miles back more airships were taking off.

“What do we do now?” Manifest asked. Repeater looked at the Equestrian airships taking off from the fields to the rear.

“Ah guess that all we can do is ta just watch.” Repeater said.

The squad stood, lined up against the edge of the trench, looking at the gaggle of airships in the sky west of Cloudsdale. For twenty minutes they had been simply bunching up, the stragglers from each side slowly catching up and joining the main formation. The Unicornian ships had gathered into a large group, and seemed to be waiting only for two final airships to link up. The Equestrian ships had formed a series of 3 lines at different altitudes running parallel to the trenches below, acting as a buffer between the looming fleet and Cloudsdale.

“Anypony know anything about our ships up there?” 382 asked. Everypony continued doing what they had been for the past quarter hour, watching and waiting. “Anypony? Muddy, Bloody?”

The twins were the only ones not completely transfixed by the slow motion setup that was happening thousands of feet above their heads. Muddy and Bloody were busy converting a second footlocker into an impromptu periscope. “Hey!” 382 said forcefully, prompting the twins to look up.

“Yes?”

“Do you know anything about our ships up there?” the twins shrugged.

Manifest spoke up. “They’re the Equestrian air volunteers, just ponies with working airships who slapped 25 pounders onto the decks and said they would fight.”

“Where’d you hear that?”

“The Canterlot Crusader.” Manifest heard the rustling of paper off to his left.

“Where?” 736 asked.

“Page ten,” Manifest said. Ten thousand feet above them and a few miles off it looked like the last of the Unicornian Airships had gotten into position. 382 continued talking.

“Do you think they’ll win?”
This time Cold answered, “Well, we have 37, and they have 55. But we have a good firing line assembled. I don’t know.”

“What if we lose?”

“I don’t know.”

The final Unicornian airship glided into position, and slowly the group began to move forward. The ponies in the trench waited, Manifest quickly glancing around. The entire company had lined up on the lip of the trench to watch the battle that would happen above, and Manifest wagered that everypony beyond that was watching as well.

The Unicornian fleet inched toward the Equestrian ships, which were making no attempt to maneuver, instead waiting for the Unicornians to get within range. The Unicornian fleet continued its slow and purposeful advance. A minute passed, and aside from the Unicornians movement toward Cloudsdale, there was no action. The lead enemy ships where only about a mile away, and still had run into no resistance.

“Why aren’t they shooting?” somepony asked. Nopony answered him, all eyes transfixed on the drama above. The line fell completely silent, only the very faint drone of airship engines in the distance providing sound. A slight breeze blew across the field, but nopony noticed.

“Bom.”

The entire line subconsciously shifted forward, as though the extra foot closer to the battle would help them to see what just happened.

“bom, bom-bom, bom-bom-bom.” The sound of fire, from what side they couldn’t tell, was intensifying. All eyes scanned with intensity, trying to see if any shot were having any effect.

“HIT!” a pony yelled. The line rustled with excitement, looking for the hit. Manifest saw it, one of the lead Unicornian ships was trailing a steady stream of black smoke. Repeater had his binoculars back out, looking at the ship in question. Manifest squinted, trying to see the ship better. A quick puff of smoke emanated from the ship’s hull, then another one.

“ANOTHER ONE!” 736 yelled out. A second and third Unicornian ship had been put alight, and so far it seemed as though the Equestrians hadn’t take a round. Manifest kept his focus on the first ship hit. A few more puffs of smoke erupted from the flaming Unicornian ship.

With a great flash the ship suddenly scattered itself across the sky, the gasbag above it erupting into flames. The line erupted into cheers, the calvary raising hooves in the air. Fifteen seconds passed, then with a groundshaking BOOM the blast reached their lines, the celebrating ponies hardly noticing it. Cold pointed out into the gaggle of Unicornian ships. “THEY”RE DROPPING LIKE FLIES!”

The squad looked, and indeed the Unicornian ships were all losing altitude. Now seven of them were on fire, two of them slowly drifting off to the south. The sound of the Equestrian 25 pounders still echoed through the sky. “CELESTIA, LOOK AT THAT!” another pony yelled, Manifest looked for what the pony mentioned, then saw it. An airship had cut loose from its gasbag, and was now plummeting to the ground. Manifest watched it fall the entire way, all the way until it plowed into the ground with a puff of dirt.

“WE’RE BEATING THEM!” a pony yelled out, and the company cheered in response. Manifest quickly glanced around. Muddy was hugging his brother, Cold slapped Joe on the back, everypony was celebrating except for Repeater. Repeater keep looking through his binoculars, then briefly muttered something.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY?” Manifest asked, having to yell over the cheering ponies. Repeater didn’t move, but repeated what he had to say.

“We ain’t hittin’ them anymore.”

The Unicornian ships were all now significantly lower than the Equestrian ones, and as the ponies stopped celebrating, they were able to hear the sounds of the battle again. There were none. “We stopped.” 736 said. He turned to the other ponies in near panic. “Why’d we stop?” Up above the lines of Equestrian ships began to move, the uppermost ones gaining altitude, and the ones closest to the Unicornian ships turning towards Cloudsdale to flee. The Unicornian ships were closing the gap between the first of the Equestrian lines, now only a half mile away at most and gaining.

Suddenly, the air was filled with noise. “Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop.” Six shots in rapid succession, significantly less throaty than the Equestrian twenty-five pounders. The air was silent again. Manifest looked to see if the shots had any effect on the ships above, but he couldn’t see.

Then the air erupted with the sounds of fire, so quick that he couldn’t determine when one shot started and another one ended. The effect on the Equestrian ships was immediate. From this range Manifest could see the puffs of smoke showing where the Equestrian ships were being hit erupting along the bottom defensive line. With a flash an Equestrian ship exploded in the air, then another one, then a third. The others of the line closest to the Unicornians were all aflame, only two which had fled first surviving the barrage. The sounds of the Equestrian ships exploding reached the trenches below, echoing across the plains. It had been less than a minute since the Unicornians fired their first shot.

The Unicornian ships began to climb now, coming up to the second Equestrian line from below. The second Equestrian line was in total disarray, a few ships flying back towards Cloudsdale, a few frantically trying to out climb the approaching threat from below, one even flying down to try and combat the horde. With a cackle the Unicornian guns blazed forth, and within seconds the lone descending ship ripped itself into pieces, caught fire, and exploded.

“COME ON!” a pony yelled up to the clouds above. The Equestrians were getting annihilated, and there was nothing the ponies in the trenches could do but watch. The gunfire halted for a few seconds, then resumed, the rapid fire “pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop” of the Unicornian guns refilling the air. The airships of the second line that were climbing away were now under fire, and just as before they withered away under the mass fire of the Unicornian fleet. Half of the Equestrian ships that were there at the start of the battle were gone, raining down in pieces upon the plains to the west.

The ships from the second line that retreated to Cloudsdale had made it, now flying amongst the city. The ships from the third line were descending to regroup with the remnants of the second. Nothing stood between Cloudsdale and the enemy fleet. The Calvary ponies waited silently, as the Unicornian fleet slowly closed the gap between Cloudsdale. The air was silent again for a moment, but everypony knew that it would be only seconds before the fire resumed.

The Unicornians fired first, the characteristic rapid fire popping of their guns cackling through the sky once more. The Calvary ponies looked to see the damage done, none of the shots having any apparent effect on the surviving Equestrian ships.

“They’re shooting through the clouds, trying to hit our guys,” Cold muttered. Up above the Unicornian ships continued to blindly fire into the city.

“They can’t do that!” 736 exclaimed angrily.

“Yes they can,” Cold said bitterly. “Who’s going to stop them?”

BOOM!

The Calvary line shifted their attention to the sudden noise to the rear as the thunderous roar echoed into the distance. A puff of smoke emanated from one of the 25 pounders that the artillery corps deployed. It fired again, another concussive BOOM! For a few seconds it was quiet. Then every single artillery piece the Equestrians had fired simultaneously.

The earthshaking thunder of the artillery immediately drowned out the distant “pop-pop-pop” of the Unicornian cannons, and it didn’t stop. A thick cloud of smoke had built up around every Equestrian artillery position as the guns fired as fast as they could into the sky above. The Calvary looked back towards the Unicornian fleet, a sense of hope filling the air.

Above in the sky, the Unicornian Fleet remained oblivious, still slowly moving towards Cloudsdale. With a flash, one of the airships exploded. The line cheered again, even as another ship shattered in the skies above. Then another, and another.

As a fifth ship’s gasbag caught on fire, the Unicornian fleet slowly began to turn around. The Calvary cheered even more, “THEY’RE RETREATING!” a pony yelled in triumph. The Unicornian ships were now flying back west, yet another falling victim to the Equestrian artillery. Behind the Calvary the guns fell silent as the Unicornian fleet slowly flew out of range. The Equestrian ships didn’t attempt to follow, still tending to their wounds in Cloudsdale.

Around Manifest everypony was celebrating, hoofs thrown into the air, friends embracing each other. Manifest looked over at Repeater, who simply stared up into the sky, an almost melancholy look in his eyes. Manifest looked up as well. Above him it seemed that Cloudsdale was alright, out toward the Unicornian lines black smoke still lingered from the explosions of airships. A few ships still floated adrift on the wind, burning from bow to stern, only held aloft by the intact gasbags above them.

“Repeater, we won.” Manifest said. He smiled a little as he said it. “We WON!”

Author's Note

it's back!.Finally, feels like forever since I've updated this.
Good news bad news time.
Good news is that I have the next three chapters written out already, with a forth being rattled out as fast as i can manage.
Bad news is that my extremely busy editor is proving to be something of a stumbling block, so there's no telling when i'll be able to actually put the damn things up. fingers crossed

For anypony wanting to know about the twenty-five pounder the Equestrians use, look up the Royal Ordnance QF 25 lbr gun. For a taste of how fast these things can fire, start at the 1:40 mark on the video below.

Clockwork

A diminutive earth pony sat in the dark of his tent, only the flickering light of a gas lantern providing him illumination of the project he was working on. With his two hooves, he gently aligned the meter stick on the table before picking up a pencil between his teeth and slowly drawing a solid line precisely 40 centimeters from left to right. He had been up for around 7 hours working on this, a design for the modernization of the Clockwork-Canterlot Rifle, the rifle that bore his name.

The room lit up as the front tent flap was hastily thrown open. The pony calmly set the pencil down and turned to face the visitor. A small colt runner stood in the opening of the tent before him, hastily throwing up a salute as he panted. The earth pony graciously returned the salute.

“Sir, the new Field Marshal’s train is approaching,” the runner said breathlessly. The earth pony turned back to the table and grabbed up a pocket watch, swinging the chain under and around his hoof until the closed watch face sprung open. The pony quickly glanced at it before snapping it shut.

“He’s thirteen minutes early,” the pony muttered to himself as replaced the watch on the table. He turned to the runner and nodded curtly. “Thank you, runner; be on your way.” The runner threw another salute, and then trotted away. The earth pony got up and trotted over to his cot, carefully picking up his dress uniform and sliding it on. He grabbed up his black artilleryponys beret and placed it neatly upon his head, right ear out. He looked in the mirror that he set up briefly, nodded in satisfaction, and then turned to leave the tent, grabbing his pocket watch and a satchel as he stepped outside into the evening air.

Outside of his tent he had a good view of all the 25-pounder gun positions, clumped together in groups of five and spread out over the surrounding area. Camouflage nets were in place around the guns, hopefully masking their position from the Unicornians. He looked briefly at the nearest battery, checking to see that each gun had 25 rounds laid out in ready position. They did. The gun crews sat around their guns, talking and laughing at ease. All was fine and quiet here. Satisfied, the pony began to trot toward the rail line.

As he headed on over to the impromptu rail yard, he looked up into the sky at Cloudsdale. It didn’t look like it from here, but Cloudsdale had taken a beating in yesterday’s battle. He hadn’t yet seen the casualties list, mostly because it hadn’t been completed yet. All that he knew was that it had been high.

He trotted onto the hastily assembled wooden platform that had been set up to receive supplies from Canterlot, and looked east. In the light of the setting sun he could see the towers of Canterlot against the cliff faces of the mountain that it clung to. He could also see the smoke of a steam engine in the distance working its way toward where he stood.

The train chuffed closer as he retrieved his pocketwatch, looking at it briefly while it was still closed. Engraved on the watch face was an ornate C.E. He smiled as he looked at it, and then sprung it open. It was 7:53, and the locomotive was just now pulling up. The engine slowly ground to a halt, leaving an ornate white coach before the pony. The door of the coach swung open.

The new Field Marshall stepped out, a young and muscle-bound unicorn in white with a mixed blue mane and tail. Upon his flank the pony could see a shield with a purple six-point star, and three smaller stars above it. He made a quick mental note. ‘The shield is good, it means that he’s meant for this.’

The Field Marshall looked down at the diminutive earth pony, clad in his Equestrian Calvary Earth dye, his olive green dress uniform, and his black beret. The Marshall smiled as the pony snapped into a salute. He saluted back graciously, and then descended from the coach.

“At ease,” the Marshall said with a grin upon his face. “You are General Clockwork Engine?” The pony nodded once. “It’s nice to meet you,” the Marshall said warmly.

“Likewise,” Clockwork answered. He looked down at the watch briefly. “The briefing is in five minutes, if you’ll follow me, Field Marshall.” The unicorn nodded in agreement, and followed the earth pony.

“Aren’t you going to ask me my name?” the Field Marshall asked as they began walking.

“No sir, everypony knows your name.” Clockwork said. “Shining Armor, the Crystal Emperor and former Captain of the Royal Guard, newly promoted to Field Marshall of all Equestrian forces.” Shining nodded.

“You know all about me, but I can do the same thing, General. Clockwork Engine, former watchmaker and inventor, newly promoted to head of the Equestrian artillery branch.”

“Accurate on all counts, Marshall,” Clockwork said. The new Field Marshall seemed relaxed, almost to a point of being unprofessional. Still, he had defeated the changeling surprise attack. He looked off into the setting sun in the west as they continued trotting toward the HQ tent. Out there, only 7 miles off, was the enemy. “Any good news?”

Shining turned and faced Canterlot briefly, the upbeat feel coming off of him now replaced by a heaviness. “Some,” he said. “Not a lot, but some. I’ll tell everypony at the briefing.”

The ponies trotted past some artillery positions, guns still at the ready and all bearing west. Shining Armor contented himself with looking over the positions as they trotted on. Just ahead was the large tent that served as the HQ for the front. Clockwork quickened his pace, and opened up the tent flap for the Field Marshal, who nodded graciously.

Inside the tent a bulky earth pony and a pegasus snapped up from sitting to attention and saluted the Marshall. Shining calmly returned the salute. “At ease, gentlecolts,” Shining said. He looked over to the earth pony and said, “General Calvary Charge, of the Royal Equestrian Calvary?” the bulky pony saluted again.

“Yes Field Marshall Sir!”

“You can stop saluting, general. I don’t want to have to exercise my legs every time I address a pony.” Calvary Charge faltered for a moment, and then put his hooves back down. Shining turned over to the Pegasus. “That makes you Air Marshall Flying Fortress of the air volunteers.”

The Pegasus nodded. He was the only one in the room other than Shining Armor who wasn’t coated in the brown earth dyes, his coat light grey-blue with a white mane. “Alright then,” Shining said, “to business.”

The ponies all sat around a small table in the middle of the tent, a map of Equestria laid out smoothly across the
surface. Shining cleared his throat, and then began. “I’ve been in conference with the princesses, trying to get the best understanding of the situation possible. Right now I can tell you that the Unicornians are in control of all land north of the Unicorn range and west of the Neighagra River. That’s about one quarter of Equestria.” The ponies nodded solemnly. “After that all of my knowledge is second hand, yours is first, so I just want each of you to answer my questions as best as you can. Alright?” the ponies nodded.

Shining turned to Flying Fortress first. “Tell me about the battle of Cloudsdale.”

The pegasus looked around at the others briefly, and then addressed the Field Marshall. “The Unicornians attacked us from the west with 55 airships, prompting us to scramble our 37 to protect Cloudsdale. We formed three defensive lines at 10,000, 14,000 and 18,000 feet respectively and opened fire on the enemy. We downed 8 in the initial firing, but they counter attacked and destroyed 22 of ours. We regrouped in Cloudsdale and repulsed the enemy, downing 6 more.”

As Flying Fortress concluded his statement, Clockwork opened up the satchel that he had and grabbed out two reports his staff had compiled. While nothing that the Pegasus had said was wrong, he was missing important details that the Field Marshall needed to know. Calvary Charge beat him to the punch.

“Marshall, if I may say so, this pegasus is full of it,” Calvary Charge began, not bothering to pause for punctuation. Shining raised his eyebrows, but before he could ask the general continued. “He’s sugar coating this battle, not giving you the real story. From where I was sitting I saw the 8 that he got, then 22 of his ships went down and they didn’t go down fighting. They were running off as fast as they could, not a shot fired from one of them! They hid behind Cloudsdale, which as we all know got shot to pieces, and the only reason that we scrapped a victory out of this was because of him!” He pointed toward Clockwork, who had placed the two files on the table.

Shining looked over to Clockwork with interest. “Really?” he asked. Clockwork opened up the first file and nodded.

“I would have put it more eloquently, but yes. The only reason that we won the battle of Cloudsdale was because of the artillery.”

“Explain.”

“At the outbreak of the battle I calculated the range and height of the enemy formation, and then computed what range my guns would need to fire at in order for the shells flight path to cross the enemy’s.” He slid the first file across the table to Shining as he continued. “In 82 seconds of firing we managed to down 6 enemy airships, prompting them to retreat.”

Shining looked over the report briefly. Clockwork paused for a minute, knowing that his next suggestion may cause controversy. “In light of the effectiveness of artillery against aerial targets, I recommend that we move Cloudsdale.”

Shining looked up from the report. “What was that?”

“I recommend that we move Cloudsdale to behind the Neighagra River.”

Calvary Charge answered first. “Cloudsdale offers us a commanding view of the surrounding area, not to mention supplies that arrive to the front as soon as they are produced, and you want to move it hundreds of miles away?” Calvary looked over to Shining for support. “Field Marshall, that’s mad, you don’t send the greatest asset of the Cloudsdale defensive line halfway across the country.”

Shining Armor continued looking at the report. Without looking up he addressed Clockwork Engine. “Why do you propose we move the city?”

“Very soon the Unicornians are going to have artillery set up, and once they do they will be able to attack Cloudsdale with impunity. Using simple physics they can adjust the shells to collide with the city and with fuses can allow them to detonate in the center of Cloudsdale. The damage would be worse than the previous airship attack.”

While Shining continued poring over the report before him, everypony in the room waited silently for an answer from him. “We move Cloudsdale behind the Neighagra,” He finally said. “Clockwork is right, artillery would just chew up Cloudsdale.” Calvary opened his mouth to protest, but Shining turned to him before he could. “We’ll continue to have pegasus scouts in the area, so we’ll know what they are up to.” Calvary grudgingly nodded once in acceptance.

Shining continued to address Calvary, “Now, General, you said that the air volunteers didn’t fire once after the initial barrage?”

“Not once,” Calvary said, shooting an angry look at Flying Fortress in the room. Clockwork pushed the next file over to the Field Marshall.

“What’s this?” Shining asked.

“An evaluation on the effectiveness of our airships versus theirs,” Clockwork said. “After the first exchange of fire the Unicornian dropped in altitude to roughly 2000 feet below our forces. The Royal Ordinance 25-pounder gun only has 5 degrees of gun depression, so we were unable to get the guns low enough to hit them. That’s why we didn’t fire.” Shining nodded as he looked through the report. “The Unicornian ships used smaller caliber automatic cannons, allowing them to hit us more. The report recommends that we create a new class of airship with automatic cannons able to cover all angles. Designs have already been submitted.”

“Did you submit one?” Calvary asked, looking over to him pointedly.

“Yes.”

“Some may call you a war profiteer, Clockwork. You designed the standard rifle, the standard artillery piece, and now the standard airship. This war is making you very rich.” Calvary continued his piercing stare.

“I’m not doing this for money; I’m doing this so that we can win this war.”

“We don’t have time for arguments like this,” Shining interrupted. The two ponies stopped and looked over to him. “General Clockwork, I appreciate you answering my questions, and I appreciate you trying to improve our forces. General Calvary, I appreciate your concerns, but right now our main focus should be on the Unicornian army that’s parked seven miles away.”

Clockwork already knew what was going to happen next. He had this argument before, and he prayed to Celestia that he would win it now. Calvary Charge looked over to the Field Marshall.

“Concerning them Field Marshall, I believe that we should launch a full scale attack on the Unicornians as soon as possible.”

Shining looked at the general expectantly. “Make your case.”

“Sir, right now they have just arrived at the edge of our artillery’s maximum range, and are going to start consolidating
their forces for an attack on us. Now is the best time to strike. They will not have had time to dig in and make a good defense. They will not expect us to mount an attack, and they may be demoralized by the loss that they sustained at Cloudsdale. Every day we wait they get stronger and dug in better. On top of that, if we win then we can rob them of their momentum. Equestria is begging for a victory, Marshall, and this is our best chance to give them one.

Shining looked over to Clockwork. “What do you think?”

“I think that attacking them right now would incur severe casualties and a minimum gain of land.”

Calvary Charge glared at Clockwork again. Shining didn’t take any notice. “Explain.”

“If we attacked and did win we would not have won against the Unicornians entire force, all troops that they have that have yet to make it to the front lines would be good for battle and would likely be able to halt our advance. Furthermore, I am not certain that we have the numerical advantage to beat them.”

Calvary interjected. “We probably outnumber them two to one, and-”

“-then we don’t have enough by half,” Clockwork countered.

Shining leaned in, “What do you mean?”

Clockwork turned to address the Field Marshall directly. “Have you heard about 5th squad of the Four-Hundred Twenty-Firsts C-company? They have a reputation as being ‘The Miracle Squad’.”

“Yes.”

Clockwork reached into his satchel again and grabbed out yet another file, placing it on the table and sliding it over to the Field Marshal. Calvary shook his head in disgust, but Shining chuckled slightly. “Do you have a report for everything, General?”

“Intelligence is a good ally to have Field Marshall; it helps us to not make mistakes.” Clockwork could feel Calvary’s eyes boring into him, but continued regardless. “This is a report on the battle of the Galloping Gorge, the information that is important here is on page 38.” Shining magically turned to the page, and began reading once more as Clockwork spoke.

“Fifth squad had just arrived the day before; their only defenses were rudimentary foxholes. When the Unicornians attacked they were part of roughly a quarter of Calvary forces that stayed and fought. Two of their members were killed in the opening artillery barrage. With a force of 8 ponies, without any support from artillery, they managed to get in excess of 50 probable kills.” He paused, looking at the Field Marshall’s face to see if the importance of this information was sinking in. Shining was still reading the report, his face seeming bereft of emotion. Clockwork decided to hammer the point home. “If we face a well-disciplined force on open ground, with even the most rudimentary of defenses, we’ll need a five to one advantage to dislodge them.”

“Field Marshall, you can’t listen to him just because he’s drawn up a fancy report. Everyday that we wait they get stronger, and if we don’t attack soon then we may never get Equestria back!”

“If we do attack and fail, which is the most likely outcome, then we will have weakened ourselves to a point where they could defeat our defenses and take Canterlot.”

My ponies are ready Marshall, right now we have the upper hoof! We’re coming off of an victory and we have to strike while we’re still feeling it! Marshall, we may be routed here if we don’t rob the advantage from them.”

Shining Armor held up a hoof, and the bickering generals stopped, waiting for his answer. “If we attack them they will have airship support, correct?”

“Yes, Field Marshall.”

Shining Armor nodded. “In a war you must play to the enemy’s disadvantages, maximize your strengths and minimize his. We wait here, we break their advance, and then we counter.” Clockwork breathed a sigh of relief that he didn’t know he held. Calvary snorted, fuming in his seat, refusing to make eye contact with the other ponies in the room. “This isn’t going to be a problem, is it, General Calvary Charge?”

“No sir.” Calvary said. Shining looked him over for a moment, then leaned back to relax.

“Alright, you have answered all the questions that I have, so now I have good news to bring.” He paused briefly and produced a single sheet of paper. “I was in conference with the princesses earlier today, and we received this. From the griffons.” The ponies in the room perked up slightly. Shining levitated the paper out in front of him and began.

“In response to the unprovoked attack on the sovereign sky of the Republic of Gryphons Embassy in the Equestrian city of Cloudsdale, which spilt the blood of 23 national Gryphon citizens, the Republic has voted to declare war upon the nation of Unicornia. Any attacks made on Gryphon sky cannot go unpunished, and the murder of griffon citizens and refugees will not go without justice. Our country has been at peace for over one hundred and fifty years, but we know that peace is not so important as to allow atrocities to be made against our people unhindered, and we will not allow violence to be made against us without repercussions.”

Shining put the paper down onto the table. For a moment the ponies were quiet, contemplating the news. “The griffons are going to fight with us?” Calvary asked finally, not quite believing it yet.

“Yes, they’ve already committed their Foreign Air fleet to help with defense along the Neighagra, and they wrote the book on airship combat. The Gryphen Airborne is deploying there as well. All of the best trained and outfitted fighting forces in the world on our side.”

Calvary Charge smiled, “We’re gonna win this war.”

“Not yet,” Clockwork said. Calvary deflated slightly as Clockwork looked back to the Field Marshall. “When can we expect them to arrive?”

“Well, one of their generals is due here tomorrow; he seems to think that there are improvements to be made to the Equestrian Calvary.”

Conditioning

For the second time in as many days, General Clockwork was waiting on the small wooden platform by the tracks, waiting for another high ranking official to come down from Canterlot. He looked around, just to see what he could see in order to pass the time. The twenty-five pounders stood as they did yesterday, ready to be used at a moment’s notice but at ease. As he had come to expect, a hot breeze blew across the field, Celestia’s July sun baking the planet below.

Some things had changed though. This time Calvary Charge and Shining Armor were waiting with him. Shining was wearing his red dress uniform, with blue sash running down the front. So far none of them had really spoken yet. Clockwork looked up into the sky to the north. Off in the distance he could see Cloudsdale. Today all the pegasus were hard at work moving the city. ‘At least they can move it,’ he thought as he turned his attention to Canterlot. Nothing but brick and mortar there, as immobile as the mountain that it clung to.

He pulled out his pocketwatch again, and swung it around his leg until it snapped open. It was 8 minutes until noon, and the griffon had yet to make his appearance.

“Nice watch.” Clockwork looked up from the time to face the Field Marshal, who was looking at the pocket watch that he held.

“Thank you, Field Marshall,” Clockwork said. Shining pressed the conversation forward.

“Is it one of your own?”

Clockwork smiled, very slightly. “Yes, it is. This is the first watch that I ever made.” He looked at it with a hint of nostalgia. “My father helped me make it when I was seven.” He chuckled at the thought. “Some of the gears don’t quite fit, and it loses 15 seconds every week, but I still keep it around.”

Clockworks thoughts were interrupted by a shrill whistle to the east. He peered down the line beyond the two other ponies at the small white cloud that hung just above the ground in the distance. The train was coming.

“Alright,” Shining said as he stared down the tracks into the distance. “Have either of you ever seen a griffon before.” Calvary snorted his answer. Clockwork spoke for both of them.

“I’m afraid not Field Marshall, they seem to keep to themselves. Isolationist is the word?”

Shining nodded, still looking at the approaching locomotive. “Alright, don’t be surprised, be professional. Answer any questions quickly. Don’t question anything he tells you to do, they think that’s insulting. Salute him the second he gets off the train, and treat him with the utmost respect. They’re big into that. Understand?”

The two ponies to his left and right nodded as the locomotive rumbled past, shooting a jet of steam along their legs as it went. With a squeal the brakes turned on, and the train groaned and creaked to a halt. The same white coach that had brought Shining Armor to the front now stood before them. For a few seconds the generals stood immobile, waiting for the doors to open up even as the ponies around them began to offload supplies from the train.

At the front of the carriage a door opened, and the ponies stiffened up. The griffon stepped out into the open, and despite his surprise Clockwork snapped into a solid salute.

He had seen griffons before, in paintings, photographs, and film, but seeing one in the flesh was still exciting for him. The griffon was large, at least as tall as Shining Armor, but his body was long in comparison. The griffon’s feathers were all white, matching his uniform, with streaks of black going through them for natural camouflage. About halfway through the feathers turned to brown fur, leading to the griffon’s muscular hindlegs and long tail. The griffon looked towards them with its yellow eyes, turning its head to one side and contracting one to fully scrutinize them. The griffon hadn’t saluted yet, now cocking its head to one side slightly for a brief second. Clockwork’s leg was getting tired.

The griffon finally threw back a salute, showing off his sharpened talons as he did so. He turned to face the ponies as he walked down the stairs of the car, revealing a weapon holstered on his right side. It stopped in front of Shining Armor and held out an open talon, then looked at Shining’s hoof in confusion. Shining held his hoof out in response, and the griffon grabbed it in his talon and shook it heartily.

“Field Marshall Shining Armor. It’s good to see you again.”

“Good to see you too, Ace,” Shining replied.

“I sincerely hope that your new position in politics hasn’t dulled your fighting prowess,” Ace said as he let go of Shining’s hoof.

“It hasn’t, trust me.”

Instantly any look of goodwill on the griffon’s face vanished. “If that’s the case then why am I not hearing anything? Why are none of your ponies training?” Shining also lost all looks of friendship.

“My ponies are resting up, and technically they fall under the command of my generals.” The griffon looked at Clockwork and Calvary charge quickly, then back to Shining. “I was thinking that you would want to accompany my generals and me so that we can brief you on the situation before we get to business.” Shining said. The griffon shook his head.

“If there were not a war on and an enemy army at the gates I would be more than happy to talk about the niceties of life, but right now we must prepare these ponies for war.”

“My ponies are prepared for war.” The griffon looked right in astonishment at the pony that made that claim, Calvary Charge. For a few seconds he just stared.

“No, they are not, when three-quarters of your armed forces throw down arms and run after a five minute barrage, they are NOT ready. For insolence and arrogance like that we would have you ejected from our military. I will be the judge of when they are ready, and right now I will prove to you that they are not, not at all.” The griffon faced Shining Armor. “If you share this ponies sentiment that you don’t need any help, I shall get back on this train and return to my country and tell them that you all are fine, and rest assured that hundreds of thousands of griffon family’s will breathe a sigh of relieve that they will not have to chance losing their sons.”

Shining spoke with confidence and sincerity, “I do not share his sentiments at all. Equestria needs your country’s assistance desperately, and the right now our army could use your help in training.”

“Good, start by telling your overeager underling to keep his mouth shut and listen. If I hear him talk again then I leave. I have no time for ponies who don’t appreciate my sacrifice.” He paused and took a breath, relaxation spreading over his face as he calmed himself down. “Now, does the Calvary use my targets for practice?”

Clockwork answered quickly, as he had been told to. “No sir.” The griffon looked over to him, examining him for the first time.

“Is there a reason they do not use the targets that we have fabricated and sent across the ocean expressly for the Calvary?” the griffon said, annoyance creeping back into his voice already.

“The Calvary thought that the targets didn’t promote marksmanship with the rifles as well as traditional competition shooting targets.”

The griffon sighed. “It isn’t about, marksmanship, it’s about conditioning.” He looked down at the ground and muttered
something quickly, then looked back up to Clockwork. “Do you have them here?”

“Yes sir, we keep them stockpiled.”

“Good, have them set up on the field immediately.” The Griffon looked at Shining, “Field Marshall, I guarantee you that this is the biggest contribution that we can make for the Calvary right now, but first”- he shot an angry glare at Calvary Charge- “it will be a lesson.”

“Have ya noticed that 736 never writes?” Repeater said. He and Manifest propped themselves up on the edge of the trench, looking out west toward the enemy. They couldn’t see them, not directly, but a thin line of light grey smoke drifted up from a point in the distance. Manifest leaned his head to one side as he thought about it.

“So? The Twins don’t write home either.”

“Naw, they don’t write home because all that they got is themselves, and they know what they’re doin’. Think about it Manifest. We both write, 382 writes, Joe writes. Hay, even Cold writes. But 736 don’t.” Repeater shook his head. “Somethin’s up with that pony.”

“Does it matter?” Manifest asked.

“Well, it may. If he has some personal issues then it may affect his performance. Ya understand?” Manifest shook his head.

“It isn’t, he’s good. He kept his head at the Galloping Gorge. My advice Repeater, keep it to yourself. Don’t go making a scene trying to play therapist and figure out why 736 doesn’t write. If he works, then just leave him be.”

Repeater thought about it for a moment, a nearly pained look on his face. Manifest reiterated himself. “You don’t need to know his personal business, so forget about it.” Repeater nodded.

“Ah suppose so, but ah would like ta know why.”

“Maybe once the war ends you can ask him.” Repeater nodded again, not bothering to mention the obvious possible flaw with that plan. For a moment they just looked off to the west.

“Ah’m afraid that we’ve run outta things ta talk about,” Repeater finally said.

“Well, we could talk about ‘Daring Doo’.”

“Manifest, in the past few days ah’ve heard so much about movies that ah think that once the war ends ah could become a director. Ah think that ah’m done with movies, at least for now.”

“You think that you could become a director?”

“Hay yes; ah mean, thanks ta you ah know all about models, and magic puppets, and tracking shots, and steady cameras, and long takes, and the rest Ah that garbage. Manifest, thanks ta yer yammerin’ on ah’ll never be able ta just watch a movie again.”

“Sorry.”

“Naw, it’s alright, ah’m just sayin’ that ah need a break from that.”

“We could talk about Cloudsdale?”

“Already did.”

“Your hat?”

“Already did,” Repeater said with a chuckle, reaching up and adjusting the large cowpony hat that sat atop his head. “Although ah can’t blame ya for bein so enamored with it.”

“Fillydelphia?”

“Ah wouldn’t even need a map if ah ever felt so inclined ta visit.”

“Buffalo?”

“Ya want ta hear more about the buffalo?”

“Not really,” Manifest sighed. “You’re right; we’re out of things to talk about.” The two ponies thought about it for a minute. “Hay, if they keep on waiting then we may die of boredom.”

“And wouldn’t that be ironic. I can see it in the headlines: ‘The Competant Squad Killed by Boredom: Wanted to Get Shot at More!’.”

The ponies turned in unison to face the voice; The Artist stood over the edge of the trench, looking down at the two. Quickly they threw of a salute to him, which he kindly returned.

“Ah’m sorry sir, ah don’t know where ‘The Competent Squad’ is at. This here’s the Miracle Squad, haven’t ya read the papers?” Repeater had a mischievous grin on his face as he said it. The Artist shook his head.

“Your squad isn’t miraculous sergeant, it’s competent. If everypony else was competent then they could do exactly what your squad did exactly as good. That said, yours is the only competent one, so I suppose that I should treat you well anyways.”

“Well Major, where were you during the battle of the Galloping Gorge?” Manifest asked in jest. “Were you making headlines?”

The Artist scoffed loudly. “I was at company command, which very quickly became the frontlines after everyone just ran off. I had to fight off the first dozen unicorns with nothing but my straight razor. You don’t see me in the headlines though, no “Hero Major Breaks Enemy Charge with Shaving Kit.”

Manifest scratched his head, “How do you ponies shave anyway?” The Artist looked at him for a moment, eyes far away.

“With great difficulty,” He finally said.

“Alright Commander, what have ya got for us?” Repeater asked, “Ah know that ya wouldn’t just come on down here for no reason.”

“You’re right, I wouldn’t,” The Artist looked around for a moment, and then remembered what he was there for. “Aha! Word has come around that somepony in my company has made a nice little makeshift periscope of sorts. Know anything about it?”

“Well, yeah. The twins make ’em,” Repeater said.

“Could you bring me the twins then, and one of their periscopes?”

“Why sure, just give me a minute.” Repeater turned and began to head on down the trench to find them. Manifest looked around for a moment, just waiting.

“You, you’re the idiot.” Manifest looked up at The Artist.

“What?”

“You’re the idiot who jumped on that grenade, scattered himself all over his fellow country ponies in an act of self-sacrifice and stupidity. I remember you from training. You’re the one who I thought was going to wash out on the body drag. And now you’re a war hero.”

Manifest answered immediately. “I’m not a hero. I’m not.”

The Artist chuckled. “You haven’t changed much, as far as I can tell. You remember when I asked you what your strengths were, and you told me that you don’t have any? You told me a weakness of yours when you gave me that answer. You have no self-confidence. Son, I may give you crap about it but at the end of the day you were one of eight who came back. You’re a hero.”

“No, I’m not,” Manifest looked directly at The Artist. “I’m a few things but a hero isn’t one of them. Since when have you heard of a hero who’s a hero because he murders other ponies?”

“Since ponies started murdering each other. If you want a date put on it, around a month ago.”

Manifest shook his head vehemently. “Heroes aren’t supposed to murder ponies. Ponies aren’t supposed to murder ponies. And I, I am not supposed to murder ponies.” Manifest sat there for a second, thinking about what he just said. “I’m not.”

The Artist sighed, “Cheer up soldier, do you remember day one, the deal that the calvary gave you? You’re right, you aren’t meant for this, your meant for whatever that says you are.” The Artist pointed at Manifests flank. “It’s still there, buried maybe, but it’s there, and it’ll be there when the war ends.”

Manifest looked up at The Artist, his words hitting home. “Commander, do you remember the first day?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember the pony with the blank flank?”

“Yes.”

Manifest waited for a moment, then the Artist’s eyes widened in recognition. “It’s you.” Manifest nodded.

“Do you understand why I don’t want this to be who I am?”

“Yes, yes I think that I can.”

The two ponies sat there for a moment, neither really sure what to say. The squeaking of an ungreased axle broke the silence, prompting the Artist to turn around to face it. A pair of artilleryponies were hauling a cart up to the trench. Two others were walking about the sides, each carrying wooden planks. A fifth came running up to the Major.

“Are you the leader of this company?” the pony said as he saluted.

“Yes I am,” The Artist responded. A look of relief washed over the artillerypony’s face.

“Thank Celestia, I’ve been looking all over for you. I’m here to tell you that Field Marshall Ace has ordered a general target practice for all ponies in the Calvary, he wants it to start in a half hour.”

“Ace, the Griffon?”

“Yes sir.”

“We already did target shooting today,” The Artist protested.

“I’m sorry, but it’s the Field Marshalls orders.” Meanwhile the two ponys with the planks were laying them out over the trench so that the cart could pass over. The cart was covered in a olive drab tarp. The Artist trotted over to the cart and moved to lift the tarp up. “I’m sorry sir, you can’t do that,” the Artist looked over at the artillerypony in disbelief. “The Field Marshall said that it’s important that no pony sees the targets until the exercise starts.”

“Not even the company commander?”

“Orders sir.”

The Artist frowned at the cart, and then finally grudgingly nodded in agreement.

“Commander, Ah brought the twins back for ya, and got a periscope as well!” Repeater called from down the trench. The Artist turned around.

“I’m sorry, I don’t need them anymore, apparently we’re about to drill.”

Repeater shrugged, “Well alright then, will ya need them after the drill?” The Artist nodded. Repeater turned to the twins behind him. “Ya’ll just report ta the company command when this drill ends.” Repeater cocked his head to one side. “Wait a minute? What drill?”

“COMPANY! PREPARE RIFLES!” The Artist yelled the command out from behind the ponies, and as he said the words Manifest unslung his Clockwork Canterlot and nestled it deep into his shoulder. The Twins recoil device had finally been installed on his rifle, and he could feel its effects already, the stock seemed heavier to compensate for all the weight at the front. He quickly glanced around, all the ponies in the squad were lined up at the lip of the trench with rifles, even Cold Blooded. When Cold asked why he couldn’t use his machine gun he received the cryptic answer “it isn’t about marksmanship” Manifest wondered what that meant, but only briefly.

“LOAD!” The Artist bellowed. With practiced ease Manifest cocked the bolt up and back with a hoof while he levitated two clips out of his saddlebags. He slotted the first on into the bridge, shoved the rounds down with his hoof, and then did it again. He looked around fleetingly; he was always the quickest to load out of everypony except Repeater.

“READY!” Manifest slid the bolt forward hard, ejecting the clip out of the rifle. He locked the bolt down, and then flipped the safety off with his magic. He became aware of the eyes that were watching him from behind. The entire artillery corps had been instructed to watch, for some reason, and so they stood just behind the Calvary ponies above the trench. Manifest shook off the feeling.

“AIM!” He snapped the rifle up to aim downrange, eye looking down the sights. ‘Alright, now if only there was a target,’ he thought in confusion. For the past half hour the artilleryponies had been setting up targets, but right now it seemed as though all that they did was lay assorted metal plate flat on the ground giving nothing to aim at.

With a simultaneous ‘click’ the metal plates swiveled upright, Manifest automatically aimed his rifle at the first target that came up. For a second Manifest froze. Each of the plates had the unmistakable outline of a unicorn, horn and all.

“FIRE!”

Manifest paused, only for a second, and then he pulled the trigger.

“BOMF!”

He shot first, before any other pony in the squad. With a metallic ‘ping’ the target he aimed at fell over into the dirt, the impact kicking up a small dust cloud. The rest of his squad now began to join in, a chorus of heavy “BOMF’s” punctuated by the “BOOM!” of the Marechester.

“YOU’RE OUT! YOU’RE OUT! YOU’RE OUT!” somepony was yelling. Manifest glance right for the smallest amount of time, and saw the artilleryponys grabbing Calvary ponies by the shoulder and yelling the words at them. Manifest looked back to the field, quickly cycling the bolt and aiming at another silhouette that popped up. “BOMF” the unicorn fell over. Manifest cycled it again, snapping to another unicorn. “BOMF!”

He aimed at the next one. In his mind’s eye he was back in the woods at the Galloping Gorge. He was laying down in the ditch, ahead of him in the mist were the Unicornians. He aimed at one, propped up against at tree, peering around into the distance. He heard Repeater speak,

“Fire.”

Manifest squeezed the trigger, and with a “BOMF” the pony was thrown against the tree he stood next to. He cycled and aimed at another one. “BOMF!” the pony fell over. Another. “BOMF!” he could see a spurt of red fly out the side of the unicorn he aimed at, but was already aiming for another one. He heard a cry from ahead.

“Enemy to the rear! CHARGE!”

The unicorns were coming out of their cover now. Easy targets. He snapped onto ones center mass. “BOMF!” he hit the unicorn directly in the chest, the pony flopping to the ground and rolling over a few times as it slid to a halt. He aimed at another. “BOMF!” this shot was a little high, hitting the unicorn in the neck and snapping its head back violently, spraying blood across its back. As they got closer Manifest could see what was happening to the ponies better. He quickly aimed at another.

“JAM!” Cold yelled. Manifest saw Repeater stand up on hindlegs and start pouring shot after shot into the center of the unicorns charge. At this range Manifest could see the look on the unicorns face change from confidence to terror. He aimed at another one and fired, “BOMF!” his bullet sailed through the lance that the pony ran with and smashed its way through the pony’s legs. The unicorn fell to the ground, writhing in agony. Manifest had one bullet left.

There were only five unicorns left, maybe, and they skidded to a halt, Manifest aimed at one that was turning around, legs scampering to get traction on the wet morning ground. Manifest set his sights on the pony’s side.

‘Don’t,’ he thought.

“BOMF” the bullet hit the unicorn right in the gut. Manifest was out. He quickly threw the bolt open and levitated out two more clips when he felt a shove on his shoulder.

“MANIFEST!”

He looked up. He was back at the field, still levitating two more clips into the air. Repeater was shaking his shoulder. “SNAP OUTTA IT! YA DON”T NEED TA RELOAD, ITS OVER!”

Manifest looked around quickly, trying to get his bearings. “Where’d everypony go?” he asked in shock. Half of the ponies from other squads weren’t there.

“They’re out runnin’, if ya didn’t shoot the targets they made ya run. A lot a them must not be comfortable with the idea a shootin’ other ponies.” Repeaters Face hardened. “What was goin’ on back there?”

“It brought me back,” Manifest said. “I was back at the Galloping Gorge.” He noticed that all the other ponies of his squad were looking down the trench at him.

“Are ya alright?”

“Yeah, yeah I am. It won’t happen again.” Manifest looked down the squad. Just by their faces he could tell that the exercise brought back memories for many of them. Only Cold Blooded seemed aloof.

“I told you, they aren’t ready.” The griffon said as he reached into the vest pocket of his uniform. “Half of them couldn’t shoot at a cutout.” He looked over at Calvary Charge intent on driving his point home. “If they have issues with shooting a metal outline they are not going to shoot a unicorn.” He pulled a silver case out of his vest and popped it open, grabbing out a stuffed paper cylinder. He held it out for the ponies before him. “Cigar?”

The ponies shook their heads, and the griffon shrugged and closed the tin, putting it back into his vest. He grabbed out a small metal box and with a flick of his talon sprung the top open. With the press of a button a small flame appeared at the top, and with this he lit the cigar. He took a deep inhalation of the smoke and then blew it out, the smell filling the air around them. Finally he began again.

“This will help though, already they are making progress.”

“Forgive me for asking Ace, but how do these targets help?” Shining Armor asked. The griffon took another pull on his cigar.

“Like I said earlier, it isn’t about marksmanship, it’s about conditioning. These targets train your troops that when they see a unicorn pop up them must shoot it. It eases the transition into killing.” He took another pull on the cigar. “Train them like this at least three times a day, and when nopony has to run, they’ll be as ready as training can make them.”

A Lesson

“Commander, I found some!” A voice called out from ahead.

‘Who’s the Commander?’ Manifest thought in confusion.

Manifest looked around wildly, his head inhibited by the clothing and the mask that he wore. He was looking through the heavy lenses of a gas mask; dust had collected on them and inhibited his vision. It was dark, and snow and ash fell from the sky in equal measures. A thick cloud of concrete dust hung in the air, obstructing his vision. The only thing that helped him to see was a beam of light that pointed to where he looked. ‘I have a light on my head,’ Manifest remembered.

He had never been here before, but he knew it all. On his right flank there was a portable radio, on his left small cannon of sorts. He had never seen one like it, but at the same time it felt familiar. The voice, that was the other pony. Manifest looked ahead, but couldn’t see him in the gloom. He began to trot forward, his pace quick with urgency. In the gloom ahead he saw the pony. He remembered this; in a second the pony would speak.

“It isn’t pretty commander,” The pony pointed to a pile of rubble in front of him. Manifest couldn’t see over it. He couldn’t remember what was behind it. He trotted faster. He had to know.

With a howl the wind began to pick up, Manifest began to run, trying to close the distance to this other pony and the rubble he pointed to, but they seemed to be getting farther away. They disappeared into the dust, the wind blowing harder. Manifest stopped running and threw himself onto the ground, covering his head to shield himself.

The wind died down, and Manifest looked up. He was in a field, the starry blue sky stretching out above him, and the land bathed in the glow from Luna’s moon. Ahead of him he saw a forest, the trees stretching off to impossible heights. In the forest he could see a silhouette of a tall unicorn, with eyes that shown pure white, looking right at him.

Quickly he looked down at himself, all of the equipment that he had earlier was gone. Even the brown dye that he was so used to was stripped from him. He was Static Sparks again. The silhouette in the woods began to move toward him. “Nonononono” Sparks muttered, looking for his rifle, or the cannon, or something that he could defend himself with. There was nothing, and the unicorn was coming closer.

He scrambled to his hooves and began to run away as fast as his legs could carry him. Ahead of him were more woods, which he ran into quickly. He kept running, occasionally glancing over his shoulder to see if he could see the unicorn. He couldn’t, not anymore. He slowed down, trying to catch his breath.

“Hey.” Sparks spun quickly to face the voice. It was a brown unicorn, carrying a rifle, a number stamped on his flank. Sparks turned to run, but the unicorn spoke. “Stop, it’s me.” Sparks looked at the unicorn again, and saw his eyes staring back at him. It was Manifest Destiny.

“No, this can’t be happening, that can’t be me. I’m me!” he looked around for a second, and the pieces fell into place. “I’m dreaming.” Sparks realized. “I’ve got to wake up.” Hurriedly he slapped his left leg with his right hoof, and then winced in pain. He opened his eyes back up. He was still in the woods, Manifest Destiny standing before him. “You can’t be here, I’m Manifest Destiny,” Sparks said to the pony. The unicorn in front of him shook his head.

“Manifest Destiny and Static Sparks are two different ponies. The Artist said it himself, I was born in the dye baths, and when the war is over you’ll leave me there. You’ve been waiting there this whole time for the day that you can get back to your life.” Sparks tried to comprehend what Manifest was telling him. In a strange way it made sense, they were supposed to be different, that was how Cold Blooded operated. Suddenly Manifest’s face hardened.

“Sparks get down, now!” Manifest ordered, his voice barely louder than a whisper. Sparks immediately hit the ground, Manifest running and propping himself up against a nearby tree. Sparks watched as Manifest unslung his rifle and loaded it quickly. Manifest glanced over, and then pointed into the woods. Sparks followed his hoof. In the distance he could see the tall unicorn, trotting through the woods toward him. Something seemed different about this unicorn, but Sparks couldn’t put a hoof on it.

Manifest raised his rifle slowly, aiming at the approaching unicorn. The unicorn wasn’t charging, wasn’t doing anything other than walking.

“BOMF!” before the bullet could hit home the unicorn vanished with a crack. The flash of the rifle illuminated the woods, and when the flash ended the woods were darker. Manifest threw the bolt open and closed, aiming back into the woods.

Sparks could hear noises in the woods now, the thuds of hoofbeats, and low chatter coming from up ahead. They weren’t there just a few seconds ago. Manifest snapped the rifle up again. “Stay down” he whispered to Sparks. The two ponies stayed absolutely still, Manifest’s ears twitching as he tried to hear the unicorns ahead. Slowly his hoof tensed up upon the trigger.

“BOMF!” the woods flashed again, and in the flash Sparks could see the shadows of unicorns along the trees. Manifest rechambered the rifle and fired again. “BOMF!”

“Enemy to the front, charge!”

“BOMF!” Manifest rechambered. “BOMF!” Again. “BOMF!” In the flashes of the rifle, Sparks could see only the shadows of the unicorns, their actual bodies obscured in the foliage. “BOMF!” He saw one of the shadows arch its back and writhe, then it was dark again. “BOMF!” this time there were only a couple shadows dancing among the trees. Two unicorns ran into Sparks view, only a few dozen yards away. “BOMF!” one of the ponies fell down. The last one skidded to a halt, and began to turn to run away. Manifest operated the bolt.

“NO! STOP!” Sparks yelled out. Manifest fired. With a heavy burst of red the unicorn shuddered, then fell lifelessly to the ground. Sparks looked at the body, then to Manifest, who opened the bolt and began to reload. “You killed him. He was running away, and you shot him in the back,” Sparks said in horror. Manifest closed and locked the bolt and trotted over to Sparks. He held the rifle towards him stock first, and Sparks took it subconsciously, still in shock at what Manifest did.

Manifest looked at him, a hint of sadness in his eyes. “You and me, we’re in this together. I didn’t do it alone.” Sparks eyes widened at the realization. “You killed him too.” Manifest said. And then with a flash of light he vanished, leaving Sparks alone in the woods with nothing but a rifle and bodies.

As Sparks looked around though he saw that there weren’t any bodies, they had all vanished just like Manifest did. He reared up on his rearhooves and tried to hold the rifle steady, but without support it shook wildly. “wakeupwakeupwakeup!” he pleaded to himself, but he stayed there in the woods. Then he saw it.

It was the unicorn again, staring at him from around fifty yards out. Quickly he snapped the rifle up to bear, aligning the unicorn in his sights. Suddenly the unicorn sprouted a set of large wings, holding them open so that he could see. Sparks immediately lowered the rifle. Wings and a horn could only mean a princess, so…

“Princess Luna!?” he called out in surprise. The figure leapt up and flew closer, revealing itself to indeed be her. “I thought that you we’re a Unicornian!” Sparks said, forgetting his manners.

“You were mistaken, but I hope not disappointed,” the princess replied cordially. Sparks suddenly remembered who he was talking to, and immediately bowed down before her. The princess waited until he got back up.

“I’m not disappointed princess, but what are you doing here? Wait, how are you here? This is just a dream!”

The princess smiled warmly at him. “I am the princess of the night; therefore it is my duty to come into your dreams. I am here to help to keep the nightmares away, and give my subjects a peaceful slumber.”

Sparks cocked his head to one side. “Wait; are you in my dream only, or in everyponies?”

“I am there for everypony who needs my help,” Luna replied. She shifted uncomfortably, “Lately, there have been more
ponies who need my assistance.”

“Because of the war?” Sparks asked. Luna nodded. For a moment Sparks contemplated what she said. “I am there for everypony who needs my help.” ‘The princesses have more power than I thought,’ Sparks thought in awe. ‘If she can be in everypony’s dreams at once...’ He kept thinking, the princess waiting for him to gather his thoughts and respond. ‘She can’t be all powerful, because then she would have been able to stop this nightmare from happening.’

Sparks tried to think about how to phrase his next question. “Princess Luna, how come you weren’t able to stop my nightmare?”

“It is difficult when you try to prevent me from ending it; it was your mind that conjured the soldier to fight me. When I left, your nightmare was free to take hold again, and I regret that I wasn’t able to end it sooner.” She sat down. “Perhaps it was better that I didn’t, your mind attempts to make sense of what has happened to you through your dreams. Tell me Static Sparks, What happened in your dream?”

“I saw me, the soldier was me. Do you understand the Calvary? How they tell us that we will be different ponies until the end of the war, and then we can be ourselves again?” the princess nodded. “That was my different self. In the Calvary I’m called Manifest Destiny, and that was me, no, him.” Sparks shook his head, the line between who he was and wasn’t was beginning to blur. “When he saw you he shot at you, and then a squad of Unicornians showed up, and he shot them.” Sparks paused. “The last one tried to run away, and he shot him in the back. I asked him why he killed the last one, and he said that we’re in this together. He said that I killed him too.”

The princess sat patiently, listening. “What is it that you are afraid of Static Sparks?” Sparks sat there, and sighed, he looked at the ground.

“I’m afraid of dying, I’m afraid of not knowing who I’m supposed to be,” he thought about it for a second. “I think that I’m afraid that I might become somepony else, I might become Manifest Destiny.” He paused “I, no, Manifest Destiny did that at the battle of the Galloping Gorge, he killed the last one as he ran away. I’m afraid that I might become him, and that isn’t somepony that I want to be.” He glanced over at his flank, still bare, without a destiny. “I’m afraid that I’m supposed to be somepony that I don’t want to be.” He looked up at Luna, hoping for an answer.

“It seems that your mind is trying to tell you that you and Manifest Destiny are separate, but are also one. What you do as him, you’ll have to live with.” She trotted up to him, and placed a hoof on his shoulder, looking down upon him. “Static Sparks, remember his name, Manifest Destiny. You can choose who you are, and you can choose who he is as well. Don’t choose something that you’ll regret.”

Sparks looked up at the princess. “Thank you.” The princess smiled.

“I must leave now, Static Sparks.” Luna spread he wings and took off, flying into the canopy. The wind began to pick up, and in a flash of realization Sparks remembered the dream from earlier.

“PRINCESS! WAIT!” She flew out of sight, and then everything turned to black.

Waking Up

Waking Up.

Sparks woke up with a start, looking around frantically. He was in the dimly lit artillery cover dugout, where he always slept. He looked around quickly; everypony was fast asleep, save for 382 who was out keeping watch. Slowly he became aware of a constant dull pattering outside. He looked up out of the dugouts entrance and into the skies above, their pitch black color telling him it was still night, and raining as well.

He looked himself over, the earth brown Calvary dye coating him once more. ‘Right, I’m Manifest Destiny,’ he thought with a subconscious nod. ‘Not Sparks, and not in a dream. Wait, the dream!’ He looked around frantically for his footlocker, which was sitting at up against the wall by where he laid his head as always. Quickly he opened it, as quietly as he could though for the other ponies sake. He levitated out a sheet of paper and a pencil. He had learned that unless he wrote down what had happened in his dreams he was going to forget, and he couldn’t afford to forget Luna’s advice.

Quickly he put the paper up against the wall and scrawled out a sentence.

Don’t choose to be someone that you’ll regret being.

There was something else that he had to write down; he was sure of it, but for whatever reason he couldn’t think about it. ‘Come on, it only happened a minute ago!’ he thought in frustration. He placed a hoof upon his forehead as he tried to think of it. ‘Wait, the wreckage! With the gasmask and the other pony! I know that I’ve had that dream more than once, and there has to be a reason for it! I need to find out what it means!’ He moved to put these thoughts to paper.

With a soft splash around an inch of water suddenly washed its way across the floor and around him, soaking his hindlegs and the ends of his hooves. With a start everypony in the squad woke up.

“What in the hay?! Where’d all a this water come from?!” Repeater asked in alarm as he jolted upright. With a near simultaneous “bump-bump” the twins hit their heads on the low ceiling as they shot up in surprise. With a hiss the water hit the lantern that they had on the floor, and the dugout went pitch black. Manifest quickly folded the paper up and stuffed it into one of his saddlebags.

Manifest felt a hard shove as somepony blundered into him in the dark. “Ah’m sorry,” Repeater said. For a moment the ponies continued run into each other as they looked for the entrance, then the dugout lit up with a pale white light from 736’s horn.

“Las Pegasus School of Magic,” he said mildly, preempting any questions that the others had. Now that he was able to see Repeater clambered out of the dugout, the others following behind. As Manifest crawled out from under the earthen roof he felt the rain fall upon him, a steady fall of light drops. Repeater immediately turned to 382, who was looking over the edge of the trench out west through a pair of binoculars.

“Partner, can ya tell me why the hay it’s rainin’?” Repeater demanded. “The dugouts floodin’.” 382 looked over at the gathering squad in surprise.

“Uhh, no. The dugouts flooding?”

“If it wasn’t Ah would be asleep,” Repeater snapped. “And Ah quite enjoy mah sleep.” Repeater looked up into the clouds. “HAY, IF YA’LL ON THE WEATHER PATROL CAN HEAR ME, KNOCK IT THE HAY OFF! YA’LL ARE FLOODIN’ MAH DUGOUT!”

Manifest could see that other squads were clambering up into the trench now, probably being awoken by the same flooding problems. Repeater glared up into the clouds still, waiting for an answer. Slowly it was getting lighter outside, the clouds now only a dark grey instead of pure black.

“DO YA’LL HEAR ME, KNOCK IT OFF!” Repeater yelled, getting some enthusiastic ‘yeah’s’ from several other ponies. A dark blur burst through a patch of clouds, vaporizing them for a moment. As Manifest looked up toward it rain fell into his eyes. He blinked it out, but as he did he heard a voice yelling from up above.

“We’re trying, but it isn’t us!” Manifest looked up quickly to the voice, an only just saw the blur fly back into the clouds.

“WHAT DO YA MEAN IT AIN’T YA’LL?” Repeater yelled, but the Pegasus was gone. Repeater looked at the squad. “What does he mean?”

“If it isn’t them, then it has to be the Unicornians,” Manifest stated. Repeater stood there and thought about it for a while.

“Why would they just have it rain? There’s got ta be somethin’ more goin’ on here,” he said. The rain continued to patter as the squad stood waiting.

“I don’t know,” Manifest concluded. Repeater was right though, the Unicornians were doing it for a reason.

“Anypony have a bucket?” Joe asked. Nopony answered. Some of them propped themselves up along the edge of the trench as they waited, for what they didn’t know.

Suddenly Repeaters eyes widened slightly. “Did ya’ll feel that?”
Manifest glanced around. “Feel what?”

“I felt it.” Cold Blooded said, and 382 nodded his head. The twins looked about in confusion.

“What are we supposed to be feeling?” 736 asked. Repeater raised a hoof for silence.

“Ya’ll feel that?” Cold Blooded and 382 nodded again.

“What is it?” Manifest asked.

“ The ground, it’s shakin’.”

“I’m not feeling anything,” Joe said.

“Joe, it’s shaking,” Cold said bluntly. Manifest thought about it for a second. ‘Its raining, the grounds shaking.’ He connected the dots suddently. ‘Oh Celestia.’

“Get in the dugout!” Manifest said. Repeater opened his mouth to protest.

The ground heaved violently, simultaneously accompanied by a horrifically loud “BOOM!” The shockwave of the explosion knocked Manifest against the wall of the trench. He stumbled back up to his hooves as a clump of mud splattered onto his back with a thud.

“GET TO THE DUGOUT!” Repeater yelled, even though everypony in the squad was already scrambling to get in. Manifest spun around and leapt into the entrance first, landing with a splash in three inches of standing water. Quickly, he ran off to the far end so that everypony could get in. The twins followed behind him, Bloody catching his horn on the low entrance. 736 came after, then 382, then Cold and Joe, and finally Repeater. The room was packed tight.

In the near darkness of the dugout Repeater yelled out, “IS EVERYPONY HERE?” Yet again Manifest could barely hear him, his ears still ringing from the explosion. The ground shook again, and another BOOM emanated from outside the dugout. 736 lit up his horn again, and Repeater did a quick count. “Alright, we’re all here,” he said in relief, another sound of thunder from outside nearly drowning him out.

“What do we do now, Sergeant?” Manifest asked. Repeater looked around at everypony’s feet, then smiled and reached around to his footlocker. He grabbed up his hat, now waterlogged, and placed it firmly atop his head. Another explosion happened outside as the barrage began in earnest.

“Well everypony, Ah guess we wait.”

Dear Amber,

I’m writing to tell you that I’m alright. The Unicornians have started shooting their big guns at us but

A particularly close explosion shook the dugout violently, causing Manifest to tear his fourth attempt at writing a letter. With a sigh he let it drop into the half foot of warm summer rainwater that had accumulated in the dugout. He opened up his footlocker, which now floated and groaned. Everything in there was waterlogged, no doubt due to the gaping hole that was now in it thanks to the twins periscope modifications.

“Muddy. Bloody. Do you think that you can fix the giant holes in the footlockers you made so that all of our stuff doesn’t get soaked?” Manifest said without looking up. Outside another round went off, shaking a bit of dust from the roof of the dugout.

“Well, my fine pony, we’re actually working on that right now,” Muddy replied. Manifest looked over his shoulder; the twins were levitating one of their footlockers above the water, clearly stumped as how to undo the giant holes that they had made in them.

“Wait, all your stuffs waterlogged?” 736 asked in alarm. He quickly turned and threw open his locker, then immediately deflated in defeat. “All my newspapers are ruined now.”

“Ya’ll hear that?” Repeater asked as he leaned up against the back wall of the trench, hat pulled down over his eyes. “Ya better fix your inventions, or we’ll run ya outta this trench,” He said, his giant smile the only part of his face not obscured by his hat. The twins shot him an angry glare. “Calm down ya’ll, ah’m just messin’. Ah can feel ya starin’ at me by the way.”

Another round hit outside, but by this point it had to be pretty close for anypony in the dugout to take notice. 382 spoke up. “Do you think that we’d survive a direct hit?

“Nope,” Cold said. “That would be the end of the war for us.” 382 looked downtrodden.

“Celestia Cold, work on your bedside manners,” Joe scolded. “You can loosen up, we’re all friends here.” Cold stared at Joe pointedly, then rolled his eyes and looked back to 382.

“Alright, it depends on how smart they are. If they’re dumb as a box of rocks then they got their fuses set to impact detonation, and then if a round hits our roof we got a 50/50 chance of crawling out. If they put it on a delay, then the round will penetrate right into here and go off. Splat. We’re history. And if it hits outside our door then we die of overpressure, regardless of any fuses they have, because our lungs will pop like balloons.” He looked back at Joe. “Was that better?”

“No. That was much worse. You couldn’t have done it any worse than you just did.” Suddenly Joe started to chuckle. “You should be a medic, and treat all you casualties like that.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Cold said. Suddenly Joe stopped chuckling. Manifest saw it too.

“Holy Celestia,” Joe said. The twins stopped what they were doing, and Repeater lifted the brim of his hat.

“What’s happenin’?”

Joe pointed at Cold Blooded, “Cold just grinned.” The pony that he was pointing at had a face that could be etched in stone. “He only did it for a second but he grinned!”

“Naw, he couldn’t, when they assembled him at the Canterlot Royal Ordanance they didn’t make that an option.”

Manifest spoke up, “I saw it too; he grinned.”

“So did I,” said 736. Repeater stood up with a slosh of water and trotted all of two steps over to the pony in question, who looked as emotionless as ever.

“One’s a mistake, two’s a coincidence, but three ponies is a trend. Cold Blooded, is there a pony under there with actual feelings and the ability to convey them?”

“Maybe, Sergeant,” Cold replied. “But right now, I’m just wondering if my machine gun is alright.”

“Ah’ll take a maybe. Maybe in a few months we’ll catch ya laughing at somethin’!” Repeater slapped Cold on the back heartily. “ Ya’re makin’ progress!”

The dugout heaved again, reminding everypony that there was still a war on outside.

“Celestia, how long can they keep this up!?” 736 asked. Outside the dugout it was growing light outside. “It’s been a half hour now!”

“It’s 200 lb shells,” Manifest said. “They have to be getting fatigued from moving them, I don’t care how they do it either.” Repeater trotted his two steps back to his spot on the dugout wall and sat back down with a splash, putting the hat back over his eyes.

“Just wake me when it’s over.”

“Sergeant, wake up.” Repeater pushed his hat up as he opened his eyes. Manifest stood in front of him, all the ponies waiting as well. “It’s over, there hasn’t been a shell for about a minute and a half now.”

“How long have Ah been out?” Repeater asked groggily as he wiped some of the sleep from his eyes.

“About three minutes; never seen a pony fall asleep that fast,” Manifest said.

“It’s a talent that ya pick up when ya work the orchards,” Repeater said as he got up to his feet. He looked over his shoulder at his Marechester. The stock was coated in muddy water, and it would need some care, but it would have to wait. “Let’s head on up there, and see what there is ta see.”

He led the way, stepping through the water that had accumulated in the bottom of the dugout and trotting up into the rain and trenches. He quickly looked left to right; to the left was fine, but about fifty yards to the right a good portion of trench had been blasted apart. Luckily though it seemed that nopony had been hurt, the squads that inhabited the area over there now propped up on the edge of the trench.

“Cold, Joe, check your gun.” Repeater said. Cold threw off a quick salute and took off down the trench toward his tunnel, Joe not far behind. “Everypony else up on the trench.” Wordlessly the squad propped themselves up against the trench wall. The twins waved at him, and he looked over. Muddy levitated up one of the periscopes and motioned to it. ‘That’s probably a good idea,’ Repeater thought.

“Don’t give anypony out there a target; let the twins scout it with their periscopes.” The ponies nodded as the twins put the tops of their periscopes up over the top of trench.

“Nopony out there, Sergeant,” Muddy said after a moment of looking, and quickly lowered the periscope to wipe the mirrors clear.

“Not a one,” agreed his twin. “What now?”

“Hay, what we always do, we wait some more,” Repeater said.

Field Marshall Shining Armor stood outside of the command tent, looking into the haze out west. A steady rain of water and artillery fell on the lines ahead, luckily falling short of where he stood. Clockwork stood to his right, the griffon to his left. Calvary Charge was up ahead in the trenches.

“How long has it been?” he asked. With some movement Clockwork flipped his watch open.

“Thirty-two minutes, eighteen seconds,” he said as he looked upon his watch. Suddenly, a Pegasus burst through the clouds and dived toward the tent, flaring his wings as he slowed and landed before the generals. Quickly he threw off a tired salute.

“They’re coming Field Marshall,” the Pegasus scout wheezed, winded from his flight. “They’re all coming by the thousands, in two waves. They’re two miles away from the frontlines.”

Clockwork immediately looked to the Field Marshall, “Given coordinates, I can start a barrage on them and force them back.”

“Do you want to win the battle, or the war?” the Griffon asked.

Shining looked over to the Griffon, waiting for explanation.

“If you bombard them now, you’ll push them back, and you’ll win the battle. But you won’t have broken them. Let them come.” He paused. “Let them smash themselves against the trenches, and once they realize that they can’t win, then we drop the artillery on them. We bombard them for 7 miles as they run. We break them here, in numbers and in spirits.”

Shining thought about it for a moment. “What if we can’t hold them?”

“You’ll hold them, your soldiers are ready,” The Griffon said. Shining thought for another moment. He took a deep breath before he spoke

“Alright, hold the barrage Clockwork; pre-sight your pieces 300 yards ahead of our trenches. We win or lose this war today.”

Author's Note

hello everyone! It's been a while since I've updated this, but I should be on a streak for at least a month starting today, so there is that.

Also, next chapter it gets gory, so I'll be bumping it up to a mature tag, If you don't have 'view mature stories' on, you may want to.

Bodies

Manifest looked out across the sea of corpses in front of him, at the shattered fence and the cratered moonscape that the artillery had left behind. Smoke poured out of every opening of Repeaters Marechester as the earth pony set it down. Underneath the screams from the dying they could hear the rumble of artillery fire off in the distance. Repeater hopped down into the trench with a splash, and took a drink from his canteen.

Manifest couldn’t take his eyes off of the field. It was desolation, desolation and death. The smell of smoke and burning and something new, something worse, clogged his nose. He could only hear from one ear. He remembered what he saw at the Battle of the Galloping Gorge, the Mage he shot. This was worse, but it wasn’t.

Bodies by the thousand lay out in the field, each one mutilated in new and horrific ways, and he looked at them all. Bullet wounds were everywhere, shattered limbs attached to perforated corpses. In the distance, he could see lumps of blown apart ponies. He thought of the leader of the Unicornians second wave, how he stepped forward, and then just ceased to exist, vaporized by 25 pounds of high explosives.

Everypony on the edge of the trench was looking at the same sight, taking in its horror. Only Repeater sat at the bottom. Manifest thought that he heard something behind him through his good ear, and turned.

“Ya shouldn’t be lookin’ at that,” Repeater said, not looking at Manifest as he said it, but instead fixated on the body of the Mage in the trench. “Ah shouldn’t be lookin’ at this.” The Mage had blood running down its neck, its brains hanging out of its mouth from where they were blasted by Bloody. Repeater shook his head and tore his eyes away, and straightened up.

“Squad! Listen up!” the others in the squad finally tore their eyes from the field. “736, 382, ah want ya’ll ta get him outta mah trench,” he said as he motioned to the mage. “Bloody, Muddy, ah want ya’ll ta take a look at mah rifle. It’s darn near red hot, and it near burnt mah hoof off. See if ya can make any ideas ta fix that. Manifest, Ah want ya ta check on Cold and Joe. Understood?” The ponies nodded. “Dismissed!”

736 and 382 walked up to the Mage and picked him up. Fresh blood poured from the neck wound, and the armor creaked from the strain as they began to trot off. The twins trotted over to the Marechester and stared at it, not mentally ready to attempt to do anything. Repeater looked at Manifest. “Partner, do ya remember what ya did at the battle of the Gallopin’ Gorge, when ya killed the mage?” he said, still looking strong.

“I think so,” Manifest wearily answered.

“Can ah do that?” Repeater asked.

“Yeah.”

Repeater heaved over and threw up onto the floor of the trench, the scent mixing in with all the other horrible stenches. Repeater looked back up slowly. “Thanks partner.”

“Are you going to be alright?” Manifest asked. Repeater took another drink from his canteen as he looked at the wall.

“Yeah, just give me a few minutes, ya go on and check on Cold and Joe.” Manifest started heading toward the hole in the wall that lead to the machine gun nest his right front leg ached with every step that he took. Ahead of him he could see ponies from the other squads, their faces blank as they looked out at the field. Manifest stopped next to the hole and leaned his head in. He could hear whimpering.

‘Oh Celestia, no,’ he thought in horror. “COLD! JOE!” he yelled down the hole. There was no response. He immediately crawled in and started toward the light at the end. ‘Not Cold and Joe’ he thought. If they were dead or dying… no, they couldn’t be. But they hadn’t answered. He crawled faster, despite the pain in his leg. He could hear the whimpering clearer now. He was getting close to the corner that hid their machine gun. With a splash Manifest stepped into some water as the tunnel slowly went deeper. He rounded the corner.

Joe leaned up against the wall, holding Cold Blooded. Cold clutched at Joe and sobbed into the pony’s chest. Joe looked up at Manifest, who stared on in shock.

“I-is he hurt?” Manifest finally asked. Joe shook his head softly as the pony kept crying into his hooves.

“Not physically,” Joe said. Cold kept sobbing. He glanced over at Manifest quickly, and then buried his head again.

“What happened?” Manifest asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Joe looked out past the smouldering machine gun and nodded. Manifest leaned his head around the corner.

For 100 yards the ditch was choked with bodies, each one shot up to the point of being unidentifiable. The unicorns were grey underneath, but each was painted red with their blood and the blood of their countryponies. Manifest looked at them. One had his muzzle blown from his face, still connected by a red sliver of flesh. One was just a red mound. A leg lay on the ground just a few feet away. Manifest looked away at the ground. ‘Keep it together.’

Cold looked up from joes chest, looking down the trench, tears still falling from his eyes. “L-l-look at what I d-did,” He sobbed. “I s-s-shot them all. E-even when they ran. E-even w-when they were all d-dead.” He flung a hoof out and hit the machine gun suddenly. “IT WOULDN’T LET ME STOP!” he yelled. “I-it kept shooting them! T-they w-were already dead and it kept shooting them...” He looked over at his hoofs. “I got their blood on me, and it won’t wash off.” Manifest lifted a hoof out of the standing water. It was a muddy red. It wasn’t water.

Cold looked over at Manifest. “I don’t want to be Cold Blooded anymore.”

Manifest tried to think of something to say for a moment, as Cold went back to crying. “I-its ok Cold. You’ll be fine. We’re going to get you out of here and send you home, and then you won’t have to be Cold Blooded anymore.”

“NO!” Cold yelled, looking at Manifest, his eyes red from the tears. “I’m not leaving!” he shoved himself away from Joe, and sat on his own for a moment. “I don’t want to be Cold Blooded,” He muttered. “I have to be Cold Blooded.” He spoke low, just barely able to be heard. He looked out of the hole down the ditch, and sniffed back a tear.

“If I can do anything to end this war and go home, even by a second, I’ll do it.” He shut his eyes and wiped away the tears with a bloody hoof, smearing Unicornian blood on his face. He looked back at Manifest and Joe, his eyes wide, red and lifeless.

“I’ll never cry again.”

Calvary Charge looked out at the field through his binos, a smile growing on his face.

“My colts whipped them,” He said as his grin swelled.

He couldn’t see too well through the light rain, but he could see a lot of dead Unicornians, and a lot of living Equestrians. That poindexter Clockwork Engine may be a war profiteer and defeatist, but Calvary Charge couldn’t argue with the pony’s cannons. Right now the 25 pounder shells were chasing the Unicornians back to their lines every step of the way.

And the Royal Equestrian Calvary would be right behind it. The Unicornians were broken, no doubt about that. His colts on the other hoof were probably biting at the bit, waiting for their general to let them off the leash so that they could run across the field and kick the Unicornians out of the country. And he would let them.

He turned over to the ponies at the radios in the bunker behind them. “Transmit orders for full attack to all regiments in one quarter hour.”

One of the pony’s eyes widened. “Sir, are you sure?”

“Absolutely. The unicorns are busted, and we’re going to crush them.” He looked back out at the field and smiled some more. Today, he and his colts were going to be the heroes that won back Equestria.

Manifest crawled out of the hole and back into the trench, leaving Cold and Joe behind. He immediately turned left and started toward Repeater. Repeater was propped up on the trench looking out. Manifest hopped up alongside.

“How are Cold and Joe?” Repeater asked.

“Surviving,” Manifest said. He looked out at the bodies strewn across the field. The screams had softened, but they were still there. “I think that the battle rattled Cold.”

“The battle rattled everypony,” Repeater said. “The twins have just been starin’ at mah rifle for the past five minutes. Look at everypony.” He looked around, Manifest did as well. “They’re dead ponies walkin’,” Repeater said grimly. The description wasn’t far off. Nopony moved with energy, each with a blank look on their face as they stared beyond what they could see. Repeater looked back out at the field. “Ah guess that we’re just a little more used ta it.”

Manifest looked out there too. Now that Repeater had stopped talking, there was nothing to distract from the screams. Manifest looked up and down the trench again. He squirmed as another pony in the field cried out.

“Why isn’t anypony helping them?” he asked.

“Ah don’t know. Maybe noponys helpin’ them because noponys helpin’ them,” Repeater said. Manifest could tell by the pained expression on his face that Repeater wanted to do something, but the earth pony just sat there. Manifest dropped down from the top of the trench, he didn’t want to look at it anymore.

He looked over his shoulder and levitated his canteen out of his saddlebag, and as he lifted it he noticed a scrap of paper stuck to the side. He quickly unfolded it and read what it said as the rain came down and began to soak it.

Don’t choose to be someone that you’ll regret being.

He looked at it for a second, only a second, then folded it away. Today he had done a lot of things that he wasn’t proud of, but that he had to do. Today he had done a lot of things that he may regret. Now he had a choice to make.

He unslung his rifle and opened the bolt, slotting in a clip and jamming the rounds in, then slotting in another.

“Manifest! What the hay are ya doin’!” Repeater yelled down at him. “Why are ya loadin’ that rifle?!”

“I’m going out there,” Manifest said.

“No ya’re not!” Repeater said. Manifest closed the bolt and trotted over to the artillery cover dugout. He levitated out a entrenching tool and jammed it into the saddlebags. “Do ya hear me Manifest, ya ain’t goin’ out there.”

Manifest turned around and pulled out the paper, now damp from the rain. “Repeater, last night I had a dream. Princess Luna was in it, and she told me not to choose to be somepony I’ll regret being. If I choose to be the pony that sits here and does nothing while others suffer, I will regret that for the rest of my life. I’m going, even if it’s only to be able to say I tried to help.” Repeater held up a hoof to block him. Manifest stared at him. “Please.”

For a moment Repeater didn’t move, then finally he let his hoof down. “Ya be careful out there then, ya hear?” Manifest nodded.

The only way out into the field without having to cut the closest barbed wire fence was going through the tunnel back to the MG nest with Cold and Joe. Manifest ducked in, then quickly began to crawl his way on down. He rounded the corner and saw Cold and Joe again. Cold seemed to have recovered; he wasn’t crying at least. He just looked at Manifest.

“Why’d you come back?” Joe asked.

“I’m going out to the field,” Manifest said hurriedly as he stepped past the machine gun into the ditch.

“Good luck,” Joe said from behind him. Manifest tuned him out. Everypony that was in the ditch was dead, but he could hear yells coming from above and to the west. He scrambled up the edge of the ditch and onto the field.

He was standing alone, amongst the bodies. He quickly scanned around, looking for any unicorns that were still alive. He saw one around twenty yards away. He looked around the pony to see if there were any others nearby, but he seemed to be alone. Manifest started toward the unicorn.

As he got closer he could see the injury. A bullet had gone through the ponys flank and out the other side, soaking it in blood. The unicorn looked over and saw Manifest approaching. He stopped moving, but Manifest kept walking. He slowed down, and held out a hoof.

“It’s ok,” Manifest said to the unicorn softly, only a few yards away now. “I’m here to”-

His words were interrupted by a metallic ‘shink’. Manifest noticed a pale glow from the unicorn’s horn. He looked down. A small pin was suspended in the air, right next to the unicorn’s brace of grenades. Manifests eyes widened. He threw himself on the ground and put up a shield as fast as he could, praying that it would hold.

The grenade went off, blowing the unicorn up into the air. Manifest’s shield erupted with cobwebs, but held together as the bloody carcass fell to the ground next to him. Manifest dissipated the shield and shakily stood up. He looked at the body in shock.

“MANIFEST! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?” Repeater yelled from the trench. Manifest quickly looked himself over. He was unscathed.

“Yeah!” he yelled. The unicorn had landed on his back; ribcage blown open, the pony’s intestines draped along his body. “I’m fine!” he said. ‘Celestia,’ he thought. He looked back to the trench and froze. Everypony in the company at least had lined up along the trench to watch him. He couldn’t find Repeater, or even his squad. He turned back around to face the field.

He looked for another unicorn amongst the bodies, hopefully one that wouldn’t try and kill him. He saw one, tangled up in the barbed wire, but still breathing. Manifest started walking toward this one, moving cautiously the whole time, looking amongst the bodies for any potential martyrs. The unicorn was looking at him now. He was about fifteen yards away. Manifest stopped.

“I’m not here to hurt you, I’m here to help. I’m going to take you back to the trenches and we’ll fix you right up.” The unicorn didn’t answer, just staring at Manifest with wide fearful eyes. Manifest looked down. This unicorn had a satchel of grenades too. “You’re going to need to get rid of those before I can help you.” The unicorn instantly clutched at the satchel, then winced in pain as the movement jammed some barbs into his flesh. “If you get rid of those, I’ll help you, we’ll fix you right up. Nopony’s going to hurt you.”

The Unicornian was looking just past him, and Manifest turned to see what he was looking at quickly. His rifle was mounted up on the saddlebag.

“I’m not getting rid of these until you get rid of that,” the unicorn said. Manifest turned back around toward him. “If you come toward me with that I’ll pull the pins, I swear.”

Manifest nodded slowly. The Unicornian was talking to him, which was better than the last one. ‘Just keep him talking,’ he thought. He looked wistfully back at the rifle. It was his only defense if anypony tried to attack. He saw the Unicornian, fear in his eyes that flicked back to the grenades he had.

“Alright, I’m putting it down,” Manifest said, slowly levitating the rifle out of his bags and laying it into the mud gingerly. “I dropped my rifle, will you drop the grenades?”

“So you can take me back to your generals for torture?”

“If you don’t let me, you’ll die out here,” Manifest answered. The unicorn looked away as the weight of that hit him.

“I don’t want to die.” For a second, Manifest wasn’t looking at an enemy soldier, he was looking at a pony who was hurt and afraid. He stepped toward him. Instantly the scared pony vanished, and the soldier returned. “STOP RIGHT THERE!” the Unicornian yelled. “I’LL BLOW YOU TO TARTAURUS! IF I DON’T GO HOME YOU DON’T EITHER!” Manifest froze on the spot.

“I just want to help you,” he said calmly, hoping that some of his calm would pass to the Unicornian.

“I don’t trust you,” the Unicornian said. Manifest thought about it for a moment. A bit of him wanted to turn and leave. But he couldn’t, and he knew it. He would just have to find a way for this Unicornian to trust him. The answer came to him, and he didn’t like it.

“If I let you keep a grenade, will you let me help you?”

“What?” the Unicornian asked in shock. “You’ll let me keep a grenade?”

“If you’ll let me help, yes,” Manifest answered. The Unicornian thought for a minute, then levitated a grenade out of his satchel and tossed the satchel away.

“Alright, you can come over, but if I even think that you aren't trying to help then we both go up.” Manifest slowly trotted over closer to the unicornian and looked at his wounds. The foreleg that didn’t hold the grenade was shattered by a bullet, and he had three strands of barbed wire wrapped around him. He had no way to get the unicorn out of it.

Manifest looked at what he had brought. His rifle was useless, his entrenching tool wouldn’t help. He didn’t even have anything to stem the bleeding from the unicorns wound. He looked in his saddlebags. He had rations, ammunition, but nothing medical. He couldn’t even help the unicorn he came all this way for.

“You said you would help me,” the unicorn said. Manifest looked back at him. He was bleeding from his shattered leg badly, his eyes wide with a slimmer of hope. Manifest couldn’t look at him. “Help me or I’ll blow us up.”

‘Come on! Think! I have to have something,’ Manifest thought. He had no uniform, no cloth. He did have his saddlebags though. Quickly he took them off and laid them on the ground. “Yeah, I’m working on it, don’t kill yourself just yet.” He leaned down and bit one of the ends of the saddlebags straps off, the taste of mud and leather on his tongue. He spit it out and bit off the other end. He now had an adjustable strap. He levitated it down and around the pony’s leg, above the wound, and started to tie it.

“This will help with the bleeding,” Manifest assured the unicorn. He hoped it would; he didn’t have a good idea of what he was doing. The medic was the only one who got good training, but he was dead. He looked at the unicorn, his eyes still wide with worry. He had to get the pony’s mind off of it.

“What’s your name?” Manifest asked. He finished tying, and looked around for another thing he could do. He couldn’t undo the barbed wire. He looked down at the pony. Hay, he probably couldn’t even drag him if he could get him out. The unicorn looked at him for a second. He opened his mouth, and then hesitated.

“We aren’t supposed to give our names.”

“Really?” Manifest said as he looked around. There was nothing more that he could do, except maybe keep the unicorn company. He decided to keep talking. “My name’s Manifest Destiny.”

“No it isn’t. All of our prisoners had fake names,” the unicorn said. Manifest could see seeds of distrust in the pony’s eyes. He glanced back at the grenade. Manifest stopped.

“Alright. My names Static Sparks and I’m from Fillydelphia. I worked at a movie theater, but always wanted to be an electrician. I don’t have a mark yet. How about you?”

The unicorn hesitated, unsure about saying anything. “My name’s Landscape. I painted the mountains outside of my village.”

Manifest looked around the field. “What’s your village?”

“Glacier Downs, in the north,” Landscape looked towards the equestrian trenches. “Some pony’s are coming.” Manifest spun around.

“Hey Repeater, Muddy, Bloody,” Manifest smiled. The earth pony stood a couple yards away, the twins flanking him on either side. “You brought them along?

“They wouldn’t let me go without ‘em. Can Ah come over?” Repeater asked.

“No Sergeant, you all just stand right where you are.” Manifest said calmly, looking back at Landscape. “I let him keep a grenade, as insurance, and I don’t want to risk getting anypony else hurt.”

“Manifest ya maniac! Get the hay away from him!” Repeater nearly yelled.

“No Sergeant, he’s ok, he isn’t going to hurt me, and he isn’t going to hurt himself. We’re all going to be good to each other, right Landscape?” the unicorn nodded. “See Repeater, he just needs help. His leg’s shattered, and he’s tangled in the wire. I put a tourniquet around the leg, but I can’t do anything about the barbed wire. Can you?”

Manifest heard some rustling from behind, then heard Repeater speak past something, “’ill ‘is ‘elp?”Manifest looked back over at Repeater, who had a set of metal shears in his mouth.

Manifest levitated the shears and replied, “Yeah. We’ll get you out of here, Landscape,” Manifest said as he cut the first wire.

“Landscape?” Repeater asked. Manifest nodded as he moved to the next wire.

“Yeah. Repeater and twins, Landscape. Landscape, Repeater and twins.” He shoved down on the shears, cutting the wire. “Landscape is a painter,” he said as he moved to the next wire, the unicorn staying still. He cut it, only one more kept the unicorn trapped, and Manifest cut that as well. He looked over to Repeater. “Should we get the wire out of him now, or take him to the trench and let a medic do it?”

“We’ll oughta take him ta the trench, ah’d hate ta tear him up tryin’ ta get it outta him.” Repeater sized the unicorn up, “Ah can carry him.”

“I don’t want to go,” Landscape said.

“If you don’t you’ll die; there’s no way you can walk on that leg back to your lines. We’ll fix you up, you just have to trust us.” The unicorn looked at his leg, then back to Manifest and Repeater behind him.

“You let me keep the grenade.”

“Yes Landscape, because I trusted you not to kill me. I trusted you and now you have to trust me. We aren't going to hurt you. Please.” Landscape nodded once, and then slowly moved the grenade away.

Repeater trotted over and laid down on the ground. “Can ya lift him on ta mah back?”

“Yeah,” Manifest said. He looked over to Landscape, “Can you move?”

“A little,” the unicorn answered. Manifest prepared to lift him when the twins interrupted.

“We’ll lift him. Ready, Bloody?”

“Ready, Muddy.” The twins horns glowed green and Landscape was lifted up into the air. Repeater crawled under the unicorn, and the twins let him down onto Repeater’s back. Repeater got up.

“Alright, let’s get him back,” Repeater said as he turned and headed back to the Equestrian lines. Manifest stopped and picked his rifle up out of the mud, and looked out at the sea of bodies again. He could still hear the crying of more wounded. “Hey!” Manifest spun around, Repeater was looking back at him. “Ya can’t save everypony, but we can save him. We can go back out for the others. Let’s go.” Repeater was right, Manifest turned and followed him back towards the lines.

They trotted through the ditch, careful not to disturb any of the bodies. Landscape looked around for a moment, then shut his eyes. Repeater hopped up out of the ditch and headed towards the last fence. The calvary ponies stood watching them the whole time. “Manifest, cut the wire, we can’t drag him through the tunnel.” Manifest nodded, and ran ahead of Repeater with the shears. He cut the wire and Repeater carried the unicorn up to the lip of the trench. All the calvary ponies watched silently, staring at the unicorn. “Ah need a medic,” Repeater said.

“Stretcher!” one of the calvary ponies called out. Manifest could see movement down the trench; he looked at the unicorn, who was looking at the Calvary ponies with wild eyes.

“Hey, Landscape, everything’s going to be alright.” A pair of ponies carrying a stretcher ran up, and Manifest lifted the crippled unicorn off of Repeaters back. He tried as hard as he could to hold the pony up, which was just enough to let the unicorn slowly fall onto the stretcher. Manifest let up and allowed his legs to fold beneath him. Celestia, he was tired. The stretcher bearers ran off.

“We could have carried him,” Bloody said. Manifest nodded wearily. He forced himself back to his hooves. There were still more ponies out there.

Repeater looked over at him. “Ya headin’ back out?” Manifest nodded wearily. “Alright,” Repeater said. He turned around.
“COMPANY! ATTENTION!” Manifest turned around to see The Artist heading from the command tent over to them. He looked furious. The ponies didn’t snap to attention, they just shifted their stares over to him. He stood up on the edge of the trench. He looked down at them, and Manifest saw his eyes begin to water. He looked away, out towards the field. He spat out his order.

“Mount lances, we’re going over the top.”

Everypony sat there in stunned silence. Celestia, they were going to attack.

“NO!” somepony yelled. The Artist glared off toward the voice.

“YES! It’s General Calvary Charges BUCKING ORDERS! Mount lances and prepare to go over the top. GO!”

The ponies began to move. Manifest looked across the top of the trench at The Artist. They knew each other; maybe he could try and stop him. “Major!” The Artist looked up at him. “You saw what happened to the unicorns, it’s going to be a slaughter if we go.”

“I know,” The Artist said softly. “And I’m sorry.”

Manifest stayed for a second, then jumped down into the trench. He had to find his lance. He looked up and down the trench. All the ponies were shuffling lifelessly. Manifest shuddered. They knew they were dead already. He ducked into the artillery cover dugout and immediately went to his footlocker. The rainwater was still there, and all of his paper was waterlogged.

‘Celestia, I’m not going to be able to write to Amber one last time’. He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out the note he had written himself. It was slightly damp, but he could still use it. He levitated up a pencil.

Amber, we just beat the Unicornians, but our general wants us to attack. After seeing what we were able to do to them, I don’t know if I’ll make it. I just want you to know that I love you, and I’m sorry that we didn’t try harder sooner. Maybe things could have been different.

Manifest didn’t know what to write, and his mind wandered to Amber. Maybe if he had just known sooner, they could have gone out and seen if there was a chance. He heard somepony coming in behind him and quickly jammed the note into the rafters. Hopefully there was a chance that it would get back to her someday. The lances were lined up against the back wall, and he levitated his up and turned to go outside.

“Maybe there’s a way to get out of it,” he heard one of the twins say. “There has to be something.”

“I’m sorry brother, but this looks to like it’s it for the Flim-Flam twins. All purchases are final and non-negotiable.” Manifest looked over and saw Bloody, hoof on his brothers back to try and comfort him. “Let’s just try and show the Unicornians our wares one last time.” Repeater walked into the dugout and grabbed up his lance as well, he looked at Manifest.

“Partner, for Celestia’s sake take your rifle, Ah’m gonna drop this as soon as ah get outta the trench.” Manifest nodded in agreement, then shuffled past him and back out into the trench. Cold and Joe had emerged from their hole, and were waiting with their lances at the ready. Cold stared up at the top of the trench intently.

The others came up now, each with a lance mounted on their saddles. They bunched up at the wall of the trench, lances poking up over the lip. Each also had their rifles at the ready on their saddlebags. Repeater looked at his squadmates to the left and right. “Everypony, as soon as ya get out into the field Ah want ya ta drop these lances and grab a grenade brace off a Unicornian. If the generals ain’t gonna outfit us for an assault then we gotta do it ourselves.”

736 looked up at the top of the trench nervously. “Sergeant, remember when you told me that your cousin knows the princesses?”

“Yessir.”

“Do you think if she put in a word for us they could keep us from going over?”

Repeater sighed. “Ah don’t think that the mail’s fast enough.” He looked up at the rest of the squad. “Don’t worry though, we’re The Miracle Squad, right everypony?” he said half-heartedly. There were tears in his eyes. “We’re all gonna make it.” He looked back at the top of the trench. “Good luck, everypony.”

Out above the trenches another pony was holding back tears. The Artist looked up and down the trench.

“What a waste of ponies.”

“What the hay do you mean he said ‘you have to give my colts all the help you can’?” Shining Armor said in confusion.

“He said that I needed to coordinate artillery for a creeping barrage from one mile ahead of their lines to one mile behind so that ‘his colts’ could break through. I told him that we don’t have the rounds or the range to carry that out, but he said he needed it because ‘my colts are begging to go and get them, and I won’t stop them’,” Clockwork said.

“So he’s going?”

“He’s sending the Calvary out in five minutes to cross the field.”

Shining Armor stood in disbelief. “I didn’t issue those orders.”

“It sounds like he’s going anyway,” Clockwork said. Shining looked back across the field. He remembered watching the battle, how the unicorns died by the thousands.

“Ace, do you think that we would be able to beat them?” Shining asked.

“If you attempt a frontal assault, no. It’s suicidal,” the griffon said.

“Get me the radio,” Shining ordered. “I’m going to put an end to this.” One of the lower officers brought the receiver over, and Shining lifted it up. “This is the Field Marshall for General Calvary Charge.” He waited a moment; silence came from the other end. “This is Shining Armor for Calvary Charge.”

The radio squawked, “This is Calvary Charge, go ahead Field Marshall,” the general said.

“General, I want you to stand your ponies down.”

“Field Marshall, we just licked the Unicornians! They’re on the run, and my colts are begging to go! We can win back Equestria today if you’ll let us!” the general protested.

“Stand them down, general! That is a direct order from a superior officer!” Shining was almost yelling into the radio piece. The radio was silent again. “Do your hear me, general? Stand them down!” Nothing. “General!”

Clockwork looked at his watch. “Four minutes until he starts the charge.” Shining threw the radio receiver on the ground. It was about a quarter mile to the forward observation post that Calvary Charge was at. He could make it. He ran out of the tent at full bore.

He had to make it. Or thousands of ponies would die needlessly.

The next minute and a half passed like a blur as Shining sprinted past artillery, into the trenches. With each step that he took, the mud splashed upon his white coat and blue tail, but he didn’t notice. He charged haphazardly through the trenches, and finally arrived at the bunker.

Calvary Charge snapped to attention as Shining skidded into the door. “Field Marshall! Our radio cut out on us before you could finish your sentence, we’ve been trying to contact you,” Shining glared at the pony as he breathed heavily.

“Well here I am, and here’s my message. Stand them down, now!”

The earth pony pointed at the radio. “The radios broken.”

“Then send runners. Stand them down, General Charge.”

Calvary put a look of pain on his face. “Field Marshall, we can beat them! We already have! If you let us fight, then we’ll be able to push these Unicornians all the way off the continent!”

“Stand them down!” Shining ordered.

“We can win this!”

Shining looked over and pointed at the officers in the trench. “You, stand them down!”

“Belay that order!” Calvary Charge yelled. “You and that war profiteer Clockwork are defeatists! You want us to lose! This whole war you’ve been falling back, losing Cloudsdale! Now we have them on the run and you are holding us back. Well, I’ve had it! I’m not going to let you take my victory from me!”

Shining didn’t know how to respond. The officer’s stood in stunned silence. Calvary stood in the center of the room, an angry confidence on his face. Shining heard a soft thump behind him. Suddenly Calvary’s mouth dropped open and his eyes widened.

‘cli-cli-cli-CLICK’

The sound was unmistakable. All emotions that Calvary wore before were gone, replaced by terror. “For Celestia’s sake, p-put that away,” he said quietly, all the authority gone from his voice. Shining looked over his shoulder.

Ace stood in the doorway. In his talons he held a large revolver. It was pointed at Calvary’s head.

“Stand them down or you die,” The room was dead quiet except for the sound of rain outside.

“Y-you can’t kill me,” Calvary stuttered.

“Yes I can. Easily. Stand them down.”

Calvary looked over to Shining Armor. “You wouldn’t let him kill me, would you?”

Shining paused, but only for a second. “One pony to save thousands, I’d make that trade. Stand them down.”

Calvary looked at shining with confusion. “B-but we can beat them.”

“Ten seconds,” Ace said.

Calvary looked at both of them. He turned to the officers. His ears were dropped, and he let his head down. When he spoke it was almost inaudible, but everypony could make out the the words.

“Stand them down.”

A New Type of War

A New Type of War.

736 held the latest issue of the Canterlot Crusader, fresh off the presses. He was reading on past it, but right now all Manifest could see was the front page. The headlines ran in bold.

50,000+ UNICORNIANS KILLED IN THE SLAUGHTER OF BATTLE OF CANTERLOT
GENERAL CALVARY CHARGE COURT-MARTIALED, TO BE TRIED FOR TREASON
AMONGST CARNAGE, A RAY OF HOPE. EQUESTRIANS SAVE HUNDREDS OF INJURED ENEMY.

It had only been a day, but the news had been quick to capitalize on the victory. Manifest sat in the trench. He had written to Amber, hoping that she wouldn’t worry. He knew that she would. He had gotten out fine though, a small blessing.

Not everypony did.

He heard the clip-clop of hoovebeats behind him and turned around. Repeater headed on down the trench towards him. Manifest motioned to the ground next to him, and Repeater took a seat. For a second, the earth pony just sat there. They were all still drained from yesterday. Finally Repeater spoke, not looking over to Manifest yet.

“So, the twins have got some ideas for mah rifle,” he said. “They think that they can put a scope on the side if they butcher a pair of binos, and think they can put a shroud on the barrel so it won’t burn mah hoof off.” Manifest nodded. It was a pointless conversation, but neither of them cared.

“How are the twins doing?” Manifest asked.

“They’re alright; they got over it once they had some time and ah gave ‘em work ta do. 382’s fine, but didn’t want ta talk too much. How are Cold and Joe?”

“Joe’s okay. Cold…” Manifest trailed off. “He hasn’t spoken more than once since the battle, he just stayed by the machine gun all day. I think it got to him, killing them all. I think he may be a psych case.”

“Cold?”

“Yeah.” Manifest sat there for a second, looking at nothing. “Who would have thought?” Repeater shook his head and looked at the ground. He looked up after a minute.

“Cold will be okay, he just needs a bit of time. How about you, 736? How are ya holdin’ up?” From behind the newspaper, the pony answered.

“Well, I’m a bit angry right now.” He said. He spun the newspaper around. “Get a load of this. This is the editorial of the “Crusader.” Manifest looked at the title.

NO MORE HEROS, ONLY BUTCHERS.

Next to him Repeater scoffed. “After all that we did?”

“Yeah, after all that we did,” 736 said with contempt. He spun the newspaper back around and cleared his throat.

“‘After 50,000 ponies were murdered in the greatest single loss of life in over a millennia, it is clear that the idea of heroes is dead and gone. No longer are friendship and harmony the solvers of problems, it is now the machine gun and the twenty-five pounder cannon. In the face of such threats as the returns of Nightmare Moon, Discord, and the invasion of Canterlot two years ago by Queen Chrysalis, Equestria has responded non-violently. No longer.

‘No hero in our country’s history has ever achieved that status by taking lives, only by saving them. We cannot allow this to change, lest we change the very fiber of our beings. No murders can be heroes, and after the massacre that has happened yesterday, murderer is too civil a word for the ponies of the equestrian calvary and the royal guard. They are not heroes, only butchers. And I fear there will never be heroes again.’” 736 threw the paper onto the muddy ground and stamped on it hard, twisting his hoof as he dug the paper into the ground.

“Does he know that without us he would be enslaved right now?” 736 said in anger. “Hay! Does he know that I don’t like killing other ponies!?” he looked down at the ripped and muddy newspaper and spat on it. “Let that pony come down from his fancy penthouse in Canterlot and step in this mud and see how he feels when ponies call him butcher! If I was in charge of this army I’d turn us around and march on “The Canterlot Crusader!”” 736 nearly yelled. Repeater and Manifest just sat and listened. They didn’t need to speak, he said everything for them.

“He didn’t even consider that once the battle was up and Calvary Charge was arrested we went out there and started helping them. Hay! Manifest may have been the first one to do that! But he glosses over the fact that we went out to save the enemy while some of them were still trying to blow us up!”

Repeater turned over to Manifest. “Ya may have been the first one ta go out there, partner.”

Manifest thought about it for a moment. “Maybe,” Manifest agreed. Repeater grinned.

“And they say that heroes are dead.” He gave Manifest a hearty slap on the back, then looked back to 736. “There was somethin’ that ah wanted ta talk ta ya about.”

736 looked at the Sergeant expectantly. “Yes?”

“At the end a the battle yesterday, ah saw ya pull off a pretty impressive shot, 400 yards at least. That was ya that fired last, right?” 736 shifted slightly, looking at the ground.

“Yes, that was me.”

“Alright, ya’re name’s Longshot then.” The unicorn nodded.

“Longshot,” He said, testing it out. He frowned, “Named because he shot a pony in the back?”

“Naw, Longshot named because he can hit a movin’ target at 450 yards with the SMCC. Longshot, the best shot in the squad.”

“Better than Manifest?” the pony asked with a bit of excitement.

Manifest shook his head, “Not that good.”

”Hold on partner,” Repeater said with a sly grin. “Have ya ever made a shot like that?”

“No, but-”

“But nothin’, that means he’s the best. Check your facts before ya say somethin’, Manifest!” Repeater turned back to 736, chucking. “So how about it then? Longshot?”

736 smiled and nodded, “OK, Longshot.”

Landscape sat in a small room behind a desk, looking at the door and waiting. He was steeling himself. He knew what was going to happen, and soon.

The Equestrians would come in here, and they would beat him nearly to death for him to tell them what he knew. He looked over at his leg, they had put it in a cast and disinfected it, probably so he wouldn’t die too soon on them. He knew that would be the first thing that they would target though, the softest point that would inflict the most pain. But he had to be strong.

He was afraid though, because he knew that he wasn’t. Yesterday, when that Equestrian Static Sparks came up to him, he just let him take him back to the trenches. His sergeant tried to kill him with his last act, but his sergeant was always a better warrior than he was. He was so afraid of death he took the first possible chance he had, even though it was Equestrian.

And now he was going to pay for it.

He looked around the room for anything that he could use as a weapon. Maybe the Equestrians would bring something in with them, so that he could try and take it and turn it on them. At least he could go down fighting, with some decency.

He heard movement at the wooden door in front of him, and immediately tensed up. ‘Here it comes’ he thought. The door swung open. His mouth dropped open in shock at who stood in the door.

He knew this pony; everypony in the Unicornian military knew this pony. He was in the same room as the Field Marshall of the entire Equestrian Armed Forces. The pony who single handedly defeated the changeling surprise invasion of Canterlot. Quickly, the unicorn looked him over. The Field Marshal wore nothing, and had brought no weapons. With all the magic that he had though, he wouldn’t need any. The white unicorn in front of him smiled broadly.

“Hello, my name’s Shining Armor,” he held out a hoof, and then recoiled slightly when he saw the cast. “Oh! I’m sorry about that, I didn’t notice until just now. How’s it healing?” Landscape stared at Shining Armor. These were formalities, just to see if he would spill immediately. A small part of him wanted to, but he kept his mouth shut. He knew that if he said anything the Equestrians could gather information from it.

“You can tell me how your leg is holding up,” Shining Armor said. The pony remained quiet. “You aren’t going to though, are you?” The pony remained quiet. Shining sighed. “I wonder what you’re thinking right now. Are you afraid of me?” The pony didn’t answer, but Shining continued. “You have to be; if you weren’t afraid, you would have told me about your leg.” He sat for a moment, propping his head up and looking off into space at the wall as he continued to muse. “Are you afraid of just me, or of all Equestrians?”

Landscape didn’t answer, but the Field Marshall kept plowing ahead. “You can’t be afraid of all of us though, because you talked to one of us at least.” He looked over at the unicorn. “You talked to the pony that saved your life. Why?” The unicorn stayed quiet. He wasn’t going to say a word. ‘Stay strong,’ he thought.

The Field Marshall sighed. “Alright, you don’t want to talk. I’ll just leave you be then.” He got up and turned around, and knocked on the door, it opened before him, and he looked back at the unicorn one more time. “I hope your leg gets better, Landscape.” He started to walk out the door.

“Why?” Landscape blurted. ‘No! You idiot! Just let him walk away!’ his brain screamed, but it was too late. The Field Marshall looked back at him.

“Why what?”

Words poured from the unicorn’s mouth, despite the protets from every rational fiber in his body. “Why do you care about my leg? Why didn’t you ask me any questions about our plans, or army, or country? Why didn’t you try to break me?”

The Field Marshall looked at the door guard, the trotted back into the room and sat back down again. “I care about your leg because I don’t like seeing ponies in pain.” Landscape scrutinized the Field Marshall’s face. If he was lying, he was very good at it, even managing to convey remorse though his eyes, but only for a moment before the Field Marshall blinked it away. “I didn’t ask you any of those questions because you wouldn’t answer them. I wouldn’t anyway.” Shining Armor leaned in close. “Why did you think that I would try to break you?”

The unicorn paused for a second. If he answered he would be divulging some information about the military. His eyes widened in realization. He already had.

“They told you that we would torture you for information?” Shining asked, somehow surprised at the revelation. For a fraction of a second the unicorn’s traitorous face told him everything. “No wonder you’re afraid. What else did they tell you?”

Immediately the unicorn tensed up again. There was no way he would answer that; he had said enough as it was already to the enemy. Shining backed off with his hooves up in a gesture of peace. “I’m sorry.” He sat quietly for a moment as Landscape calmed down. Shining furrowed his eyebrows.

“Do… does your military torture prisoners?” Shining finally asked. He looked conflicted as he said it, and Landscape instantly recoiled in shock.

“No! Absolutely not! We would never stoop to such lows!” he yelled at the Field Marshall. He paused for a second, trying to think of something defiant to say. “Such a thing would only be done by Equestrians.”

“With respect, if we torture our prisoners, we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now,” Shining said pointedly.
The unicorn thought about it for a moment, then tentatively asked, “How do I know that you haven’t tortured any of ours yet?”

“Later on, we can take you to all of your countryponies and you can ask them,” Shining said. The unicorn stared at him. Shining leaned in, “Perhaps your country has been telling you wrong.” Landscape narrowed his eyes. This pony was telling him that his country was lying to him, who was in charge of the enemy’s military.

“Forgive me if I don’t believe you, Field Marshall,” Landscape said. “I know that the reason that you’re here is to get information from me, and I do think that your pony’s will torture ours to get that.”

Shining nodded. “You’re right about your first guess; my military knows nothing about yours, or why you invaded, or anything. We’ve hardly heard a peep from Unicornia in 8 years. We don’t know what’s going on in your country, and we would like to. But we will not harm a hair on anypony’s mane to get that.”

The unicorn chuckled. “So your plan is to ask us to tell you everything, and if we say no then that’s it. You have no leverage! You have no power!” Landscape started laughing. “If I tell the most powerful pony in the Equestrian military I don’t want to talk, then it’s over! I win! Private Landscape wins the argument!” he chuckled in disbelief. “You Equestrians are weak.”

Shining spoke. “Just because we don’t torture ponies doesn’t mean that we are without leverage. That’s why I came to you, to talk terms.”

The unicorn stopped laughing, “What?”

“You were the only Unicornian who talked to anypony when we started rescuing you; therefore you are the first that I’ve come to talk to. I want information, and am willing to give you payment for it.”

“Like money?” the unicorn asked.

“If that’s what you want, or whatever you want that is reasonable.”

Landscape stopped and thought for a moment. “You are asking me to betray my country for money.”

“I’m asking you for the bare minimum of information in exchange for nearly anything that you want,” Shining replied.

His traitorous mouth spoke before his brain could muzzle him, “What are the limits?”

“You can’t go back to Unicornia; you can’t do anything that harms our war effort. Until the war ends you stay in our custody, after which we can give you more. That’s it.”

The unicorn thought for a moment. ‘If I talk, then I will have betrayed my country. I won’t talk for money.’ He was prepared to give his answer when a sudden thought hit him. ‘I can help ponies with this.’

“You say that you can give me nearly anything that I want?” Shining leaned in, a hint of excitement in his eyes.

“Yes.”

Landscape thought for another second, then took a deep breath. “Alright, I’ll answer your questions if you can give me these things. I want a guarantee that your army will never attack my home, Glacier Downs. There’s nothing military there, and I don’t want my town to suffer. I need a guarantee that your forces will never resort to torture. You are going to have to build prisoner of war camps, yes?” Shining nodded. “I want to be part of the process; I want to inspect them so that I can tell that my comrades are being treated well. I want to be able to change things if I think your ponies are mistreating my countrymen. I want to be able to speak to you directly if I have any concerns. And I don’t want anypony to know about this, ever.”

“If you talk, then I can do all of those things.”

“If I add anything later you’ll accept?”

“If it’s reasonable.”

Landscape thought for one last time. If he talked, he could help his countryponies and home. If he talked, he would betray Unicornia.

A sudden thought flashed into his brain. To Tartarus with Unicornia. It sent him and all of his friends to die. As he sat there, he realised that he didn’t care for the emperor or generals or ‘greater good and glory of Unicornia’. The only thing that he cared about was his friends and family, and his friends were dead.

‘Killed by Equestrians,’ a part of his brain thought. Immediately he cast that thought aside. ‘We’ve taken away just as many friends as they have, and we were just following orders. They were too. You’re just as guilty as them.’ He had a chance to help his countryponies in a way that Unicornia couldn’t.

‘They may view me as a traitor.’

‘It doesn’t matter. You’ll have done what you could to help them.’ He almost opened his mouth to talk, but then he saw the unicorn in front of him. A Field Marshall, aloof and above the battle, who would send ponies to their deaths by the thousands for land. Just like the ones that took his friends away. This pony would lie though the teeth to get what he wanted and then would pull the rug out from under him.

But he seemed honest, like a regular pony. If he thought that this pony would hold up his end of the deal and let him help his countryponies he would talk.

It all came down to whether he could believe the unicorn in front of him.

“How do I know I can trust you?” Landscape asked.

Shining answered immediately, “I swear by my wife, you’ll have your terms met.”

Landscape chuckled, “You’re going to have to do better than that, Field Marshal. Do you know about the calvarypony that I talked to?” Shining shook his head. “I wouldn’t let him help me until he said this: He told me to keep a grenade the entire time he tended to me. If I ever thought he would do anything to hurt me I would have blown him up. That’s how I knew that I could trust him. He told me his name, his real name, Static Sparks, how he was a projectionist in Fillydelphia, and wanted to be a electrician. He saved my life by putting his in my hooves. Can you do anything remotely like that?”

Shining thought silently for a moment when pressed with this. “He let you keep a grenade?”

“Yes.”

Shining leaned back and nodded slowly. “I think that I have underestimated my soldiers.”

“So do I,” Landscape said bluntly. “You view them as pawns in a game of chess, but they’re better than that. You’re just like the emperor, waiting for me to tell you some weakness in our front so that you can send your soldiers to their deaths. You just salute a different flag.”

Shining shook his head. “I don’t want to send anypony to their deaths. Yesterday I had one of my generals arrested and nearly killed because he was going to attack and get everypony under his command slaughtered. If I can do anything to save anypony, I will.”

Landscape thought about this. If he was willing to execute one of his generals to save his ponies lives, then maybe...

Shining continued talking. “That’s why I need your help. You think this is for me, it isn’t. It’s for them. It’s for Static Sparks and the Calvary. It’s for all of your countryponies. Their lives are in your hooves, and you can help them. You just have to trust me. Can you do that?”

Landscape looked up. “Shining Armor, I think that I can.”

Clockwork looked up at the stained glass in awe. The Canterlot Castle. He had heard stories, and seen pictures, but to actually be inside. He looked at the five story tall window in front of him, the image of Discord towering above him, and shining down on the floor as Celestia’s sun poured through. It was impressive. Most of Equestria’s important historical events were catalogued in the stained glass mosaics. He wondered if the battle of Canterlot would be put up on the wall.

He glanced over at the griffon, who stood next to him as he contemplated the mosaic. He had just gotten out of council with the princesses; Shining Armor was in there now. Soon it would be Clockwork’s turn.

“We could never fight his magic,” Ace said as he looked up at the mosaic. “He made us just as helpless as the ponies. When your princesses defeated him, they didn’t save Equestria alone, they saved the world entire.” He sighed. “Equestria has had it easier than us, with your use of magic. We have never had the luxury. We’ve had to fight everything with only our brains and our flesh. Our country has been beset by Minotaurs, manticores, hydras, dragons, Discord. We could only fight them with talons and iron, while you could just freeze your problems in stone.”

He looked over at Clockwork now. “We owe Equestria a debt, a debt that we could never pay because Equestria never faced a threat that we could help with.” He looked over at Clockwork. “Now we can start paying.”

“What did they ask you?” Clockwork asked. The princesses didn’t give a definite reason for them to come, and Clockwork was curious.

“They asked me not to tell you the contents of our meeting until you were finished,” He said as he walked to the next mosaic. The griffon looked over at Clockwork. “I will tell you what I told them at the end though. The republic will fight for Equestria, and we will get your country back, no matter the cost.”

“What do you think the cost will be?” Clockwork asked. The griffon looked away, out one of the windows. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. Clockwork knew.

The heavy set of doors at the end of the room swung open slowly, and Shining Armor walked out and nodded at Clockwork. It was his turn now. He trotted down the red carpet toward the room at the end of the hall and walked inside.

Princess Celestia sat at the end of the room. She had a decision to make, and that decision would hinge upon an important question.

Was this war possible to win?

Even though the equestrian military had inflicted great casualties at no loss of land to the enemy, the results of the battle still had horrific implications. She had been conferencing with the two Field Marshall’s on this question, and what they had told her had failed to instill confidence.

First she had discussed with the griffon, who would be able to offer a more militarily and tactically sound assessment. He had told her that to break through the lines would likely cost the equestrians 150,000 ponies, and would be halted at the galloping gorge. He did pledge his country's full support, promising that they would help win back her country ‘no matter the cost.’ A noble sentiment, but she knew how the republic would work. If the griffons lost too many, they would lose support of the war at home, and pull back.

She had just finished talking with Shining Armor, and what he said was also concerning. He had managed to get information from a unicorn named Landscape, and while there was little to gain from it tactically, it did give insight to the motivation.

The Unicornians had spent the past several years demonizing Equestria, claiming that they had stolen land and resources that were rightfully theirs. After two thousand years of exploiting their land, it seemed that Unicornia was running out of precious metals, gems, and even at this point basic ores. This land grab was one of desperation, and it seemed unlikely that any agreement could be made to get the land back. It also meant that the Unicornians would put up as good a defense as they could to keep what they had gained.

Shining armor arrived at about the same conclusion as Field Marshall Ace, over 100,000 to break the Unicornian lines, for a gain that would be stopped at the Galloping Gorge.

She had almost heard enough, but Princess Twilight had suggested that she conference with the general of the artillery branch, Clockwork Engine.

The door at the end of the hall opened up, and a brown earth pony in uniform stood in the frame.

“Come forward, General Clockwork,” Princess Celestia said. He trotted forward. The room was long, at least 50 yards from where the princesses sat to the door. He stopped just in front of the slight steps that lead up to them and bowed deeply, then stood back up at attention and waited.

“General, in light of the recent battle we have called you to conference so that we may determine our next course of action. According to your reports our military inflicted 50,000 casualties on the enemy without losing ground. Do you believe the enemy has the same capabilities?”

“Yes, undoubtedly,” Clockwork said immediately. Princess Celestia nodded; this was in line with what the others had said.

“If we attacked them, how many would we need to break their lines?” Celestia asked. Princess Twilight fidgeted where she sat; undoubtedly she had already done the math. Clockwork answered anyway.

“At least double what they had, and a corps of Pegasus airborne troops to deal with artillery and tie up the defenders while the main force attacks. Once the initial line is broken then we would have to break their secondary position 3 miles behind their previous, which would require roughly the same amount of ponies. I’d estimate casualties as greater than 150,000 at a minimum to break the front. At that point, we would likely run into defensive positions in the Galloping Gorge that would need the same amount to dislodge, and finally we would have to liberate Vanhoover and Tall Tale. In all, to liberate the country would cost us no less than a half million casualties. ”

The princess reflected on the numbers given to her. She looked tired as she sat there, weary. She looked up at him, pain in her eyes.

“Do you think that it is possible to win this war?”

“This war will end, but it will cost, and high. We can only choose how to pay. Either it will cost us a lot of land, a lot of ponies, or a lot of resources.”

Suddenly the princess perked up, her eyes widening slightly in anticipation. “Resources?”

“Yes. Resources.”

“Explain.”

“If we continue to fight the way that the war is being fought now the only way to win is through high cost of life. The answer is simple, we change the way that the war is being fought. I have some ideas, but they will take time to implement.”

“Will they save lives?” the princess asked.

“Undoubtedly. But it will require time, effort, modernization, raw material, money-” Celestia raised a hoof and cut him off.

“If you believe that this can liberate our country with as little loss of life as possible then the cost does not matter. General, would you like to share these ideas?”

“Certainly, your Majesty,” General Clockwork said.

“Hay partner!” Repeater said with enthusiasm as he leaned his head into the artillery cover dugout. “It’s 1100, about time ya woke up!”

Manifest cracked his eyes wearily. “I had watch last night for the squad.”

“That don’t matter! It’s a beautiful day, and ah got somethin’ that ah want ta show ya!

Manifest stumbled up to his hoofs, and slowly trotted toward the light.

It had been a tense few days at the trench, and Manifest was beginning to feel like a third wheel. The routine was the same every day. The calvary would go out to the field to deal with the bodies. The Unicornians would fire their artillery, and the calvary would bunker up while the artillery corps commenced counterbattery. Then they would all gather at the top of the trench to repulse an attack that wouldn’t come. After this they all would stand down, go back out to dealing with the bodies, and wait for the Unicornians to begin another barrage.

The worst part of it was that the Calvary wasn’t a part of the equation, they simply served as targets for the Unicornian artillery. Not that they could leave, anyway, for one of these days the Unicornians may attack again. So they stayed there in the trenches, letting the enemy artillery fray their nerves. Everypony save for Repeater, anyway.

Manifest looked outside of the entry of the artillery cover dugout, and quickly at Repeater. The earth pony was holding his namesake, a big grin stretching across his face. “The twins are done!” Repeater exclaimed broadly. Manifest looked at the rifle.

Covering the barrel was a length of pipe with holes cut out of it, the heavy octagon shape of the barrel completely eradicated by the new shroud. At the back on the left hand side, a half of a pair of binoculars had been welded on, offset from the barrel slightly. Finally, the twins had installed a Recoil-Reducing-Rearpiece in the stock, a heavy bolt sticking through the wood on one side and out the other to hold the recoil pad and counterweight in place. Manifest remembered how the rifle looked on the first day, how it shown with polished nickel and brass, the etchings in the receiver, and the highly polished walnut of the stock. Covered in dirt and modifications, it was barely recognizable.

“Are you sure that’s the same rifle as the one that you got at camp?”

“Yessir, it just has personality now," Repeater said as he flipped it over to show Manifest the other side of the receiver. “Ya see, it still has the etchings.”

Manifest nodded, “Yeah, I guess that is the same rifle underneath all of that. Do you think you’ll be able to get all this extra stuff off once the war ends?”

Repeater shook his head, “Naw, they spot-welded the shroud and the scope, so that’s here ta stay.” Manifest sighed.

“I liked it better when it was new.”

“Ah don’t. It’s like Ah said... personality!”

Manifest looked up and down the trenches. The twins stood off a little ways away with Longshot, who was pointing at a set of binoculars and a periscope very animatedly. 382 was propped up on the edge of the trench looking out at the field, and Cold and Joe were nowhere to be seen. They were probably in the machine gun hole as always.

“Has Cold talked yet?” Manifest asked.

“Naw, no miracles today,” Repeater answered.

“Celestia, he hasn’t talked in nearly a week,” Manifest said.

Repeater sighed, “Ah know.” He paused for a second. “Ah’m beginning ta think that he won’t get over it.” Manifest had always suspected this, but to hear the ever optimistic Repeater say this drove it home. “Ah mean, ya remember when we were clearing out the ditch from all the ponies he shot?”

Manifest shuddered at the thought of the torn bodies. “Yeah.”

“Ah don’t know how Ah would deal with that,” Repeater finished. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. The thought of the dead left them both not in a mood to talk.

“Uh... so, how’s Amber?” Repeater asked, trying desperately to change the subject. Manifest was glad of it. It seemed that a pretty large part of fighting the war was trying to forget that it existed in the first place.

“She’s alright. She’s glad that we’re all alive, and is sending the calvary all the food that-“

“Company Attention!” Manifest immediately straightened up and faced the voice, just to their left The Artist stood above the lip of the trench, lined up roughly with fourth squad. In his hoof he held a sheet of paper.

“Listen up everypony, and listen well! We have an edict from on high!” he glared at the piece of paper before him. “By order of the princesses to facilitate the best fighting force that can be mustered, all ponies in the Royal Equestrian Calvary failing to meet the minimum physical standings are to be removed from frontline duty. They are to be transferred back to provide instruction for new recruits. ” The Artist stamped his hoof down, crushing the paper into the dirt.

“If you are less than 900 pounds or 15 hands tall, then the war is over for you. A train will be here at 1200 hours to take you away. ” He turned around and stomped off, leaving the calvary to deal with the consequences.

Manifest turned over to Repeater, his eyes wide in disbelief, “I’m only 14 hands.”

Before Repeater could answer, Manifest leapt up out of the trench and ran after The Artist. The Artist turned to face him.

“Don’t say a word, private!” he said forcefully. He was nearly shaking in anger. “I know what you’re going to say. You’re part of the Miracle Squad, a first rate soldier with an outstanding record, and you deserve to stay. And you do. Don’t think that everypony in the entire armed forces took this lying down; on the contrary, I don’t know a pony who agrees with it. But it’s the princesses orders, and they aren’t budging. You’ve done well, better than most, and if Equestria doesn’t appreciate you sacrifice, then I do, but there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Manifest stood there and let the words sink in. The Artist saw the look on his face and sighed. “I know it’s hard being asked to leave your friends here, and I know this whole thing is wrong, but you need to understand something. You’re something of a hero now in this company.” Manifest blinked in surprise.

“What?”

“A lot of ponies look up to you for going out and helping the Unicornians first. They all wanted to, and you broke the dam. They respect you for that. If you raise Tartarus going against these orders you’ll cause a disturbance, and right now what Equestria needs is unity. We can’t have ponies protesting against this, because it will make us weaker. When the war ends, you can march on Canterlot and do whatever the hay you want to, but right now I need you to be a good role model for everypony in your position. Can you do that?”

Manifest thought about it. It hurt, no doubt, but he knew The Artist was right. “I’ll have a lot to do once the war ends,” Manifest said finally.

“We all will,” The Artist replied. Manifest turned to head back to the trench.

“Hey!” The Artist called. Manifest turned back to face him. “Thank you for your service, son. Equestria needs more ponies like you.” He gave Manifest a salute. For a moment Manifest stood there, surprised. This was the most praise that he had ever heard from The Artist. He returned the salute, unsure of what to say. Finally he decided that it was better to say nothing. He threw off his salute, and went back to the trench.

Repeater ran back up to him, the others in the squad not far behind, a small trace of hope on his face. “What’d he say?”

“He said that I'm following the orders, and that I’ll be a drill instructor, I suppose.” Manifest answered. Repeater’s mouth hung slightly open.

“There isn’t any way?” Manifest shook his head. Repeater looked down and sighed, then looked back up at Manifest and nodded. “Alright, partner. Ya done good.” He kept nodding, as he came to terms with it. “Ya earned it. Go on back, and try and help the new ponies out as much as ya can. But don’t forget about us, ya hear?”

Manifest smiled, “No way I’m forgetting about you guys; I’ll help out in any way that I can. If you ever need anything, just write. Hey, maybe I’ll train my replacement.”

“Well if ya do, make sure he shoots as good as ya,” Repeater said with a small smile. In his eyes though, Manifest could see that Repeater was torn.

“Yeah. You all do good, okay?” he said to the other ponies. They all nodded. Manifest quickly thought if he needed to take anything back with him. He didn’t. He unslung his rifle and looked at it for a minute. He had grown attached to it somehow, this instrument of death. He pulled the bolt up and back to check it clear for one last time, feeling the clicking of metal on metal in his hooves. He looked around. “Where’s Cold?”

The pony leaned out from behind Joe, a blank look in his eyes. Manifest trotted over to him. “You don’t have your own rifle yet, so I thought that you should have this,” he said as he held his SMCC out in front of him. Cold took it from his hooves, and weighed it. He looked up at Manifest.

“They shouldn't be making you leave.” It was the first time that he talked in nearly five days.
“I know. Don’t give up Cold, alright?” Cold nodded.

Manifest looked over to Repeater one last time. “Thanks for being my friend,” he said. Repeater’s eyes started to water.

“Ya just had ta go and say that, huh?” he said playfully, holding back tears. “Look at me, ya made me all emotional.” He wiped the water from his eyes, quickly. “Thanks for bein’ mah friend too, Manifest.” He stretched out his hooves wide, in a unmistakable gesture. “Bring it in, partner.” Manifest trotted forward and returned the hug. Repeater held him tightly, patting him on the back a few times, then let go. “Ya go on back and find that destiny ‘a yours, alright?”

“Yeah,” Manifest said. It was time to go. “Goodbye you guys.” He turned and trotted away.

He walked through the trenches, past the forward HQ, then the artillery, then the rear HQ to the platform for the train. It was already there. It stretched out into the distance, only boxcars in its consist. Around him other ponies were gathering, all short like him. He hopped up onto the closest box car that wasn’t full yet. Nopony was talking. A few minutes later the train started up, heading back towards Canterlot. Manifest was lost in thought. It was standing room only here. He didn’t even know where the train was going.

It didn’t matter; he had abandoned the first friends that he made in years. And he felt horrible for it. He leaned up against the wall, oblivious to the other ponies in the car next to him, and shut his eyes.

Manifest woke up to the high pitched squeal of metal on metal as the train applied the brakes, throwing him off balance. Slowly, the train ground to a halt.

“Where are we?” Manifest asked as he regained his balance.

“It looks like a field,” said the pony to his right.
Manifest looked over at all the other ponies milling around in the car. Suddenly, the door was flung open, a unicorn with a red beret standing before them.

“Everypony out of the car, assemble in the field.” Quickly he turned and walked off. Manifest thought for a moment. He had never seen red as a beret color in the military.

He got out of the car with all of the other ponies and quickly looked around. There was nothing about save for the ponies, the train, and a small sharp hill just ahead of them. ‘What’s going on?’ he thought in confusion.

Ahead a pony was trotting up the hill, a diminutive earth type with his olive green dress uniform on and a black beret on his head. He turned and faced the crowd before him.

“ATTENTION!” the crowd stopped moving and snapped to position. The earth pony looked them over for a moment then began to speak.

“Who amongst you is glad to be leaving the front?” Nopony answered. “Why not? You get to leave the war behind, and live in relative peace. Any sane pony would relish the opportunity to go home. Why aren’t you glad?”

An anger that had been buried in Manifest burst out suddenly. “Because you are forcing us to leave our friends for no good reason!” he yelled. “They are stuck there and we can no longer help them!” Everypony stood at attention still, but there was a dissent brewing in the crowd. Manifest was angry though. They took him from the only friends that he had, leaving them to die, and now they were out here gloating about the fact.

“Who here shares this pony’s sentiment?” the earth pony asked. Manifest immediately shot up a hoof, and everypony else did as well.

“Good,” the earth pony said with a smile. “That’s what we need.”

“You’ll be pleased to hear that you are not going to be serving Equestria as drill instructors; you are needed for something much more important than that. What we are about to begin will require the utmost secrecy. All communications from here on in will be monitored and censored if necessary. The way that this war is being fought, it is unwinnable. We, we are going to be the ones to change the way that it is fought. You are now a part of one of the greatest undertakings that Equestria has ever attempted. And to the pony who spoke, do not worry; you will be there to help your friends and comrades, and in ways that you could never hope to before.”

“Gentlecolts, Welcome to the First Equestrian Armored Corps.”

Author's Note

To whoever is reading this, congratulations. After eighty-five thousand words, two- hundred pages of writing, and nearly one year since I posted the first chapter, we are at the halfway point.
I would like to thank everyone who’s enjoyed this book, who’s ever given me a thumbs up, who has ever favorited it. You are the reason that I keep on going, because each fave, each green thumb, each comment is an affirmation that I am doing something right that people enjoy, and I want to keep doing that.
Thanks to the people who have been following this story since the very beginning, and thanks to the people who have just started today. Heck, thanks to the people who will read this in the future. All of you are great.
I’m going to be putting up a new story soon that ties into this, and I hope that it will be just as good as this one. I won’t promise that I will increase the frequency of updates, but I will keep on trying my best to write as good of stories that I can. Again, thank you all.

10 Months Later

10 months later

It had been a barren year for the Ponyville station in terms of business. There had been plenty of passengers before the war, but once it had started nopony seemed too terribly interested in taking the trains anymore. And that was before Celestia restricted passenger locomotive travel in order to clear the lines for freights. The only passenger train that ran with any regularity from Ponyville anymore was the princess’s personal, shuttling Twilight Sparkle to and from Canterlot.

If the stationmaster was in the business of directing freight, he would likely be overworked. As it was, Ponyville was for passengers, and there just weren’t any.

Which was why he was sweeping the platform. Every day he would kill time until Luna raised the moon, and then he would simply do it again the next day. No passengers meant no work, but at the same time he couldn’t leave, just in case somepony showed.

He looked up over the expansive platform, and sighed in exhaustion. He was only about a third of the way done sweeping. The ammunition freight from Dodge Junction would be by soon, and because it didn’t stop as it hurtled towards the Canterlot line it would likely throw desert dust along the platform as it went. Sweeping was a pointless task for now, and the stationmaster knew it. He trotted back inside and sat down behind the ticket counter.

There was nothing to do. He sighed again. This war had sucked the life out of the railway, had nearly sucked the life out of the country. It used to be so busy, so alive. Even the platforms before him used to teem with ponies heading to adventures. Nowadays most ponies rode trains to their doom. He got up and grabbed up a newspaper in his teeth. He knew that the paper would be an hour’s distraction at most, but an hour reading the paper was an hour not doing anything different. He saw the headlines.

NEW MUNITIONS FACTORY TO BE OPENED IN LAS PEGASUS

Over to the left hand column was the daily casualties: “4 killed to enemy artillery”. It was less than normal.

‘Celestia,’ he thought. ‘Normal? This is not normal; this hasn’t been normal for nearly a year. Young ponies don’t normally go off to fight and die.’

“KNOCK KNOCK!” The station master jolted upright in surprise at the sound. There was a brown earth pony standing at the window, hoof out just an inch away from the glass. The stationmaster composed himself. Judging by the saddlebags and the gun on his shoulder this was a Calvary pony.

“Excuse me sir, but can you tell me when the next train to Canterlot is due?” the pony asked, “I kinda need to be there before noon tomorrow.” He seemed upbeat, enthusiastic even.

“You're going to Canterlot and you don't know the schedule."

“No sir, but I need to link up with my company by noon or they’re liable to send me to jail. I know that passenger trains should run to Canterlot from here, I just couldn’t find a timetable for the life of me.”

The stationmaster shook his head. “Once you get to Canterlot, then what’s your plan?”

“Oh, just hoof it on up to the line,” he said happily.

“Don’t; you’ll be wasting your time and energy. Besides, the passenger train to Canterlot doesn’t arrive until tomorrow at noon anyways.” The pony immediately drooped in response to the news, ears flattening.

“How am I supposed to get there then?”

“Same as all Calvary ponies, bum a ride off an ammunition freight. There’s one coming up from dodge junction in as little as five minutes.”

The pony brightened up a little. “So it’ll stop here?”

“No, it’ll stop at the Canterlot line, it’ll slow down here. You’ll have to jump on.”

“Jump!?” the pony asked in surprise. The stationmaster nodded. The pony stared off into the distance, contemplating the news; he began to nod his head. “Okay, jump, onto a moving train, yeah.” He nodded his head faster as he tried to convince himself. “The Calvary said I’d be doing dangerous things, and this isn’t the most dangerous by half. Hay, this’ll be fun!”

The stationmaster stared at him pointedly. “Right, keep telling yourself that, colt. Maybe you’ll believe it.” He stood up from the desk and walked out onto the platform to meet the calvarypony. He pointed on down the line to the south. “I need to give the signal or the train won’t be slowing down, mind accompanying an old stallion to the box and back?” the pony nodded.

“Not at all sir, not at all.” He started out towards the signal box in the distance, quickly outpacing the stationmaster. he turned after a moment to face the old stallion behind him. “Need me to slow down sir?”

“Yes, yes I do. I’m not as spry as you are. Besides, the whole point of asking you to come out here was so we could talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes.”

“Ok then sir, shoot.”

The stationmaster winced slightly at the word. It was a new slang from the Royal Calvary, but the action that it meant was not lost on him. “Well, just tell me about yourself, I suppose.”

“Joined the Calvary three months ago, wanted to sooner, but I had some, uh, things to tend to before I could. Had been training until I got my orders to the front yesterday. Walked into town to stay the night in a good bed before I go out to the line, and then I came here.”

“How about before that?” the stationmaster asked.

“No can do, Sir. When you’re in the Calvary you aren’t supposed to mention civilian life.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

The stationmaster paused for a minute. “You got a name?”

“Trench Broom.” The pony said proudly. “Got it a week ago when I got proficiency on this baby.” He motioned to the gun on his back, and the stationmaster winced again.

“Not like that! I mean a real name,” the Stationmaster said, a hint of frustration in his voice. “The name your mother gave you.” Trench Broom shook his head.

“I already told you I can’t tell.”
The Stationmaster snorted in response. “Since I can’t ask you anything else, where are you going? When you get to the line?”

“I’m joining up with the 421rst, C-Company, 3rd platoon. Filling in a hole in a squad.” The Stationmaster leaned back slightly in surprise.

“C-Company?”

“Yes Sir,” the pony said. “Why?”

“It’s a small war after all.” The stationmaster muttered before facing the pony again. “My assistant is enlisted in the same company.”

“Really?!” the pony said enthusiastically. “Who?”

“Lu-” the stationmaster cut himself off and frowned. “Eagle Eyes. He got his name by spotting a concealed instructor from 500 yards.” He spat the sentence out, with no small amount of disdain.

“What does he do?” Trench Broom asked.

“Now he spots for a sniper,” the Stationmaster sighed. The signal box was only a few yards away now. The stationmaster trotted up and stepped down on a lever, and with a click the signal above dropped into the yellow “caution” position. He turned back to Trench Broom. “But I don’t care about Eagle Eyes, or what he does now. You had better cover your ears if you don’t want to hear about the real pony behind Eagle Eyes, because I don’t care about the calvary and its rules. Back in Ponyvile he was called Lucky, Lucky Clover. He kept the schedules for me, kept this place clean and working before he ran off with some dumb aspirations of heroics. He somehow managed to find it in his schedule to do farm work as well. And I never saw him frown. That’s the pony who I want to come home, who Ponyville wants to come home.”

Trench Broom nodded silently, his enthusiasm extinguished by the stationmaster’s words. “I understand sir, I’m no fool. I know that you want them to bring the colts back home. I know that nopony knows or really cares about ‘Trench Broom.’ They all just want, well, ‘old me’ back. If I see him I’ll let him know that the folks at Ponyville care about him a lot.”

The stationmaster snorted again. “Well, you know about him, so mind telling me about you?”

“Still sorry sir, but no. I don’t want to add anypony else to your conscious.” The stationmaster sighed in response. “Besides sir, I wouldn’t worry too much about me or him. The Unicornians haven’t tried to do anything since they attacked Cloudsdale again, and that was 4 months ago! I’m willing to bet that all I’ll be doing once I get to the line will be waiting for the Princesses to strong-arm them into surrendering.”

The stationmaster looked at the calvarypony next to him, his eyebrows slightly raised. “You think that you’ll just sit on the Canterlot line until the war ends? Do you even know what the war is like?”

Trench Broom looked at the ground nervously for a second, kneading his hooves as he trotted. “No offense meant sir, but do you?”

“No, but I think that I have a better idea than you do.”

The conversation was interrupted by a quiet, low pitched blast of a whistle from behind them. The stationmaster turned around. He could see the Dodge junction ammunition freight charging up the line toward them, still over a mile away. “There’s your train,” he said bluntly to Trench Broom. Trench Broom looked at the black cloud of smoke that issued forth from it.

“I have to jump on?” he asked again as he looked at the approaching locomotive.

“Yes, onto the guard van at the back, it has hooveboards to make it easier. Knock, and they should let you in.” As Trench Broom trotted onto the platform he nodded.

“Heard and understood sir.” He stared down the oncoming train, rocking back and forth on his hooves with anticipation. The train quickly sounded its whistle twice, as it got closer, followed by a squeal of brakes. The stationmaster nodded to nopony in particular, they read the signal. From here they could see the black steel of the locomotive well, and the red boxcars that followed. The stationmaster sighed again.

“I miss the old locomotives.”

“The ones that looked like gingerbread houses?”

“Yes.”

“I like this more myself.” Trench Broom said. The locomotive pulled even with the station, shooting steam out around its pistons and
across the platforms. The first cars began to rattle by loudly. Trench Broom kept an eye on the last car as it drew nearer.

“Start running,” the stationmaster said. Trench Broom took off down the platform parallel with the train, letting the guard van catch up to him before leaping over. He landed on the hooveplate without a hitch. “GOOD LUCK!” the stationmaster shouted after the Calvary pony.

“TOO LATE, I’M ALREADY ON THE TRAIN!” the pony shouted back, a large smile on his face. He let out a yell of excitement that was drowned out by the locomotive’s whistle, wailing across the fields. With that the train had rattled away, the rhythmic “KNOCK-KNOCK,
KNOCK KNOCK” of the wheels on the rails receding into the distance. The stationmaster looked after the train sadly.

“I meant about the war,” he said quietly.

With the horrible squeal of metal on metal Trench Broom was awoken from a perfectly wonderful nap. That was the problem with the guard car, every time the train needed to slow down for anything the guard would throw on the brakes, which were located right below him. Yes, it did keep the train from crashing horribly, but it could have done it quieter. This was the 4th time on this trip that he had been woken up by hellish shrieking of the brakes. He looked out the window to try and gather where they were now.

“Oh, right,” he said to himself. As best as he could tell by looking out the window he was right where they were the last time he checked, two feet away from a red boxcar. “Whoever put these windows up could have done a better job”, he muttered. It certainly felt like they had slowed down more than they had previously. Maybe they were getting close.

The brakes screamed again, throwing him into the window he was looking out of with the rapid deceleration. He leaned backward to combat the deceleration, but then the train ground to a halt, making him fall backward. “Ow,” he said to the brakevan. “Just because I insulted your windows doesn't mean you can do that.” The door at the back of the van opened up.

“Here we are, the Canterlot line,” the brakepony said. Trench Broom got to his hooves and trotted out the door onto the brakevan’s rear deck. His mouth dropped open. “Hay of a sight ain’t it?” the brakepony smiled. Trench Broom nodded.

The Canterlot line stretched out before him. Just a few yards away was a battery of 15 new 5.5 inch cannons, each dug into the earth with rounds and charges stacked at the ready. Just behind that was a battery of 25 pounders. They continued on off into the distance. Off west he could see a small city of tents, the larger ones having a regiment number painted on. In the middle of this a flagpole towered over the surroundings, bearing the single largest equestrian flag he had ever seen.

He could hear the doors of the train being thrown open, a small army of ponies hurriedly offloading the crates. But he could also hear… music? He strained his ears. Yes. Yes he could. He couldn’t make it out but he could clearly hear brass instruments playing. He looked for the source. A small tower stood nearby, with loudspeakers at the top. Maybe it was supposed to be a siren, but for now it played. He looked around. Where to start?

Just a few feet away a pole stood, arrows tacked onto it pointing in all directions. ‘Canterlot 30 miles’,’723rd 3 miles’, Cloudsdale 174 miles’ 367th 2 miles’. He kept looking down the list. ‘421rst, ¾ miles.’ Great, he would be there in less than twenty minutes. He looked off to where the sign pointed, into a gaggle of command tents. “OK Trench ol’ pal” he said to himself, “Let’s go.”

He started trotting in the direction of the arrow, heading past the train that he rode in on. He looked at the crates that were being offloaded. He had seen lots of crates in his time at training, lots of ammunition crates especially. Enough to know that these weren’t ammunition crates. He cocked his head as he trotted. ‘Not an ammunition train as the stationmaster said, but it must have been marked as that.’ The Calvary had a secret in those crates. He stopped for a moment, debating on whether he should go and look at them or not. ‘Nah, odds are I’ll see them soon enough.’

He continued heading on off to the command post looking around at all he could see. He couldn’t go far without stumbling into another artillery position. Honestly he was amazed at the amount of guns that had been produced. ‘I guess if all we do is build cannons for 9 months, there’ll be a lot,’ he thought.

One thing that he hadn’t noticed was the craters. It seemed as though the enemy had never even threw a barrage over here. Fine by him, he didn’t want to be subject to any artillery. For a moment he thought about the stationmaster and chuckled. ‘I was right’, he thought gladly. ‘Nothing to do here but just wait for the war to end.’ And it had to end. Looking around at the sheer mass of cannons and ponies he could tell that the Canterlot line was never going to fall.

He frowned a little bit though. He hoped that the Unicornians would have one last crack at it before they called it a day. He wanted to fight, to be able to tell everypony that he did his part. A bit of him even wanted to be looked up to, like a hero. Hopefully he would have the chance to prove himself here. He approached another tall signpost.

‘Great,’ he thought sarcastically. ‘just a half mile left.’

The Artist stared at the stack of papers on the edge of his desk with concern. They looked harmless enough, but they held an implication. This was what he was currently contemplating. He grabbed one of them up read it again.

To be distributed to all sergeants in command of a squad.

All members of the squad using the SMCC Mk.I are to turn in their rifles to the company quartermaster and receive the SMCC Mk.II Rifle and appropriate kit and operation manuals. The squad specialist is to receive the PWD-Dragon Mk.1 and report to the rear for specialized training. Sergeants are to receive 1 MMMGMK.1, which are also available as replacement for SMCC MK.1 for MG loaders and spotters if applicable. MG loaders must also receive Browns .30 caliber MG hydraulic Saddle Mount.

By order of Major General Clockwork Engine, by the authority of the Field Marshall.

In plain Equestrian it was simple. The squads were to refit weapons. Harmless enough. The problem was he didn’t know what in Equestria half of these things even meant, and he was a bloody Major. He puzzled over the sheet some more. SMCC MK.2 was pretty easy to decipher; it was most likely an upgrade of the service rifle. How in the hay it had been upgraded he didn’t know, but this wasn’t his biggest concern.

He had no idea what a PWD-Dragon was, nor a MMMG. He grabbed up a pencil in his teeth and circled the last sentence. ‘Saddle Mount’. For the .30 Cals. Currently the .30 Cal had to be set up on a tripod before it could be fired, rendering it as a static object. If the saddle mount was a way to mount the machine gun on a pony’s back, then it would gain a lot of mobility.

That’s what scared him. Why did they need mobility in a static war, and what did the other items do? A horrible thought ran through the back of his mind, but he brushed it aside. Right now it seemed that a trip to the quartermaster was in order. Maybe he could show him some of these suspect items.

As he stood up from his desk the tent flap in front of him was opened by an over enthusiastic Calvary earth pony, who quickly snapped into a smart salute and stood at attention.

“Private Trench Broom reporting as requested sir!” The Artist stared at him, refusing to return the salute.

“I didn’t request anypony? What are you doing here?” he asked bluntly.

“Sir, responding to my Marshalling orders, sir! I’m to report to the 421rst C-Company,3rd platoon by 1200 hours tomorrow sir!” The Artist sighed heavily.

“Freaking great, my company gets another idiot. Wonderful.”

“Sir, permission to speak sir!” the pony asked, a look of confusion on his face, his eyes not meeting the Artists.

“Denied.” The Artist said. “If you get orders from C-Company 3rd platoon then you should go to C-Company 3rd platoon, instead of wasting a Majors time with a platoon leader’s job. Hold that salute until I find out what to do with you.” Trench Broom kept his hoof up as The Artist began looking through his papers for the current status on 3rd platoon. He moved slowly, intent on drawing out the ponies salute for as long as possible. Petty, but he didn’t care.

He finally found the requisite paper, and scanned through it. “Fine, fine, fine, fine, minus one.” He said as he looked over the numbers for each squad. “5th is down one”. He looked over. “Sergeant Repeater Rifle. Heh. ‘The Miracle Squad.’” He looked up to the saluting pony in front of him. “You’re going to report to sergeant Repeater Rifle of 5th squad. Once you have done that, you can take these orders here and distribute one to each sergeant in my company. Understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Trench Broom answered.

“Good, dismissed.” The pony saluted, but stayed.

“Permission to ask the Major a question, sir?”

The Artist sighed with exasperation. “You just did.” For a minute Trench Broom puzzled over The Artists answer, and then winced at his stupidity. “Next time just ask me the question,” The Artist said, “and you may.”

“Sir, I haven’t seen the trenches yet, so I was wondering where the 421rst is? The signs point to here, but this is just a command tent.”

The Artist shook his head. “Celestia you are green. You’re greener than the grass at the Canterlot gardens. Son, this isn’t the front. This is the rear. Walk west; you can’t miss the trenches.”

“How far, sir?”

“Oh, not too far, just about a mile and a half.”

Trench broom was beginning to get tired of walking. No, tired wasn’t the right word. Bored. Bored was the right word. For being pumped up by the news and the training, this war was pretty… uneventful.

The field that he was in was in full bloom, the grass and flowers swaying calmly in the breeze. He turned around and looked out east. The giant Equestrian flag was still plainly visible, the tents around it looking tiny by comparison. He looked back out west. There was nothing to see, just an empty field. ‘Maybe the major tricked me, and I’m going the wrong way’ he thought. It wouldn’t have surprised him given his previous display.

‘Well Trench, we learned something, don’t annoy the Major.’ He thought as he glanced over his shoulder at the saddlebags, aware of the bundles of orders inside.

He noticed something half concealed in the tall grass, and began heading toward it. It was a sign. He was too far away to read what it said, so he picked up his pace. The grass ended abruptly, knocked down by an unseen force, and he stopped. About 50 feet away he could see a crater, a terrible gash in the serenity of the field. He could now see the sign, positioned on the edge of the crater.

WARNING!
From this point forward you are in enemy artillery range!
You have been warned!

He nodded to the sign. “Thank you,” he mumbled, trotting closer to the crater. All around it dirt lay scattered over top of the grass, like the droplets of water that scattered when rain hit the ground. The crater was at least ten feet around, and five feet deep he would guess. Metal fragments glinted in the dirt of the crater like gems. He looked for a few more seconds, and then kept trotting west.

As he headed, he began to see more craters dotting the surface, tears in a beautiful field. Slowly but surely standing grass became the exception to the rule, appearing in clumps scattered amongst the craters. He could see farther now that the grass was down. He could see small outcroppings, just a few feet taller than the rest of the field ahead. Off in the distance he could see fence posts standing.

Finally he saw it, the entrance to the trench, a small path down into the ground. He trotted in. the floors and walls were covered in wood, but dirt and mud still seeped through the cracks. His hoovesteps beat loudly on the wood, echoing up and down the trench. He could see other Calvary ponies going about their business, ducking into and out of holes in the walls that lead them into bunkers. He came to an intersection with another trench, and looked at the paths offered to him. On the corners of the intersections were arrows, similar to the ones that he saw on the signposts before. He followed the one for C-Company, straight ahead.

He rounded a corner, then another, the trench seeming to go on forever. He looked, behind him, and saw a machine gun set up aiming down the trench at him. He snorted.’If they ever do get into the trenches they sure as hay won’t get very far,’ he thought. He continued onward. Finally he reached a fork in the trench, the only choices being left or right. He looked for a sign again. 3rd platoon was to the right. He headed that way.

He could tell now that he was finally at the front of the front, the trench going out in a relatively straight line for as far as he could see. To his left, toward the west, he could see there was a raised step above the trench floor for the ponies to stand on so they could aim their rifles over the lip. Spaced every 30 or so yards a machine gun poked over the edge, a wooden box with a slit in the bottom attached to the back. The slit came up to around eye level, so Trench Broom paused to take a look. Though it he could see the sights of the machine gun, and pushing against the box moved it correspondingly. He chuckled. Machine gunners didn’t even have to expose themselves.

To his right he could see holes dug into the wall, leading down into the earth and into darkness. Above each hole was a sign. 1st, 2nd,3rd. He was getting close. He brushed past a few ponies conversing, each the standard brown earth dye, and no distinguishing features other than height and breed. ‘I wonder how i’ll recognise the sergeant?’ he thought briefly. If he could get close then maybe he could see the sergeants bars on a ponies right flank, but it was black on brown, hard to spot. He trudged past a small hole on his left as he continued to ponder this.

Just ahead of him two tall unicorns were talking with another pony, obscured by their size. Trench Broom quickly glanced right at the dugout. 5th. this should be the place. He cleared his throat. The two unicorns turned their heads to face him.

“Yes?”

“May I see the sergeant?” he asked tentatively. The last time he asked a question to a superior officer it didn’t go over very well.

“Ya may.” The answer came from behind the unicorns, who stepped back out of the way. Before Trench Broom stood an earth pony, maybe an inch or so taller than he was, but noticeably stronger. That wasn’t what Trench Broom was looking at though. He was looking at the pony’s hat. A large brown cowpony hat with the rims bent up at the sides so his ears could cradle it. Wasn’t that a clear violation of the dress code? He shook the thought away.

“Sergeant Repeater Rifle?” he asked. The pony motioned to the gun on his back, a large lever action gun, with a scope on the side it seemed.

“There’s mah namesake, and that’s me. What do ya need partner?”

Trench Broom snapped into a salute. “Private Trench Broom sir! Here to fill in a gap in your squad!” Before he could properly react the sergeant rushed him, grabbing his hoof out of his salute before shaking it enthusiastically.

“Well howdy then, and welcome ta our trench! It’s a pleasure ta meet ya, and a pleasure ta have ya in mah squad! It’s been just about forever since we’ve had all ten spots filled out, since the beginnin’ of the war even.” The entire time the Sergeant was furiously shaking Trench’s hoof up and down, making him feel like the connecting rod of a train with the incessant motion. ”Why, Ah should show ya the sights and introduce ya ta everypony!” the Sergeant had an enormously large smile on his face as he said it.

Quickly he dropped Trenches hoof and pointed behind him. “Over there’s where Cold and Joe have their Machine gun set up.” He turned around and pointed down the trench, “down there’s where Longshot and Eagle Eyes try and make the papers.” Finally he pointed at the dugout. “And that’s where everypony sleeps, hides, and prays ta Celestia that the Unicornians aren’t on their game when they start shellin’ us.”

Trench Broom was a little overwhelmed with just how fast this pony was talking. He opened his mouth to interrupt, but the sergeant kept on going. “We got just about everythin’ here in this trench. We got a machine gun, barbed wire,-”

“Sergeant?”

“-a Colts rifle, which we’re all rather proud a’-”

“Sergeant?”

“-Periscopes-“

“Sergeant!”

“And plenty a rats too, all the things ya need for a trench!”

“SERGEANT!” Trench Broom yelled, unaware of how loud he had gotten. Sergeant Repeater Rifle looked over to him casually.

“What was that now private?”

“Permission to put up my bags, sir,” Trench Broom asked exasperatedly. “I’d love to hear about the squad but I would like to put these down first. Make myself more comfortable, you know?”

“Naw, not until ya hoof over your gun so that the twins can get ta work on modifying the thing.” Trench Broom shifted his attention to the two unicorns that stood nearby. “They’re inventors a sorts, and ah’ll make ‘em fix up yer rifle.” One of the two looked over to Repeater Rifle.

“We were going to modify it for him anyway.”

“For free.” The unicorn drooped his head and ears at the response. His brother held out a hoof.

“Private, I would be ever so honored if you might see fit to let my brother and I borrow your rifle for some little modifications.”

“Uhh… sure?” Trench Broom said hesitantly as he unslung his gun. As soon as he held it out the unicorn cocked his head to one side in confusion.

“Brother?”

“Yes Brother?”

“Have you ever seen a gun like that?” the other looked at the object the first was pointing at.

“No.”

The rifle that they were looking at was not a SMCC. It was too short. The stock looked correct, and the sights seemed the same, but the rest of the thing was entirely different. Just behind the rear sights was a large switch. The wood furniture extended just a few inches past the trigger guard before terminating at a large brass fixture that wrapped around the barrel and extended off to the left of the gun. Behind this there was a slot cut into the metal, and a small handle that poked out of the right side. The barrel was short, and surrounded by a heat shield with perforated holes. Just below the barrel was a small steel nub. The twins looked at it curiously.

“Where’s the bolt?” one of them asked. The one Trench Broom held it out to took it gingerly.

“I don’t know, but if they wanted to make the SMCC lighter they failed.”

“What type of gun is this?”

“It’s called a Marechester.” Trench Broom answered. Repeater chuckled.

“That ain’t a Marechester, this is a Marechester,” he said reaching over to tap his rifle lightly.

“Yes it is, it’s a Marechester Miniaturized Machine Gun. I’ve been using it for nearly a month, so I know what it’s called.” The three ponies looked at him in surprise.

“It’s a machine gun?!” the unicorn holding it asked in shock. Trench Broom nodded. The unicorn looked at it with a newfound respect. His brother looked back at Trench Broom.

“Where do the bullets go?” Trench Broom reached into his saddlebags and grabbed up a metal rectangle, about a foot long. The end was clipped and shined with Brass rounds, short and round as opposed to the pointed 30. Caliber of the SMCC.

“Do you want a demonstration?” Trench Broom asked, a small smile growing on his face. The twin handed it back and nodded excitedly. Trench Broom looked over to the Sergeant. “May I sir? I wouldn’t want to start a war.” Repeater nodded.

“Yeah, there’s usually some sorta shootin’ goin’ on around here, so Ah don’t think that anypony would mind.” He trotted over to some strings that came down from over the top of the trench and pulled them hard.

Trench Broom hopped up onto the step and stood up, looking out over the top of the trench. There were several barbed wire fences in the field, and no grass to be seen at all. The ground looked like the ocean in a storm, heaving up and down with the impacts from artillery. Out in the moonscape he could see three steel plate targets popped up. The others joined him on the lip and looked out.

“Ah, that’s nice, only two of our targets were destroyed by yesterday’s barrage, Ah though that it woulda been worse than that. “ Repeater said. “Well private, whenever you’re ready.”

Trench Broom slotted the magazine into the extension from the side of the gun, and twisted the knob behind the sight. He lined up on the first target and pulled the trigger. “Pa-Pa-Pap, Pa-Pa-Pa-Pa-Pap, Pa-Pa-Pap” he fired it in bursts, each one quickly echoed by a “Pi-Pi-Ping” as the rounds impacted the metal of the silhouettes. The three that were up were brought down in mere seconds. Now he held the trigger down, letting loose what was left of the magazine in less than five seconds.

Trench Broom clicked the safety back on, smiling at his handiwork. “It’s a lot of fun,” Repeater gave off a low whistle in respect of the gun.

“Naw kiddin’, a miniature machine gun.”

“Would you permit my brother and I to have a go!?” one of the twins said excitedly. Trench looked wistfully at the magazines that he had left in his saddlebag. He grabbed one out in his teeth.

“’ust ‘un,” he said past the hunk of metal in his mouth as he handed the machine gun off. The twin took it with a grin, levitating the magazine out of Trench’s mouth and into the gun. He cocked his head as he looked at it. “You need to-“

“No need sir, my brother and I are inventors nonpareil. We can figure out how any device works,” the twin interrupted. He pulled the bolt on the side back, and then twisted the knob all the way to the right before sighting up. He held the trigger down, rattling off rounds for two seconds before letting his hoof off. He clicked the safety back on with his magic and passed it off to his twin.

“Thank you, brother,” The twin said, before shooting off the rest of the clip in one long burst. He clicked the knob back to safe and shouldered it.

“Muddy.”

“Yes Bloody?”

“Are you thinking what I am?”

“I believe so brother.” Bloody nodded.

“It’s settled then, this needs a compensator and a rubberized stock.” His brother looked at him with no small amount of concern.

“Bloody, I’m not thinking what you are.” Bloody’s mouth dropped open slightly in shock. “This clearly needs a sound suppressor. The recoil pad is fine, but it’s controllable enough as is.” Bloody shook his head violently in protest.

“Muddy, why in Celestia’s beautiful country does it need to be quiet!? It’ll be surrounded by hundreds of horrifically loud rifles, so it’s not like he can be sneaky to any degree! Besides, the muzzle climbs and we need to divert gas to nullify that!”

As Muddy opened his mouth to retort Repeater leaned over to Trench Broom. “Well Pal, ya broke ‘em. First time ah ever seen ‘em argue. Ya feel free ta put your stuff in the dugout and introduce yourself ta the rest a’ the squad.” Trench Broom nodded, and quickly ducked into the dugout to escape the verbal barrage the twins were throwing at each other.

He looked around briefly, it wasn’t very big, only really large enough for the ten of them to lie out on the floor and have room for a personal locker. In one of the corners a bulky earth pony lay fast asleep, on the opposite side a unicorn with a red cross emblazed on his side sat writing. The unicorn glanced at him with one eye briefly.

“Don’t wake him up, he took watch last night, and needs the sleep,” the unicorn said softly. “You’re new?”

“Yes, Private Trench Broom,” He answered. The unicorn held out a hoof to bump.

“Hack Saw, the medic.” Trench Broom returned the bump.

“Name’s a little Morbid, don’t you think?” Trench Broom asked.

“Isn’t yours as well?” countered Hack Saw. Trench Broom shrugged slightly in agreement. He looked toward the pony sleeping at the side of the room.

“Who’s he?’

“That’s the Silent Specialist. He doesn’t talk much, like Cold Blooded. They say that he used to talk before I got here, but he got a little quieter after the Battle of Canterlot. He’ll answer questions if you got them, but he won’t talk about his past, and will never ask about yours.”

“Who’s Cold Blooded?”
The medic shuffled a little in discomfort. “The squad machine gunner. I’ve been here for four months, and I’ve never heard him talk. He only talks to Joe.”

“Why doesn’t he talk?”
The medic squirmed at the question, not quite wanting to look at the pony asking him. “I don’t like thinking about it.” Trench Broom simply waited for the medic to crack. “Alright. Before the battle of Canterlot they say that he talked, that he was a hard pony, with aspirations of being part of the guard. Before the battle he dug a tunnel to a ditch, the only bit of cover on the field and set his machine gun up looking down the length. When the battle started he waited until the ditch was filled to the brim with Unicornians, and then started shooting.”

The medic paused uncomfortably. “They say that a river of blood ran down the trench, and that there were so many bodies that you couldn’t see the ground under them. When they finally cleared out the ditch they counted one hundred and forty-eight bodies. I don’t think he’s talked since.” He went back to writing. Trench Broom set down his bags.

“If he got a hundred and forty-eight, why’d he stop talking? Shouldn’t that make him a war hero?”

The medic stopped writing and looked directly at him. “You really are new, aren’t you?” Before Trench could answer the Medic went back to writing, clearly done with conversation for now. Trench turned and trotted up out of the dugout to give him space.

‘Drat,’ he thought in annoyance. ‘that’s the second time that I’ve heard somepony say that. I’m not so new, nopony who’s new could set the company record for the close quarters course.’ He brightened up a little as he turned left and began to trot down the trench aimlessly. ‘At least the sergeant’s impressed with me.’

His thoughts were interrupted by an earth pony climbing out of a small hole in the side of the trench wall. He was about the same size as Trench Broom, but that wasn’t what Trench noticed. His eyes had no light in them. The pony stared at Trench Broom, the cold eyes seeming to bore into him. Trench Broom shivered in the war June air. He threw up a shaky salute.

“Private Trench Broom, Sir.” The earth pony glaring at him stood immobile for a moment, and then turned around at crawled back into the hole without a word. Trench Broom slowly backed up. He had never seen anypony that looked like that before. ‘Celestia, what’s wrong with his eyes!?’ He turned and headed in the opposite direction away from the disturbing pony, passing Repeater and the twins, who still seemed to be in a heated discussion.

He noticed a sign nailed into the side of the wall ahead, just in front of an indent to the west.
“Working: Do not disturb.”

He peered around the corner into the indent. There was an earth pony intently looking through a strange T-shaped periscope out west Sitting just next to him a unicorn was reading “The Canterlot Crusader.” On the floor of the trench was the strangest mess of metal bars, ball bearings and cradles that held the largest rifle Trench had ever seen.

It was easily a foot longer than he was tall, with a giant circular muzzle brake on the end and at least two inches of rubber padding on the stock. Just under the stock was a wooden grip that extended out from the bottom for a pony to hold, behind the trigger grip. On top was a large magazine that fed down, just next to a large scope offset from the side of the rifle.

Just then the unicorn lowered his newspaper and looked at Trench Broom. “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” Trench Broom nodded in agreement. “You’re Trench Broom, the new guy with the machine gun, right?” the unicorn asked.

“Yes, yes I am.” Trench answered shakily. things were happening too fast for him, his mind was still on the empty eyes of the pony from the hole. The unicorn threw off an informal salute, then twirled his hoof around and pointed to himself,

“Repeater mentioned that you’d show up. I’m Longshot, squad sniper, over there is my one true love, Marcia. Don’t confuse Marcia with the oaf on the periscope, Eagle Eyes. Say hello Eagle Eyes.”

“Hello,” the other pony said, not moving from the periscope.

“Eagle Eyes?” Trench asked.

“Yes, Eagle Eyes,” he said in annoyance. “Look, I’d love to talk later, but right now I’m looking for something.”

“Did you see somepony?” Longshot asked, snapping out of his informality.

“I thought I did.”

“Aw hayseeds,” Longshot said as he put his newpaper down to check on the rifle. He popped the magazine out, and looked at the half foot long bullets inside before placing it back in the well.

“Excuse me, but how can you see anypony, they’re 7 miles off?” Trench asked. Eagle Eyes snorted his response.

“Calm down Eyes, he’s new here,” Longshot said empathetically. Trench Brooms tail twitched. He was getting pretty tired of hearing about how new he was. Longshot looked over to him as he checked the rifle.

“See, the Unicornians can’t fly or cloudsit like we can, and if they sent over whatever airships they have left after we kicked flank at Cloudsdale we’d blast them to shreds with our cannons. That means that the only way they can get a real good idea of our positions is to send scouts on the ground to draw them. They have a lot of cover, and are sneaky guys, but it’s our job to spot them and shoot them before they get back to their lines with good info. If we do our job right, their barrages are random. If not, they can be pretty accurate. Eagle Eyes thinks he saw one.”

The pony shook his head as he looked through the periscope. “I don’t think I saw him, I’m looking at him.” Immediately Longshot got behind the giant rifle and put the stock into his shoulder. “Tell me about him.”

“Well, he’s about 800 yards out, on a bearing of 18 degrees south of west.” As he said it Longshot magically adjusted a knob on the scope and swiveled the rifle on its mount.

“Do you think I need more than one degree?”

“No.”
Longshot flipped a switch on the mount, and then tried to pivot the rifle. It moved only slightly from left to right. “What’s his cover?”

“Loose dirt, he’s in a crater now, only have a clean shot at the top of his head.”

“How loose is the dirt?”

“Pretty loose, and there doesn’t seem to be too much between him and the open air. You going to try to shoot through it?”

“Yep. At a minimum I’ll give him a ‘significant emotional event’,” Longshot said. He popped the bolt up and back, before sliding it carefully forward and locking it down. He put his right hoove in the trigger guard, and his left on the grip at the stock of the gun, tucking it in tightly to his shoulder.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Eagle Eyes said. Longshot took a deep breath. He pushed forward with his hindlegs, rocking the rifle on its stand up and over the top of the trench before locking into position. Longshot looked down the scope, and slowly breathed out. Trench Broom could tell that he was almost totally relaxed as he aimed.

“BOOM-OM!”

Trench Broom nearly leapt out of the trench in surprise at the veritable explosion that issued from the rifle. He hadn’t even seen the pony move to pull the trigger. The two on the sniper team seemed unalarmed, Longshot was already re-aiming. They were dead still for a brief moment, and then they simultaneously flinched.

“I’ll confirm that.” Eagle Eyes said. Longshot rocked the Rifle back down into the trench and opened the bolt, ejecting the giant cartridge with a loud clatter as the brass bounced on the wood floor. Longshot trotted over to the shouldering casing on the ground, picked it up, and put it carefully in a bag at the side of the trench.

“Wait, d-did you just kill him?” Trench Broom asked, not entirely sure of what happened.

“I wouldn’t be putting this casing in my confirmed bag if I didn’t.” Longshot said. Trench Brooms ears drooped at the thought of a dead
pony in the field. Longshot noticed his unease. “He didn’t suffer, if it makes you feel better.” It didn’t.

Trench Broom finally met the gaze of Longshot, who was waiting for a reply. He was looking at a pony that had killed within the past minute, and seemed completely unrepentant about it. In his head, he was already trying to explain it away. ‘He’s just doing his job, trying to keep us safe, and he made it quick. We can’t let them just scout us.’ His brain was working hard to explain why there was a dead pony out in the field, one that he didn’t even see. His brain wasn’t what spoke.

“Did you need to?” Trench Broom asked. “He couldn’t do anything to hurt us. Couldn’t you have just scared him?”
The blood ran away from Longshots face. “Uhh, well, I…” Trench Broom could tell that he was looking for an answer to give. Now it was Longshots turn to look away. Eagle Eyes couldn’t look at the new pony either. Longshot finally took a deep breath. “You really are new. I guess I didn’t. I just haven’t thought much about it.” He looked over at Trench Broom, looking for the entire world like a guilty pony. “Trench Broom, we’re all old, we don’t ask anymore. Do yourself a favor. Stay new, and never stop asking that question.”

At that moment Repeater trotted up next to Trench Broom. “Howdy again! Have ya met everypony yet?” Quickly the three ponies tried to recompose themselves, and wipe the dead scout and the dilemma he posed from their minds and faces. Trench looked over to the sergeant, and tried to return his grin. It was a hay of a lot harder to do than he thought it would be.

“Well Sergeant, I think that I have.”

Repeater nodded in approval. “Good ta hear. Now, Ah got mah first order for ya. Stop callin me sergeant. Its Repeater Rifle, or Repeater for short.” He paused, and then frowned as he looked at Trench Broom. “Hey partner, Ah got a question for ya. Usually Ah’m better than this, but Ah can’t seem ta remember your name.”

“Oh, it’s-“

“Pardon us sir, but my brother and I have a question about your gun.” The ponies turned to face the twins, who were standing behind Trench and Repeater. Trench looked to Repeater for guidance. Repeater tilted his head toward the twins.

“Okay, shoot.” Trench said.

“We were wondering what this nub on the bottom of the gun did” Muddy said, pointing at a small piece of metal on the underside of the barrel.

“Oh, that’s for the bayonet.” Trench said.

“What’s a bayonet” Bloody asked. Trench waited for an answer from anypony, and then noticed the expectant eyes on him. “None of you know?” Their blank stares answered his question. “Okay, I’ll show you.” He trotted past the twins and into the dugout, the rest of the ponies following him to the entrance in curiosity.

As he went to retrieve the bayonet from his saddlebags he heard a voice from the corner of the dugout. “Are you the new guy?”

“Yes, yes I am.” Trench Broom answered quickly as he grabbed up the bayonets scabbard in his teeth. He turned and trotted back up out of the dugout to the waiting ponies, the silent specialist and Hack saw coming up after him.

He faced all the squadponies before him, taking the MMMG from Muddy in one hoove. With the other he slid the sheath off of the 18 inch long sword, allowing it to glint in the sunlight. “’Is is a ‘eonet”. He said through his gritted teeth, he slid it down onto the barrel, allowing it to lock in on the nub. The squadponies stood in awe at the sight of the machine gun with its giant sword blade protruding from the front. Repeater wasn’t grinning anymore.

A sudden beating of hoofs issued from behind him, and trench turned to see a bulky unicorn, a look of concern on his face. “Cold just told me that we’re going over the top soon. Tell me it isn’t true.”

Repeater looked at the miniature machine gun and the bayonet, and his ears dropped as he connected the dots. “Partner, what’s your name?” Trench could see a palpable fear in everyponys eyes before him.

“Trench Broom.”

Repeater shook his head. “Ah shoulda noticed sooner.” He looked over to Joe.

“Colds right, we’re going over the top.”

Author's Note

Hello everyone. I'm just here to say that I have another Fraudulent war epic up The Second Battle of Cloudsdale. if you like this, odds are pretty good that you'll like that. I intend to update each story every other week, but If you've been here for a while you know that probably will not happen.

fitting the theme, the MMMG is a modified Lanchester sub-machine gun, shown here.

and the Colt's rifle 'Marcia' is a modified Boys rifle, shown here

Preparations

The ponies stood there for a moment, letting Repeater’s words sink in. All of them were still looking at Trench, and he began to feel uneasy. The ponies around him looked resigned, deflated. Even Repeater had his ears down, and as far as Trench could tell Repeater was a very upbeat pony. All their eyes were on him, not looking at him specifically, not focused, but on him nonetheless. Repeater broke the silence.

“Alright everypony, listen up. If we’re gonna go over the top ah want us ta be darn ready. Joe, Ah want ya and Cold ta figure out a way ta take the Browns with us. Longshot and Eyes, Ah want ya ta start trainin’ on the SMCC again, ‘cause there’s no way you’re gonna be able ta take Marcia with ya if we go over. Bloody and Muddy, start thinkin’ of stuff, anythin’ that can help. Everypony else needs ta start sharpening our entrenching tools. And everypony needs ta start practicin’ with grenades. Understood?” All the squadponies, save for Trench Broom nodded. “Get crackin.’ ”

The ponies all broke from their positions, given a job to do. Trench Broom stood still, a few thoughts eating away at him. He undid the bayonet and sheathed it, then trotted over to Repeater.

“Excuse me, Sergeant.”

“Repeater, partner. Call me Repeater.”

“I have a few questions.”

“Shoot.”

“Why do you think that we’re to go over?”

“Your name, partner, your name. How did ya earn it.”

“Well, I set the company record for the close combat course. Clocked in at 19 seconds.”

“What was the course like?”

“It was a trench… oh.” Trench Broom said, finally understanding the significance.

“Ah thought so. They named ya Trench Broom ‘cause ya’ll sweep the trenches clean, especially with that sword ya got on the end a your machine gun. That means that all ya new guys are bein’ trained ta attack, so we’re goin’ over the top. Ah don’t know when, but we will.” Repeater looked out past Trench at the rest of the squad, and sat in thought briefly. “Speakin’ of which, whenever ya get more acclimated, Ah think that Ah’m gonna promote ya to corporal.”

Trench Broom recoiled in surprise, “Really? I just got here!”

Repeater held out a reassuring hoove. “Ah know, that’s why I ain’t doin’ it right now. But ya are the most experienced pony in the squad when it comes ta this close up fightin’, and ah need ya ta teach us how ta fight in the trenches. Ah’m puttin’ ya up ta corporal so that ya have more authority. Ah ain’t doin’ it yet, but ah will.” Trench Broom nodded slowly as he digested the news.

“Alright then Sergeant, if you think that’s the best thing to do,” he answered hesitantly, already feeling the responsibility of the future weighing on him. For a moment he went over Repeater orders mentally. “Why do we need to sharpen the entrenching tools? Do you intend to use them to…?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you?”

“It’s what got Bloody Guts his name.” Repeater said. Trench nodded solemnly.

“I’m not certain that I’m ready for it, Sergeant-“

“-Repeater. Ready for what?”

“-Yes, Repeater. Sorry. Ready for fighting, sir.” Repeater nodded sympathetically. “I’m a bit afraid that I’ll screw up once we get into the thick of it.Everypony keeps saying that I’m new, and I’ve made a lot of mistakes today already.”

“Relax partner, everypony makes mistakes, and ya never feel ready. Ah mean, ah never thought ah’d be a good sergeant when the war started, but ah do alright. Ya’ll do fine.”

Trench smiled at that. “Really?! You think so?!” Repeater nodded. “Well, thank you Sergeant!”

“Repeater.” The pony corrected for the umpteenth time. “Partner, any particular reason ya keep callin’ me Sergeant? Ah mean, we’re all friends here.”

Trench shrugged sheepishly, “I guess it’s just conditioned… Repeater.” The name didn’t roll off of his tongue; it had to be forced off at gunpoint as Trench fought to keep a straight face. “I’m sorry; I just never called a superior officer by name, Sir. And I haven’t had the best of luck with officers today either. Just earlier I was going to link up with the platoon, so I went to the company headquarters and reported in, but I reported to the Major instead of the platoon leader like I should have.”

“And The Artist got ticked with ya, right?” Repeater said knowingly. Trench cocked his head at the strange name, then connected the dots.

“Yes sir. He told me that I have to…- Oh! Excuse me, Sergeant!” Trench said as he abruptly turned around and ran back into the dugout. He ducked in quickly and grabbed his saddlebags, turning around and heading back up before any of the ponies in there could ask what he was up to. He trotted up to the waiting Sergeant and set the bags down. “He gave me orders to be delivered to all sergeants in the company,” he said as he opened up one of the pockets. “Here.”

Repeater grabbed up the top one and opened it up, smearing a decent amount of mud on the back of the paper. He read it for a moment, and the further he read the more the smile receded. One of Repeaters eyebrows slowly made its way up as his eyes darted back and forth along the paper. He sat down, no longer reading, but glancing at parts of the paper.

“Partner, any idea what in the hay any of this stuff is?” Repeater said as he held the paper out to Trench. Trench read it quickly.

“Well, a MMMG Mk.I is this little beauty,” he said as he motioned to his machine gun. “SMCC Mk.II must be some upgrade to the service rifle. I don’t know about the others.”

Repeater shrugged. “Well partner, ah suppose that we’ll find out soon enough. Ya got ta deliver these out?” Trench nodded. “Well go deliver them and report back to us, then we’ll go back ta the rear and see what all a this is about.”

“Yes sir,” Trench said as he handed the paper back to the sergeant before snapping into a salute.

“Ya ever gonna just call me Repeater?”

“Oops. Sorry Sergeant.”

“Rep-, ya know, nevermind.”

About an hour later, Trench Broom got back to fifth squads section of the trench. After delivering twenty more of these notices up and down the line he was looking forward to at least sitting down. He saw the Sergeant sitting on the trench floor looking through one of the periscopes. Trench cleared his voice, “I delivered the orders Sergeant.”

Repeater looked over at him and grinned. “It’s about time, ah thought that ya ran off on us.” He got up and leaned into the dugout. “If ya ain’t named Longshot or Cold Blooded, then ya’ll are comin’ with me. Full dress.” Immediately, Trench could hear the dugout come to life with rustling. The twins were the first ones out.

“You know that Joe’s in the MG hole, right?” Muddy asked. Repeater nodded as the rest of the ponies clambered out of the dugout, each with their saddlebags and weapons in tow.

“Longshot, fork that rifle over ta Eagle Eyes and get on Marcia. If the Unicornians decide ta attack while we’re out the trench, it’s up ta you and Cold ta kill ‘em all.”

“I don’t even get to keep my minion?”

“Nope. Eagle Eyes comes with me.”

“OK,” Longshot sighed as he unslung his SMCC and gave it to Eagle before heading back off to his indent and Marcia. Repeater led the rest of them to the MG hole, and ducked his head inside.

“Hey Cold, Ah need ya ta send Joe on out here with both’a your rifles!” Trench could hear rustling from inside, and waited with the others until the large unicorn crawled out of the hole. “Alright, if the Unicornians attack its up ta you ta stop em, ya understand?” the hole was silent. Repeater finally waved off and pulled his head out of the entrance. “He understands. Let’s go.”

“So Repeater, whats this all about? Where are we going?” Hack Saw asked as they navigated their way through the trench.

“Everyponys gettin’ brand new stuff, so we’re all goin’ ta the back ta get it.”

“New stuff? For what?” Nopony answered for a moment, until Eagle Eyes broke the silence.

“For going over.”

“Yep,” Repeater confirmed.

“Crap,” said Hack Saws.

“Hey, at least they’re outfitting us; it’s more than last time,” Joe said.

“Last time? Wait? There was a last time?” the medic asked in surprise. “We tried going over before?”

“Yep, before ya showed up, we had just beat the Unicornians to a pulp at the first battle a Canterlot. Then our former general Cavalry Charge figured that we could just charge across the field after them,” Repeater answered.

“Idiot,” somepony muttered, Trench couldn’t tell who.

“Ok, so what did you have last time?”

“Lances,” The Specialist said.

“Celestia, lances? Really?!”

“Yessir partner, ah told everypony ta drop ‘em as soon as we got onta the field and grab up grenades from the Unicornians. Ah’m pretty happy about gettin’ new equipment, shows that they want us ta be ready.”

“Yeah, but equipment doesn’t matter without a good plan, and I’m willing to bet that this plan will involve walking across an open field towards the baddies,” Eagle Eyes said.

Something about his tone rubbed Trench Broom the wrong way, and he felt compelled to respond. “Well, how else are we supposed to cross seven miles?”

“I don’t know, all that I know is that walking across an open field towards the baddies has a lot of disadvantages, like the fact that you are walking across an open field toward the baddies.”

“Do ya got any better plans?” Repeater asked

“No, all that I know is that you don’t have to be Commander Hurricane to know not to walk across an open field toward the baddies.”

Trench piped up. “We probably won’t. The princesses don’t want us to get killed, so I’d have to think that they’ve come up with the best plan possible to keep us safe.”

“Wait, new guy, do you have any idea what the plan is?” Joe asked excitedly. “You’ve been training for the attack, right?”

Trench could feel the attention shift to him. “Well, I have been training for trench fighting, but I never heard about any plans whatsoever. Sorry.” He heard some groans.

They had trotted a pretty fair distance down the trench before they ran into an intersection that started taking them to the back. As they turned and started heading in the direction of Canterlot they could see a machine gun nest at the end, pointing down the length of the trench.

“You think that they’ll have guns set up like that?” Hack Saw asked.

“Yeah.”

“Yep.”

“Probably.”

The answers arrived simultaneously. “So how do you deal with that?”

Trench answered immediately. “Those aren’t bad. Put down smokes ahead, and then have all the unicorns cast a shield between you and the gun. Move up until you can grenade it out.”

“Ya’ll teach us, right partner?” Repeater asked with a wink.

“Yeah.”

“Great.”

One of the twins-Trench couldn’t tell the difference yet- spoke up. “Sergeant, me and my brother were wondering about the new equipment?”

Repeater nodded as he reached into his saddlebags for the orders, and then found himself fishing around for them. “Ah really miss mah vest,” he muttered before finally grabbing them out. “Alright, we’re getting’ new service rifles, a couple ‘a Trench’s fancy-pants machine guns, and some other stuff.” He passed the letter back to the twin. “Don’t ask what it is cause ah don’t know.”

The twins read it quickly as they trotted along. “It appears that Joe and Eagle can get the machine guns. You can too, Sergeant.”

“Naw thanks, Ah’m keepin’ mah Marechester.”

“I can get one of those?” Eagle asked, pointing at Trench’s gun. Immediately the twins snapped into a coy grin.

“You certainly do, but me and my brother have first-hoof experience, and while it’s all good fun we can tell you-

“-without a shadow of a doubt-“

“ -that it is far from perfect”

“Quite right brother, it hurts the shoulder-“

“-And the muzzle climbs!“

“- Not good for a soldier-

“-at any time!”

“But we’ll fix it up-

“-and we’ll make it hit”

“And we’ll do it all for just a few bits!”

“Yessir, they’ll do it all for precisely zero!” Repeater interrupted. The twin’s ears deflated instantly.

“But… we made a song for it,” Muddy said.

“And ah’m sure it was wonderful, but ya’ll still ain’t gonna charge a thing.”

“Fine, we’ll improve it for free.” Bloody said dejectedly.

“Pretty good pitch though,” Eagle said.

They trotted out of the trench system and into the bombed out field. Yet again Trench could see the giant Equestrian flag in the distance. “Sergeant?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What’s the story with the flag?”

“Ah, the flag is there so that every mornin’ Princess Celestia can look out the window of Canterlot Castle and see that we haven’t all been killed. If the flags gone, then it means it’s high time ta get outta dodge. It’s also there ta rub it into the Unicornians faces.”

“So if we get attacked and lose we have to take the flag down before we get overrun?”

“Naw, it’s covered in somethin’ flammable, ya shoot it with a flare gun and it goes up. The first flag got struck by lightnin’. They say that the Princess nearly keeled over from shock when she saw it was gone in the mornin’. Almost ordered Canterlot evacuated before the Field Marshall calmed her down.”

Behind them the others had all gotten into their own conversations, save for the Specialist. Trench looked back at them briefly, they all seemed relatively happy.

“Ya likin’ the squad so far?”

“What? Oh, yeah. They seem alright, and hopefully I’ll be friends with them soon. It’s just that, well, I already had a squad at training. And then they busted us up.”

“Ah understand. One of the best soldiers in this squad got sent away ‘cause ‘a some orders.” Repeaters ears dropped, and Trench saw an emotion that he didn’t expect from the upbeat Sergeant. Sadness. “He was mah best friend, too.” He perked up a little at some thought. “Hey, when ya were in trainin’, did ya ever meet any instructor by the name a Manifest Destiny?”

“Manifest Destiny? No, can’t say that I have.”

“How about Static Sparks?”

“No. Are they the same pony?”

“No,” Repeater answered.

“What kind of a fighting name is ‘Manifest Destiny’ anyway? It’s not aggressive, you know?”

“Well, what kind of a fightin’ name is Joe?”

“Is it the type that you give out?”

“Nope. Ah named Manifest Destiny. Guess who named Joe?”

“Who?”

“Cold Blooded.” Trench blinked in surprise.

“Cold Blooded?”

“Yessir. Have ya met him?” Trench squirmed a little. “Then ya have. He wasn’t always like that. He used ta talk, used ta do anythin’.” Repeater shook his head. “And now he don’t.” He stopped talking for a moment. “Ah’m sorry, ah just got distracted. We were talkin’ about friends that we’ve been separated from, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well just write ‘em. Ya’ll find that just about everypony here writes all the time. Hay, Ah write ta Manifest, mah cousins, and the folks at Appleloosa just about every day. Just write your friends. Ah’m sure they’ll appreciate it.”

“Appleloosa?”

“Mah old stompin’ grounds.”

Trenches mouth dropped open, “W-We aren’t allowed to talk about that stuff!”

Repeater waved off the claim nonchalantly. “Naw, we just ain’t supposed ta. Sorry partner, but everypony in the squad knows
where Ah come from, and a good chunk know mah real name.”

Trench let this sink in for a moment. “Does everypony here do this?”

“Well, most do. Ah know something about the old life of just ‘bout everypony here, save for you and… Eagle Eyes actually.” Trench realized that he did know something about the old Eagle Eyes. He brushed it aside for now.

“Back at training they used to make everypony run, or not feed us, and chew us out if we talked about things like that.”

Repeater shrugged. “Well, let me let ya in on a little secret partner. Once ya get out a basic, ponys really stop carin’ ‘bout that. Take mah hat for example. Back in boot camp, ah would have never thought a bringin’ it, but here it’s fine. One time some high rankin’ pony saw me with it and he chewed me out, but ah’ve been chewed out before. He didn’t even confiscate it.” Repeater looked over to him. “It’s a pretty long winded way a sayin’ it, but if ya ever felt like ya wanted ta talk about your past, we won’t put ya up against the wall for it.”

Trench nodded, but looked back at the others, namely Eagle Eyes. ‘I should probably go talk to him, tell him about the stationmaster,’ He thought briefly. Eagle Eyes was talking with Hack Saw though, and he didn’t want to interrupt.

“What are ya lookin’ at, partner?” Repeater asked, following his gaze.

“Just at the west, I guess,” Trench lied fluently. He wasn’t really, but he didn’t want Repeater to find out that he knew about Eagles past. If Eagle Eyes wanted to tell Repeater anything then he would, but Trench wasn’t going to spill for him.

“How does it make ya feel?”

“The west?”

“Yeah.”

“I think we’ll beat them if we get into the trenches. Give them a good taste of the Equestrian steel.”

“Are ya afraid at all?”

“No, maybe a bit nervous, but not afraid.”

They kept trotting toward the rear. They had already passed the last of the craters that the Unicornians 8 inchers had made. “Ah bet you’re pretty tired a trottin’ back and forth.”

“Dear Celestia Sergeant, you don’t know the half of it.”

“Well ah bet ya’ll be glad ta hear that it aint far ta the armory. its right over there.” he pointed off to the left, and Trench followed his hoof. Out in the middle of the field, a couple hundred yards away, sat a small lone tan tent.

The armory tent was at first glance nothing very interesting to look at, but at least slightly confusing to ponder, a small island in a sea of green. more importantly, an island that was much to small to hold anything. At least that was how it appeared to Trench. After making this trip for the third time, not to mention his tour of the trenches, nothing seemed to interesting to him apart from the prospects of laying his head down to sleep.

The rest of the squad definitely didn’t share in this notion as they lively trotted up to the bland tan tent, led by their Stetson-adorned Sergeant. However, The Quartermaster behind the table that Trench could see just inside of the tent clearly did, a blank look in his eyes that barely acknowledged the approaching squad. Before Repeater arrived, the Quartermaster preempted him.

“Are you here for the new equipment?” he asked, a bored voice that had asked the question numerous times before in the day, and seemed ready to ask it numerous times again.

“Yessir, we sure are!” Repeater answered enthusiastically. The Quartermaster slid a sheet of paper and pen toward the approaching pony. “Fill out the forms and then I’ll get it for you.”

Repeater picked up the pen and then started filling out the paperwork as the rest of the ponies gathered behind him. Trench looked out behind the small desk. The tent seemed much too small to house any arms, and seemed to only hold administrative equipment. He shifted his gaze down, and saw a set of stairs going into the floor. Ah, that was probably where the armory was.

“Joe, rifle or machine gun?”

“Rifle.”

“How ‘bout ya, Eagle?”

“Machine gun.”

Whatever paperwork Repeater had to do was apparently quite quick, because he was already handing the paper back to the Quartermaster. The quartermaster looked at the paper dully. “Turn in your Mk.1’s, and I will have your equipment soon.” The ponies deposited their rifles onto the table as the quartermaster turned and began down the stairs.

Muddy and Bloody pushed themselves up to the front of the group, right next to Repeater.

“”Muddy?”

“Yes Bloody?”

“Are you excited for the new rifles?”

“No brother, I’m excited for the new modifications that we’ll have to create!”

Repeater looked over to Muddy Ruts. “Ya better calm down partner, what if it’s a perfect design? What if ya’ll can’t make any improvements?”

“I quite doubt that Sergeant, if it exists in the realm of machinery-“

“-then we can improve it!”

Repeater cocked his head. “Ya’ll know that ah won’t let ya make a dime off a anything that ya’ll do, right?”

“We know Sergeant, but we after some discussion we decided that we don’t want to do it for the money.”

Repeater raised an eyebrow quizzically at this. “Really?”

“Yes sir, what we want to do is make a quality product that ponys will remember us for-“

“-and may hopefully secure for us some sales in the future!”

“Ah,” Repeater said, shaking his head. “And for a moment there ah almost thought ya’ll had changed.”

“Well what’s wrong with profits?” Bloody asked.

“And future sales?”

“Nothin’s wrong with profits or futures sales, it ya’lls-” Repeater was cut off before he could finish his sentence by a loud thud as the Quartermaster laid down several crates upon the table. The Twins looked at them greedily before levitating one up over to them and setting it upon the ground to open.

Everypony gathered around them as they opened up the crate. Trench hadn’t been in the squad long, but he did know enough to know that the twins were bound to be the best judges on the quality of this new equipment. As the lid propped open he could see the new rifle laid out, along with ammunition, a sling, a manual, a strange cylindrical piece of metal, and a large sheathed bayonet. The twins murmered their opinions.

“Bayonet, makes sense-“

“-Why don’t they have a cleaning kit?-”

“-the clips are the same.”

“We could lose the sling immediately-“

“-I wonder what this does?” they fell quite for a second, before looking at eachother.

“Let’s pick it up.”

They levitated the rifle out of the box, and Muddy slotted his hoove into the triggerguard and brought it up to aim. He looked to his brother in surprise.

“They stole our design.”

“What?”

“Feel it!” Muddy said as he hooved the rifle over to his brother, who shouldered it as well. He cocked his head.

“They did.” Trench raised a hoof in mild confusion.

“Who stole what?” Muddy and Bloody looked at him like he was a fool for a second, then Muddy relaxed.

“Oh, right. You’re new. My brother and I made a clever modification to the original service rifle. It was too front heavy, and the recoil hurt the shoulder, so we added a counterweight and rubber padding to fix it, and now it seems that the Royal Equestrian Ordinance has stolen it from us! See!” he said as Bloody thrust out stock of the rifle in their general direction, revealing that it did have a layer of rubber on it.

“Well that’s great then!” Repeater said, “It’s already better than the old one.”

“But they stole our idea!” Muddy protested vehemently.

“Ya’ll will live. What else did they do?” Bloody looked at the rifle that he held.

“They made the sights a lot better. Looks the one at the rear is a circle now, so all you have to do is put the front post at the center. This thing on the front”- he said as he pointed to a small protrusion with holes in the side of it sticking from the barrel- “is a flash hider, should keep the muzzle flash down and make us harder to spot.” He looked over it one last time. “And that sums it up.”

“Is it better?” Repeater asked.

“Much,” the twins said.

Repeater nodded in approval. “Any ideas as ta improve it?”

The twins looked at it. “Well, they took our last idea, but I believe that my brother and I will be able to find ways to improve it.”

The rest of the ponies that needed them grabbed up the rifle crates. Eagle Eyes took the time to locate the only outlier from the crates, and then opened it quickly to reveal his new MMMG. He looked over to Trench. “You’ll help me with this thing, right new guy?”

“Yeah, absolutely,” Trench said with a weary grin. Eagle Eyes nodded. Repeater was looking at the order sheet.

“Just two more things ta get and then we’ll be headin’ on back.”

“What about mail, Sergeant?” Joe asked.

“Ah, we can swing by there just as soon as we’re done here.” The Quartermaster was coming back up the stairs with one large crate on his back. He set it down in front of them.

“For the Browns,” he said bluntly, before retreating back down into the depths of the armory. Joe trotted over to it, and the others gathered around. He opened the crate.

For a moment he deliberated, then arrived at a conclusion. “I don’t get it.”

Inside the crate was a saddle, obviously designed for a pony of a large build. On one side were two large pouches, on the other was all the pockets that came standard with saddlebags. On the top of the saddle was a pivotable stand with a hydraulic arm, and a small reservoir tank behind that. All in all, a lot of gear that had no apparent value. Joe lifted up the manual and flipped it open. “Oh.” He flipped the book around for everypony to see.

“It holds the machine gun,” he said, but the diagram showed it clearly. The Browns .30 Cal would go on the saddle, which would go on Joe’s back. Wherever he could go, it could go.

“Well, ah suppose that it’ll help when we go on the offensive,” Repeater said. It was a bygone conclusion at this point. The Quartermaster came back with one final large crate. Repeater looked over to The Specialist. “Let’s see what they got for ya.” The Quartermaster set the crate on the ground, and Repeater opened it.

It was another saddle, on one side it had a set of three tanks, hoses ran from these over to the other side and connected to what looked like a fixed fire hose nozzle with a heat shield over it facing forward. Just below this was a trigger group. Stamped on the saddle it said “PWD Dragon MK1.”

“Well, another mystery,” Repeater said. He looked up, “Anypony got any ideas what this does?” Before anypony could answer, a voice from behind them spoke up.

“What it does is terrify me.” Everypony turned to face the voice, and were greeted by The Artist, a grim look on his face. Repeater saluted quickly, and The Artist quickly threw one back.

“Why?”

“What’s it called?”

Repeater read the label. “A PWD Dragon.”

“And what do dragons do,” The Artist said simply. Repeater looked at the device with newfound concern.

“Does this thing shoot fire?” The Artist nodded in the affirmative.

“The outer two tanks have petroleum, the inner one a gas that shoots it out. The nozzle lights it, and at the end this thing shoots flaming liquid around 50 yards.” He shook his head again.

“Petroleum?” Repeater asked.

“Yes, this new burning wonder-liquid courtesy of our griffon friends. They use it to power Airship engines. See this?” he said as he lightly kicked the saddle. “PWD, Petroleum Warfare Department. They have an entire department just for the stuff.” He shook his head as they looked at the strange device.

“Scares the daylights out of me,” he finally concluded. He looked up to Repeater, “You know what this means, right Sergeant?”

“Yeah, ah pieced it together when we got our new replacement.”
The Artist looked over and spotted Trench Broom. “Oh, the idiot, right.” Trench Broom ever so slightly backed up into the squadron as the Artist turned his attention back to Repeater.

“Ya got any idea when we’re gonna go?” Repeater asked. The Artist shook his head.

“Nopony high up has said a word, but I’d bet sooner rather than later.”

“And what do we do until then?”

“Wait. Don’t write about it, and don’t tell other squads; they’ll probably piece it together anyway. I suspect that we’ll start training ponies on how to operate these things. Just try your best to get them prepared for it.”

“Yes sir,” Repeater said with a salute. The Artist leaned in closer and spoke lowly.

“For all of you, if you’re afraid, keep it private. Don’t let anypony know. Can’t have ‘The Miracle Squad’ setting a bad example,” The Artist finished with a wink. Everypony nodded knowingly save for Trench, a blank look on his face as he tried to determine what The Artist just said.

The Major turned and began to trot off, leaving the squad to their own devices. Trench watched him as he went, when suddenly the light bulb came on. “Wait, ‘The Miracle Squad?’” he asked to anypony in general. “This is ‘The Miracle Squad’?”

“Yessir, the Artist didn’t tell ya earlier?” Repeater replied, eyebrows raised.
Trench shook his head in disbelief. “If he did, I don’t remember. But you’re them? The ones who made it back through the Unicornians at the Gorge?”

“Not me,” muttered Eagle Eyes before Repeater could answer properly.

“Well, Hack Saws and Eagle Eyes weren’t there, but everyone else was.”

“Really?” Trench asked, still not quite believing that he had just joined one of the first squads of war heroes. Repeater reached into his saddlebags and grabbed something out. In his hoof was a small gold half medallion in the shape of the sun rising, hanging from a blue and yellow ribbon.

“Celestial Sun, Second Class. For bravery shown by standing alone at the Battle of the Galloping Gorge.” He tucked it back away.

“Why don’t you wear it?”

“We don’t deserve it any more than anypony who’s fought so far. It ain’t a reason ta boast.” He faced the squad before Trench could ask any more questions. “Alright everypony, let’s get all this packed, go ta the mail, and get on back ta the trench.” The ponies started grabbing up their assorted crates and slinging them over their backs.

“Take the rifle, Saw,” Joe said to the Medic, who grabbed up the riflecrate that Joe indicated to. Trench looked over and saw Eagle Eyes staring pointedly at him.

“Are you gonna help me, or do I have to carry two crates back?” Tench grabbed up a rifle crate and threw it over his back.

“You could just ask,” he said in response. Eagle Eyes paid no attention. The squad began to follow Repeater back toward the tents they could just make out in the distance.. Each of the members began to sink into their own conversations. Muddy talked with his twin about the prospects of the new rifles. Joe was talking to Hack Saws about something. The Silent Specialist was staying true to his name. Repeater was probably up for a conversation, but trench wanted to give him a break. Trench looked over at Eagle Eyes, who was roughly right next to him. He glanced around to make sure nopony was paying attention.

“Do you mind if I ask you something?” Trench said slowly.

“I guess not,” Eagle Eyes answered, not making eye contact.

“Why is the armory in the middle of nowhere?”

“Nopony can be this green,” Eagle Eyes replied gruffly. “Remember basic?”

“Yeah” Trench replied, choosing to ignore the thousandth ‘new guy’ comment.

“Why did they keep the armory away from the barracks in basic?”

“Oh, yeah.” Trench Broom said, feeling slightly foolish for not remembering. “ka-boom.”

“Great, you remembered something from basic. Conversations over.” Eagle said bluntly.

Trench studied him briefly. The stationmaster at Ponyville said that Eagle Eyes used to work with him, and used to always smile. On the one hoof, the stationmaster said that his assistant got named Eagle Eyes and worked as a spotter. On the other, the pony that Trench looked at hadn’t turned the edges of his lips up once. This couldn’t be the same one the stationmaster mentioned. But it could.

“Can I ask you another question?” Trench asked hesitantly.

“make it quick.”

“Were you once called Lucky Clover?”

Eagle Eyes immediately shot him a suspicious look. “How the hay do you know who I am!?” he said in a hushed tone, the aggression behind it bleeding through.

“I was waiting for a train to show up at the Ponyville train station, and was talking to the stationmaster, he told me about you.”

Eagle Eyes sighed. “Of course he would.” He looked over to Trench again. “You don’t tell anypony about this, about me, you understand?”

“Of course, I wasn’t going to anyway, I just wanted to know if you were the right Eagle Eyes.”

“I am.”
For a moment Trench Broom didn’t really know what to say next. “He said that you were happy in Ponyville, that you smiled a lot.”

“A lot more than him, anyway. Yeah, I was a pretty happy guy back there. But just because you smile a lot doesn’t mean that you don’t want more.” He glanced over to Trench. “I was never noticed in Ponyville. You know who lives in Ponyville? The bearers of the Elements of Harmony. They always go off and save Equestria, and I cower at home and hope that nothing bad happens to me. I wanted to do something, you know? Have people say ‘hey, look at Lucky’ for once. I wanted to be noticed.”

Slowly Eagle was getting louder, apparently Trench had unwittingly tapped into an area of pent up frustration. Eagle threw a hoof in the air as he continued. “Geez, everyone was noticed in Ponyville but me. Ponies would notice Lyra because she sat on benches wrong. Ponies would notice the mailmare because she has crossed eyes. But nopony ever noticed Me.” He shook his head. “It took a war for them to notice me.”

Trench Broom nodded appreciatively as Eagle Eyes fell silent. He looked over to Trench and chuckled. “Heh, I guess I told you all about me there, huh?”

“Yeah, I understand. The stationmaster told me to tell you that everyone in Ponyville’s rooting for you, and they all care about you a lot.”

Eagle shook his head, “Yeah right. The Stationmaster may have given me my first job, and I sure do respect him, but he wouldn’t say that. He kept telling me not to go, that I was foolish, that I’d be noticed at my funeral. He finally just stopped talking to me. So thanks for lying to save my feelings, but he didn’t say that and I know it. ”

Trench shrugged. “Yeah, he didn’t. He did say that he wanted you back safe though.”

“But he just wants me to quit today, or get discharged. He doesn’t care if I come home empty-hoofed. And I’m not coming home until I have something.”

Trench looked around, he hadn’t noticed until now, but they had trotted into the tents of the rear position. He thought of what we would ask next as he looked at the mess of tents about him. “So you and Longshot-“

“We’re going to be the highest scoring sniper team in Equestria. He’s dead set on it, and I am too.”

Trench shuddered involuntarily. “When you say scoring, you mean-”

“Killing. Yeah.” Another strange pause followed as Trench worked up the courage to ask the next question.

“What’s it like?”

“I’ve never pulled the trigger.”

“But what’s it like watching?”

“I don’t, once I see them get hit I look away.”

“But you see them get hit, so what’s it like?”

Eagle Eyes looked at him. “You have to listen to me on this, and it’s going to sound awful, but you get used to it. The first time you see it you freeze up, get sick, and start sweating. Maybe your legs give out, mine did. You feel horrible. The next time, it’s a little bit less. Soon, it doesn’t affect you so much.”

“But is it bad, with the blood and everything? I saw a photo of a Unicornian who was blown in half at camp, is it like that?”

Eagle looked away, “Not like that, but -well- it doesn’t matter how bad they look, it’s just… Trench, do me a favor and stop asking about it. Please.”

Trench pressed on, “Is it usually worse than that though, with the blood and guts?”

The pony next to him twitched his ear, and answered with a raising voice. “No, but it doesn’t matter how bad they look, alright!”

“Why not?”

“Celestia new guy! Can you shut the hay up and stop talking about dead ponies! It doesn’t bucking matter how they look when they’re dead because they’re bucking dead and never going home!”

Trench recoiled down and away in the face of the verbal onslaught, but Eagle Eyes followed him, now towering over him. “You don’t know what it’s like, so stop asking! Once you’ve done anything, then you can talk, but for now shut up and quit bucking asking about how it feels to kill other ponies!”

Eagle Eyes stomped off, aware but not caring about the fact that the entire squad was now looking at him and Trench Broom. Repeater trotted on back to Trench. ”What happened?”

“We were talking, and I asked him what it’s like,” Trench whispered, still shaken up by the outburst.

“Yeah, partner, don’t do that anymore. Ya OK?” Trench nodded. “Alright.” Repeater headed on back up to the front and the squad resumed walking.

‘Great. Great-great-great.’ Trench thought to himself sullenly. ‘You really messed that up Trench old pal. Okay, Learn from it, don’t ask them about killing.’ The others went back to their own conversations, save for Eagle Eyes, who had marched up toward the front and refused to talk with anypony. Trench was left, for the most part, alone at the back.

The lack of conversation was welcome, because now at least he had some time to internalize the events of the day. ‘Okay Trench, lessons learned: Don’t be stupid near the Major, check. Don’t talk about killing, check. We are probably going to attack soon. Check. I’m going to have to teach them about trench warfare. Check. I need them to respect me in order to do that.’ He frowned. ‘Uncheck. I’ve ticked Eagle Eyes off and nopony else thinks that I’m competent enough to be in a position to teach them. Alright Trench, how are we going to fix it?’

He picked up the pace, passing the Silent Specialist, then Hack Saw, and then the twins as he pushed his way to the front of the group. Eagle Eyes glanced back at him for a second, then looked away. Trench Broom trotted up next to him anyway.

“Eagle Eyes, I want to say that I’m sorry. I should have known better.”

Eagle Eyes sighed. “It’s okay, you’re new, and you’re curious. I asked back when I first got here.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I asked Longshot. He just told me I’d see soon enough. He didn’t blow up on me. I should have been better.”

“No, I should have taken a hint.”

“Well... yeah, you should have.”

Trench glanced over. “You know, the Stationmaster said that you smiled, and you seem like the angriest pony here. Why?”

“I guess that I can be angry here, and nopony really cares. I can be different here.”

“But why be angry? What’s so good about it?”

“I don’t know. I never said it was good.”

“Ponies always appreciate a smile.” Eagle Eyes didn’t answer, choosing to just keep trotting. They had worked their way out the sea of tents, trading it in for a sea of cannons. A ways off Trench could see one large tent just behind the flagpole for the giant flag, and a group of other tents about it. The large one must have been the Field Marshal's headquarters.

One of these tents had the Royal Mail insignia upon it, and its identity was made even clearer by the undyed ponies with blue caps that milled about it. “Alright everypony,” Repeater said, “If ya got a letter then hoof it over ta them, collect any mail that ya got, and then we’ll head on back.” There were still a few gun positions between them and the mail tent, but they were closing the distance.

“Maybe,” Eagle Eyes said finally.

“Maybe’s good,” Trench said with a grin. Eagle Eyes wasn’t looking his way, he was looking at the crowd of mailponies very intently, he leaned forward as he trotted, squinting his eyes as he looked.

“Oh, wow. That’s my mailpony over there.”

“Huh?”

“Over there, the grey Pegasus mare with the yellow. That’s my mailpony. The one with the crossed eyes.” He paused for a moment. “Maybe I should say hi.”

Trench shrugged, “I don’t see why not.”

At this, Eagle Eyes raised a hoove. “HEY! DERPY!” Trench glanced over in surprise, along with the rest of the squad.

“I thought you would just trot up to her and talk.” Trench said to eagle. The Pegasus turned around, revealing her wildly crossed eyes. She looked at them with one, the other looking brazenly up at the flag. She squinted in an effort to find the voice. Eagle waved some more, and her face lit up with joy when she saw him.

“TIME TURNER!!” she yelled in excitement, and almost immediately the smile ran off of Eagle Eyes face. She started running toward them, straight through a battery of guns. She was running up to a set of the 5.5 inchers when Trench noticed a white pull cord extending from the back of one of the cannons laying right in the charging Pegasus’s path. He reared up on his hooves and started waving wildly to get her attention.

“STOP!”

The pegasus’s hoof caught on the cord.

Inside the Headquarters Tent, Field Marshall Shining Armor looked over a table of maps, models, force charts, and reports. He glanced over at a small letter that lay by the side. It was from the princesses. He looked back at the table. There was a lot of information to weigh, and the fact that they were weighing it made him nervous. Not that he could show it, but still.

He looked up at the tired faces across the room. Field Marshall Ace, General of the Calvary Clockwork Engine, Air Marshall Flying Fortress, and a whole host of lesser generals. They had been arguing nonstop for the better part of a day now, hammering out plans, exposing flaws, but Shining decided that it was now time to draw discussions to a close.

“Alright, so are we in general agreement on the plan of battle?” the heads across the room nodded, some faces showing misgivings, but still in agreement. “Okay then. When will the forces be ready?” He looked to Ace first.

“The Foreign Air Fleet and Legions are always at the ready.” It was the Response that Shining had expected. He looked over to the Air Marshall.

“The REAF is ready for fighting and support, and the Airborne is as well.”

Shining looked over at the General of the Calvary, who in turn was conferencing with the three generals underneath him. Finally he faced the Field Marshall.

“The guns are always ready, and will be able to provide ample support. You know my opinion on the new weapons; they can be ready to go today, but the more we wait the more defects are sorted and the more of them we can have ready for battle. The real issue is the Calvary. We have a split between the new reinforcements who are trained for this but have no experience, and veterans who have experience but no training. Add in weapons that no one has used before and I’d say that the absolute soonest that we can go for is two weeks. We would prefer a month.”

For a moment Shining thought. On the one hoof, more time would lead to a better ready army. And for what he intended to do with them they needed all the readiness that they could get. Despite him just hearing that everypony was ready except for maybe the poor bloody calvary, it was on the tip of his tongue to delay for the month that they asked for. And although he would never admit it, he knew that a lot of ponies would die if he gave the order, and this delay would give some precious time to those who would not be so lucky.

On the other hoof, every day that they waited was hundreds of tons of precious metals, gems, and ores excavated from Equestrian land and shipped to the enemy. Every day was another day that every Equestrian Pony out west lived in oppression. They had waited a year, which was too long.

But on the other hoof… No, there was no other hoof. “You have two weeks.” Shining said. “The Calvary troops are smart, and they’ll be ready by then. I know this.” The ponies across from him nodded, a somber look across their faces as the implications of two weeks until attack hit them. “Dismissed.”

They began to fall out. The Griffon headed over to Shining as the others vacated the room. he waited untill they were alone before he spoke. “You look concerned Field Marshall.”

“That’s because I am, Ace. In two weeks a lot of ponies will charge across that field, and a lot won’t come back.”

“Yes. Rarely do I have to consider culture in terms of war fighting, but what you just did was brave. A griffon would not hesitate from attack in this situation, but this is only because we know that victory for freedom is worth any cost. We are fighters in our souls, and do not shy away from using the sword, or in this case rifle. You ponies are not, so I must commend you. This order must be difficult.” Shining nodded. “You know that no one dies for nothing. The price may be high, but there is never too large a sacrifice to lay down at the altar of freedom.” There was nothing but sincerity in the griffons voice.

“Do you believe that ground is worth thousands of lives?”

“You do, or you wouldn’t attack.”

“Yes, but I don’t know that I believe in it as much as you.”

“Life is not so dear that should be chosen at the cost of freedom. Life without freedom is not a life worth living, and it is the life that your citizens west live. Your ponies must know this, and they must know that if they should die in battle that they die making their country free and whole again. If they don’t believe this, they will fight without conviction, and prove themselves right in their thoughts that fighting is futile.”

Shining was surprised at the Griffons insight. They had always been good at strategy and statistics, but what Ace was discussing had been completely missed by everypony, including himself. “What if they don’t believe it?”

“They do, as you do, but they may not remember it when the time comes. You just need to remind them why they are going before they go. We have found that a good speech helps. Combine that with the effects of seeing your contraptions, and they will have the fortitude to win the day.”

“Thank you, Ace,” Shining said with a weary smile. The thoughts of the dead still hung heavy in his mind, but the griffons words were helping. Ace was inspecting him closely, scrutinizing him with eyes of far greater vision than his. He was probably picking up every emotion that ran through him

“It still weighs on you?” Shining nodded. “You know it will only get worse. You know in your heart, or in your head, that we will have to invade their country to destroy this weed from the roots.”

Shining hadn’t thought about this yet, or at least when he did he pushed it out of mind. “All we want is Equestria back.”

“But while their leaders rule, Equestria will not know peace. If you take your country back but leave them they will fan the flames again, and someday they will be back. You can understand this.”

“One battle at a time, Ace.”

“But tomorrow is coming, and you can’t turn a blind eye to it.”

“I know.”

Ace nodded curtly, and then let the Field Marshall be.

Shining sifted through the plans, and pulled out the final recommendations. He looked directly to the only part of the recommendations that mattered to him. Estimated casualties: 25,000. It was a lot less than it used to be, but there was no way to make 25,000 dead or injured ponies and griffons sound small. He knew that the griffon was right, but the feelings that he felt were not going to go away.

BOOM!!!

The entire room shook as the tent walls were buffeted by the force of the explosion. Shining ducked under the table instinctively. Ace ran back into the room, Talon cannon out.

“ACE! WHAT THE HAY HAPPENED!” Shining yelled in exasperation.

“Doesn't matter! We got to get to the bunker!” Shining’s mind was spinning. ‘Do they have new artillery with the range to hit us here?’ He and Ace got up and ran out of the tent for the entrance to the general’s bunker. As soon as they got out of the tents entrance and into the open air of the field Shining was greeted with a sight of almost pure confusion.

There was a dust cloud hanging around one of the 5.5 inch cannons, and just next to it splayed on the ground was a very surprised mailmare. He looked next to her, and saw the white pullchord wrapped around her hind leg.

“You! Stand at attention!” he yelled at the mare. She looked around in confusion, examining the cannon and the chord with her crossed eyes. “Stand at attention!” he yelled again. She finally noticed him with at least one of her eyes, and hovered up into the air, hooves behind her back, and a small worried grin on her face.

“What the Hay happened?” Shining yelled. The Mailmare dropped down and saluted, trying her best to look serious despite the eyes.

“I don’t know what went wrong, sir! I was running over to meet a friend and I tripped, sir! And then everywhere exploded, sir!”

Quite a crowd had gathered around, artilleryponies, the generals and field Marshalls, and a squad of Calvary ponies. Shining thought for a minute about what needed to happen next. “General Clockwork!”

“Yes Field Marshall?”

“I want the crew for this gun to be disciplined for failing to keep it secure and for having the pull cord in an area of obstruction. I want you”- he said to the mailmare. “to pack up and never return here. Understood!” The mailmare nodded sullenly.

General Clockwork looked over to him with concern. “We’ve never fired one of these cannons at the enemy before. If that round hits in their rear area they’ll know that we now have the range. We may lose the surprise.”

“If that’s the case, then would you feel comfortable with moving up one week?” Shining asked.

“It would be prudent.”

“Then we’ll move it up one week.” Shining said. If they were going to know that the Equestrians had upgraded their cannons then he couldn’t afford to allow them the time to exploit it. He turned around to head back into the tent. This was going to be a massive headache for him. Paperwork. Explanations.

“Dear Celestia!” somepony behind him yelled. He turned around and looked for the cause of the commotion. There didn’t seem to be anything wrong. He saw ponies pointing out west, and followed their hooves.

“My…” Shining searched for words, but they wouldn’t come. A cloud of dust and smoke rose up in the west, towering in the distance. Clockwork trotted over slowly, looking at his watch as he went.

“Is that at their lines?” Shining finally managed to ask.

Clockwork nodded. “Our shell must have hit an ammunition storage. Luck is on our side.”

“No kidding.” Shining said softly, still looking at the rising cloud.

“You may want to plant your hooves in the ground, Field Marshall,” Clockwork said as he looked at his watch intently. ”And perhaps avert your ears.”

The ground shook beneath them, but strangely there was no sound. “Waves travel faster through earth than through air,” Clockwork said, preempting Shining’s confused glance. “It’ll be close-“

The air shook as the blast from the explosion finally hit, kicking up dust and drowning out any words from the softspoken general. Just as quick as it had come it resided, the dust dropping back to the ground and the explosion leaving nothing but ringing ears all around. Shining blinked the dust from his eyes, and then faced Clockwork, a smile on his face.

”General, if you could track down that Mailmare, I’d appreciate it. She’s done a great service to Equestria today. See to it that she gets a medal before we ban her from ever returning.”

Author's Note

If you need help visualizing, the new SMCC MK.2 is in essence a Lee-Enfield MK 5 with a flash hider, the Mark 5 being shown below.

finals are next week for me, so don't expect any miracles

A Dark Night for Everyone

A dark night for everyone.

“Hey.”

Trench woke with a start at the hushed voice, quickly looking for the source. The dugout was pitch black, and only the faintest of light came in through the opening to the trench, outlining a pony.

“Anypony awake in here?” the pony in the entrance said, softly and quietly. Trench looked around; everypony else was fast asleep. He looked back at the entrance.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “What's going on?”

“Wake your squad, company briefing is in 5.”

Trench cocked his head. “What time is it?”

“Zero-two hundred,” the pony replied and left before Trench could ask him anything else. Two in the morning. Trench had a sinking feeling; they had never been woken at two. He turned over and gave Repeater a nudge. Repeater didn’t respond.

“Sergeant, wake up.” Nothing. “Wake up!” he said, harsher, but still hushed.

“Trench, you had better be wakin’ up for a good reason,” Repeater mumbled, not bothering to expend the energy to open his eyes.

“We’re being called to a briefing in five minutes.”

“What time is it?”

“Zero-two-hundred.”

Repeater rolled over and got up, his eyes tired and sleep filled. He shook his head to try and wake up. “Zero-two-hundred? It’s too early ta be wakin’ everypony,” Repeater said, barely more legible than he was before. He opened his mouth and yawned loudly, stretching out his hooves on the ground. he reached behind his head and scratched before he made his proclamation. “Well, Ah guess that we gotta. Help me wake ‘em up, alright, Corporal?” Trench nodded.

Corporal. It sounded wrong. Corporal Trench Broom. He liked being Private Trench Broom back at camp. Ponies would tell him what to do and he would do it, quickly and efficiently, but he would never have to be telling other ponies what to do. That was easy, stress free. But now he was a corporal, second in the squad, fresh out of camp, and training everypony on trench warfare. Even his Sergeant. And it all went back to him. If they didn’t know something, it was because he failed to teach them. The responsibility had a weight to it, and he could feel it all the time.

Of course, right now all he had to do was help wake the others up. Not anything so bad yet. He stood up and prodded the pony next to him. “Hey, Bloody, wake up.”

“Wrong pony sir,” the twin mumbled.

“OK, Muddy, wake up.”

“Should I wake up too?” the other asked groggily.

“Yes.”

“Alright brother, let’s get up.”

Repeater had already trod to the other end of the dugout to wake the others. Trench moved past the twins to the next pony. He was already sitting up and awake, looking out the dugouts entrance.

“Cold, you awake?” Trench asked, the earth pony nodded once, and gave the large unicorn next to him a nudge to wake him. “Thanks,” Trench said. Cold just gave another nod. He still hadn’t talked; not during training, not during meals, not ever.

Repeater had already woken Hack Saw and moved on to Longshot, so Trench went over to Eagle Eyes and nudged him hard. “Hey, wake up Eagle, you goon,” Trench said in jest, a tired grin growing on his face. Eagle Eyes kicked at him half heartedly.

“Let me sleep Trench, you jerk.”

“Can’t, we have to go to a briefing in five.”

“Friggen stupid…” Eagle Eyes’ ability to properly complain collapsed into unintelligible muttering as he slowly got to his hooves. The others were getting more and more alert by the moment.

“So, Trench, did that pony tell ya what this briefing was on, or why it couldn’t wait till breakfast?” Repeater asked as he grabbed up his Stenson and placed it on his head.

“No, just that it was happening,” Trench answered.

Hack Saw interrupted, speaking at his usual quiet tone. “Do you think it could be-”

“We ain’t gonna find out here, so let’s get goin’,” Repeater said, quickly stepping on any mention of the dreadful possibility that was on their minds. He was already heading out the entrance, stopping once he had gotten out to look up. Trench followed him quickly, and the others weren't far behind.

It was a new moon out tonight, so it was up to the stars to light the way. Trench couldn’t see a thing in the trench, but he didn’t want to look that way anyhow, not with the view above. The stars were out in their thousands, specks in the near black sky above. Not a light was on for miles, and it made for an incredible sight.

“Reminds me of home,” Repeater said, also lost in the view above. He shook his head, and turned away. “Come on everypony,” he said, trotting down the trench to where the company headquarters was. Other squads were also coming out, all turning to go the same way. Out ahead the trench widened, barely illuminated by a single lantern, which also exposed a single pony and a board behind the black silhouettes of those already there. They headed into the widening and took a seat behind the crowd. It was silent apart from the shuffling of hooves on the wood floor. For a moment they sat there, waiting as more ponies shuffled in behind them. Finally the pony up front stood up.

“Alright, let’s get to it,” The Artist said. “You are all probably wondering why you’re awake at two in the morning for a briefing. It’s because today’s the big day. We’re going over the top.” Trench didn’t react, but everypony else in the squad apart from Cold did. Ears drooped, mouths went slack, Hack Saw started shaking his head in disbelief. The Artist noticed the reaction, but continued, pointing at a photograph on the board.

“This is a photograph from the Airborne of the area we will be attacking, 7 miles to our direct front.” He pointed at two large structures on either end of the photograph. “Every five or so miles they’ve erected these large concrete bunkers. A direct attack on them would likely fail, and an attack uniformly spread across the front would likely be broken up by the reinforcements coming out of there. But that is not where we are going to attack. We are going right between them."

“In one hour at 0300 we will begin our march, starting the attack at 0500. Heavy fog is forecast for this morning, so we will advance under it, hopefully being able to achieve surprise. Once we get to the trench our objective is to get to the rear and make a defensive line to the north, south, and west of these bunkers using their own trench system. With these placed between their bunkers we’ll have cut them off from one another, and can then deal with them individually, hopefully weakening the larger ones by cutting off their supplies. Your goal is simple: enter the trench, fight to the rear, clear any pockets of resistance in this area, and then prepare defenses.” The Artist faced them again. “Questions?”

Off to Trench’s left a pony raised a hoof, and as he glanced over it was his turn for his mouth to drop, not in horror, but surprise.

“You there,” The Artist said.

Cold Blooded lowered his hoof. “What’s their strength in the area that we are assaulting?” he said, revealing a Manehatten accent. Trench looked around at the rest of the squad, who were equally bewildered. Cold Blooded was talking. The Artist simply answered his question, unaware of the importance of this event.

“We estimate 5000 in this area, most of them divided between the two fortresses. With luck resistance in the area between the two will be low enough that we can punch through.”

Cold immediately raised his hoof again, and The Artist nodded at him. “Do we know how many guns they have?”

“No, but if the plan succeeds we’ll be in their trenches before they can use them on us. Their guns are presighted on our positions, so they’ll have to re-aim them, and in fog that’ll be a hay of a uphill battle.” Trench nodded in agreement; unless they got held up for a long time they’d be safe. No one else in his squad looked nearly as convinced. Cold raised his hoof again.

“You have a lot of questions, don’t you?” The Artist asked, a forced grin on his face.

Cold was unmoved. “Only one more. Will we have artillery support?”

The Artist frowned and looked away. He faltered for a minute, looking for a way to say the answer. His pause was answer enough. “In order to facilitate surprise, there will be no preparatory bombardment. You won’t have artillery support.”

The chill of the cold morning air hadn’t woken Trench up, but The Artist’s statement certainly did. He knew that they were going to attack, and was ready for it, but no artillery? Celestia, no support, no preparatory. Around him everypony was reeling from the news, and for the first time he felt a bit uneasy. Cold raised his hoof again.

“Yes.”

“How are we going to deal with the second trench system that we know they’ve got?”

“We aren't, the battle ends for us when we clear our section and set up our defenses.” Cold moved to raise his hoof again, but stopped. “Any more questions?” The Artist asked, nopony responded, too shocked or too tired to question anything. “Get ready then, be out in the trench by 0245. Dismissed.”

Everypony got up in a hurry, eager to get back to their dugouts to get their affairs in order. Trench was at any rate, already trotting back with a sense of urgency. He didn’t know where the rest of his squad was at, but he didn’t care. Thankfully he arrived back at his dugout quickly, able to conserve minutes that were only too precious. He had to be completely ready for the big day, and probably needed every second. Nopony lit a lantern when they left, so the dugout was dark as night.

A white light illuminated from behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see that Longshot was illuminating the dugout with his horn. “Over there,” he said as he pointed, and quickly Trench lit the lantern. Behind him he could hear more of the squad shuffling in, but he couldn’t be bothered right now with anything else.

He moved to grab up his Marechester when he felt a hoof on his shoulder. He looked behind him at Repeater, who looked concerned, maybe even pained.

“Partner, that can wait. Ah know that this is gonna be your first fight, but take it from me, Ya wanna write home first.” Trench looked behind Repeater, and the rest of the squad was getting papers ready. He looked back at Repeater. He had never seen him like this; his eyes were silently pleading him to put the gun down and pick up his pencil. Trench slowly nodded and placed it down. Repeater gave a sad smile. “Thank ya partner.” Trench reached for his paper and grabbed his pencil in his mouth. If everypony thought it was so important, he would write.

Behind him the dugout rumbled with noise as he put his pencil to paper. Dear Mom and Dad, he wrote. The pencil stopped moving. ‘Do I include my sister, or does she get her own letter?’ he thought. ‘Celestia, what do I even write?’ his mind whirred. There was so much to say, and there wasn’t enough time. He glanced back at his squadmates, all now present, and all now writing furiously. Repeater must have felt his eyes looking back, for he looked up from his writing at Trench. “I don’t know what to tell my folks,” Trench said.

“Celestia partner, somethin’. Anythin’. Ya just gotta write.” As soon as Repeater dispensed this advice his head was back to his paper. Trench looked back to his note.

‘Write anything. Right.’

Dear Mom and Dad,

We’re about to go over the top and attack in less than an hour, hopefully change the war and finally break this horrible stalemate. Like in all my previous letters, specifics are frowned upon, even though by the time this letter is even sent this battle will be over for the better part of a week. All that I think that I can say is that we are ready in almost every way that we can be. I’ve been training the rest of the squad (I told you about that) and they learned pretty quick. They have the experience to actually know what I’m talking about, but not training. I have training, but no experience. That’ll be taken care of soon.

I love you guys, and I even love Sunspot, but don’t tell her I said that. If this is it for me, I want you to know that I didn’t go for nothing, and I went with some of the best ponies that I could ask for.
I got to go now and get ready.

Love

Trench Broom (until they let me sign my own letters differently)

He quickly re-read his letter, and nodded in approval. ‘Good enough.’ He folded the paper and addressed it, then turned and put it into the mailbox on the wall. Hopefully somepony would come around and get it, but for him the issue was closed. now it was time to focus on the matter at hoof.

Trench trotted back over to his mat, and grabbed up his saddlebags from the end and slung them over his back. As he adjusted the straps he mentally started making a checklist of what he needed. ‘Saddlebags, MMMG, bayonett, magazines, grenades, smokes. Okay.’ Trench finished with his saddlebags and grabbed his MMMG off the wall. He undid the locking lugs and then pivoted the barrel down and away from the wood furniture. He pointed the barrel at the lantern and looked down it, seeing if the light illuminated any dirt or obstructions. Apart from the smooth spiral of the rifling it was clean, just as he left it. Trench snapped the barrel back down and put the lugs back in, and then he moved on to Eagle’s MMMG.

Trench looked at the rest of the dugout. So far he was the only one apart from Cold Blooded who was done writing. They must have had a lot more to say than him. He picked up Eagle Eyes’ MMMG and removed the lugs, repeating his earlier actions and looking down the barrel into the lanternlight. he smiled. Eagle Eyes actually listened to him when he taught him how to clean it. He snapped it shut and put the lugs back in.

‘Good, now the Bayonet,’ Trench thought as he grabbed up the item in question. He unsheathed it. Good, it was well oiled, and didn’t stick to the cover when he pulled it out. He ran his hoove over the blade carefully, feeling for any blemishes in the sharpness of the steel. None, good. He resheathed it, and tied it onto his saddlebags.

‘Magazines.’ He trotted over to a box by the wall and kicked it open, and started grabbing up 50 round mags for his Marechester and putting them into his saddlebag’s magazine pouches. There was only room for six of them, but there were twenty in the box to begin with. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he should do. ‘Yeah, I want more, ten for me, ten for Eagle’. He jammed them into whatever empty pouches he had on his left side and grinned. Now he had 500 rounds on him, and still room for the next item on his list.

‘Grenades,’ Trench thought, but he already knew that there were no grenades to be found in the dugout. Not that he wanted grenades in the dugout, but he knew that he would have to leave in order to get them. He looked over at the rest of his squad, all still writing. No, he didn’t want to go get grenades just yet. He looked up at the far wall. It was 0225. Twenty minutes till zero hour and they were all still lost in their own world of thoughts of home. They had to get ready for reality. He trotted over to Repeater and gave him a nudge, then pointed at the clock on the wall when Repeater looked up at him.

“Thanks partner,” Repeater said after seeing the time. “Everypony, wrap up your letters. Ya need ta be gettin’ prepped by 0230.” Nopony looked up, and Repeater went right back to his letter. Trench was left without anything to do but wait. No problem. If there was one thing the Cavalry had taught him apart from how to storm a trench, it was how to wait. He grabbed up his Marechester and slung it over his back, then leaned up against a wall and relaxed .

Trench looked across the dugout to the only pony that wasn’t writing. Cold Blooded had talked this morning. He hadn’t talked all week, and before that he hadn’t talked for nearly a year, but he talked this morning. Perhaps the thought that this could be his last day had loosened his lips. Now there was a thought, a pretty morbid one too. By the end of the morning Trench Broom could be dead. Trench frowned as he tried to think about that. What if he died? He couldn’t see it, and finally decided that he didn’t want to. It was more entertaining to think about Cold. He was definitely only talking because it was the big day, so now the question was how talkative was he?

Trench got back up and trotted around the writers, heading over to Cold. Cold was currently packing belts of ammunition for the Browns into his saddlebags, unaware or uncaring about the pony coming up behind him. Trench stopped short of sitting down next to the pony when he realized that he hadn’t quite figured out what he was going to do when he got there. ‘Geez, what do I even ask? What do I even say?’ Even though he currently towered over the earth pony, Cold still radiated an intimidating presence. Trench was still standing awkwardly behind him when Cold turned his head and looked at him with his piercing eyes. Trench stammered now that he was put on the spot. ‘Quick, say something!’ he thought.

“Uh, hey! Cold! Wanna talk?” He winced as he said it. ‘Geez that sounded dumb,’ he thought. Cold just looked at him with dead eyes, then shook his head and went back to packing ammo.

“Well, new guy, you gave it your best shot.” Trench looked over at Longshot, who was putting his letter in the box and trotting back over to his place on the mat. Eagle Eyes was chuckling behind him.

“Yeah, and your best shot was pretty pathetic,” Eagle Eyes jested. Trench gave him a look, and Eagle Eyes stopped chuckling. Nopony else was laughing along with them. It was quiet apart from the sounds of saddlebag straps adjusting and the mechanical clinks of rifles as everypony finished up their letters. On every other night and morning the dugout had a warm, safe feel. Today it felt like a graveyard.

“I’m off to get the Dragon, Sergeant. Be right back,” The Silent Specialist said from behind Trench, before the sounds of hoovebeats indicated he had left.

“Me and Cold are gonna get the Browns,” Joe said as well. Repeater nodded as he picked up his Marechester and tested the scope and the sights. Trench saw Eagle reach for his MMMG and pick it up, his hooves moving to the locking lugs.

“I already checked it,” Trench said, “and you did a good job cleaning it.”

“Well, I’m checking it again new guy,” Eagle said gruffly as he swung the barrel down. after one week he still hadn’t shaken that hard, angry attitude. Trench knew it was an act, sure, and suspected that Eagle may have even thought of him as a friend, but he could still be a first class jerk. ‘At least I still have one hoof up on him,’ Trench thought.

“Remember rank,” Trench said with a sly grin as Eagle looked down his barrel for blemishes.

“Alright then, I’m checking it, Corporal.” Trench was still amazed at how this pony could turn the word ‘corporal’ into the most contemptible and low occupation in existence just by how he said the word. He snapped the gun back up and reinserted the lugs. Across the dugout the others had their saddlebags on, and were now jamming as many clips as they could manage into every pocket they could spare.

“Remember to save room for grenades and smokes,” Trench said, and got a couple of nods from the rest of the ponies in the room. Repeater seemed to have finished and looked over to him.

“Ah’m headin’ off, gonna see if Ah can find out anythin’. Ya’re in charge here,” Trench nodded, and Repeater trotted out of the dugout. Everypony was getting close to being ready, and it would be only a few minutes before they'd be heading up as well. Eagle Eyes had packed his bayonet, and was now putting clips in his saddlebags.

“Just take the rest of them, put them where you can,” Trench said.
Eagle nodded and started stuffing the magazines where he could. After a few moments, he glanced over at Trench and spoke softly, “Yeah, hey, Trench, I gotta talk to you about something.”

“Yes?” Trench answered brightly.

Eagle raised a hoof abruptly. “Keep it down,” he said urgently, but still quietly. “Remember when you asked me about what it was like watching ponies get killed?”

“Yes.”

“Remember what I said?”

“You told me to shut up and stop asking.”

“No-no-no, when I told you what it was like?”

“Yes, your knees gave out and you got sick.”

Eagle nodded. “Yep, I couldn’t do anything for about a minute. Trench, for Celestia’s sake, you can't do that. Whatever you see, whatever you do, you can’t freeze or you will die.” Trench looked Eagle in the eyes, and in there he could see his emotions laid out bare. There was concern, there was sadness, but the overriding thing in the pony’s wide eyes was fear.

“Whatever I do?”

“Yeah. I just watched, and I still froze up. You’re a machinegunner, and if you do your job...”

Trench internalized this. If things went right, he was going to kill a lot of ponies. If things went wrong, he would be killed. For the first time he was getting a glimpse of how everypony else was feeling. The depressive feel of the dugout was beginning to get to him. He chose to push these horrid feelings aside, and looked up at the rest of the the dugout. Everypony else had their rifles ready, save for Hack Saw.

“Are we good to go up?” Trench asked. The rest of the room looked at him, sullenly, defeated. Longshot finally nodded on their behalf. “Okay,” Trench said, a little less enthusiastically. “Let’s go up.”

They trotted up out of the dugout, back into the cool night air. The stars still shone bright and numerous, but now the wonder seemed to have gone out of them. Repeater was already out there, looking out over the edge of the trench to the west. His eyes were glazed over, looking out but not seeing. Trench knew what he had to be thinking of, all the things that needed to be ready.

“Rifles are ready, Sergeant,” Trench said, snapping Repeater out of his stupor.

“Don’t be so sure, Corporal,” Repeater said grimly. “Bloody, Muddy, have ya’ll made the trench mirrors?”

“Yes sir, Sergeant,” Muddy said as he reached into his saddlebags and grabbed up a mirror, his brother reaching for his bayonet. Muddy slipped the mirror over the blade, then held it out. Repeater nodded.

“Give one ta everypony in the squad, and if ya got extras pass ‘em out. Anypony bringing wirecutters?” Longshot and the twins raised their hooves. “Good.” As the twins started hoofing out their mirrors Repeater turned to Trench. “What time is it?”
Trench glanced back into the dugout at the clock, and quickly replied, “0237 hours.” It didn’t seem like long, but nearly fifteen minutes had gone by.

“Alright, once Cold, Joe, and The Specialist come back, Ah’ll tell ya what Ah learned by askin’ around.”

“Is it good?” Longshot asked.

“No.”

“Of course not, why would it be?” Eagle fumed.

“Private, Ah really don’t need that right now,” Repeater said, and Eagle Eyes stopped himself. The pony that always smiled now looked like he never knew how to, his gaze fixed out on an unseen enemy.

Cold and Joe were coming down a rapidly filling trench to the squad. On Joe’s back was the Browns, idly pivoting from side to side on its saddle mount as he trotted over. Cold propped himself onto the wall next to Repeater, and the two of them shared the silence.

“Are ya’ll ready?” Repeater asked. Cold nodded, and with that the conversation ended. If it was possible the trench was quieter than the dugout was, despite the countless ponies around them. He needed somepony to talk, and maybe lift this oppressive mood. It would have to be him.

“Am I the only one who’s ready to give them a good taste of Equestrian steel?” he said brightly, a smile on his face to try and cheer them up. Whatever response he hoped to get didn’t happen; no agreement, no cheers. Nopony reacted in any way, all still wrapped up in their own thoughts and fears.

Slowly the smile that he wore faded, and Repeater turned to him, “Not today, Corporal.”

Trenches ears dropped completely. He hadn’t beaten the horrid mood surrounding them. He thought it would be different, that when they were finally allowed to go over and fight the Unicornians that they would be, well, maybe not excited, but willing and ready. Just by looking at everypony around him he could tell that there wasn’t a thing in the world that they wanted to do less than to go over, and that
despite the week of near constant training he had given them they were nowhere near ready. They knew something that he didn’t, and he already knew what it was. They knew how bad it was going to be. They knew something that no amount of photos, or questions or anything could prepare him for. And he was going to face this thing that they couldn’t even describe to him that had them all so afraid.

Trench got up onto the lip next to Repeater and Cold and looked out west. There was nothing to see but the blackness of the empty field under the star studded sky, but he felt a pit in his stomach by looking at it. He felt like they did, and it was eating him up.

“Sergeant,” he said timidly, and Repeater glanced over at him, his face still hard and contemplative. Trench kept looking back out at the west. “I-I’m, scared sir.”

Repeater’s face softened a little, “Ah am too partner.”

Trench kept looking out there, but somehow the admission lifted some of the weight from his shoulders. He was still afraid, but less so. Behind him he heard new hoofbeats on the wood floor.

“I brought grenades.”

Trench looked over his shoulder and saw the Silent Specialist, loaded down with the Dragon and a crate of grenades on his back. Trench leapt down from the lip and greedily began stuffing grenades into any space he had left in his bags. Two grenades, and two smokes where all he had room for, so it would have to be enough. Everypony else was doing likewise, and it took only seconds to empty the crate. Repeater started talking.

“Alright everypony, Ah asked around, and The Artist said that there is more to the plan, but none a’ the majors were told about it. Whatever it is, we just get to the back a’ their trenches. Remember what Trench taught ya. The twins shoulda given ya these mirrors, use ‘em. Every time ya get ta a corner look around it before ya just charge in. Ranking order is me, then Cold, then Longshot, then Trench. Understand?” They all nodded silently. “Good, what’s the time?”

“0244,” Hack said.

“Alright, at 0245 everypony stops talkin’.”

He didn’t need to issue that order, nopony was talking anyway. Up and down the Trench it got quieter as other squads had the same idea. The beats of hooves on the wood fell silent, the hushed murmurs diminished and died. Trench didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Hay, nopony did. But they were all the company he had as the squad stood at the bottom of the trench.

Presently he became aware of a feeble creaking and hoof falls on dirt behind him, but paid it no mind until he heard a dull ‘thump.’ He turned around, and saw at the top of the trench behind him a pair of ponies, one with a wire spool that had been unrolled on his back, standing next to a box of speakers. There were ponies like this every fifty yards or so, all setting up the speakers. Everypony in the trench had pivoted to face this strange turn of events, but already the ponies tending to it turned and left.

With a rumble of static the speaker turned on, and for a moment there was only white noise. Then a voice, a mares, soft, but resolute. Trench recognized it instantly, from newsreels and radio. It was Princess Twilight.

“It’s a dark night out tonight. Without Luna’s moon and the lights of Canterlot, its almost pitch black. If it weren’t for a few small stars in the sky, the darkness would consume everything and plunge us into blindness. These smallest of glimmers keep total despair at bay. We are all in our own dark night. You. Me. All of Equestria. We have been there for nearly a year now.

I’m certain that for all of you listening right now the night is darker than ever, darker than even the skies above you. There isn’t much light for you.

I know that you’re afraid, for all of your own reasons. You’re afraid because you don’t know the whole plan. You’re afraid of dying. You’re afraid of losing your… your friends. You’re afraid of losing... everything. And all of these fears stem from this: You’re afraid of going over the top.

It’s a dark night for you, but remember that you aren't the only ones in it. You’re afraid of the ponies seven miles west. I’m afraid for everypony behind them. In Vanhoover and Tall Tale, there are hundreds of thousands of Equestrian citizens who have been living in this darkness for nearly a year.

Right now we can still stop, we can call off the attack, and nopony will go over the top. Nopony dies. But we can’t do that, and I know that you can’t either. If we do, then we snuff out what little light there is for our countryponies out west. They will fall into despair, knowing that there is no hope for an end to their oppression. Their dark night will last forever. For the rest of our lives, we would have to live with the fact that the price of living was a few hundred thousand Equestrian lives...

This will not be our future. We are going over the top into this darkest of nights, and when Celestia raises the sun, we will rise with it to end the darkness on Equestria! This night, this nightmare doesn’t end when we stop taking steps back, but when we start taking steps forward! This night ends when we break their trenches!

I know you all have doubts; I know you wonder if you can. I don’t! Do you believe in us!? Because we believe in you! We believe that all of you will do what it takes to win today. We believe that you will rise with the sun and drive them back, and raise the sun of hope on this night of despair! We believe that you will be the ponies that will take the first steps in reclaiming the land that we love, and making Equestria whole again.”

The speakers went back to static, then cut out. The trench was still silent, but different. The mood had changed. At least for Trench, the fear that he had about going over the top had diminished. She was right, they had to go over. He was still scared of what could await him, but his determination overpowered his fear. He glanced at the rest of the squadponies, and he could see in their eyes that they shared it. He looked back at the top of the trench, and at the black sky beyond it. He was as ready as he would ever be.

“COMPANY! LOAD AND READY, SAFETIES STAY ON!” The Artist bellowed. The trench burst into noise as clips were placed into rifles and rounds rammed in, belts fed into machine guns and bridges closed. Trench grabbed up the first of his mags in his mouth as he reached behind him for his MMMG, placed the stock firmly in his shoulder, and quickly slotted the mag in. He looked over to Eagle Eyes, who was doing the same.

“Don’t cock it,” Trench said, and Eagle Eyes nodded. Around them clips from the rifles pinged as the bolts were pushed home and locked, but quickly the sounds subsided as the last ponies finished loading their weapons.

“FIX BAYONETS!” The Artist yelled. Trench grabbed his bayonet from his sheath with a satisfying ‘schiiink’ and locked it under his guns barrel. It was too dark out for it to shine, but he could still see the outline of the foot and a half length. Everypony else was doing likewise until the clicking of the bayonets stopped. Trench now looked up to the lip. This was it, all that there was left to do was go over.

“UP ON THE EDGE!” The Artist called out. Apparently there were still some things left to draw out going over the top. Trench hopped up onto the edge along with everypony else and place one of his forehooves over the top, the other still cradling his MMMG. His head and upper half were now out of the trench, and yet again he could see the barren field out west, his vision only obstructed by a few twisting strands of the wire fence.

The Artist issued no more orders. They all stood at the edge, one good leap up from being out in the field and out of the trench, but no calls for advancing or marching came. The more time dragged on, the more uneasy Trench was feeling about going over. He wished that they would hurry it up, but The Artist remained silent.

A few ponies shifted around to get more comfortable, the rustling of their bags and guns being all that broke the silence. If Trench didn’t know better he would have thought that the world reflected the unease that they all felt; that it was still but not still all at once.

In fact, it felt like the earth was shivering nervously underneath his hooves. It was very slight, but it was still there. Trench lowered and turned his head left and put an ear to the ground. It was shuddering. Repeater, the twins, and Cold and Joe were all looking out west. Trench tapped on the wood to get Repeaters attention, and once Repeater looked over to him Trench motioned to the dirt that he had his ear against. Repeater simply placed his hoof on the dirt and felt, narrowing his eyes before he nodded. Whatever it was, he felt it too.

Trench looked out west. Could it be the Unicornians? Was it possible that on this day of all days that they were trying something? Something was making the earth shudder, and whatever it was it was getting closer, the vibrating more pronounced with every passing minute. Out ahead the field was just as barren as it had ever been, nothing that he could see anyway. He looked behind him.

Where the field out west was barren, the field behind them was not. The mountain that Canterlot clung to off in the distance was shimmering, like fields on a hot day. Except that it wasn’t hot at all. Out closer the giant Equestrian flag at the rear seemed to be shimmering as well. Trench could have sworn that everything out behind him had the faintest of gold tints to it. All of this, however, was not the thing that drew Trench’s attention.

There was something behind the tint, moving over the pulverised dirt that the artillery had made over months of barrage. Trench had no idea what the hay it was, but whatever it was, it was big. A giant, ominous dark spot in a night that robbed his vision, one that rode up and down with the contours of the bombed out ground in a jerky, abrupt fashion. He could hardly take his eyes off of it, but in his periphery he could see more shadows. Lots more.

Trench felt some dirt brush against his hoof as it was shaken off the top of the trench, but was transfixed on the behemoths that slowly moved closer across their trenches. Everypony around him had turned to look at these things, but nopony spoke. Trench wasn’t sure anypony could right now.

“What in the hay is that!??!” said Longshot. Clearly somepony could.

Trench was losing his composure as the things got to within around 2 hoofball fields distance away. The most unnerving part was the absolute lack of sound that they made. They pitched and jerked along the ground, but they hadn’t made a peep. Nothing that big could be so quiet. The trench was shaking with the force of a small earthquake now, but these things hadn’t made a noise yet.

Trench looked over to The Artist, hoping that he at least knew what was going on or what those were. The Artist’s wide, scared eyes immediately told him the answer. Trench looked back at the things. They were getting closer.

Trenches eyes were drawn to the faint gold tint that covered everything towards Canterlot, and looked down. He could see where it ended as it touched the ground, and he could see that it was coming closer, closing the distance at the same rate as the things. It was almost at the trench. He didn’t know what would happen once it hit them, but backed up against the far wall to get a few extra inches away. He saw the edge of the gold spill into the other side of the trench, and then it was upon him. He closed his eyes.

It went through him. He didn’t feel anything, and with his eyes shut he couldn’t see anything, but his ears erupted with the most terrifying sounds that he had ever heard. It sounded like a hoof scraping across chalkboard, but louder than imaginable and unending. It sounded like the largest manticore in Equestria growling, only stopping to roar. It sounded like a hundred sledgehammers on concrete. It sounded like the world was coming to an end.

The sound broke any resolve that was in them. Trench frantically turned to jump out of the constrictive ditch, but all that was left of his rational mind told him that he could only get 50 feet before he’d be stopped by the wire. Around him everypony looked frantically for their own way out; it wasn’t an army anymore, it was a mob. As he desperately looked for some escape the sound of death was interrupted by a loud “BOMF” of a rifle firing.

“CEASE FIRING, CEASE FIRING! DOWN TO THE BOTTOM OF THE TRENCH! GET DOWN!!!” The Artist was screaming nonstop, but could still barely be heard above the hammering, screeching, roaring cacophony. Trench obliged immediately, leaping down to the bottom of the trench and trying to get himself as close to the precious ground as possible. Everypony else around him got down with the same wild urgency, only barely composed enough to be mindful of their bayonets.

The earth shook with an intensity that he had never felt, and the roar and screams filled his ears. He looked up with one eye at the dim stars above. ‘Celestia, Luna, anyone, don’t let me die here!’ he prayed frantically. The stationmaster he met at Ponyville was right; there was nowhere he would rather be than at home right now.

Above him the stars went black as the shadow of the black thing moved over the trench, it had almost moved to the other side when it pitched down toward him. Trench closed his eyes tightly and prepared for the worst, whatever it would be. Above him he heard a “CRUNCH” interrupt the noise. He cracked his eyes to look. The front of this solid thing had dug itself into the wood of the trench wall, and was now lifting itself out and away from him.

As it leveled out and straddled the trench he felt a wave of relief wash over him. Praise Celestia, this thing wasn’t going to crush him or kill him yet. The black thing that blotted out the stars above him came to an end, moving from the back wall over to the front with another hearty roar. The trench smelled like a fire, but the thing had moved on. Trench looked off to his left and right. More of the things of different sizes were bridging the gap, but everypony was safe in the depths of the trenches. Repeater lifted his head and checked the trench, the rumbling and noise was still there, but now it was receding.

“Get up!” Repeater ordered. The squad leapt up quickly, others also rising now that the immediate threat had passed. Trench propped himself up on the lip, now badly mauled to splinters by whatever the thing was that had gone over. He looked out west, and saw that the black behemoth was sitting immobile in the field, not 20 yards away. The shrieking, hammering, roaring noise was quieting, and then abruptly stopped, replaced by a low steady growl.

The entirety of the trench was watching these things as they sat. Trench himself was still buzzing with adrenaline, and the line radiated it as well. He saw the top of the thing expand and contract with a squeal like train brakes in the darkness, and recoiled slightly. Something moved on top of it, and for a second he thought that he saw a silhouette of a pony. The thing didn’t move for a second, and then a voice called out from it.

“Well! What are you all waiting for?! You just gonna let us beat them all on our own?!!” The silhouette popped back down into the thing with another shriek, before it roared to noisy life again and lurched forward.

“YOU HEARD THE PONY!” The Artist yelled suddenly, surprised out of his stupor. “OUT OF THE TRENCH! FULL ADVANCE!” The dumbfounded army lurched up out of their positions and onto the field, following in the wake of the monsters through the crushed remains of barbed wire fences. It was too dark to see what the rest of the squad was doing, but as Trench looked at the hulking object in front of him and did the math, a grin began to grow on his face.

If they had almost broke just by these things coming at them, how would the Unicornians react to them plus an army? The adrenaline was now burning away in the form of excitement.

“Sweet Celestia,” he muttered to himself, below the rumblings. “We’re going to win.” He looked at the thing in front of him and started laughing. He raised his voice up over the sound of the titans that aided them.

“SWEET CELESTIA, WE’RE GONNA WIN!”

Author's Note

Soon.

ish.

The Second Battle of Canterlot

Is it wrong to be bored before you go into combat?

That was the question that Trench Broom was puzzling over right now as they marched through the field in the wake of the… big things, he supposed. He had expected to feel a lot of emotions before and during battle. Excitement, tension, nervousness, scaredness, sorrow, anger even. He really didn’t expect to feel bored.

But bored was how he felt.

He wasn’t bored when they were in the trenches getting run over by the… big things. No, he was terrified. He wasn’t bored when he realized that the big things were on their side. He was excited. He wasn’t bored when he was trying to figure out what in the wide world of Equestria the big things were.

But now he was bored. And he really didn’t know if that was okay. Not that he was going to ask. For one, he had been told to march in silence. Not that it mattered; he’d have to yell to be heard over the incredible hammering, roaring, and belching racket in front of them. Trench thought that he’d have hearing damage before this was all over because of that thing. At any rate, after over an hour of marching through a pristine, green, grassy field (save for the twin furrows of pulverized grass and dirt behind the big thing), he had just about run out of things to keep him interested. A bit of him was reminded of back when he was a colt, and how on long train rides he’d complain to his father, “Are we there yet?” and his dad would give him the time. He needed a watch.

It must have been around 5 in the morning, because the sun was rising in the east behind them. He couldn’t see it through the thick morning fog, though. He couldn’t see the other squads or even the big things that had flanked them. All that he could see was the rest of his squad and the back of the big thing in front of him through the grey wet haze. He had gotten used to the view.

But it was brighter, so he could see the back of the big thing better. That was reason enough for him to take another swing at trying to figure out what the big thing was. Well, that and the oppressive boredom.

Whatever the big thing was, he could tell that it was metal, painted dark green. On the back was a large drum, with a hose that ran towards the front along the top of the thing past a large hexagonal protrusion. On the sides of the thing were metal… bands he guessed, with flanges on them. They moved continuously in a loop coming up from the bottom and wrapping around the top, moving off out of his vision to the front so that they could come back down and towards him to start the cycle again. From the top of it behind the hexagonal box a pipe oozed thin black smoke

No, he still didn’t know what the thing in front of him was. It had to be something brand new, purpose built for this battle. Whatever the hay it was, Trench was glad it was here. His ears drooped though as he made a realization.

He was bored again, and now thoroughly out of distractions. Drat.

It couldn’t be that far to go, could it? They started marching at 3 in the morning, and he reckoned that it was nearly five, and there were 7 miles to their front line. If they did more than 3 miles per hour then they had to be almost there, and that was about trotting speed.

Trench’s musings were interrupted by a sudden step down into dirt instead of grass. He looked at his hooves. He was trotting into a small, shallow crater, but a crater nonetheless. An Equestrian artillery crater. Celestia, they were close.

“ALRIGHT EVERYPONY!!!” Repeater yelled out over the thing in front of them. “SAFETIES OFF! THE SECOND YA’LL SEE A TRENCH AH WANT THE MACHINE GUNNERS TA SUPRESS ‘EM AND EVERYPONY ELSE TA ‘NADE THE HAY OUTTA IT! WE FOLLOW THIS THING RIGHT ON IN! IF WE GET IN THE TRENCH WE GOT A CHANCE, OUT HERE WE DON’T, SO GET IN THAT TRENCH!”

Trench Broom grabbed his MMMG off of his back, being mindful of the 18-inch bayonet that protruded from it. He tucked the stock into his right shoulder and used his teeth to pull the bolt back and open before he flicked the knob at the back to full-auto with his muzzle. He trotted forward with a strange three-legged gait as he pointed his MMMG. He couldn’t use the sights, but he could trot somewhat, which was more than everypony else. They’d have to stop and stand on their rear hooves to fire, and that wasn’t an option right now.

“TRENCH! EAGLE! COVER LEFT!” It was Cold who was yelling orders now, traversing the Browns Machine gun on Joes back to cover the right side of the thing. Trench nodded to no one and swung his gun to the left side. The MMMG was so front heavy with the bayonet, the hold that he had on it with his shoulder and hoof in the trigger guard was only just able to keep it up. It listed to the left too, weighted down by the magazine that protruded out of the side. Trench kept his eyes wide open, looking into the fog for the enemy.

The big thing was already fading into the thick morning fog, and it was only a few feet in front of him. Trench could see the ground around them become more pulverized by the second, but he could hardly see more than 25 feet. There would be no warning, once they saw the trench they would be right on top of it, there would only be time to fight. Trench tensed his hoof upon the trigger as they followed in the wake of the thing.

He wasn’t bored anymore, not by miles, but Celestia he now wished that he was. Every sense at his disposal was on full alert, waiting for the Unicornians to inevitably come out of the fog within spitting distance. But all he could see was the ground fading to grey, all he could smell was the smoke and the fumes of the thing, and all he could hear was the unending crashing of noise in front of him. Nothing could tell him if he was twenty steps or ten thousand from seeing the enemy.

He started to feel tired, and sick in his stomach. His MMMG started shaking in his hooves as he trotted forward. ‘It’s just shaking because I’m tired,’ he thought halfheartedly. ‘Not because I’m nervous, not at all.’

He kept trotting forward, and then his mouth opened almost involuntarily. He hadn’t been breathing since Repeater told him to get his gun out. He focused on the motion. In, out, in, out. He breathed heavily. His gun was still rattling, but a little less so.
If only he could see them. He knew it was a two way street, and they’d be giving him a hail of lead, but at least he’d know where they were. The worst part was not knowing, not being able to relax for a single second. Still nothing had happened. They trudged through the now obliterated field of dirt and depressions, not an enemy or even a sign of them visible, but they were all still on a hairtrigger.

A sudden snap that could just barely be made out over the thunderous din made Trench tense up even more than he already was. He looked so intensely through the fog but it gave him nothing. His hoof caught on something sharp, and he looked down in surprise. A wooden post had been snapped and smashed into the ground by the thing, barbed wire still entwined around it. A small trickle of blood ran from where he had been stuck, but it didn’t hurt. He kept advancing.
They couldn’t be more than 500 yards out now. But they could. Trench still had no way of knowing where they were, he glanced at the ponies behind him. All seemed on edge as they crept forward. Something had to give.

He thought that the fog was thinning, but couldn’t be certain. He panned his gun from left to right, hoping to cover all the area that they would be in. A small breeze blew wisps of the fog past him. There hadn’t been a breeze all morning. He looked at the ground, and thought that he could see further. It was clearing, and with every step that he took forward he could see further. He glanced behind him, and the fog there was still thick enough to swim in. He looked back forward. The fog was now a golden color of the sun, far removed from the grey from before. Off in the distance to his left he could see the outline of something large, like a low hill off in the distance.
He breathed a sigh of relief. The fog was finally ending, and with it the uncertainty that it held. Suddenly he caught himself.

The fog was ending. And they weren’t there yet. Oh Celestia no. Trench threw out a frenzied prayer in his head. Celestia, Luna, anyone, please keep the fog up. Trench felt another breeze, and like a curtain lifting the fog bank ended and he stepped out into the open shattered field.

For a second he saw everything. He saw all the things and the squads to his left and right emerging from the fog like they had flown through a cloud. He saw his squad mates eyes widen and their mouths silently protest to the fog to come back. He saw the dirty, pock-marked field and its twisted and coiled wire in it. He saw the faint outline of a hill become a low concrete bunker, thousands of yards away but still massive enough to dominate the landscape. He saw a thin line in the field ahead, with the silhouettes of unicorn heads sticking up over it in the hundreds at least and more popping up by the second. Trench’s mouth dropped with his spirits. And then the second was over.

With a horrendous squealing the left band of the thing in front of them stopped, and the metal hulk began to turn. Out ahead Trench saw the line in the field start flashing yellow, and immediately ducked behind metal. The thing was turning parallel with the trenches ahead, putting as much metal between the ponies behind it and the bullets in front as possible. The thing stopped moving, and with it the noise changed from the familiar racket to the not so distant sound of gunfire. Trench ran up alongside the thing with the rest of his squad, stacking up against the comforting metal shield it provided.

“IS EVERYPONY ALRIGHT?!” Hack Saw yelled out. Trench looked around. Nopony was lying out on the ground, and everypony seemed to be up against the thing.
“YEAH!” he yelled in reply. He had to yell. Everything was so loud. The cracking of the Unicornian rifles. The clanging of the bullets on the metal thing. Every few seconds he would hear a high pitched “FFFFFT” as a bullet would wizz overhead.

“YOU’RE BUCKING KIDDING ME!” Eagle Eyes yelled in anger. “THIS FOG HOLDS UNTIL WE GET WITHIN SPITTING DISTANCE, AND NOW WE’RE ALL DEAD!! IT’S NOT BUCKING FAIR!” Maybe Trench had spoken too soon about everypony being alright.

“EAGLE, SHUT THE HAY UP!” Longshot yelled back.

“WE’RE STUCK OUT HERE! WE CAN’T GO FORWARD, NOT THROUGH THAT! WE SHOULD FALL BACK INTO THE FOG!” Trench looked back into the fog bank. It was still thick, but it was receding away.

“WE AIN’T FALLIN” BACK!” Repeater yelled. Trench felt something hot hit his ear and swatted it away with his free hoof, knocking a bullet pancaked by the things armor away. Above them Trench heard a whirring noise, and looked up. The box on the top of the thing was now turning.
The thing heaved with a loud and sharp “BOOM”, followed by a rattling of machinegun fire. Eagle yelled back at Repeater over the sudden eruption. “WHAT ARE WE GONNA DO THEN!”

“WE’LL STICK TA THIS THING LIKE GLUE! IF THERE AIN’T GONNA BE ANY FOG THEN WE’LL HAVE TA MAKE OUR OWN! PREP SMOKES!”
Trench reached into his bags for the cylindrical smoke grenade when he heard a low pitched scream from overhead, heading east. He looked back into the fog when the ground heaved beneath him. The thick fog behind them evaporated in an instant, blown away by 250 pounds of explosives that rocketed a column of dirt into the sky and blotted out the rising sun. The shockwave hit Trench like a hammer, throwing him up against the side of the thing. Another explosion followed close behind, but no more after it. Trench stumbled back to his hooves and looked at the cloud of dirt they had made.They had to be a thousand yards off. .

“THEY’RE BRINGING ARTILLERY ON US!! WE GOTTA FOLD!” Eagle yelled. Trench looked over at him, the anger present a few seconds ago now turned to fear.
“THEY’RE RANGING THEIR SHOTS!” Repeater yelled back. “IF WE STAY HERE, WE’RE DEAD! IF WE FALL BACK, WE’RE GONNA GET SHELLED FOR 7 MILES! THE ONLY PLACE THAT WE STAND A CHANCE IS IN THEIR TRENCHES, SO READY YOUR BLOODY SMOKES!”

For Trench it was complete sensory overload. There was so much happening, so quickly, and so intensely that he could hardly pull the smoke grenade from his saddlebag with his shaking hooves. Out past their squad he could see others, crouched behind the things that sat and shielded them from the onslaught of Unicornian rounds. He could see that the boxes on top of the things each had a cannon, which blazed away every few seconds at the Unicornian lines with a sharp boom. He could see the sparks of bullets hitting them and bouncing away harmlessly. Some of the things were different, smaller, but he paid no mind, focusing on the once simple action of readying a grenade. Now it was a Herculean effort.

“ALRIGHT!” Repeater yelled, taking a small step back away from the thing and readying to throw his smoke grenade over it. “ON THREE!” Trench got into a position with everypony else to throw their smokes, and hoped that his rattling hooves could throw far enough. “ONE!”

Repeaters sentence was cut short as the sky above them opened up with the shrieking whistle of incoming shells. Trench dropped his grenade instantly, throwing himself up against the thing. The ground started shaking as the whistling changed to the roar of explosions, happening so often he couldn’t distinguish where one started and one ended.

“YES!!! THANK YA CELESTIA!!!” Repeater yelled out with a grin. Trench listened intently as the ponies around him scrambled to see what Repeater was yelling about. The explosions were behind the big thing. He stood up, and cautiously trotted over to peek around the side.

He couldn’t see their lines anymore, only the eruptions of dirt where they used to be. So many that from horizon to horizon along the Unicornian line there was nothing but dust and explosions. It was more intense than any fireworks display that he had ever seen, and until now that was the closest experience to this. It seemed that every second tens of small blasts would ensue in front of him, punctuated by low whistles that cut through the high pitched shrieks and eventually detonated ferociously, throwing geysers of dirt where it hit far past the rest. It was as if the very ground was trying to escape the onslaught.

Trench trotted out from behind the thing into the center of the field. He was completely exposed, but he felt safer than he had all morning. His shaking had gone. Nopony would oppose them in the face of that.

The shells continued to fall on their lines, now detonating above the trench with sharp bursts of light and corresponding sprays of dirt like rain hitting water. Somehow the barrage kept up, never letting down its intensity. Trench shook his head in near disbelief. Nopony could possibly survive the onslaught.
A low roar came from overhead, and for a second Trench could actually see a black blur fly into the dust cloud from above. There was a brilliant orange flash from inside the dust, and then Trench was blown off his hooves.

He tumbled and rolled in the dirt, end over end, his MMMG flying from his grip. Eventually he came to a stop. The sky filled his vision, ‘Am, I dead?’ No, the dead’s ears wouldn’t be ringing as much as his were. He shook his head and looked back off towards the direction of the blast. A brown and black mushroom cloud of smoke and dirt towered over the enemy position, which was almost consumed by the dust from the barrage. Trench reached a hoof up to his aching ears, and then looked at it. He wasn’t bleeding.

No more rounds fell, and it was blissfully silent apart from the ringing in his ears. For a second Trench thought that he could just lie in the dirt, and hope the Unicornians would just call it a day in the wake of that. A faint sudden roar and clacking screech ended that thought. The big thing was turning toward the dust cloud ahead, and was now noisily and smokily moving towards it. The squad fell in behind it, save for Hack Saw, who ran over to him on the ground.
Hack yelled something, but Trench couldn’t hear it.

“What?” he said back. He must have said it loud, because Hack Saw recoiled. The unicorn grabbed Trench by the muzzle and turned it, looking into his ear. He lowered his head and shook it, closing his eyes.

Trench got very worried, “Did I lose my hearing?” Hack looked back up, and his horn lit. The ringing in his ears vanished, and he could hear again.
“You blew out your eardrums! Let’s hope that’s all I have to fix! You good?!”

“Yeah!” Trench said, grabbing up his dropped MMMG and getting to his hooves. They ran back to the squad, who were advancing behind the thing as they had been in the fog. Trench got into his position on the left side and brought his gun back up. Still a little shaky, but he wasn’t afraid anymore, not after that display of force.

They entered the dust cloud, and as soon as his tongue tasted the dust in the air Trench shut his mouth. The air was so thick with it that it was hard to breath, and Trench was now concerned about what it would do to his eyes. Visibility dropped to almost zero, and if anything it was worse than the fog. The fog was cool and comfortable. The dirt was… well, dirt.

Trenches gun rocked lazily from side to side as he trotted his three-legged trot. He didn’t expect to see anypony after that barrage, and anypony that he did see he expected would surrender instantly. He knew that he would.

The dust out in front of him flashed twice with a pair of sharp cracks, and Trench about leapt out of his skin. The squad around him reacted immediately, going to ground and unslinging their rifles. The thing moved forward without them.

“Holy-” Trench finished his sentence with a spray of fire from his MMMG into the dust, which was returned with another pair of flashes. He fired again wildly, and a breeze thinned out the dust between them. He could see their outlines in the brown haze again and fired off a third burst in their direction. Their heads ducked back into their trench under his fire. He reared up on his hooves and aimed properly, the second they popped back up he’d punch their clocks.

He never got the chance. The thing drove forward and over the trench, stopping once it had straddled it. The box whirred about to face down the trench slowly. Trench heard a frenzied cracking of rifle fire, ten shots at least, but the bullets bounced harmlessly off of its thick metal hide with only a shower of sparks to show for it. The box stopped, and the cannon aimed down into the corridor. Trench heard somepony yell. Then the gun went off.

With an explosion of dirt the two Unicornians that he had been trading fire with flew out of their trench along with several compatriots, landing heavily on the ground like ragdolls that had been tossed aside. Ragdolls that were missing legs. The thing started firing a machine gun from beside the cannon, a long, steady burst that traversed up and down the length of the trench. From the sounds that he heard this was happening up and down the line, all of the metal monstrosity’s unloading into their portions of the tiny corridor at the trapped Unicornians. But Trench wasn’t looking at that. He was looking at the shattered bodies that lay out in the dirt just yards away.

It hadn’t been real to him. He had been scared, and he had seen photographs, but he never knew what was at stake until he saw the carcasses lying there. One of them was missing both of his hind legs, his face frozen in a contorted pain, his eyes wide and empty as they stared into the dirt. Trench’s hold on his MMMG faltered, the front slipping out of his hoof and dangling loosely.

Trenches eyes looked from body to body, each with its own horrific story to tell. He fell to the ground and dropped his gun.

The thing started trundling forward, the box turning away as if to say that its work was done. The squad got up and started running past him, but Trench lay rooted to the spot. He felt a shove on his shoulder, and he knew it was Repeater.

“Partner, we gotta get in there!” Trench didn’t move, he didn’t really feel like going anywhere right now. “PARTNER! LET’S GO!” Repeater yelled. Trench stayed immobile.

“I-I really don’t think that I want to, Sergeant,” Trench said quietly. It was the quietest that it had been since the battle started, a small calm in a sea of storms, and Repeater heard him well. His face softened, and for a moment Repeater wasn’t a sergeant, he was a concerned friend.

“Trench, if we don’t get in there we’re out in the open. They probably already got their big guns aimin’ at us right now.”

Trenches eyes started to water. He kept on looking at the obliterated corpses in front of him. They were ponies a few minutes ago. “I don’t think that I have it in me to do something like th-that to somepony.”

“If we can ah won’t make ya, and once this is up ah’ll see bout sendin’ ya home. Let’s just get into that trench right now, alright?” Trench nodded. Repeater turned and headed in after the squad and Trench shakily got to his hooves. Absentmindedly he grabbed up his MMMG and followed Repeater through the gap in the wire the thing had made, and hopped down into the trench.

He landed on something soft, and he froze. Up and down the dusty trench were Unicornian bodies. He had just stepped on one. Some of them were blasted to bits by artillery, limbs scattered about near bloody ribcages. Some were intact save for the bullet holes of machinegun fire torn through them. The worst ones were the ones that were killed by shrapnel. They were still intact enough to be recognized as a pony, but they had giant, ragged gouges through them, spilling guts and ripping them to shreds. The ones with shrapnel were still smoking from the smoldering metal inside of them.

He threw up. He hadn’t had breakfast, so there wasn’t much there, but he threw up anyway.

“Hey Trench, are you okay?” Hack asked. Trench looked up to see the squad stacked up against the trench wall, they were all there, and they were all looking at him expectantly. He nodded his head, and a look of relief washed over Hacks face at least.

“Hey,” Longshot said in surprise. “We’re all here.” A smile started to crack on his face. “We’re all in the Unicornian trenches, and none of us are dead! Holy Celestia! We made it! We friggen’ made it!”

“Halt your cart Longshot, we mighta made it here, but this aint over yet,” Repeater said. He was a Sergeant again. “Stack up; Ah’ll take point, then twins, Longshot, MMMG’s, and Silent. Hack, Cold and Joe cover our backs. We’re headin right ‘till we find a trench that gets us ta the rear.”

The squad started reshuffle into their positions, Cold and Joe heading left as Trench started right to stack up with Eagle. Cold still had the same emotionless look on his face, dim eyes staring off down the shattered corpse filled trench. Trench couldn’t understand how, surrounded by all of the dead, Cold could still remain aloof.
As Cold drew level with Trench his eyes widened suddenly, and he stood up quick, getting his hooves on the Browns. Joe stopped and dropped to the ground as soon as he felt the tug on the gun, putting his head flat against the dirt to keep it out of the way. Cold followed him down as the machine gun Joe carried on his back dropped too. The machine gun snapped to aim down the trench as Cold closed an eye to aim. “GET DOWN!!!” he yelled. Trench dropped.

The Browns started firing, a rapid ear splitting roar. Trench watched it as it blazed away just feet from him, his eyes transfixed on the impressive sight. Bullets tore out of it with tongues of fire, showering Trench in burning brass casings. He swatted them away as the machine gun stopped. Trench looked in the direction that it fired just in time to see the last Unicornian stumble and fall over dead, riddled with bullets.

“ENEMY DUGOUT TO OUR REAR! FIFTY FEET ON THE RIGHT!” Cold yelled out, keeping his MG aimed at the small indent in the trench wall that signaled the entrance. The squad was looking back that way at the dugout.

“Alrighty Trench, this is what we brought you along for,” Longshot said, “Flush ‘em out.”

“He ain’t gonna,” Repeater said as he looked at the distant indent. “He ain’t fit for combat.”

“The hay does that mean?” Longshot asked in confusion.

“He can’t do it, not right now anyway. We’ll do it with Silent, Eagle, and the twins.”

“The hay I will!” Eagle said in disbelief. “I’m only going in there if I get his pay!”

“Eagle, shut up when grown-ups are talking!” Longshot snapped at his underling.

“Thank ya,” Repeater said. “Muddy and Bloody, ya’ll ‘nade it, Silent douses it with the Dragon. Eagle, ya pick up the pieces and don’t question mah orders again, ya hear?” The ponies addressed nodded, Eagle with a pronounced frown on his face. “Good.”

A thunderous roar and crash made Trench turn around back towards the dugout. Another thing was breaching the trench between the dugout and them, smaller than the one they had followed into the trenches, and not stopping as it went. More came with it, a fresh squad of Equestrian troops diving into the trench after each one. “HEY!!!” Repeater yelled at the closest squad, one of the ponies turning to face him. “YA’LL GOT A DUGOUT TA YOUR LEFT, BACK WALL!!!” the pony nodded and threw off a quick salute before turning to address his squad. “They got it,” Repeater said with a nod. “Let’s go find a way ta the rear.”

Trench watched the other squad stack up to clear the other dugout for a moment as he thought. He didn’t want to let them down, and Eagle was right, he shouldn’t have to do other ponies jobs. But Trench looked at the bodies on the ground, shot and torn and blasted, and he felt another wave of nausea. He couldn’t do that; he could hardly look at it. The squad got into its order around him and started heading down the trench.

Trench Broom kept having to step around the bodies of dead unicorns. He didn’t want to look at them, but if he didn’t he knew he would step on them and feel the cold, blood-slicked flesh on his hooves. He hated it. He looked over his shoulder past Silent at Hack.

“Hack, is there anything you can do for them?” he asked pleadingly. He knew the answer beyond doubt, but he still held out a glimmer of hope. Maybe somepony was still alive in this carnage, and could be helped. Hack looked at the bodies in the trench around them and shook his head.

“Sorry Trench, there’s nothing anypony can do for any of them,” he said quietly. The whole trench was quiet, relatively. The screeching and roaring of the things and the clattering of machine guns was still present, but subdued, far off. Trench turned to face front again.

The trench lit up orange behind him, and he quickly looked back. He instantly wished that he hadn’t. There was a fire, large and furiously burning where the other squad had been a moment ago. Two ponies stood outside of it, nearly frozen by the sight that Trench saw behind them through the settling dust. There were things writhing in the flames. A high pitched scream cut through the crackle of the inferno, piercing Trenches ears. The squad turned around with him.

“Holy Celestia!” Longshot said. Hack almost started running to help, but was stopped. Trench heard a crack like a whip, not of a rifle.

“MAGE! WASTE ‘IM!!” Repeater yelled. Trench saw a unicorn at the top of the trench, above the last two ponies of the squad. He saw a fireball ignite in the air and fly down, exploding upon the last survivors. Behind him and in front the squads guns lit up, a cacophony of fire and flashes in anger, but to no effect. The mage flashed out of existence.

“COVER THE TOPS!!!” Repeater yelled franticly. Their guns traversed up to the rim of the trench around them to counter the threat, all except for Trench’s. Trench ducked into the wall and covered his head and shut his eyes. ‘It’ll be okay, it’ll be okay, it’ll be okay.’ He heard Repeaters rifle fire wildly and rapidly. “WHERE’D HE GO!!!”

The browns opened up, and Trench heard the brass clatter around him. ‘Don’t let me die don’t let me die don’t let me die,’ Trench thought nonstop. Not seeing was terrifying, but it had to be better than the other option. He heard the twins’ rifles fire simultaneously. They were keeping the mage at bay, but not much more.

“TRENCH YOU COWARD, GET UP!!” Eagle yelled, followed by a burst from his MMMG. Trench could be called a coward, but that wasn’t going to change his mind. Something hit him on the back, and he yelped in surprise. “DON’T FREEZE UP!” Eagle yelled. Trench didn’t care. Nothing in training had been like this, terrifying and terrible and apocalyptic. There was more gunfire; it seemed like from all of them. “FOR CELESTIA’S SAKE TRENCH! IF YOU DON’T HELP WE’RE ALL DEAD!” Eagle screamed.

Trench stirred at this. He couldn’t let them all die. He opened his eyes. Shells lay on the ground around him, Unicornian bodies a few feet away. Above him the squad’s guns covered the lip, each a different area. With a crack he saw the mage appear at the top, clad in grey armor, snapping away instantly as the twins fired at him and more guns swiveled to where he was.

‘Celestia, he’s just toying with us.’ Trench thought. He got up on his rearhooves and raised his MMMG to the top. The mage snapped back in again and Trench pulled the trigger, not taking the time to aim. Nothing happened. His stomach fell off of a cliff. He was going to die. The squads rifles fired as the mage disappeared. Trench wasn’t dead yet.

He looked at his MMMG quickly as the guns fired around him again. Dropping it earlier fouled it with mud. Quickly he dropped the mag and knocked the dirt in the mechanism out, grabbing up another and hurriedly putting another it. The magazine caught on the gun, then again, before finally seating in. He heard the rifles fire again.
“We’re almost out Sergeant!” Muddy called, reacting and firing his rifle for the second to last time. The mage was starving them of ammo, and just as soon as they couldn’t counter him he’d go in for the kill. Trench pulled the bolt back on his MMMG.

He heard the mage pop behind him and spun to counter, but the twins and Longshot had already driven him off with rifle fire. “Last round!” Bloody said. Repeater nodded. The mage flashed again, and the rifleponys expended their last shots. “RELOADING!” Muddy, Bloody, and Longshot opened their bolts.

With the gun in his hooves a strange feeling came over Trench, a detachedness. The raw terrified emotion that controlled him had receded, at least a little. He had some bearing over what was about to happen to him, and that power gave him strength. His mind was able to work again. The mage was always going to dodge them until he thought that they couldn’t fight back. He would only stay if he thought he could kill them. The only chance that they had was to get him right before he incinerated them.

The mage appeared on the trench above them, on the opposite side from where Cold was aiming. Cold would never be able to get the Browns around fast enough, even as he began to pivot. Everypony was reloading now, except for Trench. He saw the unicorn light a fireball in the air in front of him, looking intently at the Silent Specialist with burning eyes. Trench snapped the gun up and pulled the trigger.

The gun rattled in his hooves as it spat out its bullets with a ‘pa-pa-pa-pa-pap’, but he was still able to guide where the rounds went almost effortlessly. The first few missed the mage entirely, but he corrected down. The bullets connected with the mages armor, unable to penetrate but sending off a cascade of sparks as they ricocheted off of the plate. The mage turned his head towards trench as his hooves unconsciously walked his bullets up the armor to the only exposed part of the Unicornians body. The fireball shot toward him.

It barely moved before it was snuffed out, allowing Trench to see as the Mages face simply ripped itself to pieces. In less than a second the MMMG had rent his snout from his face, imploded his eyes, and shattered his skull. Somehow the mage managed to stay up for a moment, held in place by the bulky armor that supported him. Trench’s gun stopped firing, and the mage stopped shuddering. Blood trickled down from the holes in his face slowly, dripping from the ragged flesh that his snout used to attach to. It no longer had eyes, but the head pointed directly at Trench, almost as if this faceless bleeding monster was staring at him through bloody sockets. Its head slowly flopped forward until the armor arrested it, the force of the movement slowly pulling the body forward until it fell over the trench wall and collapsed upon the ground with a clatter and shrieking of metal.

Trench still held the smoking, empty gun up at up at where the unicorn stood. His hoof was still tight on the trigger, and he wasn’t about to let up. His mind was replaying the events. One second there was a pony, and the next there wasn’t. And he did it. If he didn’t they might all be dead, but he still couldn’t believe it.

The rifle ponies around him finished reloading, their sense of urgency gone. Repeater looked up and around for any more, then slowly trotted over to Trench. The others were watching, some the body, and some the frozen squad mate.

“Trench, are ya alright?” he asked cautiously. Trench let his hoof off the trigger and snapped back into reality.

“I didn’t think that I could do it.”

Repeater looked at the corpse that Trench couldn’t bring his eyes to and nodded. “Ya saved the squad partner.”

“Yeah.”

“Are ya good ta fight now?”

“Maybe in a few minutes,” Trench answered. Slowly he put a third hoof on the ground for balance and looked down at his MMMG. Smoke poured from the barrel and ejector port, wisping off into the slowly settling dust cloud that still hung from the barrage. He reached forward and bit the magazine, yanking it from the gun and reaching over to his bags for another. The action was automatic, and as he replaced the first magazine in the bags and grabbed up the second his mind was more than capable of thinking about what happened. He killed a pony. Who was going to kill him. To save the squad. He slotted the new magazine into the gun and pulled the bolt back again.

“Sergeant, it shouldn’t be like this,” Trench said. Repeater looked over to him; a sad flicker of a smile ran across his face.

“That ain’t the first time ah heard that, and ah know. But it is. Ya ready ta fight?” Trench nodded. “Good. Alright everypony, we’re gonna clear that dugout.”
Trench had almost forgotten about the dugout in all the excitement and looked back to it. There were already two squads stacked up by it, and judging by how they were already throwing their grenades through the entrance they didn’t need any more help.

“Well, nevermind ah guess,” Repeater said. “Let’s find a way ta the rear.”
The squad started moving down the trench, away from the dugout. Celestia, how long had it been since this had started? It felt like ages, but it had likely been minutes. Trench had gotten back into his place in the lineup, just about in the middle. He looked through his squadmates. Up ahead there was a squad stacked up, facing toward them. They were coming up to something.

They stopped heading forward and flattened against the trench wall. Trench couldn’t see what they were stopping for, a dugout, a trench, he didn’t know. He couldn’t see past Eagle either, unless he got up off of the wall. He listened for orders.

“What’s the situation?” he heard Repeater ask up ahead. He must be talking to the other squad.

“This trench goes back at least a hundred yards, with a machine gun covering the length. Now that you’re here I recommend that we throw out smokes and charge them under their cover, then grenade them out. Beat them with sheer violence of action.” Trench felt a pit in his stomach. Celestia, he didn’t want to do that.

“Sergeant, Ah can tell ya that chargin’ a machine gun nest with nothin’ but bravery only ends up wastin’ everypony under your command. Gimme a few seconds.” Trench breathed a sigh of relief as Repeater kept talking. “Muddy, Bloody, can ya’ll take a peek and tell me what’s down this trench?” Trench heard some rustling and saw the twins come off the wall to get to the corner, one levitating up his trench mirror as he went. They stopped at the corner and eased the mirror out.

“Two dugouts, Sergeant. One left at about 30 yards-“

“-and one right at maybe 70.”

“And at the end of the trench is-“

The twin was cut off by a crashing of glass, and they jumped back in unison as the sound of a machine gun cut into the air. It fired slowly, a steady ‘bap-bap-bap-bap’ that lagged fractionally behind the bullets that smashed into the trench wall just feet away. The gun cut out abruptly, leaving a pair of stunned ponies looking at the holes it punched in the wood.

“Ya’ll okay?”

“Uh, yes Sergeant,” Bloody replied for both of them. Muddy looked down at the shattered mirror in disappointment. “There’s a machine gun at the end of the trench, and he’s a good shot.”

“Ya said 30 yards ta that first dugout?” Repeater asked.

“Yessir.”

“Trench, come on up here.” Trench started; surprised that he was being singled out, but dutifully got off the wall and trotted up. “Do ya think that you’re ready ta fight?” Repeater asked. For a moment Trench’s mind whirred. No, not at all, and he didn’t want to. For a second the mage popped back into his mind. He didn’t want to do that again. He almost shook his head no, but he didn’t.

He could do it. He had done it. If he was asked to and didn’t, somepony else would, and if they were hurt doing his job he’d regret it always. He didn’t want to do it, but he knew that nopony did. He nodded his head.

“I’m ready.” He wanted to sound strong, but his voice wavered.

Repeater raised an eyebrow. “Ya sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Good then. Squad, ah need smokes prepped, on mah count we’ll throw them out into the trench. Once the smokes thick enough ah want all ah the horns that we got ta put up a shield between that machine gun and the first dugout. Everypony save the MG, me, and Hack are gonna run down that trench full bore and charge that first dugout. Trench and Eagle are on point. Ya’ll better make it quick, cause every second in the trench could get ya killed. Ya’ll clear?" Trench nodded along with the rest of them, but inside he was begging himself not to go up front.

His mind may not have been willing, but his hooves shuffled dutifully, carrying him up to the front of the stack. Just a foot away was the corner, the corridor that death would come whistling through and the gauntlet he would have to run. Ponies shuffled into place behind him, but the only one that he saw was Eagle, trotting up alongside with his MMMG in hoove. His face reflected the fear that Trench felt only too well. Trench looked away to the corner.

“Trench, get out your mirror so ya can tell us if our smokes are workin’,” Repeater ordered. Trench reached into his saddlebag and snagged the mirror out, and slid it over his bayonet. Cautiously he angled his gun and began to edge it forward, out around the corner of the trench. He focused on the mirror. He could see the sky reflected, still hazy brown with the dirt, and with a turn of his wrist saw the floor of the trench, still littered with bodies. He tilted it slightly back, and could see down the trench. At the end was a small black hole, no doubt where the gun was located.

“Ready.” Trench said, despite how he wasn’t.

“On three.” Repeater said. “One-“

In the reflection of the mirror Trench saw one of the things come into view along the lip of the trench, preparing to drive across. “Hang on a second, Sergeant,” He said as he kept watching. The front of it pitched down into the trench, and then began to climb the opposing wall until it straddled the trench. With a rhythmic popping Trench saw the dark hole at the end of the corridor flash to life, firing continuously at the leviathan. The box on top of the thing began to turn to face the machine gun, and Trench already knew the outcome. The box stopped, and for a second it didn’t move as the machine gun fired in vain.

The ground shook as the thing fired, and the mirror on the end of Trench’s gun shuddered, blurring the picture. Once it had steadied Trench could see only a cloud of dust where the machine gun had been, the thing already began to move off.

“Trench?” Repeater asked from behind.

“The machine gun’s neutralized,” Trench said.

“Oh, alright then, get a move on.”

Trench grabbed the mirror off of his bayonet and restored it in his saddlebags, then leaned his head around the wall cautiously. The machine gun position was shattered, and nopony was in a position to resist. Trench started around the corner, not quite running, but moving up the corridor as fast as he could while still keeping his MMMG up and ready and avoiding the bodies on the floor. Quickly he made it to the open entrance of the first dugout, starting the stack on the wall just outside while keeping an eye forward on the end of the trench. No Unicornians were coming, not now anyway.

“Just like how were trained, alright everypony?” Repeater said. Trench looked back at the rest of the squad. Cold and Joe had already set up the MG facing down the trench in case reinforcements showed. Eagle, the twins, and Longshot were stacked behind him, with the riflepony’s readying grenades. At the back Repeater, the Specialist, and Hack waited. “Let’s do it,” Repeater said.

The Specialist and Repeater moved up, Repeater grabbing a grenade from his saddlebag. The Specialist trotted right up next to Trench, and pointed the Dragon at the door of the dugout. Trench had never seen it go off in training. The Specialist reached up and turned a knob, and a small fire lit below the nozzle. He reached for the trigger and pulled down.

A brilliant orange flame shot out of the nozzle front and through the doorway, the heat of hit hitting Trench like a furnace, and the smoke that came off of it stinging his nostrils. Trench looked transfixed at the intensity of the flame, and almost as soon as it had started it was snuffed out. From inside the dugout he heard frantic yelling, and at least one high pitched scream.

“YA’LL GIVE UP!?” Repeater yelled. The Specialist backed off as the Sergeant took his place, brandishing a grenade in his hoof as he called out. The yelling inside the dugout continued. “YA’LL SURRENDER?!” Repeater called again.

A grenade sailed out of the entrance and bounced off the wall with a thud, landing on the ground at Trenches hooves. Trench looked at the small black sphere with sheer terror. His legs that so dutifully moved him forward despite what his brain said now stayed immobile despite the death that sat inches away. ‘Celestia, I’m dead.’
The grenade glowed green, and promptly threw itself back into the dugout, exploding with a loud bang and a shower of dust through the entrance into the trench. Trench was still looking at the ground where it had come from when he felt a tap on his back. He looked behind him at Repeater and the rest of the rifleponys, all standing with grenades at the ready. Repeater nodded at his grenade, then at Trenches saddlebag.

Trench took the hint and grabbed for a grenade, his hooves trembling slightly after his near brush with death. He fished it out, and heard a chorus of metallic “Shink”s behind him. As the rifleponys threw their grenades through the door he brought his up to his mouth and bit down on the pin, yanking it free. The latch flew off and ricocheted off the trench wall, hitting him in the cheek as he chucked his grenade into the dugout. He readied his MMMG and waited as the twins behind him put a small shield up over the entrance. There was a bang, then another, then three in rapid succession.

After the last one Trench would go in, and finally do the job that he had been training for since basic. Close up room clearing. His MMMG was topped off, 50 rounds at the ready, the dirty 18-inch bayonet sharpened. He managed to clear the course in basic in 19 seconds, so he knew that he could do it. But he didn’t want to kill if he didn’t have to. He made up his mind on what he was going to do, and the last grenade went off in the dugout. The twins dissipated their shield, and with that Trench turned the corner and went through the dugout entrance, bringing his MMMG up to bear.

“SURRENDER!” he yelled out, as his eyes took in the information. The dugout was slightly bigger than the one that they had, the right half of burning from the Dragon. Smoke and dirt from the Dragon and the grenades obscured his vision, but in the orange light of the flames he could see a bundle of unicorns lying on the floor under a shield, and another few lying at the side wall. He couldn’t tell how many there were, or which ones were dead or not, but he knew where they were.

In the main group the shield over them dissipated. “SURRENDER!” he yelled again. A few of them turned their heads over to him, and immediately reached for their weapons on the ground. Trench saw as the one closest to him grabbed up a rifle in hoof and began to pick it up.Trench moved his hoof a quarter inch backward and the MMMG rattled in his hoofs, a quick five round burst into the first Unicornian, who slumped over. “SURRENDER!!” he yelled out, louder this time. He hoped that that would take the wind out of them.

The others in that group kept reaching to their weapons on the floor unfazed, and at least three in the corner began to stir. The ones in the main group began to grab their rifles as well. Trench could see better now, there were four of them left in the group. They were all going at once.

Trench pulled the trigger again, and held it this time, sweeping the MMMG over the group. Through the flashing of the gun and the dust and the smoke Trench could see the Unicornians bodies shudder under the rapid impacts of the bullets. He let off the trigger and swung the gun around to the three on the wall. “SURRENDER!!!”

The three that he leveled his gun at froze in mid motion, one reaching for a rifle on the ground before arresting his hoof. Trench took the time in the pause to aim fully, completing the picture with the one that reached for the rifle. “Give it up,” he said, softer now.

One of the ponies in the group that he doused with bullets had survived, his sobs and screams of pain alerting Trench. Trench didn’t let it distract him from the three in front of him. If they didn’t move, he wouldn’t have to kill them, and three survivors would be better than none. “Spread your hooves on the floor, and don’t go near that gun.” Trench ordered, silently pleading for compliance. The ponies by the wall obliged, spreading their hooves out where he could see them and not reaching for the rifle.

There was only one rifle on the ground between the three ponies, and the one closest to it already had blood matted against his grey fur indicating injury. They didn’t have grenades, a small relief based on the stories that he had been told. As the sobbing continued in the background the bloody pony glanced over to the rifle on the ground. “Don’t even think about it,” Trench said, leaning forward and tensing up on the trigger. The pony looked away.

“HEY PARTNER, YA DONE IN THERE?” Repeater yelled through the dugout entrance.

“YEAH, I GOT THREE PRISONERS AND ONE WOUNDED! SEND HACK IN!” Trench answered.

“ARE YOUR PRISONERS DISARMED?” Repeater called back.

Trench nodded to noone. “YEAH!”

Then he noticed a faint blue glow coming off of the bloody unicorn’s horn, the unicorns eyes looking toward the pile of corpses in the center of the dugout. Trench followed his gaze and saw a rifle bathed in the faint light. He looked back at the unicorn, who looked right back at him. Trench opened his mouth. “Don’t-“

The Unicornian went for it, the rifle picking itself up and twisting through the air to face him. Trench pulled on the trigger, and the bullets hammered home, each one smashing through the Unicornian before him. The rifle fell to the floor as the glow was snuffed out of the unicorns horn. The MMMG stopped firing, but Trenches hoof was still tight on the trigger.

“TRENCH!!!” Repeater yelled from outside, Trench heard movement from out there as he spun the MMMG and pulled the bolt back. He was out. On the ground before him the last two unicorns got to their hooves, one with horn aglow as he levitated the closest rifle up to him. the other went for his nearest weapon as well, grabbing up a spear and mounting it to charge. Help was seconds away, but death was considerably closer.

Trench charged first, closing the few feet between him and the pony with the rifle before he could properly shoulder it. Trench could see the fear in the unicorn’s eyes as he brought the 18-inch bayonet up to bear. Trench didn’t thrust forward into the unicorns flesh though, instead knocking the unicorns rifle sideways and down into the dirt with the blade, then swinging the stock into the unicorns face. He heard the crunch as the wood connected with the unicorns jaw and flinched on his behalf. The unicorn with the rifle fell out of the way.

The unicorn with the spear charged forward, and Trench just had enough time to swing his gun back, deflecting the spear with the stock of his rifle. He continued the movement, the bayonet cutting into the unicorns shoulder before he could back off. “CELESTIA! GIVE UP!!!” Trench yelled out in desperation. The spear-wielding unicorn glanced at his wound, and then looked back up at Trench with rage, and with a wild yell he charged forward again. Trench readied to block again.

He saw a glint of steel from out of the corner of his eye, and then his vison was filled with flame. With a loud “BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM” a machine gun fired from right next to him, the bullets cutting into the charging unicorn’s chest. The unicorn stumbled fell, sliding to the ground at Trench’s hooves. Trench glanced at the one with the rifle, which lay out on the floor immobile, and then turned to the pony over his shoulder.

Eagle Eyes stood next to him, thin whisps of smoke from his MMMG mingling with the smoke from the fire. Eagle looked vacantly at the body in front of them, slowly inhaling and exhaling as if he had run a marathon. Seeing this made Trench realize how he was out of breath too. The adrenaline was coursing through him, and his lungs couldn’t get enough good air to replenish his aching muscles.

The dugout still crackled with the dying flames that the dragon gave out, and above their heavy breathing they could hear a diminutive sobbing. “ARE YA’LL CLEAR NOW?!” Repeater yelled from outside.

“YEAH!” Trench answered wearily. He looked over the scene. On the right the flames had died down enough for him to see that there were some charred corpses which he quickly averted his eyes from. In the center of the room were 4 bullet riddled bodies. Another one lay against the left hand wall, near the pony that Trench knocked out, which brought them back to the one that lay at their hooves.

“They just didn’t give up,” he said finally, deciding that the best place to look was up.

“I guess not,” Eagle answered, still looking at his kill on the ground.

“I tried to get them to stop, but they didn’t. I must have told them five times. I didn’t want to kill them, they just didn’t give me a choice,” Trench said. Eagle nodded with a detached, slow bob of his head, still engrossed in the body.

“This was my first one,” He said. Trench glanced over. Celestia, he had only made his first kill just minutes ago, but already seemed like a veteran in comparison. “I think that I’ll just spot for the rest of the war,” Eagle finished. “If I don’t have to then I don’t think I want to.”

“Ok,” Trench said. He was all too familiar with the feeling.

“Hey, ya’ll comin’ back out?”

“Yeah!” Trench said, facing back to the bright entrance and the silhouette of the stenson that was framed by it. “Send Hack down though, two injuries!” He looked back over at Eagle. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah, let’s-“ Eagles sentence ended as he looked past Trench and his eyes widened in terror. Trench turned quickly. The unicorn that Trench thought was unconscious was now standing up, rifle in hoof and aimed at Eagle. Blood dripped freely from the pony’s slack and shattered jaw, and his eyes burned with vengeance as he put his hoof through the triggerguard. Trench immediately went for his gun as Eagle stood still, wide-eyed and immobile. The unicorn pulled the trigger.

There was a loud “BOOM” and Trench instantly ducked around the corner from the unicorn and looked over to Eagle. Eagle still stood immobile, eyes frozen on the unicorn, shocked. ‘Oh Celestia no, not Eagle’ Trench pleaded. A sudden scream of pain filled the dugout, but it didn’t come from Eagle. Eagle looked down at his chest for wounds, but there weren’t any. Eagle hadn’t been hit. There was another scream, piercing his eardrums and into his soul, from inside the dugout. Trench looked around the corner cautiously at what had happened.

The unicorn lay out on the floor, hooves covering his bloody face as he cried out in agony. On the ground next to him was the rifle, the barrel split open like a banana peel, shattering the wood. Trench trotted closer. The rifle was missing its bolt. Suddenly Trench connected the dots. “Celestia.” He looked at the Unicornian.

The right half of his face had been ripped off, the bolt of the rifle laying on the ground next to him, ragged flesh still attached to it. “WHAT WAS THAT?!” Repeater yelled in frantically. Trench was at a loss for words, Eagle too. “TRENCH! EAGLE!, ARE YALL ALRIGHT!!” Trench looked back out the entrance, Repeater was looking down at them, and even though trench couldn’t see his face in the light he knew it was concerned.

“Yeah! Trench said. “We’re fine, one of the Unicornians tried to pull a rifle on us, but it blew up in his hooves!”

“For Celestia’s sake, are you finally clear down there!?”

“Yes, send Hack!” the silhouette of the medic appeared in the entrance and Hack quickly came down next to them.

“Two injuries,” Trench said as he pointed them out, “him and him.”

“Celestia,” Hack said as he approached the screaming Unicornian. He levitated a syringe out of his bag and injected him, quieting the Unicornian, then went to his work. Eagle still had yet to move.

“Eagle, you okay?” Trench asked.

“He was aiming right at me,” Eagle said, looking at the Unicornian that Hack was working on. “I didn’t even notice him until he had me. I should be dead.” He paused for a second. “This was divine intervention.”

“What?” Trench said, a little surprised by the proclamation.

“Celestia, or someone, blew up that pony’s rifle and saved my life. Rifles don’t just explode.”

Trench thought for a minute. Rifles don’t just explode, unless…

“I knocked it into the dirt, it must have plugged the barrel,” Trench said. He grinned a little at Eagle. “What did you say that your original name was? Lucky?”
Eagle nodded wearily as Hack finished up bandaging the first Unicornian and moved over to the second. Hack looked over the silently sobbing unicorn for a moment, then levitated out a syringe of morphine, injected him then turned away.

“Aren’t you going to do anything else?” Trench asked.

“That’s all I can do,” Hack answered quietly. Trench’s grin, however brief, ran away from his face. Eight ponies when he entered the room, one when he left. Hack went for the entrance, and Trench and Eagle followed behind, leaving the dead behind them.

Trench trotted into the offensive morning light, far brighter than the orange flame in the dugout, and held a hoof up over his eyes. The sound of hoof beats echoed up and down the trench as equestrian reinforcements streamed past them.

“Partner, next time ya go in there ya better make darn sure that whatever prisoners ya think that ya got are complyin’. Ah’ve dealt with them before, and they don’t like givin’ up. Ya’ll ‘bout killed me when Ah heard that rifle go off and ya didn’t answer.” Trench looked over at Repeater, the rest of the squad was resting up against the wall.

“Understood Sergeant,” he said with a tired nod. Repeater leaned in and lowered his voice.

“Are ya doin’ okay Trench? Ya we’re pretty shaken up earlier.”

Trench nodded. He was lying of course. He wasn’t fine. He had just gunned down six ponies. But he could operate, and that was more than he could have said five minutes ago.

“Any orders, Sergeant?”

“Dig in right here with the rest of us. Orders are that once we clear a dugout we dig in hard on it in case of a counterattack. All these other colts will keep on the offensive. Oh, Hack, make yourself useful and see if anypony needs help.”

As Hack trotted off Trench decided that it was best not to argue. If they didn’t have to step another yard west for the rest of the battle he would be more than glad. He stacked up along the wall and out of the way of the streaming reinforcements and took a good look at his MMMG. The dirty blade had dark dried blood running along the edge from where he sliced at the Unicornian.

He looked up at the rising sun back east, just clearing the spires of Canterlot in the far distance. For the second time since he had left the trenches in the early hours of the morning he felt safe. It was a strange feeling now, the adrenaline that still coursed through him was wasted.

Cold and Joe were removing the machine gun from its saddle mount, setting it up on a tripod so they could deploy it against the fort that was up north. The others in the group simply rested. It wasn’t quiet. He could still hear bursts of machine gun fire and the far off firecracker bang of grenades, but it didn’t seem that loud. Not as loud as it had been. Something was missing.

It made him uneasy. Not that he would like whatever wasn’t gracing them with its presence to come back, but he still couldn’t put a hoof on what had changed. He looked over at the rest of the ponies. Cold and Joe had finished setting up, and now sat down as well.

“Everypony topped off?” Repeater asked calmly. Most everypony else nodded, but Trench remembered the empty magazine that his MMMG had. He hit the release and started swapping the magazines out.

The break in the battle gave him time to think, and he wasn’t sure that that was what he wanted right now. Thinking about the mage, thinking about the dugout. Even in his field of vision lay dead Unicornian bodies, but he didn’t focus on them, looking instead at the guns actions very intently. It was better to think about other things.

What was going to happen next? As of now, they had traded one trench for a different one, one that was only seven miles further from Canterlot. Were they just going to stop here for another year? He finished reloading. He wouldn’t know the answers, so it was pointless to ask the questions anyway.

Looking back at the squad he could see that the twins had their rifles propped up so that their bayonets peeked over the trench wall. They had their trench mirrors attached, and the twins were looking up at the sheets of glass intently, almost in puzzlement.

“What are you looking at?” Trench asked, fishing for conversation. The twins answered in their usual way, simultaneously.

“The contraptions.”

“The fortress.”

Trench had to choose which one to follow, but before he could Longshot jumped in. “What can you tell us about that fortress?”

“A lot of machine gun slits; it looks like it’s made of hardened concrete. I don’t know how we would get in.”

“Any cover between here and there?”

“Not much friend, a few craters and that’s all there is.”

“How much do you want to bet that before the day ends we attack it?” Eagle said. He had gotten right back into his sour mood.

“Calm down, Eagle,” Longshot said. “I wouldn’t bet much. It sounds like a suicide charge.”

“And?” Eagle said undeterred. “It’s still Unicornian, and if we want to hold this ground we can’t just let them camp in that bunker. We’re gonna have to flush them out, and that means a lot of us get to charge at it with high hopes and good intentions.” Trench was now only half listening, his mind wandering back to figuring out what made him feel so uneasy.

“That’s what we thought this morning,” Joe said, gracing the conversation with his rare opinion “But we had a plan. If we go at it we’ll have a plan.”

“How about those metal things?” Longshot asked. Trench still was engrossed in his own question. It had to be something.

“Brother?”

“Well brother, after careful observation I’ve determined that they are made of metal.”

“And?” Longshot asked.

“Well, they have to be driven by somepony.”

“Can you tell us something that we don’t know?” Eagle said snappishly.

“It has a big cannon on it!”

The sentence thrust the answer to Trench’s question straight into his mind, and Trench looked over quickly. “Where’s the artillery?”

“Pardon?”

“What?”

“What happened to the artillery?” Trench asked excitedly. “When was the last time any of you saw a shell land?”

“Why would there be any artillery?” Longshot asked. “if our guns were shooting they’d probably be more of a threat to us than the Unicornians.”

Trench shook his head. “Not ours, theirs! when was the last time they’ve shot at us?”

The twins looked at each other, then back at him, sharing the same confusion that the squad now had. “A few minutes at least.”

Trench shook his head. “They should be shelling the hay out of us now, right?”

“Yes.”

“Why aren’t they shelling us?"

The Machine

Twenty Minutes Earlier

There were shadows in the fog. Figures that he could see, but not ones that he could discern. Figures that made him feel something. As he gazed at them, he tried to figure out what it was. Melancholy? Nostalgia? Both? They were walking toward him, but he was moving away at the same pace. He looked harder, trying to spot some features.

He could swear that two of them were the same, tall and lanky, horns protruding from their heads like spears. There was a bulky unicorn and an earth pony close by his side. It all seemed familiar to him. His eyes looked to the first pony, leading the way with confidence and his head held high. His rifle glinted silver in the pale morning light. He squinted more. There was a stenson silhouetted upon the leaders head.

“Repeater?” the unicorn whispered.

“Commander, you’re looking over your shoulder again,” a grainy voice said into his right ear, snapping him back into reality. The ponies that he looked at changed, slightly, but enough. He didn’t know them, and the feelings faded. He faced back front.

“That’s like the fourth time you’ve done that this morning Commander,” the grainy voice said into his ear again. He looked over left at the pony who sat next to him, a red beret askew on his head, clamped into place by a headset. He reached for a button upon his chest and pressed it.

“I’m just looking corporal.”

“Looking for your old squad?”

The unicorn was quiet for a moment, and then answered. No point in trying to hide it. “Yeah.”

“You think they’re out there?”

“Yes.”

“You’re worried about them, right?”

“Yes again.”

A third voice cut into the conversation through the headset. “I bet they’re just fine commander.”

“Well, they are right now; the battle hasn’t started yet.” The unicorn shifted uncomfortably in his spot. His mind wandered to his old friends, about to go head to head with the Unicornian army, and without the luxury of the protection that he had. Time for a change in subject.

“Deadeye, Lead Hooves, knock it off,” he said into his mic.

“Sorry Commander,” the other voice in his ear said. The earth pony who sat next to him glanced over quizzically before speaking.

“Commander, are you as worried about us as you are about your old squad?”

“I’m not worried,” the unicorn said. This was false. He was worried, but he was also in charge, and right now he didn’t need to be passing any of his concerns to his underlings. He had never been a good liar or even a liar at all, so he hoped that it was convincing enough.

“Well Commander, you are the most worried looking “not worried” pony I’ve ever seen.” Darn, he wasn’t as convincing as he hoped he was after all. The earth pony noticed the unicorn’s annoyance and grinned. “So, are you as worried about us as you are about your old squad?”

“No.”

“Any reason?”

“Because I know where you are and how you’re doing.”

“Oh, I thought it was because of our steel box.”

Deadeye did bring up a solid point, with emphasis on solid. The unicorn looked down at the thing that they rode upon, a giant assembly of metal upon metal that noisily rode forward across the dewy morning field. It was a near perfect combination of the protection of thick armor, the firepower of artillery and machine guns, and the mobility of the cavalry units. In summary, it was the future.

From where the unicorn sat it did seem perfect. It’s innovative endless track system that went over the wheels allowed it to traverse the soft ground, and do it quickly. The turret that he sat in could bring a 6 pounder cannon, machine gun, and a flamethrower to bear on any target in seconds, and the thing did it all while he and the crew sat safe behind 50 mm of armor. Once they stepped down in and closed the hatch, they would be almost completely invulnerable.

“Yeah, ‘The Flyer’ helps too,” he replied.

“Can’t believe that you named our tank after your old newspaper,” Deadeye said with no small amount of disappointment. “You could’ve named our tank something awesome, like ‘Pain’ or ‘Death Incarnate’, and you name it after... a newspaper.”

“Oh! What about ‘Fury’?” the comms squawked again as Lead-Hooves chimed in. “That’s a good name for a tank, right?”

“Better than naming it for a newspaper.”

“Yeah, definitely.”

The commander clicked back onto the comms with a sly grin. “Maybe I don’t worry about you two as much as my old squad because I don’t like you as much as them.”

Deadeye looked over with an exaggerated pout. “Commander, that hurts, all our time together- ”

“Doesn’t matter if you don’t like the name,” the commander said, eager to rib them on. “My old squad would like the name.”

“I like the name,” the headset interjected. “I just wish it was cooler is all.”

“Thanks Lead, you’re still in my good books.”

“Suck up.”

“Hey!”

The commander looked off ahead into the fog, quickly slipping from reality and into his thoughts, or in this case memories. The cheerful ribbing, the fog, it all reminded him of his first day in combat. Did Deadeye and Lead really know what they were about to do, what they were about to see? He remembered that he couldn’t even imagine what it would be like, how they talked about it around the campfire on that damp morning at the Galloping Gorge and tried to think of what it would be like but couldn’t. How the shells started falling and the war became real. He reacted though, he did his job, all of them did.

But that wasn’t true, two of them didn’t, and they died. The commander thought about his two subordinates. How would they react? Would they function, or shut down? It was a thought that occasionally graced his mind before, but now with the battle close at hoof he began to worry. If they couldn’t function, either of them, they could all die.

“Hey Commander, got an apple!?”

He turned left again to a waiting Deadeye who had a hoof extended to him. the commander nodded and reached into his saddlebags, pulling an apple from his rations and hoofing it over. Deadeye took a large bite, then tossed it over the front of the turret. “Incoming!”

Over the rumbling of the engine the Commander heard a yelp of pain. “Direct hit!” Deadeye shouted. The comms squawked back on. “Celestia! Deadeye, you jerk, I thought that was a grenade! Can you hit him for me, Commander? Please!?” The Commander obliged, swinging a hoof into the back of Deadeyes head.

“Ow.”

“You earned it, jerk,” the driver said bitterly through the comms.

“I gave you an apple.”

“You threw it at my head!”

“… You still got an apple.”

They abruptly fell silent, letting the rumbling of the engine fill the empty noise. The commander thanked the Ordnance Department for rubberized road-wheels. He had heard infantry tanks before, they squealed.

“Is it usually this boring?”

The Commander turned over to Deadeye, a look of disgust on his face. “Boring?” Deadeye leaned away from the commander’s glare slightly. “Do you want it to get exciting?”

“Not particularly Commander, but I was expecting it to be more interesting than this.”

“Give it a few minutes, and it’ll be interesting, and I’ll guarantee you that you’ll wish it was boring.”

Deadeye nodded understandingly, but as the commander looked into his eyes he could see that he didn’t. “But is it usually this boring?”

The commander sighed. “Yes, it usually is. Nothing happens for a long time, but whenever it does, you miss the nothing.”

“Hey Commander, how much longer?” Lead-Hoof asked. The commander looked at his foreleg at the one standard piece of equipment that all TC’s had, a watch courtesy of General of the Calvary Clockwork Engine. It was 5:03.

“It’s time. Button up.”

“Do we have to?” Deadeye whined.

“Yeah.” The commander looked down into the machine; he didn’t want to go down either, but he knew that he had to. He slid down onto the padded metal bar that served as his seat, then reached up to grab the hatch. He looked up into the grey fog one last time, at the warm natural light of Celestia’s sun. Then he brought the hatch down.

He slid the metal bar of the hatch lock closed, paying only the slightest of mind to the words on the hatch. IF THIS HATCH IS LOCKED YOU ARE INVUNERABLE, DO NOT COMMAND THE TANK IN BATTLE FROM OUTSIDE. He knew it was right, but at the same time he knew why it was on there. The thing may have outwardly seemed like a perfect war machine but from where he sat it left a lot to be desired.

Not that he had time to linger on the machines faults. He turned to face the rear of the turret and switched the radio on, tuning in to his platoons frequency and listening. Silence so far. He glanced at the .30 Cal that lay stowed across the top of the bulky radio. He hoped that they wouldn’t need it. He looked over to the left of the turret at Deadeye, who was completely obscured by the giant six pounder gun that dominated the center of the turret. He could see his ears though, and that was enough. He reached over the gun and gave the pony a flick.

“Load the co-ax!” Deadeye nodded and went to loading as the Commander quickly checked to see if everything was in order before the battle started. The 57 mm rounds for the cannon were secure in their carriers at the turret rear by the radios and below him. By his head was a bustle of frag and smoke grenades next to the machine gun port. Up front on the side of the turret was a metal carrier of 2 inch smoke and high explosive rounds for the bomb launcher next to the main gun. All was in order, but the commander didn’t care about any of it right now.

At the front, by the bomb launcher, were the items of his concern. Taped to the turret wall were 3 photographs and a small scrawled note, crumpled and stained with water. In one of the pictures was a group of eight earth brown earth ponies and unicorns standing abrest in front of an equestrian flag, each with a weapon in hoove. Below that was a headline. “MIRACLE! EIGHT SOILDERS PUNCH THROUGH ENEMY LINES IN BID FOR SURVIVAL.” Next to it was a picture of two unicorns and a little colt standing outside of a movie theater. Below was a picture of a mare in a shop. It was black and white, but the commander knew her colors by heart, and his mind filled in the gaps. He smiled a little, and looked at the note.

Don’t choose to be someone that you’ll regret being.

Sergeant Manifest Destiny reached forward and tapped the note lightly. “I won’t.”

Manifest looked at his memorabilia nostalgically, then went back to the more pressing matter of getting ready. He leaned back to take a look through his commander’s periscope, and sighed. He may have been safe inside the machine, but he was also mostly blind apart from what he could see through the narrow slit. Luckily he could swivel the periscope, but the fact remained that the entirety of the Unicornian army could be just 50 feet outside of his constrained view. Of course, right now the entire Unicornian army could be 50 feet to his direct front and he wouldn’t know either. The fog was so thick that all he could see was a green blur at the bottom of his vision that marked the turret, then nothing but grey.

In fact, it was too thick. The commander tapped his horn to the glass and started putting magic into it, heating it up slightly. He looked again. The periscope was now clear, meaning that he could at least see the top of the turret clearly. “Deadeye! Check your sights! Can you see anything!”

“No! Not a darn thing commander!” Manifest made a mental note to add heated periscopes and gunsights to the list of complaints as he put a hoof on the top of the gun and pushed the breach down. He leaned over the gun to Deadeyes half of the tank and heated his periscope, then leaned down and did the same for the gun sight. “Thanks.” The commander returned to his half, and looked through his periscope again. The fog was still there, but the ground had changed to a brown of dirt.

The radio rumbled on with a buzz of static in his ears. “Third platoon, check in.”

“Sure-Shot, standing by.”

The commander clicked on his comms. “Manifest standing by.”

“Alright, button up if you haven’t already, we’re close. Remember the plan, and keep on this frequency if anything goes awry.” The voice cut off. Manifest took one last look around at where everything was. He had to know by heart, because in a few minutes he was either going to be a very busy pony, or a very dead one.

‘You’re not gonna die,’ Manifest thought to himself. ‘The Unicornians have no idea what’s about to come out of this fog, and they aren’t gonna be able to beat our armor. Everypony knows that… but they don’t know that, they just think that. The Unicornians may be able to bust tanks with such ease that we’ll all be dead the second we break the fog.’ The mental argument that Manifest was having with himself was doing very little to calm his nerves.

“Third platoon, the cavalry tanks are reporting that they have contact with the enemy lines. The fog did not hold and surprise was not achieved. Once we break the fog bank put your tanks parallel to the trenches and wait for artillery support. Copy?”

“Copy.”

“Copy,” Manifest said, immediately switching to the interior comms. “Deadeye, Lead-hoove, The Duke said that the fog didn’t hold and that we didn’t achieve surprise, so be ready for a firefight. Lead, once we break this fog swing us around left and halt once we’re parallel to their trenches. Deadeye, you traverse right and wait on me to call targets. Copy?”

“Copy, Commander.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

Manifest looked back through the periscope. It was the same. A moonscape of craters that the machine rode up and down that quickly disappeared into the pale grey. They were close, and he knew it, but he had no knowing of how. The fog ahead flashed yellow, and Manifest found himself not tensing up, but relaxing. They were at least close enough to see the flashes of friendly fire. The fog lit up again, periodically, but growing in volume and intensity. Manifest wished that he could hear to get an idea of how far the explosions were, but the rumbling of the engine made that an impossibility.

The fog was thinning out now, the grey lifting by the second, the flashes of gunfire increasing. A few bright yellow streaks flew out of the fog, quickly whizzing out of Manifests limited field of vision. ‘Tracers,’ Manifest thought, quickly doing a little bit of mental math. They were within 1500 yards at most based on an Mgs range. Good. The flashes in the thinning fog persisted.

The grey was changing, reflecting the warm yellow of the sun as the fog thinned and the light began to break through. Shadows emerged and as Manifest’s machine moved forward he could watch them become cavalry tanks, turned parallel with the trenches he knew were ahead to shelter the ponies behind. A low hill that flashed with fire appeared in the distance, behind the earthworks that appeared. The fog had dissolved into a thin mist.

“Lead, anytime now.” Manifest said into his receiver. The tank jerked beneath him, and quickly the small slit of vision that he had panned left quickly, the trenches ahead being rapidly replaced by more of the Equestrian tanks. Abruptly the tank stopped. “Deadeye, bring it around.”

With a whirr the hydraulics kicked in, and Manifest’s view began to pan back right. In his periphery, he could see the floor of the tank turning beneath him as his seat moved with the turret. He focused back on his scope.

“Deadeye, enemy machine gun nest at one o’clock, 700 yards!” Manifest said as he moved back from the scope and grabbed a HE shell from stowage. He fed the tip into the gun’s breech and threw it in, the gun closing with a solid ‘thunk’. He hit a small button on the side of the gun to indicate he had loaded.

“AWAY!” Deadeye yelled, and the gun went off. A muted quick ‘boom’ echoed through the tiny space as the breach jumped backward. Manifest yanked down on a lever on the side of the breach and it slid open, ejecting the brass cartridge onto the floor with a noisy clang and a puff of smoke. “ONE MORE!” yelled Deadeye. Manifest was already grabbing up the next round from the ready rack and preparing to ram it in as his gunner called out, repeating the action and hitting the indicator button. “AWAY!”

The gun went off again, rocking the tank with its recoil as the breech rocked backwards and then halted. Manifest pulled the lever down again, filling the cramped space with more putrid smoke as the cartridge ejected. “TARGET ELIMINATED!” Deadeye shouted. Manifest swiveled in his seat back to the periscope, silently cursing the machine’s design. There was no way that he was going to be able to command effectively when he was spending most of his time loading the gun.

He looked into the periscope at the field, and in the space of the seconds that had passed the field had changed. Small clouds of dirt dotted the trenches ahead, more erupting into existence as yellow streaks of rounds arched their way from Equestrian cannons into the dug in positions. The trenches flashed furiously with rifle fire, but none of it seemed directed towards Manifest’s tank. For a second he was lost in the spectacle, then he composed himself, looking for another target to bring the gun onto.

Abruptly the tank jumped beneath him, throwing him into the lens of the scope. Manifest war gripped with sheer panic, ‘Celestia, we’re hit!’ He looked around the cabin turret wildly for the damage, but everything seemed fine. They weren’t hit.

“The hay was that?” he heard Deadeye yell into the comms. The tank rocked again, and Manifest could hear a muffled explosion from outside. Manifest realized the answer, and hit the transmit button.

“They’re shelling us! Lead, if it gets too heavy get us out of here! Head for their trenches, we’ll be out of their fire there.” Manifest immediately realized that they would get out of the Unicornian’s artillery, but if they charged the trenches they would drive right into their own fire. they were stuck between a rock and a hard place. “Wait, Belay that!”

“You want us to just sit here!?” Leads voice said into his ear in disbelief.

“Yes, our armor can take it!” Manifest responded, not sure if he was telling the truth. He hoped that his bluff worked on his crew as he looked back into the periscope. The trenches ahead still flashed with fire, the suppressing fire from the Equestrian tanks not enough to convince the Unicornians that life was precious. There wasn’t a good target to pick. “Switch to the co-ax! Put their heads down!”

The turret turned slightly, and then the turret was filled with the rapid fire rattling bams of the coaxial and the pinging of the shell casings on the metal floor. He could follow the rounds path out of the gun, curving down until they hit the ground right before the trench, kicking up spurts of dust. The turret traversed, putting rounds across the front of the trench as it went and putting Unicornian heads down as they dived away from the incoming fire.

The tank hadn’t shaken with the impact of artillery for a few seconds. Manifest didn’t know why they stopped firing, but he didn’t question it. What he did know was that it was a temporary reprieve at best, and if they were still here when it started again he didn’t like their chances.

Trench kept looking through the scope, each second that they sat immobile becoming more nerve wracking than the last. ‘Where the hay is-‘

His thought was interrupted as the ground around the trenches began exploding upward, and The Flyer was rocked with the reports of multiple explosions. Manifest had seen it before, but the sheer volume of fire that the Equestrian artillery was capable of still amazed him. Only seconds had passed and already the trench had disappeared into a thick cloud of dust, the explosions happening so rapidly it sounded like one continuous roar. The tank shook like it was sitting five feet from a passing train, the artillery quaking the earth.

The explosions of dirt ceased but the artillery didn’t, the shells now exploding above the trenches and raining shrapnel down. “Holy…” Manifest turned over to Deadeye, who was transfixed on the sight in his periscope.

“Wow,” said Lead, in the understatement of the year. Manifest wanted to share in their awe, but the fact that they were still sitting there in the open watching an artillery barrage was becoming a preview of their own fate if they didn’t move. Seconds before he was waiting for it to start, and now he was praying for it to end.

There was a blinding flash behind the dust cloud ahead, and the tank nearly leaped into the air, throwing Manifest into the periscope once more and nearly knocking him out of his seat. For a second Manifest feared the worst, that the Unicornian’s were commencing their own barrage, then the comms erupted with chatter from the two crewmates. “HOLY CELESTIA, THAT WAS AWESOME!!” Deadeye yelled euphorically. The normally reserved Lead-Hoove was cheering wildly. Manifest scrambled back up to the periscope to see what had happened.

Towering even above the cloud from the barrage was a gargantuan pillar of smoke and dust, slowly expanding into the heavens even as clumps of earth fell from above, trailing dust like the tails of comets. Manifest couldn’t see the entirety of the explosions remnants through the periscope, having to shift in his seat to see the top of the cloud.

“THAT’S IT, WAR’S OVER!!!” Dead-eye yelled, quickly lapsing into laughter. “L-Look at that!!!” he said through his fit, “There isn’t anypony left to fight!!”

The statement snapped Manifest out of his stupor. “Yes there is,” he said flatly, and in the cabin and on the comms the laughter cut out at his voice. Manifest flicked the radio back to the platoons frequency, then returned to his periscope. No new rounds had fallen since the explosion.

The radio crackled on. “Third platoon, advance at trotting speed and resume the plan.”

Manifest flicked to the intercom. “Lead, right 90 degrees and then advance at trotting speed.”

The tank lurched beneath him as the engine grumbled back from its rest, and turned to face the dust cloud from the barrage ahead. The low grumbling of the engine was complemented by the high pitched whine of the hydraulics as the turret rotated back to the front.

Slowly the tank began moving towards the dust cloud, towering above them ominously. Out ahead of them he could see the cavalry tanks advancing, the cavalry troop advancing bunched up behind them, hiding from gunfire that wasn’t coming. The poor ponies would be in the trenches soon, ponies like Repeater, and Cold and Joe, and Muddy Ruts and Bloody Guts, and Longshot. ‘Celestia, keep them safe,’ he prayed silently.

“Are we gonna help them?” Lead asked over the radio. Somepony shared Manifest’s concern. Manifest moved to answer, but Dead-eye beat him to the punch.

“Do you want to win the battle, or the war?”

“Deadeye’s right, we have to stick to the plan.”

“So we’re just going to leave them?” Lead asked, his voice tinted with sadness that was unmistakable, even though the static of the intercoms.

“They have cavalry tanks, they won’t be without support.”

“I know, I just feel bad not helping.”

“We’ll help them,” Manifest said reassuringly. Ahead the cavalry tanks were fading into the dust, and Manifest’s view range dropped until he could hardly see past the front of the tank. The tank kept inching forward, far too slow for his liking. He felt like any second the Unicornian’s would open up the sky with their artillery, and no amount of armor was protection against 250 pounds of explosive.

Out of the dust came a muted boom and flash, followed by more. Manifest was beginning to be able to pick out what the different tones of explosions meant. The ground didn’t shake with the booms like it would with artillery impact, so it had to be the cavalry tanks. Out of the gloom ahead a cavalry tank reappeared, it’s turret facing sideways and its co-ax blazing away as it straddled a trench.

The Flyer pulled up along the side of the tank that the turret wasn’t facing, and Manifest braced as the front of the tank pitched down into the trench. He was thrown forward as it hit the trench back, then The Flyer climbed over and out the other side. A wave of relief washed over him. Finally they were in the Unicornian’s positions and safe from their artillery. More than that, they were finally able to do their job. He got on the radio.

“Lead, open her up!”

The tank lurched beneath him as the engine’s low contented grumble grew into a roar, pausing for a second as Lead changed gears. As the tank accelerated, the uneven ground that they rode over pitched their tank up and down like a ship at sea, but Manifest kept his head pressed against the periscope despite the bucking. His visibility was still reduced to only a few unclear feet past the front of the tank, and it occurred to him that if something came out of the dust ahead he would only have enough time to realize his mistake before he and his crew either pulverized or were pulverized by whatever they hit. He couldn’t order them to slow down, though. Once they passed the first trench and successfully got the squad that trailed them across the field they had to move as fast as they could, or the whole plan could unravel.

Suddenly Manifest saw a dark blur in the cloud ahead, low to the ground. Before he could identify it or even warn his crew to brace the Flyer jolted hard beneath him as they impacted it. for a second Manifest was terrified that they had ran into another tank or a bunker, but as quickly as it had happened it was over, and the Flyer kept moving at its fast clip.

“What was that?” Deadeye asked in alarm, despite the fact that whatever it was no longer posed a threat as they sped away from it.

“Another trench,” said Lead quickly, not in the mood for talking as he focused on steering The Flyer forward.

The dust outside grew thinner, letting more of the morning light through. They were reaching the end. Abruptly the cloud ceased, and The Flyer burst through it and into the open morning, still trailing plumes of the light brown cloud behind it. They were still driving through some craters from the barrages, but just ahead the ground leveled out into untouched and unkempt grass. Beyond that, in the distance, Manifest could see tan tents set up. The Unicornian rear positions. They would be there in two minutes, give or take.

“Deadeye, get rid of the casings.” Manifest ordered. He swiveled the periscope to the left, relieved to see that flanking him were more of the tanks, all charging full bore along with them.

“Third platoon, are you still combat effective?”

“Affirmitive.”

“Guide onto the tank flying the green and gold flag. We’re going to clear out the trenches for the Airborne and then move on to the primary objective. Stay close to me, and keep an eye on each other and the co-ax ready for any clingers.”

“Copy,” Manifest said, swiveling the periscope looking for the flag. One in three of the tanks that were thundering across the field were flying a banner, and Manifest quickly found the platoon leader’s just ahead to the left. They were positioned well to cover him.

He reached to the ready rack and pulled out a shell. This one didn’t have a pointed end like the last, instead having the brass of the shell go the full length of the round, and end with a flat face. It looked like a large cylinder. The round made a soft rattle as he hefted it up to the breach, a small reminder of what it was. On the side of the shell it was stenciled “CANISTER.”

Inside the shell were 200 small metal balls. It was in essence the largest shotgun shell ever made. He threw it in and the breechd closed with a heavy thunk as Manifest hit the indicator. He reached up to the bomb launcher and broke it open, levitating up a smoke round and putting it in before snapping it shut. He went back up to his periscope.

It hadn’t even been a minute, but they were already markedly closer, the black lines of barbed wire and the small raise in the ground that signaled the enemy’s second trench system now visible. Manifest got onto the intercom.

“Alright, Lead, keep the Flyer going full speed until we get to their trench, then I want you to stop and straddle it. Deadeye, when we’re almost there swing this turret left and then fire into the trench, we gotta get as many as we can so we can clear the way for the airborne. Lead, as soon as we’re done with that, get us out of there and head west until we find their artillery. Watch our buddies and call out if you see any trouble. Copy?”

“Copy Commander.”

“Yep.”

Manifest took one last quick look to the sides, making sure The Flyer was abreast with all the others, and then he brought the periscope back to the front. They were closing the distance rapidly, maybe a half mile away now. Manifest felt a bit of unease. It seemed too easy. “Why aren’t you firing?” he muttered.

Almost as if by command, the trenches ahead began flashing, and he was able to watch as the first tracer round flew out from the trench and curved through the air towards him, finally hitting The Flyer with a puff of smoke and a cascade of sparks. Hundreds of rounds followed it, all pinging off of the steel armor harmlessly. Inside it sounded like a heavy rain falling against a glass window, and the bullets that threw themselves against the armor concerned Manifest about as much.

The Flyer kept barreling forward along with 89 of its brothers through the enemy fire unimpeded, and as the tank weathered the barrage of bullets with nothing to show for it Manifests fears went away. If the enchantments in the armor held, there was nothing that the Unicornians could do to stop them. The inscription on the hatch was right. They were invulnerable.

The Flyer crashed through the first barbed wire fence, not even slowing as the wire was smashed into the ground and snapped. They were still hundreds of yards out, but at the rate they were moving they would be upon them in seconds.

“Should I suppress?” Deadeye asked over the radio.

“Hold fire,” Manifest said. They needed to be point blank for the canister shell to do it’s worst, and the Unicornians weren’t able to stop them from getting there. The fire from the trenches slowed as the Unicornians paused to reload their expended magazines, allowing Manifest to see their distinctive 3-point silhouettes. They were close.

“Bring it around!” With a whine the turret began rotating left, bringing the other tanks on the field into his vision, their turrets traversing as well. The tank began decelerating, making Manifest put a hoof against the turret wall to brace against the force. The tank coasted the final few yards to the trench, pitching down as the ground fell out from beneath it, then back up as the treads grabbed the earth and pulled the tank back up before stopping. The tank was bridging the trenches, the gun pointing down it’s length at the Unicornians.

Manifest could see everything at this range. Some of them were desperately attempting to reload their rifles, others were desperately firing them, shooting without aiming as fast as they could, their faces filled with terror as their bullets bounced off harmlessly. Manifest saw one throw down his rifle and dive for a dugout, the one closest scurrying under the tank. Manifest froze. With one word he could end them all, but his mouth couldn’t say it. They couldn’t hurt him, they weren’t a threat. He remembered the note that he taped to the turret. He didn’t want to be a killer. His body trembled at the thought. For a moment, less than a second, Manifest couldn’t do it.

Then he remembered his responsibilities, and the moment ended.

“FIRE!”

“AWAY!”

The cannon roared, and 200 steel ball bullets flew out and into the trench. The muzzle flash obscured Manifests view mercifully, and the dust kicked up by the report and by the rounds impact in the dirt concealed the deadly results of the canister shell as the ricocheting bullets flew down the trench at thousands of feet per second. The co-ax roared to life as Manifest turned away from the periscope and opened the breach, ejecting the spent casing with a plume of smoke. He grabbed a second canister shell out of the rack and fed it into the gun. Next to him the co-ax fell silent. Manifest hit the indicator.

“Fire!”

The familiar reply of ‘Away!’ didn’t come, and the cannon sat silent. Deadeye must not have heard him. “FIRE!” Manifest shouted again louder. Deadeye still didn’t respond. “Deadeye?” Manifest asked, quieter, looking up over the top of the gun. All he could see were Deadeyes ears and his beret, sitting perfectly still. Dead still. “DEADEYE!” Manifest shouted, the concern that he felt echoed in his yell. The co-ax could have misfired and killed him and Manifest wouldn’t have even noticed.

“Celestia.”

Deadeye’s voice came in over the radio, weak and quiet, all the usual bravado gone. Manifest was terrified now. Something was horribly wrong.

“Deadeye, are you hit?!” A dozen possibilities went through his mind. Maybe the Unicornians had a gun that could go through the armor and hit him. Maybe the co-ax blew up while he fired it. He looked to the turret floor, looking for blood, or flesh.

“Look at it.” Dead-eye said.

Manifest could tell that Dead-eye was looking through his scope, and Manifest moved to look through his. This had happened before. Even as he put his eyes up to the glass he knew what sight awaited him, and he knew what had happened to Deadeye.

Through the clearing dust in the trench before him were the shredded bodies of Unicornian soldiers. The ones that were closest, the ones that he could see the best, were unrecognizable as ponies. The close range blast of the canister shell reduced them to maroon mush. Farther off they began to regain their form, but their wounds were all too prominent. They looked down a trench choked with bodies, and the sight was only too familiar. As the other tanks roared to life outside and moved away from the decimated trench Manifest waited for Deadeye to react.

“I can’t do it,” Deadeye said, backing away from the scope. “I won’t do it.”

Before Manifest could respond the radio cackled to life. “Manifest, respond, why aren’t you mobile?”

“Crew troubles Duke, give it a minute. Out.” Manifest switched the receiver off before his platoon leader could respond. He didn’t need another voice in his head while he tried to help his gunner.

“Deadeye, you have to, at least until the battle’s up. They need us.”

“No Sergeant, I can’t do it,” Deadeye said it with sincerity and seriousness, two words that had never described his sentences. Manifest could tell by his tone that he meant it.

“Hay,” Manifest muttered to himself as he thought. The Flyer needed to be operational, needed to be doing it’s mission and helping to win the battle, and it needed a gunner to do that. Manifest leaned his head back against the turret wall and sighed. Should he force Deadeye to do his job? Immediately Manifest felt revulsion. He wouldn’t do that, and even if he would he didn’t know how he could. Manifest almost moved to turn the radio back on and report that he was combat ineffective, but he didn’t. They were needed, and he wouldn’t run from the battle. But he needed a gunner that he no longer had. ‘What would Repeater do?’ Manifest thought.

The relative silence was interrupted by a cackle on the intercom. “Sergeant? Orders? Everypony’s driven off,” Lead asked. Manifest knew that he had been listening to everything based on his worried tone. He had to do something, and now.

“Hold here for a moment Lead,” he ordered. “Deadeye, the Duke and Sure Shot need us out there, and for us to help we need you. Do you hear me, I need you.”

“To what, waste more ponies? Buck that! If you want them dead, you kill them! I’m keeping my hooves clean!”

“Dead-eye, if we don’t get going-“

“SERGEANT!” Lead yelled, his loud voice blasting into Manifest’s and Deadeye’s ear. “ENEMY TO THE LEFT!” To Lead’s left was were the turret was facing, so Manifest quickly looked through his periscope. The one unicorn that had dived into the dugout had come back out, standing just outside of the entrance looking at his fallen comrades in shock. He carried no weapons, and looked too devastated to be a threat. Slowly his gaze turned to The Flyer, the gun still pointed down the trench toward him. The Unicorn stumbled away from the cannons aim back into the safety of his dugout, almost tripping on the bodies as he fled.

“Celestia, look at him.” Dead-eye said with sorrow. “We murdered all his buddies, Sergeant. I can’t murder pony’s buddies.”

Manifest backed away from the periscope in resignation. He knew that after seeing that Deadeye wasn’t going to pull the trigger, and there was no way that he was going to be able to convince him to. “Alright Deadeye, we’re pulling out.” He turned around to turn the radios receiver back on.

“Guys!” Lead exclaimed. Manifest turned back to the periscope quickly. The unicorn that had stumbled back into his dugout had come back out, a brace of grenades in his hoof and another on his back. There was fury in his eyes as he glared at The Flyer, and his horn lit up with magic that bathed the grenades.

“Deadeye!” Manifest said urgently.

“He can’t hurt us,” Dead-eye replied, his voice detached from the situation even as every pin on the Unicornians brace pulled simultaneously. If those grenades landed on the engine deck Manifest didn’t know if Deadeye would be correct, and he only had a fraction of a second to react. Manifest reached forward and yanked the trigger on the bomb-launcher.

The Unicornian was in mid-throw when the smoke launcher fired, the round flying low and ricocheting off of one of the corpses and back up into him, knocking him off balance. The Unicornian fell into the growing cloud of smoke, his brace falling from his hoof and disappearing. Manifest sat frozen, staring at the slowly growing cloud. From outside there was a loud firecracker bang and flash in the smoke, and then a ragged limb flew out from the cloud, landing on the ground a few yards to the left. Manifest relaxed subconsciously, his shoulders dropping and a breath he didn’t know he held escaping his mouth.

“You just killed that guy.”

Manifest nodded, though nopony could see it. “Yes, yes I did.” Manifest turned back to the radio, his eyes skimming over the cannon. He stopped, and looked back at it. “Deadeye, can you load?”

“What?”

“Can you load the cannon?”

Deadeyes response was uncertain. “Y-yes?”

“Alright, switch spots with me.”

“Why?”

“If you won’t shoot that cannon then I will, but I need you to load.”

“I don’t want to do it.”

Abruptly Manifest lost his temper. “Darn it Deadeye! You don’t want to kill ponies and if you load you won’t have to, but if you don’t load that gun I’ll take you back to the base and have you court martialed and arrested! Load the gun, that’s an order!”

Manifest heard Deadeye shuffle, and then he crawled under the gun to Manifests position, crowding the already cramped side of the turret, he crawled toward the front, giving Manifest more room. Manifest reached to the radio and switched the receiver back on.

“Duke, Manifest. The Flyer is back in action. Give a position and we’ll get there, over.” Manifest crawled under the gun and into the gunners seat, looking at the controls. The telescopic sight was just behind the periscope, running parallel to the cannon. To Manifest’s direct right was the heavy rubber shoulder pad attached to the gun shield. Beneath that were the two triggers, one for the co-ax, and one for the cannon. Manifest nodded to no one. ‘Piece of cake.’ He turned to the radio and shut off his transmitter, only having to reach a little to do it.

“Lead Hoove, let’s get going. Advance forward, see if we can’t catch up.” The tank rumbled back to life as Manifest looked through the periscope. They were still looking at the trench, and Manifest quickly turned away from the sight of the bodies, looking for the hydraulic traverse controls. He found them, a small handle to his left, and pulled it to the right, turning the turret away from the carnage of the trench and towards the fires that lay west.

The tank jerked forward as the tracks caught, and pitched up as the back of the tank went over the trench wall, but as it came back down onto the level ground the engine surged, and the tank accelerated smoothly deeper into Unicornian territory. Manifest hefted the back of the cannon up and slid his shoulder into the shoulder pad, putting a hoof through the trigger guards and looking back through the periscope. They were now just outside the Unicornians tent city, or what remained of it. The tents burned furiously, set ablaze by the flamethrowers of the tanks that had gone before them. They needed to catch up.

The Flyer entered the conflagration, the heavy smoke of the flames dulling their visibility to only a few feet. Manifest was tempted to order Lead to drive right through the burning tents, but knew that if they got a canvas on their tank they’d be blind, and almost certainly vulnerable to being swarmed. Manifest looked down at the ground in front of the tank, the only place that he could see with any clarity. Furrowed into the ground were two gashes like a pair of plows had run through it. “Lead, follow those tracks.”

“Copy,” Lead answer crisply. Thank Celestia he hadn’t been the one to break. He was in a separate compartment. If he was rendered unable to drive, nopony would be going home.

“Manifest! Where the hay are you at?” The Dukes voice was so loud in Manifest’s ear that he could have been sitting next to him. He almost reached behind him to his left before he caught himself. The radio wasn’t there anymore. “MANIFEST!”

“Deadeye, put the transmitter on,” Manifest ordered.

“I don’t know how, Sergeant.” The statement was dripping with disdain and resistance, but Manifest brushed it off.

“On the radio, second knob from the left, turn it clockwise.” Manifest waited for the tell-tale burst of static that would accompany the transmitter being switched on. The radio cackled tellingly. “Just left the trenches, Duke, heading through the tent city to the rear.”

“Fighting’s pretty heavy where we are Manifest, so I need-” the Duke’s response was punctuated by a loud boom. “One o’clock! Co-ax! Manifest, get your tank back here darn it!” The radio clicked off as the co ax rattled, cutting the sound of its burst short.

“Lead, get us there as fast as you can,” Manifest ordered. “Deadeye, give me a high explosive.”

“How?” Deadeye asked again, still simmering with anger at his sergeant. He knew full well how to reload the gun but right now Manifest didn’t want to be fighting his crew, not when they were already about to get back into a fight with ponies who were ready to kill them.

“Pull that lever down, grab the shell with the pointed end and throw it in, then hit that little button on the side of the gun.” Manifest could feel the tug of the cannon as the breech went down, and with a heavy clang the unfired canister shell fell to the floor. The gun shifted as Deadeye fed the new round in and rammed it home, jostling Manifest in his seat. A small red light popped on, and the gun was ready.

“Good job,” Manifest said as he checked the co-ax’s ammunition. Deadeye snorted into the radio his reply. The co-ax was basically full. Good. Manifest looked back through the periscope, readying himself for contact. As they careened through the burning tents Manifest listened for gunfire, or any clue where the enemy was, but the steady rumble of the engine drowned out any sounds from outside.

He couldn’t see through the billowing smoke of the blazes around him, and he couldn’t see the Unicornians in the tank’s path until it was right on top of them. Manifest tightened his hoof on the trigger of the co-ax as he raised himself up, depressing the gun. By the time he had brought it down, the Unicornian cooks that were hurriedly trying to douse the nearest tent had already leapt away from the tanks path. Manifest let his hoof off the trigger. If he had quicker reflexes, he would have killed them where they stood. Manifest backed off from the periscope. He almost blew away a bunch of cooks.

If the war would give him the time, he would have thought about what had just happened. But The Flyer didn’t stop, and they still headed towards a battle that could be just seconds away. Manifest reduced his thoughts on what he had nearly done to a simple ‘Identify targets before I engage,’ then went back to the sights.

They were still in the smoke, amongst the tents. Manifest kept up his guard though, any second they could break out and back into the battle. He thought that he saw a few silhouettes in the cloud, but he kept his hoof away from the trigger, and they disappeared before he could see them better. The smoke thickened as they drove by another fire, the cabin darkening as the smoke let less and less light through the periscope. It was dark outside now, almost as if the morning hadn’t come. Slowly the light began to grow outside, the near black turning to grey, the visibility improving. And then, abruptly, The Flyer burst through the smoke cloud into the open field, and back into the battle.

Manifest gave himself maybe a second to determine the situation that they had driven into, any longer and they’d be in trouble. They had just driven into an open field, at the other end just a few hundred yards away he could see the friendly tanks that had moved on without him, all parked and aiming his way. Behind them he could see smoke and dust, and more importantly the silhouettes of Unicornian cannons. Thank Celestia, as long as the Unicornian cannons were out of the battle, the Cavalry wouldn’t be getting shelled and they had done their jobs. With the cannons dealt with, Manifest looked for the Unicornian soldiers. He didn’t have to look hard.

Hardly 20 feet in front of him, a group of Unicornians were lying down on the ground steadily pouring optimistic but ineffective fire into the Equestrian tanks ahead. Two of them turned to face the threat that had just roared out of the smoke behind them, and were already reaching for their grenade satchels. Manifest pushed up on the cannons shoulder-pad and quickly put his eye to the gun sights. The Flyer was still moving, and Manifests field of vision shifted wildly as he brought the gun down, but the second he saw grey in the gunsights he pulled the trigger for the cannon. The tank shook as his view changed from green to brown in a flash of light.

“DEADEYE! CANISTER!” Manifest yelled as he immediately traversed the turret to the left. “LEAD, 90 DEGREES LEFT!” he had a suspicion, and needed to confirm it as quickly as possible. The tank heaved beneath him, and he braced himself up against the cannon to stay balanced. He backed up from the gun sight to the periscope again and looked. One glance was all he needed. Along the back of the Unicornian tent city and at the edge of the field the Unicornians had set up positions, firing a wall of rounds into the Equestrian tanks.

There was no way their rifles would be able to damage the tanks, but the tanks weren’t what Manifest was concerned about. As long as they held the ground, the battle wasn’t over. He aimed the gun in their general direction, and pulled the trigger on the co-ax. The gun roared loudly, spraying rounds into the Unicornians at the edge of the field, through the periscope he couldn’t aim the gun well, only able to point the tracers in their general direction. He couldn’t tell if he was scoring any hits, but scoring hits wasn’t his main goal. He let up off the gun. “Lead, parallel their lines, and don’t stop for anything. Deadeye, where’s that canister shell?”

Manifest felt the gun shake beneath him as Deadeye operated the breach, and fired the co-ax again. The flashing of rifle fire on behalf of the Unicornians kept up, but judging by the sparks on the tank and the return of the pattering sound of bullets off the armor Manifest was having the effect he wanted. As long as they were shooting his tank, they were distracted. The little red light on the gun flashed, and Manifest pulled the trigger, firing the cannon into their lines again. “Keep them coming Deadeye.”

“Manifest, is that your tank!” The Dukes voice asked through the headset, a mixture of anger, confusion, and disbelief. Manifest almost asked Deadeye to switch the transmitter on, before remembering that he could do it himself, he leaned back and with a quick burst of magic flicked the receiver back on.

“Yes Duke, that’s our tank,” Manifest said, rattling off a burst with the co-ax.

“What in Celestia’s name are you doing!”

“Distracting them! If they’re focused on me they aren’t focused on you!”

“You’re going to get cut to pieces!”

“My armor will hold!”

“The Hay it will! Manifest, you-” Manifest shut the radio off, cutting The Duke off mid-sentence. If he went back there with the rest of them, the Unicornians could bunker down out of their shots and still hold their ground. Right now he was keeping them occupied, but keeping them occupied wasn’t going to dislodge them. The red light popped on again, and Manifest pulled the trigger instantly.

If he didn’t have to focus on aiming and firing the guns he could have thought more about the situation, and come up with a plan, but right now all that he could do was keep the barrels hot. He fired the co-ax every time he saw an enemy cross in front of the gun, and fired the cannon every time the indicator showed that he had a round in.

The co-ax stopped firing, and Manifest quickly checked the gun. It was out. He opened the bridge and levitated out another box of rounds, slotting it on and putting the first round on the tray. He threw the bridge closed and pulled the charging handle back, and moved to look back through the periscope.

Just as he looked back through it, a beam of orange light flashed out of the Unicornian positions straight at the tank. Before he could react or even process what it was the beam hit with another flash, this one nearly blinding him. The inside of the tank rang like a bell hit with a sledgehammer from the force of the impact.

“What was that?!” Dead-eye yelled out. They weren’t dead, and as Manifest looked about the cabin there didn’t seem to be any damage. Another loud gong reverberated throughout the tank as Manifest got back onto the periscope and looked out. Another beam of light flew from among the burning tents, and Manifest looked to the source as the light impacted with another gong. It was a ways off, and obscured by the smoke a little, but Manifest could see the silver glint of steel at the source, too small to be a tank or a cannon. It was a mage. Manifest hit the traverse, swinging the turret around to face the threat.

“Sergeant, what is it?”

“It’s a mage, just keep loading the cannon,” Manifest said as the turret finally lined up with where the mage stood. Manifest snapped the shot, firing just as soon as the cannon looked like it was pointing in the mages direction, but a quick flash at the mages position meant that he had teleported away. Manifest looked for a second flash for where the mage teleported to, but none came. “Where did he go?” Manifest muttered.

There was another flash through the periscope, like lightning through a window, but Manifest couldn’t see a source. Abruptly the tank shook with another sledgehammer gong, this one louder than the last, Manifest rotated the turret again, trying to find out where the incoming was coming from. He still couldn’t find the mage. A bright orange light came through the periscope, like the orange of the burning tent, but he couldn’t see the source of the flame. The turret had traversed all the way around back to the front, and there was no sign of the mage. The tank just wasn’t agile enough to compete.

‘Doesn’t matter’ Manifest decided. ‘There’s nothing that he can do anyway, every spell he’s shot hasn’t done a thing.’ He turned the turret back to the Unicornians tent city to fire again, when Manifest heard another loud bang on the tanks armor, this one almost directly above him. he looked up at the turret roof in surprise. All the other impacts didn’t seem to have a direction, seeming to come from everywhere at once. Manifest noticed that the pattering sound of rifle bullets off of the tanks armor had ceased. There was another loud bang on the armor, and what Manifest saw almost made his heart stop. The hatch just above his head shuddered. Quickly he looked back to the periscope and spun it around to the rear of the turret. Just inches away from the periscope there was a metal clad hoof on the turret.

“EMERGENCY STOP!” Manifest yelled into the intercom as he clutched the periscope tightly. The entire tank shifted beneath him as the tracks clawed the dirt, skidding to a halt. Through the periscope Manifest saw the Mage lose his balance, falling off of the turret to the front. Manifest quickly hit the traverse controls, spinning the turret to face where the mage had fallen. Through the periscope there was another flash of light as the mage teleported again, out of Manifests sights.

“Lead, bring it around 180 degrees and get going!” Manifest said. If they stopped moving, they could be swarmed, and even though the mage was still about and would easily be able to stay with them Manifest wasn’t interested in making his job any easier. It was apparent though that while the mage had yet to do anything to The Flyer, there was no way that they were going to do anything to him in return. Not on their own anyway. Manifest turned back to the radio. If getting chewed out was the price that he had to pay for not having a mage rip off the hatch and incinerate him, he would gladly pay it. He switched the radio back on.

“Duke, I need a hoove here.”

“Manifest! Why the hay have you not been responding!”

“Radio troubles,” Manifest lied hurriedly. He didn’t have time to justify himself to The Duke, not now. “Can you see my tank?”

“Everypony in the army can see your tank.”

“I have a mage on me, so I need you to shoot The Flyer with canister shells.”

The Duke answered with a threatening tone. “That sounded a lot like an order, Manifest.”

Celestia, there was a mage trying to force his way into the tank, and his platoon Commander was worrying about rank. “Lieutenant, I need covering fire!” There was a flash through the periscope, followed almost immediately by a loud bang on the hatch right above Manifests head. “I need your help!”

“Turn that tank around and regroup Manifest. Now.”

The hatch shuddered with another loud blow as the mage beat on it. “Lieutenant!” Manifest yelled as he looked at his options. The only thing that he could use was the spare Machine gun that sat atop the radio, and that was far too big for Manifest to grab and maneuvered in the small cabin. The hatch shook again above him.

“Regroup Manifest, that’s an order.” The hatch jolted upwards, the metal bar that kept the hatch closed bending, but still holding. Manifest looked up at the bent bar, and the hatch shuddered again, straining the metal a little more. A feeling that he hadn’t felt since he was last in combat fell over him like a shadow. Complete helplessness. He was trapped in a metal coffin, and as soon as the hatch was pried open he would die in full view of the entire regiment.

“I got you.” Manifest heard Sure-Shot say on the radio, and immediately he heard the sound of bullets hitting his tank, hundreds at once as the tank was raked with canister. Above him he heard one last thump on the hatch, this one lacking the force of the others.

“Alright Sergeant, regroup on me, now.”

Manifest was still looking up at the hatch. He wasn’t going to die, not today. Thank Celestia. A breath he didn’t know he was holding released itself loudly. He looked at the bent hatch lock. A few more seconds and the mage may have gotten it opened. The pinging and pattering of bullets on the hull resumed. It was almost comforting.

“Sergeant, regroup on me now or I will have you court martialed for disobeying a superior officer!” Manifest kept looking at the hatch. The Duke almost let him die just seconds ago, and now was threating him with a court martial. Manifest clicked on his receiver.

“Copy, regrouping on you,” He spat into the radio. He clicked off and sat up to the periscope swiveling it to see the line of Equestrian tanks. “Lead, regroup on our tanks, look for the green and gold flag.”

“Copy.”

The Flyer turned away from the enemy, heading back to the other tanks. Manifest turned the turret to face the enemy, leaving it to Lead to get them to the right place. The edge of the Unicornians burning tent city still flashed with rifle fire, and Manifest fired off the co-ax in their direction. It was hardly worth firing, at this range there was no way he could hit them, he could hardly even see them. In fact, it wasn’t worth firing. Manifest took his hooves off of the trigger. Once they were regrouped and stationary he’d fire again, but for now it was better to save ammunition.

Manifest leaned back from the periscope. For the first time in what felt like forever there was nothing for him to do. He shook his head at the notion. ‘No, there’s always something I can do.’ He looked around the tank, shell and bullet casings littered the floor. That was a start. He swung the turret back to face front as he levitated a shell casing off of the floor, and then reached up to open the hatch. The hatch lock wouldn’t budge, the rod bent out of shape. He put the shell back on the floor. He looked for something else, but then decided against it, choosing to relax as much as he could for as long as he could.

Hardly a minute passed before the tank swerved hard left beneath him, then swung around 180 degrees to the right before stopping. Manifest got back up to the periscope as he swung the turret away from the rear to face the front of the tank.

“Now you listen to me Manifest and listen well,” The Duke said bitterly. “You are to stay at this position with us until I give you the orders to do otherwise. We will wait here for the griffons to flush the enemy out of their position, and then we will crush them here. Do you copy?”

“Yeah, I copy,” Manifest said with enough bitterness to match The Duke. Out ahead he could see the burning tent city at the end of the field, but there were no more flashes of rifle fire. Now that they weren’t actively being engaged by the tanks, they were bunkering down and hiding. Manifest scanned for any signs of movement or obvious positions, but the smoke of the burning tents obscured his vision. Around him the tanks were quiet, the cannons and guns still. They were playing the waiting game.

Manifest kept looking for movement in the smoke, a growing feeling of discomfort building inside of him. Here he was in the cutting edge of technology, a near invulnerable combination of firepower, armor and mobility, and he wasn’t doing a thing.

In the smoke something moved swiftly, and Manifest immediately diverted his attention to it. it was up above the ground, where the smoke had thinned into the atmosphere. A lone griffon flew overhead, but more and more flew into Manifests vision from the gloom. Abruptly a group dived towards the ground, descending into the smoke. Another followed, then another. The first group flew up out of the smoke, regrouped then dived again. It was almost comforting to watch the graceful arcs that the griffons flew as they rocketed up out of the smoke, peaked, and then dived back down.

Manifest followed the first group with his eyes, keeping track as they dived down, waiting for them to emerge. They dived down again, too far off for him to make anything out other than their outline. He waited for it to come back up, and the griffons pierced back up into the clearer skies. As they ascended, one suddenly halted, diving back toward the ground. Another followed quickly. Manifest looked on, confused. Why did they dive early? Another dived before reaching his apex, but with the thinning smoke Manifest could see his dive lacked form, his body tumbling to the earth. All comfort that he gained from their flight left him immediately. They were getting shot out of the sky. They were dying and there was nothing that he could do about it.

No, there was plenty that he could do about it. He was in charge of a tank. He could drive into there and start engaging the Unicornians, drawing their attention from the griffons, breaking their spirits, providing cover. But he wasn’t allowed to. The Equestrian tanks still sat silent and immobile, bunkers instead of tanks. Griffons were dying and all he could do was watch.

“We should be out there.” Manifest said, careful to keep his radio off. “We should be helping them.”

“When you say helping, you mean killing, right?” Deadeye asked in annoyance. Manifest ignored him, looking at the griffons, and counting those that fell from the skies. Finally he just couldn’t watch.

“Lead, tell me if something happens.” Manifest said, leaning away from the periscope and resting his head on the back wall.

“Taking a break?” Deadeye asked.

“I don’t need to hear it,” Manifest answered.

Deadeye was still fuming. “Don’t like watching griffons die?”

“No, I don’t.”

“But it’s ok for Unicornians to get wasted by the dozen?”

Manifest sighed. “Deadeye, we can talk about this later, but for now I just need a break. Please.” Deadeye turned away with a snort, but at least he was listening. Manifest shook his head. If it wasn’t for The Duke, he’d be up there, supporting the griffons. Contributing. But here he sat. The thought was gnawing away at him. In all of his time in the cavalry he had never just watched his allies die, while he sat idle.

“Commander, they’re charging!” Manifest bolted upright, not bothering to look through the periscope and going directly to the gunsights as he put the guns padding under his shoulder. There were about a hundred Unicornians that he could see running out into the field brazenly, their numbers too small to make a difference. It was a suicide charge. He looked harder now for weapons. If they still had fight in them he would take it out of them, but he couldn’t see any rifles or spears amongst them. He saw one of them drop something as he ran. He looked at the others, each one shedding equipment as they ran. They weren’t charging, they were fleeing. He took his hooves off the gun.

Out in the smoke he saw the flash of rifle fire, and one of the fleeing ponies fell. “Deadeye, give me High Explosive.” Manifest felt the breech open as more flashes issued from the smoke, striking down more runners. The breech slammed shut, and Manifest waited. Another flash appeared and Manifest aimed for the source, then fired. The cannon jerked beneath him as the round flew out, the tracer arching through the air until the round hit with a flash and a plume of dust. Everypony running out in the field dived to the ground, ducking away from the cannon shot. Manifest felt the breech open again.

“Third platoon, load canister and blow these Unicornians off the field,” The Duke said.

Manifest clicked on his radio. “Lieutenant, they’re all ”

“MANIFEST, DO WHAT I BUCKING TELL YOU TO OR I’LL HAVE YOU THROWN IN JAIL!”

“But-”

“DO IT SERGEANT!”

Manifest yelled into the radio, hoping Sure-Shot would hear. “DON’T SHOOT THEM, THEY’RE UNARMED!”

“Unarmed?”

“MANIFEST, THIS IS NOT YOUR PLATOON, IT’S MINE! AND YOU DO WHAT I TELL YOU WHEN-” Manifest looked at the radio and turned to the all company frequency.

“D Company, be advised, Unicornians in the field are not armed.” He closed his eyes and hoped.

“Company, hold fire on the Unicornians in the field until their intent is verified. Copy.”

“Copy.”

“Copy.” The last one was The Duke, who sounded surprisingly calm. Manifest opened his eyes again.

“Holy Celestia, that was close,” he muttered as he switched back to the platoon frequency. He looked back through the periscope. The Unicornians in the field still were cowering on the ground, but there were no more flashes in the smoke. He couldn’t see where the griffons had flown off to, but they were no longer flying and diving into the Unicornian positions. Out of the smoke more Unicornians trotted into the field, slowly and without weapons. Manifest waited for a moment before he could fully relax, but the field was still.

The Second Battle of Canterlot had come to an end.

Waiting

“I hate waiting.”

Eagle Eyes made this proclamation after they had been standing along the trench wall in silence for the better part of ten minutes, peering out across the field at the massive low concrete bunker, and the metal leviathans that rumbled across the field aimlessly. They were waiting, as best as they could tell, for Unicornian reserves to pour out from the bunker and attempt to dislodge them, but not a shot had been fired from either side for a record amount of time. After sitting on a hair trigger waiting for something, Trench was happy for conversation.

It would take his mind off the awful stench that filled his nose, and what was making it.

“Well Eagle, that’s just par for the course for you, you hate just about everything.”

“Shut up Longshot. I don’t. And this sucks.”

“If ah’m bein’ honest with ya’ll, ah could probably wait all day and be pleased as punch. What’s wrong with waitin’?”

“I just hate not knowing what’s going to happen next. If we have to fight them, and we will, I just want someone to tell me so we can get it over with.”

“See, that’s another thing that you hate,” Longshot said with a grin.

“Shut up.”

“Ohhh-ho-ho. Eagle, I got another thing you’re going to hate.”

“What.”

“You owe me 25 bits.” Eagle just frowned, glowering. “Pay up.” Longshot said, ribbing him on.

“Hm, gee, I really would, but we’re in the middle of a battle, and I think I left all of my bits at home. I got a machine gun, and ammunition, and grenades, but I think that I haven’t been able to get to the bank, so I can’t give you your bits right now. Sorry. Was there anything else you wanted?”

“Hold on ya’ll, what’s the bet, ya can’t just hide bets from your sergeant.”

“Eagle bet me 25 bits that Trench was going to wash out, but I had faith, and now I have 25 bits.”

“That’s a brutal bet,” Joe chimed in. His input was almost surprising to Trench, momentarily distracting from the content of the bet. Abruptly he realized what Joe meant.

“Wait a minute, you were betting on if I would get killed?”

“No-no-no!” said Longshot, aghast. “Just on if you could hack it or not!”

“We kinda were,” Eagle said.

“You jerk!” Longshot said, glowering at Eagle before he turned to Trench. “Want me to hit him for you?”

“Yeah.”

Immediately Longshot clubbed Eagle in the back of the head with a solid ‘thunk’, eliciting a yelp of pain from the pony. Eagle turned to face Longshot, looking for vengeance.

“Remember rank,” Longshot said with a smug grin.

Eagle stopped himself short. “Alright, but you were in the bet too.”

Longshot stopped grinning. “Yeah, I was.” He turned to Trench. “I’m sorry for taking a bet like that. But I’m greedy and selfish. What can I say, I like money, and this was the easiest 25 bits I’ve ever made.” Longshot offered a cautious grin, hoping for forgiveness.

“It’s okay,” Trench said. It was hard to hold a grudge against Longshot. Still, he was unsettled. They were betting on him going mad, or losing his will, or dying. Another thought occurred to him. He almost did. He didn’t know which one troubled him more.

“Well, ya may not like it much, but ah had another bet ridin’ on ya.” Trench turned over to his Sergeant.

“Really, you too?” Trench asked.

“Yessir partner,” Repeater said with a bit of a grin. He turned over his shoulder “Muddy, Bloody, ya’ll owe me 10 bits per. Hack told he spewed.”

The twins rolled their eyes and grumbled indistinctly as the bet registered with Trench. Quickly he threw his unoccupied hoove up in a plaintive gesture of annoyance. “Aw, come on sergeant, really!”

“Huh?” Repeater asked, turning back to see the annoyed pony and his gesture. “You come on! This is a nice and wholesome bet that ah had here. I wasn’t bettin’ on ya getting shot up like those other barbarians over there”

“But you were betting I was gonna throw up!”

“And?”

“That’s just insulting, Sergeant! I thought that you thought of me a little bit better.”

At this Repeater shook his head. “Naw, Trench, ya got mah intentions all wrong. Ah ain’t insultin’ ya by sayin’ that ya’d spew, ah was givin’ ya a complement. All the best ponies throw up at least once in combat. Ah did.”

“We’d like to point out that he was the only one,” Muddy said, leaning around Repeater to tell Trench.

“Like ah said, the best ponies!” Repeater said with a grin. Bloody leaned even around his brother.

“He’s just the only one who couldn’t hold it in.”

“Implyin’ ah ain’t the best pony?” Repeater said, turning to the twins next to him. Their lack of a response was answer enough. Repeater grinned, a little sparkle in his eye like he had all the confidence in the world. “Ah’d just like ta point out that Manifest threw up too.” The twins ears almost instantly flopped in defeat. “That’s what Ah thought.”

Trench had heard the name Manifest in passing before, but he didn’t know anything about him. Seeing what an impact the mention of his name had piqued his curiosity. “Who’s Manifest?”

Bloody answer before the Sergeant could, and his answer was almost shocking in its sincerity. “Manifest was the best pony.”

“What?” Trench asked, not anticipating that answer. Repeater looked back towards him, the slightest tint of melancholy in his eyes.

“Manifest Destiny was the pony you replaced, and he was the best of us.”

“The best? What made him the best? Was he like a good shot or strong or something?”

“He was a pretty good shot,” Longshot interjected. Repeater waved him off, then looked to Trench.

“Manifest was this short little pony from Fillydelphia, only made it through basic on force of will. He was a pretty good shot, but that didn’t make him the best. He was just a good pony. Like…” he looked up to the sky, thinking. “Alright, ya know how we saved 750 Unicornians at the first battle of Canterlot?”

“Yeah.”

“Ah don’t think that we woulda saved one if not for Manifest Destiny.”

Trench blinked in surprise. “Really, how?”

“He was just the first one ta go. We all heard ‘em, but he was the first one ta try and help. He went out there. The first guy he went ta
blew himself up, tried ta kill ‘em. The second tried ta too, but Manifest talked him down, patched him up, and brought him back. After that, we all started tryin’ ta save ‘em. But Manifest was the first. “

“What happened to him, did he die?”

“Naw, he’s still out there, somewhere. They called him back ‘cause he didn’t meet the new physical requirements. They sent him back ta train new recruits.”

“Oh yeah, you asked me if I saw him on my first day,” Trench said.

“Yessir.” Somewhere Trench could hear the beating of hoofs on the floor, slowly getting louder. Bloody leaned in to Repeater.

“Well, actually Sergeant, we were-”

“Who’s in charge here?” Everypony turned to the source of the question, a very tired looking earth pony.

“That would be me,” Repeater said, “What do ya have for us?”

“Orders.” The pony panted. Trench heard more than a few groans from his squaddmates, and a feeling of dread began to wash over him.

“I freaking called it,” Eagle muttered, just loud enough for everypony to hear.

“No, don’t worry, these are good orders,” the pony panted, “I just gotta catch my breath, I’ve been running all over telling everyone the news.

“What news?” asked Longshot. The pony raised a hoof over his head, then reached into his saddlebags for his canteen.

“Just tell us, for Celestia’s sake!” Eagle said.

“Hey, lay off him, he’s tired,” Trench said on the pony’s behalf. “just give him-“

“We won,” The pony said, taking a quick break from his canteen before taking another long drink. Everypony stopped with their talking,
the runner having their undivided attention. He stopped drinking and put up his canteen, then continued. “Your orders are to stay put in these trenches, and keep an eye on that bunker, pretty soon the royal guard and the first heavy armored are going to assault it, so you guys just need to make sure nothing screwy happens.”

Trench breathed a sigh of relief, no more combat for him today. The others were not as convinced or content.

“Do ya have any idea when the next attack is?”

“How many losses did we take”

“What does ‘winning’ entail?”

“What about the second trench system?”

As the squad bombarded the messenger with questions, Trench remembered what had bugged him so much earlier.
“Why aren’t they shelling us?”

The pony threw up his hooves, “One at a time, Geez!” the squad shut up, and the pony began to talk. “I don’t know how many we lost, and I don’t know what’s going to happen next, that’s up to the Unicornians. Either they’re going to attack us, or they’re going to fall back. If they fall back, we chase them, if they attack we stop them.”

“But what about the second trench system and their artillery?” Repeater asked.

“The Griffons and Pegasus already took it. We can now move around behind their lines and do whatever the hay we want.”

Trench let the words sink in, their implication growing in his head. If they punched a hole in the line, they could cut off the Unicornians supplies. They could attack their rear positions and neutralize artillery, they could attack from unanticipated directions. Each new thought slowly built up another, grander thought.

They might be able to win the war soon.

Repeater nodded his head slowly. “Alright partner, ya can feel free ta go.” The earth pony saluted, then ran off down the trench to the next squad. The squad must have felt the way that Trench did, for they were all quiet as they resumed their positions on the wall. They looked out at the low bunkers ahead, and the machines that sat in the field, now immobile and waiting.

“We already broke through their second line,” Longshot said.

“Yeah.”

Out in the field, the machines sputtered to life, a cloud of smoke emitting from them as they lurched forward. Slowly they turned to face the bunker ahead, their steel squealing like the brakes of a train as they traversed. They began rumbling forward.

“What time is it?” asked Joe. Trench detached his bayonet from his MMMG, and stuck it into the ground, handle pointing skyward. He looked at the shadow that it cast.

“I’d say it’s about eight,” He said as he took the bayonet out from the ground and snapped it back onto his gun.

“Wow, after sitting here for 9 months we break it in 3 hours,” Eagle said.

Out in the field a lone machine gun started firing, its muzzle-flash emanating from a slit in the bunker. More joined in with it, a rapid fire pap-pap-pap-pap filling the air. Sparks flew from the machines, but they advanced unimpeded. A heavier ‘Pop-pop-pop-pop-pop-pop’ rung out through the air, accompanied by large flashes from the bunkers roof. Yellow tracer flew through the air from this cannon into one of the machines, but the rounds bounced with a cascade of sparks. One of the tracers bounced skyward, shooting up until it was lost in the sun.

“Pulling out the zeppelin guns,” Muddy noted.

“And they aren’t doing a thing,” Bloody finished, a evil grin on his face.

Out in the field, the things stopped, then fired. Their cannons shook even the giant machines, dust kicking up from the blast of their guns as their booming echoed across the sky like thunder, the yellow flash of their rounds flying like lightning into the bunkers, and shattering them. With every shot Trench could watch as the rounds leapt through the air and into machine gun slits, or simply bashed their way through the concrete walls. The bunkers guns and cannons still fired wildly, but with every Equestrian shot another was taken out.

Trench started shaking his head in disbelief. “They can’t do anything.”

“Nope.” Repeater said. A few of the machines had moved closer to the bunker, facing the machine gun slits directly. Abruptly a stream of flame shot out from the front of one, flying into the slit. The flame stopped, but the inside of the section was now ablaze. The other machines started with their flamethrowers as well, showering any slits or ports of the bunker with fire. Almost instantly the Unicornian guns stopped.

“Geez, this isn’t even fair,” Trench said. Not a single Equestrian machine had taken damage to Trenches eyes, and all signs of resistance from the bunker ahead had ceased. At the eastern end of the field more machines started up, rumbling toward the bunker with columns of the golden armored royal guard marching in cover behind.

“Good,” Eagle said.

“Good?” Trench asked, turning to Eagle. He shook his head. “It’s a massacre!”

“Do you want it to be a fair fight?” Eagle asked. Trench didn’t answer, and he didn’t have to.

“I just wish they would give it up,” Trench said, shaking his head. He could see smoke pouring out of the bunks, and he could see the flames dancing through the machine gun slits. He couldn’t imagine what was happening inside there.

“Hay, maybe they will,” Repeater said optimistically.

Trench shook his head again, sadly this time. “No, they won’t.”

The Equestrian machines drove up to the bunker, turning and parking in front of the machine gun slits and entrances, each a gargantuan metal roadblock trapping the Unicornians inside. The Royal Guard trotted out from behind their machines, now no longer in danger.

“Well, at least they’re only hurtin’ themselves by not surrenderin’,” Repeater said as the Royal Guard moved up to the bunker.

“And here I was thinking it would be really hard to take that bunker,” Eagle said.

“Yeah, but you thought like an idiot,” Longshot replied. “With those things on our side nothing’s gonna be hard for the rest of the war.”

“Ah gotta interrupt ya Longshot, and ah want everypony ta listen up.” The squad turned to Repeater expectantly. “Alright, Ah don’t want ya ta get overconfident. Ah get that these…things are gonna be a great help,” he said as he gestured out to the field. “And it looks like they can’t be touched, but ah just want ta remind ya that we can be. Ah’d hate for ya’ll ta get too cocky, think ya’ll can do things that ya can’t, and then get killed for it. Things are still gonna be hard for us. Alright?” The squad nodded. “Alright.”

“Well, things are gonna be easier,” Longshot said. “Like taking this trench, or taking that bunker. Those things out there are pretty…” Longshot furrowed his eyebrows as he searched for the right word. “...effective?”

“I would say terrifying,” Trench said as he looked off at them. This morning they had about scared him to death when they crossed the Equestrian trenches, and he couldn’t imagine going up against them, especially when he hadn’t seen one of them damaged in the whole battle. The thought of being in that bunker and watching everything he had fail against the machines almost made him empathetic for the Unicornians.

“I’m just glad they’re on our side,” Eagle said. The squad grew quiet, and Trench was content to not start a new conversation. He thought back to the morning. Celestia, all the things that had happened since the morning. He had been everywhere emotionally; terrified, euphoric, broken, nervous, furious. All the things that he did. He killed… Celestia, he didn’t know. He didn’t know how many ponies he had killed since he had woken up.

“Ya alright partner? Look like ya seen a ghost.”

Trench snapped out of his stupor. “Uh, no, not really, Sergeant.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know how many ponies I’ve killed.” Repeaters ears dropped, and he glanced at the ground.

“Oh, ah get it. Ah don’t know either. Ah don’t think that any of us do.” Repeater shifted about uncomfortably, “Uh, partner, let’s talk about somethin’ else. Alright? This ain’t a good conversation.”

“I’m sorry, Sergeant, but it’s just what I’m thinking about.”

“Take mah advice, and don’t,” Repeater said. “Yah need somethin’ ta do? Work helps.”

Trench shook his head. “I’m fine.”

“Alright.”

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. It was funny, almost a contradiction. Being told not to think about it just made him think about it more. How many had he killed? All of his memories of the morning blurred together into a single grotesque vision of violence that he imparted onto others.

“Hey, Cold wants to talk to you.”

Trench looked over, and saw Joe standing in the trench motioning over to the dugout that he had cleared. Cold was no longer on the Browns, and must have gone in. Trench looked at Repeater quizzically.

“Ya go on. It’s a big occasion.”

Trench hopped down, and trotted to the opening of the dugout.

It smelled like death in there, from all the bodies they had moved to clear the trench. In the dim light he could see Colds’ outline. Cautiously, he trotted in.

“You wanted to see me?”

The silhouette nodded slightly. “You killed seven this morning. If you wanted to know.”

“Seven?”

The silhouette nodded again. Trench thought about it for a moment. He couldn’t recall any of them clearly save for the mage, and he didn’t want to. Seven ponies? He shook his head.

“Does knowing make you feel better, or worse?” Cold asked.

Trench kept shaking his head. “I don’t know… I feel… I killed seven ponies? I don’t remember it.”

“So you feel the same?” Cold stated, no inflection or emotion in his voice.

“Yeah, I feel terrible.”

“You feel the same because it doesn’t matter how many ponies you kill.”

Trench stiffened at this, snapping out of his own thoughts and fears at the insinuation. “Doesn’t matter? Seven ponies are dead because of me! And you say it doesn’t matter?”

“You could have killed seven or seventy, but it wouldn’t change how you feel, because the number doesn’t matter. Would you do the same thing again?”

Trench thought about it for a moment. He had to kill the mage, the one that he remembered best, or they all would have died. The others in the dugout… he did everything that he could to not kill them, they just wouldn’t give up. “Yeah, I would.”

“That’s all that matters,” Cold said.

“That’s all that matters?” Trench asked, confused.

“Yes. Because you will have to do it again.”

“Kill?”

“Yes.”

Trench waited for Cold to say something, but the pony was silent. He had barely spoken, but what he said had set Trench’s mind awhirl with questions. “Why did you want to talk to me?” Trench asked. It was a good place to start.

“There was no one to help us after our first combat, no one who knew what it was like. I wanted to talk to you because I want to help you, but I need to know if you can still do your job.”

“My job, you mean killing?”

“Yes.”

Trench nodded, slowly increasing his pace as he became more convinced of his answer. “Yeah, I can do it.”

“Good.”

“But hey, I may not need to again. With those machines on our side hopefully we’ll win soon.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” Cold said.

“Wait, do what?”

“Hope. You know… hope is a mistake. Out here hope makes you sloppy, makes you dull, makes you let down your guard. Hope will kill you. Hope will kill people who rely on you.”

“Alright, but maybe the war will end soon anyway,” Trench said brightly, shrugging away Cold’s statement.

“If you’re going to hope for anything, hope that it doesn’t.”

Trench recoiled away in shock at the statement. “Celestia! Why the hay would anyone want to hope for that!”

“Because they know what would happen if the war ends before it needs to.”

“And what would happen?” Trench asked.

“You seem smart, you’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t get why you would want it to keep going, don’t you want to go home?”

“More than you can imagine. Do you remember your first day?”

“Yeah, with the die and the heat lamps. I remember. I hated it.”

“Remember what they told you before you entered?”

“Yep, they said that I was going to be a different pony when I came out, and when the war was over I could go back to my old self.”

“Remember that. When things are bad, remember that if you keep yourself and everyone else alive, you can go home and leave all of
this behind you,” he said as he motioned outside to the trench. “You won’t have to feel like you do anymore.”

“Ok, but how do I keep from feeling like this right now?”

Cold sighed, wearily, mournfully. “If I knew, I would tell you. Ask the Sergeant and the Sniper, they seem to know. All that I can tell you is, If you can’t fix what’s broken, you’ll, uh…” He trailed off, looking out past Trench at the light of the entrance, his eyes filled with sadness. He nodded his head and finished his sentence. “You’ll go insane.”

Cold started trotting towards the light, shuffling past Trench, done with conversing. Trench turned. Now would be one of the few chances, maybe the only chance, that he would get to talk with Cold. He had to make the most of it.

“Hey Cold, why don’t you ever talk?” Cold turned his head.

“Because I saw the future. At the battle of Canterlot.”

“What’s the future?” Trench asked.

“You can see it for yourself, just head down there.” Cold pointed into the darkness behind Trench, then turned and trotted out of the dugout. Trench looked over his shoulder. He knew what was back there. He helped make it. He didn’t have to see it, he could smell it.

What was back there was death.

Trench shuddered involuntarily, and quickly turned and trotted out of the dugout. Outside it was beginning to get warm, the start of another hot day. He shook his head, he couldn‘t understand why Celestia couldn’t just turn it down. He headed back to the squad, some of whom looked very interested in seeing him.

“I’ve been with Cold in the trenches for months, you’ve been here for days, and yet he talks to you before he talks to me,” Longshot said, the ghost of a grin dancing across his face. “What did he have to say?”

Trench thought for a second before answering. “I can’t remember, why don’t you ask him yourself?” Longshot just shook his head.

“Ask him myself? It’s a lost cause.”

“So, uh, did I miss anything?” Trench asked. Repeater answered quickly.

“Well partner, the Royal Guard finished cleanin’ out that bunker, the twins are trying ta figure one of those Unicornian rifles, Eagle complained a little and we told him ta can it. Basically ya didn’t miss anythin’ and still managed ta forget the conversation that you had with a pony who hasn’t talked in months that you literally just finished. Ah am quite disappointed in your memory-span.”

“Sorry, Sergeant.”

“Ya bloody well should be!” Repeater said animatedly, waving a hoof errantly through the air. “Ya know how big a deal it is ta have Cold Blooded actually talk ta ya? Shoot, he ain’t talked ta me in forever, and ah’m his Sergeant!”

“All I can say is sorry.”

“Partner, later on ah’m gonna debrief ya, and if you can’t start remembering what was said, then ah’m gonna have ta move ta enhanced interrogation.”

“Enhanced interrogation?” Repeater nodded. “What’s enhanced interrogation?”

“A lot a fun for me and the squad, and not a lot a fun for you,” Repeater said with a grin.

“But what is it?”

“Don’t tell me what Cold said at the debriefing and you’ll find out.”

“Alright, alright,” Trench said, waving it off. He looked back out across the field. Atop the bunker, he could see a pole had been erected. Then, rising just over the edge of the bunker was a flag. The Equestrian flag. Slowly it climbed the pole, dancing in the morning wind.

“You know what I think is funny,” Eagle said, getting everyone’s attention. “Sergeant just said that the Royal Guard just finished clearing that bunker, and then he said that Trench missed nothing.” He almost grinned. “That’s hilarious.”

“It is kinda funny,” Longshot said. “Who would have thought?”

“I guess that we’re getting pretty good at this,” Eagle continued. “This whole ‘war’ thing.”

“Yeah, geez, I guess we are,” Longshot said.

Trench pointed out to the field, “Good enough to build those things.”

“Speaking of those things, me and my brother have a theory,” Muddy said. The twins were down in the trench, fiddling with a Unicornian rifle. “Trench, how tall was your drill sergeant at training?” Muddy asked, not looking up away from his task at hoove.

“Uh, he was a kinda big guy, I guess.”

Muddy nodded his head, “And the others?”

“Um, they were all different, some short guys, but mostly tall ponies. Why?”

Muddy just nodded again and looked at his brother. “I think we’re right, brother.”

“I think we are too, brother,” Bloody answered before looking up at Trench. “We were told that everypony under a certain height was being sent back to serve as instructors at basic training. You say that there weren’t that many short ponies at basic. We don’t think they went to basic.”

Muddy finished the thought. “We think they went to the machines.”

Repeater turned to face them. “Hold up, ya think that all those ponies are now out there in the things?” he said, pointing out generally to the field.

“Precisely, Sergeant, precisely.”

“Ya mean ya think Manifest is out there in one a those?”

“Well, yes.”

Repeater looked back out to the field and grinned. “Manifest in one a those. Ain’t that funny. The weakest of us is now the strongest. Yah know, Ah hope he is out there in one a those, cause if he was able ta do so much with his hooves,” he said, pointing out at one of the things, “think a what he could do in that.”

Break

Manifest was sweating, and not because the Flyer had become an oven as the sun rose in the sky. He would love to pass it off as that, and he did have a good excuse if one of his subordinates asked him why he was sweating, but that wasn’t the reason.

Oh no, he was sweating because he was certain that the second he climbed out of the tank he would be arrested and jailed. A pretty good reason. The Duke would have him on a platter for what he did in the battle.

‘But you did the right thing and you know it,’ He thought. A small comfort compared to the inevitable punishments that he would receive. The voice in his head pressed on. ‘Everypony would agree you did the right thing, and if they do then nopony will arrest you, nopony will court martial you. You can fight this. If they’re going to send you to jail for saving dozens of lives, then you don’t want to be a part of this anyway. ’

The Flyer was approaching their depot, where they would refuel and refit, and where he would likely get carted off from. Nopony in the tank had spoken apart from a hoofful of orders since the battle had closed. He didn’t have much time left to get ready. ‘Alright,’ he thought, ‘Let’s go down swinging.’

Manifest turned around, and grabbed the machine gun off of the top of the radio at the turret rear. He said that he had radio issues in the battle, so now it was high time to make some radio issues. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Dead-eye glance over, then quickly look away and stare at the wall. He was still angry, still bitter. Manifest would have to do something with him soon. ‘Not until I make sure that I’m still going to be here,’ he thought, refocusing on moving the machine gun.

It was a pain to move, far too long to really maneuver around the crowded interior of the tank, and nearly too heavy for him to lift. He understood why they needed a big pony like Joe to carry it, it must have been 30 pounds empty. He looked down at the turret floor. Spent shell casings from the co-ax and the main cannon littered the floor. He slid the gun off of the radio, straining against the weight as gravity took over, but managed to ease it down onto the floor.

Now that the gun was out of the way he could easily take the top off of the radio, which he did quickly. Inside was a mess of wires, but he could figure them out fairly easily. Perhaps those years at the university would finally pay off. He turned the radio off and found a good wire; connected to the receiver, well within reach, and if he twisted his neck just right he could touch the base of it with his horn. He yanked it hard, severing it. He turned the radio on and switched to the all company frequency. He waited for any sound from the radio, but none came. Good. He shut it back off.

He didn’t have any wire strippers, so he bit the insulation off of the end of the wire. He put it back into place and touched the break with his horn. Just as he had learned in university he began to concentrate magic at the tip, not releasing it, but letting it build up energy. He could feel the heat from his horn on his forehead. He looked up and saw the wire beginning to glow red, just a few more seconds and it would be welded back together. The tank lurched to a halt beneath him.

“We’re back commander,” Lead said over the intercom. He finished up putting the wires back together, watching the copper solder together and cool as he let his horn off of it.

“Alright,” Manifest muttered, then he moved back to the periscope. They were back at the Unicornian’s first trench system, sitting in the cratered dirty field. The Equestrians had already moved carts of fuel and ammunition into position. Manifest swiveled the periscope left. The tanks were lined up in the field, and immediately to the left of his was the Duke’s tank. The dust tinted green and gold flag hung limply from the dukes antenna, and as Manifest looked the commander’s hatch sprung open and the Duke popped out. He moved with a purpose, an anger burning in his eyes. Manifest could probably guess where he was moving to.

He turned on the radio and switched to the platoon frequency. Out behind the Duke’s tank was Sure Shots, and nopony had emerged from there yet. Manifest hit the transmit button. “Sure Shot, can you read me? Over?”

“Copy Manifest, I read you,” Sure shot replied. Manifest sighed with relief, his repair worked. “What’s up?”

“Just checking my repairs to see that my radio is functioning.”

“Copy that, you’d better get out there Manifest, I think the Duke’s gonna have your head on a platter for dinner.”

“I think so too,” Manifest sighed.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks, Sure Shot. Out.”

Beneath him the tank shuddered, and then the comforting rumble of the idling engine cut out. “Orders Commander?” Lead asked through the comms. Manifest shrugged, no point in giving any real orders until he knew if he was still going to be around to give them.

“Take a break, be back here in one hour.”

Next to him Deadeye sprung to life, throwing off his headphones and beret and popping the hatch above him, scrambling out of the tank like it was on fire. The bright sunlight illuminated the dark interior as it poured through the hatch, forcing Manifest to look away as his eyes tried to adjust to the sudden light. As they acclimated to the newly lit interior, Manifest found himself looking at a picture taped to the wall.

There was a earth pony stallion, his mess of mane grown out so long that it almost covered his eyes, holding a colt in a headlock and giving him a noogie. The colt looked pained, but the stallion was grinning maniacally. The two looked similar, the colt almost a downsized version of the other, sharing the long and unkempt mane. Manifest looked closer. The stallion had a single playing card for a mark, but the picture was too small for him to tell what that mark was.

Manifest felt strange, nosy, like he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. He looked away from the picture and tried to pop the hatch, but it wouldn’t budge. The bar that locked it was still bent from when the Unicornian had attacked. Manifest moved over to the other seat, took off his headset, and climbed up out of the tank.

A hot breeze blew over him as he emerged from the tank, but compared to that furnace it was divine. He hoisted himself the rest of the way out, and got up to his hooves. The steel of the tank was hot to the touch, the heat radiating through his thick hooves into his skin. Quickly he hopped down from the turret, trotted to the front, and hopped back onto the ground. He turned around to look at the Flyer.

From here it towered over him, despite it’s smaller silhouette. The barrel of the cannon was blackened from constant firing, and the whole machine had a dusty tan deposited over its olive and brown camouflage pattern. Manifest trotted to the side, wanting to get at least one last good look in before whatever would happen next. Written on the turret side in a big and flourishing cursive was the name “The Fillydelphia Flyer”. This was not what Manifest was looking at. A dark, dried, and cracked stain partially covered the writing, with little streams running down from the big smear at the top. Behind this, laying on the engine deck just behind the turret, was the body of the mage.

“Oh, Celestia,” Manifest muttered. He hopped back onto the tank and clambered over the turret top. From up close, the mage was a mess. The canister shot did its job only too well. The mage’s armor looked like it had been battered with a sledgehammer, each of the canister shells ball bearings that hit denting the armor like it was made of putty, before terminating in a small jagged hole at the center of each blow. Even if they hadn’t gone through, the force of the hits would have broken every bone near it. Manifest looked away from the mage, up to the engine deck. The blood that still seeped from the body was flowing through the vents into the engine area. He couldn’t have blood pooling in the engine bay

Manifest looked back at the mage, nearly pained. “I am so sorry,” he muttered. He positioned his hooves for leverage, then pushed the mage’s body. Slowly it slid toward the edge, the armor scraping against the metal of the tank until it reached the edge. The body rolled off and fell to the ground heavily, kicking up a cloud of dust. Manifest looked at it for only a second. Blood was pouring from the wounds now that he had shifted it.

“Sergeant, get down off of that tank, now.”

Manifest looked up. It was time to face the music. He hopped down and trotted over to the Duke.

The Duke was small, even by Manifest’s standards. His horn hardly was in line with the top of Manifests head. If he was any thinner, he likely would have been malnourished. Manifest wasn’t used to ever looking down on anypony other than colts and fillies, but he did have to cast his eyes downward to meet the Dukes simmering glare.

“Sergeant. What is my rank?”

“Lieutenant, sir,” Manifest said crisply.

“And what is yours?” The Duke asked. Manifest felt a twang of annoyance. ‘Just get it over with’ he thought.

“Sergeant, sir.”

“Is my rank higher than yours?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then what does that mean, Sergeant?”

“It means that you issue orders to us that we must follow.”

“Then why the buck didn’t you do that today?”

“Because I was separated from the platoon and lost radio contact, meaning that I had to rely on my own initiative until contact was restored. Once contact was restored I acted to prevent my superior officer from violating the Equestrian armored forces code of conduct by shooting of surrendering enemy forces.” The Duke’s face reddened at this.

“Sergeant, I want to make one thing clear. I never want to hear you say ‘initiative’ again. I never want to hear suggestions on what I should do again. I do not want to hear you say anything other than ‘sir yes sir’ again. I never want to see your tank doing anything that I did not order it to do again. This is not your squad, and your combat experience doesn’t matter here. You do what I order you to do when I order you to do it, and you don’t try and tell me what to do in my squad.”

Manifest knew what the correct thing to do here was. He should say 'sir yes sir' like a obedient pony and then have it be done with. But he couldn’t do that, not with what this pony was saying.

“Sir, permission to speak freely, Sir,” Manifest asked.

“Denied,” The Duke said, a faint joyless grin growing on the edges of his lips as he said it. “Sergeant, I want you to say, ‘sir, yes sir’, and nothing else, and do what you are told.” Manifest tried his level best to keep his expression neutral. The Duke leaned in close, looking into his eyes intently.

“I know what you’re thinking, Sergeant. You think I’m some sort of nut. Most ponies would be lavishing you with praise. Oh, great job, you saved everypony. You probably think that you did the right thing today, don’t you?” The Duke paused, but Manifest stood immobile. “Well Sergeant, don’t you?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Manifest said.

“Yes sir what?” The Duke asked, pushing in closer until he was inches from Manifests face. “Go on, say it!”

Manifest couldn’t take it anymore. “Sir, I think that I did the right thing today, sir.”

“Directly disobeying a superior’s orders?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Multiple times?”

“Yes sir.”

“Breaking the chain of command?”

“Yes sir.”

“Why?”

“Because I acted to save lives and uphold equestrian morality, sir!”

The Duke backed away, content now. “And would you do the same thing again?”

“Sir yes sir.”

The Duke nodded. “Okay,” he said. “SERGEANT SURE-SHOT!” A little earth pony scrambled over and stood at attention next to Manifest, throwing off a salute.

“Yes sir!”

“Sergeant Manifest is being demoted. You are now second in command of the squad. Dismissed.”

“Yes sir,” Sure Shot said, saluting and turning off. The Duke looked back to Manifest.

“I’m going to let you off easy, and give you another chance,” he said, the anger fading from his eyes, the edge leaving his voice, he sounded almost reconciliatory. “See Manifest, I know you think that you did the right thing today, and you know, you probably did do the right thing today,” the duke nodded slowly. He leaned back in, and the edge crept into his voice again. “That means that tomorrow you’re going to think that you know the right thing, and you’re going to break my orders again. And tomorrow you doing ‘the right thing,’ it will get ponies killed. And if you break an order and make the wrong call, it’ll be over for you. I will court martial you, and you will waste away in a cell.” He backed up again, striking that reconciliatory tone a second time. “Now, If I give an order, and it’s the wrong call, then that’s on me. You won’t get in trouble, you won’t have go to court, and you won’t have to go to jail. You won’t have the responsibility.”

Manifest didn’t have to think for a moment to understand the implication of what the Duke was saying, and had to think even less for his response.

“I will have to live with myself, sir.” Any goodwill in the Duke’s eyes vanished. Perhaps he should have thought a little more about his response after all.

“Just follow my bucking orders, Sergeant, and you won’t spend the rest of your time in the cavalry in solitary. Now re-arm and refuel all my tanks, and clean them too. Understood?”

“Sir yes sir,” Manifest answered sharply. The Duke turned to trot away, then glanced over his shoulder one last time.

“And Sergeant, I’m revoking your next leave.” He smirked a little, then trotted off.

Manifest stood in position for moment while the Duke left. That actually went better than expected, and if he had just kept his dumb mouth shut it would have been just a chewing out and minor demotion. Now he had to do the maintenance on all three of the platoon’s tanks. He sighed, no leave too. He shook his head. "You stubborn, proud idiot.” he muttered to himself. He didn''t know if he was talking about himself or the Duke.

Well, he would have plenty of time to think about that as he worked on the tanks. They all needed to be ready by the time Celestia raised the sun the next morning, and there was a good bit of work to be done. He had to fetch the ammunition and resupply the tanks, find gasoline and fill the tanks, and clean out the gun barrels. He probably had to clean the co-ax’s as well. He looked over to them. At least it wasn’t muddy out, otherwise he’d have to clean the tracks as well, and that would be nearly an all day task without help.

The Duke’s crew had scattered, and Manifest couldn’t find Dead-eye. Lead was laying out under the front of the flyer, hiding in it’s shade from the sun. Only Sure Shot’s crew was working on their tank, already having fetched a cart of the 6 pounder rounds.

“Sure Shot, you guys can take a break. I have to resupply and refuel all of them.”

The earth pony wheeled around. “Oh, thank you Manifest,” he nodded. He turned to his crew. “Alright guys, clear out.” As the two others broke and trotted off Sure Shot turned back around to Manifest. “You’re too kind for taking the time out of your day to do this for us.”

“Duke’s orders,” Manifest said, lifting up the first of the 6 pounder rounds.

“You aren’t under arrest, and it seems like you’re still here, so it wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Yeah, he took my next leave though.”

“Pfffft,” Sure-Shot said dismissively. “If everything goes according to plan the war will be over in a month.”

“That’s a big ‘if’,” Manifest sighed. “Things usually don’t go according to plan.”

“Eh, they did today. Busted a 20 miles wide hole through their trenches, eliminated all pockets of resistance. Can run around their rear positions. If they don’t turn and run for their homes we’ll be able to cut all their supplies. Manifest, I think that we can really win this in a month. The next leave any of us get might be the one where we all go home.”

Manifest shook his head as he grabbed the next round. “If they fall back across the galloping gorge and manage to blow the bridges behind them, it won’t be.”

“Operation Eagle will work.”

“Maybe,” Manifest said. Sure Shot looked around cautiously, then leaned in closer to Manifest.

“So, was the Duke really all angry with you because you saved his flank?”

“Because I broke his orders,” Manifest said.

“Yeah, but if you didn’t you know that he would be court martialed for killing POW’s, right?”

“Yes, yes I do,” Manifest said, putting another round into place.

“I don’t get it, dude,” Sure Shot said. “I don’t get it. Any other pony would be like, ‘oh wow, you saved me from making a terrible mistake and spending the rest of my life banished in a dungeon. Have this medal. Have all of them.’ You know, not saying ‘oh wow, you saved me from making a terrible mistake and spending the rest of my life banished in a dungeon, I’m demoting you.”

“Yeah,” Manifest grunted. The shells were not too heavy, but their weight was adding up, and his forehooves were getting tired.

“I just don’t get it,” Sure shot said again, shaking his head even more. “Like, where does a pony like that even come from?”

“Huh?”

“You know, what happened to him to make it so that he gets mad that you pretty much saved him from being universally hated?”

“I don’t know,” Manifest said, loading in another round.

“You know what I think?” Sure Shot asked. Before Manifest could give an answer Sure Shot plowed ahead. “I think that he never had any friends.”

“Really?” Manifest grunted.

“Yeah, I think that he never had any friends. Think about it, he acts like a jerk all the time to everypony, and I think he does that because he doesn’t like anypony because he never had any friends.”

“So? He could make some friends, we all haven’t been mean to him or anything.”

Sure Shot scratched his head. “Well, maybe it because he’s short.

“We’re all short,” Manifest grunted.

“But he’s like, really really short. Like maybe he was all insecure because everypony’s taller than him, and he doesn’t have any friends… I know it.” Sure Shot nodded. “I know where he came from.”

Manifest rolled his eyes. Sure Shot was about to come up with a crazy story. He could already tell.

“He was a elementary school teacher. He never had any friends, and he has no self esteem because he was short, so to build that self esteem he wanted to be listened to and have ponies do what he told them to. He wanted everypony to look up to him, yeah?” Manifest nodded absently. “So I bet that he wanted to be like a professor or something, but then everypony was like, no dude, you aren’t smart enough, so then he became a elementary school teacher. So here he is trying to get all of these colts and fillies to listen to him, but they’re colts and fillies, they don’t care. So he’s short and has no friends and never got what he wanted in life and no one listens to him, so the second he gets in charge of something he’s all like ‘do exactly what I say even if it’s a war crime’ because now we have to listen to him.”

Manifest felt slightly uneasy. A lot of those descriptors, low self esteem, never got what he wanted, seemed to match him around a year ago. Only the fact that Amber stuck with him kept him from ticking all those boxes.

“You think that I’m right?” Sure Shot asked.

“Maybe,” Manifest answered as he kept moving the rounds into place.

“Dude, I think that I’m right. I can figure ponies out really easily.” Sure Shot fell silent, allowing Manifest to take the last 6 pounder from the cart and load it into the tank.

“You know what, the only pony that I can’t really figure out is you,” Sure Shot finally said thoughtfully. Manifest looked over to him, Sure Shot was studying him like he was a statue at an art gallery, as though if he looked hard enough he would find all the answers. “I don’t get you at all.”

“Really?” Manifest said as he shut the small ammunition port and moved to saddle up to the fuel cart. “What don’t you get?”

“I don’t get why you didn’t take platoon leader when they offered it to you.”

Manifest’s body betrayed his emotions as his ears dropped instantly. Sure Shot noticed, but kept going with his thoughts. “Like, what I know about you is that you seem like a alright pony, your gunner and loader like you. You can come up with a good plan on the fly like you did today. You have some compassion because you helped out those Unicornians at the Battle of Canterlot. You gotta be pretty brave for what you did at the Battle of the Galloping Gorge. Dude, you’re pretty smart, pretty brave, you get along well with ponies, you aren’t a jerk, and you’re a war hero. So how come whenever they offered you the platoon you turned it down?”

Manifest saddled up to the fuel cart, all the nasty emotions and doubts associated with that question resurfacing. Sure Shot looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He remembered something that Repeater had told him back at basic. Talking about something usually helps.

“I didn’t think that I could do it,” Manifest said, “and I didn’t think that I wanted to.”

“Why not?”

Manifest sighed as he pulled the cart to the back of the tank. “If I make a mistake, ponies die and it’s on me. I’ve never had responsibility like that. Hay, I’ve never had responsibility in general,” Manifest said. “I’ve never been in charge of anypony or anything, so how the hay would I be able to lead 3 tanks and 8 ponies into battle? I certainly wouldn’t be a good captain, and I probably wouldn’t be a good lieutenant either.”

“You’d be better than the Duke, easily,” Sure Shot piped. Manifest shook his head.

“I don’t know that. I don’t know that I wouldn’t make a mistake and get everypony killed, or that I’d be any good at leading and helping and doing all the things that a lieutenant has to do.”

Sure Shot shrugged. “Dude, anypony can make a mistake. Me, you, if you let him the Duke would have made a mistake so big all of us would be behind bars. And I think that you’ve put more thought into how to be good at helping and leading than the Duke has. I mean, I guess that I can understand that you might be a bit afraid of the responsibility, but sometimes there are things that you just gotta do. And you may not want to do it, but I think that you could.”

Manifest shook his head vehemently. “I don’t. I can hardly keep charge of the two ponies beneath me.”

“What? Deadeye and Lead Hooves love ya." Sure Shot waved his hoof dismissively. "You’re too hard on yourself.”

Manifest sighed wearily. “Deadeye doesn’t. You remember when I fell behind in the battle?”

“Sure thing. Radio trouble, right?”

Manifest shook his head. “I lied. Deadeye lost it after he shot the canister into the trench. He couldn’t do it, so I took his seat and made him load. I think he hates me for it.”

“Geez, does the Duke know?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, you have to do something about it. If the Duke finds out that your gunner can’t shoot, he’ll have you for it.”

“So what should I do?” Manifest asked.

“I don’t know, something.”

Manifest looked over at The Flyer, thinking, remembering. “My old sergeant would know what to do. He always was able to figure out how to help.”

“Then just do what he would do.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You won’t know if you don’t try. I’ll keep a hold of the fuel cart, you go and find Deadeye.”

Manifest nodded. Sure Shot was right. He had to try something. And he knew that he had to try something. He just didn’t know what the right thing to do was, other than to try and talk to Deadeye. It would be a start. “Thanks, Sure Shot. I’ll be back.”

Manifest unsaddled from the fuel cart and trotted over to The Flyer. The mage’s body still lay there, gathering a few buzzing flies around it. The stench of decay mixed in the air with the smells of oil and gunpowder. Manifest trotted by the body, looking away. His crew was nowhere to be seen. “Lead!”

“Down here, Sergeant.” He heard from under the tank. Manifest lowered his head down and peered between the road wheels. Lead Hooves lay out under the tank, writing on a scrap piece of paper.

“What are you doing down here?”

“Shade,” Lead muttered as he kept writing, his pen moving through the air by its own volition.

“Where’s Deadeye?”

“He’s in the turret. Hopped back in just as soon as you went to see the lieutenant.”

“Thanks,” Manifest said. He trotted over to the front of the tank and hopped up, climbing up the front armor and onto the turret. The Commander’s hatch was open, so Manifest peered down inside. Deadeye was sitting in the gunners seat, looking at the one picture on his side of the turret. He noticed Manifest’s shadow imposed on the light that came in through the hatch and turned quickly, squinting into the sun.

“Mind if I come in?” Manifest said hopefully. Maybe Deadeye had calmed down.

“Yeah, buck off and leave me alone,” Deadeye snapped. Clearly he hadn’t. Manifest almost turned and left, but didn’t. Repeater wouldn’t leave. Maybe Deadeye was angry, and maybe he did want to be left alone, but he also needed someone to help him. Manifest dropped down into the tank, and took his seat. He leaned back against the wall of the tank so that he could see Deadeye past the breech of the cannon. Deadeye kept his back to him and his head down, refusing to turn around.

“How are you doing?” Manifest asked. He winced almost as he said it. ‘Stupid question, we all know.’ Deadeyes response was exactly what Manifest thought it would be.

“Oh, gee, I’m just peachy Sergeant. Just blew 50 ponies into bucking meat chunks is all.” Deadeye practically growled his response.

“I’m sorry,” Manifest said. “I know you feel terrible. I know how you feel because I’ve been there.”

“No, boss, I think that you don’t,” Deadeye said pointedly as his head snapped up. He still had yet to turn around. “You may think that you know how I feel, but you don’t, because you don’t care. You don’t give a damn.”

Manifest hardly believed what he heard, and hardly knew how to respond. “Deadeye, if I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

“Yeah, you would, and you know it.” Deadeye said bitterly. “You know, I may have joked around all the time at camp, and may seem like a idiot, but I wasn’t born yesterday. The only reason that you’re here now is to try and keep me in this bucking metal box killing ponies so that you don’t get in trouble.” Manifest sat for a moment. He had been called out. Deadeye knew it, and he knew it too. He tried to come up with some sort of rebuttal, but he sat for too long. The silence was confirmation enough. “That’s what I thought.”

Manifest didn’t know what to do. No, wrong, he did know what to do, he just didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what Repeater would say. Abruptly a thought burst through the haze in his head. ‘It doesn’t matter what Repeater would say, what matters is what you would say. Just talk and see where the conversation goes.’ Manifest nodded to no one, and made up his mind. Honesty was the best policy.

“You’re right, but only a little,” he said. “I do need a third crewpony, and if the Duke finds out that I’ve lost one he’ll have me, especially after what I did today.”

Deadeye snorted, “I hope he does.”

“But that’s not the only reason I’m here, Deadeye. I’m here because one of my crew needs help, and I have to help him.”

“You really want to help me?” Deadeye said, turning in his seat for the first time. Manifest looked into his bloodshot eyes, he had been crying. “Then let me go. Kick me out or whatever, but let me get the buck out of here and go back home.” Manifest looked at the pony. He was a wreck, and Manifest knew, deep down, that Deadeye was probably never going to be able to do his job again.

“OK,” Manifest said. “Once I get done with my work here I’ll tell the Captain, and I’ll try to get you home as soon as possible.”

Deadeye looked surprised, denied the fight that he had been preparing for. “So… so that’s it? You’ll just let me go home?”

“Yeah. I know that you can’t do it, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re no good to me here, and you don’t want to be here, so I won’t keep you.” Manifest sighed and shook his head. “I may as well tender my own resignation as well. Once the Duke hears that I’m letting my gunner go, he’ll have me ejected from the calvary and back home by the end of the day.”

“Wh-what?” Deadeye studdered, eyebrows furrowed and head cocked in confusion. “You have a way out, you have a ticket home, you can leave this friggin’ can and this war behind.” He said, finally finding the words. He pointed up at the open hatch behind Manifest, at the light that streamed in. “I’m giving you a chance to go home. I go home, you have no crew, you go home. You don’t have to kill, and you’re sad?!” He shook his head, then looked at the floor. “I don’t get it. I don’t get it. I feel like I’m the only sane pony left, and everypony else has gone crazy.” He looked back up. “How do you do it? What, do you like killing?”

Manifest furrowed his brow “No, nopony does, and-”

“Then why don’t you take the ticket home? Heck, back in the battle why did you take my seat and keep shooting? You could have said that I couldn’t hack it and that you weren’t combat effective, and then you wouldn’t have had to kill anypony. But you did it anyway. Did you see what it did? How they hay can you keep doing that?”

Manifest started to answer. “Because I had to-”

“Bull!” Deadeye said, nearly yelling. “You didn’t have to! You could have stopped, but you didn’t! You saw what that gun did, and you kept doing it! How?!” Manifest opened his mouth to answer, but Deadeye didn’t stop. “ All those ponies, all tore up, all dead! Back in Equestria that would be murder! Mass murder! Celestia, I don’t even know how many ponies I murdered.” Tears started to well up in his eyes, and his breathing became ragged and heavy. He turned away from Manifest.“I blew them all away… and you were the one who made me do it.”

Manifest waited for more, but it didn’t come. Deadeye wept silently, a tear occasionally running off his face and falling to the floor. “Deadeye, I know that you don’t want to talk, least of all to me, so I’ll be on my way in a minute, but first I want to answer your question.” Deadeye didn’t react. “You ask me how I do it. It’s not easy. It never gets easy, but it does get easier.” Deadeye shook his head, but said nothing. “It does. My first kill was at the Galloping Gorge. It was a mage. He had just lit a squad on ponies on fire, right in front of me. I watched them burn to death. And then the mage came for me. And I knew, I knew, that I was going to die right there in a hole hundreds of miles from home. But then I killed him. Killed him on accident. And then I killed five more.”

Manifest paused, wondering if Deadeye would interrupt, or say anything, or respond. He didn’t. Manifest continued.

“It was either he dies, or I die. If I didn’t trip over myself and accidentally shoot him in the head, he would have burned me to death. I know it’s awful, but that’s how I do it.”

Deadeye shook his head. “They couldn’t touch us. Not in here.”

“Maybe. But if we left them they would have killed the griffons, or the calvary. And they would have died because we didn’t stop them. I don’t just kill because I don’t want to die, I do it because I don’t want any of us to. I want everyone to be able to go home at the end of the war, to get back to their family and friends and how things used to be.”

Deadeye looked over abruptly. “So what about the Unicornians, what about all of their friends and family? Do they not matter?”

“You know I don’t think that,” Manifest said, slightly annoyed at the implication of Deadeyes questions. “I got demoted today because I went over the Duke’s head to keep him from shooting retreating Unicornians. If I didn’t care, I would have just followed his orders and kept my rank. If I can, I try to help. It’s just hard to help somepony who’s trying to shoot you.”

“So that’s it? I just say ‘him or me’ and that’ll make everything better? That’ll take away the pain and the memories?”

Manifest shook his head sadly. “No, it won’t. It’s a hay of a thing, killing. You take away everything that pony is, and everything they’re ever going to be. It’s not something anypony can get over easily. Even after I saw an entire squad of ponies put to death at his hooves, I still felt terrible about killing that mage. I couldn’t get it out of my head for days. I still think about it sometimes.” Manifest saw it again in his head. The perfect little hole in the mages skull, just below the horn, and the jagged eruption of flesh and bone at the back. He shuddered, and put it out of his mind. “For a few days… that was all I saw, all I thought of.”

Deadeye sat quietly, the tears no longer flowing. “Is there a way to forget?”

“No.”

“That’s all I want to do. Just forget it all and go home.”

Manifest looked Deadeye over. His hair was messy, his fur matted with tears and sweat, his nose runny, and his eyes bloodshot. He looked terrible. “There isn’t a way to forget, but I found that talking about other things helps to take your mind off of it. Want to talk about anything?”

“No. I just need to be alone.”

“Alright Deadeye. I’ll leave you be. Just… try not to think about it while I’m gone. Find something to keep you busy. It won't make you forget, but it'll keep your mind off of it.” Manifest turned and stood up, popping his head out of the hatch and back into the hot breeze of the day. At least it was still cooler than the tank was. Manifest lowered his head down one last time and looked at the forlorn gunner over the breech of the cannon. Deadeye had his back to him, and was looking intently at part of the tank’s wall. Manifest glanced over to the turret front, at his pictures of Amber, his parents, his squad, his note. He knew what Deadeye was looking at. And he knew that he couldn’t leave. He sat back down in the commander’s seat, and looked back at Deadeye.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go home just yet.”

“And why the hay not?” Deadeye growled, his body tensing as he said it.

“Deadeye, I’ve only know you for a few months, and I know what you’re like. And it is isn’t like this. Do you want to go home to your family and friends and have them not be able to recognize you? They’ll know something's wrong, in a big way, and they’ll be worried sick about you. And they may not be able to help. Do you want to do that to them?” as Manifest spoke, Deadeye’s body relaxed. His shoulders dropped, then his ears, then his head.

“No, I don’t. but you’re going to put me back on this damn gun, and I’d rather do anything else before I pull the trigger again.”

“You won’t pull the trigger. I sit in that seat, and you sit here. I can do the guns and the radio, all you do is load and maybe shoot smoke rounds.”

“And if I don’t want to help you kill ponies by loading that cannon?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Manifest said, pressing his advantage. “But for now you sit in my seat, and I sit in yours.”

“It’s… if I say yes, I’m stuck here. In this prison. For I don’t know how long.”

“One week. At least to get you back to some sort of normalcy before you leave. You may even be able to outlast me, with how I’m ticking off The Duke.” Deadeye still had his head dropped, and his eyes closed in thought. “Do it for them, at least.” Deadeye raised his head and looked at the turret wall, toward the photo that Manifest knew was there. He stared for a moment, then nodded his head.

“Alright. I’ll stay. For one week. For them.” He turned to Manifest. “But that’s it, after that I’m gone.”

Deadeye's Last Day

“Sergeant”

The word jolted Manifest out of the perfect blackness of his sleep, and into the imperfect darkness of the waking morning. There wasn’t enough light to distinguish the shapes around him, only the vague forms of contours and movement in the night.
“It’s time to wake up, Commanders’ briefing in 5.” a shadow in front of him said. Manifest nodded, his gesture swallowed by the blackness.
“I’ll be there, thank you.” Manifest said. He heard the hoofsteps of the pony trotting away, and reached up until he felt his hooves touch the cold metal of the Flyer. Manifest rolled over to the right, and reached up again. His eyes were still not adjusted to the dark, but he could rely on his sense of touch. The grass that was beneath him was wet with dew, and the soil damp and muddy. His hoof hit the armor again, and he could feel the condensation collect on his hoof and roll down his leg. He rolled over again and looked up. He could see Luna’s stars dotting the sky, but the black mass of the tank’s armor swallowed up half of it. To his eyes it looked as if there was a line beyond which the stars simply ended. He rolled over again to clear the bottom of the tank, then got to his hooves.

Manifest closed his eyes and listened. He had learned through his time in the trenches that his sense of hearing was far better than he thought, and that in the darkness of the night he could hear conversations being held a hundred yards away if he only tried to. Right now he could hear obscured, hushed voices off to his right, and looked that way. In the darkness was a small sliver of golden light, coming from the hazy shadow of the command tent. Manifest trotted that way and pushed through the partially open tent flap to the inside.
The tent wasn’t too crowded yet, but Manifest knew that once all of the Tank Commanders in the company had arrived the poor tent would be packed to capacity. He looked at the ponies around him. Most of them looked like death heated up, trotting corpses that wanted nothing more than to clamber back into their coffins to slumber again. One pony yawned heavily, another weakly fighting against his closing, sleep filled eyes. A final poor pony could only keep his head up for a few seconds at a time before it would slump forward, only to jerk back erect. Manifest wasn’t tired, not yet anyway, but just as soon as he got to the tank he was going to put water in the boiling vessel and prepare some coffee. They had been up at 5 and to bed well after midnight for almost a week now, and while they were keeping the Unicornians on their toes, it was taking a toll on everypony.

More ponies trundled in, each at varying levels of consciousness. Sure Shot stumbled into the tent like a pony who had far too much cider to drink, and following him was a perfectly alert Duke.

“Good morning.” Manifest said to them. Sure Shot nodded wearily, The Duke said nothing. The two ponies filed in beside Manifest.

“If you are going to greet me, greet me by my rank sergeant” The Duke said, eyes forward to the front of the tent, where a billboard with a map of the area was being assembled.

“Good morning Lieutenant, sir.” Manifest said, also refusing to look at the Duke.

“Good morning Sergeant.” The Duke now said cordially to the air around him. No bridges had been built between the two since the events from six days ago, and Manifest was certain that with the Dukes attitudes that none ever would be.
“Attention!” came the call from the front of the tent, and all the ponies immediately stopped their chatter and gave their level best impression of actually being awake. Their Major, an earth pony with a large and well-groomed moustache trotted up to the map and cleared his throat.

“We’ve been doing this for 5 days now, so I won’t be wasting any of your time.” The Major spoke with disinterest, as though he was reading through a grocery list. “Orders are the same as yesterday. Drive out, find the Unicornians, and harass them. Keep them falling back, and keep them from regrouping. Operate on the platoon level, 3 tank teams. If the platoon leader determines that he needs support, radio company command. Each platoon leader will get his individual brief, please brief your subordinate T.C’s.”
“Now due to recent events, there are some doctrinal changes. So if you weren’t awake before, you need to be awake now.” The Major had snapped out of his lethargic recitation and into a more animated delivery, and the room stirred to life before him. “First and foremost, if you have not heard by now, yesterday we suffered our first casualties since the armored corps was formed. Lieutenant Covenanter and Corporal Valentine were killed yesterday.” The major paused for a few seconds, then continued. “Their tank was ambushed by Unicornian cavalry while they were unbuttoned. From now on, the moment that you get into your tanks all of your hatches will be closed until you reach the rendezvous point at the end of the day. I do not care how much better your vision is outside, or how much cooler it is, if you have the hatch closed you are invulnerable. So keep it closed.”

The Major took a heavy breath, then continued. “We also lost thirteen tanks yesterday to breakdowns, which combined with our first combat loss leads us to our next doctrinal change. The Unicornians want a tank. Badly. And we cannot allow them to have one. If your tank breaks down try to fix it and radio for reinforcements, but if you think that there is a chance that the Unicornians can take the tank you douse the engine deck with the spare gas, burn it, and put as many shots of anti-concrete rounds as you can through it before you leave. Everypony understand?” The room nodded dutifully. “Good. Do your jobs, and keep your crews safe. Dismissed.”

Everypony noisily stumbled up to their hooves, quickly gathering into groups of 3 as the platoon leaders began to give their individual briefings to their subordinates. The Duke was already trotting out of the tent, levitating his brief in front of him as he walked. Manifest and Sure-Shot followed suit.

“Will you be briefing us this morning, Lieutenant?” Manifest asked hopefully as they trotted through the tent flaps. The Duke closed his briefing as the flap closed behind them.

“No need Sergeant, I know the brief, and I want a head start.” Manifest sighed in response, but he didn’t argue. He had plenty of other things to expend his energy on. He trotted up to the Flyer and leaned under the lower glacis.

“Lead, Dead, time to get up.” Manifest said. He heard rustling from under the tank as he clambered up onto the tank's hull and towards the turret. In the dark he couldn’t see the gunners hatch so he ran his hoof across the turret roof until he felt the handle. He lifted the hatch, and clambered inside.

He sat down behind the gun, listening to the disconcerting sound of hard hooves tapping on armor. Memories of harder hoof-falls crawled into his mind. He looked up at where the hatch was, and imaged it shuddering under the mages magic a week before. Now all that he could see was the spotted night sky through the gaping hole. He reached up to the hatch, and brought it down.
With the hatch down, the darkness was complete and all encompassing. To his right the commander’s hatch opened, and Deadeye dropped in. Manifest found his radio headset and put it on, then placed his beret over that. Manifest leaned back until his head touched the armor. Maybe he could squeeze in a little more sleep before…

A high pitched whine permeated the cabin, followed by a loud road as the tank shuddered into life. The roar continued, fluctuating up and down in intensity as deadeye shut the hatch above him. No sleep would be happening right now. Manifest turned over and felt for the radio’s controls in the dark, then switched it on. He felt further for the boiling vessels switch. If he couldn’t have sleep, he needed to have caffeine.

The tank lurched from beneath him, but he managed to keep his balance on the miniscule gunner’s seat. He fumbled for the interior light switch, and flicked it onto a warm red glow throughout the cabin. He was told that the red light didn’t affect night vision as badly as others, but the hue made everything look only slightly lighter than the shade of blood.

He grabbed up the map of the area and began to unfold it as the tank groaned and limped its way out of the camp. Manifest gave its hull a tap with his hoof. It sounded just as tired as he felt. “Don’t give up on me today,” he muttered absently to the tank as he found his bearings on the map. All that he could do without a briefing on their mission was keep a track on where they were, and he intended to do so.
He shook his head in contempt to nopony in particular. The Duke not briefing them on their missions for the day robbed everypony of the ability to relax, and left them completely dependent on his orders. ‘Which is why he does it’ thought Manifest bitterly. It also left him unable to prepare. With a briefing, he could analyze the area, know how many troops he was up against, and make plans and contingencies. Without it, all that he could do was keep up with the map and wait for whatever was going to happen to happen. And the best part was he had no clue when that would be.

He looked wistfully at the boiling vessel. The coffee couldn’t come soon enough.

Manifest desperately wanted to open up the hatch. He looked up, and was confronted the hatches stenciled warning.

IF THIS HATCH IS LOCKED YOU ARE INVULNERABLE, DO NOT COMMAND THE TANK IN BATTLE FROM OUTSIDE.

The message stayed his hooves, but only just. He couldn’t stretch, the light was barely adequate, the droning of the engine unending. But the worst was the heat. Celestia, he may have thought that the tank was hot before, but having been cooped up in it for over 3 hours now he knew that it wasn’t. It had started off cool and comfortable but now this, this was a nightmare. This was like the heat lamps back on day one, but they weren’t turning off. His skin glistened with sweat, and he was running out of water to replenish it. He took another sip from his canteen, the warm water still preferable to the hot moist air. The only thing that had been distracting him from the heat other than tracking their position on the map had been the list of improvements that he had been writing, and even then most of his recent recommendations had been curiously fixated on how damn hot the tank was. He looked at his watch, it was about 8:45. The sun had only started warming up.

His head set buzzed, and Manifests ears perked at the sound. Perhaps the Duke was about to give some orders and clue him into what the hay was going on. “You know commander, I’m glad that I’m getting out while I can. A few more days of this and the cavalry will find The Flyer on the side of the road, and a pair of skeletons and a pile of ash inside.”

Manifest turned to his right, surprised. Deadeye was looking at him, tired, covered in sweat. “Why aren’t we popping the hatches?” Deadeye asked, glancing at the locked turret roof above him, “I’m burning up in here.”

“Orders are to keep it closed, yesterday two ponies got shot outside the hatch.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah, first deaths in the armored corps.”

“Oh. Well then I guess that it is a good thing I’m leaving.”

The conversation was pained, haunted by the specter of Deadeyes departure, but it was happening. Further than that, Deadeye had been the one to start it. Manifest continued. ”If you still want to.”

“Yes, I do.” Deadeye said, almost forcefully, the defensive edge from days earlier resurfacing. “You aren’t changing your mind on me, are you?”

“No, if you want to go tomorrow, I’ll let you.” Manifest said. Deadeye relaxed visibly, a slight sigh escaping his lips as he closed his eyes and leaned back.

“Good.” He paused for a moment, letting the whir of the engine fill the cabin. He then cracked an eye open and looked at Manifest. “Oh, um, I don’t think that I’ve said this yet, but…thanks.”

“Thanks? What for?”

“For letting me go home. I think that some other ponies may not have let me, or may have court martialed me, or dishonorably discharged me, or some other crap. So thanks, for just letting me go and not ruining me for not being able to shoot anymore. I just couldn’t do it.”

“Well. Your welcome.” Manifest said. He felt a little like he was Deadeyes psychiatrist right now. ‘Repeater was yours for a while.’ He thought to himself. ‘That’s just part of the job.’ Manifest brightened up a little at the revelation. He was beginning to compare himself with the best leader that he knew.

“But I could do it, can do it” Deadeye said. Manifest looked over to him. Deadeye was staring off blankly in thought, then noticed Manifest looking at him. “I never want to do it again, but I could. And it was that it was so easy.” Manifest cocked his head. Deadeye held his right hoof in front of him, like he was holding something, then he pulled it toward him less than a inch. “Bang. And they’re all dead.” He shook his head. “I thought it would be harder.”

“That’s the easiest part” Manifest said, “It’s everything else that’s hard.”

“Yeah.”

“But you know why you did it, right?” Manifest asked.

“Sure. I get it.” Deadeye said dismissively. “It’s just not for me.”

Silence filled the tank again, and Manifest went back to the periscope. The sun was now high in the sky above, and through the dust kicked up by the two tanks in front of him he could see the Dukes’ tank, its pennant waving above the khaki cloud.

“So, when you discharge me tomorrow, what’ll you and Lead do?” Manifest kept his eyes to the periscope.

“Don’t worry about us. There are enough tanks out on repairs that we can pick up some spare gunners to load. I doubt that every tank will be back up at the same time again with the rate they’re wearing out, so we won’t have to worry about being one pony down.”

“Glad to hear that you’ll still be doing what you want to be.”

“I don’t really want to be doing this, Deadeye. I just have to. Maybe a gunner can get a free ride home, but not a T.C.”

“Well maybe you don’t want to be doing this, but if tomorrow morning they said you could just go home, would you?”
The question made Manifest pause. He hadn’t thought about it. That by itself was strange, considering how Deadeye was going to be taking the ride home tomorrow. He had thought plenty about Deadeye going home, even wondered where he would go and what he would do, but Manifest had yet to think about it for himself.

“It isn’t a 50 point question on a final exam.” Deadeye said, “it shouldn’t be that hard to answer.”

“If everypony could just go home, and they did, then we give up and lose the war.”

“Not everypony commander, just you.”

“Then it wouldn’t be fair to everypony who has to stay.”

Deadeye put a hoof to his forehead and sighed.”Freakin’ Commander Equestria here,” He muttered. “Forget fairness, nopony would hold it against you if you left, in fact they all say you earned it and give you a medal to boot. Would you leave?”

“No.” Manifest answered immediately.

“Why?”

He had answered before he had thought of a reason, and had to search for a justification. Too long. “Celestia, you don’t even know, do you?” Deadeye said.

“I gave you two reasons,” Manifest said defensively.

“I told you they didn’t matter. And you said that you don’t like doing this. So what would keep you?”

“Wait, I already told you” Manifest said in annoyance, “If I’m not here then more of our guys don’t get to go home when this is all over.” The way that Deadeye was questioning him was getting on his nerves. “So stop acting like I’m some sort of crazed murderer for not wanting to desert my post.”

Manifest had hoped that that would shut Deadeye up, but the pony immediately tensed up, his eyebrows furrowing as he glared at Manifest. “If you stop acting like I’m some sort of coward for not wanting to kill ponies.” Manifest was the one who was quieted. He lightly tapped his head against the turret wall. ‘Way to go, jerk,’ He thought to himself. He didn’t even know why he had gotten so annoyed.

“I’m sorry,” Manifest said.

“It’s fine.” Deadeye replied. “I’m going to need to get used to hearing that.”

Manifest cocked his head. “Hearing what?”

“That I’m a coward, for leaving.”

Manifest felt a wave of revulsion. “Noponys going to call you a coward. Everybody back home is better than that.”

“Maybe they won’t call me that, but they might be thinking it. I mean, you implied it.”

“Because I was being a jerk, deadeye, no one’s going to blame you for coming home.”

“Eh, they might.”

Maybe Manifest was still spun up from whatever it was that was annoying him earlier, or maybe the heat was messing with his temperament, but the thought of anypony berating Deadeye after what he had been through made him near furious. “If anypony, anypony, calls you a coward for coming home early, without having been here and living through this, you call me, and I’ll buck their teeth out.”

Well, uh, thanks, I guess.” Deadeye said, looking at manifest with only a hint of surprise. “Kinda a violent way to show that you give a crap about me, but thanks.” He looked slightly past manifest, his eyes losing focus. “I don’t think I could let you do that to everypony though.”
Manifest followed deadeyes gaze to the picture taped up on the turret wall, with the stallion and colt. “Your brother?” Manifest asked.

"Yeah.”

“And you think that he might think that you’re a coward?”

Deadeye nodded grimly. “I try to be somepony that he can look up to. If I make a mistake, I tell him how to avoid it. I help him when he needs it. I give him advice... I try to be the best brother that that little punk deserves, you know?” manifest didn’t, he was an only child, but Deadeye kept on. “And I’m just afraid that when I get back, he’ll think a bit less of me.”

“He won’t.”

“How the hay do you know what a little spuddy pony like that will and won’t do?”

“He shouldn’t.”

“But he might anyway.” Deadeye said. He looked back at the picture. “And it freaks me right out.”

Manifest looked over at the picture as well, but his mind had drifted elsewhere. Would Amber think poorly of him if he left? Would his parents? He’d like to think not, but as Deadeye had pointed out, he couldn’t predict what other ponies would do. A shiver ran through him despite the tanks heat. He had an inkling of an understanding of Deadeye’s fears, and it almost scared him.
“Well, there is a way that nopony will call you a coward.” Manifest said.

Deadeye cocked his head in curiosity, then his mouth dropped in a look of near disgust. “Dear Celestia, really? Really?” he shook his head. “I don’t believe it, I just don’t believe it. I don’t believe you. How much clearer do I have to make myself? There is nothing that you can do that can convince me to stay in-“

A high pitched scream of metal on metal obliterated Deadeye's sentence as Manifest’s head was thrown sideways into the periscope. His hooves flailed for something to break his fall, and latched onto the 6 pounder as the tank ground to a rapid halt beneath him. His head rung from the impact on the periscope, and only the thick padding on it saved him from serious damage. “Deadeye! You okay!?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Deadeye mumbled, more than a little shocked as he picked himself from the floor of the turret. Manifest clambered back into the gunner’s seat and reached for his throat mike.

“Lead, the hay was that?!”

“The Dukes crashed.”

Manifest pulled himself up to the periscope and put his face to the padding. His vision outside was obscured by a hazy yellow cloud of dust, but the mass of Sure Shot’s tank was unmistakable. Manifest panned the periscope left, looking for the Duke’s tank. Lining the left side of the road was thick brush, with trees jetting out over the bushes. Manifest couldn’t see the Duke’s tank, so he began panning back right. A sudden movement in the corner of his eyes arrested him, his body tensing. He looked to it quickly, and felt a wave of relief flow through him. It wasn’t an ambush, not yet anyway. The Duke’s green and gold pendant was wrapped up in a branch, the pole that held it swaying beneath.
“Lead, reverse 50 yards.” Manifest ordered. The Flyer shuddered beneath them as the gears clunked into position, then the tank lurched backward. Manifest hit the transmit button on his throat mike. “Duke, you and your crew OK?” he released and waited for the response as the Flyer trundled backward. On his left he could see a large gap open up in the brush, no doubt caused by the Duke’s tank, but from this angle he couldn’t see where it had ended up. The radio remained silent. “Duke, do you copy?”

The slight sound of static was the only response that manifest could hear as the tank continued backward, and Manifest began to feel unnerved. The seconds of silence dragged on for far too long, each one raising Manifest’s concerns until he spotted the Duke’s tank. the relief that he felt upon seeing it was slight at best. The tank rested at the end of a path of gouged earth and decimated vegetation. Manifest could see smaller trees snapped like toothpicks, and a sizable oak simply ripped out of the ground. it was this oak that the tank rested upon, listing at a near obscene angle. The pennant had been ripped right off of the tank, the pole that it was attached to still swaying from the collision.

“Lieutenant, come in!” Manifest said forcefully. The static continued, unmoved by his intensity. “Come in!”

The radio squawked, and Manifest felt a glimmer of hope grow within him. “What happened? Can you see him?” The glimmer snuffed out as soon as Sure Shot’s voice came in.

“The Duke crashed, I see him.” Manifest said curtly, nearly annoyed that Sure Shot was the one answering. Manifest knew he was alright, but the continued silence from the duke’s tank made him fear the worst. “Lieutenant, are you there?” only the rumbling of the engine on idle replied.

“How’s his tank look?” Sure Shot asked.

“Looks fine to me.” Manifest answered, “The flagpoles ripped off.”

“Manifest, he put his flag on the radio antenna.”

“Ohhhhh…” Manifest felt his stomach sink. There was no way to communicate with the Duke’s tank. Worse, that was the only radio amongst them powerful enough to reach any other tanks in the area. There was no way to call in the cavalry.

“Are there any flags? Has it moved at all?” Sure Shot’s voice was now near frantic, and it wasn’t doing Manifest’s nerves any favors.

“Nothing, not at all.” Manifest heard an engine rev, and despite his better judgement allowed himself to think that the Duke’s tank had roared to life. No telltale smoke erupted from the Duke’s exhaust, and Manifest put the notion down.

“I’m coming back there.” Sure Shot said. Manifest turned his periscope forward, and saw Sure Shots tank roll backwards past his. The engine’s noise cut out from behind him, and the radio popped back on. “Still nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Crap… I guess that means that I’m in charge.” Sure Shot said quietly. The radio went silent.

“Sure Shot?”

“Just gimme a minute, I need to think.” The radio went quiet again. Manifest waited for his reply, looking intently at the Duke’s tank for any signs of movement. Periscopes, flags, anything. Still none.

“You think they’re ok?” Deadeye's voice cut the silence, but Manifest stayed focused on the tank, as though if he concentrated on it enough it would do something, anything. He briefly pondered his answer, wondering if he should try and make his crew feel better.

Manifest heard a snort on the radio. “You know commander, someday we’re going to have to play poker. I’ll clean you out. You think they’re all dead?”

“I hope not.”

“But what do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

“It was a really bad looking crash.” Lead Hooves interjected, the concern in his voice transparent. “It threw a track and just went into brush at full speed.” Manifest looked at the tracks, and indeed the left one was missing from the tank, the driving wheel clearly visible.

“Manifest, come in.” Sure Shot said.

“Read you.”

“I need you to send your driver out to check on the Duke’s tank, have him knock on the hatch. I’ll cover trees to the right, you cover left. Canisters.”

Manifest shook his head. “If my driver gets ambushed, then this tank isn’t getting out of here. We can’t drive, and we have to get out of the tank to get to the drivers position.”

“Crap, you’re right. Send your gunner then.”

Manifest looked over at Deadeye, who was watching his expressions. Clearly he gave something away, because Deadeye tensed up slightly. “Uh, my gunner isn’t fit for this, I’ll go.”

“The hay you will!” Sure Shot said authoritatively. “I may only kinda know what the buck I’m doing, but I know that I am not sending out a TC into a potential ambush with a gunner that won’t shoot backing him up.”

Sure Shot had the correct argument, and Manifest knew that he was right. None of that meant that he could send Deadeye out. Manifest glanced at the pony next to him, Deadeye couldn’t hear what was transpiring on the radio, but he knew enough to look worried. Manifest didn’t know what to say.

“Manifest, do you copy?”

“Yeah… I, uh…” Manifest stumbled over his words. Deadeyes look wasn’t helping him feel any better about this. “I don’t want to send him out there without knowing where the Unicornians positions are.”

“I don’t want to either, but we have to check on the duke, and I don’t see another way. Do you?” The last part of Sure Shot’s statement was a plea, begging for a way out of this plan. Manifest couldn’t think of an alternative.

“No,”

A burst of static in his ear toyed with his hopes, but it was only a long exhalation from Sure Shot. “Ok, tell him, give me the word when he’s ready.”

“Copy.” Manifest said, and he let go of the transmit button. He looked over to Deadeye, who looked nervous. Manifest glanced away. He couldn’t look at this pony that was hours away from going home. “Deadeye, I need you to go out there and establish contact with the Duke’s tank.” There was a pause, and Manifest subconsciously braced for a fight.

“Copy that.”

Manifest looked over, surprised at Deadeyes acceptance. “Is that the whole plan?” The pony looked unsure, but his voice was not.

“Me and the other tank will cover your flanks, just make it quick.” Deadeye nodded, and let out a nervous chuckle.

“Trust me, I will.” He looked up at the hatch, then reached for his canteen and took a large swig of water.

“Load a canister for me.” Manifest said. He put his eye up to the sights, and traversed the turret to aim to the left of the crashed tank. he felt the breech block drop through the rubber padding at his shoulder and with a metallic ‘shink’ the round slid in, terminating with a violent ‘chunk’ as the block slammed shut. A faint red light shined at the edge of manifests vision.

“Just wanted to let you know, I loaded that for me, I mean, I’m the one whose flank’s on the line.”

Manifest looked away from the sights, and turned his attention to the radio behind him. He noticed the .30 cal sitting atop it. “You want the machine gun?”

Deadeye followed Manifests eyes to the gun, and he burst out laughing, then quickly composed himself. “First I’d have to be able to pick it up.”

“The bomb launcher then?” Manifest asked.

Deadeye shook his head. “It would just slow me down. Besides, I wouldn’t use it anyway.”

“Okay,” Manifest said. Deadeye put his eyes back to the periscope. Although the pony was looking, he wasn’t seeing. His thoughts were elsewhere. Manifest felt conflicted, like he was looking at a condemned pony who had turned down the offer for a last request. “Grenades, or anything?”

“Nope. Just send me out before I think about it too much.”

“Alright.” Manifest said, and he hit the transmitter back on. “Sure Shot, we’re ready here.”

“Good, send him out.”

Manifest nodded, and let the button go. He turned to Deadeye. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Deadeye backed up from the periscope, undid the latch, and took a deep breath. ”be back in a minute.” The hatch flew open, and the light of the sun blinded manifest for barely a second, but by the time he could see again the commander’s seat was empty, and he could hear the sound of hooves on the armor. He magically threw the hatch shut and latched it as he put his eyes back to the gunsight. Deadeye had already halved the distance to the Duke’s tank, and was at a full gallop. Manifest tensed up his hoof on the trigger as he scanned the foliage for any movement, but there was none. Deadeye leapt under the Duke’s tank, and disappeared into the shadows beneath.
And now there was silence. No gunfire that he could hear, no yelling of orders, no thudding of Unicornian hooves on the armor that he may have expected when the hatch was thrown open. Only the steady idling of the engine rumbling through the compartment. Through his scope he could see the limbs of the trees sway with the wind, but no figures hid there.

More specifically, no figures could be seen in the field of view that he had. As he waited for any signs of life, from Deadeye or the Dukes tank, the thought that the enemy was out there just beyond his vision began to eat away at him. He wanted to look, but if he went to the periscope to do so he would abandon the gun. If during the time that it took for him to transition there was an ambush, Deadeye would be half defenseless. And it would be Manifest’s fault if anything happened. He stayed behind the trigger.

But as the seconds of silence dragged on without end in sight, Manifest felt the pull of curiosity eating away at his resolve. Leaving the gun could be the wrong choice, but at the same time not looking for enemies through the periscope could be as well. He didn’t recall seeing anything in the woods before, and there wasn’t any movement now. There could have been no Unicornians in the area to begin with. Another look could satisfy him. Manifest took his hoof off the trigger.

From the shadows underneath the Duke’s tank, he saw movement. Manifest froze, and concentrated on the darkness. The movement stopped, then Deadeye's face slowly pushed out from the veil of the shadows into the late morning sun. Manifests heart nearly stopped. He knew that Deadeye would have to expose himself to complete this task, but Manifest sat in fear that he would watch his gunner die through the sight in a matter of seconds. Deadeye crawled out further, his forehooves and body sliding out from under the tank. Slowly and exposed, no speed to save him now. Manifest hardly dared to breathe. Deadeye crawled all the way out and stood up, looking into the woods and panning his head around slowly. Apart from that he didn’t move for seconds.

Slowly, as Deadeye turned and hopped up onto the back of the Duke's tank, Manifest began to think against his better judgment that there was no danger outside. Deadeye clambered up to the turret and knocked on the hatch. Manifest could see the gunners periscope spin, and felt another hint of relief, somepony at least was alright in there. The hatch cracked open, and Manifest could see Deadeye talk. The hatch shut, and Deadeye turned and galloped back. Manifest opened the hatch as Deadeye hopped up onto the top of the tank, and Deadeye climbed inside as quickly as he could. Manifest threw the hatch back closed.

Manifest exhaled a breath that he didn’t know he kept. “Oh Celestia, I’m glad you’re ok.”

“You’re glad?” Deadeye said sarcastically “I’m the one running out there with my flank in the wind.” He reached for his canteen and started gulping it down.

Manifest nodded once. He had a point. He almost continued the conversation when the burden of command came back to him. He shook his head as if to shake off any levity that he could muster and looked back to Deadeye. “Are they OK?”

Deadeye stopped drinking. “No.” Manifest stopped breathing, for a second. He had been afraid that they could be injured, or… but the confirmation hit him like a low blow. Deadeye read Manifest’s look of horror, and quickly pressed on. “Noponys dead, the gunner and driver are fine, but the Duke is out cold, and his head is bleeding pretty bad. The gunner is bandaging him up as best as he can.”

“Oh.” Manifest said, the news only being a slight relief to him. He fumbled for the transmitter. “Sure shot. The Duke is unconscious and wounded.”

“Crap. The other two?”

“They’re fine.”

“Geez, I guess that I really am in charge now.” Sure Shot said. There was a pause in the transmissions. “Are they patching the Duke up?”
“Yes”

“Well that’s good.” Sure Shot said. Silence again. “Ok, let’s grab the Duke and his crew, douse their tank with whatever gas they have left, burn it and shoot it with as much anti-concrete as we can, and head back to base.”

Something about the plan didn’t sit right with Manifest. “Where will the crew go?”

“I guess on the back of one of our tanks.” Sure Shot may have been in charge, but his voice gave no indication of the sort. Manifest shook his head

“They’d be totally exposed, and we have no clue where the Unicornians are at. We may have passed them and could run into a group of them retreating on our way back.”

“I guess that’s a risk we’d have to take?” no mistake there, that was a question, not a statement.

“If we repair the tracks, then we wouldn’t have to have them riding exposed. Manifest said.

“We can’t take the time to repair the tracks, like you said, we have no idea where the Unicornians are at.” Manifest shook his head ‘if only the Duke briefed us, we’d know where the hay everything is supposed to be and what the hay we’re doing before we’re bucking doing it’ he thought. Despite being injured, the Duke had managed to both inhibit them and also engender virtually no sympathy to his plight. ‘If I had the briefing-‘and there was the solution.

“We need to get this morning’s briefing.” Manifest said, “That would have the Unicornians movements and we can make a plan from there.”

“Oh, yeah. Makes sense. Do that.”

Manifest turned to Deadeye, who had been listening. “I’ll get it.” He threw open the hatch again. ”I’m gonna ask for a raise if I have to do this again.” With that he leapt out.

Manifest got back on the gun. But this time the wrenching concern that he felt the first time Deadeye went out was diminished. Now he expected nothing to happen. Quickly his brain crushed this complacency. ‘You know the second you let your guard down, that’s when ponies will die.’ Deadeye hopped up onto the top of the Duke’s tank, and knocked on the hatch. Manifest waited, hoof on the trigger again. The hatch opened, Deadeye talked for a moment, and then a folder was passed out him. He took it in his mouth, and galloped back. Manifest opened the hatch and let him back in.

“Here, all the stuff the Duke was working on.” Manifest opened up the file, and quickly shifted through the excess papers to get to the Duke’s map. He folded it open and looked, trying to compare it mentally to where he had pegged them. From a glance he could tell that they had penetrated the Unicornians retreat. The map was marked with several notifications of troop locations, and times they were spotted, as well as the locations of the rest of the company’s tanks. They were far ahead of the others for some reason, all of the company’s other tanks were right behind Unicornian troops, nipping at their heels and herding them further east. He looked to where he had last placed them, and nearby he saw a large X positioned on what appeared to be a railway line, with the time 9:30 written next to it. Manifest looked at his watch. It was about 9:15.

Manifest flipped through the Duke’s papers to the morning’s briefing and read with a newfound case of urgency. In 15 minutes something was supposed to happen and the Duke’s obstructions had made sure that he had no clue what it was. He did not like what he saw or read.

Operation Firefighter

:

This platoon has been selected for combat record and prowess to find and destroy enemy rail asset known as ‘Wrecker.’ Ambush point, time, and route as indicated on map. Enemy asset must be disabled to point that it is unrecoverable. Success of this mission is vital to continuing offensive operations.

Beneath this was a photo taken from the air of a train in station, entitled ‘Wrecker’. The train shown was relatively short: a pair of locomotives in the middle, a mix of boxcars and flatbeds making up most of the consist, a crane and flatbed at the front, two other cars that appeared to be crane cars sans booms toward the front and rear, and what looked to be a flatcar with a large hook facing downward at the back. This caught his eye, because it looked like no other car he had ever seen. It appeared as if the hook could be lowered to dig into the tracks behind the train. He looked at the tracks in the photo. Out ahead of the train they were fine, behind it they were mangled.
Manifest had heard of the wrecker. Nearly everypony had heard of how the all the rails heading east were mangled beyond repair in an act either of desperation or cruelty.

Manifest had a sudden sinking feeling. The ambush spot on the map was close to where he had last positioned them before he started talking with Deadeye. They had driven on for another few minutes after that. Wherever they were, it was going to be close to the rail line, but Manifest didn’t know how close close was. He put his eyes up to the periscope and looked. No signs of any railway in front of him. He spun it right to face the west, nothing but an open field and a row of trees that edged it to the right, manifest kept turning the periscope until it faced the rear of the tank.

“Oh… great.”

Hardly 50 yards behind them, the road crossed a railroad track. Manifest looked at the treeline that he now knew ran next to the rails. It was patchy and nonuniform, with gaps throughout. He spun the periscope back to the Duke’s tank. There was no way anypony on the train could possibly miss the path of destruction that the Duke’s tank made, nor the hulking mass of the tank itself. He looked back at the picture of the Wrecker. The first two cars of the train were a crane and flatcar, and he knew what the Unicornians would do with them if they saw the Duke’s tank.

“Manifest, have you got the Duke’s stuff? What’s the situation?” Sure Shot asked. Manifest hesitated, then clicked the transmitter.
“We are behind the Unicornians lines, and we have been tasked with destroying the Wrecker. Which will come within spitting distance of us in about 15 minutes.”

The Wrecker

“Oh buck, really?”

“Yeah” Manifest said dejectedly.

“Is there a way back to our lines without running into anypony?”

Manifest looked at the map again, he hadn’t actually checked yet. Quickly he scanned nearby routes, and at least one looked open. Or at least it did based off of what information there was a half hour ago. “Yes” Manifest said, cautiously.

“Well that settles it. We aren’t going to retrack the Dukes’ tank, we’re pulling out.”

“We can’t,” Manifest said quickly, honestly before he knew what he was saying. “Not with the Duke’s tank as close to the tracks as it is.”

“Why not?”

“They have a crane, the second they see a tank they’re going to haul it onboard and take it with them to study. You heard the major, they want one bad.”

“Then we douse it and put so many holes in it that they can’t figure out where the steel was supposed to go to in the first place, and then we get the buck outta here.”

“They’ll take what’s left, and maybe they won’t have the whole thing but they’ll have something. We can’t let them have it.”

“Crap, what do we do?” Sure Shot asked, not defensively or with malice but with true bewilderment. Manifest thought for a moment.

“We gotta take out the Wrecker. Buy enough time to fix the Duke’s tank.”

“Fix the Duke’s tank? We don’t even know what’s broken.”

“If we can start it up and move the drive wheels, then all that we have to do is retrack it.”

“We don’t know if it will start up! Let’s set a trap for the Wrecker, blow it up, and drive outta here.” Just as Sure Shot clearly was, Manifest could almost feel the Wrecker coming closer as the seconds that they had ticked away, and the pressure was translating into the conversation.

“If it can start up then this is the best plan. Let’s at least check. If not then we can bail out like you want.”

There was a slight pause in Sure Shot’s answer, but when it arrived Manifest felt that he could have waited forever for it. “Manifest, I’m promoting you to acting platoon leader. What are your orders?”

“What!?” Manifest said, bewildered, “I don’t know how to lead a platoon”

“Neither do I, and so far you’ve been coming up with most of the plans anyway. You have more experience, and the only reason that you weren’t the platoon leader the moment the Duke got knocked out is that he kinda hates you. Just keep doing what you were doing.”

The weight of responsibility settled in Manifests conscious, and he struggled to throw it off. “What if I make the wrong call?”

“It could happen to anypony.”

“Ponies could die.”

“Damn it Manifest, we don’t have time for this!” Sure Shot said angrily. “Now either give me back command and we do it my way or start giving orders.” His tone softened a little, as if he were afraid that Manifest might take him up on his offer. “You’ve done alright telling two ponies what to do, it’s just a few more now.”

Manifest opened his mouth to answer, to say that Sure Shot should be in charge. He didn’t want the responsibility of command, nor the consequences that could come from choices that be made whilst in it. But he stopped, his mouth arrested by a realization. Choosing not to lead was still a choice, and any consequences that stemmed from it would come back to him. Before Sure Shot asked him he could pass any happenings off as following orders, but now he knew that if things went wrong, and if he would have done something different, that his choice not to lead would be the cause, and the responsibility for it would come to him.

It took the wind right out of him. Regardless of what he did, the responsibility would be his. He did not get to ask for it, the fate of the lives of 8 ponies was thrust upon him. He had no choice.

It was fate.

Or it was destiny.

Manifest took a breath. He did not have a choice on if he had responsibility, but he did have a choice on what he did with it. He had seen leaders try to shirk it, and he had seen leaders embrace it, and he knew which sort he would want to emulate. He could almost feel the weight taken off of him, or perhaps he had only now tried to carry it.

“Alright, I’ll be platoon leader.” As he said the words, the confirmation carried with it a sense of uncharacteristic calm. There was no backing out, there was only how well he did his duty.

“Okay, so what do we do?” Sure Shot asked, worriedly. Manifest looked over to Deadeye.

“Do you want to load the cannon?”

“I’ll do it.” Deadeye said, a bit unenthusiastically.

“I didn’t ask if you could, I asked if you wanted to.”

“Not really.” Deadeye answered. Manifest hit the transmitter on.

“OK. Deadeye, I want you to run over to the Duke’s tank and send their gunner over here. When you get there, I want you to keep on giving the Duke first aid, and I want you to have the Driver try the engine. If it starts, you and Sure Shot need to coordinate dragging it back onto the road and retracking it. If we can repair it, that’s what we want to do. If it doesn’t start, I need you two to douse it in gas, light it on fire, and shoot it as much as you can, then tear up the tracks west of us as best as you can. We can’t have them sending a train back to pick the dukes tank up. My tank will be going to ambush the wrecker. If anything happens radio me, and if that doesn’t work then meet me at the crossroads a mile north of here. Copy?”

“Copy.”

“Then get going.” Manifest said. Deadeye opened the hatch once more and ran out. Manifest shut the transmitter off and exhaled sharply. He looked at the map, he had to find a suitable ambush point for The Wrecker, and quick. He looked at the map, but his heart wasn’t in it, and neither were his eyes, the map becoming a haze of greys and lines that carried no meaning. Forget it. He leaned back and took a drink of warm water from his canteen. Waiting was always the worst, especially now that they had only minutes before a war train descended upon him, and more so now that he was in charge of stopping it and getting everypony home safe. He may have accepted command, but it still made him sweat.

A unicorn dropped down into the hatch, closing it behind him. Manifest jolted back up, and hit his intercom, “Lead, let’s get going. Drive till you reach the first crossroads and make a right.”

“Copy.”

“And Lead, live up to your name.”

The tank lurched from beneath him with uncharacteristic vigor, tossing him in his seat with a hearty rumble from the engine. The unicorn that sat in the commander’s seat looked at him, confused.

“Do you want to switch seats?”

Manifest looked over to him, and realized that on maybe every other tank in the company their roles would be reversed. Correct was probably the better term for it. “No, I sit gunner seat.” The unicorn’s confusion persisted. “Wait, do you know how to load the gun?” Manifest asked hopefully.

“Yes?”

“Ok, once we get into it I’m going to need you to load what I tell you, copy?”

“Uh, yeah, copy.”

Manifest could have been more convinced. He teased the thought of switching seats with the confused gunner, but he didn’t want to navigate the cramped interior while the tank was moving, and they didn’t have the time to stop. The gunner would just have to adapt, ideally before they took on the Wrecker.

Abruptly it occurred to Manifest that he hadn’t thought about how they were actually going to destroy the train. He pulled the photo back up and looked again. With only the choice between High Explosive and Canister, High Explosive was the obvious winner. But where the hay to shoot? None of the flatcars or boxcars looked like a suitable target, and shooting the crane or the plough at the back wouldn’t do much either. Taking out the locomotives would be a stretch, because he would need to hit both of them to stop the train. Even then, the Unicornians could probably send a locomotive back to pick it up later. There was a chance they’d be unable to, but manifest couldn’t let there be one. If he stopped the train and then destroyed the tracks ahead of it, they couldn’t send back a replacement locomotive.

And the answer had presented itself.

He looked at the gun, and remembered that Deadeye had loaded a Canister a few minute earlier. That wouldn’t do. He looked over at the unicorn gunner. “I didn’t ask you your name?”

“Oh, it’s Steady Aim.”

“Okay Steady Aim, I’m gonna need you to reload the cannon with HE, copy?”

“Yep.” Manifest heard the breech block drop, and the sliding of brass on metal as the canister shell was pulled out. Steady Aim looked around for the HE storage, then found it and loaded in a round. He pointed his hoof at the HE ready rack and mouthed the word, and nodded assertively.

“Hey Steady Aim, do you know how to use the bomb launcher?

“Nope.”

“Ok. At the top is a lever, pull that to the right side and push down and it should open up. There are two boxes, one for smoke and one for HE. Put a smoke in there and close it up.”

“How do I aim?”

“Use the periscope, you kinda just guess where it should go.”

“Oh, great.” The other voice on the intercom went quiet for a few seconds, then came back. “Do you know how to aim this thing?”

“Yes.”

“Shouldn’t we switch then?”

Manifest shook his head immediately. They wouldn’t. “If you really want to try and crawl past the gun over here, you be my guest. But last time I did that it was a pain in the flank, and we weren’t even moving.” Steady Aim didn’t respond.

The tank slowed, then veered off to the right before accelerating with a hearty roar of the engine. They were now driving back east, in the direction of the war train. Manifest put his eyes to the periscope, if he didn’t see it before it saw him, this would be a lot harder.

The road they were on was raised up against the fields that flanked it on either side, and Manifest simultaneously blessed and cursed his luck. They would be very easily seen, with nary a tree or other obstacle to obscure him from the tree line to his right that edged the railroad, but the field on the left was only a few feet lower than the road, so getting into a hull down position should be easy enough. He looked over at the treeline where the railroad sat. It was elevated as well, maybe 10 or fifteen feet above the field. The treeline was sporadic, which allowed him to see the tracks through the gaps but would no doubt allow the Unicornians to see him as well. Manifest made his plan, then looked into the distance for the telltale smoke or steam of an engine.

“Manifest, do you read?” Sure Shot asked, the voice grainy but still understandable.

“Read you, what’s the news?”

“The engine works. The transmission too, somehow anyway.”

“Ok, drag it out and retrack it. Be ready to burn it and bail if I say so.”

“Copy, good luck.”

“Thanks.” Manifest said, and he shut his transmitter off. He quickly glanced at his watch, however fruitless a gesture it was. The train could be delayed, or worse, early. At any rate, it was now a touch past 9:25. He looked back up to the periscope and focused on the tracks with burning intensity. He was now torn between two thoughts. The more distance that the Flyer put between his platoon mates before he ran into the Wrecker the better, but a more selfish part of him wanted the Wrecker to appear immediately, if only to save him from the horrible uncertainty of waiting.

“Commander, smoke up ahead on the right.”

Leads statement startled Manifest, and he quickly looked ahead. Rising up above the trees, far down the tracks, was a plume of black smoke, billowing with unnatural intensity. He couldn’t see the train itself, but that was the only thing that it could be. If he had put a mile between the Duke’s and Sure Shot’s tanks he would be lucky, but there wasn’t time to make any more.

“Lead, go left off the road, and get us hull down.”

“Copy.”

The tank slowed rapidly, then swung left under Manifest before pitching downward. He held onto the gun and the turret wall to steady himself as it rocked back up, then quickly lurched right before coming to an abrupt stop. Manifest hurriedly put his shoulder under the guns pad and his eyes to the gunsight, and looked for his target. Through the sight he could see that they were positioned so that the raised roadway rose up and blocked out all of the tank but the turret, the gun only a foot or two above the road itself. Dust that the tank kicked up hung in the air, but he could still see the treeline and raised railroad across the field. He angled the gun up, until he saw what he was looking for. Through the break in the trees was the ballast of the railway tracks. He put it in the center of the sights.

With his magic he hit the transmitter. “Sure Shot, come in.” for a few concerning seconds, there was silence.

“I’m here.”

“We’ve made contact with the Wrecker, we’re about a mile down the road from you.”

“That’s awfully close. We pulled the Duke’s tank out to the middle of the road, I guess to make it easier for them to take it with them.”

“load a HE, If I don’t stop it, drive back to the railroad and blow the hay out of the tracks, then get ready to destroy the Duke’s tank.”

“Copy.” Sure Shot sounded less than sure, but Manifest couldn’t dwell on it. He sat at the gun, the ballast of the tracks directly in his crosshairs. It was an unmissable shot that would guarantee stopping the wrecker for as long as it would take to repair the tracks. He almost pulled the trigger, but he arrested himself. For the Dukes tank to have a chance to be repaired, the Wrecker had to be destroyed. At a range of a mile, the Unicornians would doubtlessly hear the engines of the tanks ahead if they stopped to fix the tracks, and doubtlessly would push up to find them, and once they found them in that weak position would doubtlessly attack. Manifest had to be sure that any Unicornians from the Wrecker wouldn’t be in shape to make any attack. He held his fire.

“Steady Aim, listen for my ammo choices.” Manifest looked back from the gunsight to the periscope, and panned it to the left. He had twisted it only a little before he saw a black mass moving behind the trees, indistinguishable and monolithic, but still concealed by the foliage from revealing its details. A few hundred feet further down the line he could see a pair of billowing black clouds of smoke erupt above the treeline from the two engines. The time was drawing close, and he went back to the gunsight.

In the narrow field of view that he had, it looked tranquil. He could see foliage swaying in the wind out of focus behind the ballast and tracks he aimed at. Above the low murmuring of the idling engine, he could hear the rapid labored chuffing of the locomotives, and it reminded him of the engines that he used to hear back in Fillydelphia. He used to go to the rail yard just to watch them. He put the thought out of mind, just as a black mass entered the top left of the gunsight.

He pulled the trigger, and with the characteristic muted ‘BOOM’ the cannon fired. Being only a few feet from the top of the dusty road, the dirt from the blast immediately obscured Manifests vision. He froze, for all he knew he missed, and his position was definitely exposed to the Wrecker. For maybe a second he waited for the dust to clear to see if he had blown the track out from under it. Then he heard it scream.

The Wrecker shrieked from behind the cloud of dust with a sound of agony the likes of which Manifest had never heard, a high pitched squeal of metal grinding against metal, like a wounded creature. Then the scream was drowned out by a terrible rending, a shattering of wood and steel, and Manifest knew without seeing that he had derailed it. Through the dust he could only see impressions of the carnage that he had unleashed. He thought that he saw a boxcar, sliding down the embankment before shattering at the bottom and spilling its contents of flailing figures and undeterminable equipment, but the dust thickened and yet again he was only left to his ears. They heard only too clearly.

The sound of destruction continued over the sound of screaming metal, until the screaming finally stopped. The crashing and thunder of destruction lingered, and then it was almost quiet. Manifest thought that he could only hear the comforting noise of his engine, but then he perceived a noise over it. A pained and weak wheezing. The dust finally cleared enough that he could see the destruction that he wrought.

Sitting on the embankment Manifest could see the back half of the Wrecker half concealed by the treeline, intact and on the rails. The rear locomotive of the two still sat on the embankment, but not on the rails, no longer. Manifest could see the gouge in the tracks where his shell had hit, and the trees shattered like twigs where the front of the Wrecker had plowed through. The first engine lay on its roof at the bottom of the embankment, steam escaping from its dented frame with the wheezing sound that Manifest heard. Ahead of that was a boxcar, the wheels ripped off and the frame barely solvent, but in front of this there was nothing recognizable. Manifest remembered several cars being at the front of the train from the photographs, but all that remained in the field were matchsticks of wood, with the occasional metal axle or wheel to permeate the destruction. A large artillery gun lay on its side, it must have been mounted on a car before it disintegrated beneath it.

From the second locomotive came a burst of steam from its top, and Manifest heard a mournful wail puncture the silence, then the wheezing of the first returned. The second locomotive silently chuffed twice, then two more, then two more. As Manifest looked out over the scene, he felt a pang of melancholy.

Then he saw movement in the trees behind the second locomotive, and the melancholy vanished. There was still half a train of Unicornians to deal with. “Gimme a HE.” He said as he got back onto the gunsights. He felt the breech drop and heard the case slide out as he traversed the turret left. The sights moved from the tender of the second engine over to a boxcar, half concealed by trees. Through the sights, he saw figures leaping from the car and down the embankment. The breech slammed shut and a small red light shone in Manifests periphery. He fired.

Again the blast from the cannon kicked up a opaque wall of dust. If the unicornans hadn’t seen him before, they did now. “Lead, reverse then left, parallel the road, stop when ordered.” The tank lurched backward beneath him. “Another HE”. He felt the breech drop again as the tank turned left. He traversed the turret right to be ready. They rumbled forward, and Manifest kept his eye to the gunsight, waiting to clear the cloud of dust. It thinned as they drove from it, and Manifest strained to see the wrecker again. Even at its relatively slow speed the tank buffeted over the slightly uneven ground, and it was enough to throw the sights wildly. He tried to keep the gun level by adjusting its elevation with his shoulder, but he could barely control it. “Lead, Halt.”

The tank ground to a halt, and Manifest leveled the gun out. He could now see that he traversed the turret too much to the right, and rotated it left. They were still hull down, which he could tell by the road in the bottom of the sight as the turret panned past the wrecks of the locomotives. The sight passed over the boxcar that he just shot, his round had blown the center out and it rested in two pieces on the tracks. The sights passed a flatcar, but he kept them turning. Another boxcar entered the scope. An easy target. He stopped traversing. Nopony was jumping from this one, but the sliding door at the side was wide open. They must have already cleared it. he fired anyway.

The dust clouded his vision again, but now he knew what his plan was. As long as the road remained raised above the field he was in, he could drive parallel to it and stop to fire, while still exposing little of the tank. “Forward” he ordered. The tank lurched again. “Another HE.” The breech dropped. They cleared the dust again and Manifest put his eye back to the gunsight. It felt natural at this point.

He traversed the turret right this time, the sights passing over the flatcar again. as they did, he saw a two large flashes emanate from the top. He only had time for his eyes to widen in surprise before the embankment in front of him erupted with a pair of explosions. Manifest fired blindly, the blast from his gun drowning out the several muffled explosions from outside. “FORWARD!” he ordered loudly. The tank lurched beneath him. “HE!” the block dropped, more forcefully than before. The rapidity of the explosions he heard outside indicated that the flatcar had an airship gun, maybe more than one. Nopony knew how much armor they could penetrate, but the explosions indicated that they were HE. Once they pulled out of the dust Manifest would blow that flatcar to bits.

They emerged from the dust again, and Manifest called out. “Halt!” the tank grinded to a stop and manifest hurriedly turned the turret, looking for the flatcar. It entered his field of vision, disappointingly intact. Through the scope he could see a pair of smaller cannons atop it, with unicorns loading large magazines into the top. Manifest felt the breach close, then saw the red loading light, and aimed. Or he tried to. He was too jittery, and the sight kept bouncing above and below the car. He cursed himself, then finally settled the sights. He saw the barrels of the airship guns flash, twice per, and pulled the trigger.

There were several sounds, all in rapid succession. There was the muted boom of the cannon, then the metallic ‘shicnk’ as the breach was opened by Steady Aim. This was followed immediately by muffled explosions outside, interrupted by a horrifically loud ‘BANG’ and several whizzing and pinging sounds. Manifest ducked instinctively, the sounds like gunfire awakening memories. The next sound turned his blood to ice.

Steady Aim screamed in pain. “AHHHH! Oh Celestia!” Manifest looked over, and saw blood coming out of Steady Aim’s shoulder, which he covered with his other hoof as he grimaced. Outside he heard explosions, so rapid that they sounded like a rumble of thunder.

“Steady! How bad is it!?”

“It friggen hurts,” he said, and Manifest felt a flood of relief. A seriously injured pony wouldn’t answer like that.

“Let me see.” Steady Aim lifted his hoof and Manifest saw a thin trickle of blood, springing from a metal shard embedded in flesh. Manifest thought about yanking it out, but doing so would only make it worse. “It’s not bad.” Manifest said, and his unwavering tone seemed to calm Steady Aim down. Manifest opened his mouth to ask if he could load, but his inquiry was interrupted by another flurry of explosions outside. Manifest didn’t know what they had, but if it could injure them inside the tank he couldn’t risk it.

“Steady, hit the smoke launcher.” The pony reached forward, and a hollow ‘thump’ echoed through the cabin as manifest hit the intercom. “Lead, forward, parallel the road and disengage to the north.” The tank rumbled underneath him, and Manifest turned to adjust the radio.

“Stop,” Deadeye shouted, and both the Dukes tank and Sure Shots ground to a halt. He looked over to the Dukes, and glanced at the bare spoked driving wheel. Now that it was on the steady dirt of the road, changing the track would be just as easy as it would be at the tank sheds in the shadow of Canterlot. Perhaps just as hard would be the better statement. He looked over his shoulder at Sure Shots tank to the pony who stuck out of the roof of it for orders. Sure Shot had a hoof cupping his headset to one of his ears, listening intently to something. His mouth moved, forming a soundless sentence under the idling of the engine. Sure Shot waited a second more, nodded, and then uncupped his headset.

“They just contacted the Wrecker, about a mile and a half down the line! Deadeye! I need you to grab the track and line it up with the road wheels. Iron Sights, get out and help.” Deadeye ran over to the spot on the road where the broken track lay on the road, the links at the ends shattered, and grabbed an end in his mouth. The disgusting taste of mud and steel assailed his tongue, but he ignored it as he tugged at the links, dragging the track bit by bit to where it needed to be. As heavy as the track was he pushed himself to get it lined up faster, feeling the seconds of exposure pushing him onward.

A distant boom over the comforting idling of the engine snapped him to attention, eyes up and ears forward to the west. There was a second explosion and then a cacophony of noise, like a rumble of thunder from a distant storm on a hot summer afternoon. Sure Shot and his gunner were looking out there as well, waiting for anything else to happen. For several seconds, there was silence.

A shrill whistle pierced the air, and all the color ran from Sure Shots face. His mouth formed the two unmistakable words of “oh buck,” and then a rapid ‘boom-boom’ rang out. Sure Shot turned to face the two on the road. “GET THAT TRACK ON!”

As a second rapid ‘boom-boom’ echoed through the trees Deadeye decided that the track was lined up with the road wheels, and if it wasn’t then at least it was close. He ran over to Sure Shots tank, to where the extra track links lay on the mudguard and grabbed two of them in his mouth. He ran back to the track, dropping one at one end and the second at the other. He looked at Sure Shots gunner. “Replace the link at the end!” he said, motioning to the track, before he ran back to where the first link had fell.

Deadeye stopped, looking for a wrench that wasn’t there to remove the last link. He shook his head and galloped over to Sure-Shots tank, unlatching a stowage box on the side to get what he needed. His ears swiveled backward as a new sound echoed over the field, a light rapid ‘pop-pop-pop’ that grew into a indeterminable rumble, capped off with the familiar ‘boom-boom.’ He grabbed the wrench out of the box, and ran back to the track. ‘Unscrew the locking nut, pull the retaining pin out, change the link, then do the first two bits in reverse’ he thought as he started on the nut. ‘Easy.’

It wasn’t. Mud had caked over the locking nut, and it wouldn’t budge. The ‘pop-pop-pop’ sounded again, growing into the same rumble endcapped with the same ‘boom-boom.’ Deadeye strained harder on the wrench, but it still refused to move. “Buck this wrench,” he thought bitterly, followed immediately by ‘oh, buck this wrench.’ He spun around and cocked his leg, then kicked the hay out of it. He turned back and grabbed the wrench in his mouth, and started unscrewing the nut as fast as he could. It came off, and he kicked the pin out and the broken link away. “Ready!” he heard the gunner call out as he slid the pin into the new link.

“ ’Un se’ed” he spat past his wrench as he torqued the locknut on. He spat it onto the dirt road, then shouted “Done!”

“Alright, we’ll do this just like at armor school, ready?” Sure Shot yelled.

“Ready!” Deadeye replied, running to the front of the laid out track. He looked back to Sure Shot, who spoke into his intercom. For some reason, Deadeye felt like they were forgetting something. The belching of Sure Shots tank pushed this thought to the back of his mind and with an ear piercing grinding the tank lurched backward, snapping the cables between the two taught. The engine revved up, and the two started moving backward. Slowly the Dukes’ tank started driving over the track, and Deadeye made sure that the road wheels lined up properly. As the track reached the front of the tank, he grabbed his section and lifted it up, straining against its increasing weight to get it over the front idler wheel. Once it was over he kept a hold on its front, making sure that it stayed on top of the road wheels as it made its way back. Finally, he set the track on the drive wheel, making sure that it meshed with the sprockets before raising his hoof. The revving of Sure Shots engine cut out, and apart from the soothing idling there was silence.

There was silence.

Deadeye looked over at Sure Shots tank. Sure Shot was looking west, eyebrows furrowed, ears forward. He abruptly turned toward Deadeye, “Manifests tank has been hit and the gunner has been injured, and he’s broken away north to try and draw them off. You got 5 minutes to finish putting that track on, or we pull out. Gunny, come here.” The gunner ran over to Sure Shots tank as Deadeye ran to the front of the Dukes and clambered on. He knocked on the hatch at the front.

“The track’s ready, reverse slowly!” he yelled, the adrenaline was getting to him, and as the tank revved beneath him he felt fidgety. They had to get this finished so that they could get the hay out. The tank shifted beneath him slightly, then he felt it lurch. Immediately the engine stopped revving, and Deadeye leapt down and ran to the back. He could see the gunner atop Sure Shot’s tank, pulling a machine gun out from the hatch. “What’s that for?” Deadeye asked.

“Insurance in case we have to pull out, for the guys on the back” the gunner said, motioning to the rear of the tank. He hopped onto the back out of deadeyes sight, and deadeye turned to the track. A bit of it overhung from the drive wheel, and it nearly touched the end on the ground. Deadeye grabbed the retaining pin in his mouth, then tried shoving the ends of the tracks toward each other. After a bit of fumbling he managed to piece them together, then jammed the pin through them. The track was now one continuous loop, but it drooped at the end, slack instead of tense. He grabbed up the wrench and the locking nut, and started threading it on.

He would have loved to hop into the Duke’s tank and drive off just as soon as he had screwed in the locknut, but they couldn’t. If they didn’t tension the track, it would walk off the tank and they’d crash again. And tensioning it was a nightmare. In order to do it, they had to unscrew a locking nut at the base of the front wheel, then using a pry bar and the force of two ponies lift the wheel until the track was tense, then have a third screw the locking nut back on and secure it. No time to waste thinking about it. He finished up locking the nut, then ran to the back and grabbed up the pry bar in his hooves. “Hey, help me out with this,” he called back toward Sure Shot’s tank.

“Coming!” he heard yelled back. Deadeye slung the bar over his back, and got ready to hobble back to the front wheel.

‘Crack.’

Instinctively he looked west to the direction of the sound, like a whip slicing through the air. Or a bullet, he realized suddenly. He stood immobile for a second as his brain processed the information, then the pry bar fell from his hooves. That was a bullet. He saw Sure Shot’s gunner dive off the side of the tank and throw his body behind the armor. That was a bullet!

He dived under the Duke’s tank, waiting for the next shot. ‘Oh crap-oh-crap-oh-crap’ he thought, that repeating statement composing of most of his brain activity. ‘I’m being shot at.’ With that thought Deadeye became acutely aware of how fragile he was. Inside of the tank he never feared for his safety, he never worried about harm befalling him. But now, outside, he realized that a single mistake on his part could kill him. he had been afraid when he had left Manifests tank mere minutes ago, but the simple ‘crack’ had brought his mortality to the forefront. The best reaction that he could think of to this horrible revelation was to upgrade to ‘oh buck-oh buck-oh buck.’

There was a red flash from the west, followed quickly by a bang. Another red light appeared, this one staying, its light cutting through the shadow underneath the tank. Deadeyes first reaction was to shift his body to keep away from the light, afraid of being seen. The light still shown, unflickering, but slowly Deadeye became aware of the near complete silence. Apart from the idling of the engine above him, he didn’t hear anything. No cracking of bullets, no banging of…he didn’t know what had made that sound.

He wanted to know what was happening outside, but he didn’t want to move. He was safe behind the roadwheel, and right now that was his main focus. But for how long? He was caught between action and inaction, and both could be the wrong move. He wanted someone to tell him what to do, but there was no one to ask. His instincts were pleading for him to hide, or run, and he wanted to follow them.

‘You can’t,’ he thought with abrupt clarity, like the thought wasn’t his but was given to him. Then he remembered his first day of training. He remembered the drill instructor, and he remembered the first thing that he had told them once they had all gotten out to the field.

“Your ancestors were prey. Creatures would hunt them, and they had two choices. Fight or flee. And fighting wasn’t natural to them, fleeing was. It’s the thing that ponies are better than any other creature at. Nothing can run like us. We haven’t had to face these instincts for hundreds of years, but when you get into combat, with death on the line, your instincts will kick in and given the choice between fight and flight you will want to choose flight. You can’t. War is about fighting, and if you learn nothing else from training you must learn that your intelligence must beat your instincts and fight must always win. Always.”

Deadeye took a deep breath, and tried to collect himself, but he still felt panic. Just because he knew that he had to do something didn’t mean that he wanted to. Moreover, it didn’t mean that he knew what to do. The red light still shone from outside. Looking out would be a start.

He rolled over onto his stomach, shimmying in order to keep his body from emerging from the safety of the road wheel. Slowly he leaned his head out until just one eye peeked out of the edge.

Hardly 100 yards away, in the field just a stone’s throw from the tree line by the railroad, was a unicorn clad in steel. Deadeye froze, but the unicorn didn’t move or seem to notice him at all. The shade under the tank kept him hidden, and at this point safe. A red light burned in the air above the field but Deadeye kept his vision on the unicorn. It stood immobile, it’s ears forward, it’s head up. Alert, but not aggressive. Curious maybe. The unicorn was a mixture between tan and grey, its mane and tail a muted reddish brown. The steel armor that it wore looked like it was once shiny but had been put through a sandstorm, with dried mud caked onto the bottoms. Deadeye remembered seeing this sort of pony in training, a Mage. The Unicornian elite shock troops. In the photos they looked cleaner.

The relative silence of the idling engines was cut by a high pitched hydraulic whirr, and the unicorn in the field took a step back in surprise, then his horn glowed and with a flash and a crack he disappeared. The whirring continued but Deadeye kept still, looking for where the mage had teleported to. There wasn’t a second crack. At least not one that he could hear. He looked right, where he could see the turret of Sure Shot’s tank traversing over to the field and sure shots gunner hiding behind the tank. Deadeye took one last glance at the field to see if the mage was still there. Right now he really wanted either to be in a tank or to have some means of self-defense, and he wasn’t going to get that by cowering. He didn’t see anything.

He rolled out from under the tank and quickly sprang to his hooves, the seconds of exposure feeling far too long as he scrambled up onto the top Sure Shot’s tank. The gunner had the same idea as he did, and both of them reached the gunners hatch at the same time. Deadeye rapped on the hatch rapidly. “lemme in lemme in lemme in” he muttered as he rapped on the roof. If he could get just get inside the tank.

“Hey! It’s my tank!” Sure Shot’s gunner protested, shoving him onto the engine deck next to the machine gun that he had just set up. He beat on the hatch forcefully. “Sure Shot! Let me in the bloody tank!” he yelled. Deadeye got back up to his hooves as the gunner continued his tirade. “the buck are you waiting for!” the periscope atop the turret swiveled to face the gunner, who leaned in close to it. “Yeah, it’s me! Open the buck up!”

‘Crack’

Their heads both snapped up to the east. A hundred yards away at best, by the treeline where Deadeye had seen him before, was the mage. He was looking right at them. Deadeye couldn’t move, his hooves frozen with fear. Neither could the gunner, and neither could the mage, his mouth slightly open in shock at their sight. For a few seconds, they just stared at each other.

The tanks periscope swiveled to the field, and it broke the silent truce.
The gunner leapt off of the tank away from where the mage was. The mage flashed out of existence. Deadeye spun around to the machine gun on the engine deck. He almost laid down to use the gun, but his instincts screamed at him to run or to hide. He felt too exposed up here. If he was going to hide though, he was going to hide armed.

He lifted the machine gun out of its cradle, and realized too late just how heavy it was. He pitched forward and over the edge of the engine deck, landing on his back with a puff of dust. It hurt, but not enough to keep him from rolling under the tank to what he thought was safety. He glanced down at the machine gun, and in the quick look that he had he realized how costly that mistake was. A layer of dust covered the gun, and the ammunition belt must have snapped leaving only a few rounds to use.

He now looked around franticly, trying to find the mage before it could find him. Nothing. He was breathing heavily, and he felt that even this would be enough to give him away. As exposed as he felt atop the tank he now felt trapped. He tried to control his breathing, but the adrenaline would not allow for it. He closed his mouth and held his breath to stop the ragged breathing, but the rapid panting remained. He looked over and through the gap in the road wheels he saw Sure Shot’s gunner, shoving himself up against the side of the tank as best as he could.

‘Crack’

The mage appeared in the woods, only a few feet away from the gunner, who spun and held his hooves up. The mage looked around rapidly, panic in his eyes. A fireball emanated from the air, but it did not move. “Where’s the other!” The unicorn shouted, the fireball shuddering in the air. Deadeye shifted the machine gun, precariously balancing it on one hoof in lieu of the tripod and swiveling it with the other in the trigger guard. He aimed down the sights at the mage's head, and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened, not even an empty ‘click.’ Deadeye reached forward and pulled the cocking handle back desperately, and the gun made a reassuring ‘chi-chlink.’ The mage jolted upright at the sound, eyes darting for the source. The fireball moved, and Deadeye pulled the trigger.

‘BA-BA-BAM’

In the confines of the underside of the tank and without the separation of the turret wall between Deadeye and the muzzle the flash was blinding and the roar of the machine gun deafening. The recoil knocked the gun from his precarious hoofhold and onto the ground before he released, and the blast blew the dirt of the road into a small sandstorm. Amidst this disorientation he saw the mage fall onto its side, the fire go out as he clutched at his right leg and screamed. Deadeye reset the gun on his off hoof and re-aimed, but his hoof was stayed. The mage was a pitiful sight, writhing in pain. He looked up to the sky, then closed his eyes and gritted his teeth in an effort to fight the pain. Deadeye wanted to help him.

The mage’s eyes opened, and they were looking right at Deadeye. His horn lit up and a fireball appeared. ‘Oh buck.’ Deadeye pulled the trigger. ‘BAM.’ Again the flash and the dust blocked his view, but as he kept the trigger hard down the gun ceased. That was the last round. The mage still lay there, and as the dust cleared Deadeye could see a small hole punched in the chestplate of the armor. The mage weakly lifted his head and pointed his horn skyward, and a green light shot out from the tip. Then he closed his eyes and his head fell. From here Deadeye could see no blood, this wasn’t like the carnage of the battle at Canterlot, but he still knew that the mage was dead at his hoofs.

He dragged the machine gun out from under the tank, and looked skyward at the floating green light that the mage had conjured. Strangely, he felt calm. His nerves had cooled, and his breathing had returned to normal. He felt safe, but he felt something else that he couldn’t put his hoof on. He wanted a minute to just go over what had happened, without the threat of death on the horizon. Apart from the idling engine, it was quiet again. Despite the horrible thing that he had just done, he felt an inkling of peace.

Deadeye heard the sound of hoofsteps behind him, and spun around quickly, only to see Sure Shot’s gunner. He was covered in dust, and taking deep deliberate breaths in an effort to come down from the adrenaline high. “You killed him.”

“Yeah.”

“Holy Celestia, I thought I was a goner. You buckin’ saved my life.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it.” Deadeye said wearily, flopping his hoof in a faint effort to wave off the weight of the statement. He looked to the empty tripod on the engine deck, then back at the machine gun and sighed. He looked back to the gunner. “Can you help with this?”

“Absolutely!” The gunner said enthusiastically, grabbing up the machine gun and heaving it onto the engine deck before deadeye could move to help. “It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” Deadeye muttered, his eyes drifting to the dead mage. He didn’t know what he should be feeling right now, but he knew that it shouldn’t be nothing. But that’s what he felt. No guilt. No remorse. No joy. No vindication. No anger. If he felt anything, it was tired. He felt a shove in the shoulder.

“Let’s tension that track and get the hay outta here, yeah?” the gunner said, and then he ran off to the duke’s tank. Deadeye started trotting that direction, looking away from the mage to something more comfortable, less challenging to think about.

“Unhook the cables for me?” Deadeye said, looking at the steel cables that connected the two tanks.

“Sure” the gunner said, quickly moving to disconnect them from the Duke’s tank. If he was so willing to do all the work, Deadeye almost felt compelled to let him. But he couldn’t. He sighed and moved to help.

A little burst of dust emanated from the road just ahead of him to the right, and Deadeye instinctively froze. There was a sound from the field, like a pitter patter of rain, and as he looked over he saw small tufts of grass and clumps of dirt being churned up by nothing. A sharp ‘ping’ rang out from the tank in front of him, and in his periphery he saw sparks fly off of the turret. A rumble like thunder from the field out east snapped him out of his stillness as he realized what was happening around him. He was getting shot at.

He sprinted over to the Duke’s tank and quickly ducked behind the safety of the armor. The gunner dived in next to him, surprised. “What’s going on?” he asked, then his face went pale. “Is it another mage?!”

“They’re shooting at us!” Deadeye said.

“From where?”

“Don’t know!”

Another rain of bullets fell from the sky, this one seeming to be more accurate. There were several ‘pings’ on the armor, and Deadeye heard the sounds of bullets cutting through the air above him before pattering in the field behind them. Moving out from behind the tank risked getting hit.

“What do we do?” the gunner asked.

The Fillydelphia Flyer rolled to a stop, dead center of the crossroads. Manifest looked down briefly at his watch. If nothing happened to the other tanks, they’d be here any minute and they could get the hay out of this place. Manifest spun the periscope to look down the road to the south, then turned to face Steady Aim.

The blood seeped out of his wounded shoulder, but it wasn’t gushing. The metal fragment still remained lodged in, and Manifest wondered if now was the time to try and remove it. The face that he must have been making as he pained over this decision didn’t go unnoticed by Steady Aim, who glanced down at the wound nervously.

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.” He said, looking back up to Manifest with a pale imitation of a grin. Clearly it did. Manifest just wondered if trying to remove it would only serve to make things worse.

“You can’t lift anything?” Manifest asked, but he already knew the answer. Steady Aim was now worthless as a loader, and due to the fact that the wound was in his shoulder he probably wouldn’t be able to switch positions and raise or lower the cannon with the shoulderpad. They were basically combat ineffective, and Steady Aim confirmed it with a nod of his head. Manifest glanced over to the first aid kit on the turret wall. Maybe if he treated it Steady would be able to load, or shoot, or something that would get them back to 100 percent. He levitated it off of the wall over to him.

“This is gonna suck?” Steady Aim asked

“This is gonna suck.”

Manifest popped open the first aid kit. There were bandages, antiseptics and sterilizers, scissors and pliers, and a myriad of other things crammed in, but Manifest wouldn’t need them. Apply a tourniquet around the shoulder to try and reduce blood flow, yank the metal out of him, hit it with antiseptic, and bandage it up. That was his play. He removed the tourniquet from the first aid kit. The radio squawked on.

“Manifest! We got a mage on us! Our Gunners are outside and they’re sitting ducks! Get over here!”

Manifest almost dropped the first aid kit as he reached for his mike, but kept its contents from spilling onto the floor. “On the way!” he shouted, unsure if Sure Shot even heard before hitting the intercom. “Lead! Back to the others now!”

The tank lurched beneath him as Manifest crunched the numbers in his head, and they weren’t good. They were just over a mile down the road from them, and the Flyer could do at best 25 mph. it would be about three minutes tops before they would be there. In three minutes there could be nothing left.

In three minutes he might not even be able to help. The main gun was now unquestionably out of action without a loader. But that wasn’t strictly true. If he loaded a round he would have one good shot before falling back on the co-ax. He looked over at the breech block, still open from earlier, then to the canister shells. One of those would be his best bet. He levitated it out from its container and lifted it up to his waiting hooves, then tipped it into the barrel and rammed it home. The breech snapped shut and the indicator flashed red, and Manifest felt only a little better about the situation. He looked at the co-axial, checking to see if the belt would feed and if the gun was cocked. It was. He put the pad against his shoulder, and prepared himself. Celestia, he hoped he’d get there in time.

He put them all in jeopardy. For a machine. If he had taken Sure Shots plan they’d already be done and gone. If he had stuck out the fight against the Wrecker the others would have the time. If he had returned to them when the gunner was injured he would be able to protect them. If… If he continued to think like this he’d drive himself mad. Now was no time for doubt or guilt, it was time only for violent decisive action. He shoved the thoughts aside, and for once they stayed there. For a moment. But with nothing to do but wait for contact there was nothing else to think about. Just his failings, and their consequences. He started to feel sick.

The radio squawked back on. “Manifest, enemy is down, can’t see any others. I think we’re all alright.”

Manifest hit his transmitter hard “You think you’re alright?! Find out!”

“Copy.” There was a brief pause, then the answer “we’re all ok.”

Manifest breathed hard. “Thank Celestia” He muttered, then he clicked the transmitter back on harshly “Sure-shot, if you ever decide to give me an update about our ponies without knowing if they are or are not healthy again, I will make you not bucking healthy. Understand?”

There was a pause on the other end of the radio, “Uhhhh…”

“Do you understand!?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good.” He spat into the mic. “We’ll be there in 2.” Manifest said, and he let his hoof off the transmitter and leaned his head back against the warm steel of the tank.

“Are you okay?”

Manifest looked over at Steady Aim, who despite having the metal in his shoulder looked more interested in Manifests well-being. “You seem pretty spun up.”

He was. He hadn’t felt stressed like this since… but that was wrong, the war put so much stress on him that he probably had lost 10 years off his life. But there was something that made him lash out like that, which he hardly ever did even in combat. He hadn’t felt stressed like this before. Further contemplation of his condition was interrupted by another squawk.

“Manifest, we’re taking rifle fire from an unknown source. Gunners are in cover behind the Duke’s tank, but are pinned down and can’t continue repairs.” This time sure shot sounded far less stressed, and his tone helped to put Manifest at some form of ease. They were in trouble, but not in imminent danger. Manifest clicked the transmitter.

“No muzzle flashes anywhere?”

“None.”

“How are the repairs?” Manifest asked. If they were done he could order them to pull out, and simply have the gunners trot alongside the tanks in cover until they reached a point where they could hop in.

“The track’s on, but it isn’t tensioned yet.”

“Crap.” Manifest said. They couldn’t just pull out, and no doubt this rifle fire was only the first part of a coordinated attack by the survivors of the Wrecker. Right now the two tanks he was headed for were sitting ducks, without the tensioned track the Duke’s tank could only reliably go forwards or back without risking throwing the track again. Honestly though, that wasn’t as bad as it could be. If he could figure out how to get the word to the Duke’s driver, they could just drive forward until they got out of the rifle fire then finish the repairs there. The only way to do that though was to either have one of the gunners knock on the driver’s hatch and tell him or to have a commander in the Duke’s tank, and with the Duke presumably still out for the count that was impossible. There was nothing they could do until Manifest got there. Again he felt a sharp rebuttal of that notion. There was always something that he could do.

“Do you know the general area of where the shots are coming from?”

“East, can’t see them though, I think they’re firing indirectly.”

Manifest cocked his head, even though the gesture of confusion was worthless over the radio. “What, like artillery?”

“Yes sir, I cannot see any enemy combatants or muzzle flashes, I think they may still be by the train.”

“Well, shoot back at them!”

“I don’t know their position.”

“just point it in the general direction and lob a few canister shots their way, if you can get in the ballpark and put their heads down that’s all we need.”

“Copy, what’s your ETA?”

“Here in one.” Just up ahead he could see a bend in the road, and he knew the others were just beyond. He only hoped that he would be able to help once he arrived. They rounded the corner and Manifest could see the Dukes tank, both tracks on, and Deadeye and the other gunner hiding behind it. Little puffs of dust popped up from the road, tiny explosions of mud in the field, and eruptions of bark from the woods behind them. They were still taking fire, inaccurate but effective nonetheless. “Lead, bring us alongside the Duke’s tank.” Manifest ordered, and the tank began to slow beneath him.

They pulled up alongside, and Manifest spun the periscope to the east and looked down as best as he could on the crouching ponies. They were unarmed, and apart from a pry bar on the ground had nothing between them. Manifest quickly ran through what options that he saw. If he could talk to them, he could order one of them to tell the dukes driver to pull forward and out of the line of fire. But he couldn’t talk to them, and even if he could the driver’s hatch was on the other side of the tank from them and they would have to be totally exposed to do so. They could finish tensioning the track, but doing that would require getting out of cover.

All of that was irrelevant though, because there was no way to order them. The only hatches that he could open so he could call out to them were the commanders and gunners hatches on top, and if opened either of those he risked getting hit, or a round diving in. no escape hatches, no loading hatches in the side like on the heavy tanks, not even gunports for the .30 cal that sat uselessly on the radio behind him. When they were buttoned up there was no way in, but there was no way out for anything either, not even sound. The only thing that exited the tank were shells and bullets. Outside he heard the muffled blast of Sure Shots tank.

He looked at the cannon next to him, then back through the periscope, then back to the cannon. It was going to save all of their lives.

“Steady, I need you to open that gun breech.” The pony next to him used his good leg to pull the lever and open the breech block, and the canister shell inside slid backwards an inch. Manifest pulled it out the rest of the way, letting the shell clatter to the floor. He didn’t need it. He hit the traverse to the left, and the turret swung obligingly.

“What are you doing?” Steady asked, confused.

Manifest didn’t answer as the turret swung over to the direction of the gunners outside, and he pushed up on the shoulderpad and depressed the gun so it was pointing at them. Through the gunsight, he could see Deadeye, a strange mixture of confusion and panic on his face. No matter. Manifest kept the gun depressed as he maneuvered to look down the barrel itself. “DEADEYE!” he yelled down the breech, as loud as he could manage. No answer. “DEADEYE, TALK THROUGH THE CANNON!”

“MANIFEST?!” Deadeye’s voice asked, echoing and far off, but still hearable through the cannon barrel. ‘thank Celestia,” Manifest thought,

“DEADEYE, FEED THAT PRYBAR INTO THE CANNON, WE’LL LIFT THE IDLER!”

“COPY!”

Manifest waited now, looking back down the barrel until a shadow flashed in front of it and the end of the pry bar appeared, angling off to the right as opposed to sliding in. deadeyes voice called through the barrel. “IT’S TOO LONG, THERE ISN’T ENOUGH ROOM TO PUT IT IN.” Manifest didn’t answer, he just hit the traverse to the right, and as the turret swung the pry bar began to line up with the barrel, until it slid in. Manifest traversed back left, moving his head to the gunsight. He lined up the reticule with the front wheel of the tank, and saw deadeye move adjust the pry bar into place, then motion upward.

“Steady, all your weight on the breech block.” Manifest said. His voice was harsh and raspy, yelling through the barrel might have lost him it, but no matter. Steady Aim pulled down on the breech, and it dropped a few inches under his weight. Manifest pulled down on it as well, trying to keep his eyes on the sights. Deadeye was fiddling with the front wheel, then he stepped back and pushed the prybar deeper into the barrel, away from the idler. The idler wheel stayed, and the track around it was taught.
With the turn of a nut, they were now free to leave.

“Lead, reverse.” The tank lurched backward beneath him, and slowly they started pulling away from the others. There may have been no way to contact the Duke’s driver, but he had to be watching. He flicked the transmitter over to the platoon frequency. “Sure Shot, we’re done here, let’s get the buck out. Slowly though, watch out for our gunners.”

“Copy.”

Sure Shot’s tank maneuvered to the left around the Duke’s, then edged past it slowly. Manifest held his breath, hopefully the driver would notice them moving out, and would move too. The Duke’s engine sputtered to life, and slowly the tank began to move as well. Manifest exhaled. It was too soon to celebrate, but they were so close. The three tanks trundled forward, Deadeye and Sure Shot’s gunner in a low trot in the shadow of the Duke’s tank, until they reached the treeline. The bullets that fell no longer fell around them, it was good enough.

“Sure Shot, let them in.” Sure Shots hatch opened, and the pony popped out and yelled unhearable words, and his gunner ran back to his tank and into the hatch to safety. Deadeye clambered up on top of the Duke’s tank and through the hatch, shutting it behind him. Manifest spoke through the transmitter again. “All tanks, check in.”

“Sure Shot standing by.” There was a slight pause, and Manifest felt a slight tinge of doubt, where was…

“Uh, Deadeye, I guess I’m a TC now? Standing by anyway.” Manifest felt a flood of relief.

“All crew accounted for?” he asked.

“All here” said Sure Shot.

“Yeah,” Said Deadeye.

“All tanks, follow my lead north.” Manifest ordered.

“Copy”

“Copy commander.”

“Lead, let’s get out of here. Manifest said, before leaning back in his seat, away from the periscope and the sights. He levitated up his canteen, and instead of the normal sip he allowed himself to take a long drink of the warm water. It still had never tasted as sweet. He closed his eyes for a moment. They stopped The Wrecker. They saved all the tanks. They were all alive. He had done it.

The radio clicked on. “Hey, commander?” it was Deadeye.

Manifest clicked his transmitter on without opening his eyes or raising his head. He was too drained to want to. “Go ahead.”

“I just wanted to say that, uh, I think that I’m staying on.”

Manifests only reaction was to smile as he clicked the receiver back on. “Are you sure?”

“Yes sir.”

“Then I’m glad to have you on, Deadeye. Thanks for sticking around.”

A Debriefing of a Different Kind

The Duke awoke to a splitting headache, the same sort that he had awoken to every night since the crash. He shut his eyes tightly, and focused on the pain. He had been told by the doctors that when it got bad, to find the source, then concentrate on it. He didn’t know if it helped, and honestly he didn’t believe it made a lick of difference. But, it did give him something to do, something to focus on as opposed to just lying in misery.

The pain was still focused around the top of his skull, as he expected that it would. After all, headaches weren’t the brain feeling pain, because the brain didn’t have any sense of touch. No, his brain was inflamed from the injury, and was pressing against his still healing skull, that was the source of the headache. That’s what the doctors told him, and that was correct, but that was all the help they could offer him.

Just rest, don’t strain yourself too much, trot around a little when the nurses come to walk with you. Time and time alone will heal this. He shook his head a little with disgust, and received a slight jolt of pain in his head for it. It was worth it though. What bucking good were the doctors and the hospital and the nurses if the only thing that they could do for him was wait? Wait and ask him unceasing questions. Math, history, logic, every day they’d bring him something new. Solve this puzzle, do this crossword for me. And when he was done they’d leave the room, probably chew over his mental capabilities, and never disclose what they thought to him.

He frowned as opposed to shaking his head this time, frowning punished him less. He was being too hard on them. They may have been about as useful as a bucket full of holes as far as getting him better goes, but they did always try and keep him busy. Otherwise, he’d just be lying in pain, just about all day, just about every day, unable to do anything. That would be unbearable.

And they did help him, even if only a little. For the first few days after the crash, he couldn’t stand. He could barely eat. His speech was slurred. He needed a damn bedpan. And he was bucking scared. He shuddered. Imagine a whole life like that. But they helped, they encouraged, and at least he had progressed to just about the point of normalcy. Once his horn had healed it's chip and they put him through his magic paces again, he’d be out.

That was maybe the worst part. He hadn’t been able to use magic in a while, and he didn’t know just how much he used it until he couldn’t. He looked over at the bed stand next to him, and at the little cup of water that sat on it. Normally he wouldn’t move a muscle, just levitate it on over and have a drink. But magic from a damaged horn was wild, unpredictable. So he had to reach over and pick it up in his hooves, which he did. And to think that earth ponies and pegasi had to do everything like this.

He looked around the dimly lit room, but his eyes had adjusted enough to see the terrible whiteness of it. The walls were crème painted, the floor white tile, and the ceiling white boards. The beds and bedsheets and curtains all white as well. The room didn’t look good even on the best of days, but enough time had passed for all the redeeming features to fade away. He was ready for a change.

With a small squeak the door at the end of the room opened, and a nurse quietly walked into the gallery, careful not to wake the other ponies. She looked over at him, and noticing he was awake trotted over to him.

“Early to rise as always,” She said softly as reached his bedside.

“I suppose so,” the Duke conceded “What time is it?”

“About 5:30.”

“Is the paper here yet?”

“Yes, and I think that you’re going to like it. It’s good news.”

“Good news?” he asked skeptically, and she pulled the latest issue of the Canterlot Crusader from her saddlebags. He was usually up this early, and she would bring him the news first, but rarely did she seem this excited about it. She held it up in her mouth for him, and below her smile he could see the reason for it.

“LIBERATION AT LAST”

“VANHOOVER FREE FROM UNICORNIAN CONTROL WITHOUT A SHOT FIRED.”

In the sidebar he could see the secondary headline

“DOCUMENTS LEFT WITH MAYOR DETAIL PEACE TREATY”

The Duke cracked a smile. “So the war ended with a whimper? I would have never thought.” The nurse placed the paper on the bed beside him, and he looked at it more. The main photograph was of a parade that could only be the main road of Vanhoover, and through the sea of confetti and streamers that fell upon it he could see a cruiser tank in focus. All the crew were unbuttoned and at attention, and although it was distant, he thought that he recognized them. His smile lessened. The tank had an inscription on the turret, but he couldn’t make it out. He looked at the caption. “The first tank to enter Vanhoover, ‘The Fillydelphia Flyer’ gets greeted rapturously by the population. Its commander Manifest Destiny is the most decorated soldier of the war.”

“Hmmm,”

“What’s wrong? I thought that even you couldn’t find a downside to this, you sourpuss.”

“I like the news, I just am not particularly pleased with who’s in It.” he spun the paper around, and pointed to the tank. “A month ago that was me. I was in charge of that platoon. Then I got injured, and he took my rank and position.” He placed the paper down and shook his head. “And he gets all the glory.”

She almost laughed, but upon seeing his face and thinking of the other patients quickly stifled it. “You’re jealous?” she jested.

He shook his head. “No, not at all. He just did exactly what I expected him to.”

“And what would that be?”

“End up in the papers.”

She cocked her head. “What’s bad about that?”

“It’s hard to explain,” he said, spinning the paper back around to read it. “Oh, that’s nice, he gets a lunch with the princesses in here in Canterlot today. Big surprise. I bet he’s going to have a ball telling them how great he is.”

“So he’s full of himself?”

“Not outwardly.” The Duke said. “Hay, he may even be a bit humble. Or at least act that way.”

“Soooo, what’s your issue with him?”

“I have spent about a month trying to figure that out. I’ll tell you when I do.”

“Alright, I’ll leave you with your paper.” She turned and walked out, and he spent the rest of the morning reading tales of peace in their time.

Manifest pushed through the doors of the Canterlot hospital of the Two Sisters and trotted up to the reception desk. Behind the desk sat an older mare, nose down in paperwork, but glancing over the top of a pair of half-moon glasses at him. She looked up at him directly, and smiled softly. “What can I do for you today?”

“I’d like to see a friend, heard he was here.”

“His name?”

Manifest paused. He didn’t really know his name, not his real one anyway. The Duke was just the Duke. If they went by civilian names, he’d have no clue. “Uh, do you take military names?”

The mare sighed. “Yes, we do.” She opened up a filing cabinet, then looked at him expectantly. “He was referred to as ‘The Duke’.” She rolled her eyes, and looked through the files.

“You know, it’s so hard to keep track of ponies nowadays.” She said as she combed through them. “Everypony in the cavalry or airborne or wherever it is has two different names and a serial number, and it all gets jumbled so fast. What’s wrong with the names your parents gave you?”

“Something about disconnecting yourself with your actions, for mental health.” She snorted, but grabbed up a file in her teeth and set it out on the desk.

“He’s here, in the recovery ward.”

“Oh, great!” Manifest said. “Can I go see him?”

“Name,” the mare said, before clarifying “your original one.”

“Static Sparks”

“Reason for visit.”

Manifest paused. The real reason was hard to explain. Part of him felt that he had to, out of decency, regardless of how antagonistic to him the Duke was. Part of him thought that maybe meeting the Duke would help in his recovery, a bit of a more altruistic reason. Mainly though, he wanted to… that's just it. He didn’t quite know what he expected, but he felt that he would look back on his time with the Duke and have nothing but bad memories. He hoped that maybe, if he was removed from the war, he would leave Manifest with something better to remember him by. Manifest wanted, at least, some measure of closure.

“Wanted to check up on my old CO.” The mare scribbled it down on a form.

“Relationship”

“He was my old CO.”

“I’ll just put friend.” Manifest almost protested, he and the Duke were not friends, but he stopped himself. “Right, wait here and a nurse will take you to him.”
Manifest looked around for a chair, and trotted over and took a seat. It was cheap, but still comfortable. He looked around the waiting room. It was so clean and sterile. Normally, it would look bland to him, the sort of room that tried to move you on to the next one by virtue of its style (or lack thereof). But today, after six weeks of living in ‘The Flyer’ and an unending routine of dirt, mud, grease, and oil, this room was captivating. And the chair. He hadn’t sat in a chair like this in ages. He leaned back against it. He could fall asleep right here.

But he couldn’t, he checked his watch, it was about 9:20. His lunch with the princesses would happen at 1:00, so he had plenty of time. Celestia. Literally. Lunch with Celestia. And Luna, and Twilight, and Cadance. He shook his head. ‘What did I do to deserve this?’ he thought. Usually he’d think that when things went wrong, but now that he was thinking about it when things went right it forced introspection.

He fought at the Galloping Gorge. He fought at Canterlot. He saved Unicornians. He commanded ‘The Flyer’ from Canterlot to Vanhoover. He took out the Wrecker and according to some that made the continued offensive possible. The flyer was the first tank over Griffon Bridge at the second battle of the Galloping Gorge, and first tank into Vanhoover. Listed together, it sounded impressive. But each action alone seemed trivial. Only destroying the Wrecker seemed extraordinary, in all other cases he was just doing what he had to. And half of this was in the safety of a tank. What did he do to deserve this? Be lucky? Be at the right place at the right time? These answers were unsettling.

Perhaps what he did was simply to do what others didn’t. Others didn’t fight at the first Galloping Gorge, but he did. Others didn’t try and save Unicornians, but he did. This answer made him feel better, but only just. Compared to Repeater and his old squad mates, he didn’t feel any more heroic. If anything, the tank made him feel less so. He sighed. He’d go to the lunch, but he didn’t know if he had earned it.

He opened up one of his saddlebags, and grabbed out a sheet of paper and a pencil. He would use this time to write to Amber. It always helped him to organize his thoughts, to relax. He put his pencil to paper.

“You’re here to see The Duke?”

Manifest looked up to see a white earth pony, with light pink tail and mane, a red cross for her cutie mark. He nodded. She motioned to the hallway with her head. “Follow me.”

He folded the paper away, and got up to follow her. She looked over her shoulder at him. “only one pony’s come to see him so far, how do you know him?”

“He used to be my Commanding officer before he got injured.”

The mare stopped in her tracks. “Oh my gosh, are you Manifest Destiny?”

Manifest stopped as well. This mare knew him? For a second he was thrown, then he remembered the newspapers that he had seen. He was famous now, and ponies would know him. It didn’t make it any less weird to him that this perfect stranger knew him by name. “Yes.”

“Oh my gosh.” For a few seconds she just stared at him, then as the reality of the situation began to dawn on her she tilted her head slightly, and the expression changed from awed to quizzical. “Is this the first time someponys noticed you like this?”

“Yeah, I, uh, I don’t really know what to do when this happens.”

“I figured, I ran into Countess Coloratura once at a coffee shop and she just reacted so naturally, probably because it happens to her all the time.”

“So what did she do?”

“Well, I don’t know if it was anything that you could do. I told her I was a fan, she asked me for my favorite song, then told me hers is the Equestrian Anthem, and she signed my coffee and gave me a hug.”

“Hmmm.” Manifest said, “I don’t think that would work for me.”

“Yeah, I don’t think so either.”

“Got any recommendations? For when I run into ponies?”

“Ummmm, I don’t know. You aren’t an entertainer or something, so you really don’t have to be entertaining. Just be yourself.”

“Okay,” Manifest said, now trying to figure out what being himself meant. “I don’t really talk with ponies I don’t know though.”

The nurse cocked her head as she walked. “Huh. So you’re a bit shy?”

“I guess.”

“Then maybe you get them talking. Have a question to ask everypony that starts the conversation, like Countess Coloratura.”

“What, like ‘what’s your favorite medal I won?’?” Manifest asked, then he shook his head. “That makes me seem like a jerk.” He looked back over at her. “It isn’t like music where we both will have the same interests or experiences. I won’t have a way for them to relate to me.”

“I think you do,” She said almost sadly. “Everypony has shared the war. Just ask them if they had any family join the military, or ask them what they did. Anypony who doesn’t have an answer to either of those is either very lucky, or not the type of pony you’d want to talk to.”

“Well, you obviously did this, so did you have any family join up?”

“My brother, Red Cross. He joined and became a frontline medic. He was already so good at it that he didn’t even have to change his name. He even got a few medals from his time.”

“Which ones?”

“Star, second class. Star, third class. He even got a Heart, third class.”

“He got a Heart?”

“Yeah, patched up 3 Unicornians at the Galloping Gorge. Kinda like you, right?”

Manifest nodded once. “Is he okay?”

“Yes, he’s in Vanhoover right now, coming home in a few days. I’m really proud of him, the whole family is, but mostly I’m just glad that he’s coming home in one piece. I’ve seen enough ponies come in and out of these doors to know that that is a real blessing. And I know he has too. Him back home, it’s all me and the folks were hoping for.”

Manifest raised an eyebrow. “And liberation?”

“Oh! Right! Of course we wanted to win too, but, uh… That wasn’t as close to home as he was.” She looked at him, and her ears dropped nervously. “That isn’t so bad, right?”

“I understand.” Manifest said, and she perked back up. “All the letters I got from my friends and family said the same thing.”

“Thanks,” she said. “You know, you aren’t like what I thought you would be.”

“Really? How did you think I would be?”

“Well, all the news made you out to be like Daring Doo or Supermare, but you’re a lot more… timid?”

“I’ll take that as a complement.”

“And I thought you would be taller.”

“Oh.” Manifest said. “All tankers are on the short side.”

“But they make you look big in the pictures.”

“It’s just the tank that does that.”

“I guess so.” She stopped trotting, at the end of the hallway was a close door labeled ‘VISITATION’. “I also thought that you might not be the nicest pony, because the Duke was talking about you this morning, and it wasn’t flattering.”

Manifest sighed. Well, some ponys never change. Whatever he had hoped for as far as leaving on a positive note he now crushed. “I was afraid of that.”

“Do you still want to see him?”

Manifest paused. Most likely the meeting would be awkward, and painful, and he didn’t really want to deal with that. But there was a chance that it wouldn’t be. “Yes.”

“Alright, I’ll tell him. Just wait here a minute, okay?”

“Okay.”

The nurse trotted into the room, and he could hear her speak in a quiet tone. He felt nervous. Not stressed like in combat, more like the feeling that preceded it, but less so than even that. Just a pang of emotional discomfort. The nurse trotted back out.

“You can go in now, I hope you have a good talk.” She said it like she didn’t think that he would though.

“Thank you,” Manifest said, then he paused. A simple thank you wasn’t enough. “You may not know it, but your talk really helped me out with some things.”

“Hopefully you’ll do alright when ponies notice you.” She paused, and put on a weird face, one ear dropping. “So, this may be a bit forward of me, but… you have plans for lunch. Have any for dinner?”

Manifest shook his head, and she pepped up. “Well I know a great place that you could go to, and if you wanted I’d-“Manifest raised a hoof and cut her off.

“Sorry, but I already have somepony in Fillydelphia.”

“Oh.” She blushed deeply. “Lucky filly.” She shook her head, clearly embarrassed “I’m sorry, it’s just-“

“Don’t worry about it.” Manifest said

“But-”

“Really. Don’t.”

She smiled weakly, ears still drooped, and face still red, but less so embarrassed. “Thanks. I uh, I guess I’ll see you later?”

“Maybe,” Manifest said. ”It was nice talking to you, Miss…?”

“Redheart.”

“It’s been a pleasure.” And with that he nodded and turned and trotted into the recovery room.

The room was white, almost garishly so, and nearly too brightly lit. It was artificial and antiseptic, and apart from a window that looked out onto the valley and mountains below Canterlot Castle, it seemed like an interrogation room.

The Duke sat at the only table in the room, and as Manifest entered he was smiling. Then the smile left, a scowl taking its place as the Duke's whole body drooped.

“Where’s the press?”

It wasn’t just a question, it was an accusation, and it caught Manifest off guard. “What?”

“The reporters, the photographers, where are they?”

“There aren’t any.” Manifest said, annoyance creeping into his voice despite his best attempts to reign it in. this conversation was going to be precisely as painful as he thought it would be. The Duke, for his part, looked incredulous.

“Really? Can you open the door wide for me then?”

Manifest twisted the knob with his magic, then kicked the door open. Not a full power buck, but enough for it to swing wide open, hit the opposite wall, and have enough momentum left to swing slowly shut. The Duke looked genuinely surprised for a moment, then he cracked a thin grin.

“They really aren’t here. Didn’t think that you had it in you.”

Manifest sighed, and rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. “Why would the press be here, Duke?”

The Duke chuckled. “Think of the headlines. ‘Most compassionate soldier in Equestria visits former commander in hospital. Is truly the best pony.’” He said in an imitating tone. Then whatever humor he had in his expression vanished. “Besides, I thought that you loved the press.”

“Love the press!?” Manifest said, this time he was the one who was incredulous. “I’ve only ever talked to the press twice, and the first time they didn’t even quote me. Hay, the only interaction I’ve had with them since I joined the armored corps was to tell a reporter to buck off!”

The Duke just looked at him, for a few seconds anyway, as though if he looked closely enough a sign would appear above Manifest and tell him outright if this was true. “You really don’t care for them, do you?”

“I wasn’t the most talkative pony before the war, so having these ponies that I’ve never met come up to me and start asking me all these questions about who I am and what I’ve done… I can’t wrap my head around it.”

“Then why are you here?” it was not a question asked kindly, its bluntness silencing the room. There was not a trace of humor to be found in the Duke’s demeanor, his face hard and his features sharp. Despite this, Manifest did his best to remain cordial.

“Has it occurred to you that I may be simply checking in on my old CO?”

“Yes, but it also occurred to me that we had maybe one positive interaction the entire time we knew each other, so you wouldn’t want to come here because of all the fond memories. So if it really isn’t the press, then why are you here?”

“Because I don’t want to remember you as the biggest pain in the flank that I ever met!” silence ensued, the Duke's expression didn’t change. That almost fired up Manifest even more. “You’re right by the way, I didn’t come here because of the good times we had because we didn’t have any! Not one! And I was hoping that maybe we’d talk and I’d have something that I could point to that said ‘hey, the Duke isn’t the most miserable pony in existence! Just one good memory!”

Again, the room fell silent. And again the Duke’s expression didn’t change. Manifest breathed heavily, he hadn’t had an outburst like this since the Wrecker. Still though, after that, the Duke only stared.

“So you want a good memory?” the Duke asked finally. Manifest nodded. “Some degree of vindication? ‘The Duke didn’t hate you after all’?” With that sentence Manifest realized where this was going, and he didn’t want to believe it. “So you don’t like the press, but you just want everypony to like you?” the Duke smiled coldly. “Well Manifest Destiny, even though you came here for a good memory I’m not going to give it to you because I just don’t like you.”

Manifest didn’t answer, for a few seconds he didn’t know how, and for those seconds the Duke just smiled. Finally, Manifest just shook his head.

“You know what, I don’t need this crap.” He turned and trotted to the door, but looked back to the Duke one last time. He still smiled that humorless smile. ‘Buck this,’ Manifest thought. Good manners compelled him to say a goodbye, but all of the misery he endured under the Duke had come home to roost. “Well, I would have liked to be able to say that it was nice seeing you, but it wasn’t.” he turned and faced the Duke fully. “And I would have liked to say that I hope to see you again, but I don’t.” slowly, the Duke's smile began to lessen. “I would have liked to say ‘I hope you get better,’ but at this point, I don’t give a damn.” That statement wiped the smile right off his face, but Manifest didn’t care anymore. “I would have liked something nice to remember you by, but I was right to begin with. When all of this is said and done, I’ll look back and say ‘the Duke was the worst pony I ever met, an irredeemably awful prick, and I fought the Unicornians’.” The Duke looked… not surprised, but hurt. Manifest shrugged “but I guess that’s what you want.” Manifest opened the door with his magic. “Usually I’d say goodbye, but that has the word good in it, and I don’t feel right using it around you.” The Duke opened his mouth to respond, but Manifest simply turned and left.

‘What a waste of time.’ Manifest thought. But, what more did he expect. Some ponies just don’t change. He heard the door shut behind him, but carried on. He had other things to think about. He had to get prepared for the lunch, he had to figure out how he was getting back to Fillydelphia. Hay, even thinking about home, Amber, his parents. That was all preferable to thinking about the Duke. Just about anything was. In fact, if he never thought about him again, he wouldn’t care. Behind him he heard the door open.

“Don’t you want to know why?”

Manifest looked behind him. The Duke stood in the doorway, his IV drip dragging behind him. He was breathing hard, the effort he exerted must have been uncomfortable for him.

“Why what?”

“Why I don’t like you?”

“It wouldn’t matter.” Manifest said, and he turned and kept walking away.

“It might!” Manifest didn’t stop, and didn’t turn. “If the war doesn’t end!” Manifest still didn’t react. “I thought you would get ponies killed!”

Perhaps nothing else that the Duke could have said would have stopped him, but that statement did. He didn’t turn to face him, but his ears betrayed his interest as they turned to the Duke. “Come back here, and listen to me.”

Manifest sighed. The way the Duke talked there sounded like the authoritarian Lieutenant that he always had to butt heads with. But just seconds ago, as much as he didn’t want to care or admit it, he sounded genuine. “I’m the same rank as you lieutenant, I’m not obligated to do anything.”

There was a slight pause, then an answer. “Come back here, and just hear me out.” There it was, the sincerity. Manifest turned around.

“If you don’t like me so much, then why do you want to keep talking to me?”

“Manifest, you were a lot of things, but you were never cruel. Not like you just were to me. I…” he made a face, like he knew what he had to say, but couldn’t find the way to say it. “I owe you… an explanation.”

“Well, I’d like to hear it,” Manifest said, and he trotted back toward the room. The Duke turned and carefully walked back to his seat, and looked out the window, never looking to Manifest. Manifest closed the door. He stood and faced the Duke. “So, you thought that I was going to get ponies killed?”

“Yes.”

“And that’s why you didn’t like me?”

“Yes.”

“And why did you think that I was going to get ponies killed?”

The Duke looked Manifest in the eye “back when they were forming the platoons for the armored corps, I already knew who you were from the papers. You had shown up twice already, once for the Battle of the Galloping Gorge, and once for saving those Unicornians at Canterlot. Everypony was so impressed with what you had done, and I’d be a liar if I didn’t at least appreciate it. But I couldn’t figure out why you did what you did, and I still can’t figure out why you did what you did, but I knew that you were a risk taker. And as they were forming us up into the platoons and I learned that I would be platooned with you and I learned that you would likely be the platoon leader, just about everypony else was excited by the idea of serving under you. But that thought scared me more than anything else.”

Manifest didn’t understand what the Duke meant, but he continued. “If you wanted to take risks on your own, as a private, fine. That’s your business. But if you were in charge of a platoon, and you decided that you would take these unnecessary risks, I thought that you would get me and everypony under your command killed. So the second you declined I jumped on it, because my goal wasn’t to get medals or attention or anything, it was to get everyone I was in command of home in one piece.”

Manifest frowned, “I had the same goal.” The Duke waved a hoof flippantly

“After the Battle at Canterlot, where you separated from the group, and then your tank was driving around in the middle of the field for the entire damn company to see I realized that you would still be a risk taker, and I was positive that the reason was for fame or attention or something. And then, you almost got yourself and Deadeye and Lead Hooves killed in front of the entire damn company because you wouldn’t listen to my orders. So if you had the same goal, I wasn’t able to see it. And once I got knocked out, and you got back in charge, you did exactly what I thought you would. You took risks, and you got in the papers, and you got a few medals too.”

“So you thought that I was risking everyponys lives for fame.”

“Well Manifest, I knew you were risking everyponys lives. I read the after action report for the Wrecker, and I would have done exactly what Sure Shot had suggested. Disable and burn my tank, ambush the Wrecker, and drive out of there as fast as possible. But you stayed around to fix the tank, and nearly got half the platoon killed. And they gave you a second class Star and a third class Moon for it. So I thought that it was for fame. But what really convinced me that you were some sort of a glory hound was the fact that you were in the gunner’s seat when The Wrecker was destroyed. ‘He wanted to do it himself’ I thought, ‘instead of have the credit go to my gunner and just have him give the order.’ So, until today I thought that you were doing all this to become some sort of celebrity.”

“But now you don’t?”

The Duke shook his head. “I didn't say that, it’s just that now I don’t know. You say that you don’t care for the news, and the fact that they aren’t here supports that. If you cared for the medals, I think that you would be wearing your dress uniform wherever you go, and you aren’t. I don’t even know that you do it to get noticed.”

“The nurse recognized me, and I didn’t even know what to say to her. I didn’t even think that she would, I mean, noponys ever recognised me from out of nowhere before that. She had to coach me through how to respond.”

“So you don’t.” the Duke said. He propped his chin on his hoof. “Manifest, if you don’t do it for fame, then why the hay do you take all those risks?”

Manifest chuckled, “Honestly, half the time I’m kinda forced to.”

“And the other half?”

“I think it’s the right thing to do.”

“Really, that’s all?”

Manifest thought for a moment, thinking of all of his time in combat, and more importantly if there was anything that he would change. There wasn’t. Why he did things didn’t matter in contrast, only what he did.

“That’s all.”

“Well Manifest, if you don’t take a single thing away from this apart from what I’m about to say that’s fine, but you need to hear this. If the war continues, and you ever have to make one of those choices again, you need to stop and think hard on if what you’re doing is the right call. Because ponies live and die on your choices, and regardless of why you do it if you keep on going the way you’re going somepony will pay for it. Can you do that lieutenant?”

Manifest didn’t answer immediately. He thought that he always made the right calls, and that he had weighed the risks when he had to make them. But as he thought, he remembered a sickening moment when they destroyed the Wrecker. For a moment, he thought that he had gotten everypony killed. Perhaps caution was the better part of valor. But perhaps caution was also the wrong answer. Indecision could be just as dangerous.

“I don’t know, but I’ll try.”

The Duke shook his head. “Manifest, that’s not good enough. I need your word.”

“My word that I won’t put ponies at risk?”

“Unnecessary risk,” the Duke said. “And you’d better make your definition of necessary strict.”

“Duke, I can’t do that. Nopony knows what the hay is necessary in this war and we both know it. What you think is unjustifiable I may think is the right thing to do, and I can’t change the way that I think in order to meet that. All that I can do is think over the risks more, and I’ll try.

“Well you better try damn hard, for others sakes above your own.” The Duke leaned back in his chair. “That’s all I had to say Manifest. I just needed you to hear that before you go. Maybe it’ll do you some good, someday.”

Manifest smiled faintly. For once, the Duke was just a pony. If he wanted a positive memory of him, this would be it. But even as he thought this, Manifest felt frustration. One good memory was more than he expected, but it would never be able to redeem all the bad ones. Whenever he remembered the Duke, he knew that he would remember the negative before the positive. His smiled faded.

“Duke, do you know how much trouble you would have saved us if we had a talk like this 5 weeks ago?”

The Duke looked back at him, then looked down and pinned his ears. He looked… ashamed. He glanced back up at Manifest, but couldn’t meet his stare. “It would have been a lot.” He said finally. He faced Manifest again, and this time didn’t break away. “Manifest, I admit that I could have done things better. Before this, I never lead anything.”

Manifest wasn’t going to take that for an excuse. “Neither had I.”

“Well I guess that you’re just better at it than I am.” The Duke retorted “I’m trying to explain myself, the least you could do is listen.”

“And I’m listening.”

“Good. Manifest, I was a grade school teacher before the war. And whenever a colt would get out of line I’d try and go easy on him, but that never seemed to work. So I’d go hard. I thought that would be the answer here too, but it wasn’t. I felt like it was the only way to get you to do what I wanted.”

“Duke, it sounds like you’re trying to say something that’s a lot easier to say than you’re making it sound.”

The Duke nodded. “Manifest. I’m”- he paused, looked up at the ceiling, then back to him. “I’m sorry. I made things a lot harder on you than they needed to be. But you understand why?”

“I understand. I don’t agree with it, but I understand.” The Duke sighed in relief, and Manifest felt like he sighed for both of them. It felt like someone opened the shades on a dark room. But again, it wasn’t total absolution. The Duke may have said a lot of things, but Manifest said some too. Their animosity towards each other was a two way street.

“Duke, while we’re doing this, I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

“You’d better be.” The Duke said gruffly.

“I am.”

“Well I’ll accept your apology.” The Duke said. “Even though you said you don’t give a damn about if I get better or not.”

“I do, I was just mad when I said that. How is it, by the way?”

“Manifest, my whole life has been taken up by this damn injury, I’d rather not talk about it in one of the few breaks that I’ll get.”

“Are they at least treating you well?”

“Just fine. The rooms awful though, it’s just white and cream and miserable ponies. Can’t wait to leave.”

“When will that be?”

“Oh, maybe two weeks. Then I’ll be heading back to Baltimare, probably will go back to teaching.”

At this point Manifest remembered something, and snorted back a laugh. The Duke raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny about that, Manifest?”

“After the battle of Canterlot, Sure Shot said that he was sure you were a teacher, and now I get to tell him he was right!”

“How’d he guess?”

The smile left Manifest’s face. “I don’t think that you’d want to know.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” the Duke said, dejectedly. “So Sure Shot didn’t care for me either.”

Manifest didn’t answer, but it was still answer enough. The Duke nodded dejectedly. “Well, how is he anyway?”

“He was fine last time I saw him, everypony in the platoons now on extended leave.”

“Everypony else?”

“You were one of two casualties Duke. Your gunner got some shrapnel during the fight with the Wrecker.”

“I read the after action reports, I know.”

“He was back in combat the next day. It was minor enough that they were able to fix him with a healing potion.”

“Lucky him.” the Duke said bitterly. “Not that I’d wish this upon him, but it is miserable.” He stared out the window at Canterlot and sighed. “I miss the view.” He looked around, then pointed out the window. “So, you’re heading over there for a lunch with the princesses?”

Manifest looked out at Canterlot castle. “Yeah, scares the hay outta me.”

“Really?”

“I’d almost rather be in combat in the Flyer than going to a fancy meal like that.”

The Duke raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Only have ever been to one meal where I had to dress up and be high class. I kinda hated it. I knew no one there, I was sure I looked like crap, I didn’t really know my etiquette and thought that I was making a fool of myself. So yeah. At least in the Flyer I usually know what the hay I’m doing. This is all strange to me.”

“Like the press.”

“Oh Celestia.” Manifest moaned. “They’re gonna be there too.” He shook his head “I feel like just about all of them already know what they’re going to write about me, and they just ask me the questions to check a box. And some of them I wouldn’t give the time of day if they asked me for it.”

“Like who.”

“The Canterlot Crusader. Did you read the editorial the day after the first battle of Canterlot?” the Duke shook his head. “It made my blood boil. That reporter that I told to buck off, he was from the Crusader.”

“Hmm, that’s funny.”

“What’s so funny about it.”

“That was about 3 days after the Wrecker, right?”

“Yeah”

“Manifest, you may not like the press, but they sure like you. The way that story read, you weren’t some angry stallion that told a reporter off. You were some kind of great selfless hero who ‘wouldn’t take the time for an interview when that time could be used liberating the country’.”

“That’s basically what I said, but it sounds like it isn’t how I said it.”

The Duke nodded understandingly “ if you don’t like the press, why did you name your tank ‘the Fillydelphia Flyer’?” isn’t that a newspaper?”

“Yeah. I just thought it was a good name. I was from Fillydelphia, the tank was fast. It made sense. I worked there too, before the war. Wrote film reviews in my spare time that got featured.”

“Film reviews?”

“Yeah. And I operated a projector at a theater.”

“So you hate the press but not your local paper?”

“Just about. They changed their banner from a mail-pegasus to my tank for a while. Amber saved a few issues with that for me. And apparently they’re raising a fund to have my tank be placed outside their offices as a war memorial.”

“Amber?”

“My marefriend. You have anypony?”

“My wife Petunia. She visited me a few weeks ago but had to go back to Baltimare. You don’t want to hear about that. What happened to your tank?”

“Broke down during the parade through Vanhoover. It was one of 13 left. And only 13 of 90 got there to begin with.”

“At least they lasted as long as they did.” the Duke said. He looked back out the window for a moment. “Lunch with the princesses.” He muttered. He glanced sideways at Manifest. “You don’t really know your etiquette?”

“Not quite, no.”

The Duke turned his whole body to manifest and leaned forward. “Well Manifest Destiny, I am a teacher, so if you have the time I’ll give you a crash course. Manifest looked at his watch.

“I think I do.”

“It’ll cost you though. You have to buy me brunch.”

“I think I can do that for my old CO.”

They spent about the next hour chatting, and when the Duke got his meal he walked Manifest through the basics of high society manners. Around 11:00 Manifest left, and the Duke went back to the recovery ward. They gave him a crossword, but his heart wasn’t really in it.
But just before lunch, the nurse came over to him.

“You have a good meeting?”

“It went better than I would have thought.”

“I’m real glad to hear that, I didn’t think it would go too well from what you and him were saying. Would you like to go for a trot?”

“I don’t think I’m up for trotting yet, but I’ll go for a walk.”

They walked slowly up the stairs, which was hard for the Duke, but good exercise, until they reached the top floor. They went down the hall until they came to a room, and the nurse opened the door. It was a small room with only one bed, but a fantastic view of the city of Canterlot. Yes, the walls were still that awful cream, and the roof the same cheap tile, but there was privacy here, and the view was great.

“We got you a new room!” the nurse said happily. “Do you like it?”

“Quite.” The Duke said, and that was all.

“Great, I’ll let you get situated and get your things.” With that she turned and left.

On the bed there was a letter, a single piece of paper folded in half with a single word written on it. ‘Duke.’ He trotted over, and kicked it over with his hoof.

‘Duke,

I asked them to move you to a better room, and I think that I have enough pull to make it happen. If you want to contact me in the future, send a letter to 376 Churchill Street in Fillydelphia, and address it to Manifest Destiny. If not, I understand, and want you to know that I enjoyed our meeting and that you aren’t the most miserable pony I’ve ever met. If you were to write, I would be glad to have your correspondence. I hope that the room is adequate, and hope that you get home to Petunia soon.

Manifest Destiny’

The edges of the Duke’s lips curled up slightly, so little that the nurse who had come back with his personal items didn’t notice the change. She set them on the bed and closed the door behind her, and only then did the Duke silent say “thanks.”

Peace

Manifest stood at the end of what appeared to be an indoor swimming pool in a room that smelled like slightly less potent paint thinner. The liquid looked like water, but Manifest knew that this wasn’t the case. Around him were dozens, maybe even a few hundred other calvary ponies. The ones around him he knew well.

“Can’t ya believe it Manifest!? We’re goin’ home!” Repeater said excitedly, pulling him close with one of his hooves. “Ah can hardly wait! Headin’ back ta Appleoosa, it’s been ages!”

Despite the power of the earth pony’s over the shoulder hug Manifest was still able to nod his head in agreement.
“Yeah, I get to go back to Filly.”

“Aw, come on partner, ya don’t sound near excited enough!” braeburn said, with a smile so large it looked as though it almost hurt. “Wars over! And ya know what they say?”

“No?”

“It’s always sunny in Fillydelphia!”

Manifest cracked a grin. He had forgotten how infectious Repeaters good moods were. “I guess so.”

“Ah get ta meet with all mah friends back in Appleoosa.” Repeater said, now staring off into the distance. “Little Strongheart, Sheriff Silver Star. Ah can talk with all the colts that joined up, and ah’ll mah ranchhooves. Hay, it’ll take a week ta touch base with all a’ them folks.”

He turned over to Manifest. “And how about you? You got a lotta folks ta meet with?”

Manifest hesitated. Compared to Repeater, he didn’t. In fact compared to most ponies he didn’t. His lack of an answer was mercifully cut short by a bellow behind them.

“Well everypony, the wars over. You did your part of the deal, so now its time for me to do mine.” The Artist cut through the crowd of ponies to the very front, and turned to face them. “You were all good killers, and excellent soldiers, but now you are one bath of noxious crap away from washing the war and filth away in this wonderful dye stripping solution and going your separate ways. I’ll head back to my art studio, and you all can go back to doing whatever the hay you did before this misery.” A few ponies cheered, but Manifest didn’t. The Artist continued. “Everypony goes into the remover, submerged for thirty seconds, eyes shut tight. It would be a shame if any of you were beaten by a simple chemical bath after all the Unicornians threw at you.” He faced the liquid. “INTO THE BATH.”

All the ponies trotted in, and as they did the die that they had dispersed into the liquid, turning it to brown. Once they got out of the pool they’d look like themselves again. It had been a year. “SUBMERGE!”

Manifest shut his eyes and lowered his head into the water. He was going to be Static Sparks again in about 30 seconds. He smiled to himself as he floated in the liquid, the same sort of peace that he felt when the dye was being put on washing over him. He would be done with the war, and all of it. He would go back to working the projector at the Fillydelphia Royale 32. He would write reviews for the Fillydelphia Flyer under a pen name.

He wouldn’t have a destiny.

Or perhaps he would.

Any feeling of peace left him, and he started to feel sick as above him a whistle blew. He raised his head above the water and opened his eyes.

He was the only pony in the pool.

He looked around. He was the only pony in the room. There were hundreds mere seconds ago, right before he got in. There was no way that they could all leave without him noticing, he’d have felt the liquid move. They had to still be in there under the now muddy looking liquid, perhaps Repeater had arranged a practical joke. So he took a deep breath, and held it as he waited and counted.

At 43 seconds he started to feel dizzy, so he took a breath. Nothing had happened, nopony burst out of the water gasping for air, and they would have had an additional 30 or so seconds of holding their breath than Manifest did. Slowly Manifest started paddling to the edge of the pool, expecting less and less to run into a submerged comrade. He made sure to take his time, just in case they all burst out of the pool with some sort of a lame ‘gotcha!’ As he clambered out nothing of the sort happened.

Maybe they did all leave in the time he was under, and he didn’t notice. He climbed out of the pool and looked himself over. His aquamarine blue was back, and his flank was still as bare as could be. His ears drooped, but he also let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.

He looked up and saw a set of double doors, clearly marked ‘exit.’ Beyond that he guessed would be a few hundred multicolored ponies and Repeater…no, not Repeater after all. Sparks racked his brain. Fiji? Golden Delicious? Braeburn! Oh thank Celestia, he remembered after all. Braeburn would be standing out there in front of everypony and he’d yell a loud ‘GOT YA PARTNER!’ At least, that’s what he hoped would happen. He pushed through the door.

He was in Fillydelphia. He knew the street, only a block or so down from where the theater was. In front of him ponies pulled carts in the streets, and trotted down the sidewalks. Braeburn wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Sparks shook his head. This didn’t make sense. A earth pony wearing a flat cap was leaned up idly against a nearby streetlight. Sparks approached him

“Sir, excuse me, but have you seen anypony leave this building in the last few minutes? I’m looking for some friends, think they might be playing a trick on me.” The earth pony didn’t respond, refusing to even make eye contact. “Sir, SIR!” there was still no acknowledgement of Sparks existence on behalf of the pony directly in front of him. “I’m talking to you!” still nothing. “Sir, I fought in a war for you, so the least you can do is answer my questions.” The pony twitched an ear idly to scare off an errant fly, but that was it. Sparks shook his head. “Well, I guess that I’ll just talk to somepony else then. Sorry to waste your time. ” Sparks said, and he turned away to look for a more helpful pony.

Just across the street there was a pair of mares talking in front of a shop. Sparks looked both ways, and the road seemed clear, so he started trotting across to them. Abruptly he heard rapid hoofbeats on brick to his left, and he saw something moving out of the corner of his eyes. He turned to see a pony hauling a cart down the road quickly, heading right at him and nearly on top of him, and he wasn’t slowing down either. He jumped out of the way and the cart rattled past. “HEY! WHAT WAS THAT FOR?!” Sparks yelled down the road at the rapidly diminishing cart. He hurriedly finished crossing the street.

He trotted up to the two mares, who were engrossed in a conversation about gardening. He paused for a second, he didn’t really want to interrupt, and perhaps there was somepony better to talk to. He glanced around quickly, everypony else was trotting to and fro, so only these two would have been here long enough to figure out where Braeburn and the others had gone. He cleared his throat. “Excuse me,” He said quietly. They continued their conversation.

“Excuse me.” He said this at conversation level, but they still hadn’t noticed. “Ma’ams?” he said, waving a hoof to get there attention. It didn’t work. “Hello!?” he said, a bit loudly. They still hadn’t turned to see him. He hesitated for a moment, but finally worked up the courage and took a deep breath. “EXCUSE ME!” he practically yelled. They didn’t look at him, they didn’t stop their conversation, they didn’t even flinch. He trotted directly in between them and looked one in the eye. She still kept talking, putting a hoof to her mouth to suppress a giggle at a joke the other must have told. “Miss, are you ignoring-“she cut him off mid sentence in reply to the mare behind Sparks. Sparks shook his head in disbelief. “What the hay???”

He trotted away quickly, heading towards a unicorn with a monocle heading down the street toward him. “Sir, can you help me, I’m looking for my friends and…” the unicorn didn’t bat an eye under the monocle. Sparks trotted even faster, up the road there was a couple trotting away, and he galloped to get alongside them. “Can you lend a hoof? I’m really beginning to…”

Nothing. He darted across the street to the nearest other pony. “Can you hear me?! Can you see me!?” silence. He galloped out into the middle of the road looked around. There were ponies all around, but none even cast a sideways glance at him.
“ANYPONY! PLEASE!!!”

He felt a shove on his shoulder, and he jolted upright in surprise, spinning around. He was in a passenger car, sitting next to a concerned standard brown earth pony who was shaking his shoulder hard. “What the hay!”

“Take it easy lieutenant, you were having a nightmare. It’s alright, you’re safe now, wars over.”

He looked at his hooves, and they were the same standard earthy brown that the pony next to him and everypony else on the train wore. He was still Manifest Destiny, for now anyway. He faced back to the pony sitting next to him, with the two bars on his flank that meant Corporal. “Thanks.”

“No problem Lieutenant.” The earth pony said. “You must have seen some pretty bad stuff out there for a nightmare like that. Was it a dream about the war?”

Manifest nodded his head shakily, still disoriented from the dream. “Yeah, it was about the war.” His ears drooped and he lowered his head. The fact that it wasn’t worried him more than anything else.

The corporal dropped an ear, and looked concerned. He opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself short. “You, uh, you wouldn’t want to talk about it, would you?”

“No,” Manifest said, too bluntly. The earth pony nodded.

“I understand. I was only really in combat once, but I think about it all the time.” He paused, and looked out the window, lost in momentary thought. “Anyway, I’ll leave you be lieutenant.” He motioned out the window. “We’re almost at Fillydelphia station anyway.”

Manifest looked to where he pointed, and saw the brick buildings of outer Filly scrolling past the window. Ponies were bustling about on the snapshots that he got of the streets as they moved in and out of view. Briefly, he caught a view of the belltower of city hall. He was almost home. After the dream, it made him feel uneasy.

A burst of static emanated from above him, and he looked forward to where the conductor was speaking into the intercom “Now approaching Fillydelphia Grand Union Terminal. This is the final stop, all passengers are required to disembark the train. On behalf of the Great Eastern Railway, thank you all for your service.”

Manifest looked back out the window, the buildings still slid past, but now he thought that there was something else. Above the chuffing of the locomotive and the chatter of the other soldiers, he thought that he heard music. He popped the locks on the window in front of him, and slid it open. He could hear horns in the distance, like trumpets. He leaned his head out of the train and looked to the locomotive. The train was pulling into the station, entering into a immaculate building of brick and steel, supporting a giant glass ceiling. Manifest didn’t care about the architecture of the grand union terminal, for the sight that awaited him on the platform was far greater.

There was a veritable sea of ponies, so many that getting off of the train seemed like a impossible task. Equestrian banners of the sun and moon were waved around with such intensity that they were not much more than a blur of blue, yellow and gold. And there was a band, playing just loud enough to get their melodies in above the cacophony of cheering. Pegasi flying in the rafters were dropping a steady rain of streamers and confetti, getting everywhere. The ponies on the train all crowded to the platform side, opening every window and leaning out with him to see this beautiful sight. The train lurched to a stop.

“What the hay am I sitting here for?” the corporal asked nopony in particular incredulously, then he bolted up and ran for the exit. He got hardly a full gallop in before almost the rest of the train bolted for the door with him, blocking his path and filling the isle with barely civilized ponies that wanted little more than to get out onto the platform and into a celebration with a world they were long separated from. Manifest stood for a second, then sized the situation. He would never win the shoving match that getting off the train first had devolved into, and he didn’t really want to try. He contented himself with looking out the window as the car emptied around him.

As the cavalry ponies began to empty out into the crowd, Manifest could watch as the flags slowed their waving, then stopped. The band kept playing as the faces in the crowd stopped smiling, and the ponies strained their necks to see the ones getting off the train. They started looking concerned. For their part, the cavalry ponies were pushing through them, the enthusiasm that they had to get off the train being struck down by the crowds fading mood. Manifest couldn’t understand what had changed, and for a moment memories of the fading dream haunted him. The realization occurred to him as brown spilled into the multicolored crowd and dulled it. ‘They can’t recognize us.’

“AMBROSIA!”

All the heads in the crowd turned to the source of the yell, and a cavalry pony shoved his way through the crowd to a pale yellow earth pony with white mane and tail.

“Nectar?!” she asked. The cavalry pony nodded once, then quickly swept her up into hooves and held her tight against him. They held it for a few long seconds, before he swung her around and leaned her back. They looked at each other achingly for a moment, and then he leaned in and kissed her. There was the flash of a camera, but they stayed together for a few seconds more before separating.

The brazen act of love and affection seemed to win over the crowd, and the concern that they showed was swept from their faces. Slowly more and more of the cavalry ponies were finding their loved ones, and the mood was returning to that of their rapturous welcome. Only Manifests emotions were out of sync with the crowd. He felt a pang of jealousy of the couple, not for what they had but for how open they were in showing it. He felt that he loved Amber, but he knew that he couldn’t do what they did. Looking at this scene of unadulterated happiness before him he let out a sigh. The train car had already almost emptied, and Manifest gathered his saddlebags and trotted out.

He snuck through the crowd, trying his best to avoid collisions with ponies and not disturb their reunions or their searches, and having only some success in not blundering into revelers. If there was one thing that he was glad of, it was that he had anticipated the crowds, and had sent a telegram to his family telling them to meet him under the clocktower at the end of the platforms near the stations entryway. While the planning would make his mom and dad easy to find, him picking one of the last cars of the train meant that he had a long and crowded trot to the station front ahead. He stumbled through the sea of ponies, moving as fast as he could manage.

And then he saw through the crowd a glimpse of golden orange, and his movement was instantly arrested. Ponies were blocking his vision of it, but he thought that he saw… he started pushing his way through the crowd with newfound authority, until it opened up again.

And there she was.

And after having only seen her in photographs taped to steel and folded into bags for the last year, she was beautiful to behold.

He stopped, and just looked. Her amber fur that she took her name from, the brights of the sunflower yellow and the burnt orange of her mane and tail, her bark brown eyes. All the colors that he couldn’t see in the black and whites, and were never as vivid in the coloreds. Maybe she had looked this way all along, more likely the years worth of separation enhanced the feeling, but he couldn’t get over it. as she looked over the crowd, he just kept staring at how her mane fell around her horn, how her tail flicked idly, how cute she looked when she pinned her ears. He wanted to trot right up to her, and hold her like that other pony did, and kiss her in front of all of Fillydelphia with all the confidence and gusto and passion and reckless abandon that couple shared.

But he didn’t, he couldn’t. Even though he had known her for years, and even though he had written to her every day, and she had written him back, he felt intimidated by her beauty. The intimidation changed to nervousness. The dream flashed into his mind again, and with it the most dreadful thought. ‘She won’t recognize me.’

The thought had hardly formed in his brain when another quickly superseded it. ‘Give her a chance to.’ He gulped air. The only way to find out was to trot up to her, but he felt painfully nervous. ‘She’s your friend, walk over to her.’ he thought. But she wasn’t just a friend, and he didn’t want to screw things up between them, or have a painful memory. He shook his head. ‘Just do it Sparks!’ he thought to himself, forcefully. He could live in constant doubt or he could force a result, and he knew that knowing would be preferable to ignorance. ‘Okay.’ he thought. Just trot up to a old friend. Nothing to lose… right? He nodded to nopony, and started walking her way. she didn’t seem to see him at first, but as he closed the distance her eyes locked with his. And she smiled. And the insecurity he felt flew from his mind. He trotted towards her, and her smile that was as warm as the morning sun.

That smile changed as he trotted nearer into a mischievous grin. “Aren’t you a little short for a soldier?”

He grinned right back at her. “I’m a little tall for a tanker.”

“I’m looking for somepony. Unicorn, about your height. Blue fur, blue mane, blue eyes. just blue really? See anypony who fits the bill?”

“Everypony coming off this train is the same shade of brown. This pony you’re looking for, is he a friend?”

“Maybe. Maybe a little more.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Lucky guy.”

She looked him over, and cocked her head. “Maybe not.” She shrugged. “Eh, I’m not too picky. You’re a short unicorn with blue eyes. Close enough. Three out of five ain’t bad.” She trotted over to him and stood alongside. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Yeah.”

They walked together, and as they went she nuzzled his side, then turned and whispered into his ear. “Sparks, I’m glad you’re home.”She wrapped a hoof over his back and pulled him in close as they trotted along, guiding him through the crowd as well as giving him quite the comfortable side-hug. It had been nearly a year since he had one of those.

“How’d you know I was going to be here?”

“Would you believe it if I said I had a feeling that track 5 of the Grand Union Terminal was just the place to be today?”

“No.”

“Well then would you believe that you’re parents actually kinda like having me around and told me you were coming when they got the message?”

“Not really.” Sparks jested. “They like having you around?”

"Just for manual labor and because I can get them cheap grain, but yeah, they kinda like me.”

“How’d you get out of work?” Sparks asked. Amber had picked up a part time job of working at the Fillydelphia locomotive works, working on installing the driver’s instrument gauges into the cavalry tanks.

“Sparks, today’s like a national holiday, the whole plant got the day off. The whole city got the day off. Maybe even the whole week as long as ponies keep coming back.”

Sparks smiled. A week off sounded great. “All this for us?” he asked, motioning back toward the band and decorations that adorned the station.

“Oh, this isn’t the half of it.” Amber said as she waved a dismissive hoof over her shoulder at the station. “Just as soon as the word got out that everypony was coming home the whole city got together to figure out how to celebrate. There’s going to be all kinds of things. Tonight there’s a victory fair at the bay boardwalk, there’s a weeklong festival at the central park, and at the end of the week they’re going to have a victory parade that anypony in the military can take part in. Trust me, that’s nothing.” Something about what Amber was saying didn’t sit well with Sparks, but if he showed it she didn’t notice.

“A victory parade?”

“Oh yeah. And I’m pretty sure that ponies are going to ask for you to be on a float. You’re the city's war hero after all.” Something caught her eye and she looked away from Sparks for a second, then she tugged him around in the hug and reared up, pointing at him with her free hoove “I FOUND HIM FOR YOU!”

He followed her eyes to who she was looking at, and saw his parents. Amber released him from her hold, but he didn’t trot for a few seconds. He hadn’t expected this reunion to be emotional, but the weight of time that had separated them finally overcame the joy that he felt upon seeing them again. So much time spent worrying that he would never see them again. So much time being barred from writing to them by censors afraid he would reveal the secret of the tank to spies. Even in the past month, simply time spent wondering how long until the war would cease and they would be reunited. He could see the weight that he felt on them too. In this way at least, they had suffered with him. He started walking toward them, trying to suppress long held in emotions enough to be able to look like the hero that he had been made out to be. But the tears welling up in his mother’s eyes, and his father's reassuring smile told him that he didn’t have too. He trotted the rest of the way, and before he could say a word his mother leapt up and embraced him, clutching him tightly to her. He softly wrapped his hooves around her, and his father joined in the embrace.

Amber made him feel welcome, but his parents made him feel home.

His father broke the silence. “I, uh, almost didn’t recognize you underneath that brown dye. W-why do you still have it on? The wars over?”

Sparks backed away from the embrace. “It isn’t over yet.”

“What? All the papers say that we’ve pushed them back to the border, that their military is smashed for cryin’ out loud? How isn’t it over?”

“They left us a copy of their conditions for surrender. All that’s left is for everypony to get together and negotiate the peace.”

“So you’re still dyed in case they don’t?”

“I guess.”

“Well that’s just ridiculous,” He huffed. “It is going to happen though, right?”

“If it didn’t, I don’t know what they’d fight us with. All the way to the border we were passing cannons and shot up carts of ammunition and weapons. So unless they want to fight with spears, I don’t know what they can do.”

“So it is going to happen then, peace, right?”

“I think so.”

His dad frowned slightly, the answer obviously wasn’t the one that he wanted to hear, but it was an answer. His mother however, smiled assuredly.

“I’m sure it will. So, do you have any plans?”

Sparks cocked his head. “Plans like what do I do now that the war is over, or am I doing anything tonight?”

“Are you doing anything tonight?”

“I was hoping that all of you would have something.”

“Well, there is a fair on the waterfront for the soldiers.”

“Amber told me about it.”

“I think it might be something for you to do.”

“Me to do?”

“I don’t think that we would really be up for it-“

“-Me and your mother don’t care for the games and rides-“

“But don’t let us hold you two back.”

Sparks didn’t really know how to answer. After all this time, they didn’t want to be with him? “What about you two?”

“We’ll have a nice dinner, much better than that carnival crap they sell.”

“Language dear.”

“Sorry.”

“But-“ Sparks was immediately cut off by his father.

“We’ll meet tomorrow at 11:30. The Bluebird café. Have a nice lunch and talk it over with you then. But tonight we think that you deserve to have a good time.” He glanced over Sparks shoulder at who could only be Amber, before his Mother interjected.

“You looked like you were enjoying yourself with her, and she has been such a help to us.”

“So you’re sure that you want to wait ‘til tomorrow to catch up?”

“We know that you’re safe. That’s enough for now.”

Sparks gave her another quick hug, then one to his father. “Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow then. Thanks.”

“Have a good time!” his father said as Sparks turned and trotted back toward Amber, who looked only slightly surprised.

“You weren’t kidding.” Sparks said, “They actually do kinda like you.”

“I know, right? It’s still just because I can get them cheap food, but it’s something. So they said that you should take me to the fair?”

“Were you eavesdropping?”

Amber raised a hoof to about barrel height and wiggled it. “Only a little. I connected the dots. You aren’t going with them now, and the only thing of note tonight is the fair so... do you want to go to the fair?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’ll go to the fair,” she said as she started off, Sparks moving to keep up. “but as your dad said, the fair food is crap, so we’ll get something on the way.”

“Anything in mind?”

“I don’t want much, just a snack maybe. What do you think about pastries?”

“Apart from lunch today I’ve had canned foods for about a year. I’ll take anything.”

“Then we’ll make a stop at Mr. Muffins. So what did you have for lunch?”

“Oh. The best food. But that isn’t the half of it. What was the last letter you got from me?”

“Just after the Second Battle of the Galloping Gorge.”

“Really? You’re 10 days behind!”

“Yeah, the mail has been kinda overwhelmed lately. They say it’s because the advance was so fast they couldn’t catch up.”

“So you don’t really know what I’ve been up to?”

“Not until yesterday evening. One of my customers busted in and said that we took back Vanhoover. Then this morning I got The Flyer and you were on the cover. First tank into the city, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“So what was it like?”

“For the first mile down the main strip it was incredible. We were all thinking that we were going to have to fight them for it, but everypony came out to greet us, and said that they had pulled out the night before. And they were all so happy to see us. Half of them at least were crying. And they were waving yellow and blue ribbons and showering us in confetti.”

“So you loved it.”

“Amber, for the first time in the entire war I think that I felt like a hero.” Sparks smiled at the memory. “Of course, halfway through the parade the engine overheated because radiator hose was leaking and the tank almost caught on fire.”

“It broke down at the right time, huh?”

“Yep. They said that we had to finish the parade though, so they got some ropes and tied them to the front and dragged us to the end. 40 ponies who hadn’t had a good meal in months gathered together and dragged this 20 ton tank a half mile. And I couldn’t talk them out of it.”

“So that’s how they thanked you.”

“Yes. I think it means more to me than any of the medals that I got.”

“Seems like it. Where are they?”

Sparks motioned over his shoulder. “Wrapped up in my saddlebags?”

“Why aren’t you wearing them?”

“I think that I want some anonymity right now. Ponies in Canterlot were recognizing me from the papers with all of those medals, and I’m just not really used to all the attention.”

“Canterlot?”

“I stopped there this morning on the way back from Vanhoover to meet The Duke and have lunch.”

“The Duke? Why the hay did you want to meet with him? Everything you’ve ever written about him was about what a giant piece of crap he was!”

“Just wanted to see if he was a decent pony outside of the war.”

“Huh. Is he?”

“Actually, yeah.”

“Well color me surprised,” she said skeptically.“Anyway, ponies in Canterlot recognized you from the papers, so you want peace and quiet?”

“Yeah.”

“So you’re the only pony in history who doesn't like being famous?”

“Courts still out on that. I mean, I kinda like it. Nopony’s ever seen me on the streets before and stopped what they were doing to talk to me. It’s crazy. I mean, it’s only been happening since this morning, but just as soon as I put the dress uniform on everypony started lining up to talk to me.”

“What's not to like about that?”

“Imagine if it took an hour and a half to trot one mile.”

“Oh, oh wow.”

“Yeah. And eventually I just had to start brushing ponies off so I could get to my lunch.”

“The lunch with the best food?”

“The best food.”

“So where does one go in Canterlot for the best food?”

“Canterlot castle.”

“You ate lunch at Canterlot castle?”

“Yes I did.” Sparks said smugly, a goofy grin on his face.

“You can’t just eat lunch at Canterlot Castle right?” Amber asked. She was probing for something to refute an answer that was almost too hard for her to believe.

"No you can’t. You either have to work there or be invited.” He grinned more, watching as she tried processing what he was telling her and her flashes of disbelief that she had at her own conclusions.

“So you were invited?” One nod. “By who?”

“I think you know.”

“P-Princess Celestia?” she said quietly, as if the quieter she spoke the easier it would be to take back a wrong guess. And with the biggest grin that Sparks may have ever had, he nodded one more time.

For her part, Amber was stunned for a second. “You aren’t joking, right? I mean, you never do, but you didn’t pick up a sense of humor in the past year, right?”

“It’ll be in the paper tomorrow.”

“Princess Celestia?” Another nod. “Invited you for lunch?” Again. “And she didn’t just invite you to have a meal, right? Like she was at the table too?”

“Her and the other princesses.”

“Holy Celestia.” Amber said in awe.

“That’s what I said.”

Amber quickly reached a hoof around and yanked Sparks face toward her and leaned in until they were touching muzzles. “Tell me everything!”

“Everything?”

“Yes! What are they like!? What was it like!? What were you thinking!? Spill-spill-spill-spill-spill!”

Sparks backed away from the intense glare that she was giving him. “Well, they’re exactly like you think they would be, but they aren’t.”

“You gotta do better than that.”

“Well, all of them are royal and regal and confident, but they all seemed vulnerable too. They were all kinda worried, except for Princess Twilight I guess.”

“Worried?” Amber said, with almost as much disbelief as she had shown mere moments earlier. “What about?”

“The very first thing that Princess Celestia asked me was how the ponies in Vanhoover and occupied Equestria seemed. Princess Luna asked me how all the cavalry ponies were holding up. And Princess Cadence wanted to know if I knew much about how the Unicornian prisoners were being treated, and if we were taking them.”

“So, what are the answers?”

“I already told you about the occupied ponies. They seem happy, but they’re hungry, and there's a lot that I don’t know.” He stopped, and the spectre of horror ran across his face. “There was something though. I don’t know if this was in the papers or not, but if you haven’t heard it you may be in for a shock.”

Amber shook her head slowly. “I don’t think that I read anything too bad. What is it?”

“To keep control of pegasi they had their feathers plucked.”

Amber was silent. Her mouth moved, but the words that she wanted wouldn’t form until she blurted out an exasperated “W-what? Why?”

“Because Pegasi could fly, and they were too hard to control keep track of. All the pegasi I saw had bare wings, and some of them looked hurt, bad.”

“All of them?”

“Even colts and fillies.”

“Those Unicornain…how can they do that and sleep at night?”

“I don’t know, but they can.”

“Did they do anything else to them?” Amber said, angrily.

“Not that I could tell.”

“They better not have.” She shook her head. “If we don’t change the subject I’m gonna be mad all night. What about Princess Luna and the cavalry?”

“I told her that she would know better than me.” He looked back to his saddlebags wistfully. “You know about the note, right?”

“What note?”

“I never wrote about it?”

“Maybe? I don’t know.”

Sparks stopped in the street and popped open the bags, and without having to look levitated out a battered, ripped, and stained scrap of paper. He showed it to Amber.

“Don’t choose to be someone that you’ll regret being?” she read.

“That’s advice that Princess Luna gave me, about a year ago. I was having a nightmare, and she came and stopped it. I don’t really remember what she said, or even what happened, but I wrote down this. And I’ve had it on me or taped to the turret ever since. She helped me a lot, and I think she's helped a lot of other soldiers too.” Amber looked at the weathered paper with newfound appreciation.

“Did you tell her about this?”

“I asked her if she remembered me. She told me that she didn’t. So I just told her that she had helped me in a time of need, and that I wouldn’t be at the lunch if not for her advice. She liked that. She didn’t say anything, but I could tell. I think that she was glad to hear that we appreciated what she does for us.”

“And Cadence was wondering how they were?”

“Well, first she thanked me for what I did at The First Battle of Canterlot. She told me that if I hadn’t done what I did that we may not have been taking prisoners that day, and may not have even been taking them at all.”

“Nice sentiment.” Amber said gruffly, looking down the street ahead of her. Sparks simply looked her in the eyes until she glanced to meet them. She sighed. “I know it was the right thing to do, and I know it still is, but after hearing what they were doing in Vanhoover I almost don’t want to care about what happens to them.”

“It’s fine, a lot of ponies feel the same way, and Cadence knows that. That’s why she was so interested in knowing if we were treating them well, because it would be so easy not to.”

“It really would.”

“She said that showing love to an enemy may be so much harder than showing love to a friend, but it’s just as important. And you know she’s right.”

“Yeah, I know.” Amber sighed again. “So are we treating them well?”

“As far as I can tell.”

“Good, I guess.” Amber shrugged, but the faintest content smile gave away her feelings on the news. “Anyway, so Princess Twilight wasn’t really worried like the others?”

“She was actually kinda excited,” Sparks said. “First she asked me if I had made good friends in the military.”

Amber smiled. “Sounds like she's the first one that you talked to that actually cares about you.”

“Well, when you put it that way, yeah.”

“So you obviously said yes.”

“Not quite. I told her that I had made many friends in the service, but then I took it back.”

“Took it back? I thought that you really liked all those ponies you’d write about.”

“I do, it’s just… a friend is someone that you go to the movies with, or have a game night with, or talk to when things are going bad. You never have to trust your life to a friend, and they never have to trust you with theirs. You see a friend every day if you can, or weekly or even monthly, but you never have to live with them all day every day like we did. Friendship is great, but I feel like what I had with my old squad and my crew was deeper than that. The griffons have a word for it. They call it camaraderie.”

Sparks glanced over just in time for Amber's dropped ears to perk back up. “So, uh, what did she say to that?”

“Nothing. Her eyes just got really wide and she wrote something on a napkin. And then she really wanted to talk about tanks.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. She wanted to talk about statistics that she had pulled and readiness rates and recommendation notices and… honestly, she’s kinda a nerd.”

“Really? I thought that she's one of equestria's greatest protectors? She's defeated and reformed so many threats.”

“And she’s kinda a nerd.”

“Huh. I wouldn’t have thought. We’re here, by the way.”

Sparks looked up, and indeed, they were standing under the unassuming entryway into Mr. Muffins Bakery. Amber opened the door, and he followed her inside.

“Amber! How’s the day off treating you!?” Mr. Muffin called jovially from the counter.

“Pretty good. Look who I found at the train station.”

“My goodness. Do my eyes deceive me, or is that really Soil Sifter with you?”

Sparks cocked his head. “uh, I guess they deceive you.”

“Oh my! Static Sparks! I’m so sorry, I thought that you were some other customer of mine that Amber here likes to have muffins with.” Amber rolled her eyes. "So, what can I get you?”

“One banana nut muffin, a espresso, and…” Amber looked expectantly at Sparks

“One blueberry.”

“One blueberry? Eating light then, huh Sparky?”

“One Blueberry muffin.”

“Ah, big difference. Can I twist your hoof for a drink?”

“No.”

“You sure? They’re all pretty taste-eeeee.”

“Yes.”

“Great! What’ll you have!?”

“No-“

“No? But you just said yes?!”

“Yes as in i’m sure.”

“So if you’re sure then what do you want?”

“I’m sure I don’t want a drink.”

“But you just said yes.”

“Celestias sake, I don’t want a drink, and if you ask me again we’ll go somewhere else!”

“Alright-alright-alright, message received Sparky, no need to get all charged up about it. Two muffins and a expresso. 10 bits.” Both Sparks and Amber immediately reached for their saddlebags.

“I got it.” Amber said.

“Amber, I haven’t had to buy anything since I joined the cavalry, and I got paid pretty well. Let me take this.”

Amber smiled. “Thanks.”

Sparks retrieved the 10 bits, but Mr. Muffin raised a hoof. “Gimme a second Sparky, I just had a thought.” He trotted away from the counter and into the backroom.

“I forgot what it’s like dealing with Banana Nut.” Sparks whispered.

“At least you get to, I have to deal with him every morning.”

“Have to? Don’t you mean get to?” Banana Nut called from the backroom. “Besides, if you really didn’t want to ‘deal with me’ then I think you would find a different bakery to patronize.”

“I put up with your shenanigans for the food.”

“Well, at least you complimented the food.” Banana said as he trotted back behind the counter, his horn aglow with magic but whatever he was impacting out of view. “Speaking of shenanigans,” he said as floating through the doorway came what looked slightly like an old record player. A pair of horns protruded from the top, both condensing down into single needles that were suspended over a cylinder that was placed on its side, attached to a small motor. Sparks just cocked his head.

“What the hay is this?”

“This, Sparky, is a business proposition. If you say into this horn that this is your favorite bakery in Fillydelphia, then you will get a permanent discount from all of Mr. Muffin's Bakery locations.”

“Isn’t this the only one? Amber ribbed.

“With a ringing endorsement, there may be more.” Banana Nut answered, turning to Sparks. “So what say you?”

“How does this thing work?” Sparks asked.

“Oh, simple.” Banana Nut said with a wave of a hoof. He flicked a switch with his magic, and the cylinder started to turn, then he lowered the first horn down until the needle touched the surface. “you just speak into this horn and this turns your voice into grooves on this cylinder” he said into the horn, then flicked the thing off. He blew on the cylinder and some loose wax flew off, then he raised the first horns needle off and lowered the second one on. “and this plays back what the first one got, see?” he flicked the switch and through the horn his voice emanated.”You just speak into this horn and this turns your voice-“ he lifted the second horn up, levitated the cylinder, and chucked it over his shoulder where it shattered on the ground. “So that’s how it works. Interested?”

Sparks and Amber said nothing, looking at the cylinder fragments scattered throughout the floor. Banana nut looked down at the pieces and shrugged. “eh, it was probably for the best, nopony would want to hear a recording of me saying how to do a recording.” He looked back at Sparks. “They would want to hear you say how much you like this bakery though. So, interested?”

“A permanent discount?”

“Yessssss.”

“Okay.”

“Great!” Banana Nut said, flying another wax cylinder from the backroom and setting it up. “okay, annnnnnnnd… now.”

The switch flicked, the cylinder spun, and Sparks spoke into the horn. “I’m Static Sparks, and this is my favorite Bakery in Fillydelphia!”

The switch flicked again, and Banana Nut undid this cylinder, and instead of even testing it out threw it over his shoulder, where it shattered like the last.

“Uh, why did you want me to do this for you if you were just going to break it?”

“Oh, it was just a bad take,” Banana nut said as he fetched another cylinder.

“What was wrong with it?”

“Well, I’m not going to get much publicity if you recommend this place, but if the most decorated soldier of the war were to… eh, right?!”

Sparks smiled softly, and nodded his head once. “Ah, I understand.”

“Great!” Banana Nut said, as he replaced the cylinder. And as he did so he didn’t see how Sparks stared past him at the wall, lost in thought, or how that soft smile faded from his face, or how his ears fought to stay forward and alert against dropping. Amber leaned in towards him.

“Sparks?”

“I’m fine.” He said, still staring at the wall. and while Banana Nut may have been oblivious, Amber noticed how he immediately answered that as opposed to looking over at her, or asking what was up. Jumping to that answer showed that he wasn’t what he claimed.

As for Sparks, he felt a pang of sadness, a feeling of déjà vu from a barely remembered nightmare. Perhaps the reality wasn’t as bad as he may have feared, but he was still right. He hardly heard Banana Nut count down, or start the recording, but he still paid enough attention to speak into the horn “I’m Manifest Destiny, and this is my favorite bakery in Fillydelphia.”

The Truth About War

Princess Celestia looked around the table at 4 untouched plates, one of which was hers. Since lunch had ended she had been pouring over every report that she had marked as important, and thinking over the words of generals and soldiers. All of the information had to be weighed, and weighed carefully, for the decision that she would make based on it would most likely be the most important one since she sent her student away to Ponyville. That time, the choice that she made was the right one, and she was fairly sure that it would be. But there was a clear choice, and here there was not, and though there were no good options on the table, the difference between the best and the worst would be measured in lives. The burden of the consequences that these choices would have had sapped her appetite, as it had of the others at the table.

She suppressed a sigh, for doing so would not be becoming of her position. She above all others had to be a lighthouse to guide the country by. That didn’t stop her from feeling the fatigue that nearly caused the sigh in the first place. A few short years ago, and she would have been making this decision on her own. But now, as there were four ruling princesses as opposed to one, important decisions had to be made as a group. And while it did broaden the views looking at and the mental energy focused on a problem she did admit that it did take longer to reach consensus on issues than when she was able to rule by proclamation. Worse though, she was now afraid of being outvoted, and having to condone a course of action that she felt was wrong. She knew that this way was better, but she was afraid of the consequences of the wrong course of action on a matter as grave as this.

She looked down, not at her plate, but at the document next to it. Delivered from the mayor of vanhoover to them by the first available means of communication, and delivered to him by the ranking general of the Unicornian military with express permission of their Emperor, was a treaty of terms of peace, hardly a few paragraphs long. Its demands were simple, and it was the simplicity that concerned her. In summary, all that it said was that on signing the treaty the war would be over, all prisoners would be repatriated to both sides, and the borders would return to prewar locations. What was left unsaid concerned her more than the contents of the page, but within the week they had to make a decision or the treaty would be rescinded.

They had to decide if they were going to accept this treaty, and if they could afford not to.

She looked to the others, luna at her right, Cadence at her left, and twilight sitting across the table from her. All were lost in thought, or in twilight’s case bound reports. In their own ways they were avoiding talking about it, and she realized that she was too. It was time.

“Fellow princesses, I believe that in this situation it would be best to do a preliminary vote on if this treaty is to be ratified, and then we can deliberate if necessary before a final and binding vote. So, who here would vote to ratify?” she tentatively raised a hoof as she said this, hoping that the others wouldn’t see the unease that she had about doing so. Cadence’s hoof shot up with far more vigor than hers, but apart from that none stirred. The vote was two to two. Deadlock.

“The floor is now open for discussion, and if anypony wishes to express their position first they can request to do so.” Cadences hoof shot up again, but Luna patiently raised hers as well. Celestia looked at her sister. Luna's face could have been etched in stone, the seriousness that her sister wore being all the argument that she needed to choose her first. “Luna, you have the floor.”

“Thank you sister.” Luna said as she put her hoof down. she faced Celestia squarely. “I fear that if we sign this peace treaty as is, we will only serve to delay war. I took it upon myself to visit the dreams of the Unicornian’s last night to see if a peace with them was possible.”

“You can do that?” Cadence asked.

“They are ponies like us.”

“And you haven’t been doing this before?”

“There are spells that they have erected to keep me from doing so, and our citizens have needed my intervention more. It took great effort to do this, and even then my success in entering their dreams was limited.”

“But if you did this earlier perhaps we could have influenced them! Maybe we could have convinced them that this war was wrong!”

“I don’t believe that I could have.” Luna said sadly.

“Why not?”

Luna looked at Celestia, “Sister, In the dreams that I was able to enter last night I saw horrible visions. There were dreams of us invading their cities, and slaughtering them on a horrible scale. I saw visions of Equestrians and Griffons gathering up defenseless ponies and shooting them where they stood, and more than a few were like this. I saw Equestrians kill remorselessly, but I saw Unicornian’s killing with anger. There were dreams of rage. When I tried to intercede and calm them, and when they realized that it was me who was trying to help, they either woke in panic before I could reach them, or they directed their energy into trying to attack me. Even in dreams where there was peace, when I appeared to them they almost always fled or fought. In all that I saw last night, there were only a few dozen times where I was able to speak with them. Sister, from what I could see, they are scared of us, and they hate us. And if we do not remove the source of these feelings, they will not change.”

“What about the ones that you were able to reach?” Cadence enquired, “Were you able to change their minds?”

“Only a few, and too few to change anything. I told them not to tell anypony of this. I fear if they did, there would be horrible consequences.”

Celestia nodded her agreement. “So sister, you believe that if we were to ratify this treaty-“

“War would happen again. At some point they would stop being afraid of us, but the hate they have been taught would remain. And when that happens I fear that there would be another war.”

“Do you know that that would happen?” cadence asked.

“No,” Luna said.

“Then isn’t it worth the risk of a future war for a chance at peace? If we don’t ratify then war is certain, but if we do then maybe we can avoid it.”

“Cadence, this treaty may lead to lasting peace… but from what I saw, I think that it won’t last.”

“So you won’t even try?”

“I’m afraid I believe that further war with Unicornia is inevitable. The fear and hatred they feel against us was so widespread and intense that I can’t imagine another outcome.”

“So invading their homeland would make them fear and hate us less?”

“No, but removing their emperor and showing them that what they were told about us is wrong would. I believe that this is the best option that we have.” She looked back to Celestia one last time, “and I hope that what I have told you will change your mind.”

“Thank you, sister” Celestia said. She looked now to Cadence. “if you would like to elaborate on your position?”

“We have a chance to end the war, and we owe it to everypony to end it.” Cadence said to the table at large. “Invading them will only confirm their fears about us, but if we accept peace we can show them that we aren’t what they think. If we continue we lose sight of so much of what makes Equestria special. And we destroy the lives of thousands more families. This war has been so horrible to everypony that I can’t see how anyone could want it to continue.” She looked now pointedly at Luna “We have to try and resolve this without violence, and I can’t understand how anyone could oppose that.”

Across the room Luna's eyes narrowed, the edges of her lips turning down in either anger or disgust, subdued but quite noticeable. “Luna.” Celestia said, raising one eyebrow. Luna shot a glance at her sister that could stop a pony on a bit, but then blinked it away. Sometimes, Celestia thought that she could see the ghost of nightmare moon in her sister's eyes.

“I’m fine, sister,” She said with a restrained edge, one that only Celestia could truly discern. Celestia turned her attention across the table to Twilight. The newest princess looked nervous.

“Twilight, if you would like to elaborate, you can.”

“Thanks, Princess.” She said unsteadily, her eyes darting among the other ponies in the room. “I, um, Luna made most of my arguments already. Kinda took the wind from my sails, you know?” she smiled just too much to be believable. Celestia already knew what was wrong.

“Twilight, you may have been my student, but now all of us at this table are equals. You can say what you need to without worry. What are your concerns?”

“Princess Celestia, I have faced many threats to Equestria with my friends. I’ve even faced a few almost by myself. But I never gave up until they were beaten, and I always made sure that they truly were.”

Princess Celestia thought for a moment. It was a interesting position, and she could see how her former student would arrive at it. however, she could also see the faults in her logic from here. Perhaps once she explained her thoughts

Twilight could be swayed. She opened her mouth to speak, but Cadence cut her off

“Twilight, they truly are beaten. Every report that we have is of a shattered army, there isn’t a need to invade.”

“Cadence, I understand how you feel, but I want you to understand me. Do you remember what chrysalis did to all of us, and Canterlot?” the room fell silent. Chrysalis had come closer to victory than even the Unicornian’s, and had directly affected all of them. The memories of being beaten and imprisoned were bad for Celestia, but for cadence they were visibly impactful. She stared across the room, glassy eyed for a few horrid moments, before coming back to reality.

“Yes. I remember that well.”

“She’s still out there, somewhere. And I know that she’s planning and preparing to attack equestria again, and that keeps me up at night. I know that continuing this war won’t be easy, I know that the cost will be high, but I know that a peace where we always have to worry about the fate of our country isn’t a peace that I want. I agree with Princess Luna. If we could get in and remove their leader, one way or another, we can have a peace that will last and that we can trust. And I think that that is worth fighting for.

Celestia felt proud of her student, even though she disagreed with her. In that speech, she sounded royal.but she had to interject.

“Twilight, in many of those instances, you made sure that you had beaten these threats by turning those enemies into allies. You turned nightmare moon back to princess luna, and you and your friends are reforming discord even now.”

“Those cases are different, we reformed nightmare moon with magic, and we know that they won’t let us trot up to their emperor and use the elements of harmony on him. and discord… I knew that he was a threat, a danger to Equestria, but I never thought that he was evil. And when we used the Elements of Harmony on him, I didn’t think that he would ever come back!”

“Perhaps, but we were able to reform him. With friendship, and kindness. And a backup plan in case he tried to go back to his old ways. I believe that we can do the same with Unicornia. They have lost the advantage of surprise, and if they ever were to break the peace we would be ready for them, and we have proven that we can beat them readily. If they ever attacked again, we would beat them. But until they do I think that we should attempt to solve this diplomatically.”

“Princess Celestia…I want to be able to agree with you on this, I really do… but I just can’t. We should finish this now, while they’re disadvantaged.”

Princess Celestia could see the anguish in twilight’s eyes, but she could also see the resolve. Cadence was well dug into her position, as was Luna, but the two of them were unsure. The second vote would be a tie, but she had to ask.

“Will anypony change their position with regards to ratification of the treaty?” she hoped for a hoof to raise, but as she had feared none did. With her magic, she opened the main doors to the dining hall, and the guards outside the door remained immobile. “Bring Field Marshall Shining Armor here. We require his opinion.” One of the guards turned and trotted off, and she closed the doors.

The other princesses in the room looked to Celestia expectantly, but she did not give an explanation, not yet. She waited, her mind aflame with choices and consequences, but with the current gridlock she couldn’t see another alternative. As she was afraid of, she felt her control over what course the county would take wane, but she did feel some measure of confidence in what the ultimate result would be. The doors opened again, and Shining Armor strode into the room.

“Princess Celestia, you requested my opinion.”

“Yes. Field Marshall, we require your opinion on the ratification of the Unicornian Peace treaty. Currently the body is divided on if the treaty should be ratified, and in order to break the tie your vote will be the deciding one barring a change in position from one of us. As the leader of the equestrian military and as a member of royalty, I feel that you would have the greatest expertise on the matter.”

Shining remained stoic, but his clarifying question showed his feelings “Are you saying that I decide if the war ends?”

“In effect, yes.”

“Can I know how the princesses voted on this matter?”

“Cadence and I for ratification, Luna and twilight against.”

Shining took a deep breath. He had not expected this, and had certainly not been prepared for it. He had submitted the requisite reports and analysis, but he had expected the decision to be made without more input than that. he composed himself.

“Princess, if it were up to me-“

“-It is.” She said, hammering home the finality of the decision he was about to make. And it stayed his tongue. He paused for a second, then spoke.

“I would give an answer tomorrow after reviewing the information that we possess on this matter.”

Princess Celestia nodded. “I understand, and approve. I think that we all may benefit from more time to think on this. We all will convene here tomorrow at noon. That will be all, Field Marshall.” He saluted her, and turned to leave, but she interrupted him. “And Shining Armor, It would be best if you were to sleep in the barracks tonight, you need to be able to make this decision without our inputs or pressure.” he glanced at the ponies at the table, and immediately understood why she wanted to impose this upon him. He was related to half of them.

“I understand.”

“You are dismissed Field Marshall. You have gotten us through the war this far, and I hope that the leadership and judgement that you have shown will see us through to the end, whenever it must be.”

“Thank you your majesty.” He said, bowing cordially. He turned, and left the room with all the authority that his position demanded. Only the guards next to him could see his white coat begin to glisten with sweat.

As Shining Armor looked though the reports in the fading twilight of the setting sun that trickled into his office, and thought about… everything, he began to have an understanding of what Princess Celestia had gone through for a millennium. No matter what he chose, it would be the wrong choice. And because it would be the wrong choice, he would feel regret. He knew that he didn’t trust the Unicornian’s, he felt that the treaty was an easy out, and his strong sense of justice wanted their leaders punished for their crimes. But he knew that to do that, it would require an immense sacrifice, which would not fall on his shoulders but on the shoulders of Unicornian and Equestrian families. He knew that their emperor counted on them not being willing to suffer the casualties of attempting to remove him, but he also knew that he had good reason to.

Shining Armor shook his head. He couldn’t continue the war. He wanted justice for the country, but the price would be too high. He knew how he would vote tomorrow, and he knew how painful it would be for him.

There was a rapid rapping on the door. “Come in.” Shining said, a hint of fatigue in his voice. He was tired, physically and spiritually. The door swung open with unprecedented vigor, and the griffon Field Marshall strode into the room with a great sense of purpose.

“Shining Armor, I apologize for intruding like this, but I need to speak with you urgently.” Shining moved to reply, but the griffon barreled on breathlessly. “I heard that the princesses may decide on ratification of the treaty as soon as today, have they?”

“Almost, they’ll decide at noon tomorrow.”

A look of relief spread over the griffons face, and his whole body relaxed. “I feared that it had already happened. Decisions do not get made quickly in the republic, they require discussion, vetting, compromise, between 200 griffons. It must be far quicker to run a country with only 4. But when I heard that they could ratify today I realized that I had underestimated how fast the Equestrian government can move.” Even though he had relaxed, there was still an element of concern in his actions.

“Ace, what do you need to talk with me about?”

The griffon carried with him a briefcase, which he put onto the table and began to unlock. “I received this message from the embassy a half hour ago, before the staff told me the decision may have already happened.” He opened the briefcase and passed a 1 sheet note to Shining armor, who levitated it before him.

To Field Marshal Guderia

Having received word of the Unicornian proposed peace treaty, and received details of its terms, I have come to the conclusion that these terms cannot be accepted by our Equestrian allies for the good of both our nation and theirs. To you I give the order to, by whatever means are required to achieve the result, convince the council of princesses to reject this treaty and continue the war until the removal of the enemy's government. I give you complete latitude and no restrictions in how this goal is to be accomplished, and any information that is needed regardless of secrecy may be requested and utilized. I will be arriving personally to address this matter tomorrow at 1600, but I believe that action needs to be taken immediately and that you are the most capable agent for the task. I do not say this lightly, but the fate of our nations rest on this treaty's rejection. Do all that is in your power to do.

King Godred IV

Shining looked up. “Why does the king want the war to continue?”

“Because of our country's mistakes Field Marshall. Most every griffon in the republic would continue the war, because we know the cost of not doing so. You studied the Griffon-Minotaur wars, correct?”

“Of course, it was required in the royal guard’s academy.”

“Then you should know why the war needs to continue.” The griffon said bluntly. “before I launch into any further effort on this, do you know how the princesses will vote?”

“Yes.”

“Are they voting to ratify?”

“They are split.”

“And how will they resolve this?”

“I will cast the deciding vote tomorrow.”

The griffon paused, contemplative. “That is a heavy burden, Field Marshall.” He paused again. “If there is a pony in your country who can decide this, it would be you. So how do you intend to vote?”

“Before you came in, I was going to vote for ratification.”

The griffon nodded. “So, it must be you that I have to convince.”

“Ace, I don’t think that I want to be.”

“No, you need to be.” Ace said, “Why would you vote for ratifying?”

“Why do you want us to continue the war?” Shining retorted.

“For a myriad of reasons, most that you know and some that you don’t, but I can’t change your mind without knowing your reasoning. So why would you vote for ratification?”

“If we continue the war, and we try and remove their government… a lot of good ponies are going to die. He hides behind a shield of ponies, his soldiers and citizens, and he thinks that we don’t want to pay the price to oust him, and he’s right. I hate him for it. I’m supposed to protect ponies. That’s my purpose. So when I know that he’s doing the opposite, he’s having ponies protect him, it makes my blood boil. But if we have peace… that will save more lives than attacking him.”

The griffon nodded. “This argument depends on him upholding the peace. Why would you trust him to do so? If he decides to attack in the future all you are doing is delaying bloodshed.”

“Ace, I don’t think that he would attack in the future. He watched his army get routed. The amount of material that we recovered that was simply left behind is enough to equip an entire corps. And we have the tanks. And we know to be ready. He has no advantages left.”

“Just remember that before you routed his army, he routed yours.” Shining Armor was unmoved, And Ace could tell. “You already thought of this, have you?”

“I’ve been going through every argument I could all afternoon. I don’t think that there is a way that you can change my mind on this.”

“You’ve thought of how your country would always have to be ready for war as long as their leader remains?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re willing to accept that?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know what it's like to be constantly on alert, as a country, fearing war at a moment's notice?”

Shining snorted. “Is a griffon really about to tell me about the advantages of not having a prepared military?”

“No, but he is about to tell you about the advantages of not NEEDING a prepared military.”

Shining Armor shook his head. “Ace, before this, there was the changeling invasion. Before that and since, there have been more threats to this country than I’m comfortable with. being ready for those only makes sense to me, and that includes being ready for the Unicornians.”

The griffon sighed, and reached for his briefcase again. “I was hoping that we’d reach a agreement without me having to start spouting state secrets. But, if you will not be swayed without them…” he pulled a one page document from the case, and slid it to Shining. “Let’s see if this will change your mind.

Shining looked curiously at the paper. Atop it ran, in red block capitalized letters TOP SECRET. It was dated June 12, 1003, the date of the Second Battle of Canterlot. He read the contents.

To the Department of Ordinance,

The new Armored Fighting Vehicles are effective, and without a proper counter could upset the technological advantage of the Republic. To this end, I am issuing a Requirement for weapons capable of the following.

By 9/1/3

Prototypes for a thrown or manually attached weapon carryable by a single griffon capable of defeating 1 inch armor plate.

Prototypes for a weapon with range of 300 yards carryable by a single griffon capable of defeating 2 inches armor plate

Prototypes for a semi-stationary weapon with range in excess of 2000 yards capable of defeating 4 inches armor plate.

By 1/1/4

Prototypes for a thrown or manually attached weapon carryable by a single griffon capable of defeating 2 inches armor plate

Prototypes for a ranged weapon carryable by a single griffon capable of defeating 3 inches armor plate.

Prototypes for a semi-stationary weapon with range in excess of 2000 yards capable of defeating 6 inches armor plate.

If devices could be made ready before these dates they must be submitted for trials immediately, and plans should be made for rapid production for these devices with the intent of giving the soldiers of the republic a solution to the armored fighting vehicle within 6 to 9 months.

This war has shown how tenuous our technological advantage can be, and every effort must be made to regain our preeminence in all fields lest our rivals believe that their magical advantage can truly defeat our technological one.

Field Marshal Guderia.

Shining lowered the page, gingerly, slowly, back to the table. for a moment words wouldn’t come to describe his thoughts. That single page had dispassionately and coldly swept away one of his beliefs. He opened his mouth, but still needed a moment to marshal his thoughts. Finally, he spoke. “Ace, I thought that we were allies?”

“We are.” The griffon said.

“Then why do you need to be able to defeat our tanks?”

The griffon sighed. “read the page again, please.” Shining levitated the sheet, but even as he did so the griffon raised a talon to stop him. “Did you notice what you just did?”

“What?” asked Shining “I’m doing what you asked me to.”

“No Field Marshal, you are using magic.” Ace said. “and with that power you can do far more than lift a page. With that power, your country has seen off more than it’s fair share of enemies. Griffons don’t have that luxury. You recall how you turned back Nightmare Moon? How you defeated Discord, both times? Queen Chrysalis? Sombra? All with magic. How would a griffon respond to a threat like that without your species gifts?”

“You are talking about collective defense?”

“Yes. And collective defense has two components. One Is that as much of the griffon populace is armed and trained and ready to resist a threat as possible, so that these threats may be deterred.”

“Every griffon a sharpshooter?”

“Precisely. The other component is that we have the advantage of technology, always, and in every field. It is the only way that we can resist a magical threat. If that magical threat has the same level of advancement as we do, then our only advantage is desperation. But if that magical threat does not posses our technology, and does not know of it so that it cannot counter it, then the republic stands a chance.”

“So you consider us a threat?”

“We consider you a reliable ally… that has almost been defeated by its enemies 4 times in 4 years, and that if defeated and turned against us would be the gravest threat that we can imagine. So we must prepare.”

“And that’s why you are trying to defeat our tanks?”

The griffon cocked his head. “Your tanks?”

And with that, the griffons point hit Shining Armor like a bullet. He felt like a fool. Of course it wasn’t his tanks. “The Unicornians are making tanks?”

“We don’t know, a nation consisting only of unicorns makes griffon spies easy to root out. But you can bet that they are working on ways to defeat your tanks, after all, we want to be able to destroy your tanks within the year, and we didn’t have to fight them.”

“So within a year, you think that they’ll be able to beat the tanks.”

“No Field Marshall, within a year, if left to their own devices, they will be able to defeat your country. I’m afraid that you don’t realize how lucky you have been in this war.”

“Lucky!?” Shining nearly shouted in shock. “Lucky!?”

“Lucky. To our counts you have only suffered two real defeats. This first was when the Royal Guard fell at the Battle of the Unicorn Range, and the second was at the First Battle of Cloudsdale. Apart from that either your army was routed before even offering resistance and casualties were low, or what attacks you made were after meticulous planning and that planning was successful. If you had counterattacked at the First Battle of Canterlot, or if your army stood its ground and was driven back at the First Battle of the Galloping Gorge before collapsing. Or even if your artillery general wasn’t able to intervene at the First Battle of Cloudsdale, this war would have been far bloodier for you. The only reason that you won as easily as you have was because you were able to change the way that war is fought. And I don’t think that you will be able to do such a thing again. when the Unicornians attack again, what ground they take, they will keep, and they will be ready for the machines that have given you this victory. Liberating your country the second time will be far harder.”

Shining paused. With this new information, the griffon’s argument was far stronger, far more convincing. But still, there was an issue with his line of reasoning that kept Shining from agreeing with him. “My argument was based on the idea that the Unicornians wouldn’t attack again, but you assume that they will.”

“I can nearly guarantee it.”

“Can you? As you said, it’s not like you have spies in the country, and it's not like we do either.”

“We don’t need spies to know that they will attack again. we know this purely from experience.their army was defeated, but it wasn't broken. The emperor knows this, he knows that he has defeated you before, and he knows what he must to to defeat you again. and when he is motivated by reunification and raw material, the only way to get those things is through invasion, so that is what he will order.”

“But will the troops go along with it, after being defeated like they were?”

“Most will.” The griffon said factually.

“Even after they got chased out of the country with their tails between their legs?

“Yes.”

“What about the civilians, will they support it after being defeated so soundly?”

“In a year, absolutely.”

“Why? Why would they do that?”

The griffons body raised ever so slightly, then dropped. “Field Marshall, I forget the benefits of your nation sometimes, and your victories hide the fact that your nation is not adept at war. I envy that, in many ways. But, coming from a leader who has had experience with war, I can tell you that most of their army, and most of their citizens will support an invasion the moment they think that they can win because they don’t know the truth about war.”

“What is the truth?”

“You know. every creature who has warred knows. War is pain. War is suffering. War is an aberration that destroys and ruins all in contact with it. that is the truth about war. But the citizens of their country, most of the soldiers, and most of the citizens and soldiers of our countries only know the lie. War is glory, war is just. And the lie will make them fight.”

“And you think they believe that?”

“Undoubtedly, they will not have been shown anything by their leaders to make them think differently. Only the ones who faced you machines, and who watched their lines break will be against it, and even then only a few of them. The others, the ones who have not been in combat, and the citizens behind them, they will cry for war once they have the chance.”

“Is there a way to… show them the truth?”

“Crush their army. invade their nation. Drive a column of tanks into every town and defeat those who resist. Cut down their flag from every courthouse and raise yours atop it. make them feel the pain of war, force them to confront the lies that they have been told. And make it clear that they cannot possibly win. Once they know the truth, once the war has been brought to their door and the suffering they have complacently inflicted upon their soldiers and upon your country has been made clear to them, then they will be beaten. Until then, they will support the war.”

Shining sighed. nothing about that answer was appealing, or easy. “Do you think that there is any other way?”

“To reach their ponies? No. their country is so isolated that no attempt to change the citizenry's minds will work.”

“If we do invade, we validate everything that they have said about us.”

“And?”

“And they’ll hate us.”

“But they will respect you.”

“Will they? If they hate us, and if we drive tanks into every town as a show of force and have our soldiers on their streets, who they have been told are evil, what stops them from fighting back?”

“The tanks?” the Griffon asked.

“Ace, how do I stop a insurgency from happening?”

“What the republic has found works is pulling every soldier out of the invaded country the moment a transitional government is installed. If there is no one to fight… they can't have a insurgency.”

Shining shook his head. “That just kicks the ball down the road. Maybe it would take some time, but if we just destroy their country and leave they will eventually want to attack again.”

The griffon nodded. “In that you are right. already we hear rumors that the minotaurs are thinking of a invasion while a portion of our military is tied up in this war.”

“Do you think they will?”

“I think if they did it would be the biggest mistake they have ever made. The republic is watching our southern border very carefully. But, your point about prolonging conflict is valid. Griffons have to live with it every day.” Ace leaned in “Shining, Griffons are proficient in war, however horrible that may be. Equestrians are Proficient in peace. You are on good terms with every nation but one. If anyone can solve how to win the peace after the war, it would be you.”

Shining nodded once. All that the griffon said made sense, and it pointed to a horrid conclusion.

“What am I gonna do?”

The griffon reached for his belt and produced a flask. “Griffons are poor at crafting potions. The zebras make what we concoct look like water. But, we do have one potion that we are quite fond of. He held the flask over to Shining Armor. “This potion is sometimes referred to as liquid courage. And you need courage for what you have to do.”

Shining took a drink, and almost immediately regretted it. the taste was bitter, but as it went down it burned his mouth and throat. He shuddered involuntarily. “Celestia, what is that stuff?”

“Griffon Bourbon.”

Shining shook his head again, but even as he did he felt… different. Slightly disconnected from himself, and tingly. Honestly, It felt pleasant. The griffon put the flask back.

“Field Marshall. You know what you have to do.”

“Ace, I’m afraid that I do.”

“How will you vote?”

Shining didn’t answer for a long time. Celestia. All the pain that this decision would cause. All the lives that would be torn asunder by his choice. the logic of it all made sense, bloodshed now would prevent worse bloodshed later. But still, the horrible cost.

“It is not an easy choice, but it is a simple one.”

Shining still didn’t answer. But he knew that delaying here was fruitless.

“Cadance wants this war to end more than anything. If I vote for it, it will break her heart.”

“She loves you?”

“So much.”

“Then she will be able to forgive you.”

Shining sighed again. it felt like the weight of the world was on his back, and in a way it was. The memory of the unpleasantness of the drink had subsided, but the agreeable aftereffects were still being felt.

“I need another drink.”

“No Field Marshall, you don’t. in moderation it provides courage, too much and it impairs judgement, and right now you need judgement.”

“Ace, I’m afraid you’re right.”

“So am I. I take it that that means-“

“Yes. Celestia forgive me, I’m going to vote to continue the war.”

The Deal

THE DEAL

The air was thick in the pre-processing room of the 421st Royal Equestrian Calvary, C-company. The heat and sweat that came off of two hundred and ten assorted earth ponies and unicorns was far too much for the hastily installed fans to take care of. They stood in three lines of seventy, all facing three sets of double doors at the far end of the room. Above the doors dimly lit red lights told them that despite having stood in place for ninety minutes, their time had still not come.

The only movement in the room was an older earth pony walking throughout the ranks. He was a light shade of grey with a silver mane and a finely groomed mustache, and on his flank he bore a painting palette. He looked up and down lines of ponies before him, before finally stopping before a tan earth pony with thick blond mane and a solitary red apple on his side.

“What’s your name, son”, the grey pony said, his voice carrying across the room over the incessant whirr of the fans. Everyone could hear him, but none dared to turn to face him.

“Sir, mah name is Braeburn, Sir.”

“You don’t need to call me sir, son”, The grey pony said with clean diction. “Not yet anyway. So what do you do Braeburn? Something with apples I assume?”

“Uh, yessir, Ah run an apple orchard down in Appleloosa, just ta the east of Dodge Junction.”

“Ah, an apple orchard. Well Braeburn, my name is Portrait Painter, and I run a studio in Canterlot. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Portrait Painter paused,” Do you know why you are here Braeburn, and not in Dodge Junction tending to your apples?”

“Yessir, because those unicorns from Unicornia attacked us and took Vanhoover and Tall Tale, and now we gotta go fight ‘em.”

“That’s right.” Nodded Portrait Painter “and you are going to help us do that. So Braeburn, have you ever killed another pony?” Braeburn started back, looking surprised.

“No sir, never.”

“I didn’t think so.” The grey pony turned and looked to two tall, near identical unicorns standing behind Braeburn. He looked to their flanks. “You two, I assume you’re in the apple business as well?”

“That’s right. “ Stated the first, the second chimed in “we’re traveling salesponies in the apple cider business.”

“Do you have names?”

“Flim and Flam, sir”, the two answered simultaneously.

“Have you two ever killed another pony?” Portrait Painter questioned.

“No.”

“That’s too bad, because to fight a war, I need killers, not farmers.” He looked to the pony behind the two, a short, thin ultramarine blue unicorn. Portrait Painter leaned in close to him, looking down on his diminutive frame. “How about you kid, what’s your special talent?”

“I don’t have one sir.” The unicorn replied, staring straight ahead.

“You don’t have one?” Portrait Painter looked surprised. He quickly checked the unicorn’s flanks, which were as blank as could be. He looked back to the unicorn, still a little thrown off by the lack of a destiny, but managed to recompose himself. “Well, you do have a name, don’t you son?”

“Yes sir, Static Sparks Sir.” The unicorn said, still staring straight ahead.

“Have you ever considered that your special talent might be killing other ponies, Static Sparks?”

“No sir.” As Static Sparks answered a harsh buzzer rang out from the front of the room, and the middle red light flashed to green. Portrait Painter turned and walked to the front of the room, just in front of the three large double doors. All eyes in the room were focused on him, and aside from the fans all was silent.

“That’s the problem; in this room of 210 I have farmers, artists, bricklayers, and even ponies who have no talent, but what I need are 210 killers. It isn’t your fault; ponies are not designed to kill. Your hooves do not kill, your teeth do not kill, and most importantly your brains do not wish to kill. If I had a room of 210 griffons, who are designed from the ground up to kill, I could liberate our land in a matter of hours.”

“But what I have is you, and I need killers. Braeburn!” Braeburn jumped at his name being yelled

“Yessir!”

“Do you want to be a killer!?”

“Naw sir, Ah’ve always tried my hardest ta never even hurt anypony.”

“Does anypony in this room want to be a killer?” the electric hum of the fans was the only response. Portrait Painter nodded. “That’s what I thought.” He stiffened up,

“Well Braeburn, I’m going to make you the same deal that I will make to every pony in this room. When these doors open, I want you to leave who you are behind, in this room. The Equestrian Calvary will take away everything that makes you special. We will take your talent, we will take your coat, we will take your mane, and we will take your name. By the time you leave this building you will be entirely new ponies. You will earn new destinies, you will earn new fighting names, and these new ponies will be killers.” Portrait painter paused, and looked to see if this information had sunk in. “These ponies will go to war, and these ponies will kill until such a time that the war ends.”

“And when this war is over, and you come home, the Calvary will give you back your talent, your coat, your mane, and your name. You will walk back into this room, and you will leave the killer behind, pick up the pony you left here, and you will exit as pure as you entered, having never hurt a soul.”

“And so Braeburn, in this way neither you nor anypony else in this room will be killers. Do we have a deal?”

“SIR, YES SIR”, 210 ponies replied. Portrait painter turned and trotted to a small intercom box mounted next to the doors, he hit the transmitter with his hoove.

“They’re ready.” The buzzer sounded again, the red lights all changed to green and with a loud knock the locks on the double doors disengaged and swung open. Two hundred and ten ponies followed Portrait Painter through the double doors, and they left the old world and their old selves behind. Static Sparks looked behind him to the dusty waiting room as he followed the 210 forward, and he kept looking at his old life until the double doors shut with incredible finality. A chapter in his life had ended, and a new one had begun. The only way back was forward. He turned and faced front, and marched into an uncertain future.

Manifest Destiny

Manifest Destiny.

It was a perfect day.

Celestia’s sun shined bright in the skies over Fillydelphia, the sky blue for as far as the eye could see. The clouds were being pushed by a busy team of pegasi to and fro, doing their best to provide comforting shade. There was a cool and constant breeze from the west. A perfect day.

Sparks hadn’t noticed though. Not the blue of the sky or the silver of the sun off the clouds. The breeze that slowly ruffled his mane as he trotted slowly homeward left no impression. The only part of the perfect day that crossed his downward facing eyes was the occasion when his shadow would leave him, swallowed up by all-encompassing greyness.

As he slowly clip-clopped his way down Fillydephias 4th avenue, he didn’t see anything but the pavement. He heard though. He heard a pair of old friends order a champagne. A Stallion and a mare talking about whether they should see a movie or go to the park once they finished deserts. A group of elementary schoolers pointing in excitement at a passing airship.

A little fillys voice speaking in a hushed tone. “Look at the size of that blank flank.” Giggling.

Sparks shot a look at the source of the voice. A little pink filly wearing an intricate diamond tiara and her grey spectacled friend hurriedly cut off their laughter and faced the other way. Sparks stood immobile for a second, staring at them in disgust. Finally he lowered his head again and continued his march. He glanced back at the fillies once. They were now staring at him with curiosity. ‘How could a pony grow so old and be a blank flank,’ they probably wondered. He faced front, and left them behind.

For the first time since he had walked out of the offices of Fillydelphia Water and Power he looked around. There was a small café to the left, and a park across the way. It even had a carousel. Everypony was so happy. He had to get out of there.

He looked behind him, and luckily enough a yellow earth pony cabbie was bringing an empty taxi down the lane. Sparks raised a hoove, and the cabbie pulled over. Sparks quickly hopped in as the cabbie glanced backward.

“Where to, gov’ner?” the cabbie asked with a broad smile. He was missing a tooth. At least he was still happy.

Sparks spat his answer back out, “376 Churchill Street.” The cabbie tipped his hat with one hoove, gave a curt little nod and a big incomplete grin indicating that he didn’t notice Sparks tone.

“Right-o, 376 Churchill,” He said as he started off at just above walking pace. Sparks leaned back until his head hit the back of the carriage with a ‘thunk.’ Now he could just relax and try to put the last few hours out of mind, if only for a few minutes. ‘Oh hayseeds, I have to tell my folks. What’s he gonna-‘

“Beautiful day out, ain’t it, gov’ner?” the cabbie called out from up front. Sparks closed his eyes, ‘why can’t everypony just leave me alone,’ he thought.

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” he spat out again, annoyance dripping off of the sentence. The cabbie glance back at him, then laughed.

“Don’t worry gov’ner, I don’t like these beautiful days much meself. Everypony decides to walk on a beautiful day, and that ‘urts me pockets.” Another glance back. “So why is this beautiful day gettin’ to you?”

“Because everypony is having a great day while I’m having a horrible one.”

The cabbie nodded as he made a left turn onto Keeneland road. “Is your lack of cutie mark what’s gettin’ you, gov’ner?” Sparks sat up in his seat and glared the Cabbie down.

The Cabbie nodded. “Based on that, I think it is. Well gov’ner, it isn’t all bad. You see, once you have a mark that’s it for you. Take me. I wanted to be a professional runner, wasn’t half bad. Get my mark, and it’s a cart. So now I’m stuck having to pull stuff for the rest of my life, I just get to choose if it’s ponies or cargo. I chose ponies, ‘cause I can at least talk to ‘em. I s’pose I could talk to the cargo too.” The cabbies grin grew even bigger and goofier than before as the carriage rolled up to Sparks’ apartment building on Churchill Street.

“Oi, ‘ere we are gov’ner. That’ll be ‘leven bits.” Sparks levitated twenty from his saddlebag and placed them in the carriage’s pay slot.

“Keep the change, it’ll help with the slow business.” Sparks said. The cabbies good mood was beginning to brush off on him. The cabbie tipped his hat again.

“Much appreciated gov’ner. You ‘ave a better day now.” Sparks nodded, the cabbie grinned, and then started back onto the street with a fading ‘clip-clop-clip-clop-clip-clop’ into the distance. Sparks turned and faced the apartment block. It was time to give them the news. He marched through the door.

Sparks opened the door of his apartment, and wasn’t even given the chance to step his hoove in when he heard the question he had been dreading since he had left Fillydelphia Water and Power.

“Good afternoon son, you get the job?”

His father sat at the kitchen table reading the Friday edition of the Fillydelphia Flyer. Right now he was looking to Sparks with anticipation. Sparks dodged the question as he stepped in and shut the door.

“Where’s mom?”

“Your mothers out at the market right now, something about getting something for her little colt.” He was still smiling expectantly. “Did you get the job?”

Sparks couldn’t look him in the eye as he gave his answer. “No, I didn’t.” He waited for whatever would happen next, and he didn’t have to wait long. His father sat at the table chewing it over for a minute, then shrugged and went back to the newspaper.

“Oh well, not getting a job at Fillydelphia Water and Power isn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened. Did you have a good interview?”

Sparks stood in confusion for a moment. Of all the reactions that his dad could have had, this was the one that he least expected. Indifference.

“I didn’t get the job,” Sparks repeated.

“And Fillydelphia Water and Power didn’t get a perfectly good electrical engineer,” he responded matter-of factly responded. “Did you have a good interview?”

“Yeah dad, the best I ever had. You aren’t upset? Or annoyed?”

“Not at all son.” His dad said as he started on the papers crossword. “You did what you could. I may be a little annoyed with Water and Power, but not with you.” Sparks walked across the room and sat down opposite his dad. For a moment the room was silent, save for the scratching of a pen on newsprint, and the occasional voice from the street outside. Finally Sparks spoke.

“When am I going to get what I want?”

The scratching stopped as his father looked up from the paper. “You mean the job?”

Sparks shook his head, “No dad, I mean anything. All I’ve wanted in life since I was a colt was to be an electrical engineer and to have a cutie mark. I’m twenty one years old. I’ve gone to Fillydelphia University and gotten my degree, with a 3.7 no less. And after all of that I still have nothing. Today I was called a blank flank by two little fillies. They couldn’t have been more than 10, and they have their marks. When am I going to get anything that I want?”

His father took a sip from his coffee, and held up a hoove to get Sparks to wait. He replaced the coffee gingerly, and then resumed looking at the paper. “Have I ever told you about how I meet your mother?” he said without looking up.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Sparks responded flippantly. His father still didn’t look away from the paper as he levitated the pen and went back to the crossword.

“Have I?” his father asked again.

“No, dad, we’ve never talked about it. What does it have to do with anything?”

His father continued with the paper. “Well, I was in school, was about 19, a bit younger than you. I was on the track team, and one of the exercises was bucking. Hit a block at the bottom and bang! This little metal ball would go flying up and hit a bell at the top, if you hit it hard enough anyway. So one day, we’re doing this, this bucking exercise, and I wanted to win a bet, or something like that. So I hit it as hard as I could. Turns out that block is a bit harder than I anticipated, and I hit it wrong.”

“So I end up on the ground screaming, my leg broken and bending in ways it shouldn’t, and I got sent to the hospital. Your mother was nursing there. Once they set my leg and I stopped my screaming we got talking, and that’s what got the ball rolling.” His father stopped talking, and penciled in another word on the crossword.

Sparks was still annoyed. “Alright Dad, great story. What does this have to do with me?”

“I’m getting there, son. You could say that the best thing that ever happened to me, and certainly the best thing that ever happened to you, was me shattering my leg on a metal block in order to win some 20 bit bet. Without that, I wouldn’t have met your mother, and you wouldn’t even be here. You could say it was a miracle,” he looked up at Sparks for the first time in the conversation. “Do you think that it felt like a miracle when I noticed my leg was bent the wrong way?”

“No.”

“Hay no did it feel like a miracle!” his father said as he slapped the newspaper down on the table. “It about made me faint! Made me cry like a filly that got her balloon stolen, and in front of all of my friends as well. But it was a miracle nonetheless.” He picked up the paper again and resumed the crossword.

“What I’m trying to say son, is that everything happens for a reason. You didn’t get the job, and you haven’t gotten your cutie mark, and I know that that sucks right now. But maybe you aren’t supposed to get the job or the cutie mark. Not yet.” He glanced back at Sparks. “And don’t worry about your cutie mark. What is a cutie mark?”

Sparks knew the answer by heart. “A pony’s destiny.”

His father nodded once in approval, then leaned across the table towards Sparks. “Yes, destiny. Sparks, I want you to remember this. Destiny will always find you, one way or another. You can’t run away from it, but you can’t force it either. It’ll happen precisely when it needs to. So don’t worry about your cutie mark. Alright?”

Sparks smiled a little as he heard those words. His dad always seemed to know what to say and how to say it. “Alright Dad, I’ll remember it.”

“Good,” he nodded as he sat up. “Now a job you do need, and a lot more than some dumb thing on your flank,” he looked at Sparks now intently. “So what do you want to be?”

Sparks cocked his head ever so slightly to the left. “An electrical engineer, what I’ve always wanted to be.” His dad shook his head.

“Nonononono, I phrased that wrong. What do you like?”

“How?”

“What interests you? Do you have any hobbies, that sort of thing?” his father said as he levitated the Flyer and pen again.

“Uh, well, I like writing. Running. Maybe bowling?” Sparks listed as he thought of things that he liked. He didn’t say any of them with conviction.

“You like movies, right?” his dad asked.

“Yeah.”

“Then you should work with movies,” his dad said matter of factly as he filled in another blank on the crossword.

Sparks scoffed. “Yeah, how? Las Pegasus is thousands of miles away, and I have nothing.”

His dad shrugged, and grandly circled something on the Paper. He set it on the table and slid it over to Sparks with a grin. “You have to start somewhere.” Sparks looked at the paper with mild curiosity. Circled in pen in the jobs section was an advertisement:

Wanted:
Projectionist for The Fillydelphia Royale 32.
No previous experience required. 20 bits an hour.

It was the last day of training, and Sparks was afraid.

He lay in his bunk and stared at the ceiling, occasionally a blade from the solitary large fan would whoosh in and out of view, but apart from that the barracks was empty. He had come in here after morning PT, and everypony else was at the mess hall. He was happy he was alone. Now nopony could see his fear.

He wasn’t afraid of death, or unicorns. He was afraid of failure.

Once lunch had ended, which it would in 28 minutes, each squad would undergo final evaluation, and anypony who had yet to meet a go-no go requirement would have one last opportunity to pass. Failure meant that he would be sent back home. Sparks had still yet to pass the body drag. That’s why he was afraid.

‘Maybe this isn’t my destiny,’ he thought. ‘Maybe I’m supposed to go back to filly, to Amber and my family.’ A part of him wanted to. To get away from the war and get back to his loved ones.

But it was only a part. Sparks couldn’t let down his squad, his country, or his family back home. He had to pass the body drag. And he didn’t think that he could.

Spark heard the barracks door squeak open, and the clip clop of hooves on the wooden floor.

“What’re ya doin’ away from all the festivities, partner?” Repeater called out from across the room.

Sparks scrunched up his face as he tried to think of a good excuse. “Well, I, uh, just wanted to…”

“Ta get away from everypony so that we can’t see ya freak out over the body drag?” Repeater finished. Sparks looked over, and nodded in admittance. “That’s what ah thought ya would be doin’. Everypony has kinda suspected it, seein’ as how you’re the only pony in the squad who hasn’t passed that yet. Would ya like ta talk about it? Ah always find that talkin’ helps out plenty.”

Sparks sat up in his bunk and looked down at Repeater, who was standing at the foot of the bed. He nodded, “Yeah, I would like to talk about it.”

“Alright Partner, talk.”

Sparks sighed as he gathered up his thoughts.

“I’m afraid that I’ll pass, and I’m afraid that I won’t. I afraid that I’ll die, but I’m afraid to let everypony down. I’m afraid because I don’t know what’s going to happen.” He paused. “I’m afraid because I don’t know what my destiny is.”

“Ahhhhhh,” Repeater said with recognition. “It’s about ya’re cutie mark again, ain’t it? Destiny and all that?”

Sparks nodded. That’s what it all boiled down to at its core. “I’m just tired of not knowing. My father told me that destiny would find me someday, I just wish that it would.”

Repeater perked up a little, “Would ya mind elaboratin’ on what your dad said on destiny?”

Sparks nodded, and reached back into his memory. “He said that destiny will always find you, one way or another. You can’t run away from it, but you can’t force it either. It’ll happen precisely when it needs to.”

Repeater cocked his head. “So he said that destiny is just gonna happen all on its own, without any work?”

Sparks frowned a little and though about it, thinking back to his father’s story. He reached a conclusion. “I think so.”

Repeater shook his head, “Well, ah’m sorry partner, but the notion that anything is gonna happen just on its own without any effort, especially destiny, why, that’s the height of hubris right there.” He looked up to Sparks now. “Let me ask ya a question. If me and all sorts of other settler ponies never started down south ta settle Appleloosa, would there have ever been a Appleloosa?”

“No.”

“A’course not, but every settlerpony thought that having a town down south where we could grow our apples in peace was our destiny. So by your fathers reckonin’, Appleloosa would have just willed itself into existence.”

Sparks sat on his bunk quietly, thinking it over. He was a little annoyed with Repeater telling him that his father was wrong, but at the same time what Repeater was telling him made sense.

“No partner, it wouldn’t have. Me and all the other settler ponies believe in what we call Manifest Destiny. Basically, destiny ain’t gonna happen unless somepony makes it happen. Appleloosa would never have existed if nopony built it. Do ya understand? Ya gotta make your own destiny for yourself.”

“So concerning this body drag that ya gotta pass, it ain’t gonna happen if ya don’t make it happen. Ya can’t go into it thinkin’ ‘if ah don’t make it, then it just wasn’t mah destiny’. No partner, ya came into this ta find your destiny, and ya found it, now ya just gotta make sure it happens, ya understand?”

Sparks nodded once. “Good then,” Repeater said.” Now ya do what ya need ta in order ta prepare yourself, ‘cause I need a good pony like yourself ta stay in mah squad. Ah’ll leave ya be.” Repeater turned and trotted out of the barracks.

The Artist trotted slowly down the parade ground, a clipboard of squad evaluations carried in hoove. Third platoon stood before him on the parade grounds, at attention for the past ten minutes. The Artist looked briefly at the evaluations, and then glanced at the squad before him. The ponies all stared past him in their full battle dress, gear tucked away neatly into saddlebags and weapons glinting in the sun. The Artist nodded in approval.

“All members of Fourth squad cleared for combat duty,” he said curtly, as he began trotting to the next squad in line. A quick glance at them seemed to show that fifth squad was just as squared away and battle ready as fourth. He looked to his clipboard again. He looked for a few seconds, then his eyes widened ever so slightly, and his head backed from the clipboard.

“010518412?” he asked, looking up at the squad expectantly. Sparks had been waiting a half hour for the moment to come, sweating it out in the barracks watching the seconds tick by. Now it had come. It reminded him of how he felt waiting for a test to start in engineering school. ‘Most important test of my life right here,’ he thought briefly.

“Sir, yes sir,” was how he responded though. The Artist smiled a little in recognition.

“Ah, the hero!” He tapped the clipboard with a hoove, “It says here that you have yet to pass the body drag, is that correct?”

“Sir, yes sir,” Sparks responded promptly. The Artist pointed to Joe immediately,

“Soldier, I want you to march out 25 paces, then play dead,” he pointed to Sparks. “You bring him back to the squad on my mark. If you take longer than 30 seconds, you take the train home. Understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Sparks said. ‘Joe’s second biggest pony in the squad’ was what he thought. Joe dutifully and carefully marked out his twenty paces as The Artist trotted over to Spark’s side. He leaned over briefly.

“Remember your strengths, son.” That was all he said. Sparks almost broke attention trying to contemplate what that meant. Joe reached the 25 paces and then flopped over onto the ground. The Artist fished a pocket watch from his uniform, and stared intently. “5…4…3…2…1… GO!”

Sparks was off like a shot, sprinting towards Joe at a full gallop. He dug his hooves into the earth and slid to a stop next to him. Immediately Sparks wrapped his forehooves around Joes and jammed his rearhooves into the dry dirt, pushing as hard as he could. Joe’s body moved painfully slowly over the grass. ‘I can’t do it thought,’ Sparks with panic, ‘he’s just too heavy.’

And just like that all the pieces fell into place.

‘Remember your strengths son’, Sparks remembered. Sparks also remembered his talk with The Artist. ‘You can use magic, so use it.’

Sparks had never been too proficient at magic; about the largest thing he could levitate was a set of four film reels, which was only 100 pounds, and left him drained for the rest of the afternoon that he did it. There was no way that he could levitate Joe. But as Sparks pushed against the ground trying desperately to move the giant pony his horn lit up with a blue glow that bathed Joe’s body. Sparks could feel the strength leaving every corner of his body as he dug his hooves into the ground and pushed again.

Joe’s body slid along the ground with ease. Sparks tried again, and again Joe’s body slid. Sparks closed his eyes and concentrated on keeping as much of Joes weight off of the ground as he continued to drag him backward as fast as he could.

Suddenly he ran into something, and upon hitting it his body surrendered to the incredible fatigue that using his magic had. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, Joe’s dead weight falling heavily on top of him. Sparks was only just aware of a voice, and then the weight was lifted from him. His entire body was numb, but then he felt something touching him. He opened his eyes.

“Stand at attention private!” he heard. The voice sounded like it was being said from a block away. Sparks shakily got to his hooves, and returned himself to the line. His body was so numb that he could barely feel the parade ground beneath his hooves. A strong breeze blew over the field, and Sparks could hardly stand up straight against it, swaying slightly back and forth with its ups and downs. Some part of his brain that was still functioning compared it to how he felt in the dye bath all those weeks ago.

The Artist stood before him, pen in mouth. He wrote something on the sheet, then replaced the pen on the clipboard and looked up at the squad.

“All members of fifth squad cleared for combat duty.” He turned and trotted over to the next squad. Sparks looked off to his left, and saw Cold Blooded give curt little nod, and Joe a wink. He shifted his eyes right, Repeater giving off maybe the biggest smile that he had since he had gotten there. Finally it dawned on him. ‘I did it.’

The Artist finished his evaluations and faced the platoon. “You are all dismissed, reveille until tomorrow at 1000 hours. At that time, we get on the train and ship out. Congratulations, you are all officially inducted into the Equestrian Royal Calvary.”

The Artist turned, and as soon as he had the ponies of third platoon erupted into celebration. He paused for a minute, just to hear the elated whoops of the platoon.

“We did it!”

“BUCK YEAH!”

“ROYAL CALVARY!”

In the midst of all of this celebration, Sparks received a monstrous WHAP on his back. “YA DID IT PARTNER!” Repeater yelled in triumph. “YA SAW YOU’RE DESTINY AND YA MADE IT HAPPEN! JUST LIKE AH SAID YA WOULD! MANIFEST DESTINY, PARTNER, MANIFEST DESTINY!”

Sparks had barely recovered from the drain that the body drag had caused him, but he looked around at all the ponies of his squad celebrating. Cold Blooded was giving Joe a noogie. Muddy Ruts and his twin were galloping off to the mess hall, probably for drinks. The other four had vanished into the cheering mob that third platoon had become. Sparks looked tiredly to Repeater, who gave him a solid whap on the back once more. He smiled, maybe for the first time since he had joined.

“Repeater, ‘Manifest Destiny’ does have a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Repeater paused from his celebrations, smile fading from his face as he thought about what Sparks said for a moment. Then it lit right back up.

“It certainly does, Manifest Destiny, it certainly does.”

Author's Note

Congratulations! you did it! After 30,000 words of only generally interesting happenings you have finally finished reading the training! YOU DID IT! pat yourself on the back, you've earned it.

The Battle of Canterlot

The barrage had been over for around 20 minutes now, and it seemed that everypony in the army had gathered up in the trench, rifle in hoof. Everypony in Repeaters squad was looking through the makeshift periscopes over the lip of the trench. Streaks of water ran down the mirrors as the rain collected on the periscope, clouding Manifests vision. He lowered it and was about to wipe it off with his hoof, but decided against it after seeing how muddy he was.

“Ah don’t get it, why haven’t they come yet?” Repeater muttered. “Why haven’t we gotten any orders?” he shook his head as he continued looking through the periscope. “Ya talked ta Cold and Joe, right?” Manifest nodded.

“Yeah, they’re alright, a bit wet but alright.”

“COMPANY! ATTENTION!” The ponies immediately turned about and faced rear towards the voice. The Artist stood at the lip of the trench. Along the line Manifest could hear similar commands being issued, but he tuned them out. The Artist looked the ponies over to see that he had their attention.

“The Unicornians are coming; reconnaissance says they’re about a mile away right now. They intend to take the field, but we’re going to stop them. Nopony falls back today!” He turned around and pointed east into the rain . “You can’t see it now, but Canterlot’s back there, and we are what’s between them-” he turned and pointed west “-and them! There’s nowhere left to fall back to. We’re on the line in the sand, and we’re going to hold it! We will make them pay for every step they take towards us and won’t give an inch! Are we clear!?”

Nopony cheered, or even moved very much, but everypony in Repeaters squad nodded grimly. The Artist nodded back.

“COMPANY! ONTO THE TRENCH! LOAD AND READY!” Manifest turned and sprung up onto the edge of the trench, his head and forehooves just clearing the lip. In front of him was the field. Ten yards away was a line of barbed wire. Twenty-five yards out was the ditch. Fifty yards away was another fence. After that the field was barren save for leftover silhouette targets, stretching out until it disappeared into the rain around a quarter mile away.

He grabbed up his Clockwork Canterlot and threw open the bolt. He had loaded it so many times that it had become a subconscious action as he positioned the clip and jammed the rounds in. To his right, he could see Repeater slot in a feed tube on his Marechester, and the ponies beyond him loading as well. Manifest charged another clip as Repeater racked his rifle, then he closed the bolt and flipped his safety switch off, and pointed the rifle off into the rain out west. With several ‘pings’ and metallic rattling everypony else finished up, and all rifles lined up to face the unseen enemy.

Manifest had waited a lot, even today, but in his stomach he could feel that this was the worst. The warm summer rain pattered down upon him and collected on his SMCC, dripping off the end of the barrel, but still he kept the rifle trained westward, not daring to move. ‘In a few minutes, thousands of Unicornians are going to burst out of the rain and we’re going to have to stop them.’ The rain continued to beat down, but apart from that the trench had gone dead quiet.

He adjusted the rifle into his shoulder, thankful for the twin’s invention as the rubber buried itself into his shoulder. He tested the sights briefly. Notch, post, target. He shuddered briefly in the rain. He was going to have to kill again, and soon. Repeater’s rifle snapped up.

“They’re comin’, Ah can feel ‘em.”

Manifest looked out into the rain, but he saw nothing. He couldn’t feel anything either, but Repeater had felt the shaking of the Unicornian artillery, so he knew that Repeater was right. He trained his ears to see if he could hear anything, but aside from the pattering of rain there was nothing.

And then he could feel it. Only just, but he could feel the ground shuddering beneath his hoofs. He had felt it before back in Fillydelphia; whenever a train would roll by his neighborhood he could always feel it before he could hear. It was just like that. First he could feel the ground shuddering, then he could feel the shuddering in his bones. The rain still masked them, but they had to be close. He could swear that the sound had changed too, from the light patter of rain to something deeper.

He thought that he saw something in the rain ahead, and snapped his rifle up. He could see it, 500 yards off and small, but a shadowy silhouette. Around him other rifles snapped up to the ready. In the rain he could now see more. First a few, then several, then dozens, then hundreds. The unicorns emerged from the rain in one large line abreast, packed in tight and marching forward orderly.

“AIM!” The Artist yelled out. Everypony had already been doing that, but now Manifest concentrated, he lined up a spot on the imposing line and steadied himself. As he focused he noticed things that he hadn’t before. The extra weight in the rifle from the water, how the mud deformed slightly when he put his hooves weight on it. How the water droplets would pool and run down his forehooves to the ground. How his ears twitched as he tried to hear everything over the pattering of the rain. How his stomach felt like it had been knotted up 4 different ways and every hair in his body was on end. He could clearly make out the unicorn that he was aiming at now, about 400 yards away. He was a little shorter than the others, and armed with a large lance like all his comrades. All of them were a light grey, wearing a darker grey uniform of some sort. They had to be at least ten deep, but Manifest didn’t take notice.

‘Come on, turn around and just leave,’ a part of him silently pleaded. His ears twitched, and he could hear a voice out west, a clean, forceful voice.

The Unicornians began to sprint forward, a second later the massed yell of thousands of ponies reaching Manifests ears. He breathed in, and felt his hoof tense on the trigger. A drop of water fell off the barrel of his gun onto the ground. He kept his sights on the unicorn he picked out, now getting closer. The unicorn was yelling, head down and horn forward with his lance, the ground shaking with the thundering of thousands of hooves. 350 yards, 340, 330, 320, 310.

“FIRE!”

Every gun in the Equestrian lines fired simultaneously with a roar that downed out any noise the Unicornians hoped to make. As Manifests SMCC fired with a flash and a “BOMF” all the water that had accumulated on it was shaken off. As soon as he pulled the trigger he was operating the bolt, only faintly aware of the scores that had fallen with the first round. Off to the left and the right he could hear the rattling of machine guns as he aimed again. The Unicornians were closer and still charging, their numbers seemingly hardly affected. Manifest fired again. And again. And again. He could see them being cut down with every second that passed, but they were closing the gap.

‘Celestia, it’s not enough,’ some part of him thought in panic. ‘we’re going to be overrun.’ He fired again. And again. They were a hundred yards away, fewer than before, but still scores of them. He fired again. He was running low on rounds and they were charging closer. He fired again. 80 yards. Again. 60 yards. Still hundreds.

‘I’m going to die.’ He thought as he aimed his last round. The unicorn his sights settled on kept charging forward, mouth open as he yelled.

Before Manifest could pull the trigger the unicorn stopped, but not on his own.

The unicorn was yanked to a halt by the barbed wire fence; he quickly tried to backpedal to escape. Manifest pulled the trigger, and the unicorn slumped over, held up by the wires he was entrapped in. Manifest quickly threw the bolt open and jammed his rounds in as fast as he could manage. He snapped his rifle back up.

His unicorn wasn’t the only one that the fence had stopped. The Unicornians now bunched up along the fence. He took aim at one that was trapped in it. “BOMF!” Another one was trying to yank the post out of the ground magically, Manifest aimed and fired, and the Unicornian fell over with a burst of red. He took aim at a group that was trying to lift a section of the fence up. Before he could fire they started to fall, the last few turning to flee before the bullets tore into them.

Bodies were now piling up along the edge of the barbed wire, but the Unicornians were still coming in hordes. Manifest now took to shooting anypony who tried to destroy the fence. If the fence went then there was little left between them and hoof to hoof combat. Another unicorn was trying to pull up a post; Manifest caught him in the neck. Manifest fired again.

He definitely wasn’t starved for targets; just about every foot of fence had a Unicornian trying to get through. To his right, Repeater was hardly aiming anymore. He had taken to blasting off his rounds as fast as possible into the masses before reloading as fast as possible. The roaring of gunfire was hurting Manifests ears, and every time he pulled the trigger he could feel it in his shoulder. He fired again. And again.

At this point, the Unicornians had to clamber over their dead countryponies to get to the fence, but they were also getting smarter. One flashed out of existence, popping up on the other side. As soon as he materialized Manifest swung his rifle over to him. The unicorn barely moved forward before he was cut down, at least 4 ponies shot him simultaneously, gore erupting from his body as he slumped over.

Manifest swung back to the fence as he rechambered and shot another one. He worked the bolt again. A pony had his horn on the wire, melting it with a heat spell. Manifest shot him through the neck and into his body. The unicorn had done his job though, the ones behind him lifted on the wire and it separated from the rest of the fence, leaving a clear opening at least five feet wide. Manifest shot the one closest to him, the round ripping through him and catching the pony behind him as well.

He rechambered as they began to pour through the gap and pulled the trigger but the rifle remained still in his hooves. ‘Oh Celestia, I’m out,’ he thought in fear. The unicorns running through the gap had only gotten a few steps before a machine gun swung over to them and opened up, reducing twenty ponies to none in the time it took Manifest to reload.

As Manifest snapped the rifle back up he could tell two things clearly. First was that the Unicornians were paying through the nose for every step that they took. The fence had bodies piled up behind it in scores, and anywhere that the Unicornians were able to break through it was also strewn with carcasses as Equestrian brass plugged up the holes. There were fewer Unicornians in the field as well, they no longer choked the fence, or blotted out the horizon as they had done moments before.

The other thing that he could tell was that the fence was failing. More and more sections were being melted away, or ripped up by the combined strength of ten unicorns. Manifest aimed his rifle at a hole in the wire that a unicorn started running through and fired, his round going low and blasting two of the ponies legs from under him. More started coming through the hole and Manifest kept firing. He shot the first one, then the second, then the third. With each one that he felled, they got a little farther. In his periphery he could tell that this was happening across the trenches. The Unicornians were breaking through.

He aimed at the fourth one that was running, but before he could fire the unicorn leapt down and out of his sights. ‘The ditch,’ he remembered. He didn’t have time to think though, and snapped his rifle back up in time to catch the fifth pony before he could leap into safety.

More and more were getting past everypony now and into the relative safety of the ditch to regroup and get out of the hail of brass the Equestrians were laying into them. Roughly for every one Manifest was able to shoot, one made it to the ditch. The field was now thinning out significantly, the remaining Unicornians charging through breaks in the wire to get into the ditch. The amount of gunfire hadn’t decreased at all though, the remaining Unicornians out on the field now being target to hundreds of rifles at once.

Manifest took aim at a group of ponies running forward. He fired, and their lead dropped. As he moved to rechamber it, rifle fire tore into the remains of the group. He pushed the bolt closed and aimed again. In his sights a unicorn skidded to a stop in the mud as his comrades fell around him. ‘Don’t choose to be someone that you’ll regret being,’ he remembered suddenly. He aimed his rifle away from the scared pony. It didn’t matter; the unicorn had hardly retreated two feet before he was cut down. He quickly took aim at another and fired.

Despite the carnage that the Equestrians had wrought fresh Unicornians were still crossing the field. ‘There’s too many of them,’ he thought as he fired again, bringing down another. ‘Where’s the artillery?!’ artillery or not though; all that mattered was moving the bolt and pulling the trigger so that the hordes could be reduced by one. Unless something happened though, he knew that they would charge out of the ditch in mass and into the trench, and then it would be over.

Then something happened.

Cold Blooded sat in near total darkness and three inches of cold standing water, the only light being the reflected light from outside coming in through the periscope he looked through. He only had vision running along the length of the ditch, which was endlessly frustrating. He wanted to know what was happening up there. Were the Unicornians being beaten back, had half of our side run? All that he could tell for certain was that no Unicornians had gotten to the ditch yet, and that the Equestrians were putting out a ton of fire. He could hear it through the tunnel, and even through the earth, a steady continuous roar of rifles and chattering machine guns.

‘We may kill them all before they even get here,’ he thought. A frown appeared on his face as he thought about it. He wasn’t going to tell everypony ‘I didn’t fire a shot’ at the battle of Canterlot. No sir, he was going to walk away from this with his head held high knowing that he had done his part.

His thoughts were interrupted by a unicorn leaping into the ditch before him. For a second Cold tensed up. Through the periscope he could see the unicorn look to the left and right hurriedly, panic on his face. He looked right at the tarp that hid Cold’s machine gun. If he saw it for what it was then Cold would have to start shooting now, and now was too soon. The unicorn looked away, up to the top of the ditch as it waited, and Cold breathed a sigh of relief.

“What is it?” Joe whispered.

“A unicorn got to the ditch; the tarp worked.” He took a good look at the unicorn. Light grey, wearing a dark grey uniform. On his saddle, he carried a lance about ten feet long which stuck up over the end of the ditch. He looked at the uniform, and saw a brace of grenades. If they got much closer, then they could probably start lobbing them into the Equestrian trenches. Cold smiled. The unicorn didn’t have a rifle. That made his job easier.

Another leapt in the ditch, then another, and then another. Just as he had hoped, they were all regrouping right in front of him. Cold kept waiting, with one eye he glanced at the gun in the darkness. For the past few days they had been chaining ammunition belts together into one continuous of 2,500 rounds. That was enough to fire for four minutes without stopping to reload. He reached down and touched the water jacket with a hoof. It was cold. Good. He couldn’t have the barrel melting on him.

Unicornians were hopping into the ditch at a steady pace now. One of them began to leap in around 70 yards away, and then caught with a burst of red, his body rolling into the ditch. There were maybe fifty in there now, but that wasn’t enough. He could see a few unicorns talking to one, who must have been a sergeant. Cold looked for anything that would identify that pony as different, but couldn’t find it. ‘Oh well,’ he thought, ‘they’re all dead anyway.’

More and more hopped in, one just 5 feet from where he sat. He silently thanked Celestia that the muddy tarp made for a convincing enough earthen wall. The trick was to keep waiting, wait until it was packed from end to end with no room to move, but before they charged out. He just had to be patient. It wouldn’t be long now though, not at the rate they were coming in.

“How much longer?” Joe whispered. Cold raised a hoof for quiet, he couldn’t afford for them to be heard, somehow. It was getting close though. He debated with himself for a moment, then made up his mind. He slowly backed away from the Periscope, water sloshing beneath his hooves as he moved. He sat down behind the machine gun. It was all ready, locked, loaded, sighted in. He put one hoof under to aim and help hold it steady, and his other rested on the fire spade. He looked over to Joe.

“Ready?” Joe leaned over and bit down on the string. Once he pulled the tarp would come up, and they wouldn’t be hiding anymore. Cold felt something in his chest. Excitement, a buzz of adrenaline. His planning and digging and weeks of setup were about to pay off.

“Alright Joe, here we go.” Cold said, adjusting himself one last time as he aimed down the sights at the tarp. “Pull!”

Joe pulled the string, and the tarp came up, revealing a ditch packed from end to end with Unicornians. The one nearest to him looked over at Cold, his eyes widening slightly. He was only 5 feet away. Cold lined up the sights on him, and pressed down on the spade.

From this range Cold could see everything the Browns did in horrific detail. He watched as the first several rounds impacted on the unicorn’s side, each leaving a precise .3 inch diameter hole. He watched as the bullets erupted out of the unicorns other side, carrying with them flesh and bone and blood as they continued until they buried themselves into the next unicorn. The bullets worked their way up the first unicorn, going along the neck and up to the head. One shattered the unicorns jaw, the next went through the unicorns wide, lifeless eyes, and shattered the skull, ejecting brain matter across his dying comrades. The force of the bullets finally threw the first unicorn to the ground, revealing that the next several were already dead, killed by the bullets that went through their comrade.

Several of the unicorns began to turn to face the machine gun, just in time to be cut down. One began to charge with his lance out ahead of him. The bullets ripped his legs out from under him first, shattering his bones and forcing them through his skin. The unicorn fell to the ground, five more rounds going through his body and out the other side. At least 30 were dead so far.

Up ahead one of the unicorns raised a shield between his group and the machine gun, but Cold had been prepared for this. His belt had alternating ammunition. Tracer, ball, Armor piercing, hollow point. The bullets smashed into the shield, it began to crack. The first armored piercing round went through, and the shield shattered. Less than two seconds later the ponies behind it were dead.

Some Unicornians tried to throw their lances, levitating them off of their backs and hurling them at the machine gun before they were cut down. They were all missing. The fifty yards of ditch closest to Cold no longer had unicorns in it, it had corpses.

A unicorn leapt down from the field into the perceived safety of the ditch, just 10 feet away from Colds gun. He went right through the path of the bullets, the first one ripping his muzzle from his face, the second through the back of his neck and spine. He was dead before he hit the ground. More kept leaping in, right into the bullets that tore down the rest of the ditch.

There was nopony left alive in the ditch that was close enough to do anything to the machine gun now, but the bullets that it fired easily sailed through the air to their intended targets.

Cold could see a unicorn crawling out from beneath a corpse, just ten yards away. With a green glow the unicorn took a grenade from his brace and pulled the pin. Cold swung the machine gun over, hitting the unicorn 4 times from right to left across the center of his body. The grenade fell and the unicorn slumped over on top of it as Cold traversed the machine gun back. The grenade went off, blowing the pony open and up into the air before gravity took hold and brought the ragged red pile of flesh back down, getting hit by more machine gun rounds as it went. A leg landed just a few yards ahead, but the machine gun kept firing.

Cold couldn’t really tell what was happening at the far end of the ditch, until he saw a small group of unicorns at the far end try and charge forward and out of the aim of the terrible machine gun. As soon as they stood up the equestrian rifles cut them down, their bodies rolling back into the mass grave. There was nopony left alive in the ditch. Only bodies piled up on top of each other. Cold let his hoof off the spade.

The machine gun didn’t stop firing though, still blasting down the length of the trench, bullets impacting on Unicornian bodies with sharp geysers of blood. Cold looked over to Joe, who looked over the scene in horror.

“JOE! MAKE IT STOP!” Cold yelled frantically. Joe couldn’t hear, or wasn’t listening. Cold slapped the firing spade, but the gun kept firing into the dead, making the corpses shudder with their impacts. “FOR CELESTIA’S SAKE JOE! MAKE IT STOP! MAKE IT STOP PLEASE!”

Joe suddenly turned and stamped down hard on the ammunition belt, breaking it. The machine gun fired off the remaining few rounds, then finally ran out of ammo. Cold stared at the ditch. It was filled from end to end with bodies, red from their blood and the blood of their comrades. Above the rifles still fired, but nopony was getting into the ditch. Slowly Cold looked down. The water at his feet was turning darker, and he looked up to follow it to the source. A river of blood ran from the Unicornian bodies down the trench, pooling up where he sat. The Browns smoked, and clicked occasionally as it cooled.

‘I did this,’ Cold thought.

Manifest had just reloaded for the fifth time, snapping his rifle back up and quickly firing at another unicorn that was crossing the field. The amount that was crossing was definitely thinning out, but there were still all the unicorns in the ditch to worry about. Manifest fired at another one crossing the field. Suddenly he heard an explosion, and saw a carcass fly out of the ditch into the air, before quickly falling back in.

Off to the right he saw a group of unicorns stand up and charge out of the ditch. He quickly traversed over and fired, almost as soon as the group stood up they were cut back down, one unicorn making it four steps before he was shot by four separate rifles, his blood shooting out in different directions. Manifest aimed back to the field. The incoming unicorns were turning and running. He let his hoof off the trigger, but continued to look for any Unicornians that were still trying to advance.

Out in the distance, at the very edge of where his vision he saw another line materialize out of the rain. Fresh Unicornians, ready to join the battle. ‘Celestia! There’s more!’ he thought in alarm as he aimed at them. They were still too far off for him to shoot, but he readied himself. The rifles slowly stopped firing as everypony reloaded, trying to ready themselves as best as they could for the second wave. The first fence was already mostly done for, if they were able to push past the ditch, odds were good that they would be able to break through.

Out ahead the retreating Unicornians regrouped with the reinforcements, the line stopped briefly. The equestrian guns fell silent as the Unicornian wave stood just out of effective range. Manifest aimed and readied himself. He could hardly hear anything thanks to the constant gunfire. He saw a unicorn step out in front of the others. The unicorn stopped for a second, turning to address its soldiers. He faced front, and took a single step forward. Manifest heard a shill whistle overhead.

His hoof touched the ground, and then the unicorn exploded in full view of both armies, his body scattering itself into the air before mixing in with the kicked up mud and becoming inseparable. The shrieking overhead grew in intensity, several pitches occurring at once. The Unicornian army stood frozen in shock or confusion, then the ground started erupting beneath them. The explosions happened simultaneously, happening so quickly that when the noise hit the line Manifest couldn’t tell when one began and the other ended. The sound came from all directions, from the impacts in front and from the artillery firing behind.

The Unicornian line disappeared in a cloud of dirt, each round blasting corpses, mud, and dust into the air. Through the cloud Manifest could see shadows racing forward to try and escape the barrage. The Unicornians began bursting through the dust, but they were scattered and uncoordinated, their orderly advance reduced to a blind charge in seconds. Manifest aimed at one and waited for a moment until he got into range. He fired, and a second later the bullet hit. The rifles started up again, barely being heard over the thunder of the artillery.

Manifest aimed for another target, setting his sights on a large one that burst out of the cloud. The unicorn was clad in heavy silver armor, tinged with the brown of mud, his mane and tail stood out as a dull red. ‘Mage’ Manifest thought, steadying his rifle. Suddenly the ground in front of the Mage deformed, and the mage only had time to open his mouth as the artillery shell at his feet exploded. The mage was blown into the air, his body landing heavily onto the ground, immobile.

Manifest turned to a group of unicorns running for a gap in the fence. He aimed and downed the first one. As he rechambered a machine gun turned to the group and fired into it, bringing almost all of them down before the machine gun traversed away to a better target. The artillery had broken up the charge, and now the Calvary was able to focus its fire on the groups of survivors. Manifest shot one of the last ponies of the group that he aimed at, then rechambered and finished them off.

The remaining Unicornians now began to reach the remains of the first fence, but the artillery had followed them, slowly creeping toward the Equestrian lines before halting about a hundred yards away. Unicorns still would burst through the dust, but not nearly in the numbers needed. For the first time in the battle Manifest believed that they could win, aided by the roar of the rifles and the thunder and screaming of the artillery. He continued to fire at the attackers.

One unicorn was hiding behind a barb wire fence taking aim at the trenches with a rifle. Manifest aimed and fired, his bullet smashing through the fence post and into the pony, who fell to the ground in agony. Manifest continued to find targets and fire, the action becoming one of instinct. He scanned the field as he fired. Another mage was approaching. He aimed. The mage flashed out of existence, and flashed back twenty yards closer and to the left. Manifest aimed there, but the mage flashed out again. Manifest saw the light that indicated where the mage would be, and aimed.

The second the mage appeared Manifest fired, hitting the mage in the knee joint of his armor. The mages legs gave out beneath him and he rolled onto the ground yelling out in pain. Manifest rechambered and shot it in the head, spraying its brains out behind him. He rechambered and fired at another Unicornian.

A few unicorns had leapt into the ditch ahead, but Manifest paid no attention, choosing to fire at ones who were bursting through the dust of the barrage. As he aimed his rifle at another attacker something quickly flew through his sight picture. He looked up and saw a grenade sailing through the air. Before he could react a green glow encompassed it, and sent it right back. With a sharp crack the grenade exploded just above the ditch. Manifest went back to shooting.

Manifest fired again, and sent the bolt back and forward. It was getting harder to operate, now when he got it to the forward position he had to pause and hit the bolt into place. He aimed and shot at another unicorn. There were only a few left, and no more were coming through the dust toward them.

He could see another mage running across the field toward him and quickly aimed. The mage was teleporting heavily, but Manifest was expecting this.as he did with the first one he waited until it flashed out, then aimed at the light the mage made as it flashed back in. The second the unicorn appeared Manifest pulled the trigger, but nothing happened. He threw the bolt open, but no cartridge flew out. He was out. The mage was just yards away. It flashed out again.

Manifest heard the crack it made as it flashed back in to his left, and he spun to face it. The mage was in the trench, only a few feet away, between him and the twins. With a crackle a fireball sprouted up next to the mage, his eyes wild with fear as he looked at Manifest. Manifest braced himself.

The Marechester popped up over his shoulder, and Repeater let loose as fast as possible, the muzzle blast immediately blowing out Manifests left eardrum. The first two rounds bounced off of the mages armor with sparks, but they knocked the unicorn off balance. The third one grazed its neck, shooting blood out sideways. The fireball went out as the mage reached up to the wound, the fourth round shattering the hoof that he raised. The mage fell over, clutching at his throat. Bloody turned over and saw the mage on the ground, and quickly brought his rifle to bear. With a flash Manifest saw the rifle recoil into Bloody’s shoulder and the round enter into the back of the mages head. erupting out of his mouth with a spray of brains and blood. Manifest looked away and started to reload.

He aimed his rifle at the field again, but nopony was trying to cross now. A hundred yards away the artillery shook the earth, but no unicorns burst through the wall of dust it had created. The few on the field were running west, as fast as they could. Manifest let his hoove off the trigger. The rifles kept firing, the few runners dropping. The shells stopped falling, shifting off ahead into the rain, out of sight, but still being heard. Slowly he begun to feel the rain again. He waited, either for an end or a third wave.

There was a break in the dirt cloud, and Manifest could see a unicorn through it, just barely, around 400 yards away. One final “BOMF” issued to his left, and a second later he saw the pony fall. The dust moved back, and Manifest couldn’t see him anymore.

A shrill whistle sounded off behind him. “ALL CLEAR! RECONNAISSANCE SAYS THEY ARE RETREATING!” Manifest wearily let his rifle lower. His shoulder screamed in pain, his rifle smoked and smelled of burnt wood. Nopony celebrated, or even spoke. The artillery thundered in the distance, but Manifest heard something through his good ear.

He looked at the field. There were bodies everywhere, piled on top of each other in places, stretching out as far as he could see. Without the roar of the rifles, or the booming of artillery, Manifest could hear what was happening in the field.

He could hear screaming.