Quill Weave considered himself a reasonable pony. Despite his active imagination, he was never one to put much stock in superstition. He was sensible, pragmatic, and positively averse to blind faith. Yet here, in the torrid, steamy jungles of south-east Equestria, faith was precisely what had been asked of him. Belief without proof, he thought bitterly, belief without evidence; belief that our princess has not left us in the dark.
Quill Weave had been an author but a few years past; a talented one at that. His pen had crafted some of modern Equestria’s most acclaimed novels and short stories. He couldn’t help a wry smile as he considered the seemingly interminable length of time since those happy days gone by. Now he was a soldier; a volunteer in the Royal Equestrian Army.
When peace talks had broken down with the aggressively imperialist Care Bear nation Carealot and resulted in open warfare along Equestria’s southern and eastern borders, enlisting had seemed a perfect way to personally experience the adventure he lauded so often in his books, while serving his country at the same time. The reality, of course, had been shockingly different.
The saturated mud sucked at his hooves with malicious sentience on the home stretch to base. He recalled with black humour the words of his ex-commander: ‘Don’t worry private, you’re an earth pony, earth ponies love mud!’
“Bucking racist…” he grumbled, forsaking his usual courteous eloquence as he slogged through a particularly tangled quagmire of gunk and vines. He marched at the head of a long column that wound through the gnarled jungle like a serpent. They had just endured another eventless patrol around the borders of their camp. Sometimes, Quill thought, quiet patrols are actually worse. It wasn’t just the stress; when there was no action to be had for days on end, complacency threatened to smother their senses.
And complacency can quickly get a pony killed.
“Hold,” he said, raising a hoof in gesture to the ponies behind him.
Something up ahead had caught his eye—an eye forged to acuity by bitter experience—there was something amiss on the path. The uniform brown of mist-slick mud was disrupted by a band of green leaves. Glancing up, he could see none of their equals in the flickering canopy. They had been transported from elsewhere.
The leaves could well have been blown in on the wind, but he couldn’t afford to take that chance. Suspicious, he gingerly stepped forward, lowering his head and scanning the path before him. He found a stout stick by the trailside and grasped it firmly between his teeth. Then, ever so carefully, he tested the leaves one by one, prodding and probing about the mud
Without warning, a violent metal snap echoed between the trees, and a shuddering vibration coursed through the stick and into Quill’s teeth. He spat it out and sneered derisively at the heart-shaped metal jaws—now clamped firmly around the splintered wood—which had sprung like a predator from the leaves.
“Bear trap,” he announced, gesturing at the razor sharp teeth. “Don’t forget; that could be your leg! The CB’s are tricky…”
There was a nervous mumble among the patrol, and eyes which had been listless and hooded were suddenly as sharp as daggers. That’s what I like to see, thought Quill.
They bypassed that section of the path, cutting through the undergrowth. It was hard work, but worth it to avoid any more traps that might have been lying in wait. At last they broke free of the stifling verdant cocoon and the jungle began to thin. Up ahead something loomed high over the lush carpet of life; Quill knew they had reached Hill Six, the most isolated outpost in southern Equestria.
It must once have been a beautiful sward of green grass, a mile-wide glade crisscrossed with streams and ponds, but the constant churning of hooves, wheels and earth-shaking explosions had reduced it to no more than a sad, soggy brown lump above the trees. The base was ringed by a complex pattern of deep trenches, passable only through use of levitating unicorn magic. Further up was the next line of defence: a motley collection of fences, broken wagons and gutted supply crates, intended to stymie any invasion force. The final layer consisted of neatly packed sandbags that crested the very crown of the hill. They bristled with guns which Quill knew were manned constantly day and night in alternating shifts. At the very summit of the hill sat Fort A, a squat village of tents, tabernacles, cabins and huts thrown up in haste as peace talks had turned violent. This was Quill Weave’s charge.
Being one of the first ponies to volunteer and ship out, he had quickly climbed the ranks to become First Sergeant, serving under Lieutenant Lily Liver. Hill Six had become their new home, and the bright faced recruits were eager for action. Frontlines changed quickly in the first days of the war, though, and Fort A was cut off from the main Equestrian force. Attacks became frequent and deadly. Their numbers steadily decreased as the experienced vanguard warriors of the CBs chipped away at them. Supplies dwindled, morale plummeted, and things began to look very bleak for the beleaguered 2nd chargers company. Lily Liver was true to his name, and had taken off on his own in the middle of the night, leaving Quill nought but his olive green cap and a note which read:
Congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant.
Quill reached under that very same cap to sweep the sweaty mane from his eyes as he finally reached the top of the hill. Despite his fatigue, a smile played across his lips as he beheld what had come to be his place of refuge and safety. The various abodes, armouries, bunkers, hospitals and quarterhouses had been arranged in a grid-like pattern that carved the small plateau into paths. To the far east was a flat area of concrete used as a landing pad for war chariots. At the centre of it all stood the command centre—constructed from books, of all things—and a torn but proud equestrian battle banner that fluttered in the breeze. A lazy, wailing rock song drifted from the speakers perched atop the book fort, and it remained thus during all daylight hours—a practice Quill had taken upon himself to maintain morale.
Ponies of all shapes, colours, sizes and decent trotted back and forth, tending to their vital work. It had always been Equestrian military policy to keep a balance of half stallions and half mares; Fort A was no exception. Quill had come to know everypony under his command by name, and, though they looked tired and beaten, he knew that each one was brave beyond reckoning, for they had stayed when so many others had fled.
“Hold it right there, sir!” said one such brave pony as he pointed his lightning turret directly at his commanding officer.
Quill sighed and did as bidden. “Yes?”
“What’s the password?”
“Uh…” After such a long trek, Quill could barely remember what he had eaten for breakfast that morning. “Please?” he ventured with an awkward grin.
The stallion behind the turret narrowed his eyes.
“Pretty please?”
The stallion’s grip on his weapon remained rock-steady.
“With sprinkles on top?”
There was no response. Suddenly a mare spoke up from behind Quill. He recognised the voice as Hot Shot, a blood-red coated earth pony with a fiery orange mane. A more fitting name he could not fathom. “Just let us in already, for ponies’ sake!!” she complained.
Her voice was joined by a dozen others as the irritable patrol surged forwards, crowding the turret. The stallion faltered before lowering his weapon and allowing them to pass. They grumbled as they dispersed among the camp.
“Dismissed…” muttered Quill redundantly. He turned and regarded the guard stallion, a fresh recruit by the name of Sure Lock. He was a tan coloured unicorn with a brown mane and tail. “I admire your vigilance, private, but there’s really no need to screen every patrol that returns. It is admittedly rather difficult for one of the CBs to disguise themselves as a pony, wouldn’t you agree?”
The stallion nodded sombrely. “Yes sir.”
He was young, as they all were; a draftee, since Celestia had seen fit to bolster her meagre military forces with more than volunteers from the populace. He had arrived but a week before Fort A had been cut off, and his inexperience was plain. Quill knew that it would not take him long to get accustomed to the rhythm of life on the hill, but felt dismayed that it would also strip him of his innocence and enthusiasm.
“Chin up, lad,” said Quill as he parted, giving the young stallion a passing nod.
Despite his encouraging words, Quill Weave knew there was more than enough reason in Fort A to be downhearted. They had received no food, medical equipment or munitions in months, and each day that passed marked another day without contact from the rest of the REA. Casualties crowded the hospitals, rationing was stringent, and the guards were under direct orders not to fire at an unconfirmed target. Their situation was dire indeed.
Even as he thought it, a mint green mare with volumous brown hair emerged from inside a tent, pestering another mare with her attentions. A small olive green beret, marked with the badge of Celestia, was perched atop her head. Her sparkling horn belied the magic she used to draw in mid air—it was her special talent, and one the Equestrian army had put to good use in the form of an Information Officer. The grumbling mare walked rigidly past as Famosity added the finishing touches to her fancy transparent hat, pencil hovering just a few feet above her head and darting back and forth like a bee.
“Stand still!” Famosity demanded, but the mare simply shook her head, and the spectral hat evaporated. “Fine! Go on walking! Keep your silly helmet! That’s the thanks I get for trying to liven things up around here…” She tucked her magic pencil back into her saddlebags, which burst at the seams with maps, charts, tables and all manner of stationary.
Quill chuckled at her crestfallen expression. “You’re always lifting everypony’s spirits, Famosity, you should know that.”
She met his eyes with a surprised expression, then slumped back into her gloom. “I would if they let me, sergeant.”
Quill cleared his throat and held his head a little higher. “I’m a lieutenant, actually.”
Famosity snorted cynically and tossed her mane. “No, you’re a sergeant with a lieutenant who deserted, which makes you a sergeant. And it means I outrank you.”
Technically that was probably true, and Famosity always made sure he remembered it, but in truth she had no desire to lead; she was happy to defer to him. Quill shook his head and sighed tiredly. The overwhelming exhaustion which perpetually hung over the fort seemed to have no effect on Famosity’s spirits. That mare was as happy go lucky as the day she had arrived.
“Have the flyers returned yet?” Quill inquired.
“Not yet, sergeant.”
Quill nodded; he had expected as much. The one major advantage they had always held over the CBs was air superiority. Pegasi were born to fly, and so were naturally capable of aerial combat and ground support, while the CBs had to rely on magic and complex machinery. At Fort A, they had originally been outfitted with forty pegasi: a full squadron, but through injury, death and desertion, that number had been reduced to just two. He had sent them out that morning on a long range reconnaissance mission, and they were to be gone all day. The skies above Hill Six were more frightening now than they ever had been.
Despite himself, Quill couldn’t help a fearful glance at the clouds. “Keep me posted, Famosity.”
“I’ll do that…” she said, suddenly distracted by another pony marching past. She grinned mischievously and drew her pencil once more from its sheath.
Quill shook his head and made for the centre of camp, eager to rest his weary, mud stained hooves. His multi-coloured book-fort was all but bare. Only a cot, radio, desk and footlocker were to be found inside. His impressive collection of tomes had once been piled to the ceiling but, since the destruction of the old command centre, they formed the ceiling. He cast his gaze over the exposed pages. As sad as it was to sacrifice so many books, he appreciated living surrounded by words.
With a grunt, he reared up and dislodged the heavy gun-rack which had been strapped to his back all day, threw off his cap, then collapsed on his cot. His weary eyes drifted to the one thing in the fort which meant most to him: a silver framed picture, perched on his desk, signed fondly by his true love.
Rarity…
He had met the graceful white unicorn in Ponyville—the town he had moved to after leaving Trottingham—and was smitten with her immediately. She was certainly a challenge to court, and his pockets had been emptied many times over by her expensive tastes, but it had been worth it to see the smile on her face; the smile which he fawned over now.
The war had split them. Quill had volunteered; assuming it would be over quickly, but shortly afterwards Rarity had been drafted too. He knew that she suffered somewhere on the eastern front now, in the trenches, up to her haunches in mud. It made him tear up just thinking about it; she hated mud.
He sniffed and rolled over, tearing his eyes away from the picture. Be safe, Rarity….Drowsiness swept over him like a blanket as he lay there, splattered with grime, and his imagination began to wander as he stared at the lexicon upon the walls. I’ll just… rest my eyes…he thought.
Four hours later, a familiar voice roused him from his slumber. “Wake up, sergeant!”
Quill groaned painfully and flopped onto his right side, facing the mint green mare who had intruded on his torpidity. The ruddy glow which framed her announced the coming of dusk.
Famosity wore a snarky grin. “Trying out a mud bath?”
He lifted his head, regarded himself, and fought the urge to gasp as he saw what a terrible state he was in. Before the war, Quill Weave had taken pride in his appearance—his perfectly groomed moustache, slick green coat and healthy, though tousled, black mane attested to that—but now he lay coated with mud, his mane was even more dishevelled than usual, and a shadow of stubble had begun to encroach upon his perfect upper lip. “Ugh… I look awful,” he groused.
Famosity cocked her head a moment, then nodded in agreement. “Yes, yes you do.”
With a groan and a herculean effort, Quill hauled himself out of the cot, shaking the first of several layers of dried mud off his coat.
Famosity recoiled in an effort to protect her mane from the shower. “Y’all done?” she asked when he was through.
He tittered awkwardly. “My apologies… why do you need me?”
“Well, you asked me to keep you posted, and the flyers just came back.”
Quill ran a hoof over his eyes; the short nap had done little to alleviate his fatigue. “Right, right…”
“They said it was urgent.”
He nodded. “Do you have a mirror?”
She snorted in amusement. “What kind of a question is that?” Without further prompting, she used her magic to draw it from her saddlebags. It hovered in front of Quill and allowed him to scrutinise his face.
He ran a hoof over his mane in a vain attempt to flatten it, and gently prodded the dark circles beneath his sunken eyes. “Hmm…” He turned his back to the mare and reached for the Applejack Daniels he hid next to the silver frame, taking a few long draughts.
Fortified, and a little more presentable, he donned his cap and settled on his haunches behind the desk. He unstrapped the leather-bound notepad he kept at his side and carefully opened it before him. “Send them in.”
Famosity stuck her head outside the book fort and beckoned the waiting pegasi over. They bundled hastily through the canvas-covered entrance. “Corporal Show Off reporting in, sir!” said the one on the right.
Quill mused that pegasus flyers always looked intimidating in their olive drab flight suits and leather helmets with tinted visors, but Show Off’s pitch black coat only intensified the effect. His helmet bore a faded declaration to his obsession: ‘I <3 Luna’, and his ace status was confirmed by the kill tally he had scratched into the side. In his civilian life he had been a renowned actor—a trait kept alive by the perpetual bounce in his voice—but now he was an experienced soldier, of that there was no doubt. His stern wingman, Snap Shot, was dark blue, and no less foreboding in his flight gear.
“Sitrep, Corporal,” Quill said tersely. He was in no mood to bandy words.
“We think the CBs may be preparing to mount an attack, sir,” Show Off reported, “they’ve been massing forces on our right flank.”
As the pegasus talked, Quill plucked his pencil from the spine of the notepad and began to copy what he said. It was a strange practice carried over from his civilian life as an author—‘To keep my writing sharp’ he told himself—and it helped strategically to keep a record of conversations for reference.
Famosity spoke up then, a rare seriousness in her voice. “They know we took some casualties in the last skirmish; they are probably going to try and finish us this time. Quill, I think our briskets are on the barbecue on this one.” Her horn lit up as she began to draw a map from memory in mid air. She circled a rough section of jungle several miles to the west of Hill Six. “The enemies will be in this general area, right?”
“Yes Ma’am,” replied Show.
“They are probably going to circle around and try to surround us,” added Snap, “and if what we saw was correct… it may happen tomorrow.”
More diagrams appeared on the map, blue arrows indicating the Equestrian forces on the hill and red depicting the CBs. It was startling how large a disparity there was, and as Famosity continued to draw, a cold knot grew in Quill’s stomach. There was no way they could hold off a force of that magnitude. If they attacked, the fort would be overrun. His pupils widened, and a single bead of sweat dripped from his muzzle. He preserved his authority though, and went back to scribbling on his pad.
“Sir?” Show asked. “What should we do?”
All eyes turned to him; he could feel their collective gaze auger through the top of his head as he wrote. No doubt they expected him to conjure some brilliant plan to save the day, but the truth was that he was entirely at a loss. He was an author, not a military commander; he never asked for the responsibility of two hundred lives on his conscience. It seemed to him that any path he took would lead at least some of them to their doom.
“Sir!” Show insisted.
Celestia needed to hold the south while a major offensive took place in the east, but because of its diminished importance, the REA had been spread thin down here. It was this that had resulted in their isolation, and it was this that had led to their repeated requests for relief being ignored. They were alone, completely and utterly. For all it was worth, Quill might as well have named himself commander-in-chief of the REA. The last contact they had shared with the main force had been an order to hold at any cost. That was nearly four months ago. In that time the hill had been churned, the bodies piled, and all strategic significance of this forsaken place had been lost to obscurity. Thus far Quill Weave had been content to fill the horseshoes of his predecessor, but now it was time for him to take up the mantle and become a leader.
“Calm down, corporal,” he said in a level voice. He wrote a single verse at the end of his transcript:
Through many dangers
Toils and snares
I have already come,
‘Twas grace that brought me safe thus far
And grace shall lead me home.
“Our orders from Celestia are to hold this hill...” he began soberly. There was an uncomfortable shuffling of wings and hooves as the others exchanged glances. “But it seems that Celestia has abandoned us. You are all aware of the severity of our situation, I’m sure; we are running low on medical supplies, weapons, ammunition and food, and our requests for aid have been repeatedly ignored.”
He looked the two pegasi in the eyes, their expressions unreadable beneath their tinted visors. “I believe we now have two options: stay here and die, or retreat. Either way this position is lost, and I don’t intend to throw everyone’s lives away for a hopeless cause. Famosity, what is our best exit strategy?”
The mint green unicorn was stunned into silence by his declaration, but quickly shook herself back to reality. “Ahem. Sergeant, our best option would be to retreat north, cutting through the treeline. That way we can pass unnoticed through the jungle and hopefully meet up with the REA vanguard.” She hesitated. “But it will be a difficult trek; we have a lot of wounded from the last attack.”
Quill nodded. He closed his notepad, took a deep breath, and stood up, holding his head high. “Very well. Start the evacuation immediately, I want us to be ready by dawn. Destroy everything we can’t carry with us. I’ll not leave anything behind for those bucking CBs to salvage.”
He turned to the two pegasi. “Flyers!” They snapped to attention. “I hate to ask this of you, but I need you to cover our retreat. You two are the best in your squadron.” Quill lied through his teeth; they were the only ones left. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes sir!” they replied, notes of unease in their voices. “We’ll rest up a little, and then begin our patrol.”
Quill relaxed; it would be comforting to have them in the air. “Thank you fellows, you’re good stallions. I’ll make sure your rations are doubled tonight. Dismissed.”
The pegasi saluted, then turned tail and exited the book fort. Once they were gone, Famosity voiced her real thoughts.
“An evacuation, Quill, really? We’re just gonna go?”
“What other options do I have? We can’t fight them, and I’m sick and tired of mud and rain and vines. Aren’t you?”
She faltered. “But- but it’s disobeying a direct order.”
“An order from a Princess five hundred miles away. I’m no tactician, but there’s a difference between strategic and tactical troop movements. These past months she’s had my faith; faith that she would come and rescue us, but it seems from my perspective that we’ve been forgotten. Don’t you see? The only ones who can help us escape our current situation are us.” He chortled cynically and took another swig of AppleJD. “Don’t record it as ‘retreating’, if that offends you. Call it ‘advancing towards future victory’.”
She glanced at the floor, her eyes shifting worriedly. It made Quill uneasy; Famosity was never worried.
“We’ll be fine,” he said, more to reassure himself than her. “I’m more than willing to accept a court marshal if it comes to that. Now go on and inform everypony of the plan. We have about eight hours to prepare.”
For the remainder of the evening and well into the night, the clamour of deconstruction pealed across the hilltop. Most of the delicate work was left to the unicorns and their levitation, but some of the larger structures were fit only to be torn apart by the strength of the earth ponies. That which could not be buried or saved was piled along the south and west borders of the fort to bolster the defences against the coming attack. The only structure left standing was the command centre, its giant speakers echoing with guitars and melancholy lyrics while the suede wings of dusk presaged the advent of night. Those who were not asleep were on guard; even some of the less injured casualties had taken it upon themselves to wait upon the sandbags and splintered wood. An electric tingle of tension pervaded the moist night air; the atmosphere was thick enough to slice with a knife.
Quill Weave ate in his cot—a pitifully watery imitation of thistle soup—for he had spent most of the past few hours bucking wooden panels, and was eager to satiate himself. He tipped the remainder down his gullet, thankful for the warmth despite the bland taste, and set the bowl aside.
The comforting whoosh of pegasus wings flew by somewhere overhead, drowning out the music as the two flyers made another hourly patrol. That, more than anything else, put him at ease. The Carebears were a deceptive race, and they delighted in attacking from the air. With the pegasi, though, they would at least have some warning.
From where he lay, he had an unobscured view of the western barricade. Hundreds of ponies stood dutifully along it, their silhouettes stark in the pale starlight. Each of them watched the tree line with avid eyes, alert, composed and attentive despite their fatigue. A single thought echoed through the mind of the camp that night, uniting them: if they survived the dawn, they would be going home.
Quill snorted wryly as his eyes wandered the exposed pages of his book fort. This would make a good story... he thought. He yawned wide, and tiredness crept into his limbs, fogging his mind. Desperate to replenish his strength, he rested his head on his pillow. Rarity’s framed picture smiled at him as he drifted off to sleep, and he couldn’t help returning a smile of his own. I’ll be with you soon, I promise.
Dawn came, and the fingers of shadow slowly relinquished their grip on Fort A. Pink light revealed that nothing had changed during the night; the west wall was guarded as vigilantly as always. Quill Weave was again woken by the Information Officer.
“Sergeant, it’s dawn,” she said, shifting uneasily on her hooves.
Quill sprang upright, expecting word of an attack, but relaxed when he heard only the soothing strums of a guitar from the speakers above his head. He felt well rested for the first time in many months, and was prepared to fully commit to his plan. Foregoing the AppleJD, he swept up his picture and tucked it into the notepad strapped to his side. “Is everything in order?” he inquired.
“I think so. The guards on duty have decided to stay until everyone is safe, those unable to walk are waiting on stretchers, and the flyers are just about to set off on their last patrol.”
“Is flight control still up and talking?”
“For the time being, but I get the feeling that they’re anxious to leave.”
Quill nodded. “Can you help me with this?” He gestured to the gun rack which lay splayed upon the floor where he had left it yesterday.
Early in the war, ingenious earth pony engineers had fashioned a mechanism for bottling unicorn lightning spells in cartridges. It was this technology which formed the basis of all earth pony ranged weaponry. Quill’s standard issue set up strapped to his back with leather belts, and twin guns lay flat against his sides, much like saddlebags. An enchanted targeting mechanism slipped over his head like a crown, and the crosshairs hung over his right eye. Once activated, the guns would aim wherever he looked.
Famosity levitated the weapons onto his back, then helped him fasten them in place.
He checked the system to ensure everything was correct, then nodded in approval. “Okay, ready.”
The mint green mare led the way outside, and they emerged to a scene of such tension, one could almost hear the teeth grinding and hooves tapping on the mud. Four ranks of ponies—some bandaged, all outfitted for combat—stood at attention beside another four ranks of occupied stretchers, awaiting their orders. They shuffled and twitched nervously on the bare soil.
Quill squinted at the clear blue sky, then looked to his waiting troops. “Alright everypony, the time has come to move out. Keep your eyes open in that jungle, but move swiftly and don’t look back.” He turned and addressed Famosity. “Listen to me Famosity; I am going to stay here with the rear guard and make sure everypony makes it. You have the maps and compasses; it’s your job to lead them out of here.”
The mare opened her mouth as if she was about to protest, but thought better of it.
“I’m putting you in charge, Famosity; I trust you.” He saluted her and stood aside.
Suddenly struck with the weight of her responsibility, the young unicorn faltered as she took a few sheepish steps towards the waiting column. She quickly regained her confidence though, and audibly cleared her throat. “Alright everypony, gather your things and follow me!”
As one, the ponies each turned to their respective stretcher and either levitated it—in the case of unicorns—or lifted it between two of them. There was a cacophony of wet clopping as over a hundred ponies marched between the barricades and started down the north face of the hill.
Quill watched them go, then breathed deeply and turned back to the southern barricade. At that moment, the two pegasi rushed to their equipment, preparing for the final sortie. He trotted over and greeted them. They saluted and stood to attention.
“There’s no time for that, corporals,” Quill insisted. “Get yourselves armed and in the air. If ever the CBs were going to attack, it’s now. Keep a sharp eye out and report anything you see.”
“Yes sir!” they replied in unison, and galloped to the landing pads.
Quill slid down the hill to the barricade, where a small force of about forty ponies awaited his command.
“Sergeant Quill Weave, sir,” said one. It was the recruit, Sure Lock. He turned away from his lightning turret and saluted respectfully.
Quill returned the gesture. “How are things out here, private?”
The stallion’s eyes darted this way and that beneath his helmet. “Uh…”
“Permission to speak out of turn, sir?” asked another voice.
Quill turned to find himself face to face with Hot Shot, her guns aimed squarely between his eyes. “…Granted.”
“We’re scared out of our bucking wits.”
He exhaled heavily and considered the rest of the squad. It was true; each and every one of their faces was a mask of worry. They had fair reason, of course, but Quill had nothing but the utmost respect for them. “That’s understandable…” He raised his voice so that the others could hear. “But you all had the courage to stay behind when others did not. That is a mark of true selflessness. I can’t promise you all medals, but I will say that—in my mind, at least—you did more than anypony could ever ask.” His heart chilled as he uttered the next words, but he was determined to make them truth. “I, personally, will not leave this Faust-forsaken hill until every last one of you is safe. You have my word.”
A murmur of what he hoped was respect rippled along the line of warriors. They steeled their hearts and tightened their grips, glaring hatefully at the tree line, ready for whatever may emerge.
Some minutes of baited silence passed, then the thud of galloping hooves echoed behind them. Quill spun around to find a unicorn running at full kilter from the direction of the landing pads.
She skidded to a halt and saluted awkwardly, panting from exertion and panic. “Sir!” she said. “We received word from the flyers; they intercepted a small scouting force in the air and destroyed it.”
“Horseapples…” Quill cursed. “Then they are coming.” He suddenly found forty pairs of fearful eyes upon him. “Stand firm, ponies. I’ll be back momentarily.”
The mare led him back to the landing pads, but the radio was deserted.
“Where are ground control?” he asked, concerned.
The mare lowered her head shamefully. “They left along with the others. But I thought it best I stay and inform you of what happened.”
Quill nodded. “You are very brave, private.”
Suddenly the radio crackled into life, and Snap Shot’s voice fizzled through the static. “Chevelle Two to control, please respond.”
With no-one else to answer, Quill held the channel open with his hoof and spoke. “Go ahead Chevelle Flight. What’s your status?”
“We engaged and downed two Bravo's that were on intercept for the camp. We believe they were advanced scouts.”
“Then the main force will not be far behind. Chevelle Flight, buy us as much time as you can. Keep them away from the wounded and focus on the transports. It will make it easier for us to keep them from bypassing the hill.”
The reply was simple and without questions. “Rodger.”
Quill was impressed by their bravery. Two pegasi against an entire fleet was a daunting prospect. He knew they would do everything they could. The mare next to him hopped from hoof to hoof, glancing eagerly to the north. Despite the situation, Quill couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’ve done your part, private. You are dismissed.”
With a grateful nod, she galloped away and left him standing alone on the bare concrete. He considered waiting for more news from the flyers, but they were on their own now, and the rear guard needed his presence much more at present.
Breaking into a brisk canter, he returned to assume command.
Hot Shot and Sure Lock stood side by side, their guns traversing the tree line as they scanned for the slightest rustle of leaves. The song from the command centre trailed off, and another with a faster tempo took its place, perfectly complementing their racing hearts. Quill rolled his aching shoulders as the weapon rack weighed down on his back. For a long time all was quiet.
Suddenly Sure Lock spoke up, his quavering tones betraying his anxiety. “I- I’ve never seen a Carebear before…”
Hot Shot snorted beside him. “Don’t let the name fool ya.”
“W-what do they look like?”
“You heard of an Ursa?”
“The mythical creature?”
She stifled a laugh. “Oh no, they’re real alright. Carebears are a little bit smaller, but much, much smarter and just as mean.”
“That’s enough of that,” Quill said sternly. “Unlike Ursas, Carebears are made from flesh and blood like us, which means if you shoot them, they’ll die. That’s all you need to know, private.”
Sure Lock swallowed hard and turned back to the trees, his brow beading with sweat. Someone further up the line shouted, resulting in a universal turning of heads. “Look!” they cried. “A storm cloud!”
Quill followed the unicorn’s hoof to a point in the sky just above the horizon. There swirled a mass of grey, within which lightning crackled back and forth. There was something disturbingly unnatural about the isolation of the tempest within the perfect blue void. As he squinted, he noticed a tiny speck break free from the confusion, with another not far behind it. The flyers? Quill wondered, mouth agape.
They circled around, fired, and crackling streams of purple electricity split the cloud into a thousand different sections. It dawned upon him that what he beheld was no normal storm cloud. It was an entire fleet of cloud-ships—magical platforms which the CBs utilised as flying machines.
“Here they come!” he yelled, prompting the entire defensive line to lower themselves and bring their weapons to bear.
While the pegasi kept much of the fleet occupied, yet more bypassed the dogfight completely and barrelled towards Hill Six at tremendous speed. Quill’s confidence faltered as it struck him that they might fly past and intercept the retreating column. He sighed with relief when they slowed about a mile away and sunk into the canopy, dissolving into mist and depositing their deadly cargo on the jungle floor. His relief was short lived, however, as a chorus of bellowing roars shook the trees. Some of the ponies quailed in fear.
“Keep it together!” Quill ordered. Their guns turned from the sky to the tree line as dark shapes began to move between the leaves. They could not afford to miss. “Hold fire!”
The face of their enemy was revealed—snarling maniacally—as they broke cover and stormed towards the hill. Despite their pleasing, candy-hued colours—much like ponies—Carebears were all but cuddly. The individual at the front of the pack was such an impressive specimen, Quill thought him a perfect typecast for his kind. He stood head and shoulders over a pony, with razor sharp, dripping fangs, burning magenta eyes and six inch long claws that were currently wrapped around the Carebears’ weapon of choice: a large calibre projectile cannon that fired gumballs at outrageous velocities. ‘Jawbreakers’, the ponies had dubbed them. Quill had seen them tear through trees like paper.
Drawn from his reverie by the sudden explosion of noise, Quill centred his sights on the magenta-eyed bear and fired. Purple lightning arced from his left side and struck the bear flat, but another quickly took his place.
“Open fire!” Quill yelled, and he felt static fizzle through his dog tags as all around him electricity burst forth from their weapons, decimating the bear’s frontline.
The bears were halted as they encountered the first obstacle: the deep trenches at the base of the hill. Taking advantage, the defenders poured on fire like water from a gushing tap. The enemy charge lost momentum as they struggled to leap, crawl and climb through the maze of ditches.
Quill fired again and again into the tangled mass of bodies, the adrenaline in his veins resulting in a powerful battle high and an irrational bloodlust. Smoking cartridges—spent of their magic payload—piled up around the hooves of the defenders, and for a time it seemed that their relentless onslaught had stymied the tide of invaders.
Then, without warning, a new enemy appeared. They were taller than their comrades, if that were even possible, with long, thin limbs that rippled under their brightly coloured pelage. Ignoring the plight of their fellows, they utilised their athleticism to bound over the ditches, screaming all the while.
Before he could react, there was a dull thud next to Quill as a speeding gumball embedded itself in an upturned chariot. More impacts sounded along the line, and the ponies were forced to take cover. Now they were receiving effective fire, they could not cut down the bears so ruthlessly, and they too vaulted the trenches and joined their long-limbed cousins behind shelter.
“What the hay are they?!” Hot Shot cried, taking refuge behind the sandbags.
“I don’t know!” was Quill’s only reply. He had seen nothing of the like before. “But we have to keep firing. Every second we keep them back is another second Famosity has to lead the others to safety.”
The mare nodded and grunted in agreement. “Hit ‘em like the angry hoof of Celestia!” she cried, forsaking her safety and loosing another barrage down the hill.
The ponies and bears—along with their strange, primate allies—exchanged fire for over an hour. The battle lust which had gripped Quill was quickly replaced by exhaustion. The clamour of desperate fighting filled his ears, his legs shook, and his mind was cloudy. By virtue of luck, experience or the divine hoof of Faust, none of the defenders had fallen, but Quill knew that every second more bears joined their comrades, and they could not hold Fort A for much longer.
He chanced a glance upwards. The brave pegasi were gone from view, replaced only by a boiling bank of grey cloud-ships, surging towards the hill like a tidal wave that consumed the sky. Quill shook his head. I’ve done all I can.
“Fall back!” he yelled, straining his voice over the madness. “Retreat!”
There was a moment of hesitation. The ponies along the line glanced at one another. Then, at an unseen signal, they peeled away from the line one by one, each covering the other as they galloped across the hilltop.
Quill stood up to fire again, when suddenly there was a cry of pain next to him. He turned in time to see Hot Shot collapse into the dirt, her right foreleg buckled underneath her.
“Ponyfeathers!” he cursed, leaning down and nosing the injured mare onto her side. Her leg was undoubtedly broken, and she was bleeding profusely from a wound that spanned her flank.
Glancing around in vain, his eyes settled on Sure Lock. “Can you carry her?”
The stallion nodded, but then his eyes widened in disbelief as Hot Shot pulled herself from the mud. “I ain’t finished yet!” she said, woozily resuming her position on the line.
Quill joined beside her, firing between words. “You’re in no state to fight. I order you to retreat!”
“I’m afraid I can’t comply, sir!”
“For goodness’ sake, mare, there’s a difference between bravery and stupidity, and you are firmly on the other side of that line at present!”
“The only books I ever took the time to read were yours, sir! They were good!”
Quill was momentarily shocked into dumbstruck silence; he turned to the pony next to him with a look of disbelief. Her own face was contorted into a vicious snarl as she fired madly at the enemy. There was such determination in her eyes; he knew that he would never change her mind.
The whizzing of a gumball past his ear jerked him back to his senses, and he promptly cut the shooter down. One by one the ponies left the barricade. Sure Lock was the last to leave, and then only Quill and Hot Shot remained.
“Hot Shot, go, I’ll cover you!” he yelled.
The red pony was rooted to the spot, insensate.
“Hot Shot?!”
She collapsed without warning, weary and delirious from blood loss.
“Bucking hay!” Quill cried.
A cold pit of fear formed just below his heart and grew like frost on a windowpane, threatening to overwhelm him. There was no way he could escape while dragging another pony with him. For a bitter moment, he considered leaving her behind, but he banished the thought before it could take root.
No, he chastised himself, I gave them my word.
Steeling himself, he bit hold of Hot Shot’s dog tags and dragged her into the shadow of the upturned chariot. The gunfire had ceased, and a deadly calm settled over the hill. Quill heard the bears growl viciously as they broke cover and advanced up the slope.
Before they could take another step, he drew a deep breath and popped up over the barricade, raking the exposed monsters with deadly lightning. There were so many and in such close proximity that it even arced between them, dancing with deathly beauty amongst the horde. Immediately they threw themselves low and returned fire. Quill ducked just in time to avoid a thunderous volley that splintered the barricade and tore the sandbags to ribbons.
What have I gotten myself into? he asked the heavens. Am I really going to die here?
The fire relented, and Quill took another opportunity to repay them in kind. He winced as something grazed his cheek, feeling the hot sting of blood as threw himself into the mud. Tears formed in his eyes as he thought of home. I’m sorry, Rarity.
He prepared himself for a final attack, when suddenly there came a whistling of wings overhead. Quill looked up and, like battered angels, the two pegasi, Show Off and Snap Shot, buzzed in to land before the broken chariot. Show rushed over to Hot Shot and scooped her up without dropping a step.
“Go! Go!” yelled Snap Shot, hovering as he emptied his lightning guns at the CBs on the hill.
Show Off gently lifted the mare into the sky, speeding north away from the hill.
A thrill of elation surged through Quill; he had kept to his word. Flushed with renewed hope, he stood and joined the pegasus suppressing the slope. “I thought I told you to retreat!” he cried over the crackling lightning.
“Not the bucking time, sir!” came the steadfast reply.
Suddenly Snap Shot was knocked out of the air. He sprawled into the dirt, sending gouts of mud spurting up like fountains.
“Oh no you don’t,” growled Quill. He grasped the dazed flyer by the scruff of his suit and hauled him to his hooves. “Get in the air!” he commanded.
Clumsily, Snap Shot obeyed his order, while Quill turned around and bucked the peppered chariot with all his remaining strength. It creaked, tipped precariously, then tumbled down the slope in a spray of shrapnel and grime, scattering the frightened Carebears. They had a chance.
Quill galloped for all his worth. Thoughts of a white unicorn waiting for him pushed him past pain and exhaustion; past any physical boundary as he tore northbound across the hilltop. I’m coming, Rarity.
Snap Shot veered dangerously overhead, his wound exacting a mighty toll.
Don’t crash… begged Quill. We’re so close.
The pegasus didn’t crash, but his wings finally gave out. He came in to land just up ahead and stumbled, toppling face-first into the dirt.
Quill’s heart sank. Oh no… He was at Snap’s side in an instant, lending him his waning strength as he forced him up. “Move it, soldier!”
“I’m done for,” he panted hopelessly, “just go!”
“Like heck,” Quill replied gruffly.
With a quick glance over his shoulder, he saw that the Carebears were climbing over the shattered defences, growling and roaring menacingly.
“Here they come,” said Snap Shot. “Tally ho…”
Quill closed his eyes and prepared for the inevitable, when suddenly a muffled voice issued from inside Snap Shot’s helmet. Quill could not see his eyes, but the smile which grew across the pegasus’s face told him all he needed to know. He bent the mouthpiece of the radio so that the speaker was open to the elements. “This is Sergeant Quill Weave, we need air support!”
“Okie Dokie!” came the bubbly reply.
“Lieutenant, we are going to die here!” growled Snap Shot.
“Awww, sounds like someone’s a Grumpy Gus!”
And lightning scorched the sky, raining down upon the Carebears in a storm so intense that Quill had to shield his eyes with his hoof. They screamed in pain, but were immediately silenced beneath the crackling. An olive green chariot drawn by two pegasi thundered out of the fiery wall and came in to land behind the beleaguered ponies. A couple of nurses bundled them hastily aboard.
Quill lay on his side. He glanced down to see Hill Six; his charge, prison and personal hell for nearly a year, as it shrunk into no more than a muddy blemish in a carpet of green. He sighed in utter relief and blindly watched the jungle convey beneath them.
****
Two days later, safely nestled at the centre of the southern REA contingent, Quill Weave stood outside a canvas-walled field hospital. He was remade into his well-groomed and presentable self, and his bright green officer’s cap—now rightfully earned—was perched between his ears. Inside the tent lay the two pegasi who had saved his life. A nurse pushed her way through the curtained exit and nodded respectfully to him. “They’re ready to see you now.”
Sheepishly, he crept inside. There were many wounded ponies laid up here, and he didn’t have to ask to know that they had all experienced trauma just like him. His hooves upon the hardboard floor were the only sound besides the incessant beeping of heart monitors and other life saving contraptions. The pair he wanted to see lay in the corner, with Famosity already at their side. She turned to Quill, but remained silent as he approached.
He placed two purple medals reverently upon the counter, then searched for the right words to express his gratitude. All he could manage in the end was, “Thank you.”
“No. Thank you, sir,” said Snap Shot.
Quill smiled slightly and nodded to the medals. “Your Purple Hoofs.”
“What’s it like not being in command anymore, sarge?” inquired Show Off in a playful tone. It was proof that his injuries had done little to quash his theatrical spirit.
In truth it had been an inexorable relief to have the responsibility lifted from his shoulders, but Quill’s nostrils still flared at the pegasus’s insolent tone. “I still outrank you, corporal.”
“You can’t blame me, sarge,” said Show Off with a smile. “It’s the pain medication, it makes me insubordinate.”
Snap Shot piped up, his gaze fixed firmly upon his medal with a mixture of cynical humour and contempt. “The one thing Celestia gets to us on time and we can’t eat it.”
Quill couldn’t help but laugh.
“So I suppose they discharged you, huh?” inquired Show Off.
Quill Weave sighed deeply and his eyes dropped. “None of us are that lucky. No, they’re shipping me out east. Apparently they require somepony with my ‘practical battlefield leadership experience’. But I suppose it’s not all bad. Maybe…”
His face must’ve betrayed his thoughts, as Famosity seemed to guess what he was thinking. “Maybe you’ll see your sweetheart out there, eh?”
He snorted in amusement. “Maybe…”
