The thundering hooves and cracks of rifles filled the air like a chorus of war; it was beautiful to the young soldier pony. His short brown mane, clotted with dirt and grime, stuck to his face as he continued galloping down the road. Bullets, like angry hornets zipping past him eager for his flesh, poured out of the Nightmare soldier's line as ponies tried to hold their place at the end of the street in a last ditch effort to survive the ambush.
"They are going to break, push harder comrades!" yelled Sergeant Shredder, a massive light yellow earth pony, from his right before an angry hornet turned his face into something like a smashed tomato. Sliding into cover to escape a similar fate, the soldier pony took a second to catch a breath. Bullets continued to pelt his meager cover, seeking a way to find the ponies flesh. He found himself thinking back to when this had all began. One month ago. One month of street by street fighting, one month of watching fellow soldiers be killed by the ponies of the Nightmare cities and killing them as well. He could only ponder at why was he the only one left form his original squad. He could only guess why a bullet had not stolen his breath. In the end he could not answer any of this.
Checking his rifle attached to his beaten brown saddle, his one constant companion since his meager training, for any damages during his charge. None he could see on the wood stock or the barrel. He then proceeded to check for a round in the chamber. When all was good he peeked to the side of his cover.
Zing! A bullet ricocheted off the side of the burned out carriage that the young soldier pony had taken refuge behind. Looking down the street, filled with burned out carriages and debris, the young solider pony aimed for a blurred shape, the light snow that continually fell in Stalliongrad blurring everything not five feet away. Lining up the sights to aim for the chest of the foe in his sights, He bit down on the firing bit.
Crack! A sharp crack filled the young pony ears as the rifle bucked, sending his own angry hornet towards the enemy line. He was rewarded when he saw the blurred figure double over and fall to the ground. No remorse was felt by the young soldier pony as he reloaded his constant companion with a kick. He turned to find the rest of his squad had caught up with him and had taken cover near him. All eyes looked to him for orders.
He let loose a rallying call "For the Glorious Princess Celestia!" his deep voice sending it all the way to the enemy before his comrades echoed the call. The street rang with the glorious princess's name as the young soldier pony led the charge down the remaining part of the ravaged streets, filling the road with the pounding of hooves for blood, taking the fight to the ponies in black uniforms.
No prisoners are taken. No mercy. No retreat. No surrender. Those are the rules of the Sun Army.
And those rules made no exception today as Crack Shot and his squad executed every last one of them.
)))
The entire squad had taken refuge in abandoned building, a tailors shop at one time but now just a burnt room with a couple mannequins still mostly intact and a lot of ruined fabric. The Crack Shot smiled remembering training just eight weeks prior where those had been the enemy, dressed up in uniforms of fallen foes of Stalliongrad, and a crate full of potatoes as grenades. "The good old days." He muttered to nopony particular, as he attempted to humor himself.
He remembered his original squad, many ponies strong, but he had only taken the time to really get to know two of them. Arkady, a light brown coated earth pony like himself, only with a darker mane, almost black, and with a cutie mark of a potato. Crack Shot had seen at some parties he had gone to before the war and Arkady had seemed like a fun and good pony to know. Arkady was great with a sub machine gun when it came to killing, mowing down enemies with ease. He had met his end by poking his head out of a window as they were repelling an ambush at the wrong time and having his brains repaint a wall behind him. Crack Shot's every bullet had rested in the stomachs of the attackers that day. Then there was Dead Center, a white coated Pegasus, whose charcoal mane was longer then everyone else in the squad. He had been one of the best shots, his cutie mark being a bull's eye,and had been issued a sniper saddle. Dead Center could hit targets easily 250 yards away and had saved Crack Shot's flank more than once. Unfortunately, sniper saddles did not do anything versus tanks. There hadn't been much to bury of Dead Center.
Of the others he knew not whether they had survived as everypony had been broken up into teams of three and sent all over the war torn city. Shortly after the deaths of both of squad mates, had gotten placed into a new squad. About two weeks later, Crack Shot had gotten separated from his new squad during a raid on an enemy outpost, and had simply been told to stick with the group he was with now.
The current squad consisted of 8 ponies, all caring either a rifle or sub-machine gun as a weapon, The exception had been Sergeant Shredder, who had carried a shotgun he had christened as Little Thunder. They wore different saddles of varying design, and some had thick winter scarves or hats. The one thing all of them had in common was, on at least one article of clothing, the blazing sun of Princess Celestia's cutie mark; the banner of the mighty Sun Guard, stood out proudly.
As he looked at the others many of them were wrapping up wounds, none too serious, and a couple more were eating some food around a small smokeless fire near a shattered window. He looked himself over for wounds. No new scars marred his light brown coat and his cutie mark, a rifle, had not been blown off. He had been lucky. They had lost two today for one street, Sergeant Shredder and a new earth pony recruit whose name he had never learned. They were buried by the rest of the squad in the back yard of the shop in shallow, unmarked graves. Crack Shot had taken Little Thunder.
Crack Shot decided to check up on the watch and radio. The sniper of the squad, a sky blue Pegasus with a scope cutie mark that went by Sharp, was taking first watch on the second floor. He was almost as good as Dead Center, almost as he tended to miss two out of every five shots.
"Any patrols heading this way yet?" Crack Shot asked as he walked up to the window Sharp was looking out of with a pair of binoculars, sweeping his gaze over the smoldering remains of the city.
Shaking his head, his dirtied mane swishing back and forth, before he replied "None yet." Turning to Crack Shot he continued "Honestly, I think we hit that patrol's radio stallion because I'm not seeing anything." His sentence ended with Sharp breaking into a little coughing fit. Crack Shot slipped his canteen from his neck and passed it to the Pegasus who nodded his thanks before taking a big gulp from the beaten steel container.
After handing back the canteen he went back to scanning over the wrecked city. Suddenly he got up from his crouched position proceeded to adjusted his saddle and scarf before quickly stating "I though i saw some movement, I'm going to take a look from the sky." Sharp said moving a pair flight goggles, which had been loosely hanging around his neck, over his eyes. He climbed into the window sill and after looking back and giving a proper salute, hoof raised to the chest horizonally, flared out his wings and rocketed out the window into smoky skies. Crack Shot watched him go, fascinated by the grace of a Pegasus in flight. Even if he wasn't always a great shot he was a amazing flier.
A burst of static and a stream of angry mumbling turned Crack Shot's attention to the grey unicorn fiddling with a radio on a damaged desk. His black tail swished back and forth in concentration. A light glow lit up his little corner from his horn.
"Static Dial have you still not fixed that thing?" Crack Shot asked angrily, it had been an hour since Static had started working on the little device, and it seemed no progress was made.
"It wasn't hit in the charge, I didn't drop it, I didn't spill anything on it, I just can't figure what's wrong with it!" Static's irritation getting the better as he snapped on his new commanding officer. Static cast his eyes down as he realized what he just did before replying "Sorry...sir."
Crack Shot laid a hoof on the unicorn's shoulder "Forget it happened." Then walked past him to inspect the radio, a simple green box with a small speaker and numerous dials and switches, and a little red light in the right corner to know when it was on. After inspecting it for a minute, Crack Shot raised a hoof and brought it down upon the radio. Hard.
"What are you doi…..!" Static was interrupted by a voice now coming out of the little troublesome little device.
"To all units in the area, tank activity has increased. Use extreme caution when moving about or engaging enemy forces."
That moment Sharp came zooming into the window, His eyes wide as dinner plates, a worried expression upon his face.
"We may have a problem…"
)))
The empty, war torn, and silent street's only companion was a lone pony whose black uniform stood out against the white of the snow and the brown of the buildings. From afar you could tell that he had been through some heavy fighting; bandages covered his cutie mark, and his uniform was torn and bloodied. Getting closer you would notice a dirty brown mane uncharacteristic of the common Nightmare soldier, usually dyed midnight black, which traveled only a short ways down his neck. If you got right next to this lone soldier you would notice that the uniform was a tight fit on the muscular pony and you might notice the hole in the side of uniform, staunched in blood.
"This is just about the stupidest thing I've ever done," Crack Shot thought for what had to be the eleventh time, as he adjusted the stolen uniform once again. After Sharps had explained that an armor supported squad was sweeping the area, Crack Shot knew that he had to take out to continue his operations.
The plan that he had come up with was a simple one. They had scavenged a Nightmare uniform taken from the least torn body from the previous battle. A radio stolen from the decimated squad, chattering with requests for air, tank, infantry support, and a lot of coded messages was used to call support from the tank squad, which was now heading towards his position. He would greet them as a wounded pony left behind and send their infantry to go "support" his squad. The kill zone was all ready. While they went ahead he would get the tank commander to come out to talk to him. As the hatch would open, Sharp would swoop down from the roofs to drop a line of all the precious grenades they had into the belly of the beast. All this pins were tied together with sting found in the tailors shop.
"This is the stupidest thing I've ever done," a sighing Crack Shot said, bringing a hoof to his temple.