//------------------------------// // Prologue // Story: Fallout: Equestria - Our Finest Hour // by MintCakeWrites //------------------------------// “What we fight for and what we die for are two very different things, but they're still rooted in selfishness. We only fight for things that mean something to us, and only die to pass that responsibility on” A roar had covered my world. My hearing had been dampened by a constant roar, as if two dragons were squaring off in my ears only to be interrupted by my short, sharp breaths. My sight fared no better, colours had been blurred and my vision was murky with a mix of mud, blood and grit. I raised a hoof to try to wipe away most of the damage, only to find that the agony of lifting it was greater than the one my eyes endured. A buck, barely a year younger than me, ran in front and turned, yelling muffled words at me before his flank and neck gave small explosions of blood and bone and he keeled over, his eyes wide and rolling as he drowned in his own blood, mouthing a word over and over. I yelled for a medic, unable to hear the word as it was ignored by my comrades. I crawled towards the twitching body of the buck, praying to the goddesses that he could be saved, only to find the jerky movements of the dead pony were zebra bullets confirming the kill. I cried out in horror at the actions before shaking myself awake. I had to move. I forced myself to my feet, the ground spinning as I fought back the urge to vomit, my instincts screaming for me to move. Life slowed, giving me a greater perspective on things, as I ran for cover, each step threatening to tear my legs in two yet I still ran for what was left of my existence. Leaning to the side, I snatched a rifle from the mouth of a long dead unicorn, tossing it expertly and catching the grip in my mouth. The taste of iron, gunpowder and mud soon dominated my dulled senses, bringing me part way back to the world. I ran onwards, spotting a yellow sky chariot with a pink butterfly on the side. Medics. Bullets pinged against the armoured plating, scratching the paint away and denting the metal. Bringing the sights up, I opened fire on the attackers only for my gun to jam three bursts in. Throwing the useless weapon away, I bolted for the only shelter on the battlefield, my hearing returned to the point where I could notice the screams of dying ponies and zebras alike, the chatter of a hundred guns and the hefty thumps of pegasi bomb runs adding a horrific beat to the orchestra of death and the dying. “Friendly! I’m coming in!” I called, my carcass of a body slamming against the chariot before several hooves dragged me inside. Four dishevelled medical ponies looked back at me, one nursing her lost hoof under a blanket of bandages, each with fear and hatred in their eyes. A clatter of bullets caused the group to flinch and shudder. “Where is the rest of your team?” I demanded, having seen the full chariot shot down a few minutes before. My eyes grew accustomed to the gloom of the shelter, only to see where the remains of the medic squad and their guard splattered on the metal floor which made the ceiling, entrails hung like party decorations at our funeral. A mare passed a healing potion over, pointing at the numerous scratches and cuts on my body and armour. I pushed it away, shaking my head; there are other ponies who needed it more than myself. An awkward silence fell, interrupted by the intermittent clatter of gunfire, before being broken fully by the sound of the eldest of the group standing up and making her way to the entrance. “I-I'm going t-to g-get help. We'll b-be OK.” she spluttered, turning her head away from the group. “Somep-pony needs t-to do s-something.” I feared that the last point was directed at me, a soldier is only as good as his gun. I stood up and pushed her back inside, shaking my head, “Ma'am, you wouldn't last three seconds out there, it's suicide to attempt such a thing.” I placed her next to the others, all but her nodding and wide-eyed as the full scale of their situation fully sank in and took hold. They could die here. I coughed, trying to keep an air of professionalism despite the urge to break down and end it for myself, and recalled the standard procedure for such an event word for word, “Radio in command and get an evac sorted. Where is your radio?” The one hoofed pony pointed at a pair of hind legs trapped by the chariot, the radio shattered by the transport. I grimaced, noticing the cross-hair cutie mark adorned on the flanks. Sweet Celestia, he was too young to be fighting. We were all too young to be fighting, but not young enough to be exempt from it. How would anypony get such a mark in peacetime? It felt like an abomination for somepony to be born for war. A squeak of terror brought me to the present, my senses almost at one hundred percent again, only catching the hind legs of the elder medic as she scrambled out of safety. The resulting gunfire and her screams echoed around the metal hull, mudded blood ran down the entrance hole not long after. The only other buck began to sob quietly, nuzzling against the one-hoofed mare for comfort. Civilians. Who thought it would be an ingenious idea to bring civilians on the battlefield as medics? This wasn't a hospital, where all it took was some bed rest and all would be well. No, here ponies died. Not just physically; mentally, emotionally. Ponies were not meant for war, it was a foreign concept. The zebras had brought it to us demanded that we played along, whether they wanted to or not. A sudden bang announced the arrival of someone else. I whipped around, pulling a scalpel out from an open medial bag. It wouldn't kill a zebra, but it would buy time enough to find a better way to finish them off. Better wiped than striped. A familiar voice called out, “Friendly! Please don't shoot!”, and a mint coloured pegasus dropped in. Her white mane was tinted with black and red, and a wound under a wing oozed blood. “Thank Celestia, some friendly faces!” The mare looked up and locked eyes with me, before throwing her hooves around my battered body. “Thank the goddesses, I thought you had died when the missile hit.” She cried, her body heaving into sobs as she wetted her eyes. “I haven't seen Thunder, but I’m almost certain I've heard him flying overhead.” I gently pushed the pegasus away, looking for a healing potion for her wing. “Starshine, you need to heal up and escape with the others. I'll hold them off for as long as I can but you need to get out of here.” Her blue eyes lit up at the idea, no doubt a fleeting fancy of me being her warrior, the light dying a little after I continued, “You're a damn good medic, the war needs more ponies like you. Not civilians who think they're doing their bit but a real help to the effort. Me, I’m disposable. There are a thousand other stupid colts wanting a taste of glory, and they'll get their turn soon enough.” My brave face held as I prevented my voice from choking. I was all my mother had left, my father dying a hero and my brother killed in a factory accident, and here I was. Prepared to throw away my life for the sake of a mare I had only met this day. Maybe I’d be the hero of this battle too. “...If we don't keep coming back from the dead that is” Starshine whispered in response, the words choked with tears at the cruel kindness that had taken place today. Hundreds of dying ponies, all begging for an end to it all, brought back to life only to be slaughtered by the very zebras they had killed moments ago. It wasn't fair! I grimaced at the memory; an older buck was missing his lower half and drawing his last ragged breaths, looking through me to some place in the distance. Suddenly, a large explosion cut through the deathly silence, his body regrowing and rejuvenating him. His cry of joy was cut short when the zebra sniper I had killed shot off his head with a calibre bullet that screamed overkill, as if they feared that if they didn't decapitate us we'd keep coming back. Probably why they used a damn rocket to kill four of us rather than pick us off one by one. A few minutes passed, and I was still down a weapon. I looked over the medics, giving a weak smile. I wasn't coming out of this alive. Goddesses damn it, I didn't want to die! Why do I have to die? I’m nothing! Just the son of a chariot repair pony... who became a hero in death. Another bang followed by two more hit the chariot, a rifle sliding down the entrance hole along with an extra magazine. The grizzled voice of 2nd platoon's sergeant called down, “Rescue party's here fillies and gentlecolts. Let's get moving!” A chatter of gunfire punctuated our saviour's announcement, time to move. The wounded mare and the sobbing stallion moved first, scrambling out of the hole and led away by one of the three rescuers. The third survivor of the chariot was next to go, stuffing as much medical equipment as she could into saddlebags before pulling her way to freedom. I looked to my mint coloured companion and motioned for her to go next. “My, what a gentle-stallion you are!” Starshine giggled, moving towards the entrance and wriggling her way out. Perhaps too excessively as my eyes were drawn to her flanks, collecting myself before heading to my own freedom. My head burst back into the chaos of the battle, catching eyes with an all too familiar unicorn with a glyphmark. “Xander! Good to see you're still kicking around. Cover our rear and we'll talk later. Starshine, let's move it!” I took point and opened fire on our attackers, their heads ducking long enough for us to cover a fair distance. Another burst of fire from them and dirt kicked up around me, these bastards were too damn good at this war game for it to be fair. I continued at a gallop, the sounds of shooting closer now. I believe this is the point I regret most in my life. More than when I chose to enlist in the army. More than when I ran away from home to find my way in life. More than that argument with my brother. More than any other time. I turned my head and timed slowed to a crawl. Starshine held her pistol in her mouth, firing away at the enemy. Xander fell to the ground, his brains spewing from a new hole in his head. My cry of anguish as my friend fell dead was muffled by the roar of battle, the dragons in my ears had returned and they didn't care that my friend was kissing mud. The zebra position erupted in flame and dirt volcanoes as a pegasi bomber-squadron flew overhead, dumping their pay load on top of the enemy. Returned fire struck the wing of a peagasus, her screams rang out as she hit the earth with a crunch and a group of the striped savages surrounded her. Her cries were drowned out by the burst of gunfire from four rifles, ending as she detonated her remaining explosives, blowing herself up. I ran towards the half-zebra buck, not caring that it was too late for him, not hearing the shouts of Starshine. Not hearing the shot from the zebra offenders. My eyes glanced upwards, seeing the sparks fly off the hull of the chariot as a high impact bullet tore through the plating. Time moved to a crawl as it made its way towards me. I brought a hoof up in defence, crying out as it tore through the joint and came out the other side. They say that your life flashes before your eyes before you die. For me, all I saw was the bullet that took my life. All I felt was it enter my left eye, bore through my skull and exit cleanly. It didn't hurt, nothing hurt afterwards. My body span from the force of the bullet like a giant fleshy rag doll. I caught Starshine's eye and the look of horror on her face as I turned, landing on the ground after turned a half circle. I didn't hear her scream, nor feel her cradle my head in her hooves. Hot salty tears fell on my face, washing most of the grime and dirt off my remaining eye. The earth rocked as more air strikes were implemented, bringing this battle to a close. My right eye lid grew heavy, my whole body did. I gave up. I’m sick of this war, sick of fighting, sick of life. I'll just sleep until then. Yeah, sleep sounds good. My name is Rivet Bolt. This is my story.