The meet is packed-it’s almost as if every pony in Battlestream is here! Bombproof weaves through the throng of ponies, eventually making his way to the top of a small hill. From here he can just make out the tracks where the two locomotives will impact in a beautiful explosion of fire and steel.
“All the good spots are taken…given my situation, I’m probably lucky to find this one.” He muses.
He looks behind him, from here he can still see downtown Battlestream, her lights, and her clock tower.
“Looks like I have some time to get some snacks.” He says to himself, walking over to the snack booth.
His luck persists, and there is only one other pony in line in front of him! That’s where his luck ends, however: he facehoofs, realizing that
“Dammit! That’s right, I have no money!” He looks up for one last glance at the delicious food, unavailable to him, taunting him with its unobtainability, but is stricken by the familiarity of the pony in front of him in line: A teal pony,
it’s the mare from the bar! Standing in the light of the booth, she looks even better than she did in the bar.
“Hey! Remember me?” he asks as he taps her.
The mare turns around, confused.
“No. Should I?”
Bombproof smiles and points at the small lump on his head.
“You smashed a bottle on my head a few hours ago.”
The mare suddenly looks worried.
“Oh! Uhm…”
“Well it’s alright!” he cuts her off, “Can I have my wallet back?”
The mare nods, concerned, looking at his uniform.
“Sure, here.” She says as she gives it back to him.
“Look, I’m really sorry about hitting you…I don’t want any trouble, man.”
Bombproof nods, smiling.
“Oh, don’t worry about that.” He says brightly, “Actually, I see you at the Muzzle Loader a lot; you here with your friends?”
“Oh no, they aren’t interested in large explosions.” She answers,
“One’s a baby, and the other doesn’t like loud noises.”
Bombproof shakes his head, as one would to a child who simply doesn’t understand that water is wet.
“I never understood those ponies. Like, what else could beat two trains smashing into each other?”
“Oh my God, I know right!? It’s so awesome!” The mare suddenly exclaims.
She soon realizes her sudden outburst, and coughs, embarrassed. Bombproof coughs as well. The awkwardness could be cut with a knife.
“Well…” Bombproof suggests, “If you’re here alone, would you like to join me? I have a nice spot on that hill over there.”
The mare pauses, then smiles. “Yeah, sounds groovy.”
Captain Jousting, commander of Fort Dragoon, decides to take a break from work and walk around the post, surveying his charges. Still wearing only his t-shirt, he passes a couple of the Military Police officers, a certain Specialist Castle and Staff Sergeant Bunker.
“Hey Captain!” Castle greets jovially. He tilts his head, confused. “How’d you get back into the base?”
Cpt. Jousting stops, and looks slowly toward the pair of MP’s.
“What are you talking about, soldier? I’ve been here all day.”
Castle just smiles and shakes his head.
“No sir, you left a few hours ago. Said you had important officer business in town.”
Now it’s Jousting’s turn to be confused.
“What?” he asks, “Are you sure it was me?”
“Yes, sir.” SSG Bunker answers,
“Castle is telling the truth. Strange, you did smell like spent explosives though.”
“What?!” Jousting exclaims, taking a step back, “How can this be?”
“Sir?”
“What now?!”
Bunker coughs. “What happened to your uniform, sir?”
“What do you mean, what happened to my-“
Cpt. Jousting begins. He stops once he looks down and spies his state of undress.
“This is an outrage! This is all your fault, I should have you both fired! Who could’ve even…”
He explodes, then stops once again, his eyes narrowing to deadly slits, what little can be seen of his irises shining with fury.
“Bombproof…”
“He can’t actually fire us, can he…?” Spc. Castle whispers to his sergeant.
Bunker shakes his head, not wanting to risk being heard.
Bombproof and the hippie mare sit on a mat at the top of their little hill, looking down to the field where soon, two steam engines would be slammed together in an explosion of steel and awesome. Most everypony has settled down in their own spots; there are families and couples everywhere, sitting on mats and looking up at the protective steel mesh in front of the tracks; some probably having come from miles away to see this.
Everypony is bathed in the soft glow emanating from the game and food booths of the carnival to their left, their music drifting softly, almost hauntingly around them, mixing with the buzz of conversation and excitement. If one were to be particularly cognizant, they would be able to still smell the aroma of corn, recently harvested, sweet and mild. A lime green filly chases a light blue one; they bump into a yellow stallion and his date, a white-maned sailor. Another couple, a red stallion and his date, a brown mare, argue over which kind of soda to share at one of the concession booths. The air is filled with the buzz of their conversation and everypony else’s. It’s a dichotomy of relaxation and breathless anticipation.
“I’m so excited!” Bombproof says, “This is going to be so awesome!”
His new friend doesn’t look as excited.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Shoot!”
She looks at him sideways for a moment before asking,
“Why’re you being so nice to me?”
Bombproof thinks for a moment, then shrugs.
“Dunno. I guess it’s ‘cause you’re the prettiest pony I’ve ever met. That likes explosions, at least!”
Her expression softens,
“That’s the nicest things anypony has ever said to me…” she says.
“Well I find that surprising!” Bombproof answers. “I never did get your name, by the way…”
“It’s…Terra…”
“Huh, a pretty name to match a pretty face.”
“Thanks,” She looks down, glad for the night to hide a hint of a blush, as well as a small smile, “…my dad picked it.”
“What’s your dad like?”
Bombproof asks, genuinely interested.
“He’s in the military, really controlling, and always trying to order me around.”
Terra responds bitterly.
“You bet I can understand what that’s like…”
“Well then you know the drill; I gave you my name, so what’s yours, Mr. Army Dude?”
“Bombproof!” He says brightly, adding, “My mom picked that one!”
“Bombproof. I like it. What’s your mom like?”
“Oh, well my mom was very kind and loving. Nopony else could make a pony feel better about themselves.”
“Was?”
His expression softens, and now it’s his turn to look down. “Yeah, she passed…”
“Oh…I’m sorry…”
They looked away from each other, neither sure what to say next, neither sure what to do next. A cricket sings nearby. In the distance, the yellow stallion is yelling at the fillies to be careful. The green filly puts him in a headlock while the blue one kicks him in the stomach. Both Bombproof and Terra look around awkwardly.
“Soooo….” Bombproof beings, trying to just fill the void with noise, not caring what he fills it with, “Isn’t this a great spot?”
She frowns.
“Well, not really. We’re so far away.”
“Well, yeah…you’re right…”
Bombproof nods,
“I would’ve gotten here earlier, but I got hit in the head…”
The teal mare frowns more deeply, and he remembers who he’s talking to.
“Oh! Uhm, but if I hadn’t been incapacitated, I never would’ve met you!” he commiserates.
Terra just smiles, and quietly complements, “Smooth”
Back at Fort Dragoon, the plot thickens. Sergeant First Class Martingale sits in his tent, finishing up some paperwork. A black pony with silver hair, SFC Martingale is First Platoon’s Platoon Sergeant-essentially, Bombproof’s boss’ boss. A hardened veteran of World War 2, whose stalwart defense of his country had taken his eye and left its marks upon his body, he was no pony to mess with.
So when Captain Jousting burst into his tent, demanding
“Where is Specialist Bombproof?!”, it took every ounce of his nigh-infinite professionalism to answer, very calmly,
“Specialist Bombproof should be on KP in the mess all, sir.”
“Well he’s not!” Jousting spat, “Your soldier stole my property, impersonated an officer, and is Absent Without Leave!”
Martingale blinks, genuinely surprised, probably for the first time since stepping into a Munich whorehouse and finding Nazis instead of whores.
“What?”
“Arrgh!” Cpt. Jousting growls, “The incompetency is overwhelming! Fine, I’ll go get him myself! First Sergeant!”
Materializing seemingly out of thin air comes possibly the one pony more badass than SFC Martingale: First Sergeant Caltrop, aka Bombproof’s boss’ boss’ boss.
Caltrop, a purple pony named after those nasty 4 pointed devices used in medieval times. Why his mother would name him that I havent the slightest idea.
“YES SIR!” Caltrop screams.
“Check every tent. Find out if any-“
Jousting looks at Martingale reproachfully,
“-smart ponies know where he is.”
“YES SIR!!”
And here we return to the barracks tent, where Private Mustang is quietly reading. 1SG Caltrop bursts into the tent in a flurry of canvas and SNCO rage. There is a healthy amount of justified fear in Mustang’s eyes as he looks upon his first sergeant, as well as a healthy quaking in his legs.
“Where…!” Caltrop begins,
but is interrupted by Mustang’s fear driving him to unconsciousness and fainting to the floor.
Caltrop looks on, undeterred, but spies a piece of paper near his feet: a flyer for something called the First Annual Cornfield Meet.
“Hm.”
“So a half pound of TNT on the main and end supports’ll do it?”
Terra asked, taking mental notes.
“Yeah, most ponies think you have to put stuff on each support, like in the flicks.”
Bombproof explains,
“But you only need a little on the stress points to bring down the structure”.
Terra looks off in the distance deep in thought.
“Yeah… That’ll show those oil tankers.”
She mutters.
Bombproof blinks, confused.
“Wait, what?”
“Oh look, it’s starting!” She says, ignoring him.
The crowd goes quiet in anticipation as the speakers placed around the area turn on, and the announcer pony begins to speak:
“Fillies and Gentlecolts, mares and stallions! Come one, come all to the first ever Battlestream Staged Cornfield Meet!”
the announcers voice booms,
“In just a few short moments, two steam trains will be sent careening into each other!
“But wait, there’s more! For your enjoyment, we have packed each train car with gasoline and explosives , so you folks are in for a great show! And now, the moment you’ve all been waiting for…fillies and gentlecolts, put your hooves together for EP Challenger and EP Big Boy!”
“Oh boy, here it comes!”
Bombproof squeals with delight, bounding up and down in his seated position.
A rumbling is heard. Twin steam whistles scream, drowning out the growing cheer of the crowd below. Terra leans against Bombproof, smiling as she waits for the night’s thrilling conclusion.
Our hero stops bounding and looks at her. The blood rushing through his ears is nearly as loud as the rapidly approaching steam engines. In the stillness, the calm before the storm, he feels a stirring in his heart; her body is warm like fire against his.
Is this affection? Is this love? He wonders. Before, only flames, gunpowder, and their sacred union made him feel this way. Never another pony, though-at least, not like this. The twin steam whistles scream again. Bombproof can feel Terra tense up at the sound. He has waited for this moment for months; the event has consumed his mind every day leading to this. But sitting on this hill, it’s nothing like he could’ve ever imagined in his wildest dreams and fantasies, to include the light blue pony next to him. Bombproof leans against her, and the both of them look on.
The two locomotives contact, the light from the explosion bursts brightly. It is magnificent; an eruption of molten iron and steel and wood and fire. Smokestacks, couplings, boiler tubes-all are obliterated as the Burning Hells are brought to the mortal realm in a cacophony which will be later likened to the sound of the Thunder God bringing his almighty wrath to the earth.
The fireball which rises up spreads through the air like an eagle’s wings, casting away the darkness in order to bring light eternal in its brilliance. The shockwave hits the crowd like a sucker punch, barreling over the weaker ones which lack in their devotion to the glory presented before them. To the faithful like Terra and Bombproof, however, it’s merely a soft kiss; a loved one’s embrace in front of a cozy hearth.
Night becomes day, and provides a perfect silhouette of our two friends on the hill.