Interview Excerpt: Captain Fluttershy, Sister of the Ordo Solaris - Chaplain’s Corps, former Medical Officer First Class, Equestrian Army
So, um, you want me to take you through what the Battle of Seaddle was like? Well, if you really want to know about the battle, you should probably talk to Twilight or Rainbow Dash or Applejack or—
Oh, you want to hear about what it was like as a medic? Um… okay. It’s not really… nice. I mean, well… of course it wasn’t nice. It was a war after all. But, well, what I mean to say is… are you sure you really want me to walk you through a day?
Well, okay then. If you think that’d be best.
*Inhale*
Phew!
Okay.
…
Tracers light up the night, the only illumination besides the fires and the explosions. The sky is black – no moon, no stars – only smoke.
Stallions and mares crouch behind whatever makeshift rubble they can arrange into sandbags; sometimes they use the bodies of enemy soldiers. They’re firing as fast as they can chamber rounds, lots of them panicking. Not just the rookies either; veterans too. They’re just firing, thinking that if they stop, that’s when they die. But the enemy’s firing more; it’s like their bullets are trying to chew through the rubble just to get to us.
I huddle in the ditch, shaking, clutching my medical bag. I try to stop the shaking, but I can’t. I don’t just think I’m going to die, I know it. Any minute now a bullet’s gonna rip through my throat and no one’s even gonna hear me scream because I’m gonna die choking on my own blood just like Sergeant Rod and—
“MEDIC!”
I’m moving! Leaping over the bodies of friendlies, some too scared to move, some who’ll never move again! But I’ve got to move, I’ve got to find—
There! Shadow of the bombed-out nursery. Mare. Late teens/early twenties. GSW lower abdomen. Hooves open my medical bag as my wings shift her uniform to get a better look at the wound. Through-and-through, no sign that it clipped an artery. Apply field dressing and painkiller. Safer to move her than to leave her here. Grab her by the scruff and shift farther back in the line.
I sit in the building that I dragged her into for a second. Or an hour. Who knows? I think she’s thanking me. But I can’t stop shaking. I can’t keep doing this, I can’t face—
“MEDIC!”
I’m up! There! On the line! Stallion. Barely. Maybe seventeen with a bad case of foal-face. What’s left of it. Round ripped off half the right side. His buddy holds him down while I stop the bleeding. He passes out from the pain before I get it done. Just as well. I gave the mare my last painkiller. I drag him from the line and wipe some of his blood from my face. He’ll live. Probably.
Sit down for a minute to catch my breath and—
“MEDIC!”
Stallion. Veteran sergeant. Thirties. Artillery. Shrapnel’s lodged by his heart. Can’t pull it out. That’d only kill him faster. He’s asking me if he’s going to die. I lie and tell him no. Then I give him a sugar pill and tell him it’s for the pain. I can see by the look in his eyes that he believes me as he slips away. I pray he’s in a better place—
“Incoming!”
BOOM!
THE SHELL HITS RIGHT ON TOP OF US—
Oh, my, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to knock over your drink. Are you okay? I can stop now, if… oh, you’re good? Well, okay then.
*Inhale*
Phew!
The shell shreds the storefront where the forward machinegunners had set up. We hadn’t been able to pull them out when the Equalists started pushing us back. Ten yards of rubble and corpses between the line and the building; a couple wrecked vehicles and some craters are the only cover. It doesn’t look like there are any survivors in there. But there are. I can feel it.
Somehow, the moan reaches me across the battlefield. Through the gunfire, through the screams, through the carnage, I can hear him. I can hear the pony who needs me.
“Covering fire!”
Flying in a killbox like this is risky, but I have to get there fast. I twist and turn like Rainbow Dash taught me, bolting in an uneven aerial sprint for the machinegun nest. I feel the heat of tracers whizz past, but I don’t stop. I hit the ground full speed and slide through the rubble, bullets kicking off the rock scree around me. I roll with the landing and come to rest a couple yards away from the stallion. Our eyes lock.
He’s scared. Oh, Celestia, he’s scared.
“It’s gonna be alright,” I tell him. “I’m coming to get you. I’m gonna get you home.”
The only cover is the shallow pile of rubble we’re pressed against. I can’t rise from a crawl without getting my head blown off. So I crawl over to him. We lie muzzle to muzzle as I start to work on him. He’s pleading with me, telling me how scared he is. Maybe it’s with words, maybe it’s his eyes. I hear him either way. As much as I can, I make eye contact. “You’re gonna be okay,” I promise. “I’m gonna get you home.” With my hooves and wings I start patching up his many wounds. It’s a miracle he survived the shell. He’s riddled with shrapnel. His chest plate saved his life, but I can’t remove it to fix the damage underneath; it might be all that’s holding him together.
I’ve stabilized him, but he won’t survive long if he stays here. I roll so that my back is to him and hook my legs through his gear so that I’m wearing him like a backpack. Can’t fly back; wouldn’t be fast enough and they’d gun us down. So I’ll have to crawl.
“Medic up! Covering fire!”
Then I crawl.
I hug the ground like a worm, willing myself to sink deeper into the earth. In order to keep to cover I have to swing closer to the enemy line than I would like, but I don’t have a choice. Down into every crater, past every wreck, behind every body. The gravel and debris dig into my underbelly; I feel shards of glass tear into my flesh. But I can’t stop. Not until he’s safe.
The body of a mare blocks my path. What’s left of her anyway. I try not to look into her eyes as I belly crawl through her blood.
I can’t stop to think about that. I can’t look at her. Can’t see her eyes. Can’t think about how afraid I am. Can’t think about his odds of survival. I just have to keep crawling and crawling. One hoof in front of the other. Inch by inch. Almost there. Almost there.
Wait, what? Why is his weight being lifted—
Oh. We made it. They’re trying to get him loose. I fumble with the straps so they can rush him to the stretcher-bearers. I sag against a convenient wall. Somepony offers me a canteen and I drink. I’m not sure I can do much else. I don’t think I can feel my wings. I can barely move.
“MEDIC!”
Let me up! Let me out there! I’ve gotta help! Somepony needs me, I— wha? Another medic is already treating him? Oh. Okay. Well, I guess I can rest. For a while.
…
So… um…
…
*ahem*
…
… that’s what the Battle of Seaddle was like.
I read that in WWI, 90% of casualties were artillery (or bombs), about 90% of the remainder were machine guns & you fired your rifle rarely except when charging or being charged. (In fact, there are some anecdotes of soldiers forgetting how to fire their rifles)
WWI, about 80% casualties were military, 20% civilians. WWII the ratio was about 50/50 (including a lot from bombing raids. IDK if that counts concentration camp victims) . Modern wars are about 80% civilian in large part because armies move so fast, the civilians can't get out of the way.
WWII, medics treated everyone, so the Germans didn't deliberately try to kill them. Japan never signed the Geneva convention & deliberated targeted medics & hospitals. Of course, artillery doesn't care WHO you are.
Fluttershy has always been fastest in a crisis. During combat, she must have seemed like she was in multiple places at once.
Incredibly evocative chapter. Felt like I was there, inasmuch as I can even imagine such a situation.
Courage is not a state of being without fear. Fearlessness isn't courage, it's idiocy. True courage is being scared out of your wits, and pushing through it. To do the needful thing, because it must be done.
Of course Fluttershy was a medic, just as I expected. Her kindness outshined her fear, it would seem. Fitting, considering that it has always been that way when her friends are in danger.
Also, Ordos Solaris? A chivalric order, I presume, bestowed by Princess Celestia if the name suggests anything; Order of the Sun.
Oh wait, considering that the other chapters don’t have anything like that despite their very considerable heroics, I’m guessing that it’s a medical order.
9294901
A bullet may have your name on it, but explosive ordinance is addressed "To whom it may concern."
9295412
It's more a part of her being in the Chaplains' Corps, but those are not mutually exclusive. The Hospitallers were knights, monks, and medics.
9295751
One thing that isn't clear. We talking WWI, WWII, or modern war? Because, in many ways they were VERY different.
9296020
With regards to what, specifically?
9296168
WWI, a lot of it was trench warfare & fairly static. WWII, bombers & tanks were more significant. WWII the US army was the first army in the world to be 100% mechanized supply transport. If you look at footage form Desert Storm 1, you'll see all these ruck following the tanks. & that was important. One of the reasons that the US Army stopped where it did in WWII was that they outran their supplies.
WWI, after 1914 the Western front moved slowly enough that civilians were able to get out of the way.
Also, artillery bombardments. In WWI, they'd shell, day & night with thousands of guns for days on end. It was partially why the Allies couldn't break through -the terrain was too tore up to move quickly, and the defenders could move supplies up through relatively undamaged territory faster than the Allies could move over shelled ground.
WWII, they'd learned. They shelled for an hour or 2 to try & take out specific targets & then stop. Also, bombers had advanced to the point that they could try to take out the supply routes.
One of the problems that the US Army had in Vietnam was that they were trying to do that w the Ho Chi Minh Trail. They needed to bomb a dirt road through a jungle so badly that it's carrying capacity was over 80% destroyed. For some reason, they couldn't
Russians had problems in Afghanistan because AA missiles had advanced to the point that they had to try & fight without aircover & they had problems
Also, medicine. WWI was the first war that they used antiseptic procedures in field hospital (Only took them 70 years after Lister to figure out that it was a Good Idea). By WWII, they'd advanced enough that casualties had a chance surviving an infected wound. Now, your odds of surviving being wounded are better than your chances of dying + disease no longer kills more than the enemy does.
One of my friend's father was a medic in the 142nd Airborne during The Gulf War.
When he joined, he was told there were three rules for a medic.
Rule number one was 'You can't save everyone.' Rule number two was 'Good people are going to die.'
Rule number three was 'Do absolutely everything you can to break rules one and two.'
9296198
Right. I get all that. There just seemed to be an implied question in your comment, and I wasn't sure what it was specifically.
9296236
Those are good rules. I can't even imagine the heartache of being a medic. At the same time, I suppose I also can't imagine the satisfaction of saving someone from death as only a healer can.
9296264
Well, I was just wondering is this war more like WWI, where you get to live in a ditch & die charging barbed wire & machine guns, or WWII, where you sleep in a shell hole & pray you don't meet a tank, or modern wars where everyone has an autofire weapon & you've got to worry about planes & missiles the most?
9296280
Gotcha. This war is chiefly based off of the First World War, though there are elements of the Second World War and even earlier conflicts (like the Spanish-American War and the Civil War) thrown in for seasoning. If I had to point to only one war, it would be WWI. Though it should be noted that, unless I retcon it later (which is unlikely as I hate doing that), chemical warfare will not play a role.
9293480
Unless you've instilled patriotism in your citizens from birth and/or manage to convince your soldiers that while the enemy is human, killing them is but a mercy for their poor, twisted minds.
Kind of like Japan, as far as the former part goes. At that point, it's more fanaticism than patriotism.
9296401
I wouldn't go quite that far. I know a lot of vets (even most) who were able to separate the act of killing from hate. And, even with horrific regimes built upon tyranny and bigotry, the majority of enemy combatants are not twisted souls; most are just misguided teenagers looking for a sense of belonging or conscripts who don't want to be there. True, it is an act of mercy to prevent them from doing evil (even if that means lethal force), but there's a distinction between that and so-called 'mercy killing.' It's a grim necessity. No more, and no less.
This story is one of those rare stories where you can REALLY hear in your head what is going on, this chapter is no exception. In that spirit, I had a flash of inspiration to draw Fluttershy's memories of being a trench medic. To do so to the utmost, I've spent the past hour searching images to give me an idea of how things are to look, and one of the images just cried out to be shared with you: i.pinimg.com/originals/dd/85/ec/dd85ec85d8e4ed1cc9ecfdd541e08c90.jpg
10813231
Your compliments are much appreciated.
That's a fantastic piece of artwork you found, details even down to the rounded dog-tag (like in WWI). I'll have to keep that for potential reference in Homecoming, where I describe Fluttershy as having worn her mane in a bun during the war and wherein she was also a medic. That image suits her well!