//------------------------------// // Two // Story: Of Monsters and Mares // by Tempest Wind //------------------------------// Semois It was the worst storm of 1944. Rains became torrents, became floods, became muddy hell-holes. It brought back to mind the muddy, horrid trenches of the Great War, about thirty years old at this point. Not that it currently mattered. What mattered now was… “What’s…. Our….. status? Status! Sergeant, mad’m! Comp’ny command’s askin’ fir our status!” The hapless radiomare bellowed over the thunderstorm, Spandaus echoing across both ends of the town, intermixed with cannon fire and shouts from friendly and enemy infantry. The Sergeant nodded stiffly, tugging at her helmet’s chin strap, Her Sten V gripped in her right hand as she fiddled with the helmet with her left. “Right! Situation normal! Have made contact with Jerry! No sign of heavy armour yet! Spotted two light Panzers, so there’s something out there! AT support would be appreciated!” The non-commissioned officer growled over the excitement, gripping her sten with both hands after she was satisfied with the aforementioned chin strap. “I need a runner!” She barked, flicking her eyes over the assembled Platoon garrisoning the church in the center of the shitty little Prench village, settling on a slightly short unicorn mare. “You there! Private Doo! You're up, miss.” She waved the young-looking mare over. “Yes’m, Sarge?” She replied, tapping fingers across her No. 4 idly, probably worried about where she was running to. “I need you to get across to Dust’s Platoon and let her know we’ve got the churchyard secured! She is free to pull back from the bridge soon as she gets confronted with Hun armour!” “Right, Sergeant Wind.” “Take the backdoor and head down the side-alleys. Don't get caught out in the open!” “Yes’m, sergeant. I'll get to Sergeant Dust!” “Good mare! Off with you!” And with that, Private Doo was off running. “Corporal Shimmer! Ammunition count!” “Buggered, Sarge! We’re running low on Spandau rounds! Plenty of .303 for the Brens, though! Wish we had a vickers!” “Wishing doesn't win wars, Corporal! Make sure those Spandau belts are distributed around the guns! I want a markspony up in that steeple!” --- Dinky Doo belted down the side-alley across from the church, keeping her head tucked low beneath her helmet, as rain plinked off it’s wide, flat top, the roar of gunfire echoing throughout the small, quaint, town. Approaching Sgt. Dust’s Platoon, at the crossroads, she braced herself, and booked it out of the side alley, ears folded tightly against her head, rifle squeezed in a death grip, as gunfire crackled around her. Something slapped into the brim of her helmet and ricocheted upwards, staggering the young mare, who quickly drug herself back to her feet, and cleared the last few meters to the apartment building overlooking the crossroads. “Fuckin’ hell!” She barked. “Canterlot Bridge! Canterlot Bridge! Let me in you bastards!” The door gave way amidst the storm of rain and gunfire, and the young unicorn slid inside, releasing the breath she’d been holding as the door slammed shut behind her. “Bloody tits, I think I got shot that time.” Another infantrymare chuckled dryly. “Aye, you’ll need a new helmet missie. Sounded like a Schmeisser t’me.” “Ahhhh, everything sounds like a ruddy Schmeisser to you, Russy. Whatcha need, private?” A second voice, a corporal, interjected with a snort. “I… I need…” Dinky paused, catching her breath, as the Private from before gave her a calming pat on the back. “I need to talk to Sergeant Dust, Church is secured.” “Righto. Sarge is upstairs, third floor.” With a nod and a weak smile, Dinky pushed her way past the two, who returned to their guard positions at the door. Jogging up to the third floor, the youthful infantrymare began asking around for the platoon’s commanding officer. ---- Sergeant Lightning Dust, grizzled old veteran she was, had, in fact, taken up a firing position with the rest of the Platoon up on the third floor. “Sarge!” Dinky barked, refraining from snapping off a salute in case griffon snipers were watching- a lesson of the last war, which still rung true today. “Sarge we’ve secured the church grounds! You are clear to retreat once we’ve spotted Jerry armour!” Lightning snorted, as she slapped a fresh pair of stripper clips into the top of her No. 4 magazine, raising and firing the rifle, before popping back into cover. “Aye, if’n we can spot the jammy bastards! Understood though, Private! Let Wind know we’ll shoot a flare before we pull back, let the Royal Trots lads earn their keep f’ once!” Dinky nodded, and re-adjusted her slightly dented helmet, jogging back downstairs to the pair at the door. “Clear to cross back?” “No, but prob’ly clear as it'll get, lass. Heading back out?” “Yeah. Heading back to the church.” “Right. Off ya pop, then.” The corporal nodded, opening the door, as enemy and allied gunfire remained steady, if slightly louder. Steeling herself once more, she waited for a several seconds, before choosing a slightly quieter moment to rush across. Something thwacked across the back of her head as the nineteen year old Private crossed, knocking her flat into the muddy ground. For a few seconds, she just lay there, as gunfire crackled around her, catching the breath she’d lost. Spitting out a tooth from her hard impact with the muck, she groped around for her rifle and crawled the rest of the way across the dangerous street, cursing under her breath. Once across, and back into her side-alley, she removed a mud-coated glove, and gingerly ran a hand across the back of her head, wincing and yanking it back in front of her, a sickly feeling rising up from her chest as it came back red. Taking a deep breath, she gave her helmet a long suffering look, tossing the dented brass piece of crap away, and re-donning her muddy glove, before carrying on back to the church grounds. Thankfully, aside from the constant torrential downpour over the Prench village, she was mostly left to her own devices, as the chattering of Spandau machine guns carried on, growing in volume the closer she came to the church grounds themselves. After a few minutes at a combat jog, she found herself back at the side door she’d left out of, swinging it open, roughly. “Canterlot Bridge! Cant’lot bridge!” She barked, as a Bren gun was jammed in her face, though it was quickly removed. “Bloddy ‘ael! Medic!” --- “Oh, shan’t be too bad, Private Doo. Just a graze.” The medic sighed in relief, as he wrapped a thick cloth bandage around the younger mare’s forehead, being careful to cover the entire wound in the back of her skull. “Lucky break, eh?” “I guess. Hurts like ‘ell.” “Well, I mean, a gunshot’s a gunshot. Alright, you’re good to go. Sarge is upstairs, still.” “Right, thanks Doc.” “No problem, private. Alright, off with ya.” With a stiff nod, as she pulled her mane into a short bob again, Private Dinky Doo stood up from the makeshift cot she’d been sat down on, snatching up her No. 4 rifle and ammunition bandolier, before jogging up back upstairs, where her fellow Equestrian rifle ponies were firing at griffon targets, wherever they could be spotted through the tempestuous storm. “Sergeant Wind!” She called, attempting to be heard over both the thundering gunfire and the thundering storm. As Sergeant Wind didn't hear her, she frowned, and slid over, nudging the sergeant on the shoulder. Wind looked over, and winced at her bandaged head, then frowned, and removed her own helmet, tossing it to the younger mare. “I'll get a new one later! What's the situation, Private Doo!?” “Situation Normal, all focked up, Sarge! Sergeant Dust’s Platoon understands and copies orders, and will launch a barrage flare a’fore they pull back here!” “Ah, excellent! Good call, for her part! Are you still combat capable?!” “Yes’m, mar’m! Just a graze!” Sergeant Wind nodded, as she took a minute to tie back her long, light blue mane into a neat cavalrymare’s ponytail, pulling it out and away from her jade green eyes. “Excellent, stay here with me then, and shoot at anything that isn't a pony! Radio!” She barked, changing tacks immediately, “How's that support comin’!” “Ach, I can’t hardly get a ruddy-arse signal, ma’am! Something about Yanks!” “Amareicans? Ruddy perfect! All we need is Amareicans t’show up late an’ take all the credit!” Dinky just snorted in amusement, as the two bantered, raising her own rifle to squeeze off a shot at a griffon who’d leapt out of cover to spray a burst towards the Spandau crews with his Schmeisser. Dropping the-frankly quite daft; a Schmeisser against two Spandau model 42s?- griffon, she racked the bolt on her rifle, and slid back into the cover of the window. “There's their flare!” Wind crowed out, a few seconds later, before turning back to Corporal Shimmer. “Check fire, check fire! Friendlies pushing back this way!” “Yes ma’am! Gun crews check fire! Short bursts and proper targeting, you jammy bastards! Watch for friendly fire!” About half a minute following the flare, still quite visible despite the whirlwind of rain and lightning, the low, distant rumbles of the Royal Trots Engineers’ twenty-five pounder guns echoed, as shells raced over the town, slamming into its edge, where Sergeant Dust’s Platoon had been. Meanwhile, the Platoon itself was busy fighting its way past the mob of enemy griffons, and, though they took a couple casualties from the sheer amount of lead flying through the air, mostly made their way into the church, still in good spirits. Sergeant Lightning, however, was anything but in a good mood, as she made her way upstairs. “Hell’s spit, Tempest!” She barked, a grimace across her face, as she nursed a hip wound that had been hastily patched up by her own combat medic. “They brought up Tigers, looks like! Two of the damn things!” “Ballsacks! Those yanks better show up with Anti-tank support then, or we’re knackered!” “Well, I ‘ave a couple PIATs, if’n they don't!” Lightning responded, to which Sergeant Tempest Wind gave her a flat stare. “Like I said! They better have AT support, or we’re knackered! I'd like t’see you hit the broad side of a damn barn with a PIAT on a good day, Lightning!” With a shrug, Sergeant Dust slid back downstairs, as the weary equestrian soldiers continued firing back from the windows of the old Prench church, whilst the storm continued onwards. --- It'd been about half an hour, and the evening was on-coming, when the griffon Tiger tanks burst into the churchyard, their main cannons blasting away at the old, now crumbling building, sending dust and shrapnel flying in all directions, whilst fire from both sides continued to fill the air, along with the endless rain. “Aw, fohk me!” Tempest growled, her accent thickening the angrier she got, as the two platoons groped about for whatever cover they could find. Thankfully, the Tigers did not fire another shot at the Equestrians. Another tank shot did ring out, though from a quite different cannon, as an Amareican Sherman, toting a high velocity 76 millimeter gun blasted away at the leftmost Tiger’s frontal armor. The griffon tank fired back in kind, sending the much less armoured Sherman up in a spectacular fireball, despite the heavy downpour. However, the Amareican tank wasn't alone. Shortly behind it came several more Shermans, and, after a brief firefight, the griffon tanks retreated, followed by their remaining infantry, as Amareican troops, following closely behind their armour, began to stream into the small Prench town. --- The stand-down was equally wet and rainy, but, at least the ruined church offered a good amount of cover from the clearing thunderstorm. With a sigh, Tempest sat on a church pew, as a couple other troopers chatted quietly, and began sketching out a letter, looking over to where Private Doo was being looked over in better detail, now that combat had subsided. Others were taking naps, or standing as lookouts, but everypony looked exhausted for certain. --- Dearest Mother and Father, I’m sorry I neglected writing to you last week, my unit had been fighting it’s way up a certain Highway, and had been caught up in a prolonged engagement. I simply hadn't the time to write. However, I am still in good health, and good spirits, so please, do not spend any undue worry on me! Today, I was fighting near a small Prench town- though I can't, for obvious reasons, tell you where. Weather was… rather poor, sadly. But, such is life, and we made the best of it. Tomorrow, we head up a hill, on the edge of town. It'll be tough fighting, but I have utmost confidence that, somehow, we’ll find our way through it. Hopefully, this war will end, soon, and I can return home, but until then, I'll do my duty, as best as I can. Wish for peace; Tempest Wind