//------------------------------// // Three // Story: Of Monsters and Mares // by Tempest Wind //------------------------------// Long Night   “You know, Sergeant, you never got around to saying what happened at Champagne. Why’d you get transferred?”   Serene cocked an eye, as she stood in the trench, binoculars raised to her eyes, as she gazed down the hill towards the griffons taking position in the formerly Equestrian-owned first line trenches at the base of the hill. That particular firefight had been undergone yesterday, whilst her Platoon had been rotated to the rear lines for their afternoon meal.   Big ruddy cock-up, that. Half the company, caught with their asses up in the air. But, no use crying over spilt milk.   “I don't like talking about Champagne, Corporal Yearling. I don't have fond memories about the battle.”   “Ah.” Autumn paused, blinking. “Particular reason why?”   “Lost friends at Champagne, to say the least.”   “I see.”   “Perhaps. I-” she paused, as she caught sight of something in her binoculars. “Ah-hn. That's a mortar position. Probably…. yes, there's an ammunition dump right… there. Private Punch?”   “Aye, ma’arm?”   “Call in a short barrage on these coordinates, if you would?”   “Righto, ma’am.” --- “Serene Evenins’. Hooey. Her name’s Nightmare Moon.”   “Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Applejack.”   “O-oh, uhm. She's uh. Right. Erm. Sergeant. Sir.” Fluttershy squeaked in, as Equestrian artillery grumbled in the rear, shells arcing overhead as the Platoon held position along the trench line.   “Truly?”   “Sho’nuff. Heart mean an’ black as Chrysalis’ asshole.” Applejack replied, which drew a snort, followed by a snigger of amusement, from Storm Wind.   “Eloquent as always, Private.”   “Ah try.” AJ shrugged. “Anyways, two pair.”   “Oh, uhm, three of a kind.”   “Ech, bugger. Two pair.”   “Mmh, I've a flush.”   “Pot’s yours then, Edge.”   “Cheers, I… hey, y’hear that?”   Shrill whistles sounded out from the griffon lines, as the afternoon sun floated overhead, the normally gloomy Prench countryside actually rather bright and cheerful for once.   Well, cheerful aside from all the trenches, gun positions, and shell holes littering the churned, muddy ground. --- Sergeant Evenings frowned, as she heard the same whistle, looking over to Autumn. “Back to the squad. Platoon! “ she barked, changing tacks, and raising her voice as loud as she found possible, “Prepare for attack!”   Up and down Charlie Platoon’s section of trench, and by extension, Charlie Company as a whole, the ponies of the Equestrian Expeditionary Force prepared themselves for a griffon attack, as the griffons themselves rose up from their trenches, flat caps intermingled with the pickelhaubes of Storm Troopers.   Snorting, behind her lit cigarette, Evenings shook her head. “Well, that's a sight for sore eyes. Corporal Yearling, are our crank guns ready?”   Yearling straightened herself from her slight slouch against the rear wall of the trench, and nodded. “Yes’m. Both Lewis guns are prepped and ready to crank. Ammunition’s plenty, today.”   “Excellent. Soon as they're within proper suppression range, begin firing. Infantry is to hold fire until they close to the barbed wire.”   “Right, Sergeant. I'll send that up the line.”   “Good mare.”   Wordlessly, Autumn left to pass on Serene’s orders, as Serene herself tapped her fingers across the odd looking pistol she’d “liberated” from the griffons in an earlier battle. Evenings had, due to the pistol’s odd design- it was a Mannlicher 1903 model, which for a pistol just looked odd- already gotten a couple curious looks, which she'd ignored as infantry curiosity.   Mouth twinging into a deeper frown, Evenings swished the cigarette back and forth in her mouth, a few times, before readying her Enfield rifle for combat, checking the ammunition and the iron sights. Ready to fire.   The crank guns- smaller .303 firing Lewis models, which traded the heavy .60 calibres fired by gatling models for the far more controllable and faster firing .303 “Equish” cartridge- began firing first, raking fire across the front line as their gunners earned their keeps, forcing the griffon formation to break apart into a more haphazard assault.   For their part the griffons continued to advance, finding scraps of cover wherever possible, until they began to reach the remaining bits of barbed wire.   Then, the Platoon’s rifleponies began to fire upon them, enfields barking up and down the line, intermingled with the steady, but rapid, thunk-thunk-thunk of crank gun fire.   Raising her own rifle to eye level, Serene chose a target as she stepped up to the firing line, squeezed off a shot, and racked the bolt, as the enemy she’d shot fell backwards, no doubt a large hole somewhere in his chest, whilst she took aim again.   The skirmish didn't last all that long, however, as the surviving griffons soon broke and ran back for their own lines, whilst the Equestrians continued to fire on the retreating boche infantry.   With a snort of derisiveness, Evenings lowered her rifle. “Call that a fight? Wasn't worth wasting the munitions.”   “Aye, they broke much too soon.” Berry Punch added, with a shrug, as she drew a swig of water from her canteen. “Pity, s’pose. I was itchin’ for a good fight.”   “Well, if those helmets were anything to go by, we’ll get one, once they get their acts together. Storm Troopers fight mean.”   “Mean, Sarge?” Autumn questioned, keeping her own Enfield raised to the firing line.   “Flame throwers, portable crank guns; grenades.”   “Ah.”   “Quite.” Serene nodded, shuffling through her chest pockets for her cigarette pack, wedging a lucky strike into her muzzle, and offering Autumn one, as Berry declined, but gave them a light, regardless. “Shock troopers,” she began again, in between drags on her cigarette, “Are bastards to fight. And those helmet spikes aren't f’ show. Solid steel, they are. Liable t’ crack y’ skull open, if’n they bring it down on you.”   “Sounds like y’all’ve fought ‘em before.” Applejack chuckled dryly, as Fluttershy checked the squad for combat wounds, and Steel Edge and Storm Wind took up skirmish positions with Autumn’s squad, on the firing line.   “Once or twice, Private Apple.” Serene confirmed, before taking a long drag on her lucky strike. “They're dedicated, I'll give them that.”   “Dedicated to dying, aye.” Berry snarked, as the three shared a quiet chuckle, resting against the trench walls. “So ye’er really Nightmare Moon, eh?” She followed up with, after the much-needed chuckles died back down.   “I am, yes. Celestia just had everything that made me… well, me, stripped away. Gone and forgotten. I'm just any old unicorn, now. She stripped me of my powers, and cast me out into the world.” Serene shrugged, taking another drag. “Well, shoved me into the military anyways.”   “So she had you drafted, basically?” Autumn inquired, removing her helmet momentarily, to run a gloved hand through her messy grayscale mane.   “Basically. I think she's hoping I'll die, and she won't have to deal with me any further. Can't really say I blame her, either.”   “Cuz’ of the whole “eternal night” thing?” Apple snorted.   “Amongst other things, yes. She can despise me all she wants, I suppose. She's won already, and I refuse to stoop so low as to apologize; doubly so if she tosses me somewhere to die. White nag can kiss my arse, f’ all I care.”   “Mhn. Figgur’ y’d stick it ta’ her, one last time?” Berry snorted, sipping from her canteen again.   “Sort of, I suppose. If I really wanted to stick it to her, I'd survive. Doubtful that’s going to happen though, from what I've already seen of this damnable war.” Sergeant Major Evenings scoffed, flicking her cigarette into the muddy trench, and scuffing it out with her boot. “Only reason I'm a ruddy fuckin’ Sergeant s’cos everyone above my rank died while we were fighting at Ypres. Figure I'll go the same way eventually.”   “Grim way to look at it.” Autumn blinked, slightly taken aback, as the dark coated unicorn mare just sighed, and offered another shrug.   “Accurate, though.” Berry grunted, cracking her back, stiff from lugging the ridiculously heavy radio kit. “This war’ll kill ye dead quick ‘s a flash an’ a bang.”   “Yeah.” Serene nodded, thinly. “Flash and a ruddy fucking loud bang.” --- “Whaddya need, Applejack? I'm busy shifting crates.” Stone Wall grunted, alongside Buck Shot, the crank gun crew busy shifting ammunition crates about in the platoon’s ammunition dump.   “She's doomed, Stoney.”   Stone wall stopped, setting a crate of .303 cartridges back down on the dirt floor of the dump. Buck Shot, catching Stone Wall’s eye, stalked over and closed the dump’s entry door.   “Doomed?”   “Bitch doesn't even expect t’ survive.” Apple spat, arms crossed. “Expects she’ll die fightin’- an’ prolly drag us’n with her.”   “You sure, Yank?” Buck Shot interjected, idly fiddling with his 16 gauge shotgun, as he stood by the door.   “Sure as spit, Limey. Hell, the words came outta her own doggone mouth.”   “Huh. Doomed officer. Thought we’d gotten our last suicidal bastard at St. Lô.” Stone shrugged. “What are you suggesting, Applejack?”   “Ah dunno yet.” The Amareican mare shook her head, frowning deeply. “Ah really dunno. But ah’ll be spreadin’ word along the plat. Ah had t’deal with Nightmare Moon a’fore. Guess ah’ll have to write Twi a letter sayin’ ah had t’do it again.”   “Guess so, Yank. We’ll start talking with the rest of our squad. Why don't you chat with DeeDee’s squad?”   “Sounds good t’me,  Bucky.” --- A few hours passed, as scattered gunfire from skirmishers crackled across the muddy field, midday sun beating down on the company’s helmeted heads.   “They ought to attack again.” Evenings frowned, now pacing across the trenchline behind Double Down’s squad, as they kept active in their section of trench, occasionally rising up to the firing line to shoot off a round at the barest hint of a griffon soldier. “This morning was a crapshoot. They’d better attack again or command’ll think they're pulling back fro’ the area.   “I doubt the Boche share your sentiments, Sergeant, ma’am.”   “Yes, well, the Boche can go hang themselves and squawk like chickens f’r all I care.” Serene snorted in response to Double Down, who simply grunted in response, not quite sure how to respond to his new Sergeant.   However, the relative peace was short-lived. The whole platoon froze, as the griffon guns began roaring in the distance.   “Incoming!” Evenings began, snapping herself out of her stupor. “Take bloody cover! Get outta th’ open!”   And, as quickly as they could scramble into the relative safety of the ammunition dump, in the back wall of the trench over near Cpl. Yearling’s squad, the platoon did, slamming the makeshift wooden door shut. Only then did they relax slightly.   “Bloody ‘ell’s flamin’ focks.” Berry muttered out, over the echoing and bellowing artillery coming from griffonian lines, as the walls of the small cave-like ammunition dump shook and grumbled from the constant barrage.   “Damn. That’s a lot o’ artill’ry.” Apple whistled, as she shakily sat down on a munitions crate, trying to open her water canteen. “Whole lotta artillery.”   Serene, meanwhile, was counting. “Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. We’re missing two. Sound off, who’s missing!”   “Ah saw Steel get pegged by one of the first shells.” Applejack replied, as Serene nodded, mentally bringing the squad count to eighteen.   “O-oh, uh. I'm uh, here. I'm just...hiding.” The work table Serene was sat upon squeaked, causing the unicorn to jump up, and look underneath, where her buttercup yellow combat medic was sitting beneath, braced against it and the wall, her Enfield squeezed tightly between her fingers as her eyes darted back and forth across the room.   “...Right. Okay. Only lost Steel Edge then. That's...manageable. Glad everyone else is reasonably okay.” Serene nodded fingers rubbing together as she contemplated the pros and cons of lighting a cigarette inside an ammunition dump full of gunpowder. “Alright. Gather up weapons and munitions. Soon as… this,” she gestured to the rumbling ceiling, “lets up, we’ll get reorganized upon the line. Storm Wind, have your squad attach onto one of the other two, as you see fit.”   “Aw shucks, y’want us to go back out inta all that mess? Hay no, ah’ll take my chances here. Least here we won't get blasted t’tartarus.” Private Apple snorted, as Serene grit her teeth.   “That's an order, Private.” Sergeant Major Evenings shot back, resting a hand idly on her right hip, above her pistol belt. “And you will follow my orders.”   “How about y’go an’ fuck y’self. You ken have a deathwish all you want- ah heard what you were sayin’ back on the trenchline.”   “What I was- what, that Celestia is probably hoping I die?”   “No, th’ other bullshit. YES! Y’basically admitted you don't care if’n you live or not!”   “Which is none of your bloody business, Private!”   “All due respect, ma’am.” Double Down interjected. “I don't like the thought of following a doomed officer either.”   “Doomed?! Why I ought to-”   “Sarge, we’ve had a few too many suicidal officers.” Autumn interrupted. “We’re getting kind of sick of it, honestly.”   But, I-”   Besides, ah’ve got family to go back ta after all of this is over. You’ll probably get a ticket straight back to th’ moon like y’ deserve.”   That did it.   Evenings froze. The room fell silent. A few of the other soldiers had started to speak up, but caught one look of Sergeant Major Evening’s expression, and wisely kept their mouths shut.   Eyes narrow, a scowl across her face, Applejack almost thought Serene Evenings looked exactly like the Nightmare she’d once been, as her pistol was withdrawn from the holster- and just about jammed in her face, as Serene’s free hand gripped her by her shirt collar, standing her up as she crossed the small, cramped ammo dump in a couple short and efficient steps.   “You want to say that again, Private?! I don't fucking care what the damn hells you think, I am your superior officer, and you will follow orders!”   The Mannlicher pressed to her chin, Applejack smacked it away with and open palm, knocking it from Evenings’ grasp, before shooting out a kick into her knee, causing the Sergeant to drop her.   Wincing at the pain in her knee, Evenings barely had time to look up before the country mare decked her, sending her ass-over-teakettle across an ammunition crate.   “That all y’got, Nightmare?!” Applejack guffawed, shaking away the slight numbness in her knuckle, as the rest of the platoon simply looked on, not wanting to get in the middle of the fight.   With a growl more befitting an animal than a pony, Evenings drug herself to a standing position, wiping away the blood pooling at the corner of her lower lip. The Sergeant looked about ready to kill Private Apple, and, if looks could kill, the Amareican Private would have already been at Tartarus’ black gates.   “I am going to hurt you.”   “Ah’d like t’see you try.” AJ snorted, glaring right back at the Nightmare turned unicorn.   The two stood there for several seconds, as if gauging each other’s intentions, bodies tense like coiled springs, fists balled and knuckles edging on white.   The ammunition dump remained deathly silent. A minute passed. The artillery barrage continued; the only noise amidst the cold silence of the ammunition dump, and the platoon gathered within.   Another twelve seconds passed. Evenings grit her teeth, then looked about at the rest of the platoon.   No pony would look her in the eyes.   “Fine, then. I'll go fight off the whole gods-damned griffon army by myself. Unlike your hypocritical selves, I'm no coward. I'll die fighting, not crying and cowering in a cave. To hell with the lot of you.” She snapped, mentally exhausted, as she stalked past Applejack, whose smug look she sorely wanted to wipe right off her face, snatched up her pistol, and slammed it into it’s holster. “Hope you fucking rot in here.”   And with that, she stalked out the door, as the platoon gazed on, slamming it shut behind her, whilst the artillery fire finally began to slacken off.   For several moments, nopony said anything, simply watching the door, halfway expecting the mate to stagger back inside and stay with them. To beg forgiveness in an apology, especially to Applejack, who was glaring daggers at the door, despite her smug grin.   But she didn't, and if they strained their ears, the could just make out the shrill whistles of griffon officers. --- Sergeant Evenings, however, could hear the whistles quite well, as she wedged the last cigarette in that particular pack of lucky strikes into her mouth, lighting it as she sat behind an abandoned Crank Gun, ammunition box full of cartridges ready to feed laid next to her, as well as her Enfield and Steel Edge’s cut-down enfield, as he didn't particularly need it any longer.   Resting her back against the rear of the gun dugout as the griffons prepared to advance, she exhaled smoke from her cigarette and sighed, looking up towards the setting sun, as evening crawled upon the line.   Well, everyone dies someday, right?   With a sigh, she doused the cigarette, leaning back over the gun, as the griffons began to cross the open field. Resting one hand on the crank, and the other on the adjustment grip, the unicorn Sergeant gazed down the targeting sights, and, as the griffon… brigade, maybe? As they crossed the first third of the open ground, she began cranking the handle. --- Ears twitched beneath helmets, as they listened to the telltale steady cracks of a crank gun being operated.   Berry punch’s mouth twitches slightly. “Crank gun. She's on Kickers’ I thin’.”   “Crazy mare’s got a deathwish.” Storm Wind sighed. --- The crank gun continually barked out rounds, as Evenings laid on the handle, pausing only to prepare the next batch of cartridges to go into the hopper. The large gun’s withering fire had thinned the griffon assault, a fair bit, and they'd slowed down and spread out about halfway across the open land, but they were still advancing, and beginning to open fire on her position- she’d already been knocked off the gun once by a rifle shot to the left shoulder. That was painful, but the lone Sergeant had just ripped a shirtsleeve to tie it off and staunch the bleeding. Then, she'd hopped back on her gun and started firing again.   Maybe she did have a deathwish.   The gun crank continued spinning, as the lone Lewis crank gun continued barking out across the line of advancing griffons, falling like wheat before a scythe. Yet, more and more advanced.   Maybe she did, really, have a deathwish.   But she was also a soldier. Her orders were to hold this line.   And dammit, she was going to hold the line. --- The platoon listened, quietly, as the crack-crack-crack of an Equestrian crank gun continued to echo along the trench, occasionally intermingled with rifle fire-probably from griffon rifles.   Autumn Yearling bit her lip, tapping her fingers along her Enfield rifle’s body. “We ought to do something.”   “What, and die like her?” Dusty trails piped up, snorting, as she sat upon a work table. “I'll pass, thanks.”   “Well hell, Dusty! We’re soldiers!” Autumn barked, as the others looked on in mild shock. “This is our job- fight and kill and die. And here we are, with our damn thumbs up our asses, because we don't like our fucking superior officer.”   “Aye.” Berry grunted, slipping the heavy radio pack back onto her own back, and snagging up her enfield. “We should be out doin’ somethin’. Nae hidin’ in here like scared lil’ pussies.”   “Y’ll are welcome to piss away yer lives all y’want. Ah’m stayin’ here.”   “Ach, aye. Ye’er free tae doo thae all y’wan’. Ah’ naet r’spons’bl fir ye’er own conscience. Jus’ m’own. Y’comin’, Corp’l?” Berry questioned, as she stopped near the door, looking over to Corporal Yearling, who was standing off to the left.   The Corporal looked around the room, mouth twitching, then shrugged, and snagged up her enfield. “What the hell. Rather die fighting than hiding in a hole. Lead on, Private.” --- It was approaching dusk, as the two happened upon Serene’s gun position. The mare was roughly hunched over the second crank gun, Cloud Kicker’s Lewis discarded off to the left, its barrels warped from overheating; the brass barrels twisted and melted around and into each other.   She looked half dead, four bullet holes scattered across her wheezing body, as she gingerly loaded her cartridges into the heavy weapon, the fingers of her gloves worn off and her fingers powderburnt; probably permanently scarred.   She jumped in shock, eyes wild, as Autumn and Berry gingerly pulled her off the gun. “Easy, Sarge. It's just us. Let's get you back to Fluttershy.”   “N-no! No.” She wheezed, trying to make her way back over to the gun, unable to walk due to a rifle shot in her lower hip. “T’many gh-griff’ns. s’awhl d-vshon.” She slurred, finally dragging herself back behind the crank gun, and re-aiming the sights.   She wasn't wrong, either.   “Berry.”   “Aye, corp?”   “Go get as many as will come. We've got to hold as long as possible.”   “Ah’l be quick.” --- Berry Punch basically kicked the door of the ammunition dump down, a grim frown on her face. “Yew fockers. We’ve got a whole dam d’vision out thaer. Nae are ye fookin’ soldiers, aer pussies?! We ‘aev saem work tae do! Die here or focken helpin’ saemthin’!”   And with that, the purple earth pony, normally the cheeriest mare in the platoon, was gone.   “Shite, a whole division?” Storm Wind mumbled.   “And we’ve got an artillery battery behind us…” Flash Sentry piped up, fingers restlessly tapping against his hand crank.   “Hell, we’ve got to do something, then. At least buy some time.” Double Down frowned. “Idiots. We’re fucking idiots. Third Squad! Rifles and ammo, we’re heading back out!”   “Come on, First Squad, we can't just leave Autumn and Berry out there alone!”   Storm Wind paused, as he passed Applejack, who hadn't moved, and Fluttershy, who looked torn between leaving and staying. “...You don't have to go, you two. Especially after… what happened between you and the Sergeant. I won't make you follow us into battle. Godspeed.”   “Uh-huh. See you around, Storm.”   “Mhn.”   And with that, he was gone.   Silence reigned in the ammunition dump again, as Applejack took stock of her surroundings.   “U-uhm… A-Applejack?”   “Hm? What's up, ‘Shy?”   “O-oh, uh… I erm… I'm heading out with the others.”   Applejack blinked. “Er, pardon?”   The timid medic took a few deep breaths, as she gathered up her meager supplies. “W-well… our friends are out there. And… and N-Nightmare moon, too. And I… I don't know what I'd do with myself if I just h-hid here, and they…” she paused, gulping visibly as she came to terms. “If they died. I… I'll see you later.”   And then she was alone. --- Sergeant Evenings hissed with pain as another griffon rifle found it’s mark, a cartridge flying once more through her shoulder, near the last one, as she flopped back from the gun, on the verge of tears.   The enemy felt endless. Were endless. Pickelhaube and griffon flat cap littered the ground, rifles discarded and bodies twisted in unnatural positions.   Storm Wind lay dead somewhere behind her, caught in a grenade blast that had torn into Evenings’ back, now a muted pain amidst the rest of them.   Sentry lay bleeding out a little farther down the line, a Mauser round buried in his throat. Thunder lane was missing a leg, thankfully stopped from bleeding out by a hasty tourniquet.   And others lay scattered about. Fluttershy, bless her, was doing the best she could, tying a bandage around Cloud Kicker’s ruined eyes, destroyed by the fragments of another grenade.   Coughing harshly, the unicorn mare drug herself back onto the gun, then frowned when she remembered that it was nearly empty again anyways. Storm had been coming to help load, but… that wasn't going to happen.   Grunting, she slid off the gun to grab up more ammunition, though paused as another pair of hands snagged the ammunition box, pouring some of the heavy cartridges into the feed.   “Ah don't like ya.” Private Apple grunted, as a rifle round cracked by the dugout. “But ah guess I shouldn't jus’ leave you, either. Ah’ll keep you loaded.”   With a cough, then a nod, Evenings re-manned the gun.   C company had work to do. --- Hours passed. With the falling night, the griffon units quit the field, returning unsuccessfully to their own units, though medics from both sides would be working well into the night.   Serene Evenings slumped over the burnt out crank gun, feeling each of her wounds now that her adrenaline had run dry. It was all she could do to stay still, lest another searing pain stab through her body.   “She's o’er here, ‘Shy. Looks bad.” Applejack’s soft voice rose from behind, lacking the spiteful edge it had earlier. “Lotsa holes.”   “Let me see her.” The timid battlefield angel’s voice whispered, as she felt herself being removed from the crank gun, and laid to rest on a stretcher. “O-oh, my… she’s lost a lot of blood. Let's get her back to the field hospital.”   “A-yep. Up y’come… Sarge.” --- “Often times I look out from this castle, simply watching the ponies of Canterlot. It had been a hobby of mine for many, many years… Yet lately, I look out on Canterlot… and wonder how many of my little ponies that are out there, in fields abroad… I wonder how many of them I shall never have the great pleasure of seeing again.”                              -Celestia Solaris, during a personal meeting with Court Grand Magus Twilight Sparkle, ca. 1917