If You Want Peace, Prepare For War

by tranhdxrbntd

He Who Doesn't Fight, Has Already Lost

Three sets of ponies (five each) marched towards their target. In each set, each pony had their role. Three were carrying crates, one was carrying a bipod and a large plate, and the fifth was carrying a mortar tube. No matter what they were carrying, they were all armed with the same rifle, a Herdier No.2 Mk. 1 (literally a Herdier No.1 Mk. 2 but with a five round magazine). A select few between the three sets also had pistols.

This was your standard Royal Equestrian Army (REA) mortar team.

Mortars are one of the many manifestations of artillery. Typically, they're of the smaller and more portable kind of artillery. Because of this, mortars are short ranged and are only capable of lobbing their payloads. However, they're still a very deadly source of indirect fire (shooting at someone without a direct line of sight).

Do you know what you're supposed to do to counter enemy mortar fire? Take cover or run away while hoping that you don't die... What? That's it? Yes. That's pretty much it. Go ahead and try to do something while the world is exploding around you. Even the smallest of mortar shells is several times deadlier than a normal grenade.

As they neared their target location, a trio of airborne griffons spotted them.


"Prepare the first salvo!" commanded the Mortar Team OIC (Officer In Charge). Two ponies from each set of the three mortar crews distributed several HE shells to their fellow crew members. Once everypony was ready, the OIC drew his revolver and pointed it in the air.


Each of the mortars and a set of HE shells were sent flying through the air. Each of the crews readied the next shell and waited for the next fire command. When no such command was given, everypony was confused. They all looked at the OIC, only to find that a dead officer with a hole in his head.

All hell broke loose.

Some of them scrambled for weapons, having been set aside for easy mortar operation. The others, they scrambled for cover but there was none. They had all decided on emplacing their mortars in an open street (so that their mortars would have no risk of hitting the buildings in their initial trajectory).

Clearly, it was not the best of ideas.

All of this was happening as bullets were raining down on them. From where, none of the mortar crewmembers knew. It was a turkey shoot and there was no doubt that none of them would be walking away from this. Both the mortar ponies and their assailants knew this.

But then, a pair of small metal canisters was thrown into the fray. A few of the ponies recognized the canisters as grenades, albeit grenades unlike any other. Instead of exploding and spraying deadly shrapnel in every direction indiscriminately, both canisters started billowing smoke from one end.

"Run!" said a voice. A voice, one that none of them recognized. The remaining mortar crewmembers didn't care, they simply ran towards the source of the voice. After the remaining members of the mortar team had sprinted away from their smoke cover, they came to face their savior.

Suffice to say, they were surprised. Their savior wasn't a pony, nor a griffon. Minotaur wasn't it either. Whatever he was, none of them had ever seen anything of the likes that their savior was.

Their savior, like a minotaur, was bipedal. However, he lacked the horns, the muscular stature, and the fur coat that every minotaur had. It had small eyes, a small pointed nose, and small ears. He was taller than the average pony (on all fours), but not by much.

He (they could tell it was a he) sported the strangest uniform that any of them had ever seen. It covered up his entire body, leaving only the head exposed. It was also in the strangest color they had seen, sporting a pattern of grey and tan splotches. On its chest, he wore a heavily padded vest (same pattern as his uniform) that only protected the chest. The vest sported multiple pouches and it probably served as his webbed gear as well as body armor. On his back, he carried a massive backpack that was almost the same size as his torso. Whatever it contained, it was probably important.

Then, there was his rifle...

Was it actually a rifle? If it was one, it was a rifle design that was alien to Equestria. The rifle's short length told them that it was most likely a carbine and the overall structure looked like a child had played with some toy building blocks. The rifle's magazine was small and also blocky while sticking out at an angle from the bottom of the rifle. The barrel itself was puny, as it looked like it only stuck out an inch past the receiver. The rifle's stock was another thing that stood out as it looked like it was made of black plastic, was very short, and looked like it was going to break any second. To top it all off, it had a small optical sight mounted to the rifle in addition to regular iron sights (which were currently folded down). Like the rest of the rifle, both the optic and the iron sights were blocky.

The creature snorted. "Are you gonna keep staring at my KRISS or are you gonna keep moving?" said the creature with a male voice. Seconds later, he turned around and sprinted off in that direction. The remaining ponies sprinted off after him.


Wilson was not a happy man. For one thing, he was a medic. What does that have to do being unhappy? Well, you'd be unhappy too if you had to deal with the aftermath of bullshit (worse, Army bullshit) as a profession. Also, he was short (5ft flat) and he hated that fact.

There was also the issue of being in wherever-the-fuck-here-was and the apparent war that was going on between five species of creatures. The only thing he knew was that some asshole (Discord) summoned him to help fight a war and protect some ponies. Why the fuck would he ever fight for a different country? This wasn't his fight.

With him, he had his own personal set of IOTV body armor in UCP with a matching uniform and helmet to go with it. Wilson's IOTV lacked the groin plate, arm protectors, neck protectors, and back plate. Also, the magazine pouches had been replaced with a set of extended pistol magazine pouches. On the body armor, he also had an IFAK, some canteens, a flashlight, a pair of scissors, a multitool, and a pocket knife.

He also had his battle pack with him, something that was a nice sight for sore eyes. What's a battle pack? To put it in simple terms, it was his medic's bag. It was a medium-sized (massive when compared to his small stature) that was filled with everything that a medic needed. With this, he wouldn't let anyone die... Ever.

To top it all off, he was armed with a KRISS Vector. It was his KRISS Vector from his personal collection and it fitted his smaller frame much better than any other gun he had ever seen. For one thing, it was actually the pistol version of the KRISS Vector fitted with an arm brace stock. It was fed from 30 round stick magazines and was chambered in 10mm. Yep, 10mm auto. This thing was a beast. The 10mm auto round was a harder hitting round than most pistol rounds and coupled with an EOTech holographic sight, very accurate. Just in case he didn't want to use the EOTech, there was also a set of folding iron sights to fall back on. Paired up with the KRISS Vector was a stock Glock 20 in the same 10mm auto round. For the KRISS, he had seven magazines including the currently loaded one. For the Glock, he had eight magazines included the currently loaded one. Either way, both guns could interchangeably use each other's magazines.

Here he was, fully geared up and fully armed, in a foreign nation and leading fourteen ponies in a single file line. Where did he go wrong in his life?

"Can we stop!" asked one of the ponies that followed Wilson.

Whilst groaning, Wilson turned around to face the brave soul. "The fuck do you need!? We've only been marching for four fucking minutes!"

One of the ponies, a private, stepped out. "I'm hurt," the pony replied. He pulled open his uniform's coat, revealing a messily applied bandage stained with blood.

Wilson's frown disappeared and he ran over to the pony. Faster than one could yell out 'medic', he had donned a pair of surgical gloves and was treating the pony. After he had finished, he looked to the others.

There was no doubt that there were others. "Who else is injured?" Wilson asked. When five other ponies raised their hands, he frowned again. "Why did none of you mention this earlier?!" He had to work quickly. Otherwise, the same group that ambushed these ponies earlier would find them.


Applejack's eyes darted from building to building. She had forgone walking on all four hooves to walking on two hooves so that she could hold her shotgun at-the-ready. Right now, her instincts were telling her that she was being watched and they were never wrong (usually).

As she came onto a cross street, a bullet struck her in the back. Immediately, Applejack darted off towards the nearest cover but seconds before she was safe, another bullet struck her. The bullet, one fired from a rifle, had struck her in the right rear leg. Being completely uncovered, the bullet tore through her leg and she collapsed to the ground with a cry of pain.

Coming directly from her 6 o' clock, she heard the sound of four griffons landing not too far away. She scrambled around to look for where her shotgun landed and found it lying five meters away, having dropped it when she was shot.

"I wouldn't if I were you," said a voice coming from the exact same direction where she had heard the griffons land. Gritting her teeth, she rolled over. She came to face three griffons. All three of them wore the standard Griffon Air Force's uniform. Two were armed with standard bolt action rifles with the third wielding a carbine, all three of which carried a pistol.

"The legendary Cowfilly of the Equestrian Army," said the griffon armed with the carbine. Applejack turned around to look at her shotgun once more as she heard the chuckle of one griffon.

That was when she heard the sound of a dozen unfamiliar gunshots as she found herself in a very familiar situation again.

Turning around once more, she found all three griffons laying in the streets and oozing from multiple gunshot wounds.

"Good job getting shot," said a male voice that she couldn't recognize. She turned to look at the speaker and found another one of those humans (except this one was much shorter). He was wearing an almost identical version of the armor and uniform that Tran had been wearing. The only differences were that his was smaller and lacked the arm protectors, protective yoke, groin plate, back plate, and sported different magazine pouches.

Oh, and he was carrying the strangest rifle that she had ever seen. Stranger than the one that the Eric human had been carrying. Behind him, fourteen ponies stood. Some were armed, some were injured.

The human kneeled behind her and pulled out several pieces of medical equipment that she couldn't identify. As he got to work on her leg, she groaned. "Second time today that one of you human fellers pulled me out of a sticky situation," said Applejack.

Whatever he was doing, he stopped and nothing but immense pain shot through her leg. "Explain why you just said second," he demanded.