//------------------------------// // 36 - Death, Part 2 of 10 // Story: The Last Cutie Mark Crusader // by Jatheus //------------------------------// Beigh sat like a coiled cobra, ready to strike. The rest of his platoon was likewise arrayed on either side of him in their trench. He watched down the sights on his weapon, always keeping it trained on the coming timberwolves. "Open fire!" Lieutenant Clyde shouted the order. Beigh squeezed the action on his crossbow, sending a bolt speeding toward the enemy. Duster, LD, Sergeant Featherplume, and Gunnysack did the same. The unicorns, Locknload and Jewel, let loose their magic. Their squad was at the southeast end of the line, where the mountain terrain became too steep to be passable, giving them a safe side. The squad and platoons formed up to their left rained death down upon the approaching timberwolves from their vantage point at the edge of the heights. The incoming horde was being thinned, but they didn't slow. After a second volley, those that remained charged up the steep slope. Gunnysack was first to drop his crossbow and grab up his spear, smashing their assailants. Across the line the melee began as rear ranks continued to send lethal bolts and magic to their purpose. Beigh did his best to reload and fire without dropping his arrows. Adrenaline surged through his body, making him feel strong. Fear, his ever present companion, told him to run, but he tried to focus on shooting. Soon he had no more bolts to loose. A timberwolf came up and swiped at his head with its massive claws. Intending to duck, Beigh fell over. Looking up, he saw the timberwolf bearing down on him. There was no way to avoid it; he realized that he was about to die. Then the timberwolf erupted as a magical blast threw its corpse back down the hill. It was Locknload that had saved him. "Thanks," Beigh yelled over the roar of battle. "Can it and get up!" Locknload yelled back. The lethal unicorn practically threw a spear at Beigh before turning to continue his deadly work. Regaining a standing position, Beigh used the spear and managed to stab the flank of another timberwolf that had come up to challenge them. As the incoming beasts began growing thicker at the top of the incline, an eagle-like cry split the air. The griffins had arrived the previous day, and already they had shown themselves quite capable in battle. Several squads of them dropped down from above, their powerful talons snatching up the timberwolves and tossing them at the mountain, smashing them against stone. Unable to continue their magical attacks, Locknload and Jewel fixed their knives and joined the melee. Beigh continued thrusting his spear through the endless reinforcements of stick-dogs, hardening his resolve to survive. Just as the griffins began to pull up to regroup, a barrage of changeling magic exploded all around. Beigh dropped to the earth, but he saw Jewel take a hit directly to her breast-plate. She tumbled backward and landed on the ground with her hooves kicking in the air. Locknload unleashed a savage blast of his own magic. Only moments passed before Jewel was back up on her hooves. A rage of fire was in her eyes as she let out concussive magic that caused the timberwolves to explode as it hit them, a deafening roar following after. Arrows began flying in the direction of the changeling fire, and their magical efforts soon ceased. The timberwolves redoubled their assault, and the griffins and ponies repelled them again. Time passed in the busy work of slaughter, and when it was all said and done, it only fit into Beigh's memory as a blur of hacking and slashing. When the timberwolves finally stopped coming, their bodies littered the ground in a thick pile. Everypony around was heaving to catch their breath. Others were pushing the corpses back down the slope. "My platoon, let's move," Lieutenant Clyde said, signaling their turn to rotate off of the front line. "Everypony okay?" Beigh asked the other members of his squad. They looked weary, but aside from a few minor cuts and bruises, all were in good health. The other squads seemed to be fairing at least as well from what Beigh could observe, but they would all be examined when they reached the medical checkpoint a little further in. Locknload sniffed the air in a deep satisfying draft as they walked. Gunnysack asked, "What are you doing?" Locknload grinned back, “Do you smell that?” The air was filled with smoke, the scent of charred metal and blood, and an earthy aroma. “What?” “It smells like victory." Beigh hardly thought it pleasant, much less heroic, but he knew better than to argue with either of those two. As they continued past rows of soldiers ready to fight, they came to a place in the center of their forces where everything was much more peaceful. Each regiment had their own area set up where they were on standby, complete with a medic tent, mess hall, and crates filled with arrows to replenish their quivers. Duster was developing a limp as they neared the infirmary, and Jewel’s breathing seemed labored. The hospital was a large tent, almost identical to the one that they had used as cadets when they trained in Ponyville. It was crammed full of cots from end to end down the length of it. Another section at the end turned to the right, which was where surgeries were performed. Most of the beds were empty, as casualties had been fairly light so far. "You okay?" Beigh asked. "Yeah," Duster replied. "I clobbered one of them pretty hard with my hoof and it's starting to hurt." "Take a seat, I'll have a look." Examining the hoof revealed no permanent damage. "You'll live.” "Thanks, I feel better already," Duster teased. “Just try to keep weight off of it for now.” Another medic approached Jewel and said to Beigh, "Give me a hoof over here." Her breastplate had been damaged by that nasty blow, crushing into her ribs. Loosening the straps that fastened it into place wasn't enough to remove it. The bent armor had become stuck. After no small amount of tugging, twisting, and brute strength, it popped free. Beigh and the other medic staggered backward when it came loose. Jewel sighed with relief. "Thanks," she said, finally able to take a breath. The other medic hummed to himself while looking her over. "It might be just a bruise. Let me know if this hurts," he said as he pressed against her ribs on the left side. A cry that sounded like a squeak escaped her lips and the medic stopped. "Sorry about that," he said. "You'll be fine, but you've cracked a rib or two. You'll need to stay off the line for a few days." "Perfect," she said. "We finally get rotated to the back, and I get hurt." "You're lucky you had that new armor plate," Duster said, "I saw that blast; if you'd been wearing the old gear, you'd have been incinerated." "Give this to your CO," the medic said, as he wrote the medical leave orders for her. "I'll take that," Sergeant Featherplume said. "As for the rest of you, its time to hit the mess. The quantity of the food in each ration had increased by about threefold due to donations from civilians in various cities around Equestria. The rumors persisted that the entire nation was on the brink of starvation, and Beigh didn't doubt the veracity of these tales due to the paltry size of their normal rations. As they walked to the mess tent, the familiar howl of the timberwolves was heard from all around. Locknload perked up with a wild look in his eyes. "Easy there, it's just their usual attack," Featherplume said. "We're off duty unless they break through." Duster spoke to Beigh, "That's kind of funny to me. It doesn't seem like it was that long ago that we'd have been terrified at the thought of a timberwolf attack." There was great truth in that statement. They had been on the line so long, and the attacks so frequent, that Beigh didn’t exactly become afraid as easily. It was as if the more delicate parts of his inner self had died. That was surprising, as it hadn't been but a few days, or had it been weeks already? "How long have we been here?" "What, on the heights?" Duster asked. "Two, wait," he paused. "Three days?" "Four," Locknload said definitively. "Nice math, Duster," Gunnysack mocked. "No luck making friends there, I see," Beigh said as quietly as he could. "Honestly, I'm just glad he hasn't stabbed me in the back," Duster replied in a tone that was uncomfortably frank. The air soon was filled with the sounds of battle once again. The attacks came like clockwork, but they happened with such frequency that it really was no wonder that any of them had lost track of time. It had been four days holding their position. Resupply drops had come, and now they were well stocked. The mess tent for their regiment was about half the size of the infirmary, but there was never a need for everypony to be there at the same time. The small, lightweight tables barely had room for practical use. This gave a cramped feeling to what otherwise might have been everypony's favorite activity. The mood inside was almost buzzing with excitement, even more so than it had been the past few days. Beigh could hear bits and pieces of conversations from other platoons. One talked joyfully about how well the line was holding. Another was counting statistics on how many timberwolves had been killed in comparison to EUP losses. One talked almost glibly about how he'd saved a comrade in the battle. From everywhere, two other things were commonly heard: references to the “Hero of Canterlot”, and talk of the "Angel of Death". "So, I bet you just love how famous your sister is," Gunnysack jabbed at Duster. “How about her new nickname?” Duster shrugged, but didn't answer. He looked like he was growing angry. Beigh felt himself bristling as well. "Can it," Locknload said. "What are you, going soft?" Gunnysack mocked. "Captain Sparklefly is in command above us," Locknload replied flatly between bites of the ground hay and oat bread that had been served. "If you speak of any of our commanders in my presence, it will be with the respect that their position deserves." Gunnysack rolled his eyes at the unicorn. Duster was beginning to seethe. "Don't worry about him," Beigh whispered. "Oh, isn't that sweet," Gunnysack said. "I always thought there was something funny about you two." The tone he used was rather combative, and Beigh could only guess at what he was insinuating, but it couldn't be good in any case. He wasn’t sure what had caused them to draw Gunnysack’s ire, but he decided to play. "You know, I've always wanted to help ponies," the unicorn began. "That's why I studied medicine. However, I think there is one life that I wish I hadn't saved. That's a nice scar on your neck, Gunnysack." "Oh, that hurt," came a sarcastic reply. "Did you come up with that yourself, or did your mother help you?" Beigh's mind began running through possible cutting replies, but he was so frustrated that he was fumbling over what to say. "Permission to return to barracks," Duster said coldly. "Granted," Sergeant Featherplume replied; she was watching this situation closely. "Why don't you take Corporal Beigh with you," it wasn't a suggestion. "Nice, you two can have some alone time," Gunnysack teased. "One more word," Sergeant Featherplume spoke sternly, "and I'll have you digging latrines for the rest of this campaign." Beigh rose from his seat and followed Duster out of the mess tent. He wished that Gunnysack would continue mocking, but there was little hope of it. He might have been annoying, but he wasn't stupid. Hunger was quelled for the moment, but it felt somehow unsatisfactory after enduring the sheer absurdity of pointless posturing. Beigh wanted to tell everypony about his relationship with Captain Sparklefly, but he was fairly certain that he wouldn’t still have one if he did. The last hiccup they'd experienced had caused no small amount of harsh feelings on his part. The distance they had to maintain was quite welcome for once. It gave him time to sort through his anger. In the meantime, they kept to their painfully slow letter writing. Exiting the mess tent, the scent of battle again filled the air. The sounds of shouting and fighting could be heard at a distance from all around. Duster was walking ahead, and it was an effort to keep pace with him. "Angel of Death," he spat. "Luck; all just luck." "What do you mean?" Beigh asked. Stopping suddenly and turning sharply, Duster spoke in a fervor, "If I'd been a little older and assigned to that first mission she got, I could be leading the army. Besides, our squad has probably killed more timberwolves than she has even come up against face to face." A little surprised by the hostility, Beigh wasn't sure what to say. He'd known that Duster had felt like he couldn't get out of his sister's shadow, but there was something deeper here. "How did she get on that first mission anyway?" Duster continued to rant. "A princess was in command of that. Did she just make the right friends somewhere?" The silence beckoned an answer, but Beigh just shrugged in hopes of not making this situation more uncomfortable than it already had become. A lull in the noise around signaled that the latest timberwolf offensive had ended as all the others. Soon medics would be carrying the wounded to the infirmary. It was unlikely that Beigh would be needed, but he was much more comfortable dealing with those sorts of injuries. They arrived at their tent, and just as Beigh was about to say something, Duster spoke again. "Never mind," the sound of defeat was in his voice. “I know it’s more than luck, but that was a part of it. It could have been any of us. I swear, one day... I may never be famous like she is, but I will prove to her and everypony else... I’ll outdo her." They sat quietly for a minute before he added, "Nothing like a little family drama, huh?" "Well, she won't hear a word of it from me. I think I'm still in trouble from the last dumb stunt I pulled." Duster snorted at this, but didn't otherwise reply. Outside, there was a sound of commotion. Beigh stood and opened the tent flap; the heat of the sun was only slightly more unpleasant than the hot shade inside the makeshift dwelling. A crowd was forming around none other than Captains Sparklefly and Scootaloo along with a few other officers that Beigh didn’t know. They seemed to be touring the camp. They had done this once or twice before, but they had never drawn attention like this. It almost looked like celebrity worship. The EUP soldiers seemed awestruck, and whispers about "the Angel of Death", and "the Hero of Canterlot" could be heard all around. Beigh walked toward them, and it wasn't long before he couldn't have returned to the tent if he'd wanted to for the thickness of the crowd. Captain Sparklefly wasn't exactly graceful, but she had become more beautiful to Beigh than any mare he'd ever met before. This did strike him as rather odd, considering that he hadn't taken much notice of her appearance when he’d first met her, eye patch notwithstanding. It was a funny thing how perception could change in that manner. Her left side was to him, so she couldn't see him unless she turned his direction. Despite his previous threat, as he beheld her now, he was fairly certain that he wouldn't be able to end things with her no matter what she did. In any case, if what they had were going to be a lifelong pursuit, he'd best use caution going forward. He was completely convinced that she was strong enough to be the one to walk away, given sufficient cause. He let the party pass without attempting to get her attention, but he smiled to himself. "You're grinning like an idiot," Duster said. Slightly startled, Beigh squeaked frightfully and then said, "Don't sneak up on me like that!" "Sorry," came an honest reply. "I was just," Beigh began, but then realized that he didn't have a good explanation, so he decided to not finish his sentence. "Yeah, I know what you were just," Duster answered. "Not that I blame you. I was watching Skyflame." That was amusing and interesting new information, "Oh really?" "Yeah," Duster seemed a little sheepish. "She's kind of amazing." Looking back at the receding party of officers, Beigh said, "Yeah, she really is." He wasn't talking about Skyflame.