//------------------------------// // Part 24: Forging Unexpected Connections // Story: Going Deep Under // by The Bricklayer //------------------------------// Somewhere in Southwest Africa: November, 1914 Gunfire echoed in Nimbus’s ears as he held his rifle in his hands, the dirt, the sand and the screams of men cut down by the Germane forces somewhere in the distance all around him. Nimbus was a bitter pony, to say the least. There he was, expecting to be sent to the firefights over in Europe on the Western Front, and yet here he was defending British land in some backwater hole nobody probably cared anything for. Like being sent to the moon, in some ways, Nimbus supposed. Nobody really cared about what was going on here. There’d be no medals, no recognizing of his accomplishments here. Just another forgotten pony, in a forgotten part of the war. A tiny -And for the most part useless- cog in the great war machine, if you will. But Nimbus Breaker was a professional soldier all the same. He’d been placed here, sent to do a job and by god if he wasn’t going to do it! Even if he had to battle the heat and disease that ran rampant through what would be the future Belgian Congo. Even if he had to deal with limited food and supplies, he would manage. Pride and loyalty to one’s country, he supposed. A number, and a name, yes, that was true. But by Faust above, he was going to see this through. Nimbus had to suppress a smirk as he saw the Germane forces were no better off than he was. Like his own regiment, only the commanding officers were ponies. The rest, they were zebras. He’d idly wondered how prejudice like this could run rampant, when half of the plans that won the day in the end -At least in the battles he was fighting- were concocted by zebras. He’d asked an old friend of his, Target Quartermane and she’d told him that it was the same within the Germane, Prench and Belgian systems as well. Over here, the ponies ran the show. It was a sad, but true fact of life. A sniper shot rang out from the trees, and he saw her distinctive form barely visible within the jungles nearby. A scream ran out and a Germane soldier fell to the ground with a thud, a bloody hole in his head. He chuckled. With her on their side, the hardest part of the day would be burying the bodies when this was all over and done with. A few years after the war ended, both of the two would find happiness in their own ways. Nimbus, with Windy Whistles, and Target with Sudoku. He would later find Target had found fame by spending her honeymoon with Sudoku by taking a five-week trip over the country in a balloon trekking new territories and gaining worldwide fame and recognition in doing so. As for Nimbus, he’d just be trying to spend the quiet life with his wife shaking away both the memories of the war and before that, his time in the Pinkertons. Keyword, trying. Another shot rang out, and another body fell, seemingly confirming Nimbus’s earlier thoughts. If this was Hell, least he was in some very good company. Men, and women he’d proud to be fighting alongside. “Forwards!” he barked out before shouting in Swahili: “Kwa heshima, utukufu, na nchi!” spurring his troops onwards and over the top. He smiled, if there was one thing good about being in the African campaigns, it was less likely you’d run into a wall of bullets than you would in a place like say Verdun or somewhere else on the Western Front. The rifles, they might pick off some of his men, but if they moved fast and quick enough and kept low to the ground, the battle was theirs. A fighting chance, that was all a soldier could expect and hope for in any battle. Nimbus’s men roared in challenge at the Germane troops as they fired at wooden barricades, rifle shots ringing out once more. Nimbus pulled out his pistol from its holster, and took aim. A shot went off, and an enemy troop hit the ground. Several more were to soon follow. A bullet whizzed by his head, nearly missing it. If it was from his side, or the opposition’s, he couldn’t tell. Then, with a throwing off of a tarp, the Germanes whipped out their trump card. One thick bodied heavy Maxim machine gun. And in Africa, Nimbus’s worst nightmare. Bullets cut down troops like a farmer cut down his crops with a scythe. The entire charge of troops dropped low the ground as the gun thundered above them. “Bunduki la mashine ... Faust inatusaidia …” some zebra muttered from beside him. The gun continued to thunder, and through the shroud of smoke, Nimbus snarled as he saw a smirk of victory creep onto the Germane commander’s face. “Not today, you bastard…” he muttered. He then had a smirk of his own creep onto his face as a minor miracle happened. It seemed Faust had heard them, and the machine gun had jammed. He knew that he had only one chance, and he had to take it… Fast. As he crawled up to the Germane lines, he saw a soldier spitting and cursing in his native language. (Nimbus had never bothered to learn Germane, although he figured he probably should someday.) With a quick chop to the back of the head, the soldier was knocked out unconsciousness. Nimbus shoved the body aside, and rapidly turned the machine gun on its former owners. Soldiers began to fall like leaves. Adrenaline poured through Nimbus as he grabbed the searing hot barrel, barely thinking about what he was doing. He just knew he had to do it. A victory was to be secured that day, and surprisingly, Nimbus didn’t feel any satisfaction from it. He just looked at the blood, and the carnage and felt sick with himself. So that’s what it felt like to win a battle, he thought. Didn’t really feel like anything at all if you asked him. Not even the Zebras chanting their victory cries could fill him with anything, and take away the bitter taste of what he’d just done. There would be many more days like this to come, and Nimbus hated every one of them. Now: Neighlantis But that was the past, this was the present day, Nimbus thought to himself as he sat on the edge of a reflecting pool. His rifle rested itself against a rock. The water was calm, peaceful and sat undisturbed. It was almost like a glass mirror in some ways. In fact, if Nimbus looked hard enough he could see small little fish of some sort swimming down there. “Something on your mind?” he heard a familiar voice ask. Nimbus turned and saw Xenophilius walking up, staff in hand. Nimbus’s fight or flight instincts were in overdrive. He knew more than likely, waiting in the shadows were the pony’s personal bodyguards. “Just thinking… On the past, and what the Tartarus I’m doing here,” Nimbus muttered. “Got a wife back at home, waiting on me. She wants to see Prance, we both do. Paris was my idea of a good destination before all of… Well, this came up.” “Yeah, Paris is nice. Now that the Great War’s over, it should be peaceful and quiet. I wouldn’t know, of course, seeing as how I’ve been trapped down here since 1918. Could leave anytime I wanted to of course, but I feel a…” “Duty?” Nimbus asked. “Yeah, suppose getting your life saved by the local Princess, a quite beautiful one I might add -For a dragon at least- would kinda keep you from wanting to leave.” Xenophilius snorted. “What’s so funny?” Nimbus asked. “You’re misguided. I have no desires in taking Ember for myself. She’s too fearsome to approach, and ponies would talk anyways. Her captain of the guard, and the Princess courting each other? It’d be a scandal,” Xenophilius replied. “So, not much else choice wise when it comes to romance down here,” Nimbus butted in. “Besides, it actually sounds remarkably sweet. Like something out of one of those dime-store romance novels my wife likes… Okay, I admit they’re crap from a literary perspective, but she likes them, and you don’t argue with your wife. Not unless you fancy sleeping on the couch.” Xenophilius actually laughed at that. “Yeah, that’s quite true. Had an argument with Sugar Belle back on the Cyclops once. Kicked me out of my quarters for the night. Trust me, on that ship, female companionship was hard to come by and having to snuggle up to a sweaty, stinky midshipman for the night for warmth… Not pleasant to say the least…” “Well, might be for some ponies… Probably for that midshipman you mentioned. Buck doesn’t see a mare for months on end, might find himself being more interested in his own sex,” Nimbus replied, with a small snort. “You might have a point there,” Xenophilius replied. “Nothing against him either or his tastes for that matter. We did get to talking in the mess hall the next morning, and he gave me advice on mares and romance. Chief piece of advice he gave me is something I was too stupid to realize. Don’t piss ‘em off.” “So what are we then?” Nimbus asked. “Two soldiers out of time? Just two old bucks, reminiscing about the loves we’ll probably never see again? ...Funny, this is the first conversation I’ve had with you that I haven’t wanted to kill you.” “Yeah, I noticed,” Xenophilius deadpanned. “Guess it took me learning you were a fellow soldier in the War to remove the urge. Might be an ass… Hell, I might be one as well, but we’re corpsmen. Brothers, and we have to stick together,” Nimbus replied and Xenophilius ‘mhmmmed’ to himself. “If we’re brothers in arms, we’re quite the pair. A very weird pair, I should add. You, a former Pinkerton and Neighmarican who transferred over to the English just so you could join the fight against the Central Powers, and me, a sailor lost at sea who now controls mythical nine-tailed foxes and lives in an ancient undersea city.” “See you’ve done your reading…” Nimbus remarked. “Ponies talk,” Xenophilius commented dismissively. “Don’t they just?” Nimbus replied. “Sometimes, it seems like that’s all they ever do…” Xenophilius laughed again at that, and Nimbus had to laugh along with him. Meanwhile, Silver Spanner found herself wandering through the halls of Neighlantis’ main temples, gasping in wonder at the sights around her. Glowing glyphs, tall pillars of untold age and treasures of gold, silver and numerous gems of varying color and rarity to satisfy even the greediest pony’s desires. Suppose that’s what happened when you had a dragoness in charge. Good way to ward off thieves, if the local Royal Guard didn’t do it for you. But all the same, exploring this city of wonders just felt… empty she supposed. It was a hollow victory, now that she didn’t have her sister to celebrate it with it. “You look glum, something wrong?” Skystar asked, suddenly popping out of seemingly nowhere in her hippogriff form making Silver let out a yelp. She held a wrench dangerously in her hooves, once she’d regained her composure. “Do that again, I dare ya…” She growled and Skystar hung her head. “Sorry… Just trying to cheer you up, you looked like you needed it…” the Princess whispered softly. “Or at least get you out of that funk you looked to be in, and change your mood…” “Well, you certainly managed to do that.” Silver snapped, and Skystar whimpered a little, as tears started to come to her eyes. “Great, now look what you’ve done…” a voice in Silver’s head said, as the mare felt incredibly guilty. “Gone and scared her, you arsehole!” Silver Spanner then laid a hoof on Skystar’s shoulder. “...Sorry about that, just been in a mood as of late. Well, guess I’m always in some sort of bad mood as my sister would say…” she trailed off. “You have a sister, what’s she like?” Skystar asked curiously, perking up at once, always eager for new gossip. “Had, as in past tense,” Silver Spanner said, swallowing slightly. “Gone now. She didn’t make it here like the rest of us…” “I-I’m sorry…” Skystar stammered out, once she realized the verbal blunder she may or may not have made. “Save it,” Silver Spanner replied grumpily. “I don’t need any of your damn sympathies. Nor anypony else’s, so don’t try to go up and round up other ponies to start giving me bloody sympathy cards.” “See, that’s where I think you’re wrong,” Skystar said, laying a claw on one of Silver’s shoulders. “You’re just hiding your sadness behind other emotions. In your case, anger. Take it from somegriff who knows what that’s like…” “Oh, and I guess you’ve got me all figured out like some sorta Sudoku Quartermane style shrink, right?” Silver growled. “Well, guess what. I’ve put my past behind me, and that’s that. My sister’s dead, and there’s nothing I can do to change…” “Change what?” Skystar pressed, even if common sense told her Silver Spanner was ready to blow. But surprisingly, she didn’t. “What the last thing I told her was… Right before she died. Basically told her to go screw herself or some such shite, and then her sub-pod smacked headlong into a cavern wall and exploded right in front of my eyes. How… How do you deal with something like that? When the last words said to your older sister were ones said in anger?” Silver asked Skystar. “Honestly… If I could, I would take her place. She was a better pony than me, that’s for damn sure.” “Maybe she wasn’t, maybe she was, I didn’t know you sister,” Skystar said in reply. “But I don’t think she would have wanted you beating yourself up like this. She would have wanted you to… move on.” Silver scoffed. “Hah, that’s a laugh… Me, asking me to move on from something…” the mechanic muttered to herself. “Per… Perhaps I can help,” Skystar started, still slightly in fear of Silver Spanner and her wrench. “Whenever… Whenever a member of this city dies, someone somepony was especially close to, I sorta try and help them move on the best I can. Work a bit of my skill with arts and crafts into things, and we make seashell necklaces inscribed with sayings on them, and an engraved portrait of them in the center shell. Would… Would that work for you?” she asked cautiously. “It… it might,” Silver admitted. Not sure what else to do by this point...” She then muttered. “Just the small things help,” Skystar said reassuringly and Silver smiled. Her newfound hippogriff grief counselor looked confused at that. “What’s got you smiling all of a sudden?” Skystar asked quizzically. “Just the small things help, that’s something Silverspeed always liked to say…” Silver Spanner admitted. “One small thing, it's a good place to start One small thing, and we don't seem so far apart…” Skystar found herself singing to herself softly as she led Silver to another part of the temple, her personal quarters if Silver had to guess judging by all the seashells of varying types and the various arts and crafts projects strewn around the room. Well, that and the small pool connecting the temple to the underground passageways was sorta a dead giveaway. Skystar grabbed a string, some seashells, and a feather and began to set to work. As Silver Spanner told her about the various things her late sister liked to say, she dipped this feather in squid’s ink like a quill and wrote them down in the seashells before finally, after Silver Spanner fished a picture of her sister out of her coat, drew an amazingly done portrait of her on the final shell accurate down to even the tiniest detail. She then strung them together and hung the finished product in front of Silver. Silver smiled, and repeated “Just the small things…” to herself and gladly accepted the gift, starting to feel as if a great weight was beginning to lift...