Tractor Pull - 23rd of Snowfall, 08 EoH
West Bloomfield - Equestria
Wide leaf green eyes stared into lidless gemstones. The polished glittering orbs moved as one would expect the eyes of a frightened person too. Pale yellow six-pointed stars widening exactly as a pupil would.
With her suit’s hood down, Trac could hear the soft click and whir of clockwork components as Ameili moved. Her shoulders hunched. She rocked side to side. Actuators poking out from the synthetic skin of her neck retracted as she shrank back.
Trac stared into her eyes for several long moments. “You’re not a construct.”
“No.” Ameili shook her head.
“You’re undead.”
Ameili nodded. “Correct.”
“Then, your knowledge of your culture is firsthoof? Not implanted summary?” Trac leaned forwards before rocking back on his hooves.
The patterns in Ameili’s fleshless sockets widened until their yellow stars consumed the gems. “You’re not afraid.”
Trac waved a hoof in dismissal. “If you wanted to hurt me I’d have never woken up this morning. Forget that triviality,” Trac’s mouth widened into a full grin as he sat back down. “I have so many questions!”
Ameili’s jaw dropped. “You should be afraid. Or mad I deceived you!”
Trac waved another hoof in dismissal. “Yes yes, we can get to that later. So, is it true Roamanes invented indoor plumbing? I’ve always doubted that fact’s validity. Given the extreme utility of a proper sewer system and the obvious advantages of not having to dig a hole outside to poop in... It raises too many questions.”
Ameili stood still for several long moments. She raised a hoof to point at her bared skull and spoke slowly to make sure Trac could watch her jaw move. “I’m a skeleton walking around with a consciousness attached to it.”
“Yes. A consciousness who used to be a Romane Legionnaire,” Trac nodded. “As far as I am aware, your military also served as civil engineers. You would have helped maintain the sewers at some point.”
“But— I— You should be afraid! EVERYONE is afraid!” Ameili stamped a hoof against the floor. “Why aren’t you?”
Trac rested a hoof on his chin then shrugged. “Too curious? I’m not joking. I want to know if your people invented the sewer system.”
“Yes! We invented the modern concept of a dedicated, person-accessible, city-wide sanitation system,” Ameili flung her forelegs upwards and turned her back to Trac. “Other sewers existed before. Ours pumped clean water about too. That’s it.”
Trac’s ears drooped as Ameili turned her back to him. “What’s wrong? Shouldn’t you be excited to find someone who isn’t afraid of you? You’re obviously a person. Despite being, well, undead.”
“You have no frame of reference. You look to be around twenty-five years old. You think that’s a long time. I’ve spent so long walking from place to place hoping for acceptance and friendship. I have seen nations rise, fall, and be replaced.
“You have no idea how old I am. One thousand and fifty-six years a mere number to you. You haven’t lived it.
“The last twelve years of your life. Take that feeling of loneliness and live through it eighty-eight more times. Every time you reach out to anyone it ends with a new notch in your bones, arrows in your cloak, and spells flying your way. Best case scenario: someone you cared deeply about calls you a monster and runs away sobbing.
“Then, at the end of that loop, you find a nice nerd whose reaction to you revealing your true self is ‘Cool. How did your sewers work?’ Perhaps then you'll have an idea of why I am angry!”
Trac frowned. “Um… You never thought to find a scholar before now?”
A loud thunk echoed through the room as Ameili’s left eye fell out of her socket. She reached down and picked up the gemstone, turning around to make Track watch as she pushed the shaped stone back into her socket.
The star shape flicked and twisted, adjusting itself to match Ameili’s other gemstone-eye’s pinprick-like pupil. “I. Have.”
“Did it fall out because I made your eye twitch?” Trac grimaced.
“Yes. My skin suit helps hold them in... I don't need them. They look pretty.”
Trac cleared his throat, stood up, and wrapped his legs around Ameili’s shoulders. “I’m sorry you’ve gone through all that. But I can’t change how I feel. I don’t care what you are physically. You’re a fun mare who happens to know everything about something I want to know everything about. Why wouldn’t I be excited?”
Ameili covered her eye with her hoof. “Because everyone attacks me or runs in terror! Why do you think I’ve lived most of the last century as a leper? Then after modern education made up a story of a magical illness, I donned the hazmat suit?!”
“Well, I’m not everyone!” Trac’s face curled into a frown. “I don’t understand why you're mad. I’d be thrilled to find someone I could be real friends with after a thousand years with only an elemental for company!”
Ameili growled. “Pretend I have ears that can lay back in irritation,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because I can't right now, and they would be, because— Ugh! Look, I’m not mad at you. I’m absolutely livid! I just found out the last millennia of my unlife has been an unending cycle of isolation, when surprise, there actually are people like you in the world!”
“Oh,” Trac nodded. “Yeah, I can see that. You’ve got more reasons to be happy than angry though.”
“It’s one and one. I have a friend who knows what I am. I also wasted so much of my time getting here that I am glad I don’t have blood pressure anymore.” Ameili’s horn glowed a dull orange as she conjured a frown of flames in front of her bare teeth. “And I forgot I could have made flame-shapes to have ears to lay back…”
“True,” Trac smiled. “But you’ve got me in a good mood. That’s something you wanted, right?”
Ameili’s flames scrunched into a frown. “Wait… Do I?”
Trac rolled his eyes. “I’m sitting in front of someone who LIVED in a place I’ve been longing to discover for years! Maybe I will fall back down into the pit of despair after we’re done talking but right now I’m definitely excited.”
Ameili looked Trac up and down for a moment then pulled the foam and latex skin hanging from her neck up like a hood. The moment the synthetic materials were in position the magic took hold. Synthetic materials mimicked the way skin and muscle moved, forming a smile. “I guess I did.”
Trac nodded. “You did. At least for a bit. Anyways, next question, how do you make your costume move like that?”
Ameili tilted her head. “Costume?”
“Yeah, the foam and stuff. It moves like a real face would. Is that the spell you were working on earlier?”
Ameili shook her head. “That’s not my doing. The curse on my people is meant to be a form of permanent torture. We still feel everything as you do, except for heat or cold. We’re immune to those, heavens know why. For anything else... If you stabbed a sword between my ribs, I would scream in real pain despite the blade cutting only air.
“We… I felt every moment of my body rotting away. Even worse, we feel every bump, scrape, bruise, and squishing. If our skeletal forms move in such a way where our former flesh would have been damaged, we feel pain. Brushing my bones against something hurts as much as it would hurt you if I pushed a broom handle into your leg until it touched bone.
“The pain will persist despite no real wound for as long as it would take us to heal in life. We also tend to forget about that while we’re doing our day to day activities, even though we know it happens. That’s why my people went mad. Or at least, one of the reasons.
“I avoid that pain by making a body slightly thicker than my original one. My bones do not touch things now, and I do not hurt. The curse believes this is flesh, but it has already rotted me to nothing. The curse is rather crudely crafted. It can only rot animal products, hence why I do not use leather in my body.
“I’ve made many over the years. This is my favorite one so far. This ensures I cannot reach for something and slide my leg bones along the edge of a table. An event which would wake everyone for a half league as I scream bloody murder. It also makes me look cute in my mind... I have odd tastes in beauty.”
“But how does that allow you to smile like a fully fleshed pony?” Trac asked with a frown.
“A side effect of the curse is any flexible materials I attach to myself act like my original body parts did. They move, provide the same sensations, and… That’s it actually. Which is why I need clockworks. The magic which animates me is slower and weaker than an adult pony. Without my enhancements, I would be as a foal.”
Trac watched her face as she spoke. Despite her skin being made from black latex, she felt alive. The way her lips moved, the way her cheeks pulled, her eye’s blinked.
Which is why the open seam of her hood made Trac’s stomach churn. The glints of silver beneath the opening... Flaps of foam and latex hung open to create a line where life stopped and inanimate matter began.
Trac winced. “C— Could you sew that seam back up please?”
Ameili raised an eyebrow. “My bare bones don’t bother you, but an open seam in my skin suit does?”
“Yeah. It’s like that time Retort came home from breaking up a nasty bar fight and all his stitches came undone. He had a flap of skin and muscle just... Hanging. He couldn’t feel it because he was still under a soothing spell. I had to point it out and… Look, this is the same thing. Please fix that.” Trac squirmed in his seat, avoiding looking at the opened seam.
“You’re a weird pony, Trac.” Ameili slowly shook her head.
She reached out with her magic and took a pre-threaded needle from her sewing kit. The needle when to work seemingly of its own accord. It flicked through the open seam faster and with more precision than anyone could have done by hand.
Ameili winced each time the needle plunged through her skin. “Ow… I wasn’t expecting things to go this way you— OW! I hit bone on that one…”
“We’ll wait for you to finish,” Trac winced.
The mare nodded and quickly finished up her self-stitching, clenching her teeth hard all the while. As soon as the thread had been knotted, she took a small leather strap from her bag and bit down on it before cutting the loose thread.
Trac’s eyes widened as the mare screamed through clenched teeth. Ameili panted for several seconds before removing the leather piece from her mouth. With a final whimper, the mare packed up her needle and put her sewing kit away.
“S— So… Why did that hurt?” Trac said as he looked at the now invisible seam. “Oh, right. They provide a sense of touch.”
Hopefully it doesn't hurt her to brush dust off herself. Is it that anything at all which touches her becomes a part of her?
Ameili nodded then reached up to fluff her mane back into position. “That’s right. Anything I attach to me becomes a part of me. I just cut off a body part. I could have moved that like a little tendril if I wanted too.”
Trac raised an eyebrow. “You can just glue bits to yourself, and they work?”
Ameili beamed Trac a delighted smile, the pink silicone lining her mouth and throat visible for a moment. “Yes. I've played with that aspect of my curse somewhat. I prefer remaining a normal-ish pony to anything exotic I can make myself into. The modern era has made life much nicer for me. So many synthetic materials that are more durable or better suited to my uses. When my skin was linen, I would feel it abrade away as I moved… Also, silicone is wonderful!”
“About that… Um… This might be inappropriate to ask, but um… Never mind.” Trac cleared his throat and looked away for a moment.
Ameili snorted. “Yes, my mouth is made from parts of an adult toy. It was cheap, shaped right, and I enjoy being close to anatomical correctness. I’ve got a few other parts from similar toys too. Why wouldn’t I? I’m an undead cyborg who wants to have a normal looking body, so I made a body as close to natural as I can be.”
Trac frowned at the sound of the unfamiliar term. “Cyborg?”
That cannot be Equish. I don't know what the components mean. Cy? Meaningless. Borg? Sounds Germane. It's not a Romane word either... She travels a lot. Ameili must know more than Romane and Equish.
“Is Cyborg not an Equish word? I’m sorry. I picked it up from a hive of insect people far to the south. They speak a mix of Equish and their native tongue. What is the Equish word for someone who is part machine?”
Trac raised an eyebrow. Interesting... She must be talking about Changelings. The rumors of a hive deep in the Badlands may be correct after all. If they have a word for people who are part machine, then they are familiar with modern technology. Unlike Queen Chrysalis's swarm.
We are fortunate her Swarm relied on magic alone. It's remote enough to be unaware of how easily mages can disable other casters magic.
You need both hardware and sorcery to win a modern war. Pure magic can still do significant damage. Regardless, technology doomed her. Chrysalis would do her best to learn about it, if she survived.
“We don’t have one. We would say ‘Haybale has clockworks.’ Frankly, it sounds a little mean to have a word for them. It’s singling people out as different. Plenty of ponies, hay, plenty of Equestrians have clockwork parts. Workplace accidents, monster attacks, wear and tear… Things happen to many people, and Magically created body parts cost a Princess’s ransom. You’d be alienating a large group of people.”
Ameili shrugged. “Perhaps… But I would say they cost more than a Princess’s Ransom. Celestia herself never had replacement legs. I seem to remember her wheeling herself around in a chair. She covered her body with a blanket so no one would have to look at her wounds.”
Trac nodded. “Well… Yes. It would have been bad enough if her legs had been severed. Plenty of ponies would be too empathetic to go about their business if she had left four stumps on display.”
“You can hardly call what she had stumps,” Ameili shivered. Her eyes dilated as she remembered the sight for herself. “I saw her, you know. Sombra ripped her legs off with telekinesis. He didn’t cut them.”
“Is that why her flanks are covered by her clockworks?” Trac frowned and put a hoof his chin. “I heard those were for structural support.
“No. Those would be for symmetry’s sake. She has a pit where her left hip should be, and half the bone will be gone. I know that for certain. Sombra kept it as a trophy in his throne room. I attempted to return it as my companions had not thought to do this… But no one remembered me. I never got it too her. Bone doesn't last too long, you know. Not without treatment. That is why I dipped myself in silver... I do not recommend you do it. I was screaming for ages.”
Trac felt his stomach churn again. “Um, can we get back to Roam?”
Ameili rolled her eyes, shook her head, and smiled. “You’re a bookworm. I hope you realize this.”
Trac snorted. “I’ve got a book stamped on my flank. But please, I would love to learn more about your homeland! We’ve covered the sewers… Did you practice combat in the form of a sport?”
“We did. My younger brother was a great Gladiator,” Ameili puffed her chest and looked off to the side for a moment. “He won fifty-eight matches out of sixty-five.”
Trac tilted his head. “Wait… How did he lose more than one?”
“Easy. Gladiators never fought to the death. What’s the point in that? It makes for a bad sport if one loss means a fighter will never be seen again. Sport is a story. A champion should be able to reclaim their title after a loss. It's just more entertaining. What's more, a nobody who loses, then turning the tables and winning is a triumph of the spirit.”
Trac bit his lip. “I uh, I suppose that is true.”
Ameili nodded eagerly. “Of course it is! But the Gladiators were not boxers. They were more than martial artists. They were also performance artists. After all, a real battle with theatrics and a storyline behind each match is far more entertaining. It’s like one of your soap operas, only the wimpiest guy in an episode gets the crap beaten out of him at the end!” Ameili rubbed her hooves together as she grinned.
“Uh…” Track stared wide eyed at Ameili, not certain of what to say.
“Let me give you a taste, this is how my little brother started his matches,” Ameili cleared her throat and reared up, adopting a combat stance more appropriate for a comic book barbarian than a real fighter.
“The name, is Ayom! It rhymes, with doom! Annnnd you’re gonna be hurt’n… All… Too… SOOOOON!” She roared, pumping her forehooves up into the sky at the pinnacle of soon.
Ameili dropped back onto all fours as Trac’s jaw went slack as he processed what he had just seen.
“Gladiators... Wrestled? As in, Professional Wrestling wrestled? I thought they fought with armor and weapons in an arena,” Trac stammered staring wide eyed into the space in front of him.
Why? Why must the truth hurt so much?
Ameili snorted and shook her head. “It was nothing like stage-fighting. These were real fights with pre-fight theater. They did fight with real armor and weapons. Elaborate costumes and props, but quite functional for their intended use as protection or offense. All fights were to first blood or surrender. The occasional death happened, of course. Nothing will ever be perfectly safe. As I understand it, your version of boxing has a short fatality list too.”
Oh thank goodness! Trac blushed and looked up at the ceiling, scratching the back of his head. “Sorry… But I pictured your people as loving their bloodsport.”
Ameili snickered. “No. We loved gambling. Fights to the death make for terrible gambling—“ Ameili swept her foreleg like an announcer and deepened her voice— “In this corner, Kill Gore the Bone Eater, winner of twenty straight fights! And in this corner, Chopped Liver, a newcomer to the ring!”
“That makes sense,” Trac’s ears drooped back. “But uh… Still, sorry.”
“It’s quite alright. I’ve read recent-ish history books on my people. I know how little is known and how much of what is “known” is wrong,” Ameili’s eyes grew distant for a moment. “I can’t help you with your paper.”
Trac frowned. “Why n— Oh. Your information doesn't match what is known, and to use your information as a primary source worth a damn—”
“I would need to step forward into the academic community,” Ameili finished.
Ponyfeathers… That throws a wrench into things. Trac slumped in his chair. “Will you—”
Ameili laughed. “I like seeing you invested and happy. I would like to help you in a more practical way through. Not to suggest helping mitigate depression isn’t practical. Perhaps I should have said tangible?”
Trac nodded. “Yes. Tangible is what you want there. Don’t take this the wrong way but I don't see how you could help me more than you do now. Freeing up my mornings is letting me make progress with homework before more piles on.”
“Ah!” Amelia's eyes lit up, a light orange glow coming from within as she flashed Trac an excited smile. “That is where you are wrong. I recall you mentioning you are competing in war games for the winter and your team is hard-pressed to win them.”
Trac frowned, his brow furrowing in thought. Did I tell her that? I can’t remember if I did… I’m normally so tired when I get home. Interacting with them is mostly a social obligation. Wow, that’s pathetic! Ameili’s right. I do need to try to pull myself out of this quagmire.
“I’m not sure I should have told anyone that. The details of the games are classified,” Trac said, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I can’t tell you more about them.”
“I don’t wish to know more. You mentioned their classified nature when you told me last week. You complained your new tank’s drive systems, saying they were not a classified detail.”
“Of course not. The military always loves letting our enemies know when we have new bigger toys. The problem is the Bronco is a piece of over-designed junk,” Trac rolled his eyes and slumped down in his chair. “I have no idea what its designers were thinking! It uses an arcane boiler for power generation. That’s fine. So do many older successful tank designs.
“But its drive system isn’t piston powered or galvanic powered. It’s using a turbine of some sort to create mechanical motion. That's right. It’s all geared! The system can jam up easily and needs to be lubricated liberally daily. That adds a whole ten steps to daily maintenance for us. Even worse, it adds a heaping pile of horseapples for the logistics guys to deal with.
“Setting aside the issues we have with lubrication, it is surprisingly delicate. Sure, every tank’s weakness is itself. Yes, the Spitfires diesel engines lacked ponypower. A shell exploding in the ground three steps from the tanks shouldn’t knock a gear loose and cause one of the wheels to lose all power!”
Ameili shook her head slowly. “I know nothing about vehicles. Even I can see that is a major design flaw. There must be some reason these are built as they are.”
Trac sighed and closed his eyes. I think it’s okay to tell her this much. “In theory a geared system would provide the tank more pony power as there would be minimal energy loss. In practice mass production of enchanted items and components is not up to the task to create thousands of gears all to prefect spec with each other. At least not ones which hold enough of a charge to work as part of a several dozen ton war machine.
"I wouldn't put that system in a tank. The only people who would... Are people who want the absolute theoretical best but have no field experience with what they design. It's obvious that Broncos were not designed for Guardsmen. You see, the Bronco’s insides are large enough for Celestia herself to fit in. I think she is worried about core region safety and asked for a tank she could fit in to be commissioned.
“Then she slated it for regular army use. You know, in case she has to lead the Guard herself without being visible to the enemy. So they put every last bleeding edge fancy component they could into the tank, tested or not, simply because Princess Celestia may use any given tank in the future.”
“Why would her being visible be a problem?” Ameili asked tilting her head. “It’s always wonderful to see your king upon the field of battle!”
“She’s a priority target. If she’s seen, the enemy focuses on her. All battle plans have to work around this. If an enemy commander sent a small detachment to flank, while committing the bulk of their forces to distract us, they could obliterate most of a Guard Battalion. The Princess is but one pony. One pony, no matter how powerful, cannot win a war. They can win a battle, but they can’t be everywhere, and they can’t save everything. Wars can be won without ever winning a battle if you’re especially clever and take out the enemy nation’s supports before getting defeated.”
Ameili nodded. “You speak truth. Though anyone who would use such tactics in place of capturing or killing an enemy head of state is a fool in my mind. I see more utility in her being able to take personal command of operations of a clandestine nature. Black ops, or wanting to make an attack look less important than it is.”
“That too,” Trac nodded. “We got here by saying you wanted to help me. I can’t see how you can help me with my work. Unless you want to enlist and help keep the stupid tank from falling apart as we use it.”
“Given a day and a junkyard, I could fix it. I may not know vehicles, but I know clockworks and gears,” Ameili said with a proud smile. “Though I didn’t intend to do such a thing. Instead, I can offer you advice of a tactical and strategic nature. It may help you win your tournament.”
Trac raised an eyebrow.
“I’m serious,” Ameili said.
“How? You admitted to knowing nothing about vehicles.”
“I don’t know vehicles, that is true. But I do know tactics. What’s more, tank warfare isn’t much different from my own mode of combat as an exercitus dux magum.”
“You were a battlefield mage?” Trac asked, his eyes glowing for a moment as he added twenty questions to his list.”
“No. An Army mage. As a— Wait, that’s the same thing. I’m sorry. Yes.” Ameili grinned sheepishly and walked over to her backpack.
She rummaged through it for a few moments before removing an ancient helmet. It had a simple design. A dished skull cap, a flap of plates to protect the neck, and two large hinged plates to protect the sides of the head. The helmet was open-faced and sported a large plumed red crest giving the helmet the look of a mohawk.
Ameili held the helmet out for Trac to see. “Know what this is?”
“A legionnaire’s helmet.” Trac nodded.
Ameili shook her head. “No. It’s a Centurion's helmet. My helmet. You guys have it backward. Legionnaires crests mount transversely, Centurion's crests mount longitudinally. They also come off and are for parade dress only.”
Trac nodded, taking mental note then snickered.
“What?” Ameili raised an eyebrow.
“I like how you struggle with common words but know what longitudinally m—” Trac’s eyes widened. “You were a centurion?! That means you lead centuries, right? How do you know armored warfare tactics? If you think they are the same then maybe you can help!”
“I’ve been reading up on them. Retort was kind enough to check books out for me at the local library. Given that a tank is much like a unicorn in it can move while shooting and can shoot in a different direction than its heading, many basic tactics still apply. What’s more, I have trained many mages in warfare. While our warriors' tactics are as your history books describe, our mages were much more like your tanks. I could teach you a thing or two.”
Trac nodded, then paused, raising a hoof. “But I’m the driver. Not the commander. I don’t dictate where we go and what we do.”
“True, but you do decide how you move there, correct?”
Trac nodded. “Yeah.”
“Then we will begin by teaching you movement tactics, when do you work next?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“Then we should get started. I’ll get dressed in case Retort comes home before we are finished with tonight’s lesson.”
Ameili reached for her goggles and put them back over her eyes. A moment later and her respirator was back on, and her suit’s hood once more covering her face.
“You know, you look nice without that on,” Trac commented.
Ameili manifested a flaming eyebrow and raised it. “I thought you were not into mares.”
“I’m not. But I still know if one looks pretty. It’s a shame you need to cover up. We should find a way to let Retort know so you don't have to stuff yourself into that thing.”
“I’ve been dropping hints slowly. I was hoping you two would discover me on your own. That I could force the confrontation and see if our friendship survives. With you on my side, perhaps we can convince Retort. But that is for the future. For now…” Ameili took several steps back and conjured a flat sheet of red flames at the rough height of a tabletop.
The flames warped and stretched, forming a somewhat bumpy field. With a crackle of light several mounds of earth, piles of stone, and a few ruined walls appeared on the field. A second later little blue flaming ponies sprang to life on the field, followed by one ghostly-green pony shape.
“... we learn,” Ameili finished. “The green pony is you. Blue are opponents. Yellow lines will represent attacks. Orange will mark directions of travel. Understand?”
Trac nodded. “Sure. It’s a lot like the battle simulations we sometimes watch.”
“Good. While I speak, this image will move to illustrate my point. I recommend paying attention to it as seeing is believing. Rule number one, never move at less than full speed.”
“What?” Trac asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Never move in battle at less than full speed,” Ameili’s horn pulsed, setting her figures into motion. “In the attack run— Er, drive as fast as you can. At slow speed, you can see and shoot only a little better than at high speed. But you are much more likely to be hit when moving slowly. In battle, there should be only two speeds: Half speed over difficult terrain, and all-out forward at all other times. This is the basic principle of arcane combat.”
“But what about taking cover? Tanks can take cover,” Trac said tilting his head.
“Cover is a good strategy, but in battle, you must advance and control the enemy's movement. You will use cover when your enemy is able to control your movement and force you to stop. In a defense or security mission, you want to remain moving. Motion is the best armor.
“When you must use cover, defend aggressively. Force the enemy to stay put or fall back. The longer you sit in one place the sooner someone will bombard your position. In modern warfare they don’t need a wizard for that, I have seen mortars and rockets. This advice is more for a gunner than a driver. Let us move on.”
The fiery illustration progressed. The blue ponies fired spellbolt after spellbolt at the green pony, who ran full tilt in a loose zigzag as it returned fire. Most bolts missed the green pony who scored a few hits. The illustration looped, with the green pony moving more slowly from cover to cover.
As the pony sought cover, the blue ponies began to shoot for the green pony’s next destination. Their shots were able to find their target more often as the ponies could tell where their target would go next.
“Okay,” Trac nodded. “I’m listening.”
Even if these don't work, at least I’m learning ancient Romane mage tactics!
“Staying alive is never as simple as running full tilt. How you run is important. We will start with how to present your narrowest profile to the enemy while maintaining a randomized course towards your objective.”
Tractor Pull - 25th of Snowfall, 08 EoH[/mono
Falcon’s Hold, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Crusader’s hull trembled as a series of six shells detonated six meters to its left. Plumes of dirt and rock flew skywards as the magic shells sensed they hit only soil and exploded. Had they hit the tank they would have disabled it for a short time and painted the hull a shameful opaque couché. The ugliest color in the world.
A pack of six tanks on an unofficial team had chased them into a clearing containing a mock-farm.
Bunker rotated her seat, peering out from behind the rocky ditch via the periscope. She had ordered them to take cover in the ditch. There had been nowhere else to go.
“It doesn't look good, boys,” she sighed. “I can see three of them, no sign of the other three.”
Another six shells rocked the ground. A sharp ping rang through the cabin as a sensitive drive component popped out of alignment.
“If you can see them, maybe I can hit them,” Thunder said as he rotated crusader’s turret clockwise, searching for their attackers.
“She can see three. If you take them out there is still another three,” Trac groaned, leaning against the controls.
I feel so helpless… And stupid. If only I told Bunker that by refusing to team up with this pack at the start of this bracket they would hunt us down. Ugh, why didn’t we think this through? Of course, most people will play dirty and form temporary truces. Tanks live or die on their squadron’s performance. We’re not meant to work alone.
“Yes, but if we fail to get two more kills this match we’re going to be bumped down a bracket. We won't recover from that. The prize will be out of our reach.” Thunder shouted over the crack-crack-crack of the next volley being fired.
The shells hit the ground. Rocks pinged off Crusader's hull as a shower of gravel flew skywards.
“If we stay here they will shake us to pieces. If we move for a clear shot against everyone we’re a sitting duck!” Bunker slammed her hooves against her legs in anger. “Buck! This is it. We’re beaten. It’s attrition and cowardice or a noble last stand. You know what I am for, but I’ll put it to a vote.”
We wouldn’t be here if we had chosen to run for the tree line instead of this ditch. If we stayed mobile the chance of being hit by their barrage would have been low. We were at their extreme range.
Wait a minute… Ameili’s advice!
Thunder took a deep breath and straightened his helmet. “I want to take one last shot. What about you, Trac? It’s two to one, but—”
Trac turned his seat around to look up into the turret at his squad mates.“If we’re going out there, may I take the lead?”
Bunker tilted her head, then covered it with her hooves as a shell exploded a bit too close for comfort. “BUCK! Might as well. We’re dead mares walking. What’s our plan?”
They trust me instantly? Trac’s eyes widened. His heart swelled in his chest. I’ve never asked anything like this before. Do they respect me? Am I their friend? Sisters, how much of an ass have I been to them?
Trac cleared his throat. “Tanks are a lot like unicorns. They can move one direction while shooting another. I’ve got a friend who pointed that out to me. She’s been tutoring me in battlemage tactics since the basics can apply to armored warfare.
“If we can find where the other three are, I can theoretically move us into a firing position while keeping a minimal profile towards the enemy. If we do that, drive in a randomized zigzagging path at top speed, and shoot the entire way, the odds of us getting hit are minimized. We will only sacrifice minimal accuracy.”
Bunker frowned and looked down at Thunder. “Can you keep a straight shot with us zigza—”
Three shells whistled loudly as they plunged down to punch deep craters into the ground. The whistling was unmistakable. The shells had rained down from above.
“— Buck me in the ear! They’ve found a way to get these things to do indirect fire!” Bunker yelped her eyes widening.
“They must be on the far side of the hill to the northeast! Nowhere else will give them the elevation to pull this off.” Trac swiveled back to face the controls and threw Crusader into top gear. “I know where to go! Thunder, get ready to fire.”
Thunder smiled and shook his head. “So many positive waves. Maybe we can’t lose,” he chuckled.
“Hit it!” Bunker cried.
Trac yanked the control levers towards him. Loose gears protested with a violent screech. Crusader lurched backward just in time. The next volley of shells blasted a crater half as deep as the tank which had been there not half a second ago.
Trac counted to six then threw the left lever forwards. Crusader spun in place, whipping around to face the three Broncos Bunker had sighted. He kept rotating another few degrees then slammed the other lever forwards. Gears crunched. Crusader trembled. The turbine screamed a metallic warning. The tank launched forwards despite its mechanical injuries.
Okay… Random vectors on one trajectory. You can do this!
Trac pulled the left stick towards him for a half second before shoving it forwards. Crusader turned, its hull groaning under the strain of the quick rotation at top speed. The enemy broncos fired, their three shells whistling by.
Three seconds till they fire again. The other three will move when they radio in we’re on the move.
Trac kept moving for two seconds then pulled the right lever for just a moment, then the left. Trac finagled into position, making Crusader trundle along at three-quarters its full capacity. I know she said full speed always but—
The Broncos fired. Their shots went wide, passing along were Crusader would have been if they had continued at full speed.
— modern warfare demands you train troops to lead shots!
Thunder laughed as the shots went wide and turned the turret to bear on the leftmost enemy tank. His hooves squeezed the trigger. Crusader roared, belching forth a column of fire as it trembled under the might of its own cannon. The shot connected.
A flash of bright pink light illuminated the enemy tank. The shell’s specialized magic penetrated the tank's training-level wards, switching it off. A ripple of tar brown filthiness washed over the tank. Its crew would have to repaint it in regimental colors by sunrise tomorrow.
Trac pulled both levers backward. Crusader moaned as it went from full speed ahead to full reverse. The remaining two tanks fired. Twin geysers of earth erupted from the ground centimeters ahead of Crusader’s left track.
Thunder rotated the turret and fired. Another hit.
The remaining tank rumbled as its engine kicked into high gear as well. The driver pulled ahead, turning left to make a break for the treeline.
“Holy Sisters, we can do this!” Bunker’s eyes twinkled as she grinned devilishly. “After him, Trac!”
“No can do!” Trac grit his teeth and rotated Crusader to the right.
“Buck! I had a shot, Trac!” Thunder pulled his joystick to the left, tracking the turret around to take his next shot.
Trac ignored his comrades and threw Crusader into full speed again. Thunder fired his shot grazing the enemy bronco’s hull. In a real fight, the hit would have bounced off. In practice, the flash of pink was seen for the third time.
Bunker swiveled her periscope to see why her driver had disobeyed orders. Her eyes widened as she saw the other three tanks crawling around the farmhouse into firing position.
“Celestia! Thunder, point the gun ahead!”
“Point it to one thirty-five degrees!” Trac grunted as he spun Crusader again, veering off to the right.
“Screw it, we gave him command. Do what he says.”
Thunder nodded and rotated the turret into position. His eyes widened as he saw the assembled firing line they were rushing towards via the sights, then narrowed as the window passed. “I had a shot!”
“Hold on! We need twelve seconds for three shots,” Trac said as he twisted the levers once more.
“The hay we do!” Thunder smirked and leaned forwards shifting his grip on the firing controls.
The three enemies fired a loose volley. Three loud booms one after another. A shell whistled over Crusader, detonating against a tree behind them. The other two went wide, blasting more craters into the field.
I’m so glad I’m not the earth ponies paid to make the field nice and level after each game. Trac thought as he pulled the right lever back completely.
Crusader began to rotate. The enemy Broncos fired, aiming for where it would be in but a moment. Trac yanked the other lever back, throwing the tank into reverse.
The damaged machine did not like this.
A sharp crack echoed deafeningly through the cabin as one of Crusader’s drivelines snapped. The tank shuddered. Its treads locked up for a moment, sending the tank sliding across the muddy ground parallel to its point of aim.
“HOLY SHIT! We’re drifting a tank!” Bunker exclaimed wide-eyed.
Trac’s ears stood up in alarm as he frantically switched the tank’s systems to the secondary drive train. Let’s let them think I meant to do that…
Thunder bellowed a wordless war cry and squeezed Crusader’s secondary trigger. The flack cannon’s opened up with a deafening howl of machines, fire, and hot mana. The sliding tank moved parallel to the enemy’s firing line, peppering them with dozens of flack rounds.
Pink light flashed and sparkled amid black clouds of smoke and ash, painting a line across the enemy. The flack shells would have done little more than blind the enemy in a real battle, but here, a hit was a hit.
Crusader slid to a halt just at Trac enabled the secondary drive. It didn’t matter. The abused turbine sputtered and died. Trac swore under his breath as his control panel lit up with a dozen different cooling warnings.
“Drive’s offline. Multiple overheats. I’ll get us moving again ASAP!” He said as he jumped out of his seat and picked up the toolbox he kept beneath it.
“WOOO!” Bunker cried throwing her hooves up in the air, a huge grin plastered on her face. “Why the hay didn’t you find a tutor sooner, Trac? That was the best driving I’ve ever seen from you!”
Thunder nodded in agreement. “That was better than any other soldier in the battalion. A Princess couldn’t have done better!”
Trac blushed a bright red. “W-well I don’t know about that. I didn’t even mean to drift there. I was going to spin across them.”
Bunker shook her head, still smiling. “Dude, who cares! That worked out great. I’ll have to update my strategies now that I know you can drive like that.”
Crusader’s radio crackled, interrupting their conversation as Captain Cream Coat made an announcement. “Today’s match is over. Scryers report the last tank standing is Unit Thirty-Seven, Crusader. Well done. All disabled tanks are now enabled. All units return to the FOB for debriefing.”
Thunder’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “We were in the last seven?!”
“You mean we won this match?!” Trac shook his head in disbelief.
Bunker cleared her throat, straightened her jacket, and popped open Crusader’s turret hatch.
“Trac, take us around the field for a victory lap. I’m going to sit on top and be all smug about this,” she said, grinning as she unbuckled and stood up, resting her forelegs on the hatch’s rim.
“Yes, ma’am. But it will be ten minutes till I can get the turbine spinning again. It's probably scraping the wall.” Trac grinned sheepishly.
Bunker laughed and shook her head. “Thunder, help him. I’ll pop the outer panels and make sure nothing critical broke. It would be a shame if we won this only to have to be towed out of here.”
Crusader, at last, came to rest at the FOB three hours later, towed into a repair stall behind three Spitfires. Its crew road proud atop the turret, pride stamped on their faces. Yes, they had to be towed in, but they had won fair and square, in a tank which was broken before their stunt even began. Everypony in the Battalion knew that now.
The trip back had taken so long their debriefing had been done over the radio. Whispered rumors were already circulating. The leading theory being Unit 37 had been issued experimental magic to test during the war games. How else had a nearly failing crew suddenly jumped up two places in the ratings by pulling off a stunt which should have been impossible?
Trac smiled proudly as Bunker and Thunder gave him a shoulder bump before jumping down to the ground. If I didn’t belong before, I do now.
Two days of tips and demonstrations from Ameili and a bit of real happiness let me do this. I wonder what a month can do? If I can keep this up we may win this thing after all. Thanks, Ameili. I owe you big time.
Trac frowned. I wonder what undead like to do for fun… I can’t exactly take her to a nice dinner. Ah well, I’ll figure something out.
Thunder looked up at Trac and frowned as well. “What are you frowning for, hero?”
Trac blinked and looked down. “Hero?”
“You saved the day,” Thunder replied with a smile and wink. “That makes you the hero.”
Trac laughed and hopped off Crusader. “I’m just trying to think how to repay Ameili for the help. She’s got more to teach me too.”
Thunder blushed lightly and only for a moment. “Uh, well… Maybe I can help you with that? I’m off this coming Moonsday. How about I come over in the evening, we have dinner, my treat, and we can talk about things?” He said, shuffling his hooves nervously.
“It would need to be late, probably night. Sometime around ten. I commute by rail to school, the train doesn't get in till then,” Trac replied with a shrug. “It might be nice though. A good break from the routine.”
Thunder looked up at Trac and nodded. “West Bloomfield Train Station at ten pm on Monday. I’ll see you then. Later!”
“Later!” Trac called after him before turning to walk towards the base’s entrance.
I think that’s the first time anyone other than Retort wanted to hang out with me in years. Can one mare really change a guy so much so quickly?
Thunder Charge - 25th of Snowfall, 08 EoH[/mono
Falcon’s Hold, West Bloomfield - Equestria
Thunder trotted briskly away from Crusader, moving as quickly as he could into the crowd of soldiers and engineers which were gathered around several tanks which required serious repair. A few Broncos had been damaged far beyond what Crusader had endured, much to the engineer's displeasure.
"Celestia's teats! Oakleaf, look at this drive sprocket."
"Did they sheer every tooth off the drive gear? For the love of... Why isn't this a worm gear?!"
"Buck if I know... Oh! Oh— We need to remove the whole thing. Look at this, the drive shaft friction-welded to the transmission!"
"How are these things expected to handle battlefield conditions? These have to be prototype models. This can't be a finished design. These are the opposite of soldier proof!"
To be fair, even we know these things are a piece of junk. Thunder sighed.
The moment he entered the crowd he broke out into a run, heading for the barracks.
Bunker never goes anywhere but the barracks after a shift. She’ll be there. I need to talk to here. What the buck did I just do?!
The short pegasus ran the quarter mile to the Hold’s barracks, forgetting in his panic that he had wings and could have flown instead. The moment he walked through the armored doors he doubled his speed, bolting up the staircase to the third floor, ignoring his comrades lewd remarks.
“Looks like somepony’s getting lucky tonight!”
“What’s the rush, short stack? Everypony knows short stallions only last ten seconds!”
Thunder reached his floor and rand to room six-thirteen. The room he shared with Bunker. An unusual arrangement due to their sexes, but one the Hold had to make for space reasons. Even with two soldiers sharing a single one-room ‘apartment’ with communal bathrooms and kitchens for the entire floor located elsewhere, space was at a premium in most borderland fortresses.
Living in such close proximity wasn’t something most people could handle. Bunker and Thunder could, primarily because they went back even before the military. Though even for them living in a single room on a base which banned room dividers (fire hazard reasons) was a challenge.
Thunder threw the door open, stepped inside and slammed it shut, leaning back against it wide eyed, chest heaving, and hooves shaking.
In front of Thunder sat a small room. It contained a couch with a fold out bed, a nightstand, one regular bed, a bookcase, a radio, and a mage’s mirror. Two footlockers beneath the bed held the entirety of their belongings.
With a such a small space, it was impossible for Bunker to miss her friend barging into the room even with her headphones on and music turned up to block out the sounds of the elevator behind the wall to her left and her full attention on a honey and oats flavored snack bar.
Bunker sat bolt upright on the couch and ripped off her headphones, her snack bar dropping to the floor. “What’s wrong?! Some mare try to pin you down in the showers again? Wait, there hasn’t been enough time for—”
“HELP-I-ASKED-HIM-OUT!” Thunder yelped, his eyes staring directly into Bunker’s own.
“Huh?” Bunker tilted her head.
“Trac! I asked him out! I don’t know what to do. HELP ME!” Thunder wined, slumping down onto his butt, back still against the door.
Bunker rolled her eyes and retrieved her snack bar. “Finally. You’ve been calling him cute behind his back for years. Besides, he seems to be out of that emo phase. About time if you ask me.”
That was the one thing keeping me from doing anything more with him that just having a crush... What do I do if he was only having some sort of amazing day? I should have waited to see if this was a permanent change! I really bucked up, what do I do now?
Thunder raised a hoof. “But—”
“Thunder, you’ve been on dozens of dates. This one is no different. Except you’ve got a crush on the guy. Just be yourself.” Bunker’s lips pulled into a grin as she shook her head and resumed munching on her snack bar.
“But I don’t know if he’s into guys… Or… you know... geldings,” Thunder whimpered, his ears drooping.
Most stallions treat us like mares… Even if we’re cancer survivors. If that’s how he is, it will crush me.
“Did he agree to go out?” Bunker sighed.
“I asked him to dinner and he said yes!” Thunder said, smiling despite his anxiety.
“Then he likes guys. You’re fine.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head in Thunder’s direction.
“But most stallions expect ponies like me to be, well, bottoms. I’m not…” Thunder explained, tapping his hooves together.
Bunker closed her eyes. “You gonna screw on the first date?”
Thunder’s ears flicked. “No! That’s cheap and trashy.”
“Cool! It doesn't matter what he thinks of guys like you because he’ll have time to develop feelings. All you need to tell him is the truth, ‘I was fourteen and got testicular cancer, I’m not one of those really weird dudes you may have run into in larger cities.’ Now shut up with this girly talk so I can enjoy my snack and ride out this victory high!” Bunker reached for a wooden cigar box on the end table next to her, and lit it with a spark of magic.
She took a deep drag on her thick cigar, exhaling a ring of smoke. “Smell that, Thunder?”
Thunder grimaced. “Unfortunately.”
I wish she wouldn't smoke in our room. Or that the Commander would implement a no smoking policy. Or I could find a wizard willing to curse her so all her smokeables explode.
“That’s the smell of improbable victory. Today’s a good day. Things went our way despite them wanting to go the opposite. You do this every time you go out with someone new. Maybe this time is different for you. Just remember, today is the day we kicked probability in the dick! You’ll be fine.”
Thunder’s ears perked up. You know what, she’s right. If Trac can finally smile a bit and be as cool as he is cute I can be hopeful enough to just go on a normal date with him.
Thunder squirmed as the pungent smoke began to fill the room, pushing clean air. “Thanks, Bunker. I needed that… Can you smoke outside?”
“Can you fap outside? It would be about as embarrassing. Mare’s aren't supposed to like cigars. Much less the Commander’s brand,” Bunker grunted irritably.
Thunder blushed a bright red and slowly turned to open the door. “Uhhh… No… Base regulations… Hygiene… I’m going to get dinner!” It’s amazing how she can create awkward situations to avoid social issues… I wish I could do that.
“Bring me back some hayfries!” Bunker called as Thunder slipped out of the door.