Dreamless Memories.
John was dreaming, of this he was certain. With time he had managed to channel his true emotions into these dreamscapes. They were usually the culmination of part psychedelic nightmare, part traumatic experience. Sometimes he felt he could guide them – on those rare occasions he could return to normal sleep and not be forcefully awoken with fear gripping his heart.
This was not one of those times.
Voices echoed eerily around in the darkness that encapsulated him, some shouted angrily while others whispered. All of them phantoms of his turbulent past.
“We had orders!” A familiar voice shouted.
“Give me the launcher!” Another added.
“Commander,” one drawled.
“You can’t save them all.”
He heard his own voice, too, “I tried – I tried to save them.”
Images flashed – darkened skies lit up in the brilliant glow of plasma bombardment.
Burned steel and blazed flesh.
“I couldn’t stop them. I couldn’t do anything.”
“Then you failed,” a woman whispered dejectedly.
He jerked awake. The tent. He had fallen asleep quickly after Dahlia's visit, the entrance flap was open and a commotion was building in the distance.
What he assumed to originally be the pre-breakfast scramble turned quickly into a camp-wide combat readiness alert.
A Thestral glided past, returning to inform him, “be ready – we could come under attack any minute!” He was gone again.
John stumbled out of bed, quickly lacing his combat boots – he had slept in his combat trousers and OD green T-shirt. His look complete, he cranked the release lever on his armour’s maintenance frame, causing the suit to thunder to the ground.
Set in the middle of its rear-mounted power pack was the opening mechanism, both hands gripped it and it rotated forcefully, the suit flowered opened with a screech.
Stepping inside, the adrenalin began to flow unrestricted, making him shake in anticipation of a possible fight. His suit sealed around him, he now stood at the familiar armour-enhanced height he had for most of his adult life.
He had a pre-mounted miniature nuclear warhead strapped under his armours power pack, just in case. Bending down he grasped a weapons bag and his recently refurbished Laser rifle, its new, sleek and unblemished furniture glinted in the early midday sunlight as he stomped in the direction of the main gate.
A trio of Guard officers huddled near a small tent, one – Captain Anthem – glanced through a small set of binoculars.
Next to her, Colonel Whitebow and Lieutenant Colonel Kodiak spoke with matched grimaces.
He drew near, the smirk inside his helmet hidden, but not the mirthful energy in his voice, “when’s the war on?”
Kodiak seemed surprised to see him, nevertheless turning her usual blank-eyed frown on him, “Commander,” she drawled, just like the dream, “some of ours are returning – the news is,” she paused, “not good.”
Whitebow, who out-heightened the dark Thestral by a fraction, but was missing much of her bulk, jumped into the exchange, “ despite initial success in combat operations against the enemy siege machines – now revealed to be,” she looked hollow, “giant beetles,” her voice regaining much of its edge again, “the Thestral-Gryphon attack force sustained heavy losses.”
Kodiak added, “As well as terrible weather, difficulties in bringing supplies forward and extracting our wounded –”
Whitebow interrupted again, earning a frown, “meant that a hastily formed retreat was initiated sometime last night. But many of our forward-most units are still holding out, we think, led by Lieutenant Midnight.”
Kodiaks eyes burned like brimstone, “we should dispatch relief troops immediately, Colonel.”
John sensed a sharp rebuke from Whitebow, but it was Captain Anthem with bino’s glued to her eyeballs who spoke first, “we’ve more casualties inbound,” she looked hastily around her with gritted teeth, “you – get up there!”
The multiple targeted Royal Guard lurched into the air, several dots becoming visible in the sun-haze as they rocketed toward them.
John stands tall among pre-prepared Guard formations. Many flyers zip above the camp, relaying messages and distributing supplies.
His finely tuned senses tingle, his mind is clear and his body without ache. John is ready once more.
The time moves forward slowly, the heat of the day being fully realized as a warning blips inside his helmet, the outside air temp reading 118 Degrees Fahrenheit, roughly 45 in Celsius, his American mind automatically translates into the European measurement from his many years spent there.
A single struggling Thestral carrying another larger one in a makeshift harness is guided down by a pair of golden-clad Stallions.
She lists downward suddenly, several more Pegasi leap into the air to blanket her fatigue-induced collapse.
From the huddle of concerned soldiers, a cry of, “Medic!” Sounds above the noise of the camp.
Bustling out from within the group, a familiar face drifts toward them on shaky hooves.
“I’m fine, get off me!” She howls at a retreating Guard.
Goldenrod wobbles as she salutes the three officers and John.
“Ma’am’s, Commander.”
“Status report?” It’s Whitebow.
“We eliminated the bugs artillery, but encountered heavy resistance – they were being reinforced, I evacuated my comrade there,” she nodded at the stretcher-bearing group of Guards as they carried away a single Thestral.
She remained standing a little unsteadily, “she was a priority – not sure she’ll make it,” she grunted and pressed a hoof into her side.
“Permission to pass out, Colonel?”
“Granted.”
With that, her eyes rolled back and she started to topple over, John just managing to catch her.
“Doc?!” He called out.
She looked half-dead, the result of a long flight carrying the weight of another.
A medic armoured in gold with white accents skids to a halt next to John. He begins to administer a multitude of healing potions and spells, he levitates Goldenrod onto a stretcher before she, along with several others, are whisked away.
John stands again, turning to the onlooking officers, “send me.”
“What?” Whitebow asks, alarmed.
“Send me in – I can hold off any attack and help the retreating Bat-Ponies.”
Kodiak spoke with some anger evident in her voice, “thanks, but my Thestrals can manage a tactical withdrawal without your help.”
“Colonel, I again request we send in a reinforcing unit to aide in their retreat – and if possible, hold that position,” she was standing close and eye-to-eye with the equally tall commanding officer.
Whitebow thought about it, looking at the multiple waves of slow, listless guards now arriving by the dozen.
“Fine – a single company, and him – its non-negotiable, Lieutenant Colonel.”
“We’ll be much faster without him!”
She spun and moved into the tent, prompting Kodiak, Anthem and John to follow.
“You aren’t going anywhere, you’re the regimental commander, Captain Anthem can lead a relief flight – and the human. Take a dozen carriages and evacuate any survivors you can, and you,” she addressed John, “fire support.”
“No problem.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Anthem added, while Kodiak stormed out of the tent.
“Colonel!” Whitebow called in admonishment but went ignored.
She exuded anger, “you both have your orders, get it done.”
They departed together, walking side-by-side, they came across an assortment of carriages and many assembled guards.
Each of the twelve carriages holding well over a dozen ponies, plus one human. Two Thestral air-wings of fifteen each took off with them and soon enough, they were airborne. Destined for the smoke-stacked horizon which blazed with both the scorching sun and dying embers of battle.
A multitude of Royal Guard rode out with them, Captain Anthem outlying the plan once more, “Thestrals, mares and stallions from the Guards on the ground or in the air, hit those bastards hard and keep ‘em off our surviving forces. The Unicorns from the 23rd and the Human can provide you with fire.”
She was relaying the battle-order to a thirty-something Sergeant. John having spent enough time around the quadrupeds that he felt confident in estimating their age. The well-worn three-tiered Sergeants chevrons a dead giveaway to his rank.
It was several more minutes of flying, a large gathering of Gryphons capturing their attention. Fifteen Thestral interceptors led by the Thestral Sergeant met them in a diamond pattern. The differently shaped squads drew close, levelled out and flew close to one another for some time.
A pair of Thestrals broke off from the main group, leaving the two formations to drift apart slightly, they both turned and flew in alignment toward the battlespace.
The Thestrals got closer, “It’s Gryphon merc’s, they’re houndin’ for a fight, Captain!”
“Good, take us in, Sergeant.”
Twelve carriages escorted by two Thestral air-wings and a Gryphon hunting pack along with two hundred Guards all chomping at the bit to get into the war. John just hoped that their losses wouldn’t be too many for the ponies to handle.
More waiting, the air currents likely a nice lessoning in the pure heat for the well-armoured ponies. He sat forward in his carriage, they were the tip of the spear, the edge of the knife.
The retreating stragglers having long since abated. As they descended, the battlespace revealed itself, the far side of the gorge had been morphed into a blackened wasteland, the embers from large explosions still ebbed on the periphery of the landscape.
An outcropping on the Equestrian side of the expansive crevice held a small camp, likely the gathered mercenaries and engineering force who had marched all-night by ground.
The landing zone was well concealed just behind the camp in a low-point in the terrain, the dozen carriages emptying over two hundred combined Lunar and Royal Guard, they gathered into three 8x8 square marching formations.
The thirty-odd Thestral air-wings and the equally sized Gryphon war band waiting at the rear of the carriages. A small rock lay forward of the relief force, Captain Anthem stood upon it.
“No fancy speeches today, your squad leaders know what to do, our job is to evacuate as many of our wounded as possible and take over their old positions. Thestrals and Gryphons screen the air, Unicorns hold back here and provide fire support. The rest of you will ‘hop’ across in the carriages. Good luck and Celestia be with us.”
She jumped down, leading the way into the camp, John and a company of Unicorns followed along with several medically-marked ponies.
The camp was simple, a small collection of foxholes and a surrounding trench system too tiny for John to occupy had been supplemented with hastily built barricades, tents and barbed wire. Dozens of predatory Gryphons stalked about, hunger in their beady eyes, John could see other creatures like deer and a few bipedal cows, this world continued to surprise him.
Multiple bedrolls filled with mostly chewed-up Gryphons and the occasional Thestral had the medical attaché rush to their aide.
An angled canopy kept the days' harsh heat from a little pit where a humongous two-legged bull took centre-stage. A battle-worn Thestral, a pristine Royal Guard officer and a Gryphon studied a map. John recognised the Thestral as one of Kodiaks officers from Aylesbury, he didn’t recognise the pony, however.
As John and Captain Anthem entered, the four turned, “Lieutenant Pontiac, report,” Anthem started.
“Captain Anthem, this is Kronos, he’s in command of the Mercenary ground force,” he switched his attention to the Earth-type pony, a stocky male in bare-bones golden armour with a shield emblem on his chest.
“This is Lieutenant Cast Iron with the 3rd Combat Engineer Battalion, he’s helped us establish fortifications both here,” he turned to gesture at the map, causing Anthem and John to peer at it from behind.
“Here, here and here – these small observation-points are well concealed and dug-in, we’ve been using them to ferry out the few wounded we could find. Lieutenant McKenna’s missing and Lieutenant Midnight is leading the last vestiges of Thestrals we’ve got across the gorge. But we lost contact with them a few hours ago.”
Captain Anthem took all this in, asking immediately, “what about her?” She nodded at the Gryphon. John didn’t see any difference in the hybrid to see what validated her as a ‘she’.
She spoke before the latte-coloured Thestral could, “I am Battle-Major Asteria, daughter of Glavkhavau. I rule Air Group North after Eurus’ fall in combat,” Her English was heavily accented and a little fragmented, John noted.
She drew her bird-hand across the parchment-like map in a line, “we fight the black Doxar across this flat ground, mostly by air action – and your Thestrals destroy the enemy siege beasts.
“The weather very bad, we need to fight on ground or be killed by the lightning. We kill many Chuvkoravk,” the final word confusing everyone.
“A Chuvkoravk?” John asked a little nasally due to his helmet, “do you mean Changeling?”
“Siek, that is name, my Etiokdlauv not so good.”
“E-q-u-es-tri-an,” Kronos glutaral voice sounded out the word for the Gryphon.
He towered over her as he spoke in the Gryphons ancient-sounding language, she listened intently as he made hand gestures, pointing at the map and then made a sweeping gesture – before balling a fist and dropping it into his other hand.
“Uvkoldvik,” the single word sounding a little like ‘understood.’ She exited the tent, the cacophony of battle picked up briefly – abating again after a few moments.
The giant bull was a few inches shy of nine feet tall, someway overhead of John. His thick fingers pointed out parts of the map, “your officers have told me of your plan, Captain. You don’t know because you haven’t seen; the enemy has vastly superior numbers and magic-based weapons defending their side of the gorge.”
He shifted his bulk, his single curved horn prodding into the ceiling materiel, “any attempt to reach the other side will result in large casualties. The bugs know the only route across is by air,” he slapped the table angrily, “they send probing attacks more frequently, almost every half-hour, looking for our weaknesses – we must not show fragility.
“I suggest a smokescreen, we have herbs we can burn, a pair of small catapults can fire incendiary bombs, their range is limited, but if we can trick them into believing we have more warriors than we currently have, we can maybe land a holding force on the other side of the gorge.”
Anthem thought about it, looking at the two other ponies present, “ideas?”
Pontiac glanced at Kronos and then to John, finally voicing his thoughts, “we can launch a two-pronged attack with what we have – after the mercenaries put up a smokescreen, we can launch a short-range bombardment using our Unicorn Mages and the Catapults–”
“I have something you can shoot-off,” John rotated his hips, allowing a clear view of his Mini Nuke.
“I heard about the damage those things can do,” he shook his head, his nose wrinkled.
“Captain – after we soften them up a bit, we can quickly get across, landing ground-pounders in the ‘carts and keeping the bugs on their backs using the Gryphons and our Thestrals as our airpower.”
She looked up at John, “and where are you going to be?”
“I’d be wasted held back, Captain. I’ll donate this nuke and then get across with the other mud-stompers, I can hold the landing zone as you get as many of the Mercenaries and engineers across.”
“How many troops have you got, Kronos?” She asked, the plan of attack sounding more and more feasible.
He grunted, “I had three hundred, I’m now down to around two-fifty.”
“Get your stallions ready for battle, Kronos – Cast Iron, what progress have you made?”
He was short and squat, so wide that his neck-straps were taught around his muscular throat, “we came in under-fire, we managed to construct this little camp, making it as defensible as possible – but we had limited resources and time, the Celestia-damned Changelings haven’t made it easy.
“Most of the night we was up diggin’ and buildin’, we can pull some of the rear defences apart and take them across with us, but short of mud walls, I can’t give you much, ma’am.”
“Just get a small enough team across that you can build a disembarkation zone; I want as few of my troops as possible getting killed as soon as we come into view of the enemy.
“Beware that Lieutenant Midnight or her unit may still be alive on the other side, hopefully, she doesn’t get caught out in the barrage.
“Okay, spread the word! I want a unicorn team to sweep the camp, after what happened to the human In Saddle Pad – I don’t want any surprises, understood?”
“Aye, ma’am,” both Pontiac and Cast Iron sounded off together.
That was it, the little gathering of professional soldiers, mercenaries and skirmishers burst into action, the approximately five-hundred strong force would be getting across in waves of over a hundred at a time, leaving a fifty-strong force to defend the camp and provide covering fire.
John, like always, never left home without an assortment of explosives and stabbing weapons, he’d traded a spent Microfusion cell to the Quartermaster in exchange for a lovely sickle-type blade, it was as long as his forearm and he’d attached it to the front of his energy weapon on a hinge. Much like a giant flick-knife, the curved blade could be put into a ‘stabbing’ position, or retracted underneath for safe storage and handling.
He gave it a few test flicks, smiling menacingly inside his helmet, Pontiac inspected his equipment as they plodded back toward the carriages.
“You think she’s still alive?”
“Who?” John pretended not to know.
“Lieutenant Midnight, do you think she survived?”
“I hope so, don’t you?”
Pontiac hummed.
A large explosion wracked the far side of the camp, a prelude to the latest changeling probe, “Bugs! Bugs in the wire!” A far-off Gryphon cried out in alarm, a squad of Thestrals and a handful of their larger hybrid comrades clashed with several dozen Changelings overhead, a few of which broke-off to strafe the Equestrian staging area.
Green-blue energy bolts stream down, causing all of the well-disciplined pony formations to dive to the ground, many of the Thestrals rise and hover, preparing to cut them down as they overshoot the drop-site.
John doesn’t give them the chance, within seconds – his new laser weapon scores its first kills since the commando in the tent as he precisely strikes each bug from the air, like a bassist plucking chords.
They fall momentarily, each crashing into the ground, sliding and toppling for several meters – large crispy gouges a testament to Johns accurate laser blasts.
Not wasting any time, he charges up the little embankment which separates the element-protected Landing Zone from the camp, within he finds multiple ongoing skirmishes, a pair of black Changelings screech in an ear-splitting ululating tone as they massacre an incapacitated Gryphon. John shoots them both, they shudder and fall with the impacts.
He moves on, rushing through the camp at a dead sprint, he does his best to avoid running anyone down. His murder quest not yet over, he spies a trio of black devils coming from a firelit tent, the still-living inhabitants scream as they burn alive.
The offenders aren’t spared a second, laser fire rakes across the three; cutting them apart and turning one to ash – it hisses in defiance as it’s reduced to charred carbon.
He slows as suddenly as he had exploded into his gun-run, the interior of the tent is like an inferno nightmare, several limp forms are alight, a couple writhe in their last moments of life – John puts a single shot into each to ease their suffering. A single Gryphon claw reaches out to him, he thinks quickly that it’s another female, her smaller, trembling claw grasps at his armoured hand and he drags her out of the firestorm.
The arid heat of the day doesn’t help any, the entire tent now ablaze as the flames stretch into the air, ash raining down around them. She is burned, with one forelimb, both rear legs and both wings all swaddled in white bandage, John is resigned to carrying her.
He continues his sweep of the camp, multiple creatures attempt to stop the fire from spreading, a single Pegasus Guard whirls around the flame spire, turning it into an ever-tighter vortex until it peters out.
Reaching a mass of Gryphons, they relentlessly hold back a veritable wave of Changelings on the ground, John waves his rifle at them from his hip and fires a short burst – the bolts enter and exit the Changelings bodies, cleaving half the bugs from their attack.
Their sudden loss in so many causing the survivors to reconsider their position a little too late, the small stalemate ending as a wing of Gryphons dive-bomb the Changelings. Stabbing, slashing and biting with steel, claw and beaks.
The frontal half of the Gryphon ground component attack in conjunction, they viciously slay the bugs to the last, dismembering and opening them in a grotesque and violent display.
The Gryphon from before – the Battle-Major – sounds a victory call much like a carrion bird would. John passes his hand luggage, the wounded Gryphon, over to her compatriots, he returns to the landing zone.
A pair of dug-outs house wooden-framed catapults, John had a pocket version as a kid, he used it to fire stones at the crows that harassed his uncles' farm.
He quickly scales the edge of the defensive wall, behind him the carriages load up for transport. Waiting only for him as they prepare to launch the first wave.
As his silhouette blots out the brazen orange sky, the firing crew regard him as hostile for a moment, one of the smarter among them recognising him as an ally.
“Here,” he palms the pocket-nuke from his armoured back, “be careful – big boom,” he elaborates by making hand gestures, “fire it at the bugs,” he mimics the overhand throwing of a stone.
“I understand, metal Minotaur,” the deer creature frowns seriously, speaking in a strangely musical voice.
He doesn’t waste any time in scrambling for the carriages, he gets there in three-meter leaps and bounds, pausing by the side of the lead cart, where he mounts it and takes his position at the front again.
The catapults make the sound of a rope being pulled through a reel fast; a crack sounding as they launch their projectile. The smoke from the camp and the herb-based fires mix, the bugs probably thinking their firebase had suffered major damage.
“Boy, are they in for a surprise,” the guard next to him, an earth pony, says what John was about to think.
“Mindreader,” he elbows the guard gently.
The atmosphere around them shifts and warps with the detonation, the ground rumbles and vibrations shudder through the carriage. John can feel the heat wash over him and for a moment all other sensation is lost.
He’s snapped back to reality as the delayed sound from the after-shock hits them, Captain Anthem calls for the lift-off of their carriages, “let’s go! Let’s go!”
The six-pony team at the reigns flex and whip their wings, effortlessly pulling the cart into the sky. The G-force is extreme as they rocket towards the artificial smog at impossible speed.
John grunts in his armour as he’s pushed against the inside of it, once through the smoke barrier, the kilometre-wide chasm passes by quickly. Looking around him, John can see multiple Gryphons and Thestrals flying loosely around the first wave of airborne chariots.
Small bursts of ground fire are poorly aimed and timed as they approach a small clearing in the blackened debris of the battlefield. His cart impacts the ground hard and John barely manages to stay inside as they jostle and hop across the uneven surface.
“Go, go, go!” He screams the order to be heard over the sound of multiple carts crashing into the ground, a result of their high-speed crossing.
The final carriage is still several dozen meters from the Landing Zone, the ponies already with John spread out and begin securing the perimeter. The engineering Guards begin administering bolstering defensive construction to the deployment area.
The last carriage gets lit up – such a vicious display making John wince internally. Most of the carts pulling crew are hit, trailing wounded or a corpse in the wind.
Its surviving occupants bail out over the mud-plastered terrain as the transport overshoots the drop zone, creating a large trench as it impacts the ground. A few of the hauler’s bodies fall and land with a splat inside the LZ.
A dozen Changelings stand on the other side of a mud wall, John can hear them chittering. He leans over the top and begins firing – they dart and weave but ultimately are cut to pieces.
Magic and catapult attacks hammer the far side of the hill, multiple hostile strong points can be seen – including more pits, potentially harbouring artillery bugs.
Captain Anthem is next to John as Changelings begin pouring into the Landing Site. They’re held at bay by the combined shock-force.
Guard formations blockade their advance by ground, while squads of Gryphons and Thestrals hound the few bugs that dare take to the skies.
Using the mud wall as his fixed fighting position, he fires short bursts and single shots with great precision, dropping dozens to the dirt with ease.
A five-bug squad emerges from a foxhole, imminent enemy reinforcements pour out of similar pores in the earth. He tosses a plasma grenade, the green swirling energy blasts and burns them away in a flash.
A volley of catapult-launched incendiary bombs land at close-range to them, the flames eating away at a platoon-sized bug wave.
He reloads, placing the empty cell in a drop-bag, “what’s the plan, Captain?!”
“We need to hold this location, be ready for the next wave!” the chariots having deployed the first batch of Guards. All but one, they hurriedly take off and weave to avoid the intense ground fire.
John locates one such anti-air crew in a small nest, his HUD reads it as three-hundred meters away. He equips his laser rifle with a rifle grenade. Essentially a high-density plasma charge on the end of a rod, they can be fired accurately at ranges above eight hundred meters by adapting the power level of the rifle.
His suits Virtual Intelligence software handles the calculations, his mind is linked with his rifle and he adjusts his aim, a holographical arc appears in his grey-green Heads Up Display. Holding it over the energy-discharging bug pit, he fires.
An electrical laser blast sounds, the caustic smell of the shot tickles the back of his throat through his helmets air filters. The high-velocity charge travels away at speed. He loses sight of it – a diamond symbol represents its rough coordinates as it hurtles towards the enemy.
A squad of Changelings occupy a defensive position surrounding the energy-pit, as more green bolts scream out of it towards the now distant carriages, the bomb strikes – the primary seismic charge erupts the very earth in a several-meter-radius around the pit. It vanishes underneath a brilliant green burst of plasma energy, eradicating the position.
The shaky, zoomed-in magnified image retracts to his normal field of view, the small incoming attackers have been largely waved off, time to press the advantage.
Anthem had sidled off and was now talking with a large Gryphon and Lieutenant Pontiac, “we have us a lull and I want you to attack! Take 1st platoon over to the ridge on our left flank!”
“Aye, ma’am!” Pontiac darts away, chasing up his objective.
“Battle-Captain Zenith?! Take your Warband across the right side!” They moved up to Johns position at the wall, the engineers zipped around reinforcing the position with wood and hastily building up the mud barricades.
She pointed across toward the distant Changeling fighting positions and war-pits, “there! An old evacuation site we managed to assemble, it will provide you with cover and give us the strategical advantage!”
“Very well, we go now!” his accent was much like the other Gryphon female. He called in several bird-tones, a veritable rabble assembling, two-legged bulls, deer, a few ponies and some striped ponies as well as plenty of Gryphons – all-in-all around a fifty-strong force began to gallop over the mud wall and tear over toward their defensive point.
John and Captain Anthem now stand with around a dozen engineers, a few medics tend to the multiple wounded and a single squad of Thestrals wait toward the rear. The downed carriage had come to a halt a few dozen meters away from him, it had rotated and flipped – no survivors had emerged, only a few going down with it.
“Stay here,” he commanded, “I’m going to recon that cart,” before she could protest, he burst over the wall, approaching the transport at a dead sprint. In only a few seconds, he’d cleared the distance.
A gouge in the earth denoted the impact point, a short scrape led to the wreckage. Blood pockets surrounded the cart, a still pony lay on the ground – her head having suffered a major blow.
He stepped over the body, inspecting the others. Two of the eight ponies pulling the transport had been killed mid-flight, one still in its harness – the front half of the cart stuck into the air awkwardly, causing the body to limply hang from it. The second had been thrown a few meters and lay in a pile, very obviously dead.
Off to his left and right, friendly troops advanced toward positions further west of the Landing Zone. They were meeting some stiff resistance and taking casualties.
He wasted no time in collecting the three dead Guards, they weighed comparatively little, he placed his Laser rifle on his back, it stayed magnetically adhered. With a pony corpse in one hand and the other two slung over his shoulder, he hurried back to the LZ.
He arrived uneventfully, he saw a sadness in the eyes of a medic who he handed the bodies to, placing them respectfully inside an awaiting chariot. The medic began to strip them of useful materials, water bladders and weapons, healing potions – all of it was salvageable.
It began to lift off, overladen with the dead and wounded. Dust swirled in the dry heat, his armours internal temperature management system, or ITeMS was using far more power than usual. He had a micro-nuclear fusion pack to power his suit, more than enough juice. ‘Even so…’ he thought.
A red gem in Captain Anthem's armour began emitting a squelching, screeching sound – really bizarre. She held the glowing gem in a hoof, announcing her rank and name followed by, “semper dicere verum.”
It flashed once, adopting a solid red glow after, “Trojan Red 6, this is Trojan 6, respond, over!”
A strange, swirling windchime sound continuously played, before Pontiac responded.
“Trojan 6, this is Trojan Red 6 – we’re in heavy contact, endanger of being overrun!” His panicked shout solidified the severity of the situation he and his troops were in.
“If they get past you then we’ve all had it! Can you hold?” There was a delay of about a second, the cacophony of battle, ponies screaming and sword and chitin clashing, sounded like hell.
Pontiacs' voice came back, “we’re spread thin, Captain – we’ll hold this position as long as we can. Red-Six out!”
In the distance, both 1st Platoon and the Mercenaries were duking it out with overwhelming enemy forces, John could help – but not both at once.
“Captain, I’m stood by, ready to assist!” He clutched his energy weapon in his hands, business-end pointed skywards.
She nodded once, setting her jaw, “get over to Pontiac – I’ll have those catapults adjust their fire for the Mercenaries, so you’ll be without artillery support.”
John leaned over her, “Captain, I am the support,” with those last words he again entered a flat-out sprint towards the swirling dust vortex, set against napalm-skies and Lieutenant Pontiac's position.
A long, sandy ridge traced a line in an otherwise crusty-black landscape. 1st Platoon were huddled along with it, desperately fighting those that came near. Mostly engaged on the ground, a sole unicorn provided them with shield spells and anti-air fire, the poor soldier’s efforts not quite enough as one-by-one members of Trojan Red 6 fell victim to the tide of battle.
John landed next to the unicorn and a too-young looking Thestral, both were practically kids going by their wide eyes.
“You! Just use your shield magic!” he ordered the unicorn, who obeyed gladly, lessening the taxation of his magical abilities.
John turned his gaze on the Thestral as he pulled down on his remaining rifle-grenade, “get the wounded back there!” He pointed behind them to a large crater.
“O-okay!” The Guards voice trembled.
John located the forward-most, largest, meanest-looking gathering of black bastards and fired off his explosive directly at them, “hold them back!” He bellowed.
The barely-held line of dirt was being clung to tirelessly. Johns elimination of what might have been the enemies command group sent the Changelings into a wild, disorganised frenzy – they veritably threw themselves atop 1st Platoons stabbers.
He picked off the more persistent looking aggressors – they came in flocks of threes and fours, he sat cross-legged and squeezed off shot after shot. The occasional Changeling mortar exploding prematurely high above them as the Unicorn set to work, impeding the bugs attacking methods significantly.
Several wounded Royal Guard were dragged to safety under the care of the scared Thestral, she began wrapping their wounds and using healing potions to get them back into the fray.
Every few minutes the mountain of enemy corpses seemed to rise to life, with the survivors of each attack wordlessly rallying for the next in a never-ending sacrificial and superficial charge.
He reloaded. A Pegasus used a weapon yet unseen, a small sack big enough to be placed in the palm of your hand was lit, it smoked from the top as it was tossed toward the enemy – exploding in a rainbow of colours. The flesh was wrought from the carapaces of a group of Changelings, they collapsed in bloody-green piles, their bodies smouldering.
‘Neat,’ john thought and hummed accordingly.
A Thestral Sergeant fired a crossbow bolt close-range into the open mouth of a Changeling, it became rigid and toppled over. Another one took its place, its horn glowed, the energy spiralled and shrunk to a pinprick of green light, before being launched at the Sergeants position.
He and his assistant crossbow Stallion were flung from their hastily built foxhole, both laying stunned either side of it. Laser fire leapt from the end of Johns rifle, rippling across the Changelings energy shields, they collapsed and it died – screeching as large, searing holes were burned through it.
John rolled forward, hopping over another guard-filled foxhole and arriving at the dazed Sergeants side. He dragged them both into their hole, covering their recovery by spraying suppressing fire into an encroaching group of enemy sappers.
Many of them fell, the grotesque, insect-like packages they held detonating prematurely, creating a pit a meter across and as deep. The shockwave thrust John into the dirt, the force pressing down into him like a ton of bricks.
After a few moments, the blast abated, he dragged himself into a prone position so he was behind the two Guards foxhole, he again resumed his suppressing fire, striking down another five kills before he needed to reload.
The Sergeant and his assistant crossbow Stallion Joined in, shooting out steel-tipped bolts at a far slower rate of fire.
It was here, by necessity, he remained in a continual cycle. Fire, reload, repeat. Fire, reload, repeat. Sometimes single shots would lance out and pluck incoming stragglers, other times he’d unload a dozen blasts into a group or lob a hand grenade, breaking up the enemy advance.
He had to switch his focus between the sturdier-looking ground attackers or the airier and more agile Changeling fliers, with magic-based artillery acting as a prelude to each attack.
A far-off explosion sounded, more like a crack followed by tumultuous tremors like an earthquake. A sloping hillside leading across the Changeling hive split open, endless torrents of black devils poured out.
The landscape seemed to writhe and pulse such was the multiplicity of the enemy horde. The gaping and disbelieving expressions of the ponies perfectly encapsulated the feeling of hopelessness.
Well-timed and aimed catapult shots impacted the living wave, barely staving off their advance. The mercenaries began to retreat in a zig-zag, disorganised fashion – exposing their right flank.
Coming straight for 1st Platoon, not a single pony abandoned their post – suicidal though it was.
“Here they come!” John’s blood was filled with adrenalin, he took a few breaths to steady himself, quickly weaving over to Pontiac, who was stationed to the left.
The Thestrals head whipped around to fix his anger on John, barely reeling it in as a Royal Guard mare next to him quickly field-stitched a cut on his neck shut. The offending Changeling lay unmoving at the edge of the foxhole.
“We’re about to have company!” John said as he readied himself for the final defence. If their sector fell, the Landing Zone would be overwhelmed.
“No shit,” Pontiac hissed as the final needle threaded through, “you done?”
“Yeah, sir,” she picked up her broadsword in her mouth and set her face in a sturdy grimace. Difficult when you’re holding your weapon in your teeth.
“Get on the horn and ask Anthem for some extra hands,” the terminology was lost on the young officer, but not the meaning.
He rustled inside his breastplate for the communications gem, activating it he began speaking, “This is Trojan Red 6 – we’re about to be overrun, suggest you evacuate the landing zone, over!”
The initial trickle of charcoal-black shape-shifters soon turned into a downpour as they got within range of John. He began firing – reloading as he streamed his entire ‘cell into them on full-auto. He pulled out one of his last grenades, it read ‘fragmentation, airburst,’ he armed it and threw it over-hand like a baseball.
The puff of the detonation and whumf sound as it tore into the enemy was small, but from the two-dozen collapsed bugs, it was devastating. Most of them only incapacitated from the shrapnel, the first few managing to reach them had grievous looking wounds across their fronts.
Three Thestrals and a pair of Royal Guard leap-frogged the forward foxholes to engage the initial wave of buggers. A big stallion on the right of the friendly probe stabbed a long lance through a Changeling, using brute strength to topple and trip two others who were set on by his comrades.
The scores of dead Changelings soon began to accumulate, forcing the Guards back. “Pontiac, organise your troops into a wedge formation!”
The sheer volume of the battle was overwhelming, dozens of Changelings had broken through and were engaging the platoon all along the ridgeline. The order to close-up was spread as fast as possible, although too late for some as the curtain of enemy bug-ponies slaughtered the perimeter Guards without mercy.
He moved behind the first six, a magic bolt pierced one and she collapsed in a pained gurgle. John ignored his urge to help – instead, he began pouring out laser-fire.
Pontiac was screaming into the static-y sounding communication gem, “they’re right on top of us! Bring it in close!” He tossed the gem to his hooves, fighting off a charging bug as it tried to kill him.
The catapult fire adjusted, explosions began raining around them, through the smog of battle – John spied the ever-advancing Changeling horde. An entire battalions’ worth simply trudged past them back toward the gorge, with another reinforcing the push on 1st Platoon.
The Ponies around him had formed a pseudo-oval phalanx, barely enough of them surviving to form two rows of outward-facing weapons. Two pairs of crossbow-armed Stallions fired into the mass surrounding them, the unicorn had erected a domed shield – keeping the magic attacks at bay, yet not able to prevent the bugs from simply walking through the glimmering barrier.
Johns own laser blasts he held in reserve for those that massed more precisely in an attempt to break through the Guards defence. Catapult fire slowly trickled down around them, ebbing away at the teeming mass of black flesh.
“We need to get out of here!” Pontiac declared, “break out of this pocket, or we’ve had it!”
Johns reply consisted of a single shot that over-penetrated the first Changeling, passing into a second behind it, “agreed!”
“1st Platoon, march in formation – toward the gorge!”
Moving slowly, centimetre by centimetre – the artillery fire walked with them, thinning out their fearless enemy who continued to throw themselves through the shield into their waiting blades.
‘Jesus,’ the Changelings bug-based artillery provides the horde with counter-battery fire, unleashing an uncountable torrent of concentrated shots across the gorge into the makeshift firebase.
It was half an hour of brave and courageous fighting before they reached the LZ. Johns Microfusion Cell supply had been exhausted, he’d opted to use his requisitioned flick-blade. His bipedal stance allowed him to tirelessly cut down the bugs, who’s pace had somewhat slowed.
The Drop Site was in view and the engineers had outdone themselves in creating an elaborate set of recessed and overlapping defensive positions. Unicorns kept shield domes in place and rained short-range bombardment spells into the Changelings. The air was thick with swarms of them – the airspace was contested by Thestral and Gryphon teams, they fought on valiantly.
It was a dozen meters away, the catapult fire ceased, before momentarily being adjusted to fire suppress along the exterior perimeter of the Landing Zone.
Carriages waited within the protective energy barrier, the combined catapult and magical artillery fell like molten rain, even so, it barely got the job done.
“Platoon! Break formation!”
The unicorn’s horn seemed to radiate heat as he all but collapsed as his shield spell halted. John scooped him up in one arm, he bounded over the small trench-like barrier, neck and neck with the survivors of 1st Platoon – depositing him next to a white-clad medic, who started to force water into him.
“Lieutenant!” Anthem was waving them towards her cart as many of the defending troops scrabbled to mount up.
John picked up the dizzy unicorn, he received no protests as he unceremoniously dumped him over the edge of the carriage.
“Commander.”
“We’re leaving?”
All around the ponies took up final defensive positions, the catapult artillery began slinging caskets of smoking plants, they exploded violently into thick, grey-white plumes.
“Just got word that Saddle Camp is under siege, we’ve been ordered to withdraw from the area immediately.”
A muck covered Thestral appeared, she was haggard, with pieces of her armour missing and various bloodstains.
“Ma’am, we’re all good-to-go!”
She looked at John and he recognised her eyes. Midnight.
“You’ve looked better.”
She clambered in, rolling over John's legs as she squeezed into a spot between Captain Anthem and three Royal Guards.
Anthem looked a little perturbed, “all those capable of flying should do so, we need as much room as possible in these carriages.”
She looked around, all the ponies in their carriage were wounded or not flight-capable, “I guess that’s my cue to leave. Commander,” she nodded at him and leapt from the cart to join a hundred others in their ring-around flying of the DZ.
He waited a little awkwardly, Midnight seemed like she might die any second, the others inside his cart held a similar complexion. One vomited over the side, ‘nice.’
“You good, Lieutenant?”
Her eyes remained closed, but she kind of chuckled, before looking a little nausea, then frowning deeply, “some of them made it.”
John didn’t know who ‘they’ were.
“Who?”
She chuckled again, a speckle of blood bubbled on her lips, “my squad.”
“Go!” The signal was called by an earth pony, he was cut down as a pair of Changelings broke through the perimeter. The shields were kept up as the carts simultaneously lifted off, hurtling back over the gorge.
They careened over the camp, which was now an empty, crater-marked mess, John fully realised the extent of the evacuation. Hundreds of Gryphons, Thestrals and Pegasi all flew in a flock, avoiding ground fire as they and the dozen carts ascended evermore.
He looked back at the Drop Zone. A token force of perhaps thirty, including most of their Unicorn troops, had been left behind to hold off the enemy. He could fully see the extent of their numbers as the entire landscape seemed to writhe with their sheer numerosity.
Several smaller shield bubbles surrounded the LZ’s main larger one, they winked out one-by-one as the holding force were slowly and systematically overrun.
He felt a sickening shame and sorrow for not being able to do anything other than watch. The final, large bubble shrunk a few sizes – a vibrant blister in an expanse of charcoal monsters.
The bubble seemed to glow brighter and brighter, John found he couldn’t look directly at it. Evermore luminous, the sky became painted with a silvery light. It pulsed once before shrinking and then expanding in a brightly coloured explosive wave.
It spread over the Changeling ground forces like a ravenous torrent that swelled and flashed. Finally, it ended – leaving a kilometre-wide hole in the bug’s advance.
“That’s one hell of a view!” John said, stunned and truly in awe.
Midnight’s head lay against the side of the craft as they passed through a cloudbank and lost sight of the ground.
“It’s enough to make you old.”
Indeed, it was, John reasoned.
She coughed once and then leaned her weight entirely against him. He thought she’d passed out or maybe died – but she had simply lost the strength to hold herself up.
The remainder of the journey was spent in relative silence, none of the other Guards made a peep, and Midnight only twitched and jerked with the occasional bump in the flight. The huge gathering of aerial soldiers and mercenaries was something, his helmet had been auto-recording everything – he’d upload all he’d seen to the Anlace, for what good that would do.
For now, he’d endure the relative calm of the flight – he planned for the future, realising he’d need to impart a much larger impact on this conflict if he was to help bring it to a swift and final end.
He brought up his Pip-Boy, beginning a new journal entry, titled “reach for the stars.”