//------------------------------// // Chapter 2 // Story: Redheart's War // by SockPuppet //------------------------------// That night I sat in front of a campfire. The sun was down, and I finally had my first chance to get off my hooves all day. A river barge sat grounded on the shallow mud flats at the edge of the river. Real doctors and nurses were treating our dozen wounded, so I'd been relieved and sent to go get some chow. I had no appetite. I doubted I would ever eat food again. My gut was a solid lump of stone. My ears still rang with screams of pain and shouts of Pony down! or Medic up! Instead of eating, I sat on my haunches, wrapping a bandage around my right forehoof. My kit bag sat open next to me. I just felt... I mean, numb doesn't even begin to touch it. The scrap had lasted for fourteen never-ending hours and I had been a complete rookie when I woke up that morning. I looked at the stars. I'd never seen the stars like that before. I grew up in the city, and the swirls and whorls and stars into the depths of infinity... I shook my head, trying to focus, stopping my mind from wandering. I was covered in blood. Much of it belonged to our team's senior medic, Ivy Mercy, my closest friend. She was dead because I couldn't staunch her bleeding. Her injury—it wasn't that bad. I should have been able to save her, but I didn't. What really scared me: I wasn't even shaking from the adrenaline letdown. Less than a month before, I'd dealt with a dire medical emergency. A twelve-year-old filly after she suffered a nasty fall. I gave her a field tracheotomy, saving her life, and I shook and vomited for hours after the surgeons took her from me. But, sitting in front of that campfire, wrapping up my own hoof, I just felt... hollow. I was scared that being a newly-minted veteran meant I had lost myself. I wanted to be a nurse, someday. Somepony hollow wouldn't have a very good bedside manner, would she? Our new platoon sergeant, Flash Sentry, trotted up and sat across from me, on the other side of the campfire. "Private Redheart." "Sarge." Our old platoon sergeant was dead. I had failed to save him, too. "You did well, Private," Sergeant Flash said. I kept wrapping the bandages around my hoof. "No, Sarge. I lost six of ours." Ten and six. To that point in my life, I had saved ten lives—and lost six. Eight of the ten, and all six of the lost, in the last few hours. "You saved Morning Shadow. You saved her for sure." My stomach started to roil once he mentioned Morning Shadow. I was actually kind of pleased that I felt sick. I was pleased to be feeling anything at all. My whole body trembled. "She'll lose that hoof. The surgeons will have to amputate."  Flash nodded and pulled off his helmet. "I can't call you 'rookie' anymore." I finished wrapping my hoof and stood up. "Ah–Celestia–ow," I gasped and sat back down, panting from the pain, cradling my hoof to my chest. A tear ran down my nose. Flash glared at me. His voice snapped from 'friendly comrade' to 'angry sergeant.' "What happened to you, Private?" "Mosquito bite," I said and started unwrapping my wound again. "They're big down here near the river." I was going to need to pack in more gauze to cushion it enough to walk. Without the terror dulling the pain, I couldn't bear to put any weight on my hoof.  Once I had it unwrapped, Flash held up a wing. "Hold on." Flash scooted around the campfire and looked at me.  He grabbed my hoof and held it in the fire’s light. I tried to ignore him, listening to the calls of the night birds. Something else I never had heard growing up in Whinnyapolis. "Private! When did you do that?" "Around... dawn?" He looked at the moon. "That was—that was hours ago! How did you stay on that all day?" I looked at the fire, pulled my hoof back to my chest, and wrapped my left foreleg around it. "I chewed a painkiller. It just now started hurting." "Hey! Skipper!" Flash yelled. "Mister Armor!" Our platoon commander, Shining Armor, trotted up. A cadet, seconded from the Academy, not yet an officer, he was Mr. Armor, not yet Lieutenant, but we still called him Sir. He didn't look any better than me: eyes wide and hollow, face more pale than usual. He had been a rookie that morning, too. Celestia knows the stress is even worse for officers, since they're responsible for the whole unit, but I was only responsible for a few wounded.  "Sergeant Flash?" Mr. Armor asked. "Look at Redheart's hoof." "You look bad, sir," I said. "You need some chow and some rest. Doctor's orders." "Give me your hoof," Mr. Armor said. I fought to keep my hoof tucked up to my chest, fought with all my strength, but his aura pulled my hoof toward the firelight like he was picking up a scrap of tissue.  "Redheart," he said quietly, "you stepped on a caltrop." "No, sir. Mosquito bite." "Redheart, not funny. Caltrop?" My ears flattened. "Yes, Mr. Armor." "Did you pull it out yourself? It tore your frog apart." "Yes, Mr. Armor. There was work to do. I had to get back on my hooves." He sniffed. "It's already infected." "I put a salve on it." "What did you step in?" I gagged slightly, remembering the stench. "I had to reach into Private Sunlight's intestinal wound." Flash flicked his tail. "That's begging for an infection." "I got Sunlight's bleeding stopped," I pointed my nose at the tent full of wounded and doctors. "I saved her life." Mr. Armor and Sergeant Flash looked at each other for a few seconds, then nodded. "Redheart," Mr. Armor said, "You did good. You did great." I snorted and gave a barking laugh that bordered on hysterical. "If six dead is great, what do you consider terrible, sir?" Mr. Armor frowned at me. "I'm going to recommend you for a decoration. The Medic's Star, I suppose. But..." Sergeant Flash took over: "But, you're an evacuation case. Present yourself to the doctors and we expect you on the barge when it pulls out." Mr. Armor's aura disappeared and I yanked my hoof back. "Sir... Sarge... please. Tomorrow... we lost Ivy today. I'm the last medic in the company. You can't, can't send me to the rear, sir. What'll happen tomorrow?"  Shining Armor sat down in front of me and put a hoof on my shoulder. "Redheart—we've got to get your hoof treated, or you'll lose it." "Will not!" His voice turned very soft. "You're the medic. Tell me the truth. Tell yourself the truth." I looked at the ragged wound and blinked back a tear. I had stepped on the caltrop that morning, running to a wounded trooper. I fell, stumbled, landed on my side. The caltrop was four barbed metal hooks welded into a tetrahedron, and one was crammed fully into my hoof, clean up to the bone. I grabbed a pair of pliers from my bag, gripped them in my mouth, and ripped the barb out. It tore the meat and muscle, shredded tendons, and... And, I admit, I screamed and blubbered and cried like a little foal for a few seconds after that.  Then I spent hours running across open land, through creeks, stepping in piles of blood or bodily waste... If a trooper had presented this wound to me, I would have ordered her evacuated. "Yes, Mr. Armor. But... I'm willing to risk that, so the team has a medic tomorrow. I volunteer to stay." "Alpha company is leading the sweep tomorrow," Mr. Armor said, "and we kicked those raiders' hindquarters today. I don't think we'll need you." "B-b-but what if you do, sir? Sir, please..."  I shook. It had taken hours, but it finally hit me. I leaned away from those two and vomited onto the dirt, pungent and green. The medical part of my brain told me, You're getting dehydrated! "We'll need you next week, next month, and next year, too. After you're patched up," Sergeant Flash said. I sat up and wiped my muzzle on my good foreleg. "Here, Redheart," Mr. Armor said and gently levitated me up onto his back. His magic was cool against my coat, which was hot from sitting by the campfire. "No need to walk anymore on that hoof." He carried me into the tent where the doctors were working. "Ah, Officer-Cadet Armor," the senior doctor said. "I wanted to compliment your medic there, she did an excellent job, and saved several liv—why are you carrying your medic?" Flash reached up a wing and lifted my hoof toward the doctor. The doctor sucked in breath and frowned at my hoof. "Drop her on a bedroll." Mr. Armor leaned down, and I slid off him, onto a blanket. The doctor fussed over my wound for a half-minute, then passed me a bucket of clean water, a roll of gauze, and some antiseptic. "You're not going to die. We've got worse to deal with. Clean and wrap it up yourself, and you can help watch the other wounded on the barge back upriver tomorrow." I looked at Sergent Flash and Mr. Armor. "But sir, but sarge... please. I want to stay with the team. Celestia's Own don't quit."  Flash offered a hoof and I bumped it with my good hoof. "Celestia's Own don't quit," Sergeant Flash agreed. Mr. Armor offered me his hoof. "Get yourself fixed up. There'll be plenty of work when you're back on your hooves. Celestia's Own don't quit." "Then why are you making me quit this fight, sir?" I asked as I reluctantly bumped his hoof. I tried to walk around the medical tent and help with the wounded, but one of the nurses bopped me over the head with his wing and ordered me to lie down. He was an officer, so I had no choice. I started wiping the patches of dried blood off my coat, but with only one hoof, it was impossible, and the nurses were too busy to help me. I watched one of my other friends die. Cloud Sweeper was a mare from Stratusburg. She and I had been in basic training together, the year before. We bunked together, she in the top bunk, me in the bottom. We spent quite a few nights, or long pack-marches, talking about stallions and the Guard and the future and life. After boot camp, she went to advanced aerial combat training and I went to medic's school, but then we both volunteered for Celestia's Own and found ourselves in the same platoon.  Earlier that day, I had extracted the arrow from her chest cavity, but I must have missed some bleeding. She drowned in her own blood. Nine saved and seven lost. I curled up on the bedroll, cradled my wrapped hoof to my chest, and pretended to sleep. I tried to cry. I wanted to cry. But I couldn't. I blamed the dehydration. As the first hint of dawn lit up the horizon, a junior doctor shook my shoulder. "Wake up, Private. We're going." I struggled up, standing on three legs, and shook myself to get my gray medic's smock into place. "Yes, sir." The eleven wounded got stretchered up the gangplank to the medical barge. I started to slip under the edge of the tent to rejoin my platoon when the senior doctor levitated me up and dropped me at the end of the gangplank. I hobbled up to the barge with what little dignity I could muster.  My hoof really hurt, now, the infection taking hold, and I couldn't bear to put any weight on it at all. I chewed half a painkiller from my kit. Finally, the bodies, wrapped in sheets, were carried up the gangplank. I closed my eyes and thrashed my tail. The bodies of the troopers I had failed to save. My failures. I opened my eyes.  From the shore, Sergeant Flash and Mr. Armor waved to me. I sat down at the railing and waved back. The rest of my platoon was eating their breakfast and checking their armor, kit, and weapons. The rest of my platoon was going into a scrap. The rest of my company was going into a scrap. And they didn't have a medic. My team didn't have a medic! I put my good forehoof on the railing and flexed my knees, took a deep breath... Mr. Armor glared at me from shore and shook his head no. He mouthed the words court martial. I plopped down to my bottom and stared at my tail. It was full of brambles and dirt. I dropped my bags next to me. Ten pegasi grabbed tow-ropes in their teeth and wheeled around to face upriver, slowly hauling the barge against the current, maybe two or three miles per hour. The doctors humored me, letting me hobble around the barge on three legs, checking bandages and blood pressures. I knew I was just keeping myself busy, but it helped pass the time. My cutie mark wouldn't let me sit still while hurt ponies were about. As Celestia raised the sun, the sailors running the barge spread an awning out, covering the wounded on the deck. The desert sun would get brutal, later.  While I took the temperature of one of the wounded sergeants, the senior doctor came up behind me and stuck a thermometer in my ear. "Ow!" I said. "Warn a mare, next time, Colonel." (At least it was a surprise ear thermometer, eh?) "You've got a fever, Private," he told me. "Go lay down. We'll get you some potion started." "But, sir, I'm working." "Celestia's Own!" he sighed, with an eye roll. "Celestia's immortality doesn't rub off on her household troopers, no matter what you lunatics want to believe. Go find a cot and don't move from it. That's an order." "But—" He pointed at his Colonel's insignia and glared. "Sir." I raised my nose and huffed, and flicked my tail as I hobbled past him. Instead of taking a cot, I sat on a bench at the barge's bulwark, near several of the wounded lying on stretchers. A medic, another private about my age, trotted up. The flash on his shoulder said 'Third Battalion'. Thirdies were good troops, brave, supporting us on the expedition, but we in Celestia's Own had done all the fighting—and dying—so far. Third Battalion was good, is what I'm trying to say, but Celestia's Own was the best. The best in the world. I had a Celestia's Own flash on my shoulder, ten other ponies' blood on my coat, and bandages on my hoof, so I raised my nose, just a little, and looked down my muzzle at him. "Sapphire Bolt," he said. "What's your name?" "Redheart." We bumped hooves. "What... what..." he gestured at my bandaged hoof. I almost said mosquito bite, but instead I just said, "Caltrop." He grimaced. "Oof. That hurts me just hearing that word." He levitated up a soapy rag and wiped the blood off my left foreleg, preparing an injection site. "You're covered in blood. How come you weren't cleaned up? Do you want an infection? This is how you get infections." "Nopony had time. Too many real wounds." I pointed my snout at Midnight Aurora on her stretcher next to us, staring silently at the awning. "How much of this blood is yours?" "Practically none of it," I replied. Flies buzzed, mad for the dried blood, and one landed in my eye. I pawed at it with my bandaged hoof. I flapped my gray smock, trying to shoo away the flies.  "Here," he said and wiped my face with the rag. "Let me..." I frowned but said, "Thanks."  It hit me hard to have somepony else cleaning me, taking care of me. We earth ponies... we work so hard as foals with our hooves and our mouths, to get the dexterity we need to keep up with unicorn's fields and pegasi's feathers. I had used my forehooves to clasp a rag and wash my face, neck, and ears, every day of my life, ever since I was a tiny filly. Having a unicorn babying me, wiping my face like I was an infant who had just spit up? That hurt. That was when it really crashed down on me that I was injured, and not just a scratch. I didn't cry, but I sniffled and started shaking again. I looked out from under the awning, over the river and to the far bank. I watched the waterfowl foraging in the shallows, something else I never saw back home in the city... What would I say to my parents? How would I write a letter, explaining this to my little brothers? I had promised them I would come home perfectly safe. Promised! "What happened?" Sapphire Bolt asked. "The colonel said you treated most of these other patients." Midnight Aurora chuckled from her cot and pointed her free wing—the other was splinted and trussed to her flank—at me. "Redheart carried me two hundred yards after I took those arrows. After she stepped on the caltrop." I looked at the shrouded bodies. "Ivy Mercy was our senior medic. She did most of the work before she... she..." I looked away from those two, where they wouldn't see the tears that were starting to form. Sapphire Bolt wet the rag in the bucket again and the water turned red. He wiped my chest and forelegs. "Yesterday was your first?" "Yeah." I clamped my jaw shut against sudden nausea. I told myself the nausea was from the rolling of the barge. Seasickness. "Tough start," he said and gave me a soft punch on the shoulder, then moved to wipe blood off my belly. "None of that is your blood?" "I carried a trooper slung over my hips and he bled all over me. I promise, my only injury is my hoof." "Okay." He levitated up a rubber tube and tied it around my left foreleg, preparing to start a drip for my infection. "I'll get this going and bring you some chow. When did you eat last?" I looked at the sun. It was getting on toward late morning. "Maybe... thirty hours ago?" "C'mon, Redheart. One medic to another: you can't help anypony if you're unconscious. You've got to take care of yourself. I'll bring you some chow." I flicked my ears and turned to stare at the far riverbank again. A spell flashed from the scrub on the far bank and hit just ahead of the barge, throwing up a huge plume of dirty water. A second later, a volley of arrows arced toward us from the same scrub. The plume collapsed, river water raining down on the awning. My heart accelerated, racing again like it had in the scrap yesterday, and I found my eyes narrowing as I stared at the incoming arrows, judging their path. I dove and landed on Midnight Aurora, covering her. Sapphire Bolt dove and covered Sunlight, who was sedated and unconscious. Several of the Third Battalion unicorns ran to the railing and cast shields towards the ambush and the incoming arrows glanced away. Troopers grabbed bows and began to pepper the far bank with return fire, the bottled spells in the arrowheads bursting with flame and shrapnel. "Pony overboard!" shouted one of the navy ratings. "Pony in the water!" I stood up. Midnight Aurora grunted as I pushed off her injured wing. I leaned over the edge of the barge, under a glowing shield spell. One of the pegasi from the towing crew thrashed in the water, an arrow in the meat of his left wing as the current dragged him back downriver. His rubber life jacket flapped, deflated, holed by another arrow. His armor dragged him down. The barge accelerated as the pegasi flapped harder and we left the wounded pony farther behind, alone in the river. "We've got to—" one of the Navy officers was shouting. I planted my good foreleg on the railing and vaulted into the water. The water hit me, I went under, gasping, and asking myself what in the world I thought I was doing.  I broke the surface and saw the wounded pegasus. I paddled, chasing him downriver. The barge surged upriver, the tow team's wings thrashing the air.  My medic's smock, soaked, weighed me down, but with only one good hoof I wasn't going to be able to shed it. Just as well, I didn't really want to part with it. I doggy-paddled. "Pal! Hey, pal! Swim for me!" He splashed, fighting to tread water. After about thirty seconds, I was able to reach him and grasp the base of his good wing in my teeth. Upriver, arrows peppered the barge. Arrows started to splash around us. Around me and my patient. If I tried to swim for the barge, we were dead. I probably couldn't catch it, fighting upstream, anyway. By myself? Sure. I'm a darn good swimmer. I would have risked it. Dragging an armored and injured charge? No way. I swam for the riverbank opposite the concealed archers and spellcaster. His feathers, soaked with muddy river water, tasted foul on my tongue and I smelled the rotting shoreline vegetation. He thrashed and cursed, but my focus was on that shore, so I really have no other memories of that swim except the single twisted piñon tree I had chosen as my target.  When we hit the shallow mudflats at the riverbank, the wounded pegasus surged up to his hooves and galloped into the scrubby bushes. I took one step on my bad hoof and collapsed to my flank, spluttering as the water got into my nose and mouth. "Come on!" he hissed at me as he unstrapped his armor. "Heavy crap darn near drowned... get under cover, kid!" I started crawling, trying to get up to three legs, but the mud sucked at my hooves every time I tried to stand. He skittered down the mudbank, ignoring the arrows hitting near him, bit the scruff of my neck, and lifted. Pain lanced down my back. Once I was standing, we hobbled together off the riverbank and into the scrub. "Let's get..." he panted, "let's get out of sight and take a break." Once we were a hundred yards from the river, hidden in a copse of piñon, I sat down.  "PFC Redheart," I said. "Celestia's Own." "Chief Spring Thunder," he replied, "Second Riverine Flotilla. What's wrong with your hoof?" "Caltrop yesterday." "Wait! Wait. Wait. 'Yesterday?' You were one of the patients, and you dove in to save me?" "I don't have my kit, but I can get that arrow." I didn't have my medical bag; I had left that on the barge. All I had were the contents of my smock's pockets. I pulled out a pair of heavy shears, gripped them in my teeth, and snipped off the arrow's feathered shaft. He panted and mumbled curses, but held still and let me work the arrow out.  "It got the tendons," I said, examining his wing, turning it this way and that, watching the bleeding slow as it clotted, "but not the nerves or blood vessels. Surgeons can fix that. You'll be fresh as a foal in six months if we keep the infection out. Which means getting back to civilization ASAP." He was a small stallion, buttercream yellow with white mane and tail. He asked, "What now?" I pointed west. "We parallel the river, walk upstream, and try to hook up with friendly forces." "You can't walk." "Watch me." I couldn't walk.  The sun scorched us, blistering my nose. I pulled my hood over my head to protect my ears. My throat burned for water. We were making less than one hundred yards an hour as I tried to struggle through the dense undergrowth on three legs. I weighed twice as much as that scrawny pegasus, so he wasn't going to be carrying me, especially not with a wing wound. The sun dried our uniforms, at least. We sat and rested for a few minutes. I glanced at the sun and decided it was noon-ish. "I need to drink," I said. "Let's sneak back to the riverbank." "I can fill your canteen for you." I flapped my smock at him. "No canteen," he said. "Gotcha." We heard a branch snap to the north-east. We both dropped to our bellies and swiveled our ears. Birds flushed from that direction and I heard distant voices. "That's not Ponish," he whispered. "Crud."  These raiders... what would they do if they caught us? They had burned out several Equestrian villages along the border, but had not deliberately harmed any civilians, ensuring the homes were empty before setting them to the torch. Would that solicitude extend to uniformed military personnel? "Plan," I said. "I outrank you." "Next time we're in a crisis on a boat, I'll remember that. I can't escape. I just, I just can't. Not on this hoof." "But—" "I'll break north-northwest and they'll hear me. They'll give chase. You sneak west, and get help, and tell command that I need rescued. Deal?" "But... no. I'm not leaving a comrade behind. I'll get their attention, you go for help." "You can walk. I can't. Why is this even a discussion?" He took a deep breath. "I... I feel like a coward. You jumped in to rescue me. It's my fault you're here." "Don't worry," I said. "You'll probably get captured, too, ten minutes after me." "Second Riverine isn't Celestia's Own, but I'm no coward." "You're... what? Ten years older than me? Wife and foals, I bet?" He nodded. His face turned green and he swallowed twice. "See you somewhere," I said and started crawling north-east, towards the noise.  "See you around." He smacked my butt with his good wing and started crawling west. I never saw him again. I was trying to be quiet, really!  Except, I'm a city mare from Whinnyapolis. I grew up playing hoofball in brick alleys, climbing fire escapes for hide-and-seek. The closest I got to the wilderness as a foal was snowshoeing the city greenways. Take my size, my poor woodcraft, and my injury, add them all together, and I left a noisy trail of broken branches and trampled chaparral. I heard the non-Ponish language again, behind me, closer. My heart pounded and every pulse sent a stab of pain down into my bad hoof. I had to go, get going, try to make some distance, draw them farther away from Spring Thunder. Standing, I tried to gallop, but on my third step, my injured hoof hit a root, the hard wood poked up into the wound. I crashed down, face-first, and blacked out.  A few seconds later, spitting out dirt and sand, I came to. I was surrounded. In a circle around me were six of the fish-like creatures that live in Klugetown, one abyssinian, and a scaly pony-like creature that at the time I didn't recognize, but I now know was a kirin. The fishy creatures had bows and swords, the abyssinian held a rapier, and the kirin... had no weapon at all. I started crawling north again. The abyssinian drew her rapier and pressed its tip against my left cutie mark, drawing a drop of blood. I stopped crawling. The kirin took a step forward. "We'll take your surrender, pony." I curled up on my side, tucked into a ball, and cradled my hoof—with its pathetic rags of bandages finally coming loose—close to my chest. "I'm wounded. That's the only reason you caught me."  My tail slapped against the dirt, no matter how much I tried to stop it. I could hardly see, my eyes were watering so badly. My hoof hurt. Every heartbeat stabbed into the raw nerves and ragged flaps of skin. "You're still our prisoner," the kirin said. I opened one of my pockets, working the zipper with my teeth. One of the fish-things nocked an arrow, but didn't draw his bow. I extracted a square of white silk from my pocket and held it up to the kirin. He frowned and his horn glowed, levitating the silk from my mouth. That scared me: I'd never seen a non-pony species with unicorn magic before. What was that thing? What could it do? He shook out the square. About a foot on a side, a large red cross and the Equestrian flag filled its middle, and the same paragraph was written in two dozen different languages around the flag and red cross. "What's this?" he said. Sweet Celestia, my hoof was really hurting by then. I curled into a tighter ball, panting so I wouldn't cry. "Read it." "I can't read Ponish. Read it to me." He laid it out on the dirt in front of me. Lifting my head off the ground, I cleared my throat, found the Ponish writing, and read: "I am a medic of Her Equestrian Majesty's Royal Armed Forces. The Laws of War, agreed to by all nations, protect me from harm. I am sworn to treat any wounded, regardless of race or creed. If you assist me, my Government will reward you." Then, I looked into his eyes and let my voice turn harsh as I recited the final words from memory: "If you harm me, my Government will inflict terrible revenge upon you." He nodded and then translated for his fellows. Their faces darkened, they growled back and forth in that other language, but then, one by one, they nodded. "We're professional soldiers," the kirin said. "Even if we have negotiable loyalty, medic of Her Equestrian Majesty's Royal Armed Forces. We're not filthy pirates or slavers. You're our prisoner and we will treat you how we hope our prisoners would be treated." Still curled disconsolately on my flank, I pointed my good hoof at his canteen and said, "If that's true, I could really use some water." He levitated his canteen to me and I drank. That filthy river water was the best drink I ever had in my life.  They took away my smock and searched it for weapons, but all they found were my shears. One of the fish-folk pocketed them and the kirin put my smock in his saddlebags. I hopped about five steps and fell on my face before the biggest fish-thing picked me up and slung me over his shoulders in a firemare's carry, clenching my three good hooves against his chest. How humiliating was that? First, I abandoned my patient. Second, I got caught like a rabbit in a trap. Third, I couldn't even trot with dignity, my snout held high, into captivity. "Our commander is wounded," the kirin said. "Your chit said you are sworn to treat anycreature in need." The fish-creature's rolling gait shook my body and his every footfall rattled my wound. "Will you treat our wounded?" the kirin repeated. "I will," I said. "A medic treats any wounded, even the enemy." "Have you ever treated a hippogriff?" asked the kirin. "Do you have a name?" I asked. "Wood Smoke. What's your name, rank, and unit, soldier?" "Private First Class Redheart. The laws of war do not require I tell you my unit." He levitated my smock from his bag and shook it out, and looked at the shoulder flash. "I don't read Ponish, but that's Celestia's ass tattoo and I know the Ponish numeral 'one' when I see it. You're in Celestia's Own. One of Celestia's household troopers will be worth something in trade." My hackles raised at hearing the Princess's cutie mark referred to as an ass tattoo, but there was nothing I could do. "I'm fresh out of supplies, though, and I've never even seen a hippogriff closer than fifteen feet in my life." Goodness, my hoof hurt. I sniffed at it. Even over the scent of the desert and the dry wind, I could smell my infection. Its stench grew by the minute. Terror began to shake my shoulders and sour my stomach. I was on pace to lose my hoof, and my life, if I didn't get to a real pony hospital, with pony doctors and potions, soon. "We've got a few medical supplies," Wood Smoke said. I nodded. If I got some potion into my system, it might hold my infection back long enough for the Guard to rescue me. "Your prior hippogriff sounds like a story," Wood Smoke continued. "Not really. We stand as honor guard whenever their ambassador visits the Palace. He and his entourage walk past us. Celestia's Own spends a lot of time standing at attention for dignitaries to walk past." I frowned to myself. I had been happy when we got deployed to the borderlands for some action. I had been ashamed at how many other Household troopers had the Combat Action Badge when I didn't.  What a stupid young idiot two-week-ago me had been. I was missing honor guard duty right that minute! We left the river's floodplain and climbed into the foothills, the fish-creatures handing off my weight every half hour or so. I kept looking around for some way to escape, but nothing appeared. We reached a camouflaged campsite of a few dozen tents, nestled against the edge of a mesa.  The fish-thing lowered me to the ground in front of a tent. I balanced on three hooves. Wood Smoke said, "Our commander is in there, along with the medical supplies we have. What do you need?" "Clean rags, freshly boiled water. And chow. I haven't eaten in two days." He frowned. "We mostly have meat stew and dried jerky. We're out of pony rations." My ears drooped. "Oh." We had eaten meat in training, to show us we could survive on it and that it could keep us fit to fight, but Sweet Celestia I didn't want to repeat the experience! "Our other pony prisoners have been making due on forage. Piñon nuts, mostly." "What?" Other prisoners? Other ponies? Had they been kidnapping civilians? Sudden sickness turned my stomach. My tail thrashed even though I tried to still it. "How many ponies? Are the ponies in need of medical care? Civilians or Guard?" "Help our commander, first. Nopony is in medical need." "Fine," I sighed. "I don't suppose I need to say it," Wood Smoke whispered in my ear, his breath oddly hot, "but I will anyway. We know the laws of war, too. If you try to escape, we're allowed to get mean. You're miles from your own race and you can't move very fast on three hooves. Be a cooperative mare, okay?" I glared at him. Every member of the Guard was sworn to resist and try to escape if captured.  "Duly noted," I growled. "Boil some water." His horn glowed for a moment and then his entire body burst into demonic flames. I staggered backward, gasping, and turned my face away from the heat, holding my bad leg up to shield my eyes.  He trotted a few steps away and I lowered my hoof, peeking over it. Wood Smoke placed his foreleg into a cast-iron cauldron. It steamed, the water boiling instantly. With a flash, he returned to his kirin form. "Ready to help our commander?" I swallowed a few times, recovering from the transformation. What was that creature? I decided to show no fear, no matter what I felt: I stiffened, stood up as straight as I could on three hooves, and commanded, "Give me my uniform back." "The weather's hot for that, and it's filthy." I stomped a rear hoof. "I am a trooper of Celestia's Own Household Battalion, not some money-grubbing mercenary. I have standards to uphold. Give me my uniform back!" He shrugged, and levitated my smock out of his bag and helped me don it. With my Celestia's Own flash on my shoulder and the red cross on my back, I felt like myself again. "Let's go save a life." A medic of Her Equestrian Majesty's Royal Armed Forces will save any life. Their commander was a tall hippogriff mare with a charcoal gray coat and wings. Her feathery mane and tail were iridescent silver. As I stepped into the tent, the stench of gangrene punched me in the face, telling me this would be no easy patient to treat. I turned my head and breathed through my mouth.  Wood Smoke followed close behind me, and the abyssinian behind him. I dug one-hoofed through their supplies. Two first aid kits. Large kits, but standard civilian gear. Looked like they were stolen from ambulance chariots, considering the mounting brackets on their backs. "What's her name?" I asked. The hippogriff shifted a few inches on her cot. "I'm High General North Wind." High General, I thought, of a single small campsite and a few score mercenaries. Grandiose.  I found one  IV bag of antibiotic potion. I nosed it out of the first aid kit and tucked it under my bad leg.  One bag. Just one. I also found two bags of saline solution. I thought about that. Wood Smoke didn't read Ponish, eh? The bags looked identical outside the printed labels. I could give the saline to the hippogriff, and when she died, claim the gangrene has simply been too severe, too far progressed for treatment, save the antibiotics for myself, save my own life, save myself from an amputation— My cutie marks itched. No, no I couldn't do that, could I? The hippogriff was sick, very sick. But she could be saved. I really had no choice. One bag of antibiotics meant it would go to the hippogriff. One bag meant I was dead. I blinked back tears as I thought about my parents and little brothers. North Wind laid flat on her back, a thin blanket over her, despite the heat of the desert. I hopped over to her on three legs and pulled the blanket down with my teeth. The stench of gangrene redoubled and I flicked my ears in consternation. "I need help," I said. Wood Smoke trotted up to me. The abyssinian stood back, fingering her rapier, watching me.  "I can't get the needle in one-hoofed." "I don't approve of being lied to," Wood Smoke said. "I'm not a unicorn." I explained what I needed done, and Wood Smoke got one of her veins pricked with the line and the potion flowing.  "Can you cut out the infection?" the kirin mercenary asked. "Not one-hoofed. I'll give you directions." It took an hour, but we got the hippogriff's wound debrided and cleaned. The stench left my eyes watering and took my breath away. "That," I said, pointing at the bag of antibiotic potion. "You need to trade for more of that. One bag might not save her... and I need more for my injury, too." Wood Smoke frowned, but nodded. "Here, help me, now." I help up my injured hoof. "The prisoner is wounded?" asked North Wind, cracking an eye open. I bit my tongue and wiped my eyes, fighting not to scream, as he used soap and warm water to clean the dirt and grit from my injury and then smeared protective salve onto it. By the time he started bandaging me up, I was shaking. My head spun and sweat matted my smock to my flanks. "Thanks," I said, wiping my eyes again. He nodded, then looked at the abyssinian and spoke in that other language. Then to me, "She'll take you to our stockade." I hobbled behind the cat-creature, bad leg tucked to my chest. She didn't even look over her shoulder. I guess I seemed beaten and compliant. It shames me to say, I felt beaten and compliant. I looked around, contemplating my escape, but no ideas occured to me. Their camp was well camouflaged. Perhaps three dozen tents and some natural caves that cut into the mountain. I estimated about fifty mercenaries in total, but that sort of guess wasn't my specialty. "I wish I spoke your language," I said. She looked at me and shrugged. Interesting. Did she understand Ponish? Or was that just a lucky guess? Wrought iron bars, welded into a gate, blocked a cave opening. Another fish-creature unlocked the gate with a key, opened it, and gestured me in. My tail tucked and I felt my ears trembling.  This was it.  This made it official.  I, Private First Class Redheart, trained and select trooper of Her Majesty's First Household Battalion, a pony of Celestia's freaking Own, the best military unit the world had ever seen... was a prisoner. I was about to be thrown into a cage like a naughty pet rabbit. I wanted to curl up in a ball, cradle the agony of my hoof to my chest, and sob. As I hesitated, the abyssinian kicked me in the butt and forced me forward, ending my little reverie and sprawling me onto my belly. The fish-thing slammed the door and locked it. "Captain!" came a stallion's voice from the dark. "Captain, company." My eyes adjusted quickly. There were a few oil lamps on tables and I counted nine ponies, three of each tribe. The unicorns had inhibitor sheaths strapped over their horns and the pegasi's wings were shaved or plucked. One pegasus trotted up, and put a naked wing under my belly, lifting up, so I could stand on three legs. He helped me to a cot and I flopped down on my side. "Thanks," I said. "I'm Captain Astral Flash," the pegasus said, then pointed to a unicorn mare. "This is First Sergeant Dew Diamond. Who're you?" "PFC Redheart, sir. What's your unit, Captain?" "Echo company, Fifteenth Battalion. You?" Fifteenth Battalion? These weren't soldiers, these were civilians in uniform! The Fifteenth was the Southern Provinces' Home Guard militia. These troopers had probably been captured in their own front yards, fighting to buy time to allow their own foals and spouses to escape. Well, nopony had ever doubted the Home Guard's bravery. I sighed and curled around my hoof. "Bravo company, Celestia's Own," I said.  "Celestia's Own is here?" the Captain gasped. "Do we have any chow, sir? I haven't eaten since before dawn yesterday." They bought me some fish stew and mystery jerky, along with a small bowl of piñon nuts and needles. I wrinkled my nose and ate it, washing it down with a lot of water, while I told them my story, starting with the scrap and ending in the stockade with them.  Their story, in return, was exactly what I expected: raiders hit their village, a platoon of the Home Guard stood firm, along with their company Captain, who lived in town with them. Half the platoon died, half was captured, but the civilians—the Home Guard's own spouses, parents, siblings, and foals—made good their escape, led down an arroyo by their mayor. "How long have you been here?" I asked. "Ten days," said one of the privates, an earth stallion named Blue Maize. "When did Celetia's Own get here?" "Four days ago," I said. "We've got these losers on the run. Hopefully we won't have to sit here too much longer." The other prisoners nodded. I held my hoof out. "Smell that." Captain Astral and Blue Maize leaned forward and sniffed. "That's bad, Redheart," Captain Astral said. "Yep. I hope we're not here too much longer. Okay, thanks for the chow. I understand you're all beaten up? Line up and let me examine you." "None of us are as wounded as you," Sergeant Diamond said. "Doctor's orders." Days passed. Interminable days.  For what it's worth, our captors fed us the exact same chow they ate and gave us all the clean water we needed. There was no torture, no rape, no mistreatment of any kind. They shared the few medical supplies they had—which were wholly inadequate—but they did share them.  Any military lawyer would have agreed: we were treated properly. Being a prisoner still sucked, however.  Five days? Six? Four? I lost count. The wounded hippogriff commander got better. They marched me to her tent three times a day to examine her, and the stench of infection grew less every time. By the third day, she was sitting up and eating, and thanked me for my care. My hoof got worse by the day, the infection raging, red tracks moving up my leg as the blood infection burgeoned. My fever spiked, and by the fourth day, they were carrying me to the hippogriff's tent, instead of marching me. By the fifth day, I think it was the fifth day, I was confined to bed. Sergeant Dew Diamond, the only other mare, helped me with the toilet bucket, and I couldn't keep any food or water down. They put the two bags of saline into me, at least. By the fifth night, I knew I was going to die. On the sixth morning, I had a fever dream of Princess Cadance leaning over my cot, wiping the sweat off my forehead with a fetlock. Slowly, I realized... it wasn't a dream. I flopped around, trying to stand. This was a princess, Celestia's niece. I needed to show her respect! "Shhhh..." Cadance cooed. "No, no, stay abed, my faithful one." "What... what... how..." I spluttered. "I came under a white flag of parley." Cadance levitated an IV bag of potion out of her saddlebags, put the line into my good foreleg, and started the drip. Then she added a bag of whole blood to my line. "I dunna need blood," I said. "Need antibiotics an' fever reducer." "I did have to deflect a few arrows, however," Cadance finished. She removed several first aid kits from her bags and gave them to the other troopers, along with ration packs. "Keep an eye on Redheart," Cadance ordered. "I'll go see what deal I can strike." "As you command, Princess," Captain Astral said. I started shivering as the cold potion hit my overheated body. "Blanket," I croaked. "Please." Dew Diamond pulled a blanket over me and I passed out. It was dark, deep in the night, when Princess Cadance shook me awake. "Redheart, I've struck a deal. You will give your parole, agree not to fight against these fellows anymore, and they'll let me evacuate you in exchange for another pallet of rations and medical supplies. I can have you in a hospital in five minutes." Parole? Get out of here, go back to camp, get treated by real doctors with real medicines and potions, but leave these nine other troopers behind? They weren't wounded as badly as me, but they still needed a medic. And—parole. The Guard's Oath I had sworn on graduation from bootcamp was clear. To accept parole was impermissible. A permanent mark of dishonor. It was better to die. "No," I croaked. "Thank you, Princess, but no, I can't do that. If my platoon is fighting them, Sergeant Flash and Mr. Armor and the others, I can't give my parole." "You're dying, Redheart. You have about two days left." She stood up straight and flared her wings. "I am commanding you."  "No parole." I pulled the blanket over my head and spoke through it. "It's dishonorable. I'll stay here with these troopers." "Soldier!" Captain Astral snapped. "What's wrong with you? You're dying." "Persevere," I mumbled and rubbed the shoulder flash, emblazoned with the Battalion's official motto: Persevere. I mumbled, "Celestia's Own don't quit." Cadance began to sing, an old lullaby my mother had sung to me as a foal, and I had sung to my little brothers in turn:  "Hush now, quiet now, It's time to lay your sleepy head, Hush now, quiet now, It's time to go to bed, Drifting off to sleep, Exciting day behind you, Drifting off to sleep, Let the joy of dream land find you..." Her magic glowed though the blanket covering me and a warm calmness...   I woke up, days later, in a field hospital tent, with my bad hoof wrapped up and attached to a drain. Horrid green pus flowed down the tubing, out of my wound, and a half dozen different IVs flowed into my body. Pain indicated a urinary catheter. A blanket covered my torso, rear legs, and tail.  "That sneaky damn alicorn," I muttered.  Sapphire Bolt, the Third Battalion medic from the barge, was sitting in a folding chair near my bed. He lowered a novel. "What?" "She accepted parole on my behalf," I said. "After I told her I refused."