Chapter 4
The ponies of Checkpoint Charlie were awoken by a deafening alarm, punctuated by gunshots. Those ponies on the night shift had seen the rebel scout and sounded the alarm, fearing it may be the precursor to a full on assault. As the fifty odd soldiers of two platoon scrambled out of their beds, hastily flinging on uniforms and bandoliers while checking their weapons, their chief sergeant burst out of her room.
She looked completely ready, composed and in control. She roared the standard procedure which they had practiced dozens of times before in a commanding voice, “double file and fall out after me, soldiers. We’re going to the northern half of the western palisade. Stay in file so you don’t lose your squad. Let’s go, double time!”
By the time she had finished talking, all the ponies had sorted themselves out. Rifles slung over shoulders, they trotted out of the barracks in two perfect lines behind the chief. The ensign, armed only with a service revolver, brought up the rear.
The initial gunfire had stopped, and the ponies assigned to the night watch were frantically scouring the ground surrounding the camp with searchlights. The gates had already been bared and grates had been lowered over the river where it entered and exited the camp. Evidently, they had worked quickly knowing that their lives could be at stake.
Platoon two arrived at their destination. Their arrival was shortly followed by the chaotic sound of hushed orders, hoof falls and weapons being loaded further to the south, informing them that platoon one was at their post. Now that she had a closer look at the palisade, Apple Bloom could see that there was a ledge running along the inside. Whistle was presently ordering some of the squads to take up positions here so that they could take pot shots over the wall. The chief issued an order to Avalon, who in turn issued the order to her corporals.
“Alpha,” the sergeant hissed, “get down in the dirt on the machinegun. Whisk... Whisk, why are you wearing shades at night?”
“They won’t be a problem in the dark, sarge,” he assured her. He had won a bet to a unicorn who claimed she could render his glasses useless. Although the shades no longer protected against light, he they still hid his eyes, which he maintained was their main function. He had won because he hit the unicorn over the head and ran away when she protested.
“Ah, whatever. You’re team leader, get your ponies in pit two.”
“Yes sarge.”
With this acknowledgement, Avalon nodded and started issuing orders to her other corporal while Whisk turned to the three ponies in his team. “Alright, Belle, you’re a unicorn, so you just keep your head down and feed me ammo. Bloom, you’re my RHM for tonight. All you need to do is cover me while I’m reloading and yell out to Storm if I get hit. Storm, you’re topside. If I go down, jump down here and get on the gun. C’mon you two, into the pit with me.”
Looking down, Apple Bloom saw that there was, indeed, a few small ditches hugging the palisade. They were tiny and barely visible in the darkness. Crawling into the closest pit on her belly, she instantly decided that she disliked it. The ditch went right up to the palisade where a hole was cut into the wood, barely large enough to give the gun a deadly arc. With the boxes of ammunition, mounted machinegun and three ponies, it was incredibly crowded. Shortly above them was the firing ledge, so low that it forced the three ponies to lie down in the dirt. They could hear Storm inspecting his weapon immediately above them. The pit was barely visible from within the walls, and must’ve been indiscernible from the rest of the palisade from the outside. It would be a death trap for the enemy, to be sure, but it was also impossibly uncomfortable for the gun crew.
After the initial confusion died down, an eerie silence crept in. There was no yelling of orders, no pounding of running hooves, no gunfire, no explosions. No sounds of battle. In the still night, all the ponies were on their guard and growing tense. The slightest rustle of leaves would prompt them to check their aim and squint into the pitch blackness. It was impossible to see anything, save for the roving areas of illumination cast by the searchlights.
They were supposed to be sitting quietly, preparing to ambush any attackers. Stealth was the key. If they lay in silence, their enemy may well waltz straight into the machinegun’s range. Despite this, no pony was willing to allow complete silence after the first hour or so. Boredom sunk in, and it was difficult for them to stay alert. Every pony was tired from labouring away at the forest, not to mention being rudely awoken at midnight. Before the second hour passed, murmurs could be heard up and down the line.
“Can you see anything?” Whiskey asked of Apple Bloom in a quiet hiss.
“No,” she replied in an equally low whisper, “I can’t hardly see mah hoof in front a’ mah face. Rebels could be all along the palisade for all I know!”
“Don’t worry about it. ‘Twas probably just a scouting party sent to investigate the aftermath of the fire.”
“Then why are we all along the wall?” demanded Sweetie Belle, ‘I’m not dying in this hole, Whiskey!”
“No pony’s going to die in this hole. You least of all. You don’t even have to stick your head into the line of fire like I do. If the shit hits the fan, just keep the gun fed and we’ll all be fine.”
The waiting was starting to have an impact on the unicorn. Her eyes darted around frantically and her breathing became heavy. “I’m too young for this!” she said, raising her voice, “I’m just a kid. There’s so much I haven’t done. Hay, I’m a virgin for Celestia’s sake!”
Whiskey chuckled to himself for a moment before looking at the mare incredulously. “I’ve heard ponies say some weird things under pressure, but I think that’s the first time I’ve heard some pony blurt out how sexually active they are.” He paused for a moment and the smile briefly faded from his face. They really were just kids. He suddenly felt like he was running a kindergarten. Silence ensued once again, while the corporal skewed his face in thought. Eventually, he seemed to reach some sort of mental conclusion. Seeing that the two mares were staring at him concernedly, he smiled and continued, “don’t worry, you two. I’m sure the fine stallion soldiers in this camp will make sure you don’t die virgins.”
It took a moment for the pair to comprehend what he said, at which point they both let out a disapproving scoff. Whisk grinned to himself. “Oh, it’s always so fun to corrupt the youth,” he concluded. The pair exchanged a glance, and decided to stop talking to the corporal.
Their silent treatment didn’t last long. They were completely new to this sort of thing, and needed a comforting NCO more than any pony. It wasn’t long before Apple Bloom chuckled to herself and glanced at Whiskey, challenging him to ask her what she was laughing at.
“What?” he asked .
“I jus’ realised,” she whispered in response, “why the rebels wanna kill me. It’s ‘cause I’m poor.”
“How d’you figure?”
“Think about it. They wanna kill me ta’ put forward whatever their agenda is. Well, I don’t even know what their agenda is, so I don’t have any particular, ah, what’s the word? Compulsion, that’s it. I don’t have any particular compulsion to go against it. Only reason I am goin’ ‘gainst it is ‘cause I’m in the military. Only reason I’m in the military is ‘cause I’m poor. They wanna kill me ‘cause I’m stoppin’ their agenda ‘cause I’m in the military ‘cause I’m poor. They want to kill me ‘cause I’m poor.”
“So,” said Sweetie Belle, “that means they want to kill ME because you’re poor, since I joined because you joined because you’re poor.”
The corporal chuckled at his confused soldiers. “Oh come now, you’re thinking about this the wrong way,” he smiled, “I told you, I haven’t seen any combat with the military. I have seen gangland warfare in Manehattan though, and I figure it’s much the same.” He paused here to glance from one private to the other. He was pleased to have a captive audience.
“No pony wants to kill any pony,” he proceeded in a very slow, measured tone that he was trying to adopt from the chief sergeant, “It’s a biological fact. Killing makes you feel bad, unless you’re some kind of psycho, and that ain’t as common as you’d think out here. Soldiers, and by that I mean rebel soldiers, too, kill because they’re told to. You think I’d be on this wall if I had a choice? You think any of us would be? Most of the ponies here don’t even know what the rebels actually want, for Pete’s sake. Hay, most of the rebels probably don’t know what they’re rebelling over. You’ve met a few soldiers by now. How many of them enlisted to fight for what they believe in? There’s probably less than half of the platoon joined for that, and at least half of the ones who joined to fight the good fight stop believing the fight is good before they finish their first three year stint. It’s probably more or less the same for the rebels. None of us want to kill and none of us want to die. Way I see it, Celestia and her lot have built the perfect system to make the poor do her dirty work.”
“Damn, Whiskey,” exclaimed Sweetie Belle, “sounds like you should be on the other side of the wall!”
“Ah, they’re even worse. Sorry to talk you’re ear off like this, I guess tonight I’m a bit-” the corporal stopped mid sentence, suddenly rendered mute. The searchlights were shut off, along with the gentle murmuring along the palisade. “nervous,” Whiskey finished after a moment.
Apple Bloom was confused. Had they called the alert off? Could they all go back to bed now? Just as she opened her mouth to ask the NCO, a hissing rang out. Immediately thereafter, a brilliant light shot out from the camp, followed by several more.
“Flares,” observed Corporal Whisk before peering outside intently. There appeared to be no pony there. Even with the light, all he could see was a short stretch of scorched earth before the thick blackness of the forest. The flares burnt out before any pony had a chance for a better look.
Once the night was absorbed in complete darkness again, another round of flares went up. They seemed to last longer than the other time, allowing the ponies to more closely search for rebels. Whiskey was convinced that the rebels had all gone home to their crappy little camp, but then he saw a contour in the land that just looked unnatural. He decided that it was better to be safe than sorry, and he cautiously turned the barrel of the gun to face the area. After aiming down the sights for a moment, he let out a few rounds right before the flares faded. As the night was immersed in darkness, a shrill scream of pain could be heard from outside the base, exactly where the corporal’s rounds landed.
“Target! Ten metres, two o’clock low!” Whisk screamed, prompting another frantically chaotic mess of sounds in the dead, dark night.