Chapter 5
No pony knew what they were shooting at. All they knew was that there could be ponies hiding in the darkness who wanted to kill them. The ponies of Checkpoint Charlie threw as much firepower as they could at the forest, not even sure if there were any enemies outside. It took about ten seconds for the next flares to go up, and this was more than enough time for every pony on the palisade to empty a clip into the blackness.
The lieutenant in charge of the flare gun began to panic a bit. He fumbled with the device, creating a delay in the supply of precious light to the troops. To try and compensate for his delay, he fired far more flares than necessary. He temporarily blinded every pony on the western wall. They kept shooting, none the less.
When the level of illumination was finally bright enough to clearly see outside the base, but not so high as to blind any pony, the infantrymen finally understood what the rebels were doing. Many of the rebels had covered themselves in soot and were trying to sneak up to the checkpoint under cover of dark. Even with the flickering light of the flares, they were barely visible. It was a wonder none of them had made it right up to the wall. They could have been out there all night.
Between the forest and the palisade, the rebels had dug a few trenches. They were small holes, but big enough for a pony to have total cover if they flattened themselves against the earth. Knowing that they had been spotted, this is exactly what the rebels had done. In the initial confusion, the rebels who couldn’t make it to the forest had scrambled into their holes. Apart from Whisk’s initial hit, the confused blind fire hadn’t made a single mark.
Most of the rebels remained in the forest itself. They had good cover there, and had set up mounted guns to support their assault. With their position compromised, these guns were now firing non-stop. The forest was their land, and they knew that they could easily melt away in it when the fight turned against them. There was no way they could take the base and they knew it. Their main objective was to demoralise the enemy, all the while gaining renown and, therefore, recruitment power. Hit and run was the name of the game. Freak the soldiers out and get the hell out of there before they took serious casualties.
With the rebels unwilling to advance, all either side could do was sling lead at the other. It was a crude way to fight. The riflemen on each side were forced to stay in cover while the machineguns roared, chewing up a ridiculous amount of ammunition. Neither side had a shortage of it; most of the time it did nothing but weigh the rebels down, and the high command kept sending Checkpoint Charlie more ammunition with every supply run.
“Why don’t we have any mortars?” demanded Whiskey as he sprayed the forest, “If we had mortars, we could just pepper them, forcing them out of their damn holes. Grenades would do the trick too. I swear, the high command thinks the only way to fight is with a slugfest. Seriously, what the-”
He suddenly stopped talking when a shrill scream rang out above them. His blood ran cold and he kept his face as stern as possible, trying not to give away his concern. Hoping against hope that the scream hadn’t come from Storm, Avalon, or any other pony he actually cared about, he stopped himself from glancing up. His squad needed him to keep shooting.
The corporal felt a dull thud across his back. Something heavy had landed on him, and it felt warm. Shuddering, he took his eyes off the forest for a moment and shot a glance back at the weight. He joined the other two ponies in the pit as they shrieked in terror at the dead body that had fallen on top of them. It was a pony that the corporal had only met in passing, but it was shocking and terrible nonetheless.
Whiskey groaned in despair as he tore his gaze away from those lifeless eyes, back to the battlefield. He felt physically sick with the thing still resting on top of him. The putrid smell and the deadweight of the body were nightmarish. There was nothing he could do. Telling himself that he couldn’t afford to get distracted, he tried to focus on the job at hand. It was impossible for him to shake the image. This terrible thing could just as easily have happened to Storm, Avalon or himself. Feeling the gun’s recoil cease, he was relieved that he had an excuse to stop shooting. He was suddenly feeling absolutely exhausted.
“I’m reloading!” he cried.
Apple Bloom took this as her cue. It was time for her to make a difference and protect her brothers and sisters in arms. As Sweetie Belle assisted the corporal with reloading, she raised her rifle and stuck the barrel through the hole. Peering down the sites, she aimed at one of the muzzle flashes coming from the forest. Nothing would distract her. She would not let the platoon down. Mentally picturing where the gunner’s head would be, she modified her aim. After a deep breath, she let out five shots in quick succession. The flashing from the forest stopped.
“I got him! I got him!” she cried with a smile as she quickly span back into cover.
“Get out of the way, I’m reloaded,” the corporal screamed as he resumed his suppressive fire.
He shot a disapproving sideways glance at Apple Bloom, which upset her. Had she done something wrong? Looking at the dead body for the first time, she shuddered and quickly looked away. Pretending it wasn’t there, she reloaded her weapon, mentally preparing herself for the next time she needed to cover the corporal. Apple Bloom or Sweetie Belle could have moved the soldier’s body out of the pit at any stage while the corporal wasn’t reloading, but they convinced themselves that it was quite impossible. The elephant in the room could be dealt with after the rebels. To acknowledge the body would be to acknowledge the concept of death.
Seeing his friend take a bullet, one of the less disciplined rebels was stirred to action. She vowed to avenge her friend, right there and then. Better to die a hero than live a coward, she figured. Defying the orders of her superior, she leapt out of the forest and charged towards the palisade, galloping straight ahead without regard for her own safety. The moment she broke the tree line, another group of rebels took this as a cue. They took this as a sign that orders had changed, that the new plan was to charge. About a dozen extra ponies followed her into the meat grinder.
Of course, charging headlong into machinegun fire isn’t a particularly wise tactic. It was a massacre. Half of them were mown down the moment they left their cover. Screaming in pained horror, no pony enjoyed the mercy of a quick death. They stared helplessly back to their friends in the forest, pleading for assistance. It was an indecipherable, guttural cry. One that seemed totally foreign and weird. There was no way a pony could make that sound. The few rebels who weren’t hit in the charge were now taking cover in their holes, looking back helplessly at the incomprehensible site behind them.
“Reloading!” cried Whisk after emptying a box of ammo into the oncoming herd.
Apple Bloom was, once again, quick to start firing. She was getting faster and faster at lining her shots up, and was eager to prove it. To her disappointment, no pony was out of cover. Scanning the tree line, she was about to take a few pot shots at the enemy machineguns when she saw movement out of the corner of her eye.
Many of the rebels who were hit in the charge hadn’t bled out yet. One of them seemed more active than the others. She was frantically crawling to something other than the forest. Following the pony’s line of site, Apple Bloom saw her new target.
Leopard crawling towards the injured pony was a young stallion. He was reaching out a hoof to the injured mare, trying to pull her into the safety of the forest. Seeing this site, Apple Bloom suddenly felt a surge of adrenalin and became giddy. It was another chance to prove herself. Calming her excited nerves, she put her sites on his chest. With a light squeeze, she sent a single projectile downrange. It made its mark.
“Take that, ya filthy rebs!” screamed the young redneck, grinning broadly.
“The hell is wrong with you?” demanded Whiskey, who shoved her out of the way as he resumed his suppressive fire. Once again, the private was confused by the corporal’s disapproval.
On the other side of the palisade, the rebel commander observed the chaos from the safety of the Everfree. With his ponies demoralised, their message made, discipline breaking and heavier casualties than he anticipated, he realised that they had stayed too long. He blew a whistle, and was satisfied to hear the responding whistles from his sergeants. Every pony in the forest suddenly unleaded everything they had at the palisade, in the same manner they had against the PBR, forcing even the ponies in the machinegun pits to take cover.
Whisk ducked down hastily, barely avoiding a bullet that whirred through the tiny opening. He swore loudly and, putting one hoof around Sweetie Belle and one hoof around Apple Bloom, forced both the privates to flatten themselves against the earth with him. A few of cries ran out somewhere on the palisade. Apparently some ponies didn’t duck soon enough. No pony was willing to let that happen to them. After the brief barrage ceased, there was a moment of silence. No soldier was entirely convinced that the firing had stopped.
When he was finally satisfied it was relatively safe again, the corporal lifted himself of the dirt and peered down the sights of the machinegun, spraying the forest once again. He was joined by the other gunners, but there was no return fire. Nevertheless, they kept firing in anticipation of another charge.
“Cease fire!” called a captain from somewhere behind them.
“Cease fire!” echoed platoon one’s lieutenant further down the line.
“Cease fire!” called Ensign Riggs, realising he was the closest thing platoon two had to a lieutenant.
Obeying the order, every pony stopped shooting. None of them dared make a noise. They were on absolute alert, just like they had been when they first arrived on the palisade. The flares stopped firing, and the ponies realised that an orange glow was growing behind them, to the east. As the sun cleared the horizon, a collective sigh of relief rang out. Dawn had come, driving the enemy away. It was over. They had won.