July 1st 1010, 20:24
Moerman’s Commandeered Jeep
123 km North of Salt Lick City
Under the cover of night and branches scattered upon the forest floor, Dobbelsteen’s jeep was successfully parked no more than 20 meters from a curve in the road. Laid out upon the hood of the vehicle under the branches, the Griffon hunched over a map of the outskirts of Fairflanks, now closer to him than Salt Lick City. Reaching into his dark green uniform, he withdrew a compass.
Orienting both himself and the map, his eyes followed the road north. Weaving and meandering through the forest, the road he traveled spread out into hundreds of trails like blood vessels coming out of a heart. As his eyes settled on the road, he became increasingly aware of how the trees swallowed it further down the horizon, into a labyrinth of leaves, shrubbery, and hills. He folded the map into his uniform along with the compass.
“Alright, Dobbelsteen…” He mumbled to himself. “It’s only the most powerful Army in history.”
With the headlights of his vehicle pointed into the forest and smudged with dirt, the Griffon retrieved his lever-action rifle into his claws and took flight. Only the rustling of leaves was the brief indicator of his presence, as the blonde Griffon’s wings propelled him into the sky.
Sticking close to the treetops, Dobbelsteen’s flight was more of a waltz between the trees, not allowing a blur of the stars in the eyes of a Changeling to become his undoing. His rifle stuck close to him, the sling wrapped around his left claw and bunched up beneath the barrel.
As his flight continued, the sounds of battle could be heard. Distant thunder from the cloudless sky could be felt as a wave through the forest floor. The Major ducked down to the base of a tree, the road not far off towards the left, himself traveling alongside it rather than on it. Retrieving the map once more into his claws, he felt something tug at his tail.
Briskly turning his head, a small raccoon looked up at him. The two stared at each other for a moment.
Neither creature blinked.
The raccoon slowly leaned forward, with Moerman holding completely still. Then, the animal squeaked, its eyes briefly glanced at the rifle, and Moerman looked as well. “I’d get out of here if I was you.” He said, in a hushed whisper, claws readjusting on his rifle, briefly setting the map down.
The Raccon’s claw dropped on the map. Three times.
Dobbelsteen blinked, looking from the map to the raccoon, the map again, and then the raccoon. His own claw pointed to the same spot. “Here?”
The raccoon nodded its head, squeaking again.
“...Why not.” The Griffon said, taking the map and bringing out his compass. Noticing a small river running perpendicular to the road no more than 10 kilometers northeast of him, that was the exact position the raccoon pointed to. Orienting himself with the compass, he stored both back into his uniform as he turned to the Raccoon. His claw pointed to the road. “Follow. Safety.”
The animal tilted his head, glancing between the Griffon and the road. He quickly sped off.
“...I’m taking military intelligence from a Raccoon,” Dobbelsteen whispered to himself, his eyes glazed over behind his sunglasses. “...This is going to be one interesting war.”
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July 1st 1010, 20:46
The remnants of Fairflank’s Militia Forces
142 km North of Salt Lick City
The pony known as Jungle Trek hasn’t had the luckiest life so far, but this was probably the most unlucky several days of his entire life. To top it all off, he didn’t even have a pebble to kick to ease his nerves.
All this pony had was his rifle. He wasn’t even confident in that either.
Spread out and flat against the forest floor, he had a very limited view of the road in front of him, as the trees bent together like fabric to distort anything that attempted to peer through. His brown mane lightly flowed out of his helmet, and his ears perked up at the faint sound of rustling leaves behind him.
“Wild Strikes looks to be doing alright, Trek.” Another pony, contrasting Trek’s light blue mane with his own coat of light gray, spoke as he rested next to him, peering out into the forest. “We can’t see anything from here.”
“Meaning they won’t be able to see us, Brisk.” Trek’s voice was quiet, taking a deep sigh as his gaze turned back. Patting his friend on the back with his hoof, and retrieving his rifle from his side, the two ponies withdrew from the dirt mound and trotted back towards a depression in the ground, a natural foxhole that rested next to a long-fallen tree.
Several ponies were scattered inside the circle. Jungle Trek stepped down into the depression with Brisk Sweeper and first looked at the condition of Wild Strikes. Bandages were being wrapped in her white feathered wings by Caramel Crunch, his hazel coat briefly illuminated by the low glow of Shooting Steps’ horn. As those three huddled in the center of the depression, Sunrise Dare, Yellow Rock, and Sapphire Stream leaned against the edges of the hole, their bolt action rifles trained onto the forest.
Shooting Steps withdrew from the huddled pony, her horn’s glow fading away. Her gruff voice was only outdone by her piercing gaze. “...Her bandages are secure, Caramel?”
“Her bleeding stopped. She got really lucky, but she won't be flying out of here. The pain she’s in won't be going away anytime soon, either.”
Their words only served as a brief respite from the distant echoes of artillery and gunfire far, far off. Only the nearby flowing stream brought any sort of normalcy to the forest. The luckier creatures of the forest were able to run away from this fight.
“We can’t move her in this state.” Brisk Sweeper said in a whisper, his eyes darting from the pegasus to the other members huddled in the hole. “And the Changelings are marching through this forest like a walk in the park. They’re bound to be looking everywhere for u-”
Yellow Rock turned from her rifle’s gaze across the forest floor, her voice filled with venom. “Brisk. Shut up.”
“We’re hardly in a good spot here, Rock…” Sapphire Stream’s coat mirrored that of the distant stream, her hooves clutching her bolt action rifle close. “The whole company got split up, the other squads got taken!”
“We know that, Sapphire!” She said, hushing her voice so as to not alert the forest. “And we’re stuck here, yeah, I get it. Complaining about it won't save us.”
“Nothing is going to save us,” Brisk said. “With Wild Strikes in this state, we can’t move without attracting attention.”
Wild Strikes’ eyes merely fell, and Caramel Crunch’s gaze raised to Brisk, his voice cut off by Shooting Step’s scoped rifle falling into her hooves. Steps stared at him. “And what does that mean, Brisk?”
Brisk somewhat sank under her gaze. “...We won’t move until she’s better.”
Steps’ head lowered, looking down at her rifle. Blinking, she quickly went to turn away from Brisk but was stopped by a hoof being placed on her shoulder.
“We started with forty-four ponies, and now we’re down to only us eight.” Jungle Trek’s voice was tinged with the accent of southern Equestria, but his eyes captured the gaze of all in the foxhole. “We’re not leaving Wild Strikes. Our position as it is is stable until reinforcements from Salt Lick City arrive. Once they arrive, we can regroup and link up with our company.” His purple uniform was wrinkled, and his rifle was slung around his back. “We’ll stick together until that happens. Alright?”
Jungle Trek’s voice faltered near the end, the words settling in with each member of the foxhole. One by one, they gave a nod of understanding, turning back to their respective positions. Shooting Step’s scoped rifle rested on the edge, gazing towards the road. Brisk stepped back with Jungle Trek, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. “...That uh...That works for me, Corporal.”
“...Jungle?”
Barely a whisper, strained and breaking Wild Strike’s white coat shifted as she looked up at him. “Are we going to be okay?” She sniffed as Caramel’s hooves gently held her bandages in place. “...We’re going to get the others back, right?”
Jungle’s ears drooped, and the pony sank down into the hole and sat down. His head hung low as each of the squad members kept their heads on a swivel, all while Wild Strikes nuzzled her head closer to Caramel Crunch’s hoof, the red cross apparent upon his uniform.
“...I don’t know.”
Crunch.
Jungle’s ears perked up, his blue coat rising in a blur as he scanned all 360 degrees of his squad’s foxhole. His voice in a hushed whisper. “Eyes on?”
“Something moving out there?” asked Sunrise Dare, her eyes narrowing.
Brisk shook his head, whispering. “No, that had a thud. Something landed from above.”
“Towards the river,” muttered Shooting Steps, her eye focused through the scope of her rifle. It was trained on the distant shrubbery that dotted the forest’s landscape between the foxhole and the flowing water, herself leaning over the dead fallen tree to get a glimpse. “The shrubs moved.”
“How many?” Brisk moved next to Shooting Steps, both looking out over the tree.
“One as far as I saw. But it came from above. I saw it drop down.” Her eyes never left the scope.
“Recon bugs.” Jungle Trek stood in the hole. “Usually they send them in pairs to scope out the battlefield. Do you have a clear sight on?”
She shook her head.
Jungle Trek unslung his own Lavender rifle, taking a deep breath and he used his hoof to pull himself up and out of the hole. To the alerted gazes of the rest of his squad members, he looked back. “I’ll check it out. If that bug spots us, he’ll bring all of his friends. Don't fire unless absolutely necessary.”
The ponies nodded, Steps speaking. “Got you covered.”
Jungle Trek’s helmet was clipped tightly to his head, his ears poking out of the standard holes and facing the shrubbery not fifty meters in front of him. Crawling forward among the leaves and dirt, his purple uniform was somewhat helped by the night’s embrace, as he leaned against a tree stump right at the edge of the shrubbery.
Glancing back towards the foxhole, Jungle Trek could see six pairs of eyes trained upon him. He was able to give a small smile to his audience, as his hooves withdrew his bolt action rifle and-
POOF!
A cloud of dirt exploded in his face, caused not by gunfire, but by something kicking dirt right into his face. “Ah, HACK-” Falling back, he sputtered and wiped his eyes to see, just clear enough to see a blur tackle him onto the forest floor, rolling in the leaves.
“Oh, Horseapples!” Cried Sunrise, before clasping her hoof over her mouth at the loud outburst, as the rest of the foxhole panicked. Shooting Steps Grit her teeth, her scope attempting to follow the two creatures rolling around through the leaves.
“Can you shoot him?” asked Brisk, while Sapphire and Caramel both whispered in worried tones, “Is he alright? Can you see the other-”
“Not if you keep TALKING!” She turned briskly, twirling her dark brown mane. She looked back, attempting to get a clear sight picture.
Back in the one-on-one combat zone, Jungle Trek was not to be outdone. Bringing up his hoof to slam into the wing of his opponent, his enemy recoiled before clotheslining his helmet with his claw.
As it flew off, Jungle Trek scrambled to his feet, before being once more tackled to the ground. The Griffon seized Trek’s helmet, raising it high into the air-
Wait, Griffon?
“What do you mean, Griffon?” Asked Brisk, peering his own eyes out into the forest.
“It’s not a Changeling, it's a Griffon!” She whisper-yelled back, her sights firmly on the creature. “Do I shoot?”
“I-I don't know, are the Griffons our enemy?” Asked Sunrise Dare. “T-They didn’t join the war too, did they?”
Dobbelsteen Moerman’s sunglasses somehow stuck on his beak the entire time, as his gaze registered the earth Pony in the dirt. The two of them stared at each other for a moment, as his claw slowly turned to offer the helmet back to the pony.
He smiled nervously. “...Uh… Let’s call it a draw?”
“Wh-What?!” Jungle Trek stood up, his hoof instinctively going towards his own rifle, before stopping at the gesture. “Are you insane?” His eyes sized the blonde-feathered Griffon up and down, completely dumbstruck in confusion. His hoof took his helmet back, looking down at it, and back up to Moerman. “...Griffons didn’t join the war, did they?”
“...Only this one.”
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Nine pairs of eyes were glaring directly at the Griffon, so much so that Dobbelsteen had less fear of their guns at this point, his claw gently holding his own lever action rifle closer to him. Yet, that wasn’t even the strongest source of his confusion, his sunglasses loose upon his beak. With one claw to readjust them, he cleared his throat. “...Corporal? A corporal is the highest ranking soldier left?”
Jungle Trek nodded, sitting across the foxhole with the rest of the ponies. Wild Strike lay flat on the ground, glancing between the Griffon and the light blue earth Pony. Trek cleared his throat with a nod. “That’s me. Corporal Jungle Trek, 2nd Equestrian Border Guard Division. And… you are?”
The Griffon slung his lever action onto his wing, holding out his free claw. “Major Dobbelsteen Moerman. Feathisian Commandos.”
Each pony turned from their gaze towards the perimeter to blankly stare at the Griffon. Blinking once, and then twice, and then quickly scrambled. As quietly as possible, they set down their rifles and brought their hooves to a salute.
Moerman blinked, retracting his claw from the incomplete hoofshake. “What in Tartarus are you doing?”
“We haven’t encountered an officer since the first battle at Fairflanks, sir.” Jungle Trek said, lowering his hoof. “It’s mostly just been us and our platoon since the start.”
“Our platoon’s gone, sir,” Brisk stated, leaning forward now. “We don't stand any sort of chance against them on our own, not when they’ve all been taken.” He slung his rifle across his back, looking around at the other ponies. “And we’ll be taken to, if we don't get the hay out of here!”
Dobbelsteen’s claw dropped to rest on the light-gray earth Pony’s shoulder, his sunglasses turning to look at him. “...Are you hit, soldier?”
“..N-No, sir?”
“Then listen up.” He said, giving him a shake and looking at the rest of the foxhole’s inhabitants. “An ancient proverb says that Racoons work in mysterious ways. But not today.”
Jungle Trek blinked. He slowly leaned over to whisper to Shooting Steps. “He’s crazy.”
The Griffon continued. “Your rifles still work, and I know you all ain't been through your ammunition yet. A group of bugs are high-tailing it with your buddies and you’re just gonna leave 'em behind?” His claw adjusted the bandoliers under his uniform, glinting brass catching the eye of the rest of the ponies. Retrieving a map, he set it on the ground along with his compass. “About where did they get taken?”
Jungle Trek knelt down with the map, looking it over. “Here.” His hoof was planted not far to the East of the river. “We were walking along the road and a bunch of bugs just came outta nowhere. They rolled up in these… trucks and vehicles and surrounded us. My squad was able to get away due to us being at the far back, but… the rest…”
“Vehicles?” Moerman pressed, narrowing his brow.
Sunrise Dare nodded, turning towards the map. “Yeah, they drove up on us wicked fast along the roads.”
“Easier for us, we’ll go around the roads.” The Griffon’s eyes scanned the map up and down from the point they were captured. “...They couldn’t have gone far, not this deep into the night.”
“Sir, you can’t be serious.” Jungle Trek knelt opposite Moerman, looking at him sternly through his sunglasses. “The patrol we encountered heavily outnumbers us. Their weapons, tactics, and equipment exceed our own.” The blue earth Pony leaned forward, taking a deep breath. “I will refuse any order that sends my soldiers into the line of fire for a worthless death. Major or not.”
The squad froze. Though Jungle Trek’s voice had often been on the quieter, reserved side, a fierceness in his voice shot steel at the Griffon opposite them. His rifle rested along his back, as the Griffon’s did upon his wing. The squad of ponies anxiously looked between the blank stares of both Jungle and Moerman, both of them unflinching.
“Jungle Trek, right?” Dobbelsteen smiled. “You and I are going to get along just fine.”
The Earth pony blinked, leaning back as Moerman looked at the rest of his squad members. “I’m not your officer. I’m a liaison sent halfway ‘cross the world. I hold no superior rank over you. But if you trust me, Jungle… I promise I can get your soldiers back.”
“With what numbers?”
“It's not our numbers that matter, but their perception,” Moerman said. “If we set up an ambush along the road and catch them, their first priority is to immediately get out of there. They won't know if we number five, or ten, or five hundred. All they’ll know is they have to get out of there, and they’ll leave the prisoners if that means they can do it faster.”
Yellow Rock tilted her head, the edges of her sand-colored mane peeking out the ends of her helmet.. “How are we going to manage that?”
“Positioning. If we spread out this squad into teams of two, all firing at different angles at one spot, they’ll be convinced we’re a force larger than we actually are. We can beeline through the forest and free your friends, but we’ve got to move fast if we hope to catch them.” Dobbelsteen turned to look at Wild Strike who lay next to Caramel. “You up for it, Hero?”
Wild Strike gave a small nod of her head, and with Caramel Crunch’s help, was able to get to her hooves. Her wings stuck closely bandaged to her sides. “Yes, sir. I think I can make it, sir.” She turned her gaze. “Jungle…If he can save them…”
Moerman turned back to Jungle Trek. “Now that’s a soldier. We’ll move along the road, their vehicles have to stick to these winding roads, it’ll be cake to catch up with them if we make it fast. We won't make it by ourselves. If we want to get her safely back to a field hospital, we’ll need all of your numbers to make it out of the forest alive.”
Jungle Trek turned from the gaze of Wild Strike towards Moerman, clearly thinking it over. He looked down at the map, “What about here?” His hoof followed the road up and to the right, traveling northeast deeper into the forest. “They drove off towards the east, and these roads twist and turn through the forest. If you’re looking to catch up to them, this bend between these hills is a perfect spot. That could work.”
“It will work,” Moerman said, adjusting his sunglasses to look at the wounded pegasus. “Promise.”
“I’m Wild Strike, sir.” The white-coated pony stated, shifting her mane of blue with an orange line staggering across it. “Glad to meet you, Moor-Man”
The Griffon tilted his head. “It’s…Moerman. Moor-muhn. M-O-E….Ah, forget it.”
Sunrise Dare grabbed her rifle in her hoof, her red mane being smushed under her helmet. “Sunrise Dare. That’s Caramel, Brisk, Yellow Rock, Sapphire Stream, and the grumpy ones’ Shooting Steps.”
As Moerman folded up the map into his coat and caught one last glimpse at the compass for direction, Jungle Trek’s hoof rested on his soldier as the squad got up. “Major… I’m putting a lot of faith in you. It’s not my command, but this is my squad. All of our other commanders abandoned us. I won’t be one of them.”
Dobbelsteen adjusted the lever action across his back. “Neither will I.”