July 3rd 1010, 00:42
Fairflank’s Reformed Militia
Vanhoover’s Northern Flank
Gunfire raged out once more in the forest.
Holding the bolt action rifle in her hooves, Strawberry Cinnamon felt as out of place as one pony could be in a firefight. Although her hooves had ached from the march from the vehicles to this position, and her eyes felt heavy not too long ago, the adrenaline and pure fear that raced through her heart awoke her once more.
Though she trusted that Lucky Twirl and Berry Twist had been on either side of her, the narrow view of her rifle and the darkness surrounding them all prevented her from seeing them. With flashes of ignited gunpowder filling the air and the smoke filling her lungs, it wasn’t much of a surprise in retrospect that she began to panic.
With each thunderous boom that echoed through the night and in her bones, Strawberry only desired to sink further and further into the ground, practically curling herself into a ball.
She yanked the helmet further down onto her head, shaking in the cold of the night. Her breathing had gotten completely out of control, and gunfire was all she could think of. The fear had taken full control of her and her brain was a prisoner within its grasp. “Think, Think!” Her mind raced back and forth, “What did Moerman say?”
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“Uhm…Excuse me, Dobbelstain? What’s combat like?”
With the lack of seats available on the bus, Dobbelsteen had resigned himself to standing, with his claws wrapped around the metal frame for support. Looking over to Strawberry Cinnamon, he gently rocked back and forth with the swaying of the vehicle on the dirt roads. The lights inside, as well as the headlights, had been turned off at his order. Swaying in the darkness, and speaking to nearly half the company that crammed itself into this lead vehicle, Moerman obliged her question.
“Chaos is the best way I can describe it.” Though Strawberry was the one to ask him about it, he spoke in a general volume loud for everypony to hear. “There is no set structure, not like a traditional fight. Most often you won't be seeing the enemy, and he won't be seeing you.” His dark green uniform absorbed the faint illumination of the moonlight, to the point where besides the feathers on his face, he appeared almost like a specter to Strawberry, his eyes peering further back into the vehicle where she knew Berry Twist and Wild Strikes sat. “The best advice I can give you all is don’t panic. Recognize the ensuing chaos for what it is, and learn how to flow through it like water flows into a glass. Do not attempt to work against chaos.”
“Chaos is your friend. So am I.” Giving a passing gaze to the occupants of the vehicle, his head came back to smile at Strawberry. “In the end, it always comes down to the mare, and her rifle.”
“...And it’s Dobbelsteen.”
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The gunfire began to hollow out. Though the deafening sound of the rifles all around her still shook her to her very core, the piercing stab it had upon her heart subsided. Strawberry Cinnamon’s breathing slowed.
She stuck close to the ground. Her eyes could not see her friends side by side, but the hints of their voices through the night broke past the gunfire and rested upon her ears like a blanket on a cold night such as this.
Darkness, though ever present, wasn’t as terrible a threat to her anymore. Through the flashes of light exiting her comrades, and the enemy's weapons, the surrounding area of the forest came clear to her with every burst of fire.
Strawberry’s eyes focused down the sight of the rifle, bringing it up in her hooves as she kept close to the ground in a prone position. Her hoof rested upon the trigger, until a flash of light made its appearance in front of her. A bullet whisked on behind her, striking a tree.
The target had missed. With her eyes trained on the spot which fired towards her, Strawberry fired back.
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July 5th 1010, 10:14
Fairflank’s Reformed Militia
2nd Day Guarding Vanhoover’s Northern Flank
Under the shade of the trees, propped up against the bark of the largest one within the Patrol base, Caramel Crunch’s hooves ever so gently unwrapped the bandages from Wild Strike’s wing.
“I thought you’re just supposed to rip it off?” Wild Strikes said, her smile ever faint while looking over to Caramel Crunch. She leaned in, “You know, ‘like a bandaid’ and all?”
Carefully rolling the used bandages into his hoof and setting them to the side, Caramel Crunch’s eyes squinted at the wound on Wild Strike’s wings. “It’s a good thing this isn’t a bandaid, then.” He gave a small wink at her, gently inspecting her wing in his hooves. “It should be perfectly healed by now. I can’t do much for your pain, but moving it should no longer make it any worse.”
Wild Strikes only let out a small giggle. “You do plenty for the pain already.”
Caramel Crunch only glanced up towards Wild Strikes, and immediately glanced back down towards storing his medical supplies. Wild Strikes herself had her eyes widen, shifting uncomfortably while clearing her throat. “Uhm… oh, the Major’s back.”
“Oh, really? Caramel said, eager to move the conversation along. “Well uhm… let me know if I can do anything else.” He said, the two of them hiding a faint blush from the other, though a small smile for both couldn’t be hidden. “You know… for the pain.”
With an obligation for a romantic subplot out of the way, Jungle Trek held a compass and a map in his hooves in the far more productive side of the Patrol base. With Shooting Steps, Yellow Rock, and Brisk Sweeper all keeping watch in different directions, the majority of the soldiers were scattered about with their rifles close, resting on the floor and helping themselves to the packaged meals that came with their soldier’s kit.
Their eyes, however, were all trained upon the arrival of Dobbelsteen Moerman, who held the bolt action rifle of Lucky Twirl, who herself sat no more than ten feet from the Griffon, who began to speak. “Normally in an environment such as this, we wouldn’t be talking all this often. But Trek’s got us more than fifty kilometers away from the enemy, who we whipped quite readily the other night. Everypony get enough sleep?”
A round of nods and words in the affirmative, Dobbelsteen smiled and adjusted his sunglasses. “That’s great to hear. Eat and drink as much water as you can, you never know when you’re going to need the energy. We’re asking a lot of you, so it ain't no shame in informing us if you need more to eat. I’m sure the Changelings will be happy to give us more of their rations in addition to our own.”
Grinning at the response of hushed laughter, Moerman held Twirl’s rifle in his claw. “Now, this is the Lavender rifle.” Adjusting the bandoliers across his chest and snug against his wing, he continued. “A bolt action. It’s a slow rate of fire, but we can make it faster with a few simple tricks.” Dobbelsteen sat down, reaching for five bullets. “Instead of feeding the bullets one by one from your pouches, hold all five bullets in your claw. Or, well, hoof.”
Gripping the wood stock, his free claw yanked back the bolt and exposed the magazine receptor. “Hold the bullets in your hoof, and feed them in quick succession. Furthermore, when cycling the bolt, don't treat it like a friend.” With bullets loaded, he slammed the bolt forward and secured it. “It ain’t gonna break on you. You can avoid the majority of jams and misfires by being firm with the weapon.”
Dobbelsteen made sure that the safety was clicked on before handing the rifle back over to Lucky Twirl. “And always remember. This rifle is a tool, neither an enemy or an ally.” He gave a glance around to the Company. “Always treat it as if it's loaded, even if you know it isn’t. Keep it in a safe direction, always aware of what it is pointed at, and what's behind your target.”
A hoof was raised by Berry Twist. With his rifle rested in front of him and the muzzle pointed into the ground, he softly asked. “So… when we fire the weapon itself…” He said, his uniform closely matching his purple coat, “How do we do it properly?”
The eyes of the company panned from the small stallion and over to Dobbelsteen Moerman. His head lowered, with a claw running through the feathers on his mane, and a grin growing upon his face. “...Greatest question I’ve heard all day.”
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July 8th 1010, 14:27
Fairflank’s Reformed Militia
5th Day Guarding Vanhoover’s Northern Flank
Shooting Steps didn’t need some Griffon to tell her how to do her job.
Yet as her eyes and scope both pierced through the forest, she couldn’t help but feel like somewhat of an amateur. The Changelings bobbed and weaved through the forest, moving up and down through its uneven terrain. Always a split second too late, her sights attempted to level on the enemy, before he ducked down towards the ground and out of sight.
Rapidly, she changed direction, her rifle swaying with the leaves of the trees as they advanced closer and closer. Though her mind was not wrought with panic, it was however filled with frustration.
Distant strikes of gunfire paid no heed in her mind, as her horn practically glowed with silent anger. Firing once and cycling the both, she muttered under breath as she missed again.
Her mind was brought back to the words of Moerman.
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“Combat has a habit of moving at a thousand miles a minute. Overwhelming doesn’t even begin to cover the feeling.” Adjusting his sunglasses as the soldiers rested around himself, he brought his claw to gesture to the horizon of the forest. “A dozen Changelings are headed right towards me. Am I going to worry about every single one of them?”
Muttered words were exchanged between the ponies that surrounded, as Shooting steps looked on from the edge of the group. Itching at her black coat for a moment, she cast her eyes up to look at the Griffon if just for a moment.
“Of course not. I’ll focus on one.” Dobbelsteen’s beak hung open for a moment, before eventually turning it into a smile. “Think of yourself as a hunter. You can't bring down every enemy soldier, but choose one as your prey. Sure, they may duck behind cover, or move fast out of your vision, or hide until they hope you’ve forgotten them.” Turning his head to glance at Shooting Steps, he nodded. “But you won’t. Precision comes with focus.”
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In her hooves, Shooting Steps cradled the rifle as she had practiced a thousand times before. Her breathing was trained, her posture perfected, she only had to give herself the chance to slow down.
Once again, she saw a Changeling duck into cover. Though, her scope did not pull away from that position. Soon, the invader once more peeked into her sights, hoping to advance further upon her position and harm her friends.
With a pull of the trigger, he didn’t get very far.
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July 12th 1010, 17:12
2nd Night Guard Artillery Division
149 km North of Vanhoover
“FIRE!”
Selenite’s commanding voice was only bested by the piercing screech of the eighteen-pounder artillery pieces she had at her disposal, laid out on both sides of her behind the cover of Thunderbolt’s elaborate trench system. Looking back on it now, the way it incorporated the guns and gave them clear views of the battlefield, it was practically a work of art.
What truly stole Selenite’s heart, though, was the sight of the yellow beam of light that sailed through the air and made landfall into the tracks of the Changeling tank no more than six hundred meters in front of her. Smashing through its hull will ease and scattering the Changeling Infantry that massed behind it, fire burst from the hull and resulted in a cookoff of the tank’s ammunition. At least on this terrible battlefield, Selenite could still smile.
“What ever happened to area targets, General Selenite?” Asked Thunderbolt, though clearly not all too bothered by the display. Distant bursts of machine gun fire caught his attention for a moment, but he relaxed when he saw it came from his own trench.
“The Changelings are getting bolder with their attacks by the day.” Selenite mused, dropping down from the edge of the trench and into the safety of its constructs. “My division has dispensed almost half of its ammunition, holding with this slow movement of supplies is nearly impossible.”
Sentinel only shrugged. “Not much I can do about that, Selenite. Civilians are being evacuated at a record pace, but we’ll still need a few days at most to complete it.” The stallion withdrew a pocket watch, whose brass frame was not too dissimilar from the color of his black and yellow mane. “Though… this is certainly odd.”
Selenite paused, her eyes slowly trailing up from the battlefield into the sky.
“This cannot possibly be their entire force. We’ve only been seeing small contingents probing our lines.” He peered over the top of the trench. “It’s as if they’re only keeping us-”
Selenite could barely speak. “Occupied.”
Briefly turning his head, Thunderbolt followed the gaze of Selenite up into the rolling storm clouds above, and gasped at the sight. Planes. Easily a hundred of them, soaring out of the cover of the pitch-black portion of the sky. Seconds after, the sound of their engines sank from the skies and into the valley which the two ponies held, in an endless hum of war.
“SIR!” Bounding around the corner of the trench, Sergeant Pine held a piece of paper in their mouth. “Aerial reconnaissance has spotted Changeling Armored forces moving towards the east through the Salt Lick Forest!”
“They’re flanking.” Selenite softly said. “With everything they have.” Swiftly turning on her hooves, she belated orders to Sergeant Pine. “Raise the Anti-Air emplacements and fire on those planes, IMMEDIATELY!” She turned back to Thunderbolt, “I’ll move sections of my division to deploy north and intercept them if I can, but you MUST radio Blueblood for more ammunition, or I won’t be of much use!”
Passing Sergeant Pine, Selenite briefly stopped. “First, you HAVE to warn Moerman! General Roland no doubt thinks a much larger force is in the forest than there is, he has to get OUT OF THERE!”
As Selenite bounded off down the trench to react swiftly, Thunderbolt caught himself simply staring in disbelief at the skies above him.
“One single company deserves THAT?!”