//------------------------------//
// 7 – ...Action! 
// Story: Follow the Worms 
// by argomiam 
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May 1st, 1023.



Jelly Donut didn’t consider themselves a very violent pony. They were quite laid-back, in their mind. The first rays of a summer sun were shining on him, bringing a long-unfamiliar warmth after a cold spring and beckoning him to open his eyes. A river ran nearby, rich and regal, reflected light shimmering daintily in the morning air. It was a long time since he’d been out in any field whatsoever, and that made these sights all the more wondrous. He was a city pony, he always had been – it hadn’t been until his nineteenth birthday that he had seen a cow, outside of books and pictures. It was strange, almost a little quaint.

It was a shame he was carrying twenty pounds of explosives. That ruined the moment a little.

As he sat up from his impromptu observation post consisting of a blanket, a radio, a pair of binoculars and a particularly tall tree, he noticed his travel buddy perched way up in the branches, binoculars already in use. Shaking off the fatigue, he grabbed the rifle by his side and allowed himself a yawn.

It was going to be a long day – just like the last.

It’d been a long journey out of Bales. Fortunately, most of the work in evading any changelings was long planned before his involvement. The hardest part so far had been lugging around the satchel containing their payload, but he had gotten through it by imagining it as a particularly violent bag of flour. No, the worst was yet to come.

Judging by their last late-evening interaction, they reckoned they were about two miles west of the railroad, give or take. Not a massive journey by any means, but one extended a fair bit by the need for stealth; the last ten years of Changeling rule had shown they weren’t too fond of high explosives in their railroads.

He was dressed plainly, which made sense. No amount of dress-up would convince anyling he was a part of the Heer, not with his bright yellow coat. Though, he had to admit, it was a welcome change from a stuffy kit, especially on a day like this where Celestia’s sun wasn’t feeling quite as forgiving as usual.

He blinked, weaning himself out from his slumber, before picking up the satchel that had so quickly become the centre of his world. The familiar strain as he lifted it from the floor took the last of the sleepiness from him, turning his head up to his tree-borne buddy.

“Oi, Comet! You see anything?”

There was a twitch from up above and a rustle of leaves. “Not seen anything for a long time. Couple of hours ago, saw an armoured car. Not much else. They’re moving someplace else, methinks,” Trail replied simply.

“That’s what I love to hear. So, all this stuff? I just place it on the track?”

“Naw, on that little bit in the middle of the metal rail. You know how it kinda goes in then goes out again? You put it in the thinner bit.”

The answer perplexed him somewhat. It was a decent sized charge. He didn’t have too great a mental visualisation of a railway track, but it didn’t seem like something that’d fit too well.

“You sure? Isn’t it a bit big for that?”

“It’ll fit,” she said, without much thought. “It’s one of those squishy bombs.”

Their vivid detail of the charge was mostly lost on him. “Squishy…?”

“Yeah. You kinda just smush it a bit until it fits. It’s not metal or nothin’.”

He nodded his head, not entirely convinced that he could squeeze any more information on the subject out of her. 

The answer satisfied him for the most part – get to their little segment of track, ‘smush’ the bomb in, then get the hell out. Simple. 

He trusted her. Comet Trail was a smart pony, despite what first impressions might have some ponies believe. She was reserved, a little energetic, but fervently loyal in her dedication to the Worms. She was a part of his unit in Staff Chief Talkie’s Equestrian Guard, and the two had been nigh inseparable. If there was anypony he trusted his life with, it would be her.

All he had to do now was get over and hope there wasn’t some fifty ton steel beast with him in its sight. It was risky, especially in daylight like this, but the information he had been given said that there’d be a big armoured train coming through soon enough. It scared him a little, especially with how massive the changeling trains had gotten over this month. Surely, big enough to resist just a satchel’s worth of explosive. If anything, he hoped it would at least twist up the tracks enough that it’d be thrown off.

They’d chosen a spot just a little bit off a big stone bridge constructed who knows how long ago, something he’d felt a little ashamed of. It was his country – his real country’s – history, and a part of him was upset about the idea of disturbing such a rarely idyllic scene. However, it was what had to be done. The changelings certainly hadn’t won out by respecting the landscape, and the last decade was proof that if there was any chance of a brighter day, they had to push down their reservations.

So, the plan. He ruminated over it, running it through again and again until he was quite sick of the details. He checked a little pocket watch tucked into his breast pocket – 8:23am. More than enough time if they set off soon.

“Alright, Comet, we should get heading out. We’re not getting paid by the hour.”

There was the faintest murmur from above, as Comet began their slow descent from branch to branch. It was a fairly impressive feat, if he had to be honest, they seemed to navigate the tree as if it was familiar, nimbly descending where he would likely fall. With a quiet thud, Comet was firmly on the ground, looking much more tired than him. Her fault if she hadn’t slept.

“So,” she said resignedly.

“We’re moving up. Gotta make it a little ahead of time. Don’t want to lose this.”

“Fair ‘nuff. I would’ve said give it twenty more minutes. I don’t like the idea of leaving it around for that long. What if it’s delayed?”

“What if it’s early?” Donut countered harshly, “I don’t wanna take any chances. Those schedules aren’t accurate. I’ve worked in railyards like this.”

Comet nodded her head in acknowledgement, accepting his point. She grunted, slinging the rifle over her shoulder. “‘Righty. Let’s get moving.” 

Uneventful and annoying was the only way to describe the trek. Despite all its beauty, the land was harsh and dreary. Mud tugged at their hooves as they walked, even in the spots where it looked tame. The two barely exchanged words, mostly out of the dread of their possible fates if any number of things went wrong. The fuze might not work, the ‘lings might spot the bomb straps, or spot them on their journey. A tank a mile out from across the river might rain down all Tartarus upon them.

Anything could go wrong. And anything that did meant doom.

This type of moment was new to Donut. A flood of doubts poured through his brain, loyalties tested in places he thought he was absolute in. But the Hero Commander Stop Light's mantras held firm. In the midst of all that dread came some strange sort of hope, excitement even. They were to be the matches – and these charges would light the whole damn continent on fire.

Trot, trot, trot. Through land that felt like it was resisting their very presence, they continued on. A mile in, and every step forward brought the line clearer into view, danger ramping up exponentially. They weren’t supposed to be here, nopony was.

“Watch your step,” Donut looked over. “It’s only gonna get steeper from here. Last thing I want is your damn wire cutters at the bottom of the lake.”

“Not a lake. S’a river,” she giggled, crunching on some tasteless oat bar from one of her pockets.

“It’s got water and it runs. Who cares?”

“Lakes don’t run nowhere,” she snickered.

“You get my damn point!” he exclaimed, keeping his voice down. “Keep your head down now, or I’ll make you carry this thing.”

She quietened down, still contentedly chewing up her bland snack. On the whole, she seemed disconcertingly unbothered by their situation, bobbing her head and quietly humming to herself. Here they were, two ponies that had never seen combat up against the might of the changeling war machine. They were foot soldiers, trained only by a paramilitary known for little more than street fights. It was daunting, to put it lightly, and here she was, humming as if she had tanks to back. Truthfully, it annoyed him a little, especially as his mind raced and his eyes scanned the horizon for even the slightest flicker of anything, of chitin or steel, that could spell both their ends.

But, this was more important than himself. He was finally a part of it all, like his mother before him, ready to deal back the hate this state had given him. He could see the links of the fence before him now, his hooves itching to open the pack and get him out of here.

Comet seemed to feel the same now. The humming had stopped. A look of serious determination replaced the once jolly face she wore. She preemptively reached a hoof to her side, readying the wire cutters as the two clambered up the steep slope, rearing their heads over in a first view of the track for about ten minutes.

Another quick scan, another deep breath. Cresting the top of the slope, Comet quickly dashed forward, bringing the bolt cutters in front of her and snipping away at the linked fence that kept them from the tracks. Donut kept his rifle ready, having to remind himself to keep his breath steady. No room for error now.

The wire cutting took longer than they’d both like to admit. Comet was uttering profanities under her breath as she snipped, the fence rattling as the tension in it released link by link. Every rattle was just another reminder of how quickly things could go bad. Comet cursed again, louder this time, as she realised the hole she’d cut was still too small to fit her body through. More cuts, more rattles.

The paranoia was setting in. Every tree seemed like it had figures next to it, every shadow like it was cast by the Heer. It was silent, eerily so, devoid of presence other than a single box car that lay open and abandoned on a stretch of track that was long since put out of use. His rifle stayed up, his bated breath remained.

A ringing noise. The circle of steel wire fell to the ground gently, cast aside. Comet made her way through gently, followed swiftly after by Donut. There was a sudden resistance, something pulling back on him. His bag had been caught by one of the exposed links, and a precious few moments were spent freeing him. For the briefest of moments, it was agony. If there was any time he could’ve been shot, it was now, caught like a parasprite in a jar, but no shot did come. There was only more silence, silence he almost wished was replaced by noise.

“Right, right!” he called out, “Bucking make sure noling shoots at me!”

It was Comet’s turn to stand guard. Her rifle was unslung, the boltcutters hastily packed away. “You’re alright, just get goin’!”

Get going? He was working his flank off.

The satchel was thrown onto the floor with a prayer it didn’t explode then and there. He’d never worked with explosives properly before, didn’t know what to expect. He removed it’s content, and sure enough, he found two bricks of a strange, orange-yellowish substance. He removed them, hastily dropping down and packing them into the rails. To his surprise, the blocks did actually smush.

For a moment, there was nothing but sheer concentration. No ideological test, no fear of disappointing – just intense concentration, and the ever-so-slight fear of death. The fuze was placed in, and the straps tightened around the explosives, roughly two feet apart (eye-balled) and with a detonator set to ignite when crushed. He only began to get up when—

BANG.

The shot came from close.

His first thought was to drop. His whole body tensed, his mind racing once again. He scanned for a shooter wherever he could. He only saw Comet.

She drew the bolt back, a little wisp of smoke exiting the barrel of the rifle. He stared wide-eyed at her. She looked back at him, horrified.

But there was no time to think. Fight or flight kicked in.

“GO! GO!” she screamed out, bolting for the little hole in the fence and cutting herself on the exposed metal during her clumsy escape. Donut followed, hesitating for a minute to look back, to get a grasp on the threat.

A changeling lay dying on the track, terrified and alone, cigarette burning out on the hard stone beside him. They were only tens of metres away, slumped against the rail car, clutching a hole in their side, groans and sputtered coughs audible even from here.

They didn’t wear the Heer’s uniform. They didn’t have a rifle to clutch in their last moments. Nothing but a wrench and a work cap.

Donut almost stopped. Almost. Some gut-wrenching feeling bubbled in his stomach, threatening to bring up its contents. All he could do was run, gripping the empty satchel and legging it for an escape, half to bring himself to safety, half to force himself to stop witnessing the changeling’s penultimate moments.

He made his way through the fence, coat brushing against the metal. He made his way down the bank, almost losing his footing and barreling straight into the water. He just ran, and ran, and ran, chasing after the other pony, adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream and pushing aside anything but the primal urge to survive. He ran until his hooves couldn’t carry him further, and walked after that, making his tired way back to their observation post.

It was only there, panting and coughing, regaining anything left of his stamina, that the guilt set in.

“I didn’t…” Comet began to explain, losing the words quickly. To say she looked upset with herself seemed an understatement, but he could see her resolve for the cause fighting with it.

“I— I know.” Donut nodded, voice wavering, staring at his hooves as if unconvinced by his own words. “Did what we had to do.”

He tried his best not to look at her, throwing the rifle down onto the grass. He walked up to the now so very familiar tree, taking the binoculars from a low branch and looking through them

He sort of wished some armoured car had come over and investigated at the tracks. Wished that someling would find that changeling where they were. But there was nothing. Not one semblance of movement.

For once, the repeated doctrine of the worms had left him. He hadn’t seen an enemy, or an oppressor. Just a scared pony with bug-like eyes and chitinous skin. He cursed himself, silently. It was justified. This was the reality of what was to come, but that didn’t help when he was the one to do it.

Time passed, but neither dared to speak. Comet sat joylessly, taking the last bite of her food as if it pained her to get it down. Donut understood. He hadn’t been the one to take the shot, and he felt horrible – he couldn’t imagine what it would be like for her. Still, the half-hearted reassurances had worked their way through slowly, convincing him this was a good deed in the end. Without a word, he offered her the rest of his daisy sandwich, which she took with a gracious smile. He didn't have the stomach to eat it himself.

He got up, noticing a pillar of smoke upon the horizon. Comet rose with him, seemingly alerted by his suddenness. He clambered for the binoculars, and, like told, a train rolled along, puffing out billows of burnt diesel as it raced along the countryside.

He could see… eleven carriages, maybe twelve? It was hard to tell from this distance, even with the binoculars as aid. At the front was what looked like some huge rectangle of steel plate, and at the back protruded gun barrels, the size of which he had never seen before. He passed the binoculars over, holding his breath as it hurtled towards the end of the bridge where two small bombs lay.

Would it be enough? He looked to Comet, hoping for some confidence from her. She just gasped.

“Tanks,” she muttered quietly. “It’s transporting tanks.”

It rattled over the bridge, drawing in like some grim countdown.

An explosion rocked it. They saw the pillar of dirt and debris flying into the air first, before the distant boom of the charge. They were only small bombs, but it ripped up track and earth alike.

It tumbled, it twisted and jolted, ruined metal scraping across stone, throwing train-cars before it into a lurch as they passed over the mangled track. Car slammed into car, only their momentum carrying them forward as the heavy front carriage’s links snapped in the explosion. One by one, the dominoes all fell, rocking violently onto their sides, smashing over stone and fence and sliding gracelessly down the bank and into the watery depths. Only the front remained, unbothered by the explosion, still chugging along as if unphased.

There were no cheers. Just mumbled acknowledgement it was over, watching the spit of disturbed water and settling of dirt. The first step of the Greatest Struggle.

Comet was fiddling with the radio. There was nothing but static for a while, before she tuned it to the right frequency, just in time for the start of the speech.

"Fillies and gentlecolts," the radio crackled, the familiar voice of the Hero Commander replacing the silence as she dialled up the volume. "This is history! Is it not our destiny, as the greatest nation this world has ever known, to take back what has always belonged to us? We have waited long, long years, SLAVING AWAY to the oppressors! Never again, NEVER AGAIN! We are the strongest of nations, the wisest of creatures! We allowed ourselves to be deluded by dreams of peace, but this is its product! This is what Harmony brought for us! This is what the unicorns and their GRANDIOSITY gave us!

"We have fought behind the shadows, but today that cloak is lifted! Today the Changeling shall mark forever as the day that their whole world burned! But everypony owes their duties to the nation that has loved them since birth, everypony owes their lives to the struggle that shall not be extinguished!

"Everypony has a duty to their home! Everypony has a duty to post-friendship! There is no way we can allow even another second of the cruelty they have known for us! We are stronger than them! We are GREATER than them! Everycreature that sneered at us shall know the hate we have endured!

"Rise up, Equestria! RISE! The Equestrian Liberation Front shall never fail! All of history smiles upon us at this turning point! The Equestrian Liberation Front beckons you, everypony across the world, to fight for what was lost! Fight for everything you hold dear!"

And with that, the radio fell silent.

Whatever doubts that resided in their minds, the two cheered, almost jumping with excitement. The day's regrets seemed to fade away, replaced by frantic joy that, finally, the time had come. Donut rushed over and hugged her. 

"It's happening!" he cried, "It's really happening!"

She laughed, hugging him back. "For Equestria!"