They motored up to some living Equestrian soldiers, sentries by the look of them, late that morning, with a few more bullet splashes than they had started out with that morning. One of the sentries stood up from his foxhole and confronted them, rifle at the ready. Theirs was obviously a friendly machine, but he did his duty nevertheless; Minty respected that.
“Halt, the tank!” he barked, levelling the weapon at the hull in a mostly symbolic gesture. “Identify yourself!”
Summer unlocked and pushed open her hatch and climbed up on her seat; they had been travelling “buttoned up” whenever possible after the incident of the prior day. Minty was watching through her forward vision port, and saw the sentry stand up straighter when he saw the commander’s officer cap and pale green horn. “I am Sergeant Summer Meadows, lately of the 5th Equestrian armored battalion, D Company, Third Platoon. Have I reached the headquarters of the 67th Equestrian Hoof Regiment?”
The sentry saluted. “No, sir, this is only B Company.”
“I see.” Summer sounded thoughtful. “Well, enlisted, may I pass?”
“Oh, of course. Sorry, sir.” The sentry lowered the rifle and cantered sideways. He shooed some of his comrades from their foxholes, and the tank rumbled forward through the space cleared and crossed through the boundary line and into the camp.
After they had got moving that morning, Minty had filled everyone in on what she had seen. Summer had looked grave; Thrash looked about as concerned as Minty had seen him so far. Supercharger kept her eyes on the road. Cashmere had been wide-eyed and nervous.
Not long after, while traveling across a meadow, they had run into another group of enemy infantry, who had foalishly opened fire on their front with a handful of anti-tank rifles. A smaller group than the ambush yesterday, they didn’t seem to know that Summer’s slightly-less-than-brand-new tank had more than enough frontal armor to resist a rifle, even a very big one, and they were dealt with shortly, before they had a chance to realize this and try hitting the thinner sides.
Still, Minty was rattled. They had their lives to thank that the enemy hadn’t been smart enough to engage them correctly.
Thanks to that engagement, though, and the one before it, the tank was nearly out of high-explosive shells. The remaining three were stacked on the racks on the left side of the hull, where Minty could hand them over to Thrash if she felt they needed it; otherwise, they were down to using the armor-piercing rounds.
Besides the state of their shells, Cashmere’s machinegun had run out almost immediately, which was a problem, but not a big one, because the ball mount was so jammed by now with bullet impacts it hardly moved anyway. Only Thrash’s rifle, resting in its shell-hole, had some bullets left.
They hadn’t made the same mistake twice; all their rifle clips had been consolidated in the main compartment, along with other necessary equipment for a protracted engagement. Thrash was wearing two extra bandoliers, one above his own and the other crossed over both of his. The newer leather of the extras, Minty’s and Cashmere’s, contrasted with his own weather-worn and cracked one.
They weaved through the encampment, driving this way and that around sullen clumps of ponies, whole squads huddled together around their sergeants in preparation for an impending movement. These ponies looked up at the tank with a kind of desperate hope in their eyes. Minty understood those looks, and she wondered if Summer noticed them too. It said a lot about morale when one bullet-ridden tank stirred such a reaction.
An infantry lieutenant, a mare the color of tomato soup, ran up to them from the left, frantically waving a hoof to catch their attention. Minty saw her first. She tapped Summer on the leg and nodded at the mare, and Summer ordered a halt.
“Thank Celestia, another one made it!” the lieutenant puffed, leaning against the mud guard to get her breath back. “Where were you headed?”
“The headquarters of the 67th, to support the advance tomorrow,” Summer said. “I’m Sergeant Meadows. I don’t believe I’ve made your acquaintance?”
“Oh… um, well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to cancel on that.”
“Cancel introductions, or cancel my orders?” Summer queried.
The mare paused. “Ah. Right. Apologies for the confusion. I mean cancel on any travel plans from here you may have, of course.”
“My tank is expected at headquarters tomorrow.”
The tomato soup mare squinted up at them. Minty noticed that her cutie mark was a white plate laden with yellow noodles, unsauced. “Did you send the message by telegram, by any chance?” The look on Summer’s face must have told her all she needed to know; she cut off whatever the light-green unicorn was going to say. “…Then they aren’t expecting you. Listen-”
She glanced anxiously skyward. “Let’s head over to that grove of old trees over there, get this machine out of sight, and then let’s, you and me, go see Major Grapevine. The sky has eyes.”
Summer hesitated, but nodded and said, “Very well. Climb aboard.”
The mare skittishly clambered up onto the mud guard, as if the tracks would bite her. Then, deciding she was still too close to the edge, she stepped up onto the hull roof, beside the turret, and looped a hoof around the commander’s hatch.
“You’ll have to excuse my rudeness; I’m Lieutenant Marinara Sauce. Pleased to meet you.” She put up her free hoof in greeting.
Summer shook the offered hoof. “I’m Summer, Sergeant Summer Meadows. The pleasure is entirely mine.”
Marinara directed them under the trees, excitedly calling out directions, which Summer then relayed so that Supercharger could hear them. Minty opened her hatch, put on her cap, and leaned out, forcing the lieutenant to scoot forward, and lit up another government cigarette. After a minute, Summer began pre-empting the lieutenant’s directions, and the latter took the hint to shut up. Summer obviously did not appreciate being told how to direct her own tank.
Marinara tried another tack. “So, you’re a unicorn like me. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a unicorn tanker. How is it?”
Minty caught sight of the other tanks ahead; Cashmere gasped.
“I manage,” Summer said, shortly, her expression grave.
There were three of them, parked among the trees. All were of the shorter anti-tank model, unlike their own large infantry support model. All three were peppered with bullet splashes, though none as much as their own, and one of the tanks was scorched black all over the turret by a fire. Minty spotted a number of penetrating hits on the ones that weren’t burned; none of them a total knockout, since the victims had made it this far, but the crew can’t have gotten off well by it. Ragged-looking ponies milled around the machines, and Minty averted her eyes from the arc-flash of a welder.
“Just park it over there.” Marinara gestured with her horn at the three sorry-looking machines. “You can replenish your crew from my platoon, like these fellows did, and the mechanics should be able to do something about your engine. It sounds like it’s heard better days, eh?”
Thrash opened his hatch, stuck his head out, and said, “Hey, I’m not dead yet.”
Minty cringed and tried to kick him in the hindshin across the turret, but couldn’t reach. She would have to have serious words with the black stallion later; being in a tank did not mean you were above showing officers the proper respect. Thankfully, Marinara did not seem to take this rudeness amiss.
Cashmere popped open her own hatch, pulled herself out a little, and waved shyly.
“No one?” Marinara exclaimed, surprised. “So much the better.” They pulled up beside the blackened tank and she turned back to Summer. “Come, I’ll take you to see Major Grapevine. He’ll be glad to know you’re here.”
Summer left with the tomato soup lieutenant. Minty watched her go, then looked back to the rest of the crew. Supercharger was already climbing out of her hatch and stretching her legs on the roof, but the enlisted were both looking back at Minty.
“Alright, girls – yes, that includes you, Thrash. Cool it.” The stallion lowered the hoof he had raised in protest. “Thrash, I need you to take some of our food and find some more canteens. Otherwise, just find a jug we can strap somewhere. Also, fuel up the tank.
“Cashmere, get as much machinegun ammo as you can. And a machinegun. Just tell them it’s for the tanks, and they’re sure to give it to you, no matter who you ask around here. We need more clips for our personal rifles, too. If you can get ahold of a crate or two, we should have enough.
“And Supercharger, you – are you listening?”
“Look, I know, okay? Get off my back,” Supercharger snapped. “Who made you the commander, anyway?”
Minty set her jaw and frowned at the pegasus. “Just get it done.”
“Fine.”
“Fine. I’m going to see what I can do about the stock of shells. I have a bad feeling we’re going to need them very soon.”
As Thrash was about to climb out of the right-side turret hatch, Minty stopped him. “And find us some extra fuel cannisters after you fill up the tank. Say what it’s for, and-”
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Thrash said. “You want me to top up the fuel?”
“You heard me.”
Thrash rolled his eyes and threw her a mock salute; Minty wanted to kick him square in his handsome jaw. “Your wish is my command,” he said, grinning. He looked at the open driver’s hatch to see if Supercharger was still there. She wasn’t.
Minty scowled. She took a drag, picked up her carbine, and climbed out and onto the ground, ignoring the twinges in her legs from sitting for so long. Slinging the gun over her back, she made her way over to the ponies around the other tanks. Most had stopped working to watch this new arrival, but that wouldn’t last for very long.
“You there,” she stabbed her hoof at a pony in an enlisted uniform standing nearest to her. “Where can I find seven-and-a-half-centimeter shells?”
“Um, I don’t know… I am – was – just an infantrypony.” And a pretty new one, too, Minty added to herself. That was fine. She hadn’t expected a good answer – she had been relying on a wrong one. Ponies were more likely to give good info when they were correcting somepony else.
“We don’t have any,” said a pony from nearby. Minty looked around for the source, and her eyes found a grizzled wheat-colored pony lying on a stretcher, half-hidden behind one of the tanks. “The neighboring unit had some, but good luck getting to them now.” He chuckled humorlessly.
Minty walked over, glancing at the other ponies and cocking her eyebrow. The lot reluctantly went back to their work, mostly the work of waiting. When she rounded the tank, she noticed a detail previously hidden from her; the stallion who had spoken up was missing his foreleg. The bloody stump was wrapped in bandages, and the stretcher was stained with fresh blood.
Nearby, a pony who used to be an eggshell color, and still was around his back hooves and hindquarters, was being fussed over by a nurse. He was covered in terrible burns, and he lay still, continuously letting out a low moan, in too much agony to do anything else.
Minty jerked her head at the unfortunate. “What happened to him?”
“Dunnae. Forgot.” The stallion looked up at her expectantly, his drawn face betraying some of the pain he must be in.
“Oh, all right, fine,” Minty said, with a resigned sigh. She took out the pack, nearly empty now, took one out, and handed it to the stallion, who immediately stuck it in his mouth and gestured with his remaining forehoof. Minty struck a match and lit it for him.
“Thank ye.” He sucked greedily and blew out a large cloud of smoke. “He was th’ commander o’ no.1 tank,” he said. “Incendiary broke right over ‘is ‘ead. Set ‘is tank on fire, and th’ enemy moved right along to the next ones in line.”
“Hmm,” Minty dragged on what was left of her own cigarette. “And what happened to you? I suppose it has to do with why the neighbors are so, well, unreachable?”
“Rifle’s what did it. Came right through the hull and hit me on me hoof. Docs amputated just a couple o’ hours ago.”
“You’re a loader.”
“I was, yes.”
“What about the others? Why all the green faces around here? And I don't mean coats,” she added, with a warning look, aware that her own face was probably the greenest around.
The stallion closed his eyes. “All th’ rest in me crew dead or lightly wounded, not worth troubling the docs - you know. That’s me commander over there.” He nodded towards a line of four bodies under sheets nearby.
“I see.” Minty didn’t ask any more questions. Shells were a bust, but maybe there was something else she could do. “Thanks, anyway.”
She left him with an extra cigarette. Only six of the enlisted infantryponies lurking around the tanks were actually crew members; the rest were merely gawkers. She started questioning them, and what crew weren’t currently occupied, trying to learn what had happened. After a few minutes, a commotion at the Sterling Ranger drew her attention, and she excused herself to hurry over.
A group of mechanics – not tank mechanics, but truck mechanics, by their uniforms – surrounded the engine deck, tools in tow. Supercharger crouched low on top of it, snarling, a large spanner clenched in her teeth. Whenever one of the mechanics moved closer, she focused her attention on them and brandished the spanner.
“Go away! This is MY tank!” she growled.
“But-” a pony wearing welding goggles on his forehead protested, “The C.O. said this engine needed repairs, and we need to get these holes patched!”
He approached with a welding stinger in his mouth, and Supercharger slammed the spanner down on the edge of the hull in front of him meaningfully with a resounding clang.
Oh, dear, not this again. Minty approached and pushed through them, then turned to face them when she had reached the tank. She sighed.
“Sorry, but she gets like this. You gentlecolts can just leave that equipment here, okay? She has work to do, and she’s not doing it when she thinks she has to defend her tank from you guys.” New unit, new maintenance crews that needed to learn the hard way that Supercharger never let anyone but her work on her tank. Minty flicked her cigarette butt away with finality. “Now scram.”
When most of the mechanics had begrudgingly gone, though a few still lingered nearby, she climbed up onto the engine deck. Supercharger set the spanner down in easy reach, like she didn’t trust them not to come back, jumped down, grabbed a wooden toolbox left behind on the ground, and returned. She spilled the contents next to the turret and picked up a smaller wrench.
“Well, now that they’re gone, how long do you think it’s going to take?” Minty asked, conversationally.
Supercharger paused in the act of opening an engine cover, making the mental calculations. “A couple of hours, if nothing gets in the way.”
Minty’s eyelid twitched involuntarily. In all the time spent playing cards since joining the army, she had developed a very good poker face. She used it now. “That’s it?”
Supercharger gave her a sideways look, saw her carefully neutral expression, and mumbled, “I’ll need some parts from the other tanks…”
“Do you think I’m an idiot?” Minty said, struggling to keep a level tone. She felt the urge to curl her lip in a snarl, to kick something. “You said the seals blew, back when it happened. Those tanks over there don’t have seals to spare. And besides,” she added, “I saw you stashing extras on the tank when we left.”
“So what?” Supercharger said, shrugging with her shoulders but not her wings. She put the wrench down. “It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Not that big of a –” Minty struggled to find the words. She gave up on her poker face and stomped the panel she was standing on and aggressively leaned forward into Supercharger’s space. She felt her muzzle contort as she gritted her teeth in sudden rage. “We could have died, all of us, just getting here. Me, you, and your precious coltfriend. Or maimed, like those stallions over there.” She jerked her head briefly at the invalids on their stretchers. The amputee waved. “We’ve been extremely lucky, do you understand that?”
Supercharger, visibly taken aback, rallied herself and shrugged again, with her wings this time, causing her jacket to hump oddly for an instant. “Shows how well you know me,” she said, “I thought you knew.”
“I’m not the mechanic, Supercharger, you are. I’ve been covering for you because I thought it was something that would take you a while, and we could all use the rest. But because of you not fixing this piece of garbage when you could, the commander got us roped into this whole thing, when we could be patrolling a quiet sector of the front instead! I guess… I just never figured you for a pony so selfish she would rather spend time with her unfaithful coltfriend than do her actual job for a few measly hours.”
“Selfish?” Supercharger scowled and pushed her face into Minty’s. Minty refused to give ground, so their foreheads butted together. “Unfaithful? You’re a fine one to talk about that, since you’ve been trying to steal Thrash away from me. AFTER you tell me I shouldn’t be seeing him. That’s low, even for you.”
“What does…? Nevermind. Don’t bring your coltfriend into this.”
“You brought him up, not me.”
Minty found that impossible to deny. Instead, she shook her head and said, “Listen. There is nothing going on between me and Thrash.”
Supercharger snorted and leaned back, an incredulous look on her face. “Likely story! I saw you coming on to him when you two ‘went to get water for the radiator’.” She made air quotes with her hooves.
“Wait, you saw that?” Minty asked, drawing back as well. “It’s not like that at all. How much did you see, anyway?”
“I saw everything,” Supercharger replied.
“Including the part where I kicked him for what he tried?”
“You didn’t kick him. You kissed him.”
“Ah. Right.” She blushed slightly at the memory, and she was painfully aware of how it only made her look guiltier. “But I threatened to kick him. I did not want that, you know.” Supercharger rolled her eyes. Minty could tell she didn’t believe her. “Wait a minute. If you saw what happened, why didn’t I see your hoofprints on the way back?”
“Oh, please.” Supercharger snorted and spread her wings fully, causing her uniform jacket to ride up around her shoulders. Some of the idlers nearby looked over at them with surprise. “I’m a pegasus, remember? I don’t leave hoofprints I don’t want to leave. Or did you forget about that about me, too?”
“No. I didn’t. I just thought you would be busy doing your job. Obviously, that was my mistake.”
Supercharger blew her long bangs out of her eyes and waved her hoof dismissively. “Shows how well you know me. That was just a few holes to patch, took no time at all.”
“Still, I’m not –” Minty started to say, but Supercharger cut her off.
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have my actual job to get back to,” she said, with a glare. She picked up her wrench, stepped to the edge of the engine deck, and opened the right-side engine cover, putting up a barrier between them that Minty got the feeling was meant to be more than just physical.
Minty shook her head and turned away, fuming. How could a pony possibly be so dense?
Meanwhile, Cashmere was coming up to the tank, dragging an ammunition box, with two more balanced on her back. When she saw Minty approaching, she set the box down and saluted in greeting. It was a small courtesy to a superior not usually observed among tank crews, but something in Minty’s face must have made her think better safe than sorry.
Minty jumped down from the tank and approached her.
“I was able to get these, but no one would let me have a machinegun…” Cashmere began, hesitantly.
“Get your spineless rear back there and try harder,” Minty snapped. “And bring three more of these. Don’t let me see you back here until you’ve got it.”
Cashmere put her ears down and sank down at the force of Minty’s words. Shrugging off the boxes on her back onto the ground where she stood, she quickly scampered away.
Minty watched her go, feeling a little twinge of remorse for losing her temper with the younger mare; she hadn’t deserved it. Behind her, someone cleared her throat, and Minty spun guiltily.
Summer stood there, standing straight and self-assured and surprisingly better-groomed than when she had left, a total contrast from the sleepless ball of nerves she had been yesterday. She still looked sleepless, of course, but now her bearing had an indefinable aspect of energy about it. “Corporal Twist,” she said, “What is our state of combat readiness?”
Minty’s heart sank. It was as she had feared; there was to be an action soon. She saluted. “Ma’am, we cannot get any more shells, but we are in the midst of replenishing our stores of ammunition and fuel and restoring the secondary armament. Corporal Supercharger is doing what she can for the engine."
She left out the part about it taking only a few hours; that was probably not wise to say out loud, though the sergeant would doubtless find out shortly anyway.
"Splendid, splendid, very good. I suppose she begged some parts off our fellows here?”
Minty thought about telling her the truth, but despite her anger, she still considered the intransigent mare a friend. “Yes, ma’am. They had just what she needed.”
“Excellent. Carry on, and pass the word to be ready in three hours. You will find me in the officer’s dugouts until then.”
Minty saluted again and walked back to the tank with her jaw set. There wasn’t much time, and she had to make sure the machinegun they did have was usable. She picked up an empty belt with one hoof, popped open one of the ammo boxes with the other, and began reloading the belts, one bullet at a time.