Cold, high humidity. The clothes stuck to the body as if they wanted to become a second skin. There is still a strong ringing in my ears. The enemy's artillery and aircraft did not spare us, just as our troops did not spare them a couple of years ago.
Or was it a decade ago? This war has been going on much longer than it should have. . .
With a heavy sigh, I opened my eyes a little and put my hooves in the wet mud. Pushing off with difficulty and standing on all four hooves, I took the rifle with my magic before hanging it on my shoulder. And so another day begins. I would like to survive.
"Although I was not sure of the sincerity of this desire for a long time." I muttered to myself as I walked through the dark trench. Constant artillery and air strikes deprived the trench of even a sense of reliability. Wet mud flows down after the rain, creating puddles so high that sleeping bags cannot be used. All that remains is to sleep like pigs until the next order of attack.
Remembering the regular counteroffensive demands, I looked up. The trench had a roof as protection from shells. In the form of armored vehicles. No, it's not our stupid decision, we just don't have enough fuel to move at least one tank. Since our position is in a gorge, we have too little space to build trenches. I had to dig them right under the machines.
And hope that one day the mud won't get too soft and the tanks won't crush us in our sleep.
"Hope. Hope for a final victory. That's all we can do." I muttered to myself when I saw a section of the trench brightly illuminated by light. Surprisingly, given the smooth operation of the pegasus weather groups, which create thunder, hail and other natural phenomena. And then they hide without giving a chance to respond.
"They probably brought us air defense shells while I was sleeping. Maybe we won't have to worry about the weather for the next two days. "I said extremely optimistic before briefly flapping my wings to get out of the trench and let the bright light hit my eyes like an explosion.
I blinked a few times and briefly looked around our camp. A small wooden table at which several Changelings sat and ate in silence, with an empty look. There were more of them yesterday. .
Don't think about it. In any case, there was a small tent in the camp, which was occupied by our radio operator and commander. Usually, if they leave her aisles, then you need to prepare for the horrors. But perhaps the most depressing detail was a simple wooden sign. There were two arrows on it, one said "Changeling Lands", the other "Equestria".
On the very first day, we passed by these signs without encountering serious resistance. We were assured that the next time we saw them, we would be heroes festooned with awards and saturated with love. We were not told that we would become heroes for absolute self-sacrifice.
As if to complement the current atmosphere, a changeling with a guitar and a blank stare sat under the sign, trying to tune the instrument. So far, only distorted, unnatural sounds and harsh squeaks have been released. I don't know where he got this guitar, but he never leaves it. In the beginning, it seemed strange and inappropriate to me, despite the fact that his guitar was in good working order at the time. Now it's just a part of reality.
Just in case, I tapped the rifle with my hoof in an attempt to attract the musician. But he just kept trying to tune the guitar, as if he was in a trance state. Perhaps he suffered some kind of injury during the artillery attack. Not that anyone could do anything about it. A short sigh escaped from my throat, and I could feel my eyes emptying. There is almost no ammunition left. There is no fuel. The food is running out, and you can forget about artificial love altogether. What can we do now?
What can I do?
Absolutely every thought process in my head collapsed when I heard a sound behind me. The creaking of chairs. A creak that can only be made by the chairs of the radio operator and the commander. Breathing gets heavier, but the body knows almost instinctively what to do.
With a short gallop, I ran up to the line of half-dead armored vehicles and stood in a row with other soldiers. After a couple of moments, the commander stood wearily in front of us. Emaciated, in a dirty and torn uniform and wearing a pistol on his belt. No bullets.
Letting out a heavy sigh, the commander took off his cap and said, bowing his head: "In the next hour, we will receive supplies of ammunition and fuel to launch an offensive against enemy positions. The final task is to completely capture the gorge and reach the plains."
It is unknown how many opponents there are in the gorge. More than one scout did not return. There are only twenty Changelings left of our company, most of whom are suffering from disease, starvation and concussion. . . Initially, there were two hundred absolutely healthy soldiers.
"But the Queen's order must be obeyed. I muttered unemotionally to myself as I stared at the ground. The other soldiers didn't say anything, there was no wind, there were no animals nearby. Absolute silence, even the musician gave up his attempts to tune the guitar.
Instead, a slow guitar playing was heard. Despite the creaks and the obvious irregularity of the sounds, the composition was being built. The composition of our absolute heroism. The measured composition of this war. The quiet composition of our fragile trenches.
The composition of our imminent death.
Absolutely no one dared to speak out against it. What will change if he stops playing? Are we going to win this damn war? Are we going to come home alive? Are we going to stay alive for the rest of this day? No, we won't achieve this if we just don't let the musician play. In principle, we will not achieve this.
Interrupting my thoughts, the musician hollowly sang:
From the outpost in the east, which blocked the march of the enemy
We go forward clutching at the memory,
About the glorious days when our armies spread,
So far, the last road is ahead.
At the end of which there is the brightest light.
His voice, completely devastated. Strumming an almost broken guitar. And complete silence all around. All this did not leave the desire to resist. I no longer have the strength to any kind of organization.
Despite my dry throat and some pain, I sang myself without taking my eyes off the ground:
Shattered hopes from childhood
In the battles of Canterlot
But the holy brotherhood,
We are being sent into battle mercilessly.
The only ammunition we have left is ourselves.
When I finished my short chant, the changelings standing next to me just nodded and sighed. It's amazing that ponies aren't trying to bombard us and interrupt our gloom right now. Probably hope that we will all make a collective suicide.
A second collective sigh escaped our lips before we collectively sang, in amazing harmony:
In the name of our species, we have raised our weapons
We walked forward through the wide fields, crushing the enemy like lemons
But those days are over, the enemy is obsessed with his revenge like rashes
And it will not stop until the great Vesalipolis is associated with ashes.
A contrite sigh escaped my lips. No matter how we sing now, nothing will change. At best, this is the last hour of our lives. We're just showing stupid resistance, just like the ponies at the beginning of the war. But now. . .
We understand them. And now we're going to show you how we can fight against everything.
Taking a deep breath, I finally looked up from the ground, straightened up and sang along with the rest of the company's soldiers:
From a creepy trench that has already become a routine
Holding the last words of mate
And believing in our great queen
We accept our fate!
We won't let the ponies just completely destroy us, without a price. We will fight to the last drop of blood and make them pay the maximum price.
I nodded resolutely to myself before an eerie sound came from above. A monstrous rumble cutting through the sky. Airplane. The bombing. Trembling all over my body.
Instantly, I grabbed the rifle with my magic and was about to point it at the sky, in a desperate attempt to shoot down the plane. However, the commander put his hoof on my shoulder and shook his head before saying, "Calm down, Corporal, this is support. The equipment will be delivered to us by air."
I kept squinting up until I saw a large plane in the distance. I sighed before asking wearily: "What are we going to do if the ponies shoot down the plane and strip us of our gear?"
"Then let's go on the attack with what we have. The commander replied with a calm look.
We don't have a choice anyway.
I nodded briefly before shouldering my rifle and looking at the plane. He continued to fly towards us for a while, gradually descending, and eventually his hatch opened with a creak that could be heard even here. Several boxes on parachutes fell out of the hatch before the massive plane began to turn around quickly for its size.
Surprisingly, the ponies that should definitely be in this gorge did not show any signs of their existence. They probably just want to kill us from a closer range. Well, they'll have to make an effort to kill us all.
"We will make our contribution to Endsieg."