//------------------------------// // The Mob // Story: Steve and Scoots // by gmen15 //------------------------------// [A/N]: Okay, sorry about the long gap in-between the updates for this story. i sort of got caught up in writing short, one-shot stories (heck, I still am), so I apologize for the late update. i would also like to warn you guys that realism is now secondary. I hope to somewhat be realistic, at least in my portrayal of the soldiers, but I know this next chapter is going to be a bit unrealistic, so I hope that isn't an issue. If it is, feel free to let me know. Finally, the end of this chapters has a nice little nod to one of my other stories. If you read it already, you'll understand it. Otherwise, I'll bring it up in the comments below. So, I hope you enjoy :) Also, thanks to RainbowDashEpicness for helping me edit. Chapter 6: The Mob There aren’t many things you would hesitate to put in the realm of improbability after finding a cartoon filly in middle of Afghanistan, but I happened to encounter one of them. I stared forward as our truck careened down the barren road, only our long caravan of vehicles speeding down it. The young soldier in the middle seat, to my left, was engaged in a lengthy conversation with Scootaloo about the show and how much of a fan he was of her and the “Cutie Mark Crusaders” as a whole. I could see a little blush in her cheeks. It must have been quite a change of pace for a girl so used to heaping praise onto a pony like Rainbow Dash to suddenly find herself the recipient of such admiration. Seeing her face light up in red, her eyes darting to and fro like she wasn’t sure whether to look the young man in the eye or look down at her hooves, was possibly the cutest thing I’ve seen since Amy got her face painted like Nala from the “Lion King” at a local carnival. Maybe because Scoots reminded me so much of Amy, her behavior was similar to the filly’s when Carol and I told her how adorable she looked painted up as the little lioness. Her zigzagging eyes, her flustered cheeks - just like Scootaloo. The brony soldier’s name was Kevin. And as I assumed before, based on his appearance, he was very young. In fact, he was the fresh age of twenty-one, but his clear eyes, shockingly pure for being a soldier, made him seem even younger, closer to seventeen or eighteen. He was from Tennessee, but didn’t have a southern twang. He was also a self-proclaimed nerd, telling us how he’d often spend his downtime in front of a television playing Call of Duty or watching reruns of shows like My Little Pony, Digimon or Avatar: The Last Airbender on his tiny rabbit-eared television. He also talked about his armband, and how his girlfriend had given it to him as a birthday gift so that he could remember her. How his girlfriend was like Fluttershy, being both very shy and a veterinarian. As he talked about his love and the band she gave him, I couldn’t help but see my own predicament with Amy. It was eerie, really. My own armband with Scootaloo’s face on it, reminding me of the daughter I’d never see again. Now Steve, wearing an armband to remember the girl he wanted to see again. I started to feel myself get teary-eyed and looked away. I began to take in the scenery around me. Hills and mounds of sand surrounded us. Sand, everywhere there was sand. Emptiness, a lonesome feeling washed over my entire body. Suddenly I felt a chill run through my spine as I had a case of déjà vu. This whole thing felt like the ride into the small town the day I found Scootaloo. Well, except for the filly herself being along for the ride, and the exuberant conversation she was having with Steve about different methods of getting her cutie mark, one of which was riding her scooter. Regardless, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were heading into something bigger than anything we’ve ever faced. Maybe not destruction-wise, though it was possible, but something horrible that I wasn’t able to foresee. Even with everything we’ve been through so far that day, it was unpredictable and I was afraid of getting blindsided by whatever my sixth-sense was trying to tell me. We were approaching a small town that was about half a mile down the road. We didn’t even need to enter the place before I knew my fear was justified. “Jesus, what’s going on down there?” the driver asked. Smoke rose from the small village, obscuring the brightness of the late afternoon sun. The closer we got to the town, the more that the blue sky disappeared into a gloomy grey of rising smoke. Soon all sunlight was gone, the entire inside of the truck became dark and I could see Scootaloo swallow hard, like she knew this was more than a simple darkness of the night. Eventually some of the darkness abated as we drew nearer to burning cars and houses, which provided an eerie glow that seemed to give everything around us a haunting orange hue. Butch immediately put his gun up, finger on the trigger and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. We entered the village in-between two parked trucks that were engulfed in flames. They were both military vehicles, one clearly American, as indicated by the presence of a star and stripe-laden flag on the hoof, flapping in the breeze and amazingly free of fire. That soon changed, however, as our truck drove past I could see a small ember of fire land onto the flag, lighting it ablaze. Before the entire cloth could combust we were already past, now inside the smoke-filled village. From what I saw driving in, I expected the town to be silent, as if nothing was living there. But it wasn’t. It was busy; with multiple civilians bustling around like their town wasn’t currently in danger of collapsing on itself. But there was something off about them. Many of them were carrying AK-47s and other weapons. They fired their weapons into the air, fired into shops. Hell, they fired at anything they damn well please. They wore ragged clothing, some waving dark flags with Arabic writing on it. “Who the fuck are these people?” Kevin asked, voice shaking. “I don’t know, but they sure as hell don’t look like friendlies.” Butch muttered, his eyes scanning the nearing crowd that continued to destroy everything in sight. It didn’t matter how small an object was, it was in danger of their wrath. I even saw a man fire a few rounds into an empty box. It just seemed like they wanted to destroy things. Scootaloo got up onto her hind-legs, placing her front hooves onto the back of the passenger seat and leaned forward, trying to get a better view of what was happening through the windshield. “What are they doing?” she asked. Butch turned to the right so he was facing us and gently lifted her off of the passenger seat and put her in my lap. He then looked at me. His eyes had more worry in them than I’ve ever seen before from him. He then said in a very genuine, un-Butch-like, way: “Keep her down and hold onto her tightly, we’re heading into the belly of the beast and we need to keep her safe.” Not questioning his sudden display of humanity, I nodded and pulled Scoots closer to me. She seemed a bit scared. I rubbed her back a little to ease the tension that was built up within her. Kevin also put his hand around her and gave her a small, reassuring smile. Scootaloo turned to him with worried eyes. “Nothing bad will happen to you Scootaloo, I promise.” Kevin said reassuringly. But as I’ve learned before, saying those words often lead to being wrong immediately after. And this time was no different, for once Kevin uttered these words the mob finally noticed us. Before we could comprehend the shouting and pointing, there was a sudden flash of orange and yellow, followed by an explosion, as the truck at the front of the caravan burst into an exuberant display of dancing flames. Scootaloo screamed and I pulled her down to my lap. “Scoots stay low!” Obviously I didn’t need to tell her a second time. The mob began to fire their weapons at us, hurling apparently homemade explosives our way. Our once six-truck length caravan, now five, was under attack by these so called “innocent civilians”, and all we could do was try to escape with our heads, much easier said than done. “Get us the fuck out of here man!” The soldier in the passenger seat hissed to the driver. “I’m trying!” the driver growled before driving off through the angry crowd, following the truck in front of us. I could hear guns firing from both the mob as well as our own soldiers. I began to hear the turrets on the trucks fire at the mob. Our truck was merely a transport vehicle, as not enough trucks equipped with turrets survived the two bombings. I could hear an explosion up ahead as a shop was blown out. The truck in front of us weaved out of the way of flaming debris. Some protesters began to hurl rocks at the windows of our trucks, smashing the butts of their weapons into the glass, causing them to crack and, in the case of a truck behind us, shatter. I watched as protesters climbed onto the truck, like rabid spider monkeys swarming a pile of bananas, trying to grab soldiers through the broken window. Fortunately for the soldiers inside the truck, they were able to shake off the mob before continuing to follow us down the road, the mob running after it. “Do these idiots know we can just run them down?” Butch asked. “They know we have morals.” The driver responded, “and would be hesitant to do that.” “Fuck morals man they’re firing at us!” Butch shouted, “That makes them the enemy, plow them the fuck over!” “As long as the truck in front of us is here we can only go as fast as them!” The middle-aged soldier in the passenger seat said, eyes darting to and fro, looking for a way out of the chaos. Just then, a truck drove out from the middle of an alley. On the back of it stood an insurgent, and in his hands was a rocket launcher. He pressed the trigger and the projectile was sent at the truck in front of us. Before we could do anything, it exploded just as the first one had. The driver of our truck slammed the breaks on to avoid hitting the heap of flaming metal and flesh in front of us. The other three trucks behind us all stopped as well. We were trapped, at the mercy of the “civilians”. The mob converged on our truck and immediately began to smash through the windows, pull at the doors, firing their guns directly at the car. For the most part, their rounds were too small to pierce the armor and windows on the vehicle. But that didn’t stop the bastards from doing everything in their power to get to us. Since we had nowhere to go, we were helpless as our truck was tipped over to the left side, the crowd was flipping the truck over onto its hood. Scootaloo screamed and I instinctively threw my arm around her, securing her to my chest as our truck was rolled over onto the hood. The windows cracked as I could feel the attackers jumping up and down on our hood, shouting anti-American and anti-western chants in perfect English, like they wanted us to know what they were chanting. But they were chanting something else, something I couldn’t understand. Everything going on around me was too much for me to concentrate on whatever odd saying they were repeating like boys in a chorus of death and ruin. I kept Scootaloo pressed against my chest as the mob pulled the doors open. Butch kicked and punched at the people that tried to grab him, but it was no use. He was completely at the will of the mob that pulled him out into the street. I could hear gunfire all around, presumably from the mob as well as other soldiers trying to fight back. Our driver was trying to make a call for back-up as he was being pulled from his seat. Before he could make contact with anyone, one of the protesters put a bullet to the back of his head silencing him for good. The soldier in the passenger seat was also shot dead, blood painting the door behind his skull as his eyes gaped blankly at the people that dragged both his and the driver’s bodies off. We in the back-seat were next. Kevin was pulled out, followed by myself and Scootaloo, who was still pressed up against my chest, shivering like she was going through a terrible case of pneumonia. I was dragged out into the blazing sun, the light blocked by the towering figures hovering above us, shouting, punching, kicking, shooting, and displaying every violent impulse humanly imaginable. I was pulled to my feet, one of the insurgents tried to pry Scootaloo away from me, but I resisted. I threw a punch at him, knocking him to the ground, before I tried to fight my way through the mob. Unfortunately, it was so thick with resistance that I didn’t get far when I felt someone clock me in the back of the head with something hard. Immediately, I collapsed onto the ground. My skull was throbbing in pain, and my vision was disjointed. I felt someone tugging at my side and looked up to see Scootaloo standing above me, pulling at my shirt with her teeth. She then released the fabric and began shouting something. As my senses returned, I could hear her pleading for me to get up. Before I could do anything, I watched as she was grabbed by one of the rag-headed bastards and dragged deeper into the ground, kicking at the ground and screaming. This was enough to snap my out of my momentary paralysis. I pushed myself up and made my way further into the crowd. I could feel the piercing pain of knives slicing my flesh and the sound of bullets being fired off. I made my way through the crowds, eyes frantically looking around for Scootaloo. Even with everything going on around me, I could hear her screams. Her ear-piercing, angry screams. The images of her struggling against the bastard that took her only increased my rage. Fortunately, most of the crowd was focused on turning over the other trucks, so I was able to get through and eventually was free of the crowd. One of the dirtbags grabbed me by the arm and shouted something at my in Arabic, a knife in his hand held high, the point directly above me. Before he could do anything, there was a single gunshot. The man’s eyes bulged, his gripping hand relaxed and the knife fell to the ground. I could see a stain of fresh blood spreading on the back of his shirt. He fell to the ground; hands clawing at my vest, as if his last wish in life was to kill me. Unfortunately for him, the reaper brought him darkness and he hit the ground, eyes glazed over and soul-less. Though I’m not sure how much of a soul he had to begin with. I looked up to see Kevin staring at me, gun in his hand pointed directly at me, or rather where the insurgent had once stood. He looked determined, but still young. Clearly he’s never killed a person before because his face was pale as a ghost. True, you managed to get used to killing insurgents after a few tours in this shit-hole, but all of the training you go through, all of the preparing for battle never could get you used to putting a bullet through another human being. You don’t learn it in boot-camp; you get it with experience in the battlefield, something Kevin clearly lacked. “Where is she?” Kevin asked breathlessly, his color slowly returning to his cheeks. “Some pricks took her.” I answered, spitting onto the ground. Once I said these words, Kevin changed. His previously shocked expression became one of rage; I could see his knuckles turn white as he tightened the grip on his weapon. “Nobody hurts one of Lauren Faust’s ponies.” Kevin said; his face returning to normal as life seemed to surge through him. He held his weapon at the ready and from the look in his eyes; I could tell that he was ready to kill again if necessary. Like I said, it came with experience, and the second one was always easier. “Come on, let’s find her.” I nodded, and started walking in the direction I saw Scootaloo dragged off in. Again, even with everything happening I could still make out her screams. Maybe it was my selective hearing, or that nothing mattered at that moment except getting her to safety. We made our way through the crowd, pushing people away as he got grabbed, shot at, beaten; it wasn’t pleasant. Once we were in relative safety, I saw a flash of orange to my right. I turned to see Scootaloo get pulled into one of the houses. Cursing I sprinted after her. “Scootaloo!” I could hear ragged-breathing behind me as Kevin tried to keep up. We reached the door and I opened it, gun drawn. I didn’t think, I didn’t have to. Seeing the three ass-holes standing above Scootaloo, their guns pointed at the poor filly’s head, was all I needed to see before I shot two of them dead. Kevin nabbed the last one. The wall behind the men was sprayed in maroon as their bodies fell limp to the floor, Scootaloo covering her ears, her eyes sealed shut like blinds on a window. I could see a line of blood running down her nose. I suddenly felt a new rage boil within me. Those bastards hurt her, they hurt Scootaloo. My little Scootaloo. I tightened the grip on my gun when I felt Kevin slap me on the shoulder. snapping myself out of my momentary rage-induced daze, I turned to him and he pointed to the freaked out filly. “Go to her, I’ll stand guard.” he ordered, sounding more like an official and less like the young kid I saw on the truck leaving the base with the Fluttershy armband on his arm. I nodded and ran over to Scootaloo’s side. Her entire body was shaking like a leaf. Apparently no matter how much shit she went through, the terror she felt never lessened. I put my hand onto her shoulder, causing her to flinch. When she realized she wasn’t in danger, she slowly opened her eyes and looked up at me. She wasn’t crying this time-having cried all her tears from everything else she saw- but she did look more scared than she had at any point since coming here. I sighed and shook my head. “Where’s everybody else?” she asked. Her voice was quiet but mostly steady, only the tiniest quiver was present. I pointed behind myself, “Out there.” She craned her neck to look behind me, but all she saw was Kevin standing behind the partially-open door, the familiar blasting of gunfire and screaming of death echoed into the small house. The floor was dust and the walls were made of some kind of sand. It wasn’t a great place by any means, but it was all we had. Suddenly an explosion rang off nearby, causing the small window at the front of the house to blow out. Instinctively, I grabbed Scootaloo and pulled her close, just in case any glass shrapnel flew at us like tiny projectiles. I looked up to see Kevin crouched down, his hands above his head and his eyes closed. Slowly he looked up at me, our eyes met. He gave me a small nod and got back to his feet, still a bit shaky from the blast. I was about to get up as well when the door to the house, the only thing keeping us safe from the chaotic world outside, was smashed in. The edge of the door hit Kevin square in the back and sent him to the ground. He turned around, gun drawn and aimed at the towering insurgent that kicked his way in. Unfortunately before Kevin had the chance to do anything, the fucker had his own gun aimed into Kevin’s abdomen. He pulled the trigger; a single bullet tore into the kid’s oblique. He let out a quick yelp and groaned before he collapsed to the ground, hand clutching his blood-soaked side. But the bastard wasn’t finished. He raised his gun, aiming at Kevin’s head. Quickly, following my instinct, I lifted my gun off the floor, grains of sand falling as I pulled it into firing position, and I took aim at the insurgent. Before he could react, I pulled the trigger. For the first time since she’s been here, Scootaloo witnessed me take another person’s life. It wasn’t the first time I’ve done so. That would be back on my first tour when I sniped someone from about two-hundred fifty yards away. That was the biggest adrenaline rush of my life. Never had I felt such a blending of horror and enthrallment in my life. This time was different. I watched the bullet stream through his head, the airborne river of blood soaring in the air behind him, his brains and pieces of skull flying through the open door he kicked in. As I watched him fall to the ground-eyes still open and mouth partially agape- I felt remorse. Not for killing the man, I didn’t give two-shits about him. I cared about the little gasp I heard beside me, followed by silence. That wasn’t any ordinary gasp. That was a gasp of shattered perceptions, something you’d hear if you discovered that your mother, who supposedly loved your father to death, was cheating on him with another man. Before about a minute ago, Scootaloo never saw any of us kill someone up close. The three scumbags Kevin and I took down, and then this fucker that I decapitated, were the first. Before she even got over the initial shock of Kevin and me taking out her captors, I had to add to her terror by shooting this man in the most gruesome way possible. I didn’t want to look at her, sure that she was going to start crying or that she’d re-enter her state of trembling in fright. Instead, I watched as the little orange blur darted past me and seemingly flew over to Kevin’s limp side. Surely she couldn’t have flown; I knew that Scootaloo couldn't fly. But she might as well have flown; she went so fast with such determination, to check on her fan. I could hear her muttering to him in as soothing a way as possibly, her little orange hoof placed onto his shoulder, her eyes meeting his. I slowly pushed myself up and walked over to Kevin, getting down onto my knee to listen to his weak-voice as he spoke to the pegasus filly. The chaos and commotion of the outside world no longer mattered-though the sounds of gunfire seemed to slow. The only meaningful thing was this final conversation of a young soldier. “You’re going to be fine Kevin.” Scootaloo said, her voice revealing her own insecurities. Kevin let out a weak chuckle, “Heh, Scootaloo...” he swallowed, spitting out some blood before finding his words, “...I know...I’m going to die.” “Don’t say that,” Scootaloo whispered, tears forming in her eyes as she put her two hooves onto the sides of Kevin’s face so she could look him square in the eyes, “you’re going to be fine.” Kevin gave the weakest smile possible and replied, “I know.” He was lying. He had to be. There was no way in hell he actually thought he was going to be fine. Not with a hole in his side the size of an apple, gushing blood onto the floor around Scootaloo. I don’t know what was more saddening, watching the poor soul die in front of Scootaloo, or the fact that she no longer seemed fazed by the blood covering her hooves. Before it sent her into hysterics, was she really that numb to everything now? Kevin let out a grunt of pain, blood dripping from his mouth as Scootaloo began to slowly stroke his arm, trying her best to comfort him as the life started to drain from his eyes. Then he said something, to this day, I’ll never forget. I always believed in the idea of escapism being used in the army, whether it is through recreational activities at the base- like basketball and ping-pong- or watching things on television. But what I never expected to see was a dying man reach out and place his hand onto the living, breathing being that was part of a world he watched, that he thought was fiction, and simply utter. “I’ll be fine...because I met you...and I now know that you exist.” Kevin swallowed hard, clearing his throat with a powerful grunt, “I know Equestria exists...and that means...so does peace.” Both Scootaloo and I watched helplessly as Kevin flashed her one, last smirk before his eyes closed and his breathing stopped. A pool of blood surrounded his body as well as the pony sitting next to him, burying her face into his blood-stained shirt, sobbing like she knew him for a lifetime rather than a couple of minutes. I walked over and placed a hand onto her side, slowly rubbing her to comfort the pain she felt. She looked up, her tears and snot dripping onto Kevin’s shirt. “Why...why does this all happen?” “Because that’s how our world is run. It’s chaos.” “But why, we can stop chaos and even then...it’s never this bad.” I opened my mouth to answer, but stopped. I realized there was nothing that I could say to her that would be truth. I laughed and shook my head, “I could say some bull-shit answer based on my experience but in honesty, I don’t know. And I don’t think I ever will.” Scootaloo stood up and looked down at Kevin’s body. She then walked over to his face, leaned down and placed a gentle kiss onto his forehead. It wasn’t anything romantic, it was just how a daughter might kiss her father. She slowly backed away and walked over to me. I brought her in for a hug, petting her back as she continued to look down at the corpse. Not knowing anything better to do, I began to hum. And from that hum I started to add some lyrics. “Three months of winter coolness, and awesome holidays. We've kept our hoovesies warm at home, time off from work to play. But the food we've stored is running out, and we can't grow in this cold...” I wasn’t sure if “Winter Wrap Up” was a real song in Equestria since it was choreographed stunningly on the show, like a musical as opposed to reality, but either way it was my favorite song. Its upbeat tone, it’s optimistic and innocent lyrics, it was wonderful. So both Scootaloo and I sat there. I started to sing, my ears turned to the door as the sounds of gunfire slowed down to nothingness. The battle was over. I didn’t get up, not yet. Even if, for a brief moment, I wanted to live in the denial of safety provided by this home. We continued to sit, my singing drifted on, I could feel Scoots’ body relax. Just outside, I could make out the eeriest chant I’ve ever heard. Strange thing is it came from the familiar accent of the locals, though it wasn’t in Arabic, in fact it sounded Latin. Then again, did it really matter? War was war, and mayhem was mayhem. So they wanted to chant in Latin, was that any stranger than blowing someone’s brains out? Still, I listened. The chants growing fainter and fainter, but I could still make it as they drifted off. “Resurgere in contereret, Cadent de vastantium. Bellum aequalitas, Bellum contra Class. Nocte nos Superius, Nocte nos pugnare. In iuventus Valete, Discordia est rex.”