The young earth mare awoke with a start, struggling to remember what had happened to her and where she was. Looking around, her surroundings only perplexed her. She was laying on her back in a bed of some sort, but did not remember falling asleep in such a place. Thinking hard for a minute, she began to remember. The battle, blood everywhere, thunder missiles, fighting the human hand-to-hoof, and being knocked unconscious.
Her mind clicked and she quickly became fully awake and aware as she realized her predicament. Whipping her head around violently, she hastily took in her surroundings trying to figure out where exactly she was.
The walls were made of fabric that were a sterile blue color, while the floor was smooth gray concrete. Several small machines occupied the space to the side of her bed, making small irritating beeps and noises. A couple had screens that displayed info she could not understand, while several wires and tubes snaked from the machines into and onto her body. She looked at the wires with a feeling of morbid curiosity, while wanting to desperately rip them off of her.
Frightened, she moved her hoof and was about to brush the foreign objects off of her body. After moving her hoof maybe an inch, it stopped, as if held in place by some unseeable bond. Frowning, she looked down to see the problem and was surprised. Looking at her limbs, she saw that all four were restrained in such a way that she could only move them an inch or two in any direction. The reality of her situation hit her like a punch to the gut. She began to panic. She was a prisoner, lying in a hospital with strange machines plugged into her for who knew why.
Struggling against her bonds, she began to flail and thrash on the bed. Her pulse and breathing intensified, as did the blips coming from the neighboring machines. Twisting her body, she gave out a sharp cry of pain. She stopped flailing and looked down at herself again. New bandages were wrapped around her side as she remembered that she was wounded, and that she couldn’t support her own weight, let alone walk or run. Defeated, she gave out a disgusted snort as she tugged hopelessly against the restraints on her hooves.
After a short while, a human doctor pulled open the curtain wall in front of her. Clipboard in hand, the doctor began to ask her some medical questions with a tone of practiced indifference. She would not speak to him, and only gave him a hateful glare. Getting nowhere with the questions, the doctor walked closer to her bed. He checked the machines and scribbled some notes onto his clipboard. Afterwards, he left her alone once more and closed the curtain behind him.
She sat in silence with only the blips of the machines for company. Minutes passed, then hours. She had given up tugging at the straps of material binding her hooves, as doing so only made them sore. With nothing else left to do, she closed her eyes and fell asleep. While asleep, she finally dreamt a dream of things that made her happy, instead of the morbid nightmares of war. For the first time in a long while, even without her knowing it, she smiled.
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PFC. Peterson was laying in his cot staring at the ceiling. Today had been a tiring day and all he wanted was to sleep. Just as he was about to drift into the land of dreams, footsteps approached his cot.
“Private First Class Peterson, get up.” A gruff voice commanded him.
“Knock it off Ace, I’m not in the mood right now for your bullshit.” Peterson grumbled as he turned on his side, facing away from the man.
The man kicked his cot hard and tipped it over. Peterson gave a cry of confusion as he was dumped onto the floor. Angry, he pulled himself out from the upturned mess of the cot.
“Damn it Ace, you lousy son of a bitch...” Peterson trailed off as he looked up at the man standing above him. It was his Sergeant.
Scrambling over himself frantically, he somehow managed to stand up, assume the position of attention, salute his Sergeant, and shouted, “Sir!”
“At ease, Peterson.” His Sergeant said. “Kicking you out of your cot was punishment enough, albeit satisfying.” He finished as he chuckled at his own joke.
Peterson merely relaxed and rolled his eyes.
“Anyway, I’ve got news for you Specialist Peterson.”
“Wait, what did you just call me, sir?”
“You heard me right, Specialist. You just got a promotion.”
“For what, sir?”
“For finding and capturing that prisoner.”
“Did you happen to give me that promotion by chance?”
“Nope, came from Cpt. Yossarian himself back at CP. He heard about what happened and promoted you on the spot.”
“Well I’ll be. I guess he isn’t as crazy as everyone says he is. Thanks for informing me Sarge.”
“Don’t thank me yet, there’s more.”
“More?”
“Cpt. Yossarian also gave you a new assignment. Until further notice, you will be guarding our newly acquired prisoner. You will monitor and protect her at all times, as well as report any relevant intel you can find out from her.”
The color drained from Peterson’s face as he heard this and replied, “That bastard is crazy! What is he thinking!? That thing tried to kill me for crying out loud! Now he wants me to guard her? What is wrong with this world?”
“Calm down, I know it’s not desirable, but you just have to grin and bear it. Also, you are to be given this.” The Sergeant handed him a piece of folded paper with signatures lining it. “In accordance to your mission, you must keep her within your sight at all times. That document there gives you the permission, right, and authority to disobey orders and remove obstacles that threaten the prisoner, or otherwise impede your mission. Provided of course, that said orders are not given by an officer who outranks Cpt. Yossarian.”
“So, I’m chained down, but given freedom at the same time.” Peterson mused.
“Yep, now get going to your new post.”
“What!? Now?”
“Yes, now. Cpt. Yossarian was very insistent on this.”
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The next morning, the light yellow earth mare awoke feeling happy, her dreams fresh in her mind. She wasn’t depressed, even upon remembering where she was and her predicament. She felt in such a good mood, that she thought she might even answer the doctor’s questions if he came back today. That changed after she looked around her small curtained enclosure again.
To her right sat a human soldier, dressed in his camo uniform and sitting on a metal chair. His helmet was askew and pulled down over his eyes. His pack and gear, as well as his weapon, laid against the wall to his left. She could’ve sworn she heard snoring coming from him, and assumed he was asleep. On his chest was a patch that she assumed was his name. It read; SPC Peterson.
Great. She thought. First they tie me down to a bed, now they have a soldier guarding me. I guess they really want to hammer home that I’m a prisoner. It must be a mind game, they’re trying to get me to break and reveal information. They won’t get anything from me!
After a while, the same doctor from yesterday came back in. He entered and stood rigid when he saw the soldier. Angrily, he demanded to know why he was there, invading the privacy of the patient. The soldier held out a piece of paper for the doctor to read. After glancing through it, the doctor looked up from it while giving a disgusted scowl.
“I don’t like this.” The doctor replied with a German accent.
“Orders are orders.” Peterson glumly replied from behind his helmet. “I don’t like them any better than you do doc.”
“But the privacy of the patient is being compromised.” The doctor protested.
“I’m not interested in her medical records, nor is command. Besides, she’s not even human. Who cares if others hear she has the pony version of the common cold, or the flu? I’m not gonna record a bunch of medical jargon, nor am I going to remember it. Just carry on like I’m not here.”
The mare thought she heard the soldier’s voice before, but just shrugged it off. Most humans sounded the same to her, and she assumed that humans thought the same of her kind.
“Alright, fine.” The doctor said with resignation. He cleared his throat and turned toward her, clipboard aloft in his hand. “Let us start, yes? First off we need a name. What is your name?”
The mare frowned with hatred in her eyes, and stated firmly, “I am Corporal Sunflower of the Royal 29th Infantry Division. My serial number is 2390-3125.” Her voice sounding like a gentle wind, blowing softly through their ears.
Peterson began to laugh. “Well look at that doc, you finally get her to speak, but she won’t say anything than the captured prisoner recording.”
The doctor continued on unfazed. “We also need to confirm your gender. You are female, yes?”
She raised her eyebrow without amusement and gave him a look that said: Really?
He cleared his throat again. “Yes, female.” He said as he scribbled it down. “Do you have any known allergies?”
Sunflower looked away from him and closed her eyes.
“Family history of major medical ailments or problems?”
Sunflower didn’t stir.
The doctor was becoming exasperated now. He was not making any progress at all.
“Hey doc.” Peterson piped up.
“What?” He snapped.
“Did you guys even check her for a military I.D. or anything? You know, like dog tags or something?”
As one, the three heads in the curtained enclosure turned to look at her neck. Resting across it, was a small metal necklace with a circular piece of metal attached to it. Etched into the metal circle were words, no doubt containing some personal information.
The doctor stepped toward Sunflower and reached for the dog tag around her neck. Snarling, Sunflower tried to bite his hand as he nimbly avoided the attack. Sunflower began to writhe on the bed, scowling and snapping angrily while the doctor held her dog tag and read it.
“The only new piece of information on these is her religion.” The doctor stated in a melancholy tone as he let the tag fall from his hand.
After about an hour of asking medical questions, without getting any answers or response, the doctor finally had his fill and left after checking the readings on the machines once again. Shortly thereafter, another human, a female nurse, came into the curtained space with a tray of food for the mare. She placed the tray on the bed while she undid the restraints holding her fore-hooves in place. Peterson held his weapon while the nurse did this, his finger resting near the trigger while he pointed it in the pony’s general direction.
With her fore-hooves now free, she was able to sit up in her bed. The tray was placed in front of her and she began to eat. The tray was filled with various fruits and vegetables, and she hungrily devoured them all. After she finished, she allowed herself to be restrained back to the bed by the nurse. Only after she was restrained once again did Peterson relax and lean his weapon against the wall.
Thus, the daily cycle was set. The mare received two meals a day, and the doctor visited often, either to check on her wounds, take samples for tests, or unsuccessfully ask her more questions. Peterson rarely left the chair that he had made his new permanent residence. The few times he was away, he was only gone for a couple minutes at most and always took his weapon with him. He had meals brought to him in his chair and sat in silence all day, as did the mare.
Both saw only anger and hate in each other and did not want to engage in conversation. They never looked each other in the eye and engaged in their own activities to pass the time with their boredom. Sunflower occupied herself with her memories and sleep, and she also began counting the stitches in the curtain.
Peterson occupied his time between reading and writing letters to and from his family. When that was done, he placed his M240L on his lap and tinkered with it. He would disassemble and reassemble his weapon several times as day. On top of that, he would open the ammo box attached to the weapon and count the rounds in the detachable box magazine.
Holding the belt of disintegrating links with both hands, he would slowly feed them back into the magazine. Counting them one by one, ensuring that he had an even two hundred rounds at all times. He always did, since he did not fire the weapon, but he counted regardless. He even did it with the spare magazines he kept with him as well. Sunflower was convinced he did all this counting and tinkering on purpose to annoy her. The clanking of the rounds and metal parts made quite a racket in her mind’s eye, and the sounds often prevented her from going to sleep or kept waking her up.
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About a week later, Peterson was up late in his chair writing a letter home when Sunflower started tugging at her restraints as much as she was allowed. All the while she was mumbling and talking in her sleep. Peterson focused his attention on her in case she would speak about military intel or other info in her sleep.
“No... I don’t want to... Why should they die...” Sunflower mumbled as Peterson listened intently.
Sunflower became quiet for a minute, her ear twitching throughout. Suddenly she upheaved wildly for a moment and started screaming in her sleep.
“Go away! I’m sorry I killed you! Just leave me alone, I had no choice!”
She was having a nightmare, and Peterson gauged it was one hell of a doozy. He continued to listen as he heard running footsteps in the distance.
“Why!? Why did I have to kill you!? Why did the medic have to die!? Oh dear Celestia! Not the medic, take me instead! Kill me!” She continued to scream at the top of her lungs, while she began to flail once more.
The footsteps came closer, but still Sunflower screamed and raved.
“Take me! Let the others live! Why should they die in this suicidal bloodbath while I’m cursed to live!? End it all! Oh great creators, dear Celestia, end my life! The voices, the faces, It’s all too much! Kill me!” Sunflower screeched as tears began pouring down her cheeks.
At that moment, a nurse rushed through the curtain and assessed the situation. Before Peterson could say anything, the nurse pulled a syringe out and readied it. She jammed it into the IV drip and dispersed the sedatives into the tube leading to Sunflower’s bloodstream.
Slowly, Sunflower’s screaming quieted down. Now she was whimpering and sobbing as tears continued to stream down her face. Becoming still, she began to quietly mumble.
“Why... Why them.... Why not me... I’m a horrible pony... I don’t deserve life...” She finished as she trailed off into a deep and sedated sleep.
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Sunflower awoke and she could still feel the tears in her eyes as she remembered the terrible nightmares she had last night. Her dreams had been the most unpleasant she had experienced in a long while. She was haunted by memories, her past actions, and the faces of those who died, both human and pony. She looked down at her blanket sadly as the doctor came in early that day.
She stared down all throughout his visit, and refused her morning meal. She was too sad to eat, and her conscience too heavy and guilt-ridden. How could she satisfy herself when the faces of the dead haunted her mind? Sunflower thought of the unthinkable, she thought of how to die. She wanted death, to be free of the phantoms and faces, to be free from the guilt and the pain. So she schemed in her mind how she might accomplish this.
Maybe, I could get the human to shoot me. Get him really angry, then pow, lights out. Or I could just starve myself. That might take too long though, plus they would probably start to force-feed me. I guess I just have to get him angry enough to shoot me.
She opened her mouth when Peterson spoke, his eyes once again covered by his helmet.
“Thinking about ending it all then? Is the pain too much to bear? Only cowards would kill themselves, rather than ride out life until the end. I would’ve thought your kind would understand that, but then again, your kind isn’t the brightest.”
“Fuck you!” Sunflower retorted promptly.
“Well, well. You actually said something other than your pre-recorded message. I congratulate you on your milestone.”
“You wouldn’t understand.” Sunflower harshly stated.
“Understand what? Killing another being, fighting for your life, or watching your comrades and friends die all around you while you somehow still cling to life? I’m a soldier, and I’ll wager I’ve been one longer than you. I’ve seen it all. I’ve held my friends as they died in my arms, killed many humans and ponies, and been haunted by the faces of those I’ve killed and those who died before me.
“I very well understand what you’re thinking and going through. But unlike you, I’ve gotten my shit together and squared it all away. Sure, I get some flashbacks and nightmares every once in awhile, but I don’t let them faze me. I guess you could say I’m devoid of emotion or empathy. I’m desensitized.”
“You sound like a heartless bastard.”
“Call me what you like, I am what I am.”
“Then I guess you’re a dick slurping man-whore like your father.” Sunflower replied, hoping to enrage him.
To her dismay, Peterson laughed. “Ha ha ha. Go ahead and insult me, it won’t help your situation. Even if you do get me angry, I’m not going to kill you. I have orders and I’m not giving you the luxury of leaving this world.”
“Go burn in Tartarus.”
“I very well might, little pony. The same goes for you. I guess we’ll have to wait and see after we’re dead if our repentance in this life is enough to guarantee our passage to Paradise.”