//------------------------------// // Burning Homes // Story: Nearing the Edge // by Eagle //------------------------------// May 22nd, 2006 0700 Hours Ponyville After the initial battering, the 75th Ranger Regiment had been pulled back to recoup. Now, camped just west of Ponyville with some elements of the 2nd Armored Division, they had to be called back into action. Disaster had struck, and they turned out to be one of the few units still in good shape, and as such they had to be called into action once more. The small grouping had the appreciated luck of enjoying a quick breakfast of apples and biscuits given to them by a local farmer. Some members of Charlie Company, 2nd Battalion were enjoying it and relaxing just outside Ponyville with some members of the Armored Division who were camped there. With the division moving further east and the Rangers staying in preparation for a battle, the lot took the time they could to enjoy what life they could.  “So what are the rings on the barrel?” Sergeant Wakefield asked as one of the tank crews gave him a look over their machine. “Kills,” Sergeant Spicer answered.  “Tank kills,” Lieutenant James specified.  “So you have four so far?” “Eight actually, red counts for five.” “Eight… all at once? In once battle?” “Aw yeah man, all at once!” Corporal Simson, the driver, joked with a thick sarcastic layer. “I mean they just came at us in a fucking line and pop! One two three, it was nothing for us!” “I get it Corporal.” “We even got a three-for-one special! One Sabot round, smacked right through three BTRs in a line! Right through one to the other!” “I get it Corporal.” “You keep track of your kills?” Spicer asked. “No, I don’t. I don’t think it would make one of my other squadmates happy… or my family.” “Huh, I’ll admit I took you spec-ops guys as neck-deep in ultraviolence.” “Well I am a bit odd. I come from a… mildly rich family, and one of my squadmates is a former priest, or was going to be one. At any rate, no collecting ears for me. Seems a bit too much anyways.” “Hey we all have our weirdos. Hell we’re no strangers to you great aristocrats in this tank. You know our Lieutenant James here has a bit of a passing relation to our current Chief.” The officer looked up at the mention from his maintenance on the M240. “Really? A relative to the President?” Wakefield beamed. “I know James is a common name but… well it’s not often out here that I get trumped on the social ladder.” “Hell, we’re all soldiers out here, hooah? We just got to look out and keep each other alive while we get the job done. Then I can grab a branch and hit rocks off the deck of this baby and pretend I’m back at the golf range.” “Hey James! Get over here!” one of the other tank officers called from far off. “You got to see this!” “Okay!” he shouted back. “I got to go, you take care Sergeant.” James headed over to the company commander’s tank, where Captain Patrick and some of the other crewmen had gathered. Lieutenant Kenneth was showing off a small painting his own tank’s gunner had added to the side of the M1, rather proudly. The Captain’s reaction seemed lukewarm at best. “Hey, I got just what you guys wanted!” He brought the XO over to the metal canvas. The white upwards-facing chevron painted on the sides of all the tanks in the company, to show they belonged to Alpha Company, had been utilized in Sergeant Fink’s artistic endeavour. A red line had been painted across the opening under the chevron, now giving it the appearance of a capital A. “Check it out! ‘The A Team’! Not bad huh?”  “What do you think, Lieutenant? I know I said we’d let them come up with some nickname for the company but I was expecting something more… ah-” “Hah, that’s what you came up with Ken?” Sergeant Duchamp chuckled from the top of the tank. “Well shit, I like it,” Corporal O’Toole retorted to his crewmate. “You got anything better?” “Sorry if it’s a little basic Captain,” Fink followed up. “You did ask to keep it simple. And small. Not something that would stand out too much as a target or anything.” “Yeah but how small did you think he meant?” Duchamp asked, pointing his M1’s front. “Did you not see the big ass snake I’ve got running down the length of my barrel? Shit you should’ve asked.” “It’ll do for now, just try and think of something unique, deadly. We’ve got a name to make for ourselves so I want it to be a good name. So that when those rat bastards hear we’re rolling towards them they break and run,” Captain Patrick explained, taking James off to the side. “Actually wanted him to call you over for something else. You talked to the new Lieutenant yet?” “No Sir, he’s here? I didn’t know he arrived.” “Yes, about twenty minutes ago. He’s talking with Gammon and some of the Rangers right now. See the blonde guy? A little short? Not quite as bulky as the Rangers? The guy next to Corporal Caiu.” Across the way from them, the newest addition to the company, the replacement for Fitzgerald and Third Platoon’s new commander, was talking with some of his new friends, doing his best to get to know them. The young Lieutenant Lewis Cooke, only twenty-six and far away from his home in Savannah, had constantly been moving to try and find his new unit in the chaos of the general strategic retreat. Considering this, and that he had only gotten his new assignment but a day and a half ago, it was a miracle he found them so quickly. “Yeah, thanks for pointers,” said Cooke. “I’ve been through a couple units before, but I haven’t taken over for someone who was KIA. Wounded yeah but, this just feels bad, taking his place and everything, just feels off.” “Bad things happen, people die. Just do your job good and try to make sure you and your guys don’t die,” Lieutenant Gammon responded honestly, if bluntly. “It hurts losing Fitz… it’ll take some time to get in with us, same as any. Stick with it and you’ll be fine.” “Hey LT, what’s up with that… paint?” Caiu asked, referring to the black zig-zagging line on the rear side of his vehicle. “It’s a native war symbol.” “Wait, native?” he repeated. “Yeah, I’m Indian man. Comanche. None of that one-thirty-eighth’s shit neither, I got a lot of it in me.” “Well shit how come you never told me that?” “I’m from a place in Oklahoma called Medicine Park, and Hell you look at me… shit I figured it was a given.” “Well I don’t assume things like you, but I guess that's why I’m not burdened with the curse of being an officer,” the Corporal joked. “So what’s it mean?” “It’s the symbol of lightning, of the thunderbird. Way back in the day they’d paint this and others on the sides of the horses of warriors riding out to battle. Supposed to give speed and power. This is my horse now, so I figured it’d fit.” “Really? When you put it like that it’s pretty badass.” Kenneth passed by the group as they continued their discussions, heading back to his own Abrams from his small art exhibit. Before he got there, he was stopped by a Ranger Captain, a company commander, who wanted to talk to an officer from his unit. After the initial greeting, the tank commander suddenly recognized the man from long before. “It’s good to meet you Lieutenant,” Captain Roland greeted. “We actually met you before, Captain!” Lieutenant Kenneth corrected him kindly.  “Have we? I’m sorry if I do not remember.”  “Yes Sir, way back last year. When we were all first getting here, offloading in Pensacolta.” “Ah… yes I do remember now. At least I remember your tank. You called it the ‘Hellcat’? You talked more about it than yourself.” “Yeah, man I’m glad you remember all that Sir! Feels good being unique.” “Unique, that is accurate; you seem to be quite the showman at times.” “I guess I like people remembering me. Out here you could go at any moment, so I want as many people to remember me as possible,” the tanker explained. “Anyways, how have you guys been? I heard you really gave it to those Rats on the first day of the war!” “Yes the men performed exceptionally well in combat, especially under those terrible circumstances. It’s unfortunate we had to retreat from Saddleburg so early, but we really hurt the airborne forces the enemy sent to pin us down and destroy us. I couldn’t be more proud of my boys. But, Lieutenant, I’m afraid I didn’t come to you to catch up.” “Oh, ‘course Sir. What can I help you with? “I wanted to see your Captain and ask if any of your tanks would be able to help us in the upcoming battle in Ponyville.” “Oh, I can tell you right now Sir, we’re not going to be able to do that. Not that we don’t want to of course, we’re all chomping to take out some more bad guys, but the whole division’s given strict orders from the very top down to rock bottom. We all have to pull back and reorganize, and they want everything. Every tank, every IFV, every single armored infantry crunchie and his rifle.” Roland desponded a bit, but understood he could not change such a large movement of men and equipment. He left the tankers to their work, and continued on to the 2nd Battalion command post. The battalion’s colonel had not long ago concluded the 75th’s battle plan at regimental command with the unit’s lead and the other battalion commanders, and now it was time to pass it down further to the lower chain of command. He reached the collection of tents that made up the battalion’s CP and, after giving his greetings and saying his hellos to the men there, waited for the last two company commanders to arrive, the Colonel finally starting his briefing once they arrived. “Gentlemen, I know you’ve been asking about the strategic situation lately. Thankfully we were informed of it during the briefing and given permission to share it, considering our next mission depends on it,” the Colonel began, taking out a batter paper map of Equestria. “To keep it short, the situation across the board is FUBAR. The Chinese breakthrough of our main defensive line sent us reeling back and the loss of Canterlot left the Equestrians broken and fleeing east. As it stands right now the Bloc forces are advancing too quickly for us to form a solid defensive line. As usual when the Army finds itself in a shit situation, they’re calling on us rangers to save the day.  “The basic premise is that they want us to dig in around Ponyville and the surrounding area and perform a delaying action while the rest of the ground forces retreats and reforms a proper defensive line with the center around the Second Armored and Eleventh ACR, and whatever they can scrounge up from the Fifth ID. Now because of this, that means we’ll be on our own for the most part, same as in Saddleburg, but we’ll get some mechanized support in the form of Strykers to deal with the enemy’s armor, and the Equestrians have promised a squadron to provide CAS and CAP over the town.” “We have any help coming from back home Colonel?” Delta Company’s commander asked. “Yep, good news is we’re already receiving real reinforcements now, not just replacements. The Third Infantry Division is supposed to be on arrival to Pensacolta soon, and that’s just the start; the Fortieth and Ninety-Ninth will be joining a week or two later. But that all relies on us dealing with these guys. We need to do more than just trip them up, we need to punch them square in the face and send them into a daze. Then our boys can reform the center, and hopefully the Equestrians can pick up the flanks. Major General McBroom has personally said as much to us, that’s how serious this is.” “McBroom? Sir, What about General Hall? Has he said anything? We haven’t heard much from him in a long time now,” Roland asked, referring to the 4th Army Commander. “I’m worried honestly. This doesn’t leave this post, but… well I’m assuming all your boys are already talking about it the same way. He’s losing it a little more day after day, denying the situation. It was his idea for the US to form the center of a new line in the middle of Equestria with the ponies forming up the sides, but they’ll be doing it alone. He’s still handicapping everything,” Colonel Mapes explained. “He’s still keeping the Marines in Las Pegasus and the British in Baltimare. He just won’t deploy them.” The officers did not say anything, being more professional and not wishing to break the general code of outward respect among higher officers in front of their Colonel, and more so because they all thought the same way and had little more to add. “For now we need to focus on our own battle. Let me go over the details with you gentlemen.” Back in Ponyville, the soldiers were in the process of trying to evacuate the town. Staff Sergeant Vanderbilt was assisting the ponies in town near the train station, having sent Crockett to try and again retrieve any information on the upcoming battle from the platoon’s Lieutenant. Many of the citizens there were reluctant to go, and slow-moving when reality finally settled in. “Ma’am are you alright?” he asked of a pure white unicorn that had stopped. “Is anything wrong? Do you need help?” “Hm? Oh… no thank you dear. It’s just…” “Hard?” “Yes, very,” she admitted, sighing and looking back for a minute through a moment of tears. “Very much so, to say goodbye… and under these circumstances… I’m sorry to be a bother, I’ll be alright.” “I can help you with your bags if you want. You’ve got a lot of them.” “Oh, no it’s no trouble, not for a unicorn. But… do you see that earth pony over there with the hat? Would you mind going to talk to her? Ask her to join us on the train?” “Sure, of course.” Walking over to the Earth Pony the Ranger could tell she was intent on staying just from the look in her face, one of stubborn determination but with a worrying pain mixed in. “Excuse me? Miss?” “Hm? Anything I can help you with, partner?” she drawled, looking intently at the man. “Are you planning on getting on that train? It’s the last one out of here. And it’s a long walk east.” “I can’t leave,” she responded in simple fashion, instantly turning her gaze away. “I’m not leaving.” “Ma’am you need to, it’s been requested that everyone evacuate,” he insisted, keeping a solemn tone. “This whole place is going to turn into a battlefield soon.” “I know what’ll happen. I... said I can’t leave,” she persisted shakily, not looking at the Ranger but out past the train tracks to the field far beyond. “Listen lady, we’re trying to fight a war here, we don’t need a bunch of ponies getting in our way,” Vanderbilt retorted, becoming somewhat frustrated for the first time that day.  “I know! I’m sorry! I don’t mean to, I just… I can’t leave!” The young farmer cried, breaking down to the human’s dismay. “That farm out there, that’s my family’s, and my family’s still there, we can’t leave it. We can’t, they’ll wreck it!” “That’s yours? Yeah I remember now, you were the one giving out apples earlier in the morning huh?” Vanderbilt recalled, a bit of shame mounting on. “And some of my friends ain’t leaving either. Most are, I mean… I-I don’t blame them but, one hasn’t yet and… well. We’re supposed to stick together. I don’t want this to happen… how am I supposed to let them go?” Something changed in Vanderbilt, and he shifted from the way a soldier usually deals with civilians. “I understand… I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I guess I didn’t think much about how you all… I don’t know. Sorry.” This was not Vanderbilt’s first time dealing with civilians, far from it. Not only had he directed them in peacetime and relief, to varying degrees of satisfaction and frustration, but also in battle. Civilians had become part of the fight in Mogadishu, something he had taken part in years before, going from neutral entities that were not to be harmed, to be avoided or even protected, to enemies who were trying to kill him.  He had felt regret, but of a different kind. He felt regret that the world had to be this way, as it was now, and what he had to do. He felt regret that some of the women had elected to take up arms. He regretted that the children had been conscripted into soldiers by their elders. They were horrid things, and he regretted simply that these things had to happen. He was upset for killing them, but he had not hesitated to do it; it had to be done and he did not cry about it afterwards. This, however, was different. Something about their nature affected him far deeper, more powerfully. The ponies here gave him a sadness that struck hard and lingered. Even the children in Somalia felt like they held some form of impiety to life, willing to kill blindly, the look of those common sins that seem to cover every human, but the Equestrians were pure in a way. At least these were. “You can stay, if you want,” he relented, unable to look at the farmer. “I can’t drag you away from this.” “Thank you sugar,” she said gratefully, still crying lightly. “Shucks, sorry to cause so much trouble.” “It’s okay.” “And crying like this, a tough girl doesn’t need to be crying like this. But most of my best friends already left. It hurts something mighty.” “Yeah, looks like you’re not the only one,” he admitted, looking around as the last of the small crowd of ponies entered the train. “Looks like a lot of you are staying… hmm… I’ll let you be ma’am, I uh… need to get back to my guys. You keep your head down.” Now, for the first time, he felt a sadness, not a regret, but a true sadness at everything. Sadness for the very concept of war, a hurt of the losses it gave. Sadness for soldiers and pity for these pure new friends of his. Not regret, not guilt for his actions or rue for an enemy. Just a shallow sadness and a deep pain at it all. For the first time, he not only hesitated, he stopped, and for the first time Vanderbilt could not do what was needed. Even a sturdy man, the most adherent warrior, was not without emotion, that truthful honest reaction of humanity. The mature man buried it down, preventing it from impacting his work and decisions, keeping it contained in a vault; the soldier tempered his with discipline and wisdom to keep him in the right path, to do what was needed. Those men who suffered the worst, felt these the most, buried them deep within; those who had the closest grasp to humanity had to restrain it, and it made them look inhuman.  For the veteran Staff Sergeant, as with others, there could always be a point where that emotion broke out, overwhelmed that, bursted out as many others allowed. However, it was different this time, it felt different when talking to these ponies. The empathy he and many others felt would not break out suddenly from it’s prison in an outburst, instead it grew out and slowly, gently took them over like a warmth, and as he wandered back to his squad with Sergeant Crockett returning, he could only conceal it. “Damn horses, even when there’s a war going on they can’t get out of our way,” Carlyle complained, looking over the numerous Equestrians that were remaining in their town. “Not now Carlyle,” Vanderbilt ordered softly, not bothering to look at him. “Sergeant, we can’t be having them in the way when we’re trying to shoot guys. They’re being a bunch of stubborn-” “Not now Private! We’re going to make due, that means you too. Now can the shit talking for now before I knock you back down to Buck and let Disco take your place.” “Sorry, alright… sorry Sergeant. Even I don’t want them to get killed,” the PFC submitted, taking out his pipe and lighting it to relax as the rest of the squad gathered. “Ah geez, since when did you start smoking?” Corporal Roche asked in a mild irritation.  “Since always, just not cheap sticks. Only pipe.” “That’s a fine pipe, very nice quality. Where did you get it from?” Wakefield asked. “Home, family sent it to me in a care package. I missed it, used to use it a lot. It helps in the winter, it gets cold in Yankton.” “So what’s the big picture looking like Sergeant?” Corporal Marcus asked. “Regiment’s been ordered to delay the enemy here, try to break up the advance, cause a little trouble. Buy time for the ground forces to form a new line a little ways back.” “Form a line? With what? There’s less power now, can’t trust the Equestrians to hold a solid line,” Vanderbilt worried. “Don’t know, they didn’t tell me.” “Probably because they don’t know either,” De Soto commented sourly.  “What about the Marines down in Las Pegasus? And the British division up in Baltimare. They haven’t seen any action yet. That’s two fresh units right there,” Sergeant Wakefield suggested. “They still haven’t released them,” his colleague admitted. “What?” “Oh bullshit! Really?” Carlyle swore. “Well how long are we supposed to delay here?” “Long as we can.” “And how long do they need to do this?” “As much time as we can give them.” “Sounds like this ‘new line’ plan doesn’t have a whole lot of thought put into it.” “Doesn’t matter, we have a chance to make it work. We’re back in action now. The bad guys are moving in on this town and we get to kill ‘em," the Staff Sergant summarized quickly. "That sounds like a pretty good plan for winning the war, hooah?” “Hooah,” the team replied in affirmation. "Sergeant Crockett? Back to the plan." “Second Battalion is spread out holding the town itself. First is holding down Everfree Forest, Third’s going to be holding the airbase. Fifth Battalion’s going to be on our other flank to make sure we don’t get cut off. Fourth and Sixth are in reserve. Reports say elements from two Shadow Army divisions are moving in on us. One’s coming down from the valley to the northwest from Canterlot, other’s coming from the west directly ahead of town over the rough terrain. Now the good news; Second Armored’s detached the Second Squadron of the Fourteenth Cavalry to help us out, so we will have Strykers joining us in the defense. The Equestrian Air Force is also going to be flying sorties, so we’ll have CAS on station.” “That’s better odds than last time,” De Soto noted. “For now we’re moving to the dug-in positions to the north. Once the engineers get done setting up mines and obstacles they’re moving out. Then anything coming out of that valley is fair game. Hooah?” “Hooah” The men waited in their slit trenches and foxholes for some time, watching for the enemy when he would finally arrive. They could hear the sounds of movement coming from the valley, engines running and the ruckus of an advancing army, but nothing was in sight yet. Clouds of dust wafted upwards and shaking and movement could be seen ahead, but even then with the distance and the woods among the hills it was difficult to find targets with the naked eye. It would be the accompanying Strykers that drew the first blood of the battle. Using it’s scopes, the accompanying ICV, fired a burst of .50 Caliber from its remote-controlled RWS gun into the hills to the side of the valley. Eyes were drawn to the tracer’s impact area, scanning it for any glimpse of the target. “Enemy scouts!” one of the nearby Rangers passed on. “Scouts and infantry moving over the hills! Eyes up, watch it!” The battle had a meandering, rolling start to it, rather than a sudden outbreak, as the firefights steadily increased. Armored vehicles fired away at an increasing rate, individual Rangers began to fire at any targets they thought they saw, followed by sporadic return fire from the hills, then enemy mortars began to fall here and there, and then short rounds of enemy artillery. The primary targets, the Strykers, began to move and reposition constantly to avoid them, allowing various Shadow infantrymen to begin making their way down the hills, allowing the gunfights between them and the infantry to develop properly. The battle expanded over the course of this as more soldiers and weapons were brought to bear. Vanderbilt was sitting low in his foxhole, partly covered by the tall, fresh green grass, trying to find any target he could. He eyed the tracers, trying to follow them to their impact, and saw several groupings of enemy soldiers moving about and in cover behind the trees high above. He aimed high, knowing it was unlikely to hit anything at the unfavorable angle and long distance, but it was worthwhile to keep the enemy suppressed and wear them down. The firefight intensified from a skirmish to a full battle. The Shadow troops, firing downslope on the Rangers, were in turn being cut down by the heavier machine guns on the American vehicles. What would have been a very advantageous firing position, firing down on entrenched infantry in the open from high, wooded cover, was reduced by the Strykers picking them out through the vehicle’s thermals.  Farther back, at the company’s command post, Captain Roland attempted to follow the battle’s layout on his map. The forward line was taking withering fire from the hills overlooking them, and had taken some casualties, but the enemy was being held off. The Strykers were a big help, being able to find the enemy and cut them down from range. At this rate the battle would go well, though he knew it would not stay at this rate; it would only be a matter of time before the enemy brought fire support to bear on his men. In truth, his company had gotten one of the easier sectors. The hills above were a pain but the enemy could not move fighting vehicles through them effectively. Their main mechanized force could only push down the bottleneck of the valley, which was well defended and prepared, and was already suffering from doing so. The Rangers on the west side of town would have it much harder, once the enemy finally got there. As the battle continued, the worries of a commander in battle lingered in his mind, running through possible problems and the solutions to them. What enemy forces were coming up that he could not see? Would they send more infantry into the hills and keep firing down on his men rather than advance, gradually wearing the Rangers down through a prolonged firefight? He held an advantage there with the Strykers and had fire support if needed. He also still had a platoon of Charlie Company in reserve that could be sent up to relieve the front. And what about the enemy’s fire support? The Shadows were not stupid, they would not blindly run into a covered bottleneck like bison being driven off a cliff; if they could pass or destroy it they would. What would happen when they decided to bring artillery and air support to bear on his men? If the former came up there was little that could be done; tell the men to change positions now and then and not stay in one place for too long, and pass the word to their own artillery for counter-battery. If attack jets came then it would be the job of the few covering allied fighters to drive them off, and if they got through he would have to rely on the few Stinger MANPADS they had. “Hawk to Colt,” the 2nd Battalion’s commander called in. “This is Colt.” “Hawk to Colt. We’re getting reports of multiple tangoes with RPGs and possible ATGMs in the wood line ahead of your company. Have you gotten any reports of this, over?” “Negative, I haven’t received any reports from the forward platoons of an increase in missile fire yet, over.” “Copy. We’re going to be detaching a fast mover for CAS duty against that position. We’re going to put you in touch with the TACP, how copy?” “Solid copy Hawk.” Even if his men had not reported it yet, it did not mean those enemies were not there, and Roland did not want to turn down a free offer of air support. “Colt can you hear me? How do you read me?” a new voice over the radio asked. “Read you five-by-five. Are you the TACP?” “Affirmative, Lighter. Listen I’ve got Glider 2-5 on standby but I need to know exactly where on that treeline the tangoes are most concentrated so we can hit for maximum effect.” “Understood. Wait one while I contact Colt 3, out.” Roland switched from the radio utilized for contacting command to the one used for contacting the subordinate platoons. Going back-and-forth in communications like this was one of the many underappreciated angles a leader had to handle. The many constant responsibilities an officer in his position had to juggle was never fully understood by the enlisted, focusing on their own jobs as they should.  “Colt Actual to Colt 3, come in.” There was a minute of silence before Roland repeated the call. “Colt 3, this is Colt Actual. Please respond, over.” The company commander retained his patience and cool demeanor. It was normal for responses to take time during battle, the platoon commander could be in the middle of giving orders or in a firefight himself. There was, as always, the worrying possibility that he could have been hit, though there had been no report of such happening so far. “Colt 3 to Colt Actual, come in over.” “Colt Actual we’re reading you. How are you holding up?” “Good for now but we’re seeing a burst of RPG fire against our positions as well as our attached victors, over!” “I understand, we’ve got CAS waiting to strike them down but I need you to tell me exactly where they’re coming from on that treeline.”  “Copy that, there’s not too much in the way of visual landmarks though. So… from the edge of the hills where it meets the valley, running northwest along the treeline, about… maybe a couple hundred yards up from that. It’s near a big oak tree. Way bigger than the ones around it. It’s got part of it’s trunk blown away from a cannon round. That close enough, over?” “Copy, I’ll pass it on, out,” Roland assured the platoon commander before switching the frequency back. “Colt Actual here, is Lighter still there?” “Affirmative you’re talking to ‘em.” “Reports state the target is mostly near a large oak tree at the wood line on the hills, about two-hundred yards northwest from the valley. They say the tree trunk is partially blown out from cannon fire. Can you see it, over?” There was another eighteen seconds of dead air as the team searched for the crippled oak. “Affirmative we see it. We’ll take care of it, out!” Far above the ground, miles away from the battlefield, two flights of Equestrian Strike Eagles circled on standby. All of them belonged to the same squadron, and Night Glider anxiously waited in the lead aircraft for calls from either their AWACS or the ground forces. The 15th Attack Squadron was the only allied air unit supporting the Rangers in Ponyville, and thus had to shoulder both air-defense and CAS operations between their few aircraft. She sat in the cockpit, strained, tensed like a coil, waiting for something to happen, frustrated at not knowing how the battle itself was going for her side. Unlike most other times, Rector and King Team were not there with her, nor were any other combat craft. It was just her and her own wingponies, something that greatly stressed her. So much so that when the radio finally keyed she jumped in her seat, making the fighter jolt a bit in response. “Lighter to Glider, are you reading me, over?”  “Yes I hear you! What’s going on? Do you need help? How's the battle going?” “Affirmative we have a CAS mission for you. Are you ready to service, over?” Close air support, that meant bombs, something her own fighter was not carrying at the moment. “Glider Two-One are you hearing this? Are you ready to strike?” “Yes ma’am I’m ready!” the other Equestrian assures her. “Glider Two-One requesting JDAM strike, target is designated via laser, should be appearing now.” Night Glider watched the lead aircraft of the squadron’s second flight peek away and depress its nose. The Equestrian Strike Eagle began it’s bombing run, preparing two of the JDAMs the plane carried. The Shadow’s anti-air fire was surprisingly absent for one reason or another, and the fighter easily carried through the attack. Two bombs were dropped and the fighter pulled away quickly, looking to return to safety farther behind the line. They fell, little black dots to most who spotted them, adjusting their own flight and fall to hit the designated area. Both impacted within five seconds with a great thud and a cloud of dirt and dust. Leaves, branches, entire trees flew upwards in a mass. The oak tree, and much of the land around it, was eviscerated, along with the Shadow troops around it. Sergeant Vanderbilt watched the impact from his own fighting position further up the line. After this the enemy fire slackened noticeably. He began to find fewer possible targets, it seemed like they were backing off for now. Were they giving up? No, he knew better. They would not quit so soon. They were stopping to reanalyze, change tactics, reorganize, call support. The battle would only get harder, not easier. Off to his side, he saw Sergeant Duville from the company’s support platoon waving his hand towards his body, signaling for him to come over; whatever he was yelling it could not be heard over the gunfire. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Vanderbilt asked upon arriving. “Wrong? Plenty but not this. Platoon’s getting relieved! Fight’s dying down a bit so the reserve platoon’s coming up to take over.” “Good! When are we moving?” “Now!” “Now!? You said now?” Vanderbilt shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” “Because I was just told now! That’s why they sent me as a runner. Come on and get up, we need to get out of the way! Get everyone out of their holes and back behind the lines, step to it!” As the forces of both sides shifted during the relative lull in the fighting, the Equestrian fighters overhead were tasked with a new mission.  “Crystal Ball to Glider,” the Equestrian E-3 contacted them. “Bogies, two bogies, bearing Two-Seven-Seven, Angels Twenty, speed four-thirty.” “How far?” Glider asked. “Not far, a few dozen miles. You should pick them up soon.” “You’re just picking them up now?” another pilot complained. “Heading for the town?” Glider continued, trying to focus on the new arrivals. “Affirmative!”  “Alright, we’ll have to wait till they get in range. If we head over enemy territory we might come under AA fire.” “They have heavy AA back there?” one of her wingponies queried. “I don’t know, but I don’t want to take the risk. We were told to cover Ponyville and the rangers. That’s it.” The two bogies came in a lackadaisical manner, low and cruising but without much emphasis, relaxed and almost like they were on a training run rather than an actual combat sortie. As they closed the distance, they suddenly increased speed and pulled up, eventually reversing their course. They were just barely outside the F-15E’s missile range, saving themselves by the shortest hair. “There, MiG-19s! Farmers!” Night Glider's wingpony jumped. “They’re running? I guess they’re alone.” “They might not have thought the town would have air cover,” she theorized. “You think they’ll be back?” The pegasus thought for a moment, remembering a piece of advice one of the American pilots had given her long before. “You think they dropped their bombs?” “I don’t think so… was far away but I didn’t see anything falling, no explosions on the ground… looks like the bandits are still flying like they’re carrying some weight.” “They’ll probably be back then, with help. Just keep on the lookout.”  Down on the Earth the battle progressed, and as more forces poured in and the Shadows gradually found more details of the defense, they struck at the Regiment. Charlie Company had just barely gotten back behind the lines, allowing a sister company to take their place. It had been no more than an eight minute reprieve, enough time to restock some ammunition and water along with caring for and triaging the wounded to be handed over to the medical team for CASEVAC.  “Colt Company! Fall in!” Roland came about, waving his hand as if to rally his men around him. “Platoon leaders to me! We have a new mission.” “Sir? What new mission?” one of the Lieutenants spoke up. “Delta has been overrun on the western end of town. We need to counter-attack through town and run them out. We’re all going, I’ll be with you myself every step of the way.” “Yeah that makes me feel a lot better,” Corporal Marcus groaned to Sergeant Crockett as they listened from a distance. “Save it Sandman, things are about to get real serious.” “Our brother company reported they took out most of the Shadow’s armor support so we just need to drive back the infantry that got in, but this will be street-to-street engagements, even if it’s a bit wide. Same rules apply. First Platoon will be going up the center towards the breach, you’ll have a Stryker to go with you the whole way.” “Now that makes me feel better!” Marcus grinned. “Second Platoon will be on the left flank, drive up to the train tracks and clear the train station. Third will be on the right going up to the edge of town. Rangers! Prepare to take the offense! Route our enemies back until they’re driven to the gates of Hell!” The remaining Rangers in the company gathered into their platoons and stepped off into their counterattack. The position for the entire regiment was becoming increasingly intolerable as the pressure of the enemy divisions mounted on. Still, their mission was to delay and disrupt the enemy’s advance as best they could, and in spite of the danger the 75th could still defend the town. As the counterattack commenced, Night Glider and her team continued their support mission. By now most of the second flight’s bombs had been expended. Two more fighters carrying bombs were moving in, this time escorted by a trio of MiGs. It was left up to them to engage the bandits as the pressure piled on, with her wingponies engaging the escorts as she went after the CAS planes. “Almost… locked on!” she shouted, targeting one of the two attackers. “Fox Three! Fire!” The AMRAAM from the F-15E connected with the Farmer as it was beginning its bomb run, detonating the ordinance and causing a large explosion that rocked the second. Another Slammer hit moments later, tearing off the tail of the second Farmer. The pilot attempted to hold his glide path as he flew over the town but the release switch for the bombs failed. Vanderbilt watched the burning jet fly past them, crashing back behind the town. Roland was waving the collection of Rangers forward, cradling his SCAR while attempting to coordinate with the accompanying Stryker. Vanderbilt joined the rest of his team in helping to clear the streets and buildings. “Trench! Target behind that stone wall!” Crockett called the squad’s shotgunner. “I see him! Flechette up!” PFC Byrum loaded a specialized shell into his Mossberg and fired; the wall was punctured by a number of sharp knife-like metals, and the Shadow soldier behind it, as several other rangers of the company continued the advance. “Skewered! He’s down!” “Two more behind the wall of that red house!” “Shooter in the second story window! Jameson, Gonzalez suppress! Ramirez, grenade through that window! Go!” “Crockett, Ortega’s squad is clearing that house on the right! Alpha, fire on those tangos down the street, far end!” Vanderbilt ordered, turning to Wakefield and having to grab his shoulder and motion to him with hand signs as the noise grew. “Bravo! Bravo, left! Go left, that alley and hold the corner there!” “Badger this is Colt, can you hear me?” Captain Roland called the supporting Styker over the radio. “We’ve got an enemy fireteam in the red house towards the street corner, do you copy?” “Badger copies, you want us to shift fire?”  “Affirmative, shift fire and suppress the house so we can get close! Watch your fire!” “Copy that, be advised we’re rolling down the street now.” The Stryker shifted it’s fire to the designated house, the CROWS turret firing in steady bursts at the building’s various openings. The heavy IFV began to rumble slowly down the dusty dirt street, with some rounds impacting off the armor from the enemy’s return fire. There was little the Shadow troops stuck in the house could do to the slow beast moving in on them. “You, Sergeant! Sergeant!” Roland called to Vanderbilt, eventually getting him to run over through more hand signals to the alley he was in. “Sergeant, how’s your squad? Are they up?” “Ah, yes Sir no one’s down yet.” “Alright take one of your fire teams and form up behind the Stryker to move in on that house! I’ll stick with the other one and watch your six, understood?” “Yes Sir! I’ll take Alpha, my Bravo Team’s behind that fence over there!” “Good man, get moving! Lieutenant Vance, you set up a casualty collection point in that shop a couple rows down, Lieutenant Spencer, take the rest of the platoon and clear the neighboring street to make sure we’re still keeping pace and linked with our other company!” Vanderbilt huddled behind the IFV along with Crockett, Byrum, Marcus, and Rockford. The five men moved slowly along under the protection of the vehicle, ensuring their own flanks were safe as they were led up to the target house, with the Captain and Bravo Team adding their fire from another angle. Once at the doorstep, the five men began clearing the building with grenade and gun. The mass of fire had already caused several casualties, and the final clearing brought a total of eight enemy bodies. The Stryker continued it’s fire at other hostiles, covering the Rangers as they worked. “Badger to Colt,” the Stryker called before adjusting and correcting themselves. “Badger to all supporting infantry, our threat warnings are reporting RPG threats up ahead. We need you guys to thin them out. How copy?” “Badger this is Colt Two-Four we hear you,” Vanderbilt answered. “Badger, Colt Actual, we’ll deal with them,” Roland affirmed. “Colt Actual to all, we’re getting warnings about RPGs in the area, we can’t let the Stryker get hit. Prioritize any anti-tank you see.” As Alpha began to file out of the house, there was a small explosion, a great cloud of dirt and dust kicked up on the side of the IFV. Vanderbilt, who was leading the men out, fell backwards and scurried back inside with the others for cover. A mortar had landed next to the vehicle, leaving its armored side dirtied and scarred with shrapnel. The Stryker’s turret turned and began to fire at a target off to it’s left, out of sight of Roland and Bravo Team. The Captain called up his fire team, as well as the assortment of Rangers around them, and beckoned them forward. As they ran ahead to catch up, an RPG shot flew over the deck of the Stryker and impacted the house next to it. It detonated after breaching the wooden wall, blasting a chunk of it away and rattling the vehicle and Rangers even more. Chips of wooden shrapnel, large and small, went flying like a tornado had torn apart a spruce, wounding some of the other men. A collection of house goods, tools, appliances, food, plants, scattered across the ground. “Van! Van can you hear me!?” Sergeant Wakefield called, jumping into the house, terrified the explosion had killed one of his friends.  “We’re up! We’re… we’re good,” Private Rockford replied, dazed and coughing. “Everyone’s ok thank God.” “Where’d that come from?” Crockett asked, brushing some dust from his face. “Outside the house, somewhere, check the victor’s fire!” “Alpha, up to the second floor! Get to the windows up there and suppress any hostiles you see.” Outside, Roland and a number of other Rangers were taking cover next to the Stryker, between it and the house where it was relatively safe. “Badger, Colt.” No response came. “Badger this is Colt do you read me, over?” Inspecting the Stryker, Roland noticed it’s antennas in the back cut short; the mortar seemed to have sliced them down or damaged them enough to where the radio did not work. “Damn!” “What’s wrong?” one of the other Rangers asked him. “I’ve lost comms with the Stryker!” “Lost what!? They’re right next to us!” “No time to complain… there, you, you son!” he called, pointing to a Ranger close to the opening of the house. “Grab one of those tools on the ground! That hammer, grab it! Toss it here!” Roland caught the small hammer and shuffled over to the back of the Stryker near the door. He had a crude idea to correct this, almost uncouth, but this was not the time for worries. He reared his hand back and struck the door with the hammer, causing a metallic clang that echoed even among the gunfire and yelling and roar of the engine. After several more strikes, no one answered. Frustrated and not wishing to stay out in the open, Roland clambered along the side of the vehicle and began striking the deck, closer to the hatches up front. With a number of strikes, the vehicles commander finally opened his hatch and tepidly stuck his head out to inspect the noise, cautious of the firefight happening. The Rangers nearby increased their rate of fire to cover as some of the sergeants took their own initiative to begin assaulting the building where the nearby RPG and shooters were. “Sir!? What the Hell!? Was that you making that noise?” the commander yelled at the top of his voice. “Your radio’s gone!” the Captain yelled back, his voice drowned by the still-shooting CROWS. “What!?” Roland climbed up and pulled the crewman closer, shouting almost directly into his ear. “Your radio is gone!” he informed the crewman, pointing to the cut antenna. “Hold your fire on that building, some of our guys are moving in now!” “Cease fire, hold!” the Stryker commander ordered as he dropped back inside. “Shit… uh, Sir? What do you want us to do now? We can replace the antenna if you want but I don’t think we have time for that.” “No, we have to keep up the momentum of our offense. Keep your hatch open, I’ll call out targets to prioritize. The rest of the infantry will keep advancing on their own,” Roland said, before standing on the deck and waving to his Rangers. “Keep going! Rest of you keep advancing! Lieutenant! Sergeants, keep your teams moving until you reach the edge of town!” “Captain, you know we don’t have any cover on the deck… as you can see,” the vehicle commander pointed out. “Don’t worry about me, just focus on the battle. One last street to clear along the last row of houses. Go right up here and take a left.” The commander complied, dropping back down to pass the order to his driver, mumbling along the way of a ‘stupid bird getting himself killed’ and ‘glory hounding’, among other thing. Roland ignored it, holding on as the Stryker lurched forward. He pronned himself against the hot metal top of the Stryker to make himself less of a target, positioning himself in a way as still be close to the open hatch while minding the CROWS turret. He was quite exposed, and as they turned the corner back into the fight he wondered if there was a better idea, but this is what he chose and there was no time to stop and brainstorm. They had to see through the final push. Rangers were already driving out the stragglers from the street, and out of town entirely. The scenes of Delta Company’s battle were still present, with the bodies of dead Shadows and Rangers scattered about. A burning T-72 lay still at the far end, while four BTR-60s and a lone Stryker MGS sat still and dead on the other side of the street near the woodline.   “Colt Two-One here, we’ve got shooters in that red three story house at the end of the street!” “Colt Actual copies, everyone keep clear we’ll get the Styker to suppress it!”  Roland nudged himself forward along the hot metal of the vehicle, reaching to get the attention of the commander. “What you got?!” the crewman called as loud as he could over the noise. “Red house, right there! One o’clock!” “What!?” the commander yelled over the noise, not able to take off his helmet. Roland grabbed his shoulder and directed his hand at the large red house, motioning and pointing at the target, and after a few seconds of confirmation the VC dropped back down. Roland backed up again as the Styker opened fire on the house, targeting the windows and other openings where the Shadow troops were. Some were hit, others ducked back down under the rapid heavy fire of the IFV, allowing other rangers to begin moving in. Some return fire sprung up, with rounds impacting the dirt or ricocheting off the thick armor, being largely ineffective and inaccurate, though still posing a threat to Roland and any other nearby soldiers. The ranger Captain saw some movement near the edge of the house, near a hole at the corner that had been blown open on the second story. A Shadow soldier, just barely noticeable behind the wreckage, fiddling with what looked like an RPG. Coming up to his knee, he took aim with his SCAR and aimed carefully, firing several shots at the target. The rounds punched through some of the thin wood debris and the unfortunate pony fell forward onto his weapon, out in the open, badly hurt. He stumbled around, trying to get up, and for an instant Mac Roland considered not firing, thinking the poor soul disabled and no longer a threat, not wanting to add another death to the tally, but as the Shadow appeared to continue grabbing at his RPG the realist took over again. He fired again, and again, and setting his weapon to full-auto he held the trigger until the rest of the magazine was emptied and the gun ran dry.  The dying Shadow was moving only lightly now, no longer to escape but the pained squirms of a creature who was slowly fading; punctured by multiple rounds, he stopped only seconds later. Roland emptied the magazine from his gun, tossing it to the side of the deck, and replaced it. There were no other immediate targets, but his men on the ground were now closing in on the house to clear it, so he got the Styker commander’s attention once more and motioned for him to cease fire. As the rangers began to clear out the building, the Stryker pulled past and rounded a corner to a short field stretching from the edge of town to the treeline. The remaining Shadows in the town were already retreating back into the woods, with some of the rangers firing and chasing after them as they went. Roland gave word to halt the advance and the other officers had to coax their subordinates back to the line in town. As the men calmed themselves, a watch was set and the various teams reorganized, tending to the wounded, rehydrating themselves and sharing ammunition to balance off. The Stryker pulled back behind the buildings into cover and shut down the engine so as to save fuel, with the VC standing up through his hatch to stretch and speak with Roland. “Damn Sir… sorry to be blunt, but I don’t think I’ve actually seen a Captain get in the shit before. A lot of them are commanding the bigger battle from the back, even the frontline one’s aren’t this close up.” “Yes, that’s usually what I do. But if there’s an important mission that needs to be handled, it feels like a bit of a responsibility to go in and help them.” “Don’t they try to keep you guys at the company CP?” “Yes son, they try. More and more often they get upset when they can’t. Still, so long as the mission is complete, and the men are in good shape, and I am still in one piece myself.” “I got you Captain.” The men did not get more than six minutes of time to rest until the situation changed again. Roland was helping to properly space out the men for a new defensive line when the battalion commander called him, the sound of urgency taking him by surprise. The Captain responded quickly, now worried over the sudden shouting. “Colt Actual here. Hawk? What’s going on?” “Colt where are you, say your position! Are you in contact?” “Negative contact right now Hawk, we’ve just retaken Point Vegas and are setting up now.” “Colt you need to pack it up and fall back ASAP! Do you copy? Regiment’s said our job is done, we’re all pulling out now, the whole front’s getting hit!” “I copy that Hawk but we’re not in contact yet. We can stay longer if you need-” “Captain I appreciate your desire to go above and beyond but this is not the time to fuck around! Recon and radio intercept’s saying the rest of the Rat’s 7th Infantry Division is moving in after you kicked their initial force out! That’s at least two brigades worth of troops, with armor!” “Ah, thank you Hawk that certainly puts things in a different perspective! I’ll get the men together and begin a retreat. Where are we going?” “Pull back to Rally Point Reno, I’ll have the other companies hold your flanks for a bit until you pass them. Once the battalion’s assembled we’ll rejoin the others and move east. Don’t make us wait on you! Understood?” “Perfectly Hawk, Colt out!” The Captain groaned slightly, frustrated that they would be abandoning the entire town just as their counterattack had been successful. That was the nature of war, however, and the 75th’s mission had been accomplished. There was no need or time to fret over it. Roland called over the nearby Lieutenant and Sergeants and gave a basic summarization, and joined them in calling for the men around them to begin the retreat. After sending out the same order over the radio to his other platoon commanders that were out of earshot, and confirming they all understood, he yelled out and waved over the Stryker’s commander. “Listen we need to get out of here, we’re pulling out of town! You remember passing that candle show back farther down the street? That’s our casualty collection point. Get back over there, load up as many as you can and get going! And pass the word to the Lieutenant there, I wasn’t able to reach him!” “Aye Sir!” “And don’t wait up for us!” As the Rangers began their belated retreat, far above them in the sky, the Equestrian fighters were on their last legs trying to defend the town. Most of the Strike Eagles were low or out of ordinance, the last of the bombs of the CAS flight having been dropped on supposed advancing enemies in the woods. The CAP flight had run out of medium-range armament, and there were few Sidewinders left with which to fend off the enemies harassing them.  Noticing this the arriving Shadow fighters had adopted the tactic of firing their own radar-guided missiles at their max range in launch-and-leave moves, reducing their chances of hitting and giving the Equestrians plenty of time to conduct evasions, but keeping them well out of range of the AIM-9s. Most of the shot missed, but two lucky hits had struck, with one aircraft being inflamed instantly and another crippled, forcing the pilot to fly further behind the lines before ejecting.  “Another one, coming in… Fox Two!” Night Glider called, firing a shot at another strike aircraft that was going after the ground troops. “Trashed, didn’t hit! It turned around, it’s turning away! Crystal Ball we can’t stay here much longer, they'll pick us all off!” “We, uh… understood, Glider Lead. The uh… the ground units are beginning their withdrawal,” the AWACS informed, caught between the decision to cover the retreat or save the rest of the squadron. “If the situation is… unsustainable, you can withdraw.” “Affirmative we’re disengaging to the east now!” Glider replied before ordering her team away. “Glider One to Glider team, disengage and retreat east as far as your fuel will take you.” “Copy Lead, Alpha Flight turn and retreat! Put some distance between us and the bandits!” “Night! Missile! Enemy missile coming at us!” her WSO shouted.  “What!? Tiny where!?” “At our four! Just launched! It’s closer than the others! Twelve miles!” “I see it hang on!” The F-15E began it’s evasive maneuvers as the modified AA-10 closed rapidly. Long trails of chaff and flares fell from the jet, attempting and failing to distract the weapon’s guidance computer. As the missile moved in, Glider attempted the final evasion, increasing her speed as the time clicked down. As the weapon reached them, she pulled the aircraft into a violent break, as hard as she could, the Gs straining both pilot and plane as they tried to dodge the missile. Locked by the force, looking ahead, Night Glider felt a sudden, harsh shake and a muffled, crashing explosion. It took another two seconds before realizing the plane had been hit. She looked over her shoulder to the back; there was some heavy damage to the tail and some small fire but no great inferno yet. She saw her WSO looking down, almost like he had slumped off into a nap. She pulled on the stick and pressed on the rudders, trying to correct the jet, only to find to her horror that neither was responsive at all. “We’re hit! Did you hear me? We’re hit!” she cried over the radio to anypony or anyone that could hear. “The controls aren’t working! I-I have to bail out! Tiny did you hear me? We have to eject now!” No response came from the back seat, but if he was unconscious then Glider could not wait for him to wake up, they would still both eject. “Hey, if you can hear me, we’re ejecting!” After some short preparation, the canopy of the aircraft was blown off, the pony being thankful the necessary electronics still worked for it. She pulled on the handle, and both seats rocketed out into the open sky. After the extreme strain from ejection, Glider’s chute deployed. She caught a glimpse of her friend floating down to Earth on his seat, head still hanging, and only then realized he was gone. The F-15E tipped over and landed out in the woods in a great flaming eruption, and with that Glider passed out, totally overwhelmed. Among the retreating Rangers, Staff Sergeant Vanderbilt and his squad were at the tail end of the company. Having stayed and traded shots as skirmishers with some of the fresh arriving enemies, they were now moving back through town themselves. The initial plan was to keep moving out of town, and find a ride away from the battlefield with the rest of the Regiment. That quickly changed when Vanderbilt noticed the Equestrian pilot parachuting down near the center of town. “Fuck, you see that?” he said through his exasperation. “I think that’s one of our pilots.” “Picked a real bad time to get shot down,” Crockett balked. “I’ll go after him, you guys keep going,” Vanderbilt ordered, making a snap decision. “Crockett you’re in charge until I get back, won’t be long.” “You sure about going alone? One of us should go with you.” “I’ll be fine, I’m just getting this damn pilot! I’ll go grab him, we’ll run our asses off and meet up with you guys, no problem!” The team continued on, letting their leader head off in a different direction, content on the simple plan and not wanting to waste precious time debating when more hostiles were closing in. The Staff Sergeant hustled through the town alone, finding it eerily deserted in the space between armies as the Rangers abandoned it and the Shadows moved in. The sounds of battle continued, keeping him aware of his unseen time limit.  Eventually he found where the parachute had touched down, lying on the ground near a large tree that seemed to have been converted to a house. The pilot was nowhere to be seen, no trace to be found. His eyes darted about, scanning the area as he tried to catch his breath, looking for anywhere the flier might have gone. He noticed the door to the tree lay ajar, and running out of time and not wishing to stand out in the open, he ran inside.  “Huh!? Where’d you come from?”  The first thing he saw was a small purple unicorn, a civilian, one of the many that had elected to stay, that he did not evacuate. Next to her, down on the wooden floor, lay a dark blue pegasus in a flight suit, unconscious but alive, her pure white mane ruffled from the ground. The human surmised that the unicorn had been hiding here from the battle, and when the pilot landed down in her front yard, she dragged her to safety. “I- Christ, look I came when I saw the parachute. I’m here for the pilot, are you okay? You live here?” “Yes, this is my home. I was just trying to help this pony, I… is everything alright? I’m sorry I was just trying to help her-” “No, it’s fine, you did good. I’m glad you got her into cover.” “Really? I didn’t screw up?” “No but- look the bad guys are going to be here any minute. I need to- ah fuck me,” he swore under his breath at the realization. “I need to throw her over my shoulders and hustle back out of town with her, Christ, that's going to slow me down. You… you need to come too alright? I can’t leave you here, you’ll be in danger. You have magic right? Do you think you can float-carry her or whatever it’s called? We can move faster that way.” “What!? I… Sir, I can’t leave! This is… I’m sorry I won’t!” “Look I don’t have time to dick around! If you want to stay- fuck, I can’t! Look you need to come with me alright?” he snapped back, getting caught up in indecisiveness.  “I’m sorry! I just can’t leave! And one of my friends is still in town-” There was a loud, mechanical rumbling that flowed in from outside, and the ranger’s eyes widened before he darted to the window to check. “Oh shit it’s a T-72!” “A-a what?” “Tank! Fuck there’s infantry coming with them too! No, no, no, no I was trying to beat this! Fuck we’re trapped here! They’re spreading out through town already!” The unicorn did not respond, seeming rather despondent and shocked at what was happening, the situation being far out of her grasp and not knowing what to do. Vanderbilt stared at her for a bit, neither of them knowing what to say, before checking the outside again. His eyes began to go back and forth until several rounds from AKs struck the upper end of the window. The glass shattered, raining down onto the unfortunate man and sending him falling backwards and away from the opening. “They know I’m here! Is this it? This is really it,” he said to himself, checking the amount of ammunition he had left for his final stand. “This is it. Is there any other way out of here? Damn it it doesn’t matter they’re all around the building by now! Is there anything else we can do!?” Vanderbilt fired a few rounds blindly out the side of the window before firing a few more quick, properly aimed shots to keep them at bay. “Go get into a basement or a closet somewhere! Get somewhere safe and hide! Take the pilot too, try and hide her from them!” he ordered, firing more rounds out the window as the unicorn watched, her eyes darting about now. “What are you waiting for!? Go damn it! Go now!” “No, wait! There is a way! A way out! I can teleport us all out!”  “What? You can do that!?” “Yes! Yes I can! I’m just not sure where, I-” “Calm down! You need to stop panicking and do it! Now!” Vanderbilt checked out the window again, barely able to see through the withering suppression fire, but caught a glimpse of the T-72’s turret turning towards them. “Oh fuck! Fuck, fuck the tank’s aiming at us!” “Where can we go that’s safe!? The airbase- no they already abandoned it, what about, no! I can’t think of where to go! I-I can’t focus! I don’t know where we’ll be sent!” the unicorn panicked before coming to another awful realization. “Spike! Spike where are you!? Spike!? He left earlier but he should be in the kitchen-” “Anywhere’s better than here! We need to go! Just do it!” Vanderbilt interrupted, falling onto his back and sliding next to her.  “No! No I can’t leave without Spike! I know he’s here!” “Just do it! Do it, do it now!” “Alright! Spike, please!” “Now!” There was a great flash of light and a loud, powerful explosion all at once. From the outside, the tank had fired it’s round and blasted open a huge hole in the old tree, with wood and glass and papers flying about. When the dust settled the firing ceased from both sides. The Shadow Infantry moved in quickly but cautiously, breaking down the door and checking through the openings. The inside of the tree was left chaotically disheveled, the main room filled with debris from the tank round and the multitude of books on the shelves knocked to the floor. As the soldiers slowly cleared out the tree, they were surprised to find no trace of the long American ranger, nor the Equestrian pilot, nor Golden Oak’s famed resident. Many miles away, far from the battle, and Ponyville, far from any military unit, or any note of civilization, Staff Sergeant Vanderbilt opened his eyes again. He was alive, and it took a minute for the good Sergeant to process this. He had seen the explosion, felt it’s heat on his face, saw a flash of white-purple light and shut his eyes a microsecond later. Still, he was breathing, he felt the beat of his heart, the sweat on his face and the weight of his gear and uniform on his body. He looked around, finding they were in a desert, one that reminded him of the American Southwest. The Equestrian pilot was still there, still asleep, as was the purple unicorn, though it seems she had fallen unconscious as well, either from the shock of the blast or the strain of the spell, or both impacting together. Vanderbilt sat down on a rock, trying to collect himself, shaking and breathing as the adrenaline from battle had suddenly ceased. The danger of death had passed, but now until they woke up he was stuck here, alone in a desert, somewhere unknown on the great mass of the Arcaian continent, and for the first time in quite a long time, he felt totally alone.