Night Mares
II.
July
Year 6 of the Harmonic Age
Soft rain not unlike a fine mist gently falls upon the forest under rolling grey clouds. There are no pegasi in the Equestrian Northwest to manage this weather. Much like the Everfree Forest back home these woods are badlands that have inspired many a frightening tale. The stories born within these pines, however, are far more foreboding than what Ponyville had to offer. None of these have anything to do with silly old ponies looking for horseshoes or headless horses that somehow devour fillies. No, the ghost stories born of these mountains are terrifying in their ability to be very much plausible.
There just ain’t no two ways about it – some of them might be true. Worse still is how natural the forest is. The Everfree was full of monsters and strange magic that could be blamed for any misfortune that befell those passing through, but in these mountains the most we have to worry about is running into a bear or a pack of timberwolves. Sweetie and Scootaloo didn’t hear anything, but I swear that when we were gearing up to head out I heard a low howl that was definitely not a timberwolf. Whatever it was, wind or not, my blood turned to ice when I heard it.
A cool breeze tugs at my ponytail as I lead my friends across soft, green grass in silence. I’m sure Scootaloo knows what Sweetie and I want to ask, but she’s remained silent ever since we left the first objective hours ago. I just don’t know what to say. How do you ask your friend what it’s like to kill? To feel somepony’s life slipping away in your hooves because you are taking it? Her vest is surely stained with that pony’s blood, and I doubt even a serious scrubbing will remove the dark blots. I turn my head around to check on her and she brings her eyes from the ground to look right through me and into something beyond. My fur stands on end. I really don’t like what I see.
My hind legs give a quiet wheeze as I turn about. She stops short, looking at me with wide violet eyes as she takes a step backward. She’s bottling her emotions up, and she of all ponies should know the implications of that. Diamond was in the hospital for three days, after all. We just need to get her to talk about it. Thing is, I’m not sure I’m prepared to hear it.
I take a breath and softly ask, “Scootaloo?”
She blinks and looks to the ground, lightly scratching at the grass with her forehoof as if she were a filly being lectured. I glance at Sweetie, who gives a reluctant nod.
“How…” I pause in trying to find the words. She’s scrunched her face as if angry. I need to tread carefully. “What –”
“It’s horrible!” Scootaloo suddenly sobs, bringing her eyes to level with mine. “That’s what it’s like!” She collapses to her haunches with a heavy, quivering sigh. “It’s just so...” She gasps in a breath and then clenches her eyes as tears emerge. Sweetie quickly trots up and puts a hoof on her shoulder. Scootaloo lets out another shaky breath and finishes with a croak, “So wrong, Apple Bloom. It’s so wrong…”
I sit down before my friend. “Come here.” I offer and take her in an embrace. Her quivering form clings to me as if she would disappear if she let go.
She quietly sobs for a few minutes, her back heaving up and down with each exhale. The motions gradually lose fervor and her whimpers eventually fade. She finally opens her eyes and gasps in a lungful of air. “But it’s so easy.” She whispers and then gives a long sigh. My own breath catches and I look nervously to Sweetie. She’s right terrified.
“It is?” she asks softly.
Scootaloo gives a tiny nod, clenching her eyes while she wipes her muzzle with a hoof and shuffles away from my forelegs. “That’s the worst part.” She sniffs, “It was too easy…”
Sweetie looks back to me with lips pursed.
With a rustle Scootaloo rises to a sitting position and brings a forehoof to her face. The little black ovals in her orange hoof extend outward, forming metal fingers. “And I have to do it again.” She sighs.
With four little clicks the fingers retract. She stands and offers her hoof to me. Her eyes are no longer as vacant, but I can tell that what happened this morning will haunt her – maybe forever. I take her hoof and stand on all fours myself.
“Are you OK?” I ask carefully.
Scootaloo takes a deep breath and nods. Although she’s anything but, she nonetheless looks at least a little better than she did a few minutes ago. I, on the other hoof, feel a sickly weight in my stomach growing heavier by the minute. My time to take a life is fast approaching, and I’m not at all looking forward to it.
I give a tiny reassuring smile and turn about, trotting forward as the noon sun pierces dark, grey clouds with brilliant golden rays. Thunder booms overhead, but though the sun shines warm on our backs the misty rain continues to fall.
--
I don’t know what it is, but that rumble is not thunder. For the past minute we’ve remained absolutely still, the only sound beside the patter of raindrops being a distant hum. My ears twitch as a bout of real thunder sends a tremor through my chest and lingers in the sky before finally fading away.
“Let’s check it out.” I order. The second objective is less than two miles away, but Princess Luna has also tasked her Night Mares with the performance of what Princess Twilight called “reconnaissance,” which is just fancy-talk for spying.
Four metal pads normally clinging to either of my hind legs clamp down into the grass, providing balance as my stomach lurches in my ascent to stand on two legs. I bring the long rifle from my back and cradle it in my forehooves. My friends mimic the action and with three sharp clacks our weapons are primed. I nod once and we quickly make our way through the trees with vests lightly bouncing atop our shoulders. Our equipment clicks softly alongside the mechanical growl of our legs as they work harder to support bipedal movement. The ground is shaking by the time the rumble gives way to guttural roars, and within minutes we can see motion through a break in the trees.
A long column of enormous steel boxes roll atop a multitude of wheels that feed a pair of ridged tracks into the earth. Their engines are deafening, but even more frightening are the massive barrels that point skyward. At least a dozen are within sight, but there’s no telling how many have already passed or how many are to come. Our friend Rainbow Dash named her pet tortoise after these machines, but they’ve advanced far beyond what are traditionally referred to as tanks.
I bring the glass of the long-rifle scope to my eye. Every machine services around a dozen ponies that ride on whatever space they can find while those who were too slow to hop on are forced to march at the sides of the road. Hundreds of ponies must be traveling this road - maybe even a thousand! As the minutes roll by with the tanks I reckon that we are witnessing the mobilization of a force that’ll put up a fight on par with the distant battle we saw last night.
A tap on my shoulder diverts my attention. Sweetie Belle silently beckons us to follow. After a final look to the road Scoots and I follow her away from the procession. The ground is only lightly trembling when Sweetie finally stops. She’s scared, and rightly so. What we just saw will decimate the Equestrian forces if they’re caught unawares.
Sweetie poses a question. “Scootaloo, do you think you can work a matrix array?”
Scoots looks to the ground in contemplation. “I don’t know, but I worked with the prototypes a little back in the lab. Twilight’s close – I know it – but from what I could tell she needs somepony to contact her. If we can get a hold of an array, then I can at least try.”
Sweetie nods her understanding. “Let’s go get one, then.”
I agree. Even in a full gallop it would take more than a day to hoof it back to the forward base in the Shimmering Valley. If Scootaloo can’t get the device to work then I don’t think too much time will have been lost before we run back, anyhow.
“We have to hurry.” I remind them. “Let’s go.”
--
“Stay low.” I whisper. Sweetie Belle and I crouch in the shadow of the trees just twenty trots from a sunny clearing containing the facility.
It looks almost identical to the structure we found earlier save for an active patrol and the absence of a guard tower. At a moment’s notice these ponies can alert their allies to our presence with their radio spell matrix, which means we need to be fast in our attack. Ideally, we would wait for night to fall, but time is something we don't got.
Scootaloo waits at the tree line up ahead, ready to take out the roaming patrol the moment I shoot the radio operator sitting with their back to an open window. That is, I’m fairly certain he’s the operator. The device itself is out of sight, but he has large cups around his ears that probably allow him to use it, seeing as nopony else has them. Don't really matter none, seeing as my crosshairs are aligned perfectly with the middle of his head.
“There may be more inside.” Sweetie points out. “I’ll go with Scootaloo. When you fire I’ll break in.”
She slowly rises from her belly and hunches low in her advance to join the pegasus. The raindrops have gotten slightly heavier and are falling with greater intensity. The rays of the sun shift frequently as the clouds come together in preparation for the storm. Sweetie Belle arrives at Scootaloo’s side and nods back to me.
I take a quick inhale as my heart quickens its rhythm.
This is it.
I force myself to take long, deep breaths just like Twilight told me. Doing so sets my belly aflutter.
I separate my finger from my hoof.
I have the long rifle because I maintained my accuracy in training.
My finger wraps around the trigger.
I have the long rifle because I can consistently put down targets hundreds of trots away.
My breath catches and every single raindrop can be clearly heard.
The princesses and my friends trust me to operate this weapon. If I don’t, they will die.
My brow furrows and I squeeze the trigger.
A powerful sound like bottled thunder drives my ears against my skull and sets loose debris into a flurry around the long-rifle’s muzzle. In an instant the thunderous roar gives way to a sharp, crackling echo. Twilight taught me not to blink when I fire, so I clearly see the pony jerk forward as a thin trail of blood laces the path his head takes in its descent to the ground.
Sweetie is immediately on her hind legs and sprints to the array as Scootaloo fires a trio of quick shots into the patrol. I flinch with each *crack *of her gun. The patrol’s chest emits three puffs of dust into the air and he collapses. Sweetie has by now busted in the door and from within the building just one muffled shot rings out. A peal of thunder faintly booms.
After a few moments Scootaloo calls out to her. She must have answered, because Scoots is now waving to me on her way inside. My lungs are beginning to burn. With a cough I bring air back into them and swivel my ears from the curve of my head. The sounds of the forest return. I breathe deep and shakily rise to my hooves, slinging the long-rifle. I just killed somepony, and from what I can make of things Sweetie just did, too.
I wait for something to happen. If anything has, I don’t feel it. In fact, I don’t feel much of anything save for the lingering rush of adrenaline running through my body. I trot forward, looking out for anypony that might be responding to the racket. At the treeline I wait, looking about for any other patrols.
Nothing.
I gallop to the door and promptly come upon the wake of Sweetie’s entry. The enemy mare must have been rushing outside when the door met her face. Sweetie kicked it so hard that she was sent into the opposite wall. A small web of cracks and a streak of blood mark the impact, leading to a crumpled, bleeding heap on the ground. I grimace and walk forward into a dark room where my friends stand before a wall covered in dials, knobs and a great many wires. Scootaloo ought to feel right at home.
She’s currently running her hooves over different components of the matrix array but hasn't touched nothing. I look up to Sweetie. She quickly glances to me and then back to Scootaloo. Her green eyes look alright. I suppose mine do as well, judging from her lack of reaction. We don’t say anything, however. Like me, she probably doesn’t want to talk about her first kill, either.
Various clicks emanate from the device as Scootaloo begins rearranging different wires and twists a number of knobs. After a few minutes of seemingly random motions a box on her left emits a crackling noise into the air. She looks to it with a mix of surprise, apprehension, and joy. I’m about to ask what’s happening when muffled, distorted voices begin to mix with the cackle. My fur stands on end at the mention of a ‘princess.’
“Scootaloo?” I ask. She only looks to me, nodding with a dumbfounded smile.
“Canterlot.” She confirms. “Their radio spell labs are on the very top of the mountain.”
I lean forward to the device and tentatively say, “Hello?”
The voices on the other end, broken as they are, continue without pause. I look about and find a hoof-size button next to the box providing the sound. I slowly click down and the noise ceases entirely.
“…Hello?”
Upon release of the button the crackle returns, but the voices have disappeared. A distorted but definitively female voice suddenly comes through.
“Hello?” Her inflections match my own.
I press the button again. “My name is Apple Bloom. Find Princess Twilight.”
Thunder booms as a clamor of voices occupy the speaking box. I look to Scootaloo and grin. She did it. A shuffle accompanied by excited voices brings my attention back to the little box.
“Apple Bloom?” Another mare excitedly asks.
“Twilight?” I ask “Is that you?” It’s mighty difficult to distinguish voices with this thing.
“Yes, Apple Bloom! I don’t know if you realize the implications of what you three just did, but this might be the final piece of the puzzle that we needed to - ”
“Twilight, y'all need to listen carefully.” I click the button and explain. “We’re at our second objective right now, but there's a road nearby. A huge enemy force is traveling down it. You need to tell Princess Luna!”
“– we’ll be able to level the playing field!” She finishes.
I look at to my friends, confused.
“Twilight?” I ask.
“Yes?”
“Did you hear any of what I just said?”
“No. You were talking?”
“You must not be able to talk at the same time.” Scootaloo mutters.
“Twilight, listen.” I release the button and when only static emanates press again. “Are you listening?”
“I’m here, Apple Bloom.”
I release a deep breath. This thing is pretty frustrating. “You need to keep your messages short." I continue, "When we talk, we can’t hear each other.”
In a muffled voice she speaks to another pony, and then replies her understanding.
“We’re at our second objective.” I repeat. “There's a road nearby with a lot of ponies on it. You need to warn Princess Luna.”
“You just have.” A deeper and far more authoritative voice observed.
I instinctively move to bow but realize the princess can’t see me doing so.
“We too have a large force arriving in Shimmering Valley as we speak. Your warning will give us valuable time to prepare for the ensuing battle. What did you see?”
“Dozens of tanks,” I answer, “and a lot of ponies.”
There’s a static-filled pause before the princess answers. “Understood. Well done, my Night Mares. You are to disregard your current assignment and immediately return to the Shimmering Valley. Upon arrival you will aid in its defense.”
“Yes, Princess.” I finish and release the button. There’s a flurry of activity on the other end.
“Be careful, you three.” Twilight finishes. The device goes silent, leaving the roar of the storm to fill our ears.
I smile at Scootaloo. She seems overjoyed at what just happened.
“If that doesn’t get you your–” I stop, looking to her flank. The old joke we used to tell one another as fillies dies on my lips. For, where just minutes ago featureless orange fur stood, is a small cutie mark that looks just like the speaker box I was just using. She follows my gaze and freezes.
A smile slowly stretches across her face. She looks back to me, almost in tears. She’s about to speak when Sweetie Belle shouts from the next room, “We have trouble!”
A muffled series of pops and cracks precede the radio erupting in a shower of sparks. Scootaloo and I duck to the floor as the walls are riddled with small holes from which dim, grey light pours in. The gunfire echoes away and with a shout I kick a hole in the wall, providing an impromptu window to the forest outside being drenched in the downpour. In the haze of the rain I see half a dozen ponies making their way across the meadow. I quickly bring the long-rifle to bear and put a round through the chest of the nearest aggressor. He falls with a cry and the rest collapse to the ground, lighting the building up once again.
Bullets hiss and crack by my head, driving my face to the wet floor. From up above I hear Sweetie return fire. “Move!” I shout to Scootaloo, waving to the door while our friend diverts their fire. She dashes out the door and I follow her into the heavy rain.
“Sweetie!” I shout, “We are leaving!”
After two more shots she rolls on her belly from the roof to land with a heavy *squelch* in the grass. From the tree line, Scootaloo begins to take shots.
“Let’s go!” I shout over a clap of thunder. More bullets hiss by and embed themselves in the trees with loud knocks. Sweetie and I take cover and aim. Three hostiles are left standing, but they’re wise – taking turns in keeping us pinned while comrades advance to the building for cover.
“I’ll go left. Keep them busy!” With that I run along the tree line, weaving between trees in a flanking maneuver. I begin to round the building and spot a stallion with his side pressed against the structure. He hasn’t seen me.
I swipe several clumps of soaked mane from my eyes and with an annoyed snort at the stubborn red strands undo my ponytail, using my old pink bow to instead keep my mane from my face. I bring the glass of the scope to my eye, aligning the crosshairs with the stallion’s head…
Wait. This can’t be right. That pegasus stallion isn’t a stallion at all – he doesn’t even look like he’s out of primary school, yet! I can see it – I can see the strain on his face as he struggles to even lift his weapon. He ducks behind the corner as Sweetie Belle sends a bullet his way and he looks down to the grass, utterly terrified. He looks up in my direction and stares right into my eyes. The detail that my scope provides is astounding – I can even see the tears streaming down his face beside the rain.
I can’t. I can’t shoot him. We need to help him, is what we need to do. I’m already lowering my gun when he grits his teeth and clenches his eyes in the effort to lift the weapon that will save his life.
No. No, no - he doesn’t understand! My body, however, is not at all interested in the rational – only staying alive. My finger instinctively yanks on the trigger. His face plunges into the mud as a foreleg is blown clean off in a puff of red mist.
He screams in pain with the ferocity of a timberwolf, writhing about as another pony lifelessly falls to the ground behind him. The gunfire ceases. He’s the only one left. Bleeding and alone. My vision blurs and I drop my rifle as his cries continue over the booming thunder. I grab my head with my forehooves and sink to my haunches.
End, end – just make it end! The rain, the thunder – his cries! I want to go home. I want to go home, I want to go home. I want to sit by the fireplace with Applejack, Big Mac and Granny, sipping hot soup while the storm rages outside. Safe and warm.
Safe and warm.
Who were those ponies I shot earlier? Did they have a family? What have I taken from them? Were they even bad ponies?
My breath quickens.
Am I?
Sweetie Belle crashes to my side. She lowers her weapon and shakes my shoulders, shouting as if into a pillow.
What if I hadn’t shot him, though? I’d be dead. I look to Sweetie in a daze. If I were dead, then Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo would die, too. They’re my friends, and-
.
.
.
And I won’t let my friends be killed.
In an instant my muffled hearing is restored. The rain and thunder continue their onslaught, but so do the screams of my target. Sweetie hears him, too. She makes to put him out of his misery but I put a hoof on her shoulder. She pauses and lowers the gun. I shake my head and look into her eyes from under my brow.
There it is. I know exactly what she’s seeing right now, and it’s scaring her out of her mind. I grasp my long rifle from the grass and chamber a new round. I’m not crying anymore. I am going to keep my friends alive. What just happened was a weakness that we can’t afford. Weakness means everypony will die by my hoof. I align the crosshairs on the wheezing colt’s head.
Without hesitation I put him to rest.
I’m not a monster, though. I’m not. Monsters don’t feel. They don’t love.
I feel.
The long rifle slings on my shoulder.
I love.
My fingers click back into my hoof.
I live.