//------------------------------// // III // Story: Night Mares // by NCMares //------------------------------// Night Mares III. July Year 6 of the Harmonic Age Even in the waning moonlight the Shimmering Valley lives up to its name, glittering beautifully under the soft white glow as if the stars themselves had fallen to the world. In fact, from my prone position at the forest’s edge, I can’t tell where the clear sky ends and the mountains begin. Inlaid within the rock are millions of microscopic gems that collectively give the entire valley and the large mining town in its center a gorgeous sheen. Legend has it that this is where Princess Platinum herself founded the short-lived nation of Unicornia. Everything is completely still. There is no wind in the grass or a rustle of the trees. The roar of the enemy’s mobilization is long behind us, but they are on their way. They are still coming, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. I quietly let out a breath and focus on the distant houses. There’s nothing I can do, so I won’t worry until I need to. Just moments ago Sweetie Belle used her magic to signal our forces in the town. They know they have a fight on their hooves and are ready to shoot anything in sight, so we need to keep our eyes open for a return signal that will only appear once among the twinkling. My eyes snap to the left. A tiny, light blue sparkle flashes and is instantly lost to the stars. I remain still as a light breeze finally sends the forest into a light rush. “Did you see it?” Sweetie softly asks from somewhere above. “I caught it,” Scootaloo answers, “Apple Bloom?” “Eeyup,” I answer. The grass under my belly rustles loudly as I rise to my hooves and my friends descend from their perch. We quickly make our way across a vast expanse of grass separating the town from the forest with crunching hoof steps. I look around at the great meadow and my belly is sent into a flutter in anticipation of what is to come. Scootaloo gives an impressed whistle. “Take a look at that.” I squint into the darkness to find a line of large wooden barricades encased in gleaming wire standing guard before the buildings. Affixed along the length of the curling cables are wicked barbs that prevent entry to anything unfortunate enough to be caught in their grasp without steel armor. I cock an eyebrow at the dozens of eyes peering through tight openings in the thick wood. A section of wire parts in our approach and we trot through the line to come across a wide trench running just behind the barricades. The pit is easily deep enough to conceal me when standing on my hind legs and is currently home to the first of Equestria’s new military force. All of their nervous conversations quickly give way to the still night. They stare first to our faces and then to our hind legs in a mix of awe and disbelief. Most are young stallions but a number of mares also wear metal helmets and clutch rifles identical to those of Sweetie and Scootaloo – sturdy wood reinforced with metal rings that give way to a long barrel. Not quite as long as my weapon but featuring the same “bolt-action” reloading mechanism, as Twilight had called it. Affixed to the hole where the bullet-box goes is a piece of metal that must be yanked up and backward to eject the spent bullet casing and shoved forward and down to prime a new round. The invention fires projectiles at a rate just shy of that of a captured enemy gun, but it is certainly competitive. A magical enchantment prevents us from taking a look inside the enemy weapon, however, so we were unable to determine exactly how it works. Still, every Equestrian weapon has since been similarly enchanted until Twilight can crack it open. I slow to a walk and look upon dozens of anxious faces. They stand atop wooden planks that prevent direct contact with the slippery earth, but hardly any color appears through the grime that has accompanied the arduous task of constructing these defenses. Sweetie, Scootaloo and I continue without a word into the town. Those ponies in the trenches looked like they’d just seen a trio of ghosts walk into their midst. Had we already developed a reputation? What are we to them? Are they terrified of us? “Apple Bloom,” Scootaloo speaks in a normal tone, which in the silence is akin to a shout. “Are we going inside?” With a start I look up to the door of a relatively large house that reads in simple white lettering ‘H.Q.’ “Sorry. Just thinkin’. About the ponies we just saw.” “About what’s going to happen to them?” Close enough. I nod and turn to face my friends. Scoots first clenches her jaw in contemplation and then a corner of her mouth turns upward. “We can’t control that, Bloom – only what we can do ourselves. As long as we stay together then we’ll be OK, right?” I do my best to put on a winning smile. “Yeah.” She and Sweetie grin in unison. My expression becomes genuine as I savor her words and find real comfort in them. I turn about and proceed inside with one pair of hooves clopping against the wood as the metal pair strikes with metallic clacks. The central floor of the empty sweet shop is dominated by one large table atop which a great map depicting the western half of Equestria lies. Several areas on the ocean’s edge are swathed in red. About seven black X’s are marked over red circles near the edge of the forest. The sites of our objectives are among them. The Night Mares have been busy. My ears twitch at a sound from under the table. “This way, Night Mares,” a male voice orders. The table promptly lurches to reveal a hidden staircase. I lead the way downstairs to a large, dark basement that serves as the true headquarters. Dim red lights illuminate wide walls that are covered in maps depicting the Equestrian Northwest in varying levels of detail and purpose. Along the length of one wall under the maps are desks where five ponies go about the business of filing and writing scrolls that will soon be on their way to Canterlot, other posts or Princess Cadance down south. A single guard stands at the base of the stairwell, unmoving in his post save for the quick tap of his hooves that signal our arrival. A weathered, grey bat-pony of Her Majesty’s Lunar Guard turns about and widens his exhausted yellow eyes ever so slightly before letting his shoulders fall in a small sigh of relief. In an instant he snaps into a salute. “Nightmare Two,” he barks in a low voice that barely betrays his years of service, “Commander Star Shade, senior officer of the Shimmering Valley operation.” I quickly return the salute and try my best to appear as confident as possible. That pony – the commander – saluted us first. A sinking weight tugs at my belly. We certainly had developed a reputation. He mentions something else, but I don’t even hear it. I obey, however, and find myself standing before a map of the town and the forest to the west. If this pony were to be killed, do we assume command? The weight in my belly doubles at the prospect, threatening to empty itself of dinner. Those ponies in the trenches probably expect us to lead them already, don’t they? My vision goes hazy and I feel my breath quicken. This is unreal. All of it – just unreal. They’ll look to me to guide them and tell them what to do. They’ll look to me to keep them alive— “Night Mare?” I jerk to reality and gaze into the gripping yellow slitted eyes of Commander Shade. “With all due respect, ma’am, ponies’ lives are on the line here. The sooner we get through this, the sooner you get some sorely needed sleep­.” “I’m sorry—” my voice catches and I sniff. I bring a hoof to my cheek and it comes away wet. Was I crying? I glance to Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo. They both look back with concerned expressions. Our attention is brought forward as the commander continues. “The Tank Corps should be arriving within the hour. They will take defensive positions behind the line and support the infantry. We must do what we can to keep the enemy from overtaking that trench. If it falls, this fight will become decidedly more brutal. Nightmare Three and Nightmare Five will be in position at the northern and southern ends of the line, respectively. You three will support the middle ground.” My focus shifts to an area circled in red among a vertical line of black X’s. Small boxes mark where the Equestrian armor will establish a firing line. “You will use your ranged weapons to maximum efficiency, neutralizing targets of opportunity while maintaining a low profile. To the best of our knowledge the enemy does not yet know you exist and we intend to keep it that way.” I nod in understanding, visibly quaking in my effort to keep my knees from buckling. The commander notices. “Above all,” Commander Shade’s face shifts to that of a tired old stallion with eyes no longer able to focus. “Stay sound of both body and mind. Ponies will look up to you, and you will be an example. You are an extension of the might of the princesses.” He looks to me with a chilling gaze. “But you will know fear. You will know pain. Still, you will endure. Still, you will fight. Remember that the magic of friendship will always shine even under the darkest of ashes.” I realize that Star Shade has probably lost many friends to this war, already. “Understood, Commander.” -- The first tanks arrived minutes after we resupplied at the armory, rumbling through cobblestone streets on treads similar to those on the tanks that we saw in the forest. Although not as large as the enemy’s tanks they are still as impressive as they are terrifying – expelling black smoke from snarling engines and sporting great guns that extend from box-like turrets. It is difficult to make out individual faces in the moonlight, but I get the feeling that the tankers sitting atop the machines are very nervous. Hardly a speck of dirt or mud can be seen on the dark grey paint. This is surely their first engagement. “Let’s get to our spot,” Sweetie advises, “we need as much sleep as we can get.” I nod and follow her into an alley. The roar of the tanks echo and can be heard throughout the town. At least we’ll know when the enemy is approaching. After a few minutes of trotting we enter a two-story house at the edge of town overlooking the meadow and the trench. The home still possesses much of its furniture due to the rapid evacuation of the townsfolk. Toys litter the ground where children were hurriedly scooped up and out of harm’s way while a trail of clothing and other belongings leads us upstairs to the master bedroom. From this point we have a clear view of the forest through large windows that allow the light of the setting moon to shine. “I’ll grab some cover,” Scootaloo offers and heads into the hall, returning moments later on her hind legs and carrying a bed. She first opens the window to the cool night air and reinforces the space while Sweetie follows with a wardrobe and me with the dining table. None of us speak in the task. When only a few slivers of white light are able to shine through breaks in the wood Scootaloo lets her vest and backpack fall to the ground in a heap. After a quick stretch of her small wings she sits on her haunches and promptly falls backward into the pack and begins snoring, just like her big sister. I chuckle and sit down myself, undoing the straps holding my own vest in place. I withdraw my gun as well as a large, rectangular sword provided by the armory. If the fight is taken to the streets there won’t be much room for long rifles. I shudder and quickly curl into a tight ball to bring my tail around my muzzle. I hear Sweetie come to my side and lay down herself, one forehoof wrapped around my shoulder. Seconds later I make out Scootaloo shuffle to my left where she settles down with a quivering sigh. “We still have each other,” she sniffs, “We’re still together?” As I lose myself to the gloom, I hear Sweetie reply in that sing-song voice of hers, “We’re not going anywhere.” -- The sweet smell of ripe apples and old wood fills my nostrils. My eyes gently flutter open amidst golden sun rays that dance through the swaying leaves. How I missed home. I rise on hooves devoid of metal or cloth and shut my eyes to a gentle breeze beckoning me to the right. I follow. My hooves rapidly rise and fall into soft grass. I’m still a filly, after all. I round the trunk of an apple tree to emerge into a clearing. Up ahead is a treehouse. Two fillies stand atop the balcony, waiting for something. Waiting for me. I take one step after another but go nowhere. I can burst into a gallop but will not reach that treehouse. I scream and cry out, but the fillies – one orange and one white – do not notice me. Why don’t my friends notice me? A sudden burst of engine noise startles me into the ground. Dirt and grass fly about upon impact. I look around to an Equestrian tank rolling away from me, raucously tearing the grass apart with its thick treads. Painted on the back of the turret are three little red apples. Applejack. I’m immediately on my hooves, but my hearing is muffled. On all sides yellow streaks of light hiss in their flight among the ruins of a small town. Craters litter the ground while fresh ones are pounded into existence with enormous plumes of dust and dirt. I take a step forward but a blast from behind sends my face into the mud. I bring my head up just in time to see Sugarcube Corner explode in a hail of debris and dust. Applejack’s tank is now trying to reverse under the deluge but takes a hit directly to the front. “Applejack!” I shriek into the chaos. My throat is parched with the ashes of my home. Bright orange flames flicker from the back of the tank and from the doomed machine several forms emerge, two on fire and wildly flailing in their descent to the ground. The black silhouette of my sister stands atop the turret. I know it’s her. She lifts a comrade to the open air, pushes him to the ground and makes to jump herself just as a large shard of yellow rips through one of her hind legs. Bits of flesh and blood fly along the path of the tank round as it sails onward. She tumbles to the ground. “APPLEJACK!” I scream. I dig my metal fingers into the ash, baring my teeth in the effort to crawl forward. I lift my gaze to see the tank explode in a burst of flame and twisted metal. -- I jerk awake with shallow and shaky breaths. I lie on my belly with fingers fully extended and stuck in the wood flooring. After a quick tug and six sharp cracks they return to my hoof. I quickly wipe my eyes and take deep breaths to recover from my burst of adrenaline. It’s still dark outside, but a deep blue glow hints at the approaching dawn. Sweetie Belle and Scootaloo are not here with me. I sit up and reach for my long rifle. Wait. I freeze, ears flicking. For a minute I don’t move – only listening to the faint whine of distant engines. The slightest tremor can be felt in my haunches. I turn my head in the direction of the boarded-up windows. A rhythmic pounding on the stairs behind me precedes the return of Sweetie and Scootaloo. Both of my friends are wearing metal helmets and they quickly plant one on my head. “This is it,” Scootaloo whispers. She plants one hoof on my shoulder and another on Sweetie’s. We look at one another. “Stay together,” Sweetie advises, “We’re going to be alright.” I nod and forcibly gulp. A shrill whistle sounds from the trenches just outside. To our left and right several more whistles cry out with increasing faintness down the line. I lick my lips and slightly part my jaw to breathe. My belly is weightless and my hooves don’t feel as if they’re my own. Sweetie, Scoots and I don’t move as the sky gradually lightens into a faint grey. The shaking in the ground intensifies, rattling our make-shift barricade as the enemy’s engines forego their quiet echo for a clear snarl. I rise to my hind legs and peek through a crack in the furniture. A thick coat of fog has descended upon the valley, preventing us from even spotting the tree line. The ponies in the trenches are all wide awake and are bunched up at the edge, trying to see. By now the crackling engines are almost deafening, but we still can’t see the enemy. Within the space of a few moments the racket gives way to a tense silence. In the quiet I can just make out the idle purr of the Equestrian tanks. Nopony speaks. Hundreds of rifles pan left and right from the trench. Without taking my eye from my opening I poke the long rifle through and press my left eye to the lens. I chamber a bullet with a clack that, in the silence, booms like thunder. “For Harmony,” I whisper. “For the Princesses,” Sweetie adds. “For Equestria.” Silence envelopes us again. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, finally managing to reel my pounding heart into a manageable rhythm. I’m just starting to pan my crosshairs right when three faint sparks of yellow flash in the fog. Three loud booms fill the valley just before the roof disappears in a thunderous screech of wood, showering us with debris and dust and allowing the grey gloom of dawn to come pouring in. I crouch to the ground; eyes clenched shut amidst the plume of dust as the valley erupts in tank fire. The very air seems to stand still as an Equestrian tank responds from just downstairs with an impossibly loud discharge. My gut lurches as the house rattles from the force of the blast. A low whir accompanies the round as it sails across the meadow and into the fog. The ponies in the trench recover from the initial shock and begin to blindly fire their weapons, further adding to the absolute chaos that has overtaken the valley. I shake the dust from my mane and look to Sweetie and Scootaloo. They seem to be alright, if only shaken. All of our ears are folded down under our helmets. I rise to my hind legs and bring the rifle to bear. Hundreds of bullets arc into the forest, but only the enemy tanks appear to be firing back. The tank from below fires again, jolting me. The round lands to the right where its impact is marked by a faint flash of orange, igniting a bout of cheering from the ponies below. “Get some!” is a common one. We three don’t shoot. There is simply nothing to shoot at. For now it is up to the tanks to try and hit the flashes of yellow that send the massive shells our way. One of the enemy tanks strikes true, rendering a friendly motionless and spewing a shower of sparks. Nopony emerges from the wreckage. Scootaloo hobbles over to Sweetie and me. “What do we do?” she asks. I grimace and withdraw the long rifle to crouch down. The tank just below us lets another round fly, kicking up a cloud of dust in the immediate area. I’m about to answer when half of the master bedroom is blown away by the enemy’s return volley. Had Scootaloo not moved she would have been carried away with it. “We need to wait for the fog to clear!” I shout. A moment later our defenses are suddenly put to the test, soaking up dozens of enemy bullets. We three collapse to the floor as rounds violently hiss and snap overhead, cracking through the wood and showering us with splinters. From below I can make out cries of pain as Equestrians are struck. “Where is that coming from?” I shout. The meadow was devoid of enemy infantry, and they certainly weren’t firing from the woods a few seconds ago. Scootaloo rolls to her belly, shuffles to the devastated wall and quickly glances around the corner. She yanks her head back as three rounds snap into the wall. “The grass!” Scootaloo shouts, “They’re in the grass!” Things don’t sound good outside. We’ve been taken by surprise – the tanks covered the enemy advance brilliantly. “Let’s move,” I shout, “we’re relocating!” My friends nod their understanding and wait for my go. After three heaves of my chest I scramble to my rear hooves and grasp the doorframe leading to the hallway, catapulting myself the whole way downstairs to crack the wood upon landing. As soon as Scootaloo lands I crouch low and step into the grey. Yellow streaks snap the air all around us, embedding themselves in the surrounding buildings amidst thick fog and a strong smell of gunpowder. “Move fast – stay low!” I holler, leading the way around the house and away from the front line. At the corner I put a hoof to my head, signaling a halt. I take a peek, finding the tank that we’ve been hearing just ahead. ‘032’ is painted in white on the turret. Numerous yellow bursts of light flash from the grass in the meadow, pinning down the ponies in the trench as the enemy advances. I pull back around and tell my friends what’s happening. “That tank is vital,” Scootaloo points out, “we need to keep it in the fight no matter what.” Sweetie and I agree. “I’ll hang back there,” I gesture to a home across the street, “you two will fight in the trench?” “Sounds like a plan!” Sweetie Belle shouts over another blast from the tank. The street is swept in a cloud of dust and blades of grass. “Move!” I grunt in my leap from the corner and through the street, cobblestone chipping from the impact of my mechanical hooves. With a shout I kick the door clean off of its hinges, sending it clattering across the floor. Each breath comes out heavy as I pound upstairs, legs mechanically wheezing in the effort. After three flights I emerge to a small hallway. I quickly enter a room and find that much of the wall has been destroyed, giving me a clear view of the friendly tank and the meadow. I spot Sweetie and Scootaloo putting their guns to use and bring my own to bear on the meadow. While the grass hides the enemy ponies from the trench I have a clear view. There are dozens, however, and they are rapidly approaching the line The crosshairs align with the head of a pony tucked into the grass. I squeeze the trigger. They align with another and I squeeze. Two mares lay side by side, exchanging words. The sudden splatter of the first’s face on her own stuns the second. As she makes to scream I squeeze the trigger. Another mare rises just as I fire. Her jaw and several teeth are carried into the grass by my bullet, sending her into a panic as she grasps at what’s left of her muzzle. Before I can chamber a new round she is promptly cut down by fellow ponies. An entire wooden barricade bears the full force of an enemy tank shell, sending wood, razor wire and screaming ponies flying. I reach into my vest and reload as the powerful engines of the friendly tank roar to life. The enemy has risen as one and is charging the opening en masse, braving the Equestrian guns to take advantage of their slower rate of fire. I bare my teeth and sling the long rifle across my back, running to the hole in the wall and leaping to the rooftop of a home below. I land with a thud and beat the thatched roof underhoof before next jumping into the trench itself, landing with a sickening *crunch* atop an enemy stallion. In a flash the large sword provided by the armory is in my left forehoof. With a shout I thrust it up into the chest of a mare, blood running freely down the blade as she screams in pain. She tumbles into the trench, writhing and clutching her chest as her lungs fail. I grasp an Equestrian rifle in my right fore-hoof and prime it, bringing it to bear point blank at another mare emerging over the edge. I shut my eyes and shoot, wincing at a warm liquid that splatters across my face. I drop the gun and put the free hoof to my mouth, whistling sharply over the chaos. We’ve staved off the initial attack, but holding this area will be another matter entirely. Tank 032 has stopped in its tracks and now brings its gun to point at the opening in the line, providing support once again. “We’re here!” Scootaloo huffs out, pushing past ponies in her bid to join my side. Sweetie is right behind her, forehooves red with blood. “They’ve blown open a hole!” I shout under the force of 032’s volley. My friends nod their understanding and take to the fight again. I look to the east and spot the sun rising over our backs. The fog will clear shortly, leaving the enemy with nowhere to hide. “Keep it up,” I shout to the surrounding Equestrians, “we’re almost there!” A few look to me and perform a double take upon seeing my hind legs. “Don’t let up, y’all!” I grasp another gun from the hooves of a dead pony and rejoin the fight, “Pour it on!” -- I pan around the meadow with my long rifle, finally ducking back down into the trench with a huff. I run a hoof through my mane and bow, sighing heavily. The relative silence is deeply unsettling. I’m still on edge – ready for action. I look down into the dirt and find the remains of the stallion that I had landed on earlier. His head is obscured by the mud. Good thing. I don’t think I want to see the results of what I heard and felt. That awful crunch of metal meeting bone… I dry heave and tear my gaze away to look to the grey sky and white morning sun. I close my eyes and pretend not to hear the screams of the wounded and dying. Two pairs of hooves approach and I squint out of one eye. Scootaloo and Sweetie Belle are absolutely filthy. I reckon I don’t look much better, though. Scoots holds her sword in one forehoof and drapes it across her shoulders while Sweetie holds one strap of her broken backpack in place. I smile at them, despite myself. It starts as a chuckle, but soon I’m laughing aloud. I just can’t believe we made it through that. What we just saw - what we just did was unreal. This must be a dream! It has to be. My chuckles give way to quiet sobs. I look down to the cloth that surrounds my metal legs. It’s stained a deep red. It’s not a dream. Sweetie and Scootaloo approach and help settle me down onto four hooves. “It’s alright, Apple Bloom,” Sweetie Belle coos, taking my weapon and laying it against the wall. “It’s alright. We’re still here. Sssh…” When I finally calm down she releases me and smiles from behind the grime. Scootaloo gives the two of us a hug and shudders. “That was just the first wave,” she mutters, “they’ll be back. We’ll need to fight again…” "Then we’ll fight again,” Sweetie replies, “we need to stay strong. The ponies around here talk about us. About how we fight. We really do inspire them.” I raise my head. “Twilight trusts us to get the job done out here,” she continues, “If we couldn’t do it she wouldn’t have let us try.” Scootaloo looks away in contemplation. I flick my ears to the idle chatter coming from up and down the trench. Most ponies are in shock. Many are crying. Some are just trying to make sense of what occurred here. Still others talk about the Night Mares. The yellow one with the red mane crushed a stallion under her hooves, they say. She’s an Apple. I think from Ponyville. Her aim is always precise. I saw her up in the balcony. The white one crushed a windpipe with her bare hooves. I saw the pegasus send a pony clear out of the trench with one kick They don’t back down or let up. We need to be like them. I want to fight like a Night Mare.