Chapter Two
Just a Memory
The normally pristine countryside was in ruins.
The area was dying a slow, painful death as the chains of war squeezed the very last drops of life from it. The lush, green grass had withered long ago, leaving a swatch of monotone brown, scarred by battle. Large, majestic trees had been cut down for resources, and, in some areas, burned to the ground, leaving patches of soot and ash where there once was life. The air was thick with smoke and disease, and a sense of death hung over the entire field.
Nothing moved.
There was no noise.
On opposite sides of the battlefield were deep trenches dug into the ground, disfiguring the landscape. Ramparts and barriers were placed around them. Behind both trenches and barricades was a small grouping of tents that had long seen a better time. They were battered and worn by numerous days in service, becoming a temporary monument to what had occured.
In between the trenches was a pock-marked, desolate heath. Large puddles of murky water pooled in the bare dirt. The expanse of brown was occasionally broken up by a few leftover bodies, unclaimed by either side. Coats of white, blue, yellow, green, and black, though soiled by grime and dried blood, created a crude rainbow, offsetting the seriousness of the scene. Their bodies littered the area, their comrades unable to drag them back to camp for burial. They were turned a blind eye to, forgotten by the world. Unknown by their friends and family.
Some of them had been lucky. Some of them had died quick, painless deaths. A spear through the chest. A chop of a sword through the shoulders. A quick, powerful stomp to the ribcage. An explosion from artillery shells that tore their bodies to shreds.
But others were not so fortunate.
Some of the motionless bodies clutched at stumps that once had limbs attached, a look of anguish still on their faces. Others were just a smoldering husk of what used to be flesh, caught aflame in the midst of battle. Some had fallen, legs broken, blindly crawling towards fellow soldiers, hoping for some comfort as they bled out.
Here, the only sound was the buzzing of flies as they alighted on their feast. They were the only ones who cared for the fallen.
In stark contrast, the Equestrian trenches were teeming with life. Stallions dressed in gore stained, rusted armor ran to and fro throughout the camp, like an overturned anthill. The smell of fear permeated the air, overwhelming the death around them.
The trenches themselves were flooded with bilge water, built up over numerous rains. Most everypony had come down with hoof rot, causing many to be unable to walk properly. Monstrous rats, continually eluding capture, ran rampant through the ditches, spreading disease and eating what little provisions were left.
The soldiers themselves were gaunt and bitter, stripped by the horrors of what they had seen. What forces allowed them to live while others in their unit had been killed, ending their lives and dreams? Celestia? That name seemed like the whispers of a good dream. They had no hope anymore. Nothing to live for but their enforced participation in the battle.
Their thoughts and actions had long since degraded into only simple movements. They moved as automatons, sheep, unable to do anything but what they were told. What little free time they had was spent simply resting, for there was naught else to do. Their usually healthy, plump bodies were racked by hunger, reduced to shadows. Their days were blistering and agonizing, and the nights were icy and unforgiving. Both minds and bodies were quickly withering into nothingness.
As the sun disappeared below the horizon, a chill swept the camp. The battered soldiers huddled together around fires, sharing what meager warmth they had, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the next day would end their suffering. For better, or for worse.
Their families seemed like a distant dream. A fantasy they had thought up one day to distract themselves from their life of death and destruction. What was beyond their bleak ditches and battle lines? Some say they remembered a colorful world filled with love.
But that was just a dream.
But even here, in this hub of life, death still managed to seep in. Ponies were stacked irregularly in mounds outside the small shack used as an infirmary. There was no time left for their burials, and nopony had enough heart left to mourn them. It had simply become a part of daily life.
Moans of pain came from the sickbay. The stench of the vomit, blood, and piss of the infirm billowed from the shack, adding to the already miserable atmosphere of the camp. Inside, ponies of all shapes and sizes were packed wall-to-wall in bunks. Several of the beds had three or more ponies to them, all with different injuries. The amount of wounds far outnumbered the skills of the medics and their supplies. This many months into battle, with supplies in such short supply, the only they could do to numb the pain was get their patients drunk.
But, none of the doctors expected anybody to pull through. Once you were injured, there wasn’t any hope. Sure, there were smiles, friendly pats on backs, and promises that they’d try to save you. And maybe for a few days you were hopeful. Maybe fresh supplies would come in and their promises would hold true. But deep down, you know that there was nothing they could do. And as the days pass with no change, and with wounds only getting worse, those lingering hopes are shattered. You gave yourself in to the pain, accepting it, and it becomes your life sentence. Soon after that, the delirium sets in, and the days fly by in a haze, with alcohol as the only relaxation.
Amidst these troubles was a lean, blue pegasus, one of the guards stationed outside the walls surrounding camp, keeping a look out for the enemy. That was his job, his post. To protect the lives of the ponies that were living behind him.
He rested against a beam, his uniform drawn close to his body as defense against the brutal night. His eyes drifted lazily across the horizon, only half-heartedly keeping watch. His thoughts wandered, thinking of home, and the distant memory it was. Thinking of the two pink ponies that he would see once he got home, his wife and son.
But for now, his only company was a bone dry canteen, emptied countless hours ago in the heat of day. His weapon left back in the camp, because he knew he wouldn't need it that day. Blinking drowsily, he shivered and clutched his uniform closer to stave off the cold.
He breathed out, his breath visible in the frigid night. He was so tired. Maybe, he could manage to take just a little nap. No one would know.
Closing his eyes again, he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of home, of love. It was perhaps the longest rest he’d gotten since his draft.
The pegasus awoke with a start, seemingly seconds later. Startled, confused, he grasped for a weapon he should've had. Only, his hooves fell on his canteen.
He was wary. What had woken him up, he wasn't sure. There didn't seem to be anything wrong, but still, something seemed off about the night, though what it was, he couldn't place.
The moon was several hours higher in the sky, casting eerie shadows across the already unnerving landscape. Many hours had passed since he was last awake.
Now alert, he scanned the horizon, hastily adjusting his glasses, watching for signs of movement. Guiltily, he thought about his weapon, sitting back in the barracks. Clutching his canteen, he unsteadily stood up, joints creaking and cracking in the cold.
Nothing seemed to be disturbed anywhere out on the field. The enemy wasn’t marching across in attack. Nothing seemed amiss.
But then why had he woken up so suddenly?
Suddenly, he saw it. A plume of smoke rose on the horizon, stretching into the inky black sky. Had a fire started up so late at night?
He did not think so.
It had to be somet—
A thundering boom shook him, the barricades, and the camp. Stars were blotted out as a large shape moved in front of them. A shrill whistle of something flying through the air filled the night. The shape in the sky glinted in the moonlight, revealing its metal outer casing.
The blue stallion’s eyes shot wide open as he realized what was happening.
They were being shelled.
The enemy must've advanced their artillery under the cover of night.
Scrambling, he grabbed his canteen, and dashed back through the battlements towards the camp intent on raising the alarm for those that had not already figured it out for themselves.
Only, that never happened.
Before he made it five steps, the loud shriek of the shell abruptly stopped, blowing apart the ramparts where it landed.
He did not even have time to react as he was shunted forward by the shockwave. A pained scream tore through the night as he laid in a crumpled heap on the ground, most of his bones broken instantly.
And that was the last thing he ever experienced
As a second shell came down in the immediate vicinity, all that remained of the pegasus was his canteen, a torn hat, and a broken, twisted pair of glasses.
~-~-~-~-~-~-~
I woke up.
For a brief moment, I was panicked, unsure where I was , or what was happening.
Everything was dark, unidentifiable.
I was in a dark void, surrounded by nothingness on all sides.
I couldn't feel a thing.
No sensation at all.
And a silence.
Nothing moved.
Nothing happened.
There was nothing.
And then I came crashing back down.
I was at home, in my room, in my bed.
For a moment, my heart racing, sweat clinging to my fur, I was still panicked.
My dream was still fresh in my mind.
Everything had seemed so real.
I took a deep breath.
Then, another one.
I clutched at my covers, my eyes warily glancing around my room, alert for anything that might have been there.
But there was nothing, of course.
I was okay.
With trembling motions, I scooted over to the edge of the bed, reached out, and switched on the lamp beside my bed.
As the darkness was chased away, my hurried breathing started to calm down some, and I felt just a little bit safer.
I looked over at my clock. It was only a little past three o'clock in the morning. Moonlight still shone through my window.
I drew in another breath as my thoughts drifted back to my nightmare.
Mom had always tried her best to keep me away from most of the news about the war. Any of the images that made it back were too graphic for me, according to her. She didn't want me to see them, however much I asked her to. I was still too young, she said.
She wouldn't even tell me what had happened to dad. She didn't want me to know.
But now, in school, our teacher had shown us slides from the front, and then talked for almost two full days about the war, explaining and answering any questions we had. She had said that we were old enough to know about it all now, even though Mom said I wasn't.
And I understood now.
The pictures she had shown us were...horrible.
It was gruesome. Several of my classmates didn't even want to look, but our teacher had forced us all to sit through every excruciating detail, regardless of how we felt.
If I had to guess, I didn't quite think I was old enough yet. Even in the few minutes since I had woken up, my heart still refused to stop pounding in my chest, and I was still haunted by what I had seen, still somewhat wary of my surroundings, even with the lights on.
Grunting, I fell backwards, resting my head on the pillow, and stared up at the ceiling, hoping to calm my nerves. I traced the cracks that spider-webbed across the ceiling with my eyes, following each twist and turn. They were familiar to me, these cracks. Many a night I had laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, unable to fall asleep.
With a sigh, I rubbed my eyes, trying to drive away the last remnants of my dream. The last remnants of how I could only imagine how my dad had died.
But, still it clung to me, playing over and over again in my head. Draining me. Haunting me.
I was so scared, so shaken, yet I didn’t know why.
Shivering, I pulled the twisted mass of blankets tighter to me. My body was drenched in sweat, even more susceptible to the frigid night air. I didn't want to turn off the lights again.
There was a crack starting in the northeast corner of the ceiling running all the way to the middle of the room. Paint flaked around it, creating crude looking shapes. Crude looking shadows. A crack ran from the south west corner to halfway down the east wall, connecting with a crack from a few feet down, flowing down the wall and into the left side of the window I laid beside. The paint around that window peeled as well. A crack ran down from the bottom of it, heading right, before stopping just before the floor.
My eyes drifted around the room for a while longer.
The clock informed that only a few minuted had passed by.
I sighed and shut my eyes tight, hoping that I would just fall back asleep, even with my light still on.
And I waited.
And waited some more.
And sleep did not come.
Groggily, I sat up again. I glanced at the door.
I could always go and sleep with Mom, I knew. All it took was a quick trip out my door, down the hall and stairs, and then a few more steps to her room. I would stand outside her door for a moment, staring at it apprehensively, and then poke it open. Mom would be lying there in bed, sleeping peacefully, and I would wake her up.
I think I had to, if I wanted to get any sleep tonight.
She always helped me fall asleep.
I grit my teeth and got out of bed, mindful not to make too much noise and wake her up too soon. I crossed the room, and my hoof was on the door handle, when something caught my attention.
I stopped, my eyes locking with the small, blue form of Ace, the doll my dad had made for me lying on the floor in the corner. With everything that was on my mind, it seemed like fate that I would notice him. I smiled at him, and picked him up, holding him tightly. He would help me get to sleep too.
I made my way back over to the door and opened it, revealing the dark hallway outside. As quickly and quietly as I could, I bolted down the hall and stairs, leaping down two steps at a time. When I got to the bottom, I nosed open my mom’s door,a s I was holding Ace, and snuck over to the side of her bed.
Her room was dark. Shafts of moonlight shone through the blinds, scattering across the room. A few unknown shapes loomed out of the shadows. Monsters. Creatures, just waiting to strike at me.
Though, for only a moment,I thought that I saw my dad's face among them.
My mom was turned away from me, her body covered by the bed sheets. As quick as I could, I tried to wake her up. “Mom…” I whispered as I shook her gently, “Mom, wake up…”
After a moment, she groaned and turned over, looking for what had awoken her. She blinked a few times and then focused on my face. A slight smile found its way to her lips. “Pink, what’s wrong?” A yawn broke through. “What time is it?”
I held Ace tight to me. “I ha-had a nightmare," I hissed in a weak voice, "C-can I sleep with you?”
She chuckled slightly, and nodded, obviously still half asleep. With another yawn, she pulled back the covers a bit and allowed me to slip under them.
I crawled into the bed, careful not to step on her or anything, and settled down next to her body.
She put an arm around me, pulling me closer to her. I held on to Ace just as much. Already, I was feeling more at ease.
“There,” she said softly, “Better now?” She ran a hoof through my hair.
I smiled at her. “Lots better.”
After a few minutes, we both managed to get back to sleep.
I was happy.