Revenge

by Teq

Chapter 14

“It’s just your standard advance and hold operation. Take up post at the end of the road and hold ground until relieved. The top brass has started noticing increased LRSA armoured presence in this area, we’re not quite sure to what extent, so they want tunics at the crossroads ready for them. Quarter master has assigned us an anti-tank weapon to give us that little extra punch. Scattergun should be bringing it with him when he finally shows up.” Stitcher stood addressing her section, but nopony was really paying much attention. We were due to have set off fifteen minutes ago but the other sadist and her basic Scavenger friend were still nowhere to be seen, and one of them was supposed to have our anti-tank weapon that we apparently needed.

Sat upon a wooden crate labelled ‘Caution: High Explosives’, I played around with the sights on my rifle, flipping between day sight and night sight absentmindedly whilst day dreaming to myself. My head was still throbbing angrily, and I felt like death, but I was slowly starting to get used to it. Wraith and I had conversed briefly before the rest of the section had got together, trying to thresh out a plan to get us out of the Ruins. So far our best option looked to be staying put for as long as it took for a truck to arrive to take ponies down to the less busy section of the Ruins and just play it from there. But that relied on us not being found out, or killed by the Scavengers, or killed by the LRSA, or killed by the freaky pink pony that was following us.

When I’d pointed out to Wraith that I’d seen Perky spying on us, he’d gone dead silent and almost seemed to drain of colour. He was persistent, I’d give him that, but I had faith that he would soon give up, either through loss of interest or intervention from our new Scavenger buds. Whatever the outcome, I hoped it happened sooner rather than later. The psychopath was giving me the chills.

After what felt like hours had passed, but in reality was only five more minutes, the sadist (who I now knew to be called Hack’n Slash) and her pal (Scattergun) managed to put in an appearance. Needless to say, Stitcher was not happy at their unpunctuality, and was quick to round on them with malice in her voice, “Where have you two been? I said oh six hundred, did I not? Everypony else managed to show up on time, why couldn’t you?”
“Sorry, ma’am. We had a sermon to attend.”
“A sermon? Give me strength. Get those horrible garments off and grab your gear. I went to the liberty of having it dragged out for you. Be thankful I didn’t also put it on the roof.” Stitcher turned away fuming and left the two to remove what looked to be charcoal black robes that came up over their heads as hoods. They did look rather intimidating, and when they removed them I saw that Hack’n Slash had markings painted onto her face with some sort of red chalky material, and Scattergun had some twisted metal ornament dangling around his neck. With what was most akin to a sigh of exasperation Stitcher ordered that they remove the symbols, an order which they complied with only very grudgingly.

After Hack’n Slash had fastened her assault webbing and Scattergun had shouldered a rather large and heavy looking tube, we set off towards the entrance to the sector, Stitcher grumbling to herself along the way. I hurried to catch up with her and fell into step beside her, casting her a sideways glance, “Not happy, huh?”
“It’s like being in charge of foals. They’re so wide eyed and will believe anything those crackheads will tell them. And they take it so bloody seriously, too. Promise me you’ll never fall prey to their propaganda.”
“You needn’t worry.” From what I’d pieced together from brief snippets of conversation, the ‘chaotics’ as I believe they were called weren’t exactly very nice ponies. Granted, being a Scavenger kind of meant not being nice generally, but these religious fanatics were a little more not nice. Apparently they used LRSA prisoners as sacrifices for their rituals and ‘sermons’ and they were extremely strongly bonded. Insult one and you insulted all of them, was basically the gist of it. Pack mentality.

Stitcher stormed out the main entrance with only a few curt words to the unfortunate stallion in charge of logging those who passed, and carried on down the street, the rest of her section in tow, some of us almost jogging to keep pace with her. I fell back to march next to Wraith, not feeling very safe around Stitcher. We trotted/jogged back up the street, passing the innumerable piles of LRSA fallen and the immolated husks of ex-tanks. My head pounded with every step I took, my rifle feeling unusually heavy around my neck. I was glad I’d opted to leave my saddlebags back in the barracks.

We came upon the crossroads, the site of many a previous firefight, and Stitcher called us all down into a ditch to avoid having to address us in the open. She pointed up towards a building nearby, right on the corner, that had most of its second floor wiped out by artillery or tank fire or something of a similar destructive nature, “That’s where we’re setting up post. Here’s how I want it set up, you listening? Get the machinegun set up quick sharp right on the edge, in whatever position grants it the greatest arc of fire. I want three ponies on it at all times, hear? I also want one pony further back with the AT, likewise to be manned at all times. We can’t rely on the LRSA being nice enough to wait for us. The rest of you, start setting out bedding and scanning for Russians. If you see one, shoot him dead, we can’t have anypony spying on us. Sergeant?”

It took me a few moments to acknowledge that she was referring to me, “Yes, yea, sorry?”
“You’re in charge of the machinegun. I want you with it to act as its spotter. You see something worthy of unleashing hell on, point them out to the gunners. We’re relying on you to keep your guard up, not letting any of the bastards past us. This is something we can’t afford to fuck up.”
“Yes ma’am, sure that sounds like something I can do.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Right, enough pissing about, get a move on. Come on, get up, arses in gear let’s move.”

There was a frantic scuffling of many hooves as the whole section desperately scrambled to get up to our sentry point, nobody willing to piss Stitcher off any more than she already was. As I hurriedly made my way up a crumbling flight of stairs, a Raider biting at my fetlocks, I couldn’t help feel a sense of dread come over me. Spotter. So it was my responsibility to choose targets for the gun, despite the fact that the LRSA were technically on my side. By doing this I would be helping the Scavengers gain an advantage, which was exactly the opposite of what I wanted to do. But what were my options? Disobey and face being found out, or worse? Surely a few dead LRSA now wouldn’t be too much of a problem when you considered the number of lives I’d be saving in the end? That was the belief I clung onto, the belief that would enable me to kill on the side of the Scavengers. Maybe.

We burst out into our position, panting hard from the physical exertion. I felt more sorry for those who were carrying all the heavy kit, at least I was only encumbered by an assault rifle. Stitcher came in behind me and instantly set about getting things moving, “Lambda, set up that field radio, I want comms with command in fifteen. Get that machinegun set up pronto and get on it, and somepony prime that rocket launcher, I want us ready to face anything they can throw at us. Wraith, Reticule, you’re our advanced warning, so keep eyes down scopes and alert us to any changes. Sergeant, give Vickers a hand with the machinegun. The rest of you lay out some bedding and get a hex stove on, I’m starving.” There was a brief chorus of ‘Oo-rah’ from the ranks as we all set about our duties. Stitcher dug a pair of binoculars out from her tunic and set up behind the shot out wall, keeping low and scanning the buildings across the streets.

I personally had no idea how to set up a heavy machinegun, so whilst Vickers played around getting the tripod set up, I just held the main gun for him, whilst another young mare held onto the spare barrels and ammunition. Behind me, a stallion was struggling to get our AT weapon loaded and ready to be fired, and I could see Lambda sighing in relief in a corner as he got the heavy looking radio slung off his back. Wraith and his new buddy were busy surveying the streets, and some mare was trying to spark a small metal cube, filled with a white fuel.

“Give us that there, Sergeant.” I failed to respond, and Vickers tapped me on the side of the head to get my attention. “Hello? I know you’re a Sergeant an’ all but do we ‘ave to tell you everything twice?”
“Sorry, here, take it.” Vickers relieved me of the (incredibly heavy) weapon and set it up on the tripod, the other mare clipping a box of ammunition onto the side and feeding a belt into it. I fell back onto my haunches. I was already exhausted. And my hangover still hadn’t gone away, my head throbbing angrily and my body protesting loudly at the physical torment I’d put it through. This was going to be a very long day. I just hoped it would go by quietly.

“Machinegun’s ready, ma’am!”
“Good, where are we with that AT? And why haven’t we got fucking comms up yet? We’re blind out here without a comms link, come on ponies, stop arsing about! Somebody give Lambda some help over there, for fuck’s sake, can’t you see he needs it? Stop laying about and get mobile!”
“Yea ma’am!” came a multitude of replies. Stitcher made her way over to the (now silently burning) stove, where the young mare that’d set it up put had a mess tin full of water, and was now heating up some rations to be enjoyed by all those who lacked a sense of smell, and tolerated by the rest. The machinegun now ready, I peered over the wall into the streets below. I didn’t really know what I was looking for; it was more to just give me something to do.

“Target! North-East! One hundred metres, on the second story!” Reticule called out and Wraith quickly followed this up with a single, swift pull of the trigger. Off in the distance, I fancied that I could hear a faint scream. Stitcher was quickly up beside us, rifle at the ready.
“Target down,” murmured Wraith in his matter of fact tone.
“Can you confirm the kill?” Stitcher asked, warily. “I don’t want him crawling back to his lines and reporting us.”
“I got him right in the left eye, he’s not getting back up.” Wraith opened the bolt of his rifle in a plume of cordite smoke.
“Was there anypony else with him? Can you say what he was doing here?”
“I can’t see anypony else and we’re not taking return fire. I can’t say for sure why he’s here, maybe just lost.”
“Well he wouldn’t be the first we’ve come across out here. Good shot. And good call, too. Now we can rest somewhat safe in the knowledge that they still don’t know our strength. Vickers?” Stitcher came up behind the stallion and rested a hoof on his shoulder. The stallion merely grunted in response, fine tuning the sights on his weapon. “Don’t open fire until the Sergeant gives you the order. Obviously exercise initiative, but I don’t want to give away any more than I have to. Keep the gun silent until we need it.”
“Yes ma’am. As you say.”

Stitcher returned to her position next to the stove, still waiting on the water to fully boil. Lambda called over something about the radio being set up, and Stitcher shouted back at him to get command on the line for fuck’s sake. Vickers leant forward onto his weapon and sighed, turning to face me, “You know what you’re doing, right?”
“Well I’ve never spot for a machinegun before so, no. Not really.”
“Right well it’s quite simple. Obviously if I see something worth shooting at I’m gonna go ahead and do it, whether you order me to or not. But if you catch somepony that I maybe ‘aven’t seen, or you reckon is a bigger threat to us than what I’m already firing at, you point them out to me. Just yell at me who it is you want dead, roughly what direction they’re in, their approximate range and anything that’d make them easier to pinpoint. Like you ‘eard Reticule call just now. Alternatively if you want me to stand down or ‘old fire, give the order. Got it? Good. I’m used to ‘aving a more experienced spotter but artillery is a son of a bitch, isn’t it?”

I looked hard at Vicker’s face. Now that I studied it, there was a deep gash leading from his right temple all the way down to his neck. His right ear was also rather badly mangled, and it looked as though he was missing several teeth on that side, “You look a little worse for wear yourself.”
“Mmm. Not quite as worse for wear as Bearing, though. At least I’m still together and not spattered against the back wall of some god forsaken building by something that I couldn’t even fight back against,” Vickers slapped the side of his weapon angrily. “Fucking LRSA shit rags. Who the fuck do they think they are, coming over ‘ere to a country that isn’t even theirs? Well, if they’re gonna come all the way over ‘ere, I’ve got the perfect souvenir for them. Let’s see ‘ow much their wives enjoy getting their ‘usbands sent back to them in an envelope.” Vickers snarled and panned the machinegun from side to side, mimicking a sweeping action. “You can call me cold ‘earted, but I’m sure as hell ‘ot blooded!”

“I’ve got command on comms, Stitcher!”
“Excellent! Pass them over.” Stitcher walked over, avoiding the loitering Scavengers that flanked her on either side and picked up the radio’s receiver, slapping a pair of headphones onto her head. “Yes sir. Yes sir, we’re all set up here. Only one contact, sir, and we think he was alone. Yes, we put him down. Oh? Right, okay. Yes, right, I see. Okay sir. Yes sir, we’ll await their arrival, we’re set up at…” Stitcher pulled a map out of her tunic and glanced over it. “Grid coordinates 438,271, on the second floor. Yes, let them know that, they may not find us otherwise. Understood sir. Copy that, Delta one-one out.” Stitcher removed the headphones and gave them back to Lambda, and turned off the receiver. She slid her map back into her pocket and called me over to her, as well as another Corporal.

“What news, ma’am?” began the other Corporal whom I presumed was a section leader.
“Well, our guys back at camp have intercepted a Russian signal. They were only in for a short while before the Russians cut off and re-encrypted their network, but they managed to get some advanced warning of Russian armour moving into this sector. They don’t know exactly how much armour, but they believe it’s being supported by an infantry force. This bears all the hallmarks of an LRSA assault, so expect some fighting in the days to come. As such, the brass in their infinite wisdom is sending us a section of pioneers, who are going to mine the crossroads to make it harder for them to fight back against us. They’ll also be bolstering our ranks with an extra AT weapon and a light machinegun. Our orders are to protect them from snipers, ambush teams, advance scouts or anypony who may threaten them. As you likely all remember our pioneer’s barracks took a hit a while back and training the poor sods takes a while, so they haven’t got many to spare, and certainly no more that they’ll be sending our way. Right, you guys have your orders, relay them as necessary. Dismissed.”

The Corporal nodded once and retreated back into the relative safety of the bombed out building, whilst I was left to move back up to the front with my ever so slightly insane gunner. He looked over at me, “What’s the word?”
“They reckon that the Russians are amassing for an attack. Headquarters is shipping some pioneers our way to mine the area and we’re supposed to stop them getting fucked over by snipers. They’re bringing some extra firepower with them.”
“Uuurgh I ‘ate pioneers. Bunch of whiny twats who don’t know their ass from their elbow when it comes to combat.”
“They have their uses, I guess. Do you want to be in charge of sitting in the middle of a cross road handling high explosives?”
I could see him thinking for a minute, as if seriously considering it as an option, “No, I guess not.”
“Well shut the fuck up then.”

We all sat together for another fifteen minutes, our resident chef sharing out ration packs to those with the stomach to force them down. Thankfully, everything was quiet. Or as quiet as things could get in the Ruins. We saw head nor tail of anypony, LRSA or otherwise. HQ came on over the radio again at one point, letting us know that the Russians had just ambushed a scout party in what was supposed to be a safe area, and they suspected that the radio net had been compromised. As such, we were to maintain radio silence and wait to be relieved by a relief section before falling back. Until then, we held our position at all costs. I also noticed that I suddenly felt more terrified of the Russkis than by the Scavengers on either flank of me.

It was only when we heard somepony ascending the stairs behind us that things got interesting. Immediately every free rifle, handgun, sub machinegun, knife and rocket launcher was aimed at the stairs, awaiting the arrival of something to fill with holes. A young stallion, a look of great surprise on his face and a steel helmet resting on his head appeared and almost instantly shrivelled back. We all relaxed with a collective, exasperated sigh. He laughed nervously, “Aheh, uh… hey.”
“You useless piece of shit, get in here,” Stitcher sheathed her machete.
“Sorry about that, didn’t mean to startle you guys.” The pioneer was of about average height, a large and very heavy looking pack weighing down on him. He had a sub machinegun slung around his neck and a reel of cable poking from his pack. He bore the rank of Sergeant. “How’re things? You guys holding up well? Where’re the Russians?”
“Things are awful, we’re holding up fine and the Russians are that way. Are you gonna mine the road or what?”
“Alright, shitty death. Just letting you guys know we were here. Cover our asses, okay? Let us know if you see any approaching Russians and I’ll bug my guys out and haul ass back up here. And… uh… try not to startle us, we’re handling some very sensitive munitions.”
“Try not to… are you fucking serious? ‘Oh, my apologies for startling you, it’s just that this is a fucking warzone!’ Get a move on, stop bothering me and my section.”

The pioneer was quick to turn about and make tracks before Stitcher bucked him in the arse. I took the opportunity to peek over the wall I was sat behind, and saw about a section’s worth of khaki clad pioneers spilling into the crossroad, about half of which began to unload heavy looking explosives from their cases, burying them under rubble or other precarious positions where they would be detonated at even the slightest disturbance. They hid directional mines on each corner, and even strung a tripwire over a likely position of cover. By the time they were finished the whole place was covered in live munitions, ready for an unfortunate soul to trip them. The pioneers began to pick their way back to us with extreme caution, taking care not to set off their own traps.

The pioneer Sergeant was first to reappear back up in our little hollow, taking up position in the back next to the radio. One by one, the rest of the section poured in, including one struggling under the weight of another anti-tank weapon, and one with a GP machinegun slung over her back. There was also a pair that carried what looked to be an anti-tank rifle between them, ready to be set up should our heavier weapons run out of ammunition. Now it was just a matter of tense waiting. We knew the Russians were just a few roads up, and likely ready to move. With radio silence being maintained we had no way of being updated of any movements or occurrences, so we were essentially on our own.

Stitcher came round and made sure everypony was loaded up and ready. She gave specific orders to various individuals, regarding how she wanted things to operate. We were to hold fire completely and remain out of sight until Stitcher gave us our fire order. Then we were to prioritise armour, followed by officers and weapon teams. My job was as it had always been; to point out any potential threats to my machinegun crew. Ooh, I was not looking forward to this. I didn’t want to kill LRSA soldiers. Technically I wouldn’t have to. All I had to do was yell fire orders which would hopefully either be ignored or become ineffectual quite quickly. I wouldn’t actually have to do any shooting.

Minutes passed. Hours went by. All in all I think we sat waiting with held breath for about three, maybe four hours. Stitcher came up beside me at one point and showed me a map, with many things marked onto it, “Okay so we’re here. Chances are the LRSA are going to attack down this road in a head on attack. They likely don’t know we’re here and won’t be expecting resistance until further down towards camp, so we’ve got surprise on our side. Last I checked the only armoured units in this area was an element of the fifth cavalry regiment. They’re a light armour group so I’m not expecting MBTs. I think the worst we can expect to come up against is recon vehicles or AFVs, unless they intend to really give us hell. Your job is still to take down infantry, so don’t waste ammo trying to kill vehicle crews, leave that to the hunters and our AT.”
“Right, so basically exercise common sense?”
“A bit less of the sass would be nice, Sergeant.”

Wraith and Reticule ducked down in perfect synchronised harmony with one another, Reticule calling out in a hushed voice, “We’ve got contact! About a section’s worth of infantry and two AFVs, likely with more infantry inside. Maybe more in the buildings. I think their commander’s inside one of the vehicles, I didn’t see any officers on the ground.”
“Shit, okay, places ponies. We go loud on my mark, make sure you’re cocked and loaded.” Stitcher quickly gave the sights on her weapon a quick check over, and I took the opportunity to give my own rifle a scan. All good, ready to go. Vickers to my side ducked his head somewhat to make himself less noticeable. Everypony in the hollow was silent. I could see one of the pioneers shivering in either fear, anticipation, or a desperate need to pass water. Maybe all at once, I don’t know. Over the wall I could hear the low rumbling of heavy wheels on concrete. I heard words in Russian being exchanged between units. With every passing second they pulled ever closer.

Stitcher rapped a hoof on the helmet of our AT gunner. Immediately they moved up to the wall, peering over. Time seemed to speed up for a moment as they rose up, weapon hefted onto one shoulder, and fired off our rocket. There was a colossal whoosh as the projectile was launched and smoke billowed out into our alcove. Moments later there was a colossal thud, followed almost immediately by an explosion of almighty proportions. Wraith and Reticule poked their heads out and began firing off shots, as shouts from the soldiers below began to ring out across the street. I looked over the wall at the carnage below.

The lead vehicle had been well and truly knocked out, having burst into flames and veered off into a wall. Most of the infantry had scattered in such a way that I couldn’t see very many of them, and the gunner on the remaining vehicle was quickly spinning his gun around to try and return fire. Somepony somewhere yelled, “Open fire!” and everypony with a clear shot began to pour lead into the street. Vickers kicked into action with a yell, sending bright red tracers down range into the ranks of scattered infantry. The street was a sight of sheer carnage.

It wasn’t long before return fire was becoming a problem. The gunner on the AFV sent a burst of high calibre rounds into our position, thankfully only succeeding in suppressing Wraith and Reticule. I spent a few moments gauging the gunner’s position and called out to Vickers, “Gunner, fifteen metres, on top of that AFV!”
“I got him!” Vickers sprayed the vehicles with a prolonged burst of fire, most of the rounds ricocheting off its armour, but a good number of them succeeding in carving up the poor Russian on top, officially silencing the gun. Meanwhile, the back doors to the vehicle had opened up and more infantry were spilling out to join the fight. One of them made to clamber over some rubble and inadvertently set off a shrapnel mine, filling him and his friend nearby full of ball bearings. Somewhere the Russians had managed to set up a machinegun of their own and began firing back at us. That was about when I had to duck back down for a moment of respite, but from what I could tell Wraith poked his head up for a moment and silenced their new gun. I heard the bassy pound of a directional mine going off and I assumed a group of them had tried to break into a building for cover. There was a call of what sounded like, “Mina!” and I presumed that they had finally caught on to the fact that hidden explosives were making their jobs difficult.

It was about this point that the LRSA had organised themselves enough to return effective fire. A small group of soldiers unloaded a vicious salvo in our direction, forcing us down into cover. A lucky shot claimed Reticule, shattering his scope and burying itself in his right eye. The Scavenger collapsed in a heap, deep blackish red blood seeping down one cheek. Vickers retaliated with a burst in the general direction of our attackers. He didn’t kill anypony, but he was successful in forcing them back into cover before they could unleash another salvo on us. I could hear many shouts from the soldiers below, some sounding like rousing orders, some like taunts and others like shrieks of terror.

“Grenade out!” A Scavenger behind me hurled what looked like a stick grenade out into the street. After a few seconds, there was a deep thump as the grenade detonated, sending up a cloud of dust and completely disintegrating a Russian Sergeant who hadn’t gotten out of the way in time. I scanned the scene and my eyes soon fell upon a terrified looking soldier who was fumbling in his webbing for something. He was crouched low behind a large slab of rubble, staring up at our position. It seemed as though nopony else had noticed him. I gazed into his goggled eyes, and my breath caught as I saw him pull a grenade of his own from his webbing. In panic I swung my rifle about and lined up a shot, pulling the trigger and sending a round down range. The bullet caught the soldier square in the chest, sending him sprawling to the floor. He dropped his grenade and clutched at his shattered sternum, hacking up a cloud of blood before spasming slightly and lying still.

I didn’t even have time to comprehend what I’d just done.

A sharp crack, discernible above the low thud indicative of the Russian assault rifles, rang out. A moment later a bullet passed cleanly through Scattergun’s throat, knocking him down with a loud gurgling screech. The bullet ricocheted off the ceiling and slammed into our field radio, sending sparks flying into the air and scaring the living shit out of Lambda. Scattergun clawed at his throat, trying desperately to stem the bleeding as his viscous lifeblood pooled in his mouth and seeped out from around his hoof. As I stared at him in abstract horror, another crack rang out and this time Vickers was hit in the face, not killing him but taking off a large section of his jaw. He gritted what remained of his teeth in pain and crawled away from his weapon, leaving our primary piece of suppression equipment unmanned.

Stitcher called out, “Sniper! Watch and shoot, stay low! Sergeant, get on that gun!” Having just hollered such an order, she immediately sent a three round burst into the shoulder of an overzealous Russian. I looked anxiously over at the machinegun’s loader, who stared back expectantly. The crack of the sniper’s rifle rung out once more, this time only narrowly missing Stitcher’s ear, forcing her to the ground. The bullet pinged off the back wall and hit something with a soft thunk. Following my orders like a good little bitch, I hauled myself behind the machinegun with a gulp of anticipation and my heart thundering in my chest.

From my new vantage point, I had a good view of the situation. Russians scattered everywhere, dead and living and partially dead. Most of the resistance was scattered, with only small groups of soldiers crouching behind rubble and jersey barriers. It looked as though a few of them had noticed our machinegun going silent and were chancing their arms poking their heads out of cover to look for targets. I needed to get fire on them before they got fire on us. With shaky hooves I clutched at the weapon’s trigger, swinging the (very heavy) barrel round to bear on a group of three Russians that were getting a little too close for comfort. A short squeeze of the trigger sent a spray of rounds down wind. My burst claimed one of them and sent the other two scrabbling back into cover. With me now on the machinegun, those Russians that had been feeling brave were now solidly back to cowering in cover.

I winced painfully as a bright white glint caught my right eye. It was only for a fraction of a second, but it was certainly noticeable. It took me a second or two for my brain to click. With a sharp gasp, I ducked my head quickly down to the side just in time to avoid being hit in the nose by a sniper’s bullet. I was vaguely aware of a shriek to my right. When I looked back, Hack’n Slash had been hit in the shoulder by the ricochet, and she grabbed at the mangled flesh painfully. I was prepared to resign her to being just another casualty, but just when I’d expected her to crawl back into the relative safety of the building, she defied all my expectations. Her eyes filled with fury, and she growled in rage. Using her hoof, dripping in her own blood, she traced a series of obscure symbols onto her face, similar to the ones I’d seen on her earlier that morning. With a shriek of defiance, she raised herself up to full height and, with her one good foreleg, brought her weapon to bear and emptied her entire magazine into the street. I saw off in the distance, crouched down behind a mound of old mortar, a black clad soldier was cut down by a sheet of lead, dropping a long, scoped weapon behind him.

This act of reckless abandon seemed to shatter the remaining Russians. With their officers dead, one of their vehicles destroyed and their sniper slain, the survivors quickly piled into their last remaining AFV. The driver, not wasting any time messing about, slammed the vehicle into reverse and pelted back down the way he’d come, taking a short moment to swing the vehicle around and speed off, with maybe half a section’s worth of shot up Russians in the back. What Scavengers had a good view started to fire shots uselessly after it, aiming to hit a tyre of something else important to stop it escaping. Despite all efforts, however, Stitcher quickly waved a hoof in the air, “Cease fire! Cease fire! Don’t waste your ammo, you might need it soon.”

I released a breath I wasn’t even aware of holding. My hooves shook, despite all my efforts to steady them. What had I done? I’d killed for the Scavengers. Sure, it was in self-defence. If I’d not killed that soldier he’d have killed us all in one go. If I’d not unleashed a burst from the machinegun they’d have rallied and I’d probably have been hit in a ricochet or something. But that didn’t make me feel any better. If anything, it made me feel worse; it felt as though I was lying to myself. I slumped to the side, back to my original position, resting my head back against the wall. I exhaled deeply, removing the garrison cap from my head and playing with it anxiously. What had I gotten myself into? How had I managed to get into this mess? Maybe I should’ve just fled to Canterlot, or some other NSA colony and avoided all this, lived out the rest of my days behind the safety of walls and armed guard.

“Hey, you alright?” I started and looked up at the bloodied Hack’n Slash. She was smiling weakly, but her lip quivered ever so slightly and tears streamed down her face silently, cleaning away some of the blood she’d painted onto it. I couldn’t tell if it was from the pain of her wound or for some other reason. She collapsed next to me, leaning back against the wall and wincing slightly.
“Yea. I suppose. That looks pretty painful, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She sniffed and grinned painfully. “It’s nothing really, just a little gooey.”
“What about Vickers? And the rest of the casualties?”
She frowned, and choked slightly, “Reticule died instantly. Vickers is wounded, and he won’t be able to talk very well anymore, but he’ll live. Scattergun… He fought on. He tried his best. He drowned in his own blood.” She half whined, half spat the last sentence, in a peculiar combination of grief and rage. “He’s with Discord now, ready to receive his reward, and ready to be reborn. Praise… mighty Discord. He had embodied the sixth law; fear not self-sacrifice. I shall honour his memory, and draw blood for blood. He will be avenged.” She scowled through her tears, and pushed herself back up to her hooves, almost falling over as she struggled to steady herself on her crippled leg. “I’ll show them what it means to fuck with the Church of Discord! Maybe even earn myself a cross of honour in the process!” She laughed, and looked over at me, her gaze falling upon the cross on my chest. She frowned for a brief moment, before limping away to sit next to the corpse of her friend.

Total casualties consisted of Reticule, Scattergun and the pioneer Sergeant. Vickers was being treated by the medic, who was busy wrapping a bandage around his head. The wound was very large and looked phenomenally painful, and his right eye seemed to be swelling somewhat from the trauma. I was aware of a presence at my side, and looked up to see Stitcher staring down at me, “Good shot, Sergeant.”
“What?”
“I saw you take down their grenadier. You probably saved the lives of every Scavenger in here with that shot. Nicely done.”
“Thanks, ma’am,” I said, very half-heartedly. I didn’t care about that. Part of me wished I’d just let him throw his grenade. It was the first shot I’d fired from my new rifle, and it had claimed the life of somepony who was technically on my side.
“Hey, why so glum? You’re still alive, and you’re not wounded. That’s an achievement in and of itself, trust me. You did your job and you did it well, that’s all that matters. Stay alert, they might counterattack us before relief arrives. Get some food in you, it’ll help. And maybe get some rest, we’ve got a sentry already.”
“Yes ma’am.” I tossed a weak salute in her direction and she smiled back, quickly reminding me that we weren’t supposed to salute officers in the field. I claimed it was a result of exhaustion, but noted it as a mistake not to make again.

I forced down a ration pack and pushed a young pioneer off his roll mat, claiming it as my own and falling asleep almost instantaneously. I slept deeply, and I don’t know how long I slept, but I was awoken by a thirty-something Raider shaking my shoulder and grinning down at me, “Wakey wakey, Sergeant. You must’ve been out like a light. Grab your kit and get your ass out of here, you’re section’s bugging out. Say hello to your relief!” I spent a few moments in a haze, staring wistfully up at the Raider only half conscious of what he was saying. Eventually my mind cleared somewhat and I fully comprehended what he’d said. Relief? How long had I been out? I looked around. Everypony was different, and I was met by an array of faces I’d never seen before. Hack’n Slash was still there, her wound now properly treated and waiting patiently for me to rouse myself. Not wanting to stick around in this hellhole any longer than I had to, I picked up my rifle and slung it round my neck, dragging myself past the new faces and past Hack’n Slash and down the stairs, meeting up with the rest of my section and the remaining pioneers, now down a Sergeant.

Stitcher smiled at me, “Glad to see you up, Sergeant. File in and we’ll get the fuck out of here. Section, by the right, quick march!” The lot of us, minus me obviously, stepped off in unison at a brisk pace. I quickly stumbled to fall into step, not being used to marching myself and eventually resigning myself to just walking quickly. Behind me, the pioneer’s acting Sergeant also called her section to quick march behind us, creating an impressive column of tired and beaten up Scavengers. I was the rightmost on a file of three, with Hack’n Slash to my left, struggling to keep up with the pace as her wound clearly gave her trouble.

We marched for a good while. Hack’n Slash eventually started talking to me in an attempt to distract herself from her pain, “So… how’re you doing?”
“Fine. Absolutely shattered, mind.”
“That’s good. Listen, this is going to sound really weird, but just hear me out on this one. Okay, I know you’re not a believer, but it would be of great comfort to me if you could find it in yourself to pray for Scattergun. Yea, yea, I kinda expected you to make that look. It’s just… I dunno, I think you’re pretty cool. Much cooler than our last Sergeant, that’s for sure. I just feel like Scattergun would have appreciated the gesture, even if you don’t believe in the power of mighty Discord.”
“Yea well I’d love to, but I wouldn’t even know how.”
“You could attend our sermon this evening.”
“Yea, no.” I meant no offence to her, but something about being stood amongst a crowd of black clad religious maniacs didn’t appeal to me.
“Okay, well I could come round and show you later. It wouldn’t be any trouble. You don’t even have to convert if you don’t want to, but I want to show you something. Something that will prove to you the power of mighty Discord.”
I thought for a moment. On one hoof, it all sounded like a load of bollocks, as Stitcher had said, and I didn’t want to get enrolled in some sort of cult if I could avoid it. On the other hoof, I was curious. I know it’s stupid, but the whole thing they had going on was… intriguing. Part of me wanted to know more. Part of me wanted to know just what made these ponies so fanatically loyal to their beliefs, to the extent that they’re willing to fight with such reckless disregard to their own self-worth.
“Alright, fine. I suppose there’s no harm in just showing me. But you’ll not get me believing in all that bullshit, no offence.”
“None taken. I was sceptical for a long time myself. But believe me, what I’ll show you will blow your mind.”

We arrived back at our little encampment shortly after, and after a short debrief we each went our separate ways to perform our various duties. I myself had some serious work to be getting down to. There was a bottle of vodka in the mess that I needed to have a stern talking with. Perhaps the spirits would numb me to the horrors. I gave Wraith only a passing nod as I made my way to the barracks, not particular interested in talking to anypony. Before I could second guess myself I had thrown myself down at the bar and thrown a packet of cigarettes at the unfortunate mare now behind the bar. With alcohol now purchased, suspended above my head in a field of magic, I made my way back up to my room, where Stitcher had already managed to stow away her kit. She looked at me with concern, “Are you going to drink all of that?”
“Maybe I will, I haven’t decided.”
“Hmmm. Just be careful, okay. I’ve lost a friend to drink before, I don’t want to lose my Sergeant, too.”
“I promise to be responsible, ma’am. I won’t let anypony in, I won’t set fire to anything, and I won’t sell the barracks.”
“Funny. Well, it’s your liver, you do what you want. I’m going to an officer’s sit-rep. Turns out high command has pulled their heads out of their arses and realised we field commanders don’t know shit about what’s going on. I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Cheerio.”

Stitcher left me to my vices, and as soon as the door slammed shut I unslung my rifle and slammed it down on the desk. Twenty nine rounds left in the magazine. One Russian down. I pulled a knife from its scabbard on my stolen uniform, and carved into the metal of the rifle’s body a single straight scratch. How many more would I be carving into this thing before this was all over? I didn’t want to think about it. With my magic I pulled out the chair from under the desk and sat myself down, resting my head in one hoof and staring down at the solitary scratch on my rifle. I pulled the cap off the bottle and took my first swig, once again feeling my throat burn painfully, and then that pleasant warmth in the pit of my stomach. Time to get royally shit-faced.

As I sat there, cradling the bottle of vodka in my hooves shakily, I heard somepony call up at me from below the window. Pushing the chair back (and almost falling off it in the process), I made my way over to the window and pushed it open with a grunt, gazing down at whomever would dare to summon me. Hack’n Slash was stood directly below me, looking up expectantly. She had her robes on again, and her face was once again painted with the same red chalky substance I’d seen on her not long ago. She smiled as I looked down at her, “Hey! You said you’d let me show you something, right? Can I come up? Corporals aren’t allowed in there without permission.”
“Yea, fine, whatever.” I veritably spat back at her.
“Great! I’ll be up in a few moments.” She didn’t seem to have picked up on the malice in my tone, or had simply chosen to ignore it. I had to praise her enthusiasm. It was somewhat heartening to see somepony so blindly devoted to a cause, so hopeful for their future.

True to her word, there was a rap on the door not a minute later. I trudged to the door and flung it open, staring into the pleased face of Hack’n Slash. She didn’t wait for me to invite her in, and immediately set about preparing for what she had in mind, first drawing from beneath her robes a small metal box full of red chalk. With interest, I watched her trace a perfect circle on the floor, maybe a metre in diameter. Curiosity piqued, I approached her with a question, “So what is it you’re going to show me?”
“Well it’s more what I’m going to let you experience. It’s one of our oldest rituals, and the one that convinced me to convert. Basically, I’m going to try and call the mighty lord Discord to us, and he’s going to talk to us!” Had she said this with any more joyous anticipation she’d probably have exploded. I, on the other hoof, was somewhat more reserved.
“So you’re going to try and summon a make-belief god, and try to convince him to settle down for a natter?”
“Just you wait.”

The cultist before me proceeded to trace several lines inside the circle, forming a five pointed star. On each point, she placed and lit a tall, slender candle, each made of black wax. As she struggled to light one of them, she looked up at me and chuckled, “You wouldn’t mind closing the blinds, would you?” Her voice quivered slightly, which struck me as slightly odd, and her hoof shook slightly. Doing as I was told, and now intrigued, I pulled the blinds shut. The room was cast into darkness, lit only by the light of the five black candles. I turned back to see Hack’n Slash drawing a hefty leather bound book from under her robes, flicking through the pages, her brow furrowed, “I always forget this part. I can never remember which points the salt goes on.” The book she held in her hooves had the same five pointed star insignia on the front, above which was written ‘The Church of Discord’, and below which was inscribed ‘Praise Mighty Discord’.

Whilst my guest was preoccupied, I took the opportunity to more closely examine the markings on her face. Her right eye was completely encircled by a ring of the substance. A line, curving down from the circle, ran over her nose and up her muzzle, disappearing under her hood. There was also a sharp point on the inside of the circle, originating at the apex and falling down over her eye, tapering to a point just as it reached the bottom. It all seemed very peculiar to me. I was quickly jolted back to life as she exclaimed excitedly, “Ah, that’s right! Salt goes on the point that faces the south! You’d think I’d remember that by now but apparently not.”
“Yea, apparently.” I whispered, clutching my heart tightly and panting.
“Right, I think we’re just about set up,” she closed the book and placed it in the centre of the circle, before clopping her hooves together a couple times. She gestured at me with hooves pressed together. “Typically I’d have you in robes as well, but seeing as you’re not even an Initiate and don’t have any, we’ll make do without. Uuummm… Right okay, you sit there and I’ll sit here. Now I need you to promise me a few things before we begin.”
“Alright,” I responded, planting my rump down on the edge of the circle with a thump (remember, ass not fat).

“Okay, cool. First, I need you to clear your mind of any preconceptions you have. I know you’re a sceptic but just let go of that for a few minutes whilst we do this. It’s not that it won’t work it’ll just be… dangerous. Secondly, you have to do exactly as I say without hesitating.”
“Right.” This one gave me issue. I had no way of knowing what she was going to ask me to do. As curious as I was, there were still certain limits I had and was reluctant to cross. But I agreed nonetheless, content in the knowledge that I could just abort if things starting to go badly.
“Great. Um… I’m going to go first, if that’s okay. I need you to remember that no matter what you see, you are in no way to touch me, talk to me or otherwise attempt to interact with me. Not for your own sake but for mine, as in doing so you could kill me. I’m putting my trust in you for that one. I’m going to need to make some incantations, and you can’t interrupt me or you could ruin the whole thing. Promise you won’t? Good. I think that’s everything. Oh, wait, one last thing. This is gonna feel really weird. Just… try to stay calm. Try not to panic or you could hurt yourself… or worse. Okay, that’s everything, just place your hoof on top of the book for me.” I did as I was asked, and she too leaned in to place a hoof on the surface of the book.

For quite a while we sat in silence. True to my word, I did my best to not think about how ludicrous the situation was. I wanted to see where this would go. After what seemed like hours in silence, Hack’n Slash spoke once more, “Okay, close your eyes. I’m going to begin the ritual. Once I finish talking you can open them again.” I did as I was commanded. “Right, here goes…”

“Spirit of the Lord mighty Discord, I call for thee.”
“He who is spirit of chaos, I spill my blood for thee.”

There was the audible sound of a blade slicing through flesh, and yet I did not hear Hack’n Slash even wince.

Silence.

I opened my eyes. All of the candles had extinguished. Save for one. The candle closest to Hack’n Slash remained lit. The flickering yellow light illuminated one half of her face, that which wasn’t shrouded under her hood. I could see a bleeding wound on the arm that reached out and touched the book, and in her other hoof was a dagger. The dagger glinted in the dim light, and along its edge, pooling at the tip, was a trail of blood, made black by the glow of the candle. With a sharp motion, Hack’n Slash’s head snapped backwards, making me start somewhat. If I listened carefully, I could hear a shallow breath slowly escaping from her open mouth. My skin began to crawl. From somewhere I thought I could hear an ominous, low moaning. It seemed to emanate from the air itself. Something seemed very off.

For about three minutes I sat there, and in that time Hack’n Slash didn’t move a muscle. Nor did she draw breath and move to cradle her bleeding arm. Just as I was on the verge of ignoring her advice and giving her a kick, her head snapped forward again, hanging against her chest. Her hood had fallen back around her shoulders, freeing her mane and allowing it to fall over her face. Ever so slowly, she began to raise her head. As she did so, the remaining four candles spontaneously relit. I looked back at Hack’n Slash. She beamed at me, what looked like a tear in one eye, “I knew he would answer.” She gazed up at the ceiling. “He’s still watching over me. I never doubted you, my loving, mighty Discord.” With the same hoof that clutched at the dagger, she performed the gesture I had seen her perform many times over.

“Now it’s your turn.”
“I’m not sure I want to do this anymore.”
“Trust me, so long as you do exactly as I say, you have nothing to worry about. Now close your eyes.”
“I really don’t think…”
“Close your eyes!” This came more as a command than a suggestion, and I quickly did as she said. By this point I have no shame in admitting I was scared. I was scared of Hack’n Slash and I was scared of this strange cosmic power that seemed to be present. I didn’t want to experience this anymore, I had expected this to be some sort of pseudo-magic, not real. “Calm yourself. You have nothing to worry about.” I tried to slow my rapid heart rate, taking steady breaths and trying to rationalise as best I could.

“I’m going to make another incantation. Don’t interrupt me, and don’t resist his power.”

A moment of silence.

My heart pounded in my ears.

I nearly cried.

Before I even had time to react, I felt the world around me simply flash out of existence. In panic I opened my eyes. I couldn’t see anything. All I could see was darkness. I tried to scream but found myself unable. I felt weightless, it was like I was floating in the ocean. It seemed as though ever movement I made had no effect, I simply floated there, a mind in a sea of black.

But I wasn’t alone.

I could feel another presence. It was big. Very big, and very powerful. It spoke to me.

It’s voice was deep and powerful, and seemed to echo loudly. It seemed to have a somewhat arrogant and nasally tone to it. I tried to respond but still I couldn’t.

What was this? This wasn’t real, how could this be happening? Ohhh wake me up, wake me up, wake me up!

No, no, no, no, no, no! This wasn’t happening!

Please! Make it stop! I only want to help ponies! Let me go! Wake me up!

I only want to help! Let me go!

I’m sorry! Please, wake me up! Let me go!

Wake me up!

No!

I don’t want to play!

Please!

no

…

…

No.

…

Please.

Let me go.

I don’t want to.

Wake me up.

…

Please.

Wake me up.