//------------------------------//
// Sentry duty 
// Story: A Tommie in Ponyville 
// by MetalBrony20 
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The date, July 17 1944. Location, some bombed out village in France. Condition, fighting fit and healthy.

"...So I just picked off the blighter, only a slither of his helmet presented itself to me, best shot from me so far; Lance Corporal"

"Hmm, quite, I agree it was a good shot, but we are friends, don’t keep calling me Lance Corporal"

Two men, around the age of 22-23, were sitting down on a small stone farm wall. They were both clad in slightly worn khaki uniforms, full British army battledress. Over their shoulders slung Lee Enfield rifles, the barrels glinting in the sun. Over their fronts were slung two large pouches, each carrying multiple rounds of ammunition and various other objects. The man on the right, had a somewhat wizened look to himself. Large bags under his eyes, red and raw skin, uneven stubble. The rawness centred around the Brodie helmet’s strap;The helmet itself was large, dark green and dish shaped; the metal glinting in the late afternoon sun. The chap opposite him, despite being roughly the same age, looked much less aged. True, his skin was red and raw from not only the helmet strap, but the sun as well reddening his skin. He lacked the scrapes and bags that had accumulated on his colleague. 

‘Bert’ the man on the left spoke, he had middle class British accent that was fairly soft spoken. "I keep forgetting, how long had you said you had been fighting Jerry for?"

Letting out a somewhat exasperated sigh, Bert turned to face his companion. "I keep telling you old chap" His accent was very similar to his friends, but had much deeper undertone to it. "I have been in this blasted war for around 5 years against those Nazi cads. However, now with the Yankee’s helping to push on our side and the Soviet’s crushing the Axis forces in Poland, I’d say this was is almost over Clive. We’ll make Mr Hitler go tooda-loo and then be back home before you know it, then we can all have a jolly good time." 

Clive looked at him with hope in his eyes. "You really think so?"

"Oh yes, my fellow chap." With that he glanced out over to the ever dropping sun. They were situated upon a small hill, providing excellent views across the French Bocage. As depressing as part of this view was, with the bombed out houses, the wrecked half-tracks and the dead bodies lying here and there, there was still an air of calm, of peace. No artillery guns were firing, no rumble of tank tracks, no sporadic bursts of machine gun fire. Nothing, except the quite chattering of the rest of his patrol. This is why he liked the war a little, the have there moments of peace and serenity in a foreign land. Bert had had these moments every so often in his long time spent moving back and forth through the North African desert. Moving from Egypt to Libya and Tunisia and back again frequently had been both exciting and heartbreaking at times. He had lost many friends fighting there. So many experienced men who Bert was sure they would make it out alive. But they always succumbed to the most unfair-est of deaths. His buddy, Corporal Thomas George, he was making cover fire for the patrol as they retreated to more favourable positions. He was however, struck by a high explosive round from a Panzer IV. His body was almost ripped in half by the round as it passed through him and exploded on the rock behind where he was lying. He was killed almost instantly. Or how about when he was fighting in the Battle of Tobruk, Private Ben Laurence, the patrol Bren gunner, was holding down a street from the approaching Italian forces, when he was cut down by an enemy sniper, the round penetrating his chest, causing him to collapse to the floor, bleeding heavily. Bert had stayed by his side, trying to help, trying to apply pressure to the wound, trying to keep him alive as he shouted for a medic until his throat grew raw. But, by the time he had arrived, Ben was dead.

Bert had always thought as this as unfair. How had he, a boy of 18 who had forged his papers to join the British army, who had been thrown into combat with many older fighter, had survived. Yet now he was the veteran. He was one of  the most combat experienced fighting in his whole patrol, an almost master with anything he could melee with, be it his entrenching tool, his bayonet, his fists, even the butt of his rifle if need be. Yet his true love lay in his Lee Enfield itself. Highly accurate and the main staple of the British army, he cherished this tool of war that had seen him through so much fighting and had kept him alive. He just wanted to get through this conflict alive and in once piece. To go home to his sub-urban house and to just see his family again. It was his father who had encouraged him to fight for his country, being as he had fought in the First World War, despite Bert himself being just slightly under age to join. 

Now here he was, in France, the place where the Fascist Reich still had some influence over apart from its own country. "Erm... Lance... I mean Bert, you seem to be staring out into nothing, is something the matter?" Clive mused in Bert’s direction, noticing he was just blankly staring out into the sunset."I know it’s very nice and calming, but you seem to be spacing out a little."

"I was?" Bert appearing to have snapped out of it all of a sudden. "I'm sorry old chap. I was just thinking about how this conflict had changed so much, how many fellows have come and gone and god how much I miss my family."

"Well I'm very sorry the hear about that Lance-Corporal, but your going to have to get up. It’s getting dark and we need a sentry to stand guard near the tree line behind you." A gruff voice piped up behind Bert. He was a rather burly man, around 29 years with the same slightly aged look upon his face. On his arm was 3 v’s, all pointing downward. "We may have defeated those Nazi buggers here, but you can never be too cautious. We need this harbour area defended whilst we sleep" 

Pulling himself of the greyed stone wall he turned around to face his superior."Yes Sergeant Everald, I will head out there now." 

"Good man, Lance-Corporal Atkins. See too it that you bring your supper or what have you when you go, to help keep you awake." Looking a little guilty, he swiftly added "I'm sorry Lance-Corporal, but all the other boys have been on sentry duty and it’s your turn, nothing I can do I'm afraid."

"That’s fine with me Sarge. I need to do my part just as much as the rest of the squad, just give me a few moments before I head out. I’ll see you in the morning Sergeant." Bert said back to him with a fairly jolly tone in his voice. At this, the Sergeant just turned on his heels and walked toward a small cluster of khaki brown canvas tents, with a group of battle weary soldiers milling around in various locations around it. It had been a long day liberating the town, or what was left of it, from the firmly dug in Germans. 

At this, Bert quickly slung the rest of his kit onto his back and climbed over the wall. Looking back at Clive, Bert put his hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eyes. "Now Clive, you take care you yourself old chap. Grab some biscuits or what have you before you go and have your kip, you never know when one may need the energy. I will be back in the morning, that’s if I haven’t fallen asleep and had my throat cut by a Nazi in my sleep."

"I'm sure you will be fine, I mean, you've been through this much, I'm sure you’ll be fine old chap, you always pull through in the end." At this, Bert turned on his heels and headed toward the dense tree line ahead of him, a look of determination plastered on his gnarled mug.

The sun had almost set and it was very gloomy. Large black shadows were being cast by the light blotting foliage. Perfect hiding spot for enemy troops. Rifle in hand, Bert slowly trudged closer towards the gloom with loomed ahead of him. When he was on sentry duty in North Africa, he didn't have to worry about this, considering how open the desert can be, giving you a large field of view. You could see an enemy’s movement if you knew what you were looking for; a darkened figure in the shadowy outlines of the sand dunes, easy to pick off if need be. Here though, with those dense trees and inky blackness, enemy troops could be hiding behind the nearest tree or bush. He almost had a feeling that someone was watching him, surveying him, as a man with a microscope might scrutinize micro-organisms that swarm and multiply in a drop of water.

Treading out of the ankle high grass and onto fallen decaying foliage, he took a few more steps towards the great unknown, then not so graciously squatted down between the sprawling base of an oak tree until he was sitting on the uneven ground. It was perfect for sentry duty, not too comfy, so he wouldn't nod off, yet not too hard, so he wouldn't shift around too much and make lots of noise. Shrugging off his pack, he drew out a full packet of multicoloured boiled sweets. He had been saving these just for an occasion like this and gently opened the packet, trying not to make so much noise. In the failing light he could barely tell the colours apart from one another, but this didn't mind him, not one bit. Popping what looked like a red one into his mouth (very weak and not very sugary strawberry flavour) he again turned to face the forest of ebony blackness that loomed in front of him. By now the sun had dipped over the top of the hill the forest was situated on and gloomy blackness filled everywhere.

"It’s good that I’m on edge, those blighter’s can’t surprise me." He mumbled in a whisper to himself. "No bloody Jerry soldiers can sneak up on this top dog." And at that he just gazed off in the direction of the forest. 

About an hour and a half must have passed since he had sat in that position by the tree. Bert had just ran out of his boiled sweets and wished that he hadn’t ate them so fast, almost out of habit as he felt the nerves getting to him a little. All though he had been in this conflict for so long, he still was fearful, though that wasn’t a bad thing to have, not at all, especially as he was facing a somewhat creeping fear. Every so often he would hear a rustling of leaves, bringing his full attention to that area. He had frequently checked the area, though there was no one there, just the wind whipping through the tree and ground. Yet he also had this nagging feeling that there was something going and no one would tell him what. But one thing he noted was the fact that the winds in this area were growing stronger and appeared more frequently. This struck Bert as odd, as he could see barely any clouds in the sky, so it surely wasn’t a storm. Yet this still persisted, every so often a strong gust would blow through the trees making a louder sound every time this happened.

Gripping his rifle firmly in his hands, he decided to move towards where the wind was blowing the strongest. He had no idea why, this whole thing filled him with dread as he drew further into the blackened woods. One thing came immediately apparent to him, the bushes here were incredibly thick, almost like a jungle. Fixing his bayonet to the end of his rifle, he began is take careful, yet strong strikes at the dense flora. Slowly a path was made through as it effortlessly sliced its way through. Pulling his was through, he noticed something which he hadn't seen before when the winds were blowing. A dull blue light emanated from within the forest, snaking its way through the trees and plants with ease. The wind was beginning to grow to a howling gale

As it drew ever closer, he stopped and raised his rifle to his shoulder. "Hände hoch!" He shouted in desperation, trying for whatever it was to hear him over the deafening roar of the wind. What ever it was, it was not stopping for some command. On a frightened impulse of whatever the hell this thing was, he pulled the trigger. There was a loud crash as the shot echoed through the woods. Through his sights he could see it had done nothing, so he quickly slid open the bolt, letting a slightly steaming shell spring out of the side; After which he closed it up and fired again. Nothing. Whatever that thing was (which was now screaming toward him at a frightening pace) was not going to be stopped by rifle fire (or words for that matter). Turning around to run away, Bert instantly regretted doing that, as it struck him in the square of his back. At this his vision when blurry, all he could see was dull blue swiftly enveloping his vision. Then black as he crumpled up and fell over.

When he finally woke up after what seemed like a brief period of time, he groggily got to his feet. Clutching at his stomach, he gagged and stumbled around, trying to get his bearings. Rifle still in hand he gazed around to see where that blue thing had came from. At the moment, he could barely see anything, as his vision was almost completely blurry and distorted. However, what Bert immediately noticed was that his surroundings looked nothing like they had when he had been his. "What in the name of... God was that?" he mused to himself. "Some Nazi super weapon? Well, whatever that was I don’t quite seem to be in the... same location as before."

After waiting for his vision to return to him and for his stomach to settle down he decided to head back the way he came, the did an about turn on the spot and walked through more unfamiliar territory. The plants here seemed to be much wilder then before, no clearings, no area which hadn’t been touched, just spiked vine like plants which snaked their way up the darkened trees, seeming to be darker colour then what he had observed. The ground here was much more damp then the part of the forest he had been, if it even was the same forest that is. Slashing through more bushes and vines which obstructed his way, he quickly concluded that he was lost. Gripping his rifle closer to his body he became more aware of the senses around him as he brain began to function properly. Deep cawing like a crow or a raven could be heard as he trudged slowly through the thick brambly mess in front of him. This reminded him to the stories his father used to tell him as a kid before he went to sleep; About an adventurer who always seemed to have to trek through dark foreboding woodland passes, looking for a temple or whatever. As a kid, these tales thrilled him, the parts he told always seemed to be a crescendo of adventure and suspense, always leaving him on a cliff hanger before having to go to sleep. Oh how ironic it felt for Bert as he nervously moved through one piece of plant matter to the neck, not quite feeling the sense of excitement he had had as a child. Maybe it was the fact that he could quite literately be anywhere at this point, with a sniper maybe hiding in a tree or under a camouflage net, waiting for some unlucky sod to stumble into his line of sight. 

His heightened senses however were being tested. He swore he could smell a foul odour in the air, but dismissed it as his own imagination. However it still lingered in the air as he proceeded to make progress through the vegetation ahead of him. With some more swings of his bayonet, he pushed aside a bush to reveal what looked like a pathway of some sorts. Bert though that a wave of relief should wash over him, but noting happened. Sweating more then he did before, he proceeded left from where he had exited the bushed. The smell was back from before, only this time it was stronger and had a much more pungent fragrance to it. A snarl could be heard from the bushes to his right. His heart almost jumped into his mouth. Whipping around he pointed the muzzle of his weapon towards his potential adversary's. Through the thick bushes he was bright green eyes, looking straight at him. Cautiously, Bert began to tread backwards slowly, to try and get some distance on whatever those thing could be.

All of a sudden they burst out of their hiding spot. What shocked Bert the most was the fact they seemed to be composed entirely out of nothing but wood and sticks. They were around half his size, if not a little taller, being as he was around 6 foot 10. He could see that this wasn’t a fight he could he run away from. Despite his fitness, he knew how fast dogs could run when they wanted too, even if they were composed of sentient wood’  The three gazed at him with menace. Their eyes gleaming with ferocity as they glared right toward him. The largest one let out a sharp howl, to which the others followed suit. 

"Nice doggies, come to uncle Bert, come to me to die," Bert growled at them, mirroring their ferocity with his own. Jabbing in their direction with his rifle, which caused them to flinch. "Come get some, you jammy bastards."

At that notion, the closest wolf made a lunging snap at him with its sharp teeth, to which he dodged in the nick of time. Twisting his rifle around, he slammed the butt of the weapon into its head as it began to rear around for a second try. On impact, the force was somewhat jarring, as it impacted with a lot of strength, then continued through the head. After this happened, the entire body seemed to crumple up and collapse to the ground and after a few seconds, you could not even tell it had been alive at all. Rearing back around, Bert looked back at the two other wolves, which looked a tad cowed as they looked back at him. They continued to snap a growl at him, until they began to back off, sensing a losing fight. Bert turned his rifle the right way around, aiming back at them. Pulling the trigger, he let off an eruption of noise. This seemed to frighten them severely, as they turned on they paws, one of them whimpering as they disappeared off into the forest, the bullet apparently smashing into one of their legs, as the recipient hobbled off slowly.

Turning back down the path, he continued to cautiously move along the dirt path, making worried glances behind himself has he continued his trek. Eventually, he reached a clearing, which from the size of it must have been the edge of the forest. Taking several paces down the path, he stopped making sure he was a fair distance from the forest, then let out a deep sigh. "What the hell was that?"