Only So Much
Baker
Talking about the pistol reminded me of what my dad had always taught me. He told me to focus on what I could control. But, how much can I? What’s under my power? I know just from being here that not much is, but I can still keep people alive. That’s my job; my one true mission. One mission I can’t fail at any cost. Still, is even that under my control?
September 24th
Baker and the rest of his men were relaxing on a hill just a short ways outside of town, but not the outskirts. It also wasn’t at the main defensive perimeter around the town. This was more like the halfway point between the two.
It was nearing midnight and all the men were still wide awake, each doing their own thing. Baker himself was sitting under a tree on top of the hill, looking at his M1911 some more. He didn’t notice Dawson approaching until he started taking a seat next to him.
“Zanovich took Courtland and Franky out on patrol around the perimeter,” Dawson said. “I hope to God those crow bastards will leave us alone for tonight.”
“You certainly have a specific way of talking. I’ll give you that,” Baker replied.
“Is that the gun?”
“Yea, AJ was giving me some funny looks and I think she knows about it now,” Baker explained. “She doesn’t understand any of this.”
“Do you?”
“Excuse me?”
“Understand this? And that?” Dawson gestured to the pistol.
“You buy into that shit?”
“You don’t purchase faith,” Dawson replied. “Those men died holding a pistol that you refused to take because, as some pointed out, you were too afraid.”
Baker gave him an odd look; not angry, but more concerned.
“I mean, forgive me for not believing it’s not all random chance,” Dawson continued.
“It was my father’s,” Baker explained. “That’s why I didn’t want it.”
“Who also died holding it.”
“What are you trying to prove, Dawson?”
“That you’re hiding something.”
Baker took a minute to think back on what happened to George. That led him to think about Allen and Garnett. And eventually, to what Leggett did and how he died. All this lasted a second.
“I’m not hiding anything,” Baker assured Dawson.
“I’ve talked to someone who disagrees with you.”
“What?”
Before Dawson could explain, the two were interrupted by a distant boom. They looked up to see it came from the town. Already, a small fire was starting where it occurred and the alarms were sounding.
Baker got up and looked closer. The Griffons didn’t have any planes or bombs, so what caused this? He saw another explosion, then another, all in random areas. It was the artillery, and they were bombarding the town itself. Not the lines where the troops were, but the homes of the innocents.
“Get everybody up!”
The squad gathered their equipment and prepared to move. The group hustled down the hill towards the town. As they reached it, they saw the full extent of the damage.
Here and there a random explosion would go off. Houses were burning and collapsing and the ground bore several craters in it. Though they weren’t as noticeable, several corpses laid at various odd spots, both human and pony, in varying degrees of gore.
It only seemed to get worse as they actually entered to try and help. Dawson spotted the crushed corpse of one pony who was crushed dead under some rubble. Baker took a step to the side to avoid a random horn from some unknown unicorn; rather bloody at the end. He also saw a soldier’s boot lying in the street and looked at it; its owner’s foot was still occupying it.
If the ponies hadn’t known how bad a real war could get, just how hellish it could be, they knew now. Looking over from the carnage, Corrion spotted Franky going in another direction. He caught up to him and stopped him.
“Franky!” Corrion shouted, stopping him.
“I gotta help her!”
“What the hell are you doing?”
“She’s in trouble! I’m faster alone, we’ll never get to her as a group,” Franky explained hastily, anxious to get going again.
“Franky, she’s not even human.”
“She doesn’t have to be!”
“If you run after her, you will die,” Corrion stated darkly.
“And if I don’t then what?” Franky shot back. “Please, save as many as you want, but just let me save this one!”
“Don’t!”
“Let me save this one!”
“Franky, don’t,”
“Just…one,” Franky continued his run, with Corrion briefly considering tackling the young soldier and dragging him back.
But that was that. Franky, though quite disturbed by the prediction, continued on his way. Corrion realized he couldn’t stop him, and that the squad would need his help providing relief for the town, so he made his way back.
Baker led the squad to the main street, near the town square. The jeeps were parked in a rather random order, but something about the one on the road closest to them caught his eye. There was a paratrooper, or rather the body of one, lying on its hood with a familiar face. Campbell pointed it out depressingly as them men neared; his two words being the only greeting.
“It’s Marsh.”
The 2nd squad soldier was lying on his back. His body was a bit rough, but intact. There were a few streams of blood from small holes, varying in size, from his upper body; the most noticeable were the head and throat. He actually looked quite peaceful.
“No whine just came out of nowhere,” Campbell explained. “The shell hit a burning building nearby, and the fragments caught him in the soft spots.”
He lowered his head over his friend’s body, badly shaken up.
“No way to know it would happen…like one loud crack.”
He looked up again; his voice was trembling and it looked like he would cry.
“How could Paddock have known?” he asked no one. “H-How…how could Paddock have possibly known this would happen?”
Baker only just noticed Hartsock, who was half sitting-half standing on a jeep nearby, looking at the ground. Baker walked over to try and assuage him. Red didn’t acknowledge him by looking up, but rather just started talking like Campbell had.
“There’s too many to help,” he stated hopelessly.
“Red, it’s okay,” Baker said; Hartsock didn’t reply. “Red, look at me; it’s okay, we’re gonna help them!”
As if to contradict Baker’s claim, Paddock appeared holding another body.
“Red!”
The men moved over to see who they had lost now. Preparing themselves for the worst, they were surprised to see it was a pony’s. This made the situation even worse.
“Oh no,” Baker thought. “Oh, no…no no no.”
Paddock wouldn’t have brought a pony unless it was important. The last thing the men wanted was to see a civilian killed. Baker was silently asking it not to be one he knew; but, as he got closer, his fears were suddenly realized in a horror. The corpse was Scootaloo.
“I found her under part of a wall,” Paddock explained, setting her body down.
This was far worse to Baker. Scootloo’s body was badly beaten up with blood running down from everywhere. Most of her orange coat was stained red with it. Worst of all, unlike Marsh and despite her closed eyes, she seemed to show a sort of fear and desperation; it was as if she had hoped Baker would come to the rescue just in time.
“What happened to her?” Baker asked a noticeable tremble in his voice.
“Me and Friar were by their house just chekin’ on ‘em, and the building next it collapsed on top of it; it just…collapsed like that.”
“What about her two friends? You know where they are?” Baker asked desperately. “Paddock where!?”
“Well…they’re…they’re dead, Baker.”
Baker became even more acute and afraid. He quickly leaned over Scootaloo’s body and moved her head from one side to the other, as if checking on something. He shook it lightly a bit, but stopped and just rested her head on the back of his hand; rubbing her mane with his fingers and scratching her scalp softly.
“Scootaloo! I know you can hear me!” You can hear me because you’re gonna be alright!” he said. “Scoots…Scoots it’s me! It’s Baker! Please…please listen. Scoots please, just listen to me.”
“Matt, we gotta go,” Friar said.
“Scoots…please,”
“Sir, we’ve got new orders,” Holden chimed in, seemingly oblivious to the scene. “Cole says the enemy is making an all-out attack against the 82nd and 101st’s fronts meet nearby in tandem with the bombardment. Everyone else is tied down and he needs us to move up and assist. We got to move fast, or they’ll break through and enter town.”
“She’s dead Matt!” Friar yelled, spurred into it by the latest news. “Look at me!”
He yanked Baker away by the arm.
“There’s a thousand people that need our help right now! We know the griffons are serious about this attack and we’re going to need everyone. You are going to have to cover us! Can you do that?”
Baker just looked back down, unsure of what to do. Before he could decide, he brought it back up and nodded. Seeing he understood, Friar and the others got up and began to move out. Baker took a final look and slowly stumbled before working his way up to a jog, leaving the bodies of his friends in the street.
By the time they reached the frontline, they could see that the All-Americans and Screaming Eagles were in trouble. Several swarms of griffons were throwing themselves at the line of foxholes and trenches. Even though there was a field separating the Americans from the enemy on the other side, the dark of night made aiming difficult.
Still, there were so many charging the line that they could just fire blindly and probably hit something. Machine guns fired long bursts, their lines of tracers lighting up the field they were crisscrossing. Rifles cracked as their muzzle flashes gave away their positions.
The two squads noticed a very thin portion of the line where some of the griffons had reached it. There was a danger of it becoming a gap in the defense. Not needing orders, the men ran to it and quickly picked an individual foxhole, firing away into the night.
“Connor, make sure to keep the belts ready,” Jasper instructed. “We’ve got some fast work tonight.”
“I got it, Jas,” he replied after loading the 30 and picking up his own weapon. “Oh, I’ve been waiting for this; firing!”
The enemy didn’t come in large waves, but in one continuous stream. There was always firing in the darkness. Sometimes it would lessen, but it continued endlessly.
Another problem was the terrain across from them. The para’s lines were in the tree line of a wood, but across from the field, the enemy had woods and hills. They played the height to their advantage, setting up their own machine guns to fire on the line, with nests in the center becoming a major irritation.
“Guys!”
Baker, who had been crouching in his foxhole while reloading, looked up to see McConnell shouting.
“We can’t fight with those guys raining lead on us!” he shouted over the battle. “Cover me! I’m going to move up and frag ‘em!”
He wasn’t ordered to do so; it was just something he thought had to be done. Seeing a light moment in the enemy’s charge, he got up and rushed out into the field. If anyone yelled at him that he was crazy or to come back, it wasn’t heard or heeded.
Still, the men increased the rate of fire. They focused mainly on the gun nests, trying to keep them down and draw their attention. It worked well as they had trouble targeting the dark figure running in their direction.
The griffons that were charging were stunned, not shooting at McConnell at first. Some thought the Americans were launching their own charge and ran. Others tried to go after him, only to be cut down. The rest continued the attack, also getting shot and killed.
McConnell used whatever cover was available. He hid behind boulders, logs, and the bodies (both single and piles) of fallen griffons. While he was running, he also took the opportunity to shoot a few charging griffons.
“Alright, made it,” he said to himself having reached a log that was within grenade range of the nests. “Now, just toss the bombs into the nests. Don’t be too weak, but don’t just hurl it in. You can’t afford to miss. Man, I wish I remembered my glasses.”
One by one, three grenades went out. One by one, the three nests of machine guns stopped firing. Somehow, he had made it through and got the job done. Now, he just had to go back.
As McConnell stood up, Baker noticed a lone figure on the hill side raise a rifle. He immediately tried to fire his Thompson, but it jammed and he switched to his Garand. He fired and killed the figure with a single shot, but not before it fired a shot in turn.
Baker noticed McConnell out of the edge of his sight. His chest seemed to explode outwards and he fell onto his knees. Baker was able to make out his face which, after the initial shock of what happened, seemed to sport a content smile from knowing that his task was done.
“McConnell’s down!” Baker yelled.
“We gotta go help him!” Paddock urged.
“We can’t! They’re still coming! We have to wait till they slack off!” Red replied.
As much as Baker hated it, he was right. If they all tried to get up and go after him, the line would be exposed to a breach. McConnell would just have to ride it out.
The fight continued onwards, but without the guns to suppress the soldiers, the Americans had already won. Still, the enemy kept coming, filling the field with bodies. There was a short brake and the men took the opportunity to replenish their depleted ammo.
By now the sun was rising, and its light revealed the full extent of the carnage. The griffon bodies lay strewn all over the field with only one spot sticking out. McConnell was still there, lying on his side.
This sight, more than any other, spurred Baker and the others into action. Despite their weariness, the men became angered, worried, and tired of waiting. Something had to be done.
“That’s it!” Baker yelled, sounding as if he was angry and tired of not just waiting, but of everything in general. “I’m going to get him!”
Baker got out of his foxhole, but something interesting happened. Several others, including his squad joined him. The line as a whole got up in bits and pieces as the men slowly marched out of the woods.
“I’m guessing you’re not sure of just what you’re doing, right?” Red asked, walking next to his friend.
“Nope, but if there’s a chance he’s kicking, then I’m going in all the same,” Baker replied. “He’s a good soldier, Red.”
“We are, too,” Red replied. “We don’t leave each other behind.”
The men exited the tree line with the bright, rising sun to their back just as the griffons launched another wave. They came in running, but it was noticeably halfhearted and less numerous. This was obviously they’re last charge, and the paras would meet it with one of their own.
The men had started off walking now began running. They fixed their bayonets and fired into the mass of enemies. They shouted at their foes and screamed at the very top of their lungs.
“HOOAH!”
“CURAHEE!”
“ALL THE WAY!”
“AIRBORNE!”
The adrenaline-fueled charge had its effects. For the griffons, who were down to their last troops and with the sun in their eyes, this pack of animals running at them was enough. Most just threw down their weapons and flew off. Those that did try to fight back were shot down, stabbed, clubbed with a weapon, or just beaten.
In no time, they had reached McConnell and Baker stopped. The attack, however, continued. It ran its way up into the griffon’s lines, which were near empty from the lack of troops. Those that were there were quickly put down.
The attack finally halted as the men cheered from their new lines. They had been bombarded from far off, come under attack all night, and rose up to beyond what they were asked, it was sweet. They had ridden out the vicious, endless, merciless storm that was thrown against them, and then took the fight to Mother Nature.
But for the men of 2nd and 3rd squad, there was no time for celebrating. Baker quickly moved to McConnell, who had a griffon’s corpse lying on top of him. Baker pushed it aside to check on the trooper, and again, met his fears.
McConnell was deceased, and from the looks of it, probably had been since he fell. Everything they just did, to Baker at least, was for nothing. If there was any comfort for him, it was that he could see McConnell had indeed been smiling when he passed.
Picking up his body, the two squads left the cheering men and returned to their original lines. All of them were in a state of gloom. The first person to meet them was Lt. Col. Cole. The second person surprised the men.
Franky, who had run off during the bombardment, was ok; as was Lyra, who was trotting alongside him with her tail wrapped around his leg. At first glance, one could tell they both had a tough time, too. They were dirty, blackened by the smoke and fires, and scratched.
At first, Baker thought of lashing out against him. I he was here, maybe McConnell would still be alive. But, then he realized that if he knew about what was happening to Scoots, he probably would have done the same.
“Christ…McConnell,” Franky noticed as both him and Lyra were taken aback. “I wish he was just back at his farm in Oklahoma now. This shouldn’t have happened."
“What happened to this one?” Cole asked.
“He ran out during the night charge to grenade some MG nests on the hills that were giving us trouble,” Baker explained, laying his body down. “He…well, he got the job done.”
“So, this is the one I was hearing about?” Cole asked. “He ran out in the middle of the enemy’s attack?”
“Yes sir,” Corrion replied. “He was hit before he could make his way back to us.”
“Damn,” Cole sighed. “Even in my charge, I had you guys with me.”
There was a short silence before Cole spoke again.
“I’m going to recommend him for a posthumous Medal of Honor. He’s earned it, no doubt.”
“Thank you, sir,” Baker replied before sitting down on his own.
“He didn’t know, though he probably thought it would happen,” Baker said to himself. “He was just focused on doing the right thing, and he did just that. We would be better men to respect that.”
A voice came from the back of Baker’s head, loud and clear.
“Yea, but I still died,” McConnell’s voice echoed.
“Yea, you did.”
Yea, the CMC died. Please don't burn me at the stake, else you'll never know how the story ends.
To all my readers-just wanted to let you know that i'm planning putting out a lot of stories right now. Don't worry, i'm not abandoning any of them (unfinished work is evil to me) and i'll update when I can. I just want to get some ideas off the pile and give myself some more options. Just stick with it and be patient, please.
I'll admit, around 90 likes isn't a ton compared to others, but it's massive to me. Thanks so much for the support, guys! And keep commenting so I can get some feedback.
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This has been the best chapter by far.
Well,McConnell death is unexpected. Yeah normailly I'm upset with ponies dying in a war. But this story is just too good to for me to get upset.
Poor CMC. I wonder how Applejack,Rarity and Scoots parent react to the news?
3126377 3126742
I have to say I was planning this chapter for a long time and i'm glad it worked out so well. Feels like taking another step forward in writing skill.
*raises flamethrower*
th07.deviantart.net/fs71/PRE/i/2011/290/0/b/crazy_twilight_by_argorine-d4d1dwv.png
Run...
OK, That's it! The Griffon King needs a personal visit in his palace by these guys! With Luna's Elite Guards, the Nightstalkers making the delivery...
...well it gives this
a new meaning
3131160
You're this far behind? I hope the latest comments didn't spoil anything.
3131279 I was busy.
Besides I don't read comments much.
3130316
Oh, it's so witty, yet hurts at the same time.
3127955
Why the hell did I think of this?
3131600 sorry I can't watch this video because
3131675
And that's the only one...
Well, try just copying the url
3133013 meh... I still want to burn you alive
3133034
I specifically asked not to do that.
3133115 hmmm... I can't burn you just yet you need to finish this story then I will find you and do it If I don't the let's just say you won't have house anymore
Men, prepare the portal to Equestria.
It's time to fight!
But seriously, great chapter. It shocked me when the CMC died. You got me good with that one.
3133115
huh... wonder what went wrong?
3131600
hehehe
3140713
...
well I feel stupid
if scoot a lot sweetie belle and apple bloom really died I am going to beat you to a fucking pulp and dislike!!!!!
3148797
A dislike over that one little detail? Tsk tsk. Just try to catch me, anyways.
You may have the General, but I'll take the Trans Am.
fc06.deviantart.net/fs47/f/2009/197/6/4/Firebird_Trans_Am_Logo_by_TheCarloos.jpg
3151098 GRRRR
... The CMC
... NORMALLY I would just quit and say "fuck this shit, i'm out
" but... well... I don't know. I will continue this story because it is that good.
RIP CMC
the general could beat the fucking trans am Anyday. mainly cause its got a dixie horn so your argument is invalid.
well at least let it be a lie apple loom is dead pleaaaaseeee.
3152391
Maybe, not sure.
Either way, i'm switching to the Bluesmobile. You can't stop me now cause i'm on a mission from God.
one HOLY CRAP
two what is zat mission?
general still has a dixie horn! who would make a bridge that high
3152608 My physics book is crying.
3152723 I have a Citroen 2CV, your argument is invalid.
(Just ignore the little titbit about the electric cars, nobody loves them.)
NOPE
3156474
Now we're just picking out cars for the Cannonball Run.
"I must warn you, i'm Roger Morre.
Who?
Roger Moore..."
3157194
I can see you are new, so alow me to welcome you to this lovely site. No, I won't use some pony pic, i'll use something better suited for the person.
(P.S., you know you can reply to comments, right?)
3158016 Well I have a steam car. My life is complete.
blog.paloaltoonline.com/adlibs/uploaded_images/STEAM-09z-794057.jpg
)
(But no, I really want a Stanley, but they're like $100,000 restored! The horror!
3161851
I want a DeLorean DMC-12
3158016 YEEEE HAAAAWW Mah Favorite song JHONNY CASH!!
3162225 http://delorean.com/delorean/5568/
It's 31k, start saving your pennies.
Gotta love their stainless steel construction and how they never rust from it.
3165500
Aw, ok. But I still need a 1974 Dodge Monaco sedan for the Bluesmobile. How else could I destroy a mall?
3162560
I miss Johnny. Truly the king of country to me.
3167231 Dear god what horrid driving! And if you want to destroy a mall may I suggest ze Germans?
3167419
You call this horrid driving?
3167531 As far as the cops go, yes.
3152713
Oh, and the mission was 'Baptism if Fire'. Sorry, i'm late finding it.
all i'm saying is R.I.P CMC applejacks gunna be pissed then she finds out
3210502
I'm glad you and the others are enjoying it. WW2 was always a big passion of mine.
>>Callsign Eagle OMG me 2
Filthy cowards. Where's a commissar when you need one? Oh, right! *BLAM!
I'm not burning you at the stake. I'm applauding you for breaking plot armor.
Welcome to War, People.
R.I.P CMC
3148797 a lot sweetie belle? kid your grammar is so bad its cringy looking and it make me cringe so im giving you a dislike and no one cares what you say so stfu and gtfo if your gonna dislike a story and im gonna give it a like
F
8556796
LOL