Falling

Is there one merciful god left?

How could we ever deserve this?

Calls from either side of the clear division were muffled beneath the rumble of an incessant, terrifyingly aggressive formation. The only sign of Equestria’s invaders were the silhouettes projected by fire, from arms and lightning alike. Between the strobing visuals a seemingly endless evil was dug in deep, every surface which granted purchase was well taken advantage of, the shine and glint of viciously warped, burnt out steel flickering with every flash of every light. To say it was distracting would be considered criminally negligent.

The skies cracked red against the suffocating grey of cloud laden atmosphere as the very world seemed to bear down on all with callous wrath to the effrontery it was presented. Thunderous claps washed over all from both storm and foe alike while wind howled in tune to the dead, living, and in between as bombardments screamed down to marks unknown, until it was far too late.

The telltale, reverberating shockwave made green steps unsteady, with every breath forced into coherent thought, the razor’s edge between action and death following the concussive, rolling boom as those left to defend the growing, pockmarked line, trudged to cover the newest hole.

Though frigid rain was attempting to wash out the valley they found themselves defending, competing with artillery for its own cacophonous voices to be heard, it could be easy to forget the increasingly slick and sinking flooring underhoof when airbursts granted a brief reprieve from the elements, as they only too often did. When water failed to touchdown, in it’s place reigned steel.

With a rain-slicked overcoat, rifle bit clamped hard between shivering jaws, breaths shaking and hurried as his pinpricked eyes darted over everything he barreled past through their trenches, heading straight into the fray as was demanded of him. He couldn't think, he was commanded, so he followed, no matter how hard his blood rushed through his ears, keenly aware of others unfortunate enough to not still have their blood pumping, or otherwise inside them, where it belonged. So many familiar faces.

But onward he charged, rifle jostling in his death grip, its bare steel glistening in the light, their rushed armaments foregoing any sort of typical finishing, he was briefly assured that wouldn't affect its utility, he hadn't had the chance to confirm that for himself, he just had to hope they were right.

His ears hadn't stood properly since they first started their march, left with little reason to smile in the face of such unexpected destruction that was nearly on their doorstep in a matter of weeks. They'd come seemingly from nowhere, pushing their western boundaries with unabated ease, only after the third city did any formidable force amass in a functioning way, surely 40,000 odd would make a difference. They did, for what it was worth. Two days. It didn't seem like a lot at the time, but here in the midst of death, he couldn't stand the thought of one day like this.

So with sardonic irony Private Willow found himself at the very frontlines of this unprecedented war, living solely to attain any kind of peace through attrition, at least, that's what it felt like. Lately he's entertained the idea of outlasting the bombs, for surely they couldn't last forever, theirs hadn't even had the chance to, so devastating were the invaders' pegasi bombers. He'd seen it himself, the explosives strapped to every space their bodies allowed. They knew it was a one way trip, embraced it even, with keeling results.

As the shell-shocked stallion took his place in their reforming line, ducking low under the crater's rim and pressing against the wall, he winced at every whistle and crack, flying right over his head, what a position he was in.

Orders were simple for now, unchanged in response to their attacker's unchanging assault. Two pegasi for every unicorn, with three ground pounders to match. A newly constructed formation, necessary given their opposition. Simple and as effective as they could hope.

Pegasi had an inherent knack for air pressure, and with these whistling payloads it helped to know which way to run. It wasn't perfect, it didn't always work, but it could only help to try to run while the mage constructed any sort of barricade between it and them. Although it was difficult for one to gauge just how powerful a blast would be, and every unicorn was inexperienced, those lucky enough to last their first often finding just how fine a line they'd walked in an awful way. But it's all they had in the haze of combat.

Holding an exposed line so persistently as they did would seem insane, cradled as they were in the blown open foxhole, and Willow had been of like mind until he heard the first push. Although, it wasn't the advance he heard itself, but the resistance. Startled shouts, chattering gunfire, and a sudden charge, as if the enemy was already among them, in a way they were.

Splashing down into the muck of blood, grime, and mud before they could be picked off the cusp of Equestrian trenches they let theirs arms do the shouting for them, clearing all defending life they could in their unseen, devastating break into friendly territory. There weren't nearly enough to take over the sector, but all present were darkly aware they knew that as death whistled, beckoning all wayward souls, the retaliatory force scattering to the four corners before being whisked away in a cloud of heat and shrapnel. Willow knew their walls much better now, knew to pay close attention to them.

Missing any proper defenses aside from the very malleable wall of dirt between home and death, their job was merely to be aware of any further spearheading, attempting to further rile up, congregate or otherwise scatter the assailed forces from the fair lands of their mother nation. Such tension had more than a few jumping at shadows, when panic and inattentiveness were two things they absolutely could not afford this moment.

Who would have thought just a month ago Willow was taking his time, without a care in the world but for homework, helping his father, and mares? Certainly not his fellow conscripts. It was hard to be angry at the injustice of it all when he was clinging so desperately to life with every beat of his pounding heart. Priorities folks.

Shortly through the first waves of artillery exchange he swore through choking breaths of fresh soot and death as filthy tears stung his eyes, to any deity that was still kind enough to at least pretend to care he wouldn't complain anymore when told to focus less on flanks and more and work. He'd seen what flanks really were anyway during his brief time on the field, all that anypony really was. Just meat, that's all.

With this revelation he found it difficult to see meat as attractive anymore. A smirk threatened to break through his mask of fear as his newfound nerves struck home, I could probably ask the princess herself out if this nightmare would just end. Willow's body twitched in amusement.

Despite hardly knowing his nearest allies beyond a first name basis, he was forced into a situation where he had no choice but to rely on them with everything he was, for they've already killed together, and they'd– no, that's where he had to draw his line, as weak as it was. They were gonna make it, so much he'd heard that that he was more than willing to bet every chip and tooth on it. The stakes warranted it.

As lightning tore across the smoking, inky blackness of a midnight storm he was graced with illumination in the otherwise impermeable darkness, each flash both a blessing and a curse, not everything he saw he wanted to, but it was good to know where his hoof would drop, mud sucked and pulled him down just as much as other things he wished weren't there. It all was the same to the touch. If Willow had anything left to give he was certain he'd empty every faculty his body possessed.

Sidling along the steadily deteriorating walls of mud, he kept his bloodshot gaze on the wall before him, crouched low to the ground, blending well with the mess that served as the backdrop beneath and behind him. "Just a peek, that's all it takes here," the words played through his head again, "don't doubt for a fucking second they can't see you." He could hardly bring his eyes back down to his designated unit, wishing for all the world that this would just all be over, that they could just go home and pretend this never happened.

But his prayers went unanswered, and the torrents of bitingly chilled rain mixed with charges he never would have imagined continued to crash down around them. His dug in self-made position slowly but steadily flooded with water, opaque with everything within and around the newly dug trench lines. Spent casings floated meekly before overturning to sink beneath the surface, shapes and ripples from every raindrop, every blast, and the deafening rattle of small arms fire. He shivered just as much out of fear as chill, but he remained on watch, his life as well as those beside him on the line.

A beam of blinding light scanned overhead, something new was happening. Knowing better than to check above the rim, Private Willow held fastly to the floor, a bundle of nerves itching to go off, but only when the time was right. A sudden crash to his left caught him unawares, and after nearly snapping his neck for visual, Willow caught one of their two pegasi crawling out of the slime after having seemingly tripped.

That lapse in his surveillance thankfully went unpunished, and again that strange, strafing light passed above them, faintly catching the dirtied pegasi's helmet in its baleful patrol, prompting a dull tch from their crater's wall. The nearly unrecognizable pegasus ducked as his head lurched away from enemy fire, the round having struck its mark through the lip of their crater, the dense mud thankfully dulling its power to the point where it glanced off his helm, leaving him in one piece.

All that remained recognizable of the lucky set of wings as he stood there covered from head to tail in mud was the stitched, self-made cutie mark emblazoned on either side of his coat, it's lack of color made up for with it's prominence beneath the hell that covered them all, impossible to see if it weren't for lights natural and not. A sole feather, basic in its design, but it marked him clearly, and in doing so it fulfilled its purpose for quick action and command. It was hard to forget your mark, so if someone were to call for 'feather' he'd look. Such was the idea behind it all.

Willow could feel his own embroidered tags press against his sides, looking to the unfamiliar to be a number of things, to Willow's immense chagrin. It was supposed to be a basket, but he'd never had a hang of the craft to begin with leaving Willow to make what he could in the two allotted hours.

It was comically annoying how everypony had to squint and turn their heads to see it, and even more so how vehemently the private would defend his creation, despite thinking much of the same as others had said. But that was then, and this is now.

####

As Feather quickly patted himself down to make certain he was still, in fact, very much alive, he pressed his back flat against the front flank as he slid down to his haunches, well out of sight now. Willow quickly combed over their position once more before turning his exhausted focus back up, jumping at the sound of gunfire, only failing to offer his own bark to the mix because his grip slipped, and so the young stallion fumbled. Through his panic Willow failed to notice how relatively quiet their little cut of space was, for one he figured to be under siege.

His commanding officer, the earth pony adjacent Willow's position, barked the loudest whisper he'd ever heard, "Calm the hell down Private! Listen!" Snorting in frustration as he held tightly to his own long gun, the Sergeant's ears were attentive, honing in on what had them all on edge. "They definitely made it in…" he growled, his tone insidious, "Watch the trench, Mutt. We can't afford to fall back now." Looking over his soldiers he made it very clear he was speaking directly to them all with a lingering, piercing look to each of them accompanying his words, only his eyes standing out among the browns and greys that consumed them, "We're here to stay, so dig in."

As 'Mutt' was instructed he laid low, relinquishing his rifle's already well worn handle to set up watch, chewed bit bouncing as he dug in, to which his callsign paid homage. Forcing himself to be still in their pool, Mutt aligned his sights with the only entrance to them, eyes panning the wall as well, you could never be too sure.

Lightning streaked above, painting all in harsh, blinding light. Afterimages burning into retinas as another wave of force pushed through the valley, each shell its own storm of thunder and hateful impudence. From where the latest incursion was it felt and sounded like, an ill message to any defender to take notice, those who did hoped they were just overanalyzing coincidence, the bombs fell everywhere after all.

For all the horrors and terror these long, terrible hours brought well into dark, the world continued, uninterrupted and distant. To think, there were those with not a care in the world as their world crashed around them. It was a comfort and a light to those with the mind to recognize it while others grew spiteful, leaving the rest to keep their heads on 'here', no room for distractions.

So many bombs, Willow thought, his mind running itself in circles, that's all he could think to do with this flighty, panicked energy exploding within himself, when does it end? What will be left? The sounds of wet, sucking hoofsteps permeated his inner rambling voice and a flurry of cracks went off to his side, Mutt's visage alight as his rifle roared to life, his face set in a filth smattered grimace of concentration somewhere behind Willow, someplace only he and the others could see. Willow let out a deep, constrained sigh, grateful for it only lasting seconds, and it wasn't him having to kill again.

He could imagine, in vivid detail, the matted bodies that may or may not be slumped against their position's entrance, a small part of Willow hoped that Mutt was just seeing things. His thoughts were dashed as the signature splash of something heavy fell bodily to the ground. Willow felt numb all over, and a foggy static pervaded his head. It was easier said than done to not think, to clear his head of any and all qualms it had. But right now, he needed clarity.

That damnable spotter's light shone over them again, clearly displaying the results of Mutt's quick work, and with a dull, waterlogged impact followed by another whip of precision fire clearly locked on them, the dead or dying aggressor's body jerked in response to the sniper's shot striking its mark. Mutt could only watch with narrowed, uncaring eyes despite all those gathered jumping at the display, the feeling of being observed so closely through an unknown's crosshairs weighing heavily, only piling onto the malaise infecting all present.

The thought that if another shell were to happen to end up overhead, they'd be reliant on two bogged down pegasi and a thus far unproductive, despondent unicorn not helping in the least, but what more could be done, what did they have to give for these bombs to stop?

No.

Wait.

If the bombs stopped, what next?

At least here in their cozy crater they had a semblance of stability, Willow didn't want to think about what next. He didn't want to think at all. He couldn't help running away in his thoughts though, to somewhere, somewhen much brighter.

Willow almost wished his mother could console him as she did so well, at first he did, but then she'd be here. There was nothing comforting about that, everything would only be worse. They were here to keep the war far away from there, from her, from everyone and everything they cared for. It didn't feel that way though, right now he felt too much, it was blurring together, everything so quick, so sudden. Too loud, too much.

A squelching stomp barely perceptible over the racket of everything, and the glint of a peering helm shone over the precipice of their blown out foxhole-turned-crater, and without a thought Willow depressed the trigger, sounding off clear visual. The other's aside from Mutt turned to see what Willow saw, eyes roaming over every edge around them, every angle an avenue, but still they held, unwilling to give an inch of Equestrian soil without a fight.

Eyes and ears jumped at every sense, looking for the smallest shadow out of place, or listening for the slosh of water, all weapons raised and wary. With each hugging the crater's walls at different marks, their second pegasus suddenly shouted something incoherent over the din of his small arms as it came to life, spewing lead with much enthusiasm, sparking other fire, from both inside and out their hallowed ground.

All the gunfire kept those in and out alight, and if one were free to fly on high they'd see how bright they lit up the night, a blinding ball of erratic, jittery shadows dancing around the pit, promises of one's doom thrown both ways as quickly as each weapon could sign, seal, and deliver, slinging every ill thought through each shot. Almost therapeutic.

Empty brass lay strewn about, water spouts and back-jets exploding all around where the hasty had missed, and with no clear tell if shots struck home both sides maintained the idea to shoot until the other stopped moving. No other plan approaching its fatal simplicity in the presence of the enemy.

Unfortunately, the Equestrians' sunken enclosure granted the blitzing units the high ground which brought maneuverability and cover. Willow & Co. were at a disadvantage and it took a tooth breaking reminder, compliments of the Sergeant, that their stunned unicorn would be a pretty damn big help right about now.

He didn't have the mind to look hurt, or insulted, his 1000 yard stare coming into focus only just barely as his horn glowed a subdued shade of green, instinctually projecting a dome over them, cutting rain, wind, lead, and steel alike as magic coalesced above and around, the small window of relative peace allowing the time they needed to recuperate and reload, with their officer wasting no time to berate their nearly comatose magi as he did so.

Blood flowed from the unicorn's mouth after his wake up, his only response to their CO's fury a wince to match every aggravated strike and bash against their magical defenses, no doubt deaf to his lecture. Willow could only agree with his superior, if he had a horn he'd never let that shield down no matter when where or what, especially now of all times.

First his ears flicked at the sound of a cough, shortly followed by his eyes, widening at what he witnessed. There across from him, awash with the muted green that now protected them, Feather choked on his own life, having taken the most vulnerable grounding.

The pegasus clutched his rifle hard in his shaking grip, pupils constricted to the smallest dots that spoke of so much hurt as his unsteady vision locked onto the wall across himself, trying his hardest to steady out, to control his breaths, but with every painfully passing second he choked a little harder, and shook a little more. None present were trained for this, at this point though there was nothing that could be done but wait or make it quick, a small time to choose between either comforting him in his last moments or hold position and let him slip away on his own. No one moved.

Silence was hard to come by, and luck was even shorter. A limp body sobered any complaints for quiet. Now it was deafening.

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The Original Gaston

The Original Gaston #1 · May 10th, 2019 · 1 · ·

Hmm...

Really hard to follow what's going on. I can see the effort you've put into it, most definitely! Buuuuuuut... it's hard to appreciate a story when I can't figure out what's happening. I mean, yeah, generally a war's going on and your main character(s?) are in the trenches between Equestria and... itself? Is it a civil war or a foreign war?

Also (correct me if I'm wrong), but isn't it abbreviated Pvt. instead of just Pvt ?

I'm giving you a like anyway.

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