Revenge

by Teq

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

The rest of the week passed uneventfully. I spent my time reorganising my saddlebags, which I need not tell you was one heck of a chore. I had taken things out of my saddlebags that could be added to my belt, including the remaining bits, some spare bullets, and the large pistol from the shack. The pistol didn’t have a holster of its own, so I fashioned one out of some scrap material. They were only makeshift and rather shoddy looking, but they got the job done. The stitching wasn’t particularly durable either (a combination of poor material and terrible thread) so I double fastened the pistols to my belt with clips already present. That way, if the holsters failed, the pistol would still remain attached.

After I had finally sorted out my saddlebags (resulting in a much lighter pack), I spent the rest of my time scoping out the town. I found a nice looking store that sold decent looking supplies, including food and canteens of water, and I also managed to locate an armourer. It wasn’t as impressive as the ones the Scavengers had (because all the best weapons were probably in their main armoury) but it did sell a variety of weapons, ammunition types and armour. I paid particularly close attention to the armour.

The memory of my wound still fresh in my mind, I was now aware of how serious a bullet wound could be, so I was looking for something that would protect my more important areas. They had a full set of police riot armour, consisting of padded body suit and helmet complete with visor, and it was a reasonable price, but way out of my price range. Everything was out of my price range. I didn’t have many bits left. Also amongst their collection was a set of pre-revolutionary combat armour worn by the Equestrian Military and a greyish-purple uniform and garrison cap. The combat armour looked very durable and was designed to be light weight. It had several pads composed of composite materials (that is metal, ceramic, air, ceramic and metal, in that order) across the chest and around the joints. I was particularly pleased to note that it came with pads that extended to shield the rear from fire, which would have come in useful a few days ago. The set included a combat helmet that looked a little too large for me. As for the purple tunic… well, it just looked silly. Who would wear such a uniform? I left the armourer without making a purchase, much to the armourer’s annoyance.

I returned to the hospital a total of three times. Twice to see Wraith (who was recovering marvellously) and once to have my wound fully sealed by magic. I was annoyed to see that the wound hadn’t ruined my cutie mark, which I still hated. Why couldn’t it have been something cool instead of a bloody plate? I’m going off on a tangent again, I’ll stop. Wraith had been sleeping both times I went to see him, but that didn’t surprise me. He needed the rest. I made sure that they still remembered my message and, on confirmation that they did, I left to await Wraith’s arrival at the inn.

It was another day before he showed up. I was sitting at the bar absentmindedly cleaning my Glock (for the third time that afternoon) when somepony sat on the stool next to me. I looked up and saw Wraith, the last pony I’d expected to see, his uniform torn and bloodied where it had been sliced open. He had a serious case of bed-head and probably needed a little more time to recover full control over his legs having been bed ridden for almost a full week, but mostly he was fully healed. I was pleased to see him, nay, I was overjoyed. Ecstatic. We’d not been together in a while and I was beginning to get quite lonely on my own. The first thing I did when I recognised it was him was throw my fore legs around his neck and lock him in a tight embrace. Wraith chuckled nervously as the hug went on a little longer than he would have liked (and probably a little longer than was safe), but eventually I granted him full control of his body again.

He leaned onto the bar, “What have you been doing whilst I was away?”
“Various things. I’ve scoped out a few places to get some gear, but I’m running low on bits. I’ve also sorted my saddlebags out and you have to try the ale here!” There was a resounding snap as I let the action on my Glock go forward, setting the hammer back into place by pulling the trigger. Don’t worry, the thing wasn’t loaded. I called back to mind the memory of the ale. Ever since my horrific hangover (which, okay, I admit, wasn’t that bad), I had held off drinking it. But, Wraith had just re-joined the ranks and it was a cause to celebrate. Wraith was a little wary of trying alcohol. He said he wasn’t sure it was very good for him but I quickly silenced him by ordering two Remedies, passing over the four bits charge and sliding one of the mugs over to Wraith, who eyed it suspiciously. I’d already started to drink mine, “Come on! Try it, it’s delicious.”
“But… I’m not sure. Won’t it give me a hangover?”
“Nah, one mug and you’ll be fine. Trust me, any more than that and you’ll be on the floor.”
The barmare laughed, “Hah! Only if you have the tolerance of a humming bird! That’s our weakest ale and she was off her face after only two drinks.” Wraith nodded, still a little cautious.

He eventually brought himself to pick up the drink and ever so carefully sipped from the top. He sputtered and coughed and immediately set the drink down again, “No. No, that’s horrible.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s far too bitter. It’s just not nice.” I shrugged. I was a little annoyed at the fact I’d still had to pay for it (imagine those last three words being shouted, that’s pretty much how much it annoyed me) but I wasn’t going to force it down his throat for the sake of getting my money’s worth. It wasn’t really worth it. Besides, the look on the barmare’s face was good enough to keep me quiet.

I looked over my shoulder at Francis. He and his crew were still there (having had little sleep over the course of the week), filling out forms, reading maps and going through records. I was intrigued by their activities and wanted desperately to know what it was they were actually doing, but they were very good at covering it up every time I tried to get close. It was strange. They didn’t look to me like Wanderers (despite their garments) and they talked and acted more like the LRSA. But the LRSA didn’t field spies; they didn’t have the manpower, nor the skill of subtlety. The Scavengers did field spies, but their spies worked alone and were often more like assassins, trained to take down key enemies. The pins that Francis and his cohort wore were likewise intriguing. They were all identical, and seemed to me to consist of a spear and two swords through a circle. The swords were crossed, but the spear was upright. It was an odd emblem that I hadn’t seen before in the wilderness, but was likely of importance. I’d asked the barmare and several other ponies about it but none of them knew what the symbol meant, nor what the ponies were doing here. They’d just arrived one day and said they were waiting for somepony.

When I was done staring at the covert ponies, I noticed that Wraith was now drinking from a glass of tap water. A thought struck me. I didn’t have anywhere near enough bits for a second room. That, on its own, wouldn’t have been a problem. The problem arose when I considered the fact that there was only one bed. Sleeping arrangements would be complicated (and likely turn into a drawn out game of ‘no, I insist’). I did feel, however, that Wraith should be allowed to have the bed, what with his bad back and everything. Still, I didn’t much like the sound of sleeping in the floor. Could we… share the bed? No. No, no, no, no, no. Naughty Bucky! Don’t think about such things! Somepony might begin to think you actually have sexual urges! As if I’ve been doing a good job of hiding it thus far.

I pondered, silently turning over possibilities in my head. Eventually I formulated my plan. I would simply have to put up with either sleeping on the floor or on a stool at the bar. Unless Wraith could come up with some better plan, that was what I was going with. I looked over at Wraith. How much had he changed since I’d first met him? For a start, I’d never have imagined getting into a relationship with him. He’d not changed much physically, but mentally he’d improved. He was more open to conversation, less awkward around others and more open to his sense of humour. It was good to see him being a little more… open. Then again, maybe it wasn’t that he’d changed, maybe I was just finding out new things about him.

I suppose I’d changed quite a lot too, though. I’d killed ponies now. I had that to deal with. I’d killed a young colt and that was only just beginning to sink in. I’d become a lot more tactical, more sceptical, more cunning. I’d developed traits that the NSA had suppressed, like the ability to seduce the ponies with as many brains in their testicles as in their skulls, and skills in shooting and CQC. Physically I’d changed as well. I was a lot dirtier now (naughty Bucky, bad thoughts) due to lack of proper showering apparatus. My mane was longer and less tidy, and my tail was a little burnt. My clothes were beginning to get quite worn as well and my jumper had become horribly threadbare where my saddlebags had been chafing me. I’d lost weight as well, but in exchange I’d developed more muscle, which I was quite pleased with. I’d never had a problem with my weight, and I was never overly conscious about it, but it felt good to see myself in the mirror and smile at how amazing my figure was. To me, anyway. And I’d figured out that I was bi. Oh what an adventure that had been!

Now let’s quickly steer away from that topic. Wraith was talking to the barmare (curse her, stealing my stallion) so I swung myself around on my stool and once again surveyed the area. The four spy ponies (as I call them) were busy playing around with a small radio set, inaudible over the noise of the chatter, and still boring. I checked the time. Roughly midday. I was beginning to get very bored sitting around, and the thought of cleaning my Glock again made me want to put my head through a wall. I asked Wraith if he wanted to go for a walk, to which he replied, “Nah. My back’s still killing me. Where’s our room?”
“First up the stairs, on the left. Here’s the key. Get some rest and… I dunno, I’ll see you later? I guess?”
“Yea, right.” Wraith stood up and nodded a goodbye to the barmare, who smiled as a response. Wraith quickly vanished up the stairs and I sighed. So, looks like I was taking another walk.

Walking is good for ponies. It helps to clear the mind, and aids in lateral thinking. It also helps to keep one fit and active. It can aid in discovery and encourages exploration and is generally a good overall activity. That was, word for word, a quote from our minister back at the NSA. However, it can get quite boring when you do it for seven or so hours. I’d ultimately decided to take a walk around the entire perimeter of Refuge, looking for anything that could possibly be of use to us. Don’t ask me why, ponies do strange things when they’re bored. There were many cafes and inns. A few hotels were dotted about. Some weapon and armour shops here or there. A youth hostel. A small doctor’s clinic. I think I also saw a sex shop. Not that I went anywhere near that of course. I wouldn’t give these ponies any ammunition to use against me later if I could help it.

Night began to fall abnormally soon. Maybe the days were just getting shorter, as per the usual for the time of year? Whatever the reason, I eventually had to make my way back to the Flamethrower to catch some sleep before my next riveting day of activity in Refuge. The streets at night were actually quite poorly lit. Lampposts were not a common sight along the streets, and all buildings were required by local law to close their blinds at night. The only light in the streets were from the torches fixed to the armour of the garrisoned soldiers. They would patrol in pairs. From what I could tell, there would be one patrol ‘leader’ who carried a rifle, shotgun, or sub machinegun. The leader would constantly be on the lookout, following a predetermined route. With them would be a patrol ‘soldier’ who carried a smaller weapon, like a pistol, and sported a set of radio equipment. The patrols were not exactly frequent, and they would always stay on the same side of the street, meaning that the entire of the other side was almost constantly swathed in shadow.

I decided to move along the shadowy areas. For one, the torches of the patrollers kept blinding me every time they turned around. For another, I thought it made me look cool. I would slink along in the shadows and pretend I was an elite agent, tasked with making it back to the inn undetected. As a result, I was constantly hiding behind bins or mailboxes whenever some patrollers turned to move in my direction. It was actually quite fun, and I ended up having quite a good time doing it.

At one point, I snuck into an alleyway to avoid some guards who turned around a little too quickly for my liking. I was nearing my destination, and actually I was quite close to the barracks. I’d have judged it to be just on the other street. I honestly had no idea, and for all I knew it was on the other side of town. Well, I plastered myself against the wall and waited patiently for the guards to pass, ready to make my next daring move which involved me dashing behind a chalkboard outside a café. There was a faint scuffle of hooves behind me, and somepony said something in a low voice. I turned. Who was down this alleyway? Thieves, homeless ponies? More guards for me to avoid?

I could vaguely make out the outlines of three ponies, huddled together and crouching down in front of the barracks wall. They looked a little shifty to me. I moved to get a better view of them. From my new vantage point, I could make out individuals. One was crouching and fiddling with something I couldn’t quite make out. He had a strange sort of field cap on his head, and a scarf that extended to cover his muzzle. To one side, a mare crouched low, cradling a sub machinegun. She, likewise, possessed the strange cap and scarf. The final pony, armed with a long rifle, was flattened against the wall and scanning the streets for movement. This was all very mysterious. I readied my Glock.

The stallion crouched down by the wall rose and nodded at the mare, who nodded back. The ponies began to slowly make their way towards me, crossing the streets and watching for guards. I frowned. I didn’t like these ponies. Glock ready for shooting, I stepped into their path and raised my pistol. What was I doing? They vastly outnumbered me, by two, which isn’t exactly very vast, but they most certainly outgunned me. I yelled at them, “Hey! What’re you doing?” My intention was to attract the guards. It worked, and I heard the scrabbling of hooves and a shout from down the road. The ponies froze and looked at me. I kept my pistol on them. They didn’t seem prepared to attack me, as none of them made any move to raise their weapons.

Suddenly, my vision juddered and I felt something blunt make contact with the back of my head. Everything went blurry as I crumpled to the floor. I looked around in a daze. Another of the mysterious ponies was standing behind me, wielding a truncheon and staring down at me through a set of pitch black combat goggles. I noticed, pinned to his uniform, a strange looking cross that glinted slightly in the moonlight. I counted two more ponies behind him, wielding weapons of their own. Six, in total. Six mysterious ponies that seemed intent to cause harm.

But then my vision was shot by a colossal boom that shook the ground violently and sent dust flying into the air. The entire street was lit with bright yellow light as flames began to lick around the buildings. I saw one of the six ponies fall as shrapnel hit them in the back of the head. The other ponies immediately bolted. I heard two shots fire and two screams before the raiders vanished entirely. Guards began to flood the streets, buckets of water clutched in their mouths. Civilians began to scream as they left their houses to see what catastrophe had befallen them. A siren went up and soon soldiers appeared, hefting assault rifles and donning full riot armour. I could hear the baying of hounds as the city suddenly became full of ponies, all on the hunt for the saboteurs.

A guard crouched down, picking me up and yelling at me. My vision was still swimming and I felt sick. I turned my head to one side and heaved, my head throbbing with pain and the guard stumbling back slightly. I wretched again, more blinding agony shooting through my head before I blacked out, the world falling away from me as I hit the floor once again.

***

I remember waking up briefly several times, only to fall back into a state of blackness. I can remember seeing ponies scurrying around, brief snippets of conversation, medical staff all around. Every time I woke up my vision would swim, my head would throb, I would vomit violently again and then blackout once more. This happened time and time again, each time I fought to stay awake.

It was after several desperate attempts to remain conscious that I finally managed it, but only barely. I felt like throwing up again, but the last few times I’d awoken all I’d managed to do was dry heave a few times, so I fought to control the feeling. A soldier bearing a red cross on his helmet sat next to me, and the minute he realised I was awake he reached out to support me. I thanked him in a hoarse voice, and he gave me two tablets and a canteen. I swallowed the tablets (with difficulty), fought to control another heave and simply sat up with my head in my hooves.

At last, my headache began to clear (the tablets were some sort of aspirin) and I was able to think clearly again. The medic explained that he was concerned I’d been concussed, what with my continuous blackouts and throwing up. I waved him off, insisting I was fine, but my head kept swimming and when I tried to stand up I fell over, hard. The medic shook his head, “No, you’ve definitely got something wrong. Lay back down, you need treatment. Do you remember where you are?”
“No, not really.”
“Do you remember your name?”
“B-something.”
“Do you remember where you come from?”
“I don’t fucking know! How is this helping?”
“Calm down. You’re going to need to wait a few minutes to regain your memory. You’ve suffered a nasty blow to the head. Lay down, and please rest. I’m going to fetch you some more painkillers. Don’t go anywhere.”

The medic sat me down on some bedding. I refused to lay down, so he eventually just let me sit, then rushed off to find me those painkillers. The fires still raged on, and the street had essentially become a makeshift triage centre. All along the streets were medical ponies and soldiers. Next to me on either side were ponies with head injuries, victims of shrapnel, burn victims, and so on. Across the street, I could see a series of closed up bags, each of which contained the body of a Wanderer. I counted eight in total. On top of six were helmets and weapons, and behind all of them were monuments made out of wood. Upon them were likely the names of the deceased, but I couldn’t read them from my position.

I looked around for Wraith. I couldn’t see him amongst the disorganised chaos. I did see Stan, though, donning his doctor’s overalls and a combat helmet, treating some of the ponies further along the line. The medic returned to my side, handing me some more tablets, which I took. They quickly helped to numb some of my pain, but my head still hurt. At least I was beginning to get my memory back.

I decided to try walking again. I shakily got to my hooves, and the medic moved to catch me, but my legs held. I began to shakily make my way down the street, looking from side to side and gazing at the terrain. The building I’d seen the saboteurs crouching before was now only half standing, and still smouldering. There were ponies inside it, helping to shift rubble and look for any ponies trapped inside. I only now recognised the building as a barracks. The two buildings on either side had gotten away mostly undamaged, but there was a large gaping hole in one of them and the other had been scorched up one side. There was also a small crater in the road and several large faults now split the ground.

What had happened? How had those ponies gotten in? Why had I tried to stop them? Why did I have so many questions? Why were my thighs and belly soaking wet? Actually, I didn’t want to think about that. I found my hat (which had fallen from my head when I was struck) and perched it back atop my mane, now feeling a little better. I stumbled slightly, still not quite right, but I was at least able to function at a respectable capacity.

Soon the sound of echoing gunshots drifted my way and I looked about in confusion. I saw a Wanderer come pelting down the road yelling something, inaudible over the sounds of chaos. When he got close enough, I could just make out him saying, “The Scavengers are attacking!” before three bullets buried themselves in the base of his neck. He fell and tumbled, doing a small forward roll before he came to rest several feet away. The armed Wanderers around me soon kicked into action, scampering into alleyways, dragging the wounded into cover and preparing themselves for a fight. As I squinted through the smoke of the fires I could make out the dancing silhouettes of oncoming combatants, and above the crackle of flames I could make out cheers and snide remarks.

Another thing that was quite prominent after that was the sound of gunfire and the whistling of bullets passing by me. I ducked down quickly and grabbed a sub machinegun from a nearby Wanderer (dead), essentially flinging myself behind the nearest solid object that could provide me with at least some cover. As I cowered behind the rubbish bins (which evidently hadn’t been emptied recently) I heard the Scavengers approaching, drawing ever nearer. With each thud of their collective hoof strikes on the ground they became a little clearer through the smoke. And a little easier to pull a shot on.

With one swift motion I rose up into a firing stance, resting my weapon on the bin lids and keeping my head as low as possible. Before any of the Scavengers noticed me I lined my sights up with the nearest of them and let loose a five round burst. Immediately I heard shouts from the oncoming invaders as they scampered away from my hail of bullets, and I saw one of the figures collapse where they stood as they succumbed to the lead sent their way. I heard return fire, and crouched back down into cover as fire from two different sources shot past my cover where my head had been.

Why did I always manage to get tangled up with the Scavengers in some way, no matter where I went? It was as if they were hell bent on hunting me down, and they wouldn’t rest until I stopped them, by putting the biggest spanner in their works that I could find. As another bullet shot past and pinged off the concrete, I saw the Wanderer’s up the road prepare for a counter attack. As if on cue, three Wanderers poked their weapons out from cover and unleashed death on the Scavengers. I counted one sub machinegun and two assault rifles. All in all, the burst managed to cut down another Scavenger and I heard the reassuring scream of another one being wounded.

As the wounded Scavenger continued to scream, I prepared myself for another burst. This time I peeped around the side, so that if a Scavenger had his sights trained on my previous position he wouldn’t see me. I looked for silhouettes or the revealing muzzle flash of firearms, but I saw nothing. Only when I heard a slight scrabble on a loose bit of debris did I think to check my flank. Sure enough, the Scavengers were advancing slowly and quietly up both sides of the streets, sticking to the walls and keeping low to hide their shadows. Eager to pull off a shot before they reached me, I picked a small alleyway slightly further down towards my own lines and made a dash. As I ran, I clutched the sub machinegun in my magical aura and pointed the barrel of my weapon down range at the nearest Scavenger and let loose.

The sub machinegun was difficult to control when you made any sustained bursts. The recoil seemed to double with every bullet that passed through, but I controlled it. I fired a good, long burst right down the Scavenger’s advancing line, shredding the nearest one and silencing the next. The next Scavenger along ducked their head and made to fire back at me, but by that point I was already hidden in the alleyway, swearing as I fought with my weapon. One unfortunate drawback to automatic weapons was their tendency to jam, and it seemed that everything had to go wrong before fate would be satisfied with me.

I struggled to clear the weapon; two rounds had tried to load themselves into the breach simultaneously and thus it had blocked. All the while I was aware that the Scavengers were getting closer. I heard my Wanderer friends provide another volley of fire, and I heard Scavenger return fire, but I couldn’t tell which side was doing the screaming by this point. At last I cleared the blockage, but in doing so I’d had to remove the magazine, so I was currently holding a useless firearm. I motioned to reinsert the clip, but a Scavenger decided to come in line with me at that point and move to take cover in the same alleyway.

As our eyes met in the smoke filled alleyway, the sounds of gunfire and war raging around us, time seemed to stop. I stared into his deep, crystal blue eyes as he stared back at me. It was as though we were the only two ponies in the world. His mane flowed down his neck like a river; he gripped his weapon in those strong hooves of his with such confidence. As we moved a little closer, I…

Smashed him round the head with the butt of my weapon and knocked him out cold. The force of the swing jarred against my hooves painfully, but he’d slammed his head against the wall as he fell so there was no chance of him getting back up any time soon. I’ll admit, I felt a little sorry for him, but maybe he should’ve, I don’t know, not joined the bad guys? Giving up on the useless sub machinegun, I picked up his assault rifle and readied myself, preparing to put it to good use. It was substantially heavier than any weapon I’d used before, so I was expecting it to have some kick.

I rounded on the Scavenger closest to me as I swung the weapon around the corner. The mare had been lining up to take a shot and my sudden presence had startled her. As she went to readjust her aim, I put a single bullet into her head at close range, knocking the helmet clean off her head and throwing her backwards. Another Scavenger prepared to hurl a grenade at me, holding the explosive in a magical aura and leaning backwards to put more force behind it. I didn’t give him the satisfaction of blowing me apart, and I put two bullets into him before he even made the forward throwing motion. It was quite amusing watching the grenade fly backwards through the air and watching a group of Scavengers scrabble out of the way to avoid the blast. The grenade went off with an almighty boom, showering the nearby Scavengers in debris and knocking one of them to the floor, his shotgun clattering against the road as he fell.

I cast a brief look back at the Wanderers fighting to protect their land. There were several of the ponies lying dead on the pavement, their weapons at their sides and large holes in their helmets and body armour. That riot armour was utterly useless! I could see Stan in his white coat and combat helmet, wielding a small handgun and shakily leaning on a wall in an alleyway. I heard him yell something about being a doctor, and his purpose being to heal ponies, not kill them. I also noticed that a fallen Scavenger lay no more than a few feet away from his position. Had Stan killed them?

Exposition time over, I made a hurried dash back along the street towards the bulk of the defending forces (who were doing an admittedly admirable job of holding the Scavengers off). You know that feeling when something you used to believe in is suddenly completely outclassed by something you considered worse at the time? That’s what it feels to realise that the Wanderers, a non-military group of peace loving, agricultural ponies were better at defending themselves than the NS-fucking-A. I was beginning to seriously doubt my allegiance to them by this point. Maybe I should convert to Wandererism?

I darted behind a small pile of rubble and began making a quick search of the dead Wanderer next to me. I took his ammunition and the binoculars from around his neck, using them to peer through the smoke and spy on the Scavenger movements. Most of them were ducking down in cover to avoid being shot by the defending forces, but I could see a group of three Scavengers slowly making their way up the frontline, a very large looking weapon carried between them. I pointed the group out to any Wanderer that was within earshot (which turned out to be none) and prepared to fire on the group.

Unfortunately, the smoke made accurate shooting at range difficult, and my first burst seemed to have no effect on them. They all dived into the crater in the ground created by the grenade and began setting up shop. The weapon was brought to bear; resting on a bipod whilst one of the other crew members went about loaded the weapon with a sizeable box of ammunition. The third crew member started to spray down range with a sub machinegun, hitting nothing and ultimately just wasting ammunition.

With a colossal tearing noise like somepony ripping a ream of paper in half, the weapon opened fire. The machinegun filled the entire street with stray bullets, not killing anypony but keeping our heads down and preventing us from making counter fire. The machinegun let off another stream of bullets, this time bringing down two Wanderers who had tried to fire on them during the lull. I waited for my moment, not knowing exactly how long it would take for the group to start reloading. I peered at them with my binoculars, keeping myself as small as possible and trying not to draw attention to myself. The group was still busy hosing down the street ahead of them, but this came at an advantage to me. With the street so full of crossfire from the machinegun, most of the Scavengers had stopped moving to avoid being caught by a stray round. All I had to do was wait.

Waiting turned out to be troublesome as the machinegun seemed to never run out of ammunition. On three occasions I was sure that they’d be reloading, only to be forced back into cover by another burst of rapid fire. The Scavengers had moved very slowly forwards and were getting closer. Something had to be done about that machine gun or I’d be in some rather serious trouble. The heroic thing to do would have been to throw myself over the rubble, charge towards the weapon, spray into them with my assault rifle and then use the machinegun to mow down the remaining Scavengers, but I wasn’t really in the mood for suicide.

Instead, I picked my shots, switching to semi-automatic fire and waiting for lulls in the shooting. Every time the machine gun stopped firing, I very quickly poked my head out of cover and fired a single shot at the nearest approaching Scavenger. The Wanderers who could see me quickly adopted the strategy as well, firing during lulls and hoping to knock out the weapon crew of the machine gun. It had a very demoralising effect on the Scavengers, and I could see them getting more and more reluctant to move. Before long, the machine gun ran out of ammunition and the crew hastily began to reload.

By the looks of things, the Wanderer captain in the street took the opportunity to initiate a charge. With a loud cry of defiance, he and all of the remaining Wanderers in the street took to charging the Scavenger position in one last act of self-sacrifice. It was actually a very impressive display. I joined in, charging alongside my Wanderer allies, narrowing the distance between the two parties that had been fighting for the past multitude of minutes.

A Wanderer to my right hurled a grenade at the machinegun, and I could hear as well as see the entire group become engulfed by flames as they were permanently put out of action. There was a series of firecracker like noises as their remaining ammunition caught fire. With their machinegun now out of action, and with a wall of defiant Wanderers advancing rapidly towards them, I could see the Scavengers beginning to falter. They were slowly moving backwards, firing less frequently, getting less and less accurate. All it would take was one more backbreaking move and the lot of them would be in retreat.

That one more backbreaking move came in the form of three soft thumps. From behind me, three Wanderers armed with grenade launchers fired onto the Scavenger lines, the explosives landing hard and knocking down a large number of the remaining Scavengers. The effect was instantaneous. In a Mexican wave of sorts, the Scavengers turned and fled back down the streets, some dropping their weapons as they did so, most of them screaming about how they weren’t ready to die and how this was supposed to be an easy operation.

There was a resounding cheer of, “Oorah!” from the triumphant defenders, who all held their weapons or helmets in the air, jeering at the broken invaders and embracing each other. It felt good. For me, it was my first significant victory against the Scavengers, and it felt bloody good! As the reality of my achievement dawned on me, the grin on my muzzle began to grow wider, until I was openly beaming. With a roar I flung my hat into the air, letting it drift slowly downwards on the battle ravaged street. I watched it fall. I watched it sway from side to side, mesmerised by its movements.

It came to rest in the small ditch that had once been the refuge of the Scavenger machinegun team. With a slightly annoyed grunt, I went to retrieve it. Along the way I walked past the corpses of the unsuccessful attackers, who had fallen in so many strange shapes and forms that one could call them a modern art piece. That is, of course, if one was twisted enough to do so. For a second there I questioned my own sanity, before letting my concern die. I was still perfectly sane. These ponies were getting what was coming to them.

The ditch was not massively deep, but there was enough rubble around the depression to provide decent cover from fire. Unfortunately for the three Scavengers that had once inhabited it, grenades were its Achilles heel, so to speak. The ditch actually made my stomach turn slightly. I’d seen some pretty horrific things up until this point, but the carnage in this small hole in the ground was unlike anything I’d ever seen. There was a pony that was missing both of his front legs, his helmet nowhere to be seen and his uniform in tatters. Another (on the other side) was missing half of his face, as well as a large section of his midriff. His uniform was in such a state it may as well not have existed. As for the third pony (the gunner), the only parts of him that remained in the ditch were his fore hoofs, one of which was still resting on top of the weapon. The ditch was a small slice of hell, and my hat had landed right in the middle of a small patch of shredded muscle and flesh.

It had taken quite a bit of effort to not heave again, but I managed, mostly by imagining that I was playing that popular Nightmare Night game, where somepony’s mother hands around a bowl of things that feel like body parts. It worked well enough, and I managed to retrieve my hat, returning it to my head. I threw the assault rifle into the pit and made my way back to the Wanderer lines. Whilst heavier firearms like rifles and shotguns were very destructive (and rather fun), I still preferred my pistol. That may have been a decision drawn from bias, or maybe it was just the right firearm for me, who knows?

I heard a thud and turned my attention to a sudden brilliant explosion that had gone off a few streets away, followed by a furious exchange of gunfire. Evidently we hadn’t won just yet. Still, I carried on my way, pleased with my own efforts. I kicked aside a Scavenger helmet as I walked past, the steel bowl clattering loudly as it rolled off in an awkward direction. I noticed that most of the Wanderers that had been fighting in my street had vanished, likely shifting their position to counter the Scavengers wherever they were making their counterattacks, but some still remained to act as sentries. Most notably, Stan was there, treating some of the wounded. He was visibly shaken, and I got the feeling that this was his first time in active combat. I pitied him. Your first time is scary enough, never mind when it’s with Scavengers. I just realised that I could’ve phrased that a lot better.

I was intent on celebrating the victory with the Wanderers, but before I could I was pulled along down an alley by somepony else, clearly in a hurry to get me somewhere. As we emerged into the next street, I felt saddlebags find their way onto my back and then a slap on the back of the head. The pony set off in front of me, moving at a brisk pace. Only now did I recognise him as Wraith. He’d brought his own saddlebags as well, with his rifle slung over his back in its normal place. I remained motionless for a while, admittedly rather confused. He didn’t even stop, but instead just looked over his shoulder a called back to me, “Come on! We’re going. We can’t stay here. Not anymore.”
“Why not?”
“I’ll explain later, just hurry up!”

I did as instructed, not wishing to get left behind. I had to trot slightly faster than normal to catch up with him, and then keep trotting just to keep pace. He was a quick walker when he wanted to be. And he had a lot of stamina. Admittedly, I was a little concerned. Where were we going? What would become of us? I didn’t know. Still, I had to go. I couldn’t stay here in Refuge whilst Wraith was off exploring the world. For a start, it wasn’t fair. I was the one that wanted to bring down the Scavengers, it was my family that had been torn apart by the bastards, so it should be me that did the bringing down. Selfish? Maybe. But I didn’t see anypony else doing it, so why not me?

Wraith took me to the other side of the town, where there was another, much smaller gate that I hadn’t noticed before. It was already open, as if they’d been expecting us, and I saw a few Wanderers standing around, manning the mechanisms. Wraith led me out of the gate, and I heard it shut behind me. I actually felt a little upset to be leaving the safety and security of the friendly Wanderer town. I was going to miss the quaint atmosphere of a little town in the country. I was going to miss the Flamethrower, with its Remedies and its barmares that I never got the opportunity to drunkenly chat up. Maybe Wraith would take me somewhere with more security, more alcohol and more attractive barmares. I inquired.

“So, where actually are we going?”
“I don’t think you’ll like it.”
“Then why are we going there, and why didn’t I get a say in it?”
“Because it doesn’t matter where we go, we can’t stay here. The Scavengers have attacked, and they’re not going to give up until the town is there’s.”
“So we should stay and help them defend their homes!” I was having flash backs from my own town. The refugees fleeing as fast as they could, the fires raging, the Scavengers parading through the streets with their rifles raised and their machineguns chattering. I didn’t want that to happen to another town. It felt like I was betraying them.
“We can’t help them. Do you remember what happened before you were knocked out? Right, well you’ll have seen the raiders? Those are Scavenger commandos. They’re selected from the most skilled and most loyal Scavengers to conduct raids on enemy territory before the main force invades. If we stayed for too long then it would only be a matter of time before one of them takes us down, either in combat or as an assassination mission.”

He fell silent after that. We walked off in a seemingly random direction for a while. I silently fumed. I still felt like I was betraying the Wanderers. I thought of Francis, and of the barmare, and of Stan. All of them would die at the hands of the Scavengers. And I would have to live with that. I could live with killing, if given time. I could live with killing a colt, if given more time and a lot of alcohol. But I couldn’t live with the feeling of betrayal. It was the worst feeling, and it made me sick to my stomach. Do you know what felt worse? Actually, it felt quite weird. I felt like I was more loyal to the Wanderers than the NSA. In fact, ya know what? Fuck it. I was changing my allegiance. From this moment on, I’m not a refugee from the NSA, I’m a Wanderer. Well, that’s odd, I was expecting to feel something there. Nope, nothing, didn’t feel a thing. Not even a shred of remorse.

Having finally (but admittedly rather quickly) come to terms with my alliance shift, I turned my attention on our destination. Three more times I questioned Wraith, and all three times he refused to reply. It was as though he was hiding something from me, something he didn’t want me to know. I was beginning to get a little suspicious of him. It was true, I confess, that I loved him. He was good looking in a rugged, outdoorsy kind of way, and I found all his little quirks cute and his secluded personality gave me a little project to work on, trying to get him to show his true colours. But whilst love is a powerful force, it wasn’t powerful enough to stop me worrying about him. Was he trying to betray me? Had he already done so? He was being very quiet as he led me into unknown territory. It’s true, I wanted him to show his true colours. I just didn’t want those colours to be fifty shades of khaki.

Comments

[Iron Comet]

Finally an update! Actually you did a pretty good job showing proper tactics of street fighting and movement with cover and concealment. Only real issue I had was here throwing away the rifle, even if she didn't like it she could have sold it at a later time and Bucky could also have scrounged up armor and ammo and other gear before wraith had dragged her out of town.
Looking forward to the next update!

[Teq]

5335861 Well it's definitely good to see that I've managed to keep up quality! And it's good to see that I can handle combat well. That's going to be important.

I personally find that carrying around extra weapons (particularly heavy ones like rifles) would be impractical. It would add weight to ones load and take up a lot of free space. This isn't like fallout, where you can carry 15 different weapons, 3 different types of armour, and survive shotgun blasts at point blank range, but I appreciate your comment, as usual.

As for the next chapter, as I said on my main page, it's a lot shorter. It's only a couple thousand words, but I want to keep it that way to add weight to it. Hopefully you'll agree... Come next Monday.
Thanks for commenting as always. Good to see you're still here, more than anything else!

[Iron Comet]

5336860 Fallout isn't a good way of showing off carrying gear, carrying gear is the best way to show off carrying gear. A Pistol isn't large and ammo doesn't take up a lot of room, far less than a rifle, mags, cleaning kit, and the rest but the benefits of range, mag capacity, and reliability far outweigh the benefits of carring only a pistol. I love my 45' but I wouldn't let my life depend on its short range! Thats why I have a Garand and a AR-15!

[Teq]

5336920 Whilst I do have experience with firearms (I've shot various rifles and actually have a marksmanship on a 25m range), living here in the UK somewhat limits frequent firearm usage. We have very tight firearm laws over here, and the only way one could get the full experience is by joining the armed forces (which I don't intend to do at any time soon). I spent my entire early life moving around various RAF bases, and that's not something that I'm keen to repeat.

In any case, I can see what you mean. Personally, my optimum gear combination would be an FN FAL (I absolutely adore that rifle), with a Glock 17 or Smith and Wesson 686 as a side arm, and a machete for up close combat. But, to stop me having to keep track of thirty six thousand different weapons across a small expanse of primary characters, I've split them up into 'Inexperienced shooter who likes pistols because they're easy to use' and 'combat veteran who likes to take on the long range action'. Were it me, I'd always be upgrading my kit to keep me at optimum efficiency, but I don't want all of my characters to become unparalleled heavy combat bad-asses with enough heavy weapons between them to rival an artillery regiment, so I've limited Bucky to pistols and (in certain cases) scavenged weapons.

For now at least...

[Iron Comet]

5337711 Understandable. I can see why you would desire to limit Bucky's arsenal for the reasons given. I just wonder at the characters inability to scavenge at that time. especially when a few minutes earlier she was looking for body armor. A quick run in and grab could probably have netted her quite a few bits of firearms and ammo and armor to sell to bring there wallets to brimming. Of course having been dragged out of town literally seconds after the firefight had ended she would have had a heavy arsenal to carry along. Something your avoiding.

Sorry, did my time in the USAF Security Forces back in the 90's so I'm used to carrying lots of gear and firepower. After the first dozen miles your feet don't notice the weight anymore. I once did a twenty six mile hike with a M-16A2, several belts of ammo for a M-60, and on occasion the M-60 itself as well as a 60 pound pack. Then it sucked, now I look back in fondness of the memory. Weird, huh?

[Teq]

5337740 I know the feeling. I'm no stranger to heavy loads and long walks myself. I've done several military excersises (and some recreational ones) where I've carried a pack easily double my own weight. Granted I'm like a stick anyway, but that only makes things a little tougher. We also had to carry the usual SA80 assault rifles that we Brits are fielding, and they are not light weight rifles. Made even worse by carrying assault webbing and having drunk the worst hot chocolate in the entire world. I swear to god, never drink hot chocolate from a ration pack!

[Iron Comet]

5337772 What? I love MRE Hot Choclate! Hell I love MRE's! I use them when I go camping and Kayaking. Quick and easy, and they fit three into a buttpack on the Bug Out Kit and in my camping gear I usually stash three more in case I honestly don't feel like getting a fire going and cooking.

[Teq]

5338020 Yea, I'm sure the stuff you get is fine. Over here, we literally call our food 'Rat Packs'. Admittedly that's because it's short for ration pack, but the general rule is: Anything with chicken is shit, and anything with beef is okay. Really it's all the same thing, some sick in a silver bag. They sure know how to treat her Majesty's forces to fine cuisine!

[Iron Comet]

5338450 Ever try Swiss or German meals? Those are good eating!

[Teq]

5338457 I would imagine they are! I tend to enjoy anything that the Germans make. They're just such a great country!

[Iron Comet]

5338459 Good gear and weapons and the beer is amazing when its cold. The food on the otherhand is something I can take or leave. Prefer Italian myself. I actually own a German Zweihander sword made for killing calvary that I got in Germany a while back. Got to keep on it though, black iron rusts fst. I use it when I do court in the SCA. Prefer my Windlass Viking Sword though.

[Teq]

5338702 Mmm. I mostly love the Germans for their chemical industry, but that's probably just the chemist in me.