• Published 6th Aug 2017
  • 7,945 Views, 611 Comments

If You Want Peace, Prepare For War - tranhdxrbntd

Equestria is at war and she needs help. Before his death, Discord enlists the help of several creatures that are all too familiar with the concept.

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War Is Delightful for Those Who Haven't Experienced It

Eric drew back the charging handle of his AK and looked inside the chamber. A brass cased 5.45 round sat there, prepared to send its deadly payload. Eric released the charging handle and reseated the round back in the chamber. He then removed a small knife from his belt and affixed it to the muzzle of his rifle.

Logan looked at the bayonet. "You think you'll actually use that?" Logan asked. Eric shrugged. Logan slung his Mosin Nagant over his back and drew his pistol.

Both of them looked at the closed door in front of them. Earlier, it was made clear that the griffons and minotaurs knew of their position. They had only gone halfway down through the building before they hid in another room.

"So you think they've started flooding into this building?" Logan asked.

The door opened, a stick grenade was tossed in, and then the door closed.

Eric looked at the grenade at his feet and said, "Yes." He picked up the grenade and tossed it out a nearby window before firing at the door with his AK74.

After expending half his magazine, Eric ran forward and kicked the door down. Three griffons and a minotaur were very surprised. The minotaur was more surprised than everyone else as he found the bayonet of an AK74 impaled in his neck.

Logan quickly brought up his pistol and fired. Three rounds of .45 ACP to the chest was enough incentive for one griffon to lie down and never get up. A second griffon decided to give up when he took a few .45 rounds to the chest, just like his comrade.

The last griffon wanted to fire his weapon but found the barrel of a .357 revolver pointed at his face. A split second later, the revolver went off and he too joined the other three On a trip to the afterlife.

"Well that was eventful," Logan said.

Eric withdrew his bayonet from the minotaur's neck and examined the body. He reached down and started to dig through the body's webbing gear. Of the items on the minotaur's body, Eric removed a bread bag filled with stick grenades and a large revolver with some stray rounds.

Logan noticed the sack of grenades. "How many did you find?" Logan asked.

Eric simply ignored Logan and walked over to the nearest stairwell. He then pulled the pin to one of the grenades in the bread bag and tossed the entire sack down the stairwell.


At the bottom of the stairwell, a team of minotaurs was preparing to ascend the stairs. They heard several gunshots, all of which sounded unfamiliar.

One of the minotaurs, the OIC (Officer In Charge) of the group withdrew a revolver. "Team one has failed, prepare to move!" the minotaur commanded. The mechanical clicking sound of multiple firearms sounded as every single minotaur checked their weapons.


Every minotaur looked at the bread bag.


Scootaloo clutched her ears upon hearing the explosion, nearly dropping her Model 92 in the process. "What was that?!" she said.

I shrugged. I drew my .500 S&W and shifted the sniper rifle on my back. "Ready to go?" I asked her.


"I'd drop those revolvers if I were you," came a voice from behind me. I gritted my teeth as I dropped my S&W 500. A second later, I heard the clatter of Scootaloo's Model 92 dropping to the ground. "Now step away."

As the two of us walked away from our sidearms, I silently removed one of my grenades. "Now turn around," he said. When we turned around, I hid the grenade by wrapping my hand completely around it.

There was no surprise when I came to face a minotaur.

Now every minotaur I've seen so far (which wasn't much) was huge. Him? He made them looked small. At two and a half meters tall, I felt short. And, those muscles! The muscles he sported were sporting their own muscles! How did he fit through the doorways in this tiny building?!

Aside from that, everything about him was also different when compared to every other minotaur I've seen so far. Every minotaur I've seen so far had some form of dark blue fur and sported a massive set of sharpened horns. He sported a snow white coat and he had no horns. Strangely enough, he also had no rifle, shotgun, or other forms of primary weapon.

He was wearing a large brown cloak with the front open, showing off the gear that he adorned. On his chest, he wore a very scarred and worn steel breastplate (he probably carried it through hell and back). Strapped to the breastplate were several leather pouches, various grenades, a warhammer (yes, a warhammer like the one in the old medieval days), and a pistol holster.

The pistol holster, currently empty, was probably the home to the revolver that he was currently brandishing. The revolver, like him, was gigantic. It was probably longer than my forearm (hand included) and looked as bulky as my .500 S&W. Like his armor, it looked worn (even more so than his armor).

Everything about it was nothing like a modern revolver. In the space where the ejector/underlug would have been, a loading lever took its place. The cylinder was unfluted and the barrel was held to the frame with a massive wedge. Then, there was the trigger guard. It was made of brass.

It was a percussion cap and ball revolver, a massive one at that. One that was currently pointed at my chest, hammer cocked back.

He raised an eyebrow at me. "I've never seen anything along the likes of you before," said the minotaur. I stuck my thumb in the grenade's safety pin and started to work the pin out. "Do you know what I am?"

I shrugged. "Can't say I do," I replied.

"He's a war chief," Scootaloo answered.

The war chief frowned upon hearing that. "Not anymore," the minotaur said with a sigh. "My party is dead. The last of my brethren gone two moons past." He lowered his revolver and gently eased the hammer down. "And I would now like to surrender," he said while presenting me with the massive revolver.

I took the revolver in my right hand and was surprised at the weight. I honestly thought it would be heavier but it felt just as heavy as my .500 S&W (around four and a half pounds).

Scootaloo picked up her revolver and aimed it at the minotaur. Immediately afterward, the minotaur started laughing. "If you shoot me in the eye with that, I maybe would notice," the minotaur said. "I never understood why you Equestrians would adopt such an underpowered revolver." Speaking of which, I stuck the grenade back in it's home and picked up my sidearm where I dropped it.

The minotaur raised an eye at the sight of my revolver. "Okay, I might notice getting shot with that," said the minotaur. He looked down at his armor and removed a pair pouches and the holster for the revolver that he handed me. "You might need these," he said while holding the items out to me.

I holstered my .500 S&W and stuck the surrendered revolver into its holster. Then, I took the item to attach the items to my war belt before redrawing the revolver that he had surrendered. "May I ask why you chose to surrender to me of all people?" I asked him.

He brought up a hand and tapped his breastplate. "Notice the armor?" he asked. I nodded. "I am among the largest of my kind, sport one of the most unique coat colors, have no horns, and I'm one of the few war chiefs that fight alone. I am easily one of the most recognizable soldiers in this war. If I tried to walk up to a platoon of ponies, they would notice me a kilometer away, and then subsequently shoot on sight."

I shrugged before looking inside of the two pouches that he had given me. One pouch held percussion caps while the other pouch held paper wrapped cartridges. The minotaur solemnly looked at his (well, not anymore) revolver in my hands. "I do hope you take care of it. It has been in my family for five generations," said the minotaur.

I drew back the hammer on it (wow it takes a lot of force to do that on this thing) and looked down the sights. The rear sight was just a simple notch cut into the hammer and the front sight was a small blade. Very simple and very obsolete.

"Ironically enough, it was designed by a pony by the name of Sham Colt," explained the minotaur. "Misses Colt made the revolver for species that walked instead of trotted. The Walker as she named it. Fires a .44 caliber conical bullet pushed with 60 grains of black powder."

Suddenly, a griffon appeared from behind the minotaur. The griffon was just as surprised to see me as I was surprised to see him. I watched as the minotaur instinctively tried to draw his revolver, having forgotten that he had surrendered it. The griffon raised his weapon, a rifle, and would have fired if I had not shot first with the Walker.

The griffon took a bullet to the face and crumpled like a sack of bricks. Much to my surprise, the corpse instantly erupted in a blue inferno originating from where the bullet had struck him. The blue fire, already a strange sight to behold, didn't affect the surrounding area. It was as if the fire was only concerned with burning the griffon. Three seconds later, the flames died off as suddenly as it had started. "It shall no longer be my burden to take the lives of those who fight in this war," said the minotaur. "Especially with such a brutal method."

I looked down at the magic revolver and drew back the hammer once more. "It sets people on fire?" I asked while looking at the Colt Walker's massive cylinder.

"Unfortunately so," replied the minotaur. "I don't know why my great, great, great grandfather would desire such a feature for a hunting implement." I eased the hammer down and holstered it before drawing my own personnel revolver. The minotaur he eyed my .500 S&W. "May I ask why you would choose such a revolver for a sidearm?" he asked while raising an eyebrow.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Why not?"

Author's Note:

Yes, that nice air conditioned house is definitely a good place to form an opinion about something that you've never seen. This applies to other concepts. People who preach about the benefits of communism or socialism? Well, I'm from Vietnam so...

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