The Melding of Two Worlds Pt. 2: Home and the Battlefield

by Luckless

Chapter 3: Feet on the Ground

Zlat

I saw a lot more of Arid from that day on. Despite RD's animosity towards him, he found great joy from being with us, and we couldn't help but adopting him into the unit. It was somewhere on the third day that he'd started his visitations, though, that I learned one of the Changelings' inherent abilities. Shapeshifting.

It was right after Rainbow Dash making another snide remark about Changelings that I asked, "What's your fucking problem with Changelings?"

"They can turn into anypony they see! That's why! When they invaded Canterlot, I had fight Changelings that looked just like me and my friends!"

To me, that actually sounded pretty cool, and I caught Arid off guard when I asked him if he could copy me. When he did, I felt like I was looking into a mirror. He wore different gear, but he looked exactly like I did. If I rose my arm, he mirrored me. At this point, I found this ridiculously awesome, and wanted to play with his copying skills. So I mimicked a Russian kick dance, and Arid kept up with me until he finally couldn't support himself anymore, and fell down. He shifted back, and I helped him to his feet with a smile.

In fact, most of the group, including RD, started laughing at this. After that day, even RD started warming up to the little guy a little more.

Now, we were listening to the Lt. He wanted us to go out to one of the rural farms, and scout out the area to see if any Feds were nearby. We probably weren't, but it pays to be careful.

We kept off the road, stalking about and scrutinizing the grass and dirt for any disturbances that might betray a hidden mine. All seemed normal, except for the farmland itself. The fields were covered with dead and burned crops.

"That doesn't bode well." Bouncer surmised our thoughts. I tightened my grip on my rifle, anxiety beginning to unnerve me.

We continued on our way, muscles tense, and heads constantly turning about, hoping to not find anything. Eventually, we could see a small tower in the distance in the general area of where the farmhouse was supposed to be. On the map we'd been shown, no such structure had existed. Our chances of our patrol being a simple check seemed to drastically diminish.

I put more distance between myself and the road into the tall grass to hide from a potential spotter. Everyone noticed, and mimicked my action. When we got closer, we found the whole farm overrun with soldiers. There had to be at least two dozen soldiers milling about. They were bored, and didn't have their gear on except for their rifles. The tower we'd seen early did indeed have a spotter on it, but he was asleep.

"Bouncer, RD, flank them on the right side behind that cart. Rarity, get to a vantage point to pick them off. AJ, Arid, and Spike, flank them on the stone wall on the left. Mac, Ace, you're with me." It was at this point that we realized that we hadn't designated a unit commander, but everyone still complied readily at the orders given. My team rushed in behind a pile of plank wood that had become waterlogged and was in it's beginning stages of rot. The previous owners must've been preparing to build something, maybe a new barn?

The Fed soldiers were still unaware of our presence, and we opened fire. I quickly killed a pair of soldiers engaged in a conversation. The enemy spotter fell off of his tower, likely having been killed by Rarity, and the machines guns began their angry roar as they swept the open space. Most of the soldiers were killed, but a few managed to duck into the house, and one hid behind a stone well after dropping his rifle in a panic.

I'd chosen our cover and spacing well, for when the enemy chose to return fire from the house, they only pinned Rainbow Dash and Bouncer. The rest of us returned fire, our bullets easily ripping through the walls like they were made of paper.

The whole firefight only lasted a minute, and already, the enemy was crying out with white flags in surrender. The man behind the well was the first to slowly rise out of cover with his hands above his head. Rushing forwards, everyone with automatic rifles surged forwards, and forced the five survivors to the ground. Thankfully, AJ and Mac knew better than to approach the soldiers and provide them with the opportunity to get their hands on such deadly weapons, instead sweeping their barrels back and forth to instill terror into the prisoners.

We stripped them of their ammunition, their bayonets, grenades, and the odd assortment of makeshift weapons that were likely made in the field in their spare time. We stored the ammunition in our packs, the grenades on our bandoliers, and forced the prisoners to a march. The soldiers looked incredibly anxious, casting worried glances at us. Especially towards the Equestrians, who were giving them unveiled glares of hate.

One of them stuttered out in very broken English, "Please, no harm us!"

"You'll be fine. Just don't do anything funny, and we're all good." I answered.

It's an odd thought right now, but I wonder how Wolfgang's doing right now?

Meanwhile, in New York City: Wolfgang

Hospitals never really sat well with me. Doctors poked and prodded you, stuck you with needles with any number of drugs that you never knew what they'd do. Doctors had that strange personality to them. They try to act nice, but it seems fake and forced. It makes me wonder if they were hiding some sort of vile intentions. The nurses were always way too cheery and eager to offer comfort, even though they regularly dealt with disgusting stuff on a daily basis. Then there's the fact that so many sick people came to the hospitals with an untold number of diseases, so if you go to one wrong place, or touched the wrong wall, you'd get sick, and have to go back and pay even more money to be fixed for something that was really the hospitals' fault.

So where was I now? A military hospital. The patients here were all wounded soldiers who were on the path towards some semblance of recovery. Those who were lucky, only had wounds that could easily be sewed back together and heal itself with time. If they were really lucky, the war would end before their recovery ended. The really unlucky were maimed horrifically. Forget a lost leg, some of these guys had lost their arms, eyes, jaws, extreme trauma to the chest, or had lost so much of their lower body, that it reached to the lowest parts of their torso up to just below their belly button. Those who lost an arm might be able to get a semi-functional prosthetic arm, or even one of those fancy nerve arms if they were lucky. Those who lost an eye or eyes would be disabled, but at least be kept from the front lines and discharged. For the jawless, a metal frame can be attached to the remaining muscles and tendons so they can eat. But for those who were torn apart, they'd be forever disabled with no chance at hope. Fate had damned them to need constant care around the clock, demeaning them to a hopeless sap who couldn't care for themselves.

Me? Oh, I was getting a prosthetic leg. My leg had healed enough to where the military doctors decided that I should be given a solid fake leg. If I was strong enough and had enough dexterity with it, I might be deployed again.

I initially felt privileged that I was receiving a decent leg, until they told me they couldn't spare any anesthesia or painkillers for me. Those were being saved for wounded who were a lot worse off than me. I fully understood, but I really didn't want to be drilled awake and fully aware. I was also, not allowed to go home alone. Steel and Lucky had to work, so they had volunteered Wrought to the job. He hadn't complained, but even without looking at him, I could tell he would much rather stay at home screw around with some of the engines he was tinkering with. On the way over, I'd promised him I'd do some looking and find him some new tools or some machines to disassemble. His smile was worth the difficult promise.

"Don't you worry about a thing Sergeant, this'll be over before you know it!" Doctor Heisman cheerfully claimed.

"Bullshit. You know it, an' I know it. This'll feel like forever."

The doctor didn't even skip a beat. The doctor laid me down on the table, and strapped my limbs down to keep me from flailing. Please let this be shorter then it'll actually be. I silently begged. Then, he a thick cloth in my mouth to keep my from shattering my teeth or biting my tongue off.

The whirring of a small handheld electric drill burned into my eardrums, and I bit down hard in terror. The pain started abruptly, and I screamed through my gag. My body trembled with the vibrations coming from the drill, and my remaining limbs strained against the restraints with strength I hadn't thought I'd had. But the leather straps held. Without crucial leverage, I couldn't move. I was trapped to the damn bed, and getting a hole slowly drilled into the remaining bone of my leg. I screamed through the gag I was biting on, crying tears of pain.

Then, the bolt was shoved into my new hole. A fresh spasm racked my body, but the torment didn't stop. Even through all the pain, the fresh pinpricks of nerve diodes being attached to my nerves. If my mind had been present, I would've known that these were so I could control the foot, allowing me to run better. The base of the leg was pressed against my bloody stump, and the magnetic sleeve sucked tightly against my leg to the metal bolt that was driven up my bone, and the limb itself was screwed on the exposed bolt.

*Twitch*Twitch* My new foot twitched, my nervous system unsure of what to do about this strange new, alien appendage. The electric signals were fresh, and my brain wasn't tuned to the specific wavelengths. It was going to take a long while for me to get used to it.

Wrought

Wolf had gone in looking nervous, but otherwise fine. But when he came out, he looked terrible. The vessels in his eyes had burst, giving the visual effect of crying blood, but that was nothing compared to his haunted, worn stare. He was caked in sweat, what little hair he had clung to his skull tightly and his skin gleamed like it was a wet stone. He wasn't really sitting in the chair, more like he'd been dumped into it, and the doctors had tried to make him as comfortable as possible. His leg was the exemption, as it was propped up by a small extension protruding from the seat. He... wasn't there. His mind was gone with the wind.

At least, I thought that until he looked up at me, and a weary smile crossed his face, "Got my fuckin' leg back." His gravely voice was worn, but the fire behind his words reassured me. He wasn't traumatized! He's just tired. Should've known better, this is Wolf we're talking about here!

Author's Note:

A bit short for my liking, but I think it's decent enough. What do you think?

Comments

[Blank-Page]

That would hurt like a bitch. Now imma go find some mind bleach so I can stop imagining it. Nice chapter as always bye!

*Imagining screams of pain & the actual pain of having a hole drilled in your bone while not numbed or drugged.*

[Luckless]

8892932
Hope it helps