The Conversion Bureau: Prisoners of War

by Codexwriter476

Fight...

“I can’t tell what day it is anymore. Is it Wednesday or Friday?” Grant asked, trying to tell from the position of the sun as the three drove for Buffalo. The small grey convertible had plenty of gas and was making top speed through the empty highway, just reaching the outskirts of Herkimer. The sun was barely visible through the tree line and partially cleared skies. Mikey continued to focus on the road ahead of him.

“It’s Thursday. We stole the car at Amsterdam Wednesday morning, along with some more supplies and this tablet.” Patterson held up the hand held device, its screen displaying a headline about some bombings in Manhattan against the ponies there. “We should reach Syracuse by noon and possibly reach Buffalo by tomorrow morning, just in time to escape.”

“I hear the Front’s fighting outside Rochester, trying to keep that beachhead open for more people to escape through. They‘re using 390 as a defense line and up to the coast near Webster.” Patterson said.

“What about Syracuse?” Mikey asked. Patterson looked up the latest report and sighed in relief.

“They still have some pockets there holding off any more waves, but won’t last for long.” He replied. Mikey slammed his foot on the gas pedal, speeding nearly fifty miles over. As much as he wanted to keep running for Buffalo, he was still a HLF soldier and needed to help his fellow comrades in arms.

“We’re going to make a slight detour and help out guys out. You in?” He asked, only to hear the sounds of magazines snapping into place and the jingle of casings rummaging through backpacks. ‘Music to my ears.’ He thought, flooring it for Syracuse.

----------------------------------------------------

Bullets ricocheted through the air in Syracuse, accompanied by flashes of various colors. Barricades littered certain chokepoints in the city, manned by any able bodies human and everyone that could shot a gun. Explosions shook the streets from homemade grenades to military issued, Molotov Cocktails rained fire from second story buildings onto their enemies below and roof top defenders firing at any pegasi they could see. Elsewhere, stragglers worked their way west avoiding the fighting and increasing number of Equine soldiers. Established speakers blared out pro-conversion propaganda, doing its best to demoralize those within the city and on the limits.

Only a handful of HLF fighters; an estimated two thousand plus army remnants, remained to detain at least half of the Equestrian army bound for Rochester and Buffalo. Armed with every type of weapon they could get their hands on, barricades were erected in chokepoints on the highway, a majority holding at the Long Branch Park where the State Thruway was blown apart, along with most of the nearby bridges. However redundant is was since the Equestrians could easily bypass them; they still created quite a nuisance to logistic masters.

The convertible pulled up to the banks of the river and its passengers got out, one using a somewhat white collar shirt they found as a parley flag.

“Are you three PERs?” A guard shouted, his rifle aimed at their heads.

“HLF escapees from Saratoga!” Mikey shouted back.

“Saratoga? So they did take Ticonderoga then?” Mikey nodded. The guard quickly rushed over a makeshift pontoon bridge and brought the over.

“Are there more of you?”

“At least four more, but we lost them outside Amsterdam.” Mikey lied. They left them to fend for themselves in Malta, and who knows where they are now. For that matter, he didn’t care anymore. He was happy to just be fighting again.

The headquarters was a mess. Old radio systems and transmitters scattered about, barely powered by a gas fueled generator outside. Members were scrambling about relaying orders from other pockets within the city, along with reports from the front at Rochester. The four members walked their way through when a transmitter blared to life, stopping everyone in their place.

“Rochester is faltering. Repeat, Rochester is faltering. Heavy ordinances obliterated Sector Charlie Delta two. We lost command. If anyone can hear this, you’re on your own. I’m sorry.” And just like that, it gave out. Several leaders fumed with rage as lower class personal fell into depression.

“Alright, you heard them ladies. The cord’s been cut and its everyman for himself.” One of the officers recomposed. “Johnson, get word to the other pockets and rally them to our position. Gunter, get those trenches finished on the double.” The room hopped to life once again when he looked onto the new arrivals.

“Captain Dickson sir. These are some escapees from the Hudson River region that went dark several days ago.” The guard introduced them. Dickson grunted and turned his attention back to the chaos around him.

“Jenny, get a count on stockpiles and give these boys some proper weapons. Them hunting rifles are for campers” He said, his left hand pointing to the boys.Jenny soon led them to an armory that was a nearby park restroom. Upon arrival, the boys’ eyes widened, seeing hundreds upon hundreds of various assault and support weapons, crates of explosives and two light howitzers with enough ammunition to last for months.

“Help yourselves to whatever you need, then meet up with Dickson at the waterfront.” Jenny replied and took her leave. The guys stood there for a moment before breaking out every weapon they could get their greedy little hands on.

After a few minutes of window shopping, they emerged from the storeroom armed to the teeth. Mikey carried out his familiar choice of an AR-15, two Glocks and plenty of ammo and grenades. Patterson strolled out with two AK-47’s and bandoliers of ammo, but Grant, with the widest grin of all, totted out a M60 heavy machine gun and a trench gun. Belts of ammo dangled down from his neck.

Sirens soon filled the air as they rushed to one of the trenches nearby, seeing other members rushing towards them. The other pockets now lay abandoned or rushed over by the enemy. The numbers swelled into the trench works and crews took their positions behind sandbags and machine gun emplacements, facing to the north and east. The sirens soon died down as a dense fog bank rolled before them but stopped short of their defenses.

“Look alive boys!” Dickson shouted out to the lines. Cautious eyes looked down their sights, pointing to the fog. Others further in the trenches looked to the sky, keeping a weary eye out for Pegasi bombers. A few minutes pasted until a figure came walking out of the shadows, holding a white flag. It was a human from their own ranks with a parchment in his right hand.

“Traitor!” One member shouted.

“Let the man speak!” Dickson silenced the member, then looked back to the figure.

“On behalf of her Majesties and of the citizens of Equestria, We wish to offer you a choice. You can surrender and live new lives, or you can fight and be slain to the last man.” He read out the demands. He turned his head back as if the fog bank was talking to him, and then started walking towards the trenches. Soon, more were walking out of the fog and towards the trenches, each with a sorrowful expression.

“Mikey. What the hell’s going on?” Grant asked. Mikey didn’t respond. Instead, he stood up and fired a shot onto one of the walkers. Before anyone could protest, the walker exploded into a purple sparkling mist. All of a sudden, all hell broke loose. The walkers started running like mad men and hundreds of ponies charged out from the fog shouting.

“FIRE AT WILL!” Dickson shouted, firing his Colt 1911. The trenches erupted into a frenzy, holding off the attackers. Bullets, arrows and bolts of magic exchanged in the air as purple mist glistened the sky. Several runners had made it into one of the trenches and exploded on impacts, infecting all around them including the runners themselves. Screams of pain and agony echoed through the trenches as the trio continued holding out. Grant’s M60 suddenly jammed just as five or so ponies converged on him, he tried to pull out his side arm, but it was no good.

“Grant!” Mikey shouted trying to help his friend, shooting off his assailants. When he reached Grant, he noticed a deep purple cut on his neck. Their weapons had been coated with the potion.

“Give me a grenade.” Grant groaned, his hand reaching out to him. Obliging, he handed him a primed grenade and watched his friend slowly get back up and run towards the enemy. His skin was starting to turn to a sea green and his limbs reconfiguring to a pony’s autonomy.

“Die you mother fuc-” The explosion interrupted his last words, killing those around him. Mikey looked on as Patterson pulled him back down, saving him from an onslaught of arrows and magic.

“It’s no use crying over dead body parts.” Patterson snapped him back to reality, occasionally firing a volley or two with his AK. They seemed to be holding off pretty well, despite their increased causalities, but all that changed when one member noticed something above.

“Incoming!!” A member pointed to the sky. Swooping low and fast, dozens of pegasi bombers descended on the trenches, dropping large potion bombs and surprisingly a few Cocktails. Fires and potions rained from the heavens and onto the close combat chaos below, regarding whatever it struck. Friend and Foe alike suffered.

“To hell with this!” A young member shouted. He tossed down his weapon and made a run for the outskirts, followed by many others.

“Stand your ground traitors!” Dickson shouted and pointed his pistol to the cowards. He fired shot after shot with pristine accuracy, squarely in the back of their heads. Order had been broken and morality unstirred amongst the madness of war, but Dickson was determined to hold to the last man. He never got that chance when a Cocktail and several bolts of magic struck him down into a burning corpse. The lines started to collapse and scattered everywhere, some taking refuge in nearby buildings or dugouts, only to be slaughtered or converted. Others, including Mikey and Patterson, started running for the edge of town, occasionally holding off a Pegasus or two.

“I hope your happy.” Patterson grunted past Mikey down the Thruway.

“I never was.” Mikey muttered under his breath as he ran after him, disappearing into the fog.

Comments

[no sh*t sherlock]

"its screen displaying
a headline about some bombings in

Manhattan against the ponies there."

Awwww yeah!!