A Midnight Waltz

Lieutenant Iron Star emerged from his dugout, little more than an alcove dug into the trench wall. The blue, ashen-maned earth pony blinked a few times, dispelling the last vestiges of sleep as he slowly became aware of his surroundings.

“What is it?” He asked the soldier who had woken him up, another earth pony with a scarlet red coat and a short mane tucked under her helmet.

“Major has a task for your platoon, I’ll wake the rest of them up.”

Hastily Iron buttoned up his dark green uniform, and made his way through the winding trench network to the headquarters of the 24th Field Company of Royal Engineers. His hooves gently clacked against the duckboards, creating a soft, rhythmic sound that accompanied his walk. It was early in the summer, and the spring mud had almost dried, heralding the start of a campaigning season. The air was relatively warm, and Iron did not need any extra layers under his uniform, even if it was night.

It was dark, with the Moon’s light filtered through a thin cloud cover. The Mare in The Moon cast its silent judgment onto the battlefield. The darkness was not silent, however, and dark shades moved about the trenches, carrying equipment with them. Iron made way for a machine gun section rushing past him, and saw that they were all earth ponies like him, their uniforms marked with yellow piping of the Earth Guard. He caught a glimpse of their unit markings, and guessed they were from one of the newly formed battalions.

Tall even for an earth pony, Iron had to duck as he entered the command post, dug deep underground. It was as deep and well protected as could be expected of an engineer company’s work, but no more comfortable than his hole in a wall, with only a table for work and wooden platforms for sleep. Equestrian command had forbidden making trenches too comfortable, as the troops were expected to attack, and comfort would invite static behavior. Nevermind that the front had last moved anywhere during the Battle of Fillydelphia, and it was the Mustangs advancing back then.

A cough drew Iron from his thoughts, and his focus shifted to the old officer standing across the table. Major Faraday Cage had earned her cutie mark working with electronics, and had tried to enter the E.U.P Guard in the Signals Service, a field dominated by unicorns. She had instead been offered a place in the Field Companies, still well paid if not as prestigious a job. Now a Major in charge of one, the green mare had made a good career for herself.

“Lieutenant Iron Star reporting,” he presented himself to the senior officer. Apart from the two, a scribe was seated on one side of the table.

“Very good. There is a mission for you. You know of the light tank stuck in that shell hole, two hundred meters in front of the wire?”

Iron recalled seeing the abandoned vehicle when laying wire. On map the tank was exposed to the Mustangs from three angles, but the crater protected it from direct fire, and inaccurate howitzers would have been wasted on a small point target. “Yes, I know it,” he answered, already guessing what was coming.

“We believe the enemy is rotating his troops, giving us a chance to finally recover the tank. Your platoon will pull it out of the shell and through here,” the Major pointed at a spot on the map, a section of trench named Celestia’s Teeth. Next to it was a salient called Horn. “A hole is being made in the wire for you to pass through.”

Major Faraday explained the rest of what Iron needed to know, from the machine gun protection he’d receive to the passwords and retreat routes. The lieutenant planned his orders. Two sections to provide security, two to drag the tank. Equipment for both.

“When are you ready to go?”

“We need thirty minutes to prepare, and I’ll also need ten minutes for recon, so make that…” he glanced at his wrist watch. “Oh, thirty-five.”

“Very good, dismissed.”

Iron jumped back into the trench, having checked the route to the tank with his own eyes.

Thirty-six earth ponies waited for him. They all had their green uniforms and wide-brimmed helmets smeared with mud. Gas mask pouches hung on their sides, while ammunition pouches, and extra cartridge belts on their barrels crisscrossed with all the engineers’ tools, from wire cutters and loops of rope to hoof bombs and pickaxes. In addition, one section carried four long and wide boards for the tank.

“The way is clear. I’ll take the front, Blossom, take the rear and get them to work instantly.”

Iron’s platoon sergeant, colored dull orange and with a white and green tail, nodded in response, taking his spot further back in the formation. Following Iron Star, the platoon rose from the trench in a single file. Each soldier had a white stripe at the back of their helmet, to better see each other in the dark. Even then they had to almost cling to each other to not lose their way. Along the way, Iron had struck small stakes into the ground, simple pieces of wood with the bark removed. They practically shone against the black soil.

The field was torn and cratered as far as the eye could see, night or day, but between each shell hole there was unsullied terrain easy to move through. Iron felt the dry grass under his hooves as he guided the platoon through a sheltered route. Somewhere far to their left, a machine gun fired a long burst, sending a trail of red tracers across the black sky. Mustang machine guns replied with their sharp, fast beat, and Iron worried that the ensuing duel might spread to their section. When he finally saw the hazy silhouette of the tank, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Sergeant, get to work, I’ll be back soon. First and second, follow me.”

Iron could not take the security screen too far away from the tank, lest it become too thin to do its job. He had earmarked a suitable spot to anchor it on, and from there the line could extend from crater to crater. Normally he would trust the squad leaders to do this, but now he felt he needed to see where each and every soldier was. It was a slow process. Pit by pit he set up the line, until only a few remained.

Focused on his target, Iron did not watch his step. The edge of a large shell hole left by a heavy howitzer caved in, and the stallion stumbled down, bringing with him a minor landslide. The fall ended when he hit something soft and grunting, and Iron immediately realized something was wrong. With a yell, he kicked with his rear hooves, while reaching for his service revolver. On advice of older officers he had cut the flap of the rubber holster, and the weapon was immediately in his hooves.

“Hold fire!” an unfamiliar voice called. “Hold fire!” Iron repeated as he realized the situation he was in.

A file of Mustangs, combat engineers judging by the markings on their bluish gray uniforms, was crossing the crater. They and Iron’s platoon had been so quiet that neither had spotted the other. Now, at such a close distance, a firefight would result in a massacre he would lose.

A pale green magical aura illuminated a sandy earth pony officer rubbing his jaw. The awkward position Iron had kicked from had likely saved his life. From the white diamond pattern on the stallion’s muzzle, Iron recognized him as a mustang. And that meant the magic was not his. Iron tilted his head, coming face to face with the barrel of a carbine held by a unicorn.

He might lose the firefight, but did the enemy know that?

“Truce?” He suggested with all his confidence, looking back at the enemy officer.

“Truce.”

Mentally orienting himself, Iron realized the enemy engineers were moving parallel to Celestia’s Teeth, approaching the Horn. Not enough to be a raiding party, but they might be checking the wire. At least Iron could not spot any special gear that rang alarm bells.

“So, I suppose you’ll head towards your lines?” Iron took the initiative. “And we won’t all die here.”

The other officer did not even have to consider, just as eager to not die in the crater. He ordered his platoon to leave. Iron found the waiting game more bearable once the carbine was pulled away from his temple. Finally, only the two officers were left. With little trust in each other, both kept up the eye contact, only turning away once they could no longer see each other. Once outside the crater, Iron saw the two squads already spreading out. The enemy meanwhile was gone, having vanished into the night.

“Corporals! Spread out and quick,” he hissed. “I’ll warn the other half, and come right back.”

Blossom had guided his part of the platoon into the crater and had immediately gotten to work.

The tank was small and boxy, with its armor bolted together. It had wide,unprotected tracks and a bent machine gun poking out of the turret. The weather had not been kind to the tan paint, peeling it off in many parts, revealing the bare metal and covering it with rust Blossom could see even in the limited moonlight. A large yellow disc surrounded by a purple circle shone at the side of the turret, dominating the front half. Unlike in the case of most abandoned tanks, this rondel was not perforated with bullet holes. It had simply fallen into the crater, and unable to climb up, had been abandoned. Retrieval at daytime was impossible thanks to the enemy, and weather had made it impractical until now.

One section attached ropes to the hull, while the other started shoveling under the tracks, making room for the planks. A relatively simple task, dragging the tank out still required every ounce of their combined earth pony strength. And some ponies would likely have to move the sets of boards to always have something under the treads until they reached the harder soil. Assuming the ground was hard enough anywhere. The engineers, well drilled by Blossom, were quick in their work, but not hasty or careless. The planks were wedged under the tracks, and a part of the crater’s edge was dug up for a smoother climb. Blossom himself helped where needed, in addition to coordinating the effort. For a seemingly slim stallion, he was surprisingly strong.

A sudden ruckus drew his attention. Hearing a shout to hold fire, he swung out his lever action rifle and climbed out of the trench. Damn the darkness, he could not see what was happening. After a long silence, the shuffling of hooves and a whispered callsign told that Lieutenant Iron had returned.

“Sergeant Blossom?”

“Here,” he answered, and the officer walked up to him. Blossom could see Iron was tense and his breathing was fast and shallow, a sign of the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“We ran across a Mustang patrol, combat engineers. They are heading away for now. Send a runner to warn the line.”

“Understood. Will we still recover the tank?”

“Yes. Yes. You’ll just need to keep up your guard while you're at it. I’ll pull the screen back once you’re safe.”

Iron left , and blossom quickly ordered a pony to bring the message back. The preparations were ready soon after.

One section grabbed the ropes, forming two lines at the rear of the tank. The corporal in command nodded once, twice, thrice, and on the third nod they pulled.

The tank did not budge. The section stopped, and on command pulled again. This time the tank shifted, and on the third it almost rose from the mud. Ponies groaned under the strain of lifting the six tonne tank. Gritting her teeth, the corporal ordered another pull, and this time the tank rose with a squelch and a creak, before crashing down on the boards prepared. To Blossom’s relief, the drive sprockets turned with only a few whining squeals, allowing the tracks to move. With strength far greater than that of the tank’s engine the earth ponies pulled, dragging the tank up the incline.
The tank was nearly out of the shell hole, when Blossom heard the worst thing he could possibly hear. A sizzling whoosh was the only warning he received before night turned into day.

The sentries had received the warning. Then, hearing suspicious noises, they fired their flare gun. They saw the engineers, but behind them were dark shapes hiding among the craters. Knowing their duty, a machine gun crew protecting the platoon opened fire.

Iron yelled in surprise as bullets slammed into the back of the red mare laying prone next to him, killing her instantly. She had been the one to wake him up. He spun around to see the machine gun firing a second burst that tore chunks off the ground. Then, a shot followed from another direction. A different Mustang patrol had spotted them. In the darkness muzzle flashes could be seen far away. A pony shot at a mustang’s muzzle flash, and a mustang at his. Ripples of fire filled the night as both sides sought fire superiority.

More flares rose to the sky, casting a sickly yellow glow across no pony’s land. Shapes half shadow and half equine clad in gray uniforms dashed from cover to cover, firing as they went. With no point in keeping quiet, Iron cried out. “MG! Watch your fire!”

The shout was lost in firefight, and for his efforts he had to duck to avoid another burst. At least the darkness meant nobody was hitting a thing. Face now covered in mud, he crawled to a deeper shell hole already occupied by a private. He could see the enemy slowly extending their line left, but as long as the machine gun kept shooting he could not maneuver his half platoon to face them. “First squad! Don’t let them move left. Accurate shots only!”

In response the private racked the lever and fired at a fleeting target, missing.

Realizing he needed to do something to fix the situation, Iron began crawling back to the tank, bullets whirring overhead. Although slowed down by the firefight, the engineers were still dragging it to safety.

“Sergeant! Send a runner out and tell that MG to stop shooting!”

“Already did! And they better understand!”

They did understand. The runner had made it to the trenches, and had delivered the urgent order, along with a dozen curses. Iron could see the firing stop. Panting and exhausted, he started crawling back to the front. On his way he saw a yellow stallion sprawled on his side, helmet fallen to the ground. His uniform was stained black with blood.

“Second squad! Move left of First, bearing north!”

Picking the rifle off the dead stallion, Iron joined the firing line. They were mostly of the pre-war army or reserves, and could fire with speed and accuracy the Mustangs could not hope to match. The never-ending cover of flares did not leave a moment of darkness to use as cover, and soldiers on both sides had to make daring, visible dashes to get anywhere. Iron aimed at one Mustang, and pulled at the firing lever. The weapon kicked at his hooves, and the Mustang fell. Somewhere a familiar voice cried in pain. To their left, a hoof bomb exploded between the groups, raising a cloud of dirt.

“The tank is ready!”

Iron raised his head, and saw the flare lit silhouette of the tank disappear into a depression behind the lines.

“Right, let’s get moving! First squad, fall back! Second holds its ground!”

The first squad stopped firing and practically disappeared into the maze of craters, making their way to safety. Iron checked his wristwatch. Sixty seconds. A bullet ricocheted off a rock.

Forty-five. An engineer was shot in the hoof.

Thirty. Iron emptied his revolver into a mass of charging Mustangs.

Fifteen. A grenade went off behind him.

Zero.

“Second squad, fall back!”

The command was repeated, and firing their last shots the engineers turned tail and ran. Finding Iron’s markings, they dropped into dead ground protected from the mustang fire. Now, likely with someone more experienced leading them, the machine gun opened fire again, discouraging pursuit.

Following at the tail end of the file, Iron kept looking around, worried by a last minute ambush. The final seconds of the run seemed to last forever, but Iron finally passed the pony holding the hole in the wire open.

When he dropped back into the trench, it was the best thing he had ever seen. Sergeant Blossom was there to greet him, patting the younger earth pony on the shoulder. “Well done, sir.”

“Thank you. The wounded?”

“The medics were ready. They’re already being taken care of.”

Iron nodded, and took a deep gulp of water. With it he swallowed the sand that filled his mouth, but that did not matter. He realized he had not drunk in almost an hour, and his mouth was parched.

Calling a count, Iron realized that in addition to two wounded, he had lost three dead. For a light tank.

“Sir,” Blossom said, recognizing the look on the officer’s face. “You did well. The mission was complete, and you brought the platoon back. Some bad luck doesn’t change that.”

“Aye, I know. Doesn’t make me feel any better, Sergeant.”

He glanced at the platoon, a little smaller than last night, when it had been a little smaller than the night before that. Nothing he could do about that.

“I’ll report to the Major. You take them to get some rest.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Sighing, Iron made his way through the quiet trenches. Somewhere in the distance a machine gun fired into the night.

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