A Hero's 'Tail'

by Garamond

Chapter 13

My ragtag ‘army’ sat down at the long table in Sugarcube Corner, a large map with my notes copied on it spread across the wooden surface.

“Here’s the idea,” I began, “We’ll take Gelderland Hill here. When Bryant’s army advances, we’ll hide underneath this outcropping, and then spring up onto the hill and rain shells on them from behind with the howitzer tow. By then the Guard should have engaged Bryant’s army. Twilight, AJ, and Pinkie Pie will hold the town, while Rainbow Dash, Fluttershy, and Rarity hit their far side flank, sticking them in a four-way vice grip with the Guards at front, Braves on their left, Ponyville on their right, and the bandits in the rear.”

I finished, peering up from my writings at everyone.

Grit was the first to speak. “You sure you ain’t a famous tactician reincarnated, kid?”

I laughed, replying, “I’m sure, Grit. Anyways, I’ll be covering loose ends and providing a crutch if a side begins to buckle. Does everypony understand their job?”

They all nodded, looking to what was pretty much a foreign mutant pony with trust and respect. I valued that. “Let’s get moving.”

Everypony made to leave, but a knocking at the door of the bakery interrupted us. Opening the top half of the exit, I looked outside. Hordes of equine were standing there, holding whatever weapons they had. The weapons ranged from pistols and shotguns to scavenged machine guns and rocket launchers.

An icy blue female pony with a dark blue mane strode up to me, pearly white teeth glinting in the sunshine. “The name’s Colgate. Need some help, sir?”

***

After having integrated Colgate’s ‘militia’ into the existing troop divisions, we set out. I decided to stay with the APC in order to draw less attention to us.

As I sat and listened to the bandits socialize with the townsfolk, I fed that nagging thought in the back of my head. What is a hero?

I decided to inquire of Grit, who was sitting in the passenger seat.

“Hey Grit?” I asked. He turned around to face me, bracing a hoof on the driver-side seat.

“Yea, kid?”

I paused, unsure of myself. “Well, RD told me something a while back… And I was wondering… What’s a hero?”

He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it abruptly, turning back to look forward, chewing his lip.

After thinking long and hard about it, he rotated to face me again. “A hero is someone who does the right thing, to help as many people as possible, even though it may involve his own demise, physical or otherwise. I mean, in a nutshell. There’s a bit more to it than just that, of course.”

I raised another question. “What are the attributes of a hero?”

Grit frowned. “Well, a hero loves the people in his care so much he’s willing, and often does, die for them. I tell you the truth here, kid. If I speak every language in the world, yet have not love, I’m nothing. Hay, if I can fathom all the mysteries of the world, have a power that can move mountains, but lack love and compassion for others, I’m still not worth a lick. Even if I became the greatest ponitarian on the planet, giving all I had to the indigent, but still don’t have love for others, I’m dead inside.”

Grit breathed in heavily, a nostalgic sigh forming around his lips.

“Love? What’s love? And why’s it so necessary?” I wondered aloud.

He smiled, explaining it to me rather simply.

He said, “Love? Love is patient. Love’s kind, it doesn’t get jealous, doesn’t brag about its accomplishments, nor is it proud of what it has done. It doesn’t make fun of others, isn’t selfish, and isn’t easily angered. Love keeps no record of wrongs, but always trusts, protects, hopes, and perseveres, no matter what anyone may throw at it. That’s love.”

I looked back on his words, thinking, as the APC rolled down into the little outcropping I’d designated for it earlier. Hoofstavson turned the car off, blanketing us in a shroud of near instant silence. We listened with bated breath as if a single cough could give our position away. Bryant’s army passed directly over our hideout; the sound of pounding hooves and whirring treads audible above us. We all heaved a collective sigh of relief when the last tank drove past our overhang.

“Alrighty,” I began, voice barely above a whisper. “Give it 30 seconds, then we’ll start setting up.”

Gunfire began rattling off, mortar shells whizzing in the distance as I signaled Hoofstavson to begin driving. Quickly but carefully, we pulled out, taking care to attract as little attention as possible. Foaler hopped out, manning the mortar. I began listening to the radio, holding it by a wing.
General battle chatter, nothing more, I thought with relief.
Switching over to the agreed channel, I asked for a status report.

Twilight was the first to respond. “We’ve cleared out two tanks and an APC full of soldiers, but we’re being shelled by a cadre of howitzers positioned 5 kilometers north-west of us. If you don’t do something quickly, there won’t be a town for us to hold.”

“Affirmative. I’ll go blast those mortars. How’s everyone else?” I asked, leaping from the top hatch, taking to the skies towards the offending cannons.

“Rainbow here. A ground to air missile has hit me. I’ll be up as soon as I get this…” She sucked her breath in pain, continuing with gritted teeth. “Dang wound bandaged. You could be a little more careful you know, Fluttershy! Ow, that antiseptic bucking hurts!”

Fluttershy's fervent apologies could be just barely heard through the static.

Nearing the mortars at last, I swooped in, breathing flame with utmost prejudice. The first howitzer exploded in a spray of superheated metal. The second I disabled by knocking the gunner unconscious with a lead bar on the ground using it as a club, brandishing it with a wing.
The third gunner turned on me, pistol in hand.

I grinned at him, raising my hooves as if I was caught. “Hey, now. Don’t shoot me; I’m just a friendly Pegasus. You wouldn’t wanna hurt poor little old me now, would you?”

I inched toward him, maintaining my non-threatening pose. Realizing my intent, the driver’s eyes widened as large as dinner plates in fear of my iron bar. He dropped the gun and yelped, fleeing with a look of terror on his face at the dragon-pony. I chuckled.

“The mortars are down. Send a couple of Colgate’s fighters to man ‘em. Let’s use these boys while they still belong to us,” I ordered through the radio.

As I was flying back to the bandits, an unfamiliar voice crackled over my communicator. “Can you read me? This is Lieutenant Red Sun of the Equestrian National Guard.”

I looked back at my rump, astonished. The Guards found our channel, and are attempting to communicate?

I was dumbfounded.

“Yes sir, Quicksilver here, captain of the local militia. What can I do for you?” I returned. Best to see what he wants.

“Firstly, your troops are saving our hide. Secondly, our Commanding Officer, Octavia Philharmonica, has been shot in the gut by a sniper. Our chain of command is failing. We are in desperate need of leadership.”

My eyes widened.

Grit got on the channel, saying, “Well, Quicksilver is your stallion. Do us proud; lead us to victory. It’s all up to you.”

I gulped, never more nervous in my life.

“I’ll do my best with the gifts given me, Dad.” With that, I jumped right into my new task of molding the Guard with the militia. “Lieutenant, organize your troops into three groups: red team, blue team, and green team. Red team will come in on the left from the flank, hemming the opposing force into the center. Green team will do the same from the right. Blue team will hold the blackcoats in place, shelling them with mortars and missiles while my own forces close in from the rear, trapping them. Got it?”

After a brief pause, Red Sun replied, “Yes sir. We’re assembled, just give the order.”

“Any time you’re ready, Lieutenant.” I quested around, looking at my army’s positions.

The green team had acted. Using the support from the Valiant Braves as a crutch, they advanced into a swelling horde of angry machinery. I watched patiently as Bryant’s army started crumbling beneath the fierce pressure of the Guard. Soon, our opposition had curled up into a bristling corral of tanks.
A shell whizzed past my ear. I perked up, aware of danger. Looking behind me, I saw a mint green unicorn and beige pony, both manning the previously abandoned mortars.
I grinned, turning back to watch the tightened ball of troopers disintegrate into a mob attempting to retreat from the open-sided rear.
While our pinning from the back didn’t work, it was satisfying to watch, laughing, as a small scrap of the once mighty Guard, now numbering 100 vehicles from their previous 450, chase down, crippling or destroying a still-large force of masked soldiers and black tanks.
I flew down to the bandit’s entrenchment watching the cloud of gray high-tailing it back to wherever they came from.