Salvation

by Sandstorm Inkwell

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Say hello to our new home boys,” Sarge remarked dryly as we entered the tiny frontier town of Dodge City. All around us, humans roamed. I spotted the camouflage patterns of the Army Rangers and the Marines and I further spied the French armored guys. All of them had set up camp at the southern side of town with a sand berm surrounding the entire town (it was that small of a settlement).

One of the interesting things I saw as we drove into the camp was that the French tanks were set up in defensive positions behind the southern berm. Smart. Might as well use them since we got them.

We came to a stop near an open area that held three other Humvees and two Stryker IFVs. Wordlessly, Kilborn opened his door and stepped out. I nodded at Jones and the two of us also disembarked the Humvee, Jones jogging around to join Sarge and me.

Walking towards us was a man in ACU battle rattle (minus the helmet that was clipped to his belt) and a forest green pony with a lighter green mane. When they got closer, I looked at the pony's facial structure and noticed that it was a stallion. The Ranger wore the rank of Specialist.

Behind our Humvee, the tank quieted with a couple growls and we heard the hatch clang open. Looking back, I saw Thoreau with his head out the hatch, waiting patiently for information on where to park Corbulo.

When the duo finally reached us, it was the pony that spoke first.

“Howdy. Ah'm Cherry Stem and, for what it's worth, welcome to our town.”

Kilborn nodded to the pony, “Thank you for the kind welcome, sir.”

The pony nodded before looking at the Ranger, nodding to him, and walking towards the actual town.

“Sergeant. You're the group from Ponyville, correct?” asked the Ranger as he looked our group over.

Kilborn nodded, “That we are. Any news on the other units, Specialist?”

“The Canadians and Brits on the West Coast are still moving down to pick up the Marines there. Our Blackhawk is currently doing Air Recon over the Badlands and a convoy is being prepared by the Marines to go pick up the Airborne guys,” he replied before motioning to the parked vehicles, “Sarge, you can park your Humvee and tank alongside those vehicles there. We may or may not need them to pick up the Airborne groups.”

Kilborn nodded, “If you do, I would like my men to man our Humvee.”

“Understood, Sergeant,” replied the Ranger after a second of hesitation.

“Also,” Kilborn continued, “we have a man for the stockade in the back of our Humvee.”

This brought a look of surprise to the Ranger's face, “Reasoning?”

“My full report has already been given to the Commander, Specialist,” Kilborn replied, putting emphasis on the man's rank.

“Understood Sergeant, I'll get someone to get him out. If you would-”

A whistling pierced the air before dirt was thrown up a couple yards away from the Humvee. A loud boom accompanied the dirt plume. More whistling filled the air.

“Mortars! Tell your men to de-ass and get to the berm, now! Bring that tank into a defensive position at the berm!” screamed the Specialist before taking off at a crouch towards the camp and the berm beyond.

“Gonz!” Kilborn yelled, “Shut her down and move!” He then clicked his radio, “SM, get Corbulo to the southern berm ASAP!”

“Roger that!”

“Move your ass people!” Kilborn shouted as another mortar round landed close by. They were coming down all around the camp like hellish rain. I started running for the southern berm, seeing other ahead of me scrambling for it as well. Were they attacking? The Specialist reacted like this had happened before.

As we were running, I heard the boom of a mortar round and the piercing screams of a man whose been wounded. Closely following that was the cry:

“Corpsman up!”

This is it, my mind reeled, This is the real shit. Back to that old grind.

Running through the rows of tents, I kept my head low and hoped that I didn't get hit. Dirt was thrown up directly in front of me but I kept running through it, the clods bouncing off my helmet. I looked up at the berm to see weapon flashes from the men already manning the fortification. The French tanks were firing their co-axials at a target that could not yet see.

Before I knew it though, I was scrambling to the top of the berm by instinct. When I could see over the dirt wall, I stopped. In front of me were at least two companies of foot mobiles and light vehicles moving towards the camp. The foot mobiles were darting from sparse cover to sparse cover, trying to stay alive as they took pot shots. The vehicles were charging straight ahead, seemingly having come after the infantry.

I looked to my right to see two Marines mounting a .50 Caliber Machine-gun that looked to have been taken off a Humvee. The weapon boomed and bucked as the Marine fired it in bursts at the hostiles. To my left, I watched as Corbulo came to a halt. The turret twitched left and right, as if sniffing out a target. Finally, there was a loud boom that made my ears ring and made the tank rock backwards. Looking forward, I watched as one of the vehicles exploded in a glorious fireball.

The pinging of a round flying by my head brought my mind to focus. Lifting my M4, I focused my sights on a group of OpFor.

Back to the same old grind, my mind repeated as I pulled the trigger.

/--\

I sat quietly as I listened to the clopping of hooves. They would go for a couple seconds, stop, go again, stop, go again. An endless cycle of noise penetrating my thoughts. Stupid Silver Spoon, I grumbled inwardly as I stared at the wooden floor.

The clopping stopped and I waited but they didn't begin again. Looking up, I saw Twilight looking at me, her pacing seemingly over. We were in the main room of her home. After the fight, Cheerilee had decided to send me home for the day saying that she was very disappointed in my behavior. They started it. Those stupid, good for nothing-

“Well?” Twilight asked, interrupting my thoughts, “What have you got to say for your actions?”

“They started it! They always pick on us!” I shouted.

“That may be so,” Twilight responded evenly, “but you tell Miss Cheerilee, You do not buck a fellow classmate.” I opened my mouth but a raised hoof from Twilight informed me that she wasn't finished yet, “You also shall refrain from yelling in my house. Understand?”

“Yes, but-”

“Understand?” she asked again, her tone lower.

I looked back at the floor, “I understand.”

I heard the clopping of hooves before I felt a hoof rest on my back and heard Twilight sit down next to me, “I miss him too Scootaloo and I don't like this feeling of hatred that's been spreading across Equestria. However, it doesn't help if you go around bucking everypony that says something about it. Especially when you are wearing his hat.”

I reached up and pulled the hat off, holding it in front of my face. I scooted closer to Twilight and leaned my head against her chest, “I just want him to come back okay. I can tell how bad his world is, even without him telling me some of the stories.”

“He told you about his world?” Twilight asked. I could hear the anger in her voice and dug my head farther into her chest.

“He censored out the bad stuff. I could tell when he did because he would pause,” I replied, looking down at the hat I now held in both hooves.

I felt Twilight wrap her forelegs around me, “I want him to come back too but, like I said, this is something he has to do. It's not just because he was told to but he wants us to be safe and these... insurgents are threatening our safety.”

I sat silently. Not crying or whimpering. Just silent. It was so hard to accept that he may get hurt.

“This sucks,” I finally whispered. I felt Twilight chuckle softly,

“That it does, Scoots.”

/--\

“All clear?”

“Section one. All clear.”

“Section two. Nothing but corpses.”

“Section three. Looks like a couple twitchers, wait one...” sporadic shots sounded in the still air, “they ain't twitching no more. All clear.”

“Section four. Got a couple trucks we could salvage. No movement though, all clear.”

“All clear, confirmed. Get the wounded to Medical. Send out the Salvage Trucks. Section Four, get a squad to hump it to the trucks and see if their operational. Good job gentlemen.”

I only half listened to the radio chatter after that. My eyes were glued to the view in front of me. Bodies and the bullet ridden husks of their light vehicles littered the desert. The shelling had stopped a little after I had joined in the firefight.

I looked behind me at the camp to see that the shelling didn't do much damage. One tent got hit and I only heard of a couple men who got wounded, none of them sounded severe. I watched as some of the men moved through the camp to the Humvees. Salvage Trucks, my mind newly identified them as. It was smart move. Our ammo wouldn't last forever. Though I wasn't canny on using an AK, I would if I had to.

I felt someone tap my shoulder. Turning to face my right, I saw a Marine crouching there.

“Come on, we're going to see if we can't get those trucks running,” he said, nodding to where the trucks were. I saw the rank on his arm and noticed that he was but a Private First Class. I looked around me and noticed that the only squadmate near me was Jones. He gave me a shrug.

Looking back at the Private, I pushed myself up to a crouch, “Alright, let's get it done with.”

The Marine looked to Jones before looking back at me and nodding. I saw two others behind him, another Private First Class and a bare sleeve Private. The PFC who talked to me waved them on and down the berm they went. Jones and me quickly followed.

Although we were different branches, we quickly got into a squad formation with one person covering every direction. We moved silently, of which I was thankful. I didn't feel like talking much after this welcome back to human destruction.

Passing the corpses of the attackers, I noticed that a few wore uniforms. The flag on their sleeve, I guessed, must have been the Iranian flag. Most, though, wore the simple rags of Afghani insurgents. So they are working together. Shit...

We got to the first truck rather quickly. There was no need to even pop open the hood as the front of the truck was completely ripped to shreds.

“Shit,” muttered one of the Marines.

“Yeah,” mumbled another one. This pointless conversation did hold meaning, though. Most soldiers were often struck stupid when they noticed, up close, the destructive power of the weapons at their disposal. It was a very eye-opening thing to see a .50 Cal rip a car to shreds.

Speaking of .50 Calibers, I noticed that at least the gun on this truck could be salvaged but I assumed that the Salvage Trucks would see to that. Without any other comments, we began to move to the next one. It was only a little ways away. When we approached the truck, I got the feeling that something was... wrong with the situation.

The truck was riddled with rounds and corpses littered the ground around it but there seemed to be less blood here then at the other truck. Curious, I motioned Jones to follow me and approached one of the corpses. Blood stained the dirt below him but he didn't seem as riddled as the others, though a hole could be seen in his gut.

I glanced back to see the Marines moving on the truck, which did show promise of starting up. Looking back at the corpse, I signaled for Jones to stand by before crouching next to it. I couldn't put a finger on it but something felt off about the corpse. The wind blowing the robes probably didn't-

Wait!

My eyes widened as the realization hit. There was no wind!

“Bomb!” I heard behind me. In front of me, the “corpse's” eyes snapped open. An explosion sounded behind me as the insurgent reacted, pulling a knife into the sunlight. Before I could defend myself, the insurgent stabbed at me and I felt pain explode in my gut.