Salvation

by Sandstorm Inkwell

Chapter Thirty-One

The helicopter touched down with a bounce on the flat clearing that had been turned into a pad for it. Before the craft had fully touched down though, I could see the other members of the clean-up squad disembark. Carried between them was a stretcher holding yet another member of our little clean-up squad. He had taken a round to the leg during the fighting in the caves. When we got outside and sealed off the cave with explosives, we had put him on a stretcher and carried him to the awaiting bird.

Climbing down myself, I realize that we were missing one member. Looking back into the troop compartment, I see Ink sitting near the front, her eyes fixed on the floor of the craft.

“Hey! Ink!” I call out as the rotors are still creating too much noise for me to speak at a normal tone. I watch as she looks my way with tear-stained cheeks and some dried vomit sitting at the edge of her mouth. Her mane was matted with sweat and her eyes look dull and almost empty. Shellshock, I think to myself as I climb back into the craft.

By now, the pilots were beginning to wind down the engines and the flight chiefs had already dismounted. Sitting next to the tan unicorn, I look at her dull eyes, noting how they were following my every move.

“Ink? We're back at base,” I say, as if stating the obvious will get her to move.

“E-every time I blink... I s-see those cages,” I hear her mutter, barely audible over the dying rotors, “I see the pieces within them. But, over it all, I see... I...”

She began to sob again, leaning herself against me as she did. Feeling awkward, but seeing no other way to calm her, I put an arm around her and whisper:

“Shh... it's alright. Seeing something like that is hard to deal with.”

“How... How l-l-long wil-l-l I keep seeing th-th-them?”

“For the rest of your life,” I reply gently as the memory of my first kill flowed in and then out of my mind, “but you have to continue living for their sake. The dead wish not for us to join them but for us to continue living.”

Ink didn't reply. Instead, she just continued to sob as she leaned into me. Awkwardly, I found myself staying next to her in the chopper, unable to bring myself to force this shellshocked pony up and out of the craft.

It was about a hour later when Ink finally separated herself from me. A slight coloring of her cheeks failed to allude my notice as she wiped away her tears.

“Thank you for... comforting me,” she says as she looks away.

“No problem. That's what squadmates are for... besides covering your ass that is,” I reply with a chuckle.

“Squadmate?” she asks, looking at me in confusion.

“Yeah. You're assigned to my squad and, besides what you were faced with, you didn't try to run away when we were in those tunnels. You may not be able to shoot but you're still a squadmate in my book.”

“Oh, um, thanks... I guess,” she replies as she looks away. Shit. Does she think I'm... flirting with her? I think to myself.

“You're welcome. Now come on. We shouldn't keep the rest of the squad waiting.”

“Alright,” she replies with a smile before hopping out of the craft before me. Climbing out myself, I made sure to stretch my limbs before beginning to walk back to my squad's comfortable hole in the ground. Removing my helmet and lowering my mask, both of which I forgot I still wore, I took a look around the base. All around, men were playing card games, chatting, cleaning weapons, or trying to sleep. When Ink was seen, though, a few eyed her with predatory stares or made cat calls. This, of course, caused the tan unicorn to walk a little closer to me.

“Even looking like a complete mess, I still get attention,” I hear Ink muse beside me, “I don't know whether to feel disgusted or complemented.”

“Probably the first,” I reply, “No offense to you, Ink, but most soldiers will chase just about anything that has a pulse and a hole between it's legs after so long.”

“That's...”

“Disgusting?”

“...I was gonna say revolting.”

I shrug, “Either one works I guess.”

“So, why do some soldiers don't turn out like... that?” she asks, pointing a hoof at a soldier who couldn't have made it more obvious that he was playing with himself if he just shouted it out loud. The utter revulsion on Ink's face brought a laugh from my lips.

“Dignity usually. They don't feel like making an ass of themselves and their country. Sometimes it's because they have someone special waiting for them back home.”

“Oh,” she replies, looking at the dirt, “do you have anyone waiting for you?”

“Back home? No. They've probably been told that I have died and that my body was not recoverable. But in Ponyville I do,” I reply.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. My squad and me were the first to be transported to this world and were here for a long while. I ended up adopting a little filly named Scootaloo while also meeting a special somepony,” I explain.

“Who... who is she?” she asks, the hurt barely hidden in her voice.

“Twilight Sparkle,” I answer while looking up at the blue sky, wondering what she was doing right about now.

“Ah. Her,” was the only reply I got before a young man (about twenty) came to a skidding halt in front of us. He wore just his uniform and pistol but I could recognize him as the Ranger that was on the tunnel clearing team.

“Hey Ink,” he says, waving to the tan unicorn, “How ya feeling?”

“Good actually,” replies the mare as she smiles at the Ranger.

“That's good,” he replies with a nod. I notice him kick the dirt nervously before asking, “I was wondering if you wanted to join the guys and me in a game of Blackjack tonight.”

“Umm...” she hummed, looking up at me. I nod to her, hoping she got the message that this kid looked like a good guy. When I did, she looked back at the Ranger (McCloed was his last name) and smiled brightly, “I'd love to.”

“Then it's a date?” he asks hopefully.

“That it is,” she replies, giggling at the man's antics.

“Awesome,” he breathes before turning and running toward a cluster of multi-national soldiers sitting around a table made of four ammo cans and a piece of flat metal, “She said yes, y'all owe me money!”

“Did ya mention you're a useless wanker?” called back a British soldier, earning some laughs from the rest of the group.

I was chuckling myself before looking down at Ink to see the confusion on her face.

“What'cha confused about?” I ask as we both continue our little stroll.

“He made bets on whether he could get a date with me?” she finally asks, looking disappointed.

I laugh loudly, “Don't think too hard about it. You'll just confuse yourself. Males, at least us human males, do stupid things without thinking of the consequences. Besides,” I continue, “what probably happened was he was talking about you to his friends. They saw you and bet him that he wouldn't be able to ask you out.”

“So... he did it for the money?” she asks, her tone one of hurt.

I shake my head, “There ya go, thinking too hard about it. He did it because he likes you.”

“Then why did he-?”

“Because that was how his friends pushed him to asking you. If they hadn't done it, he would have just sat there, talking about you for the rest of the night I'm sure.”

“I... think I see,” I hear her say as we finally approach the hole. Examining the hole, I gave a small smile. We had expanded it over the week and one of the British guys had offered us some tan camo netting that we put over the hole to hide ourselves better.

“Good,” I reply before sliding down the little ramp that led into the hole. Inside was the rest of the squad. I could see Smiley cleaning his LMG near the ramp while Gonz and Jones were playing chess at the other end of the hole. Kilborn was nowhere to be seen.

“Where's Sarge?” I ask as I step aside to allow Ink to slide down as well.

“Went off to some 'NCO Party' or some such. How was the mission?” Jones replies while he moves a pawn against Gonz.

“It went good. A Marine was injured but it went good nonetheless,” I answer while stripping off my equipment.

“Yes. 'Good'. If you count finding tortured beings 'good',” Ink adds as she moves to “her area” of the hole and begins to take off her armor.

“Tortured beings, eh?” Gonz asks offhandedly as he moves a bishop to capture Jones' pawn.

“Yeah,” I reply, shooting a look at Ink that hopefully said 'I thought you were over this?', “looks like they were studying them or something.”

“Makes sense,” Jones throws in as he moves a pawn to take the bishop.

I watch as Ink gives me a short glare before rolling her eyes and laying on the dirt. Using her magic (which was a beige color) she proceeded to float a notepad and pen in front of her and began to write. The pen had been a present from the squad since the quill looked to be just about useless out here.

“Report for the papers?” I ask as I sit down next to my gear and pull out my 1984 book.

“Yes. In fact, it is,” she replies, “I thought that I should write it up now so that I can get myself cleaned up before nightfall.”

“Why? What happens at nightfall?” Jones asks.

“Ink there has herself a date,” I answer with an amused smile as I see Ink turn crimson.

“Oh really now?” Gonz now asks. I look at the two to see that Ink now had their undivided attention.

“Who is he?” Jones asks, “Is he American?”

“Jones?” Gonz began, looking at his friend.

“What?”

“Your racism is showing.”

“Oh, right,” Jones replies as he makes the act of taking something from his mouth and pocketing it, “Sorry bout that.”

Ink let loose a loud burst of laughter.

“He is American actually... I think,” she replies while wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

“He is,” I confirm, “A young Ranger actually.”

“So Miss Splatter likes the 'Hooah' types, huh?” Jones asks jokingly.

“Hooah type?” she asks, looking at me in confusion.

I shake my head, laughing, “Jones just went full retard is all.”

“Tsk, tsk. Never go full retard,” Gonz adds in while he and Jones turn back to their game.

I watch as Ink rolls her eyes at us before going back to her report, “Humans are weird.”

“Trust me,” I begin, opening the book and bringing it up so I can read it, “I know.”