Salvation

by Sandstorm Inkwell

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Are they gone?” I hear Ink ask from the floor of the bunker.

“I don't know. Sure has been quiet though,” I hear McCloed state from the other side of the bunker. I watch him turn his head to give a worried glance in Ink's direction. I can see him do this because I am currently sitting on the floor of the bunker with my back to one of the walls, Greve's G36 in my lap. Looking down at the rifle, I run a hand over it. Don't worry. The bastards will get what's coming to them.

One of the other Americans begins to sing, causing my ears to tune in. I was always a sucker for song, after all.

“Here we stand, in a faraway land.
Enemies of the past, war staying fast.
While I don't know the people and sure can't see a nearby steeple,
I do know that my job is the same; aggressive hearts, I need to tame!

In case you haven't a clue, let me tell you.
I am a soldier!
Nothing but a soldier!

Blessed with the heart to stand and do my part,
to ensure that we are free to do as we please!

Let me tell you, so you may have a clue.
While I do fight, I only do so to make things right,
for we brought you this war, but we'll make it just another piece of lore!

And when it's all said and done,
when the enemy is destroyed or on the the run!
I will lower this blood-stained knife,
and join you all in the simple life!”

I clap along with some of the other soldiers in the bunker. I also hear the stomping of hooves and look over to see Ink doing what ponies do instead of clapping. Looking back at the soldier who sung, he was actually turning red from the praise he was receiving.

“Did you come up with that yourself?” Ink asks, her tone one of amazement.

“Yeah,” the soldier meekly replies.

“It was really good, you should become a singer,” Ink then pauses as she seems to remember what was currently happening around us, “After all this, of course.”

A chuckle sweeps through the bunker at that.

“For a pony, I think you adapted pretty well, lass,” remarks one of the British troops, though his accent was definitely Irish. Northern Ireland probably, I think to myself as I watch Ink shoot the soldier a glare.

“And what the hay does that mean?” she asks. Another chuckle sweeps through the bunker.

“She forgot her roots!” chimes in a German paratrooper, causing another wave of chuckling.

“Guess we've done too good a job of acclimating her then,” adds in the third American, who was a Marine. After wiping tears from my eyes, I look at Ink to see her looking at me. One half of her face was contorted in confusion while the other half was in understanding.

“I... what?” she asks.

“Y'all,” I begin, my voice slipping into my hometown accent, “are a peaceful race. Remember? Yet, here you are, talking about the whole thing like it's some dance. Like how most soldiers end up talking about it after awhile.”

“Oh...”

“Look alive!” shouts the Canadian soldier. I look at him to see him aiming down the sights of his rifle.

“Count?” questions the Irish/British soldier, all merriment gone from his voice.

Jumping to my feet, I turn around and aim the carbine at the world outside. Outside, I see the beginning of dawn on the horizon. Shit. How long was that battle? I mentally ask myself. It seemed like it only lasted a few minutes, not hours. Smoke curls into the air from many places in the base, signifying the extent of the attack.

“Four. Moving this way in formation,” reports the Canadian soldier, “Looks to be friendly camo. Call it?”

“Call it,” orders the Irish/British soldier.

“Wild West!” Cries out the Canadian soldier, his voice echoing around the bunker a bit, causing us to slightly cringe.

“Frontier!” comes the reply from an oddly familiar voice. I hear movement behind me and turn around to see the four soldiers come to a halt next to the bunker. I could see the face of one of the men as he was kneeling down to look in and address us. Since I could see him, he could see me... and Ink.

“Ink? Odom? Thank God you two are alive!” exclaims Kilborn, looking at us both. He takes a double take on my rifle and I watch as understanding briefly crosses his face, “All of y'all need to get topside. We've pushed them back and are getting ready to take the fight right to 'em! This is it!”

“Hoorah!” shouts the Marine as he quickly scrambles from the bunker.

Crawling from the bunker, I stand and look around at the camp. Bodies, shell casings, and blood decorate the ground. Tents and other structures lay broken or shot up. Fires burn in the distance. However, around all the destruction, the soldiers of the Coalition move with a purpose.

I turn to Sarge and walk over to him and Smiley, asking, “Have fun without me?”

“Loads,” Kilborn replies with a smirk. The smirk then lessens, “How's Ink?”

I look back to the bunker just in time to see Ink and McCloed hugging each other. I smile at this and point it out for Kilborn to see, “I think she's doing just fine, Sarge.”

“I see,” he says with a chuckle, “Ink!”

Said pony looks at us while still holding onto the Ranger, “What?”

“When your done crushing the poor kid, catch up with us, okay?”

Not waiting for a reply, I follow the Sergeant towards the motor pool. Surprisingly, there were only one or two smoke columns coming from that direction. Only one came from the town behind it.

“After you and the German left, we were pushed from our hole due to numbers. We fell back with some other troopers, fighting as we went. When we got near the motor pool, that's where we drew the line in the sand. Many other troopers had fallen back to there as well due to being driven back. Actually,” Kilborn pauses, “I think that y'all are the forward most position we've encountered.”

“Really?” I ask, to which his response is a nod, “Damn. Where's Gonz and Jones, by the way?”

Hooves on dirt cause me to look to my side in time to see Ink slow to a walking pace next to me.

“Getting Ink's armor and any of our gear that may have survived. Hopefully we won't be coming back,” Sarge replies.

“Won't be coming back?” Ink asks, some fear in her voice.

“This is the ending move,” Kilborn explains, “Either we defeat them at their main camp or we all die trying. Either way, we won't be coming back here.”

“I see...” she replies with some unsureness still in her voice.

Continuing the walk in silence, we soon end up passing by many on watch soldiers and entering the motor pool. The carpet of brass is thick around the motor pool, as is the amount of dead. Tanks sit in a circle around the motor pool, the whining of motors filling the air as the turrets scan for any potential hostiles. This really was where they drew the line, I think to myself as I examine the carnage in the growing light. Looking up, I see clouds being flown in by pegasus ponies who had stayed to do their job as weather ponies.

“Must the sky weep?” I whisper.

“What?” Ink asks. I curse myself for not saying it quieter.

“Nothing,” I reply as I look to her and giver her a reassuring smile.

“Alright,” she responds as our group comes to a stop before Athena. Littering the top of her roof is the casings of her .50 Cal.

“Looks like she got use,” I remark, plucking a fifty casing from the roof.

“Damn right she did. Only time Gonz let off the trigger is to reload,” Kilborn replies as he opens the driver door, leans in, and starts the Humvee up. With a grumbling roar, the Humvee shakes itself to life. With the clicking of ignitions, the air around me begins to shake as the engines of every surviving Coalition vehicle roars to life, as if the awakening of Athena was the cue.

“They're gonna regret attacking us!” Kilborn shouts with a smile.

“I'm sure everypony is going to regret the outcome of this,” I hear Ink say from beside me.

I think you're going to be right about that one. I think to myself with a frown as I watch the increase in scrambling in my fellow soldiers. I'm damn sure not all of us are coming back from this.