Sunspot 4
The mortar shell exploded among the patrol without warning. In the blink of an eye, three armored earth ponies were thrown from their hooves and landed with sickening thuds a good twenty meters away. Wind Talker's eyes swam and his ears rang from his proximity to the blast but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew what had happened. He reacted instinctively, trying to force his legs to move, get up, and get away from the horrible attack but his body would not respond. Then his training kicked in and he realized that it would be silly to move under indirect fire anyway, so he kept his weapon covered and buried his head in the dirt. Several more mortars burst around the patrol and Wind Talker swore he could hear more of his friends die as they were hurled through the air by forces almost beyond their comprehension.
Half a minute passed after the last explosion and the valley was silent.
“I think they're done!” somepony shouted, “all clear!” Wind Talker recognized the voice of Steelhoof, one of the squad leaders.
The rest of the platoon took up the call, “All clear!”
Wind Talker struggled to his feet. The weight of the radio equipment, lovingly packed into saddlebags at his side, made him unsteady as it swayed back and forth, the antenna flapping about and smacking him in the back of the head. Around him the platoon was dispersing in random directions, some remembering their training and some not so much. He saw the short, dark form of Steelhoof and galloped in his direction at full speed. Steelhoof was motioning for anypony that could see to follow him as he headed for a hill ahead and to their left.
The radio crackled with activity, calling for the platoon leader to report, but it was no use. The platoon leader was dead. Wind Talker had seen the unicorn's broken and bleeding body trampled in the confusion. The platoon, broken and demoralized, had scattered to every corner of the valley and most of its leadership was too winded or panicked to respond. Wind Talker snarled. Those accursed Lunar rebels had probably been watching them ever since they crested the first hill.
A Lunar radio spat out corrections, which were repeated by a maroon-colored pegasus as he adjusted the mortar for more precise fire. Another pegasus fished a shell out of her saddlebag, waiting for the senior mortarpony's command. Hindsight observed them both with clinical detachment.
“They'll displace soon”, he observed.
“I don't like this one bit”, replied Footpad, “the Loonies are becoming too comfy in this area and it's making Settlement Boxer nervous.”
Footpad mumbled into her radio, a small, short-ranged device but much lighter than the traditional model, and the reply came through clear over their team's tactical net. Twinkle 9 agreed with their assessment. Authority to terminate was given to the leader on the ground which, in this case, was her.
“Well, what's your call, boss?” Hindsight asked the senior comms sergeant. His head never wavered from the body of his weapon, keeping it nice and stable.
“Wait until they've fired their next shot, then we take them. After this, we'll exfil and pass on the Solar patrol's movements to Boxer. Give the irregulars a chance to prove themselves. Should be an easy day for them.”
Hindsight didn't respond. He simply focused on controlling his breathing, forcing his heart to beat normally through the ice-cold grasp of fear. Anticipation warred with a whole tangle of different emotions in the young unicorn, who had only been on a few missions with Eclipse and had yet to mellow out like his fellow junior operatives.
The senior mortarpony yelled, “Fire!” and his young assistant responded immediately. The shell fell from her mouth into the tube and arced high into the air with a small pop. The two rebels cocked their heads, listening for the satisfying explosion that would surely be heard from here instead of picking up and vacating their position to fight another day. Bad move.
“In Twilight's name”, Hindsight breathed.
“In Twilight's name”, Footpad responded.
Two shots rang out, one after the other, and two mortarponies collapsed, their blood spilling out into the grass. Hindsight and Footpad broke cover immediately and rushed the dying mortar team, knocking away weapons and radio alike. Both Lunar rebels struggled in their final moments but their strength had already failed them; their bodies were just too stubborn to realize it. Footpad frisked the bodies and fished out maps, code books, and ration packets, while Hindsight dug a shallow hole and placed a small explosive charge inside. Covering the ground back up, he fished into one of his pouches for a thermite grenade and prepared to pull.
“Alright, I'm done”, said Footpad.
“Fire in the hole”, replied Hindsight, pulling on the pin and dropping the specialized grenade into the mortar tube.
“Your shot was off”, squawked the radio, “and the Solar patrol has scattered into the hills. There's no point in continuing. Are you there? Retreat. Respond, over.”
The mortar began to burn and warp on the inside as the thermite worked its magic. The two operatives had already vanished into the hills, chattering into their radios. When the spotter returned to check on his team and recover the mortar, he would be in for a nasty surprise.
Wind Talker gasped and wheezed. They had finally stopped running about ten minutes ago and reached the rally point along with a mouthful of survivors from second squad. Steelhoof was counting them up and inspecting them for injuries. Wind Talker could see the looks in their eyes and knew what each of them was thinking, because they probably matched the look in his own. They were all scared. Only Steelhoof, the unflappable, seemed completely unaffected by the ordeal.
“Call it up. We have six survivors”, he said, “and give me that map.”
Wind Talker keyed his radio and began to speak, “Sunrise, this is Sunspot 4. We came under indirect fire from enemy combatants and have successfully evaded. Break. Sunspot Actual is KIA. Break. I have eight survivors, including myself, and request eva-rghblealskdjff...”
Wind Talker's voice cut off into a gurgle. He felt a strong, sharp impact on the side of his neck.
“Sunspot 4, this is Sunrise. Say again, over. Sunspot 4? Respond! Sunspot 4!”
Wind Talker thrashed on the ground, fighting desperately to relay their situation back to headquarters, but the words would not come out. They were replaced by something wet and warm. He heard gunfire ringing out and saw the survivors of second squad falling before a group of grim-faced farmers with old rifles. He saw Steelhoof buck and rear, trying to bring his own weapon to bear, but he was overwhelmed by the weight of the ponies pressing in on him and fell, screaming his anger to the heavens.
“Sunspot 4, what is happening over there? In the name of Celestia, get ahold of yourself and tell me what's wrong!”
Wind Talker thought he had nothing left to give in terms of fear, but he was wrong. He thrashed on the ground, scrambling desperately away from his attackers. He fumbled around in vain for his weapon. One of the farmers had retrieved it and had it leveled straight at him. Desperation gave birth to pleading, but Wind Talker could not summon the words. Then, with a sharp crack, it was mercifully over.
The irregulars of Settlement Boxer did as they had been taught and frisked the bodies for sensitive equipment. They took armor, weapons, supplies, maps, radios. Then they began the slow trot back home to their wives and families. As far as anyone would know, a patrol from the Solar Empire had wandered too far into Lunar Republic territory, gotten into a firefight, and each side had wiped out the other. With any luck, the high command on both sides would decide that the area was too hot to contest any longer and eliminate any chance that they might accidentally discover the Veil. The secret of the Astral Alliance would be safe for another day, its people untouched, until the Day of Peace.