A Marine Staff Sergeant and his squad go to Pre-War Equestria and meet the Mane Six. How will they react to a world on the brink of war? But more importantly, how will they react to it's aftermath?
A Marine Corps Staff Sergeant and his squad are transported to Equestria during a time when war was just a step away. The Marines are meant for war, for combat. These Marines were not trained for this situation, nor of what to do to return home. How will they return to Earth? How will they react to an entire planet bracing for total nuclear war? Will they convince the Zebras to lay down their arms? But the more pressing questions are...
How will they react to the war's aftermath? How will they survive in a land ravaged by magitech weapons of mass destruction?
This is my contribution to the menagerie of Fo:E sidefics and I hoipe you enjoy it to the fullest. Many thanks to Kkat for making the beautiful work of art that is Fallout: Equestria and to Somber for Project Horizons.
(Both Littlepip and Backjack and co. will be making important appearances during this story. So sue me for having two badasses in one story!)
The United States Marine Corps is owned by the U.S Department of Defense.
MLP owned by Hasbro
Fallout: Equestria owned by Kkat
Fallout Equestria: Project Horizons owned by Somber
(The anthro tag is for later chapters with... stuff.)
Equestria, a land where your wildest dreams become a reality, friendship and harmony abounds, war is nonexistent, and all is well. Under the princesses, Celestia and Luna, their kingdom of Equestria has all but flourished under their benevolence and wisdom.
But… a storm looms on the horizon. The zebras, Equestria’s neighbors, grow unruly. With the recent discovery of coal, oil, and other resources that can be refined into electricity, fuel and other things, the economic status of the kingdom has tripled, thus leading to the creation of industrial giants such as Robronco, Stable-Tec, Ironshod Firearms and many more.
The zebras then started to send spies to steal Equestrian secrets and technology. Relations both political and economic became strained. Propaganda turned to fear; ponies all around looked at zebras with disgust and disdain. War seemed to be impossible to avoid.
To combat the looming threat of war, the Ministries were born. Celestia and Luna themselves appointed six mares – all of them close friends with each other, and Equestria’s first line of defense.
Twilight Sparkle, Applejack, Rarity, Rainbow Dash, Pinkie Pie and Fluttershy. These six friends were in charge of keeping Equestria from all-out war.
But their efforts failed. War came to Equestria and millions perished. Cities across the country were obliterated within seconds, with Cloudsdale being the first to fall. All of Equestrian society was utterly destroyed within hours of the war’s beginning.
Once bustling cities filled with life were now cesspools of death, their streets laid bare like bone. Hospitals lay abandoned; schools that were once a place of joy and learning were now barren shells.
For two hundred years, it was kill or be killed. For two hundred years, ponies had to survive off of Equestria’s scarred and bloodied husk. But after one Stable door opens…
All of that will end...
Meanwhile, in another universe…
The United States of America. A symbol of humanity’s will to resist tyranny and oppression. Ever since 1776, the United States has relied on a single fighting force to free others from oppression, cruelty and malice.
This fighting force has seen over two hundred years of war, peace, or both at some point. These men and women are the first line of warriors to the battle. They are in the sea, in the skies, and on the ground.
On November 10th, 1775, the United States created the U.S. Navy and the Marine Corps. The Marine Corps first saw action against France during the First Barbary War in 1805. They have participated in nearly every U.S. conflict in history.
These men and women have defended their country with their brethren, side-by-side since their nation’s founding. One man and his squad of Marines shall face an enemy that is too great for any one man to handle. Together they will tread through hell, fire and brimstone. Why would they do such a task? They will learn the meaning of friendship and harmony.
“We go in, get what we need and get out. But don’t blame us if there’s bodies on the floor.”
0800 hrs. Camp Lejeune, N.C. Sgt. Jason M. Stone Force Reconnaissance Unit 01
I’m dreaming… that’s all I want to do is dream. I don’t want the next day to come. For anything that’ll happen is the nightmare. That’s all I’ve been dreaming about for the past two months. At first, I dismiss it. It’s something that happens and I move on.
But gradually, it gets worse. It starts out with me in a foggy street, what seems like snow falls from the sky as if time were like a snail crossing the street. I can’t see two feet ahead of me. I call out and listen for a response, but there is none.
Then there’s the bodies…
They cover the street like grisly decorations, something out of an Edgar Allan Poe novel. But they aren’t human. They seem like miniature horses, wearing clothing, shoes and jewelry like a human.
Some are bony like they were starved to death. Some look deformed like zombies, others dressed in some form of armor that a demented six-year old made in a drawing. Others looked beaten and tortured, their limbs broken and scattered.
Suddenly massive skyscrapers take shape around me. Scorch marks on the walls outline the horses just going about their business until their lives come to an untimely end.
What intrigues me the most are six separate bodies holding small statuettes. I can’t read the inscriptions. Then a light emanates from behind me and I see a purple unicorn with violet hair.
She whispers, “Help us.” I shiver, chills taking a bullet train through my spine. My breathing becomes heavy and labored. I go into a cold sweat. I was never trained for this.
I then hear a gunshot directly behind me. I twist my body to meet the source, and I feel cold. My vision blurs as I touch my stomach, only to find blood seeping through. I take one last look to the source of the shot, and I see a unicorn in a blue suit and another covered head-to-toe in high-tech armor.
My vision fades to black as the nightmare ends.
The alarm next to my bed buzzes and burrows its way into my skull. What time is it? I didn’t want to know. My eyes creak open to see the red, blinking numbers of my alarm.
It’s Tuesday, nothing ever happens on Tuesdays. And its 0800. Half the base isn’t even up yet. Me and my squad are supposed to be on our way to Afghanistan for a recon op. Wait, our flight is supposed to leave…
Today. Motherfuck...
Cursing under my breath, I quickly get my rucksack with all my gear, my BDU’s, my cap and weapons, cursing all the way like a Marine would.
On the way, I see a colonel and as I’m running by, make a terrible attempt at a salute. I hope he doesn’t-
“STONE, GET YOUR ASS BACK HERE!” ...notice.
I quickly run back and stand at attention.
“Stone, just where the hell do you think you’re going? The buses for the airport are THAT way! And salute me properly next time, dammit! Now get outta my sight, the bus leaves in ten!”
I holler “Aye-aye, sir!” as I sprint for the buses. Note to self: NEVER do that again.
2100 Forward Operating Base Rhino Afghanistan
The trip on the plane is pretty quiet so far. Us Recon gyrenes are feared by some, respected by all. We’re responsible for intelligence on enemy positions anywhere in the world. And the best part of it all is the fact that we’re Special Operations Capable, SOC for easy remembering.
If we have orders, we can work alongside Rangers, SEALs, you name it. It’s nothing personal, but I’d trust one of my Marines over a Navy boy any day of the week.
With all that’s been happening in the Middle East, USSOCOM wants us Recon Marines to scout out the area for any traces of Taliban fighters, or worse, Al-Qaeda.
“Sir? Staff Sergeant Stone?” My ears receive the message but my brain doesn’t. I still lay there without moving. I feel someone punch my shoulder, forcing a reaction.
“Hey! It’s our newest addition to the family.” Oh, yeah. Recent graduate of MCRD Parris Island. My alma mater is San Diego. Hot as hell there.
I hate it when someone does that. It’s completely uncalled for! A guy can’t get any rest without someone getting offended these days.
She quickly stands at attention, saluting me, even though I’m still half asleep.
“Sir! Private Joaquin Daniels, assigned to Recon Unit One, reporting for duty!”
Assigned? Great. I’ll try not to kill her on her first day, but I can’t help her if she can’t keep up. Slowly, I drag myself out of my sleepy stupor and get to my feet.
I make sure to walk around her and stop right in front of her just so the point gets across. You can never be truly sure, just sure enough.
“Ok, Private, here’s how things work in my unit: you do what your superiors say and if you’re unsure of the orders issued by my men, then talk to me. We are a team, we work as a team, talk as a team. We live and breathe… as a team. Do we understand each other?”
“Aye, sir!” That’s good enough for me. Welcome to the family, Private Daniels
The entire plane groans and creaks; a whining sound fills the plane’s innards. We must be landing soon.
“Alright, everyone should have their seatbelt on. We’re landing,” the built-in P.A. system crackles.
I don’t like this part. We all settle into our seats as the pilot brings the plane around. We slowly descend until the plane’s wheels make contact with the tarmac below; a resounding thud compliments it.
“Sergeant, you alright?” I’d feel better if we just drove. At least we’re on the ground.
“I’m fine, Private Mendoza.” I decide to not let him worry. The last thing he needs to worry about is me and my fear of planes. A bunch of flying coffins if you ask me.
After an incident involving heavy turbulence over northern Japan, I took every single option other than flying everywhere I went. Transport by boat? No problem. Transport by land convoy with possible IEDs? Total walk in the park. Travel by helicopter? NO. Just no.
“Oh, por el amor de Dios, dime lo que está mal! I can help… only if you tell me what’s wrong.” Son of a bitch. He’s playing his ‘I speak Spanish and you have to listen to me.’ card. Don’t...must...not…
“I have a fear of airplanes.” Goddamn it.
“Está bien. Todos tenemos nuestros miedos. We all have our fears.” The plane lurches forward as the plane slows to a halt. I grip my seat belt tightly.
I notice my second-in-command, Cpl. Ferguson, is snoring on my shoulder. He was up all night talking to another Private about Officer Candidate School. I don’t want to be an officer. Life has shit-canned me on three separate occasions. I guess God wants me to stay enlisted.
“Ferguson, wake up. We’re here.” No response, not even a smidge of movement. I’ve wanted to do this for a while. Trust me, you’re gonna love this.
I motion for the others to come over and whisper in PFC. Aaron Hoods’ ear.
“Sound the alarm.” He is going to hate me so much after this, but what can I say? I need a good laugh.
He nods his head and motions for the alarm console near the cockpit.
From PFC Hood's POV
The corporal’s not gonna like this. He’s going to snap like a twig, if he doesn’t have a heart attack first.
I make my way to the cockpit, passing by other Marines as I go. They don’t know that this plane is gonna wake up half the base in about ten to fifteen seconds.
I reach a console that says, WARNING: Fire Alarm and Suppression Console. In case of emergency, open console door and press the Alarm Activation button, marked by black and yellow stripes. Proceed to evacuate the aircraft according to FAA regulations.”
Bingo. I open her up and see the button, a red, glowing circle surrounded with yellow and black stripes. Reminds me of a book I read in college, ‘The Girl who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest’. My hand approaches the button, a surge of adrenaline taking a one-way to my brain, making my hand lurch forward and make contact.
I press down. I hope I live to regret this…
SSgt Stone’s POV
The plane’s insides soon turns a crimson red, alarms blaring, men and women scurrying out of the plane like scared ‘roaches. Some of them run out towards the barracks.
Not two seconds after, my snoring corporal is on his feet and screaming bloody murder and curse words, all while running out of the plane like a total moron.
“AH! What in the name of fuck is going on?! Help me, Tom Cruise! Help me, God! Save me! I’m burning!”
I can’t even. I just can’t. ‘Help me Tom Cruise’? Wonder where he got that from. But I can’t even speak right now, too busy laughing my ass off.
Two hours later
After a couple hours and a stern ass-chewing by a second-lieutenant, we’re settling into the base quite well. The lieutenant was the only person on-post who yelled at us angrily. The rest of the guys who heard about the “plane fire” laughed at Ferguson’s act of temporary insanity.
Some of them even filmed it. Pure military pranking at it’s finest. My DI would’ve yelled at me and told me to do forty, but I know on the inside he would’ve laughed.
“You’re an asshole. A complete. Fucking. Asshole.”
The first thing he says after all the humor and he says that? Come on, I put effort into that prank.
“After everything, that’s all you say?” Really? Well I suppose I should have seen this coming. He’s always been like that after I humble him in front of a crowd. To be honest, I’d react almost the exact same way if our roles were reversed.
“Fuck you!” Something’s missing from that insult. I’m gonna call him out on that.
“Excuse me, corporal? What was that?” I raise an eyebrow and his demeanor instantly changes, like a chameleon swapping colors in the jungle.
“Fuck you… sir.” His face turns into a shade like that of a stop sign. Much better.
“That’s it. Was that so difficult? Now, first thing, you need to learn when to sleep and when to wake up. Your snoring was nearly unbearable.” One of the men made a motion that seemed as if he wanted to shoot him. My men really didn’t care, we were used to it by now.
“I was about to strangle you if the Sergeant didn’t stop me.” Private Harry Jameson, brainiac, and general rulebook and dictionary rolled into a human shell. He’s also our resident Field Medic, which is good… sometimes.
I shake my head at his comment. He wasn’t wrong. If I’d let things continue without my intervention, someone would be dead of asphyxiation right now.
“Private Jameson, let’s not dwell on that. Right now we got bigger fish to fry.” I find that sort of cliche’d as it exits my mouth. Must be because it’s been said a million times.
“So where’s Daniels? She went AWOL after the “Ferguson fiasco”. Think she went to play ball with the Scouts?” Hood spoke as he grabbed a Coke out of the mini-fridge and opened it.
Come to think of it, we needed to get her anyways. A VIP was on-post here and wanted to speak with us about a mission that we were more than qualified to handle. Sounds like another day at the office.
“Come on, boys, we got ourselves an op to do.” I motion for us to leave, and we wanted to see what this op was about.
Base Command Center FOB Rhino 2000
We arrive at the base’s command center, with our newest member in tow. We meet the Base Commander, a Brigadier General from the looks of it. Lot’s of bands on his chest. Looks like he served in Iraq after 9/11. Operation Iraqi Freedom. Dad would’ve jumped at the chance of commanding Rangers back then.
My heart sinks a bit now that I think about it. I salute the general like I do every officer.
“Sir! Staff Sergeant James Stone and Recon Unit zero-one reporting for duty as requested!” The others make sure to follow suit as their boots snap together behind me.
“At ease.” We take a step to the left and put our right hand over our left. Great, now I’m starting to sound like Jameson.
“Welcome to FOB Rhino. I’m the commanding officer on this base, Brigadier General Edwards. I’m sure by now that you’ve been requested for a mission in this area that you are more than equipped to handle. Well, I’m here to tell you that you’re not going alone on this op.”
Wait a minute. “Alone”? That sounds bad the way he said it. And we are more than capable of handling ourselves, we don’t need no babysitter.
“I’d like to introduce you to Lance Corporal Robert Haines, Marine Scout Sniper. He’s going with you on this mission.”
A Scout. Out of everything else, they assigned a Scout. I know we’re lowly enlisted Marines, but seriously? I don’t like this.
“A pleasure to meet you, Staff Sergeant.” His voice sounds hollow, very unsettling. I force my hand to meet his and we shake hands
“Now that you’ve been acquainted with each other, let’s get to business.” He opens a door that leads to a room with a projector pointing to a wall with a map of a large town.
I guess this is our mission briefing. These guys don’t mess around.
“Three months ago, a Marine convoy went missing in northeastern Afghanistan.”
“How many were in the convoy?” I need more information than just a convoy MIA.
“It was a small supply convoy, meant to give supplies to fellow Army boys that are trying to hold a pisshole the brass calls a town. Calls it ‘strategically vital’.”
From the way I’m hearing it, it sounds like the exact opposite. I’m guessing it’s our job to take it back. I’ll just ask what we’re supposed to do for the record.
“So what’s our job, sir?” The general grins. It’s creepy.
“I was hoping you’d say that sooner. Your mission is to take back the town and secure that convoy. Lance Corporal Haines will be at your disposal for the mission.”
“Just give the word and I can provide sniper cover whenever you need it.” He sounds like he wants to do it. Creepy vibe, though.
“I’ll take that. When do we move out, sir?”
“ASAP. Get everything you need and report to the airfield as soon as you’re done.” It sounds simple enough. Go in, secure the town, get the equipment and get the fuck out of dodge.
“Sounds like a plan, sir.” A grin forms on my mug. This stuff is what I was born to do. What we were born to do.
Time to get some.
Ooo-rah.
Note: Level up! Level 2 New perks added!
Forged in The Crucible: Lvl 1: Your testing in the Crucible has made you into a walking tank that dishes out pain. 15% damage reduction.
Brothers in Arms: Lvl 2: You and your comrades have a bond stronger than titanium and it shows. Your companions give you 12% damage reduction when traveling with them.
Steady Hands: Lvl 2: You have a steady hand when it comes to shooting targets at range. 20% more chance for a critical hit with rifles and automatics.
Ironclad: Lvl 2: You can do anything you set your mind to and no one has the power to stop you. New dialogue options available.
Mindfuck: Lvl 2: You and your nightmares have left you on edge. 30% chance of addiction to Psycho and other mind drugs.
Scarred Memories: Lvl 2: A choice event in your past has left you scarred. New dialogue options available.
Meanwhile…
Ponyville had changed. For five mares who stuck together through thick and thin, everything was turned on its head. The Wonderbolts: Equestria's premier fliers, had suffered a great loss.
Four Wonderbolts were killed in a secret mission involving Zebra gem pirates and seventeen hostages held captive for over two weeks. The operation to free them was a success as all but one of the hostages received serious injury and escaped with their lives. The Caesar of the Zebras offered support to Princess Celestia, but didn't allow Equestrians into Zebra territory, for fear of stretching the relations between the two nations to dangerous levels.
Reportedly, his army's intelligence suggested that the pirates were operating in international waters, as to avoid action from both sides. War now seemed even closer than ever.
The Princess claimed the operation in the Zebras' own territory was a result of "happy miscommunication" and gave the Caesar a direct apology for the actions of the Wonderbolts on their behalf
For one rainbow-haired pegasus, however, it was a tragedy. All her life, her only wish was to join the Wonderbolts and become the best flier in Equestrian history, her name being chanted as she and her team tore through the skies.
She left her friends to join Equestria's newest airborne fighting force, the Skyguard. Knowing that her friends wouldn't understand and more than likely object to her decision, she told Princess Celestia to tell her friends that she was simply on vacation.
Princess Celestia, her knowing the fact that war seemed closer than ever, appointed Twilight, Applejack, Pinkie, Rarity and Fluttershy to strengthen diplomatic relations with the buffalo. Now with the recent discovery of firearms, war seemed more harrowing than ever.
“You never go FUBAR… we never go FUBAR. When things go FUBAR, I cannot be held responsible for what happens afterwards.”
The ride to the outskirts of the town takes around two hours. The only thing we did was talk about things at home. How our civilian lives were. What we’d want to do when we got rotated home. Mainly Ferguson talks, he wants to go home and see his son. Haines and Jameson have girlfriends waiting back home. Mendoza, Hood and Daniels don’t have much to look forward to when they rotate.
Me? It’s complicated. My parents split when me and my sister were seventeen, sister went up to Milwaukee to find a job at Johnson Controls.
Sis took the breakup especially hard; it took a trip to Panera and Starbucks just to get her to tell me what’s wrong. She’s always been the baby of the family. She’s always been paid more attention and has more stuff than my parents combined.
They were instrumental in her development as a young woman and a teen. Dad took her to the prom, Mom took her out on her first drive, the works. I did my part giving drunk advice on sex positions. Not something I’m really proud of.
I went my own way and joined the Corps. I wanted to do something with my life other than sitting at a desk dealing with paperwork from nine-to-five. Someone, somewhere beyond our borders. They’re planning on hurting my family, my country,
...my freedom.
So I’m gonna do everything I can to hurt them back. Nobody hurts my family or my country without dealing with me first.
But that’s all in the past. The present is where I live.
The brakes squeak as we stop. We were at the outskirts of the town, a speck of light in the middle of Afghanistan’s seemingly endless and merciless desert. The chill of the night gnawing at our bodies.
Right now, all I wanted was a cup of hot chocolate. Hey, a Marine can dream! Or can he?
We all get out of the Humvee and immediately we’re met with the first crescent moon of summer, it's light rays blanketing the landscape like a child covering itself, ready to dream.
I look toward the town and suddenly feel a tug at my shoulder. I turn to see who’s there, yet I only see the tire tracks left by the Humvee and the moon in the sky. I feel as if I was being watched by God or some other powerful being; the wind whistled into my ears.
“Prepare.”
I’m not sure if I’m just suffering from a case of sleep-deprivation or what. I gotta talk to Ferguson about this, he knows more about this than I do. I should consider myself lucky he was assigned to me after my promotion to Staff Sergeant.
“Stryker, this is Badger. I’m on my way to provide sniper cover. Give the word when you need fire support, over.” My radio crackles and screeches as I adjust the radio frequency before I lose my hearing.
“Badger, this is Stryker. Copy that, we’ll enter the town through an entrance from the south. Let’s try not to alert the town of our presence until we exfil, copy?”
"I copy"
“What are they packing, over?” I need more intel before I can send my Marines out there. This isn’t a suicide mission and I don’t plan on making it one.
“I can’t see exactly. Low visibility, over.” Well that’s nice. You can see the bad guys, but not their equipment? Fucking useless. I let out a deep sigh as I reply over the radio without sounding offended.
“Badger, Stryker, copy that. We’re moving in. Provide cover fire as needed, Stryker out.” We move to the south wall on the town’s southern tip. The wall stretched for at least five miles encircling the town and at least eighty feet high. The convoy’s last known location on satellites was somewhere near the western plaza.
“Okay, here’s our game plan. Mendoza, go in with Hood and Jameson and secure us a path out of here for exfil. Ferguson and Daniels, you’re with me. Let’s move it, Marines!” They all respond with a firm “Yessir!”
I love it when they do that. Reminds me of my time practicing drills with my dad.
Our first thing was getting over the damn wall. I got myself a grappling hook for that. Twirling it around like a sideways lasso, I use its momentum and heave it upwards.
It lands somewhere on the other side of the wall and I pull back, and a few seconds later, I feel resistance on the rope. I give the signal for the others to get on the rope, onto the other side of the wall and continue to their objectives.
Mendoza and Hood go first seeing as their objective is vital to our mission’s success. After Hood gives the word that the wall’s clear and it’s safe for me and the others to go up, I go first, then Ferguson and then Daniels.
Halfway up the wall, I hear a strange noise and smell something terrible. Oh, that is so gross! The smell is storming my brain and leaving absolute chaos in it’s wake. Smells like fresh rotten eggs, what did he eat?
“Sorry ‘bout that, sir! Had a burrito before the mission,” he whispers up so that the insurgents who’ve taken the town don’t realize we’re here before we want them to. I think that’s going to be a problem, considering the fact that Ferguson dropped a M.O.A.F. The Mother Of All Farts.
“Good God, Ferguson, you could’ve just blown the mission! Next time, have a hot dog!”
Hopefully it doesn’t last long in the air at range. If it does, we’re as good as dead. From what I’ve heard, the insurgents in these parts don’t just kill every American they see, they viciously and brutally attack them.
They take rocks the size of softballs and hit them like target practice. After that, they take the rocks they throw and bash them into their skulls until they collapse, their brains cover the floor, streaks of red from where their bodies were beaten and tortured.
What happened that these people were so animalistic as to take a human being and beat it’s skull to the point of rupture? We might never know. That’s not what scares me though, what scares me is what they’ll do to my Marines and I.
We get to the top of the wall and do the same thing, except going down the wall. If anything, that little spiel has me more than on edge. We make it inside the town and I give the signal to separate. Hood, Mendoza and Jameson go and secure our exfil while me and the others secure the convoy.
After some near run-ins with the locals, we see a lone Humvee with a fifty-cal standing out like a sore thumb on the top. We see three trucks and another Humvee parked single-file along what appears to be the marketplace of the town.
“Badger, this is Stryker. The convoy has been identified. No sign of the Marines. Do you have visual, over?” I whisper so that anyone within immediate distance of me can hear the radio.
“Stryker, Badger, copy that. Confirm visual on convoy.”
A tap on my shoulder brings me away from my conversation and I see blood trails leading away from the convoy leading a giant pool of blood near a doorway leading into a building.
Son of a bitch… I can smell the rotting flesh and caking blood from here. Ferguson just stares into the door. Daniels almost vomits, I honestly don’t blame her one bit. Back in my first year of being a Marine, I saw vultures gnawing on an Al-Qaeda fighter’s remains.
I try not to think back on it as painful memories start clawing their way into my head, plus I have a mission to complete. Those Marines deserve a proper burial.
But we can’t give it to them, our mission is paramount over everything in this godforsaken town. I give the others the signal to move in on the trucks, since there’s multiple vehicles I need the others to drive the vehicles out.
“Ferguson, on me. Daniels, get the trucks and wait for my signal.”
The two get to the trucks and attach what look like… miniature parachutes? Oh. I forgot that we were supposed to extract the trucks with the new equipment we got during our briefing.
The Fulton Recovery System does what us grunts do, but in record time and safer, I hear. Soon, technology’s gonna replace the U.S. Armed Forces if someone doesn’t do something about it.
The trucks slowly float off the ground, they simply float in mid-air for a few seconds and then skyrocket. Jesus, to think they used those on Marines in ‘Nam and they survived!
With the trucks taken care of, we need to exfil before things get hairy. I motion for the others to get in the Humvee, Daniels takes the fifty and Ferguson rides shotgun.
I get into the driver’s seat and turn over the ignition. And then one man with an AK starts screamin’ in Arabic or some shit and starts shooting. This is where the fun part of our job starts.
“Hang on! Daniels, fire at will! ENGAGE, ENGAGE, ENGAGE!” The fifty caliber weapon of mass destruction churns out bullets the size of my dick at more than three-hundred miles per hour and with a badass chakka-chakka-chakka.
The town is like the first Pac-Man level ever made, it’s a fucking maze! I constantly haul the wheel left and right, nearly flipping the Humvee every time. All the while, seven-six-two millimeter rounds are dropping onto us like rain, the Humvee soon turning into a rolling, mechanical Swiss cheese block.
“Badger, Stryker! We are exfilling right now, request immediate sniper cover, over!” I manage to holler into my radio over the menagerie of gunfire, screaming and a fifty caliber machine gun constantly firing.
“Stryker, Badger! I copy, sending fire now!” I barely hear his response before another voice comes over the comms.
“Stryker, this is Raven! We’re pinned down by enemy RPG and gun emplacements on the roofs of multiple buildings! Requesting immediate support, over!” There’s no way I’m abandoning them, and so help me God if he says something like “Leave them, there’s nothing you can do.” or something like that, I will personally neuter him!
There’s an awkward long pause on the radio.
“Badger, Raven. Copy on support request, sending fire now.” That’s what I like to hear! Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea after all. Besides the creepy voice, I can get used to him. Besides, there’s nothing wrong with having a sniper covering your six.
“Raven, this is Stryker. We’re on our way for your exfil, dig in until we get there, out!” I use my strength to haul the wheel to the right on a particularly sharp corner and gun it.
“Look out!” Ferguson pops the top half of his body out of the Humvee, despite the fact that we’re under fire from all sides. This is why I love him like a brother. He’s crazy like me sometimes.
I see a figure up ahead standing upright with something… oh no.
“RPG!!!” I jerk the wheel to the left as hard as I possibly can as a white rocket flashes towards us at speed. Come on, you son of a bitch, TURN!
“I GOT IT!” Daniels times a burst of hot lead towards our attempted assailant and he evaporates into a mess of blood and guts. God, I love big guns. They’re like my dick, strong and able to do the job when needed.
The wheels nearly tore off the vehicle as we narrowly avoid complete obliteration and arrive at the hot zone where Mendoza and the others are pinned.
“COME ON! Get to the Humvee, let’s go! Move it!” I holler out to the others, and somehow without anybody getting shot, we make our exit out of this hell-hole.
But first there’s the tens of hundreds of angry Arabic religious maniacs who would like nothing more than our guts all over the walls and our bodies stoned to death. That presents a problem.
We continue to make our way through small-arms and RPG fire until we make it to the town’s only exit, and they’ve turned it into Fort Knox.
Two machine gun nests were emplaced on opposites sides of the exit with two machine guns, more than likely RPK’s or something similar. The land just before the exit was dug out and turned into a small trench, with at least a dozen tangos behind the line.
We can’t get out and take them head on, we can’t run for long because we’re already under fire by multiple enemies, the only solution I can think of at the moment…
Drive over them, turn them into roadkill. Let’s see how they like it when they have a taste of their own medicine.
I push my foot down as far as it’ll go and hope that we have enough speed to make it through the gate. From initial intelligence reports, the town’s gates are three feet of solid wood.
The engine growls louder and louder as we approach the gates of hell.
Three.
Two.
One.
I hope this works!
“HANG ON!”
I hear screaming from the whole squad and from outside as a sickening crack rings into my ears.
I open my eyes to find the Afghan desert sand stretching for miles without end. Mission accomplished.
Me and the others hoot and holler as loud as our happiness. I could’ve just blown the whole mission, but I didn’t. We made it to the Promised Land.
“Jesus H. Christ, Stone! You’re crazy!” Hah! That’s why I’m so good at my job.
“Ah, suck a dick, Haines! We did it!” Wow, Ferguson. Chill out. I know he’s a party-pooper but… nevermind.
“That’s how you exfil! That’s how you drive! Who are we?” I decide it’s time for a yell call. Because, fuck it, we’re celebrating.
“MARINE CORPS!”
“I said WHO ARE WE?”
“MARINE CORPS, SIR!” Ooo-rah to ashes!
“Stryker to Badger, we are on our way for pick-up, time to go home, over.” All I hear is static on the radio.
I try the Humvee’s radio. “Stryker to Badger, prepare for pick-up, over.” Nothing, something’s off.
“Badger, do you copy, over?” Come on, give me something, here.
“Badger! This is Staff Sergeant James Stone calling Lance Corporal Haines, over!” Come on, you stubborn son of a bitch! Talk to me!
“Sir! Look!” Daniels hollers. I see a light, but I’m too late to stop it.
I see light everywhere and then my vision warps and deforms into a rural, city environment. I don’t feel the steering wheel around my fingers anymore. I specifically remember being in the asscrack of nowhere, now me and my squad are in a city?!
What the actual fuck is happening!?
“Sir, what the fuck is happening!?”
My vision violently switches left and right, everything blurred and colorful. But then I see… Sweet fucking Mary and Jesus, I have lost my mind.
A miniature horse with yellow hair and wings is escorting another, smaller horse with- is that a HORN?! A FUCKING HORN!
Hood comes up and we all go back to back, noticing the Humvee is nowhere to be seen. We’re in the middle of a plaza, skyscrapers towering around us. I see a castle in the distance on a mountain's side. I start to feel like an giant among ants. Miniature horses coming to and fro.
“Sir… are we FUBAR?”
It pains me to say it, but yes…
We are so FUBAR.
Note: New perks added! Level up!
Road Rage: Lvl 2: Your driving is great, but with a bad temper… not so much. Enemies take 30% more damage when hit with a moving vehicle.
Sharp Eye: Lvl 2: You have a keen eye when it comes to spotting enemies from a distance. 25% increased S.A.T.S engagement range.
Washington D.C. The Pentagon USSOCOM HQ Force Reconnaissance Wing
“They say war never changes... They never said anything about the battlefield.”
Ten minutes after loss of contact.
I must be part stupid because I don’t get it. How could a squad of my Recon Marines in northwestern Afghanistan just disappear off the face of the fucking planet! The facts just don’t add up!
We have over twenty surveillance satellites in orbit and these radar jockeys can’t find seven Marines in a desert. Alone. In the middle of August. Either the satellites are malfunctioning pieces of shit and we should scrap ‘em, or the people operating them are plain stupid. Although… most of the satellites are five to seven years old, so it could just be me.
“I don’t understand, how could we lose radio and visual and satellite contact all of a sudden?” I had to yell to get the question across the myriad of chatter the room became. Must be my old ears.
“We’ve lost all visual and radio contact. Attempting to reconnect.”
He started click-clacking at the keyboard viciously, a sea of words erupting onto the screen. I couldn’t make anything of it at all. Suddenly, I start beeping. I never beep, at least if it isn’t so important that is has Alpha priority etched in red letters on my pager. This can’t be good.
“Excuse me, I have to take this.” I walk away real smooth-like, masking my already piqued interest and taking my leave out of the room.
A Marine Corporal stands at attention and escorts me through the maze of corridors and hallways that is The Pentagon to the “War Room”.
Inside, I find myself sharing a table with the Secretary of Defense, the Cabinet and the Joint Chiefs. I don’t like where this is going, but I keep my tongue.
“General, welcome. Please have a seat.” One of the Joint Chiefs has an aura of power that usually comes from a select few. I take up his offer without hesitation and find myself a seat.
“I think I already know what this is about, but humor me. What am I doing here?”
“I think you already know…” The Secretary’s tone darkens. I stay completely silent.
“Ten minutes ago, a Marine Force Reconnaissance detachment disappeared off our scopes without a trace. We came to you to hopefully find out exactly why that is.” His tone suggests he wanted an answer. I don’t have one.
“We honestly don’t know what happened. Twenty minutes ago, they were participating in a liberation op on a nearby town and were just ex-filling out of the area.” I tell him the honest to God truth.
“As far as we know, you’re the one who gave them that mission.” The Secretary of Defense bores into me. They wouldn’t. Don’t tell me that they’re actually blaming me for this.
“Don’t you have something better to do than to blame one of our best generals? Especially when he’s commanded over three thousand troops in one of the bloodiest battles in world history? A squad of some of our best Marines has just been declared MIA!” One of the Joint Chiefs speaking up? And in my defense? Truly, things have changed.
“Cut the shit people, we have a job to do…” The SOD is really not happy today. What happened? Al-Qaeda stick a burr up his ass? A drop in the polls? If so, they did a really good job.
“Who was in command of the detachment?” A Fleet Admiral breaks up the bickering, I’m glad he did.
“Staff Sergeant James Matthew Stone, signed up for the Marine Corps six years ago and has been on twenty-seven recon ops, search and destroys, VIP recovery missions, VIP assassination missions and an assortment of classified missions that would make a man insane. Don’t be mistaken gentlemen, what you’re looking at is a bona fide American soldier.” Sounds like your average Recon jockey. My cup of tea.
“So he’s a decorated soldier. We have plenty of those. What about his civvie life, before the Corps? Who was he before we trained him to be a killer?” What is this guy’s problem? He’s starting to get under my skin. It’s like he’s considering Stone to be a criminal and this is starting to look like an interrogation.
“Mr. Secretary, with all due respect, is this a briefing or an interrogation?”
“It’s whatever I want it to be, General Bryce. Now who the hell is James Stone?”
“Again, with all due respect, he’s one the best Marines I’ve seen in years. He was under my command for three years and did missions nobody else had the balls to do, or was too busy dealing with political and PR bullshit. While we were off with our dicks in the wind in Iraq, Stone and his men were searching for Hussein’s WMD’s he was supposedly testing on his own people!” I really hope I live long enough to regret that. I expect him to lash out, he just sits and glares daggers at me. My tirade must’ve had more of an effect than I thought.
“Okay… So why is he and his squad labeled as MIA?” Again, I come up with a blank.
“I honestly don’t know.”
Meanwhile...
...Fuck. Okay, sanity? That’s up for debate. Squad? They’re just as confused as I am. Where the fuck are we? Hell if I know!
The winged horse along with what seems to be its child are just looking at us. Either they are oblivious to the fact that we don’t fit into this picture, or they’re just staring for some other reason. I’ve got to choose my next actions carefully. Panic is NOT good, so it’s something I want to hopefully-
“OH GODDESSES! WHAT ARE THOSE THINGS!?”
“SOMEPONY GET A GUN!”
Just before I fucking say it. You have got to be fucking kidding me!
“MARINES, MOVE IT!” I motion to move into a cafe across the street from us. I don’t know what it holds and I honestly don’t care right now. My first priority is to find out where the fuck we are!
In a worst case scenario, one of us usually yells out something like “We’re FUBAR!” Now would be the time if anyone’s got it.
“With all due respect, we’re FUBAR!” Hood’s carrying voice makes him seem so loud enough it seems he’s right next to me. I knew somebody was gonna say it, just didn’t expect the only black guy in our squad to say it.
We need to figure out just what the shit-eating FUCK is happening here!
“I did NOT sign up for this bullshit!” Well look who’s talking, Corporal Ferguson, a man who says he can go anywhere and do anything, yet he procrastinates ninety percent of the time..
Daniels hollers over the screams of the… inhabitants. “Corporal, with all due respect, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” I’ll have to chastise her about that particular phrase later, right now we have bigger fish to fry. Although, I do have to congratulate her. Too. Usually privates like her are strictly by-the-book. They grow up so fast.
Mendoza lets out a yell as he sprints full steam into the cafe door and blasts it off its hinges, making me think twice about challenging him to football. We all file in and start turning the place into a half-assed fortress. Me and Hood turn over tables and make barricades on the windows to prevent any… thing else from seeing us. The rest make sure there weren’t any back entrances or secret paths in. I take a moment to glance at what seems to be a menu of sorts. ‘Pony Joe’s Donut Shop’? Who the fuck comes up with a name for a shop like that? I can understand eccentricity, but this is a bit over the top for me.
I can hear all sorts of commotion happening outside. Why do I feel like Burt Lancaster from Gunfight at the O.K. Corral? Is it because I’m on the wrong side of a standoff on an alien planet?
The rush of adrenaline is pushing my heart rate through the roof by now, I love it. This is what being a Marine is like. You’re neck deep in the shit, your squad is right there with you and it’s you versus the world. You feel it pushing down on you, but you know in your heart that you can do it.
Soon the windows are boarded up like Kino der Toten, and the whole shop looks like my college dorm gone wild. A few drinks and half-eaten plates of donuts and… hay inside a burger. What the fucking fuck? This must be a place where vegans get together. The whole donut facade is just to mess with people. Save for a couple of broken windows, and the shop looking like it’s been ransacked, this place was secure. For a moment at least.
I call the squad together for a role call, need to make sure I didn’t miss anyone.
“Ferguson, you good?”
“Yeah I’m fine. ‘cept for losing my mind, I need that back in ten.”
“Great, he’s good. Mendoza, where the fuck are you?” I look around and I get a somewhat muffled response.
“Ahm here! Fis food is really go-” Motherfucker’s stuffed himself with God knows what and he looks like a teen with his first car. Really awkward silence follows along with us staring like we’ve just found fucking Atlantis.
“Mendoza. You will spit that shit out. Right. Now.” I can’t fucking believe this shit is happening to me of all people on the fucking planet! We get teleported to an alien planet and the first thing on of my squaddies, a fucking Marine for chrissake, is chewing on something meant for horses! What the fuck is going on here?!?
He promptly spits whatever he was previously eating onto the floor. Goddamn it, Mendoza. You and your Hispanic heritage.
After a long pause, I manage to regain some composure. I look around and see most of my squad. Wait, most of my squad? The fuck happened to Haines? Must’ve gone somewhere else. And the Humvee is gone. Fucking perfect! I guess this planet is just full of surprises!
“Okay… Hood! You good?”
“Uh… No, Staff Sergeant.” Good, there’s always someone who says no. His darkened skin shines in the sun, his chocolate skin looks almost black in the sun’s light. His large and intimidating figure must’ve been what scared the locals, the guy’s nearly six and a half feet tall and looks like the black version of Undertaker with a machine gun and complimentary rocket launcher. Him in his armor is what’s most terrifying about him, his chestpiece is covered in ammo for his M240 and the SMAW on his back.
“That’s okay, I’m not okay either. Jameson, you squared away?”
“Squared away, Sarge.” Jameson’s your Average Joe. Not too big, not too small, just right. Not so big that in a crowd he stands out, but not so small that people can call him “fun-sized”.
“Daniels.” Hood elbows her after a minute or so without a response. She just stared out into the open.
“Yes, Sarge?” Her voice is incredibly soft, for her tomboy-ish accent. Ferguson notices and calls her out. Our resident rookie is… quite tall for a woman. Nearly six feet tall and a gorgeous frame… She looks fine, I’ll just leave it there.
“Hey, you okay? Daniels, how many fingers am I holding up?” He puts up both his middle fingers and madly grins.
“Ferguson, can it. Daniels, you squared?” She quickly acknowledges. Sirens could be heard in the distance. This was getting worse by the minute.
We need a way out, fast.
M.A.S Canterlot HQ, 5 minutes after reports of bipedal monsters in downtown
Me and the girls meet in Canterlot Castle to discuss these reports of… “armored bipedal monsters with firearms.” or “minotaurs without horns.” There’s full-scale panic in downtown and we have to deal with this quickly and efficiently before the press catches wind.
We’re already butting heads. Rainbow wants to shoot the creatures on sight, Pinkie wants to “study” them (using that word as a vague term in this context), and AJ, Rarity and myself want to simply talk to them.
“We don’t have time for chit-chat! We have to deal with the zebras, now we have minotaurs running around downtown! Just kill them!”
“We need to study them, that’s what we need to do!”
“No, that’s what you want to do, Pinkie!”
“We need to find out where they came from and if they have more on the way. How about we-”
My blood boils as I nearly shatter everypony’s eardrums with a yell.
“EVERYPONY, STOP!” I think I might have overdone it. I don’t care at the moment. I quickly grab everypony’s attention with my outburst.
“Okay… Here’s what we do. Until we find out why they’re here and if they are hostile, Luna will give the order and you and the M.O.A along with the local police will engage. Only until the words come from Luna’s muzzle, will you engage. Do I make myself clear?” Rainbow nods slowly.
“Rarity. Try and curb the press and give us some time to handle the situation. Applejack, get the military police on station and have them stand by.”
The two nod slowly.
“I certainly hope they aren’t like the... zebras. Maybe they came here on accident.” I certainly hope so, Fluttershy…
I desperately hope so.
Downtown Canterlot
I hear hoofsteps. Lots of them. It chills me to the bone. My skin crawls as my adrenaline courses through my body. I squeeze the grip of my M16 to the point where I could hear the grip groan as it crumples slowly. I’m sure the others are doing the same as we take defensive positions near the windows of the cafe, ever paranoid of the events occurring just on the other side of the barricaded double doors.
“You think they want to kill us?” Hood’s gruff voice cuts through the silence.
“No… If they wanted us dead, we would’ve been. There’s something else at work, here.”
“Hey Sarge! How’s life at home treating you?” That question sets off a bomb in my head. Everything was fine. I had my house. My health. My faith. My family...
“MINOTAURS, LISTEN UP!” My eardrums are nearly shattered as a booming voice as if God himself made his presence known. I am a God-fearing man, I’ll admit. But one of my mottos is “Respect all, fear nothing.” I live by that motto every day. A booming voice doesn’t scare me. It does, however, annoy the shit out of me.
“YOU ARE SURROUNDED! PUT DOWN YOUR ARMS AND SURRENDER! BY ORDER OF THE CANTERLOT MILITARY POLICE!” God, that shit is fuckin’ loud as fuckin’ shit! My eardrums can’t take
“Hey! Would you mind not trying to blow our ears up?! We need those, damn it!” Not now!
“Jameson, shut it!”
An awkward moment of silence follows. The next thing that happens is even more awkward.
“YOU MINOTAURS CAN TALK?” That big voice is getting real old, real fast.
“YES, WE CAN! AND WE’RE NOT MINOTAURS! Now how about you-”
“Ferguson, shut the fuck up! Let me handle this!” I whisper harshly to get the point across.
I’m initiating first contact with an alien race on their home planet and we haven’t even gotten our heads out of our asses yet. And I thought today was going to be Tuesday. Guess it’s a Monday. It’s always a fuckin’ Monday…
Downtown Canterlot Makeshift M.O.M HQ
“We’ll be able to hear them through the police’s ears?” I certainly hoped so. My stomach twisted and churned. I’m scared, but at the same time, positive. Maybe they’re not hostile and their intentions are benign.
“Hey! Would you mind not trying to blow our ear up?! We need those, damn it!”
Oh my stars… Did they just… talk?! Everypony in the room has my reaction plastered on their faces and rightly so. This is completely unexpected.
“Did that just happen?” AJ’s voice drools with surprise.
“This is most incredible thing in Equestrian history since Star Swirl the Bearded discovered time travel!”
“You can talk?” The pony’s voice on the other end is heard loud and clear as he is establishing communication with these… aliens.
“YES, WE CAN! AND WE ARE NOT MINOTAURS! Now how about you-” All of a sudden, the voice on the other end cuts off.
“What happened?” Rainbow instantly tenses up. She’s chomping at the bit. It won’t be long before she snaps.
“It stopped talking. Recommendation, ma’am?” The officer seems scared. I would honestly act the same way were we in different roles.
“Minister Twilight, we have the building surrounded by snipers and have a SWAT team on standby to storm the cafe, should you give the order. Do we have authorization?”
Nononononono! They should be equipped with stun rounds and stun grenades! Not prepared for some sort of standoff! This is in downtown Canterlot for Celestia’s sake!
“No. Standby and await orders.” They’ve been quiet and they haven’t shot anypony, so far at least. Let’s see how this plays out. Wait, an idea is popping into my head. I’m going to ask for something stupid, aren’t I?
“Give me five minutes, let me speak to them.”
“What?!?”
“Have you lost it or something?!?”
“We don’t have time for chitchat!”
“Oh… My.”
“This is preposterous! Even for you, Twilight!” My friends make their discomfort known in typical fashion, however I cast that aside.
“I know, just give me the mic. I know what I’m doing.”
Downtown Canterlot Pony Joe’s Donut Shop
I’ll do it. No, I won’t do it. Come on, can it really be that bad? They could just be defending their land like any decent alien race would. Or, they could just open fire and turn us into Swiss cheese at the drop of a hat. Argh, this is so frustrating!
“Oye, pendejo. They’ve gone quiet.” Suddenly, I’m taken out of my thoughts.
My inner thinking is disturbed by what seemed to be a Puerto Rican’s version of ‘dumbass’. I have no comment.
“For how long?”
“Seven minutes. I think.”
After a long pause, I say the stupidest thing a Marine, or anyone for that matter could say in a situation such as this.
“I’m gonna talk with them, protocols be damned.”
“Whatever you say, Sarge.” I expected a bit more resistance than that.
Whatever. That being said, I’m making history. Right here, right now.
“My name is Staff Sergeant James Stone! I’m a United States Marine, I respectfully request to talk to your superiors so we can establish a truce!” What. The actual fuck. Am I. Even doing?
My heart skips a few beats. This is insane. I can’t believe I’m doing this. This is something that a Marine can never truly be trained for. All I can do is trust in God, and in the fact that he’ll guide me.
“One second, the Mare of the Ministry of Arcane Science wishes to speak to you! Stand by!”
“Psst. Hey, Sarge!” Mendoza calls me over.
“What’s up, Mendoza? You don’t look so good.”
“Can we take a moment to… pray? We don’t know what’s gonna happen, we don’t know if we can even get home. I just want to make sure that we’re on good terms with God before we do anything.” Mendoza’s always been a Christian, born and raised one from what I’ve heard. We all share his beliefs, It’s one of the reasons we’re in this squad.
“Sure Mendoza, we can do that. Marines, form a circle. Helmets and boonies off.”
“Mendoza, want me as a translator?” Ferguson offers assistance. Being stationed in Central America for three years gives you plenty of opportunities.
“Sure Ferguson, thanks.”
We all form a circle and hold hands, just like in kindergarten. Well it’s more like bible school, but you get the idea.
“Dios, por favor nos guíe guerreros caprichosos como pisamos tierra desconocida.”
If there’s anything that holds a squad together in times of crisis, it’s faith. Faith in the officers that are supposed to protect you. Faith in the men and women who stand beside you.
“God, please guide us wayward warriors as we tread unknown lands.”
It’s the glue that binds people together, provides them with a feeling of protection, of security. Perhaps it’s the reason so many people feel safe when they transfer from civilian to military, they know that they are protected, and will be protected until the day God calls them home.
“Velar por nosotros en nuestra lucha en su nombre, Dios glorioso.”
We Marines put our priorities in this order,
“Watch over us as we fight in your name, glorious God.”
“Amen.”
The men standing beside you,
“Que tu Escudo de la Verdad protegernos de aquellos que desean la muerte a sus guerreros!”
The country you protect;
“May your Shield of Truth protect us from those who would wish death upon your warriors! Oh, mighty God!” We break into a chorus of amens.
“Amen!”
And the God which you dedicate your life to serve.
“Se puede su Espada de la Justicia será nuestra arma contra los esquemas del diablo!”
We are protectors. Not destroyers. Although, contrary to popular belief, some may say different. We are charged with protecting our country against all enemies, foreign and domestic.
“May Your Sword of Justice be our weapon against the devil's schemes! Thanks be to God!”
“Amen!”
“Proteger a nuestras familias, y hacerles saber que estamos bajo su protección, poderoso Dios!”
We are fathers, we are sons;
“Protect our families, and let them know that we are under your protection!”
We are brothers in arms.
“AMEN!”
“En Jesús y santo nombre de Dios…”
“In Jesus’ and God’s holy name…” We may seem like a bunch of religious nuts, in reality, we’re just scared. Scared children hoping that God will protect us and guide us hom
“Amen.”
“Well… time to meet the locals.” I open the door to the outside world, not knowing what lies beyond.
New perks added!
Cool Head: Lvl 2: You are cool under pressure and make the best decisions when calm. 20% aim bonus when you are in combat.
In God, we trust: Lvl 2: You are God’s creation, no-one can take that from you. New dialogue options available.
Leadership: Lvl 2: You are trained in the ways of a leader. You can make decisions, but you can’t make the hard ones. 15% aim bonus to you and your squad when with your squad. New dialogue options available.
“The Good Book says He works in mysterious ways, what did He have in mind for this?”
Downtown Canterlot Pony Joe’s Donut Shop
I take a single step into the outside world and I am met with an eerie silence. What seemed like hundreds of big and beady eyes bore into my body, making my insides feel as hollow as a ghost. Everybody on the scene had what I could only describe as their version of guns and they were all drawn on me.
I could definitely see that they were local law enforcement, but officers with kevlar vests and SWAT gear seemed less like officers and more like MPs.
Some looked like standard pistols for self-defense, others looked incredibly awkward, held in their mouths like they were chew-toys. Some unicorns held their weapons in a colorful aura, floating in front of them ominously.
Only the eerie low howl of the wind passing through the buildings could be heard. My heart pounded inside my chest. For all I knew, snipers could be laying in wait, prepping for a kill order if we did so much as sneeze wrong, which we quite capable of considering the fact that we’re military personnel in a civilian area. Those two don't mix well in this case.
I decide it’s time to break the ice.
“…My name is Staff Sergeant James Stone! I respectfully request to talk to your superiors for negotiations!” I hold my hands in the air, signifying my willing surrender. Doesn’t look like they’re buying it.
“Staff Sergeant Stone! You will lie on the ground, face down with your hands behind you! I will let you speak with her shortly!” A quadruped that seems to be the commander steps forward slowly out of the mass of bodies before it. His voice indicates he’s got a dick, at least.
I do as the commander says and lie on the ground, face down with my hands behind my back. A minute passes, then three, then five, then seven. The commander finally steps through the mass of police barriers in front of him and stops near my head, giving me an ear communicator.
“You have five minutes.”
I nod in understanding as he walks back to his post.
“Hello, is this Staff Sergeant Stone?” The voice on the other end of the line sounds feminine. Hey, at least they believe in sexual equality, good on these guys for that.
“Yes, to who am I speaking?”
“Twilight Sparkle, head of the Ministry of Arcane Science. A pleasure to meet your acquaintance!” She seems awfully jovial and cheery to me. It’s like she just found the next best thing since sliced bread. I want to lash out at her, but I can’t say anything that might make us seem like a threat. I don’t have time for that.
“Okay ma’am, I need you to listen to me. To start us off, where are we?” Nice one, James. You’re a real lady killer.
“You are in Canterlot, the capital city of Equestria. You don’t need to be so formal. ‘Twilight’, is just fine.” The voice on the other end seems rather chipper to me. With my luck, it’s either a despotic warlord with a death wish or some high-and-mighty general quoting a rulebook that I only go by when it fits mission parameters.
“Now for my own question; What species are you?” Canterlot, really? Sounds like something out of an old fantasy book, or a World of Warcraft map. That brings up more questions than assholes with opinions.
“It’s quite an interesting story, but I don’t think we have time for it.” I’m getting distracted, shit! Pull yourself together! You’re a MARINE for chrissake!
“(squee!)I can’t wait to hear all about it!” What. The fuck. Was that?
Did someone just happen to step on a toy on the other end, or was that squeaking noise from her? The MREs. It’s gotta be the MREs. There is no way that just happened. This whole place is making me crazy, who knows what’ll happen if we stay here any longer! Something’s off about this place. Floating guns, fucking squeezing, I must be going postal, I’m losing my mind!
“Ma’am- I’m sorry, Twilight?” Oh thanks a lot, me. My voice is cracking on top of all this.
“Yes?”
“I have a lot more questions for you, but I don’t think I can ask them here. I want to speak with you and whoever else is in charge, in person.”
The commander speaks and everything goes silent.
“Your time is up!” Well, shit. That went by quicker than I expected
“I’ll see what I can do.” The line quickly cuts off as the Commander approaches me.
“I think it would be in your best interest to surrender and be taken into custody. For all our sakes, order your men outside and for them to stand down.”
In my good conscience, I cannot give that order. At the same time, I made a promise to these men. A promise I will keep to my dying breath, that I will get these men home safely. I swear to God.
I may be on another planet in another universe for all I know, but I will not give up my men.
“Marines, come out slowly, weapons on safety.” But sacrifices have to be made sometimes and sometimes, you just gotta do what you gotta do.
Slowly, but surely, the doors swing open and one by one, my men and woman come out safely.
Which brings me to something that’s been bugging me ever since left this mission even started. If I remember correctly, women as of yet don’t get grunt jobs in the Marines. It just doesn’t add up.
“Hey Sarge! Quick question, are we in hell?” Not the time, Fergus!
“Not the time, Fergus!” ‘Speak your mind’. Heh.
Suddenly the commander howls in a voice akin to one of my drill instructors. I’m kinda missing the death threats at this point.
“YOU ARE SURROUNDED BY CANTERLOT MILITARY POLICE! PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD.”
We as Marines are not accustomed to surrendering to an enemy. Any enemy. I was told to never give this order.
But, dammit! I need to find out what the fuck is going on, because nothing since we got here makes a flicker of sense!
“Marines…”
God help me. God help us all.
“...drop your weapons on the deck and do as he says!”
Of course, my men ,woman included, don’t know how to take all of this.This situation is all new to me. Protocol at this point was out the window, basic survival instincts are just starting to come to the surface.
They simply stand in place, dumbfounded, unsure how to react. I share in their act.
I reiterate my order to snap myself and them out of our collective trance.
“Marines, place your weapons on the deck and do as he says! That is an order!”
After a few seconds of unbearable tension, they finally drop their weapons.
As I lay on the ground, multiple officers with their “guns” still trained on us come in with what look like binders and… handcuffs?
This is not how I thought this day was gonna go. First off, I get two new additions to the team that I was never briefed about. Then we get flown halfway across the damn planet to assault a town, only to find ourselves in “Canterlot, Equestria”, my Lieutenant Corporal is AWOL and the rest of us are FUBAR!
What could be fucking wo-
*smack*
“...sorry.”
New perks added!
Pony Whisperer Lvl 2: Talking with the ponies has you in a positive albeit small light. Ponies won’t shoot you on sight.
Achievement unlocked!
(The road to… hell?) Negotiate with the ponies ensuring you and your squad’s safety for the foreseeable future.
