HopliteAnon:4/29

Hoplite Anon

>You wish this was a joke
>You wish that thread was just like any other, with light-hearted RPing and greentext
>Not this one
>This one's legit
>And you're a fucking idiot for not stealing one of your brother's guns
>Hell, his Henry repeater would've put you up there with the /k/ommandos and operators

>Instead, you're stuck in one of the cramped infantry barracks, along with around fifty or so other Anons
>Like you, most of them are middle-class English speakers, with a few deviants sprinkled in
>Unlike you, a majority of them are on either extremes of being unfit, ranging from small and round to tall and skinny
>There are some athletic Anons, but they are few and far in between

>As the first day went by, those that can run a mile with little effort are put into leader positions
>Since you wrestled in middle school, played lacrosse in high school, and ran from the off seasons to now, you are one such Anon

>You look down the rectangular room as the other nofuns Anons try to recover from today's drills, crowding the connecting shower room you're forcing them to visit
>It was all conditioning today, so they're pretty much walking corpses
>Clumsy, mumbling incomprehensibly, and stinking of every bodily fluid imaginable
>You feel like you should pity them, but holy shit you've never seen so much complaining and self-entitlement in person
>You wanted to be right there with the stallion drill instructor, yelling at the slobs laying on the ground
>But you did what you were told, and now you're the leader of this pathetic excuse for an infantry squad

>You can already feel tired-leadership syndrome seeping in
>The problem is: you're not Winters or that Lieutenant from Generation Kill
>You only had a big interest in military, both modern and ancient
>But you haven't read the Art of War, or had any formal training
>Unless the Princesses intervene with their magics, you're fucked

>The door behind you creaks open, and you turn to see another nofuns Anon walking in
>This one's obviously underage, but he's athletic, and he shows it by carrying a whole bunch of personal belongings
>"Is this barracks twenty eight?"
>You nod
>"You squad lead?"
>You nod again, then point to the unoccupied bunk under yours, the one closest to the single door that opens up into barracks city
>The Anon walks over and unloads his stuff, a naive smile on his face and an exited spring to his step
>You watch the smile disappear when the rest of the squad start coming out of the shower room, relatively clean
>They notice the newfag, and it's the same song and dance
>"What's your nickname?"
>"Who your favorite pone?"
>"You got lube?"

>You turn to the crowd
"Shut up you fuckin' hicks and get some sleep! You're gonna need it!"
>They quiet down like the shut-ins they are and head for their bunks, most of them grabbing a snack from the trolly in the center
>It's almost clean

>You turn back to the kid, and he looks to you with an unsure expression
"I bet this wasn't what you were expectin'."
>He shakes his head, then resumes unpacking his clothes
>A few pony stuff, but pretty typical for an early highschool kid
>You look to your stuff, and college dorm life has prepared you, with a week's worth of clothes and toiletries fitting into a single hamper
>Thank God they had plenty of washers and dryers here

>Looking back to the underage Anon, you notice a change of demeanor
>Slower
>Blank expression
>Throwing his shit on the ground and kicking it under the bunk violently
>God dammit

>You shake your head and move to the opposite side of the bunk
"Sorry for the devastation of your expectations, kid."
>"It's okay."
>...
>You scratch your recently-shaved chin
"I might be repeating what those degenerates said, but you got a nickname?"
>"No, sir."
>Sir
>You like it

"Well, for now you'll be Underage, or just kid. No offense, but it fits."
>"Okay."
>Another beat
>Jesus, he's still down
>And surprise, surprise, he's the only Anon in the building who's somewhat normal

"Did you come in late?"
>"Yeah. I was packing, but I wasn't sure what to bring."
>You nod
"And obviously you don't have any weapons on you."
>"I thought they would give us some."
"And they will, though these ponies only have medieval stuff. If you wanted guns, you had to bring your own."

>"Oh." and Underage looks down at the floor, getting more depressed
>You rack your brain for some words of encouragement
"Look, kid, this may be not what you had in mind, but you're here now, and in the five minutes you've been here you've shown yourself to be better than all of those faggots over there."
>Underage look to the lankies and walking funnel cakes, just now heaving themselves into the bunks
>Even though the beds are pretty big (bigger than the ones in your dorm) the springs squeak and squeal in protest from the sheer weight of the big ones
"Stick with me, kid..."
>Underage looks back to you
"And I'll do my damnedest to make you a proper soldier by the time we go into combat."
>Even though you're not a soldier yourself, but you probably have more soldier material than every person in here combined

"Get some sleep, kid. We're doing weapons drills tomorrow, and I need everyone in as top shape as they could be."
>"Okay, sir."

>After walking around and making sure everyone was in bed and not wanking in the showers, you shut the lights off
>You realize how quiet it is in here, with nobody talking
>Sure, there's hustle and bustle outside, even the sound of helis flying overhead, but the ponies made this barracks with thick, insulated materials that muffle it all
>You give the sober sight one last look, before climbing in your bunk, setting the alarm on your watch, and spend half an hour drifting off to sleep


>0700, and you wake up to your watch beeping
>Yeah, you're going off of military time
>You're in the army now
>And just like in the army, it's your job as squad lead to get these pieces of fat and minimal muscle up and ready for directions

>Ten minutes of you yelling and kicking people out of their bunks results in everyone awake and in whatever could pass for workout clothes
>You're wearing full on athletic gear, with neon green running shoes, blue shorts, blue cap, and your golden laX shirt with 28 on the back
>A nice coincidence right there

>A minute later, and a stallion comes to your door, telling you to take your squad to a specific part of the castle grounds
>You spend the next fifteen minutes guiding your flock to the point, all-the-while trying futilely to get them used to marching
>More bitching and moaning, combined with the rest of the nofun infantry milling about Barracks City
>You save your voice for when you get to a more secluded area
>You know you were going to use it

>As if The Lord saw your predicament and took pity, an exited murmur began to pass between other infantry and your traveling squad
>A crack team of operators pushed through the boarder to enemy lines, took out a number of enemy horns and talons, and fucking saved the Mane Six
>They even took out a "King Minotaur," as big as a Goddamn house

>We have met the enemy, and they are ours

>The good news is received well
>Some are pissed they didn't get to rescue their waifus, but they are overshadowed by the ones who are ecstatic their waifus were safe
>To your surprise, the squad is eager to drill and train, and they all begin to march in a pretty orderly fashion to the secluded area


>That secluded area is by some of the /k/ommandos' quarters
>When your squad arrives, they're given spears and...
>That's it
>That's fucking it?
>Just spears?!
>The fuck, mate!?

>You could do nothing but seethe behind clenched teeth as you watch your squad get into lines
>First order of business: learning general attacks with a spear
>This consists of the stallion drill instructor "demonstrating" an attack, then having the squad do a number of repetitions

>Credit where it's due
>The instructor's good at his job, and the squad's following orders to the letter
>They're eager, even as an hour goes by and we've only covered high and middle-level thrusts

>Being squad lead, you walk around the block of infantry, making sure people were doing the basic moves right and not complaining
>You eventually come to the front of the block, rather impressed
>This bunch of degenerate horsefuckers might become a competent fighting squad after all
>Your thoughts are interrupted by a window opening an-

>BADANG BADANG

>You duck by instinct from the shots, your ears hurting like hell due to the lack of earpro
>You then bear witness to fifty-some grown men drop or scamper all over, squealing and crying like the twats they are

>"SHUT THE FUCK UP, I'M TRYING TO SLEEP!"
>You could actually hear the /k/ommandos laughing from here
>The instructor turns and looks up, pissed
>"You humans cal that DISCIPLINE?! I'll hae you reported to your sergeant for that!"
>"I AM the sergeant, you CUCK!"
>That throws the stallion off
>"Well, I'll--..."
>...
>"Don't do that again!"

>The sergeant shoots back, "Y'know, they need to learn how to keep cool under pressure!"
>The stallion is still unsure, but at least his voice is back to "normal". "That's not something you can teach with training, sergeant!"
>"HA! No wonder you're losing!" and with that, the sergeant shuts the window

>The drill instructor opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything
>He instead notices you staring
>He notices you breathing heavily, with murder in your eyes
"I'll take it from here, sir."
>You don't wait for confirmation, and you start heading towards the shifting and collapsing mass of excuses for human beings
>With a deep breath you use the voice you were saving

"GET IN LINE!"
>Those in front notice immediately and form lines, Underage being one of them
>Not good enough
"GET! THE FUCK! BACK IN LINE!"
>Your voice is so close to cracking, but fuck it
>You are NOT going to let these inbred fucks be the embarrassment and death of you

>Like a madman, you scream, you holler, you run around the blob and use your six years of hitting people in lacrosse to brutal effect
>Eventually the squad is in order, shaking like abused puppies

"TAKE A GOOD LOOK!"
>You stare all of them down as they look around skittishly, particularly at you in terror
"TAKE A GOOD LOOK, AND WHAT DO YOU SEE?!"
>As you walk up the side of the squad to the front, a pole pipes up
>"A-a bunch o-"

>*WHACK*
>"Ah!"
>*WHACK*
>*WHACK*
"I'LL TELL YOU WHAT YOU SHOULD SEE!"

"YOU SHOULD SEE FIFTY-SOME FAILURES, SHAKING LIKE THEY ALL JUST GOT BUTT FUCKED BY A WELL-ENDOWED PACK OF NIGGERS OUT OF DETROIT!"

>You get to the front, and the drill instructor is wide-eyed
>You ignore him as you face your squad with the meanest fucking face you could conjure up
>You might be looking silly as a 5'11" manlet, but fuck it, you just need them to hear you

"I MIGHT NOT BE A SOLDIER! I MIGHT NOT BE AN OPERATOR LIKE THOSE PRIMA DONNAS UP THERE, BUT GOD-FUCKING-DAMMIT! I WILL NOT HAVE THIS HAGGEL OF HORSEFUCKERS BE THE LAUGHING STOCK OF THE HUMAN RACE!"

>You stop and take a moment to actually breath properly
>You need water to soothe your throat, but that could wait

"You will become a proper fighting force, dammit!"
>More breathing
>You're winding down now, but thankfully they're all listening

"Stop being such cunts, for Christ's sake! If you don't, then we're all fucked!"
>You look at as many frightened faces as you can before giving your ultimatum
"I expect each and every one of you... to become warriors of humanity. I expect all of you... to become a competent fighting force."
"If you fail in this, you will most likely be gruesomely killed and forgotten. And if you happen to survive your failure..."

>Your face is completely serious as you say this:
"I will make it my life goal to rape you like the beta fuck you are."

>Silence
>Beautiful fucking silence except for your heavy breathing

>Holy shit, you just shouted down a bunch of people like a proper drill instructor
>That felt fucking fantastic

> You turn to the shaken drill instructor
"I think we'll end drills for today and move on to something else, sir."


>You lay back on your bed with your hands behind your head, clean and ready for some shut eye
>You did good today
>After the ">rape speech" as everyone began calling it, you requested to have the squad preform movement drills with shields and some armor

>Never did you expect the Canterlot Guard to give you honest-to-God hoplon shields, as well as full-on Hoplite dressing
>You were now all in skirts, looking like Heavy Hoplites from AoM
>Manly as fuck, but something's missing

>Right as you finished drilling (with good progress) in the afternoon, you had everyone find paint and some brushes
>By the end of the day, the more artistic Anon of the squad had his work cut out for him
>Everyone had their massive shields painted by newly dubbed Paintfag, mainly with a variation of their waifu's cutie mark

>You decided to have your Spartan's emblem from Reach painted on yours
>Sure, it's autistic and unrelated to the situation, but you've had the black widow with a cyan hourglass for years, and you weren't going to let it go just yet

>You turn over and look down at it resting against your bunk, along with Underage
>He decided to have a big, shining red apple painted on his hoplon
>A countrypone kid
>You thought he was more of a Dashfag, but apparently not
>You chuckle softly and roll back over, optimistic about the coming days as you doze off

>Speaking of countrypone, you get a surprise as soon as you wake up

>A knock on the door, and when you open it the stallion and...

>Holy shit, it's Applejack
>You've never seen nor expected to see one of the Mane Six in person
>You aren't prepared for this

>The unicorn stallion speaks first, "Are you the leader of this squad?"
>Get yourself together, Anon, holy shit
"Yes, sir."
>"We have a mission for you."
>He levitates up a letter and hands it to you
>Trying not to look at the pretty country mare in front of you, you open the letter and read

>...oh my

"Appleloosa, sir?"
>"All of our elite forces are tied up elsewhere..Hoplite Lead."
>Hoplite Lead?
>Alright, you can roll with that name
>"And your squad has been considered to be the one to be most qualified to lead this."
>Wait, your squad is considered to be the BEST squad?
>What the fuck?

"Sir, with respect, my squad has only been given two days of training."
>"We know, Hoplite Lead, and your squad has been observed to be the most qualified one to lead this defense."

>You want to give him an argument, some sort of reasoning as to why your squad should stay and train, but all of that quick-thinking from yesterday's gone

>Before you could make more of a fool of yourself, Applejack speaks with that familiar southern accent of hers
>"Anon, ah know y'all ain't have any of dem fancy guns of yers, but please, we need ya now."
>You weren't sure how to respond to that, so you stare on
>"Do it fer me, fer ma family, please."
>No, please don't use that pleading voice

>You suck the inappropriate tears back in and take a deep breath
"I'll make sure the town's safe, ma'am."

> She gives a smile that fucking melts your heart
>"Thanks, Anon."

>Applejack and the stallion leave you with the formal briefing in hand, a new sense of determination taking hold of you
>You head back into the barracks, shouting
"RISE AND SHINE, TWENTY EIGHTH! WE'VE GOT OURSELVES A MISSION!"



>You take a look at your watch
>It's been only an hour since you've woken up, and already you and a hundred-fifty Anons are en route to Appleloosa
>Three squads of fully-kitted, nofuns infantry: the Second, the Thirty Fifth, and your own, sent to defend the town from a suspected enemy division
>Because of the way the force is organized, with your squad at the head, you are non-ceremoniously promoted to the rank of Lieutenant

>You're leading not only your squad, but two others into battle
>Under Pressure is playing in your head
>It's interrupted by the crackling of the radio attached to you

>"Apple Platoon, be advised: the town is in sight. I suggest you start prepping everyone."
>The squad leaders give affirmatives, including yourself
>With a sigh, you take your Uni cap off of your head, stuff it in your sack, and grab your helmet
>You look to the rest of the twenty eighth, all jostling around from turbulence
>Some brace themselves by putting their feet on one of the five ballistae strapped down in the cargo hold

>You're bringing some firepower to this fight
>You're gonna need it

"Helmets on! We're touching down in a minute!"
>With little griping, your squad prepares, putting on armor and tightening anything loose
>They secure their packs and then wait, some looking out of the chinook's tiny portholes
>After putting your own helmet on, which actually has room for your radio headset, you look out one such window, and see the Thirty Fifth's chinook flying in tandem with yours
>On the front of the heli is a pinup of...is it that toothpaste pone?

>A blur of motion snaps you out of thought
>You can't tell if that was a pegasus or a griffon
>You activate your radio to find out

"Echo-Nine-Fourteen, this is Hoplite Actual. Interrogative: are we supposed to have any pegasus escort?"
>You look to the front of he heli, to the closed-off cockpit
>"Hoplite Actual, this is Echo: negative. Why is tha-SHIT!"
>The chinook sways from a sudden jerk of the stick
>You become as stiff as can be, listening to the sudden bout of traffic between the pilots

>Griffons
>Fucking griffons are harassing the chinooks
>Judging from the lack of explosions or "maydays" over comms, the small number of talons aren't able to do much to the metal helis
>Dumb birds probably don't even know what a rotary engine even is

>"Hoplite Actual, we're touching down now so you can deal with these griffons. How copy?"
"This is Hoplite: roger. We'll get those talons off your bird."
>You look to your squad, ready to rock
"Scratch that, we're landing right the fuck now! We got griffons scratching up the helis so I need toxotes up front!"
>The squad's ten designated archers finish stringing up their bows, and they make their way through the tunnel of wood and armored legs
>Some of the squad start hefting their packs
"Leave your shit! We'll get them when the flying fucks are dead!"

>You can feel the shift in incline as the cargo helicopter lands as you reach for your equipment
>Being long-as-fuck spears, your squad's primary weapons take up all of the space under your seats, and you have to wrestle yours out of the overlapping dories
>You insert your other arm into the straps in your hoplon, and stand up in order to bring the massive shield to bear
>You and Paintfag take the very front of the squad, the toxotes right behind you
>You look to the lanky artist, his expression unreadable under his fully-enclosing helmet
>He's a little hunched over because of all the armor, but he isn't complaining thankfully

"You ready for this?"
>"Fuck yeah!" he yells without even looking at you

>The chinook lands hard with a resounding THUNK, and the back door lowers open
>Despite the wind from the rotors blasting sand in your faces, there are no contacts...
>You and Paintfag move as one, marching out into the hot and dry desert, toxotes close behind
>No contacts...
>The two of you split, moving to either side of the chopper, with you to the chopper's right
>You look along the side, then up by the spinning blades

>Contact, by the cockpit, just under the front blades, facing away from you
>He's doing something with the fuselage, but you're not having any of that shit

>Choking down until you are almost touching the iron butt-spike, you run up to the tinkering griffon
>He doesn't know you're there with the rotary blades chopping just above him
>You treat him to a quick jab to his ass
>He squawks and instinctively flaps his wings to gain air

>*CRUNCH*

>You watch as pieces of brain matter, armor, and fur fly everywhere
>The rest of the corpse falls and plops onto the ground
>You can hear a momentary loss of torque, but the blades keep chopping as if nothing happened

>You're given a moment to realize you just killed something bigger than a rodent, before the griffon's buddy shows up

>He rounds the front of the chinook, seeing his pal's corpse and you behind it
>He lets out a baleful roar and pounces right into your shield

>It turns out a few hundred pounds of armor and toned muscle flying into you can knock you on your ass
>You find yourself on the ground, a clawing and flapping motherfucker on top of you
>Your fuck-huge shield is the only thing keeping you from being diced up, but you can't throw him off or stab him like this

>There's a wet *thunk* and the griffon roars in agony, forgetting about you
>You seize the opportunity and throw your entire into your shield, throwing the wounded hybrid off you and into the chopper's side
>As you get up, you see the griffin writhing in pain, an arrow lodged in his shoulder
>You finish him off with a hard stab to the neck

>That's two

>You look to the fat toxotes who saved your ass, and he gives you a nod
>He's already worn out, despite firing only a single shot

 >You look to the Thirty Fifth's landing chinook a few dozen meters away, and a few griffons are scratching at certain parts of the heli
>You move to the toxotes Anon, with the other four just catching up, and point to the flying rats
"Hit those fuckers!"

>Now, a shot aimed at a stationary target at point-blank range is hard to miss, even under a helicopter's spinning rotors
>A shot aimed at a target about fifty meters away and under a second set of rotors is a tricky shot for an experienced archer

>In the heat of the moment, you forgot you were commanding complete faggots
>The shots don't even hit the chopper, they just hit the ground short and skid the rest of the way
>Thank God the griffons didn't notice

>You then remember there's other Anon in that chopper
>The Anons in question stream from the back of the chinook, much less organized and armored than your squad
>These motherfuckers of the Thirty Fifth, on top of being mostly fat or pole-like shut-ins, are all insane

>Fucking. Insane.

>The pointman sees the leaching griffons immediately, charges the closest one, and while doing so throws an axe at him
>The griffin catches it in his side and drops
>You can hear his death-screech from here

>The rest of the Thirty Fifth engages the remaining griffons with a zealotry you've never seen, armed with a variety of axes and broadswords
>In a few intense seconds, the few griffons that are left route, calling out to the others over the roar of the three chinooks
>Moving to the front, you watch as the dozen of survivors fly away to wherever they came from

>Holy Shit
>You just took part in a hot landing, and you survived
>Another fucking milestone

>You remember you're the leader of this platoon, and you reach underneath your breastplate to activate your radio
"Platoon, this is Hoplite Actual: We have them running like bitches, nice work, break.
We're walking from here, so grab your stuff and let Echo flight RTB. Out."

>Pumped from their first engagement with the enemy, with no casualties to boot, the Apple Platoon unloads everything and begins the trek to Appleloosa

>When the chinooks lift off, you can see Paintfag had some trouble of his own, but he got a nasty cut on his arm while you got off with the wind knocked out of you
>He shrugged it off, though, and had it bandaged with no fuss
>There is much fuss, however, when everyone has to haul the heavy weapons
>The only one not complaining is Underage, and it's probably from football practice
>While you got normal ballistae, the Thirty Fifth had brought a bunch of scorpions, and the Second managed to get a fucking cannon
>You have no idea how they got it, but they have ammo and claim to know how to operate it

>Since they got it themselves and you never knew about it, you're gonna let them have it
>Providing it doesn't result in you or someone you know losing something important

>Sheriff Silverstar greets you as you enter the northern part of town
>He got word of you coming, and is thankful Celestia hasn't forgotten about them
>Apparently Dodge Junction was already hit, and they only knew that from a few lucky refugees that escaped on the last train out of there
>He's positive there's going to be an attack soon

>You reassure him you'll do whatever you can to keep the residents safe, and get Paintfag to join you on a tour, sketchbook in hand
>Underage also tags along, carrying some excess equipment because apparently he's your assistant/squire now
>Fine by you, you can keep a closer eye on him

>Once that was complete, you call a meeting in the Salt Block with the squad leaders and any other person of importance
>Besides the usual patrons, and of course the bartender, the salon is pretty empty
>Which is good, because you have about half a dozen humans, a few pones, and Chief Thunderhooves crowding around the table
>A map courtesy of Paintfag laid on it, surrounded by discarded salt cubes and empty glasses

>You start by looking around the circle
"Gents, I'm sure you all understand the gravity of this situation. According to refugees, as well as our own encounter on the way here, a combined griffon and minotaur force is heading towards the town, most likely from Dodge Junction itself."
>Heads nod, and the leader of the Thirty Fifth asks, "How many?"
>You take a deep breath
"Numbers range from a little under a hundred to five hundred."
>While most of the non-humans shift uncomfortably, the man wearing a Goddamn wolf pelt grins
>"Sounds like a challenge."

>"One we can easily lose if we're not careful."
>You look to the Second Squad lead, who looks more like a gladiator than a soldier
>You can't read his expression behind that fancy helmet of his, but he does sound serious

"I agree, which is why I'm going to have people take up watch in the highest place there is, preferably that clock tower."

"They could attack at any time and from any direction, people. The one advantage we have is that there's plenty of no man's land between here and any visual cover, so we'll have some time to ready up before they arrive."

>You look to the gladiator
"Atlantis lead, you have first watch. Get some men up there with whatever binoculars we have and make them watch for four hours, then rotate with my men I'll have sleeping below. When they're done, they'll have some of Odin Squad stake out up there. That should give eight hour breaks with nonstop overwatch."

>You give one last look to the people gathered, and you never thought you'd be in circumstances like these
>You stand, readjusting your bare helmet
>You guess you had to earn your plumes, but if you live through this, you and your squad better fucking earn some

"I'm gonna be honest with all of you: I cannot predict how this will go down, but dammit if this is gonna be down to us meeting them out there, then we better get some brutal surprises set up to thin their numbers."
>The natives aren't sure what you mean by brutal surprises, but judging from that feral smile Odin Lead knows exactly what you're planning to do


>By late afternoon, everything is set
>The artillery is concentrated to the northwest of town, but you've kept a couple of scorpions in reserve in case any come from the opposite side
>The overwatch in the clock tower has been going smoothly, and you along with most of Odin Squad spent that precious time setting up traps and doing some last-minute drills
>All three squads had to work together, playing on each other's strengths while covering each other's weaknesses

>You and the other squad leads eventually came up with an SOP that involved your squad being the tank, and Odin covering your vulnerable flanks
>Atlantis and the Appleloosa population would form multiple rapid response teams, sent to deal with anything that ignored the main battle and tried to move into the city

>With everything all set, all that remains is waiting for the enemy

>The absolute worst part

>You weren't going to sleep for a few hours, so you resort to wandering around town, helmet cradled in your arm and shield on your back

>You pass by Anons intermingling with the locals, in varying levels of intimacy
>Some are merely chatting, others are cuddling
>You have no intentions of breaking any of it up, these guys might not get another chance

>You head into the Salt Block for a while, drinking whatever non-alcoholic beverages they had and listening to people doing karaoke, with some Anons playing a few instruments that were there
>The singing is almost unbearable, but you manage to stay for a while
>You even join in and do a solo of Piano Man, with an Anon of Atlantis playing the salon's piano, and you actually went through the lyrics in one go without fucking up terribly
>The patrons cheer as you finish
>You aren't sure if it's because you were decent, or because they realize you weren't always a hardass

>Probably both

>You leave the salon, intent on finding either Underage or Paintfag, when a native couple stops you on just out front
>"Hoplite Anon, sir?"

>You look to the side and down, and you find that Braeburn colt and his buffalo girlfriend addressing you
>What's her name?
>Heart hooves... little... Little Strongheart, that's it

"What can I do for you two?"
>The couple looks to each other, and Strongheart nods in encouragement
>Braeburn looks up to you "We wanted to thank you...for what you're doing."
>You turn to them and nod in acknowledgement
>"We Appleloosans are a hardy bunch, but..."
>The yellow colt shakes his head "We've never had anything like this."
>Strongheart speaks up "Not even our fight with each other had as much preparation as this."

>She pauses before staring right up at you "Are your wars always like this?"

>That question
>The question asked in so many HFY threads by conjured-up aliens
>Is humanity a violent species?
>You never thought you were able to tell your opinion on the matter to another sentient person, but here you are conversing with a talking buffalo girl

>You take another deep breath, before crouching down to their eye level
"Ma'am, why do you think we appeared just as this war started?"
>She thinks it over for a few seconds, before answering
>"Did she see your people fight?"
"Honestly, I'm not sure how she found us or found a way to recruit us..."
>Recruit might not be the right word
>Conscript might be better, but you're arguing semantics
"But I know she saw what we are capable of, and maybe even saw some of our history."

>You stare right at Strongheart, and kudos to her for not wavering
"But to answer your question: yes, this is how we fight, at least a couple thousand years ago."
>The couple becomes confused, and you continue
"In my modern day, we have considerably better weaponry and technology than this, even things that are mile ahead of you. While we may have had some geniuses sprinkled through history who helped, progress was done out of necessity."
>You shift from one knee to another
"You see, a violent environment breeds violent character, and Goddamn is our home violent."

"Our planet, Earth... she's a cruel mother. Her ability to sustain life was a fluke, and her birth was one of pure, cosmic violence."
>The couple didn't like the sound of that
"It took billions of years for her to cool down from the constant barrage of asteroids and tectonic shifting, and when life began to emerge, a ruthless system of natural selection took hold. It was survival of the fittest, and even then chances were some natural disaster would wipe entire species off the map.
>With the two Equestrian native practically shaking, and you're not sure they're understanding what you're saying

"That is the setting humanity grew up in. That's where we're all from. And while we had areas of relative peace around the world last I checked, you cannot keep a violent species in a peaceful society."

"We are, by our vary nature, warriors. I wasn't a soldier before all of this, but here I am defending a town of strangers from a horde of monsters. And, to be completely honest, I... I've never felt anything like this."
>There's a pause, and Braeburn speaks ups, smiling like he noticed something amusing
>"I can tell that ain't all of it, Anon. I bet somepony you like asked ya to do this."

>Oh man, it does run in the family
>You remember this morning, and your chest suddenly becomes heavy
"Well, that and... I can't betray your cousin's trust now, can I?"
>Braeburn really perks up at this "You met Applejack?"
>You nod, smiling
"She was the one who asked me to do this, not just for her, but for her family."
>You look off into space, remembering
"God, I can't betray that smile."
>You'd rather die than go back to her a failure

>With that, you say your good lucks and goodbyes and walk off to the northern end of town, searching for either of your esteemed colleagues
>You find the kid on a newly erected gun platform, laying on his back and looking at the evening sky
>You join him

>"I'm scared, sir."
>Opening with that cliche, are we?
>Here's another one:
"Me too, kid. It's only natural."
>"You think we'll win?"
"Well, not to sound morbid, but either we win or die trying. Pretty straightforward."
>The kid doesn't respond, and you look up at the blood-red sky with lazy eyes

>You yawn out before drifting off to sleep,
"Don't worry too much, kid...fear is the mind-killer..."


>"Anon, wake up."
"Mmm."
>"Hoplite Lead, wake up."

>You open your eyes and note it's still nighttime
>You take a look at your watch and snap on its built-in light
"Three hours. I've been asleep for three hours."
>It's been a while since you've slept that short
>You look up to see Paintfag leaning over you, his face dimly lit from nearby lamps
>He grins
>"Did you dream?"
>Not thinking it over close enough, you answer as you sit up

"I was visited by Luna."
>"Luna?"
"Yeah, she and I..."

>Now you remember
>Oh
>OH
"Talked. We talked
>The smile remains "Okay, sir."

>You then realize someone woke you up
>That means...
>You begin to stand
"Where are they coming from?"
>"The northwest, sir."
"How many?"
>Paintfag hesitates
>"At most: a few hundred, but there's something off."
"What do you mean?"

>A minute later, and you're staring through binoculars at an advancing blob of horns and muscle
>Only minotaurs, which means the griffons could be anywhere
>But while that concerns you, you're more focused on the minotaurs themselves
>They look exhausted


>Even with the dim lighting of their torches and at a distance, you can see them slouching and dragging their fe-hooves through the sand
>A surprising number of them aren't even holding a weapon
"Something's up."
>Paintfag agrees "They've got a plan."

>You look up to the night sky, and take note of the billions of stars
"I want people keeping an eye on the sky. If a cloud comes by, shoot it."
>Considering you don't know much about griffons, you won't be taking any chances


>A few minutes later, and still the horde is closing in slowly
>Straight into your kill box
>Scenarios are playing through your head a mile a minute as you stand well behind
>This has to be a distraction
>The main force has to be out of sight
>The griffons have to be coming in from the opposite side
>But if you pull too much away from the front, they'll just steamroll you regardless if they're flanking or not

>You shake your head
>You're only opponent in these mind games is yourself
"Fuckin' psyops."

>"What was that, Anon of the Hoplite?"
>You turn to see Chief Thunderhooves moving up to stand beside you

"Nothing, sir. I just wish they get here sooner."
>The buffalo looks to you strangely
>"You wish to partake in bloodshed?"
"No, sir, I just want this to be over with. I can't stand waiting like this."

>"Ah, you have the warrior shakes."
>You turn to the chief, and he has an understanding look to him
"Warrior shakes, sir?"
>"Yes. Do not fret, for I too experienced it when I was young, as did my father and grandfather, and my great grandfather, and"
>Oh God, not this
"I understand, sir."
>He trips over himself and realizes what he was doing
>"Well, you have constructed quiet the defense here, Anon. If they are to take this town I once detested, then they will only take it when we're..."
"All dead?"
>"Surrounded by the dead of our enemies, yes."

>Wow
>You never thought the chief was able to be that morbid
>You look back to the advancing orange blotches of light, not as nervous as before
>But not by much


>They are just about to get into range
>You and your squad are situated just behind all of the traps, with Odin squad to your flanks
>While it won't be able to kill all of them, the nature of the traps will at least keep them from doing a full on charge
>You look to the armored Anons on either side of you, eyes barely visible in the moonlight
"Gentlemen, time to kick some ass."

>You reach into your breastplate and activate your radio
"Atlantis, this is Hoplite Actual: commence firing."

>You hear Underage shout in a high-pitched voice "Load!" in the distance behind you, followed by gears working and ropes being tightened
>One by one, they stop
>"Volley!"
>Then at once, the ballistae and scorpions fire from their elevated platforms
>You can hear the missiles whizzing over your head

>"Fire!"
>*BOOM*

>There goes the first cannonball

>You and the rest of Apple Platoon watch as the distant figures start dropping as if they were smacked
>Some beasts are thrown back into the ones behind them, gaining two kills with one arrow
>The cannonball disappears into the horde, eliciting several surprised and agonizing moos
>In response, the horde picks up the pace, lazily accelerating into a run
>The second volley and cannonball are shot, and even more minotaurs go down

>It's then you hear a loud roar/moo of rage
>You notice a VERY large silhouette coming up from behind the horde
>The Goddamn king minotaur

>You activate your radio again
"Atlantis, have the cannon focus fire on the big guy, everyone else focus on the little ones."
>"Understood, Hoplite Actual. Redirecting."

>The third volley goes out, and the cannonball lands just in front of the horde
>It bounces, and takes a minotaur's head with it
>The ball then smacks into the big guy's chestplate with a resonating *ding*
>The big guy's momentum is halted, and he pauses to look down at the unsightly projectile that has just lodged itself into his chest
>He let's out another roar/moo of rage, and his charge begins anew
>You ruined his armor, and now he's pissed
>Fuck


>Three more volleys, and the horde is being thinned out
>As it gets closer you have the archers start firing
>They get two volleys off along with the artillery, thinning out the enemy even more
>But the desperate horde is here now, and the pissed king minotaur is still coming
>You activate your radio one last time
"Atlantis, focus fire on the big guy, we'll take it from here."
"SHIELDS!"
>With a professionalism born from two days of drilling, you and the rest of the front line lock shields with a *CLANG*
>Time for traps

"ROPES!"

>The Anons a few rows behind you, as well as the maniacs on your flanks, bend down to pick up the ropes sitting on top of the sand
>You were thinking about burying them for concealment, but given how it's nighttime you opted to keep them on top
>"Ready, sir!" yells Paintfag
>You wait, eyes locked on a peculiarly placed rock that shines in the moonlight
>Another volley slams into the king minotaur, and he roars/moos again
>The lead minotaur gets very close to passing the stone

>...

"PULL!"

>As one, the Anons heave the heavy ropes back
>They rise into the air and then into the ground, where they were attached to the lightly buried trap:
>Wooden stakes
>Lots of wooden stakes
>Sections of them attached to large, shaped pieces of wood, and placed in front of buried boulders the stakes rise right in front of the minotaurs

>The dumb fucks run straight into them
>The front line gets skewered, and the entire horde is halted in an instant
>Exhausted even more from the costly run across no man's land, it takes the surviving horns several seconds and minotaur-speak from the enraged king to realize what just happened
>The beasts that recover the fastest are the first to try and climb over their dead and dying comrades
>They get over the top, jump down, and land straight into the small, inclined trench lined with even more spikes

"FORWARD!"

>The squad marches forward up to the trench, just like you practiced

>It is here you and the front lines go into a cycle:
>Stab any motherfucker trying to get out of the death pits
>Continue until dori breaks or is pulled out of your hands
>Call for another spear, letting the fatman behind you take a stab at any horn coming out of the growing mosh pit
>Grab the spear that is passed down from the back
>Repeat

>You go through this cycle twice, over the course of God knows how long
>All the while you're hearing reports from Atlantis and Odin leads, getting a good mental look at the battle
>The minotuars in the back are starting to move to the sides and around the spikes, and Odin squad moves to meet them
>Atlantis is keeping the arty fire at the back of the horde, far from your squad to avoid blue-on-blue, as well as firing cannon shots at the king
>For a mega myth unit that's 94% testosterone, he's being pretty careful not to stomp on his own guys to get to you
>But he's going to be a problem in a minute when he finally gets to the line

>It's not helping that your arms are starting to get heavy too
>You can see your line starting to become fatigued as well
>Their thrusts are become weaker and less frequent
>You realize you haven't done any drilling that involved rotating
>FUCK

>Another minute of thrusting, gleeful laughter from Odin, and calm orders from Atlantis go by
>You're exhausted and only thrusting out because you've been doing it all your life
>But you're alive, and none of the enemy thought of throwing whatever weapons they had at you
>The horde is now down to a few dozen horns, according to Atlantis, but now the biggest problem presents itself
>Big Guy arrives at the traps
>Thoroughly battered by the cannon and looking like a retarded porcupine, the king minotaur takes one giant step on the pile of corpses covering the spikes
>Laughing with anticipation, the king takes another big step onto the second pile
>You can hear bones and wood splintering, and you feel your stomach churn

>With a laugh done by every evil villain in all of fiction, the king raises his giant axe
>*BOOMCRUNCH*
>And receives the most beautiful fucking headshot you've ever seen
>His exposed snout caves inward, and he topples backward with a crash

>Holy Shit

>And that only leaves a few dozen-
>"Griffons in the tow-oof!"
>That was Atlantis
>Oh FUCK


>Split second decision time
>You look in front of you, and there are only a few exhausted horns trying to get over the traps
>And behind you are an unknown number of fresh griffons possibly tearing up the town
>You don't even know if Atlantis lead is still alive

>You realize you're doing no good out here and get on comms
"Odin, mop up here! We're going into town!"
>"Got it, Hoplite!"

>Gakking one last horn in the throat, you raise your spear
"HOPLITES, ABOUT FACE!"
>Realizing what's happening, your squad quickly disengages from the trench and turns around
"GET INTO THE TOWN! KILL EVERY LAST MOTHERFUCKER WITH A BEAK!"
>And like that, your squad breaks formation and runs like hell back to the town

>While the Anons that were in the back are fresh, a few of them don't have weapons
>It doesn't matter to them, fellow Anons and ponies are being killed
>Unlike the now-devastated minotaur force, your squad only had a football field to cross

>Combine the two facts together, and even though they're unfit faggots, your squad sprints like mad back to town
>They're so fast, you and the fatigued front line start to lag behind

>In thirty seconds, the squad makes it back into town, and without a spoken word splits up into several hunting groups
>One such group heads straight to the gun platforms that now look like a small brown and gold tornado

>You can see glimpses of Atlantis lead in the center with the arty crews, swinging swords and daggers every which way
>The Hoplite Anons start thrusting their spears into the flying mass of bird/lion hybrids, killing a few before the the group notices the new threat
>The tornado shifts from the platform to the Hoplites, but the Anons crouch together and raise their shields, becoming a spiked shell

>By this point, you and the front line catch up, and you're the first to thrust his spear into the swirling mass



>A passing griffon catches it in her side, and she squawks as she flys out of the pack and out of sight
>She takes your dori from you
>With no one to give you a spare spear, you resort to using your other weapon: your hoplon

>Remember how when you swing a frisbee a certain way it cuts through the air and can hurt?
>Apply that to a bronze and wooden frisbee that's two-thirds the size of your body and weighs almost 20 pounds
>The next griffon to lunge out at you gets a brutal lesson in physics and doesn't get back up

>Between the Anons forming an armored porcupine, you and the front line, AND those on the platform making their way down, the griffons start dropping like flies
>Even as they try to swarm you, their sharp talons are only able to superficially scratch at your forearms and feet
>Everything else is protected by masterfully crafted bronze armor and your precious hoplon
>Your fellow Anons also cover you by stabbing any lucky fuckhead who manages to latch onto your head and tries to tear at the back of your neck

>The griffons begin to retreat, flying up into the sky and back to the northwest, content with leaving the rest to die by your hands
>Except for one

>As you start giving orders to help clear out the town, a flying mass of brown and white feathers blindsides you
>As you roll, you get your shield under the griffon and throw it off
>When you begin to stand up, you look at your assailant
>Despite being tired as hell, frustrated, and ready to let everyone else do the dirty work, you smile under your helmet

"Well if it isn't the flying bitch herself."

>Gilda snarls at the insult

>You notice the trickle of blood in her side
>She's panting too, which may explain why she hasn't lunged at you

>You hear your squad move to either side of you, ready to move in on her
>You're not sure if any of them are Gildafags, so you're going to be careful with this
>Maybe not careful
>Just don't kill her outright

>You take a confident step forward, arms spread wide as if to present the armed men flanking you
"So what now, Gilda? You lost."

>The griffon loses her composure for a moment
>"How do you know my name?"
>Your smile remains
"We know a lot about you, griffon, trust me."

>For a second, she looks confused, then suddenly becomes infuriated
>"That dyke ratted me out, didn't she?!"
>You shake your head in mock disappointment
"Gilda, Gilda. You shouldn't blame your former friend for all of your problems. We just know /a lot/ about you, so let's leave it at that."

>Before she could ask what you meant by that, you take another step towards her
"So now what, griffon? Are you gonna run like a bitch, or are you gonna at least try and nick me?"

>Gilda stays there, unsure, and you smile
>You've gotten her in a bind
>Her wings are erect and yet she holds, conflicted in pride and logic

>Suddenly, an arrow sprouts from one of her wings
>She roars in pain and tries to take off, but only succeeds in landing on her wounded side

>Before she could even stand up, you and the squad are upon her


>As Celestia raises the sun on the fourth day, a train pulled by earth ponies chugs into the station
>The relief force, a contingent of several squads of nofuns and a few volunteer Canterlot Guards, unloads from the passenger cars

>You and the other people of importance greet them on the station's platform
>Despite being in the meat grinder, you only suffered cuts on your exposed arms and knees
>You shield and your helmet, which you have tucked under your arm, are covered in scratches
>To your right is Odin lead who looks like he had an intense rugby match last night, with plenty of semi-healed cuts and bruises
>To your left is a barely-standing Atlantis lead who's almost mummified, his right arm in a makeshift cast
>Then there's the relatively untouched native leaders: Silverstar and Thunderhooves

>The leaders of the squads and the Guard stop in front of you, and they salute
>You salute in kind

>They ask for a report, and you give a summary of what happened last night
>Impressed by your defense, the stallion leader of the force asks about casualties

>You and the leaders hesitate before looking to the west
>The relief leaders follow your gazes and spot the graves

>The griffons dive bombed the town, coming in at a near vertical angle
>They swept main street, looking for any stray residents
>Fortunately, they were all situated inside the salon, under the watch of most of Atlantis squad
>When they failed to enter the salon, the griffons moved onto the exposed artillery platforms
>Most of the lightly armored crews were dead within seconds, sliced to pieces before they could react
>Atlantis and the crew he was with are lucky to be alive right now

>Despite your squad and Atlantis losing most of the artillery crews, twelve Anons in total, Odin squad took the biggest hit
>For all of their zealotry and insanity, they were still humans going up against dozens of minotaurs
>At the final count the Thirty Fifth, Odin Squad, lost 31 Anons
>Over half of the squad


>Odin lead took it well, stating with a proud smile "They're in Valhalla now."
>Insane motherfucker

>The stallion leading the force gives you a letter, ordering to return to Canterlot for rearming some R&R
>It also asks for you specifically to get some sleep
>Considering you haven't slept since the battle, you aren't complaining

>You lead the relief force out of the station and into town, which was only recently cleaned up
>The residents helped to repair any damages done to the buildings, while the rest of Apple Platoon burned the enemy bodies a ways out of town

>You lead them to the sheriff's office/jail cell, and they're surprised to see an imprisoned Gilda, gagged and hogtied
>She glares at you the entire time you're there
>The leaders are even more impressed, and ask you to take her back to Canterlot with you
>Under close guard, of course

>As the relief force takes over the defenses, Apple Platoon begins to load up on the train, starting with putting the artillery in the cargo cars
>While they do that, you and the other leads say goodbye to the residents of Appleloosa

>Silverstar is the first to speak up
>"It's hard t'see all of ya go, after what y'all been through."
>You nod
"Same here, Sheriff, but we're needed elsewhere. We can at least part on good circumstances."
>"Yeah, we wouldn't have made it without ya."
>Odin lead smacks his bare chest
>"It was an honor, sir, defending your town."
>Atlantis lead merely nods along with Odin, not being able to do much else under all of those bandages

>Thunderhooves steps forward, looking to you
>"Never in my life have I seen such bravery for the sake of strangers, humans. My people thank you."
>You smile at that
"Stick around, Chief, and you'll find out why we fight."
>And with that, you leave for the train, the other leads following a moment later

>You watch as Gilda is carried onto one of the passenger cars, before you begin to board it yourself
>With one foot on the train you take one last look at Appleloosa
>To your surprise you see Braeburn and Strongheart down the street
>They see you and wave, grateful smiles on their faces
>Grinning, you give them a cowboy salute, then duck inside the car

>You're definitely going to sleep well on the ride back



>"Thou hast defended Appleloosa?"
"Yes, ma'am."
>The Princess of the night smiles
>"Thou hast done well."
>...
>"Thou seems troubled. Was this the first time thou hast fought?"
"Yes ma'am."
>You take a deep breath
"And we may have won, but people still died. I-"

>"Let us halt thou right there." interrupts Luna, raising a slipper-tipped hoof for emphasis
>"Deaths in battle are inevitable, and thou must not be consumed by such tragedies."

>You feel the need to argue, if only to respect those unfit degenerates who really didn't deserve to die, but you can't argue against a figure such as Luna
>You close your eyes and sigh
>Especially since you have a thing for her
>The worst part about that is that she KNOWS

>"Anonymous."
>When you open your eyes again, Luna's gotten a lot closer
>Sweet Jesus, those emerald eyes are tantalizing
>"We understand thy conflict, and we will help thou if thou wishes."

>MakesweetloveNO
>Get your shit together, man
>She's a Princess, and you're a little grunt
>That makes it even better
>NO
>Just-FUCK

>You take a moment to calm yourself and tell her the usual
>Replacement weapons, armor, more Anons if possible
>She nods at all of them, then asks if you want something personally
>Before any heretical thoughts pop up, you blurt out
"A sword?"
>Princess Luna gives you a smile that surpasses even Applejack's, and ends the dream there

>"Anon, sir, wake up!"
>You're shaken awake by Underage, who's been sitting with you the entire train ride back
>You glance outside, and see a dense forest is quickly passing by, before turning to the excited kid
"What?"
>"Where'd you get that sword?"
>He points to your lap

>You look down, and find a sheathed short sword
>No...
>You lift it above your head and slowly take it out of its sheath
>Straight
>Around half a meter in length
>It's a genuine xiphos
>The blade looks to be made out of iron, but this iron seems to glow a faint blue
>The simplistic leather handle is navy, with a midnight-black pommel

>You stare at the gift from Luna, oblivious to the Anons crowding around you to get a look

>It's official
>You are in love



>When the train arrives at Canterlot, you say you goodlucks and goodbyes to Atlantis and Odin leads before taking your squad back
>You dump Gilda on the nearest Guard, and all of you head back to your barracks in Barracks City
>Imagine all of your faces when you find crates beside each of your bunks
>Like kids on Christmas morning, you all rip them open and ogle at their contents

>Plumes
>Plumes you all fucking earned
>You look to Underage and Paintfag, then to the rest of the squad
>They're all thinking the same thing:

>What good is looking legit when you don't show it?

>A shower and a dressing later, you walk out of Barracks 28 and into a bustling Barracks City with a legit looking Hoplite Squad behind you
"MARK TIIIIME... MARCH!"
>Marching to the tempo you gave them inside, the bitchin' looking squad follows you in rows of two

>The sound of marching feet and clinking metal
>The fact that you're leading this now organized bunch of horsefuckers makes your chest swell
>You look around at the other Anons walking around you
>Some are impressed, some are jealous, the rest are indifferent

>Then you come across the top dogs; Goddamn /k/ommandos
>From the hardware they were carrying, you surmise they're on a mission, and they're only passing through
>You then get a look at what they're wearing, and they're definitely /k/ommandos
>Canadafag
>/SS/ [spoiler]Master Race[/spoiler]
>Mr. Milsurp
>And Roa-

>You almost stop marching when you make eye contact with the man

[spoiler]>Standing... on the edge... Ooofthe crater... like the prophets once said...[/spoiler]

>And just like that, the moment of understanding passes, and you continue your march

>You lead the squad out of Barracks City and take a lap around Canterlot itself, intent on making an impression
>Almost all of the capital's high-class citizens pause and gawk at the sight of your squad marching past in the street
>Just as you expected
>Yet despite the hours-long stroke of the ego, you couldn't get that damn song out of your head


>That song is STILL stuck in your head when you get back and call it a day
>And it's only the middle of the afternoon

>The squad is milling about in the barracks now
>Chatting, playing children's card games, working on the portable generator to charge everyone's electronics, etcetera
>Painfag is drawing
>Underage is reading
>Toxotesfag, that one fatso who saved your ass in your first engagement, is boasting about his ice barrier deck, whatever the fuck that means

>You have no intention of joining them
>Ergo: you're bored as fuck
>You rack your mind on what to do for a while, until an obvious choice pops up
>You hit yourself in the head for not thinking it immediately

>You put on your exercise gear, including your golden laX shirt with 28 on the back
>Just in case something happens to you

>You tap Underage on the shoulder
"I'm going for a run. I'll be back in an hour or two."

>With that, you leave the barracks and run around Barracks City
>With your iPod out of power and the generator still being fixed, you run without your music for once
>Instead, you let the constant hustle and bustle around you be a distraction from your aching legs

>As you run around, you start to notice several barracks that are taking on a theme
>One has a golden eagle above the door, and a lot of the outside is painted blood red
>Another is blaring a familiar Soviet dance song sung by a choir
>You actually run past the Thirty-Fifth's barracks, and they're having a manly, shirtless cookout with the new blood
>You don't know where they got the charcoal grills... or even the meat
>You'll have to ask them next time you see them

>After an hour passes, you decide to head back
>You run down an alley that connects to Main Street, trying to remember where exactly your barracks was
>You just get onto Main Street when you hear
>"Fight? FIGHT?! What, ya wanna go? Let's go!"

>Congrats, you just ran into the beginning of a fight
>You push through the gathering crowd, and you can see some shitfaced guy pounding on some fat faggot

>A week ago, you would've just stood there and watch
>Today, however,  you're not going to let this embarrassing shit happen in the middle of pone central
>You and another like-minded Anon run up and grab the drunkard
>You haul him off the beaten faggot, all-the-while screaming
"CALM DOWN, YOU DUMB FUCK!"
>Or something akin to that

>Combine that with you struggling with the drunk's alcohol-enhanced strength, you almost don't catch,
>"Get yer hands off my Sarge!"
>You turn just in time to see a fist connect with your face, then nothing


>Fffuuuck
>Christ, your head
>This must be what waking up from unconsciousness feels like
>Feels like shit

>You crack open your eyes, and you find yourself staring up at the ceiling of your barracks
>It's a lot quieter than when you left
>Why'd you leave again?
>...oh yeah, you went for a run
>Ended up being punched in the face
>You can't remember much after that, only glimpses that said you were dragged for a while

>You turn your head towards the barrack's door, and see that it's dark out
>Fuck, how long were you out?
>You check your watch, and it's a little past eleven
>Not too late, but Jesus...

>You lay there on your bunk for the next hour, thinking
>You've done this countless times in the past, but now...
>Holy shit, there's so much to think about

>In the past four days you've
>Given up your stable life and abandoned your family, just because you jested about defending an Araby populated by talking ponies
>Been given command of a bunch of people who are the bottom of the social barrel of the first world, along with a few third-world gits
>Defended a town from a bestial horde
>And gotten yourself involved in what you think was the start of a brawl
>Too much to think about in an hour

>You look at your watch again, and it's midnight now
>You still feel wide awake, and you start moving around in your bunk in a futile attempt to get comfortable

>"Hoplite, sir? Is that you?"
>You pause at the high-pitch whisper, then look over the side of the bunk
>You must have woken up Underage
>He looks up at you, concerned
"Kid, ugh."
>Having your head upside-down isn't the best for it right now
"What happened?"

>The kid shifts nervously as he remembers
>"Y-you didn't come back when you said you would. A... a few of us got worried but didn't wanna go out to find you, but then a guard came by and dropped you off."
>Underage then remembers another thing, and takes out a letter he was holding onto
>He sits up in bed to give it to you, and you take it with a creeping dread
>"He told me to have you read it when you wake up."

>You open the letter and use your watch's dim light to read it
>The dread eases off and is replaced by the feeling you get when you get whenever you have to do some menial task as punishment
"Get some sleep, kid. We're heading out in the morning."
>"W-what are we doing, Anon."

>You close the letter and toss it down to the floor, before trying out another sleeping position
"Chores."

>It's morning, and Hoplite Squad is on another train, heading eastward this time
>This train, unlike the one that delivered you from Appleloosa, is a full-on military train
>There's a couple of troop cars, cargo cars for the equipment, and two flatbeds topped with a mix of vehicles
>The oversized caboose has an honest-to-God 88 on it
>Black cross and everything

>Had you been ten, you would've been exited to go on a train like this
>Back then you didn't know how crowded it got on trains like this during troop deployments
>Thank God (or Celestia, you guess) that you all at least have a seat for the several-hour-long trip to the coast

>You'd still rather be on the roof than be scrunched between a sweating Toxetesfag and the cold metal hull
>The window is so weirdly placed that you can't look out of it
>You can't even stretch your legs since your knees are practically touching Paintfag's, who's sitting across from you
>He's lucky Underage is sitting next to him

>They notice your frustration
>"You okay there, Sergeant?" says Paintfag with a grin
>Oh by the way: you were bumped down from Lt. to Sgt. after Appleloosa
"Just great."
>You all remain silent the rest of the way

>When you finally arrive and Toxotesfag releases you from claustrophobic hell, you stretch your aching body
>It takes another five minutes for all of you to shuffle off the train
>You can hear plenty of activity outside
>When you hop off you look around

>Holy shit
>You're in a busy-as-fuck train yard
>Smoke, rolling metal, and Anons all over the place
>You must be near Manehatten to be in a place like this
>You look up, and note that sky is really dark
>Defensive measures on the weather team's part, you surmise

>Your squad grabs the gear from the train, and then you spend the next few hours attempting to traverse the industrial jungle of volunteer military might
>You're directed by multiple pegasi, who are all carrying signs pointing to certain junctions
>Following the instructions from the letter, you lead your squad towards the southern end of the train yard

>You finally get out of that mess of a train hub, and walk through some suburbs before coming into a camp of sorts
>It's not as busy as the train yard, but there's still activity
>Humans and ponies, moving shit around and patrolling together
>On one side is a massive open garage housing a myriad of different kinds of vehicles

>You take your squad and place them in a corner beside the garage, before heading out on your own to find your new commanding officer

>After being directed to a rather nice-looking brick building in the center of the camp, you head inside and are again directed to "Godmother's" office
>You could only imagine who you'll meet in there

>The quiet room on the top floor is the typical office of a military career person:
>Clean, with a few framed photos and diplomas (you think) lining the walls
>A bookcase is tucked in the corner

>Past the spartan desk, looking out the only window in the room, is a rather large Canterlot Guard
>Her spit-shined helmet is resting on her desk, so you get a good look at her
>White fur, dark blonde hair
>When she turns to you, she has piercing blue eyes
>Her expression gives you a feeling that she has never smiled
>Now if her voice...

>"Are you Hoplite Lead?"
>Sounds a little old, but is perfectly normal
"Yes ma'am."

>She walks around her desk, then presents her armored hoof
>You take it and shake it once, making sure your grip is tight
>First impressions are always important

>"I heard you were in charge of defending Appleloosa."
"Yes, ma'am."
>She doesn't smile, but nods
>"I also heard you were involved in a fight in Canterlot."
>Uh-oh
"Yes, ma'am
>She takes a deep breath through her nose
>"Did you start it?"
"No, ma'am."
>"Do you know what caused the fight?"
"No, ma'am, but alcohol was involved."

>She gets very close suddenly, and you do your best not to move
>The mare sniffs the air in front of your mouth, then slowly backs away
>"You don't look like a troublemaker, and from the after action report in Appleloosa you not only organized a solid defense, but was in the front line as well."

>She walks behind her desk, and begins to fish something out from the drawers
>"I don't know exactly what the brass was thinking when they decided to dump you here..."
>She pulls out a large scroll and places it on one side of her desk
>"But regardless of the circumstances, I'm glad to have what looks to be a competent human officer under my command."
>With a few taps of her hoof, Godmother unfurls the scroll, revealing a map of Equestria's entire eastern coastline

>"I understand you have already fought griffons?"
"Yes, ma'am."
>"Good, then I could just start with this:"
>The experienced soldier straightens up, staring right at you to make sure you get the message
>"There is no doubt in my mind the griffons will invade Equestria in full force."
>The statement makes you frown in confusion
"If the griffons haven't really invaded, why are there griffons here already?"
>"The griffons you've fought were only parts of advance divisions, snuck in to bolster the minotaurs and diamond dogs already attacking. The few spies we have in the griffon kingdoms are telling us they have been massing units on their western coast. At some point--I don't know when--they'll jump over here to try and steamroll over us all the way to Canterlot."

>Godmother begins to indicate points on the map, starting with Manehatten and shifting downward
>"I'll be attaching your squad to my second battalion. They'll be going down the coast to start setting up fortifications. They'll also be updating maps since this one is rather ancient. Do you have an Anon who's good at drawing?"
>You allow a little, proud smile to appear
"I in fact do, ma'am."
>She nods

>"Good. Suit up and have your squad report to the garage in thirty mikes. The sooner you all roll out the easier it is on my mind."
>You give a crisp salute
"Ma'am."

>Thirty five minutes later, and you and Hoplite Squad are still waiting by the garage, fully armed and armored
>You stand by one of the humvees, with your shield and spear leaning on the grill
>You have one hand gripping the belt holding your MANLY skirt, while the other rests on the pommel of your gifted sword

>You feel very out of place here
>Behind you is an entire line of 20th and 21st century vehicles, a lot of then heavily armored and armed to the teeth
>And here you are with your squad of hoplites

>"Uh, who here is Hoplite Lead?"
>You look away from the line of armor and find a unicorn Guard approaching your squad
>Some of them point to you, and you start walking towards him to emphasize

>You stop in front of the young-looking, green unicorn and look down at him
>He /was/ about to say something, but now he's hesitant
>You decide to get the ball rolling yourself

"I'm Hoplite Lead."
>You use a voice a little deeper than usual
>But hey: first impressions

>You tilt your head, still looking down at the apparent rookie
"You are?"

>The pony sits suddenly and salutes
>"Oh! Um, I'm Captain Banner, Mr. Hoplite. I-I'm the head of one of the armored companies."
>...
"A unicorn, in charge of an armored company?"
>The rookie shifts on his hunches, looking down
>"I, uh, just got out of officer's school today. This is kinda my first assignment."

>You fight the urge to take off your helmet and rub your eyes
>This is going to be a real fucking chore


>Ten minutes later, and you're on the road
>You have to admit: riding shotgun in a little, Cold War russian jeep isn't as bad as being stuck with Toxotesfag
>He's stuck in the flatbed of the F-150 Raptor behind you

>Hoplite squad has been sprinkled throughout the mechanized infantry platoon of B Company, which is a hodgepodge of both civilian and old military vehicles
>You have no idea where they got the fuel for so many vehicles, but it's not your problem to worry about
>That goes to logistics

>"So vhat did you do to piss of high horses?" asks your driver
>You turn to him, and the horsefucker looks like he came with the jeep

"You heard about that fight yesterday in Canterlot?"

>The twenty-some year old laughs heartily
>Who hasn't, comrade? Dat almost became its own vwar."
>Jesus, you didn't know it got that bad
>You look out the open window at the passing line of trees that are running parallel to the two-lane coast road
>"So vhat happened? You punch cheeky fucker because he made fun of skirt?"
>You chuckle at that, drowned out by the dozen of chugging engines
"No, some drunk guy picked a fight. I tried to stop it, but... I may have inadvertently escalated it."

>"I see, comrade. You seem to be man of profession. You vish for order in zee army. A most noble goal, though futile with horsefuckers."
>Still looking out, you nod
"Yeah... Maybe it is."

>After a few silent minutes of driving, the russian driver asks you
>"So, comrade Sergeant, vwhy do you dress as vworriors of old?"

>You think about it for a minute, then look back to the stereotypical /k/omrade

"Someone might have read my mind when I asked for shields and armor. I was a little pissed when we were only given spears for drilling."
>That one asshole of a /k/ommando may have reinforced your decision

>"Ah, you had mind read by wonderful Santa Princess!"
>You tilt your head, which is hard to do in this bouncing jeep with your helmet on
"Santa Princess?"
>The rusky's smile is now huge
>"The lovely Luna, comrade! She has gift many gifts to all of us, and horse of night has won many hearts, including our pig of a lieutenant."

>So she isn't favoring you?
>You should've realized that you're not the only Lunafag out of these thousands of horsefuckers

"What did she give him?"
>"She gave him tommy gun, because he believes he is capitalist mobster who capture many enemies. Is how he got rank, too."
>Oh God, you can tell this is going to be hilarious
"He wears a trench coat and a fedora, doesn't he?"
>The smile remains
>"And he smoke shitty cigarettes instead of real cigar."
>You could only shake your head at that

>"Did Santa Princess give you gift, comrade?"
>You detach the sword from your belt and lift it up for Rusky to see
>His eyes light up under his ski mask
>"Ooo. Sword may be little, but is beautiful, comrade Hoplite. Is much more pretty than product of passionless industry."

>You might be a little favored by Luna after all
>A glimmer of hope remains

>The image of those emerald eyes are eventually forgotten as the battalion reaches the first village
>Captain Banner's all-armor Charlie Company rolls in first, letting everyone in the place know the Manehatten 2nd Battalion just arrived

>After Charlie goes through and takes positions on the far side of town, Bravo and Alpha Companies move in and you all dismount
>For the next hour or two, you all walk around, looking at where the best places for fortifications would be and have Paintfag place them on new maps

>Considering this coastline hasn't reported any enemy activity, you've traded your helmet for your blue Uni cap and keep your hoplon and dori hanging on the side of the jeep
>You keep your armor on and Luna's xiphos at your side

>Once the Colonel, a rather young Pegasus by the name of Swept Sundowner, deems the fortification plans sufficient, he has them sent to the small army of engineers following behind the Batallion

>These events repeat when you move to the next town or village further south

>Then the next one...

>And then you all have lunch in the small town after that one
>Thank Celestia the supply trucks carried actual packed food instead of MREs
>You've read plenty of horror stories on /k/ relating to "Meals Ready to Eat", and you'd rather not know the effects they have on ponies
>Just the thought makes you taste bile

>Before you could imagine the literal shitstorm any further while you eat, you are pulled aside by a middle-aged human
>Given the expensive looking camera and vid-recorder, he's a reporter
>He even introduces himself as Reporter Anon, and he inadvertently signed up for this war as well as you

>Walking over to an empty, out of the way table, the two of you sit down both to eat and have a chat
>He takes out a notebook and pen, then starts asking questions
>Who are you?
>Where are you from?
>Why did you sign up?
>What have you done that you can talk about?

>You answer what you can, and Reporter Anon listens intently
>He's impressed by your defense of Appleloosa, and asks why you're not a Lieutenant now
>You tell him that, technically, the rank was never official, for for the assignment was a last-minute decision and a personal request by a VIP

>You still express that you would like to try and rise up the ranks, as long as you don't step on any toes/tails
>It's then the topic turns to the current Lieutenant of First Platoon, a "Mafia Anon"
>You met him in the last town, and you tell the reporter you're positive you can replace him

>"And what makes you say that?"
"He's an egotistical, hyper-autistic son of a bitch, who's more concerned about his image and standing with his 'Oh-so-dear Woona' than the lives of those he's leading."

>When the day ended, you and the other people of interest in Hoplite Squad gather around Rusky's truck

>"You want to get rid of the Lieutenant?" asks Paintfag
"Well, I'm not going to kill him, that would be treachery."
>"So what are going to do?"
>You look to the lanky Anon
>Without his helmet, you can tell the guy's gotten little sleep, but he now has that grin
"The obvious thing to do is to show the higher ups I am more capable of a leader than he is, but without any enemies around that's going to be hard."
>"Not really. Maps aren't my specialty, but I can still draw decent, and you've got more experience than he does."
"So we just need to do our current assignment better than him?"
>"That, and we should get close to the Captains and the Colonel."
>You nod, some plans already forming in your head
"Yeah, good idea, man."

>"You Hoplites planning insurrection?" asks Rusky, who just came back from nature's business
"No, just planning to make this platoon a little more effective."
>The Russian looks to all of you, expressionless under that ski mask, but then nods
>"I see, comrade. I support your goal to make army even stronger under your leadership. You are only squad who has seen combat."
"Thank you, Rusky, though I don't have a direct plan at least yet. Right now, it's about opportunity."
>Rusky shifts a little from the new nickname, but his look is still approving
>"Da, comrade."

>The next day is more of the same, with Charlie making a show of force and the rest of you mapping out defenses
>You, Paintfag, and the rest of Hoplite are all over the many towns and villages, jogging to spots with good lines of sight, then begin drawing up a map and marking down the relevant fortifications
>Bunkers, trenches, prefab walls, places to dig boxes for artillery, anti-air defense, etcetera
>You do it all

>The work is tedious and exhausting, both physically and mentally
>A lot of these towns are practically carbon copies of each other, and you find yourself placing the same fortifications in almost the exact same places you did an hour ago
>The cookie cutter design of these places the rural ponies have built at least make it so you can expect what to place and where to place it
>But Jesus, you and the rest of the squad are getting sick of it
>Fucking chores

>The hard work shows, thankfully, and your squad is pumping out more maps than any within the Company
>Whenever you get a peek at the other maps, you start to realize you're also putting more effort and strategy into these fortifications

>Despite Pony efficiency, it seems the Battalion wasn't given a specific legend to use
>Therefore, squads were forced to make up their own, or simply jot down words
>Most of the maps are completely saturated with vague symbols and wording
>Some don't even have legends anywhere on the map
>Mafia Anon's maps are just littered with half-hazardly placed defenses, so much so that they actually might bog down defenders as much as invaders
>As you decipher his maps over the course of the day, you become even more dumbfounded by his tactical stupidity
>By some childish, money-is-no-object logic, some of the layers (out of the dozens) are actually facing backwards
>Who the fuck gave this dumbbell his rank?

>At the end of the sixth day, and with a quarter of the coast remaining, you get a sudden call over the radio
>"Hoplite Lead, this is Captain Holtz: please report to the town pub."

"...Understood, heading over."
>You pause after cutting the comms, wondering what your Captain might want with you
>Hopefully you haven't fucked up something without you knowing

>When you enter the easy-lighted pub, you're surprised to see all of the command staff sitting at the bar, relatively relaxed
>Both humans and ponies are sitting on the raised stool, with some already having some drinks
>Mafia Anon is leaning on the edge of the finished wood, smoking a regular cigarette with his sand-colored fedora tipped forward, acting like he doesn't give a fuck

>Hoping for the best and preparing for the worst, you approach the mixed command
>The orange/red Colonel, behind the bar with the bartender, acknowledges you first with a smile
>"Good for ya t' join us, Hop'te Lead."

>You cautiously nod and take a seat by the human Captain Holtz, who looks like an actual soldier, judging by the familiar black, red, and yellow patch and G36 leaning on the bar next to him

>World Marshal member-turned-pegasus pops up across from you, lazily beating his wings while leaning his elbow (is it an elbow?) on the bar
>"So yer the guy who kept App'loosa from being razed?"
"Yes sir."
>The bartender gives Sundowner another glass, and he takes a gulp
>"Pretty good for a rookie. I heard a king bull's there and yer boys got 'im right'n tha head."
"Yes sir."

>"Nice...nice."
>Another gulp of whatever golden beverage it is
>"So yer prob'ly wond'rin why yer here, Sergeant."
"...Yes, sir."
>You glance at the line of Captains and Lieutenants, who are in various levels of amusement at your expense

>"WELL!"
>You almost jump and look back at Sundowner, who suddenly looks sober and has that same cheeky grin on his face
>"I actually have a little mission for you and your boys."


>An hour later, and the 1st Platoon of Bravo Company is rolling south as silently as a bunch of transport vehicles can be
>Every headlight is off, and the only source of light for you is Luna's shining moon
>At least the drivers have NVGs on

>At a certain point, the Platoon stops, and Hoplite squad carefully disembarks
>You grab your shield and spear from Rusky's jeep, then wait for your squad to move up to the front of the line
>Trotting nervously along with Underage is a dark blue unicorn with no armor
>Her dark brown eyes dart around, afraid something is going to jump out at her

>When you all assemble, you whisper into your helmet radio
"Capone Actual, this is Hoplite: we're on foot and making our way to the objective, over."
>A moment passes, and Mafia Anon's nasally voice comes on
>"Got it, Hoplite. Head in and investigate."
>Fucking asshole doesn't even know basic comm protocol
"Understood, Capone Actual. Hoplite moving to infiltrate, out."

>Your turn to the west of the road, cross the small ditch and creek, and make a broad circle through the countryside
>It takes around thirty minutes of slow, hunched over walking through hills and farmland, but you're not taking any chances
>When you spot the lights of the town, you have everyone crouch and slowly inch their way to the treeline closest to the objective

>With everyone online, you crawl over to the unicorn
>She's shaking, almost scared out of her wits

>You whisper as softly as you can
"So what opposition do we have?"

>"G-griffons."
>Flying rats?
>Here?
>Shit

"How many?"
>"...I...I'm not sure, maybe a dozen? They were so fast, I don't know how I got out."
>Lucky mare, or did they let her escape?
>You'll have to figure it out

"Alright, we're going to try figure out why they're here, but it's going to be tricky. Do you know any spells that can make us invisible?"

>The unicorn begins to sputter, bumping into Underage a few times
>You can only guess his reaction
>"N-no, I can't do that big of a spell. I'm not Twilight! Why is does everypony think-"

>You cup your hand over her mouth, stopping her from announcing your position
"Okay, we get it. Do have any spells we could use?"

>You release her, and the unicorn thinks for a few seconds
>"I may have one: it's a sound dampening spell that causes something or somepony to make much less noise."
>You think it over, then find a possible flaw
"Does the spell only affect those it's cast upon?"
>"No, it's a non-isolated, low magic spell that can trap the vibrations that make sound."
"Trap the vibrations?"

>"Yes, the spell acts as a shield that keeps in whatever noise is created by the target. However, like heat trapped in an insulated area, the vibrations will build inside, and that might cause problems."
"Problems? Like us going deaf?"
>"That, and eventually the shield breaking and releasing all of the built-up vibrations in an instant."
>Shit...wait

"Is it possible to leave small 'holes' in the shield, just enough that isn't noticeable, but can make the shield last longer?"
>The unicorn lowers her head in thought, then starts to nod to herself
>"Yes...yes, that will lengthen the shield's life considerably...b-but it may take some time for me to get it right for all of you."

>You take a slow, deep breath, before smiling under your helmet
"Don't worry, we have all night to do this."

>Ten minutes later, and the spell is properly cast
>According to the unicorn, the invisible shields surrounding you all are leaking out a low-frequency noise that cannot be heard by humans, ponies, or griffons
>You nod to her, and with a raise of your spear, you order Hoplite squad forward

>Carefully, you all move across the flat patch of land, silent
>As you move across the dry grass, you can hear a constant echo
>Right now, it's barely audible, but that will change in a few minutes of constant movement
>You have to work fast

>Hoplite squad soon arrives at the first building, a two-story inn
>So far, you and your men haven't seen a single living thing
>Which means you have to expect every building to be standing room only

>You lead one half of your hoplites to the single door on your side of the building
>Paintfag leads the other half around, keeping out of the dim street lamps

>With the unicorn in the back of the breaching line with Underage, you approach the wooden door
>Toxotesfag is right behind you, arrow already nocked
>You give one look back to the twenty-some men lined up behind you, nod, and slowly turn the doorknob
>Why do these ponies have doorknobs anyway?

>Countless nights of sneaking through your house late at night has prepared you well, and combined with the unicorn's spell, you open the well-oiled door swiftly and with nay a sound

>The lobby/bar is lit, but empty
>You keep moving forward with your hoplon allowing the rest of the breach team to move inside
>Looking around, you note that layout of the lobby is eerily similar to the Prancing Pony from the Fellowship
>How about that
>You advance to the stairs, Toxotesfag aiming over your shoulder just like you practiced
>As the unit secures the first floor, you lay your spear down and grab the high-powered flashlight from one of your pockets
>You owe Rusky five bits for the bar when you get back
>Now with only your shield to protect you in these tight spaces, you have to rely on your "top" archer to take anything out

>You, Toxotesfag, and a few other Anons move up to the second floor, with you sweeping with the flashlight
>There is a single hall of about ten rooms, five on either side
>One by one, your team clears the rooms small rooms, and eight of them are empty
>When you throw the door open to the ninth room, you're greeted by a writhing pile of gagged and tied-up ponies
>They flail around in panic the moment your light shines on them
>You lower the flashlight and lower yourself in the doorway, trying your best not to look intimidating behind your large, round shield with a cyan hourglass black widow on it
>With that room secure, you move onto the last one, expecting to find a griffon guard taking a snooze
>You keep your flashlight lowered and slowly open the door

>Turns out: there IS a griffon guard, cat napping on the bed
>You're a fucking genius

>You turn to the team and put a finger to your lips
>They all nod, and you carefully move to the side of the dreaming enemy
>You hold your hand out, waiting for the Anons to bring up the zip ties
>When a pair is handed to you and Toxotesfag, the two of you ready to make your move

>As one, you slip one on and clamp down on the guard's beak and back legs
>Before the griffon realizes what is happening, the two of you tie up her front legs and wings
>The beast flails about, but no one outside the building can hear her

>Hostages secure
>Enemy soldier secure
>Now you have to wait for Paintfag

>A minute after you moved everyone downstairs, and Paintfag and his team return with bloodied weapons

>The echo is at the level of a small fan now

>You tilt your head quizzically at Paintfag, and he produces a small scroll as well as a pretty hefty bag of currency
>He places them on a table, and you take the scroll first
>Unfurling it, you're greeted by complete chicken scratch
>Griffon writing

>You can't understand any of it, except for the picture at the bottom:
>Two squiggly lines running parallel with each other, and one you recognize as Equestria's eastern coast
>There is one small arrow connecting to the line, and you guess it represents the force here
>It's being follow by a couple of bigger arrows
>Oooh shit

>You walk over to the skittish unicorn, who's being kept company by Underage
>She looks up at you, and you do a quick cutting motion at your neck
>The mare nods, and dismisses the spell

>At once, you all hear a multitude of footsteps on many surfaces, along with some clangs and wet sounds that come from Paintfag's guys
>The unicorn shudders at the sounds
>Underage is quick to lay a hand on her shoulder, and she calms down

>You turn to Paintfag
"Did you clear everything?"
>"All but one shack by the cliffs. I saw a light on inside."

"Got it. I'll take some people over and check it out."
>"I'm going too."

>You turn and look down at the unicorn, who takes a tentative step towards you
>"T-That's my parents' house."

>You nod, then grab a few hoplites before leaving the inn

>You won't call it a shack, more like one of those small farmhouses you have in between the suburbs
>The two windows on either side of the door is lit, and your team approaches from on side, along the top of the cliff
>Why the unicorn's family has their house this close to a huge drop is beyond you

>As you creep closer, you can hear a struggle inside
>You suddenly feel fur brushing against your armored leg, and you see the unicorn galloping past you to the side of the house
>After a little digging she finds a handle, and with your assistance opens a buried cellar door

>With haste born of the struggle in the house, and now a muffled scream, you all pour into the damp, unfinished basement
>The unicorn gallops to the flimsy stairs leading up, and without any thought of stealth heads for the first floor
>You, Underage, and Toxotesfag try to follow, but you slow down so whoever's up there doesn't know there's an ancient SWAT team moving in

>When you get to the open door, you hear the unicorn
>"Get your claws off of them!"

>You look back to Toxotesfag and gesture for him to get up front
>You all move in the direction of the unicorn and now the laughing griffon, with the fat archer squeezing past you

>The fatso moves through the mess of a kitchen, arrow still nocked and ready
>He waits for a second by the open portal to the living room, then draws his bow and moves in
>You follow close behind, expecting to hear a shot

>When you don't, you enter and realize why
>The griffon's gone, and what's left is the unicorn's parents, a unicorn father and earth mother, tied up and bloody but still straining
>The unicorn herself is propped up against the wall under the large window looking out to the ocean, dazed
>She has a rag across her mouth, and the rag is holding her head against the wall via knives
>With the parents looking at her pleadingly, you run to her, with the rest of the team streaming in and clearing the room

>As you pull the knives out of the wood, the pony youth comes back to her senses
>Her eyes shoot open before you take the rag out
>"He's still here!"

>The griffon flies out of the unchecked closet

>In that instant, you manage to bring your shield around
>Just like Aplleloosa, a flying scout can knock you on your ass
>This griffon is no scout

>You're thrown through the window
>The non-Hollywood glass shatters and scatters everywhere
>You can feel glass stab into your back as you land, knocking the wind out of you
>You also lose your helmet and flashlight from the jolt
>Your shield only remains because it's strapped to your arm


>The griffon doesn't give you a moment's rest, and he flies out of the broken window and digs into your shoulders with his talons
>The pain makes you grab at them with your free hand as the flying hybrid lifts you up and over the cliff

>He lets go, but you're still hanging on to his claw
>He notices and grunts as he tries to shake you off

>"Let, GO, you, APE!"

>Your response to that:
"Fucker!"

>You probably meant to say, "Fuck that!"
>Too late now

>He shakes you a few more futile times, and it's obvious you're not letting go
>Then there's the rest of the squad

>The griffon turns to the cliff face, and you see the ancient SWAT team has left the house
>Toxotesfag and a couple more archers aim their bows, ready to shoot

>The stage is set, and everyone pauses for a moment
>The only sound heard is the flapping of the griffon's wings

>The hybrid starts with a chuckle, then in a deep, experienced voice
>"It seems we're at an impasse."
>The squad remains silent, bows still aimed at him
>They may have practiced in the last couple of days, but you're not completely confident in their aim
>"Now, I could try to fly back home with him, but from what I heard, you have machines that can catch up to me quite easily."
>Even if they do hit him and kill him, it's a long drop to the wet, jagged rocks below
>Unless...

>The unicorn jumps through the window, quickly followed by Underage
>She gallops up to he edge, fear taking hold
>"And yet, this could all have been avoided, had you not been so rash, little 'filly.'"
>The mare tries to yell out some deceleration, some words of denial, but she falters and lowers her head
>"Ah, the TRUTH! It hurts, doesn't it? Knowing that you are flawed, liable to make mistakes. Mistakes that cost lives!
>But don't cry. You're not alone, little filly. You are flawed right alongside your leaders."

>You look to Toxotesfag and the other archers, and you hope they see you nodding towards the unicorn and winking
>You just have to wait for an opportunity

>"Celestia and Luna: they both made the mistake of believing they can bring peace.
>What they have is an illusion! The state Equestria was in for the past years only result of their powers as beings of the divine.
>But now...now we shall be on equal footing.
>Our numbers are countless. Our technology is advancing in leaps and bounds every day!
>And very soon, you all will realize it is us, not ponies, who are capable of ruling this world without challenge!"

>Spoken like a truly indoctrinated communist who knows nothing of what's really happening
>And now it's your turn

>You start with your own chuckle
"You're a fuckin' idiot. Ya know that?"
>You and the griffon look at each other, and he looks confused
"Why do you think we're here? Ya think Celestia just came across us in her backyard?"
>The griffon doesn't respond, and you continue pulling shit out of the HFY book again
"She came to us. She asked for our aid. She knew her state of 'illusionary peace,' as you put it, can't properly wage war. That's why she asked humanity for aid."
>At least that's what you think
"And I'll let you in on something: we humans /are/ war. Some of the more sheltered people may not like to talk about it, but it's the truth: we are synonymous with conflict.
It's what drives us. We can't go long without something to worry about, otherwise we'd jump straight over the edge of insanity.
Still sounds unhinged, right? Yeah, that's us. Let me give you an example."

>You look to the unicorn, who's now staring right at you, mouth open a little
"Ma'am, what's your name?"
>"W-what?"
>You couldn't help but laugh
"De-hehehe... Despite all of this preparation, I never asked your name. Can you tell me?"
>She stares for a moment, before saying,
>"M-May Fiddler. My name is May Fiddler."
>You smile
"You say you're not Twilight, May?"
>She lowers her head again
>"...Yes. I'm not nearly as powerful as her."

"I trust you."
>May snaps her head back up, surprised
"You're not Twilight, but you're still a unicorn, and I trust you completely."
>"What do you mean?"

>Before the griffon could realize what you're saying, you nod to Toxotesfag
>He draws and fires in an instant, and hits the flying rat square in the chest
>With a roar of pain, the griffon goes limp
>Still holding onto him, you throw the dying hybrid behind you as you begin to fall
>You fall a foot, then two, then four

>You feel pressure below, and you stop
>You float there for a few seconds, looking upside-down at the ocean, and you hear May straining to keep you from falling
>You hear Hoplite squad start ordering her to reel you in
>With a fatigued yell, she throws you to her
>You flip over, and your stomach hits the rocky lip

>The archers quickly grab you and drag you to safety, beside a panting May
>You look at each other, and you give her a smile
"Nice job, kid."
>She keeps panting, but at least she smiles back

>An hour later, and the rest of the battalion settles in the town
>With all of the residents alive and accounted for, and the enemy bodies burned, you can all relax for now
>For now, because after handing the scroll over, you know they're going to find something bad and get all of you moving
>Fortunately for you, abso-fucking-lutely nobody could read griffon, and apparently none of the unicorns knew any translating spells
>That means you can get your back and shoulders patched up
>You also keep the gold, 'cause spoils of war

>When you walk out of the medics' tent, your armor stored with your weapons in Rusky's jeep and replaced with bandages, you look towards the lit-up two story building
>You can hear the familiar low roar of a busy bar
>With an aching body and a dry throat, you find yourself walking towards it

>As the letter was sent back to HQ, a lot of the troops who weren't out patrolling decided to have a drink at the inn, including the command staff
>The grateful innkeeper is giving a free pint of his stores all around
>Only a pint
>Sundowner isn't stupid enough to let everyone get plastered

>Getting a pint of "dry snout" you look for a place to sit, and you walk around the light-hearted chaos
>Due to this being a social event, you're not surprised to find almost none of your squad here
>You are pleasantly surprised to find Underage sitting by the wall, right next to May
>Really close to May
>You smile when you see the empty glass mug beside her along with the silly expression on her face, which is now a tad darker than the rest of her
>Sundowner's restriction doesn't apply to her
>Underage has an empty pint in his hands, and he's blushing a little as he chats with young Ms. Fiddler

>You're not the best when it comes to telling age, especially with different species , but since what's occurring over there is occurring, you feel pretty justified in calling her kid

>Your smile gets even bigger as May says something and gives Underage "that look"
>The boy gets really red and sputters something out, causing May to laugh herself into a drunken fit
>You wonder if it's just her family or if everypony allowed their kids to drink at an early age
>Oh well, you're not gonna walk up and ruin the kids' moment with each other, so you move on

>You eventually find a open spot, at the same table as Mafia Anon
>His glass is already empty, and he's taking long drags from his cigarette
>He looks pissed about something, possibly relevant to you

>You might as well further your plan
>Somehow
>You'll figure it out as you go

>You sit at his table, and he doesn't acknowledge you at first
>You take a sip of your pint
>While you've tried alcohol before, you've never acquired a taste for it
>This dry snout, however
>It tastes a little like...coffee?
>You take another sip
>Yep, that's coffee
>Alcoholic coffee, though you're not feeling any different

>Then again, you've only taken two sips

>You take a gulp when Mafia Anon speaks up with his fake Italian accent
>"How'd you do it."
"Do what?"
>"Take this town like you did, how'd you do it?"

"Well..."
>Oh man, here comes the buzz
>Oooh that numbing feeling feels nice
"My squad and I've been in the shit 'lready, sir."
>He finally looks at you
>"What're you talkin' about?"

>You shift into a more comfortable position, resting on your elbows
"Appleloosa? That was us."
>The wannabe mobster turns to face you fully
>"Bullshit."

>You smile at him
>This is going to be fun
"Just gotta ask the Colonel, he knows. I'm sure a lot of other people know too."

>You look around, and spot Sundowner walking around, and by luck he's close enough for you to get his attention
>You shout his rank, though your voice sounds a little more relaxed than a few minutes ago
>Isn't your drink supposed to be light?
>You wave the pegasus down, and he struts right over with a smile

"How's the Battalion, Colonel?"
>"Doin' just fine, and I have to say I'm glad Godmother gave you to me. Already you've been proving your worth."
>Hey, hard work pays
"Thank you, sir. Any word on that scroll yet?"

>Sundowner waves his hoof dismissively
>"Nah, not yet, though from the looks of it they'll just have us dig in and wait."
"They won't have us pull back to Manehatten?"
>The Colonel raises a brow
>"Manehatten? Even I'm not rash enough to go for that. I don't care if I have an armada at my back, I'll be chopped up piecemeal."
>He shakes his head
>"No, if the Griffons are smart, they'll hit the places we haven't been to yet. Even then, if their target is Canterlot they'll have a hay of a time getting there between the terrain and all of tech you humans brought with you."
"Tech?"
>"Ya know: guns, rockets, tanks, and those fucking jets you've got flying all over."
>Sundowner's expression becomes very serene
>"Just one of those things can take out a flight of griffons with all the shit that's stuffed on them, and by Celestia are they fast."

>You nod
"That's humanity for you, sir. Where we lack magic, we have technology. Hell, I think some of our planes from sixty-some years ago can take them on. But beside praising blessed old humanity, there's a reason why I called you over, sir."
>The Colonel looks to a smiling you and a rather peeved Mafia Anon, and clue makes his smile into a grin
>"And what might that be, Hoplite Lead?"
"My Lieutenant here doesn't believe that I was involved in the defense of Appleloosa."

>The Colonel's cheeky demeanor disappears in an instant, to your surprise
>But then he turns to the poser

>"Is this true, Lieutenant?"
>The lanky man in his 20s begins to breath deeply to calm himself
>"Sir, I merely stated that the Sergeant's role in the defense of Appleloosa was exaggerated."
>Oh it's on now

"Colonel, that is false. When I sat here a minute ago, the Lieutenant inquired about my method, or rather he questioned my ability of being able to complete this mission. To validate my abilities as a leader and my squad's skills I referenced my involvement in Appleloosa, to which he replied, and I quote, 'bullshit.'"

>The buzz is a little suppressed now, most likely from your explanation
>It's not enough to keep you from smiling at Mafia Anon's quickly-shut-down attempt to defend himself
>"Lieutenant, I understand the Twenty Eighth is the newest edition to the Second Battalion, and to your knowledge they have not proven their worth. Do you agree?"

>...

>"Do, you, agree?"
>"...Yes s-"
>"YOU'RE WRONG, FILLY-BOY!"

>The entire inn shuts up, and all eyes are on you three

>"In the past two days, I have been forced to wade through the shittiest of maps ever made by sentient life, and guess who's maps were approved by those engineers trying to hump us in the next town over?"

>"...H-Hoplite's s-"
>"CORRECT, ANON!"
>Now the pegasus' wings are active and he's inching his way up to the man's face
>"And when I noticed that a lowly sergeant and his band of fatties and poles were churning out more maps that were of infinitely better quality than the rest of the troop, I got myself thinking: maybe a restructuring of command was in order. Would you agree, Lieutenant?"
>...
>"Well, WOULD YOU?!"
>"Y-yes sir."
>"Of course you would! I should expect at least some common fucking sense from any human being, because I've seen it in every single one of your kind so far!"
>Sundowner tilts his head
>"Or maybe I'm wrong. Perhaps there is a special breed of humans that only get by on sheer luck. You're starting to look like one, Anon!"

>...

>"Now, I could just fire you and replace you with Hoplite Anon over here. I could even have you stick with him so he can teach you everything, from leading a defense to fucking urinating properly!
>But that's not fair now, is it? Perhaps I'm singling you out because of some arbitrary force that compels me to discriminate against bad-filly mobsters!"
>The Colonel floats away, as if he's spit enough in the now-shaking Anon's face
>"Therefore, I will give you a plentiful dose of reality, Anon."
>He's now in the center of the largest area in the lobby
>Everyone's keeping their distance
>"I need a circular clearing!"
>In seconds, humans and ponies clear an arena, with the Colonel in the center
>"Hoplite Anon and Mafia Anon: get your tops off and get over here. Not your bandages, Hoplite, those better stay there!"

>The two of you do as your are told, with you wearing your hoplite skirt and him wearing expensive-looking trousers
>You're not /fit/ in your upper body, but you're not fat up there either
>Mafia Anon's just as skinny and pasty as a skeleton

>"Now I want you two to see who is the one who wants the position of Lieutenant more! No fatal shots, or no one will get the position. Understand!"

>You both yell out "Sir, yes sir!"

>"Now, before you start..."
>The Colonel flies over to the one Anon with the guitar that was playing some Irish-sounding music, and whispers to him
>The Anon grins, then nods to the pegasus
>Sundowner, along with everyone else looks to you two
>You look to Mafia Anon, and then freeze when a familiar tune

>In that verse before the lyrics should kick in, you think on how should you kick his ass?
>Should you just get it over with? Get back to business?
>Or should you go along with the music and have some fun with this?
>The faint traces of Irish heritage, roused by the first real taste of beer, tell you to enjoy it
>Savor it, because you might not get another chance like this

>Fuck it, might as well
>You make the first move as some of the Anons start singing

>"While in the merry month of May, n'from me home I started,"

>You start simple: charge in with a right hook
>Even a drunk man could at least block it, and Mafia does so with his elbow
>He's apparently seen Sherlock too, because then he slaps you on the side of the head
>You respond with a left punch to his kidney

>He reels, and with both hands clenched into fist you punch/push him away to the edge of the ring

>"Left the girls of Tuam, on'nearly brokenhearted,"

>Now he's in the role, and he starts clapping
>He's breathing heavily already
>You close the distance, fainting to the right
>He takes the bait and goes left
>You catch him with your arm and plow him into the overturned table

>"Saluted father dear, kissed me darlin' mother,"

>You take one, two shots to his small belly as you try to keep him off balance
>He manages to get his feet up and kick you away, letting him recover

>"Drank a pint of beer, me grief 'n tears to smother,"

>The two of you circle, the Anons and pones who don't know the words cheering
>You can only guess for what or for whom they're cheering for

>"Then off to reap the corn! And leave're I was born!"

>You move in again, remember your wrestling days vaguely
>You go low, powering past his slaps and trapping him in a bear hug

>"Cut a stout blackthorn! Ta banish ghosts 'n goblins,"

>You take a low shot, moving yourself under him and, more importantly, getting your arm in between his legs
>Because he's so light, you grab one of his flailing arms by the wrist
>With a light grunt, you spring up to your feet, Mafia Anon in a fireman's carry

>"A brand new pair of brogues to rattle over the bogs,"

>Letting the drunk Irishman think for you, you start spinning around, bobbing to get ready

>"And frighten all the dogs on the rocky road to Dublin,"

>With a yell, you throw the poser off your shoulders and back into the center of the ring
>As you take a few breaths, you hear the words and smile

>Counting with your fingers, you join in as you start dancing towards a sprawled Mafia Anon
"One, two, three, four, five,
Hunt the hare and turn 'er down the rocky roads, and all the ways to Dub-u-lin,
Whack fe-lu-le-da!"


>The griffons never came
>After deciphering the scroll and having a chat with the captured soldier, Godmother told you to dig in and wait for a raiding party that would use the opening to loot some
>They must have gotten word that their hole into Equestria was compromised, and summarily bugged out

>While waiting for the griffons to show up, you started to talk with the locals
>Specifically the Fiddlers
>The father, Pluck, is a rather talented musician, and he traveled around collecting and singing folk songs
>He didn't earn much, but it was his talent and he learned a lot about the world
>Eventually, like anyone who traveled, he passed his prime and eventually settled down in this town, marrying the town's brewer and barmaid, Barley
>Together they had May, who turns out to have a good voice and an a indomitable liver
>That explains the tall-glass-with-a-note-on-it cutie mark

>During lunch, Underage told you the young unicorn was singing along with the Anons last night, despite never hearing the Rocky Road to Dublin before
>After lunch, and somewhat recovering from her hangover, she finds you and surprises you with a request:

>She wants to join you and your squad
>You ask her parents if they were okay with this since, well, your job's quite hazardous
>They said they already talked with her during lunch, and they are actually fine with it
>That decision may have been influenced by her actions last night
>Maybe alcohol, but you don't smell any on them

>You bring it up with Captain Holtz, and he says in a heavy accent that it's your squad, and he will let you do what you deem necessary to maximize squad efficiency
>At least, that's what you think he says

>And personally, it's not bad to have a magical pony bard with you
>So with that, you let May join
>You put in a request for appropriate armor, and the first order you give her is to practice casting any stealth-based and healing spells that she knows
>Given the newly-formed friendship with Underage, you tell her that along with practicing spells, she can experiment new spells on him as long as she can reverse them
>To this, May smiles at a silent and sweating Underage

>The next day, Arrival +7, the 2nd Battalion moves on with laying the last defenses
>The cycle continues for the entire day, intermixed with chats among the other squads and shenanigans from the young pair

>Shenanigans including, but not limited to:
>Both Underage and May scaring the shit out of the squad at random times, utilizing the sound-dampening spell and earpro
>Turning your canteen water into heavy beer
>Causing Paintfag to dance compulsively for a good five minutes before someone notices

>Their "pranks" are only affecting your squad, and May is getting better at them, so it's fine
>But Goddamn, is it annoying

>The chores end, though, much to all of your thanks
>Just as Celestia retires to her chambers and Luna takes over, the Manehatten Second Battalion finishes defenses for the entire eastern seaboard
>It was tedious
>It was boring
>But it was completely necessary

>You tell yourself that as you sit by the cliff and look out at the moonlit ocean
>A cone of light is reflecting off the churning water under the rocky satellite as it rises up to join the stars
>A thought-provoking display, all for you
>"Hey Anon, sir!"

>...maybe not

>You look behind you, and you watch Underage approach you
>The young soldier takes a seat beside you, since your helmet and equipment are on the other side

>You notice how he's alone
"Where's May?"
>"She's in Rusky's truck, sleeping."
>You smile
"Trying to sleep off my canteen?"
>Underage nods, then slips off his helmet

>It's been a couple of days since you all showered
>The moon highlights the grime on his face
>He looks older now, like the rest of you

>"That must've been some really heavy stuff to get her sluggish like that."
>You look back out at the water
"You would know."
>You hear Underage shift on the grass/rocks
>"What do you mean by that?"

>You turn to him, a grin on your face
"Kid, you may have been an Apple-chaser, but now? You already have your 'special somepony.'"
>You see him stiffen and blush
"You should probably have Paintfag change your shield's image."

>He stares at you for a second, before looking out at the ocean
>"D...do you have one?"
"I'm lookin' at her right now."
>...
>"Oh... Makes sense... Did you like her before you got here?"
"I did."
>"Do you want to be with her?"

>You give it some thought while consider the circumstances
"I'll try my hardest to impress her. She seems to favor me over other people because of Appleloosa."
>"So you want to win the war for her?"

"...Yeah, something like that. It's practically impossible, but then again so is a Princess falling for some romantic human grunt like me."

>You think over your own words, and slowly realize the immensity of your goal
>It's likely not going to happen
>You'll likely die before this is over
>But considering the circumstances, you have nothing to lose

>It's only been a week, and you have to remind yourself you had a life before this
>A stable, comforting life
>Now, here you are, fighting against monsters for an alien species on an alien planet, in a war that has nothing to do with you
>By all means you should be miserable and wishing to get out
>And at times, yes it's miserable
>But like you told Braeburn and Strongheart: you've never felt anything like this

>You've never felt so alive



>The next morning Godmother tells you all to head back to Manehatten
>After saying goodbye to the locals, and with one last look at the southern swamps, you all mount up and start heading back north
>Without having to stop, you only take a day to pass the bay, then Baltimare, then Filly-Delphia, arriving to HQ in the afternoon
>The Colonel goes for debriefing, then after a while comes to tell you to go up their yourself

>"Congratulations on your promotion, Lieutenant."
"Thank you, ma'am."
>The mare continues studying the updated map
>You can see several strongpoints that were from your squad's drawings

>"You deserve it, and I'm confident in your abilities to lead your new platoon."
"Thank you, ma'am."

>"Now, since the griffons decided not to put in their raiding party, they know we have defenses up. This might stall them, but not even the intel we have can determine when exactly the invasion force will arrive, and we'll be the only thing standing in their way between them and a railway all the way to Canterlot."

"Understood ma'am."

>"Therefore, I am giving you and your platoon the rest of the day and tomorrow off. Manehatten still has plenty of entertainment venues up, but remember: there's a lot of griffons coming our way, so keep yourselves ready for anything. Understood?"

"Understood, ma'am."
>Godmother nods
>"Dismissed."


>The next few days are, for the most part, pleasant
>The platoon's day off was spent all around in the city, with everyone going in small groups to pubs, theaters, clubs, pubs, the pier, a few places out near the suburbs
>Did you mention pubs?
>There are a fuckton of pubs around Manehatten
>You spent the day going on a nice run through the parks and city
>Since it's a city full of pones and anti-social horsefuckers, you weren't worried one bit of someone coming up from behind and shanking you
>You were knocked down by a bunch of passing parkour wannabes, though
>Fuckin' assholes have tunnel vision

>The next day, you called in the three sergeants and their orderlies under your command, including a now quiet and compliant Mafia Anon, to discuss general tactics
>They were all in various levels of drunkenness, but at least you were able to find them
>Some officers of multiple battalions were still being searched for, and some were found in the most peculiar of places
>Apparently underground brothels are a thing here
>And they're mostly populated by stallions

>The rest of the day consists of you and the sergeants rounding up everyone, smacking them in the face if they needed it, and bringing them back to the temporary camp that belongs to your platoon
>Nobody died, thankfully

>The next few days are simple drilling and "advanced" training
>It's a routine that reminds you very much of your highschool years
>Only this time you're the fucking coach, and you're calling all the shots
>Taking after your lacrosse coach, you yell at everyone and everything, punishing every fuck-up with timed laps around your estimate of a football field
>Most of them hate it, but it's best if they go through a controlled hell like this than one born from war

>A few more quiet days of drilling pass, and you start to hear news
>More fronts are opening up, with FortChan to the south and Anons being dropped near the Crystal Empire to the north
>You start hearing about uber griffons, and rumors of new players up north
>Then of course there's the constant threat of a griffon invasion
>It's a little frightening since the navy was devastated early on by chrysalids, but you're confident the coastal defenses will at least give them a bloody time in gaining a foothold
>The battalion drilling and preforming mock-battles together one day further reinforces that idea
>A true fighting force, made from the lowliest non-criminal forms of life from earth
>...
>That might be wishful thinking

>Who knows, it might be all pointless when the time comes
>That idea permeates in your mind that night, and you lay there in your bunk
>Everything you've read about and watched, it could easily happen to all of you and your men now
>That thought scares you to the point you're shivering under the covers

>You're the only one left
>Everyone else is in tatters
>The firefight was so fast you couldn't even see what you were shooting at
>Now, either the xenos are all dead with your men, or they're just playing with you before they end you
>You sweep the end of your lasgun across the dark forest, waiting for a lethal string of stars to leap out of the black
>You aim over the still pond, and catch a glimpse of a cone in the moonlight
>Your lasgun CRACKs and the guardian's helmet melts
>Only its helmet

>A snapping twig behind you is your only warning, and you spin around with a flash of your bayonet
>In a rare case of surprise, the charging alien takes the blade in the stomach
>You don't hesitate in pulling the trigger
>CRACK-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK
>Magnificent red beams begin to pour out of the dying Eldar's back, a look of shock on its perfect face
>You think its shock, you're never sure with xenos

>With a heave, you throw the corpse off your weapon and catch your breath, panting as you stare down at the dead alien

>"Art thy dreams always this morbid?"

>You turn and aim your lasgun at condescending emerald eyes
>A new xenos, one you've never seen before, steps out of the black
>She? It? pauses once she's fully out of the shadows and raises an eyebrow

>"Doth thou not recognize us?"

>Are you supposed to?
>No, you shouldn't, suffer not the xeno-

>The celestial creature realizes something, then lets out a clam sigh
>"It hast worsened."
>It takes in a breath, and looks right at you
>Now that you're thinking, you have seen those eyes somewhere

>The scene changes
>You are Hoplite Anon, in more comfortable clothing than a heavy coat
>The one you love is in front of you
>The two of you stand in moonlight, on a paved trail
>The scene around you is one of destruction long passed

>There was a consistent density of trees here when you were young
>Then, a few years ago, a tornado blew through, and now there's a hilly line of tall grass cutting through the park
>Now, instead of a sense of mystery when looking into the seemingly-unending forest, you get a nice view of the river and horse trails
>It's all more open now than before, more welcoming
>It all looks different in moonlight instead of an unabated sun

>You watch as the Princess of the Night looks around your fond memory, smiling
>"This is better."
>You rub your eyes, a little disoriented from what just happened

>"Anon?"
>You open your eyes, and the Princess seems concerned
>"Doth thou understand what is happening?"

>You rub your head, remembering what just happened
>You were an honest-to-God Krieger, fighting Eldar
>You know it's bad when your mind decides to use vivid shit like that, and you look to the side trail leading along the edge of the clearing

"I'm just... Getting too anxious, I guess. C...Can we go for a walk? I don't like standing around in here."
>You're used to running through here, all your thoughts dwelling on fantasy back then

>The alicorn gives you a little smile, then steps forward
>"Lead on, Anon."

>So you lead a pony Princess you gave your heart to on one of the many trails of your favorite park, at first walking along, then into the countless oak trees and pines

>She asks you how you and your squad are doing, and you give a summary of what has happened in the past few weeks
>She congratulates you on your permanent promotion, and wishes you luck in climbing the ranks
>You ask how she's doing, and the Princess tells you she's been busy
>For almost the entire time Anons have been pouring in, she's been visiting dreams and gifting weapons
>She smiles at the title of Best Santa, and you can tell she's glad her effort is being appreciated

>By this time, you're pretty far from the parking lots, and the two of you arrive at a recently-constructed bridge
>The canopy here isn't as thick, so the moon is reflecting off the murky water

>You mutter out your thoughts
"I wonder if I'll ever see this again."

>You and the Princess stop as soon as you realize what you said
>"Anon, listen."

>You feel a slight tug towards a nearby bench, and you sit down
>The proud alicorn stands tall in front of you, and you're now at eye level with her

>"Thou hast preformed admirably, more so than most elite squads. Thou has shown tact and bravery, and we believe thou wilst continue to do so."

>You don't say anything, but shift at the compliments
>The moon pony sighs, then walks right up to you
>Sitting down, you can't back away from those emeralds

>"We wish thou ceases dwelling on dark thoughts. They will cloud thy mind and hamper thy judgement. Remember: thou wilst nay fight for a void, but for Queens and country."

>The eyes falter slightly
>"And...we wish thou remembers us, and we wilst visit as  much as allowed."

>The fact you're going to see Luna more often makes your heart swell
>Out of instant, human logic, you raise your hand to stroke Luna's swirling hair
>She freezes and watches as you slowly reach for her hair
>You wonder what it feels

>Blaring klaxons startle you awake


>"We're getting reports from the Guard about a developing situation at the harbor front.
>We have a lot of unmarked container ships approaching, and they are refusing to identify themselves, over."

>"11-99! 11-99 emergency! They have walkers! I repeat: walkers!"
>"Need help immediately, Manehatten is under attack!"


>"The carrion birds have been fed, and the nation has seen our might.
>Now, clear the skies."


>It takes ten minutes to get everyone up and dressed
>Ten minutes of you not fucking up invading griffons
>When you turn your radio on, you hear absolute chaos, with general orders to head into the city to rescue civilians

>When you all finally burst out of the barracks and into the camp, Anons and ponies are scrambling into waiting vehicles like mad
>You find your platoon, and order everyone to mount up
>Machine guns are fed, mags are slammed into receivers, and you tie your sword belt around your waist before hopping into Rusky's truck

"Drive."
>You then activate your radio
"Hoplite Platoon, this is Hoplite Actual: follow me and put the pedal to the metal. Let's not waste time."

>For all of his stereotypical behavior, Rusky's a damn good driver
>The speedometer never dips below 50 kph, and you're tearing through backyards and other residential zones, ignoring most of the clogged streets
>The closer you get to downtown, though, the tighter it gets
>Thankfully it's not like Chicago where the only ways in or out are jammed tunnels/bridges

>After several agonizing minutes of Need for Speed: Cold War, you make it to the southwestern part of downtown Manehatten, and you can tell already it's a losing battle
>Fires and columns of smoke everywhere, and the comms are constantly being cluttered by units requesting for assistance

>You tell Rusky to slow down and peek out of the alleyway you drove down, your mixed bag of a mechanized platoon lined up behind you
>The streets are sprinkled with rubble and you can see entire families of pones running away from
>You listen to comms as you pull out a map of the city

>From the sounds of it, the griffons have taken the docks, and are pushing outward towards key locations such as the bridges, city hall and the residential areas
>Most of the city's defenders are clustering around the roads to the hotels and apartments
>It's the weekend, so not a lot of pones are at work, and the ones who are better be running by now

>You and Rusky study the map and you listen for any nearby locations in need of assistance
>After a minute you start hearing reports of early-showing elements of the 2nd Battalion encountering heavy enemy activity near the entrance to Manehatten's version of the Lincoln Tunnel
>It's being used as the main route of escape for most of the civvies, since those crossing bridges are being harassed severely by griffon scouts

>No word from your Captain, so you tell Rusky that's the place you need to be
>You tell the rest of the platoon to stop for nobody

>Weaving through the morning traffic, consisting of Sheridans, BMPs, and a few heavy tanks, your platoon makes record time heading north to the tunnel entrance
>You even link up with Captain Banner, pulling alongside his shiny M1 Abrams
>You manage to get him on a more private frequency

"Fancy seeing you here, Captain."
>"Likewise, Hoplite."
"You heading for the tunnel?"
>"You bet. Those civvies need to get out of here pronto."
"Alright, Captain. You can be the ram, and we'll watch your back."
>"I'm thinking just that, Lieutenant. Let's go!"

>You cut comms, smiling at the young pony Captain's enthusiasm

>You're getting close to the tunnel, and yet you haven't met any contacts yet
>Banner's tank is rolling ahead of you now,  an armored behemoth taking up much of the street
>It's gas guzzling engine is drowning out most of the cacophony that is engulfing Manehatten

>You look at the rooftops of the multistory buildings, weary of some opportunistic flying rats showing up
>The men in humvees and technicals are cautiously sweeping the rooftops too

>Suddenly, Banner's tank fires at something up ahead, the armor itself obstructing your view
>Whatever he fired at then explodes spectacularly a ways down the street

>"Banner here: I think we just snuck up on some griffons rear. I took out some kind of spider walker, but now I've got enemy infantry mobilizing."
"Roger that. We're moving up to assist."
>You switch to platoon comms
"Raptor and Gasser, dump your hitchhikers and move alongside Banner to engage EI. Everyone else: dismount, form up, and prepare to advance down the street."

>With that, you and your "command staff": Underage, May, and Paintfag, jump out and retrieve your weapons from Rusky's truck as Gasser's humvee and Raptor's truck zoom ahead
>Instead of armor, May received a large blue and silver cloak, similar to that of peltats from AoM
>She sticks with an armored Underage, wincing at the concussive FWOOMs from Banner's tank

>While the two machine gunners have their fun, Hoplite Squad splits into two, one half moving to the front and one staying in the back
>The toxotes position themselves in the middle

>Once the EI is dealt with, you all move up, the Captain leading the way with a 120mm smooth bore straight from the 80's

>You move past the wreckage of the "spider walker" and it looks like that steampunk contraption from Wild Wild West
>Several large crossbows were attached to it, and the "feet" were covered in metallic barbs and blades

>The Abrams' cannon only needed one shot to take it down
>So much for equalizing tech

>"This is Banner: we should be getting to the street leading to the tunnel now, but I'm seeing a lot of activity way down the our street. We might be in a bit of trouble here."
>Oh of course, numbers
"Roger that. I suggest we don't engage unless they're attacking civvies. Until then, let's get to the tunnel."

>"Yeah, let's go with that."

>The Abrams lurches forward, into the next street
>The optics up top swerve around, then stick to the left

>"Uh, we've got a lot of infantry to the west, you should get your gunners up here, lieutenant."

>To the west, spider wreckage creates a choke point that's filled with heavy infantry, griffons that have decided to trade in most of their flight capabilities for armor and heavy melee weapons
>The line of machine guns and a tank made short work of them

>When you all finally get to the tunnel, you find a battered company of Anons guarding it
>The only tank, a T-80, has several noticeable dents in its hull, under a new layer of bolts sticking out

>Alpha Company's captain, a human who may or may not be an American ground pounder, welcomes the reinforcements, waving from the street above the entrance

>Banner rolls his Abrams to the other side of the tunnel, turning to face the inevitable horde
>You have your platoon take positions around the tanks to act as point defense


>As your platoon sets up, you notice the lack of fleeing pones
>It may be the griffon's fault, but if it were, you would have seen plenty of bodies

>You find the frequency the two captains are using
"Hoplite here: weren't there a bunch of civvies moving towards this tunnel?"
>The army man, Captain Doe, answers
>"There's a whole group of civilians who gathered at the square. First Battalion's trying to get them over here, but these mike foxtrots are fast. They're all over the place."


>The next few minutes consists of the two tanks destroying any walkers that appeared down the street
>Occasionally a swarm of griffons will fly into view, and they either run as soon as the gunners open up, or bumrush you and be massacred
>Its actually getting boring

>Listening to comms, you learn that the rest of the 2nd Battalion is holding on the other side of the river
>The griffons had landed a ways up north as well, and are trying to cut everyone off
>Considering the estimated number of troops and the amount of incoming ships being spotted, not even two battalions will be able to fend them off effectively
>Especially since there's been several BIG contacts spotted on the horizon

"Captains, this is Hoplite: requesting permission to link up with the First Battalion and help get the civvies here faster."

>"...Granted, but leave some of your guys behind. We need to make sure they don't take this tunnel."
"Understood."
>You switch back to your platoon's frequency
"Rusky, Gasser, TOW-Man: you're with me. We're heading over to the square to help make a path for those civvies. Everyone else: hold this position and make sure we can all get out of here."

>Three fast attack vehicles, with only one having any effective attack against those walkers
>You might not be able to do much against the exponentially growing number of enemies, but it's better than just sitting on your ass all day waiting

>With you and your "command staff" in the front in Rusky's truck, TOW-Man in the middle, and Raptor in the back, you move east along the projected escape route

>Not even before you get past a hundred yards, a couple of walkers appear from opposing streets
>Before the griffons on board could fire any bolts, the tanks behind you simultaneously blow them into dust

>You zip right past them as the steampunk machines collapse onto the asphalt

"Thanks for that, Banner, we'll be back with the First and civvies."

>"Your welcome Hoplite. Be careful out there."


>Be careful out there
>Rusky doesn't understand that phrase

>Even as flaming boulders are being flung into the skyscrapers around you, he's humming cheerfully as he swerves around recently-fallen rubble and wrecks
>TOW-Man and Raptor, despite being much more modern off-road vehicles, are struggling to keep up with the UAZ

>"Sergeant, should I get the gun ready?"
>"Nyet, comrade. You might be thrown out of jeep."

>Oh yeah, there's also Rusky's gunner
>A skinny kid about your age, wearing a vest and helmet likely given to him by Rusky
>In his lap, and cramping up the back of the vehicle, is a PKM

>Looking back, you watch as everyone does their best to accommodate him and his machine gun
>Paintfag is scrunching himself up against the little door
>May is sitting in Underage's lap, shifting every time Rusky swerves, and he's swerving a lot
>You're surprised he hasn't rolled you over yet

>On the bright side, you're getting to the battalion's current position faster than expected
>Soon enough you take a turn to find the rear of an impromptu griffon barricade
>Tracers from the other side zip over the makeshift barriers, and the grounded hybrids are doing their best to be a time-consuming obstacle

"Everyone: get online, and prepare to fire."

>Raptor and TOW-Man pull up alongside you, their gunners priming their weapons
>Rusky's gunner stands up and opens a flap in the jeep's canopy
>He pops up and rest the machine gun's bipod on the front frame of the UAZ
>You hear him prime the weapon, then hit the canopy to signal he's good to go

"Open fire."

>TOW-Man's TOW missile starts the show, slamming into a mounted crossbow and its crew
>The griffons and the crossbow are blown to pieces
>Your two machine gunners are next, and they absolutely hose the barricade

>Between the PKM and Raptor's .50 cal, the griffons' armor might as well have been cardboard
>Some panic and try to fly, but they are cut down by the 1st Battalion on the other side
>yfw dead griffons

>In seconds, the barricade is clear of talons

>You switch to the 1st Battalion's frequency
"Lead First Battalion elements, this is Lieutenant Hoplite of second. Thought you could use some help on this barricade."

>There is a pause before a someone responds
>"This is Captain Lance: thanks, Lieutenant. Secure that side while we remove the wreckage."
"Understood, securing perimeter."

>Staying in the jeep, you have the group turn around to face the way you came
>You are almost certain a few griffons were chasing you as you snaked through the city at high speed
>You're not sure if you really lost them, or if they're just waiting for you to come back

>"This is Lance, we've moved the wreckage and are pushing forward. I assume you've mapped out the route to the tunnel?"
>That was quick, they must have unicorns with them
"Yes sir, though I'm sure we'll encounter more hostiles on the way back."
>"Understood, Lieutenant. I've just gotten word that we should have air support coming in soon. They should help clear the way."

"Understood, sir, Hoplite out."

>You pop out of the open window to watch the men and pones, mostly pones, of the  Manehatten 1st Battalion run past you
>A mud-brown earth Guard breaks from the line of soldiers and trots up to you

>"Lieutenant Hoplite?"
>You nod
"Captain Lance?"
>He nods in kind. "Glad to have someone with initiative helping us out, el-tee. Care to lead the way?"

 "Of course, sir, just follow-"
>"Hoplite, this is Banner!"

>Even Lance heard the urgency Charlie Actual's voice
>Uh oh

"Hoplite here, what's your situation?"

>"The griffons are making a push! They must've realized what we're doing and they're coming at us in force! Are you with the First Battalion?"
"I just linked with them and we're heading back, hold on."
>"You better hurry! I've burnt through half my ammo already!"
"Understood, Hoplite out."

>You look to Lance
"We better move fast or they'll cut us off. Follow us and make sure no one's left behind."


>You're starting to hear the entire brass section as your line of vehicles move through the ruined streets
>The gunners are shooting in every direction but behind, the rooftops in particular
>Griffons were starting to take pot shots at you with normal crossbows
>You're not sure if it's their weapons, their lack of skill, or both, but they're hitting everything but meat

>Whereas your guys just point in the general direction and hold down the trigger
>If they're not catching lead, they're catching hot splinters and stones

>It gets even more intense when you start hearing the deafening roar of afterburners

>More steampunk walkers, both functional and destroyed, begin to appear, and you start to pick out slight variations
>Some have a lot of smaller crossbows for infantry
>Some have ones that stick almost straight up for air, not that it's any bit effective
>Others have a huge one that /might/ be able to hurt a tank

>They all end up the same when you come across them

>You find yourself turning onto the main approach to the tunnel
>Wrecked walkers are clogging up the street, a lot stacked on top of each other, and your jeeps can barely fit through
>You make sure you tell the people holding the tunnel to check their targets before you come into view

>There is a lull in the fighting once you and the first of the civvies appear
>The 1st Battalion forms up with the defenders, the nofuns and Guard moving alongside Hoplite

>Now the tunnel is even more secure, and the griffons will have an even harder time getting their heavy stuff over here
>That also means the evacuation is going to be slow
>They might catch up and start picking pones off

>With this reasoning in mind, you tell your platoon and the captains:
"This is Hoplite Actual, I'm circling around to reinforce the rear. Raptor and TOW-Man: stay here and defend, make sure the civvies get through."
>You are already taking a southern route as you receive acknowledgements and good lucks

>This trip around isn't as bad as a few minutes ago
>The griffons are focusing on the convoy, all the while being harassed by an impressive amount of jets
>You can even hear the deafening, but oh so sweet BRRRT of a GAU-8 being worked

>When you turn east, you finally meet some griffons
>They're flying low down a street parallel to the one the civvies, waiting to get a shot off
>You're glad you kept Rusky's gunner ready
>He manages to down two who were right next to each other
>The rest bugger off and fly south
>No time for chasing them

>You head east for another minute, then turn north onto the escape route
>Not seeing anyone, you start heading back west
>Maybe you shouldn't have gone so far out

>You're about to ask how the convoy's doing when someone in a noisy cockpit shouts over the radio
>"New walkers! I see new walkers aiming at the tunnel! Get the civvies going!"

>You reach under your breastplate to activate your radio
"Anon, what exactly do you mea-"
>Something large impacts right in front of the jeep, throwing up a column of rock
"SHIT!"
>Rusky swerves to avoid, tilting the jeep, and your guys have to hold down the gunner by his legs to keep him from being tossed out
>A mechanical screech blasts from somewhere far to the east as Rusky floors it, yelling something in Russian
>He keeps yelling as more...missiles start landing all around you
>You start cussing when several of them destroy the intersection in front of you, forcing Rusky to head south

>"Hoplite Actual: what is your status?"
>Captain Doe
"I'm cut off from the tunnel, trying an alternate route."
>"Hoplite Actual, we've taken multiple casualties from that bombardment. We're moving into the tunnel with the last of the civilians now. Be advised: we won't be able to keep the entrance secure."
>Shit
"Understood, sir. We'll try, but don't wait for us."

>Five minutes of cussing and praying to not get drilled by a missile, and guess what?
>The griffons are having so much of a field day that they decided to bombard the tunnel a second time
>The result: a caved-in entrance

>With sounds of fantastic war in the background, you and company take a moment to stare at the remnants of the above street now blocking your exit

>No one speaks as Rusky drives south, towards the out-of-the-way bridge you came in on
>So far, the griffons haven't molested you
>They must have taken a beating in the last several minutes of nonstop sorties
>They're regrouping now, leaving you and the rest of the defenders to guess when and where they'll try to break out of the city
>The best guess on when is when those large contacts arrive: an hour at least
>It'd be best for all of you to be out of here by then

>The ruined streets of Manehatten aren't helping
>Rusky is forced to take constant detours, forcing you to push further into griffon-held territory
>Pulling out the map, you do your best to give him the best route through the city, but the griffons were either very thorough or had shitty accuracy
>Rubble and shattered glass absolutely everywhere, with an occasional corpse sprinkled in
>The skyscrapers towering above all of you are constantly dropping debris, though thankfully nothing alarmingly big

>Still, the scene is eerily tense


>Rusky breaks the silence
>"Comrade Hoplite, here:"
>He reaches in the metal box located in between the seats and pulls out an old makarov
>Grip first, he hands it to you
>"It has been quiet for too long."

>You find the mag release, and check the ammo
>8 bullets
>9mm
>You may have shot a few mags of your dad's glock 19 and shield, but only a few
>And you were aiming at stationary targets
>Standing up in a neat little outdoor range
>Yeah, there was snow and it was a little muddy, but that doesn't count
>Keeping the weapon pointed away from your comrades, you slap the mag back in and rack the slide carefully, finger well away from the trigger
"Thanks."

>More detours
>Closer to the reported griffon staging area
>Goddamnit, you're asking for it in this flimsy and noisy antique of a military vehicle
>Everyone is looking around
>Rusky's gunner is poised to jump up through the canopy and start spraying

>You constantly look up from your map to check your side
>You've taken your helmet off just so you can have peripheral vision
"Down three streets, then turn right and down until the waterfront, then left-"

>Something big lands on the canopy
>Something with talons that are now piercing through the flappy material
>"Are you lost, humans?!"

>Rusky's gunner responds with aiming upwards and
>You catch a glimpse of a ball of feathers and beak tumbling off the side with several organic cracks

>Then shit hits the fan

>A single screech is followed by nothing but griffons flying out of the woodwork
>They slam into the jeep, and attempt to tear it apart piece by piece
>Rusky, along with the rest of you but mostly Rusky, is going to have none of that shit

>You all slap, stab, and shoot at the swarm of flying rats
>Their numbers quickly drop, and you star thinking that this is a single unit you've come across
>You just might make it out of here

>A lucky griffon rips off your door and makes you eat your thoughts
>By grabbing you and pulling you out of the jeep
>You manage to let off a shot and kill the fucko, but not before he manages to haul you out almost completely
>Gravity does the rest for him
>You clear the accelerating UAZ, tumbling on asphalt for a decent amount of time

>In retrospect you realize you would have been screwed had you broken anything
>Thank God you didn't, and you come to a stop on your stomach
>You look up, ignored by the remaining griffons, and watch the jeep swerve in the street, as if Rusky wants to turn around
>Without thinking, you activate your still-functioning radio and hope Rusky's is on

"Go! Go! I'll get myself out!"

>The jeep stops swerving as much, then turns on the third street and out of sight
>It leaves behind a trail of dead and dying beasts

>With an aching body you slowly stand up, checking your person
>Your shield is still on the jeep, and that's on it's way out of here
>Your gifted sword is still by your side
>You have a death grip on the makarov, and when you check it you have five bullets left
>Five bullets in a pistol and a sword
>In a city full of intelligent flying lions/eagles

>You slap the magazine back in, muttering
"If I get out of here, I better fucking get a cheering crowd."
>Gripping the makarov with both hands, you jog to the side and head towards the alleys to begin your way back to friendly lines

>"Hoplite Lead, this Sundowner."
>Goddamn, you've only ran for a few minutes, and already your legs are jelly
>It's like you haven't ran for months, even though it's actually been a few days
>You're panting like a motherfucker
>But you're getting there

"Sundowner...fuck, send traffic."
>"Your command staff has just informed me of the situation, break. I have transportation waiting for you at the water's edge, over."
>You slow down to a walk so you can speak intelligibly
"Understood, Sundowner, I should get visual of your side in a minute, ov-"

>A flap of wings is your only warning

>You could on catch the fucker in your peripheral vision before he leaps out of the shadows
>He slams into you and knocks you into a pile of trash
>He's on your back immediately, clawing at your sprawled arms
>He gouges your hand that's gripping the gun, and you realize what he's going for

>You try to curl up into a ball, protecting your weapon, but the griffon clamps down on your wrists
>Your thumb presses down on the mag release
>His talons dig into your skin, drawing blood and forcing you to let go
>He reaches for the makarov, letting go of your other hand
>You twist your body and grip your sword with your free hand
>You awkwardly pull it out in a reverse grip
>Just as the fucker grips the pistol, you stab his side
>He roars, jumping off of you

>With lovely adrenaline pumping through you, you jump back up and grip your sword properly
>Facing the lightly-armored griffon, now a ways out of your reach, you realize he has no idea how to handle a gun
>The magazine is out, somewhere by your feet but you dare not break eye contact
>He has the business end pointed at you, but none of his talons are near the trigger
>Despite this, he's grinning
>"Alright, human. Cooperate and I won't blow your insides out."

>He might not know how to fire, but he still has one in the chamber
>Time to see how good you can act
>You relax, rising from your lazy combat stance
"Look, man. You don't even have it primed."
>His grin disappears
>"What?"
"You gotta rack the slide to prime it."
>You make the motion with your hands, still gripping your sword
>Jesus, your arms are bloody
>Worry about it later

>The griffon looks at the gun, not sure
>You stare, waiting tensely
>Do it, you dumb fuck
>Do it

>Curiously, the griffon racks the slide, and the chambered round flys out
>In that instant, you sprint towards him, and he realizes his mistake
>He flaps his wings and tries to flee, but battle-born adrenaline's a hell of a drug
>You jump and grab his back foot, stabbing upwards into his chest and stomach widely
>The griffon barely gets above a few feet, then he stops altogether

>The two of you drop to the ground with a crash
>You catch your breath, your sword stuck in the corpse
>After a few seconds, you throw it to the side and pull the bloody blade out
>You stand up slowly, collecting the dropped makarov, the bullet and the magazine

>Before you put it all back together, you finally regain situational awareness
>The blood
>Jesus Christ, you've never seen so much blood
>And a lot of it's your own
>Shit, and you're still conscious

>Then there's the Colonel yelling in your ear
>"Hoplite Lead, come, IN!"
>With increasingly shaking hands you reach under your red breastplate

"H...Hoplite here. I...I'm heading over."

>You prepare to start running, when another griffon lands in front of you
>Then another...
>And another...
>You look around and find yourself surrounded by a whole angry flock of them
>Your eyes finally land on their dead buddy, whom you absolutely brutalized
"On second thought, I might take awhile."

>Before Sundowner could ask what you mean, a cattle prod is stuck in your back
>You black out before you could scream


>No dreams this time
>Or at least, none you can remember
>The next thing you realize is: you're being lazily dragged up steep stairs
>You open your eyes, but some asshole put a bag over your head
>You flex your arms and you find your wrists bound tightly by some...string

>That's when it hits you:
>You were snagged by fucking griffons
>...Fuck
>You're fucked
>You're gonna get your everything slowly clawed off as they try and pry info you don't even know about
>Fuck

>Calm down, just don't let them know you're awake

>You're dragged up another flight of stairs
>That makes two since your awakening
>Not that it matters since you could have gone up a number of floors before waking up from being kidnapped like a zapped sectiod

>The air gets slightly more warm and dry, and you're smelling something oddly familiar
>Ozone
>Put two and two together...
>Fuck

>The griffons dragging you then stop climbing and haul you into a room full of voices
>Most are sobbing
>Others are begging
>Some gasp at--what you assume to be--your entrance

>You're taken to a space on the wall and your bound hands are lifted upwards onto a hook
>Then the bag is generously pulled off your head
>Your eyes adjust to the light, and you're in some cleared-out hotel room, with an impressive window opposite of you
>You're surrounded by ponies, bound and in a shitty physical state like you

>In front of you is a trio of griffons:
>Two armored ones that dragged you here
>And one in more...religious-looking light armor
>She smiles, and here raised claw crackles with ionized particles
>"Hello, my first ape prisoner."
>Her voice sounds like she's been having a lot of fun lately, and she asks her first question:
>"Tell me: does your kind play games?"
>If it's the game you're thinking, then you might have a chance
>Only it is much easier when you're behind an Xbox controller
>Right now...
>You might be fucked

>"Well?"
>You notice you've been staring at the griffon for quite some time
>You stay silent for now
>The griffon mage waits a bit, before sighing
>"Did you bring me a mute ape?"
>The soldier to her left answers, "No, sir. It spoke to its commander before we captured it."
>The mage lets out a chuckle
>"Oh I see, so we have one who knows interrogation.
>This should be fun... Strip it."

>As the soldiers cut the straps to your bloody breastplate and removes your armor and radio, the mage starts to circle around the large room
>You watch the soldiers take your equipment and put it on a food trolley, which also has your weapons
>Why they haven't taken them somewhere else to be studied is beyond you

>You have a even bigger chance here, but first: the griffon's game

>"Now I've been playing with these ponies for quite some time, and to be honest: I've gotten bored."
>She walks up to you, a devilish smile on her beak
>"But now... Now we can have some fun."
>Since you're down to your underwear, you register "fun" in a few different ways

>She backs away, and her front legs crackle again
>"Here's what will happen: You answer a question right, and I'll give a jolt to somebody else. Answer it wrong or stay silent, and you'll find out how all of these ponies feel."

>...really?
>It IS the game you were thinking
>And every time, you've taken the light route
>Obviously it's going to be harder, but dammit you're not going to kill the people you're protecting to save your own skin
>Besides, you know your limits and not theirs

>"Leave us."
>Everyone watches as the guards waste no time in vacating the room
>Then everypony turns to you
>They don't know you
>They don't know what you'll do
>You laugh inwardly at the pressure of making good first impressions
>A crackle of energy brings your attention towards the griffon
>"So, first question: what's your name?"

>You stay silent
>The griffon waits for a few seconds, then raises her claw with a smile
>"So that's how it's going to be..."
>The claw flash-

>FUUUUUUCK!
>F-f-f-fff-fu-uck

>You go limp as you hang against the smooth wallpaper, muscles twitching like mad
>Ozone is the only thing you can smell

>"Next question:"
>Oh fuck you
>"How many of there are you?"
>Fuck you
>"Still not talking? Well, then..."

>You screw your eyes shut as another bolt hits you
>You manage not to scream again
>You know how it feels
>You can get though this

>"What were you doing alone in the city?"

>You can get through this
>You can get thr-FUUUCK!

>"How do those vehicles of yours work?"
>...
>ZAP
>"How do you plan on stopping us?"
>...
>ZAAAP
>"What is your commander planning to do with you?"

>You stare at her
>Fuck, you
>The griffon sighs, irritated
>"You're no fun."
>She leans to the side
>"I'm growing tired. A little hungry, too. We'll continue this later. Think over your choices well."

>She leaves you twitching, smoking, and barely conscious in the room filled with ponies

>You're in the park again, under the stars
>It doesn't look as good as when you left it
>You're reminded of the results of a controlled burn
>Smells like it's pretty recent, too
>Such wonderful symbolism your dreams can have

>And since you know it's a dream...
>You turn from the burnt patch of oak savannah, and find the being responsible for you lucid dream further down the dirt trail
>She has a look of relief on her
>You face her fully, and relief changes to horror
>She quickly closes the gap

>"A-Anonymous."
"Yeah?"
>Luna looks down, and you follow her gaze
>Jesus
>She zapped you that much?
>Combine that with the blood and...
>How are you still alive?

>"What happened?"
>You're not sure what she means by that
>"What has come upon thou!?"
>You reel from her outburst, stepping back
>The Princess regains her composure, and asks you
>"What has happened in Manehatten?"

"...You mean you don't know?"

>She shakes her head, "We were not able to contact you. We do not know what is happening over there."

>Oh
>Well, time to explain and theorize
"Let's take a walk."

>You and the Princess begin to walk side-by-side down the trail, among the burnt flora

"The griffons have Manehatten. They've somehow managed to sneak into the port and take us off guard. I don't know their exact numbers, but there's at least enough of them to keep two entire battalions tied up. We've evacuated most of the island except for a few unlucky ponies, and I'm stuck with them."
>Luna thinks for a moment, then realizes it
>"And they have been..."
"Interrogating us, yeah."
>You take another look at your torso, and it's covered with burns and blood
"They want to know our next move; what you and your sister are planning to do against them."
>She pauses, not saying anything
>Hesitant
"So, you two /are/ planning something."
>She opens her mouth to talk, but you stop her with a hand
"Don't. I'd rather not have something to spill."

>She stops, and you walk in front of her
>Ah, so she does have a thing for you
>Shit, now you realize that might be a liability
>If you die...

"Look, Princess. Don't worry about me. I'm just a grunt."
>"Thou art NOT a grunt!"
>You're surprised she's actually getting mad
>"Thou hast been a competent leader, and a man of influence."
"A man of influence?"
>The Princess nods
>"Thy defense at Appleloosa, thy defenses along the coast, thy actions hast been noticed by many other Anons. Many other squads look up to thou, and if thou wouldest perish..."
>...
>Shit

"I understand. But still, don't throw people in the meat grinder just for my sake."
>To your relief, the Princess smiles
>"Thou shan't worry, Anon. We are certain thy Colonel is hatching a plan. From what he's told us, he's taken a liking to thou."
>That makes you smile
"Yeah, he'll get some wackos to get us out of here. They might be able to do it without much trouble, too."
>The Princess looks unsure, and asks what you mean

>You take a moment to put everything together, and start walking again
>You've been thinking about it, and discussing it with the pony prisoners before you fell asleep
"Our room has a big window that has a nice view of the east. We've been watching, and the griffons have these huge zeppelins. They must have flew in from their coast. We counted at least five of them, but there could be more."
>The Princess nods
"The thing is, though: as the day ended, the ships were still there. They hardly moved, and the griffons surrounding them were just milling about. They were staying put."
>"Hm... Strange."
"Yeah. If I were the griffon commander, I would have had the blimps blitz the train hub as soon as they got here, then I would have the perfect route to Canterlot. Instead, from what we've gathered, both from our own observations and what our loony interrogator implied, they haven't moved outside of their landing zones."
>You shake your head
"It doesn't make any strategic sense. They had momentum, but they willingly gave it up."
>You cross your arms
"They've got something else planed, and it's not a blitzkrieg."

>The Princess steps forward
>"A mystery for others to unravel, Holpite. Thou must focus on surviving."
>You're still concerned, but Luna sees it
>"Anon, please. Thou must stay alive. For our ponies' sake..."
>Her emerald eyes falter
>"For...for my sake."
>You smile at her slip-up in archaic talk
"I will, Luna."
>She stutters at first, then simply smiles

"I hope I told you enough."
>"Thou hast. We shall report it to our sister. This news is appreciated greatly, Anonymous, but we cannot let thy news be made public."
"I understand, ma'am."
>You notice the blackened trees begging to distort, and you suspect you're about to awaken
"We'll talk when we're all out, Luna."
>Luna smiles

>The dream ends, and you wake up to a view of the city's nightlife, the ponies around you talking softly

>The ponies stop talking when they realize you're awake
>"Sleep well?" asked one of the colts
>You nod
"Yeah. I talked to Luna."
>The murmuring begins anew, this time with lifted spirits
>They start asking you what you two talked about
>You tell them your conversation, and their morale soars
>They have hope, now that they know rescue's coming soon
>They then ask what to do now, since you're the de facto leader
>You look around, talking to no one in particular as you think

"I can probably break my bonds using this hook; it feels like it's just string. And my equipment's right in the corner, too. It's a little too easy. I want to make sure our rescue is coming before we break out. For all we know, they'll take us out once we try anything."

>The ponies start to protest, but they shut up as soon as they hear someone coming up the stairs
>The griffon mage appears, energetic and with that insane smile of hers
>"Everyone's awake, I see. Good! Then you'll all get to participate in my revised game!"

>Oh shit

>"It's mostly the same, except I've changed a few things."

>Oh boy

>She walks right up to you again
>"This time, if you answer, I'll give you a shock. Stay silent, and I'll jolt one of these ponies."

>She's realized what you've been doing, and she's changed her playstyle
>In that case, it's time to change yours
>The griffon walks up to one of the ponies, a certain blue unicorn
>She grips the mare's chin with her talon
>"I fear this ape's ignoring all of you. You must feel left out. How sad."
>The mare merely glares at the mage, to your surprise

>The griffon then looks to you, and slowly approaches
>"So... Let's all get started, shall we?"

>You brace yourself against the wall, your mind and heart racing


>"What is your unit's name?"
>Interesting question
>Better give an interesting answer

"The five-hundred-and-second Black Templars infantry regiment."
>Yeah, you're a Space Marine /and/ a Guardsman

>"Mm... Sounds intimidating."
>ZAP
>Fuck!
>Here we go again with smelling only ozone
>At least she's starting off easy

>"How big is it?"
"Pretty big."
>The griffon stops smiling and raises an eyebrow
>"How big."
"Bigger than what you're thinking. Or maybe it isn't. You'll figure it out when you see for yourself."

>There are a few snickers, irritating the mage

>"Then what are you planning to with such a big unit?"
"Well, what we usually do in the Imperium: fuck up everything in our way."

>The griffon's forgotten about zapping you
>Probably because this is the first time you've talked to her

>"So if your unit's so big, why haven't you defeated us already?"

"Communications and logistics aren't our strongpoints."
>The mage's claw crackles
>"So it seems."
>ZAAP
>FUCK, she remembers

>There's a moment of silence as you recover
>The griffon walks up to the food trolley with all of your equipment on it
>She picks up the empty makarov and presents it to you
>"These weapons. I've seen many of your fellow humans use bigger ones in your vehicles, but this is the first hand-held one I've seen."

>You scrunch your bloody and blackened face in confusion
"Really?"

>The griffon smiles, "So these aren't a rarity?"
>Heh, rarity
>You shake your head
"Hardly. Back were I'm from, we have countless firearms of all shapes and sizes. Hell, I'm surprised you guys are still using crossbows."

>ZAP
>Fuck, what was that for?!

>"Trust me, ape, we're well on our way to leveling the playing field."

>Before you even think it through:
"Bullshit."

>ZAAP
>Fuu-uuck!

>"Did that sound like a question?"
>Jesus-FUCK, you're starting to get pissed off
>So what if it's your fault
>"Now, since plenty of your infantry do in fact use weapons like these, what are some units you know that use them?"

>What?
>Well, you haven't really been listening to the news, and you haven't chatted with the elite prima donnas
"I don't know any units."

>ZAAAP

>"Don't act like you're in the dark. The first humans we saw in combat were wielding bigger versions of these things. Despite you letting yourself be captured, my griffons saw you handling this well, and you took down my sergeant with this."

"Ma'am, I didn't shoot that when I was outside the truck. I killed your sergeant with my sword because he was a fucking idio-"

>She unleashes a fucking storm on you
>It's big enough that it hits the ponies around you

>Before you can shake out the spots in your eyes, the griffon reaches up and digs her talons into your chest
>You can barely feel it
>You can barely hear her say, "Listen here, you mongrel..."
>Jesus, she's clinging to the wall to be right next to you
>"I don't care how you wage war in your own wretched lands, but NEVER insult my subordinates."
>Her screaming almost prevents you from hearing a familiar sound, past all the panicking civvies and your growing case of tinnitus

>Chopper blades

>The griffon doesn't notice, and out of suicidal logic you keep it up
"You don't fucking get it! Where I come from, you either get smart or you die! Your sergeant tried to use the pistol which he had no fucking clue how to operate!"
>You strain against your bonds, and you're certain you can break them
"And before you spout any bullshit about honor, that left our battlefields a long time ago! When we tried it with guns, it was a fucking massacre!"
>You look at her, and her eagle eyes are boring into you

>You shoot right back with a wild look of your own
"We got smart and did away with facing your enemy on equal footing. You don't survive like that. You have to show both the best and worst of you if you want to live in shitholes like this."
>You take a deep breathe as you stare right at her
"You know how we wage war with you? No talking, no line of how war is hell, no show, just stab and bash the flying fucks until they stop moving. Take any live ones for fun. Your friend Gilda learned that."
>You're not sure if you're lying here or not, but then again she wasn't in your sights the entire time

>Either way, this makes the mage change
>In an instant her beaked face goes from confusion, to shock
>Then to complete rage

>With a roar and a single swipe, she tears you from the wall, breaking your bonds, and throws you down to the floor with a thud

>"ANIMAL!"

>She's having a Goddamn conniption

>Talons dig into your back
>Electricity shoots through you as she drags her foot down
>That's about as far as she goes when several things stomp into the room

>Shouts of "down on the ground" and "claws over your head"
>She responds with a roar and more lighting
>More stomping, struggling above you, and she's lifted from your back
>Several thwacks later, and the screeching and lightning stops

>"Get them off the wall and untie them! Keep watching those stairs!"

>Gloved hands grab your shoulders, and you're turned around and lifted into a sitting position
>You look up into a masked face
>Marine helmet

>He shakes you a little
>"Hey, you there buddy?"
>You can't give him an answer, so he throws your arm over him and starts lifting you onto your feet
>"Come on, we're getting you all out of here."

>You look around, and the...marines are freeing the civvies, cutting their bonds and removing those strange devices from the unicorns' horns

>The griffon is on the floor, eyes closed and blood on her beak
>They're tying her up
>Another pair of marines are grabbing your gear, hastily stuffing the armor and radio into duffel bags

>"Contacts!"
>Gunfire splits your ears open again as you're carried towards the stairwell
>"Move! Move! Move!"

>It's a bitch moving up, but there are only two flights before you're all brought outside on the barely-lit roof
>In the dead of a moonless, starless night, you spot the oddest pair of choppers on the roof:
>A hind and a huey
>Anons with NVGs surround your evac, rifles shouldered and scanning the area around the rooftop
>You and your rescuer move to the open doors of the Russian chopper, a little faster now that you're getting used to being on your legs again

>You're quickly thrown in when the Anons here start firing
>You look back outside, and you can see flashes of armor and feathers in the distant air
>The last of the civvies and marines run out onto the roof, with the unconscious mage in tow
>And you're standing there, letting the fucks get close

>You look inside, and spot a wooden rifle laying on the seat
>An M1?
>You grab it, hoping the owner actually put ammo in it

>Bracing yourself against on side of the doorway, you keep your sights around the string of lights that is the blob of civvies and marines
>As the group splits up to head for each chopper, a griffon lands near the bigger one heading for the huey
>Not bothering to work out the sights, you guess as you aim in its general direction

>Squeeze
>A flash and a jolt
>Miss

>An Anon in the group notices, though, and takes the fucko down
>You focus elsewhere when those guarding the choppers start to fall back, shooting longs bursts as they retreat
>You use the muzzle flashes to spot a talon with a crossbow flying across your vision
>You aim, and with quick twitches of your finger fire until you run out out ammo
>The griffon begins to spin rapidly, them falls out of view

>The last of the marines hop aboard, and you move back into the now crowded interior to let one close the door
>You almost fall into the floor of multicolored bodies as the hind lifts off, the roar of its heavy rotors muffled a bit now that the doors are closed
>The chopper tilts forward, and you lean against the hull for support
>You feel the gunship turn around and gain speed, away from Manehatten

>The ponies, relived and exhausted, are looked over by the few Anons that came into the chopper
>It hits you right then and there:

>That just fucking happened
>That just fucking happened and you're still alive

>You're shaking like mad
>Your body looks more red and black than pink
>But you're alive
>Holy fuck, you're alive

>Holy...holy fuck, you're tired
>Goddamn, are you tired
>You slide down onto your rear, empty rifle cradled in your arms
>An Anon moves through the rainbow crowd to get to you, but you're already asleep when he gets to you


>Lazily, you wake from the dead
>You feel mummified, and you can hardly move under tight sheets
>You slowly open your eyes, and you find yourself in a small bed cordoned off by white curtains
>You're in a medic's tent, reminiscent of a M*A*S*H unit
>After a few idle minutes of questions without answers, the set is completed with a cute nursepony checking up on you

>As soon as she draws the curtain back, she sees you turning your head towards her and freezes
>With a dry voice, you ask softly
"Ma'am...what day is it?"
>Instead of answering, the nurse runs off in a full gallop
>To get someone, you suspect
>Sure enough, after a few more idle minutes, the nurse returns

>Godmother follows her
>She's again without her helmet, and you wonder if she ever puts it on

>"How are you feeling, Lieutenant?"
>You blink at the question, and try to move around before answering
"Just tired as hell, ma'am."
>She nods
>"Then the doctors are doing their job. They recommend you stay in bed for a couple of days, and you'll do exactly that. Understood?"
"Yes, ma'am."
 >"Then I'll leave you be, but I'm sure your friends will want to see you."
>Friends...yeah
"I'm sure they will."
>"And to answer your question for Miss Patch, it's mid-afternoon."
>The light-tannish unicorn shifts anxiously from Godmother acknowledging her
>"Your rescue was last night, and the griffons haven't retaliated. Rest easy."
"Alright. Thanks, ma'am."
>The older earth pony nods, "Lieutenant." and leaves you in the tent with the young nurse Patch

>It's when Godmother leaves that you realize something
"This has been the latest I've ever slept in."
>This elicits a chuckle from Patch as she checks the IV bag next to your bed
>"And you've earned it, with what you have been though."

>You smile at that, and you stare up at the tent's ceiling for a long time
>You listen to Patch and the other nurses walking around on the bare ground, checking up on other patients
>Eventually, they remove the curtains, letting you see the rest of the tent

>Anons and ponies are sprinkled throughout the large rectangular room, all in various states of injury
>Some have broken limbs raised into the air, while others are simply covered in bandages like you
>None of the people near you feel like talking, which only leaves the nurses to have small talk with whenever they're around

>Thankfully, unlike Dash, you have a lot to think about
>Yesterday was eventful, to say the least
>The griffons pulled a World In Conflict, and now have Manehatten and a little piece of land up north
>But they haven't pushed out
>At least...not yet
>All the better for you and everyone else in Equestria

>If they acted like the Soviets, then it would've been a fighting retreat almost all the way back to Canterlot
>Ponyville would be the most likely candidate for being the new Cascade Falls
>Then you would push them back to the ocean, motivated by the threat of dropping another nuke on Manehatten
>Thank God it didn't come to that
>At least...not yet

>You start wondering about who would be who, when your second and third guests are led in
>Paintfag and Toxotesfag
>Your squadmates smile as they walk over to your bedside

>"How do you feel, boss?" asks the obese archer
"Better than half a day ago. How's the squad?"
>Paintfag answers, "Better than yesterday. We lost a few guys from the bombardment, but other than that we're fine. Rusky and the rest of the staff are also alive, but barely. May was almost kidnapped and Underage nearly lost an eye saving her, but they're fine now."
>May was almost kidnapped?
>The kid almost lost an eye?
>Jesus, they're all lucky to have gotten out of there

"Good...good. I'll be stuck here for a couple days, so keep doing what you've been doing."
>"You got it, boss. Hope to see you on your feet soon."

>With that, they leave you to look up at the ceiling more
>You have a feeling they'll just dick around until you get out of bed
>Not that they didn't earn it

>The rest of the day goes by, and you sleep soundly to the sound of patrolling vehicles
>No dreams
>Luna must be busy
>The next day is more of the same, only around lunch a certain blue unicorn comes to visit

>She expresses her gratitude, as well as all of the other pony prisoners', for helping them all get through the "ordeal"
>You thank her, saying you never went the dark route with that scenario
>She doesn't get it, and after saying it you realize that was autistic as fuck
>You quickly change the subject, asking what she will plan to do now
>She pauses before saying, "Trixie isn't sure. She was planning to stay here for a week, but that is pointless now with these griffons."
>She throws some ideas around in her head
>"Trixie will stay here for a few day, then she may return to Ponyville."
>A playful smile appears, "She wonders if Twilight misses her."

>There's a pause, then Trixie's expression suddenly turns sour
"Ma'am?"
>"Trixie hasn't written to Fritz yet."
>She puts a hoof to her chest to calm herself, "He doesn't know if Trixie is safe."
>She quickly bows and says, "Danke, Sir Hoplite." then exits the tent with haste

>Danke
>Fritz
>This guy goes on 4chan like the rest of you horsefuckers
>Despite being half-German yourself, you sigh at the implications

>On to the next day, and the doctors let you out of bed
>Your legs are sore, but you're used to that thanks to all of the 5 and 10ks you've ran

>You waste no time looking for your platoon
>Sure enough, they're dicking around in the field, playing some variation of Spear the Queer (without actual spears, of course)
>Those who owned vehicles had them all lined up and preforming maintenance on them
>You walk up to Rusky's UAZ, which is covered in scratches and small dents
>The Russian, hammering away at the dents, spots you and with a huge smile gives you a bear hug
>"Comrade! Good to see you walking about!"
>You do your best to return the hug

"Likewise, Sergeant. I heard you guys went through hell getting out of the city."
>"Da, Lieutenant, but not as hellish as what you went through. Your will is like that of Iron Curtain!"
>You chat with him and his gunner some more, then go to retrieve your armor and weapons
>The squad has all of them at the side of the field they were playing in, reminding you of your lacrosse years
>While it is all clean, your armor is ripped up, and the emblem on your shield is half-gone
>You stare at the black widow with a cyan hourglass, and you try to remember why you put it on
>In the end, you can't, and you figure you'd give Paintfag another job whenever he can get the necessary supplies
>Moving onto your weapons, you see they meticulously cleaned your sword
>The spear looks like another replacement
>You must be running out of them with how frequently you go through these things

>Next to your stuff is also... the makarov
>You're not sure what to make of this, so you head over to Rusky
>"You need it more than I, comrade, and is fitting for officer to have sidearm."
>But you consider your xiphos to be your sidearm
>You keep that internal, though, because you honestly need a firearm to better combat these slippery griffons
>Your toxotes and their dinky little bows aren't enough

>You then walk back to your barracks
>You find Underage and May drinking
>The unicorn is right 'n  properly shitfaced
>The kid is getting there
>Those who are still introverted is near the back, well away from the young pair

>They notice you, and you out on your best "son, I am disappoint" face
>They sober up rather quickly, and Underage quickly puts his bottle down on the floor and stands
>"Heymm, Anon."
>He instead stumbles forward, nearly running into you
>You keep him from running right out the flimsy door and hold him steady by the shoulders

>When he lazily looks up to you, you see what Paintfag meant
>Three faint scars, running parallel across the left side of his head, starting just at his eye and ending near his ear

>You stare at the wound for a moment, before you utter
"Jesus, kid, tell me you got that looked at."
>"I did, Anon."
>He sounds annoyed, and now he's trying to avoid looking at you
>Fucking hell

>You let go of him and walk over to the bunk May is on
>You inspect the case of beer that's about half empty, before glaring up at the mare
"Where did you get this?"

>"Sum' those mureen Anons that saved you came by. Said thanks fer tha' leaf or sumin' and gave us this."
>She nods towards the case, and you pause before letting out a frustrated sigh

>"You okay, Anon? 's everyone been mentionin' yer face?"
"My face?"
>She goes to say something, but then looks back at the small band of milling squadmembers
>"Any'v you got ta mirror?!"

>One pole awkwardly runs up and has the handheld mirror taken from his hand
>May floats it over to you and you take it to have a look

>...
>Jesus Christ

>You reach up to trace the single scar made by magic-induced lighting
>It arcs across your face diagonally, starting from under your chin and ending on your forehead
>Several branches break off, jutting across your nose and eyes
>You don't know how you kept your eyesight

>Without saying anything, you dress down, head for your bunk, and go to bed early

>You're dreaming, but you're not sure where you are
>You're not sure where Luna is either
>At least she's implanted some knowledge in your head, telling you you're having an out-of-body experience

>It's still quite dark where you are
>The only points of light is Canterlot off in the distance
>Wait, not Canterlot

>"Our capital..."

>It's the mage, and she's right behind you
>She's sharing this sight with you
>Something tells you not to turn yet

>Luna...
>You understand, and despite being a projected entity, you brace yourself and cover your ears

>A few silent seconds go by

>Then, the thick aura of superiority and safety is shattered
>Night turns to day for a trio of instances
>Seconds later you feel the concussive force and hear the boom boom BOOM of the biggest guns you could possibly imagine
>The ground quakes violently, sending some of the tall building toppling down

>The second salvo hits, and the city shutters again as an inferno begins to rage
>Impossibly huge flames shoot up into the sky, swaying back and forth like bright eldritch beings as they consume the xenos city in purifying flame

>You're witnessing one of the most beautiful scenes you have ever been given audience to

>A sob reminds you of the mage's presence, and you slowly turn to face her
>The world is bright enough for you to see the tears streaming down her battered face as she watches the throne of her kingdom burn
>She sees you and the ghastly results of her magic, and she locks up in mind-numbing terror
>You stare at her, thinking for a few seconds of what message to give her
>Something all-encompassing, something perfect for HFY:

>You spread your arms out wide, presenting what might be the most horrid sight she has ever seen

"This is what humanity commits upon its enemies!"

"Let it be known, griffon, that by making yourselves our enemy, you have resigned yourselves to this!"

"You will all scream, you will all burn, and with no remorse we will silence all of you until you are erased from existence!"

"It is what you DESERVE!"

"It is your FATE!"

"It is the will of mankind, and you will learn to fear it before the end!"

>With that, the shaking mage disappears, likely waking up screaming in a cold sweat in her cell

>You calmly open your eyes, well-rested, and see that it's now morning

>Today's mood is one of optimism as the platoon enjoys the day of
>Most of the veterans head around Canterlot, visiting shops, pubs, and the like
>A lot different from the shut ins they all were on day one

>In the morning you ask Paintfag about your shield, and he smiles, saying he can get it done so you can show it off to the FNGs
>You thank him, then leave the barracks to start your errands

>You head to Barrack City's admin buildings to put in requests for replacements
>Paintfag wasn't kidding; you lost a few men in the griffon invasion, and now your squad is a little understrength
>Your armor could be repaired as well

>As you run your errands, you do start to notice a lot of Anons and ponies glancing at you
>You're wearing your golden laX shirt, some blue cargo shorts, and your blue Uni cap
>You still could not hide the scars on your face and forearms

>At least the pencil pushers don't mention it, and the process to retrain your unit is well underway
>You should even get the newfags in by tonight, with the constant influx of Anons both funs and nofuns

>With the paperwork squared away, all there is to do is to kill time

>Going back to the barracks didn't feel like you would get anything out of it
>The shut-ins would be playing their yugiyoh and magic and pokemon, and you have no interest in those
>That left doing what everyone else is doing

>Canterlot is a sophisticated place
>The stereotypical kind of sophisticated
>Despite there being a war that's going on, a lot of these high and mighty pones still act like  they own everything, including you
>The high class, it's universal

>At least some of them acknowledge your existence, but they all either make eye contact for a second and keep walking, or have a look of disgust flash across their face
>A few of the mares that noticed you, however, gave you "that" look
>It didn't matter if they were beside their own stallion
>Even that white one with the blonde hair, whom you remember from somewhere
>Fleur de Lis or something?

>Fucking Wenches

>You wander around the city for most of the day, having lunch at one of the many pubs
>No meat, only specially prepared flora
>Almost two weeks of MREs and veggies, and you're dying for some meat
>Some honest-to-God meat
>You probably should have gone to the Thirty-Fifth's barracks, but you've already sat down and looked at the menu
>You order some taters and carrots
>It's something, but it isn't meat
>And the other patrons are keeping to themselves, too
>Shit...

>You walk around some more, trying to enjoy the sights
>But dammit, you're making yourself apathetic

>After walking for some time, you come across a growing crowd
>In the center, towering above them is MafiaAnon, showing off the innards of his Chicago typewriter
>He has a shit-eating grin on his face

>Fucking dammit
>Even after having the shit beaten out of him he still thinks he's hot stuff
>Well, you're not kicking his ass again, especially with strangers watching
>So you wait for him to finish, leaning against the wattle and daub with your arms crossed
>When he does finish, you'll take him aside and ask if he has made any process on unfucking himself and his indomitable ego

>A minute of mechanical explanation and praise of the craftsmanship passes by, and you're glad you brought your cap
>You look up to pinpoint the sun, and it's just starting to make its way back down

>Lowering your head, you then take note of the interesting layout of the city on the mountainside
>There's an entire other level above you, complete with its own street you assume
>You look further down the elevated row of houses, and then spot a few Anons looking from a balcony
>The face of one of them looks awfully familiar

>The two of you make eye contact, and the Anon has a mischievous grin
>He points to you and then his own ears
>He then says something to his mates as he pulls out a sidearm

>You realize what he's going to do, and with a anxious smile you cover your ears

>*BADANG* *BADANG*

>You immediately look to MafiaAnon, and he tries to hide under the fold-out table he was using
>He lets out a shriek that's on par with girls in middle school
>It's so out of place, yet so expected of a lowly horsefucker...

>You couldn't help yourself

>You look back up from your fit just in time to watch the poser look up, nursing his ears
>"Who the FUCK do you think you are?!"
>"DELTA SQUAD, MOTHERFUCKER!"
>His mates roar with laughter as they walk off, leaving you with a frightened and confused crowd, and a scared shitless Anon

>As you restore order and take the faggot aside, you can't help but recognize the gun and voice
>Small world...
>The realization is met with mixed feelings, but as you head back in the evening your mood has improved greatly

>"Hey, Anon, how was your day?"
>You look to May, who's a little tipsy
"Not bad. Almost got run over by some faggots in a jeep, but other than that it was fine."

>The rest of the squad's here too


>Along with some new faces
>Time for some evening introductions

"NEWFAGS! Up FRONT!"