Unknown Location - 9:45 PM

he night was warm, calm and quiet. It didn’t sit well with me. Nights like that often meant heavy combat, and with that came death. The stillness of the night was oppressive, setting me on edge.

“Gravedigger,” I heard somepony whisper to me. “Gravedigger,” the pony repeated a little louder. I groaned softly, turning to face the pony that had called my attention in such an abrupt manner, already pondering how best to end the conversation.

His name was Jolt. He was about as tall as I was, though thinner. He used to be a Royal Guard, but quit to join Civil Protection because it granted him more ‘freedom’. His golden-yellow mane was cut short and his vibrant white coat shone through the caked-on mud and dried blood that stained his neck. His small cyan eyes were filled with mixed emotions ranging from fear to excitement.

“You ready?” he asked me anxiously.

“Ready? Ready for what?”

He looked around before looking me dead in the eyes, frowning. “Didn't you hear?” he asked while shivering. “Big push is supposed to take place tonight. Things may be quiet now, but they won’t be for long ... we’re all going to die out here...”

“So,” I said through clenched teeth, “we’re going to have a fight tonight…” Wonder how many I’m going to have to bury come morning...

Truth is, I would have preferred to not be digging graves even if it was the only thing keeping me relatively sane. I couldn’t shoot my bastard ‘comrades’ no matter how much they might have deserved it. Unless of course I wanted to face a firing squad myself. So, burying them was the next best thing. There was more to it than that - something else driving me to do it … but what, I don’t know.

“Well, just so you know...” Jolt said in a determined tone, “I’m sure as hell not going to be buried by you or anyone else tonight.” He raised his assault rifle and checked its magazine with a diligent eye. “Rebels come anywhere near me, and I’m going to put a hole in their heads!”

“Riiiight…”

I quickly dragged myself away from him and further down the trench line. Killing’s your answer to everything... You’d better watch yourself; ponies like you are often the first to die.

The Chosen: Chapter Three

Several minutes passed as I crawled through the trench, the moon lighting my way in the otherwise dark night. As I did, I couldn’t help but smile. I know she’s gone, but I really love Luna’s work. I never was one to like the Sun.

I was near my assigned post finally. It was a small patch of blasted trench. Figures I get to defend such a nasty piece of work...

The closer I got, the more I noticed the overpowering stench of death. I stopped moving, placing a hoof against my nose. I don’t see any bodies, so why the hell does it smell so bad?!

I looked around for the source of the unusually putrid stench. It didn’t take me long to find it: there was a severed forelimb not far away that must have been rotting for several days already.

Levitating the limb some distance away from my post before taking out a small folding spade, my entrenching tool - or E-tool as everyone liked to call it - popped it open and dug a nice, deep hole. Levitating the fetid limb into the hole, I covered it with as much dirt as I could. While the stench lingered, it wasn’t nearly as bad as before. At the very least, I didn’t need to hold my hoof up to my nose.

Wiping the sweat off my brow, I rested against the trench’s wall. I closed my E-tool and stowed it back in my saddlebags. I sighed, once again realizing just how heavy the bags were. I put them down and exhaled with relief.

I reached back into my saddlebags and took out the three large pieces that made up my assault rifle - stock, barrel, and firing mechanism - and put it together in about three minutes. There was no hurry and each piece had to go into its socket just right or the gun could be faulty and liable to explode in my face. They weren’t exactly the most reliable things ever made. It was an operation that required finesse more than speed.

After I snapped the barrel into place and made sure all the pieces were correctly aligned, I took out several empty magazines and began filling them from a box of .30-06 rounds. I had plenty, so I left no magazine unfilled. The leftovers went into my bandoleer for later. Lastly, I took out my revolver - an ebony marksman’s Peacekeeper. She was a beauty; blue finish with an imitation-ivory handle and a robust frame that could take a beating … or dole one out.

I’d won the revolver in a game of accuracy from a traveling merchant. He said the revolver was specially made by a mare who was likely the best gunsmith in the world, though he never said who she was. He didn’t seem upset at all despite losing the weapon. When we parted ways, he had a broad smile on his face, as if he’d made an important delivery. I never saw him again.

Since then, that gun - my personal negotiator - and I had been inseparable. She’d saved my skin more times that I dared count. If it wasn’t for the fact that I couldn’t hit crap past 200 yards without a proper scope I would have used it exclusively.

Suddenly, a gruff voice came through the earpiece I was wearing. Pressing a hoof against it made the message a little easier to hear and clearer.

“Listen up, you worthless maggots! I’m not going to sugar-coat it; most of you worthless pieces of crap are going to die tonight. Tonight, you fight in the name of the Regime. Tonight, you die in the name of the Regime! Retreat is not an option; you stand your ground and you fight until you-”

I ripped the small radio out of my ear, rolling my eyes. Regime propaganda ... like I give a damn.

My ears suddenly perked up at the sound of faint hooffalls. I pressed myself against the trench wall and focused on what was topside. I could hear the not-so-nimble hoofsteps of a small squadron of about four or five if my ears could be trusted.

The Rebels must not know about this trench... I cocked my rifle, chambering a round. By the time they realize it...

Artillery fire suddenly rained down all around me, interrupting my train of thought. Each blast was followed by an eruption of earth and a shower of rocks. The explosions actually made the Rebels easier to hear, for it made them scream and shout in the distance. The artillery fire would probably make them scatter as well, making them less of a threat.

I crawled up the trench wall, raised my rifle and took aim at the first figure that met my sight. It was a large-sized Rebel, blindly charging forward, bayonet at the ready. I couldn’t see him clearly, but I knew from the shape of the muzzle that it was indeed a ‘him’. Without hesitation, I used my magic to take aim and pull the trigger.

There was a flash as the bullet rocketed out of my barrel, closing the distance in seconds. It hit the poor bastard square in the head. His silhouette stopped dead in its tracks before slumping backwards. There were small chunks of what used to be his brain and bits of his skull trailing just behind his body from the neat hole in his face.

I heard a distant gunshot and ducked instinctively, losing my grip on the edge in the process. I stumbled backwards, hitting the trench’s dirt floor with the wrong side of my body. I closed my eyes for a few seconds as the world started spinning.

When I reopened my eyes, a Rebel was standing at the edge of the trench looking down at me with a smile. He wore a set of blue and white combat fatigues made up of an armor plate that covered his chest and a standard combat helmet that obscured his eyes. He unsheathed his knife, held it tightly in his mouth, and jumped down after me with murder in his eyes.

My rifle was now conveniently under me after having nearly broken my back a few second prior, but I was glad it was where it was. I magicked it out from underneath me to point straight at him. The Rebel never saw it coming.

The loud band was followed by a thud as the pony landed right on top of me, his helmet-clad head smashing into my face. I quickly shoved him off; thankful it hadn’t been the other end to hit my face.

As I got up, I saw the bullet hole in the colt’s forehead went right through his helmet. I hadn’t really had much time to aim, so it had been a lucky shot and poor equipment on his part. As soon as I was back on my hooves, I raced up the wall and out of the trench just in time to meet another rushing Rebel.

I fired again, hitting the pony dead in the chest. His armor took the brunt of the blow but it looked like it really knocked the wind out of him. Might have bruised or broken a rib or two. He stumbled forward, falling face first into the ground as the momentum sent his body into a sick cartwheel to land on top of itself, breaking his neck with an audible crack.

My ears perked up yet again, this time at the sound of flapping wings. Looking skywards, I spotted a red pegasus sniper taking potshots. She was clearly too preoccupied to notice me underneath her. She was wearing the same getup as the other two Rebels I had killed, save for the front armor plate. It was probably left out in order to reduce the weight.

I took aim and fired but she banked to the right at the last second. The shot missed its mark, hitting her right wing instead. I was lucky anyways; it hit her close enough to the shoulder that, combined with her flapping and the weight of her equipment, the wing was torn right off. I could hear her scream as she plummeted to the ground alongside it. I caught a quick glimpse of her face a few seconds before impact; she couldn’t have been older than sixteen.

There was time enough that I clicked the safety on my rifle, jumped back into the trench for cover, took out my rifle’s magazine, and filled it from my bandoleer. Once it was completely full again, I shoved it back into place and set the gun to burst fire. Taking a deep breath, I climbed out of the safety of my trench yet again and ran forward as fast as my legs could carry me. My head bobbed left and right while my rifle levitated perfectly steady next to me. Mortar shells were still landing everywhere, some near, others far in the distance. At this rate, I couldn’t tell if they were from my own side or the Rebel’s

Don’t lose focus! You’re almost there! I had to keep telling myself.

The enemy line was drawing closer, and before I could register it, I had jumped right into a Rebel trench, pulling out my combat knife in the process. I landed right in the middle, knife and rifle levitating next to my head, ready to attack at a moment's notice… but there wasn’t a single pony left to fire at me. I looked around at the dozens of corpses strewn every which way possible. Some had bullet holes in them while others seemed to have been cut to pieces.

“Looks like someone cleared this trench before me,” I said to myself.

I trotted past the bodies and into a larger section of trench, one that looked big enough to fit several tanks. As soon as I’d set foot in the area though, there was an explosion to my right that sent me flying back some two feet. My vision blurred as the world swirled around me and my ears started buzzing and humming. I quickly stood up, shaking my head in an attempt to regain my bearings. It was then that the sound of a tank’s treads struck me. Though I was still partially dazed, I wasted no time in scrambling towards the nearest mound of dirt as bullets whizzed past.

I looked over the mound I was using for cover, careful to not expose myself too much. At this point, the tank came into full view. It was closer than I had expected. Marching next to it was an escort of six Rebel troopers, all of whom were more heavily armed and much more heavily armored than the rest of the Rebels I had seen so far. Upon closer inspection, the armor was very similar to the one Civil Protection issued to its shock troopers, save for the white and blue Rebel colors.

Suddenly, there was another explosion very close to me, followed by more shooting. The Rebels were trying to flush me out now. I tried to move deeper into cover, but I never got the chance; a massive blast erupted less than ten feet away.

I was propelled several feet skywards before I dropped onto my back. My vision was completely muddled and my hearing all but shot. Slowly, I turned on my stomach and crawled forward. In the end, I collapsed, too beaten to move. From what little I could see, the tank’s escorts were racing towards me, their hooffalls muffled yet clear. Slowly, my vision cleared, and so did my hearing.

At that point, I knew there was no hope of survival if I tried to fight; there were too many of them. Rather than following my base instinct as a soldier, I decided to lay still and play dead. I was covered in dirt and rocks, so there was a chance of passing myself off as a corpse.

The troopers stopped next to me, breathing heavily through their masks. I heard several clicks as the soldiers probably set their rifles to single-shot. They wouldn’t want to waste bullets.

I gulped silently, gritting my teeth as the soldiers got close enough for me to smell the gunpowder on them. I spotted my own rifle laying nearby and limited the glow of my horn as I wrapped the weapon in magic. All I’d have to do was raise it, take aim, and-

“Forget him!” came a voice yelling through the tank’s loudspeaker - probably their commander - making me lose my concentration and resolve. “There’s a bridge that needs reinforcing! Let’s move!”

I heard another set of clicks as the escort’s hooffalls moved away. From what I could see from my position, the escorts had hopped onto the tank as it drove off. Within seconds, it was lost in the middle of several ruined buildings, far enough that it couldn’t have seen me.

For a few seconds, I didn’t dare do anything - not even stand - for fear that the tank would turn around and finish me off. So I waited...

***

Ten minutes passed; the air was still. It didn’t feel like anyone was around, so I slowly got up, unaware of just how sore my body really was. The first thing that struck me was my head, and just how much it hurt. I ran my hoof over it and inspected it with care. Sure enough, I was bleeding from the back of my head, but it was minimal. I decided to inspect the rest of my body to make sure I hadn’t gotten injured anywhere else. A few cuts and bruises, but nothing serious. I smacked my ears back and forth, fearing that the explosion had somehow damaged my hearing, but aside from some initial muffling, they were fine too. I grabbed my rifle and headed east, away from the trenches and towards the nearest town - which by now should have been captured by our forces.

I climbed over the last trench, ran a short distance, and slid down a mound, right into a small canal-like street intersection. Before me was the captured river, its banks replaced by large concrete walls.

My ears perked up for the third time as the sound of hooffalls reached me. I turned around, rifle at the ready. My gaze met another colt in red, and then another as he made his way down the hilly trench. And then another. I lowered my rifle as dozens of soldiers dragged themselves up the hill and down to my position. I looked skyward again at the sound of flapping wings. There were five pegasi giving clear directions on where to head. They wore red armor adorned with a large white cross. They were battle-medics.

It wasn’t long before the once-quiet stretch of land I stood on was crowded with countless tired, wounded soldiers. I looked behind me and I could see the furious battle being waged. The only thing that separated our army from the Rebel’s was the large river. The only way across was a concrete bridge.

Near the bridge was a mob of soldiers, all of whom looked ready to charge. Leading the group was our squad’s commanding officer; a tall gray colt who wore a coat over his armor and a captain’s hat bearing the Regime’s emblem. He was gruff, with eyes as cold as ice and a very gravelly voice. He gazed over the rest of the squad, those eyes studying every last detail.

If he saw me standing around and doing nothing, it meant he would add me to his suicide squad to blindly rush towards my own death. I jogged away from the front lines, careful in my movements and staying as low as possible both to avoid the commander’s gaze and the bullets that saturated the air. Despite my situation, I couldn’t help but look around at the battlefield.

The first thing I noticed was the amount of troopers involved in the gunfight on both sides. On our side, every soldier was either lying on their belly or crouched behind the remains of ruined buildings. On the other side of the river, the picture was similar, though there were far less Rebels in sight. I guessed they were adopting a longer-rage, sniper focused, form of offence. The idea seemed to hold up based on the sheer amount of casualties on our side. Bullet after bullet rained down on our side of the river, either missing their mark or taking some unlucky colt with them. One even struck the pony next to me right in the neck. He let out a gasp, grabbing onto it as blood gushed out like someone had punched a hole in a water tank. He gagged sickeningly, straining his vocal cords to the best of his ability before collapsing forward, a pool of blood forming underneath him.

I took a look at the colt’s weapon: a high powered sniper rifle, .50 caliber judging by the size of the spent cartridges. I looked around again and decided that the rifle was a definite step up from my own. I inched towards the body, keeping my head low, grabbed the rifle, the two magazines on the ground, and checked the colt’s saddlebags for more.

Suddenly, a shot landed next to me. I recoiled and moved back into cover, slowly inching my way back out only to have another bullet hit the exposed ground behind me. The snipers had me in their sights now. I wasn’t going anywhere until they were gone.

I wasn’t a sniper, but I knew the fundamentals; keep your head as low as possible, aim a little higher than intended to account for gravity and distance, and don’t move a muscle once you get into position.

I grabbed the rifle’s bolt and pulled it back. A spent casing flew out. I took out the magazine and counted what was left - ten rounds, ten shots - then snapped it back into place, pushing the bolt forward, paying attention that the thing didn’t jam. Carefully, I laid down on my belly and inched the gun’s barrel ever so slowly across the rubble in front of me. Thankfully, the moon was behind me, so I didn’t have to worry about there being a reflection from the rifle’s sight. The enemy snipers wouldn’t be so lucky though. It was something they didn’t seem to notice.

My first target was the window in a building directly ahead of me. It was dark, but I knew well enough there was something in there. Again, lacking any real experience with the weapon, I had to go with instinct and focusing the sight’s zoom less than perfectly. It didn’t matter though, it still allowed me to see my intended target.

Suddenly, there was a glint in the dark, followed by a muzzle flash. That was my cue to fire. I pulled the trigger and felt the rifle’s powerful kick. Even with magic aiding my aim, the rifle was an absolute beast to handle. At the very least, it had a built-in suppressor. Otherwise the flash and noise would have been enough to give me away.

The shot flew for a few seconds before meeting its target. I was greeted with a spray of blood onto the inside of the window; a clear signal that I’d hit the sniper dead on. I spotted another glimmer in a window a floor up, maneuvered the rifle, took aim, and fired again. My first shot missed, but my second hit dead on. This time, I saw the enemy collapse forward, foreleg dangling through the window.

I smiled to myself, confident that the danger was gone but as soon as I prepared to move, there was a muzzle flash and a shot managed to make it through my cover to graze my cheek. I dropped even lower to take aim at the window. I couldn’t see anything, but there had to be someone else there.

Then: a flash two windows up, and five to the right. I quickly realized the entire building was a veritable nest of snipers and if I so much as moved a hair out of cover they’d blow my head right off.

I sighed, looking up at the moon. It’s going to be a very long night…

***

The sun’s slow appearance on the horizon and the light it brought was hazy through the smoke. There was a slight glare in my eyes, but I still managed to focus on that last window. I took careful aim, and fired what I hoped would be my last shot. I was rewarded again with a spatter of blood and a neat little hole in the sniper’s head.

Satisfied, I pulled on the bolt one last time, the spent cartridge flying out trailing smoke behind it. The magazine was empty now and I was out of ammo. I stood up, my body stiff from a night’s vigilant watch without moving so much as a single muscle. As I got up, my sore muscles aching, I got a good look around in the morning light and was greeted by the sight of death - something I was no stranger to.

Several medics were running back and forth, checking for wounded among the dead. As they did, they just kept shaking their heads. One of the medics - a pretty filly whose age I couldn’t have guessed - came and looked me over. Aside from a few scratches, I check out alright, which greatly surprised her. She handed me a few painkillers before returning to the group of other medics. I thanked her, swallowed the pills and moved towards the bridge, my pace quickening now that the pills were taking effect.

As soon as I arrived at the bridge,I saw just how bad the night had really been and how much it had cost us. Dead bodies - torn to pieces, blown up, sliced, crushed, burnt and somehow liquefied - were all I could see and the view only got worse as I set foot on the bridge itself.

Blood coated nearly every inch of the bridge’s surface. Bodies had been either shoved aside or tossed over the side and into the water, which upon closer inspection, was a vivid red. The town ahead was no better off; bodies hung from windows and lay in the streets. Wrecked tanks filled the main road, still burning, charred bodies sticking out of them. Crumbling buildings stretched as far as the eye could see and were all that remained of a once prosperous and nameless riverside town.

As I walked towards the town’s center, I could hear the moaning and screaming of the wounded. The medics did their best to ease everyone’ pain, but it wasn’t enough. There was a strong feeling of hopelessness and I didn’t want to stick around for long.

In the middle of this town flew a flag: our flag. It was torn and burnt, but it still flapped in the wind like some sick reminder that no matter how many of us the Rebels killed, there would always be more to replace them.

I looked away, unable to look at the flag without rage welling up inside me. Never had I felt so much animosity towards something as I did then. That flag - that emblem - stood for everything wrong with society. It stood for the idea that any problem could be solved with blood just so a select few could turn a profit and become even more powerful.

I walked towards a fairly deserted area and took a seat on some rubble. I dropped the empty rifle and covered my face with my hooves. Not a smart move as the blood from the bridge was now covering my face...

Suddenly, something moved in the rubble. I stood up, pulled out my revolver and walked towards it cautiously. The rumbling was getting louder the closer I got...it almost sounded like a struggle. Levitating away a large burnt-out piece of metal, I found myself aiming at a young Rebel. She had a pistol in her hooves too, but was shaking too much for it to be any use to her. Her face was dirty and stained with both blood and tears, and as I got closer I discovered why. Next to her was the beaten and bullet-riddled body of some colt, about my age. He suddenly shifted his weight, moaning in pain. He was still alive...

I cursed to myself. I could just shoot the pair and be done with it, but that’d make me like every other bastard that I hated. Against my better judgement, I holstered my revolver. No point in killing when the battle was already over. I might not shoot them, but that didn’t mean I was going to help them either. I turned around and started walking away when I heard a sudden cry. I turned to face the Rebels and saw the filly, climbing out of the rubble, crying for help in a strained, whimpering voice. She grabbed hold of my foreleg, tears streaming down her face.

I merely shook my head and told her that there was nothing either of us could do. I floated her pistol, a semi-automatic .45, over to her, and told her to do the merciful thing.

She looked at me, utterly horrified, but the expression quickly changed as the harsh reality of the situation finally set in. She grabbed the pistol with a shaky hoof and walked back towards the other soldier. I could see tears dripping down her face with every step she took.

Turning around again, I started to walk away, knowing full well what was about to take place. Part of me wished something else could have happened, but I knew damn well that war leaves no one unscathed. I closed my eyes and seconds later I heard the gunshot. I sighed. She had done the right thing-

There was a second shot.

My eyes flew open at the sound and I drew my revolver by instinct alone, wheeling around to face the source. There was a loud thump.

The filly was lying on the ground, face down with a gaping hole where the back of her head should have been, a small pool of her tears being filled with blood.

Civil Protection soldiers were on the scene - weapons at the ready - within seconds. They looked around, assessed the scene, and then turned to me. Some cheered while others simply nodded their agreement, seemingly congratulating me on the shot.

I put my gun away again and walked towards the town’s center, E-tool out and ready, tears rolling down my cheeks.

Ponyville - Sugarcube Corner - 4:30 pm

My story finished, I looked down at the ground, my face devoid of any emotion. When I looked up, I expected to see Pinkie’s carefree expression but instead, she looked sad. I sat up straight and stretched my neck a bit. As soon as I heard a small click I went back to sitting up straight, avoiding Pinkie’s gaze.

I knew telling her that story would be a bad idea, and I didn’t even finish it...

“I…” Pinkie said all of a sudden. “I… I didn’t know things were that rough on the battlefield…” She was almost stammering as she spoke. She shook her head. “The books in school never had anything like that written in them.”

“That’s because those books were written with you kids in mind. No point telling you the truth. If we’re being honest, it’s a history best left forgotten, or half known.” I stood up. “Now then, I think our business here’s done, so I’ll be heading off.” I levitated my notepad into my bag, making sure it was secure. “Thanks for your time, the cupcakes, and,” I looked at the banners, “the well intended surprise. Sorry if I spoiled it.” I gave her a sincere smile, the first I’d put on all day.

She didn’t say or do anything. She just sat on her chair, brooding. I gave her one last look before turning for the door.

“Wait…” she said all of a sudden. Turning to face her again, I saw that her hair had straightened out and lost some of its colour. It was covering her eyes now, which somehow managed to shine through anyway. There was something in the air that sent chills up my spine, just like earlier. “There’s more to the story, isn’t there?” she stood up rather quickly. “What happened afterwards?” she asked, walking up to me rather forcefully, eyes still shrouded in shadows. “You’ve got to finish your story! You just have to!”

“Sorry kid, but we made a deal,” I said, backing away slightly. “My story for your information. Besides, I only did that because you were...” I stopped myself before I said anything else. It probably would have made her start crying again. Instead, I shook my head. “No, I think I’ve held up my end of the bargain. A deal’s a deal kid and now we’re even, so that’s the end of that.”

“Okay…” Pinkie said with a sly smile, “how about we make a new deal? The rest of the story for a meeting with my mother...”

“You can do that? Set up a meeting for me?”

“Of course! I’m her daughter; I have far more power than you think.” She was getting closer to me now.

“Well,” I said with my eyes narrowed, “what if you’re pulling a fast one on me?”

“What have you got to lose Mr. Bogart?” she asked as she grabbed my hoof. “Nothing but a small amount of time, and if we’re being honest, you’ve got plenty of it.”

“Well, I guess you have a point.” I eyed Pinkie suspiciously. She merely smiled, shifting her grasp so we were in a hoof shake. “Deal?”

“Well…” I said, looking her in the face. Her hair wasn’t covering her eyes any longer but they still had that odd look to them. I stood there for a good minute, wondering just how best to play things. In the end, I started smiling too.

Best case scenario, Pinkie gets me that meeting and this case takes one giant leap forward. Worst case scenario… I looked at Pinkie again, feeling guilty about the thought. Worst case … let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that…

I shook Pinkie’s hoof. “Deal.”

She smiled. “Excellent!” She led me out of the bakery at a trot, never once letting go of my hoof. She looked back at me with a broad smile.

I could only wonder about whether I had done the right thing.