Five magazines, a knife, two smoke grenades, and a canteen comprised Red Field’s kit.

His shaggy ghillie suit hid his entire inventory beneath its matted folds. Red Field felt the dull corner of a magazine press into his belly as he exhaled. He reached under his body and righted the magazine, then returned to his scope. He laid under a short canopy of ferns, his hind hooves buried in a mass of moss. The M63 was pressed into the pocket of his shoulder and he gazed down the scope and into the depression.

Under the haze of rain, Red Field could see his teammates hiding amidst the waving reeds. The storm had only grown harder during the night and the clouds obscured the morning sun. Bren and Siplinski watched the left flank and Black Rain knelt a few meters from the right edge of the depression. They laid against the incline.

He laid a hundred and twenty-five meters from them. He’d set the scope at that range and found a holdover that would work at a hundred and fifty should their adversaries set up a perimeter.

They’d waited two and a half hours since the game began.

They hadn’t heard a single gunshot. Everypony sat cold and soaked. Siplinski opened a packet of granola and popped a few clusters into his mouth. Bren yawned. Red Field pulled the stock tighter into his shoulder and scanned from eleven-o-clock to two. A bug crawled over his left hind leg. Red Field continued to watch for Squad Thirteen.
When the team had awoken to Red Field oiling their guns, Bren asked what Red Field was doing, Siplinski asked if Red Field was even playing anymore, but Black Rain saw the newly spray-painted M63 and walked over to their sniper and asked what the plan was.

They were going back to their first plan. Red Field was going to gun down anypony who came at them.

The rain built as the next two hours passed, and at lunchtime, the little reticule began to shudder slightly as Red Field shivered. In a normal game, Squad Thirteen would probably meet their demise in an extended firefight as they rushed to capture one of the shantytowns set up for the game. Only a captain like Agent Orange would order his army on a search through all of Macmillan woods in search of a tiny squad.

Siplinski finished his granola and tossed the wrapper into the reeds around him. Thunder rumbled over the trees and the crosshairs jumped a bit as Red Field flinched. The rain deafened him and he could only rely on sight to find their enemies. The forest before him, where Squad Thirteen was supposed to blindly advance from, lay in darkened, rainy solitude. Bren rolled over and unscrewed the cap to his canteen. Red Field watched Bren’s sector as the unicorn took a drink. A wet strip of the brown burlap dipped into his vision as a fat drop of water hung from a frond in his hood. His left field of view was obscured and he waited for the drop of water to swell, then drop off.

The strip rebounded out of his vision.

A hoof poked out from behind one of the trees about ten meters ahead of Bren’s position. Red Field’s heart began to pound as slid his crosshairs over the hoof. It was red and the enamel was smeared with camo paint.

“You guys have one pony, behind a tree, to Bren’s twelve, ten meters.” He said quietly into his radio. Black Rain stiffened and Bren rolled over immediately. All three ponies clutched their rifles and ducked down against the slope of the depression.

“Copy that, keep us updated Red.” Said Bren. The hoof disappeared behind the tree for a moment, then Red Field saw a svelte red pony slink through the grass in a low crawl toward the depression. Red Field was about to speak when something outside of his scope caught his attention. Directly to Black Rain’s right, maybe seven meters, crouched a pair of Pegasi, they aimed their rifles where his snout had poked up just moments before. They’d been surrounded. He saw another two ponies creeping through some brush toward where Siplinski lay. He opened his mouth to say something.

“Go go go!” Somepony shouted and Squad Thirteen descended into the depression from all sides. Both Black Rain and Bren were riddled with paintballs as they lifted their rifles. Red Field saw Siplinski scramble into the reeds as the two ponies galloped into his position. At least ten ponies filled the depression.

“Haha got ‘em!” Somepony yelled.

“No no hang on! There’s one more!” One pointed to the cluster of reeds where Siplinski hid. “In there, I saw one in there.”

Siplinski opened fire. All ten ponies focused their fire on the tiny area and the reeds thrashed and snapped as the rounds cut through them. Even from his distant hiding spot, Red Field could hear Siplinski cry out in pain.

“I’m dead I’m dead!” Siplinski shouted, holding his hooves over his head as he stood. His body was spotted with splashes of paint and he limped as he walked out of the concealment. A green earth pony cocked his head at the black unicorn and swung his rifle up. Red Field saw the puff of smoke and watched Siplinski buckle as the pony shot him point blank. Bren shouted in outrage and Black Rain fired a burst of automatic fire into the pony. In a second, he too was peppered with fire and he lifted his hooves over his face to keep from getting hit in the mouth. The pony who’d fired the double tap was shouting at him.

“Enough!” Agent Orange’s voice boomed through the storm. He had been watching from behind a tree and now crept forward to the depression. Black Rain was shouting about how the green pony was a shithead. “Shut up shut up!” Agent Orange pointed at the green pony. “No double taps, we aren’t animals.” He looked around. “We lose anypony?” The ponies of Squad Thirteen shook their heads. Black Rain still stood in the depression and Agent Orange looked down at him. “Second verse, same as the first?” He called to Black Rain. Black Rain’s jaw clenched so hard the curves of his mandible stood out. The ponies of Squad Thirteen began to climb out of the depression. “That it?” Asked Agent Orange. “Jesus that was an easy bet.” He looked around at the forest. As he did, Red Field clicked the safety off of the rifle. The thick crosshair rested on the center button of Agent Orange’s jacket.

Red Field let his breath out.

Agent Orange turned around and his eyes looked directly into Red Field’s scope. Red Field froze. Agent Orange looked over him, then shouted something up to him.

“No! Not yet!”

Red Field stiffened. Somepony was standing directly behind him. “We just got to this area.” He recognized Shadow Wing’s voice. Agent Orange nodded and waved him on. A sickly terror washed over Red Field. They’d surrounded the entire depression. They knew he was waiting for them. “All right, you two keep looking. I’m going to take middle.” Shadow Wings still stood less than a meter behind Red Field’s hind hooves.

Red Field knew Shadow Wings was watching him. Red Field knew the Pegasus was trying to trick him into thinking he was unnoticed, only to taunt him more. The ponies in the depression began to clear out. Shadow Wings waited for him to move. Red Field slid his support hoof to the magazine well of the rifle and shifted his weight to the right side of his body. Shadow Wings was probably right hoof dominant, and he’d be slightly slower maneuvering his weapon to the right. Red Field set the M63 to full auto and readied himself to roll over.

“Yeah, I’m coming, hang on.” Shadow Wings turned and walked away. Red Field felt the crunch of leaves as Shadow Wings walked away. Ahead of him, he saw that most of Squad Thirteen had left. Bren and Black Rain were tending to Siplinski, who had difficulty walking.

“This is fucking bullshit.” Black Rain said, his voice choked with rage.

“Fucking assholes, bet they feel great about shooting you at close range.” Bren said, laying some bandages over Siplinski’s leg, which bled in a few spots.

“Red, if you can hear this,” Black Rain said, his voice trembling with anger, “I heard one of them mention that they bribed a few of the other squads to hunt you down.” He sniffed and Red Field realized Black Rain was crying. “Fucking kill them all buddy, it’s all on you now.”

Red Field rolled over, swinging his rifle around and instinct aiming at whatever was behind him.

He saw nothing save for a few ferns and some trees. A flash of black tail stood out in the brown and green. Shadow Wings and two other ponies were sweeping the rest of forest behind the depression. A few other members of Squad Thirteen combed the remainder of the perimeter.

Red Field’s body stiffened with pain as he crept through the brush. He’d been laying for so long that his muscles had fallen asleep.
He crept after the three. The two ponies walked ten meters ahead of Shadow Wings. About twenty meters from them were another pair of Pegasi. Shadow Wings stopped and pulled out his canteen. Red Field crept up behind him. The wind lurched the raindrops sideways and Shadow Wings turned away from the pelting rain.

Red Field loomed up on two hooves. Shadow Wings lifted the canteen to his mouth when Red Field’s hooves locked around his neck. Red Field threw them both into the leaves and locked his hind legs into Shadow Wing’s. He could feel Shadow Wing choking and water splattered his face as the Pegasus coughed. A hoof batted at him. Shadow Wing clawed at Red Field for several long seconds as Red Field drew the rubber blade over his throat.

“You’re dead.” Red Field said, his voice shaking. Shadow Wings still struggled against him and Red Field tightened his grip. “I’ll choke you out.” Red Field whispered. “Stop it.” Shadow Wings slammed his head into Red Field’s and Red Field shook him. “I said stop it.” Red Field tightened his grip to where he could feel the throb of Shadow Wing’s arteries.
Shadow Wings dropped his grip. Red Field released his hold and threw him off. Shadow Wing’s gasped and clutched his throat. The coiling marks of blood bruising stood out on his black neck.

“Your team is next.” He picked up Shadow Wings’ KKAT and detached the magazine. Shadow Wing’s eyes were watery and he retched into the leaves. Red Field yanked the bolt out of the rifle and flipped it into his pocket. Shadow Wings collapsed as Red Field galloped away.

Red Field made it fifteen meters before he heard Shadow Wings’ contorted and hoarse voice shouting to his comrades. The nearby ponies opened fire and Red Field sprinted through the trees, his ghillie suit slapping and catching on the underbrush.

The rain picked up and the hard drops pelted his face and shoulders. Water poured down his goggles, obscuring his vision. He hit a root and fell into a patch of briars. Thorns lashed across his face. He dizzily picked himself up and looked back. He saw nothing. Past thirty meters, the forest faded into a swirling curtain of grey and green. Red Field crouched and looked all around him.

He was alone.

The storm gradually slacked off over the next hour. Red Field made his way toward the center of Macmillan forest. His face was stained with blood and he knelt in a sea of slick jack-in-the-pulpits as he smeared more paint on his cheek.

Somepony about twenty meters to his right shouted to open fire and he clung to the ground as rifle fire sprung out on either side of him. Somepony shouted to push forward and to his left he saw three sets of hooves galloping toward him. He panicked and tried to crawl away as the advancing ponies closed in on him. Paint bullets lopped the leaves off of the plants over him. The fire thudded into the advancing ponies. One set of hooves halted less than a meter from him and the pony howled in pain.

“Aagh! I’m dead I’m dead!” The pony yelled. The victorious squad whooped and ran in another direction.

“Hey, fastest route back to base is this way.” Called a referee. A hoof sank into Red Field’s shoulder. “Whoa what the fuck?” Red Field rolled over and drew his rifle on the pony. Blue Streak recoiled. “Holy shit it’s you!” He looked around to make sure nopony else saw them. “Agent Orange said they got you.” He looked up and called to the dead ponies. “Head back that way, yes, the path is somewhere over there.” He spoke in a low voice. “Squad Thirteen lost a few guys and I heard they’re headed for Town Echo to resupply and hold out for a while.” He pulled a paint grenade from his belt and dropped it beside Red Field. “Wait a couple minutes before you move, the other squad is going to stick around for a bit. I got a thousand bits on you, make me rich.” One of the fallen ponies complained that they still couldn’t find the path and Blue Streak jogged away from Red Field.

Red Field waited half an hour before he finally rose to his hooves. The rain had all but stopped, but the skies were still black with clouds. Town Echo was directly in the center of the forest; it had likely already seen heavy fighting. His best option was to keep moving and maintain a low profile. Squad Thirteen’s strongest adversaries were the other squads.

Red Field picked up the paint grenade and stuffed it into a pocket.

He wouldn't wait.

Red Field spent another hour searching for a landmark to pinpoint his location. The sounds of fighting had ceased and Red Field’s stomach grew tighter and tighter with each step. He looked at his watch and saw it was 1600. He caught sight of a small group of ponies. Two of them were seated and eating lunch while a third provided a poor watch.
Red Field crept around them and continued on his way. He’d left his MSRPs with his deceased Squad and only carried his canteen, which was now half full. He spotted one of the watch towers of outpost Bravo and turned himself in the direction of Town Echo. He sped into a careful jog through the forest and arrived at the town within a few minutes.

Town Echo wasn’t really a town. Four buildings arranged in a square (and bearing an uncanny resemblance to downtown Rockvale) stood in a dirt clearing. Four separate paths led into the town and a shallow well sat in the intersection. The town was perhaps fifty meters in area. Red Field circled the town from a distance and surveyed it through his scope.

It was deserted.

He drew his knife and hacked down a few saplings. He whittled their bark off and entered the town. One building was a shack, with only a few pieces of sheet metal for walls. Another was a single story “store” with two entrances, front and back. Another was a doctor’s office with a few old medical supplies and barred windows. The final building was a squat, two story structure with a large, empty room on each floor. Red Field peered down into the well, it was only three meters deep and full of scum-covered water. He had no idea from which direction Squad Thirteen would advance, how many were left, what their fighting state would be, or what they would even do when they arrived.

Red Field set up in twenty minutes.

He lay in his hide, seventy meters from the town. This time he’d built a proper hide. He’d dug it deeply into the ground and covered it with brush. His rifle was an innocuous branch covered in other branches. His upper body was a mound of earth.

He waited another hour, and his stomach began to hurt. The crosshair in the scope wobbled as his stomach cramped. Another half an hour passed and rain began to fall again. He grew chilled, and the crosshairs were now looping a large figure eight around the well. Squad Thirteen could have been killed or decided to bypass the town altogether. Red Field closed his eyes and tried to think of where else they might have moved to.

A twig bent and snapped behind him. Ahead of him, seven ponies made their way out of the trees and surrounded the town. Behind him came the crackling hoofsteps of two more ponies who completed the formation. Both crept past him and toward the metal shack he overlooked. The rest of the ponies shuffled up against the buildings and waited for their teammates to get into position.

Agent Orange stacked up with Force Multiplier behind the second story building. The squad trained their weapons on the windows and doors of the town. Agent Orange lifted his hoof and the squad advanced. They had slipped up to the entrances of all four buildings when Red Field’s first round struck the mud near the well.

Squad Thirteen rushed into the buildings. A rumble rose from the shack, along with a fine blue mist as two of the ponies hit the bent sapling tied to the pin of the grenade suspended from the ceiling. Red Field drew his crosshairs on the doors to the doctor’s office. He fired three rounds which shattered the barred windows and forced the panicked ponies into the back room. He fired another two rounds into the open back door of the store and two more by the front door. Red Field then aimed into the second story window of the final building. The ponies bolted up the stairs. Red Field let his breath out and his lungs went to equilibrium. The gnawing of hunger and cold faded as he willed the thick crosshairs to stillness.

He struck the thin sapling from which hung one of the smoke grenades. As he did, one of the ponies in the store peeked out of the back door. He snapped onto the pony’s green mane and fired two rounds. He didn’t bother to see if they hit.
Smoke began to billow out of the windows of the two story building as Red Field reloaded. Another ten seconds passed before the first panicked and suffocating pony ran out of the door. Red Field shot him in the neck, the second in the head, the third in the head and the fourth in the leg. A fifth jumped from the second story and Red Field shot him as he fell.
The dirt crumbled from Red Field’s back and the plants tumbled off of him as he stood. He swung his rifle around to see if anypony still hid in the forest.

Squad Thirteen had entered the town in full force. He sprinted around the town until he faced the store. He’d tipped over all of the shelves, and the ponies laid beneath the window and against the back wall. He shot the first, then squeezed off two more rounds which struck the hooves and withers of the ponies huddled under the window. He heard the pop of fire from the doctor’s office and a few paint rounds struck the trees to his right.

“Spotted him! Fifty meters to our six!” A few more rounds buzzed past him and he dropped to the ground. One of the ponies still inside of the two story building crouched just inside the rear entrance and fired at Red Field. “Counter attack on his position!” He heard shouting and the thud of hooves. He rose to a low crouch and aimed at the advancing ponies.

Two ponies galloped in his direction, but neither saw him amidst the undergrowth.

He hit one and felt the bolt lock open inside the M63. The second pony fired a burst of automatic fire in his direction and sprinted to close the gap between himself and the unseen sniper. Red Field turned and ran a few meters before dropping onto his back. He frantically pulled another magazine from his vest as the second pony bolted toward him. Knocking the empty magazine free, he latched the second into place and struck what should have been the bolt release but was instead the blank left side of the receiver.

He’d forgotten the M63 didn’t have a bolt release.

“Fuck, he dropped down around here! On my position!” Red Field lay three meters behind a log, and the pony’s hooves slammed into the rotting wood. The mud churned as the pony blindly fired a long burst into the ground on the opposite side of the log. He heard the pony panting for breath as the gun fell silent. The other pony ripped open a magazine pouch and crouched, fishing for a reload when Red Field mantled the log.

“Drop it!” Red Field shouted. The pony threw his rifle at Red Field.

“I surrender, I surrender!”

Red Field racked the charging handle of the M63 and shot the pony once in the hoof before taking off into the woods. He ran hard, waiting to hear the shouts and fire from the counter-attacking remnants of Squad Thirteen. Reaching a thick poplar, he dropped to his belly and waited for the charge.

He saw nothing. The pony he’d shot picked up his rifle and was rubbing his hoof. Red Field looked back at the town. Nopony had followed him. Squad Thirteen had less than five members remaining and his best option was to wait for a larger force to eliminate the crippled squad.

He stood and crept back toward the town.

The town had fallen silent. The ponies he’d killed sat around the shack. They watched him return to the outskirts of the town. Red Field glowered down at them, waiting for them to call him out.

None spoke.

Red Field scanned the store. Paint trickled down the walls and off of the ceiling of the shack. Only the doctor’s office and apartment were left. The smoke had dissipated from the apartment and he saw somepony had thrown the grenade into the well. He pulled the second smoke grenade from his vest and threw it in a long arc over the town. The canister bounced off of the well and gave a sparking puff. Red Field slipped up behind the doctor’s office as the town filled with smoke. He could hear the ponies on the other side of the wall.

“Copy that, he’s got smoke in the middle of the street- I can’t see across to you.” Said one into a radio. “Hey! Crossdraw, keep watch on that window! What’s the plan captain?” Red Field thought for a way inside the building. The front was covered and the roof was solid.

The mortar between the bricks rolled and crumbled as his hoof rubbed against it. Years of weathering rain and mold had weakened the structure. Red Field drew his knife and inserted the blade into the soggy paste. The black tip sank into the mortar and he began to push it along the length of a brick.

“We got to make a push.” Said one of the ponies.

“We lost Cannelure and Drop Free doing that. We need to wait until it gets dark, then move when he can’t see us.” The two ponies began to bicker and the one who’d spoken on the radio told them to shut up.

“We aren’t doing anything until we get the word from Agent Orange.”

“This guy’s UAT right? We need to be on guard, he could be getting ready to blow up the wall.” Said one pony. “We’re easy targets in here.”

“He’s not going to breach the wall; they don’t give explosives out for this game. Just keep your eyes on the entrance and he can’t get us.”

“He could still be right outside.”

“He’s not, snipers don’t do that.” Said the first. “He’s in the woods somewhere waiting for us to do something stupid. We can wait longer than he can.” Red Field finished cutting a brick free and slid his knife back into its sheath. He lifted up his rifle and clicked it to full auto. He nudged the suppressor against the loose brick.

The magazine was empty before the brick fell to the floor of the doctor’s office. The ponies inside whinnied and shouted in terror as he fired into the cramped office. He pulled the rifle from the hole and reloaded.

“Want more?” He shouted, dropping the M63’s bolt.

“No no! You got us!” Shouted the leader. The ponies inside stampeded out of the doctor’s office.

“Don’t shoot! We’re dead!” Red Field slammed into the wall of the doctor’s office and the weak structure crackled. He slammed into it again and broke into the room. The pony who’d been on the radio with Agent Orange still sat in the room, nursing his shoulder, which bled from the close range fire. He looked up in fright as Red Field got onto two hooves.

“I’m dead I’m dead!” The Cavalry pony held his hooves over his face. Red Field pointed to the door.

“Get the hell out of here.”

“Yeah, yeah sure!” The pony said with a frantic nod. Red Field’s body was drenched with a mixture of rainwater and sweat that seemed both boiling and freezing. His vision pulsed and throbbed with each beat of his heart. He felt like he was going to vomit, and yet at the same time, he felt more focused than he’d ever been in his life. He knocked free his magazine and loaded another, forgetting he’d already reloaded.

He slumped over the counter of the doctor’s office and set his sights on the dissolving smoke cloud, toward the apartment where the last member of Squad Thirteen hid. He was finishing all of them.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the group of ponies he’d just eliminated join their fallen squadmates at the shack. They pointed at him. They were all saying the same thing:

How absurd it was that such a small and pathetic-looking pony had beaten all of them. He’d show them, he’d show all of them how wrong they’d been to ever talk down to him.

He stood up from behind the counter and walked out of the doctor’s office. He shouldered his rifle and fired a burst into the thin cloud of smoke. The last folds of smoke dissolved as the bullets cut through them. He could see inside the open door. He fired another burst and continued to advance.

All Agent Orange had to do was peek out and take a single aimed shot.

Red Field burned inside. As he closed the distance between them, Red Field started to shake. He would gun down Agent Orange. He’d shoot that piece of shit until the captain cried. His magazine ran out and he drove in another, continuing his steady string of fire.

“I surrender!” Agent Orange didn’t sound frightened, but he did sound certain. Red Field seemed to wake from a dream.
He didn’t know what to do. He stepped to the left side of the door and crouched. He tasted the sooty smoke and his mouth was dry. The world tilted and he felt as if he might collapse. “I’m coming out.” Said Agent Orange loudly. “Okay?”

“Throw your rifle out first!” Red Field shouted back.

“Yeah, fine, here you go.” Agent Orange’s rifle flew out of the door and landed in the soft mud with a splat.

“And your sidearm.”

“I don’t have one, they don’t issue them for wargames.” Agent Orange said. A rubber knife landed beside the rifle. “That’s it.”

“Fuck you. I said throw your sidearm.”

“I told you I don’t have one.”

“Stay there for fifteen seconds.” Red Field backed away from the door and ran to the shack. The ponies of Squad Thirteen moved out of the way. “Come out!” Red Field shouted. He steadied his crosshair on the door.

Agent Orange looked unsuitably clean. His uniform had a few spots of mud, but otherwise he looked like he’d just stepped out of his barracks. He looked around for Red Field. He spotted Red Field pressed against the shack and nodded to him. Red Field rose to his hooves and walked toward the captain. He trained his rifle on the orange pony’s forehead and his hoof took up the slack on the trigger. Agent Orange rose to two hooves as Red Field reached him.

“Well, you got me.” He said, holding his free hooves up.

“Now I did.” Red Field jabbed Agent Orange’s chest with his rubber knife.

“Yep.” Said Agent Orange with a shrug. He looked away from Red Field. “We got holed up in those buildings. Dunno why I thought it was a good idea to even come here.”

Red Field punched him across the face.

“How’d your plan work out?” He shouted. Agent Orange, unused to standing on two hooves, toppled into the mud and Red Field kicked him.

“Hey stop it you shithead!” Agent Orange said, shoving Red Field’s hoof away and trying to rise.

Red Field dove onto Agent Orange. Agent Orange pushed him away and Red Field punched him in the face, pressing the captain’s head into the mud. Red Field drove his hoof into Agent Orange’s belly.

“I beat you and your worthless team.”

Agent Orange tried to shove him off and Red Field punched him again. Somepony grabbed Red Field from behind and pulled him off of Agent Orange. They rolled Red Field over and their hoof slammed into his chest. Red Field grabbed the pony’s leg and pulled him to the ground. A moment later he was on top of the second pony. Squad Thirteen surrounded him and two more ponies grabbed him. He fought out of their grasp and leaped back onto two hooves.

Red Field drew his knife.

“Stop! Stop!” Agent Orange stepped between Red Field and the Cavalry ponies. His uniform was covered in mud and blood ran from his snout. He swallowed and looked at his squad. “He won. We can be civil about this, the fight’s over.” He looked to Red Field. Agent Orange’s chin dripped blood and his mane was slick with mud.

“You won, okay? You won the bet; we’ll tell everypony tonight. It’s over now. Okay?” Agent Orange eyed Red Field’s knife.

“Sure.” Said Red Field. He flipped the knife and slipped it back into his pocket.

“You’re insane. Orange, you have to tell somepony.” Said one of the ponies as they watched him depart. Red Field’s grip on his rifle tightened and he prepared to swing around and fire on them.

“Yeah, he’s UAT, they’re crazy motherfuckers.” Agent Orange said, sounding like he was trying to maintain his composure. “I’m glad he’s on our side.”

It was over?

Red Field stopped just outside of the town.

What should he do?

His head pulsed with a headache. He sat down at the foot of a tree and took a few deep breaths. He hadn’t eaten all day and the world rocked under him. The storm had finally died out and his watch showed 1800. He grew sick and dry heaved into the brush. Red Field closed his eyes and slowed his breathing. He’d rested for just a few minutes when he heard hoofsteps over his shoulder.

“Shit, I don’t think this is the right way.” Said a pony.

“Okay, pull up here and let’s check the map.” A group of three ponies crouched down fifteen meters from him. Red Field rose and drew a bead on one. The scope bounced and dipped as he tried to steady himself against the biting hunger.

“God, we’re all strung out.” Said the one holding the map. “Did we lose that other squad, the one with that Flash guy?” Red Field shot him. The other two ponies barely made it a step before he hit them as well. “Ow! What the hell was that?” Asked the first pony, wiping some paint from his shoulder.

Red Field’s stomach cramped and he ground his teeth.

“Give me your food.” He said as he approached the group. They looked into the bushes and at the sniper staggering toward him. “I need your rations and canteen, you don’t need them anymore.” He said. The forest swirled into a hurricane of brown and green as his vision throbbed.

“What? What are you talking about?” Asked one. He grabbed the closest pony by the shoulders.

“I said give me your food.”

“Whoa! Chill out!” The pony reached into his pack and tossed out a packet of clover. Red Field looked to the other two.

“You too, whatever you have.” They emptied their packs and built a small pile of energy bars and ration packets in the wet leaves. Red Field pulled the canteen off of pony before him. He downed the warm water in a few swallows that strained his throat.

“Hey, uh, are you okay?” Asked one. The cut from his first encounter with Squad Thirteen had reopened and blood ran down his cheek and into the collar of his ghillie suit.

“Your nose is bleeding too.” Said another.
Red Field felt his nose. A trickle of blood ran into his mouth. He must have hit it during his fight with Agent Orange.

“I’m fine.” He picked up the bag of clover and tore it open with trembling hooves. “Get back to base.”

“Yeah yeah, sure.” Said the one with the map. They looked at him with a mixture of worry and fear and began to shuffle away. They were walking back through the forest when he shouted to them.

“Where did you see Flashpoint?” Asked Red Field.

“Uh, he was with a squad of like three guys at that big pond.” Said one.

“The one that feeds Victor Charlie?” Red Field asked.

“What’s that?”

“The Goddamn river.” He shouted. The ponies’ eyes grew wide in terror and they looked at one another.

“Yes, yes that was it.” Said the pony with the map. They all nodded to this and Red Field turned back to his food.

The storm launched a final assault on Macmillan. It began as Red Field lay devouring the food. By the time Red Field got up, the storm’s attack reached full force and a mist of rain hung over Macmillan. The sun had set and a milky moon cast watery light into the trees. He could see perhaps fifteen meters into the darkness.

Red Field galloped through the empty woods. He could barely see the plants ahead of him and he traveled on memory toward one of the sources of Victor Charlie. As he ran, the air raid siren wailed out of the base.

The game ended in an hour.

He picked up his pace. Pops of gunfire rattled over his left shoulder. Red Field ignored the sound and bolted onward.
His hooves began to splash through standing water. Ahead of him lay the pond, its surface writhing with raindrops. The pond had swollen to double size, turning the surrounding woods into marsh.
A dull, yellow glow shone on the opposite shore. A small lamp stood atop a smooth stump. The stump sat under an improvised shelter made from branches. A few papers lay atop the stump, next to a pen.
Flashpoint sat behind the stump. He read over each page and held his canteen with one hoof. His rifle lay beside him and his paintball goggles were pulled up onto his forehead.

Red Field looked around for the other two ponies in Flashpoint’s squad. One lay against the trunk of a tree, asleep. The other leaned beside him. He looked out over the pond in tired disinterest.

Red Field lowered the crosshairs onto Flashpoint’s flank. He let his breath out and felt the rain knock against his body.
He’d been fortunate all day. He’d taken out Squad Thirteen, found an easy source of food, and now Flashpoint was within range. If Red Field didn’t notice his peculiar streak of luck when it began, he noticed it when it ended.

The rifle clicked.

He ejected the round and pulled the trigger. He ejected another two rounds then lowered his rifle. The cheap training rounds' primers had died in the moisture. The paint bullets had saturated with water and gone flaccid. He went through each magazine, looking for a round that was still intact. The shrill double burst of the alarm rang out over the forest signaling a half an hour left in the game. The sleeping pony awoke and grabbed his rifle. He conferred with his comrade before jogging to the opposite side of the small shelter. He crouched in the reeds and took up guard.

Flashpoint slipped on his goggles but continued to work.

Red Field walked into the pond. His rifle was strapped tightly to his back and he clutched his knife between his teeth. His overworked muscles lost strength in the cold water and his soaked suit pulled him downward. Red Field crawled sluggishly through the murky depths. He surfaced for breath once, his head popping up amidst the splash of raindrops. He was midway across the pond. He could see the granite color in Flashpoint’s mane. Red Field dove back under.

He pulled himself ashore. The reeds and cattails bowed to him as he crept toward the shelter. It stood just a few meters from the swollen shoreline of the pond. Red Field slid up the shore. He took the knife in his hoof before lunging into the light.

Flashpoint was writing something onto a form and Red Field kicked his foreleg to push it off of the stump. The bone broke and Flashpoint’s foreleg bent into an obtuse V.

Flashpoint looked up and their eyes met.

Next Chapter: Chapter 18 Estimated time remaining: 6 Hours, 44 Minutes