Graphite was sitting knee high in a puddle of mud, his foxhole was flooded in mucky water from the last night’s downpour. It rained too often on Hill 187, the tropical island seemed just as tropical as any other, the rains that were showering the island just a the night before made up for the lack of vegetation in the tropics. The were little trees and just a few patches of grass scattered around; but other than that, the rest was dirt. The dirt could be seen as a curse or a blessing, depending which side of the battlefield you’re on. It was hard to move supplies through the mud, wagons couldn’t make it through the deeper puddles and supplies had to be carried manually - but the same was true for the zebras. Graphite’s task seemed just as challenging as dragging boxes through the mud - perhaps slightly more deadly. He was assigned to defend the mortar crews, orders received straight from the high command.

Graphite was sitting on an incline just on the edge of one of the hills on the bigger hill everyone else was sitting on. The ledge looked over a long forgotten farm. There was one shack left still intact, sitting on one of the many crests on the hill. The wood was dark, the building looked plastered together, and the roof had more holes than there were zebras hiding on the island. There hadn’t been any zebra movement across the farmland in the last few days. Nothing rustling in the lost dead wheat grains, no shadows across the burnt down shacks and the run down carts, nothing passing through the grazing lands.

Graphite was sitting calmly in his foxhole, a cigarette smoking on the ends of his lips. He paned his eyes from the farmland back to the incline he was sitting on. A few soldiers moving into position, others moving equipment - one looking a bit awkward as he did. That one was Spotty, trotting up the hill while trying to keep from stumbling over his own hooves. On his belt were a pair of binoculars, living up to his name as a spotter for one of the mortar crews. He made his way down the mountain, paired with another mare tagging just along side. That mare was the executive officer, recognized only by the big, bold insignia that was stamped on the shoulder pads of her combat armor. She was dark tan in the coat and her mane was a blue just as dark. Her mane was short cut, almost as short as all the stallions around her.

They both came down the hill, stopping by Graphite’s foxhole quickly. Spotty slid into the foxhole, greeting Graphite with a pat on his back, “How’s it been, Graphite?” He asked merrily.

“I’ve been better,” Graphite scolded, but gave him a grin anyways.

“Good - and - I’ve got the ‘X-O’ here with me-” Spotty stepped back as the officer came in front.

“According to our reports, Spotty, they have been moving back into that ridge,” The mare pointed out to the shack on the left, “A couple of our soldiers have seen Zebras moving in and out from that shack to the left. I want a round on it.” The mare left, leaving Spotty with a range finder and a walkie-talkie.

The walkie-talkie was a big, tin block with two speakers at the top and bottom. One on the top for ponies to yell at you, and one at the bottom to yell back.

Spotty placed the range finder on the edge of the of the foxhole and took some quick measurements. He grabbed for the walkie-talkie and dialed in the coordinates, “‘X-O’ wants a round on the farmhouse in sector two. Azimuth three one zero. Range three hundred. One round - HE.”

All of this didn’t make any sense to Graphite, but apparently some pony on the other end of that radio understood it as he heard some mumbling from it. Soon, a bang came from the top of the hill and a round exploded just right of the shack which Spotty was targeting. It made a nice bit of dirt fly into the air, but it wasn’t what he was after.

“Left, two zero. Add fifty and try again,” Spotty grumbled and corrected the coordinates.

Another bang came from the top of the hill and a round hit the shack, blowing it to pieces. Wood scraps flew into the air, coupled with another ton of dirt to litter the farmland even further.

“Target. Market concentration Bravo for this sector,” Spotty finished and turned off the walkie-talkie with a flick of a switch.

“Well, I think that’s a-” Spotty was interrupted by a loud roar screaming out of the crests on the hill.

Spotty and Graphite and the rest of the soldiers lining the ledge on that hill all turned towards the farmlands, looking on as a party of Zebras flooded out of the hills - screeching at the top of their lungs as they charged. The soldiers all stormed down the cliff, jumping head first into their foxholes as the zebras came in head first through the farm.

Spotty brought out his rifle, one of the new Black Rifles they released recently. He aimed down the sights, his battle saddle holding it still as he took aim. Graphite pushed the gun down by the barrel, looking towards Spotty, “Wait until they’re closer,” He commanded.

Spotty knelt down a bit, setting his gun aside, waiting quietly as the enemy charged loudly. Every Equestrian soldier waiting on that ridge was ducked behind their foxhole, their guns gripped tight near them as they waiting for the perfect moment to attack.

Another moment of stomping, another moment of war cries, and another moment of they moved forward. Graphite brought his rifle out to his front, aiming down the scope for a clean shot at the first zebra in the crowd. It took him not even a blink of an eye to aim and fire a shot - hitting the zebra square in his heart before the bullet shot out the other end and hit the ground. The zebra fell hard, some of his followers dazed and confused.

Suddenly, every pony on the ridge stood to their hooves and let out all their bullets at the enemy. The hail of bullets was deafening; gunfire drowned out gunfire as the bullets whizzed, guns banged, shells clanged, and magazines dropped. The bodies ahead dropped and dropped, not a single zebra making it up the ridge. The gunfire was mixed over the screams of the dying zebras and the shouts of the killing ponies. The bullets fired on, Spotty burning through magazine after magazine of his rifle. Graphite picked his rounds carefully, though; firing only when he could get a shot at the head or the heart.

The last pony filed out of the hills screaming, and the last pony to file out of the hills dropped dead with a bullet hole in his head. The bullets still blasted on until a voice shouted out, “Hold your fire!”

The ‘X-O’ commanded a cease fire, and instantly, every soldier lowered their guns and stopped the fire. The farmlands ahead had turned into a graveyard; a graveyard where all the bodies stayed above ground. The dirt was red with the zebras blood, and the smell of gunpowder and death covered the air like a fog. Not a single zebra appeared to be alive, all of their bodies riddled with bullet holes.

The ponies ducked back down behind their foxholes once more, checking on ammo and wounded. Graphite and Spotty continued to survey the land, looking on as the bodies covered the entirety of the land. Spotty slapped Graphite on the shoulder, whispering to him, “I think I see one moving down there.”

Graphite set his rifle against the edge of the foxhole, holding it steady as he scanned the place where Spotty pointed through his scope. There was one zebra moving down there in no-one’s land. It looked like it was twitching, maybe the zebra was shot and now was left to bleed out. Graphite looked closer, seeing that the zebra looked rather small. He looked at the zebra’s face - then remembered what he was told about the zebra home guard.

“That’s a foal!” Graphite blurted out.

The company turned their heads out to the killing floor; squinting and tilting their heads trying to search for this foal. One mare screamed out, “I see him! Right down there!” She pointed vigorously towards the foal writhing at the bottom of the hill. Graphite couldn’t stand the sight of some little colt just sit there in the middle of a red sea - probably bleeding out as they speak. Graphite felt a strong feeling of pity and sorrow for the foal, but his orders were to stay put.

Suddenly, a gun dropped in the mud next to him, and the sound of a big object sliding through the dirt came from ahead of him. He swung his head over his foxhole - watching as Spotty dashed out into the middle of no-one’s land.

He barreled over bodies and through the thick mud, moving fast as he ducked low to avoid being seen. He had been seen, but by the crowd of onlookers back on the ridge. The watched dazed as this stallion darted through the field and reached for the colt. He leaned over, bending over a dead zebra as he reached out to grab him. A loud crack hit the air, then a terrible groan down back at the farmland.

Graphite ducked down, peeking only his eyes over the foxhole just far enough to spot Spotty on the ground, holding his hind leg as blood started to flow from it. Graphite looked on at the hills overlooking the opposite end of the farm - grabbing his rifle for what he knew was a sniper. He picked up his rifle from the mud, keeping it as low to the ground as he could.

Graphite leaned over the foxhole and took aim, searching every grain of dirt for a sign of the sniper. Spotty was still bleeding out, but there was a still a foal to save and a sniper to avoid. He dragged himself over a body, looking straight into the eyes of the petrified foal.

Graphite dragged his rifle right and left over the edge of his foxhole, looking for a glint of a scope, a rustle of grass, or even one pebble out of place - the sniper was hiding somewhere not even a trained sharpshooter like Graphite could find. Spotty had a hold of the colt, slowly trumping out of the field of bodies and back towards the hill.

There was another crack in the air, a metal clank, then the sound of a ricocheting bullet whizzing by Graphite. He bent down inside his foxhole again, coming up slowly and staring back down the scope. Spotty tripped over another body, trudged over another pile of zebras, and pulled the colt back over his shoulder as he slowly made his way out of the field. Graphite searched high and low for the sniper, to no avail. All of his training and all of his experience and he couldn’t find a sniper in land with no trees or bushes to hide behind.

Another gunshot and another dozen of heads ducking down. The shot missed completely, but there was still a sniper ready to fire again. Nothing in the hills. Graphite zoomed over the field, looking down at Spotty who was still trudging through muck and blood to carry out this foal. He was almost out, but there was that sense of urgency to kill the sniper before he could zero in on Spotty.

Graphite panned away from Spotty and back to the hills. He needed to think about where a sniper could hide - but this wasn’t a just a sniper, it was a zebra. He thought about where a zebra would hide, their guerrilla tactics and deception would mean a sniper could be hiding in the complete opposite place you would expect to find them. Suddenly, a thought. Graphite zoomed back over to the field and looked at every single one of the bodies. He neared the back of the crowd of dead and saw one body moving when it shouldn’t. It pulled the bolt on the gun he hid underneath him and slowly aimed down his scope.

Graphite smirked - he had found his target. He held his breath, took aim, and fired. A crack was heard through the air again. It zipped into flesh and bone and the scent of death was just that bit stronger. The zebra’s helmet rolled off his target of a cranium. Graphite dropped his gun and made his way to Spotty, who was halfway up the hill. He grabbed his hoof and pulled him up, taking the small colt as he let the soldiers take Spotty to the infirmary.

Running down the hill was the officer, taking up the injured foal from Graphite as he grabbed the colt from Spotty. She held him tight in her arms, like it was her own son, and whisked it off to the medical tents just a short walk over the hill. Graphite helped Spotty to the medics as well, only staying with him long enough for the nurses to take him away.

Graphite had to stay on the ridge of few hours longer, watching the farmland for anymore zebras -- or to make sure none of the dead zebras suddenly rose from the dead. Eventually the sun began to set, and the soldiers working the day shift swapped over with the soldiers running the night shift. Graphite climbed over the peak of the hill, then made his way straight to the infirmary - where Spotty was receiving care.

Graphite set his gun at the entrance to the tent, stepping inside while he looked over at all the dying ponies. One half of the tent was for the sick, the other the wounded. There wasn’t any more care for the one’s with cuts or the one’s missing a limb - they were all treated with whatever medical supplies the doctors and nurses had on supply. Spotty was sitting near the corner of the tent, between a stallion with bandages wrapped around his head and the young colt that he rescued earlier. The colt was sitting on a short stretcher - the only thing they could use as a bed - with some bandages around his leg. He was nibbling on some dry crackers from the ration packs. There wasn’t much the ponies would offer in the form of food for captured zebras.

Graphite came over to Spotty, who was lying on the stretcher and staring up the at the tent’s top. There was a gauze pad wrapped up in a mile of bandages around his thigh, it was stained in blood and didn’t look good. He walked over beside him, kneeling down to his level.

“Spotty,” He called.

“Huh- wha-” Spotty tumbled over, facing Graphite with a bit of a dozy look, “Oh hey, Graphite. How you’ve been?”

“I’ve been better,” Graphite said softly. “What about you? You look like you took quite a hit.”

“Y-yeah, I did...” Spotty wasn’t as up beat as he usually was. It was one part pain, other part high doses of sedatives.

“Are you gonna be alright?” Graphite asked, peeking back at his injured leg.

“Oh yeah, I’ll be fine... but, not for a while...”

“Hm?”

“Oh, it’s just that the bullet grazed through my knee - I’m not gonna be able to walk until that heals. So... the, uh- they gave me a leave, Graphite.”

“They gave you a leave, Spotty?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna be headin’ out of here tomorrow mornin’. I’m going home, Graphite!” Spotty beamed wide, but also dazed by the excess sedatives.

“Back to Bucklyn, eh?”

“Yep, my family’s gonna get the word - I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re waitin’ for me now...”

Graphite rested his hand on his shoulder and shook it firmly, “I’m gonna miss ya’, Spotty.”

Spotty outstretched his arms, “Come here.”

“Wha-”

“-Come hug me you son of a bitch,” Spotty requested, waving his hooves over towards him. “Come on.”

He smiled big, looking just as confident as ever. Graphite was reluctant to come in and share the hug, but he looked back at his bleeding leg. “He wasn’t going to walk for at least a month - the least you could do is hug the stallion,” Graphite thought to himself. He looked back over to his face, then leaned in for a quick hug.

“See, isn’t that better,” Spotty said sarcastically. “Oh, you know I got a medal for this stupid leg wound?”

“You mean the Pink Butterfly?”

“Yeah - that one you get for getting shot while on duty.”

“At least you get something back for being shot in the leg,” Graphite stood back up, still by Spotty’s side.

“Yep...”

The doctor came over to the stretcher Spotty was laying on, tapping Graphite on the shoulder to grab his attention, “The patient needs his rest.”

“Ah don’t worry, doc, he’s not botherin’ me,” Spotty rolled over again to face the doctor.

The doctor was a tall, lime green unicorn. His mane was cut short and frazzled by stress and hard work. He had a red coat - it used to be white, but the soldiers tend to bleed. His chin was riddled in patches of fuzz, and his mouth looked a bit dry, “I’m sure he’s not, but ‘ou need your rest, Spo’y,” The doctor ordered in a strong accent.

“Sure thing, Doc,” Spotty closed his eyes and laid he hooves under his head, pretending to sleep.

Graphite stepped out of the way of the doctor, chuckling at Spotty’s antics. He trotted out through the aisles of hurt ponies, grabbing his rifle that was still sitting at the entrance. He jumped back down the hill, sliding down to his foxhole once more. The mud was still a bit damp, still sticking to anything that touched it. Graphite hugged his rifle then sunk into his hole, closing his eyes to rest.

The hill beside him was pummeled by a boom; a boom loud enough to deafen Graphite and cause his ears to ring violently. Graphite dropped down deeper into his foxhole, grabbing the his head with both hooves and covering tight as he rolled into his foxhole. The hill trembled again, another whoosh from the sky pounded the ground and shot crumbled gravel into the air. The artillery shells were like thunder strikes - just as loud and just as dangerous. The hill continued to be bombarded by the artillery - the shells exploding closer and closer to the ridge. Graphite screamed, as the bombs blasted piece by piece away of the hill and the edge of his foxhole.

He was shaken and shaken, the grip of the explosions strong on his chest. Graphite opened his eyes, and realized Sunny’s hooves were planted on his chest as she shook him, calling out, ‘Graphite!’

“Huh, what?”

“You were screaming in your sleep.” Sunny looked worried, “What happened?”

“I-it was nothing,” Graphite tried to assure.

“Graphite, that was something. It would be better if you’d tell me.”

“Okay, but I don’t see how this helps,” Graphite took a breath. “Ever since I got unfrozen, I’ve been seeing dreams - nightmares. They’re flashbacks of the war, memories that can never seem to leave my thoughts.”

“But flashbacks shouldn’t make any pony scream in the middle of the night,” Sunny commented with concern.

“It shouldn’t, I know - but it’s not my fault. Whenever I have these dreams, I feel everything like I was there. I can hear all the screaming, all the gunfire, all the- the-”

Graphite looked heated, sweating and a bit choked in his voice. Sunny saw his plight, grabbing his hoof gently from under the sheets before looking into his eyes, “Maybe you should try thinking about something positive before you go to bed.”

Graphite felt the warm touch of Sunny’s hoof on his. He paused, gripping her hoof tighter as he looked up to Sunny, “You really think that would work?”

Sunny scooted closer to Graphite, her eyes beaming into Graphite’s - but he didn’t mind. It was a lovely shade of orange that could brighten up anyone who stares into them long enough. Graphite started to smile, still hot from nervousness.

“It works for me,” Sunny smiled. “If I ever feel bad before I go to sleep, I just think about the ones I love.”

“You mean your family or-”

“-All of them. My family downtown, Sierra, even my dog Nero. Anyone I hold close.”

Graphite sighed, taking a moment to think - the thing he was best at. His family came to mind almost instantly. He remembered his mother first, the care she gave him; he remembered his favourite meal she used to make him, a pea and carrot stew with a dash of a ‘secret sauce’ - otherwise known as a mix of spices his mother made herself - that his mother would add in it to make it taste great. His father came to mind, he wasn’t around as much thanks to his long hours on the harbour. There weren’t many memories of his father, but he could always remember that he would take time out of anything to tell Graphite a story. His stories usually involved the ships he saw come into the harbour, but it the way he told that made it so interesting and entertaining. After his parents, there wasn’t many ponies in mind. He was an only foal, not many foals his age lived in his apartment, not many friends of the family. He stopped his thoughts, Sunny was still waiting over him waiting for an response. Sunny was in his thoughts now.

The way she made him smile, the way she could find light in a dark situation, the way she moved, the way she talked - Graphite hadn’t a dark thought in his mind in that moment. Graphite looked into Sunny’s eyes, “Yeah, I can think of a few ponies close to me...”

“Good, wanna try and not wake me up in the middle of night now?” Sunny giggled.

“Alright,” Graphite smiled back.

Sunny lied back down on her pillow, whispering ‘goodnight’ in his ear then a quick kiss on his cheek. Her eyes closed and she let out a small sigh before she started fast asleep. Graphite’s eyes widened, his cheeks turning a fancy shade of red. He looked down at his hoof, still gripped tight by Sunny’s hoof. Graphite couldn’t feel any warmer in that moment even if he stood out and baked himself in the radiation. He had the same amount of warmth - and no side effects. With a smile on his face, he laid his head on his pillow. He was staring at a barren ceiling, just before closing his eyes. He dreamed of himself as a farmer, farming crops of wheat and corn. He woke back up in the morning not know why he had this dream, but he was thrilled to see he had a dream rather than another bleak memory.