Graphite had looked up from his hooves, feeling as if he had just woken up from a slumber after sitting motionless in his foxhole for hours. He squinted his eyes as they moved from black to dark - he noticed it was nighttime. As he shifted from his fettle position, he heard a small pile of gravel tumble down his armour. He shook his head, shaking another pile of rocks out of his mane. Graphite grabbed for the edge of his foxhole to pull himself out, but instead gripped something a bit fleshy to the touch. He looked up at the entity, sliding his hoof from the mushy object. He moved in close, finding that it was Commandant Cognac, laying face-first in the dirt and limp as a rag doll. Graphite recoiled with shock, swinging his hoof vigorously when he realized he had just swiped his hoof all over his officer’s dead carcass.

Graphite was sucking in air like he had just came up from an hour underwater; his head was bobbing back and forth as he looked around the area in a panic. Graphite flinched as he heard a deep ‘thud’ from somewhere nearby. He recognized that as a mortar firing off a round; he needed to head up to the top of the hill and inspect what was happening, so he reached over to the other end of his foxhole to grab Spotty’s rifle.

The rifle stuck at him like a bed of thorns, making him shake out his other hoof after touching it. Graphite looked over to find the gun torn to shreds by the artillery blasts, the gun deformed and riddled with shrapnel and broken parts. Graphite hit the ground in his duress, now left without a weapon to search the hill and realizing he had lost his friend’s rifle - even if Spotty wasn’t going to using it again. Graphite checked his armour, finding his knife sheathed where it should be on his suit. He brought it out at the ready before his eyes followed the incline up the hill to the top, where another loud ‘thud’ had just occurred.

Graphite took in a sigh, wiping his eyes of some loose dirt before he climbed out of his foxhole and to the hill. He took a final look at Cognac, who’s body was still lying at the edge of the hole - only his front half was there. The remains of Cognac were half complete, with his rear half Celestia-knows-where. It was a hard sight to see the stallion in charge of you be cut down and left to rot by your side, but Graphite tried his best to ignore it, passing it off as just another dead soldier. It hardly helped, the thought of any soldier dying on the battlefield was gut wrenching and simply saddening. Before Graphite had time to catch up with what he was doing, he found himself at the top of the hill with his thoughts still trudging beside him.

Graphite was prone to the ground, his body laying underneath just a few stacked boxes of ammunition. He shuffled up closer to them before he peeked over the side and out over the peak of the hill. There was a mortar team sitting just a few steps from Graphite, sending in mortar shells over the passing hillside. Graphite’s first thought was ‘Why would the soldiers fire mortars away from the woods?’ His second thought came around when he noticed the mortar crew comprised of two zebras -- that thought was artlessly, ‘Murder.’

Graphite used the boxes to pick himself up swiftly and quietly before he began his noiseless trot towards the mortar team. They were unaware of anything around them, the noise of the mortar popping drowned out any hoofsteps or twig cracks. Graphite moved in with his knife raised high over his head, waiting for the moment he knew he would be close enough to guarantee his kill.

Soon one of the zebras crewing the mortar turned away. The zebra looked at the hilltop with a pair of binoculars, probably to see the effect their shells had left. The other zebra sat by the mortar, letting it cool off. The last zebra did just the same, standing up to meet up with his buddy watching the hill.

Graphite saw this as his opportunity. He brought his knife into position and snuck up behind the zebra who was sitting near the mortar. The zebra was only paying attention to the nearby hillside and didn’t hear the stallion sneaking up behind him with a knife pointed to his head.

Graphite grabbed the zebra from behind. One of his hooves was blocking the zebras mouth, denying him any chance to scream for help. The zebra tried to resist and break out of the hold, but it was already too late as Graphite’s knife went right for his neck.

After making sure that zebra was dead, Graphite slowly dropped the body down on the ground. He then proceeded to take out the zebra who was still observing the hilltop. Graphite hastily made his advance towards the observer. His black duster caught the wind, starting to ripple in the hard breeze of the hilltop. The zebra perked his ears up and turned his head, only to see a black stallion right in front of his nose.

It was too late for the observer. Graphite showed no mercy when the first hit with the combat knife didn’t kill the zebra. He turned the observer around and tried to keep the zebra’s mouth shut as he repeatedly jabbed the knife in him. The steel blade cut through the cloth uniform with ease.

After a few more stabs, Graphite finally managed to finish off the zebra and discarded the body. It fell down in the dirt, adorned in cut marks and the uniform soaked blood red.

Graphite looked down on the body, the blood trickling down the one of the many inclines in the hill. Graphite was standing over the body with his knife still tight in the grasp of his spell - he couldn’t help but be reminded of the first time he had killed another living being. The way he had mutilated the body with a barbaric weapon, the way the body bled after being torn to pieces, the way the murder had caught the attention of his morals. He looked at the body over the dim moonlight, spotting the zebra’s face over the drips of blood on his head. The zebra wasn’t a day older than Graphite himself. The uniform also brought about Graphite’s unwary thoughts; the cheap fabric, the poor stitching, and the discoloured patches on some spots. No real soldier would have gone into the battlefield wearing rags like this, the zebra laying dead here was only another zebra forced to join their ‘Home Guard’ and forced to gun down ponies he may actually care for.

Graphite was brought back to reality when a sudden boom came over the hillside. He had only a knife to defend himself with; his rifle was back in the camp on the hilltop - and that was right were he was going to head. There were the very recognizable sounds of gunfire going back and forth the hillside Graphite was going to be traveling to. With his knife by his side, Graphite hobbled over the pair of corpses he had created and slid down the incline to the next hill over.

The hill was infertile, trees being a rarity over the rolling hills. There were few patches of grass, the rest of the plain was gravel and craters from the mortars and artillery. Graphite was use to the debilitating landscape, his training had rigorously prepared him for an impassible terrain. There was training for climbing mountains, training for walks across countries, training for crawls through enemy territory, and even training for being shot whilst crawling through the enemy’s territory; but nothing had prepared him for the bodies he was forced to crawl through. Another carcass from a zebra and another corpse from a stallion.

Graphite continued to slowly make his way up the hill, still crawling over bits of bodies. Bodies continued to be scattered near his intended way, but there were no weapons or ammo nearby - the bodies had been stripped clean almost of everything. Were zebras really so desperate that they sent in soldiers without any sort of equipment? Equestrian soldiers were all either dead or hastily retreated. They couldn’t have been the ones to pick up all of the equipment from the dead while they were running for their lives.

Soon, Graphite noticed something out of the ordinary. A large object lied on the ground, with a large trail dug up behind it. The object seemed to big to be just a weapon; but to him, it seemed like it might be something worth checking out, seeing as most weapons were being taken up by the zebras. As he approached the object, it more and more took a shape of a pony lying on the ground.

When Graphite came up on the object, the moonbeams reflecting the small flow of blood coming from what was a body. Yet, it was no ordinary fallen trooper, but a Wonderbolt Flier. His dead body lied face down in the dirt, the puddle of his crimson flow surrounding his crater. His armour was a polished sapphire with golden designs marked all over it. The Wonderbolt’s insignia was etched to the armour’s chest-plate, the flier was sure to be proud being seen brandishing that symbol. Now, the symbol of reaching great heights was sitting in the dirt, stained with blood and riddled with bullets along with the rest of the armour. The armour was blazed in gunfire, the armour broken and dented. The armour had some parts missing, probably stuck in the ground on the next hill over. There was a gas-mask over the Wonderbolt’s snout; it was a thick, clear plastic that had a nozzle moving from the mask to some oxygen tank somewhere on the back of the suit. He wasn’t going to need that oxygen anymore, or the two machine guns Graphite noticed were attached to a steel battle-saddle.

Graphite scooted a bit closer to the body, balancing on two legs while he reached over to grab one of the guns from the saddle. He gripped the gun’s body, pulling and jerking in every direction to pull it from the saddle. It eventually came off, only after Graphite was on the verge of tripping after he had tugged it away. He looked down at the gun, holding in his magical spell.

It was a big, air-cooled machine gun, almost the size of a foal. Most of the gun looked like it was made out of sheet metal, held together by large bolts. There was no stock or even a handle, the gun was meant to be fired solely from a battle-saddle. The trigger was what was left of the part where battle-saddle and the gun connected. The dead pegasus had left Graphite with a belt full of .30 calibre rounds, all encased in a metal box magazine.

Graphite stepped around the body, taking a moment to soak in the scene of this crash. He looked at the dead flier, then the gun he used to own. On the side was scratched, ‘Dauntless’. Graphite wasn’t sure if that was the name of the dead pegasus or the name which he gave to his gun. He looked up from the gun and smirked, it was Graphite’s best way of saying ‘Thank you’ to this dead pegasus being as gracious as to give him a gun before he made it to the battlefield on the top of the hill.

Graphite finally had a weapon which can last until he reaches his own rifle. He never had much training with the automatic weapons, but he was usually sitting amongst machine gun teams and thought it shouldn’t be too complicated to operate one. He moved away from the Wonderbolt, moving on up the hill.

As Graphite neared the top of the hill and the shots became louder and louder, he noticed something ahead of him. Black silhouettes were moving in front of Graphite. In the darkness, it was hard to tell if those were zebras or friendly troops; so once again, he decided to wait and tried to figure out if they were his friends or foes.

Graphite lied down and sat his machine gun’s barrel on a small mound of dirt. He pointed the barrel at the group of silhouettes, ready to fire just in case they turned on him. The group in front was talking about something, but Graphite couldn’t understand a word what they were saying. They marched slowly, taking their orders to move as a stroll through the battlefield. They were needed somewhere fast, but they would rather be heading in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, a red flare popped from the top of the hill, illuminating the surroundings in a blinding red light. The light did a fine job of illuminating the group in front of Graphite. In the rosy light, he could tell that the troops were wearing cloth uniforms and black metal helmets and that meant only one thing - those were zebras.

As soon as that realization hit Graphite’s thoughts, he pulled the trigger and opened fire. The machine gun fired off in a hurricane force of bullets, releasing rounds so quickly that the bangs of gunfire sounded like a thick cloth being ripped in two. The rate of fire was even astounding to Graphite, almost losing control of his aim as the gun suddenly burst into a hellfire of piercing lead. The group that was once walking with their own business at mind was now torn into shreds by the machine gun. They fell to the ground after the swarm of bullets had finished spotting holes in their bodies.

Graphite finally released the trigger, the echoes of the wailing machine gun still sweeping over the hills like a silent moan of a ghost. Another group of shadows popped their heads from the low grasses of the hill ahead, looking on over the now bullet filled zebras sitting in the dirt. Graphite sat up from the dirt as the crowd ahead moved. He noticed they were Equestrian Soldiers, so he passed a wave to signal he posed no threat to them.

The lot in the grasses waved back, moving from knelt down in the rocks to standing before they trumped down the hill to meet up with Graphite. Graphite stood to his hooves too, leaving the machine gun at his hooves. They trampled over the dead zebras, taking a quick moment as they passed over to insure they were dead. The red light from the flare had just died out as they came near, but one of the ponies had brought up a flashlight in his teeth, shining it in Graphite’s eyes.

“Yep, you ain’t a zebra,” One of the soldiers divulged in a thick country accent.

Graphite blocked the bright light of the flashlight, moving his away just as he moved his arm up, “Yeah, now would you get that damn flashlight out of my face?” Graphite groaned under the light.

One of the soldiers finally brought the light away from Graphite’s eyes, pushing the soldier’s head away with his hoof and moving the light towards his hooves. That soldier came up to Graphite, the soldier’s voice was much higher, almost feminine, “Cut the chatter,” The soldier commanded.

Graphite has heard the voice of the mare before, but he couldn’t quite remember where. The light barely illuminated her face, but her features could be seen in the shadows cast across her head; it seemed to be the Executive Officer. She came a bit closer to Graphite and continued, “Now, we have zebras all over this area, so we need to keep talking to a minimum. Reinforcements from the Trottingham Regiment will arrive shortly; all we have to do is hold this ground until they arrive.”

The X-O stepped back, grabbing the flashlight from the soldier, holding it on the edge of her mouth. She flashed it towards some craters sunk into the hilltop, “We will be taking defensive positions in these craters, forming a circle around this area so we won’t be flanked,” She informed, mumbling some words since she had her gullet stuffed with the flashlight. “There’s some weapons and ammo in the centre - only to be used in emergencies since it’s a short supply.”

She didn’t even wait for a ‘Yes, ma’am!’ Quickly tossing the flashlight back to it’s owner as she huddled to the nearest crater with one soldier by her side - the others were moving to the surrounding holes, just as ordered. Graphite turned about, facing a foxhole that was just ahead of the supplies.

His eyes instantly caught sight of a weapon sitting on one of the crates. It was a wooden rifle, slightly beat from extended use in plenty of firefights. Graphite was happy to see this old, beat-up rifle -- it was his own gun after all. He adjusted his giant machine gun he was lugging around then moved straight over to the crates to obtain his rifle once more. He grabbed it with his levitation spell, slinging it over his shoulder as he moved to the crater ahead. Graphite plopped the machine gun against the edge of the small crater, holding it steady as the barrel faced the rolling plains ahead.

The moon was just overhead, it was most likely just the beginnings of midnight when Graphite had jumped into the grim crater with only a small pack of soldiers left to hold out the zebra army with him. He sat in his crater alone in the quiet night. Sounds of gunfire were spread through the silence of the hill, but a single word was spoken by anyone in the vicinity. A few dry coughs disturbed the rest, but it quickly went quiet afterwards.

The roar of gunfire slowly ceased to exist, the gunfire moving from endless bangs to short spurts of fire. It was almost impossible to deviate zebras’ gunfire from ponies’, so there was no telling if we were slowly winning or slowly losing. Graphite turned his head from the plains, turning back to check on the other soldiers forced to be here. They were focused, following orders to guard this ground like robots. Their eyes were fixed on the empty hills and the silent patches of grass that were wading in the breeze, guns set forward awaiting the blades of grass to bend in any direction they shouldn’t.

Graphite turned back to the hill, resting his hoof on the machine gun he had in placed in the bed of the crater. Just as he turned to the quiet plains, a figure had appeared and was making its way to him. The figure was soon joined by another similar shade, followed by another, and another. The first cast was now swarmed by a mass of silhouettes that were bobbing and bouncing as they moved up the plains. Graphite inched over to the machine gun, aiming it at the blob of shadows coming this way. He was standing by, hoping the figures would show any sign of friendly alliance.

The nighttime clouds had moved, unblocking the shine of the moon. The dim blue light of the moon cast over the crowd of unknown figures, showing their true colours of black and white. Graphite had hoped for the reinforcements; instead, fate had turned on him and sent in the rest of the zebra army on the island. He grabbed the gun tight before screaming to the soldiers around him, “Zebras!”

The X-O projected her voice at Graphite, “Open fire!” She shouted as orders.

Graphite wasted no time, squeezing the trigger on the machine gun and letting the gun do its job of mowing down the bodies trailing towards their position. The gun blared in a loud symphony of deafening shots that sounded just as one annoying bellow of noise. The battalion of zebras were chopped down like trees; Graphite’s machine gun acting as the chainsaw. They dropped without direction, dropping on each other or simply the ground beneath them.

As soon as the live ones had caught up with their reactions, they dropped to the ground, avoiding the line of fire. Graphite kept his trigger pulled and the gun swept over the enemy, leaving no mercy to the zebras unable to react or too slow to fall. The gun let out its barrage of lead until it went click; at which point, Graphite grabbed for his old rifle and continued to take out the incoming force of zebras.

The soldiers around Graphite had turned their attention to Graphite’s crowd, taking in whatever shots they could manage over the machine gun’s killing spree. Suddenly, a roar came over the hills - a battle cry. Heads sitting in the craters turned to the noise, watching in shock as they saw another aggregation of mad zebras coming over the next hillside.

Graphite had let that group almost completely without his attention, his focus on the same group he had been shooting at earlier. The soldiers closest to the second wave of enemies had turned to face them, firing off their guns as the bodies piled in and the numbers began to grow.

Graphite had his view down his scope; it was nearing redundancy when the sight was filled with ten or more zebras running up to be shot down. Graphite was working with habit, taking an unwanted amount of time to pick out the perfect shot to kill a zebra. His shots were easy to take, the mass number of the zebras coming up made firing a round like a cannonball through a riot.

The hilltop was aglow with the flashes of gunfire, the ring of fire surrounded by a mass of gun flashes across the hilltop. The bright glints were escorted by litters of speeding bullets that zoomed across the flat plains and stopped when they hit the dirt or the soft bodies of zebras. The zebras were dropping like flies, but they swarmed just as much. The rounds flew over head, the soldiers forced to hunker down as deep as they can into their shallow craters. They were safe from the high flying bullets, but not from what was now being thrown at them.

A small, rectangular object came dropping in to the craters left of Graphite, clanking against the gravel and ejected shells lying in the hole. The soldiers inside the crater spotted the black box and instantly scattered to rush out of the crater. The grenade coming from the zebras was sitting quietly in the hole like a calm before a storm - the soldiers had swiftly jumped their hole and panicked to run to another position and hide. The grenade went off, blowing a small cloud of smoke through the crater and sifting dirt into the air. A fragment whizzed by Graphite’s ear, just barely missing. The rest of the debris flew out, one group of shrapnel finding its way to one of the soldiers trying to avoid that very grenade.

Another thud hit the dirt, another grenade landing into a crater. This grenade landed in the X-O’s crater, her companion being as unlucky as to have the grenade land right on top of him. The Officer hopped out of the hole as quick as she could, rolling out into the next crater over as soon as she spotted the grenade. The soldier was confused, watching as the officer left him alone. He looked over his shoulder, looking at what felt like a rock landed on him. He spotted the grenade, instantly yelping and tumbling over as the grenade came into sight. It was too late to react, the grenade exploding and tearing a chunk of flesh from the stallion’s body.

Blood misted into the air, Graphite shrieked before flinching as the boom was joined with a spray of blood against the back of his neck. He flinched and jerked his rifle from its aim, firing off a round into the sky. Just as his bullet flew into the air, a shot pounded against the edge of Graphite’s crater, tossing some gravel into his eye. He wiped his eyes cleaned then looked over the hill to his right - finding that another band of zebras started to sprint over the plain. Graphite turned his body over to the next wave of soldiers, firing off rounds randomly over to the batch of angry zebras.

They fell as the volley of rounds flew into the littered mob that was getting ever closer to Graphite and the rest of the soldiers. Graphite shot off until his gun ran dry, leaving him to reload his gun and leaving him open to fire. The fire came sooner than he had hoped, a splash of bullets pelting against the ground near his position - one passing over the plates on his shoulder. Graphite jumped back, hitting his back against the other side of his crater. Bullets continued to hit the ground near him, tossing dirt into his face, until the gun eventually ran clean of rounds.

Graphite finished reloading his rifle, cocking the bolt handle and taking this moment to return fire. He aimed down his scope, zooming out as much as it allowed to find the nearest zebra. He spotted one, reloading a ‘Black Rifle’ he obviously picked up from one of the dead marines. He guessed this was the one taking his time to fire his entire magazine at Graphite, so crosshairs meet at the zebra’s skull and he fired - watching as he fell with not even a twitch to meet afterward.

Graphite was firing off round after round to the wave of enemies, until a dying scream came from the circle of soldiers by Graphite. One soldier hit the supply crates, shot down while gathering up a few more bullets for his gun. The number of friendly soldiers was depleting as the number of unfriendly soldiers continued growing exponentially. Graphite looked over the now barren craters, seeing only the X-O still fighting the zebras off with only a silver revolver to combat the enemies.

The Zebra Army still hadn’t ceased to stop rolling in soldiers - every last direction filled with enemies firing off their rifles and pistols. The endless whizzing of bullets flying just above their heads, the nonstop sounds of guns banging and clicking, the never ending screams and wails. Graphite stopped wasting time he didn’t have aiming down the scope to fire, firing off a round anywhere would hit one of the dozens of zebras surrounding the area.

The waves were flooding the hilltop, Graphite was surely dead if he was left alone. He looked back, spotting the X-O still shooting off lead at the zebras. He waited for a moment to dash to her crater, killing off zebras until he had an open moment to run. The box of ammo was sitting idly in the middle of the ring of craters; Graphite would run right passed it as he made his way to the Officer.

He knew that he had to act fast, but the gunfire was preventing him from any movement. He wanted to just grab the ammunition from the cache with his magic, but stress was bearing down on his will, the only way to grab anything other than his gun was to run over and grab it himself. Graphite sighed, taking a moment away from his planning to shoot back at the army around him. Graphite looked back towards the cache, gripping his gun tight as he waited for his moment. The bullets never stopped, even another grenade being tossed into one of the empty craters. Graphite looked over, the X-O being slowly overpowered by the zebras. Graphite shot down one more zebra then focused to the cache.

He jumped out of his hole, sprinting faster than even he knew he could run, making it to the supplies and nabbing the gun from the dead soldier and all the magazines he could grab. He bit down on the magazine he was holding in his mouth then made another mad sprint to the Officer. He dived into the crater, dodging over all the gunfire before hitting the bottom of the pit.

Graphite nudged the Officer’s side, tossing the Black Rifle to her while dropping the loose magazines wherever they fell in the crater. The X-O took the rifle, loading in the first magazine she could reach. Not a single word was passed, Graphite and the Officer just exchanged weapons then they were back to back fighting off the zebras still progressing up the hilltop. The volley of bullets was quickly returned as the other team fired back with a shower of lead - bullets spraying so wildly they could almost hit each other midair.

The flash of the rifles and pistols was like a second sun, lighting up the night and illuminated the hill. In a flash, and another zebra was down; another flash, and another zebra; the yellow blur as deadly as poison. The army was getting closer and closer every second that went by, soon coming they were close enough for their faces to appear over the blaze of shots. Graphite could see their faces all to well, the agony of the pain as the bullets flew into their bodies. Their blood poured out, the lights glistening off their fluid surface. He watched as the dim silhouettes fell into the thick dirt. He watched as a life was taken by his own will, treated as just another statistic.

Graphite had cleared another row of zebras, moving down the line to the next company of aggressors. His gun was wavering back and forth, keeping back the perimeter of zebras that continued to converge down to the pair’s crater. The X-O had gone through her magazines quickly, the pile of spare ammunition eaten through by the automatic rifle. A sudden influx of zebras piled through the surrounding crowd, guns ablaze and charging strong. Graphite ducked down as he spotted the small bunch of attackers begin to stampede down the hill - the Executive Officer to late to react. She turned about to fire back before being swiftly shot down, a salvo of lead hitting her body with a buck strength force.

She let out a gurgle and coughed up blood, her misery ended when a rouge bullet hit her skull. Graphite was now left to fight alone with the waves of zebras still fighting with every last bit of their strength. Graphite spun around, facing the direction the X-O was facing - moving her body aside as he took in another position in the crater.

His attention was towards the charging clot of zebras, using another collection of rounds to take them down and give the Officer the short moment of revenge she deserved. Graphite took up the Black Rifle from the X-O’s body, using whatever rounds were still left to give him a better advantage. He swept the rifle back and forth in a circle, firing the last shots in the gun in single shots; sparing his ammo as long as possible. A few zebras were hit by the spindrift of bullets, nothing close to end the battle.

Graphite tossed the gun away, grabbing his rifle once more to take out another number of the zebras. They yells of their incessant shouting grew louder, their voices all being directed at Graphite. The bangs and blares were striking Graphite’s ears, every sound all pounding in his ear drums at once. It all become a long drone, a single loud buzz in his head. Graphite dove deeper into his hole, holding his gun close as the sounds continued pulsating in his head. Graphite wanted to fire back, but the noises beat him back down before he could. The unending roar was interrupted by a single howl came up from behind. Graphite looked up, gun close, his vision rattled by the sounds shaking his head. A blur was growing towards him, slowly yelling as it seemed to get closer. Graphite’s hoof came up, the overshadowing of the figure was straining on his eyes. The shout came closer, coming into view. A zebra jumped over the edge of the crater, a rifle held back with the stock aimed at Graphite. Graphite’s hoof came over his head and the butt of the gun hit him, knocking him into a unwavering daze and a blinding quiver.