It had been a barren year for the Ponyville station in terms of business. There had been plenty of passengers before the war, but once it had started nopony seemed too terribly interested in taking the trains anymore. And that was before Celestia restricted passenger locomotive travel in order to clear the lines for freights. The only passenger train that ran with any regularity from Ponyville anymore was the princess’s personal, shuttling Twilight Sparkle to and from Canterlot.

If the stationmaster was in the business of directing freight, he would likely be overworked. As it was, Ponyville was for passengers, and there just weren’t any.

Which was why he was sweeping the platform. Every day he would kill time until Luna raised the moon, and then he would simply do it again the next day. No passengers meant no work, but at the same time he couldn’t leave, just in case somepony showed.

He looked up over the expansive platform, and sighed in exhaustion. He was only about a third of the way done sweeping. The ammunition freight from Dodge Junction would be by soon, and because it didn’t stop as it hurtled towards the Canterlot line it would likely throw desert dust along the platform as it went. Sweeping was a pointless task for now, and the stationmaster knew it. He trotted back inside and sat down behind the ticket counter.

There was nothing to do. He sighed again. This war had sucked the life out of the railway, had nearly sucked the life out of the country. It used to be so busy, so alive. Even the platforms before him used to teem with ponies heading to adventures. Nowadays most ponies rode trains to their doom. He got up and grabbed up a newspaper in his teeth. He knew that the paper would be an hour’s distraction at most, but an hour reading the paper was an hour not doing anything different. He saw the headlines.

Over to the left hand column was the daily casualties: “4 killed to enemy artillery”. It was less than normal.

‘Celestia,’ he thought. ‘Normal? This is not normal; this hasn’t been normal for nearly a year. Young ponies don’t normally go off to fight and die.’

“KNOCK KNOCK!” The station master jolted upright in surprise at the sound. There was a brown earth pony standing at the window, hoof out just an inch away from the glass. The stationmaster composed himself. Judging by the saddlebags and the gun on his shoulder this was a Calvary pony.

“Excuse me sir, but can you tell me when the next train to Canterlot is due?” the pony asked, “I kinda need to be there before noon tomorrow.” He seemed upbeat, enthusiastic even.

“You're going to Canterlot and you don't know the schedule."

“No sir, but I need to link up with my company by noon or they’re liable to send me to jail. I know that passenger trains should run to Canterlot from here, I just couldn’t find a timetable for the life of me.”

The stationmaster shook his head. “Once you get to Canterlot, then what’s your plan?”

“Oh, just hoof it on up to the line,” he said happily.

“Don’t; you’ll be wasting your time and energy. Besides, the passenger train to Canterlot doesn’t arrive until tomorrow at noon anyways.” The pony immediately drooped in response to the news, ears flattening.

“How am I supposed to get there then?”

“Same as all Calvary ponies, bum a ride off an ammunition freight. There’s one coming up from dodge junction in as little as five minutes.”

The pony brightened up a little. “So it’ll stop here?”

“No, it’ll stop at the Canterlot line, it’ll slow down here. You’ll have to jump on.”

“Jump!?” the pony asked in surprise. The stationmaster nodded. The pony stared off into the distance, contemplating the news; he began to nod his head. “Okay, jump, onto a moving train, yeah.” He nodded his head faster as he tried to convince himself. “The Calvary said I’d be doing dangerous things, and this isn’t the most dangerous by half. Hay, this’ll be fun!”

The stationmaster stared at him pointedly. “Right, keep telling yourself that, colt. Maybe you’ll believe it.” He stood up from the desk and walked out onto the platform to meet the calvarypony. He pointed on down the line to the south. “I need to give the signal or the train won’t be slowing down, mind accompanying an old stallion to the box and back?” the pony nodded.

“Not at all sir, not at all.” He started out towards the signal box in the distance, quickly outpacing the stationmaster. he turned after a moment to face the old stallion behind him. “Need me to slow down sir?”

“Yes, yes I do. I’m not as spry as you are. Besides, the whole point of asking you to come out here was so we could talk.”

“Talk?”

“Yes.”

“Ok then sir, shoot.”

The stationmaster winced slightly at the word. It was a new slang from the Royal Calvary, but the action that it meant was not lost on him. “Well, just tell me about yourself, I suppose.”

“Joined the Calvary three months ago, wanted to sooner, but I had some, uh, things to tend to before I could. Had been training until I got my orders to the front yesterday. Walked into town to stay the night in a good bed before I go out to the line, and then I came here.”

“How about before that?” the stationmaster asked.

“No can do, Sir. When you’re in the Calvary you aren’t supposed to mention civilian life.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

The stationmaster paused for a minute. “You got a name?”

“Trench Broom.” The pony said proudly. “Got it a week ago when I got proficiency on this baby.” He motioned to the gun on his back, and the stationmaster winced again.

“Not like that! I mean a real name,” the Stationmaster said, a hint of frustration in his voice. “The name your mother gave you.” Trench Broom shook his head.

“I already told you I can’t tell.”
The Stationmaster snorted in response. “Since I can’t ask you anything else, where are you going? When you get to the line?”

“I’m joining up with the 421rst, C-Company, 3rd platoon. Filling in a hole in a squad.” The Stationmaster leaned back slightly in surprise.

“C-Company?”

“Yes Sir,” the pony said. “Why?”

“It’s a small war after all.” The stationmaster muttered before facing the pony again. “My assistant is enlisted in the same company.”

“Really?!” the pony said enthusiastically. “Who?”

“Lu-” the stationmaster cut himself off and frowned. “Eagle Eyes. He got his name by spotting a concealed instructor from 500 yards.” He spat the sentence out, with no small amount of disdain.

“What does he do?” Trench Broom asked.

“Now he spots for a sniper,” the Stationmaster sighed. The signal box was only a few yards away now. The stationmaster trotted up and stepped down on a lever, and with a click the signal above dropped into the yellow “caution” position. He turned back to Trench Broom. “But I don’t care about Eagle Eyes, or what he does now. You had better cover your ears if you don’t want to hear about the real pony behind Eagle Eyes, because I don’t care about the calvary and its rules. Back in Ponyvile he was called Lucky, Lucky Clover. He kept the schedules for me, kept this place clean and working before he ran off with some dumb aspirations of heroics. He somehow managed to find it in his schedule to do farm work as well. And I never saw him frown. That’s the pony who I want to come home, who Ponyville wants to come home.”

Trench Broom nodded silently, his enthusiasm extinguished by the stationmaster’s words. “I understand sir, I’m no fool. I know that you want them to bring the colts back home. I know that nopony knows or really cares about ‘Trench Broom.’ They all just want, well, ‘old me’ back. If I see him I’ll let him know that the folks at Ponyville care about him a lot.”

The stationmaster snorted again. “Well, you know about him, so mind telling me about you?”

“Still sorry sir, but no. I don’t want to add anypony else to your conscious.” The stationmaster sighed in response. “Besides sir, I wouldn’t worry too much about me or him. The Unicornians haven’t tried to do anything since they attacked Cloudsdale again, and that was 4 months ago! I’m willing to bet that all I’ll be doing once I get to the line will be waiting for the Princesses to strong-arm them into surrendering.”

The stationmaster looked at the calvarypony next to him, his eyebrows slightly raised. “You think that you’ll just sit on the Canterlot line until the war ends? Do you even know what the war is like?”

Trench Broom looked at the ground nervously for a second, kneading his hooves as he trotted. “No offense meant sir, but do you?”

“No, but I think that I have a better idea than you do.”

The conversation was interrupted by a quiet, low pitched blast of a whistle from behind them. The stationmaster turned around. He could see the Dodge junction ammunition freight charging up the line toward them, still over a mile away. “There’s your train,” he said bluntly to Trench Broom. Trench Broom looked at the black cloud of smoke that issued forth from it.

“I have to jump on?” he asked again as he looked at the approaching locomotive.

“Yes, onto the guard van at the back, it has hooveboards to make it easier. Knock, and they should let you in.” As Trench Broom trotted onto the platform he nodded.

“Heard and understood sir.” He stared down the oncoming train, rocking back and forth on his hooves with anticipation. The train quickly sounded its whistle twice, as it got closer, followed by a squeal of brakes. The stationmaster nodded to nopony in particular, they read the signal. From here they could see the black steel of the locomotive well, and the red boxcars that followed. The stationmaster sighed again.

“I miss the old locomotives.”

“The ones that looked like gingerbread houses?”

“Yes.”

“I like this more myself.” Trench Broom said. The locomotive pulled even with the station, shooting steam out around its pistons and
across the platforms. The first cars began to rattle by loudly. Trench Broom kept an eye on the last car as it drew nearer.

“Start running,” the stationmaster said. Trench Broom took off down the platform parallel with the train, letting the guard van catch up to him before leaping over. He landed on the hooveplate without a hitch. “GOOD LUCK!” the stationmaster shouted after the Calvary pony.

“TOO LATE, I’M ALREADY ON THE TRAIN!” the pony shouted back, a large smile on his face. He let out a yell of excitement that was drowned out by the locomotive’s whistle, wailing across the fields. With that the train had rattled away, the rhythmic “KNOCK-KNOCK,
KNOCK KNOCK” of the wheels on the rails receding into the distance. The stationmaster looked after the train sadly.

“I meant about the war,” he said quietly.

With the horrible squeal of metal on metal Trench Broom was awoken from a perfectly wonderful nap. That was the problem with the guard car, every time the train needed to slow down for anything the guard would throw on the brakes, which were located right below him. Yes, it did keep the train from crashing horribly, but it could have done it quieter. This was the 4th time on this trip that he had been woken up by hellish shrieking of the brakes. He looked out the window to try and gather where they were now.

“Oh, right,” he said to himself. As best as he could tell by looking out the window he was right where they were the last time he checked, two feet away from a red boxcar. “Whoever put these windows up could have done a better job”, he muttered. It certainly felt like they had slowed down more than they had previously. Maybe they were getting close.

The brakes screamed again, throwing him into the window he was looking out of with the rapid deceleration. He leaned backward to combat the deceleration, but then the train ground to a halt, making him fall backward. “Ow,” he said to the brakevan. “Just because I insulted your windows doesn't mean you can do that.” The door at the back of the van opened up.

“Here we are, the Canterlot line,” the brakepony said. Trench Broom got to his hooves and trotted out the door onto the brakevan’s rear deck. His mouth dropped open. “Hay of a sight ain’t it?” the brakepony smiled. Trench Broom nodded.

The Canterlot line stretched out before him. Just a few yards away was a battery of 15 new 5.5 inch cannons, each dug into the earth with rounds and charges stacked at the ready. Just behind that was a battery of 25 pounders. They continued on off into the distance. Off west he could see a small city of tents, the larger ones having a regiment number painted on. In the middle of this a flagpole towered over the surroundings, bearing the single largest equestrian flag he had ever seen.

He could hear the doors of the train being thrown open, a small army of ponies hurriedly offloading the crates. But he could also hear… music? He strained his ears. Yes. Yes he could. He couldn’t make it out but he could clearly hear brass instruments playing. He looked for the source. A small tower stood nearby, with loudspeakers at the top. Maybe it was supposed to be a siren, but for now it played. He looked around. Where to start?

Just a few feet away a pole stood, arrows tacked onto it pointing in all directions. ‘Canterlot 30 miles’,’723rd 3 miles’, Cloudsdale 174 miles’ 367th 2 miles’. He kept looking down the list. ‘421rst, ¾ miles.’ Great, he would be there in less than twenty minutes. He looked off to where the sign pointed, into a gaggle of command tents. “OK Trench ol’ pal” he said to himself, “Let’s go.”

He started trotting in the direction of the arrow, heading past the train that he rode in on. He looked at the crates that were being offloaded. He had seen lots of crates in his time at training, lots of ammunition crates especially. Enough to know that these weren’t ammunition crates. He cocked his head as he trotted. ‘Not an ammunition train as the stationmaster said, but it must have been marked as that.’ The Calvary had a secret in those crates. He stopped for a moment, debating on whether he should go and look at them or not. ‘Nah, odds are I’ll see them soon enough.’

He continued heading on off to the command post looking around at all he could see. He couldn’t go far without stumbling into another artillery position. Honestly he was amazed at the amount of guns that had been produced. ‘I guess if all we do is build cannons for 9 months, there’ll be a lot,’ he thought.

One thing that he hadn’t noticed was the craters. It seemed as though the enemy had never even threw a barrage over here. Fine by him, he didn’t want to be subject to any artillery. For a moment he thought about the stationmaster and chuckled. ‘I was right’, he thought gladly. ‘Nothing to do here but just wait for the war to end.’ And it had to end. Looking around at the sheer mass of cannons and ponies he could tell that the Canterlot line was never going to fall.

He frowned a little bit though. He hoped that the Unicornians would have one last crack at it before they called it a day. He wanted to fight, to be able to tell everypony that he did his part. A bit of him even wanted to be looked up to, like a hero. Hopefully he would have the chance to prove himself here. He approached another tall signpost.

‘Great,’ he thought sarcastically. ‘just a half mile left.’

The Artist stared at the stack of papers on the edge of his desk with concern. They looked harmless enough, but they held an implication. This was what he was currently contemplating. He grabbed one of them up read it again.

To be distributed to all sergeants in command of a squad.

All members of the squad using the SMCC Mk.I are to turn in their rifles to the company quartermaster and receive the SMCC Mk.II Rifle and appropriate kit and operation manuals. The squad specialist is to receive the PWD-Dragon Mk.1 and report to the rear for specialized training. Sergeants are to receive 1 MMMGMK.1, which are also available as replacement for SMCC MK.1 for MG loaders and spotters if applicable. MG loaders must also receive Browns .30 caliber MG hydraulic Saddle Mount.

By order of Major General Clockwork Engine, by the authority of the Field Marshall.

In plain Equestrian it was simple. The squads were to refit weapons. Harmless enough. The problem was he didn’t know what in Equestria half of these things even meant, and he was a bloody Major. He puzzled over the sheet some more. SMCC MK.2 was pretty easy to decipher; it was most likely an upgrade of the service rifle. How in the hay it had been upgraded he didn’t know, but this wasn’t his biggest concern.

He had no idea what a PWD-Dragon was, nor a MMMG. He grabbed up a pencil in his teeth and circled the last sentence. ‘Saddle Mount’. For the .30 Cals. Currently the .30 Cal had to be set up on a tripod before it could be fired, rendering it as a static object. If the saddle mount was a way to mount the machine gun on a pony’s back, then it would gain a lot of mobility.

That’s what scared him. Why did they need mobility in a static war, and what did the other items do? A horrible thought ran through the back of his mind, but he brushed it aside. Right now it seemed that a trip to the quartermaster was in order. Maybe he could show him some of these suspect items.

As he stood up from his desk the tent flap in front of him was opened by an over enthusiastic Calvary earth pony, who quickly snapped into a smart salute and stood at attention.

“Private Trench Broom reporting as requested sir!” The Artist stared at him, refusing to return the salute.

“I didn’t request anypony? What are you doing here?” he asked bluntly.

“Sir, responding to my Marshalling orders, sir! I’m to report to the 421rst C-Company,3rd platoon by 1200 hours tomorrow sir!” The Artist sighed heavily.

“Freaking great, my company gets another idiot. Wonderful.”

“Sir, permission to speak sir!” the pony asked, a look of confusion on his face, his eyes not meeting the Artists.

“Denied.” The Artist said. “If you get orders from C-Company 3rd platoon then you should go to C-Company 3rd platoon, instead of wasting a Majors time with a platoon leader’s job. Hold that salute until I find out what to do with you.” Trench Broom kept his hoof up as The Artist began looking through his papers for the current status on 3rd platoon. He moved slowly, intent on drawing out the ponies salute for as long as possible. Petty, but he didn’t care.

He finally found the requisite paper, and scanned through it. “Fine, fine, fine, fine, minus one.” He said as he looked over the numbers for each squad. “5th is down one”. He looked over. “Sergeant Repeater Rifle. Heh. ‘The Miracle Squad.’” He looked up to the saluting pony in front of him. “You’re going to report to sergeant Repeater Rifle of 5th squad. Once you have done that, you can take these orders here and distribute one to each sergeant in my company. Understood?”

“Sir, yes sir!” Trench Broom answered.

“Good, dismissed.” The pony saluted, but stayed.

“Permission to ask the Major a question, sir?”

The Artist sighed with exasperation. “You just did.” For a minute Trench Broom puzzled over The Artists answer, and then winced at his stupidity. “Next time just ask me the question,” The Artist said, “and you may.”

“Sir, I haven’t seen the trenches yet, so I was wondering where the 421rst is? The signs point to here, but this is just a command tent.”

The Artist shook his head. “Celestia you are green. You’re greener than the grass at the Canterlot gardens. Son, this isn’t the front. This is the rear. Walk west; you can’t miss the trenches.”

“How far, sir?”

“Oh, not too far, just about a mile and a half.”

Trench broom was beginning to get tired of walking. No, tired wasn’t the right word. Bored. Bored was the right word. For being pumped up by the news and the training, this war was pretty… uneventful.

The field that he was in was in full bloom, the grass and flowers swaying calmly in the breeze. He turned around and looked out east. The giant Equestrian flag was still plainly visible, the tents around it looking tiny by comparison. He looked back out west. There was nothing to see, just an empty field. ‘Maybe the major tricked me, and I’m going the wrong way’ he thought. It wouldn’t have surprised him given his previous display.

‘Well Trench, we learned something, don’t annoy the Major.’ He thought as he glanced over his shoulder at the saddlebags, aware of the bundles of orders inside.

He noticed something half concealed in the tall grass, and began heading toward it. It was a sign. He was too far away to read what it said, so he picked up his pace. The grass ended abruptly, knocked down by an unseen force, and he stopped. About 50 feet away he could see a crater, a terrible gash in the serenity of the field. He could now see the sign, positioned on the edge of the crater.

He nodded to the sign. “Thank you,” he mumbled, trotting closer to the crater. All around it dirt lay scattered over top of the grass, like the droplets of water that scattered when rain hit the ground. The crater was at least ten feet around, and five feet deep he would guess. Metal fragments glinted in the dirt of the crater like gems. He looked for a few more seconds, and then kept trotting west.

As he headed, he began to see more craters dotting the surface, tears in a beautiful field. Slowly but surely standing grass became the exception to the rule, appearing in clumps scattered amongst the craters. He could see farther now that the grass was down. He could see small outcroppings, just a few feet taller than the rest of the field ahead. Off in the distance he could see fence posts standing.

Finally he saw it, the entrance to the trench, a small path down into the ground. He trotted in. the floors and walls were covered in wood, but dirt and mud still seeped through the cracks. His hoovesteps beat loudly on the wood, echoing up and down the trench. He could see other Calvary ponies going about their business, ducking into and out of holes in the walls that lead them into bunkers. He came to an intersection with another trench, and looked at the paths offered to him. On the corners of the intersections were arrows, similar to the ones that he saw on the signposts before. He followed the one for C-Company, straight ahead.

He rounded a corner, then another, the trench seeming to go on forever. He looked, behind him, and saw a machine gun set up aiming down the trench at him. He snorted.’If they ever do get into the trenches they sure as hay won’t get very far,’ he thought. He continued onward. Finally he reached a fork in the trench, the only choices being left or right. He looked for a sign again. 3rd platoon was to the right. He headed that way.

He could tell now that he was finally at the front of the front, the trench going out in a relatively straight line for as far as he could see. To his left, toward the west, he could see there was a raised step above the trench floor for the ponies to stand on so they could aim their rifles over the lip. Spaced every 30 or so yards a machine gun poked over the edge, a wooden box with a slit in the bottom attached to the back. The slit came up to around eye level, so Trench Broom paused to take a look. Though it he could see the sights of the machine gun, and pushing against the box moved it correspondingly. He chuckled. Machine gunners didn’t even have to expose themselves.

To his right he could see holes dug into the wall, leading down into the earth and into darkness. Above each hole was a sign. 1st, 2nd,3rd. He was getting close. He brushed past a few ponies conversing, each the standard brown earth dye, and no distinguishing features other than height and breed. ‘I wonder how i’ll recognise the sergeant?’ he thought briefly. If he could get close then maybe he could see the sergeants bars on a ponies right flank, but it was black on brown, hard to spot. He trudged past a small hole on his left as he continued to ponder this.

Just ahead of him two tall unicorns were talking with another pony, obscured by their size. Trench Broom quickly glanced right at the dugout. 5th. this should be the place. He cleared his throat. The two unicorns turned their heads to face him.

“Yes?”

“May I see the sergeant?” he asked tentatively. The last time he asked a question to a superior officer it didn’t go over very well.

“Ya may.” The answer came from behind the unicorns, who stepped back out of the way. Before Trench Broom stood an earth pony, maybe an inch or so taller than he was, but noticeably stronger. That wasn’t what Trench Broom was looking at though. He was looking at the pony’s hat. A large brown cowpony hat with the rims bent up at the sides so his ears could cradle it. Wasn’t that a clear violation of the dress code? He shook the thought away.

“Sergeant Repeater Rifle?” he asked. The pony motioned to the gun on his back, a large lever action gun, with a scope on the side it seemed.

“There’s mah namesake, and that’s me. What do ya need partner?”

Trench Broom snapped into a salute. “Private Trench Broom sir! Here to fill in a gap in your squad!” Before he could properly react the sergeant rushed him, grabbing his hoof out of his salute before shaking it enthusiastically.

“Well howdy then, and welcome ta our trench! It’s a pleasure ta meet ya, and a pleasure ta have ya in mah squad! It’s been just about forever since we’ve had all ten spots filled out, since the beginnin’ of the war even.” The entire time the Sergeant was furiously shaking Trench’s hoof up and down, making him feel like the connecting rod of a train with the incessant motion. ”Why, Ah should show ya the sights and introduce ya ta everypony!” the Sergeant had an enormously large smile on his face as he said it.

Quickly he dropped Trenches hoof and pointed behind him. “Over there’s where Cold and Joe have their Machine gun set up.” He turned around and pointed down the trench, “down there’s where Longshot and Eagle Eyes try and make the papers.” Finally he pointed at the dugout. “And that’s where everypony sleeps, hides, and prays ta Celestia that the Unicornians aren’t on their game when they start shellin’ us.”

Trench Broom was a little overwhelmed with just how fast this pony was talking. He opened his mouth to interrupt, but the sergeant kept on going. “We got just about everythin’ here in this trench. We got a machine gun, barbed wire,-”

“Sergeant?”

“-a Colts rifle, which we’re all rather proud a’-”

“Sergeant?”

“-Periscopes-“

“Sergeant!”

“And plenty a rats too, all the things ya need for a trench!”

“SERGEANT!” Trench Broom yelled, unaware of how loud he had gotten. Sergeant Repeater Rifle looked over to him casually.

“What was that now private?”

“Permission to put up my bags, sir,” Trench Broom asked exasperatedly. “I’d love to hear about the squad but I would like to put these down first. Make myself more comfortable, you know?”

“Naw, not until ya hoof over your gun so that the twins can get ta work on modifying the thing.” Trench Broom shifted his attention to the two unicorns that stood nearby. “They’re inventors a sorts, and ah’ll make ‘em fix up yer rifle.” One of the two looked over to Repeater Rifle.

“We were going to modify it for him anyway.”

“For free.” The unicorn drooped his head and ears at the response. His brother held out a hoof.

“Private, I would be ever so honored if you might see fit to let my brother and I borrow your rifle for some little modifications.”

“Uhh… sure?” Trench Broom said hesitantly as he unslung his gun. As soon as he held it out the unicorn cocked his head to one side in confusion.

“Brother?”

“Yes Brother?”

“Have you ever seen a gun like that?” the other looked at the object the first was pointing at.

“No.”

The rifle that they were looking at was not a SMCC. It was too short. The stock looked correct, and the sights seemed the same, but the rest of the thing was entirely different. Just behind the rear sights was a large switch. The wood furniture extended just a few inches past the trigger guard before terminating at a large brass fixture that wrapped around the barrel and extended off to the left of the gun. Behind this there was a slot cut into the metal, and a small handle that poked out of the right side. The barrel was short, and surrounded by a heat shield with perforated holes. Just below the barrel was a small steel nub. The twins looked at it curiously.

“Where’s the bolt?” one of them asked. The one Trench Broom held it out to took it gingerly.

“I don’t know, but if they wanted to make the SMCC lighter they failed.”

“What type of gun is this?”

“It’s called a Marechester.” Trench Broom answered. Repeater chuckled.

“That ain’t a Marechester, this is a Marechester,” he said reaching over to tap his rifle lightly.

“Yes it is, it’s a Marechester Miniaturized Machine Gun. I’ve been using it for nearly a month, so I know what it’s called.” The three ponies looked at him in surprise.

“It’s a machine gun?!” the unicorn holding it asked in shock. Trench Broom nodded. The unicorn looked at it with a newfound respect. His brother looked back at Trench Broom.

“Where do the bullets go?” Trench Broom reached into his saddlebags and grabbed up a metal rectangle, about a foot long. The end was clipped and shined with Brass rounds, short and round as opposed to the pointed 30. Caliber of the SMCC.

“Do you want a demonstration?” Trench Broom asked, a small smile growing on his face. The twin handed it back and nodded excitedly. Trench Broom looked over to the Sergeant. “May I sir? I wouldn’t want to start a war.” Repeater nodded.

“Yeah, there’s usually some sorta shootin’ goin’ on around here, so Ah don’t think that anypony would mind.” He trotted over to some strings that came down from over the top of the trench and pulled them hard.

Trench Broom hopped up onto the step and stood up, looking out over the top of the trench. There were several barbed wire fences in the field, and no grass to be seen at all. The ground looked like the ocean in a storm, heaving up and down with the impacts from artillery. Out in the moonscape he could see three steel plate targets popped up. The others joined him on the lip and looked out.

“Ah, that’s nice, only two of our targets were destroyed by yesterday’s barrage, Ah though that it woulda been worse than that. “ Repeater said. “Well private, whenever you’re ready.”

Trench Broom slotted the magazine into the extension from the side of the gun, and twisted the knob behind the sight. He lined up on the first target and pulled the trigger. “Pa-Pa-Pap, Pa-Pa-Pa-Pa-Pap, Pa-Pa-Pap” he fired it in bursts, each one quickly echoed by a “Pi-Pi-Ping” as the rounds impacted the metal of the silhouettes. The three that were up were brought down in mere seconds. Now he held the trigger down, letting loose what was left of the magazine in less than five seconds.

Trench Broom clicked the safety back on, smiling at his handiwork. “It’s a lot of fun,” Repeater gave off a low whistle in respect of the gun.

“Naw kiddin’, a miniature machine gun.”

“Would you permit my brother and I to have a go!?” one of the twins said excitedly. Trench looked wistfully at the magazines that he had left in his saddlebag. He grabbed one out in his teeth.

“’ust ‘un,” he said past the hunk of metal in his mouth as he handed the machine gun off. The twin took it with a grin, levitating the magazine out of Trench’s mouth and into the gun. He cocked his head as he looked at it. “You need to-“

“No need sir, my brother and I are inventors nonpareil. We can figure out how any device works,” the twin interrupted. He pulled the bolt on the side back, and then twisted the knob all the way to the right before sighting up. He held the trigger down, rattling off rounds for two seconds before letting his hoof off. He clicked the safety back on with his magic and passed it off to his twin.

“Thank you, brother,” The twin said, before shooting off the rest of the clip in one long burst. He clicked the knob back to safe and shouldered it.

“Muddy.”

“Yes Bloody?”

“Are you thinking what I am?”

“I believe so brother.” Bloody nodded.

“It’s settled then, this needs a compensator and a rubberized stock.” His brother looked at him with no small amount of concern.

“Bloody, I’m not thinking what you are.” Bloody’s mouth dropped open slightly in shock. “This clearly needs a sound suppressor. The recoil pad is fine, but it’s controllable enough as is.” Bloody shook his head violently in protest.

“Muddy, why in Celestia’s beautiful country does it need to be quiet!? It’ll be surrounded by hundreds of horrifically loud rifles, so it’s not like he can be sneaky to any degree! Besides, the muzzle climbs and we need to divert gas to nullify that!”

As Muddy opened his mouth to retort Repeater leaned over to Trench Broom. “Well Pal, ya broke ‘em. First time ah ever seen ‘em argue. Ya feel free ta put your stuff in the dugout and introduce yourself ta the rest a’ the squad.” Trench Broom nodded, and quickly ducked into the dugout to escape the verbal barrage the twins were throwing at each other.

He looked around briefly, it wasn’t very big, only really large enough for the ten of them to lie out on the floor and have room for a personal locker. In one of the corners a bulky earth pony lay fast asleep, on the opposite side a unicorn with a red cross emblazed on his side sat writing. The unicorn glanced at him with one eye briefly.

“Don’t wake him up, he took watch last night, and needs the sleep,” the unicorn said softly. “You’re new?”

“Yes, Private Trench Broom,” He answered. The unicorn held out a hoof to bump.

“Hack Saw, the medic.” Trench Broom returned the bump.

“Name’s a little Morbid, don’t you think?” Trench Broom asked.

“Isn’t yours as well?” countered Hack Saw. Trench Broom shrugged slightly in agreement. He looked toward the pony sleeping at the side of the room.

“Who’s he?’

“That’s the Silent Specialist. He doesn’t talk much, like Cold Blooded. They say that he used to talk before I got here, but he got a little quieter after the Battle of Canterlot. He’ll answer questions if you got them, but he won’t talk about his past, and will never ask about yours.”

“Who’s Cold Blooded?”
The medic shuffled a little in discomfort. “The squad machine gunner. I’ve been here for four months, and I’ve never heard him talk. He only talks to Joe.”

“Why doesn’t he talk?”
The medic squirmed at the question, not quite wanting to look at the pony asking him. “I don’t like thinking about it.” Trench Broom simply waited for the medic to crack. “Alright. Before the battle of Canterlot they say that he talked, that he was a hard pony, with aspirations of being part of the guard. Before the battle he dug a tunnel to a ditch, the only bit of cover on the field and set his machine gun up looking down the length. When the battle started he waited until the ditch was filled to the brim with Unicornians, and then started shooting.”

The medic paused uncomfortably. “They say that a river of blood ran down the trench, and that there were so many bodies that you couldn’t see the ground under them. When they finally cleared out the ditch they counted one hundred and forty-eight bodies. I don’t think he’s talked since.” He went back to writing. Trench Broom set down his bags.

“If he got a hundred and forty-eight, why’d he stop talking? Shouldn’t that make him a war hero?”

The medic stopped writing and looked directly at him. “You really are new, aren’t you?” Before Trench could answer the Medic went back to writing, clearly done with conversation for now. Trench turned and trotted up out of the dugout to give him space.

‘Drat,’ he thought in annoyance. ‘that’s the second time that I’ve heard somepony say that. I’m not so new, nopony who’s new could set the company record for the close quarters course.’ He brightened up a little as he turned left and began to trot down the trench aimlessly. ‘At least the sergeant’s impressed with me.’

His thoughts were interrupted by an earth pony climbing out of a small hole in the side of the trench wall. He was about the same size as Trench Broom, but that wasn’t what Trench noticed. His eyes had no light in them. The pony stared at Trench Broom, the cold eyes seeming to bore into him. Trench Broom shivered in the war June air. He threw up a shaky salute.

“Private Trench Broom, Sir.” The earth pony glaring at him stood immobile for a moment, and then turned around at crawled back into the hole without a word. Trench Broom slowly backed up. He had never seen anypony that looked like that before. ‘Celestia, what’s wrong with his eyes!?’ He turned and headed in the opposite direction away from the disturbing pony, passing Repeater and the twins, who still seemed to be in a heated discussion.

He noticed a sign nailed into the side of the wall ahead, just in front of an indent to the west.
“Working: Do not disturb.”

He peered around the corner into the indent. There was an earth pony intently looking through a strange T-shaped periscope out west Sitting just next to him a unicorn was reading “The Canterlot Crusader.” On the floor of the trench was the strangest mess of metal bars, ball bearings and cradles that held the largest rifle Trench had ever seen.

It was easily a foot longer than he was tall, with a giant circular muzzle brake on the end and at least two inches of rubber padding on the stock. Just under the stock was a wooden grip that extended out from the bottom for a pony to hold, behind the trigger grip. On top was a large magazine that fed down, just next to a large scope offset from the side of the rifle.

Just then the unicorn lowered his newspaper and looked at Trench Broom. “It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” Trench Broom nodded in agreement. “You’re Trench Broom, the new guy with the machine gun, right?” the unicorn asked.

“Yes, yes I am.” Trench answered shakily. things were happening too fast for him, his mind was still on the empty eyes of the pony from the hole. The unicorn threw off an informal salute, then twirled his hoof around and pointed to himself,

“Repeater mentioned that you’d show up. I’m Longshot, squad sniper, over there is my one true love, Marcia. Don’t confuse Marcia with the oaf on the periscope, Eagle Eyes. Say hello Eagle Eyes.”

“Hello,” the other pony said, not moving from the periscope.

“Eagle Eyes?” Trench asked.

“Yes, Eagle Eyes,” he said in annoyance. “Look, I’d love to talk later, but right now I’m looking for something.”

“Did you see somepony?” Longshot asked, snapping out of his informality.

“I thought I did.”

“Aw hayseeds,” Longshot said as he put his newpaper down to check on the rifle. He popped the magazine out, and looked at the half foot long bullets inside before placing it back in the well.

“Excuse me, but how can you see anypony, they’re 7 miles off?” Trench asked. Eagle Eyes snorted his response.

“Calm down Eyes, he’s new here,” Longshot said empathetically. Trench Brooms tail twitched. He was getting pretty tired of hearing about how new he was. Longshot looked over to him as he checked the rifle.

“See, the Unicornians can’t fly or cloudsit like we can, and if they sent over whatever airships they have left after we kicked flank at Cloudsdale we’d blast them to shreds with our cannons. That means that the only way they can get a real good idea of our positions is to send scouts on the ground to draw them. They have a lot of cover, and are sneaky guys, but it’s our job to spot them and shoot them before they get back to their lines with good info. If we do our job right, their barrages are random. If not, they can be pretty accurate. Eagle Eyes thinks he saw one.”

The pony shook his head as he looked through the periscope. “I don’t think I saw him, I’m looking at him.” Immediately Longshot got behind the giant rifle and put the stock into his shoulder. “Tell me about him.”

“Well, he’s about 800 yards out, on a bearing of 18 degrees south of west.” As he said it Longshot magically adjusted a knob on the scope and swiveled the rifle on its mount.

“Do you think I need more than one degree?”

“No.”
Longshot flipped a switch on the mount, and then tried to pivot the rifle. It moved only slightly from left to right. “What’s his cover?”

“Loose dirt, he’s in a crater now, only have a clean shot at the top of his head.”

“How loose is the dirt?”

“Pretty loose, and there doesn’t seem to be too much between him and the open air. You going to try to shoot through it?”

“Yep. At a minimum I’ll give him a ‘significant emotional event’,” Longshot said. He popped the bolt up and back, before sliding it carefully forward and locking it down. He put his right hoove in the trigger guard, and his left on the grip at the stock of the gun, tucking it in tightly to his shoulder.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Eagle Eyes said. Longshot took a deep breath. He pushed forward with his hindlegs, rocking the rifle on its stand up and over the top of the trench before locking into position. Longshot looked down the scope, and slowly breathed out. Trench Broom could tell that he was almost totally relaxed as he aimed.

“BOOM-OM!”

Trench Broom nearly leapt out of the trench in surprise at the veritable explosion that issued from the rifle. He hadn’t even seen the pony move to pull the trigger. The two on the sniper team seemed unalarmed, Longshot was already re-aiming. They were dead still for a brief moment, and then they simultaneously flinched.

“I’ll confirm that.” Eagle Eyes said. Longshot rocked the Rifle back down into the trench and opened the bolt, ejecting the giant cartridge with a loud clatter as the brass bounced on the wood floor. Longshot trotted over to the shouldering casing on the ground, picked it up, and put it carefully in a bag at the side of the trench.

“Wait, d-did you just kill him?” Trench Broom asked, not entirely sure of what happened.

“I wouldn’t be putting this casing in my confirmed bag if I didn’t.” Longshot said. Trench Brooms ears drooped at the thought of a dead
pony in the field. Longshot noticed his unease. “He didn’t suffer, if it makes you feel better.” It didn’t.

Trench Broom finally met the gaze of Longshot, who was waiting for a reply. He was looking at a pony that had killed within the past minute, and seemed completely unrepentant about it. In his head, he was already trying to explain it away. ‘He’s just doing his job, trying to keep us safe, and he made it quick. We can’t let them just scout us.’ His brain was working hard to explain why there was a dead pony out in the field, one that he didn’t even see. His brain wasn’t what spoke.

“Did you need to?” Trench Broom asked. “He couldn’t do anything to hurt us. Couldn’t you have just scared him?”
The blood ran away from Longshots face. “Uhh, well, I…” Trench Broom could tell that he was looking for an answer to give. Now it was Longshots turn to look away. Eagle Eyes couldn’t look at the new pony either. Longshot finally took a deep breath. “You really are new. I guess I didn’t. I just haven’t thought much about it.” He looked over at Trench Broom, looking for the entire world like a guilty pony. “Trench Broom, we’re all old, we don’t ask anymore. Do yourself a favor. Stay new, and never stop asking that question.”

At that moment Repeater trotted up next to Trench Broom. “Howdy again! Have ya met everypony yet?” Quickly the three ponies tried to recompose themselves, and wipe the dead scout and the dilemma he posed from their minds and faces. Trench looked over to the sergeant, and tried to return his grin. It was a hay of a lot harder to do than he thought it would be.

“Well Sergeant, I think that I have.”

Repeater nodded in approval. “Good ta hear. Now, Ah got mah first order for ya. Stop callin me sergeant. Its Repeater Rifle, or Repeater for short.” He paused, and then frowned as he looked at Trench Broom. “Hey partner, Ah got a question for ya. Usually Ah’m better than this, but Ah can’t seem ta remember your name.”

“Oh, it’s-“

“Pardon us sir, but my brother and I have a question about your gun.” The ponies turned to face the twins, who were standing behind Trench and Repeater. Trench looked to Repeater for guidance. Repeater tilted his head toward the twins.

“Okay, shoot.” Trench said.

“We were wondering what this nub on the bottom of the gun did” Muddy said, pointing at a small piece of metal on the underside of the barrel.

“Oh, that’s for the bayonet.” Trench said.

“What’s a bayonet” Bloody asked. Trench waited for an answer from anypony, and then noticed the expectant eyes on him. “None of you know?” Their blank stares answered his question. “Okay, I’ll show you.” He trotted past the twins and into the dugout, the rest of the ponies following him to the entrance in curiosity.

As he went to retrieve the bayonet from his saddlebags he heard a voice from the corner of the dugout. “Are you the new guy?”

“Yes, yes I am.” Trench Broom answered quickly as he grabbed up the bayonets scabbard in his teeth. He turned and trotted back up out of the dugout to the waiting ponies, the silent specialist and Hack saw coming up after him.

He faced all the squadponies before him, taking the MMMG from Muddy in one hoove. With the other he slid the sheath off of the 18 inch long sword, allowing it to glint in the sunlight. “’Is is a ‘eonet”. He said through his gritted teeth, he slid it down onto the barrel, allowing it to lock in on the nub. The squadponies stood in awe at the sight of the machine gun with its giant sword blade protruding from the front. Repeater wasn’t grinning anymore.

A sudden beating of hoofs issued from behind him, and trench turned to see a bulky unicorn, a look of concern on his face. “Cold just told me that we’re going over the top soon. Tell me it isn’t true.”

Repeater looked at the miniature machine gun and the bayonet, and his ears dropped as he connected the dots. “Partner, what’s your name?” Trench could see a palpable fear in everyponys eyes before him.

“Trench Broom.”

Repeater shook his head. “Ah shoulda noticed sooner.” He looked over to Joe.

“Colds right, we’re going over the top.”

Author's Notes:

Hello everyone. I'm just here to say that I have another Fraudulent war epic up The Second Battle of Cloudsdale. if you like this, odds are pretty good that you'll like that. I intend to update each story every other week, but If you've been here for a while you know that probably will not happen.

fitting the theme, the MMMG is a modified Lanchester sub-machine gun, shown here.

and the Colt's rifle 'Marcia' is a modified Boys rifle, shown here