“Hey.”

Trench woke with a start at the hushed voice, quickly looking for the source. The dugout was pitch black, and only the faintest of light came in through the opening to the trench, outlining a pony.

“Anypony awake in here?” the pony in the entrance said, softly and quietly. Trench looked around; everypony else was fast asleep. He looked back at the entrance.

“Yeah,” he answered quietly. “What's going on?”

“Wake your squad, company briefing is in 5.”

Trench cocked his head. “What time is it?”

“Zero-two hundred,” the pony replied and left before Trench could ask him anything else. Two in the morning. Trench had a sinking feeling; they had never been woken at two. He turned over and gave Repeater a nudge. Repeater didn’t respond.

“Sergeant, wake up.” Nothing. “Wake up!” he said, harsher, but still hushed.

“Trench, you had better be wakin’ up for a good reason,” Repeater mumbled, not bothering to expend the energy to open his eyes.

“We’re being called to a briefing in five minutes.”

“What time is it?”

“Zero-two-hundred.”

Repeater rolled over and got up, his eyes tired and sleep filled. He shook his head to try and wake up. “Zero-two-hundred? It’s too early ta be wakin’ everypony,” Repeater said, barely more legible than he was before. He opened his mouth and yawned loudly, stretching out his hooves on the ground. he reached behind his head and scratched before he made his proclamation. “Well, Ah guess that we gotta. Help me wake ‘em up, alright, Corporal?” Trench nodded.

Corporal. It sounded wrong. Corporal Trench Broom. He liked being Private Trench Broom back at camp. Ponies would tell him what to do and he would do it, quickly and efficiently, but he would never have to be telling other ponies what to do. That was easy, stress free. But now he was a corporal, second in the squad, fresh out of camp, and training everypony on trench warfare. Even his Sergeant. And it all went back to him. If they didn’t know something, it was because he failed to teach them. The responsibility had a weight to it, and he could feel it all the time.

Of course, right now all he had to do was help wake the others up. Not anything so bad yet. He stood up and prodded the pony next to him. “Hey, Bloody, wake up.”

“Wrong pony sir,” the twin mumbled.

“OK, Muddy, wake up.”

“Should I wake up too?” the other asked groggily.

“Yes.”

“Alright brother, let’s get up.”

Repeater had already trod to the other end of the dugout to wake the others. Trench moved past the twins to the next pony. He was already sitting up and awake, looking out the dugouts entrance.

“Cold, you awake?” Trench asked, the earth pony nodded once, and gave the large unicorn next to him a nudge to wake him. “Thanks,” Trench said. Cold just gave another nod. He still hadn’t talked; not during training, not during meals, not ever.

Repeater had already woken Hack Saw and moved on to Longshot, so Trench went over to Eagle Eyes and nudged him hard. “Hey, wake up Eagle, you goon,” Trench said in jest, a tired grin growing on his face. Eagle Eyes kicked at him half heartedly.

“Let me sleep Trench, you jerk.”

“Can’t, we have to go to a briefing in five.”

“Friggen stupid…” Eagle Eyes’ ability to properly complain collapsed into unintelligible muttering as he slowly got to his hooves. The others were getting more and more alert by the moment.

“So, Trench, did that pony tell ya what this briefing was on, or why it couldn’t wait till breakfast?” Repeater asked as he grabbed up his Stenson and placed it on his head.

“No, just that it was happening,” Trench answered.

Hack Saw interrupted, speaking at his usual quiet tone. “Do you think it could be-”

“We ain’t gonna find out here, so let’s get goin’,” Repeater said, quickly stepping on any mention of the dreadful possibility that was on their minds. He was already heading out the entrance, stopping once he had gotten out to look up. Trench followed him quickly, and the others weren't far behind.

It was a new moon out tonight, so it was up to the stars to light the way. Trench couldn’t see a thing in the trench, but he didn’t want to look that way anyhow, not with the view above. The stars were out in their thousands, specks in the near black sky above. Not a light was on for miles, and it made for an incredible sight.

“Reminds me of home,” Repeater said, also lost in the view above. He shook his head, and turned away. “Come on everypony,” he said, trotting down the trench to where the company headquarters was. Other squads were also coming out, all turning to go the same way. Out ahead the trench widened, barely illuminated by a single lantern, which also exposed a single pony and a board behind the black silhouettes of those already there. They headed into the widening and took a seat behind the crowd. It was silent apart from the shuffling of hooves on the wood floor. For a moment they sat there, waiting as more ponies shuffled in behind them. Finally the pony up front stood up.

“Alright, let’s get to it,” The Artist said. “You are all probably wondering why you’re awake at two in the morning for a briefing. It’s because today’s the big day. We’re going over the top.” Trench didn’t react, but everypony else in the squad apart from Cold did. Ears drooped, mouths went slack, Hack Saw started shaking his head in disbelief. The Artist noticed the reaction, but continued, pointing at a photograph on the board.

“This is a photograph from the Airborne of the area we will be attacking, 7 miles to our direct front.” He pointed at two large structures on either end of the photograph. “Every five or so miles they’ve erected these large concrete bunkers. A direct attack on them would likely fail, and an attack uniformly spread across the front would likely be broken up by the reinforcements coming out of there. But that is not where we are going to attack. We are going right between them."

“In one hour at 0300 we will begin our march, starting the attack at 0500. Heavy fog is forecast for this morning, so we will advance under it, hopefully being able to achieve surprise. Once we get to the trench our objective is to get to the rear and make a defensive line to the north, south, and west of these bunkers using their own trench system. With these placed between their bunkers we’ll have cut them off from one another, and can then deal with them individually, hopefully weakening the larger ones by cutting off their supplies. Your goal is simple: enter the trench, fight to the rear, clear any pockets of resistance in this area, and then prepare defenses.” The Artist faced them again. “Questions?”

Off to Trench’s left a pony raised a hoof, and as he glanced over it was his turn for his mouth to drop, not in horror, but surprise.

“You there,” The Artist said.

Cold Blooded lowered his hoof. “What’s their strength in the area that we are assaulting?” he said, revealing a Manehatten accent. Trench looked around at the rest of the squad, who were equally bewildered. Cold Blooded was talking. The Artist simply answered his question, unaware of the importance of this event.

“We estimate 5000 in this area, most of them divided between the two fortresses. With luck resistance in the area between the two will be low enough that we can punch through.”

Cold immediately raised his hoof again, and The Artist nodded at him. “Do we know how many guns they have?”

“No, but if the plan succeeds we’ll be in their trenches before they can use them on us. Their guns are presighted on our positions, so they’ll have to re-aim them, and in fog that’ll be a hay of a uphill battle.” Trench nodded in agreement; unless they got held up for a long time they’d be safe. No one else in his squad looked nearly as convinced. Cold raised his hoof again.

“You have a lot of questions, don’t you?” The Artist asked, a forced grin on his face.

Cold was unmoved. “Only one more. Will we have artillery support?”

The Artist frowned and looked away. He faltered for a minute, looking for a way to say the answer. His pause was answer enough. “In order to facilitate surprise, there will be no preparatory bombardment. You won’t have artillery support.”

The chill of the cold morning air hadn’t woken Trench up, but The Artist’s statement certainly did. He knew that they were going to attack, and was ready for it, but no artillery? Celestia, no support, no preparatory. Around him everypony was reeling from the news, and for the first time he felt a bit uneasy. Cold raised his hoof again.

“Yes.”

“How are we going to deal with the second trench system that we know they’ve got?”

“We aren't, the battle ends for us when we clear our section and set up our defenses.” Cold moved to raise his hoof again, but stopped. “Any more questions?” The Artist asked, nopony responded, too shocked or too tired to question anything. “Get ready then, be out in the trench by 0245. Dismissed.”

Everypony got up in a hurry, eager to get back to their dugouts to get their affairs in order. Trench was at any rate, already trotting back with a sense of urgency. He didn’t know where the rest of his squad was at, but he didn’t care. Thankfully he arrived back at his dugout quickly, able to conserve minutes that were only too precious. He had to be completely ready for the big day, and probably needed every second. Nopony lit a lantern when they left, so the dugout was dark as night.

A white light illuminated from behind him and he glanced over his shoulder to see that Longshot was illuminating the dugout with his horn. “Over there,” he said as he pointed, and quickly Trench lit the lantern. Behind him he could hear more of the squad shuffling in, but he couldn’t be bothered right now with anything else.

He moved to grab up his Marechester when he felt a hoof on his shoulder. He looked behind him at Repeater, who looked concerned, maybe even pained.

“Partner, that can wait. Ah know that this is gonna be your first fight, but take it from me, Ya wanna write home first.” Trench looked behind Repeater, and the rest of the squad was getting papers ready. He looked back at Repeater. He had never seen him like this; his eyes were silently pleading him to put the gun down and pick up his pencil. Trench slowly nodded and placed it down. Repeater gave a sad smile. “Thank ya partner.” Trench reached for his paper and grabbed his pencil in his mouth. If everypony thought it was so important, he would write.

Behind him the dugout rumbled with noise as he put his pencil to paper. Dear Mom and Dad, he wrote. The pencil stopped moving. ‘Do I include my sister, or does she get her own letter?’ he thought. ‘Celestia, what do I even write?’ his mind whirred. There was so much to say, and there wasn’t enough time. He glanced back at his squadmates, all now present, and all now writing furiously. Repeater must have felt his eyes looking back, for he looked up from his writing at Trench. “I don’t know what to tell my folks,” Trench said.

“Celestia partner, somethin’. Anythin’. Ya just gotta write.” As soon as Repeater dispensed this advice his head was back to his paper. Trench looked back to his note.

‘Write anything. Right.’

Dear Mom and Dad,

We’re about to go over the top and attack in less than an hour, hopefully change the war and finally break this horrible stalemate. Like in all my previous letters, specifics are frowned upon, even though by the time this letter is even sent this battle will be over for the better part of a week. All that I think that I can say is that we are ready in almost every way that we can be. I’ve been training the rest of the squad (I told you about that) and they learned pretty quick. They have the experience to actually know what I’m talking about, but not training. I have training, but no experience. That’ll be taken care of soon.

I love you guys, and I even love Sunspot, but don’t tell her I said that. If this is it for me, I want you to know that I didn’t go for nothing, and I went with some of the best ponies that I could ask for.
I got to go now and get ready.

Love

Trench Broom (until they let me sign my own letters differently)

He quickly re-read his letter, and nodded in approval. ‘Good enough.’ He folded the paper and addressed it, then turned and put it into the mailbox on the wall. Hopefully somepony would come around and get it, but for him the issue was closed. now it was time to focus on the matter at hoof.

Trench trotted back over to his mat, and grabbed up his saddlebags from the end and slung them over his back. As he adjusted the straps he mentally started making a checklist of what he needed. ‘Saddlebags, MMMG, bayonett, magazines, grenades, smokes. Okay.’ Trench finished with his saddlebags and grabbed his MMMG off the wall. He undid the locking lugs and then pivoted the barrel down and away from the wood furniture. He pointed the barrel at the lantern and looked down it, seeing if the light illuminated any dirt or obstructions. Apart from the smooth spiral of the rifling it was clean, just as he left it. Trench snapped the barrel back down and put the lugs back in, and then he moved on to Eagle’s MMMG.

Trench looked at the rest of the dugout. So far he was the only one apart from Cold Blooded who was done writing. They must have had a lot more to say than him. He picked up Eagle Eyes’ MMMG and removed the lugs, repeating his earlier actions and looking down the barrel into the lanternlight. he smiled. Eagle Eyes actually listened to him when he taught him how to clean it. He snapped it shut and put the lugs back in.

‘Good, now the Bayonet,’ Trench thought as he grabbed up the item in question. He unsheathed it. Good, it was well oiled, and didn’t stick to the cover when he pulled it out. He ran his hoove over the blade carefully, feeling for any blemishes in the sharpness of the steel. None, good. He resheathed it, and tied it onto his saddlebags.

‘Magazines.’ He trotted over to a box by the wall and kicked it open, and started grabbing up 50 round mags for his Marechester and putting them into his saddlebag’s magazine pouches. There was only room for six of them, but there were twenty in the box to begin with. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he should do. ‘Yeah, I want more, ten for me, ten for Eagle’. He jammed them into whatever empty pouches he had on his left side and grinned. Now he had 500 rounds on him, and still room for the next item on his list.

‘Grenades,’ Trench thought, but he already knew that there were no grenades to be found in the dugout. Not that he wanted grenades in the dugout, but he knew that he would have to leave in order to get them. He looked over at the rest of his squad, all still writing. No, he didn’t want to go get grenades just yet. He looked up at the far wall. It was 0225. Twenty minutes till zero hour and they were all still lost in their own world of thoughts of home. They had to get ready for reality. He trotted over to Repeater and gave him a nudge, then pointed at the clock on the wall when Repeater looked up at him.

“Thanks partner,” Repeater said after seeing the time. “Everypony, wrap up your letters. Ya need ta be gettin’ prepped by 0230.” Nopony looked up, and Repeater went right back to his letter. Trench was left without anything to do but wait. No problem. If there was one thing the Cavalry had taught him apart from how to storm a trench, it was how to wait. He grabbed up his Marechester and slung it over his back, then leaned up against a wall and relaxed .

Trench looked across the dugout to the only pony that wasn’t writing. Cold Blooded had talked this morning. He hadn’t talked all week, and before that he hadn’t talked for nearly a year, but he talked this morning. Perhaps the thought that this could be his last day had loosened his lips. Now there was a thought, a pretty morbid one too. By the end of the morning Trench Broom could be dead. Trench frowned as he tried to think about that. What if he died? He couldn’t see it, and finally decided that he didn’t want to. It was more entertaining to think about Cold. He was definitely only talking because it was the big day, so now the question was how talkative was he?

Trench got back up and trotted around the writers, heading over to Cold. Cold was currently packing belts of ammunition for the Browns into his saddlebags, unaware or uncaring about the pony coming up behind him. Trench stopped short of sitting down next to the pony when he realized that he hadn’t quite figured out what he was going to do when he got there. ‘Geez, what do I even ask? What do I even say?’ Even though he currently towered over the earth pony, Cold still radiated an intimidating presence. Trench was still standing awkwardly behind him when Cold turned his head and looked at him with his piercing eyes. Trench stammered now that he was put on the spot. ‘Quick, say something!’ he thought.

“Uh, hey! Cold! Wanna talk?” He winced as he said it. ‘Geez that sounded dumb,’ he thought. Cold just looked at him with dead eyes, then shook his head and went back to packing ammo.

“Well, new guy, you gave it your best shot.” Trench looked over at Longshot, who was putting his letter in the box and trotting back over to his place on the mat. Eagle Eyes was chuckling behind him.

“Yeah, and your best shot was pretty pathetic,” Eagle Eyes jested. Trench gave him a look, and Eagle Eyes stopped chuckling. Nopony else was laughing along with them. It was quiet apart from the sounds of saddlebag straps adjusting and the mechanical clinks of rifles as everypony finished up their letters. On every other night and morning the dugout had a warm, safe feel. Today it felt like a graveyard.

“I’m off to get the Dragon, Sergeant. Be right back,” The Silent Specialist said from behind Trench, before the sounds of hoovebeats indicated he had left.

“Me and Cold are gonna get the Browns,” Joe said as well. Repeater nodded as he picked up his Marechester and tested the scope and the sights. Trench saw Eagle reach for his MMMG and pick it up, his hooves moving to the locking lugs.

“I already checked it,” Trench said, “and you did a good job cleaning it.”

“Well, I’m checking it again new guy,” Eagle said gruffly as he swung the barrel down. after one week he still hadn’t shaken that hard, angry attitude. Trench knew it was an act, sure, and suspected that Eagle may have even thought of him as a friend, but he could still be a first class jerk. ‘At least I still have one hoof up on him,’ Trench thought.

“Remember rank,” Trench said with a sly grin as Eagle looked down his barrel for blemishes.

“Alright then, I’m checking it, Corporal.” Trench was still amazed at how this pony could turn the word ‘corporal’ into the most contemptible and low occupation in existence just by how he said the word. He snapped the gun back up and reinserted the lugs. Across the dugout the others had their saddlebags on, and were now jamming as many clips as they could manage into every pocket they could spare.

“Remember to save room for grenades and smokes,” Trench said, and got a couple of nods from the rest of the ponies in the room. Repeater seemed to have finished and looked over to him.

“Ah’m headin’ off, gonna see if Ah can find out anythin’. Ya’re in charge here,” Trench nodded, and Repeater trotted out of the dugout. Everypony was getting close to being ready, and it would be only a few minutes before they'd be heading up as well. Eagle Eyes had packed his bayonet, and was now putting clips in his saddlebags.

“Just take the rest of them, put them where you can,” Trench said.
Eagle nodded and started stuffing the magazines where he could. After a few moments, he glanced over at Trench and spoke softly, “Yeah, hey, Trench, I gotta talk to you about something.”

“Yes?” Trench answered brightly.

Eagle raised a hoof abruptly. “Keep it down,” he said urgently, but still quietly. “Remember when you asked me about what it was like watching ponies get killed?”

“Yes.”

“Remember what I said?”

“You told me to shut up and stop asking.”

“No-no-no, when I told you what it was like?”

“Yes, your knees gave out and you got sick.”

Eagle nodded. “Yep, I couldn’t do anything for about a minute. Trench, for Celestia’s sake, you can't do that. Whatever you see, whatever you do, you can’t freeze or you will die.” Trench looked Eagle in the eyes, and in there he could see his emotions laid out bare. There was concern, there was sadness, but the overriding thing in the pony’s wide eyes was fear.

“Whatever I do?”

“Yeah. I just watched, and I still froze up. You’re a machinegunner, and if you do your job...”

Trench internalized this. If things went right, he was going to kill a lot of ponies. If things went wrong, he would be killed. For the first time he was getting a glimpse of how everypony else was feeling. The depressive feel of the dugout was beginning to get to him. He chose to push these horrid feelings aside, and looked up at the rest of the the dugout. Everypony else had their rifles ready, save for Hack Saw.

“Are we good to go up?” Trench asked. The rest of the room looked at him, sullenly, defeated. Longshot finally nodded on their behalf. “Okay,” Trench said, a little less enthusiastically. “Let’s go up.”

They trotted up out of the dugout, back into the cool night air. The stars still shone bright and numerous, but now the wonder seemed to have gone out of them. Repeater was already out there, looking out over the edge of the trench to the west. His eyes were glazed over, looking out but not seeing. Trench knew what he had to be thinking of, all the things that needed to be ready.

“Rifles are ready, Sergeant,” Trench said, snapping Repeater out of his stupor.

“Don’t be so sure, Corporal,” Repeater said grimly. “Bloody, Muddy, have ya’ll made the trench mirrors?”

“Yes sir, Sergeant,” Muddy said as he reached into his saddlebags and grabbed up a mirror, his brother reaching for his bayonet. Muddy slipped the mirror over the blade, then held it out. Repeater nodded.

“Give one ta everypony in the squad, and if ya got extras pass ‘em out. Anypony bringing wirecutters?” Longshot and the twins raised their hooves. “Good.” As the twins started hoofing out their mirrors Repeater turned to Trench. “What time is it?”
Trench glanced back into the dugout at the clock, and quickly replied, “0237 hours.” It didn’t seem like long, but nearly fifteen minutes had gone by.

“Alright, once Cold, Joe, and The Specialist come back, Ah’ll tell ya what Ah learned by askin’ around.”

“Is it good?” Longshot asked.

“No.”

“Of course not, why would it be?” Eagle fumed.

“Private, Ah really don’t need that right now,” Repeater said, and Eagle Eyes stopped himself. The pony that always smiled now looked like he never knew how to, his gaze fixed out on an unseen enemy.

Cold and Joe were coming down a rapidly filling trench to the squad. On Joe’s back was the Browns, idly pivoting from side to side on its saddle mount as he trotted over. Cold propped himself onto the wall next to Repeater, and the two of them shared the silence.

“Are ya’ll ready?” Repeater asked. Cold nodded, and with that the conversation ended. If it was possible the trench was quieter than the dugout was, despite the countless ponies around them. He needed somepony to talk, and maybe lift this oppressive mood. It would have to be him.

“Am I the only one who’s ready to give them a good taste of Equestrian steel?” he said brightly, a smile on his face to try and cheer them up. Whatever response he hoped to get didn’t happen; no agreement, no cheers. Nopony reacted in any way, all still wrapped up in their own thoughts and fears.

Slowly the smile that he wore faded, and Repeater turned to him, “Not today, Corporal.”

Trenches ears dropped completely. He hadn’t beaten the horrid mood surrounding them. He thought it would be different, that when they were finally allowed to go over and fight the Unicornians that they would be, well, maybe not excited, but willing and ready. Just by looking at everypony around him he could tell that there wasn’t a thing in the world that they wanted to do less than to go over, and that
despite the week of near constant training he had given them they were nowhere near ready. They knew something that he didn’t, and he already knew what it was. They knew how bad it was going to be. They knew something that no amount of photos, or questions or anything could prepare him for. And he was going to face this thing that they couldn’t even describe to him that had them all so afraid.

Trench got up onto the lip next to Repeater and Cold and looked out west. There was nothing to see but the blackness of the empty field under the star studded sky, but he felt a pit in his stomach by looking at it. He felt like they did, and it was eating him up.

“Sergeant,” he said timidly, and Repeater glanced over at him, his face still hard and contemplative. Trench kept looking back out at the west. “I-I’m, scared sir.”

Repeater’s face softened a little, “Ah am too partner.”

Trench kept looking out there, but somehow the admission lifted some of the weight from his shoulders. He was still afraid, but less so. Behind him he heard new hoofbeats on the wood floor.

“I brought grenades.”

Trench looked over his shoulder and saw the Silent Specialist, loaded down with the Dragon and a crate of grenades on his back. Trench leapt down from the lip and greedily began stuffing grenades into any space he had left in his bags. Two grenades, and two smokes where all he had room for, so it would have to be enough. Everypony else was doing likewise, and it took only seconds to empty the crate. Repeater started talking.

“Alright everypony, Ah asked around, and The Artist said that there is more to the plan, but none a’ the majors were told about it. Whatever it is, we just get to the back a’ their trenches. Remember what Trench taught ya. The twins shoulda given ya these mirrors, use ‘em. Every time ya get ta a corner look around it before ya just charge in. Ranking order is me, then Cold, then Longshot, then Trench. Understand?” They all nodded silently. “Good, what’s the time?”

“0244,” Hack said.

“Alright, at 0245 everypony stops talkin’.”

He didn’t need to issue that order, nopony was talking anyway. Up and down the Trench it got quieter as other squads had the same idea. The beats of hooves on the wood fell silent, the hushed murmurs diminished and died. Trench didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Hay, nopony did. But they were all the company he had as the squad stood at the bottom of the trench.

Presently he became aware of a feeble creaking and hoof falls on dirt behind him, but paid it no mind until he heard a dull ‘thump.’ He turned around, and saw at the top of the trench behind him a pair of ponies, one with a wire spool that had been unrolled on his back, standing next to a box of speakers. There were ponies like this every fifty yards or so, all setting up the speakers. Everypony in the trench had pivoted to face this strange turn of events, but already the ponies tending to it turned and left.

With a rumble of static the speaker turned on, and for a moment there was only white noise. Then a voice, a mares, soft, but resolute. Trench recognized it instantly, from newsreels and radio. It was Princess Twilight.

“It’s a dark night out tonight. Without Luna’s moon and the lights of Canterlot, its almost pitch black. If it weren’t for a few small stars in the sky, the darkness would consume everything and plunge us into blindness. These smallest of glimmers keep total despair at bay. We are all in our own dark night. You. Me. All of Equestria. We have been there for nearly a year now.

I’m certain that for all of you listening right now the night is darker than ever, darker than even the skies above you. There isn’t much light for you.

I know that you’re afraid, for all of your own reasons. You’re afraid because you don’t know the whole plan. You’re afraid of dying. You’re afraid of losing your… your friends. You’re afraid of losing... everything. And all of these fears stem from this: You’re afraid of going over the top.

It’s a dark night for you, but remember that you aren't the only ones in it. You’re afraid of the ponies seven miles west. I’m afraid for everypony behind them. In Vanhoover and Tall Tale, there are hundreds of thousands of Equestrian citizens who have been living in this darkness for nearly a year.

Right now we can still stop, we can call off the attack, and nopony will go over the top. Nopony dies. But we can’t do that, and I know that you can’t either. If we do, then we snuff out what little light there is for our countryponies out west. They will fall into despair, knowing that there is no hope for an end to their oppression. Their dark night will last forever. For the rest of our lives, we would have to live with the fact that the price of living was a few hundred thousand Equestrian lives...

This will not be our future. We are going over the top into this darkest of nights, and when Celestia raises the sun, we will rise with it to end the darkness on Equestria! This night, this nightmare doesn’t end when we stop taking steps back, but when we start taking steps forward! This night ends when we break their trenches!

I know you all have doubts; I know you wonder if you can. I don’t! Do you believe in us!? Because we believe in you! We believe that all of you will do what it takes to win today. We believe that you will rise with the sun and drive them back, and raise the sun of hope on this night of despair! We believe that you will be the ponies that will take the first steps in reclaiming the land that we love, and making Equestria whole again.”

The speakers went back to static, then cut out. The trench was still silent, but different. The mood had changed. At least for Trench, the fear that he had about going over the top had diminished. She was right, they had to go over. He was still scared of what could await him, but his determination overpowered his fear. He glanced at the rest of the squadponies, and he could see in their eyes that they shared it. He looked back at the top of the trench, and at the black sky beyond it. He was as ready as he would ever be.

“COMPANY! LOAD AND READY, SAFETIES STAY ON!” The Artist bellowed. The trench burst into noise as clips were placed into rifles and rounds rammed in, belts fed into machine guns and bridges closed. Trench grabbed up the first of his mags in his mouth as he reached behind him for his MMMG, placed the stock firmly in his shoulder, and quickly slotted the mag in. He looked over to Eagle Eyes, who was doing the same.

“Don’t cock it,” Trench said, and Eagle Eyes nodded. Around them clips from the rifles pinged as the bolts were pushed home and locked, but quickly the sounds subsided as the last ponies finished loading their weapons.

“FIX BAYONETS!” The Artist yelled. Trench grabbed his bayonet from his sheath with a satisfying ‘schiiink’ and locked it under his guns barrel. It was too dark out for it to shine, but he could still see the outline of the foot and a half length. Everypony else was doing likewise until the clicking of the bayonets stopped. Trench now looked up to the lip. This was it, all that there was left to do was go over.

“UP ON THE EDGE!” The Artist called out. Apparently there were still some things left to draw out going over the top. Trench hopped up onto the edge along with everypony else and place one of his forehooves over the top, the other still cradling his MMMG. His head and upper half were now out of the trench, and yet again he could see the barren field out west, his vision only obstructed by a few twisting strands of the wire fence.

The Artist issued no more orders. They all stood at the edge, one good leap up from being out in the field and out of the trench, but no calls for advancing or marching came. The more time dragged on, the more uneasy Trench was feeling about going over. He wished that they would hurry it up, but The Artist remained silent.

A few ponies shifted around to get more comfortable, the rustling of their bags and guns being all that broke the silence. If Trench didn’t know better he would have thought that the world reflected the unease that they all felt; that it was still but not still all at once.

In fact, it felt like the earth was shivering nervously underneath his hooves. It was very slight, but it was still there. Trench lowered and turned his head left and put an ear to the ground. It was shuddering. Repeater, the twins, and Cold and Joe were all looking out west. Trench tapped on the wood to get Repeaters attention, and once Repeater looked over to him Trench motioned to the dirt that he had his ear against. Repeater simply placed his hoof on the dirt and felt, narrowing his eyes before he nodded. Whatever it was, he felt it too.

Trench looked out west. Could it be the Unicornians? Was it possible that on this day of all days that they were trying something? Something was making the earth shudder, and whatever it was it was getting closer, the vibrating more pronounced with every passing minute. Out ahead the field was just as barren as it had ever been, nothing that he could see anyway. He looked behind him.

Where the field out west was barren, the field behind them was not. The mountain that Canterlot clung to off in the distance was shimmering, like fields on a hot day. Except that it wasn’t hot at all. Out closer the giant Equestrian flag at the rear seemed to be shimmering as well. Trench could have sworn that everything out behind him had the faintest of gold tints to it. All of this, however, was not the thing that drew Trench’s attention.

There was something behind the tint, moving over the pulverised dirt that the artillery had made over months of barrage. Trench had no idea what the hay it was, but whatever it was, it was big. A giant, ominous dark spot in a night that robbed his vision, one that rode up and down with the contours of the bombed out ground in a jerky, abrupt fashion. He could hardly take his eyes off of it, but in his periphery he could see more shadows. Lots more.

Trench felt some dirt brush against his hoof as it was shaken off the top of the trench, but was transfixed on the behemoths that slowly moved closer across their trenches. Everypony around him had turned to look at these things, but nopony spoke. Trench wasn’t sure anypony could right now.

“What in the hay is that!??!” said Longshot. Clearly somepony could.

Trench was losing his composure as the things got to within around 2 hoofball fields distance away. The most unnerving part was the absolute lack of sound that they made. They pitched and jerked along the ground, but they hadn’t made a peep. Nothing that big could be so quiet. The trench was shaking with the force of a small earthquake now, but these things hadn’t made a noise yet.

Trench looked over to The Artist, hoping that he at least knew what was going on or what those were. The Artist’s wide, scared eyes immediately told him the answer. Trench looked back at the things. They were getting closer.

Trenches eyes were drawn to the faint gold tint that covered everything towards Canterlot, and looked down. He could see where it ended as it touched the ground, and he could see that it was coming closer, closing the distance at the same rate as the things. It was almost at the trench. He didn’t know what would happen once it hit them, but backed up against the far wall to get a few extra inches away. He saw the edge of the gold spill into the other side of the trench, and then it was upon him. He closed his eyes.

It went through him. He didn’t feel anything, and with his eyes shut he couldn’t see anything, but his ears erupted with the most terrifying sounds that he had ever heard. It sounded like a hoof scraping across chalkboard, but louder than imaginable and unending. It sounded like the largest manticore in Equestria growling, only stopping to roar. It sounded like a hundred sledgehammers on concrete. It sounded like the world was coming to an end.

The sound broke any resolve that was in them. Trench frantically turned to jump out of the constrictive ditch, but all that was left of his rational mind told him that he could only get 50 feet before he’d be stopped by the wire. Around him everypony looked frantically for their own way out; it wasn’t an army anymore, it was a mob. As he desperately looked for some escape the sound of death was interrupted by a loud “BOMF” of a rifle firing.

“CEASE FIRING, CEASE FIRING! DOWN TO THE BOTTOM OF THE TRENCH! GET DOWN!!!” The Artist was screaming nonstop, but could still barely be heard above the hammering, screeching, roaring cacophony. Trench obliged immediately, leaping down to the bottom of the trench and trying to get himself as close to the precious ground as possible. Everypony else around him got down with the same wild urgency, only barely composed enough to be mindful of their bayonets.

The earth shook with an intensity that he had never felt, and the roar and screams filled his ears. He looked up with one eye at the dim stars above. ‘Celestia, Luna, anyone, don’t let me die here!’ he prayed frantically. The stationmaster he met at Ponyville was right; there was nowhere he would rather be than at home right now.

Above him the stars went black as the shadow of the black thing moved over the trench, it had almost moved to the other side when it pitched down toward him. Trench closed his eyes tightly and prepared for the worst, whatever it would be. Above him he heard a “CRUNCH” interrupt the noise. He cracked his eyes to look. The front of this solid thing had dug itself into the wood of the trench wall, and was now lifting itself out and away from him.

As it leveled out and straddled the trench he felt a wave of relief wash over him. Praise Celestia, this thing wasn’t going to crush him or kill him yet. The black thing that blotted out the stars above him came to an end, moving from the back wall over to the front with another hearty roar. The trench smelled like a fire, but the thing had moved on. Trench looked off to his left and right. More of the things of different sizes were bridging the gap, but everypony was safe in the depths of the trenches. Repeater lifted his head and checked the trench, the rumbling and noise was still there, but now it was receding.

“Get up!” Repeater ordered. The squad leapt up quickly, others also rising now that the immediate threat had passed. Trench propped himself up on the lip, now badly mauled to splinters by whatever the thing was that had gone over. He looked out west, and saw that the black behemoth was sitting immobile in the field, not 20 yards away. The shrieking, hammering, roaring noise was quieting, and then abruptly stopped, replaced by a low steady growl.

The entirety of the trench was watching these things as they sat. Trench himself was still buzzing with adrenaline, and the line radiated it as well. He saw the top of the thing expand and contract with a squeal like train brakes in the darkness, and recoiled slightly. Something moved on top of it, and for a second he thought that he saw a silhouette of a pony. The thing didn’t move for a second, and then a voice called out from it.

“Well! What are you all waiting for?! You just gonna let us beat them all on our own?!!” The silhouette popped back down into the thing with another shriek, before it roared to noisy life again and lurched forward.

“YOU HEARD THE PONY!” The Artist yelled suddenly, surprised out of his stupor. “OUT OF THE TRENCH! FULL ADVANCE!” The dumbfounded army lurched up out of their positions and onto the field, following in the wake of the monsters through the crushed remains of barbed wire fences. It was too dark to see what the rest of the squad was doing, but as Trench looked at the hulking object in front of him and did the math, a grin began to grow on his face.

If they had almost broke just by these things coming at them, how would the Unicornians react to them plus an army? The adrenaline was now burning away in the form of excitement.

“Sweet Celestia,” he muttered to himself, below the rumblings. “We’re going to win.” He looked at the thing in front of him and started laughing. He raised his voice up over the sound of the titans that aided them.

“SWEET CELESTIA, WE’RE GONNA WIN!”

Author's Notes:

Soon.

ish.