Manifest was sweating, and not because the Flyer had become an oven as the sun rose in the sky. He would love to pass it off as that, and he did have a good excuse if one of his subordinates asked him why he was sweating, but that wasn’t the reason.

Oh no, he was sweating because he was certain that the second he climbed out of the tank he would be arrested and jailed. A pretty good reason. The Duke would have him on a platter for what he did in the battle.

‘But you did the right thing and you know it,’ He thought. A small comfort compared to the inevitable punishments that he would receive. The voice in his head pressed on. ‘Everypony would agree you did the right thing, and if they do then nopony will arrest you, nopony will court martial you. You can fight this. If they’re going to send you to jail for saving dozens of lives, then you don’t want to be a part of this anyway. ’

The Flyer was approaching their depot, where they would refuel and refit, and where he would likely get carted off from. Nopony in the tank had spoken apart from a hoofful of orders since the battle had closed. He didn’t have much time left to get ready. ‘Alright,’ he thought, ‘Let’s go down swinging.’

Manifest turned around, and grabbed the machine gun off of the top of the radio at the turret rear. He said that he had radio issues in the battle, so now it was high time to make some radio issues. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Dead-eye glance over, then quickly look away and stare at the wall. He was still angry, still bitter. Manifest would have to do something with him soon. ‘Not until I make sure that I’m still going to be here,’ he thought, refocusing on moving the machine gun.

It was a pain to move, far too long to really maneuver around the crowded interior of the tank, and nearly too heavy for him to lift. He understood why they needed a big pony like Joe to carry it, it must have been 30 pounds empty. He looked down at the turret floor. Spent shell casings from the co-ax and the main cannon littered the floor. He slid the gun off of the radio, straining against the weight as gravity took over, but managed to ease it down onto the floor.

Now that the gun was out of the way he could easily take the top off of the radio, which he did quickly. Inside was a mess of wires, but he could figure them out fairly easily. Perhaps those years at the university would finally pay off. He turned the radio off and found a good wire; connected to the receiver, well within reach, and if he twisted his neck just right he could touch the base of it with his horn. He yanked it hard, severing it. He turned the radio on and switched to the all company frequency. He waited for any sound from the radio, but none came. Good. He shut it back off.

He didn’t have any wire strippers, so he bit the insulation off of the end of the wire. He put it back into place and touched the break with his horn. Just as he had learned in university he began to concentrate magic at the tip, not releasing it, but letting it build up energy. He could feel the heat from his horn on his forehead. He looked up and saw the wire beginning to glow red, just a few more seconds and it would be welded back together. The tank lurched to a halt beneath him.

“We’re back commander,” Lead said over the intercom. He finished up putting the wires back together, watching the copper solder together and cool as he let his horn off of it.

“Alright,” Manifest muttered, then he moved back to the periscope. They were back at the Unicornian’s first trench system, sitting in the cratered dirty field. The Equestrians had already moved carts of fuel and ammunition into position. Manifest swiveled the periscope left. The tanks were lined up in the field, and immediately to the left of his was the Duke’s tank. The dust tinted green and gold flag hung limply from the dukes antenna, and as Manifest looked the commander’s hatch sprung open and the Duke popped out. He moved with a purpose, an anger burning in his eyes. Manifest could probably guess where he was moving to.

He turned on the radio and switched to the platoon frequency. Out behind the Duke’s tank was Sure Shots, and nopony had emerged from there yet. Manifest hit the transmit button. “Sure Shot, can you read me? Over?”

“Copy Manifest, I read you,” Sure shot replied. Manifest sighed with relief, his repair worked. “What’s up?”

“Just checking my repairs to see that my radio is functioning.”

“Copy that, you’d better get out there Manifest, I think the Duke’s gonna have your head on a platter for dinner.”

“I think so too,” Manifest sighed.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks, Sure Shot. Out.”

Beneath him the tank shuddered, and then the comforting rumble of the idling engine cut out. “Orders Commander?” Lead asked through the comms. Manifest shrugged, no point in giving any real orders until he knew if he was still going to be around to give them.

“Take a break, be back here in one hour.”

Next to him Deadeye sprung to life, throwing off his headphones and beret and popping the hatch above him, scrambling out of the tank like it was on fire. The bright sunlight illuminated the dark interior as it poured through the hatch, forcing Manifest to look away as his eyes tried to adjust to the sudden light. As they acclimated to the newly lit interior, Manifest found himself looking at a picture taped to the wall.

There was a earth pony stallion, his mess of mane grown out so long that it almost covered his eyes, holding a colt in a headlock and giving him a noogie. The colt looked pained, but the stallion was grinning maniacally. The two looked similar, the colt almost a downsized version of the other, sharing the long and unkempt mane. Manifest looked closer. The stallion had a single playing card for a mark, but the picture was too small for him to tell what that mark was.

Manifest felt strange, nosy, like he was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be. He looked away from the picture and tried to pop the hatch, but it wouldn’t budge. The bar that locked it was still bent from when the Unicornian had attacked. Manifest moved over to the other seat, took off his headset, and climbed up out of the tank.

A hot breeze blew over him as he emerged from the tank, but compared to that furnace it was divine. He hoisted himself the rest of the way out, and got up to his hooves. The steel of the tank was hot to the touch, the heat radiating through his thick hooves into his skin. Quickly he hopped down from the turret, trotted to the front, and hopped back onto the ground. He turned around to look at the Flyer.

From here it towered over him, despite it’s smaller silhouette. The barrel of the cannon was blackened from constant firing, and the whole machine had a dusty tan deposited over its olive and brown camouflage pattern. Manifest trotted to the side, wanting to get at least one last good look in before whatever would happen next. Written on the turret side in a big and flourishing cursive was the name “The Fillydelphia Flyer”. This was not what Manifest was looking at. A dark, dried, and cracked stain partially covered the writing, with little streams running down from the big smear at the top. Behind this, laying on the engine deck just behind the turret, was the body of the mage.

“Oh, Celestia,” Manifest muttered. He hopped back onto the tank and clambered over the turret top. From up close, the mage was a mess. The canister shot did its job only too well. The mage’s armor looked like it had been battered with a sledgehammer, each of the canister shells ball bearings that hit denting the armor like it was made of putty, before terminating in a small jagged hole at the center of each blow. Even if they hadn’t gone through, the force of the hits would have broken every bone near it. Manifest looked away from the mage, up to the engine deck. The blood that still seeped from the body was flowing through the vents into the engine area. He couldn’t have blood pooling in the engine bay

Manifest looked back at the mage, nearly pained. “I am so sorry,” he muttered. He positioned his hooves for leverage, then pushed the mage’s body. Slowly it slid toward the edge, the armor scraping against the metal of the tank until it reached the edge. The body rolled off and fell to the ground heavily, kicking up a cloud of dust. Manifest looked at it for only a second. Blood was pouring from the wounds now that he had shifted it.

“Sergeant, get down off of that tank, now.”

Manifest looked up. It was time to face the music. He hopped down and trotted over to the Duke.

The Duke was small, even by Manifest’s standards. His horn hardly was in line with the top of Manifests head. If he was any thinner, he likely would have been malnourished. Manifest wasn’t used to ever looking down on anypony other than colts and fillies, but he did have to cast his eyes downward to meet the Dukes simmering glare.

“Sergeant. What is my rank?”

“Lieutenant, sir,” Manifest said crisply.

“And what is yours?” The Duke asked. Manifest felt a twang of annoyance. ‘Just get it over with’ he thought.

“Sergeant, sir.”

“Is my rank higher than yours?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then what does that mean, Sergeant?”

“It means that you issue orders to us that we must follow.”

“Then why the buck didn’t you do that today?”

“Because I was separated from the platoon and lost radio contact, meaning that I had to rely on my own initiative until contact was restored. Once contact was restored I acted to prevent my superior officer from violating the Equestrian armored forces code of conduct by shooting of surrendering enemy forces.” The Duke’s face reddened at this.

“Sergeant, I want to make one thing clear. I never want to hear you say ‘initiative’ again. I never want to hear suggestions on what I should do again. I do not want to hear you say anything other than ‘sir yes sir’ again. I never want to see your tank doing anything that I did not order it to do again. This is not your squad, and your combat experience doesn’t matter here. You do what I order you to do when I order you to do it, and you don’t try and tell me what to do in my squad.”

Manifest knew what the correct thing to do here was. He should say 'sir yes sir' like a obedient pony and then have it be done with. But he couldn’t do that, not with what this pony was saying.

“Sir, permission to speak freely, Sir,” Manifest asked.

“Denied,” The Duke said, a faint joyless grin growing on the edges of his lips as he said it. “Sergeant, I want you to say, ‘sir, yes sir’, and nothing else, and do what you are told.” Manifest tried his level best to keep his expression neutral. The Duke leaned in close, looking into his eyes intently.

“I know what you’re thinking, Sergeant. You think I’m some sort of nut. Most ponies would be lavishing you with praise. Oh, great job, you saved everypony. You probably think that you did the right thing today, don’t you?” The Duke paused, but Manifest stood immobile. “Well Sergeant, don’t you?”

“Sir, yes, sir,” Manifest said.

“Yes sir what?” The Duke asked, pushing in closer until he was inches from Manifests face. “Go on, say it!”

Manifest couldn’t take it anymore. “Sir, I think that I did the right thing today, sir.”

“Directly disobeying a superior’s orders?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Multiple times?”

“Yes sir.”

“Breaking the chain of command?”

“Yes sir.”

“Why?”

“Because I acted to save lives and uphold equestrian morality, sir!”

The Duke backed away, content now. “And would you do the same thing again?”

“Sir yes sir.”

The Duke nodded. “Okay,” he said. “SERGEANT SURE-SHOT!” A little earth pony scrambled over and stood at attention next to Manifest, throwing off a salute.

“Yes sir!”

“Sergeant Manifest is being demoted. You are now second in command of the squad. Dismissed.”

“Yes sir,” Sure Shot said, saluting and turning off. The Duke looked back to Manifest.

“I’m going to let you off easy, and give you another chance,” he said, the anger fading from his eyes, the edge leaving his voice, he sounded almost reconciliatory. “See Manifest, I know you think that you did the right thing today, and you know, you probably did do the right thing today,” the duke nodded slowly. He leaned back in, and the edge crept into his voice again. “That means that tomorrow you’re going to think that you know the right thing, and you’re going to break my orders again. And tomorrow you doing ‘the right thing,’ it will get ponies killed. And if you break an order and make the wrong call, it’ll be over for you. I will court martial you, and you will waste away in a cell.” He backed up again, striking that reconciliatory tone a second time. “Now, If I give an order, and it’s the wrong call, then that’s on me. You won’t get in trouble, you won’t have go to court, and you won’t have to go to jail. You won’t have the responsibility.”

Manifest didn’t have to think for a moment to understand the implication of what the Duke was saying, and had to think even less for his response.

“I will have to live with myself, sir.” Any goodwill in the Duke’s eyes vanished. Perhaps he should have thought a little more about his response after all.

“Just follow my bucking orders, Sergeant, and you won’t spend the rest of your time in the cavalry in solitary. Now re-arm and refuel all my tanks, and clean them too. Understood?”

“Sir yes sir,” Manifest answered sharply. The Duke turned to trot away, then glanced over his shoulder one last time.

“And Sergeant, I’m revoking your next leave.” He smirked a little, then trotted off.

Manifest stood in position for moment while the Duke left. That actually went better than expected, and if he had just kept his dumb mouth shut it would have been just a chewing out and minor demotion. Now he had to do the maintenance on all three of the platoon’s tanks. He sighed, no leave too. He shook his head. "You stubborn, proud idiot.” he muttered to himself. He didn''t know if he was talking about himself or the Duke.

Well, he would have plenty of time to think about that as he worked on the tanks. They all needed to be ready by the time Celestia raised the sun the next morning, and there was a good bit of work to be done. He had to fetch the ammunition and resupply the tanks, find gasoline and fill the tanks, and clean out the gun barrels. He probably had to clean the co-ax’s as well. He looked over to them. At least it wasn’t muddy out, otherwise he’d have to clean the tracks as well, and that would be nearly an all day task without help.

The Duke’s crew had scattered, and Manifest couldn’t find Dead-eye. Lead was laying out under the front of the flyer, hiding in it’s shade from the sun. Only Sure Shot’s crew was working on their tank, already having fetched a cart of the 6 pounder rounds.

“Sure Shot, you guys can take a break. I have to resupply and refuel all of them.”

The earth pony wheeled around. “Oh, thank you Manifest,” he nodded. He turned to his crew. “Alright guys, clear out.” As the two others broke and trotted off Sure Shot turned back around to Manifest. “You’re too kind for taking the time out of your day to do this for us.”

“Duke’s orders,” Manifest said, lifting up the first of the 6 pounder rounds.

“You aren’t under arrest, and it seems like you’re still here, so it wasn’t so bad, right?”

“Yeah, he took my next leave though.”

“Pfffft,” Sure-Shot said dismissively. “If everything goes according to plan the war will be over in a month.”

“That’s a big ‘if’,” Manifest sighed. “Things usually don’t go according to plan.”

“Eh, they did today. Busted a 20 miles wide hole through their trenches, eliminated all pockets of resistance. Can run around their rear positions. If they don’t turn and run for their homes we’ll be able to cut all their supplies. Manifest, I think that we can really win this in a month. The next leave any of us get might be the one where we all go home.”

Manifest shook his head as he grabbed the next round. “If they fall back across the galloping gorge and manage to blow the bridges behind them, it won’t be.”

“Operation Eagle will work.”

“Maybe,” Manifest said. Sure Shot looked around cautiously, then leaned in closer to Manifest.

“So, was the Duke really all angry with you because you saved his flank?”

“Because I broke his orders,” Manifest said.

“Yeah, but if you didn’t you know that he would be court martialed for killing POW’s, right?”

“Yes, yes I do,” Manifest said, putting another round into place.

“I don’t get it, dude,” Sure Shot said. “I don’t get it. Any other pony would be like, ‘oh wow, you saved me from making a terrible mistake and spending the rest of my life banished in a dungeon. Have this medal. Have all of them.’ You know, not saying ‘oh wow, you saved me from making a terrible mistake and spending the rest of my life banished in a dungeon, I’m demoting you.”

“Yeah,” Manifest grunted. The shells were not too heavy, but their weight was adding up, and his forehooves were getting tired.

“I just don’t get it,” Sure shot said again, shaking his head even more. “Like, where does a pony like that even come from?”

“Huh?”

“You know, what happened to him to make it so that he gets mad that you pretty much saved him from being universally hated?”

“I don’t know,” Manifest said, loading in another round.

“You know what I think?” Sure Shot asked. Before Manifest could give an answer Sure Shot plowed ahead. “I think that he never had any friends.”

“Really?” Manifest grunted.

“Yeah, I think that he never had any friends. Think about it, he acts like a jerk all the time to everypony, and I think he does that because he doesn’t like anypony because he never had any friends.”

“So? He could make some friends, we all haven’t been mean to him or anything.”

Sure Shot scratched his head. “Well, maybe it because he’s short.

“We’re all short,” Manifest grunted.

“But he’s like, really really short. Like maybe he was all insecure because everypony’s taller than him, and he doesn’t have any friends… I know it.” Sure Shot nodded. “I know where he came from.”

Manifest rolled his eyes. Sure Shot was about to come up with a crazy story. He could already tell.

“He was a elementary school teacher. He never had any friends, and he has no self esteem because he was short, so to build that self esteem he wanted to be listened to and have ponies do what he told them to. He wanted everypony to look up to him, yeah?” Manifest nodded absently. “So I bet that he wanted to be like a professor or something, but then everypony was like, no dude, you aren’t smart enough, so then he became a elementary school teacher. So here he is trying to get all of these colts and fillies to listen to him, but they’re colts and fillies, they don’t care. So he’s short and has no friends and never got what he wanted in life and no one listens to him, so the second he gets in charge of something he’s all like ‘do exactly what I say even if it’s a war crime’ because now we have to listen to him.”

Manifest felt slightly uneasy. A lot of those descriptors, low self esteem, never got what he wanted, seemed to match him around a year ago. Only the fact that Amber stuck with him kept him from ticking all those boxes.

“You think that I’m right?” Sure Shot asked.

“Maybe,” Manifest answered as he kept moving the rounds into place.

“Dude, I think that I’m right. I can figure ponies out really easily.” Sure Shot fell silent, allowing Manifest to take the last 6 pounder from the cart and load it into the tank.

“You know what, the only pony that I can’t really figure out is you,” Sure Shot finally said thoughtfully. Manifest looked over to him, Sure Shot was studying him like he was a statue at an art gallery, as though if he looked hard enough he would find all the answers. “I don’t get you at all.”

“Really?” Manifest said as he shut the small ammunition port and moved to saddle up to the fuel cart. “What don’t you get?”

“I don’t get why you didn’t take platoon leader when they offered it to you.”

Manifest’s body betrayed his emotions as his ears dropped instantly. Sure Shot noticed, but kept going with his thoughts. “Like, what I know about you is that you seem like a alright pony, your gunner and loader like you. You can come up with a good plan on the fly like you did today. You have some compassion because you helped out those Unicornians at the Battle of Canterlot. You gotta be pretty brave for what you did at the Battle of the Galloping Gorge. Dude, you’re pretty smart, pretty brave, you get along well with ponies, you aren’t a jerk, and you’re a war hero. So how come whenever they offered you the platoon you turned it down?”

Manifest saddled up to the fuel cart, all the nasty emotions and doubts associated with that question resurfacing. Sure Shot looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. He remembered something that Repeater had told him back at basic. Talking about something usually helps.

“I didn’t think that I could do it,” Manifest said, “and I didn’t think that I wanted to.”

“Why not?”

Manifest sighed as he pulled the cart to the back of the tank. “If I make a mistake, ponies die and it’s on me. I’ve never had responsibility like that. Hay, I’ve never had responsibility in general,” Manifest said. “I’ve never been in charge of anypony or anything, so how the hay would I be able to lead 3 tanks and 8 ponies into battle? I certainly wouldn’t be a good captain, and I probably wouldn’t be a good lieutenant either.”

“You’d be better than the Duke, easily,” Sure Shot piped. Manifest shook his head.

“I don’t know that. I don’t know that I wouldn’t make a mistake and get everypony killed, or that I’d be any good at leading and helping and doing all the things that a lieutenant has to do.”

Sure Shot shrugged. “Dude, anypony can make a mistake. Me, you, if you let him the Duke would have made a mistake so big all of us would be behind bars. And I think that you’ve put more thought into how to be good at helping and leading than the Duke has. I mean, I guess that I can understand that you might be a bit afraid of the responsibility, but sometimes there are things that you just gotta do. And you may not want to do it, but I think that you could.”

Manifest shook his head vehemently. “I don’t. I can hardly keep charge of the two ponies beneath me.”

“What? Deadeye and Lead Hooves love ya." Sure Shot waved his hoof dismissively. "You’re too hard on yourself.”

Manifest sighed wearily. “Deadeye doesn’t. You remember when I fell behind in the battle?”

“Sure thing. Radio trouble, right?”

Manifest shook his head. “I lied. Deadeye lost it after he shot the canister into the trench. He couldn’t do it, so I took his seat and made him load. I think he hates me for it.”

“Geez, does the Duke know?”

“No, not yet.”

“Well, you have to do something about it. If the Duke finds out that your gunner can’t shoot, he’ll have you for it.”

“So what should I do?” Manifest asked.

“I don’t know, something.”

Manifest looked over at The Flyer, thinking, remembering. “My old sergeant would know what to do. He always was able to figure out how to help.”

“Then just do what he would do.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You won’t know if you don’t try. I’ll keep a hold of the fuel cart, you go and find Deadeye.”

Manifest nodded. Sure Shot was right. He had to try something. And he knew that he had to try something. He just didn’t know what the right thing to do was, other than to try and talk to Deadeye. It would be a start. “Thanks, Sure Shot. I’ll be back.”

Manifest unsaddled from the fuel cart and trotted over to The Flyer. The mage’s body still lay there, gathering a few buzzing flies around it. The stench of decay mixed in the air with the smells of oil and gunpowder. Manifest trotted by the body, looking away. His crew was nowhere to be seen. “Lead!”

“Down here, Sergeant.” He heard from under the tank. Manifest lowered his head down and peered between the road wheels. Lead Hooves lay out under the tank, writing on a scrap piece of paper.

“What are you doing down here?”

“Shade,” Lead muttered as he kept writing, his pen moving through the air by its own volition.

“Where’s Deadeye?”

“He’s in the turret. Hopped back in just as soon as you went to see the lieutenant.”

“Thanks,” Manifest said. He trotted over to the front of the tank and hopped up, climbing up the front armor and onto the turret. The Commander’s hatch was open, so Manifest peered down inside. Deadeye was sitting in the gunners seat, looking at the one picture on his side of the turret. He noticed Manifest’s shadow imposed on the light that came in through the hatch and turned quickly, squinting into the sun.

“Mind if I come in?” Manifest said hopefully. Maybe Deadeye had calmed down.

“Yeah, buck off and leave me alone,” Deadeye snapped. Clearly he hadn’t. Manifest almost turned and left, but didn’t. Repeater wouldn’t leave. Maybe Deadeye was angry, and maybe he did want to be left alone, but he also needed someone to help him. Manifest dropped down into the tank, and took his seat. He leaned back against the wall of the tank so that he could see Deadeye past the breech of the cannon. Deadeye kept his back to him and his head down, refusing to turn around.

“How are you doing?” Manifest asked. He winced almost as he said it. ‘Stupid question, we all know.’ Deadeyes response was exactly what Manifest thought it would be.

“Oh, gee, I’m just peachy Sergeant. Just blew 50 ponies into bucking meat chunks is all.” Deadeye practically growled his response.

“I’m sorry,” Manifest said. “I know you feel terrible. I know how you feel because I’ve been there.”

“No, boss, I think that you don’t,” Deadeye said pointedly as his head snapped up. He still had yet to turn around. “You may think that you know how I feel, but you don’t, because you don’t care. You don’t give a damn.”

Manifest hardly believed what he heard, and hardly knew how to respond. “Deadeye, if I didn’t care about you, I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

“Yeah, you would, and you know it.” Deadeye said bitterly. “You know, I may have joked around all the time at camp, and may seem like a idiot, but I wasn’t born yesterday. The only reason that you’re here now is to try and keep me in this bucking metal box killing ponies so that you don’t get in trouble.” Manifest sat for a moment. He had been called out. Deadeye knew it, and he knew it too. He tried to come up with some sort of rebuttal, but he sat for too long. The silence was confirmation enough. “That’s what I thought.”

Manifest didn’t know what to do. No, wrong, he did know what to do, he just didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what Repeater would say. Abruptly a thought burst through the haze in his head. ‘It doesn’t matter what Repeater would say, what matters is what you would say. Just talk and see where the conversation goes.’ Manifest nodded to no one, and made up his mind. Honesty was the best policy.

“You’re right, but only a little,” he said. “I do need a third crewpony, and if the Duke finds out that I’ve lost one he’ll have me, especially after what I did today.”

Deadeye snorted, “I hope he does.”

“But that’s not the only reason I’m here, Deadeye. I’m here because one of my crew needs help, and I have to help him.”

“You really want to help me?” Deadeye said, turning in his seat for the first time. Manifest looked into his bloodshot eyes, he had been crying. “Then let me go. Kick me out or whatever, but let me get the buck out of here and go back home.” Manifest looked at the pony. He was a wreck, and Manifest knew, deep down, that Deadeye was probably never going to be able to do his job again.

“OK,” Manifest said. “Once I get done with my work here I’ll tell the Captain, and I’ll try to get you home as soon as possible.”

Deadeye looked surprised, denied the fight that he had been preparing for. “So… so that’s it? You’ll just let me go home?”

“Yeah. I know that you can’t do it, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You’re no good to me here, and you don’t want to be here, so I won’t keep you.” Manifest sighed and shook his head. “I may as well tender my own resignation as well. Once the Duke hears that I’m letting my gunner go, he’ll have me ejected from the calvary and back home by the end of the day.”

“Wh-what?” Deadeye studdered, eyebrows furrowed and head cocked in confusion. “You have a way out, you have a ticket home, you can leave this friggin’ can and this war behind.” He said, finally finding the words. He pointed up at the open hatch behind Manifest, at the light that streamed in. “I’m giving you a chance to go home. I go home, you have no crew, you go home. You don’t have to kill, and you’re sad?!” He shook his head, then looked at the floor. “I don’t get it. I don’t get it. I feel like I’m the only sane pony left, and everypony else has gone crazy.” He looked back up. “How do you do it? What, do you like killing?”

Manifest furrowed his brow “No, nopony does, and-”

“Then why don’t you take the ticket home? Heck, back in the battle why did you take my seat and keep shooting? You could have said that I couldn’t hack it and that you weren’t combat effective, and then you wouldn’t have had to kill anypony. But you did it anyway. Did you see what it did? How they hay can you keep doing that?”

Manifest started to answer. “Because I had to-”

“Bull!” Deadeye said, nearly yelling. “You didn’t have to! You could have stopped, but you didn’t! You saw what that gun did, and you kept doing it! How?!” Manifest opened his mouth to answer, but Deadeye didn’t stop. “ All those ponies, all tore up, all dead! Back in Equestria that would be murder! Mass murder! Celestia, I don’t even know how many ponies I murdered.” Tears started to well up in his eyes, and his breathing became ragged and heavy. He turned away from Manifest.“I blew them all away… and you were the one who made me do it.”

Manifest waited for more, but it didn’t come. Deadeye wept silently, a tear occasionally running off his face and falling to the floor. “Deadeye, I know that you don’t want to talk, least of all to me, so I’ll be on my way in a minute, but first I want to answer your question.” Deadeye didn’t react. “You ask me how I do it. It’s not easy. It never gets easy, but it does get easier.” Deadeye shook his head, but said nothing. “It does. My first kill was at the Galloping Gorge. It was a mage. He had just lit a squad on ponies on fire, right in front of me. I watched them burn to death. And then the mage came for me. And I knew, I knew, that I was going to die right there in a hole hundreds of miles from home. But then I killed him. Killed him on accident. And then I killed five more.”

Manifest paused, wondering if Deadeye would interrupt, or say anything, or respond. He didn’t. Manifest continued.

“It was either he dies, or I die. If I didn’t trip over myself and accidentally shoot him in the head, he would have burned me to death. I know it’s awful, but that’s how I do it.”

Deadeye shook his head. “They couldn’t touch us. Not in here.”

“Maybe. But if we left them they would have killed the griffons, or the calvary. And they would have died because we didn’t stop them. I don’t just kill because I don’t want to die, I do it because I don’t want any of us to. I want everyone to be able to go home at the end of the war, to get back to their family and friends and how things used to be.”

Deadeye looked over abruptly. “So what about the Unicornians, what about all of their friends and family? Do they not matter?”

“You know I don’t think that,” Manifest said, slightly annoyed at the implication of Deadeyes questions. “I got demoted today because I went over the Duke’s head to keep him from shooting retreating Unicornians. If I didn’t care, I would have just followed his orders and kept my rank. If I can, I try to help. It’s just hard to help somepony who’s trying to shoot you.”

“So that’s it? I just say ‘him or me’ and that’ll make everything better? That’ll take away the pain and the memories?”

Manifest shook his head sadly. “No, it won’t. It’s a hay of a thing, killing. You take away everything that pony is, and everything they’re ever going to be. It’s not something anypony can get over easily. Even after I saw an entire squad of ponies put to death at his hooves, I still felt terrible about killing that mage. I couldn’t get it out of my head for days. I still think about it sometimes.” Manifest saw it again in his head. The perfect little hole in the mages skull, just below the horn, and the jagged eruption of flesh and bone at the back. He shuddered, and put it out of his mind. “For a few days… that was all I saw, all I thought of.”

Deadeye sat quietly, the tears no longer flowing. “Is there a way to forget?”

“No.”

“That’s all I want to do. Just forget it all and go home.”

Manifest looked Deadeye over. His hair was messy, his fur matted with tears and sweat, his nose runny, and his eyes bloodshot. He looked terrible. “There isn’t a way to forget, but I found that talking about other things helps to take your mind off of it. Want to talk about anything?”

“No. I just need to be alone.”

“Alright Deadeye. I’ll leave you be. Just… try not to think about it while I’m gone. Find something to keep you busy. It won't make you forget, but it'll keep your mind off of it.” Manifest turned and stood up, popping his head out of the hatch and back into the hot breeze of the day. At least it was still cooler than the tank was. Manifest lowered his head down one last time and looked at the forlorn gunner over the breech of the cannon. Deadeye had his back to him, and was looking intently at part of the tank’s wall. Manifest glanced over to the turret front, at his pictures of Amber, his parents, his squad, his note. He knew what Deadeye was looking at. And he knew that he couldn’t leave. He sat back down in the commander’s seat, and looked back at Deadeye.

“Maybe you shouldn’t go home just yet.”

“And why the hay not?” Deadeye growled, his body tensing as he said it.

“Deadeye, I’ve only know you for a few months, and I know what you’re like. And it is isn’t like this. Do you want to go home to your family and friends and have them not be able to recognize you? They’ll know something's wrong, in a big way, and they’ll be worried sick about you. And they may not be able to help. Do you want to do that to them?” as Manifest spoke, Deadeye’s body relaxed. His shoulders dropped, then his ears, then his head.

“No, I don’t. but you’re going to put me back on this damn gun, and I’d rather do anything else before I pull the trigger again.”

“You won’t pull the trigger. I sit in that seat, and you sit here. I can do the guns and the radio, all you do is load and maybe shoot smoke rounds.”

“And if I don’t want to help you kill ponies by loading that cannon?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,” Manifest said, pressing his advantage. “But for now you sit in my seat, and I sit in yours.”

“It’s… if I say yes, I’m stuck here. In this prison. For I don’t know how long.”

“One week. At least to get you back to some sort of normalcy before you leave. You may even be able to outlast me, with how I’m ticking off The Duke.” Deadeye still had his head dropped, and his eyes closed in thought. “Do it for them, at least.” Deadeye raised his head and looked at the turret wall, toward the photo that Manifest knew was there. He stared for a moment, then nodded his head.

“Alright. I’ll stay. For one week. For them.” He turned to Manifest. “But that’s it, after that I’m gone.”