>You’re not even ten minutes in before you take your first loss.
>The point man tripped a wire and was doused in some sort of napalm or other
>burning substance. Douse is the wrong word, more like great jet of hellfire from above.
>He screamed and screamed, stumbling about, before any of you could draw a bead on him
>His munitions started cooking off. Bright flashes off of his chest as rounds started
>randomly firing. They didn’t have a whole lot of force behind them, but that didn’t
>stop you from taking cover behind a stalagmite. After a couple moments it stops,
>the screaming and the cook off.
“Anyone hurt.”
>”no.”
>”I’m good.”
>”same here”
“Well, lets get going.”
>Your group proceeds cautiously. You fail to encounter any more traps. Which is good,
>but your end of the tunnel also turns into a dead end.
>The trip back is much faster, since you knew it was clear of traps.
>You get back the opening and start climbing up since it’s already nightfall.
>You have heated food ready. As you requested.
>There’s no fire or lights, don’t want to give away your position to an aerial patrol.
>It’s not like they were needed anyways, full moon, no clouds, it was pretty bright.
>”Guys should I reheat their food?”
>”You mean they’re not back yet?”
>”Well shit”
>As if on cue you hear footsteps coming from the tunnel.
>In a heartbeat everyone has their weapons drawn, and had
>surrounded the tunnel entrance.
>”Hey! Hey! Don’t shoot.”
>You could see, a human figure coming down the way the missing squad went.
>He steps into the moonlight… he’s stark naked.
>There’s a rather long moment of silence.
>You fire, at your shot all the other clones fire as well.
>The human form drops straight down and forward.
>You can see the wide exit wounds on its back.
>You know it’s an it, as its blood and organs are a deep green.
>Well now you know how to stop infiltration.
 
>After the third day you fell back to take a more commander roll.
>You probably should have started with this.
>The western arm of the push had gone off without a hitch.
>The eastern arm was slower, meeting more resistance, but was otherwise doing fine.
>This campaign had turned into a slow slog, every tunnel had to be cleared, every square
>mile had to watched, and worst of all, every hole had to be checked on periodically as
>the changelings would fly outside of visual range and ‘recolonize’ a tunnel system.
>You were winning, but it was slow, secure you logistics structure hadn’t lost a single
>supply group yet, but still slow.
>Ever since this… endeavor… started you haven’t been the same. You find yourself
>somehow quieter and more aggressive. Dear lord you scared yourself last ambush.
>Maybe about sixty changelings, attacked the FOB you were at. It was a massacre.
>The heavy machineguns and rifles cut them out of the sky with ease, you would see
>The changeling activate some sort of magic encasing its self in a green ‘shell’, once the shell
>was up they became a bright glowing target. A line of tracers would follow and the green >bubble would just fizzle out, no bang, no pop, it would just go out like a switch.
>Only about twenty managed to land, they made the mistake of attempting to engage on
>the ground. The smart decision would have been to maintain low altitude and pick out
>individual clones. But no, they landed, to fight with tooth and chitin plate.
>At one point your Mossberg was torn from your hands. You stuck you knife in that bastards
>neck and pushed forward, turning a puncture into a massive gash.
>There wasn’t any malice behind it either, it was just business.
>It doesn’t keep you awake at night, but you do think about it a whole lot.
 
>You bring yourself back to the present.
>Right you came outside for a smoke.
 
>You finish your cigarette and walk back inside the tent, that map has been the center of
>your world for the past couple of weeks. You had surrounded the main hive entrance, but
>that wasn’t the problem, the problem was that the underground tunnels were still open in
>several areas, allowing more Changeling forces behind your lines. You’ve assigned all
>possible scout units to take care of this problem, but there simply weren’t enough of them.
>Ordering more would be foolish; the clones at the mirror pool were already working full tilt
>to replace infantry lost to traps and to supply the current forces with munitions and fuel.
>You rub your face in exasperation. You hear a distant RX-7, it’s getting louder,
>and louder. You plug your ears, it used to be a welcome noise, but now it was like taking a
>needle through the eardrum. You hear it shut off outside your tent. The flap opens, and in
>walks a dusty, spattered, unwashed, crazed man. You were sure you weren’t smiling like he
>was, but you had long ago reached the point where the clones started changing
>personalities. His teeth are disgustingly yellow, you sure hope you don’t look like him.
>”Package for you Anon!”
>Oh, and they started using your actual name as well now since they all had given
>themselves names.
“Leave it on the table”
>The yellow toothed scout drops the package on the table before walking back out,
>and driving back out with a whoop and a holler.
>Your still lost in your own thoughts as you pour yourself a drink, you dully notice
>It’s the same Whiskey rainbow gave you.
 
>Your mind is filled with questions as you sit on the tailgate of a technical.
>You’ve forsaken he glass in favor of the bottle.
>You know this is going to end poorly for you.
>That bitch always has an angle, you wouldn’t be surprised if Celestia had created
>this changeling army just to laugh at you. Luna to, why the hell didn’t she ever visit
>Your dreams when you we-… right human, magic resistant.
>What the hell are you doing here?
>Why don’t you just burn Canterlot to the ground? There are thousands of you and…
>and the mirror pool, your only source of human supplies, is within spitting distance of
>Canterlot, and Celestia and Luna are pretty much gods. Who wants to fight god?
“The goddssshh muuhsst be crazzzzy.”
>You barely slurred that one out, but you laugh at it anyways.
>So, fuck em’, this whole thing started because you were going to kill yourself
>What’s to stop you from taking them down too?
>Because you have something to live for.
>Those six fuckheads?!
>The ones who scorned and ignored you for years?
>Wait!?
>Six! Why the hell does Twilight even get consideration!?
>She’s hasn’t stopped trying to help you, you fucking div!
“Naauuuhh! SHE!...She! is, is, ismmm… is a no good… hooar!”
>”Go to sleep Anon”
“Fuh-fuck you… Donny!”
>The night guard shrugs and goes back to his post.
>Look here Anon, she may have been wrong, hell she made have made your life hell,
>but at least she’s trying her damnedest to help you.
>Oh yeah brain, what’s she doing now, huh?
>Fuck you need some water, and to go inside before changelings drag you off.
 
>Well shit you must’ve stumbled to the other side of the fucking camp.
>You’ve sobered up a little bit, so now your sober enough to walk AND sing.
>Maybe you shouldn’t sing, it’s like…
>check the watch.
>8:30
>Fuck really, you’re this sloshed and it’s not even nine?
>Whatever.
>You enter your tent, and set your handle of whiskey down.
>You haven’t finished it, but you did put a good dent in it.
>Fuck, lets get to sleep.
>Brush your teeth, yes even out here you still brush.
>Even in the woods, it was what you spent most of what little money you had.
>The hardest choice ever is cigarettes or toothpaste.
>On the way back to the bed the package the scout dropped off earlier catches your eye.
>Might as well open it. Huh, no sender information, or anything really.
>Just some sharpie on it saying ‘TO ANON, NOT FOR GENERAL DISTRIBUTION’
>Well, it must have gone through the mirror pool clones then, or as they call themselves,
>central manufacturing.
>Not like it matters, you draw your knife and cut the bindings, you pretty stumbling drunk,
>but you still have all your fingers.
>You open the box, it shoots confetti out everywhere with a resounding pop and kazoo
>noise. Panic, draw your 1911.
>Your breathing fast and you can hear clones from the neighboring tents arming themselves
>and stepping outside.
“Fal-FALSE ALARM!”
>You hear several swears and complaints but they go back to their canvas abodes.
 
>Alright who the hell is this from, you almost put a hole in your tent.
>That shock, sobered you right up, drunken apathy replaced by genuine interest.
>You place the 1911 on the map table and proceed to go through the boxes contents.
>The first thing you pull out is a stack of letters all held together with a rubber band.
>You place that aside, what else is there?
>A couple packs of those unfiltered Saddle Arabians, you silent cheer at this.
>A small little bag of cookies, smells good.
>A crystal pennant, you have no clue what its mean for, but it looks neat.
>A couple packs of gum.
>A small sack of nettle tea mix.
>a newspaper, what? You’ll check it out later.
>through the packing material (hay) you can see a little splotch of color.
>You reach in and pull it out.
>It’s a group photo of all six of them.
>Flipping it over reveals the text on the back.
“Please come back safe. Were sorry and we miss you.”
>Something clicks in your head. This is a care package!
>You hastily open up and read each of the letters.
>Each one is more heartfelt than the last, and the first was the most heartfelt
>out of all of them.
 
>Today is the day.
>The troops have been massed around the Changeling hive.
>You have your most experienced troops in the tunnels, under the command of you most
>experienced leader, #1. He was one of the few clones who kept his name.
>However the cherry on top? Just yesterday you received a shipment of 20 new
>120mm mortars complete with crew. What’s even better? The fact that twilight designed
>them off of the only 120mm mortar round in the ‘human cave’, then proceeded to train
>the clones that crewed them. They were easily the most disciplined soldiers you had.
>The battle line is quiet, the clone soldiers know that this is the endgame for the
>changelings. You, are currently sitting on the hood of a technical waiting for the signal flare
>from #1, to denote his readiness. You hear a scout car, strange, you ordered them to keep
>a patrol ring outside the combat zone to take out any stragglers. You hop off the hood and
>walk towards the roaring whining RX-7, the driver doesn’t even address you.
>The gunner however waves you down.
>”Yo, Anon, package for you.”
>He tosses you the box, it’s rather light.
“Did you really think this was a good time?”
>”dude, just be happy you got anything”
>With that the rex speeds back out into the distance.
>You look into the sky at #1’s position. Still no flare.
>You draw your knife and open the box. 
>On the top of it is note from Rarity, you can recognize the handwriting even before you see
>The signature.
“Dear Anon,
I do hope this package finds you well. Enclosed is something that might help solidify your leadership among your clones. I didn’t have all your measurements on file, once again, I do apologize about that. So I hid the collapsing buckle in the back. I do hope you like it, and that it serves you well.
Sincerely,
-Rarity.”
>You pocket the letter and overturn the box, pouring it’s content on the tail gate.
>You can tell rarity packed it as it has copious amounts of nicely colored wrapping paper.
>There it is. Rarity has hand made you a peak cap, reminiscent of the type that you would
>see on old soviet officers. It’s main color is the desert tan that your uniform is, with a black
>band connecting the top and the peak. The emblem however, it’s the cut rim of one of you
>spent 12 gauge shells. That means she had to search around Fluttershy’s cottage for it,
>then buff the metal. You pull your shemagh down to your neck and adjust the hat to your
>head, with that you pull the chin strap down so it fall off during the upcoming fight.
 
>”Anon! Up high!”
>Your head shoots up, that’s it the red flare.
>You stand on top of the technical’s hood.
>You actually made a cardboard megaphone for this.
“Men! Comrades!”
>The troops scramble to their positions, and begin to listen in on you.
“Today is our day! Do not leave a single one standing before our righteous fire! Remember that even leaving one larva alive is too many!”
>You raise your Mossberg over your head and yell out;
“Tiocfaidh ár lá!” (Our day will come)
>There is a deafening cry around you as the clones repeat this sentiment, it shakes you to
>the core, remanding you of the might of humans when they are determined, angry, and
>organized.
“All units, Forwards!”
 
>You take your spot behind your technical’s DSHK, the rest of the technical take off.
>You can already see a couple spurts of dust coming out of the ground. The underground
>teams are already sealing off all the escape tunnels, they were experienced with this.
>Out of the pits, climbs the experienced heavy infantry, already joining in the assault.
>That’s when the changelings showed themselves. They had prepared their defenses with
>almost as much skill as you had prepared the attack. As such their best magic users were
>put into groups of three, allowing them to overcome human magic resistance.
>A group at you 2 o’clock makes it’s self known, firing off a bolt at the engine block of the
>technical in front of you. It hits the armor plate on it, turning the steel into slag almost
>immediately. You rotate the mounted gun and fire; it throws great fantastic fireballs out
>the barrel. You’re moving fast but you still catch a glimpse of the changelings as you hit
>them, it’s odd. They seem to separate before the bullet hits, then whatever is left of them
>just goes flying back. Leaving a green mist and splatter from where ever they were.
>You only pegged two, but that’s fine, there are three more rows of technicals.
 
>More and more changeling ‘bunkers’ are sprouting up. Then you take you first loss.
>A changeling ‘bunker’ manages to strike between the armor plates on one of the technicals
>The engine erupts into smoke and fire, the gas lines and fuel tank follow in suit. Turning the
>transport into a flaming inferno, complete with screams of the dammed. The occupants of
>the vehicle roll out the sides in a vain attempt to escape death. The technicals behind the
>flaming wreckage don’t stop, or slow down, plowing through the still shambling corpses.
>Once the second technical is lost, you wave your signal flag, the technicals slow down to
>about 15 miles per hour. The infantry jump off the still moving vehicle with whatever
>equipment they need. Some of those dismounting from the front technicals have forgone
>guns, and have chosen different weapons. Sledgehammers, axes, and trenchbats all make
>an appearance as the human wave hits the changeling defenses.
 
>The technicals begin to spread out as the infantry take firing positions, the air is filled
>with the chatter of carbines, the booming of heavy machineguns, the whine of magic, and
>of course swears and screams.
>You release the mounted gun and pull out your ‘marker’ from it’s holder on the truck bed.
>The marker is actually a aerosol canister and a smoke grenade placed into two sliding
>metal tubes, very reminiscent of the fourwinds shotgun. You brace it in your armpit and
>slam the pieces together. The smoke marker flies off a good 200 feet. Giving target to the mortar team.
>You toss the marker over the side of the truck, you make a move back to mounted gun.
>something stops you however. Right in the middle of your vision you see a changeling
>’bunker’ go unsuppressed for a few moments, their horns charge in unison.
>Abort.
>You hurl yourself out of the technical, your driver sees this and follows in suit.
>You hit the ground and cover your head as you feel the heat of the explosion pass over
>you. Your driver isn’t so lucky, his upper half is coated in gasoline and burning.
>He’s rolling around trying to put himself out. You can spare the bullet, and you do.
 
>The driver stops rolling as his head is turned to mush by the Mossberg.
>You stay on the ground and crawl your way to the closest non-flaming cover you can.
>Which is an over turned, but otherwise un-damaged technical.
>there are already several clones behind it, firing from the sides of it with light machineguns
>and carbines. One of them spots you and motions for the others to give you covering fire.
>Three of the clones start firing at the nearest bunker, for a few scant moments, the magic
>bolts stop flying overhead. You stand and sprint to the cover. You make it over and one of
>the clones turns to you.
>”What the hell do we do now?
>As he’s saying this you become aware of a short growing shriek.
“Hit the deck!”
>The first 120mm round hits, throwing up huge amounts of dust and debri. A couple
>Changeling bunkers try to retreat, but are instead caught in the steel rain.
>You don’t look, you just keep your head down and protect your neck.
 
>The rounds continue to fall, you’re getting covered in dirt and mud, sometimes something
>chitinous and wet hits you. This goes on for what feels like hours. Finally it ends.
>There’s a small moment of silence where everyone checks themselves for shrapnel.
>You took a two small pieces through the hat, wither actually striking you. Lucky.
>You take a brief peak around the edge of the now shredded truck. There’s a couple
>changelings milling about simply trying to get their bearings after the shelling.
>You haul yourself on top of the wrecked truck, you have never felt this much energy.
>Okay, maybe the timber wolves, and manticore could.
“Keep moving! Kill them all!”
>Clones seem to pour out from everywhere. Every magic crater, every wreckage, seemingly
>out of the ground. The ones who move the fastest, and quickly take the front of the charge
>are those who had forgone the gun. You found them foolish, but impressive. One of the
>shell shocked changelings gets hit by a clone with a sledge hammer, it’s head whips around
>and deforms, the internal bones and exterior plates obviously shattered.
>The technicals come out to flank the infantry charge on either side.
>You use this moment to observe your surroundings, the main entrance is right in-front of
>you. A couple more puffs of smoke in the distance, #1 is still closing off the escape tunnels.
>A smoke marker far off, followed by the thumping of the mortar impacts, the scouts must
>might be having trouble. Either way your charge and responsibility is the main entrance.
>Which now houses a changeling counter charge.
 
>The fighting gets more viscous at the hive entrance.
>One notable scene that stands out is a group of changelings smashing a technical window
>through impact alone, the driver drew his sidearm and managed to take out the one in
>front of him, only to be grabbed by the ones behind it, dragged out and then dropped on
>the hood of another technical. Scenes like this go unseen as the human infantry tear apart
>the changeling defenders. You are stuck in the middle of it all, you can’t even pick targets
>anymore, you have no time to reload, and have resorted to clubbing changelings with the
>Mossberg. A great green beam comes down, incinerating the front lines of the fighting.
>It narrowly avoids you, taking the very edge off your boot. She’s here.
>The changelings suddenly back off and reorganize. The clones, as well as yourself
>are deeply confused. The fighting stops for a couple moments, allowing for an oddly
>commanding voice to break through.
>”Humans! Which one is your leader!”
>Without meaning to all the clones look right at you.
>good going guys. Chrysalis descends, occupying the space between the two armies .
>You unbutton you holster and rest your hand on your 1911.
>”Did Celestia put you up to this? Do you trust her? You fool I can off-“
>You draw and fire. Your round hits her left shoulder.
>Before she can react, you fire again. This round impacts the right side of her right eye,
>Blowing a huge chunk of chitin and goop out the back of her head.
>Come hell or high water, you’re getting that citizenship.
 
>There was no silence, no words, nothing from the clones at least,
>but the changelings went berserk, they shrieked, and hissed.
>Before you knew it they were tearing each other apart. Their friend or foe system
>imploded on itself. The whole only takes about five minutes before it’s down to the last
>changeling. Which just seized up and died. The clones stand there in silence for a couple
>moments, not knowing what to do you walk up to Chrysalises corpse. You squat down next
>to it. You tap what’s left of her skull with the 1911. It flops over.
>”Hell Yeah!”
>”Whooo!!!”
>The clones start cheering, the crowd mobs around you and lifts up both you and the corpse.
>All the while chanting;
“Tiocfaidh ár lá”
 
>All the forces gathered at the main entrance for a celebration.
>You however are sitting on the tailgate of a hulked out technical.
>You have a one way sending letter. Twilight custom made it.
>It cannot be magically tracked until it’s activated by burning it.
>You pull out a sharpie, usually the one you used for marking your map, but hey.
“Hello,
Chrysalis is dead. Will return soon. Inform Celestia.
Anon.”
>It seemed a little curt, but the paper was the size of a business card.
>You pull out your lighter and burn the paper, then you light one of those Saddle Arabian
>cancer tubes. You sit for a moment, enjoying not being in peril.
‘Zap’
>A letter falls into your lap.
“Dear Anon,
Great! I’ll go round everyone up and tell them the good news! Did the mortars work? I’ve never designed a weapon before I hope that they worked out well. I’ll see you soon.
Regards,
-Twilight Sparkle”
>Well, let’s get a beer in you now Anon.
>Seems like an appropriate reaction to what just happened.
>Upon reaching sight range of one of the many circles of clones, you reach up an open hand.
>They read the reaction immediately and throw you a can.
>You open it away from you, showering the parched desert.
‘Schwwwing’
>There’s a bright flash of light behind you.
>you and he clones all draw your sidearms.
>It’s the mane 6. You watch as a bunch of single use magic boosters roll around their
>teleport area.
 
>Well any ideas they had in their head about your living conditions here is shot.
>You’re spattered head to toe in mud, and two species blood. The uniform is torn in
>multiple places, cuts and bruises everywhere, ant to top it off your right pant leg is charred
>black from Chysalysis beam. You also have a gun pointed at them. Which you and the
>clones immediately lower. Once they see the guns go back into their holsters they relax.
“I’ll get you some beers then since you’re here!”
>You turn around to gather the drinks; you would rather let them take in the aftermath of
>the battles then try to explain it. You know that they’ve been in fights, hell one took out
>the library, but you know that they haven’t seen brutality like this. Especially since no one
>had cleaned up the corpses, any of them.
>You take a six pack from the cooler the clones were talking over. Earning a few
>compliments about your prize kill. You really don’t want to explain this to them.
>You turn around to see that all the ponies have broken apart and are simply mesmerized
>by the carnage. They wander through it, barley avoiding the drunkenly stumbling soldiers.
>The only one that stayed put is Futters. Oh, boy. Here we go. You take a deep long drag
>followed by a deep long drink.
“Hey, Flutters? You doing alright there?”
>”Wh-what happened here?”
>You look around at the wreckage. Fuck it, you’ve been honest and blunt this whole time.
“War, now you see why I was so against the princesses decision.”
>She just looks around. Slowly trotting around wreakages, sometimes hovering over them.
>You follow her, still expecting her to freak out at any moment.
 
>”So this is war then?”
“Er, yes.”
>”Thank you.”
“What?”
>”I guess if it had to happen somewhere, here would be better.”
>That was unexpected. You didn’t find I callous, rather, just accepting.
>”What matters is that you’re okay.”
>She hovers around shoulder height so she can give you a proper hug.
>You return it; you feel your stress melt away with it.
>You both stand there for at least five minutes real time.
>Eventually she takes her head off of your shoulder and looks you in the eye.
>Well this is happening. Yep.
>”Oh, excuse me.”
>You and Flutters both scramble away from each other.
>It’s #1.
 
>”Oh, uh, I’ll go see what Dash is up to.”
>GOD DAMMIT, YOU CAN’T CATCH A BREAK CAN YOU. GOD DAMN YOU #1
>GOD DAMN YOU, YOU RELIABLE SON OF A HOAR!
>”Uh, Anon, you okay, you look really red.”
“I’m fine.”
>Alright, easy, if it’s #1 what he has to say is important.
“What do you need to tell me?”
>”I understand that this celebration is nice, we barely have enough food and fuel to sustain
>the trip back”
“So we need to postpone the party?”
>”Yeah, at the minimum, the sun will set in a few hours, so unless you want to be driving
>through the night, we need to get moving.”
“Alright, start rounding everyone up. Just leave a technical, and I’ll meet you at the Las
Pegasus staging area”
>With that #1 walked off to perform his duties.