I believe I should give this a shot...

[PlsDeleteAccount 157]

Well, it's been a long while since I last wrote any narrative story, and after having a look at this section of the forum, I came up with the idea to try and write something... just for the sake of it.

 

The idea behind this story was to, first and foremost, create a new kind of scenario for an Equestrian conflict. Normally, when people write about 'wars', they tend to focus their stories either on modern times (1900's or earlier) or go all the way back to the middle ages, the age of chivalry and melee warfare. Here, I present you a new kind of war, one that resembles a forgotten kind of warfare, which is rarely used for writing stories: the Napoleonic Age.

 

This story in particular was based on a previous set of pieces I wrote, but never published due to them being... well... horrible in the literary aspect. The idea of a conflict set in the early 1800's opened up a great deal of possibilities for me, since it was the time when both political and military powers were engaged in a brutal war, which lasted almost 15 years.

 

In order to write this, I mainly based the plot on the Sharpe series. For those who don't know, Sharpe is an old TV series from the 90's that depicted the life of an officer from the 95th Rifles, who was raised from the ranks and made commander of the Light Infantry unit in the South Essex regiment, a fictional unit.

 

I based it on Sharpe because, as opposed to most films from that time period, this series shows clearly the life of the average soldier, the officer and the high command of the Napoleonic Age, how each group behaved and reacted to their 'day to day problems' (such as a French cavalry unit charging the camp, assaulting a fort, killing French people or getting money from the British Crown).

 

Well, bugger it. Enjoy my attempt at writing stuff.

 

 

 

The West Riding -Chronicles of a Light Hoof Ranker

 

 

Sometimes, life can play very cruel jokes on us. Many of those jokes might as well end up in disaster, and may have big consequences, such as the loss of a loved one, be it by death or merely a break up in a relationship. Here, I want to focus on the first possibility: Death.

 

Now we all know death’s face, yet we shall never know how it looks like until we see each other face to face for a few seconds, then darkness and utter nothingness takes over. I, personally, do not believe in the so called ‘heaven’, for us soldiers are destined to die in ‘glorious combat’. There is no such thing as heaven, laddie, but hell does exist. It can also be called ‘battlefield’, and I’ve known that ever since I enlisted into the Hoovensharian Line of Hoof.

 

I was around your age, just 18 years old when the recruiting sergeant came to town. I had no job, no education, no flank mark. I had nothing to lose, and in all honesty, the army seemed like a great idea at the time. Hoovenshire was at peace, with no signs of war at all. Even though I knew enlisting would mean a great deal of physical and mental training, little did I know about the ‘secret’ wars the electorate was fighting...

 

I took the shilling. Before I knew it, I was sent to West Riding, one of the most... unpleasant regions in our electorate, to say the least. The cold and thick snow made the basic training even harder to carry out. We were tasked to clean up the snow from the parade grounds every morning... A hundred square meters had to be cleared from that thick, cold pain in the arse.

 

Training itself was tough. As the Hoovensharian Army had very few enlisted colts, it was required that those few were skilled enough to beat a much bigger army. Basically, a common Line Hoof soldier was drilled and trained as hard as to be compared with the Equestrian Elite Sunstream Guards. This, despite the electorate’s unconditional surrender a few months afterwards, proved quite useful.

___

 

Two months had passed and I was now officially a private, or rather, a ‘ranker’ in the 3^rd West Riding Light Hoof, the small, skinny earth ponies who could gallop fast and take accurate shots at longer ranges than the others. However, the ‘skinny’ thing was a problem. We were issued bayonets, but, in theory, we lacked the strength to stand a chance in melee combat, thus making us somewhat useless without a loaded piece. Nevertheless, we would later prove that statement was wrong.

 

It is safe to say that nobody saw the invasion coming. At least, not us rankers. One minute everything was fine and dandy, then an ensign ran into the camp ordering us to take our equipment and dig an earthwork fortification. The Zebricans were coming, and we had no idea on what was going on. One of the sergeants approached the weary officer and asked what was going on. The officer turned to face him and muttered something, then yelled for everyone to hear.

 

-“Glascow has fallen to the Zebricans! The hightrotters are dead! If you want to live, take up your shovels and dig, for they are coming for us next!”

 

Not a second had passed before everyone got to work. Within a few hours, the camp was turned into an earthwork fort, with only one cannon and little ammunition for it. The officers all got inside a tent and began planning on how to defend the improvised ‘fort George’ attempt. One of them, Captain Ross, came outside a few moments afterwards. He walked onto the battlements and politely asked us to listen to him. “Alright boys”-he shouted in an outrageous Equestrian accent. “Now I do not want to put much pressure on ya, but if we do not hold for at least two days, the Electorate’s people will die. As we speak, thousands of Equestrian and Hoovensharian troops are evacuating the region, for we stand no chance against the incoming army. We are the Forlorn Hope, and the fate of our people lies on our backs.”

 

We were going to die. We were going to die a slow, painful death, in the name of our people... And we were proud of it...

 

But...

 

IT NEVER HAPPENED. The Zebricans did not reach our small fort in time, and by the time they got there, we were sailing east, towards Mareheim, together with most of the Hoovensharian Army, or rather, the new Equestrian Army. The electorate was no more, the Prince Elector, Uhlan III, was now a general of the Equestrian army, and we were under his command.

___

 

Everything seemed so peaceful and quiet on that ship... to a certain extent, of course. Even though we kept on training every morning, we had the afternoon free to do whatever we wanted. Some... well... most of the lads went straight to the supply depot and got drunk. Others, such as myself, spent our free time up on the deck, admiring the beautiful view the ship provided us. Sometimes, I climbed up the mast just to contemplate the spectacular scenery. I believe that was the single best week I ever had in the army.

 

Upon our arrival to Mareheim Port, we found ourselves in a completely isolated city. The dark streets and smell of rotten apples slowly began lowering our morale, inspiring fear. The noises, the constant rain, the greyscale lighting would have turned a lesser pony mad, but not us.

 

That night, while everyone was sleeping, I walked out of the ship and contemplated the dark port. I kept on walking, looking around the haunted-looking streets and alleys. The smell and overall looks crept me out, but, for some reason, I continued walking. Suddenly, a noise coming from an alley startled me. It sounded like a cat yelling in pain.

 

Having nothing better to do, and knowing I had my loaded musket with me, I moved in to investigate that noise. I slowly walked into the obscure, smelly alleyway, getting closer and closer to the noise.

 

-“Stop! Who goes there?!” By god that bastard scared me. I turned around and saw the silhouette of what seemed to be one of our stallions. He had his shako on, and carried a musket with him.

 

-“Advance to be recognized... slowly” He sounded as scared as I was. I carefully walked forward, him never moving his aim away from me.

 

Once I was close enough, he noticed my shako badge and red uniform. We were on the same bloody side. “Apologies, mate. Didn’t see ye properly”- he stammered. “What are you doing out here at four in the morning?” He moved closer to me, allowing me to see his face. He was a cyan-coated stallion, with black mane and tail. On his leg, a chevron indicated his rank. He was a corporal.

 

-“So sorry, sir. I... I was unable to sleep, and given the circumstances, I thought it would be a good idea to walk outside and have some fresh air”

 

-“Well I doubt ye’ll get any fresh air with this abhorrent smell of rotten fruit that plagues the entire port... Come with me, I’ll show you something”

 

I walked next to him through the empty streets, trying my best not to puke at the blasted stench.

 

-“so what’s yer name, lad?” –he asked.

 

-“Bampfylde, sir. Private Bampfylde, 51^st Lights... And yours?”

 

-“Raven, Corporal Raven. And don’t call me ‘sir’. After all, I’m but a rank above you, and to be honest, being a corporal nowadays is like being a private, the only difference is on paper.”

 

He took me to a big stone building, which, as opposed to the rest of the city, was much brighter and colourful. Of course, it was an inn. He strolled in as if he owned the place, followed closely by myself. Inside, there was another stallion from our company, blind drunk, together with the inn keeper, an old, grumpy looking unicorn, with a long brown beard and grey fur. He stared at me for a moment, then asked -“Oi, kid! Do ye want anythin’ ta drink?”

 

-“Oh, no thank you. I’m fine”

 

-“Suit yerself. If ye want anythin’ just ask, alright?”

 

-“S-sure... thank you”.

 

By then, the corporal was sitting by the bar next to the other ranker, while drinking what seemed to be brandy. Now I could see him clearly, every detail of his face and body was exposed to my sight. He seemed to be in his early twenties, probably around 21 or 22 years of age. He had a small scar on his right cheek and a much bigger one all around his neck, yet it was mostly hidden under the uniform and his long, black mane, which also partially covered his left eye. He wasn’t very muscular, yet he appeared somewhat stronger than the average Light Hoof ranker. I began wondering why was he different to the others, why did he have such a scar on his neck, or why did he look so bloody confident and calm in such a place (even though he was terrified when he found me).

 

-“I noticed ye’re staring at my scar” he said all of a sudden.

 

-“Well... I... uh....”

 

-“It doesn’t really bother me, lad. Come ‘ere, I’ll tell ye what happened to my neck”.

 

I slowly moved and sat next to him. He turned to face me and began rambling about his past, and how he, miraculously, survived the gallows. I at first found it quite difficult to believe, given that I never heard of anypony who could survive such a punishment. Still, his words sounded legitimate and truthful. Besides, I could not think on any other way for him to get such a mark on his neck.

 

We ended up sitting there all night talking about our lives, the army and how did we end up in such a mess. It didn’t take him long to convince me to get some brandy and get drunk with him.

 

I shall never forget the awful headache I had the day after, especially while marching south that afternoon.

God damnit.

 

_____________

 

So, that's the end of Chapter 1. Comments are appreciated!

Edited September 1, 2012 by Kochi