"You will fight the savage houmen! You will overwhelm the savage houmen! You will leave none alive!" roared the sergeant as the squad of unicorns moved to their points in the trenches. Bristle was standing at the centre of the line. He was raring for the fight. After the defeats in Cloudsdale and Ponyville, the interim government had decided Canterlot was to be protected first and foremost. Bristle was confident. Nopony had actually died. Just been forced off. It was a bit of fun before going back to the real work of gardening. The houmen didn't even have real weapons, anyway. Just fireworks that made whistling sounds, and toy crossbows. It was all a bit of a lark.
It was almost time for the houmens to turn up now, anyway. Braincolts back at HQ said that the houmen probably liked fighting in the day because they had a phobia of the night. Several daring raids had been done by the flycolts and the pegasi at night. Usually with no resistance, either.
A whistle sounded. That was the signal. Just like in training, Bristle raised a shield above him. He could hear those fireworks now. This was to be the first engagement of the three hundred and seventy eighth/ seven hundred and fifty second combined battalion. Old colts of the 378th had got some fighting in, but HQ had seen fit to join the two together because of causalities or something like that. But Bristle's squad was all 752nd Battalion colts. They raised their shields as one, lifting tnem to the sky. The whistling got louder. Mustang, a colt five across from Bristle, started to joke about something and dropped his shield for a second.
With a roar, the shells fell and blew on the shields. All except Mustang's. The shell hit the trench and blew, knocking down Mustang, the sergeant, and another colt Bristle couldn't remember. The smoke filled the trench, and Bristle let out a laugh at the silly fireworks of the houmen. But soon enough, the smoke cleared.
"MEDIC! COLTS DOWN! MEDIC!" came the frenzied cry. The houmen was swarming, and Bristle dropped. What...what the hay had happened? There was a ringing in his ear. Another pony was screaming at him to get up. Couldn't he have a rest? He was so tired. And wet. His right foreleg was killing him. Ha! Killing him! He'd have to tell Mustang about that. Mustang! That old son of a gun! He was a good bloke. He'd laugh. That other pony was screaming again. Something about a doctor. He wasn't a doctor! He was a gardener. Wait. That was what he was forgetting. It was time to garden.
He stood up and walked from the trench. Time to gard-