The First Page Is Already Filled
The First Page Is Already Filled
Every crime needs a punishment to right the wrongs, to show an example. Each society has a version of this that comes back to the formula of retribution. To each his own, as it goes; for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, something that is not limited strictly to physical works.
Where this differentiates is just how extreme and often this takes place. Most would say that each crime should be met by a punishment equaling said crime, and as the crime becomes more extreme, so does the punishment. But there also lies the trouble of just what constitutes an equal reaction.
Regardless of all this, the system goes on in its various forms, each trying only to right a wrong. To emphasis the point of the example, many will even go to the more unorthodox or extreme to send the message. And of course, every idea has a home somewhere.
Just like any other nation, organization, or group of living creatures, the land of Equestria has rules for the inhabitants to go by. And most seem to be willing to follow them, with a place being built on harmony and friendship. Still, crime exists everywhere, without exception, and when the worst does happen here, it will be answered, many times with a strange sense of poetic justice.
That is the system that put a single Earth Pony in this small area, unconscious and blissfully unaware. It was a field with rather high grass, almost high enough to cover the sleeping pony. The only other thing a short ways away was a small set of woodland. It was peaceful, warm, and sunny; a blissful slice of the Earth. Right now, this was his whole world.
The pony himself was a sort of khaki brown, with a short black mane. Most of his form showed him to be a sort of average muscular, though he seemed to be not eating as much as a healthy one should. And age-wise, he looked rather young; an adult easily, but a young adult at that. And he laid there, the grass almost covering over him, in peaceful slumber.
Everything remained peaceful in this secluded piece of the world until there was a noise that woke him up. There was a roar in the distance that made him wince, and sleepily open his eyes. It did not sound like a normal roar, one that could be heard from a dragon or any other life form. It sounded different, and was not ending. It was a continuous, rather low, roar that seemed to be coming closer and closer.
“Ugh, what now,” he groaned heavily as he slowly got up and stretched. “There’s always something new coming in around… around… no…”
He stood there for a moment, babbling a bit in confusion.
“But there’s… no, ah. Why… why can’t… can I? What?”
He kept going on incoherently until he was interrupted by something that came rolling over the fields rather slowly. It looked like a monster, but had no recognizable face, or any kind of feature that would make it a living thing. It had more of a long box for a body, instead of legs it had some kind of track on both ends, and some kind of long stick poking out the front of it.
Whatever it was, it was menacing enough to put him into a panic, and he began running right in the opposite direction towards the forest. He was not sure if the thing had seen him or not, or if it was following; he did not take the risk of looking back to get an idea. He just kept focused, galloping quickly into the cover of the trees and onward. Even when he entered, he did not stop, continuing the running until his body simply told him to stop and overpowered his fear, leaving him surrounded with no one but the trees.
“Sweet… Ce-ack! Ah!”
He tried sputtering out words as soon as he stopped, but nothing came out but heavy breaths and several hard coughs.
“What… was… that?” he said as he heaved. “There’s nothing… like that… in… no!”
He tried hard to remember where he was from, what he was doing here, and the like, but as before nothing came. He tried to remember his name, and nothing came. He knew he was from Equestria, that he was a pony, the most basic things, but little beyond that.
Then he realized that he could not remember anything, no matter how hard he tried. His name, his history, almost everything was just gone. But something remained very clear, and it was the answer to why he could not remember.
“That’s why,” he sighed sadly, recalling the one event. “This is all intentional.”
“You have been convicted of your crime unanimously, and your verdict shall be carried out immediately,” the judge said to him, turning him over to the guard.
“You will be sent away now,” the guard said. “Where you will go, you will soon learn. Nothing may be brought with you, and all memories shall be wiped, except for this one and the knowledge you require. Know that your sufferings will be just in accordance with what you’ve done. If you survive them to the end, we will return you home. That is that.”
That was that. He had done something so terrible that it constituted being sent to a personal hell on another world; just what that hell was remained to be seen. Even the crime itself did not come to mind; maybe he had to find that out on his own, though that made little sense.
“So that’s it then,” he said to himself. “Guess I’d better get it over with, then. No telling what it might be; might be easy, with a little luck.”
Collecting himself, he decided to just keep going the way he was running. There was not much else to do, as there was no idea of knowing exactly what to do. All the same, the answer would surely make itself apparent soon; if he knew one thing, it was that the system would not let him just walk past whatever it as he was supposed to do. They would re-start the entire thing until he got it right.
But he still could not stop himself from wondering the obvious. What was his punishment? Where was he? What would he have to do, and could he survive it through to the end and his redemption? He wanted these thoughts to go away, but they kept coming back.
As he was thinking, he did not notice a figure running through the woods from behind, from the same direction he had. He remained unaware until he heard the frantic rustling from close behind and quickly swung around to see what it was. Both were surprised, and fell down onto the ground.
The figure was not a pony, or any creature he had seen in Equestria, for that matter. It was rather tall, compared to him, had only two legs instead of four, but had another two limbs higher up. The creature had no real fur, but showed a rather pale skin on what did show; most of its body was covered in some kind of uniform. It also carried some kind of stick in the upper limbs, which it quickly pointed at him.
“The hell?" it asked, the voice sounding male. "Just some horse, I don't have time for this."
"What are you!?" the pony yelled in reply, a bit stunned by this sudden appearance.
The being stopped and stared at him for a bit in fear, quickly pointing the stick back at him.
"What in the hell!?" he yelled, trembling and wide-eyed. "Sine when do animals talk!?"
"I-I-"
"Shut up!" the figure yelled, stepping back a bit. "Or don't, I mean.... damn it!"
The biped turned and started going again, and the pony began to follow; the being must have noticed, as it stopped and aimed its weapon at the pony again.
"Why are you following me!?" he yelled. "Just what the hell kind of animal are you?"
What was odd was the language that it was using. It was not one he had heard before, but he immediately understood it. It was a Slavic language, Russian, written in Cyrillic. But how did he already know it? The ability must have been given to him when the Guard sent him here. It was probably going to be bad enough without knowing the language. At least the guards had some sense of mercy when it came to devising these things.
“What are you!?” it yelled again.
“I don’t know!” the pony replied.
“What!? You liar!”
“No, I mean… I know what I am, but I don’t know who.”
“What?” the figure asked again, but merely shook his head. “Enough of this, I don’t have time for it!”
He got turned and kept running. Not knowing what else to do, the pony got up and followed, deciding that this was his best chance of learning anything. He kept going until the figure stopped and rested against a tree, near where the woods began to thin out. He seemed rather uncaring about the pony following him now, though he kept the stick close to his chest. Perhaps he was too tired to care, or perhaps he had just given up. He was not scared anymore, at least not noticeably; just tired and uncaring.
“Why did you follow me?” he asked wearily. “Are you some kind of dog?”
“N-No, I’m… I… need… your help,” he spat out at uneven intervals. “I… lost… I don’t… know where I… am. Don’t know… who… I am.”
“Now what are you talking about?” the being asked, able to talk before he had to start panting again. “You should know what you are.”
“What I… meant… was that I don’t remember,” the pony said.
He was far worse at conserving his air, but it was finally coming back to him.
“Well, you look like a loshad,” the being replied.
“A horse?”
“Da, a little loshad,” he said. “I am chelovek, you are a loshad, simple.”
Man and horse, it did seem simple.
“I’m actually a pony,” he replied.
"You're small enough to be one; look pretty normal, too," Avilov agreed. “Well, you don’t have a name, do you pony?”
“No, at least not one I can remember.”
“Well then, I’ll just call you loshad. Da?”
“Da.”
The pony felt a bit odd speaking in this new language, but if felt just as natural as a native one.
“So, what’s your name, man?” the pony asked.
“My name is Leonid Avilov, conscript of the Red Army.”
That would explain the uniform he was wearing, and possibly that stick that he handled as a weapon.
“So are you at war with someone?”
“The fascisti of Germany,” he replied. “Damned Nazis will burn our whole country if they get the chance.”
He certainly talked like a soldier, and he seemed rather angry about it.
“What country is that?”
“The Union of Soviet Socialist Republics,” he replied, rather blandly. “Or, you can just say Soviet. It’s less of a mouth full, but it’s to be expected. Our leaders take a great indulgence in giving things of theirs long names so that when the regular guys have to say it, it goes on forever. They roll in the lavish of us reciting the entire names of their glorious creations.”
It surprised the pony how quickly the man’s mood changed. At first, Leonid was raging over how the so-called Nazis came into his country. But then, he seemed rather apathetic about talking about his own country. It was almost like he did not care which side won. Did war usually do that to a soldier?
“We need to keep moving,” Leonid said suddenly. “Talking can come when we are not dead.”
The Russian got back on his feet, and started walking again.
“Come, come,” he said. “No need in sitting here, unless you want to get captured.”
A quick though went through the pony’s head if he was supposed to be captured by these Germans, but it quickly went away and he started walking again.
“Why would these Germans want to hurt me?” the pony asked.
“I don’t know, but do you want to take a chance?” Leonid asked. “I nearly shot you when you started speaking.”
“Why? I’m not that threatening.”
“Well, you forget how we’re in a war; everything is not what it seems.”
Leonid kept moving his head left and right, and then back every now and then. He seemed to be looking for something, or rather watching for something. Most likely it was the Germans; they may be closer than he thought.
“If you don’t mind saving the talking until we’re safe, I’d prefer that,” Leonid asked.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know where the Germans are, so the talking might draw them to us.”
The pony mentally berated himself; you did not have to have military training to know something as obvious as that.
“Alright, sorry,” he said in a lower voice. “But can I please come with you.”
“I suppose, though I cannot promise anything,” Avilov replied through his accent. “Just listen to what I say.”
“Ok.”
The two kept going through the woods steadily for about ten minutes; there was no way of knowing the time, as Leonid did not have a watch. He cared less about the time, though; he even cared less about the creature following him. All he was concerned about was making it back to his lines alive. Still, it was an interesting find for him.
The woods progressively thinned out more and more, until there were nothing more but a few trees dotted here and there. On the other side was not another field, but a small village of wooden houses. It seemed mostly quaint, but did have a few smoke plumes rising form it.
Leonid swore to himself, as things could go either way. Worst case scenario was that the Germans had taken the town and were using it as a temporary base, so it could be crawling with Nazis. The best way was that it was inhabited by average civilians, also Russians, who would help him. However, as the two walked closer, no real signs of life appeared.
“Stay right next to me,” he said to the pony.
He quickly sprinted across a wide area to a large boulder, about halfway between the forest and village. As he got there, he saw no real response to the move. He checked to make sure the pony was still with him, and seeing that he was, took another look at the town. It looked completely abandoned, with just a couple buildings with holes and one or two that were on fire. There might have been a small skirmish here, but there was no telling when or who came out on top.
“Alright loshad, let’s go to that house first, and keep quiet and quick.”
“Which one?” the pony asked.
“The nearest; the one that’s partially collapsed.”
“Ok.”
After waiting a few more seconds, the Russian ran forward, not at full height, but a sort of hunched dodge, keeping low so he would not be spotted; being smaller, the pony did not really have to worry. Avilov made it to the house first, followed shortly by his friend. There was no sign of reaction from anywhere.
Leonid slowly went through the broken part of the house, entering a room that led to the main part. He opened a door slowly at first to check and then fully to walk through. The house seemed abandoned of anything, as there was little there to constitute a real home. Very little furniture, and looking closer, no food either. The extreme bareness of the village meant a few things to him.
“Nothing’s here,” the pony observed.
“No, though that could be expected,” Leonid replied. “This is just some small village, probably of farmers. It’s unlikely they would have much at all.”
“Not even food or medicine or… anything?”
“At least some, but there’s none here. If I had to guess, I’d say the Germans were already here ahead of us and plundered the place. Who knows what happened to the residents.”
“Did you… know any of the residents?”
“Oh no, I’ve never been here before,” the Russian said, looking behind a few more doors for anything. “The country’s far too big to meet everyone. You’d be lucky if you even got out of your town.”
The pony wondered just how big the country could be, and also why it would be so difficult to travel.
“I am just happy no one’s here,” the Russian said. “I was running from more than just Germans; my political officers might have shot me if they found me running. They are not fond of cowards. Of course, we were so surrounded by Germans we could have hit them running in any direction.”
“Shot you!?” the pony gasped.
“Sh! Quiet!” the Russian ordered him. “Yes, we have already lost much. They view most retreats as cowardice.”
The pony waited a minute to take this in. He was not very familiar with military matters, but he knew Equestria’s was not as harsh as this; at least, he did not think so, as he could not fully remember. But what logic did it make to shoot one’s own soldiers? Who would fight the wars, then?
“So, you ran?” the pony asked.
“The situation was hopeless,” Leonid replied. “My Rifle Division had little to stop them, and we were so shattered. There was such confusion, such insanity. I saw a single, open chance to run, where there were no troops of either side, so I took it. I ran for a couple days, scavenging what I could, not knowing if I was still behind the enemy lines or not. But now that I see this place, I think I still am.”
Reciting the short history was not really necessary, but Leonid though it was. It just seemed necessary to do it, so he did not look like a fool. Truth be told, he was still mentally debating whether or not he really was a coward. He had run for almost three days now, and had not stopped. But he was still alive. Could he maybe fight again, show his honor to his country? Running at the time did not feel like a cowardice thing, it felt like instinct.
“This is a little hard to believe,” the pony said. “But, I guess I’d better believe it.”
“It all happened,” Avilov replied. “And I feel like I was not the only one to run.”
The Russian shifted to his right and looked out of a shattered window.
“Chyort! Get down!” he ordered, bracing himself against the wall next to the window. “Loshad? Where are you?”
“I’m here,” he replied, sitting on the other side of the window.
“Keep quiet, there’s someone out there, a soldier.”
Both of them peeked out of the window at a figure standing on the dirt road that ran through the village. Leonid spotted the grey uniform he was wearing, along with the dark helmet and bolt-action rifle similar to his own, but not the same. He was alone, standing still in the road, not giving much of a care.
“Mudak,” he swore through his teeth. “There’s a German, right there.”
The pony took his own observance of the other human. He looked far better equipped than his Russian counterpart, having an actual helmet and several other devices. And yet, he seemed to be daydreaming, gazing down the road. It felt difficult to believe he could hurt anything.
“Keep quiet,” Leonid said, knowing what he had to do.
He waited until the German was turned away, his back facing them, and lighting a cigarette. Leonid carefully pushed some broken glass out of the way, making sure to take his time and not make noise. Once it was clear, he brought up his Mosin-Nagant rifle and rested it on the wood of the frame. As he took careful aim, he also realized how natural this felt, just as natural as the running had felt.
It would have been difficult to miss, as the German was actually rather close. Leonid looked down his sights, still pressing his body up against the wall, and took aim at the center of the German to guarantee a hit. He bided his time, taking breaths, waiting for the best moment. Eventually, that moment came, and something in his head yelled ‘shoot’. He did so, squeezing down on the trigger and letting the rifle recoil back into his shoulder; he had fired it many times before, but for some reason now it felt heavier.
The 54mm cartridge hit right through the German’s back, going into his lung and quickly exiting the other side before being stopped by the house across from him. He grunted a bit, mumbling a few words incomprehensibly, before falling on his back and dying still. The pool of blood began to gather and spread, moving across the dirt and collecting with the dust on the ground.
“Yes!” Avilov said to himself before quickly looking left and right and listening for anything.
Thankfully, he saw and heard nothing; again, there was no response to his actions. It had just been some lone German in another nameless village, minding his own business. He quickly jumped up and ran out the door, looking around a bit before kneeling next to his kill like a hunter to a dead deer.
For the pony, he was still in deep shock. He had made the mistake of still looking out the window, and being close to the rifle when it went off. But more than that, he had not expected so much from such a weapon. A small stick had blown a hole in the other man so suddenly, it just stunned him.
“Ok, we’re in the clear,” Avilov said. “Come on, come out.”
The pony did so slowly and cautiously, not really knowing what to expect anymore. The Russian was kneeling down next to his victim, a proud grin on his face, and going through his things. He took what little he needed; rations, his stick grenade, and whatever else he could fit in his little sack.
As the pony watched, he noticed a small booklet fall out of the German’s pack and onto the street, along with a pencil. He picked it up out of curiosity, and looked closely at it. It was a light black, with no real markings or title on either side.
He opened it and saw that all the pages were blank except the first one, which was written in German. Surprisingly, or not that surprisingly, he could read it easily, as well; another unknown talent given to him before departure. It looked like a sort of monologue, a diary the German kept and wrote in only once.
“Ah, khorosho!” he heard the Russian exclaim, looking at what seemed like a sign.
“What?”
“Directions,” he said, pointing at the words. “Now we know where to go, see? ‘Leningrad, that way’. If we get going now, we could be back in friendly lands before sunset!”
“Leningrad?”
“It’s one of our cities,” he said. “Wait here while I check a few more houses, then we’ll move out.”
"Won't your friends be a little... well... shocked to see something like me?"
"Hm, maybe a bit, but you do look... relatively normal," the conscript said. "Just keep quiet at first, and you will pass for normal. They will probably be busy with more important things. Just relax for right now."
The pony sat down on a porch while the Russian began looking at the different houses. He realized he was still carrying the book and pencil, or rather, set it down next to him. He decided to take a look at what the German wrote, looking at the first page.
“It’s been a few days since the invasion began, and already our progress has been excellent. We have cut such deep swathes into the Communist lines, so many enemy units have been destroyed and long lines of prisoners march in the opposite direction of our march. Things are looking bright, and we have heard that our armies are closing on Moscow, while we come closer to our objective city of Leningrad. I have such pride in my Fatherland now, and it will be wonderful to see our flag fly above the city, as it will signal not only victory, but the ending, I hope.
Perhaps once the Russians lose all their major cities, they will see the futility in resistance, and then perhaps I can return home. I think of it daily, my home in Bonn, with my lovely girlfriend. Our letters to each-other have been a bit dispersed, due to our fast advance, but we still write all the same. It will be fun to tell her about the things I have seen here. Admittedly, for the enemy’s land, it is remarkably beautiful.”
Reading it felt odd to the pony, it showed that these German enemies had their own lives to live. This man had someone he cared about, someone he was hoping to see at the end of it all. It felt bad to him that he could not remember any of the ponies back home that he loved, if there were any.
He then had an idea; perhaps he could use this as his for his own recordings. Maybe if he kept track of everything, sort of collect the events that happen, maybe he could remember more about his life. They did erase memories specifically to make it harder, so it could not hurt.
“Leonid, what’s today’s date, including the year?” he asked, tearing out the German’s page.
“August 25th, 1941,” he replied from one of the houses.
“Alright.”
He opened the book and started writing.
“August 25th, 1941
Well, I don’t know what to do right now, at least not all that much. I’m in some place called Russia, which is in a war with another country called Germany, though I’ve heard them be called Communists and Nazis here and there, respectively. Not much progress so far, so there’s not much to really look for.
If anything I did find a friend, a human Russian named Leonid Avilov; he’s in the Russian Army, apparently. He’s agreed to let me follow him, and I think that’s good, since I don’t have anywhere else to really go or anyone to rely on. I watched him kill one of those Germans in a deserted village with some weapon that blows a hole in the other guy. It’s crazy at first, but amazing at the same time.
He said we were going to a place called Leningrad, and maybe I can find some answers there. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do other than survive, if anything. Hopefully it will be over soon. I keep wondering what I did to deserve this crime; it’s usually the worst of the worst that get this punishment. Maybe it’s better if I don’t find out. Either way, this is where it will start.”
“Loshad, are you coming?” Avilov called, starting down the road.
“Yea, I’m coming.”
Author's Note
Thank you for reading. I'm always in need of feedback, so please leave a comment.
Also my first time doing an OC; not asking you to go easy, but some advice would be welcome.
