The administrative building, generally known as "The Nest" by many of those in the Heer, was not what many people would expect from such a place of importance. She moved up the few steps that lead to the double door way and entered the small two story building of red brick and came into the dimly lit entrance hall. The lamps and heating fixtures had already been lit, and their subtle glow gave the room and its halls a warm feel. She didn't bother approaching the front desk, as there was no one to greet her, and instead made her way down the long, slightly cramped, hall to the right where the uppers had their offices and spare rooms.

She came to the end of the hall, a large window illuminating the shadowy corner where a lamp fixture just above had lost its effect as the moon settled low in the sky. Still the light shone on the group of brass plaques screwed to the door with the names of the regimental commanders engraved on them. However, she had her eyes on the larger bar above them all, one that read, "Lt. Colonel Seelman" upon it. She entered and was met by a staircase, which she cleared with a flap of her wings, and was greeted with the second floor: a short hall with a few doors opened to offices on each side.

She trotted along the hall until she found the door to the Colonel's office and entered with a knock. The room's interior was just as dark and had that same warming feel as the others with it's low light. Despite being the Colonel's office, it was much, much more cramped than the halls and many of the other offices she had been through in this building: filing cabinets lined the walls, most nearly overflowing with reports and other administrative documents, few paintings hung upon the dark varnished wood walling, a single lamp hung in it's lonesome above a simple oaken desk strewn with papers and record books, all sat next to a radio top. A coat rack lay just besides the door, a great coat and cap already hung there, both signs that his assistant was already well up and about.

She trotted to the desk and peeked around the door just behind it, there was some shuffling, and the sounds cabinets being opened and closed. "Carson?"

The shuffling stopped, and in the doorway Carson appeared. He was a large man; his shoulders as broad as a truck and a face thick with aged muscle, and stood nearly as high as the ceiling was tall. "Major." He gave her a lazy salute, one she returned, "I already got the call. Some mystery men had to do your job for you, eh?" He had the jolliest smile a man could ask for.

She couldn't help but return it, damn his smiles were contagious, "Well when you say it like that..." Then something hit her nostrils, a smell that made her ears perk and her nose twitch.

He chuckled a hardy one, "Got some Arabian export brewing, it's the only one the Colonel will drink. I know it's strong for you stubs."

She shook herself out of the haze on her senses and reapplied her mask of a professional soldier once again, "So the Colonel is up?"

"He was as soon as that flare went off and the yelling started, those damn things are bright." He nodded.

"That's the point of a flare, isn't it Carson. Is he willing to take my report?"

"He's been waiting since the trucks made off, go right on in."

She nodded her thanks and turned into the thick door down a small out hall to the left besides the back room. She found herself a bit squeamish standing before the door, she always did when addressing the Colonel. She insured that her coat was as straight and clean as it could be, and she insured the combat helm at her side was secure and the cap on her head finely tuned then steered herself like she had done hundreds of times and finally knocked confidently.

"Enter." A muffled voice answered.

She did. The room was barely lit, a small window letting in just enough moonlight for her to make out the desk and chairs before her and the small ornaments that lined the walls, and for the first time during her walk through this building did her hooves creek on old floor boards. She made her way in fully, closing the door behind her, and trotted up to the desk with a stock face and her body at attention, there was no one else in the room it seemed at first.

Her ear flicked towards the sound of footsteps and she gazed to her right where a door opened to a small bedroom of which little she could see, but it relieved the Colonel fully. He was dressed in full uniform, an old crusher cap upon his head, and a grey coat that had seen better days, all originals from his time back in Germany. His old face was gaunt and sharply sculpted, and his blue eyes beamed with an energy that most people find lost once they get to such an age, but they still moved in alert watchfulness that told of the battles he had fought. "I've been expecting you, Major Dust." His voice sounded surprisingly young and enthusiastic for one such as him, but also carried almost a grunted end to every sentence he spoke.

"Yes sir." She answered with a salute.

"At ease." He moved over behind the desk and sat in his chair, the legs creaking ever slightly as he did so, "Come, sit. We have much to discuss." He removed his cap, salt and pepper, but mostly salty, hair revealed underneath; another sign of his growing age.

She lowered her salute and made to sit in one of the chairs next to her, forced to unclasp her helm and place it on the ground, she also removed her cap, as a sign of respect. "The termination of the rouge timberwolf pack was a success, sir. The operation has come at the price of one casualty, and some spent munitions."

"Killed or wounded?" He inquired.

"Killed, sir."

"Who?"

"Private Brawn, sir."

He did a mixture of a grunt and a sigh, "You have my condolences. It's not everyday that we lose someone from The First. I otherwise congratulate you on your platoon's success, and in such short time, nonetheless."

"Thank you, sir."

He put his hands on the desk, then locked together in an inquiring pose, "Now, I am not going to beat around the bush here Major. Are the reports true? Did you find more humans in the Everfree?"

She took a short breath, " Yes sir. We found them out by the River Greene, close to the borders of Ponyville, where they had made camp and, seemingly, had been attacked by the pack we were hunting, but managed to destroy them."

"They were responsible for their termination?" He cut in.

"Yes sir. They were armed, very well armed. Semi-auto's and automatics were common modes in their arsenal, their weapons were collected by Lieutenant Saxon and the other members of the response group when they surrendered to us. I'm sure he could tell you more during his report."

She waited to ensure he agreed, which with his nod she continued, "They had wounded with them it seemed when we found them. After learning of their ability to speak Common Equish, I approached on, and was met with initial hostility. But I managed to persuade their leader, a man named Castillo, that we could help them revive their wounded comrades. I sent out the flare, and..." She was silent for a moment.

"Speak up Major, and what?"

She steered her line of thought straight again, "Two of them shot at each other, that was when Brawn was killed, and where one of my ponies shot one of them. We were stood off for some time, and Castillo held me up. I stalled them for some time, I don't know how long it was then, felt like no longer than a few minutes, then I managed to convince them to come with us."

"They seem well prepared, are they of military origin?"

"It seemed very likely when we first found them, yes. They had all the standard base equipment given the troops, weapons, combat uniforms, helmets, survival kits, everything. And they seemed to have a very uniform structure of command amongst them. When I managed to speak with Castillo, I learned that they he was a Lieutenant in the United States Army, and they they were all, what they called, American. He didn't tell me much after that, sir, not even his first name, he seemed more willing to ask questions rather than answer them."

She saw something change in the Colonel's face when she mentioned the United States, his eyes slightly widened, and his jaw seemed to clinch. She didn't know why, but he returned to his same, stoic face as before almost as soon as she noticed it.

"What of their wounded, how many of them were there?"

"I believe one before the shoot out." She answered, "They were dying, and I am sure the Lieutenant and all his men knew that well enough, so they let down their arms, and then Saxon and his response unit arrived."

"And here we are." He finished for her.

"Yes sir."

They were quiet for a moment, the Colonel sat back in his chair, his mind in thought, and Lightning Dust sat rigid, at attention, waiting for his response.

"Then our next course of action is simple." He said after a long time.

Dust looked on at him as he stood slightly from his chair, and pressed a small button on his desk. A small containment unit opened on the side, and from there he grabbed a small wired phone from it and, turning the small crank on the box, held it to his head. Inside the small infused gem whisked to life, it's glow running through a small window that also illuminated the frequency display.

"This is Seelman, patch me through to containment, I want that Lieutenant..." He covered the mouthpiece, "Did he say what his name was?"

Dust nodded, "Castillo, he said his name was."

Seelman returned to the phone, "I want Lieutenant Castillo held up here before dawn, get Angsar on it." He placed the device back into it's small unit and closed it to a click.

"Sir, If I may ask, what are you doing?" Dust asked, honestly confused by the request.

The Colonel stood up and dusted off his coat, "My dear Dust, a content prisoner is, after all, an informative one."

Down in the darkness of the dungeon, Castillo's platoon was in a tense state, everyone mingled as best as they could to keep their minds sane, Moore had even managed to keep his playing cards on him, but the game just wasn't the same with their tense fates being unknown. Castillo remained close to the bars, against the stone faced wall to the right, silently waiting for what was to come.

What first came was a light, one much brighter than that of the bulbs, and before their cell came a squadron of guards, a new type of pony, of which had a horn protruding from it's head that projected a bright orange orb of light, was the first to closely approach, followed by a German soldier who unlocked the cell door.

"Which one of you is the Lieutenant?" The accent was heavy on this one.

Castillo stepped forth, and two guards entered and brought him out and moved him down the halls and into the darkness. The others gathered at the bars to watch them take their brother away.

"Sir, I don't think this is wise."

A few minutes after making the call to the Containment Quarter, Lieutenant Saxon returned from the depot and gave his short, and to the point, report. But also found out that the Colonel had ordered one of the prisoners brought into his personal office for close interrogation.

"It's not an interrogation, Lieutenant, I'm going to have a civil conversation with this man." Seelman replied.

Lightning Dust said nothing throughout their short lived debate, but she knew that what the Colonel suggested was a needless risk. She was confident that the American lieutenant wouldn't dare attempt anything with all the guards in the building, along with Carson right outside the door, but her gut had a sinking feeling about it all.

Eventually the escort came through with Castillo in-tow.

Seelman nodded, "Thank you, you are all dismissed."

The guards left, which left the four of them in the room. The tension was so thick one could cut it with a knife, and Castillo was as stiff as a brick, looking on at the room and creatures before him. He noticed the Major there again, he knew she would be partially, if not fully, responsible for him being dragged off. The panzer man was there as well, but this new face sitting behind the desk was a stock one, and he knew he was important. A ticket out, he would just need to buy his time...

"You two are dismissed." Seelman turned to Saxon and Dust.

"Sir, I—"

Saxon was cut off, "That is an order, Lieutenant."

Reluctantly, the two soldiers gave their final salutes and left, leaving Castillo standing alone before Seelman at his desk.

The Colonel motioned towards one of the seats,"Sit, we have much to discuss."

Castillo moved towards the desk, but did not sit.

Seelman nodded, knowing the man's reactions would be reluctant, and prideful. "Carson!" Seelman shouted.

Carson came in with a large kettle of hot coffee and a small set of cups, and managed to squeeze past Castillo and all the other junk in the room to put down the set. He then left when Seelman nodded thanks, and dismissed him.

"This is expensive coffee, it's imported from Saddle Arabia far to the South-East." He said pouring a glass for himself then one for Castillo, which he offered, placing it on the pad on the desk just before Castillo.

Castillo did nothing, letting it get cold where it sat.

Seelman drank it straight away and poured himself a second, "My subordinates report that you and your men destroyed an entire pack of timber-wolves alone. Is that true?"

He received silence for an answer.

The Colonel set down his cup, "Lieutenant, I think it would be wise that you cooperate. One of my Majors promised you help for your dying men, and that is what they are going to get, but only if you work with me." He brought the cup back to his lips took a sip, "I understand your frustration and confusion, trust me, I have been in your boots, but, trust me when I say this, you will only make it harder on you and your men if you don't comply with us." He took a moment to finish his coffee.

Every instinct within Castillo told him that there should have been a knife to this man's throat by now, and he could be walking out of here, shouting his demands, but he knew that it wasn't the right time, and with his men being down in the hole, nothing he could do right now was not going to get he nor his men anywhere close to getting out of here, so he elected to listen to what this Nazi colonel had to say.

His face said it all, "I'm listening." It said.

Seelman got right on to business. "You are not in Europe anymore, Lieutenant, nor are you in England or the States. Home is far from you now, and whatever doubts you have about this fact you must drop, cause this is all real, in flesh."

He got up and moved towards the small window, it would be any minute now that the largest point to his argument would be demonstrated. "Time also works very strange here, American."

The moon, just as Castillo had witnessed the night before, came floating down out of the sky, the sun moving alongside it to form sunrise and twilight all at once, then it was as if it were morning, with the sun at nine o'clock.

"The days are longer, the months shorter, and the years are all but blinks in this world." Seelman moved to bring out a calendar, and placed it before Castillo, who took it up. Only four months. "Four months to every year, one month for each season, and every season is made possible by magic, something I am sure you have doubts about as well. But that can be discussed further on another time."

He took out a small log book from one of his drawers, "How long do you think we have been here, Lieutenant?"

Castillo had to backtrack a moment. The Germans were well established in this place, they had equipment, vehicles, a surplus of well armed personnel and a fortress. Many of those things could be readily supplied within weeks, but this fort...

The first words he spoke to this Colonel, "A long time." He simply answered.

Seelman oddly smirked, "You would not be wrong, Lieutenant." He opened the book, "I have been very logistical in tracking my time in this world. If we do the math, we have been here over 70 pony years."

"Pony years?" Castillo asked.

"Yes. But, you see, this can not entirely be applied to us: humans.” Seelman emphasized, “Magic here in this world, the magic that controls everything, including the very nature of time and life and death itself, does not apply to our bodies. We do not age at the rate that this world does." He flipped a few pages in his book, "And if my calculations and analysis are correct, then, when applied to human systems, we have been established in the world for more than twenty years, yet our bodies have not aged more that five." Seelman said, almost as a sigh.

"Twenty years..." Castillo muttered in disbelief. It couldn't be true.

"You think I'm lying." Seelman stated bluntly.

Castillo was noticeably irritated, "Of course you are, how could you have been here for that long, when even the clothes on our backs were not even sewn!"

Seelman was not affected by his outburst, "The year we were all flung into this world was 1943. What year was it for you?"

"1944, July." Castillo grunted.

Seelman hummed, and looked out the window once more, soon Teutos would be a-buzz with life, and his work would begin pilling up like it had for many years.

Meanwhile, Castillo thought on the Colonel's words, he knew he was lying, he had to be, at least about time. But, with all the things he had experienced these past long hours, he feared not his words, but the fact that anything, and everything, this Nazi colonel had told him could be true. That is what scared him the most and filled his heart and mind with a nauseous uncertainty.

"Why are you telling me these things?" Castillo questioned.

Seelman said nothing for a moment, electing to continue looking out past the glass, but he soon turned to him sharply, his hands behind his back, "Because I need you to understand that we are not your enemy. Not anymore." He articulated, "Every son of Germany here has not seen or served their fatherland in over twenty years. Most of them do not even remember it's hills and forests, the faces of their wives and their daughters...much less the wars we waged in foreign lands."

He paused to take the coffee pot that had been cooling on his desk and poured himself a cup of the, now much colder, brew.

"All we have left is the uniforms on our backs, the arms we wield, the flags we fly, and the oaths we took left undone. There is no Germany anymore, no Europe, no more men to kill. We only have each other now. We have no reason to fight you, nor do you have any reason to fight us."

Castillo tensed, memories of his many battles and friends lost flooding his mind, of all the blood spilled by his brothers-in-arms and the families that were torn, and he dared to say they had no reason!

"I know your face. You hate me. Resent me and my people, the cause we fought for and the one man whose face we all clearly remember." Seelman drank from his cup, "You have every right to be. I'm sure there are many people, friends, whom were lost before—"

"Do not speak of them." Castillo hissed.

"You think I haven't seen the carnage!?" Seelman seethed. "I was at Verdun! I watched my men die in the mud! Barbarossa? Me and my men were on the front lines fighting those Russian dogs! I saw the French fall beneath our treads! The blood spilled for it all! I served my country as I had for years. Others did their duty, paid it with their lives! Do not think that you have any right to speak of the dead that others can not!" He leveled himself back in his seat, having stood up during his outburst, spilling his coffee all over his desk. He noticed this and began cleaning it with a small towelette he took from his coat.

Castillo looked on unnerved, but he listened closely to his words.

"You can hate us. But that does not change the fact that we are here in this world together, and nothing can change that but death. I am giving you and your men a choice. You can stay here in Teutos, we can teach you the ways of the world: it's people, it's customs, it's rulers, and still have some feeling of familiarity, even if it by the face of your enemies."

He threw the towel in a small bin besides the desk, it landed with a clunk, "Or, you can leave. I won't stop you. Your arms and ammunition, along with maps, supplies, food, and water; these we can give, and a pat on the back. These will be our good graces. But, I cannot say the same for the First Corps." He looked hard at the Lieutenant across his slickened desk. "Your men killed one of their own, a pony of the First Regiment no less. Word will spread through the barracks, and they will demand justice. As their commander, I can only stall them for so long, before they span out to find you and your men. And find you they will. I can't guarantee anything after that."

Castillo let the Colonel's words sink in. He did not know what the First Corps was, though with his talk of ponies he could only guess, and while he actually offered to let them go, it sounded more like a trap, a ruse, he practically threatened capture, and likely death, later anyway. They could try to fight them off, maybe find a good vantage point and hold out for the storm to blow over. But what good would that do them? Seelman promised supplies and munitions, but how would they get around? Where would they go? He knew nothing of this world or anything in it outside of that damnable forest, and he sure as hell was not going back there. What if any of them were mortally wounded, what if they encountered any other strange entities and hellscapes disguised as woods? They would be thoroughly and utterly fucked...

Lee and Davis came to mind.

There was a long silence shared between the two men, one sipping cold coffee and the other blank in deep thought. Then Castillo spoke.

"What are your demands?" He assented.

Author's Note

The plot thickens.

Sorry about the lack of updates, shit's really up there mates.

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